Sora

𝐀𝐫𝐜 ₁: ℍ𝕠𝕞𝕖

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₁

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₂

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₃

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₄

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₅

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₆

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₇

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₈

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₉

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₁₀

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₁₁

𝐀𝐫𝐜 ₂: 𝙷𝚘𝚖𝚎?

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₁₂

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₁₃

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₁₄

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₁₅

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₁₆

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₁₇

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₁₈

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₁₉

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₂₀

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₂₁

𝐀𝐫𝐜 ₃: 𝐻𝒐𝒎𝒆

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₂₂

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₂₃

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₂₄

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₂₅

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₂₆

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₂₇

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₂₈

𝐀𝐫𝐜 ₄: 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞.

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₂₉

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₃₀

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₃₁

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 ₃₂

Everything happened so fast. 

In one moment, you were standing beside your boss and enjoying the silence between you and him as you tracked a pirate for the celestial dragons. Feet falling in perfect synchrony, breaths silenced while your eyes both focussed, you found the trail you were searching for with relative ease. 

That silence was not to remain as such for long. In an instant, the dynamic shifted: you became the hunted as opposed to the hunter. When you ducked towards the ground, shifting your eyes and tilting your head to read the marks left on the ground, Rob Lucci was hit by a wave he had long since prayed he had repressed. As he took in the way your body arched and knelt low to the ground, he automatically undressed you with his eyes and saw himself claiming you as his Zoan alter. He couldn't fight it, it all coming to him as automatically as breathing or walking.

Instinct. 

Rob Lucci had earlier dismissed Hattori so the two of you could focus on using your keen eyes to search for any indication of your target, rather than your usual inclination to hand feed the bird dried corn kernels you traveled with. You were sweet amongst the sour faces he grew accustomed to. Despite how you were in battle, you always had that way of brightening any room you entered. The celestial dragons almost enjoyed you, and your coworkers adored you. 

But Lucci? He both hated the softness to you, and appreciated you being that presence for him when the time came. Your natural charisma did wonders for sating the cruelty of the celestial dragons, but Rob Lucci despised the small up-twitch in your tone. You were sweet, despite your role beside him. Too sweet for your own well being. 

The Zoan-Fruit user kept his eyes sharp and focussed, only ever affixing to the ground in front of you both while you searched. When you bent down to peer at the tracks a little closer, his chest rattled with a deep growl that bubbled and shook within his throat. 

The perfect arch of your back awoke that desire deep within his soul. His withheld urges finally broke when he saw you in that position. Ass rounded, kneeling to the ground, focussing on your task on all fours, the beast within him swelled to life against his will. You looked so good on your knees, almost playing that role he so desperately needed you to.

Submission. 

At hearing the growl, you hastily snapped your head in his direction for further instruction. Truly thinking he saw something you did not manage to see, your eyes rounded innocently and your lips parted in a soft heart-shape while you gazed at him in question.

“Sir, what is it?” you asked quietly, darting your eyes between his while reading his squared body language, “Are they close? Do I need to-?” 

“-Don’t run,” his growl cracked from the recesses of his diaphragm, “It will make what’s about to happen so much worse.” 

Slowly rising to your feet, you turn fully to face him. His purred growl grew in intensity, prompting your foot to fall back and prepare yourself for battle. Unknowing what you were preparing yourself for, you ensured you remained below his eye level while you flexed your muscles to ready yourself. 

“Have we been found?” you whispered, your eyes never leaving his face while you peered through your peripherals around the area. 

“No,” his tone quietened, that same rattling purr swelling in his chest. His lip almost upturned at the corner as he uttered a small quip, “Not yet, at least.” 

“Then what is it?” Your voice raised in frequency. You arched your back and rolled your shoulders back. “I just found their tracks. What’s wrong-?” Your sentence halted as Lucci cut you off. 

“-You... You've triggered it,” he snarled with a vile accusation laden in his tone. “The way you bent just now. I-... I need-...” He shook his head, attempting to chase away the need pooling in his belly and the adrenaline igniting a fresh wave of lust over his skin. 

Mate. 

His rounded pupils split into symmetrical slits as he focuses his shifting gaze on your much smaller form. He had hoped he had grown out of this by now, and took the correct combinations of melatonin and herbal remedies to sate it. But the way your ass all but presented to him while you knelt towards the floor said otherwise. 

Body swelling with the ignition of need, he felt his top and bottom canines protrude from his jaw while his muscles broke and cracked to morph into a larger form. His eyes never left yours as your own rounded in fright. Those eyes, that soft innocence in your face, the almost unnoticeable quiver in your lip while your heartbeat began to drum in your ears. 

“Sir?” your soft and unsure voice cut through the air, “What did I trigger? Some form of trap they laid out for us?” 

Lucci’s body vibrated with intensity. His body propelled his foot forward against his will. He was screaming to have a semblance of control. His arched eyebrows furrowed down in the center of his head. The pads of his feet expanded and broke through the soles of his shoes. Toes curled, claws protruded and cut into the dirt beneath him. 

You turned on your heels, eyes holding firmly against his and checking him over. Lucci was angry. Everything about him was screaming both aggression and need, and it began to frighten you. 

“Don't run,” he warned you, his usual cadence cutting through and his eyes widened in panic, “It will be so much worse if you do. I can't-... I won't be in control of myself if you run.” 

“What can't you control, sir?” You frown at the way your voice catches in your throat, your fright rising and taking over your body, “Talk to me. What is going on?” 

“Zoan Fruit users,” Lucci purred, a cruel smile rising on his face as he lowered his body down to the floor, “Take on similar urges of their animal counterpart. I-... I thought I'd repressed it enough.” His shoulders rolled back, his unblinking eyes drinking you in as he crouched in a low position, “But, it appears, I have come into my season.” 

Temperature fluctuations and travel had taken its toll on his body and mind, confusing the beast within him and driving his urges wild. Although he claimed disinterest in you, you were his perfect match. He hated that. Your sweetness countered his terror, your haste in fights married themself perfectly his own brutal rage. He needed you to submit to him, and he needed to ensure you did so quietly to not bring you harm.

Your eyes widened further, your arms falling out to the sides as your body began to make a choice for you. 

Rob Lucci was telling you he was consumed with the lust of the beast lingering beneath his skin and swelling his adrenaline. Putting together the pieces yourself, it seemed the animal within had chosen you to breed whilst in the middle of a mission. While you did find Lucci attractive, his abrasive and standoffish attitude pushed back your desires for him. You would rather approach Kaku to date than Rob Lucci. He was at least reasonable in your eyes. The only redeeming quality about Rob Lucci was that cute little pigeon he usually traveled with. 

“I would never ask this of you,” he halted his steps towards you, his body trembling beneath the physical strain of holding himself back, “But I can’t contain it for much longer. If, just for a moment, you could consider allowing me to be close to you,” his snout protruded, his eyes darkening as his lust deepened, “Just inhaling your scent could sate me. I wouldn’t need to c-claim you. Just allow me to hold you for a moment, a-and I can repress the need to-... fuck you.” 

More of his body gave way. His calves extended to a taller stature as his chest broadened with his skin stretching and darkening over his body to the warm gold and dark spots you had only even seen in battle. You had never been darkened by his terrifying silhouette before, never having his animality facing you. Only ever having worked beside him in this form, your heart began to panic. 

Your strength was haste in battle. Scrapping with a flurry of jolts while using your speed to counter opponents twice your size. While you attempted to scream at your body to rid it of its fear and stand your ground, your training immediately kicked in and your reflexes propelled you to run. 

“Don’t run.” 

The barked order only ignited your need to flee to safety. Immediately picking up your heels, you sprinted at your full speed throughout the heavily wooded area. You barely heard the roll of "No!" roaring from his chest as you ran.

Branches snapped beneath your feet as you sprinted towards your freedom, attempting to remain as quiet as you could with the man clawing at your achilles. Your body pushed you to full acceleration, your chest burning from the intensity of your adrenaline swelling your veins. Knees brushing with the shrubbery, breath controlled and steady, you continued to run until you felt yourself far enough from the beast to hide. 

Concealing yourself to the best of your ability on the moss-covered forest floor, you crawled backwards beneath the coverage of a fallen tree trunk. Your heart pounded in your chest as you heard the heavy panting of the leopard-man tracking you. Lucci was cold, calculated, borderline sociopathic, and usually without emotion. You felt you would be able to reason with Jabra or Kaku if they were like this, even giving into them if they’d asked politely enough. But Lucci scared you.

You heard heavy sniffs of the air, prompting you to raise your palm to clap over your nose and mouth to stifle your shocked breathing. You had absolutely lost the trail of your target now, choosing to run from your colleague while he lost control of himself in lieu of following them and bringing them in. Scrunching your eyes tightly shut, you felt four sets of heavy paws digging into the branch on top of you. 

Holding your breath, you made yourself as small as possible. Legs tucked into your chest, arms around your calves, and palm still clapped over your lips, you hid from the monster searching for you. Heavy inhales and deep rumbling purrs shook the air within Lucci’s chest and shook you to your soul. 

Behind the shroud of your eyelids, all you could picture was the man transformed into the beast above you. What would it be like to finally be caught by him? What would he do? Could he be reasoned with? Would he immediately attempt to fuck you into submission?

You did not have to ponder for much longer as the bark split beneath his claws, severing a hole in your makeshift covering with the tear in the fallen trunk. You stifled your scream, scampering to both flee outwards and bury yourself deeper inwards beneath what remained of the shelter. The two options fighting within your mind had your body uncooperative to your whims. As you finally chose to flee outwards, two large paws circled your ankles and tugged you back in beneath the large trunk. 

The animal had captured you, pinning you beneath him and growling into your face. Back laying flush with the ground, your widened eyes peered up at the half-shifted man caging you within his extended arms. His jaws split into a large snarl, saliva connecting his upper and lower jaw as he roared down at your body. 

Turning your head to the side, you expected him to bite and claw at you: hastily slashing your throat and leaving you to die in a pool of your own demise weeping out of you. But it never came. 

In lieu of such pain and slaughter from the man turned beast, you felt a friction on your stomach down over your clothed cunt. Your neck turned, his beastial jowls pulling back and extending his coarse tongue to roll over your flesh and swipe at your pulse. His hips snapped feverishly forwards, rutting his red-tipped cock against you while staining your pants with his damp precum. Inhaling your scent, he lapped at your neck and began to gnaw at the muscle: not enough to break the skin, but firm enough to hold you steady while he rubs his otherworldly cock against your clothed center. 

“Mine,” he purred against your skin, his neediness increasing in the friction against your abdomen, “Mine.” His repetition of the word rose in volume the longer he rut into you. His glossy precum dribbled against your pants, completely dampening it while he continued to growl and preen against your neck. Each time it made contact in a crude glide against your clit, your breath hitched as arousal began to seep from your slit. 

Rob Lucci was no longer reachable as the large leopard humanoid dragged his cock against your clothed heat. Gasps, grunts, and growls exited him as he continued on. He couldn’t finish like this. Not after the chase. He had you pinned beneath him, and the Zoan creature wanted to claim you completely as his prize. 

Fabric broke as his claws ribboned the material of your pants. Your legs kicked out, but his knees pinned your thighs wide as his cock bobbed with need. Within the beast, Lucci was screaming at himself to at least have some semblance of decorum. He could see you through his otherworldly eyes, glaring at you as you squirmed beneath him. 

“Still,” the beast growled, looking at your exposed cunt as it glistened with arousal. You scrunched your eyes shut and attempted to block the next few moments out. He was going to fuck you, just as he said he would, and he was going to be in this form while he did. 

In another life, you could’ve seen you both continuing to work together, building a comradery rapport as you had been for the past year. You may have even called him friend by the end of it, perhaps being open to a relationship should he halt with his cold attitude and showcase some semblance of warmth. 

“Look,” the rumbled order purred from above you. You opened your eyes, gently turning your head towards the man towering over your cowering form. The only reason you truly ran from him in the first place was due to the fright that overcame you at being on the receiving end of his wrath in this form. You would’ve never ran if you knew the kindness in the beast’s eyes as he stared down at you. His cock twitched as it made contact against your glistening pussy. His red tip leaked as he rubbed the engorged head against your clit. 

“Mine.”

Pushing the tip within you caused you to squeak out in protest. Eyes wide and gazing up at the creature, your lip quivered as the leopard-man inched further into your entrance. Your body stretched to accommodate him, the earlier grinding of his cock against your clothed cunt withdrew enough arousal as your earlier rush of adrenaline paved the way for your lust to overcome you. Truthfully, you craved this. The way he possessively held you with a need no other partner had expressed. You had never felt so wanted in your life, and within the arms of the Zoan-Fruit user, your body gave in to the touch.

Relaxing your core, you gently reached a shaky hand to press against his furred jowls. Caressing his cheek, you darted your eyes between his with a soft nod. Unsure whether Lucci was truly reachable or not, you wanted to reassure your superior that you were okay: that this was okay. The way your body reacted was okay, and your need for him was okay.

The man peered down at you like you were a meal, taking a moment to lean in to that soft touch before fully giving in to his desires. Your wrists were hastily bound within his claws as he sheathed his cock completely within your heat. The swollen bulge at the base of his cock slammed against your body: your smaller size unable to take the swell within your pussy without preparation. Your stomach bulged with the sheer size of his cock entering you, as you silently screamed out in the fine line between pleasure and pain. 

In his large left claw, he took both of your hands and rose them above your head while his right clutched at your hips. Without care, he lost himself in the feeling of your walls. You let out a soft whimper as the burn from the stretch intensified with each cruel glide. His hips snapped into yours at a punishing pace as his grasps bruised your hips and wrists. Repetitively spearing himself deep within your body, you felt your cunt beginning to clench eagerly around him. 

“Mine,” he growled once more, his pace growing rabid and feral. His thrusts were deep and intense, never expelling his full length from your cunt as you struggled to accommodate him. The burn subsided into a dull ache as his tip slapped against your cervix, prompting your soft gasps to fall away to whimpers and soft whines. Your pussy molded to his shape with each powerful thrust, but never truly felt prepared enough to adjust to his pace. 

You were a doll in his arms, his claim over you intensifying with the cruel piston of his cock in your slick heat. The way he seemed to hit all of the sensitive and pleasure forming nerves to make you cry out and clench around him had you gushing for him. You should be trying to push him off, chastising him for ruining your pants after chasing you through the forest, but each rock into your body had you getting wetter and wetter for him. You felt your body relaxing, the pit in your belly beginning to coil tight in the promise of a brutal orgasm rising.  

The squelching of his cock meeting his knot at the base had him more wild and frantic the longer he pummelled you. Completely sheathed with a rapid flurry of anxious thrusts had his base drumming against your slit. 

He was going to try and put it in. 

“L-Lucci-!” Your strangled cry had him pushing harder into you. The swell of his knot rammed against you, your tight entrance prohibiting him from bullying its way into you no matter how hard the buck or rutt. He growled in response, releasing your wrists from above your head and surrounding your waist in his firm grip. 

“Knot,” he roared, holding your waist firmer and attempting to slam his hips more intently against yours. Your pussy refused to budge, even though your mind screamed at it to allow him to. You knew he wouldn't stop until he entered that thick bulge into your slick heat, and you whimpered at the thought of him continuing to try to no avail. 

“Lucci it won't fit-,” you tried, desperately willing him to listen to you. “I can’t take y-you like this. I-If you can turn back to your regular self, I-I can-.” 

The leopard-man growled as he unsheathed his cock from you completely. You were shocked, thinking the man had come to his senses and was about to repress his animal urges and return to the cold, dark-haired man you knew him to be. Instead, he flipped you onto your stomach: face colliding with the moss-covered ground as he used the heel of his hand to arch the middle of your back and force your ass up.

In the same position that broke his hardened resolve in the first place, he immediately resheathed himself with a loud roar. The reverberations falling from his roar echoed within your chest, immediately making your pussy flutter around his hard, red cock. As the knot pressed up against you, he set a rapid and brutal pace hammering it against your slit. The heavy claps of your thighs meeting his hips had your eyes rolling in your skull, feeling completely claimed by him in the submissive position he’d curled you into. 

Crouching back onto his hind legs and planting his heels, he snapped intently into his hips from behind, slotting you down onto his cock in heavy thrusts. With his hands now both circling your hips, removed from your back in a quick glide, he used the shameful amount of slick falling from your pussy to finally push himself over that ridge. 

He managed to force his knot in with a single, intense thrust.

As soon as his knot settled into you, it caught on the ring of muscle at the base of your heat. You could taste the earth rubbed into your lips from the earlier spin, your abdomen wound in a tight vice as your orgasm halted as soon as he pressed his knot inside you. Right on the edge, and without a way to move against him to draw it forth, you felt his cock begin to twitch in the depth of your cunt none before reached. You needed something to tip you over, pussy tingling and abdomen shuddering while you whined and mewled out for him.

“Cum,” he barked down at you. His command immediately took root in your body, prompting it to submit to his wishes without question. At that order, you felt the waves of bliss crashing over you as you were shepherded into ecstacy. Your pussy began contracting and fluttering around his cock as the warmth of his own release emptied himself within you. He roared something that sounded like your name, the gurgled choke of his otherworldly voice breaking into his usual tone. 

“I-I’m cumming,” you cried out, screaming his name and a babble of incomprehensible words as your tears began to leak from the corners of your eyes, “Lucci, nnngh- I’m cumming.” You were in ecstasy, never before feeling so full and stretched by a partner prior. Viscous cum began flooding your abdomen and immediately splashing back against the base of your cervix. The knot at his base acted like a plug: holding the entirety of his load deep within you and choking you with how much volume it truly was. 

Lucci rolled the both of you onto your side, his cock still buried at the knot as the final twitches of his cock deeply spilling into you had you gasping for air. Your soft tears began to build up in intensity, rolling down your cheeks as your shoulders shook. Containing your whimpers in your lips after such a hefty release coming out of nowhere, you drew your hand up once more to press over your lips and nose. Eyes scrunched shut, you tried to contain yourself as you were overcome with heavy emotions. You replayed the events from the day, hoping it would make sense if you focussed it enough.

Your colleague had propositioned you, and while you didn’t say ‘no’, you also didn’t say 'yes,' until he was already buried within you. Terror at his otherworldly form compelled you to flee, and that chase exhilarated you to the point where your fright became arousal. Tearing through your clothes, he bullied himself into you to the point your teeth chattered at the stretch, but it didn’t feel wrong. It felt almost as if you were meant to be his-.

“-Mate,” Lucci’s voice softly purred at you. His tongue lulled out and began to drag the coarse muscle against your neck. Slowly lapping at your skin, the barbs on his lengthy pink tongue collected a few of your tears and pulled them back into his mouth. His body relaxed against you, his muscle deflating at the ring of your pussy circling at his base. The arm around your waist began to melt back to the flesh of his mortal self.

“Lucci, I-.” He hushed you by drawing you back further into his arms, nuzzling his forehead into your neck while inhaling deeply. His cock was still buried, knot throbbing as he reduced back into the mortal you knew him to be.

“-I warned you not to run,” he whispered huskily against you. His lips met your skin and pressed a warm and gentle kiss into it, “I would’ve been so much more gentle.” Another kiss melted against your skin, his words rolling easily off his tongue and pressed into you. “It could’ve been so much more beautiful. Not like...,” he twitched his cock, still deflating at the knot as he shifted back into his usual self, “...This.” 

You whimpered at the twitch, with a chuckle met in response from the man behind you. 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, almost shyly in comparison to his usual cold-heartedness. You gently shook your head in ‘no,’ knowing truly that you would have a dull ache and burn as soon as you managed to struggle shakily to your feet. 

“Liar,” he muffled his lips over your pulse, his gentleness continuing as he began fixing your shirt from behind you. “You took me well, like you were made for me.” You hid your head in your hand, feeling truly fatigued and grimy after that full chase and having his cock buried balls deep within your pussy. 

After taking a moment to calm yourself down with a few gulps of air, you addressed the man behind you as your superior. 

“We lost track of the target,” you stated monotonously, “They will not be pleased with our failure.” Lucci hummed behind you, pressing his forehead to the base of your skull and inhaling now his muzzle fell back into his human appearance. He drank in your scent in any of his forms, taking you in and creating a memory of the harmony falling from your skin and rising in his lungs. 

“I don’t care. We will find them again,” he nodded, pulling back and taking a look at your body against his. You were so small, and your skin was flushed and sweaty from sprinting. “Rest now.” You nodded, your brows furrowing as you felt him still buried deep within you. The swollen knot continued to pulse against your walls, the thrum of your heartbeat deep within your pussy matching the join bulbing at his hilt. You truly felt as one with him, and you didn’t quite understand it.

“What did you call me?” You asked him quietly, “You called me something. Your-.”

“-My mate, yes,” he confirmed, settling himself behind you. Using his hand to gently caress your skin, he moved it up and down your arm before settling over the bulge in your stomach where his cock was buried. “Regardless to how you feel about me, whether you hate me, loathe me, or tolerate me for the sake of the missions: you are my mate. Mine.” 

You took a moment to think on it, rolling the thoughts over in your mind and the earlier terror his form induced in you.

“I don’t know if I want that, sir,” you confessed to him in a voice so soft it almost went unheard. Lucci tensed behind you, his muscles growing taut and already beginning to swell into his other form. He tried to calm the beast within down, managing to sate it with a few intentional breaths. Leaning into your ear, his lips and breath tingled the shell and lobe of your skin while he extended his threat with a sense of promise.

“When you wake every day with my face between your thighs, lapping at your cunt and making you cum over and over again on my face, you might change your tune,” he purred, gently tugging on your lobe with his extended canines. “When you take my knot in my office, crying and squirting on it while I hold a vibrator against that pearl at the top of your pussy, you will have it melt into your memory.” You squeaked as you felt his hand dip down between your legs and gave the tip still pulsing at the top of your pussy a gentle pinch, “When the other Zoan’s notice my scent on your body, taste our lust in the air, and see my seed dripping down your thighs beneath your uniform, you will know for sure.” 

“Know what, sir?” You asked him, turning to face him with rounded eyes. His human eyes swelled into yellowed slits, his pupils blowing in lust as he rolled your arousal around your slick pussy. His cock swelled within you, although his knot began to deflate. He slowly began to rock into you, fucking his cum back into you with slow and heavy motions. 

“You’ll know who you belong to,” he whispers, his lips meeting the corner of your mouth as his bucking kept its steady pace, “You’ll know who will protect you as his own.” His lips traveled further up to half covering your mouth. “You’ll know who will never leave you for wanting in this life.” His hand drew up to the tip of his cock buried within you, pushing down on your stomach while he fucked steadily into you. “You’ll know you’re mine.” 

“Yours?” you gasped, already feeling the need begin to rouse in your abdomen. Lucci’s lips covered your own, his pace beginning to pick up as he felt his own need swell in his stomach within his human body. Tongues colliding, teeth gnashing, he sloppily fucked into you while he passionately kissed you with all of the emotion he no longer repressed. While it was not yet love, you could feel the beginnings of the fresh sparks rising between you. Pulling away, he bore his intense and possessive gaze into your eyes, uttering one word that had you immediately almost cum there and then.

“Mine.”

And you were his, just as much as he was yours.

Night settled over the plains in gentle layers.

First came the dimming sky, draining the gold from the wheat fields until everything turned silver and blue beneath the moonlight. Then the villagers retreated indoors one by one, lanterns flickering behind shuttered windows while doors clicked shut with quiet finality. By the time you stepped out of the trading hall, your satchel tucked against your side, the village was almost silent.

Too silent.

You paused near the central well, glancing at the empty paths. Usually, there were still people wandering this late- farmers stumbling home after drinks, guards patrolling the outskirts, somebody arguing somewhere. Tonight, only the wind moved through the tall grass beyond the village fence, whispering in long waves. The dark oak forest in the distance looked nearly black against the horizon. Your home was somewhere inside it. And, of course, you loved being alone... some of your friends or other villagers often said that was a brave or risky choice.

A faint metallic clang echoed nearby. You froze. The sound was familiar enough to relax your shoulders after a second. Probably the iron golem making his rounds again. The old thing always sounded like it was falling apart when it walked.

You exhaled quietly and kept walking down the path. Then another sound rang out.

Closer this time. Not footsteps. Something deliberate. Like metal striking wood. Your brows furrowed.

The sound hadn’t come from the center of the village but from the houses near the outer fence, the quieter area no one used much at night.

You looked towards it instinctively. Nothing, just dark rooftops and swaying grass.

Still...

Something felt off. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You picked up your pace.

A heavy shape appeared between two houses ahead, broad shoulders scraping the lantern light as the iron golem lumbered into view. Relief immediately softened your face.

“There you are,” you muttered quietly.

The golem turned slightly at your voice.

You stepped closer without thinking, resting your free hand against the rough stone of its arm. “You’re the only thing out here that doesn’t make this place feel haunted.”

The golem gave a low creaking groan.

A laugh escaped you quietly. “I’m serious. At least you’re good company.”

The words had barely left your mouth when the atmosphere shifted. The golem stiffened beneath your hand. Its head turned sharply toward the village outskirts. Toward the dark.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

This time the sound split through the silence so loudly you flinched. Not accidental. Not distant.

Your eyes snapped toward the noise. A figure stood just beyond the lantern glow near the wooden fence.

Tall. Unnaturally still…and loud breathing only now that he knew you were paying attention. Moonlight caught the edge of an axe resting across one shoulder. The blade glinted pale silver.

Your stomach dropped.

The figure tilted its head slowly when it noticed you staring.

The Knocker.

You’d heard stories before, mostly from traveling merchants passing through the village tavern. They spoke about wandering abandoned places at night. Something that followed sounds. Something curious enough to stalk people for hours without attacking but absolutely attacking just for the hell of it otherwise. And of course you knew about it. This guy had been stalking you for about a month at this point now. At least you think so.

Some claimed The Knocker only wanted attention.

Others claimed he wanted company badly enough to keep people from ever leaving. He was standing near the fence and looked almost relaxed. One hand loosely gripped the axe handle while the other tapped against the wooden post beside him.

The sound echoed again.

Your pulse spiked immediately.

The Knocker smiled.

Not wide enough to show aggression. Wide enough to show amusement though.

Like your fear entertained him.

The iron golem moved in front of you with a low warning growl. The Knocker’s smile faltered instantly. His dark eyes dropped to your hand still resting against the golem’s arm.

Silence stretched.

Then slowly- almost pettily… the Knocker dragged the edge of his axe across the fence.

CRRAAACK.

The noise made your teeth ache and the golem took a heavy step forward.

And the Knocker’s expression darkened.

Not angry…Offended?...Jealous?

The realization hit so suddenly it almost felt ridiculous.

His gaze kept flicking back to the golem whenever you looked away, shoulders tightening each time, subtly, the iron giant remained close to you. Like he disliked the attention it was getting.

Like he thought it belonged to him instead.

“Oh, no,” you whispered under your breath.

The Knocker noticed immediately. His grin returned. Slowly, he pushed himself away from the fence and began walking toward you.

But not fast. That was the worst part.

He moved like someone completely certain they would eventually be followed. The axe hung lazily from one hand, occasionally knocking against stone or wood as he walked.

Every strike is deliberate. A hunter ensured the prey remained nervous.

The golem let out another warning growl. But you'd have to stay in the village range to ensure its protection.

The Knocker stopped.

His eyes narrowed slightly at the iron giant before drifting back to you, then, deliberately, he smiled again.

Playful. Mocking. Inviting.

Like this was all some private joke.

Your chest tightened.

“Right,” you said shakily, taking a slow step backward. “I’m going home.”

The Knocker immediately straightened. The reaction was instant enough to make your stomach sink. He had been waiting for that. The moment you turned toward the forest path, the metallic drag of the axe resumed behind you.

Not chasing yet.

Following. You walked faster.

The sound behind you matched the pace.

You crossed beyond the village fence and into the open plains, moonlight spilling across the grass around you in pale green waves. The forest ahead looked impossibly far away now.

Still behind you.

You glanced back.

The Knocker was closer.

Far closer than he should have been. And he wasn’t even hiding it.

His dark eyes remained locked onto you while he walked casually through the grass, axe balanced across his shoulders now like he was out for an evening stroll instead of stalking someone through the dark. The moment you looked at him, his grin widened.

You turned forward immediately and broke into a run.

A laugh echoed behind you.

Low, Breathy, Excited.

The laugh of someone being invited to play.

Branches whipped at your arms as you bolted into the dark oak forest, your heartbeat roaring in your ears while the heavy metallic clang continued somewhere behind you. Never rushing and never falling behind.

Always there. The forest swallowed you whole.

One moment moonlight stretched across open plains.

The next, twisted dark oak trunks crowded around you from every direction, their branches weaving together overhead until barely any light reached the ground.

You ran anyway.

Leaves crunched beneath your boots. Branches snagged your sleeves. Every breath burned hotter than the last as you pushed deeper into the woods.

Your house wasn't far.

It wasn't far. You'd walked this path hundreds of times. Yet tonight the familiar trail felt impossibly long. A metallic clang echoed somewhere behind you.

Still there. Your stomach dropped. of course he was still there.

The sound wasn't rushed.

Wasn't frantic.

It rang through the forest with irritating confidence, like he wasn't worried about losing you, like he knew exactly where you were.

Another clang.

Closer.

You stole a quick glance behind you. Nothing seemed out of place, just darkness among the trees. For a moment, relief washed over you. Then, laughter echoed from above. You nearly lost your footing. Your head jerked upward. There, on a sturdy branch, sat a pale figure crouched, watching. The Knocker rested easily among the leaves, as if he'd been there all along. One arm hung over the branch, the axe lying across his lap. His glowing eyes locked onto yours. A grin spread across his face instantly.

You let out a startled yelp and stumbled backward. The Knocker laughed harder. Then he simply dropped. Your heart stopped.

He hit the ground several yards away with a heavy thud before straightening casually, like falling from that height meant absolutely nothing.

Run.

You turned and bolted. The sound of his laughter followed.

Not malicious. Not cruel. Playful…but maybe something darker as well.

That somehow made it worse.

"Leave me alone!" you shouted over your shoulder.

A pause.

Then another laugh.

Apparently that wasn't the answer he'd been hoping for. A sudden CRACK exploded beside your head.

You screamed.

Something slammed into the tree trunk inches from your face. The Knocker's axe. It had buried itself deep into the bark. You froze for half a second, staring at the blade protruding from the wood.

A half-second was enough.

A shadow slipped between two nearby trees. The Knocker emerged on the opposite side of the path. Not blocking it. Just standing there.

Waiting.

The grin on his face looked unbearably pleased, as if he were proud of himself, as if startling you had been the funniest thing he'd witnessed all night, and maybe it was…seems to be a hobby of his.

"What is wrong with you?!" you shouted.

The Knocker merely tilted his head. Then pointed at the axe. Then at you. Then at the axe again.

A silent demand?... You blinked.

"...You want me to bring it back?"

That's when you knew your panic was getting bad, WHY WOULD YOU ASK THAT?

His grin widened.

"Oh, absolutely not."

The offended look that crossed his face would've been comical under different circumstances. You took off running again, behind you came an exaggerated sigh, then the sound of wood splintering as he retrieved his weapon himself. The chase continued. Your lungs ached. Your legs screamed.

Meanwhile, the Knocker somehow remained energetic. Each time you convinced yourself he was gone, a fresh thump reverberated from an uncanny corner.

From the left. From the path ahead. From the shadows behind. Once, from directly above.

It seemed absurd- as if the woods themselves conspired to hide him, or perhaps he simply knew every twisted root and whisper better than you ever could.

A gnarled root snared your ankle. Was this a horror film!?

You crashed to the earth, knees exploding with pain. For a heartbeat, terror held you rigid.

No. No. No.

Heavy boots pounded nearer. Closer.

You lunged backward, desperation clawing at you. The Knocker emerged from the gloom. He loomed over you, a moment suspended.

Watching.

An axe draped across his shoulder.

His pallid eyes flicked over your blood‑streaked hands and mud‑splattered clothes. Then his grin faltered- just enough for a flicker of genuine concern tangled with mockery to surface.

He crouched.

You immediately scooted backward.

"Don't."

The Knocker stopped.

His expression shifted...confused.

As though he genuinely couldn't understand why you didn't trust him. Which was absurd considering he'd been stalking you for half the night. The moment stretched.

Then he slowly reached out.

You flinched.

Instead of grabbing you, his clawed hand brushed a loose branch away from where you'd fallen. The branch rolled harmlessly into the undergrowth.

The Knocker looked oddly satisfied with himself, like he'd just solved a major problem. Then, because apparently he couldn't help himself, he suddenly leaned forward. Far too close. Close enough for you to see every sharp edge of his grin.

You yelped.

The Knocker nearly doubled over laughing. Any concern he'd shown vanished instantly.

"You are the worst," you snapped.

His shoulders shook harder.

Somewhere in the distance, beyond the trees, a lantern flickered through the darkness.

Your lantern. Your house. Relief surged through you.

You scrambled upright and immediately took off again. The Knocker noticed and his laughter faded.

His eyes followed yours toward the distant light. Then something curious happened. He straightened, looked at the house, looked back at you…And smiled. Not the mischievous grin from before. Something softer but not quite gentle enough to make you less worried….Interested maybe. Like he'd just discovered where a particularly fascinating bird built its nest. The realization hit you like a bucket of cold water.

"Oh no."

The Knocker's grin widened.

And suddenly reaching your house didn't feel nearly as safe as it should have. But where else can you go? The moment you reached the porch, you nearly tripped over the steps. Your hands fumbled for the key.

"Hurry. Hurry, hurry- "

The lock finally clicked.

You turn your head just a moment while fumbling with the door handle that suddenly feels very slippery only to see him leaping at you with a manic from a distance that should not be normal for any typical mob. Of course he's past the point of a normal monster.

You threw yourself inside. The door slammed shut behind you, the deadbolt slid into place.

Then the second lock.

Then the third.

Your chest heaved.

For several seconds all you could hear was your own breathing. The familiar scent of old wood and burning lantern oil filled the room.

Home. Safe. You leaned against the door and squeezed your eyes shut.

"It's fine."

The words came out shakier than intended.

"You're fine."

Nothing happened. No laughter. No metallic noises. No dark eyes staring at you from the darkness.

Just silence.

Slowly, your heartbeat began to settle. The cabin remained exactly as you'd left it that morning. The little table near the fireplace. The bookshelf against the wall. The lantern hanging from its hook. All seemed ordinary. All felt known. A feeble chuckle escaped you.

“See? Nothing.” you murmur to yourself.

Beyond, the wind whispered through the leaves. You shoved yourself from the doorway. One step. Two. Three. A tap. You halted. The noise emanated from the front door- soft, courteous, almost tender. You fixed your gaze. A hush settled. Then another rap. Tap. Tap. Your gut sank.

"No."

The second knock rang back at once, a restless echo this time. You edged away from the door, and the cabin seemed to shrink around you. A sudden, sharp crack cracked through the silence from somewhere above, and you jolted. It hadn’t come from the outside, no, it rose from within the walls, a floorboard giving way. A chill seized your veins, turning your blood to ice.

Slowly- very, very slowly- you turned your gaze toward the staircase. The upper hallway lay in total darkness, empty, still, void of any movement. Nothing stood there. Nothing…

Then a silhouette slipped into view. Your scream caught in your throat as the Knocker materialized halfway down the hall, inside your house. One clawed hand rested nonchalantly against the wall, an axe draped loosely across his shoulders, as if he’d always belonged there, as if tearing reality apart were his everyday routine.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The Knocker tilted his head, a slow grin unfurling across his face. He lifted a hand and waved- a gesture so absurdly friendly it only deepened the dread.

"How-?"

Your voice cracked.

"How did you get in here?"

The Knocker merely shrugged.

Like it wasn't important. Like the impossible part of the situation wasn't worth discussing.

Another knock echoed through the cabin.

You nearly jumped out of your skin before realizing the sound hadn't come from the door. The Knocker had done it. One claw lightly tapped against the wall.

Knock.

The smile on his face widened.

"Oh, you're awful."

The accusation only seemed to amuse him.

He straightened, you immediately backed up.

He took one step forward.

You took another backward.

The game resumed instantly.

Not chasing anymore. Not exactly…still hunting it seems…but mostly following. Watching.

You retreated around the table. He walked around it.

Slowly.

Patiently.

The way a curious cat might stalk something smaller than itself. Every time you stopped moving, he stopped too. Every time you retreated, he advanced.

Not enough to touch. Not enough to corner. Just enough to keep you nervous.

His dark eyes never left yours. Then they wandered briefly around the room. The bookshelf, the fireplace, the blanket draped over a chair.

Your belongings.

Your home.

His expression brightened. Interested. Curious. Like he'd just been handed a collection of secrets.

"No."

You pointed at him.

"No looking."

The Knocker blinked, then deliberately looked at the bookshelf again.

"You are impossible."

A pleased expression crossed his face.

You hated that he looked proud of himself. The floor creaked beneath your foot, you backed toward the hallway without realizing it. The Knocker noticed immediately. Of course he did. His gaze flicked toward the open bedroom door at the end of the hall.

Then back to you.

Then the bedroom again.

His grin sharpened.

"Oh, no. No."

You turned. Bad idea. The second your attention broke, the room behind you vanished.

A shadow moved. A rush of air.

Suddenly the Knocker was standing at the opposite end of the hallway, blocking your path back to the main room. Teleporting? Your heart nearly stopped.

"Stop doing that!"

He looked delighted. He even chuckled.

You stumbled backward. The bedroom doorway appeared behind you. One more step. Then another. The Knocker followed at a leisurely pace.

Not threatening. Not rushing.

Which somehow felt more unnerving than if he had.

The closer he came, the more obvious it became that he wasn't trying to hurt you. He could have already. Easily. Instead he seemed fascinated by every reaction. Every startled breath, glare, and complaint. As though your attention itself was a reward. You crossed the bedroom threshold. The Knocker stopped in the doorway.

Moonlight filtered through the window behind him, outlining his silhouette in silver. For the first time all night, his grin softened. Not disappearing. Just becoming less mischievous. His gaze drifted over the room. Then settled back on you. There was something almost pleased about the way he looked at you. Like he'd accomplished something.

Found something.

Maybe even chose something. The realization sent a chill down your spine. The Knocker leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. Completely relaxed. Completely at home. Then he tapped a claw against the wood beside him. *Knock.* The sound echoed softly through the room.

A grin spread across his face.

And somehow, impossibly, it looked almost flirtatious. Like he was introducing himself. Like this had been a successful first meeting. What worried you the most was how quiet he was. You'd only heard him talk so many times…in such short sentences- but he has been so quiet during all this. Meanwhile, you were trying very hard not to panic. The difference in perspective was becoming a serious problem.

All you could hear was your own heavy breathing and the sound of leaves rustling in the wind outside the window. It was nearly too dark around you, you backed up until your legs hit the bed and you stumbled back.

“Did you really think you could run from me?” He finally spoke. His voice was rough and dark.

Your face flushed at his mocking tone. Maybe it was pointless. He seemed to not care about the boundaries of doors even though he loved to knock on them. Silver light was cast across the doorway by moonlight streaming through the bedroom window. As if he had always belonged in the house, the Knocker stood there.

His axe hung loosely in his hand, its dark metal glimmering faintly in the lantern light outside the room as one shoulder rested idly against the frame. It wasn't a weapon in his hands. In fact, it appeared more like a walking stick. A game. Something to keep him busy. That ought to have provided comfort.

Not at all.

The majority of his body was engulfed by his enormous black hoodie, which hung casually from his narrow shoulders and obstructed the outlines of his body underneath. It might have appeared nearly normal in another scenario.

Somewhat human.

Then his face was there.

Or what passed for one.

Pale. Smooth. Unnaturally still.

The white mask-like features seemed carved rather than alive, interrupted only by dark eyes that reflected tiny pinpricks of light. He smiled. At least, you thought he did. The corners of his mouth shifted upward slightly. Yet somehow the expression never reached the rest of his face.

The result felt wrong. Like watching a doll imitate a person.

Like watching something that had studied humans long enough to copy them but never truly understood them. His head tilted. The movement was slow. Curious.

Interested. Pleased... Almost fond. The thought sent a chill crawling down your spine.

Because there was something far more unsettling than being hunted. Being chosen. The Knocker's fingers drummed softly against the wooden handle of his axe.

Knock.

The sound echoed through the room. His smile widened. And somehow, impossibly, it felt like he was flirting. Or trying to be charming. Unfortunately, it also felt like he was enjoying your fear.

The words hung in the air like a challenge, his voice scraping against the quiet of the room. The moonlight caught the gleam of his teeth as his grin widened, hungry and amused all at once. He didn't move from the doorway- not yet- but his posture shifted, a subtle coiling of muscle beneath the skin, like a cat ready to pounce but savoring the wait.

Your back pressed against the edge of the bed, the wooden frame digging into your thighs. The panic was a dull roar in your ears, but you forced yourself to breathe, to keep your eyes on him. He was watching you with that same pleased look, as if your fear was a treat he was unwrapping slowly.

"You talk even less than I thought," you managed, the words trembling out before you could stop them. A mistake. A taunt.

The Knocker's head tilted, a sharp, jerky motion that reminded you of a bird snapping its neck to fix on prey. His hand curled up into a fist and drummed a soft rhythm against the doorframe. Knock. Knock. Knock. As if the noise was meant to taunt you even though you could see it.

"Less to say," he replied, his voice dropping to a rumble. "More to do." He stepped into the room.

The movement was fluid, almost lazy, but there was nothing casual about the way his eyes tracked you. He didn't blink. The moonlight slid over his form, catching the strange texture of his skin- rough like bark, but shifting with something slick underneath. He circled the edge of the bed, not rushing, letting the space between you shrink with each deliberate footfall.

"Did you think I'd let you leave?" he asked, and his tone was light, almost conversational, but the undercurrent was pure feral glee. "I chose you. That doesn't happen often."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. "Choose me for what?"

He stopped at the foot of the bed, one clawed hand reaching out to drag along the quilt. The fabric tore under his touch- a soft, ripping sound that made you flinch. He didn't seem to notice or care. His grin turned sharper, tongue flicking over his teeth.

"For playing." The word came out a growl, deep and possessive. "I get bored. You're interesting. Worthy." He leaned forward, his face dipping close to yours, and you could smell the earth and rot and something sweet clinging to him. "And you run so pretty."

The compliment was a threat wrapped in velvet. Your breath hitched as his claw came up, hovering near your cheek- not touching, but close enough that you felt the cold radiating from his skin. He tapped the air beside your ear.

Knock.

"Don't worry," he murmured, his voice a rough purr now, like he was soothing a startled animal. "I won't break you. Not yet." A pause, and then his grin turned almost shy, a flicker of something boyish beneath the monster. "I'm still learning how to talk properly. But I'm getting better. For you."

The confession hit you like a splash of cold water. He wasn't just playing- he was preening, showing off his new skill. The predator wanted his prey to appreciate the hunt. To see how clever he was becoming.

You swallowed hard. "You can talk fine."

"Fine," he repeated, rolling the word on his tongue like a new taste. "Fine. Good. I like that word." He pulled back slightly, but his eyes never left yours. "Say it again."

"What?"

"Good." He crouched, bringing himself to eye level with you, his clawed hands resting on his knees. The moonlight painted him in shades of silver and shadow. "Tell me I'm good. Tell me I did well."

The request was absurd, desperate, and undeniably feral. This wasn't a monster demanding submission- it was a creature starved for approval, for connection, and using the hunt as his only language. You saw the hunger in his gaze, but it wasn't just for your flesh. It was for your voice, your attention, your acknowledgment. And that was somehow more terrifying than his axe.

"Good," you whispered, the word scraping out of your throat. "You did… good."

The Knocker's eyes widened. For a split second, his feral mask cracked, revealing something raw and almost innocent. Then the grin returned, wider than before, and he let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated through the floorboards.

"Good," he echoed, savoring the sound. "I like that. Say it again. Maybe you should say it while I watch you try to run."

He straightened, stretching like a beast waking from a nap, and the playful predator was back in full force- but now there was a new edge to it. He was comfortable. He was chatty. And he wanted to hear you talk almost as much as he wanted to hear you scream.

Your legs trembled, but you forced yourself to calm, and meet his gaze. "I'm not running."

"No?" He tilted his head, dark eyes empty and observing.

The silence that followed was worse than his voice. He didn't move, didn't blink, didn't even seem to breathe. His head remained canted at that unnatural angle, like a doll propped wrong, and the moonlight caught the sheen of something wet between his teeth. A slow grin spread, but it didn't reach his eyes. Those stayed flat. Hungry. Watching.

You held your breath, waiting for him to speak again, to laugh, to do something. But he just stood there, motionless except for the faint twitch of his claws against his thigh. Tap. Tap. Tap. A rhythm you could feel in your teeth.

Then he stepped back.

One foot sliding slowly, deliberately, into the shadow by the window. His form blurred, half-consumed by darkness, but his eyes remained fixed on you-two points of faint luminescence, like a cat's caught in headlights. He didn't turn away. He just receded, letting the room swallow him until only his silhouette remained, a darker patch against the night. Your pulse hammered. The bedframe pressed against your spine. You wanted to look away, to break the spell, but you couldn't. Something about the way he'd gone still and silent made your skin crawl, like a predator circling just beyond the campfire's glow.

"You're thinking," he said, his voice a low murmur from the shadows. Not a question. A statement, laced with amusement. "I can hear it. Little gears turning. Plans. Prayers. Maybe even hope." A pause, and then a soft, wet chuckle. "I like that. Fear tastes better when you've got time to chew on it."

The words slithered through the dark, wrapping around you. You forced your legs to move, to shift your weight, but the sound of your own breathing was too loud, masking whatever soft approach he might be making. You strained your ears, but there was nothing. No rustle of leaves. No scrape of claws. Just the dead quiet of a room that felt smaller by the second.

Then you felt it. A brush of cold air against your ankle, like a breeze through an open window- but the window was shut. A whisper of touch, featherlight, skating up the inside of your calf. You jerked back, but your legs hit the bed again, and the touch vanished. When you looked down, there was nothing there. But the shadows at the foot of the bed seemed thicker than before. Denser. And they were moving, shifting like oil on water, crawling up the wooden frame.

His voice came from directly behind you, warm breath against your ear. "Guess again." You spun, heart in your throat, but the space behind you was empty. Only the pillow dented as if something had just been resting there. A ghost of a presence. A phantom touch that left your skin prickling with cold.

He was everywhere and nowhere. The darkness seemed to breathe with him, curling around the corners of the room, pooling in the spaces between the furniture. You could feel his gaze on your back, your side, your neck- multiple angles, impossible to track.

Another touch, this time on your wrist. Gloved fingers dragging lightly across your skin, tracing the veins. The pressure was gentle, almost teasing, but the sharp edge was unmistakable. He could cut. He wanted you to know he could cut, but he was choosing not to. For now. "Keep thinking," he murmured, his voice seeming to come from the walls themselves. "It makes your heart beat faster. I can hear it. Smell it." A pause, and then a low, guttural laugh. "Taste it."

Your breath hitched as a cold hand pressed flat against your lower back, just above the curve of your ass. The fingers spread, palm wide, radiating a chill that seeped through your clothes. He was close now, so close you could smell the earth and rot and that strange sweetness again, but when you turned, there was no one there. Just the impression of a body against your own, a phantom weight pressing into you from behind.

"You're doing so well," he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear- though you saw no mouth, no face, nothing. "Not screaming. Not running. Just standing there, trembling, giving me all those pretty little fear-soaked thoughts." His hand slid lower, palm pressing against the dip of your hip, fingers curling inward to grip the flesh. The touch was possessive, firm, and utterly cold. He didn't move to hurt you- not yet- but the threat was in every line of his posture, every calculated lack of pressure.

"I could stay here all night," he said, his voice a rough purr against your neck. "Listen to your heart stutter. Feel you shiver. Watch you try to figure out where I'll touch next." A pause, and his grip tightened just a fraction, making you gasp. "But I'm curious. What do you think I'll do? When I get bored of just feeling?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and sharp. His hand remained on your hip, still and cold, while the rest of him pressed against your back- an invisible weight, a presence you could sense but not see. The moonlight had shifted, casting long shadows across the floor, and you could swear you saw movement in every one of them. He was waiting. Enjoying it. Feeding on your silence and the frantic rhythm of your pulse. And you knew, with sickening certainty, that he would be patient for as long as it took…

But patience, it seemed, had its limits.

The cold hand on your hip slid forward, fingers curling around your waist, pulling you back against a solid chest that materialized from the darkness like a body forming out of smoke. You felt him this time- the rough texture of his skin, the hard planes of muscle beneath, the steady thrum of something that might have been a heartbeat, but too slow, too deep.

"There," he breathed, his voice no longer a whisper from the walls but right against your ear, real and present. "That's better."

You didn't dare move. His arm locked around your waist, pinning your back to his chest, and you felt his other hand come up to rest on your shoulder, claws grazing the curve of your neck. He was taller than you'd thought, or maybe you were just smaller in his grip. His chin settled on top of your head, and he let out a low, satisfied hum that vibrated through your spine.

"You smell like fear," he murmured, his lips brushing your hair. "Sweet and sharp. Like crushed berries and broken glass." A pause. "I could get drunk on it."

His hand on your shoulder drifted, tracing the line of your collarbone with the barest pressure of claw tips. Not cutting. Never cutting. Just enough to remind you that he could. The gesture was almost tender, if tenderness could have fangs.

"You know what I think?" he asked, tilting his head so his lips hovered near your temple. "I think you're starting to like it. The fear. Not knowing. The way your heart races when you feel me here"- his hand pressed flat against your stomach- "and here"- his fingers tapped the base of your throat.

You tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry. He laughed softly, the sound rough and warm against your skin.

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone your secret." His grip shifted, turning you in his arms until you faced him. He was solid now, fully visible in the dim light- tall, broad-shouldered, with bark-like skin that seemed to absorb the moonbeams. His eyes were dark pits, but there was a glint in them, a hungry amusement that made your stomach flip. His hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, but the claws at your jawline were a reminder of his nature. "I want to taste something else now," he said, his voice dropping to a rumble. "Not your fear. Your mouth."

He didn't wait for permission. He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours- rough, dry, tasting of earth and something metallic. But the pressure was surprisingly soft, almost experimental, like he was learning the shape of you. His other hand slid to your hip, pulling you flush against him, and you felt the hard ridge of his arousal pressing into your stomach.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his lips brushing yours. "Open."

You stared in surprise, eyes wide, blinking.

“ah- Open." He repeated.

The single word was a command, low and certain, and your breath hitched. His hand tightened on your jaw, not painfully, but firm, waiting. When you parted your lips, a sound halfway between a gasp and a whimper escaped, and he swallowed it with a growl.

His tongue swept into your mouth- rough-textured, like sandpaper wrapped in velvet, but warm and insistent. He tasted you with a predator's thoroughness, mapping every ridge and hollow, curling around your tongue, dragging against the roof of your mouth until you had to grip his shoulders to stay upright. His claws scraped lightly against your scalp as he deepened the kiss, his other hand roaming down your back, pressing you into the hard lines of his body.

When he finally broke the kiss, a thin strand of saliva connecting your lips, he let out a low chuckle. "Sweet," he said, licking his lips. "Even sweeter than your fear." His eyes raked over your face, dark and gleaming. "I think I'll take my time with you. Taste every inch. See which parts make you moan, and which make you beg."

His hand slid down your stomach, fingers splaying over your waist, then lower, brushing the waistband of your pants. He didn't push inside yet- just rested there, the weight of his palm a promise.

His voice was a purr, rough and teasing. "Ready to play for real, pretty girl?"

You didn't answer his question. Couldn't. Your lips were still tingling from that kiss, your thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. The Knocker's dark eyes watched you, patient and amused, his hand still resting on the waistband of your pants, claws just barely denting the fabric.

"Cat got your tongue?" he purred, thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle over your hipbone. "Or did I just lick it out of your mouth?"

You tried to form a word, but all that came out was a shaky breath. His grin widened, showing the tips of his teeth. "That's what I thought."

But then he pulled away- not far, just enough to turn and walk toward the corner of the room, where shadows pooled thicker than the rest. You heard a scrape, a metallic clatter, and when he turned back, he was holding something in his hand. An axe. The Knocker's axe- its blade dark and worn, the handle wrapped in what looked like dried sinew. He held it loosely, almost casually, and the sight of it made your blood run cold.

He caught your stare and laughed, a low, rough sound. "Oh, this?" He hefted it, letting the moonlight catch the edge. "Don't worry, little prey. I don't need it for what I have planned for you." He took a step closer, and the axe seemed to drink the light. "But it's good for reminding you who's in charge."

He stopped a few feet away, tilted his head, and then- without breaking eye contact- he set the axe down on the floor, leaning it against the wall. The clunk of wood on wood was final, almost ceremonial.

"See?" He spread his empty hands, claws glinting. "Just me and you now." He closed the distance again, this time moving slower, savoring your unease. When he reached you, he didn't grab or pin. Instead, he sank to his knees in front of you, looking up with that same hungry, playful gleam in his dark eyes.

"You're shaking," he observed, his voice dropping to a murmur. He placed his palms on your thighs, sliding them up until they hooked under the hem of your pants. "Is that from fear . . . or from wanting?"

Before you could answer, he tugged downward, pulling your pants and underwear with them in one smooth motion. The cool air hit your skin, and you gasped, instinctively trying to close your legs. His grip tightened- not painfully, but firm- keeping you open.

"Nuh-uh," he chided, shaking his head. "None of that. I told you I wanted to taste every inch, didn't I?" He leaned in, his breath warm against the inside of your thigh. "And I always keep my promises."

He pressed a kiss there- rough, open-mouthed, his tongue dragging against your skin. Then another, higher, his claws kneading the flesh of your hips. He took his time, working his way inward with slow, deliberate kisses and nips that made you arch into him despite yourself. When his mouth finally reached your cunt, he paused, looking up at you. "You're already so wet for me, little prey." His voice was a rasp, thick with amusement and hunger. "Been thinking about this, have you? Dreaming of the monster between your legs?" He teased.

He didn't wait for a reply. He licked into you, flat and broad, from your entrance to your clit, and the sound you made was embarrassingly loud. He hummed against you, the vibration making your thighs quiver, and then his tongue was inside- rough, insistent, curling and probing like it was mapping you from the inside out. And absurdly long.

His claws dug into your hips, holding you steady as he worked you open with his mouth, alternating between long, slow licks and sharp, focused flicks on your clit. Your hands flew to his head, fingers threading through the rough texture of his bark-like hair, and you heard yourself moan his name- or something like it. Is “knocker” really a name or a title?

He pulled back just long enough to growl against your folds, "That's it. Say my name when you come. I want to hear it."

And then his tongue was back, relentless, dragging you closer and closer to the edge until your vision went white and you shattered against his mouth, crying out as he lapped up every drop of your release, groaning like he was savoring a fine meal. When he finally stood, his chin was slick, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He licked his lips, slow and deliberate. "You taste even better than I imagined," he said, his voice rough and low. He hooked his hands under your knees, lifting you easily, and carried you to the bed- or the pile of blankets in the corner- laying you down with surprising gentleness. He loomed over you, his body a solid shadow, and you could feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh through his clothes.

"Now," he breathed, his face inches from yours, "it's about time we really start, pretty girl. . ." He reached down, undoing his pants with a single claw, letting them fall. His cock sprang free- thick, dark, glistening with pre-cum, and your mouth went dry at the sight of it.

“ahn- k-knocker? Your loosened lips gloss over with a thin trickle of mindless drool, heart-filled eyes struggling to keep open and take a long look at the sight right below you. “What- what are you doing?”

Well. Rendering you completely thoughtless with repeated thrusts of his vulgar inches. That's what. He would've tittered that out to see your features scrunch in that cute irritation, just to feel your clingy grip tighten needily around him, but he was busy right now. Barely straying his half-lidded gaze up at you. Instead, he plants three smearing taps on your weeping slit. Stretches his thumb and index finger wide to measure- You're heaving in murky clouds of breath, heedless, unsure how this is even happening through your glassy eyes. All the while, he's measuring the inches he's about to see buried inside you.

“Oh, y’know.” His tongue darts out, driveling along his bottom lip, or at least, what you think is his lip. That's all it takes for you to know: you're in for it. “Just how deep I can get.”

Oh.

Those simple words alone make your straining thighs tremble, a sheeny gush of slick spilling free. It lathers his base in velvety droplets that draw a low groan from him. He flicks a calloused thumb over your pussy, teasing it into making an even bigger mess.

“Oh?” He raises one brow, or at least makes the gesture with those shadowed eyes. He presses on your clit, making your head tumble back with a whine, before he thumbs wet little circles over it. “You liked that, huh? Filthy prey. Why am I not surprised?”

He leans in close, voice dropping to a growl. “And I'm dead fucking serious.” His eyes narrow, ravenous gaze unashamed. Your heart races at his utter intensity. He is serious. Really is. You might've underestimated his game talk…just a little too much.

In less than it takes your dewy folds to throb with that depraved rhythm, the Knicker clamps a massive hand down on the crown of your head- warm skin meeting your skull hard. He snarls that creepy, constant smile at you with a slight snicker, then pushes inside.

"F-fuck-" Your eyes leak steady rivulets of tears at the sheer, raw reach of it. The way he didn't even have to try to swab milky drops of pre-cum against your innermost walls. Fucking you open with just the thick, gluey scrape of his tip forcing its way inside.

"Just take it for me, pretty girl..."

And that's all you can do. Your spine bows into an arch, angling your hips even deeper. Jittery thighs clench against him with every striking pap! as he skids viciously against your weeping depths. It's maddening. You find yourself latching precariously onto his shoulders, trying to regain some semblance of balance…and your sanity, if possible. You flinch when he tilts your hips, letting off a particularly harsh grind against that magic spot. You're whimpering through delirious, crossed eyes. "There- ah!”

"Yeahhh, see, I knew it- " comes the husky answer. Mean. And then an even meaner set of pounds that batter and bruise your tenderest spots with each minute motion. He curls one massive palm on the delicious curve of your waist before leaning you back. "I can see it."

"What-" You gasp, angling your head just enough to sneak a glance below. At where the Knocker was feeding your pretty pussy with his veined girth.

Because right there, etched exactly onto the middle of your tummy, was the bulge he'd been eyeing. Pushing your fleshy mounds and insides enough to shape out an indent. Spearheading into you with each soppy plap! of his body.

And you didn't know if you were just that stupidly cock-drunk, but you swear you could count every single throb of his furiously hard cock meshing its way through your insides. "Ha... Better than I predicted."

Sloppy. He's painting sloshing streams of pre-cum, nudging you full with his length until you're sure you can feel his circumference branding your insides. Until you could almost taste him with every blissful explosion on your tongue.

It's driving you crazy. Almost too much. Not that it would stop him.

"Shhhh, shh, shh- that's it. You cry so pretty." The Knocker hums gutturally, his free hand gliding upward to smear away the drool spilling from your lips. He nods along with every sweet noise you make when his split-ended cock thrusts inside your hot core. "Thaaat's it. That's a good girl. Look at you, pretty girl... doing wonderfully.”

"Ngh- you're so..." You're mewling out, viscous globs of slick slipping and sliding down his length. God how did you get here again? And you can feel him- every vein raking against your gummy walls. The bumpy outline of him bludgeoning past your saturated folds.

"Yeah? Quite the stretch, huh? Though I don't think you're complaining- are you, pretty girl?" He gruffs out with a few playful squeezes on your thighs.

"It won't stop drooling." His fingertips brush against your sensitive folds, smearing the mess.

You swear you catch a fleeting glimpse of his mouth watering- saliva dripping as he hikes your hand about halfway up your tummy. But before you can process that image, he stops. The sudden absence is a jolt. Cold air rushes in where his heat had been. His cock slips out with a wet, obscene pop, leaving you clenching around nothing, desperate and empty.

A shaky whine escapes your throat before you can stop it. "Wha-”

"Shhh." His voice is low, amused. He grips the base of his shaft, thumb swiping over the slick, flushed head- glistening with your arousal. "Just needed to see something." He runs the flat of his tongue along his bottom lip, eyes fixed on where you're still fluttering open for him. Then he presses his thumb- slow, deliberate- against your clit, circling once before pulling away.

"Don't worry. I'm not done with you yet.”

And it’s less than a minute later when you’re shoved face-first into the puffy white pillows, your ass hiked high and your cunt stuffed full of all his swollen, scorching inches. He doesn't ease in- just sinks the head of his tip past your lips with a wet, tearing sound, then starts rutting. Fucking. No rhythm, no mercy-just the brute instinct of a beast chasing its heat.

A prolonged 'plap!' slams into one of your sweetest spots and you jerk, a cry ripping from your throat. His grip tightens on either side of your waist, hauling your body back into his like you're nothing but a ragdoll. You yelp as the silky blankets bunch at your knees and drag with you, stretched taut.

"The chase is done, little prey." His voice is a low, gravelly snarl from above. "Nowhere left to run. Nowhere else to be."

"No-" You're gasping, fingers twisting into the sheets for dear life. "You're just…so- oh…”

"Hrn?" he grunts, almost amused. A rumble in his chest.

And then he's trying to fuck the words right out of you- pistoning his cock raw into the deepest depths of your cunt, letting every thick, bulging vein scrape and tear at your walls. It's like his shaft was carved to map every bundled nerve, the winding ridges dragging over each spot until your brain fuzzes white.

You'd never realized how prominent his veins were. Now you feel every one- a pulsing, ridged assault that pummels you stupid. He keeps your hips locked still, savoring the way he can swipe your entrance with the head before shoving down as deep as it'll go, until your cunt starts to clench and fight, stretched too thin to take more.

"S-so- big," you whimper.

A dark chuckle scrapes from his throat. His thumb hooks around your folds, parting them. "If I'm so big, then why's this pussy begging for seconds, pretty girl?”

Just so casually watching you fall apart around his cock. Your body trembles, thighs shaking, drool pooling on the pillowcase. He's buried deep, grinding that thick, veined shaft against your sweet spot in slow, punishing circles, savoring every twitch and flutter of your cunt. But then you try to squirm forward-just an inch-desperate for air, for a moment's reprieve.

And that's all it takes.

His grip tightens on your waist, hauling you upright in one fluid, savage motion. You gasp as your back slams against his chest, your spine arching, your head lolling back against his shoulder. His arms slide under yours, hooking around your biceps, then up-locking his hands behind your neck in a nasty full nelson.

You're pinned. Trapped. Your legs splay open over his thighs, your cunt still stuffed full of his cock, now angled even deeper, plunging into places that make stars burst behind your eyes. He's still inside you, still thick and pulsing, and the new angle forces every inch to scrape against your front wall.

"What's this?" His voice is a low, guttural growl right against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Didn't mean to get yourself caught, did you?"

You can't answer-just a choked whimper as he flexes his hips, grinding deeper. His forearms press against your chest, pinning you in place, his hands cradling the back of your skull. There's nowhere to go. No escape. His biceps bulge, veins corded, holding you helpless as he starts to fuck you again-slow, deep, deliberate strokes that make your vision blur.

"Look at you," he snarls, nuzzling into your hair, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "Perfect little prey, all wrapped up. No squirming now.”

You try to buck, to push back against him, but his locked arms absorb every movement. You're just a doll in his grip, bouncing on his cock with each thrust. The pressure builds-your clit grinding against nothing, his pubic bone slamming into your ass with every pump, his thick girth stretching you wide.

"Fuck-" you gasp, your hands flying up to clutch at his forearms, nails digging into his skin. But he doesn't flinch. Just grunts, a feral sound, and bites down on your shoulder-harder this time, leaving a bruise. "You wanted the chase," he rasps, picking up speed, his hips snapping against you. "Now take what you've earned."

The world narrows to the sound of wet, slapping skin, his harsh breathing, and the relentless pounding of his cock. Your legs tremble, toes curling, as the new angle drives you toward a brutal orgasm-one you can't stop, can't control, can't escape. He feels it. Feels your cunt clench around him, feels your body go rigid in his hold. And he growls, low and possessive, tightening his arms until you can barely breathe.

"That's it. Come for me, little prey. Let me feel it."

And you do-shattering against his chest, your scream muffled by the pillows as he fucks you through it, never slowing, never stopping, until you're nothing but a quivering mess in his cage.

The Knocker's arms stay locked around you for another brutal minute, his cock still buried to the hilt while your cunt spasms around him. He feels every aftershock, every helpless flutter, and growls low against your ear like he's savoring the way your body betrays you. Then, without warning, he releases the full nelson hold.

Your limbs flop forward as gravity takes over, but he catches you mid-fall. One big hand fists in your hair, the other clamps around your waist, and he yanks you off his cock with a wet, obscene sound. Before you can catch your breath he's already moving, spinning you around and shoving you face-down over the edge of the bed. Your chest hits the mattress, puffy white pillows scattering, your ass lifted high while your toes barely graze the floor. He doesn't give you time to adjust.

He plants one palm between your shoulder blades, pinning you down, and uses the other to line himself up again. The thick, veined head of his cock drags through your soaked folds once, twice, before he slams back inside in one savage thrust. The new angle punches the air from your lungs. You're bent over the bed, spine arched, hips tilted just right for him to drive even deeper than before. His axe leans against the wall nearby, moonlight glinting off the blade, a silent reminder of who caught you.

"Fuck, that's better," he snarls, voice rough and playful at once. His hips snap forward, skin slapping skin with wet, filthy rhythm. One hand stays on your back, keeping you pinned, while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. He fucks you like he's claiming territory-deep, punishing strokes that make your thighs shake and your cunt clench greedily around every inch. You try to push up on your elbows but he just presses harder between your shoulder blades, forcing your face into the blankets. "Stay down, little prey. Let me use this hole." His free hand slides under you, fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight circles that make your vision white out. The dual assault-his cock pounding your front wall while his fingers work your clit- has you dripping down your thighs in seconds.

He leans over you, chest to your back, teeth scraping the nape of your neck. "Gonna fill you up like this," he rasps, voice dropping into that feral growl. "Gonna pump you so full it leaks out when I pull out for round two." His thrusts grow erratic, his hips stuttering as his cock swells inside you. With a guttural snarl, he buries himself to the root and comes hard, hot pulses flooding your cunt, his grip tightening until you're sure you'll have fingerprints for days.

He doesn't pull out right away. Stays buried while he catches his breath, one hand lazily stroking your spine like he's soothing a skittish animal. Then he chuckles, low and dark, and gives your ass a sharp slap. "Don't think we're done yet," he murmurs, already hardening again inside of you. He rolls his hips experimentally, testing, and you feel him thickening once more.

He gives one more lazy thrust, pushing his cum deeper, then finally eases out. Thick white streaks drip down your inner thighs as he steps back, already palming himself back to full hardness. The Knocker yanks you upright by the hips, his cock slipping free with a wet sound that leaves your thighs sticky. Before you can find your footing he shoves you onto the mattress, flipping you onto your back in one rough motion. Your spine hits the silky blankets and puffy white pillows scatter again as he climbs over you, caging your body beneath his much larger frame.

He doesn’t waste time. One thick forearm hooks under your knee and shoves your leg up, spreading you wide while he lines his cock up and drives back inside with a single brutal thrust. The new angle forces a broken sound from your throat as he bottoms out, hips flush to yours. His weight presses you down, chest brushing your breasts with every movement, that jagged scar on his face stark in the moonlight.

Your hands fly up on instinct, fingers wrapping around the wooden headboard above you for leverage. The Knocker notices. A low, approving growl rumbles in his chest as he watches your grip tighten with each punishing stroke. He fucks you deep and steady, the bed creaking beneath the force of his hips, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you until your legs start to tremble around him. After a few minutes of watching you cling to the headboard, he decides he wants more control. One big hand reaches up, pries your fingers loose, and pins both wrists together above your head with ease. His grip is iron, holding you completely at his mercy while his other hand stays hooked under your thigh, keeping you spread open for every thrust.

"That’s it," he snarls, voice rough and playful at once. "Hold still for me, little prey. Let me fuck this cunt the way it deserves." His pace turns relentless, hips snapping forward hard enough to jolt your body up the bed. The headboard rattles against the wall with every impact. He leans down, teeth scraping your throat, breath hot against your skin as he grinds deep on every stroke.

Your walls flutter and clench around him, the overstimulation from round after round pushing you toward another peak. The Knocker feels it, feels the way you tighten, and bares his teeth in a feral grin. He slams in harder, grinding his pelvis against your clit with every thrust until your vision whites out and your orgasm crashes through you. Your cunt pulses around his cock, milking him, and he snarls through gritted teeth as his own release follows- hot, thick pulses flooding you again while he keeps you pinned beneath him.

He doesn’t let go of your wrists right away. Stays buried deep, breathing hard, watching your face as aftershocks ripple through you. When he finally eases his grip, he gives your wrists a lazy stroke with his thumb before pulling out slowly. Cum leaks from your well-used hole, dripping down your ass onto the sheets. He stays hovering over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding down to squeeze your thigh possessively.

The Knocker shifts his weight with deliberate care, sliding one massive arm beneath your knee and then the other until both of your legs are folded high against your chest. The motion presses your thighs flush to your torso, leaving you completely open beneath him. His scarred face hovers inches above yours, moonlight catching the uneven line of that jagged mark as his eyes study every flicker of expression that crosses your features. There is something slightly off in the way he watches you, a predator’s patience wrapped in human shape, yet his touch remains steady and almost tender as he guides himself back inside.

He sinks in slowly this time, letting you feel every thick inch stretch you anew. The angle is impossibly deep; your body has no choice but to yield around him. A soft, broken sound escapes your throat, but he only hums low in approval, the vibration traveling through his chest where it brushes your own. His hips roll forward in measured strokes, each one pressing you further into the mattress while his forearms keep your legs pinned exactly where he wants them. Your fingers twitch uselessly against the sheets. Pleasure has already blurred the edges of everything else, leaving you floating somewhere between sensation and surrender. The Knocker notices the way your eyes glaze, the way your lips part without forming words. He leans closer, breath warm against your cheek, and murmurs something soft and low that you barely register, a private reassurance meant only for the space between your bodies.

He keeps the rhythm steady, almost reverent in its patience, yet the strength behind each thrust leaves no doubt who is in control. Every time he bottoms out, the head of him nudges deeper than before, drawing helpless little tremors from your core. Your walls flutter and squeeze around him, and he answers with a quiet groan that sounds almost fond. One of his hands slides up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair while the other remains hooked behind your knee, keeping you folded and exposed.

The bed creaks in time with his movements, the headboard tapping the wall in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Moonlight continues to spill across the room, catching on the polished handle of the axe still resting against the far wall. The Knocker’s gaze flicks toward it once, a brief reminder of the world outside this bed, before returning to your face. He watches the way your lashes flutter, the way your mouth forms silent pleas, and something almost protective flickers behind the uncanny stillness in his eyes.

He adjusts the angle slightly, rolling his hips so that each stroke drags along that perfect spot inside you. Your back arches as much as the position allows, a fresh wave of heat flooding through your belly. The Knocker’s breathing grows heavier, but his voice stays low and intimate when he speaks again, words brushing your ear like a secret. He tells you how perfectly you take him, how beautiful you look lost in this moment, how he intends to keep you right here until every last tremor has passed through your body.

Your climax builds slowly this time, coaxed rather than forced. It rises like a tide, warm and inevitable, until it finally crests with a long, shuddering release that leaves your thighs quivering against his chest. The Knocker feels every pulse, every squeeze, and answers with a deep, drawn-out groan of his own. He presses in as far as he can go and stays there, pulsing thick and hot inside you while his forehead rests lightly against yours.

For several long moments, he remains folded over you, breathing in sync with the aftershocks still rippling through your body. His grip on your legs eases gradually, though he does not pull away. Instead, he brushes his thumb across your cheek in a slow, soothing arc, the gesture oddly gentle for someone whose presence still carries that faint, unsettling edge. When he finally eases out, it is with care, letting the evidence of everything that happened tonight trickle slowly from your well-used cunt. Freaky bastard.

He stays close, one arm sliding beneath your shoulders to draw you against his chest. The axe leans forgotten against the wall, its blade catching the last of the moonlight as the room settles into quiet. The Knocker’s fingers trace idle patterns along your spine, his breathing deep and even.

Then it went dark.

…

The village looked significantly less threatening during the day.

The sun hung high overhead.

Children ran through the streets.

Farmers argued over crops.

Villagers wandered from stall to stall without a care in the world.

Everything felt normal.

Which was exactly why you were suspicious.

Because your life had stopped being normal the moment a teleporting forest cryptid learned your home location.

You adjusted the bag against your hip and sighed.

Two weeks.

Two entire weeks.

Two weeks since the chase.

Two weeks since he'd appeared in your bedroom doorway and…yeah.

Two weeks since he'd apparently decided that your existence was now his favorite hobby more so than usual.

The worst part?

He wasn't even trying to be malicious. At least it didn't seem that way…

Just... present.

Constantly.

You'd wake up and discover him sitting on the bed having watched you sleep.

You'd go gathering wood and find him already leaning on the tree you planned to cut down.

Twice you'd caught him staring through a window before immediately fading away or whatever it is he does.

But he's been doing more spooking than he has attacking…maybe a win?

The man had all the subtlety of a creeper and the confidence of a cat.

A deeply unsettling cat.

One that could teleport.

And carry an axe…and a knife.

It really dawns now at this moment of all times. Ohh, fuck…he's got that shit memorized too…

Across the village square, the iron golem made its usual rounds. You smiled despite yourself.

"There you are."

The golem tilted its head, and you patted its arm affectionately.

"At least somebody around here acts normal."

The golem made a low creaking sound.

Then stopped.

Its head turned sharply toward the forest. Your smile faded.

The dark oak woods sat beyond the village fence, dense and shadowy even beneath the afternoon sun.

For a moment you didn't understand what the golem was staring at.

Then the village suddenly felt... quieter.

You blinked.

The children playing near the well were gone. The merchant arguing with a farmer had disappeared, even the villagers wandering between stalls seemed to have drifted away without you noticing.

Not entirely empty.

Just empty enough.

The sort of silence that settles right before something unpleasant happens.

A familiar feeling crawled down your spine.

"Oh no."

The iron golem let out a low rumble.

A metallic clang echoed from the tree line.

Your eyes instantly darted toward the sound. There, between two dark oak trunks, he stood silently. Watching. The Knocker remained still- no movement, no wave, no smile. He simply loomed partly hidden in the shadows, wearing a black hoodie that almost blended into the darkness under the trees, one hand resting on his axe handle.

His pale face stood out starkly against the forest behind him.

Too white. Too still. Too... expressionless yet expressive all at once.

Like a mask someone had forgotten to finish carving.

The moment your eyes found him, his head tilted.

Slowly.

Almost curiously.

A predator realizing it had been noticed.

Your stomach sank; naturally, he is present.

The Knocker remained motionless. Then, a grin appeared on his face.

The unsettling kind.

The kind that consistently conveyed an impression that he possessed knowledge you did not have.

Something embarrassing…Something dangerous.

Something involving your home maybe.

"Ohh, fuck."

The grin widened.

You pointed immediately.

"No."

The Knocker looked delighted.

"No?"

"No."

A pause.

Then he gestured toward the forest, then toward himself, and finally toward you, as if inviting you somewhere. "You are absolutely not luring me into the woods," I said. The Knocker's shoulders drooped noticeably, in a performance so exaggerated it seemed rehearsed. The iron golem moved forward in a protective stance. Instantly, the Knocker straightened, his disappointment replaced by annoyance. He narrowed his eyes at the golem, which responded with a narrowed gaze of its own.

"Seriously?" you muttered. "We're doing this again?"

The Knocker pointed accusingly at the iron golem.

The iron golem pointed back.

The resemblance to two squabbling children was becoming difficult to ignore.

One happened to be a giant stone construct.

The other happened to be an axe-carrying nightmare that regularly appeared in your home uninvited.

The Knocker hadn't moved.

One claw lightly tapped against the handle of his axe.

Knock.

His grin returned.

And despite the daylight surrounding him, he somehow still looked like he belonged in the shadows of the forest behind him.

Waiting.

Watching.

Patient.

Like he'd been standing there long before you arrived.

And would still be standing there long after everyone else had gone home.

…And maybe that didn't bother you as much as it should.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

sweet baby boy is actually really good at aftercare, in his own weird feral way of course. he'll try and wipe you clean with his tongue, any tears, drool, sweat, whatever, to clean you off. you would have to probably teach him proper aftercare though, but he's doing his best!!

ALSO MASSIVE CUDDLER??? so he gets that part right at least!!!

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he doesn't really have a favorite of anything (aside from you ofc) so he doesn't really have a favorite body part of his. though, he does like that he can scoop you up whenever and wherever you are. so maybe he likes his strength, or just how tiny and easy you are to hold

his favorite part on YOU is your hands. they're so much smaller than his, and he loves when you hold his face, stroke his beard, etc with them

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

he cums so sloppy awww. he doesn't really have the iq to know how to pull out of you so he usually just releases inside of you, whatever hole that may be, unless you're in control of the situation. but i mean he's a still life, there aren't really any risks soooo it's fine!

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

not really a secret cuz he's terrible at hiding it, but he collects your discarded clothes and keeps them in a little pile somewhere, and whenever you're not around he sniffs them and holds them to feel a little semblance of you

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

zero experience whatsoever. you're his first time!

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

he'll do it whatever way you like it but the default is usually missionary or doggy style. both ways he can easily manhandle you in, but he prefers missionary cuz then you can hold his face and tell him how much of a good boy he's being, making you feel sooo good

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he might do something silly by accident that you find amusing, but he doesn't really know how to be funny or serious

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

i'm going to assume its just like clark's (refer here) but since he's larger there's a bit more fluff down there but nothing wild

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

captain clark doesn't really know how to be romantic, he just follows your lead and whatever sparks a reaction out of you more he will do. he can be very soft though, and will hold you like you are the most precious thing in the world to him while he's inside you

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

i don't think his hands work like that 😭 he probably has the memories of clark jorking it and just can't do anything about it or doesn't know how to. however all he knows is that when he yearns for you but can't have you, he'll grind on the nearest surface to try and relieve the weird tension in his groin

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

PRAISE KINK PRAISE KINK PRAISE KINK

oh also biting?? yeah... not FATALLY of course but just biting soflty into your skin, leaving marks, etc

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

he doesn't really care where you do it, if he's horny and you're horny he'll just go to town wherever. the backrooms are an infinite space after all! so many places to fuck you but where to choose

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

YOUUUUU. you, you. you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

like clark, anything that would involve seriously injuring you. he's a big guy, sometimes he doesn't know his own strength, and has accidentally hurt you a few times in the past, but he's learning to be gentle i promise!!!

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

OKAY SO on the pretense of him knowing he is NOT ALLOWED to bite there, i think captain clark would ABSOLUTELY stuff his face between your thighs. he fucking loves your taste and scent, so getting all that right from the source?? SHEESH

he's got a big ass mouth so he'd be sooo sloppy with it, but also his tongue is larger than the average person's and can reach spots someone else wouldn't be able to...

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

he's usually very fast and rough, it feels good so he chases it like a feral animal. however, when you're in control of the situation, he can go more slow, it just takes a LOT of convincing and boundary setting cuz otherwise he'll go ham. he just doesn't have self control like that poor thing

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he enjoys being able to take his time with you, i mean sometimes both of ya'll cum super quick so that would be considered a quickie? but usually he doesn't like one and done things, he takes his timeee

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

entirely up to you, if you wanna do something crazy with him write a google doc for him about it and then explain it to him

if you end up taking a risk it is most likely be complete accident cuz he has no idea what's going on around him if he's inveloped in you

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

forever? he's not human, he's got like infinite stamina, but obviously he can't go forever with you or you'll die from exhaustion or something

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

has no idea what those are or how they work, you'll have to tedtalk to him about them if you want to use them on yourself or him!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he's not a teaser, bro is straight to the point. doesn't even know how to tease 🥺 however if you tease HIM, he's gonna be a pathetic whiney mess ngh

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he's sooooo loud oh my gawd. grunting, moaning, groaning, WHINING, every noise you can think of he's making it. has zero self control over what comes out of his mouth

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

so i like to think his pirate outfit isn't actually attached to his body, it can come off just like regular clothes, or at least some of it can, so you can at least get him a LITTLE naked when being intimate if not fully

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

okay so... hear me out... still lifes have like multiple of shit right? hands, fingers, eyes, whatever... so like... do you see where i am going with this...

so i am going to be greedy and say he has TWO, yes TWO cocks

main one is 7-8 inches soft and 9-10 inches hard babeyy, and the other is 5 inches soft and 7 inches hard. they're connected at the base and are a darker tone than the rest of his skin. fat ass veins on the big one on either side and a smaller vein on the smaller one. you literally have size options so he'll stuff whichever one in you you like (OR BOTH AT THE SAME TIME)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

VERY high, bro is almost in a constant state of yearning. he wants to be around you 24/7, whether intimately or just being in your presence cuz he just loves you SOOOOO much omg

do still lifes sleep?? or have like a rest mode?? i'm going with they have a rest mode but its not really sleep. so he doesn't necessarily need to sleep, he'll just hold you until you pass out in his arms, and then stay there WITHOUT moving so as to not wake you and just listen to your breathing

timothy timepiece

timothy, while undeniably demanding and finicky about timeliness to a fault, is at his heart a submissive in the bedroom. one who is remarkably well behaved and composed unless pushed and provoked to an extreme. not to say that he doesn’t have his moments of brattiness where his demanding nature leaps out and he needs to be guided, gently but firmly, back in line, but those moments are much less frequent than his behaviour outside of the bedroom may lead you to believe

(of course timothy is more than capable of taking control if needs must — such as a case where he’s become truly frustrated with your tardiness, or he’s gone into rut and you’ve been away for so long that he’s gotten himself completely riled up — but those cases are more so the exception than the norm, and more often than not he’s content to just hand the reins over to you. he also tends to utelise orgasm control as a means of punishment during these moments, but that’s neither here nor there)

he is very praise motivated, though he would never admit outright to such a weakness, and if you praise and compliment him enough for being so timely, so handsome, so good for you, then you may even get to hear him purring beneath you. just be sure to hold his hands away from his face so he can’t try to hide his growing blush from you while you shower him in praise, as he tends to do when he’s really worked up… at least, early into your relationship he does anyway

ever mindful of others and not wanting to risk disturbing any neighbours and forcing them to deviate from their schedules, timothy does try his best to be quiet when you’re having sex and he encourages you to do the same in kind. it’s only polite, after all. though despite his best efforts he usually ends up becoming shamefully vocal anyway as you fuck him stupid — letting out a string of shaky, slurring, broken mewls and yowls and moans and whimpers that only make you that much more motivated to wreak him

as with everything else in life, timothy does try his best to fit sex within his very strict schedule and will not accept any attempts to deviate from that same schedule for anything more spontaneous with you. not even if you look especially attractive and he’s sorely tempted to give in and let you drag him somewhere private. he’s a cat of principles and he refuses to bend on them unless he absolutely has to. oh, and don’t expect that scheduled intimacy to occur anywhere outside of your shared bedroom or any other similarly private space — he’s not the adventurous type and he likes his privacy

yes, the base of his tail is extremely sensitive. and, yes, he will keen and moan loudly whenever you grab and (gently) tug on it. no, he will not let you play with it when you’re being intimate. and the same goes for his very sensitive inner thighs, which are sure to get just as vocal of a response out of him when bitten. just… let the poor cat breathe, the intimacy of sex alone is more than enough for him without you making his mind go blank…

admittedly he does have a slight preference towards bottoming during sex, but he can also quite enjoy being on top instead and will generally just fall into whatever role you kindly request of him. regardless of whether he’s topping or bottoming, however, he very much so prefers the missionary position. or any other position that allows the two of you to be comfortable whilst allowing him to see your face, really

timothy has a lot more stamina than you might expect and is easily able to go for hours with you if you both have the time for it. which means that you’ll never be left wanting with him, so long as you’re willing to deal with the scheduling and pouting about timeliness whenever you happen to run late — but you knew what you were getting into when you started dating this particular clock so you don’t really have much room to complain

he much prefers giving oral over receiving it and he almost seems to enjoy and get off on it more than you do — especially if you’re on the more vocal and reactive side as you showing and telling him how good that rough tongue of his is making you feel really gets him hot under the collar — but if you’re really adamant about sucking him off, he’ll schedule it in and let you take your fill of him for as long as his spare time will allow

he is very keen on maintaining a strict schedule of care after the two of you have sex and will pester you into getting up and out of the bed just so you two can stick to it. and, yes, this applies even when he’s so completely and utterly spent that he can barely muster up the energy to say the words — because he’s very adamant about taking care of each other, and he wants to try and prevent any sort of sub drop or dom drop however he possibly can… and, timothy being timothy, the aftercare schedule was the best solution he could come up with. and you can’t even fault him for it because it really does work

timmy timepiece

timmy, like timothy, is a submissive by nature but he leans more strongly towards the lazy brat side of the spectrum than his counterpart. the type who weaponises his own cuteness to try and get away with antagonising you, who delights in pushing your buttons and then playing innocent, and who would rather die than take over the lion’s share of the work in the bedroom. yeah, he’s a complete and utter brat… but you love him for it

he’s an absolute pillow prince by nature and would gladly lay back and let you do all of the work when you’re having sex if you let him. and, in fact, he even regularly tries to leverage his cuteness with you to get you to give in and pamper him — because timmy is just so cute and helpless and needs master’s help nya — but if you stick to your guns enough he will eventually give up the act and go along with whatever you’re asking him to do. with some brattiness along the way, but that’s par for the course with him

he has absolutely no qualms about being vocal in bed and unless you go out of your way to gag him or to shove his face in some pillows, he will not be muffling or quietening any of the adorable sounds you pull from his lips. granted most of those sounds are on the quieter side naturally, like groans and purrs and mewls, but whenever you touch him just right and draw out a particularly loud cry… yeah there’s no disguising what you’re doing at that point

he has absolutely no qualms about teasing and propositioning you when you’re in public or in the middle of something important. and he’s so much more shameless that his counterpart that he would actually enjoy engaging in some public or semi public play with you — though you will need to gag him first because, again, he cannot keep quiet for the life of him and he will get you both caught otherwise

still calls you ‘master/mistress’ like he did back when you first met, just now with a very different implication about it. and if you lean hard into the whole ownership and pet play side of things, he’ll play it all up as much as he can — after all, he’s not against drinking/eating out of a pet bowl, wearing a collar, and playing with yarn for leisure, so why would he take offence if you were into him doing any of that for pleasure? as long as he gets off in the end and gets to have all of your attention on him, he really doesn’t care all that much what needs to be done

he is more of a hard bottom and is very reluctant to top unless it’s just you riding him and doing all of the work while timmy gets to lay back and just focus on looking cute. and unlike his counterpart he quite enjoys being fucked from behind, especially if you pull and play with his tail at the same time… his arch is absolutely insane too, considering how minimal experience he has outside of his relationship with you

during his ‘zoomies’ he does become much more active and almost aggressive in the bedroom, in stark contrast to how loving and lazy and teasing he tends to be otherwise. so if you decide to indulge him and let him have his way during those moments, you’re sure to come out the other side fucked dumb, covered in bite marks, and with a very tired but smug cat curled up and purring on your chest — having gotten all of his energy out and coaxed you into praising and begging for the ‘king of the house’ while absolutely wrecking you

as his primary source of income post-realisation is capitalising on his cuteness, timmy has amassed quite the collection of adorable outfits and cosplays that he would be more than happy to put on and show off for you. including some more risqué ones that even his most devoted fans haven’t seen — after all, his brand is ‘cute’ not ‘sexy’ so there are some looks that will never see the light of day unless it’s with you

timmy does generally prefer to receive oral over giving it, especially when you play with his ass or tail at the same time, but whenever he gets down on his knees for you he never fails to please. even if his insistence on kitten-licking you to orgasm and nuzzling his nose against your crotch is a little bit madness-inducing sometimes…

Recuento de palabras: 16.61 k

ADVERTENCIAS DEL CAPÍTULO: Corrupción, Desbalance de poder, Humillación pública, Age Gap (lo considero porque Sage y Truthless son mayores como por... eones), Sage es cruel y bastante bizarro, Almas gemelas, Obsesión, Hechizos vinculantes, Golpes y violencia, Romance, Citas, Primer Beso.

(¡Seguro!)

ADVERTENCIAS GENERALES: Enemies to friends to lovers, Soulmates, Angustia y Romance, Malentendidos, Magia, Porno con trama, MUCHA TRAMA EXCESO DE TRAMA EN SERIO ESTO TIENE MÁS DE 50K AL FINAL LA TRAMA SE ME FUE DE LAS MANOS, Mención de magia y su construcción de mundo, Academia de Yogurt de Arándano, Mención de Shadow Milk, Slow burn, Romance, Relación profesor alumno (no especifiqué cual; descúbranlo), Truthless se incluye un poco tarde a la trama, poliamor, Cuckolding pero no realmente (ya verán porque), Switch Sage y Truthless, Trio, Pérdida de la virginidad, Primeras veces, Sexo Vaginal, Sexo Anal, Sexo Oral, Múltiples posiciones sexuales, Creampie, Impregnation, Praise Kink, Size kink, Breeding kink, Pregnacy kink, Cinturones de castidad, Sounding, Matrimonio, !Final feliz! Primer beso, Sexo eventual, Desbalance de poder.

* n * se usa para pensamientos y *“ n ”* para conversación mental.

Tú te encontrabas disfrutando genuinamente. No gracias a Sage, gracias a ti. Era difícil no poder depender de nadie y encontrar algo después de haber estirado las manos tantas veces buscando algo. Quizás este programa te daría una buena vida, un buen y respetado trabajo. Quizás como presidenta de algún consejo de magia, como consejera de las reinas del paraíso de las delicias o incluso profesora de la academia.

Lo que sea que pagaran, seguramente era bueno; solo bastaba ver las cantidades absurdas de oro y joyas que Sage utilizaba en sus horribles atuendos.

Si, no era fácil. No dormías, ya no veías tanto a tus amigos; aunque ellos estaban felices porque te reincorporaste a algún programa de la academia. Pero te dieron su pésame cuando se enteraron de que; fue en el programa de magia de la luna oscura.

Entendías sus emociones contradictorias, era difícil; pero te divertías genuinamente. Era como si esa magia te acogiera, resonabas con ella; era tan fácil como respirar.

Esa fue una idea que te provocó un escalofrío por toda la columna.

Después del mes de prueba, siete alumnos se fueron. Para tu mala suerte, quedaron los que más aborrecías, los más aferrados a su objetivo y a aplastarte. Como si el número de plazas para graduarse fueran escasas, al contrario. Debido a que ver un alumno graduado de tu programa era raro, las plazas abundaban. Y siempre había grandes organizaciones y reinos llevándose a las promesas más interesantes.

Las constantes miradas amenazantes cada vez que levantabas la mano te incomodaron lo suficiente como para echarte hasta el frente cerca de Sage.

Pero ya no eran intercambios molestos que extendían las clases de manera mortificante para los demás, eran dudas genuinas, interés por aprender y desarrollarte. Era el amor por el conocimiento que hace mucho tiempo habías enterrado.

Ese amor había comenzado a florecer de nuevo, lento, con riego constante y con emociones que no sabías describir y estabas muy ocupada intentando descifrar.

El “favor” de Sage por recomendarte, calmó la hoguera de tu odio. Sin embargo, así como el fuego, era inestable y fácilmente podía volver a arder.

Que te la pasaras bien no significaba que no fueras reactiva a cualquier cosa con tal de continuar con tu plan por hacerle una pesada existencia mientras tu estuvieras cerca de él.

Sin embargo, eso no quitaba lo abrumador del aplastante programa educativo, si era así de complicado; era porque alguien había logrado superarlo. Y eso lejos de ablandar a Sage, de favorecerlos con algo por ser el programa que más atesoraba; lo volvía más estricto, perfeccionista y pesado.

Por primera vez probaste lo que fue arrancarte la piel de los labios, mover de arriba hacia abajo las piernas durante las clases, el café cargado y los hechizos para que tu cerebro se viera obligado a mantenerse despierto por días y seguir funcionando óptimamente.

Aunque tu nuevo talento con este tipo de magia muchas veces compensaba tus deficiencias académicas.

“¡Exacto, el choque de ideas es lo que realmente significa llegar a la verdad!”

Claro, aún había una parte que odiabas de Sage y muchos recuerdos aún te movían antes de que te dieras cuenta. Pero ahora lo controlabas mejor, ya que los ejercicios prácticos muchas veces involucraban hechizos que desafiaban la integridad del otro. Eras sobresaliente, y los alumnos sobresalientes se ganaban el privilegio de entrenar con Sage para dar el ejemplo frente a todo el curso.

Y tú te aprovechabas de eso.

A veces fingías no controlar la fuerza con la que Sage recibía el impacto de alguna explosión, su cara manchada de humo negro y su sombrero ridículo pulverizado valía la pena por cada cabello quemado que obtenías. Claro, él siempre podía arreglarlos a los dos sin molestias con el chasquido de sus dedos.

En los hechizos de control mental lo hacías ladrar o hacer poses ridículas.

En los ejercicios de reanimación fingías olvidar como hacer el hechizo cuando estabas segura de que su alma estaba en agonía verdadera.

* “Querida…el tiempo se está agotando.” * Escuchabas su voz en tu cabeza, en este tipo de hechizos, cuando el cuerpo estaba en coma; el alma del sujeto seguía activa, aunque la actividad neuronal no. Creías que Sage podía hablarte a través de su alma debido a que esta estaba en otro alter plano de consciencia. Pero no, cuando repetías este ejercicio con tus compañeros, ellos no podían conversar contigo. Siempre pensaste que fue porque no les agradabas y no deseaban comunicación contigo.

* “No dudo de tus extraordinarias capacidades, pero mi cerebro quedará inservible en unos minutos…” *

Y, realmente, Sage ya sabía que no moriría si te tardabas más de lo que su cuerpo pudiera tolerar. Simplemente era bastante molesto lidiar con los efectos secundarios que le provocaría traer de vuelta a la vida su cuerpo.

Ya le ha pasado muchas veces.

Seguramente no escuchaste el escándalo porque ni siquiera nacías, un estudiante del mismo programa lo mató por accidente en esta práctica hace un par de siglos.

Como director no iba a expulsarlo realmente, pero el estudiante se dio de baja esa misma tarde.

¡Pero tu vaya que te has empeñado en hacer que tema un poco por la integridad de su cuerpo últimamente! Sin embargo, no puede evitar ponerte una nota sobresaliente, eres bastante buena en la práctica, aunque tengas bordes ásperos que pulir en tu desempeño dentro del aula.

¿Y quién diría que la magia práctica sería un excelente agente desestresante para ti siempre que él fuera el objetivo? Sage lo había anotado en tu expediente como “enriquecimiento ambiental” con una sonrisa torcida.

Notaba que cada vez que te sacaba al campo de entrenamiento, había pruebas difíciles o clases sin descanso; enfocabas tu energía en otra cosa que no fuera intentar matarlo o en el odio desmedido que aún hervía en ti.

Y, sobre todo, podías hacerlo. Podías hacer magia, no esa pobre energía dorada que no podía sanar. Esta era magia para transformar, para controlar, manipular materia; tu vocación.

Sage se enorgullecía, no se había equivocado contigo. No era la primera vez que jugaba con el futuro de sus alumnos cuando sus decisiones no coincidían con el potencial con el que nacieron. Pero tú eras un resultado exquisito.

Te haría su pupila, su tutorada, te ayudaría a graduarte con honores y serías una más a la cuenta del bien que ha hecho por el continente.

A todo esto, Sage no te gritaba, no se molestaba ni te humillaba frente a todos como tus amargos recuerdos sabían que reaccionaba a tus provocaciones y a tu actitud problemática. En cambio, te miraba con una sonrisa mientras te carcajeabas de él con clara burla y malicia, sus ojos te recorrían y pronunciaba un simple:

“Tu turno, este hechizo es complejo para tu nivel actual, solo puedo realizarlo yo.”

Y procedía a cambiar de cuerpos contigo con la simpleza y facilidad de mirarte a los ojos.

Era tan diferente cuando te dejaba entrar en su mente de forma voluntaria, no dolía, no sentías como si te estuviera arrancando la columna. Era cálido, envolvente y un cielo estrellado sinfín. A veces te preguntabas, ¿qué veía él cuando entraba a la tuya? Sin embargo, no arriesgabas demasiado; Sage ya había mostrado hasta donde era capaz de llegar con una alumna irrespetuosa que se inmiscuye demasiado en su mente.

Honestamente ese odio que le tenías era más una costumbre que no abandonabas porque era parte de tu personalidad, una pequeña desventura de tus años formativos que te afectó en demasía.

Pero, no sabías que esta afloraría mucho más en el futuro.

Sage tenía sus dudas, fuiste un gran dolor de culo todo tu trayecto escolar. Pero, no entendía porque podía meterse en tu mente para hablar contigo.

Lo descubrió de inmediato, esa vez que te atrapó intentando hacer trampa en el examen final del programa de sanadores. Lo atribuyó a que no deshiciste bien el hechizo de lectura de mente cuando te fuiste a la enfermería, así que él mismo lo limpió de su sistema.

Pero no funcionó…

Se dio cuenta del lazo cuando tú también podías hablarle, sin ser consciente de aquello, claro. Lo notaba por… tus palabras poco contenidas.

“¡Muy bien, competentes en proceso!” Sage entró al aula con una enorme torre de pergaminos entre sus brazos que le cubrían el rostro, demasiado papel para solo siete alumnos. “Lápiz sobre sus escritorios, hechizos disueltos. Con estos exámenes entramos en la etapa final del año, ¡si creen que es demasiado para ustedes; la facultad de sanadores está cruzando el observatorio!”

Ignorando la mordaz burla, apretaste los puños y viste fijamente la torre de pergaminos que Sage con un ademán mandó a repartir entre ustedes. Claro que el más extenso era para ti.

Estabas lista, no cometerías el mismo error que el año anterior.

* “Vamos, bastardo. Esta vez no te tengo miedo.” *

Sage carraspeó un poco al oírte en la parte más profunda de su mente, tu no sabías por qué. Y simplemente le diste una razón para dedicarle días exclusivamente a evaluar tu examen. Diste procedimientos más complicados de lo necesario, diagramas extensos y perfectamente ramificados para dedicarles más de una hojeada, formulas innovadoras y en las partes que no se te daban bien intentabas colocar explicaciones detalladas de lo que podías para ver si eso podía sumarte décimas en el promedio final.

* “Hijo de perra, puso esto porque sabe que no se me da bien.” *

Sage no sabía exactamente en que momentos te escucharía hablarle sin querer, es por eso que; desconocía cuando podrías escucharlo. Así que simplemente ponía su mente en blanco cuando estaba cerca de ti para que no pudieras escuchar su flujo mental, bastante íntimo para él.

Aunque no pudo librarse de todos tus comentarios groseros y despectivos hacia su persona durante todo el año, al final se acostumbró un poco. Pero cuando pensabas en él descuartizado o siendo atropellado, aclaraba su garganta en medio de la clase y seguía con una sonrisa poco creíble.

* “Ojalá Sage se infartara… podría estudiar un poco más sobre los hechizos de cambio de cuerpo que no me dio tiempo.” *

“¡Querida! ¿Por qué no nos compartes el avance de tu hechizo?” Sage usualmente te instaba a participar cuando tus pensamientos hilaban demasiado en torno a él. La mayoría con tintes violentos, aunque no podía ignorar la informalidad con la que decías su nombre en la privacidad de tus aposentos mentales.

Te volviste la música de fondo que involucraba tenerte cerca, cada vez que te saludaba suavemente sin palabras al cruzarse en el pasillo. Ya sabía el coro que le golpearía la mente y poco a poco se difuminaría.

* “Imbécil, imbécil, imbécil, imbécil, imbécil…” *

Tu jamás te diste cuenta, porque pensar en Sage, de buena o mala forma; siempre fue parte de tu vida. Y él disimulaba bastante bien, nunca lo tomabas por sorpresa.

A veces, en momentos de consciencia y autocritica; te disgustaba todo el espacio que él ocupaba en tu mente. Pero era más fácil ignorarlo como algo inherente a tu forma de ser.

Era mucho más fácil echarle la culpa a él, todo era culpa de Sage y no te arrepentías ni un poco. En dado caso, todo el tiempo que le dedicas a odiarlo simplemente es estar a mano con él; porque se lo merecía.

* “Ojalá se muera.” *

* “¿No ha pensado en suicidarse alguna vez? Muchos estaríamos muy felices.” *

¿Cómo podías pensar eso mientras le devolvías el saludo?

Esa era una de las pocas cosas que Sage no te podía reprender, no importa que tan horribles fueran hacia su persona. A él no le corresponde reprenderte por la intimidad de tu mente. El hecho de que él siga escuchando es un fallo suyo, debido a que aún no encuentra la razón de esto.

¡Claro, hay una opción, una explicación siempre ronda la mente de Sage!

Pero él se niega a esas razones, no porque carezcan de argumentos; sino porque no cree que seas tú la variante que resuelva el teorema que lleva buscando tantos siglos. Su fragmento de alma esperado. No puede creer que seas tú, ¿cómo alguien que lo odia tanto podría llegar a amar a un hombre como él?

Solo queda esperar unos cuantos años a que te vayas y descartarlo.

Tal vez hay remanentes de tu hechizo que no ha logrado disipar, ¡después de todo eres una encantadora prodigio, tu magia no es cualquier tontería! Tal vez son efectos secundarios por seguir practicando hechizos de control mental contigo después de ese incidente.

Pero Sage sabe que no es cierto, no queda rastro de tu magia en él porque él es muy minucioso de quitarse los restos antes de llegar a casa y ser castigado. Pero eso es algo que prefiere ignorar por el momento.

Aunque, no puede evitar notar el sutil cambio de tus comentarios con los meses. Son más puntuales cada vez, bien observadores diría él. Claro, siempre están acompañados de un insulto para equilibrar la formula.

Pero nunca había sido consciente del detalle con el que lo observabas.

* “Que pantalones tan apretados y de mal gusto, ¡cámbiate, ridículo!” * A veces te escuchaba decir mientras pasabas a su lado para entregar tus exámenes y tareas, ni siquiera lo veías. La agilidad mental con la que le encontrabas defectos y lo insultabas le parecía suficiente como para instar en otra área disciplinar de la menta.

* “El idiota olvidó su monóculo otra vez.” *

Pero también lo hacía pensar, ¿hacia cuanto te fijabas así en él? Bueno, realmente no creería que alguien que lo odia se fije en detalles… te creía más de insultos generales que de algo tan específico.

Pero solo hablabas y hablabas en lo profundo de tus pensamientos que creías que nadie estaba escuchando.

* “Que hombre tan imbécil, no sé porque las mujeres se le confiesan… espera, ¿siquiera es un hombre?” *

Pero, oh, él sí que escuchaba. Cada letra y palabra de odio y resentimiento.

Y, después de clases de sol a sol, estudio extenuante de inicio a fin de semana, lágrimas, secuelas en tu cerebro el cual obligaste a permanecer funcionando ininterrumpidamente durante semanas enteras, un tiro al blanco en tu habitación con una foto de la cara de Sage en el centro, foto agujereada de tantas veces que asestaste el dardo en sus ojos.

“¡Bien, criaturas agotadas! ¡Quiero verlos más emocionados y menos incompetentes el próximo semestre!” Sage se encontraba flotando levemente al centro del auditorio, hoy estaba particularmente de buenas. “Pueden consultar sus calificaciones y su retroalimentación esta tarde, sé que algunos de ustedes quieren irse cuanto antes. ¡No se asusten demasiado, si hubiesen reprobado el año; yo personalmente los echaría de la facultad hace mucho tiempo! ¿Por qué desperdiciar tiempo?”

Sage se carcajeó levemente, todos se tensaron.

Hace algunas semanas que uno de tus compañeros, aquél que comenzó a quedarse atrás, que falló en innumerables prácticas y se tensaba cada vez que había un examen; dejó de ir a clases.

Nadie preguntó, nadie dijo nada; pero con esto todos entendieron que ocurría, y la amenaza implícita de Sage. Él no tenía reparos ni compasión para sacarlos en el momento en que comiencen a tener resultados mediocres.

El programa de magia de la luna oscura estaba constituido por más años que los demás y eran mapas curriculares más extenuantes y deshumanizantes.

Sin embargo, Sage siempre fue creyente de que los grandes sacrificios merecían recompensas similares si se hacía bien el proceso. Los estudiantes aprobados como tu gozaban de más vacaciones que el resto, salían antes a descansar y regresaban después de los demás programas; a cambio de ocho años de su vida dentro de la institución.

Ustedes apenas sobrevivieron a uno de ocho.

“¡Sin embargo, eso no los exenta de la última clase de este semestre, tenemos todo un día para aprender!” Esta vez nadie se contuvo el quejido de frustración, algunos se jalaron el cabello del estrés, otros estrellaron la cabeza contra su mesa de trabajo y tu simplemente lo miraste con una mueca horrenda. Nadie había dormido en semanas después de finales y esos exámenes de doce horas. Estaban enterrando las uñas en la mesa de sus escritorios para poder deshacer esos hechizos que los tenían despiertos y funcionando. “Bueno, si no soportan otro día de clase; me alegra mucho saber que el programa de repostería mágica no se quedará sin vetados el próximo año.” Sage guiñó el ojo.

Tu torciste los ojos y sacaste tu libro.

“Oh, no no no no.” Sage negó efusivamente antes de que los demás te siguieran. “Lo que vamos a ver hoy no está en sus libros de este semestre… considérenlo una pequeña probada de lo que veremos los próximos semestres.”

Sage había tenido muchas formas a lo largo de su vida. Fue mujer, deidad, infante, anciano, rey, bestia y ahora profesor.

Nadie vivo recuerda su verdadera forma ni lo que solía ser, por lo que le pareció la idea más irónica y divertida. Un cambio radical pero profundamente familiar y nostálgico.

Así que antes de que alguno de ustedes pudiera preguntar, Sage levitó y extendió su cetro hacia arriba.

Su figura se tornó alquitrán negro profundo y sin dimensión, no fue una transformación gloriosa ni brillante. Fue espectral, seca como el polvo de anís y fría. Sumamente fría como para helar todo el auditorio, una pequeña fracción del poder que podía emanar y canalizar con su dominio experto de la magia de la luna oscura.

Del alquitrán brotó una cabellera larga del color del cielo en el observatorio cuando la noche estaba limpia y todavía no amanecía, suelta, sedosa y extensa más allá del suelo. Azul denso, satinado, ensuciado de reflejos fríos como si el firmamento estuviera cayendo en hebras. El negro tomó forma, el color de la piel; un azul más moreno y opaco.

La ropa de Sage cambió, su vulgar ropa ajustada ahora eran túnicas negras y largas sin dejar ver sus pies o manos. Un cuello alto y una capa cerrada con un candado de seis puntas. La gema que Sage solía usar en el cuello de su atuendo ahora estaba incrustada en su cetro. Latiendo con una luz pálida y fija, con un ojo mineral.

Tenía una corona tallada del mismo diamante blanco que no parecía pesarle a pesar de su tamaño y consistencia, nacía de él. Anillos de oro cruzándole el cuerpo. No sabías si lo que orbitaba alrededor suyo eran brillantes fragmentos residuales de magia o estrellas.

Brillante como el alba, majestuoso, vaporoso. Sin un límite claro de donde comenzaba y donde terminaba. No era benigno, era helado. Como si no existiera realidad lo suficiente fija como para soportar una visión completa de él, al menos no mortales como ustedes.

Sabías que era él por sus ojos… pero estos lucían diferentes. No había rastro de tu profesor excitado y emocionado por poner retos casi imposibles o corregir hechizos. Eran ojos menos vivos, más sensatos… casi amorosos; no por ternura sino por el sentimiento de compasión remota y divina con la que los dioses observan criaturas demasiado tontas y pequeñas.

El aula entera había quedado en silencio.

Ni siquiera los más arrogantes se atrevieron a romperlo, ni siquiera tu.

Sage, o lo que antes era Sage, apenas bajó la cabeza contemplándolos a todos como si desde esa altura nueva ustedes le parecieran un suceso de mal gusto, pero hecho de todas formas. Te hizo sentir pequeña, había una presión en tu interior; una memoria de ancestros atrás que te pedía arrodillarte y no sabías por qué.

Ni un segundo, ni un solo movimiento te lo perdiste. Observabas la tela exquisita y elegante de su ropa, el oro solido en su ser que seguramente habría llevado minas enteras a la quiebra. Su piel azul moreno y el frio que te provocaba estar debajo de él.

Luego él levantó una mano o algo que debía ser una mano, debajo de sus túnicas y oro. El cetro giró lentamente entre sus dedos. Como si probara algo que llevaba eones sin tocar.

“La metamorfosis es una respuesta desesperada de la naturaleza para intentar mimetizar la magia del cambo de formas. Sin embargo, la magia siempre es más perfecta que la propia evolución.” Su voz ya no sonó como él. Sonó como una campana hundida en agua oscura, como si cada palabra tuviera que atravesar siglos antes de llegar a ustedes. Vieja, polvosa. “Un día, si no son lo suficientemente idiotas; ustedes podrán hacer esto también.”

Nadie levantó la mano, tampoco abrieron sus cuadernos. Mucho menos tú.

Porque lo estabas viendo demasiado. Y no lo mirabas con el asombro de una alumna en una práctica interesante, tampoco con curiosidad crítica.

Lo mirabas con algo mucho peor, algo que se te estaba formando muy abajo, muy adentro, sin permiso y sin respeto por tu orgullo ni por los años que habías invertido en odiarlo con disciplina.

Era como una verdad demasiado grande para ti, como un desastre natural, brillante como el sol y frío como el centro de los océanos. Te invadió la nostalgia, un sentimiento magnético que te hacía pensar que si te estirabas para tocarlo; encajarían de forma de una forma que rozaría el pecado del orgullo.

Lo sentiste, pero no sabías si todos lo sentían igual. Sentiste la energía y la magia descomunal que se desplegaba para traer esa forma en el mundo.

Estabas segura de que un hombre así no debería existir y porque ahora, no era nada más que un disfraz en el repertorio de Sage.

Era tan nostálgico, estaba tan grabado en la memoria genética de todos ahí, que los ojos se te hicieron agua.

* “Eres precioso…” *

No lo pensaste para que él lo escuchara. La frase salió de ti antes de que tu vergüenza tuviera tiempo de matarla. Estaba destinado a ser un pensamiento sin filtro que te guardarías por orgullo y por pudor al aula. No sabías que podía escuchar…

Hasta que Sage vaciló de inmediato.

Sage te sintió. Sintió algo, un escalofrío, no de frio; de calor. Como un latigazo de hielo recorrerle toda la columna desde abajo. La excitación se le trepó por la espalda y la piel cubierta de su cuello respondió a la energía de tu pensamiento.

No fue una pausa marcada ni escandalosa, solo reconocimiento sin permitir que terceros se metieran.

Desde arriba, su mirada bajó directo hacia ti. Te temblaron los labios, abriste la boca para jadear, pero no salió nada. Los fragmentos brillantes de su ser se suspendieron alrededor del aula. Sage había mantenido su pequeño secreto porque podía disimularlo bien, pero esta vez falló.

Vislumbraste a su semblante divino, no volverse una mirada acusatoria; sino de visión, personal. Su silenció duró un segundo en donde transcurrió toda su vida juntos.

Y luego Sage carraspeó, volviendo su vista hacia todo el auditorio.

“Es una apariencia preciosa, ¿no?” Abriste los ojos de sobremanera y te tensaste en tu asiento, haciéndote más pequeña. Bajaste la cabeza para que no se te viera el sonrojo que te calentó hasta las orejas. Un comentario dicho en alto para todo el grupo, pero tenía el propósito impío de darte un mensaje fuerte y claro.

* Te escuché. *

No sabías que podía escucharte sin un hechizo activo de por medio, no lo sabías… ¿Cuánto tiempo llevan así? ¿Cuánto ha escuchado de tu privacidad, de tu intimidad y secretos? Tu misma habrías sentido la manipulación de Sage en tu cerebro, buscaste con rapidez mientras sostenías tu cabeza y arañabas de vez en cuando tu cabello para mantenerte centrada; un pequeño cercioramiento de que tu mente estaba siendo intervenida, pero no. No había nada, ni rastro delator de la magia brillante de Sage.

Él seguía hablando, pero por minutos no escuchaste absolutamente nada de lo que él explicaba efusivamente a la clase, casi como si intentara evadir lo que ocurrió hace un rato. Como a un niño que se le atrapa robando algo de la cocina y luego te habla rápidamente de su día para disuadir.

Pero a ti no te estaba disuadiendo en lo absoluto.

* “¿Cuánto tiempo…?” *

Te temblaron las manos, te costaba respirar, la luz blanca de repente te mareaba. Te aferraste a tu mesa para tener algo en que sostenerte por si el sentimiento te ganaba.

Sage lo sabía, todo este tiempo lo supo. Como haberte dejado andar por ahí con la túnica levantada. Para que solo él viera lo que hay debajo de tu túnica.

* “¿Cuánto tiempo llevamos atados?” *

El horror, te sentiste desnuda.

La idea obscena de cuánto tiempo había podido oírte sin que lo supieras. Tus pensamientos, tus insultos, tus pequeñas fantasías violentas. Comentarios miserables sobre sus pantalones, sus manos, su sombrero, su respiración. Tus miedos, tu vergüenza y tus inseguridades. ¿Cuál era su alcance? Pensaste en las veces que regresaste a tu habitación creyendo estar sola y dejaste correr dentro de tu cabeza cosas que nadie, NADIE, tenía derecho a escuchar.

Las conversaciones indecorosas con tus amigos.

* “Profesor Sage…” *

¿Él sabía todo lo que cruzó por tu mente? Y te había dejado hacerlo, te había dejado continuar así por quien sabe cuánto tiempo.

Sage se interrumpió apenas para girar el cetro y mandarle a alguna tiza a realizar diagramas en la pizarra.

* “Contéstame.” * Cuando lo llamaste de forma tan informal, su mirada te rozó a penas. De reojo mientras hablaba. Confirmando que, no solo te escuchaba; sino que elegía no responderte.

El sonrojo de vergüenza y vértigo murió de golpe y fue reemplazado por el de la ira. Tus ojos se hundieron y lo miraste desde abajo, tu esclerótica blanca brillaba con brazas recién renovadas de odio. Respiraste rápido, con rabia. Pero no como cuando eras niña, no ibas a salir corriendo a llorar; ibas a arrancarle la garganta, reportarlo con el director y el consejo. Ibas a hacer que lo echaran de la academia.

Sage escuchó esa última idea y soltó una risita seca, desvergonzada y asquerosa que confundió a la mayoría de los alumnos que tenían levantada su mano para que él respondiera sus dudas.

Pobrecita.

Tu no sabías que ocurría realmente en la academia, era normal que quisieras defenderte con “el único apoyo que tenías”. Eras feroz, pero tristemente ignorante.

¿Los profesores en el consejo? Él los creó, de su carne y del cielo estrellado. ¿Él consejo de alumnos? Una broma para darle algo de democracia a los estudiantes.

Tú dependes únicamente del director, de ÉL.

Si acaso, una posibilidad sería que dejes la academia. Pero Sage sabe que no lo harás. No puedes hacer nada. No tienes nada.

Eres una tonta muy dramática.

Si quisiera saber que hay en tu mente, te hubiese leído de pies a cabezas cuando quisiera y nunca te darías cuenta. Lamentablemente esto también está lejos del control de Sage como tuyo. Así que fue tolerante contigo incluso con lo que dijiste después.

* “¿Cuánto escuchaste, hijo de perra?” * Ahí sí. Sage sintió el tic en el ojo regresar después de tanto tiempo, pero esta vez no volteó a ver. Sabía que tu mirada era lo suficientemente aterradora y sus demás estudiantes lo estaban escuchando con atención y sus miradas de asombro no ocurren a menudo.

La respuesta te llegó por dentro, tersa, lechosa, perfectamente modulada. Sin apuro, sin culpa y engreída.

* “Mucho.” *

Te quedaste inmóvil, el lápiz que apretabas con nerviosismo se te resbaló. Nadie volteó a verte excepto Sage, fue ahí donde sintió lo más cercano a un tirón en el interior de su cuerpo. Hablaba, más efusivo, más rápido, más motivado y excelente que antes.

* “No escuché todo.” * Dijo en un intento de reconfortarte, pero el alivio no llegó.

La rabia se ordenó dentro de ti.

Ah… ese sentimiento si lo entendías. Era un terreno conocido y fácil para regresar.

Siempre era él, siempre era Sage contigo. Haciéndote algo imperdonable, como una extensión natural de la posición de poder que tiene sobre ti.

* “Si me dejas terminar la clase, quizás te lo explique.” *

Quizás…

¿QUIZÁS?

Su insolencia casi te hizo reírte amargamente. Porque ahí estaba, intacto; el profesor insoportable. Un hombre que creía que cualquier revelación debía ocurrir en sus términos, a su ritmo, bajo sus condiciones. Su escenario puesto para su comodidad y tenerte bajo su control. Como si incluso una violación accidental y prolongada de tu intimidad debiera guardarle primero respeto. No osaras, tú, interrumpir su importante cátedra.

No, no, no. Él no iba a controlar el ritmo, él no iba a decidir cuándo terminar esto. No iba a hacerte lo mismo nunca más.

Así que te desquitaste de la única forma que sabías.

Levantaste la mano, y Sage cometió el error de darte la palabra, serio.

“Que enseñanza tan estúpida para nuestro último día de clases. Si es un arte que casi nadie domina, entonces es culpa del elitista que formuló los hechizos.” El aula entera se congeló.

Todos se callaron y bajaron las manos y todos compartieron una terrible sensación. Fue la resolución de un grupo de estudiantes entendiendo al mismo tiempo que acababan de presenciar un gesto que no tenía vuelta atrás. Las tizas siguieron escribiendo un par de segundos y luego se detuvieron.

No estabas preguntando, no jugabas, no estabas desafiándolo por deporte y tampoco estabas intentando parecer ingeniosa. Lo estabas atacando. A él, a la raíz misma de autoridad, al corazón de su dominio, delante de todo el curso.

Nadie se atrevió a mirar primero a Sage ni a ti, porque cualquiera con dos dedos de frente entendía que había una línea cruzada que no alcanzaban a ver del todo, pero sí a sentir.

Sage quedó quieto en el aire, inmutable, en esa forma magnifica con la que había estado fanfarroneando toda la mañana. No parecía sorprendido, no le era raro que siempre te salieras del sitio que ya había calculado y asignado para ti. ¿Su pupila, su tutorada? Tal parece que tiene que hacer mucho más para llegar a ese punto.

Ah… así que ibas a pelear.

Aun cuando no tenías nada con que defenderte, aun cuando gracias a él estás ahí, aun cuando te estás jugando una sanción con ello. Con la ira arrancándote la compostura de alumna ejemplar y respetuosa, la vergüenza y el horror de sentirte desnuda; elegías pelear de pie, en su clase, mirándolo a la cara.

¡Qué preciosa, qué orgullosa! Y qué estúpido de tu parte.

La idea volvió a clavarle los dientes detrás del esternón. Eras tan parecido a él…

¿Y si eras tu? ¿Si de verdad eras tu? Por un segundo odió el momento exacto en que su cuerpo decidió reaccionar a ti como si fueras una promesa en vez de una alumna problemática con un problema legítimo con él.

Porque una parte de Sage, la terrible y más sincera, se negaba a aceptar que el posible hallazgo de su última alma viniera envuelto en una alumna malcriada que lo insultaba mentalmente, que quería denunciarlo a instancias que eran él mismo, y que ahora, en vez de conmoverse o asustarse por el vínculo recién expuesto y su autoridad, parecía más bien dispuesta a hundirle un cuchillo dentro.

Pero… ¿y si eras tu? ¿Qué estaba haciendo entonces?

Qué problema tan ridículo.

Porque, incluso si era cierto, también lo era que seguías siendo su alumna. Seguías dentro de su clase. Y acababas de darle la oportunidad de hacer lo que mejor sabía hacer contigo.

Sonrió, pero no de diversión, estaba irritado. Y, como siempre, eligió el camino más ruin; esconderlo dentro de la crueldad.

Ladeó apenas la cabeza. La corona de diamante atrapó la luz del aula.

“Qué observación tan valiente. Especialmente viniendo de alguien que apenas sobrevivió al examen de ingreso.”

Los alumnos bajaron la vista con una rapidez. Tú no.

Seguías mirándolo desde abajo y hubo algo en esa expresión que le resultó tan obscenamente satisfactoria que tuvo que apretar con más fuerza el cetro para no dejar que se le notara en la boca.

Sage descendió apenas. No lo suficiente para igualarte, sino para marcar diferencias. Ponerte en tu lugar.

Te pusiste de pie con un impulso violento que probablemente estaba escondiendo las ganas de abalanzarte encima de él y ahorcarlo.

Para que te viera más a su altura, más cerca de lo que había creado. La evolución de lo que él había producido al paso de los años.

Estabas tan metida en este problema y aun así decidiste seguir dando golpes.

“¿Por qué pareciera como si disfrutara más de vernos fallar que enseñar? ¿Cuál es el sentido de señalar nuestra indignidad a una magia que se nota que usted no aprendió en solo ocho años?”

Tú no sabías. No sabías lo que significabas todavía en la teoría privada en la cabeza de Sage. No sabías cuánto te había estado mirando, pesando, acomodando en el altar interior donde llevaba siglos juzgando señales como quien lava piedras esperando encontrar en alguna la forma exacta del destino en oro. Y si seguía comportándose así; soberbio, insolente, abusivo, ¿de verdad pensaba corregir eso después? ¿De verdad iba a seguir tratándote como a cualquier otra alumna difícil si una parte de él ya te estaba viendo a través de su lente mucho más exaltado en la permanencia?

La respuesta más sincera fue, por desgracia: sí. Por supuesto que sí.

Sage sabía muy bien cuándo estaba cruzando de maestro brillante a tirano intolerable. El problema era que esa frontera, cuando alguien le importaba demasiado, se volvía deliciosamente borrosa.

Además, tú misma habías elegido el aula, habías levantado la mano y lo habías provocado en su lenguaje favorito. ¿Y ahora querías que renunciara a responderte como respondía a todo lo que se le resistía?

Pobrecita… pobre mujer ignorante.

“Tienes una perspectiva bastante ególatra de la magia, querida. Un hechizo tan complejo y exquisito de conocimiento no tiene la obligación a bajar hasta donde ustedes se sientan cómodos solo porque no pueden hacerlo.”

Era una conversación estimulante, pero no era el momento. Quizás en otra situación menos tensa disfrutaría mucho de escucharte.

Tu siguiente frase lo sacó de esa idea con una bofetada.

“O tal vez disfruta formar alumnos limitados porque así nadie puede llegar a su nivel.”

* “Bájate de ese tono de una buena vez.” * Te advirtió, pero no escuchaste.

“Vi los anuarios de nuestros compañeros graduados, ¿por qué nadie lo ha superado a usted? Se supone que el dominio de la magia incrementa con cada generación. ¿Por qué cada vez somos menos alumnos?” Sage sabía la respuesta. Y si, era culpa suya. En el mundo no puede existir suficiente magia para satisfacer el flujo que reside en sus practicantes, mucho menos la magia del lado oscuro de la luna que es la fuente de la vitalidad y el poder de Sage. No existía persona sobre la faz de la tierra capaz de igualarlo; esa era su condena. “Me parece que, desde esa perspectiva, el problema no somos nosotros.”

El silencio fue absoluto y Sage ya no sonreía. No porque le hubieras ganado, sino porque estabas confundiendo las cosas.

Estabas mezclando dos cosas totalmente distintas, una cosa era el obvio favoritismo que te tiene y otra tu audacia para hablarle así. Sin embargo, también era una pelea complicada. Tenías razones para hablarle así en frente de sus estudiantes e incluso estabas siendo respetuosa. Si hubieras gritado algo sobre el lazo y como Sage podía leerte la mente sin querer; estarías arruinando su reputación.

Pero… ¿y luego qué? ¿Realmente serviría de algo? Sage no lucía asustado, demasiado confiado.

Sage bajó del todo al suelo, ya sin gracia. El sonido de sus tacones hizo eco ante el silencio incomodo de los alumnos que rogaban que esto terminara. Jamás te habías puesto así con Sage.

Pero era comprensible que no lo supiera, llevas un buen tiempo sin reaccionar así por él. Pero ahora lo tenía totalmente merecido.

“Mírame bien.”  Te dijo, no como una petición sino como una orden. No era necesario, ya lo hacías; pero tus pupilas se hicieron rendijas finas, como los gatos cuando algo no les agrada y están a punto de arañarte la cara si osas acercarte. Y Sage, por supuesto que tuvo cuidado; su pequeña gata arisca había crecido mucho. Ya te jugaste la carrera una vez, sabe que lo harías de nuevo con tal de hacerlo sentir solo un poco de lo que él hizo contigo todos estos años.

“¿Eso crees? ¿Qué mi disciplina de enseñanza se basa en llevar incompetentes a la graduación por pura vanidad?”

“Creo que es bastante celoso con su conocimiento como para llamarse profesor.”

Todos los estudiantes te miraron, con horror; como si ellos pudieran llegar a experimentar también las consecuencias de tu insolencia. Sage soltó una risita seca, pero sin gracia.

Una contención que no se permitía con ningún alumno insolente. Ni siquiera contigo en el pasado. Porque, si de verdad eras tú… esto formaba parte de la forma en que te estabas presentando para él y la cual él debía encontrar. Ya le pasó una vez y cometió el error de hacer cosas terribles por no darse cuenta a tiempo.

Pero la clase seguía existiendo, sus encantadores alumnos seguían viendo y escuchando. ¡Y por mucho que le encantaría seguir dándote cuerda y ver cuanto eras capaz de decirlo frente a todos…!

Sage seguía siendo un profesor, así que decidió cortar las cosas. Solo con la autoridad que alguien como él tendría en esta estructura de poder: con una palabra.

“Siéntate.”

La palabra cayó pesada sobre tus hombros, casi te hizo temblar las rodillas. Casi. Porque no te moviste y Sage te sostuvo la mirada.

Debajo de todo, con el descaro de que ya no tenía nada que ocultar contigo; dejó entrar un poco de la fuerza real del vínculo. No para dañarte. No del todo. Lo justo para que sintieras el recordatorio insoportable de que ahí mandaba él.

* “Pórtate bien, querida. No queremos meter más quejas a tu expediente, ¿cierto?” *

“Siéntate.” Repitió. “Antes de que olvide toda la paciencia que he tenido contigo.”

Eso te dolió, pero te indignó aún más.

Te sentaste, no porque hayas tenido suficiente y él ganara.

Porque era una amenaza real. * “¡Bien!” *

Sage alzó el cetro y reanudó la clase con una sonrisa desatada.

La pizarra volvió a llenarse y las tizas danzaban con crueldad una tras otra, solo para borrar su progreso celosamente y volviendo a escribir.

Tus compañeros reanudaron sus notas, mareados, la mayoría pálidos; nunca habían visto a su profesor así.

Pero tú si, así que dejaste perder los apuntes, simplemente lo miraste con desprecio el resto del día. No te preocupaba mucho perder el día, si Sage lo decía; usualmente había un libro en la biblioteca que tenía contenido similar.

Qué curioso…

* “Cobarde.” * La palabra volvió a deslizarse por el vínculo que compartían. Ya no era un accidente tuyo, era intencional.

Esta vez él sí respondió de inmediato.

* “Sigue y te restaré décimas el próximo año por la pésima conducta que tuviste hoy.” *

* “Lo que yo piense no le concierne a usted, concéntrese en su clase porque me estoy aburriendo.” *

Tu espalda se tensó, simplemente te cruzaste de brazos mientras te dedicabas a incomodarlo con tus pensamientos florecientes y tu mirada profundamente agria.

Sage fingía no escucharte y no notar tu mirada, estaba entretenido con su clase; pero también estaba meditando profundamente.

Al final, nadie se movió hasta que Sage dio permiso. Cuando lo hizo con un ademán desinteresado, el grupo huyó sin discreción. Todos tomaron sus cosas y salieron corriendo como los supervivientes al conflicto armado que tuviste con tu profesor. Tampoco querían arruinarse las vacaciones, se irían para no irritar más a Sage y vendrían por sus calificaciones por la tarde cuando estuviera más tranquilo y tú lejos de él.

Por eso no se levantaron rumores cuando se cerró la puerta detrás de ellos y tu no saliste, se imaginaron lo peor. Una reprimenda severa.

Tú recogiste tus cosas despacio, no tenías por qué huir.

Tu silla chirrió y te levantaste dispuesta a irte.

“Tú te quedas.” Levantaste tu mirada aburrida hacia Sage, quien te observa expectante desde la tarima del auditorio.

Detuviste tus pasos y volteaste hacia la puerta; ya no había alumnos, ni profesores rondando cerca de la puerta. Excelente.

“No.” Dijiste y de diste la vuelta, dispuesta a irte a dormir un rato. No te interesaba su retroalimentación o la calificación que haya decidido ponerte. Él mismo lo dijo; si estuvieras reprobada, ni siquiera podrías haber tomado esta clase.

Sage se echó hacia atrás extremadamente ofendido, podías jurara que incluso tenía el ceño fruncido. Y solo te reíste en tus adentros.

“¿Perdón?” Cuestionó incrédulo, pero no respondiste

Pero la puerta del aula se cerró frente a ti, no como un azotón, era una llamada de atención. No necesariamente severa.

Volteaste furiosa a verlo.

Sage ya había recuperado su forma original, los restos alquitranados de magia goteaban y se evaporaban de su cabello y las suelas de sus tacones; que horrible vista.

Hiciste una mueca de asco y Sage se sobresaltó mientras presionaba su cetro contra su pecho. Gesto extraño, casi protector, inocente.

Carraspeó e intentó de nuevo.

“Quédate.” Dijo, como si no te hubiese bloqueado la salida y no tuvieras opciones. “Quiero mostrarte tus calificaciones.”

Su voz salió diferente. Porque ese cambio de tono era evidente. Sospechoso. Antinatural en él. No era el profesor aprovechando para ajustar cuentas ahora que nadie estaba presente. Era… otra cosa.

Sage flotó levemente hacia ti al ver tu poca iniciativa de acercarte. No planeaba ser invasivo, pero si se sentía de esa manera. Tu apretaste tus apuntes contra tu pecho mientras lo veías deslizarse por el aire, haciendo aparecer de la nada unos pergaminos nuevos sobre su mano.

El papel lucía reciente, sin doblar ni maltratar. Probablemente eran los primeros registros de tu paso por el programa, con el tiempo irían adquiriendo dobleces y desgaste conforme Sage fuera asentando tu desempeño ahí.

“Tus calificaciones fueron excelentes, casi perfectas.” Te indignaste y frunciste el ceño, Sage señalaba el concentrado de tu desempeño y tu prácticamente le arrancaste el pergamino de las manos.

“¿Casi?” Sabías que tus prácticas eran impecables, los puntajes lejos de la perfección en tus exámenes fueron el problema.

“Si, casi.” Esperó unos minutos a que terminaras de ver todos los parámetros de evaluación, sus resultados de las pruebas y prácticas en caso de alguna queja. Aunque nunca se equivocaba con esas cosas, jamás. Una vez terminaste, levantó el dedo índice y el pergamino regresó a él. “Lo hiciste muy bien.”

Un escalofrío se te trepó por la espalda y te subió hasta la garganta, emitiste un quejido de desagrado mientras temblabas brevemente. No, no, no… eso era mucho peor que la crueldad. Porque eso era que ya conocías en Sage y estabas entrenada para responder a eso.

Pero ahora se comportaba como si quisiera agradarte, como si se le hubiese licuado el cerebro hasta quedar suave y sin pensamientos.

“¿Qué le pasa?” Te quedaste mirándolo con asco.

“Nada.” Se encogió de hombros mientras enrollaba el pergamino de tus calificaciones y lo hacía desaparecer. Mandándolo directamente a su oficina.

¡MENTIRA!

Se le notaba muchísimo. No solo en ese comentario, para comenzar nunca se te había acercado tanto para asuntos tan triviales.

No te estaba partiendo por la mitad ni aprovechando que estaban solos para pasarse contigo y hacerte llorar.

Aunque, si eras franca; era bastante difícil que te hiciera llorar. En dado caso terminarían golpeándose uno al otro.

Pero estaba siendo cortés contigo. Que miedo y que asco.

“No me hable así.”

“¿Cómo?”

“Como si no fueras…” Te callaste, intentaste formular mientras dibujabas círculos con tu mano libre. Porque no sabías por donde comenzar sin echarte encima de él para acabar con su vida. Estabas hastiada, incluso querías llorar de la frustración. ¡querías quitarte el hechizo para mantenerte despierta e irte a dormir! ¡Lo odias tanto! Estúpido, estúpido… siempre tan engreído y ahora tenía la cara de un perro pateado. ¡CÓMO SI ÉL NO FUERA QUIEN TE HABÍA PATEADO PRIMERO!

Sage observó tu cara con un interés que te hacía empujar por dentro.

Porque sí, una parte de él se daba cuenta de que estaba haciendo el ridículo y estaba pasando a traer tu estado de ánimo con eso. Que esa tranquilidad y amabilidad no le quedaban. Que sonaba apresurada, sospechosa, casi grotesca. Lo sabía. Claro que lo sabía. Pero no lograba dejar de intentarlo, porque después de estarlo meditando durante toda la clase; incluso si hablaba a toda velocidad de otro tema; no podía evitar que su sentir fuera hacia la misma dirección.

La luz de la verdad había estado gritándole lo mismo una y otra vez. Ya no era una pregunta, era una afirmativa:

*  Es ella. *

El vinculo que no se deshacía, todo el tiempo que seguías en su vida, la facilidad con la que entraste a su dominio y viste esa parte de él que hace mucho había sometido en sus adentros. Para que un hechizo tan fuerte se mantenga, necesita ser tirado de ambos extremos. Quizás tu no lo quieras, pero esto ya no parece depender de la voluntad de ustedes dos.

Pudiste haberte ido, hace mucho tiempo; pero la vida te puso ahí (y quizás un poco de su propia manipulación) donde él te recibió.

No lo querías, claro que no. Pero un vinculo puede albergar diferentes emociones.

Eso le correspondía cambiarlo a él y estuvo echando por el drenaje todas sus chances este año.

* Es ella. *

¿Cuántas veces Sage había creído esto antes?

Las suficientes como para saber que podía ser una trampa. Las suficientes como para seguir sosteniendo en el pecho una colección entera de errores que también hirieron a otra persona. Personas hermosas, vividas, problemáticas, compatibles con él por momentos, pero catastróficamente insuficientes después. De innumerables de ellas. Hace décadas conoció a alguien, y creyó que quizás… se equivocó. Aún estaba receloso de ese acontecimiento que lo dejó mal parado frente a la academia y con el corazón destrozado.

Cada uno de ellos no fue nada más que una piedra en su camino, una pequeña desgracia en privado.

Pero, aún así; estabas enlazada a él. Te habías vinculado con él. La tarde en los ventanales arriba del auditorio parecía empujarlo con violencia a la misma conclusión Y, entonces; si eras tu. Ya no podía seguir tratándote así.

“No quería que te enteraras así.” Eso hubiera sonado mejor si lo hubiera dicho serio, no con ese tono asqueroso.

“No me interesa lo que hayas querido.” Le levantaste la voz y Sage se sobresaltó. Maravilloso, lucía tan estúpido que no te la creías, ¿a qué iba ese cambio de actitud? Ibas a ahorcarlo.

“Voy a explicártelo.” Te dieron ganas de meterle los dedos en las cuencas y sacarle los ojos con la uña. “Nuestro vínculo…” Se te erizó la piel del cuello ante esa palabra, te dieron nauseas. “…no es un hechizo. No te lo puse yo, apareció después de que hicieras ese hechizo en la evaluación de sanadores. Creí que eran remanentes porque no habías hecho el hechizo bien, pero cuando eliminé los restos; no desapareció.”

“¿Lo sabías desde hace un año?” Preguntaste incrédula.

Sage podía mentirte, suavizar todo a su conveniencia. Pero no lo hizo.

“Sí.” Te estremeciste y pusiste las manos sobre tu cabeza, como si eso pudiera hacer una barrera para protegerte de eso. “¡No puedo escuchar todo!” Rápidamente intervino.

“¿Cuánto escuchaste?”

Pero Sage, nuevamente no respondió a esa pregunta. No quería enumerar tus intimidades frente a ti; incluso si justo eso querías.

Si, escuchó un par de cosas que no merecía escuchar. No todo se trataba de tus insultos y comentarios despectivos hacia él.

“Claro…” Escupiste mientras negabas con la cabeza, hablar con él solo era una pérdida de tiempo. Simplemente ibas a irte.

¡No, no!

Sage quería que te quedaras más tiempo, podría solucionarlo. Tal vez no podría deshacerlo; la primera y única vez (hasta ahora) que le ocurrió, jamás pudo deshacer el vínculo.

Pero podrían aprender a sobrellevarlo, quizás; ver que podrían hacer en consecuencia. Contrarrestarlo para que él no pudiera escuchar tus pensamientos privados, pero tal vez sí hablar un poco. Podrían entender su lazo, hablar mejor, en otro lado que no fuera esta aula llena de tensiones. Ustedes podrían…

Sage bajó al suelo de golpe, el paso de sus tacones hacía un eco escandaloso. Un paso, dos, la mano de Sage apenas alcanzó a rozar tu hombro.

No una caricia, tal vez una forma de retenerte. Sin gente y lejos del ambiente de las clases; creía que tocarte iba a ser la mejor forma de que lo escucharas.

Rápido, rápido. Algo le decía que tenía que hacerlo rápido. Ir a por ti o descartar esto de una vez.

“Puedo ayudarte.” Pero la verdad es que no era cierto, si lo que querías era deshacer el lazo; no se podía. No había manera, Sage lleva siglos intentando. No se podía. Pero podía experimentar un poco, podría ver hasta donde estaban enraizados, podía cambiar tu parecer acerca de él con el tiempo, podía hacer esta convivencia mejor. Su vinculo más ameno y tu y él… mejor que nunca. Él podría… “Si me dejas, quizá podría-.

Quizás…

Mentía. No del todo, aunque era lo suficientemente creíble.

Sí quería “ayudar”, quitarte la tensión y la inseguridad de ese lazo. Pero también quería tocarte. Acercarte, ver qué ocurría si el contacto físico afinaba esa cicatriz mal cerrada entre ambos. Quería comprobar si la vibración que le recorría el cuerpo cada vez que pensaba en esto; se volvía más nítida al tenerte bajo la mano.

Qué animal.

Pero… ¿quizás? Siempre era un quizás.

La bofetada sonó limpia y seca, haciendo un ruido demasiado largo para la comodidad de ambos. El monóculo de Sage salió volando y se estrelló sobre el piso, dejando nada más que su marco dorado. Su cara apenas giró, era alto, pero no podrías adivinar que tendría tanta fuerza como para soportarte un golpe así de duro.

De lo único que no se salvó fue de la marca levemente morada en su mejilla que se formó con rapidez tras el golpe.

Sage no se movió, tu soltaste un quejido de dolor mientras rodeabas tu muñeca con la otra mano, aplastando tus apuntes contra ti para que no resbalaran.

No se movió, no digo nada autoritario o violento, no se te adelantó para someterte o dar otro sermón sobre lo problemática que eras.

Se quedó ahí, con la mano suspendida; incomodo de no saber que posición adoptar ahora. Una expresión de ojos bien abiertos, descolocado, fuera de lugar. Ni un gran sabio, ni un profesor cruel y tirano.

“Si no lograste solucionar este problema en un año, menos lo harás ahora.” Apretaste tu agarre contra tu muñeca, el golpe te había dolido a ti también por la fuerza desmedida contra la cara horrible de Sage que opuso una resistencia admirable.

Sage parpadeó un par de veces, lentamente. Se sentía como haber ofrecido un vaso de agua y que se lo hubieran azotado contra el suelo. La cortesía era el vaso. Su expresión era patética, todavía intentando no parecer lo que ya era: alguien desesperado por no perder una posibilidad que apenas acababa de mostrarse para él.

Por eso insistió.

“Yo no quería-.”

“No me toques.” Interrumpiste. Sage retiró su mano por completo y la encogió contra su pecho, como si pudiera molestarte aún la cercanía lejana.

“No fue mi intención…”

“Tus intenciones me tienen sin cuidado.” Te diste la vuelta, dispuesta a irte. “Voy a ir a hablar con el director.”

Sage abrió los ojos con resolución y tuvo que esconder una sonrisa tras su mano hasta que te fueras. No huiste, caminaste tranquila con la espalda recta y sacudiendo ocasionalmente la mano con la que lo habías golpeado, todavía te ardía.

No quería ser más un asqueroso de lo que ya lo era, pero no podías hacer nada contra él.

Sin importar cuanto te quejaras, incluso si tu denuncia contra él fuera tan lejos como para acabar en el consejo; él era el director. Estaba siendo indulgente si siquiera te recibía la queja. Pero, lamentablemente, siempre tenía que interpretar su papel a la perfección.

Para cuando llegaste para pedir una cita, el secretario ya no estaba. En su lugar, había una agenda improvisada con una libreta y una pluma con poca tinta.

Había varios nombres, muchos tachados, no sabías quien pasaría antes de ti; así que anotaste tu nombre en el último horario y tomaste asiento a esperar a que te llamaran.

Pasaron las horas y jamás viste a alguien entrar o salir. ¿Sage se te había adelantado? ¿Tu profesor ya le estaba contando al director su queja sobre ti para intentar voltear la situación? Lo dudas un poco, se supone que Sage estaría dándole sus calificaciones a tus compañeros justo ahora. La verdad era que ya sabías que esto no avanzaría tanto, no con Sage siendo el profesor más valioso en la academia. Querías creer que las estructuras funcionaban, por pura moral.

Pero comienzas a impacientarte un poco. Aunque, de haber horario lleno o un evento que requiera la presencia del director, él siempre tiene el cuidado de dejar los mensajes en pequeñas infografías pegadas a su puerta.

Al final, la noche ya estaba asentada. La ira se había enfriado y terminaste sumida en tu cabeza. Las estrellas brillaban por los ventanales superiores. Esa noche había luna nueva. Ya era la hora en los que los más pequeños ya deberían estar, cenados, bañados y medio dormidos.

Pero tu seguías firme y esperando con paciencia, de vez en cuando te detenías a hojear la libreta del horario para comparar los tiempos.

Se supone que eras la siguiente…

Cuando escuchaste pasos, te pusiste de pie, la silla chirrió y te preparaste para desbocar contra el pobre director. Pero, cuando se abrió la puerta, no te recibió el director. Era otro hombre.

Era mucho más alto que la mayoría, incluso un poco más que el profesor Sage. Su presencia era suave pero profunda. Llevaba una túnica ceñida azul como el fondo del mar, bien puesta, como un traje ceremonial, una capa de cuello alto con patrones dorados por encima. Tenía el cabello en mechones rubios revueltos que parecían haber sido peinados en un principio, pero dejados a la suerte durante el resto del día. La barba le crecía apenas por no haberse afeitado en días y eso, lejos de darle un aspecto desaliñado; lo hacía lucir genuinamente guapo.

No interesante: guapo.

Pasaba su mano libre sobre su túnica para alisarla y arreglarla, un leve sonrojo que nunca notaste se terminaba de disipar por su rostro con un suspiro cansado. Tenía el ceño fruncido, pero parecía satisfecho por la forma en que sus labios iban relajados.

El hombre parecía no tener la mejor vista, el eco de sus tacones chocando con el piso era acompañado del eco hueco de su bastón de orquídea negra.

Sus ojos, desenfocados y lechosos por una capa de desgaste se parecían mucho a cierta persona molesta; dorado falso y azul desgastado.

Eso te enfureció un poco más, como si fueses un toro que se desboca al ver esos colores en particular.

Te vio antes de que pudieras hacerte la tonta y colarte a la oficina entre la lateral de la puerta y su brazo extendido que la sostenía abierta. No se notó sorprendido o extrañado a pesar de que era la primera vez que lo veías, esa era una mala señal.

“Así que eres tú.” No dio contexto, habló de más. Lo miraste con sospecha y recelo, pero no pudiste plantarle una cara tan mala como con Sage. Eso sería grosero.

“¿Nos conocemos?”

El hombre curvó sus labios levemente, no como burla, a la cual estabas acostumbrada. Como dulzura, de esa que a Sage le quedaba espantosa. Pero esta era de verdad.

“No personalmente.” Finalmente soltó la puerta y extendió la palma de su mano derecha sobre su pecho mientras cerraba los ojos y hacia una pequeña reverencia. Impecable y sereno. “Puedes llamarme Truthless Recluse.”

* Que apodo tan peculiar…*

No querías ser grosera, así que le diste tu nombre a cambio y un leve asentimiento de cabeza.

Recluse olía a agujas de pino fresco frescas, las bolsas cansadas bajo sus ojos lucían similares a las tuyas. ¿Era un alumno de la academia? No…

No era viejo, pero lucía como un adulto endurecido. ¿Un exalumno? Entonces no sería raro que haya pasado un buen rato hablando con el director.

“Esperaste mucho, lo lamento.” Truthless se deslizó para hacerte espacio, extendiendo su mano hacia la entrada de la oficina; indicándote que era tu turno de pasar.

Eso de inmediato avivó la razón y la ira del porque estabas ahí, le agradeciste y te despediste; entrando echa una furia a esa oficina exquisita y dando un portazo detrás de ti.

No sabes cuanto tiempo estuviste gritando y quejándote, contaste todo, se te salieron algunas lágrimas mientras te revictimizabas. Contaste lo del lazo, como habían discutido e incluso la amenaza de que sus quejas no procederían a nada.

No te importaba que tus gritos fueran escuchados por alguien más, Truthless seguramente ya se habría ido y esta ala solía estar vacía de noche.

Pero incluso en la candela de tus gritos y tus arrebatos por haber sido llevada al límite, tu subconsciente notó ciertas cosas cada vez que volteabas y dirigías la mirada a otro lado para reformular. El almizcle en el ambiente de la oficina, dos tazas sucias que aún olían al remanente del fuerte té rojo y un par de papeles regados por el suelo.

Para cuando te cansaste, porque calmada no estabas; el director te ayudó a redactar una queja formal que estaría anexa en el curriculum de Sage, dijo que lo reprendería severamente y haría lo que estuviera a su alcance para intentar deshacer el lazo.

Sage, en su farsa; incluso intentó deshacerlo en esa forma; pero para su nula sorpresa, no pudo.

Lamentablemente, te dijo con franqueza lo que temías; Sage era uno de los profesores más importantes de la academia. Valioso. Él solo enseñaba un programa entero, en el que tu estabas, y se dedicaba a las demás carreras a tiempo completo. Pero se aseguraría de cambiar su actitud.

Para cuando saliste, agotada, con las marcas saladas de lágrimas marcando tu pequeña puesta de color en tus mejillas; el edificio ya estaba cerrado. Por lo que tendrías que salir por la puerta trasera de emergencia, te sentías derrotada. Por Sage, por el director permisivo y por la estructura de este sistema el cual Sage ya te había advertido engreídamente que no haría nada al respecto.

Extraña fue tu sorpresa cuando abriste la puerta de la dirección y viste a TR de pie, apoyado sobre su bastón y con los ojos cerrados. No de sueño, sino de letargo, de espera.

¿Estuvo escuchando todo? ¿O se fue y regresó? Cualquiera de las dos ideas te hizo sonrojarte de la vergüenza. Gritaste, y mucho; pero estás segura de que escuchó la mayor parte de tus quejidos dirigidos. Y si era un exalumno como para tener la libertad de merodear por la academia; conocía a Sage.

Cerraste suavemente, esperando que no te hablara. Lástima.

“¿Ya está todo bien?” Gemiste profundo en tus adentros. Truthless enderezó su postura y finalmente abrió sus ojos cansados para verte.

No era curioso, era como si ya te conociera de tiempo; simplemente te dedicaba atención. Querías decir que todo estaba bien, quedar bien con el desconocido. Sin embargo, también querías desahogarte. No tenías a quien contarle ahora, ya era bien entrada la noche.

“No.” Respondiste seca, pero te hizo sentir bien ser sincera. No habías obtenido algo, no se había solucionado la situación y no estabas satisfecha con lo que el director te ofrecía. Por supuesto que todo está mal.

Recluse asintió, no preguntó de más y luego volteó levemente hacia los pasillos apagados y el acceso principal bloqueado.

Y en vista de que tu tampoco le preguntaste que hacía ahí, decidió que era una buena oportunidad.

“Es muy tarde, déjame acompañarte a tu habitación.”

* ¿Cómo sabía que vivías dentro de la academia? * Un pequeño error de dedo de TR al hablar. Apretó los dientes por su error. Para su suerte, la amabilidad después de todo un año con un profesor tan estúpido; concentró tu atención en otro lado.

“No hace falta, la academia es segura.” Ningún alumno lo sabía con certeza. Sage, cuando edificó la academia, destinó una pequeña parte del flujo de su magia en proteger la institución durante eones.

No era algo que tuviera méritos de por medio, sin embargo; como nunca han existido incidentes que pongan la integridad de los estudiantes en peligro. Todos asumen que es un lugar muy seguro.

“Insisto, hace demasiado frío a esta hora fuera de los edificios.” Volteaste a ver la oscilante oscuridad de la noche por los ventanales y luego a Truthless sosteniendo su bastón de orquídea. Asumías que estaba encantado para ayudarle a ver mejor, los ojos en la corona parpadeaban perezosamente en distintas direcciones.

No se veía como un delincuente, y si intentaba algo siempre podrías patearle el bastón para correr.

Pero eras sincera, la idea de caminar sola hasta tu habitación después de esta humillación era deprimente. En cambio, ser escoltada por un hombre guapo… no mejoraba nada.

Pero ayudaba a tu autoestima.

“Vámonos entonces.” Se apartó de la pared con elegancia y se acercó a tu derecha. Ofreciendo su brazo libre para ti. “Tendrás que guiarme, nunca he visitado la residencia de estudiantes.”

No te abrazaste a él, simplemente colocaste la palma de tu mano sobre su brazo y sostuviste tus cosas con tu antebrazo libre.

El camino fue silencioso, TR no preguntó nada y tu no querías hablar al respecto. Aunque las cosas no eran incomodas, era compañía dispuesta e inesperada. El hombre olía fresco, de esos que mantienen su aspecto impecable, pero parte del estilo era verse desaliñado; no lo lograba mucho. Se notaba el esmero que ponía en tener sus túnicas bien teñidas y planchadas, el esmalte negro de sus uñas, su cabello sin ninguna punta abierta. El labial oscuro retocado y la sombra de sus ojos sellada.

Con un suave desliz de dedos, el rubio abrió la puerta de la salida de emergencia. La humedad y la noche de verano era fría, probablemente llovería y después el sol de los días sería tortuoso y agobiador.

Truthless se disculpó y quitó tu mano, solo para protegerte con su capa. Las pequeñas gotas del rocío y el frío fueron mitigadas. No hablaste para agradecerle, solo asentiste y te pegaste más a su costado. Ojalá fuera de día, querías presumir.

Rodearon el edificio principal, pasaron por los jardines y auditorios de tu facultad. Las instalaciones eran inmensas, pero bien diseñadas para poder desplazarse en pocos minutos. Los edificios estaban dispuestos como fichas de dominó y la extensión de su inmensidad se desplegaba hacia el costado contrario. De esa forma se podría cruzar toda la academia fácilmente a través de los caminos de piedra crujiente.

Poco te atreviste a voltear a ver a Recluse, su facie era regia, serena. No te pedía indicaciones y sabía hacia donde girar. Tal vez era grosero no preguntar por él como lo hizo contigo. Pero tampoco tenías muchas ganas de hacerlo y él pareció notarlo. Entonces, tal vez ninguno estaba siendo descortés.

Bajaron las escaleras, dentro de las jardineras alrededor de las aulas de la media superior. El bastón de TR repiqueteaba a su paso, seco y amaderado; solido. Los ojos tallados en la corona de su orquídea brillaban, pero eran opacados por la iridiscencia de los arándanos en los arbustos que se removían, despertaban y abrían los ojos a su paso.

Una que otra fruta madura a veces flotaba cerca de ustedes, al nivel de sus rodillas para iluminar un poco el paso con luz amarilla e iridiscente. Solo para aburrirse poco después y acurrucarse en una jardinera.

Las que aún estaban pegadas a los tallos de los árboles, solo giraban su ojo perezoso hacia su caminar.

Las luciérnagas azules sobrevolaban con ustedes, el brillo opalescente trazaba el camino de su vuelo y luego desaparecía un rato.

Llegaron a los jardines de la básica, te la pasaste volteando hacia el lago. Como esa noche la luna no brillaba, los cúmulos de estrellas se reflejaban en el suave flujo del agua. Todo era tan silencioso, debido a que terminaste el año antes que todos; nadie se atrevía aún a desvelarse.

Los dormitorios estaban conformados por tres edificios, dos de ellos eran para los más pequeños y jóvenes; dividían niños y niñas respectivamente.

El ultimo edificio era mixto, hecho para los adultos en los programas superiores, hace ya dos años que te mudaste ahí. Te agradaba, podías recibir visitas y no había horario para apagar las luces. Prueba de esto, eran las múltiples ventanas iluminadas; a diferencia de los otros dos edificios que ya estaban totalmente en penumbra. Probablemente muchos se estaban preparando para los exámenes finales.

Cada edificio tenía su comedor en el primer piso respectivamente, incluso muchos profesores o personal de servicio también iban ahí.

Sales del cobijo de Truthless y avanzas por tu cuenta por el par de escaleras en la entrada, volteas un poco.

“Aquí está bien.”

“Todavía no llegamos a tu habitación.” Abres los ojos de más, pero te indigna más que lo haya dicho tan serio.

* ¡Eso sonó terrible! *

“No es necesario, ya me ayudaste lo suficiente.” Si, tus palabras eran sinceras, pero tampoco querías que un desconocido supiera exactamente dónde está la habitación donde te quedarías varios años. “Los dormitorios son seguros también.”

“No lo dudo.” Frunciste levemente el ceño ante la respuesta técnicamente correcta, pero si pauta a cerrar la conversación.

“Entonces buenas noches… y gracias por acompañarme.” Te diste la vuelta, empujando la puerta de cristal. Usualmente siempre había algunas velas flotando sobre su lato de plata por ahí para guiar a los estudiantes que llegaban tarde al edificio, tomarías una y te irías a dormir.

“¿En qué habitación estas?”

“¿Disculpa?” Volteaste hacia él, tus palmas contra el cristal grueso. El reflejo del lago ondulante se perdía a la altura de la capa oscura sobre sus hombros. No pudiste disimular la mueca en tu rostro, pero a Truthless no pareció molestarle. De hecho, ya la esperaba. No te sonreía con nerviosismo o para agradar, estaba serio, con los párpados pesados.

“Para no equivocarme cuando quiera encontrarte después.” El cansancio solo te hacía más suspicaz, que hombre tan peligroso. Aunque el peligro en si mismo había sido permitirle acompañarte tanto tiempo.

“Es una pregunta extraña…”

“Si.” Se encogió de hombros mientras cambiaba su bastón de mano. ¡Ni siquiera se estaba defendiendo! “Solo me gustaría saber donde encontrarte, pero puedo preguntar aquí por ti de igual forma.”

Volteaste tu vista hacia los solitarios jardines que acababan de recorrer, porque era una respuesta bastante buena en realidad. No encontrabas una forma para echarlo a patadas porque no había dicho o hecho algo mal. Estabas tan acostumbrada al trato áspero y hostil de tus compañeros en las clases; casi todos eran hombres.

Y al contrario de lo que alguien pudiera pensar por fuera, eso lo volvía un ambiente bastante centrista a ellos que te subestimaba en consecuencia. Para ellos, tu solo eras el lugar ocupado que otro hombre pudo haber usado.

Sin contar las acciones de el vómito, engullido y defecado que llamabas profesor Sage.

TR en cambio era respetuoso, no incomodaba, no intentaba otra cosa o decidía que merecía un premio por ser amable. Solo había decidido que quería verte otra vez, pero te daba el derecho de cerrarle la puerta si no lo querías.

Eso, de alguna forma; te resultó mucho más intimo que todas tus interacciones románticas en tu vida.

Así que le dejaste la puerta cerrada, con la posibilidad de que él pudiera tener una llave en el futuro. Además, una chica inteligente nunca llevaría a un hombre hasta su habitación la primera vez que se conocen, sin importar que tan guapo sea. ¡Podría ser un asesino por uno de esos del curso al que le caías mal!

“Puedes preguntar por mi al guardián del primer piso.” Dijiste y entraste rápidamente al edificio, pegándote a la puerta de cristal para ver la reacción de Truthless.

Él simplemente cerró los ojos para asentir.

“Que descanses.” La voz de TR a través del grueso cristal se volvió más suave.

“Buenas noches.” Murmuraste con los ojos entrecerrados, aún esperando a que hiciera algo.

Él implemente levantó su bastón para irse, esperabas que fuera en dirección a la entrada de la academia para cruzar el rio hacia la villa. Pero fue en la dirección por la que habían llegado. Levantando de su letargo nuevamente a los arándanos maduros que revoloteaban molestos por el dobladillo de la túnica de Recluse.

No te quedaste observándolo todo su trayecto, eso sería grosero; así que tomaste uno de los porta velas que flotaba cerca de ti y corriste escaleras arriba hasta tu habitación.

Odiabas las escaleras que necesitabas subir, normalmente utilizarías un hechizo de levitación o te lanzarías por el centro para frenar el impacto antes de estrellarte. Pero, esta noche simplemente te arrastrabas patéticamente hacia arriba. Dudabas de tener tanto aguante como para activar otro hechizo cuando el que te mantenía despierta te estaba robando energía constantemente justo ahora.

La vista era linda, sí. Pero a veces te cuestionabas que tanto valía la pena.

Para cuando llegaste, te diste una ducha y te colocaste ropa cómoda; ya con la premonición de lo que implicaba desactivar tu hechizo.

Te aventaste a la cama, te arropaste y con un simple ademán lo deshiciste.

Caíste inconsciente inmediatamente.

Nadie permitiría estos hechizos en estudiantes si requiriera recuperar todo el tiempo que se utilizó, solo le daba al cuerpo el suficiente tiempo para poder reaccionar por su cuenta. Sin embargo, no sanaba los daños que el cerebro y el sistema nervioso sufrían a causa de trabajo ininterrumpido por días o semanas.

Así que eso se arreglaba en una visita rápida en la enfermería.

Para cuando despertaste habían pasado dos días y medio, el hechizo se aseguraba de no matar de hambre al usuario maximizando la distribución y uso de energía y calorías. Pero aun así te despertabas con mucha hambre y sed.

Te diste otra ducha y te colocaste tu túnica, esta vez sin los cintos dorados.

La academia tenía estrictas visiones acerca de la ropa de sus estudiantes. Proveía a todos con ropa digna y acogedora para que ninguno tuviera que gastar dinero que no tiene en ropa del pueblo. Sin embargo, aquellos estudiantes que no estaban en servicio por vacaciones tenían que dejar las cintas de su grado académico en su habitación.

Cuando abriste la puerta para ir al comedor, viste con desagrado un montón de folletos colocados en tu puerta con algo de cinta que seguramente dañaría el barniz de la madera.

Eran panfletos acerca de los cursos de verano de Sage, por supuesto que los partiste a la mitad y los arrojaste al bote de basura.

Fue lo que había en el suelo frente a tus zapatos lo que te llamó la atención.

Habías escuchado de estos por los pretendientes que les hacían regalos a tus amigas, eran postres encantados dentro de cajita de cartón planchado. Una vez los abres, comienza su proceso normal de vida comestible. Este era un pastelito circular de varios pisos con crema y frutos rojos.

Luego te tomarías el tiempo emocional de valorar el detalle, por ahora lo devoraste de un solo bocado y lo que sobró de lo restregaste con la mano.

En el empaque tampoco había nota o mensaje, simplemente moviste los hombros y bajaste a tomar el almuerzo.

Te sentías mucho mejor, era la primera vez que usabas ese hechizo tanto tiempo; por lo que creías que te cobraría más días de descanso. Aunque, a juzgar por lo sediente que te sentías, asumías que el hechizo cobraba sus favores a cambio de otras cosas.

Los cocineros nunca racionaban la comida de los estudiantes, aunque esta si se dividía de acuerdo a los requerimientos nutricionales. Como una recomendación para una dieta saludable.

Tu simplemente pediste doble de todo, tomaste un vaso que podías rellenar cuantas veces quisieras y fuiste a sentarte.

Y mientras comías, escuchabas.

“¿Otra vez el profesor Sage?” Murmuraba un chico que creía no estar siendo escuchado. Parecía estar consolando a un par de chicas.

El comedor solía estar vacío a esta hora, aún no eran vacaciones oficiales para el resto de los alumnos, aun no terminaban las clases.

Por lo que las conversaciones eran fáciles de escuchar incluso si les dabas la espalda.

Escuchaste como una de las chicas sorbía sus lagrimas y se quejaba suavemente.

“Traté de hablar con él para poder presentar otro examen o entregar un trabajo extra y… simplemente dijo que yo ya estaba reprobada.” Al pronunciar esas ultimas palabras, se echó a berrear nuevamente.

“¿Por qué no intentas hablar con el director?” Casi te burlas de la sugerencia del chico y te llevaste otro bocado de sopa a la boca.

“Tengo miedo de que el profesor Sage tome represalias contra mí, él… él dijo que no podrían hacer nada al respecto.” Levantaste la ceja escéptica. “Además, también será mi profesor el siguiente año. Puede desquitarse aún más conmigo…”

Si bien es cierto que esos chicos tenían la suerte de estar en programas menos estrictos, no sabes que tan prudente es permitirle a un alumno rendir más exámenes o trabajos extra si reprobó todo el semestre del programa. Sobre todo, con un profesor tan pesado como Sage, tal vez otros profesores fueron flexibles con ellos y ahora se han topado con un muro enorme.

Lo que no te pareció en absoluto, fueron las palabras de Sage. Y te constaba, te lo había dicho a ti también. ¿Hasta que punto se le permitía a ese imbécil amenazar alumnos de esa forma? No te parecía para nada.

Seguiste escuchando los berridos de la chica, sobre Sage, sobre que siempre era lo mismo y tal parece que no son los únicos a quienes los amenaza implícitamente y rige sus aulas en base al miedo y las consecuencias de descontentarlo.

Te concentraste, tanto que no escuchaste el repiqueteo constante de un cetro de madera bastante pesado.

“¿Puedo sentarme?” Levantaste la vista bastante tarde al hombre que estaba de pie a tu lado, aunque tenías demasiada hambre como para ser cordial y no seguir masticando el bocado que tenías aún a medio moler.

Era Recluse, no tenía puesta la capa alta de cuello alto. Solo llevaba su túnica oscura, ceñida a la cintura con un fino laso; asumes que es por el calor que se está asentando rumbo al medio día. Incluso algunas velas flotantes estaban siendo reemplazadas por abanicos coloridos que planeaban por el comedor.

Y bajo su túnica, resaltaba en cuello delgado y ceñido de otra prenda.

Tu asentiste a su petición e inclinaste la cabeza hacia tu mesa.

“Veo que descansaste bien.” Asentiste. Truthless tomó asiento frente a ti y dejó su orquídea apoyada contra el filo de la mesa, sus ojos luminosos parpadeaban disparejos, pero observándote al final.

De no ser por su comentario, olvidarías que llevas metida días en tu cama, para ti se sintió como una noche de sueño reparador.

“Gracias por el pastelito.” Dijiste al final, mientras acababas con la fruta y los dátiles. No sabías con exactitud si había sido él, pero probaste. TR lució confundido, pero al final asintió.

“No sabía si te gustaría el sabor, hazme saber si tienes otras preferencias.” La verdad era que no, fue Sage quien te dejó esos papeles con el pastelito como una disculpa extra. Recluse había preguntado por ti los días que estuviste durmiendo, incluso hoy; pero nunca preguntaba por tu habitación en particular. Quería que fueras tu quien se lo dijera, por lo que aún no podía darte regalos. Simplemente iba al primer piso, si aún no salías del edificio; te esperaba en el comedor.

¿Y quién era él para no adjudicarse los esfuerzos de Sage? Seguramente no los querrías en absoluto de saber que vinieron de él y a Recluse no le agradaría que te quedaras con el antojo después de esforzarte tanto este año.

“Estuvo bueno, aunque prefiero que tengan mango y kiwi.” TR asintió con un leve canturreo, el próximo pastelito sería de ese sabor.

“¿Estás libre hoy?” Soltó, tu dejaste de lamer la cuchara y volteaste a verlo. Siempre tenía el ceño fruncido, como si estuviera eternamente molesto. La verdad no te ofendía, su mirada hacia ti no se sentía de esa manera. Pero te causaba curiosidad, si relajara el rostro más, podrías ver mejor las sombras oscuras en sus ojos, el delineador negro. Lo único que podías ver bien era el labial azul mar de sus labios.

“Bueno… tengo que estudiar mucho para el siguiente semestre.” No diste la cuerda a torcer para que el rubio revelara sus intenciones.

“Quiero que me acompañes al pueblo.” Pero Recluse no compartía ese retorcido juego de tira y afloja que a Sage tanto le gustaba. Él te daba y decía cosas con las manos extendidas, tan honesto y dispuesto. Porque él ya lo sabía, por todo lo que había escuchado de ti a través de los años y por lo mucho que te vio.

“¿Para…?”

“¿A caso no soy merecedor de tu compañía?” Dejaste caer la cuchara y el repiqueteo contra la mesa hizo eco en el comedor vacío. TR viendo que aún no acababas tu postre, se levantó apoyando su peso en su cetro y fue por otra cuchara para ti.

“Eres muy amable, ¿qué quieres?”

“Tu compañía.”

Al final, dejaste una carta con el guardián para tus amigos. Por si… ¿te secuestraban?

El calor abrasador del verano comenzaba a robarle verde a las plantas de los jardines, no se podía mirar el rio directamente sin ser cegado por el reflejo del sol. Así que llevaste una sombrilla que Truthless se ofreció a sostener con la mano que no guiaba el bastón. Podías escuchar el leve bullicio y gritos de los más pequeños en los edificios de básica, probablemente estaban en su hora recreativa o un descanso libre.

Los arándanos se escondían dentro de los arbustos o reposaban somnolientos en el suelo frio a la sombra.

Cruzaron el rio, en la villa te compró un helado. Dijo que le traía recuerdos agradables, aunque ya no disfrutaba el sabor.

Se ofreció a abrir un portal para trasportarlos al pueblo, pero tu no salías mucho de la academia y tenías mucha energía. Así que caminaron. Pero le dijiste que tenía que enseñarte ese hechizo, todos tus compañeros hervirían de celos cuando lo aprendiera.

Te habló acerca de que era exalumno de la academia, no quiso decirte hace cuantos años… sería muy difícil explicarte que fue incluso antes de que tus descendientes nacieran.

Te habló acerca de su martirio por el programa de magia de la luna oscura, no dijo quien fue su profesor. Pero si que era prepotente, déspota y muy egocéntrico.

“Todos los profesores de ese programa son un enorme dolor de culo.” Soltó y luego se disculpó contigo por sus palabras. Tú te reíste y confesaste algunas cosas que pensabas acerca de Sage. Le hablaste de él y sobre lo estúpido que era.

Truthless lucía… complacido con tus palabras. Asintiendo a cada comentario cada vez peor.

En el pueblo la vida era ajetreada siempre, fueran vacaciones o no. Los mercados que bloqueaban las calles ofrecían un sinfín de objetos y alimentos locales o importados.

Truthless compró algo de fruta madura y un poco cara para tu gusto. Acomodada firmemente en una canasta de mimbre que le obsequiaron por su compra y sostenida por el antebrazo que aún te cubría con la sombrilla.

Te ofreciste a ayudarlo a cargar, pero se negó con insistencia.

Entraron al local de una modista, la pequeña campanita balanceándose ruidosamente. La mujer mayor ya parecía conocer a TR, pues tenía su pedido de tela listo y doblado para él.

La anciana te cayó mal cuando te miró con desaprobación y tu pateaste los enormes rollos de tela antes de correr delante de Recluse. No te reprendió, lucía más pensativo que otra cosa.

Para la merienda te invitó a una confitería en el centro, quiso mostrarte todos los postres y cosas dulces que le gustaban. Roles de canela, pastelitos de crema y fresas, macarrones de rosas y menta, café con leche y crema de higos.

Al final terminaron pidiendo demasiado, así que Truthless lo ordenó en cajitas de regalo con lazos para llevar. Esas las cargaste tu.

Para cuando saliste del local ya estabas bastante sonrojada, el rubio supuso que era por el sol; así que pegó más la sombrilla hacia ti.

La verdad es que te daba un poco de vergüenza en el mal sentido. No te habías ofrecido a pagar nada porque no traías oro contigo.

No sabías que acompañar requería que compraras cosas que podrían costarte la beca del mes.

Se sentaron a descansar en la fuente principal con vista a la aguja, un castillo inmenso de marfil construido inimaginablemente en la cima de la montaña más alta del continente. Cada noche, sin falta, la luna salía por ahí y se posaba en la punta de la cúpula de la torre más alta.

Truthless lo veía con particular gusto.

Cuando regresaron bien asentada la tarde, te dio la mitad de las cosas que compro a excepción de las telas. Te negaste efusivamente, diciendo que no necesitabas tanto (y no tenías para regresar el favor después). Y aún así, te lo dio.

“¿Te veré mañana?”

“Tengo que estudiar.” Esta vez no era una prueba, era sinceridad. Si bien las vacaciones mitigaban la presión de las clases y los exámenes. Tu carrera era un curso del que no tenías la libertad de dejar de pensar durante tus descansos. Al menos no si tu no querías quedar debajo de tus compañeros.

“Después entonces.” Asintió ante tu negativa y para tu sorpresa y horror en cantidades similares; extendió su mano para tomar la tuya. Tuviste que hacer malabares con la otra mano para no soltar la canasta y la cajita de postres. “Recházame cuando quieras.” Dijo antes de posar tu mano sobre la suya y besarte los nudillos castamente, pero asegurándose de dejar su labial bien imprimado en tu piel.

Ya ni siquiera protestaste por sus regalos, te metiste corriendo al edificio. En parte un resultado que TR quería para que te llevaras sus regalos, así que se rio por la nariz y condujo su camino adentro hacia la academia rebosante de arándanos recién despertados por el ocaso de la luz.

Esa noche tus amigos comieron contigo un poco de los pasteles y postres que el rubio te obsequió, jamás podrías acabártelos tu sola. La fruta la guardaste para hacer tus propias meriendas mientras estudiabas. La canasta de mimbre y los lazos le dieron un poco de vida a tu habitación.

El rubio respetaba tu tiempo, aunque aprovechaba la letra pequeña de eso. Te dejaba sola unos cuantos días para estudiar y después aparecía en las mañanas preguntando por ti para salir a algún lado.

No todo tenían que ser salidas costosas al pueblo, a veces merendaban juntos, otras veces iban a mojar los pies al lado o sentándose en las jardineras donde los arándanos tomaban por cama sus túnicas.

Cuando el calor era particularmente insoportable cruzaban a la villa por helado y colarse en algún local donde el hielo de los mostradores aminorara la temperatura.

Era agradable, demasiado… casi olvidabas…

Lo que no paraba de llegar cada día, eran aquellos folletos molestos, el pegamento de las cintas era difícil de retirar e incluso colocaste una capa de aceite para que ya no pegaran esos horribles panfletos; lograban hacerlo de alguna forma.

Ah, y tu pastelito al pie de la puerta siempre seguía apareciendo por las mañanas, siempre le agradecías a Recluse cada vez que lo mirabas y él simplemente asentía.

Y, tal vez era imaginación tuya. Pero los folletos eran cada vez más desesperados.

* ¡Gran curso de verano! *

* 11 de cada 10 estudiantes recomiendan los cursos de verano. * Con ese si hiciste una mueca.

* ¡Te divertirás! *

* ¡No pierdas el siguiente año! *

* ¡El profesor Sage te enseñará con gusto! * Bufaste, si…claro.

Siempre terminaban rotos y olvidados en el bote de basura.

Truthless Recluse no era ajeno a la postura que Sage tomó una vez ocurrido el incidente de la bofetada, le parecía patético honestamente.

Así que cuando Sage lo recibía lloriqueando y preguntando sobre los pastelitos que te dejaba todas las mañanas, Recluse simplemente le decía que no se los había comido.

Riéndose en sus adentros por el crédito que se estaba robando.

Porque a diferencia de las tácticas de perdedor (según TR) de Sage, Truthless no necesitaba de probarte, de hacerte pasar un mal rato o jugar a perseguirse y luego darte cortesía.

Tu eras su mujer y te va a tratar como tal, aunque tome tiempo para tu disposición.

Era tan obvio, el lazo, todo el tiempo que llevas aquí, la resonancia. Había escuchado de ti por años, * eras tu * y no necesitaba que terminaras odiándolo para descubrirlo.

Así que dejó de confiar en las tonterías del sabio para simplemente hacerlo a su modo.

La idea de que él ha creado más intimidad alrededor de ti que ese imbécil a lo largo de los años lo hace regocijarse.

Si, había sido daño colateral de las malas elecciones que Sage tomaba por ambos a lo largo de su vida. Todavía no olvida el incidente que casi termina con la reputación de Sage en la academia y esos cientos de errores que nunca terminaron de consolidarse, aparentemente destinados. Pero siempre una trampa para hacerlos sufrir.

Por eso, ahora TR tomaba sus propias decisiones y había decidido que eras tu. Y… puede que se tome algunas libertades y secretos al respecto.

Pasaron las semanas, ahora los estudiantes de básico rondaban durante sus paseos y tus amigos te esperaban restregados contra el cristal cada vez que tu y Truthless iban al pueblo, porque eso significaba más postres y regalos caros que compartirías con ellos. Al menos hasta que tuvieran que regresar a casa.

Las salidas se volvieron más apegadas, salían durante la noche al observatorio, sobre todo en noches de luna nueva y menguante; como cuando se conocieron. Esto porque las constelaciones solían verse mejor.

Nunca preguntaste como era que podía abrir el observatorio tan tarde, ¿quizás beneficios de graduados? Siempre escuchaste que la academia estaba abierta a la investigación de maestría y doctorados.

Truthless también se ofreció a enseñarte bases para hechizos adelantados a tu grado. Claro, siempre y cuando pudieras manejarlo.

Era extraño, los exalumnos del programa de magia de la luna oscura solían ser egoístas con su conocimiento y la práctica de hechizos.

Pero el rubio se tiraba contigo en las alfombras de la biblioteca vacía y te enseñaba, a veces si requerían ejercicios prácticos; salían al campo donde nadie pudiera verlos.

Tus vacaciones pasaron más rápido de lo que te hubiese gustado y más de lo lista que estabas para enfrentar el aula de tu carrera.

Truthless decidió llevarte al pueblo para festejar, no porque se acababan las vacaciones, sino porque oficialmente entrarías a tu segundo año de carrera.

Te llevó a la misma confitería, nunca se te quitaba la vergüenza de no poder pagar tus propias cosas caras.

“No quiero que pongas dinero.” TR siempre te tranquilizaba y luego pedía lo que sabía que te gustaba. Pagaba felizmente antes de pedir para llevar las cosas que sobraban.

Recluse siempre se aprovechaba del privilegio que sabía que Sage no tenía, él no era un profesor. No debía tener cuidado de sus interacciones contigo y tampoco tenía que estarse escondiendo.

Podía pasear por la academia contigo, llevarte al pueblo y sentarse a la orilla del lago sin ser mal visto; al menos por las personas que lo conocían a profundidad.

Y, como esa noche era especial. Se tomó el atrevimiento de no llevarte temprano a tu dormitorio y te llevó al teatro.

“No estoy vestida para el teatro.” Reprochaste sosteniendo las cajas habituales de postres, viendo a todas esas personas con vestidos pomposos, pelucas blancas y plumas en los abanicos que iban en dirección a la función de la noche

“El uniforme de la academia es suficiente para impresionar.” Y Recluse tenía razón.

Las personas exquisitas se inclinaban con gusto y sonreían al verte bajar las escaleras hasta tu lugar. Tal vez una estudiante dedicada después de un largo día de clases. Quizá porque pensaban que practicabas como sanadora o magia blanca, nada más lejos que la pretenciosa magia de la luna oscura.

Debido a que el plan fue improvisado, TR compró los boletos apresuradamente y entraron minutos antes de que comenzara la obra. No habías tenido tiempo de leer el programa ni la premisa, pero estabas emocionada. Nunca se te había cruzado por la mente ir al teatro del pueblo.

“¿De qué trata?”

“Es la historia del rey que trajo la magia al mundo.” Truthless se acercó a susurrarte. Aunque tampoco pudo decir mucho antes de que dieran la ultima llamada para iniciar la obra.

Las luces se apagaron y de la oscuridad se elevó un hombre con una corona que fue iluminado por una profunda luz blanca.

“De la madre blanca me enviáis, de mi carne y cielo os engendro, hijos míos.”

La escenografía no buscaba imitar un lugar real. El escenario estaba construido como un cielo seccionado: plataformas negras, arcos altos, columnas parcialmente hundidas en penumbra y un sistema de luces que imitaba constelaciones suspendidas.

La música comenzó al son de las arpas y los laudes. Coreado.

La obra contaba la historia de la Fuente de todo Conocimiento, como bajó de más allá de los cielos y nació de un huevo que terminó convirtiéndose en la luna.

Como una osa lo amamantó cuando aún no existían los humanos y en tributo a esa madre, la subió al cielo y desde entonces portó su marca en la frente.

Viste como el actor tomaba pigmento blanco y se trazaba la constelación de la osa mayor en la frente.

La escena pasó a la Fuente usando su carne para crear a los primeros humanos, les dio fuego, techo y agua.

Y cuando prosperaron lo suficiente, les enseñó el arte de la magia. Para curar sus heridas, para cocinar platillos deliciosos, para entender la mente humana y para defenderse.

“Oh… humanidad tan divina, no deberéis codiciar lo que no está a vuestro alcance.”

Pronto llegaron las preguntas sin respuesta.

“Oh, Fuente de todo Conocimiento, oh, Fuente. ¿Cómo puedo adivinar mi futuro?”

“Oh, Fuente de todo Conocimiento, ¿cómo puedo ser correspondido en el amor?”

“Oh, Fuente, ¿por qué fuimos creados los humanos?”

Los actores que hacían de pueblerinos rodearon al rey y corearon su nombre al mismo tiempo, haciendo preguntas que serían imposibles de responder con el saber de este mundo.

“Oh, Fuente de todo Conocimiento. Si no os podéis responder a todas nuestras preguntas, ¿por qué os llamáis la Fuente de todo Conocimiento?”

“¡AGH…! ¡CALLAOS DE UNA VEZ, DESAGRADECIDOS INGRATOS!”

La siguiente escena mostraba al rey llorando a solas, sentiste un nudo en la garganta.

Seguido de una escena de una turba enfurecida mientras el rey respondía desde lo alto de su torre.

“¡La Fuente hizo que mis cosechas perecieran!”

“¡NO! ¡NO HABÍA FORMA DE CONTROLAR EL CLIMA!”

“¡La Fuente hizo que mi amada me dejara!”

“¡NO SE PUEDE CONTROLAR UN CORAZÓN QUE NO OS CORRESPONDE!”

“¡La Fuente me dijo que los humanos fuimos creados para morir!”

“¡NO!”

“¡MENTIROSO!” Gritaron todos al unísono.

El estruendoso sonido de un órgano te hizo sobresaltarte en tu asiento. Las luces se apagaron.

Se escucharon los pasos de todos corriendo por el escenario y el azote de algo muy pesado que fue dejado en medio del escenario.

Todos jadearon cuando se encendieron todos los reflectores en dirección hacia la brillante cuchilla de la alta gillotina.

Detrás de esta, estaba el rey de pie sobre una tarima. Tenía las manos y los pies atados, portaba un camisón blanco y sucio.

Tu estabas en shock, aún viendo la cuchilla de la guillotina que se suspendía en las alturas por una soga, lista para ser cortada. Por lo que no escuchaste parte de los diálogos.

“…y por sus pecados os condeno a morir.” Dos hombres obligaron al rey a hincarse y poner su cuello desnudo en el hueco donde la guillotina iba a impactar.

“¡LA FARSA MUERE HOY!”

“¡NUESTROS OJOS NUNCA MÁS SERÁN CUBIERTOS POR VUESTRAS MENTIRAS!”

Cortaron la soga de la guillotina y todos en el teatro gritaron, tu incluida.

Pero las luces se apagaron justo antes de poder ver algo, la música se detuvo y las luces volvieron a encenderse.

Todos los pueblerinos estaban desconcertados, pues la guillotina había bajado y en el suelo había una enorme mancha de sangre; pero el farsante no estaba.

La música del arpa reanudó y se cambió a una escena solitaria. La Fuente salió por un balcón del castillo, sin corona y con una horrenda cicatriz alrededor de su cuello.

Le dio una mirada de desdén al público y volvió a entrar al castillo.

El órgano y el arpa iniciaron un soneto acelerado y violento mientras se iban derribando partes de la estructura del castillo conforme las luces se apagaban y prendían; simulando el paso de los días; hasta que el lugar quedó hecho ruinas.

“Oh, Fuente de todo Conocimiento… Oh, Fuente ¿por qué nacimos los humanos?”

Pero nadie respondió.

Entonces las luces se apagaron, dejando una suave antesala de velas que emitían una cálida luz amarilla; anunciando que la obra había terminado.

Todos se levantaron a aplaudir, pero tu estabas tensa sobre tu asiento, enterrando los dedos en los reposabrazos.

No fue hasta que Truthless pasó un paño de seda por tus mejillas que te diste cuenta de que estabas llorando.

Soltaste un suspiro lastimero y volteaste a verlo, él lucía en parsimonia. Su maquillaje impecable y su mirada cansada, como si esperara esa reacción de ti.

Tomaste el paño entre tus manos y comenzaste a retirarte las lágrimas y el escurrimiento que te provocó la obra. Él no protestó.

Luego te diste cuenta de que no habías reconocido el talento de los actores y te uniste a los demás para aplaudirle a los actores que estaban en el escenario entrelazando sus manos y dando múltiples reverencias hacia el público. Incluso te levantaste para acompañar cada ovación, Recluse se levantó a tu lado, pero no eran tan efusivo como tú.

Salieron en silencio del teatro, te compró un recuerdito tejido que podías usar en tu bolso para que dejaras de llorar un poco.

Solo agradeciste y te sorbiste los mocos mientras seguías mojando su paño de seda.

Te calmaste un poco de camino a la academia, cuando las luces del pueblo se volvieron más alegres y muchos puestos les ofrecían ropa, comida o flores.

“Lo lamento, no quería arruinarte la noche.” Dijo Recluse mientras tomaba de entre tus brazos la caja de pastelitos para cargarla él.

Lo miraste confundida.

“Oh, no no no. Me gustó mucho.” Sorbiste más lágrimas. “Es solo que nunca había ido al teatro, no sabía que te hacía experimentar tantas emociones.” Se te quedó mirado un rato en silencio, pero simplemente se rio por la nariz y negó con la cabeza.

“Eso solo fue una representación dramática de lo que en realidad pasó.”

“¿Y qué pasó en realidad?”

“Nadie lo sabe, sucedió mucho antes de las primeras escuelas.”

No pudiste decir más, TR se detuvo en un puesto de flores. Ya llevaba un tiempo echándole el ojo a algunos puestos, pero tu asumías que era porque seguía pensando en la obra como tú.

Te quedaste de pie esperándolo mientras hablaba con la florista y señalaba algunas flores.

Ella gustosa tomaba las flores frescas de los baldes de agua que Recluse le pedía, las acomodaba de acuerdo a su conocimiento, recortó los tallos y al final las envolvió en tela. Se las entregó mientras él se hacía espacio entre la caja de postres y su cetro y le pagó unas cuantas monedas de oro a la mujer.

Luego volteó hacia ti y te tensaste.

“Lo único que deberías cargar hoy son flores.” Y te las entregó.

Debido a que TR no conocía tu gusto en flores, hizo lo mejor que pudo. No parecías de la que le gustaran los colores vibrantes, así que escogió coronas de leche, anemonas y lirios del valle.

Balbuceaste un poco y luego lo miraste desde abajo, abrazando tu ramo.

“¿Entonces… es una cita?” Preguntaste bajito, sorbiéndote los mocos.

“¿Te estoy haciendo sentir incomoda?” Ladeó la cabeza, genuinamente interesado en tu sentir.

“No… me gustaría que lo fuera.” Para evadir su mirada, abrazaste el ramo con un brazo y con el otro seguiste limpiándote las ocasionales lágrimas que te salían al rebobinar la obra una y otra vez.

“Entonces es una cita.” Truthless asintió y te ofreció su brazo para que lo tomaras y caminaran juntos por el flujo de gente, de regreso a la academia.

Comenzaron a caminar en silencio, esta vez te aferrabas más a él para no chocar entre la gente o ser llevada contra flujo.

“¿Aún te sientes mal por lo de la obra?”

“Un poco, no estoy acostumbrada.”

“¿Un beso lo haría mejor?” Te congelaste en medio de la calle, aún con la gente chocando y empujando entre los puestos. Haciendo que Truthless se detuviera en consecuencia también.

Lo miraste, pero también alternaste tu visión hacia la luna llena de arriba.

No estaba escandalizado o nervioso, no dudaba ni se sonrojaba como tú lo estabas.

Era una petición respetuosa, una sugerencia.

“Si, lo haría.” Fue la primera vez que lo viste sonreír más allá de sus labios ladeados.

Te temblaron las piernas y por miedo cerraste los ojos, pues eso era lo único que sabías hacer.

Pero el beso no vino de inmediato, no fue un golpe rápido y pasional como los libros de romance que a tus amigas les gustaba leer, en cambio lo sentiste inclinarse suavemente sobre ti.

“Recházame cuando quieras.” Dicho esto, sentiste su mano deslizar sus dedos por tu mejilla y tomarte suavemente, te inclinaste al toque; respirando rápido. Imaginando que su toque sería áspero contra la delicada piel de tu cara; pero no.

Fue un beso casto, pequeño, hecho para gente primeriza como tú. Sus labios eran suaves y cremosos por el lápiz labial, estabas segura de que tendrías rastros sobre tu piel.

Era paciente, su boca era tibia, no profundizaba hacia donde aún no era correcto. Casi dulce, pudiste percibir la esencia de vainilla cuando ambos lamieron la boca del otro, no con hambre; sino con el sentido de encontrarle razón a la emoción de la terracota caliente sobre el suelo frío de verano. Jurarías que incluso sabía un poco a alcohol, pero no lo habías visto beber jamás.

Cuando se separó, lo hizo apenas para verte mejor de cerca. Tu, por pena pusiste tu mano contra su pecho y lo presionaste lejos para tener aire frio circulante.

Se quedó con rastros de tu lápiz labial morado en los labios y este se mezcló con el suyo; dando una linda tonalidad azul purpúrea. No le desagradó y tampoco la limpió.

Lucía satisfecho, sereno como la noche y resolutivo. Como si hubiera encontrado mejor final que la obra de teatro de hace rato.

Si, parte de la satisfacción era por haberse llevado tu aliento y tu lápiz labial con él. Pero también lo era la sensación de que alguien los observaba desde algunos puestos más atrás.

Truthless simplemente volteó para mirar de reojo y no pudo evitar sonreír hasta que los colmillos sobresalieron sobre sus labios manchados de ti.

Tu no te diste cuenta y él fingió. Te ofreció el brazo nuevamente y siguieron caminando a través del bullicio de la gente mientras tu sorbías y te apoyabas levemente contra él.

La primera vez que fui al teatro lloré mucho.

A pesar que nosotros y Sage tienen un vinculo mental, ella no puede escuchar a la luz de la verdad porque es un ente a parte. Y por si preguntan, sí. Sage lleva milenios back shoteandose a los alumnos buscando al alma que le falta JAJAJAJAJA. Tremendo pirujo.

You’d found out many things about Pierrot during his heat. 

One- he slept a lot less than you did. It was something you figured, but never really realized the extent of until he was begging to fuck you for days on end. 

Two- monsters had zero refractory period. Apparently, that was normal even outside of heat, but Pierrot didn’t tell you until now, not wanting to push you. 

Three- heats lasted for five fucking days. 

You groaned as Pierrot picked you up, falling limp in his arms as he brought you to the bathroom. He’d done his best trying to keep you alive and well during the brunt of his heat, feeding you whenever his mind was just barely sane enough to remember, keeping a constant stream of water in you as he ravaged your body with ecstasy. Finally, when his heat lowered from a raging fire to a low simmer, he was able to put his desires to the side long enough to care for you. 

“My lady, how are you feeling?” he asked, running water for a bath. You hummed softly, your head laying on his shoulder as he held you up. 

“Tired…” you mumbled out. Pierrot smiled softly, brushing your hair away from your face. 

“I’m sorry if I pushed you, my love. But thank you for helping me, my heat would have lasted longer without a mate. And I’m honored that you chose to help me,” he grinned, bringing your limp hand up to his mouth as he kissed your palm lovingly. 

You sighed as he lowered the two of you into the tub, him sitting behind you as the warm water engulfed the both of you. He wrapped his arms tight around you, hands splaying over your tummy, sore from the obscene amount of cum he’d spilled into your womb. He pressed lightly, making you whine in embarrassment as it spilled from your hole and into the water. His cum was a pretty gold color, reflecting the light in an almost pearlescent way as it stained the bath. 

“I’ll always help you, honey,” you mumbled, snuggling into him as he grabbed a cloth to clean you. Pierrot giggled softly, nuzzling against your neck as he purred. 

Pierrot cleaned the two of you up in silence, allowing you a few moments to think, the first time since you entered his tent nearly a week ago. You had never seen much of Pierrot’s monster side, always keeping his more jarring features covered. His entire heat though, he’d been entirely nude, and though the lights had been dim ever since you joined him, your eyes adjusted enough to see his visage. That, and your wandering hands allowed you to map his body out. 

Pierrot had three horns sprouting from the top of his head going down. The base of them was sensitive, enough so to make him moan when they were manhandled. He also had a row of spines going down his back, laying flat against him unless he felt threatened, in which case they stuck straight out. His hands had large, sharp claws extending from the tips, and the skin on his extremities was an inky black color, covering the skin over his joints, face, hands and feet. The rest was that ivory shade you had grown accustomed to. 

You never saw yourself as having a monster boyfriend, but you couldn’t deny the thrill of having someone so dangerous so enthralled with you. All of his sharp edges seemed to round out for you, letting himself become docile in your presence. Your human fragility wasn’t something he saw as a burden. No, he saw it as an honor, that you would allow something so delicate to be cared for by someone who, at any point, could crush you. 

“Do you think it took, dear one?” you heard Pierrot ask, making you snap out of your train of thought. His hand was possessively laid on your lower tummy, where he had dumped load after load of cum into you until it leaked out. You chuckled softly, turning your head to kiss his cheek. 

“Can that even happen? Like, with our biology?” you asked, amused. Pierrot sighed softly, nipping at your shoulder. 

“I hope so. I hope they have your eyes,” he purred out dreamily. Your eyes widened, dread sitting in your gut. 

You had assumed that, biologically, you and Pierrot were incompatible. Hell, the two of you had never even thought about contraceptives. Hearing that Pierrot wasn’t sure if you could get pregnant threw you for a loop. Sure, the idea of having his kid was adorable, but nothing could have prepared you to be ready for this reality. You were sure Pierrot didn’t hide it from you on purpose, but it still shocked you. 

Feeling you stiffen, Pierrot spoke. “Are you alright, my lady? I-I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked, concern dripping from his tone. You sighed, shaking your head. 

“You didn’t, baby. Just caught off guard, that’s all,” you assured, placing your hand over his tenderly. You decided to push the idea to the back of your head for now, planning on asking Doctor about it later. 

Pierrot washed you with care, making sure to soothe over any bruises and bite marks. He looked almost proud of them, like his mark meant something more than you knew. He washed your entire body before running his fingers along your folds, cum still pouring from your hole, allowing his fingers to glide smoothly. 

“Pierrottt-” you whined, oversensitive. His breath quickened against your neck as you squirmed away from his hands, trying to run from what you knew would turn into another round. 

“Please, my love? Just one more?” he whispered in your ear, nipping at the cartilage lightly as he rolled two fingers around your clit, his free hand cupping your chest as he kneaded the soft flesh greedily. “I’ll be gentle this time. I won’t even put the knot in,” he pleaded, his voice a low rasp. You groaned in exasperation, as if you weren’t actively spreading your thighs for him. 

“Go ahead, lovey,” you sighed out, wrapping an arm around his neck as you nipped and sucked at his sensitive flesh. He moaned, lining his cock up to your entrance and pushing in. 

You moaned, thankful that he was being gentler than he had the previous five days. His cock pushed in slowly, his fingers rubbing intoxicating circles around your clit as he entered. Your walls clenched around him at the pleasure, his length pressing against your sensitive walls. 

“Relax, my love. You’re still so tight~” he moaned, pushing you further onto his length. You whined, trying to relax some. 

“‘M tryin’. It feels good,” you murmured, his cock sinking into your walls making you lightheaded. 

Once Pierrot was fully seated inside of you, he rocked you back and forth on his dick, fucking into you gently like he’d promised. 

“Ngh, oh, my lady, you feel divine,” he whined out, his fingers rubbing faster around your clit. You moaned, rocking back onto him as he throbbed inside of you. “Please, it’s so good.”

You moved your hands to grip the sides of the tub, using the leverage to rock back harder onto Pierrot. As exhausted as you were, you were nearly addicted to his pretty begging at this point. That, and his cock never failed to make you see stars. 

Pierrot’s hands never left you as you rode him, one hand staying firmly on your swollen bud, the other roaming over your body, gripping at your thighs, waist, tits, anywhere that made you bounce back just a little harder on him. You felt hypocritical, really, having him be gentle when you yourself were being just as needy as he was. You couldn’t help it though, you felt nearly possessed as his cock speared into you, bruising against your most sensitive spots. 

Pierrot was helpless under your renewed vigor, mewls and whines leaving his lips as his hips met your every thrust. “M-my love, let me breed you, please. All mine, all mine, let me fill you up. Just this once I promise, please let me breed you-” he whined sharply, grunting out the words between his rough panting. 

You were nearly dizzy with pleasure. Before, him begging to breed you was something arousing, but ultimately a fantasy in your head. Now, despite your initial dread, the thought alone nearly made you cum, knowing he might actually be able to get you pregnant. 

“Pierrot,” you moaned out, beginning to clench around him greedily. “Cum in me, knot me!” you whined. Pierrot groaned, meeting your thrusts harder. 

“Ghmm~ d-don’t say that, dear one, I’ll-” he cut himself off with a moan, his thighs shaking under you as you rode him. You leaned back enough to press your lips to his ear, speaking directly into it in a low, growling tone. 

“Don’t you wanna be a daddy, baby?” you purred dangerously. “Fuck-!” you cursed loudly, his knot popping into you as he released another load into your abused cunt. 

You came around him at the stimulation of his knot against your gspot, his fingers never ceasing their motion on your clit. Your thighs shook as you milked his knot inside of you, drool leaving your lips as wave after wave of ecstasy ran over you. Pierrot panted as the two of you rode your orgasms out, tucking his head against your shoulder as he pawed at you, pulling you closer.

As the two of you came down, Pierrot splayed his hand over your lower tummy once again, growling possessively. “Gonna be such a pretty mama,” he purred out lowly, nipping at your neck as he scented you aggressively. 

You shivered at the idea, but ultimately, it was just a fantasy. Surely, they wouldn’t have thrown you to Pierrot if it could actually happen, right?

…right?

…

Once the two of you had calmed down and finished up, Pierrot pulled you from the tub, patting you dry with a towel. “There, all clean!” he beamed at you, pulling out a brush to begin brushing your hair. 

“Can I brush your hair next?” you asked with a tired grin. He nodded excitedly, gently pulling the brush between your strands, careful to work any knots out gently.

As he finished, he handed you the brush, sitting next to you. You couldn’t help but giggle softly as you pulled all his hair behind his back, letting you have access to all of it. It was something so small, but it meant the world to you. Before his heat, he’d never taken off his hat with you. Now that you’d seen his horns, you understood why, but it didn’t make seeing all of his hair any less special to you. He hummed softly in pleasure as you brushed his hair as gently as he had yours, making sure to maneuver the hairbrush between his horns without hitting them. 

Once the both of you were finished with that, Pierrot stood up, picking you up bridal style as he grabbed a bottle off of his sink, moving towards the room you’d been in for the past week. 

Pierrot laid you down in his nest, small bottle of lotion in his hand as he straddled your hips from behind. 

“I’m sorry I was so rough with you, dear one,” he said sadly, his heat having fully left him in the bath. You could smell the sweet, candied scent from the lotion as he poured some into his hands, rubbing them together to warm it up. You sighed as he began kneading at the knots in your back, working out the tension the week had left you with. 

“It’s alright. I’m just glad you feel better,” you hummed, relaxing into the motion. You regretted that last round in the bath, having used up any energy you might have had left, but it was worth it for the fantasy. 

“My lady?” Pierrot started quietly. You hummed as his hands worked their way to your lower back. “Would you… actually like to start a family with me? If it’s even possible?” He sounded so small, so unsure of himself- it broke your heart. You tried to sit up to look at him, but he just pushed you back down. “I-I know it’s a lot to ask, but there is really no pressure! I’m just curious, is all,” he explained” You chuckled softly. 

“If it were possible, I would love to, Pierrot,” you sighed out. He giggled behind you, kneading your lower back. 

“If it were possible,” he stressed, the smile in his voice unmistakable. 

…

“Hey, Doc,” you greeted Doctor cordially as he motioned for you to come inside of his tent. He had checked you out shortly after Pierrot’s heat had officially ended, making sure he didn’t use you too hard. It had been about a week since then though, and this was the first time you’d been able to sneak off from Pierrot alone. 

Since his heat, he hadn’t once taken his eyes off of you. It was like his normal possessive nature had been dialed up to eleven, always having a hand somewhere on you outside of his shows, and even during his shows his eyes were glued to you. At least Jester didn’t seem to mind, as he was actually getting more compliments than usual on his performances. Still, finding some time away from him to ask such an important question was hard. 

“Hello, little one. How are things?” Doctor asked, seeming pleased to see you. You smiled, sitting down as he strapped you in. You always insisted that he didn’t have to, but Doctor seemed more at peace when you were restrained. 

“They’re good! Real good…” you chirped, trailing off as he placed a hand on your forehead, before writing something on his clipboard. 

“You’re not a very good liar,” he hummed softly, bending down to level his gaze with yours. You swallowed nervously, glancing to the side. 

“Well, I actually had a, um, question…” you mumbled quietly, glancing away from the intense cyan glare of his mask. The Doctor stayed silent, waiting for you to continue. “Uh, can Pierrot get me pregnant?” you squeaked, squirming a bit under his watchful gaze. Doctor laughed softly at your question. 

“I wouldn’t think so. I’m assuming no contraception was used?” he asked softly, sensing your apprehension. You nodded. “There are a few exceptions, but they are so incredibly rare that it’s not considered a possibility in most circumstances. I hope this information does not disappoint you?” he questioned. 

“Well, it’s a scary thought, naturally. But I can’t lie and say I dislike the idea,” you hummed in a noncommittal tone, smiling up at him. Doctor nodded. 

“Allow me to soothe your fears then, little one,” he said, grabbing a needle and a tourniquet. You cringed, but allowed him to take the blood. 

“Can’t I just pee on a stick or something?” you asked. Doctor chuckled, already holding the vial of blood. 

“Sure, but where is the fun in that?” you could hear the grin in his voice, his eyes flashing red for just a moment at the sight of the blood. Doctor unstrapped you, helping you up as you smoothed your clothes out. 

“Well, either way, thank you. How long til you know?” you asked. He chuckled. 

“Not long. If it tells me anything interesting, I’ll come and find you.”

You nodded, walking from his tent to go and find your lover, who you were sure was looking for you. 

Ensuring you were far from his tent, Doctor lifted his mask, uncapping the vial. He tilted his head back, grinning as the sweet taste of iron coated his tongue. As he swallowed your blood, he recapped the vial, noting the familiar aftertaste. 

It shone bright like the sun, a king on its throne. You learned a long time ago that you had to kneel if you wanted to survive Dozer.

It was humiliating, humbling your prideful soul to kneel in front of it, and it took pleasure from seeing you like this.

"That's right. Kneel before your superiors." Dozer would only smile when it opened its eyes. Its usual sleepy expression morphed into calm smugness. "This is where you belong, grovelling like the pathetic dog you are."

You hated it. It was your sin, the worst one of all. Pride is one hell of a drug, and you always took your chance at revenge in Reprieve.

Still, you couldn't deny the heat settling in your gut everytime Dozer appeared, condescendingly mocking you and degrading you like you were less than dirt beneath its shoes.

It made your mind wander, your hands sweat as Elkman got more and more aggressive, falling once into the arms of Mime in the privacy of your quarters.

"So you know how to properly respect your betters." a breathless chuckle left the entity in the saferoom, a large hand entangled in your hair. "Go on, darling, you can take more."

You were on your knees, glaring up at Dozer with a gaze that spoke more than just hatred, your lips wrapped around his cock, feeling the heat, the weight of it.

You didn't even know that entities could have bodies, but Dozer, in its usual fashion, proved you wrong, draped in exquisite silks that felt out of place amidst these brick wall.

A sharp tug diverted you from your thoughts, Dozer looking down at you with a hint of irritation and what seemed like jealousy on its face.

"Thinking of someone else, Little Sinner?" its hand tightened almost imperceptibly, pulling you closer, satisfied at the sound of you gagging around its cock, smiles widening at the way your saliva dripped on your chest. "You better not, darling, Not when you are in my radiant presence."

You would have rolled your eyes, but that could made his already volatile temper sour, so you just focused back on its pleasure, on Dozer itself.

When you pulled away, it let you, curious about what you were planning. It was enough for you to wrap around its girth, trying to ignore the pleasant heat of skin against skin, your lips wrapping once more around the tip.

Such a humiliating display, kneeling before Him while worshiping your sin, debasing yourself like no more than a common harlot. Yet, you couldn't deny the heat pooling in your stomach, the way arousal stuck uncomfortably to your thighs and clothes.

It didn't moan, bu the deep, heavy sigh and murmured praise told you everything you need, its touch turning into possessive gentleness.

"Good Sinner." Dozer spoke in that condescending intonation that made you more excited than you wanted to admit, a hint of something resembling affection in its voice. "You really know how to worship your king."

It pulled away, holding its cock over you as it looked down, watching your disheveled state as it stroked itself, a shaky breath leaving its lips.

"Accept my blessing, Little Sinner." Dozer breath out, head lolling back in pleasure, precum beading onto the tip before falling against your cheek. "For you are mine. Accept my blessing for you."

It came without warning, making you flinch just slightly, the first spurt coating your hair in white.

Dozer came for what felt like an eternity, cum clinging on your hair, on your face, your clothes and even your lips, marking you indubitably and utterly its property.

"Ah... this is a good look on you..." its breathless voice lost its usual flourish, the tip smearing its release onto your lips. "See you soon, Little Sinner..."

charcoal cookie is someone who leans strongly towards a more dominant role when you’re having sex — and while he isn’t always strict with you he is more than capable of putting you in your place and getting you to stop acting out if you’re being a brat. though, generally speaking, he does much prefer it when you’re well behaved and he doesn’t have to raise his voice to scold you (after all, his work as a cryptkeeper in the land of silence is stressful enough on its own, so it’s nice to have someone that’s willing to listen to and obey whatever he has to say without argument or whatever)

given the risks that come with residing in the land of silence, whenever you two have sex within his residence he is very insistent on using gags to keep you as quiet as possible — especially if you’re naturally the more vocal type. not that he doesn’t enjoy having you cry out for him or scream in pleasure, because he does, just that he doesn’t need to be sealing away spirits while trying to make you both feel good. the gag just saves him the effort, really

he keeps his voice low and firm and doesn’t like repeating himself — so when he gives you an instruction he expects you to carefully and do as he asks the first time. charcoal cookie is also pretty liberal about the praise he gives you when he thinks you’ve earned it (i.e. he’s not going to shower you in praise for just existing, but he will tell you outright when you’re doing a good job for him)

call him traditional or vanilla for this if you want, but charcoal cookie’s favourite position will always be missionary. it just feels more intimate to him and gives him the best view of your face as you cum and squirt all over his cock and the bedsheets beneath you

outside of his cock, the most sensitive parts of his body are the underside of his jaw and his scalp (which is also very sensitive to pain, and not in the good way, so if you want to mess with him like this be sure to treat his hair and scalp gently)

his go-to method of disciplining and punishing you is spanking — just with his open palm, he’s not so fancy as to use a tool or whatever else to do the job — but if you’re strictly averse to impact play, or pain play in general, then his go-to replacement would either be an outright sex ban or just edging you until you apologise (depending on the severity of what you did to earn a punishment)

he can appreciate and enjoy being cockwarmed by you, especially after a long day when he doesn’t have the energy to fuck you but still craves the physical intimacy and closeness that sex provides, but that’s largely dependent on you being well behaved and patient enough to not try and fuck yourself on his cock

he prefers outright sex over giving or receiving oral, but whenever he does decide to eat you out he’s always able to make you finish in just a few short minutes. sometimes he even manages to make you squirt… and give you varying degrees of beard burn depending on whether he was pinning you down or you were riding his face, but that’s another point entirely