#they are very sharp and piercing and demand your attention

[maximura]

Max what's your favorite thing about Ni-Ki?

His smile. But also his voice and eyes. That's three things but this is a very difficult question.

[r3starttt]

BEHAVE

PAIRING: Caitlyn Kiramman x reader

SUMMARY: Being her controversial young girlfriend but she's sooo mean about it.

CW: Mean Caitlyn. fingering and public sex if u squint. A mix of Cait act 1 and after act 3 because that eye patch makes her so hot.

A/N: this was a headcanon but it's too long so, enjoy(? also I apologize because this is very self indulgent and maybe it doesn't feel like it's Caitlyn at all but who cares!

TAGLIST: @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @tlouloser @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @patronagrona @halle5s @usuck @thalchmy @lovelyy-moonlight @fakevalentine

* first post of the year!!!! ahhhh praying I can write so much more

* PART TWO

"Do you truly believe I wouldn’t notice?" Caitlyn’s voice brushed against your ear, a velvet whisper laced with reproach as her hands rested on your shoulders. She guided you through the sea of silk gowns and tailored suits, her touch light yet insistent. The weight of her name—Kiramman—still carried its unyielding responsibilities. These endless soirées, gilded in pretension, were as much a part of her world as the air she breathed.

You hummed in acknowledgment, your brow furrowing as the opulent liquor in your glass shimmered with each step. The crystal caught the golden glow of chandeliers, creating ripples of light that danced with the cadence of your movements.

"I distinctly recall telling you not to speak to her," Caitlyn said, her voice low but firm, a melody of restrained fury and high-society decorum. And there it was—why she was upset. Her words, precise as a scalpel, made the realization cut deeper.

Jealousy. It wasn’t the first time.

She was a woman molded by singularity, the only child of a family whose legacy loomed large. Years of hard work and calculated poise had shaped her, yet even Caitlyn Kiramman wasn’t immune to the corrosive sting of possessiveness. She had drawn comfort from women, and in doing so, learned too much about how easily temptation could unravel the strongest resolves. She knew what could happen when the wrong hands reached for what they desired.

"And I didn’t," you replied, your tone measured but pointed as you placed emphasis on the pronoun. "She spoke to me."

But you knew the defense was weak, the excuse thin. It wasn’t about who initiated the conversation—it was about the way you let it linger, the playful barbs you traded in defiance of Caitlyn’s clear wishes.

"Look at me."

She halted, steering you into a quiet corner where the hallway stood mostly empty save for the occasional passing silhouette. Her grip shifted to your chin, blue-painted nails biting just enough to demand your attention. Tilting your face upward, her single piercing eye—framed by the violet eyepatch that gleamed under the estate’s polished lighting—locked onto yours.

"That woman," Caitlyn said, her tone laced with hate, "will go to any lengths to provoke me. She is petty, immature, and cannot tolerate the fact that I chose you." The emphasis on you was punctuated with a fleeting brush of her thumb along your cheek.

"And why is that?" you countered, tilting your head slightly, an air of defiance laced in your words. You knew the unspoken truths hidden in her gaze, the ghosts of her past lovers lingering in her quiet. You weren’t the first to occupy her bed, but you intended to be the last. Still, the question hung in the air, daring her to acknowledge the vulnerability that simmered beneath her jealousy.

Her posture shifted, the tension momentarily releasing as she let go of your face, her hands finding yours. "Behave," she murmured, her voice carrying a polished warn. "You’re not some foolish girl in need of coddling , are you? Didn’t you insist I treat you like a grown woman and not—what was it?—a 'sweet indulgence,' like those other girls you claim I once entertained?"

Sharp, clever, and unrelenting , Caitlyn always knew how to turn the blade back on you, her wit as honed as the rifle she wielded with such precision.

"I’m merely observing," you replied with a shrug, feigning indifference though the sting of her words lingered. "You seem awfully afraid of some women. Almost as though you know them too well."

Her laugh was soft, almost a scoff, but her grip on your waist tightened. Caitlyn wasn’t one to retreat. Instead, she seized the moment, her free hand taking your glass and setting it on a side table near the staircase alongside her own. Without a word, she led you upward.

The quiet intimacy of the stairwell was a stark contrast to the party below. The golden light softened as you ascended, and with each step, the air between you grew heavier, thick with the unsaid.

Your heels echoed against the polished marble, mirroring hers as you followed her onto one of the estate’s many balconies. Caitlyn left the balcony door ajar, the muffled hum of the soirée seeping through like a distant murmur.

Her lips grazed the delicate curve of your neck, warm and insistent. "Do you know what I used to do?" she murmured, her voice low-- confessional. Her hands found your waist, steadying you as though she feared you might falter under the weight of her words.

"I would take them home," she began, her tone as smooth as the feel of her hands on your skin. Her fingers tightened ever so slightly, a possessive gesture had you folding already. "I would ask about their lives, their dreams... enough to slip beneath their guard."

Her lips traveled upward, brushing the corner of your jaw, then your cheek, before stopping just next to your ear. "And then," she continued, her voice a breath against your skin, "I would lean in, cup their necks, let my gaze linger on their lips... kiss them."

As the words left her mouth, she mirrored the act with you. Her fingers glided to the nape of your neck, holding you firm, her lips capturing yours with a deliberate fervor. The kiss was unhurried yet commanding, a declaration rather than a question.

"I would undo their clothes, piece by piece, savoring the soft of their skins." Her hands traveled down, tracing the contours of your frame with reverence until her fingers found the hem of your dress. Slowly, she gathered the fabric, the rustle of it rising in harmony with the quickening beat of your heart.

"I would caress their thighs," she continued, her voice dropping with promise. Her hand slid beneath the folds of your dress. She paused there, letting the silence be filled with the distant hum of the party behind you.

Her gaze met yours again, piercing. She pressed her knee in between your legs, her fingers making small circles over your clothed clit, feeling the fabric damp under her touch. A smile spread on her face, almost a mocking laugh escaping her as her forehead leaned closer to your own. "Yeah? feels good, doesn't it?" Her breath hovering over your lips before you nodded, opening your lips further to try and get a kiss she denied.

"I would love to feel how wet they got... listening those whimpers and the many obscenities spilling through such pretty lips." Her other hand went behind your waist, digging her fingers into you.

Your head tilted down as you got pressed into the railing. Worried that someone might see.

It wouldn't be new to them. Cailtyn had been caught endless times by those working for her or around her- and she couldn't care less. Making her girls go louder each time.

"I loved to hear how they pronounced my name in between gasps." Her wet lips pressed another kiss into your neck. Her hand guiding your hips to move against her leg as she slid her fingers up and down your covered slit.

You held behind onto the railing, using it to impulse your body as you wished against her fingers and her body and just enjoy yourself while using her. Your lips pressed too tightly to not let any sound out.

Your eyebrows furrowed to a point it hurt. Caitlyn made you mad, she knew how to put you in your place every single time.

"Be a good girl and let me hear you, love." She pressed herself closer to you again, her fingers busy with your wet. She had minutes that felt endless just rubbing at your clit over your clothes, providing you the friction of her knee against your cunt or her fingers over your hole- teasing to pull your panties aside and fuck you-- But that was it.

And maybe all of it had you falling for her one last time. Opening your lips to moan and whimper against her own. She wanted the show and if she asked so nicely why would you deny her?

But just as you felt like maybe there could be a way to convince her to fuck you like you wanted, she stopped. It was almost too abruptly it hurt.

"Go to the bathroom and compose yourself," Caitlyn instructed. Her grip tightened on your chin, tilting your face upward with a practiced ease that left little room to argument. The intensity in her eyes was an unspoken demand.

"I will not endure the embarrassment of your behavior tonight." The sharp edge of her accent making each syllable bite. Her fingers pressed into your cheeks, just enough to remind you of her control, her authority over this moment. "Your age is already... challenging for me. Do not make me regret this, love. Do you understand?"

You nodded, the motion awkward under the restraint of her hand. A wave of heat prickled at the corners of your eyes, tears threatening to spill, not from pain but from the raw sting of her words. Your voice came out small, broken, as though the very air had been stolen from your lungs.

"I'm sorry," you murmured an apology barely audible, stifled by the weight of her fingers against your face.

"Don't apologize," she snapped, the command as firm as it was cold. Her gaze bore into yours, cutting through your composure. "Just do as I ask. Prove to me that you're capable of being what I need you to be."

Her lips hovered dangerously close to yours, her breath warm, intimate, yet void of comfort. "Show me you're worth it-" She paused to make it clear, it was a warn if not a threat. "And never, ever speak to her again. Not a word, not a glance. Or it's over. Is that clear?"

There was no room for negotiation, no softness to temper her gaze. Her words were final. Like anything else around her, it was an unspoken contract you had no choice but to sign.

[yawnderu]

Pornstar!König's cock is a bitch breaker— that much you know by the way he's ramming every single inch of thick, veiny meat into your sopping cunt, his large hands digging on the supple skin of your waist in a bruising hold, his heavy balls slapping against your sensitive clit every time he manages to bury himself all the way in.

His blue eyes are fully focused on the screen displaying your face, the rhythm of his thrusts only getting rougher to drag more whiny moans out of your parted lips, exhaustion written all over your face at having to take his large dick on what was supposed to be a day off— only accepting a job after thousands of comments bombarding your media, begging you to collaborate with König. Perverts, you knew, yet you're more than happy to play into their fantasies.

One of the cameras pans to your face, fully capturing the alluring scene of your fucked-out state, beads of sweat dripping down your warm forehead, half-lidded eyes barely managing to stay open despite the way they're threatening to roll back with each deep thrust, and that famous smile that shows you crave his treatment. A trademark of sorts, something that made you end on the front pages of popular porn websites more than once, the very same thing that caught König's attention months ago.

“Harder.” A command you instantly regret the moment his hips falter, his brow scrunched up in mild disbelief, yet what is the behemoth of a man if not a people pleaser? König lets out a muffled chuckle, his warm hand trailing up to your chest, lazily rubbing your sensitive, pierced nipple with his thumb.

“Harder?” He repeats, his hips moving at an agonizingly slow pace, a smirk pulling on the corners of his lips beneath the mask the moment a whiny moan of protest is dragged out of your lips.

“Fuck yourself with my dick.” You can hear your own heartbeat pulsating on your ear, the rate steadily rising at his command. His breath hitches the moment you impale yourself onto his throbbing cock right after his words, his calloused hand giving your tit one last squeeze before moving back down to your waist, his large fingers digging onto the crevice of your warm skin, admiring the thin layer of sweat covering your body, the way your ass jiggles every single time you move on his dick.

His eyes darken with desire, his hands almost itching with the growing need to fuck into you, something he manages to ignore for mere seconds before thrusting back into you the moment you pull away, a sharp gasp leaving your lips at the way his bulbous head hits your sensitive cervix over and over, his wide hips slamming against yours, filling the room with a lewd melody of skin slapping against skin and combined moans desperate for release.

König doesn't hold back, his thrusts deep and powerful as your fingers grip the bedsheets, trying to find a way to release the overwhelming sensations. He can feel your body trembling beneath him, the sound of your whiny whimpers only serving to heighten his own arousal, shooting one of the cameras a look that drips pure arrogance— his movements becoming more urgent and demanding.

One of the screens displays the way your eyes roll back in ecstasy as your walls tighten around his thick cock, a sense of satisfaction and pride filling him as you cum, only then allowing himself to succumb to his release, his cock throbbing inside you as ropes of hot white cum shoot right into your womb, a loud groan leaving his lips.

Despite how rough he likes to fuck, König pulls out of you, his softening cock coated with your slick and his own cum as your body falls on the bed, utterly exhausted. You can feel his large arms wrapping around you from behind, the sound of fabric rustling filling your ears as you feel his warm lips press a soft kiss to your temple, whispers of praise that have never come out of his lips slip out with so much easiness that it almost surprises him.

[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; pushed to your limits, you endure under your mother's ruthless training. but the quiet of night brings an unexpected reunion—and amid raw confessions and unspoken truths, you draw a firm line between your past and present, choosing your new path over the fractures of your old life.

⚠️ warnings; none

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

The cold expanse of the stone training chamber greeted you as you stepped through the heavy wooden doors. The air was thick with the hum of residual magic, a constant reminder of the battles fought here before you. Flickering sconces cast elongated shadows that danced mockingly against the dark stone walls, their flames sputtering in anticipation.

Your Mother stood at the center, a sharp, commanding figure whose very presence demanded attention. Her arms crossed over her chest, and her piercing gaze fixed on you with the weight of expectations that could crush lesser souls.

“This will be your life until the ceremony,” she said without preamble, her voice sharp and unwavering, cutting through the heavy air like a blade. “If you fail here, you fail the coven.”

The words struck hard, meant to suffocate any flicker of defiance, but you squared your shoulders, refusing to falter. You stepped forward into the center of the chamber, the hum of magic growing louder with each step.

Training began immediately, and there was no mercy in her approach.

Waves of fire and wind lashed toward you, their force leaving you barely enough time to react. You conjured barriers of shimmering energy to counter her attacks, your hands moving instinctively in intricate patterns, your magic sharp and focused.

“Too slow!” she barked, her voice echoing off the walls as the ground beneath your feet rumbled ominously. Thorned vines erupted from the stone, their sharp tips lashing out with deadly precision. You sidestepped, barely avoiding the onslaught, and summoned a blade of pure energy to sever the attacking tendrils. The effort sent a sharp thrum of power through your bones, but you held steady.

Every spell she cast, every challenge she threw, was designed to break you—to punish you for leaving, for daring to defy her control. Yet you met her assaults with spiteful determination, the simmering rage within you sharpening your focus. Each successful counterstrike was a small victory, a reminder that you were not as fragile as she wished to believe.

“You’ve grown complacent,” she sneered, her tone icy. “The time you wasted outside the coven has softened you!"

Her words were daggers, meant to carve away your resolve, but you gritted your teeth and replied evenly, “And yet I’m still standing.” The flicker of amusement that crossed her face was fleeting, but it didn’t escape your notice.

The grueling session stretched on for hours, testing every ounce of your endurance. By the time she finally called for a halt, your body ached, your clothes were singed and dusted with soot, and sweat clung to your skin. Yet, despite the pain and exhaustion, you remained standing.

“Adequate,” your Mother said, her tone clipped as she assessed you with a critical eye.

You wiped at the sweat on your brow, your expression neutral as you replied, “I’ll do what’s required.”

She nodded once, a silent acknowledgment of your effort, before turning on her heel and striding toward the exit. Her long robes swept behind her as the heavy door swung shut, leaving you alone in the quiet chamber.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe, letting the tension in your shoulders ease as you took in the stillness of the room. The scorched stone and scattered debris bore testament to your struggle, but it wasn’t defeat that lingered in the air—it was resolve.

You straightened, brushing off the grime from your clothes. There was still so much to do, so much to prove, but you would face it all, one step at a time.

. . .

Later that night, as exhaustion weighed heavily on you, Sybil pressed close to your side, her warmth grounding you in ways no magic ever could. You trudged down the hallway, the familiar path to your room offering a small sense of solace.

“Miss, please—wait!” a voice called out behind you, urgent and trembling.

You turned to see Marnie, the young maid who had delivered your clothes days earlier. Her pale face was illuminated by the faint glow of the lantern she held aloft, her chest heaving as though she had been running. She grasped your arm tightly before you could react, her fear palpable.

“There’s no time to explain,” she whispered, her voice strained. “You have to come with me. Now.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the desperation in her wide eyes silenced you. Without waiting for a response, she tugged at your arm, pulling you down a corridor you hadn’t walked in years.

Sybil let out a low growl but followed close, her alert posture mirroring your unease. The flickering lantern light in her grasp guided your way through twisting hallways that grew colder and darker the farther you went. The air grew damp, and the faint scent of earth replaced the sterile stillness of the upper floors.

Marnie led you to a narrow staircase descending into the underground levels of the manor. She hesitated at the threshold, her voice breaking as she urged, “Please. You’ll understand when you see.”

You followed her down the stone steps, the silence broken only by the distant drip of water and the soft scrape of your boots against the floor. The lantern’s light cast eerie shadows on the rough stone walls, making the underground space feel even more oppressive.

At the bottom of the staircase, an older woman stood waiting. Recognition flickered—it was Fiona, a maid from your childhood who had always been kind to you. Her sharp eyes studied you intently, worry etched into her lined face.

“Keep watch,” Fiona instructed the two younger maids at her side. They nodded nervously before scurrying off alongside Marnie, their hurried footsteps fading into the distance.

Fiona motioned for you to follow, leading you into a small, cluttered supply room. The air inside was stale, the shelves lined with long-forgotten supplies.

Then you saw him.

Johnny.

He sat by a small table near the far wall, his long hair held up in a messy ponytail. His once-distinctive mohawk was completely gone. In front of him sat a cup of tea, untouched and forgotten, its faint aroma mingling with the stale air of the room.

You froze in the doorway, your breath catching in your throat as your mind struggled to process what you were seeing. Of all the scenarios you had imagined, this—him—had never even crossed your mind. The sight of him here, in this place, after everything, left you reeling.

At the sound of your steps faltering, Johnny looked up, his tired eyes meeting yours. In them, you saw everything—pain, regret, longing, and something that looked like desperation. He stood slowly, his movements tentative as though he feared any sudden action might shatter what fragile thread held this moment together.

He murmured your name, his voice rough and low, holding the weight of everything unsaid. He took a hesitant step toward you, his entire being radiating fragility, a vulnerability you had never associated with him. He looked unlike anything you had ever seen before: broken and raw, stripped of the easy charm and boisterous energy that had once defined him.

But before he could take another step, Sybil moved.

The Borzoi stepped in front of you, her white fur bristling as she lowered her head and bared her teeth. A deep, rumbling growl rolled from her chest, reverberating in the small room as her sharp fangs caught the dim light. Her stance was protective and unyielding, her hackles raised as she planted herself firmly between you and the man she had once loved, just as you had.

Johnny stopped in his tracks, his face crumpling as though Sybil’s reaction struck him harder than any blow. For a moment, he stood there, his hands twitching at his sides as if unsure whether to raise them in surrender or let them fall in defeat.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The tension in the room was suffocating, the charged silence broken only by the low, menacing growl emanating from Sybil’s throat. And in that moment, all you could do was stare, the weight of the past colliding with the sharp sting of the present, leaving you rooted to the spot.

His fragile appearance fueled the fire rising in your chest. You took a sharp step forward, your voice cracking as it rose.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you hissed, your words laced with equal parts panic and fury. 

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” you continued, your hands shaking as you gestured toward him. “Coming here—do you even understand what this place is?! You’ve put yourself in danger, Johnny, and for what?! To satisfy some... some whim?!”

Johnny raised his hands in a placating gesture, his face pale and his eyes pleading. “I had to see you. Just once—”

“No!” you snapped, cutting him off. “You had to stay away! Do you think this is a game?! Do you think they won’t find you?! That they won’t—” Your breath hitched as the weight of the situation bore down on you, threatening to overwhelm your already frayed nerves.

He took a hesitant step forward, his hand reaching out toward you. “Lass, please, I—”

“Don’t you dare touch me,” you spat, your voice shaking but firm. His hand fell to his side, his shoulders sagging under the weight of your words. For a moment, he looked as though the world had crumbled beneath him, but you couldn’t afford to feel sympathy—not now, not here.

“Sit down,” you barked, pointing sharply to the chair he had just risen from. “Sit your ass down, Johnny!”

He hesitated, his mouth opening as if to protest, but the look in your eyes brooked no argument. Slowly, he sank back into the chair, his posture defeated, though his blue eyes remained fixed on you, filled with unspoken words.

Your attention snapped to Fiona lingering by the entrance. “You need to leave,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “Go back to your posts. I won’t have you involved in this any further.”

Fiona hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. “But, miss—”

“I said go!” you insisted, your voice breaking slightly but your resolve unshaken. “I’ll handle this.”

Fiona’s eyes softened with something like pity or concern, but she nodded reluctantly, the door creaked shut behind her, leaving you alone with Johnny.

You turned back to him, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Johnny’s gaze never wavered from you, his presence simultaneously infuriating and heart-wrenching.

You exhaled heavily, the tension in your shoulders weighing you down as you pulled out a chair and sat across from him. Your legs felt weak, the exhaustion of the day compounding with the whirlwind of emotions his presence had brought. You glanced at Sybil, still poised like a sentinel by your side, her eyes never leaving Johnny.

“Stand down,” you murmured, your tone soft but commanding. She huffed, her tail flicking in irritation, but she obeyed, retreating a step. Even so, her ears remained pricked, and her gaze darted toward the door every so often, her alertness unshaken.

Johnny fidgeted in his chair, his hands gripping the edge of the table as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. His lips parted, and the words began to spill out in a flood, his brogue thickened by his heightened state. “It was Leah—no, not her—she didn’t mean it, we know that now, but it wasn’t about her, it was about you, lass. The curse, it was a parasite—Alejandro said—and it... it wasn’t meant for us. It was for you.” His voice cracked, his sentences tangling as he struggled to get it all out. “They wanted to isolate you, to—to pull you away, and we—God, we didn’t see it—”

“Stop,” you cut him off sharply, raising a hand. His words faltered, his wide, desperate eyes meeting yours.

With a flick of your wrist, you waved at the cup of tea sitting untouched on the table before him. A faint shimmer of heat rippled over its surface, steam curling lazily upward as you warmed it with a simple spell. “Drink,” you ordered firmly. “No talking. Not until it’s gone.”

He blinked, caught off guard, but you held his gaze with unyielding intensity. Slowly, he reached for the cup, his hands trembling slightly. His first sip was cautious, his lips pursed as the heat hit him, but he didn’t complain. Instead, he settled into a slow, deliberate rhythm, sipping the tea in silence.

The quiet between you was heavy but oddly grounding. You leaned back in your chair, your arms crossed as you watched him. The act of drinking forced him to pause, the heat of the tea slowing him down as he took each sip with care. His breathing evened out gradually, and the wild, frantic energy that had gripped him when you first entered the room began to dissipate.

Sybil shifted beside you, her head resting on her paws but her sharp eyes never leaving Johnny.

When he finally set the empty cup down, he let out a long, slow breath, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the world had momentarily lifted. He looked up at you, his eyes clearer but no less filled with emotion. You said nothing, your own expression unreadable as you waited for him to speak.

He began to speak, his voice quieter and steadier than before, though tinged with the raw emotion that seemed to cling to him like a second skin. He recounted the events that led him here—the unraveling of the pack, the curse that had ensnared them, and how everything had been orchestrated to isolate you. There were details you hadn’t known, fragments of the story that filled in gaps you hadn’t realized existed. He told you about the painstaking journey he had taken to track you down, the guilt that weighed on all of them, and how they were left trying to piece themselves back together in your absence.

You listened, your expression neutral, though your heart churned with a mix of emotions you refused to let surface. The words were significant, the pieces he shared adding clarity to the murky picture of what had happened, but in the end, none of it really mattered. Not now. The past was carved into stone, the choices made and the consequences paid. 

Whatever answers he sought from you weren’t ones you could give him—not anymore.

When he finally stopped, silence fell between you, heavy and expectant. His hands fidgeted with the edge of the table, and his blue gaze flicked to yours, searching.

You leaned forward slightly, your hands resting on the table as you fixed Johnny with a firm, steady gaze. The flickering light from the overhead light cast soft shadows across his face, emphasizing the gaunt hollowness that hadn't been there before. He opened his mouth to speak again, but you raised a hand, cutting him off before he could start.

“No,” you said, your voice sharp yet steady. “My turn now.”

He froze, his lips pressing into a thin line as he sat back in his chair, his shoulders tense. His hands fidgeted on the table, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I’m not coming back,” you began, your tone resolute. “Not to the pack, not to that town, not to the life I left behind. If you can tell Laswell that, she can sell off everything I left. Maybe Farah or Alex will want something—it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Johnny flinched as though you’d struck him, his eyes widening slightly. “You don’t mean that,” he whispered hoarsely. “You can’t mean—”

“I do,” you cut him off again, your voice soft but unyielding. “I’ve made my decision, Johnny. I’m staying here. I’m taking leadership of the coven.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his mouth slightly open as if trying to process what you’d just said. His hands curled into fists, body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

“You don’t have to—” he began, his voice rising, but you cut him off with a sharp glare.

“Don’t you dare,” you snapped, your voice low but venomous. “Don’t you dare tell me I don’t have to do this. You think I’m being forced? That I don’t know what I’m doing?” You leaned closer, your eyes narrowing as your anger flared. “I paid the price to heal Leah.”

Johnny froze, his breath catching in his throat. “What?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“I paid the price,” you repeated, your voice trembling slightly but no less firm. “Leah—she’s alive, she’s whole, because of me. And maybe that’s for the best after everything.”

His face crumpled, his hands clenching tighter as he leaned forward, his lips parting to say something—anything—but no words came out. The guilt and anguish in his eyes were almost too much to bear, but you didn’t let it break you.

“You’ll relay this to the pack,” you said, your voice softening but still firm. “Tell them I’m staying here. That I’m rebuilding my life, in my way, on my terms. And please...” You paused, swallowing the lump in your throat as you struggled to keep your composure. “Don’t come back. Any of you. My heart has endured too much already, and this—this is the least you can do for me. All of you.”

Johnny’s head dropped. For a moment, he looked utterly defeated, the weight of your words pressing down on him like a physical force. 

“I’ll tell them,” he finally murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. He lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’ll tell them. But—” His voice broke, and he had to take a moment to steady himself. “You’ll always have us, lass. No matter where you are.”

You said nothing, your expression unreadable as you leaned back in your chair, your hands falling to your lap. Sybil nudged your leg gently as you tried to keep the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes at bay.

Johnny sat there for a long moment, before he finally stood, his movements slow and reluctant. His gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat longer, as if committing you to memory, before he turned and headed for the door.

He paused at the door, his hand resting on the frame, his shoulders hunched under the weight of everything left unsaid. Slowly, he turned back to you, his eyes glistening with tears that clung stubbornly to his lashes. His voice, when he spoke, was hoarse, trembling with emotions he could barely contain.

“Can I... touch you?” he asked, his words cracking under the strain. “Just once. One last time.”

For a moment, you hesitated, your gaze flicking to Sybil, who remained at your side, her head raised and alert. But Johnny stood there, his hands shaking as if even the question itself was too much to bear.

You nodded, a small, reluctant gesture and stood up. “Alright,” you whispered. “But just this once.”

He stepped forward hesitantly, as though afraid you might change your mind, his movements slow and careful. When he reached you, his trembling hand reaching up to touch your face. His fingers were rough but gentle as they traced the curve of your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. He closed his eyes, his breath shuddering as he pressed his forehead briefly against yours.

Then, as if unable to help himself, he dipped his head, burying his nose in the crook of your neck. He brought you snug against himself, one arm wrapped around your waist, and the other cradling the back of your head.

You shivered, the familiar sensation of him so close stirring a wave of emotions you couldn’t quite control. But you didn’t pull away, allowing him this moment, this chance to hold onto what had already been lost.

“Your scent,” he murmured against your skin, his voice breaking as a tear slipped down his cheek. “I just... I needed to remember. Keep it close.”

You stiffened slightly as he shifted, his lips brushing close to your face, but you pressed a hand lightly against his chest, stopping him. “No,” you said softly, firmly.

He didn’t argue, didn’t try to push further. Instead, he drew back slowly, his tear-filled gaze locking with yours for a final, heart-wrenching moment. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice heavy with sorrow and gratitude.

Without another word, he turned and walked toward the exit, his steps slow and heavy, as if every movement cost him. You stayed rooted to the spot, watching as he disappeared through the doorway and into the darkened corridors beyond.

When you finally stepped outside to see him off, the sky was painted with the soft hues of the encroaching dawn. Johnny’s figure was barely visible as he disappeared into the edge of the forest, his long hair catching the faint light before he vanished entirely into the shadows.

Tears slipped silently down your cheeks, hot and unbidden, as you stood there in the stillness of the morning. Sybil pressed her nose to your hand, a soft, comforting whine escaping her as you wiped your face roughly and turned back to the house.

You didn’t look back again. There was nothing left to see.

banner credit

[vrystalius]

Pls pls pls pls make one about Muzan finding reader gone and turns out she was in their kid's room trying ti stop them from crying and the baby just cries even more after seeing Muzan cause he don't spend no time with em so the baby don't recognize him.

Demon king’s heir

Muzan’s own baby doesn’t recognise him as the father.

Here’s pt.2!

Pairing: Muzan x fem!reader

You’ve been tending to your baby on your own since you’ve given birth. Muzan just took some blood samples from your baby and barely ever showed his face around your assigned wing of the infinity castle. You’ve been missing the man you fell in love with. He was so romantic and affectionate with you before your birth. You two been to many dates that range from talking in restaurants to visiting tech museums together. Without his presence around, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly lonely.

Muzan is not even bothering to come by to check on the condition of you or your baby boy. It felt like that man only used you to try making a demon-human hybrid baby. Now that he achieved his goal and got blood samples, does he not want to do anything with you anymore?

You sighed tiredly, rocking your ever crying baby. What’s up with him the last few nights? He keeps crying and crying. He doesn’t want food or attention, or a diaper change. Before you could think about any other reason for his crying, you felt an incredible powerful presence suddenly appearing near you, accompanied by the sound of a biwa string being plucked. Your knees buckled as you felt overwhelmed from the shift of energies. You leaned onto the crib of your boy and held onto your crying baby tightly, anticipating your husband to open the door to the nursery any moment.

Muzan glanced around in your bedroom. The cries of the baby reached his eyes and he scrunched his eyebrows together from that ear piercing sound. How infuriating. He massaged the bridge of his nose and stepped towards the nursery, opening up the door. “My sweet.” His voice sounded sharp as your husband greeted you.

You turned around to him and glared at the man. The baby boy in your arms clung onto your night robes, quieting his cries slightly. He seemed to sense the presence of that man and felt intimidated.

Muzan eyed the bundle of life in your arms and stepped closer to you. “How has my son been?” “Your son has been missing you.” Your voice was laced in venom as you turned away from him, bouncing the fussy baby in your arms. He furrowed his brows and sighed. “Are you upset with me? I am very busy.” He heard your scoff and tightly gripped your shoulder, forcing you to face him. “I want to hold him.” Muzan glanced down at your baby boy, who stared back at him with big eyes. He seemed confused almost. You protectively held your baby closer to your chest. “Why? Do you need more blood samples?” “Just give him to me.” His voice sounded demanding and left no space for arguments. You carefully handed over your baby boy to Muzan, showing him how to hold him properly and how to support his neck. He stared down at the baby in his arms as his eyes seemed to soften a little. He tried tickling his soft tummy a little, but as Muzan tried to touch his son, the baby cried out and started wiggling against his gentle hold.

The whaling cries made your husband tense and tighten his grip on the baby. His aura darkened and he reached out for the face of your precious child. Fearing he’ll do the worst, you quickly wrapped your arms around your baby boy and slipped him out of Muzan’s arms, shushing him quietly. “Shhhh… mommy’s here.. I’m here, it’s okay…” You quietly spoke to your boy as he began calming down slowly. The baby stopped crying and wiggling around, instead gripping onto your clothes and refusing to let go.

Muzan frowned st the sight. Was his son not recognising him? How dare he? Why is that whiny thing not recognising him as his father? He reached out to the baby again, but it just began crying again, hiding his face by nuzzling against your clothes and skin.

You turned away from Muzan, shielding your boy from the sight of him. “You should leave or else he won’t sleep at all tonight. Return to your research. I’ll be fine be fine on my own.” He doesn’t appreciate being commanded around. “I’ll do as I please.” His voice sounded darker and more upset as Muzan stepped closer and looked at his baby over your shoulder. The boy has already calmed and closed his eyes. The baby looked much more peaceful nuzzling against your body like that. “Hm.” He quietly noted how his son preferred your presence over his.

He turned away from you and stepped out of the nursery. The sound of a biwa being strung echoed through the halls of the infinity castle as your husband disappeared again. You glanced down at your baby boy.

“It’s okay, the scary man is gone now.”

💠

I may or may not really really love this man, alongside the other demons. Don’t get me wrong, I fell inlove with almost all the characters in the kny-verse (except a couple characters like the clomes of Upper Four, Emmu, Obanai…), but I just feel magically pulled towards the upper moons, the angry wind hashira, his brother, the sun breather and his brother as well. Thank you so much for requesting, this was so fun!!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough <3

Take care of yourselves <3

[gloomwitchwrites]

Locker Room: Part Two

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, rough kissing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, desk sex

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: originally for @glitterypirateduck 's Ghost Writing Challenge, this is the follow-up to Locker Room

Part One // SImon's POV

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

Like the steam from the locker room, your irritation soon evaporates. It floats away until all that’s left is this gnawing, twisting sensation in the pit of your stomach.

What the fuck were you thinking storming into the men’s locker room like that, demanding that Lieutenant Riley show his face?

You weren’t thinking. That’s the entire problem. You were angry—and rightfully so—but you didn’t even consider where your actions were leading.

The reports are just fine, sweetheart.

Just thinking those words sends your stomach twisting all over again. You need to cool off. To calm down. While you’re not exactly angry anymore, there is a needy sensation crawling beneath your skin.

Lieutenant Riley was entirely too forward. And this nonsense about staking a claim? Hardly. You are your own person. Lieutenant Riley isn’t allowed to have a sliver of you unless you say so. Speaking it into the air doesn’t make it the truth.

You slam your office door shut and lean against it, resting your head in your hands. Taking a deep inhalation through your nose, you exhale through your mouth. Repeating the process helps, but it is momentary. Fleeting.

You’re tense the rest of the day. On edge. You keep glancing over your shoulder thinking that Lieutenant Riley will appear like a phantom. It’s silly, because he doesn’t. You don’t see him at all. Even as you push through your lunch and consume dinner in your office, you don’t see him.

He doesn’t come by. No one mentions him.

But the sticky note is there. It’s still stuck to the front of the manila folder.

The reports are just fine, sweetheart.

With your newly blooming irritation comes the creak of door hinges.

“What?” you snap, glancing up.

Lieutenant Riley stands in your doorway. He as one hand on the handle and the other on the doorframe. For some reason, you expect the towel, his wet skin, and the steam from the locker room, not this behemoth of a man covered nearly head-to-toe.

He does not reply to your sharp tone. Lieutenant Riley saunters in, shutting the door behind him. Without looking, he pulls the little strings on the blinds, cutting off the view of the hallway. He even locks the door, and in this, he still doesn’t glance back. Every movement is fluid. Smooth. Natural.

It’s sexy. And fucking irritating.

“Come to fix your reports?” you ask, leaning back in your chair. You twirl your pen end-over-end. It’s keeping you from looking away from him.

Lieutenant Riley says nothing. He strides forward—all of three steps as the office is a fucking closet—and snatches the manila folder off the desk. He opens it up, glancing down at the content.

You cross your legs and attempt to relax your shoulders. You don’t want Lieutenant Riley to know that he has an affect on you. Already, your body wants to lean in his direction. It wants to give him attention.

And that will not do.

“What’s wrong with them?” he finally asks, flipping a page.

You stop twirling the pen. Start clicking the end. “My notes are right there. Can you not read?”

It’s not very nice of you, but it’s simply defense. Fuck the reports. If they’re garbage, you’ll submit them anyway. You just need Lieutenant Riley out of your office. You need some goddamn space. It’s far too hot in here. Too cramped.

Lieutenant Riley glances up from the report, and it is then that you know you’ve completely fucked up. It’s that same piercing stare from the locker room. You’re stabbed through. Gutted. He sees you for who you are, and there is no way out. No path for you to take.

Slowly, Lieutenant Riley closes the folder. He holds it out and then drops it onto your desk. His arm returns to his side.

He is so large like this. So much more intimidating.

“Are we fucking here? Or elsewhere?” His delivery is so bland and straightforward that you don’t believe you’ve heard him correctly.

You stop clicking the pen. “What?” you nearly squawk, sitting up in your chair.

“I said—”

“I fucking heard you, Lieutenant.”

“Simon,” he growls. “I told you to call me Simon.”

In the steam and heat, he did say that. And you grabbed his dog tags, yanked him down to your level, kissing him through the balaclava in response.

You also told him to fix the reports. And here he is.

“Simon,” you begin, and then pause because his hips sway slightly as he shifts toward you. “What are you doing?”

Simon comes around to your side of the desk. There is a sultry sway to it, a confidence that steals your autonomy. He walks right up to you. Leaning forward, he reaches out, placing his hand on the top of your chair, boxing you in.

“Are we fucking in this room?”

“We’re not—”

“—or am I taking you home?”

You swallow, heat flaring up your neck to flame your cheeks. “Aren’t you here to fix the reports?”

It’s a diversion. A way to turn the conversation. But Simon doesn’t take the bait.

“Pick,” he says, voice low.

“Simon.”

“Want me to pick for you?” He arches a single eyebrow.

All the steam and bluster are gone. You’re melting. Submitting. You feel it deep in your bones.

“Back up,” you murmur, but even you hear the weakness in it.

Simon shakes his head. His other hand comes up, the backs of his fingers brushing along your jawline. It’s a gentle touch. You reflexively lean into it.

“I think you want my cock now, love.”

You jerk backward, but Simon is quick. He has you out of your chair and sitting on your desk in moments. You’re completely flustered, hands digging into his biceps as Simon settles himself between your legs, his hands on your waist.

“Better,” he says, sounding content.

You blink and then smack his chest. “Simon Riley!”

“My full name?” he purrs. “That’s a nice change.”

“You presume too much.”

“Do I?” he counters. He releases your hips, placing his hands firmly on either side of you. “Then explain that kiss earlier.”

You swallow, knowing that he’s caught you. There is a need that sits between your bones. A need for him, even if you don’t want to admit it.

“It meant nothing.”

“No, love.” He shakes his head. “It didn’t. Try again.”

Simon is caging you in. Splitting you open. Why should you run? Why should you not admit your feelings? If anything, the two of you can fuck on this desk and get whatever this is out of your system.

“I was angry. I wanted to push you.”

The balaclava around his mouth stretches. He’s fucking grinning.

“Here I am.”

“Here you are,” you agree.

Simon’s dark gaze shifts to your lips. “Without the balaclava this time?” His gaze returns to your face, and there is intense need there.

You reach out, slip your fingers underneath, and push the balaclava up. Slowly, you reveal Simon’s chin and lips, then the tip of his nose. There are scars, but that is not what you’re focused on. You’re focused on his lips, and he yours.

Leaning in is agony. You long to close the distance, and yet there is hesitation in the way you bring your face closer to his. Simon senses it too, because he grabs the back of your neck, and closes the distance.

There is no gentleness in the way Simon kisses you. His need is apparent. Aching. He is a devouring beast, and you meet him with equal enthusiasm. Simon’s tongue passes between your lips and you open for him. You taste mint and black tea with the faintest hint of smoke. You commit this taste to memory.

Simon’s hands are everywhere, squeezing waist, thighs, and hips. There is no pattern to it. There is only desperation.

Growling, Simon pulls away. He grabs hold of the collar of your button up shirt. Tugging, Simon pops the top three buttons. They go flying, disappearing from you.

“Simon,” you gasp, but it’s all you can manage. His mouth is on yours again, and that large hand is slipping inside, palming your breast.

“Fucking hell,” he moans into your mouth. “I need to be inside you.”

Begging. Simon is begging. You’ve never heard this. Simon is the stoic one. Calm. Cold. Calculated. But he’s kissing you with hunger, and his hips rock against you, the sensation almost more than you can handle.

“Then fuck me, Lieutenant.”

Simon chuckles, and he smiles—actually smiles—before grabbing your waist and bringing you to your feet. With his hands still on your waist, Simon turns you around, facing you away from him.

His hand slide forward and easily undoes the front of your slacks. Simon tugs them down enough to expose you to him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, fingers sliding between your thighs to play with your pussy.

The contact is electric, and you push back against his hand. Simon rests his face against the back of your neck.

“You’re already so fucking wet for me,” he says against your skin.

His fingers find your clit, and the moan you let out is obscene. Simon strokes until your pussy clenches as your wetness floods his palm.

Glancing over your shoulder, Simon brings his sticky fingers to his mouth. He sucks them clean.

“My turn, love.”

With a sharp tug, Simon forces your slacks down to your knees. He bends you forward slightly and your hands press into the top of the desk to keep yourself steady.

The angle is tight, overly so. When Simon notches the head of his cock at your entrance and beings to push in, it feels far too large.

“Simon. Simon. Fuck—oh. Fuck.”

“You can take me, love. Just breathe. That’s it.” Simon moves your hair to the side and his mouth comes down on your neck, leaving behind gentle kisses as he rocks his hips.

Once he’s in to the hilt, Simon adjusts. One arm crosses over your stomach, his palm coming to rest between your hands that are pressed against the top of the desk. His other hand is on the front of your throat.

His lips brush against your ear, and then Simon thrusts. It’s not slow. It’s not gentle. This one makes him grunt with effort, and the desk hinders all forward movement.

Simon’s teeth nip at your earlobe. The distraction works, causing your mind to temporarily drift from his withdrawal. The thrust forward makes you gasp, and then it is unending.

There are no words spoken, only heavy breath. Sweat blooms on your brow, and runs down the back of your neck. Simon’s weight is relentless, and the pleasure building in your core again is a taunting thing. It wants to explode, to roar outward, to consume you.

You don’t have space to slide your hand between your legs. Instead, you arch your back, bringing your ass up slightly. It gives Simon a different angle, and this time you shiver. Shake. Thighs quivering as your orgasm crawls up and out your throat.

The moment you start to cry out, Simon turns your head toward him, his mouth coming down on yours. He swallows your pleasure, matching it with his own. He grinds forward, his release flooding your pussy.

Your chest heaves as Simon pulls back.

There is nothing else in room. There is only him, and his dark eyes.

Slowly, Simon eases himself from your pussy. He reaches over and grabs a tissue, cleaning you up the best he can before tossing it into the trashcan beneath your desk. Then his hands are drawing your pants into place.

He guides you around to face him, closing the zipper and putting everything to right. He even fixes your buttonless shirt as best he can.

“I’ll replace it,” he says.

“It’s fine, Simon.”

The two of you stare at each other, the silence stretching. You’re not sure what he might be thinking, but his gaze hardens.

“You’re off tomorrow,” he states, not asking.

“I am. How—what are you doing?”

Simon has his phone out. He’s tapping away at the screen and then the little whoosh of a text sending off reaches your ears.

“You’re coming home with me,” he says, slipping the phone into his pocket.

“You—”

“Told Price I’d be in late tomorrow.”

“You can do that?”

Simon shrugs. “Price can manage.”

He takes a step back, his gaze observing you. “You’re a right mess.”

“No thanks to you,” you mutter, smacking his chest as you push past him.

You snatch up your purse and work bag, glancing up at Simon just as he returns the balaclava to its original place.

He saunters up beside you and extends his hand. You take it, and Simon draws you against him, gaze never leaving your face as he guides you to the door.

You doubt that you will come back from this.

Simon is not out of your system.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @coffeecaketornado @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@sapphichotmess @saoirse06 @haven-1307 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving

@unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett @ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower

@sageyxbabey @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @umno-yeah

@mudisgranapat @ninman82 @webmvie @blackhawkfanatic @contractedcriteria

@talooolaaloolla @rogerrhqpsody @sadlonelybagel @lxblm @beebeechaos

@xxkay15xx @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie

@lovely-ateez @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @suhmie @jaggersinclair

@dakotakazansky @hantheconqueror @certainlygay @sammysinger04 @iloveslasher

@yawning-grave81 @ash-tarte @azkza

[affableramen]

when they try to woo you

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

tags: early stage of relationship ; suggestive ; minors dni

Wriothesley

Lots of, I’m telling you, lots of cuddling and hugging. Wrio is very touchy

He tries very hard to be a real gentleman with you however it results in funny, awkward situations (which is so endearing of him)

Will talk a lot about his piercing telling you a story of each

Lets you touch his hair because you want to touch it

Can’t choose the proper colour pallette for his formal suit and ends up wearing the most laughable socks ever

Wants to show off with his bike and will certainly give you a night ride

Will come to your date half-sleeping after late night shift but still see you

Neuvillette

Would pull the chair for you at the restaurant 100%

Chooses the suit for your first date for a whole week in advance

Wants everyone to know that you’re his so will hold your hand at every possibility

He puts a lot of effort to be a perfect boyfriend so he’ll even offer to pick you up from work

Neuvi has a closed personality so he generally won’t be the first to kiss but if you do, he will certainly be the one to deepen it

Chooses the date place really attentively, remembering all your needs, food choices, allergies and the general vibe you give off

Is the person to spend the night with you completely without doing anything naughty besides sleeping

Pantalone

Would certainly wear a cologne with pheromones on your first date in order to woo you. Not that he’s insecure but he’d definitely like to add up to his charm

Very nice hair styling in gel and possibly perfumed shampoo with a sweet-spicy scent like amber

Neatly manicured nails (lol always in gloves)

Expensive gifts are must-have for him but sometimes he’s afraid he will scare you off with that so does that in moderation

Helps you do shopping, choosing the highest quality goods and balance your spending

Is actually a horny catastrophe but will never push you past kissing and cuddling if you are not ready. When you ask if he is ok with being patient, he nonchalantly responds that he is a grown man and can control his needs

Dottore

Different mask on every date

Gifts you his vial earring as a token of his affection

He’s not very touchy and it is exactly the problem! He doesn’t want you to slip off his fingers because of his personality, that’s why he offers you lots of phone calls in order to compensate some other aspects…

Will help you make choices in absolutely different aspects of life because he’s older and also has a unique perspective on things

Can definitely answer your message in the late night if you feel upset

Buys you concert tickets before you do it

Capitano

FLOWERS is a must have on every date with you. The bouquets he gives you are rich and radiant

He’s like a rose with sharp thorns and can demand lots of privacy in the early stages. If he doesn’t feel like it, he won’t go past hand holding and kissing

Asks you a lot about your previous relationships (if you have ones) because he genuinely want to learn more about you. Capi desperately needs to gather every single detail abt you in order to make his company as comfortable as possible for you

Will let you examine his helmet and will certainly let you braid his hair

Tells you epic stories about each one of his scars

Even exhausted from work and with tight schedule will agree to see you at least 3 times a week because he wants to stay close to you so much

Alhaitham

Hardly talks, prefers listening to you

Lets you wear his headphones, but worried you might not like his choice in music (mostly lo fi)

Loves hand holding with you. Does that on every date

Will make sure to finish your dates with kisses even if brief, he just needs your lips on his

Provides you with fast access to Akademiya library if you ever need that

Sits never in front of you, but next to you

Will take you for a late night date only to gaze at the stars afterwards. He finds it romantic and dreamy

Chews mint gum and wears fresh-smelling cologne in order to attract you

[gigiszn]

A NORMAL TUESDAY — gwinam x fem!reader.

 ۫ ꣑ৎ ｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄! don't get pissy if this is too much for u, this is a smut and youve been warned. please let me know if you want more stuff like this tho! i actually enjoyed stepping out of my comfort zone with this one, since i've never really written smut before. don't shame me for my first time writing lol

tw: language, abuse, smut (+18) mdni, sub!reader, dom!gwinam, choking, degradation, breeding, spanking, carving into skin, p in v, dacryphilia, fingering.

wc: 2.2k

 ۫ ꣑ৎ ｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

Jieun’s tendency to stay to herself had always been both a refuge and a burden. Tonight felt like any other—routine, familiar. She returned home, took a shower, and possibly sobbed for minutes, hours—Who wouldn't after the constant terrorization? Then again, who would have guessed that tonight would be different?

Her father, as usual, waved her off with a dismissive hand, demanding her to run to the local store for groceries and beer. With a quiet sigh, Jieun left the house, her steps heavy with frustration. The night air was colder than she expected, but eventually, her pace slowed into something more habitual, like she was walking to escape her thoughts.

The streets were unnervingly quiet, the usual hum of the city absent. It was just another Tuesday evening, most people tucked away at home, spending time with their families. Jieun walked past the dim, neon-lit storefronts, their harsh glow flickering in the shadows of the empty street.

She turned into a familiar alley—a shortcut she had taken countless times before. It wasn’t the most well-lit route, but she knew it like the back of her hand. Even at this hour, it was no different than any other night.

Then came the voice.

"You're never going to get it right, are you?" The words pierced the silence, unexpected and sharp. Jieun froze, her pulse quickening as she turned toward it. The tension in the air thickened, but she hesitated, unsure whether to leave or investigate.

"I swear, you keep your grades up, and I'll kill you for good," the voice continued. There was frustration in it, but no immediate anger, just disappointment—a feeling Jieun was all too familiar with.

Her curiosity gnawed at her. She should have walked away, gotten the groceries, and gone home. But something kept her rooted in place, as if some invisible force was pulling her deeper into the alley.

When she finally dared to peek around the corner, the scene before her was strangely surreal. A man, his posture slouched from his clear state of drunkenness, was standing before a boy she recognized all too well—Gwinam.

She hadn’t expected to find him here. His head was bowed, eyes fixed on the ground, his body language closed off. There was something so painfully familiar about his stance, the same way she had often stood in front of that very same boy, shoulders weighed down by the weight of his words. The similarity was striking, almost eerie. It was as if Gwinam, too, was carrying a weight he hadn’t asked for.

Jieun felt her heart tighten. She had seen this look before—the kind of resigned sadness that came when you felt like you weren’t ever going to meet anyone's expectations. The kind of sadness that settled in your chest and never quite let you breathe right.

She almost felt guilty. Almost. But, her mind's screaming finally got her attention. Jieun furrowed her brow to herself. What the hell was she thinking?

Pity? For the same boy who'd thrown her against dozens of walls, gripping her neck so tightly he'd left deep bruises? It all replayed in her mind as her senses began to work properly.

His father had left with a final shove, Gwinam's back hitting the hard brick surface behind him. Jieun took this as her cue to leave, spinning on her heel and taking careful strides away.

Clank!

Of course.

Instantly, she froze. Her body was as stiff as a board, foot frozen mid-air as her ears strained. They waited to hear a reaction, a sound, anything. The silence was deafening, and though she should've been happy, the eeriness crept up her spine like a black widow.

A sudden force knocked her down, hard. With a groan, she stood up slowly and rubbed the back of her skull, squinting her eyes.

There he stood, tall and undermining. His height towered over her frame, her eyes fearing and aghast. His slender hand reached up, though it held no remorse.

"Always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, huh?" He muttered as he pushed her against the alley wall, a growing pain echoing on the back of her head.

His free hand reached up, pressing harshly on the back of her skull, a whine emitting from Jieun's throat. He smirked, pulling back his two fingers, now covered in her crimson blood.

"Look what you made me do," he spat, his grip tightening around her neck like a noose, each word dripping with venom. Jieun's frantic attempts to kick and slap felt laughable; her body was a marionette caught in a twisted game.

With a brutal shove, he tossed her against the unforgiving wall, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. The world around them blurred into chaos as her mind raced; freedom was a distant dream now. "Please, Gwinam. I-I swear I didn’t see anything! Just let me go!" Jieun's voice wavered, desperation lacing her plea.

Tears spilled down her cheeks, glistening like diamonds in the harsh light of the streetlamp. He let out a low growl, his head tilting back as he closed the distance between them, an aura of menace radiating from him. Her desperate gaze met his, eyes wide and pleading, but beneath the surface, they held a flicker of arousal; through all her defiance and struggle, she couldn't deny the wetness pooling in her underwear. Jieun had to force her thighs not to clench, the evil smirk on his face hazing her senses even more. His hands reached upward, ruthlessly groping her breasts. He ripped her shirt open, a primal urge flaring in his core at the sight of her breasts bouncing out of her dangerously tight top.

She wanted to fight him, truly. But something inside of her felt so desperate for the attention she'd finally been receiving that it held back her sensibility.

"Girls that misbehave deserve punishment, right, Mouse?" He asked, the cruel teasing tone lingering in the air. Her head shook, hands trembling at the undeniable fear and horniness shooting through her mind and straight down to her throbbing cunt.

"Open." He demanded, raising his index and middle finger upward, covered in her blood. Jieun's hesitation brought a sense of fury in him, gripping her jaw and forcing it open. She gagged as his fingers reached the back of her throat, her own taste of metallic blood pouring down.

His fingers were coated in her saliva, creating a bridge between them. Aggresively, Gwinam pulled her skirt up, manhandling her. She attempted to close her legs, though this only angered the rage-fueled boy further.

He finally managed to get her legs open, using his knee to keep them apart. A whine left Jieun's throat at the sudden pressure between her legs. "You're such a fucking whore," He spat, "Don't act like you don't want this when I can feel your drenched panties."

Roughly shoving her underwear to the side, his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he felt her slick coating his already dampened fingers. His left hand now gripping her hair, yanking her head backwards as he began thrusting his fingers upward.

She felt as though she was at her peak already. His fingers scissored repeatedly in her tight pussy, throbbing around his long fingers. Gwinam's fingertips reached her mushy clump of cells, Jieun's eyes widening. Her mouth parted, but no sound dared to come out at the hold he had on her neck. She was so close, just there. And as her eyes shut and thighs clenched, he pulled out just as quick as her climax brinked.

Her eyes shot open as he roughly pressed his lips to hers without giving her a second to think. There was nothing romantic about their kiss. It was purely a way to shut her up and take his frustrations out on something other than the poorly-rehearsed porn he'd been watching.

Their mouths parted with a bridge of saliva between them. Gwinam reached into his pocket, Jieun's senses immediately rushing back to her as the shiny blade was slowly pulled from his pocket. She began to struggle again, but stopped just as quick as he placed the blade ever so closely to her neck.

Her neck was strained, eyes half-open as she tried desperately to pull herself away from the sharp knife. "You scream and I'll cut you apart like the worthless plaything you are." His lips were on her ear, voice barely above a whisper as his hot breath fanned against her.

He brought the knife down, giving Jieun a small sense of relief. Suddenly, her eyes widened as an aching sting formed on her thigh. A choked sob escaped her lips, her hand immediately shooting upwards.

She knew better than to scream after his threat. Gwinam was a lot of things, but he was never one to back down on his word.

Her eyes were filled with tears, a drop landing on the 'G' he was now carving into her leg, blood dripping with the salty-water.

"Take that as a warning," Gwinam smirked, gripping her jaw with one hand. "Each time you scream I'll add another letter to that pretty little thigh of yours."

He began roughly unbuckling his belt, finally pulling his pants and boxers down low enough for his cock to hang free from it's restraints. He lifted her wounded thigh upwards, the burn causing her to hiss.

She felt him rub his tip around her wetness, every touch heightened. She could feel every twitch, every vein, and could hear every soft huff he let out. Finally, he pushed his hips upwards, Jieun's hands finding their way to his shoulders.

Every sane part of her screamed at her to scream, but the rest of her couldn't give her a valid reaction as it was too busy being fucked away.

Their pants and groans were the only things heard in the quiet night, any passerbyers surely able to deduct the unholy actions taking place 10 feet away.

His tip was deep enough inside her she could practically feel it in her stomach. Gwinam groaned as her tight clit throbbed around him, his head resting against the wall behind her.

The taller boy quickly spun her around, shoving her face harshly against the jagged brick. His hand pinned hers behind her back, pulling her ass up in the air. He slid in easily once more, never giving her a chance to adjust as he resumed his ungodly pace and abuse against her aching hole.

Smack!

Jieun let out a sharp gasp and a scream as his hand landed an aggressive hit to her ass. A pink handprint now engraved into the plush surface, Gwinam's movements abruptly stopped.

Her breath hitched in her throat, realizing what she had just done.

"No, no. P-Please," She begged as he spun her around, "I-I'm sorry. I'll be good, I swear." His mouth opened in a groan at her cries, his lips curling into a wider smile than she'd ever seen.

He was getting off on her suffering, and her pleas of mercy only made him closer to cumming all over her clothes.

The blade shimmered as the cool metal dragged around her thigh teasingly. He violently yanked her pale leg upward, pressing the knife into her skin and carving a 'W'.

"We could keep going until I carve my entire name, or you could be a good slut and take my dick," He demanded, lips brushing against hers, "Got it, mouse?" Her eyes squeezed shut, lip trembling as she quickly nodded her head.

Gwinam turned her around once more, gripping her abused cheeks and burying himself in her. His hips were flush against hers, the wet noises and slaps echoing across the acoustic alleyway. The fresh wound dripped blood with every fast thrust, right leg now coated with the ruby liquid.

He continued slapping her ass, adding to the arousal she deeply wanted to rid of. Their parts seemed to mold into each other, the sounds a cacophony of every frustration and desire he wanted to take out on her pretty little body since the day he met her.

"I'm not gonna last—f-fuck." He groaned, hips stuttering as his pounding became sloppier, rhythm breaking. Her forehead was pressed against the wall, mouth open as droplets of drool dripped onto the cement underneath.

"I'm gonna cum inside you, and you're gonna walk around with me inside you all week." He ordered, her fists balling as she bent over and took his relentless thrusts.

He bent over on top of her, his chest pressed to her back. He reached his hand underneath her, rubbing harsh circles around her clit. Her eyes became saucer-like as a broken moan sounded in the air, her orgasm shooting through her and around his dick.

His release followed soon after as he rode them through their climaxes. Gwinam's hips slowly stopped their motions, his now soft dick pulling out of her.

Wordlessly, he pulled his pants back up as Jieun slid to the floor, legs wide open as his cum shamelessly spilled out of her. He smirked at the sight, spitting at the floor next to her and walking off, sure to ruthlessly shame her for it the next day.

So much for a normal Tuesday.

[kaira-diaries]

Release: Request

Warning: (Fluff)(comfort) (brief mention of gun usage)

Word Count: 4k

A/N: okay so I fuckeddd up and didn't post this with the request itself, my bad, so this is me trying to fix that lmao. I loveddddd this request!!!

Request: @fluid-joe : Hi! I really like your writings! Can i request a Frontman x femreader? The prompt idea is kinda like a "hotel room for 2, only 1 bed" type of situation after a long day of work ( the reader is an assistant of the Frontman ). Thanks :)

Masterlist <-

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It had been one of those days—one that seemed to stretch on forever, dragging every second behind it like a stubborn weight. A day so exhausting, so unrelenting, that all you wanted was to escape. To close the door, shut out the noise of the world, and sink into the kind of silence that wraps around you like a thick, comforting blanket. Your body ached, your mind buzzed with a thousand unresolved thoughts, and the idea of human interaction felt impossibly heavy. You didn't want to speak, to listen, or to even exist in the same space as anyone else. All you craved was stillness, solitude, and a moment to simply breathe.

You'd spent the entire day immersed in a whirlwind of spectacle and scrutiny, sitting through four different games that seemed to blur into one endless cacophony of cheers, whistles, and distant gunshots. In-ho, ever the picture of control and precision, had been laser-focused, his sharp eyes dissecting every move, every interaction, every cog in the intricate machine of this international event. The grandeur of it all was lost on you, though—you were far from home, stranded halfway across the world, juggling the delicate art of serving booze, running errands, and fulfilling every whim and demand he tossed your way.

His orders had been crystal clear this morning, delivered with the kind of authority that left no room for interpretation. "You will stay within my sight at all times" There was no softness in his tone, no trace of flexibility. Why would there be? You were his assistant—his shadow, his tool, his extension—and only his. You bowed to no one else, took orders from no one else. That was the unspoken rule etched into the foundation of your position.

And so, you had followed him through the day like a silent ghost, your presence unnoticed by the crowds but vital to him. Even as your feet throbbed and your patience wore thin, you knew better than to falter. You were there to ensure his needs were met, to anticipate his desires before he voiced them, and to remain firmly anchored at his side. No complaints, no questions—just obedience.

The hotel was nothing short of magnificent, a masterpiece of modern luxury. Towering ceilings adorned with sparkling chandeliers reflected the soft glow of golden lights onto marble floors so polished they could have doubled as mirrors. The air was perfumed with a subtle blend of fresh-cut flowers and something faintly exotic, almost otherworldly. As the two of you stepped through the grand revolving doors, the bustling murmur of the lobby seemed to hush, if only for a moment.

He walked beside you, maskless, as if he owned not just the hotel but the very air within it. His presence demanded attention, though he didn't seek it—his sharp jawline, perfectly sculpted cheekbones, and piercing eyes were enough to turn heads effortlessly. You'd worked for him long enough to know that this reaction was standard, but still, it was hard not to be struck by his sheer perfection. He wasn't just handsome; he was unearthly, immaculate, as though he'd been carved from marble and brought to life.

And yet, for all his physical allure, he remained a mystery. Your conversations were short, clipped, and strictly business, like carefully choreographed exchanges in a dance you hadn't mastered but couldn't afford to stumble in. You knew better than to ask about the man beneath the surface—the life he lived outside of the games, the things that made him tick. Questions like that would have been a breach of the invisible wall he kept firmly in place.

You'd already handled the arrangements earlier that day, securing the room and picking up the key in advance, just as you always did—efficiently, seamlessly, without error. It was a double king-size suite, one of the finest in the hotel, complete with a sprawling balcony that promised a breathtaking view of the city's skyline, now glowing faintly against the encroaching twilight.

Pressed tightly against your chest were three hefty binders stuffed with player information, the edges of the pages worn from frequent use. Their weight was a constant reminder of the day's endless demands. Your shoes echoed sharply against the gleaming marble floor as you hurried toward the elevator, the sound swallowed by the luxurious quiet of the space. When the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, you stepped in beside him, clutching the binders like a lifeline.

He moved with his usual ease, his long, purposeful strides effortlessly carrying him forward, while you, in contrast, struggled to match his pace without breaking into an undignified jog. Your legs burned with the effort, but you said nothing—it wasn't worth the risk of slowing him down or, worse, irritating him.

When you finally reached the suite, you fumbled slightly as you retrieved the key, tapping it against the door's sensor until it blinked green. The door clicked open, and you pushed it inward, stepping across the threshold with a practiced confidence.

The room was beautiful, exactly as you'd expected—sleek modern design, polished floors, and a wall of glass that framed the glittering city skyline like a painting. But your breath hitched as your eyes scanned the suite and landed on the bed. One bed. Just one. And God, was it small. It wasn't the sprawling double king you had meticulously reserved, but a modest queen at best.

You froze for a moment, the binders still clutched in your arms like a shield. The air between you seemed to thicken as you carefully placed the binders down on the nearest surface, your movements stiff and deliberate, as though any sudden motion might make the situation worse. Turning toward him, you swallowed hard, the lump in your throat feeling like a boulder.

"This… this isn't what I had reserved," you stammered, your voice trembling slightly under the weight of his gaze. "I swear, I—"

But the look on his face stopped you cold. His expression was a perfect storm of irritation and restrained disbelief, his sharp features even more cutting in the dim light of the suite. It was the kind of look that silenced any further attempts at explanation. You knew better than to keep talking. Zip it, your mind screamed, and you obeyed, pressing your lips together tightly.

You stood there awkwardly, the tension in the room discernible as his piercing eyes swept over you, then the bed, and back again. Your heart pounded as you waited for him to speak, to issue a command, to say something—but the silence stretched, heavy and unrelenting, leaving you feeling small and exposed.

"It's fine," he said at last, his voice low and steady, though there was a trace of something softer there—resignation, perhaps. "I don't have the energy to make this into a thing."

He strode toward the bed without another glance at you, his movements slower than usual, as though the weight of the day was finally catching up with him. Sitting down, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his head drop for a moment. "We'll survive one night."

You hesitated, the apology on the tip of your tongue, but the way he waved a hand in your direction made you stop. "Just… don't stress about it," he said, his tone carrying an edge of finality. "It's not worth the argument right now."

His exhaustion was evident in the slump of his shoulders, in the way his usual sharp edges seemed dulled for the moment. It wasn’t forgiveness exactly, but it was close enough to leave you rooted in place, unsure how to respond.

------

The silence between you was dense, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional rustle of sheets. The bed was softer than you’d expected, the covers warm and inviting, but comfort was the last thing you felt. Laying under the heavy blanket, your heart raced despite the stillness of the room. The darkness pressed in around you, save for the faint glow spilling from the cracked bathroom door, a soft, golden light that stretched across the floor and climbed the walls.

You kept your gaze fixed on the ceiling, willing yourself to stay calm. You were telling the truth—this wasn’t your fault. It was an oversight, a mistake by the hotel staff. But no matter how many times you repeated that in your head, you couldn’t shake the nerves coiling tightly in your chest. You’d thought about apologizing again, but the idea of babbling, of stumbling over your words and making yourself look foolish, kept your lips sealed. Silence felt safer, even if it left the air between you unbearably heavy.

As you lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, a flicker of movement caught your eye. Turning your head slightly, you noticed his shadow cast on the far wall, long and fluid against the faint glow of the bathroom light. He must’ve just stepped out of the shower. You could see the silhouette of him wrapping a towel around his waist, the sharp lines of his shoulders and the curve of his muscles etched in perfect detail. His broad chest tapered into a narrow waist, his movements deliberate and unhurried.

Your breath hitched when his shadow shifted again, his hand dragging through his damp hair. You could almost imagine the droplets of water running down his skin, tracing paths over those impossibly defined contours.

The casual way he pushed his fingers through his hair made the muscles in his arm flex, the movement mesmerizing in its simplicity.

You quickly averted your eyes, heat blooming in your cheeks as you stared back up at the ceiling. The room suddenly felt too warm, the covers too heavy, and you found yourself wishing for sleep to come quickly—to escape the weight of the moment and the unrelenting awareness of his presence just a few feet away.

The light flickered off, plunging the room into near-total darkness, save for the faint glow of the city skyline sneaking through the edges of the curtains. You turned onto your side swiftly, your back to him, not wanting to seem suspicious—as though you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Your heart thudded against your ribs as you pressed your head deeper into the pillow, eyes clamped shut in an effort to feign sleep.

The room was silent except for the soft sounds of his movements. You could hear the muffled thud of footsteps against the carpet, the faint creak of the nightstand drawer, and then the gentle rustle of fabric. Each sound seemed louder in the quiet, every subtle noise pulling your focus as though your senses had heightened just for him.

The bed shifted beneath you as he climbed in, the mattress dipping under his weight. He moved with a surprising care, settling beside you in a way that felt almost cautious. Then you felt it—the nearness of him.

He was close. So close that the warmth of his body seemed to radiate through the covers, threading its way to you. And then there was his breath. Soft, steady, and impossibly near, it brushed against the tip of your nose, warming the skin there. You resisted the urge to shift, to move, to do anything that might reveal how acutely aware you were of the intimate proximity.

“We’ll need to stop by the facility once more tomorrow morning,” he said, his voice low and laced with a tired edge. “You know, say our goodbyes, show gratitude, or whatever the fuck.”

The words caught you off guard, pulling you from the precarious edge of sleep. Your eyes fluttered open, disoriented for half a second before they met his gaze. He was already watching you, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

For a moment, you froze. The weight of his stare was enough to pin you in place, and you were acutely aware of just how close he was. You’d almost forgotten—almost—that reading people wasn’t just a skill of his. It was second nature. He could read the subtlest shift in your body, the tiniest change in your breath, and right now, you felt entirely exposed under his scrutiny.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, his tone neutral, though his eyes stayed locked on yours as if testing the truth of your reaction.

You swallowed hard, unsure how to respond, the heat from his breath still brushing faintly against your skin. “I wasn’t asleep,” you whispered, though your voice felt too uncertain.

His lips curved into the barest hint of a smirk, almost imperceptible. “You were trying to be.”

It wasn’t a question. He knew. Of course, he knew.

You shifted onto your back, the movement pulling the covers tighter around you. The soft fabric of your tank top clung to your body, the rise and fall of your chest matching the slow rhythm of your breath. As you shifted, your pendant tilted to the side, its ruby gleaming softly in the dim light.

He noticed it immediately. Without a word, his hand reached out, the fingers of his long, deft hand brushing lightly against the chain before carefully taking hold of the pendant. He turned it between his fingers, his touch deliberate and slow, as if studying it, feeling the coolness of the stone, tracing its edges.

You couldn’t help but watch him, feeling a strange mix of vulnerability and curiosity churn in your stomach. His gaze was fixed on the ruby, and for a fleeting moment, he seemed distant, absorbed in the weight of it.

“It’s a ruby,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “My birthstone.”

He didn’t respond right away, just continued to rub the stone gently between his fingers. There was something in his expression now—a shift, subtle but noticeable. The usual distance, the usual coldness, seemed to have faded slightly, replaced with something more curious, something more... attentive.

For the first time, you wondered if he actually wanted to know, if the stone had sparked something more than just idle interest in him. Something about the way he held the pendant so carefully, almost reverently, felt different from his usual detached demeanor.

You didn’t know why it unsettled you, this sudden change in his behavior. Maybe it was because he hadn’t spoken much about anything personal, not even once in all the time you’d worked together. And now here he was, paying attention to the smallest detail, a shift in his presence that almost felt like an invitation to talk. The air between you seemed charged, like the quiet moment had ripened with the possibility of something more, though you couldn’t tell what.

As he released your necklace, the chain slipping softly through his fingers, you felt an unspoken tension hang in the air between you. You bit your lip, uncertainty swirling inside you like a storm. But then, almost impulsively, you took a deep breath, deciding to take the leap of faith you’d been contemplating for what felt like forever.

“Mind if I ask you something?” The words left your mouth before you could second-guess yourself, and you immediately regretted the way your voice sounded—hesitant, fragile, like a plea for something you weren’t sure you could handle.

For a moment, his gaze flickered to you, and you could see the glint of weariness in his eyes. The usual sharpness that defined his expression softened, but only slightly. You could tell he was tired—exhausted, even—and the weight of the day seemed to hang on his shoulders like an anchor. Still, he met your gaze, his eyes steady, and gave a small nod.

“Sure,” he said, his voice low, though there was a hint of something unreadable beneath the simplicity of the word.

You swallowed, the words feeling heavier now that you had his attention. "Why do you do this," you began, carefully choosing each word. "I mean this business. This life."

It was a question you’d asked yourself in passing many times over the years, but now, with him so close, it felt like a raw, exposed piece of your curiosity—an inquiry into the thing that defined him, the thing that kept him in motion, kept him so relentlessly focused.

The moment you finished speaking, the air between you thickened, a tension invading the space as you waited for his response. You could hear your pulse in your ears, the beat steady but quick, the uncertainty making your breath catch in your chest. Would he answer? Would he brush it off like so many other things? Or would this be different?

His eyes remained locked on you, unreadable. His lips pressed into a thin line as he seemed to weigh the question, considering it in a way you hadn’t expected. The silence stretched, heavy with the weight of his thoughts, and you held your breath, hoping for a glimpse into the man you’d only ever seen from the outside.

He shifted slightly, the tension in the room growing as he processed your question. The usual control, the polished exterior that he wore so effortlessly, seemed to crack just a little—just enough for you to catch a glimpse of something deeper, something far darker. His jaw tightened as he sat up straighter, his gaze narrowing.

"You think I do this because I want to?" His voice was low, rough, like it had been scraped raw. His words were sharp, almost biting, but there was something in his eyes—something chillingly intense. "You think this is a choice? That any of this is a choice?"

He let out a slow, frustrated breath, his gaze flicking away from you, as if searching for the right words, or perhaps for some escape from the question itself. His hand moved, almost unconsciously, to rub at his temple, like the weight of the day had suddenly come crashing down.

"This life—this business—it's a cage," he muttered, his voice carrying a quiet venom. "One you can’t escape. You think you can just walk away from it, but you can’t. Not when you’re in it, not when it’s inside of you. People like me, we don't choose it. It chooses us. It never lets go."

He paused for a long moment, his gaze flickering back to you. There was a flicker of something—pain, maybe, or regret—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. His face hardened once more, the mask snapping back into place.

"That's why. Because there's nothing else. There never was."

The silence that followed his words felt suffocating, as if his truth had hung in the air, thick and inescapable. You could feel the weight of his answer settle between you, and for a moment, the room seemed impossibly small, the distance between you and him suddenly very real.

Your breath caught in your throat as his words landed, heavy and final. The room felt as if it had shrunk, the space between you thick with the intensity of his response. You didn’t know what you expected, but it certainly wasn’t that—the rawness in his voice, the sharp bitterness laced into each word. It left you unsettled, as though you had touched something fragile, something dangerous, and the moment was far too real.

You sat up, the covers slipping off her shoulders as you pulled your knees toward your chest, your mind racing for something to say. The weight of his words pressed on you, but you knew you couldn’t remain silent—not now.

"That’s... that’s a lot," you mumbled, your voice quieter than usual, softened by the unexpected weight of his confession. You weren't sure what you were feeling—sympathy, fear, something else—but the look in his eyes made you want to reach out, to offer something, anything. You couldn’t erase the tension in his voice, couldn’t take back the things he’d just revealed, but you couldn’t ignore it, either.

"I didn’t know," you said, your words tentative but sincere. "I didn’t know it was like that. I didn’t know you felt like that."

Your fingers curled slightly around the edge of the blanket, feeling the cool fabric against your skin as you looked at him, trying to read the deeper layers behind his walls. "I thought..." You trailed off, unsure of what you thought. You wanted to say you thought he had control, that he chose this life, but the words felt wrong now. You could see how damaged he was beneath the surface—how the very thing he tried so hard to hide was eating him alive.

"I don’t know what to say," you admitted, your voice small, vulnerable.

"But... I can’t imagine being in that place. Feeling like you don’t have a choice."

The weight of his silence was crushing, but you refused to back down. You had asked the question, had exposed that curiosity inside you, and now you had to deal with the consequences of it. He wasn’t the kind of man to open up easily, and you understood that.

The room seemed to hold its breath, the silence between you stretching, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. His gaze softened for just a moment, and you caught it—something raw and fleeting in his eyes that made your heart stir. You couldn’t name it, but it pulled you closer, made you feel something more than just curiosity.

You watched him, his movements slow as his hand ran through his damp hair again, but this time there was no mask. He wasn’t the same man who had controlled every conversation, every interaction. This was someone else—a man who was letting go, if only for a moment.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he said quietly, the words rough, like he was speaking a truth he rarely allowed anyone to hear. “But it’s the only thing that keeps me going.”

Your chest tightened as the weight of his confession settled over you. You could see it now, that vulnerability he so desperately kept hidden, the cracks in the armor he wore every day. And though you hadn’t expected it, it made you want to close the distance between you, to reach out and pull him out of that dark place. But you didn’t know how.

Everything between you had shifted, the air filled with something unspoken. You didn’t know if it was the closeness of the moment, or the rawness of his words, but your body moved before your mind could stop it. Slowly, you reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you extended it toward him. The space between you felt so small now, and for the first time in a long while, you didn’t want to let it remain.

His eyes flicked to your hand, and for a moment, everything stopped. Neither of you moved. Then, without a word, he took your hand in his, his fingers warm against yours. The slightest pressure, and the air between you thickened further, the connection undeniable.

You didn’t pull away. You leaned in instead, your face tilting slightly as your gazes met again, this time with an understanding that neither of you had voiced, but both of you felt. The silence seemed to hum with expectation. Without a word, there was a sense of understanding in his eyes, as he he sat up, moving closer, his lips barely grazing yours as his breath faltered.

Then, he kissed you.

It was urgent. Intense. There was no hesitation, no gentleness—just the overwhelming need to connect, to close the space between you that had always felt too wide. His lips were firm against yours, claiming, demanding. His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of you, as if the distance between you had never existed.

You felt yourself melt into the kiss, everything else fading away. The questions, the doubts, the uncertainty—all of it was forgotten in the heat of the moment. It was just you and him, tangled up in the urgency of the kiss, in the shared, unspoken need to be close, to feel something other than the weight of everything else in your lives.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, nothing else mattered.

[losermuse]

Yandere! Alpha x Alpha fem! Darling

TW: 18+ (mdni), suggestive content, misogyny, non-con touching, manipulation, drugging. AN: an intro for my first yan oc!

The hierarchy dictated everything—everyone was classified by their secondary gender: Alpha, Beta, or Omega. And you? You were rare, but not in the way most expected. A recessive Alpha—stronger than a Beta, yet lacking the overpowering dominance of a true Alpha.

Yandere! Alpha, the top of the top, was a ruthless mogul reigning over the pharmaceutical industry with his paracetamol empire. Wealth, power, status—he had it all, handed to him on a silver platter.

With his striking blonde hair that caught the light and piercing grey eyes that seemed to see straight through people, he was a force to be reckoned with. It wasn't just his wealth or influence that turned heads, his looks alone were enough to command attention. People flocked to him like moths to a flame, their intentions clear in every word and glance.

He could smell their greed, their ambition, their desperation. It was all too predictable—how they spoke, how they grovelled, how they fawned over him in hopes of getting closer to the power he wielded.

But it bored him.

Still, despite his dominance, even he had a flaw. A single, nagging flaw that set him apart from others of his kind was his heightened sense of smell, especially when it came to the pheromones of Omegas. The scent was foul, and cloying, an assault on his senses that he couldn't escape no matter how hard he tried. It was overpowering, suffocating—a constant reminder of their weakness.

So when it came to choosing a secretary, he sought someone who could keep up. Someone on his level. A Beta wouldn’t do—they lacked the edge and an Omega was out of the question.

And then there was you, capable, sharp—someone who wouldn’t crumble under pressure. More importantly, yours was the only scent that didn’t revolt against him, a delicate trace of jasmine and pear, intoxicating yet unobtrusive.

Yandere! Alpha was impossible at first, demanding, short-tempered, and a complete hard-ass but you never cowered, never gave him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch. Every sharp remark was met with calm composure, every unreasonable demand handled with quiet efficiency, even as you secretly fantasized about strangling him. Of course, working for him had its downsides, endless paperwork, last-minute schedule changes, and an unhealthy reliance on caffeine just to keep up.

There were moments you wanted to quit, moments when his ‘tantrums’ tested even your patience. But the pay was good—more than good. The kind of money that meant early retirement before you even hit forty. So you endured, managing him the way a babysitter might handle an overgrown toddler. Every scowl and pen he threw your way was met with nothing more than a polished, professional smile. After all, at the end of the day, it was the paycheck that mattered most to you.

–

“It’s just a job. Just a job.” You sighed, staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror as you fixed your hair, muttering to yourself. 

Gripping the sink, you leaned forward, your voice dropping to a firm whisper. “Think about the paycheck. Think about that beach house, the early retirement, the drinks with tiny umbrellas…”

A sharp knock at the door interrupted your pep talk. His voice came through, sharp and impatient. “Are you planning to hide in there all day?”

Rolling your eyes, you straightened up and forced a smile. “Calm down. I’m coming.”

–

Yandere! Alpha hated you for that at first. You were an Alpha, yet you took his bullshit without so much as a flinch. No challenge, no defiance—just quiet, unshaken obedience. It was unnatural, Alphas were supposed to push back, to fight for dominance. You didn’t and yet, that very contradiction fascinated him. Your scent, subtle yet distinct, only fueled his obsession.

Yandere! Alpha strolled through the sprawling garden with his business partner, the soft hum of polite conversation filling the air. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, golden shadows over the perfectly manicured hedges and flowerbeds.

They paused near a small wrought-iron gazebo, its trellises adorned with blooming jasmine vines. The delicate white flowers seemed to glow in the fading light, their sweet, intoxicating scent drifting on the breeze. His gaze lingered on the vine, a small tendril twisting and curling around the iron bars as though trying to escape.

“The jasmine thrives here,” the business partner remarked with a smile, gesturing to the vine. “It’s strong and persistent but without proper support, it would sprawl aimlessly, consuming everything around it.”

Yandere! Alpha's lips curved into a faint smirk, his eyes fixed on the twisting vine. “Support,” he mused. “Or control?”

The man chuckled, oblivious to the weight behind the question. “One and the same, aren’t they? Left unchecked, it becomes something elegant. Something made to fit.”

Yandere! Alpha reached out, running his fingers along a curling vine, feeling tension in its tangled growth. “Control,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Without it, even the strongest things can lose their way.”

He plucked a single bloom, rolling it between his fingers before slipping it into his pocket. The jasmine’s scent clung to him, delicate yet persistent, much like you. Untamed and unmarked, but not for long.

He’d make sure of it. One way or another.

That was how he set his plan into motion. A secret project, developed in the depths of the black market, funded by his endless resources. He gathered the best minds—the kind of scientists who thrived in the shadows, the ones who made breakthroughs that could never see the light of day. 

Yandere! Alpha tasked them with the impossible: a pill that could rewrite biology itself. A pill that would erode an Alpha’s dominance, stripping them down until they became something else entirely.

Something softer. Something obedient.

Something like an Omega.

The key ingredient? You.

A single strand of your hair, taken when you weren’t looking, was all they needed to tailor the formula to your recessive Alpha DNA. Since you were already closer to the middle ground, the transition would be easier. It wasn’t an instant transformation—no, that would be too obvious, too reckless. Instead, he had them design the pill to work slowly, altering you on a cellular level, little by little until the change was complete.

And then came the execution.

Every morning, your coffee was already waiting for you the moment you stepped into his office. At first, you’d questioned it, wondering why he was suddenly so... considerate. But he brushed off your doubts with a curt, "It's the least I can do for my favourite secretary."  

“Okay….”

It became part of the routine, a small luxury amid the daily chaos of working for him. What you didn’t realize was that, with each sip, a carefully measured dose of the pill slipped into your system, silently working its way through your veins.

At first, nothing changed. Days passed, then weeks. He watched, waiting, studying you for any sign of weakness, any shift in your scent, your demeanour.

“Busy morning?” he asked one day, leaning lazily against his desk as you reached for your cup.

You exhaled, barely sparing him a glance. “Always.”

He smirked as you took a sip, completely unaware.

Good.

Patience was key, and he had plenty of it for once.

It began subtly, almost imperceptible at first—a faint weakness that crept in like a thief in the night. Gradually, it grew, a steady drain on your strength, leaving you feeling as though your energy was slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. Your rut, once clockwork and reliable, was now inexplicably delayed, and the suppressant you had always trusted seemed to have failed you entirely.

Saturday came a day set aside for you to work alone, as usual, with no one else in the office. He’d insisted on it, of course, leaving no room for argument. You stepped into his office, trying to steady yourself against the sudden wave of dizziness that hit you the moment you crossed the threshold. The room seemed to spin slightly, and his scent—the rich, intoxicating notes of sandalwood and tobacco—became almost overpowering.

You placed a hand on your forehead, trying to ignore the heat building in your body, but it was becoming impossible to focus.

Yandere! Alpha noticed immediately. His eyes flickered to you, narrowing slightly with concern that felt a bit too calculated to be genuine. He pushed himself off the desk and took a step toward you, his presence commanding.

“You’re not looking so good,” he said with a mix of amusement and something else, something you couldn’t quite read.

You blinked, trying to clear your head. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts.

He didn’t buy it. “You don’t look fine.” His gaze flicked over you, studying you like a predator watching its prey. His scent seemed to cling to the air more strongly, making your head spin.

“Why don’t you sit down?” he suggested, his tone more insistent now. He gestured to the chair, his eyes never leaving yours.

You hesitated, then slowly sat, hoping the cool leather of the chair would steady you.

“You’re different,” he said, almost to himself. “Something’s changed. Tell me what’s going on.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Instead, your mind raced, your body reacting in ways you couldn’t understand. The rush of warmth spreading through your veins felt… wrong.

Yandere! Alpha stepped closer, looming over you now, "Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out," he said with a low voice. But there was something behind his eyes, something dark and calculating, and you felt a chill run down your spine.

This wasn’t just a concern. This was something else—something he wasn’t telling you.

“Your body’s heating up,” he observed, his voice taking on a strange edge. "Let’s cool you down."

Before you could protest, his hands moved with surprising speed, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your blouse. His touch lingered a little too long on your skin, sending an uncomfortable yet pleasurable jolt through your senses.

Yandere! Alpha didn’t wait for any response, only turned to increase the AC, the cold air rushing in and further muddling your mind. The contrast between the cool air and the heat pooling in your body was dizzying, and you couldn’t tell if you felt better or worse. He returned quickly, lowering himself to kneel in front of you, his hands steady as they rested on your thighs.

You tried to speak, to ask what the hell was going on, but your throat was tight, your mind foggy. From his position, he was nearly at eye level, looking down at you with quiet control.

"Relax, I’ll take care of you," he murmured, his voice smooth, almost soothing—if not for the way his hand slipped beneath your blouse, fingers ghosting over your waist before trailing higher.

Your breath hitched as he cupped your breast through the delicate lace of your bra, his touch possessive and claiming.

“S–sir, stop,” you managed with a weak and unsteady voice.

He chuckled, low and indulgently as if the very idea amused him. "Stop?" he repeated, rolling the word over his tongue like a foreign concept. His grip didn’t loosen, instead, his fingers traced slow, deliberate circles against your heated skin, feeling the way you trembled beneath him.

"You’re burning up," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "That’s not good, is it?" His thumb grazed your hardened nipple through the lace, and a sharp gasp slipped from your lips before you could swallow it down.

His lips curved into a smirk. "See? You need me."

"You were never meant to be an Alpha," he said smoothly, his tone almost pitying. Almost. “Not like me. Not like the others.” His gaze roamed over you, predatory, as though savouring every inch of your helplessness. “You were wasted as you were, untouchable, unyielding. But now?”

His free hand trailed lower, ghosting over your stomach. A fresh wave of heat surged through you, your body betraying you with every pulse of unnatural warmth.

“Now you’re perfect.”

Your stomach twisted. “You’re insane.”

His lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer. “Am I? Or am I the only one willing to do what’s necessary?”

“I’ve been patient,” he continued. “Watching. Waiting. Each sip of coffee, every drop, altering you little by little. Did you ever stop to wonder why your rut was delayed? Why those suppressants suddenly stop working?”

A sharp pang of realization hit you like a freight train. Your body—your scent, your heat, your very being—none of it felt the same. The pieces clicked together in a way that made your stomach churn.

“You drugged me...”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, tilting his head with feigned curiosity. “Drugged?” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “No, sweetheart. I improved you.”

Your nausea rose as his fingers continued their slow exploration. His hand brushed lightly over your skin, moving up your leg before he teasingly traced the hem of your skirt.

“You—” Your voice wavered. “Why?”

“Everything about you was perfect the way you were,” he murmured. “But now? Now you’ll be more. Much more. I’ll make sure of it.”

You could feel the smirk on his lips against your skin as he leaned closer. His words were drenched in malice and twisted affection, “I did this for you, sweetheart. To help you realize what you truly are... to be mine.”

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

do you fancy a quickie? word count: 2,5k cw: shameless smut, viktor is a tease (everybody act surprised), no use of y/n, reader is reffered to as spouse. what else? ah yes. semi-public sex.

art cr: @arcanescribbles. saw her viktor in formal wear and instanly knew i had to write something mentioning it. *standard 'english is not my first language please don't be mean to me' bullshit*

It felt immaculate. The languid wince of bright eyes, the smirk you were wearing — chiselled just perfectly precisely for a moment like this, as if you were an inborn heartthrob rejecting unfortunate suitors left and right — a natural, if you will. 

“I appreciate the compliment,” you started from a far, making sure — patently by total accident — to casually snake a dextrous hand up your chest, resting it right above your cleavage — just where that fool’s eyes were devouring you. “But I am simply not interested. I’m married.”

You’re savoring the drop of his face when he notices the ring. You just wiped a grin off a man’s face with class — surely, that must’ve felt spectacular, and you rejoiced when he hummed — suddenly all clumsy and simply pitiful — and, with a rather impolite mumble of a sharp ‘excuse me’, walked away, leaving you all proud and unapproachable. Yeah, that’s right. Don’t ask me for a hand in a dance, gentlemen — because someone has already put a ring on it. 

You got back to chugging on your champagne, lips tightly closed around the rim of that ridiculously fancy glass, although it matched the ridiculously fancy gown you were impressing the so-called select society with tonight. And it actually worked (or so it seems),  since you managed to strike the fancy of the mentioned earlier tipsy sir, who were now pouting his lips like an offended child, turning his subtle drunkenness into a full-blown intoxication; squinting, and ranting, and swallowing yet another drink as he kept whining about your flawless rejection to a bunch of sympathetic peers. 

But you couldn’t care less — not when you were just minutes away from leaving this bougie ballroom behind, with all its curious glances and endless mingling; so many faces, when you only wanted to stare into the sharpness of one — with two moles piercing the pale canvas of skin and cheekbones hollow enough to stroke a soft finger over the lines of them, demanding a kiss. You sigh — almost dreamily in the way your head wearily leans its weight onto the back of your palm. So cliché, but who are they to blame you? Not when your husband is such a sight, and certainly not when your husband is such a sound — raspy, low, and, frankly – simply hot, and you giggle at the thought, sinking two front teeth into the pad of your thumb. 

You barely understand a word when Viktor tells the inquisitive Upsiders about the Hexclaw glove, yet still absorb each moment of his speech with tender thoroughness, because listening to him talk — about anything, really — is a privilege, one you cherished dearly and with genuine care. You were an admirer, watching him — all intelligent and so pensive, in that suit, with that raw passion in the depth of copper eyes, on that stage. And comprehension is not necessary — not when you see how talking about his inventions lights him up; so bright, that he could easily outshine the golden boy. In your loving eyes, at the very least. 

He notices when you join the round of enthusiastic applause, quietly thanking his audience for the attention — pensive and polite, so uniquely pretty in his demureness. It feels like showing him off, and that grin stretches even further across your face when he goes down the stage to walk up in your direction. 

You’re not subtle with that kiss. Pulling on his tie, shamelessly pushing your tongue into his mouth, knowing that they stare, and when Viktor — all wide-eyed and smitten — reciprocates, humming into the heat of your lips, you’re gone. He’s breathless when it’s over, arches a thick eyebrow in a curious manner, sinking your proud expression in. 

“What was that for?” he chuckles, feeling the damage done to his bottom lip with your teeth. 

“Can’t I kiss my husband simply because I felt like it?” you purr in response, greedily eyeing him. 

He laughs. You stroke a hand over the rise of his chest, and he clutches his cane — the pretty one for special occasions, with elegant carving and gilding. 

A thin arm wrapped around your waist coaxes you to jump off the stool, allowing him to steal an embrace. Can’t resist Viktor in a suit. In his other attire too, of course, but god does he look spectacular all dressed up. It’s almost like he was made for all the blazers, vests, and ironed shirts — an inborn gentleman, sickeningly handsome.  

His gaze travels down, to the oh so taunting cut of the silky dress: a peek of garter holding the elegant stocking, and you notice just how he relentlessly fails not to drool over you too shamelessly.

“How was my, er, speech?” he asks, practically forcing himself to rip those eyes off your hip. “I suppose it went rather well — very laconically, if I do say so myself. However, I’m afraid that Jayce is much more natural when it comes to keeping the audience entertained.”

“I was too busy listening to you to pay much attention to the golden boy,” you confess, straightening his vest for him — another excuse to touch him, but Viktor decides to touch you instead.

“That is rather disrespectful,” he scoffs, gently capturing your wrist into the warmth of his hand, and before you can react — presses a chaste kiss to the back of your palm. Damn him and his gentlemanly tricks. 

“Perhaps,” you shrug, giggling when his breath tickles your knuckles. “But you did amazing. Truly.”

“I am flattered,” he acknowledges, letting go of your wrist. His touch lingers there — warm and domestic, a wordless way of returning the courtesy. “I hope that my brief absence didn’t bore you too much?”

“Not in the slightest,” you assured him with a wry smile, and he met your words with another inquisitive hum. “Some very persistent gentleman kept trying to convince me that I need an interlocutor.”

“Is that so?” the inventor asked, evidently amused by your revelation. “And just how did that go for him, may I ask?”

“He was heartbroken to hear that I was married, you see,” you sigh, and your lips protrude into a pout — one of fake, rather comical sympathy.

“What a pity,” Viktor retorted, blessing your ears with that low, raspy laugh of his. “I hope the news didn’t crush him.” 

“Ah, don’t even bother. You hope they did.”

“What an accusation,” he exclaims, and your hands ache to strangle him with that pretty tie. “Though not an entirely unreasonable one, I must admit.”

“My point exactly,” you bite back, and your arms rush to be wrapped around the bastard's neck, chest pressed flush to his, heartbeats mingling into a mess of thuds. 

Sinewy fingers don’t hesitate to slip into the cut of your dress. They also don’t falter to cautiously crawl into the band of your stocking, almost forcing you to whimper his name into the crook of his neck — an indirect plea to proceed in private. 

“Such a mouthy thing,” Viktor whispers, and you’re done with him, almost ready to demand he bends you over in front of those very Topsiders. “Just what shall I do with you, hm?” 

He’s hard against your thigh, even a hint of friction has him jolting, hissing a quiet curse into your mouth when he occupies it with a kiss again — one too lewd to be appropriate for public eyes. 

“You should steal me away,” you suggest, staring into the madness of heavy eyes piercing yours. “For some fresh air, of course.”

“Fresh air?” he mocks, shaking his head in fake disapproval. “Is that the only reason? Not that I’m reluctant to be alone with you — quite the opposite, actually. I simply doubt that it’s the real, eh… purpose of the encounter you’re suggesting.”

Fuck’s sake. He’s utterly incorrigible. Thanks Janna you love this man. 

You sigh, struggling to suppress the urge to slap him. 

“Do you fancy a quickie?” you finally surrender, knowing damn well that out-smartassing Viktor is simply impossible. Besides — the way his lips stretch into a thin handsome line feels greater than any meaningless pleasure a well-aimed smart comment could ever bring.

It feels even better when his mouth hovers above your ear, purring a sweet, “I most certainly do.”

***

You squeak when he presses you against the cool bathroom wall, and a cautious hand cradles the back of your head, preventing it from repeating the dreary fate of his cane, which had just hit the floor with a loud thud. You, on the other hand — no pun intended, of course — are not that careful with your limbs, fingers already tangled into his hair, messing up its unusually neat style. He’s kissing you with desperation: rush didn’t leave him any time for hesitation, but you’ll gladly take him like this — all frantic, cock an aching swell inside his finest dress pants. 

“Darling,” he keens, licking at the fresh proof of his lust after you, as if trying to soothe the pain from his teeth needling into the softness of your neck. 

“Yes?” you breathe out, thoughts a mush of smutty images, but the limited privacy of this bathroom is not enough for a full-course debauchery. They call it a quickie for a reason. 

His hand slips under your gown, shamelessly kneading the plumpness of ass, ready to free you of the lace underwear. 

“No,” you pull away, shaking your head with a sharp inhale. “We don’t have time for this.” Your outfit is too impractical to allow him the pleasure of undressing you even partially, even though you’d love to let him have his way with you.

“But, beloved, isn’t that what we’re here for?” he protests, but you shut him up with another kiss, and, while he suffocates against your mouth, smoothly turn him around, firmly capturing between the wall and your softly pushed between his legs knee.

“I had other plans,” you reply, kissing down his jugular — some brief foreplay before abruptly sinking down.

“Oh,” he lets out a shaky laugh, leaning that bright head against the wall, but his eyes never leave yours — they attentively follow your every motion, carnal need thickly seeping out of them. “You’ll get on your knees for me? In that dress? My, I might’ve done something good in my past life.” 

“Will you please shut up?” you snarl, fighting with the buttons of his pants, and he nods, figuratively zipping his mouth with one dextrous move of a hand, informing you that his lips are sealed. Viktor knows better than to talk back to a person who’s about to suck him off. Teeth are a rather dangerous weapon.

He tenses up when you tease the head of his cock — slightly swollen flesh a pretty shade of pink, so sensitive that it twitches against the warmth of your fingers when you wrap them around the hilt.

He goes quiet, but not purely for the sake of not getting caught. He watches you in fascination: mouth forms a silent ‘ah’ the second you dip your tongue into the slit, and precum coats its tip, all sticky and bitterish. You both know he won’t last long — your next ministration proves it, relentlessly riding him of his wits. 

You kiss at his shaft with tenderness, to the point when it becomes barely palpable, so he squirms, demanding the resumption, and you can’t help but smile against the velvety skin of his tip. Pearly liquid clings to your bottom lip, forming a translucent trail — a mixture of him mingled with your saliva; just enough lubrication to slip lower, licking at the sensitive frenulum. Viktor lets out an illegible sound — you recognise a keen of your name in it, and it earns him one languid stroke — just the tiniest mercy. 

“Don’t you just love to torture me?” he sighs, looking down — all vulnerable and pretty, weak knees threatening to start trembling any second. 

“I’m only using your weapons against you,” a sweet reproach rolls of the very tongue you’re tormenting him with, and he swallows the most delicious whimper when you swirl it around the tip — once, twice, but thrice is what finally has him slapping a palm over his open mouth to muffle a dirty moan. 

He abstains from grabbing a handful of your hair, reluctant to ruin its whimsical style — because at least one of the spouses has to be an actually considerate lover. His long legs are struggling to keep in place, relentlessly spreading apart with each bob of your head — but he’s leaned against the wall securely enough not to fall. 

You swallow around him in a rather messy rhythm, but it still manages to reduce Viktor to a mush of babbles and incoherent praises. You have him by the balls — quite literally, because your free from squeezing his width hand is cruel enough to knead them, dragging more throaty sounds of pleasure out the thrusting into your mouth man. 

You’re fucking him with skill, painfully aware of just what goes through his head in this exact moment: that orgasm will be intense enough to hurt, making him wish you’d rather proceeded with those teasing licks and fleeting kisses. His hips jerk when you suppress the gag, taking him whole, not a single inch left without your thorough attention. Even the hand shoving those moans back into his lungs doesn’t stop him from letting out the most embarrassingly high-pitched keen — it breaks free when he coats your tongue in warm spurts of thick cum. You stick it out, allowing him a pornographic view of exactly what he’d just done to you, and he almost sobs, completely forgetting about his initial intentions of keeping quiet. 

“Gods a-above,” he stutters, suffocating like he’s the one whose mouth was just frantically fucked, wiping his release off your lips with his trembling thumb — a gesture of gratitude, tender in comparison to the curses he was panting just seconds ago. 

The air is thick with the smell of sex, raunchy enough for anyone who decides to walk into this bathroom to meticulously define what the two of you had just committed in it. Even getting off your knees and tucking him back into his pants wouldn’t help your condition — the pure way Viktor looks at you right now makes it all appallingly obvious. One doesn’t need to become a witness of the intercourse itself to confidently state “They’ve just fucked, Your Honor.” It’s written on both of your faces, on the mess of his hair, and, of course — on the burning under the thin material of stockings redness of your knees. 

You accept his touch, swallowing the remnants of his climax still covering your tired tongue, and he sighs, engraving the sight into his mind — probably to get off to the thought of it someday. But you decide not to tease him about it. You’re not that evil after all. 

You’ve never stormed out of the bathroom so fast before, all trembling limbs and nasty giggles —  the afterglow of your shared secret, dirty enough to banish Viktor from the Academy. 

He’ll recall it later, most definitely next Progress Day, when you’ll wrap those impatient arms around his neck, whispering a famous “Do you fancy a quickie?” into his ear again. 

Except for this time, your outfit will be easily removable. 

[schemmentigfs]

Sweetening The Deal. (part 11.)

Summary: your first time with Melissa Schemmenti is the equivalent of paradise on its purest form.

tags: @lifeismomentsyoucannotunderstand @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @kukikatt @dopenightmaretyphoon @schmentisgf @pitstopsapphic @jeridandridge @aliensuperst4rr

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9. Part 10.

Good girl. Those words easily made your heart stop.

When Melissa Schemmenti calls you her good girl, your heart stirs, like a soft breeze brushing over still water. It’s not just a phrase; it’s a tender thread that weaves through the fabric of your very soul, a gentle, sweet ache that dances between your ribs and settles deep in your chest. It’s an affirmation, one that feels like a secret, only between you and her, a promise in her voice that wraps around you like a warm embrace.

The words slip from the redheaded woman’s lips with such ease, but for you, they carry weight, like a whispered prayer, as if you are hearing it for the first time, yet it's a song you have known all your life. It’s not the words themselves but the way they make you feel—a delicate, almost fragile thing, cherished in its own raw vulnerability. The simplicity of it makes you feel seen, in a way that nothing else can. Like the world outside has quieted, leaving only the space between their hearts, where you are both held and adored, soft but strong.

You have always been wary of your own worth, but in that moment, when she speaks those two words, it feels as though the air around you is charged, thick with the warmth of unconditional acceptance. It’s a balm to the wounds you hide so carefully, a kind of softness that pierces through you, unraveling the pieces of yourself that were once too guarded. It’s not submission but a gentle surrender—one that she offers freely, knowing it is not demanded but given, as a gift, as a love so complete it makes her tremble.

As red lips and flat tongue trail down your folds, every inch of your skin ignites with sensation, a heat that spreads like wildfire. The feeling is intimate, consuming, every touch of this mouth marking you as hers. It’s not just physical; it’s a slow unraveling, a delicate surrender to the pleasure that only Melissa knows how to give.

There’s a rawness in it, an intensity that draws every part of her attention to the present moment, to the way she moves with such purpose, with such reverence. Every breath you take is sharp, caught somewhere between longing and release, as her warmth spreads over your most sensitive and delicate parts.

Your body arches instinctively, seeking more, chasing the heady mixture of tenderness and heat. The contrast between the green eyed woman’s pure softness and the firm press of her tongue causes your mind to scatter, every thought becoming a blur, except for the overwhelming sensation of being loved in this way. It’s not just physical pleasure, but something deeper—a melding of their souls, a raw and beautiful intimacy that goes beyond skin. The rhythm of her mouth is rhythmic, almost hypnotic, drawing her deeper into the abyss of pleasure and trust.

Your hands clutch the sheets, the cool fabric grounding you as every nerve in your body sings with want. The feeling of Melissa’s pink tongue, so deliberate and skilled, makes you pulse with a kind of desperate need, one that only this moment, only this connection can fill. This is where you belong—here, in those strong arms, in the softness of her touch and the strength of her love. The world outside of this room, outside of this bond, no longer exists. There is only this, only the deep trust you feel in the way she takes her time, in the way she listens to your body and answers with devotion.

As Melissa continues, each movement, each kiss on your most sensitive parts, feels like a prayer, a reverent act of worship, and you can’t help but surrender completely, allowing yourself to be consumed, to be adored in this way. Your heart races in tandem with the rhythm of their intimacy, the pressure building inside, a delicious tension that tightens in your chest and lower belly. The pleasure swells inside you, and with every stroke, every subtle shift of her mouth, you are definitely overwhelmed with the sensation of being both cherished and owned. Good girl is still in your ears, and it hums within you like a constant echo, reminding you of the love that laces every action, every touch.

Her tongue finds its destination with deliberate precision, the warm, wet pressure against your harden clit drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. It’s not gentle, not tentative—Schemmenti knows exactly what she’s doing, and the confidence in her movements sends a jolt of electricity through your body. Your thighs tremble, but the redhead’s manicured hands are there, firm and steady, gripping your hips and thighs to hold you in place, as if grounding you to this moment. Her grip is possessive, her nails pressing just enough to leave a hint of sensation that only adds to the overwhelming pleasure.

A sweet sound of Melissa’s needy moan vibrates against your pussy, and the sensation sends your head spinning, back arching off the mattress as a raw curse spills from you. “Fuck, baby. That tounge feels so good.”

The words come out breathless, broken, and you can barely recognize your own voice. The heat pooling in your belly intensifies as your possible girlfriend’s tongue moves in perfect rhythm, flicking and circling your clit, each motion calculated to pull you closer and closer to the edge.

The older woman doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter. Instead, she hums softly, almost smugly, against you, the vibrations shooting sparks of pleasure up your damn spine. Moans mix with the wet, sinful sounds of her mouth working tirelessly, and the combination is enough to drive you wild. Your palms clutch at the sheets again, twisting them as your body writhes, caught between trying to pull away from the intensity and pressing closer to ride Melissa’s sinful mouth.

“Goddamn, Lis, please—” your voice is ragged, laced with desperation, the words slipping out between sharp breaths. Your figure is alight, every nerve ending focused on the way Melissa’s tongue lavishes attention on your clit, alternating between firm, slow strokes and quick, teasing flicks. Hands tighten on your shaky thighs, pulling them even wider apart as if she needs more of you, all of you. The possessiveness in her grip, the raw hunger in her moans, sends shivers down your soul spine, teetering on the brink.

Her relentless tongue doesn’t falter for a second, but soon, you feel the unmistakable press of her fingers, teasing at your dripping entrance. It’s slow at first, deliberate, as though Melissa is savoring every moment of your unraveling. The sensation of her sucking and circling your pebble paired with the gentle, probing touch of her digits pulls a broken moan from your throat, her body convulsing as you gasp for air.

Green eyes look at you while she takes her time, sliding one finger in, curling it perfectly to find that spot that makes more curses spill out uncontrollably. “Fuck, Melissa, oh my—” 

Your tone is trembling, desperate, every word dragged out by the pleasure coursing through you. She grunts against your tight cunt in response, the vibrations sparking another jolt of electricity through your core. The thing is she knows exactly what she’s doing, knows how to pull you apart with maddening precision.

“Such a good girl for me,” Melissa murmurs against you, her tone husky and dripping with affection, even as she adds a second finger, stretching just enough to make you whine sharply. Her praise, her touch—it’s too much and not enough all at once, and your hips buck against her, seeking more, chasing the fire that’s building higher and higher inside you.

The redhead’s grip on your thighs tightens, keeping you steady as her fingers pump in and out in perfect rhythm, her mouth leaving your clit to lick and plug your entrance. The combination is dizzying, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge, every flick sending you spiraling further into bliss. She moans again, the sound satisfying and deep, vibrating through you in a way that makes your whole vision blur.

“Babe,” you grab her auburn curls as tightly as you can. “I need to cum, please.”

You pant and break, words dissolving into a sharp cry as fingers curl just right, hitting that spot with an intensity that leaves you shaking. It feels like everything it’s on fire, every nerve alight with sexual tension, your mind lost in the sensation of Melissa Ann Catarina Schemmenti consuming you completely. The pure wet, obscene sounds of fingers moving inside you combined with the strong scent of sex filling the bedroom, soft hum of her tongue on your pussy it’s overwhelming, intoxicating.

Melissa looks up briefly, her olive eyes blazing with hunger, the sight alone enough to make you tremble. “C’mon, pretty girl,” she commands. “Let me feel you. Cum for me.”

This is the final push, and with one last nurse of her tongue, one perfect thrust of her fingers, you fall apart completely, your figure shuddering violently as the climax of the orgasm rips through you. Curses melt into incoherent cries and screams, your hips trembling as the forty-five year old holds you through it, her mouth and fingers working her through every wave of pleasure until you’re left trembling and begging for rest.

Minutes pass and she pulls away just long enough to hover over you, her breath heavy and ragged as her hands grip your hips, positioning you just right. She spreads your legs wide, guiding you into position so that your bodies can press together, your clits brushing softly at first, then harder, the friction sending a rush of heat through both of you. It’s new, unfamiliar—raw and intimate—and every touch, every shift makes it feel like the world is unraveling around you and her.

Your heart stops at the first contact, the electric spark between you making your stomach tighten. Melissa moans loud, her eyes fluttering closed as the sensation builds, as your pussies slide against each other in a maddening rhythm. The sound is guttural, needy, like a prayer escaping her lips. Her hands grip your thighs, her fingers digging in as if she’s trying to hold on to this moment, but nothing feels like it’s enough. Nothing is slow enough, soft enough.

“God, fuck, you feel so good,” the older woman gasps, shaky and raw, her tone breathless and frantic as she rolls her hips against yours, feeling your buds rub together in an agonizingly slow, steady motion. Olive eyes flutter open, locking with yours, and she watches your face, her mouth parted with each breathless whimper that escapes.

“Melly,” you try to speak but she interrupts quickly.

“You like this? Yeah, I know you do. So fuckin’ perfect,” Melissa groans, her pupils blow with desire. “Jesus, you’re making me lose my mind.”

Your own breath is ragged, your nails scratching her curves as both bodies grind together. The friction is intense, and yet the two of you seem to hold back, not letting the release come too soon. You are caught in the building pressure, each movement pushing further toward the edge without quite letting you fall.

“Ohh shit, yes, yes, yes!” your body shudders as you try to hold on, but Melissa doesn’t let you escape. She keeps pushing, keeps rolling her hips harder against yours— almost bouncing—every moment an invitation to something more.

She breaks, her moan deep and drawn out, almost a growl. “Don’t you dare cum yet, baby,” she whispers desperately. “I need to give you permission first.”

The redheaded woman forces herself to slow down, to keep the pressure building, her green eyes rolling back in her head as she tries to hold onto the feeling without giving in. The heat builds and builds, your bodies slick with sweat, and each brush against each other sends both of you spiraling closer to the orgasm without releasing.

“Please...” you beg while trembling with need, hips rising to meet each press of hers, desperate for more. The tension is unbearable, both of you are teetering on the brink, lost in the feeling of each other’s bodies so close, so intertwined.

Melissa can hardly breathe, her movements becoming frantic as she chases the same release that you do, but neither gives in. “Holy fuck, honey, I can’t—” she gasps, her voice a broken plea, as her hips grind harder, faster, chasing the feeling, losing herself in your warmth. “You are so sweet, so warm. So delicious.”

The sexual tension is obvious, like a coil tightening, but then, a small shift in the way you move catches her off guard—your hand slides down, palm flat, and then wraps around the curve of her pale ass, squeezing it firmly. The sudden touch sends a jolt of heat through the sicilian, a wave of arousal that makes her entire body tighten with want.

She whimpers, louder now, her lashes fluttering as the sensation of your hand on her ass forces her to slow down just for a moment, savoring the feeling of being held, of being claimed in such an intimate way after a long time. The pressure of your palm is possessive, urgent, and it stirs something deep within Melissa. She can feel your fingertips digging into the flesh of her ass, the way it moves in a slow, teasing circle, feeling the curve and muscle beneath her skin. It’s like a spark, igniting the very core of her desire.

Your grip on her ass tightens, squeezing again, pulling her closer, and Melissa’s breath catches in her throat. The touch is everything—dominant, possessive, and incredibly tender all at once—and it sends shivers down her spine. It makes her feel raw, vulnerable, as if this connection is something far more than just sex. It’s an unspoken claim, a promise, a shared understanding.

“For fuck’s sake. Keep touching me like that," the redhead gasps, her breath hitching as she moves against you. ”I need you, amore. I need you... so bad.”

The connection deepens with every touch, every movement. It’s like you’re both desperately holding on to each other, not wanting to break the spell, not yet ready to give in completely. The heat between you grows unbearable, as the beautiful Melissa Schemmenti continues to feel the steady pressure of your hand, the way you hold her, owns her in this moment. Every stroke, every grind, pulls you both closer and closer to the release you can’t hold off much longer.

And just like that a single word escapes from your deep throat, breathy and trembling, a word that sends an electric shock through her entire body. “Mommy.”

The title hits Melissa like a punch to the gut, a shock of raw desire shooting through her veins. She freezes for a second. She stops. She swears she can feel her heart skip a beat, her mind barely able to process how right it sounds coming from your lips.

The way you say it, soft but desperate, the word laced with something possessive and needy, ignites something deep inside of her. A wave of heat floods her body, her core tightening with an almost primal lust. Mommy—green eyes flash with something else, something raw and untamed as the word reverberates in her head, making her head spin. She’s been called Mommy before by other women and men, but never like this—not with such unrestrained need, such will. It’s as if you poured your entire soul into that single word, and it wraps around Melissa like a vice, pulling her deeper into this moment. Her breathing fails, her manicured hands trembling slightly before they grip you tighter, her hips grinding down harder as the sensation threatens to undo her completely.

The green eyed woman groans, before she’s leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, her mouth hot and demanding. The kiss is intense, filled with heat and Melissa can’t stop herself from pulling you closer, deepening the kiss as her fingers dig into your flushed skin.

“Fuck, don’t say that,” she growls against your mouth. “You’re gonna make me insane.” The plea come out between hungry kisses, her lips hot against yours, as she starts to kiss you more fiercely, more urgently. Each time your lips meet, she can feel the tension rising, her body on the edge of giving in completely. She bites down on your lower lip, tugging it gently, as her hands slide to your hips, guiding her into a rhythm that makes both shudder.

“Mommy, please fuck me,” you whine, seeking for more.

“Mommy....goddamn,” Melissa curses, the satisfaction in her voice unmistakable. She can’t control the way her body reacts to the word, the way it pulls her deeper into the moment, closer to the madness of this connection. It feels like a dangerous secret, a boundary crossed, and she can’t help but kiss you harder, more desperately.

Bodies move against each other, the friction making the world blur around you, your kisses messy and frantic as the two of you chase that dizzying height. Your hand grips auburn curls, tugging her closer, urging her to continue, and with every touch, every kiss, the Schemmenti woman feels herself unraveling more, her control slipping.

“You like that, don’t you?” she prompts between kisses. “You like calling me Mommy.”

“I-I do,” you agree as the intensity of the moment overwhelms you. The way Melissa is kissing you, everything about this feels urgent, almost desperate. It’s as though you are both clinging to something, unwilling to let go, pushing forward without hesitation.

The redheaded woman sees the nod, the silent agreement, and her body takes over, moving faster, harder, the rhythm building into something electric. She lets out a breathy moan, feeling your body press into hers, the friction becoming a steady wave of pleasure that floods through her. Each thrust, each roll of her hips, makes feel like her control is slipping, losing its grip as she pushes harder, her figure desperate for cumming.

“Holy fuck, this is the best thing I ever felt in all my life,” Melissa grunts.

She moves faster, her movements becoming more frantic, more intense. She feels your hands clutching at her back, pulling her closer, encouraging her to go deeper, to give you more. The pace quickens, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the air as her sharp nails dig in, guiding your movements as you become almost frantic in their need for each other.

“Say it again,” the older woman breathes, her words a desperate plea, her mouth hovering just over your ear. “Call me mommy again, and I’ll make you feel so good.”

“Mommy,” you smile softly and the word along with the grin has the power to send Melissa into a frenzy.

“That’s it,” she mutters. “Fuck, you’re mine. All mine.”

The speed escalates as the pressure mounts, Melissa’s movements become more urgent. Her breath hitches, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she feels herself on the edge, just a moment away from falling into the intensity of your shared climax.

Her face twists, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through her usually composed exterior. It’s a moment of rawness, of surrender, and it’s impossible for her to hide it. The muscles in her jaw tighten as she moans softly, her lips parting as she gasps for air. Her olive eyes, usually so full of control, now glimmer with something desperate, something wild. Her brows furrow in pleasure, her mouth opening as she chokes out a low, broken curse.

“Fuck,” she gasps barely more than a breath. “I’m going to cum. Please babygirl, make Mommy come.” The look on her face, that unmistakable sign of the climax building inside her, makes her pant harder. She presses her forehead against yours, lips barely brushing as she moves faster, harder, chasing the moment she knows is about to explode.

You see it—see the raw expression on her symmetrical face, the way her muscles strain, the way she’s losing herself in the intensity of their connection. It’s a moment of pure vulnerability, one that strips away any walls, any barriers. And it only drives you to meet her with equal fervor, pushing both to the edge, to the precipice of everything you have been building.

Melissa’s grip tightens, her breathing becoming ragged as she lets out a strangled cry. It’s clear now—she’s right there, on the edge, and everything inside her is unraveling in waves of heat. Her glistening lips part, her green eyes half-closed, and for a moment, she’s lost to the intensity of it, no longer able to hold back, no longer caring if she shows how close she is.

In that moment, it’s impossible to ignore the raw, unfiltered truth in her expression. She’s coming undone, and it’s the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

As you and her reach the edge, the tension in the air snaps, and everything comes crashing down in waves. Melissa’s curvy body tenses as her breath catches in her throat, the rush of pleasure flooding through her. She gasps, a low, guttural moan escaping her lips as she finally gives in, her body shuddering uncontrollably on top of you. Her grip loosens slightly, her hand falling to the bed as she breathes out a string of curses, the overwhelming sensation of release pulling her further into the moment.

You follow close behind, the feeling of your souls and bodies connecting, sending you spiraling into your own climax. It’s like an explosion, a wave of warmth and satisfaction that fills you completely.

When it’s over, when the tremors slowly fade, Melissa pulls away, her body slumping back onto the bed. She rolls onto her back, her arm coming over her eyes to shield herself from the harsh light. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, each breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as the aftermath of everything lingers in her body. She feels exhausted, her muscles sore, but it’s a good kind of ache.

“Jesus Mary and Joseph…” the redhead giggles on a hushed rasp. She doesn’t even move at first, letting herself bask in the quiet aftermath, feeling the soft sheets beneath her. The world feels like it’s slowed down, like time has stopped for just a moment, and she can finally catch her breath.

Her arm remains across her eyes, a shield from the vulnerability she feels in the aftermath. It’s not shame, not exactly—just the rawness of the moment, of everything she just shared. She’s always been one to keep her composure, to stay in control, but now, in this quiet afterglow, she lets herself be a little exposed.

“Fuck..” she says again, quieter this time, as she tries to steady her breathing, still feeling the thrum of their connection coursing through her. “That was...” She doesn’t finish the sentence. Words feel unnecessary now, and instead, she just exhales deeply, her arm slowly lowering as she lets herself relax into the bed, her chest rising and falling slowly with each breath.

Slowly, you reach out, her fingers gentle as you brush it against Melissa’s arm, sliding it away from her face.

The forty-five year old doesn’t resist. She lets you uncover her, her arm falling limply to the side, revealing flushed cheeks and strands of auburn hair sticking to her damp forehead. Her skin glistens with sweat, and her lips are parted slightly, still swollen from the kisses. Olive eyes flutter open, hazy and dazed, and for a moment, she just stares back at you, her breathing still uneven.

You cup her face delicately, thumbs brushing over the soft, warm skin of her cheeks. The sight of her like this—vulnerable, flushed, and utterly spent—sends a wave of affection through you. Melissa Schemmenti, who’s always so composed and in control, now looks completely undone, her green eyes soft and filled with something unspoken

“You’re so beautiful,” you sigh quitely.

Red lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile. “You're staring,” though there’s no real protest behind the words. If anything, there’s a softness there, a quiet vulnerability she rarely shows.

“I can’t help it. You’re... breathtaking like this.”

The woman chuckles weakly, the sound more like a breathless exhale. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” Her hand comes up to rest over yours, holding it gently against her cheek. She leans into the touch, letting herself relax completely for the first time, her walls completely down.

Hours later, the night casted shadows that danced on the walls. Melissa and you lay tangled together in the aftermath of everything, your bodies entwined in a warm cocoon of sheets and limbs. She was resting her head on your chest, her body draped over yours, her soft breaths creating a gentle rhythm as she pressed her lips to your skin in the quiet moments between kisses.

“You're my beautiful girl,” your lover whispered, the praise full of meaning, more intimate than anything she had said before. She lifted her head just enough to look into your eyes, her expression tender, her auburn hair tousled from the night. Her fingers brushed against your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw as if memorizing the feel of you.

“Yeah?” you prompted nervously but still gently.

“Actually…my girlfriend,” the redheaded woman added, her voice a little more tentative, but no less genuine.

A soft giggle bubbled up from your chest as you shifted, bringing her closer as you rolled onto your side, your arms wrapped around her waist. You kissed her again, slow and sweet, not rushed but languid, the kind of kiss that carried everything you couldn’t quite put into words.

The weight of the moment was heavy in the best way possible, and you found yourself smiling as your fingers tangled in her hair. “I love you.”

For a split second, the world seemed to stop. Melissa gulped, her eyes widening, searching yours as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. Her lips parted, and for a moment, she looked lost in thought, her gaze flickering between your eyes, her hands trembling where they rested on your body.

Then, without warning, tears welled up in her olive eyes, the dam breaking as she blinked rapidly. “Oh my god,” she breathed. She buried her face against your chest, her sobs quiet but intense, as though she were overwhelmed by the weight of your confession.

You held her tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she shook with the force of her emotions. “It’s okay,” you whispered, your voice soothing, comforting, as she clung to you, her breath hitching with each sob.

“I—” Melissa gasped, her words caught in her throat as she lifted her head to look at you again, her face streaked with tears but glowing with something else—something radiant. “I love you, too. I love you so much, my beautiful angel.”

You smiled, the weight of everything—of the love, the joy, the uncertainty that had once been there—feeling lighter than air now. With her in your arms, everything finally made sense.

After a long deserved rest, the morning light of dawn crept into the bedroom, painting it in muted shades of gold and pink and casting a glow over the rumpled sheets and tangled limbs on the bed. Melissa stirred first, letting out a groan as her body reminded her of the intensity of the night before. Every muscle seemed to ache in the most delicious way, and she stretched out slowly, wincing slightly. Her hair was a wild mess, a lion’s mane of auburn curls sticking out in every direction, and her eyes were barely open as she sat up, scratching the back of her head.

She looked over at you, still fast asleep, your face serene and buried in the pillows. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she took in the sight of you—her beautiful girl, her girlfriend. The title still felt new and thrilling in her mind, making her chest tighten with warmth.

The redheaded woman swung her legs over the side of the bed, groaning softly again as she stood up, wrapping her silk robe around her sore body. She padded barefoot into the kitchen, craving the comfort of a cigarette and something sweet. Spotting a bowl of fresh strawberries on the counter, she plucked a few, popping one into her mouth as she slid the glass door open and stepped onto the villa’s terrace.

The cool air hit her freckled skin, waking her up slightly as she lit her cigarette with practiced ease. The first drag calmed her, and she exhaled a long stream of smoke, leaning against the railing. The view of the lake below was breathtaking, but her thoughts were far from the scenery.

She reached for her phone on the patio table, scrolling through her contacts until she found the name she was looking for. With a quick tap, the call began ringing, and soon, the familiar, warm voice of Pearl came through the line.

“Missy? What’re you doin’ calling me this early? Did somethin’ happen?” The housekeeper’s voice carried its usual mix of care and mild irritation, like a mother fussing over a grown child.

“Well,” Melissa began, her voice still raspy from sleep, “you won’t believe what happened last night.” She sounded like a teenager sharing a secret, the awe and excitement in her tone undeniable.

“Oh, this I gotta hear. Lemme guess—your girl finally made you stop actin’ like a fool?”

The youngest laughed, taking another drag of her cigarette before blowing the smoke out slowly. “Yeah. She’s my girl now, officially. God, Pearl, she’s... she’s somethin’ else.” Her free hand gestured vaguely, as if trying to articulate something too big for words. “We stayed up talkin’, kissin’, touchin’—you know. And I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before.”

A low hum of approval camethrough the phone. “About time, Mel. You’ve been floatin’ around, scared of commitment, for too long. This one’s different, huh?”

Melissa nodded, even though Pearl couldn’t see her. “Yeah. She’s different. She makes me feel... alive. Like I’ve been waitin’ for her my whole damn life.” She paused, her voice growing softer. “She called me her angel. Can you believe that? Me? An angel.”

“Well, you better treat her right, then. No runnin’, no hidin’. Just love her, Melissa.”

“I will,” the green eyed woman promised, popping another strawberry into her mouth and savoring the sweetness. “I’m all in, P. No more games.”

They chatted a little longer before Melissa ended the call, feeling lighter and more certain than ever. She flicked her cigarette into the ashtray, wiped her hands on her robe, and padded back inside, her bare feet making soft sounds against the tiled floor.

When she entered the bedroom, the sight of you still curled up in bed made her heart skip a beat. She slipped off her robe, letting it pool on the floor, and quietly locked the door behind her. The breeze was warm against her naked self as she slid back under the covers, her body naturally gravitating toward yours.

You stirred slightly, your face instinctively nuzzling against her stomach, hiding there like it was the safest place in the world. Your girlfriend chuckled softly, running her fingers through your hair as she sighed, feeling a wave of tenderness wash over her.

“You’re so precious to me, you know that?” she pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You hummed sleepily, your arms wrapping around her waist as you pulled her closer, and Melissa couldn’t help but smile, her heart swelling with a love that felt almost too big for her chest.

This was home. This was everything.

Next Chapter.

[ichorai]

chiropterology — birthday boy.

drabble synopsis ; damian wayne turns nine! warnings ; none!

series masterlist.

“Mother!” Damian called, alerting your attention from the gifts table, where you were arranging the various different boxes in a somewhat presentable manner (you made sure to put yours front and center). “Please shoot me with this crossbow so I do not have to put up with one more minute of his camera shoved in my face.”

“Oh, you’re being so dramatic,” you said with a light tone, pinching the boy’s cheeks and straightening the party hat on his head. “It’s not every day you turn nine. And look at you, you look so handsome in this suit!” Though, with a sharp look at Dick, you said, “Let the kid breathe!”

“Sorry, they just—” Dick paused to sniffle and wipe away an imaginary tear. “They grow up so fast!”

“Can we just cut the cake and get it over with?” Damian huffed, crossing his arms, growing incredibly impatient. 

Barbara, who had been on the phone with Bruce, shot you an OK sign. “They were able to secure the you-know-what!”

“Mm. Took them long enough…” you muttered. “They’re over an hour late.”

Damian surveyed the pile of gifts on the table, his mouth twisted down into a frown. “Stupid tradition for stupid children…”

“Oh, really?” you said, drumming your fingers along your wrapped gift. “So, say that I’ve spent the past few weeks making a super cool shrink ray that works maybe ninety-percent of the time and is completely yours to add to your arsenal of weapons, given you use it ethically… would it still be a stupid tradition? Because in that case, maybe I should just… take this back to the lab with me…” 

This practically made Damian’s ears perk up. You began to drag the present closer to you when, eye twitching with irritation, he exclaimed, “Stop!” Damian inhaled sharply. “Hypothetically, if a shrink ray were to be inside that box, it would be a waste for me not to accept it as a gift.”

Dick ruffled Damian’s hair, sending his party hat askew once more. The younger of the two batted away Dick’s hands like an overstimulated cat. “You know, Damian, normally you’re supposed to say thank you.”

Damian clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, glaring at his brother. Nonetheless, he drew his eyes to the ground and murmured, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you quipped, bouncing on the balls of your feet, glad that Damian at least liked the idea of your gift. Bruce certainly wasn’t going to be happy with Damian having yet another weapon to torment his brothers with, but since when did you let that stop you?

Finally, after another fifteen minutes of dawdling, the front door of the manor swung open, Jason in the lead with Bruce and Cass right behind him. “Look at him in the suit and tie!” Jason exclaimed upon seeing Damian. “Who did this to you? Babs? Alfred? Mom?” 

You gasped in mock-offense. “A suit would be the very last thing I’d force him into. If it were up to me, Damian would be in the invisibility cloak I made for him last year, but, hey, we can’t get everything we want.”

“It was a very nice cloak, mother,” Damian admitted.

“Awh, thanks, hon.” You straightened his party hat again.

Cass strode into the living room holding Damian’s most anticipated gift—what he’d been forced to wait hours for.

“What did you bring me?” Damian demanded, eyeing his father suspiciously.

“Happy birthday, son. Sorry I’m late,” Bruce said, kneeling down to the height of his son. He could feel your piercing glare at the side of his head, and winced knowing he was going to get an earful later that night. 

Turning his head to the side, Damian retorted, “You’re always late.”

At this, Bruce met your eyes, which had softened considerably, then looked back to the birthday boy. “Did you have a nice time with your mother, Barbara and Dick? How was the museum?”

“Yeah, it was… adequate,” said Damian, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly bashful. “Dick would not stop taking pictures.”

Bruce smiled when Dick waved from the table full of sweets Alfred had whipped up, holding up a camera and snapping a picture of Jason with Barbara.

“I wasn’t sure what to get you,” Bruce told his son, “but Dick and Cassandra had a really good suggestion. It was their idea, but I went to the adoption agency to meet the—”

A loud yip sounded from the blanket-covered carrier Cass was holding. She uncovered it with a grin, and a small brown dog came barreling out, barking with excitement as he dashed straight towards Bruce. 

“A puppy?” said Damian, eyes wide with wonder.

“Sure is.” Bruce held out the frenzied pup to his son. “And he’s all yours.”

You could’ve sworn you saw Damian’s pupils dilate. You stuck your fist out to Dick, who immediately gave you a fist-bump. “You might just have me beat on the gift-giving front.”

“What can I say? I’m Damian’s favorite brother.”

Your expression turned incredulous. “Oh, don’t let him hear you say that.”

Typically, Damian with his sharp hearing would have turned and made a snippy comment, but he was completely distracted, enamoured by his new puppy.

“Mother—” he glanced up at you, “—my other mother never let me have a pet. She always said attachments to living things made you weak.”

Bruce placed his hands on his son’s shoulders. “And you’re one of the strongest people I know, Damian.”

“Well? What are you naming him?” asked Jason.

Without hesitation, Damian grinned and commanded his puppy, “Sit, Murder King, sit!” The puppy, to everyone else’s surprise, obeyed immediately. Damian really had a knack for animals.

“You can’t name your dog that,” Barbara deadpanned. 

You clapped with a cheery beam. “Murder King is brilliant! I’ll have that laser-engraved into his collar tag.”

“Happy birthday, Master Damian,” announced Alfred, now coming in with a three-tiered cake, done up with artful frosting, pristine lettering, and nine lit candles. 

After the terribly off-pitch birthday song and Dick popping a confetti wrapper that stuck to everyone’s hair, Damian blew out the candles. “I still think this is a stupid tradition for stupid children.”

You smiled at him. “We love you, Damian.”

“Happy birthday, buddy,” Bruce said. He wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you closer. Any and all annoyance you harbored towards your husband over the past few hours seemingly evaporated.

Damian scowled at his parents, whose faces were disgustingly close to each other. “Please refrain from kissing each other on my birthday.”

[yoursinisforgiven]

ENVY ──

pairing: asirel x reader (pet) 

cw: smut, pwp, penetrational sex, afab reader, master–pet relationship, semi–public sex, car sex, blood play, spit play(?), drooling, biting, mentions of drugs, thoughts of murder, dissociative episode (?), isaac and pickel appearance, breeding without intentions of pregnancy, dry humping, voyeurism(?), reader is wearing a dress of some sorts, oral (male receiving), light hair pulling, cum eating.  

you are responsible for your own media consumption

“You’re going.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, whether that be drugged or not. Your choice, of course.”

You hadn’t been facing him, instead perched on the cushions of the bayside window. From there, you watched as life continued beyond the walls of the manor, unaffected by the confines of your world. You didn’t need to look at Asriel to know the smug smile that curved his lips, the glint of amusement in his voice. It was always like this—Asriel’s insistence, his way of bending the world to his will, and your quiet defiance. It had been decades since anyone had dared to speak to you like this, but for Asriel… You allowed it. Most of the time.

Fingers flexed against the windowsill, the wood creaking slightly under the pressure, almost as if you were considering something dangerous. It was no secret that you, the ancient vampire—Asriel's pet—was an object of both fascination and fear.

And tonight, Asriel was forcing him into the lion's den.

Asriel's voice dropped lower, just a touch, but there was no mistaking the finality in his words. "Don’t make me drag you there, pet. It’ll be much less enjoyable for both of us.”

There was a beat of silence. The weight of Asriel’s expectation hung in the air, thick and suffocating, and you could feel it like an invisible chain pulling him forward. The words weren’t threats; they were just facts. Asriel wasn’t asking for cooperation. He was demanding it.

Amber eyes flickered in Asriel's direction. No matter how much you wanted to rebel, to slip into the shadows where you belonged, you knew that resistance was futile. You had no true freedom. Not here, not in this world of glittering masks and whispered lies. Asriel had the power to break you, to make you a prisoner again, and you had already tasted what that might feel like. You weren't ready to go back to the darkness—the cages where Asriel had found you.

Not yet.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, the smallest trace of irritation twisting your features. “You’re making a mistake, Master,” your voice cool but laced with the warning of a predator forced to play a game you never wanted to join.

But Asriel didn’t flinch. He never did. The human stepped closer, his fingers brushing your arm with deliberate slowness, sending chills down your spine. You arched slightly at the sensation—a reminder of just who held the power in this relationship.

“I don’t make mistakes,” Asriel said softly, his voice a dangerous purr that sent an involuntary shiver down your neck. “And you are a very important part of my social circle tonight. You will make a good impression.”

Your existence—his servitude—was a curiosity. A symbol of Asriel’s wealth and power.

And no matter how much you resented it, you were part of that image.

 ──

You didn’t want to be here. You shouldn’t be here.

You stay close to Asriel’s side, just far enough to remain in his shadow, but not enough to draw attention. The weight of his presence presses down on you, and you force yourself to ignore the way it feels too familiar. You ignore the tug of memories, the fleeting flashes of Ivan that refuse to be buried.

No. Asriel wasn’t him. Far from it.

You are ripped from your thoughts by a feminine—obnoxious—voice. You catch the movement from the corner of your eye, and before you can stop yourself, your gaze snaps to her. A delicate hand brushes across Asriel’s shoulder, lingering too long, her laughter piercing the air like a sharp, brittle note in a too-perfect melody. Her voice is sweet, syrupy, the kind that makes your teeth ache.

She’s laughing at something he said, her lips curling with practiced flirtation. Surely it wasn’t that funny.

You feel your jaw tighten, the familiar gnaw of irritation rising in your chest. The way she touches him—light, teasing, as though claiming him for herself—makes your skin itch, and for a moment, you wonder what she sees when she looks at him. Does she see the same power that everyone else does? Does she know how easily he can crush anyone who stands in his way?

Or does she think of him as a prize to be won? Just another man with wealth and a title, who can be charmed and seduced like any other?

You can hear her laugh again, and the tension in your body spikes. You’re not jealous, you tell yourself. You shouldn’t be. You’re attractive—naturally seductive, in a way that has always drawn attention. You don't need to feel threatened by her. 

But you can’t help it. You can’t help the dark, bitter twist that curls in your stomach. Asriel is yours. He’s always been yours. And no one else has the right to touch him. Not like this.

You feel it—a pulse of something raw, something almost animal in its intensity. It starts low in your chest, the need to assert yourself, to remind them all of what you are to him. But then you catch yourself.

No. Asriel wasn’t Ivan.

The thought settles over you like cold water. You take a deep breath, forcing your fingers to relax at your side, your claws retracting.

You’re nothing like you were back then.

But that doesn’t stop the jealousy from bubbling beneath your skin.

Asriel doesn’t seem to notice your discomfort. His attention is still fixed on the woman beside him, his smile wide, though it holds no true warmth. It’s the same practiced smile he’s given a thousand times before, a mask of politeness, of obligation. His eyes, however, flicker briefly toward you, and for a split second, you see the familiar glint of amusement in them.

It’s as if he knows exactly what you’re feeling. He knows you’re watching, knows you’re seething just beneath the surface.

And he enjoys it.

You try to keep your expression neutral, to push the gnawing sensation in your chest back into the dark corners of your mind. But it’s harder than it should be.

The woman laughs again, her fingers drifting to rest lightly on his arm now, and you can’t stand it anymore.

You need to make her stop.

The smile on her face, the way she tilts her head, the way her eyes flicker toward Asriel with that pitiful, calculated desire—it sickens you. It eats away at the control you’ve worked so hard to maintain.

She thinks she has him. She thinks she can have him.

A strange heat rises in your chest, filling your body with the kind of rage you haven’t felt in decades—since him.. It’s not just anger. It’s possessiveness. It’s primal, it’s raw. And it’s like a fire inside you, burning, threatening to consume everything else in its path.

Your vision sharpens, the edges of the room blurring into a dull fog. Her laughter starts to sound like nails scraping against your skull, the sweetness of it curdling into something unbearable. You want it to stop.

You need it to stop.

What would it take?

Your breath quickens, shallow, too fast. Your fingers curl into fists at your sides, nails digging into the soft flesh of your palms, leaving half-moon indentations. Your pulse throbs in your ears, growing louder, the pounding rhythm matching the wild beat of your heart. The world around you feels distant, unreal. As if you’re watching from somewhere far away, a spectator in your own body.

What would it take to make her shut up?

You glance at her again, her fingers trailing slowly over Asriel’s arm. You can see it—the way her eyes darken with flirtation, the way she presses just a little closer to him, like she’s staking her claim.

No.

The feeling inside you builds, swelling. Something inside your chest twists like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. You watch her, study the soft curve of her neck, the delicate line of her jaw. The gentle rise and fall of her chest as she laughs, oblivious to the monster she’s awakened in you.

And then you imagine it.

It’s like a switch flipping in your mind. Suddenly, everything else fades away. All you can see is her. The way she’s touching him, the way she’s smiling at him, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

You imagine reaching out, your fingers curling around her throat, tight, too tight. You could do it so easily. You could crush her in seconds. The blood would rush to her face, her eyes wide, gasping for air, panic setting in, but it would be too late. She’d choke on her own breath, the life draining from her as she tries to scream, tries to beg.

Would Asriel even care?

The thought flashes across your mind, sharp and brutal. And something in you cracks open.

You can feel the heat of her skin beneath your fingers, the delicate pulse in her neck. You could break her. You could take that fragile neck in your hand, snap it like a twig. The power would be intoxicating—so simple, so final. No more laughing. No more touching. No more her.

You feel it. The pressure in your chest, the pressure in your throat as you imagine it. The power of it. The raw, satisfying violence of it. It’s the kind of hunger that can’t be satisfied with anything else.

The woman laughs again, oblivious to the madness rising in you. Her fingers move down to the crook of Asriel’s arm, a small touch—insignificant. But to you, in this moment, it’s the end of everything.

You could feel her flesh crumple beneath your hand, her body going limp with a single, vicious motion. You could hear her scream. No. You could make her scream—beg—but no one would stop you. No one could.

The world feels lighter now, as if everything else has melted away. The floor beneath you is no longer solid. The walls bend and warp, the edges of the room fading in and out of focus, like a hallucination. Your hands tremble at your sides, but it doesn’t matter.

You could do it. You could kill her. You could make this all stop.

You’re not sure when you stopped breathing, but you feel the suffocating weight of the air around you. Your vision is narrowing now, the voices in the room, the laughter, all drowned out by the pounding in your head. All you hear is the sound of her throat snapping, the wet, final sound that would end it all.

You need this. You need her to stop existing. You need Asriel to stop looking at her the way he does. You need it.

But then, suddenly, you hear Asriel’s voice.

“Pet,” he says, and it’s enough to bring you back. “Are you okay?”

The world crashes back into focus. You blink, and the woman is still there, laughing, still touching Asriel’s arm like she hasn’t a care in the world.

You step back. Your breath is shaky, your hands unsteady. The rage, the hunger, still coils inside you, but now there’s a coldness. A sudden, sharp distance from the scene in front of you.

You force your hands to unclench. You force yourself to breathe.

Asriel wasn’t Ivan.

You simply walk away. You hadn’t expected Asriel to chase after you—not that he would. He was a man of too high a status, too important to give chase to someone like you. 

You slip out of the dining hall, the murmurs and laughter fading behind you, swallowed by the heavy oak doors that close with a soft, final thud. The air feels cool as you step into the hall beyond, the stone walls of the manor thick and oppressive. The corridors stretch long and narrow, the architecture grand, but suffocating. Marble floors reflect the distant flicker of candlelight from chandeliers above, casting shadows that play like whispers on the walls. Heavy tapestries hang in every corner, depicting scenes of war, conquest, and power.

You feel the weight of those tapestries on your shoulders, the gaze of the countless ancestors staring down at you, judging. You pause at the top of the staircase, your hand on the iron railing. The staircase curves downward in elegant spirals, and from the balcony above, you can see the vast entryway below—polished floors gleaming in the dim light. There’s no sound here, nothing but the distant echo of voices from the ballroom behind you, murmurs of the rich and powerful who are far too busy with their own lives to notice a creature like you.

You take a step down.

Another.

Your feet make no sound on the marble, but your pulse is thudding in your ears, matching the rhythm of your steps. There’s something almost suffocating about the silence of the manor, as though the house itself is holding its breath, waiting for you to make a mistake.

You feel the hairs on your neck rise as you continue your descent. A couple walks past at the bottom of the stairs, laughing softly, their voices carrying to you like a distant melody. The man seems familiar. You stop and squint into the shadows of the hall, studying him with renewed focus.

He’s tall, impossibly so. His frame is lean but broad-shouldered, a stark contrast to the delicate elegance of his companion. His pale skin almost seems to shimmer in the candlelight, as though he’s carved from marble. 

And then you hear it.

The thrum of their hearts.

You don’t need to see it, don’t need to touch them to know. Their blood is singing to you, a rapid pulse that echoes through the hall, sharp and frantic. The person beside him clings to him, laughing softly at something he says, their head tilting back as they gaze up at him. But it’s the sound of their heart that draws you in—the quick, erratic beat as their emotions flare. They feels something deep for him, something frantic, a kind of desperate need, and the air around them practically hums with it.

You stand frozen for a moment, watching them, feeling their pulse rise with each passing second. Their hands are on his chest now, gripping his jacket with a possessiveness that mirrors something you know too well. It’s familiar—the fluttering, nervous energy that comes with attraction, with desire.

It’s strange. There’s something about him that feels different, an energy that’s colder, sharper. You can feel it even from this distance. The kind of power that ripples off him, like a storm waiting to break. It’s unnerving, that calmness in the face of such a flurry of emotion, as though he sees something she doesn’t. Or perhaps he’s seen it all before.

You don’t know why you’re still watching. You should turn away, walk past them, let them live in their moment. But something pulls at you. A curiosity. A kind of sick fascination with this stranger and the strange magnetism that surrounds him.

“Isaac?” The name slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, unsure if it’s the right one, but it feels familiar. Like a whisper of something you should know.

The man stops. His companion, still nestled in his embrace, also halts, her eyes flicking between you and the man, a flash of confusion crossing her features. The man turns toward you, and the moment he does, you feel an unsettling chill. His gaze is sharp—too sharp. It’s like he’s seen you.

There’s a moment of silence. You feel the blood rush to your face, the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck as you realize how out of place you must look, standing there, disrupting something so... intimate.

You’ve interrupted them. You shouldn’t have called out. You shouldn’t be here.

“Sorry,” you mutter, the words leaving your mouth like ash, bitter and unformed. You turn quickly, your heart racing, almost as if you can feel his gaze still on you, heavy, like a weight pressing into your back.

You hurry down the steps, not daring to glance back, the sound of your shoes echoing against the marble floor, the silence between you and them stretching longer with every step. The doors at the entrance loom ahead, the dark night waiting outside, offering the only escape you can reach. Without looking back, you push through the heavy doors and step into the cool, fresh air of the night.

 ──

You begin to see people exiting the building, their voices rising in a murmur of light chatter. The event must be over. You’re not sure how much time has passed since you stepped away from the crowd, but it doesn’t matter. The weight of their gazes still presses against your skin, their judgment an unspoken burden. You ignore the dirty looks thrown your way—some dismissive, others openly curious—as they file past you toward the valet.

Your gaze sweeps over the crowd, and then you see him.

Asriel.

He’s walking toward you, effortlessly parting the sea of people as if they’re little more than obstacles. You catch his eyes almost immediately. There’s a brief flicker of something—something unreadable—before he looks away, his attention shifting toward the parked limo. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t acknowledge you beyond that brief, knowing glance. He never does.

For a moment, you stand frozen, just a little too aware of how invisible you are to him, how easily he walks past without a second thought. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. You don’t need to turn around to know the driver is still not behind you, that he’s probably already in the car, waiting, prepared for Asriel’s exit. Of course he would be. You would sense him if he were close. That feeling of presence, that pulse of life, the faintest energy ripple in the air. And there’s nothing.

But then, just as your thoughts begin to wander, you hear the familiar sound of a door opening. Asriel’s deep voice cuts through the tension, pulling you back to reality.

“Get in.”

You look up, and for the first time, you see the door to the limo held open—for you. His posture is straight, commanding, but there’s something almost disinterested in his expression, something too practiced in his gestures, as if this is all routine, just another moment for him to play his role. You hesitate only for a second, the residual weight of the evening still hanging around you like a cloud. 

With no more hesitation, you step forward and slide into the car, feeling the cool leather beneath you as you settle into the plush seat. The door shuts behind you with a soft click, and the silence inside the limo feels heavier than it should. Asriel follows, his presence filling the small space like a shadow. He sits across from you, his gaze flicking briefly in your direction, though his face remains unreadable.

It was isolating, the privacy window closed in. Leaving just you and Asriel.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The hum of the engine starts, the car pulling smoothly away from the curb, but you can’t shake the feeling that something is hanging in the air. Something unsaid. The distance between you and him feels almost palpable, thick with things left unspoken.

“You caused a scene.”

The words hit you like a slap in the face, and you can feel your jaw tighten in response.

“I did not,” you reply, your voice firm, betraying none of the seething frustration that churns beneath the surface. “I could have truly made a scene by killing her.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. You don't even flinch, though you know how dangerous that statement sounds, how easily it could be taken as a threat. But at this point, you’re too far gone to care.

Asriel’s gaze flicks over to you, his eyes sharpening for the briefest of moments, before they return to the window. There’s no anger in his posture, no reaction at all, really. He merely gives a soft sigh, a sound so casual it almost feels dismissive.

“You wouldn’t do that.”

It’s not a question, just a statement. And in his voice, you hear something like amusement, a soft mocking edge that only adds to the bitterness building inside you.

“You remember what happened to Rehne, don't you?” you mutter under your breath.The car continues its journey through the night, the hum of the engine the only sound between you now. But it’s the silence that stretches between you both that fills the space, that makes the air feel too thick, too heavy.

Asriel shifts slightly, his suit jacket rustling as he adjusts his posture, but he doesn’t speak again. The only indication of his awareness is the slight tightening of his jaw, the faintest flicker of something—almost like concern, though you’re not sure if it’s for you, or just because you’ve finally dared to speak out of line.

You’re not sure why you said that. Why allow yourself to feel the need to claim something, to show that you were capable of something more than simply being in his shadow. But the words had spilled from your lips, raw and unfiltered.

The weight of it lingers.

“Is that what you think of me?” you ask quietly, before you can stop yourself. Your voice isn’t challenging, but there’s a trace of vulnerability in it that surprises even you. "A thing that just... exists by your side? Something to look past, to ignore?"

You didn't expect him to answer right away. In fact, you almost wish he wouldn't—because you’re not sure what you want to hear. But Asriel's silence stretches longer this time, and with it, something shifts inside you.

The urge to say something more, something sharp, something biting, is almost overwhelming. You want to make him feel something. But the quiet calm that fills the limo only tightens around you, like a vice.

Then, without warning, he speaks again, his voice quieter this time, as if he's carefully choosing his words.

"I never ignore you."

The words are so simple. So strange. They shouldn’t mean as much as they do, but they cut through the thick silence between you like a knife. His eyes meet yours, the first time in what feels like an eternity, and there’s something in his gaze—something difficult to interpret. A flicker of something human, something that almost feels... apologetic.

You try to read his expression, but the instant your gaze lingers, his face shifts back into that unreadable mask, his eyes going cold again, distant.

"But that doesn’t mean I’m going to entertain your tantrums," he adds, the edge of his voice sharpening once more.

You clench your fists at your sides, willing yourself not to snap, not to show how much those words hurt, even if they’re true. How he can so easily dismiss you, push you aside, and yet never fully let you go.

A bitter, almost desperate ache curls in your gut. The irony is sickening. The contradictions between what he says and what he does never fail to unravel you.

He pats his lap, an almost casual gesture, but it sends a jolt of icy awareness straight through your core. His eyes glint with something dark, a mix of command and something else—something you can’t quite place. 

“Come here, pet.”

The word settles in the space between you both like a weight. It’s not a question. It’s an order, and you know what happens when you don’t obey. The thought of disobedience—it’s never really been an option, has it?

You hesitate for only a heartbeat before the instinct to comply surges within you. The friction of your frustration against the smoothness of his control. You move, almost too swiftly, as if driven by something far beyond reason. Your body finds its place on his lap, the cool fabric of his suit brushing against your skin, the familiar, intoxicating scent of him enveloping you. 

Your face buries itself in the crook of his neck, your breath shallow, the tension in your chest rising. It’s so close. Too close. And then it happens. You feel the tug of something primal, that raw need, the hunger building inside you like a drumbeat, steady and insistent. Your teeth ache at the thought

His fingers graze the back of your neck lightly, almost absentmindedly, as if his touch is meant to ground you. It doesn’t work. If anything, it only makes the need grow sharper, more unbearable.

“Is it attention you want?” His voice is quieter now, threaded with an almost teasing note. 

You feel his words like a whisper across your skin, like the edges of a blade. It would be so easy to give in, to let that hunger consume you—to claim what’s yours. Him. 

You stay still, just for a moment longer, holding your breath, trying to wrestle control back. Your hands are trembling slightly, but you refuse to show it. You don't want to show any weakness, not now, not in front of him. 

“I don’t need attention,” you murmur, your voice muffled against the soft fabric of his collar, but it lacks the conviction it should have. 

You hate the way it’s so undeniable, how your body betrays you every time. How you need him, in a way that makes your heart feel twisted and raw. How he makes you ache without even trying. 

But you don’t dare voice it. Not aloud. Instead, you stay silent, pressing your face deeper into the crook of his neck, the soft thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. The urge to bite him, to mark him, to feel that rush of power, it surges again. You bite your lip, clenching your fists tighter.

“I think you do,” he says, his fingers threading through your hair, his touch gentle but commanding. “Tell me what you want, pet,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost a rasp now. 

For a moment, you just stare at him, your breath coming in shallow bursts. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. His lips curl upward just slightly, a smirk—one that is both knowing and cruel.

You want to scream, to fight against the waves of need crashing over you. You want to push him away, tell him to stop, but the truth is—you can’t. 

“I…” You stop, words catching in your throat. You try to force them out, to demand what you crave, but they don’t come. It’s too much. 

“Go on,” Asriel presses, his voice darker now, more coaxing, like he’s savoring the moment. “Tell me. What do you want?”

Everything. The thought hits you before you can stop it. You want everything he has to give. You want him. You want the control, the attention, the bite, the warmth, the sting of his presence.

But instead, you close your eyes, exhaling slowly, and force the words out, though they sound hollow in your own ears. 

“I want… you,” you whisper, barely audible. The words feel wrong on your tongue, like a confession of weakness.

You lift your head from his neck, eyes locking with his, searching for any hint of softness. Anything that could tell you that, just once, he might see you as something more than his possession.

He smiles, his thumb gently brushing across your lips. "Good." The single word hangs in the air between you both, heavy, loaded.

He tilts his head to the side, an almost imperceptible motion, silently offering himself up—for you to feed. And you do. Your fangs find their place against his skin, sinking in with a soft, practiced ease. His hands move to your waist, steadying you, as if the gesture is both a comfort and a reminder of his control.

You feel the burn of your fangs against his flesh, the subtle tug of his skin, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You know he’s giving this to you, but there’s something more in his touch—something that tells you he’s not just the one being consumed here.

His grip on your waist tightens slightly, a subtle shift that makes your heart skip a beat. He’s holding you in place—not just physically—but emotionally, too. His power is all-consuming, pulling at the edges of your sanity, demanding your submission without a single word spoken.

Slowly he rocks you against the growing bulge in his pants, "That's... enough," he says, his voice still commanding, even though it's laced with a faint breathlessness. You pull away immediately, obeying the command without hesitation.

Asriel's fingers start their exploration, his touch gentle yet firm as he traces the curves of your body. His hands roam lower, skimming over your hips, your thighs, until they reach the hem of your skirt.

He pauses, his fingers hovering just above your skin, waiting for permission. But you don't give it. You can't.

Instead, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat as you wait for his next move. His fingers twitch, the anticipation almost palpable.

And then, slowly, deliberately, he pushes your skirt up, exposing your thighs to the cool air of the room. You shiver, goosebumps rising on your skin, but not from the temperature.

Asriel leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "You're so beautiful, pet. So perfect."

His hands continue their journey, sliding higher and higher until they reach the apex of your thighs. He pauses again, his fingers resting lightly against your clothed sex.

You can feel the heat of his touch, even through the fabric, and it sends a jolt of electricity straight to your core. Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of his touch.

He brings a hand to his neck, his fingers brushing over the spot where you had fed, dipping into the blood you’d drawn. Asriel's fingers push your panties aside, exposing your slick folds to his hungry gaze. He trails a finger along your slit, gathering the wetness there before bringing it to his lips. His tongue darts out, tasting your essence with a satisfied hum.

He brings his blood-smeared fingers to your entrance, circling your clit with the pad of his thumb. The blood acts as a lubricant, allowing his touch to glide smoothly over your sensitive flesh.

Asriel slowly pushes one finger inside you, coating your walls with the metallic tang of his blood. You gasp at the sensation, your body clenching around the intrusion. He begins to pump his finger in and out, gradually adding a second and then a third, stretching you deliciously.

He angles his fingers, searching for your clit. When he finds it, he rubs it relentlessly, his thumb circling your clit in tandem.

The dual stimulation is overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Asriel can feel your walls fluttering around his fingers, knowing you're on the verge of climax.

"Come for me, pet. Give yourself to me completely."

With a few more skillful strokes, he sends you flying over the precipice, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. You cry out his name, a litany of pleasure and submission, as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

Asriel works you through it, his fingers gentling as you come down from your high. He withdraws from your body, bringing his blood and pleasure-coated fingers to his lips once more.

Asriel's eyes darken with lust as he gazes at your flushed, satisfied expression. He can't wait to claim you fully, to feel your tight heat wrapped around his aching cock.

With a growl of impatience, he fumbles with his belt, undoing it with clumsy fingers. He shoves his dress pants and underwear down his thighs, freeing his impressive erection. It springs up, thick and hard, the tip glistening with pearls of precum.

"On your knees, pet," he commands, his voice rough with desire. "Show me how much you want it."

You comply immediately, sinking to your knees on the plush carpet of the car. Your hands reach out to grasp his shaft, stroking him from root to tip. Asriel hisses in pleasure, his hips canting forward into your touch.

He tangles his fingers in your hair, guiding you closer to his straining cock. You take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head before taking him deeper.

Asriel groans, his grip on your hair tightening as you bob up and down his length. Careful not to cause him pain with your fangs. He sets a brutal pace, fucking your face with abandon, chasing his own pleasure.

"Enough," he grunts after a few minutes, pulling you off his cock. "I need to be inside you. Now."

You hesitate for only a moment before climbing onto his lap, your legs straddling his thighs. His cock brushes against your entrance, and you shiver at the contact.

Slowly, carefully, you sink down onto him, inch by delicious inch. He stretches you, fills you in a way you've never been filled before. When you're fully seated on his lap, your bodies pressed together intimately, he lets out a low groan of pleasure.

You begin to move, lifting yourself up before sinking back down. The motion sends sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, and you moan, unable to hold back the sound.

"Fuck, you're tight," Asriel groans, his head falling back against the seat. "So hot and wet and perfect."

You quicken your movements, rising up and down on his cock, finding a rhythm that has you both gasping and moaning. The car rocks with the force of your coupling, the leather seats creaking beneath you, and the windows fogging up with the heat of your passion.

Asriel's hands roam your body, cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples, driving you wild with lust. He captures your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure.

"That's it, pet," he pants against your lips. "Ride me harder. Take what you need."

Asriel meets your movements, thrusting up into you, driving himself deeper with each stroke. 

His hands roam your body, cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt. He leans forward, capturing one pert nub between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to send a jolt of pain-tinged pleasure straight to your core.

You ride him harder, faster, chasing your impending orgasm. Asriel's hips piston upwards, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. You can feel your walls starting to flutter, knowing you're close.

Asriel's thrusts grow more urgent, more demanding. He's close, you can tell by the way his body tenses beneath you, by the guttural moans that escape his throat. "So—good" he encourages, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. 

With a final, brutal thrust, Asriel buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he finds his climax. "Fuck” he breathes, his head thrown back in ecstasy. 

You feel the hot rush of his seed flooding your insides, claiming you, owning you. It triggers your own orgasm, your walls clamping down around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

You collapse against his chest, both of you panting and spent. Asriel wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you bask in the afterglow. “I own you.” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

You shiver at his words, a thrill running down your spine. You've never felt so possessed, so claimed. Asriel's cum still pulses inside you, a physical reminder of his ownership.

He reaches down, scooping some of the excess seed from where it leaks out of you, and brings his fingers to your lips. "Clean up your mess, pet," he commands softly.

Obediently, you part your lips, sucking his fingers into your mouth. The taste of him, salty and musky, sends another shiver through you.

 ──

You’re not sure when you fell asleep—vampires didn’t need sleep. It was more of a state of rest, a brief lull where time didn’t matter and everything was suspended. The gentle hum of the car’s engine is a soothing backdrop to the quiet space you occupy with Asriel.

The steady rise and fall of his chest against your back tells you he’s asleep too, though the way he holds you—still and unyielding—keeps the tension between you palpable. His warmth presses into your side, the faintest shift of his breath against your neck. Even in the calm, the presence of him feels suffocating, but not in a way that you mind.

Your eyes flutter closed once again. The motion is almost automatic, as if the weight of the night, of everything that’s happened, is too much to fight. You can feel his hand still resting lightly on your waist, fingers barely brushing the fabric of your clothes, yet the touch is enough to send a rush of heat through you. The proximity, the intimacy of it, makes your pulse quicken in the quiet darkness of the car.

The car continues its slow journey, the outside world distant, muffled by the tinted windows and the silence inside. The lights from the city pass by, casting brief flashes of pale illumination across the interior, but the moment you share with Asriel remains shadowed, hidden. The rhythmic sound of his breathing, steady and deep, lulls you deeper into the softness of sleep.

For the first time in a long while, you allow yourself to surrender to the sensation of his presence, of his warmth.

──

author's note: just in case there's any confusion, pet does not posses any romantic feelings towards isaac, vise vera.

elias requested fic is next!

if you like this, read the mirrored sequel! (heavenly)

[yandere-sins]

The Orcas' Tale - Krill's Story II

a/n: And finally! The finale of the series! It was two years in the making and still didn’t finish in time, but I’m glad I got to finish it at all. The stories didn’t all turn out as I planned but I’m glad I got to tell you about these three. I am almost certain that they’ll make an appearance on this blog sometime in the future, perhaps next year to next Mermay’s where we might have some very different kinds of mermaids showing up. But until then, I only have a few more asks to reply to and this chapter is closed. Thank you everyone who supported this story and stuck around for over a year to wait on the closure, and please enjoy the last chapter! ♥

Fandom: Original Content   Pairings: Yandere!Orca Merman x GN!AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere... with a twist, Sexual Content (Mostly dub-con, Jerking someone off, Kissing, Attempted deep-throating, Rubbing against each other, Copious amounts of cum, Non-human cock, Mention of non-consensual mating, Magical relaxing cum), Violence (Major Character "Death", Fighting, Gunfire/shots/wounds, Mention of blood), Description of drowning, Animalistic behavior, Mention of claws/sharp teeth, Mention of Slavery, Mention of Abuse, Very long post (7k)

You weren't sure if you felt encouraged or even more appalled as you watched Krill's face contort, pleasure and frustration mixing as blood ran from the corners of his mouth.

He was biting his lips so hard, tearing the flesh with his sharp fangs just so he could hold back from giving any audible cue about how he was feeling. It felt like he wasn't doing it for himself but rather for you, considering how reluctant and unwilling you were to actually put your hands on him. But it also made your job harder, as you did not get any feedback on whether you were on the right track. 

Even with two hands, you could barely close around his shaft, his massive cock pulsing and jerking in your grip violently, demanding more than you could give. You only had two human hands, so how were you supposed to handle all of this need in front of you? Krill watched you intently, following every movement of your gloves rubbing against his skin obsessively. The muscles in his body twitched ever so often, tensing and stretching to receive more or shy away from your attention, you weren't sure which.

"Krill," you called out, watching the crimson blood drip from his lips as he gnawed them, his gaze instantly snapping upwards to meet yours. "Don't hurt yourself."

That was enough for him to make a conscious effort to unlock his jaw and peel his teeth out of his own flesh. You were tempted to turn around and grab a towel to wipe off the blood when a guttural groan resounded from the depths of his body, unleashed through the opening of his mouth. You felt it shudder through your own body, piercing right to your core and starting a fire there, spreading the warmth from your cunt to the tips of your ears. 

A mating call.

"I tried…" He winced when your hands stopped moving, holding on to his cock for support like you would to a railing. Every cell in your body was heating up, overcome with need after being exposed to this trick that the sirens had up their sleeves. I tried shielding you from this—you wanted to believe his words even though he didn't finish the sentence, but the effect had already rattled you to the core. It would have been sweet of him if this had been any other situation, but you two didn't have that kind of relationship. You had to act with the tools you had, and he couldn't deny the parts of him that were feral; those were just the facts you had to come to terms with.

"I didn't want to come back. Didn't want you to see me like this."

"But you did," you mumbled, regaining some of your composure. His groan had caught you completely off-guard, the overwhelming influence of a siren's call not something anyone could get used to. But for some reason, it made you even more determined to get this over with. 

"And I told you I'd help you. So try not to knock me out again."

Your scolding was as light as a jest as you returned to stroking his cock. Krill let his head fall back, chortling some merman sounds and buckling his hips to help you. As the friction grew, you realized the gloves were more of a hindrance. Although you were reluctant to discard them, as the intensity was picking up, you decided to go skin-to-skin.

Every time you pulled your touch from him, Krill snapped his teeth at you, but you began to understand it was out of frustration rather than fury, forgiving it. "Watch it," you warned him once, his attitude a thorn in your side. You were trying to help, after all. 

Strangely, he took your words for more of a command rather than you trying to get him to be less intimidating. And watch he did. He watched as you spit into your dry palms, his cock jerking upwards like a spring as you did. You furrowed your brows in abash nervosity as you caught his shaft between your hands again, smoothing over the skin. Without the gloves catching on every ridge, your strokes became much more even and longer, going from his bulbous tip to the slit the cock emerged from. 

Out of purely scientific interest, you slid two fingers along the shaft into the cock slit, feeling around the hiding spot of such a massive instrument carefully while your other hand dutifully kept stroking him. A thick liquid spread over the hand that was closest to his tip alerted you to the stimulation you were causing with your inquisitive exploration of the merman, gel-like precum coating your hand. You looked up at Krill, who was back at biting his lips, unsuccessfully, as he whined through his teeth. It was hard to read him, but you thought he was in pain by his expression, so you immediately retracted your hand.

"No…" he sighed, rolling his head in the brace, a long, exasperated sigh deflating his body. "I was so close."

You could not help but feel frustrated by the lack of understanding of what you were doing. It was so hard to determine what felt good and what wasn't when you didn't really know the… man you were working with. So as you tried to build up the pleasure for him again, sinking your fingers into the slit and stroking his cock at the same time, you felt yourself discouraged by everything around you. 

It was a feeling you knew too well. Having spent days and nights crying after you realized your life was over, that you'd be caught here forever as punishment by this corporation that neither cared about their researchers nor the creatures they were trying to exploit, you started to curse yourself for the smallest things. Sure, times had been rough ever since; years of bullying and scorn laid behind you. But you found yourself blaming every little mistake on the skills you lacked. Here you were, forced to jerk off the creature that had caused all of this, and you still failed at even that simple a task.

But you had always adapted so far. And this was your time to finally shine, you just needed to utilize it properly.

"Krill," you called out to him, and he immediately reared up to pay you his undivided attention. Albeit with a strange form of adoration in his eyes as you slowed your stroking pace. "I'm not your mate," you clarified, and he let out a weary chuckle. 

"You're so cute, trying to deny it," Krill mumbled, sounding much more relaxed than before, although his cock was still jerking against your hand.

"No, I–" You felt your face flush with heat as his words registered, unintentionally gripping his cock hard and causing a blissful moan to echo through the laboratory. "I refuse," you finished your sentence, shaking your head at his horniness and softening your hold. 

"But whatever it is, I'll help you. I'll make sure you don't get treated as badly and that you can live somewhat… normal. I'll spend all my time with you, so… promise you'll help me make this all possible. Promise you'll not try to kill me or anyone."

Although you saw him bare his teeth at the last part of your speech, his answer didn't take long. "I promise," he snarled, sounding less convincing than you would have liked, but you nodded firmly, grasping at the slight chance of a mutual understanding you two had. It was hard enough to have all these enemies around you. Perhaps you could make an unlikely alley out of Krill, who needed you just as much as you needed him. 

"Okay," you whispered. The first step was made, and you went to the next one. Letting go of his cock, you stepped down the platform, Krill's brows furrowing as he tried to look after you. 

"Where are you going?" he asked and you stepped up to a panel on the wall, staying silent as you pressed an inconspicuous button. Krill was twisting in his holds when you disappeared from sight, but when the metal lock around his neck sprang apart, giving him much more freedom than you should be comfortable with, his eyes widened. You held your breath as you picked up the wet towel from before and walked up to his head.

Krill let it fall back once more, watching you with suspicion in your eyes. Communication is key, you thought as you lifted the towel in your hand, taking another step. "I will wipe the blood off your face," you explained, and his eyes narrowed, sharply watching every step. You couldn't begrudge him for also having trust issues after the dose of drugs you gave him, causing his agitation. You were unable to stop yourself from glancing up at his cock, still perked up, waiting, needy. You'd be returning to it soon, but first, you needed to know if you could trust him. 

"It won't hurt," you whispered gently, knowing he could hear you well no matter how loudly you spoke. Sacrificing your arm over your throat, you stretched it out, waiting with bated breath on his reaction before you dabbed the towel to the side of his face, clearing up some of the blood. Krill hesitated, perhaps just as tensely as you were, and you stepped even closer to properly wipe his cheeks. 

"That's a good killer whale," you teased, lips curling into a cheeky grin, when you noticed the corners of his mouth twitching as well. He was trying so hard not to laugh along with you, but you used your free hand to steady his head before going to work on his lips and cheeks, wiping off the sticky blood. It could have been fatal to be too immersed in your work, but you wanted to believe that this cooperation could work. 

"I need you to tell me if something hurts or upset you. With your words, preferable." Establishing some ground rules was your main objective as you cleaned him up. Trust would be harder to earn, but if you could show him how much better it would be to work together, that would be a big step. 

"I can't hurt you," Krill replied, and you flinched as you didn't expect him to open his mouth, these sharp teeth still as daunting as they were the first time you saw them. You knew it hurt him that you were scared just by the tense expression on his face. But to your surprise, he turned his head to the side, kissing your wrist with an unfamiliar gentleness. "I could never hurt my mate."

"Krill, we–"

"Yeah, yeah. Not mates." He let out a deep sigh, all of the tension leaving him. When he finally pried his eyes from you, you quickly wiped off the last smears of blood of him, not wasting his distraction. It made you feel better to have cleaned up the mess you caused, even though you knew there was still the biggest mess to make. Undeterred, you brought the towel back to the table so you could examine the remnants of his blood later. 

"So you need me to tell you how I feel."

You whirled around, finding him staring at you absentmindedly. You didn't even feel his watchful eyes on you this time, which was getting concerning. Were you growing comfortable?

"Yes, please," you answered, nodding encouragingly. "We need to understand each other if we want this to work."

This time, Krill gave you a small, brief nod. A human gesture that looked a little clumsy coming from him, but he tried, and you counted that as a success. You stepped up to his head again, placing yourself between his restraint arm and his free head. For most researchers, this closeness would be way too dangerous. There were so many vital organs he could bite, but you'd bring results here, even if you had to put yourself at risk. "We are… a team now. Not mates, but a team. And we'll get through this together."

"Pretty words," he mumbled, exhaustion in his smile. "You keep denying it, but you smell absolutely delightful for someone not interested in me."

You felt your face flush from heat, realizing there must have been remnants from that mating call from before. It didn't help hiding your arousal when his head was perfectly in line with your crotch, and you immediately wished to abandon this plan of yours and go back to being hostile with him. 

"Don't be such a smartass, Mr. Having-abnormal-senses," you chided him, reaching up to pinch his nose like one would while joking around with someone you were close to. This time, Krill was the one to close his eyes in wariness before snapping them up again, clearly unamused. "Is that how you treat your subjects?" he asked. His wording felt weird, making you question the meaning of the word 'subject' for you and him. But maybe you were overthinking it. Clearly, Krill wouldn't put himself below you in the hierarchy and must have picked it up somewhere in a context more related to experiments. 

"Focus," you alerted him, forcing yourself out of your thoughts. It was easy to get lost in foolish banter—he was so fascinating, after all—and joking around with him felt more natural than with most people you knew. "I need you to tell me how to make you feel good so we can move on from this." 

Turning away from him, you missed the grimace on his face as you gestured to his cock. "What do you do for pleasure? What do you like?"

"I…" he drew out the word for as long as he could before avoiding your eyes, and you scoffed in horror as you realized he didn't know. 

"You never had sex before?"

"Of course I did," he snapped back. "It's easy with other mermaids. You catch them while they are in heat, do your thing, and it's over. We don't need to know what we like or don't like. It's just easy like that. They are… they're not like you."

You should have been relieved to hear he wasn't a virgin, but at the same time his last words made you panic. If he didn't know, you two would have to start from the basics, and there simply wasn't any time for that. His words also implied that you might not be able to satisfy him, making you worry even more. Now, it was you gnawing on your lips, unsure of how to proceed. You thought you were making progress, but alas, it was all for naught. 

No. No, you couldn't give up yet.

"I will try something," you announced, and looking into Krill's eyes, you felt a shiver run down your spine. It was either one of fear from the intensity that served as a warning or pleasure from the keen interest he was showing you—undiluted, enamored interest. "I don't know if you'll like it, but try not to hurt me."

Before he could react and diminish your feeble confidence even more, you pulled off your facemask and leaned down, awkwardly smashing your lips against his. It could barely be called a kiss, but although you felt weird initiating it so suddenly, he immediately caught on. Parting his lips in a hot breath, his tongue lapped out, demanding entrance from you. And caught off-guard as you were, you gasped, giving him what he wanted. The taste of blood lingered, but it was overtaken quickly by the intensity of the kiss. His tongue was choke-worthy, but as much as you wanted to get away, you tried to endure his inquisitiveness, allowing him a taste as he rubbed it over your tongue and blunt teeth that would never be able to hurt him. 

Only when his tongue threatened to slip down your throat did you react, jerking away faster than Krill could respond. There were signs of frustration as he rattled in his holds, hands curled into fists while his head tried to follow. "Why did you stop?" he asked as you coughed from the unwanted penetration of your throat. 

"It can't go that deep," you explained. "You have to be gentle. I am not as big as your kind is."

His frustration was expressed in a growl before Krill snapped, "Again!" at you, and you took a deep breath. 

"Gentle," you urged, and he brought his lips together thinly as if to restrain himself. It was almost comical, considering you would kiss him again, but this time, his effort paid off. Although his tongue kept lapping out, and you refused to get yours anywhere near the fangs, you two actually managed to kiss properly, the smacking of lips paired with unfiltered moans and sighs ringing out in the laboratory, making this almost intimate. 

You reached out your hand towards his chest, a muffled groan resounding against your lips as you applied feathery touches to his nipples. Krill arched his back into your touch, and you flicked the nub, causing some of his muscles to spasm.

"I like this," Krill muttered in between smooches, quickly trying to find your lips again after speaking. You felt like a bad teacher, always stopping when things got intense. Still, there was only so much you could endure, and in Krill's eagerness, he had more stamina than you. "It feels good." 

Seeing his lips curl into a cheeky grin following his words, the 'good' was nothing more than an approving purr from his lips.

"Good," you whispered as you moved away, caressing his cheeks gently. His body moved behind you, but the arm against your back remained utterly still, giving you a chance to rest against it. "That's a kiss. It's supposed to make you feel good." 

Your explanation almost made you feel stupid, but you had no time to fall into your feelings of shame and defiance. Not when you had a purring merman demanding more of your attention. "Are you going to kiss me down there, too?" Krill asked, and you looked over to his cock, not needing more guidance to figure out what he meant.

"Would you like that?"

He nodded, and you bit your lip. You should have just said no. Letting your hands fall from his face, you didn't pull them from his body, feeling the smooth, taut skin beneath your fingertips. His gills flared, and now you were much more aware of the eyes following you as you stepped away, facing your fear head-on.

After all this time, his cock should have been dry like a fish out of the water. But you found even more spilled precum all over it and Krill's stomach. You gulped, searching for reassurance as you looked back up at him. There was something core-heating about the confident smirk on his face, the knowledge that he could make you act as he wanted, all for the farce you two were trying to build. If you really were his mate, you were screwed. But you didn't want to know the amount of aggressions and defiance that letting him down would rise between you two. He was your ticket to a better life, and at heart, you were still a softy when it came to these poor creatures captured here. 

Catching his twitching cock in your hands, you led it to your mouth. Another gush of precum bubbled out of it, coating your hands and almost splashing on your face. You wiped over the tip with your thumb, hearing the soft moan coming from Krill just from this small gesture, before you brought your lips to the heated flesh, kissing the side of the tip once briefly before catching yourself and doing it properly. 

This time, the sound coming from him was anything but restraint, your kisses trailing along his shaft. You couldn't take it into your mouth for even an inch with the massive tip befitting Krill's size. Regardless, you used your lips and tongue to stimulate parts while massaging your hands, sometimes harder, sometimes gentler, into it. 

"Does it feel good?" you asked, leaving a few more pecks around the gushing hole at the tip, more and more fluids collecting there, making it hard not to have a little taste of it. 

"Yes… Yes!" Krill confirmed, somewhat impatient yet completely enamored. It was just a small win, yet it boosted your confidence more than it probably should have. Growing bold, you drew closer to the top, swiping more of his fluids away as you planned to conquer this sensation with Krill. Pressing your own legs harder together, you tried to deny the wetness you felt when you first tasted his cum, both salty yet alluring on your tongue. It had a strange relaxing effect on your body, one that made you not care so much about everything that made you hesitant. And although you cautioned yourself, you found yourself sucking on the sensitive, aggravated skin of his tip, more precum gushing onto your lips until you realized you were licking it off with your tongue.

Immediately, you recoiled, unbelieving about what you were doing. You weren't supposed to enjoy this… or were you? It would make things easier if you didn't hate it so much, although the shame was hard to conquer. A strangled whine escaped from Krill, and you looked at him, his eyes once again glazed over. But not with relaxant. With lust. 

He was holding himself back, and that wouldn't work for you anymore. "Use your words," you reminded him sternly, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. 

"Do that again," he demanded, thrusting his hips into your hands. 

"I'm sure you could ask a bit nicer than that."

You watched, stopping your stroking when he didn't react. Dominance and need fought with each other in the flaming red of his eyes, and the sight of it was mesmerizing. No matter if you denied being his mate, everything pointed to him wanting to give you the world. Even his questionable motions, the way he'd rather bite his lips bloody than to moan, it all seemed so profoundly ingrained into him to not want to put himself beneath anyone's authority. And yet, you witnessed first hand how much he wanted to give up by the way he uttered his next words—reverently. 

"Please do that again. It felt so good."

And you did. You didn't care that endless amounts of juices soon invaded your mouth as you suckled his tip. You didn't mind the way he kept bucking the soft flesh of his tip into your face every time. Your hands slid back down to the slit where you danced your fingertips around the entrance, teasingly dipping it in and out. This time, there was no holding back as Krill yelled, "Yes! Yesss!" the further you two were going. You felt him getting close, a knot building in your stomach knowing you got him to a point of release, and you moaned softly into his tip, the sound vibrating on the surface, finally pushing him over the edge. 

His hips went completely rigid as heavy strings of cum exploded out of him. You drew back just in time, moving away a bit too abruptly as you watched the eruption that was Krill's climax. It was beautiful, mesmerizing, accompanied by the sounds of the ocean breaking out from his throat. 

Watching the cum drip out of his tip and down his body, you couldn't look away, couldn't focus on anything else but Krill's relief. His face was a mesmerizing show of shame that quickly turned into pure, unfiltered joy. You realized much too late that you let the samples go to waste as they sloshed on the floor. But Krill wouldn't let you down. Virile and perhaps still under the influence of the drugs, his cock immediately sprang back to life the second it had spent itself all over him, and you felt your core clench with admiration as it stood ready, just like before. 

You should have been mad that it wasn't over. You wanted to. But in that moment, Krill being ready for another round was so much more exciting than you ever thought it would be.

There was no denying that you were aroused. Aroused by a creature other than your own kind. Aroused by the way he pleaded with you, how the strain in his body showed you all the ways he wanted more of you to make him feel good. The taste in your mouth and the memory of his mating call shuddered through you. You were lucky he was restraint, otherwise you weren't sure if either of you could have held back. And your body certainly wasn't made for being penetrated by this massive cock twitching impatiently as it waited for your return.

A new idea popped into your head. One that benefitted all. 

Honestly, it was a stupid idea, but you were hopeful you'd be able to get control of all these thoughts in your head that were growing out of control.

After stripping off the apron and lab coat, you were left in the obligatory wetsuit, which was the standard uniform for everyone since you worked with aquatic lifeforms. You were supposed to get wet, although probably not the way your own slick stuck to the inside of your thighs. 

Pushing off your shoes, you swiped one of the test tubes, sticking it safely into the chest pocket of your suit before you stepped closer. Krill's eyes were back to his sharp focus, studying every twist of your body with a burning passion. His body wrung impatiently in The Fisher, upset that you left him, but his eyes were so fierce with their adoration that you felt another gush of heat rake through you.

"I can smell you, Human. Let me out of here so I can make you feel good, too."

There was something uncanny about the way he was able to quickly catch onto things. You let out a shuddering breath before forcing your lips into a smile, shaking your head. "There's still more for you to learn. I think it's best if you stay where you are."

A growl escaped him, but you weren't scared anymore. It wasn't a threat to your life, though perhaps to your pussy as it reminded you of all the savage things he'd do to you if he could. You were feeling strangely aroused and relaxed now. You could only blame the precum that you swallowed for feeling so much more chill about what was happening, and you knew you'd have to study this thoroughly if you ever snapped out of it. You believed in yourself more now, and you had made him beg for you more than once at this point, which boosted your ego. Krill only had to sit back, and you'd take care of him—just like you promised.

Not letting him know your next move, you stepped up to his side, the movements in his body ceasing—the expectancy of your what you were going to do was high. With your hands dancing over his body, you gave his nipple one more flick, chuckling as Krill let out a strained sigh. Steading yourself on his hips, it wasn't too hard to climb on top of him. Since he was more or less situated beneath you, all you needed to do was find some hold on his slick body and climb on. Krill unintentionally did the rest.

You didn't mean to fall down onto his cock, but when he bucked his hips unexpectedly from surprise, you slipped and crashed down. It did nothing to hurt him, though, and you both ended up moaning as your weight pinned his cock down, the pulsing shaft pressing into your cunt. 

"Well, fuck," you muttered, already feeling like this could have been enough to push you over the edge. 

"You should have let me lift you up," Krill complained, a slight pout puffing his lips, and you laughed, feeling strangely cared for with this comment. 

"And let you miss this experience? I don't think so. Tell me what you feel."

There were very little words actually leaving his mouth as you rocked your hips forward, rubbing your pussy along his shaft. It was wet enough that the clothes standing between you two only added to the friction, not caused the same mess as the gloves. You felt the heat catching up to you as his cock twitched against you eagerly. A constant reminder of how much it wanted to be smothered in your walls, invade you deeply until it would spill its seed deep inside. But this was as far as you two could possibly go without destroying your body, and it had to be enough for that impatient cock of his. 

"Harder," Krill ground out, his hands flexing in their holds, endlessly frustrated with the lack of freedom. 

So, instead, you slowed down.

"I'm sure you can say that nicer," you challenged him, raising a brow as you slid your hips back and forth at a snail's pace.

"Fuck you," Krill growled, but when you gasped at his defiance, sliding your pussy up to his tip without looking, you both mewled in pleasure, immediately forgetting about his brattiness. 

"You liked that?" you asked, unable to hold back your own ragged breaths as you pressed your pussy over the curve of his bulbous tip, all the way to the top and then back again. This was the closest you'd ever get to penetration, but it was damn good, just as it was. 

Krill let his head fall back, groaning loudly as he bucked his hips. Luckily, his body was too massive to make you fall off, but you did feel like he was restraining himself more now that you were on top of him. 

"I like it," he mumbled. "I like it a lot. My mate is fucking my cock—it drives me insane. Are you feeling good, too? Is it because of me?"

Krill looked back at you pleadingly, wanting so desperately to be the reason for your horniness, and you were unsure how to react. However, unable to deny it, you nodded and he let out a groan, more precum spilling out of him, wetting your thighs thoroughly. The Fisher was aching as Krill's arms flexed, and you became painfully aware that although it felt good—the ridges on his shaft teasing your clit, his cock pushing against you eagerly as he wanted the same as you did, while his precum warmed every inch of your body—it had to end soon. Lest you risk Krill being the first mermaid to actually break free from The Fisher and hurting you in the process.

"Krill," you mewled, feeling yourself get riled up as he pushed his hips upwards, allowing his cock to be rubbed against you rather than the other way around. 

"Are you going to cum? Am I making you cum? Gods, you are so beautiful like this. I can't wait to watch you cum so prettily on my cock, Mate."

You knew better than to lose yourself in the pleasure, but to an infatuated merman, you must have looked like quite the wonder, disheveled, and horny as you rode him to the finish line. "You must cum, too," you gasped out as you were so close to your orgasm, knowing you were one mere push of his hips away from cumming from the intense friction and heat that tingled all through you.

"I am! I'm cumming with my mate, you can bet your pretty pearls on that!"

Krill was no liar. Because the moment you panted breathlessly, a single ridge flicking over your clit as Krill bucked his hips upwards, you both came fully undone. Your orgasm was overwhelming as you felt the cum travel through the long shaft, pushing its swelling into your pussy before exploding from the tip that you had worshiped before, but you were prepared this time, grabbing the test tube that you had hid in your wetsuit to hold it in front of the eruption happening before you. It filled with more ease than getting rid of the post-orgasm mind fog was for you, but even when you sacked down on top of him, you held the tube steady, not spilling a drop. 

"Fuck…" you muttered, unable to remember the last time you came this hard. Certainly not from playing with yourself, that much was clear. Tasting his precum had to be an unknown aphrodisiac that you didn't know about; testing was inevitable. But for now, you had to get off and get your act together again. 

"You good?" you asked, patting Krill's loin—the closest body part you could reach—before getting off him, classy like a cowboy but with a pussy aching and pulsing for the warmth it had experienced.

All you heard was Krill's low chuckle as a reply. He truly was awful at using his words, but you'd teach him that, you were sure now. Quickly, you stored the test tube with his sample in the fridge, jogging all the way over to keep it as fresh as possible. And from the workstation, you returned with more towels and a sense of stickiness all over your body. You hadn't noticed just how much of his cum had splashed onto your chest and stomach as well, nobody being safe from it, it seemed.

You were relieved to find his cock shrinking again. It was still massive, but it surely was going back to where it came from, and you had finally fulfilled one of the promises you had made. "You look pretty like this," Krill commented as you gave his stomach a good wipe down, semen splashing to the ground in unholy masses. 

"Covered in your cum?" you asked mockingly and he chuckled. He sounded the most peaceful ever since you encountered him that day. No wonder, after having spent his essence in copious amounts twice. 

"You look like a mate now. If I had you in my cave, I wouldn't let you wear anything but my seed ever again."

You grimaced. "Sounds mighty unhygienic."

"You'd come to like it."

The banter felt less aggressive now, although the topics were far from normal. Wringing out the third soiled towel, you sighed, announcing your defeat. "I give up." You dropped the towel, walking up towards his head again to press the buttons so Krill would be put back into the water. Once it had cleaned him, the filters could do the work of cleaning out the pool. 

"Wait," he called out, and you stopped in your tracks, raising a brow at him. 

"I want a… a kiss. I think I deserve that."

"I'm sorry who did all the work again?" you asked, faking your anger and Krill thought hard for a second.

"Then… you deserve a kiss. But I can't move, so you still have to come to me, Human."

You let out a laugh, but seeing how serious he was, you realized it wasn't a joke. You grew quiet as you thought about not wanting to but not wanting the mood to go sour after all that happened. It was all for the team building. Another trust exercise. 

Capturing his head in your hands you didn't need to lean down much as he had enough mobility now and an idea of what to do, so Krill took the initiative to kiss you. He wasn't aggressive, didn't choke you with his tongue. But you quickly realized why you felt so icky doing it, its gentleness and the added trilling that reminded you of giggling too intimate to be between teammates. But you endured it for the sake of this experiment. The sake of reclaiming your future and actually be someone again and regain your freedom little by little. You did it only for that!

The sound of the door unlocking, the metal screeching as it swung open, made you recoil violently from the kiss. Krill hissed sharply, swinging his body helplessly in the restraints—but not against you. 

A slow clap rang out through the laboratory, and you turned around, frightened, unable to hide the mess that was still everywhere and evident all over you. How were you going to explain this? Your worst nightmare had stepped into your new workspace, smiling from ear to ear, looking almost… proud? 

"Wonderful! What a wonderful demonstration of bonding between mates," the Professor exclaimed skillfully ignoring Krill's aggression towards him. "I always knew you could do it, we just had to wait for the right moment."

"Professor, I…" you wanted to explain yourself, try to talk yourself out. Ignoring Krill's whining as you stepped away from his body, which could have been a protective shield to you, Krill quickly returned to hissing and threatening your superior as you moved towards him, desperate not to leave the wrong expression. 

"No need," the Professor cut you off. "We saw everything and we are very impressed with your achievements."

He pointed towards the corner of the room, and you could have punched yourself for not realizing there was a camera with a red blinking light on the ceiling. Of course, they wouldn't have left you alone, even though they made your work out to be unimportant. "Fuck…" you muttered, defeated, knowing they had heard and seen everything. 

"We aren't mates. He's wrong about that!" you explained, frustrated at the situation, but more angry at yourself. Your supervisor was behind the Professor, grinning like a kid on Christmas Eve about the development of the situation. Behind him, guards. Soldiers who were definitely underpaid but felt overly important in their role here at the facility. And they undoubtedly weren't here to guard you.

"Surely you don't mean that. Look at the poor guy. You've been breaking his heart every time you say it."

The Professor didn't touch you, and you couldn't begrudge him. He just raised his hands to your shoulders and you turned around on your own towards Krill, your eyes meeting. However, there was no such thing as disappointment. Just pure anger and restraint. It was your fault. You made him promise not to hurt anyone. And now he had given up, too. 

"Let's put the fish back into the water and discuss your promotion. Matehood is so exciting, I can't wait to introduce you to another special mate of this one's cousin. I am sure you two will become best buds in no time!"

The cheery voice of the Professor did nothing to lift your spirit. You wanted to break free and do as he said, not wanting Krill to hear about these things and see you in this shameful moment. Tears were welling up and your supervisor went to push the buttons instead of you, feeling almost like you were betraying Krill's trust as his handler. 

However, at the sound and motions of the machine's working, something inside Krill changed. He began struggling again, thrashing in The Fisher. "Don't you dare," he hissed, but at the Professor, rather than you. He began focusing his strength on one arm, The Fisher making an aching sound as the metal was strained. 

"Stop it, Krill!" you called out, scared he'd hurt himself again, and his attention shifted to you. 

"And let you be taken from me? I'd rather die!"

His heroics were admirable, but when the soldiers cocked their guns, you jumped forward. "No! No, wait! He's just confused from the drugs, he won't hurt you! Please don't shoot him!"

"Ah," the Professor sighed, much too relaxed in this kind of situation. "Young love. It's so sweet how far you two would go for each other."

This helped nothing to calm down the soldiers or Krill who was getting increasingly agitated as he hovered above the pool, waiting for the floor to open up fully. It was then that complete chaos unfurled itself. The sound of metal snapping next to you, followed by a heavy body falling to the ground. In an instant you were surrounded by darkness as Krill completely enveloped you, and you yelped, hearing gunshots ring out violently and the pained groan of your merman. 

"No!" you screamed, thinking the worst. But as you lurched towards catching him from collapsing—a truly rash move as he'd easily bury you beneath him—Krill grabbed you by the waist. Before you knew what was happening, you were pulled into the water. You neither had the time to hold your breath nor to assess the situation as you sank to the depths, caught in Krill's hold while he was an unmoving mass weighing you down. You wanted to cry, thinking he was dead and so would you be. No one would fish you out of here, especially without knowing if the merman was still alive. And by the time they figured that out, you'd be long gone.

All you could do was wait out the inevitable drowning, and you commiserated this fateful meeting with the creature that destroyed your life in the first place. No… no, that wasn't fair. It wasn't Krill's fault. It wasn't even your own. You kept blaming yourself all this time, but in reality, it was the fault of greedy people and this facility that catered to them. Neither Krill nor you deserved what they were doing to you two. Had the circumstances been different, you might have come to an understanding and built a genuine, scientific relationship on trust. Although he was a handful, you had to admit.

Your thoughts flashed by like many others in your last moment, and it brought a smile to your face, remembering the stupid banter and even his insults and calling you 'human' desperately. You two were definitely even with you calling him creature and the like. Krill was a boisterous idiot and too cocky for his own good, but he could be sweet and caring. He listened, and he even protected you in the end. Reaching up, you found his neck, the air getting thin in your lungs as you hugged him tightly. He didn't deserve this. He really didn't. 

The splashing of water was the last thing you heard before you lost your conscience, only for it to be immediately beaten into you as someone slapped your back over and over hard enough until you coughed up all the water in your lungs. 

"And that's why we don't give them any freedom," the Professor's voice rang out, murrs of agreement echoing after. You felt his presence as he kneeled before you, the old man grunting from the strain. His finger dipped underneath your chin, raising your head to face him even if you vision was blurry still. 

"Have you learned your lesson, [Name]? You'll never escape from here. I've made you into the amazing researcher you are, you are a product of my teachings. And you will provide me with the results we need. Only you can find the eternal life hidden in these creatures. I don't care what you have to do to get it. Mate him, fuck him, get your needs met by a monster, but afterwards you'll come to me with a product that will give you back your freedom, alright?"

"Krill…" you coughed. "What about him?"

"Oh, he'll be fine. A few doses of adrenaline and his body will regenerate."

Letting go of you, your head fell forward to cough out some more water that burned in your nose alongside the tears in your eyes, but you couldn't grasp the situation in front of you properly. 

"I am so glad we fished you out there before it was too late," the Professor exclaimed, always thick on the dramatics. "What would we have done if we lost you two, huh? It would have been such a shame to lose our best researcher and their mate to such a little mishap, right, [Name]?"

This time, when you looked up, you couldn't help but glare at the person you had so admired when you were still studying under him. He was nothing but an insane maniac who would do anything to get an end to his means. Sacrificing merfolk, sacrificing humans. It didn't matter, but he made it clear that there would be no escaping him. No escaping at all… hm.

How did you set the orcas free in the past?

"Right," you mumbled, your lungs still hurting from the water. 

"I'm glad we are on the same page," the Professor laughed, but all you could do was try to remember how you escaped before. The memories eluded you, but there had been a way for sure. For now, you had to admit your defeat as you watched Krill's barely alive body being transported away and out of sight. The door to the laboratory remained open as everyone left you behind, but you didn't feel like going at all. 

You had to.

Getting to your feet, you had to follow wherever they were bringing Krill. And you had to remember how you managed to let them escape before. And when the time came, you'd go with them. But you needed access to the mermaids until then, perhaps some more companions. You lost your freedom, your new position as 'mate' hanging over your head like the blade of a guillotine. But even so, you had to push on, fight for what you wanted.

You lost the fight but not the war.

And when the time came, you'd make sure that this time, no one would stand in the way of your freedom.

[deezee112]

The worst ending 9 : Drowning in Obsession

The worst ending 8 | The worst ending 10

Yandere!Azul Ashengrotto x GN!Reader

A/N : Heyyyyyy I'll say that I finished Floyd draft faster than I expected, while Jade draft was much slower.

And Happy New Year in advance, because I think I won't be updating for a while this New Year.

Warnings : This story contains dark and mature themes , including possessive behavior , emotional manipulation , and graphic depictions of violence and death.

Tags :

@iris-arcadia

If you want me to tag you please tell me.

English is not my first language.

It wasn’t the beach or some picturesque lagoon that served as your first meeting with him. It was your living room—a modest, cozy space adorned with bookshelves, plush cushions, and the faint aroma of coffee.

The boy sitting on the rug looked completely out of place. His pale hair and translucent blue eyes gave him an otherworldly aura, and he sat stiffly, as if he wasn’t sure how to behave in this unfamiliar environment.

“ You don’t have a name Right? ” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shook his head, his small hands clutching the hem of his shirt. His movements were nervous, uncertain.

“ Well, that won’t do. ” you said, leaning forward with a teasing smile. “ How about Azul? ”

His head shot up, his wide eyes meeting yours.

“ Yeah. ” you said, settling back against the couch. “ It’s got a nice ring to it, don’t you think? ”

The boy seemed to mull it over, his brows furrowing in thought. Then, slowly, a small smile crept onto his lips.

You nodded, satisfied. “ Azul, Welcome home. ”

For the first time, his posture relaxed, and he gave a shy nod.

As the years passed, Azul grew into a sharp, intelligent young man. His once timid demeanor had been replaced by a quiet confidence, though his insecurities lingered beneath the surface.

One day, as he stood in the living room adjusting his tie in the mirror, you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh.

“ What? ” he asked, turning to you with a frown.

“ Why are you dressed so badly? ” you teased, crossing your arms.

Azul’s jaw dropped, and he huffed indignantly. “ Then why are you so old? ”

You gasped, clutching your chest in mock offense. “ Excuse me!? I am in my prime, thank you very much! ”

He smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “ It’s not my fault you don’t age as gracefully as I do. ”

You narrowed your eyes, switching to your first language to mutter a string of judgments about his questionable fashion sense.

Azul blinked, clearly not understanding, but his smug grin faltered. “ What did you just say? ”

“ Nothing you need to worry about. ” you replied sweetly, patting his shoulder.

For a moment, his expression softened, and his tailcoat fluttered as he turned away. “ Hmph. You’re lucky I tolerate you. ”

“ And you’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out for looking like a rejected magician. ” you shot back.

His chuckle was warm, but his grip on his lapel tightened ever so slightly.

Despite your playful banter, you couldn’t ignore the way Azul’s behavior had shifted over time. His once gentle demeanor had grown more possessive, his requests more demanding.

“ I don’t like when you talk to them. ” he said one evening, his voice calm but firm.

“ Them? ” you asked, glancing up from your book.

“ The people you work with. They don’t deserve your attention. ” he clarified, his gaze piercing.

You sighed, closing your book. “ Azul, they’re just colleagues. It’s not a big deal. ”

“ It is to me. ” he insisted, his hands curling into fists.

“ Azul, you can’t control who I talk to. ” you said gently but firmly.

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But then he nodded, his expression unreadable. “ Of course. I just...worry about yo.”

You reached out to ruffle his hair, trying to lighten the mood. “ You’re sweet, Azul. But you need to trust me. ”

He gave a small, forced smile, but his eyes betrayed a storm of emotions.

The night everything changed started innocently enough. You had been cleaning up after dinner when Azul approached you, his hands clasped tightly in front of him.

“ Can I ask you for something? ” he began, his voice trembling.

“ Of course. ” you said, setting the dishes aside. “ What’s on your mind? ”

He hesitated, his eyes darting to the floor. “ I want you to promise me that you won’t leave me. ”

You frowned, confused. “ Azul, I’m not going anywhere— ”

“ Promise me. ” he insisted, his voice rising.

“ Azul, calm down. ” you said, taken aback by his sudden intensity.

But he didn’t calm down. Instead, his hands flew to his face, and tears began streaming down his cheeks. His cries were loud, raw, and heart-wrenching, the kind of sobs that made your chest tighten.

“ Azul, what’s wrong...? ” you asked, reaching out to him.

He flinched away, his tears only intensifying. “ You’re lying! You’ll leave me! ”

“ N-No, I won’t! ” you said, trying to soothe him. “ Azul, I care about you. I’m not going anywhere.. ”

But your words only seemed to make things worse.

Before you could react, Azul grabbed your wrist with a strength that belied his slender frame.

“ Azul, let go! ” you cried, panic setting in as he dragged you toward the bathroom.

“ I can’t lose you. ” he muttered, his voice choked with emotion. “ If you won’t promise, then I have to make sure. ”

“ Azul, stop this! You’re scaring me! ”

But he didn’t stop. He shoved open the bathroom door and turned on the faucet, filling the tub with cold, rushing water.

“ Azul, please.... ” you begged, tears streaming down your face. “ You don’t have to do this! ”

His own tears fell freely as he grabbed your shoulders, his grip like iron. “ I’m sorry ” he whispered. “ But I can’t let you leave me. ”

With a forceful shove, he plunged your head into the water.

You thrashed, clawing at his arms, but his grip was unyielding. The water filled your lungs, and your vision blurred as your strength began to fade.

Above the surface, Azul sobbed uncontrollably, his cries echoing through the small bathroom. “ I’m sorry... I’m sorry... ”

And then, silence..

Azul sat beside the tub, his tear-streaked face pale and hollow. Your lifeless body lay in the water, your once vibrant eyes now dull.

He reached out, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. “ You’re mine now. ” he whispered, his voice trembling.

The water rippled as his fingers traced your cheek. “ No one can take you from me anymore. ”

In the quiet of the bathroom, the only sound was the faint drip of water from the faucet.

And somewhere, deep in the depths of Azul’s shattered mind, he believed he had finally won.