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║The Orc Police Man║║━ Pt. 1 ━║

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Male Monster x Fem! Reader

Word count║24,235

The Devil May Lick Me Masterlist ━━━➤ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞

↳.·:*¨༺𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧༻¨*:·.

Photo Reference Cred ━━━➤ hexxart on X (Twitter)

Do not steal, copy, or repost anywhere. My work is currently on both CREAMPIE_CAPITAL on wattpad and Imtropicalbaby on Quotev. If posted on another account or website, please report and notify me immediately. Now onto the story :)

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"Whose that?"

Your fellow sergeant raises her head up to face your adjacent gaze for a second before returning her attention to the stack of paperwork and files in her arms. "That's Kraga. L.T. Rozak's thirteen-year-old daughter."

Coffee nearly spurted from your nose as you coughed, a tightness aching in your throat as you struggled to ease the ache. "No way! I didn' know he had a kid!" You lean against the wall with your side while crossing your ankles. "Didn' think that Orc could even reproduce. 'Always actin' like it dried up in his sacks-"

Auður smacked your arm with her packets while shaking her head. Nonetheless, even she couldn't hide that slight chuckle.

"So why is the Darlin' here? 'Get into a fight with some girls at school?" The sergeant's smile immediately descended at your questions before she swiftly cleared her throat.

You narrowed your eyes while swiveling the small wooden toothpick. "We've been over this."

The blond sighed and nodded. "I know, I know. Umm-" It was as if the woman couldn't find the right words. "Kraga beat up and stabbed a man who attempted..." Her voice lost strength, and her boxy shoulders tensed. "Ah, it's never easy when it's kids. Here's the report file that one of the interns was able to assemble."

Cautiously, you placed your coffee mug down and took the vanilla folder to open it to read the statement. You took in every word carefully, not missing out on anything.

Finally, after a few minutes, you glanced around the large room; it did not appear as if anyone would attend to her. She just sat there, eyes down and shoulders slumped while the other officers hustled about their day. "Does her daddy know 'bout this?"

Auður tilted her head side to side as if unsure. "He was notified 'bout the stabbin', but the other parts were not sent through the radio." She replies with the similar southern drawl you all share.

At that point, the conversation ended as you pushed off the wall to venture toward the vending machine and purchase a soda before sauntering over to the girl. Her gaze is cast down at her hand with steely grey eyes dancing over the plum bruises on her red-skinned knuckles.

Thick, mousy brown braids cascaded over her face, shielding a blank expression on her discolored and cut cheeks. She's quite tall for her age, her muscles more developed than a regular child, but as an Orc, she was growing just right.

Releasing a loud and heavy sigh, you descend into a seat beside the girl against the wall. Without looking, you stick out the cold drink in front of her head while glancing around the room.

You hear her scoff before pushing the drink away; however, you only place it by her face again.

"It's goin' to be a long night, darlin', and many of the other officers like this flavor too."

Kagra groans, the lament inflicted with aggravation or bitterness or probably both. She snatches it from your hands; carbonation fizzes inside before she snaps it open and takes a large swig.

With her head tilted back, you can see swarthy and bloody bruises on her throat, spread out like the remains of a fast-acting fire.

You don't say anything while shifting your attention to your co-workers. They're all going about their day, sitting at their desk reading over files, talking amongst one another, leaving for patrol, or returning from it.

"He's havin' an affair."

"...What?" The young orc questions and looks over at you, only for you to point toward one of the detectives who is speaking to the others.

"He's havin' an affair with his lady's own mother."

Kagra pretends to wretch while she squeals in disgust. "Gross! That is so gross!"

"I know, righ'?" You nudge her slightly with an elbow. "Now the mother's pregnant, and his wife is tryna get pregnant, and somehow, someone gave everyone chlamydia."

Laughter rains out of her lips as she sniffles and leans back to rest a discolored cheek against her equally bruised fist. "That's so messy. And his job is to solve crime and help other people?"

Shrugging, you laugh in your throat alongside her. "Some people can keep their professionalism up but nowhere near maintaining their personal lives. Like....~" You spin your finger around before finding the person you were looking for. "Her."

"What did she do?"

You fight a smirk off your lips before speaking. "The lieutenant acts all high and mighty, holier-than-thou, but it's like the pot callin' the kettle black. She's got five baby daddies, and her two eldest daughters are already teen mothers. And! Not to mention, her fourth ex-husband went to jail for stranglin' her second ex-husband over a parking spot."

"What!?" Kagra licks her busted lip while the corners lift the slightest. "She sure knows how to pick 'em."

Your body shifts in the seat while you shake your head. "Tell me 'bout it. I'm just waitin' for a call that somethin' happened to one of her four current boyfriends."

"No..." The young Orc tilts her head to look at you. "Four?"

"She's had seven at the same time at one point."

The air feels lighter, albeit barely, but there's a difference. She's actually breathing now.

"So..." You start, and she crinkles her nose before turning away. "I heard from a little blue birdy that your daddy's L.T. Rozak."

She immediately glances away, shielding her face with her hair like a cape while turning her knees away. It appeared as if she had not favored to speak anymore.

"I heard a story once 'bout him, somethin' private and somethin' so embarrassin' that he'd actually kill me to keep it secret." Now she seems interested, slightly cocking her head upwards. "Well, your daddy-"

"Sergeant (L/n)!" Your skeleton nearly jolts out of your skin at the booming voice that immediately silences the busy onslaught of the department.

Thunderous footsteps approach just as the man you were hoping to avoid approaches. His thick brows are furrowed to an extent that overpasses the usual deep knit.

Marmalade's orange eyes were too bright, like boiling lava, as he stared you down like some criminal. The corner of his lips stretched downwards almost dramatically with his pointed tusk baring at you.

You swallowed hard and gingerly rose to your feet. "...Lieutenant..."

The wide and expansive width of his chest could nearly bust open his uniform from how his breathing converted to something unnatural. And it wasn't until his overpowering height of 7'5 (226.06cm) that you hoped that the other officers would hover around in case you were about to get your** handed to you.

"Back away from my daughter." He ordered, and you did as he said, stepping aside with your hands up. Kagra's body is stiffer than a board while her nails burrowed into the flesh of your palms.

She won't look up and refuses to. The shame just oozes off her figure and nearly suffocates you.

"L.T. I think ya' should-" You're cut off with a harsh 'no,' one that immediately constricts your throat from within.

He freezes you in your spot and solidifies your entire being with one simple word. The authority, the administration of his power, taints the air and soils the inside of your lungs.

The Orc shifted his gaze to his daughter, who couldn't have looked any less embarrassed. "Get your a** up and-"

"L.T., listen!" You find your voice while everyone's attention shifts to your figure. "Yer' not on the case. I will handle this; it's in my unit."

Rashatir Rozak stared at you with an expression of disbelief at first, yet when your words were finally processed in his head, they shifted into something unfathomably furious. "No..." He stepped forward and lowered his head with his tusk bared once again. "You don't know what you're talking about! Not my daughter! Not my kid!"

You want to shy away from his anger that terrifies you. He's your superior, not human, and blinded by something unbelievable that no father would want to happen to their child.

But he's making a scene, and his daughter is already humiliated. This isn't what she needs right now.

"With all due respect-"

"Rozak, (L/n)!" A new voice joins in, one that you can immediately recognize. Your back straightened, your chest puffed out, and you twisted a lock of hair behind your ear.

Chief Hildsmar Cook, another orc and the highest authority here stepped forward with his burly arms crossed. "My office, now. Sergeant Auður, take Kagra to a private room."

Rozak swallowed strenuously, and you could tell he didn't want to move. His attention was directed back to his daughter, who refrained from meeting his eyes. One of his hands lifted slightly as if to reach out, but he dropped it quickly as though he could not bear to be seen show this vulnerability.

Nothing more was said before he pressed forward, bumping into your shoulder and nearly knocking you off your feet from the force. You had to bite into your bottom teeth to hold back all the petty little insults you've kept in for months.

He's never liked you; he's never liked any woman. It's as if he had a personal vendetta against the entire gender.

"Ya' know this is hard for him." The Chief's warm hand settled on the middle of your spine as he urged you towards his office.

You peer up, smiling lightly at his handsome face while nodding. "I know, Chief. Jus' make sure he doesn' righ' hook me, okay?"

He laughs, his chest rumbling with laughter while the two of you venture to the post. You feel your face warming, bubbling with heat. "Ya' know I couldn' let anythin' happen to ya'."

There's that pit in your stomach; there's that heavy sensation that makes you want to collapse to your knees. You know what he means: there is nothing behind it but platonic care.

But you cannot help the way it feeds a sense of false hope.

When the two of you arrive at the office, Rashatir is fidgeting. He's pacing back and forth, the ends of his lengthy long hair swishing over his rounded bum.

"L.T., I know that this is a difficult time, but I can assure ya', (Y/n) is the very best at this type of situation-"

"There is no situation!" The marmalade-eyed Orc snarls, thrusting his head in your direction.

You swallow thickly and feel all eyes on you through the glass wall. Clearing your throat, you shift around and close the blinds for a bit more privacy. "Please, L.T., listen. If this is hard for ya', imagine how difficult it is for her."

Rozak meets your gaze briefly before collapsing in one of the chairs by the Chief's desk. He covers his mouth with an open palm while one of his thick tree trunk legs jitters.

Sharing a look with Chief Cook, you respire a deep, heavy breath before stepping over with slow steps. "I read the report..." You begin, and he shakes his head as if he can't stand to be there for another moment. "Please listen to me." All your bias - your personal pettiness - simmers down below a line where you can lock it away.

The man barely able to sit down in front of you is hurting, feeling shame, regret, and guilt, and you can try your best to help him understand. One of your hands reaches forward to touch his fingers that are held tightly onto one of his knees for comfort.

He flinches, boxy shoulders tensing and tusk protruding even farther from his plump lips. "The babysitter's boyfriend never got the chance to r*pe her-" The Lieutenant attempts to pull away, but your light touch grips his fingers in a firm hold. "Ya' taught her well; she put up one helluva fight."

Raising his head, you are just slightly shorter than him standing up, but he looks you dead in the eyes. This is the closest you've ever been to him since he joined the department a few months ago. He was professional with everyone but never spared a woman a glance, never letting them look him in the eyes.

You don't know who hurt him, but they really did a number on him.

The Chief stepped forward and settled a hand on your shoulder, the weight of it resting all too gratifying. "Sergeant (L/n) will do her very best to assist your daughter with everything she needs." He states.

Rashatir bit his front teeth into his bottom lip while shifting his large head away. A vein on his temple appeared to throb with every beat of his heart. "I don't have the time-"

Your grip tightens on his fingers to cease any more of his words. "I'll do it." He blinks at you just as Cook removes his hand on your shoulder to gain your attention.

"(L/n), it's goin' to be a lot-"

"I said I'll do it because I know I can handle it." You interrupt the Chief and release the firm grip on the L.T.'s fingers. "I can take Kagra to meetin's or a therapist if you decide that is what she needs. And until you find a new babysitter or when she becomes comfortable again with the idea, she can come here, and I'll watch over her."

The two Orcs stared at your face with unreadable expressions in silence. You might have been overstepping, but you didn't join the department - create thatunit - for no reason.

"That will interrupt your work-" You stop the Chief with a raise of your hand. He releases a breath before venturing over to his desk and settling in his swivel chair. "If that is what ya' want, I have nothin' more to say. Rozak?"

At the sound of his name, the Lieutenant stood to his feet and stepped a few feet away from you while rubbing at his trimmed beard. After a minute of appearing to contemplate, he shifts an angle to face your figure. "This is my daughter that we're talking about here." He conveys more emotion than you've ever seen from him.

You nod. "Which is exactly why I'm takin' it seriously. Here, we help each other out no matter how much one pisses the other off." He narrows his eyes at your words, but you do not react negatively. "If you both will excuse me, I'm goin' to check in on Auður and Kagra."

Without sparing them a glance, you pivot around and leave the office.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

1 Year Later

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

A bag of chips is dropped on your desk, disrupting you from the myriad of thoughts running miles through your head. Glancing up, you're met with a wide grin on Kagra's lips.

"I assumed you haven't eaten anythin' since this morning." She states while settling down in a chair in front of your desk.

Glancing at the time on your computer, you see it is half past three. "Good guess." You murmur before dropping the pen on some documents and grasping the bag. "I thought you were going to the mall after school with...Esperal?"

The young Orc merely scrunched her nose at your words. She sits up to remove her school blazer and lifts her feet to rest on the chair beside herself. "I was, but she was bringing that annoying b*tch, Moony, and I didn't want to deal with her."

"Kagra." You warn and shake your chip bag. "No swearin' in a place your daddy can hear."

She sticks out her tongue and winks playfully with her steely grey eyes.

It's quite humorous that whenever you look at her, the girl could have been her father's twin if it were not for her red skin and misty eyes. They share the same wide nose, albeit his own is a little more crooked.

Their ears are shorter than the others but shift upwards to a point. Kagra's mousy brown hair is thick and, at times, unmanageable. It makes sense why her father shaved the sides of his head while maintaining that one long, thick ponytail with his traditional adornments.

It's a miracle she didn't obtain his snobbish and pharisaic personality. One Rashatir is enough; your head might explode if you had to deal with two.

"So..." Kagra's voice earns your eyes, meeting her gaze while she holds up a picture frame from your desk. "How come I haven't seen this guy around? You guys look pretty close and happy."

You swallow the bite in your mouth harshly. 'And happy.' It's been a while since you've thought about him. The picture was taken after your five-year anniversary of working together in the unit. You and the white-haired angel man were smiling so brightly, hugging each other's side during the celebratory party.

Neither one of you could have guessed what was going to transpire only a few days later.

"His name was Yael. We went to the police academy together and became partners when we applied for a position here at this department." You couldn't help but smile at the distant memories. "I don' think you could ever meet a man who equaled a puppy dog like him. He was all sunshine and rainbows."

The young teen noticed the solemness in your tone, but her inquisitiveness overruled her intuition. "What... What happened to him?"

You stared at Yael's face behind the glass, remembering his shining smile that never changed. Not even when he passed in your arms, that stupid smile soiled in blood that taunts you whenever you think of him.

"We had a call, Domestic Violence at a home near the Eu Clair Cul-de-Sac..." You're not hungry anymore, so you dump the rest of the chips in the trash. "The son said his father was threatening the mother. The father kept saying that he was going to kill his mama. We arrived as fast as we could, but we didn' expect that the man had his pals over."

It feels tight in your chest, unbearably tight as though those men were gripping your heart at this very moment. Death is not a release, nor is it freedom.

"I found the wife and son hidin' in the garage. She was all busted up, bleeding everywhere while hiding her son's face in her chest. Yael went to detain the husband and managed to disarm the gun from his hand, but when he handcuffed the guy, his friends shot Yael from behind."

"Oh..." Kagra's voice is soft, unsure of how loud to be. "I didn't...I didn't know."

You attempt to give her a reassuring smile while reaching for the picture frame. She gives it up without a fight as you set it back down on your desk. "It's alrigh'. It was a few years ago, and I work towards honorin' him every day."

The teen tilted her head, the tight ponytail at the top swaying over her shoulders. "Did you love him?" She questions while the hustle and bustle continue around your desk.

Her words compel a smile, one of peace and amity. It's comical as well, almost like deja vu. You've been asked those questions a thousand times, and you always answer the same way.

"I loved him. I loved him like a best friend. I loved him like a brother. I loved him like a partner. But anythin' else wasn' righ'. And gettin' another partner wasn' righ' either. It's why I no longer make calls or go out on patrol. I do fine operatin' the unit here."

Kagra glances behind herself, looking at something you can't make out or see from your spot. Her fingers fiddle together uneasily before turning around to face you after a moment. "Is there someone you love now? More than just platonic?"

You narrow your eyes at her and consider what to say. She's just as much a gossiper as you. And just like you, she can't keep a secret at the worst of times.

"'M so not tellin' ya'~!"

The young Orc perks up in her seat and points at you. "You so do! Who is it!? Come on! Tell me! Tell me, please!" She begs you over and over again. "I won't tell anyone!"

"No!" You laugh while leaning forward to flick her forehead. "Yer' such a blabbermouth that the minute I tell ya,' this entire department is gonna know."

Kagra pouts in her seat while rubbing the sore area. "Meanie." She whispers, and you ignore it with a small grin.

Dusting off your fingers, you return to your paperwork and pick up your pen that was forgotten.

It's silent in your area before you hear her shuffling through her bag and taking out her homework to complete.

And then she speaks. "It's my dad, isn't it?"

You've never heard anything more hilarious than that. Immediately, you break into a bout of laughter that earns you an unamused countenance. "Bahaha! Kagra, please!" Tears are welling in your eyes as you attempt to wipe them so as not to ruin your mascara discreetly. "Yer' daddy despises the entire female population and brushes off any advances. And besides, he's not my type, and I'm not a fan of big grumps like him anyway."

The young Orc frowns at your words and slumps in her seat. "Well, I think you and my dad would be good together." She muttered beneath her breath, yet you still heard.

As if embarrassed, she refused to meet your gaze and focused it on the mathematics homework on her lap. Why did she suddenly look like a kicked puppy on the side of the road?

"Kagra..." She hums in response but does not look up, so you stand to your feet and waltz around your desk to lean against it in front of her. "I like ya' a lot, Kagra. But I do not need to be with your father to care for you. I'll always have yer' back."

All she replies with is a quiet 'I know.' You release a sigh, expelling air out of your chest with a deep respire. It's interesting how close you've become with her, like a friend and mentor who tell each other everything. "You cannot tell anyone this, or I swear I'll stop takin' you to the spa without your daddy's knowledge."

Instantly, she nods her head; her attention is swiftly diverted from her homework to your face. "Cross my heart and hope to die~." She replies in a sing-song voice.

Your bottom lip quivers before producing a faux cough and glancing away. "'M in love with a man I cannot have." Her steely grey eyes blow wide as plates. "'Been in love with a man so far out of my grasp that it is hilariously pathetic that I even have hope." You drift your gaze to your hands that hold the edge of your desk. "I want to stop that love; I need that love to go away. Because I'd rather be loveless than to be hopelessly pinin' from the background."

"Woah," Kagra utters with a wheeze. "That's so sad." She suddenly sits up straighter while leaning forward as if muttering a secret. "You know, if you need to get over that guy, my dad can-"

Without letting her finish, you place a hand over her mouth while waving a finger. "That's enough, my little Chickadee. You've got homework to do, and I have papers to file."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Rashatir Rozak leans back against the wall in the common room. His ankles are crossed while he rests his arms over his chest, a scalding cup of coffee hovering by his lips.

Those marmalade eyes rest on yours and his daughter's figure, watching from afar quietly through the glass walls. He sees his daughter pout, laugh, and smile at you while you mimic the same reactions.

Over the past year, you and Kagra have grown close to one another. There's this comfortable and amiable space between the two of you. It's a bubble he cannot enter, one where he is not welcomed.

He should be grateful; this whole thing couldn't have been any more convenient. His child is right here, in one of the safest places in the city, with you watching over her. Not to mention, somehow, you were able to make his closed-off, easily irritable daughter open up and manage her anger issues.

There are just some things that girls don't want to tell their fathers, but with you, Kagra opens up like a flower that was under just the right conditions. Was it your smile, a grin that emulates the sun on its brightest day? Was it your words that were sweet, like honey, and nourishing, like nectar?

You were only supposed to take her to her meetings and appointments to file the case, yet this circumstance has continued for far longer than he anticipated. Kagra has mentioned multiple times that she has no desire to stay home with another babysitter. Nor have you complained about watching over her for these months when he cannot.

Your arms open like a gate to the safest space where Kagra can enter, and all her worries wash from her like a graceful cleanse. What did you do to change his child so drastically? What have you done that reverts back all the teachings of their clan?

"Hey, afternoon lieutenant." A few other policemen greet him as they enter the common room to prance over to their fancy coffee machine. Rozak nods in acknowledgment and shifts his attention to the clock on the wall.

"Surprised it was such a slow day for a Friday." An angel conveys while spooning an awful amount of sugar into his cup.

One of the humans laughs in his throat while collapsing on the couch near the TV. "Yeah, jus' wait 'till tonight. That's when all the wolves like to play." A growl reverberates in the area, prompting the group to laugh at the one beast-man's in the room. "I don' mean you, of course."

The hickory-haired wolf beastman scrunched his buttoned nose and settled on a swivel chair. "You rac*st." He jokes, which spurs the human to laugh boisterously.

Rozak inhales a deep breath from the small commotion. Since this morning, his control over his own vexation has been tangled and tautened. Everything has just been more irritating than usual and isn't sure if it's because of work or you.

"Kagra really likes her, huh?" The L.T.'s gaze shifted over to the Fae adjacent to him, who stirred a thin straw in his steaming cup of coffee.

Everyone's attention is redirected through the glass walls over to your desk. Both of you and Kagra's heads were thrown back, laughter reigning from your lips that produced a genuine smile.

"I suppose," Rozak replies, voice mellow and unfluctuating.

Typhon, the angel, snorts while raising his drink. "Don' act like that, L.T. No one can resist Sergeant (L/n)'s charm." He jokes, which rouses a round of short laughter.

"Nah, he's jus' jealous his little girl prefers someone else." The Fae Balam teases lightly.

The vein on Rashatir's forehead throbs and protrudes against the skin as his grip on his mug tightens discreetly.

Abruptly, Naberius, the beast-man, slumps in his swivel chair and spins in his spot. "She'd make such a good mother to my pups, but she won't go out with me!" He whines while his lengthy tail beats against the seat with bitterness.

The Orc raised his gaze, burning orange eyes zoning in on the pout atop the beast-man's lips. You're busy watching his daughter; you don't need any distraction from these fools.

The human named Aegir snorted as he switched the channel to the TV. "Take the hint, you twat. The Sergeant doesn't date, especially not a 'commoner' like you."

"Hey!" Naberius snarled and ceased his spinning to sit straight up. "I make close to six figures a year. It's not my fault she's from generational wealth."

Now, this catches the L.T.'s attention, earning his full awareness as he faces the group. "Generational wealth?" He questions, which have some of the men jolting from his authoritative voice.

Typhon glances back at your figure while speaking. "Ah, you wouldn' know since you were only transferred a little over a year ago. But here, deep in the south where sushi is still called bait, the (L/n) name probably owns over half the city and then some. Since the first big move from the east, the family has dug their roots here."

"They got money." Aegir stresses the word 'money' with a bit of bitterness. "Sh*ttin' in cotton. Though, I bet she wishes her name was just a name after that occurrence."

Suddenly, a heavy poundage fills the room, and a tension so thick it is like vicious slime weighs on their shoulders. Rozak swallowed, but his throat constricted with unconscious plight.

Balam scrunched his nose at his coffee as if it disgusted him and pushed it aside at the table he sat at. Typhon basically simulated the other's action and tangled his fingers within the curls of his bleach hair.

He wanted to ask, wanted to open his mouth, and questioned them all, but the look on all their faces was just marred with discomfort.

"I can see that you've got questions." Aegir comments while pausing the TV to face his superior. "It's really not our place to say anything, but you can find out just as easily as looking it up online."

Naberius kicked the back of the couch while scowling. "Dude, are you really gonna tell him? It's none of his business."

If Rozak's mug were not full of scalding hot coffee, he would have crushed it in his massive hand and let the glass cut into his skin from this evergrowing irritation. "It is my business when (L/n) watches over my daughter."

The beast-man scowls while thrusting his head back. "Yeah, and she shouldn't be. It's been a year now, and you can't find a babysitter?" He whines with a voice intermingled with hot red covetousness.

Silence in the common room, heavy and thick, as Rashatir pushed off the wall to step towards the green-eyed male. "Keep talking like a b*tch, and I'll make you one." The sudden hostility hit the others like a smack to the face.

Sure, Rashatir was a man of few words and rarely lost his temper, but it doesn't take much to be reminded why the Orc holds such an esteemed title. Or why some of the most diabolical men have put money on his head to take out.

"Hey, y'all." At the sound of your voice, the men in the common room all straighten their backs as if they were zapped. Their heads flung in the direction of the doorway as you stood there with an arm around Kagra's shoulder. "I'm takin' Chickadee out to pick up some supper. S'that alright with ya', L.T.?"

The Orc glanced at his daughter, who held her hands to her chest as if praying while mouthing the word 'please~.' He wanted to say no and to just sit both your a**es down until he's finished, but he knew that smile his child rarely showed him would diminish into her usual scowl.

Why was it so easy for her to move on and replace...

Rashatir scrunched his nose and turned away while flicking his hand in a 'go away' manner. "Go. Don't take your time. And don't forget she's allergic-"

"To shellfish." You finish while saluting playfully, mockingly. "I know, L.T. I haven' been feedin' Kagra for as long as I have if I didn' know. We'll bring ya' back something. See ya'."

With a wink, you shuffle his kid out of the doorway while spinning your keys on the tip of your finger. He listens to the sound of that familiar jingle before respiring heavily and pivoting around to place his half-full mug in the sink.

Neberius whined and stomped his feet on the tiled flooring. "She'd make such a good mother if she just let me take her out!" He lamented like a pouty little child. "At the next celebratory party, I'll make sure she says yes. She can't say no when it involves the bakery by Saint. Adams Street."

Before anyone else could reply, a haughty chuckle gained all of their attention. Their eyes grew wide, and their lips fell agape as the Orc shifted around to face them.

Rozak moistened his bottom lip with an infrequent contemptuous smirk. "I'd say good luck, but you're just not her type." He remarks and leaves without allowing anyone to ask him what he means.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

A Few Days Later

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Your fist knocks on the metal frame of the doorway, gaining the Chief's attention from his computer.

Cook removed his reading glasses to swipe his tired cerulean eyes before speaking. "(L/n)? What is ya' still doin' here, Doll? S'late." His southern drawl is heavy, slurred on by his exhaustion.

You merely shrug your shoulders while leaning against the doorframe. "Got caught up in a case. But I could say the same for ya'. Dont'cha got a wife at home waitin'?"

He sighs, his broad chest expanding as he slouched back in his swivel chair. His sea-green fingers rose to swipe over his mustache with thought. "That old hellcat, don' wait for me no'more." His words feel tight, like they are spoken from a heavy place in his gut.

"I thought ya' said yer' gonna put more effort into yer' marriage?" You shake your head with a disappointed countenance. "I never took ya' for a liar, Chief. Did ya' momma even raise you, righ'?"

Hildsmar Cook laughed outwardly, his lips stretching into a wide grin with his incisors tickling his upper lip. "Talk all ya' want, Doll. You know that old hag was drunk before noon. Didn' do much raisin' when she couldn' even stand."

Raising a brow, you stepped forward until you reached his desk and leaned forward on it. "So why fall in the steps of yer' old man and do the same to 'yer Hellcat? I thought you were tryin' to save yer' marriage."

His blue eyes meet your gaze as he sits in silence. There's only the quiet muffle of the TV from the common room and the footsteps of the second shift officers getting ready for a shift change.

"I've got work-"

"That I can finish." You interject and reach forward to tap the stack of packets by his keyboard. "Go home, Hilds. Go home to yer' wife and apologize. Show her that ya' still care, that yer' still puttin' effort."

Hildsmar shook his head playfully while a grin made its way to his plump lips. You swallowed thickly at that smile and inhaled a shaky breath as if you couldn't breathe.

Thankfully, the Orc hadn't noticed and roused from his seat, squeaking slightly from his large, muscled body. "Ya' sound jus' like my marriage counselor."

"And I'm givin' it for free! I'd charge ya', but my rates run high." You jest, which yields laughter from the both of you.

While he shifted on his police jacket, you dragged over the thick packets to carry them in your arms like a babe.

Before you can strut out, the Orc's voice stops you in place. "Yer' sure 'bout this? Yer' been here since early this mornin'?"

You raise your head and stare at him. His face, eyes, lips...he looks at you with worry, and you wish he didn't.

He's not yours, never was, and never will be. You need to let it go; let him go. This man is a love lost that was a battle set to fail from the very start.

"Yeah." You express with a wheezy breath before clearing your throat. "G'night, Hilds."

And as you pass the doorway, you hear a faint, "G'night, Doll."

Sometimes, you wish he had just left you to die.

The soft sunset yellow light of your lamp illuminates your desk space. It's slightly cluttered, some of your knick-knacks decorating the large desk, but you haven't changed it in years.

Yael's frame is still face down, so you settle in your seat to fix it by your other pictures. His is right next to one of your newest editions. A printed picture of you and Kagra while out at a concert.

The memory spurs a smile. It took forever for Rozak to let you all go. He had work that night and had an early shift the next morning, so he couldn't go and refused to let his daughter go alone. Even when you offered to take her and her friends, he was still adamant about his answer.

It took weeks of the silent treatment from Kagra and your annoying pleas for him to agree. So worth it, though, because the young Orc had the night of her life. And you know Rozak was glad he let her go because she thanked him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Her relationship with her father had been rocky for months, but it's slowly healing, and they're both 'working' towards communicating better.

But it was difficult when they were raised to express their emotions with fists, not words.

A sigh echoes from your lips as you lean back in your seat. It's pretty empty this late in the station. Most of the third-shift officers are out on patrol or secretly napping in the supply closets.

This silence and emptiness isn't unusual yet even so, you find comfort in this place rather than your home.

Without looking, one of your hands reached towards a rolling compartment next to your chair and dug into it to pull out a pack of cigarettes. It's still full, and you pull out the same stick marked with past stains from your lipstick.

You're merely holding it loosely between your fingers, mimicking the actions of holding it. You pretend to smell the nicotine and tobacco; you pretend that the ends burn in smoldering embers.

In languid movements, you lean back in your seat so your face points toward the ceiling. There's a slight ringing in your ears, yet you ignore it to bring the cigarette to your lips. They wrap around the tan butt while you hollow your cheeks and inhale.

The burn used to be so numbing.

This was your favorite time, a serene quietness where, for a moment, time stands still. Everything waits; everything stands in a pit of nothingness.

It's quiet, it's serene, it's your time.

"What are you still doing here?"

And it's disrupted by that fool.

"Workin'. Don't'cha got eyes?" You retort while shifting your attention to the approaching hunter, a green-skinned Orc.

He scrunched his crooked nose and scowled. "Annoying b*tch." He mutters under his breath, and you pretend not to hear him because you've had enough of him for one day. "Since when did you smoke? You don't do that around Kagra-"

"No! Gosh, no, I don't do that around her." You pull the stick away to show him that it was not lit. "I used to smoke, but I quit. 'Been sober for a few years, but I jus' mimic the action when I get stressed." Then your fingers show him the butt end where dried gloss and lipstick marred the tan end. "I've got papers to finish, but what ya' doin' here? Yer shift ended hours ago."

Rashatir respired at your words and rolled his bulky shoulders "The armory called and said something was wrong with locks. They're malfunctioning or inoperable or whatever."

You blink slowly before clearing your throat and resuming your regular hold on the stick. "Didn't we have 'em change jus' last week?"

The Lieutenant nods in response. "Yeah. That's why Sergeant Roead's called me back to check on 'em.'" He replies. Those burning marmalade eyes of his drift to the packets on your desk. "Thought you were done already?"

Nodding, you return your attention back to your computer. "I was. Took over some of Chief's so he could go home to his Hellcat."

"Hellcat?"

You fight a smile while glancing at him from the corner of your eyes. "What we call his wife. Old hag is designated for his momma."

Rashatir refrains from any speech as he stares at you in silence. It makes your skin itch, the epidermal layer nearly burning like fire ants crawl all over.

It's distracted; it's infuriated. You can only pretend to get work done while his gaze roams your figure in stillness.

What the h*ll does he want? He's always looking at you as if you killed his dog.

"You should just stop. It's pathetic."

Blood runs cold through your veins, nearly freezing over and solidifying your entire being in an instant. You almost don't look at him; you almost throw up, you almost keen over from a sudden wave of vertigo.

He couldn't know.

"I don' know what yer-"

He interrupts you while stepping around your desk to stand almost right next to you. He's even more towring from your seated position. "Guess even a woman like you can be a homewrecker."

Your nails burrow into the tender flesh of your palms as you turn to face him with jerking movements. He's refraining from looking at you, just staring ahead as he leans to sit on the edge of your desk.

"You don' know me." It seethes from your lips, hissed like poison, burning like venom.

Rozak nods, the ends of his single but thick braid dragging against your wooden desk. "No. No, I don't, but I know your type and married men shouldn't be it." He says exactly what you tell yourself over and over again.

But you can't help it. The Chief was the one who saved you; he was the one to take you in his arms and tell you it would be alright after what had been done to you.

You cannot control who you love, nor can you stop it when you know it's morally wrong. It's wrong, It's wrong, god(s), it's so wrong.

If you could, you'd stop it this instant. But this feeling has to go away on its own. No matter how many times you tell yourself the same things over and over again.

"Well, if you looked a lil' farther over your fat tits, ya' could see that I never infringe any boundaries. I know my place, and I know not to overstep."

Some laughter erupts in his throat as his head shifts down to look at you. The dim glimmer of light from your computer bounces on his inhuman skin, highlighting the contours of his face and brightening his homely eyes.

"Then get over yourself. Get over him." He conveys with a voice so soft you nearly thought some other creature possessed him. "Anyway, I can't take Kagra to school tomorrow morning. Can you take her?"

"Yeah..." You clear your throat, which burns tightly on the inside. It constricts, holding a sob within the slick muscles of your esophagus. "Of course, I'll pick her up. I got her."

The desk creaks as the 7'5 (226.06cm) Orc stands to his feet. You refuse to look at him at this moment, keeping your gaze focused on the unfilled document on your screen while the unlit cigarette sags between your fingers.

But his bright, homely eyes caress the side of your face like a physical touch as he looks at you. It's the most soothing comfort he has ever granted you, and you wish he didn't.

He needs to take a step back, a step away.

And he does, his beefy body shifting out to head towards the armory, but before he does, he halts with his back facing your way. "Next time, focus on yourself and just go home...Night."

Once again, you're left alone in that area, surrounded by silence and a lack of life at the very late time of night.

That was the first conversation you've ever had with him where you both weren't hurling insults at each other the whole time.

But what he says is true, and you hate that it was him, of all people, telling you this.

A**hole.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

One Week Later

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Your seat is empty; your desk is immaculate, with not a thing out of place. The lamp always gleaming that sunset glow on half your face is off, and so is your computer. Its faint hum is nonexistent, and there is no sign of your presence.

You didn't miss work; you haven't missed a single day without reason since Rashatir Rozak transferred to this department. Missing work was like breaking the law for you.

So this...this empty space, this dark screen, wasn't right.

Where had you gone?

"Hey! What you up to sport?" Aegir, the human, greets the Orc daughter as he steps into the common room.

Kagra glanced up from her textbook to wave at the man who crumpled on the sofa. "Hey, Corporal. Slackin' off of work again?" She jokes, which earned her father's gaze.

His eyes shifted away from your desk through the glass walls to his daughter across from him at the table. She sounded just like you.

She sounded just like you.

The mahogany-eyed human winked as he glanced back at her. "Awe shucks. Don' tell Chief, and I'll get ya' some pop tarts."

Kagra's steely grey eyes sparkle at the mention of her favorite treat. "Deal!"

"Do not bribe my daughter." Rashatir reprimands while he reaches for his mug of cooled coffee. His attention returns to the plan of action for the sergeants, frontline officers, and detectives on the table.

"Sergeant (L/n) bribes her all the time." The Corporal grumbled, which spurred the Orc to roll his eyes.

You won't listen to a thing he tells you; reprimanding you was just pointless and a waste of his time.

"Speaking of (Y/n)..." His daughter enunciates while shifting to spin on the stool to face the human. "Where is she today? I haven't heard a word from her, and she hasn't been returning my text."

Aegir parted his lips to reply, but a certain beast-man and Fae barged in to silence him. "Hey, man! You busy?" Balam questioned; however, he hadn't waited for the human to reply and was already hauling him to his feet.

"Gotta go!" Neberius shouts; however, all three are frozen place when Rozak commands them to stay.

They are all his subordinates and can barely ignore any orders that come from the booming voice of the Lieutenant.

"I think it's about time you all stop dancing around the point and be upfront." He expresses while crossing his arms over his wide chest.

The three corporals glance at each other, silently communicating with each other for a few moments before glancing over at his daughter. "Well, we don' think Kagra should be here to listen." Aegir mutters, earning him an expressive 'huh!' from the teen Orc.

"This is adult stuff, sport, and we don't think Sergeant (L/n) wants you to see her in that way. She's worked very hard to get to where she is now." Balam retorts with the hope that he can sway the girl.

But just like her own father, she's as stubborn as a mule and stays in place. "I can just look it up."

"No, don't!" Neberius shouts abruptly, startling the men beside him. He swallows thickly at the drawn attention and rubs at the nape of his neck. "Ah, crap. I don't think we can tell 'em no."

Sharing one more glance, the three settle down on some of the rolling chairs as though the weight of the truth is too much to handle.

Is it too much to bear?

"Sergeant (L/n)..." Aegir begins and respires heavily while he finds the right words. "She was the youngest and only daughter of (L/n) family. They come from wealth, born in wealth; they're filthy rich. And some people will do the worse kind of sin to obtain it."

Balam swipes a hand over his mouth before speaking. "She was only fifteen when she was kidnapped from her equestrian practice. A group of changelings kidnapped her and ransomed her off for millions of dollars. They said they were keeping her safe, that she was cooperating nicely."

A sneer forms on Neberius's lips, one wicked and cold where his fangs grew and protruded past his lips. "They did things to her... Dammit! I can't even say it." Balam rubbed a soothing hand on his friend's back as he attempted to catch his breath. "For five days, they did the unspeakable to her until the money was sent. But they got greedy, too greedy."

"They wanted more money, more time, more everything." The Fae continued. "Since they already had an heir, they decided the best way to get everything was to make it to where the heir they had was the only remaining one left. So they killed them...slaughtered her parents in cold blood, murdered her two brothers with torture."

Aegir's mahogany eyes glossed over before he blinked them away. "They made her watch, made them watch her...They almost got away with it, too, if it wasn't for Chief Cook. He was just a detective then, but he put all the clues together just in time to lead a raid."

"It's why they're like best friends. He was her savior, the first one to open the latch to that basement and pull her out of the darkness. His hands were the first ones to touch her with comfort, not pain." Neberius glanced over at your empty desk. "It's why she joined the force after graduating high school. A way to repay back the department for rescuing her, and creating a unit for people who have suffered like her."

It's silent in the common room, muted and hushed because not one person in that room could find the will to speak. The topic is heavy and dark, yet less intrusive than what the original case and reports say online.

But that makes it no less severe than what the three corporals inform the Rozak's with.

"I..." Kagra's voice is a meek whisper, easily swallowed by the distant sounds of the other officers in the department. "Oh, wow. I didn't know."

The human waved his wanted hand while clearing his throat with a guttural cough. "I don' think she wanted you to know. When people know and recognize her, they all give her the same pitiful look. They don't see Sergeant (L/n); they see a weak girl who was assaulted with no living kin. They don't see her hard work and accomplishments; they see someone desperately clinging to a false sense of security."

"And then with what happened with Sergeant Yael, all eyes were on her again." The short, hickory-haired beast-man bounced his leg while his fluffy tail fidgeted. "Some people sympathized with her losing her partner, and others blamed her for not clearing the house. She just couldn't win."

Silence again, heavy, cold, and ever so drowning, until the Fae stood to his feet to venture towards the coffee machine. "You know what, though? I don't think I've ever seen her so happy and relaxed until she started watching over you, Kagra. She's got a lot of love to give and no one to give it to."

For the first time ever, Rashatir stood to his feet, completely disregarding his plans on the table. "Where is she," He demanded.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

The sky is the clearest canvas, with the widest tarpaulin that stretches for miles. As the sun set, artist grazed their brushes across the clearing. Each stroke creates an image of life, a notion of peace, a portrayal of gradient colors that kissed and touched with every second that the sun lowered behind the horizon.

The sky is the most delicate painting, with a touch only a god could grace it with. As the wind picked up the pace, growing in strength, the cool breeze built to something stronger, and its caress became more personal. The grazes of its fingertips imitated a mother's hold, one where it could protect you from all the evil in the world.

Shielding your eyes behind heavy lids, you can only imagine a maternal life. Protecting your ears, you can only hear the rhythmic thump of her beating heart.

Footsteps approach, crunching grass and rotting leaves have you part your eyes that held faraway recollections.

The sky is dark now, nothing but splotches of heavy paint that obscure vivid stars of remote yearning.

"Thought you could use some company," Kagra murmured while stepping around the decorative tombstone to stand in front of your sitting figure.

You want to dismiss them, yearning for a moment alone. But you're always alone, so maybe just this once, you should let them in.

Just this once.

"It was Aegir, wasn' it? Him and that damn blabbermouth." You quip with a small grin, but the sides pulling up were raised by a hefty hand of solemness.

Kagra squatted in front of you and rested her chin against her fist. "To be fair, my father kind of threatened the Corporals to tell us what was up." She replied, and Rashatir coughed harshly at his mention from behind.

You stare at her face, observing her wonder-like countenance. Over the past year, this child has become important to you. Maybe you projected a bit of yourself on her with an unyielding urge to protect her from immorality.

Maybe you just wanted to make sure she didn't become like you.

"It's gettin' late. Would ya' two like to come over for supper?" You question while rising to your feet and dusting off the blades of grass sticking to your skirt. "And don' 'tempt to say no. Ya' owe me after diggin' into my personal life."

The teen Orc smiled at you sheepishly before glancing at her father. His lips were pursed curtly, but once you shifted to turn and meet his eyes, he sighed as if he had lost a battle in an instant. "We can only stay for an hour." He remarks, which was just enough for his daughter.

"Alrigh' then, follow after my auto. S'not too far from here."

In an acquiesced silence, the three of you trekked back toward the parking lot before entering your vehicles. The Rozaks followed your expensive luxury auto in their trusty truck, not too close but just far enough.

When they arrived at a pair of gates, they could see a manor past a large fountain in the distance. Kagra stared with wide, steely grey eyes, mesmerized as her father murmured, 'generation wealth' under his breath.

Your vehicle comes to a slow stop by the front, where cut, stoned tiles lead up to a set of stairs. The backlights of your car turn off as you step out and lock it with an alarm.

Rashatir and Kagra follow behind, stepping out where a cool breeze mellows out the heat of the south.

"This here been in the family fer' generations." You comment absentmindedly, the small kitten heels of your shoes tapping against the stairs as you rise. "An antebellum mansion, big house fer' jus' one person too."

The Rozaks share a look for a moment; however, they refrain from speaking. Upon entering the front door, they're greeted by a servant in the foyer beneath a glossy, expansive chandelier. It feels a bit dated yet no less exquisite.

"Afternoon' Ma'am." An older man greeted them with peppered slicked hair and a lengthy but styled mustache. "Company fer' supper?" He questions, which attains him a nod from you.

He smiles and bows before venturing down a hall to the left, where muted speaking can be heard. You pivot around on your heels and clasp your fingers together.

"How 'bout a brief tour?" Your offer isn't a command, yet the two feel compelled to agree with a nod of their heads.

A small smile marks your lips, one afflicted with both a solemn ache and gratitude. With a wave of your hand, you begin leading the father and daughter through the manor. You point out a multitude of rooms: the tea room, the sunroom, the downstairs waiting room, the first living room, the powder room, the multiple bathrooms, etc.

Everything is spotless and dusted to perfection, with not a speck of neglect anywhere in sight. Yet even immaculate and cared for, it isn't difficult to notice how the walls creek with seclusion and the furniture groan with solitude.

No one other than the servants enters these rooms and only executes their duties to ensure nothing accumulates with ruin.

Is that why you're seen at the department as if it is your own home? Is this why you will drop anything when Kagra needs something or needs to go somewhere?

How can you stay in this home full of memories cold like a grave?

"Supper's prepared." The butler from earlier states from down the hall and receives a nod from his master.

You lead them towards the dining room, where the tablecloth reeks of obscene coffers. Another lavish chandelier lightens up the room from above as a clouded moon dulls from wide windows along the wall.

Your body moves nearly on autopilot as you settle at the head of the table, a glass of lemonade already prepared by the dish. "Kagra yer' plate s'here." You point to your right, and the two take their seats without a word.

Then, the three of you begin eating the food prepared in a decorative cutlery. Your expression is impassive; they can't pinpoint a single emotion on your face.

It feels wrong; it feels improper, as though someone else stole your skin and wore it before them. You smile and laugh, you snicker and make the most dramatic expressions while never shutting the f*ck up.

Who is this person that sits in front of them with eyes dark and resolute, devoid of a single glimmer of life?

"I got an A on my history report." Kagra suddenly pipes up after swallowing her bite. "I forgot to tell you that."

Your head lifts slightly, and for a second, they can see a flash of exuberance. "Great. I told yer' that the trip to the museum would do yer' good." You respond while reaching for the dainty stem of your glass.

The teen smiles, her tusk tickling her upper lip as she reaches over to poke your arm. "Yeah, yeah. I'd probably be failing all my classes if it weren't for you. Thank you for being there for me through everything."

Both you and Rashatir sat stagnant, frozen by her simple words. You are not a stranger; you are not just someone keeping Kagra out of trouble. You've become a large part of her life; you've become something valuable, someone unforgettable.

With the absence of her mother and the scarcity of time from her father always working, your presence was that figure to raise her right.

For a second, they think you choked, but it was just you laughing audibly with your lips wide apart and your eyes squinted tightly.

"I should be thankin' ya, Chickadee!"

No one needed to ask what you had meant.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

One Month Later

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Kagra blended into the usual chaos of the department and sat on a seat in the hall as she peered through the open blinds of her father's office.

Her breathing was slowed and restricted as if any sound of her breathing would disrupt the scene in front of her.

It only took over a year for you and her father to speak cordially with one another. Perhaps knowing your secretive past or the consecutive dinners they've been having at your manor every Wednesday melted a frozen wall kept between the two of you.

But it's happening; you both are speaking to each other of your own free will without a purpose. She smiled to herself, watching as you leaned back against his desk, arms crossed beneath your bust as you laughed at something.

Rashatir rolled his eyes and responded while leaning back in his swivel chair. His attention was solely on your face, nobody but you taking up his full attention. The files in front of him have been long forgotten just as his computer went to sleep from the neglect.

The red-skinned Orc cannot hear what is being spoken, and part of her yearns that her father will stop being a wuss and ask you out already. Come on, why can't he see that you're perfect for him, for them?

"Is that someone spying, I see?"

Kagra's skeleton nearly launched from her skin as she whipped around and shifted to face the speaker of that voice. Thankfully, only Sergeant Auður stood there with a knowing smirk.

"Watchin' to see if ya' pops makes a move, huh?" While settling down in a seat beside the Orc, the blonde sought to participate in the little 'surveyance' as well.

"You're just as nosey as me, and you know it." They shared a wink. "Like, come on, though. She's single and hasn't shown any interest in anyone else. I think she really likes him."

Auður blew air out from her nose as she leaned back to cross one leg over the other. "Even if yer' pops did ask her out, I doubt she'd accept. (Y/n) doesn't..." The human huffed and closed her eyes as if unsure how to finish her sentence. "I don' think she believes she deserves someone like that in her life. Sometimes, no matter how much time passes, the trauma just doesn't go away."

The two share a look; no words are needed to understand the implication of what she meant. Abruptly, Chief Cook appeared from down the other hall and strolled up to Rashatir's office to knock his knuckles on the metal frame.

Quickly, the conversation you and the Orc were sharing was silenced into nothing as your superior drew your attention.

"What the hell does he want?" Kagra muttered while narrowing her steely grey eyes.

Sergeant Auður pursed her pink lips curtly while leaning forward with the same suspicious expression. "I don't know, but I swear that any time (Y/n) and L.T. are talkin', he's got some task for her to do."

They turned to face each other and nodded before peering through the blinds once again.

They're unable to hear the words spoken, but Rashatir narrows his gaze while turning away with his arms crossed over his chest. You appeared worried, with your brows knitted together and a deep frown etched on your lips.

Your head tilts back to face her father, but he doesn't even glance your way, so you get up without another word to follow after the Chief.

Rashatir scrunched his crooked nose, his right eye twitching slightly before he leaned back to tilt his head upwards and cover his face with his hands.

"Good luck, kid." Sergeant Auður offered with a pat on the back of Kagra's head before getting up to complete her duties.

The teen waited a few moments before standing to her feet and striding towards the office. She knocks but enters without waiting for a response.

"Kagra?" Her father sought; however, she didn't respond as she shut the door and spun around to face him.

"So when are you going to ask (Y/n) out?"

Rashatir removed his hands in an instant to meet his daughter's gaze. They shared a look until he scoffed and turned back on his computer. "That is not something that concerns you." He replied, earning himself a childish stomp of his kid's foot.

"Of course it does! Come on, dad! She already acts like a mom to me-"

Abruptly, her father launched to his feet to slam his hands on his desk. The commotion created tremors below their feet, nearly shaking the glass that began to attract attention. "You already have a mother!"

There's a burn in Kagra's eyes, a tight constriction in her throat, and swarthy coils in her stomach. They stared at one another in a moment of silence until she stepped forward with strong strides. "That woman left you, left us! She didn't want to be a mother, and that's fine by me because she never acted like one, and you know it!"

Rashatir's jaw clenched as the vein on his temple began to twitch. They rarely spoke of her, both acting as though she had died because, in truth, it felt like it.

"You don't know anything." The man sneered and lifted his body to stand at his full height. "She raised you like she should have, like how we do in the clan."

Without a single thought, Kagra kicked a chair in front of her, knocking it into the front of the desk and falling over. "F*ck the clan! We're not part of them anymore, and we don't need them. All I have ever wanted was just for someone to care!" A tear sheds from her lacquered eyes to cascade down heated red cheeks.

"Kagra!" Her father called out, yet enough is enough, and the girl slammed open the door to exit without even a glance back.

L.T. Rozak scoffed and shook his head. His own blood ran hot, and with the interruption of your conversation and this backtalk from his own daughter, he was too close to losing his sh*t.

He was in his workplace; he needed to remain professional, but for just a second, he wished to land his fist against something.

Life is complicated; he didn't need any more of this.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Three weeks Later

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"So..." You drew out the word, the tips of your fingers tapping against the wheel of your car. You're right in the middle of traffic, stuck in the same spot for minutes on end. "Ready to talk 'bout it?"

Kagra refrains from speaking, just shrugging her shoulders while leaning against the door on the passenger side.

Sighing, you shift in your spot while licking your lip. A few weeks ago, you heard that the father and daughter were involved in an argument that included lots of screaming. Both will not speak with each other, and the few times they do, they just argue, and neither will tell you about it all.

It is truly none of your business...But you know these two are not the kind to use their words or be the first to bow. If there is no one in the middle to mediate them, then whatever bothered them will go unspoken.

And you care too much about the Rozaks to let them continue to sulk like this.

"Ya' know...My momma and I once 'ad a fight and didn' speak fer' a whole year." You shake your head at the memory while waiting for the cars ahead to move. "And the reason was so ridiculous and petty."

Kagra snorted and shifted her face in your direction. "Had to have been real bad then."

You shrugged. "If ya' count ignorin' each other 'cause I wanted to wear (f/c) to a charity gala, and she wanted me to wear white as real bad, then I'd hate to argue with ya.'"

The teen broke into a fit of laughter as she filled the auto with her boisterous chuckle. "No~! That is so petty!" She remarks, small little tears lacquering her eyes.

How can you not join in? "Ah, yes. My momma was the epitome of petty, and as her daughter, it was only natural that I become one as well." Now that her lips bear the mark of a smile, you nudge her playfully with your elbow. "See, s'whatever you and your daddy were fightin' 'bout couldn't be any less petty."

Her steely grey eyes reign over the side of your face, perhaps determining something before exhaling a huff of air to lean back in her seat.

Traffic moves just the slightest, only pushing your car a few feet ahead.

"I never told you this, but one of the reasons why we moved was because my mom just...up and left us." Kagra's voice is weighty, soaked with a heavy sense of agitation. "I know everyone talks about how Orcs have the strongest respect for their kin, but the clan we came from takes things too seriously, to the extreme...too traditional."

You raise a brow. "S'that why yer' daddy's such a harda**?" Both of you cannot help the shared laughter.

An orange glow glares through the windows, soaking your presence with an almost divine ray. The young teen stared at you with an unreadable expression, and you knew there must be so much in that head of hers.

"The clan doesn't like weakness; they'll push you past your limit until you have no liabilities at all. They see themselves as superior to all other races, to any other Orc clan. And my mother took that life to heart. She was extremely traditional and cold, also one of the board members. 'Highly' esteemed for her strength and reputation." Kagra slouched in her seat and lifted her knees to press against the dashboard. "She never wanted to be a mother; she never wanted me. I don't think I ever remember her looking me in the eye. She did everything to avoid me, did anything to stay out of the house. Until one day..."

She laughed to herself while shaking her head, yet you could see the opaque liquid clouding her stormy eyes. Her chest jittered, and her fingers flexed. "She just took all her sh*t and left the house. She disowned us, ostracized us until it became too much for my father to deal with, and moved us south."

There's a pit in your stomach; there's something eating you from within, and it hurts.

One of your hands reaches out to settle on her shoulder, with your thumb soothing over tense muscles.

"I just wish..." She stutters and huffs, fighting the sob stuck in her throat. "...I wish you were my mother. I wish my dad would just admit that he likes you, and we can all be happy together. I wish so much that I could go home and hug you when it feels like the whole world is against me."

Without thinking, you flung your arms towards her and embraced her body. Her face fell in the crook of your neck as she sobbed with a weeping wail. The straps of your seatbelts dug into your chest from the movement, yet it was disregarded.

"'M sorry, Kagra." You whisper into her thick braided hair while stroking the back of her head. "I am so sorry that happened to you. 'M sorry that it hurts, but I am here. I am here for you. I'll always be here."

Traffic has begun to move, and the cars behind you begin to honk their horns. You only hug her tighter with the belief that if you relaxed even just a little bit, she'd disappear from your grasp.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

You arrived at her home later than you were supposed to, but it appeared as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She's probably held that in for a long time, keeping her feelings and emotions to herself because she didn't know who to talk to about this.

From what you've gathered, that must have been a reason for their big fight. You have her side of the story, so what's his?

As your car pulls onto the gravel driveway of their rustic house, Rashatir stepped out from the garage at the same time. He was out of his uniform, just a simple pair of dark wash jeans shaped over his muscular legs as a black Tee mold over the folds of his abbs.

Grease stains his calloused hands, and he attempts to swipe it away on a dirty old rag.

Kagra inhales a shakey breath before gripping her school bag tightly with one arm and stepping out. You decide to follow, walking by her side with a comforting hand on her shoulder.

She doesn't look at him as the two of you reach his figure, leaning against his truck's side. "'Go inside, Chickadee. I'm jus' gonna 'ave a quick chat with yer' daddy." You say, and she looks almost terrified, but you only offer her a confident nod of your head.

Her arms come around to hug you one more time before trudging over to the front door to leave the adults to themselves.

You respire a heavy breath, mentally preparing yourself for a talk with this brick wall. He doesn't say anything because, of course, he doesn't, and this leads to you having to start the conversation like always.

"So I got her to speak wit' me." You begin, and he makes no motion of acknowledgment, which spikes your nerves. "I know s'not my place to intrude-"

"It's not," he affirmed, raising one of his arms to rest on the edge of the truck bed. The short sleeve of his shirt held tightly onto his flexing bicep.

Your teeth clench together, nearly squeaking as you take another breath because another argument is not what is needed. "I care 'bout, Kagra, 'kay? I don' say sh*t jus' to get on yer' nerves. I do it 'cause 'M lookin' out for her."

"That's not your job." Rashatir spits back, and unfortunately, he's right. "If my daughter has a problem, she can come to me. Not you, you're not her mother."

Your body takes a step forward subconsciously. "That's the thing! Quite bein' ugly, and listen ta' me!" His marmalade eyes narrow at your raised voice, but you don't back down. "'Coarse 'M not 'cause 'f I had a daughter, I wouldn' abandon her. No matter what-"

In the blink of an eye, your body is pressed into the side of the truck with his own massive build keeping you in place. His left hand grips the top of the truck bed; the other holds a firm grip on your chin to force your eyes on his.

You inhale a raggedy breath, sucking in the scent of salted caramel and musk. He makes you stare at him straight while the moon replaces the sun in the background, dimming the area to a cold, gloaming darkness.

His body is wide, so burly that he covers your entire vision.

"I'm not gonna let someone who's still in love with a married man try to reprimand me on how to raise my daughter." He grips your chin tighter. "But wait. Do you even love that married man, or are you just sickly obsessed with something you can't have?"

It feels like a low blow, one that strikes you directly in the heart. Your breath is stolen just for a second while your blood begins to run hot. "Why the f*ck ya' care!? Actin' madder than a wet hen fer' no reason!"

Now, it was his turn to be shaken. His lips parted, but not a sound escaped, nothing but the cry of crickets from out in the field.

"I..." He breathes outward, and as if coming to his senses, you're released in an instant. His hand flies off your face like you are fire and steps to put some space between your bodies.

Do you burn him?

"L.T.-"

"Go home (L/n)!" His voice reigns in a loud baritone, but you do not jump this time. "Go away!"

Your mouth grows dry as you step forward. "Do you love me...?"

"No!" He shouts it like an order while swinging his head in the direction of your body.

A shiver runs across your body, peppering your skin with rows of goosebumps. There's so much on your mind, so much you want to say, but you can only repeat the same words again. "Do you love me, Rashatir?"

He steps back as if being cornered. "Do not say my name!"

And you step forward as if being compelled. "Tell me, Rashatir. Tell me the truth! Do you love me-"

With nowhere to go, he grips your shoulders to hold you in place. "I don't know!" He shields his homely eyes behind heavy lids while attempting to control his irregular breathing.

Your hands reach for his bare wrist, feeling the burning hot skin even on the cool night, yet he only pulls away with haste at your speechless touch. His back faces your way as he tilts his head upwards to the moon, exhaling a gust of air from his plump lips.

The area is muted, the silence unable to be corrupted as both of you take in the words.

"It's best if you leave," Rozak murmurs under his breath, but you hear, even though his voice is softer than a thick breeze. It's an order you cannot deny. Not because he is your superior but because you have nothing to say back to him.

Words will not form in your brain nor on the tip of your tongue.

So, in the silence of that night, you shift your body weight around and trek back to your car.

The Orc refrains from moving until he hears the soft rumble of your vehicle droning out with distance. One of his hands reached for his face, smothering over his mouth as if to punish it for what had come out without control.

A chill runs up his spine, suturing its cold grasp within his backbone that forces his feet forward. His body weighs heavily, hooked on each limb with tons of mass.

The silence was eaten up by a shout from his daughter once he entered the home. Her short tusk bard at him, not a threat but a disappointed grimace.

"Kagra-" He begins, only to be cut off by the teen scoffing at him.

"You had her! Right there, and you just let her go!" The plump skin on her cheeks grew hotter, redder. "Why do you keep letting her go!? Why do you just let-" She cut herself off in an instant while recoiling her head as though she were physically struck.

Marmalade and steel met like a challenge. A silent dare for the other to say exactly what was on their mind.

More specifically, the truth they like to lock away.

"She's not coming back, my mother." Anomiosty, which had once stained her speech, shifted into something softer, more intimate. "But is that why you won't give yourself a chance to be happy? Because you think she'll come back to you?"

Rashatir's bottom lip twitched before he shook his head while striding forward. He passed his child and made his way into the kitchen, where he flicked on the light to check the roasted chicken in the oven.

"Do you still love her?" Kagra questions from behind.

It only warrants a stern response. "She's your mother, Kagra."

The said girl scoffed and twisted to face one of the cupboards. "That's not answering the question, *Faavhas!"

*(Father!)

His open palm comes into contact with the counter, the coarse skin producing an echoing ricochet against the walls. *"Do noav aavavempav avo nauk-primand alnej shal avhaav avongue!" His native language spews from his lips with a foreign familiarity.

*(Do not attempt to reprimand me in that tongue!)

It's been months, way past a year, since he even spoke a full sentence in his birth verbiage. The need to speak the clan's closed-off and intricate language has not been needed since the move. People here do not understand nor appreciate the intensely guttural and harsh-sounding words that always come off as aggressive.

Speaking with it only brought a sense of isolation and seclusion from his own clanmates that should have had his back. But instead, they tore into his flesh and removed his pride and dignity.

Kagra momentarily steps back, the insides of her throat drying before she works up the courage to continue her speech. "Do you still love the woman who gave birth to me and then abandoned me like rubbish?" Her own anger interweaves within every word. "Do you still love the woman who saw you as weak and unworthy of her loyalty?"

Rashatir's teeth are pressed tightly together, the enamel squeaking from the force as the vein on his forehead pulses from resentment. He doesn't want to speak about it; he doesn't even want to think of it. Emotions do not ever exit from the lips; they should remain inside, contained in order to fuel the physical alleviation of letting that emotion out.

That's what they're taught in the clan; that's how he was raised, and what he had been teaching to his next of kin. But then you came along, undoing tradition with temperate hands and tender words.

Your influence on his child is clear and prominent...like poison swiftly affecting everyone in the Rozak household.

"I did not love your mother, nor did she love me. Our relationship spawned from respect and a consensus of finding the most worthy Orc in the clan. It is our duty; it is how we pay respect to our ancestors."

Inside of his kin's head, her thoughts collide and strike with speed and heat. Her distaste for the lineage grows increasingly with every harsh or absurd rule conveyed to her.

But they do not belong to those people anymore, the Rozaks are their own persons, and they can do whatever the f*ck they want without ridicule.

"You do not love her; it was out of duty. But it is not your responsibility anymore. So what is stopping you now?" Kagra approaches her father to rest a hand on his back in the pacifying manner you do with her. "What is stopping you from being happy?"

The lieutenant locks his jaw, finding his stomach swirling at that simple question. It feels heavy and light simultaneously, as though he swallowed stones of betrayal and disloyalty.

What is stopping him from being happy?

What is stopping him from loving you?

His hands open the oven, removing the baked and roasted chicken to set the pan atop the stone. There have been many excuses he's told himself over the year to silence the yearning.

But they all seem so diminutive and ill-considered now that he wants to push them past his lips.

"She is emotional and sensitive. Words cut her deeper than any blade, slicing into wounds that she refuses to let heal." Before his eyes, the memory presents him with scenes where your bottom lip quivers at the mention of your late partner. When people whisper of your failures behind your back, you do not react and instead take those strikes in silence and dwell on them in private.

You pick on them like an addiction, tearing apart freshly made scabs just to nest in a bed of never-ending grief.

"She is weak." His accent becomes thick, nearly slurrying his words as he almost speaks in his native tongue. "She cannot hold her own against an enemy, against a monster. She has no physical prowess and is vulnerable to anyone."

You are so small compared to an Orcish woman; even Kagra is taller than you at an adolescent age. The shape of your arms is not as thick as theirs or as bulky, with well-defined lines or resilience. Other officers must assist you when you need to carry anything with weight. There are times when you just barely pass the physical requirements for the job.

"She is soft... too soft." He can practically feel your body against his from earlier again. He can almost imagine you right in front of him, with the soft surface right against his own. "Easily, she gets hurt and wounded."

Your skin is so easy to bruise; a simple firm grip from his own causes contusions and markings that last for weeks. They remain with annoying, persistent discoloring of your body in aggressive imprints with sickening splotches.

So soft; a mere touch will score you for all to see; a swift bite would dwell on you in a visible and obvious claim.

One of Rashatir's hands rises to the mouth, where he swipes at it as if to clean it free of those thoughts...those desires.

"Human." It leaves his succulent lips like the striking deadliness of potent venom. "Human, she is is human." He repeats as though to confirm it himself. "Her skin is the color of life, of vigor, not nature. Her teeth are short, blunt, and unimpressive. Her culture is nonexistent, a weak imitation of other creations." As much as he tries to speak with confidence and conviction, no substance is backing it. "Her god(s) is a hypocrite, cursing its children with sin from birth and forcing them into a life of constant battles for recognition."

It's his biggest argument, the largest excuse he repeats to himself day in and day out on why he cannot be happy. It's like a broken record of self-punishment to remind his head...his heart that he cannot love you.

But there is another justification for this penance, one that sickens him in the very depths of his gut. "...She is embarrassingly in love with a man she cannot have." If he had any more strength in his thick tongue, he would have finished it with '-that isn't me.'

Kagra swallows strenuously while smoothing her hands against the muscles of her father's back. She attempts to comfort him, to smooth out the knots forming from the inevitable truth. All of his excuses can be overlooked; every single one can be cast aside for true happiness. All but one, and they both are aware of it.

For once, there is silence in the Rozak home. A rustic house, usually full of outcry or signs of life, resides in a dense silence.

And then...the red-skinned Orc utters a statement, only rubbing more salt in the wound. "But you love her."

He repeats the statement in his own mind, for he has not the strength to admit his one greatest weakness aloud. 'But I love her.'

Kagra's free hand reaches for her fathers, and she clasps them together in a consolidated hold. This act is foreign; such a deed is considered weak.

But every comforting touch is a constant reminder of you and your influence on these Orcs from their barbarous tradition.

Rashatir parts his lips, something desiring to be said as he peers down at his only daughter's face. Why does Kagra have her birth mother's features yet look so much like you? Why does she act like you, speak like you, love like you?

For once in this Orcs life, he speaks seven words that would have had him beat for such a display of feebleness. "I do not know what to do."

Yet it only provokes his closest kin to tug on his hand and pat his back. "Yes, you do, Dad. No more making excuses; pursue her. *Courav lav-li."

*(Court her.)

And he repeats it under his breath as though to confirm it himself. "Courav lav-li."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Two weeks Later

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

This is not your f*cking morning.

Somehow, you managed to sleep past your alarm, leaving you just barely 10 minutes to brush your teeth, shower, dress in your uniform, and leave, only to be stuck in the morning rush.

A rainstorm started on your way, pelting you harshly through your window that somehow got stuck half opened. Your barely brushed hair became unruly and tangled, knotted into something closely resembling a rat's nest.

There wasn't any time for self-indulging care, leaving your face bare of any makeup or moisturizer. You quite literally looked like something a cat dragged in.

Your stomach growls, begging for some form of nutrients as you finally reach your desk. There appears to be a new stack of paperwork on the glossy wooden surface, requiring every speck of your attention.

A profound sigh releases from your lips, one where your ribs push against the skin of your chest and stretch the tendons.

Dropping your bag beneath the table, you undue your uniform jacket to peel away the swampy layer. Water's still trickling from your hair, dripping down your face and onto your damp black tank top.

The department's air conditioner feels like someone decreased the temperature, nearly freezing the rainwater into ice.

Once you finally settle into your swivel chair, you check your personal drawers behind you only to find that the brush you usually kept for emergencies like these was accidentally taken home a few months ago.

Even all your rubber bands and ponytails were gone, used from the times you've played around with Kagra's hair.

Yeah, this just was not your f*cking morning, for sure.

Overwlemed, freezing, and quite literally on the verge of a breakdown, you thrust your head forward to hide your face in the palm of your hands. You just need a breather; you just need a moment to collect yourself; you just need a moment alone-

"Sergeant (L/n)." L.T. Rozak calls out as his footsteps grow louder and his burly body approaches.

But of course, do you ever get what you want?

"'M really not in the mood, L.T 'less you want me 'ta pitch a hissy fit." If it weren't clear that you didn't want to be bothered by your appearance, then you damn well made it obvious with that tone where your drawl slurs harshly.

In response to your words, the brawny Orc merely dropped something on your shoulders before his large fingers grasped your hair.

You immediately peer up from your hands, viewing a grey towel over your back as he removed your locks to lay on the textile. He even drags over a chair to sit behind you.

"Roza-" He cuts you off with a firm tug that straightens your back.

Tongue dryer than the desert, you swallow strenuously as you feel the ends of a brush begin to stroke through the knots and become undone.

With his thick fingers and unruly attitude, you would think he did not know how to be gentle. Yet you're proved wrong as he diligently undoes tangles and gnarls.

It was almost soothing, spurring exhaustion to weigh on your eyes with a heavy hand. You could easily fall asleep to this without tossing, turning, or overthinking.

"Mmm." A satisfied purr rises from your throat as he runs the blunt ends of his nails across your scalp. He's scratching an itch you didn't even know you had.

You're sure the other officers are watching, staring at a scene so uncommon they'd think some creature possessed both of y'all. Or perhaps a spell of Balam's went haywire.

At this moment, you can't even find the words to snap or talk back. His touch is deliberate yet delicate, on a fine line where the slight tugs from the knots offer reassurance rather than pain.

With closed eyes, you can only imagine his fingers twisting and twining your hair, braiding the freshly untangled tresses into something that feels complex.

What the hell has gotten into him? He's been avoiding you for a few weeks now, perhaps angered by your meddling, but now he's willingly aiding you in something you could have done yourself.

Does he want something from you?

Unfortunately, every good thing must come to an end, and the Orc lieutenant was completed quicker than you would have liked. He flicked the braid over your shoulder while standing up from his seat.

Your eyes peer over at the braid only to find small golden and blue beads interwoven within the threads of your hair.

Not only did he do the unexpected by entering your space, but he also detangled and braided your hair.

Is that...Is that not something Orc considers intimate? The closeness, residing in each other's personal bubble while stroking through growing hair, is not something an Orc does out of the blue...or to be friendly.

"Roza-" He once again does not allow you to finish by already walking away. His broad back is displayed, the muscles beneath shifting as he strolls to his office.

The ends of his long braided hair swish and clack together with brown beads. In the time you have known him, he always wore the bone assessors with his clan's red tribal strings to display his pride in his heritage.

For the first time ever, he did something different with them.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Two weeks Later

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"Take it."

You raise a brow with lips pursed as you stare at the object on L.T. Rozak's desk. "'Ready got one. Don't need 'nother."

Rashatir respires a deep breath while shielding his marmalade eyes behind his slightly darkened lids. He withdrew his attention away from his computer screen to your face while he fixed his yellow beaded hair out of the way. "I'm offering a better one. Orcish steel is better than what you've got."

You scrunch your nose but cannot clash with a fact. Instead of arguing, your fingers reach down to grasp the folding knife to get a better look at it. When tucked, the shape was small, fitting just perfectly in the palm of your hand.

It's been forged into the shape of a skinny leaf with a gold stripe in the middle to emulate the stem. The pattern on the metal was wavy, with dark stripes and a lighter one flourishing together on the surface.

"Damascus steel?" You question softly before glancing up at the Orc, raising a thick brow.

He leaned forward to settle his elbows on his desk while resting his chin on clasped fingers. "It is. How did you know?"

There is a short moment where your eyes glaze over, and the beautiful color of your iris becomes lustrous like shiny glass. "Ma' daddy...Hehe, Big Daddy collected Damascus steel knives and always gave 'em to momma." Your fingers glide across the cool metal in remembrance. "Always wanted one but could never find a supplier."

Rashatir's tongue ran over one of his tusks to stall the words in his mouth. There's a symbolic significance to this metal that he won't tell you quite yet. He'll wait and give you another one if everything goes as planned.

"It's a challenging metal to smith since it is incredibly complex and refined, but I had a lot of practice in it." His utterance spurs your eyes to bug out as you subconsciously straighten your back.

Your lips open and close like a little fish, disbelief evident in the vivid expression on your face. "Yer'... made this yerself'...?"

The L.T. nods his head with ease and pride. "In the clan, upon reaching teenhood, everyone must take on one skill to hone and perfect before adulthood where they take the great division." It's sour on his tongue; speaking of the clan now leaves him yearning to scrub it clean from his mouth. "My father undertook metal work; I embarked on smithing since it was one of the most difficult ones to master."

When he glances up at your face, he swears he can see some form of admiration. You're looking at him like he's some special being that should be placed on a pedestal to be gawked at.

How disgustingly cute.

"I was just brushing up on my mastery to see if I had lost my touch. I am in no need of it, but you can take it." He offers, his gaze targeting anywhere but your gleaming eyes.

"Yer' sure?"

He nods silently.

You hum, your attention drifting back to the handcrafted blade. The edge of your fingers glides up the stem before ceasing all movement at small rune-like carvings on the middle spindle. "What does this mean? I don' recognize these glyphs."

Rashatir pursed his lips together, the ends of his tusk burrowing into his upper lip that was close to breaking skin. With a deep respire and glancing to look you right in the eyes, he speaks. "Jiak'd leav lat gadulhend your name inavo mausan hearav."

Never have your eyes enlarged to the extent they did. You've never heard him speak his native tongue, only knowing your shared language was not his first due to his prominent accent. Rich and guttural, every expression was like a crack and boom of thunder. It's a completely different dialect from the common Orc verbiage, yet it feels deeply authentic.

"What..." Your mouth is dry and yearns for the knowledge of it to quench its thirst. "What does it mean?"

A smirk plays on his lips, nearly mischievous but woefully secretive. There's a teasing manner to it, like an unspoken enigma that will remain locked until he decides you are worthy.

"You'll find out later."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Three weeks Later

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

You've been dreading this day for weeks.

It's time for your annual physical fitness test, and many of the department loiters around the track and field for their turn.

Most of the officers are monsters; strength and power are already threaded into their DNA. Even humans like Aegir and Auður train in their free time. They work out for fun! Can you believe that!?

Sure, you attempt to keep up with your physical fitness, but it's so boring... Maybe if you bribe Chief Hildsmar Cook, you can get out of this.

Where is he, hmm?

"You look like you're about to pop a blood vessel." Rashatir's voice is near you as his body descends on the bleacher by your side.

Air exhales from your nose swiftly as you lean back and push your hat over your eyes to shield the harsh rays of the bright midday sun. "'M gonna jerk a knot in yer' tail, L.T."

The Orc laughs lightly, spurring your tummy to tingle from an almost heavenly sound. He's such a serious man; you'd see a blue moon more often than ever, hearing a chuckle from him.

It sounds so good.

"You should have worked on your body more. Those arms cannot lift anything!" He teases, even reaching over to pinch the fat on your biceps.

The skin tingles where he touches it, igniting nerves in the swift-flowing river of lightning. You almost want just to thrust yourself into his lap and let those strong hands of his run through your hair again.

Maybe you should show up to work a hot mess like last time... He could massage your scalp and twist your tresses into another pretty design with his diligent fingers.

"Haha." You jeer under your breath. "I'll do fine even 'f I won' hit a lick at a snake."

Rashatir clicked his tongue while shaking his head, a few loose beads clacking together in the cool breeze. "I offered to help you, so If you get suspended, that's on you. Thought, it would be too much work finding someone else to watch Kagra when I can't."

You smack the back of your hand playfully against his arm. "Yer' lyin' like a no-legged dog. You'll miss ma' company, admit it." Laughter rings out from your own mouth from your words, thinking you're just so witty.

But that chuckle dies down at the Orc's response.

"I would."

Your fingers grasp the bill of your hat to lower it, allowing your gaze to look at that man who were staring right at you. He bore no expression, no anger or amusement, but those homely eyes of his felt more intense than they ever had.

Silence reigns from above, creating an area where all sound muddles into the beating of your heart within your ears.

Before you could stutter out some form of speech, the captain called out his name. "Lieutenant Rozak! Yer' up next!"

Rashatir nods while standing to his feet. He's about to leave, but not before saying, "Watch me." He doesn't look back as he jumps to the bottom of the bleachers and effortlessly hops over the fence.

You didn't even notice it since you had the cap over your eyes the whole time, but he's quite literally half-naked! He only sports a pair of grey gym shorts that adhere to his built tree trunk thighs. His chest is bare, blessing you with the sight of mousy brown hair dusting over round pectorals and down into a happy trail.

It shouldn't be a surprise; you always knew his body was built by how his uniform always stuck to his limbs like a second skin...but this is the first time you've ever seen him so...stripped. You can see every well-defined line and contour on his biceps and quads, every squiggly vein on his forearms, and veiny v-line that dips down just below the waistband of his shorts.

He's so...delicious.

Maybe you should have accepted his offers to work out with him; you could have been graced with such a dreamy sight a lot sooner.

Rozak stepped forward at the first testing station, where he rolled his wide shoulders and cracked his neck. His long hair, usually kept in that one simple ponytail, had been braided up and circled into a bun where red and yellow beads decorate the strands.

The first evaluation was a deadlift. For his height and weight, the minimum was at least five hundred pounds. But like the show off he is, his large hands grasped two different deadlifts that both weighed a little over the minimum limit.

He wasn't even breaking a sweat, breathing with difficulty, or overexerting himself. This seemed like a walk in the park for him as he squatted down with ease and lightly touched the faux grass with his weight.

His back muscles flexed so nicely, and his a** put Nikki Minaj to shame with its perfect roundness and size. Oh lord, when had he become so s*xy!?

This must have been his way of mocking you for forgoing the gym for a nice nap on your boat.

After completing the first test with flying colors, he moves over to the next evaluation while peering up to glance at you. His tusk raises, tickling his upper lips while he grins...and you're thankful you covered your mouth with your cap to cover your expression.

"Watch me." That is what he had said earlier, and you can't help but do more than that. You're literally salivating as you ogle him up like the finest piece of steak at the BBQ.

What a DILF, and the show isn't even over yet. There are still more evaluations for him to show off.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Three weeks Later

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"Hey, Doll!" Chief Hildsmar Cook calls out and stalls your conversation with Kagra.

The red-skinned Orc shifted her face to observe the approaching superior while scrunching her nose and narrowing her steely eyes. "I'll be back. Restroom." She mutters before kicking herself up to her feet and stalking away.

A smile graces your lips at the man. "Hey, Chief. What'dya need?" You question, leaving your ears open as you pack up your things.

"'Got a few hours left but 'M boutta leave fer' supper. Care to join?" He offers. "I could eat the north end of a south-bound polecat, and we haven' gone to that burger bar in a minute."

"Oh." Your smile shifts into an apologetic grin. "Sorry, Chief. 'M busy as a cat on a hot tin roof."

He raises a brow, those cerulean eyes watching your hands pack some files and paperwork into a bag. "Yer' been real busy recently, runnin' all over hell's half acre with L.T. Rozak."

Shaking your head, you shift to face him while sticking out your tongue in a playful manner. "Awe. 'Someone jealous?" Your teasing remark warrants an unamused expression from your superior. "Don' worry, Hilds. Ya' will always be ma' best friend."

Chief Cook nodded slowly, the ends of his multiple braids grazing his shoulder. "Sure. Jus' didn' 'xpect ya' to pick him over our favorite place."

You raise a brow at him, abruptly interested by the sour tone he speaks with. It almost enlightens you, filling your veins with some form of recognition.

"S'not like that." You state while subconsciously raising a hand to play with your hair that a certain grumpy-looking Orc once again braided together with grey and turquoise beads. "I 'been learnin' to cook. L.T.'s real good at it that every time we finish, 'M full as a tick!"

Those cerulean blue eyes of the large man in front of you stared at the position of your hands. He observed the complex design, noting the meaning of such intricacy.

He reached forward without thought, his sea-green fingers about to graze over the beads, yet someone pulled you back right before he could touch it.

"You'll mess it up if you play with it like that." Rashatir reprimands you as he turns your body to face his. The Lieutenant inspects it, his own hunter-green fingers grazing over the length of it. "I'm not going to braid it again if this is how you're going to treat it."

Your laughter rings out, full of genuine joy. "We'll see. Ya' know ya' cannot say no to me!"

Instead of replying to you, Rashatir raised his gaze to face his superior. His expression holds no emotion, but perhaps there was a glint in a pair of marmalade eyes before he nodded.

Resting one of his hands on your back between your shoulder blades, he begins to lead you away without another word.

"Later, Hilds!" You call and tilt your head back slightly to wave him away before entering a conversation that the Chief cannot hear.

The Lieutenant flicked the back of your head while glancing down at his phone that buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it briefly and raised a finger to signify that he'd need a moment.

You nodded even though you both knew he didn't need your permission. While he steps away, you readjust your backpack into a more comfortable position.

Kagra's been in the bathroom for a while now; you hope she's alright. She seemed to have an attitude before going; you wonder what's bothering her.

"(Y/n)...(Y/n)...(Y/n)!" Kagra's voice pulls you from your thoughts as she stops before you. "Did you drop this at your desk?" She sought while holding up a simple black flash drive.

You shake your lips while pursing your eyebrows. "No, but it looks like the one we use to organize paperwork once we fax it. Give 'em to me here, and I'll check over it."

She doesn't need to be told twice and places it in your hand. Rashatir had finished his phone call just as you finished putting the flash drive in a small pouch in your bag.

"Everybody ready?" The Orc man sought while reaching for his keys.

Both you and Kagra nod, almost instantly placing your arms around each other's shoulders while childishly skipping out of the police department.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

One Month Later

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

For the past three, the Chief of Police has been absent from his station.

He was missing work, forcing the captain to push off most of your superior's work onto you. It's nothing that you have a problem with, but many of them require his signature and deal with sensitive topics that are not part of your unit.

Cook prides himself on his perfect attendance and influence of being an excellent officer, so missing work without even a call was odd and unusual.

And his sudden absence has you feeling in such a manner that guilt wracks your very being. You miss him, you miss the Chief. You miss a man you cannot have even though another shows you great interest.

The guilt is eating you alive every second and consumes you completely whenever Rashatir is near. You know what the Lieutenant is doing, and from the amount of effort he's putting in, you just know that he's serious about it...about you.

Abruptly, you hunch over in your seat with your hands flying to cover your mouth. A wave nauseous struck you forcefully, probably would have struck you offer your feet if you weren't already sitting down.

Your thoughts are poisoning you, punishing your body for the wh*rish way you've been acting. It's been fun getting the attention and feeling like someone special, but it wasn't fair.

You like to play pretend and act like the victim, but you'll never be able to escape the truth.

An abrupt hand settles on your shoulder, gaining your attention in surprise. A scream almost left your lips until you realized it was just Rashatir.

"Are you okay?" He sought an answer while his thumb smooths over a knot in your back.

Respiring deeply, pressing your ribs against your skin, you nod while removing your hands and sitting up straight. "Yeah. Jus' a lil' stressed. S'all." You murmur hoarsly.

Rozak blinked slowly before squatting down so he was more at eye level. He spun your chair so he could get a good look at you.

His plump lips descend into a frown as he inspects your haggard appearance. "Have you been sleeping?" He questions and receives a shake of your head in response. "You're not smoking, are you?"

With a roll of your eyes, you thrust your back against the spine of your chair to slouch in it. "'F I were, ya'd smell it."

The Lieutenant narrows his marmalade optics with a less-than-pleased scowl. "You need to take a break and tell Captain to spread out the Chief's work. I'm worried about you." His words feel like food for the soul, something that feeds some form of loneliness you've dwelled in for years.

You've been so alone since that event, having to find solace in yourself when your closest Kin no longer resided by your side. The only one you could ever spill your guts to was Hildsmar, but even he could not always be there when he had his own spouse to whom he belonged. Even when Yael was still here, he had his own life, and you couldn't let him become consumed by your fears.

Rashatir can fill that void, but this guilt in the back of your head keeps up a barrier. He spends the day in and day out getting closer to you, yet you take a step back each time out of fear...out of that sliver of hope, you'll have the chance to be by the other Orc's side one day.

It's not fair to the hunter-green-skinned Orc right in front of you.

But you want to be selfish a little longer, a little more, just to feel loved.

"Pardon me." You twist away, forcing your body out of the chair with haste. "I need a break." He's not allowed the chance to speak as you're already rushing away.

There's an invisible pressure against your lungs, stripping you of the instinctual ability to breathe. You're forcing yourself to respire manually, feeling a strain within the walls of your esophagus.

You trip over a chair, nearly falling over if it weren't for Sergeant Auður catching you in time before you fell on the hard tile.

"Woah, woah!" She hollers and forces you to look at her. "Yer' not lookin' too hot, Poppet. I'll call over, L.T. You should go home."

No, no, you don't want to go home. The walls of your home crack with nostalgia, and the floor creaks with yearnful remembrance.

Without even needing to say anything, the blonde pulls you aside into one of the private rooms, where she shuts the blinds.

"Wanna talk 'bout it?" She questions, and you can only shake your head while collapsing in a chair to take the weight off your feet. "Okay. Let's jus' get you somethin' to drink."

Her calloused hands pour you a cool cup of water from the water dispenser and place it on the table. You grasp it urgently yet stall when you see your sickened appearance in the reflection. Those darkened under circles hollow out your eyes, constructing something unhealthy.

This guilt is eating you alive.

"...Do ya' think 'M a bad person...?" You don't even recognize your voice, just a mere imitation of what you can sound like.

"What?" Auður wheezes out before swiftly settling in a chair and scooting over so she can hold on to your wrist. "No, no, 'course not. Why would ya' even say that?"

There's a tightness in your throat, like a sob stuck on the sides with intense pressure. It makes your head spin, nose burn, and stomach ache.

If you speak the full thing, you try to tell her the full truth; you'll break into an uncontrollable sob.

"I 'ave somethin' good right now...yet I wan' something I cannot 'ave..." You hiccup and smother your face in the palm of your hands, the water forgotten on the table.

Auður pats your back softly, diligently softening the tense tautness accumulating in your shoulders. "Wer' only human. We make mistakes and fall 'to sin, but we grow from that. We become better people when we learn from it."

You shake your head as tears begin to slip past your lids and dampen the heated skin of your cheeks. This guilt is not the same as making a simple mistake. This is evil and immoral as you accept the affection from someone you don't deserve.

What you do deserve is that solitude, that suffocating isolation of being the last (L/n) alive. It was your fault; you didn't do enough to keep them alive.

The radio on your utility belt suddenly rings, the echo of its crackly call catching your attention. Somehow, you grasp it and raise it to your numb lips. "Sergeant (L/n), here."

"Come ta' my office." It was Hildsmar's voice. "'Got an announcement."

You answer back instantly. "On ma' way."

Sergeant Auður watches as you swiftly stand to your feet and swipe your tears away as best as possible. "Ya' sure-"

"'M fine." You don't even look at her as you vacate the private room and hurry to the Chief's office. As you approached, the blinds were open to where you could see many of your superiors within the room, and even Rashatir was there.

Knocking, everyone's attention falls on your figure as you sheepishly smile. "Sorry, 'tried to be faster than green grass through a goose." You joke, which prompts Cook to laugh audibly at your words.

He steps away from his desk to approach your figure and place a hand on the middle of your spine. "S'kay! Come, I didn' wanna share this without ya!"

Your stomach is in knots, twisting and tangling to yield cramps in your abdomen. You attempt your best not to react and instead smile like there's nothing wrong in the world.

"Well, I wanted to make sure everythin' wasn' all cattywampus before I got ma' hopes up. But it's lookin' like everythin' is gonna be alrigh'." His words are spurring the cramps to grow worse and sweat to accumulate at the back of your neck.

Why are you so scared?

What are you so afraid of?

"'M gonna be a father."

What...?

You almost throw up, feeling saliva pool in your mouth. If it weren't for his hand holding you by the spine, you would have collapsed to your knees.

What a f*cking idiot! Why are you so shocked!? It was to be expected.

Hildsmar is married to a wife.

His responsibility is to her; his love, affection, and sole devotion belong to her. It was never to be yours, never to be something you could grasp.

For f*cks sake, you knew that. You tell yourself that every day, yet when faced with this loss, it strikes you open where you bleed blood and tears.

Your gaze suddenly flickers over to Rashatir, who stares you straight in the eyes unyieldingly with his jaw clenched. He knows of this ridiculous 'love' you harbor for the Chief; he's known this whole time yet continued to treat you like a potential partner.

He gave you time to get over whatever it is that you hold for Hildsmar, and you just continued to play the fool with the hope the one you secretly yearned for would love you back.

You deserve this despair.

"'N as my best friend-" The Chief pats your back with his rough touch. "I wan' ya' to be my daughter's godmother."

You deserve this ache.

"W-Wow!" You're not even sure that your voice is leveled as you try to hold down a burn in your throat. "Y-Yer' sure? That's s-somethin' ya' can' take back."

The man releases a peal of laughter that makes you want to run away and die.

"You was born at night but not last night." Hildsmar teases with a smile, unaware of the hurt embittering your insides. "I wouldn' wan' it ta' be anyone but ya'!"

You deserve this pain.

Mustering whatever strength remains in your heart, you reach over to hug him firmly. It feels like the last time you'll ever be able to feel his body against yours. "Congratulations! I couldn' be happier for ya!" You should have been stricken down for the lies spewing from your lips.

The Chief thanked you with a proud smile before training his attention to his desk. He began to speak of something probably important, but you cannot hear it over the sound of rushing blood.

Everyone's attention is drawn elsewhere, so you use this opportunity to slip out as quietly as possible.

Stinging sensations sprout in the corner of your eyes as opaque tears cloud over the conjunctiva. You don't want anyone to see you; they can't see you! They can't see you like this!

You deserve to pay for your sins.

Sneaking past the open offices, you force the heavy back doors open, where an uncontrollable wail squeaks out. You nearly lose your footing, tripping over your own ankles as your vision blurs to something incomprehensible.

It feels like something has torn you open, snapping your ribcage apart to dig into your chest and rip out your heart.

You bleed heavily, staining this ground with your soiled blood that not even a god could cure.

Somehow, you make your way to your vehicle, hyperventilating while swiping away tears that continue to descend without fail.

Your cries echo and reverberate against metal and glass to an ear-piercing cacophony. Fire eats away at your face, burning the surfaces of your cheeks and roasting the ends of your ears.

Everything hurts, the pain and the guilt consuming your every being and completely disbanding your resolve.

It hurts, god(s), it hurts! You can't breathe; you're drowning in this ache!

It hurts, hurts, hurts; you feel like your heart is going to give out!

Without even noticing, your hands have dug into the center console, burrowing through rubbish to remove an old, wrinkled box of cigarettes.

Through the haze of your blurry eyes, you stare at the name brand printed on the front and attempt to tell yourself no. You've only mimicked the motions of smoking without lighting it when you were incredibly stressed.

How can you be so weak to give in?

So you tell yourself the one thing that will hurt the most and make you give in.

No one is ever going to want someone like you, someone tainted and evil and broken.

No more sobriety. You cannot fake it anymore and act like it doesn't hurt; you're just a sinner anyway.

And so...you press the butt end of the cancer stick between your lips and ignite the tip with burning embers.

Your first drag in three years fills your lungs with whispy relief. The nicotine, tobacco, and nearly seven thousand other chemicals soak up the pain inside of you.

Sinners only know to sin some more.

The physical aches of the burn in your lungs and throat mitigate the mental anguish. It's like it dried up your tear ducks and ceased all cries as you slumped back into your seat in euphoria.

Ashy smoke seeps from your lips as the cigarette lies loosely between your fingers.

What a weak girl you are, consuming toxins in an act of penance. Though, guess it doesn't feel like a punishment when it numbs the pain, huh?

Bane rests on your tongue, becoming coated in layers of poison as you bring the end right back to your lips and inhale.

You watch the embers spark, flaring like a pretty little sun.

The back door to the department opens, and Rashatir's body becomes consumed by the chilled air of an oncoming storm.

His homely eyes search the vicinity, scouring for where you went...and you don't try to hide.

You let him see you through the windshield.

You let him see the hunger in your movements as you bring the cancer stick to your lips while hollowing your cheeks.

His expression falls, his mouth parting into an open cavern. His pretty, homely eyes widen his shock, dulling over in disbelief.

Only a few inhales, and you were already done.

Without a care in the world, you flick the cigarette out the window and reach to start your vehicle. Smoke seeps from the internal crevice of your lungs, swathing out like a cloak of mist.

The only thing you can do is mouth a pathetic 'sorry' to the Orc who was trying to give you his all and drove out of the parking lot, leaving the lieutenant alone with his thoughts.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Two weeks Later

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Blazing embers descend from your hand, trickling onto the dish, which glimmers with one last glow before extinguishing.

Argentine smoke oozes from your painted lips, tumbling down like rolling mist in the forest. (E/c) Iris peers into a glass of ginger orange liquid, and a tired reflection stares back.

Party lights sway and wonder, deepening certain contours of your face that hold no expression. The murky image abruptly shakes, small ripples appearing that deform the portrayal.

A body slides onto the stool by your left, a hardy build where thick forearms rest on the counter in your peripheral.

The entire bar is empty save for your a** stationed in the middle, parked there for at least an hour.

You conceal a smirk with the top of your glass, allowing the smokey liquor to glide down your throat with distant familiarity.

It burns, igniting down pungently, yielding an audible sigh and a small shake of your head. Even as the years pass, the tolerance you once had for your excessive drinking somehow remains.

Several glasses have already been emptied within, coating the inside of your mouth with a sticky, cool texture.

Humming faintly, you lean forward to rest your chin in the palm of your free hand while your other flicks ash into a small tray. You've forgotten how painfully good it hurts to drink, to smoke.

Three years of sobriety down the drain, an accomplishment you had not deserved in the first place.

"Bourbon 'n Whiskey Flight." The stranger ordered with a tone that ran through gravel. Even when he clears his throat and his gaze befalls your figure, he speaks raspily in a southern drawl. "'Nother fer' the Southern Belle beside me."

With languid movements, your head shifts to face the stranger as you raise the smoke to painted lips and inhale, hollowing slightly faux-blushed cheeks.

He looks human, probably a construction worker, by the slight tan on his arms compared to the safety glass lines around his eyes. Perhaps a few years older than you, he's decent-looking with a hot-toffee blonde crew cut, a trimmed mustache, and average lips.

It's not a fancy bar, so his simple pair of dark wash jeans and black shirt with a red flannel was more than appropriate for this simple injunction.

Maybe you were the one to overdress in a black mini skirt that could hardly be called a skirt, more closely resembling a belt from how it barely covers your bottom. Even the low dip of the red long sleeve should have deterred this man from calling you a Southern Belle...

"I'd thank ya'-" Smoke oozes in whispy rows as you speak. "-But I never asked."

The man chuckles to himself, chestnut brown eyes latching onto the cleavage of your chest before meeting your gaze and replying. "Ain't nothin' wrong wit' that. Yer' jus' as fine as frog hair split four ways."

"Hmm." You hum like a melody while spinning in your seat to face your entire body his way. "That's an old sayin'."

Your drinks are placed in front of both of you on a coaster, and condensation drips from the sides of the glass in slow declines.

"Ma' momma raised me right, so 'M a feller' of old tradition."

His words bring a smile to your face as they dig into your head, burrowing into memories you'd like to forget. "Ma' Daddy would'ave liked ya'." The cig resumes its place in your mouth as you raise the cool glass in the air. "Didn' like how people were forgettin' tradition."

He smiles a toothy grin before taking a swig of the expensive drink. "Yeah, sound's jus' like ma' pops."

There's a shared silence as you both drink, laying out while listening to some country song playing from the speaker in the background.

"The name's Boone."

Your empty glass connects with the coaster as you straighten your back and lick your glossy lips. "Well, Boone-" There's a sparkle in your eye as you lean forward, warranting his gaze to descend. "Buy me 'nother drink and ya' jus' migh' get mine."

Boone shakes his head of short hair with a small, playful grin. Yet, instead of replying with words, he calls over the bartender with a wave of two fingers.

Like a mind reader, the worker makes another without a single say.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

One set of hands grasps the front of your throat, pressing along your larynx as the other tugs at the bottom of your skirt.

Your back encounters the (soft/firm) surface of the guest bed, sucking you in just as the lips on yours nearly devour your soul from the kiss.

Bourbon whiskey and rye are potent on your tongue; it is all you can taste as Boone's tongue delves into your mouth. Cool liquor runs hot in your blood, nearly molten in your head as you roll in a fog of eros.

It's cool within your antebellum mansion, yet you feel on fire in your skimpy garments.

Rain pelts glass from the outside as though the sky wishes to tear apart this building brick by brick until it eats you whole.

You don't want to think about it.

The ends of your nails scrape through his scalp before hooking onto the short ends of his hair to force him deeper into the embrace.

He has not a single complaint, allowing your forceful gesture to intertwine his tongue with yours to consume the taste of each other.

His mustache tickles the top of your mouth while the harsh stubble on his chin scrapes against your own. But you have no objections, none, as you just want to lose all thoughts.

Boone manages to yank the skirt down to your knees, where you assist in getting it off by kicking it to some little corner in the guest room.

You're bare on the bottom beside the scanty undergarment, barely concealing the most intimately private region of your feminine body.

You don't want to think about anything.

Liquor thins your blood yet burns your belly, a pit of desire seething beneath the skin. It's intoxicating, the depravity of letting lose, falling to corruption to numb the rawness of your issues.

You've held off for a few years, taking it with a smile on your face and saying it's all right. But the trauma was vines of anguish coiling around your heart, waiting for the day they grew just enough to completely kill you off.

A scowl morphs on your lips, irritation at the still viable reflections sickening you.

One of your hands latches onto Boone's wrist with a speed that clearly surprised him by the way he softly gasped against your mouth. You bring it toward your crotch, allowing his leather-textured fingertips to caress your cl*t through the thin fabric.

He groans with a breathy exhale, even uttering a soft chuckle as he drags it down to feel the sticky dampness accumulated. "Damn, Ya' got so wet."

【Mocking laughter reigns in the air, saturating every breath with shards of glass.

"She's so wet for a b*tch cryin' for us to stop."

The inner corner of your eyes burns, stinging in raw, aching throbs that you wish to ignore. They only like it when you cry more.】

You snatch his lower jaw, thrusting his forehead against yours as you do everything to hold off a snarl. "Stop talkin'." Your utterance is an order that should be advised, the tone nothing close to cordial or sensual.

The human nods while muttering a short 'okay' beneath his breath. He strokes the soft flesh of your thigh in an attempt to distract you, to let his touch appease you in any manner.

Your lungs respire with great strength, an imperceptible pressure weighing on your chest from those wretched recollections that haunt you.

Releasing the tension welled into your limbs and closing your eyes, you attempt to forget it all.

The straps of your panties scrape against your hips as they're dragged down to expose your c*nt with cool air only for a second before the heat of his bare fingers moistens with the secreted slick.

【Flames lick the surface of your skin, prompted by the several pairs of probing eyes that stare with such sadism it feels like you were captured by creatures born from the filth of sin.

"Keep actin' so bratty, and we'll do more than jus' wreck that c*nt."

They do not give you a moment to breathe; your sole source of salvation is when you're so utterly exhausted that you fall into a state of unconsciousness.

Only the blackout is when they can continue their onslaught without you having to watch...or hear...or feel.】

Air expells in short but swift bouts of jitters as you cover your mouth to contain a sob, letting it soak into the walls of your throat.

You beg, plead to your mind to stop it. Why must it continue these remembrances? Why must every action spurr on a film of them right before your eyes?

It's been years, and you've made peace with it. But yet they continue to terrorize you over and over again. They do not relent, satisfied with the invisible marks they've left that refuse to heal.

"...Stop..."

The pounding rain ate up your words with a gluttonous mouth, permitting Boone to press his middle finger in your entry, penetrating through tightened linings.

【Every touch is a burn, permanently tarnishing your soul. Every trace of their fingertips taint your very being, marring their presence forever.

"Say it. Say that you like it, b*tch, and I'll let you breathe."

They liked to humiliate you and ridicule your feeble attempts to keep even a shred of self-preservation. You were to be broken, utterly violated to nothing but a walking c*nt worth capital.

To them, it was just so much fun to ruin you for anybody else.

"C'mon, Belle. Squeeze that c*nt like the good girl Daddy raised you to be."

Every word spewed from their lips was inscribed into your brain, etched into the muscles of your heart, and scored into the entrance of your womb where their seed burned you.】

Rain nor wind could conceal your cries this time. A shrill, "Stop!" ceases Boone's movements before he hisses as your heeled feet kick him away.

His hands strumbled from the space between your legs, retracting pain that spurred on an onslaught of tears. "What the-"

Pillows and cushions are launched at him, smacking him away inch by inch to protect yourself. "Leave!" The trauma of those memories fuels an instinctual need to fend off any more advances.

Whether it be to heal or remain drowning in their touches.

Boone jerks back, nearly falling off the bed as he catches himself on the nightstand. The force had knocked over a lamp, the glassblown vase tipping over the edge where it shattered in tides.

"Get away!" Had you been a spirit lurking about, you would seen the terror presenting itself in front of the man. You'd see the streams of ink upon heated cheeks, the disheveled stains of lipstick across your mouth and chin, the saturated makeup around your eyes that created some ghastly impression.

The expression on his face had hardened the contours of his work-ridden skin and accentuated the edge of his chestnut eyes. "Yer' f*ckin' crazy!" He jeers with all traces of libidinousness extinguished.

Yeah, yeah, you are. You're so mentally f*cked up that you can only continue to ruin things. Everything good must come to an end.

He doesn't even know the half of it.

He doesn't know anything at all.

Now that the mood is disturbed by your psychotic outburst, Boone snatches his flannel and yanks it over his arms as he marches to the door.

The force at which he thrust it open had banged the crystal handle into the paywall, erupting a whole that spread with cracks.

All of this is a curse you bear, forced upon you as punishment.

Your nakedness only spurs on shame, urging you to cover up, and so you do with shaking hands. The ends of your nails create holes in the lace. Tugging on the skirt only yields scratches that tear into your flesh to bleed out disgrace.

No matter how many times you've tried, the memories always materialize to torment you again and again. It's like those changelings come in spirit, laughing and mocking as they whisper the recollections of their dubious deeds.

A sob ripples through your throat, which is closely followed by a scream. The anguish of this failure only spurs the need to release it physically.

So, without even a single rational thought, your hands grasp anything and everything to mimic the cataclysm swirling inside of you.

First, it is the vase, which was thrust against the floor to dust it in shards of glass and residue. It shatters like the one from earlier, only this time, the pieces are infinitesimal.

It's not fair. Whether you allowed a friend into your bed or a stranger, it always played out the same. Fear, disgust, and pain consumed you in a concoction of turmoil. It broke you down and destroyed every barrier you've built up brick by brick.

Pictures and paintings of landscapes worth thousands were torn apart and shredded before snapping at the force of being thrown at the wall or ground.

It's been years...The last people to touch you were them...The last monsters to f*ck you were them...The last things to c*m inside were them...and they knew you could never forget it.

Anything not nailed to the ground or bolted to the wall was tipped over, thrown about, or shattered. Small gashes bleed from wounds on your hands, trickling onto the floor until you collapse to your knees and conceal your crying face with a pair of tender palms.

There was only one person that concealed the mocking whispers, only one man who you ever felt safe with. He saved you; he rescued you from their clutches and stopped the constant violation.

Quite literally, he tore open the latch to your imprisonment, filling the dark room with light. Behind him stood the dawning, stood freedom, and he brought you to it.

Hildsmar picked you up as though you were a dying goddess and held you close to his chest. He let you listen to the sound of his heart while taking you to safety.

He was security, a protection against the terrors who defiled your very soul.

Your breathing suddenly slowed while something clicked in your mind.

You've been going about it all wrong.

Perhaps Rashatir was right...maybe the 'love' you held on for Hildsmar was a fixation...an obsession. Maybe you were a little tick, latching on to the Chief and living in a delusion where the one who saved you could also be the one to help you as well.

In an almost frightening manner, your sobs and cries cease in an instant as you raise your head out of your hands.

The delusion of safety residing in someone spurred you to hook claws into the Chief...but he's not the only one anymore.

Your phone had fallen somewhere in the middle of your tantrum. Searching for it in the dimness of the destroyed guest room yields cuts on your legs and arms from tiny fragments of glass, but perhaps the burning liquor in your veins is numbing those sensations.

Once you find it, your fingers graze over a large crack that connects corner to corner, but you don't even comprehend anything else anymore.

You call his number with half-lidded eyes that stare out the window.

He picks up on the second ring.

"Now you answer!! After weeks of going MIA!!" His voice bellows in matching harmony with the thunder. "We all thought you were dead!!!"

It makes you smile.

It makes you want to cry.

It makes you want to bleed out and die.

"Come over. I need you."

The calls ends on your part before he can respond.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

You knew he wouldn't spare a moment to waste, his truck is seen pulling up not even ten minutes later.

A smile etches on your lips as you descend down the stairs to the foyer. He must have sped here without taking his foot off the pedal to have arrived so fast.

There's a frantic knock on the front door; the force of his large fist rattles the wooden barriers against the hinges.

A humm echoes out, bouncing off the walls and rippling in the air along with the clicks of your heels. You're taking your time, leisurely grasping the handle, languidly opening it.

His gaze is intense, those bright eyes of his meeting your stare. He's breathing hard, his broad chest rising heavily against a simple grey T-shirt.

"What the hell!" His booming voice rattles through your ears as he pushes you backward to enter your large, empty home.

Ah, you forgot to clean the smudges of mascara or the streaks of blood on your face. Your clothes are still disheveled, wrinkled, ruffled, and bloodstained.

"Who did this to you!?" He demands an answer out of worry because he cares for you. "Answer me!"

His fingers grip your shoulders firmly and tightly and shake just slightly as you feel his body begin to tremble.

Aww, is he mad for you? Is his blood boiling at the thought of someone harming you? Does his heart hurt at the thought of you being dead this whole time?

After all, you cut contact and bounced from work for the last two weeks. Everyone has been thinking you died, and it was too much work settling their worries.

You kind of wanted them to think that.

"Why are you smiling!? Just tell me-" The lieutenant's anxious speech stalls when your hands reach for his wrist, caressing it in such a tender manner that his breath hitches.

"Rashatir~." Your voice is a siren's whisper, the heat of it a near resemblance to a lick of flames as you tilt your head to speak along his skin. "You love me, righ'?"

His adam's apple bobs visibly while his plump lips fall into a frown. The Orc's body becomes tense against yours, all taut and flexed in his beefy muscles.

"I-" He cuts himself off as though he were about to speak a cardinal sin. Yet he cannot deny it anymore and respires deeply before finishing it. "Yes... I do. I do love you."

There's a sparkle in your iris' and an extension in your smile as you stare him dead in the eyes. "Good." You breathe against his skin before stepping forward to completely invade his space.

Water droplets from the storm dampened his clothes only a little that you feel quickly drying from his abnormally hot body heat.

"Rashatir Rozak~." You nearly moan his name as you smile with an alluringly devious grin. "I need ya' to f*ck me."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Y/n needs therapy, not Orc d*ck, but pop off sis. Get that monster c*ck.

Originally, this was supposed to be much shorter and only a one-part series, but then I got carried away with the plot and drama. And I oop.

When I tell y'all that you ain't ready for pt. 2, I f*cking mean it. Woo, omg, how the hell do I come up with these ideas? Also, the smut is just *chef kiss*. I love Orc smut, bro.

Pt.2 will be published one week later, so next Sunday, after I publish the first one, be on the lookout and find a private place to read. If you're reading this later, lucky you, no wait time~!

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

꧁꧂

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

↳If you'd like to support me or read 30+ drafts of TDMLM or my other stories, please consider buying me Kofi. You can find the link on my profile! Thank you :)

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

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creampie-capital · 4 months

Text

║The Orc With The Pretty Brown Eyes ║

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Male Monster x Fem! Reader Word count║20,073

The Devil May Lick Me Masterlist ━━━➤ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞

↳.·:*¨༺𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧༻¨*:·.

Photo Reference Cred ━━━➤ Found on Pinterest, so I'm unable to cred the artist. If you know who created the image, please let me know.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Every Sunday evening, Ivo(ee-vo), the orc with the pretty brown eyes, found his way into the village. His home had been built far off from the townlet, closer to the border and on his own private land. He was reserved, kept to himself, and rarely spoke to anyone without it being a huff or a groan.

The bestial man abstained from partaking in the village traditions or being involved in any events. And although the town was filled with a plethora of different races and breeds, celebrating all kinds of customs, he had no concern for it at all. Even when the other Orcs celebrated their own patronages, he maintained his distance.

Ivo left his home every Sunday evening, traveling down to the settlement and he always did the same things like clockwork. First, he would visit the tanner, exchanging hides and skins of animals for leather and coppers. Then, it would be the butcher, who traded meats for more of the area's currency.

Next would be traveling merchants, where he bought supplies and other knickknacks. He was not a very materialistic or avaricious man; he didn't care too much about buying objects for amusement. Everything was just for survival, enough to sustain himself until his next visit.

Once or twice, he might linger around the shops, eyeing the latest hunting weapon displayed by the blacksmith. Sometimes, he even visited the few orcish marts for hair ornaments that you'd never seen him wear once.

Oh, yes, Ivo was a peculiar Orc, who lived in isolation by himself only to drop in and bless the village with his imperturbable presence for barely even an hour. And every time you saw him that Sunday evening, strolling through the streets with his hulking figure, you fawned over him on every occasion.

At an impressive 8ft(243.84cm) height, he towered over nearly all of the other races. His limbs were stocky and thick, but the bulging of his muscles deterred anyone from thinking he was harmless. Especially with the surfeit of scars and old wounds, displaying untold stories at a glance.

Ivo's skin is a darker shade of green, juniper in color that exhibits his less-than-human characteristics. The only contrast against it would be the cedar brown hair on his body, and the darker thatch on his beefy tummy and chest.

Most impressive was his elongated tusk protruding from his bottom lips and the lengthy cedar hair on top of his head, just about reaching his rounded bum. The orc was so attractive, strutting around with his pretty hazel eyes and long pointed ears.

From the first day you ever saw him, just a little over six years ago, he immediately gained your attention. And you admired him every time from your spot in the farmers market. Oh, how you could only marvel at the way his biceps flexed as he carried his goods and merchandise, or when the sunlight streamed on his face, transforming his eyes into pools of sugared honey.

You bet he tastes like honey.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were under the spell of Fae." Your eyes flickered from the handsome orc that was off in the distance, to a childhood friend who stopped at your stand.

"Maybe I am." You jeered, lips quirking into a cordial smile. "The pixies have been providing me a good harvest."

The changeling rolled her bright eyes and leaned over so her short white hair grazed her cherry-red shoulders. Honora raised her basket onto the table she pointed to a few vegetables. "Mama Kleen wants something fresh tonight."

It was your time to roll your eyes and help place the crops in her basket. "Oh please. By the time you arrive home, the old bat will be begging you to go out and purchase Nana's puddin'."

"Like always." The both of you murmur in sync which spurs laughter to reverberate out. It gets eaten up rather quickly by the typical chaos of the town, with the children dashing about and villagers completing their errands.

Smiling, your childhood friend searched through her satchel for the right amount of currency just as your eyes drifted back into the distance. The hazel-eyed orc had finished with the butcher, on his way down the merchant lane for his supplies.

"Perhaps you should speak with him, invite him to the seasonal harvest parade." Honora's voice provokes heat flashes to pounce upon your body. Sudden sweat dampens the back of your dress, and your hands abruptly become clammy.

"I-You-" Your face is hot, cheeks burning as you flung your gaze back to the changeling. "Honey, no! I could never! Do you see him!? An Orc like that would never be interested in someone like me."

The weaver raised a brow and stared as if you suddenly revealed you were not a little human all along. "(Y/n), have you become brainless?"

You narrowed your eyes at her while receiving the right amount of copper. "Do not shame me. I just...I love admiring him from afar, and I wouldn't want to make him uncomfortable (aware of your shameless eyegoggling)."

Your friend stared at you with an expression of displeasure, as if she were tired of hearing the same things over and over again. "Well..." She started and removed the basket to rest on her shoulder like a purse. "I'd suggest you give it a try. Offer him something of your craft. We both know that you are not the only one in the village fawning over the Orc."

At the end of her sentence, a dark cloud hovered above your head as you bit the inside of your cheek. The reminder damped your mood instantaneously, and your mind flickered between the many women you've overheard gossiping about him.

Orc men do not stay single or unmarried for long. They are some of the most ideal potential spouses, and everyone knows that. Ivo remains the last single bachelor. It's honestly a surprise that Ivo has remained spouseless to this degree. Especially when he's just so dreamy...

"There she goes again," Honora murmured before snapping her fingers to gain your attention again.

You blinked sporadically, removing yourself from your thoughts and returning to face the white-haired woman. She smirked knowingly which provoked you to smack her arm and dismiss her away.

"Have a good night, girlie." The weaver parted with those words, and you both waved goodbye.

Now alone, you find your eyes drifting to the hazel eyed Orc who began to make his way home.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

You released a heavy exhale, huffing as you bent down to catch your breath. The path to the lonesome Orc's home becomes unruly with the twisting curves and hills forming across a plateau.

It might have been a bit easier if you weren't hauling the pounds of crops on your back.

Golden sunlight peers across your face, setting below the horizon with the brightest stars beginning to shine. You didn't mean to spend so much time hiking up the area, but boy did you already begin to dread the walk home in the dark.

Finally, you reached the top where the land stretched out in a flat sector with a waterfall off in the distance. Ivo's wooden cabin is substantially large to fit his enormous size but also rather small with only a large main area and two other rooms.

Well, he does live alone so it was no surprise that he hadn't the need for an enormous home. There's a faint glimmer of light inside, presumably from a candle in one of the windows.

Arriving at the front door, you felt like a little doll in a playhouse. You're dwarfed by size, something both terrifying yet also alluring. You swallowed thickly and dried your hands on the sides of your dress before knocking on the door.

There is no answer at first, just crickets and buzzing of insects on a surprisingly hot September night. Maybe you didn't knock hard enough, so you raised a hand to knock again only to be stunned when the door abruptly opened.

And there he stands, there he towers over like a thick mountain. One of the braids in front of his face is half undone, and the thick ponytail he usually modeled was loose and flowing. You couldn't help but observe the way his thick locks tumbled over his burly arms and down to his hips.

Abruptly, the Orc huffed, respiring a harsh puff of air that snapped your eyes back on his face. You swallowed thickly before producing a kind smile and removing the basket from off your back.

"Good evening, Ivo. I apologize for disturbing your peace, but I wanted to gift you some extra crops from the last harvest." You feel your limbs shaking, but it's not out of fear or even anxiety, but you cannot believe you are finally speaking with him.

You're so close to him, you can smell the musk of his body, and from the way he's only attired in his pants, he must have been off for a bath. His little pudgy belly is out for you to see and oh, do you see.

He looks so cuddly, like the perfect thing to curl up against and hug on a cold winter night. And you know that beneath his pudgy belly is muscle, pure muscle from his time doing hard labor.

Ivo doesn't move from his spot, merely staring at your face with his brows furrowed and nose crinkled. It's an uncomfortable silence as you offer him the weaved basket.

You plead in your mind for him to say anything, to speak but he doesn't. He just gazes at you with those pretty brown eyes of cooled honey and arms crossed over his wide chest.

"U-Uh." You stutter accidentally before clearing your throat and rubbing at the back of your neck. It feels hotter as if the sun still remains out to burn at your skin. "I don't want anything in return from you. It's just...something I wanted to give you."

Again, he has no reply, no words or acknowledgment of your gift.

It's getting darker; the sky's gloaming dusk darkens the path back toward the village. You don't have much more time to waste or dawdle, so you merely place the basket against the open door.

Your body swiftly turns around to leave, but not before you twist your head back to speak and wave. "Have a good night, Ivo. I hope to see you again Sunday evening."

And then you're gone.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

All week, you've been jittery, somewhat impatient to see the long-haired Orc again. You wonder if he appreciated your gift...hopefully, he liked vegetables and fruits at all.

The little pixies at your farm have not ceased their teasing, all bantering and quipping about your fascination with the large bestial man of juniper green skin.

Maybe it is just a fixation since he's so quiet and sticks to himself. Or you just want to be the one to really get to know him and see what he has deep down.

Regardless, you made your move, and it's all up to fate now to see where it leads. So you wait, and bide your time peddling your fresh produce and helping out Honora with her pregnant mother.

She's close to birthing her fourth child soon, and since you helped her during the last two children, Mama Kleen has been adamant about having you around. Quite possibly ironic considering her step-father is an Orc himself.

Then Sunday morning finally arrived, and you woke up the earliest you ever had. Your nerves were on fire, and your heart was beating irregularly. You were just so excited to see him again, and possibly even get to know him some more.

The pixies keep teasing you; oh, they are so mean~. 'They've never seen a woman in love' you joked that morning while getting ready. While you prepared to enter the village to sell and trade your crops once again, the sprites prepared freshly grown vegetables and fruits as they always did.

And so you dressed up and trailed a small wagon behind before finding your usual spot to set up. Your neighbors waved and greeted you just as the regulars did as well.

It was a little busier that morning, but you didn't mind. With the parade coming up, everyone wanted to eat well and celebrate the bountiful harvest and good weather.

Then the evening came, and your palms began to sweat. He was arriving; you could see his hulking figure growing in size as he approached.

Handsome as always with those pretty brown eyes and long cedar hair. He begins his usual schedule, visiting the tanner first, then the butcher, before trailing over to the merchants set up around the epicenter of the townlet.

As his figure grows closer, you can see that he's done something a little different with his gorgeous thick hair. The two braids that framed his face were done tighter, with a few dark brown beads here and there.

It was definitely something new, and uncommon. He never cared too much for his appearance, never once decorated his hair even though he has once or twice bought a few orcish ornaments.

He's...he's dressing up. You could be practically vibrating in your seat at your stand, your mind is overthinking, and you begin to worry.

Were you not the only one to express interest or gift something to the lonesome Orc? Who else was it!? It's probably that fat b*tch from the inn, that stupid cow known for flaunting her breast and assembling a harem.

You swear to whatever higher being there is that if Ivo becomes part of her harem, you're gonna pop her bloated tits.

"Good evening, (Y/n)." An elder's voice ceases the harsh words in your head and returns you back to the real world. "I hope you still have some fresh strawberries today. You're always sold out by the time I arrive."

You cannot help but smile and giggle lightly, nodding as you remove a small bin from underneath the stand. "I saved a pound just for you."

The old lady's mellow eyes sparkle from the sight, and you can practically see her salivate. It was known that the little pixies on your small plot of land produced the most fresh and perfect produce.

It was never moldy or stale, nearly flawless which is why you were always a welcomed member of the village.

"I swear, (Y/n) if you ever need a husband, my grandson would be just perfect for you." She begins, and you nod along to her usual ranting.

Many older woman and men in the town have offered their sons to you, hoping there would be a chance to involve you in their family. There would be many benefits to having you marry into their household, but it was unfortunate to all of them that there was only one man who had your eyes.

And it just had to be the lonesome Orc who only visited once on a Sunday evening.

"Oh, I have to go. You're always welcome to join us for dinner!" You smile and nod, waving her away quickly with the hope you can admire the bestial man from a distance.

But you were completely surprised to find the same man you've been fawning over, suddenly making his way over. Your back straightens in an instant, and you swallow harshly.

He never makes his way around the farmer's market; this isn't his usual route.

Your eyes meet those pools of sugared honey, and you feel yourself sinking deep into them. There must be so much behind them, so many emotions he keeps at bay, so many words he bites on his tongue.

Finally, his feet come to a halt in front of your stand, and you are forced to crane your neck to meet his gaze. His face is ever so impassive, with the same furrow in his brow and crinkle in his wide nose bridge.

It's time to kick on the charm.

"Good evening, Ivo. I hope you've had a good day so far." Your words are soft and cordial, creating an air of friendliness around the two of you.

The Orc merely grunted as he usually did before abruptly dropping something by the side of your stand. You observe, seeing that it was your weaved basket from last Sunday night.

What came as a surprise, was the fact that many of the vegetables you gifted him remained inside, rotten and putrid. Some of the fruits aren't present so either they fell out on his way back, or he might have actually enjoyed them.

Truthfully, you do feel slightly discouraged that he hadn't enjoyed your produce, but Orcs are more of a carnivore than regular humans. So you suck down your pride and peer back up at the large man to smile.

"I probably should have known." You state with slight laughter at the end. "Next time I'll bring over some more fruits if you'd like."

He grunts again, loud and guttural but you're unsure if he is agreeing or dismissing you. You parted your lips to speak, but he has already turned around, heading off down the same path he always follows on his way home.

You sit still for a moment, unmoving and barely breathing before you hop off your seat and pack up everything to rush home.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

The pixies are teasing you, heckling you for really giving a carnivorous Orc some vegetables. VEGETABLES! The small little sprites were on their back, overcome with laughter while holding their tiny little bellies.

You can only roll your eyes and pack off some of the extra fruits you had set aside. After they finally do calm down, they offer some words of advice.

Ivo is an Orc, one who lives in isolation and primarily hunts for his own survival and trade. He probably has no idea what to even do with the vegetables, how to cook or prepare them properly.

And this gives you a great idea.

Why not assemble a stew or some kind of broth with it? It'll be perfect; he can roast or marinate the game he hunts, and be able to enjoy the produce already prepared and cooked.

There isn't much time before sunset, so you're rushing to prepare the broth. The pixies continue their laughter for a little longer before ultimately flying over to help you prepare it.

Your body is literally radiating with heat, and you're filled with lots of suspense. You hope he likes it; you hope he actually enjoys it and eats a hearty meal and fills his cute little belly.

How can you stop this smile on your face as you cook the broth and prepare the vegetables? How can you calm your beating heart with the anticipation of seeing him again?

By the time you are just about halfway finished, you decide that he can cook the rest with the meat later on, so you tie some rope over the large pot and lid to keep it from spilling and pack it in your handheld wagon with some more of the fruits he ate.

Your sprites bid you goodbye, not without a few teasing remarks that have you rolling your eyes. Now that you are aware of where the Orc lives, you hope the trip there will be faster.

When you're about midway there, you curse yourself for struggling so much. All this heavy lifting and pulling is not your forte; that should be reserved for someone with a little more height and a lot more muscle.

It's not as hot as last week, but the back of your neck still dampens your dress, and you huff audibly as you catch your breath.

Now that you're here, you settle your breathing and collect your nerves before knocking. This time, you put a little more oomph into it.

Silence, and hushed crickets before the door is abruptly snapped open like before. You don't have any answer as to how such a big man is so quiet when he arrives, but you do not dwell on it as you take in his appearance.

Once again, his hair was half undone, the beads absent, and the ponytail lax. His chest is bare of his top, freely displaying his large pectorals dusted in light cedar brown hair that flows diligently down his rounded belly in a delicious, happy trail.

This time, the strings tying his bottom up around his hips are undone which leaves it loose. And allows your eyes to settle on the thicker thatch of darker hair on his crotch-

He huffs, your eyes flickering back upwards to his face in an instant as your nerves tingle. Does he even understand how absolutely appetizing he is? How every little thing he does fills your tummy with warmth and has your mind imagining all these nasty little things?

"Hello, Ivo. I'm sorry If I caught you right before a bath." You hope your voice sounds level, considering the vibrating delight that's buzzing through your bloodstream. "I should have known better than to gift you vegetables without properly readying it so I've brought you some stew."

Those honey-pooled eyes of his follow your movements as you step aside to grasp the handles of the heavy pot and whine as you struggle to set it down. "It's just some beef broth and greens that I prepared. It's all ready for you to roast game or slow-cook other meats. I hope this time...you can actually enjoy it rather than letting it rot."

When your eyes travel up to his face, you note that the furrow in his brow has deepened, but the crinkle in his nose has lessened. You cannot read his expression or even guess what is going on in his head.

But you hope it's all good things.

Your shoulders jolt slightly as you release a quiet 'oh' sound. "I also brought some more of the fruit from last time. I even put a small jar of sugar at the bottom if you prefer just a little more sweetness." You murmur while heaving the basket out and setting it down by the pot.

He speaks in silence, keeping his lips pursed and clamped shut. It's unclear if you're just a hair away from being kicked off his land or what but you decided it is time to leave.

Clearing your throat, you meet his gaze once more as you smile and brush away a bead of sweat on the side of your face. "I have to go. I bid you a good night, Ivo. And I hope you enjoy the fare."

Then you were gone once again.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

All week, you've been antsy.

You desire to know if he ate it, if he enjoyed it, and found his belly warm with your food. Your pride will spike if so, and completely disintegrate if not.

Your pixies had not ceased their mockery, finding humor in your constant desire to please the giant bestial Orc. The little creatures giggle and laugh, brushing your counters and tables with their little dust from their jittery chortles.

They hold no maliciousness and only see your best interest at heart, which is why their teasing only goes so far.

Finally, Sunday rolls around, and you wake up early again. Following your usual schedule, you prepare for your visit to the town and get dressed. Your nymphs are collecting more produce and piling them in the wagon to aid you.

Like every morning, it's calm and simple. Nothing is worrisome or out of place. Your produce sells well as it always does, with your stand practically empty by the time the evening comes. But you always dawdle around just a little longer to see a certain Orc make his way in.

And there he comes.

His hulking figure draws closer, cedar brown hair a shade lighter in the sun as he follows his usual routine. Tanner first, butcher next, and then the merchant lane.

But this time instead of heading straight home, he makes his way over to the farmers market. Those pools of honey meet yours and you straighted upwards, even clamping your thighs together as warmth fills your belly.

A few more braids adorn his long hair, some even on the top of his head that lead into his thick ponytail. Only this time, the brown beads in his hair from last week are replaced with yellow ones, and decorated with a little more style.

"Ivo~!" You greet and swallow the saliva in your mouth before you visibly salivate. "Good to see you all big and healthy. I hope you had a good week."

The mighty Orc grumbles under his breath as he shimmies some rope off his shoulder before dropping the pot and weaved basket from last Sunday. All the fruits before are absent, nothing visibly inside so you switch your attention to the iron pot.

Removing the lid, you find that the contents inside are a few. Thickened broth sticks to the sides inside, and there are a few strays of tender meat as well. You find a smile etching onto your lips with your pride swelling exponentially. He cooked his meat with the stew and ate all of it.

Your cheeks are aching from your strong grin as you turn your attention back to the juniper-skinned man. "I really hope you enjoyed it. I can't tell you how happy I am that you ate it all."

He doesn't respond as usual, however, his usual stern expression refrains from feeling as harsh. Or perhaps that's just your own imagination.

"I have to go." You start and hop off your stool. "I wasn't sure if you enjoyed the stew, but now that I know, I have to go home and make some more before it gets too dark!"

Ivo huffs while licking his ivory tusk and blinking slowly before turning away. His heavy body doesn't rumble the earth as he begins his path home just as you do the same.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

So the cycle continued for a few more weeks, where every Sunday evening, he dropped off his empty pot and basket of fruits only for you to already have some more prepared for him to take home.

He still forbears from speaking with you, only replying with a single huff or grunt. But this is the farthest anyone has ever gotten with him, and that's what matters the most.

The other villagers are starting to take notice of this exchange, whispering to themselves about your interactions. They're more surprised than anything that Ivo, the lonesome Orc, has relations with a small, precious little thing like you.

What would a big bestial monster need with you, they might ask. But what they don't know is that Ivo's exactly your kind of man.

One Sunday even after you finished exchanging the soup, you noticed something left on your stand. It is something so intricate and detailed that you couldn't help but admire it.

Carved from wood was a small wolf statue with its head pointed to the sky as it howled. The middle of the wolf was completely hollowed out to depict a much smaller wolf to be on display. It, too, had its head tilted to the sky as it howled, almost a wolfish grin on its maw.

'How beautiful!' You gush in your head as you appreciate the elaborate craftsmanship. Ivo must have left it on your stand by accident when you exchanged the food. He won't be back until next week, and you're sure he won't be in the greatest mood with his little knickknack missing.

Now that September has just ended and you've entered autumn, the days have become considerably shorter, and the sun sets earlier.

So you quickly rush home to drop off your wagon and take a shawl with you to venture toward Ivo's place outside of the village. The air is a bit crispier in these parts, with a freshness that nearly rejuvenates your lungs every time time you smell it.

You try to go your fastest, by the path becomes difficult to follow when the night overtakes the sun much quicker than you anticipated. Your fingers grip the wolf sculpture tighter, the ends of wooden fur poking into your soft palms.

Nearly there, you recognize the small bank by the side of the trail with glowing flowers, known for their healing properties. Yet before you could even pass the small patch, a sound in the distance immediately stalls your entire being.

Blood solidifies in your body, with a sudden flare of heat spreading beneath your skin. You cannot see in the darkness, but even so, you attempt to peer through the dusk.

Another growl reverberates out, and you practically feel the vibrations in your bones. The wolves have come out for fresh meat.

Some sniffing and branch crackling are discerned to originate from the side, signaling that they are approaching. Your hamlet is too far to run back for help; your best bet is to somehow reach the Orc's home.

And so without wasting another moment, you push off as hard as you can to get a head start. But you should have expected the wolves to do the same.

One manages to latch its fangs into your shawl, tugging you backward as another burrows its fangs into your right calf.

Your eyes immediately become lachrymose, filled with heavy, hot tears as a scream pierces the night air. You wail audibly, correlating with a sob and a call of his name.

"Ivo!"

A wolf snarls by your face, the heat of its hot breath filling your entire body with dread. You're going to die.

Bracing for another bite, it comes as a surprise when the ground rumbles with the weight of something heavy and knocks right into the beast by your face.

You can barely make things out in the darkness, but you can discern another wolf, one twice their size that yanks the feral creature off your calf.

Ink splotches begin to splatter across your vision with the feeling of your head weighing heavily. You're unsure how much blood you've lost from the bite, but the combination with your heart beating irregularly is no help at all.

Suddenly, light infiltrates the land, illuminating the hillside to reveal your savior. It is another beast, woefully huge and threatening, but it stands in front of your fall body, protecting you from the others approaching.

The light grows brighter, splintering wood penetrating the sound of your rapid heart just as a warm hand caresses your face, attaining your attention.

Oh, you meet those pretty brown eyes, ablaze in the light of fire as the Orc himself kneels before you. "Ivo..." Your voice is frail and crackly, unstable as the pain lessens, only to freeze your body with a heavy chill.

"(Y/n), stay with me." He speaks for the first time, a full-on sentence and you swear your entire world shifts. The center of the world begins with him; he is the start of it all, and you feel absolutely complete.

"Oh, Ivo." You croak, fingers weakly reaching for his thick wrist as your lips quirked into a smile. "You have such a beautiful voice..."

His nose crinkles as he removes his hand from your face to easily pick up your entire body with one arm. His impressive strength continues to baffle you, even as you're carried like a mere babe against his chest.

"Ludo, follow!" There's power in the way he speaks, something deep and profound. You could fall asleep to it.

Ivo marches back to his home with the creature he called Ludo, snarling at the rabid wolves one last time before following aside.

Even as your body grows cold, the heat from his own is like nothing you've ever encountered. You were right; he'd be the best thing to cuddle on a cold winter night.

Somehow, you managed to keep the wolf sculpture safe, hugging it to your stomach with one arm as your other hand rested against his pectoral.

"Do not sleep." Ivo commands, and now you can hear the remnants of an accent. His pronunciation is harsh and heavy, but all the more alluring.

"But you are so...warm..." You manage to mumble out as your eyes blink sluggishly, fighting to close permanently.

The Orc huffs just as he enters his cabin, pushing past the wooden door to fill your nose with spices. "Now is the time for that stubbornness."

Another smile dances on your lips as you are settled on something soft yet firm, like a comforter covered in furs. For a big man, Ivo moves swiftly to gather healing ointments and other supplies just as he brings over a small bowl of some strong liquid.

"Drink." He demands while kneeling before you, offering the tiny vessel in the palm of his large hand.

You barely have the strength to raise your arms and grasp it but you do as to not disappoint him. "I've...I've never been much of a drinker." You attempt to lighten the mood with a joke, but your words have no positive effect on the man.

He merely diverts his attention away to your leg, eyeing up the bleeding wound before grasping the ends of your dress and raising it to your knee.

A shiver spreads upwards from the small of your back and like branches across the skin. He's right, you need this drink.

So you down it, and nearly gagging at the strong taste of this liquor. It must be orcish from the potency that wouldn't be alike to any human or even elvish spirit.

Immediately, you feel the effects just as your entire stomach blooms with a warm akin to whenever you meet the Orc's pretty brown eyes.

"Oh, Ivo." It was not meant to be s*xual, but it came out like a moan as your body slumped in the comforts of fur. "You are...so handsome."

He grunts in response while focusing on your injury. Even though his fingers are thick, they are diligent in cleaning the blood and dressing the wound.

No one speaks, remaining in silence as you somehow manage to stay awake, albeit inebriated. Though Ludo, the enormous salt and pepper colored wolf, does find himself sitting by the side of the couch, dipping his head by yours to sniff and lick at your nose.

You giggle, sluggishly reaching out only to hit him a little hard on the top of his head before scratching right behind his ears.

"Ludo is not a pet," Ivo states, accent harsher as he stands to his full height to venture out of the room.

"...But he is so adorable." Your slurred voice is followed by another giggle as you begin to pepper the dark-furred beast with wet kisses on its cheek. Ludo leans into your body just as his tail begins to beat against the wooden floor, thumping diligently with much force.

He makes no reply, so you continue to love up on the wolf as though he is some harmless little dog. "Thank you, Ludo." You're unsure if he understands your gratitude, but he seems to nod and bury his snout between the crook of your neck.

When Ivo does return, he carries a quilt back into the room to kneel in front of your body. He narrows his eyes and clicks his tongue which spurs Ludo to whine, but with another click, the beast reluctantly pulls away from your throat.

"Why...?" You mewl, craning your blurry eyes up at the Orc with a frown. His bottom lip twitches just as his body stiffens. He could have been a block of ice from how unmoving he was for a moment before glancing anywhere else but your face.

"Sleep." He grumbles, but you shoot your hands out to grasp his wrist. The juniper-skinned man freezes just as he had done before as you meet his gaze.

You hum while raising his fingers to your lips, where you present him with a kiss on his pinky finger before placing another on the back of his middle and then coming to a stop at his thumb. "Thank you for saving me, Ivo...I just wanted to return the...the sculpture you forgot about."

Finally, his attention redirects to the wooden figurine resting against your stomach and he swallows thickly. "'Was for you." He replies, and almost embrassingly raises his pretty brown eyes to meet yours. "A gift, for you."

If you were able to, you'd probably have jumped up and down in joy, but the best you can do is raise your eyebrows. "I always knew you were a sweetheart."

Immediately, he scrunched his nose before removing his wrist from your hold and turning to blow out a candle by the comforter. You are instantly drenched in darkness, just as you feel his heat dissipate and hear his footsteps hush as it muted in the distance.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

By the time you awoke, the home was quiet, still. The main area you were resting in seemed to be his kitchen and dining spot, where the table stands at a much larger height, and so does the other furniture.

It's just as you thought; the Orc is not a very materialistic person. His home is nothing more than the required furniture and bins to hold supplies.

Ludo nor Ivo seem to be present, the home was completely bare of any other decorative object. However, there does seem to be a tray of dried meat and a few slices of fruit. There's even a small wooden crutch by the side of the couch with linen clothes tied around the top to aid in the discomfort of rubbing wood.

The crutch is dwarfed by all other objects in the cabin, and one that certainly wouldn't fit his size so this must have been made specifically for you.

What an absolute sweetheart.

Smiling, you bring the tray over to lay by your side as you leisurely snack on the dried meat, leisurely enjoying yourself. It doesn't take much longer to finish off the small meal and force yourself to your feet.

You cannot place much weight on your right leg, but luckily, you have a crutch to take the pressure. Limping towards the front door and opening it, you are blessed with the sight of the Orc's bare, wide, and extensive back. The muscles are profound and built, contracting and flexing as his body moves with the with of ax.

He splits a thick log in half only to bend at the waist and grasp the timber to tear it apart with his bare hands.

What a strong and dreamy man...

Ludo abruptly barks, earning your eyes as you shift to peer at the approaching beast. "Hello, boy." You murmur while feeling the Orc's gaze on your body. "Good morning to you, too."

Ivo huffs while sniffing and wipes the back of his arm over his forehead before nearing. "I must take you home. I need to be off." He states, and you nod reluctantly.

"I must thank you again, Ivo. I didn't mean to cause trouble."

He merely grumbles beneath his breath before pushing you gently to the side so he can enter his home. You roll your eyes and lean against the wall while training your attention to Ludo. "I'll be back don't worry. He's not getting rid of me easily."

If possible, Ludo presents you with a little wolfish grin.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

And so, you were brought back to the village, carried in his arms that attracted way too much attention. But this felt like something... as if you were put on display to tell everyone 'Do Not Touch What's Mine.'

Maybe you were smirking, maybe not.

When you were carried home, Ivo made sure to give you some salves for the pain and aid the wound in regenerating better.

He left quickly after, but not before warning you to stay away from the outskirts in the dark. And that he will see you in a few days to check on the injury.

It took everything in you not to appear desperate, but he just did things to you that no one has ever made you feel.

Until Ivo returned, you decided to refrain from selling in the morning, considering you have enough saved up to miss a few days.

The sculpted wolf figurine was displayed proudly in your little home as if it were made of gold. And maybe it was; you prized it that much.

It took forever to calm your pixies down, the little nymphs nearly going psychotic from your almost perishing to the rabid wolves. Your health and well-being meant everything to them, and if you were to die, they would be absolutely devasted.

You couldn't help the guilt so you promised that you'd never travel in the dark outside like that ever again. Especially considering he might be coming to you first now.

Hehe.

On the fourth day of waiting, you awoke to little hands slapping your face and tugging on strands of your hair. You groaned, blinking heavily and sluggishly sitting upwards.

"I will lock you all in the birdhouse if you-"

"There's a big Orc in the backyard!" One of them cried, and you were already on the move. The nymphs fly over with a coat for you to wear as you grasp your crutch and lymph to the kitchen where the backdoor is situated.

It's just as they said, only there was no need for them to be so frightened. Ivo's returned only he was fixing some of your broken fences that your father once put over the perimeter to protect your props. A few months ago some foxes had torn through, and you never got around to fixing them.

Here he was, repairing something without you even having to ask him. Is he attempting to make you fall more in love with him than you already are?

Even though it is cold and chilly, he wears his usual hide pants with a simple sleeveless top and his arm warmers. This time, however, the yellow beads are no more, and he has now decorated his thick braids with blue beads.

If you remember correctly, each colored bead means something different to the Orcs. Certain colors represent their positions; other times, it's for their feelings. You'll have to ask one of the other Orcs in town about it.

"Well good morning, Ivo." You greet softly while exiting your house to stop a few feet away and lean on your crutch. "You sure gave the harvest pixies a little fright."

He grumbles while pounding a nail into a new board. "I know. I felt their pathetic little hits on my neck."

Your lips twitched into a smile at the imagery. Very few were blessed with the sight to see the little spiritual creatures and you were one of them. They helped you with the crops, and you fed them all kinds of treats and sweets.

Seem's he wasn't granted the special vision but can feel them and their 'pathetic little hits.'

"I was going to get around to fixin' the fence. There wouldn't be much for me to do in the winter." You start, but he shakes his head at your words.

"Better if I do it." The Orc states, and he sounds as if he were not in the mood to argue so you just rolled your eyes and repositioned your crutch.

A few pixies were mumbling by your ear that he was being suspiciously nice, the other few telling you just to let him do the manual labor.

So, without saying anything more, you turned back and crutched back into your little home. While he finishes with that, you might as well make everyone something to eat. It's still early in the morning, and most people are still resting in their beds.

Now, what would an Orc want to eat for breakfast? Probably meat and protein. There remains half a carton of eggs and some milk so you make him eggs and bacon.

It's a good thing you were not as hungry as you usually are because the serving size for the juniper-skinned man had basically used up almost all of your remaining supplies.

"Please make a sherbert!" One pixie cries while another begs for; "No, a shortcake!" They argue back and forth, but it's such a common occurrence that you are able to block them out while you cook.

Soon you were finished with all your meals, even making a quick treat for the starving nymphs who gratefully sat at their micro chairs on the counter and ate diligently, quietly.

Your home is not very Orc friendly; Ivo wouldn't be able to comfortably eat in your residence so you place your dishes and a drink on a trolly and drag it outside to the best of your ability.

"Come, Ivo! Eat breakfast with me." At the sound of your voice, the bestial man huffed, the air becoming visibly beneath his nose from the early autumn morning.

He tossed the hammer in a toolbox before stepping around some tilled dirt and setting down on a thick stump. "I hope this is to your liking." You remark while passing him the plate that was reserved for gatherings since it is so large.

But like everything else, it looks tiny in his large hands. Clearing your throat, you sit at the table a few feet away and wrap the coat tighter around your body while indulging in your own meal.

It is silent as the two of you eat, with no words other than the sound of the utensil scraping against the dish. He eats quickly, almost as if he's afraid the food will be taken away from him.

So cute.

"How is Ludo? I miss him." You asked and received a low 'fine.' Was that...attitude?

Narrowing your eyes, you sip some more of your juice before speaking. "You know I missed you too." HIs fork comes to halt for only a second before he's finishing the last of the scrambled eggs. This catches your attention, and of course, you have to continue it. "I couldn't wait to see you and your pretty brown eyes again."

His empty place is abruptly dropped back on the trolly before he heaves his towering frame to his feet and heads back over to the broken fences.

You cannot help the smile on your face or the giggle that echoes out from your lips.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Considering your injury, Ivo visits every four few days to aid with something that would be difficult with your leg wound. So far, he's managed to fix your fences to where they looked as good as new, restored the roofing of your house that was heavily weathered, cut you enough wood to last a decade of winters, and even finished the shed your father left unfinished before him and your mother packed up to parade around the world.

You didn't ask him to do any of this; he wasn't obligated to help at all. Your injury was not his fault, more yours than anything but he still aided you with every chance he had.

It allowed the two of you to really build a connection. He spoke a little more than just his usual huffs and grunts. And although you were the one to fill the air with conversation, Ivo would pipe in everyone in a while. Eventually, you were able to learn more about the reclusive Orc, and it made you feel like the most special person in the whole village.

After a few months of this, it started to dip into late November, and he began leaving you meats from his weekly hunts.

"Ivo, please. I am not in need of another 40lb (18.1437kg) of game and boar meat. I still have barely scratched the top of the last four hunts." Your words seemed to only go through one ear and out the other as the Orc pushed the basket closer to your body.

"You are small and frail, easily hurt. Eat more protein." This is what he conveys every time you endeavor to inform him that he is gifting you an excessive amount of poultry.

It is quite literally overkill.

Subconsciously, a hand settles on your hip while you narrow your eyes at him. "Ivo, I'm serious. You have given me enough. I do not want anymore to putrefy."

His wide but small nose scrunched before exhaling air like a bull. "Then eat. 'Get bigger, plumper." He replies so nonchalantly, like he speaks of the weather.

It's pointless; you never manage to persuade him to cease these constant and huge 'offerings.' It really does feel like he is fattening you up to eat like a warm, juicy meal.

"Fine, fine. But please reduce the amount. You are spoiling me." Your comment holds no true merit because, deep down, you don't want him to stop. His attention, his rare affection, and his acts of service are all something that you've become dependent on.

He is like something (sweet/bitter), and you are an addict.

The ends of his lips raise just the slightest, those ivory tusks producing a slight shine as he once again pushes the large basket closer to your body.

At least he had enough decency not to drop these massive carcasses on your front steps.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

It would be dumb of you to say that the villagers are not noticing this new dynamic. Probably the hottest gossip they've had in a while.

"Mama Kleen is wondering if you're going to marry the Orc." Honora abruptly murmurs which provokes you to almost drop the mirror you were looking at on the merchant's table.

Your eyes stare into the childhood friend's bright ones while she shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. "Honey, why is your mom wondering about my love life?"

"She's not the only one." The changeling replies. "My brothers are asking about it as well. And I heard Edme b*tch'n about it too."

You scoff at the mention of that cow hybrid and tighten your coat across your chest. "She's just mad that she is unable to add another man to her ever-growing harem."

The two of you giggle at your words before continuing your little shopping spree. You haven't been spending much time with her, especially after her mother gave birth to her new sister; she's been busy as well.

"I know. And even though Ivo is courting you, she still won't shut the f*ck up about him." The white-haired woman rants while reaching for a bedazzled comb.

One of your brows raised as you blinked sporadically. "C-Courting me?" You laughed while shaking your head. "No, I don't think so. I was injured trying to return something, and he was just being helpful afterward."

Honora and even the merchant lady stared at you as if you yanked on their last nerves. "What?" You asked the both of them yet they merely roll their eyes.

"Don't you know what Orcish courting rituals are?" You shake your head which provokes the changeling to smack one of your shoulders. "Oh, my lord. You've been in love with an Orc for years and you never even dared read up on their tradition?"

Sheepishly you scratched at the back of your neck while the merchant shakes her head and murmurs something in her native tongue that you cannot hear.

Raising your hand, you attempt to defend. "In my defense, I never believed that anything would happen."

Your best friend shook her head and began walking away. Quickly, you followed after her as best as you could, considering your calf was still a bit irritated.

"Well Orcs have multiple steps before marriage, and they don't have to follow it exactly, but most do. First, they craft something handmade, like carvings, weapons, or even jewelry. The more intricate the design, the more willing the orc seems to be to follow through with the relationship."

Your mind immediately flickers back to the wolf figurine you believed he accidentally left on your stand.

【You hum while raising his fingers to your lips, where you present him with a kiss on his pinky finger before placing another on the back of his middle and then coming to a stop at his thumb. "Thank you for saving me, Ivo...I just wanted to return the...the sculpture you forgot about."

"The second step is caretaking. Helping with your injuries and taking care of your health. But it is more so fixing any issues you might have, such as something that is broken or being an inconvenience, and they resolve it for you."

Then your memory snaps to the imagery of when Ivo began to do all the manual things around your home that you've been putting off or waiting to higher one of the carpenters.

【"I was going to get around to fixin' the fence. There wouldn't be much for me to do in the winter." You start, but he shakes his head at your words.

"Better if I do it." The Orc states, and he sounds as if he were not in the mood to argue so you just rolled your eyes and repositioned your crutch.】

"Another step would be a show of their physical prowess. They want to show off their strength and that they are more capable than anybody else. An Orc might take you on a hunting trip to vaunt in the glory of wrestling a huge beast or winning a brawl. Maybe they might even display how much they can carry in with one arm and how far they can push their bodies before they grow exhausted. From what I've seen, most of the Orc men and women just like to show off their bodies."

Your mind transports you to that time when you awoke after falling asleep in his cabin.

【You cannot place much weight on your right leg, but luckily, you have a crutch to take the pressure. Limping towards the front door and opening it, you are blessed with the sight of the Orc's bare, wide, and extensive back. The muscles are profound and built, contracting and flexing as his body moves with the with of ax.

He splits a thick log in half only to bend at the waist and grasp the timber to tear it apart with his bare hands.

What a strong and dreamy man...】

"The final step can be a bit blurry, but this one is providing meals for you. Most would cook something as one would for a special occasion. Using vegetables, rice, and fresh meat instead of the salted and dried ones in the pantry. It's all about showing that they can take care of you other than the physical stuff and can keep you nourished.

It all makes sense. In the very beginning, he had returned the vegetables considering he had no clue what to do with them. He isn't well-versed in cooking, but if there is one thing he's good at, it's hunting.

【"Ivo, please. I am not in need of another 40lb (18.1437kg) of game and boar meat. I still have barely scratched the top of the last four hunts." Your words seemed to only go through one ear and out the other as the Orc pushed the basket closer to your body.

"You are small and frail, easily hurt. Eat more protein." This is what he conveys every time you endeavor to inform him that he is gifting you an excessive amount of poultry.

It is quite literally overkill.

Subconsciously, a hand settles on your hip while you narrow your eyes at him. "Ivo, I'm serious. You have given me enough. I do not want anymore to putrefy."

His wide but small nose scrunched before exhaling air like a bull. "Then eat. 'Get bigger, plumper." He replies so nonchalantly, like he speaks of the weather.

It's pointless; you never manage to persuade him to cease these constant and huge 'offerings.' It really does feel like he is fattening you up to eat like a warm, juicy meal.】

"At the end of all this, if you still want to continue the courtship and agree to it all, the Orc will present you with a bead of a certain color. Each color holds a certain energy for your relationship."

Wait, when you first began to show interest in the reclusive Orc; he started to wear beads and ornaments. You never thought to ask Honora, but you should have since her stepfather is an older red-skinned orc.

"What does brown, yellow, and blue stand for." You asked her as the both of you began to wander through the epicenter of town.

She peers down at you with a knowing smirk before replying. "It varies, but browns can be casual, reliable. Yellows are more like attention-grabbing, liveliness, and happiness. And blues could be loyalty, trust, stability."

Perhaps your eyes are sparkling, but you've never felt so intense about something. Everything is starting to make sense, and the man who became your world once he spoke to you has grown to be your universe.

"And guess what. A certain someone has been wearing orange beads this week." Honora jeers and pokes your side to gain your attention.

"What does that mean?" Can she make this any better?"

"Cheerfulness, enthusiasm, creativity, and aggression. So personally, I believe he might be presenting you some colored beads the next time he sees you."

The final step; the last phase before marriage. If you accept, he will be yours, and you his in holy matrimony. After all that fawning from afar, you could do it shamelessly right by his side.

"Can't believe my younger friend is going to get married before me." The short-haired woman laments which spurs on laughter.

"Only a year." You reply. "And who said anything about marriage yet? I haven't really thought about settling down..." Before she can respond, your attention is caught by one of Honora's younger brothers calling you over from the inn. "What do you think he wants?"

"Probably to bail him out of trouble as usual." Her words provoke another bout of laughter as you both head over to the inn. "Don't you think it's a bit funny though, (N/n)?"

You raise an eyebrow while craning your neck back. "What are you talkin' about."

She covered her pink lips with a hand. "You unknowingly began to court him first by offering him your fruits and the vegetable braises."

Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets as you scoff and knock her off balance with a jab to her waist. "What!? That was your idea! I had no idea I was courting him!" You screech, drawing the attention of the neighboring villagers but they do not stare for too long as they go about their day.

Honora is overcome with laughter as your face burns from the embarrassment. You had no idea that you were being so brazen, gifting him things that would be considered courting in his culture. It wasn't like that; you were just trying to be nice!

By the time you arrive at the inn where Cyprian is waiting, your face seethed with so much heat you could practically boil water and Honora is crying because of the pains in her stomach from the intense laughter.

If she could see or hear your pixies, they would have gotten along just fine.

"Good afternoon, Cyprian." You great unenthusiastically, still embarrassed by your friend's earlier words.

"Afternoon, (Y/n). Thought you two would enjoy a drink in the future spouse's honor." The younger changeling words immediately spur on another heat flash as you once again punch Honora in the waist.

The Lothair siblings merely laugh at your reaction with more glee than they should. "Come on, guys. How many other people are aware?"

Cyprian merely shrugged his shoulders. "At least half the village is ready for a wedding ceremony." He replies.

Your fingers curl into a fist by your side while the two laugh at you once again. You know what, good thing the brother called you over for a drink; you sure could use one in this instance.

It doesn't take much longer for the three of you to enter the populated inn where many of the town folks have begun their swigging. "Three orders of your classic ail, Jr," Honora orders the older man who nods his head as you all sit at the bar.

"Other than my relationship with Ivo that everyone is aware of, how have you been Cy? How's your partner?"

The younger man nods eagerly while reaching for his drink. "They're good, real good. Tomorrow, we have to babysit their younger cousin."

Honora huffs with a knowing smirk while shaking her head. "Yeah, you are going to feel what I felt when I had to practically raise you and Finnigan."

"I was not that bad." The brother opposes. "Finny was the one shifting into a rat and running through the horse's enclosure."

"Oh don't even get me started!"

Laughing and sharing more stories, the three of you enjoy your time together. The human ail was nowhere near as strong as you all like, so you've upped the game to something just a little more potent.

An hour or two has passed by the time you're tipsy and knocking shoulders with the Lothair siblings. Your face is warm, lips tingling and you probably should need to visit the latrine soon.

"I can take him. Do you see who you're even talking to?" An annoyingly high voice infiltrates the air and gains your attention as you turn back to the one person you'd rather not deal with on this good night.

Edme, the cow hybrid.

The long, split-haired woman is surrounded by her little friends, with a bunch of men encircling her like some protection guard.

You scoff and lean your back against the bar as you watch her produce her fake laughter that screech inside your ears.

"There she goes again. Can't believe all those men can deal with her." Honora groans and raises the mug to her lips.

Cyprian rolls his light eyes and mimics her movements. "Probably 'cause she literally can be milked like a cow." You kick his leg, but he has no negative reaction.

"That's because Ivo's never been with a real woman. (Y/n)'s not good enough for him." Edme's words immediately catch your attention just as they force you to drop your smile. "Watch one night together, and he'll be courting me thereon. He'll drop her just like Eirken did after I had my way with him."

Your body boils, blood seethes beneath the skin, and the alcohol in your belly begins to ignite every nerve you possess.

"(Y/n), no." Honora hisses, yet her brother giggles and eggs you on with a "(Y/n), yes!"

Licking your bottom lip, you lean back and speak loud enough to gain everyone's attention. "It appears that every time you have opened your legs, you got dumber and dumber like a real cow."

The usually overbearing sounds of everyone chattering have silenced into something eerily hushed as all the attention befalls your figure.

"Oh, you want to repeat that?" Edme demands while stepping away from the table she sat at to march over to you. "I thought I heard some little b*tch speaking?"

You shrug with no care in the world. "Probably cause you can only hear your own voice over those bloated tits." You remark with a few 'ooh's in response from the crowd.

The hybrid scoffs in disbelief as her hands point at her rounded bust from the underside. "Jealousy has never looked good on you, but I might let it slide since the absence of breasts on you has made all the men in town mistake you for a man."

"She did not," Honora murmurs under her breath as you just smile tightly and nod your head. Leisurely, you lower yourself from your stool while raising your mug to your lips.

Drinking from it slowly, Edme waits impatiently for your next comeback. But you take your time swallowing before pulling back. "I thought it was the alcohol that had my vision all messed up, but you really are just like your mother. Nothin' but a breeding b*tch."

The hybrid scoffs and parts her lips yet before she can say anything more, your mug that was still half full gets thrown at her. Chilled liquor drenches her clothes and hair, even smudging her makeup.

She shrieks, eyeing her clothes and while she's distracted, you don't even waste a second as you step forward and connect your fist with her face.

Everyone is in disbelief for a second before the two of you tumble to the floor, and a fight ensues. Soon, the customers crowded around, chanting 'fight' over and over again.

Maybe it was because Edme might have been more inebriated than you or because you've had this rage accumulate for her over the years, but you are not letting up.

Her body is below yours as you straddle her hips, with one hand tangled in her straight locks and your other pounding into her face. She's struggling the best she can, but her attempts are meek, merely scratching at your skin and cutting the flesh on your cheeks.

"Next time-" Your fist collides with her nose, which immediately spurs blood that flecks across your face when you send another punch. "-leave my soon-to-be husband's name outta your f*ckin' mouth!"

There is an outburst of wolf whistles and shouts. Some congratulate you; others are demanding you hit Edme harder.

However, before you can do just that, a warm arm wraps over your midsection and raises you in the air with ease, as if you are a small feral animal.

You thrust your head upwards with a snarl on your lips only to meet those pretty brown eyes of your Orc. "Let me down! I'm not done!"

He scowls deeply and throws you over his shoulder before making his way out of the inn. "No, no!" You shout while pounding your bloody fist against his wide back. "I'm not done with that b*tch! I'm not done!"

Ivo has no reaction to your belligerent screaming or pounding as his long legs stride far away quickly. You're squirming like a little worm, practically rabid and deranged.

You've never been so violent, but the sheer audacity and blatant insolence will not be tolerated when you have a belly full of ail, and are going to be married soon.

"Ivo! Ivo please!" Your pleading falls on deaf ears as he traverses through the outskirts and up the hill to his home. The inn is growing smaller and smaller in the distance, yet your rage still has not subsided.

In fact, you feel like you're going to blow up with the way everything is so hot and burning.

"Why are you stopping me!? Don't tell me you like her! Huh!? 'You've been courting her too!? She got her claws into you already!?" Your words are harsh and brutal, just as the pounding of your fist is on his muscled back, yet he refrains from responding.

You're struggling is useless and his lack of response is infuriating. You cannot help but shriek like a banshee, practically losing your mind.

Ivo finally enters his cabin, aggressively thrusting the door open as it pounds against the wall. "Ludo, out!" He demands, and the wolf moves without needing to be told again. His giant body scrambles out of the way and launches out into the dark night.

In a swift movement, you're removed from over his shoulder and plopped on his large dining table. Before you can even speak, the bottom of your face is grasped firmly as the giant Orc leans down from his imposing height.

Your entire stomach swirls at his burning hot warmth and massive figure. "Is that any way to speak to your 'future husband'?" Ivo's infrequent voice reverberates straight into your bones, provoking a sudden shiver.

Mortification gradually begins to replace the anger you once seethed with. By the sight of your widened eyes and stupefied expression, the juniper-skinned man snickered while wetting his bottom lip. "I hadn't even presented my beads to you."

You narrow your eyes at him and reach for his hand to pull it below your lips. "Well, I made the decision! I wanted you from the very start, so no other b*tch can have you! I'm going to be your lifetime mate!" The shouting makes you lightheaded, or maybe it's just the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

Abruptly, your Orc burst into laughter, physically chuckling with his thrown back and eyes squinting. If you were not so vexed, you would have drooled at his boisterous chortle. Your lips only scowl while your nose scrunches. "Do not laugh at me!"

"I do not mock you," Ivo responds while migrating his large hands to your head and craning your neck up to meet his gaze. "I merely find joy in your display of prowess. I believed you to be too gentle, but perhaps you have been eating well."

Scoffing you attempt to pull away, but of course, his strength is far superior to yours. His response to your movement is to step forward and press his bulging crotch against your thigh.

Again, your eyes broaden an impossible amount at feeling the massive erection burning with heat. It doesn't help that Ivo forces your head to look at it, to see how his c*ck swells with so much blood that he's nearly tearing the seams of his trousers.

"See what you have done?" He exclaims in a slow and taunting manner. "Impressed me with the ability to defend and protect. If I had not removed you from the premises, I would taken you right there in the middle of the crowd."

You can feel his heartbeat from his c*ck against your leg just as your own drops between your thighs.

Ivo grins and reaches his thumbs over to press against your lips. You do not hesitate at all to part your lips and allow him to enter.

You were right; he tasted like honey and sugar.

"Even hearing you call me your 'future husband' had hardened my c*ck like nothing ever has before. And I believe you wouldn't want the villagers to see you on your hands and knees as I take my future wife from behind."

Your hips jerk the slightest as you begin to salivate. The heat, the desire, the f*cking arousal you've been holding back all this time is erupting like an active volcano.

You've wanted him so badly for years, and a small sick part of you wish he did, as he expresses. It's wrong and immoral, but the prospect of Ivo tearing your bottoms off like a beast and claiming you as his in front of everyone...makes you clench over nothing and soil your panties with slickness.

Perhaps your own eyes are displaying that corrupt thought to him considering the Orc switched his hold to grasping your throat and pressing your back into the wooden table. His bulging crotch nestles inside your inner thighs, pressed right up against your throbbing cl*t.

A lewd and embarrassingly whiney mewl fills his ears that fled your lips, and you feel his fat Orc c*ck twitch. "Should we go back and show everyone how much you desire to be claimed?" Ivo questions, accent thicker and a tad deeper as his mind turns to mush from his own arousal.

"No, No~!" You slur your words with a heavy tongue while your hands grip his thick wrist and your legs raise to press against his meaty, wide hips. "Don't go. I want you-I need you now."

Your Orc blinks almost as if in a daze and groans under his breath. His orange beads clack together from his movements and seem brighter in the lights of the oil lamps and fireplace. "I could not leave my little human whining for me like this. I will take care of you, always and forever."

The smile on your lips is wide and practically ear to ear. "You are everything I wanted and more. With your pretty brown eyes and cute little belly." You gush and feel his body rumble with laughter.

"I planned to present you my beads tonight, but It seems it will have to wait until I've satisfied your insatiable desire, little wife," Ivo informs you, but it all goes in one ear and out the other until the last part.

"Call me-" You swallow thickly and raise your hips to grind against his erection atop your cl*t. It subsides the throbbing yet is futile against the accumulating heat. "-Call me that again."

The beast grins deeply and genuinely before slightly arching his back to lower his face to yours. He's so huge, his proportions much more larger than your own but it makes him all the more appealing. "Whatever you want, I will give it to you, little wife. You are mine just as I am yours, together and unbreakable."

A desperate whimper parts from your lips as you stare deep into those eyes you've fawned over for so long. "I want you in me, now."

"Patience." He muses while pulling his hips away from yours. You whine and blink rapidly, desperately attempting to bring him back, though his free hand managed to latch onto one of your thighs to open your legs. "Patience, my little wife. I must prepare you. We both know I am nothing like those other men in the village."

Aaaahhhh! You want him bad, f*ck you want him to just shove it in and take you right there on his dining room table, but he is right. Your body is nowhere near prepared to take him, to take the massive size of that beast between his legs.

It will rearrange your organs and practically jab you in the lungs...but you want it so bad.

An abrupt shriek anchored in your throat as his other hand grasped the front of your bodice with his large fingers and yanked. The fabric tore apart in shreds right before your eyes, revealing your breasts now bare.

The immediate hardening of your nipples could either be attributed to the unrestrained force or that haughty smirk of the beast holding you down.

"I do not know gentle." Ivo rasps in a low voice that only emphasizes his heavy accent.

Saliva pools in your mouth and it practically feels like a chore to swallow down. "Good. I did not expect you to be."

In response, the giant travels his hand down to around your lower abdomen and parallels his last movement. He grips the cloth and tugs it with such ease that the textile tears as though it were saturated paper. "I will show the way of an Orc."

'Yes! Yes! Yes!' You're chanting a mere word over and again as your eagerness grows to a cup overfilled with spirits.

Strings of cloth remained snagged on some of your limbs and hooked over small slivers of skin. You are essentially covered in nothing on this cold winter's night, yet the chill is unpenetrable through this boiling heat of passion.

And then he 'forcefully' parts your thighs, though he does not need to force them open for you to show your most intimate part.

Knowing that those pools of honey dwelling in his eyes observe you to the point where he is already visibly drooling... spurs a bout of tingling sensations in your lower belly.

The wetness glistened in the light of his fireplace, lacquered magnificently by the secretion at the small little cavity that begs for him. Series of hot, sticky, slick cling to your feminine folds and adhere to the inner corners of your thighs.

See, it weeps for him. Won't he be a benevolent husband and give it what it wants?

A coarse and harsh thumb presses against your hood, adding pressure to the already sensitive bundle of nerves. You inhale deeply, your stomach flexing with your legs twitching.

If you had told yourself months ago that soon, you'd be splayed out like a meal on the Orc's table, about to have your p*ssy demolished, you'd believe it.

The delicate flesh of your palms finds its way to the edge of the resin surface, pressing into it as the juniper-skinned monster slowly descends to one knee.

Even then, his body is still so large that he is able to lean forward and press the blunt sharp ends into the soft flesh of your abdomen. "Soft..." His heavy voice drawls just his fingers leisurely drag down to the entrance, moistening the rough pads. "...Delicious..." The heated tip of his wet tongue glides across your bare skin until he reaches your pubic mound.

You immediately suck in your stomach and tense your buttocks, even raising your hips in eagerness to get what you want. And indeed, you get it when his plump lips surround the small beating nerves between your legs.

A cry snaps alongside wood, splintering in the fireplace. There's a distinctive contrast in heat between the cool air of his cabin and the incredibly warm cavern of his mouth. It is the most intimate part of your body, the most sensitive, and it begins to be devoured by a monster.

You grin while lowering your eyes to relish in his caress.

Both of you are aware of the excess slick secreting, highly aroused and so very ready to be plowed by the thick and bulky Orc.

This need is more than just s*xual desire; there's a passion and tenderness that only someone in love could display.

He knows that which is why he does the right thing and forces his own longing for you down. His touch must prepare you to avoid any form of discomfort to thoroughly enjoy becoming one with your soon-to-be husband.

"You will burn me." Ivo teases, voice rumblings against your c*nt when he removes his lips to swallow. He even laughs in his throat, as if something in his head utters a joke kept secret.

"Ivo, Ivo pl-" Your throat constricts as if something becomes lodged inside once you feel one finger penetrate your inner muscles and sink down to the last knuckle.

For a moment, you choke on the throbbing sensation of being filled with something that surpasses your own slender jointed extremities.

He's already stretching you to a limit, unexplored, and untested. Human men could never compare; everyone knew that. Orc men have too many exceptional qualities to remain single and unclaimed.

"Dreamed-" His breath fans against your slickened lips while pressing his index finger upwards. "-of this flavor."

Your breath stutters just as you raise your hip again only to have his free hand settle on your abdomen and press you down on the surface.

His rough palm covers nearly your entire stomach, able to obscure the surface while also reminding you of the very delicious size difference.

That's right; you're just a little human woman at the mercy of this beefy, monstrous Orc.

And he's all yours until death do you part.

"I love you." Your voice is breathless, hardly eloquent as you begin to repeat the few words like a cycle. "'Love you, love you, love you-" You stutter and collide your calves against his head, caging him down like a caught animal once his finger begins their continuous ministrations.

The pace is expressive, a forceful cluster of hasty movements conveyed by a man overcome by the libidinous nature of his soon-to-be wife.

"As do I, as do I." Ivo's large head forces its place between your thighs, smooshing lips against your tiny little cl*t that begins to engorge with carnal need. "'Have for so long."

You can barely make out his muffled speech, but the intensity of it can narrowly be described as smothering you in devotion.

It's all you've ever wanted.

It really takes far less time than both of you expected for a pool of arousal to puddle on the table, glistening on the glossy plain with every flicker of light from the fire.

Ivo hums; pretty brown eyes meet your barely conscious gaze while removing his single soaked finger to double it, forcing the middle to join in his exploration.

Your back immediately displays a divot, with your chest rising into the air. Like a flash flood, a tight and tingling surge ripples beneath your navel. It provokes every single muscle in your body to contract as your insides are forced to expand once again.

"Too much?" The orc sought with a throaty utterance.

You rock your head desperately while releasing the table to latch your hand on a finger of his that rests on your abdomen. "M-More~."

His response is only with action, probing the slick muscles in the most intimate and lethal manner to have you completely fall apart at the seams.

Ivo's breathing is ragged; you can feel the laborious and unrhythmic pattern of his exhalation against your c*nt.

He is relinquishing control, losing himself in the sickly arousing aroma of your desire, the pungently sweet flavor of your excitement.

Everything inside of his foggy mind is screaming at him to take you, spear you on his fat c*ck, and subside the nearly vibrating need to soak his shaft in your essence.

The cabin on the outskirts of the village houses two beasts, tangled in chains of restriction. Constraint locks around their throat, holding them down until the time is right.

If he doesn't prepare, the consequences would be brutal. You are just a little human, soft and feeble...and precious.

You'll get it just the way you like it...just give him a minute; just let him use up the last remaining bit of restraint he possessed.

Every mewl, every little cry, and whine snaps those chains faster than he can control himself. You do not understand the effect you are having on the monster; he's barely cognizant anymore, thanks to you.

How can one be when the prettiest little human lay upon his table, choking him with insatiable desire?

You little ravenous vixen.

Once again his mouth was entrapping your bundle of nerves, howling his cheeks as he sucked. Your toes curled with your entire body arching upwards, from the flush of ardent pleasure.

The inside of your mouth is dry even though the booze from the inn still stains your tongue. Sweat accumulates at the back of your neck even though your clothes are shredded, just strands of cloth doing nothing to cover anything anymore.

Ivo's thick tusk burrows into the soft flesh on the outskirts of your puffy slits as he subsides the pressure to allow the flat pad of his rough tongue to drag its coarseness against your cl*t.

You're aware of the potential for him to cut you with the incisors, yet it is all the more arousing. The severity of his monstrous attribute only provokes your hips to raise and press just a little bit harder.

You like a monster, so you want to feel the very things that leave him distinctive from your own species.

The build-up is drawing every ounce of energy you possess, accumulating in hyperactive nerves that ignite consistently.

By now, the Orc is practically drowning, forgoing his own need to breathe. What he needs is the taste of you to permanently mark the surface of his tongue like a burn.

A tightness expands in your abdomen, as though the muscles inside become subjugated to little sparks of eros. It's the most intense it has ever been, completely overstimulating and conquering every thought in your head to leave you mindless.

Yes...Mindless, pliant, and utterly defenseless from the onslaught brought about by the monster stationed between your legs. It's like he was made to be there, created by the universe to fit right between your thighs, lips smushed against your c*nt, and his wide nose digging into your pubic mound.

And then all air is snatched out of your lungs once his slickened fingers depart from your insides to integrate a third finger.

Heat and ice collide with such vehemence that all of your senses are swiped from you, leaving you in a state of limbo. Pleasure so good and bliss so painful quarrel, like two powerful waves being pulled closer to the moon.

"Ah~!" A hoarse and strangled cry ricochets against the wooden walls, bouncing off every surface before finally reaching the man's ears.

Muscles contracted and flexed, compressing with an indescribable intensity. You had to move, wiggle, and shake something due to the overwhelming flush of tingling sensations through your body.

Skin moistens with sweat, provoking a sticky sensation against the table and strings of cloth that remained.

What was probably your absolute downfall was when your inner muscles tautened with a compression that was just strangling his fingers.

And he feels it; for heaven's sake, he swears you devoured his own breathing because the 'benevolence' he once was adamant about maintaining disintegrated.

Unmercifully, he digs the tips of his long, thick fingers against that spongey special little spot to prolong that mind-numbing org*sm.

In doing so, tears lacquer your eyes before cascading in scalding-hot streams across your face. "Ivo please~!"

You do not know what you're pleading for, but you cannot stall the way your hips jut upwards as your legs and arms thrashed on the smooth dining table.

The impulsive and temerarious action resulted in the blunt end of one tusk inadvertently knicking some of your delicate flesh.

Luckily, it was just a small wound, but something about witnessing small beads of blood traversing across your skin tainted the Orc to the very core.

He is a monster, after all.

Abruptly detaching himself from your abused little bundle of nerves, he spits on your c*nt, which results in your hip bucking once again and a barely coherent plead from your lips.

His fingers continue their merciless onslaught, digging, prodding, and stretching while his wide tongue laps at the blood in the crease of your leg as though you bleed the finest wine.

"In me..." You cough and whine weakly, your voice raspy from the itchiness in the back of your throat. "I need...I need you in me."

Ivo's only response is a throaty groan and his large hand on your abdomen to press down with added pressure.

It's too much, too intense.

The arch in your feet anchor at his shoulders as you attempt to draw his head away, but all your strength has been devoured straight through your c*nt.

Another fresh wave of tears stains your face, the oversensitivity putting your body in a state where the pleasure is so substantial that it aches.

You fight for freedom, for just a second, to catch your breath; however, you are denied this with little effort from Ivo.

The belligerent kicks against his collarbone, and the trashing of your hips have no effect. Nothing is ceasing his thrusting fingers or voracious mouth.

Oh god(s), oh no. Quicker than it ever has before, your stomach tensing and a cramp is darting as swirls of tingles flush into your nerves.

Another org*sm is building up, one so frenzying that your attempts to free yourself become frantic. Your thighs strike against his large head, albeit a little aggressively, but if you don't do it, you're going to die.

The pressure you apply is working to no avail, just useless, fruitless efforts.

You're struggling to breathe with the inflamed jolts of delight that spark sensations in your belly to expand around your lower abdomen.

This built-up pleasure is piling from your last org*sm and the arising one. It's an attack, an invasion on your very soul that is being consumed.

Every curl of his fingers leaves you stuttering, clawing at little pockets of air just to keep yourself from passing out.

"Ivo~... Ivo! IVO-"

The most powerful and substantial climax impinges on your very soul. It is as though Ivo clawed into your flesh, snatching every fiber to imbue with bliss.

Your head thrust forward, a bead of sweat trickling down your throat with your nails burrowing into his hand, tearing apart flesh until he bled on your belly.

It's as though he doesn't register any pain at all, and continues to suck and nibble at your clit with his fingers molding you to a shape you would have never believed you could do.

To both of your astonishment, a gush of liquid sprays outwards, squirting down his beard and soaking the long, thick tresses.

Before you can even feel some level of shame or embarrassment, your entire awareness becomes bleak and dark. You fall into a state of unconsciousness, completely insensible.

There's a grin on the Orc's lips, haughty and proud as he allowed your f*cked out state to flush the intense org*sm through your systems. He's much more affectionate, a tad bit more lax as he pulls away.

Some higher being probably felt sorry for you, allowing your mind and body to rest and recover for a few moments. Otherwise, you'd probably just drop dead.

"Little wife." Ivo croons softly before removing his thick jointed extremities. They were soaked to the bone, skin pruned, but the Orc showed no discontent. "You have done so well. But we are not finished yet."

As though the monster had wrapped a hand around your wrist and tugged you free from the dark depths of blissful escape, he rouses your cognition.

You grunt, eyes beneath your lids swaying side to side while your mind refocuses on what is happening. Even though the common area remains dimly lit with only slight illumination flickering from the fireplace and oil lamps, it still stings to reveal them to the world.

One leg twitches, the other jerks while you swallow harshly with a dry throat.

Ivo rises to his feet, his bulky build like a shadow overtaking the sight of the front door. He shifts away; his footsteps light as he reaches for a pitcher in the kitchen and pours a glass of water that he is quick to bring to your lips.

You drink it unconsciously at first, gradually from the fatigue. But once the cold liquid aids in the dry itch, you're devouring it with a mindless polydipsia

Once the large glass is empty with nothing remaining, you release a breathy exhale while collapsing back on the surface of the table. Ivo hums and one of his hands caresses a tear-stricken cheek to gain your attention.

"I suppose you could not handle the way of an Orc." He quips, which earns him both an annoyed glare and pouty lips.

"I-I would have done just fine if you had not pushed me so far." You croak in response.

The juniper-skinned man grins, tusk gleaming in the light as his body travels around the wooden table to slot in the right between your legs. "Are you not aware of how an Orc takes their woman?" His question is more rhetorical than anything as his honey-pooled eyes observe the drying blood on your belly.

He seems almost, proud, his handsome face expressing contentment. His thumb caresses the hot flesh of your scratched face, and he takes a minute in just to appreciate what lies before him at this moment.

"You will eat more." Ivo (essentially) demands, even nodding his head in agreement. "Then you might be able to endure more of me."

Audible you whine and shake your head. After so long of wanting to be with him, to feel him, you don't want to waste this opportunity. Even if it kills you.

"Please, my husband." You sniffle and meet his gaze with lustrous eyes and quivering pouty lips. You're practically displaying the most pleading expression to play on the heart of your future husband.

You want his Orc c*ck bad.

With his bulky body still slotted between your legs, you reach out and graze the tips of your fingers against his bulging crotch. It's hot, god(s). It's so hot it's like his blood is boiling.

He attempts to shift away, as though he fears for your safety if you touched him for one more second.

"F*ck me, Ivo." His prideful grin is faltering at your desperate words. "I want-need your c*ck in me. Need you to finish it. Take me the Orc way."

The recluse scowls, brows furrowed together with hazel eyes narrowing. An internal battle takes place, clashing like a sword with a metal shield.

Your words immediately attack his dignity, playing with his honor as an Orc, a monster.

Orcs are passionate lovers, they f*ck hard, and they love hard. They're intensely devoted to their partner, so taunting them, teasing him with the remark of his kind, was a one-way ticket to pound town :)

"My insatiable little wife. You will not rest until this c*nt is full and my seed has taken hold-" Abruptly he grasped one of your ankles to tug your lower body closer to the edge of the table as he grins. "-The Orc way."

You could practically salivate at his premonition.

"Do it, do it, do it, do it-" You repeat like an oracle struck with clairvoyance. Withholding your desire, you would be struck with the smite of god(s) if you keep it to yourself.

At first, he does appear slightly weary, attempting to weigh his options. You're so little, so human; he wouldn't ever condone bringing you unpleasurable pain.

But Ivo has become a weak monster for you, smitten for you the moment you fed his round belly. And people do say a way to a man's heart is through his stomach...

It is his duty to care and provide for his spouse, while fulfilling their every need.

The orc leans down, arching his back to reach your face and capture your lips in a kiss riddled with fervor.

Not only do you immediately sense the eagerness in his frenzied and brusque manner, but you taste yourself on his large tongue. You share the acidic yet sweet flavor while your eyes slowly descend.

He's so intense with it, devouring your every sound until you're left quivering with a burn in your lungs. It aches, fatigue still intermingled with your muscles.

And you're sick for smiling widely in the kiss. After so long, you're finally getting what you've wanted.

By now, the tears have dried across your cheeks though you know they will be quick to return soon after. There's the sound of fabric tearing, its sharp shredding overtaking the popping of wood.

"I love you." Ivo murmurs in between every plant of his lips against yours. You want to respond with an influx of affection; however, your speech becomes seized at the feeling of something weighty and scorching with heat settling on your belly.

Your eyes flare open to show the whites, bulging out of their sockets in pure astonishment.

The Orc's grin can be felt as he smothers his wet face against your cheek, playfully pressing his tusk in the soft flesh. "This is what you wanted, right?" He questions you with a teasing tone before lifting his large head away.

Instead of speaking with words, you merely whine and reach forward to settle your hands on his massive biceps.

You want him against your flesh; you want his body to stay forever by your side.

"Look at it." At first, you're distracted by those pools of honey in his irises, but when he slides a hand under your head to lift your torso up the slightest, you cannot help but gasp at the sight.

The bulge could never compare to the actual size of when his length was free from the confines of his trousers. It could have been some crude drawing or illusion to exaggerate the male genitalia, but the heat of it dissuaded any falsity.

His wide and bulbous tip stares you straight in the face, the length practically past your naval and pooling heated pearlescent pre-c*m below your sternum. If the length did not strike fear in your heart, then the girthy width should have hit you like a bull. Most men aren't usually that thick right!? Right!?

The dark-colored skin of his shaft rivaled the dimer hue of a shaded leaf. It's creamy yet unsmooth, with a multitude of throbbing veins protruding against the skin. Each streak is thick and riddling the girthy length with stimulants. And the one threatening to drag open your insides was the one on the underside, nearly as thick as two of your fingers.

Considering that so much blood flooded his c*ck, it sagged slightly on your belly, but the weight kept it in place. A rock could have been on your belly instead, and you wouldn't have noticed the difference in the hardness. How can something made of just flesh actively emulate the density of minerals?

And then when he grasped the middle of his shaft, rounded scrotums beneath it became visible. The size could have to be larger than even Edme's breast! They're so plump that the weight on your lower stomach cramps. Is this the reason Orcs have so many children!?

If the girth doesn't kill you, the torrent pressure of his seed sure as hell will.

"When you stared at me from afar, you could only imagine this, right~?" His question imbues mortification in your blood as you unconsciously flex your fingers.

However, you are too far gone to shy away. "This is better than anything I could imagine."

Your Orc's belly rumbles with laughter, displaying a coquettish grin. Your response was stroking his ego, but he'd prefer the massaging of your walls on his d*ck

Ivo's movements were fluid as he hooked the back of your knees on his forearms and pushed his hips back so he could release his c*ck to drop between your legs.

The fatty weighty phallus slapped against your beating little cl*t with a wet slap. Your hips jolted, the tips of your nails etching in his biceps, with your head immediately going slack against the table.

"Mmm~." He hums and begins to gyrate his hips with languid movements. Every vein burns with heat and infuses tingles into your sensitive organ.

You whimper, attempting to pull your lower body down, yet it only prompts your future husband to press harder, applying pressure already building up another org*sm.

"T-Too much..." You shamefully implore and turn your head away.

Ivo leans forward and reaches for your hands, which, as a result, also presses your legs farther against the table. The thick protrusion on the undershaft grazes your cl*t in just the right way that you mewl aloud, only to have it consumed by the recluse's lips.

Your fingers intermingled, clutching onto each other for dear life.

He raised his hips, sliding his shaft across your slick puffy slits before resting the bulbous tip at your stretched opening.

Attempting to brace yourself was futile because nothing could actually prepare you for the penetration of a fat Orc c*ck. He pushed forward, slipping and sliding to strike the bundle beneath the hood in a swift and flickering jolt of white bliss.

The both of you hissed in the kiss, nearing biting each other's lips from the sudden stir. His thick braids pooled alongside your head, the beads clacking together in their own rhythm. He tries again, pulling back with a slow drag to plug the entrance.

Again and again, he was pushed away because he was just that large. Each attempt provoked your hips to attempt to jerk away and a vocal groan...the physical embodiment of a rumble of thunder.

Finally, after soaking the dark head with an essence that dripped down the veiny shaft like syrup, he managed to plunge a few inches inward.

You went dumb in the brain in an instant.

It was as though he was (a) god, molding your anatomy into something made only for him. The slick, internal muscles pulsate to the beat of your ragged heart around his hard flesh, nearly consuming him.

Stinging sensations rippled in the inner corner of your eyes while they became illustrious with tears. "S-S-S-S-S-" There is no air in your lungs, stollen and ripped out by the beast on top of you. "So biiigggg~!!"

He pulled away from your parted mouth to kiss your heated face, smashing his tusk into the skin to distract you from the dull ache that pulsated in your abdomen.

It feels like he's everywhere: in your womb, in your throat, in your lungs.

Your legs jerk and throb against his arms, yet he only holds your hands tighter and lower his body so a few more inches can penetrate.

"You-You-You-" There are stars in your eyes, bursting into balls of blinding light while you unconsciously attempt to speak.

"...Yes, my little wife?" Ivo questions with a hoarse voice, one where he struggles to speak and utter a single sentence.

This overwhelming amount of stimulation flooded through your body, and the tight, tingling sensation in your lower abdomen was essentially released. With your throat already worn so raw, you were unable to shriek, but instead, you lost your breath as you came on his c*ck.

Your walls clenched, forging the stretch made to accommodate such a large shape to squeeze as though to push him out.

Every muscle in your body contracted with your limbs tensing up while you sucked in your marked tummy. Your entire body wanted to curl and shrink into a small little ball, but the heavy mass above you kept your human figure in place.

Skin on skin, heat against heat, your entire being has become one.

With the third org*sm...the first on his c*ck bursting beneath your stomach, blood in your veins became liquid bliss. It burned so hot, rivaling the fire just a few feet away.

You've never felt so good, so loved, or admired with Ivo's lips settling by one of your ears. He spoke in a language you could not understand, something ancient and soaked with power.

If your head were not shut off by the intensity of your org*sm, you could have least attempted to relish in the low guttural tone.

But the Orc c*ck had done its job and completely shackled you down in submission.

The both of you feel the effect of release with your arousal and c*m soaking his length in a creamy liquid. You gushed all over him, reaching the very peak of your ecstasy that replaced the abyss with blinding palliative whiteness.

Ivo began a cautious and slow rock of his meaty hips, barely pushing outwards or inwards to simply help you work your mind back down to earth.

"I love you, Sma wife." His hot breath fanned the sensitive shell of your ear as he sucked in a perilous breath. "Your womb will never be empty of my seed. Your mouth will never be free of my name."

And before you can even take in his words, he sunk down till he met the resistant barrier of your cervix. The rounded tip nestled at it as though it had finally found its home.

"Ivoooo~!" Your knees attempt to close, but it is futile as any other attempt to move has been.

When he drove his hips back so his c*ck could pull away from the warm depths of your body, your lower lips practically latched on, pleading for him to cease his movements.

They didn't want him to go.

And thankfully, Ivo felt the same as he was quick to sink his weight back down and burrow at the entrance to your womb.

His girth far surpassed his length; however, he was still drilling so deep that it was a miracle he was able to be flush against your pelvis, his heavy scrotum becoming slick on the arousal that trickled down your a**.

Your Orc inhaled a stuttering breath with the veins on his shaft twitching and the length pulsating.

He had been waiting so long for this; he was not wasting another movement to complete his family.

The force he used to rock back into you had your whole body jolting on the table. You cried audibly, wailing outwardly while arching your spine.

Lighting struck you, burning alive ever single nerve you possess.

Ivo had not a shred of gentleness remaining, any chains of restraint completely destroyed as the power of his desire took over.

He begins to rut like a beast, f*ck like a monster.

The thick legs of the table abraded against the floor, scratching along wood that echoed its own squeal from the pressure.

Your eyes were already rolling back into your head, drool slobbering down the corner of your lips as sweat coated your skin in a shiny sheen sheet.

"'Want you bad." He expressed through clenched teeth and grunts as you clench from the sound of his voice. "'Need you so bad."

If you could respond, you would, but you're sure Ivo is well aware of your desire for your soon-to-be husband.

All you can produce is weak wheezing, feeble whimpers, and throaty grunts. You've never been so speechless before.

Plunging himself so deeply that he brushed against every sensitive spot inside he continued to beat into your body, dragging veins along throbbing muscle.

If only you could see the way his massive muscles flex and tighten, but your vision has been expropriated to nothing but flashing starts.

The arch in your back developed into an almost painful divot, fluctuating between outward and inward. Your own body did not know how to handle this.

Your whines and pleads of pleasure were nothing close to coherent; those gurgles coming close to being overtaken by the Orc's own snarls.

The scraping of the table becomes more voracious, echoing in a high-pitched squeak.

Ivo's force became greater, grew in strength, and increased in power, the relentlessness of a monster in their beloved unfolding in a terrifying hunger.

His voice lowered in octaves, nearly bestial, as he continued to speak. It's all in his native tongue, the harsh-sounding words dripping with intensity.

"I love you." It was the one little sentence you could make out, and it provoked your abdomen to tongue and tense, practically vibrating.

Another one, oh god(s), you're about to have another release, and you swear you might just fall unconscious once again in its vigor.

Your belly stung, stomach tensing as your climax already began to approach. Your hands released his to anchor on his massive biceps, becoming ironclad, with the blunt ends of your nail tearing into his flesh once again.

Ivo bellowed out with laughter as though he were greatly humored and rolled his upwards to strike your sensitive area to elicit a strangled moan.

His fat heavy balls bounced against your a** only to rebound with strings of slick coating the warm surface

The grip on his bleeding flesh only burrowed harder as his speed mellowed just the slightest so he could hit harder, deeper, in more powerful strokes.

Your insides gripping down on his member, walls fitting tighter around him so flawlessly, allowed you to feel every thick vein that protruded against the skin of his c*ck.

Abruptly there's a squeak, then a groan, and a sense of weightlessness as the table collapses under the weight of your bodies.

Ivo catches you in one swift movement, one of his hands releasing yours to hold the middle of your spine so you neither fall down on the ground nor off his c*ck.

Smooth like a calm pound, the Orc descended to his knees and placed your right back on the table. However, because the table was now laid at an angle due to its broken legs underneath, you were angled upwards just the slightest.

And your soon-to-be husband took advantage of that with his thrust knocking into you along with his hand around your waist, which you pulled down with every movement.

"Ahh~!" A scream ripped through your throat just as a sob broke through. You wailed, tears descending down your face once again and trickling onto your sweaty chest. "Ivo~!"

"I know." He snarls and licks one of his tusks. "I know, Sma wife." His heavy balls full of potent Orc seed smacked against your drenched blossom, creating the lewdest sound to ever be heard.

"H-Hng~!" The scream was hoarse, broken under his hands as your eyes rolled back inside your head. You clamped down so firmly on him that his hips quivered and jerked for a moment.

The tingling in your abdomen grew intense before it flushed through every nerve inside your body. Your insides were fluttering, tensing up all nice and tight yet strong and overpowering.

It was a wave of ecstasy and euphoria that blanketed your mind. You couldn't even speak, or think as you felt your walls pulsate to the beat of your ragged heart.

Your stomach contracted, and the abdominal muscles were tight from how much you sucked in your belly, marked in his dried blood. Both of your legs that still remained hooked over his elbows shook and quivered, fighting for freedom.

"What is that?" He sought. "Number four?"

You could only whimper, jolting from the oversensitive from his c*ck that continued to be drilled inside unremorsefully.

By this point, the both of you are an absolute mess, well, you more than him. You're absolutely disheveled, covered in literal blood, sweat, and tears. There are knots in your hair, baby strands stuck to your slick skin, and white creaminess smeared over your puffy p*ssy and inner thighs.

Ivo's skin only matches the sweat, a mere thin layer with a single braid undone. Some of the orange beads have slipped away, rolled somewhere long forgotten.

You tightened, memorizing the overstimulating thrill and sensation that only this man could ever give you. No human could reciprocate this; no other Orc could match the force and strength of yours.

He's all yours :)

Ivo grunted before swallowing thickly, rolling his eyes slightly in the back of his head with there being a sutter in his hips. The balls against your a** tensed, pulling upwards.

He was close to his end, throbbing with every thrust and rut that matched your overworked heart.

"'Will make you pregnant." He snarled and tilted his head to the side, his lengthy cedar-brown hair sticking to his shoulders. "Fill this womb with my seed." His thumb, pushing against your stomach due to his hold on your waist, had pressed down. "Claim you as mine."

Somehow through your daze, you understood him and nodded your head with a sick smile. It's what you've been waiting so long for.

Ivo grinned and expelled air out of his nose like a bull.

His thrust grew in intensity, his breathing more labored as he leaned forward, pressing his belly to yours.

He was hitting the deepest areas of your body while the heat of his skin wafted off onto yours. You were two fires only igniting into a grew blaze from the connection.

You could feel him twitching, throbbing inside of you. He swelled up nicely as his scrotum tensed and tautened. His seed flooded through his c*ck before it finally released through the tip.

The Orc made sure his monstrous c*ck was embedded into the deepest depths of your body, nestled against your cervix to release the vicious torrents of male emission. Thick globs, heavy and hot, poured endlessly into your womb, coating every surface in his claim.

"My pretty wife." Ivo crooned as his hips slowed into a tender grinding that rubbed his pubic mound against your cl*t.

Your teeth clenched down at the sensation with your internal muscles gripping over him to draw out every bit of his seed into you.

His hips jerk slightly, hearty spurts of his c*m gushing into the overfilled space with every beat of his heart.

At first, you believed nothing could ever fill you up as when Ivo's c*ck makes home in your p*ssy. But now you know nothing compares to the sensation of a belly full of Orc seed.

Ivo hummed in delight while stilling his hips to lean down and kiss the top of your head. "Catch your breath, beauty. We are not done."

"What!?" Your voice cracked just like the wood in the fireplace.

The monster smiled, almost hauntingly so in the gleam of the lamps. "The Orc way consists of many more rounds. Perhaps you should have done a little research before you courted me."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Beads click and clack together as you stride forward, practically strutting through the village's epicenter. Your dress is light and airy for the July weather, yet just the perfect temperature for the summer breeze.

One of your hands holds loosely on the straps of Ludo's leash; the other caresses consecutively your bulging baby belly.

"There's my favorite Mama!" Honora greets with a wide smile. Her long legs are quick to catch up and hug you gingerly, weary of your large and spheroidal tummy. "How are you and the little one? I see your old man forced Ludo to follow."

Your cheeks already ache from the large grin. "We are excellent. Eating well as you might already know." The two of you laugh at your comment, knowing full well that in your household everyone eats better than probably the whole village. "He wouldn't let me leave unless I agreed to bring Ludo. I swear we went back back forth for far too long."

The white-haired woman smiled brightly and nodded as though she could practically imagine the scene in her mind.

"How are you, though?" You question while wrapping an arm around the changelings back to begin your shopping spree. "I have to apologise for being so occupied and have not visited in a while. Ivo has been...very loving."

The white-haired woman tugs on your cheeks while scrunching her nose. "Oh, we know that. Considering it was not even that long after the fight with Edme, and you were pregnant the next week!" She quips which earns her a sheepish smile from you in response.

"What can I say~? Orcs are one hell of a passionate lover."

She pretends to retch, faking a dramatic gag that results in a bout of laughter from the two of you.

It does not take very long for reconnection, filling in the details, and informing each other of small events that have transpired throughout the months.

Marriage life, more specifically pregnancy life with a protective husband, requires lots of your time and energy. Luckily, Ivo had busied himself with constructing the child's nursery.

Your husband's craftmanship was shining through from the already intricate sculptures and details he was implementing in the columns.

"She's staring."

You glance upwards from the comb one of the merchants was showcasing to stare at Honura's face. "Hmm, who?"

She tilts her head to the right side, the ends of her short white hair grazing her bare collarbone as she directs your gaze towards the inn.

Discreetly, you allow your eyes to observe the obscenely envious snarl on the cow hybrid's lips. It's nearly pathetic with her attention solely focused on your large protruding belly bump.

Edme's looking at you as if you stole her life right through her fingers. Ludo's large wolf head shifts her way with a growl rumbling in his throat.

And you won't deny that it doesn't fill you with a sick satisfaction to see this. She's green with envy, jealousy.

Your hair is adorned with orange beads to symbol fertility that integrates with yellow and red.

The braids Ivo made showcase his handmade ornaments that only his wife is allowed to own. You wear his name clearly, flaunting his claim, though, your pregnant tummy does that just enough.

"I almost feel bad for her." You tease and divert your attention easily away because she is nothing important. "She's not getting any younger and now that all of her little boy toys got a taste, they've moved on and left her begging for scraps."

Honora shakes her with a light smile on her lips. "What did she expect? With no good qualities other than her massive bosom, how did she envision ever settling down"

It was interesting, considering you had not seen yourself settling down either. You thought you'd stay single, admiring Ivo from afar and rejecting everyone else because they weren't him.

Now look at you; you've got everything and more. If you were Edme, you'd be seething with jealousy as well.

Single Orc men were hard to come by, and you were lucky to catch his eyes. Well, perhaps you should say you were lucky that he reciprocated your unintentional courting.

The way to his heart really was through his stomach.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

The reader was so me, fr.

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed it, even though it was just a simple one-shot. It would have come out sooner, but I got very sick. I'm very adamant now about taking care of your health because as you grow older, you just don't fight off infections and ailments like you used to.

Also, many of your readers are new and weren't around when I made my first ever one-shot book 'Anime F*cking Lemons.' I did a thing where, with every new update, I picked 3-5 of the best/funniest comments from the last update and posted them at the bottom of every new chapter.

I will be bringing that back.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

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꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

↳If you'd like to support me or read 30+ drafts of TDMLM or my other stories, please consider buying me Kofi. You can find the link on my profile! Thank you :)

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

𝐌𝐚𝐦𝐚 signing out

42 notes · View notes

creampie-capital · 4 months

Note

Please make a fanfic about Jay Jo from the windbreaker webtoon, I mean... If you want

it has been years since I've read Windbreaker, but I always wanted to write about him with a new writing style.

I'm not going to make it canon-friendly since I don't have the time to completely reread the webtoon buuuuutttt....I'm feeling evil, so let's make it angsty.

Toxic!FWB!Jay Jo sounds good to me

#windbreaker #windbreaker x reader #jay jo #jay jo x reader

34 notes · View notes

creampie-capital · 5 months

Text

║𝘈𝘤𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦║

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ CONTENT

Promiscuous Masterlist ━━━➤ PROMISCUOUS

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

↳ᴏᴛᴛᴏ

snarls beneath its breath, which provokes shivers throughout your spine. That wasn't human, not even close to something even a god can produce. It was so quiet, like a whisper in the air, yet it provoked all hair to stand on end.

"Do not disappoint." Otto's words are hushed in your head, a mere quiet murmur that was nothing short of an order.

Before you have the chance to respond, your body is hauled upwards to your bare feet with the loincloth and skirt from before now adorning your bottom. You glanced around, noticing that you were alone before touching your cheeks which were void of tears and smudged eyeliner; however, the folds of your feminity still retained the thick, sweet slick from your arousal.

The ultimate being could have cleaned it away but had not, as if to torture you with that throbbing heat beneath. Or perhaps to provoke your head to cloud with desire and throw yourself to your new target like a harlot.

Another knock steals your attention, which spurs you to clear your throat and saunter over. It's another performance, another rendition to become the most desirable being to the god of death for the entertainment of Otto.

Upon opening the door to your room, you have to crane your neck to meet molten golden eyes shielding in the shade of the encrusted jackal headpiece.

Something tingles in the air; his radiance and unearthly presence suffocating. The pressure is nearly overbearing, thickening the air to spur you to struggle to breathe naturally. He is infused with power, an existence that should not even exist but does against all odds.

His expression is nonexistent, with a face impassive and stony. He refrains from speaking first as though he awaits for you to...

Oh...

"My lord." You welcome, head dipping down to bow in abasement. "I humbly greet you."

Something in the back of your head digs its claws into your brain, attempting to provoke your ankles to give out. It wants you to collapse to your knees, and grovel at the god's feet as if you are not even worthy to be in front of him.

Anubis is the patron deity of jackals, yet his own presence orders you to obey his silent command.

Lower yourself like a loyal dog to its owner.

You're sure it was on purpose, forcing you to acknowledge your place and the prestige of who you are dealing with this evening. He who stands before you is no normal human, no ordinary deity or being of comprehensibility.

He is the god of death, one of the nine Egyptian Enneads and he demands devotion.

"Rise." His voice practically drips with superiority, nothing less of his domineering presence.

You do as told, raising your head to look forward at his built abdomen. His figure is impressive, with a bulkier constitution than Apollo. There was no time to appreciate his figure when you first met or even the quick glance in the weighing room, but now you can appreciate the robust structure.

Not to mention, just like his mother, his limbs are long and lengthy, reigning at an impressive 8ft (243.84cm). Most of his dark skin is shown, scarcely covered in silks but more attired in jewelry.

Small and insignificant, it's what pours into your stomach and wails as he stands before you. The feeling is similar to something that dwells within, forgotten but remaining from a long time ago. Its familiarity is sickening just as it is welcoming.

Abruptly his thumb and forefinger snatch your chin and title your head upwards. His touch ignites tingles from the contact that swarm within your tummy. Your vision drifts from the built rows of his abdomen to the wide and flexing pectorals, before settling back once again on plump nude lips and golden eyes.

He's handsome and unbelievably gorgeous, and the power he holds is mouth-watering. Anubis is a god who reigns supreme, only surpassed by his own father.

There must be a plethora of goddesses that have thrown themselves to his feet, pleading for just a chance. Not to mention the number of souls who come to the underworld to have their hearts weighed only to be completely bewitched by his otherworldly magnificence.

"My birth mother practically adores you..." He murmurs more to himself as he tilts your head to the side so he can observe your jaw and the tendon in your neck tightening. "But I do not see the attraction of a mortal such as you."

There is something inside of you that twinges as if he struck your own pride. For a moment you feel your blood boil, seething beneath the thin layer of skin before inhaling deeply.

You're gorgeous, you're intelligent, you're alluring, you are that woman. You never took the Egyptian deity of death to be such a liar. For his words to be true, he would have strayed from your chambers instead of arriving.

He's ever so busy; death is never-ending, nevertheless, he took the time out of his absurdly busy schedule to visit your room...he may not want you now, but he's interested.

And that's all you need to get started.

"My lord~. Please forgive this unworthy one." You drop to your knees as your chin slips from his grasp. His height already far surpasses your own, but something within his stomach must tingle when you give him what he likes.

Submission

"Only the finest and most meritorious woman should be in the presence of a powerful god such as you." Your head rests upon the back of your hands that obscure a devious grin on your lips. "I would never think of myself good enough for such a deity but if you would let me...I'll do everything I can to please you, My lord. Just tell me what I can do; tell me what to do."

The way you react is demeaning, basically degrading by giving up your will. But that is the point; it nearly runs your blood hot with excitement at the prospect of 'offering' him that control. From his own radiant and domineering presence, you can tell he is assertive and commanding.

He is one of the Ennead gods! The deity who guides lost souls and kings through the afterlife, who protects and embalms the dead. He is one of the most important beings to exist in Egyptian mythology, and he knows that.

Anubis wants control; he needs it. How can he be a deity if there are no worshippers or parishioners that do everything to please him? You don't mind letting him believe that he has it, by offering it with complete 'submission.'

Even if you must resign your pride and push away your dignity, it's all an act because at the end of the day...it was your decision to let him do what he wanted. Plus, it feels like a dirty little secret knowing that you are just playing around and he is completely unaware of what you truly are.

"You know your place?" Anubis breathes outwards, and you can hear his clothes shift as though he is squatting down in front of your bowing figure.

Only slightly do you nod your head but you refrain from speaking; he has not permitted it just yet. It seems that your assumption was correct because he hums in a pleased manner and runs his large hand through your hair.

His fingers are coarse and rough and seething with an unnatural warmth. There's this soothing sensation, like a comforting reward that he is bestowing on you for being good.

If you were a sweet little cat, you'd probably purr and lean into his palm.

"No wonder my birth mother declared you as the perfect little bride. You are obedient, like a good little girl."

"Isn't that all you want? To be the perfect little girl?"

You disregard Otto's words and swallow the lump in your throat. It is imperative to perform just the way Anubis likes it.

"Stand, and you may speak to your god." The Jackal deity commands with a voice that could send trembles through the earth but definitely shoots electricity through your veins.

"Thank you so much, My Lord." Gingerly you raise your head and body, with his large hand still remaining in your hair.

His lips display a suave smile, marked with charm and confidence. You had his interest at first, but now you have his attention

You are that woman.

Abruptly his thick fingers tangle within your locks and tug, forcing your chin to the ceiling as a stinging sensation resonates in your scalp. Your hands fly upwards, unconsciously attempting to grasp his wrist yet you manage to squeeze them to your chest.

"Good." Anubis murmurs and leans down to bend at the waist and hover his lips by your ear. "You know already that you do not deserve to touch me. That is a privilege you must earn."

Oh, he really wants you to work for it. Apollo was easy; now it appears you must put in a little more labor to corrupt this being.

"Please, My Lord, My god, My Nesu-" The last part you articulated had not been translated though you could feel the importance of it. "Please tell this unworthy one how to gain that privilege. I'll do anything for you."

You are not conceited enough to feel shame for begging; in fact, you love it. You love the way it ignites some part of the other person's brain alive, the way it replaces their blood with excitement, and let's not forget the way it drives them utterly insane to hear it again.

Sure, Anubis can believe that he has all the power, but he'll find out what makes a b*tch.

"Anything?" He probes, warm breath fanning across your ear and tickling. "Do you understand the intensity of what you state?"

A grin wants to etch onto your lips; you can practically feel his anticipation, his eagerness in your own blood. The god probably desires to see how far he can push it, and how much you can endure.

He'll learn the hard way, literally.

"Oh, My Nesu~. Anything and everything. I know I do not deserve it, but I desire you so bad." You speak the sweetest honey, saturated with so much sugar as you tell him exactly what he wants to hear.

The Egyptian deity pulls away from your ear to lean back. His eyes beneath the Jackal headpiece observes your face, curiously taking in your appearance.

Does he see the humor in your (e/c) iris' or is it masked by your desperate hunger for gratification? Can he discern the growing smirk on your lips from the way he's already falling into your trap? Perhaps not by how his tongue sweeps over his bottom lip with anticipation.

How ironic when he exists as the god to weigh a deceased's soul, configuring how much sin they've accumulated through their lifetime, only for him to be consumed by it.

"How would you best like me to show my devotion?" Your question seems to rouse him from somewhere in his mind as he blinks slowly before meeting your gaze.

"Those are dangerous words, Hemet." Another word not translated, but the physical impact it has on your body proves that it must mean something of great importance. Or maybe it's just a nasty little nickname he has for his abrupt bride. "Can you take it?"

He has no idea what he has gotten himself into. "I can take you."

Anubis abruptly yanks your head back, pushing your body out of the way to enter your bed chambers and slam the door behind himself. From the moment he stepped in, he has become your husband in unwritten matrimony.

A slight yelp seeps from your lips from the searing sting before you are thrust toward your bed. You land on your stomach with your face bouncing against the plush mattress; the loose gold beads from the headpiece Nephthys gave you had clacked and rattled together.

Scrambling onto your back had barely been fast enough as Anubis' giant form swathes over your own. His knees dig into the round bed by your waist as a single hand holds up his weight above your head.

The bangles around his bottom and belly chains jingled from the movements as he grinned, sharpened canines displaying through his rows of white teeth. Walnut brown curls peek out from behind his headdress, and your fingers twitch with a yearning to pull them.

It's practically p*ssy throbbing the way this huge god straddles your little 'ol mortal body and shows you how insignificant you are to him. Oh, you are so tiny, so human in comparison to a deity.

What you would give to have him between your legs, reshaping your insides with that monster beneath his silks. Each thrust would knock the wind out of you, robbing it away with every pound, roll, and rock that jabs right against your sensitive little cervix.

He'd hurt so good, f*ck he'd tear into your nerves and control every sensation in the most commanding and demanding way possible.

"Poor little Nymph. Must be torture to only be able to imagine but never fulfill that desire, hmm?" Otto's ethereal tone only reestablishes that deep sense of arousal.

The memory of his bony hands touching you, caressing your body, is still fresh, and you're still soaked. At this point, you've fallen too deep into that part of your mind you like to disappear to, where shame, guilt, or any shred of rational thinking cannot penetrate.

Head empty, just big chocolate-skinned god ready to f*ck you up.

"You are cute, Hemet! With that look you bare-" His free hand ghostly skims over your face before ceasing by your lips and plunging his pointer and middle finger into your mouth. His slightly pointed nails dig into the gummy flesh of your cheek as he yanks at the corner. "-I would not have believed that your heart weighed lighter than the feather."

You want to speak, sweeten him up with some more sugary words however the opportunity right now is too good to pass up. Just like the little sl*t you are, your tongue traces over the rough skin and suckles.

A laugh snags in your throat, desiring to giggle out because it's funny how right now, he tastes like power.

Eagerly, practically desperately, you suck on his large fingers as if you've been starved for weeks, and you wouldn't dare let this treat evade you.

Unconsciously, your thighs are squeezing together with your hips raising and attempting to grind against the wet cloth of your undergarment. It's hot beneath, seething with heat warming the slick spread outwards on your folds.

It's probably humiliating, becoming so aroused by his mere presence and slender digits within your mouth but you cannot help it. The pressure of his radiance bares weight on your ribs consistently, as though it commands your own lungs when to breathe and when to choke.

He gives the orders, and you'll listen...for now.

"If only he knew of how truly disobedient you are. You would go from a submissive wife to a rebellious pet so quickly. We both know he could not handle it."

'Oh, Otto~. You speak as if you can.' Your 'words' prompt a rumble from its voice in your head that goes straight to your cl*t.

There's this throbbing sensation that is going along to beat of your heart. It's picking up the pace, growing in strength the longer you suck and taste the god's finger in your mouth.

You're clenching over nothing, begging for any form of relief.

Abruptly Anubis moves his fingers, no longer yanking at the corner of your lips but plunging down the back of your throat. The action was so sudden that you gagged with eyes enlarging and watering.

Your fingers almost grasp his thick thighs, almost touching that smooth skin that is nearly completely showing from the way the silks covering his bottom had ridden up. Instead, you grip the sheets beside your body and gurgle.

"Can you breathe?" The Jackal deity questions, yet the tone is laced with mockery. When you shake your head, he hums and pushes his fingers deeper to where the knuckles of his other fingers dig into your teeth. "Do not respire until your god allows it."

Your lacquered eyes shimmer in the light from the floating stars before trailing down your face. Make-up begins to smudge and darken around your lids just as the gloss on your lips smeared in such an obscene manner.

It hurts, your throat begins to ache from the constriction and blockage, yet you refrain from pulling away. Your pride is too vast to give in first and beg for freedom, not even when your head is spinning, and you feel your grasp on reality slipping away.

You're too arrogant, too conceited, and too f*ckin full of yourself to back down. It's been your greatest asset that you used and abused to get what you wanted. But it also brings some of the worst consequences that you say you don't deserve...

Anubis tilts his head and watches your collarbone jut against the skin, becoming prominent as your throat constricts from the gagging and choking. His golden eyes observe the flush of your skin, burning with heat that could rival even the god of the sun, Ra.

Oh, he's becoming aroused from this with the way his c*ck beneath the silk bulges against the cloth and enlarges. It's almost unbelievable. When his shaft was unaroused, it was already ample and presumably could have even filled your palm.

'F*ck you, Otto.'

"Only if you are good enough."

What an infuriating piece of sh*t. The ultimate being finds too much pleasure in your suffering. If only there was a way to really get back at him...but you'll think about that another day.

For now, you return your awareness to the tightening in your chest and vertigo in your head. Your fight-or-flight instincts want to kick in, practically begging you to yank his hand out of your mouth and crawl away.

But at the same time, there is this euphoria. Warm yet somehow soothing, the lack of air begins to diminish all the little nonsense thoughts. There is no hunger, no exhaustion, or even lust. It's as though you've been pulled beneath heavy, dark waters. With weightlessness and fluidity, it's the most serene sensation you can feel.

Nothing else matters.

"Breathe." The sound of Anubis' voice is muffled yet upon feeling his hand being withdrawn from your mouth, you are yanked out of those blissful waters and brought back to reality.

A cough sputters from your lips just as your eyes focus on the handsome face above yours. Your vision is blurry and muddled for a second before concentrating on his devilish grin.

"Good girl." You are praised softly with his hand cradling your face, the burning flesh of your cheeks nestled within his coarse palm. "Good little Hemet."

Yes, yes you are. The praise goes straight to your raging heart, kindling a heat that ignites all your nerves. "Have I earned it, my Lord?" Your fingers that clumped your bedsheets beneath from the hold now burrow your nails against your skin. "Is this unworthy one allowed the privilege to touch?"

Anubis hums absentmindedly, tilting his head and clicking the jewelry around his neck together.

"Please, My Nesu. Please grant me the privilege to touch you, to please you. I offer my entire being to you so that I may be able to gratify your ever desire." The words sound slurred in your ears, spoken off a gluttonous tongue.

The Egyptian deity stares down at your dazed expression, tracing the curves of your nose, the shape of your jaw, and the twitching in your lips. After a minute of silence beside your panting, he responds however with no words.

No, his large hands grasp the silks around his waist and remove them with fluid motion. Nothing shields his modesty; nothing protects your probing eyes from devouring the sight of his well-endowed length that drips with a pearly white liquid from the colored tip.

Oh no, you're salivating from the sight. It's gorgeous, holy f*ck it's deliciously exquisite. No wonder he exudes egotism and pretentiousness, the god of the dead has a d*ck that would surely kill you.

Its length was far longer than your forearm, rivaling something supernatural. The base where his crotch resides is hairless, with the beginning of his shaft straight and existing in a lighter, tanner color than his darker skin. There is even a gold band clasped around the base like a decorated bracelet that matches the ones around his wrist and waist. From there, the middle area thickens just the slightest to the side, but underneath it bulges out to a girth greater than your wrist.

And then there is the almost pointed tip, with the glands nearly blushing a vibrant red, as though all the blood within is just flooding inside. There are a multitude of veins jutting against the skin, nearly twitching at the sight of your eyes taking it in. But there is one that rivals them all, just right on the underside starting from the base and traveling all the way to the tip with the thickness of your finger. Humans were made in the image of the gods, yet what hangs above your face is nothing close to humane; it feels bestial.

It's a monster.

"Be a good little Hemet and please your god," Anubis exclaims while grinning coyly, presenting his sharpened canines in pride.

Yet before you can even reach up for the terror about to break your jaw, one of his hands grasps the middle of his c*ck to point it downwards, so the tip rests right up against your lips.

Hot, heavy, musky, and f*cking terrifying, pre-c*m already begins to dribble onto the soft flesh of your lips and infiltrate within your mouth so you can taste the power of a god.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"I'm actually a fairly dominant person. I don't like to have no control or be told what to do." Chin-Sun raised an eyebrow, even tilting her head in surprise as she lifted her eyes from her notebook. "Really? I would have thought that a promiscuous woman like yourself revels in it during intercourse." You waved a hand dismissively and leaned against the cushion in her office. "You wouldn't be wrong to assume, I can easily switch between dynamics depending on who I'm with, but truthfully I like to steer away from it." The therapist had not expected your response, still sitting there across from you with a perplexed expression. It prompted you to raise a brow. "Come on, what's so shocking about that?" "I know you can switch, but from everything I know so far, you'd be desperate to be a pleaser in a submissive role." Her words harden your expression while straightening your lips. Refraining from speaking, you observe her more intently than before. It's difficult to tell her expressions or feelings unless she outright displays them...which only happens when she wants you to see it. "Why would you say that? I don't need praise, I don't need recognition, I just need a good f*ck, and then I'm off on my way." There's a tightening in your throat as you meet her dark eyes. "What even gave you that idea?" She merely shrugged her shoulder before setting aside her notebook. You watch her closely, following every movement until she leans back and crosses one leg over the other. "Let's be honest (Y/n). After everything with your father-" She wasn't able to finish as you launched out of your seat and grasped the coffee table, flipping it over to desecrate the ground with shattered glass and broken decorations. "Don't you even finish that sentence or I swear I'll f*cking rip your throat out." Your threat did nothing to intimidate the short-haired woman, even though both of you knew there were no empty threats. You do what you want. Except when it comes to the therapist, she knows how to make you back down. "No wonder dear o' daddy abandoned you. Even after everything he did, even after ruining you, he just didn't want you anymore."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

I almost gave Anubis a monster c*ck, like an actual hound c*ck but I decided against it bc Promsicious readers aren't like TDMLM readers.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Next Chapter ━━━➤...updating soon

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

𝐌𝐚𝐦𝐚 signing out

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creampie-capital · 6 months

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Me FR

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creampie-capital · 7 months

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May I know when will the "Half-Fae Police Man" pt.4 come out? I really love that book! Looking forward for the new chapter 🥰

Oh wow! I'm actually surprised you wanted the 4th part. I just assumed it wasn't a favored one shot bc a lot of people didn't like it.

It won't be for a while since in trying to get other one shots out but I won't forget about it.

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creampie-capital · 7 months

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║The Demon Childhood Friend║║━ Pt. 1 ━║

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Male Monster x Fem! Reader Word count║12,600

The Devil May Lick Me Masterlist ━━━➤ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞

↳.·:*¨༺𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧༻¨*:·.

↳║The Demon Childhood Friend║║━ Pt. 2 ━║ - in development

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Photo Reference Cred ━━━➤ 9taeX on X (Twitter)

Now onto the story :)

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

(Y/n) - Six years old

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"Hey! Why are you sitting there all alone?"

The movement of your legs stalled on the swing as you peered up through your hair. You hadn't expected two boys to appear in front of you like a flash of lightning.

One of them had leaned down while tilting his head of light bubblegum pink hair. It was long, pulled into a high ponytail with bangs that split in the middle over his pale forehead. He observed your small stature sitting on the swing with otherworldy optics like he held the ocean in his iris.

His eyes were doe-like and hooded, gracing him with a curious, youthful face that probably won over the hearts of young and old women. Lastly, before you diverted your attention away, you observed the golden halo hovering above his head.

The one beside him was a lot shorter and appeared apathetic as if he were annoyed to be here at the park. He had rather dark, woolly blond hair with nice curls that were longer by the back of his head. Even as he kept his small body at an angle, looking off into the distance, you were still able to see the vibrant scarlet colors in his iris'.

Small angled eyes with long dark lashes could have had him mistaken for female if it were not for his facial features or body. Interestingly enough, unlike his counterpart, a pair of crystal-like horns sprouted from the top of his head.

They were small, too, like little baby horns of a goat. It would be blind of you not to mention their set of wings, one a soft fluff of white feathers hidden beneath a long-sleeved shirt. The other, dark, leather in texture and featherless, curled inwards behind his back.

"Mom and Dad were arguing again." You murmur while dropping your small hands that held onto the chain on top of your lap.

The angel boy raised his brow as his small lips formed into an o-shape. "Ah! You're the new girl that just moved in next to mine!" He stuck out his hand and offered it as he grinned boyishly. "I'm Javan, and this is my bestfriend Zagan. He also lives just down the street."

You stared at his rather thin fingers for a moment before reaching for it with a bleak expression. Yet once your skin touched him, your entire stomach became a ball of heated lava, and the cynical emotions running rampant in your young mind became non-existent.

The dark thoughts omitted from your mentality...it all became so clear.

"What's your name?" Javan questioned as he held your hand firmly while that bright grin remained on his face.

You had to swallow thickly before you could answer. "(Y/n)...I'm (Y/n)."

"Nice to meet you!" He beamed before looking over at the demon boy. "Why don't we include (Y/n) into the group!? You know we kids need to stick together!"

Zagan glanced at you for a moment before sighing and crossing his arms over this sweater. He didn't speak; probably didn't want another person to come into their already-established friendship and steal his best friend.

It was understandable.

"Oh, Zagan agrees! Then help me push her!" Before you could reply, Javan and Zagan appeared behind you and began pushing your back on the swing.

It didn't take long for you to start moving. Creaking reverberated around the park as the setting sun painted the sky with molten gold.

The wind rushing past your ear felt exhilarating, your heart skipping a beat as the sensation of your stomach dropping provoked tingling sensations to surge through your body.

You had never gotten so high, so high that you can touch the clouds. It felt like you could finally do it... as if you could finally flutter away on a pair of wings.

Weightless, feather-like, you could fly away anywhere but here.

One of your arms stuck out to the dimming sky. You wanted to grasp that warmness and hold it close to your heart, never to let it go ever again.

And for a moment, it felt like you were doing it. Until the air swooshed past your ear, and your body was descending swiftly.

"(Y/n)!"

The darkness of night took over as the lamps flashed with murky color.

And the chill ate you alive until you were swathed in that same lava-like heat from before. Your eyes drifted from the sky to Javan's face, who held you firmly.

His wings had torn from his clothes to beat in the air as he slowly descended until he kneeled and sat you down on the tire chips.

"Are you okay?" He questioned you, face full of worry, ocean blue eyes filled with dread.

The words felt caught in your throat.

A burning sensation sprouted in your chest, and it took everything in you not to cry. But when Zagan ambled over to kneel on the other side of your figure and lightly touched your shoulder, you felt overwhelmed.

So you cried and bawled and wailed so hard that you were choking on air. Your face burned, the heat on your cheeks and ears hot like the burner on the stove.

Wet tears fell as though they were never-ending, wetting your face and drenching your top. An ache so tense and strained gripped at your heart, squeezing to where you felt lightheaded.

Zagan and Javan hadn't said a word as they kneeled by your side and let you cry your heart out.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

(Y/n) - Ten years old

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

A tap resonated from your window as you hid beneath your comforter, reading the superhero comic book with a rather bulky flashlight.

You had ignored it, mouthing the words on printed paper to yourself to practice your pronunciation. Turning the page, your lips parted to speak, and yet another tap at your window startled your movement.

For a moment, you sat in silence, hearing it again before thrusting the blanket overhead. It was hot and stuffy under the covering that once you were out, the chilly breeze of the central air rose goosebumps over your skin.

You nearly tripped, scooting off your bed and running over to your window. Kneeling over the cushioned bench, you forced it open to stick your head out.

Zagan and Javan hovered in the air of your second-story house with their wings. They've grown a lot since you first met them; well, the pink-haired one grew the most.

He grew taller, his limbs longer, and his hair, tied in a high ponytail, reached the small of his back. His halo now pulsated brightly with the pure white aileron's lengthier, far longer than the length of a car.

Zagan, on the other hand, remained the shortest, shorter than you. He still had a lot of baby fat on his cheeks that were framed by his golden curls that grew longer, reaching his shoulders. Though, if something had grown, it had to have been his leathery bat-like wings that extended to such a length that you were surprised it was not getting stuck in the tree branches.

"Baby girl!" The angel boy greeted as he smiled brightly and fluttered his white feathered wings.

That nickname used to be an insult because of how you cried your eyes out when they first met you. But then they both casually referred to you by it since you liked to call them Angel Boy and Demon Boy.

When they call you it, you swear all your worries melt away, and you become a small little jewel that they cherish like a national treasure.

You felt special and valued, adored by people who didn't see fault in your every move.

Instead of responding back joyfully as you usually would, you crossed your arms and turned the other way. "I'm not talking to you two! Not after you guys got me grounded!" Your young adolescent voice expresses out.

The demon boy frowns while he twiddles his fingers behind his back with his batty aileron's twitching.

J had clicked his tongue and shrugged rather nonchalantly in his grey windbreaker. "You can't blame us forever, Baby! You were the one that wanted to fly to the satellite tower-"

You flung your head towards the angel while sneering. "Yeah, but you both were the ones that flew into the camera with the news reporter! When my dad saw it, he flipped and took away all my privileges! That's why I'm still grounded after three months!" Your response only spurs the young boy to rub the back of his neck sheepishly.

He could only grin and hope that bright smile he knew you loved would cheer you up. It was irritable how right he was. Although you were still upset, you wavered without even a fight.

Javan was just someone you couldn't be mad at, and Zagan as well. Not when the demon looked like he would faint when you would ignore him and vice versa for you with the angel.

"You guys are so lucky." You whine while sitting down on your bench and resting one of your arms on the windowsill. "Your parents never ground either of you."

The angel quirks a lopsided grin as he wags one of his fingers. "You can't get in trouble if they don't know~" His teasing remark spurs you to flick his forehead harshly.

He winces slightly while you train your attention to the ends of your hair. "Easy for you to say when your parents don't monitor everything you do like a hawk. They only just recently allowed me to be in my room by myself during the day..."

Zagan's scarlet red eyes flicker upwards to meet your gaze. "Sorry..." He whispers so softly that you almost miss it over the loud wooshing of the wind due to their flapping wings.

You parted your lips to speak, yet it was interrupted by a voice. "(Y/n)! Who are you talking to when you're grounded!?"

It was your father, and you could hear his heavy footsteps already stalking up the stairs.

"Crap!" Javan groans. The angel boy flew over to kiss your forehead before waving goodbye and flying over to his house next door.

You watched him glide so effortlessly away as the warmth on the spot he touched was mind-numbing and addicting.

Z glanced down at the ground for a second before shuffling for something in his pants pocket. Just as the footsteps arrived at your door, he placed something in the palm of your hand and whispered softly against your ear.

"I thought of you."

His soft, boyish voice rose the hair on the back of your neck.

The door squeaked open, and Z was gone like a flash of lightning. "Who said you could have your window open? Close it now." His voice is grating, pungent with authority as the man of the house.

"Yes, Dad." You responded immediately and slammed it shut. Your blood is running cold, a type of chill that burns bitterly.

His presence lingers, staring at the back of your head like you are little prey unable to escape its trap. Then there are his eyes, those cold, lifeless eyes.

You never liked seeing those words in the books. Cold...Lifeless...how can one look like that? But as you grew older, you became aware.

Nothing behind the eyes, empty and void of basic compassion. Or maybe he's only like that with you. Fathers know best for their daughters, right?

"Do you want more privileges to be taken away?" He questioned, which spurred you to immediately shake your head, gaze still situated on the wooden floor. "Should it be your bed or your books next?"

"N-No, please." Your voice was feeble, powerless like an injured animal. "I'm sorry."

His bulky body leans against the door frame while his arms crossed over his chest, and remains in silence. He lets the stillness unnerve you, the unknown of what is to come to scare you into compliance.

So he just stood there while you sat on the bench, cornered and head bowed.

The silence is so deafening. No, it's suffocating. As though quietness manifested into hands to grip your little neck and squeeze-

"Dad, the show's back on!" Your younger brother's voice cuts through the tension and gains the older man's attention.

He huffs audibly and finally speaks. "When I say you're grounded, that means you're being punished for disobeying." The man retorts. "Don't piss me off again." And with that, he grasps the door handle and slams it shut.

A hanging frame on the door tumbles from the force, with the walls of your room rattling. You don't move for a second, remaining stagnant to cease the quivering in your lips.

"I hate you." It seethes from your lips before you rub your eyes free of a burning sensation.

Now that you were alone, you allowed yourself to relax and unclench your fingers over the object Zagan had given you. What you come to see is a silver necklace with a small pendant. It's a pair of wings, silver and shiny, with something engraved on the smooth backside.

'My Favorite Girl'

How gorgeous. It brought a smile to your face as you ran your finger over the present. The metal and jewels felt cool to the touch.

You swiftly ran over to your vanity and chained the necklace around your throat like your life depended on it.

Often, it felt as though Zagan was annoyed with you, rarely ever speaking while looking disinterested. But sometimes...sometimes, he did things that brought a smile to your face.

Just like now.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

(Y/n) - Fourteen years old

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Javan settled down in the seat next to you as he placed one of his arms around the back of your neck. Your gaze rose from the school Chromebook while you smiled at the male.

The more he ages, the more he continues to grow. His limbs became lengthy, his pink bubblegum hair down to his knees, and all the youthful fat in his face graced him with a prominent jawline and hollowed cheekbones.

"Hey, you. I thought Mr. Voitier was going to keep you after class for not paying attention." You tease while reaching for an apple on your tray.

It's lunchtime during eighth grade; you had sat in the courtyard attempting to fix homework you made a mistake on before it was due.

The angel winks while wagging a finger. "Not some good 'ol persuasion couldn't help with." He states before sticking out his tongue.

You scoffed, pinching his tongue before wiping the saliva on a napkin. "Threatening to tell the school that he's being biased because he's a demon isn't going to work forever. Eventually, he's going to lose his patience."

J merely waves a hand, dismissing your words before he leans back in his seat. His ocean eyes peer over to your screen, which provokes a groan.

"Sh*t. I didn't even know that was homework."

"How did you not know? It literally says the due date at the top."

The angel shrugs, and you roll your eyes. "This cannot be a habit, you know." His gaze is burning against the side of your face, provoking little tingles to run up your spine. "Fine...Fine, you can copy." Once you spoke, he beamed so brightly that his halo pulsated almost blindly.

He's like the sun that you could have in your arms.

"You're a lifesaver! Mom would kick my a** if I got anything below an A." He expressed with his white wings fluttering behind his back.

He's so cute.

"Yeah, yeah. If you would just stop being lazy and forgetful, you'd never have to worry." As you return your gaze to the Chromebook, you catch a glimpse of dark wings and light hair.

Blinking, you tilt the screen down as you hone in on the background. It was Zagan, for sure.

You actually have not seen him around for a while now. He's always busy or off doing his own thing. Your parents do not trust you enough to have a phone, so it is not like you can just message him.

Often, you do see him around his house down the street, but in school, it's like he's a ghost.

Matching your sight, Javan stands up while unfortunately removing his arm from your shoulders. "Yo! Z, bud!"

Zagan's movement froze as he removed his earbuds and directed his attention to the wall of windows.

The demon boy was still the same as when he was years ago—chubby cheeks, short height, stick-like limbs, baby crystal horns, with his shaggy curly blond hair reaching his shoulders.

What really changed was his wings, which were just massive, even longer than Javan's. He had to have it folded behind his back and buckled with a binding due to how difficult it was for him to keep the huge ailerons closed.

It must hurt.

The male beside you waves his hand over, and at first, it appears as though the other person in the trio looks hesitant.

But after a moment, he shifted his path and opened the doors to enter the courtyard. His scarlet horns glimmered like a gleaming diamond under the sun.

Javan and Zagan share a quick handshake before he nods over to acknowledge your presence.

"Whatchya been up to, man? We barely see you anymore." The angel starts as he returns to sit down next to you.

His right hand found its place on your thigh, and you swore your heart nearly lurched out of your stomach. The heat of his skin that you could feel through your clothes was swathing you in a bubble of delight.

It was addicting and comforting and had shot tingles all across your abdomen.

The demon boy swallowed rather audibly as he turned his head away. "Just been busy." He states, his voice slightly cracking.

Hmm, why wasn't he telling you two about it? You all shared everything with each other.

"I get it, man. Just don't forget about us. We've been friends for way too long just to grow apart." Javan expressed, and you nodded your head in agreement.

"We are here for you, Z." His scarlet eyes fling down to meet your gaze. "With whatever's going on, we'll listen. We'll support you through anything. That's what friends are for."

He swallows thickly again, his one hand hanging by his side twitching before curling into a fist that he hid in the pocket of his sweatshirt. "Yeah, I know. Thanks for that." His phone abruptly vibrates, and he snatches it swiftly, reading something on the screen with hard eyes before sighing. "I gotta go."

Before either of you can tell him goodbye, he was trekking back into the school with his tied wings beating against the binding.

A scowl laces your lips as you slouch in your seat. "I hope he's okay." You murmur, which prompts the angel to squeeze his hand on your leg.

Your fingers twitch as you train your attention to meet his bright eyes. "He's fine. You know he's just always been moody." The pink-haired being expresses while reaching for his own phone.

Either on instinct or tendency, your dominant hand rose to graze over the winged pendant beneath your blouse.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Knocking audibly on the door, you could hear courses of children screaming and laughing with objects falling to the ground.

It took a moment for the front door to be opened, and you were welcomed by the sight of Jahi, Zagan's mother.

She's a beautiful woman, blessed with beautiful features, a small mole on her chin, and small, sharp cat-like eyes with long lashes. You could see where Zagan got his hair from, his mother sprouting bright golden curls that reached her hips.

Her wings were something else, still leather-like but marked with swirling scarlet red lines that seemed to glow.

There was a small toddler hanging off her shoulder with one on top of her head and another babbling in her arms.

"Hi, Aunty!" You greet and grip the straps of your backpack. "Is Zagan home?"

"Baby!" She gushes down at you from her tall height while using the childhood nickname the two boys in your trio used. "It's been a while since you've been over. Everything alright?"

For a moment, you feel the inner corner of your eyes tense and burn, but you push it down to smile and nod your head. "Yes, Aunty! Eighth grade is just so busy."

Jahi nods before she catches one of her kids that fell from her head without even looking. "I understand. Don't be afraid to come over more often, even if it's just for dinner. Come in; Zagan's down in his room."

You bowed slightly before entering her large home and immediately removed your shoes. Two other kids covered in paint ran past swiftly while knocking over a vase.

Aunty Jahi practically teleported over and caught the porcelain object with one of her wings. "It looks like the kiddos are rather active today." You jest while helping her to put the vessel back on the stand.

"No kidding." She murmurs while leading you over to the kitchen. Easily, she holds two of the tykes in one arm as she rummages through the refrigerator before pulling out a bowl of fruit. "Have a snack. I'll be making dinner soon."

A lopsided grin forms on your lips from the habit you've always had. Every time you all used to come over, the older demon woman had snacks for you to eat.

Whether it be fruit, candy, or pastries. Carefully, you took the bowl and nodded. "Okay, Aunty. I'll see you in a bit."

She waved you away as you strode through the home like second nature. The residence was big, bigger than all the houses in the neighborhood.

It made sense with all the children in the Lamia household—at least seven children, with Zagan being the oldest. He likes to say that he can't stand his siblings, but he's cared for them like a third parent.

He'll say he hates them, but you've never seen someone who'd go to the ends of the world to find a cure when his brothers and sisters have just a cold.

Yeah, the demon boy goes on and on about wanting to move away, but you both know he'd worry himself sick about the other kids.

Watching your footing, you strolled downstairs to the basement, where you passed one of Z's younger brothers by a year reading on the couch in the common area.

They were rather similar looking, except he was taller, a little more aged in the face, and his horns had grown to curl back over his ears.

If you weren't family friends, you would have guessed the second and third oldest had come before Zagan because of how fast they grow...it's something Zagan's very insecure about.

"Hey, Alastor." You greet him as you pass.

He peers up for a second before returning to his book. "Hey, (Y/n)."

Down the hallway, the last door at the end, you approach unhurriedly before knocking loudly. You wait for a response, and once you get a quiet 'what,' you open it.

Zagan's changed into a pair of sweats with a matching dark sweater. His attention is on the gaming computer as he effortlessly clicks the buttons on his controller without even looking.

Once his gaze flickers over to you for a moment, he's startled and bangs his knee against the desk. "F*ck..." He curses under his breath as he yanks the headphones off his head.

You hold in a giggle and step in fully to close the door behind your figure.

"What are you doing here?" He snaps, practically hissing it out as he slides out from the desk to rub his knees.

"Why else?" You retort, dropping your bag against the wall to settle on his wide bed. "I miss you and came to check in because it feels like you're ignoring us."

Zagan frowns at your words; his gaze focuses on his legs for a second before he returns them to his screen. "You should have just texted-"

"I don't have a phone, remember."

He's silenced as you begin plopping the fruits into your mouth and snacking on them as if you had been starving.

The demon boy returned to his game, placing back on his headphones but keeping one earpad off so he could hear if you spoke.

Indulging in the comfortable ambiance of his button clicking and the muffled screaming of his siblings upstairs, you watched him play silently.

Not long after, you grasped your bag and took out a folder with homework that needed to be completed. You lay on your stomach, kicking your legs back and forth while reaching for fruit in the bowl.

When it came to spending time with Zagan, you both enjoyed doing your own thing in each other's presence. And considering that the demon boy didn't often speak either, you did most of the talking as he either nodded along to what you were saying or grunted in response.

It was comforting and something you've missed. For a while now, there felt to be this distance growing, like he were on the other side of the bridge with the path crumbling apart.

You didn't want to lose him.

"Where's Javan? Thought you'd be with him." He abruptly speaks up, cutting off the neutral silence.

"Javan had something to do with the Angel community." You state while turning over the packet to the next page. "Something about reconnecting with their beliefs or whatever."

Although you do not see, the demon nodded his head while saving his game. He removed his headphones to hang them on his monitor before turning his gaming chair to face your figure lying on his bed.

Feeling his gaze, you peered up while smiling. "Hey, there, Demon Boy. I missed you."

Zagan swallowed thickly at your words, his throat visibly bobbing as he gripped the rest of his seat tightly. You didn't notice earlier, but beneath his vibrant eyes were dark undercircles.

Had he not been sleeping well? He was always the last one to fall asleep and the first one up during sleepovers.

Even Jahi used to take him to the hospital for chronic insomnia, and they thought it was resolved. Guess not.

"Do you-"

"I know that you are in love with Javan."

You choked on a bite of fruit, a stinging sensation sprouting in the back of your throat as you sat up to cough. "W-What?! No! What are you even talkin' about?" Zagan's expression was not pleased. "Was it...Was it really that obvious?"

He scoffed while nodding and leaning back in his seat.

Groaning, you ran a hand through your hair while keeping your eyes down. It felt difficult at that moment to meet his gaze. "I didn't want anyone to know. I don't want anything to ruin our friendship, you know? We're already becoming distant."

The embarrassment was eating you alive.

"Baby Girl..." It's been years since he has called your name, even longer since you've heard him use that nickname. It makes shivers run up your spine as a tingling in your abdomen flutters. "You know that Javan's not really..." He stops himself from speaking anymore as if he couldn't find the words. "Javan's not really who you think he is. Don't you see fast he switches up when you're around?"

Raising a brow, you shook your head. "Actually, no, I don't. What do you mean by that?"

He respired a heavy breath, appearing unsure and doubtful as he shifted in his seat. "F*ckin' A... Listen, you might think you know Javan, but you really don't. He's not...He's not a good person-"

"What are you talking about!" You interjected, feeling heat flush through your body and a wave of vertigo. "I've known him since forever. I know him. Why are you talking down on our friend like that?"

His constrained wings twitched, pushing against the binding that had the straps whine. He attempted to speak, his lips parting, but only wheezes escaped.

Cursing again, his thin, bony fingers gripped tightly onto the armrest as his right leg began to bounce. "Please, if you value our friendship, just listen to me."

Oh, how you wanted to walk away right there, but what he said halted you in your spot. Of course, you valued your friendship with him; he was your best friend.

He was your family.

"Baby, Javan knows you like him. Everyone knows." Your face was burning in embarrassment; it felt so humiliating for some reason. "He doesn't feel the same. H-He's rather ashamed and disgusted-"

"You're lying!" It was practically a scream as you shot to your feet off the bed. "Javan would never say that!" The inner corner of your eyes stung as tears glazed over the conjunctiva. "He's not like that! You're just envious that he's always been better than you!"

Due to your words, the rage boiling your blood had now transferred over to the demon in front of you. Zagan stood up almost dangerously slow, like a predatory. "You think that's why I'm envious..." He nearly snarled while his canines visibly grew longer and sharper. "I don't give a flying f*ck that he's taller, bigger, smarter. He could be better than me in a hundred more ways, but it wouldn't even come close to why I'm envious of that b*stard."

Seething hot tears trailed down your face, seeping down your chin to wetten your throat. You didn't know how to feel, what exactly to feel.

All your emotions were taken for a spin: disoriented, puzzled, dumb-struck. Who is telling the truth? Who is right?

They both are your best friend, the people closest to your heart that makes your days brighter and nights calmer.

But how do you react when the one you're utterly in love with isn't who you thought he was? Or when the other confronts you with what could be the truth...but also a lie?

"Please, Z. Just...just tell me that you didn't mean it, and I'll forget-"

The straps containing his massive wings had snapped from the force as they extended outwards. The dark, leathery ailerons knocked over objects and slashed through metal shelves attached to the walls.

You nearly fell over from the sudden action, intimidated by the spikes that lined the edge at the top. Not only was it long in width, but the height of it was nearly double his stature.

They don't grow their wings like that; they don't get so big they are nearly twice their size. But his had the possibility of rivaling Satan.

"Ever since we were kids, you've let him get away with everything. You've overlooked too many flaws for me to stand here and let you get your heart broken." He reached forward to wipe a tear away, but you couldn't stand the touch of him at the moment.

It can't be true.

"What does it matter to you..." It's a broken cry, whimpering from your lips as your heart shatters inside regardless.

It just can't be true.

"I-" His chest decompresses while his wings descend like a deflating toy. "Baby, I care about you-"

"Then why are you lying to me!?"

Zagan startles you as his hands latch onto your shoulders and squeeze. "I'm not lying! Not to you! Not to my Baby." His already slightly high pre-teen voice squeaked, and he cringed at his tone.

So overwhelmed, filled with grief and disbelief, you stepped backward and spoke to him in a way you never have before. "No, I'm not your Baby. Not anymore."

It was as if you watched his world crumble in his scarlet eyes. "(Y-(Y/n)...please."

You couldn't breathe at all, as if someone had your lungs in their hands and were depriving you of any air. With blurry sight, muddled with tears, you turned away and shoved your things into your bag.

His wings were still in the way; those beautiful things that you loved to play with when he would allow it made the tears all the worse now. "Let me out." You ordered.

The hands that were once holding your shoulder dropped to hang limply by his side, weak, frail, unstable. "If I let you go, then that's it."

You were losing strength in your legs.

"(Y/n), don't leave me...please." He begged while stepping forward, but you turned your head away.

Your grip on the straps of your bag was not enough padding to save your palms from being burrowed into by your nails. "Goodbye, Zagan."

That was it. You both knew that it was final; there was no going back from this. The friendship has been tarnished, and trust broken.

It will never be the same again.

Hesitantly, Zadan curled in his massive wing, and you didn't waste another moment running out of there.

You flung the door open and scurried down the hall.

Alastor was still in the common room on the couch and waved to you without looking away from his book. "Goodbye, (Y/n)."

"Goodbye, Alastor."

You passed the other Lamia siblings who called out to you, and you had to say goodbye, knowing you'd never be back here again.

On your way to the front door, you tried to be silent, holding down a sob, but when you heard Jahi calling out to you from behind, you nearly bawled right then and there.

"I'll see you soon, right, Baby?"

You sniffled, hiding your face as you forcefully shoved your feet into your shoes and half-a**ed-tied them. "Of course, Aunty!" Faking the enthusiasm hurt like a punch to the gut. "I'll see you again soon."

Before she could reply, you left as fast as you could. There's no one left to turn to but him; you need to see him.

Without a phone or any way to contact him, all you could do was return home and wait for him to get back from the event.

At first, you walk as if your legs are broken, but the ardent emotions spur you to bolt down the street back to your house.

You fling the door open and hasten down the hallway to get up the stairs. Your father yells out to you, followed by your younger brother, whose mocking words pierce you like blunt knives.

The sobs raking your body are excruciating, aching as if your entire figure is cold rubber being pulled. It feels even worse here with all the memories.

Pictures of the three of you are everywhere: the unfished projects worked on together, and the clothes still left over from when they used to sneak in for a sleepover.

You cannot stand it; you cannot handle it.

Everything must go.

There is no carefulness or being mindful of how you handle the things in the room; you throw them into plastic bags with the full intent of being rid of everything.

Yet when you collapse to your knees to catch your breath, the necklace he gave you slips out from underneath your shirt.

The sight only provoked your wails to become silent, merely broken, stuttering wheezes as the stress spurred sleep to hold you tightly and close your eyes.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

A warm touch ran through your hair while the same heat traveled up and down your spine in a soothing manner.

"Hey, it's not good to sleep on the cold wooden ground."

Your awareness was returning, and you groaned audibly while cracking your puffy eyes open. "Mmm, Javan...?"

He hums in acknowledgment, and as your vision focuses, you see that you are moved onto your bed, the angel boy sitting at the edge as he comforts your head in his lap.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to get here, Baby." He cooed softly as the singing of grasshoppers filled your room due to the open window.

His presence, the god-like radiance, was cathartic, like the pounding of raindrops on the roof. Everything had felt so cold, and you felt so alone.

With Javan here, as he holds you, it's like heaven.

You tell him everything, everything that happened when you visited Zagan at his home. Without mentioning your feelings for him, you skidded over that part, but it wasn't needed to explain the event.

It hurts inside as if you swallowed a cluster of needles.

The angel listens silently as he continues to rub your back and send tingles through the muscle. By the time you finished, a new set of tears had befallen your face; however, your throat ached too much to wail audibly.

"I'm so sorry he did that to you. I knew he had always been rude and inconsiderate, but I didn't think he would ever try to smear my name or break your heart." He murmurs while tilting his head. "I really thought our friendship meant something to him."

You could barely nod with exhaustion interwoven in your limbs. "Me too..."

One of Javan's hands lightly grazed over your lips as he trailed it down your neck. "You know how much I care about you, right?"

【"What does it matter to you..." It's a broken cry, whimpering from your lips as your heart breaks inside regardless.

"I-" His chest decompresses while his wings descend like a deflating toy. "Baby, I care about you-"

"Then why are you lying to me!?"】

You do not trust your voice, only nodding your head as you turn over to hide your face against his abdomen.

"I cannot tell you enough about how important you are to me." Javan's hand reached down as he clasped his fingers with yours. "You are my everything, Baby. You are my sun-" He squeezed your conjoined hand. "-my moon-" Leiursurely, he leans down to hover by your ear. "-you are the air I need to breathe-" And finally, you felt the softness of his succulent lips caressing the skin of your neck. "-and the strength that lets me fly. I cannot be without you."

He kisses down your throat until he reaches your shoulder so he can hide his face in the crook of your neck. "Don't let his hurtful lies make you question our friendship, our relationship. We don't need him anyway. Right?"

When you don't reply, he pulls away and lightly swivels your head to look up at him. "Right, Baby girl? We don't need him. Can you say it?"

"W-We..." It feels as though you have no voice even to speak. No one wants to drop a friend, let alone one from childhood that was like family.

Shaking your head, you attempt to pull away; however, you are not permitted to leave. Javan maneuvers your position, with you on your back, as he leans over from above.

The beautiful white feathered wings flap lightly in the air as the moon glimmers behind him, darkening his halo.

"You can do it, Baby. I know you can." The angel boy lightly pressed his open palm on your stomach as he stared down with otherworldly eyes. "Here, I'll even say it with you."

"I-"

His hand on your belly lifts so his fingertips trail up to your neck.

"I-"

He wraps them around your throat, tingles jolting across your skin.

"-Don't-"

The angel leans down just close enough to where your nose barely touches.

"-Don't-"

You feel hot beneath your clothes as if you were lying in a sauna.

"-Need-"

Your heart hurts, filled heavily with the distraughtness of losing your best friend.

"-Need-"

The closeness...the proximity of your bodies were suffocating your lungs.

"-Him-"

It's one word, but the impact of it was greater than an asteroid colliding with the moon.

"-Him-"

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

(Y/n) - Eighteen years old

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Even early in the morning, the common room of the high school was bustling with activity. You felt heated beneath baggy clothes as you chewed on a piece of gum.

The insides of your stomach ached as though they were eating its self alive.

With your cracked phone in hand, your fingers danced over the keyboard as you debated whether or not to double-text.

Javan has left you on read again without a single response. You've been attempting to get in contact about when you could give him the essay that he needed help with.

During senior year, you know he's busy with Track and Lacrosse, and he doesn't have the time to check in with you like he used to.

It doesn't help that it's hard to get close to him. High school does what high school does.

Angels run with run angels, devils and demons congregate together, and any other monster type sticks with their kind.

There obviously were a few outcasts, but even then, it was hard to be included. Not even mentioning how the small populations of humans weren't a fan of you. The humans said you were too close to the monster, and the monsters didn't like you because you were human.

Lose/lose situation.

Just thinking about it always puts a damper on your mood. The isolation and seclusion were nothing new; it was merely exhausting to have to do everything by yourself.

You threw the broken phone on the round table in the common room and leaned over the AP history textbook that was open. Its cold, plastic-like texture felt pleasant against your warm skin.

Sleep hasn't been gracing you for a while now. There have been just too many things to do. So much homework, more than half, not even yours. Javan already had so much on his plate. As his best friend, it felt only right to help him as much as you could.

Resting the side of your head on your arms, you stared out at the entrance of the school. More students poured into the halls as the time grew closer to the first period.

Hopefully, Javan arrives by himself, so you won't need to deal with the other angels questioning your presence.

For beings that were made to be messengers of god, they were rather concerned about their vanity. Well, that's what happens when they are left to themselves.

They become rather human in their sins.

Your already sour mood became acidic as the one person you wish you didn't have to see walked through the door.

He had to bend down from his 6'6 (198.12cm-1.9812m) height, the grown crystal horns on top of his head only causing more hassle; it nearly scraped against the already lofty door frame.

Zagan used to believe that his horns would never grow, considering his younger siblings had curled and extended way earlier than he ever did.

The demon boy was just a late bloomer.

He used to be this short, scrawny little guy who was never in the slightest popular. Many of your peers picked on him, mocking him for his appearance, calling him a pathetic excuse of a demon.

Now, he was practically the poster child. His muscles grew, making him beefy and bulky. His upper torso was wide, more specifically, his shoulders, with his chest broadening.

Through his tighter clothes, anyone could see the muscle definition of his abbs and v-line. Before, Zagan was never one for such fitted clothes; you knew he was always insecure about his skeletal limbs and hid them beneath sweats and oversized attire.

Similar to his upper body, his legs grew just as muscular and thick. They fitted dark jeans perfectly to where you could see the curves and meat beneath the cloth.

What has also changed is his hair. His blonde curls were less defined, and he cut them so they were just slightly beneath his ear.

His earlobes are now pierced and riddled with embellishments and rings. Those beautifully dangerous batty wings of his had somehow grown even larger; the width was nearly unbelievable, with the height a little past his head.

The spikes were pointier, more ominous.

At first, when he was younger, he needed to bind his abnormally large wings for his size because he didn't have the control to keep them closed or out of the way. Now, he still has to bind them only because they are so oversized that even when he curls them in, it's like he walks with a wall behind him.

Zagan Lamia went from being super nerdy and a loner to a big shot that everyone wanted to be affiliated with...everyone but the angels and you.

Now, your ex-friend ran with the other demon students. He was like a celebrity, someone the girls threw themselves at, and the boys always tried to get into his good gracious with.

Sometimes, when you look at his mature appearance, you wonder if it was you who was holding him back from his potential.

For a moment, it felt as though Zagan's scarlet red gaze rose to meet yours as he swiped his tongue over his plump bottom lip. A small black ring pierced the left side of his lip, and he appeared to fiddle with it as he neared.

Your heart abruptly skipped a beat, and the back of your neck was drenched with sweat.

It's as though he's deadset on making his way to you, but a warm hand on your neck startled you. Your head flew up as you swung your gaze in the other direction.

Javan plopped his body down in the seat beside yours and tilted his head while smiling almost coyly. "What were you looking at, Baby?"

Your stomach coils like two hot wires being twisted around each other. Glancing back swiftly, there doesn't appear to be any trace of Zadan. He's nowhere to be seen, and that's saying something.

"Nothing." You murmur softly and return your attention to the angel. "Just thought I saw something, must be my mind playing tricks on me."

He hummed slowly, staring at your phone tossed aside on the table before glancing at your face. "I can see that you haven't been sleeping. Bad dreams?" His words are laced with honey, so sweet that you devour it like a greedy little kid.

You don't want to seem incompetent by confessing that you feel overwhelmed by your workload, so you attempt to smile and nod your head. "Yeah, bad dreams and Yose's little pranks getting out of hand."

Javan laughs lightly; you're sure that he can easily imagine that annoying little menace of a brother bothering you.

Similar to Zagan, the angel had grown and matured just as much. He didn't get beefy like the demon; his build was more athletic and toned.

His muscular limbs were proportionate to his 6'2ft (188.976cm - 1.8796m) stature, the white feathered wings just as big and as tall as himself. They curled perfectly behind his back; wouldn't be a problem unless he unfurled them outwards.

That long hair of his was no more. He cut it so it was long bangs over his forehead and a mullet of some sort down the back of his neck.

There was just something about the angels and the way they dressed; they were always on trend, stylish, and attired in a manner that always made their bodies look the best.

It was like having supermodels strutting down the halls, not accounting for the succubus' or Incubi.

Realizing why you were upset in the first place, you dig through your heavy backpack to pull out your Chromebook. "Before I forget, let me send the essay to you."

Javan beamed, his ocean eyes practically glimmering as he wrapped a hand around the back of your neck. "I literally forgot. You really are a lifesaver!"

【The angel shrugs, and you roll your eyes. "This cannot be a habit, you know." His gaze is burning against the side of your face, provoking little tingles to run up your spine. "Fine...Fine, you can copy." Once you spoke, he beamed so brightly that his halo pulsated almost blindly.

He's like the sun that you could have in your arms.

"You're a lifesaver! Mom would kick my a** if I got anything below an A." He expressed with his white wings fluttering behind his back.

He's so cute.

"Yeah, yeah. If you would just stop being lazy and forgetful, you'd never have to worry." As you return your gaze to the Chromebook, you catch a glimpse of dark wings and light hair.】

It's been four years, but that memory from the courtyard in middle school suddenly flashed in your mind. So long ago, but the recollection still feels as though it were yesterday.

The loss still feels so fresh.

"Right..." You wheeze out before clearing your throat. "What are your plans today? I've been wanting to get out of the house and go somewhere other than work."

J appears to think intently, his gaze almost out of focus, before he shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. "I don't think I can. The community is meeting up at the grand church for a ceremony tonight."

The dejection is evident, your shoulders sagging, but it's what you expected. He's ever so busy; you should be more considerate of his schedule.

Humming, you sent over the documents through email as you kept your gaze away from meeting his. "Are you still going to senior formal?" You question just to start a conversation.

It's been weeks since you've actually been able to speak face-to-face with him. You're soaking his attention in as much as you can.

"Yeah, I wasn't gonna go, but the others convinced me."

"Oh~?" Your lips form into a faux smile. "Javan Wyn was peer pressured?"

The hand on the back of your was removed to flick at your forehead. "I don't get peer pressured." He stated, which spurred you to roll your eyes.

"Alright, whatever you say, Angel Boy. Do you have at least a date?"

"No."

The heat beneath your baggy clothes grew worse, and a sudden surge of anxiety flushed through your bloodstream. "Are you going to ask someone?"

You don't know whether you want him to say yes or no. He's so handsome, his appearance nearly a blessing of god. It's astounded you that he isn't in a relationship.

Everyone flocks to him.

And you're still in love with him after twelve years.

"Hmm." He leans over the table and rests his chin in the palm of his hand. "I haven't really put any thought into it."

A breath of air you hadn't realized you were holding in was released as you laughed. What did you expect?

He's never voiced anything about liking any of the girls at the school, and you'd know. Best friends tell each other everything.

"Well, if you come up with someone in mind, won't you tell me first?" You offer while leisurely closing your Chromebook.

"Sure, Baby. You'll be the first to know." Javan laughs under his breath while swiping a loose strand of hair over to behind your ear. Doing so, he was able to see a very small hair clip you had to keep some frays out of your face.

"What's this?" He questions, and you're unable to meet his gaze.

You immediately remove the clip and conceal it within the palm of your hand. "Oh! I-It's nothing. I just forgot to take it out. My hair was just getting in the way."

Whatever the angel says goes a long way for you. If he says a certain color looks good on you, you're altering your whole theme.

When he tells you, 'I really like it when you wear baggy clothes. You don't look good when you wear anything tight.' You change your entire wardrobe, so maybe he'll like you more.

Maybe his eyes would linger on you more when you listen when he says, 'Don't wear make-up, you look so much better bare-faced. Make-up just doesn't fit someone like you.'

Perhaps he'll tell you he likes the way you look when you do your hair just the way he likes it. 'It's ugly when you put those clips in your hair, ya know. I only like girls who keep their hair up in a bun. Yeah, yeah, that suits you much better.'

You would do anything for him.

"Don't forget next time." Javan reprimands and reaches for the colorful metal clip in your hand. "It's ugly when you wear it."

Your throat tightens, constricting with the sensation of sobbing, attempting to force its way through. But you swallow it down and nod your head with a small, frantic smile. "Of course."

His warm fingers graze over your palm to take the clip in his own and leans back to aim and toss it in the garbage can against the wall. "There." He murmurs while turning back to face you with a gleaming smile. "You look so much better when you're like this."

Simple, he likes it when you appear simple and clean. He likes it when you wear ill-fitting clothes, even when it's hot, and you're swathed in sweat. He likes it when you tie your hair up, fringes, and lose hair gelled back.

He likes it when you do nothing more.

The bell rings, which draws his attention as well as that of other students who scatter to get to class on time. The angel stands and pats your face lightly while grazing his thumb over your lip.

Your entire stomach is doing front lips, and you could melt in his angelic touch.

"I'll see you around, Baby." And with that, he departs from the common area to leave you alone just as you were before.

It was nice while it lasted, but all good things must come to an end.

"See you around, Javan." It whispers from your lips as you shift in your seat to collect your things.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

You hate that sensation, the feeling of chlorine in your hair. Even as you try to scrub and wash it out after aquatic fitness, that awful tacky and dry sensation sticks to every strand.

It sucks, considering how much you enjoyed swimming. Weightless, fluid, as if you're flying away from here. The way your hands split the water, the manner in which your body glides through it so easily, drives all your worries to melt away.

Shutting off the shower in the female locker room, you reach for your towels and wrap them around your body and hair.

There should still be at least ten more minutes before the bell rings for the end of class. You can take a little bit of time to look presentable-ish.

As you enter the lockers, it appears that all the other girls had finished before you, already gone. Not that you minded either; you didn't like their eyes on your body, judging in the way they always do.

You're just a little human in a world of monsters.

Sighing, you undid the code to the lock and opened the locker. Instead of seeing your change of clothes and other items, it was bare.

Not a single object or article of clothing.

Your entire stomach filled with dread, and dropped to your knees.

"Awe, whatever happened to your clothes~?" It's a sickeningly sweet voice that originated behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as your heart skips a beat.

Laughing lightly even though you desire to scream, you remove the towel from your hair and slowly turn around. "I just can't seem to keep my things together."

It's suffocating, standing in only thin, short clothes as six other students surround you, four angels and two humans.

Water trickled down your neck while you swallowed thickly.

"Oh, we agree." One of the angels expresses and steps forward. "Which is why you need to learn a lesson~!" She's so pretty; is such a shame her personality is rotten.

You latched onto the front of your towel as you stepped back, only for the locker to shock you with the contrast of heat.

"I-I'm sure I'm innocent." You're losing your voice, becoming guttural like you had been screaming it away. "What did I do?"

A human girl latches her hand on your bicep and tugs you so hard that you nearly slip on the cold concrete ground.

"You need to be reminded of your place."

Before you can attempt to de-escalate the situation, your other arm is latched onto, and you're being dragged away.

There is no grip on your bare feet that you are just sliding on the floor. You can only hold onto that thin towel to keep even a bit of your modesty.

"Stop it! Hey!" They bring you closer to the exit, where loud chattering emanates from. Classmates and other students must fill the large open area where the hallway had opened up for gatherings.

Your elbow slams back, knocking into one of the girl's noses. She gasps, and blood immediately begins to trickle down.

She licks it while a terrifying sneer forms on her plump lips. "You bitch!" Her hand latches onto the back of your knotted, wet hair as two others open the door.

They managed to drag you through the door and thrust you outwards so you fall forward. You're barely able to catch yourself, striking your knees on tile that immediately spurred an onset of blood to stream down your shins.

Laughter...Laughter reverberates outwards, so loud that the vibrations echo beneath the ground.

You feel sick.

The one you had hit grasped onto the back of your hair again. She tugged your head upwards to look at everyone while also grabbing onto the bottom of your jaw.

At least more than half of your grade had congregated in this massive area, and they surrounded you like a school of fish.

"Look, everyone! It's the girl who thinks she's better than us!"

Ice runs through your veins, so cold that it's a burning sensation. The insides of your throat swell up, depriving you of air.

You're scared.

You're humiliated.

They're laughing at you, their giggles and cheers so deafening it's as though they are bursting your eardrums.

"Come on!" A different girl locks onto your wrist and pulls you to your feet with her pure strength. "Where did all that entitlement go!?"

Not even a second after you are standing, were you kicked down and forced to collapse on your bruised and rived knees.

A strangled gasp wheezed from your lips as the inner corner of your eyes stung. Tears clouded your conjunctiva before trickling down your heated face.

"Doesn't she deserve a little humility!?" Courses of 'yes' and cheers echo like the booms of fireworks. They begin chanting...chanting to take everything away.

These people wanted to ruin you.

Your hand holding up the towel was yanked away as another gripped the cloth to tear it off your body.

"No!" Just as you finally release your voice, a vociferous snapping sound overtakes the shouting and replaces it with gasps.

Scarlet red eyes meet your gaze as his wings tear apart the binds and extend outwards, knocking nearly half the crowd to the ground.

He practically teleported in front of your figure to yank you up to your feet by one of your wrists and hold you tight to his body.

The massive size of his wings is not just for show as he flaps them; the force sends everyone tumbling away, skidding across the ground and hitting the walls.

You cannot breathe, even with your lungs expanding and retracting vigorously and your mouth gulping in the air like a fish; lightheadedness only grows more intense.

Zagan's burly arm wraps firmly around your back as he hauls you back into the locker room, the male locker room.

A clamorous cry echoes out from your lips as you grip his shirt, burrowing your nails in his thick, muscled waist. You didn't mean to cry, to wail out and release this visceral wail that rattles through your entire being.

He doesn't say a single word, merely picking your much smaller figure into a bridal position. His body heat contrasted against the chill of your damp person in such a way that you immediately succumb to his warm hold.

To be against his body brings back so many memories, all before the fallout, before the trio became nothing anymore.

You've missed him so much.

Why did it have to be this way?

The strength of your sobs worsens, racking through your bones. Zagan's wings surround the two of you, blocking out the light and muffling the sounds from outside.

It's only the quiet hum of the internal conditioning and your blustering cries. Your face is hidden against his pecs, wetting his shirt, but he doesn't seem to mind.

He only continues to hold you like you're a cracked vase, precious, broken, and needing his undivided attention.

Even though your nose is stuffed, this close proximity and protective surroundings of his wings allow you to smell his scent.

Zagan smells like an early dawning, with fog concealing the world and honeydew drops garnishing the grass.

This is not the smell of heaven, but damn, does it feel like paradise.

Soon, without a single word being spoken, your cries cease to become hiccups and whimpers. Strength has dissipated from your muscles, leaving your entire being exhausted.

You just want to fall asleep and never wake up.

The demon boy leans his head down, and though it is void of light while swathed in his batty wings, you can feel his gaze on your face.

His one arm under your shoulder gingerly pushed up upwards so you were sitting on his lap. He held onto your bare thigh while allowing your head to rest on his shoulder.

There are tingles erupting beneath his fingers that ignite your nerves. You've never been touched like this before.

"Better?" Not the voice of an angel, not the singing of the devil; it's something entirely different. Deeper, coarser, it's manly and rugged.

The sound of it reminds you of a rustic cabin, lost in the woods with a fire burning in a stone pit. Everything, from the foundation to the wiring, was done by hand.

It feels personal.

Slackly, with barely any strength, you nod your head and raise a hand to swipe at your face.

"...You...You still have it."

It is obvious what he's referring to; that cold pendant abruptly feels warm at the mention of the necklace. You hadn't the heart to remove it or to throw it away.

Doing so would be completely removing him from your life, even more than he already was. "Yeah..." You didn't want to tell him anymore.

You can't tell him that sometimes you'd grip that necklace and pray that everything would revert back to the way it used to be. Or that you'd run your fingers on the engraving on the back, remembering when he was always there for you...always there until that event.

Feeling him nod his head, his massive spiked wings part very carefully to let in the light. Zagan stands up to place your body in the spot he was just sitting in and strides over to a wall of lockers.

The way he just manhandles you sends shivers across your stomach and farther down.

He undoes the lock and shuffles through a bag before turning to face your figure. You can't believe the man standing in front of you is Zagan.

This is really the same nerd who had to look up at you; now you have to crane your neck even to meet his gaze.

It's really been four years without even acknowledging one another.

"Here, It's obviously not going to fit, but it's better than nothing." Zagan murmurs as he steps closer to lay a set of clothes on your lap.

That sweater...he still had that same dark red sweater that you bought him once at the mall. You said it went well with his eyes, made them as bright as stars.

It most definitely doesn't fit him now, which means he's kept it even after he had finally developed.

"I'm going to turn around to make sure no one comes in while you change."

His speech breaks you from your thoughts. You peek upwards just as he folds his wings and trekks over to the locker room door.

You feel more self-conscious now with Zagan's back turned than you did in front of the other students. The tips of your ears are burning along with your cheeks.

It's almost like the clothes are made of glass the way you gently handle them and set them on the seat as you stand. Your body has long dried after the shower, yet you keep the towel over your shoulder as you shuffle on his attire.

The sweater was soft, lined with cushiony fabric that felt nice against your skin. Without a bra or support system, you were lucky it was rather oversized and thick to obscure your chest.

Next is the pair of black fleece sweatpants. You end up fitting it well; you're definitely sure that this was from when he was smaller.

Luckily, there's a drawstring that you end up tying to tighten at your waist.

"I'm done." You meant for your voice to be firm, but it's gravelly and coarse, as if you need to clear your throat.

He tilts his head back to look, but he audibly sucks in a breath of air before flinging his head in another direction. One hand covers his mouth as the other holds onto the wall for support

Your brows crease tightly, and your fingers form into fists in the sleeves that are too long for you. "Is something wrong?"

It took a short moment for him to clear his throat. He shook his head as if he were freeing himself from thoughts while extending a large, coarse hand outward. "Grab my hand, and I'll take you home."

It's as though he steals the air right out of your lungs.

After everything? After what you said to him, after dropping him...he's still caring for you.

You want to hit him. If only he didn't accuse Javan of what he said, nothing would have changed.

"I-I can go home on my own." You state, yet it only prompts him to click his tongue and step forward.

He immediately dwarfs your smaller stature by his much larger one. The demon peers down with an unknown expression, one where you can't even tell what he's thinking.

Those gorgeous wings of his softly flutter to gain your attention just as one corner of his succulent lips quirk upwards. "And miss the chance to fly?"

How right he was.

As kids, you begged them to take you flying. One of them would hold you close and raise you to the sky so you could feel utterly weightless.

Nothing mattered while you soared, not your f*cked up family, not your unrequited love, nothing at all but that freedom.

You haven't felt it in four years because Javan was always too busy and Zagan...

"Fine." It whispers from your lips as you shift your gaze away. "Just home, please."

His small, angled eyes squinted as if he knew what you were thinking while he nodded his head. "Let's go." He states and reaches for one of your hands.

That warmth surrounds you again as he holds on tight and departs from the male locker room. It's empty within the common area; seems that everyone knew better to leave than to stick around and face the poster boy's wrath.

It's sunny outside as you both exit through a side door. The sun is high, with a few fluffy white clouds clumped together. You were maneuvered into a new position, one where Zagan held your body in the bridal position again before taking off.

Those massive wings of his are so powerful, so strong that he could probably outfly any fighter jet. He's arrived in the sky in the blink of an eye.

Wind is whipping around your baby hairs and striking against your face, yet you welcome the little stings.

You're light, fluid, and weighed down by nothing in this moment. Zagan's flying through the clouds, allowing your fingers to feel the slight chill and moisture like before.

It earned a laugh from your lips, a genuine one that hasn't graced your face in a long, long time. The demon's grip grew tighter at the sound of laughter and peeked down at your face.

Your eyes met for a second, and his lips parted as though he desired to speak, but they shut upon arriving in your neighborhood.

Not yet; you didn't want to go home just yet.

"We could fly around a little longer." Your eyes fling upwards to meet his as he swallows. "If you want, that is."

No, no, you don't want to go home at all.

You feel an ache in your stomach, a burn in your eyes, and a pressure in your throat.

Doesn't he hate you at all?

"Just...Just take me home, please." You spoke a lie, and god should have struck you down right then and there.

How is it that you both look-feel so dejected?

The scarlet-eyed demon descends from his high place in the sky to your window on the second floor. You manage to crack it open before slipping inside and shifting around to face the dirty blond-haired man.

He hovered in his spot, taking in the view of your bedroom after so long. All the pictures of him are gone; all the gifts he's given you are nowhere in sight.

"I'll uh-" His tongue fiddles with the lip ring as he drops his gaze. "I'll get your bag from school and bring it over."

You want to tell him not to worry about it, but you do not trust your voice, so you merely nod your head.

Zagan mimics your action and lightly taps the windowsill before flying away. Your puffy eyes follow and watch his figure until he's too far to be seen.

Too far gone.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

When Zagan returned from gathering your things from the school, he lightly tapped on your window to gain your attention.

However, he received no response, none at all. The blinds were pulled together so that he couldn't see inside...nor feel your presence.

The demon knocked again, a little louder this time, with again no response. He reacted without thinking, thrusting up the old window and nearly tearing off the blinds.

It was the same as he saw earlier: slightly messy, books splayed open, clothes folded but not put away, yet there was something different.

On the bench by the window was the folded set of clothes he allowed you to wear...and a note on top. His fingers were shaky for some reason, filled with dread as if he were inches away from death.

Flipping it open displayed just a few words with messy handwriting, like writing in a rush.

《

I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore goodbye

》

The paper tore in his grasp while the pair of fangs in his mouth elongated and sharpened. Every muscle within his body tensed and constricted.

F*ck, f*ck, f*ck!

This can't be happening!

You can't be gone!

He tried to control his breathing, attempting to calm himself just the slightest so he could figure out where the f*ck you had gone.

But your scent is decamped with not a trace of or trail leading anywhere. Even your presence, the very feeling of your soul, is nowhere close.

He can't feel it, he can't feel you.

After years of saying it, knowing you so well, even after four years of disregarding each other, he knows you did it.

You ran away.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

(Y/n) - Twenty-Two Years Old

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Continuing on in pt.2

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Short and dramatic, but it's better than nothing, right? This had been in the drafts for a long time, but I decided to break it up into 2 parts just to get it out. It also allows me to focus on the second act of the story.

This is setting up for pt.2, where all the drama is going to unfold. The reader gets found and realizes the truth, more daddy Zagan screen time (he's gonna be in a gang hehe), and Javan is confronted. There's gonna be fistfights, tears, and a lot of sl*tty demon s*x.

Psst, I'll let you in on a little secret. The Lamia household has lots of siblings, right? Well, certain demons have a little...hmm, how do I say this...have a breeding trait passed down through generations. Jahi has it, which explains the seven children, and well...Zagan's very much like his mother.

Which makes him a 'Breeding Bull'. So that's something to look forward to in pt.2 ;)

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

↳If you'd like to support me or read 30+ drafts of TDMLM or my other stories, please consider buying me Kofi. You can find the link on my profile! Thank you :)

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

𝐌𝐚𝐦𝐚 signing out

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creampie-capital · 9 months

Text

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MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ CONTENT

Galactic Affair Masterlist ━━━➤ GALACTIC AFFAIR

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Now onto the story :)

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

↳ᴛʜᴇ

door parted, and your attention pulled towards the exit. A hand of ash grey could be seen opening it wider; you met the gaze of jarring steel eyes.

"What is this?" The royal advisor began while concealing his hands within the sleeves of his robes. "It appears you once again fail at another order...Neloi Bonsor."

You could discern a little twitch, a minuscule scowl on the butler's lips before he stood back up to his full massive height.

He grinned, cocking his head to the side while crossing his arms over his hard pectorals. "Fail? I haven't even started my assignment yet, Kel Iczats." Kindled embers collided with steel grey as the two giant Jovians maintained a threatening gander. "But the question is, why am I even surprised you are here? Your order was to give her to me, not for you to dawdle around the Nakpa."

Kel chortled in his throat, so his chest rumbled with his laughter. "You're just so inadequate with your duties that I came to do your job for you."

One of your brows raised as you glanced back and forth between the head butler and royal advisor. The air was so thick and heavy that not even a laser would slice through. It tasted bitter, corrosive on your tongue.

Easily, you could sense intense animosity and malice between the two servants. Hate like this cannot accumulate overnight...this has been boiling for years; you are sure of it.

"You must really want to make a fool of me, Iczats. For you to venture all the way to the west where you are banned...either you crave for the Nakpa's attention, or you merely cannot allow me to perform something better than you." The ebony-haired man spoke in such a sweet tone laced with disdain.

Banned? This is getting better and better! If you had a snack, surely you'd be chomping down on it with your eyes dancing back and forth between who spoke and who snarled.

"Regardless if I am prohibited or not, if I act in favor of the Emperor, I am allowed anywhere and everywhere that I so much desire." Kel's lips contorted into a mocking grin. "Not even the queen's words will have an effect on me. Shame, really...you'll never know the luxury of such freedom."

Neloi's jaw clenched at the other extraterrestrial's words. It's as though you were forgotten, a mere afterthought as the two fought audibly for prominence. "With that pretentious mouth, it's no wonder the queen nearly had you executed."

You rolled your lips inward to hide your shocked grin. The butler was more than happy to fire back at the advisor with his own sly insults. Your interest in their backstories was only growing, and before you die, you'd like to be informed of what started this all.

Th pearl-haired jovian merely shrugged shoulders and fought to keep a smile off his lips. "Well, we all can't have our phallus' buried in royalty to save our own skin, now can we?" One of his hands from within his robe parted from the cloth, so his palms pointed towards the ceiling. "You're merely wrathful because it only requires my talents to save my a**-"

You gasp aloud unintentionally. "Oh my, he said a bad word."

They both turn toward your figure as you stand there, covering your mouth with your pointer finger. It's as if you're in the middle of a catfight, just a bystander wishing for more information on the tea.

Their succulent lips part to speak; however, they are immediately silenced by another voice.

"What are you doing here?" Standing in the doorway was a jovian with feminine features. Her skin is a light lilac purple, soft and creamy, with not a single blemish visible on her body.

Long white hair with a pearlescent pink tint sprouted from her scalp. Multiple thick braids are in between her regular straight locks, alongside one that was wrapped around either side of her long pointed ears. Deep plum purple optics contrast against the dark wisteria lipstick on her plump lips.

There's a marking on her nose bridge, somewhat of a purple tattoo blending under her eyes. Standing at 7'5 (226.06 cm), she towered over you with ease, only to be dwarfed by Neloi and Kel.

"May the sun bless your health and the stars forever light your path, your highness." Both attendants swiftly pressed their open palms to the middle of the chest while bowing. You blink your eyes between the two, unsure whether to mimic their actions or stand there, acting as if you do not understand their language.

She flicks her hand toward Neloi, allowing him to release from the greeting. However, her attitude appeared to switch on a whim once her attention solely settled on the royal advisor.

Dangly silver and teal earrings graze over her bare shoulders and forehead as she tilts her cranium and crosses her long arms under her rounded bust.

"What is a man who is banned from the west wing doing in my hall?"

There is only one explanation for who she is, a princess of these lands—Emperor Abzed V'lite's daughter.

Still bowing, the royal advisor clears his throat before speaking. "My apologies, princess. I merely came to see what was taking the head butler so long to prepare the Nakpa."

She raises a thin brow that is only connected at the front half with the other slightly off her face. Tightening her lips together, those dark purple eyes of hers drift to your figure and eye you up from the tip of your toes to the very top of your knitted hair.

"You question why? I'll give my opinion and suggest that the Nakpa were to feel more comfortable with someone of similar biology." The princess narrowed her eyes at Kel. "My apologies; I should rephrase that, considering you are also here."

Your lips slowly parted in astonishment. She just called him a b*tch. You have been placed in between some kind of intergalactic fight with no idea what or how it started.

For a second, you and Neloi share a glance. He's biting the inside of his cheek to stifle a laugh just as you are.

"Depart from my presence, advisor. You make things unsightly." If it were not clear enough, the princess nor Neloi appeared to be chummy with the royal advisor.

Why is that?

Kel swallowed strenuously as if he were eating down words he wished to expel before nodding his head and bowing deeply again. "Yes, your highness."

Before vacating the bathroom, the white-haired man tilted his head to meet your gaze. His lips move, yet you cannot hear his speech nor make out the movement of his mouth.

"That also means you as well, Neloi." She alerted the butler, who nodded his head with a small smile.

He bows deeply to the princess, who waves him off in almost a playful manner. Neloi is sure to close the double doors behind him as he removes himself, leaving you and the young sovereign alone.

Once her gaze removes from the entrance and lands back on your figure, she appears to become a different person or at least a more relaxed individual.

"I cannot believe it!" She gushes audibly, holding her smooth hands against her cheeks. "A Nakpa! You're a real Nakpa! Oh, I need to introduce myself." Clearing her throat, the princess grasp the sides of her long mauve dress and curtsies. "The second princess of Vuetera, Vrexoi V'lite."

Slightly, you incline your head. Even if she were offspring of the Extraterrestial you wish to kill with your bare hands, there is a possibility to utilize her favor.

"Hello, princess. I'm (Y/n)... just (Y/n)."

The female extraterrestrial squeals before strutting forwards toward the bathtub and turning a knob so a liquid tinted cherry red erupts from the faucet.

It isn't thick or not transparent, but you cannot help the comparison to that of human blood. She plugs it with a button on the side and allows the liquid to pool and flood inside.

It swirls and churns, foam bubbling up and muddling your appearance as you pear in.

Your coordination is feeling off as if a headache has formed. You would almost sway and fall over if your hand had not instinctively shot out to grasp the edge of the smooth tub.

"Are you well?"

Your eyes flicker to the princess kneeling beside you. Her brows are furrowed, and her lips cast downwards like genuine worry.

Maybe your expression conveyed that you clearly were not okay because the sovereign turned her attention to the tub.

"Here, is this hot enough for you?" She suggests.

You swallow thickly, forcing your hands to dip into the liquid. However, you pull back in an instant and hold your fingers to your chest. "Ow!"

It was an unbearably hot temperature, heated as if she were attempting to boil you alive. Your hand tingled and throbbed, almost vibrating from the burn.

"I'm so sorry! I should have known that even mildly cold might be too much for a Nakpa." The princess apologizes as she swiftly drains the liquid and repeats her earlier action, only this time lowering the heat with a monitor on the side.

Considering the natural heat of this planet, it was no wonder why something cold to them would be burning to you.

"There, I believe this should be enough."

Swiping your tongue over your bottom lip, you reach forward with the same hand, weary and cautious only meeting with (burning/mild/cold) liquid. It's just as you prefer, so you nod slightly.

Even with the eery color, it feels just like water. It's not thick or vicious like blood, nor does it reek of a metallic scent. In fact, it smells like nothing at all.

Besides the color, the liquid inside is just like regular water.

"Now, let's get you out of this suit and all cleaned up." She almost speaks to you like a mother as she turns you around.

Her large hands reach first for the gag bit, removing it from your neck and dropping it onto the floor. You hadn't realized it until now, but it weighed heavily.

Next were the shackles. You are not aware of how she undid them, but they become undone and fall to the ground with a fierce thud.

The tension building into your shoulders is released in an instant. It felt so good that it hurt. You immediately begin to rub your wrist in front of your body by your stomach.

Once her fingers find the zipper at the back of your neck, you stand stagnant and become aware of her movements. Vrexoi's breathing is steady and calm, and as you observe through the mirrors, she's also focused as well.

The clasp halts at just above your bum, and she begins peeling the suit away from your throat. You can now visibly see that stripe of 'cloth' around your neck, almost appearing like a decorative choker.

Vuetera's air had kissed your newly displayed skin, prompting shivers to erupt across your body. Her hands were diligent and careful as she pulled your arms out of the suit.

Across from you where that giant wall mirror; the princess' plum eyes remained down, or at least at your spine that bore an elaborate rich marking. Its pattern was like that of a circuit board, with thick, complex lines, perfectly circular curves, and hexagonal shapes.

It was inked at the base of your neck, where the C7 bone is located. Once it passed the scapula, it grew in size and sprouted out like the blossoming of a flower.

"This is gorgeous. The lines are so smooth and prominent. It feels like that of a story." The princess praises while the tips of her fingers trace a few markings.

You hummed, shifting your weight to wiggle out of the rest of the suit. "Thank you, princess. In my galaxy, we all are assigned a practice that we work towards graduating. When completed, we go through a process where we receive a tattoo to 'display' our accomplishments a. It also puts us in a system. Sometimes there are those who have been considered a prodigy and given more than one or two other professions. The larger and more extravagant the designs, the more prominent and important you are to society. The higher you are on in the hierarchy."

Silence at first before her voice follows it.

"I see." She replies and lifts you like a child to settle your body within the soapy bathwater. Her strength surpassed normality even though her arms seemed thin and lean. It was no longer that scalding hot temperature that burnt the tips of your fingers and now a much more content (cold/warm/hot) tepidity.

The tension had quickly released from your muscles with tautness loosening its thick knots. You sighed, leaning back so your head rested against the porcelain wall.

"You must be incredibly intelligent with your people, then. The intricacy and girth of it obscure your complete posterior." Vrexoi murmured, kneeling behind your figure with her lilac hands cupping some water to trickle over your head.

Speaking more of your home life only seemed to cast a gloom upon your mind and weigh it solemn with memories. For this moment, you sat stagnant and compliant, allowing the princess to undo your hair and wash the matted and tangled strands.

Tender and soothing, it was as if the monarch had done this countless times.

"Your hair is quite interesting. The color and hue are different from ours. Are all the Nakpa's tresses like yours?" Questioned the jovian, which spurred a slight grin on your lips.

"No." You hummed. "At first, it depended on where on the planet you were born or where your ancestors originated from. Thicker coarse hair was for those that lived under the sun; it protected them against the harsh UV rays. Thinner but straight hair was from a hair follicle development passed down in what we call Asian countries. But after most decided they rather live in the shuttles around space, it depended on your genes for what attributes were distributed."

Her nails caressed your scalp as she listened intently. Vrexoi continued to ask questions as she cleaned you of blood and grime. Inquisitiveness and curiosity were ever so prominent with the princess, and you attempted your best to answer them.

Even if your tongue weighed heavy in your mouth and the pressure in the inner corner of your eyes burned, you responded the most you could to satisfy her insatiable hunger for knowledge of your kind.

Having the princess of this new galaxy keep you in her favor could be utilized whenever you needed it.

You stiffened and halted your words when her hands ventured across your chest. The soft and slightly coarse texture of a sponge(?) grazed over the mounds before rubbing in a circular manner. "Those able to cultivate and produce children really do have similar biology." She begins, cocking her head to the side so some of her hair falls over your shoulder.

Abprutply one of her bare hands rubbed over your nipple, swirling around the areola that immediately spurred you to gnaw your teeth together and press your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

Tingling sensations sprouted in your stomach.

"The sensitivity appears heightened. How are you able to feed your offspring if a mere touch stimulates you as so?" Her question doesn't appear mocking or taunting; it's like that of genuine interest, like you are something to study.

"I-It's different." You murmur under your breath. "The touch of another is far different than breastfeeding. One stimulates sexually, while the other-"

"Provides for their offspring." Vrexoi hums in understanding, yet her hands continue to wander with curiosity. Her fingers were long and smooth, yet her grip was firm.

You leaned back unconsciously, only for your head to rest against her own chest. Soft and supple, they were like cushions of plump squishiness.

"I apologize for having you see such a scene with the helpers." She begins while finally removing her touch from your clean skin. "Certain servants tend to forget their place."

Tilting your head just a little more, you met her plum eyes as she grinned cordially. "You've answered many of my questions. I'll be sure to return the favor afterward." The princess stated before standing to her feet and clicking on a button on the wall that opens to a closet.

She removes a robe of a fluffy white texture while suddenly clicking her tongue. "I'm unsure if this attire will fit, and I do apologize that it is a little more...revealing than your suit."

You're curious about this princess. So far, she's rather friendly and amicable, but you are unaware of how easily she could shift. How far can she be pushed before her silver tongue strikes fast like a snake and lashes out maliciously?

"I'll leave you some privacy to change, my dear (Y/n)." The Jovian steels you from your thoughts while leaving the items beside the tun on a short stand. "I'll bide my time on the other side of the door."

With a smile on her wisteria-painted lips, one that even reaches her eyes, she departs from the bathroom to leave you in peace.

You can only release a harsh breath of air while shaking your head. So much has transpired that it doesn't feel real.

Slowly, your body descends into the cherry-tinted water until you're completely submerged. The weightlessness of your figure, the darkness behind your eyelids, tempts you with the kiss of death.

What is there left to live for?

Vengeance?

Retributation?

Adventure?

You're not a fighter or a warrior.

But can you kill the emperor with these bruised and bleeding hands?

Or do you need to call the orders from behind a veil?

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Next up! Let's meet the royals and learn a little tea.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Next Chapter ━━━➤...updating soon

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

𝐌𝐚𝐦𝐚 signing out

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creampie-capital · 10 months

Text

║Not My Type║

Male Monster x Fem! Reader

Word count║16,763

The Devil May Lick Me Masterlist ━━━➤ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞

You're in the non-con/yandere section.

Warning enough, it's intense.

Photo Reference Cred ━━━➤ Found on Pinterest, so I'm unable to cred the artist. If you know who created the image, please let me know.

Now onto the smut :)

"Please! Please, I'm sorry!"

"You've alwaysss been sssuch a liar!"

Grasping at the bedsheets, your nails dug into the mattress as a sob expelled from your bruised lips.

His grip grew firmer on your hip, harsher, with the force of his thrust accelerating. The fat round head beat mercilessly at the entrance to your womb, pulsating dully from the savage movements.

"I'm sorry!" He snatches the air from your lungs as he seizes your throat. His grip is tight and unwavering. "Y-You're hurting me..."

"Good." The Naga switched a hand to hold your right thigh, pressing it down against your chest so he could visibly observe your tender c*nt.

Remnants of his prior climaxes shine on your sweaty skin, and the second forgotten c*ck glided between your bottom cheeks, spreading slime between the (muscle/fat).

He drove his hips back so his swollen pulsating c*ck could pull away from the warm depths of your body, before plunging it back so harshly that a strangled gasp wheezed from your lips.

The inner corner of your eyes sting, tears clouding over before they spill and soak your face. "I'm s-sorry! I promise I-" Your tummy aches in displeasure and anguish. "-I wasn't t-trying to run away!"

His response was to release your hip, only to slap his hand over your mouth and shove your head into the mattress. "You take me for a fool!"

The force he used to sway back into you had your whole body jerking and shuddering in your spot. You shrieked, wailing audible, but it was muffled under his hand from the forceful thrust.

Your nails burrowed into his smooth forearms, creating crescent-mooned markings before breaking past the layer of skin to meet muscle.

However, even as you wound him, it does nothing to slow or cease his movements. He's pissed, enranged like no other, and he wasn't letting you off with simple discipline.

This time, he wanted it to hurt more than anything else he had ever done to you, so there'd be nothing in your brain but him.

"I give you everything you could ever need, but you conssstantly take it all for granted. You even tried to run away-"

"I'd never!" Your muffled words only provoke a slap to the face that stings like a burn.

His large hands tangled within your hair to force your chin towards the ceiling and bring his face towards your bruised neck. There are bite marks, open wounds from his fangs, contusions, and discolorations from his assault.

Blood leaks across your collarbones and breast in small trails of liquid that he licks up with his skinny split tongue. "I'm tired of thisss, my love." His voice is hoarse as he breaths rigorously. "You're alwaysss fighting with me when I jussst try to give you the world."

Issur (Ish-er) yanks your head to the side so you can meet his fiery ruby-red eyes, and smiles so deviously it was like the devil took over. "I'm going to make sssure that you'll never try thisss again." Abruptly the Naga slid his hips back to free his c*ck from your walls and replaced it with the thicker, fatter one below.

Your crying eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets as the bulkier length speared your bruised inside and parted the muscles with a harsh stretch.

The round bulbous tip pressed right up against your tender cervix that you swear felt like it was attempting to split it open.

The insides of your tummy tingle with both pain and delight, yielding your nails to dig deeper and your free leg to slam against his scaley hips.

His lengthy tail whacks against the ground that rattles his house before the ends raise upwards to curl around your sore throat to replace his hand.

"I think it'sss about time we ssstart a family, (Y/n)~? Let'sss get you nice and round with sssome eggsss." He cooed, face blushing like a young bashful youth confessing to his crush.

(So this is not accurate; only female snakes can lay eggs. But I wanted this Naga lay some eggs :P)

Before you could even say anything, Issur grinned so connivingly as he cocked his head to the side. "And don't think I wasssn't aware of you taking birth control behind my back." Your blood runs cold, ice running through your veins as even your breathing ceases. "You know that you can't hide thingsss from me~."

Realization strikes you like someone had bashed your head, and the one bit of control you thought that you had was false.

Even under the hold and constraint of the much bigger monster, you attempted to wiggle and squirm to free yourself.

You can't do this; you handle any more of this sh*t that you didn't deserve. He's taken you away from everyone and everything you once loved, and now he attempts to trap you even more than you already were.

"Keep fighting, baby, and I'll make it hur-"

"F*ck you!" All of your obedience flies out the window as you curse at him and continue to fight for your freedom. Faking and lying to him doesn't matter anymore; you have to get away.

Issur narrowed those marbled eyes before pulling outwards only to switch your position onto your stomach. His tail completely holds you in place from your throat to your legs, where you're lifted slightly off the mattress.

"Alright, you ungrateful brat. You want pain; I'll give it to you." The Naga snarls close to your ears before sinking in and bottoming out with the thicker c*ck.

You cry audibly, lips parting as the tears persist and your limbs tense and contract.

His hips jerked as he moved and quickly gained momentum, rocking his hips in animalistic breeding movement. Venom dripped from his fangs onto your bare bum, where it numbed the small areas it dripped onto.

The thinner but longer length was grasped by one of his hands that jerked it, utilizing the natural slime and your immission on the shaft.

"How many kids should we have?" He questions as his breathing staggers and his stomach tingles. You didn't answer, continuing to struggle and squirm to free yourself, but the hold of his snake tail was unbreakable. "Five? Ten? Who knows...let's have a big happy family."

Issur's free hand caresses your back before trailing down to your tummy, where he leans over and groans.

His movements stall as presses so deeply down inside that it hurts. The wide head of the fatty c*ck separated with something tiny, but hard, spherical, and burning with heat pressing into your cervix.

"Stop! Stop! Stop, please!" You wail and cry, sobbing with more tears descending and your whole body trembling. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I won't do it again! I won't fight! I won't argue! Just please stop!"

The Naga groans, chest heaving as split tongue hisses. "Too late."

And the first egg forcefully parts the small entrance to your womb to enter. It was more than just an ache, more than a tingling; it was a pulsating throbbing of something that should have never happened.

"Ahh!" You bellow out in frustration and desperation, still attempting to get away, only for another egg to travel upwards through the fatty c*ck and enter inside of your womb. "It hurts!"

Issur laughs breathlessly while continuing to jack off the top length. "Then how about you do sssome persssuasssion with that filthy mouth of yoursss?" He coyly states, wide muscled abdomen flexing and contracting.

It's an offer you won't pass off.

You have to will it, will yourself to speak words that are false and deceitful. "I-I was wrong. I'm t-terrible for l-lying to you. I'm sorry! I was just scared!" "Go on." He states. "I want it; I w-want a family only with y-you!" It feels like you could throw up from these lies. "Please...just make the pain stop."

The monster hums pleasantly, and you're sure as hell that he's smirking. "Eh, you sssound ssso cute! How could I deny?"

He leaned forward, breathing in your scent as he pants before hissing and baring his fangs. You brace, squeezing your eyes shut with his tail tightening to constrict around your entire body harder than ever.

Tightness from your pulsating womb and aching lungs are driving you to almost deliriousness where you can't even think straight.

Within moments, the set of dripping acute fangs punctured the bruised and discolored skin on your throat.

At first, it feels as though he tore open your veins and poured buckets of molten hot lava within. Burning, seething with heat, the air is stolen from you as it spreads down from your neck to your heart, then every other limb you possess.

However, that boiling pain ceased just as fast as it arrived and became nonexistent as your nerves were inoperative like they were turned off. No longer could you feel any sensations, completely numb to pain, pleasure, and even the heat of your own body.

If you couldn't see the tail that still firmly held onto you in place, or feel the fangs inside, you'd think he let you go.

Any attempts to move your body were futile, and that's when you knew that this was just going to continue on being your fate, at the mercy of a monster who wanted you more than anything.

Noticing your flaccidity, the tail that held you in a bruising grip slackened.

Without feeling anything, there was a bit of pressure you could detect when the Naga grunted and trembled slightly. Just a little pressure as another slimy egg infiltrated your womb...and another...and another.

Like you were f*cking incubator, your stomach now bulges visibly with the tiny, almost gumball-sized eggs that cultivate within your womb.

"There~." Issur hums and kisses his bloody lips against your jaw. "All nice and full. I'll jussst fertilize them, and then thisss will all be done."

Even numb, your lips twitched, and tears escaped that traveled over your forehead due to gravity.

Issur removed the fatty c*ck to replace it with the skinnier one he had been stroking. The warm veiny rod parted the muscles again just to resume its place at your tender cervix.

Only able to clench your teeth together, you barely discerned the sensation of your wet walls unconsciously gripping onto him. You felt the pressure of his strong heated burst, the heavy spurts of thick, potent seed spilling into your womb to fertilize the tiny little eggs.

His hips jerk, the angle of your bottom in his tail's hold allowing for every vigorous torrent spray of his seed to gush inside as if he were just overflowing.

The Naga sucked in a gulp of air while sluggishly cocking his head to the side and swallowing the saliva in his mouth. "I can't wait until you get pregnant with our babies."

It takes everything in your to just keep your mouth shut, and let it be. You can't fight him anymore.

Who would have thought you'd meet a monster that put the bogeyman to shame? But even the devil hides among men like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Normal, it's how you would express yourself; it's how you would describe your day. You were a normal girl, a normal human, with nothing special going on.

Simple.

Young and only just a semester into University, there was not much going on in your life other than classes and work. Occasionally there would be study sessions accompanied by the girlies you made friends with.

One particular day, it was your birthday. You didn't want anything big, just a small get-together with the girls. Yet they had other agendas and planned a dinner party and karaoke night at the college hangout spot.

Men you hadn't known or ever conversed with before had attended, because what's a party without boys, right? Though, how were you going to complain when the man you secretly admired from afar decided to join?

He was tall, dark, handsome, and, best of all...wasn't human. Endre was a panther beastman and was exactly your type. Taller than the door frame, his body was thickly riddled with muscles, an itty bitty waist, tattoos all over, and piercings decorating his ears and lips.

Endre was the cool, mysterious guy that people didn't really know much about. He kept to himself, minded his business, and didn't talk much. Yes, Endre was exactly your type.

And he had shown up at your birthday party? It couldn't have gotten any better.

The night was young, and everyone slowly began to gather at the bar and restaurant. Gifts were brought, cards were offered, and birthday wishes were blessed.

More than half of the guests were people you hadn't known, but only one mattered. Just your luck; Endre was seated next to you on your right. He was so close, warm, and he smelled like paradise.

It was planned, your friends side-eyeing you and winking, hiding giggles behind their hands. Do you thank them or berate them for playing a dirty trick? Well, whatever, you'll enjoy it.

Though, due to your seating arrangements, you were caged inside the booth with Endre on your right, and someone else on your left. He was also someone you hadn't known personally but was popular for being popular.

His name was Issur, and he was an exchange student from Bolivia. But what made him popular...was the fact that he was a Naga. They were extremely uncommon in these parts, where even in the summer, it was chilly and mainly wintry year-round.

There would be more luck finding a drider here than a snake man. His scarcity made him popular, and with his charismatic personality, people flocked to him lock a moth to a flame.

Not to mention, his handsome appearance garnered attention. Big hands, a long torso, ruby-red eyes, styled white hair, an athletic build with a wider muscular waist and abdomen, and a thick lengthy tail of illustrious white scales that shimmered like diamonds in the light.

Issur was a type of magnificence uncommon when everyone was used to demons, angels, and elves.

You had never spoken to him before; he wasn't part of your friend group or 'clique', and hadn't even greeted you at the restaurant. But, he was a party guy and could hold his liquor like it were nothing.

Where there is a party, there sure is to be Issur. Well, he'd only make things more interesting, right?

No harm, no foul.

Throughout the night, you hadn't paid much attention to him. Your main objective was to not make a fool of yourself in front of the panther beastman. Harder said than done; you're clumsy and goofy, bashful whenever Endre turned to look at you.

It was hard to breathe...and then the alcohol arrived.

Liquid courage, they say.

You wanted to relax, to have a bit of a loose tongue where your nervousness couldn't peak through. But this is you, and you had already drunk yourself dizzy before anyone could even become a little tipsy.

The intoxicated version of yourself was afraid of nothing! What is personal space, you hadn't known as you leaned to rest your head against Endre's shoulder and grope his thick muscular thighs through his dark jeans.

He had such nice legs, and you know what they say, thick thighs save lives.

For some, invading their personal space like that might have been a problem. But Endre didn't seem to mind as he rested a hand on your knee and bent down to whisper jokes or compliments in your ear.

But then the night went on, and the effects became stronger. You were seeing double, and when you attempted to reach forward to grasp a beer bottle, it spilled all over the man on your left.

He wore a simple white shirt and a golden leatherman jacket in which the tannish liquid swiftly seeped into the fabric and stained it dark.

That sobered you up in an instant.

Your friends laughed, and others waved it off, almost as drunk as you by now. Without the effects of the alcohol, you felt so shameful and sprung into action to clean what you could.

Apologies spewed out your lips like a broken record as you attempted to dry his shirt with napkins. Issur was pissed at first, cursing loudly while raising his arms as if he were ready to strike. Though once his marbled ruby eyes met yours for the first time ever, he froze in his seat.

You wish you had noticed it at the time, the warning signs. There you could have seen the look of a man falling in love at first sight. But your attention was focused solely on his shirt that you were feverishly cleaning.

The skin beneath his soaked top was heating up because of your touch; however, you weren't aware.

Oh, how unaware you were of his pale cheeks dusting in a bright flush...and his heart beating faster than the fluttering of hummingbird wings...and his mind hyper-fixating on everything about you.

You caught the eyes of the devil.

It took a moment for Issur to recover, but once he did, he became the funny, charismatic guy everyone knew him as. He smiled, displaying pointed fangs that peeked over his top and bottom lips.

"Sssomeone'sss had a little too much to drink, huh?"

You were bowing your head, apologizing again and again. He didn't say anything for a while; you think he just liked the sound of your voice.

Without prolonging things any longer, he grasped your wrist with his large hands and managed to maneuver them so he could enclasp your fingers together.

He looked you in the eyes, smiling like an angel yet hiding a demon inside of himself.

"I guesssss I'll forgive the birthday girl for now."

The next day, when you had sobered up and taken enough medication to combat the hangover, you rushed to Uni like any other normal day.

You took the subway, walked through the capital, and across the huge campus. Along the way, you met up with your girlies, and they teased you for what transpired the night before.

"If I could grope Endre's thighs or stroke Issur's abbs like you did last night, I could die peacefully by now."

Embarrassing! How could you shame yourself like that in front of your crush and other classmates!?

They told you to relax and take it easy because, to them, it looked like Endre the beastman and Issur the Naga wanted to feel you up just as much.

Before any more jokes or mocking remarks could be spewed, someone tapped you on the shoulder.

And that someone had to be the Naga himself. He smiled boyishly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he asked to speak privately with you.

Your friends began gushing, smirking to themselves as they nodded eagerly and left the two of you alone.

It was awkward at first until Issur offered to walk you to your ten am class. He spoke of nothing important, stating that he was glad you made it home and safe and hoped you had a good birthday.

Simple stuff.

And then he spoke a little more eagerly, a little more hopeful, and a little more delirious. The ends of his tail wiggled in the air with nervousness.

"I wassss jussst wondering if I could assssk you out on a date when you are free."

Oh, you hadn't expected that. Someone popular and prevalent like him could be with the prettiest nymphs or any of the enchanting drows, but he was asking a normal human like you out on a date.

You knew what it felt like to be rejected, especially out in the open with other students going on about their day, but you wouldn't lie.

It was better to be sincere upfront than to lie.

So you told him the truth, stating it in a nice way without hurting his feelings any more than a normal rejection would.

You had never seen someone's expression fall so quickly, or the light in their eyes give out so fast. He was flabbergasted, befuddled for words, and tongue-tied.

It was obvious he hadn't expected such a response, murmuring 'wow' to himself in disbelief as he looked everywhere else but your face.

He began asking why or if there was anything he had done. He was showing optimism that possibly there was an issue he could change on the spot or convince you otherwise.

But then you shot him down right out of the sky.

"You're just not my type."

You thought it would end there; it was a clear and concise rejection, and there was nothing else he could do to change your mind.

So you went about your days just as you normally did. You took the subway to Uni, walked through the capital, and across the huge campus. Along the way, you met up with your friends and spoke of nonsense to fill in the time.

The only factor that was different in your uninteresting life was now there was Naga following everywhere you went, and stalking your schedule like it were air he needed to breathe.

It didn't take long for him to know everything that there was to know about you. The things he's learned from stalking your every move and breaking into your apartment to look through your things are more than anyone else had ever known. Then he got the information he wanted the most, your type.

What was it!?

Why wasn't he your type!?

The messages between you and your friend Dolly, he read them on your computer. Your password was too easy...you had thought it was quite clever.

He read and read, scrolled to ingest every information he could get. It then came to a conversation you shared where Dolly teased you for nearly eyeing Ednre up like he were meat hanging on a slab.

The words on the screen were grasping his throat and squeezing, physically causing him pain that provoked venom to leak from his fangs.

◤

XXX-XXX-YYYY How could I not? He's exactly my type. That silent, mysterious brooding kind. Tall, dark, and handsome, LMFAO.

🍑 🎀 𝒟🌸𝓁𝓁 🎀 🍑

Not to mention those thick thighs

XXX-XXX-YYYY Ugh, god(s) yes! The best part!

🍑 🎀 𝒟🌸𝓁𝓁 🎀 🍑

Hehe Well, you do like them when they aren't human.

XXX-XXX-YYYY Yeah, cause I love me a beast. Those muscles

🍑 🎀 𝒟🌸𝓁𝓁 🎀 🍑

Muscular thighs

XXX-XXX-YYYY MHmm!! And those slutty little waist Boobs bigger than mine And his f*cking tattoos and piercing I'm weak for people like him

🍑 🎀 𝒟🌸𝓁𝓁 🎀 🍑

And the stamina!! Lalia dated a beastman like a few months ago. They had to break up because she couldn't keep up with his stamina or libido!

XXX-XXX-YYYY sighhhh What I would give for even a taste of Endre Pray I never have to sacrifice you

🍑 🎀 𝒟🌸𝓁𝓁 🎀 🍑

Can't even be mad bc, I would do the same for that whiney sub-demon from AP Calc.

◢

He can't read anymore, and he's going to be physically sick

Endre...Endre!? F*cking Endre!? That's your type!? Are you kidding!? Your type really is some f*cking lowlife try-hard that thinks he's cool with all his little piercings and emo a** tattoos!?

The front of his shirt is drenched in the potent venom trickling from his fangs. His lengthy tail is swaying, slamming against the ground, which is surely notifying your neighbors.

Issur has to calm down; he has to breathe; he has to stop the production of the venom. A rage he has never felt before boils within his chest, like fire spreading across his bones that are cracking them like fragile glass.

Inside, his stomach rolls and tumbles as though a storm were released to unleash its anger of bubbling thunder.

The Naga couldn't believe it. Someone like you deserved so much better...so much more! Issur can provide that, not some gloomy animal like Endre.

So it's decided...He has to do something.

You'll understand...You'll come to see it the way he does...He knows it.

How were you supposed to know what was going on behind your back?

How could you know that while you sat peacefully on your bed, kicking your feet as you read a book...Issur waited for the perfect opportunity to get rid of that pest.

You waited for a text back from the panther beastman, aware he was out with his own friends at the bar.

But while you giggled to yourself, replaying your previous message back in your head, Endre, who went outside for a smoke, had his mouth covered while a pair of fangs punctured the back of his right shoulder.

The batsman's body went limp, limbs flaccid as paralyzation spread through every blood vessel within his body. His vision grew blurry, the brightest star in the city sky muddling as he collapsed under his weight.

It's been a while since he's responded; he must be having a lot of fun, is what you think to yourself when still receiving no reply. So you close your book and make your way to your bathroom to turn on the light.

Issur dragged the half-conscious tattooed male out of sight, back towards the alley where the darkness scared many away.

After all of that studying for finals, why not enjoy the luxury of a bubble bath? You even bought new bath bombs from the sale at the mall, a scent that Endre may have mentioned favoring.

His lengthy tail wrapped around Endre's body and squeezed. He crushed every single bone inside the beast-man's body. Although paralyzed, although completely unable to move, he could feel every...single...sensation...implemented against his limbs.

The water was just right, (Burning/freezing/room temp) as you washed the liquid and soapy bubbles around. It was going to feel good on your tense muscles.

Issur could feel it, Endre's feeble attempt to fight back slackening. His life was seeping from his pathetic body that you liked so much. He couldn't help it; the Naga had to make sure the beastman was looking at the man who was going to take you away.

Tying your hair up and clipping it, you brought your laptop and phone into the bathroom that displayed one of your favorite shows on pause. Checking your phone, there is still no reply from your dear 'ol crush.

Large hands snatched the paralyzed man's face as Issur lowered, their noses nearly touching. A sinister grin presented on that sick f*cks lips as his tail tightened. Sickening crunches whispered into the night air as Ruby Red encountered glossy Tuscan yellow.

You stripped off your clothing before descending into the soapy liquid, feeling somewhat lonesome as a shiver ran up your spine.

"You really ssshould have ssstayed away from (Y/n). I warned you, and if you would have jussst lissstened, I might have let you live."

"Ah, I'm so dependent on his responses." You tell yourself while reaching for the space button. "There's probably girls hanging all over him..."

Issur snatched Endre's neck and squeezed.

You leaned back while rubbing at your throat; eyes focused on the laptop screen.

The beastman choked, miserably struggling to keep the air within his lungs.

Lack of hydration was making your head slightly vertiginous with a muted ache tingling in your chest.

Blood trickled from Endre's nose as his eyes rolled back into his head.

Soap and suds dribbled from your arms as you spread them across your skin.

All movement ceased; his pathetic attempt to stay alive was no longer feasible.

An abrupt sharp stab of pain flickered across your heart as though someone squeezed it.

"You ssssimply don't underssstand. I'd kill for her...I'd kill to have her."

"F*ck, why does it feel like I'm dying?"

How were you supposed to know what was going on behind your back?

The next day, you went about your days just as you normally did. You took the subway to Uni, walked through the capital, and across the huge campus. Along the way, you met up with your friends and talked about your boring night.

Only this time, something was different. Everyone was talking about it, and when you heard, you collapsed to your knees.

"Endre Olsson was found dead last night at two-thirty am, torn open and insides eaten."

Something felt off last night, your insides on fire and chest aching. Was it a premonition of what was coming...happening?

Tears expelled from your eyes, and pain you've never felt before exploded as though you were injected with despair.

Your friends kneeled by to comfort you as best they could, petting your head and sympathizing. They couldn't understand the turmoil you were going through, but they were attempting to be there for you.

But this pain...you wanted to eject it out, release it from the hold it had on everything inside. How could this happen? Why? Why to him? Who could do such a thing?

And then he appeared.

Like a fairy popping out of the blue, he was right in front of you while tilting his head of pearlescent white hair.

"It'sss going to be okay, (Y/n). I promissse thingsss will get better."

Get better?

Will things get better?

NEVER!

So long as that freak lived, this life you owned no longer became your own.

He stole the one you wanted just to hurt you.

Yet you were so unaware of the truth.

Not until you went home that night to wallow is mournful despondency.

You cried your eyes out, barely breathing and hiccuping. The exhaustion forced sleep to take over, and when you opened your eyes again, you were met with a ceiling that was not your own.

"What are you thinking of? You're shaking?"

You froze, body stagnant as your eyes focused on the sight in front of you. With your body lying on its right, face staring off at your side of the room, Issur settled a large hand on your hip.

The heat from his skin was burning you alive, with sweat coating the back of your neck, useless for cooling you down.

"Nothing." It's a whisper so quiet that the sound of wind swooshing through the air outside could have eaten it up.

Issur sighed and slightly squeezed your hip in some form of a reassuring manner. "I will apologize if I were too harsssh on you, my love. I never wanted to be sssso brutal, but you had dessstroyed my trussst."

Your throat tightened as a burning in the corner of your eyes erupted. Liquid glossed over the conjunctiva that forced you to clench your teeth together to hold in a sob.

"I thought we were getting sssomewhere. I thought you loved me back." He states while sitting up. "I only do everything for you."

One of your hands rose to cover your mouth with the tears spilling over your lids to descend over your nose bridge and down to your temple.

It's dead silent within your shared bedroom; not even the rustling leaves outside could penetrate the quiescence.

"Baby, are you mad at me?"

A nauseousness swirls within your stomach. "O-Of course not." It took everything inside of you to keep your voice steady, but you know he discern your apprehension.

The Naga hums lightly, the bed sheets shuffling beneath him as he lowers his torso until his bare chest encounters your back. "I love you...sssso much (Y/n)." His arms wrap around your figure to hold around your pooched abdomen. "I jussst want you to undersstand that we are meant to be."

His touch is so disgusting, yet you're welcoming the comfort of it. You're so alone, with only your thoughts and this monster by your side.

This suffocating isolation breaks you apart more and more every day, as though someone is picking away at your mentality. With a chip, it's little by little, and you're so scared of when it turns to chunks.

How much longer can you take of this?

"Doesss it hurt anywhere?" His voice is soft and cordial by your ear.

You despise when he uses that tone. It's like false hope that somewhere inside his f*cked-up mind, he truly cares for you.

But he just wants to own you.

"Baby, I assssked a quesstion." He reiterates himself as the end of his scaley tail slithers to enwrap around one of your ankles.

Everywhere, it hurts everywhere.

There is a throbbing headache as if you're having an aneurysm. A stabbing pain penetrates your heart with every pump of the organ. The center of your abdomen, where your womb rests beneath, feels pummeled, your cervix battered in a dull ache.

Your lower region burns raw, with the muscles inside tender from the forceful penetration. Worse of all was the continuous pain in your left hip, where he shattered the femoral head and let it heal improperly when he first brought you to his home...so you could never run away.

"My...hip..." You murmur under your breath. If you mention any of the other discomforts, he'll say you deserve it. But if you bring up your leg, he might have a little pity and give you something.

"Ah, we probably irritated it." He migrates a hand to your hip, where he snakes his hand beneath your underwear so his skin is right against yours. "I can't imagine how much it hurtsss, my love. But you'll grow usssed to the pain."

You cannot help but dig your nails within your palm as you squeeze your hands into fists. Nothing you did warranted this in your life.

How did you go from being a normal girl with nothing special...to the pet of a monster?

"But a mother ssshouldn't need to sssuffer sso much. I'll grab sssomething for you to take." Issur states, and with a kiss against your neck, you are released.

He slithers out of the room, his scales pressing against the creaking floorboards beneath.

A mother...your attempts to save yourself from his original plan had been for not. You just wanted to have one thing to control in your imprisoned life.

But of course, he was one step ahead and had you fooled for months.

He arranged this too.

Issur planned Endre's murder, he planned your kidnapping, and he planned just the right time to breed your body...knowing you could do nothing about it.

He has you beat.

It had not taken long for an egg to set and take hold. Issur was greatly saddened when he picked up the scent of only one egg, but you couldn't have been any more grateful that it was just one.

There had been at least ten that were first implanted within your womb, and the thought of being overfilled with multiple children was going to eat away all your sanity.

Maybe you were not completely abanded by the higher being(s) within the sky. Maybe they pitied you for the torture and despair you devoured with every breath.

Even so, you were pregnant with that monster's child. You carry his bloodline, the next of kin.

It felt wrong...but you couldn't help but despise this thing inside of you—forcefully implanted, requiring you to care and nurture, and love...and love.

This wasn't how you imagined your life would be like. You wanted to experience things such as creating a family with someone else.

Not him

'But maybe you're being too cynical,' a voice in the back of your head likes to say. 'He's a little harsh, but he really loves you! He loves you, cares for you, and wants to create a family with only you.'

It's not you, that voice is not you, but it's that dastardly little thing called Stockholm Syndrome.

You despise Issur Baredda with every fiber in your body, yet your f*cked little head yearns for him. The seclusion and solitude from any other living being have left you dependent on the Naga.

When the nights are cold and unbearable, he holds you like a fragile china doll and whispers hundreds of words of endearment. On the days you find no will to get out of bed, he kisses your skin like he cannot get enough and takes care of your every need.

And now that you are pregnant, at least two months along when the egg has hatched, you carry it like a normal pregnancy. Issur is...a little different now. He's kinder; he's sweeter; he acts more like a sane individual.

He waits on you, hand and foot, until he leaves for classes at the University. Every morning, he massages your sore and aching limbs before cooking you all your favorite meals, at least the ones that don't affect pregnancy.

You are then carried to the bathroom for a shower, where he does everything for you. He washes your hair, scrubs your body, and even helps with your skin routine.

Not once you missed a day.

Once you are dressed into clothes that he helps you into, he kisses you goodbye on the lips with such passion that your breath is stolen every time.

And then he leaves but not before locking up every door within the house besides the bedroom and bathroom. Even the windows have been sealed shut. There is nothing for you to do except read the books he's provided and sleep.

When he does come home around five, you are welcomed back by a hug so desperate it's like he's been wanting to do it all day. Issur calls you such sweet little nicknames, caressing your skin in such loving manners that it fills the emptiness inside of you.

Everything is then unlocked, and the two of you enter the kitchen to cook. He loves to make things from his homeland. As if you two truly are a couple, he tells you stories of his adolescence and family.

He laughs at the recollections...and you find yourself enjoying them too. It's something that disrupts the boredom, the quietness where you just lay there to indulge in your thoughts.

'Don't forget how he's hurt you! You act up once, and he'll break something again!' One side of your mind says.

The other side responds, 'It was your fault, though. You acted up after he was being so kind to you. He loves you, but you're so mean to him. He loves you...He loves you.'

It's getting worse, as time progresses. Stockholm syndrome is affecting you in such a way that maybe...maybe you do love him.

Why wouldn't you love him? Has anyone ever put so much interest into you that it feels as though you are a precious gem? Everything about you is something he loves, all your flaws, all your little pet peeves; he loves them.

And he loves your baby so much! The way he rubs your belly and speaks to the child in such a whimsical voice while giggling. He always informs your baby to be good for their mommy, and not to cause you so much pain. Sometimes, he'll even speak of the future where the three of you live happily ever after.

How could you not love him?

Issur is even taking you out of the house! Granted, he makes you cover up in long robes with a face mask and scarf over your head to conceal your hair, but you are still able to feel the sun on your body.

You see the clouds and the vast blue sky that is never-ending. The fragrance of fresh air is so delicious it's like (your favorite flower) could bloom within your lungs.

People surround the both of you as you walk around the large city or to the grocery store, and the presence of others feels less suffocating.

See, he loves you so much that he's taking you outside! He's rewarding you for being such a good girl and allowing these voyages.

If he didn't really love you, he'd keep you locked up inside his house and never allow you even a lick of sun.

Maybe you really do love him; he's so caring to you. And this baby inside your belly...it's not a monster or the spawn of the devil...it's just a baby. It's yours and his...you're making a family.

You understand...You have come to see it the way he does...You both know it.

You're so far along now; It's getting too close to your estimated birth month. Issur didn't want to risk taking you to the hospital for check-ups; he said they might send you away for being ill.

But then you're getting closer, and your worry grows heavier.

Limping over to the Naga lounging in the sunroom, you feel your palms beginning to sweat and clam up. The forearm crutch you're using on your left arm feels as though it weighs a ton as you work up the courage.

"I can ssssmell you, my love. What are you doing jussst sssstanding there?" Issur's voice provokes shivers to run up your spine and your eyes to rise upwards to take in his appearance. The Naga lay flat on his back on a pile of blankets beneath him; a wide window from above allowed the sun to shine in and illuminate the scales beneath his closed eyes and lengthy tail around his little 'burrow.'

There's a lump in your throat, and even when you attempt to swallow it away, it just feels like it grows bigger. "Um, baby, I just wanted to speak with you about something." You can barely get the words out, and once you do, you almost feel like scrambling to eat them back up.

"Hmm?" He hums and opens his eyes to reveal his ruby-red optics. "What isss it, my love?"

Your baby is 'kicking' against your ribs, and you feel put on the spot.

"You-a..." You're choking on the words. He won't hurt you; the worst would be getting upset and giving you the silent treatment. But then again...you hate the silence more than anything. "It's just...you know how I don't ask for anything, right?"

Issur smiles almost boyishly while sitting up slightly to lean his weight on his right arm. "Well, that isss true. You really ssshould asssk for more thingsss, baby. You are the love of my life, and I want to provide you with everything."

Whether it is a trap or not, you find his words comforting you slightly and giving you confidence. "Well, it's just...I'm really far along, and I know I will give birth soon, but I don't know when..." You begin, curling your toes in your house slippers to fidget away a slight discomfort.

The Naga across from you narrowed his eyes while pursing his lips. "Come here and explain. I want to hear the wordsss from your mouth." He states, and you're unsure how to react.

Either he could be understanding or enraged at the thought.

Gingerly, you limped your way over while utilizing the left forearm crutch to put most of your weight on it. He watches you waddling over before arriving at his resting area; the sun feels nice on your cold skin.

Issur reaches his long arms forward while raising his tail to support you gently. You're now beside him, cuddled next to his side, with his scaly appendage wrapping around your lower legs like a blanket.

The texture used to scare you; now, it was a comforting sensation that sent dopamine through your nerves. He reaches to rub your bulging belly over your oversized shirt, and it subdues an uneasiness inside.

"Now tell me what you want?" It's a question yet feels like a demand as well.

Biting the inside of your cheek for a second, you pick words carefully before speaking. "I-It would be very beneficial for our baby to be born in a hospital-" You see his right eye twitch and you immediately reach upwards to caress his jaw. "-I do not know how to prepare for this interracial birth. They have trained doctors-" He's getting more irritated, indicated by a deep scowl that is morphing on his lips that grow you more desperate. "-It's a sterile environment, safer, and a better place to birth our child!"

Your breathing is irregular, and you are out of breath from attempting to tell him everything before he stops you. You don't wish to anger him, but you want him to take your thoughts into account.

With a sigh, Issure removes your hands from his face. "I thought we talked about thisss, (Y/n). It'sss not sssafe for you-"

"How!?" You didn't mean to raise your voice, yet you're immediately frozen in place. All your limbs feel as cold as ice and filled with thousands of pounds of weight. "I-I-I..." He silences you with a finger on your lips.

"If you go, they will take our baby away." Your eyes bulge out of their sockets. "They'll deem you not fit to take care of our baby. You have no job, dropped out of college, and are disssabled." His warm hands from the sun migrate to grasp your jaw as he lowers his face closer to yours. "Do you really think that they'll let sssomeone asss unfit asss you keep our baby? No, right? Ssso do you want to take the chance?"

The inner corner of your eyes stings, tears glossing over as the insides of your throat burn from holding down a sob. "N-No!" You whimper while shaking your head.

Issur's scowl becomes a calm and cordial smile again as he nods along. "That'ss right. It's for the besst, my love. I don't do thessse thingsss to hurt you."

You know that.

"Now, I'm going to nap a little longer. Do you want to lay here with me too?" His offer isn't one you'll give up, so you nod and cuddle closer to his body, feeling his human skin along yours.

"I love you." He murmurs softly while kissing the top of your head.

Inside, your heart skips a beat as a headache forms within your skull. "I know...I love you too."

You're scared.

You're scared of the outcome; you're scared of the pain; you're scared of doing this alone. This is something you've never experienced before, and against all odds...you still want to give birth at the hospital.

But Issur is adamant in his response, obstinate and unmovable. He refuses to change his mind, and this goes on for weeks.

Then one night...it starts.

At first, it's just cramps in your lower stomach, almost like menstrual cramps. It was something common you felt, usually just your baby active for a while before resting.

And then there was this dull lower back pain that awoke you from your sleep again. It ached as if a knot had formed, and you were unable to undo it. You attempt to sleep again, but then that ache in your back travels down and over to your inner thighs that flowed down your legs like tingles.

This discomfort was a bit unusual, but you were so tired that you only thought of it as a side effect of your mixed pregnancy.

But then that cramping feeling returned only thirty minutes later, and a wet sensation pooled within your undergarment. A groan was elicited from your lips as your hands squeezed into fists and your toes curled.

"Baby...?" Issur called out to you softly in his hoarse sleepy voice while turning over to face your back.

At first, you couldn't reply and instead focused on your breathing, which grew to be troublesome.

"F*ck!" He cursed and flew upwards from his position. You hear him slithering around to the personal bathroom before his phone echoes with an audible ring.

Between your contractions, there isn't much pain at all, but the fear is making it difficult. "Please..." Your voice is crackly and raspy. "Please take me to the hospital."

Issur releases a laugh of disbelief as he slithers forward to swipe the sweat off your forehead. "Now, isssn't the time to joke, my love. It'll be okay."

Before your reply, the call answers.

"What the f*ck are doing calling me at three am in the morning?" It's a woman's voice snapping harshly on the other end.

The Naga doesn't appear fazed, instead merely raising the phone to his ear while rubbing your back comfortingly. "It'sss happening, Pabla. She's experiencing contractionsss."

It's silent for a moment before you hear her muffled speaking. You attempt to listen, but another roll of contractions starts, and this tight constricting feeling resonates in your womb. Your hand's fling to grasp his wrist as you squeeze, holding your aggravated groans down in your throat.

"Alright, ssssee you when you get here." Issur murmurs before ending the call and tossing his phone on the bed. He 'kneels' down to kiss your cheek, grazing his fangs across your sensitive skin. "That wasss my ssssister, and sssshe'll be here very sssoon to help you."

Your eyes enlarge, and you feel like you're dreaming. He's mentioned stories of his older sister; however, you were unaware she was in the 'area.'

Does she know? Is she aware of what he had done to you, or how he killed and devoured that guy from college...That guy...why can't you remember his name.

Issur attempted to preoccupy your time and fill the waiting with your favorite show. He turned it on the Tv in the sunroom and laid you on his cushions to comfort you the best he could.

His lengthy tail wrapped around you in a comforting manner, so his cooler body helped mediate this heat you were feeling. Only when your contractions hit did the ache grow intense, and your womb tighten. After it passed shortly, it was just a dull tingling.

Maybe an hour or two passed...you're not keeping count...and there is a knock at the door. "I'll be right back." He murmurs and reluctantly releases you from his coiled tail. He kisses your throat softly and grazes his fangs faintly before getting up.

You watch him pass, and slither against the laminated wooden floors to the hallway. That sickening feeling of isolation returns so fast, and you want him back.

His skin needs to be touching yours; you need to be sharing heat. You're not you anymore; you're dependent on him, on Issur.

'He kidnapped you after killing Ȩ̶̮̯͓͚̮̭̇͂́̾́̆͘͝n̶̳̗͖̣̾̂͘ͅd̸̼͙͍͖̮̥̲̫̭̯̄r̷̢̪̳̹̠͓͈͍͕͛ͅe̸̥̼̳̰̩͆̍̂͋! Remember his name! Remember his name! You know it; you know his name.'

This annoying voice in your head is nagging you to where it spurs your headache to grow worse.

"Stop it." You croak and cover your eyes as if endeavoring to quell a burn in the sensitive optics.

'He's a murderer! He broke every bone in Ȩ̴̡̨̢̭̼͔̟̻̰̦̩̘̼̦̼̱̥͕̤̲̱̘̞̠͍̞͓̦̝̤͛̂̿̌̈́͐̈́̉̓̋̀̐̏͗̾̓̚͝ņ̵̡̢̝̼͕͍̞̥͈̻̥̞̯̥͖͓̯͎̿̽̅̑́͌́͆̈́̃̽͌̚͜͝ḑ̸̢̢̢̧͖̭̹̹̤̳̱͔̳̼̭͎̩͇̳̩̯̤̱̝̹͉̈́̏̏͘͜r̸̡͎̳̱̜̤͔̍e̵̡̡̛͈̬͎̜̗̣̯͉̬̯̻̥̳̱̯͖͕̣͚̠̳̝̙̣̻̯͛̋̽̀̃̈́̑̑̄̽̑̔̊̅́͌͑̒͂͊̽̆̄͐̿̇͋́̄̋̕͘͜͝͝͝ͅ'̴̨̢̧̛̛̳̘̱͖͈̼͈͕̯̲̗̝̬̙̙͇͇̱͉̲̝̣̪͓͓͓͚͎̬̱̟̫̣͔̻̳͚͌̃̐̐̅̃̑̍́̊͂͌̈́́̉̔̄̆͛̑̈́͐͑̑̓̾̇̅̀͂̽̽̽̾̿̈́͆̒͆̿̚̚͘͘̕͠ͅs̶̜̗̋͑̽̒̐̈͑́͊̏͗͒́̒̿̂̾̎̇̏̑̓̔̐̽̓́͂͌̇̚̚͝͝͠ body and then nearly ate him whole! He wanted to hurt you, hurt anyone around just to get to you! Why hasn't anyone been looking for you-'

"Stop it!" Your voice is louder than you expected it to be, and the roar of your command had spurred Issur to come slither back as fast as he could.

His hands are on your face, gaining your attention with his ruby-red eyes holding such concern. "Are you okay, my love!? What'sss hurting!?" He spewed rapidly that you almost missed it.

You could only nod softly and swallow the saliva in your mouth. "I'm okay. My tummy just hurt more than I expected it to be."

He nodded his head just as another person slithers into the sunroom. In the dim light of one of the lamps, you can see that she is very similar to Issur.

The same pearlescent white hair with a soft pink undertone, only with straight cut bangs over her forehead and twisted into a large bun atop of her head. Her skin is slightly tanner, and her torso is not as long.

She was much smaller, even her tail shorter, but her scales had a mixture of red patterns across her backside like flowers. "Hello, (Y/n)." The woman cooed, and her voice was a melodic melody, like a cool wind that refreshed you from the heated sweat. "My name isss Pabla, and I'm going to make ssssure everything goesss alright."

Pabla has the same lisp, that similar extended hissing sound with every 'S' she produced, just like Issur. It makes you want to laugh at the similarity.

"Okay."

The sister wasn't a gynecologist or wet nurse; however, she expressed that she was knowledgeable enough about the birthing of Nagas.

You trusted her. If she wished you harm, Issur would have never brought her over, to begin with. He care's too much about your safety...

She hooked you up to fluids she brought along and performed small tests for your blood pressure and awareness.

There was not much to do but wait and allow the time to pass so your contractions could grow closer and closer together. The pain evolved into a quicker burst of tightening and ache that lasted longer.

You need to be dilated enough for the birthing. Pabla had brought along a few painkillers, but she explained that the mixture would affect the infant and stimulate its venom to release, which would kill you.

'Do it! Please give it to me! Please let this end!'

'I cannot die! I must live for our baby and be a happy family with Issur.'

Four more hours passed by with frequent check-ups from Pabla, who was making sure her equipment was sterile. Finally, your contractions were only sixty seconds apart now, and you were dilated enough to push.

Issur had readied a bath in the wide corner tub in the bathroom as his sister easily picked your pregnant body up bridal style to slither over.

The water brought a chill up your spine as your nightgown stuck your limbs like a second skin. It was happening.

"It'll be alright." Issur comforted you while (tying/clipping) your hair back so it was out of your face.

Pabla began instructing you to push when you felt the contractions hit and relax when they ceased to avoid tearing.

The insides of your walls could rip apart and cause excessive bleeding if you didn't listen.

You attempted to control your breathing while grasping onto Issurs hand and one of the bathtub rails. But then the contraction rolled like a stormy wave on a once peaceful shore.

It knocked the wind out of your lungs and disoriented you for a moment. So much so that you didn't push and instead grew unconscious for a few seconds before coming back to reality.

"You need to pusssh, (Y/n)!" Pabla's face remained in a neutral expression since she arrived; however, now she appears both worried and irritated.

"I-I can't." It was just an expel of air; the pain without any medication was a type of sensation of extreme menstrual cramps. "Give me the medicine."

"What!?" Issur grasped your shoulder so tightly that the pads of his fingertips bore into your muscles. "Are you f*cking ssstupid!? That'll kill you!"

'That's the plan, you freak!'

Pabla shook her head and readjusted her glasses. "This isss for the bessst, (Y/n). I promissse, if you ssstart pushing, the birth isss quicker than a normal human infant." Her words didn't make you feel any better.

Only when the contraction rolled in was there an undescribable shotting of pain. You thought it hurt when Issur broke your femoral head, but at least you had some form of medication to mediate it.

This is just raw, uncontrolled discomfort from birthing something half human, half monster. You will not allow another egg ever to take hold in your womb again.

You were about to say something, but a painful wave of contraction caused you to cry out in surprise. The inner corner of your eyes stung with thick opaque liquid clouding over the conjunctiva.

"Push!"

You tried to do as the Naga sister expressed, but it hurt so much. It's as though half of yourself is trying to birth the infant, and the other half is trying to keep it inside.

"Ssstop pushing!"

Your forceful movement ceased as you bent your back upwards in pain. "It f*cking hurts!" You shrieked before biting into your bottom lip.

'Kill it.'

'Birth it.'

"Ahhh!" The grip you had on the metal rail could have bent in and pulverized the bones within Issur's hand.

He leaned down from his position beside the tub and kissed your sweaty forehead while squeezing back your hand. "You can do it, my love. Just a few more pushesss. Then it'sss over, and our baby will be right here to hold."

His smooth, tranquil voice was enough for you to nod your head weakly and bear a deep breath. When the contraction hit again, a whine left your lips as you pushed with all your might.

The veins on your neck pulsated against the skin as Pabla did her best to help with the birthing of your child "Jussst a few more!"

"F*ck! Get it out of me!" You hollered and threw your head forward, squeezing Issur's hand as you pushed.

A shrill cry echoed in the room as you choked up. That cry, the first breath, it was all of your first child. You birthed a new life into this world, untainted by sin, unaffected by evil.

This child is pure compared to what it originated from. It's not fair for you to despise it, for it did nothing to you but exist.

"It'ss a boy!" Issur hollers, and shakes your shoulder ecstatically. Though, you are unable to hear his merry tone as your hearing zoned in and out.

All of your senses began to fluctuate between inactive, and barely working. Your sight muddled, not due to tears but something completely else as ink blots splattered across your sight.

"What'sss happening, Pabla?" You could barely hear Issur's voice as he questioned his older sister.

The baby was placed on your chest, blood smearing against your skin as your body shared heat. "SSShe'ss hemorrhaging! Grab the bag valve mask and give her air!"

Your heart's palpations were so slow and unnatural as they pounded right in your ears. Their movements appeared bizarre, and hazy, with visible motion blur.

Even your child's cries were silenced to tv static. Are you dying?

'Finally. I will be free from his grasp!'

'No, I don't want to leave him all alone!'

Tears that are not your own trickle onto your face as Issur squeezes air into your lungs. "Baby! Baby, pleassse!" He frees a hand to pat your face lightly as if it were going to wake you from this super. "Don't leave! Pleassse don't leave me!"

Even the child on your chest squirms, his tail slithering across your skin before wrapping around your throat in a...comforting manner?

"SSShe'sss still hemorrhaging, brother-"

"Then fix her!" His voice vibrates across your limbs just as you view his lengthy tail slam against the tile ground and shatter the flooring.

You are unable to move, unable to breathe; it's as though you're trapped in this body that is dying.

"You can't leave me!" He nearly roars as his nimble fingers glide through your hair to grasp it firmly and yank. "You're not allowed! Do you hear me!? Die, and I'm killing our sson! I'll murder every lasst one of your friends and sslaughter your family like pigsss!"

What is he saying? You can't hear him...and you cannot feel the tugging on your hair that forces your head back and chin to point toward the ceiling.

It feels as though his lips are right against your ear, his acute fangs burrowed against the skin that was close to breaking skin. "I will bring you back from the very depthsss of hell sso that you will never live a moment without pain if you die! You hear me!!?"

...

You gasp audibly, gagging on air for a second before hunching forward and coughing. Your hands flew upwards to grasp your son, pressing his skin against yours as his cries were silenced.

Pabla released a breath of air and leaned against the wall as if all her strength had evaporated from her limbs.

Issur hiccuped while removing his hand from yours and instead comfortingly rubbing your back. "SSSuch a good girl for me..." He encourages in a soothing voice.

After a moment of grounding yourself back to reality, the female Naga takes your child over to a scale while cleaning him.

"Pabla isss going to get him documented and create hisss birth certificate. Now, ssssince you did so well lissstening to me, you can name him."

A feeble smile displays on your lips as you look up at him. "T-Thank you, thank you so much..."

You named him something cute and childish in your delirious state of afterbirth; however, when Pabla spoke to you in a sympathetic voice, you were sobered up in an instant.

"I'm sorry, but the possibility of baring more children does not seem feasible."

It was the best and worst thing she could have told you...but at least you have this one now.

His name was Benji Baredda.

He was a little angel and had the most cheerful smile possible, and was a curious little bugger, that learned to slither with his little white tail a little too fast.

Benji moved faster than you could with your crutch, so it was often up to Issur to catch him when he tried to hide from nap times.

It was your fear, at first, that the Naga would mistreat your child, but in fact, it was the complete opposite. Issur absolutely adored his son and cared for him like any good father would.

Issur was surprisingly a fan of gentle parenting, speaking with your child and explaining why he did was wrong and how it disappoints him. He had the patience of a saint with Benji and was very involved in raising him.

If anyone saw, they'd think the Naga was the perfect dad; kind, caring, patient, loving, attractive, etc.

It wasn't just up to you to parent and raise him; both of you shared the workload. After all, you are a family.

Stockholm syndrome was like your best friend, like a part of you that swallowed your body from the ground up. Seeing how Issur treats and loves your child, feeling how he even cares for you and makes sure you have everything you need, just devours more of you.

You can't help but love him; why wouldn't you?

Why would you ever leave him? You have even more freedom now.

Yet...that doesn't keep you from leaving them alone together. Like obtaining the eyes of a hawk, you observe and watch their every interactions. You listen to everything they say and speak about.

In your gut, there is still a part that doesn't trust him completely. Just a little sliver of doubt, but you feel physically ill when they interact together without your knowledge,

You're scared Benji will turn out to be just like his father.

Issur had been a few years above you when you first started university, so a year after having your son, he graduated and moved the three of you back to his homeland and married you.

You're in a different country, away from your friends and family. You know no one; you don't know their native language or their culture. He does everything to make sure you don't learn, either.

'If I ever ran away, I wouldn't get very far here.'

'Why would I run? He loves me so much that he took me to his country!'

Everything is perfect. You all live in a nice house, slightly out of the city, in a little bit of the country for privacy. The Baredda family was an apparent prosperous household that owned an abundance of land and resources.

Benji is getting big, growing fast, and it was draining more of your energy trying to keep up.

Though, sometimes, that voice inside of your head attempts to make you remember some things. But you can never understand.

'He's a̵̢̹̘͙͖̼̖̗̻͔̻̜̥͈̝͖̲͈̻̜̫̐̇̌͆̏͂̑ ̴̛͙̥͈̹̹͈̝̰̦͉̥̌̀͊̓͂̋̏́̿͆͐͊́͛̈́̐̅͘m̶̡̩̬̥̫̦̟͎͙͐̌̉̅͑̉͐̀̽̅̀̄̀̆͐̅͘͜͠ȕ̶͚̯̲̍͐̒̽̚͝ŗ̶̢̧̨̯̙̣͎͇͔̯̥̝̰̭͍̫͖̲̗͕̩̪̥̖͎̓̉̀̅̂͒͛͐̈́̌͊͌̒́̀̐̓̍͠͝ͅd̸̢̨̨̨̦͇̦̯͚̝͈̣͕͙͇̖͍̜͔̖̖̰̯̘̋̿̒͋͆͑̓̏̿͜͠ͅè̷̛̛̦̜̝̗͒̒͋̈́̄̿̽̾́͗̍͌̅͌̌͊̄͘͜r̷̘̈͒̈̒͑̃̽̒̋́̊͋̅̃̈́̕̚̕͠͝e̶̳̜̱̩̫̟̠̫͑̾͜r̷̨̡͎͖͈̮̦̖̎̓̆̓͐̆̇͊͜͜͝ .'

And sometimes that influences your response to Issur, where you snap at something ridiculous he said or when he pushes you past where you're comfortable.

It provokes a variety of responses, sometimes patients, where he uses his words to persuade you to calm down. Other times, he took his punishments in a more physical manner.

Maybe he had a tight grasp on your face as he warned you, or he bent you over to spank your bottom, but his favorite kind was f*cking you against your will, so you were bedridden for days.

But it wasn't like that all the time! It's only when you acted up did you deserve such a response! When you be a good 'wife' and a good girl, you are treated like a scarce gem on an auction.

One day...it was the seed that sprouted doubt.

Issur was in the sunroom, fast asleep and not one to easily awake after working overtime for a while now. Benji, age ten by now, was at a friend's house in the 'moneyed' neighborhood as yours.

There were few servants here, only some that came in at certain hours of the day to complete a task and immediately leave. However, most of the household work was left to you upon your request.

What was there to do if others did everything for you? With nothing, you'd be left to your thoughts...and you cannot handle the constant back and forth of thoughts.

A little late into the afternoon, there was laundry to do, so you were going through Benji and your own bins to roll it toward the laundry room. The forearm crutch always got in your way, so Issur had rails built in that you could hold onto for stability.

However, before you could reach the washing machine, you heard a knocking towards the front of the house. You raised a brow, curious as the staff always rang a certain alarm to alert their presence.

Limping over, you entered the foyer and opened the front door. In front of you was a very tall man with dark black hair combed neatly, and a pair of slightly pointed and round ears atop his head.

Even wearing a dark suit, you could see the muscles riddled beneath and a tiny waist. There were tattoos peeking through the neckband of his shirt and the sleeves of his jacket.

'Ē̷̢͔͚̼̝͇̪͎̙̬̖̩̮̞̯͙̟̲͓͉̓͌͐̃̒͌̔͗̋̏̈́̆̈́̕̚͘͝͝Ņ̶̡̨̨̝̞̦͇̳͕͍̪̗͖̫̤̳̹̥̥͖̭̰̪̻̥͛͑̋͌̉̄̔͆̏̉̈̽̂͊̌̿͆͂̈́̓̔̂͑̓͐̔̄̀̈͑̍̇͌̎̈̕̚͝D̵̡̢̛̛͔̯͙̲̺̠͕̣̪̯̥͇͖͙̲̗̠̘̗̳̖̖̖̜̫͚͓̰̳̱̫̫̥͑͆͐̌̌̊̂̐̑͋̒̔̅̐̋̋͐̏̃͋͂̍̔͘͘͘͝͝͠ͅR̴̛͙̲͇͚͖̮̫̖̞̰̥̙͔̄̃́͛̑͑̈́̒̃̊̓͗̅̅̈̈́̈́̓́̆̏͐̅̂́̇̈̾͑̕̕͠È̷̢̡̡̢̨̨̧̛̱̖̻͙͙̝̠̳͍͉͕͚̣͙̲͍̙̦̙́̎͛͐͂̾̀͌̋̉́̓̔͐̓͆̽̄́̐͑́̍͆͘̕͝͠!̶̡̨̥̳̯̮͔̺̬͎̠̗̟̤̮͉̠͇̗̘̺̯̮̪̲̖̹̞̝͕̪̖̳̥̠̇̃̇͗̊͊̉̌̔͋̍́̈̍͒̀̾̈́͆̀̍͊͜͝͠͝ͅ ̵̮̯̟̟̥͈̳̅̋͛̃͌͛̔͒̂̓͛͑̎̏̿̍̌̾͗̐͒̅̌͋͠͝Ę̵̛̛̫̰̲͓̥̫͇͙̩̻̝̱̙͇̠͎̗͙̭͍̰̼̭͚͈̪̽̈̍̀͌̅̒̎̋̉̎̄̏͛͌͐̓̓̋̆͌̔̽̑͘̕͜͝͠N̶̨̧̢̧̢̳̗͍̯̠̖̫͈͓̪̦̞̞͎̹̦̦̞̳̤̼̜̺̯̩̘͙̫͎̝͖̎̄̅̍̔͋͋̒́͌̀͑̄̒͆̕̚͝ͅͅD̸̖͓̯̞̃̅̈̎̃̇́R̶̨̨̢̛̛̛͔̺̻̝̼̪̣͍̟̘̬̣̤͈̗̤̩͇̟͔̫̞̭͎̥̳͓͉͓̣̲̬̗̱̃̒̀̄̐̈́̿̓̅̄̀̂̽̓̍͌̔̋͐̐̄͆͆͜͜͝͝͝͝ͅȨ̷̛̮̘̲̓̂͆̀̈͆̀̏̂͌̈́͐̏͌̀̍̀̆̄͊̉̊̋́̏͘͠͝ͅ!̴̧̛͉͔͇̤̳͙̞̪̱̩̞̳͕͇͕͚͙̼͚̈͌̍̀̈́̎̿͋̄̽̇̄̑̉̓͌̿̐͊̓̉̊͐̌̈̅̇͛̚̕̕͠͝͠ ̸̧̡̪̻̲̼̣̗̪̼̩̞̰̤̻̪̼̼̝͈̣̜̭͚̙̮̬̘̦̅ͅĔ̸̢̡̢̛͕̯̝̗͉̲̣̺̻̥̭̣̮͎̦̦̦͈̹̪̥̭͍̮̖̗̝̥͇͈͙̰̇͜͜N̸̡̨̟̹̝̙̬̠͉̰̱̞̞͍̘͓̮͛͐̎͋̋͒̀͗̈̈̂̈́͗̄̇͗̐̕͜D̵̢̨̛͈̜̲͇̤͚͕̰̫̯̭͈̱̥̹̥̖̜̤̖͇͓̰͍͓͕̫̜̜͖̣̹̗̫̳̈̐͒̓͑́͒̆̽̿̃̎̈́̎̇̎͗̂͗̀̓̈́͛̕͝͝͠͝͠R̵̢̡̛̘̱̮̜̯͚̰̦͖̙̖̘͚̬̼͍͈͉̺͍̲͉̤̖̹͖̔̐̂̊̒̀̀̀́́͛̊́̔̈́̎̀̂̌̓͊̑̑̊͝Ề̵̬̪̣̮̼͉͔̭͚͍̻̙̩̞̘̘̰͓̣̲̘̮̓̌̊̓͆̓͐̎͛̏̈́̚̚͘͜!̸̢͈̞̟̮̪͍̘̲̺͓͔͓͕̫̰̩̖̊̌̏͗̀͛̑͊͌͂̃͌̉͂̅̈́͋̒̋̈́̎́̆͊̓̇̂̃̓̋̏̏̚͘̕͝ͅ ̴̡̨̨̡͔̰̥̫̣̟̗̪͍̟̤͈͍̯̱̖̳̿̌̒̓̽̓͂̋̒̋̇̕͘͘̚͜͜ͅḖ̸̢̨̧̟̫͎̣͚̗̼̣̞̫̪͓͓̗̼̲̗͕͚̰͙̦̪̳̣̻̪̭̭̊̋͒͊͌̋͑̓̎͌̿̂́̓̄̒̾̍̆̈̆̏̉̔͘͘̚̕̕̕̕͝͝N̵͔̗̭̣̱̫̜̰͚͚̪̤̓̀̆́́͊́͑͜͝D̶̨̲͙̘̳̤͓͔̙̗͖̠̹̠̙͈̬͙̩̖̗̼̫̞͍̩̚͜͜͜͜R̶͖̮̳̘͖̭̩̲͓̭̳̊̊̈̒̂͗̃͐͗̃̃̄̌͆̐̕̕ͅE̶̪̬̥͍̩̳̬͈̫̺͓̥͍̯̥̤͓͕̳̦͇͕̱̳͈̐͑̋͜ͅ!̴̧̧̧̰̺̜̰̞̗̜͍͔͕̳̜͍̤̯̝̱̜͉̳̽̅̃̎̂́̍́̏͆͋͌͋̚͜͠ͅ''

You sucked in a breath as the beastman smiled. "E-Endre...?" It fell from your lips like an instinct, and everything inside of you tightened as if electrified.

"Ah, I'm sorry!" You quickly correct yourself and shake your head. You feel put on the spot, anxious about his sudden appearance that reminds you of something painful. "You just looked very similar to someone I...used to know. Um, what can I do for you?"

The man nods his head in understanding while reaching for something inside of suit jacket. "Eso está muy bien-"

An awkward and slightly shaky laugh expells from your lips as you rub the nape of your neck. "I'm sorry, Sir. I don't know your language-um! Eh, no es español." His presence makes you feel nervous like something is bubbling within your chest.

The beastman doesn't seem offended, instead, smiling just a little more brightly while nodding his name. "I understand. My name is Taghi Yahel, and I've just moved into the manor next door." He removes an elegant-looking card before handing it over. "I'm planning a gathering in two weeks and am inviting all the neighbors in the area for the party."

You stare at the invitation, eyes taking in the neat penmanship. "Oh!" How long since you've been to a party or get-together? You cannot remember.

'M̵̡̨̛̛̤̠̖̹̬̤̤͈͎̩͎̪͔̞̄̈́̃͂͒̍͛̅͑̈̓͆͗͑̌̅̕̕͜͜͝y̷̞̣̩̟͒͂ ̸̡̧̨̞̘͓̥͙̝͔̙͍̳͈̱̄̓̓͊̄͋͗͒̎́̐̐̚͘͠͝b̸̼̲̮̪̺̼̳͍̄̅͛͒͜͝͝͝i̸̧͉̟̝̰̟̗̫̯͎̺̺̮͍̲̲̫̳̖̤̪͑͗̓̃́͊̓̉̓̄̄͑̀̀̀͋̍͊̄̍͋̈́̈́̈͑͜͜͜͝r̸̨̡̡̳͓̣̥̭̮̳̜͎̦̱̀̈́́̉̐̈́͗̃̎̍͌́̿̈́̈́͌͑͂̑̋̅̚̚͘͜͝͝ṯ̶̡̛̭̪̟̬̜̹̮̬̠̟͉̥͈̗̰̲̑̀̄̉̈��̇͂͐̂͋͐̉̿̌͌́̈̒̽́̈̿͘͝h̴̨̨̧̨̗̖͈͓̘͎͚̜̻̣̱͓͓̠͈̭̓̽̽̿͌͋̃̕͜͝ḏ̵̢̧̛̛̗͖̖͓͖̭̻̼̙͓̮̅̒̿͌̊́͛̐̒́̿̽͒͆́͌̽̃́͋̕͝͠͝a̵̧̧̛̳̭̻̪̮͓̖̝̙̫͚̹͓̺̠͌̃́̒̀̈͊̏̓̅̾͐̀̏̔̔̌̾͑̔͆̊̿̈́͝͝ŷ̷̧̡̧̦̭̗͎͖͇̳̬͙̻͓̦̥͕̫̭͚͙̰̹̪̹͓.̵̝͔̺͉̭̥͚̖͇͚͔̺̼̬̎.̶̨͚̻̥̫̲͙̒̉́́̍̅͛̊͆̏́̑͆͗͋͝͝͠.̵̳̲̖͎̟͙̞̞̳͈̞͌͜͜Į̶̨̨̦̬̫͚̝̘̬̼͎̰̤̱̠̩̥͕͇̇̈̓̈́̓͌̾̄t̴̛̛̟̳̖̳̻̮̭͚͇̹͚̅̿̐̇̎̀̆̕͜ ̵̧̢̡̨̰͎̫͙̺̞͙̩̯̥̝͓̜̰̠̻͇̲̼̤̤̥̅͐͐͗̉̃̂̉͒̄͂̈̈́͒͋̀͑͋̈́͘̚͝͠ͅŵ̵̡̢̛͈̲͎̰̦͓̣̠̲͕̼̬͔͚̗̗̮̫͛̄̐̐̒̃̂̓͋̏̈́͌͆̔̄̈́̉̈́̽͜ͅa̴̛̫̞͎̭͙̖̼̣̦͇͇̗̳̝̥̭͇̹̫̹̹̭͐̊̅̈́̓̆̐͂̾̉͂̑͠s̸̹̗͙͔̜̙̘̲͍̞̜͔̊̀͗̽̆̏͊̾͌̅̾́̃̏̇̂̐̋̔͂̓̂̎̕̕͜͝ͅ ̴̡͉͕́̈́̒̽͑͒́̌̍́̌͌̈̕͝m̷̧̨̨̛̳̮̩͖͉̮͉̺̳̊͂̎́̅̄̓̌͌͐̃͊̔̕̕͜͝͝y̷̢̜͎̘̰̜͚͚̲̩̰͚̖̝͕̗͇̱̳͎̳̺̰̒̆̒̈͋̍ ̷̡̺̺̭̮͈̞͓̬̖̙̲̥̘̅̌͗́̋̈͂̕͠͝ͅͅb̸̛͓̖̖̠̬̹̞̞͕̗͈͈͚͔͖̄̇̿́́͛̐͊̆̂͂̀̄̎̒̉̋́̕̕̚͜ḭ̴̓̄͑̊̍̇͛̎̇̒͑́̂̀̌̇̅̈͊͌͌̿̒͘ŗ̵̨̨̧̲̪͎̖͖̭̪̦̳̟̟͙̹̤͓̱̙͙̲̦̼̍̈́̋̑͗͛̀͜͠t̸̨̠͔̟͓͓̯̤̤̝̼̠̟̝̘͈̙̫͇͓̖̍̔͜h̷̥͒̈͌͗̏̔̄̍͒̏͛͊́̀͋̓͝d̴̨̡̗̩̠̺͚͉̺̝̩̺͙͓̪̲͂̈́̓̑̈̌́̀͂͑̋͝ả̷̺̌̀̃̈́̒̆̒̅͌̽̈̎̈́̆̓̊̎̚̕̚͘y̶̰̣̰̬̰̭͋͑̈́̈́̊́͒̉̾̾̍̑́͑͑͗̀̽̌́͂̚̕͝͠͝ͅ.'

"It sounds like fun. I'll have to-" Creaking of floorboards, and the shuffling of scales glided against laminated wood freezes everything inside of you. The sound seizes your heart and squeezes so hard that it stops beating.

Ice runs through your veins.

"Go to our room." He whispers from your side, and it hurts to swallow.

There's barely any strength in your limbs as if evaporating into thin air. "I forgot about something! I have to go. Please speak with my husband if you have anything more to say."

Before the beastman could say anything, you're limping away with Issur widening the door to reveal his appearance.

You can't hear much as you depart, but you can hear the remnants of a threat for Taghi to get off the property and never to return.

The door slams so loud that it rattles through your home and provokes you to jolt. Finally, you reach your room, just as the inner corner of your eyes burn and tears cloud the conjunctiva.

It spills past your lids swiftly, pooling at your chin to drip down towards your chest. All strength in your legs gave out as you collapsed in front of your bed.

Maybe it will be okay! Maybe he won't be mad; you didn't do anything wrong!

At first, that is what you believe, but as he creaks open your bedroom door and silently enters, you know it won't be alright.

Before you can say anything, his thick lengthy tail envelops your lower body and binds them together. You have no balance and fall towards the ground, yet you are 'saved' by one of his large hands entangling within your hair to keep your head up.

"Talking to other men behind my back while I sssleep!? What a little f*cking sssl*t!" His raspy voice from just awakening grows harsher, and you cry out from the shooting pain in your scalp.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! He just wanted to invite us for a gathering-" He strikes your face with a force that knocks your head to the side. It burns, boiling with heat as little pricks of tingles spread in the area.

"You think that I'll believe that lie? You think I'm ssstupid!" He's so enraged that he's not hearing what you are saying.

It hurts, you feel hopeless, and you can only cry as he reaches down past his naval to a barely noticeable slit residing in that area.

"You're a little f*cking wh*re. Girlsss like you dessserve everything that happensss to them." He snarls with his fangs secreting venom that trickle down to his chin.

You cannot help but turn your head away, though it only provokes him to slap your face again and shove your head toward his crotch area.

His slimy c*cks press against your stinging cheek, and the musk of it permeates into your nose. "Take it, take your punishment, and show me how sssorry you are."

And before you can say anything, one of the weighty shafts is plunged down your throat in a quick swift movement as the one below presses along your neck.

Your eyes widen, the tears coursing down your burning cheeks as you reach to hold his scaley hips for stability.

You cannot breathe, air blocked by the rod seething with heat and covered in a sweet-tasting slime inside. You pull backward, withdrawing his c*ck from your lips, only for him to force you back on it with a harsh tug.

Gagging, your throat constricts, and a churning sensation swirls within your tummy.

The tears continue to befall, mascara smudging beneath your lids and staining your cheeks. Though, your pathetic appearance does not spur hesitation or pity, only provoking him to act more barbaric.

Increasing the speed at which he forced your mouth to suck and swallow, the fatty round tip continued to beat brutally at the back of your throat.

Issur is making sure it hurts, making sure all you can do is gag and choke on his d*ck like a shameful pathetic little wh*re.

Your scalp throbs from his firm grip that yanks and tugs at your hair, and your legs pulsate from the nearly crushing hold of his tail.

The other forgotten c*ck is right against your jugular, bouncing from the movement and leaking pre-c*m across the top of your apron.

"I give you everything, yet nothing will ever be enough for you-" He abruptly jerks your head back so the top length falls out of your mouth just as his free hand strikes down upon your face again. "-right!?"

You sob, gasping erratically and coughing. "P-Please, Issur. I love you-" His snake bottom tightens its hold, constricting against your limbs, and you swear he's so close to breaking bones.

"Do you!?" The Naga shrieks, and you nod your head immediately, which only merits another slap. "I don't believe it!"

Bruises are already forming, the capillaries beneath your skin battered and broken from the impacts.

'See what happens when I make him lose trust in me. I get what I deserve...it's what I deserve.'

Your hands that remained on his scaley hips migrated over to his free hand, where you grasped his wrist. The tears continue, and blood spews from a laceration on your lip.

"Issur, my love..." Your head raises to meet his gaze of fiery ruby red iris'. "It's my fault that y-you doubt me. I'm such a bad wife." An ache in your skull grows so overbearing that you feel vertiginous. "Punish me..." You move his large open hand to your throat. "Punish me, baby. I deserve it."

Such a wicked grin forms across that man's lips. "That'sss right. Ssso I'll f*ck that pretty mouth of yoursss like how community wh*ress ssshould get treated."

You couldn't see Benji for two weeks.

Even if you deserved it, '̷̩̪̙̭̎Í̸̧̫͉̯̗̱͕̝͚̫̝̜͍̈̈́̅̇̎́̉̈́̊͌͑͂̀̆ ̴̡͕̗͕͉̻̦̗̘̙̙̞̯̱̖̠̣͂̈́̒͆̐͌̽͌̕d̷̨̨̩͇̮̼̟͈̼̯̺͎̣͕͖̀̎̃͆͗̉͘͜i̵̛̖̝͕̬̜̰̓̈́͌̾̌̀̏̾̌͋͗͛͊̔́̌̓͆̕̚d̵̢̛̛̞̦̜̦͕͈̟̙̈͑̑̈̍̂̾̊̔̈́́̏̉̈́̑̽̋̕̕͜͝͝͝ͅņ̴̙͔̣̮̗̙̞͚̪͉̮̀̄̓͋̀͐̌͐͒͆͗͌͛̀͐̆̾̃̏͑͂̕'̸̡̳̭͕͚͔̰̦̘̲͙̇͐͐̑́̚͝t̵̠̬̤̳̱͕̄̔.̵̧̛̺͇̹̘̾̏̉̇͋̉͆͊̓̔͊͗͒̈́̌̿̅̉̐̚̕̚͝͝͝'̵̮͈̙̲͙͓̱̙̼̘̦̲̬̤̍̓̊̌̀̍͂̈́͜, there was no way you could allow your son to see the bruises or welts on your face. Or the cuts and puncture marks that littered your skin like a tattoo.

That is not even taking into account your aching legs that left you bedridden from the crushing hold he had maintained.

Afterward, Issur treated you so sweetly again. He treated you like fine china, kissing you deeply and caring for your every need. The Naga spoke so sweetly in his charismatic voice and soothing tone.

Benji was informed that you acquired the flu and are required to quarantine until you are better. It must have been hard for him; you spend every moment together.

While you healed and rested in the confines of your bedroom, your son spoke to you through the door for hours.

You're glad you can still 'watch' over him; every second where he and his father are alone gives you high anxiety. It's an anxiety that generates hands that grasp your throat and squeeze until you cannot breathe, and drive right through your stomach to where you feel like you are dying.

Which is why you couldn't wait to get better...and then you saw him through the window.

Taghi Yahel

Two weeks had passed, and he had that gathering in his backyard. You could see into it from your balcony where all your neighbors in the high-class area gathered.

Issur even joined, stating it would look bad on your family if everyone but the three of you attended.

When it occurred, you didn't mean to...but even from a distance, your eyes were drawn to the beastman.

You don't know why, but there was just something about that dark-haired beast that his image remained in the back of your head.

It felt wrong.

'It is. How dare I even do this to Issur!?'

It definitely was wrong.

But even as gross and vile you felt for thinking of Taghi, you often admired him from afar. He frequently sunbathed in his backyard in his beastman form...a Bolivian Jaguar.

There was a familiarity...you couldn't understand.

Other times when he'd leave his home, Taghi waved over to you either through the window or when you and Benji played outside. His acknowledgment was hollowing something inside of your chest.

Sometimes, you even found yourself daydreaming about what your life would have been like if the one to take you away was Taghi.

A sense of guilt embedded within your cells and a dark heavy sensation weighed in your stomach as months went by.

You should have known it was a forewarning.

"Benji, can you pass me my crutch?"

"Of courssse, Mamá."

Your son slithered out of the pool and over to one of the lounge chairs to grasp the metal cane. He brought it over and aided your ascent out of the water.

"Are you sure that you are done?" He abruptly questions as water trickles from his pearlescent white hair. "You still haven't finished the last few exercises your physical therapist assigned."

You waved him off lightly and trekked to one of the lounge chairs. "It's fine, baby. My chest is just hurting too much at the moment." Your excuse spurs your child to pucker his lips while narrowing his ruby-red eyes playfully at you.

He doesn't say anything and instead reaches for a towel to hang around his shoulders like a cape. "Do we have any more buñuelosss?"

"There's a few in the fridge, but they're your dads. You can ask for some when he gets home." You reply, feeling the blazing sun burning at your skin like little pricks. "Can you go inside and get more sunscreen?"

Dramatically, Benji groans while hunching his back. "I'm a sssslave for the ssssystem."

His comment earns a playful smack to the head. "Just get the sunscreen." You state with a small smile.

Without complaining anymore, your son ventures inside as you sip on a fresh glass of juice. It was one of those nice days in Bolivia with a sunny sky that was absent of any clouds.

The temperature was close to being unbearable, yet the breeze was so soothing. It was a good day to practice and exercise the moves that your physical therapist assigned.

You wouldn't be doing such a thing if it weren't becoming increasingly difficult just to stand. Before, it was the walking for around thirty minutes that would spur on great discomfort. But with the time that passes on, you deteriorate more and more...almost rapidly.

"Buenas tardes, señora."

Your gaze flies to your left, where your neighbor leaned against his hedges, and blew ash grey smoke from his plump lips. He's dressed loosely for the warm weather, just dark cargo shorts and a breezy light blue button-up shirt.

His tattoo's are visible on his forearms and neck.

A dryness erupts in your mouth, and it feels like sandpaper lines your throat. He hasn't spoken to you and vice versa since the introduction months ago.

"U-Uh!" You stammered timorously and choked on your own saliva.

"Ah, my apologies." Taghi expresses lightly, an almost sheepish smile forming on his handsome face. "I didn't mean to scare you."

You're sweating profusely, and it's not from the beady son. "U-Uh, I-I-" There's ice running through your veins, and the very tips of your fingers are tingling like poor circulation.

Terror is eating your heart out.

You can't breathe, the insides of your lungs shriveling like scrunched paper. There is only one thing you can do...and that's run away.

Pushing off of the chair, you're so disoriented from the fear that you miss the spot where your crutch was and trip over your own feet.

"Ow!" Your knees and the side of your calves connect with the ground, and you even land on your impaired hip. Skin scrapes against concrete, raw and harshly to where you now bleed outwardly.

"Mierda!" You hear your neighbor call out, just as you witness him effortlessly jumping and launching over his hedge fence. He's swift, appearing as if he flew to be right by your side.

The wounds sting like hundreds of wasps were pricking into your limbs, and for a moment, you were sure that your left femoral head had shattered once again.

"You're bleeding out significantly." He notes and reaches to help you to your feet, yet you cower away, even falling onto your back. It feels as though you're going into anaphylactic shock with your throat closing and a wave of vertigo racking inside of your skull.

Everything in your brain is screaming at you to go, even if you have to claw away.

"Please, let me-"

"(Y/n)!" You barely register Issur's voice from the pounding palpations of your heart within your ears. Not even as his large hands heave you upwards and turn your body around, so your chest is against his.

What more can you do but hold onto his neck and cry from the pain? This overwhelming dread burning in your heart is something you cannot control or regulate.

Even thinking about what Issur will say is provoking uncontrollable quivering and rapid audible gasps of air. It's not your fault; you immediately attempted to exit the situation.

'̵̨̢͉̲͎̫̗̪̬͔̪͇͎̰̤̦̫̖̦̱̹͔̯͚͒͗̌͊̑́̏̀̋͌̿̑̃͆̐̀̀͒͗̉͌̚ͅǏ̷̡̡̧̢͍̞͔̟͉̱̣͔̮͍͈̘͉̭͓̫̖͙̺̩̘̓̀̉͗̃̅̈́̾̈́̔̆͗̇́͗̏̉̍̕͘͘̚͜͠͝͝ ̷̢̧͍̱̮͎̗͎͍̩̭̫͉͎͈͓̱͙̜̪̩͊̀̓̑̊͋̓̇̑̾̆͋͑̋̇̈̐͊̈́̚̚͜͠͝d̴̰́̎̈́́̆̆̃̋́̍͆̔̾̎̈́͒̚̚͘͘͝͝i̵̡̢̡̨̻̰͇͓͇͈͎͎̇͐̆͌̍͒͋͑͗̄̆̈́̍́̓̃̚͠ḏ̵̨̨̡̛͓͙̘̤̳͍̼̟̬̗̜̪̪̰͚̞̮̯͎͓̿̓̾̒̐͑̓̐͘͜͜n̸̺͉̐ͅ'̵̨͓̻͎̹̮͔̞͙̰̫̥͇͙̳̙̝̰̟̈́̉̅̂́̾̈̔͜t̴̝̯̪͓͕̺̜̠̽ ̵̧̨̛͖͓͔̦̗̩͈̜̘̖͓͔̳̙͇͖̟͕̣͆̾́͐̾̾̐͋͋̕d̸̢̡̛̩̟̞͙̠̪͔͔̉́͗́̇̽͑̂̀̑̈̎̑̽͒̑͘ͅớ̶͔̦̠̫̌̄̏̍͛͂̅̍̂̒͗̒̅̒́̀̈́̍͘ ̴̨̨͖̤̲̲̞͈͈̲̘̽̃̅͐́̐̉̎͋́̋͗̇͒̇̎̌͂͌̀̄̍̈̚͘a̸͍̣̭͔̳̺͋ņ̶̛̛̖̜̼̀͗̃̈̀̈́̈́̿̄͛̀͋̒̊̒̒͂͊͌͘̚͠͠͝y̵̻̫̣͂̔̀̀͗͊̏̀͛͌̎͗̃̔̾̀́͝͠t̵̛͍͎̟̠̬̘͓̱̖̦̹̉̔̌͆̃̽̾̅́̈͗̄͋͂̈̃̄͒́̚͠͝͝͝ḣ̵̠͔̱̄͗́́͒̿̌̈i̵̻͛̇̑̎̀̽̈́̈́̎̆̃͘͝͠͠n̷̢͎̠͕̺͙͕̫̱̯̗̰͇̩̺͈̣͉͉̰͖̼̙̏̊̓̏͒̃̄̐̄̋̂͊́̈̌̏͆̉́̀͜͠ͅg̶̗̮̤̹̘͐̉̆͑͆̓̉̃̑̃̒̓̃̉̈͛̆̿͊̈́̈́͑!̵̢̨̢̩̩͙̦̳̬̞̲̤̥͇̰͈̖̓́͋͋̑͑̀̽́'̸̢̡̢̛͖̹̮͙̰̱̪͖͉̔̂̌͌͠͝

'̷̛̛̛̛̞͇̑̏̍͊̈́͊́̒͛̕͝Į̶͎͕̦́̈́̓͐̾̔̚͝ ̵̺̾̃͜d̸͍̝͚̳̤̻̥̈͝ỉ̵͉͇̰̼̳̠̫̭̞̈́͑̐̒̉̇̿̎̀̄͜͝d̶̈́́̄̃̓͆͛ͅṉ̴̥̝͚̼̣̠͔͕̰̜̱̹͐̀̉̈́͗̎͗̆͘'̶̢̛̭̯͍̲̟̖̺̤̺̙̇̈́̈̆̍͛̕̕͘͝t̶̨̡̨̧̥͈̻̺͚̺̦̭̻̩̂͑̂̀̊̈̓͐͒ͅ ̸̡̘͎̜̪͈̳̮̦͉͚͋̄̽͊́̿̂̔̓̍̉d̸̗̆͒o̵̲͚̗̖̝͈̝̮̓̂ ̸̮͕̲̯͑̉́͜ą̶̮͉̻͕̣̬̮̹̦̪͈͔̾͆̐͑̎̊͑̒̇͐͊̔͂̃̆n̵̹̗̮̞̦͌̎̓͑̌̏̀̈́̋̕ÿ̷͈̫̠̪͈͙̮̖́̀̎͗̂̏̔̀̅͆̌t̶̳͕̥̘̩͙͉̞̹̃͂̒̐͋͊̾͂̃̔̔̍́͝ḧ̷̲͖̭̝̥̫͖̜̺͚̥́̔͜ͅḯ̷̧͓̣͎̻̖̙͇͖̞̺̳̖̭̉̀͒̈́͌̅͐̌́̅̈́̕͘ͅn̸͇͓̠̘͈̖̲͈̦̱̣͙̝͛̎́̐̾͂̚ͅg̵̨̖̼̩͉̞͖̱̬̲͔̲̉̂̏!̸̩̙̳̾́́̂̀̈'̷͖̟̯̰͚̀͊͐͐̍͑̐̕

"If you would excuse us, I have to take care of my wife." It sounds as if actual venom laces the Naga's voice, and it spurs your cries to grow in intensity.

He's pissed...and you're going to get it.

His strong arms pick your body up effortlessly into a bridal position as he slithers easily into your home. The more seconds that pass, the more you're choking on your cries.

You feel like you're going to die.

"Mamá?!" Your son calls out from ahead, but you cannot bare to see him. You can only hide your tearful face in the crook of Issur's neck. "Padre, what happened!?"

It's pathetic; you feel so pathetic.

Gingerly setting you down on one of the couches in the living room, The red-eyed male swipes your tears away as he coos softly. "It'sss okay, my love. You're alright. It'sss going to be alright."

"I-I didn't d-d-" You can't even speak as more blustering cries rack through your body. You're practically on the verge of passing out.

"Sshh~." He leans down to kiss your heated cheeks as he caresses a hand over your spine. "I know, baby. You were a good girl, right?"

Unable to speak, you can only nod your head vigorously, which irks the already pounding migraine torturing your brain.

"Is Mamá okay?"

Oh, Benji, please just go away. Mommy can't let you see her like this. Mommy doesn't want you to know the things your father does...what he's capable of doing.

Black inkblots are splattering across your vision and over, taking the sight of the Naga's face away. He's speaking, yet you cannot hear anything as everything descends into nothingness so quickly.

'I hate it here.'

'I love it here.'

'I miss my friends.'

'They were just leeches.'

'I miss my mom and dad.'

'They didn't love me anyway.'

'I miss my family.'

'My family is here.'

'I miss my free freedom.'

'I̶̘͙͠ ̷̭̲͙̼̈́́͐ḍ̴͈͐̅̃o̷͈͓͎͔̓ ̵̲̐̽̈́̀ͅḧ̷̦̞͒̓̆á̶̧͍̙̜͝v̷̭̣̔̔̆̈́ḛ̵̘̗͔̒̀-̴̨̠̳̯̌͝'

Light peers over your eyes, and awaken you from a deep slumber. All your limbs ache, intermingled with tension as a crick in your neck pulsates.

The taste on your tongue is acidic and tart, which spurs you to almost gag. You cough, rising from your position on your stomach as blankets fall from your shoulders.

It's dark; gloaming darkness overtakes your vision as the moon pours in through an open window. His presence is absent; the place where Issur sleeps is neat and pristine.

Your eyes are raw and tender, a slight burn around them from sobbing uncontrollably. There's still chlorine in your hair that has made the locks crusty and tangled.

Glancing down, you note how the sides of your left calf and thigh are bandaged and patched neatly.

It still burns.

The forearm crutch doesn't appear to be in sight, but you're so thirsty. You have to will yourself by taking deep breaths and groaning as you place weight on your legs.

It's so quiet.

Not a single light is on in your home, nor do you find the presence of the Naga. You're confused, but you don't put much more thought into it as you reach the kitchen.

The way you gulped down the water was as if you were parched for days.

An abrupt clattering noise rumbles beneath your bare feet, spurring your heart to nearly jolt out of your chest.

Is that Benji? How many times do you have to tell him not to play his drum set so late at night? Even if the walls had been soundproofed, it still rumbles.

Sighing, you grasped onto the rails and pushed yourself down the hall to the mudroom, where the door to your basement was located. You hear that bang again, followed by a huff.

"Benji? It's late." You gingerly hop down a few steps and peek down through the railing to look at him.

The sight stole the air right out of your lungs.

"My love, you ssshould go back to bed. My presssent for you isssn't ready yet."

Down in the basement was Issur, with his white button-up splattered in a red liquid with a few streaks over his cheeks and trickling from his fangs.

The naga's lengthy pearlescent white tail has the jaguar beastman in a hold, raised in the air with blood staining the scales.

A scream is lodged within your throat, and all the strength within your legs dissipates. This can't be real...you have to be dreaming!

"Did you not hear me?" Issur questions and his tail tightens around Taghi's body so firmly that his bones are audibly cracked.

You almost retch, the contents of your stomach almost coming forward, but the sight spurred you to trip down the last few steps.

The soft flesh of your palms strikes the cold cement ground with the sensation of striking your elbows, tingling in your knees from the fall.

"Look what you did!" Issur snarls at your neighbor and slams his damaged body against the ground so a creator forms beneath.

"Stop!" It bellows from your lips before you even have the chance to think. That burning, icy sensation floods your veins as you observe the way Issur's expression becomes neutral.

There is no noise echoing in the basement besides Taghi's shallow breaths.

"What did you sssay...?" The red-eyed male questions as his body slithers closer. He's smearing blood across the neutral concrete while dragging the beast man's body like it's trash.

Every single nerve inside of your flares alive, and you feel as though you've made a grave mistake.

"B-Benji is trying to sleep." You stammer timidly and attempt to smile, yet your lips are shaking. "W-W shouldn't m-make-"

"Oh, Benji?" Issur's words are rhetorical as he arrives in front of your fallen body and reaches his bloody hands to your face.

It was an instinct, an automatic reaction. You flinched and dropped your gaze to your hands. Veins atop the skin are budging, and your nails are burrowed into the hard ground.

What a damaging mistake.

"You...Liar!" His bloodied hand struck upon your cheek with such force that your head snapped to the side, and your teeth rattled.

That stinging sensation sprouted like a wasp stinging every inch of skin on the right side of your face. Your eyes stung, burning as if someone forced your head against a raging flame.

Seething hot tears cascaded down to pool on your chin, and when you reached a hand up to hold your injured cheek, you felt a thick wet liquid layering it.

Pulling it away, RED coats your palm, and the acidic metallic stench spurs you to gag.

"How dare you usse our ssson asss an excusse!!" Issur raises Taghi into the air again, only to slam him back down, which creates another creator.

The pounding racket of bones cracking and his strangled gasp provoke a wailing sob that blinds you in an instant.

How can any sane person listen to this torture and not react? How can Issur just stand there, only affected and enraged at you for being unable to handle those sounds?

'He did the something to Ě̴̞̈́n̷̫̼̎̈́d̵̟͍̓̊r̸̟̟͝ẻ̶̯͠! Remember what he told me! Remember how he laughed in my face when he strangled Ě̴̞̈́n̷̫̼̎̈́d̵̟͍̓̊r̸̟̟͝ẻ̶̯͠ to death! How he told me that he tore out his f*cking throat!'

"Stop! Stop, please! Please stop!" You can only repeat two words consistently as you fight within your own mind. "Please! Please!"

Abruptly Issur grasps your lower jaw while also tangling his fingers in your hair. "Why do you care!?" He forced your head upwards so your crying face pointed towards the ceiling. "Why ssshould I ssstop!?"

The air in your lungs is barely there, your wails taking all effort with your skin heating up. "H-He didn't do anything-Ah!" He strikes for face again before standing to his full height and cracking his neck.

Your whole body is shaking; every nerve flares alive in pain, with a massive migraine ripping your brain to shreds.

Issur raised Taghi's beaten and battered body off the ground and in the air right next to you. The Naga releases you to now turn his attention back to your neighbor. "If you really loved me, Taghi wouldn't even be a thought."

Those ruby-red eyes of his felt so sinister as he met your gaze again. "But I expected too much from you. After all," He laughed aloud before backhanding the beast-man's face so hard that it provoked bruises to already become visible. "-I'm not your type."

Before you could even say anything, Issur squeezed his tail around Taghi's body, which spurred a feeble yet pained gasp out of his busted lips.

"Issur, please!" You can't handle the sight. "Hurt me! P-Punish me! Just leave him alone!"

The naga snatched his large hand around the other man's neck and squeezed. "Never! I will never allow you to love another man but me! I killed before to have you, and I'll do it again!"

Something snapped, physically knocking the air out of your lungs that left your mouth dry.

'He killed Endre.'

Either rage or hopelessness filled your bloodstream as you crawled over and grasped the naga's hips. "I'm already yours!"

Issur shakes his head while tightening his grip. "No, you will never be...Ssso long as I remain not your type...you'll love everyone elssse but me. I can't allow that." He abruptly glanced down and smiled. "Ssso blame yourself for Taghi'sss death. Congratulationsss, my love. You've killed another."

For a second, the red-eyed male released your neighbor's throat. Taghi gasped in air, and before you could even say anything, Issur struck forward to burrow his fangs into the other man's throat. He yanked back, tearing skin, bone, and muscles apart, which drenched them both in copious amounts of blood.

You couldn't even scream; the blustering wail stuck deep within your lungs as you watched the beast-man's body be dropped like a pile of sh*t.

Lifeless, a man you barely even known lay dead in your basement all because 'he was your type.'

Petrified, paralyzed with so many emotions, you can only lay there with wide eyes and mount agape. The only lively thing was the fresh set of tears cascading down your face.

Issur abruptly sighed and reached down to touch your face. You couldn't even flinch or jolt from the contact, not even as more of Taghi's blood stained your skin. "I love you...ssso f*cking much." He begins and directs your attention to his eyes. "I only do thessse thingsss for you becaussse you are my everything. I don't want to lose you. I just can't."

Still, you do not reply, which stirs the naga to sneer while baring his fangs. "Ungrateful f*cking b*tch!" He grasped the front of your shirt and tears it apart. "Don't act pathetic now when thisss isss all your fault. I wasss willing to give you everything from the start, but you were jussst ungrateful. Now you've got more blood on your handsss."

More of your clothes are torn apart to replace the protection of cloth with the contact of cooling beastman blood. You're utterly naked, bare, and more vulnerable than you have ever been.

"Taghi'sss not the only one who ssshould get what they dessserve. Maybe you'll learn a thing or two once I f*ck your pathetic c*nt until the only name you can remember isss mind."

Should your story even continue?

Should whatever god in the sky that's written out your life even continue the series?

What more can they do?

What more can they ruin?

Everyone else got their happy ever after.

Yet you? Oh, you got the wrong ending, apparently.

They wanted for you to hurt, and to cry, and be miserable.

But wait!

Not all hope is lost.

They gave you something, someone.

You have Benji!

Oh, Benji. Just a little boy with no understanding of the wickedness that lie in his father's corrupted brain.

What about him!?

Did the writer in your life wish to ruin him too?

No, no! You won't let them!

You're going to run away. In this unknown land where Issur had done everything in his power to be sure you do not learn the language, you'll work through it.

All those reason's you told yourself why you should just stay here...doesn't matter anymore. No longer are you complacent; you want to take action now.

"Benji! Did you shower already!" Your voice echoes through the home as you exit the bathroom while drying your hair.

"Not yet! I made a messss."

Breathing heavily, you turn your attention to your closet, where you double-check that the folder with all your documents is still there.

The anxiousness and nerves are growing more prominent as the possibility of getting caught ways in the back of your head.

You're waiting until Issur leaves for work, and once he's gone, so will the two of you be.

A yawn escapes your lips as you leave your bedroom to trek through the hallway. You are dreading having to see the Naga, but you're ready for change.

"What are you guys feeling like for breakfast!" You call out, unsure where the two Nagas are.

There's rustling from the dining room, and you roll your eyes, knowing that there are probably legos littered everywhere.

"I'm not really hungry!" Your son calls outwards, but you shake your head and turn the corner, only to gasp audibly and nearly collapse.

No way! This can't be; this isn't real!

On the glass table...is the body of Issur sprawled out lifelessly. His ruby red eyes that burned with desire were now dull like a clouded marble as his mouth lay open, blood pooling on the glass in a puddle.

The inside of his abdomen was visible from the erratic and varying slashes that spilled out his organs. He was torn open like an animal attack that sprayed thick red liquid across the dining room walls.

Over his bruised throat is strangulations marks, dark and discolored.

"I'm sssorry, Mamá. I made a messss."

You didn't even realize he was standing there until he spoke; you wish to have never seen the sight of your son like that.

His hands, mouth, and front of his shirt were all saturated and doused in blood however they couldn't ever compare to the animalistic bright red glow in his ruby-red eyes.

"Benji, what have you done!?" You're horrified and dismayed and even saddened by the snake man's death. "He's your father! How could you do that!?"

The little boy just waves his reddened hand nonchalantly as he slithers closer to you. "Mamá, don't be mad at me. I had to do it." He stated with such a cute childish voice compared to his vile appearance. "Padre wasss going to take you away from me. He wasss going to hide you from everybody and keep you all to himssself. I couldn't allow that."

That tone, its dark and cold implication, was just like his father. At that moment, you realized that all your fretting and micromanaging had been for not. You didn't want Issur to influence your son in the same manner, but it was already too late.

Obsession, dependence, and fixation, all remained in his veins like his dad. You were the center of it all, just like his dad.

Your eyes burn, the inner corners tingling as tears take over and muddle your vision. They cascade down your face to drip down from your chin.

"Pleassse don't cry, Mamá." He raises a hand to wipe it away, yet it only smears Issur's blood across your cheeks. "You don't need him anymore. You jusssst need me, and that'sss all."

Benji smiles as he migrates his arms to wrap around your abdomen while pressing his face into your tummy. "I love you, Mamá. Pleasssse don't be mad at me."

You were freed from one monster, only to be trapped by another.

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