#Stocking welt

[baskintheglow]

[whipmaster1980]

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Nine

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Attempted suicide, unknown watching as someone gets changed, SIMON BEING THE CUTEST MAN ALIVE, kissing and bum spanking

Taglist: @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum @tapioca-marzipan

ANYTHING IN ITALICS IS A FLASHBACK

Masterlist

The summer air was a broil of wet leaves and burnt tar, roads simmering with clouded fogs of steam that snipped at the exposed flesh of your leg. Your bike was worn, tyres nearly flat from the consistent rummaging of scarred rocks tearing the innocent rubber into a battered mess.

Your legs were inflamed from the constant use, thighs straining against bones and weathered skin. Sweat stuck to you in a damp layer, the occasional fly suckling at the salty residue. There was a gentle strum of moans, ripped jaws sloshing against rotten teeth, skin a ghastly contrast against the greenery. They didn’t care for you, walking past you like you were one of them.

It was a sick punishment.

You thought back to the first couple of days after. After Vienna. Steel supported rough fingers, muzzle pointed under your chin, the chill of cold tickling down your throat, trapping your oesophagus with an arrogant choke. Nimble fingers unclicked the safety, a line of tears streaming down your face pathetically.

You didn’t do it. You weren’t sure which was weaker, staying or leaving.

Blood ran through your chest, beating down to the tips of your wrists, eyes gauging through the flesh as if you had x-ray vision. You would no doubt be scorned with blisters later, the sun kissing you with fat welts filled with liquid medicine as you rolled in used sheets, unable to sleep.

You stared down the winding road, a companion of butchered shops lined up by the corner, untouched. It wasn’t rare for you to venture far, always taking a main road that would eventually lead you home.

You pushed through glass doors, majority of the crystal shattered across the concrete. There was a gentle ding of a bell as you entered, a lone zombie trailing towards the noise, disappointed at the sudden disappearance of its senses as you smashed a blade into the centre of its head, the stench of death filling the shop as you gagged. You weren’t sure you would ever get used to the smell.

The store was disappointing at the front, but you knew the stock room held liquid gold. Your knees skidded over the counter, a till smashed across the floor as you laughed. You wriggled the STAFF ONLY door, your shoulders working to barge it open. There were unopened boxes of candy that caught your attention, sticky tape quickly stuck to the wall as you delved through, a child-like innocence adorning your face as you tore apart a chocolate wrapper.

A sick moan of satisfaction ran through you as you stuffed more bars in your bag, teeth rotting with gooey caramel. Your feet padded against the floor, achy limbs begging for a rest as you sat down on a bench, uncomfortable wood barely supporting you. You scoffed back an apple, a small container full of buttered bread soon resting in your stomach.

You groaned as you chugged the majority of your water, the liquid quenching the Sahara in your throat as it stained your chest, a light dribble working down your chin as you sighed. Eyes stared at the bike resting against a brick wall as you looked up, noticing the flock of birds make their way through the sky, gradual darkness soon blending into the baby blue.

Dirtied nails scraped against the glass of your final destination, a small boutique with a flickering sign greeting you with the smell of dust as you pushed the door open. Nimble fingers worked your sweaty top off as you tried clothes on, wiping the grotty mirror down with an ugly rag of a shirt.

Dark eyes watched you from a rooftop, covered face twisting into a scowl as he watched you prod at yourself in the mirror. Your flesh was greasy, a sweet shine covering your muscles as he fixated on the way you moved. He stared at you through the lens of a sniper before placing it next to him as you walked out, bag round with clothes and the minimal amount of food you could find.

You didn’t notice him, his body stealthy as he adjusted, eyes immersed in you as you rode off. They would head your way tomorrow, he decided.

Thick hands ploughed at the wood; an axe gripped between his fingers as you watched him intensely. Your eyes gawked at his biceps, chiselled muscles bulging under the sun, a glisten against his skin from his work.

“That enough?” His voice was thick, a mixture of molten and sweet honey lacing him. His aura was earthy and masculine, his need to prove himself to you evident as he looked to you for approval.

“Good enough for me,” you replied, attempting to grab a log of wood before he barked that he would do it, snatching it from your grip.

Your eyebrows twisted up in annoyance as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m not useless, I was the one doing this before you all came along.”

“Didn’t mean to offend you, sweet’art, just don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

It was impressive watching him work; his forearms stuffed full of wood as he placed it in the small collector next to the fireplace. This was your first time being alone with him, his large frame was intimidating at first, but his shitty dad jokes couldn’t help but pull a smile from you.

You pulled him into the barn, introducing him to your cows, Daisy and Ted. He wasn’t fond of the names, but he felt himself nodding, watching the way you greeted them like they could speak, eyes full of admiration at the way you handled yourself.

“I’m hoping she gets pregnant, she’s my lifesaver,” you cooed, swatting the cow gently against her rump as she huffed out a breath. Simon raised a brow at you, a cocky smirk against his face.

“Don’t think about it,” you scowled as he turned around. Quick hands swatted at his ass as he grunted. Ghost was trained for anything, his hands at your waist as you squealed, quickly thrown over his shoulder with a huff before you were dropped in a bale of hay, endless giggles wracking through your chest as he peered down at you with a grumpy look.

You noticed his eyes crinkle as your laughter slowly subsided, both of you staring at each other with an amused look. His hands stilled at your waist, gripping them slightly with a warming touch.

“What’s your real name?”

He paused for a moment, thumb rubbing at your rising tummy, a pool of butterflies sinking into every crevice of the muscle. “Simon.”

You repeated it several times back to him, enjoying the way it fell from your lips as battered eyes focused on them, watching the way your tongue wriggled in the heat of your mouth as you spoke.

“You like it?” He asked, voice lower with nerves. He wasn’t sure why he was nervous. But he was.

You nodded at him, glancing from his eyes down to his mouth. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist, bringing his hand to your cheek as your mouth opened slightly, eyes never leaving his. He paused, ready to turn away from you.

He didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in, pushing the mask down his chin in a rough manner before he kissed you, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip before easing it into your throat. He was strangely gentle, almost like he was scared to hurt you. The Lieutenant’s hands gripped your face as you pulled him in by the scruff of his neck, deepening the motion. 

His eyes were voids of burnt sugar, a hinge of toffee speckling through as they merged into his iris. He was warm and inviting, the slight tang of his saliva running through your taste buds as he welcomed the sensation of you, a hand dropping to your throat with a delicate squeeze. 

Simon pulled away with a slight gasp, catching the breath he wasn’t sure he was holding.

“I don’t want to rush you.”

You only smiled and brought him back in.

[incorrectstarrailquotes]

Welt: How many children do we have?

Pom-Pom: Have you honestly lost count?

Himeko: I know we should have about seven, give or take.

Pom-Pom: Give or take?!

Welt: But I just counted, and I swear there is an extra person in one of the cars. [shows cameras on phone] See? Who is that, and why do they have a fully stock bedroom?

Pom-Pom: Mr. Yang, that's Dan Heng

Himeko: No, Dan Heng's bedroom is the Data Bank.

Pom-Pom: Ah, my mistake. I mistook Sunday for Dan Heng-

Himeko: Sunday's rooming with the Trailblazer.

Pom-Pom: March 7th-

Himeko: Is shorter than this person and also in the right wing.

Pom-Pom: The Trailblazer then-

Himeko: They're out shopping.

Pom-Pom: .......Who the hell is this?

Welt Yang: I don't know! They called me Dad and asked me to sign their school trip permission slip, so I did, but I have no idea who this kid is!

Pom-Pom: Aeons, I think I made their bed this morning.

[ginkgo-phyta]

Hotch would definitely give you the princess treatment, and you know what? Jack would too, after seeing his father he knows how to treat a girl right. And the team would definitely tease Hotch, because his son is going to steal his partner from him :)

omg no LITERALLYYY tho like just like omfg alright i got carried away with this and its not even really what you're talking about but listen to me okay LISTENNNNN

tagged spencer reid x reader because i want more people to see this teehee pls dont hate me i have spencer fics yall should read if you havent already but also you should still read this too

YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH AARON HOTCHNER AND ITS INFLUENCE ON HIS SON JACK gn!reader, FLUFF, no warnings(?) another informal blurb typa format :P

you and hotch decide together you'd like to date for a while first, take things slower and fully solidify and strengthen your relationship, before you become a part of jack's life. you didn't want jack to get attached to you or write you off too quickly in case life took you in different directions. you didn't know it at the time, but hotch introduced you to jack when he was sure he was going to marry you some day- and soon. he had been so incredibly head over heels in love with you and once you and jack got close, the little guy really got to witness how highly his father regarded you- and just how he showed you it every day. even in the little things. from the way hotch pulled out your chair, held all doors open for you, always kept your favorite drinks and snacks stocked up in the fridge and pantry, never let you open your own car door, the way he made spaces for you in his bathroom and closet without even being asked, and how he always stuck to your weekly dinner date- whether in person or over the phone. to the way his father would look at you, listen intently to whatever you were talking or ranting about, how he'd cup your hands and press quick kisses to them or move any bothersome strands of hair from your face when you'd eat, and how enthusiastic he always was when you and jack would spend time together.

jack was a bit hesitant with you at first, he was a bit older at that point and the quickness with which beth had left his life had admittedly stung him, leaving an ever-present welt behind. but he warmed up to you, appreciative of the way you welcomed him with open arms, never pressured him to spend time with or even like you (letting him accept you at his own pace) and how you clearly were not trying to take the place of his late mother- even many, many years into your relationship with his father. what he loved the most was how you always encouraged hotch to recount stories of haley, put pictures of her in jack's room or wherever else he wanted them, and how you would remind him: "your mother would be so proud of you jack." you would watch old home videos of their old family and jack never failed to notice how you wouldn't ever feel negatively about it. that was really what won him over. he also loved how open you were with both him and his dad- every day you'd say "i love you!" both casually and purposefully. it instilled in the young boy the importance of expressing appreciation, love, and care for others.

before you, hotch was always a just bit emotionally closed off. even when it came to jack he liked to keep himself a bit more reserved. he tried to stay a strong and unwavering inspiration, only wanting to show his son his best face. but once you came into their lives you inspired hotch to open up more than he had the last few years after haley's passing, inspired him to embrace even the "uglier" emotions he felt in life: grief, anger, sadness, and tiredness. it ended up passing onto jack in small ways, allowing him to feel even closer to dad. you became a huge structural post in jack's life. your love for one other inspired him, as he grew up he dreamed of one day having a relationship like yours. he looked forward to being able to treat his significant other the way his father cares for you.

you loved jack as if he was your own, though you never wanted to say that to him for fear of overstepping your role. aaron would always assure you, especially as jack grew older, that his boy felt it. you watched him go from a playful child, to a moody teenager, to a budding adult eager to make his mark on the world. and you were there supporting him the whole way.

you'll spend a lifetime with the both of them and although there will be many funny, loving, or frustrating moments you'll hold in a special place in your mind, there's one memory from when he was still a youngin that you love the most. it was a surprise dinner party at your fancy restaurant, aaron had booked the whole place just for you and the guests to celebrate your engagement and he had enlisted jack's help to plan the whole thing. jack, the bau team, and your friends and family were all there to shower you in love. the most memorable part of the night was the moment everyone sat down for dinner, all around a giant table (possibly multiple tables pushed together). as everyone moved to take their place jack ran so eagerly in front of you to pull your chair out before his father got the chance. you were shocked for a second before bursting out in a melodious laugh- it was so unexpected but you were incredibly moved. "oh, jack, thank you!" your loving, excited, and genuinely appreciative tone made jack's already huge grin grow even wider and more endearing. everyone else had noticed this too and laughed in joy along with you. "oh my god!" "that was so freakin cute" "he did not just do that!" rang out around you. of course aaron noticed, standing in silence for a second, a similar smile mirrored on his face, before he shook his head with a chuckle. as you took you seat, jack made sure to push your chair in just before you sat down fully, diligently executing what he'd studied his father do hundreds of times before. you turned to thank him, but before you could even open your mouth jack moved to take your cloth napkin from the table, shake it open, and carefully place it in your lap. awwws flooded in from all sides of the table

"oh you are just so adorable jack, thank you so much." you said as you pinched his still slightly chubby cheek "you are just the kindest, sir." you playful tone cause jacks entire face to blush and he shyly walked over to take a seat next to you.

"what? you take my job, and now you don't even want to sit next to me?" hotch spoke up from you other side. jack knew his father was joking, but he still bashfully giggled, sinking a bit more into his seat

"you better be careful, hotch," derek spoke up from across the table, motioning to his former boss with a breadstick, "looks like you got some competition there."

everyone broke out into more laughter, especially aaron. in the midst of the hysterics, the once-stoic man's hand crept into your lap to hold your own, thumbing over the back of your hand and the beautiful engagement ring wrapped around your finger. you shared a glance while you both laughed before you looked over to jack. wordlessly, your hand suddenly hopped up to ruffle up the little boy's hair, causing him to scrunch up his nose and giggle even more.

but you didn't have to say anything, your eyes held the truth. love. jack continued to look up at you, feelings of warmth, joy, and safety draped over him like a fuzzy throw, covering him from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes. he knew that with you in his life now, besides him and his father, everything would be okay.

A/N: SCREAMING how was this anon? sorry i didn't delve into the team teasing hotch more bc these thoughts were swimming in my head and i NEEDED to get them down perhaps i could do another post of just teasing quotes if that's something you'd like! i got a few ideas swimmin already teehee i hope you enjoyed my love!!

[yuujispinkhair]

Blow jobs with the HSR men

Pairings: Caelus, Welt, Dan Heng, Gepard, Sampo x Reader (female) Genre: smut, fluff Warnings: 18+, smut, oral, cum-eating, cock-warming, praise, use of the name Daddy (Welt), somnophilia kind of, with prior consent though (Dang Heng), semi-public sex (Sampo). All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

Caelus: To pass the time

++ Every time you are between missions, you always end up in Caelus' room. It starts innocently with sitting on his bed and eating snacks together to pass the time, but you always end up with his pretty cock down your throat, bopping your mouth on it like it's the most delicious lollipop you have ever tasted.

++ And it truly is addictive. Sucking Caelus off is so rewarding because he is so damn cute. His legs are spread sluttily, and he watches you with heavy-lidded golden eyes, flushed cheeks, and ruffled silver hair, looking so horny and so in love with you.

++ You love touching him, love caressing his toned thighs while you call him your pretty boy, and watch his hard cock twitch at the praise, pre-cum dripping down on his firm abs, practically begging you to take him in your mouth.

++ The moment you wrap your lips around his leaking tip, Caelus is in heaven, moaning and gasping so sweetly for you.

++ You get so wet just from hearing his cute moans and mewls, soon catching yourself rubbing your horny pussy against his muscular thigh, spreading your cream over him, driving him even more crazy.

++ Caelus can never hold back when he feels how wet you are. And so you end up in the 69 position only seconds later, getting your pussy eaten out by this sweet, eager boy, feeling him pamper your clit with sweet hot kisses and fuck your tight hole with his tongue while you suck his gorgeous cock with all your love.

++ You rub his heavy balls lovingly, already craving his big load. Moaning around his hot cock, murmuring encouragements against his wet and twitching tip, mouthing it lovingly, and telling Caelus to let go and cum for you.

++ It's so cute when you hear his desperate cry and feel his hips buck wildly, pushing his cock deep into your warm mouth as he cums, twitching and pulsing several spurts of hot milky seed down your throat.

++ He is your favorite snack and your favorite pastime, and you always come back for more every night, giving him blow jobs and letting him fuck you until you see the stars even behind your closed eyelids.

++ You know that in the morning, you will get greeted by an annoyed look from Dan Heng and a teasing comment from March because sweet Caelus simply can't hold back his moans when you two are fucking.

++ But you wouldn't want him to. After all, those moans are the cutest thing you have ever heard, and you always suck extra sweetly on his gorgeous swollen tip just to hear him make more of those cute noises.

Welt: As a stress relief

++ Welt is always so hard working, always so busy, giving his all to the missions he manages. He has flowers delivered to you with a note where he apologizes for not being able to spend more time with you, but he still has so much to do today.

++ You know what he needs. A man like him deserves some little break. And so you surprise him in his office room, smiling sweetly as you lock the door behind you and slowly walk towards his desk in your shortest little skirt and halterless lace stockings. Still looking classy enough so people will think you are here for a business meeting, but sexy enough to make Welt look away from the screen on his desk and let his gaze wander admiringly over your body.

++ "I am sorry, darling, but I must finish this report. You look so lovely, though."

++ He looks stressed, taking off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, shoulders tense from sitting here all day. You drop to your knees right then, crawling under his desk, eyes never leaving him. "Then I'll keep you company."

++ You smile sweetly up at him as you hug his legs and snuggle against him, rubbing your cheek lovingly against the bulge in Welt's pants like a cute, affectionate pet.

++ He stays calm. The only indicator that he is affected by what you do is the large steady hand that lands on the top of your head and pets you gently. And the growing hardness against your cheek.

++ You pepper kisses on his growing erection through his pants, sighing happily and telling him in that bedroom voice, "You deserve a little break, Daddy. Let me take care of you."

++ He keeps typing his report even as you unzip his pants and free his hard cock, letting it slap against your face before you rub your cheek against it again, this time skin on skin, the way Welt likes it best.

++ The room is silent except for the clicking of the keyboard and the loud wet noises of your mouth slurping on Welt's cock. You move slowly, tenderly, giving him all the love and care he deserves for being such a hard worker.

++ He lasts a long time, just enjoying your warm, wet mouth on him as he does his work until you hear a quickening in his breaths, barely noticeable. And then: "Come sit on my lap, darling."

++ The report is forgotten momentarily when you climb onto Welt's lap, crying out in pleasure when he pushes his hardness into your dripping wet cunt, unhindered by any panties since you conveniently "forgot" to wear them. You know that Welt always wants to cum in your pussy, stuffing you full of his warm seed until you are overflowing.

++ And he keeps you on his lap afterward, pussy full of his cum, while he finishes the rest of his report.

Dan Heng: To help him with his nightmares

++ When Dan Heng has one of his nightmares, it is hard to rouse him from them. He is trapped in his dream, gasping and breathing heavily, body shaking from fear, but unable to wake up. But you have spent many nights next to him, and by now, the two of you have figured out what helps him feel better.

++ And so you turn on your belly, your head resting on his thigh, and take his still soft cock in your mouth and suckle lovingly on it, spoiling him with your love and affection.

++ You know that this is the cure for his nightmare. Warming his gorgeous cock in your wet mouth and massaging his tense thighs. You enjoy the feel of him hardening gradually against your tongue, filling you more and more every second.

++ You can feel the veins on his now fully hard length throb and taste the first pearls of pre-cum, sweet and salty at the same time. And finally, Dan Heng's harsh breathing gets replaced by soft sighs of bliss.

++ You can tell when he wakes up because suddenly, his long fingers grab your hair, and you hear him groan loudly. He is desperate now, mind still fuzzy from sleep, leaving him so honest about his arousal and his need for you.

++ The mask is off, his usual aloofness is gone, and Dan just lets his primal instinct take over and snaps his hips to fuck needily into the warm comfort of your mouth. You moan around his throbbing cock, sucking him eagerly, wanting to chase the last traces of his bad dream away.

++ His pace is erratic, so lost in the pleasure and comfort your mouth provides. You give him your all, sucking lovingly on his needy hard length until he cums with a desperate-sounding cry, almost a sob.

++ And you keep suckling on his pretty mushroom tip with all your devotion, drinking his warm cum to the last drop, only pulling away when his cock softens and slips out of your mouth by himself.

++ You press one last loving kiss to his cockhead, and Dan breathes a soft, "Thank you, darling."

Gepard: As a reward for his sense of duty

++ You are always worried when Gepard is away on his duty to guard the city. His job is dangerous. Anything could happen out there in the cold. So you feel relief wash over you when you hear the key turning in the lock, and you drop everything to greet him.

++ He has barely closed the door behind himself when you are there, getting on your knees and smiling up at him, hands already working open his belt. You can't help it. You just crave him so much after being worried about him all day. You need him in your mouth, feel him fill you, and taste him.

++ And most of all, you want to do this for Gepard. You want to reward him for being a hero. Praises spill from your lips, telling him how brave he is, how strong and reliable. He deserves to get spoiled, deserves to get this gorgeous cock sucked until he cums.

++ Gepard's head falls back against the door with a soft thud, a low moan falling from his lips as your hot mouth sinks onto his fat cock, taking him in so sweetly all the way so that his swollen tip hits the back of your throat.

++ His mouth overflows with expressions of love and praise. You can feel all the tension fade from his body as that buff, strong man melts under your touch, becoming all putty in your loving care.

++ "Oh, sweetheart, you are so good to me!"

++ He doesn't hold back. He knows that here with you, he is safe. He is home. And his beautiful little wife is here to shower him with her love. And so he gives himself to you completely, moaning unrestrainedly, loud and sexy, and so obviously in love with you.

++ His fat cock almost makes you choke, but you keep going, looking up at him with admiration in your gaze, silently telling him that it's ok that you can take him. It's that gaze that makes him bust. A loud moan falls from his lips, strong legs shaking as he cums so hard for you, telling you over and over again how much he loves you while his thick ropes of cum fill your mouth.

++ You are surprised to find he still has enough strength left to swoop you into his arms and carry you to the bedroom because he wants the next load to be deep inside your pussy.

Sampo: A fun affair anytime he is in town (or maybe a little more)

++ He is a shady man, and the bar you meet him in is just as shady. Sampo is a patron here, coming by anytime he is in town. Sometimes every night, sometimes only once a month. It's been weeks since you saw him, but tonight he is here, sitting in his usual little booth, sprawled on the shabby leather couch, legs spread lazily, a playful smirk on his face while his eyes travel unashamedly over your body, clearly undressing you in his mind.

++ "Hey, sweet thing, long time no see. Come say hello to me, ok? Keep me company tonight, please, or I will cry."

++ He makes a fake pouty face, the one that always makes you roll your eyes and laugh. He knows how to lure you in with his questionable charm. He is an idiot, and most of the things he does are not really legal. And you think he probably has several girls and boys in every city. But as much trouble as he seems, Sampo is too much fun to stay away from.

++ So when he pats the space next to him on the leather couch, you sigh and walk over to him, joining him in his booth.

++ He always brings you little gifts from his business trips. Here in this city, you are his only one. This time he has a pretty-looking necklace for you, and sooner than later, you find yourself leaning over his lap, the golden chain dangling down from around your neck and brushing over his thigh while your tongue circles his swollen cockhead.

++ You have one hand wrapped around the thick base of Sampo's cock, while your mouth is moving up and down his length, tongue lapping cutely at his slit and licking up every drop of pre-cum he gives you, so hungry for him that you moan.

++ He always makes you act like a slut. That's just the effect he has on you. A little wild, a little risky. You aren't complaining, though. Not when your pussy throbs with heat at sucking him off right here in the bar, barely concealed from curios glances by a ratty, almost see-through curtain. 

++ Sampo sounds smug when he groans, "Fuck, I missed you! And you missed me too, it seems, huh?"

++ You don't even object. Maybe it's because your mouth is stuffed full of his throbbing cock. Or maybe it's because as cool as he tries to act, you can hear how breathless he sounds.

++ Sampo is always far too needy when it comes to you, and you bask in the knowledge that he would have never been able to wait until he got you alone in his room. He wants you too much.

++ You suspect he is in love with you, even though he always acts like this is just a little game between the two of you. But the way he is rutting desperately into your mouth and making all those needy little noises lets you know exactly how much he is into you.

++ You realize too late that he tugged on the curtain in his riled-up, horny state, revealing a bit more of the two of you to the rest of the bar. But you can't bring yourself to care. Not when Sampo's moans get even louder, and he fucks your mouth so needily. 

++ "Fuck yeah, keep going, baby! I want the whole bar to see that I'm getting my dick sucked by such a pretty thing like you!"

++ He barely finishes the sentence before his hips buck helplessly, and his warm cum floods your mouth, unable to hold back his orgasm any longer.

++ You smile when you let his cock slip out of you, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand while Sampo slumps bonelessly onto the couch. You are definitely his favorite. His only one in this city.

Thank you so much for reading! All these fine men have been on my mind a lot, and I wanted to do some headcanons to get a feel for writing them. I had lots of fun with this! I hope you enjoyed the stories too! Which one do you want to suck off the most? :)

Comments and reblogs make me happy!!

[ghostf1ux]

Shock Therapy

Day 12: Shaking

Word Count: 3.8k

TW/CWs: Electrocution, non-con touching/biting/kissing (referenced, not shown), medical inaccuracies (probably)

Part 1 (here) || Part 2

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

Jason groaned as his body was tossed unceremoniously onto damp concrete floors. His teeth sank further into the gag that had been shoved haphazardly into his mouth, muffling a string of curses aimed at his captors. Some of them only laugh at his attempt to take stock of his surroundings despite the blindfold and his lack of usable fingers to pry it off.

Not for lack of trying.

Okay, so, assessment of the situation. There are at least four guys in the room with him, heavily muscled but potentially not heavily armed. Pistols, most likely, if he had to judge just by the amount of noises they made while moving him. Metal shackles around his wrists with a chain attached and sharp little pronged spikes on the inside to keep him from struggling too much, he can already feel the welts and scratches made by them, and soon he thinks they'll start drawing blood. Blindfold means they don't want him seeing them, which means they can be tracked. Gag is because Jason managed to bite a chunk of flesh out of someone that resulted in his face getting a nice, warm spray that made something inside him sing. His thoughts and movements are still a little fuzzy and weighted, courtesy of whatever drug they used to knock him out with. Him waking up sooner than expected is what prompted his ability to start running his mouth, so to speak. 

As fall as injuries go, he mentally catalogues general scattered bruising from the rest of his patrol and the uncaring moving of his body throughout the kidnapping process, as well as a broken left foot and ankle from his attempts to actually fight back. Because of this, they decided his feet didn't need to be tied together once he was thrown in here.

It's almost insulting, but with the current situation, he can't actually find it in himself to be insulted.

The metal shackles cuffed way too tight around his wrists are tugged upwards by a connected chain, a snarl of protest blocked by the gag. Instead, he throws his good leg out in the direction of whoever had decided it was safe to stand above him, relishing in the sharp crack and shriek of pain following it.

“Oh you little bitch!” One of the men roars before there's an angry shuffling of footsteps and–

Jason curls back in on himself instinctively as the blunt object slams down on his midsection, biting down hard on the gag to prevent any noises from coming out. He won't give them the satisfaction. Not from the first hit to his ribs, or the second to his uninjured leg, or the third to his shoulder.

He sneers up at them as best he can from behind the gag, grinning. If that's all these chumps have, he'll be fine. They're not even using a crowbar, they're using a boring old baseball bat. Not even creative.

“Boss isn't gonna be here for a bit,” one of them proposes to the others, the sound of dragging wood across the cement following it, along with a couple slaps against what Jason would wager is a leather-gloved hand. “He said we had to get him here in one piece, but he never said we couldn't have some fun of our own while we waited.”

Jason can almost hear the evil grins spreading across their faces, and decides that curling up further is probably the best course of action right now. 

That doesn't stop him from tensing, bracing at the approaching, circling footsteps.

He grits his teeth at every blunt blow of a weapon, not letting out a sound even when he can feel his bones grinding and splintering under each hit. His eyes squeeze shut in some attempt to block out the pain, because even if he's experienced far worse than this, at least it's not a crowbar and at least there's none of the trademarked insane, maniacal laughter from the fucking clown.

He can survive this, if this is all they've got.

He can survive this.

Jason flinches violently into a curl impossibly tighter when one of them lightly kicks his shattered foot.

He can survive this. He just needs the Bats to figure out his location. Either that, or find an opportunity to escape. 

The latter is looking like more of a distant idea than actual possibility with every bat or kick to his battered body.

Then, with the creaking of a door, the mounting pain stops, along with the mantra Jason had been reciting mentally. Shoes click against the floor, but not like heels, not sharp enough, like dress shoes. He's intimately familiar with that sound due to Bruce. Weight tells him it's a person lighter than the ones circled around him. The shuffling of fabric is familiar enough of a sound to not be anything but expensive.

“I presume you've had your fun?” An accented voice asks, clipped with… disappointment, maybe? Jason furrows his brow at the question, jaw grinding against the gag.

“Uh– yes boss,” one of the nameless men answers quickly. There's a click of a tongue.

“Jacket, shirt, shoes, gag. I want them gone. Dispose of them along with the rest of his gear,” the accented man orders. “I want to hear him sing.” 

So this is the boss. Something about him sounds vaguely familiar, but Jason can't put his finger on it. He doesn't have the time to figure it out before his limbs are being yanked around and the remainder of his gear, the only thing keeping him even relatively safe, is cut off and discarded like trash.

That shit's expensive, damn it.

The gag is removed before his shoes are, and something tells Jason that was on purpose because it takes everything in him not to scream when they roughly jostle his broken foot in an attempt to get his boots off. They succeed eventually, but not without Jason jerking away at the slightest movement and biting his cheek and tongue so hard they bleed. It's only the paper-thin thread of self restraint that stops anything but a groan from being audible.

By the time they're finally done, Jason's teeth are watering uncomfortably, but he swallows down the bile that threatens to spill at his pain. His vision is white and blurry, even with the blindfold.

I can survive this. I've had far worse.

He's panting and cold-sweating profusely when those shoes click to a stop next to him and the man crouches down, grabbing Jason's jaw and tilting his face with an appraising hum. Sparks dance across his skin, making him prickle uncomfortably and he tries to yank himself out of the contact, only for the fingers to dig further into his skin in a bruising grip. The tingling under his skin sends an almost-pleasant warmth through his body, if it weren't for the fact that it rubs his nerves the wrong way. Something niggles the back of his mind, but his thoughts are too hazy to get a solid grasp of what it is.

“You're just as stubborn as they say, Hood,” the man praises. Something dark settles in his gut. “It'll make it all that much more fun to break you down, and build you back up. Doesn't that sound fun to you?”

Jason spits a glob of blood and saliva at the man. “Fuck you,” he snarls, finally tearing himself out of the man's grasp. It's then he notices how fucking cold it is in the room. He shivers, failing to suppress the wince at the way it aggravates his grinding bones.

The man just chuckles lowly, rising to stand up. A moment later the shackles around his wrists are being tugged up up up– dragging Jason up with it. The most he allows to escape is stuttered breaths and a few short, silent gasps when weight is put on his bad leg. It hurts like a motherfucker, but Jason doesn't let him know as much, instead grinning a bloody grin down at him once the machine lifting him settles. Because even with how he's hanging from his wrists and standing on his foot (the other one he keeps lifted gingerly away from the ground in some meaningless effort to keep it from hurting further), he can tell he still has a height and weight advantage on whoever the fuck this guy is.

Of course, that advantage is lost due to his restraints and general state his body is in.

“Mm, what a pretty bird you are,” the man croons, trailing a finger across Jason's jaw. With the position he's in, with his head trapped between his arms, he can't do much, but he takes the opportunity to lurch forward with snapping teeth.

Fangs clack shut over empty air, a disappointment to Jason. Seemingly unconcerned, the finger traces over the artery along his neck, and then the whole hand closes over his throat. The other rests over his sternum, that same fleeting warmth emanating from the touch.

“Or perhaps ‘mutt’ would be a title better suited for you.” He squeezes, nails gouging into the sensitive thinner skin of his throat and Jason can feel warm blood streaming down his frame, he can the way his breath becomes blocked, and it's strange because Jason knows from firsthand experience that choking someone one handed is a lot hard than you think it is but he's clearly got the strength to do it and the warm tingling under his skin where the hand is touching him is getting hotter and sharper and–

A scream is trapped between his jaws as his body convulses and then locks, his legs jolting out from under him at the sudden shock of fiery electricity coursing through his muscles. His nerves are alight and his throat is constricting, his lungs have stuttered and are struggling to try to get oxygen to the rest of him. Muscle spasms send his pain receptors into overdrive, and it's too much, he can't fucking do anything except feel pain, he can't breathe, I can't breathe–

It disappears. Jason forces himself to heave in a breath even with how his ribs protest to it. His head hangs briefly while he regains his bearings, slowly getting his uninjured foot back under him so all his weight isn't on his shoulders and wrists. Each subtle shift makes him wince, and he fully flinches with each shiver that wracks his body. The new layer of freezing sweat and streams of blood only serve to make the cold worse, and he fucking hates how he can see what this guy is trying to do to him.

“You handled that well, mutt,” that accented voice praises after about thirty seconds of letting Jason recover. It comes from behind him now, but he doesn't bother turning his head to pay any obvious attention to it. That is, until there are hands on his waist that radiate that tingling warmth, stopping the shivers from agitating his injuries further. He growls, low in his throat, far more animalistically than any human has any right to sound. Thumbs trace the lines between Jason's muscles and across the scars littering his body without a care in the world.

He snarls venomously. “Get your fucking hands off me.”

“I'm sure you'll be begging for them soon enough,” an easy reply murmurs, and Jason can hear the nasty fucking grin in his voice as they grip harder, enough to bruise, to bleed, and it's just enough warning for him to brace himself for the next wave of–

He can't help the guttural shriek that rips itself from his mouth, legs spasming before his body drops sharply onto his wrists. His throat constricts, gurgled screams still trying to escape him. The hands, the fingers, the nails stay embedded in his skin as they drag– scratch– gouge lines up towards his ribs, around his front, right over his diaphragm and if he could even get a hint of a breath before he definitely can't now– not with the way his ribs creak, the way his muscles contract, the way his back tries to arch and bend and twist away from the cause of his pain, the way his body practically locks in a never-ending existence of drowning in the constant agony–

The warmth is swept away by a near-blinding chill that wracks his body with shivers so bad he nearly doubles over again just as he had regained his footing, but only just. Tears spring freely from his eyes at the next bout of shaking, a sob trapped in his throat and it hurts, everything fucking hurts–

“Say the magic word, and this'll go away,” the man's voice lilts and when the fuck did he get so far away? When did he end up in front of Jason, drumming his fingers against a shitty metal chair? When did he start hearing the soft clinking of metal against metal, a chain being fiddled with?

When was there a quiet, dangerous buzzing from somewhere vaguely above him?

He doesn't have the time to get his thoughts together enough to prepare himself for the rolling wave of stabbing, burning pain so hot it's cold starting in his wrists and spreading down his shoulders, enveloping his chest, through his thrashing legs and curled toes– he can't– he needs to move, to get away, but all he can do is jerk involuntarily and hear something crack and something tear and something break–

And then it stops, and Jason practically goes limp, his breaths coming in heaving, panting, wet gasps that make his ribs grind in protest but he needs oxygen, he needs air and it's right there, it's surrounding him, he's practically downing in it but it doesn't matter because he still can't breathe.

“We have all the time in the world, yknow,” that voice mentions. “I'd be dismayed if this is how we spent it.”

Jason tries to make his mouth and throat work the way he wants them to, tell the guy he can fuck right off because he is nowhere even close to the line that marks when he starts begging for anything, especially something that would just hurt him more in the end. But all that comes out is a wet, raspy growl in dissent. Something wet and painfully cold trickles down his arms.

“Your choice, mutt.”

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

It's…how long is it? It could've been twenty minutes or two hours when the first whimper escapes him. He's almost constantly shivering now, when he's not being overwhelmed with crackling pain that rips through his insides and makes spots dance across his extremely limited vision.

The shocks are frequent and long, each one feels like hours even if Jason logically knows they can't be more than fifteen minutes at the longest.

Unfortunately, logic isn't something he has access to right now.

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

It's an even shorter amount of time when his thoughts finally finish drifting away and all that's left is pain and hurt and cold and he whines– he fucking whines when the man who's been circling him like a shark– so close but never touching, his warmth just barely out of reach– pulls away. He can't stop it, he can't even try. Not when he's been hanging here for hours that feel like days, not when there hasn't been a single sound aside from his own sobs and keens and rivers of blood cascading down his body drip drip dripping onto the floor into an ever growing puddle and that fucking asshole's perfectly poised honeyed words slipping in his ear in the times between vague awareness and overwhelming agony.

So when his head is lifted just enough for a warm hand to pet through his sweat-soaked hair he lets it, just this once. He lets the other rest on the small of his back, digging into his skin until he bleeds and it's okay because then that warmth, that tingling bounce of mini shocks travels under his skin and eases through the rest of his body and somehow he manages to slump even further. He slumps into the man holding him here, expensive silk and some shitty floral scent taking over his senses and for a moment– for a moment it's just so nice. He can just forget, for a moment, but only for a moment. For a moment, forget about the excruciating pain of his bones cracking under his skin, forget about the cold, the blood, the–

His mouth flies open in a silent scream when that sparkling warmth flares into a blazing inferno and it has his burning, aching muscles spasming to life when they just want to rest, he just wants to rest–

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

I'm so tired… please, anyone–

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

I– I can't– it's too much, it's too fucking much–

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

“Look at you, mutt, already breaking so well for me,” that voice purrs along the shell of Jason's ear, running his hand gently, softly, delicately up and down Jason's side, over burned in handmarks, smeared blood, and distinctly cracked ribs that make every labored breath rattle through his chest. His heartbeat is fast and erratic in his ears, nearly as loud as the persistent ringing that's accompanied him for so long.

How long has it been now?

Something in his gut twists at the blank space filling the answer to that question.

Too long, maybe. A while. Does– Does anyone know I'm here? Are they even looking for me?

They're whispers of feelings rather than full thoughts. His mind, fractured in some attempt to maintain some sanity for later once he's out– if I get out– 

That honeyed voice, too sweet to do anything but set muffled alarm bells off in Jason's fog-clouded mind, coos against his raw, torn skin, right against his pulse where blood seeps steadily out from a past wound there. “Just divine. You'll be the perfect little pet mutt for me, won't you?”

A broken little whimper falls from limp lips as teeth tear the gouges on his neck open further, another cascade of blood rolling down Jason's chest. The man's grip on his hips turns hotter, brighter, bruising, and it's low, too far down, enough to send some layers of his fog away giving way to panic and fear and no that's not right I don't–

And then it's all washed away in layers upon layers upon layers upon fucking layers–

There's a crash Jason's body instinctively flinches at, even with his spasming body protesting and fighting against him at every turn. There's voices, multiple voices, and they're so loud, it hurts, he just wants to stop hurting, and suddenly his head it yanked back by his hair and a stuttered, broken cry escapes him but he can't even begin to be quiet, to understand what's happening, so he tries to close his mouth, maybe, but blood and saliva is dripping out of the corners regardless and he can't move, he can't think, he can't even fucking scream when the pain gets worse and somewhere, distantly, he feels like maybe he wants to die again. That would be better. Same way, too. The crowbar would be better than this everlasting torment that comes with every unwanted, gut twisting touch and caress and kiss and bite–

And maybe he'd prefer that horrible laughter instead of the sugar-dipped tooth-ache inducing litany of low words and promised peace if he just bends a little, just cracks a little, just breaks a little–

“–ood? Hood!” A voice fades in over the ringing, tinged with something akin to… worry? Or panic? Hm. They sound familiar. “Fuck, Nightwing, hold him– Wing! Hold him up, I need to get the shackles off.”

The first warmth leaves and Jason doesn't hold back a despaired keen, weakly trying to search for it despite the fact that he's long since lost the strength to even twitch his head in any direction.

Someone makes a wounded noise, footsteps rushing to shuffle towards him. Jason flinches when arms wrap around him, holding him to their chest. His breaths were already raspy, fluttering little things, but the additional pressure on his ribs makes him choke on a wet cough he doesn't have the fucking air for and it hurts so god damn bad, he just wants to not hurt anymore, please–

“Shh, shh, I've got you, we've got you, little wing, it's okay, you're gonna be okay, you're safe now,” a new man whispers into his hair, voice hushed and strained with something Jason can't really identify, but he sounds familiar, so familiar, and the name rattles around in his head like he should know who it refers to–

“Little wing, it's time to go!”

“Cmon little wing, I'll catch you if you fall, I've done this before!”

A flash of blue, and a blinding smile to light up a room. The familiar scent of a particular laundry detergent, the man's favorite cologne, and kevlar.

“Take it, Jason. You've earned it. I'm passing on the mantle of Robin to you, little wing.”

Jason tucks his face in the crook of Dick's neck, trying not to be overcome with sobs. A gloved hand runs smoothly over the back of Jason's head, through his short hair and threading through his curls, smoothing the fringe off his forehead. Dark words are muttered somewhere behind him, swears, threats, plans, who's–?

His first wrist is unlocked and gently lowered to his side, but that doesn't stop the sharp, cut off gasp that escapes him, or how he goes entirely, bonelessly limp in Dick's arms.

It forces him to use both hands to support his weight, but it doesn't matter because he's here. They came for him. That's all he needs.

The next wrist slips loose from its shackle just as it's unlocked, sharp stabs of pain barreling through his arm straight to his chest and he flinches, jerks, spasms for just a moment before his quiet, panting breaths are the only movement his body makes. He's moved, and then laid down on someone's lap, head cushioned on both sides by bent legs.

“Hey, hey, open your eyes, Jay. Come on, stay with me here,” the voice from before is pleading now, voice higher in both pitch and volume. Jason furrows– or tries to furrow– his brow in confusion, because didn't he…?

With effort– too much fucking effort, he's so tired, he's exhausted, he just wants to go home– he manages to peer blearily up through tear-clumped lashes at the vague forms above him.

The first one, closer to him, domino lenses blown wide with worry is Dick. The stark blue against toned skin gives him away immediately. He smiles down at Jason, and it's a strained, worried thing but it's there nonetheless.

Off to Jason's other side is a red and black form, glancing at him with more properly disguised worry between wrapping something around his wrists. He seems to soften when Jason meets his gaze though, nodding to himself. Or maybe to Jason. Then turns back to his work.

Jason's eyes drift shut again, head lolling listlessly to the side, pressing closer to Dick. He briefly feels him tense, and maybe he starts panicking, but Jason just can't bring himself to care. He's with his brothers. They'll get him out. They have him. They came for him.

[baskintheglow]

[tonkatsubowl]

hsr boys going to the store for feminine products

you're on your period and you desperately need some pads or tampons. and snacks.

dan heng: "alright. stay here and rest up; i'll get you some." he knows where everything is at. even gets you snacks—loads of it. he cooks a meal for you too, but he would have you enjoy your snacks while you're resting.

welt: "no need for the store—i already have some in stock for you. with your cravings this week, i figured you would begin soon." he doesn't even go to the store—he's got everything stocked up for you in the back somewhere. he predicted this. he comes back with snacks too!

sampo: "ah, shark week, eh? i'll return shortly with everything you need!" he goes to the store but it takes a while... and he returns with nothing you asked for, and some frog he bought along the way. and when you ask where your pads or tampons are at, he says, "... ah. i forgot. i'll be back." ("what size pussy do you wear")

argenti: he goes to the store and takes too long because he's admiring how beautiful and well organized the feminine products are. he also gets lost too. fortunately though, comes back with what you've asked for, but he bought the most expensive ones.

dr. ratio: "i have calculated that you would begin this week. i shall depart—rest, i'll return shortly." goes to the store, buys what you need, and brings back some books based on philosophy, science and math.

sunday: "are you feeling unwell? i see. i will return, but i do need to purchase some gifts for robin, as well." he goes ahead and gets them, but buys some stuff for robin too. he comes back with flowers, gifts for his younger sister, and everything you've asked for.

aventurine: "alright, alright. i'll be sure to bring back your favorite drink at the café, too. is there anything else you'd like?" he sets off for multiple different places to buy your favorite food and snacks, but he doesn't forget about the pads/tampons.

jing yuan: "i'll be back, but don't fall asleep without me." he departs to the store but eventually returns with the things you've asked for, but he also went ahead and bought a giant plushie for you to feel better, as well as a new blanket for the both of you to nap on.

blade: "i'll be back. don't do anything rash." blade will go to the store and get exactly what you need, then return. it is as simple as that.

[acapelladitty]

all wrapped up

Pairing: Edward Nygma/Jonathan Crane

Summary: With Edward fully and willingly restrained by a straightjacket, Jonathan takes advantage to give him what he needs.

Fic Masterlist ☆ Link To AO3

Edward’s last plot to outwit Batman had been a disaster.

Not only had he failed in his plans, but the public nature of their eventual confrontation had resulted in Edward’s defeat being broadcast across Gotham with many openly discussing how embarrassing such an event would be for the one getting their ass beat. Even though he had successfully escaped to lick his wounds and try again, the fallout of Edward's failure was undeniable.

Humiliation, disappointment, fury; all emotions which were the pre-cursor to Edward spiralling deep into an emotional blackhole which would often result in a severe depressive episode.

At times, Jonathan felt more aware of Edward’s needs that the other man would ever suspect and, in moments like this where Edward’s most self-destructive tendencies were at their peak, what he needed was a release and Jonathan was always more than happy to provide as he kept stock of Edward’s more dangerous psychological quirks.

The straitjacket which crossed his arms and held Edwards hands tight against his chest allowed him absolutely no protection from Jonathan’s punishments. While Jonathan mourned the opportunity to inflict some damage on Edward’s sensitive chest, the way in which Edward desperately tried to roll away from his punishments – only to be playfully pushed back into position with his back against the floor – was delightfully humiliating as Jonathan insisted on using his foot to do the rolling.

The thick plug which filled his ass and pressed cruelly against his prostate had almost been Edward’s undoing. Even with the use of Jonathan's fingers, each added digit making Edward grunt and howl as he had found himself opened up mercilessly, the girth of the plug has still taken a considerable amount of lube and rough persuasion to be swallowed up by Edward’s twitching hole.

“Edward,” Jonathan called out softly, his voice a snare as it attempted to loop around Edward’s consciousness, “are you listening to me, boy?”

At the lack of response, Jonathan bent down at the waist and drew his hand across Edward’s cheek, admiring the way that colour immediately rose in the struck skin as it flushed a delicious pink. For a man who prided himself on being an enigma, he was a truly simple creature where base pleasures and sensations were concerned and his body betrayed him at every turn.

“Jonathan.” Edward replied quietly, the shock of the strike bringing him back a little more into himself as he floated in the bliss of subspace – the painted welts which decorated his ass and upper thighs a constant source of heat and discomfort as they rubbed against the rough carpet with every pathetic writhe of his body.

“Will you take more? Let me use and abuse you until you're screaming for mercy? Will you do that for me?”

“Y-Yes.” Stuttering, Edward’s expression was slack and open – the pain of his earlier punishments having long pushed him deep into an almost hypnotic lull which Jonathan was monitoring with careful eyes. “Do what you want wit-with me.”

“You couldn’t handle what I want to do with you.” Jonathan muttered, rolling his eyes to the ceiling despite the way his cock twitched at the earnest submission.

Moving past the temptation, Jonathan brought his hand down sharply and Edward yelped in shock as his cock took the brunt of the slap. His body visibly jerked as his knees attempted to come up and protect his groin but they were easily knocked back into place by Jonathan’s foot as he once again bent to slap at Edward’s cock with an almost playful casualness.

Ensuring that the tips of his fingers caught on Edward’s straining length with every hit, Jonthan built up a casual rhythm, each slap randomly paced to ensure that it caught him by surprise, and the noises which escaped Edward’s throat were deliciously raw as his cock quickly reddened and, somehow, even stiffer under the relentless attention.

Stopping only to roll Edward over with no effort whatsoever, Jonathan wrapped his fingers around the base of the plug and tugged on it roughly, pulling it free until the widest part stretched the rim of Edward’s ass painfully – the sensations making Edward’s legs kick out as he groaned into the carpet – before shoving it back in with a sharp, hard push.

Pleased with the audible response - a choked cry which skirted the questionable lines between pleasure and pain - the predatory delight which always made Jonathan’s cock twitch as he soaked in Edward’s willing submission guided his words as he settled in to expand their session until Edward’s release was as complete as he could handle.

“That said, let’s see how far we can push you this time, boy. There's depths to your pathetic depravities that we have yet to fully explore."

[octuscle]

Prollstyler

Cooperation with the awesome @proll4you, therefore in German for once

Maximilian Huber, ein 21-jähriger Bankauszubildender, war das, was man als "spießig" bezeichnen würde. Er trug stets einen perfekt gebügelten Anzug, seine Haare waren akkurat zur Seite gegelt, und seine albernen Troddel-Loafer waren makellos sauber. Er hatte eine strenge Routine, und jeder Schritt seines Lebens war genau durchgeplant. Kurz gesagt: Maximilian hatte einen Stock im Arsch.

Eines Freitagsnachmittags, nach einem langen Tag in der Bank, verspürte Maximilian plötzlich Lust auf etwas Ungewohntes: eine Currywurst. Normalerweise war Freitag fleischlos, Fastfood lehnte er ohnehin als etwas für die unteren Gesellschaftsschichten ab, aber als er auf dem Weg zur U-Bahn an dieser Bude vorbeikam, hatte er einfach das Bedürfnis, seine sonst so strikte Routine kurzzeitig zu durchbrechen.

Die Bude lag in einer üblen Seitenstraße, ganz in der Nähe des Bahnhofs. Zwei oder drei Menschen hinter ihm in der Schlange stand ein Mann, der das komplette Gegenteil von ihm war: groß, muskulös, ausrasierter Undercut, schwere Silberketten, Kopfhörer auf den Ohren. Der Typ, nennen wir ihn Kevin, hatte laute Beats auf den Ohren und schien sich nicht daran zu stören, dass seine Jogginghose ein wenig zu tief saß.

Maximilian fühlte sich unwohl in seiner Nähe, doch er ließ sich nichts anmerken. Als er schließlich seine Currywurst mit extra scharfer Soße in Empfang nahm, suchte er sich schnell einen Tisch, um zu essen. Er saß noch nicht lange, nahm gerade einen Schluck von seiner Cola, als der Typ sein Bierglas auf Maximilians Tisch stellte und grunzte, dass das sein Platz wäre. Jeder wüsste das. Und der kleine Pisser möge sich unverzüglich verpissen.

Maximilian tat, als habe er nichts gehört. Der Typ wurde rot. Dann brüllt er Maximilian an, ob er ihn nicht verstanden habe. Maximilian blickte kurz hoch und meinte, dass hier nirgendwo ein Reserviert-Schild gewesen sei. Der Typ ging einen Ausfallschritt in Maximilians Richtung, seine Augen fest auf Maximilians gerichtet. Und bei dem Ausfallschritt geschah das Unvermeidliche. Ein Klecks der feurigen Soße von seiner Currywurst landete direkt auf Kevins strahlend weißen, vermutlich sauteuren Nike-Sneakern.

Die Welt schien für einen Moment stillzustehen. Kevin blickte langsam von seinen beschmutzten Sneakern auf und fixierte Maximilian mit einem Blick, der ihn bis ins Mark erschütterte. „Ey, Digga, weißt du eigentlich, was du grad gemacht hast?“ fragte Kevin bedrohlich leise. Maximilian war starr vor Angst. „Es... es tut mir wirklich leid! Ich... ich zahle die Reinigung!“ Doch Kevin hatte andere Pläne. „Reinigung? Pah! Du machst das sauber, klar? Und danach... wirst du schon sehen.“

Maximilian hatte keine andere Wahl. Unter Kevins wachsamen Augen kniete er sich auf den Boden und begann, die Sneaker mit einem Taschentuch zu reinigen. „Alter, mit der Zunge, Du Sau!“ grunzte Kevin. Aber auch so führte zunächst jeder Versuch, die rote Soße zu entfernen, zu einem noch größeren Fleck. Maximilian leckte und leckte, während Kevin und ein paar seiner Kumpel um ihn herumstanden und ihre Currysauce auf Maximilians Haare und Anzug tropfte.

„Weißt du was?“, sagte Kevin grinsend, als Maximilian fertig war, „du siehst aus wie einer, der mal ein bisschen Nachhilfe im echten Leben braucht. Ab jetzt bist du bei mir unter Vertrag.“ Er reichte Maximilian eine Dose Bier. Bereits offen. Lauwarm. Maximilian nippte. Kevin zog ihm den Kop an den Haaren in den Nacken und ließ das Bier in Maximilians Fresse fließen. „Lektion 1: Bier trinkt man auf Ex.“ Maximilian wischte sich mit dem Sakko-Ärmel das Bier aus dem Gesicht. Es folgte ein lauter Rülpser. Kevin lachte. „Okay, Lektion 2 kanntest Du offensichtlich schon, Du Proll!“

Kevin wiederholte Lektion eins noch fünfmal, bis Maximilian sternhagelvoll war und sich in die Hose gepisst hatte. Kevin und ein Kumpel nahmen Maximilian unter die Arme und trugen ihn in die U-Bahn. Kevin wohnte ein Stück weit draußen in einer Sozialsiedlung. Er arbeitete da als Hausmeister und wusste, welche Wohnungen gerade leer standen. In dieser Nacht schlief Maximilian nur mit T-Shirt und Unterhose bekleidet seinen Rausch auf einer vollgesifften Matratze inmitten von vollen Aschenbechern, Pizzakartons und Bierdosen aus. Als er mit einem Mordsschädel aufwachte, saß Kevin auf einem alten Sessel, der vermutlich vom Sperrmüll stammte. Auf seinen Sneakern, die sehr viel älter als die von gestern aussahen, war etwas , was hoffentlich Nutella, Leberwurst und Marmelade war. Kevin zeigte auf die Schuhe und meinte: „Frühstück, Du Proll!“ Maximilian protestierte. Kevin fragte, ob sie Lektion 1 noch mal wiederholen wollten. Maximilian sprang auf, um sich zu übergeben. In der unbekannten Wohnung fand er das Bad nicht schnell genug und kotzte in die mit dreckigem Geschirr vollgestellte Küchenspüle.

Kevin zwang Kevin in die Knie und drückte Maximilians Kopf in Richtung seiner Schuhe. Maximilian musste würgen. Aber er spürte, dass er keine Wahl hatte. Er leckte die Sneaker ab, bis vom Frühstück nichts mehr übrig war.. Kevin rotzte auf seine Schuhe und befahl „Weitermachen!“. Maximilian machte weiter. „Sag‘ mal, Proll, wie heißt Du eigentlich?“ „Maximilian“ antwortete Maximilian. „Was für ein Scheiß-Name. Hier auf dem Trikot steht „Jason“. Du heißt jetzt Jason!“ Maximilian wollte etwas sagen, machte den Mund auf und Kevin rotzte ihm zielsicher in die Fresse. „In drei Stunden geht’s ins Stadion, Jason. Bis dahin ist hier Ordnung gemacht.“ Maximilian schaute sich um. Das hier war ein Schweinestall. Und er würde ihn sauber machen. Irgendwie wollte er, dass Kevin stolz auf ihn war.

Nach drei Stunden stand Kevin wieder in der Tür. Maximilian hatte den Müll runtergetragen, Geschirr gespült, Bad und Küche geputzt. Einen Staubsauger hatte er nicht gefunden, vieles war provisorisch. Und es war demütigend gewesen, nur in den alten Badelatschen und der sehr kurzen Turnhose raus zu den Mülltonnen zu müssen. Aber das Ergebnis konnte sich sehen lassen. Kevin belohnte Jason mit einer kühlen Dose Bier. Und Maximilian, nein Jason, zeigte, dass er Lektion ein und zwei gelernt hatte.

Kevin und Jason kamen ein bisschen angetrunken im Stadion an. Jason war noch nie im Stadion gewesen. In den knappen Shorts und dem nach Schweiß stinkenden Trikot fühlte er sich ein bisschen unwohl. Immerhin hatte Kevin ihm coole Sneaker spendiert. Nur die Socken dazu waren alt, dreckig und löchrig. Aber nach ein paar Dosen Bier war alles egal, Jason begann die Atmosphäre im Stadion zu lieben. Kevin schickte ihn immer mal wieder los, Bier oder Bratwürstchen zu holen. Einmal kleckerte Kevin Senf auf seine Sneaker. Jasons Zunge war schneller zu Diensten als Kevin ihm das befehlen konnte. Zur Belohnung gab es ein paar Mal Nachhilfe in den Lektionen 1 und 2.

Die Wohnung, in der Kevin am Sonntagmorgen aufwachte, war noch dreckiger als die letzte. Die Kotzeflecken neben dem Bett waren noch frisch, das mussten seine eigenen sein. Vermutlich würde Kevin demnächst hier sein. Auch, wenn Jason übel war und er Kopfschmerzen hatte, wollte er den Saustall nicht so präsentieren. Zumindest die Kotze und den Müll konnte er entfernen, bis Kevin die Tür aufschloss. Kevin stellte vier Mettbrötchen mit Zwiebeln und zwei Dosen Bier auf den Küchentisch. „Frühstück!“ sagte er. Und legte eine Schachtel Marlboro daneben. „Nachtisch!“. Jason aß die Mettbrötchen gierig. Eigentlich nicht sein Geschmack, schon gar nicht zum Frühstück. Aber super zum Bier. Und Bier ging zu jeder Tageszeit. Er sagte, dass er Nichtraucher wäre. Kevin rotzte ihm ins Gesicht. „Zeit für Lektion 4“ sagte er. Jason fragte, was denn Lektion 3 gewesen wäre. Als Antwort rotzte Kevin ihm nochmal direkt in den Mund.

Bis zum Ende des Tages hatte Jason zwei Wohnungen und drei Treppenhäuser geputzt. Abends waren Kevin, ein paar von Kevins Jungs und Jason im Gym gewesen. Jason war so peinlich, wie schwach er im Vergleich zu den anderen Jungs war. Von den Protein-Shakes, die er trinken musste, hatte er einen gewaltigen Blähbauch und musste ständig rülpsen und furzen. Als er nach dem Training mit den anderen unter die Dusche wollte, verbat ihm Kevin das. Heimlich wusch sich Jason am Waschbecken. Dabei fiel sein Blick zum ersten Mal seit Freitag in den Spiegel. Da war ein unrasierter Typ mit fettigen Haaren in einem fleckigen Unterhemd. Aber irgendwie sah es aus, als hätte er im Ansatz so etwas wie einen Bizeps. Jason bekam einen Ständer.

Die Nacht verbrachte Jason nicht mehr in einer Wohnung. Es gab keine freien Wohnungen mehr im Moment. Aber er bekam einen Platz in einem der vier Etagenbetten in einer Wohnung, in der Kevin ein paar illegale Einwanderer untergebracht hatte. Jason war nicht der Einzige, der die ganze Nacht furzen und rülpsen musste. Und am nächsten Morgen hatte er nur noch seine Socken, seine Sporthose, sein Trikot und die Badelatschen. Alles andere war ihm geklaut worden. Von den anderen Kerlen in seinem Zimmer war keine Spur mehr. Glücklicherweise fand Jason in der Küche noch eine halbvolle Dose Bier. Und kurz danach kam Marvin, einer von Kevins Kumpeln vorbei. Mit einer Sporttasche, in der ein Blaumann, ein paar Gummistiefel und ein altes Handy drin waren. Eine halbe Stunde später frühstückten Marvin und Jason am Kiosk Mettbrötchen und Bier. Und eine Stunde später wurde Jason in seinen neuen Job als KfZ-Aufbereiter bei dem Autohaus von Kevins Freund Eset eingeführt.

Die nächsten Wochen veränderten Jasons Leben radikal. Jeden Samstag musste er Kevin und seine Kumpels zu Fußballspielen begleiten, bei denen sie lautstark ihre Mannschaft anfeuerten. Und sich danach mit den Fans der Gegner prügelten. Jason, der früher nichts mit dem Sport anfangen konnte, fand sich plötzlich im Ultras-Fanblock wieder, grölte Parolen und fieberte der dritten Halbzeit entgegen. Eset und seine Kumpels brachten ihm alles bei, was man über Autos wissen musste, und bald konnte Jason nicht mehr anders, als jedes Auto, das an ihm vorbeifuhr, zu kommentieren. Ein getunter BMW war sein größter, aber unerreichbarer Traum für jemanden, der tagsüber an Autos schraubte und Nachmittags für Kevin Böden in der Sozialsiedlung putzen musste.

Seine Anzugsschuhe und perfekt gebügelten Hemden waren bald Geschichte. Stattdessen trug er die Uniform der Prolls. Er sprach die Sprache der Prolls. Und sein spießiger Scheitel war schon lange einem krassen Undercut gewichen, den er sich zweimal in der Woche bei Murat, dem Barbier in der Siedlung, nachschneiden ließ.

Eines Tages, als Maximilian bzw. Jason auf dem Weg zu der Currywurst-Bude war, um sich mit den anderen Prolls zu treffen, kam er vor der Bank an seinem mittlerweile pensionierten Chef vorbei. Einen kurzen Moment überlegte er, ob er grüßen sollte. Wozu? Was hatte er schon von dem Job in der Bank gehabt. Jetzt lebte er endlich das Leben eines echten Kerls! Als er später mit einem Bier seine Pommes runterspülte, kamen Kollegen aus der Bank an der Currywurstbude vorbei. Keiner erkannte ihn. Sie lästerten über die Prolls. Jason rotzte verächtlich auf den Boden. Ein bisschen der Rotze traf Kevins Sneaker. Ihn sauber zu lecken war jetzt keine Strafe mehr. Sondern Vorspiel!

[submissive-humiliation-slut]

Daylong edging... the aftermath!

Call it the result of several hours of self abvse, torment, sexual servitude and cruel edging or indeed the insatiable hunger of a humiliation whore... this night is just so thrilling to me.

For those of you who read my blog regularly, you know that am currently traveling overseas with my husband. You also know that today I excused myself from accompanying my husband to his business meetings and instead took out four weeks of sexual hunger on myself by putting the dnd on my hotel suite door and spending five hours deliciously slapping, pinching, whipping, choking, assuming submissive poses... all while ruthlessly edging myself. By the time my alarm went off (one hour before my husband was due back) I was a wet, sweaty, sticky, sloppy mess covered in my own spit, my pussy juices, my sweat...!

When the alarm went off, I stood before the full length mirror and looked at myself. I was naked, wet, sweaty, hot, squirming... my nipples erect and breasts coated in my sweat and saliva. Red marks reminded me how I had mauled my breasts. I lifted my dishevelled hair with both hands lifting my hair up in a submissive pose and could see a hint of armpit stubble and a light red mark where my stocking had been choking me all afternoon. I turned to my side to see the welts my husband's belt had left on my bum and lower back and thighs... Note to self - wear clothes that cover me and make sure my neck is also covered.

I showered for most of that hour - shampooing my hair, shaving my armpits, legs, pussy of any stubble whatsoever, washing my body and then moisturising it lovingly. All the time I felt that ever present ache deep inside me as my clit throbbed from being stimulated all day but not having been allowed to cum... fuckkkkkkk! The torment was so delicious that words cannot describe it.

I dressed very conservatively and prepared for my beloved husband to return. When I hugged him, I could not shake the feeling of having cheated so badly on him. He loves me so much and I am such a humiliation craving whore... I don't deserve him. And yet, I felt lucky to have him home to hold me and reassure me that my real world was still perfect.

We went to dinner with some friends who are also travelling with us and I was distant and distracted all night. All I could think of was how I mind-fucked myself - how I r4ped myself and how I abvsed myself all day. How I mercilessly edged and got messages from strangers. I was so wet and my sexual hunger was amped beyond control. I had to excuse myself and go to the bathroom and just breathe to get some semblance of relief from the constant heat between my legs but just found myself playing with my nipples which sent direct tingles down to my clit. Fuckkkkkk!

We went back to the hotel and in the dark, my darling husband made tender love to me. I had to use all my might to not cum when he entered me... and all the while I was breathless and moaning uncontrollably imagining that I was being r4ped and abvsed by a faceless stranger in this foreign land...

Oh godddd! I am such a whore....... fuckkkkkkkkkkk

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Burn Bright White - A John Shelby/Reader Smut Short.

Just a lil' thing that decided to show up in this smutty little brain of mine, friends! Enjoy ;)

Words - 346

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

He can't even wait to get you naked as you sit astride him, yanking at your undies until they tear in his grasp, kisses all smoky heaven as your tongues battle. You're wet with longing for him, his fingers stroking through your soaking folds with a hungry grumble as you pull his cock free, impaling yourself upon it.  

He fills you entirely, deeply rooted, hands pawing at you greedily. The removal of clothes is an afterthought, entrenched deep in the heat and sin of it, kisses smouldering, hands wandering, this smooth, pale chest like carved marble beneath your fingers. He pulls at your dress, needing your skin to press against his, your bra gone, only the silk of your stockings remaining as you grind upon him.  

Its lava poured over ice, the fire scorching your blood, fervid desires played out in sex that borders on brutal, bounced on his cock as his fingers dig welts into the soft of your hips.  

“Nobody fucks me like you do, sweetheart.”  

You know it of old, you know you’re the best he’s ever had. It’s why he cannot, not even for a single day, resist having you. He pours his lust and want into you, biting your lip before his mouth moves to your neck, panting hard with a rumbled groan.  

Lifting you, you know he needs the dominance, the need shaking his muscles as he lies you down on the floor, the tangency between you not lost as he kneels before you, cock plunging you deep, deep, deep. He’s like iron, heavy and unyielding within you, stretching you, moulding and remaking you around him, spreading your thighs wide as he watches your cunt glossing his thick, veiny cock.  

When you come for him, your back rubbed raw against the rug beneath you, it burns white hot and radiating, your body shimmering with incandescence as he fills you deep with thick ropes of cum.  

That is why you will never tire of it, the sin of fucking your sister’s husband. Not when it feels as good as it does.  

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

King of Hearts

Chapter 1 - Long Live the King!

A Mafia!Steve Harrington AU (featuring Mafia!Eddie Munson)

Next

Masterlist

Chapter Summary: The Mafia world is on edge when Steve Harrington comes back to town to take over for his father. His presence sets off a whirlwind of emotions that you'd thought you'd buried long ago.

18+ Only! Minors DNI! (Future smut and mature themes!)

CW: Slow burn. Exes to lovers. Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is referred to as "Dove." Angst. Pining. Reader is married to an abusive asshole (this will get worse as the story progresses). Reader is assaulted. Talk of death. Funeral. Drug use/abuse.

WC: 6.1K

You crept through the foyer, hoping the small sound of the door closing wouldn’t rouse anyone in the large house.

Removing your heels from your stocking clad feet, so that you could silently move through the room and quickly check your surroundings, pausing, listening. You were met with nothing but the sound of your heartbeat reverberating in your chest.

You thought you were in the clear, but your false sense of security was quickly shattered, rounding the corner only to be met with your husband’s steely glare. A cigarette and stiff drink in hand. He was home early.

Nikolai was a large, intimidating man with broad shoulders, sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that threatened to set anyone aflame that came near.

He was sitting in front of the large fireplace in the study. When you caught his gaze, he bid you to come forward as he set the drink down. Brining the cigarette to his lips, taking a long inhale before resting it alongside his drink.

Dressed in his usual suit, his jacket left on the chair behind him, leaving him in a white button up with the sleeves rolled up on his forearms revealing an expanse of black ink beneath.

You shuffled forward slowly, crossing your arms behind your back with your heels still dangling from your fingertips.

“Tough day, my love?” he cooed, in a sickly-sweet voice that would almost sound sincere to anyone else. His lips turned up into a cruel smirk as he turned to look at you.

You hated it when he called you that. There was only one man that said it and ever truly meant it.

“You know exactly how my day has been.” You hissed, already over his little games.

“Now kitten, a little birdie told me you were seen with him. Though, it doesn't come as a surprise.” Calm tone, but you knew that was about to change. The literal calm before the storm.

“Nik,” you started, his palm met your cheek with a sharp smack that echoed in the otherwise quiet space, along with the thud of your heels that fell from your grasp. Your eye instantly welled, unable to control the tears forming from the force of his blow. Pain instantly searing the skin.

You could taste the familiar metallic tang in your mouth, as you reached up trying to soothe the discomfort. Yet another bruise to hide in the morning.

Ever defiant, you raise your head slowly, to meet his cold, indifferent gaze.

He gripped your chin, forcing your face closer to his.

“Now, kitten,” no feeling whatsoever behind those words.

“This kind of behavior just won’t do for my reputation. I can't let you go whoring around with him out in public, making me look like a fool in the process.”

He removed his hand slightly, only to cup your cheek engulfing it with his large palm. It was tender, a stark contrast to the pain he had just inflicted. Raised welts beginning to form under his touch.

Playing this same game a dozen times over, you know how it ends. One moment an enraged monster, the next a doting husband.

He pushed your face a little harshly, putting some distance between you to take his leave.

“Clean yourself up and get ready for dinner. Your father will be joining us.” He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours, catching the back of your head pressing you closer to his larger frame. You made no attempt to push him away, knowing it would only spur his anger.

He released you, grabbing his jacket and turning back one last time before he spoke.

“And kitten, end it. Or I will.”

Your father, the head of the crime ring. Your husband, a marriage for alliance. You, an heiress to the proverbial throne.

You didn’t want any of it. Caught in the middle and destined to forever be separated from the man you loved.

You thought you were being careful. You both should have known better.

8 Weeks Earlier

The gallery you managed downtown was your escape from all things family or business related. Here you could be your own person, not feeling bound by duty or marriage. It was your grandmother that instilled a love of art within you at a very young age taking you to art exhibits or museums around the city. You fell in love with the beauty and feeling of it all.

A new piece had just been delivered that you were examining, thoroughly ignoring your surroundings as usual, much too focused on the matter at hand.

You hadn’t heard him enter, as he came to stand directly behind you, pressed in much too close.

Tiny glasses perched toward the end of your nose; he watched the way you were so intently focused on nothing else in the world carefully focusing, stopping only to write small notes on the clipboard in your grasp.

“Little Dove,” clearing his throat slightly, startling you a bit.

You whirled around, only to be met with golden caramel mossy framed eyes staring back at you. The nickname uttered from his lips like soft silk.

“Steve?” you asked, almost breathless. You thought it would be a cold day in hell before you saw him again.

“In the flesh.” He grinned softly, holding his arms out as if showing himself off. Dressed in a navy-blue pinstripe suit and gray turtleneck that you were sure came straight from Italy just as he had.

“What… What are you doing here?” your tone more whispered as you looked around to make sure no one was watching.

“It’s ok, I made sure to slip past them. Your tails… uh… aren’t that great.” He whispered back in a mocking tone, chuckling lightly.

“You look…” you studied the man before you. “You look different, good.”

The last time you had seen Steve he still had his boyish features, but a man stood before you now. Rugged, but clean cut, sporting shorter, more tamed hair with slight stubble lining his jaw. He was even more handsome than you remembered. Italy seemed to be treating him well.

There was an air about him that commanded attention. When he entered a crowded room, he knew everyone would fall in line. A far cry from that party boy years ago. A boy that only ever had eyes for one girl, the woman stood before him now.

“Tesoro, leave it to you to find a job surrounded by beauty but you are the most beautiful piece here.” He smiled that crooked grin that always made you melt, his words syrupy sweet, cheeks heating at the praise.

You clutched the clipboard in your hands closer to your chest, face casting downward as an attempt to hide the blush that crept across your face.

You'd been told you were beautiful by countless men your entire life but when it came from the one man that mattered you turned into a shy mess.

His attention suddenly made it feel like all those years ago, hiding away in a dark corner as he spoke sweet nothings into your ear. Trailing kisses down your neck. Telling you the endless things he'd do for you, or to you.

Two young lovers hidden away from the world with nothing but dreams in their heads and stars in their eyes. Still naive to how cruel and unfair the world could truly be.

Eight years since you've seen him and yet staring at him before you it's as if not a single day has passed. It would be so easy to pick up where you left off, if only…

You snapped out of it, suddenly realizing the only reason he'd be back, shifting your gaze back to him.

“I'm sorry to hear about your father.” His smile fading as he nodded. “I know you two never saw eye to eye, but…”

“It’s okay Dove.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers, eyes casting downward. “It was only a matter of time. He'd been hiding the cancer diagnosis for months now.”

So, it wasn't a rival family or hired hitman that took him out. It was cancer. Everyone had been wondering when the news had come.

“I was still sorry to hear it, Steve.” You hesitantly reached out and rested your hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. “How's Pip holding up?”

Steve's younger sister, never seeing the cruel side of Richard Harrington the way he had. Pip was his Princess and she never let anyone forget that. She went to live with her mother when she was very young, only seeing Richard on holidays and birthdays. It was only natural she was devastated from his death.

“About as well as you'd expect. She uh…” pausing to scratch at his brow. A habit he always had when he was trying to find his words. “She's not doing well. I'm not sure how she's going to get through it tomorrow. I’m sending her back to live with mamma. I think it'll do her some good to get out of the city for a while.”

You didn't pry, knowing Pip was a little reckless and wild. She always gave Steve a run for his money when they were younger. Seems things hadn't changed much for her.

“I'm surprised she's listening to you.” You laughed out.

“I'm not giving her a choice.” You nodded in understanding. Steve was already taking his new role as head of the family very seriously, but you'd expect nothing less.

He was born to one day take over for his father, trained and taught all the ins and outs of this life from a very young age. He would, no doubt in your mind, lead the entire city one day, especially hearing the rumors from across the sea about how ruthless he could be, but you couldn't quite imagine the Steve you once knew to be anything but the kind, caring gentleman before you.

In this world, those kinds of assumptions are what get you killed, and you knew full well Steve had changed. You were unsure of just how much.

As comfortable silence fell between you, he allowed himself to let his eyes linger over you once more. Your back stiffened as you looked from the entrance back to him, shattering this moment of peace as reality settled back in.

“Well, Mr. Harrington it's been nice seeing you, but I must get back to work before those two idiots do their walk through to check up on me.”

“Ms. Alexander.” He smiled, nodding his goodbye.

“It's Mrs. Alexander-Petrov, but you know that.” He did know, but his jaw tightened when he heard it spoken aloud. To imagine you and Nikolai Petrov together made his blood boil.

Little Niki had been a vile womanizer. He and Steve knew each other from boyhood and their father’s dealings. He just hoped he was good to you and worships you the way he himself wishes he could.

“Right. Apologies Mrs. Alexander-Petrov. I'll see myself out. Take care, Tesoro.”

“Tell Eddie I said hi.” You called after him.

“Of course, Dove.” Stopping to look at you one last time.

You watched him exit out the back, through the alleyway.

There was still something there. That spark you couldn't deny. Maybe it was just you looking for closure but deep down you knew it would never truly be over between you. He

was your first love, always hoping he would have been your last.

It was a somber affair with a huge turnout. The Church was packed full of mournful guests.

For a funeral, it was still lavish. Old world money mixed with new. Women flaunting their Gucci or Louis Vuitton came second nature. Men with their expensive suits and gold watches. Any excuse to flaunt the wealth they had accumulated.

Family and business associates mingled, sewing together their tales and fond memories of the late Richard Harrington.

If you looked closely at the crowd, you could spot a few enemies mixed within, come to see the bastard exactly where they'd wished him to be.

As is tradition, you didn't necessarily come to pay respect to the dead, but you still paid respect to the family.

Steve and Pip, at the head of the church, accepting well wishes from each person that passed by. Eddie stood a few feet away giving them space but if anyone truly knew him, he was just as much family as the Harrington siblings.

Steve was stoic. From the moment you spotted him, you could tell he was trying to be strong. You couldn't help thinking of how handsome he looks, even in this setting. Pip could never hide her emotions, every person she talked with sent a fresh wave of tears flowing.

You had accompanied your father, David Alexander. Nikolai had excused himself from coming at the last minute, saying he had an emergency to take care of at the club. You didn't buy his lie but didn't bother arguing.

You had dressed simply, all black like the rest of the crowd. Knee length, quarter sleeved dress. Tight, but not suffocating. Modest compared to Pip’s attire. That girl never knew how to do anything simple or modest, her flamboyant personality would never allow it.

You both stood in line to see them, your eyes darting back up to Steve every few minutes.

“You're too quiet. What's eating at you?” Your dad leaned over to whisper.

“Hmm?” Your eyes shot up to his. “Nothing, just a lot on my mind.”

He squinted down at you as your head drifted toward the front once again. He followed your gaze, softly smiling to himself.

“Steven’s looking well, no? That boy has really grown into his own.”

You placed your arm around his when he extended his elbow, comfortably settling your hand to his forearm as he led you down the aisle.

“Yes, he looks well.” You hummed and nodded.

Your father grinned to himself as your eyes traveled back toward the front. He patted your hand and sighed as the line in front of you began to dwindle.

The couple ahead of you peeled themselves away from the siblings. Revealing you and your father to them.

Steve's eyes lit up immediately, but he held his solemn expression trying not to give himself away.

Your father spoke up first.

“Steven, my boy,” holding out his hand to greet him. “It's good to see you. My condolences, to you and your sister.”

Steve shook his hand, “Thank you, Mr. Alexander.”

“Please, call me David, son.” It made your heart warm faintly at the thought of your father seeing Steve for not only the man he now was but as an equal, first name basis was usually left for business partners or family only. Your father commanded an air of respect, especially from other families.

Their small talk faded from you as you looked over at Pip. She was so different from the last time you'd seen her. Her frame appearing thin with a sickly pallor accompanying dark sunken eyes.

When she spotted you staring at her, she smiled sweetly, reaching out to hug you.

“Dove!” She almost shrieked.

Your arms hugged her tightly to your chest, confirming what your eyes had seen. She was thin, strikingly so, filling you with worry.

“Pip, I’m so sorry sweet girl.” You soothingly rubbed her back, as a sob racked her body. You let her shed a few tears as she sniffed and leaned back up wiping at her cheeks.

“I’ll be okay, it's just hard knowing he's truly gone. But it's so good to see you. Let's catch up soon.” You nodded, squeezing her hand gently. She didn't let go immediately, grasping a little harder.

“Dove, will you please sit with me during the service?” Her eyes softly pleading, reminding you of your days as children when she would beg you to play a game or watch a movie instead of hanging out with her brother. She was by all accounts your little sister too.

“If it's alright with Steve, I…”

“Steve doesn't care. Do you, Stevie?” Her hand flew up, batting his chest as he gritted his teeth releasing a harsh breath.

“Not at all, Dove. But only if you're comfortable with…”

“She's fine Steve. Thank you, Dove!” She hugged you once more as you heard Steve mumble, “anything for the Princess.”

She shot him a glare before releasing you as you turned your attention toward him.

“Steve, I'm so sorry.” You wound your arms around his neck. His stiff demeanor immediately deflated and melted with your soft touch as his arms found their way around your waist, pressing you further into him. His scent enveloped you, smelling of the warm, spicy cologne he wore.

You held each other for a moment too long, getting lost in the warmth of his embrace, finally coming to your senses and easing back.

“I guess I'll see you up there.” Taking a step further back, seeing him nod.

“I…” He was about to speak before someone cut him off with more condolences as you shied away searching for your father who had already taken a seat in the back, speaking with some men that ran in his circle.

You weaved your way in and out of the crowd. Chatting with familiar faces and being polite to those you didn't quite know.

As the music began to play, everyone found their respective seats for the service to begin. You made your way to the front, feeling eyes on you as you went.

Pip was seated right beside Steve, but once she spotted you, she scooted over. Patting the space between the two of them.

You sat closer to her, trying not to crowd Steve into the corner.

“Thank you, Dove.” She whispered, taking your hand in hers. Black gloves covering her dainty fingers.

“Of course.” You stared ahead, trying not to cut your eyes over to him. The small space between you didn't shield you from the heat that radiated from him.

He remained quiet, but you heard him sigh softly. You wished you could hold his hand and bring him some sense of comfort. In another time and place you could imagine taking your seat beside him without the judgmental looks and hushed whispers.

The service went swiftly, Pip leaning on your shoulder and clutching your hand the entire time as she sobbed and sniffled. Steve maintained the same level of stoicism throughout.

You lost your mother at a very young age. The loss of a parent is something you never truly get over. You could relate in some sense, though you never truly knew your mother.

“Dove, you can ride with us to the cemetery. There's more than enough room.” She leaned over to whisper while they were finishing up, garnering Steve's attention as well.

“Pip.” He hissed, throwing her a warning glare.

“What?” She whispered more loudly, looking past you then.

“I'm sure she doesn't have all day to babysit you.” He said it without looking back at her.

You could see the sadness slowly subside on her face, as it was replaced with anger.

“Fuck you, Steve.” She spat, getting up from her seat, loud in the relatively quiet space while the priest was finishing his last prayer, momentarily causing him to pause, as she stomped down the aisle.

You were taken aback by the outburst but not surprised. Pip was a loose cannon, especially when it came to Steve. Two such domineering personalities that always clashed.

He was about to get up, but you grabbed his forearm stopping him, as he looked at you with a furrowed brow.

“Hey, don't worry. I'll go after her. You stay.” You reassured him.

“You don't have to do that. She's just…” he whispered.

“No, it's okay. Let me go talk to her.”

He nodded, as you slid from the seat. Holding your head high as you followed her, avoiding sideways gazes thrown your way.

You found her sitting on the steps outside the church, smoking a cigarette. Her mascara had begun to run but she hasn't bothered trying to wipe it away this time.

“Hey, you.” You lowered yourself down, knocking your shoulder into hers as you sat.

She took a long drag, exhaling toward the sky as the smoke curled away from her lips, letting the ashes fall to the concrete beside her.

“He doesn't have to treat me like a child. I know I've got issues but I'm not a fucking child. Mr. I don't show my emotions so you shouldn't either. Our dad died. You think the least he could do is show me a little compassion or act like he gives a shit.” She released a tagged sigh, taking the cigarette to her lips once more.

“I don't think he necessarily means to make you feel like that. Steve has a lot on his shoulders and your dad, well… he and Steve never saw eye to eye. I know he's hurting too, but he has to be strong. You know how it is with these men.” You rubbed soothing circles to her back as you spoke.

She sniffed, pulling a tissue out to wipe her face.

“I can ride to the cemetery with you. I don't mind.”

“That'd be nice.” A faint smile crossed her face, as you wrapped your arm around her waist. “I'm going to get cleaned up. Wait for me?”

“Of course.” You helped her up, following her back into the lobby as the service ended, watching her disappear into the restroom.

You caught your father on his way out, letting him know you were going with them, and he could head home if he needed to.

“If you're sure.” He kissed your forehead, before leaving you to stand by the door waiting for her to exit, when Steve strode up beside you.

“Where's Pip?!” He asked, a little breathless.

“She's in the restroom.” As soon as you got the sentence out, he began to bang on the door, twisting the knob.

“Steve, what're you doing? For God's sake, give her a little privacy.” You pleaded.

“Pip, open the goddamn door.” He rushed out, pounding his fists harder than before, looking worried when he was met with silence.

“Steve?” You looked around, a crowd slowly gathering around at his outburst.

“Just step back, I'm knocking the door down.”

You did as you were told, with your heart beginning to pound in your chest at how worried he seemed.

“Pip, I'm coming in!” He shouted, before his shoulder slammed into it, knocking it open as he rushed in.

You turned the corner to see Pip, slumped over against the back wall passed out. Your mind didn't comprehend what you were seeing at first.

He knelt down beside her, pulling her face up and lightly slapping her cheek.

“Pip! Wake up! Goddamnit!” His fingers flew to her neck, checking for a pulse.

It all seemed to be happening in slow motion as you watched the scene unfold. Eddie rushed in beside you, as Steve yelled at him to bring the car around, lifting her up with him from the ground, moving aside as he passed you.

It was frantic, the sea or people parting to let them go by as you stood there in shock. Watching Steve run with her lifeless body in tow.

Only coming to your senses when you hear someone close by seemingly laughing at the scene. “Pip, always the life of the party.” They sneered.

You looked around the small bathroom, spotting her purse on the floor, quickly picking it up and taking it with you avoiding the gazes of onlookers but keeping your head held high all the way.

Richard Harrington was buried while colleagues and friends looked on. None of his children were there to see him interred.

You were ringing your hands in the back seat as your chauffeur took you across town the next morning. Nerves getting the better of you.

It has been years since you've seen the Harrington residence but as soon as it comes into view memories begin to flood your mind.

There were the sweet moments when you were young children. Playing in the garden or swimming in the pool. You, Steve and Pip. Much simpler times when a game of hide and seek could keep you all occupied for hours.

Isabella Harrington had finally had enough right after Steve turned 10, leaving Richard and taking Pip with her back to Italy. She didn't leave Steve to fend for himself intentionally but given the option of losing both her children or taking Pip, she has no other choice.

Suddenly, the play dates were dwindling, and you began to see less and less of Steve. Separate schools made it even harder but despite it all you remained close.

You'd been in love with Steve since you were 12 when he told you that one day he was going to marry you and gave you your first kiss behind the pool house.

So caught up in your thoughts you hadn't heard the driver or noticed the car had stopped.

“Miss? Are you alright?” He said a little louder, catching your attention and thoroughly pulling you from your daydream.

“Hmmmm? Yes, fine, thank you.” Replying quickly.

“We’ve arrived, Mrs. Petrov.” He said as he exited the car, coming around to get your door.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you removed yourself, neck craning upward. The house seemed bigger, more intimidating than you remembered.

Immediately clocking several security personnel stationed in various positions around the yard, no doubt already alerting him to your arrival as you stepped across the cobblestone drive, heels a little unsteady against the uneven stone.

Reaching the few steps to the large front door, it opened before you had the chance to knock.

“Hi stranger!” Eddie beamed down at you. Curls tied back into a low bun, still dressed to impress. Burgundy silk dress shirt thrown over his frame, tattooed forearms on display. He was handsome in his own right.

“Hi Eddie! How have you been?” You stepped closer to him, pulling him in for a quick hug. “Sorry we didn't get to chat yesterday.”

“Doing well, and don't sweat it. There was a lot going on.” He laughed, albeit a little nervously as he pulled back. “He's in the office, you can follow me.”

You remembered the layout fairly well, the office was at the back of the house on the first floor. A large space, with windows overlooking the expanse of the back garden.

Eddie walked quietly ahead of you, as you looked around the house. It was exactly as you remembered. Dark walls with marble flooring leading to the ornate door at the end of the hall.

He didn't bother knocking, as you followed him in. The curtains were drawn back from the windows letting the natural light illuminate the space.

Steve leaned against the far wall staring out the window. He was dressed down in a sky blue short sleeved shirt and cream-colored trousers. He turned, chestnut locks a little unkempt with a thin gold chain resting against his chest.

He turned in time to see you both enter, pushing off the wall to meet you halfway.

“Dove! What a pleasant surprise.” He flashed you a warm smile, turning to dismiss Eddie as he closed the door behind him.

“I brought Pip’s clutch.” Holding out for him to take.

“Thanks, I'll let her know. Though I'm not sure she even missed it.” He sighed, easing it from your hand, tossing it to the desk beside him.

You'd heard she'd barely made it to the hospital. Apparently, the coke she had ingested was laced with fentanyl. Pip was a party girl, she hadn't intentionally tried to overdose which was a relief, all things considered.

“How is she?” You asked.

“I honestly don't know. I thought she…” His face flashed with momentary worry, before shaking it off. “She's going to rehab before I send her back to Italy. I think this might have actually scared some sense into her even though she's pissed at me.”

“You're doing the right thing. She needs you to be there for her.” Reassuring him.

He nodded before you both fell into a comfortable silence as your eyes took in the room. He had already begun renovating it to his liking which made you smile.

“I thought it could use an update.” He said, as if reading your mind.

The wallpaper was being taken down, replaced with a fresh coat of paint. Steve has always hated his father's gaudy taste, as if he needed to remind himself of his wealth in his own office. Steve was humble, he didn't need to flaunt and inflate himself to others. You admired him for that, always staying true to himself.

“I'm sure it'll be perfect. Doing the whole house, I hope? The medieval dungeon theme is so last year.” He chuckled.

“You don't like it? I thought about adding some chains and cuffs in the hall to really set it off.” You both laughed.

“But, yes I'm planning an overhaul for the entire house.” For a moment he wondered what you would do with the place. He could imagine the way your eyes lit up knowing you could make it your own.

A place for you and him to raise a couple of kids, have family dinners every Sunday and eventually grow old together. Or would you want to move out of the city altogether? Sell this old house and start anew?

If only he knew the similar thoughts that swirled through your mind but you couldn't allow yourself to dwell.

You suddenly checked your watch, clearing your throat.

“I'm sorry to cut this short, I've got a client coming by in a few.” Sighing to yourself.

“No worries. I'll let Pip know you brought this by.” Holding her purse up for emphasis. “Let me walk you out.”

He followed closely behind you down the hall, just shy of reaching his palm out to your lower back, into the foyer as one of the security guards opened the front door.

You turned once more to bid him farewell but it was he who spoke first.

“Dove, you're welcome here anytime. Please, stop by. I'll even show you my fancy cooking skills sometime.” He grinned, the smile reaching his eyes, boyish and bright.

“Steve Harrington cooks? This I'll have to see.” Mirroring his smile, as your driver opened your door. “Bye Steve.”

He waved, as you got in and continued to watch your car exit the drive.

He couldn't explain it. The inexplicable need to be near you. Wishing for another life. A once upon a time he could have had with you.

Alone in his big house, with no one to share it with, he sighed heavily making his way back to his office.

Fairy tales, he thinks. Meant for much gentler souls than he. Someone deserving of it, brave and pure of heart, just like the stories his mother used to read to him and Pip when they were still children, still room to believe in such notions as soul mates and true loves first kiss.

Eddie was waiting there, sitting behind his desk.

“Call for you.” He stated, getting up from the chair extending the phone towards him.

“Take a message, I'm not in the mood right now. I'll call them back.” He crossed the room, pouring himself a drink.

“Steve, I think you're going to want to take this.”

You hated lying but you had to get out of there.

A whole lifetime's worth of memories seemed to overtake you when you stepped through the threshold of a home that you practically grew up in.

You dreaded going back to your own home. A home that you'd hoped one day would have been filled with love that never came to fruition.

Such high hopes in the beginning with Nikolai.

He was the perfect gentleman. A whirlwind romance that had you so swept away you didn't see his true colors until it was too late.

So caught up with what he was, but it was truly only what he showed you. What he wanted you to believe.

Soon after your marriage, it was late nights at his clubs coming home smelling of liquor and sweet smelling perfume that turned into not coming home at all some nights.

You'd wanted white picket fences and children laughing down the hall. He gave you heartache and crying alone in your empty king sized bed.

Almost five years later and you're left to question if he ever loved you or if it had all been a strategy to gain his power.

Later that night you were in the study reading on the large sofa, room lit softly by the fireplace. Cozy in silk pajamas and your favorite blanket, it was the perfect end to the day as you sipped some wine.

Nik slipped in, late as usual, loosening his tie as he stomped into the room.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” He hissed.

“Well, nice to see you too, dear.” You didn't look up, only rolling your eyes. “It looks like I'm reading, no?”

“Why the hell did you go to Harrington's today?” He stepped in front of you, crossing his arms.

“I was returning Pip’s clutch. She left it at the church.” Shrugging and returning to your book as if it should be the end of it.

“You expect me to believe that?” He leaned down, arm caging you in, as he swiftly pulled the book from your hand tossing it in the empty space of the couch beside you. Closing in, almost nose to nose, as his imposing frame hovered over you.

“It's the truth, Nik. I really don't care what you choose to believe.” You spat back at him. Not at all in the mood for his little games or vile attitude.

You knew the only reason he skipped the funeral was because he had a bone to pick with Richard. Now it seems he's trying to take it up with Steve.

You pushed his chest, getting up from the couch as you started to cross the room now done with the conversation but he grabbed your arm, wrenching you back around to face him.

“Let's get one thing straight, YOU, under no circumstances, are to see him again.” His grip tightening as he spoke. He'd never laid a hand on you, but the way he was squeezing you now was surely going to leave a mark.

“Nik, let me go. You can't forbid me to stay away from my childhood friends. You're being ridiculous. Steve is not Richard. You have nothing against him.” His grip only grew tighter, shaking you just a bit as you tried to pull yourself free. “Nik! Let go of me!”

“No Y/N! I mean it. You are not to see him again!” Screaming in your face, droplets of spital flying toward you. “Do you understand me?”

You finally nodded. Worrying if you tried to push the issue further it would only make things worse.

“Say it!” He shouted.

“I understand. Now, let me go!” He did so, pushing you slightly away from him.

“Good.” He sneered, smirk now donning his face as he brushed past you on his way to pour himself a drink from the small bar in the corner of the room as you quickly grabbed your things.

You passed one of Nik’s security details, whose gaze fell away from you as you rushed out of the room, he'd overheard the entire thing. You were mortified at his behavior. Nik was a grade A asshole but he had never been physical.

Your feet carried you swiftly to your room, heaving a sigh of relief as you locked the door behind you. Glad to have some kind of barrier between the two of you tonight.

Running into the bathroom, you slid your robe from your shoulder to examine your arm. It was already starting to form finger shaped bruises.

You could easily hide them, wearing long sleeves, which you did most days. It was horrifying to think you had no choice but to hide them. HE had done this to you.

You washed your face and slid into bed, crying softly to yourself as your mind began spiraling. This was a life you had never wanted.

A husband that never looks at you, unless it's with disdain and contempt. Now seemingly hell bent on keeping you in line the way he sees fit. When words don't work, he'll easily use brute force to bend you to his will.

Telling Steve would be completely out of the question for both of your sakes, but in the coming days you would soon find out how difficult it would be to avoid him completely.

[wri0thesley]

cw: fantasising, reader is afab, non-consensual . . . drawing??? haz said to me 'do you think welt would draw you if he had a crush on you? draw hentai of you?' and, alas. this occurred.

"Mr Yang?" Your voice is a soft little thing; Welt barely hears it over the sound of his pencil scratching on the paper. Eyes focused on the lines as they take shape. You pause after calling, and timidly knock twice on the door of the cabin. "May I open the door?"

"Mm?" He calls, still not moving his eyes from the paper before him. "Is something wrong?" He's so close to finishing this one; just a few more lines, a little shading here, a shine to the strings of arousal dripping down your thighs from where you're being stretched open on his cock--

You take that as assent. His door creaks open slowly - and there you are, in the flesh.

It's then that he realises exactly what he's doing, and panics.

His sketch is right there, on his desk - you, in all of your beautiful glory, lovingly rendered down to the last detail. That wouldn't be so bad, he supposes, if it were just a portrait; a snatched moment of one of your smiles. Heaven knows you've seen him draw the others - both seriously, for practise, and in little caricatures that make you laugh and shift closer to him until he can smell your perfume sticking to your skin and his cock twitches in his trousers in interest.

He tries to shove it to one side as you walk towards him, unsure if he heard you the first time. You're saying something about Himeko and the Express's next stop.

Welt's movements are too clumsy. Beneath this sketch are others of you - ones he would never work on in common areas. You, mouth open, tears beading in your eyes as your mouth struggles to hold his length. Him, you in his lap, hands running all over you - some dialogue or other about 'being happy to instruct', you calling him 'Mr Yang' . . .

He never wanted to be caught like this. He hadn't meant to! But every image of you that he conjured was so delicious, his imagination overactive, and before he'd even realised it he'd amassed a portfolio of . . . He doesn't even know what to call it. Hentai? Erotica? Self-indulgent fantasy art?

He sweeps most of it into a pile as you stop by his desk and give him a smile so sweet that it makes his teeth ache - but the final sketch, the one he's been working on today, doesn't quite make it. It floats down to the ground as Welt's heart plummets into his chest, and you - lovely you, so helpful, so eager to win Welt's favour (that eagerness has been displayed time and time again in his art) - bend down to retrieve it.

You sneak a glance at what he's been working on, expecting to see some fun robot design (you know he likes robot characters), perhaps a sketch from life of the other passengers, a few simplified Pom Poms like Welt has been character designing for a children's cartoon.

A part of you hopes you see a sketch of yourself. Every time Welt draws you with a smile on his face and his voice soft, you melt inside - and seeing the way Welt sees you, sometimes you even feel beautiful.

You have your mouth all open ready to give a heartfelt compliment when you notice what it is on the paper, and your mouth goes dry.

This is certainly a drawing of you.

This is a drawing of you utterly bare save for a pair of thigh high stockings digging in to your legs, being vigorously and thoroughly fucked by a man who is just out of frame.

"I . . ." You don't know what to do, your hand still holding the sketch. You're trembling, but your mouth has opened just a little, your pupils blown wide. He can see your pulse point fluttering wildly in your throat, and not for the first time he thinks about his lips brushing over it. Teeth worrying into the soft skin of your neck. Biting you, kissing you, sucking his marks into you-- "Do you want me to c-come back later? I'm sure Himeko wouldn't mind postponing the meeting, if you're busy--"

Your voice cracks on the words, your eyes once more flickering down to the sketch. Every curve of you has been drawn with such precision. The curve of your bare ass, the way that the hand of the out of view man sinks into the plush curve of your hip, lines denoting the way your skin indents under the fingertips.

How long has Welt looked at you, to be able to recreate you from memory so easily? He's wrong about how you keep yourself down there, missed out a few markings of your inner thighs and chest that he's never had reason to see . . . but everything else?

Welt looks at you; eyes behind his glasses flashing. You've always thought him handsome. He looks at you now and notices the way you tremble on the edge of not quite knowing what to do, at war with your own desires. The stars outside the cabin play prettily on your face, reflected in your eyes - and oh, it is hard for him not to think of how you'd look on his bed, face turned towards the great expanse of space. Stars in your eyes and his cock inside of you and your body trembling and shaking under his ministrations.

You notice something else in the sketch; the other hand, on your head to pull you back and onto the man's cock . . . gloved. Much like Welt's own.

"I-is this supposed to be . . ." Your words shake and shudder, not only from nervousness but from a sudden bolt of arousal that makes your knees feel weak. "Me?"

Us?, goes the unvoiced second question.

"Close the door," he says, his voice somehow managing to be even. "I'm sorry, my dear. This was . . . horribly inappropriate of me. I'll be out in a moment."

He wonders if you'll ask Himeko to let you off at the Express's next stop, not wanting to be alone with him - or if you'll give in to the feelings warring within you. Your eyes flash. Teeth bite into your bottom lip.

"Is this what you think I'd look like?" You ask him, eventually, in no more than a whisper. You're still looking down at the sketch.

The longer you look at it, the more you can see the passion that he's put into it. The lines denoting the movement of his hips - the peek of his shirt cuffs at the wrist, his cane half-in frame. The puff of breath coming from where you can just see the silhouette of his mouth.

The meticulous attention to detail in your face - your mouth perfectly shaped, your hair exact. Every mole and every freckle and every scar visible in your everyday clothes has a match on the you that Welt has so lovingly rendered. This is a man who has studied you. Learnt you by heart.

"No," Welt says. "I think you'd be prettier."

You swallow. You look up from the sketch.

". . . Do you want to see for real?"

[baskintheglow]