𓆩†𓆪 Is My Agony Loveable Yet? 𓆩†𓆪

at first, he didn't do anything about it. he just watched and tried to figure out what's going on. in his mind, something must have happened or someone must have said something to you because he can't think of any other reason why you'd suddenly start acting differently around him.

he doesn't get angry right away if anything, he gets nervous as he worked way too hard to build this life with you, and seeing you look at him with even a hint of suspicion makes his stomach drop.

so he starts being extra careful, he stops checking your phone as often, tones down the questioning and gives you more personal space and acts like the perfect husband all over again.

not that he wasn't already trying before, but now he's putting in overtime like suddenly your favorite snacks keep appearing in the pantry. he's planning more dates and buying you little gifts, cooking your favorite meals multiple times a week.

he wants you to be comfortable around him again as he desperately wants things to go back to normal and at the same time, he's quietly trying to figure out what's causing the problem so he'll casually bring up people in your life just to see how you react.

"how's work been lately?"

"still talking to that friend of yours?"

"your brother hasn't called in a while."

the questions sound harmless enough, but he's paying more attention to your face than your actual answer but if he figures out someone has been feeding your suspicions? well, that person probably won't be around for very long.

but what really scares him though, is if he realizes you're not suspicious because of someone else like you've connected the dots all by yourself, that you've started questioning all those weird little coincidences around him.

that's when he starts getting desperate that his mask almost slipped off, he becomes clingier without realizing it. he'll hold onto you longer, ask you to spend more time at home with him, find excuses to keep you close.

in the end, he's not above gaslighting and manipulating you when he's desperate enough eventually. if every single one of his attempts at trying to let your guard down failed then fine, you left him no choice but to make you think that you're the crazy one in here. 

in other words : he'll play the hurt and worried husband. he'll sit you down after a nice dinner, pouring you your favorite drink before he ripped off the bandaid. 

he's not accusing you- well, he tried not to as he carefully picked his words, asking if there's something wrong going on, why didn't you act like your usual self, or is there something that he did wrong? or have you been seeing someone else behind his back. 

when your breath hitched at the last question, he would cup his mouth in a mock surprise as if he didn't believe what came out of his mouth before apologizing, he didn't mean to accuse you of such thing, he just wanted you to be honest.

and if you did cheat behind him… then it's totally his fault wasn't it? it's obvious he didn't try hard enough, he didn't work hard enough to please and be a good husband for you so you're looking for someone else and he promised to be better. 

and if you finally got that guilty look on your face, he knows that he finally won you back. 

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐑 who serves you impeccably. He picks up your schedule, your routine, and your habits within days, almost as if he had memorized them beforehand. He learns how you like your tea and coffee, the face you make when you’re stressed, and all the little, tiny details about you that’d make serving you that much easier.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐑 who is respected by the entire estate. He treats everybody equally, regardless of position, with the same kind tone and warm smile that has many of the younger maids swooning. He is always there to lend a hand, no matter how busy he may be, and somehow, he always seems to get everything done perfectly.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐑 who gradually replaces the household staff until none of the servants who are familiar with you remain. He makes sure that the new servants do not get close to you by twisting bits of the truth — that you are reserved, that you are incredibly busy, that you dislike people who chatter.

Eventually, your once lively manor turns into a quiet and lonely place. You don’t even know what caused that change, and you attribute it to the fact your parents are no longer around. They were always much more sociable than you were. Perhaps the new servants simply needed more time to warm up to you. (Though that would never happen, unbeknownst to you.)

And who do you turn to in the meantime?

Your loyal butler, of course.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐑 who becomes your only companion in the massive ducal estate. As your trusted friend and confidante, he’s the first person you’d turn to whenever you had something to say. He never fails to listen with a patient smile, and always has a thoughtful response in return.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐑 who ‘advises’ you on how to navigate high society. As the third son of a marquis, he was not named successor — nevertheless, he is also of noble blood, thus giving him experience in that field as well.

He warns you to be wary when interacting with the other nobles, as many may be looking to take advantage of an inexperienced lord like yourself. Not to mention, your high standing would inevitably cause many greedy eyes to be directed your way.

He stands by your side as you sift through all the letters you receive — invitations, proposals, friendly greetings and the like. The depth of his knowledge on the intricate workings of high society is surprisingly vast. He’ll readily inform you of which houses are corrupt, which families are feuding with each other, and which individuals it would be in your best interest to avoid.

“If I may add, attending Count Blackwood’s soiree would be a fair choice,” he suggests calmly. “The Blackwoods are known to be a neutral family, and have maintained friendly relations with the L/N duchy for decades.”

“Ah, I see... Thank you, you’re always such a big help.”

Chuckling, a pleased smile stretches across his face. Your heart, for a brief moment, flutters. His reply is smooth and warm. “There is no need for thanks. I live solely to serve you, Your Grace.”

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐑 who isolates you from the outside world. Not by driving everyone away from you like he did with the servants, but by causing you to lose trust in everybody else but him.

What happens is this: After attending a few social events and interacting with the other nobles, you end up making one particularly good friend. Instead of warning you away from them, knowing full well that they were not to be trusted, he instead chooses to say nothing. As he predicted, that friend ends up betraying you, leaving you terribly wounded, especially since they were the first person you considered a true friend in a long while.

Thankfully, your lovely butler will always be there to pick up the pieces, be it a broken heart or shattered soul.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐑 who holds you as you cry, one hand positioned on the small of your back, the other hand gently stroking your hair. You have your face buried in the crook of his neck, dampening the fabric of his uniform with your tears.

You can feel the warmth of his hands through the silk of his gloves, the steady, grounding thrum of his heart. He says nothing, but his silence means everything.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐑 who controls more and more of your life as time goes on. From the food you eat to the clothes you wear, everything is planned by him, down to the very last detail.

When you are bedridden from your illness, he'll feed you by hand, sitting by the side of your bed as he spoons you each bite. At first, you had protested, telling him he has other, more important things to be doing, but you eventually gave in to his unwavering persistence.

You can never win against him, against his honey-coated words and tender gaze, against those six damned words, ‘I live to serve Your Grace.’

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐑 who is a patient, patient man. It matters not to him how long it will take before he has you completely in his hands, because he knows, with absolute certainty, that everything will unfold according to his plans. He draws you in slowly, making sure that you don't suspect a thing, and life around you changes so gradually that you don’t realise anything amiss until you’re dependent on him for everything.

But by then, you will be too entranced by him to care.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐑 who is doing this purely out of love, as misguided as it may be. He just wants to care for you, treasure you, and protect you from harm. He truly believes that he is the only person capable of doing so, and will do whatever it takes to achieve his goals.

"Perimeter's clear," he said, quiet, like nothing in the world could rattle him. He crossed the debris toward you, boots crunching over glass and rubble. "You're bleeding, though."

You looked down. A chunk of crystal debris had opened a gash along your calf and you hadn't even noticed.

"Huh. Didn't feel that happen."

"Let me look at it." He dropped to one knee, taking a bandage roll out of your hands before you'd even fully pulled it from your pouch.

His hands were warm. Warmer than it made sense, given the cold. When he folded the torn fabric of your pants back to get at the wound, his fingers grazed bare skin and something jumped straight up your spine. You bit down on the inside of your cheek so you wouldn't make a sound about it.

This was the problem with Xavier. Some days he fell asleep against your shoulder like it was the safest place in the world. Other days he kept a careful distance between you and answered everything in a polite, unreadable tone, and you were left wondering if you'd imagined the whole thing.

"Does that hurt?" his thumb pressed against the unbroken skin just above it — the touch was not necessary to wrap the bandage.

"A little," you said, watching the top of his head, how the moonlight caught the color of his hair. "Xavier. Can I ask you something?"

His hands didn't stop moving, but his shoulders went still. "Yeah."

"Why do you do this?" You asked flatly, too tired to dress it up. "Sometimes I think we’re... I don't know, really close. And then other times, you look at me like I'm just another Hunter from the Association. It's confusing."

He finished tying off the gauze, stood up and finally looked at you "I just think about things. More than I probably should."

He reached out to help you up, hands closing firm around your forearms.

"Think about what?"

You went to test your weight on the bandaged leg and the ground chose that second to be uneven. You pitched forward, right into him, your chest hitting his. His hands slid from your arms to your waist to catch you.

Neither of you moved.

You could feel his heart going fast under his uniform, which didn't match the calm on his face at all. His eyes dropped to your mouth, came back up.This is happening, you thought, a little dizzy with it. He's actually going to—.

His grip on your waist tightened. Something cracked open behind his eyes, just for a second "You shouldn't stand this close to me"

"Xavier—"

He stepped back before you could get anything else out.

Crunch. Something snapped under his boot.

A white protocore.

He picked it and it suddenly went off with light, a white light expanding outward faster than you could track. The air got sucked straight out of your lungs. Your ears popped hard enough to hurt, and then the ruins, the sky, and everything else was sucked into a roar of wind that yanked you forward like the world had grabbed you by the throat.

You hit something solid and warm.

"Oof — sorry —"

A grunt came from underneath you. You blinked against sudden dark, hands slapping down flat against Xavier's chest. You were sprawled on top of him, legs tangled, face mashed against his neck.

"Oh my god." You scrambled back so fast you scraped your palms on the floor. "Sorry — are you okay?"

Xavier sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, hair falling into his eyes. "Fine. Are you hurt?"

"No, I— " You stopped. Looked around. "Wait."

You weren't standing in the ruins anymore. You were standing on a balcony with black wrought iron railing and a view of city streets that looked oddly familiar.

"Is this our building?" You turned in a slow circle, "Xavier, did you just teleport us home?"

"I didn't teleport us anywhere."

"You definitely did something..."

"I didn't" He was already moving past you toward the railing, scanning it like it might answer a question you hadn't asked yet.

"Okay, well, something got us here," you said, following him. "So if it wasn't you, what was it?"

He didn't answer right away. He crouched by one of the plants, fingers brushing the soil. Damp. Recently turned. "I don't have an explanation for this."

"When did you get so many plants?."

He moved to a small table near, where two mugs sat, both used, one rimmed faintly with lipstick.

"This is kind of freaking me out."

You spotted a newspaper folded beside the mugs and reached for it before he could stop you.

The date on the header didn't make sense. You read it twice.

"Xavier." You held it out to him, throat tight.

He took it, scanning it fast, and for the first time all night something like real alarm broke through his usual calm. "This is two years out."

"Two years." You said it slow, testing the weight of it. "Okay. We're just —somewhere else. Somewhere with your exact view, which is a really specific coincidence, but fine, sure, this is wrong, so so wrong—"

"Calm down."

"Xavier."

"What."

You pointed, wordless, toward the far corner of the balcony, where a lumpy, badly painted bird feeder hung crooked from its hook, one wing chipped clean off. You'd have known it anywhere.

"That's Fatso"s" you said.

Xavier followed your finger, and whatever he'd been telling himself died on his face.

You grabbed for your communicator on reflex. Dead screen. "No signal," you said, more to yourself than to him.

"Mine's the same. Clock's not even holding steady." He pocketed the device "We need to see what's inside. If someone's living here, we ask them what year it is."

"Oh yeah because that is a completely normal question to walk in and ask a stranger."

"Stay behind me," he reached for the handle on the sliding glass door, testing the weight of it without committing to opening it yet. Behind the curtain, something moved.

You froze. Your fingers found the sleeve of his uniform and held on.

A hand pressed flat against the glass from the other side of the curtain, fingers spread.

Xavier looked ready to run.

A second hand appeared beside it. Bigger. Scarred across the knuckles. Something in your chest went cold with recognition even before your brain caught up. The second hand moved to close over the first, fingers lacing through.

There were two people on the other side of that door. And from the way the curtain was moving, they were not just standing there.

"Xavier," you whispered, barely any air behind it at all.

He didn't answer. He didn't move his hand off the door either —just stood there frozen, staring at those hands through the glass like his whole nervous system had collapsed.

Then he moved. His hand closed around your shoulder and pulled, one smooth backward motion that tucked you both into a narrow space where the balcony wall met the building's outer brick. The spot was tight —barely enough room for two people to stand without touching —and the angle it gave you was merciless. The glass door sat directly in your line of sight, lit from inside.

You should have looked away immediately.

But you didn't.

The curtains moved a bit. Two bodies, pressed close. The woman's face was hidden, her head tipped back behind the line of the man's shoulder. His face was visible. Hair catching the light. That jaw.

Xavier

The anger came fast and hot and settled behind your sternum like coal. Months of warmth and then distance. Months of patience that felt like it was always just about to become something and never did —and here was the answer to all of it, pressed against a glass door in an apartment that was still his, two years from now, with someone else.

He was kissing her the way someone kisses when they've stopped being careful about it. Deep, his hands dragging her back against him, the movements of his lower body slow and unmistakable.

You looked away. Focused on a crack running through the middle of the wall beside you. Breathed through your nose.

Beside you, Xavier was still looking. His face was flushed.

"Is that—" His voice came out wrong.

"Yup," you said. The bitterness in it sharper than you'd intended. "That's you"

A sound came through the glass.

The impact of skin against the glass door followed immediately by a broken moan, the sound dragged your eyes back to the glass door against your will.

The curtain had been pulled aside all the way.

The view was now unobstructed.

The woman was pressed flat against the glass, her bare breasts against the cold pane, her hands finding the frame for something to hold onto. Her face was fully visible now.

The anger in your chest went out like a light.

It was your face.

Your shoulders, your hands, the sound of your own voice coming through the glass in pieces, breathless and nothing like anything you'd heard from yourself before. Your future self's cheek was pressed to the glass too, eyes half closed, lips parted around sounds that weren't words.

Future Xavier's teeth found her shoulder and bit down, not gently, leaving something that would be visible tomorrow. His hand came around the front of her, sliding between her thighs to line his beautiful cock against her entrance.

Then he drove forward.

The sound she made came through the glass loud and clear and a small involuntary noise started building in your own throat.

Xavier's palm came over your mouth.

Fast. Firm. His fingers sealing the sound in before it could escape. His hand was shaking.

The glass door shook with the next impact. And the next.

Xavier had his mouth at her ear saying something you couldn't hear through the glass but could read in the way her expression changed when he said it.

Xavier made half a sound against the back of your head and he immediately swallowed the other half.

You felt it anyway. Felt the way his arm tightened across your chest, felt the unsteady rhythm of his breathing where his chest pressed into your back.

You couldn't look away from his face —the future version of the face that was currently breathing against your temple— wearing an expression you'd never seen on him before.

"Xavier," you said, against his palm. Muffled.

His arm tightened.

"Xavier." Louder this time, enough that he could feel the shape of his name against his hand.

His mouth dropped to your ear "Don't move." The words came out rough "If they see us—"

Inside the apartment, your future self pressed her palm hard against her lips.

Future Xavier's hand closed around her wrist.

He pulled it down. He held her hand at her side and kept it there, and when she turned her face toward him he was already looking at her.

He wanted to hear her.

Below you a glass door scraped open.

One floor down, a man stepped out onto his balcony. Cigarette unlit between his fingers, head tilted slightly, listening to the night.

You pressed further into the shadow.

The rhythm inside the apartment changed. Not slower. The opposite. The glass shook in its frame and the sounds coming through it stopped being something that could be mistaken for anything else, and the man one floor down stopped trying to light his cigarette.

You looked at future Xavier's face.

His eyes were angled down and to the left.

He picked up the pace.

She tried again, her hand came up toward her mouth. Future Xavier caught her wrist without looking and his mouth moved against her ear again.

Whatever it was, she stopped trying to be quiet.

You thought about what you'd just watched him do. The escalation. The man on the balcony below. The reason your future self's hand kept getting pulled back down.

Was he jealous of that stranger?

Inside, her feet left the ground. Xavier had both arms around her, her arms caught under his, breast bouncing with every thrust.

You saw it first.

An unmistakable pressure beneath the surface of her stomach. Moving with every thrust. A belly bulge.

Your mouth went dry.

She was dripping. You could see it even through the glass —the inside of her thighs slick and glistening where his movements had worked everything down, coating her skin, catching the apartment light every time he pulled back. The glass had a faint fog to it from her breath, small clouds appearing and disappearing with each exhale.

The deep flush running from her chest to her throat made something in your lower stomach pull tight.

The Xavier beside you tracked every place her body responded to him, her hardened nipples, the way her toes curled against nothing, the flutter beneath her skin that mapped exactly where he was.

Crash

A flower pot.

It hit the floor and you both stopped breathing.

Inside the apartment, silence.

Immediate and total.

Through the glass you watched future Xavier's head come up. No panic in it. No confusion. Just a slow turn toward the sound, his eyes moving through the dark until they found the spot where the two of you were standing.

He couldn't see you. The angle was wrong, the shadow too deep.

He knew someone was there anyway.

His expression went cold and your future self said something against his chest. The curtain moved slowly across the glass from inside and the light behind it went out.

You had thirty seconds. Maybe less.

Xavier crouched beside you. The Protocore looked small against his palm, throwing a faint white pulse between his fingers for just a second.

The glass door began to slide open.

The air changed, the balcony, the broken pot, the man with his unlit cigarette, all of it collapsing into white noise and rushing dark.

You hit the ground hard. Your knees met broken stone, the air was knocked out of you on impact and you spent the first few seconds just existing on the ground.

Xavier landed beside you.

You pushed yourself up to sitting. "So..."

Xavier said nothing.

"That was weird."

Still nothing.

"We were—"

"I saw it" he opened his hand and noticed the Protocore was gone "I was standing right next to you."

"So we're both aware of what we watched."

"Yes."

"And we're not going to talk about it?"

He looked at you. "Are you going to be able to not talk about it?"

"Probably not."

He made a sound that wasn't quite a sigh, stood up and offered you a hand. You took it and he pulled you to your feet and didn't immediately let go.

"That man on the balcony," you said.

Xavier's jaw moved. "What about him."

"Future you saw him and then—"

"I know what he did." He dropped your hand. Turned to look at anything that wasn't your face. "You don't need to walk me through it."

"I'm just—" You pressed your lips together, trying very hard not to smile, it felt inappropriate and also completely unavoidable "Was he showing off?"

"We're not talking about that."

"Xavier—"

"Not yet." He said it quietly. Just a line in the ground, clearly drawn. "Not tonight. There's—" He exhaled. "There's a lot I need to sit with before I talk about any of it."

You nodded. That felt fair.

You started walking, picking your way back through the rubble toward the gap in the wall where you'd come in, and Xavier fell into step beside you like he always did —slightly behind, slightly to your left, a position that meant he could see everything around you before you could.

The walk back was quiet. You were almost at the gap in the wall when he spoke.

"Can I ask you something."

"Go ahead."

He was quiet for a beat. Just long enough that you glanced over at him.

"Future me?" he said. "Or me?"

You stopped walking. "What?"

"You heard me. Who do you like more?

"Xavier, that's not—you are the same person—"

"Future me is two years ahead and has information I don't have and he was doing—" a small pause, "—things to you that I have not yet done. So. Future me or me?"

You stared at him.

He stared back.

"That is the most ridiculous question you've ever asked me"

"Humor me."

"You"

Something in his face changed.

"Good," he said.

"But future you did have his—"

The not quite smile disappeared. "We're going home," he said, and turned toward the gap in the wall.

You followed him, and you were very glad he was walking ahead of you this time because the smile on your face was not something you were ready to explain.

micah is frighteningly intelligent and diligent when it comes to his work. he's cunning enough to navigate office politics without ever dirtying his own hands, yet competent enough that nobody can question his capabilities.

he's efficient to an almost terrifying degree and has always excelled academically, graduating as the valedictorian of his alumni before eventually becoming one of the company's greatest assets.

he's the kind of person that makes others quietly question whether god was playing favorites when creating him (yes i am). beautiful, intelligent, wealthy, charming, and competent that it's so damn unfair.

you know that one person who's so beautiful and seemingly perfect that it almost terrifies you? the kind of person that makes you stumble over your words whenever they speak to you because surely someone like them exists in an entirely different world than yours? yeah, that's micah for you.

people often forget that despite how affectionate and clingy he is around you, micah is genuinely intimidating to everyone else. most employees become nervous whenever they're assigned to work with him for the first time, and clients have admitted that maintaining eye contact with him during meetings is strangely difficult so you're not alone in the shy and sputtering your words department. 

i feel like micah would be that one person who would grumble and get annoyed when someone can't compose themselves at work (like fidgeting around, stuttering their words, and can't maintain an eye contact), but when it's YOUR turn to do it- it suddenly becomes cute to him (favoritism goes crazy). 

literally anyone who stuttered one time around him : "how incompetent, how the hell someone like this managed to get hired? get it together"

darling who literally sweating, fidgeting around, avoiding his eyes and shit : "oh shit, that's kinda cute"

"i'd be afraid that he'd get bored if i gave him too much attention." oh darling, it's quite the contrary actually! micah finds this side of you unbearably adorable. you're already the only person in the company who treats him as simply micah rather than some unattainable prize to be won, and now you're worried that he'll somehow become bored because you're trying to know him better? 

the thing about micah is that despite his seemingly perfect exterior, he has always secretly craved genuine affection. people love his face, his achievements, his status, or the influence he possesses. very few people have ever bothered trying to learn more about him beyond those things.

you're perhaps the first person who's ever quietly wondered what his favorite food is, what kind of movies he enjoys watching on rainy afternoons, or whether he prefers staying in bed a little longer during weekends.

he can tell the difference immediately as he's good at reading people, he knows when people are admiring him, and he knows when people are trying to understand him so needless to say, he's infinitely more obsessed with the latter. 

he also finds it endlessly amusing whenever you're too shy to ask him things directly. you'll spend twenty minutes debating whether or not asking about his favorite color is strange before ultimately deciding against it. meanwhile, micah has spent those same twenty minutes wondering why you've been staring at him with such concentration from across the room.

eventually, he'll be the one asking questions instead, like he'll deliberately begin talking about himself whenever the two of you are together once he senses that you're too hesitant to ask questions but you're eager to know about him nonetheless. 

he'll casually mention his favorite books while helping you organize paperwork, complain about how much he dislikes mushrooms during lunch breaks, or tell you embarrassing stories from his university days simply because he noticed how attentively you listen whenever he speaks.

sometimes he'll even ask whether you've been keeping mental notes about the things he likes, and he almost cried from happiness the first time you remembered his favorite coffee order without him reminding you.

people often assume micah is the one doing all the courting within the relationship, and while they're technically correct— they don't realize just how easily he melts whenever darling reciprocates even the smallest amount of affection.

you remembering that he doesn't like sleeping without an extra pillow beside him? he's smiling for the rest of the day that it lowkey scared the others. 

you buying his favorite snack because you happened to pass by the convenience store? congratulations, you've somehow managed to increase his obsession by another twenty percent.

you asking him about his childhood because you want to know more about him as a person? he's mentally planning your wedding again.

he's honestly quite easy to please when it comes to you so of course, darling being shy only makes him even more shameless, he's a cunning man by nature, so expect a lot of teasing from him whenever he notices you're flustered.

if you've been staring at him because he looks particularly handsome that day, he'll immediately lean closer before asking if you'd like to take a picture. if you compliment his appearance, don't expect him to let you live it down for at least another month.

there was once a time when you absentmindedly murmured that he looked pretty while fixing his tie before work, the following week, he deliberately wore the same tie again. he'll never admit it aloud, but he treasures every compliment you've ever given him.

so no, i don't think micah will ever become bored of you. if he likes you enough to openly court you despite being capable of having anyone else he desires, then he's unimaginably serious about his feelings.

besides, this is literally the point of being a yandere. it doesn't matter who you are or what you have to offer. once they've decided they've fallen in love with you, you've already become their final destination. (like just look at senpai from yansim, ayano literally kills for that bland ass dude among other students).

even though micah appears aloof and untouchable to everyone else, he's surprisingly starved for affection. he craves attention more than people realize, yours especially. he would willingly give up every title and achievement attached to his name if it meant keeping your affection.

the company can have his intelligence and competence. the world can admire his beauty and accomplishments. because despite all the admiration he's received throughout his life, there has only ever been one person's affection he's been greedy enough to desire forever.

yours.

"What—" Fount's neck almost seems to twist with how quickly he turns around, "[READER]!! Quick, hold on to my hand!" the Virtue extends his delicate hand to you and you grip it so tightly that it reciprocates, his long nails biting your skin, "Don't let go, did you hear?!" Well, yeah, that was a little difficult knowing how physically weak your Fount is...

The beast behind you begins to pull you even harder, and the grip of your hands grows weak almost to the point of breaking, "let go of my disciple...!" Fount groans with effort and reaches with his free hand for his long staff holding his Souljam, raising it as he casts a luminiscience spell that seems to stun the manifestation behind you and let you go, while the latter lets out an annoyed and irritated growl that sounds strangely human, rubbing his eyes raw.

Inertia does its job and you slump against Fount, causing you both to stagger before he quickly composes himself and holds you firmly in place, his hand on the back of your head against his chest as he mutters a curse under his breath. The two of you are still taking a little deep breath from the shock and you notice that Fount's sweating a little, but even more, you get to notice and hear his heartbeat in this position. You almost mentally scold yourself for the blush that appears on your cheeks despite the situation you are in right now.

Fount, on the other hand, isn't paying attention to you and keeps his eyes narrowed at the blinded figure in front of him, 'damn it, how come I didn't notice his presence?!' His mind searches for solutions, it berates itself but wakes up enough to shake her head and focus on the present, her gaze focusing on yours, "[Reader], are you okay? Did you get hurt?"

"Y-yes thank you Fount, I'm f—"

A mocking laugh interrupts your answer, and the two of you quickly turn to watch as the entity takes on a more defined shape from the shadows as it speaks, "well, well, well... But if it's not my dear meee and my adorable disciple~! I'll let you know, I didn't like your dirty little trick... very predictable coming from such a boring Virtue!"

Shadow Milk finishes materializing from the ball of shadows that previously grabbed you, floating with a cruel and theatrical laugh. If it weren't for the adrenaline, you'd stop to observe his great resemblance to your Fount; if it weren't for the eyes in his hair taking the place of constellations.

Instead, Fount's jaw tightens with pressure "dirty trick? I suppose you were the one who left that distraction on the road while you were taking advantage of my disciple, weren't you?!" Fount leaves an annoyed growl and lets out an exasperated sigh as he loosens his hold on you, and shakes his head again, "Who even are you, jester? What do you want?"

Another mocking laugh. "Well, let's say I'm you... but MUCH better, you see! How come the 'Oh Great Fount of Knowledge' fell for a trick like that?!" Fount's almost mortified from the embarrassed blush that begins to cover his cheeks, his frown growing every second that his eyebrows must hurt. "Heck, I knew I used to be such a bitter and boring cookie, but not of this level! I'm sure [Reader] must be sick of you by now too, poor them~!" Even though you can't see well Fount's face in this position, you can feel something about him snapping as his heteroceomatic gaze becomes feral.

"What did you just say, you little..!"

Suddenly, a snap sounds from Shadow Milk's fingers and you are teleported right to his side with a gasp muffled in shock, his arms (now considerably gentler than before but not enough to let his grip slip away) intertwine around your neck, and blue strings wrap tightly around your body as well. He floats past you with an almost sweet but also smug and defiant smile, as if HE is the one teaching your Fount something obvious. "Since you obviously don't know how to take care of -much less entertain may I add- my dear pookie bear, I guess it's time for us to—"

The beast stops dead with his words as the large, golden, sharp tip on the back of Fount's staff lunges so quickly and decisively at his Adam's apple uncovered from his ruff, burying itself in his skin just enough to let a trail of blood slowly run down below.

"I've already told you to release my disciple. Do not make me repeat myself."

Shadow Milk's small, open mouth gradually shifts into a playful, almost innocent smile, and his hands and strings let go of your body and rise up in the air in a mocking sign of defeat that tells you that's not all of it. "...Tough audience, huh..?"

----------------------------

- I think you all might notice it's my first time writing a fic LMAO 😭 pls pls criticize me

HIS NAME had been Alaric.

Poor, innocent Alaric who had cried and begged for you to spare him. Twenty four year old Alaric who was three years younger than you, who had a whole life ahead of him to lead. His poor sister who had wept piteously when the newspapers spoke of his death; when they put in the details — a suicidal event; falling from a balcony; no, there were no security cameras, and multiple cuts on the deceased’s arms with a history of depressive episodes — and his poor father who had roamed around the streets, bottle in the hand. A string of feverish words had left his mouth in a daze; why, why, why my young son.

You had smiled at first, thinking of the way Alaric’s warmth had left your hands. His blood that had stained your skin, reassuring and sticky in a way that made your cheeks blush. You had caressed his skin as he had twitched, looking at you like you were a monster.

“How dare you.” You had spoke so softly, so sweetly. Two days ago you had caught him with another woman. “I gave you everything.”

“In hindsight, you stalked me,” he had moaned in pain, the clockwork of death ticking closer, “You ruined my life! I never should have agreed to go out with you!”

His hand had tried to slap you, but because of how weak he was — an endearing trait, you thought with amusement — it resembled an oscillating pendulum instead, moving back and forth uselessly. His tone, redolent of desperation and anger, made you laugh merrily; it was the most emotion he had showed you in a while.

“Your life has always been mine,” you had cooed, “you are mine.”

And you hadn’t even — murdered Alaric. You had merely guided him slowly; he had been the one to kill himself, had he not, staring at you with such acrimony and hostility that your heart had skipped a beat. He had rushed to the balcony feverishly, shaking his head, spewing dirty vulgarities at you. They were melodious words to your ears; soft, mellifluous. You had listened, mesmerised.

“Go on, jump,” you had murmured sweetly. You thought he wouldn’t have done so, because dear, pitiful Alaric had been so rebellious in your relationship with him, refusing to do your bidding. He had all this strange paroxysms of weeping, weird times where you would wish to help him but he would merely break down or howl. Ah, the mystery of human minds: Alaric never seemed to understand your efforts.

But he did. At twenty four, right before your eyes, Alaric had stared straight into your eyes, filled with roaring, beautiful anger; and his body had toppled right over the edge.

And you had watched it deadly, in veneration and reverence; that thump sound that followed had been godly.

**

Over the course of a few days that feeling had died, turning insipid and tasteless. You thought of Alaric, who you had goaded into dying. Essentially, you were a murderer. Essentially, you were evil.

You thought of Alaric’s bright laughter. The sallow complexion he had following the days you had become his boyfriend.your breaths coalescing.

Pity, pity, pity.

This empty feeling must be grief, you thought. You were never that good with emotions, naming them after poring over textbooks. Doctors had said you would never understand them, but Alaric had been you understand. Your feelings with him must have been love.

And now there were perforations in your soul. You had longed for the sublime; for the peaceful, tranquil feeling you had gotten when you had let love corrupt you. When you had allowed its brutal nature to swallow you whole.

What did people do when they grieved? You searched it up online. They went to psychiatric hospitals, they went to therapy. You thought those were fancy words for the doctor. You stumbled upon posts explaining how to deal with insurmountable grief and read countless aching stories of people who lost their loved ones in freak car accidents, who lost their husbands and wives and mothers and fathers from old age, from cancer, from brain aneurysms that struck one day have never gave them mercy.

Not one of them had murdered their loved one. Online forums and posts are not helping, you thought, as you shut your laptop down. You clicked your tongue, tapping your table listlessly.

A doctor. A doctor would be the cure. Yes, that would work.

**

HIS NAME was Joseph. You found him on the internet, under glowing reviews that spoke of his honeyed tongue, of how readily he had helped them; of how he was so charming, so gentle. You had studied his profile, deciding that he would do just fine. The expensive sessions were nothing to you; you weren’t particularly rich, but you didn’t have a desire to save money. Life was fickle, and you went about it as you pleased. You didn’t eat much, choosing to opt for a box of cigarettes and perhaps an apple or two. The juices would haemorrhage your tongue, and you would frown in displeasure.

“Expunge this sadness within me,” you had told Joseph during the first meeting with him. He was tall, well built, had brown hair swept into a clean, tidy hairstyle. His features were beautifully handsome, and you suspected they had helped with the numerous of illuminating reviews.

“You say you’re grieving,” Joseph said calmly, studying you with intelligent, thoughtful eyes. “When did the deceased die?”

You thought long and hard. His spirit had died a while ago, but his body had died about two weeks ago. Or was it three? Or four? You couldn’t remember. All you could feel were your feelings, raw and ambivalent, bubbling within you.

“Maybe four weeks ago?” You guessed.

“You don’t know?” He asked, curious.

“Not really,” you shrugged easily. “I saw online that grief does that to someone. Messes with you. Alaric was so precious,” you sighed.

The vestiges of his name lingered in your tongue. It felt bitter. Awful. You frowned again, and your breath rattled.

“Oh, Alaric,” Joseph spoke slowly, “he was my patient. Surely you don’t mean Alaric Rivers?”

“I do.”

“What a small world,” he had smiled pleasantly. “The man you spoke of visited for me for reasons related to depression.”

“Isn’t there a clause for confidentiality?” You asked, mystified, and also rather surprised at this coincidence.

“My patient is dead,” Joseph chuckled.

You thought he was a light hearted doctor. Acquaintances had rushed to wish you condolences, all viewing you cautiously like you were a time bomb about to go off. They told you that they were there for you and they were so sorry and they knew loss could be incredibly hard on an individual — but Joseph did none of those. It was like he had seen death in its very essence; everlasting, forever. It was like he had ripped mortality open and had seen its finite, fickle nature.

You decided he was a doctor that was good. You could rely on him. You did like how he laughed at it, just like how you had smiled so widely when Alaric had first jumped off the building. Who could blame you? Alaric had always been disobedient — and then he had went on to jump. Was there not a touch of mirth in the situation?

At least the doctor could understand!

“I thought it was a coincidence at first, when you said your name was Y/n,” Joseph said, “Alaric mentioned you. You must be the esteemed boyfriend.”

“He talked about me?” You asked, pleased.

“Of course.”

“What did he say?” You asked eagerly, the words tumbling out of your breath, “tell me, tell me!”

Joseph’s eyes softened, and he laughed. “That’s for another day.”

After the session, you booked another.

This man was useful. This man was one of the real doctors, not the ones who prescribed you pills and medicine that only made you throw up.

This man would help you eviscerate the sadness within you. Oh, right. The correct term would be grief.

**

In the next session, Joseph told you that Alaric said that you were an incredible boyfriend. That you clearly adored him.

You nodded. Joseph spoke the truth; you had loved him so dearly. You had gone so far so as to break his legs so Alaric didn’t need to go for that work event he didn’t want to go for, right?

Alaric had always been so ungrateful.

**

“You are one of the most intriguing patients I’ve ever had,” Joseph smiled. He did a lot of those, but they varied. Some were light, charming. The ones that made the nurses at the front desk giggle and fall over their feet. Most were unsettling, but you liked them those were genuine.

This was session six. The grief was leaving you. You thought of Alaric with fondness, and consoled yourself with the fact that he had loved you back. That was what Joseph had said. Doctors could not lie to their patients. Alaric had been swathed in depression and sadness; of course he would jump. Maybe you weren’t a murderer, after all. These sessions really were working; you were grateful to Joseph for everything he had done for you.

“Really?”

“You feel no guilt,” Joseph murmured, “you don’t even know yourself.”

Now, that wasn’t the fairest thing to say, you thought, offended. Where was this even coming from?

“An interesting specimen indeed,” Joseph continued softly, “you said you locked Alaric up, broke his legs, and threatened to kill yourself if he ever left you. You said he would cry and shake whenever you two slept together, and he was constantly ridden with nightmares. You say you gave him sleeping pills which you carefully crushed in his water so he wouldn’t know.”

“He had a plethora of problems he went through,” you said sadly. How upsetting for Alaric. You hoped that in his final comments, he got some peace, some closure.

“No guilt,” Joseph repeated, his eyes gleaming, “none whatsoever. A psychopath.”

“Calling him a psychopath is a little too much,” You said.

Joseph blinked.

Then he broke off into laughter — into peals of laughter that left his body shaking, leaving his body doubled over. He laughed so hard that tears pricked his eyes, and he continued doing so; uproarious, genuine, full of mirth. You wondered if Joseph had gone crazy.

And when he finally looked up at you, his eyes were murky. And so full of — what was that — ah, amusement. Joy. Affection.

And if you had squinted closer, you would have seen something blooming within. Something that, similarly, bloomed in your own eyes.

(Obsession.)

“My darling Y/n,” he laughed and laughed, “I wasn’t calling Alaric a psychopath. My dear, I was calling you one.”

**

How offensive!

“If that’s your idea of a joke, I don’t want to hear it,” you said. “Take your words back, doctor.”

“Y/n,” he cajoled, “this is our sixth session; shall we leave the formalities behind? Call me Joseph.”

Something had switched in his tone, in his behaviour. You ruminated upon it, trying to think. What was it? It mirrored your own behaviour, but then again; you were bad with naming emotions. Whatever; it would come to you later. You would search it up.

“That wasn’t a very nice thing to say, Joseph.” You said, chagrined.

“Let me tell you about some things, Y/n,” Joseph said, “I know you killed Alaric.”

**

“He jumped off,” you said, “out of his own will.”

“You brought him to,” Joseph replied merrily, “you murdered him.”

“I didn’t,” you furrowed your eyebrows, “what are you even saying?”

“My darling,” Joseph begun, still smiling, “Alaric came to me about you. The minute I saw your name — and then it was confirmed when his name left your mouth — I knew you were his boyfriend. Well, his ex boyfriend. He did not say he loved you. He was terrified of you, Y/n, he hated you. I lied, Y/n, because I was so amazed at how unbothered you seemed by it all — by his death —"

“I was grieving —"

“You were not,” Joseph said, leaning forward, “here’s what I think. Shall I hazard a guess? You were happy when he died, because it felt like you had control over his last moments. And then you felt emptiness, because you no longer had a victim. You no longer had someone to fixate over. And you mistook that for grief.”

“I did not murder him,” you said at last, your eyes blazing, “I did not do any of those things.”

“I have files, transcripts,” Joseph smiled at you gently, “all of which will point to you as his abuser; and it would reopen the case. You could get arrested. You would get arrested, if I sent them in.”

You looked at him, eerily calm. You tilted your head. “And would you?”

Something within you disappeared, completeiy effaced. The grief, gone. The guilt, gone.

Nothing within you. An empty husk.

Joseph’s eyes glittered. “As it appears, I’ve taken an incredible interest in you. Fondness.”

“Wonderful.” You said dryly.

“We are one and the same,” Joseph said, “twin flames. I have my obsessive tendencies, you have yours. We latch onto something and tear it apart until it becomes ours. Until its ruins belong to us.”

“Is that so?” You looked at Joseph.

“I thought I had gotten over it a long time ago,” Joseph laughed, “but then you came…and something tells me you won’t break as easily. Not that I intend for you to break.”

“Not that you can break me.”

“I’m sure you, even in your unbothered state, would not wish to rot in prison.”

“Are you threatening me, Joseph?”

“I am giving you a choice,” Joseph said sweetly, “choose me; give me the reins of your body and spirit and heart — or I send the evidence in.”

It sounded like a vow, a marriage proposal. And maybe in a way, it was.

“That’s very little of a choice,” but your heart was starting to speed up — thumping wildly against your chest. The feeling of being alive again.

Joseph laughed. “It is.”

And then he had pulled you towards you, and —

**

At home:

Google; what does it mean when someone has an unhealthy or compulsive preoccupation with a single thought, feeling, or person? It completely fills your mind, often making it difficult to stop, think logically, or let go…

The screen loaded for a blip of a second. You thought of Joseph, who had started to fill every inch of your thoughts.

Obsession.

You had gotten the word for it.

You thought of the blackmail; the way his desire reached deep within the roots of your soul, the way it had corroded him. The way his hands had curled around your waist; around the expanse of your skin. It’s unrelenting, brutal, brusque nature.

You traced the marks left on your collarbone; harsh, painful bite marks. The bruises littered on your skin. The way he had claimed you, salacious and wanting, the way you had felt obsession entrench you again, this time all consuming, darker, wilder.

Malicious, malignant, malevolent, you thought. And so the two of you would waltz to death together, intertwined. The inevitable march towards fate, towards hell. Sins layering and building slowly upon each other.

Let’s destroy and tear each other apart.

Two can play the game.

**

hope everybody enjoyed!!! it’s been incredibly long since I attempted any yandere x yandere. hope this didn’t disappoint!

“helloooo im still on the call y’know,” your friend brings you back to reality. you giggle, apologizing before focusing at the task on hand once more. “what’s his address? send it, let’s see what kind of neighborhood he lives in,” your friend wiggles her brows at you and you immediately screenshot the house and send a link over.

your fingers move quicker than your eyes, too used to her contact being the first to pop up on the share button. you’d forgotten how often you’d been sending things to caleb.

“did you get it?” you ask, already scrolling down the street of his house in skyhaven.

“no? you haven’t sent me anything yet,” she replies easily. the color drains from your face as you open your message app.

[1 screenshot sent]

[1 link attatched]

all sent to caleb.

“oh my god, I’m so fucked dude,” your eyes widen, heart falling through your ass as the one word you now dreaded the most appeared in conversation. read.

“why what happened?”

“I sent him his own address. I’ve never once been over.” the mortification is obvious in your face, your friend immediately mirrors your expression.

“maybe you can unsend it?”

me: oh my god i swear this isn’t what it looks like

“he read it- fuck he’s typing oh my god I’m so fucked it’s so over for me, I’m so fucking—”

caleb :P : i live in the next house over not that one. 104, not 105

“holy fuck,” you mumbled, heart racing as you read his text over for the nth time, your friend shrieks over the phone. okay maybe you’re not completely done for.

caleb sits in bed, smiling at his screen.

you’d finally taken the bait, followed the trail he’d left of himself online. pretty posed pictures, a perfectly curated account. everything you liked and everything you wanted. he put just enough information for you to find everything you’d wanted if you dug juuust a bit, if you were like him. and now he knows you were like him.

caleb is relieved, shutting the live feed off from the camera he’d installed in your bedroom. you’ll be over at his tomorrow, he’ll make sure of it.

masterlist

Another deafening sob is torn from your lips when Rafayel experimentally rolls his hips, his thickened tip pressed into your drooling and tight cunt. He’s laying behind you while you both are on your sides, chest flushed against your back. One of his hands holds onto your thigh tenderly, keeping one of your legs bent forward to uncover your glistening pussy.

“Mmhp. . h- haaah?” Rafayel stutters out, voice shaking and trembling as he pants and moans out your name so sweetly— it takes everything in him to compose himself and not try to satisfy that ache in his lower stomach. 

He leans down to press tender, sweet, and warm bundles of kisses on your flushed skin— starting from your shoulder, neck, ending at your chin. At this, your body relaxes slightly, giving Rafayel the chance to plunge some of his length into your creamy hole with a wet squelch. You gasp out in ecstasy,  fat tears prickling in the corner of your eyes from the sweet and addictive sensation of being stretched out— that bubbling in your lower belly intensifies.   

“M- my pearl. . f- fuck, just l- let me—“ he murmurs out, one of his hands going over your body— fingers expertly drawing perfect circles on your swollen clit, dragging out more arousal from your cunt.

Your temporary worries melt away instantly, instead, replaced with the need to gain more of this addictive pleasure— moaning out, squirming lightly when Rafayel’s fingers pressed on your clit firmer.

“Rafayel. .” You mewl out in a breathless voice, throwing your head back, bumping into him.

Your fingers dig into the sheets harder, resisting the urge to squirm and writhe from his fingers toying with your puffy clit. Rafayel is precise and observant, finding the perfect amount of pressure to apply and what motion to utilize to have you wailing in pleasure instead of pain.

“Yesyes, fe- feel good for me. . my bride” Rafayel encourages, bucking his hips, his cock slipping into your cunt easier than before until his skin was flushed with yours— cock fully buried in your gooey walls. 

More tears sprout in your eyes, breathing coming out chopping and small; it’s hard to breathe when Rafayel is filling you up soo well. . It's overwhelmingly good. He pulls his hips back; cock re-emerging, completely drenched in your sticky arousal, from your velvety walls before pressing back in slowly.

“Haaah. . nngh! F- feels good, my pearl?” Rafayel asks softly, setting a slow and tender pace, each thrust has arousal gushing from your sloppy hole. 

You nod your head, moaning out Rafayel’s name. With his free hand, he guides you to glance over your shoulder by your chin— kissing your lips so gently but passionately. Tongues dragging against each other while his pace speeds up just ever so slightly, that has hot pleasure coursing through your veins.

CALEB

“Haaah hck—! ‘Leb. . yo- you’re too bigg, it won’t fit!” You whine out sadly, voice muffled slightly by the sheets, hips wiggling impatiently. 

Your ass is hanging in the air while your face is pressed into the pillow, thighs parted wide to allow him to settle between them comfortably. Caleb’s cock is too fat and thick, only the bulbous tip is buried snugly in your shopping hole, leaking tons and tons of precum in your walls. It’s frustrating, you keep squirming and wriggling your hips— letting your unnecessary worries get into your head. 

After all, this isn’t the first time you’ve had Caleb inside you, you doubt it would be the last too.

“Mmhp. . will it hurt?” Caleb teases softly, finger smoothing against the warm skin of your plush hips.

He slowly pulls his tip from your stuffed hole with a wet pop, slowly dragging his length through your puffy lips. . coating his length with your juices. Caleb’s heavy cock drags and grinds against your syrupy slit, tip bumping into your clit with each heavy drag. You melt from the pleasure, hole sopping and drooling new arousal. 

Caleb’s fingers glide underneath your body, finding your clit easily— rolling tight circles on the puffy bud to have you gasping and drooling from his touch. His fat tip lines up with your pussy, this time, his thickness easily splits your walls apart— stretching wide until his hips are flushed with yours. 

“Nngh’ ‘leb!” You squeal out, tears clouding your eyes, that heavy weight in your belly is addictive. 

The lewd sight of you; face down, ass up, sweat coating and causing your skin to glisten, moaning out his name so sweetly as his grip tightening on your hips to hold you still as he thrusts his fat length into your velvety walls. Caleb’s balls slap against your puffy clit with each mean thrust, knocking out the oxygen in your lungs. 

“Nngh— ohfuck. . t- there we go, baby! L- let me make ya’ feel good” he moans out, a shiver coursing through his body when your gooey walls spams and quiver around his length. 

You nod your head into the pillow, melting from the overwhelming pleasure Caleb brings. 

ZAYNE

“Ohmygod. . fuckk—! Shit, you’re t- too big. .” You mewl out loudly in a whiney tone, panting and exhaling out in a shaky and ragged manner due to the weight in your lower belly making it harder to breathe. 

Your legs are draped along the outside of his thighs, that pretty cock of his impaling your drooling hole so perfectly— buried to the hilt of your cunt. It just felt too good, too addictive; the pleasurable ache that followed when his thickness stretched your gooey walls apart to accommodate him, the feeling of his veins drag along your velvety walls, and each jolt and twitch of his cock elicits whines. You press your hands onto Zayne’s chest, shakily rocking and rolling your hips to feel him press in deeper. 

“Nghh—. . yo- you’re soo deep” you drool out, wailing and whining when he bucks his hips, letting him press in even deeper. 

“but my beloved. . you managed to take me in so well” Zayne groans out, hands holding your waist gently, thumb smoothing against the slick skin in a comforting fashion.

At Zayne’s words, you whine softly, thighs trembling when his cock bobs and throbs deep inside your pussy. . deliciously brushing against your sweet spot. 

“Mmh. . s- shall I aid my beloved?” He teases softly, those hooded eyes of his scans your body— taking in the sight of you perched on his lap, bodies connected in ten most lewdest way. 

You nod eagerly, grip tightening on his chest as a sort of leverage. With your passionate consent; Zayne’s grip on your hips tighten ever so slightly, rolling your hips in a slow manner. . the wet slosh and squelch of your pussy fills the room as his cock stirs your walls open. With each grind, his cock brushes perfectly against your g-spot— a wave of heat washing through your body as arousal pools to your cunt.

“Hckk—! Fuckk. . god, th- this feels soo good” you slur out, eyes fluttering shit as you enjoy the sensation of pleasure coursing through your body.

You barely recognized when Zayne was slowly lifting you from his lap and pressing you back down— starting off with gentle thrusts. That painful stretch didn’t feel overly suffocating anymore, not when he’s working you open slowly— guiding you up and down while giving you sweet praises. It isn’t too long until you’re happily bouncing on his lap, moaning in delight when he presses so deep into your creamy cunt. . the wet sound of skin slapping against each other fills the room quickly.

Plap plap plapp—

“Mybeloved—. . doing soo well for me, mmhp fuckk—“ Zayne groans breathlessly between moans of your name, letting you use his body in search of your own pleasure.

VALKO

“Valkooo—! Hck! Fuckk. . t- too biggg!” You squeal out loudly into his pillow, body quivering from the pleasure. . helpless beneath him.

The sight of you is lewd; face buried into his pillow, skin slick and glistening from sweat and sticky cum, flesh flushed from the intense heat, pressed into prone bone— the scent of Valko lingers on your skin, it’s too enticing. Only the fat tip of his thick cock is buried into your drooling hole, the stretch of his tip was enough to have you squirming and shaking.

“Shh. . I’ll t- take —mmhp shit. . take c- care of you, baby” Valko pants out, his tail wagging crazily as he presses one of his hands under your body— fingers quickly finding your puffy clit.

His fingers, precise and quick, draw sweet and firm circles onto your engorged clit— drawing out a gasp of his name, cunt becoming slicker and slicker everytime he rolls your clit perfectly. Your hips jolt and twitch in ecstasy, moaning and mewling into the pillows. That stretch that once felt painful and overwhelming felt amazing, inch after inch of Valko’s fat cock plunging into your pussy slowly.

A wet, obscure squelch and slosh of your sopping cunt fills the room when only half of Valko’s length is snug in your velvety walls. That heavy weight in your stomach, this time, is welcomed.

“Haaah. . ohfuckk, d- doing great f’me” he groans out, one arm pressed to your left to keep himself hovering over your body while his other hand still rolls and pressed onto the bundle of nerves above your stretched out hole.

“Valkoo. .” You sob out, a shiver coursing through your body when he leans down to kiss your sweaty back.

“Ju- just a bit more. . —nngh fuck!” Valko grunts out, hips flushed with yours within seconds as his length is plunged deep in your gooey walls.

“Y- yes—!” You gasp out breathlessly, rolling your hips shakily.

Overwhelmed would be an understatement of the way you feel, walls forced to accommodate the thickness of his dick. Valko’s eyes dilated at the erotic sight of you, he had no choice but to pound into your quivering body— slamming his body weight on top of you to allow his length to press deeper and harder into your walls.

“Mmhp—! F- fuck. .” You squeal out loudly, moaning in delight.

“Haaah. . you’ll let me have you, right, baby? —mmhp! L- let me fill you up with my pups” he drools out, slamming his body onto yours with a wet plap, teeth finding your shoulder and back until his mark blooms on your skin.

he nods and retreats to his office—the kind of lair only a chairman could have—as you grab your pre-prepared stack of papers and smooth down your pencil skirt. before you follow your boss, you call over your shoulder to your stricken colleague: “hold that thought, david. Sorry!”

──────

the biggest room at eoncore tech is no less ostentatious than the first time. 

valko sits on his sleek wooden desk, wearing a troubled yet expectant look. as soon as the door closes, you fold your arms in front of him. 

“don’t look at me like that,” he grumbles.

“like what?” you ask dryly. as you toss your stack of papers onto his desk, they scatter to reveal the contents: some spare handouts from six months ago, a few sheets that house all your doodles, and literally, some blank sheets of printer paper. 

not a report to be found.

you work in the design department, for god’s sake. 

“he was all over you, right in front of me! i mean, what kinda guy does that?” valko huffs.

“my team works on the opposite side of this floor, koko. it’s not his fault you have super-hearing.”

he scoffs and folds his arms over his chest. “whose fault is it that he kept bothering my girlfriend?”

“a secret relationship doesn’t work if one party has no interest in keeping it a secret.” 

he’s exasperated, like the distance is killing him. “why don't you just become my assistant? that way, you could move into this office with me. it’s roomy in here.” 

“that’s a great idea!” you gasp. “or, i could become chairwoman, and you could be my assistant.”

his eyes light up, glittering gold. “that works, too. i can ask around and see what it’d take to get you the jo—”

“i was kidding.”

within a millisecond, his tan ears match the shade of his hair. “uh, yeah. i knew that.”

a long sigh escapes you as you shake your head and smile at him. “look, you’re not entirely wrong. it is annoying being hit on while i’m just trying to do my job, and it is nice having you to come rescue me. it’s just a little too obvious sometimes, and that makes me nervous. how about we come up with some kind of signal you can use to pull me away when you need to?”

he doesn’t even blink. “when someone gets too close to you, i pull the fire alarm.”

“no.”

“when someone gets too close to you, i distract them with a question.”

“better. let’s roll with that one for now.” finally, you uncross your arms and clear your throat. “am i excused, sir?”

slowly, he looks you up and down, eyes zeroing in on your exposed neck. “keep calling me that, and you won’t be.”