warnings: missionary the entireeee time, reader is under the influence (alcohol), although she n' mike share a bond, somewhat dubious not really, penetrative intercourse!, mike is kinda impatient, pure smut, probs too many commas, lowk breeding kink
Mike Wheeler, the boy next door.
Mike Wheeler, the boy you grew up with.
Mike Wheeler, your friend.
Mike Wheeler, the friend who was there to take you to and from Stacey Albright's graduation party. The one who offered to be the designated driver because you can't control your liquor (a lie, but who was he if not an exaggerated storyteller). He was softer, lighter with you when you were under the influence, like he knew that all you needed was care and affection.
So when he took you home that night and opened the door to your bedroom, it wasn't out of the ordinary. It was everything but different when he slipped the straps of your dress off your shoulders, when he found his nose buried within the crook of your neck, slender, warm fingers finding their home in the plush of your hips; squeezing, like you'll run off if he doesn't hold you in place.
Words are hardly exchanged when he's pushing you onto the mattress, and your garments pool at your ankle, with his one hand petting your hair and another petting your crotch, feeling for the warmth he looked forward to these nights.
Your jagged breaths synced together when he pressed two fingers against the button between your bare folds, earning him a wanton moan.
"Like this..." He'd murmur from above, pressing his fingers taut against the back of your thighs, bending your legs forward and soaking in the sight beneath him. All before draping his fingers over the wet nub tucked between your wet lips, grazing at it with the pad of his coarse thumb.
He relished in the way it twitched, his chest growing warm at seeing you unfold because of him.
He did this to you, he is doing this to you.
Another minute passed and he's pushing the head of his cock into your sopping heat. Your breath hitched while he pressed in, stretching you out so nice and full, you swore you could feel him in the back of your throat.
Your watering eyes locked with his momentarily, begging for reprieve from his uncaring cock. "Mi..." your voice died out, getting caught in your throat at the same time he bottomed out. He was snug inside and his balls nestled against your taint. He felt the muscles in your calves tense up as your toes curled in anticipation. He swore he could write about the luxury that was your body.
"Just," he leaned in close, hunched over your frame, "just take it, okay?"
That's the last thing you remember hearing. The last coherent anything your brain parsed that night.
To him, you gave in so easily, it'd have been a waste to not take you. That's why he had you folded beneath his body, trapping you in his heat as his hips smoothed into yours. He could feel your limbs writhe and his hands found themselves restraining you each time.
"Just let me," He'd breathe out, burying his moans into every crevice he kissed. "Just..." he muttered once more, both hands pushing you down into the mattress by your thighs. He kept you there. He hiked your legs over his shoulders and kept you there, still in time.
"We'll have a whole litter..." he practically moaned, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs, kneading into you, "we'll get away.." he was rutting into you now, "Let me give it to you," he wasn't asking, he never did.
He snaked an arm behind your neck and his fingers nestled on the back of your head, cradling you into pressing your forehead against his. Then, he was sliding back in. Your heat coating his cock with the slickest arousal, until his pelvis kissed yours, and you couldn't help the shiver that ran down your body.
You couldn't help the way your cunt fluttered around the base of his heavy cock, or the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head and his slender fingers wrapped a fistful of hair to keep you still. You couldn't help but find comfort in his warmth, finding comfort in his presence as his cock emptied inside of you, while he pet your hair, letting you ride out your orgasm, and he whispered- no, rambled on about everything you'd do together once you were bound to him.
Mike Wheeler, he always quite the storyteller.
disclaimer: any smut concerning st characters are aged up! this is the rule of thumb
mdni banner @cafekitsune
divider cr. @uzmacchiato
thinking about clan heir!satoru who's been in love with you since highschool but now the gojo clan decided you'd be the perfect incubator for their next gen of sorcerers. moments before graduation. you're young, of age, just perfect.
he can't take the idea of every gojo heir having a go at your sweet pussy he's dreamt off every time he caught a glimpse of your panties under that uniform skirt you made so pretty — solution?
if he keeps you full of him, his family won't stand a chance yeah?
you didn't even know what the clan was planning 'till you were trapped against your dorm bed. goodbye one final, peaceful night after grad, hello shaky knees, teary eyes and your virgin pussy so full of cock you could barely breathe.
"satoru, toru, toru please please—"
you tasted the sheets as he shoved your head further. smearing your perfect makeup and tears alike. an endless barrage of thrusts splitting you open.
"toru stop, don't wanna,"
"don't wanna what? don't want my babies?"
he grinned above you. deranged and disturbed. it's not his fault. it's his clan's. it's yours. for being so desirable.
he shoved harsh against your ass. loud, lewd clapping echoing through your dorm and drowning out your cries. your fingers coiled on the sheets. he still held your hair. still hushed you.
"doing this for you baby. for us. can't have this perfect pussy bred by anyone else. gotta be me —" he whined, limping over you and pistoning at an alarming, maddening pace.
"saving you, saving this pussy. so hurry up and—" a gasp tore from him. he twitched and filled you up with another white, hot round.
collapsing, he desperately humped and fucked his seed in further. eyes rolling back as he pictured how it spilled around your quivering thighs.
"hurry up..." he growled into your ear. "and get knocked up for me, madam gojo."
YOU WERE THE ONE who brought up the idea to your boyfriend in the first place.
initially, he refused, with the intention of keeping your safety in mind, fully aware of how intense he becomes in a rut when they rolled around, and he couldn't possibly subject you to that. but then you began to persist and insist on the idea of helping him so much that in the end, he agreed, although a bit begrudgingly.
so when the time finally arrived, and he appeared by your front door late in the night, hair disheveled, skin glistening with sweat, and a hand reaching out for you with a thin layer of restraint, you knew what you were in for. …and you know what? maybe jack was right. maybe you didn't fully understand the extent to what you harassed your boyfriend for. but at this point, it was too late for any kind of second thoughts.
it was probably a great idea that grim chose to crash the night in heartslabyul. as for the ghosts, you had no idea where they were, but you were grateful they were nowhere to be seen.
the man on top of you, growling and snarling as he bit into your shoulder, was completely different from the boyfriend you knew. usually jack was a lot more considerate, always observant when it came to your needs and comfort. but the one on top of you… the moment he dragged you back inside your bedroom, your clothes were shredded to pieces. he made sure you had nowhere to go, even going so far as to drag you back by the hips with a growl when you tried to crawl away, repeatedly flooding your pussy with his cum. the few times he granted you a break was just a quick breather before he was on you again, crushing you beneath his weight as he slipped his cock back inside your sore pussy.
the room stunk with the strong scent of sweat and sex as the loud slapping of skin against skin echoed. your eyes were completely glazed over. all you could feel and think was just him, heat rushing through every inch of your body. you didn't even have the strength to move. simply having to lie on the bed limp with your cheek pressed against the pillow, strands of your hair sticking to your forehead as moans slipped past your slightly parted lips.
and that didn’t stop him, didn’t stop his hips from snapping forward, your body lightly jolting with each thrust whenever the tip of his cock rammed against your cervix. his arms then wrapped tightly around your neck, lifting your head from the pillow as he had his face buried in your hair. deep down beyond the instincts that were taking over, jack felt sorry. he could see that you were exhausted, and he promises he will give you all the care you needed. but not now. he needed this. you allowed this.
a choked moan was ripped out of your throat as your eyes widened. it was happening again. you felt him empty another load as he snarled. your moan turned into a whine, your hands shooting upward to dig your nails into his arms as you felt the cum slosh around your stomach that had formed a small bulge from how much was dumped inside it. you felt so full. so fucking full. your eyes slightly rolled back as you felt your boyfriend pepper kisses on your shoulder and neck, his cock nestled within your tight heat.
his arms moved from your neck, allowing your head to fall back against the soft pillow. you took in a deep breath, trying to relax. but it was only for so long till he shifted both of your bodies to lie on your sides. and that was when you realized he was still hard, his cock still twitching with need. his hips began to move again, quickly picking back up its relentless pace that had you seeing white.
warnings: non-con, smut, bullying, childhood friends to lovers, boss-employee relationship, breeding kink, obsession, possessive behavior, unhealthy relationships, butler reader, illumi being a psycho, minor character death, reader tries to cope
word count: 3.1k
i started watching a couple episodes of hxh but couldn't push through, so i dropped it. but then, i got to read 'guessing game' by hypnoswrites, and it was so freaking good it convinced me to go back and finish hxh and i did lmaooo. and damn, illumi is really that cool. so i gotta write about him. as usual, english isn't my first language. if you see a mistake or something weird here and there, it's me fighting for my life. enjoy!
Like bugs when a rock was lifted, everyone around you suddenly scattered when they saw someone approaching, and in no time, they were all gone. Heading in your direction was a boy with short black hair and eyes that were even blacker. You didn't know him; you bet your friends didn't as well, but there was something about him and his lifeless eyes that screamed 'bad news,' and that was probably why everybody were so quick to leave.
Only you stood there as he walked closer, not because you were curious or brave or that you cared that the boy's feelings would be hurt if you left too. You were seven years old, and that was the first time you met Illumi Zoldyck, and you were scared shitless you physically couldn't move.
"Oh, you're not going with them?" he asked.
He looked to be around your age and was a tad shorter than you. Still, just hearing his voice sent shivers up your spine.
Your legs violently shook as you stammered, "Hu—huh?"
"Good," he said with a soft but chilling smile. "I choose you."
"Wh—whatever for?" you asked, feeling like crying all of a sudden.
"To play with me," he said. "Now, do you like hide and seek?"
Hide and seek was all fun and games until you had to play it for six hours straight with no rest and with a playmate like Illumi, who always found you within minutes whenever it was your turn to hide. Even so, he never seemed to get bored and would demand another round, preferably with you as the hider.
"Again," he said after he found you hiding behind a bush.
He always said that—again—making you feel like the game would go on forever, and after three hours of playing, being found over and over again and still having to keep going, you feared it might actually not end. There were numerous spots to hide in the vast public park you were playing at, but Illumi was too good at this. He was unbeatable.
"You are very bad at this."
He hadn't even seen you yet when he said that, and you thought you had chosen a very promising spot this time. It was only when you climbed down from the tree and turned to him that he locked eyes with you and unemotionally said, "Again."
"Again."
"Again."
"Again."
"Huh," he muttered.
This time, he found you at a bus stop near the park, and from the way the bus card was clutched tightly in your hands, you didn't think you had to say anything for Illumi to have a clear understanding that you were leaving.
"I'm tired," you said. "Let's call it a day."
"Sure. It's already late anyway." He looked towards the sun that was starting to set, and then he turned to look at you with that small, creepy smile he'd been giving you way too many times today. "I'll see you tomorrow."
To you, that sounded like a threat. But what could a boy do if you decided to hole up in your home all day? Drag you out? It wasn't until the following morning when you heard your mom call you to come downstairs that you knew he could actually do that.
"You didn't tell me you made a new friend. Illumi here said you promised to meet him at the park to play," your mom said in a chiding tone. "Why are you still in your pajamas?"
Funnily enough, that was the first time you knew his name. His last name, however, wasn't revealed to you and your family until months later, sending your parents into a state of shock when Illumi casually mentioned it while having dinner at your home one night.
Illumi Zoldyck.
You'd been playing with the eldest son of the most dangerous assassin family in the world, and you didn't even know it. And by that time, it was too late to change anything. There was nothing you could do but lower your head, accept your fate, and play any game he was in the mood for, whether it was hide and seek, board games, or whatever random, fun ideas he came up with.
The fun ideas were the worst. Sometimes, it was just you following him around like a shadow because he ordered you not to lose sight of him. If you did, you'd get punished. That was his definition of fun.
Locking you in the sleek, black car his family sent to pick him up was one of the punishments. He'd tell you to get in first, and then he'd follow and sit beside you in the back seat before telling the chauffeur to drive without telling them where he wanted to go. After he made sure you texted your parents that you'd be home late, watching you like a hawk as you typed each word and tapped send, your phone would then be confiscated for the rest of the endless ride.
This meant hours in silence, as you'd rather die than make small talk with Illumi to kill time. And sleeping was out of the question. If he caught you closing your eyes for a little too long, he'd poke you in the waist to startle you out of your attempt.
To keep you up and present. His word, not yours.
If not a car ride, he'd make you watch him hurt something—or someone—often with his weird-looking needles he carried with him everywhere. He'd stick them into his targets, animals and humans alike, and they would cry, drop to the ground, and thrash agonizingly. Only when he pulled the needles out did the pain seem to stop.
He did that to your ex-friends, the ones who fled the moment they saw him and left you to face him alone, saying something about having to complete several missions in order to be allowed to come out of his house and play, and them not wanting to cooperate totally wasted his time.
"Good thing I had her," he said, cocking his head to the side as he observed the writhing bodies on the ground before turning to you. "Good thing she stayed."
You did, and even after fifteen years had passed, you were still with him.
You didn't know it at the time what knowing Illumi would entail, didn't know you'd lose your parents in a car accident just a few years later. Tragic deaths caused by bad weather and slippery road, making them lose control of the vehicle and plunge off the cliff. That was what you were told.
Thereafter, you were hired as a butler by the Zoldyck family, and since then, your new home had been the Kukuroo Mountain. Since then, Illumi had become an even bigger part in your life.
As your master and teacher, he taught you to use nen, to utilize your weak aura and make it stronger. He trained you hard and well enough to work with him, to assist him, heal him, but never well enough to hide from him, never that. His lessons were deliberate, crafted just for you. For some reason, you'd never get to learn how to leave this man.
You had tried to use Zetsu to conceal your aura, so he wouldn't sense you, but the moment you put one foot in front of the other with the intention to leave, he always knew—exactly what you were thinking, exactly where you were.
When it came to hide and seek, Illumi never lost. And although you both didn't play it anymore, it didn't feel like the game had ended at all. For a long while, you had wondered why he'd want to keep you so close to him, or to be precise, why he never grew out of his childish obsession of having you as his one and only, carefully-selected playmate.
The answer came to you one winter night as you watched him sleep, his body nestled against yours under the blanket. Eighteen and constantly questioning your life choices, or lack thereof, you had an epiphany.
You were the only friend he had.
The one he left in the forest on more than one occasion when it was your turn to be the seeker and yet the same one he had asked his mother if he could have share his room. You might call him 'Master Illumi' and do whatever he commanded, but then again, it was you who tended to his wounds while listening to him vent about his day. It was you who played with his hair until he fell asleep.
He had beautiful hair, jet-black, silky, and not short anymore as he'd decided to grow it out. He loved it when you ran your fingers through it. At such times, when he closed his eyes and breathed in and out evenly, welcoming your touch, it was almost like he had ceased being a cold-blooded assassin and had turned into a normal man who sought not violence but warmth. And for a moment, you were safe from his antics, cruel and sadistic antics that had later become something more perverted than evil as you both grew older.
You were nineteen when he threw his needles at you mid-sparring. It wasn't the first time he used them on you, but it was the first time you didn't remember anything after they pierced your skin. Normally, you'd just be paralyzed; you'd still see things that happened around you even though you couldn't move a muscle. But that time, everything went black, and when you regained consciousness, you were lying against Illumi's naked chest in a bathtub and his long fingers were pumping in and out of your pussy.
You remembered trying to get up from the tub, but because you were still disoriented and he was much stronger, you kept getting yanked back against his chest. When you were still enough, he lifted one of your legs and rested it over the edge of the tub, and then he got back to work, fucking your pussy until you came right there on his deft fingers.
He'd been a perverted, touch-starved demon ever since, and it was ridiculous how stable he was with this kind of thing. Because now at twenty two, he still found a way to touch you at every opportunity. Time and time again, he'd grope you when no one was watching. Walking past each other in the hallway would result in him pressing his needle against your throat just to back you into the nearest empty room for a couple of kisses, and more times than you could count, those kisses would then turn into a full make-out session, and he'd end up sucking your neck a little too hard and leave bruises that would raise a few eyebrows.
On some nights when playing with his hair failed to lull him to sleep, it wasn't unusual for him to hold you close and rub his swollen manhood on you while whispering possessively in your ear, reminding you that you belonged to him and him only.
He had taken his time with you, like a predator playing with its pray. Because despite the lewd advances, he had never actually gone all the way, but at this point, you knew it was only a matter of time.
That wasn't to say you were ready when it actually happened.
You didn't know what had gotten into him, but things got a bit intense last night, and by the end of it, you were left battered and beyond used. One minute it was a harmless grinding. You were both lying on your sides, and Illumi was fucking your thighs from behind. His cock was rubbing against your pussy's lips with every thrust but never penetrating, and that was how things were supposed to be. Nothing could have prepared you for the way he pushed his cock all the way inside you in the next unguarded moment. The action was sudden and absolute, as if to tell you he demanded no argument, and all you had to do was take it.
"This is nice," he said in your ear. "You feel so good around me."
"Master Illumi," you gasped and heard him huff a laugh.
"Yes?" he murmured.
"Am I—"
"Am I what?"
He began to move, slowly at first, but it didn't take long before he was pounding hard into you. Both of your naked bodies intertwined, so close, as though they were about to merge into one. In the midst of the intimacy, a series of questions rang deafeningly in your mind.
What if this changed everything? What if this was more serious than you thought? What if this was your life from now on? What if fifteen years were not enough to satisfy his twisted fixation? He had taken your parents from you. An accident? You knew Illumi too well to believe that lie. He killed them, and now he was fucking you, taking your body even though he already had your freedom. What was next, you life? Well, he already had that, too.
You felt tears prick your eyes as you asked, "Am I not your friend?"
"Of course you are," he answered after a short pause. "But don't you get it?"
He grabbed your face and forced you to turn your head to look at him.
"You were meant to be more."
Your thoughts were interrupted when the car came to a stop in front of what appeared to be an abandoned house. Turning your head to the driver's side, you found Illumi behind the wheel, staring straight ahead down the road at a low-rise hotel with an illuminated sign of its name at the top. He wore green today, looking as regal as ever and a tad more content than usual.
All you could think about as you took in his side profile was how sore your pussy was and that it was all because of him. The rest of the night was quickly replayed in your mind, and in all shameful honesty, it was mostly just you being fucked all over the room after that little conversation between you and him.
You remembered trying to fight him when he wouldn't let you rest after dumping his cum inside you for the third time. Annoyed and exhausted, you snapped and tried to strangle him with your nen rope, and for that, you'd learned a very important lesson.
Illumi didn't fight back or even dodge; he let it happen. He merely watched as you tightened the hold around his neck, his face turning redder and redder from the gradual increase of pressure, but never once did he utter a sound. You felt it in your heart that he would let you do it, that this was it, the chance to be free of him, but at the same time, you knew Illumi wouldn't fight a battle he wasn't sure he could win.
And he was right, as always, because he won.
The moment you let go of the rope, he immediately flipped you onto your back, shoved his still-throbbing cock in, and fucked you limp. He made sure you came on it too, and considering you had just tried to kill him, coming so hard your cunt pulsed around his dick was total a disgrace to your pride.
"I'm supervising this time," Illumi said, snatching you out of your memory. His gaze was now shifted to you. "You're on your own."
"You're coming with me, right?"
"I'll wait here."
It wasn't as if you had never been assigned a mission before, but it was the first time you had to complete it alone. The fact that Illumi was going to let you step out of this car, walk to that hotel the target was staying in, kill them, all without him watching your every move, told you more about what he was thinking than words could ever do.
He knew now you would never leave.
But you wanted to, you swore.
He knew last night changed everything.
And you wished it hadn't!
He knew you cared.
Because despite everything, he was your friend, too.
"Do you want me to fuck you in this car," he said and suddenly leaned across the center console towards you, "right here, right now?"
You blinked, eyes wide and face suddenly very warm, and quietly shook your head.
"Then stop looking at me like that."
He said that, but instead of backing away, he placed one hand on your thigh and then slowly dragged it up your body, unhurriedly, like you both had all the time in the world and there wasn't a job waiting to be finished. You held your breath, waiting to see where Illumi was heading with his little touch. When he stopped at your breast and gingerly kneaded it, you finally let yourself breathe and arch against his hand.
"Master Illumi," you whined, wishing whatever switch inside him wouldn't be flipped, so he would keep being gentle to you.
It was almost tolerable like this. This was okay.
"Calling me Master like I haven't spent all night breeding you."
He said against your lips and then he gave them a peck, once, twice, so uncharacteristically sweetly, yet so… him.
"It was good. No wonder Father kept knocking Mother up." He breathed the words out. "I want to do it again, wanna put my babies in you."
Illumi had always been a straightforward person, and he could say the most outrageous things, and you wouldn't be fazed. But now, you felt your face burn just from listening to those last few words that sounded suspiciously like a promise.
"I—I gotta go," you said before withdrawing yourself from his touch.
He hummed his assent and let you go without a fuss; his pitch-black eyes told you he'd wait for you to come back to him, that he knew you'd come back to him, that you'd better not disappoint him by thinking this was a chance to do something stupid.
Like running away from him and the life he had planned for you.
You closed the car door and began to walk, alone, accompanied by no one but the quietness of the night. But despite the illusion of freedom, you knew you were still shackled, tied to the man who had robbed you of the life you were supposed to live, bound by his will to possess you in every way imaginable. Yet you marched on, inhaling deeply and appreciating the solitude that you knew would not last.
(AN: I have rizz-en from my grave to be horny once more. All of these guys are avaliable for requests, but will be listed under the materlist simply as Yan!Boarding School.)
Background: Thinking about a Headmasters child!Reader at a private boarding school. For a Fem!Reader, perhaps you're just visiting daddy for the season while he's running the school, or maybe you've been bad, and need more supervision. For a Masc!Reader, it could be the same case, however, with Blackmoore Academy being an all male school, this opens up the availability for reader to be attending.
Student scenarios and profiles:
◇ Harrison Spence, star member of the swim steam, basketball player, and golden boy. Despite jock stereotypes, he's respectful and mature. He always looks out for others, and this lends to why your father suggests rooming with him. Plus... if anything were to happen, your father wouldn't hate to have him as a son in law. He's SOOO friendly when he meets you. Those big strong arms are perfectly suited to lug your bags upstairs to his room. Want help putting stuff away, sure! For a Fem!Reader, he's not suprised how awkward he is when he's unzipping your suitcase, only to be met with some thin lacy garments. He just coughs and backs off. For a Masc!Reader, he wears boxers too! So why does he still feel so hot. He should open a window.
He'll make sure you fit in around campus, mostly steering you in the direction of the athletics department. He'd love to see you at some of his games, cheering him on. You seem so nice, he could really seem himself with you long term, the more he thinks about crushing on you. Besides, you already share a living space. He feels awful about how his body reacts anytime you're too close. You left a jacket behind that smells just like you? He tries not to think about the consequences of fisting his cock into it. Late night out at one of his games? Who cares if you share a dorm and your bed is literally six feet away, it's too far of a walk. Slide into his bed, he's a gentleman. At least until he wakes up the next morning, mind foggy as he instinctively moves his cock up over the waist band, putting a leaky tip against your ass as he resists the urge to press his head into your neck, opting for a pillow instead. He's so, so sorry, but he's gott a deal with it, and you just feel so good. He rationalizes it by saying he's not just some horned up guy, no. You're his roommate, HIS. And what would the Headmasters think! No, he wants a future with you, romance, not just a warm hole to rut...
"Hey, roomie! Listen, practice is running kinda late tonight, so I'm gonna grab food on the way back. Why don't you text me your order, I can bring it back. We can make a whole thing out of it, no need to pay me back! I'm thinking burgers?"
◇ Carter Matthews, student body president, scholar, and in every AP class possible. Even some dumb ones. He doesn't pay much mind to you, you ate very attractive but so is he. If he felt the need for a relationship, he could get whomever he wanted. But he hates... hates how you make the other students, even some of the faculty act. He can't help but follow you around, making sure you obey curfew, and don't get into any trouble. He likes to keep order around here, and it bothers him to have to ignore his student body presidential duties to make sure some delinquent isn't trying to slip you a spiked drink, or some jock has you under the bleachers trying to get your mouth wrapped around their tips.
Eventually, he decides you could be helpful instead of a hinderance. He's busy, may need a form of stress relief, and given babysitting you when Harrison isn't around is one of the main sources of that stress, why shouldn't you help him out. Besides, you look so cute flustered. Maybe it starts small, he tells you your uniform bottoms aren't regulation, and while he tugs them down to 'fix' them, his hands wander a bit too much, grazing the soft skin of your ass. During random room inspections, he may let his hatred of the sports program taking up all the funding by mentioning how obvious it is your roommate wants to stick it in you. Harrison can't stand him, not trusting the cold creepy gaze of the prefect. He'll force you to come to student council meetings, under the guise of assisting him with preparing for a faculty dinner to appease your father, only to get you under his desk while he writes, trying to guide you with one stern hand. He doesn't like to go too deep, not one to enjoy gagging or unnecessary sound that would distract him from working.
"Keep it down." He scolds, cold eyes peering down through blonde bangs. With a sigh, his free hand strokes your cheek. "Just suckle, alright? There'll be plenty of time after I'm done for you to make sweet noises around my cock..."
◇ Evan Reed, CAPTAIN of the swim team, and student assistant PE coach. He's used to play basketball alongside Harrison, but got kicked out for being too violent. Shoving, pushing, and going as far as knocking teeth out. He's a fucking animal. He's handsome, of not a bit of a loner. He isn't popular or unpopular, people tend to leave him alone because of that bad boy attitude and his temper, but he's always welcome to party with the jocks, welcomed into parties and known as a keg-stand king. And boy do you catch his eyes, giving that your always hanging off Harrison, or being trailed by Carter. He's more than happy to accompany you to the pool or help you out in gym class, but it's obvious what he wants. He'll get up behind you in the pool, still smelling of cigarettes as he asks mundane questions while trying to pull your swimsuit to the side and get his hands on that sweet spot between your thighs. Or maybe he'll sit on the edge of the pool, congratulate you on how good your doing, legs spread as he pulls you between them, hoping you'll end up accidentally eyeing his cock. If you are a Masc!Reader, then there's definitely some internalized homophbia. He'll make sure you know these are just normal friend activities, even when he's got you bent over in the boys locker room, ass up. He doesn't EVER plan to be the one on the bottom.
He's a player, chasing tail outside of the school, hitting on peers sisters and mom's alike. But now, he plans to keep you around, not because he necessarily feels like he wants a romantic relationship with you, but because he loooooves how pissed it makes Harrison. He never liked the goody two-shoes, and half suspects he's one of the people who pushed to get him kicked out of basketball. He likes to pick on people, but Harrison sees himself as a knight in shining armor. So it gives Evan a major power boner to make you grind up against him on the dancefloor at some preppy party, while Harrison just has to stand by and not crush his beer can. Evan knows harrison will never, ever do anything to ruin your good guy image of him. Ever.
He's pissed, punching a locker as he let's out a growl. 4-0, what the fuck is wrong with his team? How could they get fucked over so bad after weeks of missing parties for shitty practices. Luckily for him, he sees you on the sidelines, probably waiting for Harrison to walk you back to your dorm. He takes this opportunity to slide up behind you, hands on your hips as you can feel his angry erection rutting up against your ass. "You. Me. Locker room, five minutes, stall three. Be ready, underwear off and bent over or I'll take you in front of the guys who are still changing? Got it?" He departs with a harsh smack on your rear.
◇ Joseph Mick, he's in the newspaper, but it's not like he's the head or anything. He just love photography, and he's the only guy at school to have really mastered the dark room. He's known to be a little... odd. He's the youngest in you and Harrisons class, with a petite stature and thin, lanky arms. He's pale, almost gaunt, but that could be a lack of sunlight given that he spends all his time in the dark room or toiling over photo arrangement mock-ups in the journalism room. People avoid him, but he's okay with that. He's more than happy to just watch from a distance, and photography is his real branch to the world. People only talk to him or react positively if he's taking photos for the paper or the school newsletter. He actually meets you at one of Evan's swim meets, he gets good seats for being student press, and you get good seats for just being Evan's new favorite piece of ass. Your aren't even sure why you were invited, you don't even know anything about how one wins a swimming competition. But Joseph does. He's been to enough of these, and you notice, so you lean over and start asking him questions. He's shocked someone is talking to him, and not about getting a bigger feature in the yearbook. He's more than happy to help point stuff out to you, even if he had to repeat himself or stutter his way through something. He's feeling his heart flutter and his hands shake so much so he can barely hold the camera. Soon, he's watching as you walk away, wishing he could grab onto you and hang you up on his wall to admire like one of his pictures. It's only made worse when he sees a pair of masculine arms dragging you into the boys locker room.
He's a stalker, but it's not his fault! For one, he's got no idea how to approach anyone, much less someone he likes as much as you. And since he's got that reputation as a creep, if he approached you in public, Harrison would be polite but firm at shooing him away, Carter would give him a look that makes him feel like a worm beneath his well polished shoes, and Evan would beat him to the brink of death, but then pass him over to his friends. But God, if he didn't think it was worth it sometimes to just be close to you. He can only get as close to you as his high-focus lens will allow. He's got hundreds of photos of you, some taken by him, some by campus security cams, and he treats each one like the piece that's gonna get him into a top art school. He almost feels bad taking risqué shots of you. He's always following you, and he sees the ways those... those pigs are treating you. If he could stand up to them, he would. He sees (from the cameras he's slipped into your bag) the boner Harrison is always sporting when he in your presence, he even caught a glance of Harrisons late night rendezvous with your pillow. He sees the way Carter leads you through the hallways like his little secretary, lithe fingers trying to get up your uniform bottoms. Worst of all is the way he sees Evan humping you in the pool like a dog in heat, with you obviously unsure about how you feel about this. He knows he'd treat you right, if you'd ever consider being with something like him. Notice he almost feels too bad to take risqué pictures. He can't help it if a picture or two from one of his hidden cams has a bit of an upskirt, or gets a little to zoomed in on your pecs. But know that as he drums humps the table in the dark room, those copies are only so he can keep one in his room and one on his person! He'd never, ever share your sexual exploits, not like Evan would, always bragging about what he does with, or more likely to you.
Being on the newspaper staff, he's got a pretty good idea of everyone's schedules. He's more than happy to try and squeak out some words to you if he knows your many admirers are preoccupied. Trust him, he knows A LOT of good spots to share a meal privately or maybe... maybe you'd like to see the dark room? He's even got a pillow in there, a cushion he can place on a soft stool in case you ever came to visit. He hopes he could get a private photoshoot in, maybe with some silly pictures of you, or even some lewd pics, he's just happy to see his collection expand. He doesn't have a lot of money, but he's more than happy to buy you as much cheap vending machine food as you want as long as you'll spend time with him.
"Oh, shi- hey! I didn't realize you'd be stopping by here. I'm just, uh, editing some photos for the paper." You don't notice as he slyly moves a tray of pics taken outside a dorm window that looks suspiciously like yours. He thanks whoever is out there in this moment that the dark room has a sink as he keeps his right hand out of sight.
◇ Tyler Mertz and Percy 'Pez' Goldberg, two outsiders, and self proclaimed 'dudes with bad tudes'. Put into the same headcanon spot because they aren't ever seen apart. Tyler and Pez got in on scholarship, and immediately bonded because they know they don't fit in among the rich kids at Ridgemoore. Tyler got in on a scholarship to pursue culinary excellence, because if he can do one thing, it's cook. Pez was awarded a scholarship by lottery two years ago, and even though he's barely passing most of his classes and is the biggest delinquent in school, he can't be kicked out. The school made too much of a big deal about his acceptance to create some good press, the faculty are planning to just wait the problem out. Repeating a year hasn't helped with that, though. Still, they are attached at the hip. Both struggle in classes, Pez because of a shitty social life and even shittier focus, and Tyler because he's just a little slow. Still, Tyler excels in cooking, and the faculty know he's trying. There's a few ways you might come across the pair. Maybe you decided to take culinary, and got paired up with a sweet, dopey guy who turns out to be a fucking MasterChef, or maybe your a brat!reader, like I mentioned earlier, and you meet Pez in detention, where he's glad to know the schools newest troublemaker is a looker too. Most likely, you come across them when either Evan makes you tag along to buy some weed and half-priced shitty beer for a post-game party, or Carter tells you he'll personally see to it that your father tethers you to him if he sees you talking to those 'deliquents'. Either way, they're probably some of the nicest guys in the school, even though Pez likes to fight. He's not a bad guy, but the school can't seem to recognize half of the shit he does is in retaliation to someone fucking with him or his friend.
Pez will like any kind of reader, any. If you're bratty!reader, he loves having someone to run around and bust shit up with. But he'll promise to leave the statue of your father alone, if that's what you want. If you're an innocent!reader, he can't deny he'd love to ruin that good guy/girl image you have going on. Smoke a little weed, sneak out a little, let him show you a good time. He promises he won't cross any lines or do something that would really scare or upset you. He's not a bad guy, he just wants to show you there's so much stuff out there to do. Unlike Joseph, he doesn't let the fact that others think he's a freak keep him from hanging with you. He wants them to see that you like him. HIM. He thinks your adorable no matter who you are, and frankly, snuggling up on the Headmasters kid is just another act of defiance he's happy to flaunt. Eventually, he might even open up to you about his shitty home life, and the fact he's only called Pez cause' when he's high that candy is all he wants to eat.
Tyler is a huge softie. He doesn't let the thing people say about him get to him, mostly because he's a bit dense in the moment to know he's being made fun of, but also because he's okay with being alone. He's happy with who he is, a nice guy. But, that doesn't mean he doesn't love his best buddy, or mind adding you to there little group. It's just one more mouth to feed in his eyes. He'll walk you to all your classes, slinging his big arms around you and keeping you close to his side. Unlike Pez, he grew up with a pretty loving family, and they're what he misses most about being away at boarding school. Most of the money he makes selling weed with Pez goes back to his family, but they don't really know how he makes it. He comes to see you and Pez as his new little family.
With these two, there will be lots of late nights with bad movies and pizza made from scratch. Being on some rundown couch squished between to large bodies, at least one set of arms wrapped around your waist. I think they both are pretty open about telling each other about the crush they have on you, given that they are best buds. These idiots probably got super high one night, and Tyler let slip that he, quote, 'thinks he wants to put a baby in you', to which Pez replies he'd like to put something along those lines in you too. It wouldn't be hard for them to both come to terms with wanting to share you, they share everything else. They just hope you'd want both of them, Pez and Tyler can't stand the thought of making things awkward by you only wanting one of them, so they both subtly try to transition you into the roll of being their partner.
Pez would be fucking fuming when he starts realizing the things boys at school are doing to you. Whether he witnesses it himself, or you come to him and Tyler seeking comfort, he'll pound the shit out of anyone who tries to touch you like that. If you like someone else, Pez wouldn't wail on them to eliminate a rival like Evan would, but rather he hands it over to Tyler. Tyler would come up with some rumors, maybe a reason the guy isn't right for you, and why would Tyler lie? He doesn't feel great about lying, but thinking about the things guys at this school do to you, fills the sweet chefs stomach with a bitter bile.
They wouldn't outright pressure you into sex, but rather try and find ways to coerce you into requesting or initiating it. Pez has some weed laced with something, nothing too strong, but it'll make even a nun feel a little frisky. He'll lay back or rub your thigh, hoping the weed will relax you enough to come out and say what you want. Maybe an aphrodisiac or two gets slipped into a warm drink Tyler made for you. It gets you feeling all hot, but don't worry, you can stay in their room overnight and wear their clothes, so they can... make sure you're not sick or anything.
"Hey," you can feel a pair of arms wrap around you from your spot at the library table. You look up and see Pez, with Tyler now playfully laying his head on the table beside you. "Heard that shithead Evan's got an away game, so it looks like your freed up after all to spend a little time with your favorite guys." His lips are dangerously close to your ear, making you squirm. "Yeah, man, we've got a bunch of movies n' shit from the store, and I'll even make your favorite. Stay the night, it's not like we've got anywhere to be tommorow, and my beds so cold..." Tyler teases playfully, eyes wide and feigning sadness.
All these boys make it difficult to get any alone time at Ridgemoor, but the men certainly don't make it easier... (Taboo part two with the faculty coming soon, because I'm horny for Dilfs and old men with questionable dynamics with reader.)
Battle Beast who harasses you anytime he makes a visit to Earth. Yes he’ll go looking for worthy opponents but FIRST he needs to visit his favorite human.
Battle Beast who shows up unexpectedly to the bakery you own to leer at you and try to convince you to bear his kits via pawing at your apron while you try to bat his paws away. “For the last time Battle Beast, the answer is no!”
Battle Beast who has to fight off Invincible when inevitably someone makes a report of a giant space lion harassing a human. Even Invincible is over his shit. “Dude, c’mon…don’t you have anything else better to do? This is the fifth time this week.”
Battle Beast who is adamant that you WILL come around as Invincible walks him out of your shop.
Battle Beast who months later (after a lot of harassing) convinces you to spend time with him. You have Invincible on speed dial if anything goes south.
Battle Beast who is surprisingly romantic completing your outfit and twirling a piece of your hair. Begrudgingly, butterflies start to fill your tummy as his red eyes look at you with adoration.
Battle Beast who has you squirming underneath him in your bedroom as his thick tongue laps at your slick folds. He’s surprisingly gentle, giving your waist an affectionate pinch.
Battle Beast who after a lot of prep is able to finally sink his cock into your warmth depths. Both of you are gasping as he goes all in, your tremblings legs barely wrapping around his huge body. Both your hands grabbing at his wide fluffy chest, the vibrations of his purring thrumming beneath your fingers.
Battle Beast who nuzzles your cheek affectionately, giving you words of praise while he smooths your hair from your sweaty forehead.
Battle Beast who tells you to brace yourself as he begins to give you slow but powerful thrusts. Your eyes are shut tight as beads of sweat roll down your chest, the giant alien licks it off with his sandpaper tongue.
Battle Beast who all but starts pounding into you, making the bed creak and bang against your bedroom wall. A keen escapes your lips as one of his grubby paws looks for your clit and starts abusing it with fast rubs. His sharp teeth are clenched as he focuses on pummeling into your tight heat and giving you all his love.
Battle Beast who stops for a second to place you into a mating press, pinning your legs above your head. You know your in danger when a malicious glint passes through his eyes.
Battle Beast who enjoys watching your eyes roll as the new position allows him to hit you deeper. Overstimulated tears roll down your cheeks as you feel your poor pussy squirt, spraying the pure white fur on Battle Beast’s abdomen. You barely process the amazement in his face before he demands you to “do it again.”
Battle Beast who has you in a tight mating press, mewling in pleasure. His forearms cage you as his hips keep pounding away between your open thighs. Your blubbering for a break or for him to slow down but the Battle Beast is just so close.
Battle Beast whose claws rip through your sheets as he reaches his peak. A squeal leaves your lips as his hot spend fills you, your poor tummy swelling slightly at the sheer amount.
Battle Beast who rumbles in satisfaction, at seeing his seed spill fill your hot cunt, though he plans to give your more.
Battle Beast who gently positions you on all fours, pushing your head onto the pillows so that you present properly.
Battle Beast who can’t resist eating your pussy from the back. Giving your swollen cunt a light slap that makes you whimper in overstimulation.
Battle Beast who grabs your hair into a ponytail before sliding into your poor pussy. Your head lolls against his chest as he steadies a large white paw against your waist. His purrs in satisfaction, the vibration rumbling against your back and in your cunt.
Battle Beast who spreads your legs wider, screwing himself deeper. His large paw holding your hair tighter as he begins to thrust into you once more.
Battle Beast who grunts praises into your sweaty hair, promising you the world if you just give him one kit.
Brainrot of the day: Daeron's wife being absolutely over his drinking and whoring. Even though he loves her more than anything and same for her, he is still weak for the drink and whatever happens when he is drunk is beyond his control. She tells Daeron for every time he whores around she will visit someone's bed, perhaps Valarr. It sobers him up quickly when his wife comes to bed with her cunt filled with another man's seed.
WARNING/S: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Yandere. Noncon. Dubcon. Power Imbalance. Forced Pregnancy. Captivity. Manipulation. Psychological and Physical Control. Violence. Emotional Distress.
Character/s: King Callixto x Servant!Reader
Note/s: A commission for @violetvase. I hope you enjoy this one!
From this series: Silent Servitude [pt. 1] | The Lion's Shadow [pt. 3]
Tip Jar | Commissions
Your mother has always been your biggest supporter.
She never once stifled your dreams, no matter how small or ambitious they were. When you insisted on selling flowers in the town square on behalf of the old florist to earn your own keep, she worried, but she did not stop you. Your parents feared for your safety, but your older siblings watched over you, making sure no harm would come your way.
It lasted for months—until children your age began disappearing, vanishing one after another without a trace.
Your siblings stopped letting you leave the house after that. The warm sun, the scent of fresh bread in the marketplace, the laughter of the townsfolk—it all became distant, mere memories behind locked doors. You were forced to watch the world from behind wooden shutters, longing for the life you had barely begun to taste.
Years passed before they finally deemed it safe enough for you to step outside again. And when you did, you threw yourself into rebuilding.
With what little savings you had, you opened a food stall in the marketplace, selling treats that made both children and adults smile. Your business thrived. Customers returned with praises, telling you how much they enjoyed your cooking. It gave you a sense of purpose, a taste of the independence you had long craved.
Then, one night, your stall was stolen
Not just stolen—destroyed. Burned to ashes near the town's tavern.
No one saw anything. No one heard anything. No one even smelled the smoke.
The loss devastated you, snuffing out the fragile hope you had so desperately clung to. When you fell deeper into despair, your mother was the one who lifted you back up. She taught you the skills she had learned from years of working in the palace—how to clean, how to serve, how to navigate the world of nobility without drawing attention to yourself. You listened. You learned. And when she deemed you ready, you followed in her footsteps.
You had thought you were stepping toward a new beginning.
Instead, you walked straight into a gilded cage.
A warm calloused hand rubs slow circles over your bare stomach. Your body is sore, ruined, yet the touch is deceptively gentle—reverent even.
Callixto.
The King.
The man who had stolen you, body and soul, and refused to let go.
His breath is hot against your neck as he presses his lips there, inhaling you like a man intoxicated. He traces his fingers up your stomach, over your ribs, cupping your breast with possessive ease. You squeeze your eyes shut, bile rising in your throat as last night's memories resurface—the way he held you down, the way he filled you over and over until you were too weak to fight him.
“You're perfect,” he murmurs, rolling his hips against your back. “You'll be a wonderful mother to our children. The mother of my heirs… My queen.”
No.
Your breath shudders as you push weakly at his arm, but you might as well be trying to move stone. Your body betrays you—limp exhausted, drained of all strength.
How long has it been?
Days? Weeks?
You can't tell. The chamber windows are tinted, making it impossible to see the sun or the moon. And Callixto… Callixto never leaves your side for long. He lingers, watching you, touching you, whispering sweet, poisonous words into your ear.
The chambermaid is no help, either.
She either glares at you with thinly veiled disdain or ignores you completely, doing only what is required of her. You don't know why she hates you, but it doesn't matter. She's your warden all the same.
There's no one here for you. No mother, no siblings. No bustling marketplace or warm, flickering hearth waiting for you at home.
There's only this prison.
And him.
“Your Majesty,” the chambermaid's voice cuts through the heavy silence. “Lord Soleil awaits you at the gates.”
Callixto tenses, as if irritated by the reminder that the outside world still exists beyond these walls. His fingers dig into your hip as he thrusts forward once more, a sharp, punishing movement that sends a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you.
He finishes deep inside you, groaning against your skin. For a moment, he stays there, reveling in the feeling. Then, with agonizing care, he pulls out—only to press his fingers back inside, pushing his seed deeper.
A shiver wracks your body.
“I suppose I've stolen enough time for myself,” he murmurs, brushing damp hair away from your face.
You force yourself not to flinch.
Callixto cups your chin, tilting your face towards his. His golden eyes burn with something twisted, something sickeningly sweet. Then, he kisses you. A deep, lingering kiss that suffocates you more than any chain ever could.
“Stay here and be good,” he orders, his lips still brushing yours. “Let the chambermaid take care of you until I return.”
As if you have a choice.
As if you ever had a choice.
And when the doors finally close behind him, your body sags into the mattress, silent tears slipping down your cheeks.
Not just for yourself.
But for the family you may never see again.
For the freedom that may never return.
And for the life that is no longer your own.
The towering walls of the chateau couldn't keep the rumors from reaching you. They were the only thing that kept you sane while you waited for him to return.
You heard whispers about a grand ball the Prime Minister held a few nights ago. It should've been a night of celebration, but instead, it ended in scandal. His wife, a noble woman and the daughter of a count, was caught in bed with a mere footman—nothing more than a commoner.
Lord Soleil, the Prime Minister, himself had walked in on them. The punishment was swift.
The footman was cast out with nothing, and the Prime Minister cut all ties with his wife and her family, erasing them from his life as if they had never existed.
A cruel fate.
And yet you wondered…
Was it any crueler than yours?
“Perhaps this is why Lord Soleil was so determined to keep His Majesty away from the chateau—away from me. Not just to protect the royal bloodline, but to stop him from making the same mistake his wife did.” You sighed, your breath barely disturbing the still air.
“I can't even blame him. If I were in his position, I wouldn't want a common-born woman anywhere near the throne either. And yet, here I am—trapped in these gilded walls, reduced to nothing more than a vessel, waiting for the day my body finally serves its purpose.”
You leaned against the cool stone wall near the tinted windows, listening to the little birds outside as they carried rumors flitting between the flower beds. Their chatter was a fleeting distraction, a fragile moment of stolen peace—until it was shattered by the sound of heavy boots echoing through the halls.
The doors flew open, and there he stood. The King. Furious.
He called out your name—sharp, urgent, unrelenting—his voice slicing through the chateau hollow corridors like a blade. You didn't move. You barely even breathed. Instead, you pressed yourself against the cold stone wall, your fingers curling into your dress as his footsteps thundered across the marble floors.
He ran upstairs, frantic, taking the steps two at a time. He hadn't even noticed you standing near the windows, so close yet unseen. But you knew it wouldn't last. He always found you in the end.
Outside, the world had fallen eerily silent. The chattering birds had already fled the vicinity, as if sensing the storm brewing within these walls—taking their half-spun whispers with them. The rumor of the king's impending nuptials to a high-ranking noble still lingered in the air, unspoken yet suffocating.
And soon, he would come back down. And this time, he would see you.
Your name tore from his lips again—a furious, desperate plea. Before you could react, his hands found you, his grip ironclad around your arms.
“Where have you been?” His voice was raw, unsteady. His fingers dug in. “Didn't you hear me calling for you?”
“Y-Your Majesty…”
He shook his head. “No—my name.”
Bloodshot, unfocused eyes bore into you. Something was wrong. His gaze sent a slow, creeping dread up your spine.
“Say it.”
“C-Callixto…”
A slow nod. Then, his arms crushed you against him. “You're mine,” he murmured against your hair, his breath searing against your skin. “Forever mine. And I will be forever yours.”
The walls seemed to shrink around you.
“Callixto… Your Majesty… I can't breathe—” you rasped, struggling against his suffocating embrace.
He didn't let go.
“Please…”
A beat of silence. Then, at last, he loosened his grip—but only slightly.
“Apologies, my queen,” he murmured, lifting your trembling hand to his lips.
Your pulse pounded in your ears. You had to calm him. You had to survive this.
You recalled your mother's old ways—how she soothed your father's anger, how she tamed your brothers’ tempers. Slowly, carefully, you reached for his cheek, brushing your fingers against his skin.
“Tell me your worries…”
“The royal court has been trying to push this woman onto me for as long as I can remember—something about securing the heir to the throne’s bloodline. The nerve of those fools,” he muttered, absently running his fingers through your hair as you lay atop him.
“If I wanted to, I could trace your family's lineage—alter it if necessary— and keep them out of our way.”
Listening to his monologue as you drift in and out of consciousness feels more exhausting than it should. You know you should try to persuade him to accept the will of his people, to yield to their demands—but deep down, you wonder if it would be easier if someone else had his full attention instead. If only he'd let you go.
“Perhaps we should secure an heir to the throne first… then we can look into your lineage…” he whispered, thrusting into you once more. His seed spilled from you as his movements grew more intense with every passing second.
Since then, it had become his ritual to fill you to the brim, keeping you in place—stuffed, trembling, and utterly his— until he was satisfied. Only then would he leave to rule his kingdom, but never without ensuring you remained exactly as he left you, his claim unmistakable. He controlled everything—the meals you ate, the tonics you drank—all carefully chosen to prepare your body for the sole purpose of carrying his heir.
You were his, and soon, you would bear proof of it.
It didn't take long for the signs to show.
The nausea. The exhaustion. The unbearable weight in your lower belly that told you something had taken root inside you.
And yet, luck has not abandoned you entirely.
Your chambermaid—a woman whose disdain for you was only rivaled by her loyalty to the royal court—had noticed. She must have. But instead of betraying your condition, she pressed a cold cloth to your forehead and muttered, “A commoner’s flu. Nothing more.”
A lie. A calculated one.
The King believed her.
But belief was fragile in a mind like his. It splintered easily.
His golden eyes flicked between the chambermaid and the royal physician, narrowed and gleaming, hungry for an answer that neither of them dared to give.
“Her color is pale,” Callixto murmured, pacing your chambers. His fingers twitched—fidgeting, trembling, curling into claws before stretching straight again. “She barely eats, barely moves. And yet you say it is nothing?”
The physician bowed his head. “It is a seasonal illness, Your Majesty. A touch of fever, some exhaustion—nothing that cannot be cured with rest.”
Callixto laughed—a dry, humorless sound. His nails dug into his palms, leaving little crescent moons of pain.
“Rest,” he echoed. His voice was a whisper of rage, of something darker crawling beneath his skin. “You think I have not noticed? She wilts before my very eyes, and you tell me to wait?”
The chambermaid stepped forward then, expression schooled into reluctant sympathy. “Your Majesty, she is weak. He kind does not fare well in the colder months. It is not surprising.”
Callixto stilled. His breathing slowed, deliberate, controlled—but his eyes never left her face.
“Weak?” The word came soft, almost thoughtful. “Is that what you believed?”
The chambermaid hesitated.
Something in the air shifted.
A warning.
Callixto's lips twitched—not in a smile, no. In something sharper. Something that showed his teeth.
“Fine,” he murmured. “If she must rest, then she will do so under your watchful eye. I want no one else near her.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
But as the King turned away, the chambermaid gaze flicked down—her fingers twitching at the pouch hidden beneath her apron. The weight of the promised coin.
The chateau felt emptier than ever one evening. The halls echoed with the distant clatter of preparations from the palace—the banquet, the foreign dignitaries, the noble guests.
A distraction.
And when the chambermaid entered your chambers, her usual sneer was absent. Instead, she carried a bundle of clothing.
“You need to leave tonight.”
Your stomach twisted. “Why?”
“Because I tire of wiping your sweat.” She threw the bundle onto your bed. “Because I want you gone.”
You swallowed hard. “And that's all?”
The chambermaid exhaled sharply. Something in her posture—something tired and worn—hinted at an answer she would never give.
“The palace gates will be open for the banquet. No one will be watching the chateau. Take the back corridors, follow the outer gardens. You are not important enough to be noticed.”
“What do you gain from this?”
A smirk tugged at her lips. “What I was promised.”
You should've asked by whom. But you didn't.
The scream shattered the night.
“WHERE IS SHE?”
The chambermaid barely had time to compose herself before the doors to your chambers slammed open, cracking wood against stone.
Callixto stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling with each uneven breath. His pupils had swallowed the gold of his irises, leaving only thin rings of amber around black pits. His fingers curled at his sides, nails digging into his own skin, but he did not seem to notice the blood welling beneath them.
His gaze snapped to the bed. Empty.
Something inside him snapped with it.
“Where is she?” he repeated, stepping forward, his voice no longer a demand but a plea.
The chambermaid bowed, but her voice was steady. “Resting, Your Majesty. The fever worsened—”
“Liar.”
The word cut through the room like a blade. The chambermaid flinched.
Callixto's hands trembled. “She would not leave her bed unless someone forced her to,” he whispered. His tongue darted out, wetting his dry lips. “Unless someone… took her from me.”
He turned, suddenly—too suddenly—and grabbed the chambermaid’s wrist.
“You would not betray me, would you?”
The chambermaid swallowed.
“Of course not, Your Majesty.”
His grip tightened. Bones creaked.
“No, of course not,” he echoed, smiling now—serpentine, sharp. His head tilted. “Because if you had…” he leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “I would tear this palace apart. Brick by brick. And when I found her—oh, when I found her—”
He released her.
“Find her,” he murmured. “Or I will find you instead.”
The chambermaid bowed, stepping backward toward the door. “As you command.”
But she didn't turn fast enough to see his lips curl into something… inhuman.
He turned back to the empty bed, trailing a hand over the sheets as if he could still feel you there. His fingers ghosted over where your head had once rested, then curled into the pillow, dragging it close. He inhaled—deeply, desperately—like a starving man before a feast.
His eyes fluttered shut.
“Oh, my love,” he whispered to no one. “You can run, but you cannot hide.”
The night air was crip—freezing against your cheeks, but blissfully free.
You ran. Through the outer gardens, past the dim lanterns, past the drunken guards too enamored with wine and revelry to notice a shadow slipping past them.
You ran until the scent of the palace faded into the trees.
Home. You had to go home.
But when you reached the village outskirts, you stopped.
Guards. Stationed outside your family's home.
You shrank into the shadows, heart hammering against your ribs. From where you hid, you could see the single candle in the window—dim, unmoving.
Not flickering.
Not alive.
A silent warning: Do not return.
Tears burned your eyes, but you forced yourself to turn away.
Not toward another village. Not toward a stranger's mercy.
But deeper into the forest.
Through the twisting paths only you knew, past the moss-covered stones and the brook where you once dipped your toes in summer. Past the memories. Past the ghosts.
And there, hidden beneath the tangle of overgrown branches, the shack still stood.
You and your siblings built it once—when you were small, when the world was gentler. A childish hideaway, pieced together from stolen nails and planks too weathered to be missed. A place of whispered secrets and stolen sweets, of giggling beneath a roof that bare kept the rain out.
It was nothing.
But it was enough.
You pushed the warped door open and stepped inside, the scent of damp wood wrapping around you like an old embrace. The cold bit at your skin, but you knew how to survive here. You always had.
With shaking hands, you pressed your back against the wall and slid to the floor.
