#what I love about him is that it's natural for him to do the Good Thing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yinyuedijun · 2 days ago

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FUNERAL MARCH | evil eye x fem!reader x jiji

The Evil Eye doesn't love you. It's not in his nature as a demon, and he's not sure that it was in his nature as a human either. He wasn't loved and couldn’t love, and that's why he was given to the Tsuchinoko. But he likes to possess you nevertheless, and he often thinks about cursing you so that you’re bound to him. It would be the only way to keep you, because you probably don't love him, either—no human would embrace such a horrid and ugly existence. You just love the Vessel he inhabits. (Or: You and Jiji are now engaged. Of course, you have to ask the Evil Eye to marry you too.)

10.8k words. romance, smut, mild angst & comedy. rough sex with the Evil Eye (piv, creampie, overstimulation, bizarre magic, cnc elements in the “nooo it's too much” kind of way, dubcon with the magic). content warnings: aged up characterization, implied past sexual abuse (not involving Jiji or Evil Eye), brief mentions of suicidality, religious references (Taoist ghost marriage), use of English idioms that don't translate well into Japanese (forgive me), canon-typical crass humour. mdni.

I. THE GHOST

You’re in love with his Vessel.

The Evil Eye is well-aware of this. He hadn't known love as a human, but he saw it often enough in the House. Countless families moved in over the years, husbands and wives with little children who were frightened when he tried to play with them. After photography was invented, pictures lined the walls and decorated nightstands. They immortalized brides in their white kimono, grooms with their wide smiles, elegant ceremonies, decadent banquets.

The couples always looked like they were having so much fun, the Evil Eye noticed. Not just in the photos, but in their daily lives in the House—dancing with each other, pressing their lips together, laughing and singing and holding each other. Then they'd die together, hanging themselves because of that shitty worm. The Evil Eye always felt a kind of sadness seeing them in love—he’d never had that, and he'd never get it, and it was unfair in a way that filled him with a searing rage.

But he was even angrier when they died.

It used to make him angry too, when you talked about the Vessel. When he took over and he caught you laughing at something the Vessel had said, or dancing with him, or pressing your lips together. (Kissing, you’d told him the first time it happened. It's called kissing someone, when you do that.)

Then you started kissing the Evil Eye too, and suddenly he wasn't so angry anymore—the latent rage in him for once eased.

Still, it makes him feel sullen when you tell him, “Jiji and I want to get married.”

You are lying next to him in bed. Sweat is cooling on your naked body—you always get so hot when you and the Vessel get into bed with each other, or sometimes when he’s got you bent over the dining room table, or occasionally when you touch each other in that place you call the ‘locker room’, which tends to leave you extra breathless. No matter the place or the time, you’re always lighthearted, glowing, satisfied. It's the effect that the Vessel has when he’s inside you.

(Sex, you told the Evil Eye once, it's called having sex. Or making love. Not all sex is making love, but it's making love the way that Jiji and I do it. And then the Evil Eye demanded that you show him what exactly that meant, and that's when you took him inside you for the first time. He felt so good and so close with you that for a while, it was all he wanted to do.

Wants to do.)

“What does that mean,” the Evil Eye asks, although he has a good idea. You want to live in a House with the Vessel and laugh and sing and hold each other. You want to die together too, probably, your corpses hanging side-by-side from the same bannister.

“It means we’re going to dress up and make vows to spend the rest of our lives together,” you say. “And we’ll live together and build a home and maybe we’ll have babies too.”

The Evil Eye thinks of all those babies who lived in the House, impossibly tiny humans who were cradled by their mothers before they were burned alive as sacrifices. Before he became the Evil Eye—back when he was merely the ghost of a waif—he’d tried to play with them too, making silly faces and dancing as they giggled at him. He liked to pretend that they were his younger sisters or brothers, but sometimes he wondered how it'd feel to hold them and sing to them like their parents did. How it'd feel if he were a husband with a wife and a kid, what it would be like to dance with someone in the kitchen or tuck a child away into its cradle.

But every time he tried to pick the babies up, his hands would pass right through them. Kind-hearted ghosts can't love people in such a physical way; you need to be vengeful to hold onto anything. He'd had to learn to hate all humans before being able to touch them again, and now he's so rife with hatred that he can't love them anyway. All he can do is haunt them.

The Evil Eye doesn't love you. It's not in his nature as a demon, and he's not sure that it was in his nature as a human. He wasn't loved and couldn’t love, and that's why he was given to the Tsuchinoko. But he likes to possess you nevertheless, and he often thinks about cursing you so that you’re bound to him. It would be the only way to keep you, because you probably don't love him, either—no human would embrace such a horrid and ugly existence. You just love the Vessel he inhabits, and that's why he can kiss you and that's why he can hold you and that's why he’s allowed to sex with you (sex, not love—you've never called it making love when you do it with him, and you never look lighthearted after, and you never glow from his touch: he always leaves you panting, marked up, bruised, possessed).

You love the Vessel, so it makes sense that you would want to do all that with him: live in a House together and make babies together and eventually die together.

“Oh,” he says. “Sounds fun.”

You laugh. “Yes, I hope it'll be.” Then you lace your fingers with his, and look at him in a tender way that he'll probably never get used to. In a tender way that's meant for the Vessel.

“So, then,” you say almost shyly, “Do you wanna marry me too?”

II. THE VESSEL

Auntie Seiko is as beautiful, young, and no-nonsense as ever. Between meeting her as a child, coming into her care as a teenager, and now seeking her help as an adult, Jiji doesn't think she's ever changed. Most familiar to him right now is the expression that she’s wearing, the one that suggests that he might have shit for brains. Turbo Granny, perched on her shoulder, seems equally bemused, her porcelain cat eyes narrowed into judgemental slits. He'd been hoping that Momo and Okarun would understand his feelings, but they seem equally exasperated—Momo might even be a little appalled.

Anyone else might be disheartened by this reaction, but Jiji is undeterred. These are the people who once realised his wish to protect the Evil Eye; surely, they’ll also realise his wish for him to find happiness.

“—so we talked to him, right? Or my beautiful wifey talked to him, anyway—”

“We're not married yet, Jiji,” you interrupt dryly. “Don’t call me that.”

“—my future beautiful wifey talked to him about getting married, and he said yes! I'm on board. I think they should get a proper ceremony and everything. I know it's a little unconventional since she’ll be marrying me too, but I don't mind sharing, and I'd be willing to work out any legal issues. I'm sure we can find a country where polygamy is allowed.”

“Don’t you think the bigger problem is that he's an evil spirit?!” Momo asks—yells—but Jiji only shrugs.

“Evil or not, don't you think he deserves love and romance just as much as anyone else?”

“No!”

Jiji supposes that he can't blame Momo for her reaction, given how many times the Evil Eye has nearly killed her. Deeming her a lost cause, he turns his gaze on her boyfriend instead, almost puppy-like.

“Don’t you think so, Okarun?”

“Not really,” he admits, and Jiji nearly wilts at the betrayal before he adds, “but I understand where you're coming from. The Evil Eye was like a child when he first possessed you; his greatest wish was to find a friend to play with. Now he's basically a young man who's found his first love and his greatest wish is to be with her… and she, um, happens to be your wifey…”

“Don’t call me that!” you protest, oddly embarrassed, and Jiji resists the urge to squeeze you. You're so cute when you're flustered, it's unbearable. He makes a mental note to tell you this on the way home, though he already does this every day as a rule. When you were both still students, he would say it whenever he walked you home from school; nowadays, he more often says it during long-distance phone calls, or on FaceTime, or occasionally via text if your schedules are that misaligned. But he still makes it a point to remind you everyday, no matter where he is in the world: You're so cute. You're so pretty. You're beautiful, did you know that? I love you.

I love you, he thinks as he watches you. You look bashful right now. “We both want the Evil Eye to find happiness, and I’m pretty sure marriage will make him happy. And, well…” Your gaze drops. “It’d make me pretty happy too.”

Something in Jiji’s chest swells when he sees your expression. It feels mostly sweet, but there's also a painful edge to it. He’s always carried a kind of ache in his ribs ever since the day he caught his parents dangling from the second floor of the House and had to untie the nooses himself. Nowadays, he isn't sure if the pain is from that memory or if it's from the weight of the Evil Eye’s curse. Sometimes it feels like they're one and the same. Often it feels suffocating, like he's drowning and there's nothing he can do to breathe again—not laughing or joking or playing or running.

But you're always there when it’s hard. You're always beside him when he wakes up in the middle of the night to gasp for air, the way he used to when he was haunted as a teenager: It's okay, Jiji, you tell him, voice tender, I'm here for you. You aren't alone. I won't leave you. I won't let anything hurt you. I love you. The nightmares always leave him soaked in cold sweat, so he often switches in these moments, his consciousness displaced by a lonely, crying spirit. He doesn't know what it is you say to the Evil Eye, but when he comes back his heart feels lighter, and from that he knows that you've comforted him too.

The Evil Eye loves you—that much is clear. He loves you as much as Jiji does, probably. In a different way, sure, but just as much in strength.

It follows that nothing would make the Evil Eye happier in this world than getting married to you, Jiji figures. Dead or alive, who wouldn't be elated to marry the love of their life? And Jiji knows it'd make you equally as happy; only an idiot would think that you didn't love the Evil Eye back, and he's no fool. Some people might find it weird that he wants his wife to marry another man—and an evil spirit, at that—and maybe they're right for that. But why would Jiji ever turn down so much collective joy?

So he nods vigorously, giving Momo an intense look. “It'd make us all happy. Trust us!”

Momo gives you both a long, disbelieving stare.

“Well, when you put it that way…” She sighs, resigned. “When’s the wedding?”

“That's what we wanted your help with,” Jiji says, and he gives her grandmother an earnest look. “We want the wedding to be perfect, but we're not really sure how a ceremony would work with a youkai. What dates to choose, what venue to book, who could perform the rites… I mean, could you perform the rites, Ma’am?”

Auntie Seiko frowns. She looks on the verge of admonishing both of you, but Turbo Granny beats her to it: “Idiots. You can't do a Shinto ceremony with the Evil Eye. All three of you will combust into flames.”

“Oh.” Jiji remembers all the aliens and spirits alike that have burned upon attempting to chase them into the shrine grounds. He deflates. “Then… he can't get married?”

You squeeze his hand, and Jiji suspects that it's more for him than yourself. You don't seem nearly so worried.

“Would a Buddhist temple take us?” you ask.

“Doubt it,” Auntie Seiko says around her cigarette. “They’d probably try to exorcise your hubby on the spot—and even if they didn't, no Buddhist priest here would ever stand for tying the spirit of the deceased to a living person. It's how you get hauntings.”

“I don't mind being haunted by the Evil Eye,” you say immediately, and Auntie Seiko snorts.

“I know you don't, but it’s not in our job descriptions to curse people just because they're horny for a ghost.” Momo and Okarun cough loudly, and Jiji feels himself flushing; you cover your face with your hands. “I know a Chinese Taoist who’s done a few ghost marriages, though.”

“They’re okay with cursing people?” you ask, watching her through your fingers. “I mean—not that I mind.”

“Nah—they perform it as a pacification ritual. It would be the safest way to do something like this.” Auntie Seiko studies you closely. “I'm not sure how my acquaintance would react to an evil spirit or to polygamy, but I’ll call him and ask.”

“You're the best, Ma’am!” Jiji bursts, beaming. “We’ll save you an honoured spot in the front row! Turbo Granny too!” Elders should be respected, after all.

Turbo Granny makes a skeptical noise. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, numbnuts. Even if Seiko can find a priest stupid enough to oversee this wedding, there’s something you need that you probably can't find.”

“If we could find Okarun’s balls, I’m sure we can find anything,” you joke, but Granny seems unimpressed, her paws crossed over her chest.

Jiji frowns. “What exactly do we need to get?”

Turbo Granny gives you both an ominous look.

“His bones.”

III. THE CHILD

The Evil Eye hates being in the House.

All the spirits that he carries hate it too, airy things pulsing with rage and sadness and grief so palpable that he can always easily weaponise it. Any good memories that were ever constructed in the House are eclipsed by the hangings, the knife wounds, the suffocation, and also the burnings. Especially the burnings. Especially the white-hot lava washing over him, eating into his flesh—especially his last few days as a twitching, starving, dying thing on a stake; especially being buried, then the House being built atop his remains. Then all the children and babies sacrificed after him, wailing and screaming: unfair this is unfair let me go let me go let me go it hurts it hurts it hurts please stop this please help me Mom Mommy please help me please come back I don't want to die.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

He isn't ordinarily bothered by rage; he was born of it, after all. But he doesn't like feeling so much rage around you. The Evil Eye likes haunting you and will probably someday curse you—both things he once did to the families in this House—but he doesn't want to kill you.

He glances around the basement—the man cursed by Turbo Granny is here, and so is his lover. (Girlfriend, you’d called her. Momo is Okarun’s girlfriend, just like how I'm Jiji’s. You agree to be someone’s girlfriend when you have feelings for them and want to act on them. A-ah—what? Y-yes, I do have feelings for Jiji… Why do you ask?) The dancer and the Shinto priestess aren't here, and neither is the girl with the lizard suit, but they aren't needed.

If he tries to kill you, Okarun alone could probably stop him. This is the only reason that the Evil Eye agreed to let you come in the first place.

“This is so gross,” you whine, completely oblivious. You're knee-deep in the white gunk left by that shitty Tsuchinoko worm. “I can't believe you spent a whole day buried in this stuff, Okarun.”

“It saved me and Turbo Granny,” he replies, pushing his glasses up as he digs through the mess with you. “The lava would have gotten to us otherwise. I think it probably preserved the Evil Eye’s bones too.”

“I hope so…” You turn to the Evil Eye, head tilted. “Are you sure they're here, Jashi?”

Jashi. You say his title like it's name and not a curse. (Jashi, we should go try out this cafe, you'll say, or, Jashi, let’s go check out this show, or, I missed you, Jashi, it's been too long—here, can you feel how much I need you?) Sometimes he wonders if you ever forget that he's a ghost, or if using this Vessel fools you into thinking that he's human. If you lay beneath him in bed thinking that it's technically the Vessel inside you, and not just the monster possessing him.

“I’m a ghost,” he reminds you bluntly, “‘course I know where my remains are. Dunno if they've turned ash, though. Guess you can't marry me if they have.”

“No, we’ll get married,” you say, unbothered. “I'll dig up all the dirt from this shithole and say my vows to that if I have to.”

Okarun gives you a funny look. “How are you gonna get all that dirt out?” he asks.

“I'll make you carry it.”

“Huh? Says who?”

“Says Momo. He’ll help me carry it, right?”

“He will,” Momo affirms, and her boyfriend chokes. She ignores him, scanning the wreckage. “I hope it doesn't come to that, though. Hey, Evil Eye—can’t you be more specific with where we're supposed to dig? Coordinates or a map would be nice.”

“I'm not a fucking radar!”

You give him a pleading look. “Please, Jashi? Can't you try? For your future wifey?”

The Vessel's face gets hot. Its heart does the stupid thing where it jumps when you're around, or when he holds you after the two of you have sex, or when he stares too long at the engagement ring that's usually on your finger (now hanging around your neck on a silver chain, safely away from Tsuchinoko gunk).

“...fine. Gimme a sec.”

He closes the two eyes of the Vessel so that he can focus on his third. Human vision is too bound by shapes and light and figures; it distracts and deceives him. When he can't see your face, it becomes easier to hone in on his resentment. Unfair, his remains whisper to him, this is unfair let me go it hurts it hurts please stop please stop help me help me help me I don't want to die.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

“There,” he says eventually, pointing at the ground, “it's all there. In one spot. Guess I'm still a skeleton.”

You've got something of a sixth sense—whether it’s an effect of touching the golden ball or coupling so often with a spirit, the Evil Eye can't be sure. However it came about, it seems to tell you that he's right. Your eyes go soft when you rest a hand on the dirt he’s pointed at.

“Momo, Okarun,” you say, “Thank you for your help. I can dig this up myself—you guys can take a break.”

“Huh? No, we’d be happy to…” Okarun starts, but then Momo’s dragging him out by the collar and making him squawk.

“Sure—we’ll wait outside!” she says. “C’mon, Okarun, let's look for Mongolian Death Worm remains—I saw an occult article saying that it has medicinal properties if you make a powder extract from it…”

“You can't take that stuff seriously, Miss Ayase…”

After they leave, you spend the rest of the afternoon digging.

The Evil Eye offers to help, but you are determined to do it yourself. It's okay, Jashi, you say, I’m going to do it. You're going to be my hubby—the Vessel’s heart does the throbbing thing again—so it's only right that I'm the one to unearth you.

He doesn't understand it, but he shrugs anyway. Suit yourself. And he watches as you your fingers dig into the dirt, delicate nails collecting detritus. You don't want to use a shovel, you say, because you're sure that his bones will be fragile and you don't want to damage them. Even when he tells you that his bones are likely ruined in the first place, burned to shit and frail from rot, you don't let up. You just keep digging until you’re picking them out of the dirt.

You roll out a silk cloth, revealing lotuses against a pale backdrop. One by one, you lay his bones atop the pink and ivory thread, and you've found about half of them before he realises that you're reconstructing his skeleton. It's a small, pathetic thing. Help me help me I don't want to die, he can remember himself screaming. It hurts it hurts it hurts please stop. Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

The ghosts of the House begin to wail with rage.

Part of him worries for you—probably the part of him influenced by the Vessel, which is capable of a love that ghosts are not. It knows that you don't deserve his wrath.

“You should leave,” he says, but you shake your head. You take your time as you gather up bones, treating them all delicately as you roll them up in the silk, holding them close to you. As if you aren't in the presence of countless wrathful spirits. As if you are with the Vessel, and not with him.

“You were so small,” you say quietly. “Sometimes I forget that you were a child when you died.”

The Evil Eye stares at you, at the pathetic bundle in your hands. “That was ages ago.”

“But it never stops hurting, doesn't it?” you say, and the walls of the House close in on him. They tell him you're right, that you're a human, that you'll hurt him just like the rest of them, that you need to die too. But you look at him, soft in a way that belongs to the Vessel, tender in a way that the waif-ghost covets, and then the House shudders and goes quiet.

“I’m sorry I didn't help you back then,” you say, and it makes no sense, but he doesn't interrupt you. “I promise I'll make your married life a good one, now that we’re together.”

That's stupid, the Evil Eye thinks of saying, pedantic: I'm already dead. But you rise from the dirt before he can protest, and then you're taking his bones out of the House, cradling him in your arms.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

For the first time since being born, his body is allowed to leave the confines of its prison.

IV. THE BRIDE

The ceremony happens at night.

You spend the whole day readying yourself. Aira helps you get into your dress, admonishing you for the satanic rituals you'll soon perform but giving you her blessing anyway. Momo does your makeup, telling you to ignore Aira. Vamola says that you look lovely in stilted, earnest Japanese. Auntie Seiko helps you with your hair; she asks you, all the while, if you would like to wear a headdress that might protect you from evil, or for her to perform a consecration on your body. Turbo Granny is less roundabout, offering to take the Evil Eye’s banana in advance of your marital rites. Serpo warns you not to let the Evil Eye take your bananas—Why are you even here!? Momo yells at him—and Reiko Kashima says you shouldn't listen to any of them. You need to hold onto your man no matter what, she advises.

She also says you're beautiful, though of course you aren't as beautiful as her.

Beautiful. Are you beautiful? You'll be beautiful when you marry Jiji, because you're certain that his PR agent will want you prettied up by a team of stylists rather than a bunch of goofballs. You will need to look good for the photos, at least as handsome as him, and you don't know if you can manage that. You will need to be poised in front of the five hundred people attending, about which ten are your friends and none of which are your family.

You're already married to Jiji, technically. The two of you had a civil ceremony that only Momo and Okarun attended as witnesses, quick and dirty and secret. But the official ceremony will make it real, and you are terrified of that. You love Jiji beyond comprehension, and you know he loves you back tenfold, but you've never been able to rid yourself of the small voice in your head that tells you that you aren't good enough for him. It's been haunting you ever since the two of you fell in love, and you think maybe even before that. Maybe it started plaguing you when you were young.

When you were a child, you used to ask yourself if anyone would ever love you enough to save you from the things being done to you—the things you were convinced would be irreversible. You had confessed this to Jiji before you had sex with him for the first time. (Making love, he corrected you, I want to make love with you, and it made you feel so shy you nearly kicked him out of your bed.) He'd replied that he did love you enough, and that he would save you as many times as you wanted (I’m sorry I couldn't help you back then, he'd added nonsensically, but now that we’re together, I'll make sure your life is a good one), and you were so happy that you cried.

Sometimes you still cry, thinking about his words. But no matter how many times you replay the memory, no matter how often you tell yourself that Jiji is an honest man, the small voice in your head always warns that he’d lied to you. That your wedding to him will be a lie, too.

You often think about how he would leave you (gently), and why he would leave you (the list is endless). And then you try to imagine life without him—no cheerful kisses peppering your features, no goofy expressions putting you in stitches, no grueling morning runs, no messy kitchen sinks, no you're the cutest girl in the world, you're so beautiful I can't believe I'm dating you, how come you don't believe me when I say that stuff, I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again, I know you can get better I'll help you, I dunno how to talk about this with anyone other than you, sorry I cried that was kinda lame of me, sorry I need to go to Spain, sorry I was away for so long, I got you this merch, I got us tickets to this show, is it my fault you're going to therapy again, can you come with me to Berlin, is everything okay, come with me to the U.S., are you okay, are we okay, I don't want to break up, I love you, I love you so much, marry me, I'm being serious please marry me, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I promise I won't leave you—

You don't think you could imagine living without Jiji.

Your looming wedding to Jiji terrifies you, but your ghost marriage does not. You feel calm in your dress, certain in your decision. Jashi has never scared you the way that Jiji has, after all. He doesn't frighten you even when the Taoist priest pulls you aside and tells you, “You can still back out of this.”

“Why would I?”

He dabs at his temples with a handkerchief. “This ritual is dangerous with a being like the Evil Eye. Ghost marriages are meant to pacify benign spirits—not vengeful ghosts. I can't guarantee that he will be calmed by this.”

You give him a quizzical look. “If he isn't calmed, then what would happen?”

The priest swallows. “There are three potential outcomes. One—he is pacified completely and moves on to the afterlife.”

This would scare you ordinarily, but you know Jashi well enough to understand that he would never move on. “Okay. What else?”

“Two—he is unaffected, and things remain the same.”

You wait, watching the way his fingers tremble. A wind blows; it carries the scent of burning sandalwood from the wedding altar.

“And?”

“And three—the most likely possibility—he will attach himself to you and curse you.”

“Oh.” The thought should scare you, but you don't think it's fear that’s squeezing your heart. “What would a curse be like?”

“Devastating. You'll never be able to live a normal life, nor will you have a proper afterlife.” The priest shudders at this possibility, which apparently frightens him too much to further describe. “Listen—if the Evil Eye doesn't pass on, you must not complete the marriage. Completing it would make the attachment permanent, and it would realise any curse he places upon you.”

“‘Completing the marriage”?”

“Consummating it.” His face is white. “Sex magic is unspeakably powerful. I don't believe anyone would be able to break a curse that’s born from it—at least not involving such a great yaoguai.”

Anyone else might laugh at his words, but you remain quiet. After spending so long chasing golden balls and bananas, after nearly a decade of fighting off aliens trying to have sex with Momo and Aira, you know that he is telling the truth.

And besides—you know just how permanently a touch can linger (a lifetime, forever, doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?), so you aren't surprised to hear the kind of curse it inflicts.

“Okay,” you say. “I promise I won't let it happen.”

It is only with this vow that the Taoist consents to overseeing the marriage.

The affair is a hodgepodge of Chinese funerary practices and Western weddings—foreign in every respect, but not uncomfortable. Auntie Seiko, clad in red-and-white robes and a golden headdress, walks you down the aisle. Against all her counsel, a white veil sits atop your head and chases after your shoulders. You stop before an altar of offerings and summoning talismans, Taoist spells lit up by the full moon hanged above. Instead of a bridegroom, you are next to a coffin that holds a tiny skeleton. The priest is before you, now possessed by a death god that will call Jashi back to his remains. Supposedly it is a Taoist deity, but its presence feels more extraterrestrial to you than anything spiritual. You will need to ask Serpo about it later.

You study the audience as the priest begins the summoning ritual. Jiji sits in the front row, watching you intently; if all goes well, Jashi will leave his body for the duration of the ceremony, along with all the vengeful ghosts that once resided in the sacrificial house with him. The spirits of the house scare you more than Jashi; you do not know how they will behave once cleaved from his control. There's a banquet for them in the back, a long table with a spread of incense, flowers, rice, and fruit—but you do not know if it will be enough to pacify them.

Your wedding party is equally on edge. As the White Impermanence begins its rituals, Jiji’s body slumps, and everyone else stiffens in their seats. The air grows rife with malevolence. The stars and moon blink out of existence, the world around you grows silent, and a suffocating darkness overtakes the night—almost as if you have been submerged in Empty Space. Tiny cyan flames erupt in the air around the banquet table, their glow eerie in the darkness. They must all be onibi, you guess.

Jashi himself emerges before you, standing over the coffin that holds his bones. You’d expected him to look like the emaciated child that he'd died as, or perhaps the stick-thin monster that used to haunt Jiji—but he takes another form altogether, a formless shadow that your mind can barely comprehend. You're vaguely aware of Turbo Granny covering Momo’s eyes, Okarun transforming, Auntie Seiko readying her bat—but you don't look at any of them. You only stare, as if in a trance, at the single vertical eye that is now peering at you from the darkness.

It is probably strange that you feel so calm. If you were a normal person, you'd probably run from your wedding altar of incense and offerings. Or, actually—if you were a normal person, your mind would be fraying at the edges, gripped by a desire to self-destruct. You would sob and beg the Evil Eye to lift its gaze and let you go and to return to you your life.

But you are not a normal person. The Evil Eye has never really made you feel particularly suicidal, nor have you ever really wanted to beg for your life before it. Your gaze is calm as you recite your vows from memory:

I shall marry this man. No matter what tragedies may arise, I will love this person, respect this person, console this person, help this person—until death, and beyond it. I swear these things before the gods.

When the Evil Eye makes his vows, it is in speech that human ears cannot understand. From the wedding banquet, the spirits of the house cry, their wails cacophonous and wrathful, and suddenly you realise that something has gone terribly wrong. Something has changed with this ghost wedding, and not for the better, but when Seiko rises from her seat, you raise a hand.

Finally, the Evil Eye recedes. The darkness lifts, although the spirits linger. Jiji’s eyes flutter open, immediately anxious and disturbed. You give him a reassuring smile—and the rest of your wedding party, too.

Something has gone terribly wrong. Still, you go about your business cheerfully. You thank the Taoist priest, and you insist to him that you will clean up the altar yourself. You greet your friends and say that they should head for the reception, which will have food for humans rather than ghosts. You peck Jiji on the cheek, beaming at him, and he relaxes and congratulates you.

He cups your face tenderly, kisses you on the nose. “You look happy,” he says.

Something has gone terribly wrong, but you still smile and tell him, “Yes.”

V. THE OFFERING

Your marriage bed is an altar.

Ivory petals are scattered across the bed, along with whole lilies and chrysanthemums. Sweetness permeates the room, carried by the smoke of burning incense. Flames dance upon red candles, flickering as they cast a gentle, soft light. This is your attempt to set an intimate mood, but the Evil Eye does not feel any form of love—he only knows greed. Every object in this room is an offering for the dead, meant for ghosts to consume, and you are the greatest offering of all, waiting for him on the centre of the bed in white silk. You are more fragrant than any joss, riper than any fruit, and he is the most ravenous ghost in existence.

“Isn't this romantic?” you say, beaming at him, and this is when the Evil Eye understands that he absolutely cannot have sex with you.

The wedding was meant to pacify him, perhaps even allow him to move on, but it only did the opposite. Seeing you before him at the altar, vowing to spend a lifetime with him despite all his resentment and ugliness made bare—it only made him more covetous. To move on would be to give up all the love you’ve offered him, the kind of love he'd been denied his whole life.

The kind of love he cannot return.

But he wants it anyway. And like any ghost, he’ll take it—take your love, your heart, your body, your life—if he is allowed to spread your legs and fuck you.

He knows this intuitively, although Turbo Granny also told him this. If you care for her even a little bit, she'd groused, you won’t go through with it. Then she'd threatened to take his banana and his nuts.

But vengeful spirits cannot care for human beings, not truly. It's a wonder that the Evil Eye is hesitating at all, why he feels a pit when he thinks about trapping you. It must be a consequence of his Vessel, who loves you so selflessly that even his body resists hurting you.

“We shouldn’t do it,” he says outright. You blink at him.

“Why?” You tilt your head. “...are you getting wedding night jitters? Do ghosts get nervous?”

He stares at you, uncomprehending. “What? No! I'm not fucking nervous!”

You frown. “Then what's the matter?”

It'll be dangerous for you, he tries to say, but then you're giving him a shy look and untying the sash around your waist. He swallows as the silk robe drops around your shoulders, pools around your thighs. The ivory lace covering your breasts and your core is so sheer that he can practically see through it. It's delicate, pretty—and he wants nothing more than to tear it off and ruin you.

“Don’t you”—you look so flustered, so cute, an echo tells him—“don’t you wanna make love to your wifey?”

Part of him thinks he might cum in his pants. The other part of him wants to leave. Wifey, making love—those are all words that you use on the Vessel. All words that are meant for the Vessel. You're confusing the Evil Eye with your real lover, under the delusion that he is human, unaware that you're being haunted. The Evil Eye is not the man you wish to marry, to live in a House with, to make babies with, to grow old with.

Unfair unfair unfair it hurts it hurts it hurts please please please I don't want to die. I don't want you to die. Why can't I touch you? Why can't I hold you? Please please please—

“I can't.”

Your brow arches. “What do you mean?”

“I can't make love to you.” He pauses, feels a kind of frustration bubbling up when you give him a confused look. “I don't love you.”

Your mouth opens, and you make a faint, strangled noise before asking, “What?”

“I don't love you.”

It takes a moment. You stare at him; you look down; you close your eyes. Your shoulders shake. You'll probably get angry and throw him out, or you'll just calmly ask him to leave. However you do it, you would cast him out, and it would be for the better. You would remain uncursed, free to live out a proper life with the Vessel, and the Evil Eye would get to keep his nuts.

But instead of doing either of those things, you start sniffling—and all the blood leaves his face.

“You”—your voice is so fragile, and it cracks and breaks and his throat feels like it's closing up—“what do you mean you don't love me?”

The Evil Eye's mouth drops open as you start to sob. “W-wait, wait—why are you crying? Don’t cry!”

You start to wail. “You don't love me! I just married you and you don't love me! How am I not supposed to cry?” Between hiccups and sniffs, you pick up one of the pillows and throw it at him. He's paralyzed, forgets to dodge, and it hits him square in the face. “What did I do wrong?!”

“Nothing!” he yells. His heart is pounding. It's squeezing and twisting and it feels so bad that he nearly wants to dispossess the Vessel. “You didn't do anything wrong! It's not you! It's—”

“If you say ‘It’s not you, it's me’, I'll kill you! I'll really kill you!”

“I’m already dead!”

“Then I'll beat your ass!”

“You can't beat my ass! You're not strong enough!”

“Then I'll banish you! I'll spray Jiji with hot water everyday and I won't let you come out! Not even to have Pampy! Not even to play with Okarun!”

The Evil Eye’s mouth drops open. “That's fucking mean!”

“You're fucking mean!” You look at him, and your gaze is so watery and pained that the Evil Eye can't help but go to you. He doesn't realise that he's wiping away your tears until his fingers are wet, and he can’t find it in himself to push you away when you press your face into his shoulder and cling to him. His arms—no, the Vessel’s arms; it must be the Vessel doing this—tighten around you.

“Why—why don't you love me?” you whine between hiccups, and the Evil Eye should call you foolish for expecting him, a spirit who intends to kill all of mankind, to ever love a human. To think that you could spend all these years around him and be so delusional about his true nature—is it that you've forgotten that he drives people to suicide? That his intent is to someday kill all of you, after killing Okarun? The spirits of the House scream at him to grab your face and force you to look at his hideous third eye, to remind you of what he is, to say you're a human you should die like the rest of them you’re as guilty as all of them, you would lock me in a cage too, you would burn me alive and bury my bones beneath a House.

Instead, he rubs your back until your breath begins to even out. And rather than grabbing you and threatening you, he clears his throat.

“I'm… a vengeful spirit,” he says lamely. “Love just isn't something that's in our nature.”

“Why not?” you sniff.

“‘cause if it were, we wouldn't be vengeful. We wouldn't even be ghosts in the first place, probably.”

“B-but,” you whimper, “we've been dating for so long. We live together and sleep together and eat together. You take care of me and I take care of you. We go on dates and hold hands. We even have sex—like, a lot of sex. You initiate it!” You sound accusatory, and the Evil Eye doesn't understand why. Of course he wants to have sex with you; it's one of the most addictive things about having this body. The part of the living world he wants most, nowadays. “If you didn't feel anything for me, why would you do any of that?”

He bristles. “Of course I feel something for you,” the Evil Eye says, oddly agitated. “Just ‘cause I can't love doesn't mean I can't feel. Resentment is what anchors ghosts to this world in the first place.”

“Then what do you feel for me, if not love?” Your fingers dig into the Vessel’s white suit. “Resentment?”

The Evil Eye stares blankly. He doesn't know how to describe it all—the longing, the greed, the envy for the Vessel. The euphoria and closeness of being inside you, a feeling so good that he didn't even know that such joys existed when he was human. The idea of living in a House filled with wedding photos, the thought of making babies with you that he might hold and touch and kiss. So many things that he never had in life. So many things that he can't help but want in death.

So many things that he can't help but want to trap you for them.

“...no, I don't resent you,” he says. “It’s more like I wanna curse you.”

He expects you to cry more—after living for such a long time among humans, he now has enough manners to understand that it is rude to curse someone who has only ever treated you with unconditional love, even if in error—but instead, you become strangely quiet.

You pull away from him so that he can see your face. It's—hopeful?

“You wanna curse me?”

“Yeah. Curse you—haunt you, possess you, control you.” He shrugs. “The usual things that ghosts do when they're so attached to something that they can't move on. You know.”

“Oh.” You wipe your eyes, and the Evil Eye has to stop himself from helping. “I'm so happy.”

“...you're what?”

“I'm so happy that you feel that way about me.”

He stares at you. “You're happy that I wanna curse you?”

“Yeah.”

The Evil Eye studies you. You never react to him in ways that make sense—you’re endeared by him when you should be afraid; you treat him sweetly when you should be callous; you even seem to enjoy his violence when everyone else always punishes it. Now you’re touched by the idea of being cursed.

“Why?” he asks flatly. “I thought you wanted to be loved. Or make love. Something like that.”

You give the Evil Eye a long, thoughtful look.

“Jashi,” you start, voice gentle now, “what do you think love is supposed to look like?”

A married couple in a House. A baby in his mama’s arms. Three children dancing in a field, giggling in the sunlight.

“Dunno.” When you stare at him, as if expecting something, he grows agitated. “I said it's not in my nature. Talk to the Vessel about that stuff, not me.”

One of your brows arches. “Why? You're my husband”—his heart kicks violently at that; he hates this fucking body sometimes—“I want to know what you think love looks like. And besides…” Your voice gets all quiet, and you look away. “It’s not like Jiji would necessarily agree with my views anyway.”

That gets his attention. “What do you mean?”

You hum. “How do I explain it… well, for example—if I found happiness with someone else and left to be with them, Jiji would be heartbroken, but he would be happy for me. Because he loves me, it's ultimately most important for him that I'm happy.”

A married couple in a House. Two corpses dangling from the rafters. A baby in his mama’s arms. A child suffocating in the darkness, crying for his parents. Three children dancing in a field, giggling in the sunlight. Starving in a cage nearby, I'm so hungry, I'm so cold. Unfair unfair I don't wanna die I wanna play with other children I want to dance in the field please please please why can't I touch you why can't I hold you why why why—

“That's fucking stupid,” the Evil Eye blurts out.

“But that's what he’s told me—and I believe him.” You smile at him. “Now, how do you think I'd react if someone took you or Jiji away from me?”

This feels like a trick question. He squints at you. “The same?” he tries.

“That would be ideal. But honestly,” you admit, “I would resent you all for the rest of my life and then think about killing myself. That's what love looks like for me.”

“Oh.” The Evil Eye nods, relaxing. “Yeah, that makes way more sense.”

You laugh, sounding genuinely amused. “Jiji doesn't think so. It really worries him that I feel this way. It would worry most people, actually.” Then you get a little quiet. “I do want to get better for him, but it doesn't come naturally to me, the way that he loves me.”

He doesn't like the tone you're using—soft, uncertain. Mournful. You feel like one of the spirits in the House right now. He thinks about the way you cradled his bones, and his hold on you tightens.

“Where are you going with this?”

“I'm saying that I don't mind that you want to haunt me, or possess me, or whatever.” Your eyes are earnest. Steadfast with the confidence you had as you unearthed his grave. “To be honest, being cursed by you isn’t nearly as frightening as being loved by Jiji.”

The Evil Eye cups your face, thumbing away your tears. Would you cry like this if you knew what it would mean, to be possessed by him? Would you regret your offer to him, the way that the Vessel regrets his? Or would you stare at his true face as you did at the altar and vow to love him anyway?

Instead of asking you any of this, he allows you to loop your arms around his neck.

“I want you to make love to me,” you murmur sweetly as you climb atop him, and that makes him pause.

Two corpses dangling from the rafters. A child suffocating in the darkness, crying for his parents. Starving in a cage nearby, I'm so hungry, I'm so cold. Unfair unfair unfair why can't I touch you why can't I hold you why why why—

“I said I don't know how to do that.”

“Fine,” you say, and then you’re pressing your lips against his, grinding your cunt against his hardening cock. “Then curse me instead.”

VI. THE DEMON

You've always known that the Evil Eye couldn't love you in a normal way.

It was obvious from the outset, simply cataloguing him for what he is: a monster born from human sacrifice; a curse that drives people to madness, to suicide; a thing that regularly exploits Jiji for his body and makes him commit violence against his will. Jiji and Okarun and the rest might be delusional about the Evil Eye nowadays—thinking that he's just like a kid, that he just wants to play, that he’s in love and wants to get married and play house—but you are not. He can't play with Okarun in normal ways, and he can't love you in normal ways. Every desire ends in blood. That's how it began for him, after all. How he was born.

Your mind has always known this, but your body only learned it the first time you had sex. The Evil Eye doesn't know how to make love to you the way that Jiji does. You’ve tried countless times now, and he's even demanded that you make him do it that way so that he knows what the Vessel gets to feel during sex with you. You've kissed him deep and slow, gently touched him until he felt desire, taken him inside you and pressed your forehead to his. Just like that, you encouraged him countless times, you're doing so good. Good boy. You're doing so well. I love you.

You always end up with your face pressed into the mattress, cheeks wet with tears and throat hoarse from screaming. Sore and bruised and fatigued and it's too fast, it's too big, I can't, please, and with any other man you'd probably hate it but when it's Jashi you always end up moaning and begging for more. You'd always thought you’d be disgusted with yourself for having this kind of sex, but with him, you feel too good to really care. All you can think about is his teeth marking your neck, the cruelty of his rough hands, how his cock fills you so well that you can hardly breathe.

He’s taken you like this countless times, but something feels different about it right now. It might be the incense, so thick in your throat and your lungs that you're dizzy with it. It might be the fragrant petals crushed beneath you, soft and strange things that you stole from your wedding altar. Flowers for the dead, the priest had said to you, given to the ancestors, or to bodies as they're lowered into the ground.

You think maybe that's happening to you, right now: you’re dying, you're being torn apart, you’ll break in Jashi’s hands. It'll leave a mark on your body for a lifetime, forever—and you don't need to be saved.

But even after being fucked so many times, even after your mind has been made so hazy and distant, you're still trying so hard not to come apart at the seams. An agonizing pressure is building in your belly, and you can't let it burst. It’s inconvenient when you get too wet; it makes Jashi switch, which is normally hilarious but would feel catastrophic right now, when you’re drunk on the feeling of his cock inside you and don't want any of this to end. But it's so hard, keeping yourself from drenching him—you can hardly think when he's fucking you like this, let alone control yourself.

“I c-can't anymore,” you whine. “Jashi, you gotta stop, I need a break, please—”

Jashi doesn't care. He takes and takes and takes, and of course he does. It's in his nature as a vengeful ghost, as an existence so empty it can't do anything but consume the life around it. It's not enough that you’ve been ruined by his cock, that you're being used like a fleshlight. It's not enough that he’s made you cum countless times—not out of consideration to you, but simply because he's addicted to the feeling of you squeezing and milking him. It's not enough that he's spilled himself inside you more times than should be possible, uncaring of the consequences. It's not enough, it's never enough—he always needs more from you; more tears, more begging, more feverish, white-hot pleasure.

You shouldn't be surprised when you feel his hips start to stutter again, his cock twitching inside you. Some distant part of you is alarmed anyway, even as your cunt tightens around him, eager to be filled. You've never let anyone fuck you raw before tonight, never had anyone fill your womb up like this—not him and not Jiji; you've always been too afraid of pregnancy—but with each passing moment, it is harder to remember why. Not when it feels so good to be pumped full by him, your body flooded with a strange warmth each time. Unnatural, you keep thinking, this feels weird, he's doing something to me, he's cursing me, he's claiming me. But all you do is wrap your legs around his waist when he cums again, greedy for more, and you sigh in relief at the feeling of it.

He has to stop after this. He has to be sated. He pulls out, his cock throbbing against your swollen pussy, painting it a creamy white—and then he throws your legs over his shoulders and sinks back into you.

“Nooo,” you moan, squirming, thrashing, knowing you'll burst if he fucks you again. “I can't, I can't—I can't hold it in anymore, I can't—”

“Then don't,” he grunts. He looks straight down at you, his weight heavy on you, oppressive, unnatural. You hold your breath as you look at his face—dark and vicious, the vibrant eye on his forehead enrapturing. For the first time in your life, you feel a madness creeping in as it stares at you, fraying at your control. You can't move, can't resist him, can't think, and when he starts thrusting again, your body floods with a euphoria so hot that all you know how to do is cry.

You’re going to break from the ecstasy.

“W-what,” you gasp, “what are you doing to—”

Something hits your sweet spot, and your voice clips off into a desperate whimper. His cockhead starts grinding against it, and you try so hard to squirm, to stop, to control yourself—but whatever he's done to you has made you weak, pliant, and you feel yourself start to pulse. Pinned beneath his gaze, you can neither get away nor fight it. You can only surrender. The pressure is too much, your womb is too hot, and suddenly your back is arching and you feel like you're dying as you gush all over him.

You're in hysterics as you come down, panting and gasping for breath. “No more, no more,” you beg, squeezing your eyes shut, clinging to him. You sob into the crook of his neck, and finally—finally—he relents.

He’s gentle as he pulls out, careful as he sets you down on the bed. Kisses pepper your cheeks, your eyelids, your lips. Then, finally—his forehead pressed against yours, lashes fluttering against your skin.

“You're alright,” Jiji murmurs. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

VIII. THE CURSE

The Evil Eye has cursed you.

Jiji saw it on your body: a sunburst of strange characters on your stomach, an eye in the centre. The Taoist priest had broken into a pale sweat at the sight, its implications: if anyone else tries to touch you, whether with the intent to do harm or pleasure, then the untold carnage will be wrought upon them. Should you ever try to leave the Evil Eye, he will drag you back with such violence that it will shatter you. That so long as that vengeful ghost is bound to this earth, then so too shall be you.

Jiji is less worried than he probably should be. He doubts that the Evil Eye would truly ever hurt you, and also doubts that you’re physically capable of leaving him anyway. Ever since being marked, you haven't been able to go a day without having either of them inside you—brutally if it is with the Evil Eye; gently if with Jiji. Either way, you’ve been desperate for their touch, plagued by an all-consuming lust if you can't have them. It puts a wrench into all the plans for your respective careers and for the long distance arrangement. Auntie Seiko plans to train you to suppress the curse, but it isn't sustainable.

Privately, though, there's a part of Jiji that doesn't mind the excuse to see you all the time. It’s not that he wants to deny you your freedom, quite the opposite, but—you're his beautiful wife. And he's ridiculously in love with you. He can't help but miss you every day you're apart, and he also can't bring himself to complain about this particular aspect of the curse.

He also understands the Evil Eye for doing this to you. Sure, cursing you wasn't Jiji’s first act as a newlywed—but he also kinda gets it.

Jiji shares dreams with the Evil Eye, sometimes. He sees within them everything that the Evil Eye has experienced—not just as a demon, but as a spirit, a child, a waif. Sometimes he hears the thoughts that he once had, the ones that made him turn vengeful: unfair, this is unfair let me go it hurts it hurts please stop please stop help me help me help me I don't want to die.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

After all that? Of course the Evil Eye doesn't experience desire the way that a human would. Of course playing with someone is the same thing as killing them. Of course loving someone is the same thing as cursing them. And the Evil Eye loves you—that much is obvious, would be obvious to Jiji even if they didn't share a body—so of course his instinct was to carve you open and mark you with his spell.

Jiji feels poorly about it sometimes, guilty and selfish and like he should have ended things after all. Then you'd be free to love whoever you want, without the threat of certain death looming over you. But then you smile at him in bed, so tender and pretty and glowing beneath him. “I'm glad I get to be with you both,” you sigh, and then he can't really complain. After all, you're his beautiful wife. Jiji is ridiculously in love with you. Of course he wants you to be happy.

If it really ever comes down to it, if you really ever wanted to leave—Jiji knows he'd have himself exorcised. He'd rather die than hurt you. But the possibility seems so distant right now, with how you're studying the stone monument before you. You seem peaceful, tranquil, a calm figure cut against a placid, blue sky. Jiji guesses that's appropriate: cemeteries are meant to be resting places.

This plot of gravesoil belongs to the Enjoji family, and there is a spot carved out for you, right next to the space reserved for him. You bear his surname now, so when the two of you pass, you’ll be allowed to rest side-by-side. He already knows what the Evil Eye would say to that: you'll live in a House together and make babies together and eventually die together and be buried together. And if Jiji could talk to him, if he could for once directly speak with the monster inhabiting him, he'd beam at him and say yeah, we sure are.

But the Evil Eye would miss one thing, and it's that he'd also be buried with you. He'd be buried with both of you.

In your hands is an urn, plain but dignified. It carries the ashes of a waif hundreds of years old, the remnants of a brutal sacrifice. The last step of a ghost marriage is to bury the bones of the bride with the remains of the groom, but you're an Enjoji now, and Jiji’s family does cremations, not burials. When the time comes, you'll be burned, and your ashes will be mixed with those belonging to Jashi. He’ll go before either of you: by the end of the day, his remains will be in the crypt, though Jiji doubts his spirit is going anywhere.

“We’ll be interred with each other, someday,” you say to the ashes, tender. “But first we’ll spend a lifetime together.”

Then you turn to Jiji, your smile sunlit. It's shy, because you're always shy around Jiji—even though he's now your husband and you’ve married him in front of five hundred people and he's made love to you every which way on every piece of furniture in the house since then—and you add, “And we’ll spend a lifetime together too.”

Jiji laughs. “I guess you're stuck with me,” he says, and a frown briefly overtakes your face.

“We’re all stuck with each other,” you correct him. “You're cursed as much as I am.”

“I guess.” He scratches his cheek, sheepish. “Sorry you ended up with a husband who’s possessed by a ghost.”

“I wasn’t talking about Jashi,” you say, and you seem a little uncertain, but Jiji can't help but smile. Partly because he appreciates it when you're earnest with him, but mostly just because he loves you.

“You're so beautiful,” he says, “did you know that?”

You huff at him, turning around. “You’re too much,” you chide, but he hears the fondness in your tone. Jiji grins, and—in the privacy of the cemetery—takes the opportunity to loop his arms around you. You giggle when he squeezes you, and then your voice goes quiet.

“I love you,” you say, “did you know that?”

“Uh huh.” He spins you around so he can waggle his brows and give you his most reassuring look. You snort violently at his expression. “It’s super obvious. You can't resist my charms.”

When your laughter passes, you look down at the ashes in your arms—the child that you carried out of the House.

“Do you think,” you ask, voice odd, “he knows that?”

Jiji’s eyes soften. Because he shares dreams with the Evil Eye, and sometimes he shares thoughts with him too—like the pain in his chest that's been aching ever since he found his parents hanging side-by-side from the second floor, the one that grew every time he found the body of a spirit medium, the one that choked him when his relatives called him cursed and slammed the door in his face. He slept on the ground in front of their house after that—he didn't want to go back to the place where his parents nearly died—and called Auntie Seiko the next day, when he realised that they truly didn't want him around.

Sometimes he shares dreams with the ghost haunting him, and when he screams in his sleep he can't tell if the voice in his throat is truly his or if it actually belongs to the Evil Eye. But no matter its origin, it goes quiet when you hold him in bed and kiss his forehead. Just like how it went quiet when you carried that skeleton out of the House.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

“Yeah,” Jiji says. “Yeah, he does.”

END

some general notes:

this was a weird fic to write. ordinarily I would write the evil eye as having a childish and immature narrative voice; however, I (1) had to balance it with an aged up characterization, and (2) did not want to get cancelled, so I instead ended up with something in-between that feels a little awkward

there is jiji-focused companion fic that is like 50% done about him fucking you nasty after he switches places with the evil on your wedding night. I will probably finish it and post it when s2 comes out LOL

i know this is not my best writing rip please forgive me

some cultural notes:

taoism has real-life sex magic practices and places a lot of significance on, err, certain bodily fluids in terms of spiritual energy. none of these beliefs have anything to do with getting cursed via freaky ghost marital sex, but they served as the general inspiration for the curse in the fic (alongside dandadan canon, which coincidentally also places a lot of spiritual significance in sex and sexual organs lol)

the vows recited by the reader are a modification of standard japanese wedding vows (found on Google, take with a grain of salt). incidentally, western-style weddings are apparently quite popular in Japan, hence the decision for the bridal dress.

a lot of the wedding details are inspired by chinese funerary practices in addition to actual taoist ghost marriages. I took a lot of creative liberties with the wedding scene in general; real-life ghost marriages are quite different (from my understanding; I have never attended one)

#jiji enjoji x reader #jin enjoji x reader #evil eye x reader #dandadan x reader #girl i dont even know which tags people use for the evil eye. has anyone else out there written an evil eye x reader fic #im not even certain ive seen another jiji fic but at least my man has a full name to tag LMAO #nsft #yueshuo.fics

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rosegolden13 · 2 days ago

Text

How TF-141 acts as your ex!!

cw: stalking/cyber-stalking (but not malicious)

Soap is going to all your old haunts. The little coffeeshop you would always send him off to get you both coffees in the morning? He’s there nearly every morning. The gym you’d both go to together? Yup, he’s maintaining the same schedule. Your favorite farmer’s market? Every Tuesday like clockwork he’s stopping there and buying your favorite sourdough. He’s not exactly trying to run into you, though he does miss you like a dog, but he’s a creature of habit and, as many people have aptly headcanoned, super sentimental. A little reminiscing never hurt anyone. It’s near impossible but he doesn’t reach back out, gives you your space, even if he’s going to all your old spots. And when he finally does bump into you… “Is tha’ my hoodie, bonnie?”, delivered with a smirk, of course.

Price still checks up on you. An occasional text or call just to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. He can’t just make himself stop caring. That’s not in his nature. So even if it is for the better (he doesn’t think it is), he can’t go no contact. Good luck moving on when he’s sending you sweet little texts every week or so. His texts are formatted almost like an email and they would be formal like one, too, if not for the slew of pet names: “Hey love, I just landed back in London. What are you up to, pet?” And if you block him or don’t reply… he won’t personally show up at your door but he will send one of the boys to check up on you. This man is nothing if not a meddler. Whatever you do, don’t let him find out about the new guy you’re seeing. He will use whatever military issued overrides and confitatnial data he has access to in order to find any and all dirt on the guy then send it to you. “Love, this James bastard is paying for five different OnlyFans subscriptions… Shame, that is.”

Simon leaves without a trace after the breakup. You don’t see him ever again. Not kidding. Once he’s gone, he’s gone for good. He’s not one to stick around where he’s not wanted. He’ll miss you but mostly it’s too hard to think about. He’s well aware he’s a hard man to love and he wouldn’t force that task on anyone, never mind you, his once sweet love.

Gaz is a cyber-stalker for sure. Despite the fact that you both unfollowed each other, he still views all your stories. He won’t call you, won’t beg you to take him back, but he will drunk text you (“What uu doing tonite?”, “Miss my babyygirl”, insert any pathetic and poorly spelled text here) which is essentially accomplishing the same end goal. He’s charming enough to get anyone he wants and likely will in order to try to move on. It’s not the same as what you had together and he knows it.

#john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john price x reader #captain johnathan price #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #tf141 x reader

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takes1 · 3 days ago

Note

ur blog is so pretty...

if you are okay with it, do you have any headcanons bout what type or p0rn the Karasuno boys would watch? 🌹

what type of p*rn would the karasuno team watch?

warnings. heavy nsfw under the cut. minors DNI

characters. suga. daichi. asahi. tsukki. kageyama. hinata. nishinoya. tanaka. yamaguchi. details. lots of kink discussion - just about anything you can think of

links. my masterlist. my ao3. more haikyuu. my imagines. requests open.

suga९᠀ - likes a good storyline video. loves a bad one. shitty acting gets him laughing, and he needs every chance he can get to feel as though he isn't sinning. won't say no to an amateur flick, but he likes the structure of 4k videos, and is a suuuucker for the 'oiled up' aesthetic.

asahi९᠀ - buddy has a rampant size kink that doesn't get much of an outlet. downside: most videos that cater to this are not what he wants, because of the unavoidable infantilization in most of them. so he opts for amateur vids with bigger guys turning out their smaller girlfriends, wives; extra props if there's some real, organic dirty talk, or if it happens to be super low-quality.

daichi९᠀ - has no shame about his oral fixation. face fucking. deepthroat. he's got any video with some lucky dude getting good head memorized by the title and the preview. his favorites are either: when the guy stays hands-off and silent, or when she takes a load down her throat. not much in between.

tsukishima ९᠀ - is a filthy animal with a porn addiction. will watch/has watched just about everything under the sun. he had a bukkake faze, a gangbang faze, but is now proudly serving his bdsm faze with specific interest in femdoms. shiny, black heels get him hard in an instant. has done the tried-and-true bdsm questionnaire in his spare time and does heaps of research on the community, usually as a pregame to jerking off.

kageyama ९᠀ - no particular preferences. but if he's got a crush on somebody, he will strictly watch lookalikes. it wasn't a conscious habit at first, but after the third time it happened, he couldn't articulate any other reason to look up seven descriptors in the search bar and get 0 results. how well/quickly he gets off is based on how well the actor or subject looks his crush. it's a long endeavor, too. he edges for as long as he can, and almost always does it twice.

hinata ९᠀ - can't watch porn long enough to build any strong preferences. has sensitivity/premature ejaculation issues, so he tends to just listen to whatever video he landed on. this has opened more of a pipeline to nsfw audios, instead. loves the sound of two bodies coming together, especially all the little pants and huffs in a video that aren't faked. has gotten insanely good at being able to tell if it's fake, too.

nishinoya ९᠀ - doesn't watch videos; similar problem to hinata. instead, yuu buys physical hentai novels. big fan of monster-fucking. tentacle stuff is a staple in his readable porn. he guards his collection with his life and would sooner lose a limb than have anybody go near the shelf that he keeps them hidden behind. once, asahi stood too close during a sleepover and -naturally- yuu bit him as a distraction, just to get him away from the area.

tanaka ९᠀ - wlw videos. solo-girl vids. he can't stand to watch something with a guy in it. it's huge turn-off, especially when the dude is too loud, or in the way, too soft, or straight-up ugly. learned to love the slow, women-catered stuff that's 40 minutes long and has plot to follow. also picked up a lot of tongue tricks from these vids, too. (congrats, kiyoko!)

yamaguchi ९᠀ - mmf threesomes. i think ya'll know what i'm getting at, here. either he 1: is poly and doesn't know it, 2: is gay and doesn't know it, 3: is genuinely very enticed by the idea of overstimulating a gorgeous girl, OR 4: can't see himself as enough for a potential partner, and this might be a subconscious way of evading that insecurity.

notes. i'm very sorry to any who were looking for ennoshita, kinoshita, or narita. i tried, but genuinely couldn't get anything going for any of them. they all seem like nice guys, but there's no material that i can properly make nasty.

taglist. @integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

links. my masterlist. requests open.

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jungwnies · 3 days ago

Text

wrong time, right person - carlos sainz (1/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : carlos sainz x fem!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : years after a bitter breakup, you and carlos sainz reunite unexpectedly. old wounds resurface, but so does undeniable love. will history repeat itself?

୨ৎ : genre : romance, angst, humor, drama ୨ৎ : tws : mild language, arguing, friendships ending, bantering, suggestive humor, mentions of alcohol consumption. ୨ৎ : wc : 952

part one | part two | part three | part four

Spain was never supposed to feel like home.

You were just an exchange student, a stranger in a country where the language tripped you up, where conversations flowed around you like a current you couldn’t quite swim in. The other students were nice, polite even, but distant. They smiled, but no one really saw you.

Except for him.

Carlos Sainz wasn’t just friendly; he was relentless. He talked to you like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he had made it his personal mission to make you feel at home. The first time he sat next to you at lunch, he didn’t ask the usual "Where are you from?" or "How do you like Spain?" Instead, he stole a fry from your plate and smirked.

“You always eat this little?”

It took you a second to process what he said, your brain scrambling for the right words. When you did, you narrowed your eyes and stole a fry right back.

“Mind your business.”

He laughed, loud, unapologetic. And just like that, best friends.

He made Spain feel like home. He dragged you to local karting tracks, shoved a helmet on your head, and laughed until he was breathless as you struggled to drive at half his speed. You sat on the asphalt after his races, drinking cheap sodas and listening to him talk about his dreams; Formula 1, podiums, championships. You still remember the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his father, the legendary Carlos Sainz Sr., how he wanted to make him proud.

“You think I can do it?” he asked once, voice quieter than usual.

You scoffed, nudging his shoulder. “I think you’re already doing it.”

And you were right.

He climbed the ranks, and you were right there beside him, just like he was there for you. Modeling started small, with local gigs, small shoots. but soon after, your face was showing up in magazines, whispered about in the industry. The first time you booked an international job, Carlos picked you up and spun you around like it was his victory too.

“You’re gonna be famous,” he said, grinning. “I’m gonna see your face on billboards, aren’t I?”

It was fun, easy, and natural, until it wasn’t.

The higher he climbed, the further away he felt. The more you succeeded, the less you seemed to talk. At first, it didn’t feel like a big deal. You still sent texts, still FaceTimed when you could. But slowly, the missed calls turned into silence, and suddenly, you were watching each other’s successes through headlines instead of in person.

Then, he made it to Formula 1.

And you? You were stepping into high-fashion modeling.

The night it all fell apart wasn’t supposed to be anything special. Just another call that went unanswered. Just another missed "good luck" before a race. But this time, Carlos called back, and he called back angry.

“You don’t even care anymore.” His voice was sharp, cutting straight through your exhaustion.

You blinked, phone pressed to your ear, the weight of his words settling deep into your chest. “What?”

“You heard me,” he snapped. “You missed my race. Again.”

Your stomach twisted. “Carlos, I had a show. You knew that.”

“Right, right,” he said bitterly. “Another shoot, another runway, another excuse. Siempre tienes una razón, ¿verdad?” (You always have a reason, right?)

Heat flared in your cheeks. “Excuse me? Don’t you dare act like you’re the only one with a career! I support you, Carlos, but I have my own dreams too.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t the kind that made your heart feel light, it was sharp, hollow, cold. “Support? ¿Eso es lo que llamas esto?” (Is that what you call this?) “Because it feels a lot like you just don’t give a damn anymore.”

Anger burned hot in your chest. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” His voice dropped, quieter, but somehow even more dangerous. “Entonces dime, when was the last time you actually showed up for me? When was the last time you watched me race, not through a screen, but actually there?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because the answer was obvious. And it wasn’t one you wanted to say out loud.

Carlos exhaled sharply, like he had been hoping, hell, borderline begging, for you to fight him on it. But you couldn’t.

He scoffed. “Eso pensé.” (That’s what I thought.)

Tears burned behind your eyes. “This isn’t fair, Carlos. You’re always traveling, I’m always traveling! What the hell do you expect me to do?”

“I expected you to care.” His voice cracked. Just slightly. But it was enough to break you.

Your breath hitched. “You think I don’t?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, and that hurt worse than anything else.

Because Carlos always knew. He always understood you, always read between the lines, always saw you even when you felt invisible to everyone else. But now? Now he wasn’t even sure.

The silence stretched between you like an open wound.

And then he said it.

“Quizás sea más fácil así.” (Maybe it’s just easier this way.)

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. “What?”

His voice was flat, emotionless. Like he had already given up. “Maybe we’ve just been holding on to something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

You felt something inside you shatter.

Carlos had been your best friend. Your person. Your safe place. But now he was just...just nothing.

“I don’t have time for this.” Your voice was quiet, raw, aching. “I have an early flight.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Por supuesto que sí.” (Of course you do.)

Neither of you apologized.

Neither of you fought for it.

Neither of you said goodbye.

Carlos left for another race. You left for another shoot.

Neither of you looked back.

Until you were given no choice...

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hamzaheaven · 1 day ago

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Haiiii im scouring Tumblr in search of friends to lovers! or besties with feelings! hcs for Hamzah and im pretty sure ive read all of them lol so could you make do one pretty please??? 🤭

friends2lovers!hamzah headcanons

a/n: oh my fingers have been ITCHINHGGGHGHG for something like this .. i couldve written an entire book on this but let me calm down . HOPE U ENJOY !! thank u for the req anon :-) warnings: none

SFW <3

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

friends 2 lovers!hamzah headcanons<3

friends but crushing:

gets increasingly more nervous around you the longer he knows you

looks at you for just a little too long sometimes

hysterically denies it when you do catch him staring

literally doesn’t know how to act around you lol

will absentmindedly play with your fingers or the ends of your hair when sitting near him, and will then silently freak out as he zones back in and becomes too aware of what he’s doing lmao

a plethora of edits on tiktok shipping you two, speculation of “are they dating???” “did you see how he looked at her” galore

WAY too shy and awkward to make a move

makes many feeble attempts at flirting a little regardless

flirting to bf-gf !!!!:

freezes completely when you start flirting back

youre a little more bold about it, and he sometimes doesn’t know what to do with allat

making funny, suggestive jokes at him while filming videos or during the podcast, causing him to be even more flustered as it is on camera lol

gets a little unsure and anxious when it comes to physical affection, so it took a lot of pining and hesitation and yearning and frustration before the first kiss :o

after the first kiss yall beat around the bush like a bull in a china shop LMAO

however, slowly but surely, you naturally gravitate towards each other, and absentminded hand-holding and kisses on cheeks start to occur more often

at some point, it all flows so easily, he starts kissing you when he comes (the sfw one yall) and goes

tbh he just starts introducing you as his girlfriend one day

“since when am i your girlfriend?” “uhh… now, i guess…? if you want to, i mean…”

you say yes, of course

bf!hamzah:

still a little clueless on how to act now that he has you

like he’ll quickly look away after kissing you, struggles to maintain eye contact for too long, gets flustered so easily it actually frustrates him a little

HATES pda, but is the clingiest, neediest mfer behind closed doors omg

loves laying with his head between your thighs so you can play with his hair (when he still fucking had hair .)

not that into petnames… finds it more meaningful to call you by your nickname <3

literally stuck to your side once you both touch the sheets

always falls asleep with his head on your chest, so you can, again, play with his hair (or caress his now bald head like polishing a billiard ball idk)

loveeeeeees your perfume and your scent in general

becomes the actual textbook definition of ‘clingy’ when he’s gone on a cousin walk if u know what i mean hehe

half-lidded, red eyes, a sheepish grin on his face, shamelessly staring at you

followed by a hazy, dreamy, slightly sloppy make-out session iktr

we all know that man has a tendency to whine and moan and whimper no matter the situation so just imagine what he would sound like when kissing........... and other things LOL

he loves to slide his hands underneath your shirt

ass & thigh guy for SUREEEE woah

a lot of unserious play fighting, verbally and physically

which of course causes him to gag for absolutely no reason

doesnt have a lot of experience in the love department but he feels sooo comfortable with you and you make him feel like he doesn’t need any experience at all to know how to treat & love you so good <3

#i couldve gone on for about five pages more but ill refrain... for now #thank u for the request omggggg hehe #slushynoobz #hamzahthefantastic #hamzah fic #hamzah imagines #hamzah x reader #hamzah #hamzah hc #hamzah headcanon #headcanon #headcanons #martin and hamzah #slushy virus #slushy noobs #slushy

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burningcheese-merchant · 18 hours ago

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ANSWER THIS AND YOU GET A FUNNY BURNING CHEESE COMIC

Hear me out

The ancients giving themselves up to the beasts as sacrifices if they agreed to leave earthbread alone and never wreck terror or show their faces again

I'd say everyone besides Flour would go:

Say less Babygirl*hops into a pumpkin carriage and rides off into the sunset*

Maybe Salt would need a lot of convincing because... Holy shit it could be this easy, Milk you seeing this, quick Spice snap a photo this is a moment in history

Flour is just in massive denial but would find a way to agree to mke it seem like it isn't about love or anything

Unknown3doors, don't tempt me like that 👀 don't tempt me like that, unknown3doors 👀 you're playing with fire, unknown3doors 👀🔥

Pure Vanilla surrendering to Shadow Milk would be the happiest day of Shadow's life. He makes Vanilla repeat himself multiple times, makes him announce it through a megaphone, they do a radio broadcast, Shadow makes a TV special out of it, Shadow writes poems and essays gloating and taunting... And then he eventually agrees to Vanilla's terms (although, he DOES try to haggle for permission to continue annoying people). Pure Vanilla is HIS!!! HE'S FINALLY HIS!!! FOREVER AND EVER!!!!!!! (And the Soul Jam, technically. But WHATEVER!!! HIS SILLY VANILLY!!!). Now Vanilla must endure having to spend EVERY SINGLE MINUTE of his life within 10 feet of Shadow AT ALL TIMES, or else the deal is off and Shadow will commit genocide in retaliation. Why the long face, though? You agreed to this! You knew this would happen! Maybe if Vanilla behaves well enough, like a good little doll, Shadow will allow himself to be HIS doll for a time. Tit for tat. It's only fair. They can be each other's playmate for eternity now...

Eternal Sugar would be 100% awake for the first time in forever if Hollyberry offered herself to her - in exchange for anything at all, it never had to have been for keeping innocents safe. Typical of Holly, in her estimate; she's not necessarily surprised by this. Maybe she'll feign a bit of surprise just because, maybe she'll tease Holly about it... But all in all, she's quite pleased. Now she can keep those pesky subjects of Holly's away from her much easier (as well as her friends... Including that ridiculous dragon...). Holly will learn to see things her way eventually. Appreciate the little things. Like a nice, long nap in a warm bed, in the arms of a loved one... Pleasant, sugary sweet dreams that are too comforting to wake up from... No one ever bothering them about anything ever again. Free from their responsibilities, free from the burden of the shield and the crown. Just the two of them in their own little world, pursuing their own happiness. Won't that be nice?

Mystic Flour would struggle to even entertain Dark Cacao's presence, never mind his... proposal (oh gods, not that word). She would refuse, and refuse, and refuse again. But Cacao does not give up, stubborn fool that he is. Curse his Light of Resolution... Eventually, in lieu of plainly refusing, she tries to appeal to reason. What about his kingdom? His people? What would they say, think, do? Will he leave them behind just to keep her pacified? What about his friends? His son? Who will rule in his absence? Unfortunately, Cacao has an answer for every single one of her questions... and, with an even greater undertone of misfortune... she likes them. That part of her that likes HIM also likes this. That he always has an answer for everything she says. That he won't bend the knee to her, no matter what. His self-sacrificing nature, bordering on martyrdom... just like hers once was. In truth, every word out of her mouth is only serving to delay her inevitable acceptance of his offer. A feeble attempt at shooing him away, one final shot at denying her feelings towards him, for having him around her constantly would be too much to bear, and she might... She... She'll break. She knows she will. And she can't have it. She won't stand for it.

... Dark Cacao, stubborn, handsome, selfless fool that he is. He has undone everything she ever worked for. Her apathy meant nothing the moment they locked eyes. It means nothing now, as they go back and forth about this foolish deal of his. And it won't mean anything when she eventually says yes.

(But she'll try to pretend otherwise, for as long as she can. Neither of them could handle the truth...)

Golden Cheese: Burning Spice, if you leave everyone else alone, I'll give myself to-

Burning Spice: DEAL!!!!!!!!! *pounces on her before she can actually finish or explain herself any further... What he does next, I'll let you imagine/decide 😉*

Silent Salt... wouldn't even believe it at first. He'd be astounded. Dumbfounded, really, that White Lily would say such a thing... Is this really her? Is someone forcing her to do this? What is the catch? Enough reassurance from her would convince him that she's being real and sincere and every other word that can be used to describe her deal, and... he accepts it. No other ifs, ands or buts. His White Lily... now, she really IS his White Lily. Forever and ever... He doesn't mind having to keep away from society; that's hardly a punishment. It costs him nothing. And if his White Lily is there with him, he won't even notice the difference...

#can you tell I liked writing the MysticCacao one the most lol. I love toying with their dynamic it's fun #seriously though. there actually would be a fair bit of discussion/negotiation between PV/SM and DC/MF. Ironing out terms and conditions #ES wouldn't care too much about it in the moment. Too much work. They can talk about it later if Holly really wants to #BS really is the “say less babygirl” one lmao. Bird Wife mine forever? Yes! Me happy! Life good now #We fight! We kiss! We hug! We make babies! Many babies. And then we fight more! FOREVER!!! MY BIRD WIIIIFFFEEE #SS has always been the calmest one to me outside of MF. Also the most simple and straightforward one. No noise or fanfare or mockery #just... “you're giving yourself to me? you're serious? anything extra to add that I need to know? ok. deal.” the end #SS and BS just want their wives more than anything else tbh... they don't need much incentive #i can rant more abt this later if y'all want lol #cookie run kingdom #burningcheese #goldenspice #mysticcacao #hollysugar #silentlily #pureshadow #shadowvanilla

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xoxochb · 1 day ago

Note

can i pretty please have a sleepy heart exploding fluff with hypnos reader and percy ! no real smut, but smutty jokes and what not will be okay ..! thank you <3

the way I RAN to write this omgomg

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“tired, perce…”

“awake.”

you whine when his fingers forcefully attempt to open your eyes back up. you allow them to open and swat away his hands.

“I dislike you.”

you sit up to maintain awareness of the world around you, tugging up the blankets to follow the bare expanse of your body. you pout and toy with the ends of the blanket.

you catch percy’s green-eyed gaze fall to where your breasts were only barely covered. you scowl and slap his head. he only smiles. you pull the blanket up farther.

“awww, I was enjoying the view.”

you shake your head. “you’ve already seen the view.”

“oh, I’ve seen the entire view! it’s pretty great.”

you slump back down against the pillows, disobeying his previous orders to remain wide awake. though awake-ness was never in your nature due to your paternity.

you turn on your side to face percy. he does the same but to face you. you sigh.

“what’re you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything. I just wanna look at you.”

“you’re making me feel uneasy.”

he fakes a pout. “I thought you loved my eyes.”

you squint at him. “I do. but I can see that you’re up to something no good.”

“I’m thinking something naughty.”

the ghost of a smile graces your lips for a millisecond. but you have to pretend he’s not funny and keep a composed/annoyed façade.

“and do I wanna know what that is?”

percy thinks for a second. “I’m thinking about those blue… lacy… so very see through panties you have.”

you roll your eyes. “why?”

“because.” he shrugs. “I like them. are you wearing them now?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“pleasssseee? I’ll let you sleep a full five hours!”

you would never take up the offer to sleep.

you huff and sit up, sliding the blankets down until they pool over your knees. percy’s gaze travels from your bare chest down to the blue fabric that covers your lower regions. he smirks and loops his finger around the waistband.

“wear them for me?”

“these were the only clean ones I had left. thanks to you this is the fifth time this week I had to do laundry.”

“because of me?”

his fingers lets go of your panties and pats your hip lightly before you tug the blanket back up.

“yes because of you.” your cheeks flush pink.

percy grabs you by your waist and pulls you against him, pecking the top of your head. “well I’m proud to be the reason why your panties are wet.”

“okay—” you attempt to push him away but his grip remains tight and he peppers tickling kisses to your neck, eliciting uncontrollable giggles from your lips.

you love him, you do.

#xoxochb #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo series #pjo fandom #pjo #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you #riordanverse x reader #riordanverse #riordan universe

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just-some-random-blogger · 14 hours ago

Text

WHAT DO YOU MEAN LIGHT ANGST? WHAT DO YOU MEAN???? IM SO??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHATS HAPPENING? WHAT DO YOU MEAN????

I just know shits about to go down at the fucking quidditch match I just know it I know it. As for the angst.... Thus far light work, no reaction.............. I'm a bit............ Sus......... 😒😒😒😒😒😒😒 Where's the angst. Where's the angst. *CLANKS PANS* SHOW YOURSELF RAT 🫵 IM GETTING NERVOUS

I started reading this the day I got a notification but I was so tired 😫💔 and I was hating every moment of it so I just relaxed. I'm glad I did because I LOVEEE THISSSSS. Imagine if I walked away hating this cos I was so tired. Fuck off 🙄✋

You'd been homeschooled your entire life due to your father's protective nature, but with Draco being 16, he felt you'd have adequate enough protection.

❓ what... Why would she need protection? And from her younger brother????????? I fear the not knowing the lore is showing your honor 😬 IMMA JUST ROLL WITH IT YES YES I REMEMBER THESE GROWN ASS ADULTS WERE BEEFING WITH KIDS FOR SOME FUCKING REASON?????? HISS HISS VOLDEMORT OR WHATEVER THE FUCK

Finally, you'd get to be around people that weren't Death Eaters twice your age, or your little brother. You loved Draco, but come on. A girl's gotta eat.

HAHAAHAHAHHAAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAAHHAH

SHE REALLY SAID IM NOT HERE FOR EDUCATION IM HERE FOR DICK AHAHHAHAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAH

You wanted desperately to ride the train with Draco, but your father insisted you be transported separately to minimize the scene you’re appearance would cause.

❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓ WHY WOULDNT PEOPLE BE SCARED OF HER?? WHY WOUKD SHE BE A CELEBRITY HELPPPPPPO I DONT KNOWWWWWWW HAHAHAHAAHAHA

You weren’t sure when it happened, but at some point your little brother grew like a weed and now stood a head taller than you.

😔 I know it all too well 👎 loathe

You swore you heard McGonagall curse under her breath, and Draco’s arm tightened around yours.

DKDJJDJDN NOT YOU GETTINF MCGONAGALL TO CURSE BRUHHHH

Suddenly, he was no longer Draco, but Lucius, [...]

My poor draco boy ):

[...] and the girl you immediately recognized as Granger. Or so Draco called her, faux venom on his tongue.

GIRLIE IS A GIRLS GIRL TRUTHER SHE KNOWSSSSSSS UGHHHHH EVEN I WAS LIKE BRUHHH DRACOS RIGHT THEREEEE HERMIONE AND DRACO WERE ALWAYS END GAME JUST LIKE KATARA AND ZUKO YALL ARE JUST WEAKKKKKKK ASSS RATS

What a thrill to finally be seen.

It girl. Light work no reaction

And Lucius made a point of telling Arthur shortly after the decision was made, something about ‘Keep those trouble-making twins away from my daughter.’

????? Why is Lucius talking to Arthur what is happening???? Not the too good for everyone talking to the quote unquote dirt poor rats WHAT IS THIS???? DJDJJDJSJSJSJ HAHAHAHAHAA it's chill it's fine the less I know the better

[...] skipping over his twin beside him. His eyes were different, molten amber and sweet like honey, his hair like phoenix feathers, lips slightly parted like he was staring at a Great Wonder, but instead he was staring at you. Your heart gave an excited flutter.

Skipping over his twin is crazyyy work HAHAHAHAHHA THEY HAVE THE SAME FACE HAHAAHAHAH except I agree Georgie is just so much yummier 😋 SORRY GRED!!! The way you describe him is BEAUTIFUL

You were beautiful, unfairly so. Which of course you were, you’re a Malfoy for Merlin’s sake. And George found that he couldn’t look away.

I feel you george cos I mean malfoys

George watched your eyes skip over Dean, then Seamus, then Hermoine, Harry, Ron—until your eyes locked on his. The air was sucked from the room, his heart hammering like a cornered hare as your gaze inexplicably held his.

DO THEY KNOW EACH OTHER TOO????? WHAT IS HAPPENING

“—pretty fit, eh?” Fred muttered in his ear. “Oi, look at ‘im,” Fred snickered. “George? Geooooorgie?”

Bruhhhhhhhhh not Fred comin to say she's hot only to find his twin geeking 😭😭😭

“Sorry, what’d ya’ say?” George asked, looking around at his friends. They all stared at him with a mix of amusement and abject horror.

At least he's honest damn HAHAH

“She’s a Malfoy,” Hermoine scolded.

🙄✋ and we all know how you feel about em stfu

“Yeah, so by definition, she’s hot,” Seamus replied.

❗🫵 GAY COS YOU THINK DRACO IS HOT

McGonagall lifted the Sorting Hat, and it looked like you were speaking to it, no, flirting with it, your dark lashes fluttering.

IS SHE OKAY WHAT IS HAPPENING????? WITH THE SORTING HAT????? UHM OKAY THATS FINE LIVE YOUR TRUTH ALLIE GO HAT FUCKER

“Worse, probably,” George muttered, forcing himself to look away from you and back to his dinner. Suddenly, he found himself without an appetite.

????? I'm offended????? You don't know me. I don't even know what I originally had to say hold on

The world was at your feet, the lower classman wanted to be you, your classmates wanted to fuck you, and everyone else was terrified of you.

Crazy work. Your honor I dunno how to feel

It seemed your education under your father far surpassed that of your peers, in certain subjects at least.

EDUCATED BADDIEEEEEEEE LICKING HIS THROAT

And, you seemed to see your tall, red-headed boy everywhere you went. You'd learned that his name was George, a Weasley, Draco had sneered when he caught you ogling his tall, lean frame by the lake one afternoon.

🫵YOURS❓ at least this clarified they do nawt know each other. Also draco 🧯chill, your bp

You knew how your family felt about families like the Weasley's, but despite your father's best efforts, you couldn't bring yourself to hate someone for something as trivial as what ran through their veins.

..... But aren't Weasleys pure bloods too?????? At least it says on the website......... BESTIE JUST COS THEY'RE POOR DOESNT MEAN THAT MAKES THEM LESS PURE BLOODED ALSO THEYRE NOT FUCKING POOR MOLLY AND ARTHUR JUST HAVE 10000000000 CHILDREN

But when you entered the library and started pursuing the stacks for the Potions section, you found none other than George Weasley stretched out in a window seat, a book in his lap, his head lolled against the window as he snored.

I'm so sorry I would be taken to jail cos I was immediately 'licking his throat' GIRL STOPPPPPP

You tiptoed closer, taking in the state of him. He was dressed in trousers and a white button down, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his tie a little loose around his throat. His hair was messy, like he'd been running his fingers through it, and his socks were mismatched argyle.

Hi 🫦🥰 (dis my cat btw. My cat, ruby's, kitten, blossom)

You knew you shouldn't, but you found him extremely endearing, so soft-looking and cozy. Your fingers itched to straighten his tie, smooth his flaming hair.

You're better than me. I'd have licked his throat

“George,” you purred, but he didn't respond. “Geoooorge,” you tried again, poking him in the sternum. He turned his head, freckled nose scrunching. “George, darling. It's time to wake up.” You walked your fingers up his chest and tugged lightly on his red and gold tie.

❓❓❓❓❓GAGA HE DOESNT KNOW YOU DAFAQ GIRL PUT A LEASH ON THIS THING

“I, uh, yeah. Lucky me.” He swiped a hand through his hair. “Sleeping like an angel, hm?” He asked, regaining some of that cheeky charm you’d witnessed from afar over the last few weeks. A trait that only piqued your interest further.

Oh my gosh. Rizzler

“You looked awfully sweet to me,” you said, batting your lashes.

KESNN SHES INSUFFERABLE

“I don't believe that for a second, Malfoy.” His eyes skimmed over your face, down to your lips.

HEART PALPITATIONS I DO BITE

“Said the rattlesnake to the kitten,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice.

WHYS HE SO POETIC WHYD HE CALL HIMSELF KITTEN DO YOU MAYHAPS HAVE A DADDY KINK (SHES DADDY)

“You're one to talk, Mr. Weasley. Where’s your twin? Recently severed, are we?”

I LOVEEE HER 👏RE👏CENT👏LY👏SE👏VERED👏 UGHHH

George popped up, revealing his full height and sending you back a step, and your mouth filled with a saliva. The top of your head barely skimmed his collar bone, his limbs long and lean.

Like a tree. Like a lollipop. You understand

He was a delight. Handsome, sweet, clever. A loyal Gryffindor, the opposite of all the other pricks that threw themselves at you.

“Pretty good, yeah. Why? Need a tutor?”

🫦 a husband. ALSO YOURE GOOD A PO- oh no yeah he would be

“If you've got the time.” You shrugged. “I wouldn't want to keep you.”

🙄✋ girl bye shut the fuck up you fake ass piece of shit

You brushed the soft tail of your quill over you lips, mulling over your response. “Well, George. I suppose you are.”

...... WTF IS THE CONTEXT OF THIS I DONT REMEMEBR BUT I THINK I AGREE HAHAHHAHAHA LOL

“So tense, Georgie,” you murmured, reaching a hand up to squeeze at his flexed bicep. “I don't bite, remember?”

NOT HER BEING TOUCHY. SAMEEE. I LOVE GEORGIEEEE MY GEORGIEEEE

“That's a shame, here I thought I was just your Potions tutor.”

💔💔💔💔💔 your honor he's perfect. I should be married to him wtf is this bullshit

“Monday would be great.” You rose up onto your toes to peck his cheek. “See you then!” You tossed over your shoulder as you walked away, leaving him a flustered mess.

NO CUZZZ

THE WAY I WAS LIKE ID KISS HIM GOODBYE AND THEN SHE DID UGHHH WERE LIKE THIS 🤞🤞🤞🤞🤞 OUR BRAINS ARE LIKE THIS 🤞

George's eyes softened, sensing your hurt, but he didn't back away from his claim. “I think your father has it out for my little brother and his best friends, and I won't put them in danger just because I want to kiss a girl.”

RIZZLER. also weird ass fuckers out for kids is crazyyyyy

His eyes searched your face and you saw the moment he decided he trusted you, eyes melting like honey. "I trust you, rattlesnake." A smirk broke through his serious expression. “Am I going to regret it?”

OOP ITS STARTING MDKDNDJDJDNJ WHY WOULD YOU SAY SHIT LIKE THIS BUT HES SO PRETTY IM GOING TO EAT HIM LOKE CHOCOLATE ECLAIRS

Relief ballooned in your chest. “In the best way,” you purred, bringing his pinky up your lips and brushing a kiss across his knuckle.

KSJJSSJSJS

With a final exhale, he crashed his mouth to yours, his lips supple and insistent, your toes instantly curling in your shoes. You opened up for him and he licked into your mouth with firm strokes, deliberate and claiming. He tasted like lemon drops and black tea, and you were desperate for more of it.

“Y/n,” he hummed, smiling at you. His lips were puffy and slicked with spit, his eyes sparkling.

(unrelated but Colbert is willldding nskssksjjs)

You leaned forward, licking a long stripe from the hollow of his throat, over his Adams apple, to the underside of his chin.

HOW DOES IT FEEL TO LIVE MY DREAMMMMSSSS HOW DOES IT FEEL TO LIVE MY LIFEEE

“Shit.” His hands tightened on your waist, his head falling back to give you more access. You bit down, laving your tongue over his fevered skin, and his let out a low groan. “You little liar,” he gruffed, one of his hands coming up to tangle in your hair. “You do bite.”

BITING YOU FOREVER FOR LIFER MSJSJJSNSNSNJSKS LICKING BITING EATING DEVOURING

MY LOVEEEE THIS WAS A LOT IM SA IM LISTENING I DONT KNOW WHATS HAPPENING BUT GIRL AM I GLAD TO BE HERE RAHHH

A Madness Most Discreet | G.W.

feat. George Weasley x Malfoy!reader

summary: Draco's older sister arrives at Hogwarts for her final year of schooling, and sets her sights on a certain red-headed trickster.

cw: MDNI 18+, pov switching, making out and adult language, light angst (we're just getting started baby), pining, Malfoy family drama and blood prejudice, confident!reader

series navigation | masterlist | divider by @roseraris

Readers POV

No one knew what to expect when the Daily Prophet reported that you, the eldest child of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, would be attending Hogwarts for your final year of schooling.

You'd been homeschooled your entire life due to your father's protective nature, but with Draco being 16, he felt you'd have adequate enough protection. Not to mention, he had more pressing matters to attend to than your schooling.

You were beside yourself with excitement. Finally, you'd see the outside of the walls of Malfoy Manor. Finally, you'd get to be around people that weren't Death Eaters twice your age, or your little brother. You loved Draco, but come on. A girl's gotta eat.

Draco and Professor McGonagall led you through the ancient corridors to the Great Hall, every portraits eye trained on you. The newcomer, the subject of many whispered conversations that passed by them less than an hour prior. It seemed even the castle itself was buzzing about your arrival.

You wanted desperately to ride the train with Draco, but your father insisted you be transported separately to minimize the scene you’re appearance would cause.

But you were not one for subtlety.

“I’m begging you to not make a scene,” Draco hissed in your ear, his Slytherin robes brushing your calves. You weren’t sure when it happened, but at some point your little brother grew like a weed and now stood a head taller than you.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, D.” You looped your arm through his, leaning your head on his shoulder. You were lying through your teeth, and he knew it.

“Seriously, y/n. There’s enough attention on us already.”

“Salazar’s tits, Draco! Would you relax? Everything will be fine.” The three of you reached the door to the Great Hall, closed firmly and unbelievably high.You swore you heard McGonagall curse under her breath, and Draco’s arm tightened around yours.

It seemed a scene would be made after all, and you fought the smile threatening to curve your lips.

“Ready, Malfoys?” McGonagall asked, turning to look over you both. The look in her eyes, almost pitying, made you hold Draco's arm a bit tighter, smile faltering.

What are they so worried about?

“As we’ll ever be,” Draco sighed.

McGonagall pushed open the doors, revealing the massive dining hall. Every table was filled with students, piles and piles of food over every surface, and more travelling on levitating trays around the room. Candles floated from the ceiling, the night sky clear and shining with stars.

Every head swiveled towards you, and you watched Draco’s demeanor change instantly. Suddenly, he was no longer Draco, but Lucius, and your stomach curdled, souring your excitement over a grand entrance.

Draco pulled you even closer to his side, casting a warning sneer to every eye that lingered too long while you walked towards Albus Dumbledore on the dais.

Your eyes ping-ponged from student to student, taking in the people you’d spend the next eight months with. You fought to keep your face neutral, an elegant mask of in difference like you'd been taught, but your heart pounded with excitement in your chest.

What a thrill to finally be seen.

The Gryffindor table was on your right, the maroon-clad students sizing you up with open disdain, but even that couldn't dampen the thrill tingling under your skin.

You spotted Harry Potter towards the center of the impossibly long table, flanked by some red-headed boy, Weasley, you surmised, and the girl you immediately recognized as Granger. Or so Draco called her, faux venom on his tongue.

His eyes flicked to her as well, and you suppressed the snicker that bubbled on your tongue. Despite your sheltered upbringing, you knew infatuation when you saw it.

You looked back towards the group, all of their eyes trained on you. But, your gaze snagged on one of them in particular, skipping over his twin beside him. His eyes were different, molten amber and sweet like honey, his hair like phoenix feathers, lips slightly parted like he was staring at a Great Wonder, but instead he was staring at you. Your heart gave an excited flutter.

Oh, there you are, a voice in the back of your mind whispered.

George's POV

Of course, George had heard that the eldest Malfoy was joining their class. Everyone had heard about your arrival. And Lucius made a point of telling Arthur shortly after the decision was made, something about ‘Keep those trouble-making twins away from my daughter.’

But, when the doors opened to the Great Hall and you entered on Draco’s arm, George had been stunned silent anyways.

You were beautiful, unfairly so. Which of course you were, you’re a Malfoy for Merlin’s sake. And George found that he couldn’t look away.

As you walked towards Professor Dumbledore, you scanned the tables, a curious glint in your gaze betraying your disinterested expression. George watched your eyes skip over Dean, then Seamus, then Hermoine, Harry, Ron—until your eyes locked on his. The air was sucked from the room, his heart hammering like a cornered hare as your gaze inexplicably held his.

Even as you continued to walk by, your eyes remained locked together, your head turning just slightly. A smirk sharpened your angelic face, and George’s jaw went slack. But then Draco gave you a nudge and you turned forward, a slight skip in your step.

“—pretty fit, eh?” Fred muttered in his ear. “Oi, look at ‘im,” Fred snickered. “George? Geooooorgie?”

Ron snapped his fingers in front of his face and George jolted back to reality. “Merlin, mate. Earth to George.”

“Sorry, what’d ya’ say?” George asked, looking around at his friends. They all stared at him with a mix of amusement and abject horror.

“Said she’s pretty fit,” Fred chuckled, bumping his shoulder.

“She’s a Malfoy,” Hermoine scolded.

“Yeah, so by definition, she’s hot,” Seamus replied.

“Exactly—”

George tuned them out as you were lead up to the stage, the Sorting Hat waiting on a stool to your right. Dumbledore was speaking, but George tuned him out as well, too fixated on the arrogant slant of your smile, the mischief shining from your eyes.

You had trouble written all over you.

McGonagall lifted the Sorting Hat, and it looked like you were speaking to it, no, flirting with it, your dark lashes fluttering.

“What is she saying to it?” Harry asked, leaning forward.

McGonagall placed it on your head, and the hat gave a great laugh, rendering the hall silent. “What a mind you have, girl. Clever, cunning, mischievous—a troublesome combination indeed. Seems even a Malfoy can be more than they appear. But even still—” The room held it’s breath, and Draco looked like he might keel over from stress, even paler than usual. “Slytherin!” The hat cried, and Draco exhaled, shaking his head at the dramatic pout on your face.

Saints, that pout. George wanted to sink his teeth into it.

“You think she’s going to be as bad as him?” Ginny asked, watching as Draco escorted you down the stairs and over to the roaring Slytherin table. People were throwing themselves out of their seats to make room for you, and you basked in the attention like a benevolent queen returned to her kingdom.

“Worse, probably,” George muttered, forcing himself to look away from you and back to his dinner. Suddenly, he found himself without an appetite.

Reader's POV

Your first three weeks at Hogwarts had been a whirlwind of introductions, lectures, and parties. The world was at your feet, the lower classman wanted to be you, your classmates wanted to fuck you, and everyone else was terrified of you. You never had to wait for a drink, or a meal, and someone was always willing to do your assignments for you, not that you needed it.

It seemed your education under your father far surpassed that of your peers, in certain subjects at least. You could out cast them all with ease, and were looking forward to when dueling would begin.

An opportunity to speak to George hadn't presented itself until you'd escaped to the library one evening. The attention you initially craved was starting to border on suffocating, and you wanted a few hours of quiet to yourself.

It was a lesson your mother had taught you. You can withstand anything so long as you hold onto yourself.

You knew you shouldn't, but you found him extremely endearing, so soft-looking and cozy. Your fingers itched to straighten his tie, smooth his flaming hair.

Instead you lifted the book from his lap and read the cover. “Pyromancy and Magical Combustion: A Spellcaster’s Guide”

George stirred suddenly, his hands flexing around empty air.

You considered backing off and leaving him to rest, but where the fun in that?

“Hm?” He mumbled, brown lashes fluttering open to reveal his sleep-trodden, amber eyes. They locked on your face, widening for a second before he jolted upright. “Y/n? Merlin, where the fuck—”

“It’s alright, love,” you shushed him, using deft fingers to straighten his tie and fix his collar. “You're in the library, sleeping like an angel. Lucky it was me that found you and not Pince.” You glanced up at him, finding his jaw a little slack, his eyes round as he stared at you in shock.

You always were a little too bold for your own good. Reckless in the pursuit of what you wanted.

“You looked awfully sweet to me,” you said, batting your lashes.

“Said the rattlesnake to the kitten,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Rattlesnake?” You scoffed, feigning hurt with a hand over your heart. “I don't bite!”

“I don't believe that for a second, Malfoy.” His eyes skimmed over your face, down to your lips.

You flashed said fangs, and he smiled back.

“Why are you in the library?” He asked, glancing over your shoulder. “Alone? I haven't seen you without Draco or one of his goons since you arrived.”

You rolled your eyes. Draco had assigned Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini to watch over you when he couldn't, and it took a concerted effort to evade them and come here. “Was getting a little tired of the entourage,” you admitted.

“A Malfoy? Tired of attention?” He tapped a finger on your forehead, featherlight. “I think you might be broken.”

“You're one to talk, Mr. Weasley. Where’s your twin? Recently severed, are we?”

He chuckled, the sound low and honey sweet. “Hufflepuff party.”

“And you didn't go, because…? You love pyromancy so much?” You held up the book, teasing him.

“Wasn't in the mood to socialize,” he said, shrugging a shoulder.

“Well, George, it seems we may have more in common than we realized.”

His eyes warmed. “Seems so.”

“Could you help me find the Potions section?” You asked, cocking a thumb over your shoulder. “Draco never gave me a tour…”

George popped up, revealing his full height and sending you back a step, and your mouth filled with a saliva. The top of your head barely skimmed his collar bone, his limbs long and lean.

He offered you his elbow. “Right this way, Ms. Malfoy.”

You rested your hand on his bicep, the burgeoning heat between you flaring brightly at even the smallest contact, and he lead you through the stacks.

He was warm and steady beside you, his cologne fresh and clean smelling, his muscles flexing slightly as he steered you. Butterflies stirred in your stomach, pleased that your instinct when you spotted him had been correct.

He was a delight. Handsome, sweet, clever. A loyal Gryffindor, the opposite of all the other pricks that threw themselves at you.

When you arrived at the clearly labeled Potions section, you turned to face him. “You’re in my Potions class, right? Are you any good?” You asked, wanting to delay his departure.

“Pretty good, yeah. Why? Need a tutor?” He quirked an eyebrow, his voice coming out a little too fast to be ready as anything but eager.

“If you've got the time.” You shrugged. “I wouldn't want to keep you.”

“Nonsense. I'm happy to be of service,” he said, winking at you, sending a fizz of desire pulsing through your blood.

George gathered the books you needed and led you to a secluded table at the back of the library, recognizing the risk of anyone seeing the two of you together, even doing something as simple as studying.

“So, what's the trouble with Potions?” He asked once you were settled in, books splayed around the table.

“My father didn't see the value in it, and it's not like we have a laboratory in the Manor,” you said, dipping your quill in your ink.

“So you were homeschooled your entire life?” George folded his arms against the table, leaning a bit closer. “Why?”

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “My father had his reasons.” It was a practiced answer, a safe one, and it tasted bitter on your tongue. “He thought it wasn't safe,” you added, wanting to assuage the guilty feeling.

“Not safe?” George scoffed. “Hogwarts is the safest place in the world.

“Depends on who your enemies are,” you said, finally meeting his eyes.

“And who are you enemies?” He asked, sitting back on his chair.

You brushed the soft tail of your quill over you lips, mulling over your response. “Well, George. I suppose you are.”

“That's a shame, here I thought I was just your Potions tutor.”

You snorted, caught off guard by his joking. “Should be fine, as long as we aren't friends,” you chuckled.

“Definitely not friends.” He smiled. “Now, the thing about Beezors…”

George's POV

George watched you pour over your notes, brow furrowed slightly in concentration, and you did that god-forsaken fucking thing with your quill again.

Dragged the feather over your lips with the barest touch, the movement unconscious, and it made his heart seize every single fucking time.

He could hardly believe he was sitting across from you, walking through the curriculum you needed for the first Potions exam in two weeks. You'd missed a lot being homeschooled, but we're clearly incredibly bright, and you picked everything up with ease that rivaled Hermione.

He'd been fascinated by you from the moment you walked into the Great Hall, and managed to snag his eye every time you entered a room there after. You occupied his mind too, so much so he was already behind in Charms, but he wasn't even quite ready to admit that to himself yet.

You were a Malfoy, after all. It didn't matter that you were interesting, or clever, or beautiful. You were a Malfoy. End of story.

He should get up and walk away right now.

What right did you have asking him for help? You had everything. And you were smart enough to do this on your own. You didn't need him. And he shouldn't want you.

Oh, Merlin. And he didn't want you….right?

He couldn't. He barely knew you beyond your reputation and the whispers he'd gathered in the halls, but it felt like he did. Like he's known you for ages, the quiet between you comfortable despite his racing thoughts.

But no, surely not. He didn't want you. Nope.

You dragged you quill against your lips again, sighing softly, and he nearly melted to the floor like a lit candle.

Fuck. He wanted you.

“George?” You called, waving a hand in front of his face, and he jolted back to the present. “Dozing off again?” You teased, voice sweet as treacle.

“No, was just, ah, trying to remember what we covered fourth year,” he said, rubbing the back of his head and hoping you didn't catch the flush in his cheeks.

But based on the twinkle in your eye, you certainly did.

“Maybe we can cover it tomorrow?” You asked, closing your book and setting down your quill. “I'm not sure I can absorb anything else tonight—” a soft yawn punctuated your words, sweet as a lamb, and George had to look away so he didn't memorize the exact shade of your tongue.

Definitely don't meet up with her tomorrow. “Yeah, same spot?” He asked, gathering his things as well.

“It's a date.” You winked, and flitted between the stacks, disappearing from his sight.

George slumped back onto his seat, scrubbing a hand over his face.

When he showed up ten minutes early to the library the following day, he'd never felt more pathetic in his life.

All day, he told himself he wasn't going to go. That he was going to leave you hanging and end this before it got started. Whatever this was.

He was betraying his family by sitting in this chair, guilt churning and acrid in his gut. They would be so disappointed him. He could already hear his mother in his mind: you're a spineless fool.

And it was the truth. He'd lied to Fred and Ron about what he was doing, and snuck past Hermione and Harry who were studying by the entrance. He was lying to and hiding from the people he loved most, all for a Malfoy.

He was about to get up from his seat when you came breezing around the corner, a cauldron in your arms. He continued to rise but instead of fleeing, he took the cauldron from you with a chastising tsk.

“Stealing from Snape, are we, rattlesnake?” He set the cauldron on the table, turning back to you.

“I didn't steal it!” You argued.

He raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.

“I'm going to bring it back later.” You rolled your eyes and dumped your bag onto the table, potions and herbs rolling out. “How else am I supposed to learn about potions?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Merlin, you were adorable. Pink cheeked from carrying everything, your hair windswept, eyes shining with that rebellious light. He was helpless, drawn to it like a moth.

“Just don't blow my eyebrows off,” he grumbled.

“No promises,” you teased back.

The two of you toiled the rest of the evening away over the cauldron, successfully making two of the four potions Snape had covered this semester.

You stood shoulder to shoulder over the bubbling green liquid, and he glanced down at you, at the victorious little grin on your face, and he felt his insides twist.

He reached to grab a bundle of herbs on your right, and you turned to grab an ingredient on his left, and your bodies bumped together in the middle, faces nearly colliding.

“S-shit, sorry,” he said, pretending he couldn't smell the expensive perfume on your skin. Like it wasn't rotting his brain from the inside out.

“Sorry for what?” You asked, leaning the rest of the way to get your ingredient, apparently completely unbothered by your chest pressed up against his, your face brushing his shoulder.

“Uh, I—”

“So tense, Georgie,” you murmured, reaching a hand up to squeeze at his flexed bicep. “I don't bite, remember?”

Every scrap of attention zeroed in on your hand touching his arm, his heart thundering in his chest. Georgie. The nickname rattled around in his empty mind. Georgie. Georgie. Georgie.

“I'll try,” he rasped, clearing his throat.

An hour later and you finished the third Potion, the sun long ago set over the horizon. It wouldn't be long before Pince came looking for stragglers, and you'd be booted from the library.

George glanced over at you, your cheek propped against your palm, lashes fluttering as your lids slid closed. Something warm bloomed in his chest watching you doze, peaceful and untroubled, trusting him enough to let your guard down so completely.

As quietly as he could, he picked up his things and yours, and discarded the potion. Carefully, he tucked the cauldron behind one of the the shelves for your next study session so you wouldn't have to lug it back and forth, vowing to take the fall if Snape caught on.

“Rattlesnake,” he cooed, nudging your shoulder. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here.”

You groaned, nose wrinkling before you blinked open your eyes at him. A sleepy smile stretched across your face, and his knees turned to jelly. He wanted to kiss you so badly it stole his breath.

“Sorry, Georgie,” you mumbled, covering your mouth when you yawned.

“All good, love,” he replied, handing you your things. Shit, he cursed himself. Love had just rolled off his tongue, easy as breathing.

But you only smiled at him, slinging your bag over your shoulder and getting to your feet. “Thanks for your help,” you said. “Do you think you'll have time to meet next week?”

Quidditch matches started next week, eating into the little bit of free time he had. But he'd figure it out.

“Could probably meet Monday after practice, if you'd like,” he said, shouldering his own bag.

“Monday would be great.” You rose up onto your toes to peck his cheek. “See you then!” You tossed over your shoulder as you walked away, leaving him a flustered mess.

He rubbed his hand over his cheek, the place your lips brushed his skin still tingling, and sighed. How could he stay away from you? Why should he? Because of your last name?

It was the Malfoy’s job to be stuck up and judgemental, not his. And you seemed to be nothing like them…

Then, something occured to him. A thought so upsetting it punched the air out of his chest and he dropped back down onto his chair.

What if this was a trick?

What if this was a way for the Malfoy's to get close to his family? To get them to let their guards down? What if you were just a beautiful Trojan Horse?

He shook his head, trying to shake the dark thoughts loose. You couldn't be, not with those bright eyes and rebellious smile. He couldn't imagine you being so cruel. But then again…you were a Malfoy.

How could he know for sure?

He left the library with his head hung low, doubts swirling in his mind like a storm, making his stomach churn, but one stood clearer than the rest. Disruptive as a strike of lightning.

Was it worth the risk?

Reader's POV

Your connection with George deepened over those few study sessions, and it seemed he was just as into you as you were him. From the knocked together knees, to his fingers brushing against yours when he passed over an ingredient or book, to his eyes lingering on you over the cauldron, the signs were plentiful.

But Monday night, he'd been different.

He was acting strange the entire study session, watching you closely, giving clipped, one or two word answers. His shoulders seemed almost heavy, burdened.

At first, you chalked it up to him being tired after practice, but instinctively, you knew it had something to do with you.

Unable to bear it any longer, you turned to him after shelving your books. “Is something wrong, George?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

He froze in place, refusing to meet your eyes. Then, something seemed to give way in his expression, a loaded sigh loosing from his chest. “I'm not sure we should keep doing this,” he admitted, sounding almost pained. “Your family would have a conniption, as would mine.”

You let your arms fall to your sides. It was only a matter of time before this came up, you supposed. But, you were prepared for it. “And?” You asked, risking a step closer. “I'm not sure about you…” you placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heart race, his muscles tense under your touch. But he didn't pull away. “But I make my own decisions.”

He placed his hand over yours. “You could have anyone you want. So, why me? What's in it for you?”

You recoiled slightly, removing your hand from him and taking a step back. “You think I have some ulterior motive.” It wasn't a question, nor was it a shock. Everyone always assumed you did everything with malicious intent. You just thought maybe George saw you differently.

Your heart gave a jilted pang, confusion making your brows furrow. You knew he was being completely honest. He wanted to kiss you, but he was afraid of what the consequences might be. Consequences you hadn't even really considered.

George had every reason to be skeptical of you. But your only ulterior motive was getting closer to him, and maybe getting under your father's skin a little should he ever find out.

“I don't have an ulterior motive, George. Nor do I take orders from anyone, least of all my father. I have no ill will towards your family, and I'm sorry that mine has treated you all so poorly.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Swear it,” he said, holding up his pinky.

You wrapped your pinky around his. “I swear.”

Relief ballooned in your chest. “In the best way,” you purred, bringing his pinky up your lips and brushing a kiss across his knuckle.

His pupils dilated, breath hitching in his chest. Then you were moving, his body pressing you backwards against the bookshelf, dropping your pinky to brace your hips with both hands.

“You're awfully confident,” he whispered in your ear, making your stomach flutter with anticipation.

You hadn't felt this excited in far too long, his touch, his voice as tempting as the finest wine.

“Are you going to find out why? Or keep prattling on?”

Every other kiss you'd had felt lifeless and disappointing, empty and wet in the worst way. But this, the fervid caress of his searching tongue, felt like wildfire: burning, consuming, ravenous.

“George,” you gasped when his lips traveled down your neck, the tip of his nose a cold contrast to the heat of his mouth.

He nipped at your pulse, sucking the skin between his teeth to leave a mark.

“George!” You giggled, pulling on his hair to stop him.

“Y/n,” he hummed, smiling at you. His lips were puffy and slicked with spit, his eyes sparkling.

Two could play at that game.

You leaned forward, licking a long stripe from the hollow of his throat, over his Adams apple, to the underside of his chin.

You giggled, lapping at the light purple mark you left behind. “I'm not sorry.”

He tipped your head back and reconnected your lips, teasing and light. “You have no reason to be. Bite me all you like, rattlesnake,” he murmured between unhurried pecks.

“Careful what you ask for.” You caught his lower lip between your teeth and tugged gently, earning another groan, before kissing him a final time, soft and lingering.

Hearing the distant chime of the bell tower, you finally broke apart. Curfew. Pince would be around any second.

You brushed your nose against his. “I have to get back to the common room,” you sighed.

“’Course. Wouldn't dream of keeping you from your beauty sleep.” He brought your knuckles to his lips, kissing them lightly. “See you at the match tomorrow?”

You nodded, pulling your still tingling lower lip between your teeth. “Absolutely. I’ll be in green.”

“Ouch,” he chuckled, pretending to wince. “I'll have you in red soon enough.” He released your hand and walked backwards out of the aisle, his eyes trained on you until he was forced to turn the corner, his hand sticking out to wave a final goodbye as he disappeared.

You placed a hand over your thundering heart, a little stunned by your bodies intense reaction him.

What in Salazar's name has you gotten yourself into?

George's POV

George left the library achingly hard and shook to his core, the blood that hadn't traveled south roaring in his ears.

That was the singularly most earth-shattering kiss of his life. And it was with the absolute last person he should be kissing.

George wasn't the type to get physical so quickly after meeting someone, but you were irresistible. And seemed to want him as badly as he wanted you, a fact he struggled to get his head around.

And even though he knew he should, he couldn't bring himself to regret a second of it. In fact, he was already anxiously awaiting the match tomorrow, debating whether or not he could squeeze in some extra practice at dawn while he walked back to his dorm.

As soon as he opened the door, he found his brother, Ron, Harry, Seamus, and Neville sitting up in their beds, and stopped short.

“Hey George!” Harry called, waving.

“What’s the matter with you?” Fred asked, clocking his trepidation immediately.

George had to fight to urge to clap a hand over the mark you’d left on his neck. Would they smell your perfume on his skin?

“Nothing? Why?” He asked, heading towards his trunk.

Fred eyed him suspiciously. “Where have you been?”

“Library,” George answered, a little too quick.

Fred studied him a moment longer, then snapped his fingers, a huge grin on his face. “You were with a girl!”

The rest of the boys oooooh’d, and George felt his cheeks heat.

“Yeah, right. You know me, drowning in babes,” he argued, throwing a towel and his pajamas over his shoulder. “I'm going to take a shower.”

“Ah, so just a snog, then?” Seamus teased.

George flipped them off and left for the showers, praying they forget about it by the time he got back.

Reader's POV

“Where the fuck have you been?” Draco snapped, rounding on you as soon as you stepped back into the Slytherin common room.

“Places,” you reply, kissing his cheek before strolling by.

He caught your wrist, tugging you back to him. “Y/n…”

“Draco…” You rolled your eyes. “I was in the library, relax.” You pull away from him and walk towards the girls dormitory, Draco on your heels.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time there,” he accused, an edge of suspicion in his voice. “I would have gone with you, or Blaise or Pansy—”

“I wanted to go alone,” you snapped, stopping so suddenly he bumped into you. A hush fell over the common room. “I don't need a fucking body guard, Draco. You need to back off.”

Draco's nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing. “Stop it,” he hissed. “We can talk about this in private.”

“Why? Is your ‘bad guy' reputation so fragile?”

His jaw flexed, and you could tell your words stung, hurt flickering across his eyes.

You sighed. “D, I can take care of myself,” you murmured.

“But if something happened to you…” his voice softened, trailing off.

“Let me have this,” you asked, taking his hand in both of yours. “Please. I've never had any freedom.”

He squeezed your hands. “I know, I know. Just…let me know where you are, at least? Don't just keep disappearing—what is that?” His eyes hardened, lowering to your neck.

You fought to hold your composure. “What? Oh, the burn? I bumped it with my curling iron this afternoon.” You grazed your fingers over the mark George had left, a flurry of butterflies kicking up in your stomach.

Draco dropped your hand, and guilt soured your fuzzy feelings.

“Who is it?” He growled.

“Draco—”

“You think I can't tell when you're lying?” He grabbed you and lead you into a quieter part of the common room, shadowed from onlookers. “Who was it, y/n?”

You glared daggers at him, squaring your shoulders. “I suggest you mind your own business, or we will have a fucking problem. I will not hesitate to dismantle every brick of this bullshit castle you've built. Clear?”

His jaw ticked, eyes blazing. “This is not a fucking game,” he said after a tense moment of silence.

“Just trust me, okay? I’m fine. We’re fine. Not everything is life and death.”

“Y/n, you aren't listening—”

“No, you aren't listening. We're safe here. And I have my brother to protect me from anything scary, yeah?” You reached up to pinch his cheek, and he scowled, swatting your hand away.

“I can't protect you if I don't know where you are,” he argued.

You sighed. “I'll try and tell you from now on, okay? But you can't be with me 24/7. You need to have a little faith in me.”

“It's not you that I doubt,” he grumbled, but you could tell that you'd won this round.

“Goodnight, Draco. And don't stay up too late, you've got a game tomorrow.” You poked him hard in the chest, and he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, sister.” He waved you off and you ascended the stairs to the girls dorm, leaving him to his friends, and you to toss and turn in your bed, dreaming of George.

Thank you for reading!

If you'd like to be included in the taglist, comment below!

taglist: @pxige1234, @simars3, @jaybbygrl, @irlpokemonsworld, @just-some-random-blogger

#george weasley #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fic #the weasley twins

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overdressedcarp · 2 days ago

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I've been thinking for a while about the optional Magatama dialogue in The Cosmic Turnabout where you can prompt Fulbright about what's bothering him, and for both of the wrong answers, he acts like you got it right, and actively leans into the bit. For example, if you suggest that he's exhausted by life, he agrees and claims he's thinking about quitting his job and going to space. (Honestly, mood.)

(AA 5-4 and 5-5 spoilers below the cut)

It's a good line on its own: funny, and definitely relatable. With 5-5's context, though, it brushes up against a deep-seated desire to disappear, to run away and start over, something the Phantom hasn't been at liberty to do in years. He's shackled to a seven-year-old assignment, strangled by loose ends that he can't tie off. For maybe the first time in his life, he has to wake up every day and live with the effects of his actions, made blisteringly real in the form of the people he hurt.

(Do I think he's walking around harboring deep, profound remorse for UR-1? Not really, no. But the self-protective lie of "my choices don't matter because I'm not really a person" only goes so far when you're clocking into work every day to hang out with the guy who's on death row because of you, who's grieving because of you, and suddenly you're the only person he trusts to hear about the monster that ruined his life, and you planned for this but you didn't plan for this and honestly at that point I'd want to quit my job and throw myself into the vast expanse of space, too.)

Also worth noting, during this entire scene, any time Fulbright goes to answer a question or make an assertion about himself, the tinted glasses go up like a shield. Eyes hidden, hand obscuring the lower half of his face. It's something he does pretty regularly throughout the game, but it's egregious here. My man is on the defensive and he's giving absolutely zero ground.

But the big thing for me is the other "wrong" option, where if you claim that Fulbright is troubled by love, the Phantom's knee-jerk "yes, and," response is to tell a story about a carp named Love who ate a bunch of goldfish because he put them all in the same tank.

In the moment it's supposed to be absurd and comical and one more example of how hapless this guy is, but in retrospect, it's kind of telling that when the Phantom tries to conceptualize love in relation to himself, the first piece of Fulbright-flavored bullshit that comes to mind is about a creature that brings pain and death through mere proximity, not out of malice, but out of nature. As though, subconsciously, he's fixated on the notion of a foreign element that's been dropped into an otherwise peaceful space. A fish that seems like it belongs there until it devours the others.

He really could have said anything—he could have made up a story about a bad breakup, or a really sad movie, or a family member who died. He could have jumped to talking about Blackquill, and how he's concerned for his emotional state given the nature of the current case. But instead, his mind instinctively gravitates to a Love that consumes everything around it: a Love defined by its capacity for violence. There was never a world where the carp could exist alongside the goldfish without hurting them.

And idk. I feel like if he wasn't feeling some kind of way about that, then it wouldn't be bleeding into his Olympic-level improv gymnastics routine to convince Phoenix that he doesn't have any secrets and you can put the supernatural lie detector away now, thanks.

#ace attorney #aa5 #aa5 spoilers #dual destinies #bobby fulbright #aa phantom #character analysis #meta #remember when i said i had more serious thoughts about this guy? at last i am here to deliver #look. if capcom didn't want me to psychoanalyze all of the phantom's sillygoofy fulbrightisms #then they shouldn't have made him the main antagonist of lawyer game: analytical psychology edition #the whole point of his breakdown in 5-5 is that he's a person and it terrifies him!!! and you expect me not to think about that????#anyway this post brought to you by the generous peer review of homicidal-lingonberry #who got to listen to me ramble about this in dms first

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heartsriki · 1 day ago

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SYMPHONY OF US ⌇음악

FLIRT ALERT! series⌇Park Jongseong | Next

pairing ᝰ jay x fem!reader — word count: 4.6k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ college au!, friends to lovers, mutual pining, bantering, song composer x guitarist, fluff, kissing.

synopsis — As music majors in college, You and Jay have always been seatmates in class—passing notes, sharing playlists, and teasing each other between lectures. But when you get paired for the annual Valentine’s Open Mic Night, your usual banter turns into long practice sessions, late-night coffee runs, and a song that sounds a little too much like a love confession.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊Hey Ermmuhh I couldn’t sleep so I cooked this one up and I actually like it. Guys I would do anything for guitar Jay, whos with me.. raise your hand..

The first time you ever sat next to Jay, it wasn’t by choice.

The lecture hall had been packed, students filing into seats with that first-week energy—half of them eager, the other half exhausted. You had arrived late, the only open seat left beside a guy in a coat, his foot tapping lightly against the floor in a steady rhythm.

“Bad day?” he had asked as you slumped into the seat.

You had barely looked at him before muttering, “Bad parking.”

That had made him chuckle. “Yeah, parking’s a nightmare.” Then, as if he could sense your irritation, he slid a packet of sheet music onto your desk. “Here. Since you missed the first part.”

That was the beginning of it.

For the rest of the year, Jay remained your unofficial seatmate. You didn’t plan it—it just happened. Every class, every semester, no matter the time or the professor, there was an unspoken agreement that you would end up beside each other. He passed you scribbled jokes in the margins of his notes, you stole his guitar picks, and somehow, you two had developed a routine that made even the dullest lectures bearable.

So when the Professor announced that the Valentine’s Open Mic Night would be a graded project this year, it wasn’t a surprise when he paired you and Jay together. What was surprising was the flicker of hesitation on Jay’s face when your names were called.

“You good?” you asked as you packed your things after class.

Jay blinked, snapping out of whatever thought had been on his mind. “Yeah. Just… never done a duet before.”

You raised a brow. “You literally performed at the Winter Recital last semester.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

He adjusted the strap of his bag, glancing down at his shoes before flashing you a lopsided grin. “I didn’t have to sing with you.”

You rolled your eyes, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Relax, I’ll try not to make you sound bad.”

And that was it. That was how your simple routine with Jay turned into something a little bit more.

You would think that after almost a year of sitting next to each other, sharing notes, and teasing back and forth, you two would have naturally grown closer. But there had always been a boundary—an invisible line neither of you dared to cross. You weren’t sure if it was because of the way Jay always seemed so effortlessly cool, or because you had convinced yourself that your dynamic worked best when there were no expectations beyond the classroom.

But something about today felt different.

As he turned to leave, you blurted out, “Would you like to get some coffee?!”

Jay froze mid-step at your sudden outburst, then turned slowly to meet your gaze. The smirk that curled at his lips sent a flicker of heat to your face.

“You asking me out?”

Your entire body stiffened. “No! No,” you rushed to say, waving your hands frantically. “I mean—for our music piece. Y’know? So we can brainstorm or whatever.”

Jay tilted his head, pretending to consider it, even though you could tell he was enjoying your flustered reaction way too much. After a beat, he shrugged. “Alright. Lead the way.”

Fifteen minutes later, you were sitting across from him in a small café just off campus, a half-empty coffee cup between your hands. The place was cozy, the hum of conversation mixing with the soft jazz playing overhead.

Jay had abandoned his coat, rolling up the sleeves of his long sleeved shirt as he leaned back in his chair, watching you with mild amusement. “You’re overthinking it.”

You frowned. “What? No, I’m not.”

“You totally are,” he said, tapping a finger against your notebook. “Look at this. You’ve got three different song structures written down, but you haven’t committed to any of them.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “Because I don’t know what works best. I mean, do we go for something upbeat? Or do we lean into the whole Valentine’s theme and make it, like… disgustingly romantic?”

Jay huffed a laugh, picking up his coffee. “You sound like love songs personally offend you.”

“They do when they’re forced,” you muttered, tapping your pen against the table. “I just don’t want it to sound fake, y’know?”

Jay was quiet for a moment, watching you carefully. Then he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “So let’s not make it fake.”

You blinked. “What?”

He nudged your notebook toward you. “Let’s write something real. Doesn’t have to be some cheesy love song. Just something that actually means something to us.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. For all the teasing and banter, Jay had a way of slipping in these unexpectedly earnest moments that made you pause.

You exhaled slowly, nodding. “Alright. Something real.”

“Good.” He grinned. “And if it just so happens to be a love song, well…” He shot you a teasing look. “Guess that says something about us, huh?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, but you forced yourself to roll your eyes. “Don’t make stupid jokes.”

Jay just laughed, but even as you refocused on your notes, you couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, things were changing between you two.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, the low hum of the cafe filling in the gaps as you both stared at your notebooks. Every so often, Jay would absentmindedly tap his fingers against the table, a steady rhythm that somehow made it easier for you to think.

You glanced up at him. “So, what’s something real to you?”

Jay’s fingers paused mid-tap. He looked at you, eyebrows raising slightly, as if he hadn’t expected you to actually ask. Then, after a moment, he shrugged. “Music, obviously. Late-night drives. My guitars. Oh, and good coffee.” He lifted his cup in emphasis before taking a sip.

You hummed, jotting down a few words in your notebook. “Alright, so we’re writing a love song about caffeine addiction.”

Jay chuckled. “That’s what you got from that?”

“You said ‘good coffee.’ That’s passion.”

He rolled his eyes but leaned forward, glancing at your notebook. “Okay, your turn. What’s something real to you?”

You hesitated, tapping your pen against the page. It was a simple question, but answering it felt more intimate than you had expected.

“Uh… sunrises,” you said finally. “When you’ve been up all night, and everything’s quiet for a few minutes before the world wakes up. That first breath of cold air in the morning. And…” You trailed off, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

Jay tilted his head, waiting. “And?”

You exhaled, deciding to just go for it. “That feeling when you’re playing music, writing it, and for a second, it’s like… everything just clicks.”

Jay was quiet. When you looked up, he wasn’t smirking or teasing. He was just watching you, something unreadable in his expression.

“Yeah,” he said, voice softer now. “I get that.”

Something shifted then—an unspoken understanding settling between you.

Jay reached for his guitar case beside his chair, flipping open the latches. “Alright,” he said, adjusting the strap over his shoulder. “Let’s see what we’ve got so far.”

You bit your lip, flipping through your notes. “I mean, we don’t have much yet, but…”

Jay started strumming, a simple, easy melody filling the space between you. You listened, letting the rhythm settle in before you hesitantly hummed a melody over it.

Jay’s lips curled into a smile. “That works. Keep going.”

And just like that, the song started to take shape.

Hours later, you were still at the café, empty cups pushed to the side as you sat next to Jay in the booth, your notebooks a mess of scribbled lyrics and crossed-out ideas.

“Alright, what about this?” Jay said, adjusting his guitar. He played a soft progression, nodding toward you. “Try it with the lyrics we just fixed.”

You took a breath and sang the first few lines, the words tentative but starting to feel more natural the more you repeated them. Jay watched you as you sang, his eyes focused—not in the way he usually looked at you when he was about to tease you, but in a way that made something in your chest tighten.

When you finished, he nodded slowly. “That was good.”

You laughed lightly, nudging his shoulder. “Yeah?”

Jay’s grin returned, but there was something gentler about it this time. “Yeah. We still have a lot to work on but.. its good.”

You glanced at the clock, realizing how late it had gotten. “We should probably head back before they kick us out.”

Jay sighed dramatically, strumming one last chord before setting his guitar aside. “Fine. But only because I don’t want them banning me from my favorite cafe.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled as you started packing up your things. As the two of you stepped outside, the cold night air bit at your skin, and you shivered. Before you could react, Jay wordlessly shrugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

You blinked at him. “Jay—”

“Don’t start,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You looked cold.”

Your heart did a stupid little flip, but you quickly masked it with a playful smirk. “This is just an excuse to save your seat tomorrow isn’t it?”

Jay shot you a playful hurt look. “Wow, you think so little of me.”

You laughed, hugging his coat closer around you as the two of you walked back toward campus, the melody of your half-written song still lingering in the air.

The next few days fell into an easy rhythm—class, study sessions, and sneaking into the music room whenever it was free. You and Jay spent more time together than ever, working through melodies, tweaking lyrics, and getting lost in conversations that had nothing to do with the song at all.

And somehow, somewhere between all of that, the line between “just seatmates” and something more started to blur.

“Okay, one more run-through,” Jay said, adjusting the tuning pegs on his guitar.

You groaned, leaning your head back against the piano bench. “Jay, we’ve done like… twelve run-throughs.”

He shot you a look. “And yet you still mess up the second verse.”

“Hey!” You sat up, pointing at him accusingly. “I wouldn’t mess it up if you didn’t look at me like that.”

Jay smirked. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying not to laugh every time I hit the high note.”

“I am trying not to laugh,” he admitted, eyes twinkling. “Not because of your singing—your singing’s great. It’s just…” He paused, grinning. “You scrunch up your nose when you go for high notes. It’s cute.”

Your breath hitched for a second.

Jay must’ve realized what he said, because his fingers fumbled over the guitar strings. He cleared his throat, suddenly focused on his instrument.

You stared at him, the warmth creeping up your neck completely unrelated to the heated room. Instead of responding, you exhaled and picked up your lyrics sheet. “One more run-through,” you mumbled.

Jay glanced at you, lips twitching. “One more.”

By now, late-night practice had become routine. But this was the first time you’d ended up at Jay’s apartment.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, tossing his keys onto the counter.

You glanced around, taking in the space. It was exactly what you expected—minimalist, with music posters and a guitar stand in the corner. A few records were stacked near a player, and his desk was cluttered with sheet music and unfinished compositions.

“You live like an actual musician,” you mused, running a finger over a worn-out lyric book on his desk.

Jay snorted. “I thought I gave off business major energy.”

You rolled your eyes, but your gaze landed on the couch, where a soft-looking blanket was draped over the armrest. You raised an eyebrow. “You keep a blanket on your couch?”

Jay glanced over and shrugged. “Yeah?”

You smirked. “Didn’t take you for a cozy guy.”

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I have layers.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you settled onto the couch. Jay sat beside you, guitar in hand. The song was almost finished now, just a few refinements left before the performance.

“You wanna run through it again?” you asked, pulling your knees up.

Jay nodded, but he hesitated, fingers hovering over the strings. When you looked at him, he wasn’t smirking or teasing like usual. There was something thoughtful in his gaze, something… uncertain.

Jay’s fingers moved over the guitar strings effortlessly, the melody filling the space between you. Your voice wove through it, soft but steady, carrying the lyrics you’d both spent hours perfecting.

But tonight—tonight, the song felt different.

It wasn’t just words on a page anymore. It wasn’t just an assignment. It was something heavier, something unspoken. Something neither of you dared to name.

When the last note faded, silence settled between you.

Jay exhaled, setting his guitar aside. “That was…” He trailed off, as if searching for the right words.

You nodded slowly, barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

Neither of you moved.

You were still sitting cross-legged on the couch, his blanket draped loosely over your shoulders. Jay was beside you, leaning against the cushions, his arm resting on the back of the couch. Close. Closer than before.

The tension hung thick in the air, pressing against your skin.

Jay’s gaze flickered to your lips for half a second—so quick you might’ve imagined it. But then his fingers twitched against his knee, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

And suddenly, you knew.

You knew that if you leaned in, if you closed the space between you, something would happen.

Your pulse pounded.

Jay shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours. He wasn’t smirking, wasn’t teasing—just watching you, waiting, like he was caught in the same pull that had tightened around your chest.

Your breath hitched.

Jay tilted his head just a little, like he was debating something. Like he was giving you the chance to stop this before it went somewhere neither of you could take back.

Your heart was a drumline in your chest.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the blanket.

You should move. Say something. Anything.

But you didn’t.

Instead, your gaze dropped—just briefly—to his lips. And that was all it took.

Jay leaned in.

Your breath tangled with his, warmth ghosting over your skin. Your lashes fluttered. He was close enough now that you could see the night shine in his dark eyes, close enough that you could feel the slight hitch in his breathing.

A fraction of an inch. That’s all that was left.

Then—

BZZZT.

Jay jerked back, exhaling sharply as his phone vibrated against the coffee table.

The hypnotic spell shattered.

You blinked, heart still hammering, trying to process what almost just happened.

Jay cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh. I should… probably check that.” His voice was slightly hoarse.

You nodded stiffly, gripping the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “Yeah. Yeah, go ahead.”

Jay reached for his phone, glancing at the screen. “It’s my friend Jungwon,” he muttered, like that somehow explained the whiplash of the moment you’d just shared.

You took the opportunity to stand, needing space, needing to breathe. “I should—um, I should go. It’s late.”

Jay’s head snapped up. “Wait—”

But you were already grabbing your things, shoving your notebook into your bag. Your fingers still trembled slightly.

Jay stood too, stepping toward you, but he hesitated. Like he wasn’t sure if he should stop you. Like he wasn’t sure what to say after what just happened.

And honestly? Neither were you.

So instead, you forced a small, strained smile. “See you tomorrow?”

Jay held your gaze for a beat longer, something unreadable in his eyes.

Then, finally, he nodded. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

You turned quickly, stepping out of his apartment before you could second-guess yourself.

The night air was cold against your burning skin.

And as you walked away, heart still racing, one thought repeated in your head over and over again.

What the hell just happened?

The Valentine’s Open Mic Night had arrived.

The auditorium buzzed with energy—students chattering excitedly, couples whispering to each other, friends hyping up performers. The warm glow of stage lights bathed the room in a golden hue, casting long shadows against the red-and-white Valentine’s decorations.

Backstage, you paced.

“Stop doing that,” Jay said from his spot on a folding chair, tuning his guitar for what had to be the hundredth time.

You shot him a look. “Doing what?”

“Walking back and forth like you’re about to confess to a crime.”

“I feel like I’m about to confess to a crime,” you muttered, rubbing your arms. “Why does this suddenly feel so intense?”

Jay smirked, resting his guitar on his lap. “Maybe because we wrote a song that sounds suspiciously like a love confession?”

Your heart jumped in your chest. “It’s not a love confession,” you shot back, a little too quickly.

Jay arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

You opened your mouth—ready to argue, ready to insist that the song was just a song, nothing more—but the words didn’t come out.

Because the truth was, ever since you’d started rehearsing for this performance, something had felt… off. Not about the music itself—the melody was strong, the lyrics flowed effortlessly—but about the way it made you feel.

Every time you sang it, every time Jay harmonized with you, there was this undeniable weight behind it. Something unspoken, something too close to the surface.

And the more you listened to it, the more familiar it felt.

Like you’d heard it before.

Like you’d felt it before.

You swallowed, voice quieter now. “…Jay.”

His smirk faded slightly. “Yeah?”

You hesitated, but then the realization hit you so hard, you couldn’t stop the words from spilling out.

“This song,” you murmured, gripping the hem of your sleeve. “It sounds like us.”

Jay stilled. His fingers froze on the guitar strings.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then, he let out a slow breath, tilting his head at you. “You just figured that out?”

Your heart stuttered. “You knew?”

Jay’s lips twitched—not in amusement, but in something softer, something almost… shy. “I had a feeling.”

Your pulse roared in your ears. “And you didn’t say anything?”

Jay shrugged, glancing down at his guitar. “I figured you’d realize it eventually.”

Your mind spun. You thought back to every late-night practice session, every lyric you had painstakingly written with him, every melody that had come so naturally between you. You thought about how easily the words had formed, how every note had fit perfectly.

And then it hit you.

This wasn’t just a song.

This was your song. Yours and Jay’s. A reflection of everything between you—the teasing, the late-night conversations, the moments you’d never dared to name.

It wasn’t a forced Valentine’s song. It was real.

And it was about him.

The announcer’s voice crackled through the mic. “Next up, we have a duet from two of our very own music majors. Give it up for—”

You barely heard the introduction. Your heart was hammering too loudly, your thoughts running too fast.

Jay stood, slinging his guitar strap over his shoulder. But before he could step forward, he turned to you, eyes searching yours.

There was something unspoken in his gaze, something that said, We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.

But the thing was—you were ready.

Because now, standing here on the brink of something terrifying and real, you knew one thing for certain.

You weren’t just about to sing a song.

You were about to tell Jay—in front of an entire audience—exactly how you felt.

Even if you hadn’t meant to.

Even if he already knew.

You took a deep breath, steadied your racing heart, and stepped onto the stage with him.

The last note hung in the air, trembling like a secret waiting to be spoken.

Then, silence.

For a split second, everything stood still—your hands gripping the mic, Jay’s fingers frozen on the last chord, your breaths coming fast and uneven. You could still feel the weight of the song between you, still hear the echoes of every word that had slipped past your lips.

Then the auditorium erupted.

Applause, whistles, cheers—loud and overwhelming. The sound crashed over you, breaking through the haze that had settled during the performance.

Your chest rose and fell, heartbeat still trying to catch up with everything that had just happened. Slowly, you turned to Jay.

He was already looking at you.

The stage lights painted him in gold, catching the softness in his gaze, the hint of something unspoken lingering in the way his fingers were still curled around his guitar.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then, Jay exhaled, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He tilted his head slightly, eyes searching yours.

We did it.

You nodded.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Jay turned back toward the mic, running a hand through his hair before giving the audience a lopsided grin. “Well,” he said, voice slightly breathless. “That was fun.”

A few laughs rippled through the crowd.

You could still feel the rush of adrenaline in your veins, your mind spinning from everything—the song, the way Jay had looked at you, the way the lyrics felt too real.

The host walked back onstage, grinning as he clapped his hands. “Wow. That was… incredible.” He turned to you and Jay, eyes twinkling. “Now, I gotta ask—was that just a performance, or was that something real?”

Laughter and teasing whistles rang through the crowd. Your breath hitched.

Jay glanced at you.

The stage lights made it impossible to see the audience clearly, but you could feel every pair of eyes watching, waiting.

Jay hesitated for only a second. Then, with a smirk, he leaned toward the mic.

“I guess that’s up to interpretation.”

The crowd groaned in playful frustration, but Jay just chuckled, sending you a quick, unreadable glance before standing up and adjusting his guitar strap.

You huffed out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as the host ushered you both toward the wings.

The second you stepped offstage, the noise of the crowd muffled behind the curtain, a strange weight settled in your chest.

Jay stood beside you, shifting his guitar on his back. He didn’t say anything right away, just let out a quiet exhale before turning to you.

For a moment, it was just the two of you again. No audience. No stage. No expectations.

Just you, Jay, and the song that had said everything you hadn’t.

He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something.

But before he could, someone called his name from the other side of the curtain, and the moment slipped away.

Jay hesitated for half a second, gaze lingering on yours—like he was waiting. Like there was something unfinished between you.

Then, with a small, knowing smile, he gave you a nod.

“C’mon,” he said softly. “Let’s go.”

And just like that, he walked away, leaving you standing there—heart still pounding, lyrics still echoing in your head, and a quiet, unshakable feeling that whatever this was between you and Jay…

It was just beginning.

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

It started slow.

Not because either of you were unsure—because, really, after that song, after that performance, there was no denying what had been brewing for a while between you two—but because neither of you wanted to ruin what was already there.

The playful banter, the late-night coffee runs, the way you always saved him a seat in class, the way he always texted you first whenever he found a song he knew you’d love.

So for a while, nothing changed.

At least, not obviously.

But then there were the small things. The little shifts that made it clear that something was different.

Like the way Jay’s arm would rest along the back of your chair a little longer than necessary. The way his fingers would brush against yours when he handed you a sheet of music, lingering just a second too long. The way his texts became softer—not that they weren’t teasing, because Jay would always be Jay—but now they came with an undertone of something more:

Jay:

Late-night practice? I’ll bring coffee.

Song idea. I need your genius input. Also, your voice.

Are we calling this “studying” even if we just end up talking the whole time?

(Not that I’m complaining.)

And then there were the moments between the music.

Like the first time he reached for your hand without a joke to hide behind. You had been sitting in the empty auditorium after a long practice session, your head leaning against the back of your chair, exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs.

Jay had stretched, rolling out his shoulders, and then—without looking at you—he just took your hand.

No teasing smirk. No offhand comment. Just his fingers curling around yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And it was.

Or the time he had walked you home after another late-night coffee run, and instead of his usual casual “See you tomorrow”, he had hesitated at your doorstep, looking at you like he was thinking about something.

You had raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Jay had tilted his head, lips twitching in amusement. “Nothing,” he had murmured. “Just… realizing I might be in trouble.”

Your heart had flipped. “Trouble?”

“For liking you too much,” he had said easily. “Feels dangerous.”

And you had laughed—because of course Jay would confess something like that with a smirk and a joke—but you had still felt your face heat up.

(And okay, maybe you had reached for his hoodie, tugging him forward just enough to kiss him on the cheek before quickly ducking inside and shutting the door behind you.)

And then there was now.

Sitting in the music room, your back against the grand piano, Jay’s guitar resting across his lap as he absently strummed through a melody you hadn’t heard before.

You tilted your head. “New song?”

Jay hummed. “Maybe.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Another love song?”

He smirked but didn’t deny it. “What can I say? Got a lot of inspiration lately.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered anyway.

Jay’s fingers slowed over the strings as he glanced at you, expression thoughtful. “You know,” he said, “I don’t think I ever actually asked you.”

You frowned slightly. “Asked me what?”

Jay set his guitar aside, turning to face you fully. “If I can be your boyfriend.”

Your stomach flipped. “Jay—”

“I know, I know,” he interrupted with a grin. “It’s kinda obvious at this point. But still.” His voice softened, eyes meeting yours. “I wanna hear you say it.”

You exhaled, shaking your head at him. Hopeless.

But still, you smiled, nudging his foot with yours. “Jay, you’ve been my boyfriend since the moment we wrote that song.”

His expression shifted—just slightly. Just enough for you to catch the flicker of something real in his eyes.

Then, in typical Jay fashion, he smirked. “Oh, so you’re admitting it was a love song?”

You groaned, laughing as you reached over to shove his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Jay caught your wrist before you could pull away, tugging you toward him. And before you could react, before you could even tease him for it—

He kissed you.

Soft. Unhurried. Just enough pressure to steal your breath, just enough warmth to send a slow, steady hum through your veins.

When he pulled back, he grinned, voice barely above a whisper.

“So, you wanna write another one?”

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#Ꮺ 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 #enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #fanfic #fluff fic #jay enha #jay smau #jay enhypen #jay x reader #jay fluff #jay scenarios #jay fanfic #enhypen jay #park jongseong fic #park jongseong

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runnning-outof-time · 1 day ago

Text

A Deal that Goes Both Ways | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by @peakyswritings

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

Summary: Feelings get spilled as Tommy comes to (Y/N) to have her patch him up yet again.

Warnings: smoking, language, mentions of blood

Word Count: 1867

A/N: this became a full on fic…..I just didn’t know when to stop it haha. I hope you like what I did with the prompt, Reb! You didn’t add who you wanted it to be with so I went with Tommy (of course) — and this could also be read as a prewar Tommy story too…I didn’t really slap a time period on it. Enjoy! :)

COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED — I’d love to know what you thought of the story!

Comment/Message me if you want to be tagged!

Not again was the first thought (Y/N) had as she heard the knock sound off of her front door. Only one person would be knocking at this time of night...and he'd most likely be knocking for only one reason.

"What happened this time, Thomas?" she asked with a sigh as she opened the door to see the man she knew was standing on the other side.

"Why so formal?" he asked nonchalantly, a cigarette lazily hanging from his lips, resting on the side that wasn't split and still bloody.

"It's two in the morning," she responded, turning and walking deeper into her home. The foosteps sounding behind her told her he was following. "I'd much rather be sleeping."

"I can go if you want," he offered.

"No, you've already woken me up," she dismissed his suggestion, "what happened this time?" she re-asked her initial question.

"Same old," his nonchalant nature returned as he sat down in the chair (Y/N) pulled out for him.

"So a bar fight? Or bet gone wrong?" she paused getting the necessary supplies to quirk an eyebrow at him.

"Neither," Tommy shrugged, looking down at his busted knuckles as he flexed his hand.

"So not the same old?" there was a slight tinge of surprise in (Y/N)'s voice. "Please do tell what happened."

"Someone spoke to me the wrong way," he responded, his explanation still very vague. (Y/N) didn't press for any more info because she knew this was all she'd get out of him.

What Tommy wanted to say was that he had to punch some bastard's teeth in for speaking about her the wrong way, and then he proceeded to fight said bastard and two of his drunken friends when they wouldn't let it go. He couldn't admit that to her though.

"Ahh..." (Y/N) trailed off as she moved over to him, placing the supplies she gathered on the table beside him as she stopped to stand between his parted legs.

Tommy resisted the urge to reach out and hold her waist even though he so desperately wanted to do so to steady himself.

"Let's see what we've got here," she said, more so to herself as she gently took hold of his chin to get a better look at his face. The hiss he let out made her realize that his jaw had also been bruised in the altercation.

She quietly got started on dabbing the blood off of his split lip, and followed it up with putting some ointment on the cut in hopes it wouldn't get infected.

She then examined the rest of his facial features for any other injury all while trying to shake the feeling of his intense gaze that was focused on her face. She couldn't let her feelings for him get the better of her... not while in this position.

"Let me see your hands now," she instructed him once she considered his face finished.

"They're fine, love," he brushed her off, keeping them balled in fists resting against his thighs.

"Let me see them, Tommy," she insisted, her eyes meeting his to convey the serious nature of the situation.

The slightest sigh escaped his lips as he flattened out his hands. (Y/N)'s eyes immediately went to his right hand, and she took it into hers to get a closer look at his bloodied knuckles. "Goodness, Tommy," she breathed softly as she grabbed a wet cloth and began to gently wipe the blood off. She couldn't help but wince as he hissed at the feeling. The cuts looked deep and had to be painful. "Did the man have a steel jaw?" she, half-jokingly, questioned him as she began placing the same ointment on his knuckles.

"Must've," Tommy mumbled, letting out a soft snort at her attempts to make light of the situation.

(Y/N) smiled softly at his response, finishing up what she was doing with his right hand before she checked over his left. She then stepped out from between his legs when she considered herself done, moving over to the kitchen countertop to begin cleaning up. The scrape of the chair off of the hardwood floor told her that Tommy had also stood up.

"Make sure you some ice on your jaw and you should be good in a-" her statement was cut off by the shriek of surprise she let out when she turned around to tind Tommy now standing right behind her. "You scared me, Tommy," she gasped, placing her hand over her chest as she took some calming breaths.

"Wasn't my intention," he responded, although he couldn't help but smile at the reaction he'd gotten from her.

"You frustrate me sometimes," she huffed, shaking her head before she brought a hand up to the side of it, hoping that she could remember what it was she was saying before the surprise happened. "I was saying that if you remember to put ice on your jaw and make sure your cuts stay clean you should be good in a few days...now are you going to follow that? No, most likely not, but it's my hope that you will," she explained her plan of treatment to him, finishing her rambling by glancing up at him. "Why're you looking at me like that?" she asked without thought, commenting on the intense gaze he currently had locked on her.

His blue eyes just about made her shudder under their stare, and she'd be lying if she said that the undivided attention he was giving her was making her heat up.

"What, am I not allowed to look at you?" he asked, his brows raising.

"No, not like that, you aren't," she insisted, holding a hand out between them to emphasize her statement.

"How exactly am I looking at you, (Y/N)?" he asked another question, wanting clarification from her.

"You're looking at me like..." she trailed off, struggling to find the words that she needed to convey her statement, "like you think that l'm...like I'm some..."

"Like you're the only person in the world?" Tommy cut off her stumbling, hoping that his suggestion would finish her sentence. As he spoke he stepped closer to her.

"Yes, exactly!" she agreed with him without putting much thought into what he was saying, "you were looking at me like I was the only person in the world."

"And you don't like it?" he asked, his brow raised inquisitively.

Now (Y/N) could no longer stay solid under the weight of his gaze combined with his close proximity. She only hoped that she was able to keep a good exterior composure...on the inside she was done for.

"No, it's not that I didn't like it, it's just..."

"Just what?" he pried for more information, his eyes flitting down to her lips as he admired how she looked as he stood inches away from her.

"Jesus, you don't ever act like this, Tommy...what's going on?" she deflected with a question, hoping to carry the conversation on without him realizing that she didn't have a concrete answer to his previous question.

"You didn't answer my question, love," he completely ignored her query to remind her she was ignoring his.

"Yeah, and you didn't answer mine," she wasn't falling for his tactic, instead throwing it back in his face.

"You wanna know why I came here tonight? Why I got into that fight?" he asked her, his brows raised.

"Someone spoke to you the wrong way," she reiterated what he'd told her earlier.

"Someone spoke about you the wrong way," he quickly corrected her, telling the truth this time around and adding emphasis on what actually got him upset, "and you know I can't let anyone do that."

(Y/N) took a moment, letting what he said sink in. His intense gaze stayed locked on her, and it certainly wasn't helping her think straight in this situation. After a few beats of silence, she finally let out a sigh. "I don't need defending, Tommy. I've told you that so many times."

"I'll still take a fuckin' punch for you when I need to, love," he told her, his words making her laugh despite the wild mix of emotions she was currently feeling.

"Oh Tommy." she let out another sigh, trying, and failing, to stop the smile that was tugging on her lips. She quickly turned around and attempted to busy herself with continuing cleaning.

Her diversion didn't last long as only seconds later Tommy's hand was taking hold of her arm to spin her back around to face him. Her mouth opened slightly as she looked at him, waiting for whatever he had to say.

He didn't say anything though. Instead, his gaze flitted between her eyes and lips as he moved in slowly. (Y/N) quickly realized what he was doing. She placed her hands on his chest when she felt his breath fan across her face.

"Tommy, your lip," she said, her voice coming out in a whisper, "this'll hurt it."

"I don't give a damn about my lip, (Y/N)," he firmly replied, moving back slightly so that his eyes could match hers. He could no longer resist from bringing his hand up to hold onto her jaw. "I want to kiss you," he told her then, never sounding more sure about anything in his life.

(Y/N)'s mind was buzzing. She never thought she'd be in this position with Tommy; never thought that their relationship would take that turn. But now here they were, close enough to feel each other's breath.

"Then kiss me," she breathed, unable to even smile at him because his lips were on hers the second she finished speaking.

The kiss felt like a whirlwind. It made her dizzy and fuzzy inside. She never thought someone with such a tough exterior could be so gentle, but here was Tommy Shelby, crushing all of her prior conceptions.

Both were out of breath when they pulled away. Tommy had to close his eyes to center himself, still truly surprised that that had just happened. Truthfully, he'd wanted to kiss (Y/N) from the moment he first spoke to her. He never thought he'd actually get the opportunity. When he finally did open his eyes, he saw that (Y/N) had her gaze locked on his face, and the sweetest smile was present on hers.

"Why're you looking at me like that?" he re-asked the question that got them to this point, a grin forming on his face.

"What, am I not allowed to look at you?" (Y/N) teasingly quipped back, essentially allowing their conversation to do a full 360.

"Love you could look at me all you want, so long as I'm allowed to kiss you again," he waged a deal, playfully quirking an eyebrow as he waited to see how she'd respond.

(Y/N)'s smile only grew. "I'll accept your offer so long as this deal goes both ways."

"Oh it most certainly goes both ways," Tommy grinned, his hand finding her jaw again so that he could match their lips together once more.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @succubaby @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings

@just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @mischievouslittlecreature @stevie75

@lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick

@dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety

@justrainandcoffee @dragons-are-my-favorite @mrs-bond @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader

@red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

@ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo @novashelby @wonderlanddreamer

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written-in-flowers · 16 hours ago

Text

Her Tamer: Demon!Yunho x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Demon!Yunho x Fem!Reader | side pairings: Yunho x OFC, Yunho x Mingi, demonline x Reader

Genre: Smut, angst, slight fluff | AU: demon au

Word Count: 12k

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Summary: Following the death of his father, Yunho ponders over Hell's obvious unfair class system. When you make numerous attempts to get him in bed, he decides to try correcting your bratty behavior.

Tags: poly relationship, established relationship, bisexual sex, mentions of death/loss, mentions of illness, general angst, class separation, rough sex, brat taming, choking, spanking, pussy slapping, degradation, cuckquean, light bondage, oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, breast play, exhibitionism, pet names (slut, bitch, whore, good girl, baby), facial, cum swallowing, panty sex, "just the tip", edging. Yunho simping over his actual woc!gf, Yunho generally being pissed at rich people because we should eat them.

Previously on Pretty Lady

Pretty Lady Masterlist

****

He never hated a sunrise before. The orange-yellow rays gradually pushed the night back up into the sky, breaking through and over the trees in the distance. The front courtyard remained dimly lit, though in a few hours its splendor would be in full light. Yunho used to hike up the mountains back home to bask in its warmth. The hot air would blow in from the molten lake where natural gold endlessly churned. His kin would come out from the main grounds, carrying metal poles and large vats to collect gold nuggets that washed up onto the lake overnight. They’d be turned into coins to be put in circulation. Yunho didn’t work at the mint, but he’d sit and watch them work until it was time to go.

Like today. He stared away from the window to the uniform hanging on his closet door. Black and white, he wore the uniform every single day since he arrived at The Black Keep. Every morning, before sunrise, he’d bathe and fix up his appearance before pulling on the uniform. He’d go down to the kitchen where he’d snag a quick breakfast, then set about scheduling everyone's duties for the day. By the time anyone else arrived, he’d already have the chore chart finished, and be ready to get to work. Yet, today he could not bring himself to do it.

“Yunho?” Mingi’s deep voice came from somewhere behind him. “Is everything okay? You weren’t in the kitchen.”

“Sorry. Overslept.”

“Overslept? You? Impossible.”

Yunho hardly slept at all, to be honest. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“Hey,” a hand touched his shoulder, the warmth radiating through his thin nightshirt, “I know it’s been a rough few days for you, but at least it’s over now. Your dad’s at rest. He's not suffering anymore.”

Yunho didn’t want to talk about it. He stared down at the letter on his desk. The creases in the paper became more pronounced from him constantly folding and unfolding it, but the ink was bolder than ever.

‘My dear Yunho,

I’m afraid this is my last letter to you. As you know, the holy pestilence I caught in the mortal realm has finally taken its course. The doctors tried all kinds of treatments and methods, but no amount of magic will undo what that priest had done. Don’t worry about me, my boy. Your Pop has lived a good life here in the old mountains. I may not have been a rich demon, but I lived as well as we could.

I love you, Yunho. You are my greatest achievement, my greatest treasure, and my greatest love. Everything I have done was to try giving you a better life. I wanted you to have the things I never did, and I like to think in small ways I accomplished that. You left our home and went on to be more than I ever imagined for you. You got out, son, and that alone makes me proud.

Please, do not mourn me, Yunho. Celebrate me. Go buy the good stuff and enjoy a few drinks. Buy a rare hunk of meat, cook it in some fancy elegant sauce, and eat it. Hell, go to one of the nicer brothels and splurge on the high price girls. Buy that girl of yours something pretty. Buy everything and anything you want. Bet money on winning horses or hounds. Don’t mope or cry about me. I didn’t get to live, so I want you to do it for me.

Love forever,

Pop.’

He received the news of his father’s death shortly after the letter's arrival. A messenger came to give him his father’s belongings, which wasn't much, but now sat in a box in the closet. He planned on selling the house to someone or perhaps renting it for some extra cash. His father wouldn’t have wanted him to hang on to the past. Sadly, the past kept wanting to hang onto him.

Yunho has been working for most of his life to keep himself and his father fed. Despite his father's title of ‘Lord’, the family fortune had been squandered centuries before Yunho had been born. The only treasures left to them were their old decrepit mansion and a few family heirlooms. After years of scrubbing floors and cleaning clothes, he had the opportunity to work in a lord's household as a footman. From then he became a serving man, a butler, assistant, and finally a household manager. He moved from house to house serving the elite who looked down on his family. When he came into Seonghwa’s employ, his father couldn't have been happier.

“Hey, my boy is going to work for the son of Asmodeus! Ain't that something?”

He’d made good money. Very good money, and most of it went back home to his father. Unfortunately, his father's gambling problem took hold of him, causing him to own more money than he's worth. From what his cousins told him, a lord offered him a job possessing souls in the mortal world. Yunho wished he'd been told beforehand; he could have talked him out of it. Possessions aren’t easy, and only the well trained can perform them successfully. He told Yunho it was good money: fifty gold for every soul brought down. Yunho said his father was too old; he'd be going to his “nap” soon. His father argued that he still had it in him and to not worry. Things had been going okay, from what he’d told Yunho, until a priest got in the way.

He doesn’t know what kind of magic the priest used, but it’d landed his father in the hospital. The doctors told Yunho that holy magic is deadly to their kind, just like holy weapons, and it would kill his father. He liked to think that he’d at least get paid for the gig. He didn’t. The lord who sent him never planned on paying him, but instead passing off his father’s hard work as his own. Yunho would have killed him were he not high born.

“You should get ready,” Mingi said. “The Masters haven’t woken up yet, so you still have time. That big ball thing starts tonight, so they said they want to get to the hamlet early to get settled in for the weekend.”

Yunho groaned at the realization. Today was the first day of Prince Asmodeus's private ball. The Passionate Heart Ball was simply another excuse for the nobility of Hell to get together and indulge in all sorts of debauchery. Servants are not allowed to attend on a guest level, but do accompany their masters to serve. Seonghwa normally let Yunho stay behind to manage the keep, and he'd take someone else, but this time he insisted Yunho join them. He claimed the house didn’t feel right without Yunho there. His father would say that having a lord's trust comes in handy in the long run, but Yunho did not see how. Leaving the window, Yunho went to a wash basin by the mirror. He splashed cool water onto his face to soothe the heat rising inside him.

“It wasn’t as if he was a young demon, Yunho,” Mingi said, watching him change out of his nightshirt. “Your father was four-hundred centuries old and close to taking his Big Nap; he wasn’t exactly a spring chicken. He shouldn’t have gotten mixed up with possessions at his age.”

“Don’t blame my father for falling victim to the greed of high borns.”

“I’m not,” he said, “But I am saying that your dad’s in a better place, somewhere, maybe. I don’t know where we will go when we die.”

“Neither do I,” and that scared him.

Picking up his uniform shirt first, Yunho thought about when he first heard what happened. He had been wrapped up in Mingi’s arms, enjoying his warmth and closeness after a long day, when Linette came into his room. Anxious, the young demon told him he had a phone call. It was his father. Yunho remembered how frail he sounded; his deep voice croaking and weak from his drained powers. He’d assured Yunho he’d be alright; that with some medicine, rest, and proper care, he’d be back on his feet in no time. The doctor Yunho spoke to disagreed.

‘The magic stayed in him too long. He should have come straight to us after the exorcism, but he went home instead. We don’t know how long he has, but we’ll do our best to save him.”

Yunho never felt so helpless before. Seonghwa gave him leave to be with his father without question, but that had been the worst part. Seeing his father, a strong demon of greed, so sickly and frail tore his heart in two. He’d thought to ask the lord who gave him the job for assistance of some kind, but he didn’t even answer Yunho’s calls. When he visited him personally, he was rejected with laughter. It was the least he could have done. It was another example of how the rich exploited and abused the poor without a care in the world.

He checked himself out in a nearby mirror. His uniform fit him like a glove, since he’d paid to personally have sets tailored. Tailored clothes were an unheard of luxury back home. The clothes normal people wore either came from secondhand shops or were made from cheap fabric. Looking over the small corner dresser, a ring caught his eye. His father's opal and silver ring sat on the top, and his heart dropped. His most expensive possession, it had been passed down from Jeong to Jeong for hundreds of years. It was the last symbol of their status. Yunho slipped it onto his ring finger, fondly recalling the first time he ever saw it.

“This has been in our family since before Lucifer. I would never give this up. Not for all the gold in the world.”

“Don't you look good,” said Mingi, likely trying to lighten his mood.

Were he not plagued by his own thoughts, Yunho might have playfully flirted back. Not today. Not when the world felt so lifeless and grey. He may have not been the best parent, but Yunho did not hate his father. They had ups and downs as all families do, yet hate never crossed his mind once. Not even when his father gambled away his money on hounds and horses. He couldn't envision himself hating his father. Mingi’s arms went around his waist, and he rested his head on his shoulder. Yunho felt a lump swell in his throat, threatening to burn his eyes with tears.

“He was a good man,” he whispered. “A good man who they took advantage of.”

“I know,” he said softly, kissing the crook of his neck. “We should eat,” Mingi said, idly playing with his dangling earring, “Maybe a bit of-”

“-Did you know he was a jester before he was forced into Possessions?” Yunho said bitterly, tears glazing his eyes. “He was a jester for Lord Authos, this demon in the mountains. The man used to make a complete fool of my father, forcing him to perform tricks and jokes for the entertainment of others. I remember once seeing them throw rotten food at him in a game.” Yunho recalled the memory so vividly, it might have happened yesterday. “They thought it’d be funny,” he said, hate in his voice, “To see who could get the most hits. My father…” the resentment burned deep inside him, “He had to stay attached to a wheel and take the humiliation because those high born scum-”

“-Easy, love, easy,” Mingi soothed him softly, rubbing his arms and nuzzling his neck. “Not all high borns are like that. Our masters wouldn’t do anything like that-”

“-Yes, they’ve done worse,” he said. “Before YN came, they used to feed servants to the beast in the greenhouse. Hongjoong carries around a fucking whip to remind us who is in charge, and that he could whack us whenever he damn well pleases-”

“-He doesn’t do that anymore-”

“-I don’t care,” he spat, hands curling into fists. “Let’s not forget the demons who get thrown into the arena to die for the entertainment of the rich. They have to fight for their lives just to get back to freedom.”

“They were criminals, Yunho-”

“-Then why not punish them as criminals should be punished? Why is a man who stole a loaf of bread forced to fight his way to freedom? Did these bastards ever stop to wonder why he stole that bread?”

“Yunho, please, calm down,” Mingi said again, still comfortingly.

“And her,” the word came in a hiss through his teeth, “That woman treats us like playthings.”

“That isn’t true, Yunho,” he said a bit more firmly. Yunho forgot; he is your bodyguard and very fond of you.

“Oh no? The woman is constantly flaunting and flashing her body at me, hoping I’ll give into my weakness again and fuck her brains out,” he said, remembering the last time he indulged you. He’d wanted it, of course, but after his father’s death, a high born woman is the last person he wishes to pleasure. “I’m surprised she isn’t pregnant with all the times she’s ridden cock.”

“Yunho, that’s enough,” Mingi said, moving away from him. “I know you’re angry and grieving, but don’t you dare start on her. She’s been nothing but kind to you. Okay, so she gets a bit horny, but who here doesn’t get like that? We’re all incubi and succubi, if you’ve forgotten. It’s in our nature to be that way. I recall you not saying ‘no’ whenever she managed to get you in bed, or were you pretending to make her happy?”

“Of course not. I won’t deny I enjoyed every second, but…we are nothing to them,” he said, keeping the thickness from his voice. “We’re toys for their amusement. We can be disposed of, dismissed on a whim, and punished for the smallest infraction, and nothing would be done about it. Nobody would raise a hand or speak a word. We might not wear collars, but we’ll always be slaves to them.”

It was true. His father proved that over and over throughout his childhood. When Authos saw his father’s potential in the coin factory, he brought him into his household as the jester. Yunho remembered every punishment he witnessed whenever his father did not perform well. Seonghwa and his brothers might not engage in the same amusements, but they never spoke against it either. They went to the arena, enjoying the benefits of their station. They did not protest when they witnessed poor treatment in front of them. If they did, it was said with annoyance or boredom.

“Let’s get something to eat, huh? Otherwise, we’ll be starving when we get there.”

“I don't think I can.”

“Just try.”

Yunho supposed he could. The pair left the servant's quarters for the kitchen, which was starting to come to life. Other servants walked around in their uniforms, preparing for The Masters and Mistress to wake up for their usual routine. He saw Cook and Linette already arguing across the island counter, and the footmen fighting about who gets to drive the Masters to the hamlet. The laundress stood near the scullery, scolding a maid so harshly the girl might burst into tears. Yunho did not have it in him to intervene in any of these spats. He walked by Cook and Linette to a cupboard pantry, where he normally fixed his own breakfast, but couldn't find the desire to eat.

“-Master Seonghwa asked for a special breakfast,” Cook's rough voice reached from behind him, “And that's what I'm making. She's going to just have to swallow it.”

“Lady YN doesn't want the prefixed breakfast. She wants her own.”

“Master Seonghwa is the Duke, so his orders trump over hers,” he retorted. “Yunho,” he called him, “Come here and tell this Imp-”

“-Imp?!”

“-That I ain't taking special orders today. Master Seonghwa has requested a pre-fixed menu, and that's what I'm following.”

Yunho sighed deeply, pinched the space between his eyes before finally turning around. “What does Lady YN want?” he asked Linette.

“French toast with strawberries, hashbrowns and eggs,” she answered. “She doesn't want to eat what Master Seonghwa has picked.”

“Too fucking bad,” hissed Cook. “She can't get her way all the time. There's rules in this keep, last time I checked!”

“Cookie, enough,” Yunho said, patting his shoulder. “Linette, Cook is right. Master Seonghwa asked for a specific type of breakfast, and Cook has already gone about preparing it.”

“She's not going to-”

“-I'm sorry, but Cook is starting to fix everything,” Yunho said, trying to keep himself calm. Why did you have to complicate everything? Why couldn't high born people make everyone's lives easier and take what they’re given? The rest of them have to. “She will have to eat whatever-”

“-She's the Mistress of this-”

“-Tough shit,” he nearly snapped. “Master Seonghwa is the Master, A Duke of Lust, and an Heir to Asmodeus’s throne. His word is law around here. Even with the title she holds now, she's going to have to come to heel once in a while. If she has an issue with that, she can take it up with one of the Masters.”

Takenaback by his response, Linette did not speak at first. “She said-”

“-I don't care,” he cut her off again. “That's my final word on the subject. Franny!” He called the laundress, “Keep shouting at that girl, and I will give you something to cry about! They are just sheets! They can be washed again!” He turned to the four footmen near the back door, “Edgar, you are driving Master Seonghwa, Hongjoong and San. Mingi will be driving Mistress YN. Daniel will valet for the Masters, and Joseph will valet for The Mistress. If I hear any more bickering, everyone is getting a whipping from me personally!” He looked to the room at large, “It is six o'clock in the morning, how can you all have the energy for this nonsense? Am I running a house staff or a nursery?!”

He left the kitchen without another word. Yunho began wishing he had not left his room. He squeezed his eyes tight, his instincts carrying him to Seonghwa’s bed chamber, as he pictured his father’s last moments. He’d told Yunho to go home. He said he didn’t want him to see him this way. His aunt and cousins stayed behind to watch over him for Yunho, and called him regularly now that they had a phone. He pictured his father, broad and strong, laying brittle and pale in his bed. His usual warmth, Yunho remembered, slowly turned cold and stiff as time passed. It sapped life from him slowly. That lump came back to his throat and he forced it down.

He couldn’t help thinking of the lord, Lord Authos, who was part of Prince Mammon’s court. Clearly wanting to gain favor with the Prince, he offered the possession job to low income workers who wanted to earn some extra money. Authos could easily have done it himself, but he felt himself too above such work. All nobles did. It’s why they didn’t do their own housekeeping or cooking.

He walked into Seonghwa’s apartment, and already sensed a shift in the air. Yunho moved to the bedroom doors where he heard your soft moans. Of course. When are you not throwing yourself at the nearest person? It was likely with some kisses and teasing, you'll get your own breakfast and disrupt everyone else's routines. You didn't care. Why should you? An inconvenience to one is not an inconvenience to a lord or lady.

He stopped himself. You weren't to blame for his father's death. You didn't even know. He hadn't told anyone aside from Mingi, Seonghwa and Linette. Mingi was right. You might be a bit overzealous with your desires, but you never forced yourself on him even with your new abilities. You’ve always treated him with respect and compassion. You’re certainly different from other ladies he’d served, and he shouldn’t take his anger out on you or any of his masters.

But, a part of him simply could not help it.

Yunho decided to tidy the room instead. He had no desire to interrupt and possibly be drawn into the act. He only wanted to push away the thought of his father lying helpless in a hospital bed. When he heard your final climax, he stopped fluffing pillows and knocked on the door.

“Enter,” Seonghwa panted from behind the door.

As expected, both you and Seonghwa laid tangled in one another. Fully nude, neither of you bothered covering yourselves when he entered. Not that he expected that. His eyes scanned over your body, taking in your shape and size from afar. The usual urge to fondle and kiss you came to him, but he’d learned long ago how to control those impulses. If he stopped to indulge every time he felt a trickle of arousal, he’d get no work done. He didn’t have all the time in the world like some people did.

“Good Morning, my lord, my lady,” Yunho bowed.

“Morning, Yunho,” you smiled at him. “Ooh, I like the ring. It’s new.”

“I thought I’d try accessorizing today,” he half-lied.

“It looks good. Is that a real opal?”

“It is.”

“Greed demons only wear real gems,” said Seonghwa. “You’ll never catch one dead in imitation stuff.”

“What did Cook say about my breakfast, by the way?” you asked, sitting up and stretching. “I sent Linette to ask him about it.”

“What breakfast?” Seonghwa asked before Yunho could respond. “I already sent him a menu for today.”

“I saw it,” you said, “But I’ve been craving french toast with strawberries and powdered sugar lately and thought it was a good day to have them.”

“I’m sorry, my lady, but Cook only prepared the ingredients and supplies for Master Seonghwa’s fixed menu,” Yunho said. “He doesn’t have all the ingredients to make anything off that menu.”

“Well, can’t he just get it? The market isn’t that far. He can send someone to get the stuff, and he can make it.”

‘Or you can stop being a brat and eat what you’re given.’ He thought sourly.

“He doesn’t have anyone to spare,” Yunho answered honestly.

You left Seonghwa’s side to kneel in front of him. In the morning light, your divinity glowed. He swept over your naked breasts, following a trail to your center where you kept yourself trimmed. Having just had Seonghwa, he spotted a distinct wetness on your inner thighs. When he met your eyes again, you gave him that typical flirtatious smirk of yours. A high born woman was the last person he saw himself pleasing today. No doubt you’d now use your seductive powers to get what you want from him.

“But, surely with all your influence around here,” you said, reaching for his hand, “You could just talk to him for me? You’re one of the only people he actually listens to.”

“Because we respect the chain of command,” he replied, “Which is what we’re doing here. Master Seonghwa made an order, and we’re only following it.”

“I’m the Mistress around here. I think I have a bit more power than I used to, right?” You massaged his hand delicately, giving him a small pout. “I shouldn’t have to beg a servant to get what I want.”

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” he slipped his hand from your grasp, “But unless Master Seonghwa changes his mind, then there’s nothing we could really do for the situation.”

“But Yunho,” you brought him close, your naked body against his clothed one, “Aren’t I your goddess?”

He knew you’d use that line. The image of you taking advantage of him crossed his mind. You’d undress him, kissing down to his crotch where you’d eagerly suck him. If he couldn’t enjoy Linette’s lovely body or Mingi’s soft lips, he’d at least get yours. It’s not as if you’d say ‘no’. Everyone in the keep knew you could go for much longer and didn’t mind multiple lovers. But, he thought of the work he had to do downstairs.

“You are,” he said, though it wasn’t your face that came to mind these days, “But goddess or not-”

“-Kitten,” Seonghwa cut you off, “How about you start a bath for us? I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Or Yunho can do it with me,” you suggested, “Like he’s supposed to.”

“YN,” his voice came more firmly, “Go, please.”

You gave a short huff of contempt, but then slipped from the bed.

Yunho busied himself tying back the curtains behind him when Seonghwa spoke. “It’s not her fault.”

“You spoil that girl,” he said, roughly tugging on the golden chords. “She might be a lady, but there’s a hierarchy around here, and you’re in charge. Not her.”

Seonghwa chuckled, “Try telling her that.”

“I’ve never understood the point of having a set routine if it is constantly broken,” he said. “She never eats when or what everyone else does. She never dresses accordingly. She never-”

“-Yunho, she isn’t to blame,” Seonghwa said harshly. “As you said, she’s a Lady of Eden-”

‘A whore of Eden, more like.’

“-And you’ll respect her.”

‘Why? She doesn’t respect herself.’

He stopped himself again.

“I’m sorry about your father, Yunho, but he entered into that agreement. He knew the risks before he went up there.”

“The man didn’t even pay him,” Yunho seethed. “He risks his life going up there to collect souls, and the bastard doesn’t pay him. He laughed. He fucking laughed.” His voice cracked, thinking of the highborn lord's wheezy laughter. “I asked him to pay up, and he laughed.”

“Authos is a demon of greed.”

“He knew my father could not disobey his orders, and took advantage of that for his own gain.”

“Again: are you really that surprised?”

“It doesn’t make me any less angry.”

“I know it doesn't, but lashing out at others is not going to heal anything. It’ll only fuel your anger more.”

“Good. Somebody should be angry.”

“Carry on with your duties, Yunho,” he said with a sigh. “I want everyone on the road by nine o’clock. The hamlet is far, and it’ll take forever to get there. See that Cook makes YN’s breakfast, please.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He bowed and left the room. Seonghwa didn’t understand. He has never had to answer to anyone, not even his lecherous, indifferent father. If Yunho’s father had refused the task, he would’ve been whipped or worse, and then forced to go. Authos knew his father needed the money. He knew about his father’s gambling debts; he knew about the loan sharks that constantly dogged him, and how deep in the hole he’d gotten. Yunho’s salary combined with his did not make the cut. None of them understood that. Right as he walked out of Seonghwa’s apartment, a high voice called out to him from nearby.

“Yunho,” Master Hongjoong stood by his open door, tying his black robe around his waist. Cherry red hair slightly tousled from sleep, he still had the bleary eyed look of having woken up. “Yunho, make sure Cook brings out the riesling for breakfast. Seonghwa prepared a light breakfast, from what he told me.”

Wine for breakfast? “Of course, my lord. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Thanks,” he beamed, then escaped back into his room.

It wasn’t long before the third master of the house appeared. A towel draped over his shoulders, sweat matting his black hair, Master San grinned at him happily. “Yunho, glad I ran into you,” he said, dabbing his forehead. A morning run. How nice to have such leisure time. His father would be getting ready to amuse the lords right now. “Can you make sure that Cook makes my eggs over medium? Over-easy is too runny for me.”

“I’ll let him know right away, my lord,” he bowed.

“Thank you, Yunho.”

At least he gets a ‘thank you’. He never received that from other lords or ladies. Yunho knew, as he walked back to the kitchen, that he was incredibly lucky. If he worked for any other lord, he’d be whipped on the spot for his attitude. Seonghwa might sympathize after his childhood in the slums, but he was still part of the upper class. The nobility. The people who made other peoples’ lives miserable simply because they could. One would think that kind of treatment would be given to sinners and mortals, not their fellow demons.

“Cook,” he approached the demon by the stoves, flipping bacon on a flat-top grill, “Master Seonghwa has approved of Mistress YN’s breakfast order.”

“What?!” he growled at once, cutting up the bacon with his spatula, “You’re toying with me, boy.”

“I’m afraid not. You’ll have to send someone to get the ingredients for it.”

“I don’t have enough hands,” he gestured to the four cooks around him. “The market is an hour away from here. Tell him I can’t.”

“I’ll send one of the servants, then. Master Seonghwa is the Master of the House. He gets what he wants.”

“Hmpfh, they all get what they want,” he grumbled. “Back in my day, the women did what the men told them or else got a black eye. He lets that little nympho-”

“-Cookie,” Yunho said sternly, “Don’t get riled up again or you’ll irritate your hip.” From what he knew, Cook sustained his lifelong injury from holy magic centuries ago. It never healed right.

He took the chopped bacon off the grill, “Alright, alright. What did she want again?”

It won’t heal his wounds, but it could be fun to see their faces. “She said french toast with blueberries and cream.” He then added, “And don’t shoot the messenger, but Master Hongjoong asked for chardonnay with his breakfast wine and Master San wants his eggs over easy.”

He growled, fangs flashed for the briefest moment. “Any other special requests while you’re here, Jeong?”

“No. Everything else stays as is.”

He gruffed, then went back to the grill. Yunho walked to the coffee station where the servants prepared their own drinks. He mused over how his father loved coffee, and what a luxury it was to the lower classes. One might think greed demons draped themselves in precious metals and gems, wore fine designer clothes and drove flashy cars. The ignorant thought they drank fine wines and ate rare and exotic dishes. It might be true of the wealthy, but not the poor. Not like him and his father, who had nothing. Yunho worked hard to get the things he had now, while people like Seonghwa and his brothers simply received it. Stirring fine sugar into the rich, dark drink, he recalled what his father once told him.

‘Enjoy the finer things slowly, Son. We don’t get them very often.’

He’d said this when he caught Yunho greedily shoving chocolate in his mouth. Another rarity. Yunho normally lets his resentment float away in the air, but not today.

****

The feast disgusted him. Standing by the kitchen door, he watched maids take plates of food upstairs. Chilled fruits, fresh baked goods, steaming breakfast potatoes, sausages and bacon, and various types of jams and spreads went by him on silver platters. Fresh squeezed orange juice, cold milk, and hot coffee were carried up in carafes. Seonghwa, San and Hongjoong would be eating a special kind of frittata with zucchini and fresh herbs, accompanied with rations of bacon and crusty bread. His father usually ate a hunk of bread or a bowl of cornmeal mush with mint tea. Hardly the food of kings.

Or dukes.

“The wine Master Hongjoong requested, sir,” a servant said to Yunho, showing the bottle for his inspection.

“Perfect,” he grinned. “Thank you, Diana.”

Yunho typically then worked with the housekeeping staff to tidy up the apartments, but instead, he went upstairs behind the maids. He wanted to see it with his own eyes. He saw the masters and mistress sitting at their dining table, a table decorated in a fine cloth and real silver candlesticks with fresh flowers. This dining room was larger than the poor mountain shacks back home. He watched the servants put down the trays around the table, then the magic began.

“Um, Yunho,” you said first, staring down at your plate, “I’d asked for strawberries and sugar. This is, like, the opposite.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

In front of you was a stack of fluffy slices of french toast with cream and jam in between, topped with blueberries. He knew people who’d be more than grateful to have such a sweet, filling breakfast. Yet, you pouted over the slight change.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he said. “Cook must’ve misheard me. He’s been distracted lately. His hip must be bothering him again.”

“Then Cook must be really off, because I asked for my eggs over medium,” said San, who examined his eggs. “Didn’t you tell him about it, Yunho?”

“I did, of course, sir.”

“He also got the riesling and chardonnay confused,” said Hongjoong, who sipped the drink from a wine glass with a silver stem. Real silver, not painted wood. “But, no big deal. It’s still just as good.”

Your disappointment healed something inside him. “I guess this is okay,” you said, cutting into it and taking a bite. “It’s amazing either way. Like, Cook is a genius.”

“The man’s been around since before Lucifer’s fall. He worked for Beelzebub before our dad hired him. It's why he gets away with everything.”

“Tell Cook thanks,” you told Yunho, “And that I hope his hip gets better. He’s a mean ol’ grouch, but he’s our mean ol’ grouch.”

You took a big bite of the french toast, cream ending up on the sides of your mouth. Seeing the mess brought images of the last time you put him in your mouth. It’d been sloppy and rough, involving him choking you with it. He had indulged you because you’d kissed him beforehand. You’d learned how to control the dosage of your kisses, knowing light pecks only lasted an hour while deep kisses kept one going all day. Yunho did see the downsides even if other people did not: it was physically taxing and draining. He didn’t have the time for that.

Not with you, anyway.

“Will you be requiring anything else, my lords?” he asked the family at large.

“No, thank you, Yunho,” Seonghwa answered, picking up the newspaper he’d been handed. “You may finish packing up.”

He left the staff to clean up after breakfast service, and started preparing for departure to the meadows. While the family went off to enjoy their day, everyone else kept working. His father never had a day off. Jesters are meant to be “on” every day from sunup to sun down. He only stopped when his masters went to sleep; the same fate his son shared now. The only difference was Yunho got Sundays off.

Such was the life of the lowborn.

“On a scale of one to ten,” Mingi said when he approached the carriage outside, “How disappointed are you that your little plan backfired?”

Yunho sighed, “About a three. In the end, it was childish and petty. Deep down, I shouldn’t be blaming them for what another demon lord did.”

“You're lucky Master Seonghwa can’t read your mind. You'd be in trouble for sure.” He then said, “How about you, me and Linette get a drink tonight when they've gone to sleep? Asmodeus has the best bartenders who can sneak us the good stuff.”

“Alright.”

Everyone got into their places when the front doors opened and the four masters came out. Seeing them in their tailored clothes and expensive jewelry, smelling of fine perfumes, his resentment for the higher classes grew. He watched Hongjoong and San slide into your carriage while Seonghwa rode alone. What sort of change had you demanded now? He didn’t care. He’d be riding with Linette and some of the staff. At least, that was what he thought.

“Yunho,” you called to him sweetly, “Come ride with me.”

He noticed the short sundress you'd thrown on, and couldn't look away. The deep V neck line plunged between your breasts, making them more noticeable to him. The last time he touched them came to mind, your hard nipples being teased by his tongue. Linette had been there, stroking him while you both shoved your tits in his face.

“Oh, I'm already riding with-”

“-And now you can ride with me,” he saw the glimmer of flirtation in your eyes. “I know you got my order wrong on purpose,” you said with a sly smile. “You can make it up to me in the car.”

“He's already riding with me,” Seonghwa poked out his head from his carriage window.

“But Seonghwa-”

“-He is my butler. He rides with me.”

You huffed, and walked off. Yunho couldn't ignore the pang of disappointment. He watched your dress swish along the backs of your thighs. If he couldn't have Linette and her sweet lips, he could at least have enjoyed yours instead.

“Yunho, come along now.”

Unable to refuse, Yunho climbed inside the carriage. He'd been looking forward to riding with the others. There are so few chances for down time in their line of work, and he wanted to take advantage of it. He hadn't spent much time with Linette, and he would've liked to be with her. Seonghwa pulled out a deck of cards as the carriage began rolling. Yunho’s lip curled slightly knowing how this ride would end.

“She can be incorrigible,” he said, expertly shuffling the deck. “I suppose the railing I gave her wasn't enough.”

“She is part succubus, sir.”

“We're both incubi, Yunho, and we can control it just fine.”

“She might still be trying to control that part of herself. It's hard to learn that when everyone enables her.”

“We enable her, hm?”

“Yes, my lord. If she is accustomed to getting what she wants, then she'll see no reason to control her urges.”

“Is that why you're always rejecting her?”

“I reject her because not all of us have the time in the world. We have work to do.”

“But when you have no work and are stuck in a carriage with her for a long trip?” he suggested, a knowing glint in his eyes. “She loves big ones, and you're…considerable.”

“Well, if that were the case, I wouldn't mind indulging her.” He'll admit, the idea of you half naked, moaning and bouncing in his lap sounded nice. Though, Linette sounded so much better. “She's…”

“A horny nymph that knows exactly what to do to lure you into her bed,” Seonghwa finished amusedly.

“Yes.”

“You should have seen her when you left,” he said. “She whined that she wanted you to join. I explained to her what has been going on with you, and she stopped after that.” Seonghwa eyed the ring on Yunho's finger. “That is a nice ring though. Where did you get it?”

“Family heirloom,” he answered. Glad to have a topic aside from you, he grabbed at it. “It came with my father’s things. It belonged to one of my ancestors; I don't know which one. It was the most expensive thing he owned.”

“It must’ve been hard for him,” he began dealing out cards. “Greed demons love money and gold.”

“But not all of us have it,” he said, picking up his hand as it came. “I sent him money every payday to keep him at least comfortable, and he gambled a good chunk of it away. He was drowning in his debts, and always needed money.”

“What about your mother? You never talk about her.”

Yunho’s heart ripped another hole. “She was killed by an angel,” he said. “She was a demon of wrath.”

“I thought you were pureblooded.”

Yunho shook his head, “They told me they met in the inner city at a gambling den. She was a guard; my father was a jester.”

“Well, that explains your strength ability,” he huffed, putting a card back and picking up another, “Can that be the reason you leave my Kitten so sore when you’re done with her?” he smirked. “She tells me you become a different person when you’re hard.”

“I suppose. Her kisses only make it worse.”

“Ha, that they do,” he snorted. “She knows the power she holds and isn't afraid to use it now. It’s how she gets her way.”

“That and that she has you wrapped around her fingers, sir. I never knew a Son of Asmodeus to cave to his submissive’s charms so easily.”

Seonghwa smirked, “She’s very persuasive, as you well know. You oblige her.”

“She’s my mistress. I have to cater to her every whim.”

“Then, you can cater to her at the party. I'd like you to come with us,” he said next. He hissed when Yunho showed his winning hand, and took back all the cards. He started shuffling again as he said, “My father's butlers are fine, but they don't know us the way you do.”

“I'm not going to be a toy,” Yunho said sternly.

“You won’t be,” he assured him. “You’ll be there to serve, not to entertain.”

“Both are the same thing to that crowd.”

“Not with me. Now,” he started dealing the cards again, “Let’s put in bets this time. It makes things more interesting.”

By the time they reached Asmodeus’s territory, Seonghwa lost a ring, a watch and most of his money.

“Maybe I shouldn’t play against someone who can block me from their mind,” Seonghwa said, chuckling at his misfortune. It must be nice when one doesn’t have to worry about going broke.

The sun shone high above the flowery meadows that stretched for miles, smelling of wildflowers and fresh air. It made for a romantic, tranquil sight as they drove through the dirt road. He imagined the flowers might carry some sort of alluring enchantment to draw people closer to his massive mansion in the countryside. They would be travelling to the countryside home reserved for the three masters. A hamlet set on the side of a large lake, there were two distinct areas: the main house, and the servant’s house. Yunho couldn’t help noticing the much larger main house could easily fit more people, while the servant house was smaller.

Clearly, the royal ego needed the extra room.

“I forgot how gorgeous this place is,” Seonghwa softly grinned. “When was the last time we were here, Yunho?”

“Four years ago, my lord.”

The ride from the keep gave him a chance to cool down, so now his exhaustion finally hit him. But, there was work to be done. His own belongings would have to wait until the family was settled in. Immediately, Yunho began directing the footmen on where the masters’ luggage belonged. Seonghwa took the bedroom that overlooked the gardens; Hongjoong preferred the lakeside view, and San favored the room facing the meadow. Since it’s meant to house guests, you took up the room beside Seonghwa. No doubt he will discreetly tell you about the hidden door connecting the two bedrooms. Yunho unfortunately knew about the servant pathways behind the walls. To avoid disturbing the family and their guests, servants used these paths to get from one part of the house to the other without being seen. Cook told him the ones back in the keep were used for that before Seonghwa took over.

He spent the afternoon preparing the different bedrooms, and then went to the kitchen for lunch service. He’d been inspecting the produce for bruises or rot when Linette appeared in the kitchen.

“Don’t you dare come to me with any special requests, girl,” Cook warned from the large walk-in cooler. “The menus are already set.”

“She just wants a snack tray for lunch,” Linette said. “Green grapes, sliced ham and turkey, those little cheese cubes, and some crackers. Don’t say you don’t have them, because you do. She put it on her list.”

“What’s wrong with what I am serving?” he asked, affronted. “It’s going to be a masterpiece. How could she want a silly snack tray instead?”

“She isn’t that hungry after the breakfast she had,” she shrugged. “Can’t you just do it? She’s our mistress, and we have to go along with her wishes.”

“Damned woman,” he grumbled, grabbing his apron and going back into the walk-in. “All the work we have to do and now I have…never in my years have I…should’ve stayed with Beezelbub…”

Yunho felt her eyes fall on him, and he ignored her gaze. He pictured those big brown eyes surveying him from afar, likely trying to read his mood. If anyone other than Mingi stirred something inside him, it was Linette.

“Yunho?” she walked over to him, “How are you?”

“I’m well.”

She came around the counter to stand next to him. Yunho sometimes forgot how beautiful Linette really was. Enchanting and charming, the natural light highlighted her golden dark brown skin, and gave her curls a shine. She’d worn it back in a high slicked up ponytail, letting the curls fall freely at the end. He gazed over her full lips, recalling their sweetness from the lip balm she wore, and thought of kissing them. He thought of holding her smaller frame in his large one, drowning his senses in her. Everything in his heart weighed him down, and he longed for a quiet moment with her.

“No, really,” she said. “How are you feeling? I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to you since your father passed.”

“I said I’m well.”

“Yunho,” she drew closer to him, “Please, don't shut me out.”

Yunho paused, feeling her warm hands on his arm. “It’s a lot,” he admitted, putting the apples in a bowl. He swallowed back the lump again. “I’d rather not get into it right now.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “We can talk later tonight then? Mingi wants to get drinks from the bar. The three of us could drink together and catch up.”

A smile broke his stone face, cheeks getting warm. “Catch up, hm?”

“You can call it that, if you want,” she smirked. “I personally call it a bit of stress-relief,” she said in his ear, lips brushing the outer edge. “Your girl has been extra good lately. Shouldn't I get a little reward for that-”

“-Don’t,” he cut her off, “Or you might get it sooner than you intended.”

She smiled, “Is that a promise?”

He finally turned to see her. She no longer wore the black and white uniform of the rest of the staff. Hers was a light lavender that ended around her thighs. The first three buttons remained unopened, and from the right angle he saw her ample cleavage. When he really looked, he noticed a golden chain just beneath her collar. His heart warmed knowing that she wore the ring even under her clothes. Golden with the words “my beloved” engraved inside, it had been his mother’s wedding ring. She wore it in a necklace since it might get lost with the type of work she did. Yunho didn’t mind. Her simply wearing it made him happy.

“Will you be entertaining tonight?” he asked, unable to control the slight possessiveness he felt over her sometimes.

“Mistress YN said I could if I wanted,” she said. “There will be a lot of good looking lords and ladies there, but I don't want any of them.” She paused, “Will you be going or staying here?”

“Master Seonghwa wishes for me to go,” he replied. “On a serving basis only, not entertainment.”

“Shame,” she pouted, “I thought we could sneak away once they all start drinking and have our own party somewhere.” She glanced at Cook, who had his back turned, and leaned in closer, “I miss you in my bed. Mingi comes to me still, but I miss having you. It’s not the same.”

“I haven’t been in the mood.”

“Even for me and Mingi?”

“Yes. I haven’t…felt up to it, that’s all. It isn’t you,” he added when he saw her frown. “You are the most beautiful woman I know, it’s that…”

“You’re still upset,” she finished for him. “I understand. It’s why I haven’t bothered you, but after I saw you explode in the kitchen,” she smiled bashfully and looked away, “I’ve been kind of turned on.”

“What?”

“I’ve never seen you break like that before,” she said. She looked back up at him, “It was sexy. You’re usually so cool and calm even when you’re angry. Seeing you be so open turned me on a bit.”

“If your mistress keeps pushing my buttons, you might see more of it.”

“Maybe I can push them too?”

She moved to press against him, but then a ringing bell caught their attention. Yunho saw the bell in Seonghwa's bedroom ringing, and wondered what he could possibly need now.

“Later?” He turned to Linette.

“Later,” she said, “If our mistress doesn't swipe you from me first.”

She tiptoed to kiss his cheek, then walked back over to Cook. Yunho put off his work to go to Seonghwa’s bedroom. Standing outside the door, he heard voices rising.

“-I told you not to bring that thing with you! I specifically said it! I said ‘Kitten, bring whatever you like except that beast’!’”

“Oh, leave her alone! She's not hurting anyone.”

Yunho knew right away what Seonghwa referred to: Minnie, the miniature version of Octavius you'd created. The untrained plant slunk around your bedroom, being treated more like a dog than a plant. It hissed and growled at everyone except you. She bit and nearly strangled one of the footmen. She liked tearing up furniture, leaving her slimy trails everywhere, and eating everything in sight. Seonghwa warned you to keep her under control and properly train her. From what Linette said, it was not going well. Yunho didn't think you'd bring her with you.

“She tore up my couch cushions, YN, and nearly killed one of the footmen,” he replied firmly. “I can't believe you brought her when I said not to.”

“I can bring her wherever I want,” you argued. “She's my baby.”

“She's a menace,” he retorted. “Look, she's eating my boots!”

“Minnie, no! Bad girl!”

Yunho heard a low growl be soothed into a soft purr. “She doesn't know any better,” you said. “She's only a baby.”

“A baby who needs proper training.”

“I have been training her. She's a work in progress.”

“I don't want her here. I told you to leave her at home.”

“I'm not a slave anymore. I don't have to listen to you if I don't want to,” you'd remarked. You sounded like a child. Yunho told him it was a mistake to let you keep it. “It's too late to send her back. I'll keep her in my room, I promise.”

“Fine,” he said defeatedly. “Just get her out of here before she eats the rest of my stuff.”

Opening the door, you stood slightly startled to find him there. In your arms was the bulbous green and purple plant with its thin vines acting like arms. No eyes, Minnie used the long tendrils to feel her way around. Yunho once told Linette he didn't see the beast lasting long. Either it wilts away and dies, gets lost or finally hits the masters’ last nerves.

“Yunho,” you said, taking in his presence, “Can you see if Cook has any spare meat for Minnie? She's hungry.”

“Yes, my lady.” The damn thing was always hungry.

“Awesome, thanks! You can just bring it to my room.”

You beamed appreciatively and walked away. Yunho entered the apartment to find Seonghwa flopping down into a chair. He immediately went to work fixing a drink for his master, who took it gratefully.

“I can't believe she brought that thing with her,” he groaned. “Now it's going to destroy the house.”

“I'll ask Jongho to keep a close eye on it, my lord.”

“I specifically asked her not to,” he continued, taking a drink. “She never listens.”

“Perhaps you should start reigning her in more,” he suggested. “You are the Master of this household. Not her. She should at the very least listen to what you have to say.”

“Are you saying I should spank her more often, Yunho?” he leered. “Or would you like to do it yourself?”

“If you wish to pass the job onto me, then I will do it, my lord.” The thought of you across his lap, weeping and whimpering as he spanked you hard crossed his mind. “She could use one.”

He imagined you, so high and mighty, kicking your feet and wriggling as his spanking grew harsher. You'd get wet, no doubt, seeping from both holes as your arousal grew. Unlike his masters, he wouldn't give you the pleasure you needed until you earned it. A proper lesson isn't learned if there's a reward at the end.

“It'd be a delicious sight, huh?” he asked.

“She's…”

“Been teasing you all morning. I've noticed. You're the hardest one for her to get into bed. I imagine it bugs her.”

“I have work to do. Was there something you needed from me, my lord?”

“Yes,” he said, drinking from his glass, “Can you make sure lunch is served in the garden? It's gorgeous outside and I'd like to enjoy the view.”

That was all? He called him away from Linette for that? “Yes, sir.”

He bowed and went back towards the kitchen to relay the order. With everyone busy working on lunch service, Yunho went into the walk-in for strips of beef for the plant. He thought of giving the order to Linette or Jongho, but they were busy attending to your room. He put a few slices on a silver platter.

“I know you aren’t taking my Grade A, prime beef up to the beast, boy,” Cook said as he chopped onions. “That's dinner.”

“I only took a small portion,” Yunho said.

“Why can’t you just find a hellcat or a bird and use that?”

“I’m sure it’ll find one eventually. Cook,” he sighed defeatedly, “I don’t like this any more than you. We must make do with what we have on hand.”

“Hmpf.” Despite his reaction, Cook knew he was right. “Back in my day,” Cook gruffed, pushing the onion aside, “Ladies had hellcats and hounds, not plants that eat everything in sight.”

“Oh, that’s not true and you know it,” Yunho chuckled, walking past him. “Mistress Minyoung once had a two-headed snake that kept strangling everyone, remember?”

This lightened the old demon’s mood somewhat, and Yunho went back upstairs.

Entering your room, he should have known what he'd really be walking into: you half naked on the chaise couch by the window. You'd stripped off your dress to reveal the hot pink lingerie underneath, showing off the body he drooled over.

“Ah, you brought Minnie's food,” you smiled, strategically laying on your front, hugging a pillow so he saw your whole figure. “Minnie, baby! Lunch!”

Minnie slunk from a leafy bed in the corner towards Yunho. She hissed, baring sharp fangs and waving her tentacles, and went for his ankles. Yunho nearly kicked her before tossing the food away. When she went towards it, he scowled before turning back to you. His eyes lingered on your chest again. He already knew of their softness and sensitivity. He loved flicking his tongue on them to hear you whine his name. Yunho could not help worshipping you every time he indulged. The only woman whose body beat yours was Linette, whom he adored.

“Thank you, Yunho,” you said, making a point to grind as if getting into a comfortable angle. “You're always so helpful.”

“It's my job, my lady. If that is all, I have work.”

“You work too much,” you said, “That's not good. All work and no play?”

“Not all of us have the luxury of getting to play all day,” he said as calmly as possible. Why did you all insist on wasting his time? “If you need nothing else-”

“-Not even a few minutes for your Mistress?” You pouted as you rolled onto your back, spreading your legs. He could see your shaved cunt through the flimsy underwear. “For your goddess?” you teased, giggling at his rosy cheeks.

He stepped forwards, walking to where you sat, “That depends…” Yunho suddenly wrapped his hand around your throat, keeping you in place on the couch, “Do you deserve it?”

“Yunho…”

“Because sluts like you should work for what they want,” he said, his other hand going down your body to your center. Long fingers danced up and down your slit, prodding through the fine fabric keeping you apart. “If the masters won’t do it, I’ll gladly take up the task for them.”

“Yunho,” you said, surprised but not displeased, “What's gotten into you?”

He bent down to you, then said in a low voice, “You. You have been teasing me all day,” he traced lazy circles over your center which caused you to wriggle under him. “You've been flashing those tits of yours at me. You've been suggestive and forward. I bet if I'd ridden with you, I would've been the one getting a ride.” He gave your sex a light tap, sneering at your reaction. “Pathetic little slut,” he said, tapping it again, “Sex is all you think about, isn't it? Hm?”

“Yes,” you murmured, breath getting heavier as your arousal built up.

“Well, so do I,” another smack, “And you don't see me dropping my pants every two minutes to get off. Some of us don't have the privilege of such free time.” He slapped your pussy once more, harsher than the last. “We have to work. We have things to do,” he gave another slap, “You should be more aware of that.”

“Yunho,” you whined, “Stop. It hurts.”

If it truly did hurt, you would've forced him off you with your vines or sic your pet on him. Yunho knew you did want it. You'd been wanting it all morning.

“It's supposed to hurt,” he said, rubbing your stinging center soothingly. “It's a punishment. I mean a real one, not what Master Hongjoong does. You're not going to get any dick from me. Only good sluts get my dick in them.”

“But I'm your-”

“-Right now, you're a bratty bitch who needs to learn her lesson,” he smacked your pussy again.

He then roughly rolled you over onto your front, and lifted your ass into the air. Your soft giggle and surprised yelp told him you wanted this. If he truly sensed you didn’t, he would stop. Even if he resented your social class, he’d never hurt you on purpose.

His large hand holding your wrists behind your back, he began landing hard spanks to your buttocks. Your cries sent blood pumping to his cock. They were the pathetic, childish whines that spankings produced; you wriggled around in every spank, but did not do much to escape him. Yunho grew harder seeing your cheeks move to the quick, hard hits. The feeling of his fingers hitting it felt good. The movement gave him that power he desperately wanted over you. He knew you'd be positively wet when he finished, begging to be touched at the very least. He wouldn't give into you.

“I'm not your boyfriends,” he said. “I won't fuck you just because you want it. You have to earn that with me.”

The room became louder with the sounds of your painful cries and his hand meeting your ass. Touching it with the back of his hand, he felt the tender heat coming off them. Hongjoong always kept his spankings short nowadays, honestly holding back more than he did with regular maids. Yunho wasn't like that. Everyone received the same punishment the same way. He smacked your ass and the backs of your thighs a bit longer before stopping.

He slackened his grip and gazed over you. He saw you laying there breathless, and eyeing his bulge. You must think you’ll be getting him now, but he’d love to deny you that. Not even Linette received a single inch when she misbehaved with him.

“Have you learned your lesson?” he asked, hand smoothing over your tender ass.

“I’m telling Seonghwa,” you cried, sniffling softly.

“I asked you a question: have you learned your lesson?”

“I’m your mistress. You’re supposed to do what I say.”

Yunho shrugged, “Clearly not.”

His hand fell down faster, swatting each cheek until you were wriggling away from him. Whenever you drew too far up the couch, he dragged you back down. Seeing your wet panties, he pushed your legs apart and started slapping it again. This caused you to jump, quaking from the lighter smacks he put to it.

“Now?” he asked, rubbing your swollen sex and feeling it throb on his finger tips.

“It’s not fair,” you sobbed into the cushions.

“It sounds more than fair to me,” he replied, “Maybe I should do it in a way that you’d understand.”

Tugging off his tie, he bound your wrists together with an intricate knot. “Stay still,” he said, giving your thigh a smack when you shimmied away from him. He withdrew his cock from his pants, feeling it pulsate in his hand, and pressed it to your flimsy underwear. “If you even try to cum, I’m stopping,” he warned, softly groaning at your swollen lips against his tip. “This is for me to enjoy, not you.”

“You’re supposed to do what I say. I want you to fuck me.”

“And you’re supposed to stay still,” he spanked you once more, “Or I leave and give my cock to somebody else.”

“It’s mine!”

“No, it’s not.”

He rolled his tip around your clit, tapping it lightly and tracing it. You quaked under him, and he heard your frustration. It didn’t bother him at all.

“Your masters are going to punish you,” you cried, sobbing when he smacked your ass once more. “Really, really, bad, for what you’re doing to me.”

“Psh, are you kidding me?” he chuckled, enjoying the light feeling of your panties on his cock. “They’d probably stay and watch. You asked for this.”

You kicked your feet, nearly escaping him before he maneuvered you to have your legs together. This folded you in half, him straddling your legs to keep you in place. He continued teasing you through your underwear, wetting his cock in the process. He’ll admit, he was tempted to stick himself inside you, but he knew better. That’d be giving you what you want, and you wouldn’t get that here. Once they were wet enough, Yunho pushed his tip into your hole. They only let him go an inch or so inside, but that was enough to please him.

“Yunho!” you cried, “Please put it in.”

“Not until you’ve learned your lesson.”

“You have to do it.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

When you tried pushing back into him, he stopped. “What did I tell you?” he slapped the side of your thigh. “Huh? What did I say about staying still?”

“Keep going!”

“What did I say, bitch?” he asked more harshly, “Answer me when I speak to you.”

“Seonghwa!” you called out, and that only made him harder. “Yunho’s being-”

“-Your boyfriend isn’t going to help you,” he said. As much as he didn’t want to, he pulled away from you. “If you’re going to keep being bad, you’re not getting anything now.”

“No!”

“I told you what would happen, and you continued to be disobedient. There’s consequences to bad behavior.”

“San! San, help!”

“Keep calling him, nothing’s going to happen.” He got off the couch, “Maybe I should leave you here to think about your behavior. I’ll come back when you’ve understood it better.”

“Hongjoong will punish you for me. You’ll see,” you spat back, still playing with him, “He’ll whip you for doing this to me.”

“You talk too much,” he sighed irritably, grabbing his handkerchief. He roughly stuffed it into your mouth, “You should learn to keep your mouth shut. Good girls speak when they’re spoken to. Now,” he began putting himself back in his pants, “I’ll be back after lunch. We can continue this then.”

Right as he planned to leave, someone else walked in. Linette, holding your snack tray, stood in slight shock as she spotted you on the couch. She took in your puffy eyes and guessed what might have happened.

“Yunho,” she said, her eyes wide, “What are you doing?”

“Mistress YN has been a brat. I’m simply correcting that behavior.”

“You could get into real trouble for this. Mistress, are you okay?” She put her tray down and walked over to you, removing the handkerchief. “I promise Yunho isn’t like this really. He normally asks first or knows if you want it. Please, don’t feed him to Minnie or send him to the greenhouse. He’s been going through a lot lately, and-”

“-Linette, it’s okay,” you sniffled, giggling. “Really.”

“It is?” she asked. “I…Um, okay…Well, let me untie you. Your lunch is-Yunho! What are you doing?”

He sometimes loved his strength. Lifting her from the floor, Yunho placed Linette on the coffee table next to the chaise. On her back, he had full access to her body. The arousal she’d likely been feeling all day flared up at the touch of his hands. His dick hardened even more once her tits were in his hands.

“What are you doing?” she asked again, laughing softly at his eagerness.

“I’m going to show our mistress what good girls get,” he said, kissing her neck.

“Yunho!” Linette giggled, but doing nothing to stop him as he tore at the buttons of her dress.

Soon, he saw the white bra covering her soft breasts. He roughly tugged it down to start sucking and licking her dark nipples. The smooth skin slowly tightened at his tongue, which he moved along with slow swirls. Yunho glanced over to see you watching with a frown, biting your lower lip as the sight kept you going. It felt good. For once, a high born wanted something from him and not the other way around. He kissed further down Linette’s body, feeling her soft stomach and thighs to discover her bare sex inches from his face.

“No panties,” he growled, kissing her inner thighs as he knelt at the other end. “Such a good girl.”

“I wanted to make it easier for you,” she said, her back arching when he licked at her clit. “I’ve been wanting your dick in me all morning.”

“So has your mistress,” he kissed the spot of essence coming out of her. “She’s been teasing me since I woke her up today.” He looked over at you, “Good girls don’t tease. Only bratty girls do, isn’t that right, Linnie?” he went back to licking her folds as she answered.

“Yes, sir,” she moaned, propping up on her elbows to watch him eat her out.

“I’m telling my boyfriends what you’re doing,” you said, pouting. “Then they’ll tell you that you have to fuck me.”

“That’ll only be after they’ve each had their turn,” he replied, enjoying Linette’s sweet taste. He chuckled when she squirmed at his rapid flicking. He held her in place as he continued, licking her in swift circles. “Linette never gives me sloppy seconds,” he said, “Not even with Mingi. She lets me have the first round, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, biting her lower lip. “I always fuck you first, sir. I love your cock so much. Please, can I have it now? I’ve been a good girl.”

“You always are.”

He stood up, pushing her legs far apart and plunged into her. Yunho gazed over at you, and saw you become breathless. In your position, you couldn’t do anything to stimulate your pussy. You could only watch and imagine it being you. Yunho lifted Linette’s legs so you saw his thickness stretching her out. It reminded him of the first time he saw you with someone. It had been with San in his apartment, where he took you on the dining table. Yunho knew then he’d do anything to have you wrapped around him, but you’d belonged to his masters, so you were therefore unattainable.

Then he looked down at Linette. Panting and whining, she played with her breasts while he thrusted. While sex with you was fueled by your kisses and touches, Linette’s was natural and meaningful. He bent down to capture her lips, opening them to brush on her tongue. His arousal burned deep inside him the longer her walls dragged along his length. She felt so good. You felt equally good. Were it not your punishment, the three of you would be on the couch together.

“I need you,” he whispered to her, kissing her neck and kneading her tits. “So badly.”

She started pushing down to meet his hips. He stayed still as she tightened her pussy and easily milked him. Euphoria pumped through him like a drug. He started pumping Linette faster, relishing in the sounds she made as he angled himself to hit her g-spot repeatedly.

“Turn me around,” Linette pleaded, legs resting on his shoulders. “I love it when you fuck me from behind. You go so much deeper that way.”

When Linette guided him back inside, he grabbed her full, round cheeks. She cried out at the sharp smack he gave, and she knew what to do. Hands flat on the table, legs spread apart, she stayed still as he continued his steady pace. He turned to see you watching, slightly squirming as your arousal continued.

“You see, YN,” he said, “This is what good girls get to have.” He made long, slow strokes that made Linette claw at the table, “They get to have every inch of my dick inside them. No teasing. No edging. Just each inch and every drop of cum I can give them. Doesn’t that sound nice?” He chuckled when you nodded, “So, you'll behave from now on?”

You nodded again. He noticed something crawling in the corner of his eye, and he instantly stopped. “That thing is not fucking you,” he said firmly, despite the Linette’s whining.

Minnie had slunk to your couch, likely smelling your juices, and wanting to feed from you. It had already made its way up one leg to your center, wriggling a tendril at it. You shivered as the creature’s vines tore off your panties with ease.

“Minnie, no,” you kicked at it, “Bad girl. No feeding.”

Minnie growled, angry at being denied, but persisted. She strapped herself to your thighs, then slithered a tentacle over your cunt. In your compromised state, you couldn’t reach to rip her from you, so Yunho did it. The beast hissed and tried biting his arm, but he tossed it away before it could do anything else.

“That’s the first good thing you’ve done since I walked in here,” he said, still pumping into Linette. “Maybe you are learning.”

“See? I can be good too,” you whimpered. “Can I have it now?”

“Not yet,” he said. He looked down at Linette, “Linnie hasn’t finished yet.” He grabbed both her arms to hold behind her, effectively bouncing her on his cock, “Such a sweet girl,” he grunted, mesmerized by the sight of her ass meeting his hips, “A sweet girl with an even sweeter pussy.”

“And it’s all yours!”

“All mine?”

“Yes!”

“Good. As it should be.”

“Please, Yunho,” you pleaded, “I promise I’ll be a good girl from now on. I won’t tease you anymore. I’ll give you my pussy only when you ask. I’ll do whatever you want. Just come fuck my tight, wet pussy, please.”

“But, I have Linette right here,” he said, slamming into her to prove his point. “And her pussy is the best I’ve ever had.”

“But mine is good too,” you shook your hips for him to see your glistening sex, “Even if it’s just the tip again. I want it so bad.”

“Stop whining. You’ll get your turn.” He continued pumping into Linette, watching her ass ripple whenever his hips hit hers. “Linnie was good first. So, she gets it first.”

“Sir, can I cum, please?” she asked through her whimpering.

“I don’t know, can you?”

She grunted, almost laughing, “May I cum, sir?” she corrected herself.

“You may.”

He loved hearing her orgasms. He drowned you out for a moment to savor the loud moans she released. Her warm cum thickly coated his cock, the tightness clenched as it sucked him into her. Yunho held her to him closely, his fingers working her clit until she finished. After a few more pumps, Yunho went back over to you. With your panties in shreds, he had no trouble plunging inside you. He showed no tenderness with you. If you didn’t moan loud enough, he smacked your ass until he heard you cry again. If you whined or pleaded, he stopped.

“Do you promise to be a good girl from now on?” he asked you, lifting your head from the couch by your hair.

“Yes,” you sobbed.

“Yes?” He started being rougher, tightening his grip and pounding faster.

“Yes, sir! Yes, yes, yes, sir!”

“That’s a good whore,” he smiled, changing his angle when he heard you getting closer. “That’s it. Make me cum,” he forced your head back onto the bed, “Tighten that hole and milk my cock…There you go. See? That’s not hard, right? You can be good when you really try.”

He kept going, the sensitivity working through his entire length, and he looked over at Linette. She’d remained on the coffee table, on her back with her legs spread. Yunho’s jaw dropped seeing her so exposed, biting her lower lip and teasing her nipples. This offering couldn’t be ignored. Once he felt your orgasm approaching, he pushed deeper.

“I know you’re not cumming before me,” he growled, slowing his pace. “Good girls don’t cum without permission. I thought Master Hongjoong might’ve taught you that.”

“I ca-an’t help it,” you cried, “It feels so good.”

“Then you better learn how to help it,” he said, going back to his previous pace. “Because you’re not getting a drop of cum if you do. You want my cum, don’t you? I know you love cum.”

“I do, but…oh my god, fuck, that feels…”

“Don’t do it,” he warned, but not slowing down. “Don’t you dare…”

“Fuck, I’m so close! I can’t stop it! I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-”

Thighs shaking, fingers gripping the tie around your wrists, you couldn’t stop the waves coming over you. Yunho felt your sex tightening, milking him as he pumped in and out of you. His cock became coated in you, the movement making your juices thicker and whiter, and he thought he might cum from seeing it. Yet, he kept himself in check as you finished shuddering. In a few final twitches, you slumped against the back of the chaise and took deep breaths.

“Yunho,” you breathed when he pulled out, “Cum in me.”

“Good girls don’t get my cum…”

Linette came over to him when he sat on the edge of the couch. She didn’t need to be told what to do. Mouth on his tip, she sucked and licked while stroking his length with both hands. The twisting motions combined with her lips brought him to climax in seconds. She moaned at the thick streams filling her mouth, slurping and swallowing them greedily. Linette never left a single drop behind. Yunho’s hands curled around the edge of the couch, his knuckles turning white as his body tensed. Her mouth and hands elongated the sensitivity coursing through his shaft and tip; he groaned through his teeth, jaw clenching and hips thrusting up into her. When he finished, he took in how beautiful she looked.

“Show me,” he said, and grinned when she opened to show her empty mouth. “Good girl.”

Gently, he untied you and let you uncurl from your position. He took you to the bed where he rubbed your stiff muscles and bottom with a healing salve he kept on hand. As he smoothed the aloe-concentrated paste on you, he muttered sweet praises and soft kisses to soothe you. You gradually fell asleep in his arms after being stuffed by your snack tray. Finally leaving you to rest, Linette cornered him outside the bedroom.

“I really enjoyed that,” she whispered, arms going around his torso, “I think I like hard Yunho. He makes me a bit scared and extremely horny.”

“Does he now?” he smirked, holding and kissing her softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” A thought came to him, “Let’s go to my room. I’m exhausted.”

“What about lunch service?”

“Cook will manage it for me,” he took her hand in his. Going to a large portrait in the corner, he revealed the secret passage behind it. “I just want to be with you right now.”

Her smile made his heart flutter and he kissed her again. An afternoon wrapped in his favorite person sounded so much nicer than tending to a bunch of high borns.

They could make do without him.

****

A/N: Aaaaand it's back! Sort of haha I really like Yunho and Linette, so I hope you guys do too. Feel free to reblog and like <3

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