#As there are a few more punishments until then

[gtgbabie0]

-Vi x Reader

Synopsis: {Date night gone slightly wrong but in the right type of way}

For my other works my Masterlist is here <3

!!-18//MDNI-!! Enjoy my lovelies 💕

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Vi was hotheaded, it was as simple as that, no matter how many times she laughs off the comment whenever you call her out for her behaviour, It was undeniable. The way she took the bait every damn time, which landed her with bruised knuckles and tiny cuts on her face, was almost impressive— she didn’t take shit from no one and you swear it would come back and bite her on the ass one of these days.

“Just sit still.” You tell her, pushing on her shoulders to keep her down on the kitchen chair with a small huff to which she groans in response.

It was meant to be a nice night, the pair of you going down to a bar in Zaun for a couple of drinks— and it was all dandy, to begin with… until some drunk idiot started running his mouth, sending Vi off on one.

“I’m fine, I’ve had worse.” She shrugs, looking up at you with those powder blue eyes of hers that make your heart skip a few beats and butterflies flutter in your stomach. But you wouldn’t give in to her… not yet at least.

“That doesn’t make me feel better Vi.” You reply sternly, standing in between her legs as you tend to the nicks that were peppered over her face— the bridge of her nose and her bottom lip.

The sound of your tone makes her slouch back into the chair, a small pout pursuing at her lips as she rests her hands over the curves of your hips— sliding them across your ass that was accentuated by that tight dress, she just wants to rip it right off.

“Come on baby, please… I’m alright.” She tries once more with such a soft almost pleading tone as she grazes her fingertips along the backs of your thighs— trying to not so obviously pull you down on her lap, she just wanted to feel you against her, to kiss those pretty frowny lips of yours.

“Stop trying to distract me so I can clean you up properly.” You tell her with, your brows cinched together in a mixture of concentration and faux anger, trying to be as stern as possible despite how much you just want to cave in and let her run her hands all over your body.

Vi groans once more, for what has to be the one hundredth time tonight, letting you move her head to the side with your fingers curled around her jaw— wincing slightly when you press the antiseptic wipe to a small cut above her eyebrow.

“And you’re not ‘fine’ or ‘alright’.” You add under your breath, noticing the small cut on her lip not to mention her split knuckles that you still had yet to tend to.

She looks up at you with an unimpressed expression, clearly not a fan of your reprimands. “I just wanna kiss you,” she whispers roughly, letting her hands run along your curves slowly.

Vi knew she couldn’t convince you to drop it but maybe she had a better shot at persuading you…

“No, it’s your punishment for not behaving tonight like I asked you to.” So that would be a no.

It was all so unfair in her eyes, the guy was being a complete dick anyway. She drew the line at insults being thrown at you and that asshole completely catapulted over the line so in her mind it was only fair for her to catapult her fist into his ugly mug… she’d do it again without hesitation.

Vi’s blue eyes flicker up to your face as you press the antiseptic wipe to the cut on her lip but her mind isn’t focused on what you're doing— not when you’re leaning so close to her with your cleavage on show, that dainty necklace of yours dangling in front of her face and your sweet perfume that wisps around her, tantalising her.

It was so unfair.

“You’re doing this on purpose.” She points out, glancing at your chest as your fingertips press into her cheeks. “Shovin’ your perfect tits in my face.”

A small smirk ghosts against your lips at her mumbled words as you lean over her to rummage through the first aid kit, looking for nothing imparticular, just wanting to really give her a face full of your boobs— her fingertips dig into the fat on your hips in response, a slight warning.

“Yeah?— well you should’ve kept your fists to yourself.” You scold her, leaning a little closer just to tease her.

“Maybe he shouldn’t have been a prick to us, baby.” She rebuts, grunting at your movements. “Was askin’ for a punch.”

“Do you know how much trouble—” you go to start again, keeping that stern tone that you so stubbornly refuse to drop and she’s just about had enough, her patience wearing impossibly thin.

Without a second thought, she’s standing up from the chair, immediately reaching out for you by your hips and pulling you back towards her— she relishes in the gasp you let out as she pushes you up against the kitchen table, looking at her with wide eyes like a deer caught in headlights.

“Let’s get you outta this pretty dress, yeah?” She breathes, pushing a curl of your hair behind your ear before holding your face to keep you from turning your head— her thumb brushing along your bottom lip.

You fold almost immediately, it’s a little pathetic in all honesty, how quickly you nod your head with a glint of desperation in your eyes, mumbling a small, “Okay.”

Finally, after far too long spent humouring you she steals that sweet kiss she's been longing for. Her lips slotting in between your own like they were made for her, slow and greedily, with her tongue running along your bottom lip and into your mouth.

Your fingers grasp her shoulders, slipping into her hair in an attempt to ground yourself as she trails hot open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and neck— paying extra love to the special spots that have you arching into her toned body.

It all feels so dizzying as if the world was spinning on its axis— that familiar heat of excitement pooling in your lower abdomen, sending a tingle down your spine which is only accentuated by the feeling of her fingertips grazing along your spine as she tugs on the zip of your dress.

“There she is…” Vi mutters into the crook of your neck, pulling back only slightly to watch in awe as the silk of your dress ripples down your curves, to pool at your waist leaving your bra-clad chest on display.

The sight sends a tingle through her body, her fingers instantly brushing over the delicate lace. Vi can’t help herself, leaning forward to nip and kiss along your collarbones and across your chest. “My pretty, pretty girl.” Her words muffled slightly by your cleavage.

It felt so indescribably good, the roughness of her palm caressing along your inner thigh so agonisingly slow that it makes you whine— the sound sends Vi’s heart into a frenzy and even though she wants to make you wait for it as payback she just can’t.

Her hand dips beneath your dress as you instinctively spread your legs from where you’re perched on the edge of the kitchen table, leaning back on one hand as the other cups the back of her head— you tighten your grasp on her hair as her fingertips brush along the damp fabric of your panties and you can feel her smug smirk against your shoulder.

“Did it turn you on baby?— seeing me beat that guy up?” She whispers huskily, kissing up along your throat to brush her lips against the curve of your jaw.

“Yeah, yes, Vi… turned me on,” You breathe the confession, tilting your head backwards as an invitation for her to leave more kisses against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Mm, can tell— you’re fuckin’ drenched.” The words are whispered against your ear, a sense of pride bursting through her chest and bleeding through her tone as she continues to rub you over your underwear.

Vi pushes the wet fabric to the side, her fingers brushing through the coarse hairs of your mound and across your wet slit, coating her fingertips with your essence before pushing them against your clit— rubbing slow circles against you.

She whispers praises into your skin as she continues to leave marks all over your chest— her free hand unclasping your bra with ease as she continues to toy with your sensitive bud. “So fuckin’ wet, huh?” she mutters, drinking in the sight of your breasts.

You let out a breathless moan, whining some words that she can’t make much sense of— but she’s sure you’re just mindlessly agreeing with her, nodding your head as she kisses along your chest.

Vi dips her ring and middle fingers into your wet heat, pushing them deep up to the knuckle as your slick walls clench around her digits— curling them with slow deliberate strokes to draw out more of those sweet moans from your pretty lips, your hips bucking up into her hand.

You let out a pleasured cry as your clit catches on the heel of her palm, grinding a little more desperately against her to feel it again. “Oh baby, such a fuckin’ greedy girl f’me.” She chuckles, flicking her tongue across your nipple as she continues to slowly pump her fingers in and out of your cunt, the squelching of your wetness drives her insane.

“Gotta taste you— need your pussy all over my face babe.” With that, she’s tugging your panties off and dropping to her knees, causing the dining chair to fall over but she can’t bring herself to care, not even in the slightest, especially when you’re spread out on the kitchen table looking so delicious.

Vi grabs a handful of the fat on your thighs, holding them apart before practically nuzzling her face against your sex— her tongue licking a wet stripe along your folds, sucking and kissing at your clit, causing your hips to stutter against her mouth in reckless abandon.

“Feels s’good— oh Vi!” you whimper, one hand curling at the edge of the table and the other still buried in her hair.

She moans into the sensitive flesh about how “fucking amazing” you taste, her hands sliding from your thighs to press down on your hips in an attempt to keep you still— which in all honesty turns out to be a little pointless because you’re so possessed by the pleasure she’s giving you she’s pretty certain you don’t actually have control of your body.

Especially when her nose prods against your clit as she teases your needy hole with her tongue, lapping up your taste— drinking from you like you're some sort of fountain of healing. She could drown in you and die a happy woman.

“That’s it, baby, grind on my face.” Vi concedes, letting out a low chuckle into your wetness whilst she runs her tongue all over your cunt— dipping it inside your entrance as she brings her thumb to circle your clit. “Cum f’me baby, fuckin' drench my face with it..” she groans, feeling you get closer and closer until you’re tugging on her hair to bring her impossibly closer, grinding your pussy all over her mouth to chase after that high.

Vi drinks up your orgasm, every last drop until your hips stop rocking and your back lays flat against the oak table with a whimper— eyes fluttering close with a trembling breath. She presses a kiss to your inner thigh before pulling back, her lips and chin glistening with your release as she stares down at you with a lazy smirk.

“Fuck Vi—” you breathe, letting your legs drop over the edge of the table as she rubs your hips soothingly.

“Think you can make it upstairs?” She teases, watching as you push yourself to sit up— your arms looping around her shoulder as she steals a kiss from your lips, the taste of you lingering on her tongue.

“Mhm, if you carry me.” You whisper the words into the kiss and without missing a beat she’s hauling you up, your legs wrapped around her waist as she carries you up the stairs, far from done with you yet.

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[artofchoisan]

PUNISHMENT OF THE MAFIA LORD

Mafia!Boss!Hongjoong x Innocent!Reader

The Plot: Not being born into the ruthless underworld, you tend to always being nice to everyone around you and that also include to the underlings of your boyfriend but the mafia lord wasn't please about this and decided to punish you for this.

TW: Punishment, Edging, Foreplay, Spanking & Rough Sex

Words: 1.4k

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“This is what you get as punishment for…not obeying kitten.” Hongjoong grunted as his hand wrapped around your neck forcing your head to tilt upward as his bared toned stomach pressed onto your back as he forced himself inside of you from behind, his hard cock pushing crudely inside your tense flesh that painfully take him in.

Hongjoong scoffed at that, “So you’re now being a good girl.” Hongjoong inflicted another pressed towards your neck as you moaned out his name but he didn't allow your head to tilt down as he moved his hand upward on your neck making your head to face up as you moaned out his name with a gasp. 

Hongjoong’s hot dick was filling you hard, he was big, and the intrusion was painful as he still grunted out as he pushed himself forcefully inside of you as your hand griped hard onto the sheet beneath your body that shook under his hold. Almost making you to cry out at how he was splitting you open with his length at the slow invasion, “Hongjoong fuck… please—”

With a hard thrust Hongjoong finally reached towards your end deep inside of you as you finally let out a cry as a mocking scoff rushed past his lips, “Did I allow you to speak kitten? You’ve been very bad for being so nice to my men whom now can’t help but to stare at you?” 

For a few seconds the harshness didn't make you able to breath as how brutal he thrusted and nested inside of you, Hongjoong didn't move although you didn't know whether to be grateful or not because if he does, you might regret it. 

You could do nothing but to whimpered out and shake under his hold, the way his cock filed you up so painfully with his hand how his fingers wrapped around your neck as his thumb pressed hard on the corner of your jaw.

You were almost grateful that he was giving you times to adjust, but your hope soon faded into oblivion as Hongjoong began to slowly pulled out and you screamed out his pain as he slammed hard inside you, his hard cock hitting your end as you cried out, “Fuck Hongjoong.” The brutal slam he inflicted was nowhere near slow, it was at a ruthless speed, one hand gripping your neck as the hold held your waist in place as his nails dug into your skin. 

The feeling of skin slapping into each other at a continuous speed with your staccato moans and cries of his name filled the atmosphere as he removed himself fully before hitting deadly back inside of you as he let out a mocking laugh as Hongjoong brought his teeth to bite hard on your neck, “Good girl, you aren't allowed to speak until I said so. Look at you taking my dick so good. That’s where you belong kitten, underneath me as I fill you with my cock.” 

His hand left your neck but the cruel thrust he was bestowing didn't stop, your breathing became normal then he yanked your hair up as his ragged breathing came near your ear as you heard his soft demonic laughter, “No one can fuck you as good and hard as me.”

Hongjoong moved at a brutal speed that was almost hurtful as he violently smacks his hips forwards into your ass with precise and calculated thrusts and it hurt, it hurt so good, “You like being fucked like that right?” He asked as he pulled your hair back once more as you whined in response to which he delivered a hard spank onto your ass, “Good girl but I don't think you deserve to…”

With that, Hongjoong pulled out as he cursed under your breath, “Hongjoong… no I need you in—” 

His answer was to smack your ass even harder, once then twice as you cried out again as your body shook. The stinging sensation felt like a fever dream with your face pressed into the mattress with your ass still up in the air not daring to move, “Disobeying now kitten?” Another hard snack onto your ass made you to whimper, “I feel you should be taught better.”

Hongjoong leaned back to sit up against the bed as he pulled you, forcing your face right onto his thighs as you gasped out to which he chuckled, his fingers running into your hair, “Kitten, you’re only mine so you won’t be fucked tonight, you will only do what’s that pretty mouth of yours can do best.”

The mafia leader wasted no time in forcing your mouth deep into your mouth as the tip of his cock followed by his length catches the back of your throat as you gagged but Hongjoong didn't allow you to retract, his hand nudged your hand more down onto his hot cock forcing shivers to brim under your skin, it felt so hard how he was doing it making your eyes to rolled back as you gagged hard.

“Kitten, you’re being naughty right now. Enjoying this right now. What a bad, bad girl.” Tasting the pre-cum down his length at you choke, his words leading everything to be intense, “Going to make you choke and gagged more on my dick. Fuck you feel so good around me.” 

Felling his hand releasing his hold on your hair as your fingers grasped onto his thighs, nails digging as your mouth sucked with much passion, letting your tongue twirl around the length as Hongjoong lay his head back on the pillow, fingers lost within your hair with a grunt of your name as your teeth grazed his cock moaning harder on his dick.

“Good girl, you’re doing so well. Just like that.” His praises made you to fastened up your pace even more as you bobbed your head faster. His mouth slowly parted open as he looked down at you seeing at the mess he made of you.

Soon enough, his release came all inside of your mouth. Your eyes locked with him as you swallowed everything before letting your tongue clean his cock off of the cum as you slowly licked off everything as you stare up at him leaving him in admiration at you, “Fuck kitten, you’re so good to me but still no release for you tonight.” 

With a groan you snuggled up at him knowing that he wouldn't be able to resist you suddenly behaving cute and he scoffed, “I know you’re throwing your pride away by acting cute but no, you’re not getting fucked today.” With that he pecked your forehead as he looked at you lovingly, “My men obeys me but they are still men with desires and the slightest kindness shown to such people might not be good, you understand that love?”

You understand him, those men might have foul thoughts and target you even knowing the punishments that await but Hongjoong would rather hang himself than have any hurt being done to you, “I love you so much but sometimes you need to understand my punishments. I need to put everyone in order including your love, for your own protection.”

With a smile you pecked on his lips, “I do understand that Hongjoong but you’re right being too nice to them might not end well but if anything, how about you teach me?” Your smile turned into a smirk as you back away and sat down on Hongjoong as his dark eyes looked up at your bared body, your nails digging into his skin as you grinned, “Maybe you can teach me how to fight, won’t that be a hot session Hong?” 

A smirk was the only answer Hongjoong gave you as he took control and turn you around, pinning you back on the bed with your back facing him, “You know we won’t be having many lessons to be learned if you’re always trying to seduce me like that.” He landed a spank on your ass as you cursed out, “You’re always horny when I’m around, love.” 

“Can you really blame me Hongjoong?” You arched your back then pushed your ass against his dick as you rubbed it with a moan, “You’re just too hot for me to resist.”

Hongjoong spank your ass once more making you hit back on the bed with a whine, “And you’re forgetting I never go back on my words.” With that his arms wrapped around you as he grinned, “Now sleep love, if you’re a good kitten I might give you a reward later.” 

[regexkind]

My dentist retired two years ago and I've been in the market for a new one since. It's a high-variance search, one that really drives home to me the power of a good word-of-mouth¹ recommendation.

The first dentist I found insisted on not using anesthesia of any kind whatsoever, and when I pressed him for his reasons he explained that any deadening of the senses was a deadening of the person. He felt certain that his view would become dominant within our lifetime and that The Justice System would punish him for what accumulated up to several premeditated murder charges. No amount of explanation about post de facto laws in the United States would sway him from his stance.

The second dentist I saw was, if anything, even more peculiar. His whole shop smelled like a mixture of an abattoir and a foundry. He took one look inside my mouth and said that ALL of my fillings were to be redone; he assured me that this would be at no extra charge, because he was "righting a gross wrong in the order of Creation." After I was situated in the chair—and a peculiar chair it was, more of a chaise lounge than a dentist's chair—I was forced to wait for several hours while he hammered metals that glinted like the surface of a blood moon. Brimstone wafted over me, and my head began to ache in time with his beating on the anvil. Finally, he came into view again, bearing an ornate silver tray with several small intricate workings, whose fine details were almost impossible to see, because they glittered like morning dew beneath a cloudless sky.

It seems that instead of amalgamating the metal within my mouth, he had shaped several small inserts precisely enough to fit into the small pockets in my teeth. The act of placing these masterworks was mercifully swift but blindingly painful. I blacked out at least twice, and once when I was on the verge of being sick, he suddenly pinched a nerve in the back of my neck and I felt the rising nausea meet with an impregnable wall.

I might still have considered this strange craftsman as an acceptable long-term dentist. After all, he took my insurance. But the full impact of his work wasn't apparent until a few days later, when I was next using my mouth to pleasure a "very close friend" at a saturnalia. As their seed spilt into my mouth, I tasted a distinctly sour, metallic flavor, and, against my usual custom, spat out a mouthful of pure quicksilver on the wide grass of the heath. I have half a mind to have the strange alchemical apparatus taken out, but the cost quoted by several (more mundane) dentists and orthodontists is frankly prohibitive.

¹No pun intended.

[madhatterbri]

Do You Trust Me? | D.P.

Summary: Four little words cause Y/N to remember the man she met at the market. Aladdin AU.

Author's Note: WWE did this. My favorite Disney movie is Aladdin. They keep calling Damian street trash. This wasn't my fault. I'm literally just a girl.

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Taglist: @theworldofotps @smallestsnarkestgirl @mrsarcherofinfamy @terrortwinunicorn @brideofinfamy @miss-kuki-nz @hotwheels1108 @new-zealand-chic @magicalbuttertarts @keytothewardy @missbmc94 @surdelcielo

As always, requests are open! Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist. ❤️

Do you trust me?

Y/N tried to blame the blistering sun over Agrabah. The fear of being caught by her own father's royal guards for stealing to feed hungry kids. Knowing that Vizier Finn and his bird JD would make her punishment worse. Any plausible explanation she could think up on why she would trust a common thief. Yet, she couldn't think of one. Out of everyone in her life, she felt that she could trust him the most.

A man with humble beginnings who took care of himself by stealing. With hair as dark as night and dark brown eyes that resemble the chocolates imported to her country. His skin tan from his constant exposure to the sun. Y/N did more than trust him. She wanted to know more about him. Be close to him.

As the guards grew closer, there was only one plausible answer. "Yes,"

The man wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Her arms secured around his neck. The citizens of Agrabah looked up from the streets below.

"Are you sure about this?" Y/N asked.

"Nope," he answered.

"Wait, wait, wait, I'm the prin-" she was cut off once her feet were no longer safely secured on the roof of a house. Y/N buried her head in his neck. The feel of the wind, knowing they were soaring over a street, made her clench and scream.

Her savior swung them to another house across the street. His rough hands grabbed her soft ones. They continued to run through the streets until they made it his home.

The man she came to know as Damian proved to be quite nice. He showed her the beauty of the city outside of the wretched palace walls. Despite his poor lifestyle, he treated her to tea. Something she was sure he had limited supply of. Y/N found herself being drawn closer to him.

Do you trust me?

News of the prince coming to town cut her visit with him short. She had to return back to the palace, yet she knew she couldn't tell him her true identity. Leaving him with only the name of her handmaid, Damian never left her mind.

Over the next few days, a new prince came to visit her in the palace. Simply named Dam, he intrigued her just like the man from the market. He seemed to not be accustomed to royal life, but something about him seemed so familiar. Y/N would learn just how familiar one fateful night.

Dam was waiting for her on her balcony. Dressed in his princely white, he toyed with her about how he managed to visit her. Appearing hurt that she didn't believe him, Dam stood on the balcony fence and fell backward.

"No!" Y/N screamed and ran to the fence. Dam had a cocky smile on his face. He was on some sort of magic carpet. She raised her eyebrows in confusion. The princess had never seen such an interesting contraption.

"Come see the world with me outside of these walls and your books," he offered. The prince reached out his hand to take hers.

"I don't know about this," she spoke cautiously. Any misstep, and she would surely perish on the ground below.

Y/N stared at the man before her. The same four words that she played in her head every time she fell asleep. Whenever she closed her eyes, it was his face that she saw. Never one of the suitors that her father wanted her to marry. Except now he was in clothes fit for royalty.

She smirked. "I do, Damian,"

[thee-horny-thicky]

Head cannons about Muzan and kokushibo sharing or liking the same person

Based on canon, Muzan isn't one to get attached to people. However, that wouldn't stop him from seeing you as a possession that he wants to keep to himself. You'll live life like a pampered pet, living to serve your masters, playing nice with whoever he tells you to, and avoiding those he doesn't want you around. If anyone infringes on his territory, he'll get incredibly jealous.

At least, without his permission.

Upper moon or not, few would get his permission. However, Kokushibo would. He's proven his loyalty to Muzan a dozen times over, and most importantly, dangling a pretty little thing like you in front of him is a great motivator. If Kokushibo does well, he gets you all to himself for a night or two. If he fails to please his master, Muzan will keep you away until he's back in his good graces. Your presence makes Kokushibo easier to manipulate, giving the stoic, traumatized demon much-needed peace and pleasure. Muzan sees you as little more than a plaything, whereas Kokushibo sees you as his newfound reason.

This'll make you gravitate to Kokushibo more, much to Muzan's chagrin. He might not treat you the best, but you're still his, first and foremost. Suddenly, Kokushibo would have to jump through a lot more hoops to get some time with you, and you'll be punished if you asked too much about Upper Moon #1.

So, Kokushibo does something he's never done before. He rebels against Muzan, stealing moments with you. Muzan is often busy and doesn't keep track of every little thing his demons do. His hunt for the Blue Spider Lily distracts him, so he doesn't monitor you 24/7.

Time together is a break for both you and Kokushibo. Seeing each other brightens both of you up, and makes pesky feelings start to bloom. Dangerous feelings that can lead to disaster, and that have you reconsidering your position as Muzan's pet.

Sure, Muzan is good at sex and funds an extravagant lifestyle for you, but he lacks the warmth and devotion that Kokushibo provides. Both of them sharing you are the best of both worlds, but given the choice, you'd choose love over material wealth.

Let's just hope Muzan doesn't catch wind of this development. Otherwise, there'll be hell to pay.

[sweets-library]

care and consequence

Shouta Aizawa/reader. hurt/comfort. wc: 7.9k.

READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. DO NOT READ THIS IF THEY DO NOT APPEAL TO YOU. 18+ content warnings: spanking, improper use of a hairbrush, punishment, heavy use of daddy as a title, heavy themes of discipline and D/S dynamics

a/n: holy shit guys, the reception on that last one was actually insane, thank you all so much! i hope you guys like this one too, I'm sorry it took so long! i have a lot of personal life drama going on rn, plus I'm sick again :/ anyways, enjoy and strap in, its a long one! ao3

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You had regretted coming to the bar about an hour ago, though you’d never admit it. The music thrummed in your chest, matching the relentless pounding in your head. Around you, people were dancing, drinking, and laughing, lost in their own worlds. As much as you wanted to join in, your body felt like it was rebelling against you. Still, you clung to the idea that one more drink might just do the trick.

Navigating through the chaotic sea of heroes, you pushed your way to the bar and ordered a vodka cranberry with a shot on the side. Your last drink had taken a while to finish, but this one? This one needed to count. The bartender turned away, and just as you started to feel the room sway, the door flew open with a booming, "WHAT IS UP, PARTY PEOPLEEEEE!"

Ah, Mic made it!. He had been unsure if he could, with the radio show’s schedule, but he must’ve handed the reins to someone else to show up fashionably late. You watched as he carved a path through the crowd, greeting everyone with that infectious energy, before you turned your attention back to your drinks. Downing the shot in one swift motion, you grabbed your cocktail, setting your sights on Nemuri.

You found her in conversation with Kamui Woods and Mount Lady, her laughter carrying over the din. Sliding up beside her, you felt the brush of her nails as she pinched your side with a knowing grin. Without missing a beat, she continued chatting, but you knew she had clocked you. You were happy to wait, sipping your drink and letting its warmth spread through you, barely tuning into the conversation until Nemuri said her goodbyes.

She grabbed your hand, giggling as she pulled you onto the dance floor, and you let her lead—hoping the music might drown out how unwell you felt.

As the tequila and vodka settled into your veins, the world around you softened into a hazy blur of neon lights and pulsing bass. The club was packed, bodies moving in sync with the heavy beat that rattled the floor beneath your feet. Strobe lights flickered overhead, casting quick flashes of colour across the writhing crowd, while smoke machines filled the air with a thin mist that clung to your skin. The music was loud, so loud that it vibrated through your chest, matching the heat rising in your cheeks.

You finally started to feel it, the carefree buzz you’d been chasing all night. The alcohol loosened your limbs, and you let yourself get lost in whatever dirty, hypnotic rhythm Nemuri was dragging you into. Around you, people shouted over the music, laughed too loudly, and clinked glasses at the bar. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, spilled drinks, and the faint hint of perfume mingling with something more electric. It was the kind of energy that pulled you in deeper, making everything else fade away.

A few songs passed in a blur of flashing lights and sweaty bodies. You floated from partner to partner, dancing with Thirteen, Snipe, and Nemuri again, before you found yourself twirled straight into the arms of Present Mic.

“Zashi! Hi!” you practically shouted, grinning at him with the same excitement that buzzed through the room. It felt like he was the only one who hadn’t made it to the party yet, and now, everything was perfect. You could imagine him being stopped by every person on the way in, catching up and spreading his contagious energy.

“Heya, baby, how’s it hangin’?” he grinned, pulling you in so close you could feel the bass rumbling through his chest. But even here, his voice cut through the noise effortlessly.

“Soooo good! I love dancing, I’m so happy you came! Thought you’d get stuck at the station,” you gushed, letting the sway of the music carry you from foot to foot.

He laughed and gave you a playful dip, sending you squealing in delight as the room spun for a brief moment. But when he pulled you back up, his smile faltered as you coughed into your arm, the noise cutting through the music like a reminder that not everything was as smooth as the party felt.

“Gave one of the interns the mic for the night. She was over the moon to take it,” Hizashi said with a chuckle, leaning in closer to cut through the pounding music. His usual energy seemed slightly tempered, though his voice still carried effortlessly. He lowered his tone as he added, “Didn’t think you’d make it out tonight. Shouta told me earlier you weren’t feeling so hot.”

At the mention of your boyfriend, you scanned the room out of habit, already knowing he wasn’t there. This kind of scene was never his thing; too loud, too crowded. Besides, he had patrol tonight.

“Sho’s just paranoid. I’m fine, see?” you replied, brushing off the comment with a lighthearted twirl under Hizashi’s arm. The movement made your head spin a bit, but you ignored it, flashing him a grin as you let go of his hand, intent on heading back to the bar for another drink. Before you could get far, his arm looped around your waist, pulling you back gently but firmly. 

“Hey, you trying to leave me all alone out here? This party’s not even close to over,” Hizashi laughed, his voice rising just above the thrum of the bass. You joined in his laughter, not noticing how, with each song, he subtly steered you away from the bar. The colours around you swirled in a kaleidoscope of neon lights, flickering across faces and catching in the smoke-filled air. Every beat seemed to vibrate through your body, keeping you in a daze of music, movement, and heat.

As the hours blurred, so did the people. Dance partners came and went, their faces brief ly illuminated by strobe lights before they disappeared back into the crowd. But through it all, Hizashi never left your side, keeping a playful hand on your shoulder or at your waist as if he were your lifeline in the chaotic sea of bodies.

Then, a slower song melted into the speakers, and the mood shifted. The lights dimmed to soft blues and purples, and the frenetic energy on the dance floor calmed. Hizashi took the opportunity to pull you close, his arm wrapping around you with a gentleness that felt comforting against the heat of the room. Your head fell naturally onto his shoulder as the world seemed to slow down for the first time that night. The sway of the music was soothing now, and the chatter around you dropped to a murmur.

Couples paired off, holding each other close, moving in time to the slow beat, while others used the moment to catch their breath. The heavy scent of spilled drinks, sweat, and perfume lingered in the air, but here, in Hizashi’s arms, you felt an odd sense of calm. You giggled softly as he whispered in your ear, making quiet jokes about the unlikely pairings that had formed on the dance floor. His voice was steady and warm, grounding you.

But then, he stopped abruptly. The sway of his body stilled, and you blinked, the moment interrupted. Confused, you lifted your head to look at him, but his attention was no longer on the dance floor.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I think your song’s been played out,” Hizashi said softly, his voice taking on a tone that felt more final than playful. You lifted your head to question him, confusion crossing your face, but before you could get a word out, he spun you around; right into the arms of someone new.

Or rather, someone far more familiar than you would have preferred.

“Shouta!” you gasped, looking up to find him staring down at you, his dark eyes narrowed in that way that instantly made you feel small. His gaze wasn’t angry, exactly, but there was a sharpness in it that cut through the fog of your drunken haze. You straightened up, biting your lip as emotions flashed across your face, impossible to hide in your current state.

“I thought you had patrol?” you asked, voice tinged with uncertainty.

“I finished early,” he said, his tone even but firm as he wrapped an arm around your waist. His grip was gentle, but the intention was clear as he began guiding you through the crowd and toward the door. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, wait, I gotta-” you started to protest, trying to twist out of his hold. But Shouta cut you off before you could finish, his voice leaving no room for argument.

“I paid your tab. You can see everyone another time,” Shouta said curtly, his voice as firm as his grip around your waist. The finality in his words made your chest tighten, but you huffed anyway, stubbornly digging in your heels.

“I promised Nemuri another dance, and I was gonna get another drink!” you protested, though the moment the words were out, you knew they were a mistake. Shouta’s gaze sharpened, his eyes darkening as they bore into you. It was a look that made your heart skip a beat and sent a nervous tremor down your spine. Your feet shuffled on instinct, your earlier defiance wilting under the heat of his stare.

“We are leaving right now, little girl,” he said, his tone low and deliberate. The words slid over you like a command, impossible to ignore. His hand drifted down to your ass, the touch firm and possessive, sending a shiver through your body. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he continued, “Unless you’d like to get a head start on your punishment in the bathroom. Here. And. Now.”

Your pulse quickened at his words, your breath catching in your throat. The heavy atmosphere of the club seemed to fade, the sound of the crowd growing distant. All that remained was the heat of his presence and the weight of his words. The tension coiled in your stomach, leaving you unsure whether to push back or submit.

“No… m’sorry. Let’s go,” you mumbled, your voice barely rising above the pulsing music, but your regretful look and the way you let him pull you along seemed to say enough. Once outside, the sudden quiet enveloped you, your ears ringing from the absence of sound. The contrast was jarring, but it was nothing compared to the weight of Shouta’s disappointment radiating off him like an invisible force.

He guided you to the car, and without even a hint of protest, you slid into the back seat. The cool leather felt grounding against your skin as he buckled you in silently, his focus unwavering. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable, as he leaned in, resting his hand on the headrest. His expression softened slightly, a hint of concern breaking through his earlier sternness.

“Do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?” he inquired, his voice steady yet laced with a quiet urgency. You shook your head, trying to muster a reassuring smile, though the flutter of anxiety in your stomach made it hard.

“Okay,” he replied, his gaze steady on yours. “Start drinking this.” He handed you a bottle of water, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I want at least half of it gone by the time we get home. And if you think you’re feeling sick, just tell me, and I’ll pull over.”

The seriousness in his voice made your heart race. You nodded, taking the bottle from him, the cool plastic a small comfort in the heated moment. As you unscrewed the cap, you could sense the shift in his demeanour. He was looking out for you, but there was a firmness in his words that reminded you of the line you’d crossed.

“Okay.” you mumble, staring at his chin to avoid the intensity of his eyes. He sighed and closed the door before climbing into the driver's seat and starting the journey home. The ride wasn't long but it was dead silent and it gave you enough time for some of the alcohol to wear off and the reminders that you were sick to kick in. 

Shouta, of course, knew you at the very least, had a bad cold. That morning, he had taken charge, insisting you call off work and ordering you to stay in bed. He had been so sweetly concerned and caring. He had meticulously arranged everything, ensuring you had enough food and medicine at hand. You could still picture him moving around the kitchen, checking in on you with a watchful eye, his brow slightly furrowed in that familiar expression of worry.

Throughout the afternoon, he had kept in touch, sending periodic texts to check on your well-being. Each notification was a reminder of how deeply he cared. The messages were gentle nudges, urging you to rest and take care of yourself. You could almost feel his presence with each ping, as if he were there beside you, coaxing you to indulge in soup and reminding you when to take the next dose of cold and flu medicine.

But as the hours slipped by and daylight faded into evening, the excitement of your friends celebrating the end of the semester began to tug at you. The allure of laughter and music beckoned from the outside world, tempting you to leave the cocoon of blankets and soothing remedies he had encouraged you to embrace. You hadn’t mentioned your plans to Shouta, knowing full well the firm stance he had taken. He had told you when he left for his night patrol that you were to be doing nothing for the rest of the night but resting and getting better. 

In a moment of weakness, you had chosen to ignore his guidance, allowing the crippling fear of missing out to get to you. Now, as the consequences of your decision loomed large, you felt a heavy weight settle in your chest, a blend of regret and dread creating a terrible cocktail with how awful you were already feeling physically.

As Shouta pulled into the driveway, the rush of emotions overwhelmed you. The tears welled up, unbidden and hot, as the guilt of your choices crashed over you like a wave. You hiccuped, desperately trying to swallow back the sobs, but it was futile. When he parked the car and came around to your door, you barely registered his movements, lost in your own turmoil. As soon as he opened the door, he unbuckled you and gathered you into his arms, cradling you against him. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, as he felt you trembling against him. “I know you’re not feeling too hot. Come on, let’s get you inside and into some comfy clothes. Does that sound good?”

You nodded against his shoulder, the gesture almost instinctual as the weight of your exhaustion settled in. With a gentle yet firm motion, he hoisted you out of the car, his strength reassuring. You instinctively wrapped your limbs around him like a koala, seeking the comfort of his embrace. He adjusted his hold, securing you against him effortlessly as he maneuvered to get the door open with one arm, not even considering putting you down for a moment. The night air was cool against your skin, but Shouta's warmth kept the chill at bay. As he carried you inside, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him.

He took care of you mostly in silence, his hands moving with a practiced ease as he guided your movements. Gently, he slipped off your heels, his touch tender against your tired feet. Without a word, he helped you out of your dress, replacing the once-glamorous outfit with the softness of your favourite pajamas. His fingers were careful as he wiped away the makeup you'd used to hide the ruddiness in your cheeks and the shadows beneath your eyes, his brow creasing slightly as he worked, focused but gentle.

When he pressed the cool glass of water into your hands, you drank obediently, the quiet rustle of him preparing the medicine a comforting sound in the background. As he handed you the pills, his eyes softened, a silent reminder that he was looking out for you. After you’d swallowed them, he guided you to sit down at your vanity, still working methodically, brushing away the remnants of the night.

The makeup wipe brushed over your nose, tickling slightly, and despite the exhaustion and the lingering tipsiness, a small giggle escaped your lips. You leaned up, catching his eyes in the mirror, and smiled mischievously, asking for a kiss. He indulged you, pressing a brief, soft kiss to your lips before continuing, his attention shifting to your hair. The tender motions of his hands as he brushed it through were almost hypnotic, lulling you into a sense of calm as he completed your nighttime routine for you.

A thought bubbled up, slipping out before you could stop it. “How did you know where I was? Thought patrol didn’t end till 4?” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur as he turned you to face the mirror. Catching his eyes in the reflection, you saw a flicker of irritation still lingering there, and the weight of it made you shy away. You broke eye contact, your gaze dropping to the clutter of items strewn across the vanity from earlier in the night.

“Hizashi texted me when he got there,” he replied quietly, his voice steady but tinged with that edge of disappointment. You couldn't help but pout at the mention of it, feeling the sting of being caught, of letting him down. The weight of his gaze lingered on you, but you felt his concern just as deeply, even in the silence between you.

“Tattle-tale,” you mumbled under your breath, but before you could sink too far into your pout, Shouta’s fingers tipped under your chin, gently but firmly, guiding you to meet his eyes in the mirror.

“He wouldn’t have to tattle if you hadn’t been misbehaving, would he?” His voice held that familiar grumble, a mix of irritation and concern that made your heart skip. You swallowed, feeling the weight of his gaze and the undeniable truth behind his words.

“No, sir,” you murmured, looking as contrite as you felt. His expression softened slightly, and he let out a quiet puff of air, almost a sigh, before pulling you up from the vanity.

With his hand steadying you, he guided you toward the bed, but your legs still wobbled beneath you. Dizzy, you tumbled onto the mattress, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you sank into the plush blankets. Shouta rolled his eyes, but there was a tenderness behind it, and with practiced care, he shifted you to the other side and tucked you in properly, smoothing the covers over you.

“Wait, Sho... you’re not... are you mad at me?” you asked, your voice suddenly small and sincere, cutting through the haze of your tipsiness. His brow furrowed at the question, and for a moment, you held your breath, waiting for his answer.

“No, baby, I’m not mad. We’ll talk tomorrow,” he assured you, his voice softer now. He leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his lips lingering for a moment before he straightened up. Rounding the bed, he moved to his side, slipping in beside you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew that conversation tomorrow wasn’t going to be a pleasant one. But as Shouta’s strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you close against his chest, the heaviness of the night melted away. His familiar scent, the steady beat of his heart, and the warmth of his body drowned out any lingering bad feelings. For now, wrapped up in him, everything felt right, and you let yourself drift into the comfort of sleep.

-

The morning greeted you with a vengeance, leaving you feeling every bit as awful as you feared. Your head throbbed with a dull, relentless ache, your sinuses were stuffed to the brim, and your body felt clammy and weak, so much more wrung out than you had been jus the day before. Groaning, you burrowed deeper into the blankets, hiding from the sunlight streaming through the windows. Despite the warmth of the covers, a bone-deep chill had taken root, making you shiver as you curled in on yourself.

“Wake up, baby. You have to take some medicine.” Shouta’s voice, calm and resolute, pierced your cocoon of self-pity. You whined in response, a pitiful sound muffled by the blankets.

“M’sleeping. No thanks,” you muttered petulantly, half-hoping he’d let it slide. Usually, this was when you’d hear him chuckle softly, maybe feel the comforting weight of his hand on your thigh as he gave you a few more moments to stir.

Instead, the covers were suddenly pulled back from your face, exposing you to the cool morning air and making you gasp at the loss of warmth. The sudden brightness forced your eyes to flutter open, though they quickly squinted against the light. Before you could protest, Shouta’s hand was on your face, gentle and deliberate, as he smoothed the strands of damp hair plastered to your clammy skin. The touch sent a shiver through you, the tenderness soothing away your irritation.

His expression hovered between stern and soft, his dark eyes scanning your flushed, pale face with an almost clinical precision. You could feel the weight of his worry as he brushed his thumb over your temple. Despite your exhaustion, guilt pooled in your chest, mingling with the sickness that had you pinned to the bed.

“It wasn’t really a request. Come on, sit up.” His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the firmness behind it. Before you could muster a protest, his strong hands slipped under your back and shoulders, lifting you with ease. The sudden shift left you disoriented, and before you knew it, you were propped up against the headboard.

Two pills rested on the palm he held in front of your face, his dark eyes steady and expectant. “Open,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. Something in the commanding gentleness of his voice had you obeying instinctively, parting your lips without hesitation. He placed the pills on your tongue, and you grimaced as you swallowed them with a few sips of the water he pressed to your lips.

Just as you moved to push the glass away, his hand caught yours, steadying it. “Finish this,” he said firmly, guiding it back toward your mouth. The weight of his worry lingered in the way his fingers stayed wrapped around yours, ensuring you drank more.

You managed another sip, your movements sluggish and reluctant, before he spoke again, his voice softening. “Are you hungry?”

You shook your head, too weary to form words, and he nodded in quiet acceptance. “Okay,” he murmured, taking the now half-empty glass from your hands and setting it on the bedside table. His fingers brushed against your knuckles briefly, grounding you in the moment. “You can sleep a little longer until the meds kick in. We’ll talk when you’re feeling a bit better.”

You gulped and cast your eyes downward, unable to meet his steady gaze. The words he didn’t say lingered in the air, unspoken but heavy, a reminder of the talk you’d hoped that you might avoid. Shouta, ever composed, didn’t press. Instead, his hand smoothed over your hair, the motion tender and familiar, as if to reassure you that his frustration didn’t mean he cared any less.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss between your brows, a soft, lingering gesture that made your chest tighten. It wasn’t fair how easily he could dissolve your guilt and stubbornness in a single moment of care. You couldn’t even summon the faintest trace of upset, not when his touch was so gentle, so grounding. Instead, your eyelids grew heavier, the pull of exhaustion impossible to resist. With a quiet sigh, you let yourself drift, surrendering to the lull of warmth and safety he left behind.

Time passed in a haze, unmeasured and weightless. When you woke again, the pounding in your head had dulled to a faint, manageable throb, and though your limbs still felt heavy, they no longer ached with the same intensity. The room was empty now, sunlight spilling through the windows in soft golden streaks that painted the walls and the rumpled sheets beside you. If Shouta hadn't insisted on taking some medicine earlier, the light would probably be giving you the worst of headaches, but instead, you were able to enjoy the warmth. Of course, Shouta was right, as always. It was no wonder you let him take the reins so often; he had a knack for knowing exactly what you needed, even when you couldn’t see it yourself. It went beyond simple intuition, it was deliberate and unwavering care. It was why you trusted him so deeply.

If you didn’t know that, if you couldn’t feel it in the way he cared for you, you wouldn’t be in this dynamic with him in the first place. You wouldn’t be sitting here now, heart pounding in the quiet aftermath, debating whether pretending to sleep a little longer might save you from the punishment just a little longer, or if it would only make things worse.

But even as your thoughts tangled with uncertainty, you knew you wouldn’t trade this for anything. For all the moments like these, where guilt and the weight of your mistakes pressed down on you, there was always the unwavering reassurance that Shouta would steady you. He’d take you in hand, reminding you in no uncertain terms just how much you mattered to him.

He wouldn’t tolerate behaviour that diminished your worth, not in his eyes, and not in your own. It wasn’t just discipline; it was care, deeply rooted and uncompromising. And when all was said and done, forgiveness would follow, that was never an uncertainty. With Shouta, there was no lingering doubt, no unspoken resentment, only the quiet, steady rhythm of love in its most honest form.

It was about more than letting go; it was about giving that trust to someone who cherished it, someone who didn’t just take care of you but found joy in doing so. And in turn, you found joy in being cared for. It could be terrifying sometimes, to put that kind of trust in someone, but with Shouta it had always felt worth it. 

You sigh and slide out of bed, resigned to your fate. The chill in the air bites at your skin, and the sickness still clings to you making you shiver. You rummage through the closet until your fingers find the familiar softness of one of Shouta’s sweaters. It’s an old crew neck, worn and slightly stretched out, big even on him and perfect for wrapping yourself in his warmth.

Pulling it over your head, you pad out to the living room on bare feet. The sight that greets you stops you in your tracks, drawing a soft, dreamy sigh from your lips.

Shouta is perched on the couch, papers spread across the coffee table in neat stacks. A faint furrow creases his brow as he grades with careful precision, the rhythmic scratch of his pen the only sound in the room. One of the cats is curled in his lap snoring, and a ray of sunlight streams through the window, bathing the scene in a golden glow that feels almost unreal. For a moment, you wonder if you’re still dreaming.

His sharp eyes flick up, catching yours as you linger in the doorway. Before he can say a word, you shuffle over and flop down beside him, burying yourself against his shoulder and letting your eyes drift closed again. The familiar scent of him wraps around you, as grounding as the weight of his presence.

“G’morning baby.” you sigh, and his arm curls around you to tug you to his side properly. 

“Good morning, my love. Feeling a little better?” he murmurs, his voice soft and low, vibrating gently against your ear. You nod, nestling closer into his shoulder, letting the comforting rhythm of his breathing soothe your lingering unease.

The two of you sit in companionable silence, the occasional scratch of his pen the only sound in the room. He finishes grading the last test on his stack, and you catch a glimpse of his expression as he marks something on the page. Oof. Poor kid.

You might have dozed off again if not for the fluttering unease in your stomach, a familiar mix of guilt and anticipation. The thought of the looming punishment makes it impossible to relax entirely, though Shouta’s calm presence keeps you from fully spiralling.

And then, as if he could read your mind, he sets the papers aside with a quiet sigh. The finality of it settles in your chest like a stone. He turns his face into your hair, his lips brushing against your temple as he speaks softly, a warmth and firmness interwoven in his tone.

“We need to have a talk, little girl.”

You bite your lip, the weight of his gaze settling heavily over you. A sigh escapes your lips as you try to find the right words. “I know. I’m sorry,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Shouta doesn’t immediately respond. He pulls back slightly, his eyes scanning your face, assessing. The silence stretches just long enough to make you squirm.

Finally, he exhales deeply, sitting back and crossing his arms. His posture is relaxed, but the intensity in his eyes keeps you rooted in place.

“Why?” he asks, his voice calm but piercing.

Your stomach churns. You know the answer, of course, you do, but the way he asks makes your guilt multiply. He doesn’t raise his voice; he doesn’t need to. You glance down at your lap, your fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on your pajama pants, anything to avoid the weight of his disappointment.

“For… for not listening,” you whisper, each word sticking in your throat. “And going out when you told me not to.”

“That’s correct,” he says, his tone steady but no less cutting. “But more broadly, I’m extremely not thrilled with your complete disregard for your own health and well-being.”

The words land with a precision that makes your chest ache.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his voice softening but still firm. “I love taking care of you. But part of that is making sure you take care of yourself when I’m not there. I need to trust that when I tell you to rest and recover, you’ll actually listen. Instead, you put yourself in harm’s way, and for what? A few hours of fun?”

His gaze locks onto yours, and the weight of his disappointment has you nodding mutely.

“And,” he continues, his voice sharpening, “I have never, and will never, tolerate you lying to me.”

Your head snaps up, a reflexive protest bubbling to the surface. “I didn’t lie—”

The glare he fixes you with stops the words dead in their tracks. It’s a look that leaves no room for negotiation.

“What did you say,” he asks, his voice low and measured, “when I told you to spend the night resting and recovering before I left for work?”

Your cheeks burn as you break eye contact. His stare feels like a spotlight, illuminating every guilty thought you’re trying to suppress. You shift uncomfortably, your voice trembling as you admit, “I… I said, ‘Yes, Daddy.’”

The silence that follows feels deafening. You dare a glance up at him, but his expression is unreadable. The weight of your admission hangs heavy in the air, and you shrink under the judgment you can feel emanating from him.

Finally, he sighs, the sound carrying more disappointment than anger. “You know what you did,” he says, each word deliberate. “Now it’s time to face the consequences.”

Your stomach twists, dread pooling in your chest. His tone is calm, almost gentle, but it carries a finality that leaves no room for debate.

“I wouldn’t normally punish you while you’re sick,” he continues, leaning back against the couch, his voice even. “But since you seem to think that being sick has no bearing on your decisions, I won’t let it affect mine either. Stand up.”

Your knees feel weak as you scramble to obey, rising unsteadily to your feet. Confusion flickers across your face- why not just pull you over his lap like usual? Why make you stand?

“Go and get the wooden hairbrush,” he says, his voice low and dispassionate, the command sending a shiver down your spine. “The flat, square one. And lose your pants on the way.”

Your gasp escapes before you can stop it, your hands instinctively clutching at the waistband of your pajama pants.

He doesn’t budge, his expression firm, his gaze unwavering. “You heard me.”

The room feels colder as you move, your steps hesitant. The gravity of the moment weighs heavily with each step you take toward the bedroom. Your heart races as you reach for the brush, the smooth wood cool against your palm. Sliding your pajama pants down your legs, you feel your cheeks burn with a mixture of shame and anticipation. You decide to take off the sweater as well, knowing Shouta would have you sweating soon.  

When you return to the living room, brush in hand and pants abandoned, Shouta’s eyes meet yours. His gaze softens slightly, a flicker of care visible beneath the stern exterior, but it does nothing to ease the butterflies raging in your stomach.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, gesturing for you to come closer. You obey silently, beyond arguing at this point. There would be no getting out of this, Shouta cares too much about you to let you get away with this. You hand over the brush and he places it on the arm of the couch, and then you fold yourself over his lap obediently. Without another word he folds your shirt up to expose the entirety of your backside, and places his hand on it, making you squirm with dread.

“Safeword?”

“Red” you whimper, accepting your fate.

He doesn't hesitate any longer, steadily applying his hand to your ass with all the restrained muscle of a pro hero, just hard enough to make sure you know exactly where you belong. The first few swats land on your bare ass, and you already want to start crying. And then he starts talking. 

“Let's go through each unfortunate choice you made yesterday, shall we?” he says, and you try not to tense up at his disappointed tone.

“First, you disobeyed me when I specifically told you to stay in bed while you weren't feeling well, and second, you lied to me and said that you would be home for the night. Third, you disregarded yourself and your health, which we will be going into great detail about with the hairbrush.”

As he laid out your actions, your ass got steadily reddened, and the tears started falling against your will. You fisted the fabric of the couch and willed yourself not to squirm, knowing it would only make things worse for you. 

Shouta’s voice was calm but carried the weight of unshakable authority, each word landing like a stone in your chest. “Do you think I asked you to stay home for no reason? That I ask you to listen to me for my own amusement?”

Your stomach churned at his tone, the disappointment in his voice far worse than any raised voice could have been.

“You trust me to know what’s best for you, and in turn, I trust you to be honest with me. I specifically told you to stay home, to rest and recover. Instead, I get a text from Hizashi that you’re out, you’re drinking, and completely ignoring what I asked of you. What if he hadn’t messaged me? What if I had come home to an empty house, no idea where you were, and no way to ensure you were safe?” 

The image his words painted made your chest tighten with guilt. You could hear the strain in his voice, the quiet upset that cut deeper than anger ever could. You knew how much this dynamic meant to him—not just as a way to care for you, but as a source of reassurance in a life that was chaotic and dangerous. Being a pro-hero came with enough unpredictability; this was one area of his life he could keep steady.

Even with that realization weighing heavy on your chest, you couldn’t help it. Against your better judgment, a pouty response escaped your lips, soft and stubborn, laced with defiance that you immediately regretted. 

“I was gonna be home before you got back—” The sharp crack of his hand meeting your thigh cut off your words with a yelp, the sting blooming as tears welled in your eyes. His hand rested firmly on the offended area, grounding you.

“That is not the point and you know it. You dont get to have a bratty attitude with me about this, or the hairbrush is going to be followed by a long time out in the corner for you to fix it. Am. I. Clear.” 

“Yes- ‘m sorry, I'm sorry sir.” you cry, your face soaked and dripping onto the cushion. 

“Hm. As I was saying, this will not be happening again. You misbehave, you get consequences. For the next two weeks, you will be in this house and in our bed by 9 p.m. sharp. If I’m not home, I expect a picture of you in bed, and then you will put your phone in my bedside table.”

The shame of his words was almost as unbearable as the sting still radiating from your thighs. You sobbed into the couch, mortified at the level of supervision he felt you required. “Yes, Daddy,” you whimpered, your voice hoarse.

“I am not playing about this,” he pressed on, his gaze unyielding. “If I find out you’ve stepped foot out of this apartment, you had better have a damn good reason—or you’ll find yourself right back here, no excuses. If you can’t take care of yourself on your own, I will do it for you.”

You nodded again, your sobs turning into shaky, uneven breaths. The shame was overwhelming, and yet you knew he wasn’t done.

As the spanks land, the force behind them pulls a sharp gasp from you, and each strike feels like a wave of guilt crashing over you. His words pierce through the haze of pain. "I think this way you might begin to understand how serious your actions are. His disappointment lingers in your chest, making it harder to breathe.

The spanks stopped for a moment, and you gasped, your body trembling as you tried to catch your breath. Shouta’s hands, firm and unyielding just moments ago, softened as they rubbed soothing circles on your spine. His voice, low and steady, cut through the haze of your tears.

“Breathe, baby. Take a few deep breaths,” he murmured, his tone no longer sharp but filled with an unyielding care that made your chest ache.

You hiccupped, following his instruction as you sucked in shaky gulps of air. The relief of his touch warred with the knowledge that this reprieve was temporary. Your breath finally evened out, and your tears slowed, but they didn’t stop.

“Good girl,” he said quietly, though there was no warmth in his praise—just a steady, measured approval for doing as you were told. His hand drifted to your shoulder, squeezing gently before he continued.

“Now,” he began, his tone sharp once more, “let’s discuss the way you’ve been treating your health.”

Your stomach churned, and your heart thudded as the words landed. His hand left your shoulder, and you braced yourself for what was to come, dread building with every passing second.

The hairbrush came down with a crack, the sound cutting through the room and drawing a pained cry from your lips. Shouta didn’t bother to shush you; the punishment was meant to leave a lasting impression, and he doesn't want you to hide where you are at emotionally.  The strikes weren’t as rapid as the earlier flurry of his hands, but each one was deliberate, the wide, heavy impact sinking deep into your already tender skin.

You sobbed with each blow, your cries punctuating the rhythm he set.

“I will never, ever stand for you treating yourself the way you chose to last night.” His voice was calm, but the sharpness in his tone felt like another lash, hitting somewhere deeper than just your body. “You were sick- you are sick- and the fact that you thought you could just disregard that to go party makes me think you don’t understand how seriously I take your wellbeing. Not to mention how seriously I expect you to take it yourself.”

The hairbrush came down again, and you twisted slightly, though his firm grip kept you in place. The dull thud seemed to echo in your chest, a physical reminder of just how much you had messed up.

“Every part of you is important, mind and body,” he continued, the cadence of his strikes steady and unrelenting. “One of our biggest rules is that you don’t disrespect yourself, and you know very well I don’t just mean self-deprecating words. I expect you to take the same care for yourself when I’m gone that I do when I’m here.”

The words hit harder than the brush, and your quiet whimper turned into a full sob. His disappointment was unbearable, an ache in your chest that far outweighed the sting of your reddened skin.

“Clearly, you can’t be trusted to do so on your own,” he said, pausing for a moment to let his words sink in.

The tears streaking down your face weren’t just from the physical pain; they came from the overwhelming guilt of letting him down. You knew how much he valued self-care, and how hard he worked to instill that same value in you, even when he struggled to prioritize it for himself.

You sniffled, hiccuping through your tears, and a treacherous thought flitted through your mind. Hypocrite. He barely looked after himself most days. Your attitude almost made itself known again before the next blow snapped you out of your thoughts, and you yelped, realizing too late that the silence had stretched on too long.

“Every day until you are one-hundred percent better,” he said, his tone unyielding, “you’re going to sit at that table and write me fifty lines, telling me exactly how well you’re going to take care of yourself in the future.”

You let out a soft wail of protest at the thought, but he ignored it, leaning in to speak into your ear.

“And trust me, little girl, you do not want to have this discussion again.”

And then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. The punishing rhythm of the hairbrush ceased, and the room settled into a heavy, tear-soaked silence. Your sobs, however, remained steady, shaking your body as it lay slumped over his lap.

Shouta’s hands shifted, their movements no longer firm and corrective but gentle, smoothing up and down your back and thighs. He didn’t rush you, letting you cry as long as you needed, his presence grounding you even as your emotions spilled over.

When your cries softened to hiccups, he gently helped you upright, maneuvering you so you were straddling his lap. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you buried your tear-streaked face into his shirt, soaking the fabric with every breathy sob. He didn’t mind; his arms held you just as tightly, encasing you in a protective warmth.

“Okay, kid,” he murmured, his lips brushing the crown of your head as he swayed you gently. “Alright, you’re okay now. I love you so much, baby.”

His voice was soft, full of love and patience, and it was that tenderness that finally cracked the dam inside you. The moment you had enough air in your lungs, you blurted out in a desperate rush:

“I’m so sorry, Daddy! I’m sorry I fucked up—I didn’t mean to! I just—I wanted—I’m just so, so sorry,” you wailed, clinging to him like a lifeline. The words poured out of you like water from a broken dam, each one carrying the weight of your regret. You weren’t just apologizing for the mistake, you were apologizing for letting him down, for making him feel like his care wasn’t enough to anchor you. The thought of betraying the trust he put in you made the tears fall faster.

“Oh, baby,” he said, his voice thick with emotion as he hugged you even closer. “Okay, okay. I know. Thank you, babygirl, I know you are. You’re forgiven now, okay? You did so good for me, you’re all forgiven.”

His words were a balm to your guilt, soothing and grounding you as you took shuddering breaths, gradually winding down. Your sobs quieted into occasional hiccups, and he gently tilted you back to examine your tear-streaked face. Shouta’s soft smile held no trace of the earlier sternness. He reached over, plucking a tissue from the side table, and methodically wiped away your tears, along with the snot and drool that added to your humiliation. He discarded the tissue without a second thought, his focus entirely on you.

“Let’s go take a bath, baby, clear up your sinuses,” he murmured, his voice warm and soothing. He hoisted you into his arms with ease and carried you to the bathroom, grabbing two towels along the way. Setting them on the counter, he gingerly placed you atop them, your seated position making you just a little taller than him. He stood between your legs, his hands resting gently on your thighs, and studied your face with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice earnest and patient.

You took a moment to check in with yourself, cataloging the aches in your body, the tenderness in your emotions, and the lingering sting of your punishment. Eventually, you nodded and murmured, “Yeah, ‘m okay. I’m just really sorry.”

His brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. Leaning up, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “I know, sweetheart. I believe you.”

He didn’t push for more, understanding how fragile you felt. Instead, he gave you space, letting you sit quietly while he started filling the tub. The sound of water rushing against porcelain filled the room, and he quickly stripped down before helping you out of your oversized shirt. His movements were efficient but tender as if he were afraid to overwhelm you.

Once the tub was full, he climbed in first and extended a hand to guide you in, settling you between his legs with your back pressed firmly to his chest. The warm water enveloped you, and his arms encircled your middle, holding you close.

“There we go, my good girl,” he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your temple. The praise made you shiver, the tension in your body melting away as you nestled further into his embrace.

“Always my good girl, no matter what,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I love you so much.”

His words wrapped around you like the heat of the water, comforting and secure, and you let yourself relax completely. This was where you belonged—wrapped in his love and care, forgiven and cherished.

[reader-lola]

Annoying screams

Chris Sturniolo Based on the last video (Making gifts for fans) Warnings: +18, oral (male receives), female masturbation, sexual intercourse, no reference to condom. Let me know if you see any more

Links X: 1 , 2

You were in your boyfriend Chris's room. You were trying to read, but the screams coming from the kitchen weren't letting you concentrate. You knew your boyfriend was very loud and yelled a lot, but this time he was going overboard. “We're just going to record the invitations for the fans. We won't bother you.”

I missed the first few screams, knowing Chris it was usual for him. But there came a time when all you could hear was him yelling without actually saying anything coherent. I tried to concentrate on the book. I looked through the pages. I dwelled on the rest of the chapter. I repeated the same paragraph I had been reading for 15 minutes until I gave up and closed it. I focused on my phone for the rest of the time. “Hey mom, what are you doing with your phone? Did you finish the book?” Chris's voice brought me out of my trance. I turned off my phone and with a louder voice than expected I faced him. “I tried that, Owen, but by a strange coincidence, a boy kept yelling in the kitchen. I tried to read, but someone made it an impossible task for me. It was impossible because you, young man, NEVER STOP YELLING” “Take it down a notch with me, girl, or I'll have to put you in your place” “No, I'm sorry, you're going to apologize to me for not letting me read, it wasn't that hard to say nice things to your fans instead of yelling at them and, by the way, letting me read” “Okay, you've gone too far, let's see if you're capable of keeping quiet”

Without warning, he grabbed me by the hair and, without any care, he pushed me against the door “Let's see, you yelled at me, you answered me back, and you spoke badly to me. You deserve a punishment” “It's not true, I didn't do that” “And now we add that you lie to me and contradict me. Honey, if you don't want to make it worse, you better shut up.” With one hand he supported my head against the door and with the other he pulled down my pants and thong in the process. Without time to react he put two of his fingers inside me causing a loud moan from me. “You're going to have to shut up if you don't want to be heard. From what I understand Matt and Nick are going to be in the living room watching TV.” His fingers went in and out of my pussy causing me an incredible feeling of pleasure. My legs trembled as I noticed the imminent release, but then his fingers stopped. “No, Chris, please.” “If you ask me like that I'm not going to do anything else.” “Daddy, please.” I whimpered at the need of his fingers dancing inside me. “I told you that you needed a punishment, on your knees.” Without hesitation I got on my knees and as soon as he pulled out his member I didn't hesitate to suck it, choking in the process. His hand grabbed my hair marking the rhythm he had to follow. As I sucked I couldn't help but look up, meeting his blue eyes that gave me a satisfied look, making me feel grateful for being able to eat him. At times I heard small sighs coming out of his lips at the sensation I was feeling. “God, I can't take it anymore.” He pushed me away from his member and in the blink of an eye I had him on top of me. He quickly took off my shirt and mine. He placed his member at my entrance. “I should teach you a lesson and not let you cum,” he said, slowly entering me. I could feel the sensation of his body fitting perfectly with mine. The sensation of his veins entering my interior. “You deserve a punishment for the way you spoke to me. But now I simply need to have you. Feel you.” His thrusts began slowly as I adapted to his size. But they gradually increased in pace. My hands grabbed his back, scratching it as a way of releasing the sensation that was consuming me. Chris' lips traveled to my neck where he started sucking, I'd probably have a mark there tomorrow. “Daddy, I can't take it anymore.” “What do you want?” “Let me cum, please.” “Cum for me, princess.”

[javelinbk]

First thoughts on Beatles ‘64…

It’s an entertaining watch, but it’s much more about the impact of the Beatles and the surrounding context, than about the Beatles themselves

The continuity is all over the place, so it’s not really following the trip as it happened

The subtitles are better than for Get Back, but there’s still some mistakes, with Ringo’s talking being attributed to Paul at one point, and things like ‘great’ instead of ‘reet’.

There’s a few seconds of new footage (mostly in their hotel suite), but otherwise I didn’t spot anything that I haven’t seen in the Maysles doc or the making of. Much better quality of course though! There is a nice radio interview from Paris at the end that I don’t think I’ve heard before

The Paul and Ringo interviews are all from previous events (Eyes of the Storm, Ringo’s fashion book etc) as well as old tv interviews

There’s a nice montage of In My Life playing over old photos of the boys, but pfft, Anthology did that first

Cutting off ‘we ain’t written no poetry’ is a war crime and should be punished as such

WHERE IS BRIAN?! Apart from a few glimpses, he doesn’t appear until over an hour into the doc, and that’s only for a few seconds. I wanted more Brian, not less.

Hearing from the fans and seeing the memorabilia of the time is fun.

My favourite part was the fans outside the Plaza describing all the gifts they brought, and one friend calling out, “You didnt contribute, Alice.”

Actually, no - my favourite part was current Paul talking about being treated like shit at the British Embassy, and saying “we didn’t give a flying fuck!” You tell ‘em, granddude!

So yeah - as expected, mostly for new fans, doesn’t really have anything for us other than better quality footage, but fun nonetheless!

[nightlark100]

Consequences (Pt 8)

Thank you for everyone who voted on what the next part should be :)

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

After they got Grace situated at the Lauter house, which Steph fortunately still had access to after a lot of hours spent with her father's lawyer Gary, Peter headed back to his apartment. Ted and Charlotte's on again off again relationship was currently going through an on again phase so he knew his brother likely wouldn't be there. In fact, he probably wouldn't be around much until Charlotte decided once again to try and focus on working things out with her husband and the whole cycle started again. Still, it meant that, as long as Peter sent texts to check in, he would be left to his own devices. In the past he would have stayed with Richie, and more recently with Steph (she wasn't handling the empty house too well. Even if her father and her hadn't been close, she was still used to his presence), but he needed some time to try and sort his head out. He felt bad for leaving Steph alone with an emotionally distraught Grace but with everything that had happened, he was at his limit.

So he went home.

He ate a chocolate bar and then took a shower, mentally sorting through his DVDs to pick one he could happily doze off to. He knew that the Lords in Black would want an answer from him at some point but he was pretty sure they couldn't just appear without being summoned. Well... hoped.

Unfortunately, the same rules didn't apply to Wiley, as he found out when he left the bathroom. The man was perched on the foot of his bed, the picture of ease.

"Gah!" Peter tried to cover his chest while also holding onto the towel around his waist. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd pop in and say hello."

"Hello. Goodbye."

"Now there's no need to be rude Petey."

"Don't call me that." Wiley only chuckled in response, his green eyes fixed on Peter as the boy gathered his clothes and headed back towards the bathroom. Peter paused in the doorway. “You'll stay in here until I'm done?”

“Don't you trust me to behave myself?”

“Would you trust you?” Wiley laughed and inclined his head in agreement. Peter slipped back into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Even though he was fairly certain it wouldn't inhibit his uninvited guest in anyway, it made him feel a little bit safer at least.

Once he was dressed in sweatpants and one of Ted's old tees, he reluctantly returned to his bedroom. Wiley was in the exact spot he'd been left in and as Peter tentatively approached, the man stretched, eyes slitted. There was something strangely feline about his movements, and Peter was reminded of a trip to the zoo he'd once gone on. The jungle cats, the graceful strength that they exuded in every languid movement. And just like a jungle cat, Peter was positive Wiley could tear him apart if he wanted to.

“Feeling a little less… vulnerable?” He asked, raking his gaze over Peter and patting the spot beside him on the bed.

“Can't say I do…” Peter muttered, taking the offered seat. “Is this about that… offer?”

“Smart boy”

“I'm still not entirely sure about… well, everything. I'm not making a decision if I don't know the details of what I'm agreeing to.”

“Ask your questions. Let's see if I can assuage some of your doubts.”

"Why us? Why drag Steph and me into this?”

“Partly punishment. They don't take kindly to people trying to cheat them. And while that was mainly Grace's fault, you two are still a bit of a sore spot.”

“But why can't Grace be the prophet?”

“Well for one thing, I think people are more likely to listen to Miss Lauter than they are Miss Chasity. Just better marketing. And for another…” he smirked to himself. “I'm not sure how long little Gracie will be around for once the baby is born.”

“What…why?”

“That child has a little bit of all of them in it. Including the great devourer. Nibblenephim. Do the math.” He snapped his teeth in a mock bite. Peter felt bile rise in his throat and had to take a few minutes to push back the desire to vomit. “Now that little tidbit? That stays between us. No point in scaring the little lady.”

Peter wanted to protest but he could tell by the look in Wiley's eyes it wouldn't do any good.

“What's the difference between what they want Steph to do and what they want me to do?”

“They want Stephanie to be their prophet. They want you to be their disciple. A prophet is the mouth. A disciple is more like the hands. Or at least that's the way it is on the surface. The true difference is want. Deep down all the prophets want one thing, a thing that they crave but can never quite grasp. For some it's love. For others it's adoration. For your little Steph-A-nie it's belonging. Family. Prophets are all about temptation and desire, it draws them in and sinks hooks deep into their soul. A disciple, well that's something very special. A disciple can want, yes, but it's all secondary. They get to witness the raw power of the lords… they bask in their majesty… and crave its presence.” His voice had grown hushed as he spoke and a hand snaked up Peter's arm, brushing over his shoulder and coming to rest on the curve of his neck. “Every beat of their heart is granted to them by the lords. Every second they are not reduced to atoms is a delight and a mercy. A disciple is beyond life and death, beyond earthly desires. They are merely an extension of something greater. Stripped down to the raw clay and remade by the hands of Gods.” His hand grasped the back of Peter's neck, drawing the boy closer so their foreheads rested against one another. “You will see. You'll have everything you could desire and you'll want none of it.”

“You're insane.” Peter whispered.

The effect was immediate. The hand, once firm but gentle on the back of his neck, grasped at his flesh painfully and he was tugged backwards. With a shove, Peter found himself lying on his back on the floor with Wiley standing over him. Before he had a chance to scramble back to his feet Wiley had knelt down, resting one knee on Peter's chest.

“You really don't wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna fuck with me Petey.” He pressed down, his knee digging in and cutting off the boy's oxygen. “I was a colonel in another life”

Peter pushed weakly at the man's leg but the movement only prompted him to catch both wrists in one hand and hold them still.

“You should be grateful for this opportunity. Without it, you'd spend the rest of eternity in the bastard box enduring your worst nightmares, fears and memories over and over again. You'd go mad before the first cycle was over. Instead you could be part of something so much bigger than yourself…” Wiley moved so he was straddling Peter instead of kneeling on him. Peter sucked in a grateful desperate breath as Wiley fisted his free hand in the boy's hair, pulling up so that Peter was forced to awkwardly arch his back. “All you gotta do is open yourself up to their love…”

“Get off me!”

To his surprise, Wiley did as he asked but instead of fully releasing him, Peter found himself trapped with his back against the man's denim clad chest. One hand still grasped his hair, positioning his head on Wiley's shoulder, while the other arm was wrapped tight around his waist to keep him still.

“Do you see him?” Wiley's voice was soft and husky, his breath warm against Peter's ear.

“Do you see him?”

The room seemed to throb around him, fading into a pulsating blackness that grew with each beat of his heart.

“Do you see him?”

Peter felt like he was drifting in a cold empty seat and despite his fear of the other man, he found himself clinging to the arm at his waist. It was the only thing that felt real, that existed in the strange emptiness that was seeping in.

“Do you see him?”

In the darkness two brilliant spotlights appeared and Peter found himself under the gaze of something monstrous and ancient.

He saw.

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

Me: Wiley, behave yourself

Wiley: proceeds to punt Pete across the room and climb all over him

Consequences (pt1)

In which the Lords in Black aren't fully satisfied with Grace's sacrifice (or, the pitfalls of an abstinence only sex education)

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

She hadn't wanted to kill them, Grace thought numbly as she stared down at her dirt streaked hands, unable to shake the image of her latest victims from her mind. Yes, she believed that the behaviour she'd witnessed from the young couple, drunk and making out in the park, was dirty and perverse but she didn't want to kill them. And yet when she had gotten near, it was as though she was seized by a terrible hunger and she just couldn't stop herself.

She slipped to the ground, resting her head against the side of her bed and felt tears burning her eyes. It had been a few months since everything with Max... since she had given in to the primal temptations and sacrificed her chastity to send him to hell. She should feel... something. Relief? But her insides felt like they were rotting. She'd done so many terrible things and she didn't even have her unwavering faith to fall back on anymore, not after what she'd seen in the school gym. She didn't know if the colourful figures had been demons or if they truly were gods but it felt like jagged claws had slashed apart the fabric of her soul, leaving jagged doubts behind. Doubts and hunger.

At first she'd been able to ignore it but it had gotten stronger. It would rise in waves, crescendoing down onto her when they peaked and leaving her scrabbling for purchase as her mind crumbled.

Even the brief moments of peace she usually got between the waves had been lost to her now as she found herself battling daily with nausea, sometimes barely making it from her bed to the bathroom in time. She had tried to hide it as best she could but she knew her parents were concerned, had heard them whispering while she lingered in doorways. If it continued much longer they'd want to take her to the doctor, but she knew medicine couldn't help her. Her soul was sick, that was the cause. She would just have to pray harder. Maybe she could ask Stephie and Petey for help? Surely her friends would agree to pray with her when they saw how bad things had gotten.

Struggling to her feet, feeling her stomach twist painfully as she did so, she retrieved her phone from her bedside and sent Steph a text asking to meet up.

Her friends would help. They had to.

[roadimusprime]

Google, how do I motivate myself to go to work?

[ahsoka-in-a-hood]

I am involved in THE stupidest situation

[cursed2becringe]

OMG FINALLY SOMEONE ELSE NOTICED THIS 'CUZ I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS FOREVER!!

Also, an opportunity to rant about my headcannons? Don't mind if I do

At first Shad didn't see Gene as much other than a particularly useful (obedient, powerful and not a zombie) shadow knight. He certainly valued him a bit more than others due to his magic. But there is something about Gene that rather confused him in a way; his unquestioning loyalty.

He was incredibly easy to convince to serve the Shadow lord, quick to accept most of his new life. Shad didn't understand why exactly, most sentient knights took much work before they would eagerly join him. But Gene seemed to have a strange liking for his new lord. Perhaps the better word would be obsession, or even infatuation. This came plenty from Gene's way of coping with becoming a shadow knight. He very early on convinced himself that serving the Shadow lord would be the better thing to do than fighting or running away, which over time morphed into viewing him as an ideal of a sort, the perfect and righteous lord of the Nether. Torture on it's own was a pretty good motivator, but it also had much to do with the fact that Gene didn't have anything to fight for. His family and village saw him as a disgrace, he had no hope of returning home, and he didn't know anyone else that would take him in if he managed to escape. So as a mixture of hopelessness, compliance in result of torture and unexplored issues with being delusional he did a full 180, idealizing the Shadow lord and his purpose as a shadow knight to an extreme degree to escape both his own internal and outward physical torture.

Gene in particular being so compliant had many perks for Shad as well of course.

For many years Shad had had to deal with converting still sentient shadow knights on his own. Torture by itself often simply rules out cowards, ones that you know would run away first chance they get anyway, it takes more than that to convince someone mentally and physically stronger and therefore more useful. He could do so by a long process of brainwashing or by magically messing with their heads. Memory magic is hard, and, especially in his weakened form, Shad would waste plenty of his power on creating proper soldiers. Still, many shadow knights managed to break through his attempts and form revolts. They were all extinguished as they came but they came with casualties. That was the case until Gene showed up.

The Shadow lord discovered his abillity to alter memories. He not only had enough power to do memory magics, but he specialized in it as it was one of the only types of magic he could do. Sure he broke after merely a few days in the torture dungeon, but Shad figured he was useful enough to still keep around. He officially knighted him and immideatly utilized his power in converting other knights, new and old, and it worked wonderously. He grew a much larger, more capable and more loyal army. He kept Gene very close as to not let him do something foolish as attempting to run away. Using his magic this often drained Gene plenty, so in order to keep him running Shad would offer him special treatment like better food and plenty of time to rest. It took some time until Shad allowed Gene to leave the Nether in search of immortality in fear of losing such a useful asset. But he returned and owned himself some praise and trust from his lord. He keot rising the ranks and quickly became one of Shad's best knights.

Gene, in his mad delusion, viewed these benefits purely as displays of affection, solidifying his own beliefs in the Shadow lord's goodness and fondness of Gene, despite Shad's cruel and merciless punishments for his mistakes.

Then finally, after so many years of trial and error, Shad had a physical form again. It took many of his loyal soldiers to be able to get to this point, but none of them were as loyal as Gene, and none without brainwashing required. It made Shad, in a weird way, appreciate Gene just a little.

It was certainly difficult for Shad to adjust to having a body again after being an apparition for millenia. He had to get used to eating, sleeping and dealing with the sensation of touch. Shadow knights are incredibly durable, but they still have to feel the exhausting heat of the realm and the weight of their armour etc. Out of fear of being seen as weak he never voiced these struggles, he was the almighty Shadow lord after all. But occasionally he'd slip a little complaint to Gene. He was seemingly very understanding and caring about these little woes that he had long gotten used to, and it made the other appreciate him just a little more.

So Gene's batshit crazy fantasy of getting the lord of Hell itself to like him actually came true in a way. They definitely are not in a relationship, and even if they were there would still be a massive power dynamic and Shad still tortures Gene mercilessly for his screw ups. But, in his own way, he sort of likes him. Not to mention Gene is conventionally attractive and Shad can now get a boner. I definitely think they have something between them.

Shad and Gene had something going on in mcd s3 no one can convince me otherwisee the tension was there!

[whumpity-whumpwhump]

Failed escape attempts are great and all but you know what’s even better? Failed escape attempts that get civilians involved.

The whumpee nearly escaped and yes they will suffer for it but you know what else will happen? The whumper can kill whatever poor innocent soul was trying to help whumpee. And they can make the whumpee watch as they do it, making sure that they know that this wouldn’t have happened if not for them. That this person is only dead because the whumpee tried to escape and they tried to help them.

The whumpee then gets to spend some wonderful moments stirring in guilt and self loathing, along with anger at whumper.

Bonus points if the next time they have a chance to escape or alert someone they don’t. They stay silent and pliable as whumper guides them through a train station. They barely even need the threat of the knife in their back to comply, all too aware that whumper won’t hesitate to kill anyone who helps them. Or they go out of their way to assure the police officer that pulled them over that everything is fine, they haven’t seen anyone or anything suspicious. They’re just on a trip with their friends.

[gxlden-angels]

Throughout all of this, I never thought about the potential for my family members to also deconstruct/leave fundamentalist christianity, even if they remained a more progressive christian in the end

[severalowls]

Currently deeply enjoying The X-Com Files which is a "prequel" mod to the original xcom (the 90s one) which starts a few years earlier where you're essentially... The X-Files. You're just people in black suits showing up in pairs with a handgun and a taser to deal with alien abductees, doomsday cults and the occasional cryptid sighting.

Which are, of course, ultimately all aliens of some sort, but there's no sign of an invasion for several years at which point you'll have gradually started being taken more seriously by the UN, given funding and equipment, and have become something resembling the dedicated alien-invasion task force X-Com at the start of the vanilla game.

[harrylights]

had the weirdest but coolest dream ever that i might have to turn into an au