He himself is taken back by his own intrigued behavior, having spend countless late nights rethinking his behavior and trying to figure out just what makes him behave so… embarrassing and lowly for you. He soon stops thinking about it because the answer is he’s simply too smitten by you. It started out small - normal - nudging his nose a bit further into your hair while sitting together, finding your scent comforting. Not complaining when you took his cloths, letting you have them for weeks before you traded them for others. There’s no need to wash them, he’d say, even if there was a small spot of whatever you had dropped onto the clothing piece. Washing it would mean your scent would get rid off, you surely must have worked hard to make his clothes smell after you. It’d be a pity if they smelled fresh and after soap rather than after you, after all.
Don’t mind when he eventually buys your most used perfume, not for you, no, no. For himself. You noticed that when you stood close enough to him your perfume would suddenly become more prominent, rather strangely so, since it only got strong when he’s close despite you having applied your perfume hours before. At first you assumed some conditions are to blame or maybe you simply focus more on it around him. It’s only when you find the bottle of your perfume in one of his desk drawers while searching for something that you know. It’s already half empty.
As much as he adored your perfumes that just seem to adore and sweeten your natural scent more, it eventually wasn’t good enough. Too fake. Not truly you. So once the artificial scent became inefficient he began to press his nose as tight as possible against you at any given time, grumbling when he smelt the perfume and barely you. So especially in the early morning hours, when you’re barely awake yet, he’d be on you. Lips trailing kisses over your body as he slowly rubs his nose over your hair and skin, taking his time. A pity that your scent isn’t this strong - at least not on these part- . Slowly he began to slide down, sighing heavenly when the scent became stronger the lower he got. His fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your sleep pants, slowly pulling them down with his own lowering movements. Nose not once separating from your skin. For a simple moment he halts just below your belly, taking a moment to just take your intensify scent in. You have to forgive his rudeness and neediness. You just… drive him mad. With that in mind he slides further down, chin squeezing in between your thighs, which he slowly pulls a bit further apart with his hands while his nose slides in between your moist folds. He remains right there, eyes shutting as a slow, relieved sigh leaves him while he proceeds to nudge the tip of his nose up and down, coaxing it with your fluid, which begins to increase in amount. Matching his movements your own body stirs slightly, thighs pressing around his head like trying to unconsciously keep the feeling close. Or get it even closer. Not wanting to leave you entirely disappointed he presses a slow kiss against your folds before pulling his head a bit back. Instead turning to rub his face against your inner thigh, lips pressing a few more kisses on there while stimulatingly smearing the fluid on his nose on there. He was hard - pressing painfully into the mattress - but it’ll wait, he’ll ignore it. Your scent is more than enough, more than intoxicating and the warmth that came with it only was a bonus. In his opinion he could stay right here, between your thighs, nose against your genitalia, lips against any part of skin. Drowning in your scent and warmth. That was perfect. He’s pulled out of his moment of pure, silent satisfaction when he feels your fingers slowly slide between his locks, soft and caressing for a moment before tightening into a fist, clutching him drowsily. Reopening his eyes he immediately looks up, meeting your own sleepy and dark ones but despite that the slowly enlightening heat in them is also clear. For a moment he remains unmoving, just staring back before his lips tug up and he lets out a soft chuckle, hands squeezing your thighs.
“Oh darling…”, he coaxes, “did I wake you? You’ll have to forgive me… but don’t worry… I have an idea on how to make it up to you. You shall not regret having your sleep be cut short.”
contents: wc 1.2k. takes place post-amphoreus. hurt/comfort; mainly wordvomit. just an exercise to get me back into writing
The dock is uncomfortable.
This is, selfishly, your first thought when you find your spot next to Phainon. The bumps of the nailheads along wood that has not been sanded propely would turn most away, but he sits anyway, as if it's made a spot for him, and he's never left it. In many ways, you wish that he never had to.
Phainon looks over at you, and his pupils dialate, warm sun expanding against the endless sky. You know that thereafter he will be your second, third, and fourth thoughts.
"Knew I'd find you here." You grin.
He laughs, and it's strange, strange to hear it once more, before it is relieving. There was a short stretch of time in which you worried you'd never hear him laugh again, that the sun would set and let you shiver in the dark. But he'd always burn on for you, in the end.
You think that might worry you even more. This easy laughter is just that; too easy. Phainon is beautiful and brave and tender and sincere, everything and nothing, and this is how you know he can also be a liar.
"Was I too obvious? If we're not careful, we might have Mydei pestering us soon enough." He inches a hand out to your side, glancing to the sea as he speaks, and you intertwine your fingers.
Rolling your eyes, he elicits laughter, and you damn him for being so disarming. "Really? Aren't you always pestering him, actually? It seems to me he manages to flip your bait back onto you, more than you actually manage to bother him."
He narrows his eyes at this, frowning. "Aren't you supposed to be in my corner? See, this is how I know he's bothering us— he's turning you against me without being here!"
His fingers dive for your sides and you quiet a shriek, flinching at your own ticklishness. You recognize what the brief grab really wants to ask and as he starts to inch his hands back to his sides, you hold them with your own.
Phainon exhales, smile slipping, the simple act too simple to make into a shield for himself, and he must understand that you understand because he's silent for a beat after. It's one you're grateful for, because he steels himself and smiles again.
"How was your day?" He bids, polite and simple. You raise an unimpressed brow at such small talk. "Come on now, is it so wrong to want to know how my beloved is doing?"
Beloved. Even with pretenses upheld, the word still rings true, his voice slipping when he says it, unable to hide the weight of the word. It makes your heart flutter, so you let his questioning slide for now.
"Fine, good. I bought us some groceries…maybe splurged on a few trinkets. There was this sun catcher I found, you'll have to see it when it's brighter out. It's beautiful, you know?"
It made me think of you, you don't say.
He nods, then narrows his eyes. "Did you go antique hunting without me?"
"Never! This one's brand new. I wanted to make sure it was as bright as possible."
"Trying to blind me, then?" His voice runs accusatory, and his hands torment your sides once more, but this time they don't try to pull away after you giggle.
"Your accusations wound me, y'know," you huff. "If there's one thing I never want, it's to hurt you. I'd sooner take the fall in your stead."
Phainon's expression hardens, something like worry etching itself onto his face, although you know that it never truly left. When he speaks, the words run soft like the waves lapping against the dock, a barely concealed storm hiding under the water.
"I can't allow that, can I? I won't allow it, not…" Not ever again, goes unsaid. He swallows, and shudders out a laugh.
"I came to understand my responsibilities long ago. Ensuring your safety is one of them. Even if I burn up and fall apart, I know that this is my role to play, if it comes to you. I've never wanted anything else." Phainon makes eye contact when he says it, but his gaze really feels as though it's looking through yours. You brush your thumb over his cheek, squeezing, and are rewarded with the full weight of his gaze. He swallows.
You present a gentle smile.
"I've never wanted anything but your happiness," you offer.
His breath hitches, pained. Even as you undo him with every word, he tries to hold strong and stubborn. "I know. But you don't— you don't understand, what happens when I'm selfish. Or when I'm not selfless enough. It's what's gotten us to here, today. I can't just turn away now."
Herein lies the problem; you also know of, at least, the torment he and even others suffer when he is so endlessly compassionate. He burns up with it, until you're left to find nothing but charred ash.
You wonder in this instant how many times you have died at his blade, a cost born of his hopes to be selfless enough to one day drag in peace. Even if peace means he will catch flame, and burn until he is naught but still-warm embers.
The idea goes unsaid, but it echoes in your mind. Such a question would make him turn away, but you find it only makes you want to draw him in closer.
"You're not turning away. I'm right here. Even if more things come, I will find you." You trace down his throat, stopping at his collarbones. "I always did, right?"
Phainon's mouth opens, but it is the only sound out of him, words ash on his tongue. For all of his famed debates, he was never quite good at arguing with you.
"We're here today. And I'm safe, even when you haven't been by my side all day, even when you're torn between what you need to do," you continue. "So I'll always wait, for you to return, and for you to just be a bit more selfish. I can wait through everything, because it's you I've always wanted, and nothing more."
Your fingers drift down, to around his waist, and in the same breath you press your head to his chest. To remind him that someone wishes to hear the beating of his own heart.
"Tomorrow, you can splurge on antiques. And pair two decorations together in an ugly color combination, to drive me crazy because I know you've learned better." It's a merciful shift, because you've noticed the tears barely formed in his eyes.
Phainon laughs, nervous, but real. "Do you think so low of me?"
"Yes. You're not as glorious as you seem, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae. You're lucky you're wonderful enough to keep me coming back.
He smiles, arms reaching around you. "Is it so bad that I want you to stay?" You catch the tinges of nervousness there, still seeking confirmation.
Bringing up a hand to stroke his hair, your heart bursts at the seams with a love you can't quite hide.
"No. It isn't bad at all."
a/n: i'm sorry this is such a messs...i've been in such a block because of my perfectionism that i haven't been writing. figured it was about time i at least get something out lmao
➵ Notes; This is set in the modern AU! — did y'all know that yearning is Phainon's middle name?
➵ 1.9k Words.
➵ Warnings; possible OOC!
You are the companion to Phainon's bright sun. The moon in an endless sky.
You're the one to ground Phainon in moments of chaos, he is the one to lift you up in moments of sabotage, and both of you carry a light with drastically different intensity, yet actively aid one another to shine the path ahead.
But before you know it, the once warm hand begins to burn.
Phainon's hands are gentle. They always swallow yours in their embrace, even back when the two of you lack the height to reach the kitchen sink. Until now, when the two of you reached beyond your parents shoulders, he still drowns you in his warmth.
It started slowly, but consistent; your heart races every time he's within your proximity, the smiles you share with him has your cheeks heated for hours even long after the two of you went your separate ways, and a brush of skin with him—no matter how subtle—leaves you stiff.
For years, you survived endless teasing from family members and friends regarding your relationship with Phainon. Sometimes their words brushed you the wrong way, even when you knew they never did it out of malice.
Perhaps the words weren't the cause of your stillness, but the weight they carry. The impending realization that you've caught something you cannot avoid nor bury.
You hated it.
But how can you possibly ignore a light within this endless void?
You refrain from naming this feeling you have for him, because ‘in love' sounded shallow. Years spent with him, listening to each other's fears and wishes, and having it be defined in a single word seemed… wrong.
But you do love him. That's a certainty that you have not even a speck of doubt in.
You loved how he lights up the moment he spots you, you loved how loudly he laughs at your jokes—even if they were painfully unfunny—and you loved how his eyes seem to fixate, as if the surroundings have disappeared from his view and only you remain.
He is the sun that greets you at the beginning of every day, while you're the moon that accompanies him in dark nights.
But this… feeling has its grasp over your heart, squeezing every moment you spend by Phainon's side. It didn't sadden you as much as it annoyed you deeply.
You want to stop it. Crush it. Make it disappear.
It ruins your view of the relationship you've had with Phainon. It blurs the lines of platonic affection and more. It makes you stop in your tracks and take a step back.
It doesn't take long for you to deduce that the only cure to all of this is Phainon.
That thought alone has you groaning in frustration.
What is it with humans and their hearts creating problems for themselves?
You're completely satisfied with simply being one of Phainon's closest friends. So why does your heart urge for more?
Why does it place you on a tightrope, expecting you to reach the other side and claim a price when you don't even know if you want it?
Understanding the symptoms all connect to him, you create your own temporary (which hopefully turns permanent) cure; limit your interactions with Phainon. But make sure he doesn't notice.
This medication of yours will be a lifelong one, and to begin this journey of recovery—you stop your usually fast response to Phainon's messages.
First week, you'll let the chat marinate for two hours. Next week, you'll double it to four. The pattern repeats for the upcoming weeks.
Of course, it doesn't take long for Phainon to notice, but this is where being in different schools comes in handy. When he questions, you deny (after letting the message dry for two hours) and reason that school activities have gotten hectic—not a total lie. Phainon seems to understand, but urges you to inform him if anything happens. He's always up to help.
You didn't respond. Leaving him on read. No doubt causing a small crack between the two of you.
It pained you, it really did. But drowning in self-pity will not help the situation, you're committed now—if anything, you don't blame him for leaving after this. It's probably for the best anyway.
After a few weeks of slow responses, each one getting drier.
You take the next step, intensifying this treatment, by avoiding him. Not flatly, but just enough to make it clear that you’re occupied throughout a gathering by hanging around new friend groups, sitting beside another friend, or never letting your side be vacant.
This seemed to deepen the crack, and for the first time you see Phainon's glare be directed towards you. Not with anger, but.. With helpless hope that you'd come up to him, even if just to greet with a smile. His eyes are unable to tear themselves away from your figure, even when it pained him. His hands, tucked by his sides, tremble ever so slightly. Just on the tether of launching forward and just… returning you to his side.
And you waited, curious on what he'd do once he reached his breaking point. Whether he'd march forward or cry on the spot.
Yet, he did neither.
He reciprocated your action, not making an effort to approach you and busied himself, whether by chatting with the old men gathered at a table or listening to gossiping aunties. Anything to keep his gaze away from your figure.
But have you forgotten? Phainon is relentless. And for you? You'll have a bigger chance of escaping a hungry predator than Phainon. But with the way he's walking towards you, he might as well be one.
Once the gathering ends and people are returning to their homes, Phainon manages to catch you by the wrist in a firm grip and kindly asks permission to borrow you from your parents (who are unaware of the turmoil and hands you over with a chuckle).
He takes you to the spot you've spent the majority of your childhood, the big old willow tree. With the same tire swing still hanging off of its branch. Even the wood bark has your initials marked into it by Phainon, a day after the two of you graduated middle school.
“What did I do?” He released his grip on your wrist.
You're quick to answer, “Nothing.”
“Yes, I'm well aware of that. So what is it, [First]?” he's kind enough to not appear as angry as his tone might suggest, especially the way he delivers his questions.
The words fail to reach your tongue and the two of you stand there in silence.
He lets out a heavy breath, “.. Just, please tell me what I did wrong.. I'll apologize for it..” appearing a lot more exhausted yet unwilling to stop his pursuit. “.. I'll fix it.”
The last thing you want is to make a spontaneous confession. “It's really nothing, Phainon.” You look over his shoulder, trying to plan how exactly you'll escape this situation. “I've just been busy with school work.. And there's nothing wrong hanging around new people.”
“I never said anything was wrong with that, what I want to know is what I did.” He takes a step forward, and you can hear the drumming of your heart. Deafening any sound in your vicinity.
“.. [First],” you hate the way his voice softens, carrying your name with this sense of longing. “I don’t—I really don't know what I did this time.. I won't get upset with your answer, whatever it is, just.. Don't leave me in the dark, please.”
Slowly, and hesitantly, his hand grasps the end of your sleeve. His knuckles turn pale from how tightly he's gripping. “.. Talk to me. Let me hear your voice.”
Your medication is proving to be difficult to maintain, and the cure is being dangled right in front of you. “.. I already told you—it's nothing.”
He frowns, but appears more desperate than upset at your repeated answer. “Did something happen? Did someone bother you at school?” his eyes seem to turn sharper at the thought. “[First].. I'm your closest friend. I'm here for you, remember? I'll listen to your every word.”
“I know you will—it's just..” How are you supposed to explain the on-going battle between you and your own heart?!
His hand drifts down to hold yours, his grip unbearably gentle. “Take your time.” He urges you with a nod.
Does he know how weak you are to his eyes? Those blue orbs seem to put a spell on you, one that weakens your resolve which usually ends with him receiving exactly what he wants.
And this is no different.
“.. I—” you stagger back as your head spins with realization of what's about to happen. Phainon’s grip prevents you from losing your balance any further.
“Careful—!”
“I fell for you!” the words spilling out of your mouth in one sharp breath.
The quiet that follows is unbearable. Wind passes by your frozen figures, in hopes of melting away the tension. It was the best sentence you could come up with at the moment—because everything else seems to fall apart the moment they reach your tongue.
Your eyes are unable to stray from the grass standing between your feet.
But a sudden fall snaps your gaze towards him—
Phainon's legs lost their strength, and he dropped down to his knees right before you. His grip remains on your wrist, noticeably shaky and you can feel sweat forming over the surface. His hair hangs over his face as he stares down. Refusing to meet your gaze.
“.. Phainon..?” You call out to him, nervous on what expression his face may hold.
A beat passed before he gradually lifted his head. You're greeted by the sight of his fully red face, the color traveling all the way to the tips of his ears. “.. You—You took me off guard..” He whispers out, forcing out a laugh from his throat.
Heat begins to form over your cheeks. “Can you get up..?”
He pauses for a moment, his gaze falls down before returning to you. “.. I'm afraid not.” Which only deepens the color over his face. Despite that, he tries using his free hand to push himself up but ends up back in his spot when his legs begin to shake. “.. I—I really can't get up..”
“It's—It's fine..” You lower yourself to his level, settling on the grass. Uncaring of the stain it might leave on your clothes. “.. I should probably apologize for the way I've been.. Treating you. And I'll understand if you don't accept my confession. I mean, I wouldn't either cause of how I've been acting these past few weeks—”
Phainon launches himself forward, and successfully causes the words to freeze in your throat as he buries his head in the crook of your neck.
Your body visibly shakes at the closeness, even after years of shared affection—all being platonic—this is the only one to make your heart lurch in its place.
He takes a breath, inhaling your scent as he pulls away but not far. Just enough to stare into your wide eyes. “.. I was supposed to confess first, you know. I've been planning it in my journal since elementary..” He huffs, and you swear a pout is forming over his cheeks. “.. And in order to be forgiven, I have a request..”
Your breath hitch, “.. And that is?”
His eyes narrow as a grin creeps its way to his face. “A kiss would be nice.”
Fanfic writing comes in handy once you realize that torturing your favorite character with the yearning you've suffered from because of them and lowkey self-projecting is really fun. And wow, I enjoyed it a lot more than I realized. (*ˊᗜˋ*)
Sitting at the farthest corner of the couch in Phainon's presence, is a declaration of war.
And no, you cannot counter this accusation with the fact that you're merely copying his own habit. Endeavoring to win a verbal spar with him is futile to begin with.
“Oh,” he tends to begin with a long, dragged out sigh. “How empty my lap is...” next, he builds his act by letting his head fall back against the couch, allowing his usual composure to macerate with a slump.
“If only one such callipygian form of my beloved would soothe this harrowing vacancy...!”
It is a task to keep a serious face against his tactics, especially since your smile tends to be his target. If he isn't using his charming word-smithing to get you closer, the alternative will be a full on tackle.
But there's one pacifier to his anxious antics: if you let yourself lean back against the arm of this (un)fortunate couch and rested your legs on his titular harrowingly vacant lap.
At this point, you must pay attention to whether the golden flecks in his eyes have softened, or began to twinkle under the lights. If it's the former, one of his hands would find its home around one of your ankles and began a slow massage up and down the length of your calves — all without breaking that tender eye-contact.
But if it's the latter, he'll rest the heel of your leg on the crater of his palm and lift the dorsum of your foot to his lips ; the first kiss on that patch of skin will slide to your ankle, from where his lips will glide up the length of your calf, slow and steadily. He'll pause at the jut of your knee, and press the softest kiss there yet.
At this point, if you aren't flushed, breathless and dizzy from his teases, you could attempt one thing to get him to finish the rest of his journey — closing your legs right at his face.
Playing coy will only allow you temporary wins, for Phainon knows how to enact revenge at the least expected turns. But this one is successful in igniting that competitive blaze in his gut, and your momentary upper hand will cease as soon as he's pulled apart the gates to his destination with that clingy, firm hand.
Not that you'd resist, you can't. And nothing tells Phainon louder than the jolt that ripples through you when he angles his head up to press his lips to your hip-bone, that you don't want to fight this guest at all.
Yes, not even the subsequent hitched breath upon his nip at your inner thigh, which he will not soothe with his tongue this time, but let his teeth further inscribe the next page of this voyage.
Tenderness and power are weapons in his hands. With which he'll twist, press, intenerate and mould your form to obey his direction, and carve you into the you of his desires.
—
Phainon is less calm and methodical with your hands.
In general, he has a dear relationship with them. Holding hands, linking arms, warming your hands by stuffing them in his pockets during cold weathers, letting his thumb trace constellations upon them even in absence of attention.
But when his heart spills with joy at nothing in particular, or over one specific connection of your thoughts with his and words fail to capture the warmth of his glee? He'll take your hands and press a series of frantic kisses, from the tips of your fingers all the way to your shoulders.
The depth of his feelings is most apparent in these moments, that what a shame it is that he can't kiss every inch of your body at once — even if he could, he admits that it wouldn't be enough.
But he tries, he has no other choice but to try. Because if he doesn't let these waves wash over you through moments like these, they'll drown him instead.
—
Phainon's apologies carry with them a very particular pattern of mannerisms.
He'll first cautiously seek out your shoulders, withdraw like he's been burned when you shake his grip off and then let his hands hover over them for a moment. He'll try to burrow into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, distract you from your ire by pressing his lips behind your ear, and he'll murmur his stream of ‘sorry’s into that kiss as well. It is sure to have your heart skip a beat.
But since you are no less a prideful individual, you'll huff and cross your arms tighter, but you won't be pushing him off this time. And that is the leeway Phainon will utilize.
He'll let his hands slide down the length of your arms, before winding around your midriff, and his lips will draw a necklace of kisses over the expanse of your shoulder. When his arms have banded together right beneath your crossed arms and your back has pressed intimately close to his chest, he'll offer his encomium to the pulse point of your neck.
And if you're still insistent in your anger when he kisses stars on your cheeks and the side of your head, well, the truly good part is just up ahead.
—
It is no news that Phainon loves to use your lap as his very personal pillow.
Nothing soothes his soul more than getting to lay his head on your thighs, while wrapping his arms around your waist after a long day. His knees will most likely suffer later on in his life from the sheer duration of these prostrations, but for now, they're his own slices of heaven.
You often tease that he's the living embodiment of a puppy, and the way he rubs his face all over your thighs and belly during these sessions, really don't help dispel his canine allegations.
If he's feeling particularly under the weather that day, he'll dare to allow himself to wander further up and trace every one of your ribs with his lips, until he's face to to face with that ultimate evidence of your existence.
He both worships and envies your heart. How lucky it is, to get to occupy that cavern he can only dream of curling up in.
“Is taking up my mind not enough?” you'd asked back once facetiously.
He hadn't replied. But the way he allowed his fingers to dig in to dips of your waist, the blaze that'd ignited in his gaze when he pressed a kiss right over the beat of your heart, answered you loud and clear that it would never be enough.
—
You think ‘surprise’ could be one of the candidates for Phainon's middle name.
The man has always been unpredictable, despite posing as a rather simple person most of the time. His mind is a tortuous labyrinth, full of contradictions and qualities that shouldn't be able to coexist, but in the being known as Khaslana, they do.
Being in his presence can never be boring, and it isn't even stiflingly so. Because somehow, he weaves normalcy into every one of his quirks.
But sometimes, sometimes, you really wished that he'd give you a warning at least.
“Moonbeam, try this!”
Now, when one offers a food item to taste to another, the proper thing to do would be to hold out said item to the person. Not to slant one's mouth over theirs, not to hold them by gripping their jaw and certainly not prying open their lips with one's tongue to push the food article in question.
Phainon does exactly that.
He holds the impromptu kiss for five whole seconds and your lungs completely forget their duty during that timeframe. Spices ignite fireworks on your tongue at the touch of his, your eyes squeeze shut on instinct when he angles your face slightly left to let the last drop of the tangy sauce fall into the cavern of your mouth, the callouses of his thumb scrapes against the edge of your jaw.
You feel as though you've survived a fatal drop when he finally pulls back, your joined gasps create faint smog in the air between your faces.
“Good, right?” Phainon loosens his grasp, but doesn't let go completely and when you find the willpower to glance up at him, his eyes are shining with excitement. Like he'd retrieved a thrown ball for you instead of shoving his tongue down your throat in the middle of a restaurant.
When apparitions of fluttering canine ears wave in front of your eyes, you think he's fed you wine instead of a dumpling (and, really, who can blame you?).
You would've done something equally stupid (which does not include kissing him senseless right back) if his attention wasn't immediately captured by another item on the table.
“Oh! Oh! And this!”
Your lover has superhuman speed, and you're not surprised at that, you just didn't expect to discover that by the way his mouth found its way back to yours before you could've even finished blinking.
In hindsight, it's your fault for not bracing yourself when you'd vaguely noticed the fact that he hadn't let go of his grip on your jaw. But still, could he not have been so absurdly abrupt and spared you the embarrassment of letting out a startled squeak, which he muffled with a firmer press of his lips?
Apparently not.
Because he didn't quit gambling with the prospect of making a public scene there, no no. When he was done thoroughly squashing your feeble protests by robbing you off the right of breathing, he dived right back with another sample of ‘food’.
Again.
And again.
And again.
When you found yourself in the pitches of vertigo from the whiplashes of different flavors on your tongue and the very risky tasting ritual your lover was enacting in broad daylight, did he pull back for real.
But this time, when you could find it in yourself to observe his state over the near obscene slide of his tongue retreating from yours and the heat of your mingled breaths, you saw his eyes not shining like before, but mimicking the daze in your own.
But that's still not enough evidence to prove your suspicions, and luck strikes right there, in the stretch of saliva pulled taut between the widening gap between you two and in the twitching corner of his lips at the way you swallow when the string snaps.
“Sweet... isn't it?” the twinkle in his eyes makes him look like the devil incarnate.
You don't know, and frankly you don't care. For this man has poisoned your interest in the food and made what was supposed to be an innocent lunch date utterly unappetizing in favor of something else.
But still, devil that he is, he swivels back to the food like nothing has occured. Like he didn't throw you off your axis and yanked you straight to his.
Leaving you to wonder dumbly as he resumes his babbles on roasted chicken and something else you couldn't care less about, what just happened?
Your husband is acting a bit odd, but maybe you're looking too much into it.
➵ Notes; OOC, details of lore are possibly inaccurate (i still havent progressed in Amphoreus..). Not proof read!
➵ 2.1k words.
➵ Warnings; false memories, psychological horror, reality distortion, loss of autonomy, brief scare, mention of past murder (not the main focus!), unsettling behavior, kidnapping (data-napping?).
Your eyelids flutter open and you're greeted by the sun beam coming from the window just beside the bed. The curtains are pushed to the side and you’re wearing your pajamas despite not being able to recall anything before now. It’s as if the events that happened before you woke up had been erased or blurred from your mind.
You lift a hand, trying to shield your eyes from the bright light seeping through glass as you slowly turn to the other side of the bed—which, oddly, felt bare.
What you saw was an empty space. The pillow is untouched, no dent of a certain someone’s head, and the sheets are in pristine condition. As if the surface had never been disturbed by movements during slumber.
Your mind is in fragments and as you attempt to recollect the pieces, an unknown weight begins pressing against the back of your head. Growing more intense the more you push yourself to remember. Causing a headache to form and forcing you to focus back on the present.
With a soft grunt, you push yourself up on the mattress. Feeling the soft cushion dipping under your weight as you sat there, taking in the silence of your shared bedroom.
There’s no doubt in your mind that this is your bedroom. The slightly cracked mirror mounted to the wall right beside the closet is both a result and proof of the time you stubbornly refused Phainon’s help in carrying it, resulting in your hand slipping and dropping the home decor.
Then there’s the table placed under said mirror. Phainon had insisted on buying you a proper vanity but you’ve grown attached to the current set up you have. The wooden table is not fancy, it is anything but. And why do you feel such deep attachment to the furniture? Simply because it was a gift from Phainon, one he gave in celebration of your one year anniversary together.
Back then, you two weren’t living in a proper house but instead working hard to afford one during that time’s economic state. You lived in a small rented apartment—with a rumour that a murder happened there, contributing to the cheap cost—and because you two were budgeting like crazy, safe to say there’s not much furniture in your home. In the past, your apartment interior could be best described as being the opposite of a hoarder’s.
The wallpapers stayed the same throughout the time you lived there, you two weren’t too bothered by the questionable stains in the corners. And the only, somewhat, furnished room is the room you two slept in. But even then, there’s barely any decor. A slightly torn up bed, placed on the ground. Blankets given to the two of you on your wedding day as a gift, pillows and between them was a stupid looking dog plushie that Phainon insisted on buying during your honeymoon. It had a pair of big beady eyes, along with a bandana wrapped around its neck, you remembered the colors being purple and yellow. Not muted or even softened versions, but the brightly saturated ones.
Thankfully, you were able to afford a closet. Avoiding the act of having to stack your clothes and push them to a corner—that would’ve been such a humbling moment for the two of you.
Other than the bed and closet, there’s.. barely anything. You mostly put your stuff on the ground in specific spots.
The moments that accumulated overtime and became the driving force to why Phainon built you that table is when he noticed; every morning, when you’re preparing to leave for work, you’d be sitting on the floor with your makeup bag open beside you whilst holding a mirror to your face.
Seeing you forced to reside on the floor had him admitting how horrible he felt. First year of being married to him and you don’t even have a proper place to get ready. On the other hand, you were quick to assure him that having a set up or not doesn’t really matter, either way you’d get ready all the same whilst also reminding him that you two were focusing on saving up to afford a home. Preferable one with no murder case.
Your words managed to comfort him, but he still hugged you longer than usual before heading off to work as if apologizing for the inconvenience.
One day, you returned from work. And before you could pull out your keys, the apartment door swung open with your husband looking slightly out of breath. Curiously, you asked if something happened—usually he comes home just a bit later than you, so it comes as a surprise when he’s the first to return.
Phainon was noticeably disheveled, sleeves pulled up and sweat sticking to his forehead. He was quick to usher you inside, insisting he had something to show you.
He led you to your bedroom, opening the door and what lies beyond was a wooden table with a matching stool. On top of it was a small stand-up mirror. “It’s not the best..” he said, rubbing the back of his head as he, nervously, glanced over at you. Taking in your reaction.
“.. do you like it?” feeling slightly nervous from the lack of verbal response.
You couldn’t muster any words at that moment, you instead pulled Phainon down by the collar. Pouring every ounce of love and gratitude into a kiss in which he let out the most comically loud yelp before being silenced by your lips against his, it didn't take long before he melted and cupped the back of your head, pulling you closer.
Even after he got a better paying job and you were able to save up for a house—with confirmed no criminal cases occurring in the property—located in a quiet neighborhood, you still carried the table and stool to your new home. Years had gone by, the wood had chipped and worn down by time. One of the table legs had actually broken a few months back, and whilst Phainon wanted to buy you a new one, you refused. He complied with your wishes, choosing to instead attach a new wooden leg.
Reminiscing about your time spent with your husband pulled you out of bed, letting your feet touch the cold marble floor, you made your way to the table. Brushing the tips of your fingers against the rough surface, you’re unable to hold back the smile making its way to your face.
Although when you glance up at the mirror, the sight had you freezing in place.
Behind the slightly opened door, as if deliberately hiding, is a figure staring right at you. Eyes hollow like the void.
Naturally you whipped your head around and screamed, from both sheer shock and fear whilst adrenaline rushed up your blood stream, pumping blood into your heart at such a fast rate that had your hands gripping the table as you nearly staggered back.
The figure's eyes paused, as if taking in your reaction before finally moving. Pushing the door wider as it stops upon meeting the bedroom wall. Such a slow, almost deliberate, movement.
“Good morning, Angel. Sleep well?” The one that stood in your bedroom doorway is none other than your husband, Phainon. Perhaps in your panic, you failed to take notice of his pale hair. But—you knew your eyes weren’t deceiving you when you spotted those pairs of void eyes. Deprived of the vast blue that your husband has.
But now, those eyes have returned and not at all resembling the earlier ones you saw.
With a shaky, nervous huff, you manage to push yourself back on steady feet. But your heart continues to race in your chest even as Phainon approaches you, confirming the fact that it was him standing behind the door.
“Did I scare you?” He laughs, airy and way too amused. And as usual, the moment he’s able to reach you, his arms are wrapping themselves around your waist. Pulling you close to him.
And as payback for the scare, you hit him repeatedly on the chest. Of course, the hits did little damage but at least he let out a soft ‘oof’ each time it landed before hiding his face in your shoulder, attempting to hide the laugh bubbling out of his throat.
“Don’t do that again! You nearly gave me a heart attack.” You chided your husband, which finally broke his restraint as he allowed himself to giggle whilst nuzzling deeper against your skin.
“I’m serious! I could’ve thrown something at you,” as you attempt to pull away from his embrace, only for him to tighten his arms. “Phainon!” your indignant shout did not sway his grip.
You’re able to squirm your hand down and pinch the side of his body, a spot you knew as his weakness.
You glance over, anticipating his reaction.
A beat passes and..
…
… Nothing?
No immediate reaction which was…bizzare. Normally Phainon would have pulled himself away whilst clutching his sides, trying to protect them from you.
On the other hand, maybe you’re not squeezing hard enough!
So you twist your fingers, making sure to really pinch him firmly!
Surely by now he feels it, right?
You wait for another beat.
And again…
Nothing.
His arms remain firmly around your waist, you’re pulled against his chest with his head buried in the crook of your shoulder. And, is it just you who finally noticed this, how come you don’t feel his breath against your skin?
Once again, you freeze as a wave of regret washes over you for catching onto that detail.
Phainon, realizing you’ve gone quiet, lifts his head up and his eyes find your own. “Hm? What’s wrong, Angel?” Not even paying attention to the fact your fingers are still pinching the side of his body.
You shake your head, slowly releasing your grip, after a beat of hesitation. “No—it’s.. uh, it’s nothing.” And your response is received by him with a soft hum, yet his eyes remain on yours for a moment too long. “I’m just hungry, that’s all!” With the hopes of assuring him and possibly having him fully let go.
And the longer he stared blankly at you, the more uneasy you felt. You’ve never felt this way with Phainon! Even during and after arguments, you two are still able to give each other space without that looming feeling of uneasiness, sure there would be tension but it never lasted long enough before the two of you apologized to one another and everything melts away.
So why do you feel like shrinking away from him?
Then, he smiles. One that allows you to see the front of his teeth. “I cooked scrambled eggs and made toast—come on!” as he ushers you forward with his palm flat on your back. You stumble slightly before finding the right pace whilst Phainon begins rambling about what he had to go through in the kitchen without your supervision.
Perhaps you’re simply exhausted? You haven’t eaten anything after all.
—
// Initialize memory archival
Memory.save(
source: "Angel Project",
data: memories
);
// Run world integrity check
World.scanForDisturbance();
// Verify flagged entity presence
if (Entity.exists("NeiKos496") == false) {
System.log("Verification complete: NeiKos496 not detected.");
System.log("Status: No disturbances found.");
}
// Register command administrator
System.setAdmin("IronTomb");
// Rename stored memory dataset
Memory.rename(
from: "Angel Project",
to: "Domesticity"
);
// Final confirmation
System.log("Memory archive successfully updated to 'Domesticity'.");
NeiKos had proven himself once more to be a persistent bug in the system. He was placed far from reach, behind multiple fire walls that would detect his invading presence and sent him further away. Yet, despite all its cautionary actions—the variable manages to breach and return into the cycle with the intention of tearing you away from it.
And while IronTomb prefers being in the cycles, a program it is familiar with and has full access to modify to its preference. NeiKos keep interrupting its time with you which slowly accumulated into creating this sense of restlessness—a near impossible task, to cause a virus to feel, but one NeiKos succeeds in with his constant onslaught.
For now, in order to allow the cycles to continue with NeiKos figure trapped in them whilst also allowing it to be in your presence, it has created a separate program. Just a small fragment, one that would allow your data to interact in the world and it.
Unfortunately, it seems NeiKos violation knows no bounds, despite IronTomb erasing your data from Amphoreus and transferring it into the program it created, it has also modified your memories but there’s always an error. You’re able to recall fragments of your time with NeiKos. It is a small inconvenience but it is still a problem.
It did not want to resume such tactics, but it has placed a safeguard in your data. Refraining you from accessing any..unneeded recollection.
The current run has been….acceptable.
Whilst there have been minor issues, it has not made the experience any less enjoyable.
FINALLY, IT TOOK ME A WHILE BUT I GOT THE JOB DONE. WUHHH!!! I recommend reading this if you want better context, or consider this an extension of that drabble.
So what do you guys think?? Any good?? I rlly hope this gives you guys the brainrots I've been experiencing..
۶ৎ as abrasive and perverted your step-father is—reprimanding you for the smallest inconveniences, his hands always finding your body whenever he has the chance, his intrusion of your room and space, the harsh and angry tone he'd get with you on occasion—he had a knack for always knowing what was wrong with you, and how to fix such.
⇢ PAIRING step-father!zandik x fem!reader
⇢ CONTENT WARNINGS .ᐟ modern!au , stepcest , AGE GAP, power imbalance , implied underage sex , drug & alcohol mention , possessive themes , mentions of/implied physical & emotional abuse , sexual abuse , infidelity , rape/noncon , kinda?? plot , finger sucking , pussy slapping , vaginal penetration , cervix penetration , daddy kink (kinda) , biting kink , hickeys , scratching , reader is 18 but there's been sexual incidents before , sadistic tendencies , mind break , use of pet names (baby, sweetie, etc.) , creampie , overstimulation
⇢ WORD COUNT 3.4k
⇢ NOTE omg haihi,,, sorry this took so long guys,, i've been binging code geass & lwk working on some other fics.. buyt OMG ive acc only written for dottore a few times, so this was rlly fun to explore what i can.. also sorry if im abusing puncuation lol,, omg and im soz it lwk took a little to get to the smut... i only realized like,, 1k words in and i didnt want to fuck yall up,, im acc nerv to post, too bc i hope this doesnt suck BUT i appreciate all feedback guys (also soz for the long note)
♡ comments, likes, & reblogs are appreciated!
BURNING AS YOUR face was, your demeanour didn’t reflect the same story with integrity. Composed, you tried to be: arms crossed, still expression–at least, as much as you could hold–and no outward fidgeting. However, your stepfather, Zandik, saw through you in an instant. The reddening of your cheeks was a dead giveaway, if not for the small twitching in your hands that you didn’t notice yourself. Fascinated by you, he had always been; you’re his biggest obsession, and he loved exploiting the space the two of you occupied. Busting you for every small thing, even if you are–barely–an adult now: don’t mouth off, mind your manners, don’t bring anyone over without permission, and so much more. He had to keep you in your place, yes? You’re his precious daughter, even if it’s not by blood.
His eyes travelled up your body, observing every quirk you exhibited. The tension in your thighs and arms as both were crossed–it had attitude, and on the outside, you might’ve looked unbothered, if just a little agitated, but he knew you were anything but. The indistinct way your fingers curled against your arms, and when away from your flesh, they were sitting on the plush of the couch cushion beneath you–you alternated between such.
“I’m not angry,” he nodded along to his words, his hand rubbing your shoulder so affectionately it felt violating. His face held the repertoire of that of a psychopath, really: the coldness of the flesh of his hand against yours didn’t feel as soft as he intended, but the gentleness of his voice grounded your thoughts. Although, it didn’t make you feel any less guilty of the crime.
What have you done this time? Throw a party while your mother and Zandik were away? Stolen their money or maxxed out their credit cards? No, you weren’t a woman like that: quite reclusive, actually, despite your insistent attitude. Always upholding your manners, having respect–at times–never going out or staying out too late, and never–to their knowledge–indulging in any “inappropriate” or “dangerous” behaviour, like alcohol or drugs. Zandik knows that you’re a good girl. You always have been, so what triggered this influx of disobedience? The new friends you’re hanging around with, or that boy he found on your phone?
“I’m just…” Zandik almost couldn’t find his words. He was upset, no doubt, but using the stereotypical ‘I’m just disappointed’ line would only reinforce the disarray he’s trying to hide. “I’m surprised.”
“Surprised,” you tested the word on your tongue, replaying his tone, his look–doing everything to analyze how he felt. He was never this calm, and it did all but dispel your worry. “He’s just a friend.”
Having that burner phone of yours wasn’t a good idea in any sense. In what world is it for anything? Mistakenly, you had left it in your room–a bit too open, just hidden in your bedside drawer–while you were out. Zandik, as the protective and authoritative figure that he presents himself as, had to go through with such an intrusion, and to his surprise, he found the phone. Just an old one, really. He thought you would have done away with it by now, but teenagers are always so slick. It’s never been your pattern to lie or hide things; however, catching an attitude was more frequent. Is this you being petty, to get back at him for his supervision? However, one thought plagued his mind for your recent behaviour: that boy.
“By the way you two conversed, I wouldn’t paint the picture so soft.” His words were heavy, and they added invisible weight to your hands; that unbothered image you held shattered in an instant.
Is it so wrong to indulge oneself? Zandik had always been so strict, and you did not doubt that, now, his advances wouldn’t stop. That earlier leniency he gave you–all those outings with our friends, those small shirts he didn’t say a word about–had been crushed instantaneously, alongside his trust. The years you’ve spent side-by-side have been in vain in this moment. The rendezvous that the two of you would sneak off to in the name of “bonding,” to your mother. On the exterior, Zandik was quite harsh: yelling at you and disciplining you in front of your mother; however, between the two of you, your punishments would be far more taboo. Before, if you were out too much, he’d have to remind you as to why you don’t scurry off; he’d fill your cunt full of his long fingers at night, whispering the sweetest and most degrading things to you in time simultaneously, or maybe he’d keep his fist balled in your hair, keeping your mouth full of his dick.
You’d much rather a smack to the face than that fake, soft tone he’s giving you. You know this is the calm before the storm, and out of every possibility, you’d rather bruises over disappointment. Your body ached at that fake tone; you wanted the real thing, that sweet, sweet affection that he’d cherish you with when the two of you are alone; that sweet ache in your chest, rather than the dread you felt with keeping your arms in place. Your breathing didn’t quicken or slow, but it was a bit ragged–your tongue didn’t even stay in place–it was just off-tempo. Is it because you can feel your heart pounding throughout your body? The noise of it flooding your ears, too?
“Come here,” he beckoned you nigher, and his hand held a firmer grip.
You, of course, obeyed without question. He kept a resolute grip, hoisting you up from the couch. Zandik led you from the living room–a place far too open, too easy for others to see, especially your mother. While the humiliation on your part would be entertaining, and even arousing, he didn’t intend to have your mother hate him–at the very least, not yet. He needed his fixation around, and that included keeping it in place. He never wanted to find out that you needed–no, you wanted more; all you needed was him. He wasn’t going to take such disrespect lightly.
Zandik schooled past your mother without suspicion or even a glance–too occupied with whatever she was saying on the phone in the room adjacent to the living room. She never paid the two of you attention when he bid that he wanted to “learn more about you,” or the all-too-familiar lie of him wanting to spend time with you. He led you upstairs and into your bedroom, locking the door behind him before he turned too cruel.
He kept a zombie pace as he led you down to your bed. That soft, manipulative smile he kept made you shiver. As much as he said he wasn’t mad, the way he handled you–no matter how sweet–told an entirely different story: that too harsh a grip he held, the clench of his jaw and aching of his fingers, his nails that involuntarily dug into you–it all told a story much too familiar.
“Zandik, I–he’s not even–we haven’t done anything!” You stumbled over your words as you tried to explain, “There’s… nothing is going on!” Zandik had every right to smack you so hard a tooth could pop out, but he didn’t.
He knew you were lying, so why be merciful? Did the divine above give you grace? He read every last text, start to finish, so he knew you had sex with another man. He knew you cheated on him. Softer than before–he didn’t let his grip go tight or firm, giving you the leniency to move away–he laid you down. You resisted the urge to wiggle out of his grip, but you shut up and stayed still. The sheets felt almost too silky, the pillow beneath your head too soft–it was all too neat, too nice.
“What does he have that I don’t, hm?” Zandik questioned, as the mattress dipped beneath his weight, sitting beside you.
“Nothing! Nothing. Really,” you nodded as you spoke, almost as a reassurance, but to no avail. Before you could plead again, Zandik pressed his pointer finger against your lips.
“Ah-ah, shh,” his tone was almost pitying then, but it grew condescending, “if you really did ‘nothing,’ then why are the receipts on your body? Do you think I would not have noticed the hickeys you came home with? Or maybe the scent you had?”
Zandik pushed his finger inside your mouth, and you obediently sucked.
“See, I don’t appreciate when these other… boys have what’s rightfully mine,” he sighed with a small laugh.
You could feel small hairs sticking to your forehead, already matted with sweat, solely from your worry. Zandik’s aura was intimidating, predatory, almost horrifying if you weren’t already accustomed. Your clothes stuck too tightly to your skin, and you could almost feel the tension in the air–especially with how Zandik pushed his finger further to your throat, his middle finger joining. You gagged. Bile almost rose, but Zandik pulled away before you ruined his hands, and, much less, your clothes and sheet; however, he kept his fingers grounded inside your mouth.
You made a noise of surprise, protest, and fear all in one when you felt his other arm pull you up–your head, now, resting against your headboard rather than your pillow. It trailed back down to your top–a small, low-cut one you often wore out, like today. He went further, though, and, with a sigh, he unbuttoned those tiny jean shorts you loved to wear, too.
“I don’t understand why you parade yourself around like this. First, your attitude,” he kept a disappointed tone as he took his wet fingers out of your mouth, using them to hoist up your thighs, slipping the shorts off of you. “Second, these sorry-ass excuses for clothes,” he said, each word with such disdain, “and third, you fuck a boy.” He smacked your thigh while scoffing, “I mean, really, baby?”
You whimpered at the contact while flinching at his tone, and your face reflected the fear your body emitted. You were his prey, completely cornered, scared, and most of all, his to have, and that’s in whatever way he wants; although, you already knew what, and you weren’t a fan.
The small burn of a ‘click!’ rubbed against your skin, where Zandik smacked your panties against you. You elicited a weak, “ow,” but Zandik didn’t care about hurting you; in fact, he wanted to.
“Awe,” he cooed at you, mockingly, “did that hurt?”
You attempted to push his hands away, off, safe from you, but to no avail. Zandik didn’t care, and you couldn’t resist anyway. Zandik overpowered you any and every day of the week; his weight crushed yours as he moved atop of you.
“Is that it now? You want to be a brat? A bitch to me?”
He seized your wrists and pinned them above your head, before slipping one away. He could keep you compliant with just one hand–it’s not like he hasn’t done it before, if not worse.
Small, black lace panties shimmered in the scarce light of your room–solely emitted from your not-so blackout curtains. That set you were wearing, the Future Mrs. one that Zandik specifically bought for the two of you. You wore them out, and better yet–not-so for you–they were wet, all in your slick, or maybe it was the leaking of another man’s sperm inside you. Zandik didn’t entertain the latter.
“You like this, huh?” Zandik solidified a smack against your pussy through your panties to prove his point, and your whimper–involuntary or not–availed.
One set of his fingers slipped underneath your panties, while the other kept your wrists in place. The comforting sensation that it gave you was almost uncanny. Your eyes squinted, and your mouth lay agape as his middle finger circled your clit. He drew strings of moans from your mouth, while you writhed against his grip.
Before you could form a comprehensible retort, Zandik leaned in and kissed you, his tongue immediately invading the comfort and softness of your mouth. You mewled in his mouth, and your writhing grew with the second. Your body twitched and your back arched with each move of his finger, and your moans grew less secluded as he pulled his mouth away, leaving a signature trail of saliva. Right as he felt your nails dig into his hands, the insistent movement made him know you were close, and he deliberately pulled away from your clit.
That casual push-and-pull he played with you: the resistance he made you keep, before you begged for more. However, he plunged his fingers into you, not even minutes after. Your back arched in response to his movement. You so, so badly did not want this, but you needed it. Sweat built up intensely, and your body felt filthy all over, and it wasn’t because of the violation. That odd quirk and habit you always upheld the standard of being clean—and Zandik always infringed upon that.
“Come on, sweetie,” Zandik cooed, his voice patronizing with the pet name, “you can cum for Daddy.”
Your body was weak for him, even more so than your mind. Zandik truly commanded your body, and when he told you to cum, you did; your almost-orgasm hit harder than any smack he’d made or would make you endure. Was it the adrenaline of trying to pry him off you–no matter how futile–or was it the arousal your body substantiated? Either way, your reaction pleased him.
A compass broke in your mind, going in all directions, and you couldn’t even formulate a proper thought. The earlier sensations were still in effect, and you barely registered Zandik letting go of your wrists. They held a deep red, showing how harshly he restrained you. He gave you the illusion of choice earlier, and you decided to be a minx: teasing him with your reluctant submission. It’s only natural that he’d take and do as he pleased.
Blinking, you started to discern your surroundings, and your brain registered Zandik slipping your panties off, and the prodding of more against you. His weight fully enveloped you, now, much closer than before. His thighs were on the inside of yours, and his hands held your hips up, and your legs automatically wrapped around his lower waist. Had he let go of your wrists, too? Your submission and weakness had led him to believe you wouldn’t resist anymore.
“I don’t–Zan–” Your pitiful attempts at swatting him off, away–anything but on or near you, right now–with your hands and your words–completely intercepted by him–contributed to nothing.
He chuckled, and one of his hands, just for a moment, cradled your cheek. “Don’t worry your pretty, little head about this. It’s nothing new, you should know,” he spoke too softly for a moment, before placing his hand back onto your hip.
Unapologetically, he thrust and sheathed himself inside you, bottoming out with a groan of his own. Raw, as always–when had he ever bothered with protection? He always pulled out on time, anyway, and if not, Plan B was always available.
That burning, familiar stretch of his cock wasn’t consoling or sexy this time. The forceful nature of it, truly, had you a bit turned off, or was that your fear speaking? Hadn’t you just almost cum on his fingers? Your body opened up to him, letting him slide inside with little resistance, so why did your mind do everything to fight it? Before you could reason or justify your wetness, Zandik experimentally moved his hips, eliciting a moan out of you–and that immediately stopped any train of thought. That sensation–your hands, as blind as it was immediate, reached for him, and your nails dug into the fabric of his shirt, holding on so closely. The feeling of fabric, silk, cotton, made your face heat up more and for that pit in your stomach to go deeper. How humiliating it is to be debauched while the other doesn’t even have the decency or respect to undress themselves, too.
He thrusted again–deeper, more intentionally to hurt, and it did–your fingers kept their stead and grip on him, your legs tightening with each snap of his hips. Your eyebrows were tightened and squinted with each thought you tried to coerce, which was jumbled, and your mouth stayed open, stringing out moans and mewls alike. You didn’t care to be loud.
Each snap of his hips was as excruciating as it was arousing. On any usual occasion, you wouldn’t have cared to be full to the brim with his cum plastered on your thighs, stomach, or even in your mouth. But with circumstances today, you wanted anything but; however, were you even thinking that, now? Can you think? Zandik didn’t care for either, though. Punishment was in the settlement, and he intended to charge full.
“Nngh… See? This isn’t so bad?” he chuckled as he spoke to you, with that same, disgusting tone as he lifted his hand–that same one he used to cradle your cheek–to clutch your hair in his fist–so harshly, too.
The feeling of his jeans–old and rough–against your skin only served to flush you further.
The familiar and deep sensation inside you reconstructed the half of pleasure-and-pain to full ache; that bump, the burn of his cock stretching you so widely, and–fuck, did he just go under your cervix?
“I–I–Ah…” Barely able to form a coherent thought–let alone words–your body would only let you muster up a weak, pained moan, and you felt your consciousness flicker.
Zandik moaned as he went deeper inside you, his thrusts becoming longer and in-between. He watched as you blinked in response, with your pitiful moans.
He smiled, enjoying the pain he was giving you. “What’s wrong, baby?” he cooed. His fist, balled in your hair, turned firmer as his thrusts became rougher, harsher. “You know,” he dragged out every syllable, “I was lying when I said I wasn’t mad.”
If you were able to think, you would definitely agree.
Your hands were stationary on grasping his shirt, but your nails dug in more, and he could feel the slight pain of it. With the little strength you had, your hands moved to grasp his neck–almost embracing him affectionately. You dug into his skin, though, drawing blood and gripping harder with the movement of his hips.
The intensity with which you were gripping his cock only turned him on more. He jerked his hips more erratically and with more intensity as he lifted your thigh, then over his shoulder. He breathed out with each forceful movement, conquering your autonomy in a more violating way than the last.
He enjoyed the squirming and the struggling–the battle that you were putting up. Despite your fucked-out mind, he could feel the defiance in the way you squeezed him.
“What’s that, hm?” he almost-purred at you, feeling the inconsistent squeezing of your walls around him.
He knew you were about to cum, despite how much you tried to hold out.
“Mmph–! Ah-ah!” you bit your lip–or tried to, just a scrape of your teeth against them–as you moaned.
Your tummy bulged with each deep thrust of Zandik’s hips, going under your cervix, pushing further. It’s no secret he was large in both girth and height, and every time he fucked you, he destroyed you. With each moan that was exiled from your mouth, Zandik’s movements became faster. He wasn’t going to waste such precious time on showing you who you belong to.
His hand fell from your hair, and your head fell back just enough until he reached and smacked you. You could only whimper in response.
His penetrating your stomach alongside the smack felt almost overwhelming.
Zandik leaned down and scooped your neck up–flailing you, really–as his mouth connected to your neck–a rather sensitive spot that served your overstimulation. He bit down and sucked while fucking you perfectly. He moaned around your skin; that familiar, sweet taste of it made his cock even harder.
The bulbous tip kept that acquainted bulge in your stomach with each erratic thrust. Zandik littered your neck in bite marks that just-almost gave blood and hickeys. Your hands moved upward to grasp his hair, and your legs tightened around his waist. The further movement caused him to fuck you even rougher.
“Shit,” he let the curse fall out of his mouth, and his mouth bit down on you hard–you mewled in response with a harsher tug of his hair, and just then–
You felt his cock twitch inside you, as his movements became slower, before still.
He breathed heavily atop of you, pulling his mouth away from your neck with a sliver of saliva following. Zandik pulled out, watching his cum leak out of you.
i'm gonna start collage next week, well, orietation ofc. hopefully, i'll have time to update this huhu also, there's correction in the "I've found her." it's supposed to be a dot not a question mark.
★ warning : (slight?) yandere behavior, mostly Kaveh being a soft yandere(?), theme of captivity and being locked away, modern time setting.
★ 890 words
★ syno : you got taken away months ago, and by the time your birthday rolls around, you decided to try your hand at making a futile escape attempt.
★ author's note : my first post and fanfic on here! i'm sorry if the fanfiction is not that good (and not that well-structured, eng is my second language-). thank you for stopping by and feel free to comment your thoughts on this! - grievoun
It's your birthday.
A celebration that is supposed to be full of laughter or even a whipping cream to the face if your friends were giddy enough to throw you a funny prank - nevertheless, it's a day where you intend to be happy, knowing there are people close to wish you a start full of blessings and luck for turning older by the churning wheel of life.
But are you supposed to celebrate it here out of all places in the city?
In this overly decorated room that fits our taste too much that its suffocating us to death and despair, making you wanting to vomit just by seeing that same dusty bookshelves over and over again, that is filled with books you sure would've read happily if you were in another circumstances that doesn't calls for you to be locked away in his apartment like a bird trapped in a fancy, golden cage. The untouched gift boxes you left purposely by the bed where you're sure he'll see it - an attempt of you trying to show your resistance, of you wanting to go back home so very much.
But he wouldn't even bat an eye to our attempt - only to frustratingly add more of his gifts to us with those gentle smile that irked us to death.
At this point, you'll even take going back to the campus and would do all of those assignments that probably kept on coming and adding up due to your long 'absence' if it means you'll get to step outside of his apartment again and see your loved ones again that kept on appearing in your mind.
You're getting homesick - just wanting to return to their embrace again. No matter how much you tried to distract yourself from this so-called new reality he made for us, your thoughts would wander back to the happier times where you would groggily wake up late at your home without a care and how your mother would lightly scold you for it. How you used to hang out and happily laugh around with your close friends while being at the university. A much more lighter memory to think of rather than those heavy ones where those crimson eyes of his kept on appearing in your mind, clogging you full of his assuring words and pleas for you to stay by his side.
You cursed yourself for meeting, no, falling for him. It's stupid.
It's stupid how you couldn't see whatever stirring inside those mind of his much earlier.
You went to the locked window, the handle sealed shut, dangling uselessly in front of you, as if taunting your freedom of being taken away. In a desperate attempt to escape this fancy prison he made and scrapped up for you, you pulled at the handle, vision blurring due to the amount of tears that threatened to fall down your cheeks. You prayed that it would open - letting you feel that blast of cold air that signals your freedom like a bird taking it's first flight to the vast world in front of it.
The handle wouldn't budge - so you pulled and pulled, and with every friction hopelessly given in pulling the handle, you cried. Sobbed.
Just fucking open..! You cursed, voice low enough, desperate, sobs being let out breathlessly.
Your nails scratched against the handle, your hands getting much redder from the amount of force you put in this attempt at escaping him. Your eyes widened when you swore you felt the handle moved a bit and almost smiling gleefully -
-when you felt those familiar pair of arms wrapped around your waist from behind, your body soaking up his heat.
You sobbed, hands still pulling at the handle as he shushed you ever so softly. So affectionately. But you knew the brewing anger and irritation that is boiling up inside him, especially by the way how he tightens his hold on your waist by the minute.
A warning to let go of your foolish idea of escaping, so you did what he wanted. You didn't dare looking up at him as he turned us around and took a look at your hand, and you heard him give that signature sigh again.
"You shouldn't try to go out right now, you know?" he uttered, his gentle hands rubbing our knuckles felt like a taunt rather than a reassuring gesture. "Especially on your birthday out of all times. I prepared everything for you already." He added, kissing the top of your head.
"You surely don't think I would get mad at you, right?" Kaveh cooed, embracing you tightly, as if to cage you and to pry you away from looking at the window you tried to escape beforehand. "Ah, how funny of you to think I would do so.."
"..even if you left my gifts untouched until now. No, no, I would never." he uttered again, in a low tone of voice.
Was he disappointed? You don't even know. As he held your hand out of the room, you couldn't help but notice that look in his eyes again, that giddiness and excitement that marks his insanity up a notch.
You stayed silent - after all, you know you would rather find solace in silence than to bicker with him now out of all times.
Some yandere genshin men thoughts!
TW: Yandere, blackmailing, chasing, manpulation
Ayato tying and manipulating Y/n into a marriage contract with him, whether it be by blackmailing their family, bribing their parents with money, or simply drugging Y/n and having them sign a contract blindly!!,
Tighnari hunting Y/n through the forest! Most likely Y/N escaped his hut when he went out patrolling and the rangers were distracted. Just imagine it, a feral Tighnari, like imagine!! Fennec foxes mate for life, Y/n isn't leaving anytime soon!!,
Kaveh being a clingy and insane mess. Imagine you've been dating him for months, starting to fall out of love so you try to break it off as gently as possible, but every time you're about to leave Kaveh either hurts himself or clings to you. If you try to leave multiple times over a span of a month I'd think he'd snap a little and lock you in his room or some small house so he can build his dream home with you
⋆.˚ꫂ᭪݁ how they react to a kid calling you mom and dad
CONTAINS. in which a child approaches the two of you (varka, lohen, kinich, kaveh) and calls you "mom" and "dad" out of nowhere. a/n. not exactly proofread but i hope you all enjoy nonetheless (◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ )
!!DO NOT FEED MY WORKS INTO AI!! THIS WORK IS NOT AI!! AI USE PROHIBITED!!
.𖥔 ݁ LOHEN
Lohen would blink in surprise before laughing so genuinely that the child immediately joined in, completely oblivious to the fact that you were trying to explain that the kid had the wrong people. Without making the situation awkward, he’d happily let the little one hold both your hands while the three of you searched nearby for their parents, treating it like a tiny adventure instead of an inconvenience.
“Hahaha you’ve got the wrong pair kid! But since we’re here, we’ll help you find your parents!” Every now and then he’d glance over at your increasingly flustered face with an amused smirk, finding it too adorable and funny to point out directly. Once the child was reunited with their family, he’d light bump your shoulder with his and quietly chuckle, clearly stil entertained by the thought that a kid had mistaken the two of you for a family.
.𖥔 ݁ VARKA
The moment the child cheerfully pointed at the two of you and called you “Mom and “Dad”, Varka would throw his head back with a booming laugh while you stood beside him, face burning from the misunderstanding. Seeing how flustered you’d become would only make him grin wider, though he’d quickly crouch to the child’s level, making sure they felt comfortable instead of embarrassed.
“Now that’s quite the title you’ve given me! Come on then, let’s go find the real Mom and Dad before they start worrying.” He’d effortlessly distract the child with stories while keeping an eye out for their parents, naturally taking your hand whenever the crowd became busy without thinking twice. After the relieved parents arrived and apologized, he’d simply wave them off before glancing back at you with unmistakable amusement, teasing you with that same knowing smile for the rest of the day.
.𖥔 ݁ KINICH
Kinich would immediately stiffen the second the child called him “Dad”, looking genuinely caught off guard for perhaps the first time all day. Before he could respond, Ajaw would materialize out of nowhere, already laughing loud enough for everyone nearby to hear while you stood frozen in embarrassment. “Ignore Ajaw… and no, we’re not your parents. Let’s find the people you’re actually looking for.”
Despite the flat tone, Kinich would quietly kneel so the child didn’t feel intimidated, asking simple questions that would help locate their family while completely ignoring Ajaw’s relentless teasing about how “domestic” the two of you looked together. Even after the parents thanked you and left, Ajaw would continue making comments under his breath while Kinich silently walked beside you, his ears noticeably red despite how hard he pretended not to care.
.𖥔 ݁ KAVEH
Kaveh would become flustered almost as you did. The moment the child confidently grabbed your hand before reaching for his, he’d nearly choke on his words trying to explain the misunderstanding, only making himself sound even guiltier. “W-Wait, we’re not—! …I mean— we’re helping you find your parents first, alright?”
His awkwardness would somehow reassure the child instead of confusing them, and before long he’d find himself instinctively straightening the child’s clothes or making sure they didn’t trip while the three of you searched together. Once the parents finally appeared, Kaveh would let out the biggest sigh of relief imaginable before rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh, stealing one glance at your equally embarrassed expression before immediately looking away again, far too flustered to tease you about it.
When asked how they feel about you, how do they respond?
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|| GN! Reader ||
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Characters Featured: Alhaitham, Ayato, Cyno, Diluc, Durin, Kaeya, and Kaveh
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(Part 2 probably coming soon)
About Y/n
"Y/n? They're a competent worker, makes good coffee, and isn't the most annoying researcher I've met. So I suppose I don't mind them too much."
About Y/n: Coffee Preferences
"Y/n knows how I like my coffee. They haven't gotten it wrong once... Have I made coffee for them? No... should I?"
About Y/n: Crush?
"............You're imagining things."
About Y/n
"I find Y/n to be quite lovely. They provide a moment of rest in my busy day, I couldn't be more thankful for their presence in my life."
About Y/n: Duties
"Y/n helps me out with many things around the estate. They work so hard; I wish I could convince them to take more breaks. They tell me I worry too much, but... do I?"
About Y/n: Crush?
"Ah... ahaha. What a curious thing to say. I have no idea what you mean. You do have other things to do now, don't you? You ought to take care of your own business before nosing into mine."
About Y/n
"Y/n is rather kind and has a good head on their shoulders, most like them for that alone, but I admire their strength as well. They play Genius Invokation TCG with me as well, even if I never let them win."
About Y/n: Frequent Visits
"Isn't it my job as the General Mahamatra to check in on researchers? I doubt Y/n would do anything dangerous, but they've had a few research partners trying to push the envelope a little too much. I'm just checking in on them... and of course I do this with other researchers... It'd be irresponsible not to..."
About Y/n: Crush?
"...No clue what you're refering to."
About Y/n
"Y/n is one of those few people who can get along with anyone. They're just easy to get along with. I find myself relying on that skill of theirs for intel and general information gathering. They're dependable in that way, more so than any of the Knights of Favonius."
About Y/n: Drinking Habits
"Y/n often visits the tavern when I'm working the bar; I know their drink preferences by heart at this point. They have good taste. Why are you looking at me like that? It's not so strange to know a... friend's drink of choice, now is it?"
About Y/n: Crush?
"Urk... I... where did you get that idea? Y/n is just a close confidant and f... friend. I see no point in muddying the relationship with such feelings... that I don't have."
About Y/n
"Miss Y/n? Oh! They're so lovely! They gave me some really nice pens a few weeks ago... I wanted to give something in return, but I couldn't really think of anything... maybe I should ask Hat Guy?"
About Y/n: Favorite Thing
"My favorite thing about Y/n is their smile! It always makes me happy when I see that smile. I wonder if I was ever the cause of their smile... hmm..."
About Y/n: Crush?
"C-crush? I don't... uhm... That's the love thing Miss Lisa was talking about, right? I-is that what I feel for Y/n? Is that why they always make me so happy? Huh... a crush..."
About Y/n
"Y/n? Why so curious? You wouldn't happen to be interested in them, would you? Why am I asking? No reason, just a simple inquiry."
About Y/n: Teasing
"Oh, you've heard about me teasing Y/n? It's nothing malicious, I just like the look on their face when they get mad, it's just so cute how they puff out their cheeks... and if I get them angry enough, their face turns red. I'm rather fond of that expression of theirs."
About Y/n: Crush?
"You simply must be imagining things. Now I do believe these questions of yours are done. I'll be going now."
About Y/n
"Y/n? Oh they're great, if only I could spend more time with them... I wonder if they'd go get coffee with me... or maybe I could ask them to go on a picnic? Huh? Oh, sorry, I forgot you were here."
About Y/n: Feedback
"Y/n talks to me about my designs sometimes; they always have good feedback. I highly regard their opinion, even when architecture isn't involved. I've relied on them in the past for their judgment; I hope they'd feel comfortable doing the same with me..."
About Y/n: Crush?
"Ahahaha, I- uh, I suppose you could say... gah... not rea- or, actually... uhm............................ d-don't say anything about this to them... okay?"
part of my 10 week celebration party for reaching 100 followers!*
just reader being completely oblivious to phainon’s raging crush on them and dismissing his personal feelings, unaware to what it all means truly.
everyone in okhema wholeheartedly believed that phainon was the oh so great and large deliverer, there was no doubt about it. but they also believed that as the great deliverer he greatly loved and acted with his whole soul, mind and body.
so why is it that such a fact, a belief - easily and significantly flew over your head, especially when you seemed to be the root cause of evidence that ‘scientifically’ supported the said belief.
multiple instances have demonstrated to the people of okhema and the chrysos heirs that phainon was utterly down bad for you, it was fully justified when you would hesitantly call for him, or request him of something.
the great deliverer would drop everything in order to be the first and only (as if someone else dared) person who was able to respond to you.
yet, through it all it seemed that you had decided that for all he does for you, it was purely a ‘friendly’ gesture and not at all an advance towards a more intimate relationship status with you.
‘these are for you!’
turning around from the fruit stall, you were met face to face with a massive bouquet of your favourite flowers with phainon hiding behind them.
shyly trying to hope that you wouldn’t register the massive blush he had coating his features, but of course you wouldn’t. you were too busy distracted by how large and beautiful the flowers were.
‘aww, phainon! you shouldn’t have-‘ feeling yourself get cut off by how he pushed the bouquet into your open arms. all while the large framed man was deduced to utter putty under your gaze.
scratching the back of his neck as he looked everywhere but at you and to ease his nerves. ‘it’s really nothing, don’t even worry about-‘
only for you to cut him off in the same manner, playing with a few petals as you thought about where you’d place the bouquet into your house.
‘i can’t belive you remembered it was best friends day!’
and as cringey as that sounded, nothing could have made phainon anticipate the way his face fell at the state of your smiling face and the words you just spoke.
you weren’t even looking at him when you said that!
and well okay, i guess sure, why not stare at the massive bouquet that your ‘best friend’ bright you to celebrate the forsaken ‘best friends day’?
of all the ways phainon thought this would have played out this was not one of them, like did you really blame him if he thought this was going to get him atleast a kiss on the cheek like the ones he had seen you giving a few kids yesterday when they brought you a stray flower.
a small peck if you were feeling squeamish at the thought of pda infront of everyone, but this…
clearing his throat with a cough to clear his head of the thought of just grabbing you and kissing you, the act was able to also capture your attention as you to turned to look at him.
he sighed apprehensively at the situation he had put himself into and had to accept with the way your innocent eyes stared into his.
‘yea… their for best friends day!’ gritting his teeth with the mention of the last phrase.
‘thank you phainon.’ saying it with a sing-song lilt to your voice, thinking that the conversation was over and with sending him a beaming smile, turning to continue with your errands with a massive bouquet on your shoulders.
unbeknownst to the general public’s feelings and phainon’s. with you out of sight from his vision and further from the dream he wishes he could turn into reality, phainon felt a heavy arm sling itself across the expanses of his large shoulders.
one that could only go par to par with him, turning to the side to see mydei’s all knowing face holding onto an indifferent expression as he stared at the sight of you several meters away from them, enjoying your day as usual and conversing with onlookers. calmly stating to him.
‘seems like your gesture was accepted on the wrong foot.’ calmly stating as if this was something he had expected and foreseen ‘cycles’ earlier.
which in turn only forced phainon to let out a defeated grunt and have him try to pry off mydei’s unsupportive arm away from where it rested in his shoulders.
this surprised the latter. mydei was familiar to phainon’s distinctive appearance and emotional reactions when it came to you… but this, this was different.
he rarely ever looked so - defeated. if that was the right term to place the way he saw him when he narrowed his eyes at how you seemed to walk in a different direction and where phainon had turned his back from you, he realised that this time it was more than fleeting disappointment phainon was feeling.
this must have felt like an utterly cruel rejection to end his advances, and mydei was none the wiser to try and get him to think that was the truth.
following suit behind him, he mirrored his earlier actions and wrapped his arm around his shoulders.
‘oh great deliver, what about a spar to ease your mind.’
and mydei knew him better than anyone else, for phainon’s melancholic expression had seemed to slightly shift towards pleasant surprise at the request of the prince of castrum kremnos.
‘i mean is it crazy to say that i thought she liked me back?’ staggering in his movements as he put more room into concentration over you, rather than the brooding man infront of him who kept on attacking at his weak defenses.
he wasn’t even trying and to mydei the spar that he had thought was meant to clear phainon of his thoughts of you, only left him at a capacity where he thought this was a let’s discuss name therapy session.
at some point, phainon deliberately plunged his great sword into the training grounds and leaned over it to continue his one sided conversation about the lack of progress he had when courting you.
‘like did you even know it was best friends day today?’ scoffing to himself as he looked at the bright sun. at this point more so speaking to the sky than mydei himself, leaving the rhetorical question up in the air.
which in turn got mydei to roll his eyes with a heavy sigh at his friend’s ministrations and walk out of the training grounds to leave phainon to his own thoughts.
it’s not like this was his area of expertise and he was sure that any point in time where he tried to interject and provide his opinions - phainon would only cut him off to provide his own perspectives towards his doubts and questions.
passing through the gates of the training grounds, he made swift notice of aglaea’s form entering into the vicinity of the training grounds.
sure that if there was one person who could help phainon wake up from this stupid unrequited love spell, it must have been her. unaware to the presence following behind aglaea as he thought about his own priorities and duties.
and to aglaea, from what she could ‘see’ under her thingy veiled gold threads, phainon was purely and utterly disheartened as he leaned his frame and sat on the ground using his sword as a support for his back.
quietly ruminating over the newest and profound rejection from you, so deep in thought that the great deliverer who was more aware of his surroundings on other days had yet to notice the romantic figure of aglaea moving towards him and a certain other party that was the reason for his heartache.
i mean can you really blame him if he thought that you’d get the hint by now?
first it was during one of the festivals in okhema that was meant to celebrate love and romance with aglaea at the forefront. he thought that him inviting you as his plus one was already a sure bet that he was professing his feelings in some way.
only for you to end up celebrating it with him and dismissing his feelings and your own as feelings of mutual respect and ‘friendship’.
and now that he remembers the whole friendship ideology between you two, he thinks the whole thing is just a social construct that makes it more difficult for you two to be together.
it’s not like he doesn’t value your ‘friendship’ with him, he just wishes that sometimes it wasn’t the root excuse that creates all of his rejections and becomes an obstacle to what could have been.
but then… maybe it wasn’t merely ‘friendship’ that stopped him from being with you.
maybe it was you.
you who probably saw all the signs but decided to ignore them and lay him down gently all these times under the guise of ‘friendship’.
you who probably didn’t reciprocate his feelings and felt like you couldn’t tell him.
you who probably must’ve have felt uncomfortable with each time he had the courage to speak up to you and channel his feelings of intimacy and love to you.
but what phainon couldn’t fathom at this point, even when you were simply right there behind him, wanting to act as a better support to his troubles than the great sword he was was leaning on could hardly do.
was that you were hopelessly and completely lovestruck to him, just as he was to you. you just assumed that his endless implicit confessions were plainly put - ‘friendly gestures’.
so slowly as he talked to himself and later noticed aglaea behind him, using her as his new ear to hear all the ridiculous things you had put him through.
as they conversed with infront of you, with his back facing the both of you and his mind unable to capture the sight of you. he went down the road of saying everything and all of it at once, thinking that you were probably never going to hear from him again after what had happened today.
‘aglaea, i’m no expert romancer but hardly anyone could have guessed that i’m in love with name.’
and with the latest confession it seemed that somewhere between the cycles, it seemed that fate was on phainon’s side for once. looking between the two chrysos heirs with aglaea being the one you looked at for actual confirmation to what you had just heard.
with her nodding to give you the go ahead that what you heard was in fact true. you were completely shocked at, but even more so to the fact that all the times you kept on acting oblivious to your own feelings, you had also been oblivious to his.
sighing to yourself at the whole ordeal with a faint smile, you looked over to aglaea who retracted her form to give the both of you some space at the new revelation.
phainon had quieted down now after his recent proclamation, and was lost in thought about how he was to try and get himself to forget about you and give up on this endless war of love.
albeit some part of his golden heart told him that he was to still cling onto the thing threads of fate.
crouching down to sit side by side to phainon who was still unaware to your presence, you sat on the same ground that he had been using as a companion for his mid-day admissions about you.
‘well maybe if you had said that from the first place i wouldn’t have looked so stupid.’
you finally quirked up with a bright smile gracing your features, as phainon was left speechless, turning to his side to see you sitting next to him.
embarrassed yet cautious to how you were reacting right now, he felt himself feeling a bit hot and bothered at how long you could have been here the whole time he was complaining about you.
either way though, as he assessed his surroundings and how you hadn’t yet fled for the gates of okhema after everything he said and instead were sitting next to him. then maybe, just maybe you also liked him back.
and it wasn’t until you decided to be bolder did he actually come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t just hallucinating or dreaming about you.
‘sooo, are you just going to stare at me the whole time?’ you mentioned, making him look towards you again with a confused expression.
‘…or finish your earlier conversation about wanting to kiss me?’
feeling yourself giggle at how he had quickly switched and captured the gravity of the situation, turning to grab your face and do just as what he had said before.
because as the great deliverer, isn’t it his role to deliver.
authors note:
nothing too angsty or emotionally heavy, also first fic of the celebration party!
- and i couldn’t be happier with what were celebrating as well like omfg 100 followers?! it’s unbelievable to me that i’ve hit triple digits when going into this i expected to writer just for me, myself and i😭
but it’s really beautiful and i love the tight knit ‘community’ that has come about from people interacting and supporting my works! it really does mean a lot and i can’t thank you enough.
How about the Yanderes training their little babies to be the perfect yanderes to keep an eye on their darling when they aren't around? And I'm talking them telling what you did down to how many breaths you take. Full on lil snitches to anything you do!!!
Would the Yanderes train their children to watch over Reader?
Hi dear anon, well I think everyone would have their kids keep an eye on reader in one way or another 🖤
Yes, this man would have his children watch you 24 hours a day. He would teach them from a young age to be completely aware of you when he is not around, he would train them to tell him everything, EVERYTHING, who comes home when he is not, if you talk to someone (whoever), who you call on the phone and he would even make sure his children inform him if you do something that he forbade you to do at some point and you did anyway thinking he wouldn't notice.
Every after he comes home with his older children following close behind after a long day of work on the farm, his younger children would already be waiting for him sitting on the porch steps, they jump to their feet when they see him approaching, they run up to him and start quickly telling him everything that happened while he was gone.
"Enough. Speak one at a time, we can't understand each other. So your mother was on the phone, huh? Well, everyone go feed the horses while I talk to your mother."
Yandere Cowboy Link
Yet another one who shamelessly makes his kids watch you, he finds it funny and might even joke about the fact that his kids watch you, he would call them "his little spies" but if you scold him he would tell you that it is a "cute" thing that his little ones care so much and that just shows how much he and the kids love you, he doesn't need anything else to convince you.
His older kids (four and five years old) come over to tell him everything you did that day, he listens intently while rocking his daughter (one year old) on his hip and kisses her chubby cheeks from time to time, he laughs as he hears his kids fight each other over who tells the "wrong" story, he ends up calming both kids down before they start fighting and get your attention.
"Come on, come on kids, stop fighting before mom finds out and scolds us all, how about we go see your beautiful mother and ask her what happened today?"
Yandere Dilf Link
I think in his case it's more about his worry, paranoia of losing you, something happening to you or you leaving him rather than really wanting to control you, his son and especially his daughters will tell everything about the day to their father since they hate seeing him so worried (he's a good father) if you are more reluctant to talk to him and still don't accept your new life, your children would try to keep their father in the loop.
When he comes back from work and steps foot inside the house his children would already be there ready to ease his worries about you, they would take him to the couch and he would start telling everything to their father who would relax when, he hears nothing strange or suspicious happened in his absence, he would pat his son on the head and kiss his daughters on the cheeks before getting up from the couch to look for you.
"Here you are, honey. The kids told me that today you planted the daisy seeds I gave you... I'll bring more for you tomorrow and if you want something special, just ask, okay, honey?"
Yandere Sugar Daddy Link
He has no shame as I said, he would have no qualms about putting security cameras all over the house so he can see everything you and the kids do when he is working in his office, he would even ask the kids in front of you what they did that day, what YOU did that day, even though he has already seen everything, of course. But he wants to see if they are honest.
His son is more vague with his answers, although the boy wants his father to feel proud of him, he does not want to betray you, his daughter on the contrary tells her father everything from what she did that day, what her brother did, what you did, what the maid did, what the neighbors did... she rants happily while her father listens attentively with a smile on his lips.
"Look at that dear, our little princess is quite an observer, she sees everything. And she would never hide anything from her daddy, right little princess?"
your husband who loved calling you his wife— even outside of moments of necessity.
and the most fascinating part? he wasn't even aware of the fact how often he did it. he knew he did say it, but he wasn't aware of the fact how often he did. those two words, simple yet undeniably laced together with love and reverence, often tumbled out of his mouth before his brain could catch up.
"my wife would like these flowers," he had said to the wholesome elderly florist when he was about to buy a bouquet of your favorite flowers before returning home to you, his wallet— which had a small polaroid of you in it, by the way— already in hand.
"my wife did mention this the other day, now that i think about it." he had said to his friend who was rambling about the latest trending internet gossip.
"for my wife. i trust there isn't an issue?" he had simply said to the cashier upon noticing the way they lifted an eyebrow at the grocery basket filled to the brim with your favorite snacks, to which they gave a solemn, approving nod at his answer. good husband.
"my wife went out to run an errand, but she'll be back soon." he had even said to your best friend when they came to visit you, to which they replied with a very teasing smirk; "you could just say her name, y'know."
"my wife shouldn't pay when I'm around," he had said when you were about to pay for something, holding out his card before you could pull out yours.
"a reservation for my wife and i, please."
"sorry, my wife is waiting for me. i must take my leave now."
"yes, that's my wife— i'm quite proud of her."
"I can take it from here, sweetheart. can't have my beautiful wife overworking herself now, can i?"
and the list went on.
and yet, you didn't mind it. not at all— you had no reason to. your heart always did that funny little flip whenever he'd call you his wife the way he did, the corner of your lips never failing to curl into a smile. he would always say it so naturally— so genuinely, like those words were etched onto his soul for your very existence alone. and you certainly didn't miss the way his tone would sound a touch softer everytime he referred to you, like you needed to be spoken of with the utmost care and gentleness.
so, one day, you decided it was about time you struck.
"you call me that a lot."
his hands— which were reaching for the kitchen towel to dry his hands with after washing the dishes, yes, the dishes because chores are shared in this household— paused midway. he turned his head to look at you, where you had been perched on the counter, your legs swaying ever so slightly.
"call you what?" he inquired with a small tilt of his head, reaching for the towel at last and patting his hands dry.
"you know, your wife."
he immediately caught onto the teasing glint in your eyes, yet; it was unmistakably edged with a hint of affection.
for a moment, he just stood there wordlessly, blinking once, then twice, his brain taking its sweet, sweet time to allow your words to sink in. you, on the other hand, were practically straining your eyes to catch on any shifts in his expression or posture.
and then, you caught it; the faint reddening of the tips of his ears. he subtly cleared his throat, and your smile stretched into a grin.
alas, that dazzling curve of your lips disappeared as soon as it appeared when the man suddenly approached you in a swift few strides, standing between your legs and pressing his palms on either side of the counter which you sat on to cage you in.
you blinked.
"i do, yes."
he didn't even try to deny it. well, he didn't have a reason to. you were his wife, after all. where was the lie in that? and of course, he was absolutely proud of it.
then, he leaned in slightly, his tone lowering. "unless you prefer i stop calling you that?"
oh, now he was the one with that mischievous little twinkle in his eyes. inwardly, you faltered at the sudden boldness of his actions, your fingertips twitching against the surface of the counter. but outwardly? two can play the game.
then, with a deceptively sweet smile, you tilted your head, shot your hand forward and yanked on the collar of his shirt with force— his body jerking towards you.
"not at all," you smirked, inching closer. "i can't say i mind when my sweet husband calls me that."
his confidence faltered for a moment. you were about to internally celebrate your small victory until one of his hands slid up from the counter, now resting on your hips, his fingertips lightly pressing into your skin.
"... let's hear that again."
let's just say, ever since that faithful encounter, "my husband" had also started slipping out.
and every time? it got to him. oh, it definitely did.
(not my second fluff also taking place in the kitchen lol. i promise it's gonna be different next time.)
