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fullfriendnerdclutch · 3 months ago

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Archive: Rent-a-Cop Part 1 - 3

"It’s supposed to do what…? …Are you serious Captain?” Officer Grant Johnson sighed looking at his commanding officer with incredulity.

“Johnson, remember you volunteered for this. Now if the professor’s machine works like he says it does, its value to the force will be immeasurable," The Captain typed in some more information onto the panel, going back and forth between some hand-written instructions, furrowing his brow.

“Fine… So you scanned me in or whatever, now what?”

“Just a minute! I need to finish calibrating the damn thing or God knows what it’ll do to you!” Johnson rolled his eyes but nodded, running his hand through his salt and pepper hair impatiently.

“Okay okay… Just remember we do well enough without some freaky gizmo though. I’ve put away some of the baddest guys in this city in my day…” Officer Johnson patted his gut with a chuckle. “…I suppose I have been getting a bit soft though,"

“Well why don’t we see what we can do about that?" The Captain lifted what looked to be a simple wireless microphone.

“Load profile: Grant Johnson.” The machine behind them made a small noise, Officer Johnson looked to it then the Captain and shrugged.

“Reduce age by half, increase muscle mass 300%, and reduce body fat ratio by 80%—”

The Captain cut off and gaped at the sudden change in his subordinate. Gone was the weary looking Officer with the pot-belly looking forward to an ever closer retirement. In his place was a mountain of a man, who looked half bodybuilder/half cop. Johnson just stared at the Captain.

“…What? How long do we wait?”

“What do you mean what? You’re huge!”

Officer Johnson narrowed his eyes at the Captain then looked to his arm, pulling back the sleeve and flexing his massive biceps; it must have been around 24 inches.

"It doesn’t look any bigger… definitely not 200% bigger. And what was with the command to halve my age? You trying to send me back to highschool?” He chuckled a deep, rich, masculine laugh.

The Captain stammered a moment before looking back to the hand-written notes, thumbing through them before speaking into the small microphone again.

“Recall self prior to last command," that did it. Grant yelped, looking back to his arm, giving it a small poke then looking back to the Captain.

“Holy shit! Captain! Look at me! I can’t believe it! That machine is nuts!” The Captain frowned lightly but nodded.

“Yes, yes. The possibilities are endless, but we’ll need to make sure we note any Officer’s previous self to their changed self… I think we’ll just keep this to ourselves until we can learn a bit more about it.”

“Aww– Fine… Too bad though, with this thing I’d be right back in the swing of it. All those bastards I’ve spent my career taking down would just be the beginning; I could be back on the beat full time.”

“Well, we’ll see. For now lets get you back to normal, lock this place up and head back upstairs. Don’t want anyone in the precinct getting nosy down here…”

The captain returned Officer Johnson to normal then the pair left; all without taking note of the surveillance camera silently blinking above their heads.

In the security room, rookie cop Noah Bartlett stared at the camera footage. He’d been benched and given desk duty after none other than Officer Grant Johnson had accused him of being on the take…

Nevermind the fact that he was, afterall there were several local crime bosses who paid good money for any tip or advantage they could get against the cops….

An idea slowly formed in Noah’s mind as he looked to the wall at the master security keyring and a smile grew on his face… He wondered how much they would pay for a chance to rent that machine and use it on Officer Oh-So-Perfect Johnson…

"You understand, Captain Diaz?"

The older cop replied in a dull monotone "Yes,"

"Yes....what?" the rookie replied, smirking vindictively

"Yes Master Noah,"

"Good," he pulled the machine's microphone close to his mouth and read off a little notecard he had prepared

"Captain Diaz won't consciously remember the events of the last 10 minutes or so. Captain Diaz will return to his office, wait one hour then call Officer Johnson in, and then follow the previously given instructions,"

With that, the Captain wordlessly walked out, while Officer Bartlett quickly reset the room to how it was, before hurrying back to his desk in the security room.

Rico Antonetti was one of the mid to upper level mob figures in the city and he and Officer Noah Bartlett had worked out a few arrangements before getting caught by one oh-so-squeaky-clean Officer Grant Johnson.

Noah had reached out to the mobster and informed him of the department's prototype machine. Rico was skeptical so the two worked out an appropriate demonstration.....

Precisely one hour later, Noah looked up to see Officer Grant Johnson on one of his monitors, step into the Captain's office and take a seat

"Listen Johnson, we've got a tip off about some new little bordello Antonetti has setup downtown. It might be bogus, but I need you to go in and investigate,"

"Sure Cap, let me get a team together and we'll be able to hit the place by tomorrow nig---"

"NO! Er......no, that will be too late, these places move around and we don't know how many ears Rico has in the department. If we want to hit him while this info is good, we need to do it tonight and I need you to go by yourself,"

"Uhh....that sounds more than a little bit risky, don't you think, Captain?"

"Yes, or at least it would be, if we didn't have our department's new toy," the Captain said sternly

"Oh....yeah, I guess so then. If you think it's that serious...."

"I do, let's get you prep," quickly replied the Captain as he stood up from his seat and opened the door briskly

Noah almost giggled with glee as he watched the two depart the Captain's office and head to the storeroom where the Professor had dropped off the machine. Everything was going according to script so far

"Alright Johnson, you ready?" The Captain picked up the wireless mic, flipping the machine on

"Yes Sir," Grant smiled, giving his somewhat rotund belly a gentle pat goodbye

"Load Profile: Grant Johnson." once more the machine whirred to life, humming softly and awaiting input. "Subject will recall self following this set of commands: Reduce age by 60%, increase muscle mass by 200%....."

The Captain's voice and face then seemed to go a bit slack and he took the microphone and opened the door to exit the room

"Err...everything alright, boss?"

"Yes, wait there, I need to check something,"

Captain Diaz quietly made his way down the hall to the security room, he opened the door where Officer Bartlett sat grinning

"Welcome Cap, I'll take that," he reached out, grabbing the mic and looking back to the video feed of the new, younger, buffer Officer Grant Johnson sitting patiently

"Subject will not recall self following this new set of commands. Change sexuality to homosexual. Increase libido by 300%. Reduce work ethic by 75%. Add behaviors: narcissism, arrogance, exhibitionism, bullying, domineering, perversion, and of course, corruption," Noah watched as the posture and attitude of Officer Johnson shifted. The man in the monitor crudely rubbed his genitals through his uniform pants and impatiently checked his wristwatch before noting the mirrored window in the room and stepping up to flex in front of it

"Perfect, now reduce subject employment standing to rookie, erase all experience of previous service and update it to 3 months," the stripes on Grant's uniform vanished, "Subject will continue flexing in the storeroom until Captain Diaz returns," there was no change in the cocky behavior on the monitor, but Noah knew Grant would stay like that as long as needed now

"Load profile: Carlos Diaz. Subject will believe that Officer Grant Johnson has always been as he is now and has not been changed by the machine. Subject will load in each member of the department's profiles overnight tonight and make the same changes to their recollection as well. Subject will not consciously remember the events of the last hour and will return to scold Officer Johson for being where he shouldn't be, then send him out,"

Captain Diaz silently left the security room and Officer Bartlett returned to his monitor. He watched smiling as the Captain entered the storeroom and clearly yelled something at the now rookie Grant Johnson. Officer Johnson replied by gripping his own groin and flipping the Captain off as he left.

"Now then, tonight should go on as planned,"

Grant drove down the street slowly. It was dark and while he may not have given a shit about what he was doing, he was still a cop. He saw the kid on the corner signal to someone as soon as he showed up. But that was fine, let 'em get their shit out of there, it would be less work on his part.

He parked a couple houses down from the address his tightass Captain had given him for this supposed brothel and slowly approached. From the front it looked like any other kind of shared housing in one of the city's projects

He eyed the door, strangely it was left ajar. He carefully slipped inside, having to squeeze his muscular form through rather tightly so as not to risk moving the door any further

The first floor was dark but as he peered up the stairs, he saw the second level was well lit......if anything's going down, it's up there

He thought he moved quite silently but in reality he was rushing and the house creaked under his weight with each step. When he reached the top, he saw a hallway full of closed doors, save one left half open with light pouring out of it

He crept towards it, growing annoyed at what a waste of time this was turning out to be. He paused by the door when he heard a young man speaking on the phone

"Yeah....yeah he's comin' so I called like you told me to....yeah, you're sure about this?.....Naw naw, I'm good for it.... Alright, alright, then do whatever it is you're gonna do, I'll let you know,"

The young man hung up the phone, Grant furrowed his brow at what he'd heard.....it sounded like something might actually about to go down....Looks like showtime. He stepped forward, kicking the door open and entering the room with his gun drawn

"DON'T MOVE!" yelled Grant with his deep baritone voice with that hint of coarseness from his smoking habit

The room looked like a simple one bedroom unit, hardly the sex den he was expecting. On the bed seated a rather handsome college-aged jock, he had his arms raised and was watching the police officer, but he didn't seem startled. Grant frowned and looked around the room before stepping to the man and patting him down; finding no weapon, he put away his firearm.

"We got a tipoff about prostitutes working out of this address to supply the mob. You know anything about that?"

The young jock paused for a moment looking at Grant just long enough to begin annoying him, before finally answering tentatively

"Of course Officer.....that's what I'm doing here," Grant just stared a moment......did this little twunk just admit to being a whore?

"You're a hooker?"

Sensing Grant's confusion, the young man smiled and nodded. He stood and approached the cop

"Yeah.....Rico said I was your favorite after last time, so it was my job to......cover your protection fee...." the jock's hands were a bit rough but his puppy eyes really caught his attention and radiate this submissiveness Grant cannot resist. He softly stroked Grant's chest and stomach, causing the ripped Officer to moan and shudder in delight

"Oh...oh yeah, now I remember you," Grant's stated with more conviction, his memories betrayed him as it created false imagery of the time he's sitting in the mob-run nightclub with all the male strippers dancing to tease him

The rather handsome hooker simply smiled impishly, his hand caressing lower, which caused Grant to growl in beastly burst of lust, pushing the young man back onto the bed

An hour or so later, Grant called in to Captain Diaz, the tip had been bullshit it seemed. The Captain was pissed but Grant didn't care. Meanwhile, Officer Bartlett popped open a bottle of wine when he received a call from one very convinced and very interested crime boss....

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Check out my spin-off from this beloved series originally made by coyote-r

More to come later this week

#male shapeshift #male muscle growth #archive #coyote-r #older to younger #criminal tf #police tf #revenge tf #rent-a-cop series #tech tf

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written-in-flowers · 7 months ago

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His Darling: Demon!San x Fem!reader

Pairing: Incubus!San x Fem!Human!Reader | side pairing: yunho x reader, demonline x reader

Word Count: 10k

Genre: Smut (loads), slight angst MINORS DNI

Summary: San shows you his room and tells you exactly what he wants in a "housewife". He also shows you the benefits of keeping him happy.

Tags: enslavement, master/slave relationship, polyamorous relationship, demon!ateez, human!reader, stereotypical gender roles, gender norms, slight misogynistic ideals, mentions of domestic violence, childhood trauma, bigdick!san, incubus!san, breeding kink (serious one lol), thigh riding, voyeurism, handjob, dirty talking, light spanking, table sex, clothed man/naked woman, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, monster fucking, demon fucking, Yunho walks in on it and watches. You're their slave, and you're treated that way.

Previously on Pretty Pet > His Kitten: Seonghwa

***

“-What do we do? I've never handled a human slave before. What do they eat?”

“Food, I imagine.”

“Yes, but what? And what about her grooming? Has Wooyoung styled a human before?”

“No idea. All I know is what Yunho told me…”

You heard their voices above you, but you could not place them. A low groan escaped you as the aftermath of last night made itself known again. Every appendage felt sore and heavy, and your innards might have actually been rearranged. You almost did not comprehend your hunger until you'd completely woken up. Is this how you'd wake up every morning?

“Wake up,” a soft voice commanded. “We have a lot to do before you're presentable. Let's get moving.”

“Yeosang” the harder toned voice said, “Don't be so aggressive this early in the morning. She hasn't fully adjusted to this yet. She needs space to process.”

“Ugh, ‘space to process’. Yes, tell that to Yunho and see how that goes for you. He's already in a mood after having to bury that idiot slaver. Go ahead and tell him you diverted from his schedule.”

“That isn't what I meant-”

You finally opened your eyes to see two men on either side of your bed. Each of them wore black suits and had black upturned horns. One was significantly more petite and paler than the other. A red wine birthmark covered the side of his eye, contrasting with his fair skin. The other on the right was a round faced demon with dark brown hair. He carried an innocent, soft expression while his companion looked on sternly.

“Who are you?” You croaked through your strained throat.

They both finally acknowledged you. “Oh,” the dark haired demon grinned, “I'm Jongho.”

“And I'm Yeosang. We're your new handlers. Now, get up. We have to get you groomed before the Masters wake up.”

Yeosang turned and walked away to the tall double doors. Jongho stayed at your side, “Forgive him. They told him about you this morning, and he's been cranky ever since. He claims it ‘threw him off’.”

He pulled down the fluffy bed covers from you, revealing your naked body to the sunlit room. He acted as if he didn’t notice your nudity, and offered you his arm. This proved helpful since you didn't see the platform step and nearly tripped into his arms. Your legs and knees quaked weakly once you stood up, and you winced from the stinging between your legs.

“The only downside to good sex, huh?” He quipped, giving a knowing smile.

“Yeah.”

“Don't worry,” he picked up a thin, white chemise from a nearby chair, “The bath Master San prepared will help with that. He said a bit of soothing salt will take it away.” You lifted your arms for him to slip the chemise over you, “Let's get you washed up before Yeosang comes back whining again. You'll get used to his little tantrums soon enough,” he linked his arm with yours to help you walk properly, “Wrath demons can be so sensitive. I told him we should give you a minute to adjust and he was all ‘Yunho will get mad’. Ugh…”

You hadn't noticed the room last night, but now seeing it full of sunlight, you took in the splendor. White paneled walls inlaid with gold surrounded the room’s oak wood floors and went up high into the ceiling. You saw an oak vanity, a wardrobe cabinet, dresser and a desk around the room. It was a step up from the singular room in the bowels of the brothel. At least here you had privacy and fresh air through the tall windows.

Jongho brought you into a tiled room where a large bathtub sat in the very middle. White bubbles floated along the top of the steaming water, the soothing scent of lavender reaching your nose. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a proper bath; you usually did a quick wipe down to keep the fluids from crusting on your skin. Yeosang rolled over a small cart ladened with various tubs and bottles you only assumed were meant for bathing. Big eyes looked up to the fake horns still on your head, and he forced you down into a seat.

“These look ridiculous,” he huffed, peeking through the roots to see where the braiding kept it on your head. With expert fingers and a fine-toothed comb, he gradually began undoing them. “Good thing they didn’t use stronger glue. We might not have been able to remove these,” he said once he finished with one side. “Those city slavers are true scoundrels. I don’t blame Master San for slitting the man’s throat.”

“Oh dear,” Jongho frowned, “Had they glued on a tail?”

“Yes,” you nodded.

“Why?” asked Yeosang.

Jongho lifted your chemise to show the scabbed area. “I hope it doesn’t scar,” he said. “Master Seonghwa won’t like that.”

“Hm, doesn’t seem too bad to me,” Yeosang said, resuming his horn removal. “We’ll apply some ointments to avoid scarring and infection. Get the tub ready.”

When he removed the second “horn”, you breathed a sigh of relief. This did not last long because Yeosang and Jongho lifted the chemise off your body, and put you into the tub. Neither of them said anything as they went about the bathroom. Each of them took a side of the tub: Jongho dipped a soft cloth into the water to start cleaning your grimy skin while Yeosang squirted a pink substance into your hair.

“Who is Yunho?” you asked out of curiosity, watching Jongho begin washing between your fingers and under your nails.

“He’s the Head of House here,” said Yeosang, spreading the shampoo in your hair. “We all answer to him, including you.”

“I thought Hongjoong-”

“-Master Hongjoong, girl,” he said sternly, digging into your scalp. You didn’t know how he managed to scrub it, but he did. “They are your masters now; that is how you address them at all times. Even if they’re not in the room, you show your respect and gratitude. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“As I was saying,” he continued, pouring water into your hair with a cup and continuing to scrub more, “Yunho is the Head of House-”

“-He means the house staff-” Jongho explained.

“-And he’s in charge of anything having to do with the domestics in the house,” he said. “This includes kitchen and housekeeping duties. Now that the masters have a slave, you indirectly fall under his care. He will be your communication between the masters and you when they’re not present. Anything regarding you is taken directly to him, and he decides how to proceed from there.”

“Indirectly?”

“He’s our boss, technically,” Jongho said, starting to gently wipe at your neck, face and chest. “Yeosang is the Chief Handler, so he takes care of everything concerning you: grooming, training, and well being. I’m his assistant. Let’s say you fall ill, Yeosang takes care of getting to the doctor, medicine and other medical needs while I make sure you are as comfortable as possible.”

“You mentioned someone named Wooyoung?” you asked next, wiping water from your eyes when he finished.

“He’s a slave groomer,” Yeosang told you. He rinsed out your hair as best as he could, then decided a second wash was needed. You felt his fingers digging into your scalp as if doing so loosened the oils left there. You wanted to protest, but you felt that would be pointless. “He is the best. He’ll be in charge of your physical appearance and your wardrobe. Apparently, the masters demanded you have three separate wardrobes, but I imagine he’ll be handsomely paid for the work.”

“Are there other slaves here?”

“You mean, pleasure slaves like you?”

“Yes.”

“No. The Masters never bothered with pleasure slaves up until recently. They usually called on a brothel owner to bring his prettiest ones, and they’d have their fun with that. I guess having one pleasure slave is cheaper in the long run.”

“They’d mentioned something about making me into what they want,” you said. “I’m not sure what they meant by that.”

“Me neither,” Jongho mused, cleaning your legs and feet. “I suppose they are bored with the succubi the brothel people bring. A lot of them are trained in the same classical way, so perhaps they wanted something new?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yeosang said, running a thin white liquid through your hair, “It’s not our place to question their motives.” The new shampoo stung your scalp, and you reached up to touch it before he swatted your hands away. “It’s a pest treatment.”

“I do not have pests!” you exclaimed in shock.

“Judging by how this is foaming in your hair, yes, you did,” he started running another comb over only the roots before loosening into the rest of your hair, “I don’t know how they bedded you last night. You’re filthy.”

“It’s not her fault, Yeosang,” Jongho came to your defense, rinsing the body wash off your skin. “Those lower class brothels are infested with disease and filth.”

“I am not dirt-”

“-Save it,” Yeosang cut you off. “As I said, the masters have their reasons and we have no right to question them.”

“But we can wildly speculate,” Jongho grinned. “She deserves to know why they chose her over a succubus or another type of demon. It must be confusing for her.”

“It can’t be that confusing. Why does it even matter? She is here now, and that’s it. End of story.”

“They never showed interest in the sinners outside of entertainment before.”

“Sex is another form of entertainment, Jongho.”

“Yes, but they usually mate with other demons, not humans. I’m only saying it is strange. Do you think they did it to spite Her?”

“Who?” you asked, squeezing your eyes as Yeosang rinsed the treatment out in a separate bucket. When he pulled you away, you saw all the dirt he’d removed.You gasped at the tiny dots floating in the water.

“Their mother,” Yeosang said, pulling you back in front of him. This time he slathered a mint-colored paste through your strands. “And no. In order to spite someone, you must actually care what they think.”

Jongho finished scrubbing you with the first wash, then pulled out two scrubbing brushes. From a small white tub, he began smearing an exfoliant on your skin. It tingled and smelled of cucumber. “She won’t be pleased when she hears they have a pleasure slave now.”

“And that will be of no concern to them.” He let the paste sit in your hair, and joined Jongho in lathering you in the pale green cleanser. “Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up. We need to wash all of you before we apply the body toner, the exfoliant, the mud masks, and the serums and oils,” he said. “I told you this would be a long process. Stand up.”

You stood up, the air chilling your wet skin, and the two men started scrubbing. Their brushes scratched your skin raw, removing layers of grime and oil from you. You thought more about your new masters. You remembered them mentioning their plans for you. Hongjoong wanted the “perfect submissive”. Seonghwa wanted a “doll”. San wanted a “wife”. You assumed they couldn’t achieve their wishes with any regular slave, so they needed a slave from a lower level brothel. The high-class demon slaves must be a dime a dozen to these demon lords. With you, they believe they have a slave with no particular talents or skills. You didn't dare mention that you'd technically lied, but it's not your fault they never asked. If they want to shape you, you'd let them. You'd do anything to avoid going back to the brothel; not when you have such a good thing going here.

You jumped when a cold hand touched between your legs. Yeosang said nothing as he covered your sex in a bright blue foam. Since it lacked any sensuality, you couldn’t help feeling a bit of embarrassment.

“Does it sting?” he asked you from his crouched position.

“No?”

“Good. Then that means there are no lesions we have to worry about.”

You yelped next when Jongho applied the same foam to your backside. “Sorry,” he giggled, “I should have warned you first. The masters asked us to do a thorough clean up before Wooyoung arrives.”

“I will say,” Yeosang said, “You do have a very nice body. I can see why the masters took you right away, filth and all.”

“Um, thank you?”

“Take it,” Jongho whispered when he stood behind you, “It’s the closest you’ll get to a compliment.”

Jongho applied lotion to your top half while Yeosang took care of the bottom half. The same was done when they took you to a chair near the window. As Jongho cleaned, cut and shaped your nails, Yeosang did the same with your toes. You thought it might fall under Wooyoung’s jurisdiction, but you didn’t question it. Your head went back to wrapping itself around everything happening. You clearly have entered a new class of slave, and you didn’t know if that was good or bad. You aren’t particularly special apart from being moderately good at things and a damned human soul. What interest would they have in that? If they grew tired of their own kind, you knew they’d eventually lose interest in you too. You shuddered to think what that looked like.

So, you must do whatever they say. Just like everything in your new life, if you make the higher-ups happy, you stay where you are. You would not have gotten to a top-rank position in your previous life otherwise.

“Is she presentable?”

Yunho appeared in the doorway in his black suit, hands behind his back and seriousness on his face. Both Yeosang and Jongho shot up the moment they saw him, not bothered by the tools falling to the floor.

“Yes, sir,” said Yeosang in a curt nod.

He walked further into the room and looked over your nude body. “Hm, yes, I suppose this will have to do,” he approved. “Wooyoung is in the dressing room. Take her there, and I’ll send Mingi to meet you. Her breakfast?”

“Cook is already preparing her breakfast as we speak, sir.”

“The Masters explicitly asked that she maintain a healthy diet,” he said. “They’ve requested three square meals, treats if she’s well behaved and snacks to stave off hunger. I already told Cook how they want her meals planned out. It should be ready by the time Wooyoung finishes. I'll send Mingi to collect her when he's done.”

“Who is Mingi?”

“Your bodyguard,” he answered, “The Masters insisted you be watched over at all times. Mingi is the best of the best. He will make sure you’re safe when The Masters are absent.”

“That’s…nice of them.”

Yunho stepped forward, “I don’t think you realize exactly who you belong to now, YN. Hongjoong, Seonghwa and San are three of Prince Asmodeus’s many offspring which earns them high-born status and royal titles. They are important men in this realm. They can't be seen owning a dirty pleasure slave. What would people think?”

“I was under the impression they don’t care what anyone thinks.”

He laughed softly, “They don’t and they do simultaneously. Unless you enjoyed being infested with fleas?”

“I didn’t have fleas,” you argued.

Yunho huffed, “Regardless, Yeosang, they’re waiting in the dressing room.”

“Of course.”

Both Yeosang and Jongho bowed as he left the room. They grabbed a new, thicker chemise for you to wear and took you back through the bedroom and into a separate room. It was a large closet from what you guessed. Women dressed in maid’s outfits walked about the space hanging up clothes, stacking shoeboxes, and storing jewelry. In the middle of the room stood a skinny, black-haired demon in a black suit with shimmering cuffs and hem line. He directed a pair of maids to hang up three black dresses in the second clothing rack instead of the first.

“Seonghwa is the eldest, so let’s keep this by age order. Hongjoong’s wardrobe is in the middle, thank you,” he said to them. He turned to see Yeosang and Jongho by the dressing room door, and he beamed brightly. “Yeosangie! Jongho! How are you?!”

He hugged both men happily, “So good to see you both again. I thought I’d never get another job in the Black Keep after Mistress left. Where is she?”

“Right here,” Jongho brought you forward. “Wooyoung, this is YN. YN, this is Wooyoung, your groomer.”

“Hello,” you said, trying to smile.

“Aren’t you a beauty?” Wooyoung marveled, walking around you in a circle. “When Yunho told me to expect slum trash, I was expecting matted hair, scars, fleas and sores. This one can almost pass as a demon if you look at her in the right lights. You sure she’s not a cambion?”

“No, she’s not a half-breed,” said Yeosang. “I hope this means you’re satisfied?”

“Very,” he grinned, touching one of your wet locks, “She’s like a fresh canvas. I can’t wait to get started. You two can leave; you, come with me.”

He shooed your handlers away and brought you over to a vanity mirror. Right away, maids surrounded the both of you. Wooyoung dried your hair the way you normally would, taking as much time as he needed, before adding protectants and serums. Your hair smelled like rosemary oil by the time he finished braiding and weaving it into a halo shape. The maids applied light makeup while two more painted your nails in a french manicure.

“You’re a groomer, huh? Like a stylist, right?”

“Kind of,” he said, walking over to a section separate from the three main clothing stations, “I cater to the upper classes rather than the poorer ones. Rich demons like their slaves to look pretty, and those common stylists simply do not have the vision nor the taste that my clients have. I can make a slum slut look like a princess, while the one you had could barely pass you off as a succubus.” He stood in front of the opposite wall, staring at the different outfits he’d brought with him. “That’s why your masters called on me to dress you.”

“What are you dressing me with today?”

“I have no idea. They didn’t tell me which of them you’d be with today, so I’ll go with my gut on this. I’ll go with…” he scanned the rack, fingers dancing over the different fabrics before stopping, “Yes, this one should be nice. It’s simple, clean and pretty. You have no idea how many times the word ‘pretty’ was used in that letter. My assistants and I played a drinking game with it.”

He brought over a short pale blue sundress. It reminded you of the dresses you used to wear at your summer house. Flowing dresses that kept you cool in the summer season and left a bit to the imagination. Your boss at the time loved seeing you in shorter sun dresses, but you only wore those to please him. Sleeping with him got you the office manager position you’d wanted. Your masters reminded you of him in a way: A horny rich man with particular kinks and preferences. Back then, you played whatever trope your lover wanted. You endured their flirtations because it meant you’d climb higher on the ladder; you’d have more money, more freedom.

When you died in that club bathroom, you lost all of that.

Yeosang and Jongho returned, followed by another man. He stood taller than both of them, with long blond hair he kept to his shoulders. Like most of the house staff, he wore a suit, except he looked more militarized with the buttons down the front and a sword sheathed at his waist. He gave you the same stone stare a lot of people around here had.

“YN, this is Mingi,” Yeosang introduced the guard behind them. “He’s your bodyguard. He'll be in charge of your security and safety.”

“Nice to meet you,” you said as Wooyoung slipped the dress over your head and fixed it around your waist.

Mingi only nodded his head.

“Hurry and finish,” Yeosang said to you, “The Masters have woken up already and they’re already having breakfast.”

“I'm going, I'm going. I’m putting the very last touches,” Wooyoung grabbed a perfume bottle, then sprayed it all around you. “There, she’s ready.”

Coughing on the scent of vanilla in the air, you looked at yourself in a nearby mirror. The person that looked at you in the mirror resembled the living version more than the dead one. The living you adorned herself with luxury brands, went to the salon regularly, drove fancy cars, had a penthouse where she threw parties every weekend. She had her own stockbroker company; she rolled in money regardless of how many lives she'd ruined. She stared at you now in the mirror, looking the same except for her eyes. Your eyes. They did not have the confidence or perhaps arrogance you once carried. No amount of makeup could conceal the emptiness inside.

“They’re going to be so pleased!” Jongho beamed, a gummy smile bringing up his cheeks. “She looks wonderful!”

“Well done, Wooyoung,” Yeosang bowed slightly, “You’ll be paid handsomely for this.”

“I hope so,” he said, “And well done to you too. I heard she was a mess when they brought her here.”

“Filthy, for certain,” he replied. “Come, I’ll take you to Yunho for your payment. Jongho, take YN to her masters. They’re in the dining room.”

“Yes.”

Yeosang and Wooyoung left the room, and Jongho turned to you. “You look beautiful, YN,” he grinned at you, leading you out of the dressing room through another door. Walking into a carpeted hallway, Mingi stayed five steps behind you while Jongho walked beside you.

“Wooyoung really knew what he was doing when he dressed you in that. It’ll go nicely with your collar when The Masters go to pick it up.”

“Collar?”

“You didn’t think you’d be walking around without one, did you? How else are people supposed to know you belong to someone already?”

“Right…I never gave it much thought.”

“Well, I haven’t seen it yet, but I bet it’s going to be beautiful. Nothing like those leather straps I see the common slaves wear,” he said. “I’m sure it’ll match your leashes too.”

You hated leashes. If being owned by someone didn’t strip you of your humanity, being tugged around on a leash did. Rufus used to tell you that sort of freedom needed to be earned; it wasn’t given automatically. At least you had a bedroom and not a pet bed or a cage.

Jongho led you through several corridors before bringing you into a dining room. More posh furniture, expensive possessions and fancy artwork surrounded the room. At a dining table, you saw the three brothers sitting together. They each picked at the breakfast spread laid out before them, talking as they ate and drank. None of them noticed either you or Jongho, so wrapped up in their conversation that they didn’t care for the servants nearby. You took sight of the other maids standing by; how they remained silent like statues, meant to be seen and only called upon when needed.

“Masters,” Jongho said to get their attention, “Your pet is here.”

The three of them smiled when they saw you. Eyes undressed you a second time, mouths dropping open and eyes growing heavy.

“She looks phenomenal,” Seonghwa said first. “Like a delicate piece of cake.”

“A yummy cake,” Hongjoong smirked, eyes far too focused on your chest. “I personally prefer her with nothing at all.”

“We discussed this already, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa looked at him, “She is not walking about here naked.”

“She doesn't have to be fully naked,” he remarked. “Lingerie works just as well.”

“I think she's lovely either way,” said San, “Sit with us.”

Jongho brought you to the other side of the table. All three of them continued staring, and you didn't know how to react or feel. Jongho pulled your chair out for you, placed a cloth napkin in your lap and pushed you forward. He said nothing as he left you alone with your new Owners.

“How are you feeling, Pet?” Hongjoong asked, returning to his breakfast. “Not too sore, I hope.”

“Nothing beyond what I normally feel,” you admitted. Sitting did feel uncomfortable, but nothing you could not manage on your own.

“Really? No stinging pain or soreness anywhere?” San asked, drinking from a coffee cup. “You don't have to be brave around us, Darling.”

“It's there, but I'm used to it,” you admitted.

“Then we have to make an effort to have you really feeling it the next time, don't we?” Hongjoong smirked.

“Ugh, Joongie,” Seonghwa rolled his eyes. “Ignore him, Kitten. You'll come to learn Master Hongjoong is quite lewd.”

“You say that as if you're not.”

“Alright, I stand corrected: he is openly lewd.” He quietly sipped from his tea cup, and said, “But, I want to know more about you, Kitten. What were you before you died?”

You squirmed in your seat. “A CEO of my own company…” you answered softly, not meeting their eyes. Shame instantly cane over you saying the words out loud.

“But last night you told us that you're basically useless as a slave,” said Hongjoong. “How could you own your own company?”

You didn't want to answer. You couldn't bear saying it out loud. “I sort of…cheated my way there?”

“How?”

“She fucked her way to the top,” snorted Hongjoong, finishing off his stew. He gave a taunting laugh, “I fucking knew it.”

“Yeah, I did…”

Seonghwa continued staring at you. You felt him scanning over you like they'd done last night. Jongho returned with a silver tray with a cup of milk, a bowl of oatmeal and fresh fruit. You forced yourself to focus on the food rather than the demon's attentive stare. You promised yourself you'd keep your previous life private. Whenever a client or a fellow slave asked, you lied each time. Yet, something told you that lying to these three is pointless. You ate some of the oatmeal, tasted the cinnamon flavored oats and dropped a few blueberries into it.

“You scammed people,” Seonghwa smirked knowingly. You hated the violated feeling he left inside your head. It felt as if someone poked a hole and stuck the screwdriver around. “Didn't you?”

“I did.”

“How?”

“My company sold stocks,” you admitted, stirring your oatmeal to focus on something else. You tried not thinking about anything but the mushy, milky oats turning a tinged blue. “That's it.”

“That's not it, though,” Seonghwa said, his eyes narrowing and grinning, “You made people go broke after you stole their money from them. A man even killed himself after he lost his life savings. Your company left a lot of people way worse than if you'd left them alone.” He leaned forward, “You stole their money because you wanted to live a life of ultimate excess. Sex, money, power, alcohol…drugs.”

You forced down more oatmeal at the word.

“Do you want to tell my brothers how you died or do you want me to?”

“I overdosed on coke in a club bathroom.”

“Had a snow day in that stall, huh?” Hongjoong joked.

“It’s not something I’m proud of.”

“You sound like you were proud of it at the time.”

“Of course I was,” you argued. “I was a single woman with no college education, working a high-paying job, sleeping with people I wanted to sleep with, and doing whatever I felt like doing.”

“Some of those people just happened to be married too,” Seonghwa sneered. Hands intertwined, he placed them on the table and said, “It appears our pet was quite naughty in her previous life.”

“Obviously,” San rolled his eyes. “But, she’s a good girl now, which is all that matters to me,” he smiled fondly at you, then chewed his bacon.

“I love the naughty ones,” Hongjoong said, drinking from a wine cup. “I love the high-spirited, fierce ones. They’re fun to break. I wonder how long it took them to break you? A year? Two?”

“I suppose. Time works differently here.”

“It does,” San said, “Besides, why does any of that matter? She’s here now and that should be enough.”

“I’m not going to have a total stranger in my house,” Seonghwa looked over at him. “I like to know what I can.”

“As if you can’t just burrow into her head and find it yourself like you just did,” he pointed out.

“I prefer she give me the information willingly, rather than me having to find it myself,” Seonghwa said. “It’s more fun watching them squirm as they reveal themselves to me.” He turned back to you, “It’s like peeling back an orange and seeing the veins underneath. Our secrets, no matter how small, stick to us like a second skin. Getting to spend my whole day flaying that skin gives me no greater satisfaction. I like seeing the filth and wickedness these human sinners try hiding. It’s my job to make them confess and accept their fate. Judging from how you ended up being a slave, you already felt guilty for what you’d done.”

“Psh, too late for repentance now,” Hongjoong laughed softly.

“How did you become a slave, Darling?” San said.

“They asked me.”

“Who?”

“The slavers. They come around the circles and ask if anyone wishes to trade their punishment in for a lighter punishment.”

“Did they tell you what this ‘lighter punishment’ was?”

“No. I didn’t know until I had the collar around my neck.”

“They didn’t brand you,” Hongjoong noted. “They usually brand the slaves.”

“They thought it’d damage me,” you shrugged.

You thought back to the slaver who’d clapped chains on you. A hulking demon with dark green skin and beady black eyes came regularly to the circle of lust looking for demon slaves. Usually, they go for the other demons looking to escape their poverty, but occasionally they take humans. He thought you were pretty enough for a human. You’d make him a lot of money, he said. After a few months with him, he sold you off to somebody else. That slaver then put you up for auction after you slashed a patron with a broken bottle. The man who bought you after that enjoyed using the whip, and he liked using it on you.

“I bet after you started seeing that perhaps enslavement is worse than whatever punishment you served in your circle,” Hongjoong guessed. You saw the delight at the idea in his eyes. “After a few years of being abused and raped by demons night after night slowly broke you. Having your dignity stripped from you inch by inch and piece by piece left you a walking shell, huh?” His eyes glinted with a smile, “I wish I’d been there. It’s an entertaining sight, watching a slave be broken. It’s a shame they’d broken you already,” he pouted in a sigh, “I’d love to have been the one to break you.”

“But the broken ones are so bland,” San said. “They have no personality. They’re always sad and miserable. It makes for a really boring fuck.”

“Extremely boring,” Seonghwa agreed.

You drank some coffee, black and bitter, to keep yourself from speaking. There’d been nights where you enjoyed it. It wasn’t always bad. You found demon cock and pussy better than anything you had before. A few customers might get rough with you, toss you around and beat you to pieces before taking it, but not all of them. As long as you faked resistance with some, the brothel owners did not come down on you. Last night had been the best of them all.

Seonghwa’s laugh broke through your thoughts. “Slut,” he said, amused.

“What?” Hongjoong asked eagerly. “What did you see?”

“They broke you well,” Seonghwa said to you. “You began to like it after a while.”

“You did?” Hongjoong laughed.

“A lot,” he answered for you. “That’s definitely a bonus for us,” he said, finishing his breakfast and wiping his mouth. “That way we can bypass all the tears and fussing. It makes for a really ruined orgasm, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t like my sluts weeping when I’m fucking them.” He stood up from his seat and walked over to you. You stayed still as warm hands rested on your shoulders and his lips touched your ear. “Unless it’s because they’re so overwhelmed and overstimulated they can’t take it anymore.” His hands went down your arms and came at level with your breasts, “You were magnificent last night, Kitten. You took our cocks so well and did so much more than what we expected from you. I fell asleep thinking about your mouth wrapped around my dick, sucking me softly and slowly.” He cupped your breasts through your dress, the gentle touch making you gasp. “And your pussy…” he exhaled deeply, “Your sweet pussy really did taste like honey. I wonder who did that? Humans only taste like that if a demon made it that way. I could eat it all day,” he pecked underneath your ear, “And have you ride me right after.” He groped your breasts, creating a tightness inside you. “I can’t wait to have you to myself.”

“Master…” you breathed, gripping the edges of your chair as he pinched your nipples through the dress.

Seonghwa chuckled deeply, giving your neck a kiss, “I regret going into work so early now. How can I be expected to be content with a good breakfast when I have your sensitive sex in front of me? It’s torture itself.” He gave your neck another kiss, then stood up straight. “I’m off, Brothers,” he said, “I’ll see you all tonight.”

They waved him goodbye, leaving you with San and Hongjoong. Clearly, the sight of Seonghwa coaxing a reaction from you propelled Hongjoong to do the same. The red-haired demon came up to you next. Standing beside you, he traced your jawline before turning your chin. You looked up at him, seeing the gleam of arousal in his eyes as he examined you.

“It’s a shame I’m working all day,” he sighed. His thumb traced the bottom lip line, “I’d love to spend the day edging and teasing you until you’re weeping from need.” He crouched beside you, sliding his hand under the arm and into your lap. You jumped in place as he felt beneath your dress. “I imagine this pussy,” he pressed his fingers to your sex, sliding them up and down your slit, “Gets very, very, wet if I try hard enough.” He pushed one finger further into the soft material to feel the wetness growing there. He laughed, “Already getting wet for me, huh? Filthy slut.” He nuzzled your neck as he continued circling your clit, “My dirty slut. My good whore. All mine, whenever I want you. I’m supposed to share you with my brothers, as we’d all agreed,” he smiled into your neck as you shifted around his fingers, “But that doesn’t mean I won’t fuck you on their days either. A quick one in the bathroom or in Hwa’s library…maybe in the garden after dark, where it’s only you and me and I’m pumping more of my cum into you. I saw how much you came whenever we finished inside you. You’re going to be so full, Pet. So fucking full you’ll be bursting from that tight hole.”

“Don’t you have sinners to go torture, Joong?” San appeared on the other side of you. “You know they don’t like it when you’re late. You’re their best Affliction.”

Hongjoong huffed contemptuously, removing his hand from under your dress. “Fine,” he grumbled, standing up. “I’ll be home after dark.”

“As always.”

Hongjoong walked out of the room scowling, but this did not bother San. He gave you a gentle smile when you two were the last ones. He put his hand on your knee, tracing circles with his thumb as he spoke.

“You really were wonderful last night,” he said, looking to where his hand was on your body. “You were so well behaved and made me cum so hard. I’ve never had a whore who made me cum like that. You really are something special.”

“I’m happy you were pleased, Master,” you responded, doing your best not to melt into his touch.

“I was very, very pleased,” he chuckled. “You only did for me what any good servant does for her masters; what any good wife would do for her husband.”

So he meant it when he said you’d roleplay as his wife.

“Come with me,” he said, kissing your cheek. “I want to show you our room.”

You followed San from the dining room, through a hall with checkered floors and two staircases going upwards. The space between doors indicated that the rooms inside must be big. You guessed the masters’ individual rooms by the doors themselves. Seonghwa’s doors had two masked faces on either side of the frame; both gave austere gazes through empty eye sockets, staring straight ahead to the opposite wall. Hongjoong kept succubus decals outside his door, the two slim figures in the same suggestive pose and half-naked. San’s doors had two sigils on either door: a shield with two swords crossing over it. This is where you stopped.

He opened the door, and led you into a foyer area where you saw a coat rack, key holders, and a mat. Bright yellow walls stretched throughout the main room, with a dark green carpet on the floor. The furniture reminded you of the retro 50’s styles you’d see on television. It came with the old school big televisions, a record player, and matching green couches and an armchair. Paintings on the walls seemed like the kind someone might buy at a thrift store, mass produced with no name. San had not been joking when he said he wanted a housewife.

“This is obviously the living room,” San said, gesturing to the large room. Even the curtains reminded you of the ones from your grandmother’s house, a hideous floral pattern that matched the greenery of the room. “You don’t have to worry about cleaning anything since the maids come here and do that, but I’d like it if you at least pretended you had. You know, mention cleaning something or doing our laundry or whatever comes to you when I come home. I like thinking that you went through the trouble of keeping my house orderly for me.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And breakfast and lunch is already covered by Cook,” he said, “All you need to worry about is dinner.”

“I…I don’t know how to cook very well…”

“That’s not a problem. You only need to plan out the dinner meal, and have the kitchen make it for you. Of course, you’ll be serving it yourself. I would like you to at least have a drink prepared for me when I come home. I left you a list of drinks I like by the bar,” he pointed to a small bar in the corner.

“How will I know when you come home?”

“Simple,” he retrieved a laminated paper from the bar and handed it to you, “I have a schedule that you’ll be following.”

You read the schedule to yourself as San went to the bar. “6am, regular morning routine with handlers. 7am, wake Husband up-”

“-Preferably with a blowjob or something. It’s a good start to the day-”

“-7:30am, prepare breakfast-”

“-Cook has a list of foods that I like that you can choose from-”

“-9am, breakfast with Husband-”

“-In our dining room,” he led you into another room, a lovely dining area with a dark wood table and chairs. “It’s only on Sundays that we’d eat with Hongjoong and Seonghwa.”

“-10am, see Husband off to work-”

“-On my days only-”

“-10am to 5pm, clean house and run errands as needed. Prepare self last ten minutes for husband-”

“-No husband likes coming home to a frazzled wife. I like seeing you pretty when I come home-”

“-6pm, dinner with Husband. 7pm, bath and bed routine. 8pm bedtime.”

It was the stereotypical housewife schedule you’d expected. Your own mother followed a similar routine because she didn’t know any better. Every woman in your family married right out of high school, had children, cleaned their house, went to their own jobs if they had one, and came home to cook dinner and take care of their husband. You’d told yourself you’d never follow such a lifestyle. There’d been more to life than catering to a man and popping out babies for him.

“What do you think?” San asked for your opinion.

“The truth?”

“Preferably.”

“It reminds me of my mother,” you said, keeping the bittersweetness out of your voice. “She had the same routine, except she still worked. All day. Every day, she served my deadbeat dad like he was a king. The bastard never showed an ounce of appreciation. She slaved over stoves, vacuum carpets, and cleaned toilets. She did everything he wanted her to do, and he never gave anything back. All he did was take and take and take.”

“Touched a nerve, huh?” San teased with a smile.

“I hated him.”

“Most girls with daddy issues had one that loved them too much or not enough. Which one are you?”

“Stupid bitch! Youre so goddamn worthless! Why do I even keep you and that brat around?!”

“Darling?”

“I'm sorry, Jack! I'm sorry! I'll…I'll remake it, I promise!”

“Darling, you in there?”

“You got detention again? Why am I not surprised? You might as well quit school, kid. The only thing you'll be smart enough to do is lay on your back!”

“Hey, come back to me.”

You snapped back into reality with San's gentle touch. Rough hands sliding over your softer ones soothed the shakiness of your bones. You took notice of his kind eyes, and how they did not seem to delight in your misery. They pitied you. He wrapped a hand behind your neck and another brought you closer to him. His warmth felt comforting now, his spiced scent reminding you of warm cinnamon rolls on a lazy sunday morning. You hated the effects incubus pheromones did to you. They often used them to subdue you; it made you more compliant. But, with San, this did not feel that way.

“Maybe I won't be so strict on my schedule,” he decided, seeing the permanent sadness in your eyes. “My older brothers will already be enough. You don't need me adding to it-”

“-No, no,” you shook your head. “I will follow your schedule as you asked. You're my master. I'm supposed to please you according to your comfort levels, not mine.”

“But I want you to enjoy it too,” he said. “Your comfort here means a lot to me.”

“It does?”

“Yes, of course. You're my pet now,” he lifted your chin so you looked at him, “I want to take care of you.”

You couldn't trust the word of a demon. They all lie. Yet, you accepted his false promise.

“Did you have siblings?” He asked, hoping to move onto something else.

“No. It was just the three of us.”

“Lucky. I have dozens of half-siblings. My father is the Prince of Lust, so you can imagine that results in a lot of kids,” he chuckled softly. “Cambion and full blooded demons in my family tree. I don’t even know most of them, since we're all so scattered.”

“Then why do you live with your brothers? Do you have the same mother?”

“We do," he answered. "Kim Youngmi, the meanest bitch I've had the pleasure of meeting. She doesn't come around much, so it's not such a big deal. We don't really see our dad either, since he isn't really a paternal type."

“I do too,” he then said, “If it makes you feel better, he's likely down in the circles while you're up here at the top.”

"I wish mine could've been the same way.”

“We're still in the same place.”

“Oh, Darling,” he sighed, “Maybe one day you'll realize exactly where you are. You're not living in a dirty, gross brothel anymore. You're living in the Black Keep high up on the hill in the Land of Depravity. You must understand how important that makes you now.”

San brought you into his arms, eyes growing lustful as he felt down your back. That familiar scent from last night came back, relaxing your tense body. “It's a shame I can't breed you,” he said, changing subject once again. “I’d love to see you round and swollen with my kid. They’d be as beautiful and sweet as you, and as strong as me. They could fill up those empty rooms, pattering around and causing chaos in this place. I really wish we could,” He kissed your lips softly, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t try, right? You love it when I cum inside you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathed as he kissed you again.

He grinned, “Good to know. Knowing you liked that only made me want to fill you up with more of it in each hole.”

The arousal his brothers started stirred in your stomach as San kissed you again. This time he locked his lips with yours and slipped his tongue into your mouth. You let out an involuntary gasp feeling his tongue snake its way inside and brush with yours. San groaned softly, sliding his hands down your back to grab your ass. When he slid his tongue away, he gave several kisses which ended with a tug to your lower lip. Your hands rested on his muscled arms, feeling them flex through his crisp white shirt. For a moment, you imagined him without the upturned horns and the black claws that can rip and tear through you. He’d be the hot new guy at your office, eager to start working and making money. You’d be only eager to get into his pants. San pressed you against the dining table, your legs instinctively spread for him.

“Such a good girl,” he said, starting to kiss down your neck, “Ready to go whenever I want.” He stepped back and looked you over. “They put you in such a short dress.”

“Do you not like it?”

“I’m not a big fan of it,” he admitted, “But that doesn’t stop me at all.” He put his hands on the hem of your dress, and lifted it off of you. In nothing but the white lace bra and panty set Wooyoung put you in, you stayed still to let him look at you. “This…” he breathed, reaching up to squeeze one of your tits, “This I certainly don’t mind.”

You bit your lip as you watched him start a trail of kisses over your cleavage. Little by little, San tugged down the bra underneath your breasts until the straps came down your shoulders. Your bare flesh exposed to him, San moaned as he took one nipple in his mouth. You grinded into his bulge, big and steadily hardening, when the small sensitive sparks started bursting. His hot tongue traced the wrinkled skin of your nipples, flicking at the peak at the very end while he squeezed them more. You couldn’t help yourself from reaching down his hard body to the tent forming in his black slacks.

“Mm, yes,” he breathed, giving each nipple a soft bite, “Stroke it. Take it out and stroke it for me, Darling.”

You unbuckled his belt, whimpering as he continued sucking on your nipples, and pulled him out. Just as big and hard as last night, your mouth watered feeling the hot, hard muscle twitch in your hand. The temperature between you went up once you both started kissing again, moaning into each other’s mouths. You found yourself grinding against nothing, eager to have friction against your aching sex. San saw this and turned you around so you stood in front of him. Lifting one of your legs, he placed his thigh up against you while he held you there.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he said in your ear, “Rub against my leg. I want you to leave a little wet spot there for me. Go ahead and make a mess on my pants. I won’t be mad.”

You leaned into him and started rubbing yourself into the hard thigh. Not an ounce of fat on this man; none at all. San was all muscle, which he flexed as you started stroking him again. You continued in time with your humping, whining like a bitch in heat for him. His cock throbbed in your hand in every squeeze of his tip, and he let out a low groan when you reached down to his balls momentarily.

“Keep doing that,” he said, forcing you to keep your hand on them, “It feels so damn good. I love feeling your pretty hand on my balls…fuck, yes…”

He took hold of your ass to guide you along his thigh. The touch urged you to pleasure him more. His low hums rumbled in his chest as you kissed down his neck. San took a moment to unbutton the first few buttons to give you access to his warm, taupe skin. You rolled his balls in your hand, cupping them how he cupped your ass and giving a gentle squeeze. Your pussy grew wetter the longer you humped his thigh, the juices seeping through your panties and onto his pants.

“Gosh, you’re getting so wet, Darling,” he said in a raspy voice, pinching your nipple as you traveled back up his length. “I love it.”

Gosh, he was big. You loved taking in his length and girth. In the real world, he’d likely split you in half but not here. Not when you’re dead, and your body molded to take him in all and every angle. You wanted it again. You picked up the pace on his thigh, whining and jerking him until his precum dripped from the slit. This amused San, who started teasing your nipple again with his fingers. His teasing had you trembling in his grasp, combined with his hard body underneath you.

“Cum for me,” he said, capturing your lips with his. “Cum on my thigh. I want you to make a mess for me to flaunt around.”

Your free hand on his shoulder, you rode out your orgasm. It hit you much harder than you’d expected, your muscles seizing tightly and only relaxing when you finished. Breathing hard into his shoulder, your legs became jelly once again. The strong, muscled demon had no problem pulling you onto his lap against the table and turning you over. Pushing your panties aside, San plunged right into your clenching hole all the way to his balls. He kept your knees on either side of him as he started pumping himself inside you. You put one of his hands on your tits, wanting him to play with them again while he fucked you. He didn’t deny you this, and grabbed it exactly how he had before.

Your grunts and moans joined together into the air. Back arching against the hardwood, you lost yourself in San. His cinnamon pheromone filled your lungs, becoming better than any line of cocaine you’d ever snorted. It gave you the energy you needed to keep taking his cock even after an orgasm. You could feel his tip pushing into your g-spot each time, creating a bulge in your lower belly as it’d done last night. San noticed this, staring down where your bodies met and he kept the same depth and pace. You touched right where you felt him the most as if this might pleasure him further, and this aroused him even more.

“Touch yourself for me,” San said in a shaky breath, “Rub that clit for me.”

Fingers pressing to your soaked clit, you rolled them around in circles for him. “Master…” you breathed, “Master, please don’t stop. It feels so fucking good. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t, Darling,” he breathed. “I won’t. Just keeping rubbing your pussy like that and I'll keep going as long as you want.”

He then lifted you off the table, holding you in his strong arms as he bounced you up and down on it. You didn’t dare question exactly how strong your demon “husband” was, but it had you shaking in his embrace. It might as well be a work out for him with your size. Every deep, hard thrust brought up your volume. You couldn’t stop yourself.

That’s likely why you didn’t hear Yunho walk in on you. The butler didn’t say anything. He didn’t make his presence known to San. He only stood in the doorway, stock still with hands behind his back. Having him watch so intently, maintain eye contact with him as San grunted in your ear, brought on a new orgasm. One of the things you’d liked about the brothel were the lack of walls. The poorer patrons fucked in the open, main lounge in front of everyone.

Yunho’s gaze turned from stone to enjoyment the longer he watched. He is likely instructed to wait until his masters are done before speaking.

“Yunho is here, isn’t he?” San said in your ear, breathing hard as his orgasm approached.

“Yes.”

“Do you want him to stay and watch or should I send him away?”

You didn’t particularly know Yunho other than his position in the house, but having his round puppy eyes focused on you had you burning.

“I…” what would San want?

“It won’t be his first time.” He pressed his lips to your neck, “There are peep holes all around the house. In the bathrooms, the dressing rooms, the bathrooms, everywhere. He prefers to watch rather than play.”

“He…He…I…”

“Yunho,” San put you back on the table, “Come sit here.”

“Yes, Master.”

Yunho took a seat at the table, removing his gloves and placing them on the table. His eyes met yours, and you expected him to touch you, but he didn’t. He looked over your face, then down to your breasts and then where San pounded into you. You heard the faint sound of a buckle and zipper before he slid his hand into his pants. San lifted you further and spread you apart so Yunho had a view of him inside you. Yunho‘s mouth fell open at the sight, and he instantly began pumping himself.

“Isn’t her cunt pretty, Yunho?” San asked in a smirk, head tilting back as you gripped him tightly.

“Very,” he swallowed, his arm moving slowly up and down.

San withdrew for a moment to rub his length along your sex, making sure to gather all the juices and spread them enough for Yunho to see. When he tapped on it, the light smacks jerked your knees and curled your toes. Yunho could also see the strings of fluids keeping San’s length connected to yours. He let out a particularly loud groan seeing your wetness being pooled and played with by his master. You wriggled on the table for San to put his cock back in, but your master did something different. Pulling you by the knees, he made you face Yunho from the other side after bending you over the edge. Yunho leaned back in his chair as you bounced against San’s hips, nearly drooling when San grabbed your arms to expose your bouncing breasts.

“Look how hard he is for you,” San moaned in your ear. “I’ve never seen him get hard so quickly. Then again,” you almost heard him smile, “Yunho has a fetish for humans.”

He instantly started going faster and harder, slowly going over the edge in each thrust. Yunho stayed transfixed on you the entire time. Your mouth hung open once you saw him pull himself from the restraints of his pants. Not as long as his masters, Yunho did have the width that had you wishing he’d join in. You arched your back more so he saw the rest of you. He began stroking faster, and you saw more clear precum sliding down from the head. Thick and red, you nearly drooled seeing it in his big hand.

“Fuck, I wanna cum inside you. I want to fill-fill you up, and get you pregnant. Nothing would make me fucking happier,” San said, lifting your knee to the table, bending you forward further and reaching your g-spot once more. “Bending you over this table while you're carrying one…Having you ride me slow…fuck, that'd feel so damn good, wouldn't it?”

“Yes, yes, Mas-a-ster,” you cried between gritted teeth.

“Wouldn't you like to see that too, Yunho?”

“Yes…Yes, I would…”

"Doesn’t my slave fuck nicely?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you like watching her?”

“Yes, sir,” he croaked through a moan as he gripped his chair tightly. His body contorting to his pleasure, the obscene sounds of his slick cock joined his moans. “She…She…”

“She, what?”

“She’s…so beautiful. She fucked you so well last night, sir,” he confessed, going faster and shutting his eyes. “I’ve never seen humans take a demon cock like that.”

“That’s what I said,” San took your waist and pinned you to the table. “That’s…That’s what I said!”

San released his orgasm right at that moment. Yunho quickly came to his at the same time, thick streams sliding down his underside onto his pants. You shook and clawed at the table feeling San’s cum spray your insides. The distinct heat and the squishing from below had you crying for more. San gave a few more deep pumps, slowly coming down from his orgasm as he twitched inside you. He said nothing as he withdrew from you, placed you on the table facing Yunho, and showed him your pussy. Messy, sloppy, and oozing with San’s demon cum, Yunho’s orgasm seemed to heighten instead of fall back down.

“A demon of greed and excess,” San explained in a breath, “They have a hard time letting go of good things…You might know something about that.”

Yunho eventually finished, slumping into the chair and tilting his head back. Clearly, creampies were one of Yunho’s favorite things, from what you guessed by the amount of cum on his pants and shirt.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Master,” he breathed, coming back to himself. He grabbed a cloth from his jacket and hurriedly cleaned himself. “I…I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s fine, Yunho,” San assured him. “You’ve served us very well. You deserve nice things from time to time. YN didn’t mind either,” he said. He looked at his watch, “Ah, I have to go.” He ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. “Good thing I’m commentating the arena today,” he breathed in relief, “Otherwise I don’t think I can fight on wobbly knees.” You heard him zip up his pants again, then bend over to kiss your shoulder. “Get cleaned up, Darling. Seonghwa wouldn’t want you dirty. He hates dirty things…Well, some things can be dirty, I’m sure.”

He pecked your lips, patted Yunho’s shoulder, then walked out of the room. The tension in the room rose, and you immediately closed yourself up. You began pulling your bra back over your breasts, not meeting Yunho’s eyes as he fixed his suit.

“You should, um, wash up and rest,” Yunho said awkwardly, finally standing up from his chair. His eyes went back down your body to your sex, which you’ve covered back up. “I’ll call Yeosang and-”

“-I’d like to wash myself, if that’s okay?”

“Alright then, um, yes. Yes, you can do that. You should also give those over to me,” he nodded to your underwear, “They’re dirty and you should be wearing fresh ones when Seonghwa comes for his lunch break.”

“Planning on keeping them?” you hoped teasing might ease the tension.

“No,” he replied rather defensively. “The underwear, please.” You removed them and handed them over to him. “The bathroom is across the room. If you need assistance, just call out his name and Jongho will come to serve you. If you’ll excuse me, I have duties to, well, um, attend to."

He stiffly walked out of the dining room. The weight of your newest orgasm left you feeling light and fuzzy. When you slid off the table, the stickiness rubbed your inner thighs and your legs buckled slightly through the apartment. You removed your bra, since you saw no reason to keep it, and went into the bathroom. As you sunk into a warm bath, a giddy sensation filled your stomach. The reality of your situation started growing on you, and sinking its teeth into your veins like a venomous snake. You had a whole house of incubi and demon cock to have at all hours of the day. It sounded so much better than pleasuring the patrons of the House of Kisses.

You sank into the water, letting it engulf you, and imagined what Seonghwa had planned for you.

***

A/N: what exactly has yn gotten herself into?? It's only getting better from here haha

#pirateeznet #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez smut #choi san #san x reader #san x yn #san x you #san ateez #san smut

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aikaterini-drag · 6 months ago

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Inside Your Heart

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Summary: After a difficult mission, August returns to you like a man possessed.

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI!!, established relationship, explicit content, piv, unprotected sex, cockwarming, basically toe-curling smut.

“Good, you’re so good to me love...yes, love, yes..." August drawled against your ear, his voice a sensual caress.

You lay half-draped across his body, your hair spilling over his chest. He held you close, one strong arm wrapped under your knee, opening you to him completely so he could slide the swollen shaft of his cock inside you. Together, you moved slowly, savoring every moment of your reunion.

You could only whimper as he fucked you with excruciating patience, reaching so deep inside you that you shook with longing. Again and again he teased you. Staying deep, oh so deep. You felt amazing, but you were impatient.

He had returned from his mission and kissed you with savage need, tearing away your clothes. He’d taken you straight to bed, holding you close, keeping you lodged to his cock while he kissed and caressed you endlessly. He seemed determined to drive you mad with longing, nudging deeper inside you while kissing and whispering against your neck. His other hand cradled your body and cupped and fondled your breast, tugging at your oversensitive nipple.

“August, stop that and move, please,” you wiggled desperately but he remained moveless, rooted deep inside you, his fat dick stretching you deliciously.

“Shhh…” He licked across your neck. “I want to savor you.”

You took a quick breath, your fingers grabbing the cotton bedsheets. “Drive me mad you mean—”

Gently, he slapped your clit and you moaned and squeezed his cock tighter. “I’ll give you my load but only after I decide it’s time.”

“You’ve made me come three times already, August come on,” you tried to tempt him by squeezing your pussy walls around him but he didn’t catch the bait.

He smiled, his perfect white teeth flashing. “I have to prolong it, love. If it were possible, I would have this go on forever.” He delved out of your depths only to give a slick thrust that buried him to the hilt inside you.

You groaned, stars floating in your vision.

He devoured your lips, his tongue exploring your mouth. “Forever inside you while you squeeze and drench me with your love.”

He bent down and took a pink nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling it. His mustache chaffed you. You were red all over from his touches. You gasped when he fondled the other breast, nipping at the bud, his huge palm shaping the roundness of it.

“Now be a good girl and come for me,” he said, his hand reaching down to stroke your clit.

One, two, three gentle strokes and you shattered, your whole frame shaking with ecstasy. He kept you anchored to his cock the whole time, not thrusting, kissing your face and whispering how good it felt to be inside you, how perfectly you were squeezing his cock, how precious you were, how beautiful and loved.

“The most glorious woman in the world,“ he said huskily against the shell of your ear, “my woman, coming hard for me, my perfect little love. Feels good?” he asked, his thumb gently delving across the swollen lips of your sex that were stretched over his aching cock.

You nodded fervently, so blissful.

And then he started to move, finally giving you what you wanted.

His hips undulated, snapping repeatedly as he fucked you in earnest. He drew back, watching as he exited your depths, his length covered in your juices, then snapped back inside. He kept a wicked rhythm. Snapping fast and then slowly, giving you steady measured thrusts that made your eyes roll back in your head.

Head relaxing into the crook of his shoulder, you rocked against him. Grunting powerfully, he grabbed under both of your knees, spread them open and pistoned into you. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh and both your moans were only sounds in your bedroom. The scents of salt and sex were thick in the air.

He fucked you like a man possessed, his grunts loud and frantic, jolting your body with each pump.

Locking eyes with you, he buried himself balls deep and erupted, spurting rope after rope of cum inside you. His huge body trembled violently, desperate moans leaving him as he kissed you hungrily while rubbing your clit maniacally. Your toes curled, your eyes closing tightly and you climaxed with sobbing cries. You felt his shaft pumping, the veins throbbing as he filled you to the brim.

When the pleasure waned, he was still inside you, softening extremely slowly. Keeping you locked together, he moved your bodies to the side, his arms resting protectively around you. You winced when you felt the telltale tickle of his seed down your ass. Even with him inside you, it was always too much.

Sighing in satisfaction, August drew one hand along the pale curve of your thigh. You arched back into him, reaching for his hand. Your fingers intertwined, his big and rough hand against your small, smooth one. You played with his palm then brought his hand against your mouth, kissing each finger. He sighed your name and you smiled.

“You overdid it today,” you said, looking back at him. His hair was tousled, his lips swollen—not as much as yours, you guessed—but it was pleasing to see him roughened and flushed from your lovemaking.

He kissed you, his tongue tracing the plump fullness of your lips. “I’m sorry. I missed you.”

“Difficult mission?” You asked, your fingers weaving with his. Sometimes he returned home with the weight of the mission pressing heavily on his shoulders, making love to you like a man possessed.

“They threatened to harm you,” August began, his voice strained. “It was an empty threat, I knew it. I knew you were safe but when they threatened to hurt you, it… it broke something inside me. I lost control. I thought of nothing but finishing them off and coming to you.”

Your heart ached for him. August always appeared so hard and unbending, brutal even, but his heart was gentle and fragile.

Slowly, you turned around. His shaft slipped from you, softened now and he made a grimace, missing the feel of you. You cupped his neck and he squeezed you against him, your nipples brushing his chest. You caressed his neck then ghosted your lips over the pulse of his neck.

“That must have been terrifying, my love.” You embraced him, arms and legs wrapping around him, your fingers rubbing small circles to comfort him. “But I’m alright. I’m safe. Always will be.”

“I know…” He buried his face in your neck, smelling your rose-scented hair.

“I worry about you, too,” you mumbled, trailing your fingers over his mustache. “Every time you go out there, I fear for your safety.”

He gazed at you, his eyes misty, vulnerable. “I promise, no matter what happens, I’ll always come back to you. No mission, no enemy will keep me from you.”

“And I’ll always be here, waiting for you,” you kissed him, smiling. “We’ll face these fears together. Okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” he hummed while readjusting himself, lining up against you. In a swift move, he thrust up, his hard cock surging inside you. Pleasure reawakening, you gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.

“I want to be everywhere.“ Cupping your pert round ass, he sat straight and bucked his hips up. “I want you, every single inch of you.”

You embraced him and rubbed against him. “You’re inside my heart, August. You’re everywhere.”

He kissed you, possessing you. His lips were demanding, brushing against yours, tongue claiming your taste.

This time, he gave you a fast and insatiable rhythm.

“Yes! Yes!” You blubbered as you rode him, your clit rubbing perfectly against him. He fucked you so good and you tightened around him, sweet bliss flowing through you just in time with his release. You shouted his name, not caring about the volume or your desperate moans.

“That’s. My. Good. Girl,” he panted emphasizing each word with each pump of his seed inside you. “My anchor. My reason for everything.”

#henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x female reader #august walker x reader #august walker x you #august walker #henry cavill smut #august walker smut #Henry Cavill oneshot #August Walker x female reader #august walker fanfiction #august walker fic #August Walker smut #august x reader #m:i6 #henry cavill

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sicutpuella · 29 days ago

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Sweet Like Honey | Simon Riley x Reader

A honey trap—such a sterile phrase his superiors used, as if it could sanitize the rot festering in his conscience. Unethical? Yes; but that single syllable barely scratched the surface of his transgression. They needed information, they said, and Simon—God help him—had orchestrated every tender moment, every breathless laugh, every trembling touch with surgical precision. His superiors, those faceless men in their stark offices, had pushed the proposal forward; they wanted him closer to her father, that suspected architect of labyrinthine offshore accounts.

He remembers that exact moment. Her eyes had sparkled with tears of joy when he dropped to one knee—tears that now haunted his dreams, crystalline drops of his betrayal. In quiet moments, when she lay sleeping beside him, her trust radiating like warmth against his skin, the question would claw at his throat: When she discovers the truth—not if, but when—will those same tears fall in rivers of rage? Will her love calcify into hatred, sharp enough to pierce the armor he'd built around his guilt?

"Three years of marriage." Her words floated like seafoam in the Mykonos twilight; wine-hazed eyes drinking in the pastel sky as if it were a gift he'd arranged specially for their anniversary.

Simon's jaw tightened—a muscle working beneath the skin—as waves lapped at their bare feet with metronome precision. The word 'marriage' sat like bile in his throat; every anniversary a fresh reminder of his calculated lies. He fixed his gaze on the bleeding horizon—anywhere but at her—letting the salt wind strip away the taste of guilt that had become his constant companion.

"Yeah... three bloody years." The words scraped past his lips, his British accent thick and coarse as Mediterranean sand. A bitter laugh threatened to escape—three years of this charade, three years of her soft touches that felt like brands against his skin. "Can't believe it's been that long."

She reached for his hand; he let her take it.

"I'm so happy you married me..." Her words hung in the salt air—fragile as soap bubbles, painful in their innocence. Those eyes, sparkling with a love he could never return, cut deeper than any interrogation he'd endured in the field.

Simon's muscles coiled beneath his skin; her declaration struck like a precisely aimed blade. His jaw worked silently—grinding truth to dust—as guilt wrapped its familiar fingers around his throat. The sensation lasted only moments before training kicked in; sentiment was a luxury he couldn't afford. He had a job to do—always the job.

"Yeah..." The word emerged like gravel. His expression hardened into the mask he'd worn for three years. "Me too."

A heartbeat of hesitation—then, striving for conviction: "It was the right thing to do..."

She wound herself around his arm like morning glory seeking sunlight. "Do you love me?" The question dripped with need for reassurance; every syllable another weight added to the anchor of his deception.

A muscle betrayed him—twitching in his jaw like Morse code airing out his lies.

"Course I do..." The words tasted of ashes as he forced himself to meet her gaze. Her eyes—God, those trusting eyes—gleamed up at him like searchlights through his carefully constructed shadows, sending fresh waves of guilt crashing against his ribs.

Mission parameters flashed through his mind like a lifeline: just a mission, a means to an end—nothing more. Clinical words that did nothing to dull the edge of her next question.

"Have I made you happy?"

The question hung between them like a loaded gun; he wondered which of them it would wound more deeply.

Simon's jaw ticked—a mechanical tell he couldn't control—as her voice spilled sweetness and light into the darkening air. His fists clenched; knuckles white with the effort of containing truths that would shatter her world.

"Yeah... you have." The words scraped past gritted teeth; his tone harsh enough to wound—though whether himself or her, he wasn't certain.

He forced himself to look at her—God help him—and found trust swimming in those eyes; love so pure it sent guilt cascading through his veins like ice water. Training kicked in like muscle memory: compartmentalize, distance, remember the mission parameters. This was all theater—a carefully orchestrated performance where he played the doting husband.

"If I make you uncomfortable or unhappy—" her voice trembled with an eagerness that flayed him alive—"tell me what to do and I'll change whatever it is you don't like about me."

Simon's shoulders sagged beneath the weight of her devotion; each word of self-doubt another stone added to the cairn of his shame. Her willingness to reshape herself for a man who didn't exist—it was obscene in its innocence.

"You don't need to change anything." His voice emerged gruff, carefully modulated to hide the storm beneath. "You're perfect the way you are." Perfect—and that made it infinitely worse.

As they walked further along the shore, his boss's voice slithered through his memory like an oil slick: "Give her a baby, Riley. Solidify that you're a family man to her and her family... that'll make them trust you more..."

The waves crashed against the shore; Simon wondered if they could wash away the taste of bile rising in his throat. A baby—the ultimate collateral damage in this game of shadows and lies. His handler's words echoed like bullets in an empty chamber; each one designed to kill whatever conscience he had left.

Simon's gut twisted into knots as his handler's words burrowed deeper—parasitic thoughts breeding shame. Using her love, her body, their marriage had been one thing; but this—creating life as a prop in their charade—made bile rise bitter in his throat.

He swallowed against the acid guilt. "Baby..." The endearment scraped past his lips like broken glass; his voice rough with self-loathing. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Yeah, baby?" Her response came wrapped in a smile—always that damned smile on her gorgeous face; each curve of her lips another twist of the knife he'd planted in his own conscience.

Simon guided her toward a secluded stretch of beach—away from witnesses to his latest betrayal. His muscles coiled tight as she called him 'baby'; the war in his mind reached fever pitch—duty and disgust grappling in the shadows of his skull. Professional distance crumbled beneath the weight of what he was about to propose.

He drew in a breath that tasted of salt and lies; tried to fortify himself against the magnitude of this new deception. Speaking had never been his strong suit—now words felt like weapons turned inward.

"...I've been thinking about something." His voice dropped low; serious—as if gravity itself could lend legitimacy to this fresh hell.

"I've been thinking..." Another breath—sharp enough to cut—"that maybe we should start trying for a baby..."

The words fell like stones into the space between them; he couldn't bear to meet her eyes. Instead, his gaze fixed on the sand—watching darkness creep across it like the stain he felt spreading through his soul. This was more than a mission parameter now; this was crossing a line he hadn't known existed until he stood at its edge—about to take a step that could never be untaken.

Her eyes widened—galaxies of hope expanding in those innocent depths.

The squeal that erupted from her lips pierced the evening air: "Yes! Yes!"

Simon's face contracted like a wound being stitched; her unbridled joy a fresh kind of torture. The guilt gnawed at his bones—a familiar parasite he'd learned to live with—but he buried it beneath layers of practiced indifference. Just the job, just the bloody job.

"Yeah... yeah..." The words tasted of ash in his mouth as he attempted enthusiasm—a poor actor playing at happiness. "I thought it was time." Time for what? Another layer of betrayal; another innocent drawn into his lies?

Her face glowed with such pure delight—Christ, if she only knew the truth behind his proposal, would that radiance transform into something that could burn him alive?

"I'm so happy... I'm so happy..." She bounced on her toes like an excited child; her eyes swimming with naked affection as she gazed up at him. "Can we try tonight?"

The question hit him like a body blow—air evacuating his lungs in a silent gasp. His jaw clenched; muscle memory of contained revulsion. "Tonight?" His voice emerged rough as sandpaper. "Uhh... tonight?"

The speed of her agreement caught him off-guard; reality crashed over him like a cold wave. The physical act loomed before him—another performance in his repertoire of deception. But sex is sex—a mantra he'd repeated through three years of marriage; a thin comfort that grew thinner with each repetition.

"Sure baby... sure." The agreement slipped past his defenses before he could stop it.

Sex is still sex—the lie tasted bitter this time.

"Yeah... alright... tonight." Each word dragged like shrapnel from a wound.

Simon forced the syllables past the knot of self-loathing in his gut. Conflict churned inside him—desire warring with disgust, duty grappling with decency. But there was no extraction plan for this mission; no way to abort without destroying everything.

He drew in a breath that felt sharp as glass. "We'll head back to the room then, yeah?"

His extended hand seemed to belong to someone else—a stranger playing at being a loving husband. His mind raced through a labyrinth of regrets; each thought a new dead end. The fraud of it all pressed against his chest—this performance of love, this pantomime of family planning.

"Come on." The words scraped past his lips, gruff with barely contained turmoil. "Let's go."

Each step toward their room felt like moving through quicksand—every movement drawing him deeper into a lie he might never escape.

That evening, as she lay beneath him—trusting, eager, loving—his guilt manifested in the most primal betrayal of all. The little blue pill dissolved on his tongue earlier was his shameful secret; another lie to add to his collection. His body rebelled against his deception—even chemistry couldn't fully overcome the weight of his conscience.

It should have been paradise, shouldn't it? Being buried in the warm sanctuary of her body—her beauty undeniable, her desire genuine. But paradise, he'd learned, couldn't be built on foundations of sand and shadows. Each tender touch felt like judgment; each passionate kiss a sentence passed. His pleasure came tainted with self-loathing—mechanical responses to artificial stimulation.

The truth burned in his throat like acid: he couldn't maintain arousal—not with guilt wrapped around his throat like a garrote; not with his handler's voice echoing in his mind. This secret he'd take to his grave—another shard of shame embedded too deep to ever extract. The warmth of her body only emphasized the cold calculation of it all; heaven transformed into a special kind of hell, designed just for him.

She lay beneath him—all warmth and trust and love—while his heart turned to ice in his chest. The dim light caught the gold of her wedding ring; it flickered like an accusation with every movement. His own ring felt like a brand against his skin, burning with each tender touch she offered.

The chemistry coursed through his veins—artificial desire fighting against the tide of his guilt. Her fingers traced patterns of affection across his shoulders; each caress felt like judgment carved into his flesh. Paradise turned to purgatory; pleasure transformed into punishment.

"I love you," she whispered against his neck—words that should have been salvation became damnation instead.

His body responded while his mind recoiled; training and tablets working in tandem to maintain this cruelest deception. She arched beneath him—so trusting, so eager to create life with a man who was more shadow than substance. Her skin flushed with genuine desire; his grew cold with calculated performance.

The sounds she made—soft sighs of pleasure, whispered endearments—echoed in his skull like accusations. Each thrust felt mechanical; each kiss a fresh betrayal. His handler's voice mingled with her moans: "family man... make them trust you more..." Until he couldn't tell where the mission ended and the madness began.

Her hands cupped his face—so gentle, so loving—and he wanted to weep at the cruel irony. Here she was, trying to create life with a man who died a little more with each tender touch. The heat of her body only emphasized the cold calculation of it all; intimacy perverted into intelligence gathering.

He buried his face in her neck—not from passion, but to hide the war raging behind his eyes. She mistook his shuddering for pleasure; it was revulsion at himself. Even as his body chased its chemical conclusion, his mind splintered into fragments of guilt and duty and shame—pieces too sharp to ever fit back together.

Mediterranean sunlight crept through the curtains like liquid gold.

"Did you have fun?" Her question floated up from the tangled sheets; innocent as morning dew.

Guilt lanced through him—sharp and familiar now. Her eagerness to please him felt like needles under his skin; every effort she made to earn love he couldn't give was another weight added to his conscience.

He forced out a grunt—another performance in his endless repertoire. "Yeah... yeah I did. You've gotten better." The words tasted of copper and shame.

"Why do you ask?" He aimed for casual; missed by miles—tension threading through his voice like steel wire.

"I just want to make sure I'm making you happy," she murmured against his chest, fingers tracing abstract patterns on his skin. "I read some articles about... you know... trying for a baby. Making it more likely to happen." A soft laugh escaped her—pure, unguarded. "I want to do everything right."

Her head rested on his shoulder—soft hair brushing his skin like whispered accusations. Any other man would thank whatever god they believed in for a woman like her; Simon could only hate himself more with each gentle breath she took.

He wrapped an arm around her—another act in this elaborate charade—pulling her closer even as his soul recoiled. The weight of her trust pressed against him harder than her body ever could. She felt like silk against his skin; he felt like sandpaper against hers—rough with deception, coarse with lies.

The urge to push her away clawed at his chest—to end this facade, to confess every sin he'd committed in the name of duty. But the mission bound him like chains forged from his own choices. His mind waged its endless war: duty versus decency, mission versus morality. An innocent woman lay in the crossfire, and he'd loaded every bullet himself.

Her warmth seeped into his side; he wondered if it would ever wash away the cold calculation that had become his core.

Simon slouched in the corner, half-hidden by a wall of pastel balloons and garlands, the sound of laughter and soft coos grating against him like nails on glass. She was radiant, glowing in that way all the books and articles had promised, a woman basking in the warmth of her impending motherhood. Friends and family surrounded her, hands touching her belly as though it held some sacred truth he could never understand. She laughed—a sweet, unguarded sound that should have brought him joy. Instead, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He couldn’t bring himself to join the celebration; every time he looked at her, every time she glanced over and smiled at him, something twisted deep in his gut—a sharp, relentless reminder that he was a fraud. She deserved a man who’d be a father in more than name alone, someone who’d be wrapped up in this new life with her, but all he could feel was the weight of his shame and pathetic self pressing down on him.

That evening, Simon spun a quick excuse for her—something about a problem at the office, a sudden emergency requiring his immediate attention. She barely questioned him, simply nodded with that gentle trust he’d come to dread. But his destination wasn’t the office; it was a dimly lit bar, a familiar back corner where his superior waited, nursing a drink and an expression Simon could only describe as smug satisfaction.

“So… successfully knocked an heiress up, eh?” The words rolled off his boss’s tongue as if they were discussing the weather.

Simon ground his teeth, feeling a spike of anger flare in his chest. “Yeah.” The response was clipped, his jaw clenched so tight he could barely force the words out. “I did what you asked.”

“Head over heels for you, is she?” His boss laughed, a low, contemptuous sound. “God, the poor thing.”

Each word felt like a blade twisting deeper. Yes, she loved him; she loved him with a sincerity he’d never known he could inspire. But the way his boss spoke of it—as if her affection was some cheap victory, as if her trust was a trophy to be tossed aside—made his blood run cold.

He balled his fists beneath the table, his knuckles turning white. “I know,” he said through gritted teeth, barely able to keep his voice steady.

“We didn’t think you’d pull it off this well.” The amusement in his boss’s voice was unmistakable. “We knew you could manipulate—use people; that’s what you do best, after all. But to get her so… blindly devoted? Impressive, even for you.”

Simon bit down hard, jaw aching as he fought to keep the bile from rising. He didn’t want to hear it; he didn’t want to hear about how flawlessly he’d betrayed her, how thoroughly he’d convinced her of a love that was nothing but smoke and mirrors.

“She trusts me,” he muttered, voice rough as gravel, hoping to deflect, to shut down this sickening praise.

His boss let out a chuckle, cold and mocking. “Just trust, is it? Sure, if that’s what you want to call it. But come on—no credit for yourself? I think you deserve a bonus for this one, Riley. You’ve put in the work, pulled all the strings. Hell, even I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Simon felt himself go still, every muscle in his body wound tight, like a coiled spring about to snap. The monster his boss saw in him—was that all he’d ever be? He forced himself to nod, his voice barely a murmur. “Yeah… sure. Send some extra cash my way if it makes you feel better.”

“Good,” his boss replied, that smug satisfaction radiating from him like poison. “I’m proud of you, Riley. You’ve secured an influential family, locked down the daughter. And soon enough, there’ll be a little Riley running around, further cementing our foothold.”

A wave of nausea rolled through him at that. His boss spoke as though this were just another operation, another mission ticked off the list. Not a woman’s life, not a child’s future—just another step in their endless game of leverage and control.

Simon gave a curt nod, jaw so tight it felt like it might shatter. He kept his silence, swallowing the urge to spit some scathing retort, to lash out and tear down every vile word his boss had spoken.

“Good,” his boss said again, with a finality that felt like chains tightening around Simon’s throat. “Keep it up… and, of course, gather all the intel you can on her father.”

Simon didn’t respond. He simply sat there, silent and still, the weight of his choices pressing down like iron shackles. The mission bound him—bound him tighter than any oath he’d ever sworn—and he couldn’t escape the feeling that, somewhere along the line, he’d traded his soul for it.

All photos sourced through Pinterest

Headers made by @rookthornesartistry

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ghosts-bandwagon · 1 year ago

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poly!soapghost with an adhd reader PLS 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

YES BITCH!!!! Hardcore me af (pls sandwich me between those men I beg-)

Let’s be honest here, Ghost is on top of everything, Johnny, god bless him, but he’s lucky he’s cute and that’s all I’m gonna say

If you tend to be forgetful, don’t even sweat it because Ghost remembers it

You guys are doing groceries and before you left your house, you heavily emphasized getting more salt since you ran out

The three of you went up and down the aisles collecting everything you needed with along with some treats

You’re standing at the register making idle chitchat with the cashier while Soap helps bagger load everything in the cart, you barely noticed Ghost had disappeared

Until he showed up at the last second with a box of salt and that’s when it hit you

You could barely get the thank you out before he cut you off with a laugh, “You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached.”

On the other hand, Johnny makes sure you’re taking care of yourself

When you’re nose deep in your books, games, paperwork whatever it is, it’s a rare moment of laser focus

It’s so intense, you lose track of time and the world falls away

You’re taking notes when all of a sudden a plate with a sandwich on it is on your notebook, it takes all your willpower not to snap at your momentum getting interrupted

Then you look up and see Johnny’s face with an apologetic smile, he knows how you get and he feels bad for interrupting you like that but can you blame him?

“Thanks babe, but I ate a few minutes ago.” You sighed giving his hand a supportive squeeze,

“A few minutes and 6 hours ago, yes.” He chuckled, he felt a little bad seeing the shock on your face but it was a cute look

“Fuck, are you serious?”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, come on, let’s eat and you can get back to it, yeah?” When you look around him, Simon is sitting at the couch with a plate in front of him and the tv remote in his hand, already turning to your favorite show

All in all, don’t sweat the small stuff, they’ve got you babe.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader x ghost #ghost x reader x soap #mw2 x reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii

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m4nspr34d · 3 months ago

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TWENTYSOMTHIN’

Dean Winchester X M!reader

Warnings : Angst, fluff. Nothing extreme

Summary : After a few years of dating you finally bring up the topic of marriage, which you two have only briefly spoken about. Dean shows displeasure at the idea, reminding you of when you first met.

It had been months since you and Dean had spoken about where your relationship was heading for the future, something that he got angsty about when you brought it up. Marriage was a big no for him; and for a long time, you were completely with him.

Your eyes followed him as his head moved to the best of guns and roses playing, watching as he loaded the shotguns full of salt. The thought was unbearable, you couldn’t shake it no matter how hard you tried.

“What’d you do if I proposed?” He stopped, his eyes widening for a moment as his hands halted. “What?” His eyes stayed on the shotgun, his hands still. “If I proposed.” You placed the shotgun onto the table, leaning back and crossing your arms, letting him know this was the conversation you wanted to have; the one you needed to have. “Are you gonna?” His eyes lifted, his eyebrows doing the same. “Well— No.” You said, thinking for a moment. You weren’t sure if he meant at this very moment, or ever, but no seemed like a good choice for now. “It doesn’t matter then.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in surprise, watching as he disregarded you and went back to the shotgun. “No, we need to talk about this.” “No, we don’t.” “Yes, we do!” You weren’t going back and forth with him about this, so you tore the shotgun from his grasp and threw it onto the bed, sitting on the edge, having to turn your neck to face him. “What’s this even about, you said you didn’t wanna get married.” He said, a sigh; a deep bothered sigh lining his words. “That was years ago, Dean.” You softened your voice, innocence.

“You know how I feel about it, it’s dumb, the whole thing.” He grimaced at the thought, looking away from you. It wasn’t something you expected him to like, but that didn’t make it any less painful. “I don’t think so.” The tone of your voice dropped, turning you head away from Dean, both of you facing in opposite direction’s. “I’d do anything to put a ring on your finger.” His breath paused. He had never considered it, of course he couldn’t imagine his life without you, he wanted to grow old with you, but he never even saw both of you getting old.

It was silent, he was lost for words, it hurt, it hurt so bad. “Seeing you in a suit, our first dance, sitting at that table with you, eating fancy meals, all of it.” Still silence. You had no more words to say, not till he gave it the light of day, you felt like you were taking to a damn therapist. “Jesus— Will you say something!?” “What’d you want me to say?!” Truly, you had no idea. If he said yes; it’d feel like a compromise, something to shut you up. If he said no; well, you had no clue.

“You know I wanna be with you forever—“ “Then marry me.”

…

“Dean?” “I can’t, you know I can’t. But it means nothing, a ring won’t make us official, that’s our call.” His hand trailed to your’s, his finger tips rubbing against your finger; your empty, ring-less finger. You pulled away, squeezing your eyes shut. You wanted to walk away, come back and forget this conversation happened, but it was too late. You knew he wasn’t ready to commit to you, is he waiting for someone better? No.. Maybe?— No. Your thoughts were the loudest thing in the room, not your words, not his, not even the busted AC. “

“So would you say no?” Your voice was cold, blank as you shut your eyes, taking in the silence while it was there.

He inhaled sharply, biting his lip as he clenched his jaw, balling his hands into a fist. He felt like rolling over and dropping dead, this was the last thing he wanted, it had come on him so unexpectedly, like a bad cold. “Yes.” He said, finally mustering up the courage. You’re eyes squeezing shut as you felt an itch on the corner of your eyelid, followed by a tear as you steadied your prolonged inhale.

You giggled as you watched the twentysomthin’ man smirk at you, licking his teeth as your eyes locked within his. “You’re really something.” Your eyes narrowed as you spoke, chuckling. “Maybe, you like it though.” He said, a sultry tone coating his lips as the words rolled off. You don’t even know this guys name, his age, for all you know he could be some crazy bastard. “You ain’t gonna ask me my name, sweetheart.” His hand leaned against the back of the bench, wiping the snow from it, the small flakes tapping off the sleeve of his jacket. “Enlighten me.” His smirk grew, his head turning away for a moment as his tongue clicked. “Dean.”

Dean. Fitting, not sure why but— it was. 20 Minutes ago you were sitting out the back of the club, contemplating weather to spend your last few bucks on a box of cigs, but you had completely forgotten about it by the time this guy: Dean, had weaselled you down the street to the park bench in the middle of December, snow and all. “Let me guess, bartender?” You were sure you were right, that charming face was bound to get his tips up. “Not even close.” You scoffed, surprised you were wrong. “What is it then.” Your chest rose and sank with each breath, the cold air flowing towards the ever shrinking space between the two. “Cars, I fix cars.” “So a mechanic?” You said, raising your eyebrows, tilting your head. “Guess so.” You decided not to question his awfully vague answer. “And you?” He said, his eyes still fixed on you, the small white dots of frosty snow scattered around your clothes. “In between.” “In between jobs and you have time to blow your buck on a cheap bar in the middle of the city?” His voice laced with that undermining tone he’d been slipping.

Who even was this guy, really. You couldn’t wrap your head around it, something so unexpected, so— everything. “Tell me somethin’, you got a boyfriend? A husband?” He said, his eyes widening as his words trailed. “God no, never. Marriage makes me nauseous.” A chuckle followed you words, a quick glance to the marina, the snow lacing the black railing. “There has got to be a catch with you.” The tension was tight, airtight, feeling the air around you stiffen, the snow became background, your attention fixated on him, and only him.

Divider’s: @cafekitsune 💌 : Another short little fic. In complete honesty, I acc got the idea from the song twentysomthings, i’m not acc sure who sings but, oh well! But I got like, this cute little picture in my mind of Dean and whoever sitting out on a bench by the water late at night, snow everywhereee!! Super cute imo. I’ll try my best to do a longer more fleshed out fic, and eventually smut when i’m ready. 🌹

#male reader #fanfic #gay #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x male reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #spn

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johnbrand · 4 months ago

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The Basement

With @next-pharaoh

“Richie?” Billy called out into the hazy basement. “Richie, are you down here?”

Billy had never thought of Richie as a religious kind-of-guy, nor a Muslim for that matter. What other reason would he have had to come down into the creepy, old mosque? Heck, Richie’s whole family was Catholic, the stereotypical devout Latin family. Billy’s too, although of a Polish heritage instead. That was probably why they had always gotten along so well–they could bond through trauma.

“Richie?” Billy asked once more. The basement was rather small, just a single room with a twin mattress, a few sheets, and a tiny window shining the bare minimum amount of sunlight into the space. The place was covered in dust, something Billy unfortunately had not noticed until he had patted down his all-black outfit, surprised to find it covered in the pale powder.

“Alright, that’s it,” Billy grumbled. “I can’t even get reception down here anyway.”

That was how this had all started. Billy had received an emergency text with a location from Richie that he had been locked and needed help. However, that text had taken over 24 hours to deliver. Billy had rushed over here as fast as he could, but now he could not find Richie anywhere. Perplexed, he made his way back to the basement’s door, not expecting to find it locked.

“No…” Billy spoke to no one in particular. “No, no no!”

Frantically, Billy pulled at the handle, hoping, praying that it would come off. And yet, no matter how hard he tried, it would not budge. It was times like these that he wished he would have participated in some athletics throughout his schooling career, rather than focusing on communications and the arts.

“Hello!” Billy shouted, banging on the door. “Can anyone hear me?!” He grabbed his phone and quickly sent out a text to his friend, not surprised when it was unable to go through. Backing away from the door, Billy began to consider what he could do. Someone would have to find him eventually, right? Phones had tracking devices, so it would not take long before people questioned where he was. And the window, maybe from there he could-

“Oh-!” Clumsily, Billy fell back onto the twin bed, so preoccupied in his thoughts that he had not paid attention to his footing. The dust flew up in a cloud around him, slowly cascading over his body. The particles coated his sandy-colored hair and fair skin as if he had been hit by a bag of flour. A bit embarrassed, Billy coughed, inhaling some of the dust.

“Gosh, what is this stuff…?” Billy questioned, his head suddenly a bit dizzy. “Is it…powdered salt…?”

Slowly, Billy’s body fell back onto bed, an encroaching weariness enveloping him. Within moments, he was fast asleep while the dust began carefully absorbing into his being.

———

Rashid unlocked the door to the mosque’s basement. He already possessed the keys to the lock, and he knew not to reopen the door until at least daybreak. Well, at least not while the current convert is awake. It was necessary for Rashid to go in while the convert was resting to provide the necessary materials.

“Ah, I see you are awake,” the strong, proud Muslim announced in Arabic as he swung open the door. “And already studying the analysis of the Hadith book I provided you with.”

“Yes, thank you brother,” the reply came back, also in Arabic.

“Do the pants fit you alright, Bilal?” Rashid asked.

“They will carry the load.” With his massive hand, Bilal cupped his mighty Arab meat to emphasize his point. Rashid took a once over of Bilal, taking in the bronzed alpha and confirming the dimensions he had hypothesized in his head. Bilal was tall, muscular, a perfect specimen of Islamic masculinity. His chest would ideally slide into the thobe Rashid had ordered for him, and his wide feet would easily fill the Nike sandals Rashid had set aside.

“Now Bilal, are you ready to promote the genetic Arabization of the world?” Rashid demanded. “To defend Arab interests, to sacrifice individuality for global brotherhood?”

Bilal immediately nodded, his fate had already been sealed.

Rashid smiled, “I assume you have already left your past behind?”

Smirking, Bilal motioned his head towards the drying white splurge behind him. By the afternoon, it would become just another part of the basement’s transformative dust.

With a nod, Rashid ushered Bilal up, and the two made their way out of the basement and back into the mosque. They prayed together, feasted together, and were preparing to leave the mosque just as a frightened Asian-American boy rushed past them.

“Billy? Billy!” His shouts echoed throughout the hall as he dashed into the religious hallways. Rashid and Bilal exchanged knowing smiles. They held hands and bid farewell, the keys transferring between their hands.

#male tf #male transformation #jock tf #unintended results #arabization #arabophile

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genericpuff · 6 months ago

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The Derivative Fashion Sense of Lore Olympus

So I'm usually out here going Gordon Ramsay on Rachel's ass about her writing and art, but for this unsolicited essay I will be wearing a different hat.

Yep, we're going Miranda Priestly today. Specifically the Miranda Priestly who talks fashion, not the Miranda Priestly who abuses employees lmao (though rest assured, I'm gonna have a lot of curt words throughout this).

Disclaimer: I am not at all an expert on fashion, these are just my thoughts and observations from studying fashion styles as part of my own artistic journey, so as always, take what I have to say with loads of salt. I also realize the irony that I am addressing the derivative nature of Lore Olympus when I, myself, am creating a derivative retelling of Lore Olympus.

Alright, enough small talk.

There's this general misconception in runway fashion that all those "impractical outfits" are meant to be worn by the average person, people such as myself who see these outfits and go "what the fuck do you mean Lady Gaga wore a dress made out of meat?!" When we see these crazy fits, our first impression is often "Why would anyone wear that?"

Well, because they aren't outfits. They're art pieces.

And not only are the outfits themselves art pieces, but the people wearing them are the canvases. These outfits aren't designed for just anyone to wear, especially not your average Joe, they're designed both with the artist's vision as well as the model in mind. A lot of thought, expression, cultural influences, and personal messaging is sewn into these designs.

Think about it this way, you couldn't take that aforementioned Gaga meat dress and put it on Taylor Swift. Not only would it not be physically tailored to her, but it wouldn't align with Swift's brand of music. Gaga, at the time of wearing that dress, was making a statement that came about from a collaborative effort between herself, the canvas, and her fashion designer, the artist. The meaning would be lost if you put Swift, Katy Perry, or any other musician into it, because the fact that Gaga is the one wearing it is part of that meaning.

What would happen if you did take the meat dress and put it on someone else? Well, that's how you get the controversial 2022 Met Gala when Kim Kardashian wore the sequin dress that Marilyn Monroe wore for JFK back in 1962.

Not a replica. Not a re-interpretation. The actual literal dress that Monroe once wore. This was a very bold - and in my opinion, reckless - move on Kim's part, because not only was she forcing herself into a dress not tailored to her (and yes, there has been deliberation on what damage was caused to the dress on account of this) but rather than working with a fashion designer to come up with a fresh new interpretation of the same concept, she just went "yeah I'm gonna wear the exact dress", in what many interpreted as a disrespectful power move to artificially put herself on the same level of prestige as Monroe. But she still isn't on that level of prestige and it speaks volumes that she thought carving out her own legacy would be as simple as just taking someone else's. The wolf wore the sheep's clothing with the intent to fool the sheep, but it was still a wolf.

But okay okay, WHAT does this have to do with Lore Olympus?

Well, Rachel released a new interview clip.

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A post shared by Rachel Smythe (@usedbandaid)

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I will say, these seem to have all been recorded at once probably when she was back at NYCC and they're probably going to be released daily leading up to the free release of the finale. Why they're hyping up the free version rather than hyping up the FastPass version that actually generates income, I have no clue, but I digress.

As always, the transcript is as follows:

"I really like looking at like, uh, vintage clothing and silhouettes that are... y'know, timeless. I mean, obviously it's really hard to future-proof work that's set in the modern setting because of course the times are gonna change, like, rapidly and there's not a lot you can do about it, but in terms of, like, fashion, there are just some silhouettes that are always going to look very classy, so... I try to put things that will not age. Like, I think there was a chapter recently where she [Persephone?] had like a very vintage Dior look which I really liked, um... and I feel like that will always look nice, like in 10 years time I'll be like, 'She looked good'. But there are some outfits which are more modern where I'm like, 'That probably won't look good in 10 years time'. But, y'know, we still got the inspired vintage Dior outfit so that's good, that's safe."

There isn't much to say about the actual transcribed text itself, but I do think it's very telling that Rachel tries to upsell her sense of fashion sense in LO when... much of it is just flat out derivative. At best she's often referencing real life people (mostly Hollywood celebrities) and at worst she's usually just grabbing stuff off Pinterest inspo boards without any consideration towards the influences or who she's putting into them.

That said, I do think she told on herself quite a bit in that final line of the interview clip - "that's good, that's safe."

I can understand wanting to play it safe in terms of knowing your limitations and not wanting to create something that would be dated in a few years.

But fashion... isn't about playing it safe. Because ultimately, how something ages in the long term isn't something that you, the artist, can control, and like many art mediums, you need to be focused on what to create next, not on how well your old art pieces still hold up in the present where they've been removed from their original context.

And I think this rings true for a lot of Lore Olympus, beyond just the fashion. It's all just a little too safe. We see it in the fashion, we see it in her uncommitted writing decisions, we see it in how often she's willing to retcon things just to write herself out of corners.

And I think that's really Rachel's biggest weakness as a creator at the end of the day. As much as she's tried to put on the persona of "screw you, I'll do what I want", her actions are always the opposite of what she says. She says that the fashion in LO is very vintage, but I can count on one hand how many outfits were actually vintage. The vast majority of them are a lot more modern, with a lot of Western influences, and sometimes with a boob window thrown in.

Case in point, the most recent outfit of Persephone wearing a practically-nude sparkle dress?

That's Rihanna's Swarovski dress that she wore in 2014.

Now, to Rachel's credit, she did find a way to personalize this to Persephone by removing the cap and giving her a rose-shaped bun, but the outfit itself is still just copied directly from Rihanna. Not only is there not a whole lot of Persephone's influence beyond her being literally made out of roses-

-but there isn't anything calling attention to the fact that this is a Greek myth retelling. And this isn't just a problem with the Swarovski dress callback, this is a problem EVERYWHERE.

And of course, that's not even touching on the fact that Hades and Hecate are forced to wear suits constantly. Because, according to Rachel, the fashion inspiration for Hades and Persephone only went as deep is "he's the groom and she's the bride"-

Rachel plays it safe by sticking purely to the inspirations she consumes from modern American media. The "modern twist" on the myths in LO is literally just "it's Greek myth but it's set in Los Angeles". She doesn't seem to want to put herself out there and actually consume Greek content any deeper than what she can find on Google, and it shows in how little Greek there is in this Greek myth comic.

There is, ironically, as I've been told by community members in ULO, a fashion collection called Persephone created by Paolo Sebastian, and in it you can see the actual Greek influences in these outfits far more than what you see in even Persephone's most visually stunning outfits:

These are dresses and yet Paolo uses them as an opportunity to tell the story of Persephone, somehow even more faithfully than an actual written adaption of The Hymn to Demeter. Because fashion, too, can tell a story - and Lore Olympus' fashion, like its writing, has no story to really tell, at least not in Rachel's hands when she's just pulling whatever she can find from what she treats as a pile of "stuff" on Google.

And that's not even getting into how the writing plays it safe much in the same way as the fashion influences and artistic choices. A good example is that S3 premiere sequence, in which Hades and Persephone are pulled away from each other so that... they can get washed down by their family and peers.

Rachel doesn't really do anything to re-contextualize this reference for the context and setting and circumstances of LO, she just goes "I liked that bath scene from Beauty and the Beast so I'm going to put it in LO."

And of course, it doesn't work as effectively as it did in Beauty and the Beast, because the whole original point of that scene was to showcase the big and scary Beast being washed down like a dog by his servants-turned-into-furniture while he stresses over how he's going to win over Belle. It's a comedic subversion, artistically by showing the ferocious beast reduced into a wet dog, but also on a narrative level by showing through his dialogue and actions how nervous he is to impress Belle because his own fate - as well as the fates of his servants - depend on her falling in love with him. He can't afford to mess this up.

But in LO, it's two naked people who we already know love each other and are committed to each other, we've already seen countless scenes of them being sweet on each other and showcasing that they're into each other, and by all accounts they've already gotten their happy ending, so it makes no sense for them to just be like "OMG SHE LIKES ME?? I CAN'T BELIEVE SHE LIKES ME!" "should I seduce him?!?!??" because this seems like a no-brainer and there's zero actual stakes riding on this the way that there was with Belle and the Beast. Plus the people washing them down aren't their servants who are in the same situation as them, they're random gods from the Pantheon whose affiliation ranges from "family" to "never even had a conversation before". One of the women washing down Persephone has literally never spoken a single line of dialogue to her; another one of them was literally dumped by her partner because he wanted Persephone more than her. Who are these people and why are they enthusiastically appearing to give her a bath? Why is Hades being given a scrub down by his own brother?

And that's really the most striking difference between inspired references and derivative ones. Undertale was a game created by a guy who was in love with retro games like Earthbound and Megaman. Stardew Valley was a game created by a guy who loved Harvest Moon and used to play it with his girlfriend. Content that's built on the foundation of another is natural and the basis of inspiration, but you have to go further with it than just going "yeah this thing existed and I'm taking it", otherwise you miss the purpose of why those inspirations were created the way they were.

And when you don't actually explore how you can re-interpret those influences and add your own voice into them, that's how you wind up writing like Rachel whose writing is about as inspired as a cheap character swap cutaway gag from Family Guy.

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Rachel's great at referencing, but that's not at all an impressive thing to do as proven by Peter Griffin. She's not at all re-contextualizing or expanding on what inspired her... but she still claims that she's exactly what she's doing because she calls Lore Olympus a "deconstruction". But her deconstruction only ever goes so far as "well what if Aphrodite left Ares for Hephaestus instead of the other way around?" and then just showing that question and never answering it or delivering on the potential of what that could cause. At best, she'll ask a "what if?" but then never actually show us the what if, it begins and ends with the question and the question itself doesn't provoke any thought deeper than "huh, yeah, that would be neat I guess." Episode's over, next scene. What if we showed that clip of Bill O'Reilly freaking out on set, but like, replaced it with Stewie Griffin and changed nothing else about it except for that? That's the joke, next scene.

I know, we're digressing hard off the fashion here, but the fashion itself is just a symptom of a much bigger problem that expands even beyond Lore Olympus - Rachel plays things way too safe. Even her responses in her interviews are painfully subdued, often resorting to the same tired answers that we've heard 823190589320 times before to the same hand-picked questions that are undoubtedly chosen ahead of time to ensure she doesn't have to answer anything too complicated. And when she does say "I have thoughts about xyz" she never actually... expresses her thoughts. She just says she does and then moves on without any further elaboration because she can't wholeheartedly commit to whatever thoughts she has going on.

Granted, I'm sure that part of that is owed to the fact that she might feel like she can't say anything while the critics are breathing down her neck. I can understand that. But it's gotten so chronic that it's now bleeding into the work itself and it's led to even more criticism of her work. Need I remind you that this is the same person who copy pasted the definition of "xenia" from a first result Google search into her comic instead of naturally writing it into the script:

Rachel played it so safe that she basically treated her own audience like kindergartners by explaining what a scene meant even after explaining it in the text:

As true as it is in fashion, writing stories and making art takes risks. That doesn't mean you have to completely throw caution to the wind, but if you don't take risks, you do yourself the disservice of writing something that can truly be called unique and special to you. If you don't use your influences wisely, if you don't analyze and re-analyze what's influenced you over the years, you're going to wind up losing a lot of subtext in those influences and missing out on the opportunity to add your own voice into the re-interpretation. Rachel does take a lot of risks in LO, but they're not calculated risks, they're not risks that actually have any meaning behind them, she's sort of just throwing stuff at a wall and seeing what sticks, and worst of all, when it doesn't stick, she herself doesn't stick to it, she backpedals, she cowers away from the decisions she's made.

Rachel expressed her worries about depicting fashion that would become aged, but Lore Olympus is already aged through her own inability to commit to her decisions, take risks, and find her voice. It's aged itself through its poor interpretations of the myth, it's aged itself through its reliance on Tumblr tropes that have already been replaced tenfold, and it's aged itself through Rachel herself riding off the initial innovation of creating Lore Olympus and then never continuing to challenge herself or raise the bar for herself.

It proves true the discussion around why Lore Olympus became popular - at the time, it was groundbreaking, drawn in a style that we hadn't seen much of before, with fresh new takes on the myth; now, in 2024, its 'takes' feel tired and half-baked, and its art style has become a corporate-scrubbed shell of what it once was. And yet, Rachel is still rewarded for it all the same, so settling for comfortable mediocrity has become the name of the game.

Rachel may be trying as hard as the Disney life action remakes and Kim Kardashian to put herself on the same pedestal as the greats of yesteryear simply by copying what they did, but in playing it this safe and refusing to find her own voice out of the voices that influenced her, Lore Olympus isn't timeless. It's soulless.

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus

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