#Slaved punished outside

[seaweedstarshine]

RIP Krakoa 🌹 I can’t lie I’ve been kinda behind since midway through Fall of X I’m gonna catch up before my first SDCC this summer but I hear Vulcan didn’t see much action anyway. Anyway my hand slipped and I found myself looking into the eyes of my canonically psychotic son the best Summers brother who’s never done anything wrong in his entire life, (he’s done lotsa wrong things but I love him more for it)

[gch1995]

Palpatine is the pure evil “big bad” antagonist/cartoon villain of the prequels. Everyone else in the main cast sucks, in spite of their good intentions, and kind of got what was coming to them for not doing better under the pressures of systematic abuse, corrupt authority, crime, high expectations, in their insecurities, pride, fear of the unknown, and self-interest. However, it’s still tragic because they got worse than they deserved in the end, and they had so much potential to be amazing when they used their powers for good.

The prequels aren’t merely a story about Palpatine, Anakin, and the Sith ruining the lives of everyone else in the old Jedi Order and Republic they grew up in because they are the worst. If the Jedi Order and Republic were blameless victims in the prequels, then more of their members wouldn’t have felt the desire to eventually turn on them under pressure with compromised agency. If the adults involved in the old Republic government and Jedi Order had been blameless victims, then Darth Vader and the Empire couldn’t have existed in the first place. Where do people think that ends justify the means mentality came from in the first place? It certainly wasn’t something they learned from just Palpatine. It was a mentality that got reinforced in the Jedi Order and Republic many members of the Empire grew up in.

I feel like the Star Wars prequels fandom would be a lot more peaceful if people were more familiar with tragedy as a genre. It means everyone is problematic. All the characters make significant mistakes that have terrible consequences, which might have been averted had they chosen differently. Every character, every institution - they are all flawed and they're supposed to be flawed. It doesn't matter which flaws you, personally, find more or less acceptable. They all have cracks a mile wide. That's the point.

[stephobrien]

Is your pro-Palestine activism hurting innocent people? Here's how to avoid that.

Note: If you prefer plain text, you can read the plain text version here.

Over the last few days, I’ve had conversations with several Jewish people who told me how hurt and scared they are right now.

To my great regret, some of that pain came from a poorly-thought-out post of mine, which – while not ill-intentioned – WAS hurtful.

And a lot of it came from cruelty they’d experienced at the hands of people who claim to be advocating for Palestine, but are using the very real plight of innocent Palestinians to harm equally innocent Jewish people.

Y’all, we need to do better. (Yes, “we” definitely includes me; this is in no small part a “learn from my fail” post, and also a “making amends” post. Some of these are mistakes I’ve made in the past.)

So if you’re an advocate for Palestine who wants to make sure that your defense of one group of vulnerable people doesn’t harm another, here are some important things to do or keep in mind:

Ask yourself if you’re applying a standard to one group that you aren’t applying to another.

Would you want all white Americans or Canadians to be expelled from America or Canada?

Do you want all Jewish people to be expelled from Israel, as opposed to finding a way to live alongside Palestinian Arabs in peace?

If the answer to those two questions is different, ask yourself WHY.

Do you want to be held responsible for the actions of your nation’s army or government? No? Then don’t hold innocent Jewish people, or Israelis in general (whether Jewish or otherwise), responsible for the actions of the Israeli army and government.

On that subject, be wary of condemning all Israeli people for the actions of the IDF. Large-scale tactical decisions are made by the top brass. Service is compulsory, and very few can reasonably get out of service.

Blaming all Israelis for the military’s actions is like blaming all Vietnam vets for the horrors in Vietnam. They’re not calling the shots. They aren’t Nazis running concentration camps. They are carrying out military operations that SHOULD be criticized.

And do not compare them or ANY JEWISH PERSON to Nazis in general. It is Jewish cultural trauma and not outsiders’ to use against them.

Don’t infuse legitimate criticism with antisemitism.

By all means, spread the word about the crimes committed by the Israeli army and government, and the complicity of their allies. Criticize the people responsible for committing and enabling atrocities.

But if you imply that they’re committing those crimes because they’re Jewish, or because Jewish people have special privileges, then you’re straying into antisemitic territory.

Criticize the crime, not the group. If you believe that collective punishment is wrong, don’t do it yourself.

And do your best to use words that apply directly to the situation, rather than the historical terms for situations with similar features. For example, use “segregation,” “oppression,” or “subjugation,” not “Holocaust” or “Jim Crow.” These other historical events are not the cultural property of Jews OR Palestinians, but also have their own nuances and struggles and historical contexts.

Also, blaming other world events on Jewish people or making Jewish people associated with them (for instance, some people falsely blame Jewish people for the African slave trade) is a key feature of how antisemitism functions.

Please, by all means, be specific and detailed in your critiques. But keep them focused on the current political actors – not other peoples’ or nations’ political or cultural histories and traumas.

Be prepared to accept criticism.

You probably already know that society is infused with a wide array of bigotries, and that people growing up in that environment tend to absorb those beliefs without even realizing it. Antisemitism is no exception.

What that means is, there’s a very real chance that you will screw up, and get called out on it, as I so recently did.

If that happens, please be willing to learn and adapt. If you can educate yourself about the suffering and needs of Palestinians, you can do the same for Jewish people.

Understand that the people you hurt aren’t obligated to baby you. Give them room to be angry.

After I made a post that inadvertently hurt people, some were nice about it, and others weren’t. Some outright insulted my morals and intelligence.

And I had to accept that I’d earned that from them.

I’d hurt them, and they weren’t obligated to be more careful with my feelings than I had been with theirs.

They weren’t obligated to forgive me, trust me, or stop being mad at me right away.

I’ll admit, there were moments when I got defensive. I shouldn’t have. And I encourage you to try not to, if you screw up and hurt people.

I know that’s hard, but it’s important. Getting defensive only tells people you care more about doubling down on your mistake than you do about healing the hurt it caused.

Instead, acknowledge that they have a right to be angry, apologize for the way you hurt them, and try to make amends, while understanding that they don’t owe you trust or forgiveness.

Be aware that some antisemites are using legitimate complaints to “Trojan horse” antisemitism into leftist spaces.

This is a really easy stumbling block to trip over, because most people probably don’t look at every post a creator makes before sharing the one they’re looking at right now.

I recently shared a video that called out some of the Likud and IDF’s atrocities and hypocrisy, and that also noted that many Jewish people are wonderful members of their communities.

I was later informed that, while that video in particular seemed reasonable, the creator behind it is frequently antisemitic.

I deleted the post, and blocked the creator. I encourage you to do the same if it’s brought to your attention that you’ve been ‘Trojan horse’d.

EDIT: Important note about antisemitism in leftist spaces:

While it's true that some blatant antisemites are using seemingly reasonable posts to get their foot in the door of leftist spaces, it's also true that a lot of antisemitism already exists inside those spaces.

This antisemitism is often dressed up in progressive-sounding language, but nonetheless singles Jewish people and places out in ways that aren't applied equally to other groups, or that label Jewish people in ways that portray them as acceptable targets.

If you want to see some specific examples, so you can have a better idea of what to keep an eye out for, I suggest reading this excellent reblog of this post.

Fact-check your doubts about antisemitism.

Depending on which parts of the internet you look at, you’ve probably seen people accused of antisemitism because they complained about the Likud and/or IDF’s actions. So you might be primed to be wary, or feel unsure of how to tell what counts as real antisemitism.

But that doesn’t mean antisemitism isn’t a very real, widespread, and harmful problem. And it doesn’t mean many or even most Jewish people are lying to you or being overly sensitive.

So if someone says something is antisemitic, and you aren’t sure, I encourage you to:

A. Look up the action or thing in question, including its history. Is there an antisemitic history or connotation you aren’t aware of? For best results, include “antisemitic” in your search query, in quotes.

B. Understand that some things, while not inherently antisemitic, have been used by antisemites often enough that Jewish people are understandably wary of them. Schrodinger’s antisemitism, if you will.

C. Ask Jewish people WHO HAVE OFFERED TO HELP EDUCATE YOU. Emphasis on WHO HAVE OFFERED. Random Jewish people aren’t obligated to give you their time and emotional energy, or to educate you – especially on subjects that are scary or painful for them.

@edenfenixblogs has kindly offered her inbox to those who are genuinely trying to learn and do better, and I’ve found her to be very kind, patient, reasonable, and fair-minded.

Understand that this is URGENTLY NEEDED.

In one of my conversations with a Jewish person who’d called me out, they said this was the most productive conversation they’d had with a person with a Palestinian flag in their profile.

THIS IS NOT OKAY.

I didn’t do anything special. All I did was listen, apologize for my mistakes, and learn.

Yes, it feels good to be acknowledged. But I feel like I’ve been praised for peeing IN the toilet, instead of beside it.

Apologizing, learning, and making amends after you hurt people shouldn’t be “the most reasonable thing I’ve heard from a person with a Palestinian flag pfp.”

It should be BASIC DECENCY.

And the fact that it’s apparently so uncommon should tell you how much unnecessary stress and fear Jewish people have been living with because of people who consider themselves defenders of human rights.

By all means, be angry at the Likud, the IDF, and the politicians, reporters, and specific media outlets who choose to enable and cover up for them.

But direct that anger toward the people who deserve it and are in a position to do something about it, not random people who simply happen to be Jewish, or who don’t want millions of people to be turned into refugees when less violent methods of achieving freedom and rights for Palestinians are available.

Stop peeing beside the toilet, people.

[konigsblog]

Step father Simon fucking his step daughter when her mom’s out of town for the week, she planned on having party over and he caught her?:)

tw/cw; age difference, age gap (reader's age is unspecified, but i'd say in her 20s) non-con, semi-exhibition, stepcest. dead dove: do not eat. MDNI 18+

you're usually obedient and respectful around your parents, especially simon, your stepfather. he's oddly strict about you and his rules are almost possessive and controlling, due to you living under his roof. his beliefs that you should stay pure seem almost toxic. perhaps he's old-fashioned, whatever, you're not bothered by his opinions.

up until you were caught, at least.

you had planned a college party while they were supposed to be out of town. your mother had a work trip and you didn't think about where your stepfather would be, assuming he was alongside your mother. although he caught you, dragging you into the bathroom for a lesson about obedience.

you're fucked in front if a mirror while everyone else is outside, making a mess of the house and drinking whatever they can find. you have tears running your stupid face and simon's harsh words whispered into your ear leave your stomach churning, feeling disgusted with each thrust causing his tip to rub against your womb slowly and softly. your folds are puffy and glossy, soaking his dick with your arousal, your cries and pleas for gentleness after your misbehaviour laughable as he mocks you.

he's brutal, showing no forgiveness for the audacity you had. of course, once everyone is gone, you're reduced to his little cock slave for a couple, sucking him off while he punishes you for being naughty and ridiculous.

[fregget-frou]

Eeg 4 pages in less than an hour hand hurty

I sure do love the final weeks of the semester ohGOD I hate this shut

[written-in-flowers]

His Obsession: Demon!Mingi x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Incubi!Mingi x Fem!reader | side pairings: demonline x fem, yunho x mingi

Word count: 17k

Genre: smut, fluff, and slight angst MINORS DNI

Summary: A startling realization has YN questioning everything she knew about herself. With help from Mingi and the mysterious "Dennis", she learns quickly that she's more than a mere slave.

Tags: master/slave dynamic, enslavement, bondage, poly relationship (mmmf), animal death (a mouse), monster fucking, tentacle sex, demon fucking, bisexual sex, foursome (m/m/m/f), threesome (m/f/m?), science experiments mentioned/implied, suspension, tit fucking, dirty talk, name calling, cream pie, anal sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mentions of violence/torture, very slight feederism, voyeurism, auralism (slight), double penetration, rough oral sex, oral sex.

Previously on Pretty Pet > Next

***

Must he be tortured this way? Mingi thought he might lose his mind at this rate. Standing outside Seonghwa’s bedroom, he overheard everything. From the “fight” with Yeosang to you accepting the loser's punishment, Mingi stood by as always and listened. He considered sneaking inside to watch from the shadows, but knew better. Part of being a bodyguard is remaining at his post unless called elsewhere. The young lords hired him for a reason; he won't give them an excuse to fire him. 

Instead, Mingi stood by the door and listened. He heard your loud moans and groans. The images your sounds created tortured him. He spent his entire day around you whether you knew it or not. Mingi stood watch as Jongho helped you bathe. He stayed outside the rooms you occupied. On the few times you went into the city, he walked right behind you. That was his place: five paces behind you. This meant he was subjected to your body. Your soft floral scent wafted over to him each time you moved; his eyes constantly landed on your ass, taking in the shape and curve of it from afar. The night he watched Hongjoong tie you up was the best thing he'd ever seen. Mingi couldn’t count how many times he stayed up late thinking of his dick in your throat. 

Mingi turned his head when the door latch clicked. Yeosang walked out of the room, dazed and exhausted from his time with you. He felt compelled to ask his cousin how things went. He died to know the details. Yet, all he said was:

“Rough fight?”

“Brutal, but I won.”

“As expected.”

“It got me the weekend off too.”

“Nice and well deserved.”

Yeosang bid him good night and walked towards the stairs. Mingi pictured himself in Yeosang’s position, floaty and giddy from the entanglement. You always sound so good. He yet to find a slum girl who fucks half as good as you. The ones he came across only did it because he paid them well. You sincerely enjoyed it and that alone aroused him. 

“Are they finished yet?” 

Yunho came around the corner with a tray of tea and biscuits. No doubt San or Seonghwa called for food to feed their pet. Yunho, handsome and tall, was the most devoted out of all the servants. He truly did not let his emotions get the better of him or let it interrupt his work. Though Mingi noticed that you tempted even the strongest of the staff. Cold serums and syrups became regular parts of his meals since you arrived. 

“I think so,” Mingi answered. “You're free to go in and attend to them.”

Yunho glanced down to his crotch to see the bump. Mingi’s cheeks flushed a light pink at the realization. He covered them with folded hands, acting natural and casual, but Yunho already saw. He stepped to him, eyes downcasted at the bulge, and he smirked. 

“Again, Mingi?’

“I can't help it,” he defended. “She's…”

“I know. She sounds so pretty,” he said. He then caressed the bulge with one hand, and Mingi crumbled. “She's not the only one. How about once they're asleep, you come to my room and we take care of our problems together?”

“Oh? You're a bit compromised, Mr. Jeong?” Mingi reached out for his groin, already feeling the length hidden in his pants. “I thought the house manager controlled his urges.”

“I can hold them off,” he said in a low voice, tracing the seam of Mingi’s pants. “Unlike some demons I know…”

“You'd get hardons too if you heard her getting fucked multiple times a day.”

“I bet I would. Too bad she's a slave,” he said, “I don't think I'd be able to control myself otherwise.”

“Then let's hope they throw her in the greenhouse. I don't mind getting a bit dirty.”

“I know you don't.”

Yunho grazed his lips over Mingi’s, then stepped away to open the door. The tightness Yunho created swelled inside his boxers. An image of having both you and Yunho made him internally whimper. He'd do anything to taste you again. He couldn't wait for tomorrow at least. It'd be a Hongjoong day, and the middle brother never refused a third partner. 

But Yunho’s body is equally delightful. 

****

His lips always felt so good on your skin. His plush mouth started at your shoulder before making its way to the curve of your neck. His thin arms always encompass you entirely to keep you close as he kisses you. You could hear him faintly inhale your scent, taking in your aroma amongst the mess around you. He didn't care if his brothers happened to be right beside you. To Hongjoong, for those few minutes of daybreak, in the silence of the bedchamber, you are his and only his. 

“Morning,” he said sleepily in your ear, kissing you just underneath the lobe. It'd become his favorite spot to kiss. 

“Morning,” you croaked, your voice hoarse and body aching. 

“Sleep well?”

“Like a baby.”

You slid from San’s arms and into Hongjoong’s completely. His smooth creamy skin glowed in the rays of light breaking through the curtains. Out of all the brothers, Hongjoong continued to be the enigma. Spending time with the brothers one at a time gave you an idea of their expectations. San expected hot meals and a clean apartment. Seonghwa liked intelligent conversation and listening to you play the piano. Hongjoong left you guessing and wondering. His schedule remained ambiguous, his preferences and kinks changed daily, and he never did the same thing twice. At times, he acted like a child, but you learned he mostly did it to annoy Seonghwa. He kept you on your toes, and you liked that. You snuggled against his chest when he pulled you in, and planted a soft kiss on his lips. Laying in Seonghwa’s bed, underneath the warm blankets, you could sleep in his arms forever. 

“Do you still feel any pain?” he asked, his hand gently rubbing your back. 

“Nothing out of the usual,” you said, shutting your eyes and washing yourself in his touch. “Your hands are rough,” you pointed out suddenly. 

“Do you not like that?”

“I do,” you assured him. The hand on your back slid down to your ass, tenderly cupping before coming upwards again. You put your hand on his chest, idly swirling patterns into the soft flesh. “It feels good on my skin.”

“I work with my hands often,” he told you, brushing hair from your face. “It comes from handling weapons and other things all day.”

You refused to learn what ‘other things’ are. “Gloves are a thing, you know.”

“I use them,” he said with a soft laugh, “But I sometimes like using my tools with bare hands. Something about breaking someone with nothing between me and them but my knives just…” you felt him shudder against you, “It gives a rush. It is the only time I feel anything, to be truthful.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve done every drug and drank every drink known to man,” he began, fingers gently tracing your spine. “I have tried every stimulant possible. Nothing has yet to beat torturing the people who end up in my chair. There’s a specific type of high you get when you’re slicing someone apart, and there’s nothing they can do but scream.” 

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Because you’ve seen my dungeon,” he replied in a soft laugh. 

“I’ve also been on the receiving end of your whip. Many times, I might add.”

“I’ve never done it to an extent you don’t like,” he added. 

“And I imagine your victims don’t get that luxury.”

“They were terrible people in life, and it’s what they deserve now. I mean,” he scoffed, “You’re telling me that I should’ve let Hitler live out his afterlife in peace?”

“Hitler?!” your eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all,” he shook his head. “I’m not killing single moms that I stalked in the park or beating up old people. The people who end up in the lower dungeons deserve to be there. It makes what I do a million times more enjoyable than it already is.” 

“Still, it’s…”

“Gruesome? Gory? Psychopathic?”

“Sociopathic. You know what you’re doing is wrong.”

“Eh, is it, though? I’m only doing to them what they did to people in life,” he defended. 

“It really is a fine line.”

“Very fine.” He then gave you a sly smirk, “Just like you.”

You giggled, letting him lean in for another kiss. Tenderness laid in every caress of his lips on yours. A hand squeezed your breast, a rough thumb passing over your nipple softly. He drew it out of you so easily. Each of them coaxed your need from you like a milkshake through a straw. You loved and hated it. Rolling onto his back, Hongjoong swung your thigh over his groin and let you straddle him. He’d remained naked throughout the night, which brought on more torture for you. Hands falling to your thighs, he gently squeezed them and grinded into you. You rested your arms on either side of his head, somewhat trapping him underneath you as you kissed. 

“Grind into me,” he said in a breathy moan, encouraging you with a push of his own. “I want you to get wet for me again.” 

The both of you laughed softly and you did as asked. You really took in the length and width of him underneath you. Some people noted that your ability to handle a demon’s cock was impressive. Your body must be accustomed to them, you supposed. You certainly did not complain. His mouth finding your nipple, he sucked firmly while you rolled your hips over his hardening tip. This added a sprinkle of pleasure to top what was already built within you. Soon, needy whimpers and low grunts became muffled by your kisses. 

Excitement boiled in your stomach when he aligned himself with your entrance. You didn’t hesitate to slide down to the very hilt. Your body froze with the fullness he brought, only able to move because of your need for him took over. Hongjoong laid underneath you, hands on your thighs as he watched you rock your hips back and forth. Dark eyes rolled back, his head tilting into the pillow as your walls snuggly gripped him. When you started riding him up and down, you noticed another hand reach up to tease your nipple. 

“Now this,” San said, voice hoarse from sleep, “I love waking up every morning.”

“I couldn’t help it,” Hongjoong groaned, teasing the other nipple. “She makes me hard without even trying all that much.”

“You started it,” you smiled, taking a particularly slow and shallow bounce. Leaning over him, you brought him in for another kiss, “I was fine laying here and talking until Yeosang came.”

“Yeosang won’t be taking you for today.” Seonghwa wrapped himself around San from behind, and you couldn’t help noticing the hand hidden under the sheet. “I gave him the weekend off. Jongho will be taking care of you for a while.”

“Though, I doubt you’ll be complaining, huh?” Hongjoong, taking both your hands, started pushing up into you. You freely let out your moans, his tip pressing into the sensitive core. “Or did you like hate fucking him?”

“I lo-loved it,” you admitted. “I loved it so much.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” said San, eyes dropping as Seonghwa’s hand worked him slowly. He reached down to your clit, and you whimpered when his thumb started teasing it. “I’d love to man handle you that way. If you can't fight off skinny little Yeosang, you’ll definitely have trouble with me.”

“I think I’d lose on purpose.” 

Seeing you eyeing both him and San, Seonghwa removed the covers for you to see them pressed together. His narrow hips snapped up into San’s pert, firm ass, as he jerked him with the other hand. Hardly anything turned you on as much as watching your masters with one another. Something about their hard bodies pushed together, and strong hands roaming each other aroused you. San whimpered meekly when Seonghwa languidly stroked him in time with his thrusts. Nothing seemed off limits with your masters. Incubi, you’d learned, engaged in sexual acts regardless of gender or sex. It appeared to energize and fuel them rather than slow them down. 

Soon, Hongjoong and Seonghwa had you and San on your backs and knees in the air. Your hand snaked its way to San’s raging hardon, and he did the same to you. The slow build up quickened into a dire need that all four of you shared. In that moment, in the privacy of Seonghwa’s curtained bed, it was only you and them. Nothing could penetrate through the fine velvet curtains and interrupt you. With San’s fingers teasing your clit, his cock throbbing in your hand, Hongjoong’s dick filling you and Seonghwa pounding away at San, sent you over the edge sooner than you’d liked. But, this didn’t upset your masters at all. In a few quick pushes, Hongjoong spilled his thick hot seed inside you. This heightened your climax, and you pushed down to meet him. 

“You really do love being cummed in, huh?” he teased, holding you close and keeping himself deep inside you. 

“Yes,” you breathed, the last few drops of arousal disappearing in your orgasm. 

“Fuck, thaT’s so hot.”

You both gave breathy laughs before kissing. Next to you, San’s back arched as Seonghwa prodded his prostate dead center. You continued stroking him until  the tiniest of drops reached up to his chest. His stomach tensed and covered in white streaks, he never looked better. The four of you laid in silence, your collective breathing being the only sound in the room. Any minute, you expected the curtains to open and shatter the peaceful bliss floating around. You didn't want to leave the bed, not when you had your masters with you. Their arms kept you safe even if sticky and sweaty. But, Hongjoong left you first. 

“I'm starving,” he said, kissing you. “I'll see you at breakfast.”

You whined when he rolled away and left the bed. “I'm going to wash up,” San told you, “I'll be in the dining room later. You get some more sleep, if you want.”

It left you and Seonghwa alone. Even in your sleepy haze, you sensed the tension building. Not the passionate, sexual urge that usually boiled over between you, but something much more serious. Nervousness fumbled your insides, and you didn't know how to diffuse it. 

“YN,” Seonghwa said softly. Not your pet name. He said your true name; you thought you imagined it at first. When you didn't respond, he turned his head, “YN.”

“Master?”

“I am giving you one chance and only one,” he said. All tenderness from before left his voice and you wondered what you'd done. “I want an honest answer. If you answer honestly, I won't be upset with you.”

“Yes, Master?” 

“Are you a cambion?”

The question made you pause. “Why would you think that?”

“Answer my question.”

“I'm…I'm not, obviously. I'm human. I've always been human. I would know if I wasn’t, wouldn't I?”

Seonghwa stared at you intently. Even in the dimness of the curtained bed, you saw the crimson rimming his eyes. 

“I'd have eyes like yours, wouldn't I?” you continued, “I'd have horns and a tail-”

“-Not necessarily,” he said. “You can easily take more after your human parent than your demon one.”

“Master,” a trickle of fear started down your throat to your lungs, “I'm not. I can't be. If I was, they would have known when I came here.” 

“If your demon parent didn’t register you, then no, they wouldn’t. What were your parents’ names?”

“Jimmy and Andi.”

“What was Andi short for?”

“Andromeda,” you answered. “It's actually my middle name in my previous life. Relatives liked calling her ‘Big Andi’, and me ‘Little Andi’. They still did it even when I grew up-” you stopped when you saw his eyes widen. “What…Master?”

“Andromeda? Are you sure?” 

“Yes.”

He sprung out of the bed, wrapping himself in his satin bathrobe. You saw a realization come to him, and right when you sat up, he looked to the door. 

“Mingi!” 

Your bodyguard came from out of the shadows, giving a head nod. “Master Seonghwa?”

“Make sure Kitten gets her bath and breakfast,” he said distractedly, tying his robe. You could tell his mind ran ahead of his body. “Tell Yunho I'll be having my breakfast in the library today.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Master,” you crawled to the foot of the bed, “What's going on?”

He left you confused on the bed. You stared at the doorway in hopes he may return and explain himself. Yet, he never did. Why did your mother's name bother him? Why did he think you weren't human? You are. You can't be anything else. Rufus tried passing you off as a demon before, and they'd seen right through that. Everything he listed could be coincidence. The thought stayed with you as you slipped off the bed. Mingi made to grab your chemise for you, but you walked past him to the bathroom. As you moved around preparing your own bath, you wondered what brought up the question. You thought back to last night. Nothing appeared too out of the ordinary other than you wrestling with Yeosang, a demon. He must be mistaken, you realized sliding into the tub. 

“Here.”

Mingi came up beside the tub with a small glass bottle. You recognized the bubble bath mixture Jongho usually put in the water. Looking at the water, you realized you'd forgotten to put it in. 

“Oh, thanks,” you said, watching him pour a few drops into the water. Long fingers moved through the water to create small trails of bubbles for you. 

“What's going on?” he asked, shaking water off his hand. “He had that determined look in his eyes.”

“He thinks I'm a cambion.”

Mingi paused, as bewildered as you felt. “He's not serious?” he finally said. 

“He is,” you replied. You started cleaning yourself off, feeling the grime of last night coming off with each stroke. “He freaked when I told him my parents’ names. I don’t see the big deal. It's not like he'll find anything. I'm not a half-demon. If I was, I wouldn't be a slave. I wouldn’t have gone into a circle. I'd be living here like a normal demon, not like this.”

“You must have done something that caught his attention,” he said, taking a seat on the stool beside you. “Like, the door. Whoever did that nearly broke it off the hinges.”

“It was Yeosang,” you told him. “He's the demon, not me. He obviously got pissed at me, and blew them open without meaning to.”

“Yeosang might be a grandson of Satan, but he's an expert at controlling his emotions,” Mingi said. “Yesterday was one of the few times he’d broken it. When I saw you all torn up and limping, I thought he'd hurt you, but you said you'd both fucked instead. Yeosang can usually hold himself back; he only indulges when permitted, but there he was, forcing you into submission and making you cum like crazy.” He hesitated, watching you clean up, then he said, “I can see why Master Seonghwa might think you're not human.”

“What?”

“You…Most humans, normal ones, can't handle demon dick like you do. I know it's a weak excuse, but it's a start.”

“I've been a pleasure slave for a long time. My body is used to it.”

“Humans don't get used to it. You get trains run through you, and all you get is a bit of soreness the next morning. Come to think of it…” He let his fingers aimlessly move though the water. “Master Hongjoong’s whip doesn't leave lasting marks on you.”

“I heal quickly.”

“Your body isn't supposed to heal quickly here. Any injury you get is supposed to last much longer, getting infected or possibly worse instead of better. It's part of anybody’s punishment.”

“Then…” you found it hard to counter his point. “Then, I don't know.”

“And not to mention, if you were human, I wouldn't want to fuck your brains out every time I'm around you.” He saw you laugh at his lewd confession, and he grinned, “I mean it. There’s something that…” he let out a deep breath, eyes free to scan your naked chest, “Makes it hard to resist you.”

“It’s not me. It’s your preference for humans over other demons. I don’t get why you like us anyways,” you said. “Humans aren’t as beautiful or sexual as succubi or incubi. We’re not, you know, sex personified.”

“They might not be, but you are,” he replied. “The humans that have come through here aren’t able to handle living here. Children born from Prince Asmodeus have incredibly high sex drives,” he laughed softly, “They can fuck multiple times a day and feel nothing. You might get a bit weary, but that must be the human in you. I’ve heard you, YN,” he let his fingers linger over towards you, “You love dick…” you gasped when his fingers grazed up your collarbone to your neck. “You seek it out sometimes.”

“I do not,” you laughed, letting him bring you closer by the back of your neck. “It seeks me out.”

“But you take it,” he said, voice low between you. His eyes fell down to your lips, a longing filling his eyes, “Hard and long and as many times as you could get. You have one orgasm, and you want more.”

“Orgasms are great,” you said simply. “They’re like cookies. You eat one, and you want a second.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Giving him a smirk, you stood up from the water. Your body soaking wet, you let Mingi take a good look at you before stepping out of the tub. “Do you mind getting me a towel? I always forget to keep it near me.”

Mingi went to the shelves of towels and toiletries, and brought you a large fluffy towel. Rather than hand it to you, he wrapped you in it snugly. You let him dry you himself, enjoying his hands on your body. The arousal he stirred became nearly intoxicating. It wasn’t your fault you lived in a house full of horny incubi. If they didn’t want to sleep with you, they wouldn’t. If you didn’t want it, you’d push them away when they tried. Being with one of the servants or one of your masters was  a regular part of your routine. It became your favorite part of the day. You knew you should have a little bit of self-control, but that didn’t exist here. Not when Mingi slowly moved down your body, thorough with his drying. Biting the inside of your lip, you held back a whimper when he brushed lightly over your sex. 

Alright, you loved sex, so what? That didn’t make you a cambion. Loads of people had copious amounts of sex every day. You knew you’d done it plenty in your previous life and in your new afterlife. You simply had more stamina and energy. It didn’t mean anything. 

Mingi delicately moved the towel down your thighs to your legs and feet. He didn’t spend much time there, since he easily came back up. Your pussy clenched when his thumbs pressed against your inner thighs, gently pushing them apart. You reached down to your sex, and rubbed it in circles inches from his face. Mingi’s mouth hung open when two fingers pushed your lips apart to reveal your hard clit. 

“See?” he said, looking up at you, “A regular human wouldn’t be so eager to fuck again.”

“You started it,” you accused, wetting two fingers with your mouth and returning to your touching. 

“And you have to finish it, right?”

“Unless you’d rather I didn’t?” you stopped touching yourself, despite your body’s protest. “I can go about my day just as easily,” you picked up a bathrobe hanging by the door, “Without a single care.”

“Tease,” he hissed, eyes focused on your body. 

You laughed at his disappointment, and walked out of the bathroom. Hongjoong didn’t like you dressed, so you walked right to his personal dining room down the hall in his own quarters. He sat on a high backed chair at the head of the table. He looked up from his plate when you approached. Without a word, you untied your robe and hung it by the door. Hongjoong’s eyes scanned over your body walking over to him. Before you could reach your seat, Hongjoong pulled you onto his lap and wrapped an arm around you. 

“You're sitting here,” he declared, snapping his fingers for a maid. “I have great plans for us today.”

“Such as?”

The maid placed a rice bowl with an egg and sliced beef on top. Hongjoong mixed it with a pair of chopsticks, then held it to your mouth. You ate the mixture, enjoying something more filling than the light meals Seonghwa and San serve. Hongjoong watched you eat, eyeing your mouth and seeing you swallow. Everything. Anything. Despite what he told you, there appeared to be very few limits to your master's kinks. He fed you again, and you ate normally rather than put a seductive spin on it. 

“Firstly, I'd like to take you to work with me,” he began. He poured you coffee, adding your preferred cream and sugar, “I think it'd be good for you to see where I work. You'll get a better sense of what I do, and its importance.”

“Do I have to? I'd rather keep my food in my stomach today.”

He laughed, dabbing your mouth, “Yes, sweetheart. I feel I hardly spend any time with you because I'm always working. I don't want you to think I'm avoiding you.”

“I don't think so. I know you're busy.” 

“But I still want to be with you,” he said. He held your coffee cup as you drank, “And then I thought we would go into the city together. The nicer part, not the slum areas, of course.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It is. I told Seonghwa you need to stretch your legs outside the house. You should see the world outside the little errands San has you do. There's so much more out there.” He fed you another mouthful of rice, and watched you eat. Unlike others, even when aroused, Hongjoong kept himself together. “Besides, I want to fuck you in other places too.” 

You kissed the tip of his nose, “Of course, you do.”

He laughed, “I've told you how irresistible you are. It's pure torture. You're the slave, but here I am completely enthralled by you.” He kissed along your jawline, “It's vastly unfair. I want my money back.”

“You didn't pay for me,” you laughed. 

“Then I want a replacement,” he joked, kissing down your neck. “How am I supposed to focus on my work when I have you in the back of my mind, hm?”

“Prioritize?”

The two of you laughed before kissing again. He gave an audible sniff that curved a smile on his face. “You're wet,” he said, hunger lacing into his voice. “I can smell it. Who?”

“Mingi.”

“What did you two do?”

“Nothing. I may have teased him a bit.”

“You're so mean,” he chuckled, kissing you again. “Maybe I should leave you naked in a room with him? Let him take out that frustration you're always leaving him with.”

“As long as you watch…”

He breathed deeply before bringing you in for a kiss. He'd just snaked his tongue into your mouth when the doors opened. 

Seonghwa marched into the dining room with purpose. Fear jumped into your throat at the sight of his eyes trained on you. He still wore his satin robe from the bedroom, his hair messily pushed back from his face and you're sure he hadn't bathed yet either. You gasped when you saw a knife and a small mouse in his hands. You heard its hysterical squeaking, wriggling in Seonghwa’s fist trying to escape. 

“Morning to you too, Brother,” Hongjoong drawled. “Please, join us…” 

“Give me your hand,” he said to you, roughly taking your wrist. 

“Master!”

“Hwa! What the hell are you-Hwa!”

You yelped in pain as the blade slipped down the pad of your thumb. Seonghwa squeezed it until thick droplets of blood started spilling. He brought the mouse up to your thumb, and you saw the pure white coat stained with red. The creature wriggling in his hand, Seonghwa placed it on the table. Your stomach turned seeing the suffering animal. Reaching forward for water, you moved to relieve and clean the animal before Seonghwa snatched the glass from you. Manic squeaks and squeals slowly faded, its tiny limbs eventually coming still as the mouse fell limp. A few final breaths became very still in seconds. 

“Oh no,” you frowned, allowed to draw closer. “Why would you do that?” you snapped at Seonghwa, forgetting yourself. “He was an innocent little mouse-”

“-He did exactly what I expected. He drank your blood, YN,” he cut you off. “He drank your blood and died.”

“What? That's…” 

But he was right. Looking down at the table, your blood still stained its mouth. You never heard of mice dying from drinking blood. Your mind tried pulling an explanation to counter Seonghwa's theory but nothing came. The mouse sat dead next to your breakfast, eyes still open and mouth gaped. You rubbed the dried blood between your thumb and forefinger in thought. Something inside you refused to believe it. Seonghwa and Hongjoong must be playing some sort of trick on you. 

“Um, okay, wow,” said Hongjoong uncomfortably. “That's interesting. Care to explain what this is all about, Seonghwa?”

“Andromeda.”

“What about her?”

“YN is her daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. Pet is a cambion, sure,” Hongjoong laughed in disbelief. 

“She is.” 

He withdrew a piece of paper from his robe pocket and placed it in front of you. By the frailty and faded ink, it came from one of his older books. Your mouth dropped when you saw the portrait of a young woman wearing the medieval garb of a lady. Her face so similar to yours, she kept her hair underneath a cloth held with a golden circlet. Mama. It reminded you of that one Halloween party from your childhood. You'd dressed as a fairytale princess, and you requested your mother be a queen. She'd worn something similar then too. Your head started shaking. Underneath it, Seonghwa had written over the name. 

“Andromeda, daughter of Princess Lilith, botanical sorceress, Lady of Eden, 1st generation.” 

Hongjoong said what you'd been thinking. “Andromeda? Our half-cousin Andromeda?” he scoffed. “No way.”

“Nobody knows what Andromeda got up to when she left. She didn't contact anyone down here,” he said. “She very easily could have married a human and had a child with them.”

“Then why didn't she register her?”

“She might not have wanted Lilith to know about her,” he replied. He turned to you, “Your mother was a demon. She was a half cousin through Lilith, our aunt. Her blood was poisonous; so poisonous it killed people in seconds. You can do that too.”

“No, I can't.”

“Then explain what just happened,” he challenged, nodding to the dead mouse. “Did the mouse eat some bad cheese? Maybe it passed out due to shock? Got sleepy? YN, so many things are strange about you. Other people around here might not have noticed, but I am starting to.”

“I'm human. I have to be,” you disagreed again. “I can't be anything else. If my mother was a demon, she wouldn't have let my dad beat her. She'd fight back. She could've killed him. My mom…” you looked down at the picture, “She was an angel. I was the bad one. Sh-She liked baking cookies and knitting. She read me bedtime stories, looked after me when I was sick, made me lunch, watched movies with me and took me everywhere with her. My mama wasn't a demon. Demons are cruel and mean. My mama was a sweetheart, the nicest woman you'd ever meet. If she were a demon, she wouldn't have…” 

Your throat closed up and you stopped speaking. You tried finding the lie in your memories. You might have missed it in a passing moment; she may have tried telling you and you ignored her. Mama never kept secrets from you. You held her photo in your hands. Her face bloomed in the forefront of your mind. Not the face of a demon, but of an angel. You pictured that face with a busted lip, or a black eye, sitting by your bed to check your temperature. You saw her in the backyard garden, gently touching the flowers as they bloomed. She’d admire them on her fingertips. You remembered one daisy blooming right in her palm. 

“She was,” said Seonghwa, breaking into your thoughts. “There are too many similarities to ignore.”

Hongjoong touched your braid, letting it wrap around one of his fingers. “I’ve never fucked a second-cousin before…” he said lustfully, “Sounds hot.”

“Hongjoong, please,” Seonghwa said sharply. “Kitten, there is one more thing I’d like to test.”

“Because using my blood to kill a little mouse isn’t good enough?”

“A real scientist doesn’t base their hypothesis on a single test,” he said. He stood up straight and said, “I want to take you to the greenhouse.” 

“What? No!” Hongjoong protested, “The greenhouse is for the other servants and slaves, not Pet.”

“Dennis is the only thing that can prove the other part of my theory.”

“No,” Hongjoong said more strongly. “Dennis will devour her.”

“No, he won’t. She has demon blood. She has Andromeda’s blood in her veins. If anything, he’ll love her.” 

“Seonghwa, no,” he shook his head. “It's my day with her and we already have plans.”

“Your plans will have to wait. This is important.”

“And who exactly are you to be ordering her around on my day?” 

“The eldest son of Prince Asmodeus, The Duke of Lust, a Lord of Depravity and Master of this house,” he retorted firmly, anger flaring in his eyes. “You can skip work and go with her if you want. You can be the heroic knight to her damsel in distress.” Seonghwa looked down at you, cupping your chin gently, “This is really important. If you’re an unregistered cambion, we need to fix it before anyone else finds out.”

“Why does that matter?”

“It matters because it means you’re not a slave.”

The words took you by surprise. “But, I’ve seen cambion slaves before?”

“They’re there by choice or circumstance,” he shrugged. “Cambions live freely here, and can live well depending on how high they are in the food chain. If someone found out you lived here, we'd all be in serious trouble.”

“Pfft, what kind of trouble? You guys are nobility. It's not like you'd get thrown into prison or anything.”

“We would,” said Hongjoong, serious as he gazed at Seonghwa. “Having an unregistered cambion in your house is almost like having kidnapped someone. Since we stole you rather than paid for you, they'll think we kidnapped you.”

“Obviously with a little look in my head, they'll see that's not true.”

“They won't care. San…” he sighed defeatedly, rubbing a temple. “He shouldn't have killed him.”

“Is murder illegal around here?”

“If it's demon on demon crime, yes,” he said. “Just because we're in Hell doesn't mean there aren't rules or laws in place. How else would our society keep going without it?”

“A lot of things would come out if the wrong person found out about you,” Seonghwa said. “I have to fix this. If I get down to the registration office now, I can head this off.”

“They'll ask about her.”

“Jackson is there,” he said. “He's head of the registration department. He'll help me out with a bit of money.” He quickly pecked your lips. “I'll see you tonight, Kitten.”

“This greenhouse sounds pretty unsafe,” you said anxiously. 

“Nonsense. You’ll have me, Hongjoong and Mingi with you.”

“No, you’re not going to inject yourself into my day with Pet,” Hongjoong said firmly, putting his arms around you. “You go sit in someone’s head and learn all the terrible things they’ve done. Pet and I will be going to the dungeons like I’ve planned.”

“Hongjoong-”

“-You can do your little experiment on your own day with her. I honestly do not care either way if she is a cambion or not. She’s still going to be my sweet pet,” he said, taking a drink of wine. “It only seems to matter to you, so do it on your own time.”

“As the eldest-”

“-Take your age and shove it up your ass, Hwa.”

“Don’t make me drill a hole in your head. We’d hate for you to lose any brain cells still left to you-”

“-Try it then, pretty boy-”

“-Hey, have you guys seen the mouse I had in this trap?” San came through the door holding a small metal box. Too distracted by trying to peek inside, he didn’t notice his brothers glaring at one another. “I was going to give it to the hellcat that keeps sniffing around the scullery door.” He looked up and saw you first. He gave a soft smile, “Well, don’t you look pretty like that? Maybe we should keep you naked all the time.” Then he saw the mouse next to your plate and frowned, “Aw, man. Who killed it?”

“YN did, technically,” said Seonghwa, still staring at Hongjoong. “She has poisonous blood.”

San let out a soft laugh, “Ridiculous. If that were true, we’d all be dead by now.”

“We never drank enough. This mouse, however, drank plenty.”

San came over to poke the dead animal. “I guess that hellcat will have to eat scraps again.” He looked at Seonghwa again, then at Hongjoong, “Have you two been arguing again?”

“Seonghwa wants YN to go to the greenhouse and see if Dennis will eat her.”

“What?” San’s eyes opened wide, “Seonghwa, we can’t do that. She’s a human. Dennis will devour her.”

“He won’t,” Seonghwa said confidently. “If she’s anything like her mother, and if this mouse isn’t already an indication, Dennis won’t do anything to seriously harm her.”

“Okay, yes, the mouse thing is weird,” San agreed, “But taking her there? Damnit, Seonghwa, even I don’t want to go there and I’m the best with swords.”

“And I prefer to keep my head in tact, thank you very much,” added Hongjoong. “Pet is coming with me to the dungeons. You can go with her another time.”

“If anyone should go, it should be Seonghwa,” said San. “They won’t harm him. He made them.”

“No, they won’t,” said Seonghwa, “Which is why she is safe if she goes with me.”

“And you can do that on your own day with Pet. I am taking her with me, and that’s final,” Hongjoong concluded.

“He does have a point, Brother,” San leaned towards Seonghwa, who stewed in his resentment, “Whatever weird experiment you have planned can always wait. Hongjoong doesn’t get to be around Darling all that much. He does work a lot more than either of us.”

“Thank you, Sannie,” said Hongjoong.

“Besides, you'll need to register her as soon as possible. Any experiments will keep you from getting there before they close,” San added. 

Seonghwa looked at the three of you in defeat. He'd have to wait, and he hated that. “Alright, fine. I'll go to the office.” 

Seonghwa turned from Hongjoong to you. Normally, his eyes would be drinking in the sight of you, but not today. He examined your face. You almost heard the wheels in his mind turning as he considered his options. The dead mouse will stay with him the rest of the day. A mind like his does not simply let things go. You gazed back at him innocently. Yes, what happened concerned you; the possibility of facing a higher punishment for it definitely worried you. Your mother’s portrait on the table burned its eyes into you from afar; her name and birth year bold and black against the worn out page. You couldn’t find a proper explanation, no matter how hard you tried. It only raised more questions for you.

“You’re not going to take her to the dungeons like that, are you?” asked San with concern.

“Of course not,” Hongjoong scoffed. “Wooyoung is waiting in her dressing room. I want her to look extra special for today. Mingi!” 

When Mingi came out of the shadows, you wondered how much he'd heard. He thought you didn't know he liked creeping in the dark corners of the keep to watch over you. Your bodyguard claimed he did it as part of his job, but today is proving it's more than only work. 

“Yes, sir?”

“Take Pet to Wooyoung. She needs to get ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

The three brothers each gave you a soft kiss and farewell before you left the room. Out in the hallway, underneath the morning sunlight, you started thinking. You pictured every time you found your mother in her workroom in the flower shop or in her personal garden. Plants commonly grow in their seasons. Daffodils thrived in the spring; marigolds bloomed brighter in the summer; petunias grow best in the fall, and primrose was a winter flower. Yet, in your mother's garden, they grew regardless of the season. The herbs she used in cooking sat on the kitchen window, always bright and never wilting. You always thought she must've had an extraordinary green thumb. It never occurred to you that perhaps she might be able to control them. But, if she had poisoned blood, why did your father live so long?

“Morning, sunshine,” Wooyoung greeted you when you entered the dressing room. One of the assistants put you in your usual robe, “What’s the occasion today?”

“I’m going to the lower dungeons,” you said, not really acknowledging him as you sat at the vanity table.

“Oof, that’ll be an experience,” he laughed, moving over to a rack of winter clothes, “You’ll need to bundle up then. I’ll keep makeup minimal today.”

“He’s taking you there?” asked Mingi with surprise. “Is he insane? You shouldn’t go there.”

“I don’t really have a choice,” you told him in the mirror.

“After everything going on, he wants to prance you out into the world as a slave?” Mingi continued incredulously. “He can't beat any possible allegations if he is flaunting you in front of people.”

“Allegations?” Wooyoung’s head perked up at this. Sensing gossip, he turned from the closet, “What allegations?”

“The Masters think I'm a cambion,” you answered. 

Wooyoung gasped. “Shut up, no they don't!” 

“They do.”

“What makes them think that?”

You told him about the dead mouse as he worked your hair into a plait. Wooyoung’s jaw dropped when you explained the portrait and her name. 

“I don’t get it though,” you said when you finished. “If I had special traits or whatever, wouldn’t they have shown themselves by now?”

“I’m sure the only reason they’re revealing themselves now is because you’re around us so much,” said Mingi. “In the human world, you didn’t have any other demon relatives and your mother didn’t nurture that side of you. She might have thought you didn’t have them anyways, which would be incredibly stupid of her to believe.” 

“I never showed it, so why would she think that?” you defended her. “I didn’t have anything particularly interesting about me like that. It wasn’t until I started high school and began working.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“Getting what I wanted out of people was my superpower, not plants,” you stated. “I can see that my charm or manipulation of people could be a trait, but nothing else. I stopped going to my family’s flower shop when I started high school, and I lost interest in gardening with my mom. I don’t have any connection to plants like Seonghwa thinks. That’s dumb, and weird.”

“Not really,” said Wooyoung. 

And untrue. Your mother let you help her a lot of the time. Being surrounded by the various flora, it became a home away from home. The only time you avoided it was when your father ran the store. He always disturbed your peace by forcing you to work the front counter or stock other merchandise. Mama let you handle the plants. It felt therapeutic. You only stopped going because you wanted to be cool. Cool people didn’t work. 

That must have killed her. 

You were such an asshole. 

“Damnit,” Wooyoung’s sharp curse cut through your thoughts, “They didn’t leave the makeup kit. How could they forget that? It’s the most important part! How can I make you glow when you’re lifeless and dull?”

“Um, wow.”

“Hush, you know what I mean. I can’t make you sparkle without the right tools,” he sighed irritably to himself. “I’ll be back. You stay here.”

Alone with Mingi, you continued staring at yourself in the mirror. ’Botanical Sorceress’ the paper had read. The longer you thought about it, the harder ignoring it became. You pictured your mother sitting in a room full of plant life. She’d feed off them while they fed off her. But, you couldn’t wrap your head around your father. Did he know and that’s why he hated her? Your mother claimed he loved her, but you found that hard to believe. You couldn’t recall a single time your father showed her any softness. You recalled a time he chastised her for not bringing him take out at work; a thing he could’ve easily have done himself. When she walked away in tears, you decided then you’d never be her. If she had demonic abilities, why did she let that happen? 

“You really do look like her though,” Mingi cut through your thoughts. “I can see the family resemblance.”

“I think that’s why he hated me.”

“Who?”

“My dad.”

“You think he hated you because you looked like her?”

“Or maybe because he knew what I was, and never said anything. I can’t imagine him being okay with marrying a demon,” you said, playing with the end of your braid. “If she never told me, I doubt she told him.” 

“Maybe if she had, he would have run away and she would've raised you on her own. That's what happened with my parents. My father found out about me and ran tail to the living world."

“Seems demons aren’t so different from humans after all.”

“I’ll be one of the few to admit that,” he nodded. “A lot of our society down here mimics the human world. Your currency and class systems; your government, your culture, languages, clothes, and forms of entertainment. My mother used to tell me how much different Inferno used to be before humans. You’d think we were primitive.” 

“I’ve noticed it before, especially with the masters’ different styles. It’s so…”

“Exaggerated?”

“A bit.”

He walked over to you, hands on your shoulders. “Now that you’re a cambion,” he said, “You won’t be forced to wear and live how they want. You could have all this crap thrown out,” he gestured to the different closets around the room, “And have your own clothes made. You’d get to do what you wanted…” his eyes looked down to your exposed chest, “And who you wanted.”

You giggled at his sudden change in tone. “Oh, what, Mingi? You’d be my pleasure slave instead of my bodyguard?”

“I wouldn’t mind the demotion,” he smirked, hands sliding down your shoulders. Your body tensed when he kissed your neck. “It’d be worth it if I get to fuck you as often as possible.”

You turned in your seat to face him, seeing the lust filling his eyes. Tracing his sharp jawline with your fingers, you stopped at his chin to run your thumb under his lower lip. Bringing him in for a kiss, you kept it light with your lips hardly touching his own. He hummed when your tongue flicked over his lips, and darted his tongue out to meet yours. Standing up, you guided him backwards to a couch where you stood between his knees. Mingi’s hands ran up and down your hips and thighs as you slowly began swaying and whirling your hips. Seeing his mesmerized stare, you felt your sex tightening from arousal. He made it too easy to tease him. 

“Fuck…” he breathed when you sat right on his crotch. 

His bulge pressing to your pussy, you let out soft moans that made him throb. You felt his hand slide up your spine to your shoulder while the other went down to your ass. A light tap to your cheek brought forth a whine. Right as he grew comfortable with your grinding, you stood up to straddle facing him. You leaned forward to kiss him, the both of you moaning as you grinded into one another. Mingi’s large hands felt rough against your soft skin, much like Hongjoong’s. His full lips kissing down your neck to your breast raised the heat between you. A sudden flare of need burned between your thighs. The outline of his dick grew against his slacks, and you couldn’t stop yourself from grinding into it. 

“Where do you want it, Mistress?” he moaned into your neck, smacking your ass the way you liked. 

“My pussy,” you answered breathily. “I want your dick stretching my tight pussy.”

Mingi had just laid you down when a cough interrupted you. Yunho stood in the doorway, doing his best to ignore your position as he spoke. 

“Wooyoung had to rush back to his shop,” he said, “So, you’ll have to get dressed on your own.”

“She can do that later,” huffed Mingi, who went back to grinding into you as he massaged your breasts. “She’s busy.”

“Master Hongjoong is almost finished getting dressed. He’ll be waiting for her in the car.”

“It won’t take long.” 

“Mingi,” Yunho said his name sternly. 

You saw the frustration pent up in Mingi’s clenched jaw. You kissed him briefly, putting your hand over his, “We can always do this later.”

“But, I want you now,” he groaned, kissing you deeply. “I want to fuck you, Mistress. Please, tell him to leave so I can pound you into the couch.”

“Mingi,” you giggled, “Go.”

“Can I have a taste at least?” he pouted, brown eyes big and pleading. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Mingi.”

“Fine,” he huffed, kneeling up and taking a deep breath. “Yunho’s right-”

“-Yes, I am-”

“-Master Hongjoong will throw a fit if you’re late,” he said, sliding off the couch. “I suggest bundling up for the lower dungeons. The ninth circle is the coldest point in Hell.”

“Okay.”

His eyes traveled down your body to your bare sex. You couldn’t help yourself from spreading your thighs to show him your wetness. Teasing Mingi became amusing. He gulped thickly at the sight of you gently rolling your fingers around your clit. The snap of fingers broke his concentration, and you saw that Yunho conjured a silver platter with two small crystal vials. He brought them over to you and Mingi. 

“Cold serum,” he answered your questionable faces, “None of us has time for sex. There’s more important things going on. Drink.”

Mingi begrudgingly opened one and let the drops touch his tongue. You copied him, shuddering at the chilly, clear liquid dropping into your mouth. It reminded you of cough medicine with its bitter, sharp taste. The heat in your cheeks immediately cooled down. You almost felt steam coming out of your ears, and the thumping of your heart slowing down. The juices covering your sex dried up almost instantly, turning into an uncomfortable crust that you couldn't ignore. Any arousal you had disappeared in seconds. 

“Good. Mingi, get some breakfast,” Yunho ordered, “And YN, you should finish getting dressed. You both have a long day ahead of you, so there's no time for delay.” 

Mingi, palming his softening bulge, gave you another longing glance before going out the doors. Alone once more, you moved to clean the mess between your legs. 

“Mistress…Come to me, please. I suffer through this hunger alone.”

You whipped around, expecting Wooyoung or Mingi to have returned. Except, you only saw the open doorway. Your throat closed up on the words you tried to say. 

“I must feed….I need your essence….”

The low hiss sound from somewhere outside the dressing room. Picking up your robe, you walked back into your bedroom. You stared around for the source of the voice, but didn't see anyone. 

“Mingi?” 

“Mistress….”

You followed the voice out into the hallway. Hongjoong waited for you downstairs, so you knew you shouldn't take long. But, your feet continued moving as curiosity got the better of you. The voice continued whispering, and you swore it sounded from inside your head. You hesitated at the top landing of the stairs. Staring down into the carpeted staircase, your ears strained to locate the sound. A part of you said you should go back. You should wait for Wooyoung, and then go to work with Hongjoong. He’ll be extremely upset if you make him late. He’ll use it as an excuse to “punish” you. But, that strange desire pulled you down the stairs. Instinct led you through the house  into the garden. Here, the voice became louder. Walking past flower beds and grassy hedges, the strange voice came out amongst the leaves and petals. You almost thought it might be coming from the plants themselves. 

Walking through the garden, your body relaxed to the sunshine. The cold serum you'd drunk melted away from your bones. Something pulled you further down the winding paths, and towards an archway leading off from the garden. Apprehension kept you by the entrance. Down the long footpath, you saw glimpses of a building in the distance. The greenhouse. The voice, like a call in the wind, stayed firmly in your head. You must go further. You took tentative steps across the cool earth underneath you. Your robe felt stifling in the humid air, but you didn’t dare take it off in the woodland area. The sounds of birds came from somewhere above you, with other animals likely hiding in the bushes and shrubs. Last thing you wanted were bug bites. 

A tall structure made of iron and glass stood at the end in a circular clearing. Stained glass windows lined the wide dome ceiling, with iron details weaving intricate patterns on the frosted glass walls. The plants lining the bottom seemed healthier than those of the natural woods. You found their bright citrus colors strange for the current season. Their stems grew against the outer walls, blossoms on the vines covering the front door. You wondered how you could get through when the withered branches slid aside. Taking a deep breath, you turned the knob. 

The place came alive the moment you entered. Every lungful breathed life back into you. Being amongst the lush greenery and the hard packed dirt brought you back to a simpler time. You gazed around to see the place covered from top to bottom in varieties of plants. Without saying anything, you walked over to a pink and purple hibiscus hanging out of its pot. Melancholy came over you seeing its withering petals and drooping stem. It looked so alone and sad. Holding it up by your fingertips, you imagined it bright and blossoming as it should. 

And then it did. The hibiscus’s lank, wrinkled petals gradually became colorful and healthy; its limp stems and leaves turned into a strong dark green. It might as well have always been this way. A certain kind of strength radiated from the delicate plants. You gasped and let go of it, but you couldn’t let go of the strangeness. 

“Mistress…”

You turned your head to find the voice, but didn’t see anyone there. Walking to a planter of yellow flowers, you noticed their strange petal formation. They resembled Canterbury bells, only these had their petals upright. When you took a closer look, they resembled lips. 

“You're cute,” you grinned, finding the strange flower more endearing than off putting. 

Leaning down, you tried getting a sniff before one of them tilted towards you. You’d moved back, seeing the bright yellow petals opening and closing like puckering lips. The others around it began doing the same, all of them vying for your attention. You heard their cooing and sniffing, and you closely examined one of them. They smelled like honeysuckle, or some relation to it. The most curious one brushed itself to your cheek, humming delightfully as you let it “kiss” you. 

“Must feed…”

“Is that you guys?” you stupidly asked the sentient flowers. 

They shook their heads. Flowers do not shake their heads. You gasped when something soft bumped into your leg. Looking down, you saw a few of the lip-flowers poking through your robe. You giggled, their soft petals akin to real human mouths. They bumped your robe enough to open it, their petals touching your warm thighs. It sent tingles up your spine, and you let out a soft giggle. This should shock or scare you, yet it didn’t. It felt playful. Flirty. Fun. 

“Naughty,” you said coyly. You bent down to cup one in your hand, seeing it giving you smooching motions, “Do you know where that voice is coming from?” you asked sweetly. 

The yellow mouth slipped from your hand and turned towards the other end of the walkway. “Thank you.” 

You actually gave it a small kiss, causing the flower to shudder with delight. Walking where the yellow-mouth indicated, you reached a wall of four leaf flowers with bright white, yellow and pink petals. Getting within a few feet of them, they ruffled and hummed. Your gut told you to keep your distance, but you couldn’t help it. Gently, you traced a finger over one of the arrow-shaped petals. The inner parts were magenta with yellow and white gradient towards the tips. The flower vibrated against your fingertips, and you giggled from the sudden shock. The sound of rustling leaves made you turn around. 

“Ah!” you screamed. 

Dragging its way over to you was a plant about half your height. Orange and purple petals fanned out like a lion’s mane, a long slit baring sharp teeth startled you. Thick leaves acted like arms, billowing slightly as it moved to you; it hissed through its teeth as it moved closer. Your heart thumped in your chest, and your feet went backwards to escape it. Your back hitting the wall, the other flowers vibrated. Immediately, they hummed against your skin like a body massager. Your fear shot through your throat and down into your stomach, twisting it in circles. A quick flash of what this plant might do came across you, and you nearly screamed. The sluggish plant came right up to you, its head pointed up as it reached out. 

“Mistress…”

“Huh?”

The plant moved away to let you step from the wall. Then, it started moving towards an archway of flowers. The foreboding darkness beyond should have been a clue to stay behind to anyone normal. But, you are not ‘normal’, are you? 

Walking away from the floral wall, you followed the walking plant. The sheltered archway ran down into the darkness, where the vegetation was thickest. As you walked through, engulfed in the muggy atmosphere, your nerves began settling down. It felt like home. Your hands went to the tie of your robe, and the smooth fabric slid off your shoulders. Your bare skin exposed to the elements, you felt rejuvenated. Your skin absorbed whatever floated in the air, basking in it. 

In a secluded part of the greenhouse, you saw several orange and white flowers growing from the walls. Their petals opened up upon your arrival, their stigmas resembling darts. You saw their heads turning as you walked by, like snipers following their target. 

“Mistress…”

It sat against the back wall. Thick vines kept it stuck to the walls and floors around it, with large petals as big as small beds underneath it. Its petals resembled those of a lotus, pointed but deep shades of orange instead of pink. It had no visible eye sockets, but you still felt it watching you. Vines sticking from behind the petals stayed upright, curved as if waiting to reach out and grab you. In the center of the petals, you saw a vertical slit with pointed teeth like your guide. A Venus Flytrap mixed with a lotus flower. Dennis. The creature everyone in The Black Keep feared beyond anything else. Seeing his massive size, you understood. Dennis could likely eat an entire horse in one swallow. 

“Hello, Dennis,” you said. Your greenhouse guide slumped away to a corner, where it became one with the vegetation against the wall. A child of Dennis, you guessed. 

"Mistress,” Dennis said in a low hiss, “Please, I must feed. These demons and their slaves do not fulfill me.”

“And what is it you need?”

You heard more soft hissing, and out of the corner of your eye you saw something creeping along the floor. “Your essence,” he said, vines starting to coil and extend. “Your sighs and sweat. It is the only thing that sustains me. My creator gives me scraps. I wish for full meals. Please, Mistress, let me drink from you. Let me absorb you. It has been too long.”

A soft vine wrapped itself around one ankle, and your entire body froze. 

****

“Whoever invented cold serum should be burned at the stake.”

Mingi leaned against the kitchen wall. With you safely sitting in the dressing room, he’d gone into the kitchen for a quick breakfast. Chewing into a breakfast wrap, he watched Yunho polishing silverware by a sideboard. The tall greed demon insisted that nobody polished Master Seonghwa’s utensils better than him. Mingi agreed. The gold forks, knives and spoons shined in the half-light. All around them, servants washed, cooked, and cleaned. He saw maids taking baskets of laundry into the scullery, and footmen walking out into the car garage with car-washing equipment. Cook, a portly demon with big horns and dark crimson skin, mumbled to himself as he prepared ingredients for lunch. The servants’ quarters and the kitchen were the busiest places in the entire keep.

“If you'd fucked her,” Yunho said, “Master Hongjoong would be late for work. He's already irritated because he has been waiting ten minutes.” 

“But…” he sighed, “She feels so good.”

He laughed, “I bet.” 

“I was so close, and you snatched it from me,” he grunted and threw a napkin at him. Yunho and him both shared a laugh, before the elder spoke. 

“So, she's a cambion, huh?”

“Master Seonghwa says that her blood poisoned the mouse. I don’t know of any humans who can do that, do you?”

“Is that what happened?” Yunho whipped his head over to him, “Shut up.”

“It’s true,” he nodded. “I heard the whole thing from outside the doors. Master Seonghwa wanted to take her to the greenhouse, but Master Hongjoong was against it.”

“For obvious reasons. That creature devours anything and anyone who crosses its path. I remember finding Linette stumbling through the garden dazed and delirious.”

“Did she tell you what happened?” he asked with interest.

“She said she’d gone in there to water the plants, and she got too close to the archway,” he said, going back to polishing a fork. “She told me he fucked her senselessly. She couldn’t sit down for days.”

“How delicious.”

Mingi couldn’t help picturing you the same way. His mind went back to your first night with Hongjoong. Tears streaked down your soft cheeks, each hit causing a sob or whimper that made him incredibly hard. He had you right in his arms. He’d been minutes from having his cock deep in your throat. Then, Yunho took it away. Mingi internally groaned thinking about it. Your soft gagging, choking and sobbing would have him cumming in minutes. You’re big enough of a slut to orgasm from that alone.

“He almost ate her afterwards,” said Yunho. “She managed to get away somehow; she says she doesn’t remember.”

“Gosh, could you imagine if she really is one? She wouldn’t be a slave anymore.”

“Maybe that’s why Master Seonghwa is so worried about it,” he guessed. “If she is a cambion, then they can all be in serious trouble. Harboring an unregistered cambion is illegal.”

“I think they’re more worried about her having freedom.” Jongho stood nearby with a tray of dirty dishes. He dumped them in the sink as he said, “If she has freedom, she’s not under their control anymore; they won’t have a pleasure slave.”

“They’d have to treat her like a person,” Yunho snorted. 

“Who’re we talking about?” Yeosang walked across the kitchen, munching an apple. Mingi noticed he wore a plain shirt and pajama bottoms. A day off for your main handler. 

“YN. She’s a cambion,” Jongho told him, turning on the water to start rinsing dishes. 

“Psh, ridiculous,” Yeosang jeered. “YN? No, they must be mistaken.”

“It’s true,” Yunho said, polishing the knives. “Master Seonghwa found evidence to prove it. He’s on his way to the registration office right now.”

“Who’s her demon parent?”

“Andromeda,” Mingi answered. “She was one of Lilith’s daughters.”

“Ah, so a cousin to our masters,” Yeosang bit into his apple, chewing it before he said, “They must be mistaken. YN is a human. She’s shown no signs of any sort of demonic ability.”

“Apparently, she killed a mouse,” said Yunho.

“How?”

“With her blood.”

“Impossible.”

“It’s true,” Mingi chimed in, “I saw the mouse myself. It had blood all over its mouth.” 

Yeosang took the information quietly. He munched on his apple, leaning against one of the counters. “Hm…So, she did break the doors last night…How interesting. How could she have gotten away with this for so long? Somebody before now must’ve realized it.”

“She must’ve not been around demons,” said Yunho. “And those slum brothels are not exactly training grounds. My guess is since she’s in close quarters with multiple demons, her abilities are beginning to flourish.”

“Perhaps,” Yeosang nodded. “If her mother kept it a secret…then no, she wouldn’t have known. Master Seonghwa must be delighted,” he chuckled through his apple. Biting off a piece, he then said, “Imagine the experiments he’ll put her through. It’ll be intriguing to see. I hope he lets me sit in on them.”

“He’s taking her to the greenhouse,” said Mingi. 

Yeosang’s eyes widened, “Is he now? Is that safe? Dennis can be quite ferocious if he’s hungry enough.”

“I’ll be with her,” Mingi said, “So, yes, it'll be safe.” 

“When was he last fed?” asked Jongho out of curiosity. “Who was there last?”

“Charlotte,” answered Yunho, “She went last week, I believe. She still has those little marks from the yellow-mouths.”

“I quite like those,” he said. “They’re cute.” 

“Yeah, if they’re just kissing your cheeks and you’re not trapped in their garden bed.” 

“I like it,” Jongho shrugged. “I fell in it one time by accident, and it was a unique experience. They got my pants open and started doing that kissing thing all over my dick,” he chuckled softly, washing a dish in the soapy water. “Psh, trust me, boys. If you like overstimulation, the yellow-mouths are the way to go.”

“Sorry, I’m not very eager to fuck plants,” Yeosang rolled his eyes and bit his apple. 

“Imagine YN fucking them,” Mingi sighed, finishing his wrap and tossing the paper aside. “She’d look so pretty in the dirt with them all over her.”

“Please, don’t start,” laughed Jongho. “I already have to watch the woman bathe and dress all the time. Don’t give me any more wet dreams.”

“All she gives me are wet dreams,” sighed Mingi. 

He thought about the possibilities. If you no longer wore a collar, that meant he could have you. You’d be a Mistress, and they’d all be at your mercy. He’d gladly give up his blades and armor to be your personal pleasure slave. 

“Very. I somewhat hope Master Seonghwa is right,” Yunho admitted, picking up a wine glass next. He started wiping the metal stem, “If they take away her slave status and she’s given a title, she wouldn’t have to bind herself to anyone.”

Mingi snorted, “And you could keep watching her through your little peepholes.”

“Don’t act as if you don’t listen at the doors,” Yunho smirked knowingly. “I’ve seen the boners you get standing there just listening.” 

“You should see the ones I get helping her bathe,” Jongho said, putting the last dish on the drying rack. Grabbing a dish towel, he wiped his hands and arms as he said, “I’m just saying: if she becomes a Mistress to the house, I’ll turn in my gloves and put on a collar for her.”

The rest of them laughed. Yunho moved to speak before the nearby door burst open. They all looked to see Wooyoung, eyes widened and terror in his face. 

“Mingi, Mingi!” Wooyoung hurried over to him, “YN’s missing.”

“What?” he stood up straight, his body going into work-mode. “How? When?”

“I left her in the dressing room to grab my makeup kit from my shop, right? When I came back, she was not there!”

That did not sound like you. Mingi admitted you certainly understood your place in the house. You knew leaving your room would hold everything up; it’d hold up Hongjoong, who was not the patient brother. Mingi turned to the window beside him. The kitchen and scullery had a small courtyard that led out into the gardens beyond. 

The outskirts of Inferno were lush and full of life, albeit a little hot at night. But, the picturesque landscape hid all kinds of ferocious beasts meant to stalk and attack lost souls. From what he always understood, people who land in Hell are met with a dense forest. They have to survive the everchanging elements, the predators in the trees and bushes, and try to avoid any sentient carnivorous flora. If they reach Inferno’s gates, they’re led into a whole new level of terror. Mingi knew he personally avoided going into the woods if he could help it. You’d begun embracing the seclusion and tranquility of the family gardens. If you’re anywhere, the garden is a good start.

“You all search the house and the grounds,” he said. “I’ll look in the gardens. She likes going there.”

“But why go there now?”

“Beats me,” he shrugged. “I’ll ask when I find her.”

He hurriedly walked out of the kitchen, faintly hearing Yunho call attention to the others. You knew better than to wander off on your own. Not only did his masters worry you might run away, but the woods were dangerous. Your safety is his sole responsibility. He is your bodyguard. If something happened to you under his watch, the masters would make him regret it. Walking through the straw-ladened courtyard, he saw servants already rushing to commence their search. He went past them to the garden doors, cutting through hedges and bushes. 

“YN!” he called out in the thick of the garden hedges. “YN, where are you?!”

No response. He wouldn’t forgive himself if you’d been attacked. He hated the idea of some vicious predator springing out of the bushes. Humans do not heal in Hell. Your injuries would fester and bleed out; being unable to really “die”, you’ll suffer until a demon takes mercy on you. Mingi pushed through bushes and hedges. He peeked over stone walls, checked inside the various enclosures and fountain areas. He didn’t see you anywhere. A terrible thought then occurred to him: the greenhouse. Maybe you stupidly decided to test Seonghwa’s theory on your own. A sickening feeling filled his insides, and injected more adrenaline into his veins. Mingi snapped his fingers, and teleported all the way across to the forest exit. There, he caught a whiff of cherry blossoms. 

Your sweet scent carried downwind from the dark path. Mingi unsheathed a knife from his belt and cautiously stepped inside. More sweet blossoms caught in his nose, and usually it made him dizzy. There’d been times where that floral fragrance lured him to you. Whenever he walked behind you, your hips swished it over to him. It’d make him long for closeness. He’d think about kneeling before you, kissing your thighs and hips as he groped you. Then, he’d slide his tongue over your sweet sex. Mingi shook his head when he reached the greenhouse door. The vines normally cutting people off remained to the side, allowing him to open the door with ease.

The plants always made him uneasy. Erotic creations of Seonghwa’s, each flower had its own purpose. The little yellow-mouths sucked and kissed to madness. The vibrating flowers, he knew, tickled someone until they pissed themselves or passed out from laughter. He saw a large orange and blue flower sitting amongst a bunch of smaller bulbous flowers. The plant wiggled a stamen from the center when he passed, asking for him to sit on it. He knew if he did, he’d never get out. 

Mingi hoped you hadn’t gone near the darker parts of the conservatory. There, Seonghwa created the deadlier plants: snake-like vines that trapped someone to a wall while they violated them; several purple flowers with vines that could entrap and suffocate their prey. He shuddered thinking of you becoming one of the cocooned victims of the Seonghwa’s spider-like plants. 

“Oh my god! Yes, yes, yes! Just like that! Fuck!”

He recognized your moans right away. It came from the darkened archway, and his stomach dropped. Dennis’s lair. Mingi held his knife tightly, then made his way into the darkness. He heard your heavy breathing, occasionally muffled or disrupted in between groans. Mingi gulped thickly imagining what he might find. A soft pressure under his boots made Mingi look down. Your robe, pure white with floral stitching, laid on the ground. His entire body shuddered. His palms started sweating, and he swallowed the thickness of his throat when he finally found you. 

Lifted off the ground by four vines, two of them kept your legs open as a fifth and sixth focused on your center. Your back contorted to the pleasure the vines created, writhing in their grasp as they “fed” off you. Mingi tucked away his knife, his jaw dropping when a thick vine snaked its way between your parted lips. The sensual sounds you made told him you’d sucked it plenty of times already. He took in the shape of your lips and the hollowness of your cheeks. By the lewd gagging, he knew Dennis sunk himself deep in your throat. That familiar warmth the serum froze off slowly returned. Mingi moved further into the room, staying on the fringes and keeping his eyes on you. When he got a look at the front, he salivated. 

One yellow-mouthed flower focused on your hard clit, no doubt kissing and sucking the erect nub. Two tendrils, about as thick as any demon, shoved in and out of your wet holes with ease. A creamy white substance oozed each time one of them withdrew, and Mingi audibly groaned. He loved picturing your pussy after the masters finished with you. He thought of them smearing their seeds all over your tight walls; he pictured himself filling you until his cum gushed back out. When one tentacle pulled out, it smeared your throbbing clit with more fluids for the yellow-mouth to feed off. He groaned again, eager to taste it himself. 

Unbuckling himself, Mingi stuck his hand in his pants. He watched two thin vines wrap around your breasts. They bounced in the plant’s grasp, your nipples hardening when the tips teased them. Mingi breathed deeply seeing another slide between your tits, up your throat and into your mouth again. The one that it replaced slipped behind you, and Mingi groaned, picturing what might be happening. Your stifled moans went in time with the two inside you; you stayed helpless and limp in their grasp, surrendering yourself to them. Taking hold of himself, Mingi started in slow strokes. He wanted to be deep in your mouth; your tongue tracing the thick veins. He’d give anything to have at least that pleasure. 

“Mingi?” 

His name came out in a surprised pant, and he looked to see you staring at him. Dennis, however, did not stop. He only slowed down enough for you to speak properly. 

“YN…I was looking for you…” he said, still idly pumping and focused on the drool on your chin. “I was…Wow…”

“You enjoy watching, don’t you?” you asked lustfully, whirling your hips around to get more inside you.

“I do,” he moaned, “But you know that. You’re such a fucking…”

“A what?” 

The vines holding pushed you upright, almost into a sitting position, and helped you bounce on the vines instead. You pushed your chest out for him, making sure they moved each time you did. Your moans became louder; you whimpered and pleaded with him. He loved seeing you like this. He loved seeing you completely bare, writhing from pleasure and needing more of it. Mingi thought of every time he listened to his masters bed you; he constantly wished it were him making you cum that way. San’s comment of keeping you naked all the time haunted him. He wouldn’t be able to do his job if you walked naked freely. He suffered from his visions enough. 

“A tease,” he growled, tugging down his pants to pull himself out. Mingi gritted his teeth when you stuck out your tongue for another vine to fill it. “God, you’re a fucking tease. You know how badly I want to fuck you, and you constantly dangle yourself in front of me.”

“I thought you liked that?” you played dumb, letting him see you drool over the quivering vine. 

“I do,” he said, “If I’m the one who gets to fuck you.” 

“And it’s sad when you can’t, huh?” you licked up the throbbing vine, keeping your eyes on him. 

“It is. That's all I think about when I see you.”

“What do you think about?” you grabbed it with both hands and stroked it while you sucked the tip. 

“Get the fuck over here and I'll show you.”

He stormed over and nearly yanked you out of the plant’s grasp. Falling into his arms, Mingi put you on the soft-packed earth, straddled your middle, and forced your face to his cock. A rush of relief came over him the moment your tongue touched his thick head. Your scent captivated him. He forgot all reason and sense as he sunk further. He didn’t start slow. His primal instincts took over, and he held you by the hair. Every dirty thought he had about you sprung to life before his eyes. Each time he thought of sneaking into your bed came to his head. You’d teased him far too long. When creepers pushed your breasts together, he stuck himself between them. 

“Keep your tongue out,” he ordered, pumping himself with your tits, “Keep it out.”

You did for a moment, but you only flicked him. Mingi trembled each time his head reached your tongue. The gentle brushes along with your supple tits had him aching for a release. It grew even higher when more yellow-mouth flowers sprung up through the vines. Mingi quickened his pace when their airy kisses touched along his pelvis and inner thighs. He groaned deeply once they reached his balls. Unlike a human mouth, they lightly tickled him in every stroke. When he heard your own moans grow louder, he figured Dennis’s tentacles went back inside you.  

“Fuck…YN,” he breathed your name, watching you work him so easily. The intense pleasure built up in his balls, which only became more sensitive. He started pinching your nipples, making you moan on his cock. “Such a pretty slut,” he growled, pushing his hips forward into your face, “I guess we know the truth now, huh? Maybe you’re not a weak little human after all.”

He chuckled through gritted teeth when he felt tiny creepers slide up his torso to his buttoned shirt. The thin ivy popped off his buttons to flick his nipples. For some reason, he thought you might be making them do that. Mingi didn’t complain. He straddled your chest more, shoving himself in your greedy mouth. Streams of controlled moans came out as you sucked him more firmly, letting him dip into your throat every other thrust. When he withdrew, tapping his cock on your pretty face, you stuck out your tongue to lick his wet length. The vines inside you had you whining pathetically beneath him. He saw your hips moving up and down as you chased down more pleasure. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight before now. 

“You’re going to pay for it,” he grunted, “Pay for every time you flaunted yourself in front of me…For every time you made me hard and walked away…You’re a fucking slut, and you’re going to be treated like one.” 

What you said when he pulled out fueled him:

“Then do it.”

Releasing you, Mingi and Dennis let you roll onto your front. The fact that you so eagerly spread yourself and lifted your hips amused and pleased him. He watched the fat vine refill your gaped ass while a thinner one teased your clit slightly. That left your pussy all for him. He didn’t care if his master whipped him for it. He didn’t care if they slit his throat. He’d fuck your cunt like it was his. Your body sinking into the dirt, he knew any sweat or fluids replenished the ever-hungry plant behind you. It was how he fed, after all. 

“How many times has he made you cum, huh?” he said in your ear, sliding off his pants completely before burying himself deep in you. “One? Two?”

“Two!” you gasped when he suddenly filled you. He saw your fingers curl up in the soil, and tiny sprouts grow around them. “Just two!”

“Only two?” he slapped your ass, watching it ripple each time he met it. He watched Dennis fuck your ass in time with his thrusts. When he concentrated, Mingi could almost feel them touching inside you. “Just two? No, no,” he smacked your ass again, “We need you to cum way more than that. That’s barely enough to keep him properly fed.” 

He already felt your walls gripping him, and he nearly lost his mind. Mingi held onto your waist as he bottomed into you. He knew he’d eventually have his chance with you, since nearly all of them have, but he never imagined this. In the greenhouse, he could do whatever he liked with you. Cambion or not, he can ravage you as long as he wishes here. Nothing ever aroused him as much as that thought alone. Except perhaps the vine forcing itself into your mouth. 

In a couple of more thrusts, he felt you tighten around his cock as another orgasm approached. Mingi kept the same pace throughout, listening to your gargled moans. He knelt there behind you to watch you unravel in front of him. He took in the constricting muscles spasming in every wave; he saw it bring out this animalistic need that had you pushing into him. Mingi loved it.

When he felt the beginnings of your orgasm start, his own followed. Pent up frustration came out in each stroke, hungry and numb to anything around him. Your pussy pulsed in time with him, exactly as he always imagined, as you both came together. It was everything he’d wanted and more. Mingi didn’t let up for even a second. He couldn’t stop. Even as waves of pleasure came over him, he simply did not feel satisfied. When he withdrew from you, his cum stayed just at the brim of your entrance. He bent to lick it, but something got there before him. 

A flower, dark orange like Dennis’s petals, spring from the earth to your oozing sex. You whined as it hummed against your pussy. The same type of flowers grew around him, pulling his cock further down to suck up whatever remained on his skin. Their pistils and stamens gathered up the translucent fluids leaking from him; their tickling teased another hard on. 

“Get on top, baby,” he said, voice slightly hoarse from his heaving breaths. “Come here. On top of me, now.” 

He pulled you onto him this time. Vines kept your hands behind your back, and wrapped around your torso. Dennis clearly had no problem helping you properly fuck him. Mingi did not complain. He slapped your bouncing tits, giving your nipples hard pinches every so often; he pushed up into you whenever Dennis held you in place. He knew the plant went back into your ass by your breathy moans. The sentient plant did anything in its power to make its victims cum endlessly. He swore something in the air kept his victims going until they simply could not. 

But something about you did the same thing.

****

You don't know how long it went, but the sky nearly darkened by the time it ended. The muggy atmosphere, the humid air and the nutrient soils blinded you to reason and reality. As your body constantly rolled and moved around in the dirt, you slowly became one with the beings around you. Mingi's presence only heightened the experience. The soft soil and residues left on you entered your pores. You felt yourself ascending into a higher form, a higher being. As Dennis absorbed you and Mingi one final time, you did not feel like YN YLN anymore. Your body became electric. A strange feeling ran through your bones, spreading all over until it became a part of you. After the final orgasm, your body flopped onto the dirt patch Dennis initially created for you. The smell of the trees above you became your constant aroma. The flowers that had participated or spectated became more dear to you than anything else. Is this how your mother felt in her garden? 

“That was intense,” Mingi laughed, laying in the dirt with you. He lifted his head to see Dennis quiet and still, “He seems satisfied.”

You could hardly speak. You gazed up at the colorful glass above you. The growth covered most of it, but you caught the gist of the scene. A group of young maidens appeared to be occupying different spots of a garden similar to the one outside. Peacefulness came out through the art and onto you. It sounded sappy, but you finally felt at home. Of all the places you've ever been, in your before and afterlife, this greenhouse was home. Here, you feared nothing and nobody. Here, you are accepted and loved. Truly loved. You wore no collars in the greenhouse.

“Are you okay?” Mingi asked, though you hardly heard him. “I'm sorry I was a bit rough towards the end. I couldn't help myself. I promise next time I'll be gentler.”

Your fingers slipped into the dirt underneath you. Parts of it turned warm after you were on top of it for so long, yet others remained cool. You subconsciously made spirals in the ground, soaking in the euphoria of this new stage. A butterfly in the painting caught your eye. A beautiful monarch with orange and black wings fluttered from one panel to another. A butterfly. That is how you felt. Your human form was the cocoon you shed as Dennis took you. He guided you out of that existence and into another level. Turning your head, you saw white and blue flowers grow around your fingertips. 

“It's beautiful here,” you said softly, watching one flower coil around your finger. It became a piece of you as you brought it out of the dirt. “Don't you think?”

“Yeah, it is. Look, we definitely need to head out now. Hongjoong is probably furious with us right now. We've been here way too long,” you heard the panic come as his senses cleared, “He'll kill us for this-”

“-You go,” you interrupted him. The blossom grew across your fingers. It embedded itself in your skin, turning brown as it became a hardened vine. You watched it wrap itself around your arm, and gradually stop around your shoulder. “I want to stay here.”

“YN, you might be something new or whatever, but Hongjoong likely went to work without you. If we clean you up, and get you there asap, then he might spare us both.”

“I don't care.”

“You don't care? Did Dennis rob you of your senses completely? The Masters do not handle disobedience lightly.”

“Let them try,” you said, more flowers blooming on your arm and shoulder. 

Yes, let them try to punish you now. Punishments up until now have been sexual, but you knew your “masters” could easily become violent. Let them. Your vines will strangle them and anyone else who tries. 

“YN,” he stood up from the ground, though with difficulty, “Please, come with me. If I show up without you-”

“-Tell them where I am and that I didn't come with you. That way, they'll at least know where I am.”

You truly didn't know what the masters might have in store for you. Cambions could be slaves, but that's usually by choice or necessity. You wouldn't want to be a slave anymore. You wanted to live as you'd done so in life: freely and carelessly. 

“Do not heed his warnings, Mistress,” Dennis said in your head. “I will be your new protector.”

A smile came across your face. “I don't like the name ‘Dennis’. It sounds so childish and lame. A creature of your magnificence should have a powerful name that strikes fear into people.”

“What shall I be called then?”

You thought about it deeply. Mingi spoke up again, “YN, I'm not joking.”

“Caesar,” you said, holding your hand up to admire your work. “No, that's a salad dressing.”

“YN!”

“Alastair? Octavius?”

“I quite like Octavius.”

“Then it's settled. You're now Octavius.”

“You can't give Master Seonghwa's plant a new name.”

“I just did.”

“YN, you have to come with me right now.”

“You must go, Mistress. The young masters will not take your absence well. They may see it as disobedience.”

“They would,” you scoffed. “Anytime I do anything that doesn't directly involve them or their dumb schedules, they get upset. They're like children. Why do I have to pretend to be a housewife? I don't cook or clean or do anything meaningful. I'm not so stupid that I can't learn things at my own pace and in my own way. Why do I have to be restricted to their empty lives?”

"Because they believed you to be a lesser being than themselves. You have now nor have ever been less than anything but a goddess."

"Hm, I like the sound of that."

“You better hope they never hear you say that,” warned Mingi. “I don't have time for your shit. Let's go.”

“Hey!”

Mingi lifted you off the ground with ease. You struggled out of his grasp, but being thrown over his shoulder made that harder. You looked at the vines covering the ceiling. The urge to have them trap Mingi came strongly, but nothing happened. The plants stayed stationary and silent. Mingi carried you out of the greenhouse, where the nightly air blew through your matted hair. Outside the greenhouse, you felt empty once more. Mingi might as well have ripped you out of your home. He carried you back to that suffocating house and your masters. The lace collar you wore became more apparent than ever. 

Inside the house, Mingi took you all the way to the sitting room. Your body tensed at the presence of others in the room. 

“Darling! There you are!” 

Mingi placed you before them. All three brothers must have been alerted about your disappearance and came home early. You couldn't help resenting them. For the first time in a while, you hated your slave status. While being treated more like a princess than a slave was preferable, being confined to the keep made you start hating them. After experiencing the freedom and comfort of the greenhouse, you didn't want to be in the house. You wanted freedom. 

The sight of you stunned all three into silence. Smeared and caked with mud and leaves, you never felt more at home in your own skin. They eyed the branch wrapped around your right arm, the blossoms softly hissing and rattling in this new environment. Clearly, whatever ideas they'd created of you proved to be true. Your appearance concerned them, and it was refreshing. 

“It seems I was correct after all,” Seonghwa said, staring at the blue and white blossoms on your arm. “YN inherited her mother's ability.”

“Wow,” San stood up first, coming over to you cautiously. You saw him considering the best way to approach you. “You look…different, Darling.”

“Is that bad?”

“Not at all,” he assured you. “Maybe a little cleaning up, but other than that, I…” his eyes turned from shocked to fondness, “Still think you're the most beautiful being in existence.”

You smiled at him. 

“How do you feel, Kitten?” Seonghwa asked, getting up from his couch. He closely examined your face and hair, seeing all the mud and tiny twigs stuck to it. “Any pain or bruising anywhere?”

“No,” you shook your head. 

“And what did Dennis do exactly when you saw him? How did you end up there?”

“He called me.”

“He called you?”

You told them about the greenhouse. All of them listened intently to your story, not distracted by the dirtier details of it this time. Seonghwa already anticipated your response, but San and Hongjoong sat in silence. He continued examining you while you talked, closely observing the flowers on your shoulder and feeling your skin. By the time you got to Mingi, he turned to the bodyguard. You expected him to snap, and demand to know where Mingi went. 

“It wasn't Mingi’s fau-”

“-What did you find when you got there?” he asked him, cool and collected. 

“Dennis-”

“-Octavius-”

“-The plant was feeding off her,” Mingi continued. 

“And how did you end up involved?”

“I….Um, well…I suppose in the heat of the moment and her teasing me, I let myself get swept up in the moment. I couldn't control myself. She's so,” he took a deep breath, “Intoxicating.”

“Intoxicating?” Seonghwa glanced over at him once, then said, “Did you kiss her at any point?”

“I don't think so.”

“Taste her blood?”

“No, sir. I'm not really into that.”

“Good, then you're less likely to die.” 

“We can't kiss her anymore?” said San. 

“I'm not sure,” he said. “I don't know how potent it is. Yeosang and I tasted her blood last night and had mild discomfort but nothing dangerous. Kissing her hasn't appeared to affect us physically…” 

He then pulled you to him for a kiss. Deep and slow, Seonghwa cupped your jaw as he worked your mouth open. His hot tongue slithered past your lips, running over teeth and tongue to savor you. A slow inhale went through his nostrils, as if taking in the scent of you. This brought on a hunger that came out in soft grunts. You giggled at his reaction, amused by how easy he made it. 

“Intoxicating for sure,” he said between kisses, forcing himself to pull away but unable to. “Your kisses can be deadly in their own way.” 

“Let me try.”

San pushed him aside and brought you into his arms. He pecked your lips a few times, tasting you tentatively before his eyes darkened. He moaned the moment your tongues touched. Hands wandering down your body, San did not seem to care about the state of you. He grabbed the back of your thighs and you jumped into his embrace. Legs locked behind him, he'd started moving you to the mantle behind you.

“Deadly for sure,” San chuckled between kisses, pressing you to the column. “We might have to hang a warning from your neck,” he joked, nuzzling your nose, “‘Caution: Kiss At Your Own Risk’.”

“In that case,” you replied, hands going through his hair, “You are all very big risk takers.”

“For you? Absolutely.” 

Right as you started kissing Hongjoong appeared. 

“You had your turn,” He remarked, taking you from San. “It's my day, after all.”

His kiss, heated with passion, became equally enthralled. Taking your hands, Hongjoong let the natural aphrodisiac overcome his senses.  

“Now I know why you're so irresistible,” he moaned, bringing you to his couch to straddle him. “Your kisses are better than drugs,” he chuckled drunkenly, kissing and grinding into you. “I know I’d do anything you wanted for more of these kisses.”

“Anything?’ you smirked. 

“Anything,” he replied. “No safeword needed either.”

“I wouldn’t be so cruel, Hongjoong,” you said, happy to use his real name. Pushing cherry locks from his face, you kissed him again. “But, it’d be a nice change of pace to have you crying from overstimulation.”

“I think I like cambion YN,” he sneered, leaning in to kiss you. 

“Not now, Hongjoong,” said Seonghwa, pulling you from his brother's lap. 

The eldest demon took deep breaths to fight off the toxins inside him. San and Hongjoong moved to you, but kept their distance. The three hovered around you like carrion crows, eager to feast on your flesh. The intense attention reminded you of happier days. You touched Seonghwa’s chest, fingers tracing the buttons of his clean shirt. The light specks of dirt stood out against the white material and you knew it’d irritate him. Yet, at that moment, he hardly noticed it. 

“What do we do now?” you asked him. “You registered me with those people, right?”

“I did,” Seonghwa answered, nodding. “Jackson told me he’ll slip in your name and erase you from the human records. It’ll be like you never went to the circles.” He eyed the collar around your neck. He hooked it with his forefinger, and you saw the sadness in his eyes, “You’re not a slave anymore.”

The words carried weight inside you. “I’m not?”

“No,” he said, letting go of your collar. “Since you’re Lilith’s granddaughter, you get the title of ‘Lady’.”

“Lady, huh?” you grinned, “Sounds cool.” 

“Yes. You’re a Lady of Eden now.”

“Eden? Like, Adam and Eve’s Eden?”

“Yes, that eden.”

“Do I have to go there?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” Hongjoong said, “But it’d be good of you to present yourself to them. You know, make it known that you’re here.”

The idea of going to another unknown place in Hell made you uneasy. San noticed your discomfort and said, “Lilith is always happy to greet one of her blood. She won’t turn you away if, you know, you decided to live there with them.”

“Would that bother you?”

“A bit, but I would understand,” Seonghwa said, but you didn’t believe him. Dejected, Seonghwa kept looking at the lace collar on your neck. “I don’t want to lose you.” He touched one of the white flowers, not bothered when it hissed at his touch. “I like having you around. It feels nice having someone who shares my interests, and whom I can spend time with comfortably. Yes, the sex is always nice, but I speak for myself and my brothers when I say we enjoy having you here. You being a cambion doesn't bother me. It worries me because, yes, we can receive serious punishment for that, but you leaving me upsets me more.” 

“I like having someone who enjoys the same things as me,” Hongjoong said. “You aren’t afraid. You like experiencing new things with me. I don’t have many people to do things like that with me.”

“It feels nice having someone to come home to,” San added. He turned you around, and caressed your cheek. “If the schedules bothered you, you could have told me. They were Seonghwa’s idea in the first place. He said having you hanging about all day without stimulation might dull your brain. I wanted to keep you happy. You…You were at least a little bit happy?”

Looking at his angular, handsome face, you thought about it. “It’s nice living here,” you said. “It’s the closest I’ve gotten to my old life since I arrived in Hell. It has been kind of constricting and suffocating here and the schedules are complete bullshit, but I went through worse.” 

His shoulders slumped at this answer. “Then clearly, I haven’t been doing my job right.” He kissed you softly, “We can change anything you want. Anything at all.”

“It isn’t like we chained you up in a basement and mistreated you,” Hongjoong scoffed, clearly becoming irritated with the tedious conversation. “We don’t have to decide everything tonight,” he clicked his fingers and Yunho came in a puff of smoke, “A drink, Yunho.” Yunho started pouring drinks from the bar cart in the corner, and Hongjoong returned to his couch. Flopping down on it, he sighed deeply. Even with his carefree response, you saw the hurt in his eyes. “You’re free now. You can do what you want. Whether that be here with us or be somewhere else, then fine.” It was not fine. Not to Hongjoong.

“I never said I wanted to leave,” you assured him, not liking the pain he tried hiding. “I…This has all happened super fast, and I’m not sure what I want right now.”

“And that’s fine,” San assured you. “You don’t need to figure it all out right now. You can go up to your room or the greenhouse or wherever. Dennis-Sorry, Octavius-likely put you through the wringer, so you must be so exhausted and hungry.” 

“Aftercare is important no matter whether with your bodyguard or with a tentacle plant,” said Hongjoong. “You can clean up, and we’ll have dinner.”

“I’m fine like this,” you said, looking at the branch clinging to your arm. “It feels strangely natural to me. I think I’ll stay like this for a little bit longer.”

“Whatever you say, love,” he said, taking the drink Yunho passed to him. He took a drink, then said, “You’re still having dinner with me. I had to go an entire day without you again. I’m suffering immensely.”

“I’m sure you were devastated,” you cooed, pinching his cheek. “I can watch you torture people another time.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You kissed his cheek, then stood up from the couch. You knew you should bathe, but that alone felt so exhausting. Out of the room, you slumped your shoulders and shuffled your feet. The exertion with Octavius, formerly Dennis, and Mingi finally started hitting you up the stairs. Mingi chuckled. 

“Not as tough as you pretend, huh?”

“I am half-human,” you emphasized. You turned around, “Carry me?”

Mingi laughed, and scooped you off the floor. You’d nearly drifted to sleep cradled in his arms. Your bodyguard tended to have a comforting effect on you. His constant hovering from the shadows gave you a peace of mind. When you felt the softness of your mattress, you lifted the branch to one of the canopy beams. Like water, the hard vine slid off your arm to the natural wood. Through sleepy eyes, you watched it attach itself to the pole. It rooted into cracks in the smooth wood, starting in the middle before it extended itself all over the frames of your bed. A tiny greenhouse, you thought. 

“Wow,” Mingi rested on the bed beside you, “That’s amazing.”

“Thanks.”

“Just imagine what else you could do.”

“I hope to find out.” A thought came to you as you came closer to sleep, “Do you think my mother’s in Eden?”

“Maybe. If she died, yes, she should be there.”

“Hm…good to know…”

You yawned, slowly falling asleep at last. She came to mind again. She loved planting peonies. She said they symbolized love, honor, and beauty. She always added them to bouquets meant for best wishes and joy. You recalled the small potted peonies she put in your bedroom. Despite what friends thought, you kept them growing and healthy. As you drifted, you saw the pink, multi-layered peonies starting to blossom in the nooks and crannies of your four-poster bed. You missed her so damn bad. 

You wanted to see her again. 

***

A/N: Ooooh things are changing in the Black Keep. Don't we love a little development? I hope you guys liked this chapter! Don't forget to reblog and like <3

[kneelingshadowsalome]

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 3/4

König x F!Reader

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 Part 2 Word count: 9.4 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: König takes liberties with his mouth. Dubcon is at its most dubcon in this chapter so please tread carefully <3 The actual smut happens in the next (and last) part. Long chapter because these two just can't behave!!

The days are getting warmer now. 

The sun warms the tent during the day, and the sound of birds searching for a mate threatens to drive you to madness. They sing during nighttime, too, and you miss the sturdy clay walls of your hut that blocked at least some of the sounds from outside. Now you are barely sheltered from wind and rain that beat the tent every now and then and can escape the swelling song of spring and lovesick birds to nowhere. König only snores with steady content as you mull over your strange fate there in his cozy bed, wondering how crazy it is that he never lets you go when he sleeps.

If König has an early council, you spend the morning eating breakfast in bed while studying odd parchments the translator gave you. The old man was quite insulted, not because you asked, but because you showed interest in the documents that, apparently, were of least importance to him. 

You don’t care that they’re “only” travel guides because they’re filled with Roman letters and numbers and usually illustrated with pictures of columns. You don’t understand a word they say and how those strange papers could ever be a travel guide to anyone, but you like to trace the letters and pictures with your finger. König clearly understood your fascination with them: he left you this morning with another smile, which told you he only thought you were simply adorable this way. He tried to tell you that the letters represent towns and the numbers tell the distances between those towns, but they still remain bizarre pieces of paper to you.

Men pass by occasionally; you can hear it from how their gears clonk and clatter and swish. You can hear the soft thump of sandals on the dirt, but you pay it no attention because you’ve always trusted that you are safe here. As long as you stay inside the tent, no one will touch you, even if they can currently see you because the flap is left open a wink. 

The only times his men witness you are when König takes you out for a walk in the woods so that you can take care of your bodily needs. Everyone can see that your hands are never tied, your face is never bruised, and your posture is still that of a proud, unbroken woman. And everyone looks at you with both hunger and wonder. Apparently, you are an even tempting spoil because you are not yet spoiled. 

The special treatment was rubbed in your face one time when you passed by a Roman soldier disciplining his slave, a woman who had shared your fate and clearly was having the worst of it. The other half of her face was unrecognizable, but the man kept beating her, and you stared in horror as whatever deed she had done to anger the man was now being punished far too cruelly. 

“Romans very dumb,” König said from next to you without even shedding a glance at the morbid scene. No one seemed to give a shit about what was happening to that poor woman, but you would never have expected such a comment to come from König’s mouth. When you asked him what he meant by that, he only shrugged and said: “That man piss on his luck.”

You wonder if the only reason why you haven’t been raped yet is because you are some sort of a lucky charm to him. The mere thought has the effect of making your blood boil, but some distant, tender voice inside you reminds you that König is not Roman. He does not share Roman customs, even if he fights with and for them. Perhaps slaves are treated differently in his land. Perhaps in there, it is considered an outrage and an insult to the gods to beat a woman, free or not.

Whatever his reasons are for not beating and raping you to death, it was a tremendous stroke of luck that König found you first. You dropped right there on his feet when he was victorious, so of course his men allowed him to take you as his: you were clearly a gift from the gods. But now that time has passed, you understand you are by no means safe if you wander outside this tent. König can protect you only when he is present or when you are safely tucked away in his own personal space. 

It’s a false feeling of safety, however, because you soon learn that out of sight is out of mind for these soldiers. Now that you are on display, sweetly and neatly on the bed, a tiny little wrinkle forming between your brows from studying the peculiar parchment, you are like fresh livestock on the marketplace, even inside the tent. You notice that someone else is in here with you only when you hear the sound of munching and turn. 

A relatively big soldier is standing in the doorway, eating an apple, watching you like he would rather have a bite out of you.

And you thank all the gods and stars above you, all the spirits and the Mother below you, that he doesn’t even get to take a step before a sword impales his chest.

König kills his own man so casually that all the thoughts of him falling to the gentle side of giants disappear instantly. He even twists the sword inside the broad man from daring to cast eyes on you. And you probably should feel bad for him… But you don’t. Not at all. The apple falls into the dirt and rolls away, but the man slumps into the threshold of the outside world and the safe womb of the tent, like an offering to guardian spirits - or to you.

You look up at König, eyes wide only because you are yet again speechless, but this time because of odd, bashful gratitude. 

“No touching,” he says without even blinking – it sounds like a stern explanation.

“No touching,” you agree with a whisper. König only nods, wipes his gladius clean on the dead soldier’s cloak, and carries the body into the woods.

…

You don’t know if he has lost some of the favour he enjoys among the Romans after killing one of their soldiers. You suspect he has not. Actually, you are sure his reputation only soared for it. He just showed everyone that his prize is not to be touched: you are not to be even looked upon. Romans probably respect such a thing.

A few wagons arrive one morning, carrying various supplies for the soldiers. There are many other items too, completely unrelated to warfare but all to do with pleasure and gambling and trade. You assume König gets to pick his favourites among the first soldiers, if not the first soldier, from the abundant cargo that arrived, because he brings his spoils to you with boyish excitement. There is close to nothing there for himself: only a thick, heavy cloak, made of dark wool with lush fur on the shoulders. It looks like something a northern king would wear, and you find yourself quite happy for him, but the other items he’s carrying are clearly all hand-picked just for you. 

There is a dress, a pair of sandals, a bone comb, some fruit and a large, round copper dish. It serves as a mirror as you change into the dress – a Roman one, dyed ocean blue – just to appease König and get him off your back. It hurts your heart to see how happy it makes him to see you accept his gifts. He holds the dim, uneven mirror in front of you when you get the dress on, and you’re feeling strangely meek: you’re not even sure if you have put it on properly. The bone comb is milk white and has two horses carved on it – it reminds you of the offering that was never made to appease the Great Mother because it couldn’t have prevented the Titan from coming to your lands. It’s another odd omen: black horses now turned to white, but an omen for what, you can’t say. 

And then… he kneels. 

König falls at your feet and starts putting the Roman sandals on, tying the strings around your calves so gently that it makes you feel like you’re made of clay. The sandals are not the kind he wears: they’re made for women, apparently, because they’re so skimpy and delicate. The strings reach the upper part of your calf, and when he’s done with you, happy to have now clothed you in Roman garb, he caresses your thigh and presses a kiss above your knee. 

And he looks up at you like you’re everything but his captive. He looks at you like you’re a queen. He stares at you like he’s the slave here.

“You like?”

The soft rumble catches you off guard, as does the fond caress he gives your leg. He doesn’t even try to move his hand upwards and under the dress; he just admires you from the ground, looking a bit foolish while crouched there at your feet. You swallow arduously and nod. What else are you supposed to do? 

He smiles with his eyes and gives you another kiss. He presses it on the sensitive part where your calf meets the inside of your knee. He even raises his hood to do it, and you finally feel his breath as his lips meet your skin, hot but tender. You fight the urge to shrink from him, and despite it only being a soft peck, a lover’s touch, the kiss leaves a burning sensation on your skin.

Then he tucks your dress down, like a slave who simply stole a little kiss from his mistress. You’re rendered weak and silent before such reverence, but then the playfulness returns as he raises one finger, as if telling you not to say a word because he just had an idea. You look at him with odd curiosity as he crawls on all fours and reaches for something underneath the bed. You panic a little, fearing he might notice that you’ve been there, too: rummaging through his things and throwing the pieces of jewellery back there without caring to ensure that they are placed back in the same position you found them in. But he doesn’t seem to care or notice.

He tries to offer you the golden pendant first, the one that has three discs on it. It’s a little too much, and you shake your head, fearing you will upset him by declining his gift. He tries to offer you a more delicate necklace next: full of cute, filigreed beads, but you shake your head again. He wishes to give you a trinket so badly that you finally raise your hand and graze your fingertips over a leather string holding a few chunks of amber. It also bears the claws of some animal: fox, perhaps. He looks very pleased with your choice and puts your new possession around your neck. You reach for the copper plate yourself this time and hold it up to see how you look in your odd Roman dress and your humble but powerful new necklace.

“Sehr schön,” König says behind you as you take in the wobbly image. He is so, so happy - you have never seen him quite so happy. It looks like he thought this to be the prettiest, most compelling piece of jewellery too; as if the gold and beads were simply currency for him, too. As if it was obvious that you would be interested in bones and sea gold instead of the gold of men. Then he pulls out something from under his tunic: another leather string that has a large hunk of bone hanging from it. He’s presenting it to you like he wants to show how you two are now very much alike.

“What is it…?” You ask, trying to determine whether the bone came from an elk or a deer.

“Bear cock,” he says proudly while dangling it in front of you like it’s the most natural thing in the world for a man to carry the penis bone of a bear around his neck. “Makes man strong in battle and bed.”

“I don’t think you need that,” you whisper while looking up at him. It’s your first joke to him, and he laughs. Heartily.

“Kleine Fee. You have only seen me fight.”

He puts it back under his tunic as if it’s his secret amulet now. You really don’t think he needs any more luck in war, or in any other… field. He seems like the kind of man who can pleasure women all day. It’s a bitter thought, somehow, and makes your heart feel heavy. You wonder how many women he has had already when you have refused to open your legs for him.

“We can try how good it works in bed,” he offers, as cheerfully as ever.

Oh. 

Oh… 

“I’m—I’m hungry. I think I need to eat something,” you summon an excuse out of thin air while raising your hands against his chest to keep him away. As if you could get your breakfast down after him saying things like that…

“Hungrig? I can feed you,” he suggests, still in the happiest of moods. Then he sweeps you off your feet and carries you to the table. He’s ever generous today: you get to sit on his lap as he starts to feed you grapes.

And you didn’t think he’d actually, veritably feed you. But that’s exactly what he does. You get an entire meal: ripe fruits, a thick handful of bread, a fine slice of fat, delicious cheese. Wine to wash it down, and then some more grapes. He holds them gently on your lips until you open your mouth a little so that he can push them onto your tongue. He watches with utter content how you eat everything he offers you. He even gives you a few bounces with his knee, and every now and then, he gropes your tits: just squeezes them and plays around with them while you eat.

It is quite evident that this man really, really likes your boobs. Perhaps that is why he carries the statue of Great Mother around… To your horror, you realize the piece of carved wood is not an idol of worship for this man, just a lewd image he probably digs up and looks at when he wants to stroke his cock.

Gods... This man is even worse than you thought.

You begin to pout again, and he draws you flush against him, seeing that he somehow managed to make you displeased. Unaware as to what could have caused this, he gives you another bounce and tries to find the reason for your sudden change of mood.

“Are you fed now?”

“Yes,” you mope even more as you realize you would very much like him to continue feeding you even if you’re full. To just… do that thing with the grapes again. Just a few more.

“Gut. We have to leave soon.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “To fight.”

The camp is packed up in such haste that you find yourself under the sun in practically no time. You stay as close to König as possible without being glued to him, seeing that the new dress and hairstyle you made with the comb is high currency among the war-torn, lust-filled soldiers. Someone gives you a long whistle, which is followed by a few harsh comments you luckily don’t understand, but all the stares are cut off when König stops preparing his horse, rises to his full height, and wraps his fingers around the handle of his gladius.

You don’t get a single look after that, not even a sideways glance. Everyone acts like you don’t even exist.

The army moves at a slow pace at first, leaving a heavy dust cloud behind. It’s a fine day for travelling because there isn’t a single cloud in the sky. Everyone seems to be having a good time except for the slaves, and König is the only one who is vigilant, watching his surroundings at all times, head turning from side to side, hand never leaving his sword. 

You get a horse – his horse – and a lot of hateful stares from the other women, none of whom you have ever seen before. Captive girls from other villages, you presume, and they all hate you now because you get to ride a strong black stallion while they have to march in a dust cloud with their hands bound and their feet full of blisters. Their captors don’t give much thought to feeding or giving water to these poor women, mainly because they’re too busy laughing with each other and having hearty gulps from their wine sacks. You wonder if these men have ever fed these women a single grape during their campaign.

König, on the other hand, marches next to you like he’s your servant. He offers you his waterskin, his wineskin, too, and as the march goes on, an awkward knot starts to form inside your belly.

He’s behaving so oddly. You can’t find any other reason for his behaviour than that he simply has no full understanding of Roman customs because he comes from somewhere else. (Mountains, he said, when you asked him.)

You only now notice that he has servants but only uses them to pack or set up the tent. Other high-ranking officers and commanders have their servants with them at all times, tending to their every need. König is the only one who behaves like a foot soldier: he pours his own wine, gets his rations and supplies himself, lights his oil lamps without help and never lets anyone else touch his armour or swords. 

The servant he uses the most is the translator, a slave who’s clearly responsible for teaching König more and more of your words. He also serves as a mediator when König gets ready for another battle. You have naively wanted to forget the reason why these men are here in the first place, and as you see König putting on his full armour the next day, tying the swords on his waist and leaving to search for his shield, you feel like bursting into tears or a scream. You look away as he gets dressed, and refuse to give him a single kind look that morning. You stand with your hands crossed over your chest as he’s finally ready and fetches the old man to the tent again.

The Roman soon stands next to him as König takes a step and falls on one knee before you.

“He asks you to bless him,” the old translator says – weary and bored.

You stop breathing for a second and look at König, there at your feet again, head bowed, leaning on one elbow placed on a strong knee.

Bless him… For going to slaughter another clan? Give your blessing to him leaving people fatherless, childless and homeless? 

Is this some sort of a joke?

“Are my words… correct? Master asks that you give him your blessing for the upcoming battle.”

You bite your lip in frustration. You want to put your hand over this proud warrior’s head and send him away with words of might and fortune, but even the thought of wanting to do that is about to make you sick.

“I will do no such thing,” you say coldly and earn a sad, confused stare from König, who raises his head to look at you with a horrifying, pleading gaze. This man doesn’t beg for anything from anyone, and yet here he is, in his full armour, armed to the teeth and looking like the God of War again, asking for a kind word or two. You turn away, not because you deny him, but because you can’t stand to be under that defenceless gaze. The Roman sighs behind you, and from the clatter of König’s gear, you can hear that he has gotten up and is about to leave. 

You turn again, only to face his withdrawing back. Tense, and already beaten.

He grabs the satchel, the one that holds his Mother, but stops to look at it like it’s simply an ordinary object instead of a powerful entity. Then he places it back down on the table with a sigh. You look with horror as he leaves for war without taking his amulet, idol, fate, source of luck and joy – whatever the statue represents to this man – with him.

It doesn’t take long before you regret you didn’t give him your “blessing”. 

It somehow feels wrong that he left without it. You’re his captive, but he has fed you, clothed you, kept you warm. He has practically done no harm to you except hold you through the night and have a few gropes at your tits, which you haven’t found harmful at all… The least you could do to thank him is to lay a hand upon his head or sword before he left. Just a simple little gesture, not even a true blessing… Just a little something would have sufficed, to help him go into battle with a slightly lighter heart. 

Because as much as you loathe this man, you don’t actually want him dead. You don’t want him to march into battle and think you wish him ill. You don’t want König to get careless just for the sake of feeling miserable about the thought that his little slave girl despises him.

Because you don’t despise him.

You just don’t… like him. 

And he’s your captor still. Why should he deserve your blessing?

But the image of him cutting through his enemies with sorrow and bleakness in his stare, walking into a spear just because he’s had enough of life and more than enough of difficult, uncaring, ungrateful women, makes your heart bleed. He could’ve taken Mother with him since he didn’t get a good luck’s wish from you, but he chose to leave even Her behind. As if his faith had failed him, as if the few things and people he has ever placed his trust in have now abandoned him. 

The night rolls in, and the moon crosses the sky slowly, so slowly, as you wait for his return. The old Roman looks at you sideways every time you peek outside the flap and sigh. Your guard is a weak, old man, but you reckon that if you were to escape, the tired slave would simply follow you out of the camp and tell König which direction you have gone so that he can hunt you down when he returns. The few Romans left to guard the portable garrison would probably seize you and take you as their plaything before you managed to set a foot outside the vallus, and even if König came back to claim you, you could be a bloody heap by the time he returned.

And it’s not even caution keeping you inside the tent. You don’t actually think about fleeing at all. 

In the dead of night, you go to his satchel and pull out the statue of the Great Mother.

“Dear Mother... Great Mother. Please let him have his victory. Please let him come home unhurt. Even if he fails, please let there not be a scratch on him as he falls. Please, please, please…”

You improvise your prayer as you go, thinking about something to offer Her while being captive and not having access to most of the resources you would normally go to.

“I’ll give you my next moonblood. I will give you amber and fox claws…”

Your heart hurts, knowing you just promised the necklace König gave you as your sacrifice. But it’s a small gift for his safe return, and you renew your prayer, over and over again, while squeezing the Mother between your hands and pressing Her against your forehead.

You’re not sure if She can even hear you, because haven’t you wished this man dead not too long ago? You return the Mother to her satchel and pace around the tent, about to go mad. When the first horses arrive, you almost run outside to see if you can see or hear him coming. Soldiers march into the camp: there is so much din and racket outside that you know this is the least opportune moment to go outside and show yourself to the survivors who clearly have their morale and cocks up high from the recent battle. You wait and wait and wait, thinking about whether your god is among the wounded, being carried to some other tent where they treat injuries. You go and sit on the bed; you rise up and sit on the table. Then you go and press your ear to the fabric of the tent and try to listen like a fox. 

The flap is, blessedly, finally drawn aside, and you hurry to meet whoever has arrived. It’s König – of course – breathing heavy, looking slightly high-strung but primarily unscathed, and you forget yourself completely when running to him.

“Are you hurt!?”

He takes off his helmet and takes in a good breath of air, eyes melting into pure love when he sees you.

“Nein. Not a scratch.”

You swallow your relief – of course no one can get to this man. Your fears have been stupid and ridiculous. But in the deepest chasm of your heart, you thank the Mother three times. You promise to deliver her your sacrifice as soon as possible.

“You fear for me?” He asks, so excited again that you have to dig your nails into your palm so that you won’t go and clutch him and cry from joy. You don’t nod or shake your head; you only stare at him with what must look like a frightened deer stare.

Your giant comes to hug you so tight you can’t even breathe. Then he lifts you into the air, and there is nothing you can do - there is nothing you even want to do but to be there in his stout embrace. You’re so relieved that he is alive and unhurt that there are tears in your eyes, and he sees them, and smiles.

“Don’t worry, little Fee. Ich könnte dich niemals verlassen.” His voice is throaty and parched; apparently, he has shouted his throat raw on the field. 

You almost say you’re sorry that you didn’t give him your blessing, but seeing how pleased, triumphant, and gleeful he is causes you to shut your mouth and shut it tight. It’s enough that you have babbled prayers for him all night, praying your knees and tongue sore.

König returns you to the ground and leaves, only to return with ample loot. Two slaves carry in a small but heavy jute sack of coin, a tiny chest filled with honey, two bottles of scented oils, three gorgeous jugs of milk, a beautiful bronze sword, all laid there at your feet.

“Für dich,” he says, throwing a wide arc with his hand to gesture that all this is now yours. You watch all the stunning, lavish, extraordinary gifts, again picked with care just for you. You remember how there was not a single coin in this tent before you were dragged in, no bronze, no gold, no milk nor honey. No fine dresses, no stolen, scented oils. How many families did he have to kill to bring all these fine goods for you?

“I don’t want your loot,” you whisper on the brink of tears.

“What…do you want?” The smile in his eyes fades, and it stabs your heart full of pain. “More sea honey?”

“No, I–”

“Slaves?”

“No,” you step forward. If only you two could have met some other time, in some other place… “I just…I want my freedom.”

“What will you do with freedom…?” 

You finally get to see what König is like when he argues. He cannot understand your logic; he can’t understand what more he must do to satisfy you and make you happy. 

“Your chief is dead,” he says bluntly, causing your head to feel two times too small for your anger and pain. 

“You don’t have to remind me,” you blurt, equally bluntly. Because whose fault is that? This man is a thick-skulled, thick-cocked idiot.

“You have no husband. No village.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Why angry?”

“Because you are infuriating,” you almost shriek.

He looks at you, lost and confused, not knowing how to calm you down or make you pleased again. And it must be confusing: some gifts work, some don’t. Other times, you look at him lovely and sweet; other times you sulk and pout. You have luckily stopped your crying, but now you have suddenly decided to yell at him?

He approaches you after seemingly coming to the conclusion that you must want him to either pet or fuck you. He tries to raise his hands to touch you, but you push him away.

“Don’t you fucking dare grope me again!”

He withdraws quickly, now utterly nonplussed. If you don’t even want to be held, then what is he to do? This goes against all the laws of this world: he has arrived, triumphant and joyous from the battle, clearly favoured by all the gods, above and below, and favoured in full. The only one who doesn’t grant him a boon is you. His head tips to the side - it always does that when he’s curious or thinking hard. Then his eyes light up with understanding, and you know you’re about to hear more nonsense coming out of that oafish mouth.

“You don’t want me to fight?”

“I don’t…care what you do,” you scoff.

“Ah. You hate Romans?”

“Yes, I hate Romans. I wish they would all die. I hate their stupid battles and their stupid campaigns. And I hate you too,” your spirit rises with your words, your voice gaining volume and strength as you hurl all your frustration at him. 

And he’s shocked. Not at your first declaration, nor the second, not even the third. It’s the last sentence that clearly drives a dagger straight into his heart. 

He steps back, nearly toppling a milk jug as he pulls away from you. Then he mumbles something under his breath, something in his own crude language. The words are muffled by the mask as he scratches the back of his neck and leaves the tent without even taking his blood-stained armour off.

His name, the name that sounds so foreign to you, never leaves your mouth. But the following words do.

“Wait, I didn’t… I didn’t mean it.”

Not all of it.

He’s out of the tent by then, and you’re left with your beautiful gifts, your bitter sorrow and regret. You sigh and look up, hoping you could see the sky and whisper your inquiry into the night air. 

Why on earth did you two have to meet like this? Why does he have to be so thick-skulled and so… So him?

You calm your racing heart and start to organize the loot he brought you. You have never liked messy places and have done your best to keep this tent from getting cluttered. You taste some of the milk he brought you and inhale the sweet scent of those oils; you dip your little finger inside the honey jar and have a taste. The golden liquid tastes like the food of the gods when paired with milk. You put the blade on the table where König usually keeps his swords and settle to wait for him. 

And you have to wait for a long time, so long that you eventually withdraw to the bed, alone and with a heavy heart. When König finally returns, you can hear he has had a drink. More than one, too: he has probably drunk an entire jug of wine alone. He doffs his armour with curses and sighs, and lets it drop on the ground with a sloppy clang that makes you jolt under the furs. He eats something very noisily while throwing his helmet somewhere to the ground too, burps loudly, and sighs again: so deeply that it makes your heart burn. After getting rid of the tunic and his sandals – an operation that takes him more than a while – he crawls on the bed with a heavy breath. Your heart is at your throat as the stench of wine hits you, and his hands are clumsy and stern when he comes under the same fur and reaches for you.

“König—”

Your whisper ends abruptly as you are pulled against a familiar, broad chest. He growls at you for being awake – or at himself for waking you up with a drunken racket.

“I don’t… I didn’t…” you start weakly and have to clear your throat as he huffs against your neck, listening to what you are trying to say. 

“I don’t hate you,” you finally whisper.

He grumbles against your back and buries his masked face in your neck. The arm around your middle tightens and tightens, and you hurry to praise his gifts.

“The honey is delicious. And the oils are–”

"Fee… Du machst mich verrückt."

He speaks through gritted teeth while panting laboriously in your hair. You're relieved to hear sorrow instead of anger in his voice, but it’s his body that makes you arch your back and guide your bottom to meet his crotch.

The biggest mistake you’ve ever done, surely, because the whole body behind you grows taut. He gives you a tight roll of his hips, pushing his cock against you with immediate fervour. His balls meet your bottom, tight and heavy: you have gone to bed in your ridiculous Roman dress because you were feeling cold, but you can still feel them. You can feel all of him.

“König… We–We need to sleep…”

You sound like a bitch in heat, not at all like a woman who wants to stop wherever this heated cuddle is spiralling into. König is letting out noises you didn’t even know a man could make, and it makes your cunt wetter than ever before: tight and throbbing and embarrassingly needy. You try to remind yourself that this is not the proper time or way, that you don’t want it to happen like this: with the smell of wine and blood and dirt and sweat surrounding you, with him soon thrusting that cock between your thighs and shooting his seed on the bed before he can even get it in. You don’t want him when he’s drunk, and you don’t want him when he’s clearly a bit angry with you still. You place a weak hand over his, the one currently wrapped around your middle like a bond. 

“Please, I mean it…” 

“Not the time for sleep, little one,” he rasps on your shoulder, mask dragged aside and mouth breathing hot against your skin. His voice is gentle but his body is not: it turns out he has only been waiting for the slightest little cue to have the permission to take you. Unfortunately for you, moaning and grinding your hips against him is more than just a cue.

“Göttin der Erde... Gib dich mir.” 

He grunts odd, boorish words on your shoulder, leaving you breathless with another tight roll of his hips. It feels like a spell or a chant, the way he speaks. You want nothing more than to give yourself to him, and fear that whatever tie has been knotted between you two, whatever shackle has bound your souls together, has also granted him the ability to hear your thoughts. He must’ve heard them, or then he must smell the change in the air, because he rolls you on your back and pushes a knee between your legs.

“Meine Königin... Ich werde dich sehr glücklich machen,” he mutters more incantations in your neck, broad thigh forcing your legs further apart. He doesn’t even need strength to coax them open: they drag up and aside by themselves. 

“Ah–Why can’t you talk like normal people…” 

You sigh your silly thoughts out into the night air, and your fierce giant turns his head a little, now right there next to your cheek.

"Normal? Was ist das…?"

Your lips draw into a quivering little smile – you just can’t help it. Him lying half on top of you, asking what the word ‘normal’ means while smelling like an entire wine house just burned down makes your lips and heart flutter. Your soft laugh makes him raise his head a little, drunken, half-lidded eyes now fixed on you.

“The opposite of you?” You offer innocently and try not to laugh, but it’s no use. You start to snicker, then giggle, and the way he growls only makes things worse. 

“You little–I will go crazy because of you,” he whispers, drunk as a heartbroken man can be. Your own heart seems to open with a flood.

“Then go crazy,” you whisper back. 

And gods… He takes your sigh as a permit to go absolutely berserk. He crawls on top of you and rips your dress apart from the middle with both hands, exposing your breasts to him and the cold night air. There's a weight in his gaze that turns your nipples hard; a gaze of promise, just before he descends.

He attacks you like a starving man, devours and licks and sucks your breasts until you shake and moan on the bed, until your hands come to cradle his head with greed.

“I will make you scream tonight,” he pants roughly on your tits – you can feel the words on your skin. You’re veritably afraid that this man will swallow you before he even gets to the main event, which is no doubt to satiate the need to fill you with potent seed. He doesn’t exactly caress you, no: he gobbles you like your body is an entire feast, the generous kisses almost turning into bites when he reaches your hips.

“No–no teeth, König,” you try to whimper, somewhere on the borderline of tension and lust.

"Fee... I promise I'll fuck you like king. I'll fuck you until you cry.”

Your head goes blank from his words; from terror and love and lust. There's no time to decipher whether you should be afraid, because he scoops up your thighs, grabs you like a wrestling partner, and draws you against his face.

“Wait—What are you–”

Your words are cut off as he drives his nose up your cunt and breathes in your musk like it's divine incense. It doesn’t matter that you’re still covered by the skimpy dress he just ripped to shreds: the fabric is so thin that he could be virtually sniffing you through sheer gossamer. 

There’s no escape now; he can feel how wet you are. He can practically taste it.

“König—”

You can't understand why he would want to push his face there, so you mewl and try to push him away – very weakly – but he’s immovable, glued to your scent down there, panting into your warm, wet cunt with harsh breaths and starved groans. You're lying there at his mercy, dress torn to pieces and breasts heaving, thighs spread as far as they can go.

It's futile to even try reason with a starved giant between your legs, a cunt-deprived warrior about to finally take what's his. You should've known better than to joke around and play with a man who could snap you in half – either with his hands or with his cock – and Mother was wrong: you're not smart at all, teasing a beast like this. A beast whose teeth are currently bared over your most vulnerable place protected only by a thin veil soaked with your wet. 

König lashes his tongue out and presses it flat against your dress, on your throbbing womanhood, and your words turn into an ample, lewd moan.

“A–ah…”

You fall weakly back on the bed, head spinning although you haven’t drunk a drop of wine. The broad body almost trembles there between your legs. 

“Ah… You want cock, ja? I can taste it,” he grunts, blunt as ever. The thought of that thing being bullied into you inch by thick inch makes your cunt clench tight. Gods, you want it, but it will never fit, never…

Unless he… Unless that's why he's down there, panting hot inside you, trying to coax you open with his mouth. Perhaps he's not that dumb after all...

“Please,” you beg for him to love you, taste you, take you, your pride melting into copper and gold, pooling somewhere down, down, down… 

“Don't worry,” he speaks straight to your cunt like a man intoxicated with something far better than wine. “I will give you cock. All night.”

He lifts the dress with his nose like a dog, nuzzles under your ruined attire like it's his shelter for the night, headed back towards his plump prize. There will soon be nothing between his mouth and your poor, throbbing cunt, aching to be licked and loved by a cruel giant. A giant who brings you milk and honey and grapes and gold in all its forms… 

But just when you have finally forgotten that beasts possess teeth, he sinks them into you. He sinks them into your inner thigh, waking you up from the dream with sharp, harrowing pain.

The fucking idiot actually bites you, hard.

“You fucking—Go to hell!”

You push him away in earnest now, using his shoulders to propel yourself away from him. His teeth threaten to pierce and tear skin because he's so reluctant to let go, and the horrors of the battlefield seep into your skin; the safe warmth of the womb turns into a suffocating darkness. 

Your kicks have enough power to make him rise from between your legs, and the clear-cut pain in his eyes makes you want to both hug and hit him. You do the latter and hurl your fists at him, not bothering to even try to hit a target or cause pain; you just want him to stop making you afraid. 

Of course, he takes your breathless state and lust-filled rage as a cue to leave – and he does precisely that, but not before he has struggled away from you and your fists in an overly dramatic manner. It would look funny in another situation, especially when he's as hard as ever, cock jutting high towards the sky just from having a little taste of your love. Drunken and slightly wobbly, he almost falls when he grabs the tunic from the earthen floor as if his tent is a site of execution where he will soon be stoned. 

At the mouth of the tent, he stops, throws his head back, and roars. The guttural, booming rage echoes towards the gods like a furious curse, and you’re quite sure that the entire camp is awake by now. Every soldier nearby must be dying of a scared heart, thinking that there are either bears or Gauls upon them.

You hold your arms against your chest and safeguard your soft belly as you take in all his fury and frustration, then watch him stagger into the night, head hanging heavy between slumped shoulders. You’re left breathing, afraid and alone in the darkness, thinking about what the hell just happened… And spend the next moments in shock. Soon enough, the cold and terror fades, melting into something more palatable. You're shivering and wet, but intact, at least on the outside.

And the oddest thing is that you find yourself missing him. You miss his presence, his body, you miss his dumbness and his jokes. You fucking miss him.

The man who almost raped you.

With his… mouth.

You curl inside the furs and try to get some sleep with a hammering heart, ending up thinking about him all night. You thought he was going to pound you with that ridiculously long cock all night – and wasn't that his threat, too? – but what you didn't expect was that the giant barbarian who rips people's throats open with his teeth would want to lick and lap you into submission. You never would have thought that König wanted to bury his face between your legs, and eagerly at that.

Perhaps you understood his silly words wrong in your half aroused, half scared state. What if he meant to make you scream and cry from pleasure, not pain?

The burning bruise on your thigh reminds you that you are probably wrong, but you still wake every now and then from a thin sleep, glancing around you in despair, only to see that he’s not there. You feel so hollow that you think for a moment whether König has left the camp entirely, whether he is wandering away, towards some other adventure, exhausted with you and the war and the Romans.

The most unbearable thought in your head is not that he has left you for his dogs, however. It’s the thought that has abandoned you. That he has finally had enough. Because you realize… König hasn’t gone anywhere. He simply left to have his fun with some other woman. Perhaps he’ll be back in the morning, but his patience is gone; it has finally ended, your silly little game. A difficult slave girl who won’t even let him lick her cunt is simply no amusement to him anymore. 

Just before dawn, your will breaks; it splits in half. You can almost hear it. The sound of cries is muffled in the bed that nowadays has both his scent and yours: both of your scents combined, mixing together into a wonderful haze of love and despair.

…

König comes back when the dawn is already turning into a full day.

He strolls into the tent the same way he left: with a hunched posture and unsteady feet, but the fervent vigour from last night is gone. Actually, you have never seen him so weak. The dramatic sighs, the groping and the bullying have turned into a piercing silence. His muscles have lost their strength, his head is hanging heavy between those once proud shoulders, and his eyes are cast down as if he’s hoping there wouldn’t be such a bright orb in the sky. He drags his feet as he enters the tent; he doesn’t even look your way when he goes and slumps in his chair.

You are so glad to see him that you nearly jump from the bed and fall right there at his feet. You want to kiss his thighs and grab his hands and look up at him, doting and adoring like a good little slave. You want to whimper and beg that he can give you love bites everywhere he wants.

Instead, you snap at him, voice filled with poison.

“Did you have fun raping women last night?”

There are leaves on his mask and dirt on his shins and knees. Even his hands are a little grungy, and the proud red Roman tunic could also use a wash. He sheds you a tired side stare, then sighs.

“Was?”

“Were you with women,” you spell out every word slowly like you’re talking to a child. The venom on your tongue threatens to spill out as froth. And you almost say, 'other women'. Almost.

König raises his head and looks at you with a slight tilt in his head. He’s curious again, so, so very curious. He has clearly fleed the sun into his tent rather than seek your gracious presence, which shouldn’t make you this glum... But what you just said has managed to brighten up his entire day.

“Meine Fee… She’s jealous,” he points out in a far more jovial tone.

“No. Not at all,” you hurry to say, chin drawing back from his stupid accusations. 

“You are,” he says with unbridled fascination. 

“I assure you I’m not.”

Your cheeks are heating up, and the nervousness inside your belly roils like a snake. How does he always manage to get you into a trap? 

König leans back in his chair, now with his usual dignity on those shoulders. He even crosses his fingers loosely in his lap, looking like the conversation he’s about to have with you will, yet again, become another favourite of his. You’re not sure why you always feel like you’re being interrogated on the sly with him because König is the most simple, straightforward, blunt object of a man you have ever met. And still…

“Fucking other women is bad?” He asks innocently from that chair.

“Bad?” You huff. “Yes, if you have to force women under you, you are a brute.”

“And… ugly?”

“Very ugly. The ugliest man in the world.”

"Hm. But who say anything about forcing?"

König looks at you, calmly, as your stomach sinks from his words.

You can only stare at him as the world seems to fall apart around you, crumble into nothingness when there's sun shining and birds singing outside. Kicking him out of the tent – and almost kicking him in the face in the process – because you got afraid when he gave you a fervent little nib seems like the stupidest idea right now. If you were so willing to part your legs for him and moan under his tongue, surely some other insane woman would want to do that as well? Surely there is at least one woman in this camp who would gladly be pleased by this giant who doesn't hit or force women. Who only likes to… bite and squeeze and lick them.

You pout at him, lip almost trembling now, and he’s smiling, so, so very wide behind that mask. Gods damn him. 

Then he rises and walks to you, suddenly looking like he isn’t suffering from a hangover after all. He strolls towards you with slow purpose, and you swallow the tears down, trying not to show him how they turn into ice inside your stomach. 

“I have not touched women. Only you.”

He towers above you, looking down at you like you are indeed the most adorable thing in the entire world. You are not sure whether his words are to be believed, but something inside you says that this man never lies. As dense and dumb as he is, he is the most trustworthy human being you will ever meet.

“Only sleep with earth last night,” he says and starts to caress your hair. He even weighs some of it in his hand before sweeping it over your shoulder. Like you are simply his precious, silly little wife who has been spoiled too much.

“It was a cold mistress,” he laments, overly dramatic again, like a poor actor in a tragic play. Your heart aches, badly – you swear König is the most annoying man you have ever met, the most insufferable and lovable. You wonder if he has spent his seed on the cold, hard ground too. Given it to the Great Mother, who is a cold lover sometimes indeed… But not as cold as you.

You wonder how crazy it is that you have the power to drive this giant into the cold night from his own tent. König has had to face his hangover by waking up to a chilly dawn. His hand is not as warm as usual, and you start to worry that he has caught the wrath of wind spirits outside, soon rendering him weak and feverish. His skin is not supposed to feel this cold, not when he’s almost always blazing.

“I know a plant that might help,” you say diplomatically. “With your… Head.”

He looks at you, more and more curious by every passing moment. You hope he doesn’t weigh in his mind whether you are trying to poison him when he is weak. But he’s not that clever, perhaps, because he only looks at you like you’re an entire sun now, and very unlike the one that is giving him a headache today. You turn away from his hand – but not too quickly. You’re only feeling shy. And a bit uncomfortable.

“You should eat something. And drink water, not wine.”

“You care about my head?”

Gods… His voice is so, so soft. He’s seeing past all your defences again, and there is nothing you can do about it. You want to curse him but can’t. You simply can’t. 

“Just… Eat some fruit, alright? And I need a kettle so that I can boil some water for the herbs.”

You rise from the bed and try to ignore his adoring stare. He doesn’t attempt to touch you again; he merely watches as you go about and eat a little something as if to show that when it is morning, people should have breakfast. Like you’re a mother trying to lead by example or a fussing young wife who is trying to help his husband. Your lips are a thin line as you search for grapes that aren’t too soft and a piece of bread that doesn’t yet have mould in it. You grab some figs: you know they are his favorite, and bring them to him to tell him you’re serious about him needing to eat.

And you feel silly. 

You can’t even look at him. You’re feeling so odd, so weak, so warm inside, and it’s not because you’re disgusted; hell, it’s the opposite of being disgusted….

“I have fallen in love with you,” König says as he accepts your humble offering of food. You freeze in the middle of setting them on his palms, held upwards as if content with whatever you give him, even if it’s only a piece of bread and a few figs. 

Gods. Mother… Don’t do this to me–

“That how you say it?”

You breathe in and out, calm, collected – you're not going to faint because some crazy giant thinks he's in love. Yes, that’s it… Everything’s alright. He’s just being silly again. He’s just playing his own little plays again. 

But when you look at him, there is no actor there, no silly play: he’s just… König. He returns your helpless, cornered stare with warm kindness, reminding you of something, of some Roman or Greek god… Apollo. Yes, that’s it. Laureled sun god Apollo, the one everyone loves so dearly, because he always drives fear and doubt and darkness away. He’s Apollo, even though he doesn’t even prefer a bow. 

And has the translator taught König the correct words? Has he memorized them so that he can say them to you when the time is right? Your lip starts to tremble, and you fight to not shudder a sigh. The old seer was wrong: this man will be your downfall.

“I’ll go get that plant,” you whisper, soft eyes wide and chest curled tight. 

“Nein,” he says cheerfully, full of life and hope again. “Not alone, little one.”

…

A/N: Please don't send me death threats. Remember, big bang bang next chapter! Huge!!

Translations:

Sehr schön - Very beautiful

Kleine Fee - Little fairy

Hungrig? - Hungry?

Ich könnte dich niemals verlassen - I could never leave you

Für dich - For you

Du machst mich verrückt - You drive me crazy

Göttin der Erde… Gib dich mir - Goddess of the Earth… Give yourself to me

Meine Königin... Ich werde dich sehr glücklich machen - My Queen... I will make you very happy

Was ist das? - What is that?

[prettyobsessed]

⋆。⋆💋⋆ Lace & Desire ⋆ ﾟ❤️‍🔥 (HOT AF)

☁︎/ pairings: Zayne / fem!reader ☾ / genre: smut [nsfw 18+, mdni] ₊˚ / tags: nsfw, super nsfw, no plot smut, mutual attraction, clit playing, masturbation, submissive y/n, dominant zayne, mentions of daddy, mentions of cum dumpster, mentions of slave, role-play, slightly/very rough sex, lots of teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, mouth job, hand job, kissing, clit stimulation, choking, lots of spanking, upstanding citizen position lol, creampie, cum inside, cum shot, mature sexual content ♡ / word count: 4.6k

 ₊⊹summary₊˚⊹

In her quiet apartment, the narrator decides to spice up the night by sending teasing photos to Zayne, igniting a thrilling game of seduction. As anticipation builds, she wonders how far he'll let her take it, knowing their quiet night will soon be electrified by their passionate tension. ﹌﹌﹌

‘Don't make me come there and punish you,’ he warned, igniting a thrilling rush of arousal within me. Zayne's challenge only served to heighten my excitement, and I responded with a final, enticing image—my back arched, showcasing my perky ass in all their glory. ‘56646. that’s my passcode. see you soon 😋’ I teased, unable to contain my anticipation.

𓍢ִ໋₊˚*ੈ♡⸝⸝⋆୧ ˙  As the clock ticked towards 9:38 PM on a Thursday night, the silence of my apartment seemed to amplify the dull ache of boredom settling in. With a sigh, I set aside my phone and glanced around the dimly lit room, the soft glow of lamplight casting long shadows across the walls. The stillness was palpable, broken only by the occasional distant rumble of passing cars outside.

Lost in the quietude, memories of Zayne flooded my mind—their intensity warming me from within. I couldn't shake the image of our passionate exchanges from a week ago, the heat of our desire lingering in the air like an intoxicating perfume. With a sudden spark of inspiration, I retrieved the new lingerie set I'd ordered online—a deep, lacey black ensemble that I knew would set Zayne's pulse racing.

Standing before the full-length mirror, I couldn't help but admire the way the lace hugged my curves, accentuating every contour with a tantalising allure. A mischievous thought danced at the edges of my consciousness—why not inject a little excitement into this mundane night? I knew Zayne's schedule like the back of my hand; no surgeries tonight, just a series of tedious meetings. The idea of inviting Zayne into my apartment, a space he'd never set foot in before, sent a thrill of anticipation coursing through me. We've only shared passionate moments in his space before, never mine. With a flicker of determination, I snapped a few provocative photos of myself in the lingerie and sent them off to Zayne, accompanied by a teasing message. 

‘busy?’, I texted, attaching a suggestive image of myself with legs parted. "miss you so much, daddy” I added playfully, anticipating his reaction. His response was swift, his words carrying a hint of authority and desire. ‘You can’t do this to me right now. I’m in a meeting.’ Undeterred, I escalated the teasing, sending another photo—this time, straddling a snowman plushie, a playful nod to our shared fantasies. 

‘Don't make me come there and punish you,’ he warned, igniting a thrilling rush of arousal within me. Zayne's challenge only served to heighten my excitement, and I responded with a final, enticing image—my back arched, showcasing my perky ass in all their glory. ‘56646. that’s my passcode. see you soon 😋’ I teased, unable to contain my anticipation.

I wanted to push his boundaries, to see how far he'd let me take this game of seduction. As the anticipation mounted, I couldn't help but wonder what Zayne's reaction would be. Would he succumb to the temptation, or would he resist my advances? Only time would tell, but one thing was certain—the quietude of this night was about to be shattered by the electrifying tension between us.

"Be a good girl and wait for me," Zayne's last text arrived, laden with promise, and I eagerly complied (or maybe not), my pulse racing with anticipation. In less than 30 minutes, I heard the familiar sound of the door unlocking, signalling Zayne's arrival. "Y/N…?" he called out my name, his voice tinged with anticipation. As he stepped into the room, his presence electrified the air, sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine. Dressed in his signature black collared shirt and sleek work pants, both my weakness, I knew I would falter sooner or later. But as of now, I had a mission to complete—to make him needy enough to beg me.

Meanwhile, I reclined on the bed, eyes closed, fingers tracing lazy circles on the delicate fabric of my thong. Beneath its embrace, my clit throbbed with anticipation, eagerly awaiting Zayne's touch. With practiced finesse, I reached for the vibrator beside me, teasing myself with its arousing vibrations, each movement imbued with a sense of anticipation. The room felt charged with erotic tension, a prelude to the passionate encounter about to unfold. “I told you to wait for me, didn’t I?” Zayne's voice stood before me, shattering the silence. His words sending a thrill of excitement racing through me. “I’m going to punish you,” he declared, his tone heavy with desire as he made his way to the sofa in the corner, his eyes fixed on me with unwavering intensity.

As he settled into the seat, a surge of defiance stirred within me. I didn’t want him to simply watch—I wanted to tease him, to punish him for not giving me the attention I craved. With a determined resolve, I continued to pleasure myself with the vibrator, each flick of my wrist a deliberate invitation for him to join me in the throes of passion. But Zayne had other plans. “I’m not gonna do anything to you,” he stated, his words dripping with promise. “I’m just gonna sit here and watch you play with yourself.” The challenge in his voice only fuelled my desire further. Determined, I continued pleasuring myself with the vibrator, allowing him to witness my torment. I intensified my movements, each stroke of the vibrator against my clit sending waves of pleasure coursing through me.

I could sense Zayne's gaze burning into me, his desire evident in the way he watched, but I refused to yield. I wanted him to go wild, to lose control and fuck me senselessly after this. The mere thought of his roughness, the way he might choke me while delivering spanks, drove me wild. I maintained the steady rhythm, circling my clit with the vibrator and moaning his name, intent on arousing him for the impending encounter. 

My legs parted slightly as I continued to pleasure myself. I then pulled my thong to the side so that I could feel my vibrator even more intensely on my clit. I noticed him staring intensely at me from the sofa, his eyes tracing every movement, every expression, every curve accentuated by my lingerie. I knew he wanted to badly fuck me in it. The anticipation of his desire fuelling my own, I felt on the brink of climax just from his gaze alone.

As Zayne stood mere feet away, his imposing presence filled the room. With my left hand, I cupped my breast, teasingly pinching my erect nipple, while my right hand gripped the vibrator, its buzzing against my clit driving me relentlessly toward the brink of ecstasy. Moaning his name, I met his gaze, revelling in the power of my own pleasure. Each stroke, each caress, heightened the tension, propelling me toward release.

Riding the wave of my orgasm, I continued to chant Zayne's name, eagerly anticipating his touch later. My body hummed with electricity as I pressed the vibrator against my clit, prolonging the blissful sensation.

After savouring the peak of my orgasm, I rose from the bed, my limbs still tingling with pleasure. With deliberate grace, I began to crawl towards him, each movement purposeful, my hips swaying in a mesmerising rhythm. The air crackled with anticipation as I closed the distance between us, my eyes locked on his with unwavering intensity.

Once near enough, my hands ventured forward, exploring the fabric of his pants with feather-light touches. Zayne's hands remained on the armrest, unmoving. The material beneath my fingertips felt smooth and inviting, heightening my senses as I traced the contours of his thighs, inching closer to the throbbing arousal that awaited me.

In a kneeling position, I slowly began to caress his clothed erection with my lips, each kiss a tantalising tease. I could feel the heat radiating from him, his desire palpable in the air. With each stroke of my tongue, I could sense his control slipping, his restraint waning as he surrendered to the intoxicating pleasure coursing through him. Zayne looked hot and bothered, his desire evident in the way he watched me, his breathing growing heavier with each passing moment.

“Are you sure you just wanna sit and watch me play with your dick all by myself?” I teased, a playful pout playing on my lips. He stayed seated, his gaze never wavering, his desire palpable in the air between us. “Unbuckle my pants,” he commanded, his voice filled with authority. I did as he asked without hesitation, maintaining eye contact with him as I unbuckled his pants. “Now take it out and lick it,” he instructed, his voice laced with anticipation. 

Each time my gaze fell upon his impressive member, I couldn't help but marvel at its sheer size and thickness, feeling a surge of excitement coursing through me. The anticipation of feeling him fill me up, stretching me to my limits, sent a thrill down my spine. With eager hands, I liberated his arousal from its confines, gently guiding it out from beneath the fabric of his pants. As I lowered his trousers for his comfort, I couldn't resist the urge to admire him fully exposed before me.

Coating his length with my saliva, I savoured the taste of him, relishing in the way he responded to my touch. His throbbing length stretched beyond the limits of my mouth, almost impossible to accommodate entirely. With each swirl of my tongue around his tip, his breath hitched in his throat, his desire evident in the intensity of his gaze. "You know how I like it sloppy. More spit," he demanded, his voice husky with need, his eyes dark with desire, urging me to indulge his every whim.

Following his commands, I coated his throbbing member with a liberal amount of saliva, my hand moving with purpose and urgency, driving him to the brink of ecstasy. "Yes, just like that, princess," he praised, his words dripping with desire, igniting a fiery need within me. The endearing term sent a rush of excitement coursing through me, amplifying my desire to please him in every way possible.

As I continued, I pushed myself beyond my limits, unable to stop gagging on his dick. His hands remained on the armrest, yet I could feel his reaction as I went deeper, my eyes rolling backward involuntarily. Zayne's response was palpable, a muttered 'fuck' slipping from his lips before he leaned forward, gently pulling my mouth away from his throbbing length.

With a sudden tug on my hair, he forced me to meet his gaze, his intensity heightened. "I can’t take it anymore, can't wait to mess you up," he whispered in my ear, his warm breath sending shivers down my neck. In response, I teased him playfully, biting my lower lip and meeting his gaze with a sultry look. "Why wait?"

He wasted no time, guiding my head to gag me with his dick once more, my eyes watery and drool cascading down my chin. “I love drooling on your cock,” I said to Zayne, the admission pushing him over the edge. With his patience wearing thin, he swiftly pulled up his pants before lifting me with practiced ease, settling me straddled on his lap. Purposeful strides carried us to the bed, where he positioned himself, and I found myself draped over his lap, anticipation pulsating with each passing second. Zayne's fingers trace intricate patterns over my clit, teasing and enticing me with each delicate touch. In the next instant, his hand shifts, grabbing my ass firmly before delivering a sharp spank that reverberates through the room, the sound echoing in the stillness.

The first sharp spank sent a jolt of ecstasy coursing through me, igniting an insatiable hunger. Suddenly, a mischievous idea sparked in my mind, and I decided to indulge in a bit of playful role-play, leveraging Zayne's profession as a doctor.

“I need more, Doctor Zayne” I pleaded while biting my lower lip, my voice dripping with desire— craving his touch like a potent drug. Zayne froze for a moment, his expression shifting from surprise to amusement. "This isn't covered by your insurance, y'know," he quipped, his tone playful yet commanding, before delivering another sharp but mighty spank on my ass.

I couldn't help but laugh at his response, the sound echoing in the room as I remained straddled over his lap, revelling in the playful banter between us. But then, in an instant, the mood shifted, and Zayne seamlessly reverted to his dominant stance, delivering another firm spank to my exposed flesh.

With each resounding spank, his voice low and commanding, he chastised me for my naughtiness, his words driving me to new heights of arousal. "So fucking naughty, pleasuring yourself in front of me," he growled, his hand delivering each punishing blow with precision. I squirmed beneath his touch, unable to contain the pleasure that surged through me with each impact. “Sending me pics while I’m at work, you love it when I’m distracted, don’t you?” with each word, he punctuated his statement with another firm spank, the impact sending waves of pleasure rippling through me.

A swift strike from his left hand landed on my ass, the sting on my ass was met with a subtle tightening of his grip around my neck, sending a thrilling jolt of excitement coursing through me. Involuntarily, my back arched in response, an instinctive reaction to the sensation.

I moaned once more, gasping for air, my body wavering but my determination to take control unwavering. As I attempted to shift my body, aiming to use his broad shoulders to lift myself up and straddle Zayne on his lap, a surge of futile resistance washed over me. Zayne's grip remained unyielding, firmly in control. Despite my efforts to regain dominance, he held me firmly in his grasp, each spank serving as a sharp reminder of my transgressions. "Do you think you can get away with this?" he questioned, his tone dripping with dominance. "Making me lose control and expecting things to go your way?" Each word was punctuated by another sharp spank, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through me. With each impact, my ass bounced, fueling his desire to deliver more.

“Answer me,” he commands, tugging at my hair, forcing me to meet his gaze. "No, daddy," I gasp, a shiver of anticipation coursing through me as another sharp spank lands, followed by his gentle touch to soothe the sting. “You’re going to do what I tell you, understood?” His voice is firm, demanding obedience. I nod eagerly, my body trembling with excitement and submission. 

Before delving into anything more extreme, Zayne reminded me to use our safe word if things went too far. I assured him that I would, eager to trust in our mutual boundaries.

"Lay on your back and spread for me," he ordered, and without hesitation, I complied. His commands were my guide, and I willingly surrendered to his desires. As I lay before him, legs wide open, he joined me on the bed, positioning himself to fully admire my exposed form. Zayne lifted my legs, hovering them over my stomach, his gaze fixated on my glistening clit, still hidden and wet beneath the fabric of the lingerie. 

With deliberate precision, he pushed the fabric of my thong aside, exposing my throbbing clit to his hungry gaze. Without a moment's hesitation, he delivered a powerful spank across my exposed flesh, the sensation simultaneously arousing and electrifying.

"That's what you get for distracting me,” he admonished, his hand returning to soothe the sting he had caused. Adjusting my position slightly, he seized my breasts, eliciting a sharp gasp as he pulled down my lingerie bra to pinch my nipples and deliver a punishing slap across my breasts and then to my clit. 

“That’s what you get for teasing me,” he growled, his touch alternating between punishment and pleasure, each sensation driving me closer to the edge of ecstasy. With each slap of his hand against my swollen clit, the intensity of my desire surged, propelled by the knowledge that I was at his mercy. And as he continued to tease and torment me, I surrendered completely to the intoxicating power of his dominance.

“And that,” he continued, his voice husky with desire, “is for tempting me beyond control.” With each stroke of his hand against my throbbing clit, I felt the tension coil tighter within me, aching for release. Tonight, I surrendered to the game, willingly becoming the one who begged for his touch, yearning to feel his every caress and penetration. The desire to taste him, to engulf his throbbing member in my mouth, consumed me entirely. In the depths of my being, I found solace in Zayne's dominance, reveling in his complete control over my body. It was as if I craved nothing more than to be his plaything, his puppet to manipulate at his whim, his slave to fulfill his every desire.

With one final slap on my clit, Zayne soothes it once more, eliciting a delicious blend of pleasure and pain that brought tears to my eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he removed my lingerie thong, each movement laden with anticipation. With a devilish grin, he tucked it into his pocket, a silent reminder of his control over me.

Then, with a hunger that matched my own, he descended on my clit, his tongue a fervent instrument of pleasure. He devoured it with an insatiable appetite, his movements precise and calculated. His tongue traced intricate patterns from my anus to my clit, and back again, each stroke sending electric waves of pleasure coursing through me. With each lick and suck, he coated my clit with his saliva, mingling with my arousal and heightening the intensity of the moment. And all the while, his unwavering gaze locked onto mine, a silent challenge that dared me to lose myself completely in the ecstasy of his touch.

But Zayne's hunger knew no bounds. With a growl of desire, he shifted his focus, using his tongue to fuck my pussy repeatedly, his movements rhythmic and relentless. Each thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy through my body, driving me to the brink of madness as I surrendered completely to his skilled ministration.

With one final lick from him, I was sent hurtling over the edge, my release flooding over Zayne's tongue in a torrent of ecstasy. My body convulsed with pleasure, every nerve tingling with the intensity of the moment. Yet, Zayne continued to ride the wave of my orgasm, his tongue remaining firmly latched onto my pulsating pussy. The sensation was so intense that I couldn't help but arch my back in response, offering myself completely to the waves of pleasure crashing over me.

"Who said you could cum on my tongue?” Zayne's voice sliced through the air with authority. He seized my torso, forcing me to face him, my body now positioned on all fours. Still lost in the throes of my orgasm, I couldn't muster a response. His grip tightened around my neck, and with a sharp spank on my ass, he demanded again in a low, commanding voice, "Answer me."

Pouting and shaking my head, my eyes still watery from the overwhelming pleasure, I struggled to regain my composure. "N-no one," I gasped for air, my voice barely a whisper as I tried to come back from my high.

"So why did you?" Zayne's question dripped with dominance, his gaze piercing into my soul. "I'm sorry, daddy” I said in a playful, teasing manner, pouting my lips as I met his gaze. "I'm gonna make it up to you," I continued, leaning in to give him a small peck on the lips, my heart racing with anticipation of what was to come.

With each breath, the scent of his cologne mingled with the musky aroma of desire, intensifying the longing pooling in my core. 

I took a moment to reclaim my breath and composure, my eyes lingering on Zayne. The crisp lines of his black collared shirt and the snug fit of his work pants accentuated every contour of his masculine form, intensifying my desire and fuelling my determination to pleasure him even more.

Motivated by a surge of resolve, I pushed Zayne off the bed, compelling him to stand on the edge of it. Hastily, I seized the waistband of his pants, pulling them down to reveal his mighty erection in all its glory once again. Still positioned on all fours on the bed, I wasted no time in engulfing Zayne's throbbing member with my mouth, eagerly licking and sucking with fervour.

Driven by an insatiable hunger, I suckle and lick Zayne's throbbing shaft, my tongue tracing every vein and contour, coaxing moans of pleasure from deep within him. The taste of his skin, salty and intoxicating, dances across my senses, driving my hunger for him to new heights. As I lavish attention upon him, I allow my saliva to cascade down his length, glistening in the dim light of the room like liquid silk.

He gathers my hair into his firm grip, guiding it with care as I continue to lavish attention on his throbbing cock.

With each descent, I push myself to take him deeper, feeling the tension in his muscles as I brush against the back of my throat. The sensation of him stretching me, filling me, turning me on like never before. I embrace the gagging, the tightness, knowing that each vibration emanating from my mouth only serves to heighten his pleasure. 

Through it all, I remain attuned to his responses, the subtle shifts in his breathing and the way his body tenses beneath my touch. I revel in the power I hold over him, the control I wield with each flick of my tongue and gentle suck. In this moment, I am his ultimate source of pleasure, and I am determined to leave him trembling with satisfaction.

Zayne took a moment to deliver a sharp spank to my ass, heightening the intensity of the moment, before allowing me to continue drooling and licking eagerly over every inch of his pulsating member. “So fucking needy for me”, he remarked, his voice filled with both lust and dominance.

His breath hitched with each eager stroke of my tongue, his arousal palpable in the air. With his hand still firmly gripping my hair, Zayne guides me in syncopated rhythm, each motion synchronised with his eager thrusts. The sensation of his commanding touch and the rhythm of our movements fuel my desire to please him further, driving me to new heights of arousal and surrender. I swirled my tongue over every inch of his tip and length, tracing the contours of his throbbing cock. With each lick, I could feel the veins pulsating beneath my touch, a tangible sign of his arousal and my effect on him.

“I love your cock, I love it I love it I love it,” I murmured, taking a brief pause from sucking to express my admiration. Then, with a subtle hum of pleasure, I resumed, each moan vibrating through him and further intensifying the pleasure.

“Oh yeah?” he teased, his tone dripping with amusement. Suddenly, he shoved my entire head and mouth onto his hard erection, ramming it deep—causing me to choke and gag. Despite the overwhelming sensation, he knows my limits and where to draw the line. “Choke on this,” he commanded, his voice filled with authority. 

He withdrew his cock from my mouth and spat into it, the warm liquid mingling with my own saliva as he reclaimed his dominance—guiding his member deep into my mouth once more. For a few exhilarating seconds, he holds it there, allowing me to feel every pulsation, before withdrawing, leaving me gasping for air. Eyes watery, mouth drooling, I'm a trembling mess before Zayne, consumed by desire.

As my eyes roll backward from the intensity, the overwhelming sensation only heightens my craving for him, for the taste of his cock filling my mouth. I revel in the act of choking on his dick, each gasp for breath fuelling my arousal. My pussy throbs with need, aching for the feeling of him deep inside me. Zayne withdraws his dick from my mouth and then firmly grasps my cheeks, pulling my face close to his. His gaze pierces mine before claiming my lips with a hungry kiss. “Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy,” he breathes against my lips, his words dripping with raw desire.

"Please, fuck me," I pleaded, meeting his gaze with desperation and desire.

"Why? You don’t need it. You can cum on your own," Zayne teased, his words laced with a hint of punishment for my earlier transgression—having an orgasm without waiting for him.

I begged him even more fervently.

"Mmm, beg me more. I kinda like it," he commanded, his voice dripping with authority. So I obeyed, my pleas growing more urgent. "Please, please, fuck me. I want to be your cum dumpster. I need your cock, Zayne. I need it inside of me,” I whimpered, my desperation palpable in evert word. My moans and pleas became increasingly frantic as my need for him grew more desperate.

The air crackled with tension as my words hung in the space between us.

Zayne moaned in response, his hunger evident as he caved in to my desire. With a commanding tone, he instructed me to remove my bra, and I complied without hesitation. Still on the bed before him, his erection throbbing with anticipation, he lifted me effortlessly from the bed, positioning me to straddle him. Facing each other, I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling the heat of his arousal against my skin. His arms and hands locked underneath my thighs, providing support as he carried me higher, his lips descending to suckle and tease my hardened nipples. The sensation was electrifying.

With a deliberate motion, he pressed me firmly against the wall near the bed, the cool surface contrasting sharply with the heat radiating from our bodies. As he slid his cock inside me, a wave of overwhelming sensation washed over me, rendering me breathless and powerless to resist. I moaned in response, my voice echoing in the room, as his movements grew increasingly fervent and needy.

With each thrust, he plunged deeper into me. My nails dug into his back, leaving half-moon imprints as I clung to him, lost in the intensity of the moment. I couldn't suppress my moans of pleasure, each one escaping my lips as I surrendered completely to the overwhelming sensation of his cock inside me. My hands found their way into Zayne's hair, tugging gently as I arched my back, offering myself completely to him. His lips found mine in a fevered kiss, our breath mingling as our bodies moved in perfect sync. I bounced on his cock, meeting his thrusts with equal fervour, the ecstasy building with each movement. Despite the overwhelming pleasure, I held back, waiting for him to reach the brink of release. "I'm close," Zayne gasped, his breath ragged as he continued to grip my body tightly, driving us both towards ecstasy. "I'm on a pill. I need that cum buried deep inside me," I whispered, my voice barely above a breathy plea. With those words, Zayne's control shattered, his climax erupting with a powerful release as he emptied himself inside me—his cock driving even deeper. And soon after, I climaxed too.

The sensation of his warm seed filling me sent me over the edge, my body convulsing in pleasure as I rode out the waves of ecstasy. I could feel every pulse of his release, a delicious warmth spreading through me, mingling with the throbbing heat of my own climax. Even as the intensity of our climaxes subsided, I remained insatiable, eager to prolong the connection and savour every moment of our passion. With each movement, I guided his still-throbbing cock back inside me, circling my hips to ensure every drop of his cum was pumped deep within. Our bodies moved in a synchronized dance of desire, the rhythm of our lovemaking echoing through the room.

Zayne's expression was a blend of ecstasy and dazed—almost incredulous, that I still had the energy to keep him in such a state of bliss. He then lifted me, his cum dripping from my pussy to the floor, leaving me feeling simultaneously full and empty without his cock inside me. Despite the overwhelming sensations, he maintained his firm grip underneath my thighs, refusing to let go. He buried his face in my breasts, still riding the high of our shared climax.

Still carrying me, he guided us back onto the bed with gentle guidance. As we lay intertwined on the bed, his heartbeat resonating against my skin—enveloping me in a comforting embrace. Zayne's care and tenderness washed over me like a soothing balm. With tender kisses, he traced a path along my neck and shoulders, each touch a soothing balm to the lingering sensations of our lovemaking. His lips whispered words of affection and reassurance, filling the room with a sense of warmth and intimacy.

I nestled closer to him, feeling the weight of his body against mine, grounding me in the present moment.

“Don't tease me like that again,” he murmured in a low tone, his eyes sparkling with playful mischief. I couldn't resist teasing him further. "Or what? You gonna punish me again?" I retorted, a mischievous glint in my eye as excitement bubbled within me. Zayne's smirk only widened as he cupped my face in his hands, his touch sending shivers of anticipation down my spine. "Come on, let’s go shower," he suggested, his tone laced with promise. "I'll make sure you learn your lesson properly this time."

My heart raced with excitement at the prospect of another round of playfulness with him. "Second round?" I suggested eagerly, a playful grin spreading across my face. "Yes, sirrrrr."

—by prettyobsessed⋆˚✿˖° 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚♡

Editor’s note: i saw a meme on reddit and some parts were inspired by it 😀 also, i actually wanted to name this piece 'Midnight Tease' but ultimately chose Lace & Desire instead. What do you think? :) hope you enjoyed this one! ♡

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#392

“Well Lucas, I had pretty much given up on you.  But here you are.  And for some reason, you are in my home wearing clothing.  This is not the way to beg me to allow you to service and serve me once again….  That’s better.  You will need to be disciplined for that.  Remind me before you leave to punish you properly….

“I see the envelope.  Hand it to me. 

“What the fuck are you doing.  Get back there and crawl to me.  It may have been only a few months since I dismissed you, I can’t believe you are forgetting the basics.  Don’t make me regret offering you a second chance.

“Atta boy.  I was surprised when I got the call from Dyson at his leather shop telling me that you were in and wanted to be fitted for that cock cage.  Get back on your knees and present your pecker to me….  Eyes down.

“Dyson did a good job.  Most cages aren’t fit well.  Faggots can easily pull their shaft out and give it a tug.  This one is nearly impossible.  And after I pierce that dickhead of yours, the cage will work even better with the lock, as the jewelry secures you inside.  Your useless pecker won’t be coming outside to play for a long, a very long time.

“This envelope doesn’t look tampered with.  That’s good.  It contains a pair of keys, each in its own smaller envelope.  On the back, Dyson signed his name across the seal….  Here you go.  Add this envelope to your pile of clothes.  That’s his way of telling me the key is secure.

“That envelope, or one that I markup, is to be always with you.  If there is an emergency, a real emergency, you may open it up and remove the cage.  If that should happen, I am to be notified immediately.  If you can contact me prior, do so.  You got that?

“Good boy.  Come with me down to the work and playroom.  You may walk. 

“…This is my key here.  Come over to my worktable.  See all the keys I have?  There’s 18 here.  Yours will be number 19.  Each are screwed down.  That’s why I have this drill here. 

“…There.  Yours is now just like the other slaves’ keys.  None of them are marked.  And if you notice, none have been unscrewed.  The reason for that is that all screws are stripped so they can’t be easily removed.

“I said there are 19.  Sixteen of them are the keys to slaves that have walked away from serving me.  That option is always available to you.  Number 8 is on the other side of the country.  You’ll meet number 15 next weekend.

“Now that’s done.  It’s blumpkin time.  Come with me into the shitter….  And don’t worry, I’m not going to shit in your mouth.

“Help me take my pants off….  You better be ready to do this.  You back out now, you better just go away,… permanently.

“…Kneel there….  Here, get that mouth over here.  I see you are weary.  To take your mind away from the idea of blowing me while I take a dump, let me give you something you can focus on.  I need to piss real bad.

“Get your mouth on it.  Man, you have a very talented tongue.  Now hold still.  There!  That feels so good.  Going forward, I want to have all my piss go through you first. 

“You’ve been drinking me on every visit.  It only makes sense.

“You hear that?  You smell that?  You get to smell my rank farts before I do.  Heh heh.

“I can tell you are squirming on the inside.  I know you are repulsed with the idea.  Good.  You knew this moment was going to be happening from day one. 

“I’m done pissing.  Go ahead and suck.  …To the root.  You know how I like to be blown.  Do it. 

“When I first brought you home from the bar, I fucked you the entire weekend.  Your answer to two questions led us to today.  I asked you what your favorite part of your time here was, and you said that you liked the non-stop fucking of your ass with my gigantic dick. 

“Every time you came by afterwards, I could tell you wanted me to fuck you long and hard.  I purposely haven’t.  I told you that I don’t fuck after the first time, unless you agree to give me something in return.

“It’s all about balance.  You want something from me, you have to offer a sacrifice.  I told you I demand a form of monogamy from you.  That would be monogamy of your dick or monogamy of your cunt.  You could have any man I allow have access to your dick, even yourself, and that your cunt would only be used by me.  A lockable butt plug would be installed.  Or, you could have your cunt available to any man I allow, and your pecker would be unavailable and locked up to all, again even yourself. 

“Seeing you in that cage tells me that you made up your mind.  Going forward, you’ll service men who will give you their loads.  Next weekend you and I will be going on a fishing trip with slave number 15, where both of you will serve and service me and a few of my buds.

“The second question I asked you that night, was what your limits were.  You remember what the only thing you listed?...

“No. No.  Keep up with the blowjob.  Don’t start easing up.  Give it the attention I deserve.  Yes, there you go. 

“You only gave one limit.  It wasn’t animals or kids or women or even something really gross like dead people.  Those would be an immediate no for me too.  No, you just said ‘poop’. 

“No, I’m not going to make you eat out of the toilet bowl, so you can relax.  In fact, let me flush that down.

“Sit back.  Keep your eyes down.  I need to finish up here….  Oh fuck.  I’m out of toilet paper.  I forgot to get some when I was out.  Damn.

“Come with me back into the playroom….  I said, ‘Come with me.’  Lay on the fuck table.  I need to plow that hole.

“Well, that got you smiling.  Yeah, I just hate to see an erection go to waste.  Especially considering the amount of throat slime you put on it. 

“Reach up and hold your legs….  There’s the cunt.  And here’s a little gob of my spit.

“Right to the root!  Goddamn!  Like I told you on that first weekend, your cunt was made to be fucked.  It takes the long dicking of my eight inches with just enough struggle.  That look of ecstasy on your face tells me you are enjoying this…. 

“I should be pissed off.  But I’m not.  A bitch like you should have some moments of heavenly pleasures.  These moments come from my dick taking care of your hole.  You can expect my dick in your ass two or three times a day.  Yeah, I can go multiple times.  You get this intense pleasure.  But it can stop at any time.  All I have to do is… pull out.

“Damn!  After six or seven thrusts, there’s just the beginnings of a gape.  It’s hungry for more!  It needs to be fucked.  Doesn’t it boy?...  Don’t worry, my dick will take care of your ass. 

“That’s what it will be doing day in and day out.  But that requires balance.  It can’t be all me taking care of the needs of your ass.  It has to be balanced with you taking care of the needs of mine.

“Bring your legs down.  Get off the bench and get under the rim seat.  You have some work to do.

“Don’t fucking say a word.  You do NOT want to disobey me on this.

“I see the heavenly bliss on your face went to terrifying fear in only a few seconds….  Good.

“No, lay behind me on that four-inch riser.  I don’t want your torso between my legs.  And I don’t have to worry about you beating off, not that I expect you to be remotely hard doing this.

“Your head goes between those two padded pieces of wood.  That’s to keep your head from moving side to side.  That four-inch platform is designed to elevate the seat so that it fits my legs.  This will allow me to sit on your face for a good long time.  The other thing about this platform are the two holes on both sides of your neck.  That’s where this neck lock gets secured… like that.

“You cannot pull out.  I don’t expect that to be an issue now, but later once we get to the end of your full toilet training, that’s a different situation.

“Get that tongue ready.  Stick it out.  I better feel it go to work….  Now bitch!  Lick!

“Remember, you are the one who decided this on our first time together.  You said this was your limit.  It’s all about balance.  You take care of my ass, and I’ll take care of yours. 

“You can knock off the gagging.  You are going to be down there for a while.  Reach around and stroke my cock.  Feel how rock hard I am.  Think about the fucking you are going to get once I am cleaned up.  Oh yeah.  After we are done here, I am so going to destroy that ass, just like I did that first time.  It’s all about balance.  You are gagging from disgust, and I am rock hard aroused.

“…You know, I thought you were going to say something different about what your favorite part of the weekend.  I thought it was waking up next to me both mornings, with you in my arms and my cock either in your cunt or snuggled up next to it.

“Did you like that?  Flick your tongue twice across my asshole for yes or once for no….  Thought so.  I enjoyed that too. 

“After you clean my ass, we’ll go up to my bedroom and I’ll fuck you there, just like that first weekend.  And afterwards we’ll just stay in bed for the rest of the night.  Yeah, that’s what we’ll do.  Normally slaves should be locked up, and I use that cage over there for those slaves.  But you are going to get your first night in my bed to wake up in my arms.

“You can look forward to that too.  But we need to balance out the tender caresses you will receive from me….  Keep licking….  It’s decided then.  Tenderness from your loving daddy will be balanced against the cruel beatings from your sadistic master.  And I have just the belt to do that with.  Yeah, we’ll get you welted up and bleeding before I fuck you again. “Mmmm, I like that idea.  A lot.  Let go of my cock.  I don’t want to cum too early.”

[bloop-bl00p]

Are the suffering and consequences in the room with us?

For a place that is supposed to be Hell, there’s little to no effort into showing that these people are punished. Not necessarily by the Hellborns, I very much like the approach of “Hell is other people” but the writers failed at showing us this aspect. Vivziepop's version of Hell feels more like L.A. painted in red. And that’s disappointing.

It’s still a messed up place but outside of episode 4, there’s no real investment in making sure we understand that this is HELL. We see people do drugs yet we see nobody in a zombie-like state on the street. The closest we had was a randoe in Happy Day in Hell but it was a joke.

This is something very blatant with HH, most of the time, when something serious is presented it’s a joke (Sexual assault, drugs, etc...) It’ll depend on whether you're Viv's favorite character or not.

*cough*

Sir Pentious was not.

*cough*

You also see this in how they approached the crimes committed by characters, most of them did messed up things but Charlie never tries to address these despite being the one supposed to care about redemption.

Vaggie participated in genocide, she was angry but for one episode only, and her rant to Alastor was too light-hearted to be taken seriously (again a joke). Rewatch the scene, with an Alastor that doesn't give a damn, the funny music in the background, her goofy facial expression and tone, that’s not taking it seriously narratively.

Alastor was a serial killer and took pleasure in torturing his victims. Currently, he’s a cannibal and slave owner, Charlie does nothing about it. I’m not asking her to free Husk and Nifty we don’t know if she really can, but she could have had a conversation asking Al to not torture people during his stay at the hotel or treat his employees like humans and not pets.

Angel Dust was part of the mafia. From what we’ve seen he isn't against killing people, in fact, he seems to like it.

Every time we see him fight he’s smiling and enjoying himself, it’s said in the pilot that he’ll never miss an opportunity to help Cherry fight in those turf wars of hers. But his problem is druUuUUugs (this is an issue but that’s the only thing pointed out.)

That’s even more noticeable with the cannibals… who are nice? Whoa… you’re saying that the people whose whole culture is to jump you at your most vulnerable, tear through your flesh with teeth and hands just to feast on you in the middle of the street are actually silly guys and gals who like meat a bit too much. How charming ☺️

She was more annoyed that guts and blood went into her eye than anything.

There isn’t enough effort to showcase the horrors of living in a place where your only chance to survive is to be physically stronger and a good manipulator. When we’re shown something awful like “murders or cannibalizing someone” it’s presented as quirky, and funny, and nobody really mentions it. Aren't we supposed to believe that Hell is a bad place as a whole? Is Extermination really the only thing we have to worry about?

What’s the point of adding concepts like forced labor, addiction, and an unfair hierarchical system if you’re not going to show the viewer the horrendous reality of these things?

Vivziepop needs to pick a consistent tone for her series, there’s nothing wrong with joking about murders and EdgyyYyy humor, but that makes the audience detach from the reality of these things and they will have a hard time caring for a character the second they are portrayed as bad. Especially when the transition between funny and serious is from one episode to another.

“Angel and Husk are suffering!!!!!”

The characters that are supposed to be addicts are sober every time we see them on screen. We see Husk drink alcohol directly from the bottle and rather than showing that the toxins are affecting his body by making him sluggish and/or on the verge of vomiting he’s still able to stand still and hold a conversation perfectly. Even if Husk drank like a sailor, there’s so much alcohol your liver can take before eventually letting it affect your system.

But maybe we could use his addiction in a way to reinforce the fact that he isn't free.

Think of it like this, show a few scenes where Husk is excessively drinking experiencing bad hangovers, and not doing his job correctly as a whole. Vaggie complains about this to Alastor saying that til now he has done nothing significant to help the hotel and the employees he brought aren’t even behaving properly. She threatens him saying that he might get kicked out if this continues.

To that, Alastor could later threaten Husk saying he better fix his drinking habits or he’ll broadcast his scream or whatever. Later Husk would still be drinking but you could have little details of Alastor side-eyeing him and him just letting go of his bottles. He’ll still be sluggish but he’ll make sure he’s sober enough to keep The Radio Demon happy.

We never really felt like Husk’s movements were controlled by Alastor, he was just brought into the hotel without his concent, that sucks, but he can still converse normally with the others. In the Pilot, he insulted Deer Boe in his face with no repercussions. A few more scenes like the one in episode 5 to reinforce the power dynamics between him and Al wouldn't kill.

And Angel Dust how many scenes do we see him do drugs yet his body is able to take it all?

He’s supposed to be an addict, there are few mentions of him hiding things in his room but it's all talking! Talking is not bad, you can talk, but it’s boring and holds NO substances when there isn't SHOWING. Imagine this:

Charlie is worried because it’s been an hour and Angel hasn't come back to the Hotel, she knows his schedule as a sex worker is extremely busy but she usually knows when he comes back and he didn't respond to any of her messages.

Before she could go out to search for him, Cherry burst out into the room, a beaten and knocked out Angel on her shoulder. She was barely standing herself as she was also injured, with many cuts freshly bleeding mainly on her arms and face.

Charlie and the other help her get Angel to his room to tend to his wounds and Cherry’s. When she asks for an explanation Bomb explains that Angel couldn't buy his usual stash of drugs at the local store he went to anymore, as it got plundered right after the end of the extermination, the owner was killed and the shop was vulnerable to thieves.

Angel was looking for a very rare type of drug, made in the Gluttony ring, usually, the things made there take you quickly to cloud nine practically knocking you out in the process. The store he bought it from was the only one with prices affordable enough for him.

He eventually found a gang that was willing to give him a very small portion of drugs in exchange for money. Except that he didn't have nearly enough for what they were asking but he still went with it just after his work in one of Val’s clubs, already a shitty idea since he was exposed to many illicit substances when working with the moth so he wasn’t clean.

Obliviously the gang didn't accept a slip payment and tried to rob and take advantage of him. Cherry stepped up, fought a bit, and escaped with Angel, thanks to her smoke bombs, before things could get too serious. She goes on a small rant about how she and Angel are friends and they mutually help each other, when her wounds are patched up she leaves not before asking Angel to call her when he wakes up. Before she could go Charlie proposed to her to stay at the hotel but Cherry refused stating that there were people in the street who probably needed her help, but she might send people to Charlie’s hotel if she felt like they couldn’t survive in the street.

There’s probably a lot I could fix with this story but that’s just a quick example. What did I manage to convey without blatantly saying it? Angel Dust isn’t in a great financial situation, his addiction is so bad that he’s willing to put himself in danger just to get his hand on the strongest dope and Hell is a fucked up place. I didn't say it I showed it and since you’re smart you understood the subtext.

Some will say that there’s Extermination, but first, we just learned that they can fight back and they have a year to prepare themselves so the stakes are lesser.

Second, it’s surprisingly easy to get angelic weapons.

Someone like Striker managed to get multiple angelic weapons to kill Stolas and a rope that neutralized his powers.

An imp, the cockroach of the society, either his killing business is extremely successful or Carmilla’s prices aren’t that high. And don’t go tell me “Stealaa bought it!!” that’s never implied or stated.

Plus the angel leaves these in the open, I’d say it’s quite easy to get one of those right after an Extermination, nobody was surprised Vaggie has a spear so it feels like it’s common for someone to have them.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Hi, I want to talk to you abou this image:

This illustration is titled "black slave women of different african nations". I find the combination of traditional African elements such as face-paint, necklaces and what appears to be ritual scarification and Western fashion worn by these women incredibly striking, but what made my jaw drop is the idea that these women are slaves.

While I am aware that maids and other lower-class women were sometimes able to access fancy clothing hand-me-downs from their employers, I had expected the nature of slavery in the Americas to make it impossible for enslaved black women to do the same.

So, this is a drawing. Whether it's drawn from life or not, I don't know, but the artist could easily have staged these women in fashionable (early 19th century) dresses or made the outfits up from their imagination. That being said, enslaved women absolutely did attempt to have "best" clothing and follow the fashions when they became aware of them.

Humans are human, no matter the circumstances. You can't crush that drive for beauty out of people, however you oppress them.

I know a bit more about fashion and later generations of Black women enslaved in the southeastern US, after scarification and such had been stripped out of their culture, but that certainly bears out this idea of treasuring beauty and trying to make space for fine clothing in their lives. Church services, weddings, and holidays like Christmas were often occasions for enslaved women to wear the best outfits they had, along with any jewelry or other finery they had managed to make or inherit. Some enslavers did give "favorite" people they held in bondage cloth, castoff clothes, cheap jewelry, lace, etc. At other times, the enslaved people cleverly made things themselves- one WPA Former Slave Interview in the 1930s, which I cannot find again for the life of me, featured an elderly man recalling that he once made hoop skirts from dried grapevine with an enterprising friend, selling them to the women in his community for a nickel (many enslaved people earned small amounts of money taking side jobs outside of their punishing work schedule).

Obviously such clothes could not be worn while working, but like I said, there WERE occasions of joy and celebration even in the harshness of slavery. The tradition of Black women wearing elaborate hats to church may in part originate from enslaved women (and their free but economically disempowered sisters) taking advantage of a rare chance for self-expression and elegance.

(Of course there were also less positive instances in which an enslaved woman might have fine clothing, namely sex trafficking, or habitual rape by an enslaver who then attempted to compensate her for this heinous crime with presents. New Orleans' infamous "fancy girl" market is enough to turn your stomach if you look it up.)

After the Civil War, some white commentators were incensed to see Black women in fashionable attire walking the streets where they'd once been enslaved. For these women, it acted as a visible and tangible way of asserting their freedom- as their ancestors despite wringing what happiness they could from life -had been unable to.

If anyone has more to add on this, please chime in! Enslaved women's fashion specifically is not my area of research, so I welcome input from people who study this more extensively. Cheyney McKnight is a wonderful source on enslaved people's lives in general, and a historical costumer herself.

[whereserpentswalk]

You sell items to adventurers for a living. It's relatively easy to get business in a frontier city like the one you live in. You were planning on becoming an adventurer yourself but an injured leg when you were young prevented that. But because you already know how to find items, and how they should be fairly priced, so it's a good living.

Not everyone who thinks of themselves as adventurers actually are adventurers. You sometimes have to sell weapons to naive groups of kids, who have no idea what they're doing. Useally you humor them, they tend to go off into useless places with no gold to be found, an old mineshaft that's been explored a thousand times over has become famous for such things. If they seem like they'll go somewhere way more dangerous than they should, you point them to the mineshaft.

Of course, most of your business is from actual adventurers. They tend to be wanderers, foreigners, a lot of ex merchants or ex millitary, or children of nobility who cant inherent, the type of people who never had the chance to make a safe living. Most of them are nice to you, and if they're not you know how to get them to leave.

You also know how to become a protecter for the adventuring parties who need it. Your shop is basically the center of their community in this part of the city. If a spellcaster is part of an illegal religion, or performing banned practices, you know what symbols to sell them to help them hide themselves. If someone is clearly a runaway slave or serf, or from a race that's considered a monster in this part of the world, you know how the forge the right documents. There was a hobgoblin who frequented your shop for a long time, who you sold weapons to, who you had to testify in front of the city sherif was not a hobgoblin but was infact a member of a rare subrace of elf that you made up to protect him. You may have also recently made an entire fictional category of magic legally real for the sake of protecting some necromancers you know.

There are some people you never sell to. It's not considered good principle to sell to people who would gladly kill your other clients. There was a group of warriors weilding holy magic who talked a lot about punishing sinners, they came back with the heads of goblins and hobgoblins a lot, and vampires, and humans of religions other then theirs. After they started bringing in more of their freinds you cut them off.

There are people who you wished you hadn't sold to for other reasons. There was this human noble girl who you sold a suit of armor to, she had run away from an arranged marriage and joined an adventuring party so she could be as far from her parents as possible. She seemed so excited to be in a big city, to be out in the world, she chatted with you for hours about an epic poem from ages long gone that she liked. When she came back to your shop after her first quest she had turned undead, something happened in her first dungeon that changed her, her skin was pale, and her teeth had turned sharp, you just remember her shivering and trying to cry, and muttering about how cold she was. Her other party members said they were happy she was more durable like this, they didn't seem to care about her outside of that.

And of course, there's the fact that every adventurer you know, useally doesn't come back eventually. When a full party goes you can assume they left town, but when just one or two from a party is missing there tends to be one explanation. Most adventurers don't have long careers, and mortality especially high for rookies. But you don't tend to ask if anyone is dead, it's better to just assume they went home, as implausible as it may be.

[holylulusworld]

Indecent Proposal (12.2)

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.

Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: sexy mobsters, fluff, established Stucky, angst, implied smut, caring mobsters

Indecent Proposal (12)

Indecent Proposal masterlist

Since Rumlow brought you to the police station, you refuse to leave your home. Steve and Bucky tried anything to get you to go for a walk, but you are scared the cops will grab you again.

“Doll, this is unhealthy,” Bucky tuts. He kneels in front of your bed and tries to get you to follow him outside. “Let’s go outside and eat ice cream or go for a walk in the park.”

“What if he’s out there, waiting for me to show my face?” You murmur. “I don’t want that cop to grab me again. He’s obsessed with you and Steve. I’m going to end up as collateral damage.”

“Collateral what?” Bucky grunts. “Y/N, we won’t let anything happen to you.” He kisses your cheek. “You’re our missing piece, and the one giving us a baby one day.”

“Okay, that is enough,” Steve walks back inside your bedroom. “If she’s scared of Rumlow, we need to make sure she’s safe. You don’t need the apartment any longer. We brought all of your belongings to our place weeks ago.”

“Steve is right, baby doll. You spend most of your time at our place. Let’s bring you home. You’re our girl now, and we are your men.”

Bucky tries to sweet-talk you into leaving not only the bed but your apartment too. 

You sniff and look away. “How do you wanna get me out of bed? It’s all I got left of my old home, and I won’t leave it!”

“Baby doll, don’t be a brat,” Steve clicks his tongue. “I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of the apartment if you do not get out of bed right fucking now!”

“No!” You squeak and crawl away when Steve tries to grab you. “Get your hands off me! No…” You giggle and try to wiggle out of Steve’s grip.

“Y/N, don’t make Stevie mad. He’ll edge you all night long if you mess with him. Stevie is a strict punisher,” Bucky smirks when you stiffen at his words. 

“No,” you crawl toward Steve to cup his crotch. “You can’t edge me.” You pout and look up at Steve. “I came here to hide from Rumlow. He…”

“He scared you,” Steve gently pats your head. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of to be scared, doll. Rumlow has been after us for years. He won’t harm you. I swear we’ll protect you.”

“You promise,” grabbing Steve’s hand you place it on your heart. “Cross your heart and swear it, Stevie.”

“How about he gropes your chest and swears it,” Bucky purrs in your ear. For a man his size, he’s like a stealthy cat. He kneels behind you to nip at your neck. “We can ruin this bed too.”

“Buck, we should bring her home,” Steve groans as you already tug at his shirt again. “You are both insatiable. How can a man resist you two?”

“We are needy because you made us your loyal sex slaves,” Bucky snickers and crawls toward his husband. “Come on, take your pants off…”

Bucky walks back inside the living room, Alpine tugged under his arm. “How are you?”

“Better,” you snuggle back into the warm blanket and stare at the fireplace. “I’m a little calmer now.”

“Alpine, go and help Y/N relax,” Bucky places the white furball on your lap. “Let him work his magic. Alpine is a master in calming pretty girls and hot hunks.”

You giggle as Steve rolls his eyes behind Bucky’s back. “He believes his cat is a saint or something. That furball is nothing but a hairy beast stealing my socks.”

“He steals your socks because you always nag,” Bucky grunts. “Alpine is the best cat ever, and I love him. Live with it.”

“Guys, look,” you sniffle. Alpine is excessively rubbing his cheek into your belly. He purrs and meows as you stare at him. “What is he doing?”

“I think he has a thing for you,” Bucky grins. “Like father, like son.”

“Uh-“ Steve watches the cat. He hums and rubs his chin. “Cats have a very good instinct. I think he knows our pretty doll has a secret…”

Part 13

Tags in reblog.

[pythoria]

astarion is such a great character but one reason that stands out to me is how he turns the vampire stereotype on its head. vampires from their inception have been metaphors for sexuality, back in ye olden times when religious and cultural dogma repressed people's desires and forbade acting on them. they've always represented latent sexuality and people's increasing desperation. they were a fantasy that allowed people to imagine not being bound by societal rules, but by their internal hunger, giving into it and how that might feel, but more than that, how it might feel to be a victim of that. women, especially, were not allowed to express any desires, so the vampire taking whatever they wanted, as well as being desired for something as intrinsic to your being as your blood - that's a powerful fantasy. at its core, vampirism is about loss of control, and people who hold onto control very tightly in their lives will find themselves drawn to vampires as a form of catharsis.

but that's where astarion comes in and flips it around. he's far from the first character to explore the negative sides of vampirism, but as a long-term fan of many fictional vampires, i think he does it best. primarily because his story delves into the sexual aspect and the loss of control much more, while maintaining a lot of realism. his vampirism is very grounded in reality; he has real human feelings about it. the idea that people would find the powerful vampire overpowering them alluring is contrasted by the very obvious (to us, a modern audience) issues with consent involved. if the vampire cannot control their hunger, if they have no control over the desires they act on, that might sound appealing to someone who has never been allowed to act on *any* desire, but the reality of it is horrifying. it's being a victim of assault at your own hands. it's people using you and you being unable to express any discomfort, because what *you* want is always backseating what the vampirism demands. the liberating feeling of being able to act on your desires turns into the claustrophobia of being unable to deny them at all.

vampirism always came with downsides, of course. not being able to walk in the sun (being exiled from the world and polite society), not being able to see your reflection (a loss of self), dying and being reborn, but not coming back quite the same, never being able to return to the person you once were (giving up life itself, but not arriving in a religious heaven, rather staying on earth past your time, defying god, giving up the chance at eternal bliss for the inherently sinful continuation of the flesh), eternal life (losing everyone you love, seeing everything end) akin to eternal damnation in hell. all of these downsides, and yet, with astarion, even the good bits are tainted, or turned into something negative.

on top of that, the choice to damn himself for any supposed benefits of vampirism wasn't even given to him. he was turned against his will, kept against his will, had his freedom - the only thing worth anything to a vampire - taken away. he didn't escape from a life that boxed him in, he was ripped away from a life he dearly misses. but then again, considering his actions as a magistrate, it's also a sort of divine punishment by proxy, one that is entirely disproportionate to his crimes, in a way only something as extreme as vampirism can be.

obviously the proxy for all this is cazador, but he is merely a personification of the dark force vampires are slaves to. cazador exists because it's much easier for an audience to understand how little control a vampire has over his actions when they can point to someone and say "you're at fault, astarion is innocent, you forced him to do all of those awful things". but the truth is, cazador doesn't have to exist. cazador's compulsion could be replaced by an amorphous urge, coming from inside astarion, outside of his control, and his character would make just as much sense, except it would be harder for everyone (including astarion himself) to separate the actions from the person. imagine a dark urge character who wanted to be good, but the urge wasn't something they could resist. imagine an evil dark urge run, killing everyone, but entirely against your will. would you defend that character? would you be able to redeem them if one day the urge ceased? would you even be willing to wait, to give them time to break free? or would you just kill them, as a mercy on the world? there's no surprise that most people would stake astarion on sight. maybe he can be redeemed eventually, but what about the time inbetween?

yes, this all comes from dnd vampire lore, so it applies across the board, not just for astarion. vampire spawn exist as a different entity from a fully-fledged vampire because it allows the spawn to keep a part of their humanity, their soul, and have their morality exist separately from the call of the blood. all of this makes astarion fascinating, and also somewhat easier to analyse.

[conditioned-to-obey]

What would you recommend as punishment for a bratty slut who cums instead of edging as instructed, even after repeated discussions and spankings?

At that point, do you as a sub even actually want to do it? Ask yourself, "why am I doing this? Is it because I actually want to? Or is edging, denial and orgasm control just an odd expectation of kink that is too normalized? Is it enhancing my pleasure? No? Can I do without it completely? Do I actually enjoy this? Do I only enjoy it sometimes?"

I too commonly I see subs seeing orgasm control, chastity, asking for permission and denial as a default aspect of play and Dom/sub, ddlg, master/slave dynamics. This shouldn't be the case. Every aspect should be discussed before implemented. And outside of the bedroom or an actively sexual situation or scenario.

[stephobrien]

Is your pro-Palestine activism hurting innocent people? Here's how to avoid that. (Plain text version)

I kept getting "needs pt" tags on the original post, so here's the plain text version:

Over the last few days, I’ve had conversations with several Jewish people who told me how hurt and scared they are right now.

To my great regret, some of that pain came from a poorly-thought-out post of mine, which – while not ill-intentioned – WAS hurtful.

And a lot of it came from cruelty they’d experienced at the hands of people who claim to be advocating for Palestine, but are using the very real plight of innocent Palestinians to harm equally innocent Jewish people.

Y’all, we need to do better. (Yes, “we” definitely includes me; this is in no small part a “learn from my fail” post, and also a “making amends” post. Some of these are mistakes I’ve made in the past.)

So if you’re an advocate for Palestine who wants to make sure that your defense of one group of vulnerable people doesn’t harm another, here are some important things to do or keep in mind:

Ask yourself if you’re applying a standard to one group that you aren’t applying to another.

Would you want all white Americans or Canadians to be expelled from America or Canada?

Do you want all Jewish people to be expelled from Israel, as opposed to finding a way to live alongside Palestinian Arabs in peace?

If the answer to those two questions is different, ask yourself WHY.

Do you want to be held responsible for the actions of your nation’s army or government? No? Then don’t hold innocent Jewish people, or Israelis in general (whether Jewish or otherwise), responsible for the actions of the Israeli army and government.

On that subject, be wary of condemning all Israeli people for the actions of the IDF. Large-scale tactical decisions are made by the top brass. Service is compulsory, and very few can reasonably get out of service.

Blaming all Israelis for the military’s actions is like blaming all Vietnam vets for the horrors in Vietnam. They’re not calling the shots. They aren’t Nazis running concentration camps. They are carrying out military operations that SHOULD be criticized.

And do not compare them or ANY JEWISH PERSON to Nazis in general. It is Jewish cultural trauma and not outsiders’ to use against them.

Don’t infuse legitimate criticism with antisemitism. By all means, spread the word about the crimes committed by the Israeli army and government, and the complicity of their allies. Criticize the people responsible for committing and enabling atrocities.

But if you imply that they’re committing those crimes because they’re Jewish, or because Jewish people have special privileges, then you’re straying into antisemitic territory.

Criticize the crime, not the group. If you believe that collective punishment is wrong, don’t do it yourself.

And do your best to use words that apply directly to the situation, rather than the historical terms for situations with similar features. For example, use “segregation,” “oppression,” or “subjugation,” not “Holocaust” or “Jim Crow.” These other historical events are not the cultural property of Jews OR Palestinians, but also have their own nuances and struggles and historical contexts.

Also, blaming other world events on Jewish people or making Jewish people associated with them (for instance, some people falsely blame Jewish people for the African slave trade) is a key feature of how antisemitism functions.

Please, by all means, be specific and detailed in your critiques. But keep them focused on the current political actors – not other peoples’ or nations’ political or cultural histories and traumas.

Be prepared to accept criticism. You probably already know that society is infused with a wide array of bigotries, and that people growing up in that environment tend to absorb those beliefs without even realizing it. Antisemitism is no exception.

What that means is, there’s a very real chance that you will screw up, and get called out on it, as I so recently did.

If that happens, please be willing to learn and adapt. If you can educate yourself about the suffering and needs of Palestinians, you can do the same for Jewish people.

Understand that the people you hurt aren’t obligated to baby you. Give them room to be angry. After I made a post that inadvertently hurt people, some were nice about it, and others weren’t. Some outright insulted my morals and intelligence.

And I had to accept that I’d earned that from them.

I’d hurt them, and they weren’t obligated to be more careful with my feelings than I had been with theirs.

They weren’t obligated to forgive me, trust me, or stop being mad at me right away.

I’ll admit, there were moments when I got defensive. I shouldn’t have. And I encourage you to try not to, if you screw up and hurt people.

I know that’s hard, but it’s important. Getting defensive only tells people you care more about doubling down on your mistake than you do about healing the hurt it caused.

Instead, acknowledge that they have a right to be angry, apologize for the way you hurt them, and try to make amends, while understanding that they don’t owe you trust or forgiveness.

Be aware that some antisemites are using legitimate complaints to “Trojan horse” antisemitism into leftist spaces. This is a really easy stumbling block to trip over, because most people probably don’t look at every post a creator makes before sharing the one they’re looking at right now.

I recently shared a video that called out some of the Likud and IDF’s atrocities and hypocrisy, and that also noted that many Jewish people are wonderful members of their communities.

I was later informed that, while that video in particular seemed reasonable, the creator behind it is frequently antisemitic.

I deleted the post, and blocked the creator. I encourage you to do the same if it’s brought to your attention that you’ve been ‘Trojan horse’d.

EDIT: Important note about antisemitism in leftist spaces:

While it's true that some blatant antisemites are using seemingly reasonable posts to get their foot in the door of leftist spaces, it's also true that a lot of antisemitism already exists inside those spaces.

This antisemitism is often dressed up in progressive-sounding language, but nonetheless singles Jewish people and places out in ways that aren't applied equally to other groups, or that label Jewish people in ways that portray them as acceptable targets.

If you want to see some specific examples, so you can have a better idea of what to keep an eye out for, I suggest reading this excellent reblog of the original post.

Fact-check your doubts about antisemitism. Depending on which parts of the internet you look at, you’ve probably seen people accused of antisemitism because they complained about the Likud and/or IDF’s actions. So you might be primed to be wary, or feel unsure of how to tell what counts as real antisemitism.

But that doesn’t mean antisemitism isn’t a very real, widespread, and harmful problem. And it doesn’t mean many or even most Jewish people are lying to you or being overly sensitive.

So if someone says something is antisemitic, and you aren’t sure, I encourage you to:

A. Look up the action or thing in question, including its history. Is there an antisemitic history or connotation you aren’t aware of? For best results, include “antisemitic” in your search query, in quotes.

B. Understand that some things, while not inherently antisemitic, have been used by antisemites often enough that Jewish people are understandably wary of them. Schrodinger’s antisemitism, if you will.

C. Ask Jewish people WHO HAVE OFFERED TO HELP EDUCATE YOU. Emphasis on WHO HAVE OFFERED. Random Jewish people aren’t obligated to give you their time and emotional energy, or to educate you – especially on subjects that are scary or painful for them.

@edenfenixblogs has kindly offered her inbox to those who are genuinely trying to learn and do better, and I’ve found her to be very kind, patient, reasonable, and fair-minded.

Understand that this is URGENTLY NEEDED. In one of my conversations with a Jewish person who’d called me out, they said this was the most productive conversation they’d had with a person with a Palestinian flag in their profile.

THIS IS NOT OKAY.

I didn’t do anything special. All I did was listen, apologize for my mistakes, and learn.

Yes, it feels good to be acknowledged. But I feel like I’ve been praised for peeing IN the toilet, instead of beside it.

Apologizing, learning, and making amends after you hurt people shouldn’t be “the most reasonable thing I’ve heard from a person with a Palestinian flag pfp.”

It should be BASIC DECENCY.

And the fact that it’s apparently so uncommon should tell you how much unnecessary stress and fear Jewish people have been living with because of people who consider themselves defenders of human rights.

By all means, be angry at the Likud, the IDF, and the politicians, reporters, and specific media outlets who choose to enable and cover up for them. But direct that anger toward the people who deserve it and are in a position to do something about it, not random people who simply happen to be Jewish, or who don’t want millions of people to be turned into refugees when less violent methods of achieving freedom and rights for Palestinians are available.

Stop peeing beside the toilet, people.