solchian

𝚗𝚘. 𝟾𝟹𝟿𝟺 | 𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙿𝙴𝚁

Casper had been staring at the same line of code for nine hours.

His eyes were dry, his neck was stiff, and his long white hair had escaped its usual neatness to hang in tangled strands around his face. 

Three empty cup noodle containers sat in a neat row beside his keyboard—his only meals in the past forty-eight hours. The screen glowed with lines of complex algorithms, a project he'd taken on voluntarily because no one else could do it, because he was the best, because if he didn't do it, who would?

His fingers moved across the keyboard in mechanical, precise movements. He'd stopped feeling hungry hours ago. Stopped feeling tired even longer before that. There was only the work, the endless, consuming work, the thing that gave him purpose and structure and a reason to keep existing.

He didn't hear you come in.

He didn't hear you set down the cup of tea beside his keyboard.

He didn't feel your hand on his shoulder until you spoke.

"Casper."

His fingers froze. He blinked, slow and confused, like he was surfacing from deep water. “Yes sunshine?”

"I said your name three times."

He turned his head to look at you. His red eyes were glassy, pupils dilated, dark circles carved deep beneath them. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. He probably hadn't.

"I was... I was almost finished," he said, his voice rough. "Just one more—"

"You were almost finished five hours ago." You crouched beside his chair, bringing yourself to his eye level. "When was the last time you stood up? Actually stood up, not just shifted in your chair?"

His mouth opened then closed. Did he really lose track of time?

"That's what I thought."

You reached out and closed his laptop. He made a sound—something between a protest and a whimper—but he didn't open it again. His hands fell limp into his lap.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself," you said softly.

"I am fine. I am always fine."

"No, you're not." You reached up and tucked a strand of white hair behind his ear. "You're exhausted. You're running on empty. And you've been doing it for so long that you've forgotten you're allowed to stop."

He stared at you, his expression shifting from confusion to something more vulnerable. Something almost painful. "I don't... I don't know how to stop," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I stop, who will... who will handle all of this?"

"It can wait. You can't."

He let you pull him up from the chair. His legs were unsteady, his hand gripping yours like it was the only thing keeping him upright. You led him to his quarters, one slow step at a time, and he didn't argue. He didn't have the energy.

He sat while you knelt in front of him, looking up at his face. His eyes were glistening. There was something raw and exposed in his expression, like he was on the verge of something he couldn't name.

"I don't know what's happening to me," he said, his voice cracking. "I feel... I feel like I'm falling apart. Like I'm made of glass and I'm about to shatter."

"Then let me hold the pieces."

You reached up and cupped his face. He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. His skin was warm. He was shaking, fine tremors running through his body.

"I'm so tired," he whispered. "I'm so tired, and I don't know how to be anything else."

"You don't have to be anything else." You stroked his cheek with your thumb. "You just have to let someone take care of you. Just for a little while."

He opened his eyes. There was something fragile in them. Something that had been buried for so long.

"Take care of me please.” he echoed, like the words were foreign.

“Of course, always.”

He nodded, barely perceptible, and you pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Good boy."

He's floored. Like completely, devastatingly floored. His long white hair is splayed across the pillow like a halo, his red eyes squeezed shut so tight they're probably seeing stars. 

His hands—those clever, capable hands that can write code and solve equations and do things you can't even begin to understand—are clutching the bedsheets like they're the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

"Oh, I can't—" He gasps, voice breaking. "I can't, I ca-nnn't—"

He throws his head back into the pillows, a sound tearing from his throat that's equal parts pleasure and pure, desperate overwhelm. He can't handle it. He literally cannot handle it. And he's not shy about letting you know.

You're on top of him, riding him slow and deep, and he's a wreck. The guy can't even open his eyes to watch you. No, seriously—his face is actually tweaking. Twisting through expressions you've never seen on him before. Confusion. Ecstasy. Just mindless surrender.

It's so warm. So fucking warm. The heat of you wrapped around him is almost too much, warming his dick so nicely that he can barely feel it anymore. 

If he could just look down, he'd catch sight of your sweet hole spurting onto his white happy trail whilst you bounce on his cock like you own it—like you own him. You do, by the way. He just hasn't realized it yet.

Not that he'll look down. Not yet. No, he'll cum against his will, and he refuses to make a fool of himself. Haha. Like he isn't already.

Every time you drop your weight down on his barely restrained hips, his breath punches out of him. Every. Single. Time. Your silky hole clings to the base of his cock like it was made for him, and he's barely holding on.

First, the moaning. Pretty little sounds that spill from his lips like he can't help himself. High and needy and so fucking cute.

Then, when it gets too much—when the pleasure tips over into something overwhelming—the pathetic, uncontrollable growling starts. He makes these sounds that are almost pissed off, like he's angry at how good it feels. Like his body is betraying him.

"yeah, yeah, it– h'ohmygod—"

He's gritting his teeth now. For a hot second, you actually think he might burst into tears beneath you. His face is doing that thing—the scrunchy, reddening, I'm-about-to-lose-it thing.

He manages to hold it back. Barely. You feel proud, honestly. Especially with how he's breathing like he's been winded, chest heaving, every inhale a shuddering mess.

What a good little reaper.

Too bad this is only the first round out of the three you've planned. He's already hyperventilating. You're not going to tell him that, though. Gotta conserve that ego of his.

“Ahhnn gonna make me pass out—" he whines, his voice all breathy and wrecked. "fuck me more, ah— not ready to cum but its too good, its too fucking much... oh no—"

You lean down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, his nose, the corner of his flushed mouth. He groans, desperate, hands leaving the sheets to grab at your hips. His grip is almost bruising, but he doesn't push you faster. He just... holds on. Like you're the only thing keeping him from floating away.

“You're so beautiful like this," you murmur against his ear. "all mine. all fucking mine." He keens. An actual whimper, high and needy. His hips buck up into you, chasing something he can't name, and you feel him twitch inside you—so close, so fucking close.

“Please," he gasps. "please, I—I can't—"

“You can. you can, baby. let go. I’ve got you."

He doesn't need to hear anything else.

He cums with a cry that's more sob than moan, his whole body arching off the bed as he spills inside you. You feel him pulsing, hot and thick, and you keep moving, keep riding him through it, because he deserves the full experience.

When he finally comes down, he's a shaking, panting mess. His red eyes flutter open, glassy and unfocused, and he stares up at you like you've just rewritten the laws of the universe.

“That was—" He swallows, throat bobbing. “I did not—i was not expecting—"

You smile, slow and satisfied. "we're not done yet."

His eyes go wide. “What?"

“You heard me." You shift your hips, just a little. His cock, still half-hard, twitches inside you. "we've got two more rounds, Casper. think you can handle it?"

He opens his mouth. Closes it. His face flushes all the way to the tips of his ears. “…No," he admits, voice small. "but I want to try."

He lasts longer in the second round. Makes it through the third with only a few broken sobs and one moment where he actually does cry, just a little, when you kiss him through it.

Afterward, he lies in a boneless heap, head on your chest, your fingers in his hair. He's too exhausted to speak. Too overwhelmed to move. He just... is.

"You're incredible but annoyingly persistent," he whispers, finally. "you know that? Just absolutely incredible."

𝚗𝚘. 𝟻𝟶𝟷𝟸 | 𝙽/𝙰

5012's office was always immaculate.

Like everything in its place. Reports stacked with military precision. Pens aligned at perfect angles. The coffee cup sat centered on its coaster, untouched for hours. His uniform was pressed, his hair was styled, and his expression was carved from stone.

He had been like this for six days straight.

He didn't sleep. He didn't eat. He didn't stop.

There was too much to do. Trainees to manage. Reports to file. Disciplinary actions to process. The revolution had left the Underworld in chaos, and 5012 was one of the few Reapers who could be trusted to maintain order. He was the one who held the system together, the one who enforced the rules, the one who made sure everything ran with mechanical precision.

He didn't have time to rest. He didn't deserve to rest.

He sat at his desk, purple eyes fixed on the glowing screen, his fingers moving in efficient, practiced strokes. He'd stopped feeling hungry two days ago. Stopped feeling tired even longer before that. There was only the work, the endless consuming work, the thing that gave his existence meaning and structure and purpose.

He didn't hear you knock.

He didn't hear you call his name.

He didn't feel your presence in the room until you closed the door and the sound echoed through his sterile 

workspace.

"5012."

His fingers froze. He blinked, slow and mechanical.

"What are you doing here?"

"Checking on you." You walked toward his desk. "The way I always do. The way you always ignore."

"I am busy."

"You're always busy." You stopped in front of his desk. "That's the problem."

He looked up at you, and for a moment, the mask flickered. There was something dark beneath his eyes. Something hollow. The purple irises were flat, unfocused, like he'd been staring at the screen for so long that he'd forgotten how to see anything else.

"I don't have time for this," he said flatly. "There are reports that need—"

"There are reports that can wait." You leaned over his desk, bracing your hands on the polished surface. "When was the last time you slept? Ate? Feel anything other than this?" You gestured vaguely at the office around you. "This endless, grinding, soul-sucking duty?"

His jaw tightened. "I am a Reaper. Feeling things is—"

"Not allowed. I know. But you can't live like this forever."

His eyes flashed with sudden anger. "I have lived like this for decades. I have been exactly what the system requires of me. I am not going to stop now because you think I am—"

"Because I'm worried about you?"

The anger was there for a moment, like something else took its place. Before he even shows that side, all he said, "I am fine."

"You're not." You rounded the desk and crouched beside his chair, forcing him to look at you.  He didn't resist when you pulled him up from his chair. He followed you like a man in a daze, too exhausted to fight, too drained to maintain the walls he'd spent decades building.

"Are you going to lecture me?" he asked, his voice hollow. "Tell me I'm not taking care of myself?"

"No." You led him to the sofa in the corner of his office—the one that was always pristine, always untouched. "I'm going to take care of you."

He stood there, rigid and uncertain, as you guided him down onto the cushions. His suit was perfect, pressed, untouchable.

It was also a wall. And you were about to tear it down.

"Remove your jacket."

"I don't—"

"You need to feel, 5012. Not think. Not calculate. Not strategize." You knelt in front of him. "Feel."

He didn't move. Couldn't move. So you did it for him—unbuttoned his coat, slid it down his shoulders. He hissed in a breath through his teeth, and you saw it—the tremor in his shoulder, the tension in his neck, the violence he'd been doing to his own body all this time.

"Look at you," you murmured, running a hand down his chest. "You carry all of it on your shoulders. Everyone else's problems. Everyone else's failures. The weight of an entire system that doesn't give a damn about you."

He swallowed. "It is my duty to—"

"It's not your duty to destroy yourself."

You peeled the layers away slowly, deliberately. Removing the armor he'd built around himself until he was just a man, sitting there, vulnerable and exposed. 

"You don't have to do anything." You pressed a kiss to his jaw. "You just have to let me take care of you. Can you do that?"

He hesitated for a long, terrible moment. Then he nodded.

So you'd decided to take care of him.

You'd lead him to the sofa. You'd undress him slowly. You'd remind him that he was allowed to be treated like a human, to be touched, to be held. You'd show him that he didn't have to carry everything alone.

You should have known better.

"Lie down," you said, guiding him toward the sofa.

He didn't move. You pushed gently at his shoulders, and he remained rooted to the spot, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"5012."

"I don't think so." His voice was flat. Cold. "You said you were going to take care of me. I seem to recall you mentioning something about not being able to do this alone."

"Yes, and—"

"Then you lay down.”

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

He move forward, and suddenly he was too close, his body crowding yours, his purple eyes burning with something you hadn't expected. 

"You said you wanted to take care of me." His hand came up to cup your jaw, firm and unyielding. "Then take care of me. On my terms."

"I was going to—"

"I know what you were going to do." He tilted his head, studying you like you were a problem to be solved. "You were going to be gentle. Slow. Patient." His thumb brushed over your lower lip. "I'm not… Casper. I don't need to be coddled."

"It's not coddling, it's—"

"It's what you want." His eyes were dark, intense. "But I'm not going to give it to you."

His mouth crashed against yours, and any thought you'd had about being in control evaporated instantly. He kissed like he did everything else, always with zero fucking mercy.

Somehow, you ended up on your back.

You didn't remember getting there. One moment you were standing, the next you were sprawled on the sofa, 5012's body caging you in, his hips pressed between your thighs.

Every time you tried to take control, he countered. Every time you pushed, he pushed back harder. His hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, your hips, your wrists—and his body was a wall of unrelenting strength.

"You're so stubborn," you gasped, trying to buck him off.

"Look who's talking." He caught your wrists and pinned them above your head. "You asked for this. Don't whine now."

"I'm not whining—"

"Mm. That's exactly what you're doing."

He settled between your legs, the thick heat of him pressing against your entrance, and you couldn't help the way your breath hitched. His eyes locked onto yours, watching every expression on your face.

"You really thought you could be on top," he said, almost to himself. "You really thought I'd let you."

He pushed inside you in one slow, brutal thrust, and you forgot how to breathe. He was big—so big—and the stretch of him made your vision blur. His hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to look at him.

"Look at me," he commanded. "I want to see your face when I fuck you."

"Y-you're—"

"Rude? Demanding?" His hips rolled, and you choked on a moan. "Yeah. I know. Now stop talking."

He moved like he was made for this.

His body planted on the mattress on top of you, using his core strength to drive into you with brutal precision. His hands gripped your ass, kneading the flesh as he slammed you down to meet his punishing thrusts. His eyes never left yours—watching, cataloging, memorizing every broken sound that spilled from your lips.

"Look at you," he said, his voice rough. "You thought you could be in control. You thought you could fuck me on your own terms."

"F-fuck you—"

"That's the idea." His hips snapped forward, and you cried out. "But I'm the one doing the fucking, sweetheart. Not you."

He was relentless. Every thrust was deep and punishing, designed to break you down piece by piece. Your hands fisted in his shirt, your nails digging into his chest, but he didn't slow down. Didn't stop.

"Please," you gasped. "Please, I—"

"Please what? You wanted to take care of me. I'm letting you." His pace quickened, and you sobbed, overwhelmed. "What's the matter? Too much for you?"

"I can't—"

"Shh." He pressed his palm against your lower belly, and you screamed, the pressure driving you so close to the edge you could taste it. "Yes, you can. You're going to come for me. And then you're going to come again."

His eyes locked with yours, and you saw it there—complete, absolute control. He was in charge, and he loved it.

"You're not going to stop until I say you can," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "And you're going to fucking thank me for it."

It wasn’t long before you broke apart on his cock, sobbing his name, your body shuddering through the most intense release of your life. He didn't stop. He kept fucking you through it, drawing out every last tremor, making you feel every second of your unraveling.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice almost tender. "That's my good—"

You clenched around him, and he groaned, his hips stuttering for just a moment.

"Fuck. Don't—"

"I thought you were in control," you gasped, a broken smile on your face. He growled, snapping his hips forward again, and you screamed.

"Brat," he said, his voice ragged. "You're such a fucking brat."

But there was something else in his voice now—something that almost sounded like affection.

You came again, and then again, and then you lost count entirely. He made it hurt. Made it feel incredible. Made you forget every single good reason you'd had for keeping your distance.

When he finally came, it was with a raw, broken groan of your name, his body shuddering against yours.

And then he collapsed on top of you, face pressed into your neck, breathing ragged.

You lay there, tangled up and breathing hard, the only sound in the room the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing against your neck. He didn't move. 

Couldn't move. For a long moment, he just stayed there, his body pressed against yours, his fingers still curled into your hip.

"I..." He swallowed, throat tight. "That was not... the plan."

"Funny," you said, voice hoarse. "That's exactly what I was about to say."

He huffed a laugh against your shoulder. "I was supposed to be the one who—"

"Took care of you? I know." You ran your fingers through his hair. "But I think you just needed to be reminded that you're allowed to let someone else carry the weight sometimes. Even if it means letting them try to take control."

He didn't say anything. But his arms tightened around you, and he pressed his face against your shoulder, and you felt the last of the tension leave his body.

It was the closest he could come to saying he loved you.

𝚗𝚘. 𝟶𝟸𝟶𝟺 | 𝙰𝚃𝙻𝙰𝚂

Atlas was always in the lounge.

It was his throne. His sanctuary even. The one place where he could pretend he wasn't a Reaper, wasn't a trainee, wasn't failing at the only thing he was supposed to do. He sprawled across the sofa like he owned it, his orange-streaked hair a riot of messy curls, his bright orange eyes half-lidded with practiced laziness.

He laughed at everything.

At jokes that weren't funny. At 5012's lectures. At the absurdity of his own existence. He laughed when trainees asked him questions he couldn't answer. Laughed when he failed his assessments. Laughed when the weight of everything pressed down on him so hard that he couldn't breathe.

If he didn't laugh, he'd shatter.

And everyone believed the act. Everyone except you.

You'd been watching him for weeks. The way his smile never quite reached his eyes. The way he stayed in the lounge until the early hours, avoiding his quarters—avoiding the silence, the solitude, the darkness. 

The way he volunteered for extra assignments even though he complained about them constantly, because the alternative was being alone with his own thoughts.

He was running on fumes. Running from himself. 

Running from the truth he didn't want to face.

You found him in the lounge at 3 AM. He was sprawled on the sofa, but he wasn't sleeping. His orange eyes were open, staring at the ceiling with an emptiness that made your chest ache.

There were three empty coffee cups on the table. A crumpled energy drink can. The faint smell of sugar and exhaustion hung in the air.

"Atlas."

He didn't move nor didn’t blink. "I'm not here."

"You're definitely here." You sat down on the edge of the sofa, looking down at him. "What are you doing awake at this hour?"

"Couldn't sleep." His voice was flat. Hollow. The usual playful edge was completely gone. "Nothing new."

"Atlas..."

"I'm fine."

"You're not."

His jaw tightened. His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, but something flickered in them—something raw and wounded. "Bro, I'm always fine. That's my whole thing."

"Your whole thing is a lie."

He flinched. It was barely perceptible, but you saw it.

"Come here." You reached out. "Sit up."

"I don't want to—"

"Atlas." Your voice was gentle but firm. "Sit up."

He didn't move for a long moment. Then, slowly, he pushed himself upright. His orange eyes were red-rimmed. His smile was completely gone, replaced by something fragile and hollow.

"There. Happy?"

"No. Not even close."

You reached up and cupped his face. He flinched at the contact, like he wasn't used to being touched gently.

"Tell me what you want," you said softly. "Tell me what you need."

"I need—" He swallowed hard. "I need to feel something real. Something that isn't this... this emptiness."

"Then let me give that to you."

With Atlas he very obedient when it comes to you.

You pulled him into his quarters, then undressed him slowly, gently. Each layer you removed felt like peeling back another mask. His jacket. His cargo pants. His high-necked top. He sat there, vulnerable and exposed, his dark skin littered with goosebumps.

"You're so beautiful," you murmured, running your hands down his chest.

He let out a shaky laugh. “Ha-ah, I'm literally shaking like a leaf."

"I know." You pressed a kiss to his collarbone then pushed him back onto the mattress, climbing over him. He watched you with wide, uncertain eyes—his usual bravado completely stripped away.

"Tell me what you want," you said again, straddling his hips.

"You." His voice cracked. "I want you. I want to feel something that isn't just... just this emptiness."

"Then you're going to have to do something for me."

His eyes flickered with confusion. "What?"

"You're going to let go. All of it. The jokes, the masks, the pretending." You leaned down, your lips brushing his ear. "You're going to be pathetic for me. Can you do that?"

He shivered. "Pathetic?"

"Pathetic." You kissed his jaw. "I want to see you fall apart. I want to hear you beg. I want to watch you come undone because you're so desperate for me that you can't pretend anymore."

"Fuck," he breathed. “You're gonna kill me."

"That's the point."

He sat there, vulnerable and exposed, his dark skin littered with goosebumps. His orange eyes watched you with a mixture of nervousness and want, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

"Look at you," you murmured, running a hand down his chest. "So pretty. So wound up. When was the last time someone actually touched you?"

He swallowed hard. "I... it's been a while."

You guided him back onto the bed, positioning yourself over him. His hands found your hips instinctively, gripping tight, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You're in control," you said softly. "But I'm going to ride you. And you're going to let me take what I want. Sound good?"

He nodded, breathless. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds—that sounds good."

You sank down onto him slowly, watching his face contort as he slid inside you. His mouth fell open, his fingers digging into your hips.

He was unpredictable, you'd learned. Atlas would keep you on your toes, downright wary of him during sex. You'd never know when he was about to switch 

positions, change pace, or bottom out without warning.

"F-Fuck, sorry babe—" He'd gasp, slamming into you one second, then softly thrusting the next.

He'd repeat from behind you, slamming into your sopping wet cunt one second and softly thrusting whilst caressing your hips the next. Unpredictable wasn't even the word. He just seemed to refuse letting you become accustomed to his cock, as if he was making sure you didn't get too attached to him.

But now, with you on top, facing him, he couldn't hide.

"You're so tight," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips. "Fuck, you're so good—"

"Eyes on me," you commanded.

He obeyed instantly, his orange eyes locking with yours.

"Good boy."

His hips bucked. He whimpered—actually whimpered—and his grip on your hips tightened. "Again," he breathed. "Say that again, p-please.”

"Good boy." You rolled your hips slowly, watching his face contort. "You like being a good boy for me, don't you?"

"Fuck, yes, I—I do, I—"

"You're so pathetic." You leaned down, your lips brushing his. "And I love it." He whimpered. His hips twitched up into you, desperate and needy.

"You like that?" you asked, riding him faster. "You like being told what to do? You like being good?"

“Shit, I—" He gasped as you clenched around him. "Fuck, I—yes, I like it, I like it—"

"Say it. Say what you are."

He was trembling now, his hands white-knuckled on your hips. His voice came out wrecked and desperate.

"I'm—I'm a good boy. I'm your good boy. Please, please—"

You leaned forward, kissing him hard as you rode him, swallowing his desperate sounds. He was so easy to unravel. So eager to please. All it took was someone taking control, and he became a trembling mess beneath you.

"That's right," you murmured against his lips. "You're so good for me. So fucking pretty like this."

He cried out as you picked up the pace, his hips bucking up to meet yours. He was unpredictable—sometimes slow and deep, sometimes fast and frantic—but you kept control, kept him on the edge.

"You want to cum?" you asked, breathless. "You want to be a good boy and cum for me?"

"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, yes, please, I need—"

"Then do it. Let go for me."

He shattered. His body arched, and he cried out your name, his release spilling hot and deep inside you. He was wrecked, trembling, his eyes wet with tears he couldn't hold back.

You stilled, watching him come down. His chest heaved, his hands still gripping your hips like you were his anchor.

"Holy shit," he breathed. “That was—that was—"

"I know." You leaned down and kissed his forehead. "You did so good. Such a good boy for me."

He laughed—a real laugh, shaky and breathless. "I love it when you say that."

𝚗𝚘. 𝟸𝟺𝟽𝟷 | 𝚁𝙾𝚆𝙰𝙽

Rowan was always smiling.

It was the first thing anyone noticed about him—that bright, infectious grin that seemed to light up the entire 10th Station. He smiled at trainees. Smiled at mortals. Smiled as he collected souls and guided them to the afterlife. Smiled as he polished his collection of human trinkets and shared their stories with anyone who would listen.

His smile was his gift.

It was also his curse.

Because Rowan smiled through everything. Through the exhaustion. Through the loneliness. Through the endless, grinding weight of being a Reaper who felt too much. He smiled when his heart was breaking. Smiled when the system reminded him that emotions were inefficiency. Smiled when he held a dying child and promised them the afterlife was beautiful, even as he wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.

If he didn't smile, he'd fall apart.

And everyone believed the act. Everyone except you.

You'd been watching him for months. The way his smile never quite reached his eyes when he thought no one was looking. The way he stayed up late polishing his trinkets, talking to them like they were old friends. The way he offered comfort to everyone else while quietly crumbling inside.

He was running on empty. Giving so much of himself to everyone else that there was nothing left for him.

He was drowning.

And he was doing it with a smile on his face.

You found him in his quarters at 2 AM. He was sitting on the floor surrounded by his collection—the telescope, the snow globe, the cracked music box. His fingers were wrapped around a small brass compass, and he was staring at it with an expression of raw, aching grief.

"Rowan."

He didn't look up. His smile was fixed in place, but it was wrong. "Darling! What brings you here at this hour? You should be resting—"

"So should you."

He laughed—a hollow, brittle sound. "I'm fine. I'm always fine."

"You're not."

His hand tightened around the compass. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" You crossed the room and knelt in front of him. "The telescope," you said softly. "You tell everyone it's beautiful. That humans used it to find their way. But you never tell them why you really keep it."

He flinched. His smile flickered. “You caught me, I don't know what I'm doing," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I don't know who I am anymore. I smile because I don't know what else to do. I smile because if I stop, I'll—" He choked on the words. "I'll fall apart. And I can't fall apart. There's no one else to hold it together for them."

"Then let me hold it together for you."

He looked up at you, his blue eyes swimming with tears. His smile was gone now, replaced by something raw and vulnerable and so achingly human.

"Please," he whispered. "Please, I—I don't want to be alone. I don't want to feel like this anymore."

"Then let me in."

Rowan was always the one who gave.

He gave comfort. Gave warmth. Gave pieces of himself to every soul he guided, every trainee he mentored, every mortal whose fleeting happiness he admired. He loved so freely, so completely, that he'd forgotten what it felt like to receive.

But tonight, he was learning.

He was learning that he was allowed to want. Allowed to need. Allowed to be greedy for once. "Y-yeah," he gasped against your lips, his voice already breathless. "Feels amazing~"

His thrusts were passionate, deep, relentless. Each one drove the air from your lungs, his body pressing yours into the mattress with delicious weight. His mouth was everywhere—trailing kisses down your throat, across your collarbone, back up to claim your lips in long, languid kisses that stole your breath.

"I've got you," he murmured against your mouth. "I've got you. Let me do all the work. Let me take care of you."

He meant it, too. He kept your legs hitched around his waist, supporting your weight with a strength that surprised you. His blue eyes were half-lidded, dark with desire, but there was something else there too—something soft and reverent.

He was worshipping you.

"You feel so good," he breathed. "So perfect. I don't—I don't want to stop. I don't want this to end."

Around five or six minutes in, he switched.

It was subtle at first—a slight adjustment of his hips, a repositioning of his hands on your thighs. And then he had you angled in a way that made you gasp, your eyes going wide with surprise. 

"Oh!" you cried out. "Rowan—"

He grinned, his usual flamboyant smile now edged with something possessive and proud. "Found it, didn't I?"

"H-how did you—"

"There's a lot you don't know about me, darling." He thrust deeper, and you moaned, your fingers scrabbling against his shoulders. "But I've been paying attention. I know exactly how to make you feel good."

He was panting now, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he didn't slow down. Couldn't slow down. "Hnnngh," he groaned, his grip tightening on your hips. "Can you keep this position? Yeah? Too much? Too bad, huh..."

There was a teasing edge to his voice, but it was undercut by genuine desperation. He needed this—needed to make you feel good, needed to see you fall apart beneath him.

"You're—" You gasped as he hit that spot again. "You're impossible."

"Impossibly good, I think you mean." He laughed, giving a breathless, joyful sound. "I told you, darling. I'm the cutest Reaper in the lane. And I'm going to make you feel so, so good."

He was relentless. Each thrust was perfectly aimed, designed to drive you closer to the edge. His body covered yours, warm and solid, and his lips never stopped moving—whispering praise against your skin.

"Look at you," he breathed. "So beautiful. You have no idea what you do to me. How long I've wanted this. Wanted you."

His breathing was getting more ragged, his rhythm starting to break. He was close, you could feel it in the way his body tensed, the way his thrusts became more desperate.

"Come for me," he urged. "Let me feel you. Please, I need to—I need to feel you fall apart. I need to know I made you feel good."

His hand slipped between your bodies, his thumb finding you. You cried out, your body arching as the pleasure crashed over you.

"R-Rowan—!"

"Yes," he groaned, his hips pistoning faster. "Yes, that's it—that's it—let go—"

He was determined to make a scene of it.

"Fuck—oh—" His voice rose, loud and unabashed. "Ohhhh—ssssshhhhit—"

He didn't try to muffle it. Didn't hold back. He cried out like he wanted the whole underworld to know exactly what he'd done—exactly who he'd made fall apart beneath him.

"I did that," he gasped, his paace turning sloppy. "I made you—I made you feel that—"

His hips stuttered, and he groaned your name, spilling inside you in a long, shuddering release. He kept thrusting through it, smooth and slow, drawing out every last wave of pleasure.

You reached for his chest, trying to slow him down, but he just laughed breathlessly and caught your hand in his.

"Too much?" he asked, his voice soft now, tender. "Want me to stop?"

You shook your head, unable to form words.

"Good. Because I'm not done with you yet."

He pulled you into a kiss, deep and tender, before pulling out gently. He collapsed beside you, pulling you against his chest.

"That was—" He laughed, breathless. "That was incredible. You were incredible. I don't—I don't know what I did to deserve you."

"Rowan..."

"I mean it." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I love you. I know I say it too much. I know I feel too much. But I love you, and I want to keep loving you for as long as you'll let me."

♤ — 𝒶𝒹𝓌𝒹 𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

iyayadonna, all rights reserved. — ⋆˚ ᓭི༏ᓯྀ ꩜ 。⋆ .ᐟ

𝒶/𝓃: sometimes I could never take my writing seriously this is just pure naughty thoughts T-T

He wonders why he has to put up with you and then immediately wonders why he wonders that at all.

The fluorescent lights of the R.A.D. corridor hum along with the polished floors gleam under the harsh glow, reflecting the silhouette of a passing reapers. Somewhere in the distance, door slides open and closed with a hiss.

And you're still talking.

"—and I'm telling you, the filing system in the central hub is a disaster. Whoever organized it last clearly had no understanding of chronological order. Souls don't wait for administrative convenience, 5012. They arrive when they arrive, and if we can't process them efficiently because someone decided to alphabetize by—"

5012 tunes you out. Not because he doesn't care about efficiency—like he IS efficiency, truly embodied and perfected. But because he's heard this particular complaint three times already this morning. 

And the morning before that. And the morning before that.

You, who arrived with a reputation that preceded you. You, who had been a Reaper for decades—centuries, even before being reassigned to his station. 

You, who had worked in the 9th Station under 3611 himself, who had trained under the most demanding Reapers in the Underworld. You, who had been described in your file as "exemplary" and "highly competent" and "an asset to any team."

You and 5012 had only been partnered together following the simultaneous removal of the previous leadership. The revolution had reshuffled everything, like the stations, units, allegiances—and somehow, inexplicably, the two of you had been slotted together. Needless to say, the arrangement worked. Efficiently, even. 

Your skills complemented his, your methods aligned with his precision, and on paper, you were the ideal partnership.

But that was on paper.

In practice, you were relentless. You nagged him about his smoking, his recklessness, his gloomy demeanor—everything. At every turn, he was met with your attitude, your teasing, your infuriating refusal to let him brood in peace. You made him all the more stormy, a perpetual thundercloud barely contained behind his carefully constructed composure.

He'd appealed for a new partner multiple times.

Nothing had been said. No response. No reassignment. 

He was truly stuck with you.

He glances at you from the corner of his eye. You're walking beside him, matching his pace easily. Your posture is perfect—back straight, head high, the bearing of someone who knows exactly where they stand. 

You carry yourself like a traditional Grim Reaper, one who understands the weight of the position. One who had earned their place through years of service. Not like the troublemakers he'd been saddled with recently.

He'd received them a few days ago. Fresh two trainees. Newly awakened. And already, they were testing every ounce of his patience. 

And now he had you. Another problem. Another person who didn't understand the value of silence.

It would be easier if you were incompetent. If you were lazy. If you were anything less than what you clearly were—a skilled, capable, experienced Reaper who had been assigned to him for reasons that he didn't fully understand.

But you were competent. You were capable. You were, in fact, exactly the kind of Reaper that the Underworld should have been producing all along.

And that made you infinitely more annoying.

He glances at you again. There's something about the way you move was purposeful. The way you speak was always direct, informed, never wasting words even when you're clearly trying to annoy him. The way you hold yourself—like you know exactly who you are and what you're worth.

He hates that. And also...

No.

He stops the thought before it can form. He's not going there. He's not going to acknowledge the way his gaze lingers a moment too long. He's not going to acknowledge the way your voice cuts through his thoughts like a blade.

"—and then the equipment requisition form was submitted backward, which means we have to resubmit everything, but the form requires supervisor approval, which means you have to sign it, which means you need to actually read it, which means you need to stop staring at the wall and—"

His eyes snap back into focus.

You've stopped walking while he was still moving, but only because momentum carries him a few steps forward before he realizes. He turns. You're standing there, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, your expression a mixture of exasperation and something that might be amusement.

You snap your fingers in front of his face. "Hello? 5012? Did you hear a single word I just said?"

He blinks. "Of course," he says smoothly. "You were talking about the equipment requisition form."

"That was forty seconds ago. Before that, I was talking about the filing system. Before that, I was talking about the new trainees. You know, the one you received a few days ago? The one you've been complaining about nonstop? That new trainee?"

"I was listening," he says.

"Oh yeah? What was I saying?"

He doesn't answer. He can't answer. Because the truth is—he was distracted by you. By the way you moved. By the way you spoke. By the way you annoyed him and fascinated him in equal measure.

He clears his throat, turns, and resumes walking. The corridor bends left, and the lighting shifts—dimmer here, the bulbs flickering with that particular Underworld inconsistency that no one ever bothers to fix. A potted plant sits in the corner, long dead, its brown leaves a testament to the station's general apathy toward aesthetics. 5012 makes a mental note to have it removed.

He's had to make a lot of mental notes since you arrived.

You fall into step beside him again, because of course you do. You don't wait for an invitation. You don't ask permission. You just exist in his space like you belong there, like you've always been there, like the very air around him has decided to take a form and start talking at him.

And the worst part?

He doesn't hate it as much as he should.

"I was thinking about the new trainees," he says finally, because silence with you feels too much like an admission.

You blink, turning to look at him as you walk. "It's only trainees, 5012. All of them always have problems at the start. That's why they're trainees. It's up to us to train them into perfect Reapers."

"No." The word comes out sharper than intended. He exhales, and it's a sound of pure exhaustion—the kind that settles deep in his chest and refuses to leave. "The first one, Atlas, or whatever he calls himself was late to our first meeting. When I asked him why, he said he was playing an arcade game. An arcade game. In the R.A.D. common room. While I was waiting for him."

"He was playing arcade games?"

"He was 'going for a high score,' apparently." 5012's voice drips with disdain. He pauses as they pass a window overlooking the city—the eternal night of the Underworld stretched out before them, orange lights flickering in the distance like dying embers. "And then the other one—0213, who has decided to give themselves a 'human name' even though they've been a Reaper for approximately three days—arrived little late because they were 'socializing' with other Reapers."

"Ah, socializing...?"

The way you say it makes him narrow his eyes. He's about to respond when you step closer, much close enough that he catches the faint, inexplicable warmth of your presence—and tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

He's got a good few inches on you.

You don't seem to care.

"You know what your problem is, 5012?"

He stops walking. The corridor is empty now, the distant hum of the building the only sound. His office is just ahead—door closed, light off, waiting for him like a sanctuary he doesn't deserve.

"What problems," he says flatly. "You'll have to be specific."

"You take everything way too seriously."

"I take my job seriously. There's a difference."

"Is there?" You poke his chest. Once. Twice. The touch is brief, almost casual, but he feels it like a brand since you do it often. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've forgotten what fun is. You know, fun is necessary."

"I don't need to lighten up. I need Reapers to do their jobs."

"And maybe if you were a little easier on them, they'd actually want to do their jobs."

The words hang in the air between you, sharp and undeniable. You mumble the last part under your breath, but he hears it anyway—he hears everything when it comes to you.

The corridor gives way to the entrance of his office. The door slides open with a soft hiss, revealing the familiar space beyond: dim purple light, the cityscape through the arched window, the shelves lined with books and trophies and the meticulous order he's cultivated over decades.

The whole R.A.D. is near-empty. Most of the Reaper Association had fucked off for most of the day, leaving behind only the stragglers and the workaholics and the ones who had nowhere else to be.

Despite this, you stayed and followed him.

You're now in his office, invading his space, standing there like you belong in the one place he's always kept carefully, obsessively his own. When he looks at you his knuckles blanch against the edge of his desk. But his lips barely part, flickering at the corners, a muscle twitching with something he refuses to name.

He tears his gaze away.

“Just please focus on your work." His command lands with all the affection of a slammed door. "Reports aren't going to write themselves."

"Oh, I've been done with that." You snort, and he can hear the eye roll in your voice. You're tired of papers, he can tell. Tired of the staleness of his office. Tired of the fact that it's always clean, always orderly, always perfect in that suffocating way that leaves no room for anything human.

He should be grateful for you. Clearly, he's not.

"Then why are you still here?" he snaps, the words laced with a familiar edge of irritation.

You raise a brow, and before you can even part your lips, he's already barreling ahead.

"I don't need your help," he scoffs, dismissive and sharp, as if the very suggestion offends him.

"Right. Of course. You would've done it all by yourself." You let the words hang, dripping with mock sweetness. "Because you're so eager to do anything 8394 says. Or what's his name now—Casper, isn't it?"

You toss your head toward him, letting your gaze linger just long enough to catch the faint flush creeping across his cheeks. His eyes are closed, jaw tight, that familiar fortress of composure already cracking at the edges.

You beat him to it before he can even open his mouth. "It's not a crime to want approval, 5012." Your voice is softer now, almost conversational, but the barb is still there—sharp and precise. "You shouldn't make it everyone else's problem, though."

The words settle between you like smoke, curling and lingering in the stale office air. He clicks his tongue with irritation, a sound that's become almost routine in your presence.

"So have me terminated then." You lean back in your chair, letting it shriek against the floor in protest. You stretch your arms out casually, very much provoking. "Oh, wait—you can't do that anymore, can you?"

The mockery drips from your voice, playful and venomous in equal measure.

5012's jaw spasms. A muscle ticks beneath the skin, and for a moment you think you've finally pushed him past the point of restraint. You want to see it. You want to see if he'll punch something, throw something, do anything other than retreat into that cold, impenetrable silence he wears like armor.

Instead, he withdraws. Just like he always does.

Most people would drop it. Would let the silence settle and the tension dissolve. But you? You've made an art of poking, of prodding, of testing exactly how far a man like him can bend before he finally breaks.

You’ve been wondering how he’ll snap.

You watch him make three passes through the room, never once facing you head-on. His movements are mechanical—collating papers, scanning documents, scanning them again. The edges of the pages bristle under his fingers, a quiet testament to his fraying patience.

It's thrilling, honestly. How easy it is to set his nerves singing. You start narrating his steps in your head, cataloging every twitch and stiffened shoulder, imagining what it would take to force that mask to slip completely. The nascent thought is seductive: if you keep prodding, keep pushing, maybe he'll finally shatter into a spectacular, beautiful mess.

"Do you want me to be terminated?"

Your voice is modulated now—controlled, almost gentle. The cruelty only simmers beneath the surface, a quiet current you've decided to be merciful about. For now.

You know exactly what you're doing. 

You're poking the bear himself, and you're enjoying it.

“Do I look like HR to you?” 5012 questioned bitterly, waving you off with a dismissive flick of his hand. His voice is flat, hollow, drained of all the fire you'd so carefully stoked. “If you’re done with work then just go home. Or do whatever you want."

Instead, you rise from his desk slowness, letting the silence stretch between you like a wire pulled taut. 5012 watches you warily, his posture stiffening as you round the desk, to the front. He doesn't retreat, though. He never does. He stands his ground like a man who's forgotten how to yield.

You plant your palms flat on the surface of his desk, leaning in just enough to make your presence undeniable. Then, with the kind of casual audacity that makes his eye twitch, you hoist yourself up and settle on the edge of his workspace.

Right on top of his neatly arranged paperwork.

He hates that you do this.

You know he hates it.

And yet, he lets it go. Every single time.

You sit there for a moment, letting your gaze drift over him with the kind of unhurried assessment that makes most people squirm. His purple eyes are fixed on you, sharp and adamant, but there's something else quivering beneath that pretty face—something he's desperately trying to keep buried.

You look at him for a few seconds before you sit up straighter. Smooth down the front of your outfit. Arrange your features into something almost proper—back straight, hands folded neatly in your lap, chin tilted at just the right angle.

The sudden change is so jarring that 5012's brow furrows. He blinks, confusion flickering across his features like a crack in porcelain. He can't read you. He never can. Your narrowed gaze gives nothing away—bored, almost dismissive, like you've already decided he's not worth the effort.

"Lame," you murmur, just loud enough for him to catch. "You're so lame. And you suck at hiding it."

His eyes narrow. "What are you talking about now?"

You don't answer immediately. Instead, you lean forward, letting your hair fall forward to curtain your face. The strands brush against your cheeks, and you push them back with a slow, deliberate motion—exposing your face entirely, leaving nothing for him to hide behind.

You're close now. Close enough that he can see the way your pupils dilate in the dim office light. Close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off you. "You look like you want to take the edge off," you say, voice dropping to something quieter. More intimate. "But you don't want to admit it."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and charged. 5012's jaw tightens. His hands, resting on the armrests of his chair, curl into fists. He doesn't look away from you—if anything, his gaze sharpens, slitting into something dangerously focused.

"That's ridiculous," he finally says, his voice low and clipped. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?"

"No." He leans back in his chair, putting a sliver of distance between you. It's not enough. It's never enough. "You're projecting. As usual."

"Am I?"

"Yes." His fingers drum against the armrest—a rare tell, one he'd never allow anyone else to see. "And I don't need you to psychoanalyze me. I need you to leave."

"Uh-huh." You don't move.

"I'm serious." His voice hardens. "Take your leave. I don't need you anymore."

Your thumb finds the seam of his paperwork—the stack he'd so carefully organized, the edges he'd so meticulously aligned. With a lazy motion, you cock the neat stack askew. "You sure?" you ask, tilting your head. "There's more you could ask of me, 5012. Unless..." You pause, letting the word linger. "Unless you're scared?” 

He sighs. It's a sound of pure, bone-deep exhaustion—the kind that settles in his chest and refuses to leave. His hands curl around the coffee mug on his desk, fingers tightening until his knuckles go white. For a moment, you almost expect the ceramic to shatter in his grip.

"Just go," he says again, quieter this time. "I have work to do."

You slide off the desk, but instead of heading for the door, you sidestep—right into his space. You plant yourself directly in front of him, close enough that your knees nearly brush his. You look down at him, and for once, he doesn't bother to look away.

"You know," you say, your voice conversational, almost pleasant, "I could go home. Or I could go to the human world. Chill there for a while. Grab a drink. Watch the sun rise."

His expression sours. "That's irresponsible. Even for you."

"Is it?" You shrug, utterly unbothered. "Maybe. But I could also stay. Right here. Until you tell me what you actually want to my face instead of being so damn defensive all the time."

The words land like a blow. 5012's jaw works, muscles grinding beneath the skin. He stares up at you, "Stubborn," he mutters, almost to himself. "Incredibly stubborn."

"I've been called worse."

"I'm sure you have." His grip on the mug loosens. His shoulders drop a fraction of an inch—so subtle you almost miss it. But you don't miss it. You never miss anything when it comes to him. "You don't know what you're asking," he says, his voice barely above a murmur.

"Try me."

He looks at you for a long, aching moment as his  office hums with silence—the distant buzz of fluorescent lights and the faint whisper of the ventilation system.

It's you who finally breaks the silence, voice low and teasing: "Or are you just going to sit there and pretend I don't exist?"

His jaw tightens. He looks away—just for a second anyway before dragging his gaze back to yours. When he speaks, his voice is stripped raw, scraped clean of all the usual armor.

You snort. "Seriously?" You tilt your head, letting your gaze drag over him with theatrical slowness. “Nothing this time?”

The barb scrapes the nerve. He puts his pen down with an audible click—sharp, final, a punctuation mark to his fraying patience. He rises from his chair, and the movement is fluid. He looms by the desk corner, using every inch of his height like a weapon.

It doesn't work.

You remain unmoved, completely unimpressed.

The gap between your bodies is just a dare now. A breath of space that neither of you closes. You smile. Slow. Indulgent. Chin tipped up, meeting his glare head-on. "I want you to stop pretending you're not attracted to me," you drawl.

The gamble lands heavy between you. You think that if it weren't for the air conditioning blasting, you might be able to hear the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat.

His gaze is brighter than the human realm sun, somehow. Hot in anger, though there's something else flickering in those purple irises—something warm, something he'd never admit to. 

He's never easy to read, but you know him well enough to recognize the cracks in his composure.

Something about this knowledge makes your pulse behave badly. You've always wanted to know what he'd be like without all the protocol. How much of himself he'd let in if you shone a light on him.

"I'm not," he seethes, voice thin, frayed at the edges, "attracted to you.”

You make a sound that's not quite a laugh. More like a scoff, but it's cruel regardless.

"That's a good answer. Very diplomatic." You tap your chin, feigning thoughtfulness. "Very... technically not a lie, since you're not attracted to me. You're just—what? Fascinated? Intrigued? Constantly thinking about me when you should be working?"

He doesn't answer. 

He won't look at you this time. 

"Aw that’s too bad, though." You step closer, voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. "What if I said I wanted you too, 5012?”

He flinches. It's barely perceptible—a micro-movement, a tightening of his jaw. But you catch it. You always catch it. It's the most overt form of emotion he's shown in regards to you, and the sight of it makes you feel drunk on possibility.

"You can't say things like that," he finally says, his voice so quiet it's almost swallowed by the hum of the office. "You know the rules."

"Rules?" You laugh, soft and disbelieving. "Since when have you ever cared about what I know?"

He lifts his gaze to meet yours. There's something raw in it now, something unguarded. "I care about the balance. I can't—"

"Can't what?" You cut him off then tilt your head, voice softening despite yourself. "Can't admit it? Can't say it out loud?" You pause, letting the words settle. 

"Or can't lie about it?"

He goes still. The Reaper's oath binds him to truth. He cannot utter a falsehood—the words simply won't form. But he can dodge. He can deflect. He can dance around the edges of a confession like a man avoiding a trap.

And right now, he's doing all three.

Then something change in his expression. It doesn't just slip—it shatters, and what's underneath is something you've never seen before.

5012 moves. One moment he's standing there, rigid and restrained. The next, he's in your space—closer than close, his body crowding yours against the edge of his desk. His hand finds your chin, fingers firm against your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

You gasp. It's not loud. Barely a whisper of air escaping your lips. But he hears it anyway.

"You." His voice is low, rough, scraped raw. "You have no idea how sick I am of your behavior."

Your heart stutters. Your mind scrambles for a retort, a barb, anything to regain the upper hand. But the words won't come.

"All this time," he continues, thumb tracing the line of your jaw with devastating slowness. "All this poking. Prodding. Testing my limits like I'm some kind of experiment." His other hand finds your waist, fingers splaying across your hip, anchoring you in place. 

"Every single day," he murmurs, and there's something almost amused in his voice now, enough that makes your stomach flip. "You find new ways to get under my skin. To push my buttons. To see how far you can go before I snap."

His eyes search yours, and for the first time, you see something you never expected to find there.

Hunger.

"And now you wonder," he says, the words slow and careful, "whether I want you."

You swallow hard. "I—"

"Be quiet." His thumb presses against your lower lip, silencing you. "I've had enough of your talking. Your pathetic little games." He leans in, his breath warm against your ear, and you feel the words more than you hear them. 

"You wanted my attention so badly? You have it."

A shiver runs down your spine. Your hands find his chest, ready to push him away—but they don't. They just... rest there, just feeling the steady pace of his heartbeat.

"Tell me," he says, pulling back just enough to look at you. "Is this what you wanted?" His thumb traces your lower lip again, slow and teasing. "To finally get a reaction out of me?"

You force yourself to meet his gaze. “Ha… I don't know what you're talking about. You’re the one who’s freaking out over me.” The statement you claim, clearly isn’t true.

His laugh is quiet and devoid of humor. “Now that’s a lie… and the truth, such cleverness," Your eyes widen as he tilts your chin up higher. "We both know you can't lie. But you can deflect. You can dodge." He pauses, and the intensity of his stare makes your knees weak. "You can pretend you don't know exactly what you've been doing."

“50—“

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. "Every time you poked my chest. Every time you sat on my desk. Every time you leaned in just a little too close." He tugs, just slightly, tilting your head back. "Did you think I was blind?"

You should say something. Again, at least fight back but the words are stuck in your throat, tangled in the sudden, overwhelming awareness of how close he is.

"Just admit it." His voice drops even lower, a whisper against your lips. "You wanted to see what it would take to break me."

You swallow hard, scoff. "And? So what if I did?"

Your confession caused 5012 to goes still. For a moment, you think you've finally pushed him too far. That he'll pull away, retreat back behind his walls, leave you standing here with your heart in your throat.

Yet he doesn't. Instead, he pulls you closer. 

"Then… you should have been careful what you wished for." 

His mouth meets yours before you can respond—and it's not gentle. It's not tentative. It's a claim, a brand, a punishment and a promise all at once. You make a sound against his lips—surprise, maybe, or something deeper. Your hands fist in his coat, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

When he pulls back, you're breathless.

"That's—" you start, but he cuts you off with another kiss, shorter this time, almost dismissive. His hands find your hips, and before you can react, he's lifted you more onto the desk, stepping between your thighs like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"5... 0... 1... 2..." You manage a forced breath, staring up at him with that wide, defiant gaze even as he crowds you against the edge, your head tilting back to follow the line of his face.

"Twenty-three times," he says. "You've put that same look on your face twenty-three times today."

"What look?"

"The one that says you're about to say something you shouldn't."

"Pfft," you scoff. "You're counting."

"Difficult not to, when you make it so—" His jaw tightens. "—obvious."

"Obvious?" You laugh. "Oh, I'm obvious? Then tell me, what am I thinking right now?"

He narrows his eyes, scanning your face—and then his lips part, his throat bobbing when he swallows. "No."

"No? That's all I get?"

"Because I—" He breaks off, reining in his frustration. "I have the distinct feeling you'll take what I say and use it to torture me for the next century. So, no. I won't be obliging you."

You lean back, palms flat on the desk, "Funny. Because I was just thinking about how different your office looks from the angle. Right from where you sit. That's the view you have all day, just staring at the wall? It's a wonder you get any work done."

His eyes tick to your throat, then away. And for a moment, 5012 just looks at you, like truly, thoroughly, devastatingly looks and you watch the last thread of his composure snap.

"You know, when I wonder about you..." He trails off, jaw working, eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, he reaches out, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your breath catch.

"I wonder what it would take to finally shut you up," he says softly. "What it would take for you to stop running your mouth and just..." He stops.

"Just what?" you whisper.

He doesn't answer. Instead, his hand slides to the back of your neck again, and he pulls you in, forehead pressed against yours.

"No more games." His hand slides to your waist, grip firm, pulling you flush against him. "No more teasing. No more testing."

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice a low murmur that sends shivers down your spine. "You've been begging for this since the day you arrived. Every glance. Every touch. Every word carefully chosen to get under my skin."

His other hand finds your thigh, fingers pressing into the fabric of your pants. "And I've let you. Because I was too stubborn. Too professional."

He pulls back, and the look in his eyes makes your heart stutter.

"But I'm done letting you get away with it."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and charged. And then he moves slow, never breaking eye contact.

His gloved hand rises to his mouth, and you watch, transfixed, as his teeth catch the tip of the leather at his middle finger. He tugs, a single sharp pull, and the glove comes free inch by agonizing inch. The black leather peels away from his skin, revealing the pale expanse of his hand beneath—the ridges of his knuckles, the fine veins tracing along his wrist, the warmth of his palm that you suddenly, desperately want to feel against your skin.

His jaw works, pulling the glove loose until it hangs from his teeth, a dark flag of surrender. He lets it drop to the floor with a soft thud, and his bare hand finds your waist, skin against fabric, searing through the barrier of your clothes.

The second glove follows the same way—his teeth catching the leather, pulling slow and deliberate, dragging out every second of the reveal. You watch his lips part around the material, watch the flex of his jaw, and something low and hot coils in your belly.

When that glove joins the first on the floor, he flexes his bare fingers, and you can see the faint flush of warmth across his knuckles. His hand rises, palm flat against your cheek, and the contact is electric—bare skin against skin, no barrier, no distance.

His thumb traces your lower lip, and you feel every ridge of his fingerprint.

"No more barriers," he murmurs. "No more distance." His bare hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair that makes your breath catch.

"I wonder," he says, voice low and rough, "if you're ready for what comes next."

You open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off with another kiss that steals every thought from your mind. It's not gentle. It's not the careful, controlled kiss from before.

It's a lesson.

His teeth graze your lower lip, and you gasp. He takes advantage, deepening the kiss until you're breathless, until your hands grip his coat like a lifeline.

When he pulls back, you're trembling.

"I warned you," he says, and there's a finality in his voice that makes your blood run hot. "Warned you many times." He tips your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. 

"But you can only learn the hard way, it seems."

Your pulse pounds in your ears. It didn't take long for 5012 to start implementing punitive measures.

It was subtle at first—a hand that lingered a moment too long on your hip, a gaze that tracked your movements with precision. But then the games began in earnest, and you realized with a thrill that you'd awakened something in him that had been sleeping far too long.

He called it "professional development."

You called it the most exquisite torture you'd ever endured.

5012 sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms bare and corded with tension. His coat had been discarded hours ago, draped over the back of the sofa like a forgotten skin. He looked... unmoored. Just hungry looking.

His hand found your chin, tilting your face up. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you."

You met his gaze, defiant and unrepentant.

"Right" he murmured, thumb tracing your lower lip then  released your chin and stepped back, "I think it's time we address this... behavioral issue."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Is that all you've got?"

He stopped behind you. You felt the heat of him at your back, felt his breath ghost across the shell of your ear. "Careful," he murmured, "or I'll show you just how much I've got."

A shiver raced down your spine.

"Lean over the desk."

You froze in shocked, “Excuse me?"

"You heard me." His hand found the nape of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. Not a threat—just a promise. "Lean. Over. The desk."

You could have refused. You could have laughed, deflected, turned it into another game. But something in his voice made you obey.

You bent over the polished wood, palms flat against the cool surface. Your heart pounded. Your breath came in shallow gasps.

"Good." His voice was warm against your ear. "Look at you. So obedient when you want to be."

His hands found your hips, fingers curling into the fabric of your pants. He tugged, just slightly, adjusting your position. "Tell me," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "How many times have you done this? Sat on this desk, crossed your legs, tilted your head, tempted?"

"I don't—"

"Don't lie." He pressed closer, the warmth of him a brand against your back. "I've seen the way you look at me. The way you arch your back when you think I'm not watching. The way you push and push and push." His hand slid from your hip to the curve of your ass, palm flat and heavy.

"You wanted my attention," he murmured. "Now you have it."

The first strike was sharp, unexpected, a crack of his palm against your pants that made you gasp. It didn't hurt—not really—but the unexpectedness and shock of it, the sheer audacity, made your knees buckle. 

"That was for the complaint about the filing system," he said. "You knew I was already frustrated."

Another strike. Harder this time. You bit your lip. 

"That was for telling the junior Reapers that I 'needed to lighten up.'"

You opened your mouth to respond, but the third blow came faster than you expected, and the sound that escaped you was embarrassingly close to a moan. 

"And that," he said, voice dropping to something almost affectionate, "was for this."

His hand found your hip, turning you over, and before you could react, he'd flipped you onto your back on the desk causing papers to scattered, even his pen clattered to the floor. He loomed over you, eyes dark, breath uneven.

"Look at you." His voice was rough, scraped raw. "So damn obedient when you're not talking."

You laughed, breathless. "You like me better when I'm talking."

"Do I?" His hands found the hem of your shirt, fingers sliding beneath the fabric. "Or do I just like the way your mouth moves when you're being insufferable?"

"Both."

He huffed a laugh. "Probably."

His fingers traced the edge of your pants, hooking into the waistband. "Take these off."

"Make me."

The challenge hung in the air between you, just.  unbearable. He tilted his head, studying you with those sharp purple eyes. "Oh, I will." His voice was a murmur, almost tender. "But you're going to ask nicely first."

"Never."

"Never?" He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. "We'll see." His hands found your wrists, pinning them above your head. The desk was cool against your back, the wood smooth and unforgiving.

"Stay," he said, and the command was absolute.

He released your wrists, and you kept them there. You didn't know why you obeyed. You just... did.

5012 pulled back, and you watched him move around the room. He retrieved a length of silk from somewhere his drawer, maybe, or the back of the sofa and returned to stand over you.

"Arms stay up," he said, and there was no room for negotiation.

You raised them, and he bound your wrists together, wrapping the silk with meticulous precision. Not too tight. Just enough to remind you that you were at his mercy.

"Sit up," he said next.

You obeyed.

He unbuttoned your shirt with slowness, revealing your chest inch by inch. The air was cool against your skin. Your nipples tightened, and you saw his gaze track the reaction.

"Beautiful," he murmured, and the word was almost reverent. His hands found your pants again, and this time, you didn't resist. He tugged them down your hips, exposing your thighs and the heat pooling between them.

"Spread your legs." The command was low, causing you to hesitated, just. little. He slapped your thigh—not hard, just enough to make you gasp. "I said spread your legs."

You obeyed, shame and arousal tangling in your chest. "Good." He stepped between your thighs, and the pressure of him there was maddening. "Look at you. So turned on for me. And you still haven't said what I want to hear."

"I don't know—"

"Yes, you do." He leaned in, lips brushing your throat. "You know exactly what you need to say. But you're too stubborn to say it." His fingers found your core, tracing the heated area  with devastating precision. You arched into his touch, a desperate sound escaping your lips.

"I wonder," he murmured, "how long you'll last before you break."

His thumb found your clit, circling with agonizing slowness. Your hips bucked. He pulled away. "Ah-ah." He tsked softly. "I didn't say you could move."

"Please," you breathed, and the word shocked you.

"Please what?"

"Please... touch me.”

He halfway smiled. It was a cruel thing, that smile. "That's not the right answer."

You didn't know what he wanted. Honestly, you were too far gone, too desperate, too lost in the haze of pleasure and frustration.

"I wonder," he said again, and his voice was a low murmur against your skin, "if you know how much I've wanted this. How many nights I've lain awake, wondering what it would take to break you."

His hand slid from your core to your thigh, gripping hard enough to bruise. "I wonder," he continued, "if you know what it does to me when you look at me like that. Like you know exactly what you're doing."

"I don't—"

"Yes, you do." His lips found your throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "You've known since the day you arrived. And you've been playing with me ever since." His fingers found your core again, slipping inside you with cruel precision. You cried out, hips bucking against his hand.

"That's it." His voice was soft, almost affectionate. "Let go, my dear. Let me see what you've been hiding." His thumb found your clit again, circling in time with his fingers, and you felt the pressure building, building, building—

And then he stopped.

"Not yet," he murmured, pulling away. "Not until you say it."

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. "Say wha?" you gasped.

He leaned in, voice a whisper that made your blood run hot. "Say you're mine." 

"Please," you breathed. "Please—"

"Say it."

"I'm—" You swallowed hard, shame and desire warring in your chest. "I'm yours."

His breath shuddered out of him. "Again."

"I'm yours."

"That's my good little brat."

His hand found your core again, and this time, he didn't stop. He drove you higher and higher, watching your face with those purple eyes, and when you finally came—when the pleasure crashed through you like a wave—he held you through it, murmuring soft praise against your skin. "Good. So good. My perfect, infuriating little menace."

You clung to him, breathless, shaking.

And when you finally came back to yourself, you found him watching you with an expression that made your heart stutter.

"One more thing," he said, and the deepness in his voice made you shiver.

"What?"

His hands found your hips, flipping you over onto your stomach. The silk binding your wrists tightened, and you felt the stretch in your shoulders.

"One more round," he said, and his voice was a whisper against your ear. "And then we'll see if you still have any fight left in you."

You laughed, despite everything. "You'll never break me."

"No." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "But watching you try to hold out will be incredibly entertaining." His hand came down on your ass, sharp and unexpected, and you cried out.

"Count for me,” he said.

"One."

Another strike. Harder. "Two."

"Three."

"Good." His hand traced the stinging skin, soothing the ache. "Now tell me—was it worth it?"

You laughed, breathless. "Every second."

He shook his head, but there was a smile on his face—a half real smile, open and warm. His hand found your waist, turning you over again, and he lowered himself over you, weight settling against your body.

"Mm. Aren’t you truly enjoying this…" He pressed a kiss to your throat. "I wonder how many rounds it'll take to truly break you."

You laughed, open and free. "You'll be wondering for a while."

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "I figured." His hand found your core again, and you arched into his touch. Then pressed a kiss to your collarbone. "Let's fix that."

He pulled away just enough to look at you, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath catch. “Let’s see,” he said, "we're going to try something different."

“Different?” You asked, little bit dazed.

"Mm." He produced a length of silk from somewhere—you didn't know where, and you didn't care. "Sensory deprivation."

"I—"

"Shh." He pressed a finger to your lips. "You said you wanted to see what I have. This is what I have."

He slipped the silk over your eyes, and the sudden darkness was disorienting. Your other senses sharpened: the smell of his cologne, the warmth of his body, the rasp of his breath.

"Now," he murmured, "I want you to focus. On every touch. Every sound. Every breath." His hand found your throat, and the pressure was just enough to ground you. "Don't think about what's coming next," he said. "Just... be. Here. With me."

You obeyed.

His lips found your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breast. His hands roamed your body, cataloging every curve, every inch of skin.

"Tell me," he murmured, "what do you feel?"

"You."

"Specifics."

Your laugh was breathless. "Where you touch me. Your lips. Your hands."

"Good." His teeth grazed your nipple, and you gasped. "What else?"

"Your voice. The silk on my skin. The cool wood."

"Fascinating." He pulled away slightly, and you heard the rustle of fabric. "And now?"

A blindfold over your eyes had already stolen sight. But when something soft wrapped around your wrists, when you felt the silk thread through the desk's hardware and knot tight, you realized your arms had been bound to the legs of the furniture, just spread open, wrists tethered either side of you.

You tugged, just once, testing. You rattled the whole desk. 5012 chuckled "Good. You're still breathing. Perfect." He paused, considering.

"I wonder... if you're going to be good."

You opened your mouth, and a sharp, stinging bite landed high on your thigh—not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make your muscles jump and a small, sharp sound escape you. He soothed the spot with his tongue before pulling back.

"That was a test," he said. "You passed."

"Test?" you echoed, voice rough.

"Mm." He settled between your thighs, and you felt the warmth of his breath against your core.  His mouth found you, tongue tracing the slick folds with devastating precision. You arched against the bindings, a desperate sound escaping your lips.

His tongue circled your clit, and you shattered.

When you came back to yourself, you were trembling. The bindings had shifted, the silk looser than before. 5012 watched you with an expression that was both fierce and tender.

“Such a good little brat,” he breathed, mocking you a little. "Yet still I'm not done with you," he murmured. "But you're doing so well."

The impact came where he'd struck before—over the same reddened spot, landing again and again until your thighs quivered and a pathetic little noise you'd never admit to had started to bubble up from your chest.

You tried to muffle it.

5012 noticed, causing his hand moved, tangling in your hair, pulling your head back just enough that he could see your face. "I want to hear you," he murmured. "I want to hear exactly how it feels to be completely and thoroughly punished."

The next strike was harder—a proper, solid blow that landed with a crack and sent a shock of sensation straight through you.

"Count again," he said.

"F-fuck—" You choked.

He sighs, adding, "That’s isn’t counting, must I remind you?" He alternated—one side, then the other, leaving you no time to brace or recover. You lost count. You lost yourself. Every sharp crack of his palm against your skin was a shock of pain and pleasure that blurred the world into something pale and bright around you.

The corner of the desk bit into your hip. His hands cradled you through the worst of it. "Should I stop?" he asked, and his voice was almost gentle.

"No," you heard yourself say. “Please don't stop."

He soothed the sting with his palm, stroking over the reddened skin as if he could erase the marks. You leaned back into him, and he caught you, steadying you with his arms.

The next hour was a blur of strikes and whispers, of his body against yours, of his hands and his teeth and the dark, hungry sounds he made when you surrendered. His voice above your ear was steady, guiding—the firm, watchful tone that stirred something deep in your gut.

"Hm," he murmured, "let me see."

The world tilted again. He turned you, moved you, and you felt the press of the desk against your hip.

"Keep your knees spread. Good. Now hold still."

The belt slid free from the loops with a soft hiss of leather. “A more proper punishment," he said, "has to make an impression. Otherwise, what's the point?"

He smoothed a hand over the spot he'd chosen—your thigh, where the skin was sensitive, still tender from all the attention—and you heard his huff of approval when you jerked.

"Perfect."

The first lash landed before you could brace. It wasn't blinding, more just a quick, sharp stripe of fire across your skin.

Then another. And another.

By the third, you'd started to feel the world sway. By the sixth, you were starting to shake. Your hair had come loose from its bindings, pooling over the edge of the desk. You were trembling, your body starved and aching and craving a release you weren't sure you'd ever get.

"Just a few more," he murmured, and he sounded almost apologetic. "You're doing so well."

"Please 5012,” you gasped.

"Please what?"

"Please let me—"

"Let you what?"

You couldn't get the words out. Your throat was raw, your body trembling, every nerve ending alight with desperate, aching need. You just shook your head, and he sighed—long, slow, almost pitying.

"Please," you breathed, the word barely a whisper, "just fuck me already..."

The look on your face—that constantly irritated, defiant gaze that had been your armor since the day you arrived was already giving way a desperate look for him.

5012 watched the transformation with dark fascination, his purple eyes tracing the flush spreading across your cheeks, the way your lips parted on each desperate exhale, the slight furrow of your brow as you fought to maintain some shred of composure.

He couldn't help but imagine how your desperate eyes would look underneath the blindfold. How they'd widen. How they'd glisten. How they'd plead with him in ways your mouth never would.

"Hm... alright," he said, and his voice was warm, almost tender, but there was an edge to it, “I suppose you've earned it."

His hands found your hips firm and he repositioned you. He pulled your hips up, angling you just the way he wanted against his disk, and you felt him press against the aching heat of you—the blunt head of his cock sliding through your slick folds, teasing, taunting.

He didn't push inside. More like he just held you there, breathing against your ear, the warmth of his exhale sending shivers down your spine. 

"I wonder," he murmured, and the words were soft, almost reverent, "how many times I've imagined this. You, bent over my desk. You, falling apart beneath me. You, finally quiet for once."

You whimpered—an involuntary sound that made him chuckle.

"Patience, my dear," he said. "We have all afternoon. It’s my lunch break after all." He notched himself at your entrance, the pressure maddening, and then finally, he pushed inside.

You cried out.

It was a sound that was half pain, half relief, torn from the depths of your chest. He filled you perfectly, stretching you open, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, devastating motion. Your fingers tried scrabbled against the polished wood of the desk, for something to ground you. But aw, did you already forget that your wrists were still bound?

His hips rocked against yours, a slow, deep pace that made stars burst behind your eyes, from all that spanking has you on edge. His hands gripped your hips like a lifeline, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise.

"Now fully answered question? Is this what you wanted?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble with a few occasionally grunts "Is this what you were waiting for?"

"Yes," you gasped, the word punched out of you with each thrust, "yes—"

"Good." He pulled out, almost completely, and then thrust back in—more harder, deeper, more punishing. "Because I've been waiting for this too."

His hand found your throat, not tight, just... there. A presence. A reminder of exactly who was in control. His fingers curled around the column of your neck, thumb resting against your pulse point, feeling the frantic beat of your heart.

"For so long," he continued, his voice dropping to something almost confessional. "Every time you sat on my desk. Every time you poked my chest. Every time you looked at me with that infuriating smirk." He punctuated each word with a thrust, driving himself deeper each time. 

"I always wondered what it would take to finally shut you up."

You couldn't respond. You could barely breathe. The pleasure was too much, too intense, too everything. His cock filled you perfectly, hitting that spot deep inside that made your vision blur. His hand on your throat, the weight of him against your back, the way he moved inside you with relentless, unforgiving precision—

"I love the way you feel," he murmured, and the words were almost tender. "The way you take me. The way you clench around me when I move."

You sobbed—a broken, desperate sound. Your body was no longer your own. It belonged to him, to this moment, to the overwhelming tide of pleasure that threatened to drown you.

"That's it," he breathed. "Let go now." His pace quickened, became more frantic, more urgent. His hips slapped against yours with each thrust, the sound obscene and perfect. His hand tightened on your throat, just slightly, and you felt the pressure build, build, build—

And then you shattered.

The orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, building from somewhere deep in your core and spreading outward in concentric rings of pure, blinding pleasure. Your body arched against the desk, the wood cool against your heated skin, and a soft cry was torn from your lips—swallowed by the darkness of the blindfold, by the weight of him pressed against you, by the sheer overwhelming intensity of it all.

Your inner walls clenched around his cock, pulsing that seemed to go on forever. Each contraction drew a shuddering breath from your lungs, each pulse of pleasure sending sparks dancing behind your blinded eyes.

5012 followed you over the edge with a guttural groan that seemed to be ripped from somewhere deep in his chest. His hips pressed flush against you, driving as deep as he could go, and you felt the warm pulse of his release—thick and hot, filling you completely. 

He held himself there, buried to the hilt, and you felt every spasm of his body against yours, every tremor that ran through his frame.

"Fuck," he breathed, the word ragged and raw, and you'd never heard him sound so undone.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. 

The only sounds were your mingled breathing and the distant hum of the Underworld beyond the office walls. Then, slowly, he pulled out.

You felt the loss of him, still aching and somehow still desperate for more. A rush of warmth followed, and you knew without seeing that his release was seeping out of you, trickling down the inside of your thigh; feeling his hands were steady despite the tremor in his breath, and when he settled you against the wood, you felt his gaze on you like a physical weight.

The blindfold came off.

You blinked against the sudden light, disoriented, and found him looking down at you. His face was flushed, his hair disheveled, his usually immaculate composure completely shattered. His eyes were soft in a way you'd never seen. A little more vulnerable.

"Fuck," he said again, and this time it was almost reverent.

You laughed, or tried to. It came out as a breathless wheeze. "Eloquent."

He huffed a laugh, surprised and warm, and the sound made something in your chest ache. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, your neck, the corner of your jaw.

"That," he murmured against your skin, "was worth every single complaint."

"I have a lot of complaints."

"I'm sure you do." He pulled back, and there was a smile playing at the corner of his mouth—real and unguarded. "File them later."

You watched as he reached down, his fingers finding the mess between your thighs. He gathered some of the evidence of his cum and pushed it back inside you that made you gasp.

"Can't have you dripping all over my desk," he murmured, and there was something darkly amused in his voice. "I still have work to do."

You opened your mouth to respond, to fire back some clever retort, but the words died in your throat when he withdrew his ungloved fingers and brought them to his lips. He tasted himself there, eyes never leaving yours, and the obscenity of it made your breath catch.

"Now," he said, pulling you into a sitting position and lifting you off the desk. "Let's get you cleaned up."

You let him carry you across the room, too boneless to protest. He settled you on the edge of the sofa and knelt before you, grabbing a cloth from somewhere—you didn't see where, didn't care—and began to clean you with careful, almost reverent precision.

"And then?" you prompted, your voice rough.

"And then." He paused, looking up at you. There was something soft in his gaze, something that made your heart stutter. "I wonder," he murmured, "how many more times you're going to make me do that."

You reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "Keep wondering," you whispered. "I'll keep surprising you."

He kissed you then—soft and slow and achingly tender. His lips moved against yours like he had all the time in the world, like there was nothing else that mattered. His hand cradled your jaw, thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone.

When he pulled back, you were both breathless.

"I think," You started, "I could get used to this."

He opened his mouth to respond—

The office door slid open with a hiss. "Lunch time is  over! I was wondering when you'd finally get around to finishing those reports, 5012, because 0213 and I have some questions about the soul allocation for—"

Atlas froze in the doorway.

The scene before him was... a lot. You, perched on the edge of the sofa, still flushed and disheveled, your shirt half-unbuttoned and your pants somewhere on the floor. 5012, standing before you, shirt untucked, hair a mess, his hand still cradling your jaw.

The silence stretched between the three of you like a wire pulled taut. Atlas blinked. Once. Twice. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

"I—" he started.

5012 rose to his feet with the kind of deliberate, unhurried grace that suggested he wasn't even slightly embarrassed. "The door was closed," he said flatly.

"It was. It... definitely was." Atlas's gaze darted between the two of you. “I-I can come back."

"You can wait," 5012 said, and his voice was pure command. "Outside."

Atlas's eyes went wide, and he stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Right. Yep. Outside. I'll just... I'll just wait out here. For... however long. No rush. Take your time. All the time in the world, really."

The door slid shut behind him.

You started to laugh. It bubbled up from somewhere deep in your chest, uncontrollable and helpless. "Oh my god."

5012 looked at you, his expression caught somewhere between exasperated and amused. "This isn't funny."

"It's hilarious." You leaned back against the sofa, still laughing. "He's never going to look at you the same way again."

5012 sighed, long and defeated. "Get dressed," he said, and his voice was almost fond. "And then I suppose we have to deal with him." He straightened his shirt and ran a hand through his hair, trying in vain to restore some semblance of order.

"One minute," he called toward the door. "We'll be ready in one minute." He turned back to you, and there was a lightness in his expression that you hadn't seen before.

"Then," he said, and his voice was warm, "we can see what other wonders you have in store."

♤ — 𝒶𝒹𝓌𝒹 𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

iyayadonna, all rights reserved. — ⋆˚ ᓭི༏ᓯྀ ꩜ 。⋆ .ᐟ

𝒶/𝓃: apologies dearies, never thought in my life this will ever be the most difficult fanfic I have ever wrote this has been sitting in my drafts, and I refuse to move on from it until it was completed... (¬､¬), plus i had @mint0hhh in mind, numder one 5012 fangirl!

Week 2 of your soon-to-be impromptu sabbatical from the outside world.

…

You're rather surprised that in this period of time, you haven't gotten more than a whine from your job.

Not a notice of termination or even a stern email.

Then again, you weren't exactly "unloved" there. Honestly, if you didn't know you were capable, strong, and really fucking good at your job, you'd definitely assume you were a personality hire.

That, coupled with the fact that your role wasn't something they could easily replace, kind of explained why you were so secure in taking this "unannounced leave of absence" without any real pushback…

Though the concern would be appreciated.

You mean, c'mon! Not even a text asking if you were okay?! Real fucking sweet.

Sure, you gave some weird excuse when you got here, but…ugh.

To be fair, however, things hadn't been so bad here…

If anything, they were slowly improving!

If you didn't count the bore that was day-to-day life.

…

Not to sound ungrateful, but what else were you supposed to say? It's the same monotony of waking and getting grilled and having to…

Ugh.

You've complained about this before.

You're sure you have.

Whatever.

Not to even mention, the little joys you did derive from certain interactions had runneth dry as of late.

Noi was still doing his whole "avoiding you like the plague" thing…despite you having insider knowledge that he can't keep you out of his mind.

And Pierce? Well, he got it all out of his system that night.

Thank fuck.

You weren't exactly rearing at the idea that he could've potentially gotten hooked and started asking for it like a junkie on the side of the road.

Don't…get it twisted…you absolutely loved how eager he was and how utterly drunk he was on you.

…But you weren't exactly looking for that every single hour of the day? You were human after all; you have your limits.

As much as sometimes you didn't want to.

But that's just because you're pretty overzealous at times.

Because when you're in it, you're IN IT.

But right now you weren't.

Haven’t been, are not.

Nah, you were more in an ennui kinda mood.

 …You learned that word while mindlessly scrolling on your phone.

Who said TikTok wasn't educational?

…Okay, you lied again.

It was, in fact, while you were finally watching Inside Out 2 on YOUR Disney+ account that everyone besides you is abusing!!

You can't have a SINGLE thing, can you?!

Besides the point, irrelevant—

Anyway! You were currently indulging in the only real form of entertainment available to you that wasn't your phone.

And it wasn't Disney+…

The sound of yelling, trashy Y2K music, and over-dramatic sound effects fills the screen in front of you as you just mindlessly…watch?

At least that's what you think you're doing.

You swear, you hate watching Reality TV…

You could tune out for 5 seconds, and the moment you pop back in there's two people in a fight, one passed out, and something on fire.

…Okay, well, maybe not something on fire…

At least physically.

"I should've just watched Love Island…" You groan to yourself.

…as if you couldn't just grab the controller and…change it?

Were you going to do it, though?

No? Are you stupid?

You frankly loved suffering.

"You have an Island for Love?" A voice pops in from behind you, almost startling you off the couch.

"Oh my fucking god!" You cry, trying your best to crunch up to see who it was…

But considering your position and your utter laziness at the moment, you flop around before quitting instead.

"Are you alright? Why are you lying like that?" The voice is rather calm, but not at all stoic.

Too high to be the aforementioned gentle giant.

"Yeah—I'm fine, Rhys." You sigh gently, looking at him from your bat-like position. Thankfully, he's moved to the front of you…and right in front of your TV.

"Ugh…Don't be a dick—move." You grumble in your own frustration.

"A what…?"

Shit.

You probably didn't mean to say that out loud.

Well.

Not to him at least.

If it were anyone else (cough ASCH cough), you'd be fine with saying it.

But Rhys is just Rhys…

He doesn't really deserve that kind of talk.

He's far more respectful than the others. Treats you like an actual person and not some… all-powerful sorceress.

You still didn't understand that…

"It's an insult," You explain anyway, "But ignore that—I didn't mean it."

"Have I done something to make you mad…?" He still asks.

Not if you count unintentional obstruction a crime.

"Nah, I'm just in a bad mood." You dismiss, before thinking on it further, "Well, I'm just bored."

"Is it because everyone has abandoned you?"

What.

You can't help the twitch that comes to your eye at the statement. You're sensitive about that, damn it!

…Well, could you be?

Everyone has been blowing up your phone, and you were making excuse after excuse…

 But maybe it's just the fact that no one was concerned enough to come look for you.

Maybe you were just too good at lying.

Damn it.

How dare you be amazing at manipulation?

"…If you are worried, they just went off to the park again."

…the?

Oh.

He meant…

"…That's why it's been so quiet." You mutter to yourself, "Wait—then why didn't you go with?"

"I didn't really want to." He admits, "Plus, if I did, you'd be here all alone."

…huh…

"Well, an invitation would've been nice…" You scoff softly.

You would've declined it, but it's the thought that counts.

"Princess Ava didn't want to disturb you. She said that you might need some space." He explains.

…Oh God damn it.

"…Yeah." You sigh, covering your face with your hand, "Kinda right…"

Just a tiny break from everyone is what you needed.

Don't get it wrong, it wasn't horrible.

But going from living alone to having about six roommates plus a cat wasn't exactly the most exhilarating experience.

"She seemed to know what your response was going to be before she even stepped close to you." He states, "Is that because of a neurolink you share?"

If you could develop that from the excess electromagnetic waves produced from a microwave while you're popping microwave popcorn for your weekly movie nights, then maybe.

"No, We've just been friends for so long, we know when the other's not feeling well." You say in a grumble.

"Ah…and you're not?" He continues to pry.

…

"What could I tell you?"

"If you are feeling okay?"

"No—I…"

Right.

Sarcasm isn't a thing to them.

"…I guess I'm not." You relent, "It's nothing crazy, but I think I'm just running out of steam."

"For?"

"Interacting? With people?"

Man, you don't even really know. It was probably that…but it could be something worse.

Exactly what, though, wasn't up for you to figure out.

You're too lazy for that.

"Oh." He says softly, "So, should I stop talking or…"

"No—no." You sit correctly for real this time, finally meeting his gaze, "Actually…I probably shouldn't be allowed to just couch rot and watch reality TV all day…It's not…the healthiest."

You can see the look of relief on his face, subtle but there, "What is that? A reality TV?"

…

"Well, it…"

…

Damn, it was pretty hard to explain when you thought about it for more than a minute.

"It's a show…"

And what else?

Rhys nods with attentiveness, clearly asking for more details.

"…Where people watch other people, who have signed up to be…watched?"

"Be watched doing what?" He quirks his eyebrow.

"Well, it kind of depends," you sigh, "In this one, people just agree to come on and live on camera for however long."

"Hm…" He mutters.

"On Love Island, though, people are competing. Well, 'technically,' they're coming on to try to find love—that's the main goal. But there's a prize if you're voted as America's favorite couple."

"People vote?"

…

As embarrassing as it is to admit, yes…they do.

"For their favorite islander, or couple, or sometimes who gets to go home that week."

"Ah…"

…Is she explaining that correctly? He seems to understand it in any case.

"So what happens when they're 'dumped'? Do they get executed?" He asks with a deep ponder.

?!

No?!

"No!" You say with haste, giving a quick, confused laugh before continuing, "They just leave the show…and come back to normal life?"

"Oh…" He nods before pushing further, "Without a 'love,' I presume?"

"Yeah, mostly." You shrug, "That's the name of the game, I guess, tough luck for them."

"That's kind of tragic though, isn't it?"

"What is?"

Rhys' lips purse as he starts, "Well, the fact that they only come to the show to find someone…and evidently leave with no one."

…

Well, when he puts it like that…

"Don't get too sad for them…they knew that it could turn out that way." You assure, "And to be honest…most of them aren't even there for love at all. Some of them just want the money prize."

"They can get money?"

"If they end up being the favorite couple, they earn like a hundred thousand dollars between themselves," you scoff.

What you would do for a hundred grand.

…Probably not wear anything but a bikini for six weeks and participate in public softcore sex games, but it's the thought that counts.

"And what do the others get?" He asks, "Do they get to keep their loves?"

"…Yeah."

For as long as they can stand them…

"But also, they kind of get to become mini-celebrities. Especially if people actually liked them on the show? They're basically set for life."

"Ahh." He nods, "This is all truly fascinating, I'm sure the anthropologists of your society and people such as myself would love this show."

…

…?

"You?" you say almost incredulously.

"Well, it's a great resource for studying human behaviors. And an acceptable way of documenting their courtship rituals." He explains, "I'd imagine they're far different from Daemos."

Well, you wouldn't say that Love Island, of all things, is a great example of human courting rituals.

You couldn't say that pulling people for chats and having makeout challenges with strangers was orthodox.

But you don't think bombarding him with the context of the show would do him any good. Especially considering how prudish Daemos seem to be.

"…How do rituals like those work? I mean, in your society?" you ask slowly. Unintentionally, but utterly interested.

Perhaps you could finally have some insight as to why Noi still thinks you casted a love spell on him…or why Pierce thought you infected his mind with a sexual aura.

At least, that's how you chose to describe it.

Rhys seems intrigued by your intrigue, "You want to know about Daemos' courtship?"

"Duh?" You shrug, "I mean, you guys seem heartless enough, I don't imagine you guys romance for fun."

"We aren't barbaric." Rhys states with seemingly no offense, "We just do not see the use for distractions like that."

"You think it's a distraction?"

Honestly, you'd agree to some extent. Dating was a real hassle, and you wouldn't exactly place it in your top favorite pastimes.

But maybe that's just your experience with dating apps and "organic" talking stages.

Eugh.

Just the concept alone makes you want to vomit.

If you had to go through another "what's your favorite color" dialogue, you'd legitimately kill yourself.

 —So that's obviously why you indulge in the sensual instead.

How can you speak if your mouth's too busy eating?

Call yourself a contrarian, but you loved a good "situationship" now and again.

Though usually that's because you're getting the exact amount of the stick that you want.

…God, you might be the barbaric one…

…

NAH! Everyone you've dealt with seemed to enjoy it well enough.

Except for when they didn't…

…

Ahem.

"When the top priority is survival, I don't see how it wouldn't be," Rhys states.

Well, yeah.

"So then, when do you indulge in romance? Partake in marriage and junk?" You ask with intrigue. Even though you probably know the answer.

Political and—

"Political and economic gain. As well as maintaining a name and lineage." He nods.

God, you're amazing at this.

"What other reason is there?" Rhys' eyebrow quirks, "Are humans not the same?"

…

"I mean it was like that." You shrug, "but we've 'evolved' the need for it."

…sure y'all had.

At least that's not the sole reason anymore.

"Really? So then what is the purpose?"

How do you go about this without overexplaining something he would probably understand…but that you didn't want to get into?

"I mean…for the fuck of it?" You shrug, "Most people have the luxury of falling in love and marrying for the simple purpose of wanting to be with someone."

…

Rhys nods slowly, seemingly taking in the response.

That's probably a profound concept for him…

Haha.

"Have you?" He asks plainly.

…

"Nah." You just shake your head before pointing to yourself, "No one's come to claim this prize."

Not like you'd want it…

Too much work…no real benefit.

Especially if you end up choosing wrong. God forbid that.

You do NOT want to end up on a true crime documentary if your partner decides to kill you and your potential children because they "fell out of love" or cheated on you.

…like just ask for a divorce. It's not that hard.

Cynical, you're being cynical again.

Though…your track record of "partners" kind of justifies it, so who really cares?

"You're a prize?" He asks earnestly.

…

Okay, fuck you?

"Of course I am! Are you blind?" You say with mild offense.

"No, I'm well aware of your physical body." He assures, looking away with a slight blush, "I mean to ask if people call themselves prizes despite courtship not being about that?"

 …oh.

Wait.

"No, uh—it's like a form of expression." You explain, "It's like you're complimenting yourself. Something that's worth earning?"

"Ahh…" he nods, "it is similar to us."

"Really?"

"Well, what's the purpose of marrying if it is solely for the public?" He starts, "What would be the point if the person being married didn't have applicable skills?"

Huh…

"What kind of skills exactly?" You squint.

"There's no use in dull shears, no point to a rusted sword. If one is not versed in things that can provide the other with substance, there is no deal." He continues, "For example, one could be great at homemaking, medicinal care, carpentry, childcare."

Okay…

"And the other can be better at hunting, agriculture, vending, magic..."

Of course…it's one of these.

"I noticed you said people." You continue despite the internal aside, "Is there not a split in which gender does what?"

He seems to look over to you with a puzzled expression, as if the question itself was strange, "No? Why would there be?"

…

"I think I'm just surprised with how a uh…"

Progressive it was? It wasn't really…

"I mean—that's pretty cool." You shrug.

To which he nods, "I assume that's not how it works here?"

"Oh no, yeah. Most people want someone who isn't just…there." You correct, "but unfortunately it's not as…pragmatic?"

He seems to want you to continue, his eyes filled with intrigue.

"I mean, it's hard to explain, there's so much diversity between people." You mumble, "I guess, most women want a guy who's capable of being a person on their own…and men want…"

A maid, a sex doll, a mommy, a therapist, a second income, a Madonna, and a whore?

"A lot?"

…not the best answer.

"Ah…I see." He nods, "Because there's no more true necessity, people get to choose their own uses?"

…well. It's not like the requirements have changed much for one of the parties in a long while…

"Sure."

"So if I wanted someone who knows how to make homemade ice cream and does it every day, is that allowed?"

…oh my god.

You can't help but laugh at that. Really, it's kind of sweet.

"I mean, sure, even if it's kind of silly." You giggle.

…though it isn't the most ridiculous thing you've heard from a guy.

"Fascinating…" he nods, "do you happen to have any requirements?"

You give a chuckle to yourself and respond without taking a moment to think, "If being amazing at sex counts as a requirement, then sure."

…

fuck.

Well, you wholly meant it…but he didn't need to know!

Rhys quirks a brow at that, "Copulation?"

Copu…

Oh, it's worse than she thought.

"Sex?" You give a small laugh.

He nods, "Copulation."

 …

"Why are you calling it that?" You tilt your head in bafflement.

Screw whatever embarrassment you had in the moment; you may have just busted something wide open.

Screw just talking about romance and that fluffy shit, you should've just started with this!

"…Because that is what it is called." He answers, sounding confused at your confusion.

"Then why do you also know that sex is a synonym?"

"That's the crude, uncouth way to say it."

Oh, come off it. That can't be true.

"That's such an…unsexy word for it." You cringe.

"Well, it is an unsexy process."

…

He's ragebaiting you.

"What do you think sex is?" You keep your tone from sounding too emotional.

You know you're voluntarily going into the jungle-scape of repression and virginity for glory…

But directly disrespecting the name of sex? The most primal desire besides wanting to live? AND calling it unsexy?!

 …Yeah, okay, it could be at times. Especially if you like, think about it for too long while doing it and overthink about how awkward it all really was. Having to be naked and vulnerable while doing stuff that wasn't truly intended to each other's bodies.

—BUT! The majority of the time, it was sick as hell!

"Copulation is the act of coming together for the purposes of reproduction." He explains, emphasizing his chosen term.

 Haha. He said cumming together.

Ahem.

"But…what if you don't want to reproduce?" you scoff.

"Then you don't copulate," he states.

???

What was this? 1984?

…you can't make that joke; you've never read the book.

In any case, could you even trust this guy to give you accurate information? What was he again? A scholar, right?

Nerds don't fuck.

"Is that a hard-and-fast rule…or…" You murmur, eyeing him up.

"Unless you're a degenerate, you leave those kinds of desires to wait until you're married." He explains, "Purity of both parties is important for a good transaction."

…so you'd be a degenerate…

Eh. Makes sense.

But—

"You gotta save room for Jesus in the meantime?" you smirk lazily. The jokes write themselves, what can you say?

"Who is Jesus?"

…

tough crowd.

Wait. Does that imply that there isn't a higher power telling them to do that stuff? If they don't have a Jesus-like figure?

That's how you connect things, right? God, you feel like Nicotine Tesla right now.

"That system…who came up with it?" you probe, bringing your hand to your chin, "Is it like a scripture or a book…?"

"It simply makes the most sense." He states, "If you're bringing pristine hardware to the table, would you want to trade used goods?"

…

You can't help how your eyes widen at the comment.

They're doing this for the love of the game, okay…uhm…

"Hu—Daemos aren't objects, though. You guys are like living beings?" You bunch up as you speak, kind of getting offended for them.

Cause like…that's just that stupid chewed gum comparison those incels use on a wider, more miserable scale. You don't lose value the second you stick your thang in someone, or someone sticks their thang in you!

ugh.

You don't think you've been this riled up since your socratic seminars in that jank Philosophy college class you took for your undergraduate.

Somehow you were the smartest person there! Amateurs, letting the marketing major beat you out.

"We're pragmatic creatures." He explains, "Unless it has to do with conquering, surviving, or protecting the crown, it is unnecessary."

…

…

Bootlicker.

ahem.

"…I think I'm just stuck on why you think it's unsexy."

Really? That's your only gripe?

The only one you could muster without being disrespectful.

His brow furrows at your comment, "I mean, I've only heard."

"Heard what? You research that kind of stuff?" You raise your eyebrows as you joke.

Nerds can also be freaks.

You likey.

…

You make sure your internal cringed face doesn’t bleed into your actual one.

You should be barred from thinking.

He seems to look away, a slight red on his face, "I have the unfortunate affliction of having Leif on my team. He can be rather uncouth at times."

?

How could he possibly describe it to make it sound that unappealing?

… Never mind, on further thought, you know exactly how a guy would explain it.

"Okay…but like, besides that." You continue, "Anything other than silly, out-of-date textbooks?"

He just gives a shake of his head.

.

.

.

"Would you like to learn?" You hesitate to say.

Mostly because you didn't mean to say it. But an opportunity to teach one of these assholes how to be normal about that kind of stuff was too tempting not to.

"I mean—because you said before that you want to get to know Earth culture better!" She scoffs, "And sex is…kind of a big deal to us."

Whatever lingering red he had on his face blooms exponentially at that, "You'd be able to…?"

"Duh?" you laugh, "I'm the expert on this kind of stuff! The sex-pert, if you will…"

And while you'd usually choke yourself for being corny like that out loud, it felt just fine right here.

Probably because of the person you're talking to—Rhys was exceptionally great at keeping your interest…and he isn't as snooty as you initially judged him to be.

He's just a guy. A normal one who actually just wants to talk with you.

Not argue like Asch or pester you like Leif. Not avoid you like Noi (God, you're still devastated about that) or stare at you like Pierce.

He's normal…and pleasant.

 …But also, mostly, this whole thing has given you a second wind, and you're not gonna let that go to waste.

Beats being depressed on the couch! Or having a mini crisis over something that might be nothing at all.

"I—" He clears his throat with a cough, "Like what…?"

"I don't know…what do you wanna know?" You grin, leaning back, "What are you interested in figuring out?"

He looks away, seemingly in thought.

  …pretty deep thought. It takes him a little while to decide.

"Well, I think I want to know why you think it's so alluring." He admits, "So I can understand why you need it as a requirement."

Oh my goodness, you love this questionnn!!!!

Probably the best thing he could've started with.

You adjust up to sit on your shins, leaning slightly closer, probably having the silliest smile on your face, "Okay—well, where do I start…"

Where do you even start?

"Uh…okay. So I guess there's like this passion to it that can't particularly be expressed in any other form of communication—it can be an amplifier of sorts." You say, "Hate sex, makeup sex, celebratory sex—there's just so many different ways to experience it. And everyone has their own way of expressing it in varying contexts. You're not gonna get the same thing every single time, even with the same person."

He seems to nod before opening his mouth again, "Is that why you find it so sexy?"

…Well, that's a completely different adjective.

Is that what he meant before?

"Well, no…that's why I like it," you mumble, "I think to answer that…I'd have to know exactly why you don't think it is…what have you heard exactly?"

He gives a gentle sigh, "It feels a bit embarrassing to say…I'm not used to being so brash."

You just shake your head, "Take your time, use whatever words you feel comfortable with. Though I'm probably gonna call them something cruder."

"T-that's fine." He assures, his hand coming to scratch his cheek, "Uh…well, as I've heard from a vibrant teammate, his escapades have been…very harsh sounding?"

Yeah…some people have a habit of that…

"Like it's a conquest?" You scoff.

Which he only nods at.

 "Well, at times it can be—but usually that's kind of the point? If we're assuming that both parties are fans of rough sex, you cringe, "But to mention it really does kind of land really crude."

You know you drop a joke once and again, but you don't think you'd ever brag about how dominant you are or how you make people submit…that's no one's business except yours and potential candidates. Wink.

"I know the idea of rough sex sounds like—off-putting, but I promise when you're in the mood it's awesome."

You don't think you'd ever describe sex as awesome unironically, but here you are. The things you do for these people.

"What is that mood?" He asks tentatively, his eyes keeping your stare.

…

You bite your lip. You don't want to get too graphic…but damn…

He's tempting you.

"How graphic can I get?" You ask softly.

"All of it." He assures, nodding absentmindedly.

Which only makes you giggle, "A true scholar, huh? Well…I mean, it's simple. You've been horny before, right?"

He tilts his head in confusion.

"Aroused?" you scoff—remembering you don’t share the same terminology.

"Uh…no, I don't think." He admits.

"You're lying." You almost gasp, "You've never felt that pull in your gut? That…buzzing in your skin? Heat on your cheeks?"

Rhys just gives a slight laugh, "I don't think I've ever had the time to. Or the… ingredients?"

…This was harder than you thought.

"Have you seriously never thought of anything that turned you on? Some people just get it randomly."

He just shakes his head again.

He most certainly had. There's no way, right? He probably just misdiagnosed it as something else.

"That doesn't really put a bump in anything…just makes it slightly more difficult to explain," You assure. "Obviously—you know we have different anatomy, so I'm just gonna go through what it feels like to me. Is that okay?"

"Yes—yeah." He assures.

"As I said…it's this buzzing—not just on my skin, but in my whole body. It really depends on, like, the level of arousal…but let's assume I really need a good fuck." You can't help but blush at your own crassness.

You did say you weren't gonna hold back…

"I'd be physically flushed. I'd feel warm for sure…not a sick warm but…like a good warm." You laugh, "Ah…honestly, there's no real physical tell—in the sense of how guys do. Instead, it's a pulse between my legs, aching and yet almost delicious feeling."

You don't think you have the guts to look at him while you describe this. You don't think you've ever put this much thought into this part.

"My skin gets pretty sensitive too, in the weirdest places. My shoulders, my thighs…and when I'm especially needy, I'll be so wet that I'll soak through my panties."

"What's that?" He pipes up.

"What's what?"

"Being wet?"

"It's the way my body shows its arousal," you explain, "It's kind of like a lubricant that happens when I get excited, my body is preparing for sex in a way."

If you're honest, you know it's more than just that…but explaining the mechanics feels kind of unsexy.

…Maybe if you switch up the terminology…

"And it's in excess?"

"When I'm really excited, yeah." You laugh, finally looking at him, "It's a little annoying, if I can admit. Cause I would already be super messy and I haven't even gotten touched yet."

"Messy…" He repeats, keeping his eyes lower than your gaze. On what exactly, you can't tell.

But if you had a guess…

"Really messy." You feel a smile growing on your lips.

His eyes flick back to yours before quickly looking off to the side, "…If I could ask…"

"Yeah?"

"Could you describe how you feel when someone…uhm…"

He can't even get his words out. Adorable.

"Someone what, Rhys?" You ask gently, "When someone touches me?"

He gives a hesitant nod, "That's when it gets even sexier, right? When the c-copulation begins?"

Aaaand girl-boner dead.

"Well…yes…" You can't help the sweet smile fixing itself on your face despite the buzzkill of a term, "But first…I wanna know what you know. What happens during 'copulation'…"

"Uh—well…" he clears his throat, straightening up, "From what I've heard…and read, it's a pretty simple process. Two parties come together and do the thing; once they both finish, they're done."

Both finish? That's new…

At least they think that both parties need to be satisfied for it to be a successful mating.

Eugh. Gross.

Mating. Such an animalistic term.

…kinda hot.

"That's it?" You squint.

"What else is there?" He asks, his frown quirking to the side, "The point is to make sure the pair has a child. The most efficient way is to just do it?"

…Right…they also think it's only successful if it's for the purpose of breeding.

…mmhhggg…breeding…

But enough about your hypocrisy—

"Well, the point here isn't that…usually," You cover your mouth as you cough, "Mostly…? Some people—too many people still think like y'all do."

He just furrows his eyebrows, probably mostly in confusion. In what you also hope is slight offense.

"Look, you're somewhat right, that's how some people do it." You assure, "But us enlightened folk like to play a little before we get really into it. It helps out immensely with that stiffness you're imagining."

"The…" He trails off before nodding, "What do you do?"

"It's called foreplay." You lean back on the opposite side armrest from him, "It technically is included in sex, but most people separate the terms…cause they're selfish."

…not really.

Mostly yes.

"Foreplay…before-play." He mumbles.

Color you surprised, you whistle, "They don't call you the number one epic royal scholar for nothing, huh?"

"They do not call me that."

"Eh, someone probably does." You dismiss before continuing, "Anyway, foreplay—it's anything that isn't penetration and that helps build the tension."

"So you do not just jump into it?" He questions,

"If you wanna make sure everyone's warmed up and prepped, then absolutely." You nod. And just to sound extra smart, "Think making-out, sensual touching, dirty talking, stripping, grinding, even oral and outercourse."

With each term, his face morphs further into confusion.

sigh.

"…Which one are you most curious about?"

"Well, I can parse out most of them," He assures, probably so you don't think he's hopeless, "But how is talking like filth to someone supposed to 'warm them up'?"

God must love you.

"Dirty talking actually works better in combination with another form of foreplay—or even during sex itself." You stick your finger up like a nerd, "Though you shouldn't underestimate how words can make or break the mood. You want an example?"

He gives a gentle nod.

You hoist yourself back up from your lazy little rut, to now sit on your knees far closer to him.

"Are you okay with me getting closer—and uh, touching you?" You ask lightly as you continue to scoot.

"Of course…"

You give a slight huff before tilting your head down and to the side, looking up from just under him, "Y'know Rhys, I think you look rather sexy in your civilian clothes…"

The harsh flush on his cheeks makes you rather giddy inside, "I—uh…what?"

"Yeah, so refined and proper." You give a soft, coy smile. One of your fingers hook onto the collar of his sweater vest, "Very snug and form fitting. Leave something for my imagination…"

You let your hand trail down to his sides for a moment, strumming them like the strings of a harp, "Gives me just enough to dream about."

All that comes from him sounds like an attempt at a groan.

"Hm? You like the idea that I dream about you?" You smile right at his comically horrified face. Certainly not of actual horror, but of not being able to handle your swag.

"I—don't…mind it?" He whispers, fixing his face instantly.

"Do you mind what I dream about?" you say while taking his hand into your two, playing with his delicate, long fingers.

You can hear the way he gulps, "What do you dream about?"

"I dream about how disheveled you'd look as you fuck into me from behind, your glasses completely fogged with the loss of composure. How your lean stomach would look pretty and silky exposed because you wouldn't want to dirty your nice shirt up, even though you couldn't be bothered to take anything else off because of the utter desperation you have to take me. How your pretty, strong hands would hold me down and make me take every last drop of your cum like I know you want to."

You don't think he's breathing anymore, but that doesn't really sway you from anything. Instead, you guide his hand to your face, letting it cup your cheek and thumb your lip, "…Do you want to?"

He has a dumbfounded look on his face. A quiet, almost blossoming realization painted there, "…I think I'm feeling that mood now."

Your eyes flutter for a moment before an amused huff finds your lips, "What do you want to do about it?"

 You honestly couldn't tell how long it's been. Not when all of your senses are drowned in the man in front of you.

Your ears are blessed with soft whines whenever he feels your tongue pass his for the umpteenth time. Your hands are greeted with shivers and twitches as they rake under his sweater vest, almost clawing against his white button-up. Not to even mention his taste, delicate and sweet, like rose flavored turkish delight.

Not what you had expected at all, but something you're cherishing.

And even though you were particularly content with receiving the side effects of your affection unto him…he seemed to have other plans for you.

Pleasant plans that involve his hands. How they knead whatever skin is available to him…and even all that isn't.

He lets himself dip underneath your loose pajama shorts, massaging just under the dip of your ass, thumbs pulling the skin in a circular motion, pushing apart and pressing together the back of your inner thighs. Barely high enough so that the action was also affecting your aching pussy.

You can't help the quiet moan that comes from your frustration. Your eyes find his heavy ones, almost admiring you.

Though it isn't you who speaks up next…

"I would like to see the effects of your arousal…if I could." He mumbles softly, "I want to know what the wetness is."

"…The one I described before?" You whisper back.

He gives a gentle nod, "I want to know how sloppy you are for me…"

Oh, how you hope he can feel you shiver.

Was he…

That was…

"You're good at that…" You smirk softly, "Where'd you even get that word?"

"I simply thought about it, and it made me heat up…" He explains, "Isn't that how you do it?"

"Nah…" You lean forward to kiss against his jaw, "I just black out and say what I really want to…"

That gets him to chuckle, "And you really wanted to say that you dream of this?"

You look up for a moment in thought, before flicking back to him, "Yup."

You lean back forward to catch his lips again. A small peck, just enough to get another taste.

He gives himself fully, even in the short kiss. He pulls away, flushed once more, "Can…we keep going? Further…to uh…"

"hm?" You smile playfully, leaning against him.

"I want to…explore something you said earlier. I was curious to examine—or well, to see what you meant by…" He trails off, his eyebrows furrowing as if he were thinking about how to say something, "…The place between your legs."

…

"You wanna see my pussy?" Your voice turns breathy, a shallow attempt to both hide your amusement at his confusion and pleasure at his insistence.

"Mhm," He affirms before looking away in embarrassment, "I'm sorry, I was trying to find a prettier way to say vagina."

At least he knows what it's called.

Though you can't help but pity their lack of synonyms. That's what makes most of the magic after all.

"Too clinical?" You tilt your head in a tease.

"Not right for the mood," He nods, "…But I think that one works way better."

"Makes you all fluttery?"

"Makes me warm." He whispers, dipping his head down, "Frankly, the concept itself makes me warm."

You're sure you're smiling like a middle-aged man who thinks he really has a connection going with a stripper.

…not to say that Rhys was a…

You wouldn't mind that.

"So—uh, can I see your pussy, please?" He repeats the word, sounding hesitant and a little shy.

God, it was adorable.

"…We've got time." You slide back away from him, helping yourself out of your shorts. You could almost blush at how intently he was watching you.

To ease your mood, you flick your bottoms over to him, startling him from his staring.

"Pervert," you chide playfully.

He gives a soft pout at the insult.

Thankfully, that has the same connotation.

You just laugh and give a soft hum, "You're not even getting a good look…c'mere."

You carefully spread your legs up in the "sexiest" way you could. Left leg out and right tucked up to your chest.

You're on a couch after all, you got no room.

He scoots forward slightly, hunching slightly over to settle himself. He has his hand on his chin, his head tilted in intrigue.

…Examining you like a specimen.

"You're acting as if you've never seen this kind of thing ever." You can't help but scoff, "I know you've at least seen a diagram."

"It's different though," He mumbles, "In the picture it didn't look so…pretty."

Isn't he just a bottle of crystal sugar sprinkles?

You could almost blush.

"Now you just want me to get to the good part." You mutter with a laugh.

"N-no." He shakes his head, "I just…really mean it. It's so glossy and pearly and…"

He trails off as he notices something, "Dribbling."

Now he's just embarrassing you.

This has been a fact. An "embarrassing" fact.

Oh, how will you ever live with the supersoaker in your pants?

heh…

"Thank you." You smile softly, "I mean it is because of you…"

"All of it?"

Ehhh…yeah?

You were serious about the dream. Many an early morning rub had been provoked by those sexy glasses and those long gorgeous locs. You're surprised Daemos had such astute locticians available for such services.

—But enough about you wanking it to him.

"Who else?" You roll your eyes.

"I just…" He looks away, rather shy still, "What do you do about it?"

"Hm?"

"I mean…it must feel uncomfortable, right? Kissing can only do so much to relieve the ache," He explains.

…

"You wanna see what I do?" You can feel the shit-eating grin slide onto your face.

He gives a wordless nod, only watching as you adjust yourself.

"When I don't have anyone to help me out…and I need to relieve the feeling, I turn to myself to be my 'partner.'" You let yourself trace over around your folds, slightly teasing yourself.

You hope he's actually paying attention as you do…he might be too busy with the visual.

"Sex can be done by yourself too, though some people don't include it in the definition." You bite your lip as you swipe down the seam, "…It's called masturbation."

"Ahh…"

You moan slightly as you allow the pad of your finger to press against your clit, finally relieving the tension. "This is how I do it."

Rather sloppily now…but it was too slippery not to be.

Fuck, you liked it when it was just like this. Too messy to even please yourself correctly.

"Pressing right there?" He asks, "That's the…clitorus, right?"

Its government name sounds so unsexy right now, but his voice sounds just right enough to balance that out.

So introspective and keen. Almost eager.

Those eyes especially were. How they're almost eating up your movements, infatuated probably at the fact that you're like this for him.

"W-well…I rub~" You manage to speak in a moan, letting your middle finger do the talking counterclockwise.

You should be rather embarrassed at how easily and quickly you're falling apart. How you're just pleasing yourself in front of him.

For the purposes of education…for your own greedy need of exhibition.

Fuck, you really are a slut…

"Do you also utilize the actual entrance?" He asks with curiosity, popping you out of your own personal degrading dirty talk.

Sometimes you just gotta be your biggest supporter for what you really want in life.

"Not alone…" You whimper—damn it was hard answering questions while fucking yourself…

But damn if it didn't also feel fantastic.

Some sick sense of trying to save face just enough to be normal. To pretend you're detached and just a teacher…

"Why's that?"

Well, you are right now…to your day-dreaming disappointment.

"It doesn't do anythin' for me," You sigh, letting the creak in your voice settle, "—My fingers do jack. If I want something stuffed in me, I'll take a toy over my nubs."

Are you being vulgar? That phrase felt aggressive.

…Fuck though, you really want something stuffed in you right now.

"I see…" he nods, before taking a long while before speaking up, "Do you happen to know how male masturbation works…?"

…

You let your head fall back at just the concept of him stroking his cock over you as you play with yourself. He's really perfect, isn't he?

"Mhm~" Is all you manage, "Don't you…?"

There's silence for a moment before…

"…If I can be vulnerable…" He trails off, "I've only ever done anything close by accident. Some nights I would awake to be lying on my stomach, my body moving for myself in the silence of my dreams. It felt…better than anything, but I'd stop the moment I'd come to."

Fuuuuck.

Waiter! More dryhumping scenarios, please!!

"You can't even please yourself?" You manage through your increasingly stilted breathing.

He shakes his head, "It's not a concrete rule…but as a scholar of the royal family, I can't allow myself to be distracted by those kinds of earthly pleasures."

You're actually about to cream your pants.

There was something completely wrong with you if that's what gets you going.

No one call you Mr.Right then—up top!

 …For your own sanity, you stop your own movements to focus on him.

"Purity—too in s'me way," you say in almost a slur, sitting up slightly, "but—didn't seem to stop you doing it anyways, huh?"

He looks at you with mild confusion.

…

You clear your throat while trying to grasp at any kind of composure, "I mean, you say that—but clearly your body still needs it. It just manifests in the times where you can't really protest."

"Need?"

"Yeah—to an extent masturbation is a great way to relieve tension, stress, pent-up desire…" You mumble, "It's like any other vice—probably exceedingly healthier than any substance."

…as long as you don't mix it with pornography, but you're not gonna mention that to him.

You're not gonna be responsible for introducing him to that beast.

Look—you're not a prude, but you can't find it in yourself to enjoy an industry built upon the subjugation of both women and men to an extent.

Most of it isn't even authentic anyway—and those titles are disgusting.

You'd take your own mind over whatever slop they have.

 …What were you on about again?

"Substance…" He nods.

"Anyway—" You shake your head, "It's uh…simple. Can I…"

Your hand hovers closer to his pants, a pair of slack. Sharp but clear in just how suffocating they were. Stuffy, actually, just too formal for most casual outings.

Maybe that's just your own preferences speaking.

He gives a huff of agreement, barely moving his head to affirm his words.

Gently, you unbuckle his belt. The best you could do with one hand, but that's what made it better, right? The struggle and the delay?

You just needed to see this man's dick, oh my lanta.

"You can do the rest, right?" You almost whisper, "Pull yourself out for me…"

He does so, taking his time to adjust his pants down his hips.

Coming undone without being touched was a thing, right?

He looks away the second he has it in the open air. His hands quickly placed themselves behind to let his cock speak for itself.

Delicate-looking, like his fingers, curved upwards and standing proudly just for you. Your hand moves up instinctually, sliding against the underside of it with only light pressure.

His face scrunches with a hitched breath, his cock stuttering just after.

"Sorry," you whisper, "Sensitive?"

He gives a small nod, "Yes—in a way that I don't think I've felt before."

"Jolt of pleasure?"

"Something like that, I think…" He utters, "Uh—what do I do?"

You give a soft laugh before bringing your hand back to yourself, collecting slick as best you could…

Before tentatively coming back up to him, "Watch…"

Slowly, you wrap around his shaft and begin stroking him.

The utter pleasure that bellows from his lips made you almost cry tears of joy. You can already see his legs tremble.

"See?" you say in a slightly breathless tone.

"Mhm~" He tries to say through the contact, "A-ah…"

You can't help but giggle while you watch how his hips stutter against your movements, almost desperate for more. His tip drooling just a little more precum with each pass.

"You think you could take over, lovely?" You whisper softly, "Can you stroke your perfect cock for me while I fuck myself and watch?"

He gives a long whine at that, taking control of where you were holding. He gives a few experimental tugs as you adjust your own position, so that you two are more apart…and so he was just hovering over your eager cunt.

Slowly, your hand returns to your own parts, settling against your freshly soaked fold. Your eyes keep with his, for the second they're on you…til, of course, they flick to your hand circling your clit once again.

You give a slight groan as you do your best to spread your legs further, for comfort and so he could get a better view. Helping yourself out with a faster speed.

"Thank you so much…" He whines softly, his breath barely catching up to his mouth, "—For teaching me~."

Was he…?

Was he thanking you while playing with himself?

Whoa momma.

…Is the only thing you can muster through your own bated breath. You're too busy watching how his hips pound right into his fist. How he doesn't even care to cover his moans—though really neither do you.

Both of you babble incomplete thoughts.

—What you assume is nothing of substance.

You can't really hear much over the sound of your slickness and the erotic shlick shlick shlick of his strokes.

You give a long moan, tightening up your touches, "Are you gonna cum on my stomach? Mark me?"

That seems to make him groan, his hand only moving faster.

And while you relish it, it can only do so much to satisfy the ache in you.

You need way more…

But he looks so utterly pleased now. You don't think you can convince him to…

"Or d'ya wanna make a mess of my pretty pussy…?" you ask with a whine in your voice.

Like a duck on a June bug, his eyes flick right up to yours, a stutter coming from his lips. Barely anything but clearly a fumble to say yes.

"Yeah? You do?" You nod as you speak, goading him to nod along.

"Here, let me…" You shift around to adjust him exactly how you need him. Hunched down way more, your own legs up and bent, on either side of his frame.

His blushed cock right against your puffy pussy.

"How does that feel? Right?" You mumble, looking down at his weeping slit, "Ah—I can feel you twitch…"

He swallows roughly, giving it his all to respond, "You're so warm… "

"Mhm?" You nod along, your tone almost patronizing, "Now, it's just like your accidental masturbation…you got it?"

He nods silently, eyes glued on yours, "Y-yes…I—"

He cuts himself off as his body seemingly moves on its own, grinding against you. The noise that comes out of him is almost pathetic. A mix of a cry and a groan. One that only continues as he finds a rhythm.

Half stutters, full hilt pushes, embarrassing blows that slip him off of his target. Nothing seems to stop him from continuing to try. It was almost adorable…

"Mmph!~"

Until it wasn't…

Fuck—he figured out exactly where to position himself, so he's dragging right against your entrance the entire way through.

You can feel yourself clench onto nothing. The stimulation of him both teasing you and grinding against your clit making your head spin…but you don't want to just…not without…

 "—Not in me, right?" You speak out, the words coming from your mouth before you can even think about what you're doing.

"H-huh?" His hips stagger for a second, his eyes back on you.

"I…I mean…y'know penetration?" You look away before clearing your throat, "I assume you don't want to go too far, right? I just remembered…"

…

"Cause this isn't for…" You mumble, "And you have to stay pure for...We're not…"

What are you saying?!

Great, now you're the one spoiling the mood.

His eyes flash some kind of emotion before hesitantly nodding, "Of course, I…yes."

  "…I just want to make sure because…" Your teeth nibble against your bottom lip, keeping eye contact through your lashes, "I wouldn't want to accidentally ruin you."

…

Oh, you're evil…

"You…don't have to worry about that." He assures, shaking his head, "You're not gonna—"

"—I mean, since this is such a risky position." You whisper, brows knitted, "It wouldn't take much to just…slide into me? To stuff your cock into my warm, welcoming pussy and just fuck me?"

You feel the way he jerks instinctively at your words. You just start shaking your head again, a pitiful expression on your face, "We wouldn't want that, right?"

His eyebrows raise at that for only a moment before easing back, his own lips pressing together, "No, we certainly wouldn't—that would be a true shame…devastating."

He emphasizes the last word with another thrust, far more pressure now.

You fully bite your lip, a soft whine from your throat, "You have enough control of your movements for that to not even be a possibility though, don't you, Rhys? Even against something as soaked as me?"

"Mhm~" He says breathlessly, helping you adjust your hips—lifting them up ever so, "So fucking wet for me…"

He pulls back his hips so each pass catches on your entrance. Only a moment at first…before slowly lingering. Almost teasing the idea.

"…But even if you 'accidently'—mph!—did…you'd be able to stop, wouldn't you?" You ask, barely, but you did, "You have enough restraint and self-control to pull out, wouldn't you?"

"Yes…" He nods instantly, "I wouldn't just keep going and never stop—don't wanna ever stop…"

The aside was managed in a slurred whisper, like something he was saying to himself. A secret that you're indulging in as well.

This man…

You wonder how far you could push this 'til he breaks.

"Mh—we should probably, though…" You say gently, your hands raking gently down his forearms to hold his hands, "I mean we don't want to risk it…"

That gets a whimper out of him, his pushes getting shallower.

…heheheh.

He shakes his head quickly, "There's nothing to risk. We won't."

"You never know…" Slowly, you lift up your shirt, the only article of clothing you still have on. Only to expose the utter lack of bra, "Maybe it'd be safer to just go back to me touching myself and you doing the same."

Your hands move up to show off your chest playfully, lifting it up slightly, "after all, you don't need to be completely enveloped in my cushy walls. You don't need to watch my tits bounce with every thrust…"

His low whine only makes your sloppily hidden grin widen, "You can still make a mess of me without the risk. You can still cum on my pussy. it'll be the sa—ahh~"

"Fuuuck yes…" His head tilts back with a groan, his hips finally pushing all the way in. His desperate cock finally nestling into your cunt, "I do…I need it so bad…"

"And you need it too, don't you?" His hands move to grip the back of your thighs, his weight falling down against you as his head lands on your collar, "You're so tight—you never want me to leave, huh?"

Well, if he's offering…

You'd think of something clever to say back, but at the moment, you were just savoring the feeling of how full you felt.

All you can do is give a mewl of pleasure, your nails delicately scraping his back. A gentle pressure, just to get him back for teasing you.

He groans at that, his hips finally stuttering back to life.

An awkward rhythm, jerky full thrusts. Probably because he was trying not to cum immediately.

hehehe…

"Like this?" He asks softly, lifting his head up to find your eyes. His movements are slower, far more even than before.

"Mhm…" You tilt your head with a sigh, your hand finds a place against his scalp, combing through his locs gently, "Can you go just a little faster for me, though? It'll feel so good."

He gives a soft nod, obliging without a word.

Slow thrusts climb in intensity, and with them, whines from him.

"Ah~ [__]~" he moans, lifting himself off of you.

His hips adjust quicker than his speed, finding a fluid momentum that doesn't jitter…as much.

His hands find solace in the fat of your thighs still, squishing and kneading to their hearts' content. An unconscious weight in the form of his figure presses your legs back further into your stomach, bending you and giving him much better access.

"Rhys~" you gasp, letting your own head fall back at the utter pleasure coursing through your veins.

How could you not when he was ramming right into your cunt so deep? Dragging against that spongy spot with each thrust.

You can imagine the show he’s getting with how the rest of your body responds, moving with the wave. Your tits perked and free, bounced in satisfying circles, just pretty enough to fully keep his focus.

"So—fu–ahhh~" he hisses, feeling right when you squeeze onto him.

You can't help the giggle, looking up to see his scrunched face morphing right back into intense focus. Eyes solely watching you, with a pout.

"You—aren't playing fair…" he manages, "I can't just…Mhf—"

Your body jolts at how his speed quickens. Most certainly not purposeful.

"What're you gonna do about it?" You grin up at him, "It's just my body reactin' to your fuckin'. It means you're doing a goooood—job!!~"

One of his hands settles against your lower stomach, the thumb right against your clit, clumsily circling touches onto it.

"What's wrong?" He breathes out, a lazy grin forming on his face, "I'm just doing something about it. You okay with that?"

…

Fucking hell.

Look at the attitude on this one.

"Mhm~" You nod, letting yourself settle back onto the couch further, "So okay…"

Erotic moans from you and him fill the quiet nothing of the apartment, whatever stupid show you had on, long turned off. Instead, the space filled with the delicious slapping of his skin against yours and the embarrassingly loud, rhythmic shlick of your cunt.

God, you could cum from the sound alone. So passionate—filled with desire.

Your eyes manage to look up at him, lidded and heavy. Drinking up the way his slightly smug smile drains back into a hiss, "How long does this—usually last?"

That question would be rather silly…if you didn't know who was asking it…and if you yourself weren't struggling to stay composed.

"At the rate…you're going—fuck~" You gasp, feeling his hips continue their unsteady rise of pace, "Not long…"

You're a little afraid that he was gonna blow his load accidentally, actually. With how is he handling the grip you've got on him, as well as the masterpiece in front of him—if you could be so vain.

You're trying to find solace in being destabilized right now, okay?!

…You're also trying to distract yourself from not cumming til' he's ready. It'd be kind of sweet to come together…

…As a final thank you for the lesson.

"I think…then…" He manages through his bated breath, "I'm almost there…"

Fuuuck yes.

"Here—lean up…" You attempt to guide him back down against you, helping his hands bend you even further. Your own holding his shoulders, "It'll feel so good just like this."

Was this a slightly impossible position to quickly pull out of? Maybe…

Was that the thing that you were secretly hoping to achieve? Who knows?

You're too fucked out to really care—or so you say.

A tiny whimper comes from his throat as he adjusts, his eyes looking down directly onto your fucked out face. Hair messy and falling down to frame your own face, "How am I even deeper than before?"

"Magic?" You joke, "My pussy's magical, y'know."

"Magic's too abstract to explain the perfection I'm feeling now." He asserts with a groan.

…Okay, love-bombing.

You were almost drowned in the utter sap of the statement.

…But instead of shying away from the sickness—your legs wrap right around his hips, pulling him flush against you.

"I could say the same for you…" You mumble before catching his lips.

Oh, how his pelvis jitters, figuring out how to still move despite the restraint. Something that you were absolutely reveling in.

"'M gonna come…" You whisper, looking right into his eyes, "Come with me? Come in me…"

"But…" He mumbles back, "The—uh…"

You just shake your head and shut him up with another kiss, squeezing your legs tight.

Whatever hesitance seems to vanish then, his movements now sloppy as he chases exactly what you were asking.

And what you were asking was coming to you much quicker than to him.

Your heartbeat climbs in intensity, your legs quivering with the pent-up energy of release. The taste of him on your tongue, the pressure of his weight on yours.

You could scream if he wasn't muffling your mouth with his own.

You manage, coming undone with the ever-present sensation of him still unrelentingly pounding into you. Even after your wave mellows out…even as you feel his own release paint your walls.

A warm, heavy load that you wished you were able to watch drip out in this very second.

Unfortunately, however, he had other plans.

"Rhys—haah!" You whimper against him, nails digging hard into his skin.

"Can't…never…" He assures gently, his lips leaning down to place sloppy kisses against your skin, "More…"

You could almost giggle—

Well, could is the wrong word.

You were. Through your uneven breathing and your whimpers, you were laughing, "You're gonna—ah…get a cramp…"

He doesn't really seem to care, though, not as his tongue lulls out to taste your neck.

He's definitely going to get a lesson on overstimulation…

And so were you.

The coaxing of another orgasm hits you like a high. Another sudden, harsh crash that, despite your worry, felt so much better than the first.

…You never said you were a saint.

"How many orgasms can the human body take?" He mumbles, delicate kisses pressing onto you with each word.

"S'me…uhh…" You try to respond. Though really, that was dead in the water the moment you came again.

That seems to get a slight huff from him, "I guess we'll find out…"

 …Seems you just created a monster.

heheh sweeeet.

 It had been rather easy to get back to normal after he came to his senses. A charley horse, one consolation later, and a long gazing session at the mess he left in and on your cunt.

That part was utterly satisfying.

The rest, however…

You weren't glad about it, but it was karma.

The chattering from the TV now surrounds the darkened living room you two were still occupying. Another episode of a flippant reality show droning on has Rhys—and you, to an extent—entranced.

"Why would he do that? They just went to the 'hideaway' last night…" He grumbles, squinting at the shirtless man on the screen.

"Because men are stupid and he clearly just wanted sex." You scoff, letting your legs recline on his lap.

"…Not all men." He gives a small huff, looking towards you.

"Ehh…most." You retort, giving a shrug.

A jingling of keys cuts you off from the brew discussion…only for a chorus of voices to take its place.

Loud… grating voices.

Mostly Asch yelling. Oh, how you missed that.

You flop back onto the couch in a huff; at least you got peace for a little bit.

 …and a piece of ass. Ha!

"Other human!" Asch yells right at you, probably as he encroaches on the couch, but you couldn't be bothered to check.

"I still have a name." You deadpan.

"—You missed out on the best outing ever in favor of your nothing mood!" He continues despite your disinterest.

"Good for you."

"I want you to know so you feel bad!"

"…I'm sure that's the intention."

"Your Majesty, you mustn't insult Princess Ava's friend so. She is a hunter, remember?" Rhys' voice comes back into your ears as a treat, his hands gently massaging your calves—which felt amazing after being held up for so long.

Ahhh, this is the life.

"She's yet to bow to me fairly." He asserts back. You can feel his eyes glare at your being with disdain, "I have no reason for respect, especially to a hunter."

Nevermind.

God, he says it like it's a slur.

Then again, it's really in his right. You are technically (allegedly) an exterminator of his people; you'd be the same.

…God, what even was that lie? All that's killer about you is your killer pussy!

"That's because I'm not a royal dick rider." You finally lift yourself back up to stare him down.

Only to watch his eyes combust with anger. Before he can yell anything, though, here comes another nuisance.

"—What's this about riding?" Leif saunters over with a smile, "I heard hunting too—y'all are just discussing my favorite things over here, huh?"

…

You just flop back onto your back, completely done with all of them. "Where's Ava?"

To come collect them, to shoo them away—anything.

"Princess Ava's busy with Mrs. Oats downstairs." Leif says with a shrug, leaning over the couch to leer at you, "Aw…but don't look so sad. You got me here~."

"That's the problem," you retort with stress in your tone.

That gets a scoff from him.

"You gotta give me some grace, y'know?" He pouts sarcastically, "You're rather rude to someone who is in the same line of work…we should be brothers-in-arms…mmm…closer?"

?

Brothers but closer? Call that siblings and dating.

"I work alone." You roll your eyes.

"Like all good assassins." He grins.

"Is the other human doing any better?" Another deep voice joins the fray.

He stands right next to Asch, on the other side of the couch. His hands crossed in his usual guarded stance, but his face was far daintier.

…And trailing behind him was one orange motherfucker—STILL not even glancing your way. You'd sneer at him if you cared enough.

…God, you cared too much.

"Hi Pierce.." You decide to say, focusing on him rather than Noi.

If he wasn't going to give you the time of day, why were you?

"Hello," He says in a slightly softer register, "I can see that your spirits have been raised. That is good."

"Yeah—I mean you sent the right person for the job." You assure, a gentle smile on your face as you look back at Rhys. Besides the sex, he was a real comfort. Good conversation, actual comfort through shared experience.

You couldn't even get that luxury with Ava anymore. That broke your heart.

"We did not send anyone," Pierce states.

Your eyebrows quirk. Huh.

Rhys did tell you that before…but you weren't exactly rearing to believe him.

Not because he himself wasn't trustworthy, but because you wouldn't put it past them to keep someone back to make sure you don't try to escape.

"Rhys was being difficult earlier about wanting to stay," Leif scoffs, before giving a smile, "I see why now."

"It's important to keep a prisoner's morale in line—lest you want them to fossilize." Rhys dismisses somewhat harshly.

Which you'd take as a betrayal if it weren't for the fact that he would not let up only an hour earlier.

No one can fake that.

—If anything, you respect him for keeping it under wraps. You liked a man who could.

It also helped that he was still soothing your legs.

"Who cares about a prisoner's feelings?" Asch scoffs, "Treat them like the scum they are."

Yeesh.

Eh…you could live with the title of "scum."

"May I remind you that there's still much we need to figure out here. We cannot go hard and fast like the methods your family usually utilizes." Rhys retorts, slightly annoyed.

"Yeah! Treat me with respect!" You add, if only to see his face bloom with anger.

…and it so totally worked.

He's red and everything.

"I'm sure there's a time and place for hard and fast, though, right baby?" Leif chuckles, giving you a wink.

"Real mature, Leif!" Asch shouts, "Rhys, why don't you scold him for flirting with the prisoner! It's unethical."

That's something you can agree with. The amount of corn in his comments should sanctify them as methods of torture.

"I'm not touching that." Rhys gives a bit of a cringed look, shaking his head.

"Oh, real high and mighty, Mr. high and mighty." Leif's tone grows annoyed as well.

"That's not even a good insult."

"You're not even a good insult."

"Both of you are idiots!"

Whatever semblance of peace almost immediately explodes in a three-way argument between the three Daemos surrounding you.

Asch yelling, Rhys 'calmly' scolding him, and Leif going quickly between nonchalance and utter chalance.

Whatever…

As much as the noise annoyed you, you weren't put off by the arguing itself. Why would you pass up the entertainment?

Still, if you're gonna deal with it, you're gonna at least be comfortable.

You adjust yourself to be lying against Rhys now, moving his arm to wrap around you while your head rests on his chest.

He didn't seem to mind—he's probably too busy to notice anyway. You give a small laugh as you survey around again. To Asch's progressively dramatic movements, Leif's clear prodding, Pierce's seemingly undisturbed despite the senseless screaming and—

Noi…peeking out from right behind him. Just staring.

…

At you…? Not at you but...

You.

His eyes seem to trace around your frame before shifting to Rhys with a perturbed brow and what you'd selfishly call disdain clear in his expression.

Oh?

  No…it couldn't be. He didn't have an aggressive bone in his body.

He was just being…a weirdo, like always. Probably even just uncomfortable with the yelling.

Pussy.

 …

Ugh. You couldn't even insult him without feeling bad.

Boooooo. Day ruined.

Your eyes fall back to everyone else with a sluggish sort of motion, "Can you all just shut uuuuup. I just want to watch Love Island in peace like I was before everyone came and ruined it."

That seems to shut everyone up, surprisingly.

"What is a Love Island?" Asch scoffs.

"You have an Island for Love?" Pierce asks.

"I said the same thing." Rhys pops up, "—it is a program where humans are documented like animals. They come to the island in search of a mate and either get chosen or dumped."

…yeah kind of.

"This sounds stupid—"

"I wanna watch!" Leif jumps over the couch to settle right at your other side, "I'm hoping for violence."

"There's arguing sometimes?" You offer, looking over to him, "But it's much more 'all love' if you get what I mean."

"Oh, that's fine too," He grins, "Maybe we could be all love, as well?"

"You ruined it." You shake your head, turning away.

"Hey! I didn't mean that in any kind of way!" He whines, "You're the dirty-minded one."

"I will watch too!" Asch announces, probably because he doesn't want to be left out.

Off to the side, you can see both Pierce and Noi settle down as well, making it a full house.

Huh...

Well, that's just peachy.

…

In the least sarcastic way you could muster, surprisingly.

It certainly beats being alone. Somewhat beat the sex.

...well...

Okay, joking.

 …Yeah…this could actually be kind of nice.

All you were missing was Ava—who you were sure was coming up soon enough.

And in the meantime, they'll be just fine. You're sure they won't be too—

"I don't like the one in grey shorts. He is ugly."

"What are you talking about? He's the only one with a powerful stance—everyone else should cower!"

"I'm booooored. Where's the love at?!"

  …annoying.

Guys I am alive!

Sorry this took FIVE-ever, creativity strikes at the worst time (and I've been busy with other stuffs). I am kind of sad that this isn't suuuper F!dom but I've never imagined Rhys being super combative to warrant it :p It is still F!leading so I hope it wasn't too much of a heartbreak!

Don't mind the Noi tease, he won't be the next one (AGAIN) since he already has one! Just keep that thread in mind *wink* -cause his chapter was only like 2k words- HE NEEDS EVEN MORE LOVE!!

I hope this was worth the wait! Please don't let the time between these bother you :( I want to make sure each guy has his time to shine and I don't want to half ass any of their entries !

I'm not a perfectionist, I just want to make decent smut !!! - Hunnithan

Tag list :3 : @vainful-vanity , @midfan2

- if i forgot anyone I am very sorry!!! -

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧👑🔥୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ It becomes a pattern. You drift towards fountains, stray cats, and even food stands, toward literally anything that sparkles, moves, or smells good. Asch swears he turns his back for one second and you’re gone

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧👑🔥୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ Now he keeps a hand on the back of your hoodie whenever you’re in public “If you stray again,” he mutters, ears slightly pink, “I will tie you to me.” You hum. “That sounds romantic.” “It is not.”

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧👑🔥୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ When you get distracted by popcorn at a carnival stand, everything changes, and Asch notices immediately. You’re staring at it like it’s divine treasure. He pauses, frowns, and without a word orders a large bag (after bothering Ava) when he hands it to you, he pretends not to look interested but he absolutely steals half of it

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧👑🔥୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ “You require supervision,” he says stiffly, brushing a kernel off your cheek. “You would be devoured in daemos within hours.” You grin. “Good thing I have a scary daemos prince, huh?” A scoff came from Asch but he doesn’t let go of your hand

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧👑🔥୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ Sometimes you don’t even realise you’re drifting until you feel asch either place his leather jacket/or cape wrap around your shoulders

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧👑🔥୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ Asch won’t admit it out loud, but he picked up about how everything seems to overwhelm you. Too many sounds. Too many colours. Too much movement, yet he always seemed to care about you

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧👑🔥୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ If someone bumps into you, they get glared at. If you pause too long near a street, his arm slides around your waist. If you disappear from his sight for more than three seconds, the temperature around him noticeably rises

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧👑🔥୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ The first time you actually get lost in a crowded mall, Asch nearly sets off a small fire spell. Rhys had to physically grab his shoulder while Ava told him about how they didn't want any attention, and you'd probably be somewhere safe

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧👑🔥୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ When he finally finds you sitting on the floor, distracted by a claw machine, he storms over furious “DO YOU HAVE ANY SENSE-” You looked up, relieved. “Oh! There you are!” His anger melts mid-rant at your words because you were waiting. You weren’t scared. You just assumed he’d find you

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧👑🔥୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ Asch exhaled sharply and crouched in front of you “Do not wander without informing me or the others, human”, he mutters, adjusting your sleeve like it personally offended him. “I will not search the entirety of Earth every time you see something shiny.” You nod seriously yet five minutes later you’re distracted again he never lets go of your hand after that.

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧Rhys ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🕶️🍦 ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ Rhys notices before you do. You’ll be walking beside him, nodding along to his very detailed explanation of their next objective, and suddenly… silence

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🕶️🍦 ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ Rhys glances down and you're no longer looking at him. You are staring at a butterfly with a dazed expression “…You have stopped listening,” he states calmly you blink “No I haven’t.” he adjusts his glasses sighing “You just walked into a pole.”

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🕶️🍦 ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ Unlike Asch, he doesn’t grab you immediately. He observes. He times how long it takes before you drift. He notes what distracts you most. Bright colors. Loud noises. Food. Animals. Moving objects. After three separate “incidents” where you wandered in the opposite direction mid-conversation, he simply begins walking slightly ahead of you

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🕶️🍦 ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ When you drift, you walk directly into his back and you pout he doesn’t even turn around sighing before reaching out behind him to hold your hand

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🕶️🍦 ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ The first time you almost follow a random dog down the street, he sighs softly and takes your hand “You need so much guidance” he says, tone patient as ever. “Earth contains far too many variables for someone with your attention span.” “That’s mean.” “It is accurate.” Rhys says

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🕶️🍦 ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ You actually test him once. You deliberately stop walking in a crowded area to see how long it takes him to notice three seconds and Rhys stops immediately, turns around, squinting around before finding you

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🕶️🍦 ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ There’s no anger in his expression. Just mild exasperation “I am not Asch,” he says quietly as he steps back toward you. “I will not shout. However, I would prefer you remain within my line of sight.” “…You noticed fast.” He adjusts his glasses again. “Of course I did.”

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🕶️🍦 ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ It becomes routine for Rhys. When you enter busy places, his hand finds the small of your back, and when you stare too long at something, he gently tilts your chin back toward him ignoring how Leif nudges Noi

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🕶️🍦 ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ When you start wandering, he calls your name once soft but firm and you freeze instantly. You don’t know how he does it. He doesn’t raise his voice and doesn’t look intimidating but when Rhys says your name like that? you listen instantly

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🕶️🍦 ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ The only time he truly loses his composure is when you disappear for more than a minute. It happens at a festival. Too many lights. Too much noise and Rhys turns to make a comment and you’re gone

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🕶️🍦 ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ His mind immediately calculates worst-case scenarios. Crowd density. Exit points. unpredictability, and his breathing tightens, and he calls your name yet he received no response and then he sees you sitting on the ground, completely captivated by a street artist drawing with chalk

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🕶️🍦 ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ You look up at him, smiling. “Rhys! Look at this!” He exhales so sharply it almost sounds like a laugh. He crouches in front of you, brushing chalk dust off your sleeve “You cannot vanish without warning,” he says, voice steadier than he feels. “It is… inefficient.” You tilt your head. “Were you worried?” “…Yes.” he huffed before reaching his hand out towards you “This time,” he says, softer, “do not let go.”

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧Pierce ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🗡️🛡️ ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ You wander around not far and it wasn't intentional but you drift toward things street musicians, glowing signs, stray cats, random staircases that “look interesting.” Pierce notices and suddenly he’s standing directly in front of you before you can walk any farther You blink up at him. “…Oh.” He looks down at you with that unreadable, calm expression “Stay.” That’s it just one word

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🗡️🛡️ ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ The first time you almost follow a stranger because you thought their jacket looked cool, Pierce’s hand closes around the back of your collar effortlessly before you are gently but firmly lifted two inches off the ground “…Pierce.” “Yes.” “Put me down.” He does but his hand remains resting lightly on your shoulder after ignoring how Ava stared at the scene mouth agape

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🗡️🛡️ ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ If you stop to stare at something, he stands behind you like a silent wall, If you step too close to the road, his arm across your front, If someone looks at you too long, he looks back harder You once joked, “Are you my bodyguard or something?” before saying a soft "Yes.”

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🗡️🛡️ ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ One day, you disappear in a crowded market not because you ran off just because you got distracted by lanterns hanging overhead Pierce turns and you’re gone

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🗡️🛡️ ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ Something old and cold flickers in his chest something from Daemos and he moves instantly walking through the crowd. Then he spots you standing on a crate to reach a floating balloon he steps behind you and steadies the crate with one massive hand “You will fall,” he says quietly you jump a little “Oh! I was fine!” “…No.” You wobble slightly and his other hand moves to your waist without hesitation he doesn’t let go until you’re back on solid ground

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🗡️🛡️ ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ In Daemos, distraction meant weakness. Weakness meant death but you? You get distracted because you’re curious because you see beauty in small things

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🗡️🛡️ ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ Once, you look up at him mid-wander and smile. “You always find me.” He doesn’t respond immediately. His voice is low when he does “Yes.”

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧Leif ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🌿🩸୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ You wander around and Leif teleports to you instantly that’s the dynamic. You’ll be mid-sentence, spot something shiny across the street, and take two steps and Leif appears directly in front of you “Where d’you think you’re going?” he grins, shark teeth flashing “…I was just-” “Wandering? Yeah. I noticed.” yet leif tugs you away

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🌿🩸୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ He doesn’t stop you right away. At first, he thinks it’s funny you drifting toward random alleyways. You nearly climbing a fence because “it looks climbable.” You crouching down to pet animals that absolutely should not be petted

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🌿🩸୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ He leans against a wall, arms crossed, watching “You’d last five minutes in Daemos,” he teases while Rhys scolds him while helping Ava

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🌿🩸୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ You grin back. “Good thing I have a scary assassin to protect me." Leif froze for a second “…Yeah,” he says more quietly than usual. “You do.”

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🌿🩸୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ One time, you genuinely get lost. You didn’t mean to the crowd just swallowed you up. Leif turns to make a sarcastic comment, and you’re gone

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🌿🩸୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ The smirk drops instantly, he teleports multiple times, scanning rooftops, alleyways, and his heart is pounding in a way he hasn’t felt since… well. Since he was left behind. He hates that feeling. Hates it

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🌿🩸୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ When he finally finds you, you’re sitting on a curb, completely mesmerised by a street magician. You don’t even notice him appear behind you. He crouches down slowly. “Hey.” you let a small hum too distracted before Leif pokes your forehead lightly “You disappeared.” you blink, looking up to him ────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🌿🩸୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ He stares at you for a second too long “…Don’t do that again.” there’s no teasing in his voice

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧🌿🩸୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ After that, he gets… clingier not obviously. He just starts teleporting you instead. You step too far ahead? Suddenly, you’re back beside him. You pause too long? He wraps an arm around your waist and poof new location “Leif!” you laugh as the world shifts around you. “Warning next time!” “Nope.” “That’s mean!” “You wander. I adapt.”

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Noi ୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 🍕🩹୭˚.꒱ˎˊ You get distracted. Noi gets distracted watching you get distracted that’s the problem. You’ll gasp over something random “Oh my gosh look at that tiny plant!” and he’ll gasp too “IT’S SO SMALL.” Now neither of you are paying attention to where you’re walking Rhys has to physically redirect both of you.

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 🍕🩹୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ Noi tries so hard to be responsible He puffs up his chest. “Okay! I’ll watch them! I can do this!” five minutes later you’re both crouched on the sidewalk examining a bug “Do you think it has a family?” you whisper “I hope so,” he whispers back, horrified.

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 🍕🩹୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ You look up at the exact same time and realize you have no idea where the others went “…Uh oh.” “…Uh oh.”

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 🍕🩹୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ The first time you actually disappear in a crowd, Noi completely loses it. He calls your name too loudly. He spins in circles he bumps into a trash can “I WAS SUPPOSED TO PROTECT THEM” He looks genuinely devastated because protecting someone means proving he’s not the weakest proving he deserves to be one of Asch is knights

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 🍕🩹୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ When he finally finds you, you’re inside a small bakery staring at cookies you light up. “Noi! Look!” He rushes over and grabs your hands immediately “Don’t do that!” he blurts out, eyes wide. “You can’t just vanish!” “I didn’t vanish, I just-” “You weren’t there!” His voice cracks slightly you blink at him “…Were you scared?” He nods instantly

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 🍕🩹୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ After that, he insists on holding your hand. Noi holds your hand like he’s afraid you’ll evaporate. If you let go for even a second, he gasps dramatically. “You let go!” “I was grabbing a napkin!” “That’s how it starts!”

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 🍕🩹୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ One evening, you get distracted by the sky turning orange at sunset. You wander toward the edge of a park, completely mesmerised. Noi follows, quieter this time. He doesn’t panic, and just steps beside you "It’s pretty,” he says softly

────⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 🍕🩹୭˚.꒱ˎˊ˗ You nod. “Yeah.” You lean against him without thinking He goes stiff for a second, then melts his hand squeezes yours “I’ll find you every time,” he says, more determined than scared now. “Even if you wander.” You smile. “You better.” He grins, blushing hard “I will! I mean- yeah! Of course! I’m a knight!” You laugh and this time, when you drift slightly, he drifts with you instead

The hospital room was cold and would be almost dead silent if it weren’t for the buzzing of electricity and chirping of the morning birds outside your window, the sun was shining so brightly into your room but even then everything looked so grey, you wondered- what beauty is there to stay for here? The world still looks dull, the shining sun isn’t even as bright as people say, did it ever really shine at all? Your thoughts in the hospital silence was interrupted by a certain boy knocking at your door, you turned to see gentle eyes looking at you, filled with nothing but worry and also some happiness to see you’re ok.

“Good morning, (Name). I brought you breakfast today, and some flowers- I also have this tea if you’re in any pain, my mom really recommends this-” despite Deuce’s attempts to be casual with you, he started showing how nervous he was pretty quickly. “Deuce, it’s fine. I know how you’re feeling, I know this situation is pretty odd-” “But it’s not fine!” Deuce quickly cut you off, you stared in shock at how quickly his tone shifted “You’ve been saying it’s fine, you’ve always reassured others despite you having to face the worst in situations! Yet I never got the chance to do the same for you!” He sounded like he could burst into tears at any moment, he looked up at you then his face switched into a guilty one at seeing your shock.

“I’m… I’m sorry, (Name), I shouldn’t have interrupted you, this isn’t about me. But.. I just want you to know I’m here, all of us are, and that things really can change for the best no matter how long it takes, you don’t have to stay in a dark place…” he held your hand gently, his eyes were pleading with you to trust his words, to try to keep and going to see that it gets better.

And suddenly, the sun seemed a little brighter and the world was a little less dull

Ace Trappola

He’d honestly be pissed off. Not at you, not for this. But he’d just be pissed that he couldn’t stop you in time, he couldn’t give you a safe space to run to, and now he has to see your arms covered in bandages while you can barely move in that hospital bed

The worst part was he knew you were struggling, he knew something was off when you’d rather melt in the heat than were short sleeves, and he knew his eyes weren’t playing tricks when you rolled them up a bit too high you rushing to pull them down was confirmation. So why couldn’t he just show how much you mean to him??

He tries not to show how upset he is, but it’s difficult for him not to get angry seeing you in the hospital, due to that he starts avoiding it resulting in him barely visiting you and mostly texting you

And it goes on for a while until Ace just snaps and decides ‘fuck it’ and goes to see you, because he’ll be damned if he loses you after this

It was quiet in your room, there wasn’t much to do today other then get some check ups and say hi to friends checking in on you whether it was by text or in person. But where was Ace?? He barely came by anymore, and when he did check in he seemed so dry talking to you. Did he finally decide to leave you? Was this something that solidified his decision? You guess it was to be expected, anybody would decide to call it quits and give up after seeing such a bloody site. Just when your thoughts were about to fully consume you the door slammed open almost making your heart jump out of your body! “What the- Ace? Don’t just open the door like that you’ll give me a heart attack”

“S-Sorry but- but just listen, ok!?” This was the most frantic you’ve seen him, and it doesn’t seem like there was a reason he’d be like this other than you “Go ahead, I know you’d want to end it all after this” you were ready for whatever you had to say, you knew Ace wasn’t a fan of people who couldn’t face the reality of things “What?! Are you kidding me!? I’m not ending shit, especially not now!” His tone showed how offended he was at the very thought of that, and all you could do was stare in disbelief “No matter how pissed I am I know I’m never leaving you! I just don’t get it, I always wanted to stay by your side so why couldn’t you have just came to me instead of trying to leave me!? And I know you aren’t in the wrong, I’m not mad at you but you can’t blame me for being confused! I don’t get it!” He voiced all of his frustrations to you, it was like something went off and he couldn’t stop himself “I was there from the start, I want to be with you til the end so just… stay, ok? I’m not good with comforting, I know that I’m no therapist. But please just let me be there if possible…” he was completely breaking for you, and he held your wrist so gently too. This was a complete 360 from your usual, cocky, Ace. But that didn’t seem to matter now because all he’s thinking of now is you staying

while riddle’s objectively sheltered upbringing did leave him with a more skewed perception of what could be considered ‘normal’ in regard to social etiquette and general behaviour, there was always just something about your behaviour around him and azul that never quite sat right with him. certainly having the unwavering devotion of a woman he found terribly attractive was flattering, and he can admit to feeling some degree of satisfaction in having you lash out on his behalf against rule breakers and those that disrespected him (especially before his overblot, but also afterwards… loathe he is to admit to something so shameful), but that didn’t completely offset his awareness that your clear devotion perhaps strayed a bit too far off of the beaten path to be considered healthy

azul, too, was very keenly aware of just how much energy you put into him long before he ever even considered bringing it up to you. and the only reason he dawdled so much on the matter despite his usual preference for efficiency is that, well, he found your intense devotion to be incredibly flattering — to the point where he didn’t know how to react to it for a while, initially brushing it off as just you attempting to flatter or intimidate him for your own benefit until he eventually realised that you were actually invested in him personally and seeking to protect and flatter him solely out of that devotion. which may or may not have required the twins filling him in on the matter, but that’s beside the point. because from there, despite revelling in so much positive attention from someone he considered dearly out of his league, there was just no denying the unhealthy root of your actions for azul and so he was much quicker to accept that particular reality than your other darling

that being said, while both housewardens were aware of your obsessive and stalking tendencies neither actually made much of an effort to dissuade or avoid you after making their discoveries. of course riddle wouldn’t hesitate to scold or collar you if your advances caused you to break a rule or he caught you threatening the wellbeing of another student, and azul never hesitated to bring you into his office to remind you about how you should be acting around the customers lest you scare any more away from the lounge, but beyond that they just… treated you like they did before

hell, there were even moments where each of them found themselves leaning into your obsession for one reason or another. for riddle he usually did this as a means of verifying that he was correct in whatever action he took and the other party was clearly at fault (after all you’re agreeing with him, as you always do, so he can’t be wrong!). and for azul he usually found himself positioning himself ‘casually’ in your vicinity during his worst days and using your endless stream of compliments and assurances and obsessive staring to try and quieten the insecure voice in his head for a while. though thankfully those moments were rather rare for each of them, and in the months leading up to the three of you actually getting together you were mostly just treated as neutral company with some more concerning habits — not unlike rook, actually

much to the concern of certain onlookers (namely trey, cater, and deuce once he finally picks up on the concerning undertones to your behaviour), and amusement of others (read: the tweels and ace) — reactions that only intensified when the two boys eventually accepted your courtship and the three of you started publicly dating

both of them put a lot of work into trying to redirect your energy away from obsessing and stalking to something less harmful and more productive — though what that energy gets channelled into depends a lot of which of your boyfriends you’re with in the moment. riddle in particular tends to direct you towards either independent study, tutoring some of the heartslabyul first years that are struggling in a subject you’re particularly strong in, or spending your energy tending to the grounds around heartslabyul (after all, you can’t go around threatening others for looking at him when you’re busy tending to the hedgehogs or meticulously hand painting a maze worth of white roses red, now can you?). azul, meanwhile, encourages you to spend your excess energy in ways that are more beneficial to the lounge — like helping him with filing paperwork if that’s your strength, or lending a pair of helping hands during the dinner rush just to keep you too busy to even consider doing anything nefarious. of course the long-term success of their respective strategies is entirely dependent on how stubborn you are, but at least they’re trying, right?

for as much as they can both appreciate, in their own ways, your intense level of fidelity and devotion to remaining entirely loyal in your relationship to them, the second your methods veer too far off of the beaten path neither of them will hesitate to pull you aside and scold you for it. though riddle is much more genuine in his scolding as he cannot condone you threatening or harming people no matter how much he may agree with the sentiment behind your actions (flirting with taken people is against the queen’s rules after all), while azul is noticeably more performative and placating about it and will only ever pull you aside for a chat if you get caught or your actions start to put his business and connections at risk

or, in other words, riddle will let you go after others if you’re really intent on doing so just so long as you don’t break any rules in the process (though he would really rather you not act quite so shamelessly possessive and obsessive in public…), while azul has absolutely no qualms about what you do as long as you don’t do anything to smear the lounge’s reputation (or his) in the process… so don’t get caught (it’s a mer thing, honestly, this kind of behaviour is pretty normal amongst courting pairs it’s just that octo-mers like him aren’t so quick to aggression over minor things… unlike eel mers, for example)

azul has absolutely floated the idea of utelising your unwavering obsession and eagerness to please and protect for the benefit of himself, the lounge, and in order to better enforce his contracts — as, after all, you’re much more threatening than floyd when provoked… more motivated too — but riddle very swiftly and loudly shut the idea down before it could take root. he even went so far as to weaponise your equal obsession with him just to make sure you wouldn’t get so involved with your other boyfriend’s shadier dealings

ever so diligent and dedicated to his tight schedule, riddle will do his damndest to ensure you don’t break away from your own studies and extracurriculars as a result of your yandere obsession with them. in fact he’s long since given up on stopping you from stalking altogether and moved on to doing your schedule for you and setting aside a dedicated block of time each day for you to follow him and/or azul around to your heart’s content… but sevens forbid he catches you breaking schedule because you will get the scolding of a lifetime

given that azul and riddle are both people with a lot of responsibilities independent of their relationship with you or each other, it almost goes without saying that you’re going to end up splitting your time between them a whole lot more than you probably would prefer. but the alternative is leaving either heartslabyul or octavinelle without their housewardens, and potentially the mostro lounge without its manager, and neither possibility is one that bodes well in the long term. that being said, date nights are a weekly thing and the boys do carve out some time in their schedules where you can all be together as a triad… if only to stop you from going completely insane, but a win is a win, no?

azul, having grown up with floyd and thus being very desensitised to displays of violence and threats thereof, is the better equipped of your two boyfriends to handle you when you’re at your worst — when all you can think of is taking care of those you perceive as rivals or as threats to your relationship with them. he’s also, though riddle is loathe to admit such a thing, the only one of the two who is strong enough to hold you back from actually committing any acts that could lead to actual consequences for you. riddle does excel at frightening off others enough to quell your possessive urges before they can actually take root, though, which azul and his well-practiced businessman charm do not exactly help with… so let’s just say they’re even

while riddle would quite literally chug poison than ever talk about the fact that he’s in a nonmonogamous relationship with a deeply obsessive individual, azul has no such hang ups and his parents both know about you and can’t wait to meet their son (and grandson)’s wonderful partners. funnily enough the twins’ parents are also particularly keen on meeting you and are pleased azul found someone so traditional in her courting methods (not to speak ill of riddle, georgina has met him before and liked him well enough, but he doesn’t show his love quite so dangerously as you so her approval of him is a bit more understated)… so take that however you will

they have brainstormed a couple of ways to try and keep your worse tendencies in check, most of which were found to be incredibly ineffective in practice, and one such method was just to have one of them keeping an eye on you at all times. like the ‘buddy system’ that some primary schools implement for their students, but with a lot more gravity to the situation and a lot more headaches as they both struggled in their own ways to juggle your constant need to be with them and their own responsibilities… so safe to say this one did not last for very long, but you certainly had a wonderful time while it lasted

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Heartslabyul

Ace and Deuce didn't like the thought of you sharing a dorm with that guy, not one bit!

It took a lot of talking (and cherry pie bribery) to get them to come around, and when a few months had passed with no incident to tell, they mellowed out

...Then, suddenly, you're inviting Rollo on all of your outings, and your trio (not including Grim) became a quartet

Tolerable until Ace and Deuce realized Rollo had not one bit of interest in them, and would only make pleasantries out of politeness, likely for their beloved Prefect's sake (he never leaves your side)

What's worse is that Rollo is doing all the gentlemanly stuff that they never bothered to- holding doors for you, pulling out your chair, offering to carry your things... why didn't they think of that!! He makes them both look like Grade A jerks without even glancing their way

Noble Bell College is all about manners and formalities, after all

They try to bounce back by doubling their gentlemanly behavior, but somehow always end up fighting about which one of the two gets to link arms with you while crossing the street, or give you his coat when it's cold

...Then Rollo goes ahead and does it anyway while they're busy bickering with one another

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Savanaclaw

Leona didn't have any interest in Rollo to begin with

Listen, he wasn't at the masquerade ball. He never broke his back weeding fire lotuses, never singed off his eyebrows while battling in the bell tower (sorry, Azul), and in Leona's world, this meant they had no personal beef, thus he had no reason to care about the strange new transfer student

He wasn't even bugged that Rollo was being a perfect gentleman for you- in fact, he thought it was a good thing. Someone has to look out for you around here

It wasn't until he spotted you walking with him in the botanical gardens, when Rollo held out an arm to stop you mid-step

Leona narrows his eyes- trouble?

...But Rollo only points out that your shoelaces have loosened, and he kneels to tie them for you without thinking twice

Something about the gesture (and how CASUAL it is) makes Leona's eye twitch

He'll have to keep a better eye on that Rollo guy...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Octavinelle

Azul didn't like Rollo to begin with, but now he's REALLY gotten on his nerves

The once kind, helpful Prefect, always willing to lend a hand (or an arm, or a leg, or a vital organ) to a fellow poor, unfortunate student, no matter the cost to themself?

...Suddenly saying no

Azul's art of the deal falls flat when Rollo is around, who delivers that steadfast and ready "No, thank you, good day," and whisks you away before Azul can even get a word in!

Not even the tweels are convincing- Rollo always makes you stand behind him when Floyd is around, and he refuses to even look at Jade

But it's not only that the Prefect is no longer an unpaid intern because of Rollo's intervention, it's that you actually listen to him

His judgments? His decisions? His muttered comments? You respect him enough to heed his warnings without question. You must think very highly of him...

...Azul can't help but feel a little jealous of that

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Diasomnia

Malleus was ready to put that nasty fire lotus business behind him

What? You thought he would be angry, vengeful, and possessive? Have you MET the guy? He takes no pleasure in hatred, violence is only a potential necessity, and, in all honesty, he was excited to have a member of the gargoyle studies club besides himself and the Prefect

...Maybe he puts too much faith in people, sometimes

Because Rollo Flamme maintained exactly zero interest in befriending, or even tolerating Malleus Draconia, and instead prefers following in your shadow, keeping his eyes pointed at potential threats to the magicless student he so adores

Malleus had never been particularly envious of your friendships with fickle, foolish boys, and besides that, your happiness was his happiness

...But this feels like Rollo is overstepping a boundary that Malleus didn't even know was there

He suddenly feels a great urge to have you closer, to impress you, to catch your attention

His displays of magic become even grander, his acts of chivalry even more dramatic, his kindness pushed to its limit (Sebek would kill hundreds to be in your position, but he was told to hold his tongue on the matter for the time being), and yet, still, you stay at Rollo's side

Malleus doesn't quite understand it. Cold, curt, and with more interest in old traditions than magical ingenuity, he seems like the very last person that you, of all people, would get along with

...And, yet...

Rollo walks you through the courtyard with linked arms, he always lets you have your first pick of the pastries he gets shipped from home, and he's sure to wrap an arm around your waist when he feels tension in the room, as if his first priority is always and forever keeping you safe

He speaks to you in that soft tone (reserved only for you, when he thinks no one is listening), and calls you dear Prefect

It would have angered Malleus, if it were anyone else- but this is someone he's beaten in battle before.... just on a different playing field

MC was a Goddess, nowhere on the levels of Guizhong, the Godess of Dust, or Morax, the God of Contracts, but she was a Goddess none the less.

She was a gentle soul, one of the weaker Goddesses of Water that lived in Liyue, but she made easy friends with Morax, Guizhong, and the rest of the Adepti.

She even became more than friends with Morax over time. His lover, his mate, his precious Gemheart.

But even with all that love... nothing shatters a pure and loving heart more than having a polearm thrust through one's chest.

Cold golden eyes once filled with love stare down at the whimpering Goddess's form, and all she asks is "W-why?".

But all she gets in return is a cold, "One who breaks a contract, must face the wrath of the rock."

Break a contract? But she never did anything! So why-

She heard the screams of her people as they're taken down without mercy, the Adepti all stare at her with equal hatred, calling her a traitor and other horrible things.

Apparently, word got out that MC's people were planning a rebellion, they wanted to overthrow the Guili Assembly. But it wasn't true! MC nor her people never planned to betray her love or friends!

But no one listens, and as the polearm is yanked violently from her stomach, Morax kicks her off the edge and into the sea, where she'll die alone, as fitting end for one who broke a sacred contract.

MC screams, cries, but as she lands into the sea, all she sees is Morax and the others turn away, leaving her to die...

Gundham had panicked when you collapsed the first time. He refused to allow you to so much as stand unless it was necessary, saying that you needed to conserve your energy. "Guess I made a mistake this morning, huh?" You laughed nervously.

When you fully passed out after tai-chi the next morning, his heart sank, and he cradled your head for a moment before he carried you to your shared room, the others looking on, not quite knowing what to say or do. Looks of pity, and of concern, filled the faces of your friends.

After resting for awhile, you woke up in bed with Gundham laying beside you, propped on his elbow, his other hand lovingly stroking your cheek. His eyes held concern, and something that you couldn’t quite read. You smiled up at him regardless, weakly reaching up to mimic his actions on his own cheek.

He shut his eyes for a moment, and rested his forehead against yours. Your hand was so cold, so unlike the usual warmth of your skin.

“Forgive me, my dark queen.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Huh? What for?”

“…You will have your answers when we are free from this wretched place.” You swallowed hard, not knowing what he meant, but something in your heart was screaming that it wasn’t anything good. You figured it was something actually outside of the hell-house, and left it at that. Maybe he had been planning something, and due to being stuck in here, it would've gone awry by the time you're both released. What else could he have meant?

He moved to place a kiss to your forehead before going back to his original position. The two of you spent some time just gently caressing each other, and Gundham’s eyes continues roaming your body, seemingly trying to commit every last detail to memory. He’d been littering light kisses over your face, the back of your hand, anywhere he could reach really. This was odd.

“Are you feeling okay? You aren’t developing delayed despair disease, are you?” You half-joked, only to be met with furrowed brows and intense eyes.

“What makes you ask such a thing?”

“You’re just.. never this affectionate.” You said, a blush dusting your cheeks. “I’m not complaining, just an observation.” There was silence for a moment, his eyes searching yours, with such a far away sorrow in his own.

“You are just so weak, my beloved. To see you in a state such as this.. It pains me. If my affection will give you any comfort, then I shall happily give you all that I have to give.” He spoke softly, honestly. “You must understand, there is nothing that I would not do for you.” As he said this, he leaned down to kiss your lips. Something else that was rare. Gundham never kissed you without a reason. Though you weren’t going to question it, assuming he truly meant what he said. He just wanted to make you feel better, that's all this is.

“I love you, my dark one.” He whispered against your lips, before pressing his own back to them.

“I did not know that I could feel such things, not for another human.” He connected your lips once more, each kiss filled with a determined passion.

“Though you, my dearest, are so much more than a mere human.” Another kiss.

“You are radiant.” Kiss.

“Enchanting.” Kiss.

“You truly are an angel from the highest peaks of heaven.” Kiss.

“But for you to be so close to me? To love me - mankind’s most fearsome monster? Evil incarnate?” Kiss.

“Oh, your fall from the heavens into hell must have been excruciating.” Kiss.

“But you crawled your way to the surface, only to find me.” Kiss.

“A blessing that I truly never take for granted.” Kiss.

“I am so, very, deeply in love with you, my dearest fallen angel.” His voice wavered only slightly, as he kissed you one final time, lasting longer than the others. His lower lip trembled against yours, which you took note of. When he pulled away there were tears brimming his eyes, that he desperately tried to blink away.

He looked at you as if he would never see you again.

“Gundham, my love,” You weakly pulled him down into another short kiss, parting once again so that he could see the sincerity in your eyes, though your hand never left his cheek. “There is no force strong enough in all of the universe and those neighboring it to keep me away from you. From the highest peaks of heaven, to the darkest pits of hell, rest assured that I will always find my way back to you, my beloved. After all, I’m a servant sworn to serve under my dark overlord of ice for all of eternity.” You smiled weakly. He took your hand from his cheek to press a kiss to the palm.

“You are wrong. You are so much more than a servant under me - you are my dark queen, ruling by my side.”

“I adore you, Gundham. Nothing could ever stand in the way of my love for you. There simply is no force strong enough.” You spoke so earnestly, with so much love in your voice. Gundham returned your small smile, though he continued trying to keep his tears at bay as he rested his forehead against yours once more. Mostly so that you couldn’t see the wetness in his eyes.

It struck you then, that these sounded almost like vows. You suddenly found yourself picturing what your wedding might be like, after you get off of this island together.

It was getting late now, and he could tell that you were growing tired. But he didn't want this to end.

He knew what he had to do. It was for your sake, after all.

“There is something I wish to give you.” He said, sitting up enough to make use of both hands, removing the earring from his ear. The Hellhound Earring, one of his most prized possessions. Though the jewelry usually adorning your pierced lobes were small pearls, he entrusted you with the trinket.

“B-But-“

“I’d like you to have it.” There was an urgent intensity in his eyes that you couldn’t refuse. With a blush gracing your cheeks, you took hold of the earring with shaky hands. Smiling, you removed the earring on your right ear, and replaced it with the Hellhound Earring - knowing that was the side that he always wore it on.

“Could I offer you a trade?” You proposed, a lopsided grin on your face as your eyes shone. The sparkle in your eyes in this moment made Gundham smile, and he accepted your offer, fastening the small pearl earring in place of his own.

He returned beside you, resting on his elbow yet again. You couldn’t help but think how uncomfortable it must be. His eyes held too many swirling emotions for you to read, as he cupped your cheek once again and brought his lips to yours in one more passionate kiss. Pulling back afterwards to admire your beauty once again - the way your eyes shone brighter than the stars themselves, your kind smile, and the mismatched earrings adorning your ears. He couldn’t help but to place one last kiss on your lips.

“We should rest.” He stated, though he didn’t want to. He didn’t want these last moments alone with you to end. But you were so weak. So frail. And you looked so very tired.

“Can we still talk until I fall asleep?” You asked with your lower lip sticking out in a pleading pout. He chuckled softly, placing a quick kiss to your forehead.

“Of course, my beloved fallen angel.”

And so you did. He laid down fully, and you cuddled closely, talking about whatever topics came to mind. Eventually, you stopped responding, and Gundham knew that sleep had finally claimed you for the night. It had always brought him a sense of peace, for you to fall asleep first, in his arms like this. Though tonight, it only hurt, and he found himself having to hold his breath to stop a sob from forming, he couldn't risk waking you. As much as he'd like more time with you.

He didn’t have much time before he’d have to leave your side, to put his plan into motion. But the time he did have, he spent savoring every breath you took, and every small sound you made in your sleep. He savored everything that he could see of you, as well as your scent, the softness of your skin under his hands - he savored every last bit of you that he could. He drifted to sleep only briefly before he was awoken by the Devas as instructed.

As he carefully unwound himself from you, careful not to wake you, he placed one last, long kiss to your forehead, a few stray tears finally falling as he replayed your vows from the previous night.

“Forgive me, my love.”

‧₊˚ ┊ Ace does more harm than good tbh (he's trying, but he's not very good at doing anything other than being annoying all the time)

‧₊˚ ┊ If you get headaches often, then you do not want to be within 10 feet of this mf bc he will absolutely make it worse

‧₊˚ ┊ It usually takes him a bit of time to actually realize he's making your symptoms worse, but once he does, he shuts his mouth and focuses all his attention on you (there's nothing I love more in this world than a man shutting tf up lol)

‧₊˚ ┊ Ace's way of helping you is simply by keeping quiet and cuddling you (if you need a bit more space while you're recuperating, then he has no problem giving it to you)

‧₊˚ ┊ When it comes to your dizzy spells, Ace is, thankfully, much more helpful

‧₊˚ ┊ If he notices you swaying on your feet a lot, then he'll grab you by the shoulders and guide you to sit down on whatever is closest

‧₊˚ ┊ While you're getting by your bearings and finding your strength, Ace will quietly hold your hand and let you lean on him (take as long as you need to recover, he'll be there as long as you need him to be)

‧₊˚ ┊ Unfortunately, he does a complete 180 when it comes to your nosebleeds

‧₊˚ ┊ Like, the moment he sees blood trickling out of your nose, he launches into a full-blown panic trying to find tissues to clean up the blood (he's so goofy bruh)

‧₊˚ ┊ Well, Ace certainly isn't the worst boyfriend to have as a person with anemia, but he's certainly not the best either (he's trying to be better, and I guess it's the thought that counts lol)

‧₊˚ ┊ Poor boy is trying his best to be of much help to you as he possibly can (he's such a sweetie pie I love him sm)

‧₊˚ ┊ Deuce may not be the smartest, but he makes up for his lack of knowledge on certain subjects with unyielding passion

‧₊˚ ┊ He didn't know a lot about anemia before he befriended and subsequently started dating you, but he, of course, sought to educate himself on the condition for your sake

‧₊˚ ┊ Now, Deuce is nothing short of your knight in shining armor (minus the shining armor, of course)

‧₊˚ ┊ Whenever you have a nosebleed, he's right there with a handkerchief in hand to help you clean up (he's got more than enough experience mopping up his own bloody noses, but those came from his rough and tumble fighting days lol)

‧₊˚ ┊ Don't worry about fainting, either, because Deucey is fast on his feet and is more than capable of catching you in his big, strong arms (he could crack a watermelon in half with those biceps of his lol)

‧₊˚ ┊ If Deuce notices you feeling light on your feet, then he has no issue with picking you up and carrying you around to wherever it is you need to go (he'll be flushed red the entire time, but he refuses to put you down until he knows for sure that you can get around on your own)

‧₊˚ ┊ At times, he can be a bit too much with his worrying over you, but it comes from a place of love (just tell him to knock it off, and he'll reign it in for you)

‧₊˚ ┊ Deuce, while slightly overbearing at times, is willing to do everything in his power to help you out and make life easier (he's the boyfriend of all time fr)

‧₊˚ ┊ Ruggie is surprisingly the most help of the three when it comes to actually helping you feel better

‧₊˚ ┊ Growing up, he relied a lot on home remedies since medicine was scarce and his granny couldn't always get him to the doctor

‧₊˚ ┊ So, be prepared for Ruggie to throw a lot of herbal teas and the like at you whenever you start going through it (some of them actually are really helpful, and others not so much lol)

‧₊˚ ┊ Ruggie has something of a sixth sense when it comes to knowing when you're not feeling well and he sure as hell uses it to his advantage

‧₊˚ ┊ Since he can sometimes tell when a dizzy spell might be coming before you do, he'll preemptively get you to sit down and rest once he realizes it's coming

‧₊˚ ┊ He actually carries around a thermos of water with plenty of ice so you can crunch on the cubes as well as some snacks, painkillers and the like for whenever you might need them (yes, he'll even share some of his donuts with you if you want — that's how you know he really loves you lol)

‧₊˚ ┊ Ruggie can be a pretty busy guy, but he always manages to make time to sit with you when you're not feeling well

‧₊˚ ┊ When it comes to your nosebleeds, he's not as ahead of the game, but he's very quick to have you pinch your nose and tilt your head back while he gets you some tissues

devoted knight in training, a notoriously over loyal and over eager retainer to his housewarden, and student who may very well take the cake for the loudest freshman to ever enroll at night raven college, sebek zigvolt is not someone who it’s easy to get close with. especially not if you’re not of any fae heritage, and doubly so if you happen to be at all human because of how lowly he views them. that being said, if you’re patient enough and willing to put in the work to break through his superiority mindset and to carve out a place for yourself within his busy schedule, first as a friend and then as something more, you’ll find him to be an unshakeably loyal boyfriend who is very very vocal about how proudly taken he is… though it will take a while to get to that point, so be prepared for thatIntro -> devoted knight, over loyal and over eager retainer, extreme superiority mindset that makes it difficult to court him. but with enough patience, and after establishing a base of friendship and trust, you’ll find him to be a loud, proud, and deeply loyal boyfriend

now it’s no secret that sebek is a very vocal individual, to the point where he seems to devote every spare second where he’s not actively reading or working on something that requires his undivided attention to loudly (very very loudly) either lecturing others or waxing poetic about his liege’s positive attributes. and, lucky you, now that you’re in a relationship with sebek he’s taken to being just as loud and proud about how amazing you are and how very lucky he is to be with you… which means that there isn’t a soul on campus that’s not aware of your relationship, and that there are very few people left that aren’t sick to death of hearing your name coming out of your boyfriend’s mouth… so… that’s something!

and on a somewhat related note, being with sebek means that you’ll never get away with saying anything remotely negative about yourself ever again because he will react with both immense personal offence and remarkable swiftness to try and dispel those thoughts you’re having… usually by following you around for as long as his schedule allows and listing out every positive attribute he knows you have, getting increasingly poetic and earnest with his descriptions until you finally relent and insist he’s helped you so you can get a moment’s peace (and he’s always so very smug about it afterwards too, but he looks cute when he’s all proud of himself so you usually just let him enjoy the moment without interruption)

he is extremely protective over you and will not hesitate to lecture, challenge, or otherwise act the second he becomes aware of anyone making any sort of attempt to harm you — which, to sebek, can mean anything from straight up planning to jump you to something as minor as a group of your classmates talking badly about you behind your back — and this mentality has both made him somehow even less popular amongst the student body and resulted in many of your former bullies giving you a very wide berth and leaving you alone completely (after being either thoroughly outmatched in a duel or thoroughly dressed down in a very loud lecture from your boyfriend). and while his eagerness to keep you safe is undeniably charming, perhaps it’s for the best that you try and rein him in for the time being…

he’d be more than happy to help you study if ever you ask — partially because he likes being able to show off how hard he’s worked and how well he’s doing in the subjects that come easier to him (namely the more ‘logical’ sort like mathematics and the sciences), and partially because he believes it’s his duty as your boyfriend to help you out wherever he can. bonus points if you happen to be more creatively inclined than he is because those are the types of subjects he struggles with so it would greatly benefit him to have a lover who can balance him out like that

much like how he acts around lilia and malleus — two of the people he respects the most, and has admired for pretty much his entire life — sebek is noticeably much more polite and even tempered around you than he is with others. and in fact he started acting like that a little while before you two officially became an item and started courting, which was the biggest and quickest give away to those that knew him that he’d caught feelings for you

that’s not to say that you’re at all except from his lectures about proper form and behaviour and so on… just that he’s a lot more patient with you and doesn’t lecture you quite as often as he does, say, silver or any of his first year classmates. but that’s not saying much as he still does it frequently

he has a very traditional approach to physical affection and as such prefers to keep any and all pda to a minimum — that being offering you his arm to hold onto when you’re walking together, chastely kissing your cheeks or hands as a greeting or farewell, and maybe holding your hand when you ask… — but in the same vein he won’t hesitate for even the briefest of moments before straight up lifting you into his arms and carrying you elsewhere the second you complain about feeling sick or tired or whatever else. it’s a bit contradictory sometimes, but hey at least he’s sweet about it?

sebek’s go-to places to kiss you and be kissed by you in return are on the hands and the lips, with the latter being reserved exclusively for private moments or for farewells preceding a longer period of separation. and on a semi related note, it took him quite some time to work up the courage to initiate your first kiss because he was petrified of messing up and making a fool of himself in front of you due to his own inexperience… and then when you finally did kiss for the first time his entire face was a darling shade of pink for a while afterwards (which, naturally, lilia teased him about relentlessly)

it’s very important to him that the people in his life approve of his relationship with you — especially if you aren’t of any fae heritage. of those in his life the ones whose opinions he values the most are malleus (of course), lilia (naturally), his grandfather, and his mother. his father’s approval holds significantly less weight in his eyes but he’d certainly appreciate it nonetheless, and he’s nowhere near as concerned about what silver or his siblings have to say about your relationship… though in the long-term it is going to be better for both of you if you at least try to remain on good terms with them, just for the sake of not making things awkward going forward if nothing else…

nine times out of ten sebek will just call you by your first name, especially in public and even in private, because that’s how he was raised to talk to others. however every now and again, and only when the two of you are alone, he might slip in the occasional term of endearment — and it’s always something more traditional and old fashioned, mostly in the ancient briaran tongue his grandfather taught him but sometimes in common (e.g. ‘my dear’ is a favourite of his)

sebek would sooner swallow glass that actually admit this outright — no matter how painfully obvious it may be to everyone around him — but he has a very prominent jealous streak, and it’s at its most blatant whenever he perceives you (or malleus, but that’s another point entirely) to be giving too much positive attention to another person instead of him… and sevens forbid that other person is silver because that (mainly one sided) rivalry has been ongoing since they were kids and seeing you show any even minor preference towards him might actually send sebek into an early grave

early on into your courtship he may or may not have gone to lilia for advice on how to be a good boyfriend for you. and while the former general has zero intention of ever letting sebek live the whole thing down, he did at the very least offer some very useful advice that sebek is still making good use of to this day

he is very insistent on training you to fight and will only go somewhat easy on you. after all, the aim is to ensure that you’re able to hold your own and protect yourself should you end up in a fight, and him treating you like you’re made of glass won’t do anything to help you improve. tough love all the way

the more time you spend together and the more familiar he becomes with your own personal tastes when it comes to the novels you prefer to read, the more frequently you’ll find him perusing his expansive collection of books to find some to lend or gift to you. and, rest assured, no matter how niche and specific your preferences may be sebek will find books to give to you — even if he has to go out and buy them for the express purpose of lending them to you. because, yes, he will go that far if he has to

it means the absolute world to him when to take the time to genuinely acknowledge and praise him for the efforts he’s making to improve himself as a knight, as a student, and as a boyfriend. though his appreciation for receiving words of affirmation should come as little surprise given how unsubtle he is about fishing for compliments when he does something particularly extraordinary…

sebek has a notoriously voracious appetite and as your boyfriend he is more than willing to eat your left overs or any part of your meals that you don’t like but couldn’t remove for whatever reason. kind of like a living garbage disposal, but far cuter and more easily flustered. and sevens help him if you actually go out of your way to cook for him — especially if you make his favourite food — because he may actually cry

he prides himself on his ability to take care of you — and that can mean everything from taking over the chores in your dorm every time he stays over, to carrying all of your bags for you as you go between classes or return home from shopping, to rearranging his usual morning routine to ensure he can always wake you up on time and walk you to your first lesson of the day, and much much more. it’s all very sweet, of course, but with sebek being sebek he can get a bit too into it all which is… well… something you’ll maybe have to bring up to him at some point. but, hey, you knew what you were getting into

and that’s not even to mention just how adorably (deafeningly) dramatic he can get whenever you happen to get sick or injured or just have a bad day while happening to already have a chronic condition. he’s very present and very intense about nursing you back to health, which is great, but he also somewhat acts like it’s somehow a moral failing of his as your boyfriend that you got hurt or fell ill on his watch… it’s a a lot to deal with, but it’s all done with the best of intentions so you usually just let him get it all out of his system

‧₊˚ ┊ When Riddle announced that a special guest would be joining them at the next unbirthday party, all of Heartslabyul was sent into a frenzy

‧₊˚ ┊ It's pretty rare that anyone outside of Heartslabyul — beside the perfect, of course — were invited to join in on the festivities, so in the days leading up to the event, the whole dorm was practically buzzing with whispers of who exactly this special guest would be

‧₊˚ ┊ In typical Adeuce fashion, the two first years — mainly Ace, Deuce was just along for the ride — tired and subsequently failed to get Riddle to spill the tea and tell them the identity of this special guest

‧₊˚ ┊ Cater did what he does best and did a deep dive on Magicam in an attempt to uncover this himself, but Riddle's practically nonexistent social media presence made that much more difficult than anticipated

‧₊˚ ┊ Unlike the others, Trey just minded his own damn business and focused on the arduous takes of preparing all the food for the unbirthday party (he's got 99 problems and figuring out who Riddle's guest isn't one of them)

‧₊˚ ┊ Thankfully, they don't have to wait too long to get their answers, but the three or so days without any answers were torture to say the least (Cater's dramatic ass was tweaking out the whole time lol)

‧₊˚ ┊ On the day of the unbirthday party, everyone is only talking about one thing and that's who today's special guest might be

‧₊˚ ┊ The rose gardens are clamoring with excitement for the reveal, which thankfully comes without too much of a wait

‧₊˚ ┊ The whole dorm goes deadly quiet upon your arrival, arm in arm with Riddle like it's the most natural thing in the world

‧₊˚ ┊ Literally no one can believe it, like this is a perception-altering event that changes the way everyone present views Riddle

‧₊˚ ┊ Deuce has to keep Ace from falling to his knees the second you walk into the gardens with Riddle bc the shock of their angry little Housewarden with a pretty girl on his arm shakes the poor first year to his core

‧₊˚ ┊ Cater, while socked, is also incredibly excited and happy for Riddle! He would post about this on Magicam, but he doubts Riddle would be all that happy about having his relationship publicized all over the internet

‧₊˚ ┊ Trey, as per usual, has the most normal reaction — he's happy for Riddle and hopes you guys are happy together

‧₊˚ ┊ Of course, you and Riddle are bombarded by a million different questions from literally everyone (yes, even 'Mr. Minds His Business' Trey throws a few questions your way lol)

‧₊˚ ┊ The question that gets asked the most — the one that will put to rest their suspicions about your relationship — is, obviously, "What are you two?"

‧₊˚ ┊ The literal first words you speak to any of Riddle's dorm members is: "I'm Riddle's fiancée!"

‧₊˚ ┊ Cue all of Heartslabyul erupting into pure chaos

‧₊˚ ┊ It was already shocking enough to everyone that Riddle might have had a girlfriend, but a fiancée is something else entirely

‧₊˚ ┊ This time, Ace really does fall to his knees and Deuce goes down with him

‧₊˚ ┊ How…? How can Riddle of all people literally be engaged to be married??

‧₊˚ ┊ While Ace is spiraling, Deuce is trying his best to bring the former back to earth, which doesn't prove to be of much use

‧₊˚ ┊ Cater immediately starts rambling about wedding plans and how he can totally call in a favor to some of his sponsors to hook you guys up with some nice wedding favors and stuff

‧₊˚ ┊ Trey is already thinking about wedding cake flavors, since he has no doubt that Riddle would ask him to make the cake for when you do eventually tie the knot

‧₊˚ ┊ After a few frenzied minutes of questions and chaos, Riddle calls for an end to all the hubbub so that the unbirthday party can commence

‧₊˚ ┊ In accordance with tradition, you're seated to the right of Riddle and given the first slice of the beautiful strawberry tart Trey prepared

‧₊˚ ┊ The questions and small talk still come, of course, but you handle it with a grace that Riddle can't help but admire

‧₊˚ ┊ In all honesty, Riddle was very hesitant to introduce you to his dorm mates, but things ended up turning out much better than he expected

‧₊˚ ┊ Unfortunately, revealing your relationship has opened Riddle up to a whole new category of teasing he previously wasn't subject to (Ace asks you to blink twice if you need help during croquet with Riddle right there next to you lol)