#man i struggled like hell with that dress design

[kooktrash]

lace & luxury | kim taehyung

summary: Money, Money, Money, must be funny in the rich man’s world. At least that’s how you feel working day and night to make end’s meet and still never having enough. Out of nowhere you get roped into a give and take relationship with a very powerful fashion designer who shows you the way into a life of luxury and lingerie. You’ve become his muse and in exchange he’s become your source of pleasure and riches. It’s a rich man’s world and you’re living in it.

➣ genre/au: sugar daddy!taehyung x exotic dancer!reader [she/her, female anatomy], taehyung aged up

➣ 13.6k words

warnings: smut. tae is 31 oc is 21. a lot of teasing. mention of NDAs. he’s a bit cold to everyone else. oc is an exotic dancer. oc dances on Tae a couple times. Tae adores oc. lavishes in gifts. protected sëx. oc is confident af. oc has belly button piercing. Tae is very handsy. jk and Hobi are oc’s besties so a lot of locker room talk between the three. oral [f receiving].m. multiple positions. missionary. mating press. and riding. an open ending but also I feel like y’all know what’s gonna happen

THE BILLIONAIRE’S CLUB

Money does not buy happiness.

Money does not buy happiness.

Money does not bu—

“Fucking hell,” you groaned in annoyance as you hit the machine in front of you. The vending machine seemed to mock you with its silence even as you pushed the button for your drink a dozen times. There was a clear sign above that said not to hit the machine yet here you were beating the shit out of it with your foot.

Three dollars. It just took three dollars and refused to give you your drink. What a fucking con.

Money doesn’t buy happiness but you know that if you had that nice and refrigerated fizzy drink right now you would be at least .05% happier than you are now. With a defeated sigh you gave the vending machine one final ‘fuck you’ and left. Listen, you’re not a moody person [not usually] but you’re stressed, broke, and hungry… and now annoyed.

“You’re stressing over a drink or three dollars? I can’t tell,” Jungkook asked you as you stood at the entrance to work still thinking about earlier, “Go get a drink from Hobi and once you get on stage you’ll make more than 3$ quickly. No biggie.”

“It’s about the morals, Kook,” you sighed, “In this country even the vending machines are capitalists, taking money from the poor and not giving us anything in return.”

“It’s fine, you take money from horny rich people, speaking of which if you don’t go get ready, boss will throw a fit,” Jungkook said, pushing you forward and cutting your talk short. You whined in frustration as you did as told and headed to the dressing room.

You were a bit dramatic, you know you were. It was just three dollars but damn did that piss you off. You haven’t eaten a single thing since you were working a full day waitressing and now you’ve got to get on stage and dance on an empty stomach. You just paid rent and your stupid student debt bills and now you’re very broke. After tonight you’ll surely have way more money but it doesn’t change the fact that this is a common problem you have.

During the day you waitress and at night you dance at an exotic club where the clients treat you like some dress-up doll they touch whenever they want and stuff crumpled dollar bills in your lingerie because they think it’s sexy. You loved to dance, that was not the problem, it was the people you danced for and why you did it. If you had the money to finish off school you would have a degree by now in fashion marketing but instead you’re stuck with two jobs struggling to pay off loans and reach ends meet. It was exhausting.

“I heard about your drink dilemma,” Hoseok said apologetically as you got to the bar already dressed in lingerie waiting for your cue. He handed you a glass meant for whiskey filled with the fizziness of caffeine and you thanked him profusely before chugging it down.

“But if it makes you feel better, a group of very wealthy looking young men just walked into V.I.P,” he added. You released a content sight as you handed him the empty glass, “I’m not in the mood to be groped tonight.”

“So just the stage? Got it,” he said and you gave him a soft smile as you heard your stage name be called and you left.

“You need to loosen up, get some inspiration even,” Jimin said with a chuckle as he led Taehyung by the shoulders into the red night club. He’ll admit it’s above his expectations but at the end of the day — or night — it’s still an exotic club with women in lingerie unlike he’s ever seen. He should be used to it by now but he’s not. He’s too stressed to even enjoy whatever his friends had planned for him tonight.

“How about that one?” Jimin asked pointing to a dancer who was currently sitting on the lap of an older man wearing the ugliest Rolex watch Taehyung has ever seen. He just shook his head and kept his gaze forward as they went to a V.I.P section close to the stage.

Here’s the thing, Taehyung is new to all of this but at the same time he isn’t. Being the eldest grandson of the one and only original creator of the luxurious lingerie brand, Erotes: Sexy, Sensual, & Surreal, you would think he’s more used to this by now and he is. He’s used to the designs and fashion shows that his grandmother and mother would put on but to be the one in charge of it all now? That’s an entirely different ball game and he’s failing miserably to come up with something for the spring catalog. In truth, his younger sister should have been the one to take over but unfortunately that wasn’t the case and now they’re both unhappy with the outcome. He’s 31, he’s thankful to be able to get in the position he’s in at the head of his own empire but he’s just struggling. How is he supposed to find inspiration to follow their footsteps?

“Next up is the loveliest of them all, Venus, with her sensual movements you’ll have no choice but to fall to your knees, worshiping her like the goddess she is.”

You nearly gagged on stage at your intro as the lights went black and you stood at the center of the stage ready to walk forward when the song started. To clarify, you didn’t choose the stage name.

Some bottle girls brought expensive liquor to their section but Taehyung wasn’t paying attention anymore. He’s not sure when he tuned out how the night was going until you came out on stage. It wasn’t your introduction that drew him in but it was the sudden shift in the air that made him take in what was going on. The lights had gone off with only a red and blue hall above your head and it was the first time he took notice in one of the dancer’s he’s seen tonight.

He didn’t know where to look first, his eyes went from your feet which were in tall crystal heels to the length of your smooth legs before stopping at the first hint of lingerie he could see. You wore baby pink panties under a sheer babydoll dress and you looked simple yet elegant, like the stage was where you belonged. Your hand trailed up from your thigh to your stomach lifting the frill fabric for anyone’s watching eyes and he watched you dance, entranced for the first time tonight.

The lingerie was cute, it was simple and appealing to the eye but it wasn’t for you. He could see it in your strong gaze, this wasn’t right for you. You should be in a dark color that matched your strong presence and the desire you brought upon whoever watched you. You needed something that showed more, less concealing. He can picture you in a garter belt, pearls around your neck maybe…

The way you moved seemed to captivate every single person in the room and Taehyung especially.

By the end of your performance Taehyung watched you walk off stage and it’s the same confidence you put formed and the energy immediately changed when you were gone. He hadn’t realized how focused he was on your dance until he released the breath he had been holding in.

“Getting inspo yet?” Jimin joked as he snapped Taehyung out of his trance with a pat on his leg.

When Taehyung first took over Erotes, everyone expected a lot of changes. The company went from being owned by generations of women to now the first man in charge and not a lot were comfortable considering the lingerie was specifically for women and those others who would choose to wear it—very clearly not Taehyung. He knew he would face a lot of challenges and that’s what’s happening right now.

He wants to create a line of lingerie that the wearers [whoever that maybe, biologically female or not] would feel comfortable in. He doesn’t want to make it simply for the male gaze, he wants the wearer to feel comfortable and sexy and proud of their body. It probably isn’t much help that the person who had suddenly inspired him to create is an exotic dancer but something about you just caught his attention.

He’s solely looking at you from a designer’s point of view and he’s picturing that some of the company’s target audience would be people like you. Of course he’s going to create pieces for those who would just like to feel sexy at home or under their work clothes, but he needs to find inspiration first.

That is the sole reason why he went back to the gentlemen's club a couple nights later all by himself. The atmosphere seemed to fit what he was looking for too and he just needed to be in the element and in the presence of someone he considers sexy.

By the time he arrived it was late and since it was a weekday there weren’t that many people there. Business was good, just not as busy as on weekends but it worked in his favor. When he asked for a private dance they directed him to a red room where all he had to do was wait patiently for you to come in.

To be honest, you were a bit annoyed to do the private dance. Usually the ones who request are young arrogant men who don’t pay enough for what they get and if that wasn’t the client then it was typically some old ass dirty sleazebag who needs Viagra to keep it up. You definitely weren’t expecting for a man who looked like a God to be sitting there on the red velvet couch, dressed in a Dolce & Gabbana suit and had sandy blonde hair. He looked arrogant but for a reason, look at him. He was lounging comfortably on the seat with his arms stretched out on the back of the couch holding a glass of whiskey. His legs were spread in a manly way and his shoes shined even in the darkness.

You didn’t say anything when you walked in but the silk robe you wore simply slipped off your shoulders as the music began and exposed your lingerie to his hungry eyes. He raised his glass to his lips as he watched you let it fall to the floor and saunter over to him. You fell to your knees before him and your manicured hands skimmed over his thighs making his legs open just a little more to make room for you. Neither of you have spoken but for the moment it didn’t feel like you needed to.

The room was a little foggy too but Taehyung could see you very clearly as you pushed up against his thighs until you were standing back up and his eyes locked on yours when you swung a leg over his lap and swayed to the music. His fingers twitched with the urge to touch but he kept himself composed as he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Venus,” you used your stage name for obvious reasons as you situated yourself on his lap. Taehyung wasn’t aware of his moving hand until he was just inches away from touching your waist when you grabbed it and pressed it into the couch. Your breasts pushed against his chest as your fingers locked with his and you whispered into her ear, “You can look but don’t touch.”

“Got it,” he said breathlessly and he really did understand. He knew the rules and honestly he was unaware of what his hand was trying to touch until you called him out on it. He watched you closely as you arched your spine back and his eyes caught on the shiny reflection of your belly button ring and he hated to admit he’s a lot more turned on than he thought he would be.

He honestly was just interested in seeing what you wore tonight but he couldn’t even think about that right now when your body looked so appetizing to him. “Have you ever modeled before?”

You had your back to him now as he watched you bend forward and present yourself to him and once again he had to stop himself from reaching out and touching when you showed off your flexibility. You gave him a simple response as your hand came to the back of his neck and your back pressed against his chest to grind on his lap, “No.”

“Would you want to?” He asked in a whisper when you pulled on his neck tie harshly. His suit would have wrinkles now but he does not mind one bit. You laughed softly and he even liked the sound of that more than the music, “No.”

“I’ll pay you for it.”

“You’re paying for this, isn’t that enough?” You asked with your face just an inch away from his that he could feel the heat run between you.

“It’s far more than enough and yet I still want so much more, Venus, I think you would be a perfect model for me,” Taehyung said honestly, “Since the first time I saw you I wanted to see you in my designs.”

“And here I thought you wanted a dance because you found me attractive,” you teased. He was a client of the club and you should just treat him as such but he’s very attractive and he listened to you when you told him not to touch. Most men would still try and catch a feel even after being warned.

Taehyung released a breathy laugh, “Oh I find you absolutely irresistible but I’m sure that’s not something you don’t hear on a regular basis. I think you know your effect on others especially when you dance like this.”

You smiled, content enough that this God of a man found you irresistible, “What kind of model?”

“Lingerie, a boudoir shoot if you will,” Taehyung said but you wanted to play a little longer and his time was almost up.

“Not interested,” you said seductively and though your rejection stung, the way you said it made his growing arousal all the more prominent.

When his time was up he paid for the 140$ fee for a private dance and when he was ready to tip you and give you the money you let him slip it into the waistband of your panties and with that he left. You took out the money, surprised to count a total of 800$ just for you.

“I’ve never wished I had a pussy before in my life.”

You and Hoseok looked at Jungkook completely speechless as the three of you stood around the ivory box that was delivered to the club. It was from your client the other night and when you told Jungkook that he seemed annoyed.

One, he was mad you got tipped so much for a simple dance and second, that you just got a custom lingerie set designed specifically for you by a billionaire. You only know this because he left the Erotes business card there along with a couple hundred more with a note that said, ‘If you’re interested, come visit me.”

“I smell Sugar Daddy in the air,” Hobi finally said after the long silence that followed an envious Jungkook. To be honest, none of you knew much about the company until Jungkook went ahead and searched it up only to find a picture of the man you danced on just a few nights ago tied to an article titled, ‘the newly appointed CEO of Erotes Lingerie, Kim Taehyung.’

They brought your box over from the club and being their nosy selves, they wanted to see what you got.

The two were at your shitty, run down apartment where the three of you have been talking shit about your main boss all day. There’s nothing specifically wrong with the guy other than the fact that’s he’s a fucking cunt who steals from his dancers and never cares for it a man gets too touchy unless Jungkook has to kick them to the curb. You were all just tired of him.

“Go see what he’s gotta say,” Jungkook said with a smirk, “I’ll even drive you there and if he offers you money just remember how supportive your bestie was.”

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes, “Should I?”

That’s how you ended up in front of the skyscraper before you. Erotes was your typical gray building on the outside but there were hues of red lights basically oozing out of the window panes. It felt otherworldly and stepping inside felt like you were stepping into an Oasis on Mount Olympus. There were large statues of Greek gods and goddesses of love inside and the red and yellow lights seemed to set the mood in the corporate building. You walked right up to the front desk with absolutely no clue on what to say that you found yourself stuttering.

“Uh, um, can I speak to Kim Taehyung?” You immediately wanted to slap yourself for the way you just asked to see the CEO OF THE COMPANY and clearly the receptionist wanted to do the same considering she looked you up and down unimpressed before looking back to her computer. You waited for her to say something but after a minute or two she looked at you as if confused why you were still standing in front of her desk.

This time you couldn’t help but scoff at her rude behavior and reached into your purse for the card. You slid the business card across her desk and looking annoyed, she picked it up and looked it over. You smiled, “Now can I speak to Kim Taehyung?”

“Not if you don’t have an appointment,” she smiled tightly and you mirrored her expression. “So can you set an appointment then?”

“For what reason?”

“You can ask him when you set the appointment since he’s the one who told me to come here, or I can just leave and the next time I see him I can let him know how I tried to see him but I was refused,” you smiled and with a clenched jaw she finally picked up. You were bluffing because in truth you didn’t know if he would see you again or it he would just give up on whatever he’s trying to gain but it scared her enough to finally call whoever she needed to.

“What’s your name?”

“Venus,” you said, “That's all.” With another look at you from head to toe she muttered the name to the person on the phone and hung up shortly after. She flashed you another fake smile and said, “Alright follow me.”

You went up the elevator to the 100th floor which meant a long and uncomfortable ride with this snobby receptionist who kept glancing at you like she couldn’t understand why the man upstairs wanted to see you and in truth you weren’t sure either. His secretary gave you the same judging look as she knocked on Taehyung’s large office doors and honestly you didn’t get it.

It was clear you weren’t his girlfriend or anything so what was their deal? Unless he was just some rich guy already engaged or married and they knew you weren’t the wife… maybe you should check that, men are trash anyway—especially ones with a lot of money. When the receptionist left with Taehyung’s secretary you awkwardly stood in front of you as she typed away, “He’s in a meeting, go ahead and sit over there.”

With a small huff in annoyance you took a seat at one of the waiting chairs not far from the front desk. There was a stack of lingerie magazines but you didn’t bother going through them as you got on your phone instead to text your closest friends.

you: im too poor to be in here

hobi: did they check ur bank acc and see u only have 2.75$ in there?

you: fuck u

kook: is he wrong tho

you: no

you: anyway idk I’m getting bad vibes from the employees

hobi: ask if they’re libras and if they say yes you better run

kook: true. I don’t trust libras

“It was great seeing you again Tae, we need to get together for drinks like old times.”

You looked up for a split second to watch a beautiful tall blonde leave his office as he held the door open for her. She had sparkles in her eyes that made you want to gag at the thought of ever looking at a man like that. You visibly cringed and looked back down to your phone and waited until he was done.

you: oh god I’m scared. I’m about to go in

kook: remember that he’s just a man

hobi: ^ a very rich one who made u clothes for dancing on him

kook: yes that too

“I’ll have to see if it fits into my schedule,” Taehyung finally said back seemingly unmoved by her flirtatious smile and as he was out the door with her his eyes shifted to you making you look up. He didn’t send another glance her way as he asked, “Ready?”

You released a sigh as you finally got up from the chair and walked past the shocked blonde like you’ve been here before. Being a dancer meant you needed confidence — or at least pretend like you had it — so that’s how you acted most of the time. Also, he’s a member of the club and at the end of the day you’re still just an exotic dancer who doesn’t have a place in this building meeting with the CEO.

Taehyung is a little surprised at the sight of you. Well, for clarification, he had hoped you would take him up on his offer but he’s just surprised to see you outside of your normal dancing attire. It’s not that he expected to see you dressed provocatively out in public but… well you simply just looked pretty. You wore a plain long skirt that fit your body nicely and a plain fitted long sleeve and regular heels. Your hair was even pinned back in a cute way and it caught him off guard. He looked over to his secretary who was pretending not to watch as he held the door, turning the lock for privacy and following you in.

You looked around the space, his single office was bigger than a studio apartment. There was no need to have so much space especially if it was big enough to have an entire statue of aros. It was obnoxious, kind of. You could see Taehyung’s suit hanging on a hook and all he wore was a navy blue button up long sleeve tucked into black slacks and a belt. The sleeves were even rolled up and the tie seemed just a bit loose. He looked at you, “You received my gift already? I thought maybe you would get it tonight.”

“Someone brought it to me,” you told him as you stood behind his large glass coffee table, “Did you not want to see me?”

He released a small scoff, “On the contrary, it’s a pleasant surprise, I am curious to know what you think.”

“About the lingerie? Yeah, you designed it?” You asked. He nodded, “As you can see this is a lingerie company and I’m the new appointed CEO and designer. The only problem is that I can’t seem to find any inspiration for original and unique designs. I actually was made to go to the club and well that’s when I saw you and I’ll admit, you were very captivating and for some reason I was able to visualize you in a set.”

“Really?” You asked, genuinely surprised. You knew you were at least somewhat attractive but you didn’t think it was enough for someone to design something for you. He said it so confidently and professional like this was just some sort of business meeting for him and in truth this is not what you had in mind when he gave you his business card. You assumed he wanted to try and gain something with the lingerie like give him a private show. The only reason why you had come is because of how good of a tip he left you and why he gave you the gift.

“Yes, that’s why I would have liked it if you modeled for me,” Taehyung said as he rounded the table to get closer, “I mean you seem to wear lingerie confidently and from what I can see now is that you also seem confident in ordinary clothes—is that second hand?”

Your jaw nearly dropped as he read you like a book and you looked down, “Yes? How’d you know?”

Taehyung moved on instead of answering, “Did you bring the gift?”

“Yes.”

He looked around you like he would suddenly find the white box he sent his gift in but all he could see was you. So Taehyung couldn’t help but let his eyes run along the length of your body as he came to a realization and his eyes seemed to widen with peaked interest, “Is that so? Would you be willing to show me?”

A small smile to your face as you nodded, “Of course, I thought that was the whole reason why you wanted to see me.”

He watched as you began to strip your clothes from him right there in the middle of his office just letting the clothes fall. You made sure he was watching too and he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. It was exactly how he pictured it would look. He found himself looking around as if the idea of having a woman undress in his office and looking damn good in it was a crime. Not necessarily a crime, but enough to raise questions but he sort of liked that. He locked the door so it’s not like his secretary can barge in and he doesn’t have any meetings till later.

“Well?” You asked completely undressed aside from the lingerie. It was a simple black bodysuit made of lace with embroidered leaf and vines that met over the valley of your breasts down to your navel where the lace didn’t wrap around. The only thing that kept the lace together were those vines down the middle. The straps were made of silk black ribbons that continued into the cups of your breasts where a clip rested in the middle to undo the top. It seemed plain but the lace had small shimmers of glitter that shined the same way your belly button piercing did. It hugged all your curves in the right places and you fit it so well.

Taehyung just nodded, assessing you with a tight lip smile, “Looks amazing.”

“The lingerie?” You questioned even if it was very clear he was talking about that. This man seemed strange to you. You knew people in the fashion world could be eccentric and creative but this was the first guy you’ve ever met more pleased by the lace you wore rather than the body that wore it. Taehyung’s gaze shifted to your face, “No. The wearer.”

He came up to you, finger lightly tracing the silk strap and sliding it under so it grazed your skin too. You tilted your head to the side, an innocent gaze in your eyes as you looked up at him, “Is that all you needed me for? To dress me up?”

Taehyung’s finger traced up toward the curve of your tilted neck and jaw not yet touching but you could feel the heat from it, “Not the only thing, but I’m too tempted to touch you right now and I know that’s off limits.”

“You’re not a guest of the club right now, are you?” You asked softly. Listen, you knew how to play the game. You knew exactly how you should act to have a man entranced and that’s how you get tipped so well. The amount of money he gave you the other night was enough to cover rent and if you had to find a way to make him tip you again, you will. There’s a reason you became a dancer.

“I’m not,” Taehyung softly said back to you, “So what now?”

“Now you sit,” you lightly pushed at his chest until he was walking backward toward the couch. There was no music playing so it felt a bit awkward for you still yet the second you moved closer to him, he took the initiative to guide you onto his lap as you said, “No music? How am I supposed to perform?”

You were teasing him a bit but he didn’t seem to mind as you straddled his lap, feeling his fingers trace along your ankles toward your thighs, hips, waist, and then linger along your rib cage. Taehyung was too busy looking at your body in his design to care for music, “Do we need it?”

He looked up just as you gave him a smile and said, “Without music it feels too close to sex.”

“Mm,” Taehyung hummed in response. You slowly began to move on his lap and now that he could touch he didn’t hold back. He was still gentle but his hands did come forward to graze your covered breasts before running down the exposed front. You also played with the collar of his navy blue button up, pulling on his tie slowly ready to stop if he wanted you to. “What’s your name?”

“Venu—“

“Your real name,” Taehyung said, feeling his breath hitch when you fully yanked his tie open and pulled him closer. You flashed him a smile that showed the whites of your teeth, “Do you really want to know?”

Taehyung couldn’t help but scoff with a small chuckle, “It’s only fair, you know my name is Kim Taehyung. Now can I know yours?”

“Y/n,” you said as you moved to get off his lap but his strong hand held you in place, not hard enough to feel like he’s forcing you, but enough to know he didn’t want you leaving. You made yourself comfortable once more running your hands up his shirt untucking it and making him look like a complete mess of a CEO. Taehyung just let you too, his hands did move up your rib cage until his thumbs pushed against your breasts but other than that he was letting you lead. Once again it’s like you’re back in the red room with him under you as you perform.

“Y/n,” he repeated as he guided your hips however you moved them. Taehyung will admit, he’s turned on by the whole thing but there’s just no way he couldn’t be, right? You’ve stripped down to what he designed for you, sitting pretty on his lap and he can’t help but want to get closer… it’s only natural.

“How old are you?” He asked.

“22,” you told him and you could see the surprise on his face but you already knew his age since your friends looked him up earlier and you found yourself saying, “But I like them a little older.”

Listen, you have rules as an exotic dancer and performer set for your safety and comfort specifically. You keep things professional when you’re at work and if you run into anyone outside of it you simply act oblivious. You very rarely visit any client unless booked for an event and usually you aren’t alone. You never let them get too touchy or personal yet here you are letting him in all because Taehyung was undeniably attractive and wealthy with some sort of interest in you.

Neither one of you seemed to notice the way you both leaned closer until your lips brushed against his suddenly. Taehyung did pull away as he whispered, “Model for me.”

“I don’t have time,” you whispered back, “I have two jobs.”

There was just a small hint of a kiss but it wasn’t long enough to be worth anything and he said, “I’ll pay better than both.”

You smiled and without much thought into what you were doing, you finally kissed him. Taehyung didn’t need any sort of push to be curling his fingers into your hair and kissing you back deeply. It was an intimate kiss, needy and wet. You had a limp hand on his chest nearly touching his tie and his free hand was down on your thigh. Just as your fingers began to slide toward the buttons of his shirt, a loud ringing cut into the room making you jump in surprise.

Just before you could pull away, Taehyung’s tongue licked along yours drawing a light sound out of you as he chose to ignore the ringing. You figured if he was ignoring it then you would too for the time being and soon enough it stopped.

You pulled away a few seconds later feeling out of breath and hot and he looked the way you felt. Shirt untucked. Tie undone. Hair a mess. Like swollen. Eyes hazy. Jesus, this stranger was beautiful and he didn’t even have to try. Looking down into his eyes it made you snap back into realization. You’ve never gotten so physical with a client before and he’s probably not even going to pay you because there’s no reason for him to, so you're wasting time here. It was cute and fun but it’s over and you should get dressed and move on, right?

Taehyung let you slide off his lap as the phone made you both realize where you were and he tried fixing his own appearance as much as possible. He kept his gaze down when you undressed — knowing the moment was over — for privacy but he couldn’t help but ask, “What’s the other job?”

“Waiting on tables,” you told him, slipping your long skirt back on. His brows furrowed, “Really?”

“Why? Is it a surprise?”

“A bit,” he said honestly as you both stood straight looking as organized as you could after what happened. You didn’t give much of a response then, only said, “Alright, I’ve got to go if I want to catch the bus.”

You were looking at the time on your phone not noticing as he left you for a moment only to come back with a checkbook. He didn’t say much as he quickly scribbled away and handed it to you. Your eyes met when he grabbed your hand and made you hold the check.

“This is for today,” Taehyung said, sounding a bit out of it, “Um… I’ve never done anything like this but…” he looked down at the check, “Maybe we can work something out between us. Beneficial to us both.”

You raised a brow as you looked at the number written down on the check, “How so?”

His thumb brushed some hair away from your face and without thinking he leaned further down until your lips never touched but didn’t move closer. You knew he was probably giving you the choice to decide if you want to do it or not and you reached up to kiss him. His hand was firm against your cheek and kept you in place as he pulled back and ran his tongue across his lower lip, “Like this.”

“Truthfully, I don’t have time to go out with someone and personally I don’t want to. I have a lot of work to do and being in a relationship is not something I want right now but,” Taehyung kissed you again when you didn’t pull back, “I want to be able to do this.”

You smiled, pulling back, “You can find any woman who would die to be with you even if it’s for one night.”

“I can,” Taehyung said in agreement, “But I want you. You won’t push me for a relationship, would you?”

“Obviously not.”

“Then let me spoil you with whatever you want and in exchange—“

“Let you have me?” You asked and he nodded his head.

Taehyung was attractive.

He was wealthy and respectful.

There is no doubt in your mind that every woman he comes across wants him yet…

For some reason he would rather have a give and take relationship with no ties and he only wants it with you. It might even free up a little bit of your time too. You finish one job only to go to another that very same night. You’ve been trying to pay off college debt and other things too so money always seemed to be an issue. You don’t mind dancing, you actually enjoy it and that’s where your friends were. You would have to cut back time at the restaurant—it seems like you’ve already made your decision.

“Give me your number then,” you said. It was a short contact information exchange and just as you reached the door with Taehyung behind you, there was a loud knock against it.

The second he opened it, your eyes fell to the secretary who worked right outside his office. You watched the way her eyes seemed to narrow as she found you back in your sweater and long skirt — completely unaware of what was underneath. Taehyung turned to you, “Let’s connect later tonight, I’ll give you a call. Miss Jia, please call a cab for my guest before telling me whatever was so urgent you had to interrupt us more than once.”

The secretary looked stunned before nodding her head and running back to the desk giving you one last dirty look.

As strange as this might sound, you had no idea what to expect the last time you had seen Mr. Kim. You understood what he had implied and in the moment you wanted the same but now as you’re reading over the contract he’s had printed out for you, it all was beginning a little too real. It wasn’t long but the words felt like they just went on forever and ever and he looked at you like he was waiting for you to have some sort of question. It was nothing more than a non disclosure agreement and you understand what it’s for but it all felt just a little bizarre. You’re not put off by it by any means, you’ve signed a few as a dancer, but this will include sexual acts—things like what you did in his office and much more… did you really not mind doing this? Even if it felt a little like signing your freedom away.

Maybe you were just worrying too much, it’s not like you were looking for a real relationship and at least this way you’ll get money and your sexual needs dealt with from an ungodly attractive man.

“Is everything alright?” Taehyung asked once the silence had gone on for too long, “If this is not something you’re interested in then…”

“It’s not that,” you held the paper up and looked over at him from across the long stretch of dining table between you, “I thought this all started because you wanted me to model for you. There’s nothing about that here?”

Taehyung just looked at you, the corner of his lips turning upward as he smirked, “Well this contract is just between us two, I figured if you wanted to stop busting tables or dancing, I could hire you on as a model the legal way.”

You released a laugh, “And have to deal with seeing all of your prissy employees more often? Probably having to work with them? No, thank you.”

His eyes hardened as he watched you eye the contract. Before he could ask you what changes you would like him to make to get you to agree, you picked up the pen and quickly signed your name. A small smile came to his face as you slid the white sheet over to him and he quickly signed in his own name without a single ounce of hesitation, looking up at you with that same dark gaze you’re used to seeing before he gets his hands on you.

After dinner, you got into the back of Taehyung’s G-wagon with him following suit, ordering his driver to take you both back to his penthouse. You couldn’t help but smirk, “Are we starting so soon?”

Taehyung only smirked back as he stared out his window but you watched the way he loosened his tie with one hand, “This is soon to you, dear? After the day in my office?”

You’ve grown slightly accustomed to the deep mess of his face and the seductive way it sounded when it was just the two of you and you couldn’t help but reach over the back seat and press your face against his neck, breathing softly as you said, “You just don’t seem as eager yet.”

He turned to look at you, tongue running along his lips like he was ready to devour you and before he could utter out a single word, he felt your lips on his neck, kissing softly and making his eyes shut for a second. Once the shock had worn off he couldn’t help but look toward the rear view mirror where his driver was trying so damn hard not to stare back and catch sight of your arched back and short dress riding up with the way you stood on your hands and knees on the backseat, just kissing his neck teasingly. Taehyung brought an arm around to run a hand along your back, just keeping you close before turning his neck to capture your lips with his, and just like that the two of you were making out the entire drive to his home.

He blames it on all the teasing you did every time you would meet for his impatience. He’s felt your body on his, he’s touched your lips and stared at you as you stripped for him, it’s not his fault he couldn’t wait much longer to get to the real thing.

You barely had time to take in the sight of the hundred story building of luxury apartments before you when Taehyung was already pushing you through the front door and into the empty elevator. Immediately, you threw your arms around his neck, dragging him close and kissing him once more. He kissed back with such eagerness to feel all of you, hands holding your sides like his life depended on it, not wanting you to slip away.

His penthouse was huge, straight out of a movie and when you walked in it even echoed with each step you took.

“Welcome home si—“ a woman’s voice died on the spot and you couldn’t help but squeal at the thought of being caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. The two of you both turned to look at her, Taehyung holding you by the waist to keep you pressed against his front and you took the chance to get a good look at her.

She was dressed in a stiff pencil skirt with a gray blouse tucked into it. Her hair was in a tight bun and she wore black flats. She looked like house staff to you but you’re not sure, all you know is that she’s just as surprised to see you as you are at her. Taehyung released a deep sigh, clearly displeased, “Did I not tell you to head out early today?”

His voice was stern and authoritative, no room to argue and she looked genuinely scared like she would lose her job or something. You pulled away from Taehyung nervously but he didn’t let you get far as he kept his hold on you, waiting for the cleaning lady to leave and she did so rather quickly, not shying away from looking at you in confusion.

It wasn’t until she was scurrying out the door that you couldn’t help but laugh as you looked around, “What? Do you not have guests over often?”

“Not like you, no,” Taehyung said as he stood behind you, slipping the strap of your dress off your shoulder before placing a kiss on it, “Not as pretty.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you stared up at the large chandelier above you, “So you only bring home ugly women?”

Taehyung couldn’t help but chuckled as he slipped his hand off your shoulder to your wrist, pulling you along toward his room once more, “We’ve been over this before, I don’t have the energy nor time to deal with romantic partners, and we don’t just pick up any woman off the street and bring her to my home.”

“No,” you teased stepping into his room, “Only women you meet when they dance on you half naked.”

He smirked now, watching as you began to slip your dress off only a couple steps ahead of him walking toward his king sized bed of satin sheets. He couldn’t help but begin to remove his blazer, undoing his tie too as your dress fell at your feet. He slowly began to unbutton his shirt, unable to keep his eyes off when you bent down by the waist to undo your heels, ass in perfect display for his eyes only, “My apologies for having taste.”

Once he was fully undressed he walked straight to you, pushing you onto the bed and taking you by surprise. You quickly turned on your back using your elbows to sit up as you watched him began to crawl between your legs still fully dressed but clearly on his way to change that.

"God, your body is so fucking hot," he said in a low growl as he took in the sight of you on his bed. He’s always thought this since the second he saw you on stage and now he has you in his sheets looking at only him and he couldn’t help but allow himself to let his eyes roam down your body.

You bit your lip as you felt his hands begin to slide along your stomach toward your breasts. A small smirk came to your face as he stopped, looking straight down at the center of your breasts and once he realized, he couldn’t stop his fingers from moving. Taehyung released a small chuckle as he held the small clip that rested right between the mounds of your boobs, “Did you wear this just for me?”

“Obviously,” you said with a small moan as he tugged harshly on the clasp, quickly undoing it and your boobs practically spilled out as your bra fell. He smiled, “Like my own little present.”

Taehyung did not hesitate to dip down and place a kiss on your collarbone, hands cupping your bare tits now and holding the weight of them against his palm. You released a breathy sigh of hen he sucked harshly on your skin leaving a line of red live marks trails toward your boobs until finally he was mouthing at your left nipple, tugging at it softly with his teeth and letting out a quiet groan himself.

He’s ashamed to admit how turned on he was just at the sight of your tits in his face, he’s imagined what they look like under your lingerie but right now you’re laying bare beneath him letting him lavish you in wet and sloppy kisses.

“I need you to take this off,” You told him as he licked along your nipple and slowly began to tug at his shirt. He just smirked sitting up in his knees, “Take it off me.”

You did just that, ripping the buttons open and tugging hard enough to make his body move toward you with his lips parted, turned in by how rough you pulled on him. His eyes fell to your nimble hands as they yanked open the top button of his slacks and undid the zipper, brows scrunching together, “Hurry up.”

He let out a soft laugh at your impatience, nodding his head as he flung the shirt off and quickly got off the bed to kick his slacks off too. He stood there in his Versace briefs, dick print evident and it only made you smirk when you saw how hard he was. You couldn’t help but giggle, “Just for me?”

He picked up on your teasing tone similar to the one he used when he asked if you wore the front clip bra earlier. He brought a hand down to his dick, palm running over it, feeling the weight of his bulge, unbelievably hard, “Do you want it?”

You spread your legs even further apart, “Give it to me, Mr. Kim.”

You said the last part in a mocking tone, remembering the way his employees always referred to him as and he just big his lip, crawling back between them and dipping down to kiss you. You welcome his kiss happily, his body pressed against yours and dick snuggly between your legs rutting against your covered pussy for any sort of friction he could get. Your tongue snuck into his mouth, wet and sticky as it swirled around his and a line of drool connected the two when he pulled away from the kiss till only your tongues kissed.

“Are you going to fuck me yet or make me wait?” You asked with your arms wrapped around his neck, hips grinding against his clothed cock, “I’m already so wet for you.”

Taehyung released a low groan at your dirty words when he felt your hands slide down toward his briefs and begin to tug them down on your own accord.

“Horny girl,” he said deeply as he reached down to tug on your underwear, a tearing sound heard clearly and your na dropped in surprise but he just smirked, “I’ll design you a new pair, love, a million of them for every new set I ruin.”

“That’s a big promise, Taehyung,” you said watching him reach into the drawer in his nightstand for a condom. Taehyung just smirked, “A promise I could keep.”

Taehyung knew he should give your pussy some affection, maybe get you stretched out before he completely impaled you with his cock but as he looked down at the gap of your entrance and the way your slick pooled inside it, he wondered if you would even need it. Your lips parted in surprise at the weight of his cock sliding between your folds coating him in your arousal, teasingly grinding against you until his tip bumped into your clit, “Want my cock, pretty girl?”

His hair was all out of place and his lips swollen from how hard he bit his bottom lip, waiting for you to nod

Your hips were becoming restless, “Give it to me.”

Taehyung smirked finally taking his cock in hand and guided his tip toward your entrance and before he could even attempt to push in, your hands were pulling at his hips and with a low groan, he sank into your heat in one go. You both moaned against each other as his hips fell against yours and unable to stop himself, he laid his body flush over yours, moaning against your chest, “Oh fuck.”

He’ll be honest and say he can’t remember the last time he had the chance to be in a tight wet pussy but he does remember that it didn’t feel like this. It was probably fast and unsatisfactory, just a way for him to release whatever stress he had at the moment. This… this was all just so fucking good, the teasing that led up to this, the dancing, the lingerie, all of it.

"Please fuck me,” you breathed out as he finally began to move and you wrapped your legs around his waist only for him to bring his arms around the underside of your knees and drag your legs up toward your chest. Your pussy stretched wider in the new position as he began to thrust, cock pushing in and out of your wet cunt with low moans leaving his lips.

Your hands clawed at his back and it made his eyes roll with the burn of each scratch, veins in his arms protruding as he made sure that you didn’t move your legs from the position he put you in and fucked you in a mating press that had you releasing moan after moan, head tossed back into the pillows in complete ecstasy.

“Such a good pussy,” Taehyung licked his lips but his mouth felt so dry, fucking you hard with his dick, “Fuck baby, haven’t had pussy this good in so long.”

“Good thing it’s yours,” you moaned, as he rocked his hips into yours roughly. His back muscles tensing with each powerful thrust and he growled, “Show me then.”

You didn’t need any explanation to know what he wanted and you were a bit thankful to relieve your sore legs from this position as he rolled onto his back with you on top.

"So good," you moaned loudly, when his hand groped a handful of your ass digging his nails in with small grunts every time your thighs smacked his. If he thought you were a flexible dancer, nothing compared to the way you split your legs open for him, bouncing on his cock using him like he was just another client of yours watching you perform. He didn’t mind that one but especially now that he could touch and he didn’t hold back from lifting his hand only to smack your ass hard enough to make you whine at the pain. Your hair fell to one side and your hand rested on his chest, riding him like your life depended on it just enjoying the depth his cock went into your cunt, “You’re so big.”

“Mhm,” he moaned in agreement, it was one of his proudest achievements and it had him pushing his upper body up to sit, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and fucking up into you in this new position. Unable to hold himself back he dropped forward, your back hitting the opposite end of his bed instead of how you had originally been when your head was against the pillow. He quite literally made you switch to the other side just so he could be on top again but his hands never left your ass even as they got trapped between your body and the bed, “Am I fucking you good?”

"Mhm,” you whined softly, “I’m gonna—oh fuck, Taehyung.”

He only growled in response, drilling his cocking into you fully allowing himself to lose all sensibility and just do what he’s been wanting to do since he saw you in his lingerie—just fuck you roughly like he knew you were a slut for.

“You a slut for me?” He asked and you surprisingly nodded your head making him kiss along your neck, “Say it.”

“Wanna be your slut,” you moaned, nails scratching along his back as he just pounded the fuck out of you with his big dick, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“My slut gonna cum?” He asked in a whispered voice, feeling your legs shake and he just knew you couldn’t hold on any longer, "Cum for me then.”

“Oh my go—“ your words died in your throat when he swallowed your mouth with his, giving you the nastiest kiss you’ve ever had and just like that, the knot in your stomach came undone just as he came in his condom. He released a low growl into your mouth as he felt the flood of your release around him, pussy tightening and he physically began to shake through his orgasm.

You’re not sure how much time had passed with his cock still stuffed inside you and once the two of you both came down, he was finally pulling out of you with a tired groan, “Goddamn.”

You were both covered in sweat as he fell to your side and released a sigh, “Fuck, that was good.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, still out of breath as you attempted to sit up, “Bathroom?”

Taehyung pointed toward the door in the corner of his bedroom letting you go on your own to clean up. As you left you wondered what would happen now. Were you supposed to leave now? Was he at least going to call you an Uber or have his driver take you home? As you finished up, you decided you would ask him, you will pick up your dress and pray it wasn’t torn like your underwear and just leave with your dignity in tact.

When you stepped into the bedroom it was empty, you looked around in shock and feeling the insecurity of being completely bare after rough sex was too much to handle and you picked up your dress, wincing a little at the soreness between your legs.

Just as you were getting ready to pull the dress on, a warm hand touched your shoulder blade, moving your hair out of the way and your breath hitched. Taehyung pressed a soft kiss along your neck, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Don’t you want me to leave?” You asked looking fully convinced it was what he wanted until he hugged you from behind, hand caressing your arm until he laced your fingers together, “What I want you to do is get your pretty self back in bed.”

You couldn’t help but blush, not sure how to handle the tenderness in his voice and touch. Usually after sex the guy would barely pay you any mind, basically toss you to the side even if it was your boyfriend but Taehyung only pulled you back into bed.

“I’m cold,” you said in a soft voice, suddenly feeling a bit more pliant to get in bed with him. Taehyung just smiled as he lifted the covers, “Then come lay down and let me warm you up.”

“I didn’t expect the CEO to be soft after how hard you fucked me,” your words were blunt and yet he still smiled pulling you into his side to cuddle.

“I was just giving you what you asked for, I’m not a monster, Y/n,” as he said that he pressed a hand to your hip, rubbing the part that was sore from all the positions he had you in, “If I was too rough, just tell me.”

“Don’t worry, I liked it,” you snuggled against him, letting him sooth the pain in your muscles as you rested a head on his chest. You brought a leg up around his waist and he hugged you close, “Good, but don’t think I’m letting you leave this bed anytime soon. I want to hold you to make up for all the marks I left.”

“Fine,” you yawned against him, “I’m tired anyway.”

Hoseok could not hide the look of shock on his face the next time he saw you. You wore an expensive silver diamond necklace, “You actually did it.”

It didn’t take him long to figure out what happened, especially when you grinned teasingly, “I did, and let me just say, oh my god.”

“Oh my god what?” Jungkook asked, coming over. The club has yet to open yet so the only people around were employees and that meant you could all hang around before actually having to do anything. That’s how a bartender, a body guard, and an exotic dancer, found yourselves sitting in a private booth having a very private discussion.

All you had to do was give Jungkook the look for him to examine you curiously, eyes widening at the sight of what adorned your neck, “You screwed the rich guy?!”

You nodded, not all offended by his crass tone, knowing he was just caught off guard, “He was so… so… listen, I’m not in love but wow.”

“That good, huh?” Hoseok asked before looking at Jungkook, “I wondered if I’ve ever been good enough to brag to her friends like this after just one night.”

You gave him a feigned pitied expression, “You’re about seven figures short of being that good.”

He playfully glared at you as he said, “Money doesn’t make up for ability.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook agreed with his equally broke friend, “Quality over quantity.”

Your brows furrowed wondering if he used the phrase right but unable to create a concrete thought on it, you decided to move on, “Well I guess Taehyung just happens to be lucky enough to have both.”

“So how does this work?” Hoseok asked, deciding to just change the subject before you destroy his ego any more than you already have, “Did he just toss cash out on the counter and leave or did he stay and do all that lovey dovey shit for shits and giggles?”

Despite your two best friends being guys, you all felt extremely comfortable discussing your sex lives. When you first started working for the club you thought they were so fucking hot that you would explode right on the spot if they even looked at you… now you can only see them as friends who know way too much about your sex life and vise versa… You did not need to know about the time Jungkook got head wearing nothing but his stupid toe socks.

Taehyung didn’t throw cash at you. You had originally thought he had wanted you to leave once you were done but he went as far as pulling you back in bed and made sure you stayed till morning when he had a driver drop you off back home.

You shook your head no, “No, I didn’t leave till morning when he was getting ready to leave. He let me sleep in when he left and when I woke up a check was laying under this necklace.”

“Should I get myself a sugar mama?” Jungkook asked in all seriousness but the girl dancing on the stage was done and you wanted to practice a new dance.

You shrugged as you stood, “Good luck finding one.”

“Sir,” his secretary Jia knocked in his door lightly, “Ms. Choi is here to see you.”

It took him a second to respond as he looked at her slightly displeased. She knows by now that unless he has an appointment with her, he does not want her just storming into his building. It was very obviously too late when Yuna was letting herself in following the secretary, the familiar blonde hair tied back with a hair clip.

“Do you have an appointment?” Taehyung asked from the comfort of his desk chair. She rolled her eyes at him, “Come on Tae, since when did I need an appointment to see you?”

“Since always,” he said, not bothering to rise from behind his desk, “You just never listen.”

With a small huff in annoyance, she plopped down on his couch, “Well, I just wanted to know who the girl was last time I was here. She didn’t have an appointment either.”

Taehyung seemed to stiffen. He absolutely hated when she asked too many questions like she had the right to know. It’s been heard and he still doesn’t understand how she can’t get the hint that he’s just not interested in her. He does not care that they’re family friends. He does not care that their parents would prefer them to marry. He just does not care about her beyond a friendly view. He enjoys being her friend and he’ll always be on her side but she also needs to know her place—which isn’t next to him.

“But I was expecting her,” Taehyung said simply, not feeling the need to elaborate on what he meant.

Jia just continued like he hadn’t said anything, “Who is she anyway? I didn’t peg you as the type to like them so young.”

“A few years never hurt anyone,” Taehyung said, looking down at his phone to see you finally responded to his last text.

taehyung: I’ve got dinner plans but I’m free after. are u?

you: nope, I’ve gotta work at the club tn and u left me a bit sore :/

He couldn’t help but smirk, lip pulled between his teeth as he remembered last night. The two of you were rough, aroused from the get go and he was not able to hold back. You told him not to so in the end he didn’t and now you’re sending him a picture of a small bruise he left on your hip. He was tempted to show you the scratch mark you left on his shoulder blade from clawing at his back.

He ran his thumb across his lips, unable to stop himself from noticing the red lingerie you wore and he knew you would be performing tonight. It was late in the evening and he did have dinner plans but he’s sure he can move it around… maybe.

taehyung: tomorrow?

you: working at the restaurant till close

Jia watched him completely ignore that she was even there and it was starting to really annoy her. She knows that they’re not dating and they most likely never will but she just doesn’t get it. Does he realize how many guys think he’s lucky just for her considering him?

“So are you two dating or is she just an easy lay?” Jia couldn’t help but ask and that barely got his attention enough to glare at her.

“Careful Jia, you’re beginning to sound bitter and I hate bitter women,” Taehyung said with a deep gaze that had her biting her tongue, “Now is there anything you need or did you just come to complain?”

He looked back down to his phone as he typed back a response.

taehyung: I’ll see u before u gotta go

you: what about ur work?

taehyung: I’m boss. I can do whatever I want

“That’s all,” Jia said, plastering a forced smile on her face and rising to her feet, “Just wanted to know who the slut was.”

That made Taehyung snap, “Go ahead and walk your ass out, Jia, I don’t want you coming back here until you learn how to act.”

Taehyung will never deny how much of a classist he really was deep down. Maybe not to the extent as his friends but when he stepped into your apartment he had become very aware of your financial situation. It wasn’t a studio apartment but pretty damn close and just being in there made him feel a bit suffocated. The whole place had to be about the size of his office.

“Are you judging?” You asked, arms crossed over your chest and hip popped out just slightly. Even knowing you were giving him attitude, he couldn't help but smile and say, “Only slightly.”

He just wanted to see if he would get a reaction. You scoffed, “Well sorry not all of us were born with a silver spoon in our mouths and a lingerie empire just handed to us.”

Normally Taehyung would get annoyed if someone said that to him, he’s very aware of his privilege but it annoyed the hell out of him when his own wealthy friends would say it. Instead of getting frustrated he just shrugged, “I’m just saying, two jobs and this is all you get? I could help y’know.”

“I don’t need a handout,” you told him even if it sounded a bit hypocritical. You know he’s giving you money but that was different, it was like a job that you got to enjoy too. He was very attractive and he was really good in bed, plus he’s lavished you with gifts every day of this week and yes you’ve allowed yourself to be spoiled but for him to offer help for an apartment? Now that was a bit too much, even for you.

Taehyung only smirked as he stood in front of you now, hand sliding under the waistline of your short skirt, “Who said anything about a handout?”

You rolled your eyes even as you let him begin to kiss down your neck, “I’ve got to work in an hour.”

“Plenty of time,” he muttered against your skin, “I just want a taste anyway.”

There was something about a rich, attractive man desperate to touch you that always had you smiling. Taehyung was slowly dropping to his knees and kissing down your clothed sides, raising your shirt to move it out of his way, “And if you quit the restaurant it’ll free up a lot of time for us, you know I can give you more anyway.”

“Yeah?” You asked teasingly, “And what about when you get tired of me?”

His fingers found their way under your skirt and pulled at your underwear, a smile on his face, “Tired of this? Never.”

“Hmm, I’ll think about it,” you bit your lip as he disappeared under your skirt, placing soft kisses along your thigh getting closer and closer to your heat.

Taehyung’s hands circled to the back of your thighs, going higher and until he was groping your hurt, nose brushing against your bare pelvis leaving teasing touches that had your breath hitching. He kissed your mouth doing everything to avoid the space between your legs and you were struggling not to move away from his hold. You were standing in the middle of your living room with no back support whatsoever. Your hand snuck under your skirt to move it held a firm grip on his hair.

Just before you could hurry him along, a breathy sigh left your lips when he pressed a tentative kiss on your hood clit feeling the way it began to rise with arousal. The single kiss became two and finally his tongue was slipping between the folds to lick it directly, feeling it harden. He looked up at you from between your legs urging you to move closer to his face with his hands on your butt pushing you into him and you had to spread your legs even further to do so. Taehyung sat prettily on his knees just under you, his tongue flattening against your slit, licking up the pool of wetness you were protruding rather quickly. You had to bite back your lip to hold in a moan and his brows scrunched together in displeasure. You hissed at the feel of his nails sinking into the softness of your ass in warning, “Don’t hold back on me. I wanna hear you.”

You barely had a chance to nod your head in response when he dug his face even further into your wet cunt, tongue lapping at your slick before traveling the tip of it all the way up to your clit and flicking it a couple times, the hard nub covered in his spit. You couldn’t help but let out a louder moan as you failed to pull your hips away from the pleasure with his hands holding you in place.

Your hand tightened in his hair when his tongue curled inside your pussy traveling between your folds until he was swirling it around your hardened clit once more. He wrapped his lips around the small nub, sucking softly while his tongue continued to flick the tip of it, meaning around your clit when you pulled on his hair. You were completely soaking his chin but that did not stop Taehyung from making out with your clit, hands keeping you upright so he could eat you out to his heart’s content.

"Oh god," you moaned as he moved a little rougher now, never once easing up on your clit and mouth open as he fucked you with his tongue. Taehyung knew he was on a time limit because you had to get ready for your shit too so he was doing everything he can to make you cum soon. Your jaw went slack at the sudden rough feeling of his two front teeth just barely applying pressure to your clit teasingly and you felt your legs begin to shake. You repeated yourself, “Oh god, Tae, I’m gonn—“

He licked along your swollen folds, lighting tugging on them with his teeth, not enough to hurt but enough for you to jolt in surprise and you were damn near rutting against his face, ducking your pretty pussy into his wainting mouth.

Taehyung didn’t need a verbal sign to know you were at your breaking point, he could practically feel the way your cunt twitched and just like that, his mouth was being flooded with your released and like a starved man, he happily licked it up.

“Good girl,” he said softly but in his usual deep voice as he pressed a chaste kiss to your mound before dropping your skirt back down and caressing your thighs as he stood up.

From the look the secretary had given you, you just know she was very displeased to see you again. You’re not sure if it’s because she felt like she had a chance with Taehyung or maybe she just doesn’t think you’re good enough for her employer, but she never failed to have a scowl in her face when you walked in, this time sporting a long Prada coat that reached down to your mid-thigh.

Once again you were here and her boss failed to tell her he had an appointment with you and she’s started to realize what your relationship is with him. You just know in her head she’s saying every word she can to make you seem like a slut but frankly, you didn’t care. You were here in business today… real business.

Okay, well, still with your body but it was different today.

When you got in his office he immediately locked the door and pressed a kiss to your lips in greeting. You whined when the camera around his neck dug into your chest but he smiled as he pulled away, “Let me see.”

“Eager?” You asked, “Take this off me then.”

Taehyung didn’t hesitate to do just that. He pulled in the tie in the front and practically yank off the coat he bought you, eyes scanning your body with his usual lustful gaze.

“You know, you should make your lingerie more affordable,” you said to him as he bid his lip at the sight before him. You were wearing white today with satin ribbons and sheer lace. You put on some body shimmer too and you just looked like a little present for him to unwrap. It was another custom design for you aside from the garter belt you added for a nice touch. Taehyung just nodded as he pulled you by the hand toward the couch, “I’ll look into it.”

He directed you to lay down, a hand down your back as he moved you however he wanted you to be. Today would be a different sort of touching, he was only making you pose however he liked on the expensive couch of his. He had you on your stomach, butt slightly raised making your back arched and he framed your hair around your face perfectly. You rested a side of your face on the couch with an arm stretched out behind you and the other tucked under your chin.

He took a step back, raising the camera up for him to get a good view and that’s how it started. Taehyung looked so fucking hot as he snapped picture after picture of you in whatever pose he liked. He wore his usual white button up but it looked completely messed up. The top three buttons were undone exposing his chest, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hair a slight mess. He looked like a sleazy photographer even if he was anything but.

Remember in the beginning when he asked you to model for him and you just kept saying no? Well, there was a change of plans because now you’re in his office doing just that and modeling for him. You don’t even know how he finally convinced you because this was definitely something you weren’t used to. Obviously you were confident in yourself when it came to dancing or putting on a show for Taehyung but to have yourself photographed for others to see? That felt a bit much.

Still, he asked you and you said yes so now here you are listening to his words of assurance, “You look so good, baby.”

Of course with his words you were able to get more into it and did your own poses that had him smiling, “Such a pretty girl.”

“How many more?” You asked as you laid on your side and Taehyung took more close ups of the material. He sighed, “Almost done.”

It went on for a few more minutes till you were beginning to get fed up and Taehyung knew it.

“I’ve got something for you,” Taehyung said as the shoot came to an end and you watched him head toward his desk as you reached into your bag and changed into real clothes. You only came in the coat earlier because you knew he would like to take it off you but now that you’re done and you had work, you had to change. You watched him curiously as he came over to you with a yellow enveloped and a smile on his face. You furrowed your brows in confusion as you took the envelope and opened it.

Taehyung watched your eyes widen with a smile on his face as you skimmed the document, hearing a small jangle and turning it over to drop the last of its content into your palm.

“What’s this?”

“Papers to your new apartment,” Taehyung said as you examined the key, “It’s in your name and fully paid. I’ve signed a contract that covers all the added bills even if you and I happen to fall out.”

“Why’d you do this?” You asked as you looked at the picture of the apartment building. He shrugged, “Call me greedy but I want to spend more time with you and I want you to leave the restaurant, at least. This way you won’t have to worry about making more if I’ve covered your student debt and your housing.”

You just looked at him, unsure how to feel because this all was too much but at the same time you weren’t completely put off by it. You couldn’t comprehend why he would go as far as putting it in your name because then he won’t be able to take it away if you two end.

He didn’t expect you to be jumping in glee but your silence worried him a bit and he had to sit on the edge of the coffee table in front of you to talk, “Sign it and it’s yours, baby, if you want it.”

He handed you a pen and like before when you signed the NDA, you signed the contract wordlessly after reading through it all. He couldn’t help himself, happy to spoil someone with goods and pulled you into him with a hand behind your head and a kiss on your lips.

“You’re spoiling me too much,” you said between kisses and he only smiled.

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” He said, making you laugh softly. When you pulled away you checked the time, eyes widening, “I’ve got to get to work.”

Taehyung released a low groan in a whine, “Noooo.”

You smiled, “How else am I supposed to resign?”

That made him smile and finally, he walked you to the door, “We’ll work out a move-in day and I’ll hire a moving truck so you don’t have to lift a single finger.”

You said your goodbyes and like before he ordered his secretary to call you a cab and promised to see you tonight.

Just after you left, Taehyung called his secretary in holding a flash card in his hand, “I need you to go get these printed, I don’t care how much it costs and if they tell you they can’t fit it in, offer them more. I want these by the end of tonight.”

By late evening Taehyung had what he wanted and a worker was in to install all over his office. There were beautiful black and white photographs, high quality and with a nice depth of field with shadows in all the right places. He purposely did not include your face in a single shot per your request but at least he got to admire the pretty body of yours he gets to touch.

The one above his desk was his absolute favorite, a four foot picture of your breasts clad in the pretty white lingerie wearing his gold Cartier tiger necklace that stopped perfectly at the start of your cleavage, right between them. He looked at it proudly as it looked against the wall behind his desk, distracted by it to the point that he didn’t hear his friend storm into his office with a loud gasp.

“Holy shit,” Jimin did a full 360 as he took in the new art work in his office. Aside from the huh one he had about four others of you in various poses. One was just your arched back, another of your thighs, one with your hand grazing your side and finally, another of his favorite, a pretty view of your belly button ring where he oh so kindly wrote his signature down right next to it with a heart.

“Who’s the new model and is she single?” Jimin asked, smirk on his face as he watched his friend turn to him, clearly displeased.

Jimin wasn’t used to seeing Taehyung like this. Taehyung was always put together and never really let his emotions show. Even if there would come the rare chance when he would be in a relationship he was always private about it but not like this. Jimin has no clue who the person in the pictures was and he was unaware of the NDA you and Taehyung signed. In truth, Taehyung shouldn't even have these pictures in display for anyone who walks into his office to see but he’s not taking them down. The rules of the contract are slowly leaving his head and he’s wondering if the same is happening to you.

Taehyung looked back at the pictures adoringly, “Don’t worry about it, she’s all mine.”

::.

idk how I feel about this 😭💀um hopefully it wasn’t horrible idk man fr. also I’ll probs add more to their relationship in short drabbles

collab taglist: @reissun @piecsblog @joyjunk @kityjoonie @soniaassomething @kioski18 @thvlover7 @cherrymonlightt @nono12bnd @taebangtanbabe @softie00 @exactlygreatcoffee @taetaecatboy @hellbornsworld @taebae19 @theoddinarygirl @queenv1997 @sweet-sourhotcoco @ohsweetmimosa @taebaelove @prajusstuff @amad04 @springfall @peterstarkchrishiddleston @tae-gf @dasa3040 @xyrusty @jjkluver7 @superchamchi88 @bluebloou @eat-sleep-bts-blog1 @bluelesbiann @bachiraslvr @gloriousyouthstudent @hani0407 @ayifawn @yoongiwantsme @kimseokjinsmirror1233 @hellfire-writes

[temptress-writes]

📺 Sugar

A/N: Welcome to The Tonight Show with Harry Styles. The year is 1964, and you are his assistant. He's a bit of a shit. So this is a fun one.

C.W: sexual content: kinda rough— choking, spanking, degradation, slapping, spitting, squirting.

18+ ONLY.

***

New York City, 1964.

"Red leather, yellow leather, red leather, yellow leather."

The bright lights heated him even from behind the curtain. A warmth that coasted alongside his adrenaline. He struggled to keep his body cool underneath his designer sweater, felt his feet tapping restlessly in his leather oxfords.

This was his favourite part.

The cheers, the introduction, the attention.

You ran the lint roller over his shoulders as he sipped steaming tea from a paper cup. You made sure the collar of his plaid shirt was straight as it peeked out from his red sweater.

Another sip of steaming tea, another tongue twister.

"She sells..." You coached.

He took in a deep breath, watching you as you made sure he appeared perfect, rearranging the groomed curls on his head. Your green dress stood brightly against the black of the stage, the white cuffs of it framing your wrists as you fussed over his hair.

"She sells seashells by the seashore."

"One minute till curtain!" The stage manager yelled as he breezed by. "How're you feeling, Mr. Styles?"

"Like a million bucks, Sal!"

"That's the spirit!" Sal chuckled, running towards the side of the stage, probably chasing after an intern who wasn't doing their job properly.

"Remember, you're meeting your parents for dinner after this." You reminded, ticking off the mental to-do list that was really his. It was clogging your mind but after all, it was your job.

"I haven't forgotten." He rolled his eyes. Yes, you were his assistant, but he found you controlling at times and he had little patience for women who tried to control him. He preferred to be the one in charge.

"But you'll still find a way to be late, anyway." You stepped back with a huff. He really did make your job a living hell.

"I'm taking a refreshment in my dressing room after the show."

You scrunched up your face in disgust. Refreshment. You hated that you knew it was code for a visit from a desperate groupie. You remember when he told you how he chose which girl he liked the best. You'd been watching the audience file in and he appeared behind you, chewing gum with a confident pop of his jaw.

"Let me scope it out."

"Why?"

"Like to see who's gonna join me for a post-show soirée. See those girls?" He pointed to a group of overdressed girls, all giggling and excited for the show to start. "Bingo."

"How do you know which one to pick?"

He shot you a look, clicking his tongue. "The tits, sugar. I always pick the girl with the biggest tits."

"Ugh." You rolled your eyes. "You're disgusting."

"I'm just messin'," He tilted his head. "I'm an ass man, too."

You shuddered at the recollection.

"Yes, Mr. Styles." Your voice was laced with a seething sarcasm that he raised a brow at.

He didn't seem to conceptualise that you talked that way because that's how he talked to you. He couldn't see past his blinding, misogynistic ego.

You were purely volleying it right back at him. In hindsight, it wasn't the smartest move because you really needed this job and he had a tendency to fire staff with a snap of his jeweled fingers. He'd made the past six months hard on you and he really made your blood boil.

Who knew becoming Harry Styles' assistant would be akin to babysitting a grumpy toddler?

The Tonight Show with Harry Styles.

Hilarious with guests, a major flirt, and entertaining — even when reading out news segments.

He was well-loved by everyone. For his fun fashion statements, for his guests, his charm, his whole fantasy world on his show. Worldwide, he was adored as the most entertaining and handsome talk show host.

But you knew what happened behind the scenes.

Poised and perfect on camera, but as soon as the director called cut, you had trouble convincing yourself it wasn't a joke. People of the television world had a different sort of ego and you struggled to breathe among it all. Harry hated mingling with guests before and after the show more than he had to, he hated when the crew bothered him, he hated being approached by fans for autographs because he had a headache — or whatever excuse he was offering that day.

Don't get it twisted — he loved the attention he got from being so famous. You were surprised his head wasn't bigger. The one thing he loved most about being so popular was the fact that he could have anyone on his knees for him, be between their legs, and have them at their disposal. And he treated them like that was their only use.

The charming and cheerful Harry Styles.

Purely a falsity of a man.

The crew fled from the stage as the band started playing the introduction theme music and you swept the cup from his hand. You replaced it with two certs breath mints that he chewed on routinely.

"Wish me good luck." He demanded as you gave him a once over.

You beamed. "Break a leg."

"Thanks, sugar."

"No, like trip and fall."

His smile dropped into an unamused glare. "Oh, bite me."

The music ensued, getting louder with an abundant cheer from the live crowd, the curtain preparing to lift to reveal him. You rushed off stage, your Mary Janes clicking on the floor before nodding to Sal who gave you two thumbs up.

"Filmed before a live studio audience..."

"...All the way from Holmes Chapel, Cheshire..."

Harry took a deep breath, already bathing in the adoration he garnered from simply existing.

"...Give it up for your host, the one, the only..."

You rolled your eyes as he mouthed along with the words as they were spoken.

"...Mr. Harry Styles!"

The curtain parted and he stepped forward, his hands waving to the crowd before clasping them together as he took a small bow. He blew kisses, thanking them for coming and welcoming them. He egged on the drummer of the band while the crowd cheered for him.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!"

More cheers that he absolutely cherished and bathed in, letting them fuel his ego.

"We've got a great show for you tonight, we have special guests The Everly Brothers joining us!"

Your job while Harry was doing his magic spiel on stage was to check in with him during commercial breaks, smooth his hair, offer him mints, refill his water. Also to make sure everything was perfect for him when he wrapped up. He was extremely demanding, and while you were warned of that when you first took the job, you were still so surprised just how needy he was.

He liked ham and tomato sandwiches exactly fifteen minutes before he was put into his hair and makeup chair. He liked a cup of hot tea right before air time, alongside a few tongue twisters. He went through packets of Certs breath mints faster than you thought humanly possible. He also wanted a cup of black coffee waiting for him directly after he got off stage.

He didn't like to talk to anyone on his way to his dressing room unless it was Sal congratulating him and inflaming his already huge ego. Or security telling him about a waiting groupie in his dressing room. Or you, running over his schedule or helping him memorise his script. Well, he didn't like talking to you. He more or less answered in grunts or irritated comments.

As Harry settled in for his show post the joke segment, you ran around backstage. Ordering his coffee and one for yourself because you couldn't keep up with his demands without your own shot of caffeine. You were due within minutes to refresh him during the breed.

It really was an exciting job, aside from being a woman in a man's world. You were treated as such but you were lucky enough to be given the job in the first place. At first, you were nervous around Harry. It took him a second to warm up to you.

The first time you met was when he found you in his dressing room before a show, bent over the vanity as you watered his flowers. He thought you were there for a completely different reason and had quickly started to unbuckle his belt.

"Alright, let's make this quick."

You then spotted him in the mirror and turned with a gasp. "What are you-"

And before it could have got any more awkward, before Harry could even fully unbuckle his belt, Sal stormed in with a shocked laugh.

"Oh!" His amused gaze flickered between the two of you. "Harry, I see you've met your new assistant."

"I don't need an assistant, Sal. We've been through this. Why do you think I got rid of the last one?"

"Well, of course, you do! She's just here to help you perform at your best, Styles. Try not to scare this one off."

And while he'd probably never admit it to you, you actually were very helpful to have around. Once you'd stopped being so awkward and nervous and jittery around him, you found a dynamic that worked. One where he could be a condescending male and you could be just as snappy right back to him.

Past assistants had stuck to him like a bad smell and only irritated him. You did what was expected of you. Nothing more, nothing less. You kept your little purse stocked with certs breath mints, lint rollers and kept that fact that he fucked fans in his dressing rooms after and sometimes before shows quiet.

But after all, everyone was well aware. They even congratulated him on his sexual success. Nothing grossed you out more.

Aside from Harry being a mildly misogynistic, cocky, well-dressed thorn in your side, you loved your job. You met exciting guests whom you only dreamed of meeting. Stars you had posters of in your apartment, musicians whose vinyls you span on your turntable.

In your first week on the job, you met Santo and Johnny. They'd just finished a performance of Sugar Song and they flirted with you until you were a blushing mess.

Harry had watched the interaction, grumbling about professionalism and waiting for them to leave so he could torment you about it.

"Got the hots do ya, little sugar?"

"Kiss off, Styles."

That was the most colourful thing you'd ever said to him. The shock of it raised his brows and sent a singeing pang of arousal directly to his crotch.

There was a part of Harry that wanted to hate you. Because you were a woman bossing him around and because you got on his nerves. But the more rational part of him knew he could never hate you. You were too helpful and he'd be lying if he said you weren't one of the prettiest girls he'd ever seen. And he'd seen a lot of girls.

But he knew you were disgusted by his habits, how he slept with so many people. In his own sick way, he used it to his advantage, to keep you at arm's length. That and endless comments he knew would rile you up. And boy, did he rile you up. He'd finessed the art of it.

The show ran smoothly tonight, but by no means were you any less busy. You raced around with your clipboard tucked under your arm and two cups of coffee in either hand. You sipped on yours, grateful for the kick it gave. Harry was saying his goodnight to the crowd, his cup steaming in your left hand as you rushed to meet him.

"Thank you for spending the night with me, New York!"

His classic closing catchphrase. Cheeky and risky, but it was him and he got away with everything.

Thunderous applause overpowered the sound of your heels clicking as you turned a corner, beelining towards the stage exit. You were late. He'd be off stage by now, demanding things and barking orders like the diva he was.

As if you weren't going to hear an earful from him as it was, an intern bumped into you. The crash caused your two cups of coffee to spill all down the front of your dress. You barely noticed the burn.

"Seriously?" You seethed, holding your now empty cups out in exasperation.

"I-I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching-"

"You don't say."

You could hear Harry asking where you were and you groaned, absolutely vexed. You turned in the exact opposite direction of him and back to grab more coffee. You knew he'd especially need it tonight if he was meeting with his parents.

"What happened to you?" Sal guffawed and you rolled your eyes.

"If you see Harry, tell him that his coffee is coming."

"Bit hard getting it to him when you're wearing it."

"Not funny."

A few minutes later, you held a single coffee cup. Steaming, black. You wrapped both your hands around it, holding it steady and keeping far away from anyone who could bump you. Your dress had seen better days and the stain was obvious and uncomfortably wet.

You found your way back to his dressing room, where he'd no doubt holed himself up in to freshen up. You knocked, hoping he was alone and waiting for you before continuing on with his post-show... rituals.

"Come in!" You heard from the other side and you slipped inside quickly.

"So sorry, Mr. Styles, I had an accid- oh, my god!"

You took in the scene before you. Harry. With a girl on his knees in front of him. His jeweled fingers clenching a fistful of the girl's hair as she sucked him off. His brows were turned down in the middle but his eyes... his eyes were on you. And he was enjoying it. Enjoying the girl, and enjoying you watching.

"Alright, sugar?"

"I-" You didn't know what to say, and the girl didn't stop. You didn't know if that was her doing or if Harry was holding her down. You turned, and idiotically turned back around, taking the few steps towards him, and handed him his cup of coffee. You didn't meet his eyes, like a bumbling idiot.

You left the room, but not before hearing Harry take a hefty sip of his coffee and letting out a soft moan, "Oh, that's so good."

Vexed by his antics, and the fact that he made it his mission to throw you off like that, you signed out and went home. It was as vulnerable as you'd ever seen him and you felt an odd sense of jealously wash over you. Maybe you were jealous of past you, because she hadn't witnessed it. Or maybe there was a bit of jealousy there because you wanted to be the one on your knees for him.

As delightful as the thought was for a margin of a second, you felt ill knowing you'd be another Harry Styles groupie. And it would make your job more difficult which you didn't think was even possible.

But you couldn't stop thinking about it for the rest of the night. His blissful expression, the way he directed it at you as opposed to the mouth wrapped around him. He had told you to enter his dressing room so that you could see it.

The next night, you planned on fully avoiding him and pretending the whole thing never happened. Which was hard considering, you know, you were to follow him around and listen to his demands. And especially hard because you just wished he'd command you onto your knees already.

Sure, you found him extremely attractive — everyone did. You may have even had a little crush when you first met him. But then you got to know him, and his habits and his ways. Last night grossed you out just as much as it turned you on. You felt so thrown off and now you weren't sure how to act around him.

You arrived at the studio not too long before showtime, Harry's cup of tea in hand. You were a little bit late today but you figured he could survive fifteen minutes without you. He was in hair and wardrobe, getting his curls perfected and his forehead powered.

He sat in the chair with his legs spread, a pair of black dress pants and a white singlet, his inked arms on display. You focused on staying professional and met his eyes for a brief moment as you greeted him and handed him his cup of tea. No milk, and don't be shy with the honey, he'd told you when you first started.

His eyes scanned your attire, a pink dress with long sleeves but a shorter hem than usual, he noticed. He didn't hate having to look at your legs, your plump thighs, and the intrigue of what was between them ran rampant in his thoughts.

You had a soft yellow ribbon in your hair, keeping it swept away from your face in a high ponytail. He clenched his jaw, wishing it was his hand fisting your hair. He'd tie your hands up with the ribbon so you'd have to behave for him.

"Thanks. Dig pink on ya." He took a sip, his eyes full with mischief as he watched you over the rim of his cup. "Enjoy the show last night?"

You knew he was referring to you seeing him get blown by some random groupie so you ignored him, looking at your clipboard. "So Sal wants to see you in five, and we're reconfiguring some set pieces before airtime. So be on stage straight after you've seen him, okay?"

The hairstylist finished up, and you were left alone with him in the room. You were a lot stiffer tonight, more reserved than usual and he picked up on it right away. You raised a brow, wondering if he'd heard a single word you said.

He smirked. "Why did you come in last night? You know I have post-show celebrations in my dressing room."

"I was bringing you coffee! You told me to come in!" This man was exasperating. He knew that he'd asked you for coffee and told you to enter his dressing room after you'd knocked. He wanted you to see and now he was just winding you up.

He raised a brow. "Did I?"

"Five minutes." You reaffirmed. You tried to hide the way that his tone crept down your spine in slow, hot trickles.

He sat up in the chair, his hand reaching to cup the back of your lower thigh. You stopped breathing at the sudden touch and he pulled you towards him. His gaze was searing on yours, his eyes wondering and daring.

"You wanted to stay, didn't you? Watch me get my dick sucked while I watched you."

"No, I didn't." You whispered, letting him pull you forward until you were standing between his spread legs.

"No?"

"No." Even you weren't convinced by your answer.

"Hmm... you wanted to be the one on your knees for me. Is that it?"

You took a deep, shaky breath. His question fired something off in your brain. A realisation perhaps. You did want to be on your knees for him, being the reason for his pleasure, be at his command, make him feel good, make him fucking fall apart because of you.

"So pretty in this tiny fuckin' dress." He cooed. His hand came up, cupping your cheek. Your eyeshadow was a pretty soft blue and he adored it. His fingers trailed down, tracing your lower lip. "You'd look so perfect with my cock in your mouth."

You couldn't even suppress the whimper that ensued. Did you thank him? Slap him? Get on your knees and prove his point?

He didn't seem fazed by the fact that you weren't saying much. You were responding to him in other ways. Leaning right into him with your eyes lulled, your hands resting on his broad shoulders. Your chest heaving beneath that fucking pink dress. You were driving him crazy with how badly he wanted you.

The night before had been his own sick little test. Either, you'd be game, or you'd pull away from him completely. Regardless, he'd know where you stood and accept all that accompanied him. He knew how fucked up it was but you really seemed to enjoy the game.

His other hand squeezed the back of your thigh, inching higher. "What colour are your panties?"

You gasped at the question, so turned on by him and how bold he was. It used to scare you, but now being on the receiving end was a completely different ballpark.

"Blue." You breathed out.

"What shade of blue?" He pressed on. "Like your eyeshadow?"

You twisted your lips in thought. "Do you want to see?"

Harry released a shocked laugh, but his mind was fucking reeling. Did you really just ask if he wanted to see your panties?

"A peek couldn't hurt."

He gripped your hips and lifted you up onto the vanity behind you. You were shocked that he could lift you so effortlessly and smoothly. You crossed your legs, more to tease him than anything else. Your expression was sultry, and he felt lightheaded at the sight of you. Slowly, you unfolded your legs but didn't open them.

"Don't be shy, sugar. Show me and I'll make it up to you."

You let out a slow exhale, mustering up all of your courage. You were shaking, but it wasn't nerves. He had you so worked up and he had barely done anything. He'd riled you up and talked to you, and you were already fucking saturated.

Your legs parted, feet resting on either side of his thighs on the chair. Harry's eyes stayed on yours, his hands reaching to slide up your thighs, pushing the hem of your pink press up so he could get a good view of you, finally looking down.

And what a fucking view it was. Your thighs were soft, and he let his hands squeeze at them. Sky blue lace covered the area he'd been dreaming about for six months. He let out a soft groan and let his fingertip brush over the skin where your abdomen met the panties.

"Lace? Did you wear these for me?"

"I had you in mind."

"Naughty girl." He smirked, shuffling forward. His thumb brushed over your clothed clit and you let out a whimper, biting your lip to quell anything louder than might to escape. "Can I taste you? Please? Been wantin' to for months."

You nodded, your mouth dry. You'd let this man do anything to you, and hearing him tell you he'd been wanting this for months left you in a frenzy.

"Words, sugar. Let's hear 'em."

"Please," You whispered. "taste me."

"Good girl, that's it." He pulled your panties to the side, desperate to see you and taste you. You were glistening, so wet and plump for him. He sighed, running his thumb along your clit before venturing between your folds to feel how wet you were. Your thighs jolted as he slipped his thumb to collect your excitement and spread it up to your clit.

"Why are you so wet, hm?" He wondered aloud, his eyes meeting yours again.

"Because of you, Harry."

"Me?" Cocky little shit.

"Mm."

"Are you always this wet for me, sugar?"

You hesitated, not sure if you wanted to give him this. He would never forget it, probably remind you that he knew every day. Probably slip his hand up your dress just to appease his own curiosity.

"Only when you're nice to me."

"But you like me mean, don't you?"

"You're an asshole."

"Gets you wet, though."

Abruptly, as if impatient, he lowered his head and attached his mouth to your clit. The scorching heat of it was intense, and you grabbed a fistful of his freshly tamed curls to hold him to you.

His tongue ran over your entirety. From your entrance right back up to your clit, tasting you fully as his mouth closed around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You threw your head back, rolling your cunt towards his face as he softly ate you with a passion that had you shaking.

Before anything more could occur, Sal knocked on the door, demanding that Harry meet with him. He knew better than to enter any room that was hidden behind a closed door when it came to Harry. But if he'd known it was you behind that door with him, that would be another issue entirely.

You shot up, pushing him out of the way and righting your dress. You were tingling and you could still feel his tongue between your legs. His eyes were dark as he watched you from his seat, amused by your fumbling.

"Go before Sal comes back." You were flustered, your body felt electric and all he'd given you was his mouth for what — ten seconds?

He was too relaxed, and it only pissed you off further. He stood, sauntering towards you to press you against the vanity. His hand cupped your jaw, his rings kissing your skin.

"Funny that you're making demands when I'm the boss."

You breathed heavily, unsure of how to reply so you just held eye contact with him. Your lips parted as his head tilted, inching closer. His hand loosened, melting to your cheek so he could rub it with his thumb.

"Who's in charge, hm?"

"You are."

"That's right." He crooned, his lips brushing yours. "And who's gonna give you his cock later?"

The air was stripped from your lungs, the depth behind his question clear. Would you submit to him? Venture into this connection you had with him? You got on each other's nerves but fuck if there wasn't the most incredible sexual tension between you.

"You are, Harry."

He hummed, gripping your hand and bringing it down to cup his cock. He was hard, and pulsed in your hand when you gave him a squeeze. You just about crumbled when he moaned, his eyes lulling as you did it again. Harder.

"There's my good girl."

Sal knocked again, clearly impatient tonight. Harry smirked and could feel his lips curl against yours before he pulled away. He left the room with a confident strut while you were left shaking. You took a second to catch your breath, willing the arousal between your legs to simmer down before heading back out towards the stage.

You grabbed your purse and kept busy doing your job while Harry caught up with Sal. He was doted over, like always, and Sal told him how his viewings were skyrocketing. After he'd finished up his tasks on stage, he was whisked back to wardrobe so he could be styled.

Because Harry was busy chatting with tonight's guest and getting ready, all you had to do was wait for him to come to you. You peeked through the curtains at the set. The audience was being brought in and you were watching the seats fill from the side of the stage.

A piercing whistle sounded out from behind you and you twirled on the spot. He looked phenomenal. His suit was a sky blue, not too dissimilar to the shade of your panties. His shirt was a crisp white, his chain peeking through where it was unbuttoned, sat between his pecs and the light dusting of hair.

His eyes looked greener when he was dressed in blue, his lips more raspberry. He approached you and your eyes flew down to his shiny black oxfords.

"Whaddya think huh?" He spun on his heels, showing off. "Matchin'."

"Blue suits you."

"Suits you, too." Harry winked, standing close to you before nodding towards the audience. "How's it looking out there?"

Was he... trying to make casual conversation? After his face was between your thighs and all the talk that proceeded it? "Full house, like always. Did you... was that on purpose?"

"What?"

"The blue suit."

"Why else would I ask what colour your panties were, hm?"

"Because you're nosy."

"You know... every time you insult me, I get hard."

"Good thing I have plenty of them, then."

"Come on," He pressed you tight against the wall. "Gimme another one."

"Prick."

He chuckled, amused by how freely you were cursing. "That all you got?"

"You're the cockiest son a bitch I've ever met." You breathed out. His hands pressed to the wall on either side of your head, caging you in.

"Alright." He was crowding your space, the spicy-sweet vanilla of his cologne clouding your senses. He checked to see if anyone was around before clicking his tongue. "Take your panties off."

"What?" You were well aware that any crew member could walk by, and you weren't about to be caught slipping your panties down your legs.

"You heard me. Just lemme hold onto 'em until the show's over."

"Are you bent? I'm not giving you my panties. I need them and someone could walk by at any moment."

"Mellow out, no one's gonna see."

You deliberated in your head, genuinely considering it. His head tilted to the side, gauging your thoughts. This was so... exhilarating. Exciting. You were so out of it for him, and glad that you finally both agreed on something. You were both attracted to each other physically and that was about it.

Fuck it. Your hands reached beneath your dress, and Harry took a step back to give you room, keeping a lookout. You stepped out of those pretty little panties and held them out to him on your index finger. He snatched them up, eyeing how delicate they looked in his hand.

"Far out." He laughed, in shock that you actually did it.

You were a bundle of surprises tonight. He was throwing stuff at you that was pretty out there and you were throwing it right back. Sweet little sugar had a little more spice than he had anticipated.

"Cheers, sugar." He twirled them around on his finger and you slapped his shoulder.

"Don't just wave them around!" You hissed, looking around to make sure no one had seen the whole interaction.

Harry shoved them in his pants pocket and you smoothed out the bump they left, always a perfectionist. The guest of the night turned the corner and almost bumped into the two of you. You jumped apart, letting Harry chat to the guest on his own. He rarely enjoyed it and you looked back to see the subtle hints of irritation on his face. You knew he'd flash that charming smile and those adorable dimples as soon as the cameras came on.

With only a few minutes until the show was due to start, you bumbled around and made sure everything was perfect for him. You were very aware of the fact that you didn't have your panties on, and with your dress being shorter than usual, you had to be careful.

Sal breezed past you, beelining towards Harry and the guest with a huge grin. He greeted them loudly and you did your part by waiting to the side for further instruction. The guest was led to their spot for showtime, one of the stage managers with them to keep them entertained and to give their cues. Harry shook Sal's hand, hearing Sal's usual encouraging words before making his way towards you.

"Feeling okay?" You checked in, handing him a couple of Certs breath mints. You walked side by side towards center stage, and he wasn't shy about his stare on you. It felt different — the air around you. Usually filled with annoyance, was something else. Hotter, dreamier, sensual.

"Snazzy." He nodded, chucking the mints into his mouth. "Little foreplay always gets me goin'."

You huffed out a breath at his response, resisting the urge to retort something cheeky as the stagehand came to run through the show one more time. You righted his outfit, his eyes not leaving you as you made sure he looked smooth and perfect.

As the stagehand left, you grabbed your round brush from your purse and went over his curls. You began adding a little volume while he hummed and oohed and aahed to exercise and prepare his voice.

"You know New York..." You guided.

"You know New York, you need New York, you know you need unique New York."

"Again."

He sighed, closing his eyes so he could focus. "You know New York, you need New York, you know you need unique New York."

"Lesser leather..." You hinted at another tongue twister. You ran the lint roller across the lapels of his suit jacket and over his shoulders, catching his eyes and not missing the glint in them. "...never weathered..."

"It's funny," He smirked. "you're a tongue twister master right now, but you won't be able to say your own name by the time I'm done with you later."

"Oh my-"

"Yeah, I'm gonna fuckin' ruin you."

"One minute till curtain, everyone!" Sal's voice boomed. "Look alive, look alive!"

The crowd was roaring with applause as the show began, but all you could hear was your pulse in your ears as your heart thudded in your chest. Harry, who usually thrived off of the cheers, was only focused on you. On your sweet voice asking if he wanted to see your panties, on your feisty insults.

"Filmed before a live studio audience..."

You called him a cocky son of a bitch and all he could think about was bending you over his knee and seeing how much shit you talked while his hand was marking your ass with its imprint.

Everyone fled the stage, but you were stood completely still in front of him. Frozen.

"Harry..."

His lips brushed yours again and your ears started ringing.

"...All the way from Holmes Chapel, Cheshire..."

"Look at you," He crooned. "Runnin' round with no panties with that pretty ribbon in your hair. Dirty little thing, aren't you, sugar?"

You could feel how slick you were between your thighs and your eyes fluttered as his hand ventured beneath your skirt from behind, cupping your ass cheek with a strong hand before venturing further. His fingertips found your cunt and you almost collapsed against him.

He hummed lowly, rumbling in his chest. He pulled his hand away, very aware that the curtain was close to pulling up. He held his index and middle fingers in front of you, glistening with your arousal, and ran them along your lower lip.

You didn't even hesitate to suck his fingers into your mouth, not losing eye contact. Harry's brows turned down, his mouth dropping as he drawled out a slow fuuuck. And then he kissed you. It was messy and wet and quick. His lips were so soft against your own before he sucked deftly on your tongue, tasting you and your cunt at the same time.

"...Give it up for your host, the one, the only..."

"Fuck, can we cancel the show?" He growled, holding you to him with a grip on the nape of your neck.

"N-No. I have to go."

"...Mr. Harry Styles!"

You fled from the stage, walking backwards, not wanting to take your eyes off him. His expression was one of longing, his eyes not leaving you either. The curtain lifted, igniting him in the warmth of the stage lighting and the eruption of cheers.

He turned and faced the crowd, waving and blowing kisses. His smile was dazzling, and his blue suit was celestial under the bright glow. He was wrapped in success and adoration. You could see it radiating off him as he found centre stage and bowed.

"Good evening, New York!" He waited for applaud to finish. "How are we?"

You rounded the backstage area, checking in with crew and chatting to the guest.

"Can I just say..." Harry continued, clasping his hands together. "you look ravishing tonight, New York." More praise from the audience. "It's true, you do."

You rolled your eyes at the excited yells and cheers from the crowd. You watched him in a totally new light tonight. He was on a level that no one could reach. He was born to be on stage, to entertain.

He introduced the guest and brought them onstage, talking about their upcoming music and chatting them up. During the commercial breaks you checked in with the guest, and made sure Harry's appearance was on point.

His eyes were on you the whole time, and you could see him fighting the urge to make some kind of questionable comment. His eyes veered south and stayed on where the hem of your dress brushed your thighs.

"Need anything else?" You asked him politely, aware of the audiences stare on your back.

"I won't need coffee tonight." He educated softly and you nodded.

"We're back in fifteen seconds." The cameraman alerted and you gathered your things and went to leave. The guest was busy fixing their hair with the stylist. Harry's hand on your wrist stopped you, pulling you back.

"Actually, there is one more thing." He back peddled, and you raised an expectant brow, leaning in close to hear him. "Stay right over there, okay? Wanna be able to see you."

He pointed to a spot off stage, where only guests and select members of crew like Sal or the director were allowed to stand during air time. And he wanted you there. So he could look over and see you and know you were watching.

"I- Yeah, okay."

You rushed off stage, standing exactly where he told you to. He watched you right until the advertisement break ended.

"And we're back in three... two... one..."

His eyes switched back to the camera, his expression slipping into the charm that came so naturally to him once he was live on air.

He was a star. Delightful and eccentric and unapologetic.

He exchanged more jokes with the guest, who as an up and coming musician, was gearing up for their performance. You stayed to watch the show exactly where Harry wanted you, and you were pleased that you didn't get any slack from Sal. You rarely got to actually enjoy the show like this, and in a way, it felt like Harry had done you a favour.

His eyes often flicked to you after he'd told a joke or said something cheeky. Like he was directed it at you, or maybe he was checking to see if you found him as funny as the crowd did. When you didn't laugh as hard as he thought the joke deserved, he'd try extra hard to get you to laugh at the following one.

It was odd that he was trying to seek validation from you when he had millions at his feet.

As the show wrapped up, you couldn't have applauded him louder. You were proud, you felt giddy and bubbly inside. He was born for this, there was no denying it.

And then there was the realisation of what was to come once the show had finished. You became nervous. And insanely wet. The anticipation rattled yet excited you and you weren't sure what to make of it.

You rounded towards his exit, a crowd of crew and groupies waiting for him. He came to you first, as you were closest. He shot polite smiles to everyone but his attention was on you.

"How'd I do?"

"Phenomenal."

"Did you like my jokes?"

You side-eyed a few people waiting for a shred of his attention and felt the need to rush this interaction between you along. You didn't want to raise suspicions and you also didn't want to take away any attention he could be giving to these people who were clearly waiting for him.

"My tummy laughs from hurting so much." You whispered. His grin was contagious, dimples and his bunny teeth on full display. His eyes were warm as he stared down at you.

"Really?"

"Mhm."

A throat cleared behind you and Harry looked up to shoot them a reassuring wink and then looked back at you. "Wait for me in my dressing room."

It was an order, even with the softness in his tone. You licked your lips, not missing when his eyes caught it. You backed away, slowly pulling your ribbon out of your hair. His jaw clenched as your hair fell free.

"Yes, Mr. Styles. Right away."

His dressing room felt alien to you as you slipped inside, a familiar place with such a different atmosphere now. How quickly the dynamic had changed between you was dizzying. You always knew you were attracted to him, but you never thought you'd act on it.

And you certainly never thought he'd have his mouth on your cunt minutes before a show.

How long were you meant to wait? You checked your appearance in the mirror, your cheeks flushed with excitement. Your dress was pristine, as was your makeup and you wondered how long that would last.

You were riffling through Harry's pile of books when he came in. Your spine straightened, every nerve tingling. He closed the door behind him, leaning back against it.

His gaze was one that had you clenching your thighs together. An intimidating hunger, a deep lust. His eyes were dark, void of the bright glint they usually offered. He didn't say anything and that only made the tension thicker.

And then he locked the door with a click.

He took one single step towards you and you inhaled a sharp breath at the slow, torturous pace of it. Like he was taunting and teasing you. He shoved one hand in his pocket, the other reaching up. He gripped his lower lip between his thumb and index finger, his eyes finding your feet in your Mary Janes and trailing up your legs.

He was slow with that as well as if to keep you on your toes. He had always been so rushed and spontaneous with a lot of what he did. But this.... this he'd been thinking about for a long time. He'd had months to plan this through.

Plan how he was going to play with you, make you beg for him, make you feel good.

He really enjoyed the secrecy of it. And all that would come after. He liked the idea of meeting your eyes at work, both of you exchanging knowing looks because you both knew what it took to pleasure each other.

Fuck. His sex life wasn't complicated. He fucked fans because the likelihood of seeing them ever again was slim. But you were close to home, dangerously so. He saw you all the time. And somehow that just made him want you even more.

He produced your panties from his pocket and came to stand in front of you.

"Now," He began, lowering his head to meet your eyes. "are you going to need help keeping quiet?"

He fucking knew he'd have you screaming for him. He was just being precautious, knowing that on the other side of the door, the studio was littered with crew members.

You shook your head. "No."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't think you're that good."

He rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek, huffing out a humourless laugh before pocketing your panties again. You were so snappy and cheeky with him and he'd be lying if he said it didn't make his dick so fucking hard in his pants. You were winding him up. Trying to poke at him and provoke him. Well, it was fucking working.

"Oh, you don't think so?"

"I think that's why your ego's as big as it is. Because you can't fuck."

He did what he wanted to do earlier that day; he grabbed your hair in his fist. You gasped through a surprised smile, and he brought you close until you were pressed against him.

"What did I tell you?" His voice was low, thick with arousal. You'd never heard his voice that deep and you felt it between your legs. "Hm?"

"That you won't need coffee tonight?"

He gripped your hair harder and his cock throbbed when you smiled.

"I told you," His eyes were burning. "that I'm going to ruin you."

The way he pronounced every word was electrifying. As if he was really trying to get his message across. How was this the same man that had asked if you laughed at his jokes after his show?

You flicked your tongue against his lower lip. "Do your worst."

His kiss was far harsher this time. Still just as messy, and you figured that was just how he liked it. He wasn't shy about it. He used his teeth, nibbling on your lower lip, biting on your tongue. He used his free hand to fist your dress at the small of your back.

You were pressed tight against him and fuck, he was so hard for you. Even through his pants, you were impressed with his size. You wanted to feel more, experience him fully. You didn't have all the time in the world, locked away in his dressing room. You were both painfully aware.

He pushed you back, landing you in the chair next to the vanity. He stripped off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. You watched as he pushed your dress out of the way, clearly annoyed that the fabric was disrupting him from his goal. Your center was still so wet for him and he couldn't even suppress the low grown at the sight.

"Pretty little pussy," He gripped your inner thighs, holding them apart. "still so fucking drenched for me. You enjoyed watching me onstage tonight, didn't you? Hearing everyone fawn over me but you know you're the one I want."

"I want you, too. So bad, please fuck me." You whined, your hips rocking up restlessly.

"I wanna have a play first."

"Fuck, please just-"

He spat directly between your legs, coating your pussy in his spit. His eyes flickered up to the clock on the wall before he attached his mouth to you with a deep moan. He licked along your entrance and then right up to the sensitive bundle of nerves, fully tasting you again.

He dipped his tongue inside you, fucking you with it before pulling away with a pop and sucking your clit back into his mouth. He trapped it between his teeth and flicked and twirled delicious patterns against it that had your muscles clenching.

He ate you as if he enjoyed it more than you did. He targeted your clit perfectly, able to read your body and its responses so well.

He held eye contact while had his mouth on your cunt, burying his face against you like he couldn't get close enough. Your legs shook on either side of his head, and he kept them spread with his wide hands. You could feel how cold his rings were against your skin.

Your hands reached down, tangling themselves into his curls. You held him against you, his mouth so scorching on you that you felt lightheaded with the tingling heat.

He pulled away momentarily, slipping his index and middle finger in his mouth, all the way until he drew back so teeth were peeling off his rings. He grabbed your hand, taking two of your fingers one by one and replacing the rings on them. They were huge on you but you admired how his jewelry looked on you, the ones he wore while he was on air. Glistening and extravagant.

Now he'd removed them so he could feel you properly.

Deciding that you were wet enough, he ran the pads of his fingers along your entrance. They veered up, circling your clit slowly before heading south again. You cried out softly as his fingers slipped inside you. It was an exquisite sensation and you stared down at him in wonder, mouth agape as you moaned out.

He curled them up, your spine melting as they pressed against a spot inside of you that had before now never been discovered. It was a blinding pressure, tight and full and so fucking good.

Harry smirked at the apparent shock on your face before he moved his fingers, curling them against your g-spot. As he found a rhythm, he brought his mouth back to your clit.

You arched your back, gasping for air as he worked you. He pumped his fingers hard, bringing you higher and higher to an elevation you'd never known. His mouth left your clit and before you could complain at the loss, he was spitting on it once more before giving it a mild slap with his free hand.

You screamed out, not expecting the harshness to feel that enticing. You were being far too loud for him to continue this comfortably. He didn't want anyone to interrupt and moreover, he didn't want you to get in trouble. He wanted to make you come over and over without a care in the world.

The same hand that slapped you retrieved your panties from his pocket before he shoved the lace into your mouth.

If you weren't so blissed out, you may have even be shocked by it. But at that moment, it was so hot and dirty. You trusted him to know best and look after you.

His fingers pulsed against your g-spot and you felt an intensity building in your abdomen and you rolled your hips towards his face. His mouth was relentless on your clit, desperate to get you zoned out with pleasure.

Your walls clenched and ballooned around his fingers and he pulled away, his eyes on you. They were full of lust and hunger, piercing right through you.

"Eyes on me sugar, don't look away." He wanted to watch you. To stare into your eyes, to see your orgasm shatter you.

He pumped his fingers, his pace blinding. He knew exactly what he was doing, knew exactly what to do to get you there. He grunted with the exertion, the tendons in his arm flexing and bulging with how hard he worked you.

And then he smirked, almost pleased with himself. "Have you ever squirted before?"

With your mouth full of lace, you weren't able to verbally answer. You shook your head and he thought the confused frown on your face was fucking adorable.

Before you could even think about what he was asking, the most euphoric explosion of bliss rocked through you. You cried out into the lace, your entire body shaking as you came harder than you ever had before. It was fucking annihilating. You did as you were told, your eyes not leaving his. It was hard, of course. You wanted to shut your eyes and bask in the hot sensation that was taking over every nerve in your body.

But he wanted to watch you. And he wanted you to see the burst of fluid that erupted from your cunt, past his fingers. "Thaaat's it. Good fucking girl, come all over my fingers. Just like that."

You writhed in the chair, grateful for his grip on you. You didn't stop shaking, tremors of pleasure rocking you. He helped you as you came down, your chest heaving and your body trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You didn't think it was possible for you to come that way, and you could feel yourself becoming addicted to him.

Harry stood, his hand running up and down your thighs, squeezing them. He removed your panties from your mouth, leaning down to kiss you deeply. You blushed as you tasted yourself on his tongue and curiously ran a hand between your legs to feel the aftermath of your orgasm.

He watched, thinking it was so hot to see your fingers venture between your folds and along your dripping thighs.

"Feel nice?" He hummed, chuckling at your curious expression.

"So nice, I've never... I didn't think I could do that."

"You got me all wet, messy girl." He smiled, kissing you again.

He stood and helped you out of your dress, peeling off your bra so he could play with your tits. He sucked and bit at your nipples, feeling the fullness of your breasts in his palm.

"You're delicious all over, sugar." He admired your fully naked body. "Can't wait to feel you properly. See what that tight little cunt feels like around my cock."

He palmed himself as he spoke, so desperate to feel you. His expression was one of lustful longing, and you could feel it resonate between your legs as if you hadn't just had an earth-shattering climax.

"Take your clothes off." You whined, going to sit up and pouting when he stopped you.

He started to unbutton his shirt, revealing the white singlet underneath. "Stay just like that. Wanna give you my cock while you're sitting in my chair."

The chair where he sat before every show. Reciting jokes in the mirror while his hair was fussed over. The vanity where he'd first seen you, bent over it watering his flowers.

He got rid of his shirt, clearly impatient. He peeled off the white singlet too and you could have drooled at the sight of him. His broad torso and shoulders, his toned tummy, his strong pecs. The ink decorating him. Fuck, you probably did drool.

He caught the leg of the chair on his foot and dragged you closer, undoing his pants at the same time. You shifted forward, your hand reaching out to boldly cup his cock. He groaned, lulling his head back on his neck. His hand came over yours and urged you to squeeze him harder.

"You're so hard." You mewled, humming as he watched you feel him. His jaw dropped as you moved your hand expertly.

"I've been hard for you all night."

He was hyper-aware of the position you were both in and that you were on limited time. The studio was due to lock up soon, left only to after-hours security and the cleaners.

You leaned closer, pulling his pants down with his help. You ran your lips along his length over his briefs, letting your tongue flick out. He could feel the heat of your mouth seep through the material and he was losing his mind over the fact that only his briefs separated your mouth from his cock.

You peered up at him through your lashes, grabbing the band of his underwear to pull them down. You'd always been so reserved and controlled but the look on your face when you finally saw his cock had him fucking spiraling. Intimidation, thirst, determination.

With his pants and briefs pooled at his ankles, he guided you to take a hold of him. You obeyed, wanting to please him just as much as he pleased you. You pumped him slowly in your hand, loving how he felt in your fist.

"Your cock is so..."

Harry laughed, cupping your cheek and staring down at you expectantly. "What?"

"Pretty." It wasn't the word you were going for, but it wasn't the wrong word, either. He had a gorgeous cock, so thick and long. It was silky and hot and pulsed in your hand. You were impressed and intrigued.

"Pretty?" His voice was so soft as he regarded you.

"Yeah."

Pretty. He could deal with pretty. His thumb trailed across your lips. "Mm, and how's it taste?"

You pulled away marginally, grabbing his free hand and urging him to grab your hair in his tight first once more. You laid out your tongue and licked the tip of his dick, glistening with precum. You hummed at his taste and took him deeper, using your hand to spread your spit down his shaft.

Harry moaned deeply, taking a solid step forward so that you took more of him past your lips.

"Swallow me."

"Make me."

He narrowed his eyes at you, watching as you opened wide and held still, waiting for him to make you take it. With his hold on your hair, he guided you to swallow his cock. You were able to take about half, your hand working what you couldn't yet fit.

But he was helping you, not pushing you too far but doing it inch by inch. Your eyes began to water and you gagged when he pushed in deep. Your other hand was pressed against his thigh to keep yourself steady.

"Good girl." He praised, his voice low. "Take my cock so fucking well, don't you?"

He couldn't wrap his head around what was happening. He'd imagined this day far too many times to count, and it was always blurred by the unpleasant dynamic you two shared. But here you were, sucking him off after he'd made you explode around his fingers.

You loved having him down your throat. You enjoyed the challenge. He was so big and when you were able to take all of him, it was a feeling of satisfaction. He held you down until you were choking and your nose was buried in the hair around the base of his cock.

He wiped a tiny bit of smudged mascara from under your eye, admiring the blue of your eyeshadow and the colour of your lips as they wrapped around his cock. Fuck, he needed to be inside you. He was desperate for it.

He slipped you back onto the chair, angling you so that you were open to him. It happened so quickly and your mind was reeling at the sudden change. He was in full control and had no issue putting you where he wanted you. And you trusted him. He was so arrogant and you wanted to see if his bite was just as harsh as his bite. Considering the wet mess you'd made, it definitely was.

"Fuck, can't wait to feel you properly." He sighed, grabbing his cock at the base and running his tip between your legs.

Your gripped his arms, absentmindedly smoothing your fingers over some of his tattoos. "Beg me."

"What?" He raised a brow, his tone perplexed.

"Beg me to let you fuck me. You're an asshole, tell me you're sorry and beg me. Then I'll let you fuck me."

You didn't miss the way his cock throbbed when you called him an asshole, the flex in his jaw as he took in your words. Beg? Apologise?

He scoffed. "That's cute. As if you don't get so fucking wet when I'm an asshole to you. Just like how hard I get when you call me shit like that with that filthy mouth of yours."

You rolled your hips up, gripping his hip to pull him closer to you. "Please, baby. I wanna hear you beg."

The very tip of him slipped inside of you and you both moaned at the sensation. You were so wet and tight and he knew he could step forward and be inside you fully. But the expectant look you were giving him stopped him.

He gripped your throat, leaning down so he could bend over you. He gritted his teeth, his eyes hard on yours. "Please let me fuck you, sugar. Get you gushing on my cock over and over, fuckin' drown in your wet little pussy."

"Are you going to be nice?"

"But it's better when I'm mean." He crooned. "I'll make you take my cock, fuck you so hard, and won't stop until you cry."

Your eyes fluttered as he inched forward a little, sliding himself in further. The head of his cock was so snug inside of you and the way he stretched you had your toes curling. You brought your legs higher, hitching them up to his sides.

"Please," You mewled.

"Tell me, sugar." He needed to hear you say it. "Tell me you want me to fuck this dreamy cunt."

"Fuck me, Harry. Please."

"Hard?"

"Hard."

His hand tightened around your throat as he rolled his hips forward. He stretched you, so fucking big that he had to take his time to push past your tightness. His gaze narrowed as he pressed in tight, his hips flush against you. As he became fully buried inside of you, your vision tunneled on him and him only. On how good he felt, how his eyes were trained on yours.

He'd thought about what you'd look like stuffed full of his cock but he could never have imagined you being this perfect. Whimpering and moaning so fucking sweet while his hand was wrapped around your throat.

"Please move." You begged, feeling so overwhelmed with him being so thick inside of you but not moving.

He slowly retracted his hips, your pussy trembling to keep him there. He slowly pushed his hips forward again, groaning lowly as you clenched around him. He started out slow as first, wanting to ease you into it, his hands holding onto your sides. But you were desperate.

"You call that hard, baby?"

He shook his head, smiling at the bite in your tone. "You sure you can handle it?"

"What did I tell you about that ego of yours-"

He growled, seeing that you were toying with him again. He didn't want you to have the upper hand. So he started fucking you. Hard and relentless and strong. You cried out at his strength, his cock pumping against your g-spot so perfectly.

"Fuck yes, take my cock. Good fucking girl."

It was electrical. You were saturated from your orgasm he'd given you, he hit so deep, pushing against your front wall. He gripped your breasts, admiring as they bounced while he fucked you. He spat on them, unashamed in his desires to be so fucking dirty with you.

"Love your tits." He grunted. "Let me fuck them one day, sugar. Wanna see them fuckin' dripping in my cum."

"Yes, take whatever you want." You gasped.

You'd let him. He was cheeky and an asshole but he fucked you far better than anyone else ever could and he was just getting started. And you could find ways to keep his mouth busy when it started spouting nonsense.

"Yeah?" He hung over you, his curls dangling down. "Will you let me have you again, hm? Let me fuck your throat, your tight cunt, fuck- make you my plaything?"

"I want to be your plaything." You sighed, his necklace swinging in your face, glistening silver.

"You do, don't you? I'll have this pussy on my tongue while I memorise my script. Carry your panties around in my pocket and give them back to you when you've earned them."

The pressure was blinding and he brought your legs up over his shoulders so he could take you even harder. The legs of the chair scraped obnoxiously against the ground as he fucked you into it. He was brutal, making you take his cock with each harsh thrust.

You cried out, sobbing his name. He was so deep and you knew you'd be feeling him for days after. He picked you up, sitting you on the vanity. You leaned back against the mirror, icy against your back. He hauled your hips towards him, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He took his cock in his hand and fisted your hair with the other, holding you still so he could slide inside of you again. You clenched around him mercilessly, and he had to flex his hips harder so he could take you properly.

The vanity jolted on its legs under the force of him. Your hand wraps around his neck, trying to stabilise yourself against the onslaught of his thrusts.

"Call me an asshole again."

"Harry-" You jolted underneath him. "Fuck, you're an asshole."

"Yeah? Wanna hit me?"

"W-What?"

"Fucking do it. Slap me like I know you've been wanting to for the past six months."

Your hands clutched at his curls. Hitting him was the last thing on your mind right now while he was inside you. Until he'd brought it up, that is. You'd wanted to slap him on a daily basis and you wondered if he'd been reading your mind.

Mustering up courage enough to do so, you raised your hand and slapped his cheek. Not as hard as you could have, but the groan he emitted told you that you weren't gentle, either.

"So good." He grinned, his cheek reddening from your hand. You gripped his jaw harshly, licking your handprint before kissing him.

Your kisses moved to his neck and he tilted his head to give you more access to the skin. He flicked his eyes to his reflection in the mirror, finding his lustful expression, his cheek red, His eyes were alight with danger and arousal, driving his hips into you as he stared at himself. You moaned loudly as he pounded into you, unrelenting. Wanting you so out of it so that you could never look at him the same way again.

He imagined you looking at him during rehearsals, looking down at your Mary Janes with flushed cheeks. Your soft cadence as you asked him when he would fuck you next. Your surprised gasp when he'd pull you into a supply closet to fuck you hard and quick before anyone noticed your absence.

Just as you grew accustomed to the position, he flipped you, brushes and hair products flying off the top as you found balance on it. Your eyes met his in the mirror and they blazed through yours as he pushed himself into your warmth again.

"Fuck," He hissed, throwing his head back as you gripped him tightly. He held onto your shoulder and fucked you, near on slamming you into the furniture. His hand crept up to cup your throat, the other doing the same as he found a rhythm.

"Right there, don't stop." You gasped.

"Gonna think of this every time I'm in this room." He grunted. "Sit in that chair before a show and think about your perfect cunt around me. How you smile when I wrap my hands around your throat, how much you love having my cock to choke on."

"I want you to fuck me on this vanity every day, Harry."

"Every day, Sugar." He was breathless. "So much I wanna do to you. Play with you, make your pussy cream for me. Fuck, how did we go so long without this?"

He started using his height to his advantage, screwing down into you. You struggled to grasp clarity, your senses clouding as pleasure took over. His hands tightened around your throat and he took you harder when a ghost of a smile touched your lips.

He slipped two of his fingers in your mouth, hooking them into your cheek and pulling. He hissed at how fucking submissive you were and how you were willing to be just as dirty as him.

Letting go of your neck entirely, one hand moved to your hip and the other to your hair. He pulled you up, forcing you to look into the mirror.

"I'm an asshole but I fuck you good, don't I?"

You wanted to slap the smirk off his face. He could sense your annoyance at how cocky he was. He took you harder and you eyed him in the reflection, not wanting to give him an answer. And that didn't work for him.

He gripped your hair tight, pulling you back until his lips met your ear.

"Don't I?" He spat.

"Yes,"

He spanked your ass. Hard. Twice. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, you fuck me good."

Pleased, Harry reached in front of you, getting you to wet his fingers with your tongue before rubbing fast circles on your clit. Your legs turned to jelly, your body melting against him as he took you hard and played with your clit.

You felt the rush of pleasure wrap around you and grow in every nerve ending. He watched you in the mirror, intent on seeing you come again. He held you up while you writhed in his arms, his hips unyielding as he split you in half with his cock.

Your hands flew out, pushing various things off the vanity top as your orgasm barrelled towards you. Harry gritted his teeth, bending his knees to follow you as you moved so he could keep fucking you.

"You gonna come? Hm? Dirty fucking girl. Running around the studio with no panties on. This cunt was so wet for me from the start, wasn't it? Tiny dress, bossy little heels, and that fucking clipboard."

This climax was more intense than the first, but no less wet. You exploded around his cock, crying out his name before his hand came over your mouth to keep you quiet.

"Shhh. Good girl. Keep coming on my cock, don't stop, don't stop." He was feral at how good you felt around him, rubbing your clit until you were trembling at the overstimulation. His hips slowed, faltering. He was losing composure the tighter your pussy clenched around him.

He picked you up, not wasting any time in settling back on the small couch in the room. He laid flat on his back, while you straddled his hips. Your hands ran over his chest, nails digging into the skin as he gripped your ass and moved your hips.

His cock sat snuggly between your folds and you shamelessly rolled yourself along his length. You felt empty without him inside you and you lifted up, grabbing his length with a shaking hand, and slid him back into your warmth.

You both moaned out softly, his cock throbbing inside you. He could feel how close he was, as could you. Your hot and wet and dreamy cunt wasn't helping him stave it off. His vision was trained on you sitting on top of him like a fucking angel. Your tits, red from his teeth, your full hips, and your blissed-out expression.

He rolled his hips up softly, encouraging you to move. "Ride me, sugar."

You found a rhythm that had you shaking, so sensitive from your orgasms His cock pressed deliciously tight against your g-spot with every roll forward. With your hands flat on his chest, you started to bounce on him. You were so wet and the sound of it was making him crumble. The wet slaps and the way your pussy was drenching him.

His gaze met yours and he just about came. Your eyes lulled, cheeks flushed and your mouth agape as you fucked him. The most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. He grabbed your tits, playing and pulling your nipples with deft fingers. He strained his neck, moaning as you picked up your pace.

You wanted him to finish. To feel the toe-curling euphoria he'd given you. The one given when a connection like the one you had was this electric.

"Ooh, shit. Just like that." He praised, squeezing your hips so hard you knew they'd bruise.

"Yeah? You love watching me bounce on your cock, don't you?"

You'd thrown his own tactic right back in his face. The sweet voice with the daring question. Of course, he loved it. He was addicted.

"Fuck yes."

Your hand trailed up, lightly wrapping around his throat. He could feel the rings he'd given you to wear against his skin and he snarled, holding your hips and screwing up into you, meeting your thrusts. Having you fuck him with your hand around his throat had him fucking spiraling into another dimension.

"You're close," You mewled, his cock throbbing hard inside you. "I can feel it."

"Yeah? Go on, make me cum. I'm gonna cum so fucking hard for you, sugar. Gonna fill you right up, fucking take it. Take all my cum- fuck."

He let you take him while his orgasm hit. It was white-hot intense, his grip on you not lessening as he moaned out your name. He pumped you full of his cum, the thick white ropes painting your walls. His brow turned down in the middle, his lips parted a little and you could see the whites of his teeth. The thick cords in his neck protruded under your hand.

He was stunning and animalistic and brazen, even in a time when one is most vulnerable.

The muscles and tendons in his arms flexed as he held you down on top of him, humming out lowly as the flames of his orgasm dimmed into embers.

And while neither of you was sure how it would feel post the explosion, you'd expected at the very least that it would be awkward. You didn't have the fondest attachment towards each other but fuck if you weren't addicted to each other's bodies now.

He sighed, reeling in his climax. His hands crawled up your sides, encasing you and encouraging you to come down to him. He hugged you, sighing in your neck before kissing the skin. You could hear a commotion in the hallway of the crew leaving and it suddenly sunk in that you'd just fucked your boss.

And neither of you could wait to do it again.

"Should we get out of here?" He asked after a few minutes.

"We?"

"Mm. Head back to mine if you want. Got the new Sam Cooke vinyl we can jam out to."

You grinned, trailing your finger along his lips. "Can we fuck again?"

His expression mirrored yours. "We are definitely fucking again. Don't have to be as quiet at mine, wanna hear how loud you get."

You rolled your hips, feeling his cock softening and his release beginning to trickle out of you. He hummed, squeezing you as if to warn you.

"Behave, sugar."

"But that's no fun."

He couldn't disagree with that. He checked the clock and knew there was only a slim window of time for you both to leave the studio without raising any brows.

"Come on." He slapped your ass. "Let's clean up and cut out."

You slipped into the bathroom, your legs shaky from how hard he'd taken you. You cleaned up, as he'd told you to. Your reflection in the mirror was a sight for sore eyes and you tried your best to look presentable and not freshly fucked.

As you entered the dressing room again and gathered your things. Harry had dressed in his more casual clothes, a pair of mint dress pants and a t-shirt, throwing his fur coat over his shoulders. He noticed the way you slipped on your dress and smoothed out your hair, touching up your lipstick. He approached you, wrapping his arms around you as you stood in front of the vanity.

"You know I'm just gonna get you all messy again, don't you?"

"I'm counting on it."

He smirked, kissing your neck and fisting the hem of that tiny dress. You pulled away, eyeing the time. You bent over, going to pick up your panties and frowning when he snatched them up before you could.

"Hey, I need those."

"What'd I say, hm? You'll get them back when you earn them." He slipped the blue lace in his pants pocket, straightening his fur coat and holding out his hand.

"Jerk." You walked towards him, nudging his hand away and leaving the dressing room. A showcase that the feisty dynamic between you was here to stay. The lights were off in the studio now, aside from a few dim ones high up on the walls. He scoffed, racing after you. He lagged behind a few steps, wanting to watch your legs as you walked. You turned, throwing him a dubious look and he smiled innocently as he was caught checking you out. "What are you-"

A gleam of a security guard's flashlight lit up the wall next to you. Harry swore, pulling you towards the exit before you were spotted. You wouldn't get in trouble per se, but being sneaky was so much more exciting than sticking around.

"Shit- let's haul ass, sugar. Wanna play with you all night."

The warmth and adoration he felt on stage, under those lights with every pair of eyes set on him. It was a dimmed sensation compared to how he felt with you. His sugar. Saccharine yet equally as fervent, gooey and thrilling and sticking to him as if magnetised to his cells. 

[narcissistcookbook]

about thirteen or fourteen years ago @inkylizard told me about this show Sleep No More (description beneath the cut) they'd seen in an early run in Boston, and i had such bittersweet feelings listening to them talk about it because 1) it was absolutely my kind of thing, and 2) it was basically impossible to see it because it was so far away (i'm Scotland-based)

and since then i probably thought about the show more than most people who have seen it. i ended up working some of what kit described to me into my own music and shows, in a very vague sense

anyway, fast forward over a decade and i'm in NYC for ten days prior to tour and kit tells me that Sleep No More is still on, and it's about to close forever so this is my first and last chance to see it

so anyway

i finally saw it and it was amazing. for once hype wasn't the joy killer. it was inspiring and empowering and it's made me want to explore some of the more outlandish ideas that have been tickling my brain in terms of music writing/performance

i almost went again today, but low energy mixed with a fear of not wanting to dilute the magic by returning to the source convinced me otherwise. i think it means more to me to wait over a decade to see it, and then never be able to see it again.

Brief description of Sleep No More if you haven't seen it and aren't aware of it, told from the perspective of someone who had it described to them once and then saw it once 13 years later and has done no reading or research beyond that. Apologies if I describe it in a way that makes you squirm and go "nooo you aren't explaining it right" 💜

Sleep No More is an adaptation of Macbeth told mostly through the medium of Dance and Vibes. It takes place across the breadth and depth of an entire five floor building called the McKittrick Hotel, which is a dreamlike network of TV/movie-quality sets (a ballroom, a hotel, a city apartment, hell, a street of open shops, a mental hospital, a forest, witches' dens, a huge room full clocks connected to a tiny prayer vestibule, there's too many to mention) and masked audience members are encouraged to wander freely and explore the entirety of the building in any way they like

all the sets are fully explorable and designed to be examined in close detail. if you dig around you'll find letters, medical records, diaries, a fully stocked and unguarded sweet shop, hidden dressing rooms, discarded props, again much more than I could list off here. rooms have backrooms which have other backrooms. secret passageways connect parts of the building/story to other parts.

and through all this the cast are whirling and screeching and sprinting from place to another with little regard for who is or isn't following their storyline. at one point I was one of only two people watching an actor sew up a disembowled teddybear in a child's bedroom - and in the mirror, the same bedroom was reflected covered in blood. at another I was the only person watching a nurse tuck a man made of rocks into a hospital bed. at another, I turned a corner and one of the witches (with about twenty people in tow struggling to keep up) barrelled into me on their way to a scene elsewhere (he stopped and gave me a boop on the nose). another time, i walked into what I thought was an empty interrogation room only to realise after *far too long* that one of the characters was hiding in there with me

and on top of all this, each character has a scene they will only perform to one other audience member chosen by them

the magic for me is that not only can you not see the whole show in a single visit, but that it's basically impossible for anyone to see the whole show period no matter how hard they try. someone i know has seen it seven times and i've seen parts of it that they didn't even know about. it creates a sense of longing for what you'll never see, a sense of loss for the parts you missed, and a deep sense of personal connection with what you were lucky enough to see

what a banger

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 | Part 13

He'll show you it was worth it.

Tags/Warnings: Game Designer!Jungkook, Brat Tamer!Jungkook, kinda himbo!Jungkook, Non Idol AU, established relationship, minor angst, he's in love ew [Tags will be different for every part!]

Length: 1.1k words

Callob with @euphoricfilter ! 💜

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

You arrive about half an hour later, and you can't help but sit up straighter as Jungkook pulls up into the driveway of the Airbnb he's rented.

Up until now you've not seen any pictures of it at all- Jungkook being adamant on making sure that you don't ruin the surprise along the way, distracting you whenever you'd bring up the topic at all. So to say that the surprise definitely landed would be an understatement, as you look at the small but very fancy looking house he's currently parking the car at.

A lady walks out, flowery print on her dress while she smiles happily, visibly excited as you and Jungkook exit the car. "Oh you must be the young couple-" She beams, walking towards you with a bit of a limp- probably from old age catching up to her. He gives Jungkook and you a hug before she leans back, looking you up and down. "Well, you weren't lying when you said your girl is pretty!" She compliments, and you have the urge to hide behind your boyfriend for a good moment- only saved by said man taking over quickly, telling Maria to go inside as you both take your stuff with you.

Of course he argues as you want to take your bag- taking it himself instead, absolutely not admitting to any form of struggle at all.

"So! I stocked up the fridge, there's wine too- and I baked something small, just because I had the time left over." She giggles, as Jungkook sets the bags down near the front door for now, walking up to the elderly woman that's standing in the middle of the large interior. "Oh, and I asked my husband about the carpet, and he told me to tell you not to worry about it-" She says a bit more serious. "-Apparently you can just wash these kinds of stains out, no worries there." She winks towards Jungkook, who nods, hoping you don't hear the hidden implications of that statement-

though the glare you send him makes it clear that you do.

"So! I reckon you have the general layout still in mind- treat it like your own home as long as you here." She offers with a gentle hand on Jungkook's shoulder. "Go wild, you're only young once! Ah, and before I forget-" She perks up, before she pulls Jungkook away to whisper something into his ear- something apparently very important, because he looks oddly serious as he nods towards her, the woman patting his back in encouragement of something you're not sure of.

You're busy exploring the holiday home for a good moment, when Jungkook brings the last of your luggage into the bedroom, balcony door opened as you stand on it to look outside. "So? Do you like it?" He asks, standing behind you now, warm body pressed against your back while his chin leans on your shoulder.

"It's.. Jungkook this must've been so fucking expensive, what the hell?" You worry. "And also there's so many towels in the bathroom-" You begin, making him laugh.

"Oh yeah, I told maria you're kinda messy- and since I'm planning on catching up to my highscore while we're here you'll definitely need them-" He begins, making you turn around and smack his pecks- hard. "Ow!" He whines playfully, pouting at you.

"What do you mean, you told Maria about our sex life?!" You complain, and he shrugs.

"Hey I'm pretty proud of our-" He begins, but your glare shuts him up. "Listen, I didn't know if there was like.. a cleaning fine if we mess up stuff too much. And I wanna love you a lot while we're here, so I wanted to make sure I thought of everything!" He explains himself, and you just run a hand over your face. Well, what did you expect anyways?

This is Jungkook, after all. This man coded a full on sex-diary app just for the two of you.

"You know I've been wondering.." You say, leaning your arms over his shoulders, back pressed against the edge of the balcony as he leans in closer, gaze hooded now. "...what spot are you in right now?" You ask, and his face immediately morphs, eyes sharp as his tongue presses into the inside of his cheek.

"..maybe third." He mumbles, before he pulls you back inside by your waist sitting on the edge of the soft bed with you on his lap, eyes hungry while his hands travel beneath your shirt. "But I'll sure be first again once this trip has finished." He tells you like a decision made, no arguments allowed.

"You sure about that?" You wonder, pushing him against his chest until he's left laying on the mattress below, your hands pressed into the softness.

"Absolutely." He says, before pulling your face towards him, licking up all remnants of your strawberry lipbalm and sweet icecream treat you had earlier before arriving. Your hips grind on him without any shame, sounds that escape him singing of his own growing arousal as he lets his fingers dip between the fabric of your pants and your skin. They know exactly where they want to go, moving around until he's got a full hold of your ass, only removing his palms from beneath your jeans to slap back down with open palms.

You move to throw your shirt over your head- his fingers eager to unhook your bra for you, when he sees them.

His movements stutter a bit, face showing utter devastation as his round eyes find yours with worry. "You changed them." He says out of breath, quietly, and you look down at your chest, noticing that yes- you did change the jewelry.

"Oh.. yeah." You admit, making his hands gently hold your tits just to run his thumb over the two little wings on each side of your nipples. They're cute- very fitting, and he wonders where you bought them. But they're also not the little silver hearts you both always wear ever since your second big date.

"...I'll make you love me again." He promises, pulling you down again to kiss you, before he rolls you both over, pressing eager kisses to your neck.

"I still love you-" You argue with a giggle, removing his shirt to be met with the familiar metal jewelry you used to wear as well before you changed them out of pettiness.

"Then I'll make you love me the same as you did before I was a jerk." He urges, pushing you up on the bed a little to properly climb on it, knees dipping down into the soft bedding below you.

"I do that too!" You laugh, and he playfully bites at your collarbone, before looking at you with a gaze made of thousands of lifetimes worth of affection.

"Then I'll make you love me even more." He offers, while you hold his cheeks in your palms, equally as struck by cupid's arrow.

"Impossible.." You say, pulling him closer. "But you're welcome to try."

[misqnon]

Thoughts on Sanji enjoying feminine things?

short thoughts: i love it and think he should do it more often esp because i feel like he definitely does in canon and just won't actually let himself do so. i don't draw him in drag all the time for no reason

long thoughts: [breathes in]

i could write an entire essay on sanji's character in terms of femininity, queerness, and misogny BUT we don't have time for all that so let's just focus on the fact i feel like there's actual evidence he enjoys traditionally non-masculine things and oda actually puts him in situations to highlight this pretty frequently

-i am guilty of calling sanji a metrosexual . it's a stupid word but it fits him. he's the only guy on the ship that showers every day and the only other ppl on the ship who do this are the two girls. man also wears suits like mad and has a fairly...daring fashion sense outside of that (granted, most ppl in one piece do.) but he just cares about these things more than most guys! and that doesn't even seem like something that came from his upbringing at baratie bc...no one else dressed like that. he just does that himself. i also can't stop thinking about the sbs where someone suggested sanji would be a stylist in real life and oda went "yes agreed"

-the kamabakka moment...okay terribly offensive and transmisogynistic (won't get into it bc i have several times before) BUT if we can take one thing from that it's that sanji *did* dress up in makeup and a dress and like. frolic with the okama. it's framed as "against his will" but he definitely could have torn that shit off quickly and easily enough, yet oda decided to imply sanji enjoyed it for at least a time before he chickened back out and called the place hell for 2 years. yea, it was probably for oda's idea of 'comedic effect' but this is, once again, one piece. sometimes the humor is part of the plot. sometimes very real information is given through the guise of humor. going off of this u could mention that (also offensive but meant to be funny) joke with the blood donation scene from fishman island

-idk just something about the way oda writes him fighting lots of queer or non-conventionally masculine characters. i feel like it says something about sanji having his own internal struggle about his masculinity- which we know must be true bc of his whole list of virtues he never breaks a la women because of his upbringing with good ol' fashioned zeff and uh. "men should be war machines" germa over here. he fights bon clay and queen for christ sake.

-the scene where he's like happy as a clam to be in nami's body in punk hazard is another comedy gag that's also a little . interesting. I could say oda just keeps accidentally coding him but I feel like oda's very intentionally with his characterization and the subtlety of it

-overall he's just clearly so interested in masculinity since zeff raised him to be that way and he holds zeff in such high regards in combination with his background with germa, his mother and his sister, leading to a I Have To Be A Perfect Gentlemen And Also Respect Women by Putting Them On the Highest of Pedestals. and this in turn has made him reluctant to engage with femininity in any way that could be perceived as Not fitting this manly persona he's made for himself, yet he keeps getting put up against it in various small moments in the series whether comedic or not. I don't think oda frames sanji's relationship with masculinity entirely as a character flaw or weakness to be fixed, bc oda seems to respect sanji's views/they align with oda's own views. BUT I do think he knows it's partially susceptible to change and....he makes Sanji encounter these things so often for a reason. does that make sense?

in my ideal world sanji 20 years in the future is a bit more feminine even if he's still a casanova ladies man. like he accepted the okama influence in his life, he's just more quiet about it, lmao. I mean did u see his hair for oda's 40 yr old design

so yeah. he does, I think. quietly and deep down.

[dcigar]

Transformation Story: Becoming Angelo**

**Chapter 1: The Unexpected Gift**

Bartholomew Sebastian Benjamin, known as Bart to his friends, sat in the back of the dimly lit bar nursing his whiskey. He was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man with a rugged look that fit his blue-collar job perfectly. Life had become routine, and he was itching for a change. Little did he know, change was about to come knocking in a form he would never expect.

As Bart sipped his drink, he noticed a tall, imposing man with a commanding presence enter the bar. The man was dressed in a sharp leather jacket, his chiseled features softened only slightly by a well-groomed beard. He looked like someone who knew exactly what he wanted from life. Bart felt an inexplicable pull towards this stranger.

"Mind if I join you?" the man asked, his deep voice sending shivers down Bart's spine.

"Sure, why not," Bart replied, curiosity piqued.

The man introduced himself as Miguel, a name that sounded both familiar and exotic to Bart. They talked for hours, sharing stories and laughs. Bart found himself captivated by Miguel's confidence and the way he spoke about life. By the end of the night, Miguel extended an unusual offer.

"I have a gift for you, Bart," Miguel said, his eyes twinkling with mystery. "A chance to become someone new. To live a life you've only dreamed of."

Bart laughed it off, but Miguel was insistent. He handed Bart a small, ornate bottle filled with a shimmering liquid.

"Drink this, and your world will change. Embrace it, and you'll find a new kind of freedom," Miguel said, his tone serious and sincere.

Bart hesitated but, driven by a mix of curiosity and desperation, he drank the potion. Almost instantly, he felt a warmth spread through his body, followed by an intense, tingling sensation. His vision blurred, and he passed out, the last thing he saw being Miguel's knowing smile.

**Chapter 2: Awakening**

When Bart awoke, he felt disoriented. The world seemed different, sharper. He struggled to sit up, his body feeling foreign and uncoordinated. As he moved, he realized his surroundings had changed. He was no longer in his modest apartment but in a luxurious, modern bedroom.

"What the hell happened?" Bart muttered, his voice sounding strange to his ears. He looked down at his hands, noting how smooth and dark they were. Panic set in as he stumbled to a mirror, desperate to understand what had happened.

Staring back at him was a young, muscular black man with striking features and deep, soulful eyes. Bart's heart raced as he touched his face, feeling the unfamiliar contours.

"This can't be real," he whispered, his voice now rich and melodious. "I'm...different."

His mind raced with a thousand thoughts. How was this possible? Was he dreaming? He explored his new body, running his hands over his broad chest, down his sculpted abs, and over the powerful muscles of his arms and legs. Everything felt so real, so alive.

Bart's internal dialogue was a whirlwind. **What am I supposed to do now? How do I live like this?** The weight of the transformation began to settle in. He was no longer Bartholomew Sebastian Benjamin. He was someone entirely new.

**Chapter 3: Embracing the Change**

Days passed as Bart, now Angelo, tried to adapt to his new life. He discovered that he had an entirely new identity, complete with a history, friends, and even a job as a successful fashion designer. The change was overwhelming, but slowly, he began to embrace it.

One evening, as Angelo was lounging in his spacious living room, he received a call from Miguel. The familiar voice was comforting yet stirred up many questions.

"How are you adjusting, Angelo?" Miguel asked, his tone gentle.

"It's...a lot to take in," Angelo admitted. "But I'm starting to get used to it. There's something liberating about it, something...empowering."

Miguel chuckled. "I knew you would. Embrace it fully, Angelo. This is your chance to live without limits."

Angelo spent his days exploring his new interests and talents. He found himself drawn to the leather community, a fascination that felt both new and oddly familiar. He started wearing leather jackets, pants, and boots, feeling a surge of confidence with every outfit. The scent of leather became intoxicating, a symbol of his newfound strength and identity.

One night, at a leather club, Angelo met a man named Thomas. Tall, with piercing blue eyes and a charming smile, Thomas was everything Angelo found attractive. They hit it off immediately, sharing drinks and stories. Thomas, noticing Angelo's nervousness, leaned in closer.

"First time here?" Thomas asked, his voice smooth and reassuring.

"Yeah," Angelo replied, his heart racing. "It's all still pretty new to me."

"Relax," Thomas said, placing a hand on Angelo's shoulder. "You're doing great. Just be yourself."

Angelo smiled, feeling a sense of belonging he hadn't experienced in years. They spent the night together, sharing a passionate connection that felt both thrilling and natural.

#### **Chapter 4: A New Beginning**

Months passed, and Angelo fully embraced his new life. He became a prominent figure in the leather community, known for his style and charisma. He and Thomas grew closer, their bond deepening with each passing day. Angelo also picked up Miguel's habit of smoking cigars, finding the act oddly soothing and empowering.

One evening, as Angelo and Thomas relaxed on the balcony of Angelo's apartment, Angelo reflected on his journey.

"It's amazing how much has changed," Angelo said, exhaling a cloud of cigar smoke. "I never imagined my life could be like this."

Thomas nodded, his eyes filled with admiration. "You've come a long way, Angelo. I'm proud of you."

Angelo smiled, feeling a warmth in his chest. He had found a new kind of freedom, a new identity that felt more authentic than anything he had ever known. The transformation had been a gift, a chance to rediscover himself and embrace a life of passion and fulfillment.

As the night wore on, Angelo and Thomas held each other close, savoring the moment. Angelo's internal dialogue was one of gratitude and acceptance. **This is who I am now. This is my life, and I'm going to live it to the fullest.**

In that moment, Angelo knew he had truly found himself.

[passionateseadruid]

Snake King’s Bride 2

The Meeting

Say hello to my intersex Imp Styx. As I'm sure many of you know the evenly stripe horns are indicative of male Imps and the thin strips white are Female. And also my hellhound Pluto. Also Vagqie is 5'4 and when lucifer met her they were about the same height; but also keep in mind that he was wearing heals (that's canon, like it's in the episode). Finally, I can't believe that he has a nose

When you woke up you were still in the old wedding dress and heals. The veil had fallen from your head, you had slid it back on and flipped the veil back over your face. Whatever brought you here isn't going to get to have you so easily.

You wandered around to the halls of the place you fell into. They were red with gold columns lining every few feet. The walls were lined with apples and the columns were accentuated with what appeared to be snakes coiling around them. "Whoever designed this place needs to be fired."

On the other side of the palace, in the thrown room, Lucifer was panicking. 

"Okay! Everything's going to be fine!"

A little Imp wants in. They were taller than most Imps and had big horns that curled inward towards each other like a heart. Their hair was slip down the middle. White on the left to match the male Imp horn that was slightly bigger than the one on the right; which was female in origin with black hair that was almost tinted dark blue from some angles.

"Styx! Did you get everything set up?" Lucifer asked panic evident on his face.

"Yes sire!" They saluted him. They stood at about 4'11 and wore black leather pants, a short burgundy corset, and a white shirt with long sleeve frilly.

"Good! good."

"Sire. It might be a good idea to take off your ring as to not scare or confuse the young miss."

"Oh! Yeah, I guess." He slid off the ring that had matched Lilith's. The first time he'd taken it off in seven years. "Can I really do this Styx?" 

"Well it is up to you, but if you want you could let her go."

"But then I'd be alone again."

"I suppose so Sire."

Lucifer looked down at his ring again and materialized a black box to slip the circlet if gold into. "I can do this, somehow I know it."

You hadn't gotten very far in your expedition of the strange new place you'd found yourself in. You found a library though which was good. Always good to have a place to hide. Eventually a small fluffy creature resembling a bull dog. She had grey fur and wore a loose black dress that went down to her knees, with a red wine colored bodice. She was only 4 and a half feet tall.

"Good evening my lady." She curtsies and you awkwardly due the same. "Please my lady. Don't feel the need to bow at me. Please follow me to the thrown room."

"Thrown room?"

She sighed. "Yes. Where the king is." She looked back at you and saw you planted firmly in place. "Come on!" she motions for you to follow.

"What's going on? Where am I? Who are you? What was with the spooky fiery rift in space back in the store?"

"Are you serious right now? You sold yourself to the king of hell. Don't play dumb and pretend like you have no idea what's going on. And what's with the wedding dress? Do you actually think the king would choose some lowly human like you?"

"I'm sorry I seem to have misheard you. I thought you said the king of hell."

"I did."

"...hell? ...as in-"

"Lucifer yes." She cut you off.

"There has to be a mistake! I didn't sell my soul to him! I shouldn't be here!"

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't."

'Maybe I can convince him to let me go. He can take Regan or Kaitlyn, I don't care!'

"Head inside." The bulldog ordered.

"May I please have your name."

"Pluto."

"I hope you have a good day Pluto." 

You walked into the room. 

"Darling!" A short man ran up to you and pulled you into his embrace. You struggled as best you could but his grip was firm and unrelenting. "Sorry, to tight?" He lessens his grip and you shirk away.

"Please don't touch me. We don't know each other."

"Oh of course! My apologies. Lucifer Morningstar, your new husband~" 

"What? No... um I think there's been some mistake. I don't belong here."

"Of course you do! You're going to be my bride! That little bug wouldn't have dressed you up like this if you weren't the one intended to be my new wife!"

"But I didn't exactly want that to happen."

"Well you're here now so you might as well make the most of it!" He cheered coming closer to you.

"Wouldn't you rather have someone who wants to be with you? I'm sure there's plenty of goth girls or satanists who would kill to get this opportunity."

"Ugh. You know you humans are really ignorant. Him and I aren't the same. Neither are I and Beelzebub."

"Okay...?"

"That's not important right now." He came even closer and you back into the door. He grabbed the bottom of your veil and you snatched his wrist.

"Doll..." He sounded serious. "Show me your face."

"No thank you."

"Sorry Doll but that wasn't a request." He yanked out of your grip and took your veil off with him. "There! That wasn't so hard, was it?"

You backed up as close to the wall as you could and actually got a look at him. He was about 5'4 and had platinum blond hair. His eyes seemed to glow piss yellow while his pupils were blood red. He wore a white suit with a pink and white stripped vest underneath. His books were black as were his hands though you weren't sure if those were gloves or his actual hand color. 'but he's so pale.'

"Hm? Take a picture it'll last longer~" You rolled your eyes. "You know darling if you're so interested in my hands I can give you a demonstration of what they can do~" Your face heated at his words, and the face that he brought one of his hand up to his mouth in a V shape and licked his lips.

"Why me?"

"Because you put on my ring!"

"But I didn't know what I was doing! Why not choose someone who knows what they're agreeing to?"

"I want you Doll. You're beautiful and my heart is calling out to you. The moment I saw you for the first time in that store i knew I needed you. Come on! We have a Wedding to plan! I'm thinking next month."

"Next Month?!"

"I know it's far off but We'll need to give our guests time to prepare gifts and of course we'll need time to send out the invitations."

"Well I was thinking of more of an August wedding. But eleven months is basically a year and I'm sure it'll still be warm in hell in September so... maybe we should make it a year from now?" Your voice grew meeker as you spoke. "It would also give us a year to get to know each other."

"If I make it a year from now will you be willing to marry me?" He asked excitedly.

"Um maybe?"

"Good enough for me! Come on then! you're probably tired and you'll want to get out of this old thing."

He takes your hand and leads you through the palace.

"Mr. Morningstar?"

"Call me Lucifer! You'll be a Morningstar soon! I suppose I'll have to talk to heaven about turning you immortal. Charlie had begged me for siblings when she was younger, so I'm glad to finally be able to fulfil that."

"Lucifer, I think that we should stay in separate rooms."

"What? But why?" He whined.

"We just met." 'and your the devil.' "And I'm rather traditional." 'No I'm not but you don't need to know that.'

"Alright if that's what you wish Darling."

"And one more thing. Wouldn't it be so romantic if our first kiss was the one we shared on our wedding day?"

"Ooooohh! Like the ones in those romance novels that are so popular on earth!" She squeaked. 

"Yeah... like those."

"Well here we are! It's the best guest room in the place! I'll have Styx put on some new warm sheets on the bed and I'll get you some clothes. You probably want to go take a bath."

"Um I'm good I'll shower in the morning."

"Nonsense Doll. Unless this is a backhanded way to invite me to join you~"

"I'll go take a shower ON MY OWN!" You said running out of the bedroom.

"What am I going to do?

After your shower you cracked the door and looked down to find a pile of clothes and no Lucifer in sight. You changed into them and found the shirt tight on you and the thong given to you a bit too revealing for your taste. "What am I going to do? I can't walk out there and show everyone everything."

"Yeah, I'd prefer this all saved for my eyes only." Lucifer's voice called from behind you.

"Ah! What are you doing in here?"

"Just admiring the view." he slowly gazed up and down at you tracing the curves of your body.

"May I please have something that actually fits me?" You rolled your eyes and your arms came up to cover your chest.

"Fine..." He huffed annoyed. "But I think the size of my old shirt looks cute on you." He snapped his fingers and the shirt grew so long it basically became a night gown. 

"Is this really okay to do to your clothes?"

"It's an old shirt I don't wear anymore."

"This thong better not have belonged to your kid."

"No! no. nonononono! It was uh, my ex-wife's."

"Oh. That's a bit weird isn't it?"

"I'll take you out shopping for clothes tomorrow, but for tonight you can either use those or go commando. I know which option I'd rather see~"

"Goodnight Lucifer!" You pushed him out of the room.

"Goodnight Darling!"

'What am I going to do?' You thought.

[bitterrfruit]

houndtooth [13]

[masterlist]

Ghost x f!Reader 18+ mdni - 6.4k words

The rumble of the convoy along your driveway is familiar. Never fails to turn you frigid. 

You have been here many times before. Waiting in the cage of your master suite, nose powdered and collarbones perfumed - listening in stiff silence as those vehicles rolled towards your door. Perhaps your husband, returning home from his business trips, expectant and eager for your soft company. Or perhaps his comrades, ready to leer at and accost you for your presence alone. You’d have to quietly gird yourself in the brief safety of your bedroom before you could face them. Deep breaths and self-encouragement. Just smile, you'd remind yourself, just be pretty and smile. 

Now, though, you don’t have the luxury of solitude, within which you could comfort yourself. You might have spurned the reticent Lieutenant’s presence in any situation but your own - yet he is now, fortuitously, your only shield. An impassive barrier between you and the swarm of sadists that encroach on you. 

Still you remain perched on the daybed, fingernails in your knees, head perked at the vibrations of the incoming trucks. You watch with your tongue in your teeth as Riley assesses the handgun in his palm, deftly popping out the magazine, flipping and inspecting, switching and reloading. Shoves it back in the black shoulder holster under his arm as he catches your eye.  

You find slight relief in his change of attire; now dressed as your protector as much as he purports to act like one. Wearing the thick black-and-navy fleece of your hired guards, the patch of their company emblem brandished on his chest. 

“You can’t talk,” you whisper, quiet out of an anxious habit. He tilts his head downward to hear you. “Remember, you can’t talk to them. You’ll give it away.”

“I won’t,” he replies bluntly, a grumble. “That means you’re going to have to do a lot of talking, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod cautiously. “I’m - I’m scared he won’t believe me.” 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” When , he says. When you get to it. You hope it’s not a Freudian slip, a revelation of your inevitable discovery. 

"You're not going to be able to outgun them," you breathe, acknowledging that his only weapon is his nondescript handgun. 

He seems to find some amusement in that - releasing a huff of air as he turns to look out the open bedroom door. "Don't worry about that." 

You suppose he did, in fact, outgun the hundred-odd mercenaries that littered your estate - but in the dark and under stealth, he had surprise on his side. Judging by the sounds of the convoy, the many opening and closing vehicle doors, Sergei had a substantial retinue of soldiers in his company. You struggle to imagine Riley could overpower the quantity of armed men that you can hear piling in through your front door. His confidence may simply be fueled by a plan to escape and abandon you when things go awry. 

You hear their boots, too many boots, stomping with haste from every direction, from below and behind, near and far. The roar of an angered man echoes through the intestines of your mansion, carried up the stairs and down the hall; "Mia! Где ты?" Where are you?

With a deep breath, you glance at Riley for any indication of encouragement. He gives you merely a stiff nod. 

"Upstairs,” you call back weakly. 

Rapid in their climb, you listen to the marching as it reverberates down the hall - before you can swallow the fear in your throat three armoured men file into the master suite, long rifles raised and ready, they scan across the room in urgent inspection. 

In immediate pursuit follows the only man familiar to you - Sergei. In a doubtlessly designer puffer vest worn over his white button down, he bears a grimace of irate panic, creasing in his clean-shaven cheeks. 

"Пиздец." Fucking hell.

Glare landing on Victor's mutilated corpse, he coldly ignores you, steaming towards the body where it lies by the bed atop a puddle of dark blood. He rubs his jaw in apparent worry, head bowed to inspect the corpse, his other hand resting on his hip.  

Riley keeps a steady eye on the four adversaries as they sweep the room, his venomous glare squinting and tracking in careful suspicion. As though considering your vulnerability where you sit, he edges closer to you, moving on his back foot. There’s some kind of shelter in his shadow. Well-trained watchdog. 

One of Sergei's armed companions moves to stand beside him, swearing under his breath as he lowers his rifle to look at the cadaver. He murmurs to his superior; "Может нам позвонить Владимир?" Should we call Vladimir?

Sergei rigidly shakes his head. "Еще нет." Not yet. 

Rubbing the back of his reddening neck with a tense hand, he finally turns to face you - glowers at you with a frightening intensity, you feel yourself shrivel under the heat of it. Your heart surges as he approaches. Flutters in your ribs. You feel sick, it churns in your stomach and rises in your throat. 

“Какого хуя, Mia?” What the fuck, Mia? 

He storms in your direction, accusatory finger outstretched, and you fight the instinct to flee. "What happened?"

Switching to heavily accented English for you, it becomes intimidatingly evident how eagerly he wants every detail without risk of it being lost in translation. He thinks you can barely speak his language, after all. That you don't have the linguistic capacity to describe what happened in a way that is helpful to him. 

"Mia!" He bellows after a beat of silence, his eyes you once remembered as tired and listless now violently wide and bulging. You wince, vision beginning to blur with the tears that immediately swell at his aggression. "Tell me exactly what happened." 

With a quiet sob, you wipe your cheek with a shaky palm. "I - I was just in the, in the bathroom, and Victor was in bed... it was late, maybe after midnight. And I heard a crash, like, b-breaking glass. And, then, this kind of, shuffling, or, banging - and so I - I called for Victor, to see if he was okay, and-"

A stifled cry cuts off your trailing explanation, spilling tears fall to your knees as you attempt to regain your composure. 

"And, what?" Sergei urges, not a drop of sympathy in his tone. 

"There were gunshots as I came out of the bathroom - and I screamed - there were these, these two men, and they had guns. Victor was-” you sob, “he was already dead. I think he was - I couldn’t see close, but they had already shot him. Then the - the m-motherfucker shot him again while h-he was looking at me, like he just did it so that I’d see, so I could watch. I wanted to run b-but… I just froze, I couldn’t move, I just looked at them and cried - and he-”

“Who were they? Mia, what did they look like? What were they wearing?” 

“I don’t know,” you wailed, “they wore masks, their clothes were all black. But it was dark, and they didn’t talk much, but-” 

"What language were they speaking?" Sergei offers you no room to breathe, looming closer to you; you see him shoot a glance at your silent guard. 

"Russian," you answer obediently, wetly, "I think. It sounded Russian but - but I didn't understand them. It c-could've been - Ukrainian, or, Kastovian, or-"

He turns to address one of his gun-wielding comrades, interrupting you. "Они могли бы быть от Анастас, если бы были украинцами. Виктор разговаривал с Артемом?" They could be from Anastas if they were Ukrainian. Did Victor talk to Artem? 

They mutter in tense conversation for a hideous minute, tossing names between each other that you hadn't heard before, mentioning some phone call, or a meeting, or some supposed altercation between strangers. 

It means nothing to you, but you can feel the keen attention that Riley pays to every word they utter. You wonder if he knows every single name, bears the burden of intel on each of their atrocities. It's all so relevant, so crucial to him - whispers that until now you had blissfully ignored, to whom you had barely given a passing interest. A small, spiteful part of you finds satisfaction in how blatantly the two Russians spill their precarious information in the company of the very man responsible for their panic. 

"How many were there," Sergei suddenly barks, addressing you once again, and two of the soldiers in his company march abruptly out of the room. You hear distant yelling, supposing he has sent the rest of his men to search the entire property. "Are any of them still here?"

You shake your head. "I don't - I don't think so. It was quiet when I, when I woke up. I didn't look around, though, I - I haven't left this room. I don’t know how many there were."

Turning his attention to your watchdog, his sceptical anger shifts briefly from you. “Where were you for this, huh? Занят дрочить вместо того, чтобы делать свою чертову работу?” Busy jacking off instead of doing your fucking job?

Riley only huffs, standing near a head taller than the irate man beneath him. You hiccup, nervous, panicking for a hurried second as you attempt to think of a way to defend him from the interrogation. To prevent his need to speak.

“He can’t talk,” you mutter, sniffling, and in the seconds of subsequent silence you scramble to pull together any sensible justification. “Victor said he - he got his tongue cut out in Syria.” 

You had only passing knowledge of the Syrian war, from overhearing vague war stories spouted by other veteran mercenaries. You hope he won’t pry. How would you know anything about it, after all? 

“Ah. Настоящий герой.” A real hero, he grumbles facetiously. There’s a sudden crackle of quiet static, and Sergei is quick to tug a small radio from his vest pocket - a welcome interruption of his questioning, he turns to look out of the towering windows as he holds the radio closer to his face. 

“Внутри чисто. На данный момент двадцать восемь тел. Эти парни были чертовыми животными.” Inside all clear. Twenty-eight dead so far. These guys were fucking animals. 

Twenty-eight. More than the amount of sentries you had been aware were on duty. Did that include the cleaners? The chef? The groundskeeper? 

You feel sick. You can taste the acid. It makes you dizzy, suddenly, and you have to blink heavier to keep yourself from buckling over. 

Sergei converses droningly with the man over the line, their mutual reports fading into distant humming as your detachment only grows. Sweat beads on your forehead though your body shivers cold. 

His armed companion approaches you, then, after meticulously assessing the remainder of the room. With his rifle hung cavalierly from its sling over his shoulder, he plucks off his gloves, head bowed as he analyses you closely. You merely frown doubtfully at him, his proximity carries an accusatory air that makes your jaw tighten. 

“Похоже, они не торопились.” Looks like they took their time. 

Your inspector addresses Sergei casually, gaze fixed on your features but not meeting your eye. Seems to be remarking on the welts that riddle you. But, occupied, Sergei offers him no response. So he turns his questions to you. 

"What did they do?" He asks you crudely, accent thick.

You feel yourself defensively shrinking. "What?" 

He absently tucks his gloves into a pocket, with a slight tug in his top lip that conveys to you some sense of disgust. "Did they fuck you?"

"Excuse me?" You spit, scowling, the question alone worsens your churning nausea. 

He wears an expression of stiff impatience, and clarifies further; "Did they rape you." 

"How dare you," you immediately chide, straightening your back. "Who do you think you are?" 

You can only scoff, feign shock and disgust - you cling desperately to your station as it crumbles in your grip. You are Victor Zakhaev's wife, aren't you? How can a mere hired gun feel so emboldened to address you in such a foul, unbecoming way? 

A malignant sadness swells within your ribs. Victor would have flayed him living for asking such a question, for displaying such blatant disrespect. Only he had the right to talk to you like that. Now he is no more than a pile of lead and white meat. 

"So, they did," he remarks, a stoic cynicism in his tone. 

Anger is quick to engulf you, from a lingering ember to a swallowing flame. How sick must they all be, fantasising about how other men might have hurt you? In being so certain that any man in that position would do such a thing? Why would it matter, even if they had? Why would that be the first thing he thinks of?

The first interaction with these pricks after your husband was no longer there to dignify or protect you, and they had already assumed that you had been made unfaithful. A seething reminder that you are a cunt, a hole to be filled, and that is all that you are. 

"No, they didn't," you bark defensively, pushing yourself to stand, you glare up at him under his nose. "They didn't touch me." 

"Pft," he scoffs. "Look at you. They did more than touch you." 

"What is wrong with you?" Shedding any inclination to maintain your damsel demeanour, you resort to shouting. “How can you even suggest that?"

"If the killers were here for revenge, they would have fucked his bitch." 

Rationality failing you, you immediately swing an open hand into cheek, hurling it with as much speed and ferocity as your arm could muster - it collides with the side of his face in a clap of thunder, and he immediately recoils with an aggravated groan.

"Fucking degenerate asshole," you snarl amidst the assault, relishing in the white-hot sting that prickles in your palm after the impact. 

"Сука блять!" Fucking bitch!

Quick to retaliate, he lunges forward and clutches your throat with a vengeful hand; cheek red, eyes bulging. His sudden grip forces out a weak cough, you stumble slightly on your feet in the collision. Your heart flips with an all too familiar terror, a violent current of panic that surges from your core and renders you frigid. Routine instructs you to turn to wet clay. Absorb the blow, dampen its fury. 

But before a single word of de-escalation can be uttered, his hand is in an instant torn from your neck. Riley emerges from your periphery, then, wrenching your attacker's arm by the wrist, before viciously shoving him with enough force that he topples backward and lands on the carpet with a loud thud. In a heartbeat your hunter has his boot on his chest, handgun drawn, he aims it directly over the bewildered face of your interrogator. 

Finally breaking his attention from radio, Sergei marches over towards the commotion, braced to admonish both of the subordinates that fight over nothing. 

"Эй, эй! В чем, черт возьми, проблема?" Hey, hey! what's the fucking problem?

"Я ни хера не делал, ей надо на собаку намордник надеть." I didn't do shit, she needs to put a muzzle on her dog. 

You spot a twitch in the Lieutenant's knuckle, a near-imperceptible movement - and for a second your body stiffens in readiness for the explosion. He would do it, you're certain, more than willingly add another dead Russian to his list. You almost expect him to pull the trigger. What you didn't expect, though, was how committed he'd be to his artificial role. Already threatening the life of an aggressor for putting a hand on you like he was born for it. 

But to shoot him would put to ruin the entirety of his meticulously laid plan. Would light an inextinguishable fire that would burn you both. So you don the role of his employer, placing a gentle but stern hand on his side to disarm him. 

"That's enough," you order, voice shaky, "this isn't the time." 

He turns his masked head only slightly, his blond eyelashes blinking as he glares at you out of the corner of his eye. But, with a grunt, he follows your instruction and relents. Stands upright, removes his imprisoning boot from the man's torso, and tucks his weapon into the holster under his arm. 

"Чертов сумасшедший." Fucking lunatic , the man mutters, as he pushes himself to stand and attempts to brush the boot mark off his jacket. 

With a roll of his eyes and a flick of his hand, Sergei dismisses the remaining footmen and they march from the room in silence. He walks intently towards you, then, and puts a hand on your arm. Riley, hawk-eyed, watches closely - lingers in your periphery with his arms crossed. 

"We can get this cleaned up," Sergei explains under breath, calm yet stern. Switched back to the level-headedness you remember him for. "But there might be trouble, you understand." 

Hopeful his meaning was lost in translation, you frown worriedly. "What trouble - what do you mean?" 

"You, alone, without Victor," he grumbles. "You know… too much. So you have two options. You stay or die." 

Your lip begins to quiver. "I don't want to die." 

"No," he agrees. "I don't want that either." 

"What do I have to do?" You plead, "to stay?" 

"Don't disappear, mh? It will be easy to find you." Appearing to second guess his aggression, he relents with a sigh and looks at the ground. "You can stay with us, for now. Maria can put you in the guest room."  

Maria. His new wife. Didn’t take him long to find one. 

You whimper, and wipe your wet nose with the back of your hand. "I don't want to be in Russia," you sob. "Not while - they're still out there. They’ll - they might come back for me." 

He falls quiet in apparent thought for a moment. Considering your options, perhaps, or simply deciding whether or not to kill you and get the dirty work over and done with. In the brief silence you wait in anticipation, hoping he might come up with some more pleasant alternative. 

But the path of conversation you have navigated down has perfectly enabled your next suggestion. A chance to fulfil your part in the plan.

"I can - I could go to the summer house," you suggest softly, with a sniff. “Victor’s - the house in Kastovia." 

There's a glimmer of familiarity in his eye, his lips curl into a stern line. "Outside Verdansk?" 

You nod cautiously. 

"Mm," he considers, briefly turning to glance out of the open door - as though expecting to see Victor there, hoping for approval. Then he blinks at the floor. “Okay. Go there. Stay there.” 

You let out a breath of relief despite dire effort to restrain it. With a shaky whisper, you try not to thank him. “Okay.” 

He concludes the discussion with a stiff nod, looking over your shoulder. “What do you want to do with him?” 

You twist around to spot your husband, the man, body, to which he refers. “I-”

“Bury him?” He suggests dryly, and you shake your head, perhaps too eagerly. 

“No,” you mutter, “no - he wanted to be cremated.” 

A lie. He purses his lips in thought, but is quick to concede. “Okay,” he replies. “We’ll take care of it.” 

“Thank you,” you whimper, then swallow. 

“I’ll ask to ready the jet,” he declares coldly. “Go now. Get dressed.” 

You appear on the verge of keeling over as your Russian friend leaves the room. Ghost watches stiff-lipped as your knees tremble, close to buckling.

Some part of him is relieved that the Ultranationalist scum swarming the mansion have seemingly no interest in what you might have to say or contribute. Beyond a short stint of questioning from Sergei, it appears they have judged you incapable of assisting. 

Your perceived ineptitude and unimportance appears to have been helpful - a mere wife poses no threat of calculated treachery. Though, truthfully, he had expected a confrontation far graver than what he witnessed. Anticipated that a right-hand man the likes of Sergei Vasiliev would assume the worst of the last person to see his leader alive - that he would not have been above hurting you based on the guess alone.  

Instead, Ghost found himself unsettled, repulsed, by his hired drone’s willingness to put his hands on you. Surprised that he, some servile subordinate, felt emboldened to attack you; to interrogate you for sick gratification, some nauseating effort to understand whether your husband’s assassins might have raped you as he would have liked to. Ghost considers, at least, that he must have been attempting to discern whether the attack was a vendetta committed by someone of their ilk - other warlords and profiteers, mafia, perhaps - or an assassination, as it was, by the likes of himself.

Still, clearly, he has overestimated the ranking of a high-up’s wife. He had assumed those that served your husband would have kissed the ground you walked on. No, it seems that you are so much an accessory that even those supposedly beneath you are willing to assault you with no fear of consequence. 

Means he’ll have to up his game. Stand his ground. There’ll be more work for him than he expected. More curs to fend off. 

He watches as you place a shaky hand on the wall beside you, your shoulders rising as you inhale a weak breath. He takes a step towards you, and your head drops from your neck - in a panicked haste, you turn and dash towards the ensuite. 

“Oi-” He barks, charging after you on instinct. Remembers what happened the last time he let you venture into your bathroom unsupervised. 

He hears a wretch as he barges in after you, and finds you already collapsed over the toilet. 

“Jesus,” he grumbles, halting his pursuit. He stops in the doorframe and watches as your body lurches, listens to the splash of your vomit landing in the water. 

He rubs his brow with a rigid thumb. Supposes he can’t blame you. All caught up to you, has it? 

You heave again, cough violently - whatever you’re throwing up seems to run dry, nothing more lands in the toilet bowl but the wet and pained noises of your gagging continues. Seems your stomach is empty. He remembers he hasn’t fed you yet. 

“Y’alright?” He asks with a terse grunt, more concerned with getting you on that plane than how you are feeling. The sooner he gets you away from the sniffing mutts the better. 

You let out a wet groan, resting your cheek on the toilet seat. “I’m just - not feeling well.” 

His jaw clenches. “We need to move.” 

“I know,” you hiccup, “just give me a second.” 

“We don’t have a second.” 

“Please.” You surprise him with the earnestness in your whisper. “Please, just give me a second.” 

He can taste the guilt again. But there isn’t enough time for him to indulge you. He is confident in his ability to escape if shit hits the fan, to gun down the Russians that might get in his way as he makes his exit. But he can’t guarantee that he’d be able to get you out with him. He’ll leave you with the animals if he has to. He doesn’t want to have to. 

He spots a glass cup on the vanity, perched by one of the marble sinks. Rolls his eyes at himself as he goes to it, flicking the golden faucet to run cold and filling it a centimetre from the brim. He holds it by the rim as he approaches you, you flinch as you lift your head and realise his proximity. 

Your eyes flit to the glass in his hand, then to him. Wide with a genuine gratitude that makes his breath hitch. 

He wonders why he enjoys surprising you. He feels better existing in uncertainty, keeping his motives shrouded and hidden from you. He doesn’t like being knowable, especially by you. He can’t be too charitable, he reminds himself, as he can’t have you grow to expect that from him.

Still, he finds himself enjoying the way you look at him when he does you favours. Enjoys it in the same shameful way he enjoys a sip of liquor or a hit of nicotine.

You hesitantly take it from him. “Thank you.” 

He only releases a tense sigh, you take the glass to your lips and skull down the water in three deep gulps. You burp, then grimace, then immediately drop your head and the entire contents of the cup he had just offered you spills from your mouth and into the toilet.

“Fuck’s sake, what’s wrong with you?” 

With a groan, you manage to shrug your shoulders. 

“What,” he pesters, frustration blooming. “Are you sick?” 

You chuff, as though you’d have said ‘obviously’ if you could. 

The thought crosses his mind, then, like a splinter - that your insect of a husband might have impregnated you. The image churns in his stomach like a sickness. Not only the image of the cretin fucking you, fucking you well enough to sow his seed - but the thought that you could have been carrying when Ghost abducted you, and restrained you, and tormented you, and waterboarded you. When Graves tortured you, bludgeoned you with closed fists like a rabid wife-beater. 

He can’t justify why the mere thought of a lump of cells in your belly makes him ill with both shame and fury. It disgusts him and enrages him. 

He can barely bring himself to even suggest it. With a grimace, he grits out; “Pregnant?” 

You turn your head, then, glowering at him from the corner of your tear-glossy eyes. “No.” 

Repulsion oozes from you as if resenting that you even had to consider it. He does his best to hide the relief that floods him at the confidence in your answer. 

“Positive?” He persists, reluctant to reveal his need for assurances. 

“Why do you fucking care? What difference would it make?” You seethe, “would you let me go if I was? Would it make you feel like a bad man?”

His nostrils flare. He’s grateful you can’t see his expression. “No.” 

“Thought not,” you grunt, then release a pent breath, tilting your head back into the toilet bowl. 

“Get it out,” he orders jadedly, after a stiff silence. Suddenly hungry for a cigarette to slow his pestering heart rate. “And hurry up.” 

Ghost shuts the door to your ensuite as he leaves. Decides you’re not in the state or position to do anything as stupid as your last escape attempt. So he sits himself on your daybed, rests his elbows on his knees, and aimlessly toys with his glock in his palm. Sixteen rounds in the clip, one chambered. He counts them again to keep his mind busy. Sixteen and one. 

His head perks up at the sound of heavy footsteps, and his eyes meet Vasiliev marching through the bedroom door like he owns the mansion he has intruded. 

His grip tightens around the handle of his pistol. He could shoot the fucker in the head, now, and strike another name of the list. Another objective completed. How many years had he been hunting this smug cunt? It would be so deliciously easy to get it over with. 

He bites on nothing and leans back in his seat. Leaves the gun in his lap. 

“Где она?” Where is she?

He asks it with an arrogance that makes Ghost seethe. He flicks his head towards the bathroom door. 

Vasiliev rolls his eyes, must have already forgotten that Ghost can’t talk. He reaches for the door handle, and in that second Ghost is standing. The Russian looks at him with disdain. 

“Что? Не хочешь, чтобы я заходил?” What, don’t want me going in?

Ghost has to hold his tongue between his teeth to prevent himself from erupting. All he can do is shake his head once, and resentfully tuck his handgun into the holster under his arm. Vasiliev only seems to find that amusing, he wears a smirk. 

The snivelling fuck. Looks proud of himself. Perhaps he’s more glad of your husband’s murder than he is letting you believe. He must only stand to gain. 

“Успокойся. Ты вел себя так, когда Виктор был рядом? Ему бы это не понравилось..” Settle down. Did you behave like this when Victor was around? He wouldn’t have liked that. 

He turns to let himself into your ensuite, and before Ghost moves to forcefully prevent him, the door opens fortuitously and you stand in its frame. Your eyes are red and hollow, skin glistening with a sheen of sticky sweat. You look horrifically ill. 

“Sorry,” you utter, meeting Ghost’s eye with a beleaguered concern, before looking bashfully at your supposed ally. “I’ll - I’ll get dressed now.”

Vasiliev nods and steps out of your way. “Mh. Your jet’s ready. We’ll drive you to the strip.” 

“Okay,” you nod. “I’ll be quick.”

You walk shakily past the two of them, jittery and unstable, before disappearing into a walk-in wardrobe. 

There is something wrong with you. Seriously wrong. Ghost can acknowledge his part in the sharp decline of your wellbeing, that you might be so rife with stress and devastation that it is manifesting physically in some sort of psychosomatic breakdown. 

But he recognises the vacancy in your stare, the twitching of your fingers, the sweat on the back of your neck. 

Ghost turns his flaming attention back to the warlord. Stands in the narrower neck of the suite with his arms crossed, a happily advantageous position. Vasiliev would have to shoulder past him to get to you. He’d fit, physically. But he isn’t brave enough, is he?

Instead, he stays put. Eyes Ghost like he’s solving a crossword. 

“Ты ведь преданный, не так ли?” You’re a loyal one, aren’t you?

Ghost runs his tongue over his teeth, but remains silent. 

“У нее закончатся деньги, ты знаешь. Она будет нищей через неделю. А потом что? Ты будешь Бросить как щенка.” She’ll run out of money, you know. In a week she’ll be destitute. Then what? You’ll toss her like a puppy. 

He tries not to snort at that, but even through his mask Vasiliev seems to detect his sentiment. Seems he underestimated the Russian’s perception. 

“Ты на что-то другое надеешься? Думаешь, ей нужен слуга без языка?” Hoping for something else, then? You think she’ll want a servant without a tongue? 

Money has rotted the pig’s brain, Ghost thinks to himself. Turned it into curdled milk. So far gone as to assume that pay and pussy are the only things that anyone could care about. Ghost’s glock feels heavy in its holster. 

Vasiliev only laughs at his own joke. 

“Ну, как только парни до нее доберутся, приходи ко мне за настоящей работой, а?” Well, once the boys get their hands on her, come to me for a real job, eh?

Even he confesses the obvious fate that befalls you. There’s something revolting about how cavalierly he admits it. Once they get to you. He offers you shelter but knows it will be temporary. Why even pretend to be decent if he has no interest in protecting you? In ensuring you might have a future beyond your cunt of a husband? 

Ghost is suddenly embarrassed of his fury. Feels the veins bulging in his temples, he blinks once and decides to turn his back to him. To find and nudge you. If he spends another minute in the proximity of Vasiliev and his maggots he won’t be able to muzzle himself.

“Ох ты, подхалим. Иди корми грудью и не тяни резину.” Oh, you sycophant. Go suckle then, and don’t drag it out.

He snorts at himself, and judging by the sound of his boots on the carpet, he leaves the room. For a moment Ghost looks forward to the respite of your summer house , so you call it, somewhere devoid of the vermin that have infested your palace. But he remembers his own plan as swiftly as he had forgotten it. Not long until he’ll be surrounded by the rat kings, forced to submit to them while surveying their every move. He’s made his bed. 

You’ve put on a structured black dress, firm at the waist and long-sleeved. The silhouette of a stepford wife with none of the cloying charm. The skirt meets your calves, which are wrapped in sheer nylon, and as he steps into the entrance of the closet you push your foot into a pointed and heeled boot. 

“Special occasion?” Ghost sneers, unwittingly letting the contempt that had been bubbling in his gullet slide through his teeth. 

You scoff as you pull the zip of your boot upward, a balancing hand clutching onto the shelf above you. “I’m a widow,” you murmur. “I need to look the part.” 

“Who gives a fuck what you look like? I’m not waiting around for you to powder your bloody nose.” 

You swivel sharply, then, a rigid expression in your tired and flustered face. “They do,” you spit, “ they give a fuck what I look like. I can’t have them treating me like some common whore with her leash cut. I’m above them. I have to be above them, or - or I’ll be underneath them.” 

He half-heartedly rolls his eyes. “You reckon you’re above your mate Sergei, do you?” 

“Not him,” you relent, “his mercenaries.” 

He grits his teeth at that. Guesses you’re right to be concerned about your image, to them. But if Vasiliev and his equals deem you a disposable cocksleeve regardless of your supposed status, why would their lessers believe any differently?

Seems your image is the only thing you have left. Sullied already, by the sounds of how they speak of you. 

“Put a coat on,” he orders brutishly, “we need to move.”

Ghost follows you closely, obediently, as you walk across the snow-powdered tarmac of your driveway, the pin-point heels of your leather boots clacking loudly with each step. You, in turn, follow Sergei and his retinue, to an awaiting SUV - glimmering and black, likely bulletproof and with doors as thick as a tank’s. 

He had snickered to himself when you put on your mink coat, ankle length and so plush you look like the animal yourself. You’ve even donned a fur ushanka. He’d have assumed you were a Russian oligarch if he spotted you from a mile away. 

Under the coat, and out of sight of the Ultranationlists that circled you like vultures, you stacked on as many necklaces and bracelets and rings as would fit on your extremities without looking like a pilferer. Literally dripping with diamonds, he had thought bitterly to himself, revolted at the prospect of so much wealth wrapped around the knuckle of a single finger. It was clear your intention, though. You’d lose access to your husband’s finances soon enough, either by the hand of your benefactors or with the wipe of your ties to them once, if, you’re shipped off to the U.K. Maybe you hope to pawn all those diamonds once you get there. 

One of Vasiliev’s footmen opens the back door of the SUV for you, seems they’re more polite in the company of so many others. You step inside like it’s habit, and the same man is quick to swing the door shut after you. 

But you stop it with a swift hand, it lands against your palm with a thud. The doorman gives it some slack, and you poke out your head. 

“Нет. Он приходит.” No. He comes.

He smiles behind his mask. Can’t help it. 

“Охраны много, мэм.” There’s plenty of security, ma’am. 

“Are you deaf?” You hiss, and with a grunt he submits. 

Ghost gives a facetious nod in thanks and brushes past, you shuffle over to the far seat to accommodate him. The door swings heavy and shuts with a clunk. Your perfume has already filled the interior like nerve gas. Vanilla and musk. He tries not to get drunk on it. 

He hears you unwind the window on your side, and watches as Vasiliev leans in through the opening. 

“No bags?” He asks bluntly, plucking a smoking cigarette from his teeth. Ghost’s mouth waters. Fights the urge to reach over and snatch it from him. 

“I have clothes there,” you answer quietly. 

Vasiliev simply takes an unsympathetic drag. “I’ll bring the - his ashes to you, when we come.” 

You nod weakly, then sniff, sucking in a solemn breath. “When will you?” 

“Tomorrow,” he declares confidently. “We can have the service then.” 

With a tuck of your hair behind your ear, you look at your knees. “Can you - can we have it the day after tomorrow? I just need - I would like some time, before everyone… before I have to see everyone.” 

He grunts impatiently, looking to the side as if checking for approval. “We have things to discuss, you understand,” he says bluntly, facing you. “We do not have time to wait.” 

Ghost remains dead silent, hoping Vasiliev will divulge more detail without prompt.

“I don’t understand,” you resist, he can hear the lump in your throat. Did you put it there on purpose? “Why do you need to discuss things at a funeral? It’s a funeral , Sergei.” 

“Victor was an important man, Mia,” he grits, frustrated to explain the obvious. “A lot will change with him gone. We can’t wait for you to feel better.” 

You whimper, wipe your nose. Even still Ghost is in awe of your ability to act. To lie on your feet. “Okay. Just - give me the day. Come in the evening, so I can get the, the house ready.”

“Fine,” he says. “В шесть вечера.” Six p.m.

He reels out of the window, then, and with a firm hand raps the side of the vehicle twice. With a rev of the engine, the car pulls off and you defeatedly close your passenger window. 

Once out of the line of sight of your ally and his soldiers, you keel forward. Burrow your face into your knees and claw at the back of your head, knotting your fingers into your damp hair. He can’t stand to look at you like that. Watching your turmoil manifest in demonstrative suffering. 

The silent driver sits in the car seat in front of him, thus giving him an excuse not to speak or acknowledge you. There’s nothing he could say to you, anyway, nothing that could make you feel any better. And why would he bother? Your emotions are as inconsequential to him as they are to your husband’s comrades, aren’t they. A nuisance and an impediment. 

He simply looks out of his window, into the darkness of the dense woods that your driveway carves through. Listens as you quietly cry into the fur of your coat.

He hopes you can pull it together. Not sure what he’ll do if you can’t. 

[verdantlights]

Modern AU Headcanons

For all 7 of my ocs!! :3

all of their ethnicities/nationalities are canon to the ALNST universe too, but theyre just more applicable in a modern au.

The artwork I did for each of them isnt fully colored like how i originally planned, simply because this took FUCKING FOREVER. (17 hours??? all 7 ocs just to this basic color with 17 hours and 25k strokes??? according to procreate???) and i was so ready to be done with it, ive been talking about this for like ages and i knew that if i didnt finish this before Blink Gone dropped,,,, itd never get finished.

i also have other stuff i need/want to work on in regards to my ocs SO. if the art looks half-assed, im calling it a design choice 🎀

Toki (Redone):

He'd be a dancer that runs a choreography channel on youtube and tiktok. A really popular/famous content creator.

He's Asian! (South Korean)

Fluent in English/Korean.

Would probably face a lot of controversy for making strange jokes about cannibalism, but he never stays down when cancelled. (hes so schlatt core)

He's not a horrible person in a modern au. He's relatively normal, if not for the fact that he is still an orphan and still clinically mentally ill. He's just not toxic. He still has his cunt and freak but... he just doesn't manipulate, mansplain, and manslaughter anymore.

He's only toxic and awful as hell in ALNST because of the dystopian circumstances. His toxicity is seasoning to the tragedy that is ALNST.

He is still an orphan and his first memories would be in the orphanage where he was pretty much alone. People thought he was strange.

I'd like to believe he was selectively mute for quite a long time, which was another reason why people called him strange.

Still has the habit of studying peoples behaviors and learning them entirely for his own benefit. He wouldn't use it against someone unless absolutely necessary in a modern au.

He gets adopted when he's 13 by a kind, older man. He homeschools Toki and puts him in sports and recreational activities of his choice.

Toki chooses gymnastics and dance, contorting and moving his body at his will gives him a sense of control that he always felt he was never privileged to.

He didn't start talking until he was 16. His first words were, "Thank you, dad."

As an adult, as I said above, Toki runs a choreo channel on tiktok and youtube that gets a lot of traction. He enjoys having fans because it makes him feel less alone.

He's still possessive over Inna, but it's only because Toki struggles with feeling a sense of belonging and a home to come back to, and Inna becomes that home for him.

He has a streetwear aesthetic!

Of course, Toki still has his obsessive and possessive personality, that will never go away. It ends up rearing his head towards Inna, but I'm pretty sure Inna likes it anyway, the 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴.

Didn't go to college because his socmed took off before he graduated, sustaining him really well financially.

Friends with Ichor! Travels to Korea with him sometimes, but usually prefers to stay in America since that's where he was taken to when he was adopted.

Innamorati belongs to @alien-til-i-stage <3

Clove:

He is Latino! (Dominican/Caribbean)

His right eye is a lazy eye and he wears glasses. They're silver round frames that he sometimes puts a neck chain on.

His hair is dyed the same, but the dark brown is really short and cut to be fluffy/messy while keeping his long sides/short bangs!

He has a dark academia aesthetic mixed with a little bit of cottagecore. He's a lot more comfortable in his skin in regards to his gender so he wears skirts and dresses sometimes.

Spends his time at the library a lot, enjoys library dates with Aster (and also coffee shop dates).

He is fluent in Spanish and English.

He only has his ear lobes pierced and keeps small silver studs in them at all times.

Still trans, of course! He gets top surgery and a hysterectomy in a modern au (projecting what I personally want lmao)

All of his siblings are alive, and are still all named after flowers!

His upbringing was really peaceful, if not for having a very alive and loud household with 6 kids, him included.

His parents and siblings are all incredibly accepting and they all helped pitch in to get his top surgery done for his birthday one year <3

He inherited his parents flower shop and runs it now! His parents own the parent company to the flower shop, so all 6 children own one of said shops around the state!

He majored in Biology in college.

A lot of the neglect and trauma he faced in ALNST/ANAKT was only specific to the universe. He would lead a relatively normal and peaceful life, otherwise :)

Aster belongs to @apriciticreveries <3

Horizon:

He is American!

Horizon is incredibly smart and is an astrophysicist! He took it in college and has been hyperfixated on space since he was a kid.

Is the most visibly/recognizably autistic OC out of all of my OCs. All of my OCs are neurodivergent in some way because of my own neurodivergency, but Horizon takes the cake because his modern au mother (based on Scorpius) is also autistic. She raised him to not be forced into a mask.

Scorpius is a single mom and loves space as well, teaching Horizon all about it when he was a kid. Over time she grew more distant and would only connect with her son when its about his interest in space, or in regards to what happens at NASA.

Horizon is aware of his mothers distance and neglect and wishes things could go back to when he was a kid and she wasn't so distant.

He is still a narcolept, but is medicated and in physical therapy to help combat it.

He works at NASA! He makes good money and has discovered a lot of new stars!

He's more vocal in a modern au! He'd still go nonverbal a lot, but he'd also open up more and be less distant.

He still yaps about stars and space as much as possible.

He does not have stars in his eyes. I kinda feel like that goes without saying, but he does have dark grey-blue eyes.

Fond of Seraph and likes to study it. Fully aware something is wrong with it and that it definitely does not belong in his world, but finds it intriguing all the same.

Does not have a set dress style, he mostly dresses for comfort. He does have a lot of NASA merchandise and space/galaxy themed clothing, though. (would 100% have that blue and pink galaxy wolf hoodie at one point)

Seraph:

Still not human, and I will not elaborate as to why!

Also still uses He/Hy/It (Hy/Hymn).

It's a lot creepier in a modern au, actually. This is because the dystopian setting of ALNST makes it a bit more... usual and acceptable for Seraph to be uncanny? However, in a modern au... that's not the case.

People do NOT vibe with it more often than not.

Hy is British.

He is still albino with void-like eyes.

It majors in psychology and went to the same college as Horizon. This is related to his special talent,,, but that isn't released yet. :)

Still horribly enamored with Horizon and follows him around and studies him.

Horizon doesn't mind hymn and honestly knows somethings not right with Seraph, but he doesn't really care and actually likes to study Seraph back. (and seraph couldnt be happier about it, tbh)

Not a lot changes about Seraph, in all honesty. Hy doesn't really belong in the ALNST universe, what makes you think hy'd belong in the modern universe?

The things that do change, like it's echoing voice and it's staticky/distorted laugh, are gone because it personally stopped using them.

It's style is... elegant goth with some... cyber goth? Kinda strange and hard to describe but he does understand the morals and values of goth culture and music and upholds those values.

Lowkey an anarchist but you didn't hear that from me.

He is Horizon's roommate.

Seraph likes to believe their mutual studying of each other is what a romantic relationship entails.

Horizon spoils Seraph a lot... he has to do something with the money he gets from NASA.

He still does not like animals or Ichor.

Ichor:

He is still a catboy. He's not even like... a kemonomimi. He's just a fucking catboy.

If not an actual catboy, he would be a therian and/or kemonomimi. (kemonomimi directly translates to animal ears i believe? kemonomimis are just people who enjoy wearing animal ears/tails.)

He is also Asian! (South Korean)

Has a lot of mixed aesthetics, but enjoys crossdressing (in a cute way) and ouji fashion/lolita.

Autistic with selective mutism and is nonverbal more often than not. He is fluent in both ASL and KSL as well as spoken English/Korean. This is canon to the ALNST universe, but he is fully mute in canon.

Would probably be a professional gymnast. I'm talking like Olympics... professional.

Takes the fame from being a professional gymnast and becomes a content creator to show off his impeccable fashion sense.

100% dating and smitten with Briar. I'm assuming Briar would be a doctor in a modern au (akane, you can correct me if I'm wrong), and if that's the case, then Ichor would make a bunch of "woe is me, I need a doctor" jokes to Briar.

He'd immediately go to Briar if he gets hurt during performances.

Would actually be friends with Toki!! Both as a content creator and as a gymnast. They would get along very well due to overlapping interests, even more so when Ichor learns that Toki was mute for a long time.

Sometimes takes up gigs/jobs as a Sign Translator for both KSL and ASL.

Recognized as a Fashion Idol in Korea.

Frequently travels back and forth between South Korea and America due to this. ^ (his boyfriend misses him...)

Also did not go to college! He went straight into professional gymnastics and makes a living off of it! If he could go back to school, though, he would want to study the arts!

All of his hair is naturally white! He was based off of a white Turkish Angora cat, and since his hair was dyed against his will in ALNST, that wouldn't be the case in the MAU. He's only pink in his art because that's his color <3

Briar belongs to @aakaneeee <3

Lys:

She is Creole and born and raised in Louisiana!

Fluent in both Cajun French and normal French. She was a French immersion kid! (as in she learned french as she learned english in school growing up)

An amazing cook and loves to cook for her family and friends.

Has a brother and a sister, but she is the oldest. She loves her family and is very protective over them, same with her friends.

A big party-goer and social butterfly, she is the life and light of the party. She stays humble about it, but she can't deny how nice it makes her feel that people like her so much.

Dominates karaoke like it's no ones business. She loves singing and was in the church choir growing up.

She grew up Catholic, but is currently Agnostic.

Still a lesbian, and is very open about it. She is a strong advocate for LGBTQ+ rights and goes to as many Pride Parades as possible during pride month.

LOVES HER GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!!!!! EVEREST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Her favorite way to wear her hair is super long box braids with bright colored weave, usually orange or red, but she's done the whole rainbow before!

Majors in cosmetology!

Wants to be a fashion designer, and is also building a socmed presence!! Her childhood dream was to work at Hollywood as a SFX/Makeup artist! (She still kinda does, but is okay with working for any movie company, honestly)

Has a streetwear and Y2K aesthetic! She likes to explore a bunch of other fashion cultures, but normally ends up falling back to those two as a base/familiar ground.

Is really good friends with Clove! She knows him through Everest, who had befriended him in overlapping college courses. Clove approached Everest and became friends with him before she introduced Clove to Lys. They all like to hang out together :]

Everest:

She is Australiannnnn!!!!

Still albino!

She does have the sensitive skin and eyesight in the modern world, though. She is not genetically modified, therefore she has really powerful glasses and is covered a lot.

Wears a lot of loose flowy clothing and big sunhats to protect himself from the sun.

Also still intersex!

Still feels 60% femme and 40% masc with very little in between. Doesn't mind being referred to as androgyne, but prefers either or, rather than in between.

She is sapphic and horribly in love with her girlfriend, Lys.

Is a lot less morally grey in a modern au and is a lot more like Luna Lovegood, one of her inspirations.

His morality in ALNST comes from the dystopian setting, being used as a toy for the segyein after winning, and being a pet in general. Since that doesn't happen in the modern day, he doesn't have that trauma to influence him.

She takes second place on most visibly autistic. (Ichor takes third)

Majored in Chemistry and wants to be a chemist.

Has overlapping classes with Clove and is friends with him!

Comes from a pretty wealthy family and was raised prim and proper. Her parents believed she'd be better off presenting as a boy, but once she realized her autonomy, she refused it entirely and told her parents that she will live how she wants and that her body is hers to dictate.

Her parents don't like that she switches back and forth between masc and femme, but she could not give less of a fuck and honestly does it a little bit out of spite.

He still loves his parents... kinda. He has the mentality of "they gave me life and raised me, I should be grateful andlove them all the same." He just wishes they weren't so bitchy over his body and what he does with it. They can't say anything either considering he plans on being a chemist, and they're both very fond of the idea that their child is smart and will bring in more money.

They're also lowkey homophobic and only give Lys a pass because they see Everest as a boy more often than not. They still don't quite like Lys because she is a full lesbian/sapphic and sees Ever as femme.

Enjoys travelling a lot!!

Has a socmed presence through Lys and appears as a duo with her a lot. People love them together and give them a lot of the stereo contrasting ship types (fire/ice, blue/red, black/white, etc)

It not famous on her own! I don't think she would actively seek out a socmed presence of her own and would be content with being featured on Lys' socmed. He was only famous in ALNST for winning s36, he did not ask for that.

thats about it!! sorry its so long, but... i love my children... so...

anyways, taglist!! no pressure to respond <3 @rockwgooglyeyes @bluemoonscape @tsukacchako @starry-skiez @junebluues @yunoftheclouds @waterydream @pwippy @ivanttakethis @nottoonedin

[theoldoor]

hsr oc ref stuff

its a god damn challenge trying to design this dude cuz HE CANONICALLY LACK FASHION SENSE like he dresses ugly as hell and im trying to achieve that without him looking too ugly. + he has to keep all the clothes that was gifted to him cuz thats how fenrir is. FUCK I FORGOT PHILOSTRATE (his desert terminal)

but erhmmm… no doodles cuz… i was gettin devious (nsfw content) so i can’t rlly ramble cuz i got nothing to ramble about except for this fenrir ref here ARGH

Fenrir has an AWFUL sense of fashion, despite him being able to sew pretty clothes and design quite well. his abilities to pair them together for his own outfit SUCKASS. like he can style others, but not himself, his outfits for himself are canonically UGLY like not badlooking. UGLY. and it’s funny cuz he got a canonically attractive face and body but his haircut + outfits just messed it up like bro wtf are you trying to do here fenrir

yeah he got his tits out in the open LMFAO

here i want to focus on his character development more, yk, more signs of aventurine on his outfit and also symbols of billiards cuz he’s a billiards guy.

His sleeve is like, the heart symbol (by suit, heart is just below spade - like now he’s aventurine’s right hand man) and got that number 8 on it. cuz 8 ball. his colors are white and red too, like a card with accents of gold cuz he likes shiny things lol. But everything from the waist below (like that big belt) is recycled from Talia so that’s why it got that empty gun holster. Also the “pants” with the fringes are chaps lol. his shoe are splitted, like those hooves cuz he was antelope inspired and so he gotta have that too.

However, on his chest is a diamond symbol. and diamond is like second to last, standing behind heart - just that he’s emotionally weaker. i just made this on the spot i didn’t have this thought while i was drawing him LMFAO.

his little accessories are just band patches. However, he has to ripped some of them off as university of veritas prime doesn’t fw that so he kept pins and ‘appropriate’ patches. which is what you see on that jacket. The little thing hanging from his name tag is actually sigonia’s knot of cyclicality he still kept when aventurine gave him during talia. They were made with different materials, thus why it’s not tossed to the flames.

The star pin is a gift from Hermia while the yellow gold coin is Nailscrap’s coin that he still kept, a gift given to him my Aelyn - his deceased best friend who aided him greatly in talia.

Fenrir’s back is heavily based on this magpie, which in his old ref showed that better. I like the energy from the old ref more but the new ref has more details… The blanket is something i struggled with the new one. I feel like the old one still showed the back better…..r…. but i wanted the eye symbolism to be more clear on the new one. Maybe I should keep the old’s blanket design lol. too late tho, i already drew it.

AND YEAH I FIXED HIS HAIR TOO

tahts it chat

[storm-angel989]

Outside The Office Chapter Forty

Hi all,

Thank you for your paitence! I'm sorry this chapter is short, I just couldn't manage to squish it into the next section. Enjoy!

<3 Mandy

Back on the base, I perched myself in a tree above Adam’s office and waited as silently as I could. The hours passed slowly and even with my detour, I still had several more to go. Thankfully, with all that I had been taught patience was the most sacred of virtues. Something my now husband seemed to struggle with.

I smiled to myself as I leaned against the tree trunk. Husband. The word seemed strange, surreal almost. In heaven weddings were big affairs- parties that lasted for days at a time. As a child, I had dreamed of the day. Of a white dress and my family surrounded me. Hard to believe our marriage was confirmed in seconds, a contract between two beings from two totally different worlds. Valentino had promised a traditional wedding when we got back. I wondered- what did that look like in Hell? Did the bride wear a white dress? Do they have a first dance?

As the hours ticked by, I kept my body perfectly still and my brain busy. Jumping through color swatches, design choices, locations and decorations. Bridesmaids? I didn’t exactly have friends in hell. Would Velvette be the maid of honor and Vox the best man? Where would the celebration take place, and who would attend? Would this wedding turn into a political affair, or simply be a celebration of love? And the cake- what kind of cake did Valentino want? I was a chocolate and strawberry girl myself. What would happen if I shoved a piece into his face? Would he laugh or get mad? I had just begun to imagine the decor when the door to the office swung open. My attention fell to him, solely to him as wedding thoughts melted away.

Adam.

“Yeah, I fucked that cunt, right in the pussy. It was bangin” I heard him say loudly to the group of exorcists that surrounded him. “Bet you never had pussy like that pussy.” 

“Sir, we need to move. The final hours are upon us,” a voice said firmly.

My heart pounded, and anger pulsed through me. I knew that voice. Adam’s on again off again fuck toy, Lute. Under my fathers reign she had faced punishment for inappropriate behavior on a number of occasions. Of course it made sense that she served as his second in command now that my father was gone. I waited until they were just out of eyesight before I began to follow them, silently as I had been taught to. Within moments, they took their place at the black portal that had let me through hours ago. 

“Go time, bitches!” Adam yelled as he yanked down his exorcist mask. 

I watched as he and his army vanished through the portal and slowly counted down. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. 

Showtime.

[amourcherie606]

Grey Fullbuster!! Reimagined / redesigned ig? if he was designed by me anyway lmao - man this took me a bit to figure out. if you happened to notice a few little hints in this design - kudos to you!! <3 who out of team natsu should i do next? infodump below <3

Oh my DAYS i struggled with figuring out what Grey should wear because personally, I think his stripping habit could genuinely be seen as a stim 😭 or just like a sensory thing. I have this weird thing where I can't wear pants for too long before I need to switch to a skirt or dress- so i can relate to Grey in this aspect!

i contemplated Grey having some sort of tanktop / leotard, but ultimately I like the idea of Grey having a cropped jacket for appearances sake. BAGGY JEANS!! They arent as constricting therefore he could feel more free wearing them while also looking stylish!

now his scars - He has magical frostbite scars from when he was first learning out to use magic! I'd imagine this happens very often to ice wizards, though Grey has more than the usual ice wizard because of him attempting to use ICED SHELL at a young age 💀....

He also has a few sword cuts from brawling with Erza and a burn scar on his right cheek from Natsu, again from when they were kids. Its mainly cause he's exposed when he fights them.

Adding onto his jacket choice - I feel Fairy Tail wizards are very proud to display their scars, its proof theyve fought and survived. So Grey has no qualm with them, only a little embarrassed by the frostbite scars cuz of how he gained them:]

also TRANSMASC!! YIPEE!!

Lastly, he has many piercing's because why the hell not. Nipple, lip, nose, eyebrow, below the brow, and belly button piercing/s! His rosemary is also a gift from his mother before his parents died <3

His eyes happen to be ice colored because of iced shell too.

[onedaughterofman]

That classic "getting sold to" fic (Papa Emeritus IV x g/n reader)

Summary: You get kidnapped and sold to a band. No, not One Direction. Ghost.

A/N: LISTEN. You know when you're struggling with writers block and decide to write something really weird and dumb to try to fix it? This is that fic. It's humor, it's satire, it's not meant to be taken seriously. Please, don't laugh at me on Tiktok, Reddit or any other place.

However, you can laugh at me on Tumblr. That's it.

“Can I, uh, help you?”

The man standing right in front of you seems uncomfortable, maybe even more than you. He’s odd, that’s all you can conclude. The way he’s dressed in sport clothes doesn’t match the intricate, gothic design of the place that surrounds you.

Hell, you’re even certain there’s some sort of private cemetery to your right. “I…” You begin, shifting the weight from one foot to the other. “Where am I?”

“The Ministry?”

That reveals nothing. You huff softly, chewing on your lip as your eyes inspect the building. It’s ancient, the decoration is questionable and the air is cold, so frigid. Apparently, you’re in some sort of church, somewhere far away from home.

Great. Getting kidnapped and sold was bad, but being trapped in a place like this with a man like him is beginning to be worse. He’s clearly nervous, fidgeting with his gloves and looking anywhere but your eyes. This man looks like he’d rather be anyplace but here, and you agree.

Still, why is he so uneasy, if he’s the one who bought you?

“Bought you?” The man takes a step back, brows creating a deep furrow on his forehead. He’s confused, almost half tempted to slam the door in your face and just go hide back inside the Ministry. “I didn’t buy anything. I think so. Did I?”

“Listen, I don’t know. I barely heard my kidnappers talking about someone buying me in the auction and then I was left here at your door. That’s all.”

This time, the man sighs profoundly. The air exits his lungs slowly, causing a cloud of condensation to form. Fuck, it’s so cold outside you almost wish he would let you in. Rubbing your arms does little to warm you up, and it sucks the kidnappers didn't give you at least a few minutes to grab a coat.

Listening to your silent prayers, he steps aside. “Dai, entra.”

The hallways are long and empty, and the windows are made of stained glass. Overall, the building in beautiful, but you can’t allow yourself to enjoy it. These past weeks have been crazy, to say at least. Another legitimate impending reason to go to therapy, probably.

Following this strange man through the halls, you finally reach an open space. There are more people there, either sitting on the couch or standing by the bar counter.

Oh, well, they have their own private bar. This church is not as bad as you initially thought. Except maybe this isn’t a church. Everybody is wearing some kind of bizarre mask, completely concealing their faces. Is this a cult?

Great, you were sold to a cult.

“Who did this?” Your companion asks, stopping in the middle of the room. A couple of heads turn to stare at you, but no one speaks up. The man insists, voice in a commanding tone, until he obtains an answer.

“Did what?”

“This…” He hesitates, pointing in your general direction as if he’s only just now realizing he never asked for a name. “This person says they were sold to us. Does anybody know anything?”

For a long moment, no one mentions anything. Then, slowly, a few fingers rise to point at what you determine is a man. He remains silent, only shrugging his shoulders when the stares become extraordinarily intense.

“What? So that’s all it was? A regular human?”

The silence is deafening. If it possessed any weight, you’d be crushed into the ground. Yet, no one seems to be genuinely surprised, as if this wasn’t the first time something like this has happened.

Honestly, you don’t really want to know.

“I thought it was something more interesting. They really hyped it up during the auction.” The man stands up, long hair falling around the mask. He begins walking away, putting as much space between himself and the two of you as he can without leaving the room.

“You bought a person on the dark web?”

A few laughs reverb against the walls before getting lost in the long halls. Sadly, the man next to you is not as amused as the rest. “You little devil!” He yells, causing you to flinch. “What did I say about online shopping?!”

“You never let me do shit.”

The screaming match attracts even more people. At this point, you wish to shrink and disappear somewhere small and dark. An old woman walks in, followed close by an even older man who looks like he could have been buried outside a few minutes ago. He smiles upon seeing you, waving a hand as a salute, and you find yourself returning the wave.

Shit. These people are bizarre. Maybe this is all a drug induced dream, a hallucination.

No, no way. Your imagination is not this good.

Pupils locked on the ground, you allow the voices to become nothing but background noise. From the corner of your eyes, you see how some of the masked ones begin to get closer, in an attempt to get a good look at you, but you ignore them.

"Where's that website? Is there a return policy? Can we get the money back?" The woman yells, arms wildly gesticulating towards you.

"Seestor, we're talking about a person."

"And I'm talking business. That was hard earned money. We'll have to cut costs if we can't get it back. No more fancy robes, pizza nights or theme orgies. And say goodbye to the heating system."

Theme orgies?

What is this place?

"But we're freezing in here! We'll die from the cold before the worst part of winter arrives!"

"Great. You'll be warm when you're burning in Hell."

Step after step, you back away until your back hits something firm. The bar counter lays behind, now completely devoid of people. Without an invitation, you sit in one of the stools, wondering if it would be terribly challenging to simply sprint out of this place. You don’t think they will chase you but then, where will you go? You’re not even sure where you are.

A hand appears in your line of vision. The man who opened the door for you is behind the counter, leaning on the surface with a strained, polite smile on his lips. “So… What do you want to do?” He asks, waving an arm to gesture at the bottles.“Do you want a drink? Are you old enough to drink?”

“I’m an adult.” You reply, letting your head fall on the wood. This can’t get worse.

“Vabbè. Red wine?”

“It’s ten in the morning.”

“Oh, right. Let’s get white wine, then.”

The wine is cold and fragrant. Your fingers toy with the cup, twirling the liquid inside. This is good, probably one of the best drinks you have had in a while. It makes you want to strike a conversation. “What’s your name?”

The question takes the man by surprise. He takes a big sip of his wine before replying. “Cardinal,” he states, but then shakes his head. “No. Uh, Papa?”

Papa?

"I'm not calling you that."

“Not like that! I mean, you can call me Cardi C?”

This time, it’s impossible not to let out a chuckle. You try hiding it behind the palm of your hand, but he sees right through it. “Cardi C? Like the rapper?”

“No.” A gloved hand runs through his hair, fixing a few strands of hair. “Copia. My name is Copia.”

“Are you sure?”

“I hope so. Do you have a name, or do you want one?”

“I already have one, thank you.”

“Si, right. Sorry.”

Copia seems even more uncomfortable than before. Gulping the last of his wine, he sets the cup back on the counter before gathering a deep breath. A part of you feels sorry for him, because he’s obviously awkward and anxious, clearly not too used to interacting with people outside this place.

It’s endearing. He’s a bit cute, too, in a rat kind of way.

Or not. The alcohol must be starting to affect you, considering the fact you haven’t had anything substantial to eat in a while. Upon noticing your stare fixed on his face, Copia swallows hard before focusing his gaze on the wall.

Okay, yes. He’s attractive. You can’t continue with your train of thoughts, because suddenly a woman appears next to you. The severe look on her face is practically impossible to decipher.

“Sister, we can’t let them go alone. They already got kidnapped once,” Copia pleads. His eyes are big and round on his face, and it should be illegal for a grown man to look like that.

Sister is not immune to it, but she stands her ground, nevertheless. “Well, we can’t keep them. There are no even tax benefits from having them here.”

“I’m pretty sure we can find them something to do. At least for a bit? Please?”

There is that pleading look, again. Sister tries resisting it to the best of her abilities, but then she gathers a deep breath before nodding. “Primo said he required help with the garden. Do you know anything about gardening?“

Behind her back, you see how Copia nods his head, in an attempt to urge you to agree. “Yes?”

“Great. They can stay, at least until we discover how to send them back home.”

Without sparing any more words, Sister and the older man disappear through the door. Your fingers uncurl from the cup, ultimately placing it on the wooden counter. Copia pours a bit more of wine, that you accept eagerly.

Fuck. It’s been a long day, but it’s not even noon.

"Thank you,“ you whisper, barely audible over the mumbling from outside the room. ”For a moment I thought I was going to get used as a human sacrifice."

Swaying his head, Copia hurries to reply. "Oh, no. Do you have an idea how hard it is to clean liters and liters of blood off the white stone walls? And the smell, hell, it impregnates everything. Mixing aceto and bicarbonato di sodio helps a bit, but it certainly doesn't do miracles."

This time, the silence is louder than before. Your eyes are big, lids completely open. He detects the sudden change in your demeanor, but doesn’t show any indication of his words being a joke.

"Don't ask me how I know all that." It’s all he mutters, before gulping another sip of wine. “Anyway, the gardening. I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

“I can’t guarantee I’ll be of much help.”

“Don’t worry. Everything Primo touches dies, ” Copia comments. He looks in your direction, deep in thoughts. Then, his shoulders shrug. “Wear long sleeves and gloves, just in case.”

Aw, fuck.

Ps: take this as an apology for the angsty Antichrist Copia fic I updated yesterday. If you are struggling with writers block, give up your desire of perfection and write something dumb like this. It helps.

[matchibee]

A Web of Their Own Design (pt. 3)

bark? bark bark? (barely proofread)

Atoms felt as though they were dissipating, burning like a flame. You could feel your very being splitting apart, distancing themselves as you clutching yourself, fetal position of the floor of the Spider Society — countless spiders: men, women, animals? — looking to you with remorse, a silent understanding. "First time?"

You supposed there was a first time for everything, every experience and bloodshed, but this was far from favorable. A burden running deeper than anything you'd ever experienced prior.

"Here, hun." Spider-Woman, Jessica, you'd come to know the spider who'd previously come to your aid. "It'll help with the glitching."

You secured the band around your wrist — a day pass — Hobie, Spider-Punk, had called it. You thanked her with a nod, Hobie brushing your shoulder, your neck turning to gaze upon him. "Why're you here?"

You thought you might've heard him wrong, excusing yourself, asking for clarification.

"Were Bossman's words so enticing you folded just like that?"

"I wouldn't say I folded."

"Like a lawn-chair."

"Hey!"

Miguel called out to you from ways away, sculpted back facing you, unchanging in his posture. "Knock it off, kids." Was he saying that to infuriate you? Certainly not. If the phenomenon sweeping the universes — multiverses? spiderverses? — was as pressing as he made them seem, he wouldn't been keen on making enemies.

You entered a room situated at the end of a vast hallway, spider variants that passed you by looking to you as though you were nothing more than a fleeting light in an array of stars.

Here, you were normal. Here, your powers weren't a burden nor a blessing. You simply existed, coasting the waves in an experience of simplicity.

It was liberating.

"You're about to get the Spider-Spiel."

"The huh?"

"My name, as you know, is Miguel O'Hara. I'm the leader of an elite Strike-Force dedicated to the security of the multiverse. That's where you are now, where I've brought you."

Hobie was not kidding when he said this man was about to go on a spiel.

"I'm this universe's one and only Spider-Man. I'm... Well, I'm different from the rest, different from everyone."

His introduction piqued your curiosity, a million questions pressing against the tip of your tongue, reducing yourself to a singular inquiry, perhaps the one that mattered the most. "What does that have to do with me?"

Miguel removed his mask, sumptuous blues and reds forfeiting themselves for a face sculpted by the Gods. His suit was far from deceiving, clinging to his body in a way only the spandex could. A second skin.

"Lyla," a hologram produced an AI from seemingly nowhere. "Do the thing."

The opulently dressed Artifice feigned ignorance. "What thing?"

"The thing."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Miguel clawed his hands down his face, skin contorting to his touch, frustrated. "You are literally programed to know what thing."

The two bickered back and forth, Miguel entirely fed up as Lyla continued the act, zipping in blurbs around his body, Miguel struggling to keep up with the myriad places she seemed to reposition herself.

You leaned towards Hobie, faces still obscured by your masks, "Do they always act like this?"

"Infuriating? Stubborn? Wanton?"

"All of the above."

"On the daily."

You groaned much like Miguel had, swift in removing your mask, a breath of fresh air — said air smelling different, its taste even differing from the air you breathed in your own universe.

"You're quite the looker beneath your mask," Hobie had removed his own, head of hair bouncing voluminously from its confines, a face graced in silvers. "Decent face, obviously intelligent. How'd you let that guy drag you into all this? This... institutional nonsense?"

All you could think of in the midst of Hobie's own rant was how the hell did all that hair fit?

"Institutional nonsense?"

"Rubbish, all of it. I never believed in it." He crossed his arms over his chest, fed up with the situation.

"Hobie," You gathered his attention, a hum sounding from his throat. "You're part of this institution — you're wearing the same watch as everyone else."

He clicked his tongue, "I don't believe in consistency."

"Obviously."

Miguel rejoiced in the background, attentions returning to the mount of muscle, "There we go!"

The lights dimmed in a dramatic fashion, a network of webs connecting to display the multiverse. You looked into them with wonder, hand reaching out, fearing what might happen if your fingers brushed the webs. You saw everything, everyone. Nobody exempt from Miguel's observations, network extending more vast than anything you'd ever believed possible. It seemed impossible for him to be capable of such feats.

"This is..."

"For the sake of simplicity: everything."

Nothing could describe what you felt, what you saw. Every Spider's happiness, downfall. Their hopes and dreams on the sleeve of the multiverse. Not once had you had an original experience. Not now, not ever. If you'd thought it, chances were another had, too.

The thought alone was terrifying? Comforting? You couldn't quite put your finger on it, everything blurring into a singular feeling, a network of minds linked, perhaps cursed.

Was this all you were?

"There are certain canon events that precede Spiderman's existence."

"Canon event?"

Jess spoke up, "Events that are intended to happen. Trials and tribulations every Spider goes through — are meant to go through."

Miguel hummed. "Mhm, mhm. In the future, Jess, I'll do the explaining."

She could only groan in response to his declaration, turning on her heel with a wave of her gloved hand. "Always one for dramatics."

"As Jess said," He spoke the words through his teeth, "Canon events are experiences we all experience — the loss of a loved one, how we acquired our powers. Without these moments, we are breaking the canon, deflecting from what the multiverse intended of us."

You groaned, so much information. Too much information. As exciting as everything seemed, as ecstatic as you were to know you weren't allowed in the world — in any world — this was far too much for you to digest on a Tuesday afternoon, abandoned coffee roaming the halls. "I'm gonna ask one more time, if I don't get my answer, I'm leaving." You approached him, closing the distance between you, standing face-to-face with him in a manner you'd do well in assuming nobody had previously, if his response had anything to say about it. "What does this have to do with me?"

Eyebrows raised, posture stiff. "It has everything to do with you."

You scoffed, returning your mask to where it originated, Miguel's eyes flickering to follow the motion. "I'm out."

"You don't get to just..." He paused to find the words, "Opt out!"

You were mid-thwip, a web pressed against the roof of the room, Hobie watching you with the brightest grin you'd ever seen grace anyone's features. "And why not?"

"These anomalies have been steadily increasing in your universe, concentrating themselves there for some reason. I've yet to see anything like it. It's... Odd."

Hobie's smile fashioned into a frown as you detached from your web, reproaching, perhaps regretting. "You don't have any idea why that could be happening?"

"None. Not yet."

Of course not. Of course this couldn't be easy, the multiverse keen on making your life difficult.

If only someone else had been there that day, cooped up in your school's laboratory studying, examining specimen and confining their anatomy to memory. If only you hadn't slouched in your seat while in desperate need of a break, reaching up to remove the goggles from your face, a spider finding its home on the back of your hand. Nipping at the skin, injecting its influence. If only you hadn’t awoke the next morning with pain pricking at your limbs, sticking to every surface, parents knocking at your door in worry.

If only you awoke the next morning a superhero.

"You want my help?" You were hesitant, unsure. This only widened the burden, further extended how far you'd have to stretch yourself to keep up with everything — with life. Could your relationships survive this? Could your universe survive this?

If you didn't agree to join their Spider Society, you might never know.

"We need your help."

"Fine." You were quick, indignant. There was no point beating around the bush when you could potentially bring an end to this today. A hand outstretched to Miguel, the man confused, hesitant to return the favor. You were extending yourself to him, a gesture he saw as vulnerable.

Vulnerability would be the death of him.

Still, he took your hand, wordless. Palms clasping together as he explained the parameters, what you would be doing and how you could help them. How they could help you, a paradox of service.

Another piece of the puzzle, a pawn on his board. Miguel O'Hara had secured yet another someone that would assist him in ensuring the multiverse didn't collapse.

Another Spider to help untangle the web Miles Morales had spun.

[easternpine]

Taking Off, Chapter 2

A Femshep & Parasini BFF, Shakarian, No Reapers AU

As she continued to gripe, the datapad she’d been holding slipped free from her fingers and clattered to the floor. “Shit…” Awkwardly, she tried to squat, but the fabric of her skirt strained against her muscular thighs, and it felt like the garment might rip in two. She stood up again, tugging at the hem. God, she hated these things. The skirt kept riding up, and she found the feeling of free air between her legs unsettling. At least trousers moved with your body; slim skirts were just cages for your legs. She could have sworn the masochist who designed it had looked at their breakfast one day and decided a sausage casing would make for a fantastic piece of fashion. Shepard peered over the reception counter, but there was no one there. Where the hell was Marianne? Why was no one manning the front desk? Attacking from another angle, she contorted at the waist while bending her knees and reached toward the floor, but her thin heels were making balance impossible. Her fingers brushed the edge of the pad and she grunted, struggling to gain purchase on the slippery casing. Just then, she heard the doors slide open. A pair of scuffed combat boots appeared at her feet, each one host to two toes. “Here, let me,” said a distinctly turian voice. Three long digits scooped up the datapad and held it out to her. “Oh…” Shepard’s head shot up. A rangy turian man dressed in a C-Sec uniform was looking down at her with curiosity. His face was a hard-bitten rock gray—typical for a turian—but his eyes were ice blue, a striking but unusual feature she’d never seen in one of his kind. He wore an expensive looking visor over one of his eyes, all but obscuring it. She continued to stare as she regarded the blue markings across his face, and she wondered which colony they were meant to represent. The turian cleared his throat and gestured with the datapad. Quickly, she straightened to standing and smoothed her skirt down at the front with a frantic yank. “Thanks,” she said, taking the datapad back.  “You know, I’ve never understood how you ladies can stand such restrictive clothing,” he said with casually. “Seems awfully impractical. Maybe it’s unfashionable, but I like to be comfortable when I’m working,” Shepard bristled at the stranger’s judgment. Nevermind that she hadn’t exactly chosen the clothes, or that she agreed with his point wholeheartedly, but it was awfully presumptuous—not to mention a bit sexist—for him to make the comment to her face. “I’m sorry,  I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” she said with a strained smile. “Detective Garrus Vakarian, C-Sec Special Investigations. I’m guessing you’re….” His mandibles fluttered slightly as he narrowed his eyes. “Jane Shepard?” “How did you know?” Shepard stood with her feet apart and crossed her bare, sinewy arms. The turian eyed her up and down. “Just a hunch..."

Read the rest on Ao3

[roosterbox]

October Almost-Drabbles 10/3: Scarf

Pairing: Arthur/Eames

Word Count: 437

Additional tags: FLUFF, knitting as a form of love, the struggle of being honest with your partner

Side note: my personal headcanon is that Eames is actually pretty decent at knitting. He just made Arthur a shitty scarf or sweater one time as a joke, but Arthur seemed sincere when he told him he liked it. Now everything Eames makes him is purposely terrible.

———

Honestly, Arthur didn’t know what to make of the scarf when Eames gave it to him. It was obscenely long, even for a scarf. The colors clashed garishly. The wool was thick and stuffy. And the stitching on it was atrocious. It was, quite frankly, the ugliest thing Arthur had ever seen.

“Um,” he said.

Eames was almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Struck speechless by the beauty of it all, are you? Well don’t think too long - we have reservations!”

He left to put on his own coat, leaving Arthur there dressed in one of his nicer suits, horrible scarf in hand, wondering how the hell he could (gently, gently) broach the subject of his boyfriend’s knitting skill. Or apparent lack thereof. He was still considering this when Eames walked back in, holding Arthur’s coat out for him. He helped him into it, and wrapped the ugly scarf around his neck. A couple times. It really was far too long.

“Um,” Arthur said again. He’d never had a problem speaking his thoughts before. Why was this proving so difficult?

“Come on,” Eames took his hand and guided the two of them outside. Arthur braced himself for the biting November winds, but somehow he barely felt them. The ridiculous scarf, with its off-putting pattern and design, seemed to keep his entire body warm. Or was it… something else? He could feel his face getting warm too, and he squeezed Eames hand. The other man didn’t look, but Arthur could still see him smiling.

“Did you… work hard on it? The scarf, I mean.”

“Who me? Nah.” Eames still didn’t look at him, and now his own cheeks started to pink up. “You know me. Never worked hard a single day of my life.”

The subtext was impossible to miss. Yes, I did. I worked very hard on it. It’s made with love. Because I love you. Also impossible was the chance that Eames didn’t already know, or think at least, that Arthur hated it. Maybe that’s why he still hadn’t looked Arthur in the eye since putting the scarf on him. Was he… embarrassed? Well that simply would not do.

“I love it,” Arthur said, surprising himself with his sincerity.

Eames finally looked at him then. His eyes, suspicious at first, softened at the look on his boyfriend’s face. “Really?”

Arthur nodded, and squeezed his hand again. The other he used to fiddle a bit with a particularly chunky patch of stitches. Now that he thought of it, his answer couldn’t have been anything else.

“You made it for me. How could I not?”