#tail mask sai and eyes need to be fixed

[illdragyoudownwithme]

im tired  

[yanderenightmare]

TW: NSFW, yandere, f!reader, bondage, abuse, punishment, intense spanking/whipping-ish

gn reader

“Please- plea- m’so- sorry-” You sob, voice cracking on its own blubbering. Chest full of panic – heaving for a fix but achieving little less than spurring even more hysteria.

“Haah…” He sighs. Casually fixing your bonds tighter around your wrists, hoisting them a little higher above your head until you were properly stretched up on your tippy-toes.

Shivering in just your undies in anxious wait of his anger.

Stroking your back while holding your belly in a steady hand, he thinks he’s never felt fear quite like it, but unfortunately, “Y’broke the rules, Sunshine… and now yer’ gettin’ punished.”

He unbuckles his belt. Your eardrums burn at the crisp sound, so much spiked blood rushing about, making you go dizzy. 

You think you might pass out.

“What did I say the rules were, hm? ‘You remember ‘em?” He mumbles in a steady tone, speaking awfully softly with his lips pressed against your temple. Waiting for your answer.

You give a sob and a pitiful nod, and he hums in return, rubbing calm circles into your shivering, goose-fleshed skin.

“Recite them for me.” He requests, nose rubbing your hairline as you shiver from his touch.

Voice unsteady, filtered through tears and a hopeless sense of terror – chin tipped up, needing to gasp for breaths. “N-no fighting, no- no arguing, no run- running-”

“Mh…” He hums, taking in the scent of your shampoo with a sniff of your crown, placing a kiss there as though in kudos – or as a small mercy before getting started. “And you managed to do all three in one night. ‘You feel proud, hm? ‘You feel accomplished? Hm? Was it worth it?”

You whimper under the interrogation, feeling smaller and smaller by the second – so exposed where you are, practically hanging from the ceiling like dead meat. Stripped of everything that might’ve protected you – or that would have at least cushioned the coming onslaught of pain you knew to dread.

“Nah… it’s written all over your body. Goosebumps and cold sweat, shaking from tits to toes. You regret it, don’t you?” He murmured, winding his belt around his fist once, then twice, leaving a looped tail. “Mh, maybe you’ll think twice about it next time... or maybe you’ll finally learn your place.”

He finished with a soft bite to the chub of your cheek, then grabbed your chin just as gently, holding your face up to look at him as he sidestepped to your front. Leaning his forehead against yours, he stroked your jaw with his thumb – lips hovering just short of yours.

“I'm gonna hurt you, Sweetie.” He purred, stroking your asscheek with the cool leather in his grip – in such gross contrast to what you knew he planned on using it for. “I promised I would, and now I will…”

He kissed your lips then – slowly, sweetly – suffocatingly so as you cried – tasting your tears and doing a terrible job at withholding his grin as you felt it pull giddily at the corner of his mouth.

He licked his lips once he pulled away, walking a circle around you like a shark.

“How many hits do you deserve?” He mused. “I guess one for each rule you broke is fair, but it seems a little scant…”

He stopped behind you, placing a chaste kiss on your arm before nuzzling around it.

“Should we say thirty?” He offered, and your eyes immediately widened.

Shaking your head furiously, prayers already coming out in splutters. “No- please-”

“No? Too many?” He pouted, not bothering to mask his glee now. “Okay, okay, calm down, baby. Breathe.” He soothed with no effort. “I think…”

There was a pause – a hum of thought as he wrapped his arms around your front and swayed you back against his chest in a hug.

“Ugh fuck, I'm no good makin’ rules on the fly…” He feigned - sinking his jaw into the grove of your armpit before cuddling the soft flesh with his chin-stubble.

He sucked his teeth in a further display of thought before releasing an exasperated sigh.

“I really didn’t think you’d break ‘em, y’know? I thought you’d be a good pet…”

You trembled, eyes looking down at the belt held between his big hands – whimpering at the sight of him simply playing with it – psyching you out like a true sadist.

“But you just had to disappoint me, didn’t you?”

You bit your lip to stop a sob.

“Had to be difficult… and now I gotta make difficult decisions…”

He slinked off you, leaving you to wobble – toes barely grazing the cold basement floor.

You try your best to prepare yourself for the next events, but the more you brace yourself the more tense you get and the harder you cry. “Please- I’ll be good- promise- m’real- really sorry-” 

“I know, baby. I know~ I am, too.” He coos, kissing your spine while rubbing circles into your sides – feeling your ribs rattle with sniffles, struggling for air through your panic. “I wanna make sure we never have to be sorry again.”

He wraps an arm around the front of your hips, steadying you while stroking the loop of his belt over your plump cheeks – tentatively teasing the soft flesh with what was soon to come.

He licked his lips at the promise – already imagining the flawless flesh blooming with his marks.

“I think thirty is fair.”

“No- no please- please, don’t-” You thrash – but do so little more than in place.

“Don’t squirm.” He interrupts, his hand curling into your hip with blunt nails denting the fine skin, keeping you still, pushing your side snugly against his front – holding you intimately while gruffing out eerie murmurs still much too softly for what he was saying. “Remember, it’s another ten hits if you fight me and another ten if you argue.”

At least he doesn’t make you count....

You wouldn’t have been able to even under threat – too busy wailing.

Each hit like the lash of a whip, smacking you fast, one on top of the other. It’s enough to make you throw up after half of it – though it's mostly just water and acid.

He takes pity enough to allow you a small break. Wringing off his wife-beater and wiping your mouth with it – also brushing some of the sweat off your brow before kissing your forehead. 

“Halfway there, Sweetie- you’re doing so good~”  He whispered soothingly, holding your cheeks to pick your face up from hanging – looking into the hopeless look of your opium-blown eyes – so lost he didn’t know if you could even hear him.

He acts as though he’s sorry after, but the boner he’s got nudged against you doesn’t lie – desperately dry-humping your thigh for some sort of relief.

His breaths are tight and hot, puffed against your arm where he now mouths wet kisses. “Good-” He swallows thickly, brows tight-knit, voice thick with lust. “Good pet.”

You hadn’t noticed he was done. And the relief doesn’t register either. There isn’t much comfort in it to grasp, not with the pain still so numbingly intense that you can’t feel anything but the raw sting. 

He drops the belt to the floor and struggles his fly open, shoving the trousers down along with his boxers, stepping out of the heap in a rush – all the while sucking sloppy kisses on your shoulder and nape, mumbling praise. “Y’were so good- so good fo’me- gonna reward yah- my good fuckin’ baby- gonna make yah feel so fuckin’ good now-”

The flesh of your ass burns with welts and split skin, ugly marks already lining the once-pretty color with horrid shades of bruise-dark. Your throat’s ripped raw from all the wailing – only weeping harder when he takes your hips and sways you back to meet his fat erection.

He shamelessly rubs himself between your cheeks – frenzied with his mouth gaping, releasing a filthy shuddering moan while leering at the beautiful sight of his handiwork – feeling so proud he was blushing just from sheer sadistic enjoyment – even letting slip a breathy laugh now.

He hung his tongue out and let his drool drip onto the shaft, then placed another kiss between your shoulder blades. Gliding his tip down and, with the help of a hand, pushed it between your cheeks until it caught your entrance. 

A rugged groan blew hotly down your spine, and another cry was ripped from your chest as he sunk inside without a single spare second to waste.

He laid his face to rest against your back, nudging up inside you slowly with both arms wrapping around you like before – holding you snugly before he began the intimate pace, fucking only the deepest coziest parts of you.

“I love you, Sunshine- you’re mine- only one I give two shits about- rest can just fuck off for all I care- as long as I have you- right here… forever.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Aizawa, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Nanami, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, Sakusa, Miya twins, Suna ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Kunigami ♡ DS – Doma, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[thinemoonshine]

⋆ ˚｡𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 ୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

enhypen 8th fem!member x maknae linegenre: fluff type: oneshot word count: 830

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ synopsis: being apart of the maknae line of enhypen, (y/n) has individualized special activities which she usually does with each specific member ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

being each other’s salon (k.sw)

As cliche as it sounds, (y/n) and Sunoo do their skincare together— however, not in a way where they do it side by side but instead, they do it for each other. Although it’s not always, neither is it seldom.

On some random night, the members will find the two of them sitting with folded legs on Sunoo’s bed, facing one another as they gently fix on a cold face mask on each other’s face. This comes off as a shock to the members at times, knowing that Sunoo doesn’t usually let anyone touch his face as they please but he’s given (y/n) privilege saying that she’s “trustworthy and hygienic.”

Both so intent in properly doing each other’s skincare that they don’t need to talk but oftentimes they’ll stare into each other’s eyes as they work, making them burst into laughter before getting back to their task. The warm touch of their fingers contrast with the usually cold creams and masks, giving each other a pleasant feel and at times, Sunoo leans against her hand further without himself realizing.

Sometimes, whenever they’re tired or taking extra steps in their routine, they’ll end up falling asleep on the bed with their face masks slipping off and the members snickering at them through the open door.

playing with each other’s hair (y.jw)

(y/n) has always said that she thinks Jungwon’s hair looks very soft so one day, he let her confirm it on her own— and it was, in fact, fluffy and silky. Ever since then, it’s always been a norm for (y/n) to fix his hair and even play with it, even more so when he’s sitting in a lower position thus, giving her full access to his head.

And this goes both ways, especially so because Jungwon is used to petting Maeum so his hands are constantly searching for something to occupy themselves with.

They’re both watching TV and are completely focused on the show? (y/n) has her fingers through Won’s hair unconsciously.

They’re on live and a member is talking? Jungwon’s playing with (y/n)’s ponytail out of habit as she sits on the floor and him on the couch— hand swishing the tied section like a tail.

Once, the hair stylist even ended up scolding them for messing up the hard work she put in their hairdo and they almost ended up being choked by hairspray.

being each other's comfort bubble (n.rk)

As bubbly as (y/n) is, she too needs her moments of tranquil— and from Ni-ki she finds it. Even though he's frisky and has untamed moments in which he pesters the living daylight out of her, he too is one of whom (y/n) finds most comfort with.

Whenever they're out on a schedule, (y/n) will find a spot to stand beside Ni-ki, or a seat beside him and vice versa. Even without words, they understand each other so well that it's not completely bizarre to say they have mind reading abilities when it comes to each other.

They have their low times every once in a while and unfortunately, some of those times are during filming. And as if they've discussed it beforehand, they would always step forward for each other.

"We need someone in my team! Ni-ki, (y/n), one of you?" Jay asks and turns to the younger two who are sitting on the seat cushions on the floor, looking up at him.

(y/n) raises her hand. "Me! I'll play!" She jumps onto her feet and flashes a small smile to the tired Ni-ki who reciprocates the gesture with a smile of his own.

Or when they're doing something that they know the other is not keen on.

"(Y/N)!!" Jungwon shouts excitedly when she walks out to the pool area where the rest of them are. She's dressed with long swimming tights and a cardigan over her swimming tee. Despite being dressed the part, she doesn't actually want to get into the water. It's just a precaution thing and to match the whole theme.

"Come join us!" Jake calls as he combs his wet hair back, smiling brightly at her and showing off his pearly whites.

(y/n) gives a wave of her hand and a small shake of her head, rejecting him but he must've missed them because suddenly, he's swimming towards her— seizing her ankle to which she jumps at. "Wait, I—"

SPLASH!

Jake lets out a yelp of shock before turning to the culprit, Nishimura Riki, who's giggling to himself after smacking the older with a big wave of chlorinated water.

Thirsty for payback, Jake paddles in the water as fast as he can to catch their maknae, letting go of (y/n) in the process and she meets eyes with Ni-ki who's already looking at her.

He winks (blinks) at her with a proud grin before taking big strides underwater to escape from the hollering madman close on his tail. (y/n) can only chuckle before joining Sunoo under the parasol.

ᡣ𐭩ྀི₊ ⊹ masterlist ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙

𝜗𝜚 hi, it’s romi here!! thank you so much for reading to the end!! if you enjoyed it, don’t forget to leave a heart and reblog—they give me some motivation, ya know? but please, do not spam like!! X♡X♡, romi ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

copyright © 2024 thinemoonshine all rights reserved

[lostintransist]

Seamstress | Part 4

Part 1 here.

John lets the men simmer for two days. Mostly he lets their trip to his seamstress ride to see if they brought it up to him. They didn’t. Guess he would be playing this the sly way.

“Found an old quilt from my grandmother when cleaning out my mum’s house last leave.”

Johnny’s brain sparked on the word association just as John hoped it would.

“Found out I can get my family kilts fixed up and preserved. Met a pretty lass who runs a shop that said it was a possibility.”

“Oh?” John folded his arms across his chest, encouraging Johnny to go on by tilting his head in interest.

“Yeah, pretty bird, kicked us out when we started asking about-”

He cut himself off pretty quick but John gave him a small scary smile.

“Asking about who, Johnny?”

Johnny started to back up, hands raised as he babbled his excuses.

“Finish your excuses and go get the guys.”

Johnny turned tail and fled from the room. His muppets filed in the room, Johnny getting forced by the neck by Simon who glared down at him. Must have wanted to keep this a secret. Should have known better than to tell Johnny. The man couldn’t keep a non-life-threatening secret to save anyone’s life. Kyle and Gary slid in after the duo.

“Muppets. You will leave my seamstress well enough alone or I will make it a problem for you.”

“So she is yours?” Gary piped up from the side.

Shooting him a glare John continued.

“I am grown enough to not explain myself to the lot of you, but if I get a call again about any of you bothering her I will make it everyone’s problem.”

Kyle smirked and spoke out one side of his mouth.

“Seems like Price can’t get a date.”

“Kyle I swear to my god and yours I will make you disappear if you keep it up. If your clothes go missing, just know they will be back. Now get out of here the lot of you.”

His men shared smiles and eye contact.

They hustled from the room when he picked up his blackened coffee mug to throw at one of them.

“Fucking muppets going to send me to an early grave. I don’t even have her phone number yet,” he mumbled to himself as the back of them disappeared.

🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡

You think about John far more often than you should. He is a customer. Yes, he sleeps in your chairs and smiles at you in a way that pulls his cheeks to the moon, and yes he makes your heart flutter the tiniest bit but, but he is a customer who has never shown interest and you refuse to make someone feel uncomfortable in your shop. Your shop was a safe space, for everyone. Your flags are on clear display, so many, many flags, made sure of it.

He stepped through your thoughts carelessly. When you were wandering a superstore you somehow ended up in the camping section. A clearance foldable cot caught your eye and left the store with you. You maneuvered it into your tiny car and into the shop without allowing yourself to question why you had bought it.

John appeared two mornings following your purchase. You smile, wider than you should, at him.

“Hi John, welcome back! Got anything new and interesting for me today?”

Did you sound too chipper?

“Nothing crazy, one of my men needs a mask fixed.”

“Do you always bring in their items? I hope they are paying you at least,” you joke as you take the offered mask.

Spreading it on the counter you look it over, a tear over one ear and one from the eye portion. Both are decently easy fixes but would require your ring light and some time with a hand needle.

Looking up you offer John another smile. Fuck, can you keep the smiles to a minimum? He is going to think you are weird and then stop coming by.

“This shouldn’t take terribly long, I would say maybe an hour?”

John knocked one knuckle against the counter as he nodded. With both hands on the armrests, you remembered the cot in the back.

“Oh, John!”

He paused, ass halfway lowered into the seat.

“I..uh..” you stammer to a stop, unsure of how your words might be received.

“Yes?” He lifts a single brow at you, body not shaking as he waits.

Tucking one arm to your chest and the other to your mouth you speak from behind it.

“I found a cot. I brought it to the shop for you to use if you wanted?”

The words rush out of you, mumbled by your hand, and the speed by which you hurl them.

John stands, moving to stand next to the counter where the floor changes, noting the difference in customer space vs working space.

“What was that dove?”

Tightening your lips before biting the inside of your cheek you force yourself to say your words again. Slower, clearer you speak.

“I have a cot for you. In the back, so that you can sleep.”

His face goes blank as he blinks at you.

He looked a bit like a 404 code in the flesh.

A small smile breaks across his face as color spreads up his cheeks.

“For me?”

“Well,” you tighten both arms around your middle as you reply. “No one else seems to pay me for the privilege of sleeping in my shop, so yes?”

John rubs the back of his neck with one hand.

You awkwardly stare at him. What do you even say now? Do you invite him to lie down? No that sounded weird.

“Do you-”

“Why don-”

You both started and stopped at hearing the other’s voice.

Spinning on your heel you turned towards the storage room, confident John would follow. Popping the door open you can do nothing more than point to the cot, still covered in tape from the store.

John slides by you, chest brushing your arm and shoulder as he does. If you have to fight back the urge to take a bite? Well, he would never need to know.

“I can set it up for you if you don’t mind?” John looks back over his shoulder at you.

Knowing you are beet red you can only nod.

“I bought it for you but didn’t get a chance to,” you gesture at it as if your vague motion will explain all your thoughts.

John’s smile, eyes crinkling and shoulders softening, melted your heart.

“I’ll take care of it and then take a good nap. My men have started to comment that I am nicer to them after I get a nap here.” He knelt, pulling out a pocket knife and slicing open the package.

“Your men?” You lean against the door frame, unabashedly watching. “What is it you do for work John?”

“Special forces, I’m a captain. I lead a group of myself and four other men.”

“Well, that would explain a lot of the smells.”

He looks up at you, brow cocked.

“Smells?”

“Like fire, gunpowder, sweat, sometimes fear.”

“You get a lot of smell knowledge here?”

“I get a lot of everything here,” you shrug, unable to articulate how no matter how clean a piece of cloth some lingering smells clung.

John turns back to his task. You spend far, far too long watching him. The way his shoulders dip and arms change shape as he uses them. When the cot is built and John stands he turns and catches sight of you, you give a panicked smile and flee for the counter where you had left the mask.

Slamming your body into your chair you turned on your ring light, pulled your black thread, and focused diligently on fixing the holes you had been asked to address. John did not reappear for nearly an hour. You had finished the mask sooner than that but had not yet found the fortitude to go and wake him.

The creases on his face matched the lines on the shoulder of his shirt, and the slight drool stain.

“Right on time?”

You smile and nod.

“Well let’s settle up and I will find a reason to be back in a few days.” John returns to the customer side of the counter, sure of himself and you.

“You don’t have to pay me to come nap if that is all you need,” you start.

He cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“My men are hard on clothes. If I can get you some business I feel less bad about using you for some shut-eye.”

Supposing you had to accept that answer you unlock your tablet and complete the transaction.

Once his card clears you pass over the mask.

“You’re jewelry box should be done by Christmas.”

He drops the statement as if he forgot to bring it up until now.

“Christmas should be fine, I don’t have many plans though I will be out of town the week of Christmas proper. I will be visiting my grandmother.” Paternal grandmother since your mother was not allowed to visit, but no need to mention that.

“We will have to find some time to ensure I can get you the gift then,” he smiled as he said it.

“I told you I would pay for it John,” you chide.

With a shrug, he tucked the mask into his pocket and stepped back from the counter.

“Can’t pay me for a Christmas present dove.”

With that, he waved and pushed through the front door.

“The hell I can’t,” you spoke to the empty shop.

Part 3 | Part 5

Masterlist

[hazbinshusk]

husk x afab!reader. you're a kept pet in the casino, making your way as husk's personal assistant. you've got a good working relationship, but unfortunately he's finding it harder and harder to concentrate around you. the solution is simple if he doesn't want to send you away: he needs to fuck you and those sexy little stockings of yours out of his system. 1.8k

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He doesn’t know how much more he can take of this.

Husk has been distracted. For days now. And an Overlord distracted, in or out of a gamble… it’s far too dangerous for Husk to let it keep happening. He knows better, he really does. And he’s usually far better at keeping control of any given situation. So, why can’t he stop watching you?

It’s not his fault… it’s yours.

Yours, and those fucking stockings you’re wearing.

You’ve been his personal assistant for the last six months – an owned soul tied to his casino and earning your keep running his day-to-day business. Most of the staff here are owned by him, and they ensure that they don’t end up among the chips on the table by doing a good job. And really, he’s had no complaints about you – you’ve done your job well, even seemed to enjoy it. But still, every damn day you’ve come dressed in a short skirt and a button-down and those motherfucking stockings. They shouldn’t be so distracting… nothing about your clothing is overly sinful, especially by Hell’s standards. Occasionally he’ll see a flash of cleavage as you bend over, a sliver of skin above the waistband of the skirt if it comes untucked… nothing more.

But the stockings… they always seem so professional, but when you sit down, he can see the hem of your skirt ride up on your thighs and the lace lining the top of them will be exposed. And despite the fact that Husker can confidently say that he’s just about seen and done it all since he’s arrived in Pentagram City, he hasn’t been able to stop fixating on you since he’s realized you wear thigh-highs.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself as he realizes he’s misplayed another hand, a low growl playing through the back of his throat. You’d just passed the table to set a drink in front of him, and his eyes had turned to that brief glimpse of the swell of your breasts as he’d caught the scent of your perfume. He tosses his cards on the table, tossing back his drink and slumping back in his chair.

He sits like that for a moment, claws circling the rim of the heavy crystal tumbler, his tail twitching back and forth. The other players have sensed the shift in his mood, and even the ones benefitting from his bad luck know better than to comment.

Husk stubs out his cigar in the nearest ashtray, turning his gaze towards you.

“Doll.”

You look up from where you’re standing obediently against the wall.

“I need a word.”

You nod, training your face into a well-practiced mask of professionalism despite your confusion at the sudden request. He stands, waving a hand towards the elevator to his penthouse, and you follow after him without a word. Husk doesn’t say anything until he has you upstairs, and every moment in the ride up has you burning with unspoken tension. You twist your hands together behind your back as your only outward show of nerves. It isn’t often that your Overlord is displeased with you, and even then, he’s never pulled himself away from the table to reprimand you. Hell, you’d started to think that he might even be growing fond of you, but perhaps that was wishful thinking. You were just a pet, after all.

Husk set himself down in a plush, velvet armchair the color of merlot, and you move automatically to the bar in the corner to fix him a drink. He takes it from you with a gruff hum, his claws brushing against your fingers. Husk nods, indicating for you to stand in front of him, and you do so immediately.

His tail is still twitching back and forth by his feet.

Husk watches you over the rim of his glass for a long moment, and something in his gaze makes your insides burn. You swallow, squeezing your thighs together. He notices, and embarrassment floods through you as his gaze drops to your skirt.

“You’re a distraction.”

You blink, surprised. “I’m… sorry, sir?”

He blinks, slowly, taking another sip of his drink. He sets the glass aside. “Do you like your job here, doll?”

“Yes,” you nod, and mean it. You like… spending time with him, even if only to fetch him a drink and manage his schedule with the other Overlords and potential new contracts. And as far as soul contracts go, you'd heard of much worse treatment.

“Good,” he tells you, holding out a paw. You hesitate, confused, before taking it, breath catching as he tugs you closer to him. Your knees are caged in by his own, your shins meeting the edge of the armchair. “I guess that means you’re not distractin’ me durin’ my business on purpose, hm?”

You shake your head. “I didn’t—”

“I didn’t think so,” he continues in that velvet voice of his. You can feel the power of it between your thighs, send a tickle down your spine. “Because you’re a good girl, aren’t you, doll?”

You nod, a soft whine slipping past your lips despite yourself.

Husk smiles, huffing a quiet, amused breath. “So, does that mean you’ll do something for me, pet?”

Swallowing, you nod again, just once. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he replies, shifting back against the chair more comfortably. “Then come here, and stand over me.”

The instruction stuns you for a moment, but he doesn’t repeat himself; he just arches a brow expectantly. You do as he asks, toeing off your shoes before letting him retake your hand and help you up onto the armchair. You stand with a foot on either side of him, flushing as you stand with his face set only a few inches lower than your crotch.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and your breath hitches as he runs his paws up over the back of your legs, sweeping them from ankle all the way up to your thighs. They settle there, squeezing at them. He watches the way your flesh bulges ever so slightly over the edge of the lace. “Now, lift up your skirt.”

Your hands shake as you do as he commands, eyes squeezing closed as you hear him hum his approval. You feel the cold shock of his nose brush against your inner thigh before his mouth is suddenly against your clothed cunt, and you moan, almost collapsing on top of him.

“Fuck…” he mutters, his tongue tasting you through your underwear. Even dulled by the fabric, the rough texture of it makes your eyes roll back, your hands curling into fists around the skirt you have bunched up by your sides.

Husk’s claws dig into your flesh, an arm banded around each thigh to hold you in place over him, his fangs tear at your panties and he tastes you in earnest, tongue lapping at your clit before dipping into your already dripping hole. He groans against you at the flavor of it, the threads of your stockings popping under his claws. You find yourself rocking your hips against his mouth, the alternating sensations of his cold nose and his rough tongue against your clit making you see stars.

“Fuck, sir,” you moan as you feel one hand move up to clutch at your ass beneath your skirt, and you’re rewarded for the sound by him sucking on your clit. “Fuck!”

“Taste so good,” his voice is muffled against your cunt, the heat of his breath teasing at the slick skin of your inner thighs, and your knees shake. He lets you lean them against his shoulders, and when you dare to curl your fingers in the fur by his ears Husk groans aloud, claws digging into your skin hard enough to draw blood. “Such a good girl for daddy.”

“God…” you whimper, and when he purrs your legs shake beneath you, threatening to collapse out from beneath you. “Please…”

“Hmm…” he sounds, pressing a biting kiss to the inside of your thigh, just above the lace of your stockings. “‘Please’ what, baby?”

“I need… I need…” you whine as he returns his mouth to your cunt, eyes rolling back. “Please can I…”

“Need to say it, pet.” he tells you, the claws on your ass rising further to untuck your shirt and stroke almost absently at the small of your back. It makes you shiver. It drops away then, and you hear the sound of a zipper lowering, the steady sound of his fist stroking at his cock.

“Need to hear you say it,” he continues after a moment, his voice more uneven than before as his own pleasure builds quickly now that he’s finally taken mercy on himself. “Ask your daddy for what you want.”

“Please can I cum, sir?” you choke out, and you swear you can feel him grin against your flesh. “Please, sir, I need…”

Your whole body seizes as you feel a vibration roll from his mouth up into your clit, his dusky voice now layered over the steady thrum of his purring. “Soon, baby… you’re doin’ so good for me. Don’ wanna disappoint me, do you?”

You shake your head, humming a ‘no’, and he rewards you with a deep, rumbling. “That’s my good pet.”

You can barely breathe by the time Husk finally gives you permission to cum, his tongue on your clit as your whole body curls forward above him. You clutch at the back of the chair behind him, white-knuckled, and when you thank him in a shaking, high-pitched whine he cums too, cursing as his head falls back and his hips rise off the cushion. You can feel the warm threads of his cum land on your calf, and the Overlord catches hold of your waist before you can collapse on top of him.

Husk helps you down from the chair onto shaky legs, and he exhales slowly, the mask of detached, professional Overlord returning. He picks up his abandoned drink, raising an eyebrow at you and nodding pointedly down towards his lap. Still, his voice is softer than he intends. “I’ve got a game to get back to, pet.”

You move forward obediently, color flooding your cheeks as you drop to a kneel in front of him and tuck his softening cock back into his pants. He groans lightly at your touch, tossing back the rest of his whiskey as he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes.

He sets the glass aside without looking away, letting himself enjoy the view of you kneeling between his thighs. Your fingers linger against his zipper for a long moment before you remember to pull them away.

“Get yourself cleaned up, doll. You’ve got twenty minutes before you’re expected back downstairs.”

“Yes, sir.”

Husk watches you rise and pull your skirt back down over the lace of your stockings. His eyes never leave you as you do as he ordered and exit the room, and he heaves a long sigh once you’re gone. He closes his eyes tight, raising a hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose.

“…Fuck.”

[itsphoenix0724]

All Things Vile (Eris x Reader)

Summary: A recon mission to the Autumn Court gets more heated than you intended. They say Autumn males fuck like they have fire in their veins-you guess you're about to find out.

Warnings: ROUGH SMUT (this is pure filth and I'm not sorry), kind of dark, oral (m!receiving) choking, bondage

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: It's been a while since I wrote for him, been a while since I wrote in general since I'm adjusting back into my school life. Chapter 3 of MMOTI is drafted and will hopefully be released soon! But anyway here's a smutty Eris fic for all of you <3

The Autumn Court was ablaze in moonlit revelry. The scent of spiced cider and ale consumed the grove along with the smell of the blazing campfire. Fog weaved in and out of the shadow-drenched woods, urging the partygoers to follow its trail into the darkness. You could make out bodies against trees, males and females losing themselves in one another, as you jumped silently along the oak’s branches. It was a simple mission; Get in and get out, that’s what Rhys had said, and that’s what you fully intended on doing. Cloaked in darkness, mask pulled up to hide everything but your eyes, you found your target. 

A drunken blush stained his pale cheeks, and the blood-red silk shirt he wore was unbuttoned so obscenely low you could see the dappling of freckles along his chest in the firelight. His auburn hair was unruly; the waves held down only by the circlet of gold leaves that marked him as the firstborn son of Autumn. His lips were stained from the wine he was sipping and his eyes had taken on a seductive half-lid as he somehow fixed his burning gaze straight onto you. 

Fuck, Rhys was going to kill you. 

Eris stood from his chair in one smooth motion, prowling towards your spot hidden in the woods like a mountain cat, amber eyes burning. You jump down from your tree, weaving through the branches like smoke to try to lose the lordling who’s hot on your tail. Nothing but the sound of your labored breathing and the sounds of footfalls echo through the dark wood. You just need to get to the border, Eris won’t have the gall to cross after you. You can see the green grass of Spring, the pastel pink of the cherry blossoms grotesquely clashing with the russet hues of the forest that currently surrounds you.

You can almost smell the sickly sweet air when a hand encircles your wrist like a hot brand.

The world tips and falls, the grass slipping out from under your feet as you’re dropped into a room, landing on all fours against a hardwood floor. Bands of fire wrap around your wrists and ankles, pinning you to the ground, not burning but holding you there. The tell-tale wave of nausea that means you’ve been winnowed somewhere quickly overwhelms you as you try not to heave onto the plush burgundy rug infront of you.

Eris has taken you to his room at Fir Hall, his private estate away from his life wrapped in court politics, you’re familiar with the home after many spy missions here. Your eyes fix on the Autumn Prince with a burning ferocity, and he does nothing but glare back down at you from where he looms above you.

“Well, well what has fallen into my trap,” He fixes you with a wolfish smile as he pulls down your mask, and your lips peel back into a snarl. “Hello Sweetheart,” he purrs as he tucks a loose hair behind your ears. “I’ve missed you, it’s very nice to see you again.” He tries to run a thumb over your bottom lip, but you snap your teeth in his direction like a feral animal and he wisely pulls his hand away. 

“Bite me,” you growl out as Eris crouches down until he’s at eye level with you. A hound cornering a wild fox, it seemed the hunter had won tonight as he lets out a laugh that leaves a burning caress down your spine. 

“Oh, I intend to.” He promises, stroking his hand along the back of your hair, pulling out the hair tie, and letting it fall around your face. “Now will you mind your manners?” He raises a copper brow, eyes dancing with amusement. The bond buried deep in your chest tries to wiggle free of its restraints, begging you to let it play with the other half of your soul. 

“Never,” you vow to him even as the mischief in his eyes turns to longing. This is torture denying yourself of him. 

But how could you not? 

Beron is still High Lord, if you were to tie yourself to him you would have to abide by his rules. You would rather claw your own eyes out. And if your family ever found out, if Mor ever found out, the shame and guilt would burn more than the roaring fire in the hearth. 

So you have this, you take every mission you can to Autumn and collect all the broken pieces and scraps that you can get. This is what you will allow yourself.

“I thought that would be the case,” Eris gets up and languidly strolls away from you, plucking the bottle of bourbon from the cabinet and pouring himself a drink. You watch with adept interest as his ring-clad fingers tighten around the crystalline glass, he strolls over to his bookshelf and plucks a well-loved novel off the dark shelf. 

Then the bastard settles himself into one of the plush armchairs and starts to fucking read. He ignores you as though you’re nothing more than a potted plant in the corner, he doesn’t even so much as glance at you, fully enraptured in his novel. A few minutes pass when you clear your throat. Eris deigns to look bored as he lazily turns his head toward you. 

“Yes?” He asks, propping the book against one knee and taking another sip of his whiskey. Your eyes track the movement of his throat involuntarily. 

“Aren’t you going to do something?” You push, urging him with your eyes as you lift your head through the curtain of your hair. You hope your gaze communicates everything you cannot bring yourself to voice, fearing your body will refuse to allow you air if you try. 

I love you, please don’t ignore me, I need you, play with me

He chuckles a dark sound and picks up his book again, pointedly flicking a page as the rubies on his hands glint in the firelight. 

“I’m not in the business of playing with unwilling toys,” Eris supplies, purposely staring at the fire instead of you. “Perhaps I should call Rhysand to collect you and tell him I don’t appreciate being spied on. Perhaps, he will never send you back here.” His brows scrunch in frustration but you both know that the threat is empty. It seems he is tired of your games. 

“What do you want?” You barely grind out, still refusing to relent to the signing inside your soul. “Do you want me to beg? Is that it? Princely bastard.” You practically spit, and faster than the blink of an eye Eris is in front of you, fisting your hair in one hand and tilting your chin to meet his smoldering gaze. 

“Are you ashamed of me?” He questions, and you can see the vulnerability dancing in his eyes. You shake your head as the fire binding your wrists recedes and you move into a more comfortable kneeling position, hands now bound in front of you. He soothes his hand along your cheek again as your brows knit together. You thought that the two of you had a kind of understanding. You had no idea where this was coming from. “I tire of this ruse, my love.” If Eris notices the mournful look in your eyes he says nothing. He strokes a warm hand through your hair, admiring your eyes in the firelight. “Why don’t you show me how much you missed me huh?” The wolfish grin is back and you hum your agreement as he runs his thumb along your bottom lip again, pleased at your cooperation as he slides his finger into your mouth. He thrusts it into your mouth and as you teasingly run your tongue over the pad he lets out a moan that shoots straight to your core. 

He undoes the belt at his waist, pulling his cock out with his hand, and your mouth waters at the sheer size of him. 

“I’m going to fuck your mouth now,” he rumbles, pure authority and power radiating off of him. A glimpse at the future ruler he will become one day. You nod your enthusiastic consent as he grips the back of your head and thrusts into your mouth at a merciless pace. Your head empties as he hits the back of your throat, the hand cupping the back of your hair surprisingly gentle compared to the way he was brutalizing your mouth. “That’s a good girl, take me down your throat.” It spills out of his mouth like he can’t even control it as your eyes roll back in your head at his praise. Eris pushes your mouth all the way down to the base of his dick and holds you there for a few seconds as your nose connects with his pelvic bone. He’s relentless as he uses you for his pleasure and you think that he might bruise your vocal cords. 

He spills down your throat as your binds dissolve into nothing, leaving behind a warm tingling sensation where the fire licked at your limbs. 

You swallow what he gave you, opening your mouth in emphasis as whiskey eyes blow wide with lust. You’re drenched at the sight of his cock already stiffening again. He walks to the mountainous bed in front of you, making himself comfortable against the pillows. 

“Come here pet.” He growls fisting his cock in his hand and crooking his fingers with the other. You start to rise to your legs on sore knees, but you freeze when Eris tuts–holding his hand out to stop you. “No. I want you to crawl to me.” The order wraps around you like warm silk, voice sliding against your bones. You lower yourself back down to the floor, humiliation burning hot on your cheeks as you sway your hips in what you hope to be enticing. He stops you quickly and you look up at him from under fluttering lashes. “Strip. Slowly.” Your face burns even hotter and Eris can’t take his eyes off you as you rise, slowly undoing every single buckle on your leathers and letting them fall to the floor, leaving you entirely exposed to him before climbing onto the bed. His body is so warm against your skin as he draws your mouth to his, the burning taste of cinnamon whiskey floods your mouth. He dominates you even here, claiming you as his tongue wrestles with yours. The moan that slips out of you comes out scratchy from the abuse of your throat, and in a flash, you’re below him as he grinds his hips into yours. 

“Eris,” you whimper as his cock brushes against your folds. You need him to fill you to the brim, wanting him as close as possible. He shushes you gently as he bites at your pulse point, the only goal in his mind is to claim as he sucks dark marks into your neck. 

You’ll surely be wearing only turtle necks for a few weeks after this. 

His warm hands skate down your body, pulling and prodding at your sensitive nipples, letting out a dark chuckle as you whine at his ministrations. Eris mocks your moans as he rubs a finger at your center, rolling the sensitive bundle of nerves between his fingers. Finally, he slips a finger inside of you rubbing at the spot that makes you see stars. He knows exactly where to touch to get you to dissolve, his beautiful mate bending to him like water running through his fingertips. That ring-clad hand curls around your throat, cold metal contrasting with his warm hands, and you keen as the pleasant dizzy feeling takes over your whole body. 

That feeling combined with the addition of another finger in your core sends you hurtling through gold-flecked oblivion.

He pulls his fingers out of you, sucking them into his mouth and moaning as he relishes the taste of you on his tongue. Staring down at your shaking form with smugness in his eyes as he circles the skin of your inner thigh, enjoying the way the muscles quiver under his touch. Eris sinks himself into you, inch by tortuous inch until you can’t tell where your body ends and he begins. He strokes slowly and deliberately, bruising you with his intensity as your vision goes white with searing pleasure every time he moves his hips.

You want him to leave his imprint everywhere on your body, that unanswered bond begging you to never leave this bed again. Eris must feel it too, that golden thread wrapping around his heart begging him to keep you, to never let another male so much as look at you. That makes something ugly twist in his chest and he almost snarls at even the thought of another male near you as his instincts take over and he draws your legs over his shoulders to hit an even deeper part inside of you. Your walls are clenching and fluttering around him as his pace turns ravenous, all you can do is try to hold on as your nails scrape jagged lines down his back. Eris scrapes his teeth over your neck, then he moves down to your nipple biting down as you scream his name before giving the other one equal attention. 

“Who do you belong to pet?” He murmurs in your ear in time with a thrust that's so deep your eyes roll back in your head. “Who’s the only one that can make you feel like this?” You can barely give him anything but a whimper as he devastates your body, pinching your clit in a way that elicits a pleasure-soaked sob. “Scream it for me,” he punctuates it with a slap against the apex of your thighs. 

“Yours Eris, I’m all yours!” You scream as you orgasm, tears running down your flushed cheeks, Eris follows soon after you spilling himself deep inside of you.

He pulls out, disappears into the bathroom, and returns with a clean rag to wipe up the mess he made between your thighs. He collapses onto the mattress next to you and pulls you to his chest, warming his hands with his power as he rubs slow circles into the small of your back. You look up at him and he’s taken aback at the vulnerability in your eyes. “Eris I-” you choke, unable to force the words you so desperately want to say past your lips. He shushes you with a kiss against your forehead. 

“I know,” he mutters into your hairline “I know.” You hold him tighter, blinking back tears as you lock the bond back down in its obsidian shackles,“I’ll wait an eternity for you.” It’s the last thing you hear before closing your eyes as you let him soothe you to sleep.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I trust everything went well?” Rhys asks, raising a dark brow at your form where you stand across from his desk. You subconsciously pull the dark turtleneck further up, the deep purple marks burning like a brand. You scrubbed yourself raw as soon as you winnowed yourself to your apartment, and you’re praying to the Mother that Rhys doesn’t even catch a whiff of Eris or the frankly copious amounts of sex. The thought of Eris enjoying it this morning, pressing his nose against the crook of your neck to make sure it really stuck, before crawling his way down your body to settle in between your thighs makes you triple-check that the steel of your mental shields was still in place.

“Nothing to report,” You rasp, voice destroyed after last night's events. The attempts to clear your throat are doing nothing to help you

“Are you alright?” Rhys questions, wringing his hands together on his desk as he shoots a concerned look. 

“Must just be a chill I caught in Autumn, those woods get cold at night.” You supply and he hums his agreement. 

“Well go rest, you’ve earned it. Perhaps you should see Madja for something to soothe your throat.” Rhys says and you nod your agreement, taking the cue for your dismissal. You wait until his office door clicks shut behind you to let out your sigh of relief, thinking of nothing but soft sheets and warm hands. 

You can only hope you get another mission there soon.

[spicyspiders]

I admire you so much, you literally make the best smut😭😭😭

Could you make a miguel o' hara x bottom male reader smut. Where miguel likes reader but has never been able to act on his urges until, the other Spider-Man start to flirt and be more friendly with him. So on the mission to save the Multiverse Miguel Pulls reader a abetting building or Warehouse and fucks him. With some degrading, dummification, and biting.

I have other requests for call of duty but couldn't help but write this. I'm so excited for the new movie and to see Miguel on screen. There isn't any topping or bottoming, but it's implied that Miguel will be the top when they actually have sex. Warnings for rimming, intercrural sex, and Miguel bites the reader until he bleeds. Even though I changed a few things, I hope you still like it.

You let out a loud bark of a laugh at what Ben had just said, not realizing how loud it truly was until you looked over and saw Miguel glaring at the two of you. 

“Sorry,” you said, quickly trying to hide the smile that accompanied the laugh. When you looked back over at Ben, you let out a snicker. 

Miguel growled and stepped into your personal space, “enough! Put your mask back on, we’ve got a mission to finish,” he waits until you give a tense nod before he goes back to where he was at the edge of the roof.

“Yours is still off and plus, it’s easier for me to see without it on,” you grumbled, pulling the mask back on. 

“If you weren’t playing around with him all the time,” Miguel gestures angrily at Ben, “you could have fixed it!” 

Ben tried to calm the other man, but his attempt was in vain. He tried placing a hand on his shoulder, but Miguel knocked it away, “we’re going to finish up and then we’ll get back and fix the lenses in his mask,” Ben said. His words made Miguel’s shoulders look a little less tense, but then he went and messed it up again, “we don’t want them to hear,” Ben nodded down to the ground where the group of men you were tailing were gathered. 

His final sentence only made Miguel angrier, his shoulders going tense again, “and whose fault would that be?” He asked furiously. 

You flinched at his rough tone, trying to pull yourself in and make yourself smaller so he would stop looking at you with such anger. You glanced over at Ben, seeing that his body language looked similar to yours. 

When you looked back over to Miguel, you could see that his expression had softened. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, his fangs peeking out from his top lip, but they quickly went away as his mouth closed. 

Miguel turned to face the men down on the ground, leaving you to look at the broad expanse of his back. You wanted to reach out like Ben did to try and comfort him, but instead kept your arms at your sides. 

The men you were trailing were on the move again, “let’s go,” Ben said softly, spurring you into movement. 

The rest of the mission surprisingly went off without a hitch. Afterward, when you were about to leave the warehouse where you had apprehended the group of men, a hand on your arm stopped you. 

“We need to talk,” Miguel said. It was just the two of you, Ben had left with one of the officers to go back to their station and answer questions. 

Miguel pulled his mask off and held it tightly in one hand. The last cop car was leaving but was still close enough to cast a red glow through a window and onto his face, making his eyes look even brighter. He started talking only once you had taken your mask off like he did. 

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he tore his eyes away from yours and let out a breath. When his eyes met yours again, they looked sad, “I scared you,” he finished softly. 

“You’re our leader, aren’t you supposed to be kind of scary?” You smiled softly at him, but he still looked at you with the same expression. You tried reaching out, but Miguel walked away. 

You followed after him, stopping beside him when he leaned up against one of the tables that littered the warehouse. A short time ago, the table had stacks of papers of various plans, schematics, and other blueprints the men you stopped were going to carry out. Now it lay bare. 

Miguel tossed his mask up onto the table before gripping the edge with both hands, “it drives me out of my mind,” he said, keeping his eyes on the table. 

“What does?” You placed your mask down and laid your empty hand on top of his. “Don’t break the table, they might need it for evidence,” you try and joke, but Miguel ignores it. 

“You with him. The way you laugh and how your face lights up,” he spits. 

“Ben?”

At the sound of his name, Miguel finally looks up, fixing his heated gaze on you, “you’re all over each other.”

You shake your head and can’t help but let out a laugh that doesn’t help in wiping the look from Miguel’s eye, “he’s my friend Miguel. Besides, you make me laugh all the time.”

Your words do cause him to relax a little, and his hands loosen from the table, making it easier to run your thumb along his knuckles. You only wish your hands weren’t in your suits and you were able to feel his skin. The warmth you could feel through the suit, you decided, would be enough. 

“Like when?” 

“When we’re training and you knock Ben on his ass,” you answer, watching in satisfaction as one corner of his mouth goes up. 

Miguel steps closer to where he can box you in against the table, nearly chest to chest, “I don’t know if I can make you laugh in the way that he does, but-” 

You press your lips to his, catching him by surprise, but he is quick to respond. You pull back from the soft kiss with a smile, “you already do,” you raise a hand to cup his cheek, “you don’t need to be like Ben. I like you grumpy.”

The smile that your kiss brought to Miguel’s lips was quickly gone, only proving your point further, “I am not grumpy,” he said and turned his head so he could nip at one of your fingers. 

“What are you then?” You pulled your hand away, giggling when Miguel chased after with his sharp teeth. 

“Smart.”

“Smart? What am I then?”

“You’re mine,” he growled and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was rougher than the first and left you with little pricks of pain where Miguel’s fangs grazed your lip. “He wouldn’t fuck you like I’m about to. I know that for a fact,” he whispers into your ear before kissing down the column of your neck. 

“Show me,” you breathe, both groaning when you grind your hips together. 

“You doubt me? I thought you would be smarter than that,” Miguel almost sounds disappointed, but when he presses his mischievous smile into your neck, you think otherwise. He opens his mouth just enough for his fangs to graze the skin, the delicate flesh rising after his teeth make their way across. 

You let out a whimper when his warm tongue laves over the marks. His tongue licks all the way up, not stopping until his lips press to yours and his tongue dips inside. When your tongues meet, you can taste traces of sweat and something darker. Something that is all Miguel. 

It’s Miguel’s turn to grind your hips together when the kiss is over, and the moans you both let out echo through the warehouse. He brings your lips together again and again and again, only stopping for mere moments in between to suck in harsh breaths of air. 

It only takes a few minutes of that until you’re both fully hard in your suits. “Do you have lube?” You ask, gasping around the words when Miguel brings your hips together again. 

“No. Do you?” Miguel’s head thunks onto your shoulder when you shake your head, “fuck.”

“Fuck,” you repeat, “we could just-” you try to bring your hips together again, but Miguel flips you around. 

“I can get you wet enough for my cock,” he says into your ear. 

Through the tight grip he has on your waist with his clawed hands, you push your ass back when he grinds forward, the hot line of his cock right against your ass. At least from how it felt, Miguel’s cock was big, but you knew either way that you still needed lube. 

“I don’t think-”

“Let me try,” he grinds forward again, “please?” He begs. You’ve never heard Miguel beg before, but you learned quickly how warm it made you feel. 

That single word from Miguel is how you find yourself moments later bent over the table with your suit’s pants down around your ankles and a tongue licking around your hole. You knew his spit wasn’t going to be enough, but Miguel sure had a lot of enthusiasm. 

When Miguel goes from long flicks of his tongue around your hole to instead press the wet muscle inside, you bury a hand in his dark hair to try and get his tongue deeper. You let out a moan and turn your face to press your sweaty cheek into the cool metal of the table. 

You tighten your grip when Miguel pulls his tongue out and let out a noise of protest. You feel your knees threaten to buckle when Miguel’s fangs meet the flesh of your ass cheeks. He bites down harder than he had on your neck, and nearly breaks the skin, but stops just before it happens. 

He gives the same treatment to the other one. The first brought tears to your eyes and when he moved on the second, they spilled over. The hot tears falling down your face feel just as hot as his tongue as he runs it over the marks he left. 

The skin he marks burns, even after he runs his tongue over it soothingly. The pain of it is overtaken by pleasure as Miguel continues to ruin you with his lips, teeth, and tongue. Your eyes fly open and more tears leak out when he pulls back and spreads your ass cheeks so he can spit onto your hole. 

Miguel had made sure to fold his claws in, not wanting the sharp instruments to risk cutting you, but you can still feel light pricks as he squeezes the globes of your ass. He chases after the spit as it runs down your taint and nearly hits your balls. After dragging it back up, he goes back down to suck at your balls, licking over the delicate skin when he sucks each of them into his mouth. 

Your cock aches in the open air of the warehouse, no doubt dripping a pool of precome onto the floor. You want to reach down and wrap a hand around it, but you’re eager to see what Miguel does next and want to instead focus on that. 

Your ass and the back of your legs go cold when Miguel pulls away. You lift yourself on your shaky arms so you can crane your head back and watch him. His eyes lock onto yours as he undoes his pants so his cock can spring free. 

His cock is a mouthwatering sight that demands your eyes go down to it. The head of his thick cock, like yours, is a wet sticky mess that leaks down onto Miguel’s fingers when he wraps his hand around the base. 

“Bring your legs together, as tight as your can,” Miguel says, his voice rough and raspy. “Good boy,” he rewards you with a soft kiss to the back of your neck when you comply. He guides his cock into the tight channel you’ve created with your thighs. 

Miguel wastes no time in thrusting into the tight space, his precome slicking up his path. He pants hotly into your ear, his hands gripping your hips tight enough that you know will leave bruises. His hard cock occasionally brushes yours or rubs against your balls, sending flashes of pleasure through your body on each pass. 

“I’m going to fuck you stupid when we get home and make you forget all about Ben,” he whispers darkly into your ear. 

Your head falls back onto his shoulder when he takes one of his hands from your hips and wraps it around your cock. He jerks you off in time with his thrusts and it doesn’t take long for you to spill across his fingers and the table below with a loud moan. 

When Miguel comes, he bites into the skin of your neck, this time breaking the skin. He moves quickly to wrap his arm around your chest as pain blood out around the wound his teeth make. He holds you securely to his body and licks up the blood that seeps out when his teeth pull away.

Your healing factor makes it so by the time you both are done cleaning up, your wounds have all almost healed. 

“Can you walk?”

You scoff at Miguel in disbelief, “yes I can fucking walk,” you say, angrily pulling the rest of your suit back on. 

Miguel leaves you with a smirk before he puts his mask back on, “I’ll ask you again later,” he says before walking out of the warehouse and zipping into the air on a web. 

“Look who's got jokes now!” You yell after him and shoot out your web to follow him. 

 Sometime later when you’re back home in Miguel’s bed you ask: “you aren’t going to kick him out are you?” You ask, looking up at him as you lay against his chest. You hadn’t been fucked stupid, instead deciding on another night when there was less excitement of another mission. 

Miguel runs a finger across where he had bitten you. Though it had healed, he remembered exactly where he left his mark. “If he doesn’t stop looking at you like that I will,” he murmurs darkly. 

“Like what?”

“You really aren’t that smart,” Miguel says fondly before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Miguel lets out a yelp when you pinch one of his nipples harshly in retaliation.

[lonewisteria]

Damage Control

Chpt. 3

☽ chpt. 1 | chpt. 2

☽ wooo I have never posted smut publicly before. I hope it’s good for y’all, mwah. More to come. There will be a softer smut scene, I swear.

☽ notes: MINORS DNI, smut, alcoholism, fem reader, gn pronouns, ram!Schlatt x dog!reader, use of ‘bitch’ and ‘whore’, fingering, size kink if you squint, kind of pet play (use of ‘pup’ and ‘mutt’), rough smut, eating out, edging, hickies/biting, unprotected pnv, soft aftercare

☽ summary: you leave Schlatt the next day to go to work, stern about the fact he needs to not drink. But when you return, to see he had alcohol, things get heated.

☽ words: 3,750

It was the following day after babying Schlatt in his cabin. Since your little intervention, he holed himself up in the main bedroom, even as you tidied up and washed his work clothes. Whatever, you can’t be there at every moment to fuss over him.

That’s what you keep telling yourself, yet your mind drifts to him all day at work. You promised to check on him later and now, you’re nothing but a heaping puddle of anxiety. Schlatt is more stubborn than he appeared, but you hope, just this once, he’d lay off the alcohol.

As soon as the clock strikes 10pm, you’re out the door before anyone can say goodbye. Your ears are twitching and your hands fumbling with your keys as you approach your car.

And while you drive, your fingers fidget on the wheel, the image of him leaning into you lingering in your mind, making you reluctantly flustered. You felt like you were losing it. No one would believe you if you said Schlatt stared at you with kindness. He gazed at you like he needed you, and not solely the TLC sense.

You park your car next to his and scurry to the front door, knocking before stepping inside the cabin. Your eyes immediately zero in on the half-empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table. There Schlatt was, head lolled against the couch cushions, some rap music flowing from the radio, proving you wrong about trusting him alone with his vices.

“Fuck, Schlatt!” You growl as you stalk over to him (not without frustratingly slipping your shoes and coat off first) with your tail lashing, “I thought we said no more booze until you’re a bit better?”

Half a bottle is practically nothing for him, but alcohol is alcohol. Trust is trust. Your canines flash in a snarl as you snatch the whiskey, glaring down at him.

“I’m not going to stand by and watch you destroy yourself. I won’t-“

“Don’t you dare fuckin lecture me,” he snarls, surging to his feet in one smooth motion, towering over you as he jabs a finger at your chest, “I didn’t ask for your help. And I sure as hell don’t need your pity.”

He grabs the bottle back from your grasp, causing your fingers to touch. The brief contact sends a flutter in his stomach, a heat that has nothing to do with alcohol.

“I’ll drink when I damn well please, you bitch. I’ll do whatever the hell I want, consequences be damned,” he snaps.

He leans in, so close you can feel his whiskey-laden breath on your face as he continues. “You think you can fix me with your pretty words and concerned looks?”

His proximity makes your ears pin back and your tail bristle at his harsh tone. The racing of your heart going against your will.

“You’re the fucking President!” you growl, “you should be at the capital, not in some cabin trying to kill your liver!”

You know you should push him away and leave him wallowing in his own turmoil, but you keep rambling. “You’re so fucking arrogant. Why can’t you think of people other than yourself, huh?”

Ouch. Schlatt can’t lie, that one bruises more than any punch. He masks it with an icy stare as his hand shoots out to take your ears in one hand, like he’s holding a squirming animal. The action causes you to bare your teeth at him, desperately withholding your urge to fuck up his pretty face.

“I am thinking of my people,” he hisses, “every fuckin day, I’m thinking of em’. I’m trying to keep this country from falling apart at the seams.”

Now your foreheads are touching. Your breaths mingling. Your shared pique simmering together. His voice drops an octave as his gaze bores into you.

“But sometimes, I need a fuckin break. To let loose, forget about the weight of everything,” his hands release your ears to move to your face, thumb brushing over your lower lip.

“And right now, I want to forget about everything. Except you.”

As much as you want to lash out and tell him to fuck off, everything about this —and him— is intoxicating.

“You’re a fucking mess Schlatt,” you growl, “a drunk, self-destructive mess and you’re dragging me down with you.”

Even as those words leave your mouth, they’re only partially true. You aren’t being dragged anywhere – you’re choosing this. You’ve chosen to help him, fully aware it’s a mistake.

You’ve chosen to fist your hands in his shirt and pull him in for a demanding kiss. Schlatt groans into your mouth and is quick to draw you into his lap on the couch, setting the whiskey down so his selfish hands can wander freely.

Nothing else matters. Not the presidency, not Manberg, not the consequences. There’s only him.

He breaks the kiss, leaving you both panting, his hands flying to undo the buttons of your shirt. His fingers fumble, and in his eagerness, he snaps a button off and rips the fabric, prompting you to smack him upside the head.

“I’ll buy you a new fuckin’ top,” he pants, pushing the shirt off your shoulders to fall on the floor, “I’ll buy you a fuckin’ hundred of em’.”

You connect lips again and his hands dig into your ass to pull you closer. You swallow his groan as you grind against him, his bulge straining against his sweats. Now, you can’t see the damn thing, too prioritized on the sensation of his lips and hands, but it’s unmistakably thick. The butterflies swarming in your stomach are incessant at the thought.

Schlatt’s hands slide around to undo the buttons of your slacks to slide them down your hips. Before he slithers past your underwear, he brings two fingers to your lips, which you obediently take into your mouth. He finger fucks your face, groaning as he grows impossibly harder while your tongue swirls around his digits. When he withdraws, he promptly trails them down and circles your entrance past your underwear. You’re so wet. So horrifically wet that perhaps he didn’t need to leave your lips a saliva ridden mess.

“You’re so fuckin soaked already,” he teases, barely brushing your folds, “what? Ya like when I’m a dickhead to you?”

You grit your teeth, ready to bark a retort, but his fingers shut you up as they slide into you. Slowly he pumps them, adding a gentle curl as he does so. Your hips involuntarily buck against his hand, your walls desperately clenching around him. Reaching down, you wrap your hand around his wrist, guiding his fingers deeper. You practically hold him in place as you rock your hips in time with his thrusts.

This man fantasized about you far more than he cares to admit. He’s experienced with a fair share of lovers; dainty rabbit hybrids, his playful asshole of an ex, and cocky traitors of the nation. But never such a dominant, forthright guard dog like yourself. This is proving a delightful challenge and he is relishing it.

In retaliation for his arrogant comment, you lean into his neck and start marking up his skin. Your moans rumble against him and he responds by increasing the tempo of his fingers. There’s an attitude in how you bite and suck his neck, but of course he savors it, sinking further into the couch and closing his eyes momentarily.

His thumb starts pressing and rubbing your clit, causing your hips to sputter and heartier moans to escape you. Unable to endure the sight of your bra any longer, he unhooks it and tosses it carelessly over his shoulder. A large hand presses onto your chest, pushing you away from his neck so he can fully appreciate the view. Your tits are moving with each grind of your hips and he grits his teeth to suppress his desires.

You continue to shamelessly grind against his hand and grip his shoulders. “Fuck…you just gonna sit there…” you demand breathlessly, tail thrashing behind you, “and finger me?”

In one swift motion, Schlatt acts on your taunt and stands with you in his arms, withdrawing his fingers from you without a second thought. He barges through the bedroom door and practically tosses you on the bed, watching as your body —especially your tits— bounce from the impact. His hands make quick work of your bottoms, pulling your slacks and underwear all the way down to throw aside. This leaves you completely bare to his gaze while he hovers over you, fully clothed.

“Shit, your rack is nice,” he mumbles aloud, reaching down to grab your breast, but you seize his grabby hand.

“Hey, asshole,” you snap, “I’m not gonna be the only one naked right now.”

“Oh, right,” he mutters, surprisingly compliant as he strips his shirt, leaving you to drink in his bare torso. Seeing him yesterday in a mere towel was quite enough to ignite your imagination, but this was a completely different experience that had you clenching around nothing.

And when he shimmies his bottoms off, letting his cock slap against his stomach, your eyes widen. Your observation was correct. He was far bigger than anything else you’ve taken. Of all the times you’ve faced this ram, you haven’t had an ounce of fear glazing your eyes – until now.

Schlatt is quick to notice it too, a light laugh leaving him as he climbs onto the bed. “So, you’re not scared of me when I’m drunk and yellin at ya, but you’re scared of my cock?”

“Shut up and touch me already,” you growl, the gentle flush across your face betraying your bravado.

He snickers at you and cups your tits in his large hands, feeling them up, only subtly touching your nipples. You can sense his restraint, which goes against his character, but you’ve also come to truly comprehend him from recent encounters. Beneath the harsh demeanor lies a ram seeking a tenderness he somehow found in you.

This progresses for another minute before he leans down, leaving wet kisses on the flush of your breasts. Biting, sucking, and kissing everywhere except your erect nipples. Your hands tangle in his hair, urging him to pay attention to them, but he only grunts, lost in his worship of you.

Ultimately, he relents, pressing the flat of his tongue against a nipple, eliciting a relieved sigh from you. He licks and sucks on it before shifting to the other, his hand massaging the abandoned breast.

After lavishing you with attention and saliva slicked skin, Schlatt kisses downward. His lips leave a heated, sloppy trail as they traverse your stomach, hips, and mound, ending it off with a fleeting kiss to your clit that has you squirming.

Unlike earlier, he dives right in, tongue probing your entrance, nose nestled in your folds, and facial hair rugburning your inner thighs. A choir of moans and whimpers rise from your throat. Your hands instinctively grip his hair. The lewd noises he’s producing down there vibrate against your core, making you curse and whine.

His hands clutch your legs and push them closed around his head, allowing you to squeeze. The way he’s devouring you makes it clear he’s been starving, with nothing but alcohol fueling him for days. Right before you snap in ecstasy, he removes himself. Your arousal glistens on the lower half of his face, the shit eating grin he’s wearing is slick and soaked. You’re left in shambles on the sheets, body neglected and thrumming with arousal.

You’re not given a minute to regain yourself before his cockhead is bullying your entrance. Seems like his restraint has limits considering he’s now sinking in you, fast, causing you to jerk up and claw at his abdomen. Your eyes are wide and a gasp escapes your lips as he shoves himself into you.

“Fuck, Schlatt!” you hiss with your ears pinned back, “slow down you fucking jerk!”

Despite your harsh words, you feel yourself responding eagerly to his switched harsh treatment. It’s been too long since you allowed yourself to feel anything and Schlatt’s awakened desires you thought were long buried.

“Sorry, doll,” he grunts out, removing a couple inches from you until the burning sensation dissipates.

“Sorry, doll?” you mock and raise your eyesbrows. There’s a coy smile plastered on your face at his sudden shift in demeanor. He’s apologizing and calling you ‘doll’? Who is this man?

Though he disregards your banter, save for a quick glare, before shoving a pillow under your hips and throwing your legs over his shoulders. His thumb lands on your clit, carefully pulling it up to grant him an unobstructed view of him thrusting into you inch by inch, little by little. His movements are shallow and controlled, but you see his muscles tense as he fights himself from slamming into you.

The feeble movements are enough to coax strained whines and moans from you. You lean your head back and close your eyes, focusing on the pleasurable way he’s easing himself in.

“Nuh-uh, look at me,” Schlatt demands, his hand grabbing your hair and pulling your head back up.

“Wanna see that pretty face,” he adds and you obey. You watch as his thrusts grow longer and more brutal, until he’s fully sheathed in you, causing your jaw to go slack and eyebrows knit together. As much as your eyes want to roll back, you keep them trained on your joined bodies.

The gentleness he presented fades away when he starts moving. He’s ramming into you now, the lewd squelching from your sopping cunt is music to his ears. His eyes never leave you, drinking in the way your cunt stretches around him, how your tits bounce with each thrust, and your face contorts in pleasure. Fuck, he’d only ever dreamed of witnessing your usually stern face go tight with ecstasy. Now that it was happening, he couldn’t stop himself from driving into you.

“I’m gonna fuck that stupid attitude right out of ya,” he growls, letting his elbows cage your head and his hair tickle your face, “you got no idea what ya do to me, mutt.”

Oh, but you did have an idea, and it was playing out right before you. “Make you a whore?” you can’t resist teasing him.

“Fuck, that attitude,” he growls, delivering a particularly harsh thrust, watching your back arch and hands fist the sheets.

You could barely thrust up into him with how your thighs were pressed against his stomach, sticky with combined sweat. Each thrust makes the bulge in your stomach noticeable, a testament to his size compared to you. Finally, he has control over you and that defiant mouth of yours. Even if it’s simply in bed, it’s more than enough.

His cock is virtually abusing your cervix, the pleasure-pain having you emit pornographic moans. The pressure makes your eyes water, but god, you love it. This was everything you imagined and then some.

He’s pistoning in and out of you, causing your arousal to leak down the curve of your ass and soak the pillow and sheets. At this point, you’re utterly brainless, his cock sending you reeling under him. Your tail wags furiously against the sheets, the noises your making only spurring his momentum on. His horns whack against the headboard with how rough he is, an evident reflection of his behavior outside this room.

“Shoulda fucked you sooner,” he grunts, burying his face into your neck, biting down harsh and sucking your skin between his sharp teeth. You’re completely encased by him now. His heavy balls are slapping your ass as a white ring builds at the base of his cock with each rut.

Honestly? He’s pissed it took so damn long to train this stupid dog into submission. Pissed that your cunt feels nothing but perfect gushing around his cock, sucking him in. It’s almost like a reward for putting up with your defiance for so long.

“See? All fuckin quiet,” he huffs against your skin, landing a brutal thrust that brings you slightly back to reality. Just enough clarity to bite back.

Literally.

You snap at his ear, the fur standing on end when your teeth connect with it. He curses against your neck, but continues to plow into you and mark you up all pretty for your coworkers to see.

His hand snakes between your bodies and finds your clit, rubbing and pressing your attitude back into place. He finishes his work on your neck with a lingering kiss before pulling back to watch your face. You had released his ear and were back to a fucked out slump on his bed. Damn dog.

Your eyes meet and a grin stretches across his face. You bite back a moan, only to hiss at him. “I fucking hate you. Keep going.”

The laugh that leaves Schlatt’s lips resonates off the walls, mingling with your joined squelching sounds and your moans and whimpers. His ministrations on your clit persist and he brings his free hand to your thigh, clawed fingers digging into your skin.

He adjusts his angle, all the while fucking you, so he can thrust in an upward motion to hit that sweet, rough spot in your cunt. Your thigh winds tight beneath his touch, signifying just how close you are. If that isn’t enough motivation to keep going, then how you claw at his back, leaving red welts, certainly is. The variety of noises you make higher and louder definitely are.

“You like this, huh, pup?” he growls, fingers deftly rubbing your clit, eyes fucking your body alongside his cock.

“Lettin the emperor fuckin ruin ya, fuckin shit-“

When you clench around his stupidly fat cock, an orgasm hitting you sharply, he groans. Your eyes start to roll back and flutter shut, but he’s quick to grab one of your ears to redirect your attention. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as your claws dig into his back for support, eyes trained on his as he keeps fucking you.

Even though you’re finished, left limp against the sheets, he isn’t. He’s using your poor pussy like a damn toy now, chasing higher and higher, thrusts erratic, until he ultimately breaks. He buries himself as deep as he can, his cum shooting loads into your cunt as his face stuffs back into your neck.

Both of you linger like that, Schlatt still shoved inside you, his body acting like a weight blanket against your’s. It’s silent, the only sound being your shared panting.

Well…you didn’t expect this entire runaway situation to evolve into this. A traitorous part of you is glad it did though.

Without a word, he pulls out and sits back on his heels, watching your combined releases grow the wet spots on the sheets and pillow. He shuffles off the bed and into the connecting bathroom, the sound of running water making your limp ears perk. He returns with a damp rag — and is that Benedictine? Does he have alcohol at his disposal everywhere?

“Thought I said no more drinking,” you huff. He watches you push yourself into a sit, body slow and clumsy as the high fades.

When he reaches the bed, he hands you the bottle. “For me, but not for you,” he laughs, “drink. You deserve it.”

Your fingers tremble as you take the bottle, letting the alcohol burn your throat as you take a sip. No wonder he had boxes of this lying around; it’s delicious.

As you go in for seconds, your eyes scan him as he towers over the side of the bed. Bruises and bite marks adorn his neck, one in particular with broken skin, along with the glisten of his slick cock, his tousled hair, and clawed up shoulders. Damn, he’s fine, even after an intense fuck.

He notices your fawning and smirks, his fingers pressing against the worst bite to examine the meager smear of blood. No way he was going to parade around Manberg like this, as much as he wanted to flaunt it all. You’ll work on hiding it later.

He leans over and brushes strands of hair from your flush face. His touch is gentle, tender even, a crazy contrast to how he was fucking you raw minutes ago.

“You good?” he asks, searching for any hint of regret or pain on your face. But all he finds is bliss.

“Yeah. I’m okay,” you reassure him.

“Good pup.” He gives you a soft pat to your cheek that causes your tail to wag softly and ears to twitch. He notices and smiles a bit, watching your eyes soften at his praise.

After adjusting the towel, he leans down to start cleaning you up, the cloth warm on your skin. He takes his time, wiping away the cum smears on your thighs, chuckling when he reaches your folds and you suck in a sharp breath.

“What was that earlier? Calling me doll?” You tease, setting the Benedictine on the nightstand.

“Fuck off and let me take care of ya,” he grumbles.

You let him finish without added remarks and he cleans himself off before disposing of the rag in the corner of the room. He herds you off the bed momentarily so he can tug the top blanket and pillow off to join the rag, considering the fabric was soaked from both of you. Wow, he’s actually taking care of things for once! Granted, it’s all aftercare, but you’re not complaining.

You pull the covers back and crawl under them, Schlatt following in suit. You’re unsure if cuddling was his thing, but he proves you wrong by wrapping his arms around you and resting his head on your chest. Of course he likes cuddling; you should know by now that the whole tough guy persona was mostly that, a facade.

Your fingers start to fiddle with his hair and trace the lines of his horns, while his hand draped over you traces patterns on your skin. He knows he shouldn’t indulge in this moment of vulnerability, but your warmth, your tenderness, no person could come to resist it.

You nurse on the same thoughts. You’re always so guarded with everyone, but something about his gentleness, the warm intimacy after being railed, makes it difficult for you to maintain those walls.

And a part of you wishes tomorrow would never come, that you both could avoid returning to Manberg and leaving behind whatever is blossoming between you two.

[beevean]

To what extent do you think Lanolin could have been more salvageable if we as readers weren't told so explicitly that Duo is Mimic? Because then at least we wouldn't have gone into these issues with the knowledge EVERYTHING Lanolin is doing is blithely wrong and going to blow up on her eventually?

Be less of an asshole? lol

Try to read the past and current arc mentally replacing Duo with, idk, Gadget. Let's pretend Lanolin is sticking out for a real rookie who has nothing but good intentions, and it's the others that are weirdly aggressive against him - this is what is going on from Lanolin's perspective.

Is it still right of her to talk down Silver like he's a little boy, without listening to what he had to say about the accident where he almost died?

Is it still right of her to snatch things out of Tangle's hands like she too is a little girl?

Is it still right of her to use physical force to subdue her own teammate (who also happens to have PTSD over Mimic, and Lanolin knows), instead of trying to deescalate the situation?

Is it still right of her to glare menacingly at Tangle after putting her under pressure on what to do with Silver?

Is it still right of her to treat Sonic, Tails and Amy hurt in an accident like they're nothing but hazards on the road? Again, the issue is not that "they're friends", like Tangle puts it: those are three people who could have been wounded.

Is it still right of her to be so angry at Sonic going behind her back that, after Clutch was outed to be a scumbag who tricked the Restoration, while a ship is about to crash and kill everyone, her first thought is to berate her teammates for keeping the secret and then going to arrest him because he needs to be punished?

Can you see how her behavior has nothing to do with Mimic, especially in the current arc?

But okay, let's focus on the first part. I get that Lanolin has a bias for rookies because she sees herself in them. I get that she doesn't understand why Silver and Whisper are so aggressive and are accusing the rookie of wild shit, and from her point of view this behavior is irrational. But even back then, she doesn't act like a leader of a team, she acts like her only concern is protecting the rookie and the others are just meanies. Whisper is supposed to be her teammate and new friend. There is not a moment where Lanolin tries to keep things civil and tries to understand why the two are certain the rookie is up to no good. She jumps to shutting them up and punishing them way too quickly.

Lanolin is an incompetent leader who brute forces her way in because she has zero charisma. This does make sense in some way: she is inexperienced, and perhaps overcompensating for her perceived weakness. The problems then are three:

she doesn't do anything good for anyone who isn't the rookie. Again, she is supposed to be Tangle and Whisper's teammates and new friend. Why do they stick with her, when she has done nothing but harming them?

she never lets up, even in private. Hell, the last time we see her in private, away from everyone's eyes (except Duo), she is venting her frustrations on a punching bag. She is still as angry as she always is. The mask of the tough leader is not a mask: this is just who she is.

the others don't really express enough frustration at her sloppy methods. Tangle admits that she's scared of Lanolin, but it kind of dies there. This is the crux of the discourse around her: how much are we meant to dislike Lanolin? From what I can see, the story sees her as flawed, but nowhere near as flawed as she actually is. Like her only issue is that she is "bossy" and not that she is abusive.

Lanolin just doesn't have any redeeming qualities for her to be interesting despite her huge flaws. We are told that her behavior stems from the desire of protecting people and not making them feel helpless like she used to be... but it doesn't come off that way, when she is effectively protecting one (1) person. So, a good way to "fix" her would be to show her thawing for her friends and being nice to them, actually showing that she does mean well. Or making her doubt that she's doing the right thing. Or making her apologize for assaulting Whisper, you know. Show some kindness in her underneath the tough no-nonsense exterior.

[mixreality]

"Good girl"

My inner psychopath can't handle it anymore, so... there it is. English is not my native language! So sorry for mistakes!

Asa Emory with Fem!Reader who becomes his little puppy.

A bit of NSFW in the end

You love animals so much! In your spare time, you work part-time as a dog walker. It was a sunny summer day when HE saw you walking in the park surrounded by several four-legged barking creatures, jumping around, asking to throw them a toy.

Your big eyes, your smile, and your pale (or dark), clear skin glowing in the sun. Perfect. A perfect one to his collection. He's been watching you for quite too long… It's time for the little dog to learn her place…

Asa would be mad at himself it if there was even a single mark on your beautiful body from his instruments or other stuff. So, instead of intravenous anesthesia, he has to make do with a chloroform rag that was securely fixed on your face while you slept in your room. I hope you had a good night's sleep on the way to your new "home".

A nasty white, cold light stabs you sharply in the eyes. Surprisingly, you're not sitting like Gollum in a cramped box, but lying on a creaky bed. The room looks like a mental ward… or a prison.

You want to look around and try to open the door, but something is in your way. Something cold and heavy around your neck. "A collar?! What am I, a dog?!". Right when you thought about it, the door opened with a terrible creak and a masked man entered the room. Your face read animal fear, tears began to flow from your eyes, your voice trembled and begged for mercy.

Asa slowly came closer and closer, viewing you with a kind of… pity? Salty tears leave ugly red marks on your soft skin. So bad. They need to be wiped away. He runs his palm over your cheeks, stroking your face, so caring. At this moment, you feel weirdly…

You cannot remember, how you found yourself walking down an endless halls on all fours, with a chain around your neck like a leash. How long have you been walking like that? Judging by the chafing kneepads, it's been three months for sure, maybe more. Your Stockholm syndrome is kicking in.

And, after some more time, the abandoned building is replaced by a warm house. HIS house. You're used to being treated like a dog, no, you LIKE being treated like dog. You still walk around on all fours, with a leather collar and a gag in your mouth. Good girls should be quiet.

You now have your own little comfy place with a huge cot and a cage (in case you misbehave), somewhere in the furthest room that hardly anyone goes into. When Asa is in the mood, he lets you sit at his legs while he works, or lie on him on the couch. Amazingly, his ruthlessness disappears when you're around (this doesn't negate the fact of the situation you're in).

Clothes? Why do you need clothes? A big black t-shirt and black panties and an anal plug with a tail will suffice. He likes to see your legs and the way you wiggle your ass when you walk, the way your back sags. Asa can give you a sweater if he sees you freezing (sorry, but he doesn't want to have to deal with your fever and snot😢).

"What? Don't you get enough attention? Making puppy eyes because you want more?" with those words, Asa watched you rub against his leg and whimper. "God, what am I doing?" you say to yourself, but you can't stop. Continuing to stroke your head, he unzipped his pants and pulled out his, already aroused cock. It's medium-sized, slightly thickened in the middle, with veins at the base, looking well-groomed (who'd doubt it).

"Lick it. Like a dog. And no hands." It's exciting, but you asked for it. You start at the tip, with the tip of your tongue, in intermittent motions, as if lapping up water. The longer this went on, the more confident you became just licking his cock from base to end. All the way up and down. Running your tongue along every vein. Congratulations, you really have a jaw of steel!

You've lost track of time from the pleasure. Asa's breath hitches slightly, you realize he's about to cum. Yes, your mouth and face are now covered with his seed.

"Oh, look at you, and don't say it's not enough for you. Otherwise, I'll have to punish you, very roughly." Yes. Yes, you're not enough and you want him to take you. Hard. Right now. Bad girl.

[brabblesblog]

Ch 14: For love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

The rescue attempt goes off with some hitches.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

The morning light was streaming through the window when Astarion looked up to see Gale walk into the room. His tressym followed, fixing Astarion with a stare that felt a little too penetrating for what was, in his not-so-humble opinion, essentially a glorified cat.

“Are you ready?” Gale asked, leaning on his staff.

“Indeed.” Astarion’s tone was surly, an attempt to mask his weariness. He had maintained the mental link with Ban until she had fallen asleep. Even now a part of him cradled her mind, soothing her through the worst of the torment.

Astarion belatedly realized that he was not only exhausted, he was hungry and having difficulty concentrating. He’d only had one meal since arriving in Waterdeep, and between maintaining the mental link for so long and his state of stress, the lack of sleep and blood was noticeable. Today, he was especially glad that the sanguine hunger no longer tormented him, but blood helped him maintain his strength, kept his mind clear, and gave him energy. Energy he desperately could have used today. Grumbling, he picked up Woe.

“Do you need me to reiterate the-”

“Gods, Gale. Do you think me so stupid I can’t remember your frankly rudimentary plan?” Astarion waved a hand dismissively. “Let’s just go.”

Gale exhaled. “Here.” He stepped forward, holding out a small pouch.

Astarion hesitated before gingerly accepting the proffered bag with some suspicion.

“Healing potions. I prepared two. One for her, one for… potential mishaps.”

Astarion tucked the pouch away. “Thank you.” The words came out in an awkward drawl, his discomfort in expressing gratitude obvious.

The tressym kept staring at Astarion; he glanced down at it, fidgeting under its piercing gaze. “If your claws and teeth matched the enormity of your judgment, cat, then I’d perhaps be interested to hear what you have to say.”

“Tara,” Gale chided gently, though he wasn’t surprised she disapproved of the Ascendant. Gale had told her everything; she was fond of Ban and she’d rather liked when Ban had stayed with them.

She fixed Gale with a long, hard stare before turning to leave, flicking her tail haughtily as she went.

“Sorry,” Gale shrugged.

Astarion didn’t deign to answer, although he was privately rather affronted by her judgment. Damned cat.

Gale led Astarion through Waterdeep, heading for the Stedez mansion. It was far smaller than the Crimson Palace, though no less imposing. Astarion stayed a few steps behind him, mind still connected to Ban’s. As they approached the mansion, she kept slipping in and out of consciousness. He could see through her eyes each time she awoke, the visions merely feeding his rage.

“They should be asleep,” Gale mused. In theory, it would be easy to sneak in undetected, free Ban, and slip back out. But he wasn’t sure if Astarion was willing to let this affront go unpunished. He wasn’t sure if he was willing to let it go, either.

“Well if they aren’t,” Astarion hissed, his eyes glinting with a devilish glee that bordered on madness. “All the better.”

Gale stood in front of the large door of the Stedez mansion, steeling himself before knocking. He was disguised as an elf. Astarion hid nearby, invisible. All part of the plan, and yet Gale couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. It had been more than half a year since he had done anything remotely close to this, and he wondered if he was still capable. These days he was a professor, not a warrior, his life revolving around his students and books.

And sometimes Ban, he thought ruefully. The time she’d spent in his tower had been special.

Gale turned his attention back to the matter at hand as the door creaked open.

A tall, scantily clad servant eyed Gale curiously. Just like Cazador, Vel Stedez’s public persona was that of an affluent, if eccentric, nobleman. As such, the mansion rarely received visitors.

“Greetings,” the servant said, “You seem… lost. What can I do for you?”

“Is this not Saer Vel Stedez’s abode?” Gale offered his most winsome smile. “I’m here on behalf of the Blackstaff Academy. Saer Vel and I have corresponded about his most generous donation, for which the Academy is very grateful. In fact,” Gale held up an index finger, “I am here today to discuss a ball the Academy wishes to host in his honor!”

The servant hesitated. No instructions regarding visitors had been given today, but her vain master would most certainly want to hear about this. Gale noticed her moment of indecision and pressed his advantage, stepping forward so the servant was forced to open the door far enough for Astarion to very carefully slip inside, a small whisper of air the only sign of his movement.

“I- of course, saer,” the servant conceded. She beckoned Gale in, and he stepped over the threshold, shivering involuntarily at the chilly temperature inside the manse.

Gale noted that the house was eerily reminiscent of Cazador’s - and Astarion’s - iterations of the Szarr Mansion.

Dark marble floors and mahogany walls lent a sense of ominousness, thick curtains blocking out any sunshine that threatened to shine through. The air was stale, cold and tomblike, as if the mansion was frozen in time.

Astarion noticed the similarities too, stifling a snort. At least our marble is white. That had been Ban’s idea. The thought caused a pang of worry; he pushed it away quickly. Moving past Gale and the servant, he headed deeper into the mansion, taking the first set of stairs he found leading down.

Meanwhile, Gale let the servant lead him to a study.

“Saer…” the servant began, fishing for his name.

“Er. Dammon,” Gale said, cursing himself for not thinking up a name ahead of time.

“Saer Dammon,” the servant continued. “Kindly wait here while I inform the master of your arrival.”

The prospect of meeting the vampire lord alone made Gale a bit anxious, but he nodded. It was a possibility he hadn't wanted to contemplate too closely when they had planned this, but if all hell broke loose he knew he would be able to handle one vampire.

He hoped Astarion got to Ban fast.

The dungeon smelled putrid, like sewers and rust and congealed blood-

The iron-rich scent gave Astarion a longing for blood - a now-unfamiliar craving, all but forgotten after all this time. It caught him by surprise. He hadn’t hungered for blood, not since the rite, but the smell of it reminded him of just how exhausted he was. Some blood would be the perfect thing to perk him up. He sighed, shaking his head, and pushed on.

The dungeons were unguarded, just as Gale had surmised. After all, Vel’s coven lacked crucial information: the Ascendant didn’t need to be invited in to enter a domicile.

His eyes scanned the dimly lit dungeon, searching for Ban. He spotted her in the furthest cell and rushed forward with preternatural speed. As he reached the cell, Gale’s concentration broke; Astarion’s hands and body became visible again.

Ban? He tried to nudge her mind, and felt her stir.

The sight of her chained to the damp wall, her body sagging onto the filthy floor, broke his heart. Ban was mostly unharmed, though those cruel silver manacles had severely burned her wrists. He’d seen more than his fair share of torture, of course, but seeing it done to her brought forth a wave of indignation so strong it instantly became wrath.

How dare they. I will burn this entire mansion and everyone in it to ash for this.

He pulled out his tools, nimble hands working at the lock of the cell door, but it took longer to pick than it should have, owing to his trembling fingers.

Astarion heard a satisfying click and pushed the door open. Ban’s eyes opened and took a moment to focus, finally settling on him. He rushed forward, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

“You’re okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you. Words he’d spoken before she’d told him she loved him for the very first time. Words she’d told him the night before the rite. Always meant, always realized.

Ban merely nodded in response, slumping tiredly into Astarion’s arms. The movement caused her wrists to drag against the manacles and she gasped. He looked up at them, frowning, assessing the locks.

“Let me get you out.”

He reached for the first manacle, fingers moving across the surface of the silver. It made his skin sizzle, his fingertips burning where they made contact. The pain was sharp, but pain wasn’t new to him; he ignored it. He quickly worked one manacle open, then the other.

Ban’s hands fell to her sides; they'd gone numb after being held up for so long. Astarion firmly rubbed her arms to encourage blood flow, avoiding the burned parts of her wrists.

“Ban.” When she didn’t respond immediately, concern flooded him. He tapped her face hoping to rouse her, to no avail. Reaching into the pouch Gale had provided, he took out a flask and uncapped it. “Drink,” he urged, his eyes locked on her as she complied.

He gave her another once-over, noting that her complexion looked better. But not enough so. He fingered the cap of the remaining potion, debating. He could have her drink it now, but what if she needed it later? She could barely move, but he couldn’t risk using their last potion yet.

Determined, he reached a decision.

Ban watched with dazed eyes as Astarion lowered himself to her, cradling her head and tilting his head to bare his neck, a gesture that needed no words.

She obliged, fangs sinking into the scars Cazador had made centuries ago. She drank ravenously, her instincts taking over.

Astarion felt the icy numbness begin; the tips of his ears and his fingers started to grow numb. In spite of the situation, he felt a flood of contentment fill him. Ban had so rarely bitten him that even in this filthy dungeon, the joy of nourishing her was immense. Exhausted as he was, though, it didn’t take long for his vision to start to blur and his heart to flutter. He lifted a hand to her shoulder, a gentle reminder to stop.

The memory of the first time he bit her came to him unbidden; he couldn’t help the small smile that crossed his face.

Ban immediately stilled at the touch, pulling her fangs out of his flesh. After a light swipe of her thumb to clean up, she leaned back.

“Sorry. I jus-” She looked down at her shirt, at the tear where the stake had been shoved in. “I still can’t believe I’m alive…”

Astarion felt only relief suffusing his being. He cupped Ban’s cheek and leaned in. The urge to kiss her was overwhelming, but he hesitated. We don’t have the luxury of time.

“Let’s go,” he said, “It’s daytime. Most of them should be asleep.”

Ban followed Astarion out of the cell, but paused as his words sunk in - most?

“You said ‘most’.”

He sighed. “Yes. Unfortunately I suspect the master of the house to be awake.” Gale’s plan, after all, had hinged on it. He explained the plan to Ban, retrieving Woe from where he’d dropped it in his rush to free her.

“You expected Gale to - to distract Vel?” Ban was incredulous. Gale, really?

“Well- who else? Would you rather it be me doing the talking while Gale snuck around?”

She conceded the point. Gale had always been atrocious at stealth.

“So we have to kill Vel.” Ban spied a chest near the entrance of the dungeon; she opened it to reveal her pack and her sword. She dug through the pack, tossing out various unneeded items, then slung the now-lighter pack over her shoulder. She kept her sword in hand.

“I’m not displeased by the notion?” Astarion smirked. “But I didn’t exactly promise Gale I’d save him either, you know.”

“Ass.” She tried to smack his arm but he dodged it easily, his laughter pealing a little too loudly for the situation they were currently in. “If anything, you should be thanking Gale for coming with you.”

The laughter died and Astarion turned solemn. “He’s here for you. If he had his way I would be staked somewhere and you’d be in his arms.”

“Perhaps.” Ban shrugged. She looked at her husband, noting the taut expression and the tense set of his shoulders. “Problem?”

He took a moment to answer, gathering his thoughts. “I’m… envious of how easy it is for him to get you to confide in him. How easily you confide in all of them.” To trust them.

Astarion knew that Ban loved him the most; he did not doubt that at all. But did she truly trust him? It wasn’t something that would return without work from the both of them, he was perfectly aware, and yet the feeling was there. Jealousy, poisonous and foul and always lurking in his chest.

Before Ban could assuage his fears, they were back at the entrance hall.

“Do you know where-”

The question died in Ban’s throat. There was a disturbance in one of the rooms, going by the sounds emanating from it. They both rushed forward; Ban shouted for Gale, trying to ascertain his current state. Once again, Astarion found himself resenting the wizard.

The door was ajar; Ban rushed in to see an elf being held down by Enxisys and Miaxisys. The elf looked up at her, and she realized it was Gale. He was on his knees, his staff on the ground in front of him.

Astarion, right on Ban’s tail, halted for a different reason. Enxisys and Miaxisys were holding onto Gale, but their gazes were fixed on Astarion, numb expressions entirely too familiar. It brought forth a wave of memories, recollections that he had been pushing away - hiding from - since the rite. He forced them down as best he could, focusing on Vel and the situation at hand, but he wasn’t wholly successful.

“Look who decided to join us, hm?” Vel said, rounding on Ban. She immediately leveled her sword at his chest.

“Not another step,” Ban growled.

Vel laughed, raising his hand, Rhapsody in his grasp. “See, I knew the wizard would come to save you,” he said, pointing the dagger at the disguised Gale. “What I didn’t expect-”

Four more of Vel’s spawn came in behind Ban and Astarion as their master spoke, blocking their retreat.

“-was you, Ascendant.” The words were spat out, the contempt unmistakable.

“If you thought I wouldn’t come for her-“

“Oh, no! I know you’d come, eventually.” Vel snapped his fingers and the four vampires blocking the door closed the distance, crowding Ban and Astarion from behind. “That was the whole point.” He waved his hand indifferently.

“But I honestly expected you to make someone else do the grunt work first. I didn’t consider the fact that you might be able to… circumvent… some of our kind’s more peculiar quirks.”

“You know perfectly well I am stronger than you could ever hope to be, and yet you didn’t consider the possibility that I could enter your home uninvited as well?” He laughed without humor. “I can circumvent whatever the hells I damn well please, Vel. That includes your miserable existence.” He took a step towards Vel. Immediately the four spawn reacted, surrounding Astarion.

Ban weighed the situation. Seven vampires - well, six spawn and a vampire lord - against Gale, Astarion, and herself. Manageable, but not without risk. Especially with Gale held down and Astarion having given her so much of his blood. She would have laughed if it wasn’t such an ill-timed moment.

Rapidly, she reached a conclusion. She squared her shoulders and shot Gale a meaningful look.

Get ready.

Almost imperceptibly, Gale nodded.

The three of them glanced at each other, the long months of fighting as a unit resurfacing with ease. Everyone braced.

It all happened in an instant.

Ban dropped her pack and activated giant form, greatsword rising as though to cut Vel down. She knew she would miss - and indeed, as she swung Vel dodged effortlessly - but it was enough to draw Enxisys’ and Miaxisys’ attention. Their grip on Gale eased as they hesitated, torn between their obligation to protect their master and holding Gale down.

It was all Gale needed. He rose, Markoheshkir in hand, and called lightning. It struck the twins, Vel, and one of the four spawn near Astarion. The spawn did not get up.

Astarion seized the opportunity, turning to one of the remaining spawn and blighting him. The spawn crumpled, meeting his second death.

Ban raised her arms for another strike at Vel, the arc of her sword cut short when a blur of motion passed in front of her. Astarion lunged at Vel with inhuman speed, pinning him to the ground and shoving his fist into Vel’s mouth.

He turned to Ban with a pained expression. Astarion had seen the way Vel’s spawn had looked at their master; had known that look.

“Wait!” he panted. Vel was thrashing and biting, but the Ascendant was unaffected, holding him down without effort, his other hand pinning down the arm holding Rhapsody.

The four surviving spawn froze, unsure. If they made a move, they would be overwhelmed by the wizard and the consort. If they didn’t, and their master survived, he would punish them for it…

“Ban.” Astarion’s pained expression deepened into anguish. “Let them do it. Let them do what I should have done.”

“Can they? Won’t he compel them not to hurt him?”

“Not if we cut out his tongue,” Astarion’s voice was severe, rough with emotion.

Belatedly, Ban and Gale realized why Astarion had his fist in Vel’s mouth. Ban nodded, stepping on Vel’s weapon hand so Astarion could let go. Gale picked up Woe from where Astarion had dropped it, his face somber.

Astarion pried Rhapsody from Vel’s hand. He pulled Vel’s offensive tongue from his mouth and severed it with one quick slice, tossing it to the side. Vel’s wordless screams should have been satisfying. But he felt no joy - only a pang of regret, of shame. Rhapsody fell from his grasp just as swiftly as he’d used it. The last time I cut someone with that dagger… He shuddered at the memory.

This should have been how it went for me. With his friends present and his siblings at his side, working together to end their master’s life.

Astarion pulled away from Vel’s face to kneel beside him, holding his chest down, breathing hard. He turned to the spawn. They stared at him, still uncertain.

“Go on,” he urged, “Take what should be yours. What should have always been yours. Your freedom awaits.”

Freedom. He offered Ban a sad smile.

It should have always been yours as well, my love.

Ban’s response was a small, sad smile and a flood of warmth through their connection.

Vel’s spawn seemed to be recovering from the shock. They approached one another, quietly discussing Astarion’s offer amongst themselves. One of the spawn, the drow male who had helped abduct Ban, murmured an apology to her.

But neither Ban nor Astarion noticed. The only thing they saw was each other, eyes locked as they shared their emotions through their bond. Astarion’s mind was in turmoil, a dark maelstrom of conflicting, stormy thoughts that threatened to envelop him. Endless waves of rage, fear, regret, shame, and sadness were swirling, building upon the other until they were very close to overwhelming him. Ban could feel that he was on the verge of panicking.

She quickly sheathed her sword and approached Astarion, offering him a hand up, pulling him into an embrace.

Astarion let Ban pull him up and into a hug, squeezing her as tightly as she held him. He wanted to sob, to finally say I did the right thing, but he knew it was too late for him. He’d hurt her, he’d murdered his siblings, he’d driven away his friends and sacrificed all seven thousand of those poor souls.

But as Ban had drawn him up, she had turned her back on Vel. Had lifted her boot from his wrist. Had caused Astarion to let him go.

Movement over Ban’s shoulder drew Astarion’s attention. He saw Vel rise lightning-fast, Rhapsody in hand, poised for a strike, blade already arching down towards Ban’s back.

If I can be enough for only one thing, I hope it will be saving her.

With every ounce of strength he could muster, Astarion shoved Ban to the side. He felt a flash of relief as she was flung across the room, out of range of Vel’s swing.

As it had sunk into his former master’s back, Rhapsody sank into Astarion’s breast.

Into his heart.

[streamdotpng]

Enid’s been having a pretty shitty day. She overslept, which lead to her getting chewed out in her first class…again. She bombed a pop quiz in a different class, which in her defense was unfair considering it was about next week’s chapter. Her gothic solace personified was unfortunately absent, something to do with her brother, so Enid was without her primary source of comfort as she trudged her way through their broken education system.

To top it all off, Enid now finds herself in a sewer system she doesn’t wish to be in, wearing broken web shooters that she just fixed, and fighting her dad in a battle she wants to be over. Enid is tired.

“Dad,” Enid says with such resigned energy, one would think she’s about to give up, “please, I need you to stop.”

She dodges yet another attack from her dad’s scaly tail, but gets clipped by his claws, leading to the spider knocking her head against the sewer wall. She rubs her head, only to look at her hand to find new blood. Through her damaged mask, her left eye is exposed, and compared to the more animated remaining “eye” of her mask, her real eye is a melancholy blue, tired, and in need of sleep.

“You told me you had this figured out. You promised me it wouldn’t happen again. How many more times are we going to have to do this?” The Lizard simply growls in response, the outburst echoing into oblivion. “Please Dad, I’m-“

Enid finds herself in her dad’s clutches, claws slowly digging into her sides. The spider pries open his fingers, but just as she jumps out of his reach, he whips his tail around and slams her against the wall with a booming thud.

Enid’s head rings as she struggles to get her bearing. She looks up to see the giant reptile barreling towards her. “Alright Dad, I’ve had ENOUGH!” At the last second, the spider dodges the attack, landing one right hook to the Lizard’s head, without holding back her strength like usual. The punch instantly knocks the reptile to the ground; he’s down for the count.

As her father slowly but surely begins to shed his scales and morph back to his normal self, Enid stands over him, with tears fighting to fall from her eyes. “We’re going home.” Once he’s small enough, Enid throws her dad over her shoulder and begins her trek out of the sewers.

As she shuffles on, the spider takes out her phone, chooses a contact, before putting it to her ear. After a few rings, the person on the other end picks up.

“Yes?”

“Wednesday? Are you busy?” The spider tries once again to keep the tears at bay, at least for a little longer. “I’ve had a bad day.”

Enid tries to breath, heavy and controlled even with the ache pressing against her side. "and like I totally get if your busy but-"

"I can talk," Wednesday cuts in and Enid allows herself a break because if she goes out there, she knows that she'll keep running and running and she doesn't know how much more she can handle. So she lays her dad down with shaky hands and slides next to him.

Enid watches him, eyes the way his chest still moves and it hurts to see him this way, covered in dried scabs and blood but he's alive.

That's what matters in the end, right?

"thank you," she whispers and presses her face deeper into the phone because she really wants a hug right now. "can you talk about something? Just about your day?"

When no reply comes, Enid accepts it. Wednesday was never the type to ramble on her day especially to a phone.

But then her voice trails through, soft and Wednesday. It's all Enid needed to allow herself to rest.

[adams-sinful-wings]

Bunny: I was writing this last night and had to rewrite it since it just made sense to make it paragraph style ((like fanfiction)). So I hope you all enjoy!

Crossover with @lucifers-little-light since they are sister blogs.

Cw: Injuries, broken bones, Medical procedures

Adam’s movements were sluggish as he shuffled through the chaotic streets of Pentagram City, his form wrapped in a heavy trench coat and his face hidden behind a mask. His broken tail throbbed with every step, trailing limply behind him. His left wing dragged along the filthy ground, each scrape sending a new wave of agony up his spine.

He squinted down at the glowing screen of his phone, its text blurred and incomprehensible to his weary eyes. His head pounded like a drum, and every noise in the city grated against his already fragile state. He was on autopilot, driven more by the vague hope of finding this “hospital” than by any real understanding of where he was going.

As he turned a corner, two familiar voices broke through the cacophony of the streets.

“Adam? Is that you?” Angel Dust’s sharp tone carried over the crowd, tinged with a mix of recognition and surprise.

“Aw, shit,” Husk muttered, his gravelly voice laced with concern. “He looks like hell.”

Adam froze for a moment, his muscles tensing as he registered their voices. Without turning to look, he began to stagger away, his movements clumsy and uneven. Panic gripped him as he heard their footsteps quicken behind him.

“Yo! Wait up!” Angel called out, genuine concern creeping into his voice. “We’re not gonna hurt ya, just stop running, dumbass!”

Adam tried to pick up his pace, but his body betrayed him. His vision darkened at the edges, his broken wing dragging more heavily now. He tripped on a loose sidewalk, falling to his knees with a pained grunt.

Angel and Husk caught up to him, the two exchanging worried glances before kneeling beside him.

“Adam, what the hell happened to you?” Angel asked, his usual sass replaced by actual worry as he took in Adam’s battered state.

Husk crouched down and grabbed Adam’s arm, steadying him.

Adam weakly tried to pull away. “I... just need... sleep,” he muttered, his voice barely audible through the mask.

Angel’s many hands hovered uncertainly, his usual bravado slipping. “Sleep ain’t gonna fix this. C’mon, let us get you somewhere safe. Maybe a hospital?”

Adam blinked at the word, confusion clouding his bruised features. He tried to muster a retort, but the pain in his stomach flared, and he instinctively clutched at it, his breath hitching.

Husk’s ears twitched, and he sighed heavily. “Look, you don’t gotta trust us, but you don’t exactly have a lotta options right now. You’re hurt bad.”

Adam hesitated, the world spinning around him. His pride screamed at him to refuse, to push them away and figure it out himself. But his body had other ideas. Finally, with a shuddering breath, he nodded weakly.

Angel grinned, though it was a shadow of his usual cheeky smirk. “Alright, big guy, let’s get you patched up. Don’t worry—we’ll take care of ya.”

Together, Angel and Husk hoisted Adam up, supporting him on either side as they led him toward help. Adam didn’t say a word, his head hanging low as the pain and exhaustion overtook him.

——————

The sterile, brightly lit interior of Pride Ring General Hospital was a stark contrast to the chaos of Pentagram City’s streets. Angel Dust and Husk guided Adam through the sliding glass doors, his weight leaning heavily on both of them. His broken wing dragged behind him, and his breathing was shallow and uneven.

“Alright, hotshot, we’re here,” Angel muttered. “Try not to pass out on us, okay? You’re heavy as hell.”

“No kidding,” Husk added, grunting under the strain. “Guy’s built like a damn truck.”

“I… can walk… on my own,” Adam rasped weakly.

“Oh, sure you can,” Angel shot back. “That’s why you’re using me like a stripper pole.”

They reached the front desk, where a demon receptionist with glowing red eyes barely looked up from her clipboard. “Name and reason for the visit?” she asked flatly.

Angel gestured to Adam. “This guy needs help, like, yesterday. Busted wing, mangled tail, and probably a couple other things we can’t see. Oh, and he keeps muttering about his stomach hurting.”

The receptionist eyed Adam skeptically. “And who’s he supposed to be?”

“Just check him in,” Husk snapped. “He’s in bad shape.”

“Fine,” she sighed, sliding a clipboard across the counter. “Fill this out.”

Angel groaned. “You’re kidding, right? He’s half-dead, and you want him to fill out paperwork?”

“Hospital policy,” she said with a shrug. “No exceptions.”

Adam blinked slowly at the clipboard, confusion clouding his battered face. “I… don’t know… what this is,” he murmured.

“Fine, fine! I’ll do it,” Angel huffed, grabbing the form. “You just keep breathing, okay, Adam?” He scribbled furiously while Husk kept Adam steady.

Adam stirred weakly, his voice barely a whisper. “What… happens here?”

“They patch you up, big guy,” Angel said, his voice softening. “Just let ‘em do their thing. You’ll be fine.”

Husk glanced at Angel, his usual gruff expression tinged with worry. “We’ll make sure of it.”

Eventually, the receptionist called for a nurse, who approached with a wheelchair. “Alright, let’s get him to triage. You’ll need to stay in the waiting area.”

“Yeah, not happening,” Angel snapped. “We’re sticking with him.”

Husk added, “You’re not shoving him off somewhere alone. Guy can barely stand, let alone argue with you.”

The nurse sighed but didn’t protest, helping ease Adam into the wheelchair. He winced as his broken wing shifted, but he stayed silent, his body sagging under the weight of exhaustion. “Follow me,” she instructed, leading them down a stark white hallway.

Angel wrinkled his nose at the faint smell of disinfectant. “Y’know, for a hospital in Hell, this place is way too clean. Kinda creepy.”

“Focus, Angel,” Husk muttered.

The nurse led them to a private room, where a doctor waited. The nurse helped transfer Adam onto the bed while Angel and Husk hovered nearby, their earlier bravado replaced with quiet concern.

“We’ll need to run some tests and scans,” the doctor said. “Are either of you his next of kin?”

Angel flashed a nervous grin. “Uh… yeah, sure. Let’s go with that.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it further, turning back to Adam. The battered sinner let his head fall back against the pillow, his strength finally giving out as he closed his eyes.

The doctor stepped closer to Adam, his gloved hands carefully peeling back the heavy trench coat to get a clearer view of the sinner's injuries. Adam winced as the fabric tugged at his bruised and broken skin, his tail twitching weakly in pain.

"Alright, let’s see what we’re dealing with," the doctor muttered, his eyes scanning Adam’s battered form. Like many sinners, Adam's anatomy bore Hell’s unique mutations: his massive reptilian tail, mangled and bent at an unnatural angle; a pair of wings, one hanging limp and twisted; along with some bruises and cuts.

Angel, leaning against the wall, grimaced. "Damn, doc. Don’t sugarcoat it or anything."

The doctor ignored him, his focus entirely on Adam. “You’ve sustained severe trauma to your tail and left-wing,” he said clinically, pressing lightly along Adam’s ribs and eliciting a sharp hiss. “Multiple fractures, extensive bruising, and possibly some internal damage. I’ll need to do an X-ray to see the full extent of the injuries.”

Adam blinked at the unfamiliar term, his face scrunching in confusion. “What... is that?”

Husk raised an eyebrow. “You serious? You don’t know what an X-ray is?”

Adam shook his head, wincing at the movement. “Never… heard of it.”

The doctor straightened, taking a step back. “An X-ray is a medical procedure that uses a machine to create images of the inside of your body. It’ll let us see your bones and check for breaks or fractures.”

Adam frowned, his tired mind struggling to process the explanation. “A... machine? You’re putting me inside a machine?”

Angel snorted. “Relax, big guy. It’s not like they’re gonna throw you in a blender. It’s safe. Kinda like taking a picture of your insides.”

Adam’s gaze flicked between Angel and the doctor, still wary. “I don’t... like this.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have much of a choice,” Husk grumbled. “You want to heal or not?”

The doctor stepped in again, his tone professional but firm. “It’s a non-invasive procedure. You won’t feel anything. We need to do this to assess the damage properly and make sure there aren’t any hidden injuries. Otherwise, you’ll be walking out of here worse than when you came in.”

Adam hesitated, his hand instinctively moving to his stomach. The dull ache there hadn’t subsided, and the thought of further complications made him grit his teeth. Finally, he gave a reluctant nod. “Fine. Do it.”

The doctor gestured to a nurse. “Prepare the imaging room. We’ll move him there shortly.”

As the nurse left, Angel leaned closer to Adam, his smirk softened with concern. “See? It’s not so bad. And hey, maybe they’ll finally figure out what’s goin’ on with that stomachache of yours.”

Adam didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the floor. Deep down, he was terrified, not of the machine but of what it might reveal.

Adam was carefully transferred onto a gurney, the process agonizingly slow to avoid aggravating his injuries. The nurse adjusted the straps around his wings and tail to keep them from shifting, but the pressure still made him wince. Husk and Angel have to stay behind in the exam room.

Once inside the X-ray room, the nurse and technician worked to prepare Adam. They draped him in protective lead coverings, leaving openings to expose his injured wing and tail. “You’ll need to lie on your stomach for this part,” the technician instructed.

Adam groaned as they helped him onto his front, the strain on his battered body making him grit his teeth. “Get this over with…” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

The machine hummed softly as it powered up, and the technician positioned the X-ray scanner over Adam’s wing first. The room was cold, and the steady rhythm of the equipment combined with his exhaustion caused Adam to start zoning out. His thoughts drifted, the haze of pain making everything feel distant and surreal.

“We’re almost done,” the technician said after what felt like an eternity. They moved the scanner to his tail and lower back, taking additional images. Adam barely noticed, his mind wandering in a fog.

Once the scans were complete, the doctor returned, examining the images on a glowing monitor. His expression darkened as he leaned closer, his brow furrowed in shock. He turned toward Adam, his voice sharp. “Why didn’t you say anything about being pregnant?”

Adam blinked, barely processing the words. “Pregnant?” he repeated, his voice hoarse with disbelief.

The doctor gestured toward the monitor, pointing to a faint but unmistakable silhouette in the X-ray image. “Right here. There’s a developing fetus. Fourteen weeks along I’d estimate. Skeletal structure, even visibly wing formation.”

Adam pushed himself up slightly, his body trembling from the effort. “That’s... not possible,” he rasped. “It’s... dead. I lost it. I felt it.”

The doctor’s tone softened, but his confusion remained. “It’s not dead. It’s very much alive. The development is consistent with a 14-week-old fetus.”

Adam stared at the monitor, his vision blurry but his disbelief slowly gave way to astonishment. “But… I thought I lost it but also I only just found out I was pregnant and I only ever bottomed with men a week ago. How is this possible? I felt… I felt something…” His voice cracked, a mixture of awe and confusion swirling within him.

“Whatever you felt,” the doctor said, “it wasn’t a miscarriage. The baby is still there, still growing. But yes. This pregnancy should be impossible. But then again you wouldn’t be the first male sinner to give birth surprisingly. We had two male pregnancies this year. One of them succeeded in a pregnancy though it was a premature birth. The other patient suffered a severe miscarriage. Twins from what I heard from hospital gossip.”

For a moment, Adam was speechless, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Against all odds, the life he thought he’d lost was still within him. It was a miracle—or perhaps a curse—he couldn’t yet decide.

The revelation of Adam’s pregnancy changed everything about his treatment plan. The doctor’s stern expression softened slightly as he spoke. “Given the pregnancy, we’ll need to modify how we handle your injuries. Certain medications we’d typically use aren’t safe for the baby, so we’ll adjust accordingly. And if you want to keep the child—”

“I do,” Adam interrupted, his voice hoarse but firm. He still looked stunned, but there was no hesitation in his answer.

The doctor nodded, taking a more careful tone. “Then we need to prioritize both your healing and the baby’s stability. We’ll reset your broken bones, but it’s going to hurt. You’ll be numbed as much as we can safely allow without affecting the pregnancy, and we’ll need to monitor you overnight to ensure there aren’t complications.”

Adam grunted, his jaw tightening. “Do whatever you have to. Just… keep it alive.”

The next few hours were a blur. Nurses carefully prepared Adam for the bone resetting procedure, placing him under a local anesthetic that dulled the pain but didn’t completely eliminate it. The doctor worked methodically, rebreaking and realigning his tail and wing, the sickening sound of cracking bones filling the room. Adam gritted his teeth through the ordeal, his fingers gripping the edges of the bed until his knuckles turned white.

By the time they were finished, his tail and wing were secured in sturdy casts, the wing held in place with a specialized brace. “Your injuries should heal within a few days,” the doctor explained as he cleaned his hands. “Sinner physiology accelerates the healing process, but you’ll need to avoid overexerting yourself. No flying, no heavy lifting.”

Adam scoffed weakly. “Not like I can do much of that in this state.”

The doctor gave him a pointed look. “And you’ll stay here tonight for monitoring. We’ll run additional tests to ensure the baby is stable.”

Adam tried to protest. “I don’t need to—”

“You do,” the doctor interrupted firmly. “The pregnancy complicates everything. If you want to keep the baby alive, you’re staying put.”

He did notice the two demons who brought him here weren’t anywhere in sight. Oh well…maybe they had something better to do…

Adam sighed, leaning back against the pillows. He felt too drained to argue. He closed his eyes and despite the pain, he felt a sense of ease over him, at least for the moment.

[darlingpwease]

Hello, I am back with another question! :) Since it’s a common troupe in the transmigrator/isekai genre to try to ‘fix’ the plot so nothing bad happens to the novel world, what do you think might happen if the opposite happens? Like a transmigrator!reader doesn’t try to force anything to happen because these characters in the novel world aren’t just fictional creations - they are real people, with emotions and can think for themselves. They just go with flow while being content in their new life as a background character, focusing on bettering themselves and learning new skills, but don’t realize that just being themselves and treat everyone with respect and kindness in Sisheng Peak, they’ve attracted the attention of Chu Wanning, Mo Ran, Shi Mei, and Xue Meng?

lifeboat

but today this boat is going down

CW transmigration, unhealthy behaviour (obsessiveness, possessiveness), mention of suicide (xue meng), mention of forced kiss (mo ran), mention of mind control (shi mei), mention of amnesia

... It's hard with them all, but the System tells — promises — you that this is an easy and not dusty job, in which your only task is to be a minor character who has to die to add cheap drama and dog blood.

The fourth disciple of Sisheng Peak, who was accepted reluctantly after several attempts and refusals to be with anyone else, which touched Chu Wanning's heart. A cute little ball of the sun, "too pure too innocent for this world", whose role is to wag their fluffy tail like a tiny puppy and look with devoted eyes. In the dog trio 'Mo Ran / You / Shi Mei', you were supposed to be that fragile white lotus, whose death symbolizes a radical change in everything and that death is always there.

You should be moderately playful, moderately optimistic, moderately friendly, absolutely innocent and pure — a foil for both Mo Ran, wild and unfiltered, and Shi Mei, who hiding his face behind a mask. Xue Meng was the closest to you, despite the different personalities — he also suffered from deaths and losses, but survived, while you are destined to die.

... The problem is that before your role becomes one of stable and permanent, you need to play it qualitatively so that the world accepts you. But the System assures you that it will be easy for you — it's much easier than it even sounds! — and you don't have the opportunity to refuse or say "maybe we'll change it?".

You start far enough away from the main plot, after Chu Wanning became the elder of Sisheng Peak, but before Shi Mei became a disciple, although by that time you were already considered a disciple of Chu Wanning. Even if he was unyielding and tough, you didn't mind — a little kindness here, a little tenderness there, here to disturb the cold Shizun with tenderness, there to stun with an unexpected offer to take care of cleaning the house. You didn't understand much about this "white lotus type who raises death flags from the very beginning", so you acted on a hunch, trying to get along with the spoiled and arrogant Xue Meng and make the "snow queen" stop looking at you with... suspicion?... You were not sure yourself — all these games began to tire you out and even annoy you, especially when Xue Meng, with whom you should be on good terms, was not so willing to contact.

"EVERYONE HAS DIFFICULTIES, BUT THE MAIN THING IS EXPERIENCE,"

the System lovingly tells you when you are lying on the bed, completely unaware of what you are doing wrong. But you just have to try harder, right? Right?... Not a damn thing like that — you don't understand how to get close to Chu Wanning or Xue Meng, but, fortunately, you manage to find Shi Mei even before he became your 'shidi'. And, to your almost shame, even knowing that he is probably fooling around and using a fake identity, you feel good with him — Shi Mei is charming, sweet, polite and introverted, and although he needs time to recharge, he willingly spends it with you when you take the initiative, even if clearly not understanding why you mess with him.

Even if everyone else avoids him, you feel so good with him that you can't help but get carried away by following him and almost naturally immersing yourself in the role of an innocent and kind student, trustingly purring that he is amazing and everything alive should be treated with equality, patience and respect, and when you take by inertia his hand, then it seems so small and cold to the touch.

Perhaps you are too desperate even for an imaginary sense of success, but you can't help but seek his company, even if Xue Meng almost jealously capriciously says that you are no longer running after him and 'this is strange', and you want to agree, but you are too inspired by Shi Me. He's just so kind, and smart, and empathetic, and gentle, and looks like a porcelain doll, but even when he shows stubbornness, you can't help but nod, agreeing with almost everything if only the plot would move on with your participation.

... When Shi Mei becomes a disciple of Chu Wanning, you practically run to him with delight, purring with pleasure — and only in the evening you realize that this was the first time he smiled at you so... strangely, but you prefer to think that it was 'affectionate'.

Chu Wanning looks askance, but is silent, even when you have not come to him for more than a few weeks; next to Shi Mei, your nervousness becomes weaker and lighter, as if you are resting in your small garden, caressing your cute delicate flower, finally seeing the fruits of your care and attention with cooing over. Shi Mei is weak and has no talents, but for you he is the only thing that continues to keep you sane, convincing you that you will cope while you hide under the trees in the rain, huddling together under an umbrella, whispering about all sorts of nonsense and unimportant things that make you happy and giggling, and on for the first time, a happy smile appears on his scarlet lips, which is so tender and bright that your heart stops for a moment.

Obviously, he can only be a fairy — no less.

He's so cute.

And the fact that you get along with Mo Ran almost from the fly, as if blessed, cannot but please you, finally letting you exhale. Chu Wanning finally thaws and allows you to hover around him calmly, caring; Xue Meng clearly begins to consider you 'his person' after long emotional caresses, giving him time to thaw, although his personality itself does not get better; Mo Ran turns out to be a very kind and gentle boy with comets shining in his black eyes, and your gentle Shi Mei, although he has ceased to be the center of your attention, still remains a safe haven.

Perhaps this role is really good!

“I'm sorry I'm so late... you're not busy, right?... I know we've been talking less lately, but...

I have something for you.”

"THE CHARACTER SHI MEI USED A KEY PLOT ITEM ON YOU IN THE LAST TIME SESSION, WHICH WOULD LEAD TO THE COMPLETE ERASURE OF YOUR PERSONALITY AND THE CULTIVATION OF DEVOTION TO SHI MEI. TO PREVENT THIS, AN ALTERNATIVE LINE WAS CREATED. BE MORE CAREFUL IN THE FUTURE AND DON'T LET THIS HAPPEN AGAIN."

"DON'T EVER DO THAT AGAIN," still the same loving, but a little more formidable and domineering.

You wake up in your bed, although you were sure that a few minutes ago you saw your Shi Mei, in whose gentle eyes devils glittered.

"IT WAS A DOOMED LINE. JUST KEEP MOVING FORWARD. CURRENT TIME POINT: THE DAY AFTER MO RAN AND SHI MEI AGREED."

... You tend to learn from your mistakes. Shi Mei seems a little lost, but clearly does not remember anything, and you tend to believe that this is much deeper than the "disappearance of one event" — the system does not respond, but you have the assumption that since your world is the "original", their memories were only implanted. Unfortunately, you haven't made any notes on trees or other places to check whether this theory is real, but in any case you remember.

Mo Ran has a clear look of black eyes, more like an incipient thunderstorm, a pale face and aquiline features. He becomes more distrustful and quieter, like a tense spring, and for a moment you think it would be better to let Shi Mei do what he had to do — in the end, it would also be dramatic, right? — but the System interrupts your question, explaining that the item inhabits the heart and leaves an imprint on the mind — and you are not so experienced yet, while its main and most important goal is, first of all, to preserve your mind, and only then to perform a specialized function. And although you have a question about both the term and the vague wording, you agree, realizing that it is difficult to formulate this question differently if it puts an end almost immediately.

"I UNDERSTAND THAT THIS SOUNDS AMBIGUOUS. JUST MOVE AND WORK, I'LL STEP IN WHEN IT'S NECESSARY."

And you're working.

Mo Ran does not pull away from you, but you are still more persistent and gentle, hoping to maintain the relationship to a warm enough degree that his "departure" will be a blow to you. After all, "death at the hands of a distraught best friend" is a good enough plot for dog blood and death for a hero of your type, isn't it?

... Shi Mei behaves calmly, almost gently, and although he is more like the same Shi Mei in your "first timeline", timidly touching your hand with his fingertips, gently smiling, coquettishly brushing hair forward with a shy gesture, you try to keep yourself in control, although you feel an almost obsessive desire to take his hands and cry from how beautiful he is — but the System reminds you that in your case it is still irrational to get involved with a future villain, "don't forget your role and the future, especially considering your past experience with him," and you can only continue to cling to Mo Ran.

It's funny and cheerful with Mo Ran — he's funny, loud and open, and although you see him getting darker and more depressed, as if consumed by paranoid and unhealthy thoughts, while something flashes in his pupils that you can't identify, you only encourage and play along. His skin is not as hot as it used to be, but you still press it to you in an attempt to warm it, and even when he, hiding face in your shoulder, hoarsely asks "why", you continue. Chu Wanning hesitantly pulls his hand towards you, but almost immediately takes it away, — and you pretend not to notice, cooing and purring with Mo Ran, who is distracted from obsessive thoughts only when you are near.

In this life, you have become less affectionate and active, but it seems to have given more results, from which you cannot help but suspect whether you should just... to abandon activity and allow yourself to get involved only in the most important moments and engage in initiating relationships, while leaving other moments to others. In the end, Xue Meng is more than willing to pull you along, Shi Mei lays his head on your shoulder and Mo Ran squeezes your shoulders almost to the point of bleeding, but you, as gentle and caring, only comfort him.

Chu Wanning? You... you yourself do not understand what he is doing, even if you feel that it is somehow wrong, does not fit the role of a cold and indifferent shizun, — but you still regularly come and help with small things, bringing sweets and small gifts, and with almost amazement for a moment catch yourself thinking that in this life he has become more gentle around you. Maybe because you live longer — you need to wait for the moment when the flower blooms to the fullest, and when Mo Ran, who has become even more contradictory and aggressive, will kill you.

In your free time, you try yourself in the role of your character, being kind and calm, as befits a "real white lotus", devoted to close people and betrayed by one of them. It's strange almost to the point of being unaccustomed or disgusted, but over time you learn how best to be "pure and spotless", as if a little more and you can immediately ascend to heaven.

... You know what you are doing when Mo Ran "goes crazy" — after all, the role of a young, just blossoming person, full of youthful hopes and who did not know the sorrows and difficulties of the world to the extent that gives others despair, makes you a wonderful lamb.

"BEAUTY MUST BE TARNISHED," the System says approvingly, and you agree, going to a confrontation with your former best friend, knowing that it will only bring death. Straightening your shoulders, you are not at all afraid of what awaits you, — your body is only trembling a little, — you have been preparing for this scene since your childhood in this world, looking into the brilliant purple black eyes of the person you once hugged as the most precious thing you have, and he desperately clung to you.

“... Do you think you can do something?”

You give your best, even when you start hurting your body, knowing that this scene must be intense and intense so that you shine like a shooting star.

... Even if they were doomed from the very beginning, like a tiny puppy in a battle with a huge dog...

“... You've always been too good.”

... But instead of emptiness in your chest, there is blood in your mouth,

and you don't know which one of you it belongs to

"INVASION OF UNIDENTIFIED AGGRESSIVE ENERGY, VIOLATION OF THE INTEGRITY OF THE BARRIER OF THIS TIME LINE. AN ALTERNATIVE TIME LINE IS BEING CREATED. BE MORE CAREFUL IN THE FUTURE AND DON'T LET THIS HAPPEN AGAIN."

"IT'S OKAY."

you hear the soft, soothing voice of the System when you wake up in bed in your adult body, not much younger than the one you were in your... past life? time line? — you yourself are not sure what to call it.

"THIS IS A WORLD OF SPECIAL COMPLEXITY, IT IS NORMAL TO EXPERIENCE DIFFICULTIES. ALTHOUGH THE SECOND STAGE IS USUALLY THE MOST PROBLEMATIC, DIFFICULTIES WITH COMPLETING THE FIRST ONE ARE ALSO COMMON."

This is your second restart, the first time you've been so close to the end, and you... you need some time alone.

"... UNDERSTAND. GET SOME REST."

You are sure that everything is right now. Mo Ran has a flower, Shi Mei "died", Chu Wanning... Chu Wanning sometimes grabs you by the clothes and tries not to let you out of sight for a long time, although he does not understand why, you can read these vague and unidentified feelings in his eyes — fortunately, you continue to bring sweets and help him, even if it no longer makes sense now. A familiar routine helps you to distract yourself and think about many things, but not about those that bring you anxiety or anger. He behaves a little strange, but you believe that this is normal, because, frankly, you no longer have the strength to feel sorry even for yourself. To live a life where you were forced to see the death of people you were close to, and twice face problems over which you had no control, and have a strange "interference" from the outside, which even the System cannot recognize, — "IT IS CAUSED NOT BY SYSTEMIC REASONS, BUT BY INTRA-WORLD ONES, AND WE CANNOT KNOW ISN'T THIS A SIGN THAT THE HEAVEN OF THAT WORLD REJECTED YOU OR NOT", — and you're not sure if you can even try to "preserve" the correct appearance of the world. Why can't you be like Xue Meng? Because you are kind? What are you missing? Why does the world have to be permanently reset to factory settings?

... You communicate especially closely with Xue Meng, although in this life it is enough for you to have a warm superficial relationship with everyone — System does not require you to actively inject yourself emotionally, unlike early attempts, and you just relax, although it is a little hard for you to sleep at night. Now it is much easier and simpler to help people — passing through almost the third circle, you already know in advance all such moments, from which you are only required to remember and behave affectionately. Although it's a little... strange to see all the dead people alive again, but you're okay with it, thinking that all you have to do is survive this life and it's almost over. The second stage will be much easier — and simpler; System promises that it will make it easier for you in the second stage, and you are ready to cry and kiss its hands, because you definitely won't stand it twenty more times if this attempt is successful.

It is much easier to communicate with Xue Meng in this life — maybe because in the past, after you lost almost everyone, you stuck together to fight Taxian-jun's bloody regime and kill him, and you, having lived through many situations of a suspension bridge, in a sense became soft for him, ignoring even his obvious overbearing and aggressive nature, with easy withdrawal to emotions, narcissism and pampering. Rather, it even became something cute — especially with how hard he endures loneliness, difficult to cope with negative emotions and needs a light, soft relaxation that only others can give to cope with his ebullient energy. And even if at first Xue Meng is too inclined to give what he considers delicious or beautiful only himself, not paying attention to your preferences, over time he becomes more attentive, even more spreading the peacock tail in front of you, which sometimes becomes even more unbearable, but for some reason you like, even moments of his constant subconscious rivalry only to then relent and go on about it — and then immediately get back into the pose of pride, refusing on principle.

But you... you really like it for some reason. It's much easier, better with him — and when you let him lead you, letting go of control, lazily watching his skirmishes with Mo Ran, who in this life is much more inclined to circle around you, which further irritates the almost overprotective Xue Meng, or Shi Mei, with whom you sometimes sit together and aimlessly you talk, usually about some books or other little things, you feel so calm. Perhaps it was worth choosing Xue Meng from the very beginning — although he also annoys you like no other, it is quite cozy and calm with him, even despite his need for emotional support, which, however, Shi Mei can also provide, almost completely removing the need for you to strain beyond measure, only convincing Xue Meng that you are here with him and taking care of him.

He's almost like a child, but in the nicest way.

Yes, even when his pride becomes clinginess, and overprotection becomes possessiveness, and his fingers almost dig into your hand, telling you not to go anywhere, in an even more aggressive way, you still wave and nod.

You don't worry at all anymore, it's still kept within the storyline, and if he's a little weird about you, it will add drama to the theme of "a minor beta couple where one member dies." System says nothing, agreeing rather than refuting, maybe because it sees that you have absolutely no energy, but you no longer worry, giving yourself the desired rest.

After all, you deserve it, right? After all this work, it's only fair that you rest knowing what's ahead.

After all, you have no faith now that death will be "heroic" anyway.

You are no longer trying to be stronger to "defeat" Mo Ran, or to fight back against anyone else. You just allow yourself to be lazy, aimless and careless, hoping that it will help you, even if Chu Wanning clearly disapproves of such laziness (or something else?) and Xue Meng tries to convince you to train with him by clinging to your clothes — you train no more than the necessary minimum, preferring to watch Xue Meng and praise him.

“Just be with me! I can take care and protect you! I'll be strong enough for you — just stop looking around and doubting!”

... When Sisheng Peak was destroyed, becoming the first target on Taxian-jun's path, you did not even try to continue the fight or stand at the head of the opposition with Xue Meng, as it was before.

Although, you are sure that your actions made no sense or reason for anyone.

"THE FIRST HALF WAS OVER. THE LEVEL IS SATISFACTORY. THE TIME LINE WAS FIXED AS THE MAIN ONE. PLEASE GET READY TO CONTINUE YOUR STORY."

"THE TIME LINE WAS BROKEN."

"THE TIME LINE WAS BROKEN."

"THE TIME LINE WAS BROKEN."

"THE TIME LINE WAS BROKEN."

"THE TIME LINE WAS BROKEN."

"THE TIME LINE WAS..."

"HELLO, HOST. CALL ME THE SYSTEM. AS YOU ALREADY KNOW, YOUR TASK IS TO QUALITATIVELY PLAY YOUR PERSONALITY, WHO IS A MINOR CHARACTER AND THE FOURTH DISCIPLE OF SISHENG PEAK. CURRENT TIME POINT: MO RAN WOKE UP AGAIN IN HIS SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD BODY AFTER HE DIED."

For some reason it seems vaguely familiar, but perhaps you have heard this somewhere before. You don't remember much about waking up on the bed, looking around sleepily. The body is both familiar and unfamiliar, as is the environment around it.

Obviously, these are memories of your body, considering that you are here for the first time, although even these thoughts seem familiar.

"YOU JUST HAVE TO BE AN INNOCENT AND KIND DISCIPLE. GIVEN YOUR PERSONALITY AND EXPERIENCE, IT WILL BE EASY. DON'T BE AFRAID OF ANYTHING AND BE SURE THAT I WILL BE WITH YOU UNTIL THE END."

Sounds simple enough. Just be nice until the end of the plot? You might as well be a salty fish and enjoy life as a minor character without interfering in their lives in any way. In the end, it's not that your intervention makes sense or matters — as long as the plot is moving, they're all doing what they should and think is right. Are you ready to take responsibility for the characters, if now they are real people, and not their life or future depends on your actions, but the future of the whole world? Of course not. This is your first task — you should work responsibly and efficiently!

... You really don't know what's wrong when CHU WANNING gently lifts your face, looking into your eyes, before saying that he is ready to be your teacher and promises to teach you everything he knows and take care of you — which is definitely not in his personality! And although the fact that XUE MENG takes you by the sleeve and says that you are his friend, without accepting objections, you are still ready to accept, but the way SHI MEI himself approaches you when you are sitting under a tree, smiling so affectionately in a familiar way, starting a dialogue is so familiar to you, as if you've been talking to him all your life — you're already starting to think 'a little weird'.

And you treat Mo Ran's friendliness and affectionateness normally, until the System informs you that he has been reborn — only to dig his fingers into your clothes as soon as he wakes up after the punishment, while you are at his bedside to take care of him together with Shi Mei (which, however, causes dissatisfaction with Xue Meng, who is sure that you are wasting your time on someone like this useless dog and should train with him instead). Mo Ran's face hides in your shoulder, but you do not dare to ask what is wrong, except to comfort and purr that the teacher was forced to do this, such rules — but Mo Ran's grip only becomes stronger when his hands squeeze you by the waist, as if he wants to say something, express, but not can't find a word.

And you feel that something is wrong, unable to ignore it anymore — you could have pretended earlier that Chu Wanning's friendliness was a 'weakness for the cute', or that Xue Meng 'wanted to have a cute friend', or that Shi Mei 'was fascinated by your aura', while Mo Ran is 'just very kind, despite all the horrors of life that he has experienced' — but Mo Ran's too strong reaction, especially considering the story about your 'past' life that the System gave, is inadequate.

"NO. THERE IS NO MISTAKE. CHARACTERS CANNOT BEHAVE "INADEQUATELY". THE DATA AND BEHAVIORS OF THE CHARACTERS ARE NOT DIGITAL DATA, BUT A FLEXIBLE SPECTRUM EMANATING FROM EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED TO THEM, THE ORIGINAL CHARACTERISTICS AND DISTINCTIVE FEATURES. THEIR ATTITUDE TOWARDS YOU DEPENDS ONLY ON YOUR ACTIONS AND CHARACTERISTICS."

When Chu Wanning hugs you tightly to him, without explaining anything, during your cleaning of his room, you also say nothing, only allowing him to do it, although you can almost feel the flame of something burning inside him that you are not able to recognize.

And even when Shi Mei puts his head on your shoulder, lovingly intertwining his fingers with yours, almost cooing while it's raining, and in his eyes you can read something that defies explanation, like looking into a deep lake and seeing there the outlines of what you don't want to see even in nightmares.

You just try to be kind and responsive, helping and being helpful, even if their problems are intuitive and easy for you, as if you have not even once or twice, but three or five times encountered them — or maybe even more.

And although it seems boring or useless, at some point you even begin to have fun — and the four of you walk around the sect to find something to do, although Mo Ran and Xue Meng prefer to continue verbally fighting and fiddling like in the good old days.

good old days?

“... Do you... remember anything strange sometimes? For example, something that didn't happen, but you are sure it was?”

You stop from cleaning, looking over your shoulder at Chu Wanning, who is creating a new mechanism — but now the gaze of the black eyes is directed at you.

And you want to say that 'no', but something inside you is slipping viciously, as if it's a lie — so you just shake your head in denial.

He doesn't say anything, but for some reason you feel ashamed.

“... I'm your teacher. If something bothers you, you should contact me. I'll take care of you.”

You don't say anything, but nod, although you don't look at him, — but feel his gaze burning so intensely for the first time.

Something's wrong.

“... IN SOME WORLDS, CHARACTERS CAN SENSE THE EXISTENCE OF THE SYSTEM IF THEIR CONNECTION TO HEAVEN IS TOO STRONG. IT'S NOTHING SCARY. WE CAN ALWAYS CREATE AN ALTERNATIVE BRANCH AND ERASE UNNECESSARY MEMORIES AND MOMENTS.”

“I'll protect you. It doesn't matter at what cost. Just stay with me.”

Maybe you can fix it then?!

[lavender-long-stories]

🌸 Friend & Enemy 🌸

Spoilers for Why Is It Always You? | Chapter 6 | Rated T

Sasuke flinched at her raised voice. He turned to see her face purple in rage. Was she going to let the mask slip over something like that?

“Say it again.” Hinata dared him. “Show me how much of a bastard you are.” Did she just swear?

Sasuke face twisted at the challenge. “Don’t act like you have the moral high ground, second place.” He spat back. “You just want the spotlight and aren’t happy that someone is better than you. Some of us have real problems that aren't worrying about if we get first ranking or fitting in stupid pageant dress.”

Hinata stared at him, her eyes filled with fury, but her lip quivering. Her hands tightened into fists, and for a moment, he thought she might try to punch him, but instead, she stepped back and fled the room.

Sasuke kicked the trash can, glaring at the tail of the glitter dress as it disappeared.

“She hates that pageant.” Shikamaru’s voice came in from behind, sounding bored as ever but somehow colder than usual. “Her father makes her compete.”

“Her father makes her do a lot of things.” So did his mother. It was part of the culture of being an heir. She couldn’t blame her father for everything.

Shikamaru stopped sweeping and looked up at him with ice in his eyes. “He smacked across the face for getting third place in the overall ranking last year.” Sasuke paused to look at him. He wasn’t feeling all that sympathetic right now. “The cut she had on her cheek last week was from him hitting her with something.”

Sasuke rolled his eyes. “Did she tell you that?”

Shikamaru shook his head. “No, she lied.”

What was the point of that? “Then how do you know?”

“Because she always has the same look in her eyes she always does when she lies about her father,” Shikamaru answered. “She has a similar look when she talks about you.” He went back to sweeping. “Stop commenting about her eating. She eats fine. She’s just doing too much. She needs rest.”

“Then she should stop doing something,” Sasuke countered.

Shikamaru didn’t correct him again. Just gave him a single disappointed look. They both knew that he was smart enough to make the conclusion Shikamaru was pushing.

Sasuke huffed, looking out the door. With his rage subsiding, yeah, maybe calling her useless was a bit much, but he didn’t know how much he believed that she did everything just because it was what her dad wanted.

He groaned, dumping the last of the disposable cups and plates in the trash before heading toward the door, passing into the cold of the night. He couldn’t see her, but he could hear her crying.

Sasuke followed gasps and miserable muffled whimpers to the side of the building, where he found her in a sea of her golden tulle curled up on the pavement, shriveled down, bawling in the knees. Her shoes were discarded like she pulled them off and tossed them weakly. She covered her sobs with her hands like it might help to conceal her.

His stomach twisted, watching her mask slip. This wasn’t what he meant.

Sasuke backed behind the corner before she could notice he was there. She wasn’t going to want to talk to him now. An apology wasn’t going to fix this.

Spoilers for Why Is It Always You? | Chapter 14 | Rated T

That would be funny to see. “I can’t see you getting mad at something like that.”

“Maybe not outwardly.” Hinata agreed. “Of course, you're the only one that has ever really seen me get mad.”

Sasuke raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Hinata's eyes narrowed on him. “You are usually the only one who can make me that mad,” Sasuke remembered the fire in her eyes and snorted. “What?”

“Sorry. I am just remembering that when you blew up at me, and you were in that stupid huge sparkly dress.” Sasuke chuckled.

Hinata pouted. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Sorry,” Sasuke repeated through his chuckling before sighing. “That feels like months ago, and it was only, what, two, three weeks?” The last few days felt like weeks, just sitting in a sterile room waiting for Itachi to wake up, ignoring calls from his friends because he didn’t know what to tell them. He thought a few too many times to text Hinata. Tell her what happened. Just to have someone to talk to about it, but he thought better of it. But the first thing he thought when he stepped out to get away from Itachi’s overly calm attitude was to come here. He knew she would come and sit even without him, or at least he hoped she would.

Hinata looked at him like she could read his mind. Like she knew why it felt so long, but maybe it was obvious.

Sasuke rested his head back and sighed before sitting up and looking at her computer that had fallen asleep in the time that they had been talking. “Let's finish this.”

Hinata woke up her computer and slid it to him.

🌸 SasuHina Month 2024 - Day 6 🌸

@sasuhinamonth

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

hihii! i love love love your works sm im😭😭

for the prompt game, from list #74, prompts #3 & #8 with hyunlix and reader!

hope you have a nice day today 🫶🏻🫶🏻

SKZ PROMPT GAME

Prompts: "If I can get it in pink, I want it in pink."

"I'm more of a glass half-full type of person." "Mhm. And what's in the glass?" "Poison. Why?"

Members: Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix

Relationship: Aristocrats FemReader x HyunLix

Genre: Fluff with a sprinkle of Criminal Activities

"God, these parties are incredibly dull."

You take a delicate sip of your wine as Hyunjin sighs, leaning back against the wall beside you, watching the throng of people on the floor dance an elegant waltz.

"Don't let your father hear you say that, or he'll consign you to attending them for the rest of your life." You tease back beneath your breath, shooting a sidelong glance at the long legged aristocrat beside you.

He scoffs, eyes darkening behind his mask. "And what exactly, pray tell, am I doing right now?"

You set your glass down, turning to face him as you carefully straighten the tie of his cravat, smoothing your hands over his dark suit as you glance up at him, a slight smile on your lips.

"You're in attendance tonight of your own accord, Lord Hwang. Because someone here has something we want." You tilt your head, grinning up from beneath your own mask. "And your father is none the wiser."

Hyunjin's eyes flash, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips in anticipation.

"Speaking of," He glances past you, around the room once more, brow furrowing. "Where the hell is Felix?"

As if summoned by his name, the man in question appears at your side in that moment, slightly out of breath, but not a blonde hair out of place, as he leans against the wall beside Hyunjin.

Hyunjin gives him a shrewd, teasing glance, taking in the long tails of his suit coat and the sweeping elegance of the mask that hides his face. "Do I know you, sir?"

Felix rolls his eyes and grumbles something under his breath that sounds remarkably close to fuck you.

"So?" You ask curiously, leaning into Hyunjin's space to peer at Felix, hiding what you're saying behind the fan you hold up in your hand.

Felix nods, eyes scanning the room, before he turns his attention back to you and gives you the hint of a smile.

"He's here."

You feel the breath you've been holding go out like a gust, and Hyunjin visibly relaxes.

"Good, that's good." Hyunjin nods, sounding relieved, even though he's trying to hide it. "I mean, we knew he would be after all-fat, rich bastard can't resist a chance to show off his wealth and position any more than Felix can resist a cute, fluffy mongrel, or some pleading, wide-eyed, waif."

Felix shoots Hyunjin another glare, and he merely shrugs in response.

You pluck a glass of champagne off a passing waiter's tray and pass it to Felix, who gulps it gratefully, before he grimaces and sets aside the empty glass.

"Whoa, easy there, buddy." Hyunjin glances at Felix, but you don't miss the way there's heated admiration in his eyes as he regards the other.

"I need alcohol to deal with you."

Hyunjin feigns hurt. "When did you get so negative, Lixie-boy?"

Felix snags another glass of champagne and downs this one a little more slowly than the first.

"The moment we stepped into this party." He glances sidelong at Hyunjin, relaxed against the wall beside him. "You're not nervous at all that this'll go haywire?"

Hyunjin shrugs, eyes scanning the dance floor. "Nah. I'm more of a glass half-full type of person, my friend."

You scoff, hiding the sound behind your fan, and Hyunjin arches a brow curiously in your direction.

You fix him with a cynical stare, ticking your own brow up and holding his expression.

"Mhm. And what's in the glass, Hyunjin?"

Hyunjin grins in that often unhinged way he usually does and leans back against the wall, crossing his arms casually over his chest.

"Poison. Why?"

Felix chokes on his champagne.

Your glance to a couple waltzing by you, giving them a tight smile, before you lower your voice and speak again.

"We need to get that signet."

Hyunjin rolls his eyes behind the plumes of his mask, his sharp, delicate nose crinkling slightly.

"Yeah, kinda what we came here for, (Y/N)-girlie."

He has his hair pulled back tonight, held high by a navy ribbon that matches his suit, and he looks good.

You've noticed more than a few women-and men-eying him from across the room.

Felix nods thoughtfully. "Luckily for us, we know his vices."

Both their eyes fall on you, and you sigh heavily in response.

"Women-"

"-and booze." Felix finishes off, nodding again, tugging at one of his cufflinks, straightening the sleeves of his dress shirt.

"Not just any women though." Hyunjin slings an arm around your shoulders, his breath tickling the top of your head, his body warm against your own. He grins and leans down to whisper in your ear, "Exceptionally pretty, well bred, women."

You bat his hand away. "Yes, I know my role in all this, thank you."

Hyunjin holds up his hands, backing up to lean against the wall once more, though the smirk still hasn't left his pretty face.

"I'm just saying, sweetheart, you've got incredible birthing hips and the bloodline to match. You're every aristocratic man's wet dream personified."

You flip him off.

"Except I'm too mouthy and a smart ass and could never sit demurely by having tea and gossiping and cross stitching while my 'husband' fucked the woman next door under the excuse of 'business relations.'"

Hyunjin laughs. "That you are. Which is why, sweetheart-" He leans in close again, lips brushing across your throat and leaving heat in their wake. "-you need a certain kind of man to keep up with you."

Felix rolls his eyes. "Can you two flirt later?" He passes you a knife discreetly, and you hide it in the billowing folds of your skirt.

The metal is cold in your hand, and your fingers clench around it as you look to Felix.

"He's there then?"

Your question is vague, but Felix nods confidently. "Right where we thought he'd be."

You take a steadying breath and push off the wall, determination flowing through you. "Right. I'm off then."

Hyunjin smacks your ass, and none too discreetly, and more than a few people look in your direction in horror, whispering behind their hands.

You glare at him, and he grins cockily, tilting his head, eyes falling down to your ass openly.

"Go on, sweetheart. We'll be right behind you. And then, maybe we can talk about you putting that luscious ass to good use later."

You roll your eyes and ignore him, weaving off through the party toward the den, but not before hearing Felix say behind you, in a low, annoyed tone, "Dude."

Hyunjin laughs. "What? You want me to put your ass to good use later too, Lixie? It can certainly be arranged. Don't feel left out, pretty boy."

You filter out their bantering, the chatter of the party from around you, and knife clutched tightly in your hand, go to find the Duke.

********************************************************************************

You find him in the den, smoking a cigar, bourbon in his hand, just where Felix said he would be.

When you enter, you make extra sure to sway your hips and walk slowly, so he can take all of you in as you come toward him.

Despite Hyunjin's teasing, you do indeed have a fantastic ass. Not to mention, tits to die for.

The duke's eyes light up when he sees you, a sleazy grin sliding across his mouth, and he brushes off the maid he was currently in the middle of fondling without a second glance.

The poor girl looks more than a little relieved, darting past you and silently out the door.

You're sure the duke's advances weren't welcomed. They never were.

Rich men had a habit of taking the things they wanted from people, especially pretty women.

You lean over the duke so he can get a full view of your cleavage, and setting your refilled wine glass on the side table, slide onto the couch beside him.

He smells like alcohol, and cigar smoke, and you do your best not to wrinkle your nose in disgust as you glance sidelong at him from under your lashes, giving him a shy smile.

He bites immediately.

"Lady (L/N)." He purrs, inching closer, his hand finding your thigh through the billowing skirt you wear. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You giggle as he leans closer to you, forcing a pink blush to your cheeks, looking away as if flattered by his attention.

You've had plenty of practice, being a daughter of Lord and all.

It was easier to let men think you wanted their attention than fight it off. Got you things you wanted in the long run if you knew how to play the game.

And know how to play the game you did.

The duke's fingers inched higher up your leg, and you tried to keep your expression innocent as you glanced at him once more.

The garnet signet glinted on his finger, and everything inside of you coiled in anticipation.

"Why are you in here all alone, Duke, when you could be out there enjoying all the pretty women vying for your attention?" You question, though you already know the answer.

You just need to keep him talking until Hyunjin and Felix are in position, and then you can drop the charade.

Your fingers clench around the hidden dagger.

"The only pretty woman's attention I want is yours, my dear." The man smirks, leaning into your space, his eyes clearly drawn to the dip of your breasts in your corset.

You resist the urge to pull away and give him another little charming smile.

You're well aware the duke knows who your father is, what your bloodline holds, and you know, it's all just an act to get what he wants from you.

Sex. And then your fortune.

"You're sweet." You coo back, leaning over to pat his cheek as a wave of bourbon washes over you with his breath.

"Not as sweet as you." He sneers back, and you almost gag at the insincerity dripping from his words.

His hand slides beneath the skirt of your dress, and the feel of his fingers on your bare skin makes you itch.

"What inspired this dress? You look absolutely ravishing tonight." His fingers stroke across your thigh, and his eyes fall down once more to your breasts. "Quite a choice of color, my dear."

You glance down at the pink confection you wear, layers of tulle draped around your legs, pushed up by the duke's wandering hand.

You shrug, playing the innocent, naive card.

"If I can get it in pink, I want it in pink."

You catch a glimpse of a shadow slip into the room, and the door to the den falls quietly shut.

The duke doesn't even notice, intent on working his fingers up your thigh with zero class and more than a little fumbling clumsiness.

You grit your teeth and force yourself not to roll your eyes.

"Get this pretty little dress out of the way-" The duke mumbles underneath his breath, pushing your skirts to the side and letting his fingers go to the belt that holds his pants up over his ample belly.

Your fingers tighten around the hidden weapon, cold against your thigh.

The sound of the lock turning makes you perk your ears, and suddenly, it's go time.

The duke has almost gotten his belt and pants all the way off, fumbling and swearing as his drunken fingers take longer than normal to cooperate, and when he finally looks up with a triumphant smirk, you're holding a knife to his throat.

His eyes instantly flash with anger, then down to the knife, then back up to your face.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He hisses out, trying to covertly tuck himself back into his pants.

You don't give one shit about his tiny, limp penis.

You hold the knife out, pointing it at his chest, as you motion with your head toward his hand.

"Give me the ring."

His eyes flicker down to the signet he wears, and he laughs, the sound cold and demeaning.

"Little girl, you don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"Oh, I think she does."

Hyunjin appears at the duke's shoulder then, sliding out of the shadows, grinning like a wild man, leaning over to look the duke in the face as his grin only grows wider.

The duke's eyes widen, and you see flicker of fear there.

"You."

"Me." Hyunjin shrugs, glancing to where the point of your knife rests against the duke's chest, digging into the expensive fabric of his waistcoat. "Now, I suggest you do what she says, if you want to survive to fuck and drink another day, old man."

You motion with your chin to his hand once more, eyes cold, expression set.

"Ring. Now."

The duke swears, clenching his hands in his lap, and glancing past you toward the door. The door that's locked and watched by Felix, just outside.

Hyunjin sighs patiently, patting the duke's shoulder as he comes out from behind the couch and squats in front of the man, looking up at him with patience, like he's a child who doesn't understand.

"No one's gonna help you, I hate to say. So, I'll say it again." Hyunjin's easy smile drops off his lips instantly, his expression going sharp with danger. "Give my girl there her ring and you'll live to see another day."

The duke swears, and you drag the knife up underneath the wobbling jowls of his chin, digging it into the skin there, drawing a sharp, red droplet of blood.

"Fine. Fine." He hisses out, reaching with fumbling fingers to slide the ring off his thick finger, tossing it on the floor at your feet. "Take it. But mark my words-" His beady eyes flash, his tongue darting out to lick his swollen lips. "-you will pay for this."

Hyunjin chuckles, pushing himself to his feet as you bend down, never taking your eyes off the duke, to pick up the ring and tuck it into your pocket.

"I seriously doubt that, dukey, but I'd love to see you try."

"I know who you are." The duke continues his tirade, like a toddler throwing a tantrum, pointing a shaking finger in Hyunjin's direction. "I could bring ruin to you. To your father. Your mother."

Hyunjin moves so fast he's a blur, pinning the duke back against the settee with an elbow pressed down on his throat.

"Don't ever-" He hisses, getting in the duke's face, features warped with rage. "-threaten my mother."

The duke coughs raggedly, Hyunjin releasing him and stepping back, straightening his suit jacket as if nothing happened, turning to you, the knife still held by your side, the ring safely tucked away.

He cocks a brow at you. "Care to do the honors?"

You nod with a grin. "Love to."

"You ingrates-" The duke is back to spitting insults and threats, spittle dripping down his chin, face red, which means, he doesn't even see it coming when you lunge forward and jam the syringe into the meat of his thigh.

He goes down instantly, slumping on the couch like a sack of potatoes, and Hyunjin whistles appreciatively.

"Damn, Felix. Good serum that one."

"Did someone mention me?" Felix appears then, slipping in through the cracked door of the study, and you hold up the empty syringe for him to see, tossing it to him so he can put it into the hidden pocket of his suit coat.

"Just talking about how good you are at your job." You reply, leaning up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek as he blushes.

Hyunjin sniffs at the empty glass of bourbon on the table, and knocks over the bottle beside the duke for good measure, eying the set up critically, before he nods and steps back.

"No one will suspect a thing."

Felix nods. "Just a poor, old duke passed out alone at a party."

"I paid off the maid by the way." Hyunjin adds, glancing to Felix, eyes glinting with amusement. "She'll back us up that he was in here alone all night."

"Perfect."

"Hold on." You step forward, ripping open the duke's expensive looking vest easily, the buttons flying in all directions. You pour some brandy down his exposed chest and glare down at him with disgust.

You step back. "Sick bastard deserved to be the one exposed against his will for once."

Hyunjin looks at you with an unreadable expression, and you shoot him a curious look.

"What?"

He shakes his head as he takes you in from head to toe, slowly and openly, making your toes curl and your face feel hot.

"Nothing really. It's just sexy as fuck to watch you do shit like this. Gets me hard every time."

You roll your eyes, but your stomach warms pleasantly with his words.

Felix nods in agreement, biting back a grin. "Something about righteous vengeance. It's look good on you."

"Or some shit." Hyunjin mumbles under his breath, and you laugh, the signet heavy in your pocket as you slip the dagger in to join it.

You're glad your plan had worked without shedding blood, though heaven knows the duke deserved it.

You liked this dress.

"C'mon." You loop your arm through Hyunjin's, and then Felix's, glancing up at them both with a smirk.

"I believe there was a previous offer from earlier in the evening that involved my ass? It's time to pay up, boys."