#cw mentioned flogging

[whump-in-the-closet]

Motivations for Whumpee-turned-Whumper/ Hero-turned-Villain

Revenge. Anger burns away at them. There’s no rest, no sleep at night. They hate the world and the world hates them. It’s their own personal hell and the only way out will be paved in their enemy’s blood. Time to sharpen that blade, polish those knives. Someone is going to pay.

“Divine” Justice. Closely related to Revenge, but this time they think their enemies deserve the punishment. They see themselves as being entirely in the right. Justice is blind, isn’t it? Well, their enemies will never see the light of day again. It’s only fair, to take what their enemies took from them.

No Choice. There’s the cold, detached metal of gun to their head. The creeping intimacy of knife to their throat. Free will? How about a hissed, “Do as I say”? They make others suffer and in return the pressure at their throat relents. It’s a kill or be killed world after all.

Convinced. Should they? Should they not? The pros and cons are weighed and found wanting. The Villain is starting to make a lot of sense— and really, what is morality but the following of one’s conscience? Morality is biased. It doesn’t make sense. Maybe they’ve been on the wrong side all along.

The End Justifies the Means. Sure, it’s wrong but just wait. Pulling out this person’s teeth will give us the information we need. If that doesn’t work, we will flog them. But in the end, it’ll be okay, because we will have the information. What’s one life compared to many?

You Created a Monster. Their name, once one their friends called down the hall, is now a threat half-whispered. That name is a hallmark of fear and terror. Everyone knows who they are and what they’ve done. They disappeared for a while, but they returned dripping with scars and someone else’s blood. Who knows— if someone had held them while they screamed— if their friends had lived— maybe they wouldn’t be who they are now.

#am i working on this instead of the cyoa #indeed i am #work and exams are killing me #so here i am #writing whump prompts #whump prompts #whump writing #whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump ideas #whumper turner whumpee #hero turned villain #cw mentioned mouth gore #cw mentioned flogging #cw torture

[wriothesleysgf]

˚ ⊹ ₊˚ what you've been told — eren jaeger .

cws : ceo ! eren, degradation+ name calling, toys, collar, mentions of flogging, wrist restraints, puppy play.

notes : a little bit of an insight into my awful case of erenrot. . . this is my first time writing for him so the characterization might not be the best !

"i'm fucking working." eren spat the same excuse that you were downright tired of hearing.

"but i-" you would begin, though he'd shoot you a piercing glare that would quickly shut you down. you were beyond bored of spending hours in your boyfriend's penthouse with nothing to do. sure, eren let you do anything you wanted, and even buy anything you pleased with his black card. although (countless shopping sprees later) all you truly wanted was his attention.

you had tried simply asking the man. you had tried crawling under his desk and pawing at his crotch, even sitting yourself on his lap when you were certain that he wasn't in a meeting. all of these feats had been met with varying degrees of punishment, ranging from a few lashes from eren's trusty black flogger to being subjected to hours of the man rearranging your insides, only to deny your orgasm each and every time.

in all honesty, he found it rather cute how needy you were. it was almost as if the only thoughts in that pathetic little brain of yours was getting your needy puppycunt stuffed to the brim. he looked down at your dumb, wide eyes as you sat at his feet, practically humping the expensive pair of chelsea boots that he wore, despite working from home.

"such a fucking needy slut," he mumbled under his breath. eren then rose from his seat, finding it difficult not to smirk when to trailed behind on your knees and even remained sat near the door when he told you to "stay" — truly like his lost little puppy. he went all the way to your playroom, a room he'd had built specifically for certain. . . activities. there he gathered an array of items that could keep you entertained for as long as he saw necessary.

"remember, you do what i tell you. only good mutts get to cum." you nodded vigorously in response. "so strip."

honestly, you there wasn't anything going on in your pretty head, all previously existing thoughts having been consumed by lust. once you were bare, eren ordered you to the floor nearby his desk. you were situated where nobody on his webcam could see you, yet he had a perfect view from behind his monitors.

"good puppy," he praised, patting your head. though indeed intended a demeaning and belittling act, you found it adorable and were smiling widely.

hell, you were so needy that you didn't even question eren's actions as he secured a pretty pink collar around your neck, decorated with bows and a small bell, and restricted your wrists behind your back with a long piece of pastel pink rope. you didn't even flinch when he stuck the suction cup of a medium-sized dildo to the hardwood floor.

"entertain yourself," he instructed, taking a seat back at his desk. despite trying to focus on the work to be done before him, his eyes were fixated on nothing but you.

considering how wet and needy you already were, you didn't require any additional prep. gently, you took the fake cock inside of you without any resistance. it was much smaller than eren was, thus didn't fully satisfy your cravings — you had to reason with yourself that at least this was better than nothing.

slowly but surely, you bounced on the dildo and the little bell adorning your neck rang with each movement. soon the frustration began to settle in, for the toy alone wasn't enough to bring you as close to the edge as you desired to be. long, drawn out whines of eren's name were met with threatening stares, wordlessly warning you to shut up.

"jesus, fuck," he exclaimed, piercing gaze sending shivers down your spine. "d'ya want me to go grab a gag for you, bitch? ain't no way you're cumming at this rate, whore."

you tried to be quieter, you really did. but the burn from fucking yourself was quickly becoming more prominent, prompting further whimpers and mumbles to fall past your lips.

"'m s- 'm- s- so-" you began feeble attempts to apologize as eren slammed his hands down on his desk, pushing his chair back and striding towards you.

"up." he demanded, motioning with two fingers.

you felt dizzy, the tiny gesture leaving you daydreaming of how those fingers would feel inside of you. more blubbers, and even few tears, came from you, though they were met with an abundance of nonchalance. he didn't even help as you struggled to stand, swaying side to side due to the fact that your wrists remained bound.

"go. now. ass up, face down. might ruin both of your holes for being such a nasty slut."

you made the mistake of moaning a little as a reply.

"good puppies don't talk back. then again, you're nothing but a filthy bitch, right? 's that what you are? sir's good for nothing, cockhungry mutt? 'm gonna have to break this bad behaviour. and be careful, if you keep this up i'll take you back to the pound, princess."

#★ — delilah's musings. #eren yaeger smut #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #aot smut #attack on titan smut #aot drabbles #attack on titan drabble #eren drabble #snk smut

[irregularcollapse]

Okay okay okay I have been trying to think of a good question all day and I maybe have one? I really love the way you're writing Laurent's slow process of trusting Damen both physically and also emotionally. Can you talk about how you planned that out/how you decided to structure it? I am completely unfamiliar with either source material, but I love the fic!

I just still can't believe that people are reading this without knowing or being super invested in the source material 🥹🥹🥹 I seriously have no words for how that makes me feel.

This is an incredibly good question! I will answer under a cut because. This will be long.

(CW for discussion of the impact of CSA on a character)

Laurent's history of sexual trauma has shaped his attitudes toward sex and relationships in a way that is often seen in victims of CSA, which comes through quite clearly in the books despite them being told from Damen's perspective. What you've likely picked up on from the fic is that Laurent blames himself for what happened to him (and sees himself as sick/tainted/wrong because of it), that he has an ingrained shame response toward his own natural sexual desires, that he sees sex as an unequal exchange (only pleasurable for the "top"), that he sees certain sexual acts as humiliating or degrading, and also that due to both his trauma and his socially-assigned "role" in a sexual relationship (as he sees it - i.e. because of his looks, he would always be expected to take the submissive role) he would never be able to enjoy sex. His internalised slut-shaming and self-disgust are obviously triggered whenever he confronts the fact that what he wants is often what he has been conditioned to see as the most degrading thing.

It's all unintentionally compounded by Auguste's protectiveness as well, but that's a whole other discussion.

So what about Damen? Laurent has no reason to trust him, initially. But unlike in the books (where Damen actually killed Auguste, which is what then left Laurent exposed to his uncle) Damen is essentially a blank slate of a person to this Laurent. One thing Laurent prides himself on is being a shrewd judge of character: he is able to discern a person's motives quite well, and refuses to allow himself to be hoodwinked easily. This is as much an effect of his trauma as it is his natural intelligence and ruthlessness. As such, despite Laurent's trepidation, Damen gives him no reason to continue to distrust him.

He is honest and supportive, caring, respectful of Laurent's boundaries, and values Laurent's skills. It was really important to give multiple opportunities for Damen to show this, in various ways: each time he does something for Laurent (whether it be simply not touching him when he says not to, or being observant enough to know what will bring him comfort, or dramatically leaping to Laurent's physical defense) it proves something new about his worthiness - and it deliberately escalates! Although the flogging is a brutal physical sacrifice, the true sacrifice is the marriage proposal.

Not only does Laurent have no frame of reference for a man treating him this well, he has been living in his brother's shadow and (again, Auguste's protectiveness!) hasn't been given proper opportunity to prove himself. Damen treats him as an equal, as much as he can in the given circumstances.

In the books, this realisation comes quite late for Laurent (see previously mentioned brother-killing). But part of the inspiration behind this fic was wanting to explore Laurent being the fish-out-of-water, and to develop their relationship without the fraught history. With the obstacles removed, and with the power dynamic shifted slightly, I felt that their relationship would progress quicker, with less angst.

Basically, as much as Damen sees Laurent for who he is, Laurent - being a keen judge of character, being logical and rational - sees Damen for who he is. It turns out that who he is, is exactly Laurent's type. The initial physical attraction is then able to become emotional as the trust between them builds, despite Laurent not thinking he deserves it. The real development is in how Damen proves to him that he does deserve it. Yes, it's in how he helps and encourages Laurent to enjoy sex and to gradually shed his shame. But it's also in how he is so consistent in his respect (and reverence) for Laurent's autonomy and personhood - so much so that Laurent actually starts to believe in it himself.

What I can promise from things still to come is something I've started calling "character development through erotica" lmaooo like yes, we CAN and WILL use sex scenes to show character growth and healing!

Hopefully this was interesting! Thank you so much for the question ❤️❤️❤️ I loved answering it, stupid amounts.

(Apologies if there are typos, I am very physically wrecked and super tired today lol but I love this question sooooo much)

#captive prince fic #laurent of vere #captive prince fanfic #captive prince #lamen #asks #my writing #even in another time fic

[embossross]

The Devotion of the Girl in the Mirror

Chapter 2 >> Chapter 3 >> Masterlist

✣ Pairing: Rindou x AFAB fem!Reader

✣ Warning: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI

✣ Series: part of the In the Belly of the Beast fic universe

✣ Chapter CW: (so many omg) dom!Rindou, ptv sex, orgasm denial/control/ruin, spit kink (excessive amounts), degradation, cervix fucking, mean/hard dom, nipple pinching, flexible reader, mentions of overstim, spanking, vibrator use, flogging. mentions of domestic violence/murder (not reader or Rindou), mating press

✣ Story CWs: BDSM dob/sub relationship; sex (oral, ptv, pta, etc.); genre typical drug use, alcohol, smoking

✣ Synopsis: A story of two lonely people find love for better or worse. Or, dom!Rindou is sweet on his girl. Or, on paper, you and Rindou have nothing in common. But sometimes chemistry defies logic, and with every conversation, you find yourself more bewitched until all you see, smell, or hear is Rindou.

✣ Word Count: 12.5k+

“Describe your perfect day,” you murmur.

It is a sleepy command, the heat of the bath leeching what little energy you both have left, and yet loud as the tiny bathroom is an acoustic masterpiece, echoing the words back to him.

Rindou lies with his back propped in the bath, knees bent to fit the tub and thighs spread to fit your body. Your back nestles into his chest, the crown of your head even with his lips. He can’t resist taking big breathfuls of your scent as the clean shampoo smell drifts up to his nose. There is no place for his hands to rest other than your supple body, and he casually holds your breasts in each palm, just enjoying the weight of them and the way your nipples pebble in the cool air.

“My perfect day, huh?” Rindou muses. “It would have to be a day off, I suppose.”

“Naturally.”

“And, you’d be there,” Rindou hums into your ear.

“Even more naturally,” you agree primly.

Rindou tweaks your nipple, and you squeal. Water sloshes over the rim and drenches the bathmat as you squirm in his unrelenting hold.

“What a cocky brat,” Rindou says mournfully, but internally he marvels for the nth time at how seamlessly you’ve carved out a place in his life, how quickly you’ve become the best part of his day, his week. It defies everything he understands of women, of himself, and yet here you are, nuzzling into his chest like a prized cat and whispering sweet nothings into his ear. “My perfect day…I guess I’d want to get out and see as much of the city as possible, do as much as possible. Maybe start with a walk at Yoyogi Park, get breakfast from a street vendor, take you to a flea market and buy you whatever you want.”

“Is this my perfect day or yours?” you laugh, and the vibration of your chest shifts your tits in his hands.

“Hmm, actually, let’s go back a step. First, I’d wake you up with my cock in your cunt. Just lazy spooning until I fill this pussy up,” Rindou says. His fingers dance to your mound, twirling through the short hairs there and gliding through the seam that blocks your pussy from him. It parts easily at the slightest pressure.

“Again, is this my perfect day or yours?”

“And, then I’d take you out. Wherever you wanted to go, an art gallery, coffee –”

“A bookstore café,” you interrupt eagerly.

“Sure, a bookstore café and –”

Before he can continue, you interrupt again, “And would I have taken a shower that morning, sir? Or would you be showing me off around the city while my pussy is filled with cum?”

Rindou groans, for one moment utterly at your mercy as he pictures your stained thighs, skirt so short that anyone who looked carefully would know what a mess he made of your drippy cunt. He would let you wear panties, just to guarantee you kept his cum close for hours.

He can’t resist rubbing touching you, heavy palm slowly waking your clit up from its slumber as he rubs around it.

“Naughty little slut. Of course, I’d keep you dripping with me. Nothing’s free either. Everything I bought you would cost you, too. One belt against this hot ass per.”

You strain back into him, your ass sinking into the crease of his thighs, and gasp, “Yes! I’d try to buy everything!”

“I know. A pain slut like you would earn her whipping,” Rindou agrees. He feels your clit peak through your hood and redirects his fingers to your slick mouth, wetting them thoroughly against your velvet tongue before returning to tease slow circles around your it. With your hips canted up, the waters don’t quite reach the height to wash away your spit.

“After shopping?” you moan.

“Hmm, I think we’d go right home. You’d need to pay for your frivolous purchases. Wasting my money like that? I’d have to teach you a lesson. I’d bend you over standing, right in front of a mirror, so you can see what a whore you are when you take my belt, and then I’d whip your ass black and blue.”

“Would I cry?”

“Of course, slut. You’d be sobbing before I was done.” Your nails scramble desperately up and down his arm, sparking little pinpricks of pain. “Don’t you dare cum! Greedy bitch.”

“No, sir!” you gasp, but he can see by your tensed thighs that you are fighting your way back from the edge of oblivion. To be mean, he rubs a little directly over your clit, and you keen but don’t cum. Your head thrashes back and forth, almost bucking into his nose, but you don’t cum.

Since you started seeing each other, you have cum five times without permission, each one an accident you dearly regretted even before your punishment. And punish you he did. Each second of pleasure was paid back a hundred-fold, for the first in orgasm denial, for the second in bruises to the back of your throat, for the third bruises to your tits and thighs, and for the fourth stripes to the back. The last time, he took a different approach. Tying you to a vibrator at the highest-setting, Rindou left you for hours until your tears ran dry like a desert, your brain foggy, and your clit numb to anything for a week. You have behaved since.

Stirring with pride at your continued restraint – the restraint he taught you – Rindou kisses your quivering cheeks and slows his fingers.

“After, we’d do this. Exactly this. I’d hold you in the hot water, soothe your welts, kiss away every pretty tear.”

“This is nice,” you agree, and when you present your lips for a kiss, he can’t resist giving you several, darting around the edges of your mouth until you are smiling.

The blanks of his so-called perfect day fill in readily, and Rindou continues, “Then, you’d need to rest up, so I’d put you in bed for an hour, while I go to the gym –”

“So, this is the part where you come up with a way to get rid of me. I see how it is,” you say.

“Oh, suddenly interested in weightlifting? In MMA? You wanna come to the gym with me?” Rindou challenges.

“Well, no. I think I’ll enjoy my nap,” you concede.

The ghost of a smile lingers on the corner of your lips. You know just how funny you are, never quite bratting as you obey all commands without argument, but playfully teasing him until he puts you back in your place. Rindou enjoys your teasing almost as much as he enjoys showing you exactly where you belong.

“After the gym, we’d go out clubbing, somewhere so loud and so crowded we can’t hear ourselves think. And we’d dance until the club closes. I’d dress you up in something nice and slutty, so that I can get a hand on this ass whenever I want, so that when I grind into you, you feel every part of me. You’d be so sore still, wincing whenever I rubbed you the wrong way. I could just reach over and pinch you at any moment, bring tears back to your eyes.”

Rindou resumes his fingers on your clit, amping them up faster and faster until you shiver. Your lower lip is ripe and red from where you bite into it. A screamer always presents a lot of fun, and you scream as loud as anyone he’s ever met.

“We’d be all but fucking by the time we leave the club. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you,” Rindou murmurs, breath tickling the shell of your ear. “And when we got back, I wouldn’t. I’d fuck you face down, ass up, while you begged to cum until you were hoarse. I’d put my hands around your throat, squeezing just right so you can’t breathe, can’t think, can hear your pussy pounding so loud. I’d drag you around by your hair, manhandle you like my little fucktoy.”

“Sir!” you gasp, scrambling.

Peering at you sideways, Rindou notes the wildness in your eyes. Ever atom of your body is poised for the fall, taut and trembling with the strength it takes not to cum. Your nipples are so tight and chewable. He can’t resist tugging on one cruelly, and now you shriek.

“Please can I cum, sir? Please, sir. Please!”

“On my perfect day, I would let you cum if you begged me prettily enough,” Rindou says conversationally, above the desperate pleas that spill forth from your lips. “I’d let you cum, but then I wouldn’t stop. I’d rub your clit for hours, make you cum again and again until you were begging me to deny you. Maybe I’d use up all your orgasms for the whole year. Whenever you begged to cum in the future, I’d be able to remind you how many times I’d let you cum already. Only a greedy whore would beg for more.”

“I’m begging, sir. I’m begging!”

Your fat clit pulses between his fingers, and Rindou draws it side to side. He watches the panic in your eyes with cruel pride. As desperate as you are to cum for pleasure’s sake, you are twice as desperate to earn his permission before you fail. You can only stay at the precipice so long, lacking the years of orgasm denial and control that seasoned subs could boast, and soon, you will cum regardless of whether he grants you permission.

Yet, you don’t want to disappoint him. You so badly don’t want to disappoint him, in fact, that you draw your own arm to your mouth and bite down into the fragile skin. It breaks and little beads of blood run down into the waters you share and dye them pink. A stupid move from a stupid little pain slut. Your hips buck. If anything, the pain only brings you closer to the edge.

Rindou laughs down at your pitiful face, decides maybe you deserve a little mercy if only because you are so pathetic.

“Do you really want to cum so badly?” he asks.

“Please, sir,” you slur around the blood in your teeth.

“Go ahead and cum then, slut,” Rindou coos.

He rubs circles onto your clit for a few more seconds until your body is tight as a rubber band stretched to its limits. You snap. Your orgasm starts to unwind from your cunt, and Rindou removes his fingers, removes his hands, removes his lips from your neck. He leaves you entirely empty and untouched.

Ruined.

You scream.

Quickly, he pins your arms with one hand and keeps your thighs separated with the other. Your body fights him, trying with everything it has to get some friction, but all you can do is writhe in his unforgiving hold as your orgasm is ruined. The pathetic, aborted orgasm falls to nothing, the memory of almost pleasure making the denial even more brutal.

“Aww, aren’t I so generous? Giving a greedy whore a ruin when she hasn’t even earned one. What do you say?” Rindou taunts.

Something incomprehensible escapes your lips, a little angry but mostly broken and agonized. Rindou smiles at the rictus of pain on your features and prompts you a second time.

“Thank…you…sir,” you pant through gritted teeth.

“Aww, any time baby,” he says.

The serenity of your bath is broken now, the romance disintegrated by his games, but he feels closer to you than ever as your body instinctually clings to his for comfort. He kisses your hair and runs strong hands up and down your sides. The water is long cold, so he drains the tub and wraps you in a fuzzy towel. Life returns to your eyes as he warms you up.

Later, as you both get dressed, he feels your eyes on his back. You keep your silence for several minutes, rare for you.

Finally, you say, “Hey, Rindou…Is that really your perfect day?”

He isn’t lying when he answers, “Yes, sweet girl. That’s my perfect day.”

--

If he fakes an asthma attack, will the others finally take his complaints about their incessant smoking seriously? Or will they just laugh as he heaves?

Safe Heaven, like always, is wreathed in smoke. It circles upwards until it disappears into the vents to be recirculated into their weary lungs in an endless, cancerous loop. If he coughs up phlegm on Mochi’s paunchy face, Rindou thinks the man may finally take him seriously about those smelly cigars.

While never intended to become Bonten’s go-to-place for casual meetings, Safe Heaven has become unavoidable. It is Ran’s domain, a gentleman’s club where the girls are discrete and the drinks top-shelf by default. Mochi loves it here. He especially loves the pink-haired darling, appropriately named Candy, who works up front and giggles at his every joke like he’s George Carlin reincarnated. Mochi eats that shit up. And since Mochi’s smuggling operation can’t be disentangled from Rindou’s domestic drug trafficking, he finds himself regularly seated in one of the soundproofed backrooms to discuss business.

As the smoke clings to his lungs like crud, Rindou swears he feels the years sliding off his lifespan.

All of the usual suspects gather around the table – Ran, Mochi, Rindou – plus the less common but not unheard of Takeomi, Sanzu, and Wakasa. Tonight, they have caught a big fish.

The fish – one Ushioda Junichi – cries alone in Ran’s office. At twenty-two years old with a degree from Tokyo University, everyone would agree he’s a fine young man from a fine young family.

Yesterday when he hit the town and one of Bonten’s clubs with his friends, his life was a wide open plain of possibilities, every day promising something better than the last. Tonight, after waking up from a bender with the blood of his girlfriend drenching his hands, Ushioda still believed he might have a future once he got his story straight. Then, Ran found him, showed the security footage of just how brutally he beat the life from his girlfriend in the alley outside the club, reminded him of the sentence for murder. Now, his wracking cries are louder than the sound proofing, his life shrunk to the size of a tick.

Rindou almost feels bad for him. He knows what it’s like to be out of options. But he watched the video too and knows the scumbag deserves to rot.

Kicked back on a leather sofa with a cigarette burning to nothing in his hand, Ran updates the group on the opportunity Ushioda presents, “From what I could gather, Ushioda’s daddy is the kind of man who would jump out of a window before he saw the family name shamed. He built their family up from nothing. He’ll leap at the chance to cover up what the kid did.”

“Does he like the kid?” Mochi asks.

“Piece of shit burns the man’s entire life down in a blackout? Of course, he doesn’t like him,” Sanzu guffaws.

“Poor men who grow rich always hate the kids they raise. They resent them,” Wakasa wisely intones.

“Not necessarily –” Takeomi argues. The image of his kids, spoiled and spared the horrors of the street, probably flashes before his eyes.

“Maybe not,” Ran interrupts, returning them to the subject at hand. “But he loves him. He’s his only son.”

“So, he loves the kid and will play ball to cover it up. What does that mean for us?” Rindou asks.

“Ushioda Shotaro is the Senior Vice President of Operations at Acme Corporation, which means he’s ultimately responsible for supply chain and manufacturing of their semiconductors. Acme Corporation is one of the few companies manufacturing their semiconductors in Japan, and they import the base components through the Port of Nagoya, mostly from China,” Ran explains.

“And that is a windfall opportunity for us,” Mochi grunts, sounding sober for once as this is his area of expertise. “Since 2005, freight shipping’s been a pipedream for us as far as trafficking. Customs is clenched down tighter than Takeomi’s asshole. But that’s not the case for the mega corporations. Customs barely glances at what they’re importing, and if they ask to expedite, they are greenlit without a second thought. We use Acme as a front to ship through all the meth we got from the Chinese. We don’t have to worry about our mules getting picked up at the airports, no risky line back to us, no lost merchandise. And we can move a lot of it.”

“We talking about one big shipment, or are we trying to slip it in every shipment for months? If so, we’d need a whole new operation in Nagoya,” Rindou says.

“Think we need to meet with Ushioda to know, but I’m hoping we can wring this guy dry. Could be our path to heroin,” Mochi says.

Everyone sucks in a breath at the prospect.

Heroin is a money-maker, the drug that could catapult Bonten’s revenues from the tens of billions to the hundreds of billions. There is no domestic market for it. Yet. But Rindou knows how they will introduce it, has studied the proliferation in the US and knows that once people get a taste, they’ll come back for more, and they’ll find Bonten, raising the prices higher and higher.

Rindou doesn’t consider himself very ambitious, the job’s a bore, the money’s good but it makes no difference to him if they grow or stagnate, but even he gets goosebumps imagining this windfall.

The only person who remains dull eyed at the thought is Wakasa. Everyone knows that cousin of his is an addict, lost somewhere with a needle in her arm. She stays far away from Tokyo where Wakasa might find her and throw her into rehab. She hasn’t been seen in a few years. Sharp-eyed, Rindou catches how Takeomi looks to Wakasa first at Mochi’s announcement, puts business second to Wakasa’s personal life.

Like he knows everyone is waiting, Wakasa speaks next, “Well, what are we fucking waiting for? Let’s tell the pig to take us home to Daddy.”

Sanzu doesn’t need more encouragement. He throws open the door to the office with a cackle and the sound of cracking knuckles. He’s high, brimming with violence. Ushioda should be crying. More measuredly behind him, Takeomi follows.

Given how this opportunity may mean major changes to his operation, Rindou almost stands to follow, but then his phone lights up with a notification from you. Once he dreaded the buzz of his phone, but lately he feels a little…pleased when it flashes because it may be a text from you.

You’re constantly sending him the dumbest shit he’s ever seen: cats racing on treadmills, squealing gifs of anime girls, obscure references to books he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know how you find these memes or how to go about sending one back. All of Rindou’s knowledge of emojis come from Sanzu, who texts in hieroglyphics because he says it’ll be harder to use as evidence. Sanzu favors the vomit emoji, which so far, Rindou has avoided sending to you. The whole thing makes him feel like an old man.

Checking his phone, he sees you haven’t sent him a new meme but a link to a movie playing in Shinjuku next weekend. They’re reshowing Kurosawa’s The Seven Samurai, a movie you know he can’t resist.

It would be your second movie date. Rindou regularly revisits the memory of that first, how you clung to his arm as he played with the settings on the vibrator in your pussy, quiet enough that no one could overhear, but loud enough that you didn’t realize they couldn’t, shuddering in fear at the threat of discovery. In the dark, there was no one to see you squirm when he sucked a line up your throat or caressed your inner arms. The whole time, you stared straight forward, never cumming like the good little edge slut he promised to train you into. What shocked him most was after, when you called one of your friends and recited the entire plot of the movie, character names and all, without missing a detail. Despite his best efforts, you enjoyed the movie to its fullest.

“Look at that grin! Who’s making little Rinny smile like that?” Ran coos.

The phone is locked and in his pocket in the span of a second.

Not for the first time, Rindou wishes there could be something on the ceiling, so he could pretend a distraction. His favorite strategy, faking a can’t-miss email, is out of the question given the circumstances. If he had a lighter, maybe he could set off the fire alarm? Maybe, he thinks, everyone smokes because it gives them an excuse to do something with their hands.

“Nothing,” he grunts. “Wanna bet how long it takes Sanzu to break him? I think we’ll hear screams in two minutes.”

No one takes the bait.

“Nothing? You were grinning at your phone like it just told you you’re going to be a father, and congratulations, it’s a boy,” Ran says.

“I thought you said it was good news,” Wakasa snarks, just as Mochi chimes in with his own attempt at a witticism, “Or like it just promised you a blow job.”

“It’s your mom. She sent nudes,” Rindou snipes back at Mochi, though the man is too busy smirking over at Ran in mutual glee to care.

“So, who is she? The girl who makes my brother smile,” Ran pesters.

“There is no girl.”

Trading places with Ushioda would be preferable to standing the guys’ bullshit. They all take the piss out of each other constantly, but Rindou finds himself in the hotseat more than anyone else because Ran lives to put him there.

His pocket vibrates twice with yet another message from you, but Rindou doesn’t dare check it. Instead, he affects the patented you’re-full-of-shit eye roll that he’s been using against Ran for nearly three decades and loosens his tie.

“Really, Rin…” Ran shakes his head.

“Maybe it’s not a girl,” Wakasa volunteers. “Maybe he’s addicted to those…what are those perverted games otaku are always playing? Where you like roll to own a pair of tits?”

“Gacha games,” Ran volunteers happily.

“Yeah, those. Benkei’s addicted to ‘em, and when he plays, he’s always smiling like a demon at his phone,” Wakasa says.

Behind the shag of his bangs, Rindou’s face conveys nothing but yawning boredom. Ran can get a rise from him, but no one else. As no more than Machi’s top goon, stuck on the miserable human trafficking gig that no one else wanted, Wakasa is beneath Rindou’s notice. Mochi too, though it is slightly more annoying as Mochi can egg Ran on to greater heights of sibling pettiness if he tries. Those two always make each other laugh.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gotten into V-Tubers, Rin. We can get you a real girl if you’re struggling,” Ran says, and immediately Rindou’s composure breaks.

“Oi! Sanzu! Hurry it the fuck up!” Rindou shouts, banging on the wall a few times for good measure.

Pissing Rindou off has its shelf-life like any diversion and eventually, reluctantly, the others move onto new topics of conversation.

They never hear Ushioda’s scream because he faints at the first suggestion of threat. When he comes to, he calls his father without argument. Ran arranges a neutral location for the meeting, and Takeomi schedules it for later that night. Takeomi, Sanzu, and Mochi will take it from here.

The hour is late, and Rindou wants to squeeze in one last workout before the dawn saturates the sky with color. As he stands to leave, Ran follows. Together they walk into the brisk night air.

Even on a weeknight, a steady stream of patrons come in and out of Save Heaven. It caters to trust fund brats that have never woken early for a hard day’s work in their life, boys with popped collars and starvation-sharp collar bones. In the day, these boys rule the world with daddy’s money, but here, outside Safe Heaven, with the moon a beacon in the sky, they give Rindou and Ran a respectful berth, nodding a little as they pass without daring to eavesdrop lest they learn something unlearnable. None of them would guess the two intimidating yakuza are discussing their love lives.

“Hey, you know I think it’s good, right? That you have a girlfriend,” Ran says.

A large crack splits the sidewalk, and Rindou toes the crevice with the tip of his boot, wondering if he can widen it large enough to escape this conversation altogether.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Rindou insists.

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say. I just think it sounds like a good thing for you. And I wanna meet her when you’re ready,” Ran says.

“You are not meeting her!”

“Uh-huh,” Ran sings with the shit-eating grin of a professional shit-eater. “So, there is a her, huh?”

“I’m seeing a girl right now, yeah. But she’s not my girlfriend. It’s not a big deal,” Rindou says.

“It is a big deal,” Ran protests. “You’ve never had a girlfriend before!”

“First of all, yes I fucking have. Second of all, am I going batshit? Or did I not just say she is not my girlfriend?”

“In middle school! Honestly, at your age it’s just too embarrassing to count that.”

This is what Ran does best, gets him stuck on some garbage side point, wasting all his energies arguing something that doesn’t matter, so he is defenseless when Ran returns to the real subject. Usually, Rindou is a master at evading Ran’s every strategy, but tonight he is easily baited. He takes a deep breath, reminds himself to slow down and stop reacting to start thinking.

“Whatever. I’m just saying, I’m not Mikey. It’s not like I never see the same woman twice. I have seen lots of girls before. No need to make it some big thing,” Rindou says.

“Maybe…but if a woman can make you smile like that, I’d like to meet her,” Ran says quietly, with a voice far too sincere for a night when there are no shadows to take the brunt of his fraternal attack, just too brothers standing together.

Unable to stay angry when Ran is serious, Rindou feels his teeth unclench, his shoulders loosen. Something streaks across the sky, and Rindou thinks for a split-second it is a shooting star, feels the soaring hope of a child, and then realizes it’s nothing more than a Chinese satellite. He is too old and has seen too much to believe in fairytales.

“She’s a nice girl,” Rindou admits quietly. “Even if I wanted to bring her around …she doesn’t belong in this world. Doesn’t know what I do, and I can’t tell her.”

“Not necessarily –”

“You of all people know how it works,” Rindou interrupts.

The specter of Miki, a love long dead stirs between them, and Rindou almost feels guilt at nudging that old wound. It is scarred over, yet somehow still bleeds whenever Ran thinks too long about the only woman he’s ever loved. A woman who staring down the barrel of an uncertain and violent future, picked up and left, leaving Ran behind with the memories to haunt him.

You would do the same. Worse, because at least Miki was game for a while before she changed her mind. Rindou knows you would run home to your mother’s apartment, your childhood bed, your young and lively friends at the first suggestion of the truth. So many of the things he likes most about you – your softness, your smiles, your honesty and freely given trust – couldn’t survive the word he lives in.

There are only three options for men like them. They can live like Mikey with a sporadic array of one-night stands, like Mochi with a few chosen whores that playact a real relationship for the right price, or like Takeomi with a marriage built on a foundation of deceit. He won’t turn you into the latter option.

“If you wanna use Miki, then at least get it right. Yeah, Miki made a choice, but she made a choice because I gave her one. I wasn’t a coward. I didn’t piss away true love because I was too scared to look it in the eye,” Ran says, voice hard, though Rindou knows that Ran must still be feeling affectionate towards him or he’d be on his back with a black eye for daring to mention Miki like this.

He claps Ran on the shoulder, a half-baked apology. Stands there as his brother smokes yet another cigarette and doesn’t even complain as the wind whips the smoke in his direction.

As they linger on the curb, the cityscape sounds competing with the thundering bass of the club inside, Rindou wonders where everyone got the idea you’re some great love.

He doesn’t believe in that fairytale shit.

You’re a cute girl, but he doesn’t love you.

He doesn’t.

--

Fucking you is like biting into a ripe peach. The hint of pressure, a squeeze, and juice dribbles on his tongue, a smearing mess made of your thighs. Sometimes, Rindou presses his nose into the center of your panties and breathes. He can smell the wetness deep inside you. All that fresh, tangy cum that you relinquish only at his command.

Like a peach, you bruise easily too. You walk away from every date covered in his marks. Fingerprints brand your hips, purpling welts cling to your ass, flames on your tits.

Rindou makes a habit, at the start of every date, of spanking your ass just once. It’s like a greeting. The flouncy, darling skirts you wear flip up at his nod, and then he delivers a quick smack to the center of your quivering cheeks. Hours later, when you finish your meal – or movie or dance or walk in the park, or any of a dozen other dream dates made reality – and he shepherds you to a love hotel, he will bend you over and there will be the mark of his handprint, still visible and impassioned on your cute ass.

The sight makes him burn for you.

One day, he lays newspaper on the bathroom floor and orders you to lie still for him. There, he traces each bruise and mark of your lovemaking with a calligraphy brush. Big, black strokes of ink memorializing the places where he marked you.

The paint is cold and the bristles coarse. Good girl that you are – and he never met anyone who earns this praise so easily – you follow his instructions not to move, but can’t help but flinch, a spasm of your lips and feet whenever the paint twirls across your navel. The breathiest sighs escape your lips whenever he leans close to blow cool air along his work, drying out the paint and beckoning goosepimples to rise along your arms.

He saves the photos he takes of you that day in his phone gallery, flips to them whenever there is a lull in his workday. They are hardly pornographic, kind of artsy thanks to the dim lighting, and yet something else. With your honest beauty, no one could mistake you for a professional model. Your eyes project too much raw vulnerability. A submission that haunts and entrances him. Since the night he met you, those eyes have owned him.

Finding places to meet, poses a challenge from day one. You require neutral, fertile ground.

There are dangers that lurk in the shadows of Rindou’s life, so his apartment is out of the question. Meanwhile, your mother looms like a vengeful dragon over the suggestion of yours.

So, like so many other young lovers, you make a home of love hotels.

In the sanctuary of the many love hotels around the city, you fuck and play like animals.

Through your eyes, he rediscovers the love hotel’s charms, the fun of it. With the right attitude, they become a kind of adult playland. The mirrors mounted on the ceiling can be a playful voyeur not just to sex but to a dance party; the karaoke machine is a must-try on every visit – watching your cute furrowed brow as you labor over what to sing before always going back to Alicia Keys, the English masticated on the already butchered notes you can never quite hit; the massagers are worth every yen when applied to stiff joints (and can double as makeshift vibrators with a little ingenuity); and you might as well take advantage of the free condoms, shoving extras in your pockets before leaving.

In each hotel, you always insist on a bath. You explain your mother taught you to never leave a hotel without at least trying the bathtub. Sometimes he joins you, but sometimes he watches from the bed as if you are a siren of shallow bath waters, hypnotized by the view of your elegant neck, the peak of a breast, the arm slung haphazardly over the rim to cool.

The seediest rooms turn glistening when you enter, like you can cleanse the dirt of the world and replace it with something new and shining. He forgets about the hairy couples that occupied the room before, about the outside world, and submits to the taste of your lips.

He loves the rare still moments, when he lays his head in the bony cradle of knees and thighs, closes his eyes and drifts off into a strange half sleep. Your songbird voice drifts over him as you recite the poetry of men and women long dead or from across a sea you never once crossed yourself. The emotion of the poems sweep you up like a song, and you rush through some lines to reach the emphatic point, voice pitching deep and low when you find a phrase particularly powerful, and jabbing aggressively, like a pen digging through paper to emphasize key lines.

He could listen to you talk for hours.

The smallest things excite you. And when excited, your voice rises in volume. You are loud in your pain, louder in your pleasure, and somehow louder still when your clothes are on, and you are talking up a storm. They receive noise complaint after noise complaint until Rindou gets into the habit of greasing the hand of the front desk clerk as they check in.

Friends and family must coddle you because you never realize. He won’t be the first person to hurt your feelings by revealing this flaw. In his estimation, it’s not much of a flaw anyway and he would hate if you clammed up because now, the world is wide open to you. Every day you learn something new, whether from class or the internet or your friends in passing, and you are so bright-eyed in your eagerness to share with him.

On days when you can’t meet in person, in the twilight hours when the city sighs out its last breaths, he calls you. You tell him about your day, about what you’ve learned, about who you’ve met, what you watch on TV or read in the pages of a book.

Through you, he learns what it’s like to be a university student: the late nighters to finish a paper, the argumentative study sessions when friendships strain over erudite nonsense before they repair over shared bottles of beer, and the uncontainable joy of finding a hundred yen note on the street because it means one more vending machine coffee before your bank account hits zero.

Another student could never teach him these things. Because you were nearly denied your collegiate opportunity, you embrace every day like a gift, and the mood is infectious.

One night, he stays on the phone with you for four hours. The time slips away unnoticed as you vent about your friends. An affair between two of your classmates, both of whom were in relationships with other members of your friend group, promises a schism that you assure him will make the breakdown of the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches look like child’s play.

Rindou smiles as you passionately advocate in defense of your wronged friends. So easily you adopt the moral position. If reconciliation is impossible, the traitors ought to be excised from the group, the victims preserved. Nothing else would be fair. He admires your naivety even as he cautious you against being too loud or hasty in your judgment because he knows full well how often the villains come out on top.

One of your friends, Naoto, is another endless source of drama. Even though he isn’t a fellow student, already a suit-wearing graduate, he is a steady member of your friend group. Lately, he’s been prying into your comings and goings, like he doesn’t believe you are mature enough to make your own choices you complain. Your new relationship is an especial source of contention.

Twice now, Rindou joined your friends for brunch, meeting Naoto amid the sea of undergrads who fawned over him. He remembers Naoto as quiet, thoughtful, beneath his notice. Ever since, you say Naoto always wants to know where you are going, when you are meeting, what you talk about.

Rindou thinks Naoto has a fat hard-on for you but knows better than to say so. It will only make you angry, and you are cuter when you smile.

He starts looking for ways to make you smile. Your whimpers and tears are precious in the bedroom, but elsewhere, he likes to spoil you with the riches you never experience. Nothing too luxurious, but a locket here, a trinket there, a book you mentioned signed by the author, or a bottle of wine worth six weeks of your old salary. Each offering is met with a pretty kiss to his cheek, a whispered thank you, and then a screamingly denied orgasm before the night ends.

Right before the Christmas break, you call him amid squeals and screams so high-pitched they break the sound barrier. He pulls the receiver a few sparing centimeters from his ear and asks you to repeat yourself.

“I got the job! The library, Rindou! It doesn’t make any sense. Like, I literally can’t believe it. I am not qualified. I was already putting in applications at restaurants around campus, but now I don’t need to because I got the job!”

“Congratulations,” Rindou murmurs warmly.

“I’m going to hyperventilate. I’m so excited!” you shout. “I mean, even in my wildest dreams, I was hoping to get hired for the new term in April, but they say they have a sudden opening, and now I don’t have to wait! Can you believe it?”

The depth of your gratitude and excitement is the best Christmas present he could receive. He knows exactly how the sudden opening appeared at the library as he personally arranged it. He paid for a kid’s rent for the next year just so he would resign and recommend you for the job. It’s a happy Christmas for everyone involved.

“I’m going to take you out to dinner when I get my first paycheck. Just you wait!” you promise joyfully.

“Hmm, I’ll get the most expensive thing on the menu then.”

“Yes, whatever you want, baby! I’ve got it!” you are giggling madly, and he wishes he was there with you to sweep you up in the circle of his arms and swing you about until you collapse dizzy to the floor.

Making you happy is addictive but also reciprocal. Without seeming to try, you make him happy too.

--

The new year dawns with a sunny sky, so unerringly blue without clouds or gradation that it’s impossible to stare into it without seeing a world washed clean. New beginnings.

The first day of the year is meant to unfold as follows: wake up, work, waste time around the apartment, join Ran for an obligatory meal in celebration, back to the apartment and a YouTube rabbit hole.

You told him weeks ago that you would be out of commission until the end of the holidays. For the first time since he married, your brother, his wife, and kids are staying over. Every time Rindou scrolls your social media, you greet him with a new picture where you smile to outshine the sun, surrounded by people who share the same arched eyebrows and dimpled cheeks. Beyond a goodnight text, he hasn’t heard from you in nine days.

Rindou misses you in ways he can’t articulate even to himself.

Because he misses you, Rindou jumps when his phone rings and your name flashes across the screen. You should be deep in the midst of familial bliss right now. When he answers, you tell him that your brother’s family returned home early because the baby is colicky. Meanwhile, your mother’s arthritis has flared up, and she’s gone to the hospital, insisting you not join her lest you be cursed for the rest of the year. Rindou sprints to his car before you can even ask him to come over, having to circle back because he forgets his coat in the rush.

Two hours later, Rindou stands in line at Sensoji Temple, your little gloved hand warming his and the vendors hawking souvenirs at the captive audience echoing down the busy street.

Temple visits were a tradition he loathed back when his grandparents would force him along. Like most of their neighbors, his grandparents observed Buddhist rituals only when a holiday and good meal came attached. The hypocrisy would drive him crazy, and Rindou would sulk, cold-chapped hands buried in his pockets and Ran talking his ear off as the hours of waiting in line limped by.

It’s different waiting with you. All the jokes and observations you stored up for the past week pour past your lips. You recount story after story about your family reunion – about losing your bed to your brother’s children, crawling onto your mother’s mattress like you were a little girl again, and how she snores just as loudly as you remember. And how your brother desperately tries to offload his kids on anyone foolish enough to agree to watch them. You think he and his wife had sex on your bed when everyone was busy in the kitchen, and you share this information with the scandalized screech of a betrayed virgin. The low point of the trip is your sister who could not make it, but she joins every night by facetime, her role in the family harmony uncontested.

The line moves slowly, but Rindou doesn’t feel the passage of time. He’s frozen in place, exactly where he wants to be with you by his side.

He buys you red bean manju from a food stall and warns you not to spoil your appetite for dinner. He promises it will be a feast.

Naturally, unthinkingly, he’s invited you to dinner with Ran of all people. He wants to take it back or at least cancel on Ran, but you clap in delight, unshed tears glistening as you admit your heart broke at the idea of not eating osechi-ryori this year, your first ever holiday without. Rindou doesn’t like your moue of disappointment when you describe your anxiety at missing out on this tradition and doesn’t retract the invite.

So…you meet Ran.

Ran never left Roppongi, but he did leave behind their shared apartment above the laundromat in favor of a five-bedroom house on a quiet side street lined by Japanese dogwoods that bloom pink as a promise in the spring.

The outside is unassuming, but the inside is striking. Most of Ran’s free time for the better part of three years has poured into appointing his house in a Baroque style. No counterspace is left empty. No furniture is left unadorned. Vases, winding statues of frolicking angels, and baskets of fruit stand proud in the sitting room, resting on gilded commodes and low desks painted with cherubs. There is always a fire crackling merrily in the living room, adding an orange glow to a room already rich with browns, reds, and purples.

You marvel at the decorations, and Ran is impressed by your taste, so used to unappreciative yakuza who can only ask how much his furniture is worth rather than after its artistic merit. Ran insists on giving you a tour, pleasantly pointing to each piece and detailing the great pains he took to acquire it. Rindou trails a few steps behind as you eagerly soak up the history lesson.

“I can understand why you love this so much,” you say, reverently quiet, like this is a church or sacred place you shouldn’t disturb. “It’s a remarkable period when you think about it. Europe starts 1600 with Hamlet and Shakespeare and Cervantes not long after and ends it with the novel about to take off. And it was the same here. The birth of the haiku, of Bashō, and by the end of the century, we had Saikaku’s prose…so much innovation, so much art on opposite sides of the world.”

“It was the same in Europe and Japan. We can thank money for all of it. Here we had the rise of the middle class, finally peace after the wars, trade with the Dutch, and in Europe, they had new lands to rape and pillage for profit. All that chaos, and from it?” Ran spreads his arms wide to gesture at the beauty of the rooms he slaved over. “Art!”

You stare up at a painting wide as your arm span of sailors in a storm, fighting the elements to secure the mast. Even as their faces scream, ravaged by threat, there is something hopeful in the piece, a promise that together they will right the ship and sail off to calmer seas. Rindou can see why you like it. It isn’t baroque, an eighteenth-century anachronism in the otherwise themed room.

Towards the end of the tour, Ran recounts a dramatic auction where he won a bust of Frederick the Great out of the greedy hands of an Australian businessman.

It is only the hundredth time Rindou has heard this heroic tale from Ran, and he could supply it word for word at this point. They’re nearing the part where the Australian businessman kicks a wall in a fit of pique at being outbid and breaks his big toe – the climax – when you bring the story to a crashing, off-script halt.

“Wait, eight million yen!” you cry.

“…yes,” Ran says blankly.

“For that statue?” you point accusingly at the head of Frederick the Great like you’re questioning what’s so great about him to justify an eight-million-yen price tag. It is intricately carved, the polychrome wood painted white for dramatic effect, but it does not appear to shit gold, so you struggle to understand its value.

“It’s a bust not a statue,” Ran says snidely, forgetting himself for a moment in his irritation before he says more kindly, “And it’s an artefact. From the right artist, I’ve seen pieces go for much more. It may just resell for even higher. There’s a lot of money to be made in art investment.”

“That’s just a lot of money.”

“What can I say? Business has been good to us,” Ran says.

“Export-import,” Rindou barks out quickly.

“Yes, the…export-import business has been good to us,” Ran repeats, taking up the story with a roll of his eyes that goes right over your head. You’re too busy tucking your elbows and glaring at the furniture like it might leap out and shatter on your body at the slightest provocation. You’re barely breathing in fear of breaking something.

“Wait,..,” you say, coming back to the conversation after a moment of buffering. “You’re in business with Rindou? And you’ve made this much money? Oh, oh no! I’m so sorry. That was so invasive and rude. Please forgive me!”

“Rin! Why does your beautiful friend think you’re poor? Please tell me you’ve not been making her pay for dates! I taught you when you were younger that a gentleman always pays,” Ran tuts, ignoring your apologies. When Ran is at his most spiteful, he smiles, and his lips quirk now with malicious glee.

“Oh no –” you try to protest, but Ran is on a roll, apologizing to you now on his “shameful little brother’s behalf.”

Rindou is going to stab him.

“I pay for our damn dates!”

“He does!” you agree with a vigorous nod of support. “I just thought…well, I thought you had nice dinner twice a week money not bust of Frederick the Great money.”

Pleading eyes turn to Ran as you beg him to believe you. It reminds Rindou of how sweetly you beg him for forgiveness when he overstimulates your clit or squeezes your nipples to a bruise. Damned cute. Ran’s lips curve indulgently in spit of himself at your expression.

Rindou thinks that his brother isn’t half bad at all. At least he has very different taste in women, taste that does not include you.

The dining room is every bit as unconventional as the rest of the house with a tall wooden table large enough to seat eight and high-backed chairs that demand perfect posture much to Rindou’s chagrin. In contrast, Ran serves a traditional osechi ryori meal neatly separated into lacquered containers.

With so many options to choose from, everyone sets in on a different dish first. Rindou gravitates to the crunch of kazunoko, the juicy Satoimo potatoes, and the snackable baby anchovies. You giggle a little as you munch on a sweet omelet roll, and when Rindou asks why, you whisper that everything he’s eating symbolizes fertility. He quickly uses his chopsticks to try the buri, which he recalls symbolizes a more general kind of success.

“This is delicious,” you offer Ran warmly. “Did you cook all this yourself?”

Rindou snorts, and his brother gives him one of those quelling looks that used to reduce him to knocking knees and hiding in closets. Ran rarely hit him beyond normal brotherly playfighting, but he would chase him with that baton for blocks when angered.

“No, there was no need this year. A friend was kind enough to cook for me,” Ran says.

“Ran is a menace in the kitchen. If it was left to him, we’d be eating plain bread.”

The quelling look grows sharper.

“Oh, that’s not so bad. I’m not much of a cook either,” you say politely.

“Don’t play so nice with the guy. I’m not saying he’s not a chef. I’m saying he couldn’t figure out how to cook a grilled cheese or boil some noodles.”

“Why would I want to eat a grilled cheese?” Ran demands.

Rindou stabs his chopsticks in Ran’s direction, a lifetime of culinary wrongs powering his spite. “That’s what I’m saying! The problem is that Ran has the palette of a fucking prince. When we were kids, we’d have no money, no adults to help, and I’d find him trying to cook a whole duck and setting the kitchen on fire. When that happened, I’d have to make noodles. He just flushed our grocery money down the drain every week.”

“To be fair, I stole the duck,” Ran sniffs.

A candied chestnut pelts Ran in the forehead, a bullseye for Rindou who would strangle his brother if he were within reach. The bastard knows not to mention their criminal activity around you. Rindou looks nervously to you and your reaction but finds your eyes alight with curiosity.

“How the hell does a child steal a duck?”

The tense atmosphere lifts, and Ran leans forward with a grin to answer, “A child doesn’t. Two children, however? One to fake an asthma attack and draw all the adults and one with an empty backpack? Those two children could steal a duck no problem.”

“What a little criminal mastermind!” you laugh.

“Good thing I went straight when I did, or I’d be running the city’s underground today, huh?” Ran smirks.

Against Rindou’s will, he finds himself drawn into a long recounting of some of their greatest childhood misadventures. None are violent or hint at future gang activity. Instead, they recount shoplifting, stealing out into the late hours of the night, and outwitting their teachers. None of it scandalizes you, and Rindou relaxes just an iota.

Because it’s dinner with Ran and they can’t help themselves, the brothers bicker every other word, but sometime after your third glass of wine, you stop hiding your laughter. You treat it like a sideshow to a good meal, one you could watch a hundred times.

Having you here doesn’t feel unnatural at all.

As the final bites dwindle to nothing, you say, “Thank you really for inviting me. I was dreading spending New Years without family for the first time, and well, being here with you didn’t feel all that different.”

Everyone pretends not to notice the beading of tears on your lash line. Your sincerity is so at odds with their usual attitudes that neither brother quite knows how to react. Rindou settles for squeezing your hand tightly in his, but it is Ran who finds the perfect words.

“I propose a toast. To 2017. And to hoping that we welcome the next new year together, too.”

--

Just as, possessed by your infectious holiday cheer, Rindou didn’t think before taking you to Ran’s house,  he unthinkingly brings you back to his apartment, too. It is the first time you’ve come over.

His apartment is less impressive than Ran’s museum of a house. The space is mostly decorated with sleek, standard furnishings with only one bedroom for guests. If anything stands out, it’s the fancy gadgets: big screen TV, gaming computer set up, topline speakers in every room.

For the first hour, you piece through his record collection. He answers your questions about different artists, shows you how to position the needle. You land on a rock album that’s all bass. It shakes the vinyl shelf with every pulse.

Satisfied with your choice, you invite yourself to root through his dresser drawers. You strip in front of him without an ounce of embarrassment. The apartment runs chilly, so your skin is only bared for a few seconds before you scramble into a pair of his sweatpants, a tee-shirt that hangs low past your hips, and the thickest socks you can find.

You look all ready for bed, so that’s where you go next. The short hairs that curl at the base of your neck are baby chick soft, and he twirls the strands absently around his fingers while your head makes a pillow of his chest.

Everything feels strange. Not bad, just strange.

Rindou has lived in this apartment for nearly four years, slept in this bedroom most nights, and somehow he doesn’t recognize it. Here, with you in his arms, the room is transformed. The bed is warmer, and he discards the heavy comforter he uses in the winters; the taste of flowers fills his nose whenever he breathes, drifting up from that body lotion you slather everywhere in the mornings; he lies on his back, noticing the water stains on the ceiling for the first time ever, instead of flopping to his stomach and falling into a dead sleep the moment his head hits the pillow. You’re the first person, besides him, to ever enter this room.

“Thanks for inviting me tonight,” you murmur. “I was so sad when I woke up this morning and everything happened, but you cheered me right up.”

“Thanks for calling me. I was bored out of my mind,” Rindou counters.

“You’re too sweet sometimes…It was really nice to meet your brother, too. Ran’s an interesting guy. He’s like some nineteenth century dandy. Like, he’s a character on TV not a real person. So different from you except when he gives you a hard time. Then, it’s like a switch flips, and I can see the resemblance. It reminds me of my brother, giving me a hard time just to show he can.”

“Older brothers,” Rindou says with only half-hearted disgust. Without Ran to push him, to teach him to stay on his toes, he would probably be moving furniture in some warehouse not trading in people’s life savings over morning coffee.

“It was fun,” you repeat. “And I feel like I understand you even better now.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, like I learned how you get away with having such ridiculous hair. I always wondered what kind of business could overlook that, but you’re rich. Plus, your brother’s hair isn’t much better. At least it’s short, I guess, but pink?”

“You should have seen our hair when we were younger. Ran used to have longer hair than you. He’d wear two braids with blonde highlights. Back then, mine was neck-length, but blue and blonde,” Rindou says. At your raised eyebrows, Rindou opens his personal phone to find an old photo.

“Like a Squirtle,” you whisper.

“Like a what?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Anyway, pretty much all our executives have dyed hair,” Rindou admits. “Ran’s not even the only one with pink.”

“I wish I could show you off to my middle school homeroom teacher. She used to say we wouldn’t get good jobs if we so much as double pierced our ears and look at you! Successful and tattooed and dyed! We’ve really become a modern country, huh?”

“I’ll introduce you sometime…Our CFO, Koko is the smartest guy I’ve ever met, and his girlfriend’s the second. I think you’d like them. Maybe we can double date,” Rindou says.

Two days ago, Rindou was still intent on keeping you as far from his work life as possible, building up steel walls that wouldn’t break no matter how much pressure you or his colleagues applied. But what can’t be knocked down can still be unlocked, and here Rindou is, key in hand, throwing open the doors with no excuse or explanation.

Maybe if he hadn’t built the damn wall in the first place, he could have seen you throughout the holidays. He could have met your mother, fucked you in your twin bed while the memories of your childhood peered down in judgment, and tried your home cooking.

“I learned something else about you from Ran, too,” you chirp.

“Oh yeah?” he repeats.

“Yeah, I learned why you don’t ‘suffer brats.”

Rindou laughs. “Oh yeah because Ran’s brat enough for the rest of my life.”

“No, because behind closed doors, you’re the big brat!”

Your gleeful giggle turns into a yelp as Rindou harshly pinches your nipple, hand dipping through shirt and bra to find gold.

“Want to repeat that?”

“I’m just repeating what I saw. Where your brother is concerned, you act like a big bra–urgh!”

Your plush, hot little mouth is a source of hours of pleasure, but sometimes you talk too much. With it wide open around your nonsense, it makes an easy target. Three of Rindou’s fingers force their way past your lips, tongue, and teeth. He can feel the place where your throat closes up in instinctive panic, a hard barrier that with a few pushes will break.

“Blink twice for green, once for yellow, and none for red,” Rindou says seriously.

Two quick but emphatic blinks answer him as you gaze up with absolute trust. Rindou sits up to tower over you, strands of his hair dangling down to brush your quivering cheeks.

“If you want to act like a fucking brat, I’ll find other ways to put your mouth to use. Open the fuck up.”

Under his insistent prodding, the barrier of your throat relaxes, and he pushes in as deep as his fingers are long. Your mouth stretches wide, obscene and red as you swallow around the obstruction. His fingers can’t bully you as well as his cock, so you manage the intrusion with minimal gagging. He pets along the ridges of your throat, remembering how the ribbing feels sliding up and down his dick when he throat fucks you.

The memory is tempting. He loves the way you tear up when he stuffs his cock deeper than you think you can manage. Then, you choke and whine and learn to regret mouthing off to him, but there’s no need to teach you a lesson. It is not a brat that tries to suck the fingers lodged in the back of her throat, but his good little slut, the one who tries so hard to please him.

Slowly, Rindou pulls back from your mouth, letting you suckle needily in the retreat.

“Spit,” he orders, holding out his open palm.

You demur. Only a discrete amount of spit lands in his hand. With the way he toyed with your throat, you should have more than that to offer him. He should be drenched in ribbons of it.

Slap.

The wet hand meets your cheek hard, snapping your head to the side. Rindou likes the look of it. Little strands of spit cling to your hot cheeks. He decides you could be even messier.

Rindou purses his lips and hocks a glob of spit directly into your face. It lands on your cheek, near the corner of your mouth. You yelp and turn accusing eyes to him, more aggrieved by this than the initial slap. Those eyes quickly close as Rindou smears a heavy palm across your whole face, making sure your spit covers you from chin to eyelids.

“I think you look prettiest like this slut,” Rindou says. You whine in the back of your throat, a noise of dissent and not passion. Rindou relishes it. It’s rare for you to show anything but easy submission. “No? You don’t like looking like a little drool slut? Well, then you shouldn’t have acted like such a brat, huh, baby? Good girls get to swallow, but bad girls have to spit all over themselves. That’s what you’re going to do until I decide you’re good and messy enough. You’re going to drool all over your face and tits. No swallowing. Give me a color and let me know you understand.”

“Green,” you whisper. “And yes, sir. I understand.”

To accompany your words, you let a glob of spit dribble past your lips. It doesn’t have much momentum, landing on your chin, where its shine draws the eye like shiny jewelry.

When you look shame faced, dribbling and pathetic and hanging on his every word, is when Rindou wants you most. His cock twitches to life against his thigh at the mess he made of you.

He wants to see more. The tee-shirt is ripped to the ground as he attacks your tits with his mouth and tongue. The proud nipples rise to greet him, and he mouths at them desperately.

For hours at time, he’s subjected you to his systematic exploration of your chest. He knows exactly what to do to eek a response from you, and he employs all of that knowledge now. He circles the nubs gently with his tongue, knowing every hair on your body will stand at attention. When he sucks at just the right amount of pressure, you sigh like he intended. Then, he increases the pressure, and right on schedule, your hands dig into the shag of his hair, not pulling away but anchoring yourself, as the pleasure pain assaults you.

There is a flogger in the bottom dresser door perfect for burning your tits red which he considers, but he doesn’t want to separate from your body for an instant. Your soft belly feels so right beneath the hardness of him, and when he cants his cock into the crease of your open thighs, the friction leaves him lightheaded.

He plumps up your breasts instead, leaving fat hickeys wherever his mouth lands. His hands squeeze to the beat of the drumming bass, and you start to hump your hips in time with him.

All the while, he hears you spitting pathetically above him.

The time between each spit lessens as he continues. Lust conquers shame, and you grow eager to impress him, drooling like a bitch in heat. You should be running out of saliva, but when that happens, he hears yours coughing gags as you fuck your fingers deep into your throat just so you can earn more precious spit.

It’s pathetic, really, how desperate you get for him, how much you need him to take you in hand, show you what a whore you are.

Alongside the speed of your spitting, the distance increases as well. Soon drool lands on your tits, globs falling near his mouth, sometimes pelting his cheek or sticking to his hair. He eagerly laps it up, uses his mouth to smear it all over your breasts. He can barely find purchase, slipping and sliding through the valley of your lubed up tits, so wet and hot they remind him of your pussy.

It has been over a week since you last fucked, and Rindou thinks you must be drenched, drooling just as much down your thighs. He needs to know for sure.

Rindou doesn’t stop caressing your nipples with his lips as his hand dips into your sweatpants. Sticky panties cling to your folds, and he struggles for a moment to separate them enough for his fingers to find your soaked little pussy.

“Did you control yourself and not touch this cute cunt while you were gone?” Rindou asks.

“I didn’t, sir. I swear. I didn’t touch myself at all. Didn’t cheat and find some other way to cum either,” you plead as if he didn’t already know the answer.

“Hmm, maybe you’re not such a bad girl after all,” Rindou muses as his fingers rub through your folds, circling the entrance that drools so eagerly at his proximity. “Do you know why girls like you only cum with permission?”

“Because all my orgasms belong to you, sir,” you sigh as if that is a helplessly romantic prospect.

“No. It’s because stupid sluts can’t be trusted to know what’s good for them. You have to trust me to tell you when to cum, and when to ruin, and when to go no touch because otherwise, you’d waste away. If no one was there to look out for you, you’d spend all day toying with this clit and fucking this little hole, and then what would happen?”

You gurgle happily at his words.

Rindou likes to talk during sex, loves it even, but he finds himself calling out every filthy thought when he’s with you because your pussy clenches so tight at a simple word of praise, even tighter at an insult. He can see your hole flex now, and he wants to feel it. He wants to be inside you.

Off go the sweatpants and panties as well as his own clothes. Cock in hand, he strokes himself while looking at the swollen folds, wet like morning dew. When he slides up your slit, that wetness clings to him.

He glances at your face for the first time in minutes only to find you absolutely wrecked. There is not a dry space on your neck, chest, or chin. All of it glistens with multiple coats of spit. Several long strands tangle together as they drool out of your mouth.

“Who told you to make such a mess, slut?” Rindou snaps, slapping one of your tits hard enough to bounce.

You gape at the sudden change. Every time you fuck, you try to stay on top of his whims, to answer his every desire before he can think to articulate it, never understanding that it is a Sisyphean task. He would not be a good dom if he didn’t rip your attempts at power out of your hands, disrupt the scene, and leave you scrambling in that subspace that makes your eyes go foggy and mouth fuzzy.

Rindou shakes his head in faux disappointment even as he taps his cock against your puffy clit. “What should I tell the housekeeper tomorrow when she finds my sheets stained. Should I tell her a little drool slut decided to make a mess of herself and the bed? Should I tell her that some whores have so little dignity they drool all over their tits on command? Maybe I should take a video, so she can see just how much you wanted to be used like a tight little cocksleeve.”

The degradation makes you wild, and your hips start bucking like they answer to something separate from your brain, making your point as effectively as your babbling mouth. “Please, sir, yes, please use me however you want. I can make you feel so good. I wanna make you feel so good.”

“Then, show me.”

Rindou manhandles you roughly, yanking you down the mattress and then flipping your legs back. They fold almost to your ears. It brings your pussy close to your own mouth, and an idea hits him like a bullet at close quarters. He spreads your pussy lips wide with his fingers.

“Get that hole wet for me,” he orders.

You spit straight onto your cunt. Again and again until you get the aim right. Rindou joins you. Soon, you are flooding over with the combined juices of your body. Your hole sucks at air, so desperate to be filled, and some of it is slurped straight into your pussy.

It has been too long.

“It’s been a while since you had anything in this hole. It may hurt at first in this position,” Rindou warns, as if you have any say in positions outside using your safe words.

“Please give me your cock, sir,” you chant eagerly. “I can take it. I promise!”

His cock slides through your slippery folds so easily that he wonders if he’ll ever go back to normal, unlubed sex again. The ring of your pussy is tight when the head breaches it, but so wet too. So very wet. It’s immediate ecstasy.

There’s nothing like that first penetration. Snug, warm, your pussy molding to embrace his cock. Pure paradise lays between your thighs.

In a single thrust, he slides halfway in.

You hiss through gritted teeth. Another three centimeters disappear into your body, and you start to moan. He doesn’t force himself further at first, instead rocking back to start fucking you open all the way.

Squatting over you, his balance is precarious, so Rindou grips the fat of your thighs for support. The skin dimples where his fingers dig in. He can fuck you so good at this angle, can angle his hips to slam into your ass so it claps to temporarily drown out the squelch of your slick pussy.

It only takes a few heavy thrusts to break you open the rest of the way. Now, when he slides out, the ridged walls caressing every centimeter of him as he draws away, he can then thrust back to the hilt. Deep, hard, and slow, that’s how he fucks you. The furthest reaches of your pussy are at his mercy, and he taps your cervix every couple thrusts, enjoying the way his tip tingles and nerve endings alight. When he batters your cervix, you don’t cry out but embrace the pain and shudder into the pillows like an addict.

Just as hot for him is the way his balls slap into your ass when he bottoms out each time, sending little sparks of pleasure dancing through his brain. He doesn’t know how to think when he’s inside you. Every sense is focused on the need to fuck you to oblivion.

As he pounds into you, your calves dangle somewhere between his ears and yours. They start to shake as he punches the breath from your lungs over and over again. When he angles his hips so they smack hard against your clit on a downward thrust, they quake out of your control.

He watches your eyes to see the way they dart out of focus. Your face is so expressive, he can watch as you experience every thrust like a miniature earthquake to your senses. So pretty how they glaze over with lust.

The song changes on the record playing. Now, something fast and heavy blares out, sex on speed. He pumps his hips faster to time it to the music, lets it take over what little thought remains. And with it comes every dirty word he’s been holding back.

“If there’s one thing a greedy whore like you can do, it’s take a fucking dick. Just look at how you swallow me up. Filthy girl with her legs spread so she can get used and abused,” he huffs through short breaths.

Rindou yanks your hair hard, folding your body into an even smaller and tighter sleeve for him and positioning your face parallel with your cunt. You stare dumb and desperate at the space where his cock disappears inside you. Little mumbles of nonsense tumble out of your mouth.

“Aww, baby can’t think. That’s okay. All you need to do is keep that cunt tight and fucking. Take. This. Fat. Cock.”

The final words are punctuated by hard thrusts that batter your cervix cruelly. Your pussy clamps down in a frantic squeeze, and panic breaks through your fucked out haze.

Now, he can understand the words as you cry, “Wait, sir! Oh, no! Sir, can I cum! Oh no, oh no, oh no!”

There is going to be no stopping it, not when your cunt has been neglected for so long. Knowing how tightly you’re going to squeeze down, Rindou doesn’t want to deny either of you the feeling, not today.

“Go ahead. Squirt all over my cock, slut. Cum as much as you want.”

You do – or maybe you don’t squirt. It’s hard to say when your pussy is already a river. Regardless, you do seize up, calves spasming, cunt coiling, eyes crossing. It’s an absolute avalanche of sensation, and you don’t stop screaming your pleasure for a solid minute after the first warning quivers.

Rindou loses himself in the feel of you. Each pulse against his cock is a shot of pleasure and a new challenge. Instincts tell him to pound deeper into your defenseless body, make his home here in the heat of you. When he fucks to your cervix, he swears he won’t find the strength to pull out, but he does, if only to feel that bliss again when he shoves his cock inside you.

He starts to imagine just how wet you will be when he cums. If he thinks you’re wet now, imagine once he fills you up with four days’ worth of buildup, cum he’s saved just to paint you white once again. It’s where his cum belongs. In fact, he almost hates you for denying him your pussy for these last days, days where his cum died ignominiously on his stomach or shower floor when it should have been flooding your cervix.

His heart races, and then Rindou cums hard. Vision blacked out, brain empty, muscles dead. Hard.

For five seconds, he spasms and grunts as his cum shoots out of you. It’s so overpowering, he almost doesn’t notice that you start to shake around him once again, your pussy growing tighter and tighter and your little fists beating into the sheets as a second orgasm sucks all his cum deep into your belly.

The endorphins hit, and Rindou mellows like he’s just smoked a joint. Hazily, he realizes the way you twitch and cry beneath him. He pulls out and watches as streams of liquid slide right out of your hole and down your thighs.

Uncaring of the mess, Rindou collapses to his side and pulls you into the crook of his body. He’s not sure which one of you needs the aftercare after that. It was so intense that his brain still isn’t formulating thoughts. Your head nestles near his heart, breath darting across his navel, and he pets your hair in encouragement.

He feels like a fucking king.

Several minutes pass before you speak again.

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper, and when you say it, it sounds like a confession.

“I missed you, too.”

And when Rindou says it, it truly is.

A confession that is.

"After a long time of watching the glittering rooftops and the smoke and the red dragonflies and other things, we had felt something warm and close, and we both probably wanted, half-consciously, to preserve the mood in some form. It was that kind of kiss. But as with all kisses, it was not without a certain element of danger.'" - Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

#tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader smut #tokyo revengers x reader #rindou smut #rindou haitani #tokyorev smut

[twistmusings]

Hi! Can I request heartslabyul’s and leona’s “hard no’s”? Thank you! Have a good day :)

Heartslabyul + Leona's "Hard No's"

CW: Brief mentions of a lot of kinks, Degradation, RACK and intense kinks but otherwise not super graphic.

Riddle Rosehearts

More than anything else, Riddle really, really hates feeling like things are out of his own control. He would really struggle to give that control up entirely, which means that he's definitely iffy on things like being tied up and submission in general. Not that he will never do them, but he would have to be with a very, very long-term partner and there would have to be a long discussion about boundaries well in advance.

One of his hard nos is definitely corporal punishment used on him. He wouldn't mind if a partner want him to do something like use a crop/whip/flog/etc on them, having them use one on him would be an adrenaline rush in the bad way and might cause him to spiral into a panic. Or, worse, fight or flight mode.

He doesn't want to draw blood from either of them. It would make him feel terrible if he made someone he cares about bleed, and even worse if he seriously injured them.

Another person who needs to feel clean and dislikes being soiled, so most salirophilia kinks are off the table once again.

He just... really, really isn't into roleplay in the bedroom. He doesn't get the appeal of pretending to be someone else, especially if he's pretending to be someone who isn't or shouldn't be in love with his partner. It's not really a no, perse, because he would humor a partner and give it a shot if it was something they really liked, but he wouldn't be all too excited by it and he is most certainly not the best actor when his heart isn't in it.

Ace Trappola

Ace has SURPRINGLY few hard limits. Really the only ones that come to mind are that emetophilia and coprophilia are both hard nos because they squick him out. Now there are definitely a lot of things that don't really do anything for him, for sure, but aren't hard nos.

I would say the one other major thing is that he does find himself to be a bit more of a switch and verse, so he wouldn't want to feel trapped into one role or another. He doesn't really mind being submissive or dominant, and same for topping and bottoming, he just likes to switch it up so that it doesn't become routine.

Deuce Spade

Deuce would really, really dislike degradation aimed at him. Especially related to his intelligence. It frustrates him to be insulted regularly, and it actually hurts to hear it coming from someone who he cares about even if he knows it's not real. He doesn't mind giving it, however, if he knows that they are into it.

Not a hard no, exactly, but he doesn't like to be gagged. It feels too restrictive, and will usually only let them be on for a few minutes before asking for them to be removed.

Choking him is a hard no for him. He'd be hesitant to do it to a partner, but even then he'd consider it. If they want to choke him though? Absolutely not, entirely out of the question.

Public sex is a no. Not even because he wouldn't be interested, he just gets terrible nerves and wouldn't be able to get it up because of it.

Trey Clover

Trey has quite a few things that are on his 'no' list.

Unsanitary kinks are absolutely out of the question, and they all squick him. He doesn't like the thought of being covered in someone else's bodily fluid even if that fluid is cum or sweat, so a lot of things straying in that direction are going to be tentative at best.

He is really, really, truly not a fan of food in the bedroom. Food is a kind of platonic love language for him, and the idea of including it in sex just makes him feel kind of gross about it.

He's not into more extreme kinks: anything involving hitting or choking or violence in general is a pretty big nope for him. He is a very, very big softy and wouldn't be capable of doing something to hurt his partner even for the sake of turning them on. He doesn't want any of it done to himself either.

Not a no: more of an addendum to the last one, he doesn't mind being domineering or mean if they want him to be, he just won't physically do anything that would cause pain or injury.

Cater Diamond

Cater really doesn't have a whole lot that he would say no to outright, even pretty fringe kinks. After all, they can't help what they're into, right? He doesn't mind humoring some weird kinks so long as a) they're not hurting anyone and b) there's an understanding that some bizarre kinks remain fantasy and not reality.

He would struggle a little bit with himself being called names: it can get to be too much for him very quickly. It's not an outright no, but go gentle on him.

He definitely has some strange kinks of his own. He's the sort of dude who is willing to try just about anything once, and is probably the most open-minded on this list.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona hates being compared to other people in the bedroom. He isn't so pressed if his partner wants to be non-monogamous or anything, but if they compare him to someone else (physically, mentally, sexually, however) he will get pissed off and drop whatever they were doing prior.

He's not really into things with his feet. Truthfully, it feels gross for them to even get wet in the shower, though, so it's probably an instinct of some kind to not want his feet touched.

If you bring up Malleus, he will walk out. The only exception to this would be if he is in a poly relationship involving Malleus, too, to be quite honest.

He's surprisingly openminded. Even some more intense kinks and RACK don't really bother him so long as they are okayed with him beforehand.

#answered;; #twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts #ace trappola #deuce spade #trey clover #cater diamond #twst #leona kingscholar #nsfw;; #dom/sub

[theweepingmortician]

through the grapevine

pairing(s): implied sun wukong | monkey king/ liu er mihou | six-eared macaque & demon bull king/tieshan gongzhu | princess iron fan. 

words: 339

rating: mature (?)

a/n: cw for alcohol & torture mention (in jest). i wrote this between two other fics i’m working on. i like the idea of macaque and iron fan being friends. this is set pre-jttw. you can find me on ao3. enjoy.

He eyes Wukong from his place at Iron Fan’s side. The wine in his glass whirlpools as he turns it between his thumb and forefinger idly. It was rich, and he could already feel the heaviness of it weighing his limbs even after a few meager sips. He doubts Wukong will have the restraint to control himself, not with its sweet, fruity flavor. Lightweight, he thinks affectionately, even as he frowns into his glass.

Predictable, as always, a crash sounds from the far end of the room. Wukong stumbles this way and that over a shattered vase, seems just about ready to tip over before Bull King steadies him with a hand to his back. He does not appear to be faring well either, should his rheumy eyes and the slight sway of his body be anything to go by. A look passes between both of their flush faces, something like confusion.

Then they laugh, as if one of them had told a fine joke, full-bellied and boisterous. Macaque winces at the sound.

“You’ve coupled with a fool,” Iron Fan comments, her tone light yet testy. She takes a pointedly demure sip from her glass.

The effect it may have had is muddied by the wine. Macaque brings his own to his lips. “And you a bull, are we so different?”

“My husband does not make an ass of himself during what is meant to be a political rendezvous.”

“No, he makes a bull. A rather large one, might I add.”

“…It is best you were made a warrior and not a jester,” she says dryly. “Your jokes are terrible. Had you been ours, I’d have you flogged.”

“And lose the political leverage and blackmail that comes with? Please, you adore me.”

She sniffs, but he hears the smile she attempts to hide behind the rim of her glass. “I contest that.”

They jerk at the sound of another crash. Macaque sees the muscles of her eye twitch.

“Kings,” they sigh, full of exasperation and warmth all at once.

#lego monkie kid #shadowpeach #shadowpeach fic #monkie kid fic #sun wukong #liu er mihou #lmk monkey king #lmk macaque #princess iron fan #demon bull king #princess iron fan x demon bull king #drabble #i have mixed feelings about this but i wanted to post again #the only thing i’m going to say about these two fics i’m working on is that writing pre angst shadowpeach is hard #also i’m glad people seemed to like my last drabble #fun fact i begged my friend to title this because i was at a loss #my writing

[wardenswateringhole]

A Butler's Vow

Butler Gateau x Regency Ingo

CW:

Talk of corporal punishment

Sickness mention (nothing specific)

Brief moment of alcohol mention

Gateau belongs to @cupcakestreets. Go check them out if you wish to know more about the character.

18+ Below the cut. Enjoy.

The estate ran like a well oiled machine. Everything was in it's place. Every surface was spotless and tidy. Matters of importance were dealt with swiftly. No other manor boasted the efficiency this one did.

There was no secret to it's success. It was all thanks to the hard work and ingenuity of the butler, Gateau. He was intelligent, diligent, and made for an imposing figure. Many a rude guest was quieted by his tall and muscular silhouette darkening a doorway.

Despite his appearance, he was polite and courteous. A picture of civility. He moved about the manor, attending to his duties in long purposeful strides. Chores were attended to as he spoke and directed the other staff. It was not an odd sight for him to be seen carrying a basket of laundry while giving detailed instructions to another staff member on how another task should be carried out.

He expected the same from the staff under him that he expected from himself. He never drove anyone beyond their limits. Despite his quiet stoic nature, the staff managed to sense his kind undertones. They followed him without question for the kindness that only they knew.

The masters deserved a well running estate in Gateau's opinion. Twin masters, Ingo and Emmet. Brothers known for their eccentricities but also being the owners of the most powerful train-lines in Unova. They were well respected and deeply sought after. Their suitors were numerous. Introduction visits were held often. Gateau would be there to make sure the visit went smoothly.

Frivolous conversation over tea and cakes, prepared by Gateau himself. Emmet's visits were less stressful. He was blunt in his responses. His lack of interest in the suitor that came calling was declared quickly after an hour socializing. It never seemed to take more time than that. Once Emmet declared his decision, the visitor was escorted out. Only a couple of occasions saw Gateau carrying a kicking and screaming guest out of the parlor.

Ingo, however, did not carry the stalwart certainty in his actions that his brother did. He conversed politely. Did his best to smile. The corners of his mouth curled up while the rest of his mouth remain bowed in a frown. The visits would last far longer and end with Ingo not giving a decision either way. The result was often left in the air, encouraging the more determined suitors to return for a second try.

Gateau secretly hated it. He hated watching his master sit through these boring visits and shift uncomfortably in his seat when personal subjects were brought up. He had attempted to give Ingo a way to cut the visits short with a secret signal or making up an emergency, but Ingo refused the efforts. “It would be rude.” Ingo would tell him. “I should at least hear them out fully...”

Most of all... Gateau hated that could not play suitor himself.

He couldn't help but admire Ingo. The master was soft-hearted and compassionate. Those who paid attention could see through his stone expression and pick up the subtle tells as to what he was truly thinking. Gateau knew all of these tells. Not because it was his job to know them, but because he loved them. The sparkle of happiness on a good day. The slightly extra bowed frown on a bad day. The rhythmic tapping of fingers when he was anxious and the tantric tapping of feet when he was excited. Gateau knew them all by heart.

But his heart could not have what it wanted.

It was a dire taboo for a master of the house to be caught having relations with the staff. The staff would usually be fired and flogged for their transgression. The master was stripped of their wealth and title and turned to the streets to live like a dog. Both parties would carry the shame for the rest of their lives, never recovering their previously held reputation or good graces.

No matter how much Gateau's heart ached for Ingo, he could never live with himself if Ingo lost everything because of him. So the fire he felt was doused and he performed his duty to the best of his ability.

These abilities were put to the test as Ingo suddenly fell ill. Gateau was the only one allowed to tend to him to limit the spread of the contagion. He watched, dripping with worry, as Ingo thrashed and panted in his sleep. The fever conjured images that were not of this world in the mind and eyes of the ailing man. He frequently called to Gateau's presence and gripped onto the butler's hand with a white knuckle grip. Descriptions of terrors that Ingo had seen fell from his lips and Gateau could only listen and try to soothe his worries.

One night, Gateau found himself clung to desperately. Ingo's arms wrapped around Gateau's chest and pulled him close in a tight embrace. Sweat and the heat of fever soaked through Gateau's shirt. Dazed silver eyes stared up at him. Gateau couldn't be sure if they were looking at him or looking into another reality all together. Ingo's voice trembled forth.

“I'm going to die... Aren't I?”

Gateau shook his head and attempted to pull Ingo off of him gently. “No, sir. You will be just fine...”

“Do not... lie to me...”

Ingo tried to cling tighter to Gateau but weakness overcame him. His hands were peeled away effortlessly and he was laid back into his bed. Gateau patted the back of his hand.

“Please rest, Sir. You will recover much faster if you do.”

Ingo's hand coiled around Gateau's slowly. Words that Gateau never thought he would hear uttered echoed in his ears.

“Gateau... I love you...”

With that, Ingo's eyes drifted closed and he succumbed to his body's desire for sleep. Gateau watched him with stunned silence. He wasn't sure how to react. He had wanted to hear those words... but not like this.

Gateau did his best to disregard the statement. Unfortunately it happened again... and again... Between ravings of terror and confusion, Ingo would cling to Gateau and declare his affections for his butler. Feelings that a lord should never feel for his staff. Gateau would gently assuage his master and tuck him back into bed but it tugged harder and harder at his heart each time the words were uttered.

“I love you, Gateau... I love you...”

It only took a couple days more for the fever to break and Ingo to recover. His body still carried weakness so his day to day activities were limited. Gateau helped his master bathe and dress. It was difficult. Gateau prayed Ingo could not see his face flush red at the sight of his master's naked body. So lithe and soft. Gentle ripples of lean muscle laid just beneath the surface of his skin.

Gateau continued to do his duty. He found himself becoming much more restrained around the twins. Conversation that was usually somewhat engaging was kept short and polite between the lords and the butler. Ingo was much more soft spoken, understandably so after his illness, but Emmet's curious eyes would follow Gateau around the room. Gateau could feel his lord's gaze and the beating of his heart in his own ears.

It couldn't be helped. Through a heavy heart, Gateau stood before Ingo's desk and handed him a handwritten letter of resignation. Ingo looked upon him with wide eyes.

“Gateau... Are you sure?”

“Indubitably...” Gateau responded. His posture was stiff with his hands held to his side, much like a soldier preparing for a dressing down.

“As I have stated in my letter, I feel that my time here has come to a close. The estate runs well with little to no direction from myself. I feel that I may be better suited in a household that requires my help more.”

“It is because of you that it runs as well as it does!” Ingo exclaimed, standing suddenly. “I do hope you will reconsider! We can increase your pay! Do you wish for better accommodations!? We can provide--”

“No.” Gateau responded curtly. His violet stare pierced into Ingo's silver gaze. Ingo knew instantly there was nothing to discuss further. He averted his eyes to the window, focusing on nothing in particular. The pleasant sunny scene outside held nothing for him at the moment.

“Very well...” He sat slowly. His posture relaxed and slipped lower in his chair. This was not a normal look for him. “When do you plan to leave?”

“In three days time. It was unfortunately the latest I could reasonably acquire. The coaches do not seem to be running as conveniently as they once did.” Gateau kept his eyes trained on his employer. He wanted to look away but some part of him wanted to burn one last image into his mind while he still could.

Ingo nodded and rubbed his fingers over his chin. “Very well. We have enjoyed your presence here at the estate greatly. I will inform my brother of this change...”

One last heavy sigh left him. Silver eyes flitted up to steal a glance before looking back down. “You are dismissed...”

Gateau bowed and turned on his heel to leave. The clicking of his heels on the tile floor and the loud clack of the door latch were the last sounds to be heard in that office for some time.

The days before the coach arrived to take the beloved butler away were sullen ones. Ingo remained quieter than usual. He turned away all suitor visits. He spent the majority of his time pouring over the paperwork that came with running the rail line that supported him and his brother.

Emmet had taken notice. Gone were his own playful antics and colorful comments. He too had asked Gateau to reconsider but backed down much easier than Ingo had done. Emmet was very sure to express his gratitude to Gateau profusely for his service. Promises of good words and recommendations were given. Gateau accepted politely. It pained Gateau that he had to end such a good working relationship because his own heart could not behave.

Gateau made the necessary arrangements so that the estate would continue to run until a new butler was found. His staff were equally upset, expressing that they would not wish for another manager other than him. They showered him with praise and well wishes. Some of the older maids that had been with him since before he had reached his position hugged him with teary eyes and utterances of how proud they were. Stories of his days as a young pup of a footman were recalled and told to the younger staff members, much to Gateau's chagrin.

By the night before his departure, everything was set. He packed his things slowly and methodically. A couple of suitcases held almost all of it. A few spare items were placed in a shoulder satchel to be carried with him.

He observed the same nightly routine he had done for many a year just with minor changes. Instead of his uniform being tended and hung up for the next day's activities, it sat packed with his other clothing. A set of civilian attire hung in it's place.

Gateau sat before the dressing table he had used for so long clad only in his sleeping gown. His hands gave the wood a sentimental touch before he set to work on brushing his hair and administering creams and gels to his hands and face. Just as the manor and lords must look presentable, so must it's staff. It would not do for Gateau to be seen with poor skin. It would not do for his new employers as well, whoever they may be. A boarding house was to be his lodgings until work could be found. It was uncertain if he would end up in another household as their butler but he was hopeful.

Would they be as kind as the twins? Would they appreciate his contributions as much as the twins? Would he be happy there? Would the staff be as wonderful as the staff he grew up with?

It would only be a few short hours before he would be leaving. He wrung his hands in thought of all the years of hard work it took to get where he was now. How absolutely fortunate that he had ended up in this estate. How much his colleagues loved him. How much pride he had in his work. Only to have it all dashed because of the temptation of forbidden fruit.

He moved to his bed and pulled the covers back. Tomorrow it would all just be a bit of quiet history. He would not be tempted or even have to think of these thoughts ever again. It was the best thing for everyone involved.

A soft rap at the door was heard as Gateau smoothed the fabric on his mattress. A pitiful voice could be heard, wet and gravelly.

“Gateau... please... Let me in...”

The voice rang familiar. Gateau moved quickly to open his door. There stood Ingo. He was still clad in his day attire. His cheeks and eyes were red and wet. The faint smell of alcohol wafted from him.

He opened his mouth to speak but Gateau's hand had grabbed his upper arm and yanked him into the room. Gateau looked around to see if there were witnesses before shutting the door and locking it tight. Ingo stood behind him, stunned by the sudden action. Gateau turned to him.

“My apologies. What do you think you are doing!? What if the other staff saw you like that!?”

Gateau moved forward and looked Ingo over. His hands held Ingo's face still. Ingo's hand settled over Gateau's.

“Gateau... I...”

“You are drunk...” Gateau muttered solemnly. He led Ingo to his bed and bade him to sit. Ingo shook his head as Gateau set to work fetching a cloth and a bowl of water.

“It was just one drink...”

“It was not wine.” Gateau replied, dipping the cloth into the cool water and wringing it out. “You imbibed Emmet's collection. I know he has more tolerance than you...”

Gateau pulled the small stool from his dressing table and sat before Ingo. One hand held Ingo's chin while the other soothed the red skin of Ingo's face. Sad eyes settled on Gateau's lap. “I'm a failure...”

Gateau's hand faltered a moment before returning to it's work. “You are not a failure...”

“I am.” Ingo took gateau's hand gently and pulled it away. His eyes, shimmering in emotion, latched to Gateau's gaze. “Please... listen.”

Gateau watched as Ingo took a deep breath. His words were slow. “I feel that I must apologize to you...”

Gateau's mouth opened to speak but Ingo's hand shot up. “No. Listen to everything please.”

The hand fell slowly. “I... As lord of this estate... I have certain... obligations. Expectations of myself that are held by our... Emmet and I... Social peers...”

Ingo's gaze fell to the floor once more. Hands sat on his thighs, gathering handfuls of his pant legs.

“Emmet... has declared that he rejects these expectations. His rejection of all his suitors is not a matter of him not being interested in them. He was never interested in what pursuing them would mean...”

It all suddenly clicked for Gateau. The meetings Emmet would almost systematically end after merely an hour was just to keep up appearances. They were never meant to evolve into anything more. A small feeling of amusement made itself known as Gateau thought back to the more confident guests. The ones he would then have to pull from the room as they shrieked obscenities at Emmet who sat calmly enjoying the remains of the refreshments. If they only knew how much of a losing battle it always had been.

Ingo's voice pulled Gateau from his thoughts. A crack could be heard forming in Ingo's facade of tenuous control.

“It all falls to me... I am expected to take a spouse... Produce a suitable heir for the estate... Continue the legacy...”

Ingo's shoulders lifted and fell as his breath became more labored. “But... I can't... I just can't...”

He sniffed. Gateau lifted a hand to touch Ingo but he retreated from the gesture. Head down and eyes squeezed shut. “No... Let me... finish...”

Another long and deep inhale. This one was more intense than the last few. “All of them. Society would say they were perfect. Perfect for a union into our estate and affairs... But not for me.”

He looked down at his ornate clothing. A hand pulled at it as he scoffed. 

“I'm nothing more than a bargaining chip... Something to bolster the reputation of another individual... I'm money and prestige. I'm Lord Ingo, co-proprietor of Unovan Railways. I'm the most sought after bachelor beside my brother in Unova.”

Ingo's form seemed to shrink as the previous breath left him. A small and saddened man sat before Gateau then. “But... I'm never... Just Ingo.”

Ingo looked up at Gateau. His face was tired. Bags hung under his eyes where the tears had once made them swollen. 

“I didn't know that I even wanted to be treated as just Ingo until you... I was never your employer. I was never just the source of your pay. You always treated me as just me. You took care of my brother and I as if we were your family...”

Shaky hands took Gateau's gently. Thumbs rubbed over his knuckles almost in worship. “I don't want a union of politics and money... If I must pledge myself and my body to another person... I want love. You taught me that.”

Ingo continued to rub and explore the back of Gateau's hand. Every bone and dip was traced with silent contemplation.

“But I made a grave mistake... I remember what I had said to you during my sickness... Every word... It was all the truth… I do love you. I find myself feeling for you what I feel I should be feeling toward my future spouse.”

Gateau suddenly found himself trying to quell his heart thundering in his ears. His other hand clutched the cloth tightly, trying to find any grounding in the storm as Ingo continued to speak.

“Despite that... I should not have said any of it. I put you in a difficult position with my words. For that I apologize deeply.”

His hands tightened around Gateau's. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable... I did not mean to run you off. I will gladly put all these feelings to rest and never speak more of it again... if you will just stay... I cannot stand the thought of never seeing you again...”

Ingo bowed his head. A tear fell onto the back of Gateau's hand. “Please... forgive me... I will do anything... Just stay.”

Gateau regarded Ingo's shuddering sobbing form. It could all go back to the way it was before. Ingo would hold true to his word. The feelings stirring in Gateau's heart would fade without the question of Ingo's feelings, surely. Life would go on uninterrupted once more.

Or would it?

Gateau's hands gathered Ingo's and held them warmly. “That is not why I am leaving... I am leaving because I feel the same way...”

Ingo's face rose slowly to meet Gateau's. Gateau felt himself unable to face the glittering tearful eyes of his lord. His gaze dropped quickly, focusing on the hands held between them.

“I should apologize as well... I have always felt this way...”

“Gateau?”

“No. Please.” Gateau gave Ingo's hand a squeeze. “You asked me to listen to everything. Now I must ask the same of you...”

Ingo nodded wordlessly. Gateau steadied himself as best as he could. There was no turning back now.

“I have felt an attraction to you for some time now... I did not know what to do. I did not want to cause you trouble. I am very aware of what would happen should we enter a relationship and it became public knowledge...”

Gateau looked to Ingo to find a look of fear dawning on Ingo's face. It was obvious that it never occurred to Ingo to think that far ahead.

“I could never live with myself if I was the reason you lost everything. Turned away from the life you know now and to never see your brother again... We could never recover from such a thing...”

“And I could never live with myself if they hurt you because of me...” Ingo's brows furrowed. “Gods above... I did not think--”

“I understand...” Gateau responded. “It's hard to think of things ever getting that far when you are convinced it shall never happen...”

The two sat in silence for a few moments. Ingo spoke first. “I... I still want you to stay...”

Gateau shook his head. “With what has been said... I do not think that would be wise.”

Ingo swallowed as tears began to rise once more. “I won't let them touch you...”

“Ingo--”

“No!” Ingo eyes burned into Gateau's. “I don't care about my wealth! This estate can burn for all I care!”

He paused. “Emmet... can survive just fine without me... He's always been the stronger one between us.”

Ingo brought Gateau's hands to his chest. “I will not let anything happen to you. You will not face the punishment. I'll take it instead if necessary!”

“Ingo! No! I can't let you--”

“I would rather them beat me to death than go back to that loveless existence I lived before you!”

It was Gateau’s turn to stare wide-eyed and tears teasing at the bottom of his eyelids. Ingo leaned forward and pressed his lips to Gateau’s before anything more could be said. The kiss was held for what felt like suspended time. Gateau could feel his entire being sing at the sensation. Ingo felt so much warmer and tasted so much sweeter than he could have imagined.

Gateau’s head spun as the kiss broke. Ingo pressed his forehead to Gateau’s. “You have taken care of me for years now… Let me return the favor.”

Gateau's heart threatened to burst from his chest. He wanted to shout from the top of his lungs a resounding affirmation to his acceptance of Ingo's affections. Something he thought truly impossible had come to pass and all he could do was stare into Ingo's eyes with a dumb struck expression. A sad smile spread over Gateau's features as he breathed deep, the scent of whiskey teasing his nose.

“You are either very daft or very drunk...”

“Neither... I'm in love.”

Their lips met once more, this time relishing in one another's taste and texture. Tongues soon joined in, writhing against one another with a fervor like no other. Gateau pulls his hands from Ingo's grasp and wrapped his arms around the noble's waist. Ingo was pulled flush to the butler's chest. Gateau could feel Ingo's arms wrap around his neck and settle on his shoulders. Ingo's fingers brushed through Gateau's hair as they cupped his head gently.

Ingo pulled at Gateau, beckoning forward. Soon Ingo was laid back onto the bed with Gateau on top of him. Hands pulled at Ingo's clothing, peeling away the fine trappings of his title. A warm palm ran over Ingo's bare chest, causing a groan to leave him. The hand continued to explore. It slipped within the waistband of Ingo's pants to grasp at Ingo's backside before the iron frame of the bed creaking interrupted the pair.

Gateau froze at the sound. Ingo's eyes suddenly went wide as he looked down at Gateau's lower half. “Gateau...?”

Gateau's gown was pulled taught and pressed hard against Ingo's leg. Gateau's cheeks burned crimson. “Ah... M-my apologies...”

“Gateau... Remove your gown and lie back.”

Gateau gulped before doing as he was told. Ingo moved to sit beside the now nude man that lay in the bed. Gateau's length stood tall.

“May I touch it?” Ingo asked quietly. Gateau looked away bashfully. “You do not have to...”

“I want to.” Ingo replied. His hand wrapped around the shaft gently. “Is this fine?

Gateau nodded silently. Ingo pumped at the length a few times. Gateau tensed his jaw. A muffled moan crawled out against his best efforts. Ingo stopped.

“Am I hurting you?”

Gateau shook his head. A ragged breath fell out of him as he relaxed. “Quite the opposite... It's just...”

Ingo followed Gateau's gaze to the wall behind the bed frame. It took him a few moments to understand what he was trying to say.

“Ah. You have neighbors...”

Gateau nodded, frowning. “I'm sorry... My bed is not very appropriate for such a-- ACK!”

Gateau's hand clasped tightly over his mouth. Ingo's mouth was wrapped around the tip of his member. Ingo's tongue explored clumsily, running along the edge of the head and down the slit. A bit of precum had Ingo pulling back in surprise. He moved his mouth as if contemplating the flavor. Shy eyes looked up at Gateau.

“Emmet told me that pleasuring his partners with his mouth was amusing. I wanted to try it...”

Gateau relaxed. A soft smile pulled at his features. “Perhaps you should do it a little more? I very much enjoyed it...”

Ingo nodded happily before taking Gateau back into his mouth. Gateau placed a gentle hand on Ingo's head to guide him down. “That's good. Just like that.”

Ingo's eyes seemed to lose focus as he continued to suck on Gateau's cock. Cheeks were reddened and a tell tale bulge was swiftly forming in his trousers. Gateau brushed the hair away from Ingo's face.

“You are so beautiful like that...” Gateau murmured. He gave Ingo a tap to tell him to stop. Ingo sat up, drool pouring from his mouth and strands still clinging to Gateau.

“I think that's good. Remove your trousers and get on top of me.”

Ingo did as he was told. Firm hands held his hips as Gateau guided himself to his entrance. A gasp and groans came from Ingo as he was gently lowered onto Gateau's length.

“G-Gateau...”

“Shh. You're doing great. I've got you.”

Soon Ingo was filled completely with his faithful butler. He trembled at the sensation. His body already threatened to erupt at the feeling. Gateau ran his thumbs over Ingo's thighs patiently.

When it seemed Ingo had calmed, Gateau lifted him slowly and brought him back down. Ingo whimpered as the thrusting continued slowly. The bed frame creaked slightly, keeping Gateau in check. Ingo's body clenching on him did the opposite. Gateau pulled him close. His warm body felt so good pressed to his chest. Gateau tried to drown out the ever increasing crescendo of Ingo's moaning with a deep kiss. Mouths enveloping one another and tongues tangling muffled the sounds of ecstasy but did little to stifle the bed's creaking.

It was a losing battle. Gateau couldn't hold himself back any longer. Ingo was bounced on his cock faster and faster. The thoughts of keeping quiet dying with the thick fog of passion rolling in. The kiss was broken and Ingo's face buried itself into the crook of Gateau's neck. His arms clung desperately at his lover.

“G-Gateau! I- I- Think I'm about to- AAUGH!”

Almost perfectly in tandem, Gateau filled his lord with hot spend as Ingo spread his over his stomach. Gateau's hands kept Ingo pulled down on his cock, wanting to spill every possible drop inside. The sticky mess was spread between them as Ingo fell limp onto Gateau, panting and whimpering. A firm hand stroked at the back of Ingo's head.

“You did so well...” Gateau panted. Soft kisses were placed over Ingo's sweaty temple. “Let me help you clean up...”

A cool cloth made quick work of the mess and soothed tired bodies. A warm bed was made even warmer by the lovers pressed together under the sheets. Ingo breathed quietly against Gateau's chest. The sight made Gateau's eyelids begin to feel heavy. The two soon succumbed to the call for slumber, safe and loved in one another's company.

–

Gateau stood outside in full uniform, apologizing profusely to the coach driver that had come to pick him up. Plans had changed. Gateau had decided to stay.

Much celebration was had at the news. The staff cheered as Gateau walked back inside. No one seemed to care why Gateau had changed his mind, just that he did and he was there to stay.

The day carried on as normal. Chores were done, estate matters were addressed, and guests were entertained. Gateau stood at attention as Ingo sat listening to the prattling of his latest suitor. They seemed surprised when Ingo spoke up suddenly.

“My apologies... I do not feel this would be a good match. I thank you for your interest but I must ask you to leave.”

Gateau stared at Ingo in surprise. He pulled his pocket watch from his coat pocket. One hour. It had only been one hour.

The suitor was not keen on hiding their disapproval. They stood and turned in a huff, not even bidding a good-bye or a thanks for the refreshments. As soon as the doors shut, Ingo stood and approached Gateau. His arms snaked around the butler and a bright curled smile shined up at him.

“I think Emmet had the right idea with this system. This is much easier.”

The two laughed before sharing a kiss and standing in the parlor, basking in their shared love. In his heart, Gateau vowed that he would forever love this man he called his lord and he knew a butler's vow could never be broken.

#Wardenwrite #Wardenspicy #Oc Gateau #Ingo #Regency Ingo #Emmet #Regency Emmet #Oc Butler Gateau #Cupcakestreets

[whump-in-the-closet]

Give us the silly!! (Finn whump) :D

Take your time ofc

you wish is my command >:)

(this happens some time before the current plotline, maybe three years or so)

cw: flogging, partial nudity (non sexual), elf whumpee, mentioned arson

Finn sees the wooden post and panic sets in. He’s dragged, cursing and yanking at his chains, to the centre of the excited crowd.

The chains don’t break. Metal cuts into his wrists as they’re fastened above his head to the wood.

The sheer mass of people makes his head spin. He’s vaguely aware of the fact they’re angry.

They’re furious.

He didn’t think the governor’s house was that important to the villagers. How was he supposed to know? It had made a gorgeous fire.

All rose flames and sparking explosions, blooming into a garden of red and blue. He regrets nothing.

Sunlight catches on the dirt, turning it to the colour of gold.

Finn licks cracked lips, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of flicked leather and shimmering heat.

Faces blur together, but he’s pretty sure the soot-streaked human is the governor. He does his best to smile. “I think I did your village a service and I should be paid for my efforts.”

The soot-streaked face contorts. “You’ll be paid alright.” A hand connects with Finn’s face, and he’s caught between splintered wood and the human’s open palm.

Ears ringing, he presses his forehead into the post and finds it brings more despair than it does comfort.

Everything seems to bleed away except the sweat-stained post.

Reality becomes nothing more than the chains holding him up and the twisting weight on his shoulders and the stinging in his eyes.

More real than all of this and far worse is the snapping of a whip. It cracks behind him, ripping the air apart.

As there’s not much left of his shirt–it's tattered and ashen– they don’t bother to rip it away. And they’ve already taken his jacket– they better give it back when this is over—

The first blow takes his breath away. An armoured punch wouldn’t have stolen it better. His forehead slams into the wood–

–the second blow cuts him across his shoulder– he sees red. Flames spiralling, burning into dark-sea ash–

He bites back a scream.

The third one crosses over the second and the scream surfaces. Blood trickles down his arms, but it's not from the whips, it's from the chains he’s twisting against.

He’s still standing and he’s not entirely sure how. His knees are water. Somehow, he manages to draw in a bruised breath that leaves his head pounding. “Is this the best you can do?”

Leather-pain curls around his ankle and he’s yanked to the bloodied dust. But the chains don’t relent. Something snaps in one shoulder and his arm goes limp.

“Not by a long shot.” The whip is handed to another guard. “My arm is tired. Have a go.”

Finn is screaming again.

Is it the fifth blow? The tenth? He’s lost count.

The black dots in his vision are throbbing. Pulsing to a heartbeat that’s not his own. Or it could be– he’s not entirely sure his heart can beat that fast.

His screaming fades to hoarse whimpers, buried in the wooden post and tasting of iron. The black dots morph into spores, spiking behind his eyes. And when a blow slashes down on his dislocated shoulder, his eyes roll back until the whites show completely.

Limp against the post, unconsciousness is a mercy.

But the beating continues.

When they’re through and the crowd leaves, no one bothers to take the elf down and what remains is left hanging. The ground is stained crimson and no amount of scrubbing will wash it out of the dust.

#whump #whump writing #elf whumpee #cw whipping #finn the arsonist #it’s entirely plausible he’s been caught before #what’s not so plausible is my use of ‘governor’ in a vaguely midevial time period #but yk what #this is fantasy #i write what i want with as little research as possible #anyway enjoy

[cybersvoid]

❥ Cursed

──⇌••⇋──

♡ Pairings: Shigaraki x Reader

Summary: You've always thought you had a curse that has followed you since your mother's death, never able to make friends your own age due to the tight hold your father has on you until you meet a prince who is also cursed, but with a more literal one than your own. Everything he touches turns to dust, except for you. The little girl who shares a similar pain in her heart to his own. He quickly develops an attachment to you. An almost unhealthy obsession with the one thing in this world he can hold with his own two hands.

CW: Royal AU, Prince Shigaraki, Abuse, Mentions of Death, Flogging (your dads a dick), Neglect, etc.

──⇌••⇋──

“Y/N, straighten your posture.”

“Yes, father. I’m sorry.” You directed your attention away from the window and sat up a bit straighter. You just couldn’t help yourself. You have never seen a building so big before in your entire life. Captivated by its many windows and beauty, but still, not wanting to upset your father, you tore your eyes away and settled them on the carriage floor. You could feel your nannies look of pity, but more prominent than that was your father’s glare piercing through your soul.

“Do I need to remind you of the rules while we’re here?” His voice was stern, it always was. Ever since you were young he’s always been hard on you. You had figured it was due to your mother’s passing. You never met her before, only seeing a photograph of her once when you were playing in the basement. You had never seen your father smile before, but in that picture, he had a grin from ear to ear, with eyes so bright and full of… happiness. You wanted so desperately to see that smile for yourself, so with your child naivety getting the better of you, you brought the picture to him asking about your mother, hoping he would offer any sort of praise. Hoping that he would smile. But he didn’t. You were severely scolded for snooping and had ended up bedridden until your injuries had fully healed. You never asked about your mother or went into that basement again.

“No father, I know the rules. I’ll behave. I promise.”

“Words mean nothing if they are not followed by actions. The king is a very important man. Do not disappoint me.”

“... Yes, father.”

The rest of the carriage ride passed in an uncomfortable silence between the two of you. Neither of you said a word as you arrived at your destination. Your father being the first one out, he didn’t even bother to lend you a hand as you stepped out onto the steps, instead, the driver took his place, but this was something you were used to by now.

“My lady.” He bowed, helping you onto the pavement in front of the grandiose building that was somehow even more magical from up close. You bowed at the kind man helping you, too afraid to speak up for fear of saying something out of place, trailing behind your father as your nanny, Emi, followed close by.

Her presence made you feel at ease. It always had ever since you first met her around the age of five. She was like the mother you never had growing up and was as close as you could get to the motherly love that all the other kids had. You were a bit of a sickly child, always swaying in and out of health, but luckily Emi was always there to make you a little less miserable. Or as much as the duke would allow her to without it being labeled as spoiling you. She was in charge of your homeschooling, as well as extracurricular activities within the mansion, and had been a beacon of light in your dreary life. Since most of your time is spent indoors, she’s also the closest you could get to having an actual friend, despite the age difference. Even though she’s only been in your life for a couple of years now, she was a well-needed addition.

Emi remained outside as you entered a room with your father where the king was awaiting your arrival, standing tall with an intimidating aura that nearly had you shaking where you stood. But regardless of your personal feelings, you had no choice other than to keep your composure, grabbing the ends of your dress and offering a quick curtsey as you and your father spoke your greetings at the same time.

“Greetings to our sun, his majesty”

“My dear duke, why she is a beauty just like her mother. What a spitting image,” the king spoke, with a voice that left chills down your back. He gracefully made his way over, grabbing your cheeks and tilting your head from side to side as if inspecting a piece of jewelry he just bought.

The mention of your late mother left a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach, scared by how your father might react to his words. Knowing that she’s a sensitive topic for him. But to your surprise, he didn’t even flinch, simply agreeing as the king continued. “Is she of marrying age yet?” He continued to talk as if you didn’t have a voice of your own. Directing every question to your father rather than to you.

“No, she’s only seven.”

“Ahh, I see. That is very interesting,” he smirked. Dropping his grip on your face and turning his attention fully onto your father. “Shall we get down to business, old friend? You can send the child out. My curiosity has been quenched for the time being.” Your father nodded, not saying a word to you, simply giving you a look that told you to leave.

“Then, please excuse me, your majesty,” you bowed. Already placing your hand on the doorknob before he decided to speak up again. Finally communicating with you directly for the first time today instead of through your father.

“Feel free to explore the garden. I have some little ones myself and they tend to favor it in comparison to the rest of the castle. Lots of room to play.”

“Thank you, your majesty. I think I’ll do just that.” You grinned, trying to compose your excitement. You didn’t get a good view from inside the carriage so you were thrilled you were going to get to experience the blossoming flowers first hand.

“It’s so beautiful!” You grinned, as Emi chuckled behind you, “I wish I could explore all of it.”

“Hmm, well my lady, if you wish to explore the entire garden. What about a game of hide and seek?”

On paper that sounded delightful, but you weren’t sure it was the best idea considering you had no clue of when your father’s meeting would be over. You really didn’t want to upset him. Possibly sensing your hesitation, Emi did her best to ease your nerves. “It’ll just be a quick game. I’ll count to sixty, and then I’ll go find you. We’ll come up with a word, that way if your father comes looking for you, I’ll call it, and you’ll know to come out. Does that sound fair?”

You frantically nodded your head, “Okay, what’s our word?”

“Well, how about daisy?”

“Okay, daisy it is!”

Right as she turned her back and started counting, you immediately ran off as fast you could. Your small legs carried you around corners as you frantically looked for somewhere to hide. In your haste, you ended up in a deeper area of the garden than you meant to go. Having found yourself surrounded by various unidentifiable trees and plants. You were sure that even if Emi did shout, you probably wouldn't be able to hear her from where you were. It just seemed like no matter which way you turned, you just ended up more lost until you finally saw someone you hadn’t noticed before. A small boy, hunched over on the ground looking down at something in front of him.

“Oh, hello?” You question curiously, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone else would be here.” The boy whipped his head around, at the sound of your voice, obviously as taken back by your presence as you were by his. He was giving you a weird look. Making you feel like you were somewhere you shouldn’t be and causing your nerves to spike. The last thing you wanted was for your incompetence to cause any trouble for your father. “Um, I’m sorry, I didn-”

“You already said that.”

“...I’m sorry.” He sent you a glare. His red eyes transmitted a slight annoyance that had you biting your tongue to prevent any more apologies from slipping out. The boy’s hair was a bit wild, despite his expensive clothes. He must be one of the king’s kids you thought. Leaving you wanting to groan in frustration. You just spoke informally to, and annoyed one of the king’s children, so, desperate to save your appearance, you quickly bowed your head and tried to compose yourself. “Please, your highness. I’ll excuse myself. I really didn-”

“Enough! Raise your head, that’s even more annoying than the apologizing.” He grumbles, turning his attention back to whatever was in front of him. You weren’t sure what he was doing, but he was surrounded by a pile of what looked like ashes, only it didn’t smell smokey, so you assumed that maybe it was sand.

Since you never went out much, you don’t know much about the king’s firstborn. Other than the rumors that you’ve heard the maids in your own home say, which is that he’s a bit antisocial. He’s never gone to a royal event, despite being next in line for the throne, but maybe he was shy. Maybe he needed a friend just like you.

“What are you doing?” You questioned curiously while walking a bit closer from behind him.

“The only thing I know how to do.”

You didn’t know what he meant by that. You had no idea that when the boy said ‘the only thing I know how to do,’ he meant to destroy. This was a common hobby of his, going into the garden and decaying trees, stones, and leaves that he deemed a nuisance to keep around. How would you have any way of knowing that was what he meant. All you wanted was to grow closer to the young boy, so you foolishly asked, “Can I help?” Only seeming to annoy him further.

“No, why won’t you just go away? I don’t need the help of some ignorant girl who doesn’t know anything.” He shouted, standing from his crouched position and turning to face you.

“I'm not ignorant. I'm not useless, and I can help." You countered, the boy's bad attitude wearing thin on your patience. You hated being talked down to. You had to deal with it every day from your father. You just had to deal with it from the king, but you refuse to let this little boy treat you the same. So you approached him despite his refusal.

“Get away from me! Don’t you know I’m cursed,” he cried out, his emotions boiling over as his hands grabbed your shoulders and pushed you back. Caught off guard and unable to catch your balance in time, you stumbled onto the ground with a thud. He waited, waited for you to disappear into a pile of dust like everyone else before you. But you didn’t. You sat there on the ground completely stunned, and instead of disappearing, you cried, as the young prince stood above you, his gaze shifting back and forth between you and his hand.

“Sometimes…” You began, taking a deep breath in an attempt to compose yourself and stop the tears from flowing. They were less from the pain in your palms, and more from your heart. The idea of possibly making a friend was just shattered to pieces the second he shoved you away, and it hurt more than you thought. “Sometimes, I think I’m cursed too. Because no one ever wants anything to do with me. They all blame me for my mother’s death. They ignore me and act as if I’m nothing. As if I killed her on purpose, but I didn’t! Sometimes I wish I was never born, I think everyone would be a lot happier then. I’ve never even had so much as a friend my own age. That’s why I thought… Well, I was hoping that maybe…” At this point, you couldn’t stop the flow of tears from your eyes, not even able to finish your sentence.

You weren’t even sure where that all came from. You had been keeping it inside for so long, and you guess seeing someone with the same look in your eyes as yourself made you feel not so alone. Maybe that’s why you wanted to be his friend so desperately. Maybe that’s why when he rejected you, you felt so crushed. The little hope you had crumbled almost as soon as it formed, leaving you even more broken than before. And as you continued to sit there crying, attempting to pull yourself together, Shigaraki’s body began moving closer without him even realizing it himself. His hands once again came to make contact with your skin, but this time much more gently, using his palms to wipe your tears away. His hands were cold, but against your heated skin, it actually felt nice.

Shigaraki couldn’t believe it, somehow, you were immune to his curse. His touch did absolutely nothing to you. He’s never been able to touch anyone or anything before without his gloves on. They were a gift from his father, he had some of the most powerful mages in the entire kingdom work together to design them. They only allowed him to grab and hold, but not feel. You, however, he could feel. He could feel the hot tears from your cheeks against the palm of his hands. He could feel your soft skin underneath his fingers. It was quite literally like nothing he has ever felt before.

Here he was, holding your face in his bare hands and you remained completely unharmed. Not only were you immune, but you also held the same pain in your heart that is so similar to his own. He can’t help but feel a bit empathetic to your grief, an emotion he thought he grew numb to a long time ago. Everything you just described was something that he too had felt at one point or another, and it made him feel almost connected to you. Like you were meant to find him, and he was meant to find you. He too lost his mother at a young age due to his curse. His father soon after, but his uncle took him in and raised him as his own. He taught him that this power could be used as a blessing instead of a curse, to destroy those who looked down on him and strengthen himself to soon take over the kingdom.

“Are you hurt?” He questioned, guiltily offering you a hand to help you off the ground which you cautiously accepted. You shook your head, but he still looked you up and down just to make sure. “I lost my mother too,” he admitted, gripping your hand at the memory of when his curse first developed, “I know how it feels, so… so I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you either I’m just not used to people getting so close to me. Can we just start over?”

You felt your sadness slowly start to disappear as he revealed more about his reasoning. Maybe you did come on a bit strong in your eagerness, but as long as you both put it behind you would be happy to start over. “Okay,” you smiled, offering a slight bow, “Greetings your highness, my name is Y/N.

“My name is Tomura Shigaraki, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The two of you talked for a bit after that, and you found out he was nine, only two years older than yourself, but despite the age difference, you both had a lot in common. You were both homeschooled and alone without a friend, Shigaraki explained that despite growing up with siblings that he often felt disconnected from them since they didn’t share much in common and any of the family rarely connected, and after chatting for what felt like hours, he even helped you find your way out of the garden, but not before having you promise that you would return.

“Come back soon.” He stated, but it came off as more of a command, before guiding you to the entrance where a frantic-looking Emi was searching for you. When she spotted you, Shigaraki was already gone.

“My lady! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Your father… he came back an-”

Emi’s rant slowly started to fade as it reached your ears. You figured you would be in trouble, it was only a matter of how much. When you both walked over to your father who was waiting by the carriage, he said nothing leaving you to ride in silence. He would never discipline you outside of the home. Leaving your anxiety to grow until you arrived, but you tried not to focus on that. Instead opting to keep your thoughts fixated on your new friend. But you could only ride in the carriage for so long until it reached your destination, and you were left with nothing but your father’s wrath.

“You’ve embarrassed me!” He growled, tossing you onto the floor of his office, “You disappear and keep me waiting for far too long, all because of some petty childish game?” You say nothing. You know that when he gets like this it’s better to just stay quiet and take your punishment. It gets it over with quicker and with fewer lashings than if you argue. “Fifteen minutes. You left me waiting for fifteen minutes! So one hit for every minute, does that sound fair?”

You nod.

“Then get my rod and stand on your stool. I’ll be kind today since I’m in a good mood from my meeting, so I’ll do your back today instead of your feet or thighs.” He stated before he began rolling up his sleeves, as you ran to his drawer to get his rod, repeating to yourself that it was going to be okay.

Once you found the rod, you handed it off to your father and stood on top of your step stool, trying your best to calm your nerves. It was going to be okay. Today was a good day. You made a friend. Your very first friend, and nothing would ruin that for you. This will be over fast.

“Count off, or I’ll start all over again.”

“... Yes, father.”

—

Your back stung as Emi gently rubbed ointment on the cuts surrounding your back, the new markings covering up a bit of the older scars. It was a pain that you never got used to no matter how many mistakes you made resulting in the punishment. In a strange way, getting punished was probably about the only time you and your father spent together. Other than that, you never saw him unless in passing where he wouldn’t even spare so much of a glance your way. You truly wondered why he bothered to keep you around at all.

“I’m so sorry, my lady. Hide and seek was a terrible idea, I should’ve shouted our secret word louder, or I should’ve just told the duke it was my idea so I would’ve been punished instead,” Emi quivered, her voice cracking as if she was on the verge of tears herself. Ironic how she was the one crying despite you being the one in pain.

“No, Emi, if father knew it was your idea he could easily fire you. I can’t lose you. Without you here with me in the lonesome house, I would truly go mad. It’s better this way. Plus I’ll be healed up in no time. I’m tough, you know.”

“Yes, my lady. I’m well aware of how much you can take, but I just wish you were allowed to be a child every now and again. Maybe even go to school with the other kids your age. Someplace far away from here.”

“Well,” you grinned, leaning up despite Emi’s protests and the stinging telling you to remain flat on your chest. You couldn’t continue laying when you help so much excitement you wanted to tell her about. “I actually made a friend today.”

“My lady!” She gasped, hands coming to her mouth to cover her growing smile, “Is it true?”

“It is! His name is Tomura Shigaraki, he’s the firstborn son of his majesty. I met him when I was lost. He actually helped me find my way back to the entrance of the garden. He’s very kind and we have a lot in common. We both are homeschooled, we both lost our mother, and we bot-... what’s wrong, Emi?” You questioned, your excitement vanishing upon noticing the strange look she was giving you.

“My lady… I cherish you deeply, so I only have your best intentions at heart, so please forgive me if I’m too forward, but that boy is dangerous. There are many rumors surrounding him. They say that he’s even killed some of his own servants, and that’s why his majesty keeps him locked away in the Deika castle, far away from others. There’s something wrong with that boy, he’s cursed.”

Your heart sunk at her words. You wanted Emi to be as excited about this as you were, so why was she saying such mean things about a boy she’s never even met.

“Emi, he’s very kind maybe if you just met him you would understand.”

“No, I think you need to stay away from him. Can you please promise me that?”

You remained silent.

“Y/N!” She only called you by your name when she was worried or scolding you, so you knew she must’ve been scared, but still, you couldn’t bring yourself to promise something you knew you were going to break. So you just avoided the question altogether.

“Nanny Emi, I’m tired. I think I’m going to rest now. Thank you for treating my wounds, but you’re dismissed for the remainder of the night.” You laid down flat on your chest, careful not to disturb your wounds before turning your head so you didn’t have to face her, not sure you could handle the look on her face at your dismissal of her.

A few moments of silence passed before you heard some shuffling, and a faint whisper of ‘yes, my lady,’ before your bedroom door closed, leaving you completely alone. No matter the rumors surrounding him, he was kind. You knew him, and he knew you. That was all that mattered.

Please don't repost/translate my works onto any other sites. If you'd like to give me a tip, consider donating to my Ko-Fi, it's greatly appreciated! You can find some of my other works here.

Taglist: @could-be-gayer21

#cybersvoid #cursed #yandere shigaraki #tomura shigaraki #fanfic #yandere fanfic #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x reader #yandere #yandere bnha #yandere mha #tomura x reader #tomura shiragaki #tenko x reader #shigaraki imagine #prince shigaraki #yandere tomura #yandere shigaraki x reader #yandere anime #yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia #shigaraki fanfiction #tomura imagine #boku no hero academia tomura #my hero academia shigaraki #boku no hero academia shigaraki

[sweetheartsannie]

Ｆｌｏ＇ｓ  Ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ

Originally posted: 28/11/21

Last updated: 28/11/21

Here you can find all of my Ateez works so far, I hope you enjoy and I will try to update this list as regularly as I can!

Series

Kinktober 2021

Scenarios

Ateez in Littlespace

CW: age regression, mommy/daddy mentions but not sexual, fluff.

Ateez + Dollification Kink

CW: crossdressing, lingerie, bondage, body writing, praise, degradation, overuse of “doll”, crying, breeding kink, vaginal sex, anal/pegging, vibrators, gangbang mention, dirty talk, Seonghwa calls his dick his “doll parts”, taking pictures, master/slave dynamics kinda (mostly Wooyoung, they all call reader “master”), there’s a little bit of spit/drool kink in there.

By Member

Ｓｅｏｎｇｈｗａ

Rope Bunny

CW: bondage, degradation, oral, facesitting, anal (w/ strapon), master kink.

Early Mornings

CW: smut, fluff, somno, oral, mdlb kink, “kitten”, spit kink, spitting on each other’s genitals, the slightest bit of breathplay.

Treat

CW: oral, mommy kink, cumslut!hwa, recording during sex.

Public play w/ Seonghwa

❀ Pretty Boys ❀ w/ Seonghwa + San

Ｈｏｎｇｊｏｏｎｇ

Mine

CW: consensual somnophilia, freeuse kink.

{11:16pm}

CW: overstimulation, namecalling, unprotected sex, mommy kink.

Tsundere!Joong

Ｙｕｎｈｏ

Ice Cream

CW: suggestive, not really anything to warn about, just pretty corny and pervy tbh.

Yunho + breeding kink blurb

Petplay w/ Jongho + Yunho

Brat!Yunho

CW: kinda painful-pleasant/rough sex, dick bulge, kinda size kink.

Ｙｅｏｓａｎｇ

Please

CW: choking, spanking, bondage, unprotected sex, one use of “slut” but it’s in a praise-y way?

Ｓａｎ

Cruel

CW: Smut, mommy kink, babyboy!san, switch!san, or maybe just brat!san I guess, orgasm denial, biting, teasing, fleshlight use, dildo use, namecalling.

Cruel (Part 2)

CW: babyboy!san, mommy kink, spanking, flogging, crying, degradation, cbt kinda? (just spanking/slapping with hands), spitting, cunnilingus, blowjob, rimjob, creampie/unprotected sex, amazon position/reverse mating press, San cuddles (Suddles).

Kitten hybrid!San

Miniskirt

CW: mirror sex, anal, crossdressing, skirt and panties kink.

San has a dream about a succubus

Fucking San outside

CW: light feminisation talk

Thigh riding blurb w/ Wooyoung + San

Dumb Baby Sannie

CW: dumbification, use of “master”, degrading names, innocence/corruption kink, could be categorised as light cnc (just to be safe).

San + dollification/objectification

CW: anal, degradation, mirror sex (this is like the 4th time now), bulge kink, hair-pulling.

Bedtime with Baby Sannie💞

CW: little!San, caregiver!reader, reader is called mommy once.

❀ Pretty Boys ❀ w/ Seonghwa + San

Ｍｉｎｇｉ

Mingi + corruption kink

CW: choking, some degradation.

{8:27pm}

CW: size kink, anal, mommy kink, degradation, cum eating, finger sucking, gagging.

Plushie fucker!Mingi

Ｗｏｏｙｏｕｎｇ

Be Quiet

CW: mommy kink, cockwarming, a little bit of pain.

1:03am

CW: oral, cum eating, humiliation.

Wooyoung + Pussy Eating

CW: hate sex, breathplay, face slapping, self degradation.

Wooyoung begging you to cum

Thigh riding blurb w/ Wooyoung + San

Ｊｏｎｇｈｏ

Riding Jongho’s thigh Petplay w/ Jongho + Yunho

#masterlist #ateez masterlist #ateez smut #sub!ateez #ateez blurbs #ateez reaction #ateez roleplay #kpop smut #seonghwa smut #hongjoong smut #yunho smut #san smut #yeosang smut #mingi smut #jongho smut #seonghwa #hongjoong #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez sceanrios #dom!reader

[thebiggestnope]

Fic Masterlist

Good Omens

Aziraphale's First Orgasm (Multi-chapter fic and current all-consuming brainrot. NSFW.)

Encanto

The Training of Bruno Madrigal (<- This is the main multi-chapter fic. NSFW.)

The Training of Bruno Madrigal Shorts/Oneshots (Standalone scenes that take place in the same universe as the main fic)

Bruno the Music Fan (short) - Adriana nudges Bruno to flirt with his favorite singer. Adriana’s POV. SFW.

Period Sex (short) - Bruno takes care of Adriana. Bruno’s POV. NSFW. CW: Very gentle dom!Bruno, vaginal fingering, menstruation

Touch Yourself for Me (short) - Adriana asks Bruno to put on a show for her. Bruno’s POV. NSFW. CW: Male masturbation, oral sex.

Bruno's New Underpants (short) - Bruno shows off his tight new briefs for Adriana. Adriana's POV. NSFW. CW: sub!Bruno, femdom, exhibitionism

Out of His Mind with Need (short) - Adriana binds up Bruno in a sleep slack and edges him until he has an out-of-body experience. NSFW. CW: sub!Bruno, bound and gagged Bruno, face obstruction, edging, orgasm control, orgasm denial, praise kink.

Arcilla AU

Collab with @rinnysega

Meet Owsaldo (Ozzy) and Ms. Colombia (short) - Get to know this fashionable, sweet man and his pet macaw. They both just arrived as refugees to the encanto. SFW.

In the Sashes (short) - Ozzy and Gus make love. NSFW. Link includes NSFW illustration. CW: anal sex

Stuck In Bed All Day (short). - Ozzy throws his back out building a wall for Gus's garden and Gus fusses over him. SFW. CW: Mentions of back pain.

Facepainting (short). - Gus, skilled painter that he is, paints Ozzy's face for a festival. SFW.

Gus and Ozzy Go to the Library. (short) - Gus finds a salacious book and nudges Ozzy to read it. SFW but with spicy elements. CW: Mentions of flogging, description of an erotic illustration.

Cologne (pair of shorts) - Gus and Ozzy think of each other dreamily after a date. One was written by @rinnysega, and one was written by me. SFW.

Dirt Stew (short) - Ozzy tells his sister and niece about his date with Gus. SFW.

Making Love (short) More lovemaking. NSFW. Link includes NSFW illustration. CW: Anal sex.

Bruno x Reader

Bruno Doms You in a Church (short) - The title says it all. AFAB reader. NSFW. CW: dom!Bruno, rough sex, blasphemy/religious kink, some overtones of CNC

The Coming Storm - Bruno in the omegaverse. AMAB reader. NSFW. CW: a/b/o dynamics, mating cycles/in heat, penetrative sex, multiple male orgasms

Summer Camp AU

(Not all OCs are my own. Their creators are tagged in works.)

The Boathouse (short) - Bruno, Paola, and Hernando get up to some mischief. NSFW. CW: MMF threesome

Bunkbeds After Dark (short) - Fellas, is it gay to jerk off with your bunkmate? NSFW. CW: Male masturbation

Miscellaneous

(OCs not my own)

Prophetic Hijinks Bruno Has a Breeding Kink - (short). Bruno and Elena of the Prophetic Hijinks comics explore Bruno's nascent breeding kink. NSFW. CW: Breeding kink, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering.

Our Flag Means Death

The Room Upstairs - Frenchie x F!Reader. Frenchie gets handcuffed and gently spanked. NSFW. CW: bondage, spanking, hand job.

#fic masterlist #bruno madrigal smut #bruno smut #encanto smut

[leyswhumpdump]

When Did You Get So Brave?

Day 15 of @themerrywhumpofmay

Tropes and CWs: Wound, stitches, caretaking, mention of previous torture.

The bandages were soaked through already. Whumpee laid their head against the back of the armchair, eyes fluttering with a tiredness that had almost nothing to do with the blood loss. Caretaker’s hands wrapped their own in a warm, gentle parcel.

“You’re doing well. Really well. I’m going to undo the bandage now, all right? We’ll make sure everything’s still clean and then I’ll stitch it up for you.”

Whumpee gazed at their arm, lying so limply in Caretaker’s touch. It may as well have belonged to another person. “Got painkillers?”

Caretaker’s apologetic wince was answer enough. “You can bite down on something, maybe.”

Not wanting to break their teeth, Whumpee settled for a rolled-up wodge of the shirt they’d been wearing before the rescue. The taste—old sweat, dirt, something a little metallic—almost made them retch. “Do it now,” they said, their voice muffled through the fabric.

One. Two. Three. Caretaker’s needle moved fast, piercing skin and closing torn flesh. Whumpee concentrated on the rhythm of each sweeping motion. Four. Five. Damn, it had started out almost painless. Six.

Eventually, the sutures were completed. Whumpee observed the handiwork with detached interest. It’d probably scar into a shiny pink rope. Still, better that than the previous risk of bleeding out. “Thank you.”

Caretaker’s brow pinched as they cleaned up. “I was expecting you to make more noise. You used to scream at splinters. When did you—” Their mouth snapped shut as if they’d just realised what they were asking.

“When did I get so brave?” said Whumpee. When indeed. Endless days of beatings and floggings and stress positions had warped their perspective of pain. They laughed. “I’m just a masochist, you know?”

Caretaker’s deepening frown suggested they did not share in the joke.

#whump #whump writing #the merry whump of may #when did you get so brave #day 15 #finally some comfort #original post

[msgrumpygills]

An Ask

Social Media Anon here!

Well, I'm a little confused (and surprised) by what's going on in the padalecki's social media but I have a (I think) rational theory.

Firstly, engagement is EVERYTHING, but it's a very current indicator, it only tracks the median of the last 20 posts, which for some posters can be week on week.

Even taking that into account, Jared and Gen are going through the floor!

Take Gen first, it used to be that each type of post she had received a specific "value". Her alone, not many likes for her following (20-35K), then her with the kids got more, her with Jared got WAY MORE, the kids alone got way more and Jared.. was her prize.

I said that, as her engagement was in danger of slipping below 3, her props would come out more, kids and in particular JARED would feature more on her block. That's what happened (it wasn't rocket science) BUT the value of Jared in likes has diminished substantially, which I wasn't expecting. Her romantic Tuscan adventure posts are getting only 40K after a week. A photo of her and Jared would normally be in the 100k. Then, of course, he had a rarity value but now he's plastering himself everywhere (I'll come back to that). Even the kids are getting less likes. To get high likes it has to be a professional photograph with Jared looking super hot. Snap with him looking... well ordinary... isn't enough.

However, she's pushed her engagement back up to 6, mainly because her content is 60% Jared now.

What's really interesting is what is happening to Jared's social media. His engagement is going DOWN. He was at 6.49 when I looked last night, which is a MEGA FALL. that's good in media terms but nothing like the previous excellent.. and it's a BIG drop in a short time.

So, what's happening? Well I think two things.

Firstly, there is, yet another, Jared rebranding. He seems to be becoming a professional Texan. He can't do an interview without saying Y'all and mentioning Texas. He IS Texan, but he spent 15 years promoting a soft, mid America Jared and now he just seems like SOUTHERN GUY. Given Walker advertises on Fox, it's not surprising he's going for this image, but he definitely seems to be hitting a new market. He has to be really careful that doesn't alienate his old ones. You tell a man by the company he keeps and Jared seems to hang out with dicks... and he does it on social media.

Secondly, he's getting overexposed. He's EVERYWHERE to fans with nonsense stories. Given that that is Gen's thing with the blog he should have realised how irritating it is. There is no actual content in his exposure. He's either flogging orange pee or at hooters or on a gondola, it's boring.

Jared needs to get a CONTENT CREATOR. Over exposure is a killer.

I can see the network have an issue. They need Walker to break the CW bubble. They are missing the point though. It DID. Week one was brilliant for them. The show is crap and viewers turned off. There problem wasn't attracting viewers , it's show content. They turned off.

Jared is going down hill on Social Media. Jensen will get a BIG PUSH when soldier boy arrives on screen and before by Kripke to draw SPN fans in. So it'll be interesting to see whether Soldier Boy, rather than Walker, causes the schizm in J2 social media joint tracking, with them finally reliant on their own current conduct rather than the legacy of SPN.

If it does that will be something to discuss with those who claimed Jensen was becoming a bit part actor to Jared's super success.

My own view, this is an exercise in quality mattering, which is something Jared and Gen both need to learn. Their social media is SPN social media, when that dies at the moment so do they.

Oh, and Gen and TOWWN are both raiding the piggie bank to buy followers again...

Stay Safe everyone!

Social Media anon requested this be corrected to be anonymous but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to get it as an ask, so here we are! 

I think that it says a lot about Jared and Gen’s content (mostly Gen on this point) that even the props aren’t bringing in the interest anymore. I’ve always said that they come off as too fake and manufactured to come off as genuine. 

Just for kicks I went to Jensen’s IG, Jared’s IG, Gen’s IG and Danneel’s IG. I compared the numbers of similar types of posts (I even picked ones that were posted roughly around the same time) and the difference is incredible. Jensen’s birthday post for JJ has over 1 million likes, Jared’s post of him and O (posted around the same time, if not further back) has half of that. I think people really are picking up on Jared and Gen coming off as fake. 

I’ve seen people who are getting tired of the constant content so I wouldn’t be surprised at all if that oversaturation of the Pads is getting to people. You know there’s something amiss when Danneel, who only posts once in a while now, gets twice the amount of likes and comments as Gen does and she posts every day. I’m sure that does wonders for her ego too. 

I’m interested to see how the social media numbers change when Soldier Boy is introduced on screen and during the break from Walker, that’s for sure.

#grumpy answers #social media anon #anti jared padalecki #jensen ackles #danneel ackles #anti genevieve

[tears-and-lilies]

Indictus, cap. II

Tag: @lockedupuniverse @unicornscotty @milk-carton-whump @abitefullofwhump @sideblogformindtrash @whump-it @a-series-of-whumpy-events @heathenville @as-a-matter-of-whump

CW: slavery, low self-esteem, whump of minor, whipping mention, whumpee used as footrest

Milo jumped awake. His neck hurt. He was sitting at his desk. Papers and ink were all scattered in front of him. Cold sweat broke out when he realised it was day.

‘There you are! Trying to get out of your daily work by sleeping, huh?’, his master said loudly.

Milo stood up as fast as he could. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry, master!’ He searched the improved letter.

‘The morning greeting has already ended! You’d better have that letter ready!’

Milo picked up a paper and held it out in front of him, his hands trembling. ‘Here, this is it, master.’

Corvinus grabbed the letter and read it. Milo found himself breathing heavier the more time passed. Eventually, his master nodded. Seeming pleased, he said: ‘Look over the letters that arrived this morning. Then you can help the new purchase settle down.’

Milo nodded and left, still nervous and half-asleep, but grateful he wasn’t immediately punished for missing the morning greeting. That meant he was needed today, so he wasn’t all useless! His kind master would punish him in the evening probably. He had to show his absolute best today. Maybe the punishment wouldn’t be so harsh.

He was slowly processing his master’s second order. A new purchase? So, a new slave? He would have to check what they were bought for, and when. As usual, Milo planned out his tasks for the day.

***

The new slave was a boy, barely seventeen. He had a plump face and cute little hands. But most noteably, he had dark blonde hair, like most of the slaves in the villa. The hair colour fitted the decorations master had chosen for it. Milo’s hair and eyes looked pretty with the writing material and the brows and yellows of the tablinum walls. This slave boy was to work in the kitchen and serve, and his green eyes would go perfectly with the green nature pattern in the dining room.

The new boy had already gotten a tunic and a place to sleep. All Milo had to do was tell him a few rules.

‘Welcome to the household of master Corvinus. I am Milo, his secretary slave. You will serve in the kitchen and dining room.’

The boy looked a little bit lost, unsure how to react. He nodded, eyes following the pattern of bruises on Milo’s left arm.

‘I was bad, so I was punished’, Milo explained. ‘I’m very stupid and often make mistakes. You should always do your tasks perfectly.’

‘Is he strict?’, the boy asked.

‘No, master is fair.’

His eyes widened. ‘This is insane! I want to go back home!’

Milo noticed his thick accent. He couldn’t quite place it. He made a mental note to talk clearly and in simple Latin. ‘This is home’, he said.

‘No!’ He took a step back.

Milo was alert. If the boy tried to run, he had to alarm the other slaves. But to his surprise, the boy broke down crying.

‘Ah, don’t cry…’, he tried. He walked closer, uncomfortably, and patted the boy’s back.

‘You will like it here.’

He wasn’t sure if that was right. In a way, he could relate to the boy. Being alone, in a stranger’s house, being forced to do labour you don’t want to do.

‘When I came here for the first time, I was a bit younger than you’, he began. He wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

‘I was angry, and I tried to run…’ He didn’t get far. He was so imperfect at the time.

‘Luckily, people brought me back to master and he flogged me himself. I was blessed to have such a special treatment. And after that I learned how useless I truly was, and how I could be better.’

The boy looked at him, taking shaky breaths. ‘I don’t want that.’

‘Then don’t run’, Milo said. ‘And do what master asks you to do. You are fortunate to be chosen by such an important and wealthy master! So don’t ever be ungrateful.’

He didn’t understand why the boy’s eyes were so full of fear.

***

The same fearful green eyes stared at him that afternoon, when the new boy entered the tablinum to bring a bowl of figs. Milo had only shortly looked at him, before resting his gaze on the mosaic on the floor. He was on all fours, a footrest for his master while he worked. His arms and legs trembled, but he would keep it together. He was sure of it. He whimpered when his master shifted in his seat so the heels of his feet pressed harder onto Milo’s back. I’m so grateful, he told himself. So glad he could be of use.

#whump #historical whump #human furniture #low self esteem tw #whump of minor #whipping mention #my writing #oc #milo the secretary slave #corvinus the fake corvinus not the real one #indictus #indictus cap 2

[sexyshakespeare]

Ch 1: A Royal Birthday (Kuroken Royalty AU)

#sfw with some slight nudity cw for mention of some #violence #starving and #classism #poverty --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kuroo had practically lived in the palace all his life. He was born there. That was his biggest pride, something he boasted when he played with the baker and gardener’s children. He’d eaten out of the same jam pot that the royal prince had. Though of course he’d gotten beaten for it by the guard right afterwards, and every time he dared to play with the prince since. He still had the scars to show for it. But his highness insisted. The older he grew, the more he mandated that Kuroo be allowed to visit him in his chambers, eat with him, go horse riding with him. Kenma- he frowned and corrected Kuroo if he called him anything else, yes, Kenma had grown into a very prideful, powerful prince. He was a big man now, sitting in at all the tactical meetings with his parents. Kuroo on the other hand, had been inducted into the king’s army at a young age- he was just sixteen when he’d first seen battle. It was a horrible thing, he’d lost his training partners, his friends, too young and badly fed to survive something like that. But Kuroo. He was a fierce fighter, and he’d promised Kenma that he would come back with nothing more than a broken nose. Kenma had been relieved that his nose was in fact, very intact. His handsome face hadn’t been harmed in any way- but his arms had gashes, his body slashed in places that would not heal fast. But this had been his life. And a better life than he was used to. The army’s soldiers were treated with more respect than most- they had better food, and better living conditions. He’d been able to move his father to the palace as a helper in the kitchens again, despite his age. His mother had died from sickness years ago. Kenma had yet again insisted that Kuroo sleep in his bed that night, and had held him while his body shook with tears, harshly whispering promises to the heavens that he wouldn’t let his father go the same way. Today however, was not a day for recalling all of that. Today was the young prince’s 21st birthday. He wasn’t so young anymore- he would be seeing many eligible suitors today at his party- princes and princesses alike. And Kuroo was invited. Well, Kuroo was his personal bodyguard, he had to be there- but Kenma insisted that he was ‘invited’ and would be treated as a guest. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kuroo was waiting outside Kenma’s chamber, his daggers safely tucked away in his belt- and his strong arms crossed behind his back as he watched the corridor. He never, never took his post for granted, and he never, never slacked on the job. He even insisted on taste checking Kenma’s food for any hidden poisons. Nobody would harm Kenma on his watch, and if he harboured any suspicion, nobody could save the culprit from his wrath. It was more than just a post though. It was about him. His.. dare he say it, friend. Kuroo’s eyes softened as the thoughts flooded his mind- his lips curving ever so slightly at the corners. Every night sneakily spent in the royal bed, tickling Kenma, being fed cakes and having his mouth wiped by Kenma on his birthday, which was just a month after the prince’s, Kenma teaching him how to read. He wipes at the tears pooling in his eyes, and takes a breath- turning to look down the corridor again. Stupid, he shouldn’t be getting emotional at a time like this. The prince’s birthday was the perfect opportunity for rivals to try something to endanger his life. “Kuro?”, his beautiful, sun-kissed voice sounds from inside the doors. Kuroo jumps a little, knocking twice on the ornate wood, “Are you okay your highness?? Is your window locked?” “Oh geez I’m fine, relax will you-“, his beautiful voice with a hint of annoyance now, Kuroo laughs once awkwardly and turns back around, “Sorry..” “Come in please I need your help-“ The young man does as asked, gently pushing down the handle and passing through- closing the doors behind him and facing the other- but his jaw drops, his hand immediately raising to cover his eyes- “You- your highness you should’ve mentioned you’re not decent- I’m sor-“ “You’ve seen me like this before, cut that out, help me decide please-“, he speaks again, with authority. Kuroo slowly drops his hand- his eyes lifting from the gold embroidered carpet to his beautiful feet, his bare knees, up his bare thighs, skipping over the thin veil over his- his- “Well.. this one- or this one?”, Kenma holds two robes, one in each hand. The left was the color of the sky, with white sashes and ribbons, silver threads, and just a hint of yellow that would match his hair. He’d insisted on having it dyed in his 17th year. Kuroo had been so embarrassed, their conversation from the night before looming in his head. ‘The Princess that visited you last week was beautiful, don’t you want to meet her again Kenma..?’ ‘What was beautiful about her’, his haughty indignant voice- nothing was ever enough for this spoiled prince, Kuroo had thought at the time. ‘What wasn’t! Her hair’s the color of honey-‘ “K uro! We don’t have time for you to get lost in your daydreams right now”, his beautiful voice, teasing and mischievous. “I- I A M NOT DAY-dreaming”, he sputters, trying to keep his eyes off of his prince’s bare chest- the gold arm bands that glistened from his arms. “They’re both gorgeous, the one on the right is red and rich, heavy- it’ll send the right message, you’d look like a lion-“, Kuroo says with a smile, his eyes going over his collarbone, and then finally his face. His face. His eyes danced, they pierced him through and through, that was how he looked at him. And now his royal brow raises in a challenge, “I don’t care- which do /you/ like” Kuroo’s face colors, and he looks behind him at the doors wondering just how long it would take for someone to find them like this. He’d get flogged for sure- though his back was tough enough to take anything after what it had seen. But his heart thumps impatiently, pulling him towards his prince. Why did he ask him questions like this- “I.. like the other- the blue one..”, he admits now, his voice softened, his eyes even more so when they meet his pretty ones. The literal sun, shone through those eyes. Kenma always insisted that Kuroo had the same color eyes, but he was wrong, his were dull and hard. Kenma smiles at him, bright, and nods- tossing the other robe on the floor like it wasn’t worth 50 horses, which makes Kuroo’s eyes widen in reproach, even if it wasn’t his place. “S orry.. sorry, I’ll put this back in its place..”, the young monarch says suddenly, not letting the soldier speak, “I know you want to scold me for being a spoiled thing..”, he says yet again with a smile as he goes about putting the red robe back in his wardrobe. Kuroo watches him curiously in silence, smile playing on his lips. It really was a miracle, how he spoke to his own father, with contempt lining every word- and how he spoke to him. Kuroo directs his eyes back to the floor when Kenma dresses. “Did you want help- should I ask the maids to come-“ Kenma shakes his head gently, “They have enough on their plates with this ridiculous event-“ “It’s not ridiculous.. it’s for your-“ “Y e s my birthday, what a wondrous day I was born 21 years ago, and half the kingdom gets fed extra today while they practically starve the rest of the year”, his beautiful voice, with disdain dripping from it. He looks sad, his hands smoothing down the front of his garment. Kuroo smiles at him, a patient smile. And now, he speaks to him as his friend, moving closer and lifting his hands to cup his face. “You’re going to be brilliant today.. you worked hard on your speech.. one step closer to what you want to achieve” Kenma looks up at his very tall bodyguard, his king’s soldier, and his most treasured, most precious friend. “You think so..? I know they’re trying to get me to marry one of those rich brats” “You’re a rich brat- you’ll have a lot in common” That earns Kuroo a smack right across his chest- and excited giggles from both young men fills the room. “That princess you fancy will be here, maybe you should sit with her- I’m sure you can guard me with your hand up her skirt-“ “EHH?? MY HAND WILL BE ON MY DAGGER-“ Kenma laughs once, “Bet it will be..” A frown from Kuroo, who thinks this joke was getting rather old, and Kenma takes the hint to drop it. He shrugs his shoulders, reaching for the princely crown to place it atop his head, and looks at Kuroo, “You’re going to be dressed like that..?” “Kenma I’m your guard- I have to be dressed like this” “Oh right-“ “See, rich brat” The prince grins at him then, “See.. this is my friend.. not that ‘your highness may I kiss your feet’ man you have to pretend to be outside of here” He walks up to him then, and pats his cheek softly, dragging his hand down the front of his plain grey tunic- very form fitting on Kuroo, “Shall we..?” The other man nods at him, though he wishes secretly to never leave- to have his hand on his chest the rest of the evening. But that was selfish of him. He couldn’t keep him long. “Yes.. it’ll be over soon, please don’t spill your wine on anyone and blame it on your low tolerance to alcohol- you’re a horrible liar-“ “You remember his face last year? HA- stupid mustached basta-“ “Kenma..”

#kurokenweek2021 #kuroken #royalty au #kuroo #kenma #slight nudity #sfw #haikyuu #fanfic #hqfanfic

[whumpqin]

Day 29: Stoic Whumpee (Whumptober 2020)

Final stretch here! This is the last of my whumptober prompts haha

Characters: Adair (POV)

Taglist:  @lonesome--hunter​ @strahlenderzynismus​ @whump-only​

CW: Whumpee asking to be punished, stoic whumpee, whumpee who’s a minor (16), glass, cutting, blood, talk of cutting feet, whip mention, infection mention (brief), mention of abuse, maybe more. Let me know if I should tag something else!

Word Count: 744

The several wine bottles shattered against the flooring as he lost his grip on them. Liquid spilled everywhere, staining the flooring of the ship as it traveled. Both Adair and the crewmen winced, opening their eyes to see the shattered remains of the last of the good wine. A shame, really. Adair liked drinking that.

He didn’t hesitate to bend down, finding one of the sharper pieces of the broken wine bottles and handing it to the crewmen.

“Sorry. Here,” he said. “I’d rather get cut than flogged again.”

The punishments were frequent, and severe. No matter how much Adair thought that he had adjusted to life on The Seeker, something new cropped up to surprise him. He didn’t spend a day without something of his aching, from being hit across the face to whipped after he had tied the mast down wrong or failed to wash the deck properly. Being cut, despite the constant threat of infection, was better than being publicly humiliated.

The crewmen stared at him, a mix of shock from the action and grief from the wine bottles evident on his eyes. Adair had made a point to at least figure out how to read pirates - or at least, tell when they weren’t going to hurt him.

Still, he needed to be punished for this. It was his fault the bottles were broken.

“I said here,” Adair snapped, finding the crewman’s hand and placing the glass piece in it as gently as possible. He rolled up his sleeves loosely, offering his forearms to the man. “Punish me.”

The crewman finally looked down at the glass shard in his hand, then back up to Adair. Finally, there was that recognition in his eyes, at what was really happening, and he grinned, crooked and missing teeth apparent as he grabbed onto Adair’s arm.

“Well, if you insist. One for each bottle oughta do it, eh?” he said, positioning the glass over Adair’s arm. “Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna bleed the Captain’s boy out. Real shame after all the trouble of gettin’ ya in the first place.”

“Save your stupid comfort. Just do it already.” He swallowed as he felt the glass touch against his arm, placed in just the right position to not cut any extremities. His tail coiled around his leg, and for a moment Adair was grateful that this crewmember was just a dumb human, unable to read his body language.

“Alright, alright. Don’t have to be so pushy, devil, you’ve already tempted me.” The first of the… eight or so cuts pressed in, alighting his entire arm with pain. Adair gritted his teeth, flaring his nose out as he tried to breathe through the pain, offering no sound to the crewman, who was watching him carefully. “You’re a gutsy one, aren't cha? Don’t get many swabbies beggin’ to be stabbed. How old are you, boy?”

“I’m not getting stabbed, I’m- hnng, fuck,” he cursed, as the crewman drug another long line across his arm. Never to kill, just to injure. Tears pricked at his eyes, and Adair blinked them away. He wasn’t going to cry because of a few cuts on his arm. “I’m eighteen, Sir.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard that, too. How old are you really, though? And don’t give me that bullshit answer, or I’m takin’ this glass to yer foot.”

Adair didn’t doubt that one bit, considering how easily he decided to cut his arm up. He hissed wordlessly as the next cut, but made no motion to move away. No other sign that it was throbbing with pain.

“...I’ll be turning sixteen in about a month or so, Sir.” He glanced down to the blood welling at the cuts, dripping down his arm and onto the floor.

Damn it. He’s gonna have to clean that.

“Sixteen, eh? Damn, I would’ve killed someone if they did this to me at that age,” the crewman said with a slight smirk, dragging another cut across his arm. Halfway done, and then he could go get something to clean this mess up. He’d be expected to clean up his own mess. “How do you keep it together?”

“That’s easy,” Adair mumbled through gritted teeth, trying his best not to pull away from the crewman.

He locked eyes with the man, staring at him as he grinned, fangs showing past his lips, reveling in the way the pirate furrowed his brow in discomfort at the sight.

“Karma comes to ev’ryone.”

#whumptober2020 #no.29 #Stoic Whumpee #altprompt #OC #Fic #blood tw #cutting tw #glass #whip mention tw #infection mention tw #abuse mention tw #child abuse mention tw #(because he is baby) #minor whump tw #talk of cutting feet #asking for punishment #whump #whump writing #My writing #The Fallen Seekers #The Captain #(before he was captain hehe)