[reccyls]

a scene from saizo's romantic route chapter 25

[context: Saizo says he wants to stop the fighting between the shogunate and the Oda/Uesugi/Takeda armies. Hisahide asks how he's going to do that all on his own] Saizo: For example, every night I could kill 100 soldiers from each army. (...) Everyone: ... Saizo: If their fighting strength continuously reduces day by day, eventually neither side will be able to fight and they'll have to give up. Saizo: ...Well, that's just what I was thinking. Am I wrong? Saizo: Maybe I should do more than 100, to speed things up? (...Saizo would be able to do it, too.) It was terrifying to imagine, but I kew exactly how formiddable the demon of the battlefield was. (I don't want that at all, but...) When I imagined Saizo killing countless people in order to stop the fighting, my heart felt like it was being stabed by hundreds of knives. [... skipping ahead a bit] Yoshiteru: ...If Saizo kills those people, will that make you happy, Mai? [...skipping ahead a bit more] Mai: You're not wrong that I'm still afraid of the Saizo who is known as the demon of the battlefield. It was impossible to forget that bloodstained figure coolly taking the lives of others. Mai: But due to all the time we've spent together, I've come to realize that Saizo actually has a very delicate heart. Mai: I'll do everything I can to bring about a better world where he won't have to fight or kill any longer. But... Taking a deep breath, I put my determination into words. Mai: If that world never comes to be, then I'll bear his sins with him. Mai: Because I want to spend the rest of my life with him.

[sconesss]

careful what you wish for.

Unrequited love is a quiet kind of agony—until a twenty credit worth antique twig promises to fix it. You makes your wish: Make him love me. It works, but not without a catch. Life is full of surprises, after all.

fanart by @/ieririr on x

Pairing: Phainon / Reader

Word count: 13934

Contents: inspired by Obsession (yikes), yandere! Phainon, toxic co-dependency, mentions of suicide and self-harm, psychological horror, guilt, animal death, murder, coercion, dubcon, unprotected sex, missionary, extremely unsettling behaviour from Mr. Aedes Elysiae

... .- ...- . / -- .

I. The Weight Of Unsaid Words

The fluorescent lights of the video and record rental shop hummed with a low, steady vibration that you had long since learned to tune out. It was a Tuesday afternoon, slow and quiet, the kind of day where time seemed to stretch out like warm vinyl.

You stood behind the counter, holding a stack of returned indie films, but your eyes kept straying to the glass front doors. Every time the brass bell above the threshold chimed, your heart did a brief, involuntary leap—only to settle back down into a dull ache when it turned out to be a casual customer or a lost tourist.

You were waiting for Phainon.

You had been waiting for Phainon, in one way or another, for nearly eight months.

It was absurd, really. You worked together twice a week. You shared the same circle of friends. You spent hours sitting in cramped booth seats at the late-night diner down the street, nursing lukewarm coffee while Mydei babbled on about music theory or local drama. Yet, whenever Phainon entered the room, you felt like a novice diver standing at the edge of a high cliff, terrified of taking the plunge.

"You're doing that thing again," a voice called out from the back aisles.

You blink, pulling your attention back to the stack of cases in your hands. Cyrene emerged from Row four, balancing a box of newly cataloged foreign films against her hip. She threw you a knowing, sympathetic look.

"What thing?" You asked, attempting a tone of total innocence as you began sliding the cases onto the display rack.

"The staring-at-the-door-like-a-victorian-heroine-waiting-for-her-sailor thing," she said, setting the box down on the counter with a thud. "He’s thirty minutes late for his shift, [Name]. He probably got caught up with his designs, again. You know how he gets."

"I wasn't staring," you murmured, though your cheeks warmed instantly. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, focusing intently on organizing the plastic cases by genre. "I was just... checking the time."

"Right. And the clock is conveniently mounted right next to the front door," Cyrene teased, leaning her elbows on the counter. Her expression softened. "Why don't you just tell him?"

You froze, your fingers resting on a worn copy of a French drama. "Tell him what?"

"Oh, come on. 'Phainon, I think you're incredible. Phainon, I've had a massive crush on you since the day you showed up to practice with grease on your chin and played the most beautiful melody I've ever heard.' Something like that."

"It wasn't grease, it was bike chain lube," you corrected automatically. She let out a soft, defeated sigh and sat down on the high stool behind the register. "And I can't just tell him, Cyrene. You know how he is. He’s... guarded. He keeps everyone at a subtle distance, even Mydei, sometimes. If I say something and he doesn't feel the same way, I lose everything. I lose the friendship, the quiet afternoons here, the way he looks up and smiles when I walk into the room."

"Or," Cyrene countered gently, "you win everything. Have you considered that? The guy looks at you like you hung the moon, [Name]. I watch him when you aren't paying attention."

You shook your head, a familiar wave of self-doubt washing over you. "That's just how he is. He's polite. He's a gentle person. He treats everyone with this quiet reverence... well, except when he's arguing with De about... which of them has the bigger biceps."

You reached down, your thumb absentmindedly tracing the smooth, dark surface of the disc.

"Besides," you added softly, looking down at your hands, "I don't even know how to bring it up. Whenever I try to steer the conversation into something more... personal, my mind goes completely blank. I get so guarded. I end up talking about movies or asking about his dog."

"Snowy," Cyrene smiled. "How is the little monster, anyway?"

"Phainon said he’s been acting strange lately. Eating weird things, hiding under the sink. He said he was going to set out some pest traps because he noticed rats, but he’s been so stressed with his final design portfolio that I worry he’s forgetting to take care of himself."

Before she could reply, the bell above the front door chimed sharp and clear.

Your head snapped up.

Phainon walked in, brushing a damp strand of dark hair from his eyes. He was wearing his usual faded jacket over a charcoal sweater, his messenger bag slung over one shoulder. He looked exhausted—dark circles smudged beneath his sharp, expressive eyes—but the moment his gaze met yours, the tension in his shoulders visibly melted.

"Sorry I'm late," Phainon said, his voice carrying that familiar, low, resonant timbre that made your pulse flutter. He walked over to the counter, setting his bag down on the wooden surface. "Traffic near the campus was an absolute nightmare, and Mydei took twenty minutes just to choose a sandwich at the deli."

"It's fine," you said, offering him a warm, soft smile. "Cyrene was just keeping me company."

"I was actually just leaving," Cyrene said with a dramatic wave of her hand, grabbing her shoulder bag from behind the register. She flashed you a subtle, deliberate wink before turning to Phainon. "Don't let her work too hard, Phainon. She’s been re-sorting the foreign section for an hour just to keep busy."

"I'll take over," Phainon promised, giving her a small, polite nod as she headed out the door.

Once the bell chimed again, a comfortable, heavy quiet fell over the shop. Phainon stepped behind the counter, hanging his jacket on the wooden hook by the back room door.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye. Every detail of his presence was intoxicating to you—the faint scent of rain and cedar that followed him, the careful, deliberate way he moved, the slight furrows in his brow when he was lost in thought. You wanted so desperately to reach out, to smooth those lines away, to tell him that he didn't have to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"How was your morning?" Phainon asked, pulling a stack of return logs toward himself.

"Quiet," you replied, leaning your side against the counter so you could face him. "Not many people coming in on a rainy Tuesday. Did you finish your rendering for the project?"

Phainon groaned softly, resting his forehead against his palm for a brief second. "Barely. My professor gave me a hard time about the structural proportions of the entryway. I stayed up until four in the morning redesigning the entire facade. It's still shit."

"You work too hard, Phainon," you say, your voice dropping into a tone of soft, genuine concern. "You need to rest. When was the last time you had a full night's sleep?"

He looked down at you, his eyes locking onto yours with a sudden, intense focus that made your throat catch. "I sleep fine," he murmured. Then, a rare, playful smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Though I'd sleep better if Mydei stopped calling me at two in the morning to pitch lyrics that sound like they were written by an angsty middle schooler."

You laughed—a bright, genuine sound that seemed to light up the dim corners of the shop. Phainon’s gaze lingered on your face, watching the way your eyes crinkled, his expression softening into something so tender it made your breath hitch.

Say it, a voice whispered inside your head. Tell him right now. Tell him you want to be the one he calls at two in the morning. Tell him you love him.

You swallowed hard, opening your mouth to speak, but the courage vanished as quickly as it had come. The fear of ruining this—this perfect, fragile closeness—paralyzed you.

Instead, you gestured to the record racks. "Are you... fine being on your own later? I'd like to leave a little earlier, too. I've got... stuff."

"Yeah," Phainon said, his tone shifting back to its usual measured composure.

For the next two hours, you worked side by side in a harmony built on months of shared routines. You organized tapes, chatted about trivial things, and laughed over absurd movie plot summaries. To anyone looking through the shop window, you looked like two people completely in sync.

But beneath the surface, you were drowning in everything you couldn't say.

You looked at him while he reached up to place a tape on the top shelf, noticing the slight strain of his muscles beneath his sweater. You wanted to hold his hand. You wanted to rest your head on his shoulder. You wanted him to look at you, not just as a reliable coworker or a sweet friend, but as the only person he wanted.

Tomorrow, you promised yourself, clutching your skirt until the edges pressed firmly into your palm. Tomorrow, I'm going to tell him.

.. / -- / ... --- .-. .-. -.--

II: A Gift of Dust and Promises

The rain had settled into a steady, persistent drizzle by the time you had left. The streets downtown glistened under the amber streetlights, reflecting the neon signs of the late-night stalls and old bookstores like smeared watercolors.

You pulled your coat collar tighter around your neck as you walked down the cobblestone side street. Your mind was racing, your thoughts caught in a dizzying loop of anticipation and nervous energy. Tonight was supposed to be the night. You had spent the last two hours at the register rehearsing a simple, honest confession over and over in your head until the words lost all meaning.

“Phainon, I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time.”

It sounded too plain.

“Phainon, you’re the most important person in my life, and I want to be more than just your friend.”

It felt too dramatic.

You let out a breathy sigh, a pale cloud of vapor rising into the cool air. He likes simple things, you reminded yourself. Directness. Authenticity.

Hence, you opted to navigate the narrow (and creepy) alleys instead of heading straight home. Phainon had a quiet, almost childlike fascination with old things—tactile remnants of the past that held history within their grain. His apartment was filled with vintage brass compasses, mid-century architectural blueprints, and worn leather-bound notebooks.

If you were going to tell him how you felt, you wanted to ground the moment. You wanted to give him something meaningful—a token to anchor the memory, to show him that you truly paid attention to the quiet details of his life.

At the end of a dimly lit alley, tucked between a closed tailor shop and a shuttered bakery, sat Mire & Memory: Antiquities & Curios. It was an obscure, unmarked antique store you had passed a dozen times but never actually entered. Warm, dim light spilled from its dusty bay windows, illuminating shelves packed with bizarre glass bottles, stacks of parchment, and tarnished silver frames.

You pushed open the heavy wooden door. A brass bell overhead gave a dull, metallic clink, and the sharp scent of cedar, dried lavender, and aged paper immediately wrapped around you.

"We're closing in ten minutes," a dry voice echoed from behind a high wooden counter near the back.

You looked over. Sitting on a tall stool was an older woman with sharp, observant lavender eyes and brown hair swept under a huge hat. She was polishing a small bronze pocket watch with a velvet cloth, her movements deliberate and unhurried.

"I won't take long," you promised politely, offering a gentle smile. "I'm just looking for a small gift. For a friend."

The woman gave a short, imperceptible nod and returned to her watch, leaving you to wander through the labyrinth of crowded narrow aisles.

You browsed slowly, your fingers lightly skimming over the smooth brass surfaces of vintage pocket knives, intricate mechanical gears, and hand-carved wooden chess pieces. Everything was beautiful, but nothing felt right. A fountain pen felt too formal; an antique magnifying glass felt too novelty.

You turned into the rearmost corner of the shop, where the shadows hung heavier and the air felt curiously still. On a velvet-lined display shelf resting beneath a glass dome, something caught your eye—not because it was grand, but because of how starkly simple it was.

It was a small, minimalist box made of smooth, unpainted white paperboard. It sat entirely alone on the shelf, completely out of place among the ornate brass and dark mahogany surrounding it.

Curious, you reached out and carefully lifted the glass dome. You picked up the box, turning it over in your hands. Printed on the front in thin, charcoal-gray typography was a single phrase:

ONE WISH WILLOW

Break with intention. One use only.

Wishes do come true. Be careful what you ask for.

You let out a quiet, breathy laugh. A wishbone made of wood. It was absurdly poetic—the exact kind of whimsical, slightly melancholic oddity that Phainon would find fascinating. He would probably place it on his desk next to his architecture sketches, wondering what to wish for every time he looked at it, and in extension he would think of you.

You slid open the top cover. Inside, resting on a bed of dark green velvet, was a single, thin willow twig. It was pale, delicate, and looked utterly fragile, as if a single press of a thumb could snap it into dust.

"I wouldn't linger on that one," a voice spoke softly from right beside you.

You nearly jumped, holding the box close to your chest. The shopkeeper had moved with impossible quietness, now standing at the end of the aisle, her sharp eyes resting heavily on the box in your hands.

"Oh," you said, steadying your breath. "Is it an antique? It looks... remarkably modern compared to everything else."

"It isn't modern," the shopkeeper replied, her tone flat and measured. "It's old stock. Older than this building. People buy things like that thinking it's a game or a clever conversation starter for a coffee table."

"And isn't it?" You asked with a faint, amused smile.

"A wish isn't a game," the woman said, stepping closer. The dim overhead light cast long, dramatic shadows across her face. "Intent is a dangerous force when given a physical form to break. Most people who buy those come back eventually, looking for a way to mend the wood."

You looked down at the delicate twig resting against the dark velvet. The shopkeeper's dramatic warnings felt like part of the store's theatrical charm, but there was a quiet, chilling sincerity in the woman's eyes that made your throat go dry.

"I'm not buying it to use it," you say softly, your thumb tracing the clean edge of the box. "It's a gift for someone special. He appreciates... unusual things."

"Someone special," the shopkeeper repeated, her gaze narrowing slightly. "A man?"

You felt a faint warmth climb up your neck. You nodded slowly. "A friend."

The shopkeeper stayed silent for a long moment, watching you with a look that felt less like suspicion and more like deep, weary pity.

"Twenty credits," the woman said abruptly, turning her back and walking toward the register. "Consider it a fee for curiosity. There won't be any refunds."

You blinked, surprised by the sudden transaction. The shopkeeper wrapped the box in a layer of brown butcher paper, tying it with a simple piece of jute twine.

You hesitated. It was absurd. It was superstitious nonsense. You believed you were a rational archivist, and you spent your days indexing factual historical data. Magic twigs in velvet boxes did not alter human emotion.

Yet, as you remembered Phainon’s polite, distant smile from earlier that afternoon—the agonizing distance that separated you even when you stood inches apart—your hand moved to your coat pocket for your wallet.

"I'll take it," you whispered.

"Remember," the woman said softly, sliding the package across the counter. Her voice lowered to a harsh, quiet whisper. "Desire makes people foolish. If you ever break that twig, make sure you are prepared to live with the exact words you utter. The universe has a cruel sense of humor when fulfilling a desperate heart."

.. / -- / ... --- .-. .-. -.--

The rain drummed heavily against the glass of your apartment windows. The flat was quiet, lit only by the soft orange glow of a floor lamp in the corner.

You sat on the edge of your bed, the lacquered box open on the table beside you. The willow twig was in it. After the ominous warnings, and your insomnia blurring your head, you felt it unsafe to gift Phainon such a thing. You could try using it, just to conclude it's genuine.

You simply wanted to satisfy your own burning curiosity.

You picked it up. The wood was cold—colder than the ambient temperature of the room—and surprisingly heavy for its size. Its texture was slick and unnaturally smooth, free of any natural grain or bark imperfection.

"This is ridiculous," you murmured into the empty room. "I am a twenty-four-year-old adult sitting in my living room holding a stick."

You made a move to toss it back into the box, but stopped.

Phainon’s face flashed in your mind. His calm, pale eyes. The quiet precision of his voice. The maddening barrier of his absolute self-control. What if you didn't have to spend years waiting for him to notice you? What if you could just... melt the ice?

You squeezed your eyes shut. You brought the white willow twig up between your thumbs and forefingers.

You pictured Phainon clearly in your mind: standing under the soft warm light of the archive lamp, looking at you not as a quiet colleague or a pleasant acquaintance, but with affection. Love. You wanted to be his priority. You wanted him to love you.

"I wish Phainon loved me more than anything else in existence," you mumble, your pulse hammering in your throat.

You applied pressure.

CRACK.

The snap was loud—far louder than a twig of that size should have produced. It sounded like a sharp whip crack echoing through the small apartment.

A sudden blast of frigid air swept through the closed living room, causing the flame of the corner lamp to flicker violently. For a split second, you felt a bizarre sensation of weightlessness, as if the air had been vacuumed out of your lungs.

Then, silence returned.

The rain continued to hit the windowpanes. The lamp flickered back to a steady burn.

In your hands, the willow twig was broken cleanly into two jagged halves. The wood inside was strangely dark, almost charcoal-black at the point of the fracture.

You sat frozen for a long moment, waiting for... something. A sign? A revelation?

Nothing happened.

You let out a long breath, a self-deprecating laugh escaping your lips. "Stupid. Absolute scam."

You tossed the two broken pieces into the trash bin beneath your bed, shut off the lamp, and went to bed, thoroughly embarrassed by your own desperation.

.. / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..-

III: The Unraveling

The next afternoon, you arrived at the shop ten minutes earlier than your shift. The morning air was crisp, and the sky had cleared into a pale, brilliant blue.

Phainon was already there.

He wasn't working. He wasn't sorting the discs or checking the morning delivery. He was simply standing beside the door, his hands clasped loosely together, staring intently at the empty space where you usually sat.

"Phainon?" you call, startled as you hung your coat on the rack. "You're early today. Is there an issue with the morning delivery?"

Phainon turned.

The moment his eyes locked onto you, you felt a strange, electric shiver run down your spine. His expression wasn't his usual serene, polite mask. His eyes were wide, unnervingly focused, his pale irises bright and sharp.

"No issue," Phainon said. His voice was lower than usual, carrying a subtle, breathless cadence. "I just... I couldn't stay at home this morning."

"Why? Did your heating go out again?" You asked, walking over to the desk and setting down your bag.

Phainon didn't step back to give you space as he usually did. Instead, he remained standing right beside your chair, his gaze following your every movement with absolute, unwavering tracking.

"No," he said softly, his eyes sweeping over your face, taking in your eyes, your lips, the movement of your breath. "I woke up at four in the morning, [Name]. And the only thought in my mind... the only thing that felt real... was that I needed to see you."

You looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of a joke or teasing. But Phainon’s face was entirely severe. There was no amusement in his eyes—only an intense, singular focus that made the air between you feel terrifyingly thick.

"Phainon... are you feeling alright?" You whispered, your heart beginning to pound against your ribs.

"I have never felt more clear," Phainon replied. He took a single step closer, closing the distance between you until his knees brushed against the side of the desk. He reached out slowly, his fingers hesitating in the air before gently, reverently, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

His fingertips were cold, but his breath was warm against your skin.

"I thought about calling you this morning," he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with a magnetism that made you forget how to breathe. "I thought about walking to your apartment in the rain just to see you. Then, I remembered you'd come to work today."

Your head reeled. A heady mixture of disbelief, wild euphoria, and a faint, subtle prick of fear rose in your chest.

"Phainon," you stammered, your voice trembling slightly. "You... you've never spoken to me like this before."

"I know," Phainon admitted softly, his thumb lightly stroking your cheekbone. The gesture was tender, but his grip on himself seemed remarkably fragile, like a dam holding back a violent flood. "I was blind before. I wasted so many months treating you like background music in my life. But when I woke up today... it was as if a veil had been torn away. You are the only thing that matters, [Name]. Everything else is just noise."

.. / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..-

The transition from Phainon’s quiet admiration to complete, total fixation did not take months or weeks—it took less than forty-eight hours.

Phainon was everywhere. When you stepped out of your apartment building at eight in the morning, having skipped breakfast to catch a train to your college, he was already waiting on the sidewalk, holding a cup of coffee, wrapped in his dark wool overcoat against the morning chill.

"You didn't need to stand out here in the cold," you told him on the third morning, wrapping your scarf tighter around your neck.

"I didn't mind," Phainon said smoothly, taking your satchel from your shoulder without asking and slinging it over his own. His pale eyes searched your face with a quiet, hungry focus. "The apartment felt hollow after five. Waiting here is the only part of my morning that feels real."

You smiled, brushing your shoulder against his as you walked toward the train. "You slept poorly?"

"Not well," Phainon admitted, his gaze drifting from the cobblestones to the side of your face with a steady, unblinking intensity. "But it doesn't matter much anymore. Exhaustion is a small price to pay for a proper start to the day."

You shook your head, a soft, amused sigh escaping your lips. "You're melodramatic, you know that?"

"How about this? I know what it feels to spend most time counting down the hours until I see someone again," he replied smoothly, stepping closer so his shoulder brushed yours with every synchronized stride.

The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint, metallic scent of the approaching autumn and the rich aroma of the roasted coffee beans from the corner shop he frequented. As you reached the bustling station platform, the rhythmic clatter of the incoming commuter train drowned out the morning chatter of students and office workers.

Phainon guided you gently by the elbow—a polite, habitual gesture by now—steering you away from the edge of the platform toward a pair of surprisingly vacant seats near the center carriage. His fingers lingered against yours for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he pulled away to take the seat beside you.

"What are your plans for the afternoon?" he asked, resting his chin on his knuckles as he watched you take a sip. "Your schedule usually frees up by two, doesn't it?"

"It does," you said, glancing over with a raised eyebrow. "Are you planning to wait outside my lecture hall with a sandwich this time?"

A faint, self-aware smile touched the corners of his mouth, softening the sharp angles of his features. "Only if you forgot to eat lunch. Though... I was actually hoping you might want to visit that bookstore near the station. You mentioned needing a new textbook last week, and I found the registry."

.. / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..-

Cyrene pulled you aside near the breakroom kettle the next week.

"Okay, what happened?" Cyrene whispered, leaning in close. "Did he drink something strange? Did he join a cult? Six days ago, he barely said three words to you without clearing his throat, and now he looks like he'd jump in front of a moving train if you accidentally dropped a pencil in the street."

You stirred your tea, your gaze fixed on the swirling liquid. "He's just showing how he feels, Rene. You were the one telling me he had feelings for me."

"I meant he had a crush, not that he was preparing to commission a marble statue in your likeness!" Cyrene hissed, casting a wary glance toward the open breakroom door as if expecting Phainon to materialize from thin air. "There's normal romantic interest, and then there's whatever... that is. The man memorized your class schedule. I saw him checking a color-coded laminated planner yesterday, and I'm eighty percent sure it was yours."

You stirred your tea again, watching the small whirlpool settle. "It's not laminated," you muttered defensively, though you had to admit the planner detail was a bit much. "He's just thorough."

"He's a golden retriever with the soul of a Victorian poet," Cyrene corrected, crossing her arms. "Just... keep one eye open, okay? Make sure he has hobbies outside of orbiting you."

"He does," you said, though you struggled to name a single one that didn't involve you as of lately.

Cyrene arched a single brow, waiting.

"He... reads," you offered weakly.

"Right. And what does he read? Historical accounts of people who stared at doors until their objects of affection walked through them?" Cyrene sighed, uncrossing her arms and patting your shoulder. "Just set some boundaries, alright? Before you wake up and find out he's legally changed his name to match yours."

Before you could defend him further, the kettle clicked off with a sharp snap, and the door swung open. Phainon stepped inside, his dark coat dusted with a light morning mist, his pale eyes instantly locking onto yours with the absolute gravity of a compass needle finding true north.

"There you are," he murmured, his expression smoothing into a soft, devoted smile the moment he reached your side. "I brought you that pastry from the bakery across the street. The one with the raspberry filling you like."

You glanced sidelong at Cyrene, whose expression was a masterclass in polite disbelief.

"Thanks, Phainon," you said, taking the small white bag. "You really didn't have to."

"It's no trouble," he replied smoothly, already reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair away from your forehead. "Nothing is, as long as you're having a good morning."

.. / .... .- - . / -- --- ..- .-. ... . .-.. ..-.

Phainon feels like he's drowning. Everything is muddled. It's like he's floating. But he's not. He can feel it. The scream bubbled up in his chest. 

Get out. Get out. Get out.

He sees it all through the eyes of another. It's his voice, but it's not. It's not his movements. He couldn't.

He screams inside his head. He pounds harder. He needs to get out. 

.. / .... .- - . / -- --- ..- .-. ... . .-.. ..-.

IV. The Glass Shatters

Loudly, you gasp and swoop down—frightening Phainon only a little—to smooth your hands over his dog's white fur. "Puppy!" you're borderline squealing in glee, and that's a new sight for Phainon, "So big!" You encourage the dog to pounce onto your lap with quick taps against your thighs.

"Snowy," Phainon clarifies (as if you could forget), leaning over your shoulder to scritch under Snowy's chin, grinning when he starts barking in your coddling hold. 

"I love you, Snowy," you whisper to the dog, and Phainon sits on the floor beside you after figuring the dog won’t be moving on from you anytime soon. You’ve been looking forward to this since he'd promised to take you to his place, and somehow all your expectations have been exceeded. "Didn’t know you liked dogs so much, [Name], I would’ve introduced you sooner."

"He looks like you," you keep your voice low as if raising it could startle the dog off, "And his fur feels so nice."

Phainon feels nauseous. His whole chest is tight with this unpleasant curdle. Quickly, he decides that he hates this feeling and wants it eradicated as soon as possible. Subconsciously, he must believe the solution is you because before he can really think about it, he’s lugging you off the floor and towards his room. He lays you on his bed and falls into your side with his dog now locked outside the room. He wanted you to touch him like that. Rather than link his hand with yours like usual, he splays your fingers into his mess of white hair.

Turning your head so your cheek meets the feather plush of his pillow, you find Phainon's eyes boring into yours. You blink at him with your hand limp over the side of his head, "Do you want me to pet you?"

He nods, crimson overtaking his cheeks and sweat beading over his palms. "Okay."

You card your fingers through his hair, gently prying loose knots apart over your knuckles before tenderly dancing your nails along his scalp. He presses his head closer, cheek now smooshed on your shoulder and eyes flickering shut.

Shakily, he raises an arm and lays it across your stomach. You can sense his hesitation in how the weight of his arm is so light it's imperceivable, then you press your hand flat against the back of his head and pet there, too. His arm relaxes, fully settling the weight on your gut.

This feels right. Crushed and warm.

Everything is right in this instance, in this world. But he's not sure he wants to. But not wanting to isn't exactly his job. His job is to make you happy. "I’m going to kiss you."

You go limp in bed and allow Phainon's hands to wander. He sits up and untucks your top before gliding his hands under those and resting over your midriff. He clears his throat and finds a burning sensation at the back of his eyes, he tries blinking the fire away but it only makes the pain worse.

The vicious pain in his chest bites up to his head. "I don't want to..." Phainon's hands peel off from your body to stow in his lap. You shrink into yourself, shoulders coming to your ears as red-hot shame climbs up your neck, "What?"

"This isn’t it," he leans back with his arms outstretched behind him on the mattress. Hotter and hotter the burning grows until it's all wet, stinging heat in his eyes, "You’re not into it…" he looks around his room and tries finding anything out of place (he was sure he made it perfect). The blinds are drawn. His door is locked. He sniffles and looks down, hoping you don’t notice the flooding along his lower lashes.

What if you finally do have sex and realize you never wanted him at all? What good is he doing then?

The statement comes off more monotone than intended, but you read in his everything: the slight twitch of his brow, the light sweat starting to form on his forehead, the way his sight flickers to your neck and eyes for half a millisecond. 

You furrow your eyebrows at the way he tilted his head, and the slight anguish painted on his features. "I need you to shut up." He breathes, desperately, but does not relent when your hands dig into his shoulders. "Okay."

.. / .... .- - . / -- --- ..- .-. ... . .-.. ..-.

That night, you tried to establish boundaries.

You let him walk you home, but insisted on sleeping at your own apartment alone, refusing his offer to stay the night. Phainon had agreed without argument—his absolute devotion meant he complied with your every command, even when it clearly pained him.

"If that is what you wish, [Name]," he had said on your doorstep, his voice strained and hollow. "I will wait outside."

"No, Phainon. Go home to your apartment. Sleep."

"I will try," he said softly.

At 2:00 AM, you woke up with an unsettling prickle of ice along your spine.

The bedroom was silent. The city outside was drenched in a low, gray fog.

You got out of bed, pulling your shirt down to hide your skin from the chill, and crept into the dark living room. You walked over to the bay window that looked out onto the street below.

Standing directly across the street, beneath the amber glow of a flickering streetlight, was Phainon.

He wasn't wearing a coat despite the biting wind and cold drizzle. He stood completely motionless, his hands tucked into his trousers pockets, his face angled upward toward your second-floor window.

He wasn't pacing. He wasn't checking his watch. He was simply standing in the freezing rain, staring up at your darkened glass, waiting for the precise moment you would re-emerge.

You gasp, pulling back behind the curtain, your heart hammering wildly in your chest.

You ran to your front door, unbolted the lock, and threw it open. You sprinted down the two flights of stairs in your socks, burst through the glass front doors of the building, and ran into the empty street.

"Phainon!" you screamed through the cold night air.

He stepped out from under the streetlight, his hair soaked and clinging to his forehead, his skin pale and translucent under the wet light. As soon as he saw you, a soft, beautiful, terribly broken smile appeared on his face.

"You came down," he murmured, walking toward you with quick, eager strides. "I knew you would."

"What are you doing?!" You cry, grabbing his trembling, ice-cold arms. "You've been standing out here in the freezing cold for hours! I told you to go home!"

"I tried," Phainon whispered, looking down at you with pure, unadulterated adoration. "I got to the end of the block, and my body wouldn't move any further. Every step away from you felt like ripping my own flesh open. It was easier to just stay here and look at your window."

"Fine," you choked out, wiping a tear from your cheek. "You can... you can sleep on the couch. But do not come into my bedroom, Phainon. Do you understand me?"

Phainon looked up, his smile returning—bright, desperate, and empty. "I understand. I'll stay right there. I won't move an inch."

-.- - .. ... ... / -- .

V: The Anatomy of a Caged Bird

You did not sleep.

You lay in your bed with the bedroom door locked, the duvet pulled up to your chin, listening to the absolute, suffocating silence of the apartment.

Around 4:00 AM, you heard the faint sound of floorboards creaking outside your door.

You sat up instantly, your body locking with terror. You watched the narrow gap at the bottom of your door where the hallway light flickered.

A shadow blocked the light.

Then came a soft, rhythmic sound. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Phainon was pressing his forehead gently against the wooden door panel from the outside.

"[Name]?" his voice drifted through the wood, paper-thin and hauntingly calm. "Are you breathing?"

You held your breath, tears streaming down your face in the dark. What the fuck?

"I can't hear you breathing through the door," Phainon murmured softly. "Please just make a sound. Just let me know you're still alive in there. If something happened to you... I wouldn't have a reason to wake up tomorrow."

"I'm alive, Phainon!" You sobbed out quietly. "Go back to the couch! Please!"

"Thank you," he whispered back, his shadow remaining fixed against the bottom of the door. "I'll stay right here so I can hear you."

You buried your face in your pillows, trying so hard to catch the sleep that had completely evaded you.

-.- - .. ... ... / -- .

You'd asked him to go home the next day. "For Snowy," you tried to negotiate.

He called in an hour or two.

There was a long, heavy pause on the other end of the line. When Phainon finally spoke, his voice didn't sound like his own. It was hollow, flat, and completely devoid of inflection, carrying an eerie, mechanical weight that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

"[Name]," he whispered quietly. "Snowy died."

The words hung in the space between you, heavy and unnatural, bleeding through the speaker of the phone with a strange, muffled resonance.

"[Name]," Phainon repeated, his voice dragging across the syllables like dry paper. "Snowy is dead."

For a long moment, you could only stare at the dark wallpaper of your bedroom, the shock of his behaviour last night instantly colliding with this cold, terrifying piece of news. Your breath hitched, your throat tightening as your mind struggled to bridge the gap between his earlier dismissal to your privacy and this sudden, tragic vulnerability.

"Phainon... what happened?" You asked, your voice trembling, all thoughts of your own humiliation washing away under a wave of sudden, aching concern. "I... I'm so sorry. Was he sick? Did something happen while you were here?"

On the other end, there was a long, suffocating stretch of silence. Phainon stood in the center of his dimly lit apartment, the cool glow of the refrigerator casting long, distorted shadows across the linoleum floor. He stared down at the small paper bag resting at the bottom of the kitchen trash bin.

He didn't tell you about the pest control pellets he had scattered across the baseboards after coming home, entirely consumed by his spiraling thoughts of you. He didn't tell you how he had found the small white dog curled rigidly on the cold bathroom tile, his jaws slightly parted, or how the bitter realization of his own jealousy had hit him with the force of a physical blow. He didn't mention the numbing efficiency with which he had wrapped his small body in a towel and disposed of him, burying his own guilt beneath a rigid wall of silence.

"I... I don't want to talk about it over the phone," Phainon said finally, his tone flattening into something dangerously controlled. "Can you come over? Please. I... I just need someone here."

The vulnerability in his voice—so rare, so stripped of its usual guarded armor—shattered whatever hesitation you had left. His rejection to have sex with you from a day ago felt like a distant, irrelevant memory.

"I'm coming," you said immediately. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

When you arrived, you let yourself in with the spare key Phainon had given you months ago—a gesture that had once felt like a quiet milestone in your friendship. The apartment was uncharacteristically dark, save for a single lamp glowing dimly in the living room.

Phainon was sitting on the edge of the sofa, his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. His hair fell forward in disarray. He looked hollowed out, drained of color and energy.

"[Name]," he murmured, not looking up as the front door clicked shut.

You hurried across the room, dropping your bag on the floor, and knelt down right in front of him. Without a second thought, you reached out, gently placing your hands over his cold, rigid fingers.

"Phainon, I am so, so sorry," you whispered, your voice thick with empathy. "I know how much he meant to you. You don't have to go through this alone."

Slowly, Phainon lowered his hands. When he looked up, his eyes were wide, dark, and hyper-focused. There was no grief in them—not the kind you expected, anyway. Instead, there was a raw, burning intensity that made the hairs on the back of your arms stand up. It was a look of absolute, desperate fixation, as if he were a drowning man who had just broken the surface of the water and locked eyes with his only lifeline.

"You came," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

"Of course I came," you said softly, offering a sympathetic, reassuring smile as you squeezed his hands. "You called, and you're hurting. I'm always going to—"

You didn't get to finish the sentence.

Phainon moved with sudden, startling velocity. He leaned forward, catching you by the back of the neck and the small of your back, pulling you directly against him. Before you could process the movement, his lips crashed against yours.

It wasn't a tentative or gentle kiss born of a mutual, unfolding romance. It was fierce, possessive, and suffocatingly desperate—driven by a manic undercurrent that felt less like affection and more like an anchor thrown into a storm. His fingers tangled frantically in your hair, pressing you closer, as if he were trying to physically melt you into his skin to fill the cold, hollow space left behind by his own catastrophic mistake.

You froze for a fraction of a second, your heart leaping into your throat. His behaviour over the many months—subtly stating that he didn't feel that way about you—flashed violently through your mind.

He doesn't like you, a small voice whispered. He didn't feel that way.

Yet, here he was, kissing you with an intensity that bordered on frantic, trembling as though the world would end if he let go. The confusion was dizzying, but the warmth of his mouth, the familiar scent of his sweater, and the overwhelming desire you had harbored for months eroded your resistance. Your eyes fluttered closed, and slowly, hesitantly, you kissed him back, lifting your hands to rest against the solid wall of his chest.

When his shirt pulled free and up over his head, you ran your hands along the broad slopes of his shoulders and down dips and angles of his chest. He was cut, here and there. "What happened to you?"

His belt dropped and you hooked your legs around him, pulling him closer. His body pinned yours to the table. "I fell." When his hands found your back, you slid your legs apart, letting your dress scrunch above your waist. You quivered when his cock brushed heavy against you. "That's from a knife, Phai. What the fuck?"

He was rough and quick inside, and you arched into him, finding his mouth once again. His hands were at your back, your hips, your thighs and you felt something uncoiling inside of you. Something deep in your belly that made you clutch back at him as desperately. So long had you ached for warmth, for touch, for the tightening of your body against his.

Snowy died. And Phainon was hurting himself.

You came trembling around him, and he pulled back to watch you as you did. You laid back onto the table, open to him, his eyes locked on everywhere your dress no longer covered, even has he pushed into you over and over.

And then he pulled away.

"What the fuck? Get away from me," Phainon whispered, his voice breaking entirely as he stood up, and moved back, sliding down against the side of the wall until he was sitting on the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest. He didn't look at you anymore. He couldn't bear to meet your eyes.

You froze, your heart hammering against your ribs, staring down at the man you loved—now curled in a heap of self-loathing and terror on the floor. The warmth of the room was gone, replaced by a chilling, absolute cold.

.. / .... .- - . / -.-- --- ..-

VI: The Fracture in the Archive

Saturday morning arrived without sunrise, drowning the city in a dense, leaden fog that pressed flat against the glass of Phainon’s apartment windows.

Inside, the silence was absolute—heavy, atmospheric, and terrifying.

Last night was one way to lose your virginity. The absolute worst.

You stood at the threshold of his bedroom, your hand trembling as you slowly turned the brass doorknob. The lock disengaged with a sharp, mechanical click that sounded like a gunshot in the stillness.

Phainon was sitting on the floor directly outside the door.

He hadn't slept. He hadn't moved to the sofa. He sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor, his back resting against the wall, his eyes fixed on the exact spot where the door met the frame. His hair was slightly disheveled, a few strands hanging over his forehead, and his sweater was wrinkled. Yet his posture remained remarkably erect, devoid of the natural slouch of fatigue.

As soon as the door swung open, his gaze snapped to your face. A violent, brilliant flicker of relief flooded his expression, as though he had spent eight hours underwater and had finally broken the surface.

"Good morning, [Name]," he said. His voice was raspy from disuse, but his tone was smooth, almost melodious.

"Phainon... did you sit here all night?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You kept your distance.

"Yes," he replied simply, leaning his head back against the wall to look up at you. "I wanted to stay close so I could hear you breathing."

"That isn't staying close, Phainon. That's... you sat on the floor outside my bedroom like a dog."

Phainon didn't blink. He offered a small, serene smile that sent a shiver down your spine. "A dog is loyal because it knows no other reality. I sit here because there is literally nowhere else in this universe I wish to be. Is that so shameful?"

He pushed himself up off the floor with effortless grace, stepping toward you. You instinctively took a step back into the room, but Phainon stopped at the doorframe, respecting the boundary you had drawn, though his pale eyes drank in every detail of your face, your messy hair, your tired eyes.

"I made coffee," he murmured, nodding toward the kitchen. "And I bought fresh pastries from the bakery three blocks down."

You blinked, surprised. "When? I didn't hear you leave."

"At six in the morning," he said. "I ran the entire way there and back so I would only be gone for five minutes. I didn't want you waking up to an empty flat."

The sheer, terrifying efficiency of his devotion made your stomach turn. It was terrifyingly calculated—every action, every thought, stripped of self-preservation and redirected entirely toward serving your existence.

"Phainon, what the fuck? We can't not talk about your dog dying! And we had sex! And then pushed me away like I forced myself on you! Not to mention you've been slicing at your skin for God knows how long—"

"I didn't mean to scare you," he stammered, his usual composure shattering into raw, desperate panic. He sank to his knees right there in the center of his living room, clutching his head in his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, [Name]. Please don't hate me. If you hate me, I'll kill myself. Just tell me what to do. I'll do anything to make you happy!"

.. / .... .- - . / -.-- --- ..-

Monday morning arrived with the suffocating weight of an impending storm. The air beneath the Grand City Archives was colder than usual, smelling faintly of damp limestone and stagnant rainwater that had seeped through the ancient brick foundation over the weekend.

You stood at the bottom of the iron spiral staircase, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag until your knuckles turned white. You hadn't slept in nearly two days. Every time you had closed your eyes over the weekend, the image of Phainon kneeling on his apartment rug—his pale eyes wide, empty, and entirely focused on you—had burned behind your eyelids.

He was already there.

Phainon sat at his long oak desk, surrounded by towers papers. But he wasn't reading them. He wasn't cataloging, writing, or cross-referencing. He sat completely still, his hands resting flat against the dark wood, his head angled toward the staircase as if he had been tracking your approach long before your feet had touched the stone floor.

When your shadow fell across the archway, his entire posture shifted. The terrifying, flat stillness melted away into a expression of sheer, desperate relief.

"[Name]," he breathed, rising from his chair so quickly that the heavy oak legs scraped sharply against the stone.

He stopped barely an inch away, his presence immediate and overwhelming. The sharp, clean scent of cedarwood and faint rain drifted off his coat. He reached out, his long fingers hovering just shy of your sleeve, as if he were exercising every ounce of willpower not to pull you into his arms.

"You're four minutes late," Phainon said softly. His voice lacked any reprimand; instead, it was laced with a quiet, breathless panic. "I thought you had taken a different entrance. I thought... I thought you had decided not to come."

"The train was delayed, Phainon," you said, keeping your voice as flat and measured as possible. You forced yourself to step past him, setting your coat and bag on the desk. "It's fine. It's just four minutes."

"Four minutes is two hundred and forty seconds," Phainon replied, turning with you, his eyes tracking every movement of your hands. "Do you know what happens in two hundred and forty seconds, [Name]? A person's heart beats over two hundred times. A thousand thoughts pass through a mind. And every single one of mine was wondering if you were abandoning me."

You felt a cold knot form in your throat. You looked up, searching his face. There were faint, dark shadows beneath his eyes—proof that he, too, had barely slept over the weekend. Yet his skin was unnaturally pale, almost luminous under the warm desk lamps, and his eyes burned with an intense, unblinking focus.

"Phainon, you need to step back," you whispered, looking nervously toward the main reading room. "Mr. Anaxa will be here any minute. I only came because you said you needed me to be supportive."

"Let him come," Phainon said instantly, without a moment's hesitation. "Let the whole world come. They mean nothing to me. If Mr. Anaxa rids of me today, I will sit on the front steps of your apartment building until you come out. It makes no difference where I am, as long as I can see you."

"Stop it!" You hissed, grabbing his forearm and pulling him into the shadows of the alcove. Your fingers dug into the fabric of his suit jacket. "Do you hear yourself right now? You are a scholar, Phainon! You spent four years getting your degree, you have three published papers, you care about this project more than anyone I know! You can't just throw your life away!"

Phainon looked down at your hand on his arm. A small, chillingly beautiful smile touched his pale lips—a smile devoid of all his former pride and intellectual dignity.

"I didn't throw it away," he murmured, leaning down until his forehead almost rested against yours. "I traded it. I traded a meaningless life of paper and dust for the only thing that actually matters. You gave me a reason to exist, [Name]. Why would I care about ancient history and arts when my entire universe is standing right in front of me?"

Before you could respond, heavy footsteps echoed down the stone corridor.

Mr. Anaxa—a severe man with silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses—stepped into the central hall, holding a thick Manila folder. Behind him came the head architect, who carried a stack of catalog cards. The moment they saw you standing so close together in the shadows of the alcove, his eyes widened in deep concern.

"Phainon," Mr. Anaxa's voice boomed softly in the quiet vault. "A word, please."

Phainon didn't move. He didn't even turn his head. His pale eyes remained locked on your face, completely ignoring the head of the department.

"Phainon!" Mr. Anaxa repeated, his tone sharpening. "The board reviewed your quarterly report this morning. Or rather, the complete absence of your quarterly report. It was due on Friday afternoon. This is entirely unlike you."

You gently nudged Phainon's chest, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Go," you whispered frantically. "Please, Phainon. Just go speak to him."

Only at your command did Phainon finally tear his gaze away from you. He turned slowly, his expression shifting in an instant from desperate adoration to an icy, deadened indifference that made Mr. Anaxa freeze mid-step.

"The report is unfinished," Phainon said, his tone entirely flat.

Mr. Anaxa blinked, taken aback by the complete lack of professional deference in his most senior assistant's voice. "Unfinished? Phainon, that report dictates our funding for the entire wing! You’ve had three months!"

"Then revoke the funding," Phainon replied smoothly, stepping out of the alcove with his hands tucked casually into his pockets. "I am no longer interested in managing the wing."

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the archive. You gasped softly, your knuckles turning white against his hand gripping yours. Mr. Anaxa stared at Phainon as if the younger man had suddenly begun speaking a foreign language.

"Are you out of your mind?" Mr. Anaxa managed to say, his face darkening with anger. "If you walk away from this project, Phainon, I will have no choice but to place you on administrative leave immediately!"

"Then place me on leave," Phainon said without a single second of hesitation. He didn't sound angry, or defensive, or sad. He sounded entirely unbothered, as if Mr. Anaxa were discussing the weather. "I'll pack my desk now."

"Phainon, no!" You cried out, stepping forward, unable to contain yourself. "Mr. Anaxa, please, he isn't feeling well today—he's been under a tremendous amount of stress—"

"Do not apologize for me, [Name]," Phainon interrupted gently, turning to look at you with that terrifying, radiant warmth returning to his eyes. "If I am on leave, I don't have to spend eight hours a day doing useless art. I can spend all eight hours taking care of you."

Mr. Anaxa looked between the two of you, his expression morphing from anger to deep, unsettled pity and confusion. "Phainon... step into my office. Now. [Name], stay here."

"No," Phainon said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming dangerously firm. "She stays where I can see her. I am not entering any room without her."

.. / .... .- - . / -.-- --- ..-

By noon, the disaster was complete.

Phainon had been formally suspended pending a psychological evaluation—a directive he had accepted with complete, terrifying serenity. He had packed his few personal belongings into a single cardboard box within ten minutes, spent another five minutes waiting while you tried to compose yourself, and had ultimately been escorted out of the building by security when he refused to leave without you.

You spent the rest of your time in a state of quiet shock. You couldn't focus on anything; the letters blurred into dark, meaningless scribbles. Every few minutes, your eyes would dart toward the heavy iron doors at the top of the stairs. You knew, with absolute certainty, that he was standing right outside on the rain-slick pavement, waiting for you to come out.

"He's still out there," Mydei said softly, walking up to you with two cups of tea.

He set one cup down in front of you and took the seat beside you. The usual sharp, sarcastic energy that he carried was completely gone, replaced by a quiet, brooding concern.

"How long has he been standing there?" You asked, your voice raspy.

"Since twelve-thirty," Mydei replied grimly. "It's pouring rain, [Name]. He doesn't have an umbrella. He's just standing by the fountain, staring at the basement window. Anaxa threatened to call the police, but Phainon didn't even react. He just told Anaxa that the police couldn't legally keep him from standing on a public sidewalk."

You buried your face in your hands, a jagged sob catching in your chest. "What have I done... Oh God, De, what have I done?"

Mydei leaned in closer, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean, [Name]? This isn't your fault. Phainon has completely lost his mind. He’s acting like a textbook stalker. I don't know what happened to him over the weekend, but he is dangerous right now. You need to go home with me tonight. You can stay at my place until he gets help."

"I can't," you whispered through your fingers. "You don't understand, Mydei. If I go to your place, he'll follow us. He won't leave your doorstep. He'll ruin your life, too."

"Then we call the police."

"The police can't fix this!" You pulled your hands away, your eyes wild with terror and guilt. "You don't understand what's wrong with him!"

Mydei stared at you for a long moment, sensing the deep, incomprehensible panic in his friend's eyes. "Then explain it to me, [Name]. Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like a man who snapped overnight."

You opened your mouth to tell him—to tell him about the antique shop, the lacquered box, the willow twig, and the terrible, irreversible wish you had made in the quiet of your room. But as you looked into Mydei's practical, sensible eyes, you realized how insane it would sound. To the rest of the world, Phainon was experiencing a sudden, tragic psychotic break. Only you knew the horrifying truth: Phainon wasn't sick. He was cursed. And the cursed entity controlling his mind was your own foolish desire.

"I have to leave," you say abruptly, pushing your chair back and grabbing your coat.

"Wait, [Name]! Don't go out there alone!" Mydei called, rising to follow you.

"Stay here, Mydei! Please!" You pleaded, your hand on the staircase railing. "I need to fix this. I'm the only one who can fix this."

You bolted up the stone stairs, pushing through the heavy oak doors into the cold, rain-drenched afternoon.

The moment you stepped outside, you saw him.

Phainon was standing in the center of the stone courtyard, entirely soaked through. His silver-gray hair was plastered to his forehead, rain dripping off the tip of his nose and chin. His dark suit jacket was drenched, clinging to his broad shoulders. Yet he wasn't shivering. He stood as straight and still as a marble monument, his pale eyes locked onto the main entrance.

When he saw you, his face lit up with that dark, breathtaking radiance.

"[Name]," he called out, his voice cutting clearly through the roar of the rain. He took long, sweeping strides across the courtyard toward you. "You came out early. I knew you would."

You didn't run. You stood on the top step, watching him approach like a ghost in the storm. "Phainon... look at you. You're freezing. You're soaked to the bone."

"It doesn't matter," Phainon said, reaching the steps and looking up at you with complete, terrifying devotion. "The rain doesn't matter. The cold doesn't matter. Nothing hurts when I'm looking at you."

He reached up, taking your trembling hands in his ice-cold fingers. He pressed his lips to your knuckles, his breath hot against your skin.

"Where are we going now?" he asked softly, his eyes searching yours with a pleading, childlike absolute trust. "Your apartment? Or somewhere else? Wherever you go, I will follow."

You looked into his eyes, feeling the crushing weight of your own guilt pulling you down into the abyss. "We're going to a shop," you whispered, your voice breaking. "We're going to find a way to fix you."

…. . − / −. .. … − / −. .

VII. The Echo of the Antiques

The rain turned into a blinding downpour as you dragged Phainon through the narrow alleys on the edge of the city.

Phainon walked beside you obediently, matching your pace perfectly. He held your left hand in a grip so tight it left red marks on your skin, but whenever you tried to pull away, his fingers would clamp down even harder—not out of cruelty, but out of a desperate, instinctual refusal to let you create a single inch of distance between you.

"Is this where you wanted to walk?" Phainon asked quietly as you turned down the narrow street lined with vintage storefronts. "It's dark here. We should go back to your apartment. I can lock the doors, and we can stay inside where it's safe."

"Just two more minutes, Phainon," you breathed, your chest aching from the cold air. "Just two more minutes."

You slammed your hand against the wet glass of the shop window—Mire & Memory: Antiquities & Curios.

The shop was dark. The stained-glass lanterns were off. hanging in the small glass pane was a wooden sign flip-turned to red: CLOSED.

"No... no, no, no," you gasped, grabbing the brass door handle and rattling it frantically.

The heavy oak door was locked tight. You leaned your face against the wet glass, peering into the shadowy interior. The velvet displays, the antique clockwork, the dried herbs—everything was still inside, but there was no sign of the woman in the big hat.

"It's closed," Phainon noted calmly from behind you. He pulled you gently away from the glass, his large hands resting on your shoulders, drawing you back against his wet chest. "It doesn't matter, [Name]. Whatever you were looking for in there, you don't need it. You have me."

"I need the shopkeeper!" You screamed at the door, hammering you fists against the wood until your knuckles ached. "Open the door! Please! Open the door!"

"Hush," Phainon murmured softly into your hair, his arms wrapping around your waist, locking you in an embrace that felt less like protection and more like a gilded cage. "Don't yell, my love. It's just an old shop. Let me take you home. You're wet, you're crying... it hurts me to see you like this."

You sagged in his arms, your forehead pressing against the cold, wet wood of the shop door. The bitter truth washed over you like the freezing rain soaking through your coat.

Even if the shopkeeper were inside, what could she possibly do? The warning had been written on the typed card in plain, unyielding English:

Wishes granted without condition cannot be revoked.

There was no magical counter-curse. There was no secret ritual to un-break the willow branch resting at the bottom of your apartment trash bin. You had asked the universe to alter a man's soul, and the universe had obeyed with absolute, indiscriminate precision.

Phainon gently turned you around in his arms. His face was inches from hers, his pale gray eyes shimmering with an intense, unholy clarity in the dark alleyway.

"Look at me, [Name]," he commanded softly, though his tone was entirely tender.

You slowly lifted your eyes to meet his.

"Why are you so afraid?" he asked, his thumb gently wiping away a mixture of rain and tears from your cheek. "I haven't hurt you. I will never hurt you. I exist entirely to protect you, to love you, to give you everything you could ever dream of. Isn't this what you wanted?"

The question struck you like a physical blow.

Isn't this what you wanted?

You had pined for him for nearly an year. You had laid awake at night wishing he would look at you with passion instead of polite professional courtesy. You had wanted to be the center of his world. And now you were. You were his god, his ruler, his sole anchor to reality—and in making yourself his entire world, you had destroyed the man he actually was.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice hollow and defeated. "This is what I wanted."

Phainon smiled—a radiant, beautiful, terrifying smile that did not reach his cold eyes. "Then stop fighting it. Let me love you."

…. . − / −. .. … − / −. .

By midnight, the rain outside your apartment had settled into a steady, rhythmic tap against the glass.

The living room was dark. You sat on the center of the sofa, wrapped in a thick wool blanket. You stared at the small wooden coffee table in front of you. Resting on the polished surface were the two broken halves of the One Wish Willow, retrieved from the trash bin and placed side-by-side like a corpse waiting for a burial that would never come.

Beside the table, kneeling on the carpeted floor, was Phainon.

He had changed out of his wet suit into a soft gray sweater and dark trousers. He didn't look tired. He sat on his knees, his hands resting on his thighs, his head turned slightly toward you. His eyes remained fixed on your face, tracking every rise and fall of your chest, every flicker of your eyelashes.

"You should sleep, [Name]," he said softly, his voice a low, melodious hum in the dark room.

"I can't sleep," you murmured, your voice stripped of all emotion.

"I can sit right here all night," Phainon offered, reaching up to lay his hand gently over yours on the blanket. His skin was warm now, but his touch carried the immutable weight of an iron chain. "I won't close my eyes. I will keep watch until the sun comes up."

"And tomorrow?" You asked, looking down at his hand on yours. "What happens tomorrow, Phainon? You don't have a job anymore. You don't have your research. You're going to get evicted from your apartment if you don't pay your rent."

"I'll sell my books," Phainon replied smoothly, as if discussing buying groceries. "I'll sell my furniture. I don't need an apartment, [Name]. I can move into your living room. Or I can sit on your balcony. As long as I am near you, material things have no meaning."

"And your friends? Your family? What happens when they come looking for you?"

Phainon’s expression flickered with a brief, chilling detachment. "If they try to separate me from you, I will remove them from my life. It is very simple."

You closed your eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath.

You looked at the broken willow twig on the table. The dark, charcoal-like core of the fractured wood seemed to stare back at you—a silent, permanent reminder of your own hubris.

You reached out with your free hand, picking up the two broken pieces of wood, and pulled them into your lap beneath the blanket. You had wished for his unconditional love, and you had received it in its purest, most monstrous form: an affection stripped of reason, humanity, and choice.

"Phainon?" you whispered.

"Yes, my love?" he answered instantly, leaning closer, his eyes shining in the dark.

"Did you... Did you kill Snowy?"

The apartment seemed to hold its breath. The steady, rhythmic tap of the rain against the window glass was the only sound left in the world, stretching out the silence between them like a tight wire.

Phainon didn't blink. His dark eyes remained locked onto yours, completely devoid of the hesitation or shame that usually accompanied a shameful secret. The terrifying purity of the wish held him in a state of absolute, unbending transparency before you.

"Yes," Phainon answered, his voice smooth, quiet, and disturbingly casual.

A cold shudder rolled down your spine, despite the thick wool blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You stared down at the two halves of the Wish Willow resting in your lap, their jagged edges pressing against your palms.

"Why?" you whispered, your voice barely carrying across the dark living room. "Snowy was your dog. You loved him. How could you just... how could you do that?"

Phainon shifted slightly, moving closer until his knees pressed against the edge of the sofa. His touch was tender, yet it carried the chilling weight of absolute detachment from everything outside of his singular focus on you.

"It was the day after you came over," Phainon explained, his tone conversational, as if he were recounting a minor inconvenience on his way to class. "I was sitting at the kitchen table, trying to focus on my design layouts, but my mind wouldn't quiet down. I kept thinking about you. I kept thinking about how easily you slip away when the day ends—how you go back to your own house, how other people get to talk to you, how much of your life is spent entirely out of my reach."

He paused, his thumb softly stroking your knuckles.

"Snowy kept whining," Phainon continued, his gaze drifting toward the kitchen as though he could see right through the walls. "He wanted to go outside. He wanted attention. He was loud, and he was taking up the space in the room that should have belonged entirely to the thoughts of you. He was a distraction from my purpose."

You felt a sickening knot twist tightly in your stomach.

"That, and you liked him," Phainon scoffed gently, looking back up into your eyes with an unsettling, beatific smile. "Everything that demands my attention away from you, and yours away from me, is an obstacle. That afternoon, I had left those pest control pellets on the counter. It took only a moment to crush a few into his food bowl and mix it with some meat. He ate it without hesitation."

He spoke of poisoning his own pet with the same chilling indifference one might use to describe throwing away a piece of trash.

"And when he died?" you asked, your voice trembling as hot tears prickled behind your eyelids. "Did you feel anything at all?"

Phainon tilted his head, considering the question honestly. He reached up, his warm hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear that had slipped down your skin.

"I felt nothing," he murmured softly. "Except a sudden, wonderful quiet. The apartment was finally silent. And I could think only of you."

You pressed your eyes shut, the horror of the confession washing over you in heavy, suffocating waves. You looked down at the broken willow in your lap, realizing with terrifying finality that the monster sitting before you was entirely your own creation—and there was no waking up from it.

... .- ...- . / -- .

VIII: The Weight of the Room

Three months elapsed in a heavy, unnatural rhythm.

Autumn had settled over the city, striping the trees along the boulevard in shades of rust and decay, but inside your apartment, time had ceased to move. The days no longer possessed distinct boundaries. There was only the low hum of the refrigerator, the rain washing against the double-paned glass, and the perpetual, motionless presence of Phainon.

He had given up his lease entirely by the end of August. He had not gone back for his belongings; he had simply allowed the landlord to declare the unit abandoned, leaving behind his extensive personal library, his heirloom furniture, his winter coats, and the framed photographs of his family. None of it held any reality for him anymore. His entire physical universe had shrunk to the four walls of your apartment.

"You need to take a few steps, Phainon," you said quietly, your voice sounding raspy from disuse. You sat at the dining table, staring down at an untouched plate of toast. "You’ve been standing by the hallway arch for four hours."

Phainon turned his head toward you. His movement was fluid, yet eerily deliberate, like a clockwork mechanism that had been freshly oiled. He wore a simple black turtleneck and dark trousers—clothing you had ordered online for him because he refused to leave the flat even to buy garments.

"I am perfectly comfortable, [Name]," he replied smoothly. His voice was low, devoid of any harsh rasp despite his near-total silence throughout the day. "From the archway, I can monitor the front door, the fire escape window, and the table where you are sitting. If I move to the armchair, my line of sight to the hallway is obscured by three inches."

"No one is coming through the hallway, Phainon," you whispered.

"We cannot know that with absolute certainty," he said, taking two quiet steps toward you. He stopped precisely at the edge of the rug, his pale gray eyes searching your face with that wide, terrifying clarity that had never once dimmed since the day you snapped the twig. "And as long as there is a fraction of a percent of risk to your peace, my vigilance is required."

He knelt beside your chair, placing his long, cool hands over your knee. The gesture was outwardly affectionate—a posture of deep, reverent submission—but the pressure of his fingers was firm, an immovable anchor binding you to the spot.

"Eat your toast, my love," he whispered softly, his thumb tracing a small circle against your fabric. "You’ve lost weight this month. I counted your calories yesterday. You are three hundred calories below your recommended intake."

You felt a cold prickle of sweat trace your spine. "You're counting my calories?"

"I keep a log in my notebook," Phainon said, gesturing vaguely toward the small leather pad resting on the sideboard. "Your sleep cycles, your water consumption, your temperature, the number of times you cry when you think I am in the bathroom. I record all of it. It allows me to anticipate your needs before you even experience them."

You stared at him, a sudden wave of suffocating vertigo making the room tilt. "Phainon... that isn't care. That's... that's a inventory."

"It's love," he corrected gently, leaning up to press a lingering, soft kiss against the side of your neck. His breath was warm, smelling faintly of mint and iron. "A inventory implies I intend to trade you. You are my absolute. One does not trade an absolute."

... .- ...- . / -- .

The quiet was shattered at 2:00 PM by the sudden, abrasive buzzing of the apartment intercom.

The sharp sound cut through the silence like a blade. You flinched violently, knocking your knee against the table.

Phainon didn't flinch. In a fraction of a second, he was on his feet, his body shifting into a low, predatory posture between you and the hallway. His gray eyes narrowed, all warmth vanishing instantly, replaced by an icy, deadened hostility.

"Stay behind me," he said. The instruction was not loud, but it carried a terrifying, absolute authority.

"Phainon, it's probably just the building manager—"

"Stay behind me," he repeated, his hands coming up to guide you gently but forcefully into the corner behind the dining hutch.

He walked to the intercom wall unit, pressing the button with a single, clinical movement. He didn't speak. He simply held the line open, listening.

"[Name]?" Cyrene's voice crackled through the cheap speaker, tinny and distorted by static. "[Name], are you in there? Please pick up. It’s been three weeks since you called in sick. Boss officially filed the termination paperwork yesterday, but I don't care about the job—I'm worried about you. Your phone is disconnected. I brought the building super up with me. If you don't open the door, we're going to use the master key."

You gasped, taking a step toward the hall. "Rene—"

Before you could reach the speaker, Phainon’s hand locked around your wrist. His grip wasn't painful, but it was absolute—like a steel vise padded in soft leather. He pulled you back behind his shoulder effortlessly.

"Phainon, let me talk to her!" You pleaded in a desperate, panicked whisper. "She has the manager with her! They’re going to open the door!"

Phainon looked down at you, his expression entirely calm, almost beatific. "They won't open the door."

He released your wrist and stepped over to the entryway closet. He opened it quietly, reaching up to the top shelf where you kept a heavy brass tool set. He selected a heavy six-inch steel deadbolt bar he had purchased online two weeks prior, along with a cordless driver.

"Phainon, what are you doing?" You breathed, horror mounting in your throat.

Without a word, Phainon walked to the heavy oak front door. With smooth, practiced efficiency, he positioned the steel bar across the frame, alignment perfectly straight, and drove three heavy masonry screws through the steel bracket directly into the door jamb. The sharp whir-click-click of the power tool drowned out the sound of key turning in the lock outside.

From the hallway outside, the sound of a key sliding into the tumbler echoed sharply.

The lock turned. The door shifted inward a fraction of a millimeter—and then slammed brutally against the newly installed steel barricade.

"What the...?" the building manager’s voice muffled through the wood. "The safety bar is thrown from the inside! Hey! Is someone in trouble in there?"

"[Name]!" Cyrene screamed, pounding her fists against the heavy oak. "[Name]! Speak to me! Is Phainon in there with you? Did he do something to you?!"

You opened your mouth to scream, to cry for help, to tell them to break down the door—but Phainon turned to face you.

He didn't brandish a weapon. He didn't make a threat.

Instead, he slowly lowered himself back onto his knees right in front of the barricaded door. He took a small, silver folding knife from his pocket—the one he used to trim loose threads from your sweaters—unfolded the thin blade, and held it vertically against his own throat. The sharp point rested directly over his carotid artery, pressing just hard enough to draw a single, pinpoint bead of crimson blood.

"Phainon!" You shrieked, your hand flying to your mouth.

"If you call out to them," Phainon said, his voice entirely sweet, calm, and conversational, "if you tell them to break this door down, I will press this blade three inches into my neck before they can clear the frame."

"Phainon, please! Put that down! Put it down!" you sobbed, dropping to your knees a few feet away from him, your hands raised in absolute terror.

"I am not threatening you, my love," he explained gently, his eyes shining with an intense, crystal-clear devotion. "I am simply informing you of the physical realities of my existence. My mind, my heart, and my body only function to serve your sanctuary. If they breach this door, they will take you away from me, or take me away from you. In either scenario, my existence ends. The knife is merely a formality."

Outside, the manager was kicking the bottom panel of the door. "I'm calling the police! We're getting the fire department up here with an axe!"

"[Name]! Answer me!" Cyrene wept through the wood.

You looked at the single drop of blood trailing down Phainon’s throat. You looked into his pale, serene eyes—eyes that held no fear, no doubt, and no humanity, only the absolute, unyielding execution of your own wish.

You swallowed your own scream, strangling the voice in your throat until it died.

You took a ragged, trembling breath, wiped your tears with the back of your hand, and stepped up to the door.

"Cyrene!" You called out, your voice unnaturally loud, tight, and rigid.

The pounding stopped instantly. "[Name]?! Are you okay?! Is he hurting you?!"

"I am fine, Rene," you said, staring directly at Phainon’s unblinking eyes as the knife remained pressed against his neck. "I... I am completely fine. I am not sick. I am not being held against my will."

"[Name], your voice sounds terrible! Let us in!"

"No!" You shouted, your voice trembling slightly before you caught yourself. "No... please. Go away. Phainon and I... we just want to be left alone. We don't want to work at the archive anymore. We don't want visitors. If you call the police, I will tell them you are harassing us. Please... just go away."

A long, agonizing silence descended on the hallway outside.

"[Name]..." Cyrene's voice was broken, small, and filled with a profound, terrifying grief. "...what did he do to you?"

"Nothing," you whispered against the painted wood of the door. "He didn't do anything. I asked for this."

Footsteps slowly receded down the carpeted hallway. The sound of the elevator doors opening and closing echoed faintly, followed by absolute, suffocating silence.

Phainon waited five full minutes after the hallway fell silent.

When he was certain they were truly gone, he folded the silver blade with a soft click and slipped it back into his pocket. He reached up with his index finger, dabbing the single droplet of blood from his throat, and looked at it with mild curiosity before wiping it onto his shirt.

He rose to his feet, stepping over to where you remained collapsed on the floor, your cheek pressed against the cold hardwood, your body shaking with silent, exhausted sobs.

"You were wonderful," Phainon whispered, crouching down beside you. He gathered you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly from the floor and carrying you toward the sofa.

He sat down, placing you in his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist, and resting his chin atop your head. He began to rock you gently, back and forth, back and forth, with the slow, rhythmic cadence of a pendulum.

"Now no one will disturb us," he murmured into your hair. "No friends. No jobs. No archives. No opinions. Just you and me. The world outside can burn away, [Name]. We don't need it."

You didn't pull away. You didn't have the strength left to fight. You lay limp against his chest, listening to the heavy, steady, unhurried thrum of his heart—a heart that beat not out of life or passion, but as a mechanical clock counting down the endless seconds of your self-inflicted sentence.

You looked across the dark room toward the small side table.

Sitting on the velvet cushion of the open lacquered box were the two broken pieces of the One Wish Willow. The charcoal-black center of the fractured wood seemed to glint faintly in the gray afternoon light filtering through the blinds.

You realized then that the horror was not that Phainon had become a monster. The horror was that he was still Phainon—his voice was still smooth, his touch was still gentle, his face was still exquisitely handsome—but the soul inside him had been replaced by a singular, unyielding directive.

He loved you. He would always love you.

He would love you when the food ran out. He would love you when the electricity was cut off. He would love you as you sit together in the pitch-black living room, surrounded by steel deadbolts and sealed windows, watching each other fade into nothingness.

Phainon leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath cold and sweet.

"I love you, [Name]," he whispered, his gray eyes shining with an absolute, bottomless light that would never go out. "Tell me you love me too."

You closed your eyes, letting your tears soak into the gray fabric of his sweater.

"I love you, Phainon," you whispered into the dark.

And as his arms tightened around you—locking you so closely against his chest that you could barely draw breath—you knew that you would be saying those words forever.

…. . . -.. .–. / — . …

Additional matters I'd like to address:

Yes the shopkeeper is Madam Herta. How she got her hands on the one wish willow is a story for another day </3

I was contemplating making Phainon kill either of Mydei or Cyrene (but we don't follow canon storyline of course (get it?)) and settled for Snowy in the end (not funny)

He off screens Cyrene for attempting to invade on y'all though (CANON)

It would make sense either way: Phainon using the wish on you or you on him because the former wouldn't be likely I feel like. Phainon's definitely not that type of guy in my opinion (I learnt nothing from watching the movie. In all seriousness, Nikki's behaviour is valid /j)

All breakers (?) are morse code for the real Phainon crying for help because I decided to be a little extra!

[ruruumin]

you knew, to some extent, it would be strange to watch someone sleep. after all, it is the most vulnerable part of someone’s life. but you couldn’t help yourself. laying in bed, tucked away in the soft, pillowy sheets that smelled like bergamot and peach blossom, your boyfriend is there beside you. his side part drooped down slightly, a few strands of hair mixing with his lashes. it takes everything within you not to reach out and pull them away, to expose his pretty face to your loving gaze.

at eight o’clock in the morning, phainon looks at ease. there was no crinkle in his brow or a twitch in his nose. everything about him was at rest, peacefully dozing off into a dream you hope was about you. 

you see him stir in his sleep. he rolls onto his back for a moment, instinctively reaching out with his arm to lay across your stomach. this yearning gesture of him almost makes you laugh. however, you hold every giggle and quip to yourself, trying not to wake the man up. 

but it seems as if he has other plans. phainon, who has been awake for the past thirty minutes, pretends to groan and stretch. before he opens his eyes, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you tightly to his chest. before you could even mention the smell of morning breath, you’re caught off guard by the prettiness of his eyes. he wears a smile on his face when he kisses your cheek. 

“good morning, starlight.”

[unknownsvoid]

RANDOM TEXTS WITH YOU AND CHIHIRO ROKUHIRA!

context: nothing much. just random stuff with you and chihiro! <3

content warnings: ooc oossibly... this is just how i view him as a boyfriend. gender neutral reader. very silly. chihiro is very dry but sweet!

author's note: i love him sm. he's so cutie... even if he kills ppl, but it's okay bcus it's him.

[fata1affection]

How Lovely! 🫧🦐🐬

Jade Leech / Floyd Leech x Yuu who is shy and a people pleaser.

A/N: This is my first ever fanfic, please enjoy :D doing this for my friend!!

Warnings: A tiny spoiler of Book 7 in Jade’s part, established relationship

Word count: Jade (838), Floyd (693)

Jade Leech

• Before your relationship with the eel, for some reason he is always there to help you with a smile on his face whether it’s carrying your books, catching you sitting and hiding your sorrows alone, or scaring away bothersome individuals who have come yet for another favor. His presence felt as if its too much of a coincidence.

• Even so, something feels unsettling about him because yk damn well the Leeches don't offer their help without something in return, there has got to be a catch. You had no choice but to accept because he wont take no for an answer.

• You really can’t tell what’s going on in his mind. You fear that one day he's going to turn his back on you. But guess what: he likes you!!! This enigmatic man will drive you crazy someday.

• If anyone is bothering you, you’d be surprised that they would either be frantically apologizing to you or avoid you like the plague next day. You have a feeling it’s him, but whenever you tell him about it, he acts clueless.

• On the day that he confesses his feelings, you expressed your fears and suspicions. “Do you really take me for that kind of person? I am hurt. I thought I had made my intentions clear with making you my mate.” Well.. yes?

• Oh, you had no idea how despondent you made him whenever you didn’t catch any of his hints. Seriously, you didn’t see it? When he kept opening his mouth wide at you? You looked over to your sides, wondering if you had done something wrong or if he was just tired. You later knew what this meant from his twin Floyd. How were you supposed to know that!

• Floyd is disgusted by how infatuated his twin is with you “Eugh, just take him away already so I don’t have to listen to his mushroom ramblings anymore.”

• Jade is someone who wants to be in control and he derives pleasure from watching others fear (wow sadist?) don’t think that just because he is calmer than Floyd he won’t tease you; he loves trouble just as much.

• He finds it amusing the way you get easily flustered and can’t hold eye contact. He will find ways to elicit such reactions from you.

• He has no idea how to catch a human’s heart, so he is going to follow a book guide on how to make someone fall in love with you!

• Since you’re the magicless prefect who came from another world, you don’t have any information to dig up that could be useful to him. Lucky you.

• In book 7, he said that he “wants to be the only one you can rely on”. He carefully planned every single interaction with you by memorizing your schedule to prove it.

• So that if u guys meet hes going to be like “My my, what a coincidence. This must be fate.” But he will never admit that.

• After going out of his way to help you (which was very unusual) he will always be like “You can always count on me.. whenever.. heh heh heh.” that will literally send shiver down your spine even though he thinks he's perfectly showing pure intentions.

• He wants to be the one to always be there for you not because he thinks you can’t do anything on your own but because deep down he's scared that you won’t need him.

• If you are willing to listen to his interests he is beyond enthralled like 😊😊😊😊☺️😚 because Azul and Floyd doesnt wanna hear his shit.

• Do indulge with his avocations and he will be grinning ear to ear, screaming on the inside.

• Do reassure him if he asks “You have been silent. Are you sure you want to listen to my ramblings?” Seeing this side of him feels lovely. The smile you once thought was eerie is now adorable.

•He watches as you struggle to eat the mushrooms he cooked for you, forcing a smile. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you were getting sick of the dishes he worked hard to prepare just for you everyday.. though you prefer this than go back to making struggle meals for you and Grim.

• Whenever Grim causes trouble, he will give him discipline. “The prefect is already burdened with more than enough. Surely, you can spare them some sympathy. Now, please, go and offer your apology.” The poor beast was shaking. Just what did he tell him to be that scared? You already told Jade to not be so harsh on Grim. “You spoil him too much, y/n. Do let me know if he causes any trouble again.” He says with a proud smile.

• He certainly doesn’t mind physical affection. If you gently poke him on the shoulder and nervously ask him to hold hands, he chuckles “That is what you were afraid of telling me?” Before accepting your request.

• He knows the way you bite back your words, hiding how touch-starved you are. It makes him feel more wanted. But he will not oblige unless you use your words.

Floyd Leech

• You dreaded hearing his cracked voice laugh at how teeny and scared you are, “scurrying backwards like a shrimp.”🦐

• Floyd found your reactions amusing, he never got tired of how reactive you are. “Gahahaha! Your face is red just like a shrimp!”

• ”Hm, you’re interesting, Shrimpy. I’ll keep you.” He states, leaning over you. Is that a threat? Please don’t. What’s so interesting about a shrimp who tenses up when you walk by?

• Once you get closer, you learn to enjoy the eel’s company. You are able to have friendly banter with him. Aside from his unpredictable mood swings, you love his intelligence, loyalty and physical affection. If you are into that, then you’re in luck. His touchiness will give you a sense of security.

• Good luck with the bites, though. Sometimes he forgets how sharp his teeth can be.

• After the news gets out that you and Floyd are together, people start asking you if you've been blackmailed to be in a relationship with him.

• Are you okay? What’s gotten into your head getting with that chaotic eel?

• You knew what you signed up for when you accepted him as your boyfriend, now say goodbye to your personal space! Not a lot of people are willing to put up with Floyd’s personality and the challenges that come along with it.

• Floyd loves you for accepting who he is. He will definitely not change for you; if his family isn’t exempt from his uncontrollable mood swings, then you most likely aren’t.

• The adventures he pulls you in are bad for your poor heart.

•Being under his protection now, that also drives away people who only want to take advantage of your kindness.

•Sure, he may be aggressive. But at times where he is calm and quiet, you can say that his advice gave you an insight.

• After another day of sitting alone, spacing out rather than tell your problems to anyone.

• Ace and Deuce told you to let them know whenever you feel troubled, but… it feels bothersome.

• You were about to go back to Ramshackle Dorm when you were interrupted by that same Savanaclaw student who kept using the same excuse of “Having a packed schedule due to being an athlete and everything, so you gotta help me this time!”

• You’re a third year student already. Why don’t you go deal with it yourself? I’m here dealing with a troublesome magical monster who can’t go unsupervised for 5 seconds, an incompetent headmage who does everything but be responsible and find a way back home, trying to hide how utterly useless you feel being the only one who can’t use magic and on top of that, meeting the high expectations of your professors while having to learn everything from scratch because you’re not even from this world.

• You bit your cheek. Right before accepting yet another favor knowing well you can’t handle with a nervous chuckle, because he said, “I have too much on my plate right now.” “You are literally a life savior!” A shadow looms over his figure, smile fades and his face pales when he looks behind you.

• Turning around, you see your boyfriend’s wide eyes and a menacing stare before the student quickly makes up an excuse and leaves.

• “I don’t understand, Shrimpy. If you can’t do it, then simply don’t. Who cares what other people think? You can’t satisfy everyone. If they hate you, let them be.”

• You really wish you were someone like Floyd. Someone who vanquishes other people’s opinions without a second thought. Someone who does whatever they want carefree.

• But after that, you start to take his advice and deny things that you don’t want to do. Not even the cat-like beast you like to spoil so much.

• And honestly? It feels like a huge weight was lifted off your shoulders.

• Floyd wouldn’t judge or force you to stop being kindhearted or a “goody-goody”. Though he will chase away the small fry who have the audacity to take advantage of his Shrimpy. You wouldn’t mind, right?

🫧🦐🐬🌊

note: im nervousss jajajaja i hope its not ooc!! If u have any requests please let me know><

[bluessmau]

"someone else paid for my nails"

In which Fem!Reader get a manicure and she pranks her husband, Riddle/Cater/Leona/Idia/Silver/Sebek/Minajael by saying another man paid for it.

Fluff/Funny. Established relationship. Fem!Reader (AFAB and MtF-friendly). Not requested. The pictures I use are not reflective of Reader's race, blame Pinterest.

Riddle Rosehearts

Cater Diamond

Leona Kingscholar

Idia Shroud

Silver Vanrouge

Sebek Zigvolt

Minajael Tealrajah

Tags: @waitlexist @ryebread0605 @im-no-mechanic-but @lazeriii @oldwokasiv @currapted1glitch0 @ppnuggie111 @mostro-lounge-menu @silverargentu @foxglovepng @maiiamoon @sweetlikevanilaaa @maomaoyuu @theoeosstuff @kyuu0 @a-hidden-gem @mx-insert-fandom-here @ilovemycatlordpwnatious @notgoldilocks @byzantiumhollow @caycays-magicam-account @echosofmortality

[mvntisboy]

tamsy overstimulates you so much you try to run

cw: smut :: unprotected sex :: overstimulation :: degrading praise if u squint :: author's notes at the end :: wc - 900

tamsy caines ✗ fem!reader

"where do you think you're going?"

tamsy grabs onto your hips, sliding you back down the mattress until your lower body snaps flush against his hips, burying his cock all the way back inside your oversensitive pussy.

you’ve tried to run three times aleady, weak limbs trembling and scrambling on the sheets in pitiful attempts to break free from his torture, all to no avail.

“tamsy, please!” a whine tears out of you before you can stop it, followed by a sigh of pure exhaustion. your heart beats frantically against your ribs, the intense sensory overload causing more tears to prick at the corners of your eyes. “no more… n-no more,” you sniffle. “I can't— please, no more—”

“liar.” he taunts, his thumb finding your clit to rub it in fast circles while his hips continue to snap against yours, the wet, filthy slap of your bodies meeting echoing in the quiet room. he’s relentless, knees deep in the mattress as he reduces you to a cockdrunk writhing mess, each thrust meant to leave you with nothing to focus on except the pleasure he’s forcing into you.

“nononono i can’t, s’too much—” you whine.

“you can. you've done it before, haven't you? you're gonna keep coming for me until i say you can stop."

you're a complete wreck now - lightheaded and sobbing openly under him, every muscle in your body coiled tight and begging for a break. your inner walls pulse and clench rhythmically around tamsy's cock, swallowing the thick length with every ruthless thrust of his hips.

“i hate you!” you wail, your hands coming to hit and push at his scarred chest. “i hate you, i hate you, i hate you!”

"woah, woah—" tamsy’s eyes widen in false offense, his hips and thumb stilling altogether, allowing you a fleeting moment of relief. "no, no, no, don't be like that. don't say such things." he coos, reaching out to swipe his thumb underneath your eye, wiping away a stray tear. "you wound me, princess. all that screaming and whining but i don't recall hearing your safe word, do you?"

before you can gather a breath to retort, tamsy drives his hips forward, slamming into you so deep you swear it makes you black out for a second. a shocked moan punches out of you - your eyes rolling back in your skull and drool dripping from the corner of your lips as your mind goes entirely blank, thoughts turning into complete mush.

"besides..." he muses, holding himself on his arms and leaning down just long enough to press a sweet kiss to your cheek. "i think you’re enjoying yourself a lot more than you’re willing to admit." a slow, arrogant smirk curves his mouth as he smoothes his thumb over your lower lip. "you should be thanking me, i'm just being a good boyfriend and spoiling you.”

he's so infuriatingly calm as he taunts you, looking down as he brings his thumb back to your clit and goes back to toying with it, blinking calmly like the sight barely even affects him.

for the past hour, every time he felt himself edging too close to his own release you’ve watched him switch tactics - his cock withdrawing so he could torment your clit with his mouth or finger you instead, only sinking back in when his orgasm was successfully kept at bay.

he refuses to let himself come until he’s stripped away every last thread of your sanity, maintaining a terrifying level of restraint while you're trapped in the same continuous loop of torture, orgasm after orgasm being ripped out of you without mercy.

“no— nonono, it's too much!" you hiccup. "tamsy I can't take any more—” you try again, shaking your head furiously as your legs start to close and kick. your elbows dig into the mattress as you try to pull yourself away again, a fresh wave of tears blurring your vision and falling down your cheeks, your muscles trembling so violently you can barely control them.

a low, amused snicker bubbles up from tamsy’s chest as he watches you miserably fail another attempt to run from him, his hands clamping tightly around your hips to drag you right back where you belong.

“shh-shh-shh. either be good or say the magic word, angel. it's that easy.”

he starts fucking you again, giving a series of fast thrusts that immediately silence you. one of his hands wraps around your throat to keep you pinned firmly to the mattress, the other continuing to rub your clit, gradually building a fifth— or is it sixth? orgasm. your legs have a mind of their own at this point, shaking uncontrollably in the air, toes curling, the depth of his thrusts shattering whatever remnant of self control you had left.

his cock eventually slips free, dragged out by the sheer amount of slick between you. the sudden emptiness causes you to cry out, your hands flying down instinctively to shield your swollen pussy from his gaze.

“put it back in.” tamsy commands smoothly, still impossibly composed, chest barely even heaving.

a tiny humiliated whine escapes your throat but your hand responds to his voice like muscle memory, fingers trembling as they obediently reach further down to guide the thick, weeping head of his cock right back to your entrance.

tamsy watches you do it, that sadistic smirk of his spreading across his face as he sheaths himself all the way back into your warmth.

“see? you dumb little liar, can't even get enough.” he purrs, rubbing your clit one last time before bringing the slick pad of his thumb to his mouth to taste you. “come on now. give me another one so i can fill you up.”

an: writing smutty dialogues in english when it's not your native language is a whole new level of torture ngl,, anyways that man is so pretty it infuriates me.

[blindedbanshee]

Zanka’s love language is simple; buying you sweets or chocolates and leaving them in your room without bothering to say anything.

The Akuta team had gone into town on a whim of Enjin’s, who wanted to show Rudo a pastry shop and indulge him with sugar. However, Zanka decided to stray from the path without any explanation.

“Where is he going?” Rudo asked, frowning as he stepped out of the car and saw him walking in the opposite direction.

Enjin let out a low chuckle, adjusting the Umbreaker over his shoulder with that usual carefree confidence of his. “To spoil someone.”

Zanka didn’t bother turning around. He just kept walking.

He entered the shop without wasting time and quickly scanned the displays: wrapped chocolates, colorful sweets, small decorated boxes. He wasn’t someone who usually stopped to think about those kinds of things, but with you, it was different.

He picked what he knew you liked. Without hesitation.

He paid in silence and left, carefully holding the bag as if he didn’t want anything inside to get ruined along the way.

Later, when they returned, he didn’t say anything. He simply headed to your room and walked in.

He found you there, distracted with your own things, though you noticed the presence of your sweet boyfriend in the room.

“Hi, sweetheart…” you murmured, still focused on what you were doing.

Zanka set the bag down on your desk, and the soft rustle of paper was the only thing that made you look up. There it was again.

He avoided your gaze for a second, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

You walked over and opened the bag. Sweets, chocolates. Your favorites, the ones you had mentioned once and he never forgot.

When you looked up again, Zanka was already facing away, walking toward the door.

“Zanka…” you called. He paused slightly, without turning around. “Thank you. I love you.”

There was a brief silence, and you saw the tips of his ears turn red.

“Hmph…”

And then he left, as if it didn’t matter, but there were always more sweets.

[angelickitties]

pervy! bf! phainon x fem!reader hcs!

ans; hi again. im finally back! well sort of.. but im sorry for being in a hiatus so long. i’ve lost a lot of motivation for writing fics and I go back to school in a few days.. i’ll post every now and then but heres a really short hc!

cw; smut, nsfw, public sex desires, im too lazy to tag, jealous phai mentions

one special quirk phainon has is the ability to be SO clingy but its not in a cute way. in the morning, before you wake up, he’ll grab onto you and slightly grind on your thighs or your ass. oh and his grabbing is always tight but he tries to tone it down so you dont feel discomfort.

on to that pda is super big with phainon. if your talking with friends for a super long time, he’ll come up behind you and nic or suck your neck just to get your attention. is it embarrassing to you? yes. but he just wants your attention.

public sex is something he adores. its the rush of it being inherently bad. phainon would love drag you behind a wall and fuck you right there and then! feeling ur wet cunt under the warm bathing water, (or whatever its called) he’d drool at the thought of it

on the that topic.. phai loves when ur about to take a shower so he can beg to go with you and help you wash. with some light love bites too. 👀

to be continued..

—

again.. im so sorry for this being short i just have no ideas and actually this has been in my drafts for a while🌝

[yayamrata]

❝ HUMILIATION RITUAL ❞

bunny iglesias who blows you air kisses after scoring a goal on your team.

bunny is a little shit, reader supports opposing team, second-hand embarrassment, 1.2k of straight bullshit.

Cruel.

That's the only way to describe him.

Bunny Iglesias is cruel.

The devil in disguise. Evil incarnated. A sheep in wolf's clothing.

And while you knew that already, nothing, absolutely nothing, could've ever prepared you for the cruel man he became when you chose to support your national team over his.

"You're not wearing my jersey."

That's the first thing he says upon seeing you.

No 'hi', no 'hello', no 'how are you'. Just a quiet observation said with no visible emotion. The lack of which had you squirm in place under his pointed gaze.

"Uh, yeah…" Your voice wavers as you avoid the way his dull eyes rake over your figure, staring you down like he's trying to undress you of the opposing team's jersey you're sporting.

"I'm supporting my country today…" You jut your lip out, hoping to quell his feelings of betrayal with your honest reasoning. "Does that… does that bother you?"

"…Well, I can't deny that I'm a little hurt." Bunny admits after another silent stare off, sighing softly when your pout came into view.

"Oh." Guilt consumes you in an instant at his confession. The sight of the six foot four athlete sulking at your lack of support responsible for the way your heart clenched with regret. "Bunny, I—"

"But you're free to support who you wish." Noticing your remorse, Bunny is quick to console your worries, bringing a large hand over your head to pet it. "I won't force my wishes on you."

"Really?!" You perk up immediately, the tension in your shoulder easing with relief from his gentle comfort.

"Yeah." He smiles so sweetly, eyes curving with something unreadable as he tucked the loose strands of your hair behind your ear. "Though if I score, can I ask that you at least cheer for me?"

"Of course, I promise!"

They're words you say absentmindedly.

Careless words that you come to quickly regret when you realise what exactly Bunny's harmless request from earlier entailed.

"SUPER GOLAZOOOO!"

"AND BUNNY IGLESIAS HAS DONE IT AGAIN! IT'S 3-0 TO SPAIN, A HAT-TRICK FROM THE YOUNG AND RISING STAR!!!"

Cheers erupt amongst the Spanish fans following Bunny's impressive goal. Cheering that you're supposed to be involved in— that you promised to take part in. Cheering that you just can't bring yourself to do no matter how hard you try.

Because how the hell are you meant to celebrate the utter humiliation your team faces at the hands of a single player?

You can't do that!

Even if you were held at gunpoint, you can't just abandon your team like that!

And thus, you're left with no choice but to break your promise to Bunny. A cold-blooded betrayal that you pray — with intertwined hands and growing anxiety — he doesn't notice.

But, alas, your effort is futile, and your invocations are unanswered. For the athlete has only one thought running across his mind right now, celebrating his goal with you.

Bunny's gaze sweeps over the stands with ease, intense eyes landing on you amidst the crowd as a look of anticipation overcame him. He stands there on the field, breathing hard and sweating from exertion as he waits for your approval. Something that doesn't come— the lack of which dulls the hopeful glint in his eyes.

You see it almost immediately, and while the sight of his hunched shoulders has your heart contort with unease, you still can't bring yourself to applaud him.

Bunny stares at you for a while longer, perhaps hoping you'd change your mind last minute, before he lets out a self-deprecating smile when you remain unmoved. Bringing a scarred hand to the lower half of his face, his deep eyes lingered on you for one final moment as he blew you another kiss.

Sweet affection that you've yet to return. Not when there's nothing sweet behind that mocking gesture of his.

The game continues in Spain's favour. Bunny's momentum is unstoppable as he humiliates your team even further. Something you aren't aware is possible until you see the way he absolutely dominates them. Breaking through their tight defence to score another two goals that send the crowd into a fit of bewildered cheers— noise that you pay no mind to, not when you’re too focused on the conversation behind you.

"Every time he scores, he blows an air kiss in this direction, right?"

"Yeah! I noticed that too!"

"But to who? Nobody's returning any of them?"

Don't tell me—!

Your complexion pales as you find Bunny down below on the field, eyes already fixed onto you, expectant as they wait for you to return the celebratory kiss he blew to you not too long ago.

That he-

After five consecutive goals, it finally hits you.

Bunny has not forgotten your promise of cheering.

And because he is cruel and petty, finding twisted enjoyment in your torment, he has no plans to stop scoring until you return his kisses.

Shit!

You have no words to express your shock, you can't even form a single thought at his wickedness— evil that makes the devil saintly in comparison.

The commentator speaks again, excitement woven in his voice as he broadcasts his unhinged theories. Of this game potentially being the first double hattrick of the year, a notion that strikes you with terror.

Your worst fears manifest in the way Bunny concentres, and you quickly realise that if you don't do anything about it now, this match will go down in history for being a total annihilation!

"Excuse me!"

You weave through the crowd with ease, apologising to the few that you bump into as you make your way down the stands and closer to the barrier separating you from the players.

It doesn't take long for you to locate Bunny, he's across the field, fixed intensely on the ball that his teammate dribbles past the defending line. Any seconds now and Spain can score another goal— another goal that you were not going to allow. Not if you could help it.

Cupping the sides of your mouth, you swallow whatever pride you have left and gather air in your lungs.

"Bunny!"

It's humiliating.

"That's my Bun-Bun!"

So fucking humiliating.

But what else can you do when Bunny is the cruel and unforgiving man that he is?

Your cheering, if you can even call it that given how pathetic it sounds, catches Bunny's attention in an instant. It's something he's been waiting for afterall, and it stops him dead in his tracks. The encouragement resembles a whistle, one has him perk up like an excited puppy as he rushed to find you in the crowd. An endeavour that is terribly effortless when he spots you immediately.

He stares up at you for a good moment, eyes tracing the reluctance in your expression before they fall on your figure, clad in the wrong team's jersey. A distasteful sight that has his jaw clench in tandem. His irritation grows, and Bunny finds himself helpless against his possessiveness — a trait you were always at odds with.

So, like any normal man, he grabs the end of his jersey, pulling the sweat soaked garment over his head and positioning it right in your direction with intent. You blink with utter disbelief, missing the way he throws it at you with perfect aim.

"I won't force you to put it on. It's your choice."

Choice, my ass.

You had no choice in the matter at hand!

The jersey smacks you right across the face, snapping you into immediate motion. You fumble with it at first, arms going in the wrong holes in your haste as you struggle pathetically to pull it over your head. But somehow, at mercy of a miracle, you've managed to put it on.

The collar's crooked and it clings to you uncomfortably. Drenched with sweat that you have no choice but to dismiss, and as if that isn't bad enough, the shirt's on backwards. His name is displayed over your chest like a label of possession, an honest mistake that does you more good than you realise.

The referee's whistle blows in the back, and a yellow card is administered for nudity. But Bunny decides, after taking one long look at your figure engulfed in his large jersey, that it's worth it.

He tests his luck once more, repeatedly pressing his finger against his bare chest, as if conveying a message only you would understand. And to his utter delight, you, weak to his cruelty, are quick on the uptake.

Your ears grow flushed with unbearable heat, but there's no time to revel in your embarrassment, not when the pride of your national team is on line here.

So with trembling fingers, you grab the wrong front of his jersey, pulling it close to your lips as you press a chaste kiss on the fabric bearing his name in bold.

Your eyes are shut close as you send him your indirect affections, utterly humiliated with the sudden turn of events that has you squirm at the mercy of your opponent. The moment you open them, it's no better either. If anything, you come to regret your existence entirely.

Bunny's amused expression enters your vision first, followed by a sickening gesture that has your stomach twist with shame. He holds both hands to his temple, extending his middle and index fingers up while the rest remained down, mimicking the appearance of bunny.

And while the sight of it is barely anything to blink at, with the way his simper grows as he curls his fingers encouragingly, you know better than turn a blind eye to it.

This is just— cruel..!

Fluster glows across your cheeks as you bring your hands over your temple to mirror the awful gesture. It travels across every sensitive nerve, weakening the strength in your knees as your heart stuttered to a flatline.

And just when you think the humiliation ritual has come to an end, laughter greets your ears at once — mirthful and completely entertained at the sight of your torment, one that could only belong to the cruel man that loved to play in your face — shattering whatever blissful delusion you've conjured up in your despair.

Bunny motions with his hands again, bringing one over his face like he'd done the previous other times, a telling movement that had your heart claw at your throat. His fingers lingered above his lips longer than usual, and after a thoughtful pause spent staring you down, Bunny blows you another kiss.

Your brain short circuits, and while your pride wants to resist his love, your arm extends towards him against your will. Hand sprawling out, you made a melodramatic show of catching the air kiss.

Bunny's eyes are wide when they find yours, bright and glittering with elation as he stands there, very clearly awaiting for more. And you give him exactly that. Even if the mortification kills you, you have no choice but to humour him. Who knows what he'll do if you remain stubborn in your refusal.

You heave a shaky sigh, lifting a trembling palm to your face as you press his non-tangible kiss against your lips, finally returning the affection he craved desperately for.

His coach yells something from afar, perhaps telling him to stop messing about and play the last few minutes of the game seriously, but Bunny only waves him off with a crooked grin, too focused on the precious sight of his jersey engulfing you with his name.

"If I exert myself more than I have already…" He can hardly face the man as he comes up with another pathetic excuse, unreasonably enamoured with the way your eyes scrunched shut in fluster after blowing him a kiss of your own.

"I won't have any stamina left to celebrate with my cute cheerleader."

got this idea from dembele-kun scoring on his wife's team and blowing her a kiss, and then i couldn't even mourn france's loss against spain bc i discovered i might have a humiliation kink (only works with bunny tho if ygm) 😂😂😂✌️✌️😔

perm bllk tag: @ran1a-sh2 @123dabby123 @luvvcharxo @itssnow1e @saintly11x @akatuenk @thetwinkims @lushbunsssmain @cosmorainpuddle @musenami @krilleaterr @boba-rama @lua-1201 @angeldevilsangel @virtualprincessrosiana

[yuuna-iridescent-scales]

⏾⋆.˚ Helping hand !! ᶻz Z .ᐟ

⏾⋆.˚ SYNOPSIS You haven’t been able to see your dear boyfriend, Silver, all day— normally you would at least catch a glimpse of that familiar silver hair somewhere in the halls but no! It’s only until a scheming and mischievous bat spilling the news that you learn that Silver has been stricken by a cloud of aphrodisiac! And all of a sudden, you are offering “help” to cure Silver’s illness! ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

⏾⋆.˚ GENRE smut, porn with plot ⏾⋆.˚ INCLUDES Silver Vanrouge

⏾⋆.˚ CONTENT WARNING afab!reader | reader is yuu | possible spoilers of main/side stories | established relationship | possible grammar errors | not proof read | mentions of side characters | nicknames | implied aphrodisiac usage | aged up characters | pet names | prone bone + headlock yumm | implied creampie | unprotected sex | p in v | cumming inside | might be a lil OOC | author note at end ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

There’s an unmistakable pout plastered on your face, walking all alone through the almost empty halls of Night Raven College. You were supposed to be walking to Ramshackle with your troublemakers; Ace, Deuce, and Grim, but it seems their chaotic nature has finally brought karma— ending up with them stuck after class with a very irritated Crewel. You could only imagine the amount of lectures and suffering the trouble trio was putting up with now. . though you couldn’t say that you felt too bad, in fact you snickered quietly when Crewel dismissed everyone but the chaos trio.

However, there’s a dull ache in your chest. . it felt even more quiet and lonely today— now that you think about you, you haven’t really seen your boyfriend, Silver, at all today. Normally at lunch, he would pass by your lunch table and let you press a soft kiss to his cheek, earning harmonized disgusted groans from Ace and Grim. He’d even accompany you to the walk to one of your classes, but his presence really seemed to be missing all of today.

Is he feeling unwell, surely he would have told you of his absence beforehand— 

“Oh my. . why hello there, prefect!” A cheerful voice hums out in pure delight, a voice full of mischief and playfulness— there are only a few people in mind who act so lively around you. . but the person shows themself very quickly.

Lilia, upside down, appears directly in front of you with a suspicious grin plastered on his face. You flinched so hard, hair standing up from his sudden presence. . you clearly were still unused to his tactics of showing his abrupt arrival.

“Lilia! You scared me!” You huff out, glaring at the old bat who seemed to shrug off the slight frustration in your voice.

“Have I really frightened you that much, beastie? Perhaps I should do this more often fufufu. .” Lilia giggles out, eyes sharpening as he seems to watch you closely, smiling softly when you try to relax your nerves.

“Oh right! Lilia, have you seen Silver at all today? I’m starting to worry for him, perhaps he fell asleep in the courtyard again. .” You sigh out, missing the overly excited and mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Well of course! He’s resting in Diasomnia after a small. . mishap happened in his class” Lilia hums out, the pause in his words has you arching a brow— an accident in his class? 

“Why, you should go visit him right now, I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you khee hee” Lilia giggles, grabbing onto your shoulder before and oozy feeling washing over your body.

In a blink of an eye, you’re standing in the empty hallway of Diasomnia’s hallway— it really isn’t that hard to know it’s the dorm Silver inhabits when the dark green and black color scheme is known as Diasomnia’s thing. You groan softly, clutching your head as the slight buzz seems to fade away.

“ I would really prefer if you let me walk here instead. . my head is killing me” you whine out, shooting Lilia a glare when he giggles at your slight suffering. 

“Why, you know that this is the fastest way to get here, beastie. . now go on fufufu” Lilia shoos you away with two pats on your back, disappearing silently as you walk through the halls. 

It’s not long before you’re standing directly in front of Silver’s door, pressing your ear against the door. . it’s quiet in there, maybe he is fast asleep. Still, you knock on the door— half of you expects at least a small response while the other knows it won’t be like that. Once. . twice. . thrice. . and still no response from your boyfriend.

Pushing the door open slowly, you peek from behind the door to take a quick glance inside. Silver is sprawled on his bed, it almost looks like he’s fast asleep— almost. . if it wasn’t for the disarray state he’s in. The silver strands of his hair laying on his pillow forms a halo around his head, his once controlled hair seemed to be more tousled. . like he’s been relentlessly dragging his fingers through his hair. 

There’s an unmistakable sheen of sweat coating his face, along with a bright flush of pink on his pale skin. Silver is panting heavily, chest rising flaking rapidly— he licks his lips, calling out your name in a quiet and breathless voice. 

“Silver. .?” You call out to your boyfriend, who flinches. . quickly sitting up once he realizes that it was a familiar and very desirable voice talking to him. 

Those pretty eyes of Silver’s stare intensely at you, clouded with. . hunger and desperation.

“Mmh. .? Prefect. .?” Silver groans out, lazily reaching out to yank a blanket over his lower body, tossing a pillow on his lap for extra measure. 

It’s almost unbelievable that you get to see your boyfriend in such a vulnerable state, even calling your name so sweetly. Normally, he has a pristine appearance even when deep in a little nap. But this, this was a whole new appearance of Silver.

“Silver? Lilia told me you had a mishap in alchemy class. . are you feeling any better” you call out hesitantly, quickly walking to his bedside.

You press your hand against his forehead, checking his temperature. . his skin is burning hot—only for him to nuzzle into your touch needily, whipping softly. Silver gently tugs you closer by your hand, resting his head against your chest.

“Mmhp. . I th- think I put a potent flower into my cauldron— it exploded in my face. .” He slurs out, voice muffled by your chest as he refuses to pull away for even a mere second.

Is this really your same Silver? How potent was that damn flower? There’s only a few flowers in the alchemy room that’s potent; but only one of them reacts like this. . the aphrodisiac flower.

You blush at the thought, eyes darting to glance at the pillow, conveniently placed on his lap. Oooh. . oh. Silver inhales deeply, drinking up the comforting scent of you like a starved man.

“Pl- please, prefect. I don’t want to burden you w- with this. . problem. . please leave me” Silver groans out, reluctantly pulling himself away from your chest to glance at your face.

“No—. . I- I want to help you, please let me help” you mutter out, the flush on your cheeks becoming more noticeable— you truly pray to the sevens that nobody will be walking through the halls at such hours.

He hums in acknowledgment, it’s obvious he wasn’t completely persuaded by your words. . still having slight concern that he would accidentally hurt you. Which, in your mind, is impossible— your boyfriend who takes naps with wild woodland creatures, would hurt you? You tenderly brush your fingers against Silver’s cheek, smiling when he sighs in delight.

“A- are you completely sure, I wouldn’t—“ he manages to breathe out, even through his lust clouded mind he still manages to be overly sweet and cautious around you.

If only takes a quick response from you, a nod of your head, for Silver to press a tender and light kiss against your lips— self restraint practically oozes from him as he tries not to become overly eager at the taste of you. . 

The heat has become unbearable; your body felt burning hot, slick with glistening sweat, purely sensitive from the overwhelming pleasure. It’s challenging to breathe regularly when a deliciously thick bicep is wrapped snug around the expanse of your neck— firm but not tight enough to deprive you well needed oxygen. If anything, it was keeping your head from falling slack onto the messy pillow below your head. What truly takes away your ability to breathe is the way Silver slams his hips into yours, pretty, slender cock plunging deep into your white-covered walls.

“Hckk—! Nghh. . Si- silver! Haaah, please—“ you loudly moan out your boyfriend’s name in that sweet tone of yours, words slurred and interrupted by your own moans and gasps of ecstasy.

Your eyes roll back soo far when he slams his weight on top of yours with a sickly wet plapp, skin flushed against each other with each thrust, to ensure his length kisses at your most sensitive spots. The silver haired man groans into the slick skin of the back of your neck, lips peppering tender kisses that contrast the sloppy and downright needy thrust of his. With that rough and velvety voice of his, Silver groans out your name breathlessly with a hint of need: it has a delicious wave of heat washing through your body, more arousal pooling back to your raw, sensitive cunt.

“Haaah—. . mmhp, am I g- going too rough, my b- beloved?” Silver groans out in a delightful rough voice, lips worshipping the skin of your neck, shoulder, and collarbone until his marks bloom on your flushed skin.

Drool peeks from the corner of your lips, dripping onto Silver’s well defined bicep. You whimper out when his teeth scratches and bumps into your tender neck, weakly squirming underneath his body. It just has been hours since you two started peeling each other's clothes off: You know he has quite the overwhelming endurance when it comes to physical training. . and with leftover aphrodisiac pumping through his veins, it’s no surprise he’s still needy compared to you. 

“Nghh—! Hck, m- more, more please Si’” you gasp out between loud moans and wails, velvety walls quivering and twitching around his throbbing cock— earning yourself a delicious “fuckk” from your boyfriend. 

“Pl- please —mmhp. . my beloved” he pants out breathlessly, hips jolting as they smack harder into yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin intensifies drastically.

Your puffy clit drags and grinds along the soft fabric of his bedsheets, already sensitive from the way he was worshipping the bundle of nerves with his mouths and tongue— face buried between your thighs, lapping, licking, and suckling at your syrupy folds. His perfect cock bobs and throbs violently in your gooey walls, Silver must be close by now, drawing out gasp from your kiss- swollen lips.

“G- give me everything, pl- please.  . — let me make you cum b- before me, fuckk” Silver moans out between groans of your name, teeth finding its spot on your collarbone, tongue lapping at your slick skin as if your flavor was addictive like wine.

And how could you possibly deny Silver when he’s asking so nicely? Your body trembles violently from overstimulation, that heat in your lower belly intensifies from the pleasure, it’s mind numbing. 

“S- silver—!” You squeal out, tears prickling in the corner of your eyes, burying your face the best you can into his bicep as your teeth nibble at his skin. 

Your velvety walls spasm around his length, specks of white appearing in your vision as you gush around his length for the nth time tonight. Silver groans out, letting out the prettiest whimper. . shivers coursing through his body from how deliciously tight your walls had become around him.

“Yes— Yesyesyes, my beloved” he stutters out, hips stuttering as he rests his weight on top of your exhausted body— cock buried to the hilt as he kisses at your neck hungrily. 

Thick ropes of cum shoot into your cunt, filling you up against as Silver’s seed leaks around the base of his cock, trickling down your shivering thighs.

“Haah—“ you pant out, walls weakly quivering from your intense orgasm. 

You hear him whine before slowly pulling from your sopping hole, only the tip in before he thrust back into your messy pussy— pushing his cum deeper. A mixture of Silver and your cum drools from your stuffed hole, creating such a mess everywhere.

“Mmhp. . nghh, a- are you feeling well, pr- prefect?” Silver asks gently after a few minutes of synchronized pants and huffs, kissing your nape.

A blissful expression is plastered on your face, practically melting into Silver’s tender touch. You nod your head slowly and lazily, a pleasurable ache in your body settles in. He bends down to press a kiss on your spine, resting most of his body weight on your body— the skin-to-skin contact is well welcomed by you.

Perhaps, next time, you’ll be the one to accidentally get an aphrodisiac cloud blown in your face. . You are sure your night in the shining armor of a boyfriend would come to save you, like you did for him. 

⏾⋆.˚ All work belongs to only me, @/yuuna-iridescent-scales!! Translating, plagiarism, copying, posting on another website, claiming as your work will not be tolerated, instant block ᶻz Z .ᐟ

⧼⏾⋆⧽﹒ AUTHOR NOTE ﹒⟢ Can you really believe that I wrote this draft wayy back, like in may 18, and is now just finished completely editing it (𖦹ᯅ𖦹) But I’m pretty glad I took the time to edit and give it some lore instead of just unfiltered smut, tehehe ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა I love Serani Poji, the only artist that gave me enough energy to finish this

I also wanted to say, I really appreciate how you guys are sending me requests. . it makes me feel like you guys actually enjoy my content, tysm ily and I’m sorry for taking forever to get them down <33

Anyways, I just wanted to say that I do have a lot of fic ideas in mind that I really want to get started; a 500 follower special, a bunch of requests from you guys, and even a series that I wanna get a Taglist started for! Love you guys lots, make sure to take care of yourself mwah mwah (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[ovulationsucks]

Small chest, big heart

Not everyone is well endowed and not everyone should be. Your boyfriend loves you anyway. Slightly suggestive!

Featuring: Shidou, Sae, Rin, Nagi, Ness, Isagi, Kaiser and Otoya (boo)

I'm so tired from work 😭 I see your reqs and I will get at them as soon as I can but next fic/smau is about reader having a minimum wage job because I'm relatable like that

[gloomrai]

Arriving at Leona's room at midnight to be the first person to wish him a happy birthday. At first, it didn't sound like the best idea, considering he'd obviously be asleep at that hour, so, with a touch of nerves, you walked down the dark hallway to his room and slid in as slowly as you could. When you said his name, you knew he wouldn't wake up because of your almost whispered voice; it wasn't until your hands gently moved him that you noticed him stir.

At first, he only opened one eye, until he realized it was you. He let out a sound you could tell was sleepiness before rubbing his eyes to fully wake up. Because of the darkness outside, he quickly realized it was still quite late, so that was probably what surprised him most. It wasn't until several seconds later that he felt his brain finally connect several thoughts, and his lips parted slightly to ask what you were doing there, however you spoke before he could even say a word.

“Happy birthday!” His eyes flicked to the small birthday cake in your hands and the tiny candle that barely illuminated his face. Leona sat up quickly, unsure if his mind was still half asleep or if he simply couldn't believe his girlfriend had stayed up so late just for that.

“You came all the way here to wish me a happy birthday?” His voice was hoarse from still feeling sleepy, but the mere thought of you having gone to his dorm at this hour—especially knowing it was against the rules—was unusual.

You nodded before sinking down beside him, bringing the small cake closer to his face. “You have to make a birthday wish.” This was going much better than you’d expected, even though Leona never minded you waking him up—and probably the reason you sometimes end up doing Ruggie’s job—you had never gone into his room like that in the middle of the night.

But his girlfriend had come all the way there in the middle of the night just to be the first person to wish him a happy birthday. How could he even think of being upset about it? The guys at the spelldrive club always made a big fuss about his birthday, but this felt… different.

“What am I supposed to ask for?”

“Whatever. Maybe classes will be canceled tomorrow because there’s an exam.” It had been more of a joke, which had made him smile slightly. However, his eyes shifted to you, watching as the very soft light from the candle illuminated your face. His gaze returned to the cake in your hands, and seconds later, the remnants of the extinguished candle smoke rose between you.

You felt his arms encircle your waist a few seconds later, making you quickly place the dessert on the nightstand before collapsing onto the bed beside him. Oh, Leona certainly hadn’t asked for classes to be canceled, but he probably already had what he wanted.

© gloomrai do not repost/translate/ai training my work | ෆ a/n :: i wasn't planning posting this because it had been a couple of days, but today i got two leona bday ssr with the 20 free pulls and so i'm happy :3

[nekonaps0]

Like a dog

✦Floyd Leech x Fem!Reader

✦“You looked just like a dog that got scolded for the first time. All surprised and a little sulky. It was cute.”

Floyd was trouble, and everyone at NRC knew it.

He thrived on it. The way the little guppies scattered when his long shadow stretched down a hallway. The nervous glances, the sudden silence when he laughed that sharp edged laugh of his. Most students learned early not to mess with him. Those who didn’t usually regretted it. Floyd enjoyed watching them squirm. He liked getting what he wanted without having to ask twice.

Of course, Jade and Azul kept a careful eye on him. Not because they could truly stop him when the mood struck, but because any mess Floyd made had a tendency to splash back onto the entire dorm. Still, even they had to admit his particular brand of intimidation was useful. Especially when someone tried to wriggle out of a deal with Azul.

Which was exactly why Floyd was currently huntingthrough the empty corridors of the main building after classes had ended.

You had made a deal with Azul. Nothing written, nothing signed, smart of you, really, but a deal nonetheless. Azul had handed over the answers to an upcoming test in exchange for a few shifts at the mostro lounge. You never showed. Azul had been irritated, though he’d covered it with that polite, smile of his. He liked you. Considered you a decent enough friend. But business was business, and unpaid debts made him twitchy.

So he’d sent Floyd.

You were walking alone, the late afternoon light slanting through the tall windows and painting the stone floor in gold. Your footsteps echoed softly. You weren’t paying much attention to anything beyond the quiet and the faint ache in your shoulders from a long day.

Then a hand closed around your upper arm. It was sudden and strong. You barely had time to gasp before you were spun and shoved back against the wall hard enough that the air left your lungs in a short, startled rush. Your bag slipped from your shoulder and hit the floor.

Floyd towered over you. He was grinning, that wide, sharp toothed grin that made most people take an automatic step back. His eyes were bright with amusement and something sharper underneath. One of his hands stayed planted against the wall beside your head. The other still held your arm.

“You’re pretty stupid, you know that?…” he said, voice low and almost playful. “Thinking that you can play around with Azul and not pay up. Did you really believe he’d just let it slide?”

You stared at the floor, at the tips of his shoes. Your heart was pounding. You didn’t answer.Floyd’s grin widened for a second, then flattened into something closer to annoyance.

“Aw…. come ooon. Already in scared little kitty cat mode? That’s boring.” He leaned in closer, the scent of seawater clinging to him. “I was hoping for a little more fight. Or at least some fun excuses.”

Still nothing.

His free hand came up and caught your jaw, tilting your face up with firm pressure so you had no choice but to look at him. The movement was rough, almost careless, the way he handled most things that didn’t interest him for long.

“You deaf or what?” he asked, voice dropping. “I asked you a question.”

Your eyes met his and he…froze.

He’d expected fear. Shame, maybe. A little shine of tears if he pushed you too hard against the wall. That was the usual reaction. People looked at him and saw teeth and height and the promise of something dangerous. They flinched. They looked away. They begged or bargained or went quiet in that brittle, terrified way that always made him laugh.

He did not expect whatever was looking back at him from your face.

Your eyes were dark, steady, and far too calm. There was a spark in them, something sharp and curious and almost fond, that made it feel like you were peeling him open layer by layer.

“What the fuck…”A quiet curse slipped out of him before he could stop it.

Then you smiled.

It was small at first, then wider, soft around the edges in a way that didn’t match the situation at all. Floyd’s grip on your jaw loosened without him meaning it to.

“What’re you smiling about, huh?” he demanded, irritated now, because the whole encounter was going sideways and he didn’t like it.

Your hands came up slowly. You didn’t shove him away or try to twist free. Instead your fingers wrapped gently around the wrist of the hand still holding your face. Your touch was warm. Careful. Completely unafraid.

“That…” you said, voice quiet but clear. “The way your expression just changed. It was adorable. I couldn’t help it.”

Floyd stared at you like you started speaking another language. You guided his hand until his palm rested against your cheek. Your skin was soft under his rough fingertips. You leaned into the contact just slightly, eyes never leaving his, and the smile you gave him then was gentle enough to feel almost like a secret.

“You looked just like a dog that got scolded for the first time.” you continued, a hint of real amusement in your tone. “All surprised and a little sulky. It was cute.”

Before he could process that, you turned your face and pressed a light, deliberate kiss to the center of his palm. The touch of your mouth was brief. Warm. Soft. Then you stepped out from between him and the wall as easily as if the cage of his arms had never been there at all. You picked up your bag, slung it over your shoulder, and glanced back at him once more.

“You can tell Azul I’ll work the deal off starting tomorrow.” you said, that same satisfied little smile still playing at the corners of your mouth. “I got more than I bargained for just now.”

And then you walked away down the empty corridor, footsteps steady, posture loose, as if being pinned against a wall by the most unpredictable student in the school was something that happened every other Tuesday.

Floyd remained exactly where he was.

His hand was still half raised, the place where your lips had touched still tingling like he’d been burned. His heart was hammering against his ribs in a fast, uneven rhythm. Heat crawled up the back of his neck. His jaw tightened until the muscles ached.

He was pissed.

He was annoyed.

And underneath both of those, worse than both of those, he was flustered. Excited in a way that made his skin feel too tight and his thoughts scatter like fishes when a predator swam through.

He hated it.

He hated how easily you’d flipped the entire situation. How you’d looked at him like he was interesting instead of dangerous. How you’d called him cute…cute… and then kissed his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. How you’d walked away without a single backward glance of fear. Most of all he hated the way his pulse was still racing, the way his fingers curled slowly into a fist. Floyd dragged a hand down his face and let out a low, frustrated sound that echoed down the hallway.

“Fuck…”

..............................................................................................................................

[venuscrashed]

Yearning!Ruggie who doesn’t think he’s good enough for you. The first time he saw you he was taken aback. His heart did a few jumps, which caused him to freak out since that never happened before.

Yearning!Ruggie who watches from afar for the first couple of weeks. Silently observing you to see what your daily routine is like, to know what you do and don’t like. He’ll keep a mental note of everything you do just so he can bring it up as a conversation starter later…

Yearning!Ruggie who secretly leaves treats on your desk before class. He’ll sneak in before even the teacher arrives just so he can remain anonymous. Whether the treats are stolen or not is something that you never have to know.

Yearning!Ruggie who stops everything he does just to watch you walk by. He’ll be in the middle of practice and he’ll stop midair just to watch you walk over to Jack on the track area. Which only causes Leona to yell at him when he doesn’t notice the disc flying at him.

Yearning!Ruggie who is way more obvious than he thinks he is. The whole team knows about his little crush on you and they tease him about it all the time. Even most of Savanaclaw knows and they try to help him…unfortunately.

Yearning!Ruggie who is approached by you one day, much to his shock. He looks up at you from the lunch table with his mouth full and freezes when he sees a note in your hand, one he never wrote before but it is apparently signed by him.

Yearning!Ruggie who has to awkwardly explain that he wasn’t the one to confess to you through the sickening sweet note that had to be written by Epel with Rook’s help. He didn’t even know half those French words in the letter!

Yearning!Ruggie who freezes when he sees your disappointed look that he didn’t confess to you. The whole world freezes around him when he realizes the feelings are mutual. Which leads to him confessing loudly on the spot in the middle of the cafeteria.

Yearning!Ruggie who stands there stunned after you kiss him on the cheek. He practically stopped working and only comes back to reality when you laugh and tell him you’ll see him later.

Yearning!Ruggie who somehow got you…much to his and everyone else’s surprise.

[nekonaps0]

Cuddling in the heat

✦GN!Reader

✦Characters: Leona, Ruggie, Jack, Kalim, Jamil

✦Sleeping and cuddling at night is good… until the heat making you sweat and suffer

✦(I can’t sleep because of this fucking heat… I hate summer)

Leona Kingscholar

You were sweating. Suffering, actually.

The Savanaclaw night was already thick and warm, and having Leona sprawled on top of you, his head resting heavily on your stomach, arms wrapped around your waist like you were his personal body pillow made it ten times worse.

You tried to push him off. Useless. He was too heavy. You shook him gently. “Leona… get off me.”

He only grumbled a low “no” without even opening his eyes.

You sighed. “It’s too hot.”

“It’s not” he muttered, voice thick with sleep. Easy for him to say he’d grown up in this kind of heat.

“I’m sweating.”

“Doesn’t bother me.”

“My pajama shirt is going to be completely drenched by morning.”

Leona cracked one eye open just long enough to give a lazy, smug suggestion “Then take it off.”

That earned a soft growl from you. He just smirked against your stomach and tightened his hold.

In the end, you gave up. Leona was impossible. You grumbled under your breath about getting an air conditioner installed in his room before you finally drifted back to sleep, still trapped under him.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie was hugging you from behind, face buried in your hair, sleeping peacefully.

At least he was sleeping peacefully.

You were suffering under the hot night and his body heat. You tried to crawl away a little. He pulled you right back. You tried again. Same result. Again and again.

Eventually your squirming woke him up. He whined softly into your neck. “Whatcha doin’…?”

“It’s really hot…” you whispered. “I’m getting all sweaty and gross.”

Ruggie just nuzzled closer, still half asleep. “Don’t mind. Just gives you a little extra flavoring.”

“Ew! Gross!” You tried to push him away.

He laughed quietly, the sound vibrating against your back. “Kidding, kidding. Fine, I’ll move so you don’t complain in the morning.”

He scooted back just enough to give you some breathing room… but his feet stayed tangled with yours the entire night.

That much you can tolerate.

Jack Howl

You loved Jack. Every single part of him.

But right now you were seriously considering cutting all the fur off his tail.

It wasn’t enough that this huge, living, breathing oven was big spooning you, his fluffy, heavy tail was draped over you too. You felt like you were melting straight into the mattress. Trying to escape from under his arms was completely useless, so instead you carefully turned around in his hold until you were face to face with him.

You gave him a gentle shake. “Jack…”

His eyes opened slowly, still full of sleep. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” you said softly. “I’m just really hot. I’m melting under you.”

Jack’s ears instantly flattened. A deep blush spread across his face as he immediately shifted away, giving you space. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

You smiled and thanked him. A quiet minute passed. Then, very shyly, he asked “…Can I still hold your hand?”

You melted all over again, this time for a completely different reason. You took his hand. His fingers laced with yours, warm and careful. The two of you fell asleep just like that, holding hands in the dark.

Kalim Al-Asim

You thought Scarabia would be cooler at night.


You were so, so wrong.

It was just as hot. And your lovely boyfriend was all over you, face buried in your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, one leg thrown over yours as he happily claimed the role of little spoon. Kalim was completely content, breathing softly against your skin.

You carefully peeled his limbs off one by one and crawled a little away. It worked… for maybe ten minutes. Then you felt the bed shift. Kalim crawled right back over, draping his warm limbs around you again and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Why’re you leaving me…?” he mumbled sleepily.

“I’m not leaving” you whispered. “I’m just really hot and sweating.”

Kalim pouted against your neck. “But I love cuddling with you… I sleep better this way…”

You sighed. “I can’t sleep because of how hot it is.”

There was a short, sad silence. Then, with the most pitiful puppy dog eyes, Kalim scooted away and gave you space. “…Can we at least lock pinkies?” he asked softly.

You smiled and nodded. The two of you fell back to sleep with your pinkies linked.

Sometime later you woke up to find Kalim hugging you again, he had crawled back subconsciously in his sleep. You stared at the ceiling and made a firm mental note


Tomorrow, you were making him buy an air conditioner for this room.

Jamil Viper

This was pure torture.

You loved these rare moments when Jamil was completely relaxed and defenseless, your face buried in his chest, his arms holding you close, his breathing slow and even. Moments like this were precious.

But why did this dorm have to be hot as hell?

You were suffering in his embrace. No matter how much you enjoyed the closeness, you needed to survive the heat.

You gently shook him. “Jamil… can you move a little?”

He raised a sleepy eyebrow without opening his eyes. “Why?”

“I’m suffocating under your body heat.”

Jamil didn’t say anything. He simply shifted away, giving you space. You were about to thank him when you noticed he had turned his back to you.

Oh, come on!

You whined quietly. “Not everyone grew up in the desert heat, you know.”

He just shrugged, still facing away. “Skill issue.”

This man and his sass.

You flopped back onto the bed with a huff and grabbed the back of his shirt, holding onto the fabric as you closed your eyes. That was as much contact as you could handle right now.

Sometime later, when he thought you were fully asleep, Jamil quietly turned back around. He watched your sleeping face for a moment, then carefully laced his fingers with yours before letting himself drift off again.

..............................................................................................................................

[zuzzuv]

── you tell your boyfriend not to mark up your neck!

suggestive. interact at your own risk. includes (slight) dry humping & biting

starring: vivian hugo, teddy knight & michael kaiser

boyfriend! hugo who tries to listen but ends up losing control without realising.

“mhh— vivi..” you stifle a moan, shifting slightly on his lap in the backseat of his car. you laid your head on his shoulder, facing his neck while he ravaged yours. “not too high up—“

but your words were blurred into hugo’s ears. far too distracted to even bother. his hands firmly held your hips down, trying to reduce the constant movement and grinding against his hard. however you were much more persistent, trying to

after the both of you were done and back in your bedrooms did he realise how ruined your neck was. but it was too late.

“sorry cheri.. got carried away again..” he mumbled into your neck, hugging your waist.

boyfriend! teddy who is very aware of your words but couldn’t care less to listen.

your wrists were bounded by a neat light blue ribbon, your arms rested on teddy’s shoulders. meanwhile, teddy was comfortably holding you by the waist, slotted in between your thighs that wrapped around his hips.

“teddy—” his lips pressed against your neck, bruises from weeks before that were in the process of healing were marked again. teddy deliberately licking the same spot again, knowing you could feel the heat of his tongue tracing your neck.

despite your attempt in trying to stay quiet, you whimpered— giving him exactly what he wanted. he gave your waist quick squeeze before reaching for another mark below your jaw.

before he headed out for training the next day, he tossed you a bag full of designer clothes, most of them having turtlenecks high enough to cover his traces.

boyfriend! kaiser who just makes things worse, showing no remorse for his actions.

“kaiser you—!” without much time to react, your back was slammed against the wall. your legs wrapped around his waist in support. in retort, you pulled his hair hard.

he hissed, glaring at you from the corner of his eye. he sunk into your neck and bit down hard. you flinch and whine, that was his que to let go and swallow your noises with a kiss. you could feel him niping at your lips— asking to be let in.

he only moved back to your neck once you were out of breath. not even turtlenecks will be saving you from this one.

taglist — @arisu79