#tagging those so this doesn't flop

[feelsforsterek]

╰┈➤ TYLER HOECHLIN in Superman & Lois │ Closer

[dontwanderoff]

have spent a nice 40 minutes or so reteaching myself algebra and practicing so i don't embarrass myself in front of the children again tomorrow

[mrpenguinpants]

Me, rattling the bars of my enclosure, dying and in pain. I'M DONE. I usually try to get commissions done within 3 days but I got violently sick out of nowhere.

More writer's notes under the cut:

I feel like most of my single-character one-shots are quite different from my headcanon fics. But this one especially feels way out there. Magnolia (my previous Dottore-only fic) has a somewhat similar vibe, but this one feels like I doubled the existential crisis.

Honestly, I don’t know how to feel about it—which is bad since this is a commission. Thankfully, the commissioner liked it, so we’re safe. Or maybe they were just being really nice to me lol. Either way, I hope they did. I initially planned to use the Ayato fic as a guideline, and I kind of did since this fic follows the same structure. But somewhere in the middle, that plan went out the window.

I think I’m physically incapable of writing Dottore without the relationship dynamic feeling completely doomed. Quite literally, it’s an “I’d follow him into Hell, but I sure wish he’d stop going there” vibe. Plus, my interpretation of Dottore is so different from any other character that I was genuinely worried when the same commissioner came back to me. I was like—do you know what you’re asking for? Because I’m about to crack open a philosophy book for this guy. I even took a German word for the title just to satisfy the pretentious bullshit I associate with when writing Dottore. Even with 4,000 words, I feel like I didn’t explore the relationship dynamic enough to fully convey the serene yet doomed tone I was aiming for. But I’m glad most readers, being the smart people they are, picked up on it.

I think my downfall was the music I was listening to—real bittersweet tracks that probably seeped into the writing. I’ve also taken a lot of liberties with his characterization since we don’t know much about the original Dottore. Personally, I imagine he’d be calm and patient. In the Genshin manga, Dottore (Beta) comes off as much more unhinged, while in the Sumeru Archon quest, Omega seems calmer and more composed. So, I assume the original, technically the oldest, would be the most mellow yet hollow of them all.

Oh, and I have to mention this: the (possible) shade of Dottore’s hair is literally called Air Superiority Blue. That’s way too funny not to bring up. I was going to go with Light Blue Slumber (since I’m trying to build a theme around characters’ hair colors), but it felt a bit lame. So, I looked up Dottore’s hair color and found Air Superiority Blue, but that sounded lame too. Then I changed it to Bitter Blue Slumber, which I didn’t like either, so it became Bitter Slumber. Finally, while writing this, I went looking for a word that captures "bittersweet nostalgia," since that’s sort of the relationship dynamic I wanted to convey (not entirely, but close). And wow, Reddit came through. Someone had already asked the same question, and someone else suggested the word Torschlusspanik. I explained its meaning in the fic, but it’s such a perfect word. So yeah, that’s why the title ended up being what it is. Rip the slumber-title continuity.

Ttorschlusspanik [ Commissioned ]

[ Hcs for Dottore where the reader is very sleepy/sleep-deprived and is constantly falling asleep in battle, on dates, or maybe during research and experiments! ]

Word Count: 4k

Ayato Ver: Pale Blue Slumber Semi Part 1: Low Battery Warning [Masterlist]

Thank you so much for commissioning me! You’re so sweet, and I truly appreciate the tip, but I can’t accept this level of generosity. Please let me know if I went under the word count. Also, thank you for your patience—I got really sick this week and am still recovering.

Torshlosspanik. noun. 1. A desperate feeling that something desired is fading, missing, or being taken away. 2. A feeling of frustration when something one has is departing.

A slumbering figure, a nearly empty desk, and foreboding fabric are the greeting signs to the infamous lab. It’s ironic, really. The concept that the Doctor’s domain comes with a “receptionist” setup stationed in front of imposing steel doors, giving the illusion that this place is as normal—and as morally sound—as any other doctor’s office. At best, it’s laughable to think anyone would believe this place accepts patients willingly, let alone frequently enough to require check-ins. Yet, a shabby but sturdy wooden desk stands innocently in the corner of the entrance, its chipping edges lined with plastic chrysanthemums and white lilies. The artificial flowers are faded, their colors dull from years of neglect, as if mocking the very notion of hospitality. Behind the desk sits an equally worn-down office chair, large enough for someone to curl up in. Its fabric is stained and frayed from years of misuse, the cushion lumpy and barely holding its shape but still useable. All for a receptionist, if you can call them that, who spends more time asleep than actually working as an employee in this most unlikely place. Legs curled up on the seat, arms crisscrossed over the knees in a fetal position. A chin tucked towards the chest, hidden from the view of passersby. Back facing toward prying eyes, leaving only the pronounced slouch of their spine visible, an angle practically begging to develop scoliosis. But the most harrowing detail isn’t the position. It’s the unmistakable black-and-white fur coat draped over them like a blanket, the fabric’s presence carrying an air of authority and fear. A coat only gifted to the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. The desk itself is of no help either. There’s no clipboard, no pens, no paper-nothing that could even remotely resemble the tools of an actual receptionist. It’s an empty stage prop, barely held together by the weight of its own absurdity. And yet, for all its flaws, it stands as the gateway to a place no one in their right mind would willingly step into.

No one dares attempt to wake you. Successfully doing so is practically a death sentence, especially if you go whining to Dottore about the unprompted “alarm clock.” He has a reputation for ensuring the offender never makes a sound again. The only ones bold enough to try and emerge unscathed are his fellow Harbingers, though even they tread lightly when it comes to disturbing your slumber. It’s both impressive and deeply concerning how much of a deep sleeper you are. The bustling footsteps of agents pacing outside the lab, their sharp voices discussing assignments, don’t stir you. The deafening clangs of machinery, coupled with the revolting squelches of severed monster parts being dissected, fail to trigger even a flicker of awareness. Not even Tartaglia’s incessant yammering, loud enough to make glass shudder, elicits so much as an irritated swat from you. Instead, you remain in a state of unyielding sleep, utterly detached from the chaos around you. Your peculiar habit has become such a fixture in the lab that the staff barely remember you exist. You sit perched at their entrance and exit, as still and silent as a gargoyle guarding a forgotten ruin. To them, you are little more than part of the backdrop. A slumbering figure whose presence is a curious mix of ominous and benign.

While it's obvious that the answer to rousing you is to find Dottore himself, or one of his segments if he isn’t around, the interesting part is how you wake up. You're not immune to the initial dizziness that comes with awakening. When you finally open your eyes, blinking the sleep away from your eyelashes, you’re always disoriented. Your eyes feel glazed over, as though you’ve gone blind from keeping them closed too long. Yet, there’s always a common theme: you always reach out toward the nearest blue object. Whether it's an odd trinket or a test tube of acidic liquid, your hand automatically tries to grab it and pull it close to you. It’s part of the reason your desk is stationed outside the lab, away from anything potentially dangerous hidden behind heavy steel doors. Artificial blue has been on the rise lately. Luckily, in nature, blue is very rare. Less than one in ten plants has blue flowers, and even fewer animals are blue. Unfortunately, the biggest nuisance has blue eyes—dead as they are. Tartaglia may not like the doctor, but he does like you. Maybe it’s because your sleep demeanor can be categorized as cute, or maybe you remind him of the simple life in an organization that’s so uptight. Regardless, that little fox has been clawing at the wooden legs yapping for attention. It's only made worse you don't bother to dissuade him, only indulging in his playful antics. It's led to many, many, lectures from one particular segment.

It's fascinating watching how each segment interacts with your sleepy demeanor. While each segment has varying features and appearances, under the same clothes and mask, they would be indistinguishable if they stood still and never spoke. The only true way to discern them is through their actions and mental processes. Hence, it's easy to tell who is who by the way they go about holding you.

Omega is by far the least attentive or affectionate toward you. Perhaps it’s because he’s the most selfish of them all. There’s still an ongoing debate over whether his dislike for you stems from the fact that you stand in the way of fulfilling his desires or if his ambitions extend beyond simply overtaking the divine gaze. Or perhaps the divine gaze isn't actually his goal in the first place. Either way, it’s two sides of the same coin. When it’s Omega’s turn to fetch you, he does so as if you were any other patient. Completely beneath him. One arm rests behind his back, while the other holds a piece of paper clenched tightly in his hand. His mouth is set in a firm line as he gazes down at your slumped form. Although the air around him is calm and silent, it doesn’t take a genius to know that if he could get away with it, he’d drag you through the halls by your hair. Alas, that kind of act would get him permanently disassembled, so he settles for unceremoniously flipping you upright. The arm resting on the small of his back is removed and curls under your stomach. With one swift motion, you’re treated like one of Signora’s shopping bags. The sight of a limp body folded in half under an arm that surely digs into the stomach is the best way to know if it’s the Omega segment or not.

Beta, on the other hand. Beta. That maniacal and neurotic freak adores you but couldn’t care less about you. His research typically focuses on fusing humans with machinery to create “better versions” of themselves, and he fully believes in that philosophy. You would look so much better if he were allowed to be your sole care provider. If your drowsiness were caused by a medical condition like heart disease, asthma, pain, or a nerve condition, he could simply replace them, and you’d be perfect. If it were a mental issue, well, he’d love you no matter how unresponsive you might be. It wouldn’t be much different from you being asleep anyway. When it’s Beta’s turn to fetch you, he does so with a waltz. He walks purposefully toward your desk. Loud and firm, his hands fisted at his sides with unrestrained glee, swinging in time with each step. Even with a mask that obscures most of his face, it’s clear to see the overexcited grin stretching across his lips. It’s almost like there’s static buzzing in time with his artificial heart, fuzzy yet electrically sharp. There’s no fanfare, as soon as he’s within arm’s reach, he grabs the nearest piece of skin and hauls you out of the chair. By some miracle, you’re always still asleep from the rough handling, which is more than enough for Beta to wrap his other arm around your waist. Your chests press together, and he swings your body to and fro in his mad dance. The sight of a limp body dragged into a dancing plague that’s surely pulling your stiff joints out of place is the best way to know if it’s Beta or not. Beta has been recently banned from coming within a six-foot radius around you. 

The original Dottore, Zandik, is a unique case. All of the segments originated from him but at different points in time. However, they are still parts of his thoughts and mannerisms. There really is no order in which the segments are ranked, as they can’t compete with each other. What’s more pointless than trying to beat yourself? You’ll still lose in the end. Zandik is a strange mix of every segment yet none at all. When he wants to see you, he does so slowly, with all the time in the world. His methodical steps echo lightly on the concrete floors of the lab, his arms still at his sides yet loose enough that the slightest wind could blow them away. It’s as eerie as it is tranquil. Everything about the original whispers of restrained patience—that when he arrives at the front of your desk, he simply waits. Usually, it takes you hours or even days to wake up on your own, but when it’s Zandik standing at the edge of your daydream, your eyes slide open. Small ripples in the pond. You’re still lethargic, blindly feeling your way back into your body as your eyes ricochet off the walls until they land on blue. A weighted hand reaches out to grab that ashy blue, and another hand meets your fingertips.

It would be cute if it were anyone else. The sight of a man with curly light blue hair, carrying a bundled-up figure dressed in a white coat with a fluffy black collar, legs dangling from either side of his waist while his hands rest on the lump’s presumed back and thighs. It would be so cute indeed, if it were anyone else but Zandik. But for him, it only looks lonely, despite the two of you pressed together.

The moments when you're awake only happen on two occasions: either you just happened to wake up at that time, or it’s check-up day. What kind of doctor would Dottore be if he didn’t conduct physicals for his only patient who manages to live long enough each year? The check-ups happen twice a week, always two days apart. Never past two days of separation. Ever. Your exact relationship dynamic with Dottore remains as obscure as ever as to why he cares so much. Whether you’re old friends who knew each other before Dottore set foot in Snezhnaya or even when Dottore was called a different name. Or maybe a dead lover resurrected as a zombie in the pursuit of selfish greed and glorious progress; both are possible options. The zombie theory at least explains why you’re constantly drowsy. The staff have never seen you eat anything before, and with the abundance of... zombie food, it's not outlandish as much as it is disgusting. The old friend theory would explain why you can stomach being around someone who can fly off the handle at any moment. The most willing yet unwilling patient. No matter how often Dottore has to wrestle you upright, only for you to slump back asleep the next second, he never loses his temper. If he has to strap you into a straitjacket and hang you from the goddamn ceiling to keep you sitting with a straight back, he will. But by no means will he get anything more than slightly miffed. If he has to force-feed you your medicine because you’re too loopy to remember how to swallow, he’ll shove his fingers into the back of your throat with nothing but a blank smile. The only good thing about your sleep-deprived state is that you’re probably so out of it that you can’t feel discomfort. It saves on using the limited supply of anesthesia the lab carries.

Dottore, for lack of a better word, is displeased with your constant need for sleep. He is deeply frustrated with each check-in and the stagnation of your results. For him, bad results are no different from good ones—they’re still a means of moving forward. Something that will tell him which direction to take rather than wandering around aimlessly in the dark. But in your case, there are no significant changes, as if everything he’s done has been for nothing. He could have closed his eyes and spun a wheel for the same results. The day before your check-in is always the calm before the storm because the staff knows that when the next day comes, they’d better keep their heads down or risk losing them. No one is quite sure if your sleepiness stems from mutated genetics or if it’s a side effect of being around Dottore for too long. Stir-craziness and breakdowns are common in the lab, whether among "patients" or "employees." Everyone eventually goes mad, cooped up within the same cell-shaded walls and working under possibly the worst boss imaginable. Add to that the fact that the Fatui don’t believe in “mental health” days, and with no coping mechanisms in sight, it’s unfair to expect anyone to function effectively. Most people eventually devolve into screaming or manic episodes. Perhaps your escape is more literal. A peaceful retreat from reality through sleep. You’re not even sure why you’re constantly sleep-deprived, especially when you spend more time slumbering than awake. At first, you thought you might be narcoleptic or taking the wrong pills; a diagnosis from scratch must take a long time, right? That was until Dottore bluntly called you an idiot. He told you it’s a bad habit to self-diagnose every minor inconvenience. You should let him do all the thinking and simply listen to him. And truthfully, with the haze clouding your mind, it’s too difficult to think clearly anyway. So, you nod and do as you’re told. It’s easier that way.

It doesn’t happen often, but it occurs more than it should, considering who Dottore is and the reputation he holds. If you wish to cross him, you’d better make it count—because it’ll be your last. He’s in the middle of a meeting with Pantalone, arguing over the lab’s finances when a frantic knock interrupts. Apparently, there’s been a scuffle at the entrance of the lab. To Pantalone's knowledge, there aren't any guards or any agents stationed at the doors except for that sleepy receptionist. Perhaps the doctor's staff finally had enough and decided to take their anger on someone who couldn't fight back? Pantalone's not a good enough person to not find amusement in the situation, infinitely curious as to what Dottore's reaction will be to all of this. Whatever the banker decided to gamble on, his expression doesn't twitch as he follows behind his fellow Harbinger as they walk leisurely through the halls, as if the world has come to a standstill. It’s almost amusing that when your life is potentially on the line, he suddenly decides to take a midday stroll. The only indication of his amusement is the slight shake in his shoulders, hinting at a silent laugh. Dottore punches in the lock code and throws open the steel doors before the automatic switch can activate, slipping through as soon as the gap is wide enough. He stops at the shabby wooden desk that’s now gained a few new dents.

This time, you’re curled up on top of the table, your office chair thrown across the room. Broken. It’s no matter, he’s been meaning to replace it anyway. The chair is just another expense to add to his name. He collects you into his arms effortlessly, and you instinctively sink into the familiar hold. A quick scan from head to toe confirms that you’re unharmed, save for a few strands of hair out of place. Behind him, Pantalone lets out a noise of approval as he surveys the scene. In the center of the room stands a robot with a striking design. A star-shaped frame with six triangular segments forms a perfect symmetry. Glowing cyan cores illuminate the metallic structure, positioned at its center and edges. The intricate details combine sharp, crystalline elements with mechanical precision, radiating an aura of both elegance and menace. As expected of the Doctor. Pantalone can’t help but wonder where this machine was hiding when Signora ventured to Inazuma. Perhaps if it had been deployed then, she might have returned in one piece.

Although Dottore no longer needs to sleep to survive, there are times when, as he passes by your sleeping form, he’ll pause. He stands still, staring for what feels like an absurd amount of time, meticulously detailing and recording every breath you take within a single minute. It’s always 17. Sleep occupies about one-third of a person’s life, a significant portion of time that, in Dottore's mind, could be devoted to something useful. Something productive, instead of wasting it frolicking in dreams that neither matter nor will change anything. Yet, even he can’t deny that, occasionally, a break from reality can serve as a fragile bandage over a wound that refuses to heal. A fleeting comfort in an otherwise relentless existence.  

It’s as awkward as it is unnatural. Despite his title as "The Doctor", his hands weren’t designed for gentle touches of flesh and bone. Yet he tries. His fingers twitch involuntarily as he tilts your body to the side, just enough for him to slide in beside you. Carefully, he rests your body against his shoulder. He expects you to jolt awake, his shoulder is bony and hardly a suitable place to rest your head, even when compared to the flaky cushion of the office chair you’ve somehow grown fond of. But you don’t. Of course, you don’t. You simply lay there, your head nestled against his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. No protests, no shifting away, just stillness. The transfer of heat begins, as described by the laws of thermodynamics. Hotter, faster-moving molecules collide with cooler, slower ones, transferring energy in a quiet exchange. No fireworks, no blaring alarms, just the science of touch, as mundane and profound as ever. Zandik dares to lower his chin, letting it rest lightly against your head. His mask doesn’t obscure the quiet moment, though he can feel the unnatural curve of his lips twitching upward ever so slightly. Down here, in the deepest layers of the lab, not even the howling winds of Tsaritsa’s snowstorm can reach. It’s eerily quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of your breathing. For a moment, he wonders what it would be like if you woke up now. If your half-lidded eyes would squint at him in confusion, or if you’d simply close them again, surrendering to the haze of sleep. But you don’t stir. Instead, he lets himself linger, suspended between an unusual warmth and the cold detachment of his own thoughts

"Breaks" are not something you can indulge in down in the labs. The closest the staff ever got was when one of the Harbingers passed away, and even then, it lasted only half a day before they were right back to work. Still, if you ask nicely, Dottore will nod toward an empty seat, silently giving you permission to make yourself comfortable. You take the opportunity to describe the dreams you’ve had while Dottore tinkers away in the background. You talk about a train whose tracks stretch far into the stars, far beyond the snow-obscured sky you glimpse through the scarce, frosted windows scattered about the lab. Sometimes, you dream of a whimsical city filled with cute shops and tiny bunny-like robots waddling through fissures in space. You’re certain he isn’t really paying attention, his hands busy with instruments, and his focus locked on his latest project. Sometimes, you suspect he forgets you’re even in the room despite your rambling. A small part of you wants to stamp your feet and pout like a child. After all, you’re only awake for a few fleeting hours each week, and even then, all he can think about is his experiments. His endless, obsessive tinkering. The man’s only "hobby" is experimentation, and you wonder if he’s even capable of entertaining anything else. At least Omega and Beta would give you some attention. Omega might tell you to be quiet with that dismissive tone of his, while Beta would enthusiastically scribble down every word you say, his excitement unnerving yet oddly gratifying. Still… your gaze drifts toward Zandik’s back as he works, the muscles beneath his coat shifting subtly with each precise movement. You pull your knees up against your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you rest your cheek against your folded arms. For a moment, you simply watch him in silence, the quiet hum of the lab filling the space between you. Eventually, your eyes grow heavy, and you let them slip shut. A faint smile tugs at your lips as you wonder where your dreams will take you this time. You wonder if Zandik would come with you.

On the rare occasion that Dottore chooses to sleep of his own will, most likely due to substances that induce drowsiness and force his body into a state of rest, it’s always a remarkably uneventful night. He doesn’t dream anymore, nor does he wish to. Dreams, like the past, serve no purpose to him now. On certain days, if he concentrates hard enough, he can faintly discern whispers from the other segments he's created. However, they are nothing more than distractions, a cacophony that only aggravates his already meticulous mind. When he wakes, it’s as though he hasn’t truly slept at all. His eyelids parted smoothly, his pupils sharp and alert as if no time had passed. Yet there is an unusual sensation, warmth. Dottore does not run warm, and the lab, built for functionality rather than comfort, certainly doesn’t harbor it either. He turns his head, curiosity fleeting, and finds you huddled against his side. Your arms are wrapped around his waist in a loose embrace, and your face is pressed against his chest, seeking solace in his stillness. The white coat with its black feathered collar, the one you wear more often than he does, is draped across your body, serving as a makeshift blanket. His hands remain clasped on his stomach, and he realizes with mild irritation that he can’t move without risking the possibility of waking you. For a moment, he lingers. The seconds on, and his mind races ahead to the tasks awaiting him. The pursuit of progress waits for no one, not even himself. Every moment spent lying in this bed feels like a year’s worth of lost discovery. 

With calculated precision, he shifts. His movements are methodical, almost robotic, as he carefully bundles you in the coat, ensuring the hood doesn’t cover your face and obstruct your breathing. In a single fluid motion, he lifts you into his arms as he rises from the bed. He spares a brief glance at your sleeping form, red eyes devoid of emotion. Your breathing is steady at 17 breaths per minute—a rhythm he has memorized and measured countless times before. Still as serene as ever. But then, for just the faintest of moments, his gaze softens, almost imperceptibly, before he turns his attention back to the work that never ceases to call for him. What a peaceful way to escape the world, the thought as cold and clinical as his expression.

---

Hi, thank you for reading! I'll reblog this with further writer notes but I wanted to include the research bits in order of appearance. I can't guarantee the full accuracy but I hope I didn't get anything wrong.

Chrysanthemum & Lily

In many Asian cultures, especially in China and Japan, chrysanthemums are symbolic of death and mourning. In China, the flower is closely linked to the Day of the Dead, and in Japan, it is used in funeral rites. While in some contexts chrysanthemums can symbolize longevity or fidelity, their association with death makes them unlucky in certain circumstances, especially when given as gifts or during celebrations.

Lilies, especially white lilies, are often associated with death and mourning, particularly in Christian symbolism, where they are linked to funerals and burials. While lilies also symbolize purity and rebirth in other contexts, their frequent appearance in funeral arrangements.

Head-Down Position

The sleep position reader takes is a parody of the Head-Down position of babies in their third trimester. The head-down position (cephalic presentation) is the most common and ideal position for birth, where the baby’s head is facing downward, towards the birth canal. This allows the baby to navigate the birth process more easily.

Dancing Plague

Also called the Dancing Mania, this refers to a series of events in the 16th century where groups of people, primarily in Europe, suddenly and uncontrollably began dancing for extended periods, sometimes for days or weeks, often to the point of exhaustion, injury, or even death. The most infamous and well-documented outbreak of the Dancing Plague occurred in 1518 in Strasbourg, then part of the Holy Roman Empire (modern-day France).

Algorithm of Semi-Intransient Matrix of Overseer Network

The robot Pantalone sees is the early concept art for ^ but also known as the "Tomb Guard of the Desert King.".

17

The number 17 is considered unlucky in Italy because of its association with the Latin word for 17, which is "XVII". Rearranging these Roman numerals gives the word "VIXI", which means "I have lived" or "I am dead" in Latin. This gives the number an ominous connotation, as it can be seen as a symbol of death or misfortune.

Honkai Star Rail & Zenless Zone Zero

Yes, reader was describing these two games as their dreams lol.

[reinemichele]

⚠ Flashing lights warning and also volume warning . like 5 seconds in there's a scream <3

I'll put a read more for my rambling and also add... my preferred translations, since I didn't want to go with the 480p Moira concert, but ever since I first saw this post

(Bad screenshot; I was focusing on getting both of them visible but the text says "there's nothing left of us")

I've been trying to figure out what it reminded me of, and it finally occurred to me that it's the Greek duet between Thanatos and Elef in Doreitachi no Eiyuu 😭

(Translations are here & here)

Have you gotten used to the unbearable pain of loss? There's nothing left for me (you)... [Τιποτα δεν παραμενει σε με, σε μενα εμενα...] No hope at all for me (you)... [Ελπίδα δεν παραμένει σε, σε μένα εμένα...] Life is something to be lost... The Sword of Hades Elefseus, the Harbinger of Death [Ἅιδης ξίφος Ελευσευς, ὁτῶν φόβος σε θάνατος] The Lone Wolf Elefseus, Bringing Hellenes to Thanatos [Μονος λυκος Ελευσευς, φορτεἝλληνες για θάνατος] [...] “How long will we repeat this?" “O, Moira!” Even though humans are all but pitiful slaves of fate, For a slave like that to own another slave Is truly dry humor at its finest! Don't give up, keep struggling! You don't like being powerless slaves, do you? If you have the courage to take up the sword, then come with me! The Sword of Hades Elefseus, the Harbinger of Death [Ἅιδης ξίφος Ελευσευς, ὁτῶν φόβος σε θάνατος] The Lone Wolf Elefseus, Bringing Hellenes to Thanatos [Μονος λυκος Ελευσευς, φορτεἝλληνες για θάνατος]

[amaranthineghost]

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🥥 ꒱ TWO WHEEL DRIVE: CROSSWALK COLLISION ( lando norris. )

lando norris x biker!reader

it's race week in miami, but instead of being on four wheels, lando has some two wheel trouble. he feels bad enough to where he turns to twitter to help find the girl he nearly caused a collision with.

authors note: I love bikers so I had to do this (and I know that lando didn't help oscar win his sprint, but she doesn't know that! yet!!!) second and third part will be out in the next few days or so!

2 3

ynusername

liked by yourbsf and 2,947 others

ynusername sunset ride and almost hitting a guy on the crosswalk core!! 🤗🤗🤗

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yourbsf always so fun to ride with you 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 maybe next time don't almost hit a pedestrian? 😅

user this is the girl lando was looking for?! SHES STUNNING

⤷ ynusername who's lando? 😅 and thanks babes 🫶🏼🫶🏼

⤷ user oh lando? we go way back, he helped rescue my cat from a tree!

⤷ user yeah, he's a real one, he gave cpr to my goldfish after it flopped onto the carpet 🤗🤗🤗

user hello??? SHES SUCH A BADDIE

user thanking lando for helping us discover this gorgeous woman

⤷ user right like maybe she did us a favor by almost running him over...

user the internet becoming his wingman so he doesn't fumble this baddie 😭😭

⤷ user lando norriz and nowins better prove one of those statements wrong soon 🙌

user nahhh because what's wrong with her?? nearly running him over and then posting with a stupid caption about it?? 🙄🙄🙄

⤷ user this girl clearly doesn't understand who he is 🫣

user i need to see lando on a bike, he'd rock that shit

ynusername

liked by landonorris and 6,037 others

ynusername safe to say i won't be falling asleep tonight 🫶🏻

view all 174 comments

user HELLO??? IS THAT LANDO

user OH MY GOD

user bro's doing charity work out here

user LANDO NORIZZ HAS RIZZ?? (he rescued my entire family from a house fire)

user please LET THAT BE LANDO

yourbsf i thought i was your backpack 😕

⤷ ynusername you are bbg i just gave a man a short ride

⤷ yourbsf uh huh 🤨

user lando backpack confirmed

user lando actually rescued me from a desert island on his multi-million dollar yacht!

landonorris pretty sunset

❤️ by author

user im gonna faint, lando commented

user EVERYBODY STAY CALM!!!

oscarpiastri lando actually helped me win a sprint race

user she's clearly just using him

⤷ user stay mad

landonorris

liked by ynusername and 807,438 others

landonorris i think two wheels suits me

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user omg that's the same sunset in ynusername's post??

user lando on a bike? YES PLEASE!!!

user i can barely handle him with four wheels, i don't know about two!!!

user oh my god the second picture is goals

ynusername what a cute cat! 😊

⤷ landonorris not as cute as you

user im not the only one who saw that comment from lando right?

⤷ user no i definitely saw that

user HE HAS RIZZ I FEAR!!

user i know my goat

user backpack lando has too much power

⤷ user lando anywhere near a bike has too much power

ynusername

liked by mclaren and 50,974 others

ynusername sorry i had plans <3

tagged alexandrasaintmleux, iamrebbecad, mclaren, landonorris

view all 1037 comments

user oh my GOD SHE WAS AT THE RACE?

⤷ user i bet lando asked mclaren to invite her 🥺

landonorris thank you for coming to support me on four wheels this time!

⤷ ynusername of course, i had so much fun and you deserve it so much! 🫶🏻

⤷ user smooth lando, smooth

⤷ user on four wheels this time...THIS TIME?!

user stop she was there supporting lando MY HEART

⤷ user i can't take it I LOVE THEM

alexandrasaintmleux so amazing to see you darling 🌺 can't wait to see you again

⤷ ynusername i had such an amazing time, i love you so much 🥹 i'll be waiting impatiently

user stop the other wags interacting with our new (potential) wag

user i need to see her with all the other wags now

⤷ user it's a must

iamrebeccad a pleasure to meet you! you looked absolutely stunning and i look forward to hanging out again!

⤷ ynusername i love you so much, you are drop-dead gorgeous! i would love to hang out again soon 🫶🏻

user the way everyone loves her

⤷ user i mean, can you blame them? she's a hot, incredibly stunning and badass biker who's insanely sweet and kind! who wouldn't love her?!

⤷ user i don't blame them, i fear i would gravitate towards her like a magnet if i ever met her 🥲

mclaren lovely having you at the hospitality! should keep you around if it means our drivers will win 😉

⤷ ynusername thank you for giving me this amazing experience and opportunity! i'd love to do it again sometime 🫶🏻

user MCLAREN'S COMMENT??

⤷ user please let this be a sign

⤷ user mclaren please we need to see them again

user they need to be together

⤷ user as much as i would love to see them together, she lives in miami and he's leaving 😭

⤷ user no shush i'm manifesting

⤷ user okay real i'm right there beside you

landonorris

liked by ynusername and 1,028,202

landonorris nowins and norizz? okay lol

view all 9,263 comments

user HELLO SOFT LAUNCH!!

⤷ user soft launch, but we already know its them

⤷ user let them have their fun!

user bro really said lol

user lando has a win and rizz??? is the world okay???

ynusername so proud of you! you deserve it 🫶🏻

⤷ landonorris i won because you were watching

⤷ user lando said "this one's for you" and SCORED

oscarpiastri congrats on the win mate

⤷ landonorris thanks osc!

user LANDO CALLING OSCAR 'OSC' MAKES IT EVEN BETTER

—

taglist (found here): @poppyflower-22 @sapphiccloud @darleneslane @decafmickey @slut4lrh @kaa12 @taylorslovesswifties13 @sbella13 @nhlfs @beskardroids @hiireadstuff @lorenica @delululeclerc @c-losur3 @casperlikej @soamericn @tellybearyyyy @geniusalpaca @namgification

proofread by @foreveralbon <333

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Day 26, and I'm starting to think I need to get better at drawing feet before I actually try to animate them XD Also we're going to do this as MP4s from now on; GIF fucks with the colors and I don't know how to fix them in ProCreate, and animated PNG makes a largehuge file size that I can't upload to Discord to show my friends. Video formats it shall be!

[fairyhaos]

❍ ultimate boyfriend material // lee dokyeom

dokyeom x gn!reader (ft. bsf!hoshi), 3k+ words

tags: elementary teacher!dk, fluff, crack, established relationship, bi disaster hoshi bc i said so 😗✌, literally just for fun idk what this is lmao

warnings: swearing, alcohol + food mention, yn has only had bfs before, a bit rambly pls bear w me

summary: in which you bring your boyfriend seokmin to yours and soonyoung's monthly dinners, and it ends up going way better than anyone had expected.

You glance upwards to see Soonyoung looming forebodingly over you like a disapproving shadow, and you sigh.

"Soonyoung. Look. It's going to be totally fine. Seokmin is really, really sweet."

Soonyoung doesn't cease in his looming, continuing to glare darkly down at you as you take your shoes off, having just entered his house for your monthly dinner chats. "I'm sorry, Y/N, but your current track record means that I don't believe you in the slightest."

"Come on, my taste in boyfriends isn't that bad."

Soonyoung squawks, breaking his intimidating façade in an instant. "Isn't that b— your last boyfriend tried to hit on my girlfriend! Whilst both of us were right there!"

You cringe a little at the memory, before waving off his words. "This time won't be like that. I promise."

"Oh, it better not be like that,” your best friend says darkly as he leads you through his apartment. “I held back last time, but if this guy is as much of a douchebag as the other one, then I’m punching him all the way into space.”

“Seokmin won’t be that bad at all, I promise! Also, please don’t punch anyone,” you beg, trailing after him into the kitchen. “You know how much of a wimp you are.”

Soonyoung simply ignores your jab at his strength with a sniff. “Well, we’ll see how good of a boyfriend this Seokmin is, first.”

Every month since graduating and having to move away due to your respective jobs, you and your best friend, Soonyoung, set aside one Saturday evening where you meet at one another's houses, have dinner, and complain about all the ridiculous things that have gone on in your life whilst the two of you were apart. 

They were fun, easy ways to destress, and you loved catching up with your best friend. But after the first disastrous dinner all those years ago where you'd brought your then-boyfriend to meet Soonyoung, every few months, the monthly dinners became a sort of hell the revolved specifically around the idea of your boyfriends acting up terribly and Soonyoung staring at you with less and less faith in your ability to choose a suitable romantic partner for yourself. 

This time, you'll be introducing your fourth boyfriend over the course of the several years of these dinners, and it's safe to say that you're a bit nervous. 

“This Seokmin guy already has some notes in my bad books right now, though,” Soonyoung says as he brings out the snacks, pouring chips into little fancy dishes. This time, it's his turn to host, and he likes pretending these are fun, formal affairs. “He didn't even show up with you. Where is he?”

You sigh, picking up a few dishes and following Soonyoung out of the kitchen and into the living room. 

“I told you, he has a work thing,” you explain. “He's always really busy, but he'll be here, I promise. He promised me that he'll make time for this.”

Soonyoung snorts sceptically. “Well, that'll be a new one,” he says. “Your boyfriend not even showing up.”

“He will show up!” you say, and then roll your eyes. “Come on, Soonyoung. Don't judge the guy. You haven't even met him yet.”

“Oh, I'm judging alright,” Soonyoung says, shaking his head. He flops down onto the sofa. “Though I have to say, the bar is practically on the floor, right now. After seeing the kind of guys you date, I'll be blown away if he's not some kind of psychopath.”

You groan as you sit down next to him, immediately attacking the chips. “No matter what you say, my first boyfriend wasn't actually some psycho.”

“And neither was your second, huh?”

“Wh—no! Come on, Soons, all my boyfriends were actually quite sweet,” you argue. “The second guy paid for everything for me when we were dating.”

“Yeah, and then you broke up with him at our dinner and he smashed his own phone out of anger then tried to steal my silverware,” Soonyoung points out. “Why even try to steal my silverware, anyway? I own, like, five forks, and that's it.”

You look at Soonyoung, curious. “You own five forks?”

He waves a hand. “Yeah. But anyway, my point is, my expectations are very low, but that doesn't mean my standards are. If he's a bad person, even if he’s not as bad as the others, it doesn't matter. I'm kicking him out. You might have bad taste, but you still deserve better.”

With another long-suffering sigh, you rub your forehead. “Soonyoung, I promise you. Seokmin is actually a decent guy. You'll love him a lot, too, I'm sure of it.”

Soonyoung eyes you sceptically. “I'll believe it when I see it.”

“I swear to God—”

Three, neat knocks on Soonyoung’s front door interrupt you, and both of you stare at each other, eyes wide. 

“That's Seokmin,” you say, and immediately leap up from the sofa to go greet your boyfriend. 

“Hey, let me go see the guy first, I wanna see if he's actually all that gr—”

“Seokmin,” you say a little breathlessly, having already opened the door before Soonyoung can leave the living room and get to his own front door. When he gets there, though, he slows down, surprised. 

Seokmin beams at you, all shining eyes and gentle care. His hair is wind-ruffled, as if he'd run all the way from the bus stop in a hurry, and he's apologising profusely for being late but you simply wave his words aside, kissing him on the cheek placatingly and then laughing when he gives you a kiss on the nose in return. 

He's cute, Soonyoung realises, astounded. You look really cute together. 

Well. As Seokmin smiles at you and pinches your cheek adoringly, Soonyoung is at least able to quite happily cross off Not a psychopath on his list of worries over your boyfriend.

“Here, this is Soonyoung!” you say, leading Seokmin by the hand further into the house as if you own the place, pointing to where Soonyoung is standing at the end of the hall. “Soonyoung, meet Seokmin, my boyfriend.”

Seokmin smiles at him, expression turning a little nervous as he gives Soonyoung a wave. “Hi! It's nice to meet you.”

He holds something out to him, and it's then that Soonyoung notices the bag in Seokmin's hands that holds a rather expensive bottle of wine, and his eyes widen. 

“I kind of panicked and bought the most expensive one I could see,” Seokmin said, shoulders rising bashfully even as he smiles. “But I couldn't exactly come empty-handed, so, uh, here you go?”

Soonyoung shakes himself out of his daze, and gives a smile back, because it's somehow weirdly impossible not to when this guy smiles at him like that. 

“Thanks,” Soonyoung says, accepting the wine. None of your other boyfriends had ever brought round gifts before. “And don't stress about it. If it doesn't taste good, then we can always bust out the cans of beer,” he jokes, and Seokmin beams, relieved. 

You watch the entirety of the short exchange and can't help but smile, excited that maybe, this time, things will go well. 

“Well,” Soonyoung continues, and then gestures towards the living room. “Would you like to have this wine along with some snacks before we have dinner?”

───────────── ⏰

For the rest of the time that you're talking before actually having dinner, Soonyoung observes your new boyfriend like a hawk. 

Whilst he was, admittedly, briefly awestruck by how cute this Seokmin was (none of your boyfriends were ever cute: ridiculously handsome, sure, but cute was definitely new) he couldn't afford to let himself be swept away by that first impression. Your second and third boyfriends had originally been nice, after all, until they were… not. 

“So, Seokmin,” Soonyoung says in his ‘Y/N’s Boyfriends Interrogation Tone’, leaning forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you cringing in embarrassment. “What do you do for a living?”

Seokmin blinks at him from over the rim of his wine glass, round-eyed innocent as he takes a sip then beams. “I teach at the nearby elementary school! Working with kids is like daily marathon training, I swear, but they're all so cute so it makes it all worthwhile.”

Soonyoung raises his eyebrows, surprised. 

Elementary school teacher was definitely not a job he'd expected from one of your boyfriends. It wasn't a profession that really made much money, and all of your exes had been… well, rolling in cash.

“They all absolutely adore him, too,” you add, leaning forward with a smile. “You should see him with the kids. They’re literally all over him the minute he walks into the room.”

Seokmin laughs, embarrassed at the obvious admiration in your tone, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m around them literally every week, so I guess it’s inevitable that they grudgingly accept me.”

“It’s not just grudging acceptance,” you say, waving a hand. “I’ve seen them! They literally love you so much.”

“You saw them for one afternoon,” Seokmin says, but he’s smiling at you, all fond. “And most of the time they were fawning over you, saying that you were so pretty and there was no way you’d date someone like me.”

That makes you laugh, evidently pleased by Seokmin’s adorable little compliment, and Soonyoung stares dumbfoundedly as the two of you continue bantering. It’s almost like he’s not there. He’s a bystander, observing from the outside whilst you smile at your boyfriend and recount that time you visited him at work (you’ve visited Seokmin’s elementary school and yet Soonyoung didn’t know he existed until a week ago?), and your eyes are practically sparkling as you look at him, and Soonyoung feels very, very astounded.

Never before has he seen you look so comfortable with someone outside the close friends you already have. It’s quite cute.

And also sucks a little, because now Soonyoung has to begrudgingly contemplate whether to move ‘Lee Seokmin’ firmly into his good books.

“Alright, okay, okay,” Soonyoung interrupts the two of you as you giggle about something that had happened with Seokmin’s students. “I see that you didn't tell me about Seokmin when you visited him at school once, but I guess I'll let it slide.”

You roll your eyes as Soonyoung takes a brief moment to pout in annoyance. “Because he and I had only just started dating, then. I didn't want you scaring him away with that terrifying face of yours.”

Soonyoung eyes you, unimpressed. “I'll have to know that this terrifying and handsome face is exactly why I keep getting hired as a choreographer again and again.”

That makes you scrunch up your face, evidently disagreeing with his statement, but you don't get to retort as Seokmin leans forward then, eyes bright and keenly fixed on Soonyoung. 

“Oh! Y/N told me you do choreos for idol groups, and teach classes,” Seokmin says. “That's so cool.”

The awe is so pure and present on his face and Soonyoung can't help but preen a little. 

“Thanks! I've worked with a few notable people, yeah, but I love teaching classes more than anything else,” Soonyoung says. “Teaching budding dancers is always so fun for me.”

Seokmin shakes his head, amazed. “I'm terrible at dancing. My kids were having a recital today—which was why I was late, and I'm so sorry about that—and I've been teaching them the dance for the past several weeks. If there's one thing I've learned from it, though, is that dancing... isn't exactly my best skill.”

He says it so dramatically, face dead-serious like it's the gravest matter in the world, and Soonyoung can't help but laugh. 

“I'm sure that's not true,” he assures, but he sees you shaking your head fervently, a smile on your face.

“No, he's actually the worst in the world” you say, and Seokmin pouts and cries out in protest. “Baby, it’s true! You and I both know it.”

“Y/N’s exaggerating,” Seokmin says, almost embarrassedly, in Soonyoung’s direction, making you laugh. You take out your phone, beginning to scroll through something. “I’m not that bad. Just a little bad.”

“I mean, anyone can get better with some training. And Y/N really does like being dramatic, so—”

You shake your head, turning your phone towards Soonyoung. There’s a video playing on your screen, taken from a darkened house party, loud music playing from the speakers. “Just look, Soonyoung. You’ll see what I mean.”

Soonyoung watches the video, which evidently turns out to showcase Seokmin’s dancing skills. The cameramanship is shoddy, and it’s obvious that it’s you recording, your barely-suppressed laughter sounding so fond as you record your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend who, genuinely, really is rather bad at dancing. In kind of a cute way. But still really, shockingly terrible.

“Well,” Soonyoung says, after a moment. “Well.”

Seokmin is still pouting. “Can I use ‘abstract dance’ as my excuse?”

Both you and Soonyoung laugh at that, and you lean over to your boyfriend to coo over him and pinch his cheeks, placating him in an adoring tone and. Even though Soonyoung should feel annoyed at the blatant affection, he can’t help but smile.

Okay, so Seokmin is cute, and a little bit funny, Soonyoung observes. His regard of this guy has gone up, just a little bit.

“You two are really adorable together,” Soonyoung admits, before clasping his hands all business-like, preparing to go back into interrogation mode. 

You beam at his comment, and look over at Seokmin proudly, who also seems a little relieved. But Soonyoung isn't quite finished. He wants just a little more information before he fully decides what his opinion of Seokmin should be.

He leans forward. “So, how long have you been dating?”

“Only about three months,” Seokmin says. Soonyoung is about to frown and comment on the short time, before Seokmin grins, all sunshine-like and takes your hand. “But we’ve known each other for a lot longer than that.”

“Seokmin used to be my neighbour, back when we were in middle school,” you say, and Soonyoung’s eyes widen comically fast. “He’s… well, he was the ‘cute neighbour boy’ that I was always telling you about.”

Soonyoung jaw drops open in an instant, feeling like he’s had the wind punched out of him at the abrupt revelation. 

‘Cute neighbour boy’ was the son of the family that had lived next door to you back when you and Soonyoung were younger, and you would arrive at school every day to tell him about the latest adorable conversation you’d had with the boy next door from over the backyard fence. Soonyoung had teased you endlessly for it, but you’d insisted it wasn’t a crush and that he was just some friendly boy who always made your evenings a little sunnier with his nonsensical, cute tales.

Soonyoung hadn’t really believed it, but ‘cute neighbour boy’ moved out of town before he could ever remind you that he wanted to meet him, and your conversations moved away from the topic after that. 

“You’re cute neighbour boy?” Soonyoung asks raspily, his voice having stopped working due to his surprise at this turn of events. “You’re—and you met him again?” he says, turning to you in amazement.

Seokmin laughs, rubbing his nose bashfully. “I was walking home after work when we met again, and I just knew Y/N on sight. I was… I kind of fell in love, all those years ago, so I was so glad that we were able to meet again.”

“Then we started talking again, became friends, started dating… and now here we are,” you say, and look over at Seokmin once more, stars in your eyes. “I’m glad I found you again.”

Seokmin visibly melts. “I’m glad I found you again, too.”

You smile, eyes crinkling, and Seokmin’s eyes crinkle in sync, fondly reaching over to pinch your cheek before his thumb smooths over your cheekbone, affectionately soft.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung swears softly to himself as he watches the way Seokmin handles you so gently, like you’re something so precious to him.

A cute, funny guy who works with kids and looks at you like you hung all the stars in the sky? 

Looks like Lee Seokmin has definitely made his way into Soonyoung’s super-duper good books.

“Right,” he announces suddenly, causing the two of you to jump. “Dinner will be ready in about five minutes. I hope you guys like roast chicken.”

Seokmin beams at him. “That sounds great! Do you mind if I use your bathroom first, though? And I’ll need to wash my hands. Dealing with kids is not the cleanest job in the world.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Soonyoung gestures to the bathroom. “Door on the left.”

Seokmin excuses himself, bowing to Soonyoung and sending another smile your way before heading out of the room. Soonyoung watches the way you watch him go, looking at him like he’s the reason the world still spins every single day.

God, you’re so in love. But, Soonyoung has to admit, he kind of sees why.

You finally turn to look at your best friend once Seokmin has left the room, eyes sparkling.

“So,” you say, the anticipation. “What do you think?”

Soonyoung can’t hold his polite and put-together facade any longer.

“Holy shit,” he bursts out, and you laugh, delighted. “Y/N, where did you find him?”

You grin, the relief and love clear in your face as you shrug teasingly. “Just out and about. Why? You jealous?”

“Very,” Soonyoung groans. “Wow. I never thought someone like that even existed, let alone that it’d be my best friend who ends up bagging them.”

“What can I say? I have excellent taste,” you say. 

Soonyoung shakes his head, amazed. He can’t even argue with you anymore. Seokmin is the epitome of boyfriend material. He’s just the most incredible guy in the world.

And that makes him utterly perfect for you.

He furrows his brows, thinking deeply, before suddenly lurching forward and holding you by the shoulders. Soonyoung looks you dead in the eye, serious.

"Y/N. Can I date your boyfriend too?"

That makes you splutter out a laugh, shoving him off. "What the— no! Get your own boyfriend!"

Soonyoung whines, but he's smiling, and you can't help but smile too, because all of this is Soonyoung being his lighthearted, teasing self, which is just proof that he approves, that he thinks Seokmin is good enough for you, and it makes your heart feel light. 

He edges closer to you again, nudging you in the side. "Okay, but seriously, if I asked him... do you think he'd let me—?"

You smack his face away, laughing. "Hey. Back off. Seokmin’s mine."

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @haodore @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

[adancingalien]

𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Benjicot/Davos Blackwood x bracken!reader

summary: after learning of your impending betrothal to another, you and Benji make a plan to stop it

warning: smut 18+ no use of y/n this fic revolves around pregnancy and has some light breeding kinks towards the end. the reader in this is able to get pregnant and is described as a woman.

word count: 3.9k

note: its finally here! i've really enjoyed writing this fic, its been a while since written one and i've never written smut so if its not the best sorry lol. thank you for everyone's support! i hope you guys like it <3 next time I post it will be on this account @dancingaliensfics so if you like this follow that account. also a couple people asked me to tag them so here you go x @alifeinspiredd @gotranting

It's Early in the morning when your father gives you the news. The sun had risen only an hour prior, the days growing short as winter approached, and your mother sat across from you. 

Marriage.

You spend some time considering the thought whilst eating your porridge. In any other case, it would have been good news. The list your father had created so far was filled with well-suited men. You recognised some, two Bracken cousins you knew well, a Mallister boy you’d met at a tourney. They were all reasonable ages, only one was older than thirty and he seemed to be an afterthought. Your father assured you that he'd consider your opinion in his choice. 

Truthly you were lucky, if it was a year earlier you'd be excited. But the one name you wanted, the only man you would ever consider marrying, wasn't on the list and never would be.

Benjicot Blackwood.

Heir to Raventree Hall, the seat of your enemy house, the man who'd captured your heart 10 moons ago.

And so you sit in silence, eyes distant, as your father speaks to you of balls and meetings and gifts. Your mother watches you quietly, although what goes through her mind you cannot say. Eventually, the conversation fades to noise as you watch the last streaks of pink fade from the sky. 

You meet with Benjicot in the same spot you always do. A field of clover and wildflowers, sheltered from the gaze of Stone Hedge by a small patch of woodland. He brings you a bouquet of dandelions, dittander and hedge bindweed he picked himself along the path. Every time you meet he brings you one and each time he hands it to you with that grin before hiding his face in your neck. You love it, and after all this time you still feel your heart flutter at the sight, no matter how torn and pathetic the blooms themselves usually are. 

Gods, you love him. And you're certain you'll never love anyone else the same. Still, you hope he hasn't found the bindweed from near your gardens, it's beautiful but so quickly consumes all other plants.

He flops onto the grass and then beckons for you to do the same. Benji wraps his arms around your side and you lean your head on his chest as he begins to tell you about some skirmish at the hedge stones.

“Those Brackens think they can do whatever they please whenever they choose. You’d think they'd have learnt their lesson after the beating we gave them last time.”

As he speaks you pluck at blades of grass beside you, tearing the seeds from the stem. He often forgets your heritage, as you do his, and the reminder makes you anxious.

“Still,” you mutter, “I wish you wouldn't rush so quickly into battle.”

Benji turns his head to look down at you and you feel his breath on your face. He pauses for a few moments, watching you closely before responding.

“You needn't worry, dove, I can hold my own, especially against some Bracken bastards.” His words are harsh and said with a grin but you can feel the sentiment behind them. Still, his answer doesn't satisfy you.

“You're not the only person I stand to lose in a battle.”

The two of you tend to speak little of the different sides you sit on, choosing instead to focus on your shared qualities. But since your father's announcement that morning, you find your heritage is all you can think of.

His hands tighten on your side and he begins to shift in the way he often does when unsettled. “Tell your bracken brethren to stay on their side of the lines then.”

“Yes because it is such a simple thing, to announce our ties to my whole family!” You turn from him with a huff pulling hard on the piece of grass in your grasp. You regret your words immediately but find yourself unwilling to apologise.

Benji pulls his brows tight, running his fingers over the hem of your skirt. He looks like a scolded dog, his face sullen and eyes moving quickly.

“I’m sorry.” He looks at you softly for a moment. “Will you tell me what's bothering you love? You've been down all day.”

You pause for a while, having pulled away all the grass in your little patch, leaving your fingernails stained green.

“My father gave me news.” You lift your head to look at Benji, his eyes watching you closely. “He's finding me a husband.”

“No.” The response comes quickly and with strong conviction.

Baffled by his response, your brows furrow. “What do you mean no?”

“I simply won't let it happen. You're mine and I'm yours and we were destined to be together, I know it. You will not be with anyone else.”

You pull a pained face, turning away from him. How can he say that with such certainty? That he simply won't let your father marry you off as though it's such a simple thing. It's both endearing and irritating.

“It's not so simple you know.” You look out at the setting sun as you speak, “I've been trying to think of ways to avoid it but truthfully, I have nothing to complain about. What can I say to stop it? I've spent so long thinking of options but nothing seems right.”

Benji takes hold of your hands, gazing at you with such intensity it catches you off guard.

“We'll run away together, you and me, right now.”

Your eyes widen and you stumble on your thoughts. What an idea. It's a pleasant thought really and part of you is compelled to accept, to leap up and run away with Benji in that moment. But it is not this part of you that speaks.

“What- Benji- I cannot, we cannot! Where would we even go.”

“Essos, the free cities, the North, gods I'd go to the Iron Islands if it meant I could marry you. Anywhere in the world where the names bracken and blackwood mean nothing.” your heart skips at the thought, that Benjicot Blackwood would abandon his title and land and family to be with you. Travel to an unknown land and begin again. It's a feeling that quickly spreads through your body leaving you warm and filled with a joy so strong it again compels you to accept and leave in that moment.

You run your fingers over his knuckles, feeling the healed cuts and scrapes that cover them. You consider your own family, of your mother, sat at her window, waiting for you to return home. Your father, sending out his men to fruitlessly search across all of Westeros for his beloved daughter. 

“I can't Benji.”

“Then we'll go in a few days instead, you can pack your things, and I'll think of a plan of where to go-”

“No Benji.” you look into his eyes. You see in them a future and a path you cannot take at this moment. “I couldn't do that to my family, couldn't leave them forever and you couldn't either. It would break your mother's heart.”

Your words sour his mood and he visibly shrinks. You take his hands fully in your own and reach over to kiss him softly on the cheek. You can feel slight stubble and realise he must have rushed out after receiving your letter. How you love this man. 

It isn’t long before you see a new thought arrive in his mind and it's clear he does no further thinking before sharing it.

“I'll just take you then!”

Truthly, your expectations were not high but you still find yourself floored by the stupidity of his ‘plan’.

“What.” You can simply find no other words.

Benji turns to face you fully, squeezing your hands tightly. He has a crazed look on his face and you wonder if this is what your Bracken brethren see on the battlefield. 

“Listen, I’ll simply take you with me to Raventree Hall and we will wed there.” He must notice your unimpressed look as he quickly continues. “That way you don't have to go too far and your family will know you're safe. Sure it'll take some time for those Bracken curs to accept it but eventually they'll have to and then you can see them when you please.”

“Safe? Benji, you've come up with some terrible ideas but this is a new level. It would be war! You really believe that my father, that any bracken would simply accept a blackwood taking their daughter in the night?”

“Then war it would be. I'd kill a thousand men to keep you.”

“A thousand of my men, my blood! Yes, what a beautiful honeymoon it would be, setting the funeral piers of my family.”

He falls silent at this and looks down at his hands. You can see him thinking but he has the sense to keep his thoughts to himself. After a few minutes, you sigh and take his hands back in yours, having dropped them at some point during your rant. Leaning over, you capture his lips in your own for just a moment and when you pull away he follows after you.

“Just… leave it to me. I shall think of a plan for us. We can keep yours as a last resort, yes?”

He brightens at this, happy to trust in your judgement. He agrees quickly before closing the small space between you.

It's a week later when you send a raven summoning Benji. As a child, you had discovered passages within Stone Hedge which had long been forgotten and often used them to pass in and out of the castle. Now you and Benji used them to visit each other in secret. It's a few days before he is able to make his way to Stone Hedge, having been corralled by his father into some dull political nonsense you couldn't care less about. By the time he makes it to you, slipping into your chambers using the passage hidden behind large tapestries, you feel truly desperate for him.

It's overwhelming really, how much you love him. Your entire body aches for him, your mind thinks of him at all times. The thought of marrying another leaves you ill and to imagine laying with a man that isn't Benji is truly mad. He knows you in ways no other has, and, if you get your way, never will. So really it's not a surprise that upon seeing you waste no time in pressing yourself to him. As your lips meet you can feel all the stress of the past days leave your mind and you quickly forget what it was you summoned him for. It seems Benji has found himself in a similar position to you as his hands begin to explore your body through your evening gown. His soft touch turns rough as you run your fingers through the coarse strands of his hair. 

You pull away, moving toward to settee. He trails after, lounging next to you with his around your shoulders, fingers toying with your hair.

“I’ve had much time to think,” you say hands resting on your lap. “And I believe I've thought of a solution. It’s mad truly, but it is the best chance we have. I am certain I want it but if you do not you must say and that will be final. It is not a decision to take lightly.”

At your serious tone, Benji straightens and looks at you fully. You are nervous, such a proposal is hardly made easily and yet you feel certain in your bones that he will accept. You know he loves you, there is no doubt about it. You only wonder if he is truly ready for a life together.

“I would do anything to be with you, dove. Tell me and it'll be done.”

You sigh at his words, both from frustration and adoration. 

“Do not say such things before you hear the proposal.”

“Then tell me it so that I may say them with informed certainty.”

You look him in the eyes then, struggling to find a way to say what you mean.

“I would have your child.”

Benji pauses at this, and you can see confusion in his eyes before he speaks.

“Yes. when we wed we shall have many children, as many as you wish.”

“No Benji,” you squeeze his hands tightly and push yourself to speak. “My father will never choose you as my husband so we must give him no choice. If I was with child, with your child, he would have to accept a marriage or risk shame upon myself and our house. I know my father well and I am sure he would choose my happiness over tradition.”

At this, Benjicot stops and his face falls blank. It's as if his mind is —- and you wait patiently for his response.

“It is…” he stops and then restarts “I would love nothing more than to have a child with you. It is something I have dreamt of and I truly believe myself ready for such responsibility. I do not doubt the longevity of my love for you. So please do not think it is commitment with gives me pause. It is just…” he begins to play with your fingers, nervous energy flowing through him. He stands quickly, releasing your hands though you are used to his restlessness and simply wait for him to return. He paces in a small circle, running his hand through his hair and then returns to his seat. 

“I would not do that to you,” he says finally. You look at him in surprise, his answer seeming nonsensical to you.

“You have done it to me many times.”

“No not that,” he says quickly, covering his face in his hands as he thinks again how to phrase what he means.

“I wouldn't put you through such treatment! As an unwed woman to father a child by you. No, I couldn't dishonour you like that.”

“Dishonour me? Benji, you have dishonoured me more times than I could count. By simply being here in this room you dishonour me. We have laid together, many times. If this was a concern of yours, you should have voiced it long ago.” your words are tinged with amusement.

Benjicot stands again, moving his arms wildly. 

“And what of how you would be treated? Not just by your parents but every member of the court, the servants, anyone who knew of it. You would be shamed and shunned by others.”

“You think I care what others say of me?”

“I think you will care when it happens.”

“Do not make assumptions on my behalf. I am my own woman, I can make my own choices. And I do not need you, Benjicot Blackwood, to decide such things for me.” 

You pause, breathing deeply in an attempt to remove the heat from your voice. It isn’t your intention to force Benji to do this with you and you fear if you continue to argue your meaning will be lost.

“If your reasons to not go forth are your own, because you do not feel ready or because you do not want to, then that is fine and I will accept it.”

Your attempt to calm the situation backfires miserably and your words light a fire inside of Benji.

“Of course not, didn’t say I would marry you in that field? That I would give up everything to be with you. Do not doubt my love.”

“I do not doubt it, Benji. But if you are willing to give up your titles and home, go through battle and fight hundreds to have me, why can't you trust that I would endure the shame of a pregnancy outside of wedlock for you?”

At last, Benji returns to his spot next to you. He looks into the fire but his gaze is distant.

“I can protect you from danger, from enemies. I can kill any man that threatens you. I can stand with you in fire and pain. But I can’t save you from cruel words and shame. This is… it's something you’ll have to bear alone. And I hate the thought of it.”

At last, you understand his meaning. Benjicot Blackwood is not a man who often loses control. He is fierce and strong and can slay any man who comes in his path. 

“I am strong. And I can protect myself, just this once. And you will be stood with, at my side, to give me strength when I fail.”

“I know, I just fear you aren’t ready.”

“I am ready.”

A coy smile spreads across your face.

“Let me convince you.” 

At that you kiss him, one hand placed on his cheek and the other on his chest. He quickly reciprocates and you move closer until you can throw one leg over his lap. His hands find your hair, attempting to undo your intricate braids before pulling away in frustration and glaring at the strands. You laugh lightly, moving to remove your pins as he reaches for your neck, leaving a firm bite before his tongue lathes over the area. His ministrations pull a soft moan from your mouth and as he lifts your skirts to run his hand up the soft skin of your thigh, your hair is released.

His other hand quickly finds its way into your hair, fingers weaving into the strands before your head is pulled back allowing better access to your neck. As Benji continues trailing kisses across your neck and chest, you begin to move yourself on his lap, grinding against him as you feel his cock harden beneath his breeches. How you long to feel him inside you, and the thought of him staying even as he reached his peak, seed spilling inside you, has you moving with increased vigour. Benji begins to let out his quiet groans and pants to match your soft moaning and it's not long before he has your behind held firmly in his grip. 

His mouth reaches the neckline of your dresses and begins to suck marks onto your skin while you fumble with the fastening of your gown. Once the bodice is undone and the stays are loosened, he pulls them down, taking your breasts into his hands. His mouth quickly latches onto one of your peaks and his tongue swirls around them. He shows you no mercy in his actions, hands pressing so tight they are sure to leave bruises. Benji moves his hand to your core, fingers covering themselves in your wetness before pressing against your clit. They move quickly, circling your bud for some time before travelling towards your hole. His thumb moves to take its place, pressing firmly against you as it rubs. His fingers prod gently at your hole, before one slips inside. He stays like this, easing his finger inside of you until you're ready to take another. His fingers move inside of you for a few minutes, your walls clenching around them as they stroke, before they increase in speed, beginning to curl deep inside of you. Benji continues to assault your chest, relishing in the moans and whines he pulls from your lips. 

It isn't long, however, before he pulls away from your chest to speak.

“I need you, my love.” he lifts your chin so that your eyes meet. You lean forward and kiss him, giving your answer through your actions. He removes his fingers from you, wiping them on your dress much to your disgust before standing, holding you with his hands beneath your ass and your legs around his waist.

 He moves quickly towards the bed and, though he's strong, you can see him focusing on not dropping you. You take the chance to join your lips to his neck, leaving your marks there. Although you know him to be faithful to you, you can’t stand the thought of any Blackwood whore making a pass at him and the hickeys serve to claim him as yours. Gods, you think, you must stop thinking in such ways, you’ll be a Blackwood yourself soon. The thought leaves you giddy and you grin at his neck. Benji drops you rather unceremoniously onto the bed before staring at you with a bemused look on his face.

“What you grinning about him?”

“Just the thought that I will soon be your wife.”

His grin widens at that and he leans down to capture your lips once again. 

“Yes, my wife and I'll be your husband.”

You kiss him again, biting his lip and tugging on it slightly.

“All mine.” your words pull a deep moan from him.

It isn’t long before both of you have stripped completely and you find yourself lying back on the sheets, Benji between your legs. He moves quickly above you, rubbing his cock against your folds, the head catching perfectly on your clit with every stroke. You moan wantonly, fingers reaching up to pull Benji towards your lips by the hair. Your firm grip causes him to groan deeply into your mouth and his movements increase in speed. It isn't long though before you pull away.

“Benji, darling, I need you inside of me please.”

You're expecting him to tease you, and make a joke about your begging and neediness but instead, he lets out a long breath, before reaching down and taking himself in hand. He runs the tip of his cock along your wetness once more before pressing inside of you. Your body accepts him eagerly and it isn't long before he fills you. How could you ever marry another when even your body is moulded perfectly to him? The sounds of your pleasure harmonise as Benji begins to move inside of you. His thrusts are fast and deep as always, his hips snapping against yours with every thrust. You feel your mind slipping as your sounds increase in volume. Your hands roam his whole body. Filthy words spill from your lips.

“Benji please my love- ah- I must have you. Please”

“You have me sweet one, you have me.”

You pull roughly on his hair at his words.

“No I must have all of you, please I need your seed. I want you to cum inside me.”

His hips stutter before his thrusts continue with increased fervour.

“Fill me please Benji, it will feel so good.”

Benji lays his head in the crook of your neck moaning without restraint. You feel yourself reaching your peak quickly and want him to cum with you. You lift your legs and wrap them tightly around his waist, moaning, turning to shrieks.

“I love you so much Benji,” you cry out, fingernails leaving scratches down his back. “I love you and I want your baby, please cum inside me.”

At your words, Benji lets out a choked sound, hips pressing firm against you, and feels the warmth of his release spill inside of you, pulling you to your peak alongside him. Your eyes squeeze shut, but if they hadn’t you would have seen the most delightful look on Benji’s face and he finished inside of you. It takes some time for his cock to stop twitching and even longer for the both of you to come back to the world of the living. Benji begins to lift himself off of you, but you tighten your legs.

“Stay.”

A simple command that he follows without question.

[written-in-flowers]

His Pet: Demon!Hongjoong x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Incubs!Hongjoong x Fem!Human!Reader | side pairing: demon!wooyoung x Fem!reader, demon!Mingi x fem!reader

Word Count: 13k

Genre: hella smut, some angst MINORS DNI

Summary: at the end of her first day, YN spends her night with Master Hongjoong. It's only then she realizes just how different he is from his demon brothers.

Tags: master slave/realationship, bondage, BDSM, mentions of tabbo kinks (watersports/beastiality but it isn't graphic), restraints, sex machines, sex toys, anal sex, anal toys, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, edging, exhibitionism, dracyphilia, nipple play, nipple clamps, vaginal fingering, handjobs, quickies, dirty talk, pussy slapping, spanking with paddles and whips, whipped, humiliation, degradation, throat fucking, rough oral sex, double penetration, gagging, choking, cockslapping,

Previously on Pretty Pet > Next

***

The grogginess of sleep made you unaware of his presence. You rolled onto your other side, relishing in the cooler half of the bed without noticing him. Your mind clung to the dreamworld, reaching out for a mother you'd lost. Standing in your old bedroom, you saw the old toys and games. The movie and band posters you’d hung still remained on the walls. But, you only saw Her. She stood in the doorway with her warm smile and a glass of milk in her hand. 

‘Having trouble sleeping, angel?’ 

You crumbled onto the shaggy carpet. Every single regret poured out in tears. You begged her for forgiveness; for leaving her alone, for abandoning her, and cutting her out of your life. You knew how much she loved you, and you resented her anyway. You reached out for her, moving to touch her before long black claws pulled you away. The pain they left in your skin felt so real. The last few wisps of fruity perfume and trickles of warmth brushed off you as they drew you into the darkness.  

“Mama…” you groaned, slipping between your new bedroom and your childhood room. She was right there in the doorway, her hair and skin so much similar to yours. Maybe that was why he hit her. She reminded him of you, his biggest mistake. 

“Ma…”

“Is that another kink of yours?”

Instantly pulled from your dreams, you bolted upright to see Hongjoong standing by your bed. Arms crossed, he greeted you with an amused smile. After your bath in Seonghwa’s apartment, you came back to your room for a nap. You hadn’t seen the point in putting on clothes, so you’d fallen asleep naked. Yet, to Hongjoong, you might as well be wearing a sweater and pants for all the notice he took. Sitting up, you forced yourself out of sleep to fully take him in. 

“I personally prefer ‘Daddy’ when the mood strikes me,” he continued, “But Mama can be fun. Would you like me to wear a dress for that or-”

“-What do you mean?” You stammered, pushing hair aside. 

“You called me ‘Mama’,” he said, “Unless you're having dreams about someone else?”

“No, of course not.”

Hongjoong giggled, “Liar.” 

He flopped down on the bed beside you, groaning in relief as he sunk into it. You noticed he wore a regular black t-shirt and jeans, far removed from the sleek, polished look he'd sported before. The distinct smell of sweat and blood came from him, mixed with his sweet pheromone. You guessed he’d come straight from work. It equally disgusted and fascinated you.  

“Do you always have dreams about your mother?” He asked, eyes closed.

“Not always. Just sometimes.”

“Was it because of San? He says he's always wanted his own family, you know, outside of Seonghwa and me.” He scoffed, “It's boring and dumb.”

“I guess it was. Do you have those?”

“No. My mother doesn't come around often, only when she wants something from me. She popped me out and then walked away.”

“She did?”

“Yup,” he nodded, hands behind his head. “I saw her two or three times in childhood, but that was a long time ago. I have no idea where she is anymore. She stays up in the human world, corrupting and possessing souls.” 

“Do you miss her?”

“Can't miss someone you never knew. I suppose you knew yours?”

“I did, but I wasn't very kind to her when I grew up. I stopped talking to her after I moved out.”

“Is that why you asked her to forgive you?”

“Yes.”

“Hm, sad,” he said, but he didn't sound very sad to you. “You're here, so there isn't anything you can do for her. We're your new family now,” he put his hand on your thigh, gently brushing his thumb back and forth. “You be a good pet and do what we ask,” he yawned, “And we'll take care of you.” He laid in your bed a minute before he said, “And you'll obviously take care of us. Since, you know, you made both your handlers cum in minutes.”

“Master Seonghwa told me to-”

“-To give Yeosang a handjob, I know,” he said, hand sliding up your thigh. “But, did you have to torture poor Jongho? He's the youngest and sweetest of us and you tortured him with your beautiful body.”

“I didn't do anything he didn't want already. I turned around and there he was,” you shrugged. “I would've felt bad sending him away when he was already so hard.”

“So,” Hongjoong began, unbuckling his pants, “If I ever start jerking off in front of you, you'll let me watch?”

“Would I have a choice?”

“Not really, but,” he put his hand between your thighs, fingers grazing your sex, “It's not as if you'd say no. I have a feeling you like demon dick quite a lot.” He withdrew himself from his trousers, and you saw him already semi-hard in his hand. “Is it because they're longer or thicker or both?” 

“I'm not wholly sure, honestly,” you admitted, holding your breath as he began tracing circles on your pussy. You laid back on the bed beside him, so he had more access to you. “It just feels better.”

“You're not wrong there,” he chuckled, stroking himself in time with his touches on you. “I love it more than anything, personally. I used to fuck humans in the living world, but nothing quite beats demons. But, don't take that to heart,” he said, “I still love human pussy just as much. Particularly yours.”

You rolled onto your side, resting against him for a better feel of his hand. “And why is that?” You took him in your hand, earning a low groan. 

“Because you take my dick so well,” he said, sliding two fingers inside you. The both of you kept slow paces on each other, neither of you in a hurry, “Most human slaves have trouble the first time, but this right here fits around me perfectly. It's almost as if this pussy was made for me,” he pumped his fingers in and out of you slowly, “Always wet and ready to be fucked. Is that why you slept naked? Were you hoping one of us would come here and take advantage of you?”

“I don't know what you mean,” you said, stroking him languidly. “This is when I'm most comfortable.”

“Good to know,” he said, keeping his fingers inside and rubbing your clit with his thumb, “Because this is how I want you when you're with me.”

“Nude and aching for you?”

He laughed, “The aching is optional. I want you naked all the time. Less layers means less to worry about.” He pulled fingers from you and did slow circles around your clit. “I can get to this right away.”

“Stay still,” he ordered with a harsh slap, lips against yours, “Stay fucking still.”

He captured your lips with his, the both of you moaning together. Hooking his hand around your knee, he pulled you up onto him. The sudden crash of his dick to your cunt added more pressure between your thighs.

Carnivals. Fairs. Candy shops. The faint scent of cotton candy had you rutting against him. Hongjoong carried the sweet aroma that brought you back to childhood. It seeped into your pores and became one with your natural scents. You might as well feel drugged with how it added to your desires. You moaned each time the bulb of his cock pushed into your clit. A hand in your hair, and another on your thigh, Hongjoong kept you still as he grinded against you. Each time you tried moving, he laid a hard smack to your ass. 

“Yes, Master,” you whined, feeling his cock nearly press into your entrance. 

He continued kissing you deeply. Your fingers clenched around the pillow underneath him, you took every bit of strength to not hump him like a dog. Hongjoong, while smaller and skinnier than his brothers, carried the same strength as them. He kept you firmly pressed to him without a problem, and his smacks burned your skin each time. You whined and moaned into his mouth whenever his length slid over you. His mere grinding couldn’t scratch the itch inside you. Your walls clenched for him, trying to grab the head that constantly brushed close to it. Your hand slid up his neck to his cherry red hair, and you tugged in a way that made him growl. Hongjoong returned this by keeping you dangling over that frustrating barrier of denial and relief. You could feel the thin ridges brushing your clit, making you gyrate into him involuntarily. 

“I said ‘stay still’,” he said between kisses, switching cheeks and slapping the left side. “Impatient whore,” he groaned, “Can’t even wait for cock.”

“I want it so badly, Master,” you whined in a kiss. “Please, let me have it. Please, please. I promise I’ll be good for you all night. Please.”

“You’re not being very good right now,” he noted, “With you grinding against me when I told you not to.” He made a few hard slaps on either cheeks, causing you to cry out in pain. “How do I know you’ll be good for me tonight?”

“I promise I will,” you said, forcing yourself to be still as he started grinding faster, “I promise, I promise.”

He laughed at your whimpering, “I don't think so. You're going to have to prove it. Lay down for me.”

You moved to lay on your back, lips crashing with his right away, when the door opened. Jongho appeared by the corner of the bed, doing his best not to notice your body or your position. 

“Master Hongjoong,” he said stiffly, “Dinner will be served soon. Wooyoung is here to dress YN for dinner.”

A bit of aggravation reached the pit of your stomach. You saw annoyance flicker in Hongjoong’s eyes before he turned to look down at you. 

“I suppose we will have to finish this later, Pet,” he said with a defeated sigh. 

“But, Master,” you pouted, “Can you relieve me at least a little bit?”

“I'm afraid not now,” he kissed you one final time. It was passionate and slow, tongues sliding and bodies molding together for a few brief seconds. “But, if Wooyoung or Jongho wish to help you get there, I won’t be opposed to it. A little finger or tongue action is just what my pet needs,” he pushed hair from your face and kissed you again. “You can tell me all about it when we’re alone tonight,” he whispered. 

You kept him close to you by his forearms, “But I only want you tonight, Master.”

He grinned, “You’ll have me, but I think I have an idea of how slutty our pet can get. I told Seonghwa it’s ridiculous to make you deny your own desires. You’re a pleasure slave. Seeking out pleasure is what you do best.” He pushed into you a few times, smiling in your next kiss. “So, do what comes naturally to you, slut, and enjoy whoever you like. My only rule is,” he squeezed both your breasts, “Nobody goes inside your cunt but me. Your holes belong to me, understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Tell me, why can't the others be in your pussy?” 

“Because my holes belong to my master,” you said, knowing what he wanted to hear. 

He beamed, “You listen well. Good.” 

Hongjoong gave you another kiss while he put himself together again. Even when he finished zipping up, he kept kissing you. You suspected if Jongho did not insist, he would have given into his desires for you sooner. 

“It’ll be equally hard for me too,” he confessed, briefly kissing you, “But Seonghwa will bitch if we’re not at dinner.” 

He finally lifted himself off the bed, fixing his shirt and taking deep breaths. Jongho bowed his head as Hongjoong exited the room. The two of you alone, Jongho addressed you. 

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, “But dinner is an important thing around here. Master Seonghwa and Master San insist you be there and look your best.” 

“I figured,” you grunted, your arousal radiating between your thighs. You swore you could almost feel him still there; his thickness spreading you apart in each thrust before sticking it inside you. “But, did you have to come in right now?”

“I was ordered to,” he said, “You know how it is. Besides, it isn’t like he won’t do it later anyways. Come on. Bath time, little pet.” 

You slid off the bed, shaking Hongjoong from your system as you waited on Jongho to prepare your bath. Someone walked in right as you stepped into the water. 

“There she is,” Wooyoung beamed, two of his purple-clad assistants entering the bathroom, “I heard through the grapevine you had quite a time with San and Seonghwa. You must be something special for them to be so weak for you.” He looked in a mirror, nearly seducing himself as he fixed his hair around his upturned horns. “I’ve never seen them so excited by a human before.”

“She is special,” Jongho smiled knowingly. He’ll never forget your moment in the bathroom, which pleased you. 

“I hope I should be so lucky one day,” Wooyoung winked at you. “I’ve never had a human before.”

“Wooyoung, do not say such things,” Jongho said. “The Masters might hear you.”

“Ugh,” he rolled his eyes, “As if they haven’t thought about it. Everyone knows what a horndog Hongjoong is, and his brothers aren’t saints either. Sungmi, Kyla,” he called to the two assistants setting up a nail station in the bathroom, “Black stilleto shape with black rhinestones for tonight.” He looked down at you, putting you into a frame with his hands, “Yes, I have the perfect vision. You are going to be drop dead gorgeous when I’m done with you. The Masters won’t be able to control themselves.”

“Hopefully they’ll manage to keep it in through dinner,” Jongho said, running a thin, mint-scented oil in your hair. “Cook worked so hard on Master Seonghwa’s menu. It’d be a shame to see it wasted.”

Wooyoung came around the tub, and took over your hair from Jongho. Smooth fingers ran from the nape of your neck to the very ends, spreading the oil as much as your hair let him. Something sensual laid in these delicate touches. Wooyoung’s fingers continued briefly touching your neck, and you felt him staring down into the murky waters. You couldn’t help sensing that Wooyoung did not normally aid in the bathing portion of the process. When the both of them finally finished, your suspicions were proven true. 

“Wow,” he breathed, gazing down at your wet body, “Yeosang has every right to hope you're put in the greenhouse. Dennis can always use a few helping hands.”

“Wooyoung!” Jongho snapped, “She’s not for you.”

“Who's Dennis?”

“I know that,” he retorted, ignoring your question. “I’m only saying she looks good. I wouldn’t bother dressing her at all if I had her walking around my house.” 

“Ugh, you’re so obscene,” Jongho rolled his eyes. 

He wrapped you in a fluffy towel, drying you off quickly before sliding you to the nail station where one of the assistants sat. You rested back on the chair as the two assistants began cleaning, shaping, and painting your nails as instructed. The beaded patterns glittered whenever you wiggled your fingers. You never painted your nails black because of the rumors that it damages your nails. Yet, you admitted this had a nice effect. 

When they finished your nails, Jongho led you into the dressing room where Wooyoung stood. You saw more assistants plucking things off shelves and racks to present to their employer. Wooyoung stood by the vanity table, arranging makeup for you. He came over, lifting up your nails to examine them. 

Jongho groaned, “It’s probably about her bedtime routine. He’s so damn picky. I swear I wanna…Ugh!”

“Well done,” he told the nail artists, “You may go.” They bowed and left the room. “Jongho,” he called to him, “Yeosang was in here a few minutes ago asking for you. He seemed a bit more heated than usual.”

He disappeared in a puff of purple smoke. Wooyoung waited for his assistants to finish putting an outfit together, then he dismissed them as well. Your body clenched when you heard him close the dressing room doors. The sounds in the room became stifled by the surrounding shelves and items absorbing them. He walked over to the vanity where he started working on your hair. You caught him giving you glances as he fixed your hair into his preferred style. He came around, picking up a bottle of foundation. You didn’t know how he got your exact shade, but you assumed ‘magic’. 

“You sure you’re not part demon?” he asked, applying foundation to your face with a brush. 

“I am.”

“You look like it,” he said. He added concealer next, dabbing it where needed. “You’re way too pretty to be a normal human. If you’re not a cambion, a half-demon, then somebody took a little more time with you for sure.” He lightly dusted a finishing powder on the base, then grabbed blush. “I don’t know if you noticed,” he put down the blush, and put his hands on your shoulders, “I’m quite fond of beautiful things.” 

Light fingers pulled at the opening of your robe. You had the urge to close it back up, but something about his touch stopped you. Like so many other human-presenting demons you’d met, a pheromone released from him in scents you liked. Wooyoung’s was the expensive Chanel perfume you once wore. You found it drastically unfair. He let your robe fall off your shoulders, and sighed at the sight of you. Goosebumps covered your arms as he dragged his fingers down your neck to your shoulders. 

“It must benefit you in so many ways,” he said in a mesmerized voice. He picked up a tube of lipstick, and applied it smoothly. “The power that beauty and sex appeal wield is astounding. Nobody likes to admit that pretty privilege is real, even in the underworld. The slaves with the prettiest faces and the nicest holes get better treatment over the plain faces. The succubi with the most delicious bodies make ten times more than any regular demon or human ever could,” He finished his work and observed you in the mirror. “Those who have a special preference for humans only pay top-price for the pretty ones…The ones,” his fingers traced your collarbone as he bent down to your ear, “Who can’t get enough of it earn the most and are the most expensive.” Finally, he reached your breasts, which he gently cupped. Your body instantly warmed at his touch.

“I learned a little bit about you from the slavers in the city. I casually mentioned that three of Prince Asmodeus’s sons recently acquired a human pleasure slave by your name. Some of them knew you from auctions where they’d been outbid, and other claimed they’d fucked each of your lovely holes…” he grazed your nipples, watching them harden against his fingers, “They say you’re perfectly broken. You don’t resist or refuse demon cock anymore, they said. Is that true?” he rolled your nipples in his fingers until you whimpered, “Do you prefer big demon dick over pathetic human ones now?”

“I do enjoy them,” you admitted, your sex starting to throb. 

“Gods…” he breathed against your neck, “I’d kill to fuck you right now. The most I’m allowed is the other holes and your pretty hands.” He smiled when you moaned, watching his hands grope your chest in the mirror. “Turn around for me. I want to look at you again before I have to dress you.”

On shaky legs, you faced him. Your standing position caused your robe to fall to your wrists on the table. Wooyoung drank in the sight of your body, licking his lips as he started playing with your breasts again. This new feeling reignited the stirring in your loins. Wooyoung’s hot tongue slid over your hardening nipples, the slippery tongue rapidly swirling around each one. When you reached for his groin, feeling him hot and hard in your hand, he moved closer to you. 

“You can take it out,” he whispered, “See what you could have with me some time.” 

You unbuckled and unzipped him, gasping at the large bulge poking through his underwear. “This is why I love demons so much,” you said, rubbing him with his own boxers, “They’re always so big.” 

“I saw how well you can take them,” he said, teasing your nipples. “I’d love to experience it myself one night.”

Wooyoung pulled down his boxers to free himself, and you started stroking him with both hands. He let out a long, drawn out groan as you worked him. He bent down to your breasts, and took one in his mouth. The tip of his tongue flicked over the peaks each time you reached his thick head. You let out a giggle when he started pushing into your stationary hands, grunting against your tits. 

“You really wish you could fuck me, huh?” you asked, putting his hand to your heat and smiling when he felt how wet he’d made you. “How often have you thought of wrecking my tight human holes, hm?”

“Ever since I watched you fuck them,” he groaned, holding your tits in his hands and pushing upwards. “You sounded so sweet taking dick until you couldn’t think straight. I wanted to run there and get a turn or two. But, I’ll settle for this right now.”

You gasped when two fingers slipped into you. Like Wooyoung, you began riding his hand and grinding your clit into his palm every so often. The two of you stayed by the table, grunting and moaning as you pleasured one another. He was right, of course. If you had no power on your own, your looks and sexual expertise can get you anything. Why should you not indulge in what makes you happy? As long as nobody stuck their dick in you, your masters did not seem to mind. At least, Hongjoong does not and you’re running on his schedule now.

“Keep going,” Wooyoung breathed, pushing his fingers to your hips while fucking into your hands, “Fuck yes, just like that. Keep fucking my hand like that.”

The two of you came together, hard and trembling in each other’s hands as you did. Spurts of white shot over your lower belly while you drenched his hand. He rested his forehead against your shoulder, while you leaned back onto the table. Finally getting the relief you needed, you did not mind when Wooyoung removed his fingers.

“Good,” he breathed, looking at your makeup, “I didn’t mess anything up. Let’s clean this and get you dressed, yeah?”

Business as usual. To Wooyoung, you might have not even given him a handjob. You cleaned yourself well enough to avoid discomfort later, while he started sliding you into a lace and satin lingerie set. Then, you pulled on a black silk dress that went to your feet. The backless, spaghetti strap number resembled the gowns you used to wear at fancier parties. It shimmered in black sequins, and gave a nice contrasting color to the silver snakes dangling from your earlobes. 

Jongho reappeared right as you slid your feet into matching heels. You knew right away he sensed something, but he refrained from saying anything.

“She’s ready,” Wooyoung said, spraying perfume around you. “They’re going to love her.”

Jongho led you out of the dressing room right away, “Mingi, take YN to the dining room. I have to talk to our resident stylist.”

Mingi nodded in understanding, then walked you into the hallway. Still recovering from your quick one with Wooyoung, you forced yourself to gain the energy to be around your masters. You imagined Jongho giving the stylist a harsh scolding for indulging his desires and making you late for dinner. If you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve wondered what the big deal about being a little bit late was, but you did know better. 

As you walked, you noticed Mingi. Long and broad, you expected him to make loud thumps when he walked, but instead he moved quieter than a shadow. You also saw he did not wear the armor or weapons most demonic bodyguards wore in palaces like the Black Keep.

“Where are your weapons?” you asked inquisitively. “Don’t big bad warriors wear loads of them?” 

“They do, but I got these.” He flicked his right wrist as a sharp blade poked out of his cuff. “I don’t carry heavy stuff. It slows me down and gets in the way. My job is to protect you inside the keep, so I don’t need anything but these.”

“So, if somebody breaks into my room-”

“-I’ll be prepared for that. I’ve been fighting most of my life, YN. Children of Satan are trained in combat from the time we’re very small.”

“Satan?”

“Prince of Wrath. He’s one of the seven princes of Inferno,” he explained. “You didn’t know that?”

“I’ll admit I don’t know much about this place. I sort of landed here and that was it.”

“Ignorance keeps the human population under control,” he said. “But, I’m sure Master Seonghwa will teach you all about that.” 

“With the college schedule he’s giving me, I’m sure I will.” You both walked past the open windows, and you saw how in the darkness between each window, Mingi seemed to disappear. “What the…”

“I’m a shadow demon,” he said, answering the question you didn’t ask. “We blend into darkness pretty well. I got it from my mother.”

“Did you know her or are you like The Masters?”

“She was my mentor in school. She wasn’t very maternal, but she was at least there to teach me valuable skills.”

“Like how to blend into the dark?”

“Yes.” You then heard the smugness as he said, “I guess you can say shadow demons are born in the darkness.” 

“And what about the others? Do you know anything about them?”

“Yeosang is my cousin through my father's father's father's uncle,” he said, “And Jongho isn’t royalty at all. His parents were trickster demons, which is how he’s able to sort of appear and disappear like he does. Yunho is the grandson of a son whose mother married a son of a cousin to one of Prince Mammon's children. He's the Prince of Greed, which makes him the perfect person to run a household’s finances,” he chuckled. “Wooyoung’s somebody’s great-great-great-great offspring of one of King Lucifer’s half-breed children, but I don’t believe that. I think he’s just another vain demon looking for a bit of fame and attention. I wasn’t surprised when I heard he screws people in a room of mirrors.”

“Huh, interesting.”

“And, you probably already know, but The Masters are sons of Asmodeus, Prince of Lust. Their mother was a succubi, hence why she’s not interested in being a mother to her sons,” he said, guiding you closer to the dining room.

You pitied the three brothers. Your father might have been a mean bastard, but you had your mother, the nicest woman you’d ever known. If she’d left, you’d face your father’s rage all alone. As you reached the dining room, you recalled your dream. Even with a battered face, your mother took care of you. She was the shield between you and your father. She sacrificed for you, and you called her pathetic and weak, promising to never be like her. You wondered where she was, as you sat in your seat at the table, and if she was okay. Your father was still alive when you died, which left her alone.

God, you’re a cruel bitch. 

All three masters sat at the dining table. Clearly, they’d changed from their work clothes into dinner clothes. You’ll say that your masters showed dedication to their aesthetics. Seonghwa wore a ruffled shirt with a red-wine cravat pinned with a dark ruby brooch; San kept his button down shirt and tie neat and crisp, while Hongjoong wore a satin black shirt unbuttoned halfway with black pants. A hearty spread laid out on the table, with wine cups being regularly filled by nearby maids. 

Jongho served you himself, placing a piece of salmon with an apple and kale salad; he added a bread roll before pouring you white wine. You noticed your masters feasted on different meals: San had a protein packed plate of steak and eggs, while Seonghwa ate from a light pasta dish. Hongjoong had nothing on his plate, but instead drank red wine. 

“-Hongjoong, you must eat,” said Seonghwa, twirling pasta on his fork. 

“I am,” said Hongjoong. “I’m eating grapes.”

“I mean food, Hongjoong. You’ll need energy for tonight. At least some bread and butter if you won’t-oh, Hongjoong, you are such a child.”

Hongjoong produced a bag of chips from nowhere, and munched on them pointedly. “Anyways,” Hongjoong continued, “As I was saying before you rudely interrupted me-”

“-Hmpf-”

“-I told him if he wanted to escape Inferno, he should have stayed a regular mayor instead of becoming a dictator,” Hongjoong shrugged. “The man ordered the deaths of millions of people, tortured political prisoners, stole and cheated his allies and is surprised he is in Hell?”

Seonghwa snorted, “They don't think it's real until they're dead and sitting in your chair.” He quietly ate more pasta, then dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. 

“What did you do to him?” San asked curiously before chewing a piece of steak. 

“The same things he used to have done to the people he imprisoned,” Hongjoong replied. “I figure he has a day or two more until he's broken. Then he'll be shipped to wherever he's supposed to go.”

“We had a similar guy in the arena today,” San said. “A murderer who killed dozens of women for years. He said he was sorry and wanted to earn his way out.” San snickered, “Nayeon took him out in seconds. She takes enjoyment in the men, I've noticed.”

“Likely because they're scumbags,” Hongjoong suggested. “Anybody win today?”

“Nope,” he shook his head. “Not a single one. But, the crowds don't like it when they win, so it works out.”

You chewed quietly on your dinner as they continued discussing work. It was when Hongjoong shifted in his seat casually that you felt his hand on your knee. A piece of salad nearly caught in your throat, but you concealed it with a gulp of wine. 

“How was your first day, Darling?” San asked. 

“It was…fine.” Hongjoong’s fingers gradually pulled your dress up to your knees, bunching the skirt above them. You sat entirely still, and continued eating. He’d be excited to know this wasn’t your first under-the-table act. 

“Just fine? I like to think I made it a little bit better than ‘fine’,” he scoffed. “Especially with how I fucked you into the table.” 

“It has to be because of you,” said Seonghwa. “I know when I had her, she loved every second of it. Yeosang even helped.”

“Did he?”

“He cleaned her up for me, since I had to go back to work,” he said. “She worked him afterwards, and from what Jongho told me,” he smirked over a fork of pasta, “It was interesting, to say the least.” 

“How so?” Hongjoong asked, hand brushing your inner thigh. 

“He said the two of them berated each other the entire time,” he replied. 

“Ah, hate sex,” Hongjoong nodded in understanding. He glanced over at you, “Sounds like our pet has a range of different interests. I can’t wait to try them all,” he slid his hand back down your thigh, creating a warmth in your panties. “I bet it’s like one of those swirl lollipops. Every lick and bite has a different flavor to it,” he licked his lips and drank from his wine cup. 

Seonghwa finished a bite of pasta when he noticed the position. He caught your eyes, raised his eyebrows, and then smirked. 

“Can’t you at least get through dinner, Hongjoong?” Seonghwa asked him. 

“I have no idea what you mean, Brother,” he said as he delicately pressed your panties into your sex. 

“Oh, I almost forgot!” San snapped his fingers, drawing Seonghwa’s attention from you. “Your collar. It came earlier today.”

“Ooh, yes!” Hongjoong said, giving you a quick rub before pulling away completely. “I saw Yeosang bringing it in.”

“My collar?” you recalled Jongho mentioning it to you, but you hadn't expected it so soon. 

San clicked his fingers, and Yeosang appeared in the corner in a puff of smoke. He held a black box between his hands, which he walked around and placed in front of you. You stared at the box in surprise. You gazed up to the three demons sitting in front of you. 

“Go on,” San beckoned, “Open it.”

You flipped open the clasp to find it sitting on velvet layers. Black lace with a rose pattern, three singular onyx gems hung from black chains. It was far more expensive than any collar you previously wore. When you examined it further, you saw a large onyx in the middle. On it, you saw they'd engraved a sigil of a snake wrapped around a thorny rose. 

“In case you get lost,” Seonghwa explained when you lifted the choker by the middle gem. “Everyone will know where to bring you.”

In case you got lost…

Or if you ran away?

“Here, let me.” 

Hongjoong stood up, took the choker from you, and clasped it comfortably on you. It was then that you saw it. Hanging from his belt was a black whip. A cat-o-nine tails whip reached from his waist to his knee. That whip likely welted and spliced lots of skin in its time. You wondered when he’d use it on you. Hongjoong ignored your staring and crouched beside you. He straightened the lace, and gems before admiring you. Rough fingers sent goosebumps down your arms as they traced the lace and tugged it gently. 

“Good thing it's elastic,” he said, thumb touching your jaw, “That way it won't break when I tug on it.”

“We will get you more as time goes on,” Seonghwa said. “But we wanted your first collar to be nice.” 

“How about dessert?” San asked, snapping his fingers for a maid to take his plate from the table. “Then maybe watch an arena fight. They broadcast them now.”

“Pet and I already have plans” Hongjoong said, looking you up and down, “So we'll pass tonight. Won't we, Pet?”

“Yes, Master,” you replied with the same seductive drip in your voice. He reached a hand to your throat, thumb ring cold on your warm skin, as he touched the collar again. “Does it look nice on me?”

“Very,” he said, sliding his thumb under it for a moment. “It’ll look better when you’re wearing nothing but this.” He inhaled your scent, and grinned, “Did someone have a little fun before dinner?”

“Maybe,” you said, turning to face him. “You did say I could enjoy myself.”

“I did,” he confirmed, still touching your neck, “With who?”

“Wooyoung. He couldn’t seem to resist me.”

He laughed softly, “Not many people can. I’m tempted to throw you on the table and pound you right here myself.” He brought you closer to him by the chin, thumb tracing your lower lip, “But then my brothers might join and I want you to myself.”

“As if she’d want just you after what I did to her today,” said Seonghwa. 

“And what did you do to her?”

“I made her squirt,” he taunted him, smiling cockily at him. “I don’t think she’s ever cummed so hard until she had my tongue and fingers. Imagine what my dick could do if I tried hard enough.”

“Pet,” Hongjoong pouted, “Why didn’t you tell me you could do that? Where was that last night? I think we did plenty to make you do that.”

“I don't know,” you answered, touching the wrist near your neck and rubbing gently, “It just happened. Don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not,” he insisted, hand sliding across your jaw and bringing you to his lips. “The thought of it alone makes me hard,” he groaned. “That's my mission tonight. No matter how long we go at it, I'm making you squirt again.”

“I look forward to it,” you assured him, kissing him again. 

“I don't see the big deal,” San shrugged, sipping from his wine glass. “If you do it with me, that's great, but it's fine if you don't either.”

“Would you like me to do it for you, Master San?” you looked over at him, batting your lashes. 

“Absolutely,” he said, scooting his chair over to you. Like his older brother, he ran his fingers over your collar before kissing you. “I only mean if you didn’t, I won’t be a baby about it like Hongjoong.”

“I wouldn’t be a baby about it,” Hongjoong retorted. 

“You so would,” he remarked. “I only care about making you cum around me when I’m deep inside,” he said to you in a low voice. “I love bulging your tummy whenever I go deep enough.”

“I’ve noticed,” you said, “And I love you cumming inside me.” You pecked his lips. This. This is what you started enjoying: keeping them hanging on your words and giving into the natural instincts. You kissed him again before saying, “I love feeling full of you.” 

“Is that so?” Seonghwa stood behind your chair, hands on your shoulders as he kissed your ear, “I will admit it is hard to not be tempted by you, Kitten. I’ve never had a slave who so eagerly comes to me before,” he kissed your neck, “Honestly come to me, not because she was paid to do it.”

“How can I refuse when you treat me so well?” you asked, turning your head to look at him. “I can be a pain in the ass and end up back in a brothel, where I’m nobody. I can be defiant and get whipped every day-”

“-You say that like it’s a bad thing-” interrupted Hongjoong.

“-Or I can be a good girl,” you said to Seonghwa, locking eyes with him so he didn’t look away, “And be put in pretty clothes, eat good food, drink wine and have as much sex as my masters want. Mingi says you’re all pretty important people. I spent most of my previous life injecting myself into the lives of important, powerful people to get what I want. It’s really nothing I haven’t done before.” You touched the jewel pin of his cravat, lightly brushing under his chin. “As the saying goes, you get more bees with honey than with vinegar.” 

“And you certainly taste like honey.”

He kissed you first, cupping your jaw and opening your mouth slowly. San and Hongjoong looked on as Seonghwa’s tongue slid against yours, brushing your lower lip from time to time. 

“Too bad you’re with Hongjoong tonight,” he said, breaking away from you. “I’d love to make you cum like that again in my own bed.”

“As if you can’t do that any other time.”

The two of you laughed before Hongjoong interrupted with his own kiss. “You’re mine tonight,” he said, lifting you by the chin as he continued kissing you, “All mine.” He turned to his brothers, “You two enjoy the rest of your evening.” 

Turning with you in his arms, his lips went right back to yours. His hunger for you showed in the harsh kisses and soft grunts. He clawed at pieces of clothing until they nearly ripped, tossing them aside in the hallway. Fire ignited inside the both of you. You drowned yourself in his warmth and scent, as you’d done with his brothers. Being in his arms reminded you of all the random encounters you’d have in your previous life. The hot guys you met at bars or clubs often ended up in your bed late at night. This was the same except the man holding you up against the staircase landing was a demon. A demon who owned you now. He could do whatever he liked with you, and you couldn’t resist him. 

Not that you wanted to, anyway.

His thigh between your legs, he tugged down your bra and sucked your nipples firmly. He unclasped the garment, then flung it to a corner of the staircase before guiding you up the stairs to the second floor. Once there, against the railing, Hongjoong licked down to your panties and tore them off. By the time you reached the bedroom door, you were completely naked. 

San preferred bright, vintage colors. Seonghwa favored the decadence and refinement of old money. Hongjoong, on the other hand, embraced his demonic side. Crimson walls with black bat motifs flying around blooming roses covered the room from black border to border. Red cushions were upholstered by black wood, and black furry rugs covered the hardwood floors. On the walls, Hongjoong hung paintings of various erotic scenes and displayed statues of half naked figures in suggestive poses. You also couldn't help noticing the armoire pressed against a wall.

“Stay here,” he placed a few more kisses on your lips before leaving you for the tall wardrobe. He opened the top drawer, sliding on a pair of black latex gloves as he perused the contents inside. The aching he left behind felt cold and empty. “From the moment you step into my apartment, I want you naked the entire time. It makes things easier in the long run, you know?”

“Yes, Master.”

Standing in the cold room, you wished he'd let you stand by the crackling fireplace. The sudden heat he’d fanned died the longer he made you wait. You thought about touching yourself to keep it going, but that might upset Hongjoong. You looked him over once more. His whip hung from his belt loop casually, like a piece of jewelry or a fashion accessory. He likely wore it to scare the other servants in the house. It certainly sent shivers up your spine. When he finally made his decision, he brought out a wrist and ankle cuff set to you. Black with furry edges, you saw the loops on the inner parts of the cuffs. 

“Hold out your wrists.”

You held them out and he placed one on each wrist. Tightening the belt, he asked you, “Is it too tight?”

“No.”

“Alright, good. Your ankles.”

He put similar cuffs around both ankles, and he withdrew a matching leash from his back pocket. He clasped it to your collar. You worried the slightest tug might break the fine lace, but Hongjoong tested this with a few light pulls. Deciding it was durable enough, he wrapped the end of the leash around his hand. 

“This way,” he said. 

You went with him to the middle of the room where he could admire you in the firelight. Round eyes scanned over your face and body, as if truly seeing you for the first time. 

“You really are the most beautiful human I've seen,” he concluded, eyes clouded by lust as he continued eyeing your body. He removed his whip from his belt and walked towards you. He trailed the end of the whip from your cleavage to the middle of your thighs lightly, the touch making you shudder. “And so responsive too,” he sneered, “I like that.” He stepped closer to you, “I like the loud ones. Whimpering and whining always turns me on, but screaming? Crying? Pleading? That…” he huffed a laugh, “That gets me going.” He let the fringes of his whip swing over your thighs ominously. Hongjoong drew closer, lips pressed to your ear, “Will you scream for me, Pet?”

“If you…wish, Master.”

He chuckled darkly, sending more nerves up your spine. He waved his leather whip over your nipples next, pleased as they slowly hardened. 

“Don’t you have a schedule for me?” you asked, knowing it’d come sooner or later.

“Schedule?” he asked, confused. 

“Yeah, your brothers had these schedules for me to follow on my days with them. I thought you had one too?”

“Do you want one?”

“What else would I do on your days otherwise?”

“Me,” he said slyly, pecking your lips. “But, I suppose you should have some kind of structure. Seonghwa is always saying stuff like ‘idle hands make idle minds’ or something dumb like that,” he shook his head, “I didn’t really want much from you other than you submitting to me, which clearly isn’t going to be a problem.” He thought about it while he traced your curves with his whip, “Training could be a thing.”

“Training?”

“Anal training, throat training, pain resistance training, and something else,” he waved it off, “I don’t know yet.”

“You don’t have to give me one, if you’d rather not.”

“No, no, I’ll think of something eventually. You do need a proper routine,” he said. “All pets need good training. How else are you going to serve me properly?” An idea then came to him, “I can ask Yunho! He’s good at discipline and he’d love to teach you. Perhaps Mingi? But he might get caught up in the pleasure of it, and Yunho is bigger than him so he can train your holes properly.” He thought about it quietly, idly brushing you with his whip. “Eh, I’ll consider it. Sit with me for a bit,” he said, bringing you over to the loveseat in front of the fire. 

Pulling you onto his lap, he gently ran his fingers up and down your bare legs lazily. Coming up to your thighs, he gave the outer one a tender squeeze. His touch kindled the burning embers within you. You leaned to kiss him softly, tasting the leftover wine and feeling his tongue on yours. Kissing your masters quickly became your favorite thing.

“I feel like I’ve hardly scratched the surface with you,” he said, breaking away from you, “While my brothers find out all kinds of stuff about you.”

“What would you like to know?” you asked, already sensing the question. 

“Kinkiest thing you’ve ever done. Go.” 

“Ugh,” you thought about it with distaste, “You’d think it’s tame.”

“Tell me anyways,” he encouraged. 

“I had sex in my office in front of the big windows looking at the building across the street.”

“Hm,” he considered it, then said, “That is incredibly tame.”

“Told you. What about you?”

“Huh, I’m not sure,” he mused. “I haven’t really thought about it before…”

“Grossest thing then.”

“Golden shower?” he guessed. “We pissed on her.”

“Did you like that?” You hoped not. 

“Not really, no,” he shook his head. “I realized then I’m not into watersports like that. I don’t rag on people who do, but it’s not for me really.” He then thought for a moment, “I did jerk off to one of the maids trying to hold her pee in until she couldn’t hold it anymore and pissed on herself.”

“Gross,” you said with disgust. 

“I’m just saying I did it. I wouldn’t do it again, since the smell started bugging me, but I did it. Would you…Are you into that?”

“No,” you said right away. 

“You wouldn’t even want to try it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“It’s gross, that’s why.”

“Huh…That’s a shame.”

“You said you wouldn’t do it again!”

“With her!” he elaborated. “I wouldn’t mind watching you do that. I’ll let you wear underwear for it, if you want-”

“-Ew, gross.” 

“You’re lucky you’re even getting a choice in that.”

“Anything you don’t like in particular?” when he did not answer immediately, you giggled, “That few things, huh?”

“Yeah,” he laughed, nodding as he continued thinking. You couldn’t help laughing with him. “Yeah, I think so!” The two of you laughed together until he said, “Animals, I suppose, if I have to pick something.”

“Really?”

“Why do you say ‘really’ like that?” He said, “Do you like animals like that?”

“Of course not!” you laughed. “I thought you’d be an animal guy.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“Because you get turned on by the most vile things,” you said. “You seem like the kind of guy who tries everything at least once. I assumed animals were on that list.”

“I have,” he admitted. “Not personally, but I watched some people and it grossed me out too much so I stole the horse and set their house on fire.”

“What did you do with the horse?”

“Set it free. This was in the living world, so I don’t know. He went wherever horses go, I guess.” He watched you laugh as he said, “I like to try new things. Sometimes those things are a bit ‘out there’. When you’ve been around as long as me, you get bored of stuff really easily.”

“So, you’re saying you’ll get bored of me?” you pouted cutely.

“Not at all,” he said, pecking your lips softly. “I finally have someone to test out new kinks with. We can explore things together and see what we like.” He felt up your side to your chest, brushing a thumb over your nipple, “There are so many things I’d love to do with you, pet.”

“Like what?” you moved from your sitting position to straddling his lap. You felt the seam of his zipper pushing to your pussy, and it reignited the flames. “I’d like to know unless you’d rather keep me in suspense.”

“I’d start off gentle, of course,” he said. “But, I’ve always wanted to try aquaphilia.”

“Aqua-what?”

“It usually involves like swimming or posing underwater, but I’ve always wanted to have sex in water, but we’re in Hell and there’s no fucking bodies of water in Hell!” he said sharply. “Explain how we have water for drinking and bathing, but there are no lakes or oceans or anything. How can I live out my dreams if my world is holding me back?!” 

“Can’t you go to the living world, though?”

“I can but nobody wants to go with me.”

“How long has it been since you last went?”

“Fifty years!” he lamented sulkily. 

“You might be able to eventually…” you slowly ran your hands down his arms, letting him enjoy your soft touch. “It sounds fun.”

“It probably is!” He put his hands on your hips, his latex gloves smooth on your skin. Thumbs rubbing back and forth, he continued, “I'd like to fuck in a coffin one day.”

“A coffin?”

“Or a small closet,” he added. “You know, a confined space where we're trapped together? It'd be hot.” He moved closer to peck at your shoulder. “Have you ever done BDSM before?” He asked, kissing up your neck to your ear. 

“Not the way you likely have, Master.”

He chuckled, “I bet not. I imagine it was a little bit of rope or some light spanking?”

“Yes.”

“Did you like that?”

“At the time.”

“Do you think you’ll like it with me?”

“I know I will, sir.”

“Oh? How?”

“You sound like you'd know what you're doing,” you said, leaning closer to him. “And do I honestly have a choice?”

“Not really no,” he said, leaning to meet you. Inches from you, you saw the crimson ring around the brown irises. Demon blood. A pure blooded demon. “But, doesn't that make it more fun? Knowing you can't say no to me?”

“For you, perhaps. I am your slave, sir. I can only do my best to please you.”

“Spoken like a broken slut,” he said proudly. 

“Do you like that?” You asked, fingers tracing the collar of his shirt. “Or would you prefer I was the high-spirited sinner you like to break?”

“How about tonight,” he took your hand to hold and kiss, “You be a good slut and let me have my way?” 

“If that's what pleases you,” you said. 

“Oh, it'd please me greatly.” He gave your thigh a slight tap, “Come, let me show you around.”

He led you by your leash into a brightly lit room. Seeing the various bondage equipment and walls of sex toys and instruments, Hongjoong’s dungeon came with every toy one could think of. Long chains and ropes hung from hooks on the ceiling, and you gulped at the clasps hanging from the ends. Hongjoong loosened the leash to let you roam and observe the various pieces: the wooden horse, the chair, the x-cross, the stockade, and the tall cage with a smaller counterpart. Certain pieces of furniture had hooks nailed to them for sexual and practical use. You examined the wall of sex toys. Hanging from a bar, he displayed all manner of whips, chains, paddles and belts alongside a case of toys in various shapes and colors. Hongjoong no doubt planned on using all of these on you at some point. 

“What do you think?” He asked, playing with your leash around his hand. 

“It's extensive,” you answered honestly. You took out a long wooden switch he kept inside a vase in the corner. You bent it slightly just because you could. This would definitely hurt. 

“I like variety,” he answered.

You put the switch back. “Have you used all of these before?”

“At one time or another,” he said. “My brothers don't like it as much as me, but they enjoy my toy collection. San thought I didn't know that he’d steal my dildos and vibrators. I told him if he ever wanted to use one, he could ask and I'd gladly help.” You heard him walk up behind you, lips softly pecking your neck, “We can use them on him together sometime. If you're a good girl, I'll even let you use them on your own.” His whip sailed down your spine to the crack of your ass. He let it swish over the backs of your thighs, so you trembled. “San told me Yunho watched you two fuck this morning. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes.”

“Did you fuck him too?”

“No. He only watched.”

“Hm, good to know.” He slid the handle of his whip over your ass and right to your sex again. “I'd love to fuck you in front of all of them sometime. They already go through peepholes around the house, but I mean doing it in front of them.” The ridges of the handle brushed over your slit once or twice, having you gasp when he pulled it back. “I'll let you pick tonight: where would you like it?”

“Your bed?” You asked, hoping it was an option.

“Then my bed it is. You go ahead,” he said, “I'll pick out fun things for us to use.”

You walked back into his bedroom, taking a seat on the corner of the bed. The soft crimson sheets and covers molded to your position, the fabric lightly pressed to your wet sex. You started grinding against the bed, eager for relief in the gradual motions. Hands cupping your breasts, you played with your nipples as you quietly humped the bed. It was then that someone appeared from the shadows. 

“-Master Hongjoong, I thought you should know…Oh, wow…” 

Mingi stood in the corner of the room, hidden halfway in the shadows before he stepped out of them. His eyes glued themselves to your naked body, illuminated by the fire near the bed. You stopped moving right away, removing your hands and keeping them at your sides. 

“Where’s Ma-Master Hongjoong?” he asked, gulping. 

“In the other room,” you answered, “Getting some things for me.”

“Is he?” he breathed, biting the inside of his cheek. “That’s…I will be going then. I’ll come back, um, later. You know, when you’re not…like this.”

“Does her nakedness bother you, Mingi?” 

Hongjoong entered the room, a black bag in one hand and a small wooden paddle in the other. Eyes twinkling with delight, he kept them on Mingi while he placed the items on the bed. He cupped your chin and kissed you, flicking your bottom lip and capturing it with his mouth. 

“Um, sir?” Mingi said bewildered, confused by the question. 

“The naked form is one of the most natural things in the world,” he said. He reached into the bag and withdrew a pair of small nipple clamps. “Just like sex. It’s part of who we are. Whether you’re a demon, a human, or something else, sexual desire is inherent. Our society wouldn’t exist without it.” 

He put one of the clamps on each of your nipples, creating a never ending whirl of pleasure. He guided you over to the headboard on your back. There, he attached your handcuffs to the middle where he'd nailed a small hook. He used belts to keep your knees attached to a harness he put around your waist. This made your lower half completely vulnerable to him. Mingi’s mouth opened at the sight of you. His eyes raked over you, seeing your tight ass and soaked pussy splayed out for his viewing pleasure. 

“Being naked is how we’re meant to be,” Hongjoong said, sliding his hand across your breasts to squeeze one of them. “It’s how pleasure slaves are meant to be,” he pushed back your hair, admiring your face as he pushed a thumb past your lips. He exhaled deeply at the lips sucking his thumb so willingly. “See? She has only been here a day, and she’s already giving into her natural instincts. She’s fucked both her masters, let Jongho and Yunho jerk off to her, and gave Yeosang and Wooyoung handjobs. She’s so eager,” his mouth opened when you stuck your tongue out for him to slide over, “And horny. So, I’ll ask you again, soldier: Does her nakedness bother you?”

“Not…Not at all, sir.”

Being tied added to the tension from your arousal. A bout of excitement hit you as you dreamed up his plans. You had your fair share of BDSM sessions, so you weren't a complete novice. Yet, something about Hongjoong's casual tone and the way he secured you comfortably told you you're in the hands of an expert. With you settled, Hongjoong's hand went down from your knee to your inner thigh. 

Hongjoong laughed, moving from your mouth to your center. “Don’t act like such a saint, Mingi. She isn’t the first slave you’ve helped me with before.” The smooth gloves kept a thin layer between the two of you, your wetness making it easier for him to slide around. You gave a soft whine, feeling his fingers trace your slit. “I know how much you like tying up those leftovers the servants get, and using them however you wish. I’ve seen what they look like afterwards.”

“That’s different, sir. Those are pleasure slaves from brothels,” he said. “She’s yours. I wouldn’t dare touch something that is yours.” 

“I’ve never been one to deny someone their most basic want,” Hongjoong grinned when you pushed your hips to his light fingers. “See? Pet isn’t afraid to give in to what she wants. Why do you hesitate?”

“As I said, she is your property. If it were a case of her being a leftover or a brothel girl, I wouldn’t.”

“Would you be content with watching, perhaps? I love an audience,” he rubbed his hand over your pussy a few times before giving it a sharp smack, “And so does Pet. You can even use the vibrator sleeves I have.”

“That would be delightful, sir,” he said, slowly moving to a chair and bringing it to the bed. He angled himself to sit across from you, “She is nice to watch.”

“Very. Now, what should I use first?”

“I think something simple,” Mingi suggested, “It is her first time.”

“Right you are.”

He withdrew a silver anal plug, and a bottle of lubricant. “I want you to stay put for me,” he said when he poured small droplets onto your pussy, then spread them further down. “Don’t move a single muscle, understand?”

He smiled when you nodded. You knew that would be almost impossible for you. He worked you up too much for you to hold it off. Using the plug, Hongjoong spread the lube from your sensitive clit to your clenching asshole. Breathing heavily, chest rising and falling, you anticipated the rush of pleasure coming your way. The pointed tip ran around your hole, smearing more lubricant before starting to penetrate you. A thumb rubbing your clit, it added to the mounting pleasure. You had the urge to move up into it, but your position made that difficult. 

“No moving,” Hongjoong said, giving your pussy a hard spank that only served to arouse you further. 

Hongjoong moved the plug little by little: he'd stick it halfway in before pulling it back out. Whether he did it out of caution or torture, either way you died for him to do more. He continued pushing the plug in and out, sometimes sinking it fully inside and other times halfway. You couldn’t keep still for him this time. The desperation flowed through you each time the toy filled you. 

“What did I say?” he asked, smacking your pussy two more times. “Huh? What did I say?”

“Not to move,” you sniffled. 

“Then don’t move. I won’t hesitate to flip you over and spank you. Do it again and I stop.”

“No, no,” you shook your head, “Don’t stop.”

“Then behave and do what I say.” He went back to the plug, groaning when he sunk it inside you. You nearly writhed in his hold, but you stayed firm against the bed. “She looks pretty like this, huh?”

“Very, sir.”

“Mingi, sit closer. You can't see how wet she is from there.”

Mingi sat at the edge of the bed. He stayed focused on your center, marveling at the anal plug nestled in you. You breathed heavily through your nose when you heard the buzzing of a vibrator nearby. An average size and the color of emeralds, the vibrator started where the plug sat. This turned the stable plug into its own vibrator, sending subtle sparks to your pussy. Your thighs quaked at the low humming, feeling it rumble up into your body from the small toy. Lifting your legs higher out of habit, the toy suddenly turned off. 

“Roll over, slut.”

“Master, wait-”

“-It seems I’m going to have to teach you how to follow orders.”

With impressive strength, Hongjoong rolled you onto your front. The position kept your face halfway buried in his pillows and your ass in the air. You gasped once something hard and cold made circles on your left buttock. Heartbeat pounding in your ears, your body tensed at the first soft hit. Fingernails pressing into your palms, you cried out as he landed a second spank to your right cheek. After three more hits, Hongjoong increased the harshness. The paddle, likely thin and long, covered both cheeks easily. You could feel its length in every spank. Some smacks later, he went harder. The repeated slaps left a stinging burn on your skin. They reach down to your thighs at some points. The pain only radiated your arousal more. Each time the hard wood hit your center, you received a little pleasure with the sting. Every spank rocked through your body, displeasing Hongjoong. 

“I told you not to move,” he said as he spanked you again, “And you’re still doing it. You slum sluts really are empty headed, huh?” You screamed as he made several hard hits, shaking in place. “I’m only going to keep going. I can do this all night.” 

You planted yourself firmly on the bed. Tears filled your eyes from the pain, streaming onto the satin pillow. You could feel your orgasm building from the continued hitting. He must have known the effect, since he occasionally slid the paddle up your dripping pussy before spanking it. Gripping the headboard chains tightly, you channeled the pain into your hands instead, holding them tightly to keep yourself steady. 

“And to think you told me you’d be a good girl,” Hongjoong scolded. “I’m not sure if you know this, but good girls do what they’re told.” He spanked you again, so hard it vibrated everywhere. “Bad girls get spanked and teased to the edge. Isn’t that right, Mingi?”

“Too right.” 

“So, what are we going to do, whore?”

“Be a good girl,” you whimpered, crying when he slapped your ass again. “I’ll be good. I promise, Master.”

“That’s what you said when you humped me like a damn dog,” he laid more spanks that had you screaming into the pillow. Sobbing, you held onto the chains until your knuckles whitened. “Promise me you’ll stay still. I can’t fuck you if you’re moving around like this.”

“I-I promise.”

Then, you heard the rough pulling of tape from behind you. Shaking your head, you knew exactly what your master had planned. The vibrator, likely an egg shaped bullet toy, stayed firmly inside you. Then, you felt the presence of paper tape across your thighs. The tape kept the egg nestled between your folds and created a new sensation. 

The vibrator returned, the round head swishing lightly over your clit. The mixture of pain and pleasure worked deep in your core, having you moaning into the pillow. When a hand pulled at your hair, lifting your face from the bed, Hongjoong pressed the vibrator fully against you. He chuckled at the constant cries coming through your throat. He and Mingi listened as the volume and pressure had you either giving low hums or loud groaning. You screamed from the sparks the vibrator created when directly on your clit. Yet, the entire time, you kept yourself from moving even an inch. You still ached from the spanking, and the new position buried the plug deeper into your ass. When he rapidly moved the vibrator around, you wept openly at the overwhelming pleasure. 

Hongjoong then whipped at your thighs and calves. You heard the crack of his personal whip on your skin, the tips slapping your tender flesh. Behind you, deep low moans started faintly reaching you. 

“You enjoy watching me hurt them, don’t you?” Hongjoong asked, amused by Mingi’s reaction. 

“I love…I love to hear them cry. Seeing them tear up as I’m spanking or whipping them just…Fuck, it gets me so hard so fast.”

“You hear that?” he bent down to your ear, tapping the egg with his whip, “Mingi likes watching pretty girls cry. Are you going to cry for him?” When you didn’t answer, he dug the bullet further inside you. “Are you?”

“Yes, yes!”

Quickly, Hongjoong unchained you from the headboard, and chained your wrists close together instead. Bringing you towards Mingi, he lifted your head so the bodyguard saw your tear streaked face. He pumped himself faster, moaning in every stroke as he looked at you. Hongjoong straddled your knees, removed your plug and filled your ass with something larger. Mingi groaned when he realized what Hongjoong had done. 

“Oh,” he breathed, “The tentacle one.”

Hongjoong cackled, “One of the longer ones I have. Her ass was so tight last night, it milked every drop out of me.” 

“Green-Gr-Greenho-house,” Mingi managed to get out, “You should take her there. She’d love it.”

“A very good idea,” he agreed, pushing the dildo in and out of you to create more pleasure. “I'll keep that in mind.”

You clung to the edge of the bed as the two toys worked together to bring you to the edge. Right when you thought you might combust, Hongjoong withdrew the dildo and shut off the vibrator. The squeal of frustration you let out amused both men. Mingi kept stroking himself and Hongjoong spanked your ass lightly. 

“You didn’t think you’d get to cum that easily, did you?” he mocked you, cackling at your shivering body. “No, no, no, pet,” he ran his hands up your back and into your hair, tugging at the roots on your scalp, “I’m having way too much fun to stop now. You’re cumming when I want you to.” 

He chained you to the bars above the bed, leaving you dangling from the middle bar in a kneeling position. From the bag, he withdrew a dildo attached to a small machine. Hongjoong slipped the flesh colored dildo between your thighs and pushed it up into you. Mingi and him moaned together when the small machine began thrusting the toy inside you at a steady pace. The absolute euphoria of it blinded you to all sense. The cooldown of your orgasm slowly heated back up as the toy pushed into your g-spot repeatedly. Hongjoong allowed you to quake and tremble above the machine, and enjoyed the effect the vibrating egg had when he turned it on. Tears came down your cheeks, and you wriggled around with hopes of being allowed an orgasm. 

It didn’t happen. Hongjoong raised the speed and he laughed when you pathetically begged for him to let you cum. 

“I don’t want to yet,” he said, grabbing his whip out of habit. Swinging it across your lower stomach, a few strips caught between your legs. When you jerked at the slight sting, he continued doing it. “It’s fun watching you scream for me,” he said, laughing through clenched jaws as he turned up the speed on both toys. “Scream,” he whipped you, “Scream for me!”

You tugged at your chains as an orgasm hurled its way towards you. Shaking and crying, you sobbed when he turned off your stimulants right at the last moment. “Master! Please!” you wept, your pussy feeling empty and painful from the fierce edging. 

He lowered your chains to bend you forward, your arms now behind you and suspending your top half from the bed. “Suck Mingi’s cock,” he said, “And I’ll think about it.”

Mingi did not hesitate to yank down his pants and kneel in front of you. Grabbing the back of your head, he sunk deep into your mouth until he reached your throat. The dildo began pumping in and out from this new angle, and you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning around the dick in your mouth. Mingi proved merciless like his master. Holding your hair back, he held you in place as he fucked your throat. He didn’t care about the constant gagging, the strings of drool or your throaty moans. He pushed in and out like any other hole in your body. This had you groaning and whimpering. You loved the feeling of being used. It felt nice to not think for a while. Being at the mercy of horny incubi brought you close to an orgasm again. Hongjoong tapping his own cock against your gaped ass hole nearly made you cum. 

You let out a yelp when he plunged into it, fists keeping him propped up as he took you. Having Mingi filling your mouth, the toy filling your pussy and Hongjoong in your ass left you a whining, mewling mess. This pleased both men, causing them to pick up their pace. When Mingi withdrew to let you breathe, he slapped his wet dick against your cheeks hard. The thick muscle burned your jaw and throat, but you wanted more. 

“Spit on it, slut.”

You spat on it, thick drool and precum sliding onto his head. You stuck your tongue out to receive it, but instead Mingi slapped you again on the opposite cheek. The sticky mess smeared on your cheeks, mouth and nose as Mingi whacked your face. Their shared laughter at your expense left you shivering. 

“Just another dirty hole,” Hongjoong grunted, holding you by the waist as he thrusted into you. “That’s all you fucking are at the end of the day: a pretty set of holes for us to use. You’re going to have a lot of fun here…So much fun…Would you like that?” he slapped your ass hard, “Huh?”

“Yes,” you said, the answer muffled by Mingi sticking himself back into your mouth. “Yes, Master.”

“She sounds cute when she’s being gagged,” Mingi moaned, returning to fucking your face. “It almost makes me wish she were another slum slut from the city. Then I could…I could fuck her however I wanted.”

“And how would you do that, Mingi?” Hongjoong pulled out of you, but turned on the vibrator still taped to your clit. Unable to push into the sex machine, you hung there and let it keep going. 

“Lock her in a cage,” he said, “And use her holes whenever I feel like it. Whip her. Shock her. Bring her to the edge over and over. Take her to the greenhouse…watch Dennis fuck her until she’s nothing but a broken bitch for me. That’s what I like, sir: broken whores who don’t know anything other than how to take cock.”

“We really are kindred spirits,” Hongjoong smiled. 

You don’t know how long they went at you. You only knew the two demons did whatever they could to keep you on edge, crying and screaming for mercy. When Hongjoong finally filled your pussy himself, he kept the vibrator going the entire time. Cradled in his lap, he pushed up into you while Mingi used your limp hand to jerk himself with. Both men knew exactly how to keep you hanging on. It’s as if they could each see inside your deepest desires, and twist them to their advantage. You thought the torture might never end. You thought you might simply be forced to near orgasm over and over until the end of time. Body gleaming with sweat, hair frizzy and messy, and the scent of semen and sex on you made you a pitiful sight. You could hardly stay up long enough to ride Hongjoong after a while. 

You never thought they’d let you cum until Hongjoong had you pounded into the mattress. Mingi, close to orgasm, toyed with the bullet attached to you as he stroked his wet cock. You almost did not want to for fear of them denying you again. Sobbing out of desperation, you laid there with your legs chained to the bars, your hand being used like a toy and let Hongjoong work himself out on you. 

“You can cum now, pet,” he said, bending down to finally kiss you. “I promise you can.” He lifted your hips and slammed directly into you. “You can cum, I swear. I want to hear you cum for me, baby. My sweet, slutty, empty-headed baby,” he kissed down your neck comfortingly, palming your sore breasts and playing with your clamped nipples. 

“N-N-No,” you wept. “You’ll take it away.”

“I won’t, baby,” he kissed down to your nipples. He removed one clamp to replace it with his mouth. “Cum for me.” 

Reluctantly, you allowed your climax to wash over you. Shaking, trembling, burning and aching, your moans could be heard from down the hall. That same strange shooting feeling from before happened. Clear cum shot and around Hongjoong's cock. You squirted again and this took Hongjoong to a new plane of bliss. Keeping himself balanced on one arm, he grabbed your tit and thrusted deep into you. You would’ve thought he wanted to ensure his semen rooted inside you. That alone prolonged your climax. Mingi, you saw, came with both of you, white streaks falling onto his exposed stomach. 

When the desire finally passed, Hongjoong unchained you. “Yun…Yunho,” he breathed out tiredly, “Yunho!”

In a single puff of smoke, Yunho appeared beside the bed. “You called, Master?”

“Bring water, a sponge, some healing cream,” he laid beside you, sweaty and exhausted, “Honeyed tea, and a snack for Pet. She’s…had a rough night.”

“As you wish.”

“You can go with him, Mingi,” Hongjoong said, eyes shutting. “You did well.”

“Thank you for the opportunity, Master.”

Mingi slowly slid off the bed, straightening himself up as he followed Yunho from the room. Alone with Hongjoong, you laid in the bed while he carefully removed the taped bullet. Lazily, he pushed all the devices to the side to be collected later, and used a hand cloth to wipe excess fluids from you. 

“Are you alright, Pet?” he asked, kissing your forehead before wiping it with the damp cloth. 

“Ye-yes,” you croaked, allowing yourself to give in to your exhaustion. 

“Yunho’s bringing a few things to take care of you,” he said. “I’m so proud of my sweet girl.” He brought you close to him, pecking your forehead again, “I thought for sure you’d cum before I asked. I didn’t know you’d hold it for so long like that.”

“It hurts,” you pouted, rolling onto your side and feeling the soreness in the front and back. 

“I’ll take care of that for you. Just stay up a bit longer so we can get some tea for your throat. Don’t talk too much or you’ll strain it more. Gosh, Mingi went quite hard,” he said, massaging your throat for you. “Perhaps I’ll let him just watch next time. My horny side gets caught in the heat of the moment sometimes. My poor pet,” he sighed, hugging you to him. “Did you like it?”

You only nodded, not wanting to make your throat worse. You truly had enjoyed it, edging and all. You’d never done anything like it, and it left you floating on clouds. Shutting your eyes, you didn’t notice Yunho reappearing with the items his master requested. You opened your mouth to sip the hot tea, and nibbled on the apple slices and almonds at Hongjoong’s insistence. The real relief came when Hongjoong began sponge cleaning you. His gentle hands held you so delicately, like you might break if he handled you too roughly. Applying a cold lotion to your more tender parts you melted with ease. It tingled your entrances, and soothed the heat radiating from your ass and thighs. 

“Sleep now, pet,” he said, pecking your shoulder blades and bringing you to him again. “You can sleep in as long as you want tomorrow. Seonghwa can start his morning without you for a bit.” 

“Thank you, Master.”

You turned to snuggle into him, finally falling asleep in his arms. 

***

Y/N: woo that was intense! I think it's one of my more intense smut scenes to be honest. I'm so glad you guys are liking this series of mine! remember to like and reblog (leave a comment if you want). <3

[felibrary]

╭──╯ POUR THE ALCOHOL HEART OUT !

PAIRING: aventurine x reader

SYNOPSIS: they say love comes when you least expect it — does that also apply to former romantic relationships?; alternatively: in which a drunk aventurine gets dumped onto you by his colleagues for you to take care of. 

wordcount: 4.3k (IM CRYING WHAT THE HELL) | content & warnings: consumption of alcohol/drunk aventurine, unestablished relationship (exes), angst if you squint, topaz is referred to here by jelena (her real name), reader is mentioned to wear jewelry, hints/implications of starvation/ed (?)- not eating, insecure!aventurine, kind of rushed and open ending - interpret it however you'd like :-) ; oneshot

tags: @azullumi (hi pookiemon who def wont read this also its 4:20 rn and I'm writing ur note before my synopsis. send help pls)

AUTHORS NOTE: someone praise me for the creative title :p and sorry that this took so long i'm currently experiencing writers block or whatever also just because this is long doesn't mean its good - don't get your hopes up too high 😭 if i said id like this, id be lying. but still that doesn't change the fact that id be crying if this flops..like all of my other recent works..

ding, ding, ding

the shrieking noise of your doorbell invades your ears, ringing continuously. it's annoying — unbearable even, and to worsen things you've been stuck in this predicament for the past 2 minutes now. 

with your head buried in between your fuzzy cushions, you try to drown out the noise thus completely ignoring the way your phone buzzes on the nightstand next to you. 

hopefully, your neighbors won't file a complaint about loud noise against you, but that's a problem for tomorrow. right now you're faced with a worse matter: making those who interrupted your sleep leave. 

do these people not know what a peaceful slumber is? (apparently not when they have the time to pay you a visit during this time.) 

almost as if your prayers were heard, the noise dies down and you sigh in relief. lazily you shift around in your bedsheets to be in a more comfortable position, nuzzling your head into the cool pillows once more.

but just when you think that the people have finally left, the agitating noise starts once again, and you have to stop yourself from letting out an irritated groan.

slowly you roll yourself out of the comfort of your bed. now sitting on the edge of your bed you’re contemplating; dwelling if you should really stand up now and open the door. 

it could be a bunch of strangers, and who knows which danger will encounter you.

you let out a defeated sigh. whatever it may be, it can't be that bad. turning sideways you try to search for your phone, and upon finding it your lips curl up into a small triumphant smile.

your fingers hover over the buttons on the side before pressing a finger onto the power button. upon seeing the bright light you blink a bunch of times, lashes pressing against each other in a repetitive motion to get used to the light first.

(2) missed calls by an unknown caller ID +xxxxxx: mx. [name] please be so kind as to open the door. thank you.  +xxxxxx: it’s urgent, please.  +xxxxxx: would you be so kind as to do us this favor, for his and our sake? 

a bunch of notifications light up on your screen but you decide to ignore them. instead, you use your phone as a flashlight to guide you through the dark of your apartment. 

who in the right mind decides to ring your doorbell at this time? and who in the right mind chooses to open the door despite the possible dangers? (you.)

despite the door serving as a separation between your apartment and the hallway, you can clearly hear two people bickering outside your apartment door.

“..ritas, hold him tighter. you're letting him fall,” the voice belongs to a woman, and she seems to be concerned about someone, that's the most you can tell.

“i am not. it's not that dark to tell that that is clearly your arm which is slipping from his body,” this time a man speaks up. his voice is hoarse and stern as he corrects the woman. 

well, this is going to be fun. you take a deep breath before opening the door, let's just hope for the best.

as you open the door, you're met with two unfamiliar faces. 

amidst the dimly lit hallway stands a woman with white hair and a red streak on her bangs. her eyes look like shards of crystals that have been puzzled together, simply magnificent. 

next to her stands a tall man, his golden eyes are hidden beneath his dark bangs which stick to his forehead, nevertheless, the warm light that radiates from the pair of honey-colored eyes shines through the depths of the night.

and squished in between them is someone else. hanging from above the ceiling there are a few lamps that adorn the hallway. the warm light that they shed lands upon the back of the person's head making their golden hair look like a shiny coin that swims amidst the ocean.

from the clothes and their silhouette, you'd figure that they're a man, however, you can't be sure due to their face being hidden.

so many questions race through your mind, who are these people? do they know what time it is? and what are they doing in front of your door? 

but the only thing you can utter at this moment is a curt and groggy: “sorry, how can i help you?”

an apologetic smile finds its way onto the woman's lips, and this time you're able to take a proper look at her. 

there are dark circles surrounding her colourful eyes and you can only wonder why she's up so late when instead she should be getting well-deserved sleep.

“apologies, how rude of us to not introduce ourselves. you can call me to- jelena. and next to me is doctor veritas ratio,” 

the man she tilts her head towards only nods in acknowledgment which you can only return. “well, it's nice to meet you, jelena and veritas. is there something you need from me?”

both names feel familiar to your ears as if you've heard them once or twice before, although you're not sure where you've heard them.

“and, that in the middle might be who?” your eyes drift over the person whose arms are draped around the backs of topaz and veritas.

“that's exactly why we're here,” hearing veritas’ voice makes you look up in surprise. “we're aventurine’s colleagues and we brought him here for you to take care of him,”

this has to be some sort of dream if not a nightmare at worst.

you're completely awake now, with furrowed eyebrows and an awkward smile on your lips you stare at the person — well aventurine as you now know, in utter disbelief. 

the only thing you're able to choke out at this very moment is a strained. “i’m sorry?” 

“you've heard me the first time, i don't like repeating myself — you're supposed to take care of that guy of a nuisance here.” veritas nudges aventurine’s shoulder to make his point clear. 

your ex and his colleagues standing in front of your door at maybe like two am in the morning had to be some sort of torture-like fever dream. 

“no, with all due respect: no.” you quickly mutter with gritted teeth before trying to slam the door shut as soon as possible. 

jelena, on the other hand, doesn't seem to be a fan of your idea and quickly puts her foot into the space between your door and the hallway as a way to stop you from closing the door.

“i..” she starts, but you notice the heavy side-eye she receives from veritas that makes it known that she's not the only one who's tired of aventurine and his shenanigans, and thus makes jelena quickly correct herself. 

“well, we know that it's unbelievable — unbelievably stupid if you might even say so, but hear us out okay?” she pleads.

she's making it hard for you to say no, so the only thing you can do is lean against your doorframe and listen to her. 

(what other choice do you even have when veritas is shooting burning stares right through you.)

jelena sighs embarrassedly. “aventurine invited us out to drink today, i’ve — no, we have found it suspicious and weird right off the bat, but he insisted and the tab was on him so it would've been rude not to go.” 

“well, our instincts were right because he kept mourning and babbling our ears off about how he'd be drinking this glass of wine with you on your guys' anniversary today instead of this bar,” jelena begins before taking a small pause as if contemplating what to tell you next.

her eyes take the shape of crescent moons and she proceeds to press her lips into a strained smile before continuing. “it was kinda endearing to watch at the beginning but over time it became unbearable,” she murmured more to herself than to you.

you can only try to imagine the scene. aventurine with red-tinted ears and a flushed face babbling about how he misses you. 

great, how dreamy.

veritas coughs to bring the attention to him, snapping you out of your thoughts “well, after that he fell flat onto the counter and we thought that he had suddenly fainted,” he adds. “until he then started whining about how he wanted to go home. so here we are.” 

now you're just confused. now, why is he here again?

“how does home refer to my place now? his place is or at least was much bigger than mine,” you scoff skeptically before realizing that that have might come over as rude. “sorry, i’m just confused and don't see any connections here. also, how'd you know where i live oh, and my number?”

jelena mutters out a small it's fine and veritas only sighs. “so you see, we tried to drive him back to his place but when we arrived he started complaining that he wants to go home — you.” 

“he started pulling out his phone and set your address on the GPS before demanding or well ordering us to drive him to your place,” he lets out an exasperated sigh upon explaining. 

“as for your number, due to his phone still being on we went through his contact list and found you right on top — saved at his emergency contact. endearing, really, ” veritas remarks sarcastically.

you're surprised — pleasantly surprised. aventurine still thinks of you? 

“correction: i was the one who drove.” jelena suddenly objected as she threw veritas a heavy side-eye.

“yes, but it's still us — we were the ones who brought him here and drove together to this place despite you being behind the wheel,  jelena,” veritas scoffs. 

“in whose car did he purge into? correct, mine. my whole car reeks of vomit now,” jelena shudders upon remembering the sight of aventurine throwing up. 

“well yes but that doesn't change the fact tha-” veritas isn't able to finish his sentence, you stop him from doing so. interrupting his complaint with one of your own.

“okay, if bickering is the only thing the both of you came here for, i don't wanna hear it. i’ll take him in, but just for tonight, is that clear?” your offer is simple. you take care of aventurine and they stop their banter so you can continue sleeping. 

it honestly benefits them more than it benefits you. 

“a nice compromise which went easier than i thought.” jelena’s face lightens up with a triumphant smile. “we'll leave him in your care then.” 

they dump aventurine onto you and he slightly topples before landing in your arms, head buried in the crook of your neck and arms tangled over your shoulders.

his warm breath fans over your neck and the close proximity makes you stiffen in place. it's not like you haven't felt this sensation before, but this time it's under different circumstances.

it's not the same as back then.

as soon as they leave aventurine in your care they bid their goodbye and leave. 

aventurine’s flushed cheeks gleam pink in the warm light, his breath tickles the exposed skin on your collarbone which almost makes you drop him.

but your arms cling onto him. grip firm and steady as you claw your hands over his clothed back, steadily holding onto him as if scared that once you lose hold of him, he'll slip out of your grasp (once more.) 

anxiety cowers at you like a child who's lost their parents and is helplessly seeking for them in a crowd of people. 

hand scarily empty as its eyes sway through the sea of people, blurred faces who will never hold one’s hand like your parents once did.

despite meeting several people who could hold your hand, whisper sweet nothings into your ear — love you; teach you what love is.

his hand is the only one you'd wrap yours around, no matter the stains and scars it leaves.

you continue to cling to him — you always did. 

well, this is certainly going to be a fun night to remember.

———————

golden rays of sunshine that beam with warmth seep through the curtains and proceed to bathe aventurine’s lying figure in the warm essence.  

the sensation tickles his skin and he lets out a muffled groan, shutting his eyes several times before eventually indulging in the morning tenderness. slowly (and after many attempts) his lilac eyes are used to the brightness. 

he’d be lying if he said that being engulfed in the luminous light wasn’t overwhelming — especially as someone who’s gotten it taken away early on and has only later been introduced to it once again. 

(although the sparkle that once resided in his eyes was long gone, there was no longer a child whose eyes once glimmered in joy upon being caressed by the sunlight.)   

being embraced by the warmth and its radiating light, he can’t help but feel like a trapped and helpless stage actor. one who despite fleeing and running away, continuously gets followed by the spotlight, thus standing in the limelight and having to perform a show for the people who are seated together in the rows below.

regardless of the people watching him, applauding for him, praising him, he feels utterly empty — empty and alone. 

although there were people to assist him on stage, co-workers around him who offered help which he reluctantly also somewhat relived accepted.

the emptiness that houses within him remains.

(perhaps he has become so accustomed to the feeling of being alone that it has been a while since he’s ever felt lonely.)

as soon as his eyes have adjusted to the brightness of his surroundings, they widen in shock. 

this surely must be a dream, right? he promised himself that he’d never return to this place despite longing to see it you again.

his eyes quickly flicker around the room in confusion. how’d he get here? this wasn’t his room or well it technically was. it’s the room he once shared with you.

it’s no wonder he’s slept this well. 

his once sleepless nights which were haunted by nightmares and resulted in hourless sessions of just staring at his ceiling, eyes trailing after the fan as it spun around in circles until the chirping of the birds outside awakened him, turned into calm nights after moving together with you.

a cloud of nostalgia fogs his mind as he recalls how you never understood why he insisted on moving into your apartment despite his being much bigger. (he supposes his place never gave him that certain sense of belonging that he sought after.)

aventurine’s eyes dart through your room to search for any changes that might have occurred.

the books you always read before going to sleep (sometimes even reading him a snippet of the part where you’re currently at) are still messily stapled on your nightstand. 

he smiles fondly before continuing his search, eyes wandering through the room and halting as he sees all the jewelry he’s bought for you, all tidily arranged on your vanity.

which contrasts with all the sticky notes that are loosely hanging off your mirror and the trinkets he's brought you from other planets that are messily splayed out on your desk.

his pink eyes pause as he catches sight of the chair next to the bed. his clothes that you “borrowed” (he always found it endearing how you walked around in his clothes as if you owned them — not like he minded) once and never gave back even after the breakup, sit neatly folded on the white chair next to your bed. 

everything is kept in place and remains the same as before: the books, the trinkets, the jewelry, and well.

his eyes drift from the chair down to his body. you changed his clothes for him.

the uneasiness that lingers in his chest slightly melts away, slowly and torturously like wax dripping off a candle.

you didn’t throw the things he gifted you away.

aventurine slips out of the covers that were once his, the sheets slightly rustle and leave behind creases as he sits at the edge of your bed. with the amount of force that aventurine uses to press his elbows against his knees it almost feels like daggers piercing into his flesh, and with his head buried between the palms of his hands, he can only laugh — a mocking grin plasters itself on aventurine’s face.

it’s ridiculous, almost pathetic the way he’s relieved. he has no right to feel so after being the one who suggested the breakup. 

he doesn’t even understand how he ended up here. jelena and veritas insisted on bringing him home, so why’s he here? everything from the former night is mushed up and blurry, he doesn’t recall the reason why he was brought here. 

neither does he understand why you offered him a place to stay, he feels like a dirty pup shamelessly returning to its owner after choosing to abandon them.

aventurine sighs before slipping into the pair of clothes that have remained untouched in the past few minutes. the shirt is a bit bigger than expected and the pants hang loosely off his hips but the scent remained the same. from the moment he let you borrow his clothes to now, the present the smell is one he’s all too acquainted with — his own. 

the only thing that he can picture at this moment is his clothes rotting in the depths of your closet, long forgotten as they get engulfed by the scent of your clothes.

his hands are hidden in the pockets of the pair of pants to conceal the way they’re trembling, fingers itching as they anxiously tap against his thigh. 

he’s nothing but a coward. 

he takes a deep breath before getting up, the goosebumps that prickle on his skin, the clenching of his teeth, and the constant urge to just storm out and leave now — they’re all suffocating him. gnawing at his skin like a rabid animal chewing the remaining flesh of a dead body.

as he enters the living room, his coat draped over the chair he’s standing in front of and you are the first things he spots. 

(as if you haven’t occupied his mind the entire time whilst being away from you — there isn’t a single day in his entire life where he doesn’t mourn after people. it’s pathetic, really, the way nostalgia torments him, but he’s a man with nothing on his hands other than the scars of the past. so what other choice does he have?)

you look up from your phone, eyes flickering around the small room before landing on the end of the dining table but aventurine’s eyes are glued to the neatly wrapped flower bouquet lying in the middle of the desk, perfectly lying there on the white table cloth.

nausea bubbles in his stomach. have you already moved on? he shouldn’t care — he’s not supposed to care, but he can’t help it. 

he exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding in and a wave of relief washes over him, he snaps out of his thoughts and follows your gaze, and only then does he notice the plate of assorted fruits and the bowl of steaming soup, standing on your dining table. 

as if noticing his hesitance you reluctantly speak up. “you don’t have to eat if you don’t want to, i won’t force you to,” the smile you give him is somewhat strained and the way your eyes quickly fly down his body doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

his eyes widen in surprise and his immediate response to that is to quickly seat himself on the chair. “no..it’s fine,” aventurine gulps. “no need to check me out either. i’ve always liked your homecooked meals a lot, no?” he chuckles as if trying to throw a joke into the room that’ll lift the tense mood that he’s created.

(he hopes that now his body is at least somehow concealed by the table so you won’t have to stare at him any longer. he’s not worth looking at.)

“thank you for the food,” he mumbles under his breath and if you hear it you don’t acknowledge it. aventurine stares down at the food, contemplating what to do. he picks up the metal spoon lying next to it and dips it into the soup. 

breathe in, breathe out.

breathe in, breathe out.

breathe in, breathe out — you’ll be fine.

aventurine continues to stir the soup inside the bowl, sometimes lifting its contents only to let it droop down into the soup again. “so, mind telling me what happened yesterday?” 

your eyes lock from across the table and you give him a deadpan expression. “you seriously don’t remember?” the little smirk that quirks at your lips is contagious and he can’t help but smile a bit himself.

“well obviously not, when i’m asking,” he remarks back sarcastically. 

he missed bickering with you. it felt so familiar, so nostalgic — so right.

you put your phone down on the table and start explaining. “well to put it short, your colleagues, jelena and veritas if i recall correctly, brought you here because you were drunk since you kept whining about wanting to go home and well considering me as your home.”

oh.

“right and as soon as i brought you into my place you purged all over your clothes and my floor” you quickly add. “but don’t worry i washed it for you, it’s behind you.” 

“ah really? how rude of me,” he utters bashfully. “apologies then, as compensation, i’ll head home now and send some credits to your bank account although perhaps that might not be a good idea. seeing your partner’s ex (the word lies bitter on his tongue) still lurking around in their home and even sending them credits — that’d be shameless of me. apologies.”

you let out a small laugh that slightly lifts the uneasiness that has been resting on his shoulders. “aventurine, what are you even talking about?” although you seem to find fun in this, your voice is filled with confusion.

the metal spoon he has been firmly gripping for the past few minutes sags against the bowl as aventurine points at the flower bouquet sitting on the neat tablecloth. “the flowers,” he murmurs to himself more than to you.

“oh,” you laugh. “i bought them for myself,” you admit sheepishly before getting up to unwrap the bouquet, revealing a beautiful arrangement of colorful flowers.

you quickly scurry into the kitchen to fill up a vase with water before gracefully setting the flowers down into the now with water-filled vase. “they’re pretty, aren’t they?” you admire the flowers with a smile on your face. “very pretty indeed.” aventurine smiles as his gaze is focused on you.

only then as you rearrange the flowers, making sure that they won’t sag over the rim of the vase, he notices the ring you’re wearing. a promise ring.

aventurine blinks a few times to assure himself that he wasn’t dreaming, but he’d recognize this ring everywhere. how could he not when it’s the same ring that adorns his ring finger? 

“is there any particular reason you kept the jewelry i gifted you?” his gaze drifts to the ring that is in full display and which is glowing under your living room light. 

your eyes that were focusing on the flowers just now, suddenly look down to peek at the ring. “well, it’d be a shame to throw it away. it was expensive after all,” you express truthfully.

“but you also kept the sticky notes i wrote for you every morning in your room — you kept everything i gifted you. the pressed flower bookmarks, the shitty handmade bracelet, my clothes — everything,” he notes.

your response is nothing but short. “oh, uh yeah.”

why? he wants to ask but he knows that trying to force an answer out of you is no good, if you don’t want to respond you needn’t.

“i guess i missed having you around. the things you got me served me as a reminder that you're somehow still with me,” despite your admission being no louder than a whisper it clearly reaches aventurine’s ears.

but he’s in no position to tease you — he’s way too stunned for that, as if not being able to believe your words.

he feels like a small child who discovers that the fables and tales adults tell aren’t real, that those were made-up stories with made-up people which he so desperately tries to deny.

“i see,” he mumbles. “yeah,” you nod your head and look away. 

the awkward silence that follows is unbearable — it’s killing him. 

to know that you still think about him, he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t at least the tiniest bit happy but he also knows that it’s ironic and that he shouldn’t feel like this.

as if you’re able to read his mind you snap him out of his thoughts with a mere question. “aventurine, what’s on your mind?”

“you always knew me too well for my own liking,” he chuckles in defeat, and in return, you can only smile.

“but, i suppose, i’m just..relieved?” he admits while staring down at the untouched soup that reflects his pleased expression.

“relieved about what exactly?” you ask curiously, head tilted to the side as you await his response. “relieved that i’m not the only one who thinks of the other,” he smiles, letting out a small sigh when doing so.

“so you were jealous or what?” you jokingly scoff. the smirk on your lips is mischievous, but your eyes deceive you. they’re soft as they stare down at him.

“don’t ask questions to which you already know the answers to.”

END NOTE: as yall can tell i seem to enjoy writing aventurine and alcohol together (ref. wyws & ttol) does the "a" in aventurine atp stand for angst or alcohol...(both) /lh

© VYNICITY 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms or feeding them to ai is not permitted.

[creamsickle-writes]

Doctor's Orders: Trafalgar Law x F!Reader

Tags: nsfw, role-playing, innocence play/ddlg (no use of Daddy, but similar dynamic?), doctor/patient roleplay, penetrative sex, oral sex, fingering, light degradation, and overstim

Law was pretty fickle when it came to sex.

Sometimes he would tease you, suggesting intimate time alone as his cheeks flushed in embarrassment. On other days, you would mess with him relentlessly, using dirty words and well-timed touches to get your way. 

Sometimes he would cave.

Sometimes he wouldn't.

This inconsistency was rather irritating at times.

It had been some time since you last had sex, and your urges were starting to get the better of you. You let out a loud sigh, hoping Law would put down his book for the night, but he didn't even shuffle. 

You pause before letting out another dramatic sigh, flopping on your back as you lay on his bed, looking over at him as he sat at his desk. You puffed your cheeks out; okay, so you would have to be more direct.

You rise from the bed and waltz over to your boyfriend.

"Lawww…." You draw out, leaning over his shoulder as he reads the umpteenth thick medical book of the evening, "I'm bored; let's do something!"

Your stiff, stoic boyfriend doesn't budge an inch or even turn to look your way. He only grumbles something under his breath before going silent again. You aren't satisfied with that response, so you poke his cheek as you angle yourself over his seated form.

And when that doesn't get you a response, you keep poking and prodding his face until he lets out a frustrated sound.

"I'm busy right now. Go entertain yourself." He shoos you off, but you only lean in further, your chin resting on his head as you wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind.

"But Lawwwww-"

Law groans in annoyance and refuses to take his eyes off his book, "You're so damn irritating. Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Mmn," you pout your lips, "Not right now, no."

He scowls but refuses to close the book, his dark eyes raking through long paragraphs of text accompanied by technical images of the body. 

The content of his book reminds you of something that always catches his interest.

"Mister Doctor…"

You feel him stiffen up under your touch; those magic words that always yielded the result you wanted were about to work their magic.

"Don't start. I'm busy-"

"C'mon, let's play doctor together again…" you purr, your hands dipping lower as they run down his chest. You move your head so your lips are next to her ear, "That could be fun, right? You love when I act all cute when we play… And it's been so long-"

"It's only been a week-" He groans again, but this time it's not just pure annoyance; underlying arousal is also hidden in that sound, "You're insatiable."

Your lips curl into a smile as you know it'll only take one more tiny push.

"C'mon, please?" You beg so sweetly, pitching your voice slightly as you whine, "My body feels weird. I need a doctor to look at it…"

There's a long pause before he speaks.

"Well, if you're actually feeling unwell, then I could take a look…"

You unwrap your arms from his body, taking a few steps back as he rises from his chair. When he turns to face you, his deep dark eyes stare straight through you. He knows you're full of shit and perfectly healthy, but he'd rather pretend he's concerned instead of admitting that he was getting aroused from the mental image you put in his head. After all, he knew perfectly well how this scenario would play out.

"Get on the bed," he starts, "Sit on the edge."

You hop up on his bed, sitting straight with your hands on your lap. He picks up his wooden chair from his desk and positions it in front of you, the chair's legs parallel to the bed now. He sits in it, leaning back slightly as he looks you over.

"So, what's wrong with you this time, huh?"

He looks down at you, his face unchanging. He's hard to read, what with that stoic expression he always wears, but you can see the faintest bit of a blush on his cheeks.

"Oh, it's awful," you draw out, letting out an exaggerated sigh, "Between my legs, it feels strange…"

He hums before looking you over, "I'll need more information than that… You might need to strip down for me so I can examine the area completely…"

"Yes, Doctor…" you smirk before lifting your dress over your head and removing your panties. Law hums in approval as you sit completely nude before him. His eyes rake over your body, and you can see the lust in them despite his controlled expression.

"Lay back and relax. The exam will be over before you know it..." 

You obey his orders and lay back in the bed, your legs dangling off the edge, "Is it gonna hurt?"

Law spreads your thighs before instructing you to prop your feet on the bed, making your legs bend at the knee. Your sensitive areas are now on display for him, and you're shaking slightly, eager for him to just start touching you. You crane your neck to look at him. To the average observer, his face is cold, calculating, and unbothered, but, as his partner, you recognize the look in his eyes.

He wants to break you and see you come undone by his fingers alone.

"It depends… Has anyone ever touched you here?" He asks gently, his fingers brushing over your slit slowly. 

You shake your head immediately, and he clicks his tongue," I see. Then yes, it might just hurt…"

You play the part of the innocent, blushing girl he loves so desperately.

"Mister Doctor… please be as gentle as possible!"

He hums softly before his fingers trace over your already wet slit. His brows furrow in mock concentration, his calloused fingers spreading your lips slightly.

"Do you know where exactly it feels off? Is it here..?" He inquires, running his fingers over your swollen vaginal lips. 

You shake your head, "Nuh uh, it feels weird here…"

You take his hand and guide his fingertips to your clit. His deep eyes flicker toward your face, his face like stone, "Do you know what that's called?"

"No, Mister Doctor…" you say, turning up the charm and innocence, "Could you teach me?"

"That's your clitoris…" he explains plainly, "But you can also call it a clit…"

Your hair stands on end as his fingers hover over your nub; he had only briefly touched it for a moment when you guided his fingers there, but he quickly retracted his digits, teasing you. He wanted to deny you of touch for as long as possible.

"And here…" his fingers move south from your clit to your entrance, his fingers circling the rim, "This is the vaginal opening… and yours seems very wet right now…"

"I-It keeps getting wet, Doctor…" you say meekly, "I don't know why…"

"Can you tell me when it gets wet?" He prods verbally, pulling his hand away, "Does it happen when you do anything specific?"

“It happens when… I think about you, Doctor…”

His cheeks flush darker, and he lowers his hat, obstructing his eyes, "Well, that's no good…"

"What?" You sit up, propping yourself up with your arms, "What is it, Mister Doctor?"

Law shakes his head, looking up at you with a deadly serious expression, "You might need some special treatment to get rid of this. It's not a permanent solution, but it'll help…"

You giggle to yourself; he always took role-playing so seriously. It was super cute.

"What's the treatment?" You tilt your head innocently.

Law leans forward again, his hands resting on your shins, "I'll have to give you a few orgasms. That should hold you over until your next visit…"

"An orgasm?"

He blushes even further at your pretend innocence as he gets up from the chair, moving it away from the bed, "Don't tell me you don't know that word either…"

You shake your head, and he clicks his tongue, his figure towering over you, "Okay, let me ask this then: when it gets wet, do you ever touch down there?"

"Sometimes…" you shyly admit, "It feels good when I touch my clit…"

"Well, when that good feeling reaches its peak, that's an orgasm…"

You nod, acting like you've been taught a new word and concept. You're surprised when Law sinks to his knees, 'examining' you even closer now. You can feel his hot breath fanning over your clit. You bite your lip as he gets even closer.

"You'll have to give me your explicit consent before I begin the treatment, though… tell me you want me to treat you…"

Your heart rate spikes as he says those words, "Please, help me, Doctor!"

His lips pull into a tight smile, "Of course…"

You gasp as he finally touches your clit, his rough fingers rubbing slow, lazy circles into the nub. You inhale as he leans in even closer, his dark brown eyes glancing up at your face before looking back down at your pussy, "Oh, this looks bad… I'll have to keep you in my office for quite a while…"

You bite your lip as he applies a bit more pressure with his fingers, the circles growing tighter. Your thighs quiver, and he strokes one of them with his free hand as if soothing you. You watch with a tight chest as he angles his fingers so they're prodding at your entrance. Slowly, he sinks his middle and ring finger within your heat, curling them upwards. You moan softly as he rubs his finger pads against the swollen spot. You squirm a bit under the direct stimulation.

He hums, "You're so sensitive. You've never played with this place before?"

You shake your head, "N-No, Mister Doctor…"

He chuckles lowly, "How cute…"

He looks at you intently, his fingers beginning to move a bit faster as he strokes your g-spot. You try to look at him, to maintain eye contact, but it's far too embarrassing. You avert your eyes, and he smirks.

"What's wrong?" 

"I-I feel really embarrassed-" you stutter out, "It feels weird-"

He hums thoughtfully, beginning to rub your clit with his thumb as he strokes your inner walls, "You don't have to be ashamed. I'm a doctor; it's my job to help patients feel better…"

You whine as he removes his fingers and jolt once he dives in, his wet tongue lapping at your swollen nub. Your body jumps in surprise and pleasure before it melts into the mattress, your head tossed back onto the sheets. He moans into your cunt, his tongue swirling and drooling all over your slit.

"M-Mister-" you gasp sharply, "D-Don't lick there. T-That's-"

Law stops a moment, "I know what I'm doing. Just be a good girl and let it happen…"

You moan loudly as he resumes his pace, licking and sucking and lapping at your pussy. Law would never admit it to your face, but he loved eating you out. And when you whined and begged for him to stop when you played this role, that turned him on the most.

He holds your thighs down as you squirm and buck your hips desperately. He's relentless, sucking on your clit like a hard candy. He continues to assault your clit with his tongue for eons before your pleasure begins to bubble over.

"A-Ah," you gasp, "Oh, it's coming-!"

Law only hums in acknowledgment as he keeps up his pace, neither sucking harder nor softer as he brings you over the edge. Your legs can only vibrate so much as Law holds you down, moaning eagerly into your cunt as he tastes your juices. 

He pulls away and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, "How are your symptoms? Do you feel any better?"

You struggled to speak as you caught your breath, "I feel… a bit better but… now my um, hole, feels empty…"

He chuckles, a smile tugging at his lips as he removes his hat, "Mm, I think I know the cure for that too…"

You readjust yourself on the bed so that Law can climb onto it as well. But before he joins you, he strips down, clad only in his boxers. You bite your lip as you look over his tattooed, tanned body.

"The cure?" You parrot as he crawls into bed, his body hovering over your own.

"Yeah," he says lowly, "I've got a special tool that should fit nicely in there… it'll make you feel all better…"

You watch as he slides out of his black underwear, his cock standing proudly over your cunt. You gasp and look at it wide-eyed, "Oh, but it's so big…"

There's a short pause before Law murmurs, "Turn around… if you don't watch it go in, you won't anticipate the pain; just like a shot…"

You almost snort at his disguised request to take you from behind, but instead, you nod and complete the task, propping yourself on your hands and knees. You push your face into the bed and reach back to spread your ass for him, revealing your dripping pussy. His heart almost stops in his chest at the sight.

"Okay," You sigh, "I'm ready, Mister Doctor…"

He grabs the base of his cock and slides it over your slit, collecting the slick from your hole before pushing in slowly. You moan as his cock stretches you, his length changing the shape of your walls.

"Fuck," he says shakily under his breath as he finally bottoms out, his pelvis pressed flush against your ass. Your eyes flutter shut as you grip the sheets, your cheek resting against the soft covers. Your body feels whole now that he's resting within you, and your pussy eagerly clamps down on him.

"So tight…" Law grumbles, slowly moving his hips in and out. 

"I-Is that a bad thing, Doctor?"

He shakes his head, "N-No, it's normal… don't worry, after we treat this problem, you'll be perfectly healthy-"

His hips pick up the pace, thrusting in and out at a steady rhythm. You whimper and whine as his cock rubs against your g-spot perfectly, each thrust feeling like heaven. You whimper and whine the whole time, and to your surprise, so does Law.

He's unusually vocal tonight, grunting and huffing as he pounds away. He's needy, too, grabbing at your ass and slamming your hips against him to meet his thrusts. You want to tease him, but you're no better, grabbing at the sheets and moaning brokenly.

But you push him, speaking like that innocent character he loves.

"D-Doctor-" You shakily moan, "I-Is this- ah- really alright to do?"

"Trust me. You need this to feel better." He groans, "You trust me, don't you?"

"Y-Yes-"

"Good," He grunts, fucking into you even harder, his hips' movements growing frantic, "That's a good girl."

He leans forward, wrapping his arms around you and holding your breasts as he pumps in and out of you, his breath hot on your neck, "You're so trusting, so sweet... so naive and dumb. "

Your eyes roll back as he rams himself deep inside, his balls brushing against your lips with each thrust, "You need me to tell you what to do and how to do it, don't you? You don't know a damn thing-"

He punctuates his last few words with particularly brutal thrusts, his voice deep and gravelly in your ear.

"L-Law-" You whimper.

"Call me Doctor. Or Mister." He laughs slightly, his breath labored, "Or that combination of both you just love to tease me with-"

His tattooed fingers twist and pull at your nipples, and you sob out for him. 

"D-Doctor-" It comes out a bit too loud, but you don't care if anyone else on the ship hears, "I-It's coming! I-I'm-!"

You squeal as your juices soak his cock. Your legs buckle under your weight, but Law grabs your hips, holding your body up as he fucks you through it. 

Eventually, he pulls out, your cum connecting his tip to you. You're about to break character and laugh at him for going ballistic, but you can tell he's not done with you just yet when he flips you onto your side.

"W-What are you doing now, Doctor?"

He positions himself behind you, laying on his side and burying his face into your neck, "Two orgasms won't be enough. You'll need more than that before I'll let you go."

You gasp as he jerks his cock against your folds before roughly pushing in, his cock hitting places deep inside. You reach back, tugging at his hair. As he removes his lips from your shoulder, you turn your head to look at him before taking his lips with yours. 

Time melts into one big puddle as he pistons in and out of you. His breath is shaky as he murmurs things like "good girl" and "so perfect for me" against your lips. Between rounds of brutal thrusts, he would pull out and rub your clit, his fingers occasionally dipping inside you to assault your g-spot. 

You lost track of how many times you came and how many times your orgasms squirted onto the sheets, but Law didn't seem to care. He wanted to overstimulate you until you couldn't go anymore.

Eventually, as your body grows tired and sore, Law whispers in your ear, "Good girl. You took the treatment so well, but there's one last thing we need to do..."

You look up at him as he hovers over your body, you two long since abandoning the position where you laid on your sides. 

"What's the last step, Doctor...?"

Law positions himself above you, his cock above your lips as you lay your head on the pillows.

He yanks your hair back with one hand and uses his other to hold his dick, pressing his swollen, cum-covered head to your lips, "Take your medicine like a good girl."

You blush darkly and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out as he jerks his cock over your tongue. You watch his bicep flex as he pumps his cock, his chest rising and falling as he approaches the edge.

"That's it, you're a natural..." He grunts softly, and soon, you feel a rope, and then another, decorate your tongue. His face contorts wonderfully, and you keep your tongue still, not retreating until he's shot all of his sticky seed all over your face.

You swallow it, licking your lips proudly to show you've consumed it all.

Law collapses next to you, a thin layer of sweat resting atop his features. You want to cuddle him, but he looks like he's still trying to recover. Instead, you prop yourself up on your elbow and look at him, a brow raised and a smirk on your lips.

"So, Mister Doctor," You giggle, "I see you were very into your role today."

Law huffs and looks at you, his brows furrowed and his lips contorted into a frown. Though, you notice the dark flush on his face, "Shut up, or I won't hold you."

"You wouldn't."

Silence lingers in the air, and for a moment, it seems like neither of you will budge until: "Fine. Just come over here."

You perk up and immediately dive in for a hug, pressing your lips against his cheek.

And at that, you see Law's lips curl into a smile.

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (4/?)

Part summary: Getting to know Leigh Shaw comes with some hardships—literally.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 4.600 | Warnings/Tags: Pining | A/N: Still haven't decided how many parts will there be, but for now, enjoy reader's POV as her interest in Leigh grows :)

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Next

-

For some reason, you keep saying yes to Leigh Shaw.

Yes to providing your veterinary services for her.

Yes to divulging the private aspects of your relationship with Matt.

Yes to staying in her yoga class.

Yes to running very early in the morning, with a lung-busting pace that leaves you dehydrated and feeling queasy by the end of it.

As if to add insult to injury, Leigh Shaw doubles back to where you're lagging behind, barely hanging on for dear life. She flashes that cheeky grin, says, “Try to keep up,” and takes off again like it's nothing. You're left gasping for air, your heart screaming in agony as you attempt to match her pace, but Leigh's already a blur ahead. 

She was right—your endurance is really nowhere to be seen. It's in these moments, as you're pushing past what you thought were your limits, that you start to get why Leigh's both a pain and a push that was kind of missing before in your life. 

Leigh eventually vanishes around a corner, and consequently, you lose sight of her. You dig deep, pushing yourself to keep going, refusing to quit out of stubbornness and curiosity of what your body could do. By some miracle, you make it to the finish line, which turns out to be that park you've been to only once before with Matt. He had made it a special day with sandwiches and comics, while you got lost in a book he swore you’d love. You can’t shake off the feeling that this place is significant for Leigh and Matt too.

When you finally stumble in, there's Leigh, chilling on the grass, looking like she's lost in thought, her eyes dark with something you can't quite put your finger on. But then she spots you, and it's like someone flipped a switch. She’s back to the flippant Leigh—easygoing, as if nothing’s amiss.

“Was half expecting to find you passed out somewhere back there,” Leigh smirks up at you.

You can’t help but flop down next to her, letting the sun beat down on your face, feeling every bit of your skin that's exposed soaking up the warmth. Thirst claws at your throat, fierce and unforgiving. Gathering the little energy you have left, you manage to ask, “How long have you been waiting?”

Leigh glances at you, her casual ease belying the brief glimpse of concern you thought you'd seen earlier. “Oh, about five minutes,” she says, her tone light, as if the grueling run was nothing more than a leisurely stroll for her.

You pant out, “Why are you so fast, anyway?” 

Leigh bursts into laughter, finding your question absurdly funny. “Fast? Me? That's hardly competitive speed, you're just... completely out of shape.”

You pout, feeling slightly offended but too exhausted to argue. Stretching out beside her, you let out a series of groans and pops, feeling your muscles protest and then slowly relax. “Feels like I'm a hundred years old,” you mutter with a heavy sigh.

Still chuckling, Leigh shakes her head. “I've been running for three years now. It's more of a hobby, really, but I need to stay active for my job at the Beautiful Beast. Or my mom will fire me.”

“Your family owns that place?”

Leigh corrects you quickly, “Not my family, just my mom. And being the owner's daughter doesn't give me a pass to slack off. I can't afford to be terrible at my job.”

Her distinction between “my family” and “my mom” sticks with you. It seems like a clue into her family dynamics. In the short time you've known her, Leigh comes across as straightforward, genuinely helpful, and yes, perhaps a bit quick-tempered, but overall...she's okay. 

More than okay, actually. She must be incredible to those she truly cares about. So, what went wrong with her and Matt? How could he betray her like that? It’s even more baffling when you remember Leigh saying they were trying for a baby. That detail still turns your stomach, and you're endlessly grateful you never went down that path with him, despite once wishing things had gone differently.

Lost in your thoughts, you don't realize how intently you've been staring at Leigh until she calls you out on it. “What is it?” she asks, her voice pulling you back to the present.

Flustered, you find yourself asking the question that's been simmering in your mind, since you first pulled on your sneakers for that 5k this morning. “Why'd you bring me along for your run? Why are you even helping me?”

Leigh just gives an offhand shrug, says, “Well, you didn't have to show up, so you're actually helping yourself.”

“Fair enough,” you reply, but can't shake off a bit of disappointment. The truth is, you were hoping she'd say something that suggested she was up for being friends, or at least saw you as more than just another client of hers.

It's weird, really, why you keep wanting to be friends with Leigh Shaw.

Suddenly, Leigh glances at her watch and looks up at you. “Ready to go?” she asks, a bit impatiently.

“If I can still walk after this, sure,” you say, half-joking, half-serious, feeling the effects of the run in every muscle.

Leigh laughs at that, a genuine, hearty laugh that lights up her face. It's a sound that's real and unguarded, making you think that maybe, becoming friends with her isn't such a far-fetched idea after all.

-

Yoga sessions with Leigh stick to the script you first stumbled into. She's all business, only really tossing you a nod or a word when your form goes sideways. “Shoulders down, back straight,” she corrects you, her voice firm, yet not unkind. Outside of that, you might as well blend into the walls for all the personal attention she gives, just like anyone else there. Everyone gets the same treatment—tough love, dished out in equal measure.

Despite her imposing presence, there's something else, a depth to her that often seems just out of reach. You catch her sometimes, looking out the window with a distant gaze. But then she blinks, shakes it off, and is back, fully attentive and ready to guide the next pose.

“Focus on your breathing,” Leigh's voice snaps you out of your focus on her. “Inhale deeply, and as you exhale, sink deeper into the pose.”

Determined to excel, you pour all your effort into being the student Leigh doesn’t need to worry about. Ironically, your diligence only seems to make you more invisible to her. As you master the poses with less need for correction, Leigh's interactions with you dwindle further.

After class, you toy with the idea of approaching her. Maybe get some feedback, or even suggest grabbing dinner together so you don't have to eat alone. But as you're putting together what to say, you notice Leigh seems in a hurry. She exchanges a few quick words with another instructor who's just arrived, and before you can decide, she's excusing herself and heading out.

The moment to ask her has slipped away, leaving you to pack your yoga mat with a resigned sigh. 

Another time, then, you think.

-

The next day, without another invite from Leigh for a run, you lace up your shoes and follow the same route you and Leigh took together. Just 20 minutes into the run, the solo effort feels more like a chore than the engaging challenge it was with company. You loop the route four times, hoping maybe to cross paths with Leigh purely by coincidence, but she’s nowhere to be found. 

The studio had announced last night that Leigh’s yoga classes would be temporarily led by a different teacher, with her expected to return next week. This bit of news leaves you mulling about her absence, kind of hoping you might accidentally run into her to find out more. But as the week goes by without any such encounters, you realize you actually know very little about her daily routines or habits. Despite the nagging curiosity, you refrain from texting her, not wanting to intrude or anything.

Admittedly, your motivation to work out dipped slightly without Leigh being part of it.

-

When you finally talk yourself into visiting Matt’s grave, you do so just minutes before it could get really dark. You've chosen this time deliberately, betting on the common fear that keeps most people away from cemeteries as night approaches. 

Your main concern isn't the general public, though; it's just Leigh. Past experiences have shown that encounters with her can happen unexpectedly and in the most random of places—like that night at the club when she ended up getting sick just a few inches away from you. You're not here out of a longing for Matt. Instead, you aim to properly close this chapter of your life, hoping to do so without running into his widow and giving her the wrong impression.

The air holds a chill that wasn't there when you left home, making you wrap your jacket tighter around yourself. It’s quiet, just the sound of your own footsteps crunching softly on the path. Being here as the day turns to night, watching shadows stretch out long and skinny, really gets you thinking about life, death, and everything else in-between. Maybe that's also why people avoid this place—it sort of forces you to face the music, making you curious if all the things you're wrapped up in are actually important or utterly pointless. 

As for you, you haven't quite figured out where you stand on that yet. Lately, you've really come into your own in your career, especially now that you’re seeing the profits steadily rising each month. But that sense of achievement fades each evening as you return to your empty apartment. It's just you, night after night, pushing through the grind, pouring everything into your job. Yet, when you try to envision where you'll be in five years from now, the picture isn't clear. Will you be settling down with someone, or just picking up the pieces from another relationship that’s gone awry?

Finding Matt's grave takes a moment, but when you do, your heart clenches. It’s just a simple stone with his name, the years he was here, and a couple of words(you’re guessing it’s Leigh who wrote them) about him. 

You kneel down, the grass cool and slightly damp beneath you, and lay the flowers you've brought on his grave. They look kind of bright against the dimming light. Like hope.

“Hey Matt,” you say, stepping into a silence that feels like it's hanging around, just waiting for you to fill it. Talking to a dead person feels ridiculous like they do in the movies, but it's not like anyone's around to hear you.

“You know, I met Leigh,” you begin. “Your wife you conveniently forgot to mention when you were busy asking me out.”

There's a sour edge to your voice, airing grievances to a guy who can't throw back excuses anymore. You can't help but chuckle, though it's more bitter than amused. You let your thoughts more freely now, like the barrier between you and Matt has thinned out with the honesty. 

“Leigh is… beautiful, you know? Not in that runway or social media kind of way, but in a manner that's hard to just overlook.” 

You could list a dozen more positive things about Leigh to tell Matt, but he already knew all that, didn't he?

“The first time I met her, I felt small, maybe even insecure. And now?” you shake your head, smiling slightly. “...I still do. But mostly, I'm just left thinking…” You pause. The next thought isn't really for Matt, not anymore. 

It’s for you.

“I just can't wrap my head around why you'd want to be with me when you had her. I feel like the murder weapon that's trying to seek justice for its victim.” You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Not a great spot to be in, honestly. Makes me feel kind of helpless, you know?"

Sitting back, you take a moment, just looking at the headstone, at the name etched into the granite. The conversation, if you can call it that, feels like it's shifted something inside you. Not closure, exactly, but maybe the first step towards understanding—or at least accepting—that some things just don't make sense.

Standing up, you dust off your knees, taking one last look at the grave. “Anyway, Matt, I hope you've found peace. It looks like we're all searching for a little of that ourselves. Thanks for the book suggestions. Though, you might be a bit disappointed to hear Agatha Christie remains my top favorite.”

As you walk away from Matt's grave, it feels as though you're leaving a piece of yourself behind to rest with him. You decide then, as the cemetery gate closes behind you with a gentle click, that you won't let this page in your book define you. Maybe tomorrow, you'll try a new coffee shop, or take a different route to work. Small changes, but important ones.

Maybe you’ll even try that spin class that scares you so.

-

“Since when did you start living at the gym?” Suzie teases you from her spot across the desk, that signature playful, all-knowing arch to her eyebrow.

Suzie, who had originally come on board as a receptionist at your vet clinic with little more than enthusiasm and a genuine love for animals to her name, had quickly become much more than just a staff member. Her lack of relevant experience was initially a concern, but her dedication and the way she connected with both the animals and their owners made it clear she was a perfect fit. Over time, she evolved from being just the receptionist to a friend. 

A friend who seems to enjoy teasing you, though.

“First off, it’s hardly the gym. It’s this fitness class I’ve been trying out—big distinction,” you clarify, eyes glued on your phone. The last half hour has been a slow crawl towards 5 PM, the magical hour when you can finally shut down and head to Leigh’s class at Beautiful Beast.

“Tomatoes, to-mah-toes,” she quips.

“Not the same thing,” you insist, still not fully engaged in the conversation, your focus on a food article you're reading.

Suzie just waves her hand dismissively. “Semantics. But seriously, you've been really into whatever this is. There's gotta be a guy making those sweat sessions worth it.”

You can't help but laugh, the idea so off base it circles back to being hilarious. 

“Trust me, the allure isn't the sweat. It's those endorphins,” you say.

“Yeah, sure,” she drawls, unconvinced. “Come on. Who is it? I know you're not this amped to be all gross and sweaty for nothing.”

“There's no guy, Suzie.” Then, as if the thought just occurred to you, you add, “Or girl. But honestly, there's really no one.”

At that, Suzie's expression shifts from playful teasing to one of pleasant surprise and a touch of mock offense. “Hold up, you might be into girls? And here I was, shooting my shot in the dark this whole time!”

Your ears burn red at her blunt flirtation. “Suzie, come on,” you stammer.

“If I had known that was on the table, I would’ve upped my game ages ago,” she says, her wink sending your face from warm to inferno.

“You’re impossible,” you manage to say as you hurry to collect your things, ready to rush out the door.

“Impossibly into you,” she retorts saucily.

“I’m gonna have to fire you, you know,” you mutter jokingly, glancing at your watch. “Gotta run, bye!”

“Just so we're clear, the offer stands,” she adds, still grinning.

-

You feel a sense of relief seeing Leigh back in class. 

Though the website clearly stated her schedule, you found yourself on edge until you could see Leigh with your own eyes. There's nothing noticeably different about her; Leigh seems just as composed and in control as ever. When she catches you looking, she offers a small, somewhat dismissive smile before turning her attention elsewhere. 

You spend the whole session with your energy dialed up, partly because Leigh's presence just does that, and partly because you're already plotting. As soon as she calls time on the session, you're practically springing into action. Your belongings—a water bottle, towel, and the rest—land in a haphazard pile on the floor as you quickly stand up, eager to catch her before she disappears. You make your way toward her, determined not to let her slip away this time.

Leigh's busy packing up her own gear, her back to you as you close the distance. “Hey, Leigh,” you say, and it sounds like you've got this under control, even if your heart's hammering away in your chest. She turns, and there's a flicker of surprise in her expression. You’re hoping it’s the good kind of surprise.

“I'm really glad you're back,” you push on, hoping it doesn't sound as clumsy to her as it does in your head.

She takes a swig from her water bottle, giving you a once-over, and then says, “Thanks. Do you need anything?” There's an expectant look in her eyes, and in that moment, your confidence begins to wane, melting under her gaze. You're on the spot, scrambling for words, any words that don't involve asking her out for dinner, which suddenly seems like an insurmountable task.

“Uh, actually,” you start, your mind racing to find a safe topic, “I was wondering if you had any tips on improving my form?”

Leigh's expression softens, and she nods, setting her water bottle down. “Sure, I can show you a few things. Let's go back to the mats,” she suggests, leading the way. Despite feeling like your tank is on empty and your body crying for hydration, backing down doesn’t feel like an option. 

Not when Leigh is already spreading her mat next to yours. She does so with a sort of blasé authority, and you can't help but think how this is Leigh all over—straight to the point, no fuss. You're tired, sure, and a part of you is suggesting that you're about to make a fool of yourself with your shaky legs and probably even shakier form. But then, Leigh starts talking, pointing out where you're going wrong and how to fix it, and suddenly, you're not thinking about dinner anymore. You’re too distracted now by the smell of her perfume mixed with the scent of her sweat.

The next few minutes turn into what feels like a whole new session under Leigh's watchful eyes. She's on you about everything—the angle of your arm, the set of your shoulders, even the way you're distributing your weight on your feet. Leigh's not mean about it, but she doesn't let anything slide. You're just trying to keep up, watching her move with that easy confidence. It's mesmerizing, really, how she can make something so complex look so simple.

By the time you're done, your muscles are burning, your breath is ragged, and you're pretty sure you've sweated out every last drop of water in your body. As you lie there, staring at the ceiling and asking yourself how a ten-minute guidance turned into an even harder session, you mentally kick yourself for not just admitting you wanted company for dinner. It was right there, and you were too scared to be rejected. 

But why? Considering everything that's happened and the circumstances, Leigh turning you down seems like the more probable outcome anyway.

And then Leigh does something totally offbeat. She glances at the clock, then back at you, and out of nowhere, she's asking, “Want to grab something to eat?”

It's so unexpected, that for a moment, you're sure you misheard her. But Leigh's waiting for an answer, a slight smile playing on her lips, and suddenly, the fatigue feels a little less overwhelming. You sit up, a slow grin spreading across your face as you realize this is it—your chance, handed to you when you least expected it.

“Yeah,” you finally manage to say, almost tripping over your tongue. “Yeah, that'd be great.”

-

When Leigh mentioned grabbing something to eat, you expected a sit-down at some cozy restaurant serving healthy food. Instead, she pulls into the drive-thru of a fast-food joint, orders a mountain of fries and a couple of burgers, and parks the car in a secluded spot overlooking the city. It's laid-back, unpolished, and honestly, pretty perfect.

“So, how long have you been in town?” Leigh asks as she hands you a burger, the city lights twinkling below like a scattered deck of glowing cards.

“Just over a year,” you reply, taking a hearty bite of your burger. “Moved here for the business opportunity, but it’s been... you know, slow on the social front.”

Leigh nods, understandingly. “It can be tough, starting fresh somewhere. This place isn't the friendliest to newcomers.”

Your eyebrow lifts, curious whether she's speaking from her own experiences or perhaps someone else's.

“Yeah, most of my socializing happens online these days. My closest friends are scattered across different states,” you say.

Leigh just hums a bit, not really adding anything else. She doesn't go into details about her own friends, so you're left trying to think of something else to talk about. But everything that comes to mind feels too personal, like asking why she wasn't at the Beautiful Beast for a week, how she's dealing with being a widow, or questions about her family.

Small talk isn't really your thing, so the conversation fizzles out from here. Both of you just end up staring out at the city lights in silence. Leigh seems comfortable with it though, so you decide to just go with it and savor the quiet moment too.

After a while, Leigh breaks the silence. “I didn't think I'd be able to love another dog after Rogue,” she shares, not taking her eyes off the cityscape. “Matt and I had to put her down because she was sick. It was brutal. I swore off dogs after that.”

You look over at her and offer a soft, “I'm sorry.”

But there's no trace of sadness on her face. It’s so nonchalant, almost as if she’s just talking about the weather and not a painful memory.

“But then...I saw Visitor,” she goes on, a small smile cracking through. “I just knew he needed me. And, this might sound odd, but I realized I wanted to feel needed. When Matt—” She stumbles over his name, a rare falter, but she's quick to brush it off. “When he died, nobody needed me. And I struggled with that. Because being needed felt like a purpose.”

The idea of needing to be needed isn't something you've ever considered. Truth is, you've never really needed anyone. You've been a solo act for as long as you can remember, handling things on your own, relying solely on your own capabilities. And so, that also meant you couldn't imagine being on the other side of the spectrum—being needed by someone.

However, there's a part of you, unexpectedly, that feels a twinge of jealousy towards Leigh. To truly experience loss, there first has to be something meaningful to lose. You're not sure you've ever let yourself have that kind of bond with anyone. Not yet, anyway. It's a sobering thought, making you think about what you might be missing out on.

Leigh notices you're not saying much and says, “I don't even know why I'm telling you all this. I'm sorry.”

You shake your head slightly, “It's okay. I just... I don't think I've ever been in your shoes.”

Leigh looks a bit puzzled. “What do you mean? Are you talking about the dog thing, or…?”

“The other thing,” you clarify.

Leigh smirks. “Oh, I wish I was like that.”

You quickly realize how arrogant that must have sounded, so you rush to explain, “No, I'm not trying to brag or anything. It's just, I guess I've never really opened myself up to that kind of bond.”

“Not even with Matt?” she asks, and there it is—the topic of Matt you've been tiptoeing around. You're suddenly aware that Matt's shadow is something you'll have to get used to, just as Leigh apparently has, given the unceremonious way she alludes to your almost-affair with her late husband. 

“No,” you whisper, looking straight into Leigh's eyes, hoping she’ll believe you. “We never needed each other like that.”

Leigh's eyes linger on yours a moment longer before she looks away. Eager to change the subject, you add, “Must've been rough, giving Visitor back to his real family.”

“Yeah. I mean, I shouldn't be, right? But part of me was actually angry at them for letting him get away like that. He could've been hit by a car or worse, all because they weren't careful. But at the end of the day,” she stops, a sigh escaping her, and that smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes comes back as she looks at you again. “He’s not mine.”

“Visitor really snuck into your heart, didn’t he?”

Leigh nods. “I wasn't expecting to care that much, you know?” Then, she offers a small, reflective chuckle. “Makes you think about the connections we allow ourselves to have, and the ones we avoid, doesn't it?”

You try to gauge whether she's still talking about Visitor while also trying to figure out where you stand—the connections she's chosen or the ones she sidesteps?  Before you find the courage to ask, Leigh starts the car and presses down on the clutch, ready to switch gears.

“I need to head back to the studio, so I can only drop you off somewhere on the way,” Leigh says, signaling the end of your time together for now.

You quickly decide that being dropped off at the studio is fine. “The Beautiful Beast works for me,” you reply, hoping to extend the time you have left with her, even if it's just by a few minutes. 

The ride is quiet, the earlier ease replaced by a thoughtful silence. You're watching her, the way she's all eyes on the road but clearly lost in her head. Leigh, as you’ve noticed, is someone hard to get to open up, her walls built high and strong. She's this fortress of a person, but tonight felt different, like she accidentally left a window open and you caught a glimpse inside. 

It just makes you crave for more.

As the studio comes into view, it feels like you've both made some progress with Leigh and yet, somehow, not made any at all. Stepping out of the car, you’re met by Jules, another staff member at the Beautiful Beast whom you've heard Leigh refer to numerous times, approaches. You barely catch her saying, “Danny is waiting for you inside,” to Leigh. You miss the frown on Jules's face or how Leigh instantly seems on edge.

“Thanks for the ride—and for dinner,” you say, feeling a bit out of place now.

“Don't get used to it,” she says, the corners of her lips twisting into a reluctant smile. “Was nice talking, though. Thanks for not making it weird.”

As she's quickly pulled away by whatever's going on inside, you hover for a second, debating if you should go in for a goodbye hug. But before you know it, Leigh is tossing a quick “Bye” in your direction as she strides towards the studio.

You're left there, floating in the aftermath, wondering about everything and nothing all at once.

[rottiens]

✮ tags. . canon au, satoru x no sorceress reader, neighbor!satoru, pinning, sfw (except maybe at the end, but it's nothing explicit).

✮ notes. . just a silly lil thing I had on the wips, this was way before the manga ended only now I've been encouraged to finish it, I think, it goes along with how the manga ended (no spoilers!) and is just a glimpse maybe at satoru's canon personality (I miss him painfully). divider creds: cafekitsune.

✮ wc. 1.9K

It has always been written in Satoru's nature that he must protect others. Even before he was born, his destiny was marked by the six-eyed ancestor, and the person before him and then the one before that.

He has taken on the role of caretaker of others long before he could have the choice to decide if he wanted it. In his hands is the power to care for his students, his clan, and every sorcerer he knows and those he doesn't even know. The weight of responsibility this puts on him over time has faded, with years of experience Satoru has learned to take the weight off the stress that comes with his responsibility as the strongest and has decided to accept his fate, without much thought to the title that haunts him wherever he goes, he was not simply Satoru, he was the strongest, always.

When called he goes, when ordered he acts. He attends mission after mission, traveling from one city to another and gets to the apartment he bought near the center of the city to flop down on the softness of the expensive mattress, often too tired to take off his uniform, shoes or blindfold, he lets the darkness of the place, the nearby noise of the air conditioner and the light traffic of the street pamper him.

Now that he thinks about it, he doesn't remember the last time he took a vacation or, he can't be that greedy; he just doesn't remember the last day he had off where he could have gone to the sea, sunbathed and sunk his feet in the sand, unless this wasn't part of a mission one way or the other. And that's fine, although he doesn't like to see himself as it, he's just another tool of the system and the tools....

Bang, bang, bang!

Satoru lifts his head from the boiling coffee pot with the brown puddle inside it looking like a fountain, he leans further over the countertop paying attention to the sound that seems to be coming from his front door. Something hard, solid, seems to hit the wood, not a fist... it must be something else, he deduces at once.

The coffee pot goes silent and the aroma of fresh coffee beans escapes throughout his kitchen. Satoru lifts his back and walks barefoot towards the entrance, whoever was behind he couldn't sense it. It wasn't Shoko, obviously he could smell her cigarette from inside if it was, the person whoever it was... it didn't smell like anything, and Satoru was curious about it.

“Hello?” your voice is soft, sweet as candy, or at least that's how Satoru perceives it. And being a sugar addict, he can't help but take a step forward, deciding to finally open the door before your fist, or whatever else you're using to interrupt his quiet morning, knocks a third time.

“Hey.” Satoru stops a flirtatious smile that he disguises with a polite one. Friendly. Like the good neighbor he is.

Satoru could be living much closer to Jujutsu High, in the modern condo just a block away, ideal for always being on time. But where would be the fun in being early every day? Even though with just a snap of his fingers he could show up in the middle of the classroom whenever he wanted, he likes to use the distance as an excuse whenever someone asks him why he was late.

Actually, Satoru doesn't know anyone in the neighborhood. He always comes late at night and leaves at dawn, sometimes before the sun even rises; so he doesn't remember seeing you before. And if he ever did, as someone with no cursed energy, you would have gone totally unnoticed.

“Can I help you with something?” he asks, trying not to make his confusion sound abrupt, though his brows furrow a bit as he watches you curiously.

You are contemplated like a bug under a microscope, with your neighbor's glowing blue eyes you feel stalked, small even. His eyes catch all the light in the hallway, they seem to glow and his dilated pupils catch your attention causing that no matter how much you avoid him, you always end up returning to his gaze, not to mention how tall he is and how peculiar his white hair is, unlike him, you prefer not to stare.

He finds you interesting, he can't stop looking at you. The only other person he knew incapable of being able to feel was dead now. So you were something unique to him, something that arouses genuine interest in him.

“This.” A box, almost your size in your hands. On top, a yellow envelope. “It's yours, I received these packages a few weeks ago and I meant to return them to you earlier but whenever I stopped by you weren't home...”

His frown deepens for a second before replacing it with a relaxed expression. He finds the situation strange, taking into account that he is never home, he buys everything he needs in person, he rarely shops online so he doubts that someone has sent packages in his name, to his address.

Anyway, he decides to accept it when he sees your trembling fingers clutching the box. He takes it from your arms and you let out a grateful groan, whatever is inside is heavy.

“Thank you,” you say. Satoru catches you looking him up and down, he had barely gotten out of the shower after coming in from running a few miles.

His hair was dry, somewhat fluffy giving him a relaxed look, and dark gray sweatpants are hanging off his hips. He's wearing a white cotton t-shirt that still clings a bit to his skin from the heat of the bathroom.

“Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee?” the question leaves his lips almost automatically, and while his tone is nonchalant, Satoru waits curiously. You've probably already noticed the particular aroma wafting from his apartment, that mix between fresh coffee and something a little more mysterious. There's nothing wrong with the invitation, is there? After all, he's just trying to be a good neighbor, even if, deep down, the truth is that he wants to catch something from you, to find a way to feel your presence, to get to know you a little better as he does with anything that piques his interest.

You smile, with that reserved touch, and bring your hands behind your back, tucking them into the pockets of your shorts as you sway subtly on your heels. And even though he can't sense your energy, he almost seems to predict your response just by watching you.

“Maybe later.” Sure.

He didn't expect you to walk into a stranger's place just for coffee, he had to take a chance anyway.

“Thanks again, neighbor.”

He doesn't try to sound flirtatious but he does. You're cute, you're his type and you're not a sorceress, that just makes you more irresistible to a person who is used to always keeping control of everything that happens around him.

That morning with the box in your hands that, later, he realized was full of books and manuscripts that were sent from his clan to deliver to the school library, was the first time Satoru saw you. From then on he tried to make the encounters between the two of you less and less casual and more planned.

At first it was difficult, arranging his busy schedule in such a way that he would sometimes meet you in the hallways, taking the elevator or opening the door to your place in such a way that it seemed coincidental but Satoru succeeded. Within a few weeks he had learned about your schedule when you were at home, so he was always looking for an excuse for him to be around at the same time.

In between casual conversations, he began to get to know you better, discovering where you came from and how long ago you had moved into the big building. Satoru realized that you weren't just a pretty face; you had a good heart, an apartment decorated with real plants, and a cat that ran to greet you at the door with a meowing song, brushing against Satoru's legs in greeting.

After a couple of months, you had created a routine that he found comforting. He was next to you in this utopian bubble where no one else existed, a place where he didn't have to be alert all the time.

And... where was he? Right. The tools, the system and all that.

Tools like him don't think or make decisions; they're designed only to be used when they're needed. But with you, he felt like a regular man, one who didn't see curses crawling down the hallway trying to pierce your home, or one who wasn't constantly overstimulated by the energy that engulfed the world, one who wasn't aware of the changes in the cursed energy of others. With you, he was, really, just Satoru Gojo; one who didn't know he could be something more, someone more than the title he was given at birth. He was an ordinary high school teacher, and you were just you; you saw him as something more than the strongest and there was something beautiful for the first time in the raw idea of being nothing more than a mere human.

For the first time, he didn't feel his responsibility as a burden, but as a gift. It was the first time he didn't feel overwhelmed or with a bad taste in his mouth for being a tool, because now he could use it to take care of you. It was the first time he felt good about the responsibility of caring for someone like you.

“What do you think?” You're about to fall asleep on his couch, a couch he only uses when you come to visit him, so Satoru thinks he can't waste the opportunity to admire you up close. Watching your moles, how smooth your skin looks, the sweat dampening your collarbone and how much he wishes he could drink it.

When caught staring like a stalker, he doesn't flinch; he simply brings his eyes back to yours. You have one eye squinted watching him, while the other struggles to stay open, the dialogue from the show in the background fading like white noise.

“You're tired.” You snort before closing your eyes completely.

“I'm not. I want to finish this episode with you,” you say, clearly drowsy, snuggling further into the couch and clinging to the cushion between your legs, which Satoru wishes was his head. He sighs, feeling a tug on his ribs.

“Why don't you sleep for a while?” he suggests, playing ping pong between your lips and your face.

You purr something intelligible as the fist holding your chin weakens slowly while the dialogue on the television ends and the white letters begin to slowly scroll across the screen. Satoru consumes you with his gaze, inclined to touch you and settle you better on the softness of his couch. His heart is pounding in his chest and he feels his shorts tighten. The skin of your arm so warm under his knuckles, just as he had thought, and he thinks if he set his mind to it he could watch you sleep all day.

In a moment of hesitation, Satoru moves a little closer, feeling the warmth of your breath brush against his face, your lips pout indicating the level of relaxation you're in. Fuck. Just before he can do something he shouldn't, he jumps up and heads for the kitchen, where he grabs a glass of cold water and rushes to the bathroom, locking the door behind him and yanking down his shorts.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

oh hello, I am here for my first beloved hype fic: someone who cares! prompt: "do you remember when we first met?"

I'll leave the rest to you and your gigantic, perfect brain <333

Lex!! 😍 Thank you so much for all your support and for giving this little universe so much love. These two were the starting point of my Steddie obsession AND of my fanfic journey, and they'll always hold a special place in my heart. Hope you'll enjoy their wedding day!

Perfect, somehow

Rated: G

Words: 986

Tags: No UD AU; Modern AU, Steve is Dustin’s dad; Established relationship; Wedding day; Eddie Munson is a sweetheart; Steve Harrington needs a hug

Notes: Set in the same universe as Someone who cares

Steve is staring out at the rain and the soggy decorations dangling sadly from the branches of the apple tree when he hears the bedroom door open.

“Hey Robs,” he sighs, fiddling with the flimsy zipper of the dry cleaner bag. “Do you think it’s too late to reschedule the whole thing? I know Eddie will be disappointed, but-” 

“Disappointed?” says a voice behind him. A very familiar, very male voice that is distinctly not Robin’s. “I think the word you’re looking for is fucking livid, honey.” 

“What the fuck?” Steve yelps, whirling around so suddenly he nearly topples. “I told Dustin to get Robin!” 

Eddie shrugs - or at least Steve thinks he does. It’s a bit hard to say with only his head poking into the room, the rest of him still hidden behind the half-open door. “She’s downstairs talking to the caterer. Can I come in or what? Dustin said, and I quote, Dad looks like he’s about to puke on his ugly-ass shoes.” 

Steve’s gaze flicks down to his tan leather slippers. He bought them especially for today, to have something to go with his cream suit. 

“It’s bad luck to see each other before the ceremony,” he mutters. 

“Yeah right,” Eddie snorts and steps into the room. The mumble of voices from downstairs dims as he shuts the door behind him. “Except from what you just said, you’d rather not have a ceremony at all.” 

“That’s not true,” Steve blurts. “Of course I wanna- … oh shit, you look amazing.” 

Eddie smiles - the boyish and dimpled one that was one of the first things Steve fell in love with - playing with the lapels of his suit jacket. Black, just like his shirt and tie and pants. His hair has been tamed into a braid, the first stubborn strands already escaping and curling around his face. 

“Thanks,” he says, black leather shoes nervously scuffing on the bedroom floor. “You only get married once, huh? If you still wanna. Marry me, that is.” 

Steve groans. The dry cleaner bag, still clutched in his clammy hands, crinkles as he flops down on the bed. 

“Of course I wanna marry you. I wanna marry you so fucking badly, you have no idea!” 

Eddie’s brow wrinkles. “Then what’s the problem?” 

“What’s the problem?” Steve blurts, gesturing frantically at the curtain of rain behind the windowpane. “I wanted this to be perfect, and now? Weather forecast says it won’t stop raining until tomorrow, and even if it did, the yard’s a fucking mud field. And as if that wasn’t enough, the fucking dry cleaner ruined my suit jacket.” 

He unzips the bag, shaking the mess inside at Eddie’s face. Those pretty brown eyes grow large. 

“Whoa,” Eddie mutters. “Please tell me you demanded your money back.” 

Steve doesn't reply, just continues to stare at him with the same glum expression. Eddie’s eyes go soft and he huffs a laugh. 

“Hey,” he says, plucking the bag from Steve’s hands and tossing it over a chair. Then, he plops down on the mattress beside him, knee to knee, and links their fingers. “Do you remember when we first met?” 

“Huh?” Steve blinks. “Yes, of course, why do you-” 

“I was one failed rent payment away from sleeping on the curb,” Eddie interrupts him, smile wide and happy. “The power company had cut me off weeks ago, and besides, I had pawned my laptop, so I hand wrote my application for that job you'd posted. Not that I thought I'd get it, but I was sort of grasping at straws, y’know?” 

His smile is warm and fond when he looks at Steve.

“That apartment building of yours was so fucking fancy. And then you barged out of that stupid, pompous penthouse and I thought shit, not only is he filthy rich, he's also disgustingly hot on top? Gimme a break, that's just unfair.” 

Steve scoffs, heat prickling at the base of his neck. “C'mon now, I was a mess. My father was breathing down my back at work, I felt like I was failing as a dad. The bags under my eyes were probably reaching my knees.” 

Eddie laughs, loud and carefree and Steve loves him. Loves him so fucking much, wants to spend the rest of his life listening to that laugh. Still can't believe he'll get to. 

“Okay, one: you looked like a fucking dream, baby. And two: I think we can agree we both weren't in the best of places, each in his own way. Right?” 

Steve scoffs. “Yeah, agreed.” 

Eddie's fingers squeeze his, the touch warm and familiar. The shape of his hand. The warm metal of his rings. Skulls and crosses, and the plain silver one Steve gave him on the day he proposed to him. “And still here we are, huh?” 

Steve takes a moment to let this sink in. Here they are. The man he loves and him, with the family they chose downstairs, ready to build a future together. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Here we are, I guess.” 

“So, what d’you say?” Eddie hums, lifting their entwined hands to kiss Steve’s knuckles. “You wanna get married?” 

Steve can't help it, he laughs. “Hell yeah, let's do it.” 

“Yesss,” Eddie cheers, jumping off the bed and punching at the air. “Let's fucking go!” 

Then, he starts unlacing his shoes. He's taken off his socks and is rolling up his pants before Steve finds his words again. 

“Erm, Eddie? What are you doing?” 

Eddie, just in the process of shrugging out of his suit jacket, shoots him a toothy grin. “What we do best, love. I'm making it work.”

They say their vows ankle-deep in mud, with the wind blowing rain under their umbrella and ruining their hair. It's nothing like Steve ever imagined his wedding day to be. It's all he never knew he wanted. 

And damn if that isn't its own kind of perfect. 

More celebration ficlets!

[konigbabe]

LUCKY PICK

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x fem!reader Word count: 3.1k Tags/warnings: no y/n; gambling; smut; public sex; pure filth; getting caught; p-in-v; unprotected sex; Toji's a little bit of a meanie; blowjob; pussy slapping (like once) Summary: Toji's frequent presence at the boat races doesn’t go unnoticed by your observant gaze. Every time you see him, however, luck seems to elude him, leaving him on the losing end; until you offer the man assistance in selecting a boat–lucky you, he wins. So he finds a way to thank you properly.

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

Amidst the kaleidoscope of social strata, one thing that sticks out for you: his shoes.

While some attendees adorn themselves in lavish, bespoke suits, busy with their own affairs while the events before them serve as a mere backdrop, others, those less fortunate, come in more casual in hopes to earn some quick money.

He, on the other hand, is rather glaring with his choice of clothing. Too casual. Insouciant. Black tracksuit, something more fitting for a morning jog or a workout at the gym. The fabric seems slightly worn, a faint stain on the sleeve. His shoes, however, are the most intriguing part of his ensemble. They stand out. Like a flash of lightning on a stormy night.

In a sea of polished leather and high-end dress shoes, he wears a pair of scuffed, worn flip-flops. It's not just the stark contrast between his flip-flops and the elegant footwear of others that piques your interest. Rather the aura of confidence and a nonchalant demeanor that could easily be mistaken for arrogance.

Even for the outfit, he’s rather handsome. Raven hair tumbling down just to his ears, framing the chiseled planes of his face. The faint scar on the corner of his right lip only adds to the air of mystery surrounding him.

In contrast to the meticulously groomed individuals around him, his appearance carries an air of authenticity. As if he doesn't conform to societal norms but carves his own path instead.

He’s here often. Twice a week. A clockwork of unwavering routine. A regular fixture. Each time, he places his bet on the same number. It’s always three. No regard for any other possibilities. He’s staying the whole day, watches all the races and loses his money. Each and every time.

You stand on the stairs leading to the ticket vending machines, overlooking the racers warm up around the buoy. People passing by until he’s here again. In the same outfit, with the same aura of disregard, detachment.

He passes you as well. A solid wall, going straight, no disregard whether you move out of the way or not. Makes you take a step aside. You know he’s here to lose again. Letting out a grunt, an annoyed huff of air, your voice carries through the loud environment when his bicep brushes your shoulder.

"Here to lose again?"

It makes him stop. Look you dead in the eyes. You can feel the steel behind his eyes as he studies you. Tries to understand why someone like him – a man who’d been losing every race for months – is being confronted by someone like you, someone with nothing more than a passing interest in the track and its races.

For a moment, time seems to slow down as his gaze locks with yours. His eyes, like storm-touched steel, easily likened to polished basalt, peer out from under strong, dark eyebrows. Hooded. Locked onto yours. A thunderous downpour.

He stays silent for solid few seconds. Possibly aiming to intimidate you into leaving him alone. Yet, he fails as you stand tall next to him; not backing down or wilting away under his scrutiny.

"Who says I’m here to lose," he retorts, a touch of defiance in his voice. The hint of a smirk plays on his lips as he studies you, perhaps trying to gauge your intentions.

As you arch an eyebrow, you remark, "I haven’t seen you win yet. You've been betting on the same number, sir, every time I've seen you here. And from what I've observed, you haven't had much luck."

His brows furrow momentarily before he responds with a knowing smirk, matching your aura with his own brand of dry wit.

"Luck has nothing to do with it. Besides, one day, that number will hit."

His confidence is almost infectious, and despite the peculiar choice of his attire and betting strategy, there's an air of genuineness in his words.

"Then why don’t you bet for other numbers," your body pivots to face him, arms crossed over your chest, "try it," you hold your chin high, " buy a place-show, numbers four and six."

To your suggestion of trying other numbers, the man chuckles softly, seemingly amused by the idea, "and why would I do that?"

"You have better odds with the place-show ticket rather than the win ticket," you explain with a shrug, "and if you lose, you’ll have someone else to aim your anger at."

He smirks, nodding thoughtfully as if considering your proposition. "Ah, you're one of those logical types, ain’t ya? Always calculating the odds an’ playing it safe."

You chuckle at the characterization, appreciating his keen observation. "I haven’t lost in a long time. Plus," you blatantly look him up and down, "I have a feeling you could use some luck, and maybe a touch of charm wouldn't hurt either."

He raises an eyebrow, the faint scar on his lip accentuating the mischievous glint in his eye. "Charm, huh? What's in it for you?"

Flashing a grin at his question (it's a valid one, after all), you meet the playful spark in his laden eyes.

"Oh, nothing much," you reply, feigning nonchalance, a familiar mask that you wear to try to stifle the faint tremor of fear, "let’s just say if you win, you’ll owe me a favor."

One moment, you were sitting a few seats next to the man, a winning ticket grasped between your fingers; both watching the race unfold before your eyes.

Next, a subtle, self-assured grin spreads over his face as the winning numbers are announced.

("Would ya’ look a’that.."

"Who would’ve thought…")

And then, flicker in time. You find yourself in an alleyway, still at the stadium and next to a dumpster. Away from the fanfare of the racetrack. A putrid stench of decaying food still in the air overpowered by the potent, heady musk of Toji’s body as the concrete scrapes against your naked knees. Uncomfortable and rough.

Pants lowered down only enough for his cock to spring free; the tip glistening with pearls, a byproduct of his pleasure. Lifting your head slightly, you dip down to kiss the dew away as your hand, wet with precum and spit, moves over his length, pads tracing every curve and ridge.

Lips swollen. Jaw hurting from the tight fit, Toji’s fingers grip the top of your head; urging you to take him in deeper, feel him heave in your mouth. Careless to the fact you should need air. But at this moment, looking up and seeing his eyes already boring into yours, oxygen’s the last thing on your mind.

"That’s it," his husky froan reverberates in your ears as his thumb traces the arch of your eyebrow before his hand cups your cheek, cradles your face, "atta girl."

His words cause heat flooding into your core. A warmth to blossom from deep within. Feeling your heart thudding between your legs, you press your thighs together more. Fingers moving along the exposed, wet slit before pushing one in—

It’s barely a stretch. Disappointing.

—then two.

Letting his cock from your mouth, the sweetness lingering on your tongue as you move the top of your tongue along the underside of his head. Glistening, painfully swollen and painfully red. Hand gliding over the length, thumb pressing onto the sensitive slit, causing a stream of Fuck, Goddamn and your name stream from his bruised lips.

Spit-covered lips trace the underside of his cock, leaving a glossy trail behind. With a trembling breath, he taps your temple.

"Up."

You don’t even register his command before a hand encloses your arm, effortlessly lifting you on your feet.

"Wait," you squeal, a mixture of surprise and trepidation when he crunches down. Putting a hand instinctively on his shoulder to steady yourself, you feel the taut muscle, finely sculpted and responsive to his movements. Fingers gripping your ankle with determined strength; in one deft motion, he liberates your leg from the confines of the pant leg (and carelessly leaves the other be).

For a moment, you feel like a child again – pushed around, a small puppet, being dressed and undressed by another's hands.

It’s all happening too fast yet not swiftly enough.

His lips brush over your dripping core. Gives it a lick. A taste of your sweetness, humming in appreciation when your juices coat his tongue, lips, chin. And when you push your hips into his face, shamelessly chasing the feeling of his tongue – he stands back up. Palm making a benign impact with your swollen core, leaving you gasping from the sudden jolt of pain.

"Maybe ‘nother time," he speaks up. Hand grasping your ankle, resting it against his shoulder, heel digging into his collarbone, foot beside his face. Teeth grace your ankle, the wet tip of his tongue darting to lick a stripe over the fibula. All while his fingers spread the wetness leaking out of you, fingertips tracing your opening, teasing the entrance with his pads.

"Someone’s a lil’ eager."

You feel the blunt press. Too thick for his fingers.

The head of his cock spreads you open. You fight the urge to close your eyes, lean onto the brick wall barely touching your back. Instead, you force your gaze to remain on Toji’s face; his eyes hooded, barely open but piercing through you as he pushes forward. Slowly.

His hips push forward, fighting the resistance as you welcome the feeling. Heart racing, a groan leaves your lips when Toji grips your waist and pulls you onto him. Cock grazing your sensitive walls, you watch his eyes close in a blissful moment momentarily.

A feeling of triumph washes over you – you managed to capture the beast itself in its most vulnerable state.

Then he snaps. Gets impatient. And if it wasn’t for the hand on your waist, you’d certainly lose balance with the raw, almost inhuman strength with which he thrusts into you.

"Ugh—fuck, oh God," eyes closed, you succumb to the feeling; shallow, deep thrusts slowly speeding up, turning into something more resembling a pounding. Savage.

His lips brush the shell of your ear, fingers digging into the fat of your hips before moving upwards, cupping your clothed breast, thumb flicking your erect nipple, "told ya it’s Toji."

It goes like this. You try to steady yourself on one foot, clinging onto Toji’s arms as if he’s your beacon. Mouth agape, you rest your forehead on his collarbone. The hamstring in your leg feels close to ripping apart when his hand slides onto your thigh, providing a reassurance that makes the ache between your legs flare up with ardent fervor.

Toji pulls and pushes — forcing your body to twist, spinning you around to the point where your hands can rest on the wall. One leg’s still on the ground while the other is held against his broad chest. All while his thrusts remain merciless.

He fills you up, the fat head of his cock pressing against your depths, stretching you wider and deeper than before. Shameless squelching filling your ears whenever he bottoms out. Pulls out only halfway, his cock glistening with your juices and his precum when it almost slips free. Coaxing moan after moan from you.

"Damn," he stops, cock buried to the hilt and you feel the pads of his fingers swipe over your clit. Moving down, to the place you two are connected, "feel that?"

Wetness; his fingers dip between your folds, trace your core.

"Look at that."

And you look — wishing that maybe you didn’t. He scissors his fingers before your face, showing off the sticky substance connecting his fingers, glistening in the daylight. Heat shoots up your whole body when his smug face watches your reaction, a sly grin spreading on his lips when a moan comes out of you.

His thrusts come back without warning. Deep. He pulls you back into his cock.

It’s blissful. Euphoric. But painful.

"Can’t," you breath out, feeling close to cramping, "m’not that flexible."

"Oh really," he remarks. Yet, his grasp loosens on your body.

It feels like hours have passed with the way Toji ruts into you. Truly living up to the expectations one would’ve expected from a man his build and reputation.

Bend over, palms flat against the rough surface of the brick wall, Toji relentlessly pounds into you. The spongy head of his cock feels as if it’s breaching the opening of your cervix, mingling pain and pleasure in a confusing mix.

"Hey," a high-pitched voice startles you, Toji’s pelvis kissing the flesh of your ass as he buries himself to the brim, "What you doin’ there?!"

His hand moves from the arch of your back, fingers burning as they trace onto your hip. Squeezing, locking you against him.

"Takin’ a piss," Toji remains unfazed. Voice laced with a subtle hint of boredom while his cock pulsates inside you.

Taking a hand off the wall, you slap it across your mouth. Gentle fear of even your breaths being heard (and it doesn’t matter that you are good ten meters from the passerby).

"The toilets are right over there," the man shouts, making you question whether he’ll take a step toward you.

You’re aware that for a passerby, your figure is hidden behind the dumpster and unless Toji thrusts into you, it would look as if the man is simply relieving himself in the alley. Still fully clothed, only the front of his pants down enough for his cock to be free, one might think he’s telling the truth.

Silence falls onto you, forcing your head to turn to the side. Neck straining, you look over your shoulder – Toji’s unphased, nonchalant demeanor combined with the overly muscular physique visible even with loose clothes on radiates authority. Brutality. His demeanor serene; a tranquil lake at dawn. It would frighten you as well if you weren’t impaled on his cock.

His head lurches to the left, eyes locking onto the poor man's soul with an intense and penetrating gaze. It might be enough to scare the man away. To leave you alone.

That’s when he pulls back. Only an inch, mere centimeters but still enough to thrust back with rough intent. Body jolting forward, a surprised yelp gets muffled by your hand. Heat ripples through you.

He’s shameful, you realize. Salacious with his indecency.

The corners of his lips turn upward. Not enough for the passersby to see but from your point of view, it only fuels the sadistic image of the man behind you. The man whose cock keeps massaging your walls with shallow, almost non-existent thrusts.

How dare he.

"Whatever."

Loud footsteps echo through the alley before Toji’s fingers curl around your nape and he yanks. Hand pushing against the lower of your back, the other moving to the side of your neck as he twists your body into his own, pliant toy. Into a position he desires.

"Damn–," he breaths against the hairs on the back of your neck, chill breath washing over the shivering area, "does that turn ya’ on? Being watched?"

He pulls back at a leisurely pace. Unhurried. In and out.

"Fucked dumb on my dick–"

In and out.

"–while some loser watches your drippin’ cunt soak me."

Hitting that sweet, sensitive but delicate spot deep inside you; that even your fingers cannot reach. The one that makes you see stars, feel the heat in your core spread.

"Shut up," you basically snarl, pushing your ass into his crotch with fervor, forcing him deeper, causing his breath to hitch with his lips brushing over your burning skin, "shut up."

He chuckles at that. Licks a stripe over your shoulder. Moves to the side of your neck before his teeth sink into the earlobe, tugging.

"Could feel you squeezin’ me back then," the hand on the side of your neck inches forward; now resting firmly against the front of your neck, a silent reminder of the power it wields. The pressure is gentle but firm, a subtle yet unmistakable display of control. All while Toji matches your rhythm, thrusting at a pace that gets you closer to the sweet abyss.

Your hand moves from the wall, slides over the curve of your belly and find its place between your legs.

"Close ‘em," Toji’s thrusts grow in intensity. Forcing your body forward – to prevent falling, his hand on your back moves to rest against the wall, trapping your delicate hand underneath the roughness of his palm, the other holding you close by the neck.

"Ugh–wh–what," you barely breathe out, legs straining to keep the pace as the heat spreads.

"Your legs. Close ‘em."

And you do. Pushing your thighs together, a whole new sensation surges through your body as his cock fills you up. And it seems Toji feels the same by the way your name leaves his lips in a heavy groan, forehead resting against the crown of your head.

"Fuck yeah," he sighs, palm kneading the flesh of your ass. He’s pushing his hips against yours. Pulls you back into him with fingers itching to your aching nub. Finger flicking over it, making you shudder and moans to grow louder.

The coil in your abdomen grows tighter with each flick of his finger, kiss of his cock. Breath catching in your throat, you push back against Toji when the searing bliss washes over you.

He fucks you through it all.

"Gonna cum," you feel him thicken, pulse inside you. Hips stuttering, speeding and growing in intensity as he chases his own high.

"Not inside," you don’t struggle. Let him absolutely destroy you.

And he listens. Gives you few more fucks before he pulls out. Fists his cock, eyes watching your dripping, swollen pussy before you feel the sticky globes land on your core, slide down your clenching thighs.

He groans behind you. Hand resting on top of your ass, thumb caressing the skin there as you try to catch your breath. All while the man seems only slightly fazed by all the fucking. Makes you feel weak, pathetic — looking like you’d done a full workout while he’s standing behind you.

You stand back up. Wipe the cum off with a tissue you dig from your bag before pulling your pants back up, breath still slightly labored.

"Was this what I owed you?"

He fixes his pants, adjusting the waistband to hug the defined muscles of his lower abdomen, fleshing you his happy trail.

You shake your head to which his eyes narrow softly, "I want to hire you, Mr Fushiguro," hands fixing the mess on top of your head, you turn your back to The Sorcerer Killer, "take the win as your upfront payment."

[crunchwrapsnoopy]

Promposals [Touya Todoroki x Reader]

˙⋆✮🪩As long as I look fly by prom night!🪩✮⋆˙

"Promise to get a little better as I get older. And you're so patient and sick of waitin" Prom - Sza

High school Senior Prom AU of my fav villain ◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠

HS! Semi-Normal! Dabi x F. Reader

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

WC: 1008

"Soo..." my best friend, Mina, started with a coy smirk, "anyone ask you to prom yet?" She nudges my arm, obviously hinting at my boyfriend.

I shake my head, adjusting the books in my arms. "Nah, I probably won't go anyway. Seems like a waste of time, not to mention money."

"It's our senior year! You're acting like your parents aren't loaded," she scoffs, clearly unimpressed by my excuse. "And really? I thought for sure Dabi would've asked you by now. You guys have been dating for, what, five months?"

"Yeah, I thought he would too, but it's whatever. He's just not really into stuff like prom." I shrug, knowing my boyfriend is the definition of lowkey. Honestly, I’m sure he thinks going to prom would mess with his carefully crafted 'mysterious bad boy' nonchalant vibe.

Her eyes widen happily as an idea forms. "I'm sure Kiri wouldn't mind if you tagged along with us!"

I give her a look. Her boyfriend, Kiri, is very outwardly lovey-dovey, and there's no way he'd be okay with sharing Mina on prom night. She catches the look in my eyes and immediately reads my mind.

"Yeah, you're right. Bad idea," she admits, rolling her eyes.

"Very," I agree. "You two have fun, though. I gotta head home and study for that econ quiz."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure you'll have just as much fun with that," she jokes, giving my arm a playful pat before waving goodbye.

I wave back and head out of the school, walking toward my house, which is a short distance away in the suburbs. Normally, I'd ride home with Dabi in his sexy black Mustang, but he skipped today, which, knowing him, isn't too uncommon.

I unlock my empty house—my parents are in France on business, so I’ve been left to die. Well, technically  they left me to "fend for myself," but it's basically the same thing. I kick off my shoes and head upstairs to my room, changing into some comfy lounge clothes before flopping onto my bed. I open my laptop and pull up my economics notes, trying to get through the material, but after a while, I realize I have no idea what the hell an "invisible hand" is.

I lean back against the pillows and let my eyes close. Studying is overrated anyway.

I woke up to the blaring sound of my phone alarm to take my vitamins that I had already taken earlier, but the alarm still ran incase I forgot. I groggily rolled over and squinted at the screen, still half-dazed from my nap. The time read 6:15 PM. Great. I’d fallen asleep for way too long. I rubbed my eyes, stretching as I sat up. My laptop was still open with economics notes, but the words blurred together like they were written in a foreign language. Ugh.

I pushed it aside and glanced at the clock again. Dabi would usually text me around this time, or he'd show up randomly at my door, leaning against the frame with that smirk of his. But today... nothing.

Sighing, I grabbed my phone, half-expecting another generic message from my mom or dad asking if I'm alive. But instead, there was a text from Mina.

Mina: "You sure you're not going to prom? Think about it! You'd look so hot in a dress, and I'm sure Dabi would change his mind n suck it up if you rly wanted to go. If he doesn't, still come and I'll make sure Kiri brings his best friend, so you’re not stuck third wheeling!"

I snorted at the part about Kiri's best friend. Mina's boyfriend has two best friends, Bakugo, who is painfully hostile, and Kaminari, who is super enthusiastic but also a little too much of a pervert, I'm not interested in either of those personalities. Either way, I have a boyfriend that I'm pretty exclusies with, and don't feel like pissing him off.

But the thought of prom? Of dressing up, of being surrounded by everyone else—feeling normal, like everyone else for a night—was kind of tempting. Even though I pretended not to care, I always wondered what it’d be like to go, to have that experience.

I stared at my phone for a moment, texting back:

Me: "I don’t know. It feels like too much of a hassle. You really think Dabi would go if I asked?"

There was a long pause before she replied.

Mina: "If u ask him? fat chance... But if you rly wanna go, I'll help u ask him!"

I could already hear her upbeat, enthusiastic tone in my head. It was like she was daring me to do it, challenging me to take that step.

I locked my phone, rolling my eyes as I flopped back onto my bed, already overthinking everything. As much as I hated to admit it, part of me kind of wanted to ask Dabi. Maybe he’d surprise me. But then again, maybe he'd just shrug it off and tell me he wasn’t into it, and I’d be left feeling stupid for even thinking it was a possibility.

Maybe I’d just let it go.

But a part of me couldn't stop wondering: what would it feel like to go with someone who actually cared enough to make the night special?

Just as I was starting to drift off again, my phone buzzed, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Dabi ❤︎: "You still up?"

I smiled to myself, feeling a little lighter. At least he hadn’t forgotten about me today.

Me: "Yeah, what’s up? :)" Dabi ❤︎: "Look outside." 

I raised an eyebrow, curiosity sparking as I looked at my phone. Then, without thinking too much, I got up from my bed and walked over to my window. My heart nearly dropped when I first saw the fire—until my eyes caught the message the flames had formed.

"PROM?"

A laugh bubbled up from my chest, and I couldn't help but giggle at the absurdity of it all. Running downstairs, I grabbed some slippers and hurried outside.

"Yes! But you really need to put this out!" I called out, smiling wide as I watched him casually stand next to the fire, hands in his pockets, looking like he hadn’t just used his quirk to set the entire front yard ablaze.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆