#touch starved deceit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess · 8 months

Text

Touch-starved - the cuddle service AU

This is a gift for a very special someone on a very special day - so, everyone, say happy birthday to @sasukimimochi!

I hope you get the best of birthdays today and that you make the best memories! Don't forget that you are cherished by a lot of people and we are all glad to be in your life!

Enjoy!

Warnings: a lot of fluff and slightly suggestive content

Light peeks gently through the gap in the dark curtains, the first warm rays of the morning sun trailing over the blankets covering the two sleeping figures in the large bed. The distant hum of the waking neighborhood filters through the room, birdsong and the occasional indistinct voices, the old motor of the lawnmower the family two houses down refuses to replace, the rare car passing through.

The chill of the night persists despite the sunlight, and warmth beneath the blanket is comforting and familiar, like a little pocket of respite and happiness. And though Lan Wangji has been a morning person ever since he could remember it, leaving his bed right as his body awoke him, today he does not feel like doing so.

In fact, he has not felt like doing so in years - three, today, actually - and he does not mind this change in his routine in the least. If he’s honest, it’s the best part of his day - to wake up holding the love of his life in his arms (in various states of undress, mind you, but that’s for a later time) and be happy he gets to spend another day with him, being his. Being each other’s.

All due to a happy coincidence… and his brother’s scheming. Well, mostly to his brother’s scheming. And though Lan Wangji found his plan ridiculous back then, he’s grateful now.

Because all of three years ago, Lan Xichen made an appointment he couldn’t get to, for a service he definitely didn’t need, using an excuse that was definitely deceitful - and unknowingly sent Lan Wangji into the arms of the love of his life… literally.

–

“A…cuddle service.” Lan Wangji repeats, half incredulous that such a thing exists, half confused his (very much in a relationship) brother rented one.

“Mn, I made the appointment forever ago but I completely forgot about it!”

He looks as unapologetic as one could without leaving the planet. Lan Wangji sends him a suspicious look.

“Anyway, it’s way too late to cancel now, I checked the company policy already…”

How convenient of him, very much knowing that’s the first thing Lan Wangji would’ve done. “And I paid quite a hefty sum for it, it would be a shame for all that money to go to waste…”

As if they aren’t old money.

Lan Wangji’s eyes narrow as he sips at his far too bitter cup of tea. He doesn’t like where this is going and he has a feeling it’s only downhill from here.

“So, I was thinking you could go in my place!” Lan Xichen’s smile brightens, mischief hiding behind the otherwise friendly gesture. Not even he believes any of his words and probably does not even expect Lan Wangji to either - still, he tries. Admirable… kind of. Lying is not admirable, though.

“Am I allowed to refuse?”

“Yes… but I’d hope you wouldn’t.” And Lan Xichen’s demeanor changes to something that could only be described as a pitiful baby animal. “I do not wish my mistake to reflect badly on the person that I picked for your - my appointment.”

Lan Wangji is starting to see how premeditated this all is, though he can only be surprised that such an option even exists. “You picked them.”

“Well, of course. I couldn’t just allow anyone to get close to my - to me!”

Lan Wangji drinks the entirety of his terrible tea as if it was a particularly strong shot of alcohol. Though he does not indulge in that kind of thing, sometimes he wishes he did. Now is one of those moments.

“Then, it’s settled!”

Lan Wangji didn’t get to say yes.

–

Wei Wuxian stirs in Lan Wangji’s arms, and mumbles something that sounds like his name before burrowing further into the sheets and his lover’s chest, covering the bit of his face that the sunlight kisses.

Lan Wangji can’t help a fond smile, indulging Wei Wuxian’s wordless request as he tightens his arms around the man, their legs interlocking beneath the blanket. It’s always a struggle getting out of bed in the morning whenever Lan Wangji has to work, because it always feels tedious to find where Wei Wuxian ends and he begins, a tangled mess of limbs, wild bedheads and love.

It’s a wonderful kind of tedious.

But today is Saturday, so Lan Wangji doesn’t have to go to work - not that he hasn’t taken days off randomly just because he couldn’t bring himself to leave his husband alone in bed… but Lan Wangji feels like if he does it again, his uncle is going to retire off into the mountains and revive the myth of Big Foot.

Lan Wangji leaves a kiss over Wei Wuxian’s forehead, fleeting and soft, and through his sleep-addled mind, Wei Wuxian makes a happy sound, much like a kitten’s chirp. They have adopted a family of kittens recently, and Wei Wuxian has been spending a lot of his time with them, so he must be taking in their mannerisms - the thought brings a sweet, amused flutter to Lan Wangji’s chest, and he kisses Wei Wuxian’s forehead again.

He does pick up on the mannerisms of their pets a lot, now that he thinks about it. Whenever he’s unhappy about something, he scrunches his nose like a scorned baby bunny, and when he’s excited, he hops a little bit in place, just like their bunnies do - and sometimes, when he’s being childish and whiny, he stomps his foot (but laughs immediately after as he realizes).

Lan Wangji feels warmth spread through him, like a little ball of light has replaced his heart and his bloodstream sings with it. Every time he remembers (as if he could forget!) just how much he loves Wei Wuxian, it never fails to make his whole body shiver, electricity climbing up his body in a hurry only to stop in his tear ducts. It overwhelms him, sometimes, and it materializes into happy teardrops - Lan Wangji doesn’t remember when it was the last time he’s cried for anything rather than happiness.

Lan Wangji had expected something like a dingy hotel in a back alley - but the cuddle service location is actually quite nice, a cozy little place near the suburbs. It looks like a very well-kept motel, with a lush garden and homey decor, welcoming if not a little bit stereotypical. There are pictures of smiling people on the walls alongside paintings and the occasional quote about how people have always been meant to be close to one another, social creatures in need of touch and comfort.

The irony does not escape Lan Wangji. A place one pays for affection to speak of how natural it is for humans to seek it.

The receptionist smiles at him in a friendly way, though she appears tired behind her large, mahogany desk. “Room 13, please. Do not be wary of the number.”

Lan Wangji nods. He’s been unlucky enough to get into this situation - him, touch-averse extraordinaire - might as well be stuck in Room 13 for an hour with a stranger he’s supposed to be cuddling with. What else could happen.

Lan Wangji walks the long corridor lined with dark brown, wooden doors, and finds Room 13 at the very end of it. Ominous, despite the warm lighting and the pretty artwork on the walls.

Lan Wangji finds himself staring dumbly at the door. Should he knock? Or just walk in? There could be someone else in there still… it would be rude to interrupt. But then again, it’s not like anything indecent is going on… right? This business isn’t a front for something else, is it?

Lan Wangji sighs. No, his brother wouldn’t send him to a brothel, and this place looks nothing like one. Not that Lan Wangji would know what that would look like, but -

The door opens.

–

“Lan Zhan… it’s so early…” Wei Wuxian whines against his husband’s collarbones, “Your Lan schedule is terrible.”

Lan Wangji hums, suspiciously sounding like a laugh before leaning down to kiss the tops of Wei Wuxian’s cheeks. “Did I wake you?”

“Yeah, but it’s okay. I like waking up with you.”

“You sound accusatory.” Lan Wangji laughs openly this time, caressing the side of Wei Wuxian’s face gently. He leans into the touch, nuzzling against Lan Wangji’s palm, and he reminds Lan Wangji of one of their kittens again - the black one, with only the tip of its tail white, that Wei Wuxian named Chilli.

“I am being accusatory! Do you know how terrible it is for me to wake up without you here? I nearly die every time!”

Lan Wangji kisses the tip of Wei Wuxian’s nose in response and tries to smooth some of his bedhead (that he caused).

“You’re not taking me seriously, Lan Zhan! You’re laughing! I could die without my daily dose of affection, and you’re laughing!”

He tries (and fails) at holding in a chuckle. “I am not.”

“You are!” And Wei Wuxian pouts, and wraps all the blankets around himself in mock anger, flopping onto his other side, his back now facing Lan Wangji. However, he did quite a poor job cocooning himself, and most of his back has remained uncovered, the soft skin still bearing last night’s marks.

Lan Wangji scoots over, and decides he’s not going to let the opportunity to tease his husband pass him by.

—

“So, you’re my 5pm appointment, right?” A smiling, young man asks, and Lan Wangji’s first thought is that he’s beautiful.

His second thought is that this beautiful man will be in his arms, and he will be in his - and his ears burn as if they’ve been set on fire.

“C’mon, it’s nicer inside, follow me.”

The room is, indeed, nice. There are books on tall shelves, a calligraphy kit on the table, and a few other trinkets - keys, a phone, and some amulets - on a night stand. A bed is placed by a large window overlooking the garden outside, the sheets dark red, and incense burns from the windowsill. Soft music plays from somewhere in the room - and Lan Wangji finds this place a lot more intimate and… romantic than he’s expected.

“By the way, my name’s Wei Wuxian, but you can call me Wei Ying.” He grins, and Lan Wangji once again finds himself thinking how beautiful he is. “You must be Lan Wangji, then, otherwise I took someone else’s client.”

Lan Wangji realizes two things: one, Lan Xichen is a filthy liar, the appointment was never in his name; and two, he doesn’t like the word client.

Still, he nods to confirm his name, and Wei Wuxian smiles, noting something down in a notebook on his desk - of course, this is a business after all, employees must keep a registry of their… visitors. Weird how easy it is for Lan Wangji to forget this, and he’s only been here for 5 minutes.

“Right, so,” Wei Wuxian begins, closing down the notebook, “I’m guessing this is your first time here, right?”

“Mn.”

“Well, how about we sit on the bed and get to know each other a little bit first?”

–

Lan Wangji leans down to kiss a trail down Wei Wuxian’s spine, delighting in the gasp he lets out and the goosebumps that bloom on his skin.

“Go away, I’m angry with you.”

His words carry no bite, and Lan Wangji finds them more adorable than threatening, so he doesn’t obey, wrapping a strong arm around Wei Wuxian’s waist, now kissing down the side of his neck, deliberately pressing harder on the kisses he’s left there the night before.

Wei Wuxian tries to keep in any reaction, but his breaths come out shaky no matter his attempts, and when Lan Wangji finally bites him, finding the tiniest unmarked place on his shoulder, Wei Wuxian moans and arches into it.

“Doesn’t seem all that angry to me.” Lan Wangji comments as he lets go, and Wei Wuxian glares at him over his shoulder.

Lan Wangji finds it in himself to wink in response and bites him again.

–

“Is there anything in particular you’d like?”

“I’m not… knowledgeable in these matters.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, the sound melodious, unbridled. “Knowledgeable! What a word to use! This isn’t an exam, you know? Relax a little!”

Lan Wangji huffs, flustered, and looks away and out the window. He feels Wei Wuxian poke at his cheek. “Why are you being like this? Didn’t you book me?”

“No. My brother did.”

Wei Wuxian laughs again. “Then he must’ve thought we were a good match, right? Work with me here, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji feels so embarrassed he could die. In fact he hopes he does, maybe the ground opens wide and he falls in some endless hole inside the Earth. “Well, I’ve never…done this before.”

“I know, we’ve already…” but the way Lan Wangji stubbornly refuses to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes and clenches his fists on his knees, ears red, finally click in Wei Wuxian’s mind. “Wait, you’ve never cuddled anyone before?”

“...no. Do not make fun of me.”

Wei Wuxian pats his head as if to comfort a crying child. “I would never! But lucky for you, I’m the best person to take your cuddle-virginity!”

“Wei Ying!!”

–

“You know a bite or two won’t get me less angry with you.” Wei Wuxian tries, but the arousal in his voice melts away any of his (rather poor) acting.

“What would, then?”

“I don’t know, figure it out. Grovel a little.”

Lan Wangji sneaks a hand underneath the mess of blankets that Wei Wuxian has bunched over himself, a clear destination in mind.

“Should I beg for forgiveness now?”

Wei Wuxian’s response is lost in a helpless moan, and Lan Wangji feels like biting him again.

He does.

–

“You’re stiff as a board.” Wei Wuxian clicks his tongue (and he has no idea how right he is, actually) as he tries to position himself and Lan Wangji in a simple, sideways hug, “Try to relax. Would you like another pillow or something?”

“No.”

“Alright…”

He wraps an arm around Lan Wangji’s waist, and their bodies are so close now that Lan Wangji can smell his perfume and see all the details of his beautiful face, the few freckles dotting his cheeks and the specks of color in his dark grey eyes.

“For someone that’s so embarrassed to even put a hand around my shoulders, you sure like eye contact.”

Lan Wangji hasn’t even realized he’s staring, and he tries to look away but it seems like, for some reason, all that he can pay attention to is Wei Wuxian.

And, as difficult it is for him to be so physically close to somebody, it feels right with Wei Wuxian somehow - like he’s safe and comfortable… no wonder this is his job. His presence is soothing, he knows how to be exactly the way Lan Wangji needs (even when Lan Wangji himself has no idea what he needs).

“Is there something you’d like to talk about? Or do you just want us to sit in silence?”

“What do you usually do?”

“Well, it depends on the person. I’m fine with anything. I’m a pretty good conversationalist, if I do say so myself.”

If Lan Wangji could describe his smile, it would feel like…

“Why are you… working here?”

“You’re asking me like I’m a prostitute or something.” Wei Wuxian pouts, playfully, before he takes on a more serious stance. “But to answer your question, it’s because I want to help people. I find that a lot of us have a hard time asking for affection, especially the physical kind. Especially the kind that’s not a prerequisite for sex. It’s vulnerable and it feels weird to ask for it, as if you’re being needy or demanding - so, for some, it’s easier to accept it if they pay for it.” He reaches to tuck a strand of hair away from Lan Wangji’s face. “There are also people that are too busy or uninterested in relationships, but still want affection, and they visit every now and then to take what they need.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Most of the time, yeah.” He smiles, “I’m a very touchy person and I love hugs and cuddles, so I’m always ready to share some. Of course, some people are rude or misunderstand the purpose of this service, but that’s rare. Often, I get people that need a listening ear and a hug.” A teasing look, “And the occasional fuddy-duddy, like you.”

Lan Wangji pinches him, and Wei Wuxian yelps from the feeling of it, but also the joy that Lan Wangji is finally opening up to him.

“Now that you’ve asked me questions, I should get to ask you something too, right?”

“Mn…”

“So, why’d your brother think you need me?”

Probably because you’re everything I didn’t know I wanted in a partner - but Lan Wangji doesn’t say that, because it’s creepy since they’ve only just met (not to mention, this is a service, not an actual date or anything like that, so Wei Wuxian has to be like with everyone), and also because it’s too embarrassing to utter such words out loud.

“I… am uncomfortable with physical touch, and I need to work through that.”

Wei Wuxian sends him a sympathetic look. “I get that. You don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable, but did something… cause that?”

“My mother was very physically affectionate when I was young… but then she passed away unexpectedly and affection felt… empty without her.”

Wei Wuxian lets go of Lan Wangji’s waist to take one of his hands in his, comfortingly. “That sounds heavy… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories…”

“It happened a long time ago. I am working through it.”

“If you want me to let go of you at any time, let me know, okay?”

“I do not.”

—

Wei Wuxian is done pretending to be angry at his husband, turning his head to kiss him in what he hopes is more than a mess of lips and tongue. He should be excused, considering he’s currently being thoroughly wrecked by said husband, so he doesn’t worry too much about whether he’s doing well.

He’s run out of mental space for that, all he can focus on is the pleasure Lan Wangji is giving him so relentlessly, and, to be honest, he can’t find it in himself to care about anything else. It’s mind-numbingly good, and if Wei Wuxian ends up screaming his orgasm out loud enough for the neighbors to call the police on suspicion of domestic violence, then so be it.

—

Lan Wangji finally finds the courage in himself to place his arm over Wei Wuxian’s waist, a mirror of the other’s gesture. It feels… foreign, but not unpleasant, and he finds himself dragging his body closer to the other’s.

“See? It’s not that bad.”

“Quiet.”

“I’ve been harping on about myself forever now, it’s your turn. Tell me something I would have never guessed by looking at you.”

“I can play the guqin.”

“That’s really cool, though you do kind of look like someone sophisticated enough to be able to do that.”

Lan Wangji’s ears pink up.

“Try again.”

“I spend a lot of my free time in the gym.”

Wei Wuxian smiles in a way lan Wangji has learned is mischievous and teasing. “Not hard to guess, with this muscle I can feel. Try again.”

Lan Wangji decides not to address the new compliment and continues. “I can cook very well.”

“Really? You look like the kind of guy that has a private chef.”

“My brother does. I personally enjoy cooking.”

“I like to cook as well, though I’m told my food isn’t edible because it’s really spicy.”

“I do not handle spice well.”

“What a shame, everyone needs some spice in their life! I bet I could cook you something that would make you fall in love with spice!”

–

It’s far too hot under the blankets now, after the strenuous activities that just transpired, so Lan Wangji has opened the window to let fresh air in. Unfortunately, the sound of the neighbors’ old lawnmower does not make for pleasant background noise.

“We should gift them a new lawnmower for Christmas or something, that thing sounds like a Diesel motor with tuberculosis!”

It’s a funny description, although it is very accurate. Wei Wuxian stretches his limbs, and flops into the bedsheets like a starfish. “One more day and we can finally bring A-Yuan home! I can’t believe I’m excited for a Monday!”

Lan Wangji feels that overwhelming warmth in his chest again, the thought of his and Wei Wuxian’s family becoming complete filling him with joy beyond words. A-Yuan fits right into their home, into their hearts, and so adopting him has been a long, though pleasant journey where they all got to know each other and build trust and love to last forever.

Lan Wangji’s heart feels so full as he imagines him and Wei Wuxian raising the boy, and living through the simplest of days together in their domestic bliss.

He has always wanted this, a family he could provide for and love, his own safe place in the world, away from everything else. Soon, he will receive it.

The sound of scratching and meowing at the door interrupts Lan Wangji’s musings. Wei Wuxian laughs from his comfortable spot on the bed. “Looks like the babies are awake. And hungry.”

Lan Wangji redresses and puts his hair up. “When aren’t they hungry?”

“I don’t know. But I am hungry too!”

–

“Brother, I am never going there again.” Lan Wangji declares as he returns from the cuddle service appointment.

Lan Xichen raises a curious eyebrow. “Was it that unpleasant?”

“It was not. But I am not going.”

A wide grin stretches across Lan Xichen’s features. “Wangji.”

“Quiet. No.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you-”

“Someone’s got a crush!”

—

Lan Wangji returns to his and Wei Wuxian’s bedroom about half an hour later, carrying a generous tray of breakfast choices, alongside coffee and tea. Wei Wuxian kisses him softly as thanks before digging in, and Lan Wangji is only a bit jealous.

“What would you like to do today?” Lan Wangji asks, as he drinks his morning tea.

“Stay in bed with you.” Wei Wuxian replies, as he flirtatiously bites into a piece of strawberry.

Lan Wangji pulls him into a kiss and steals the piece of fruit from right between his lips.

“You make everything taste sweet.”

Wei Wuxian turns red. “Lan Zhan!”

–

“Lan Zhan, we need to talk.” Wei Wuxian starts as Lan Wangji walks through the door for yet another cuddle appointment, his streak having long reached double digits.

“What is it?”

“You’re spending a lot here - time, money… why? It’s - you can just ask me to meet outside work, we’re basically friends by now-“

“I don’t want to be friends…”

Wei Wuxian’s face falls, but he controls his expression once he realizes it. “Yes, I’m sorry, um, I was presumptuous, I didn’t mean to imply there was something more and…”

Lan Wangji pulls him into a kiss, and Wei Wuxian is all too eager to return it.

“I don’t want to be friends. I want to be more.”

–

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji do have an anniversary date, the date they got married - but to Lan Wangji, they have another one as well: the day of his first cuddle service appointment, when he walked through the doors of the establishment expecting to come out the same as he went in. Oh, how wrong he had been to think so!

And how glad he is to have been proven otherwise!

Holding Wei Wuxian in his arms, long retired from his job as a cuddle provider, watching some romantic comedy as they snack on takeout, Lan Wangji realizes just how great it is to be wrong sometimes.

And how everything in his life now feels right.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #writing attempts

87 notes · View notes

typically-untypical · 8 months

Text

Their Emotions

Per @amateurmasksmith's request!

AU: Canon divergent

CW: None that I know of

WC: 1937

Date: August 11th, 2023

Janus pulled the gloves securely around his hands, lingering as he looked down at the yellow fabric. Yes he liked the aesthetic but that wasn't the predominant reason he wore the constrictive fabric. In fact, Janus didn't dress the way he did purely because the dark and mysterious vibe was a fun persona to play, rather his touch was a beautiful and dangerous thing. He doubted others were affected by his power, they had their own things to deal with. Thomas was a whole person, but they were fragments, pieces, and with that came certain quirks. Patton could literally starve if he wasn't touched; Logan turned into a statue when Thomas had brain freeze, and when he was younger, Virgil had wings as a part of the whole "Fight or flight" mantra. Not all of their quirks were tied to idioms, some of them were just because of how Thomas viewed the world, or how he wanted the world to be. Janus assumed that was how he turned out to be an empath, something along the lines of deceitful people being the most in tune to other people's emotions. Fortunately, it was only when he had skin to skin contact. He could hide behind his layers of clothing and be spared the other's feelings. It was overwhelming.

Back when Janus was still Self-Preservation, when he wasn't seen as a villain, his small hands would reach for Patton's. Emotions gave off such beautiful feelings, love and care that filled the sense in every way. Holding Patton's hand was like being encompassed by home, the smell of dinner cooking, the hum of happy melodies. Janus had loved holding tightly to Patton and that feeling. The gloves hadn't become a staple to his ensemble until they were in elementary school. Love didn't last, and the warmth turned to disappointment as Janus reached for Patton's hand. It burned worse than anything he had ever felt; it was a stabbing pain through his heart and he had pulled his hand away like he had touched fire. Patton's disappointment grew on his face. Janus and Remus were pushed away from Thomas shortly after that, and Janus wore gloves to keep him from reaching out for a comfort that would never come.

Long sleeves came next, a heated fight with Virgil turned nearly violent as the anxious side grabbed his arm.

"I need you to listen to me!" Virgil had screamed, but all Janus could feel was fear, pain, and anger. He had yanked his arm away, putting on his most deceitful smile as he fought to catch his breath. He had known about Virgil's pain but he had never understood the depths of it. He wish he could help the anxious side; he wished he could explain why they needed to hide, why they couldn't tell anyone about their feelings.

"Thomas isn't ready to know that much about himself, and it will only cause him pain in the end." He knew Virgil needed more of an explanation than that, but he was so focused on the pain of lying that he couldn't see the monsters around them, the way their life could fall apart if they told the truth. All Virgil knew was the pressure to be good, to share everything, the pressure not to lie. His fear lingered in Janus' heart, beating rapidly as he questioned his own decision.

Virgil looked at him disgusted, sneering "you're nothing but a liar" before walking away. That was when he started being called Deceit. No longer was he the side that wanted to protect Thomas, that was Virgil's job. Virgil was looking out for Thomas, trying to protect him from the world. Janus was just... deceit. That was also the day he stopped leaving his arms vulnerable to touch. Virgil's fingers left lingering prickles of panic. He never really figured how to get rid of the feeling, but it was fine. Janus donned a black shirt that covered his arms, a color Virgil favored, and everything was fine.

The capelet was next, a memory he chose not to focus on as pushed away the feeling of fingers on his throat. Anger was such an unpleasant feeling to experience second hand. He hated the idea that anyone could force him to lose sight of his job. Anger burned, anger consumed. It choked him with its smoke and fire as Nisus held onto his throat. Janus had spent so long pushing down his anger, pushing down the frustration and pain but Nisus had pulled it out with a single touch. The destructive path he left behind had scared even Remus.

Never again.

He didn't need to know what the others felt. He didn't want to know. He could no longer pull up the memories of Patton's love and care. Touch only brought pain, and so Janus stayed covered.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts as he walked into the common area.

"Morning Janus!" Patton was the first to greet him, disappointment had faded into pity, much the same way Patton had pitied Virgil in the beginning. It was a step in the right direction, but it was a far cry from the love Janus' heart remembered.

"Good Morning," He responded smoothly, walking over to his seat and surveying the others. He knew how they all felt about him. There was no need to brush his fingers against their arms, to feel the thrum of their emotions in his own heart.

Roman was discussing something with Virgil who was listening, but just barely.

Contempt. Betrayal.

Logan was reading a book, curled up in a posture he would yell at anyone else for having.

Nothing. That almost hurt worse.

Patton was walking over to him.

Pity.

"Hey Jannie, it's been hot the past few days so we were all thinking of going to the imagination to go swimming."

Swimming required a swimsuit, which typically required fewer layers. He could put on a wetsuit but the idea of wet clothes against his scales was completely unappealing. He typically loved the beach, curling up in the warm sand, allowing the salty water to occasionally spray him and cool him down. He didn't want to say no to a family excursion when they were all beginning to get along, but he couldn't risk touching them. He didn't want to know. He wasn't afraid... hesitant was a better word. "If I do join you I will most likely stay on the beach, I'm not a fan of swimming." He could stay in his full outfit and it wouldn't be a problem.

"I know you're supposed to be the lord of the lies," Remus chimed in from the air grate, sticking his head out. They had reinforced the air ducts for exactly this reason. "One of your favorite activities is laying on a rock in the sun while the cool waves brush against you. You won't even let me make the rock poisonous or anything like that."

Janus hissed at Remus who disappeared back into the HVAC system, giggling manically. Janus had taken years to be comfortable being dressed down in front of Remus, almost a decade even, but he was immediately beginning to regret that decision as the others looked at him. The problem was now, whether or not he told the truth they'd have their suspicions. He cautioned on another lie.

"Apologies, the truth is embarrassing which is why I didn't lead with that. I don't like being less than fully covered in front of others."

This time it was Virgil who snorted and chimed in. "You weren't always that way. You used to love showing off your arms and-" Virgil cut himself off and Janus knew they had both had the same thought. That was before Virgil and him were arguing, before Janus became a snake. Honestly, being part snake didn't bother Janus, but he was happy for Virgil to make that assumption.

"As I said, I'd be happy to attend, but I will remain on the beach." He tilted his head to the side, doing his best to give off an unassuming smile. He didn't focus on the way Roman rolled his eyes, or on the way Virgil glared at him like he was a puzzle.

"Well, if that will make you the happiest, kiddo." Patton chimed, his own voice strained and Janus was debating backing out entirely.

"I will also stay on the beach. I have a few books I would like to finish, but getting out in the pseudo fresh air should be good for all of us." Logan had set down his book and was looking at all of the others. The idea that Janus wouldn't be alone on the beach seemed to relax Patton.

"I'll prepare a picnic," he clamored, making his way toward the kitchen.

The four remaining sides sat in awkward silence. Logan looked like he had something to say. Roman was obviously trying to avoid looking at Janus. He still argued that things were getting better, but they certainly weren't anywhere near pleasant.

"Roman, don't you need Virgil to help you pick out your outfit for the beach?"

"What? I would-" His dramatic statement was cut off as Logan looked at him. The logical side wasn't being subtle but maybe he wasn't trying to be. That wasn't his strong suit.

"Right, of course, come on Virgil." Virgil looked between Logan and Janus before sighing.

"Yeah, okay, whatever."

Soon it was just Janus and Logan in the room, and Logan took a seat again, this time a little closer to Janus. "I don't understand what has you hesitant to be loosely clothed in front of us, but know we will respect your needs... at least, I will."

Janus snorted and gently shook his head. "That was never in doubt for me Logan, you are respectful to a fault."

"A fault?" His eyebrow quirked in question.

"Sometimes it would benefit you to be more selfish and demand your own needs be met."

"Although I don't necessarily disagree with you, I believe the conversation was supposed to be about your needs and wants and not my own."

"Do you truly believe I am not taking care of my needs?" Janus asked, putting his hand to his chest. "I am Thomas' sense of self-preservation."

Logan stared at him with a deadpan look. "And Virgil is Thomas' anxiety. He enjoys giving anxiety but also gets anxiety, we are facsimiles of people. We are complex."

It was kind for him to care, though, strange. "I stand by my earlier statement. You care more than you should." Janus shook his head. "By sitting on the beach I will be taking care of my needs. I will be able to remain fully clothed while continuing to build the bonds which will suit all of us and Thomas far more than our current situation does."

The other side continued to look at him with that quirked eyebrow but eventually relented. "If you would like to talk about the reason you are adverse to showing us your skin and scales, I am here to listen." Logan stood up. "I should also get ready. Patton will be wanting to leave the moment he is done in the kitchen."

As soon as Logan left, Janus let out a soft sigh. He knew how they all felt. He was sure he did... then why did his fingers tingle to reach out for Logan, to see if there was truth in his statement? Janus looked down at his gloved hands. One day. Maybe one day he would be able to reach out to one of them.

Tag List: @simplestoryteller @fantasticfangirl21 @joylessnightsky @glacierruler

#sanders side fic #fanfic #sanders sides #logan sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #Janus Sanders #Janus angst #hurt/comfort #mildly unresolved

58 notes · View notes

whatifyoulivelikethat · 1 year

Text

who's running this game, m | myg, jjk

misfit toys au continuation of intro >> don't play with the misfit toys

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, jungkook x reader

summary: Oh, Min Yoongi. You've made a mistake, haven't you? And yet you still can't bring yourself to lower your head to your stepsister that would gladly be on her knees for you. These misfit toys are trapped in their own game. Heh, but the funny thing about people is, everyone thinks they run this game, but not everyone knows the weapons in their arsenal... or the players playing.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; warning! implied sexual abuse (no direct actions are described); children of equally wealthy and shitty parents; name calling; lies and deceit; certain people appearing in v convenient places hmmmm; stepsiblings; intense smut stepsiblings still fuckin (fem reader, D/s (switches and ???), m and f-receiving oral, use of a makeshift cock ring (fingers), cock-and-ball torture, face-fucking, fucking in Yoongi's music studio, (literally) ripping clothes off, fingering, cumming on reader's ass, a latex gimp suit, restraints, use of an inflatable gag and a vibrator wand, handjob, overstimulation, face sitting); non-idol!AU - orange-haired!Yoongi x savage, bad bitch!reader, ft protective, security guard!Jeon Jungkook; shifts between your, JK's, and Yoongi's POV

“Where’s your brother?”

You didn’t say anything.

Just stared at the open window, out into the blue sky and sunlight. The heated rays cast over half of the bed. The scene of the crime, alight. Over the headboard, the rumpled pillows, and sharp scraps of torn condom wrappers. Your undergarments were merely slivers of shredded lace amongst the luxe white bedsheets that stunk of sex.

“Master?”

You looked away from the window, body wrapped in the obsidian silk robe that was tied securely at the waist. Glanced at the wall, then down at the carpet.

A switchblade with an engraved black tiger laid there, abandoned.

You turned away and stared out the window again, seeing nothing despite the city below honking and screaming with life. You sat at the end of the bed, the side with no sunlight. He even took his cut-up boxer briefs. Not even a single dyed-orange strand left behind. White-hot anger crawled through your stomach, coiling like a starving python. A presence approached, standing beside you.

A tattooed hand on your left shoulder.

Your head jerked, shifting your gaze down at it.

The tail end of a black snake tattoo was sticking out of the cuff, ink slithering up the back of that tan wrist.

You reduced your breathing to nearly nothing.

The strong fingers squeezed your shoulder lightly, reminding you of their grip.

You turned away from the hand and breathed out normally again, only disturbing the air in front of you. The security guard said nothing, because it was not his place to say anything. Still, you were reminded of many things now. Grounded yourself to your senses. Remembered what people are capable of. What you were capable of.

In this world, everyone shot everybody.

And this?

This was just information.

The side of your lips ticked up.

You raised your left hand, accompanied by a new weight of a platinum chain bracelet with black glass beads.

Placed it on tattooed knuckles and stroked them, memorizing the roughness of that skin, listening to the bit-back gasp above you, recognizing the tremble of those fingertips as soon as your touch completed.

“Jungkook.”

“Yes, Master?”

Your fingers stilled.

Then you jammed your fingernails into the back of that tattooed hand, growling in your chest, the white-hot anger stabbing through your nerves. For his part, Jeon Jungkook made no noise except the slight flinch of his fingers, and yet he did not recoil, even as you dragged down, almond-shaped manicure clawing downward. You turned your head again, giving partial attention to the sudden red-hot lines on the back of your security guard’s hand.

Some of the black ink was hiding thin scars underneath.

You had felt them as you scratched him.

“Sorry about that,” you breathed, letting your warm exhale wash over the inflamed skin, your lips barely moving. “I’ll add a bonus for today.”

Your hair shrouded your vision, not allowing you to glance up at his face. You didn’t look up anyway, transfixed by the lines of pain you inflicted, feeling a sudden sense of serene.

“There’s no need,” the guard replied gently. “I’m trained to be tough.”

Now you felt yourself smile.

“What about a gift instead?” you murmured, tilting your head a little more. Brushed your hair against the hidden snake tail, leaning closer to the hand so those strong, trembling fingers could feel your delicate sigh. You raised your right hand gracefully and pointed your index and middle fingers together, drawing all other fingers back. Extended your arm straight out. Swept it in an arc, from the window, to the headboard, to right behind you, the wall.

Pointed down to the carpet.

“You like knives, Jungkook?”

A second of silence.

“I love knives, Master,” was the answer.

You grinned.

Jeon Jungkook worked as a security guard for a gentlemen’s club. Five days a week, with two consecutive days off. Occasional rotating weekends if a special event was happening. There were also scheduled days off for all staff. He could take vacation whenever he wanted with notice two weeks beforehand and clear communication to the rest of the team. If he was sick, he was advised not to go to work. If he had to work overnight, he would receive an extra day off as well as compensation pay. The hardest part of the job was throwing out drunken old men with lost dignity once their ill-advised advances were rejected.

A surprising amount of strength could be conjured once one’s pride was injured, Jungkook learned.

Like everyone else working there, he liked his job. The girls were hot, the bartending staff gave them free drinks on their breaks, and everyone worked together to create a safe environment. If you got lucky, one of the girls would take a liking to you and you could get banging sex out of it too. Still, everyone kept all relations surface level. There was zero-tolerance for slut-shaming on any side. The owner of the club, who everyone called Master, didn’t allow for childish drama. It was bad for business if co-workers disliked each other over a long period of time. It was almost better to blow-up and physically fight – a lot of issues could be resolved that way, man to man, woman to woman. But that passive-aggressive shit, no, that lead to petty bullshit and wasted time.

The Masters would not allow that.

The old Master was a cunning bitch, despite looking like an airheaded, doll-like bimbo. She counted every cent and herded her girls well. Any other staff was automatically viewed on a lower tier to her innocent working ladies. But above all, the cash flow was more important than an employee’s personal affairs.

Like he said.

A bitch.

Jungkook didn’t bother with taking any of the girls home or being too close with his co-workers. He came to work to make money, not to get into tangled situation-ships or accidentally make friends with the wrong sort.

He had dragged more than one of his co-workers to the emergency room because of a drug overdose.

It wasn’t a normal job. He saw some shit. Did some shit himself. It was better to keep those kinds of things separate from his personal life, he decided. If he didn’t talk about them constantly, they wouldn’t be synonymous with himself as a person. Better for his mental health to dissociate from certain things he had to do on a dark night.

Nothing personal.

Just part of the job.

Anyway, those things were a rare occurrence lately. The old Master was gone more frequently now, and so the young Master, her daughter, oversaw most things presently. Unlike the old Master, who primarily hired based on looks, the young Master had a keen eye for people. I can pay for anyone to look more attractive, the young Master used to comment after interviews when she would collect the staff to discuss the new hires. But I can’t pay for a good head on one’s shoulders. People don’t learn lessons overnight. Jungkook appreciated that she involved the team even if they didn’t have any say in the final decision.

It felt more open and honest.

Jungkook turned his new switchblade in his hand, kicking his feet up on his travertine coffee table.

He slid the blade out.

The mechanism was smoother than any other he had ever touched.

He looked up to the tip of the blade, seeing his high square-footage, high-rise city apartment sprawled out before him. Elegantly furnished with quality brands, the diffuser on his bookshelf giving off a light, clean vanilla scent. Because of his job, he could afford this easily. He turned the weapon in his hand, sunlight gleaming off the edge.

The young Master had instructed him to go home after he dropped her off at her condominium.

His apartment was only a few blocks away.

Jungkook opened and closed the knife repeatedly, seething.

He looked down at the back of his right hand holding the blade. The pink lines were gone now, of course. He healed fast and, besides, she hadn’t been able to dig her nails in that deep.

Unfortunate.

Jungkook closed the knife and held it tightly in his palm, squeezing it so hard so the ridges imprinted into his skin.

Breathed out slowly, remembering last night.

His back against the hotel wall, in silence, holding the keycard to her door. He had waited a long time. A long time, but he was patient.

It was important to be patient.

He had heard the loud clatter and then the sudden rhythmic smacking of wood on wallpapered drywall.

Jungkook did not like the young Master’s stepbrother.

He actually didn’t like any of her family. Not that that cunning bitch she had for a mother; not the charismatic, sharp-faced, self-centered, who-knew-what-number husband mockingly called Papa; and especially not that scowl-faced, self-centered fuck that the young Master called brother. He didn’t have to like them to work for them. To be honest, they never did anything in particular to him. They were far too concerned with themselves to waste time looking down at him. He wasn’t important enough to be demeaned.

But the young Master.

It was not that she seemed greatly different from this chemical disaster of a family. She lived in luxury and used her sexual prowess to get whatever she wanted. She had a ruthlessness to her too, and did not allow anyone to question her final decision. There was something not quite right happening behind those eyes. Jungkook didn’t have the education to dissect exactly what that was, but it didn’t matter that much. He was just supposed to protect her when it was his turn to do so. He wasn’t supposed to ask questions, only answer hers.

Yet Jungkook was sometimes there when she called Min Yoongi, brother, and he saw the way Min Yoongi turned away from it every time.

Her tone was teasing and clearly aimed to provoke her stepbrother.

But her eyes.

Jungkook released his grip on the switchblade and turned his hand, letting it roll solidly to his fingers.

He had been with her when she purchased it.

He had asked her who it was for. Out of curiosity, with not much intention.

“It’s for Yoongi’s birthday.”

He looked up to his wide-screen television, seeing his own reflection in the black. His furrowed brows, set jaw, pursed lips, and lazy home clothes, oversized minimally printed long pajamas, holding Min Yoongi’s birthday present that he had picked off the floor and pocketed, given to him as additional compensation for today.

Jungkook sometimes wondered why the young Master’s eyes looked like a child’s, begging for someone to help, and he wondered why no one ever noticed.

But that was none of his business.

He had a thin, side-leg pocket on his uniform pants. A perfect place to slide the clip of the switchblade into, with the outstretched paw and snarling head of the engraved black tiger clearly visible.

Jungkook got up from the sofa.

You slid onto the wooden stool by the easel, picking up the pencil.

There was little room left on this canvas yet, and there were many thoughts in your head, swarming like flies over rotten meat.

You raised your hand and wrote carefully this time. Neatly, with attention to each line and curve, making sure the characters were clearly legible, as if you were a young child learning how to write. It was a stark contrast to the quick, aggressive scrawls beside it. You took your time. You had lots of time. There was no need to rush. In the silence, in the forced dark of blackout curtains, in the red glow of this otherwise sterile bedroom, you breathed out, letting the words come.

He knows.

There was no need to worry.

I can still feel his skin under my nails.

There were aches over your body. Scratches. Bruises.

It’s not about knowing what he’s thinking. It’s about directing his thinking to where I want it to go.

Still, it was good. It meant it was real.

I thought he would take a little more of a chance, honestly. Is he not aware of all the weapons in his arsenal? Or just afraid to use them? That might be it. I felt his fear.

It meant you were alive.

Don’t be afraid.

The sound of graphite on canvas was the loudest noise here, louder than your own breathing.

I’ll bring out the worst in you yet.

You raised the pencil from the canvas. Placed it on the floor, and then cracked open the can of black paint, paintbrush sitting on the drop cloth beside it. Picked up the wooden stick and began to stir, the noxious fumes penetrating the air.

You would open a window after.

Min Yoongi stepped out of the shower and nearly collided with his stepsister.

Thick layers of ivory, plush Turkish cotton was suddenly between their bodies, his wet one and her clothed one.

She smiled, amused.

“I think you forgot the staff are on vacation because Papa and Mother aren’t here,” she hummed, pressing the towel to his chest. “No one has restocked the linens. You were too careless to check, weren’t you?”

The steam curled around them. Water ran down his back, and yet Yoongi did nothing but stare into her eyes, the gears in his core click, click, clicking, remembering last night. Fingers tangled in each other’s hair, flashes of pain, eyes locked and hips flush, shared shaking breath between fierce kisses, forbidden pleasure abundant and overflowing.

“Aren’t you lucky I decided to stop by the house?”

She took his hand off the shower frame and placed it on the top of the towel, the edges of his wet knuckles dripping water onto her blazer. A tailored black suit with a white shirt. Everything pressed crisp. She stepped back, and he saw the jacket was cropped, exposing the way the slacks molded to her shapely thighs and the curve of her hips. In the mansion, the bathrooms were large, so the mirrors did not generally completely fog up.

Yoongi glanced at the mirror, seeing her perky ass that begged for his open palm.

He darted his gaze back to her, but she was already giving that view, turning away and heading to the bathroom door.

He barked her name to her retreating back.

She paused, ticking her head to indicate he had her attention, but she did not turn enough to look directly at him.

For some reason, that hurt.

“Stand in front of me again.”

A moment of mute, terrified silence.

Then she turned, luscious hair pinned back one side flaring out. Step by step, lush lashes lifting, and he stepped out of the shower, flicking off water, his dyed red-orange hair damp and sticking to his face, pushing it away so he could stare back into those eyes that were no longer glittering in the dark, but bright under bathroom lights and approaching twilight.

She stood in front of him again, and he faced her.

“What’s wrong, Yoongi?”

The corner of her lips quirked upwards.

He closed the distance and pressed his lips to hers, breathing in her perfume and scattering more water onto her pristine suit. Hand rising, fingertips gliding across her jaw, pulling her head close, deepening the kiss and nicking her lower lip with his teeth, making her smile and lean into it, unbothered by the water, her tongue tracing the corner of his mouth.

“So you are glad to see me,” she whispered, sucking away his inhale.

He narrowed his eyes, digging his fingernails into her scalp.

“Get on your knees,” Yoongi growled.

He yanked the towel out from between them, but she caught it, deftly flipping it open with one wrist flick, and then she pulled back, using both hands to bring it up and over his shoulders, cloaking him in soft Turkish cotton.

Smiled, amused.

“Don’t want you to get a cold.”

She should have called him, brother, but they were way past that now. Especially with her dropping to her knees on his command, right at the soft bath mat at their feet, and obediently opened her mouth for him to shove his semi-hard cock into. He sucked in a breath, suddenly enveloped in hot tightness, holding his chin high and looking down.

She looked back at him, curling her tongue around his balls, coating them with saliva.

He involuntarily shivered, then locked his knees, not allowing it, but those eyes only sparkled with mirth, swallowing him all the way to the base. No hands needed. Licked from his balls to the thin skin underneath the tip, up and down and getting him hard fast, so quickly he had to bite back his hiss, tendrils of dangerous ecstasy travelling all over his body, turning his damp cold skin into shimmering heat from his rushing pulse.

Her hand shot up and gripped his spit-covered balls, locking them in a knuckle cage.

“Fuck–”

A jolt of pain, and then his chest rippled, her head immediately moving back and forth, soft lips grazing the sensitive head of his cock and then ramming it into the back of her throat. His shaft swelled, increasing in girth in a wave of lightheadedness, the agonizing ecstasy unavoidable, overwhelming, all-consuming, his left hand flying back and gripping the metal shower frame, the towel falling down his back, skimming his ass and the back of his hard, tense legs, his peripheral vision clouded by slices of blood orange.

Gasping.

Her free hand lifted, gently stroking his trembling hip as she sucked him off.

He steeled his breathing, throbs shooting up his core, and lowered his head, seeing her steadfast hold and plush lips closed around his cock, her gaze immediately flickering upward once he redirected his attention. No wasted time.

Mocking him.

He clenched his jaw and forced his right hand forward, gripping the back of her head and thrusting into her mouth deeply, deliberately, and slower, reclaiming the pace. Her knuckles pulsed, sending another wave of almost pain to his already hazy judgement, but Yoongi did not let himself balk, keeping his hold on her head and rolling his hips forward at his own rhythm. He would not fall to the anger. He was going for his own pleasure, and his own pleasure did not rely on causing pain. He was going to use her for every skill she had. What was the point of being skilled if he couldn’t exploit them?

So, Yoongi did just that.

He fucked his stepsister’s face and flicked water all over her suit, messing up her hair with his grasp, panting hard.

Her tongue circled him and added unpredictable sensation to his thrusts, curling around his girth to become a tighter sleeve, pushing him up to rub against the roof of her mouth, flattening so he achieved a better angle of depth, all the while running the fingers of her free hand over his tingling skin, keeping his balls in an almost unbearable cage of her knuckles. He did not care. Was going to cum whether or not she was going to make it harder for him, not deterred by this obstacle, actually made stronger by it, his core tightening, winding, pooling deep inside. Breathing shallow, eyelids fluttering, staring down at her, her name torn from his raw throat.

Her eyes narrowed, glinting below him.

He grimaced, orgasm colliding into his moment, jerking his head back and shooting down her throat, each hip flinch mirroring his cock twitching, pumping cum down her throat mercilessly. Her throat closed in and she swallowed, causing him to swallow back a tender hiss, his sore muscles reminding him of what he had done less than twenty-four hours before.

The hand around his balls unlocked, releasing him.

She licked all around his softening length, turning the afterglow into a wet, warm caress.

Yoongi breathed out slowly, sensing the quiver in his exhale.

“Get…”

His heartbeat roaring in his ears.

“Get off me.”

She popped her mouth off him and kissed his inner thigh. An icy itch slithered down his spine at the contact. His wet cock flopped out and hit her in the cheek. She stood up as if this scene was normal, being covered in shower water, saliva, and traces of his cum, still composed despite being disheveled by his forceful hands.

She smiled, amused.

“I came to get my passport. See you, Yoongi.”

She waved and turned away, going back to the bathroom door, leaving him there to catch his breath, suddenly cold.

“I forgot my knife in that room,” he yelled to the empty hallway.

“I don’t have it,” she called back, and then her head appeared over the edge of the doorframe, holding up her passport. “You should check the lost and found at the hotel. Or I’ll buy you a new one, if you like,” she added with a smirk.

A surge of annoyance. He bent down and snatched the towel from the ground, scowling.

“Don’t bother.”

Stopped.

The imprint of her knees on the white bath mat, right by his feet.

Yoongi looked up again, but his stepsister was gone.

“What happened?”

You turned, startled at the deep voice. Someone was coming out of the employee lockers, wearing all-black. Jeans and a t-shirt, both loose and baggy. Too informal for the gentlemen’s club. Large brown eyes and long black hair, free of his usual uniform hat, the small mole underneath his lower lip peeking out from under the center of shapely, parted pink lips.

One arm was bare skin, unmarked.

The other was heavily inked, splashed with color and bold black lines. An entire sleeve done by a skilled artist. The man was holding a thick black leather wallet in his right hand. He noticed you glancing at it and he raised it, bowing his head slightly.

“I forgot it. Because I accompanied Master last night.”

You tilted your head.

Jeon Jungkook looked sheepish. “Oh… I usually eat whatever the cooks make, or you pay when we leave, so I always felt it was safer to leave it in the lockers.”

You cocked an eyebrow.

“Ah, my phone.”

He slipped his hand under the hem of his shirt and pulled out his cell phone, showing the back of it to reveal the card slot in the case.

“Has my IDs in it. For driving and stuff.”

He put it back in his pocket, nodding awkwardly. Made no move to put his wallet away, which is what a normal person would do, but then you noticed his inquisitive eyes were on your suit, honing in the details of the slightly darker spots in the crisp black fabric. He looked up to the ceiling that was nothing but maroon paint and overhead lights.

Jungkook frowned. “Is it raining?”

You told the truth.

“No.”

The guard off-duty lowered his gaze, looking back at you with confusion. “I heard someone almost running. I didn’t think it would be you, Master.”

The service elevator was at the end of the hall. It led up to the other floors, but it also was the only elevator that accessed the top floor. The top floor was a single room. The head office, which was sharply and lavishly decorated for very specific meetings for top clients or investors. It was a display of power and it did its job well. You didn’t keep much in the desk, since you shared it with your mother. She cluttered it with her perfumes, alcohol, and money from her travels. There were big wads of cash in those locked drawers. She wasn’t going to miss any.

Bitch couldn’t even remember her body count.

You didn’t need to take her money, but it felt fun doing so.

Jungkook’s frown deepened, his brows knitting together. “Did something happen? I know I’m not working right now, but I can help the guys out if someone did anyth–”

“Jungkook.”

He immediately shut up. Alert, all attention on you.

“You are not obligated to do anything related to work during your off time. Any disturbance is none of your concern.”

“I know, I–”

Your eyes narrowed.

In his casual clothes, with his hair down, Jungkook almost seemed young. No, young was the wrong word. When he was working, you noticed he was focused and intense, not allowing anything to escape his observance. But now he was standing before you, unguarded. An open book. The was muffled, chaotic noise below your feet. The club in full swing. Alcohol, dancing, depravity. Secrets created every day. You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes. Scrutinizing him, from his sudden self-cutoff to his right hand clutching his wallet, to his large dark eyes and open mouth, as if he forgot what to say in the wake of your abrupt shift in demeanor.

You found the correct word to describe his current, visible disposition.

Innocent.

Your high heel stayed on the floor as you turned the pointed toe, directing it right at him.

Directed your command to the question in his eyes.

“Say it.”

The slightest tuck of his chin, causing his black hair to fall over part of his big brown orbs. How strange. He was much more direct in his guard uniform. Or was it because he felt exposed in front of you as a civilian? That shouldn’t be true. Your difference in economic class still existed regardless of what he was wearing or doing.

“You… You seem distressed, Master,” Jungkook voiced, bracing himself for your reaction.

There was a lot of noise below but, in this tension, you could hear a pin drop.

You should have told him that you were fine and to go home.

Instead, you said, “You have the next few days off, don’t you?”

Jungkook blinked rapidly.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, yes. Yes, I do.”

You held up your passport.

“You want to come to Taiwan with me?”

He had never flown first-class before. It was such a short flight too, only a little over two hours. He had so much space to put his legs. He asked how much the ticket was, but the young Master just smiled at him, amused. She was still in her suit. A couple hours had passed, from him throwing together a duffel bag and her waiting outside his apartment. She drove. Had valet take her car. It was already late at night, so security was a breeze.

By now, her clothes were completely dry.

He didn’t want to bring up that he noticed the knees had been particularly wet.

“Were you going to go alone?” Jungkook asked when they were seated, getting ready to take off.

His boss ticked her head.

Looked at him pointedly.

“Mmmm, yeah.”

His breathing stilled, startled by the playfulness of her voice. A stark contrast to the measured, sharpened tone she used for work. Almost childlike in conduct, even though she was dressed in formalwear.

“Why?”

The young Master sat back in her seat and shrugged.

“Can’t take it anymore, I guess.”

Jungkook felt an icy itch slither down his spine as he witnessed her calm expression.

She perked up abruptly and reached for her briefcase. It was black leather, from a high-end brand, but with gunmetal clasps. Normally, they would be gold, or at least that was what Jungkook had seen in stores. This one must have been customized for her. She reached inside and pulled out a big, thickly padded envelope.

Jungkook’s eyes widened.

She placed it in his lap, patting it.

He stared at it like it was on fire.

“Spending money. Do you know my mother likes to carry cash overseas? Isn’t that insane? Maybe she wants to get mugged. A gangbang is probably on her list of top fantasies. What am I saying, she’s probably done it by now. Guess she must have enjoyed the experience. Anyway, saves you the trouble of any bank fees, am I right?”

He jerked his head, gawking at her in disbelief. “Master, I can’t–”

Her finger shot forward and hovered right over his shaking lips.

Not touching.

Above, the intercom dinged, asking passengers to stow away their items and put on their seatbelts. The plane was to take off shortly. It began to move, a mechanical monster lurching around the crowded, unmindful passengers.

“It’d be a bit strange if you called me by my work title on a pleasure trip, wouldn’t it?” the young Master whispered, low and dirty, as if it was a big secret they shared. “I’ll let you call me by given name, just this once.”

She winked, the side of her lips ticking upwards.

Jungkook found that he couldn’t breathe.

“Try it.”

He shook his head. She turned her head the tiniest bit, clicking her tongue. Wagged her finger, like he had done something naughty. Seconds felt like hours. Then her fingertip wandered, and landed on the silver ring at the corner of his lips. Daintily patted the piercing.

A flickering caress, like the brush of a forked snake’s tongue.

“I can wait, Jungkook.”

The attendant came to check and instantly her hand shot back, clicking her seatbelt into place and smiling at the young lady as Jungkook fumbled with his, his heartbeat roaring in his ears and rattling in his ribcage, wondering what the fuck just happened.

Min Yoongi nearly flung his cell phone into the wall.

Instead, he crushed the empty water bottle in his other hand, narrowing his eyes at the screen. A quick Google search was all it took and there his stepsister was, splashed over tabloid articles that complimented her impeccable style, oh, and blatantly reminding everyone of her single status. The latest news, snapped just this morning.

In the streets of Taipei City, Taiwan.

He stared down the photo of her in a cropped white puffer jacket. Thin black scarf. Low v-neckline fuzzy white sweater. Black cargo pants slung low on her hips with clean black-and-white sneakers. The smallest peek of midriff appeared when her hips swung during her stride. The paparazzi got the perfect shot, naturally. Light makeup. Clean girl aesthetic, the headline read.

Yoongi hurled the crushed water bottle into the far wall of his studio with a vicious snarl.

Of course. He checked the fuckin’ brothel, sorry, gentlemen’s club, stayed at the family house longer than he wanted to, even breezed past her condo, and this bitch was in fuckin’ Taiwan. Not Japan, which is where he checked first, in spots the family often visited, partaking in over-the-top luxury hotels and other equally pretentious places, pretending they were bonding but actually just ignoring each other and fucking hopeless hopefuls.

Not him.

He just sulked in lowlife bars and drank until he couldn’t think.

Now she was in Taiwan.

Doing what?

Sucked his dick and flew to Taiwan by herself for fuckin’ what?

Yoongi jerked his head and threw his phone onto the desk, where it clattered and spun, landing facedown and into a pile of balled-up note paper. This bitch. Acting like she could run off and do whatever she wanted. Hah. It wasn’t like he had anything to do either. He bet his switchblade was in her condo too, sitting on her damn bookshelf. Obviously asking the hotel staff had done nothing. They had no clue what he was talking about.

She would keep it nearby, because it was his.

She had it.

She must have it.

Yoongi tucked his tongue in his cheek and spun back to his computer monitor, going back to his music.

“You ever been to a night market in Taiwan, Jungkook?”

“Uh… no?”

You smiled. “You would like it. Lots of food, just like Korea. They have these fatty red sausages they grill on sticks. The outside is crispy and the inside is still greasy and juicy.” It was already nightfall after a full day of prowling the luxury shops. Streetlights were on, casting shadows over dark and dirty corners. Around you, the elderly spoke in their local dialect, while the younger adults and teens spoke in Mandarin Chinese.

You stopped, pointing up a rickety, half-collapsed building.

“My mother used to work there for a couple years, when I was barely in elementary school.”

A smile, and there was no amusement.

Only dried contempt.

You lowered your hand and turned back to the wide-eyed man in a leather jacket, not elaborating. He followed your hand and then came up to your eyeline. Lips parting, wordless question.

You nodded, and then turned away, walking again.

“That’s why I know a bit of the local language, although I’m quite rusty now.”

“I can’t tell the difference.”

Your smile changed, taking a moment to glance at him. “You’re funny.”

Jungkook looked hesitant, and then he smiled back.

You let him have that moment and then followed the streets. They were different, but the same. A long time ago, this area was less run-down. Still plain, still nearly forgettable. A perfect place for someone to hold a secret meeting, just outside the city. Not too much travel time, so a clueless housewife wouldn’t be too suspicious. If you raised your head just right, you could spot the boarded-up building that used to be a twenty-four-hour pharmacy.

You still remembered running down these streets.

Remembered the feeling of clutching coins and medicine bottles cutting into your hand, running up flights of stairs, lifting your unconscious mother’s head, shoving pills down her throat and crying for her to wake up.

After a while, you stopped crying for her to wake up.

You just shoved the pills down her throat and waited.

Sometimes the men lingered.

You cut the thoughts off and reached out, the chain bracelet with the glass beads clinking with your rapid movement, closing your fingers around a solid wrist.

“It’s down here.”

Turned. Through a narrow alley crammed with boxes and, all of a sudden, lights.

Blaring lights. Yelling. The strong stench of animal fat in the air, thick and heavy and clinging to clothes. Alive, swarming with curious teenagers and anxious children, loudly asking for a pork-filled steamed bun or soup dumplings as the high-pitched jingling of arcade machines rose through the noise, annoying enough to turn heads. The food stalls were crammed together, surrounding plywood tables and colorful, wobbly plastic stools.

“W-Woah!”

“Heh, hasn’t changed,” you chuckled, diving into the chaos.

She stared at him.

“I tried to call room service and I… I couldn’t figure it out. The translations provided were in English. Even after you went through the trouble of asking them to keep a Korean translator on standby for me,” he managed to get out, pointedly staring at the young Master’s face and not the lace-trimmed black slip clinging to her body. At least she was wearing the plush white hotel bathrobe over it.

It was still wide open though.

An eyebrow raised. “You want more food?”

Actually, no. Jungkook was so full at this point that he felt like an overstuffed teddy bear. He had eaten so much. Fried sausage on a wooden skewer. Crispy fried squid too. Soup dumplings. Marinated pork belly stuffed into a white bun with ground peanuts, crystalized sugar, and pickled mustard greens. Small buns filled with yellow leek and pork. Chow fun noodle soup. Rice noodle soup. This insane fried pork and mushroom thick-broth soup that went amazing with a clear liquor she served him, the name which completely went over his head. He just ate and drank until she was satisfied.

He shook his head quickly, holding up an empty water bottle.

“I ran out of water. I wanted to ask for another one.”

Her eyes darted to the clear plastic in his hand. “Ah.” She opened the door wider, tipping her head into the hotel room. “You can have mine.”

“S… Sorry for the intrusion.”

She had, of course, booked two separate hotel rooms. One for him and one for her.

She did not, however, give him an extra key card to her room.

He wasn’t working right now, of course.

Jungkook shuffled in with the complementary hotel slippers, looking around. The layout of the space was the same as his, only mirrored. This meant the dresser and desk were on the shared wall, but not the bed.

There was nothing playing on the mounted television.

He picked up the water bottle from its predicted spot on the dresser and turned around, nearly colliding into the young Master.

She tilted her head at him.

His eyes immediately avoided hers, even though they were the brightest thing in his vision, gleaming in the low glow of the sconces next to the bed. She had not turned on the overhead lights or the bedside table lamps. There was no spike in hostility or aggressive stance. Her arms were not crossed. They were simply at rest by her sides.

She leaned in.

Jungkook immediately tilted his torso back, fixating on a spot on the wall behind her head, knowing full well her cleavage was right under his nose.

He shallowed his breathing, not wanting to exhale on her face.

“Remind me again what reception said…”

Her voice was husky, smokey, haunting.

“Jungkook?”

His heartbeat pulsing in his neck, choking him.

“T-They… They said their Korean translator went home for the day…” he forced out, lightheaded, clutching the water bottle tightly.

“Ah.”

Her head bobbed, nodding under his vision.

“That’s right.”

He couldn’t breathe.

Long agonizing seconds ticked past.

She stepped back.

He finally let a breath out. Lowered his eye line, and she was standing in front of him still. Small smile, amused. Might as well have been holding a knife to his throat. Jungkook swallowed, thinning it out so it wasn’t so obvious, staring into her eyes, not looking away further down. It might have been a short time. It might have been a long time. He didn’t know. It didn’t really matter. He wasn’t working right now.

There was no obligation to be professional.

Her smile widened, just a tad.

She quirked her head to the door.

“R-Right. Sorry for bothering you,” he apologized again, gripping the water bottle and taking a step, circling around her. Her eyes followed him, almost unnerving. That smile stayed, lingering. He got to the second step, the point where they were shoulder to shoulder, their eye contact now broken.

“Jungkook.”

He froze.

She leaned back, and now she gazed at him under lowered lashes.

“You know you can ask me for anything,” she said. No, purred, the tip of her pink tongue grazing her white teeth in the center of that open-mouthed smirk. His gaze flickered back up, away from her soft, pillowy lips, and he found hers were rising too, taking her time to lock eyes with him again. “Since you did me this favor of accompanying me on this silly little journey.”

If she closed a little more distance, Jungkook would have been able to feel her warm breath on his neck.

She stayed where she was.

Smirking.

“I…”

Thump.

Heartbeat pounding in his throat, choking him.

“I don’t think this trip is silly.”

Something rippled through her expression.

“We should all let loose sometimes,” he continued, his fingertips caressing the full water bottle, feeling its weight and solidness, staring into those beautiful eyes that seemed to cut right through him. “Don’t you think?”

The young Master was highly observant and had a keen eye for people.

This he knew.

In fact, he counted on it.

Jungkook let his lips form her given name and breathed it out, savoring it like a sweet.

Min Yoongi punched in the pin code in for his music studio and slid in, his hands still tingling from cold tap water. He hadn’t dawdled too long. Fuckin’ bathrooms here had the air hand dryers, making him feel like a damn idiot sticking his hands in them. And who the fuck thought it was the good idea to put a mirror right in front of it? Like he wanted to see how flattened his dyed red-orange hair had become due to the headset. He had broken it up with one hand before leaving the bathroom, reshaping the flexible gel so it was at least pushed back one side.

An icy itch slithered down his spine.

Yoongi tucked his tongue in his cheek and looked up.

His stepsister was silently picking up the crushed water bottles around his desk and placing them in a recycling bag.

He recoiled, instantly on high alert.

“Who the fuck let you in?” he hissed, narrowing his eyes.

She picked up an empty bottle of vending machine tea and turned it in her fingers, her stunning profile in his view. Back to a tight black pencil skirt, although this one was shorter and had a very small slit in the back. White-and-black thick-striped dress shirt with a low, pressed neckline, complete with pearl buttons and tasteful puffed long sleeves.

Her long black coat was draped over his leather rolling chair.

Simple obsidian high heels, no ankle strap this time, stepping all over on his goddamn carpet.

“I asked the front desk.”

She tossed the bottle into the recycling bag and pushed aside the piles of balled-up paper, clearing the one side of the L-shaped desk that stuck out. An onyx pen rolled out, metal and heavy-weighted.

She stopped it with the tip of her index finger.

“What the fuck is the security here?” Yoongi muttered, crossing the distance in his slippers. “Stop touching my shit.”

She placed the pen into the stone tray under his monitor. “I’m only cleaning. Surprised you let it get into such a state here. I thought music was the most important thing to you.”

He scoffed, clenching his jaw, keeping his voice even and scathing. “It’s none of your damn business. Look at you, acting like you can go wherever you please. Taiwan, huh? Bet you didn’t given grab a bottle of that whiskey I like. Too busy having fun getting on your knees in a different county, hm?”

His stepsister plucked a plastic food wrapper out of the balls of crumpled paper and scooted it to the open trashcan under his desk.

“You should take better care of the things you care about…”

The individual slivers of anger closed in, twisting together, collecting to a single, sharpened instant, his breathing thinning, chest tightening, the gears inside of this misfit toy grinding against each other, click, click, clicking.

“Brother.”

His hand shot out and grabbed her left wrist, ripping her from his desk and spinning her around, snarl lashing out from his throat. Her done-up hair splayed out in an arc, her head snapping to face him, dark beautiful eyes immediately locking to his furious expression.

Platinum chain links and black glass beads dug into his palm.

He froze.

It was suddenly too hot, too hot even in his black t-shirt and loose track pants. Heartbeat roaring in his ears. Her eyes watching his every move, and now Yoongi understood that weapons were not just sharpened knives and words that cut deep, but also the accusation searing him from the inside.

Her eyebrow raised, tilting her head at him.

“What’s the matter?” she breathed out.

Soft, hazy, with the essence of a coiled snake in the grass.

His exhale jagged, torn-up by the way she looked at him.

“I told you,” Yoongi growled icily, lowering his head. “Not to call me brother ever again.”

His other hand bolted up, grasping her head and he kissed her, hard and bruising and shutting himself up before he could say anything more. Her free hand slid between them too, gliding over his jaw and drawing him closer, kissing him back just as intensely, just as fiercely, sliding her fingers into his hair and clutching onto him, her hungry tongue between his teeth.

She swallowed his erratic breathing, taking it away.

Lips like sin, his whole body on fire, her sweet saliva dripping into his throat.

Yoongi released her abruptly and twisted her wrist, forcing her body to turn around, and pinned her hand to the table, bending her over his now cleared-off desk. Her palm slammed down onto the wood, the loud smack cutting through the tense air between them, and then the vulgar noise was trapped within the soundproof walls of his music studio, unable to get outside.

Her name leaked out between his gritted teeth.

“You’re not a maid.”

She chuckled, slightly breathless and completely dark.

“Maybe you needed a reminder of who you really are. A spoiled rich kid sucking on the silver spoon in his mouth.”

Yoongi knew exactly what she was doing.

And yet the anger was so easy to swallow, so inviting, so decadent that he devoured it with greed.

“A slut gets treated like a slut then.”

He let go of her wrist.

Gripped the two sides of the slit on that pencil skirt, and ripped the seam apart.

She gasped, snapping her head around, but Yoongi shoved a hand into the small of her back and pressed her stomach back into the wood, glaring. Daring her to stand up. Her eyes narrowed, sparks of fury glinting under the overhead lights. He deliberately dug his fingers into the torn black fabric and pulled more. It easily gave into his force, the threads popping and snapping.

He completely tore it off and threw it into the open trashcan under his desk.

Ticked his chin and cocked an eyebrow.

His stepsister kept her hands flat on the desk, cocking an eyebrow back, as if this had happened to her before.

Yoongi hooked one of his fingers into the side of her black panties and pulled up.

She bit her lip, saying nothing.

He reached between her legs and sunk his fingertip into her heat. Followed along the slit to find the hard nub hiding underneath, soaking the silk undergarment and watching her expression change, pleasure snaking into the defiance. He did not force it. He stayed slow, careful, and with precision. Silent. Stroking her clit and twisting her panties into his fist, digging it in more, tearing the seams.

So wet.

It made his cock swell with insatiable need.

Yoongi licked the side of his mouth, swallowing his moan.

Her hands curled into fists, hips rolling back against him.

He kept rubbing, his fingers circling the slick friction, not reacting to her involvement to it. He wanted to draw her orgasm out. Coax it with his touch. He savored the feeling of her leaking juices and the smell of her desperate sex, memorizing every detail. The way her hips flinched, the way her lips parted, lush lashes fluttering, shoulders tense, looking back at him, his name on the tip of her wet pink tongue sliding out, panting softly.

Yoongi did not let himself be alone in this.

He was going to make her part of this madness.

“Y… Yoongi…”

He licked his teeth and pushed her to the edge.

There was a visible writhe of her spine and she gasped, tipping her head back, fists uncurling, nails clawing over the wood as he felt her trembling pussy throb under his fingertips, drenching the panties past usefulness and dripping down her tense thighs, her ass rising and stopped by his clenched, white-knuckled fist.

He could smell it, her sinful orgasm.

Feel it coat his fingers, his palm, his hand, sliding between her legs, his touch smearing it all over her inner thighs, leaning down as his other hand dragged her ruined panties down her shaking legs, sighing out hot breath onto the delicious, perky curve of her ass.

“Yes, that is my name,” Yoongi murmured, licking a long, sensual stripe all the way to the dip between soft roundness, inhaling the sweet, heady scent of her cum. He pooled saliva there, slathering it onto pampered skin.

Her gasps were slowly evening out, tension lessening.

“I’ll make sure you remember.”

Then he straightened, slowly, drawing his hand out from between her legs. No whimper from the predator below him, only a sharp gaze of stalking eyes. Always watching, but Yoongi was not afraid for he had nothing to hide.

He gripped the sides of his pants and underwear and pushed them down.

He saw the palm of her hand on the wood turn, ready to press down to lift her upper body.

“Relax,” Yoongi chuckled, letting the shared sin roughen his tone. “I’m not that stupid.”

Then he gripped his stiff cock and slid up against his stepsister’s ass, rubbing the sensitive head into the puddle of saliva he let at the base of her spine and jacking himself off with her slick cum still sticking to his hand. Her eyes widened, but he just smirked, open-mouthed and tongue between teeth, stimulating himself against the smooth skin, shuddering, relishing, letting himself be consumed by the wrongness of it all, his veins alight with wicked pleasure, heartbeat thundering in his ears to mix with the obscene, wet smacking sound of him thrusting into his own closed fist.

He bent over and increased the friction on the swollen, dark red tip, breathing hard, reaching out to close his fingers around her forearm.

“Squeeze you ass together for me.”

Sly smirk dancing on her lips but he mirrored it, already knowing what it meant, feeling her loosen from his hold and snake her arms down against her sides, pressing her chest to the desk and grabbing handfuls of her ass, pushing the malleable cheeks together and adding a gentle curve to the slick, slippery, saliva-covered tightness for him to rub against.

Yoongi groaned hotly into her hair, slapping his left hand down onto the desk, intensifying his grip, hot taut skin pulsating in his right hand. So hard he was lightheaded, thrusting into the top of her ass, fuck, so soft, fuck, leaking pre-cum to add to the mess of fluids in that glossy pocket, fuck, her ass pushing back against him, lengthening each stroke. Her name vibrated in his throat, his eyes slipping shut, sharp tips of his hair hitting his cheeks with every jerk forward. Couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop, wasn’t going to stop until he came all over her ass and back, eager to soak that designer blouse of hers with his indecency.

He grinned.

The coil inside tightened, the back of his thighs straining.

His elbow hit the desk, loud and sharp sensation shooting up to his shoulder, but it didn’t feel painful, only added to the violent turmoil of sensations that burst, starting from his clenched jaw.

Yoongi snarled her name, pierced with lust.

His rigid cock jerked, orgasm spurting out in strings. He snapped his head down, directing and watching the thick, creamy lines dribbling over her back, catching the hem of her hiked-up blouse like he intended, pushing the aching, dark red head into her skin and moaning, husky and hoarse, painting her ass too, squeezing his twitching length so every single milky drop was forced out, decorating her with his desire.

Exhale.

It shook, disturbing the air with its fervor.

Yoongi dragged his fingers across the wood, finding her trembling shoulder, closing his callused grip around her throat.

Pulled his body up slightly, venomous lips against her ear.

“We are not the same,” he whispered, searing like smoke.

He did not specific who he meant by we.

Deep down, Yoongi even wasn’t sure if he knew.

Her body quivered under him. Almost undetectable, almost soundless, almost overlooked. He wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for his hand around her neck. Tremors of deep-rooted darkness, of blackout curtains and blank canvas, of days trapped in play-pretend as good daughter, of memories buried so deep they might as well have decomposed and decayed six feet under.

She snickered into the dead wood below her lips.

“Aren’t I a better slut than you thought, Yoongi?”

He flinched.

As if shot.

Lifted himself and gripped her shoulder, turning her around, and pressing his lips to hers, closing his eyes to avoid the accusation waiting there, speaking instead with the pressure and the intensity of the dance of his lips against hers, shuddering as he felt her smile against his bruising kiss.

Amused.

Yoongi’s hands were on the desk, one soiled and the other empty, deserving it.

His whisper was thin, barely there between ravenous lips.

“I can’t believe those bastards at the front desk let you in.”

She chuckled, nipping at his lower lip.

“I didn’t say they let me in. They only told me that the keypads here require a four-digit pin code.”

His entire body erupted in chills.

Her hands slid up his back, pressing his chest to hers, kissing him deeply, her moans slipping into his throat, his lungs, shimmering against his heart, flint against the fire, and Yoongi knew that his password was a date. A specific day and a specific month.

Her birthday.

“I’m sorry about how long I made you wait,” you commented calmly, shrugging out of your coat. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t find this important.”

There was no screaming.

Only blissful silence broken by ragged, heavy breathing.

“I only wanted to be prepared so I can give you the attention you deserve.”

You found the invisible zipper on the side of your skirt and teased it apart, letting the visceral sound echo around the stone basement. There were no security guards surrounding you this time. It wasn’t necessary. The man in a black latex gimp suit was shackled to a padded, heavy bench, wrists and ankles chained together underneath.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

You had the decency to place his head on a small, firm pillow, of course.

Your skirt skimmed past your hips, falling to the floor. You stepped out of it, walking towards the waiting body. Heel to toe, the click of your stilettos palpable and sharp. The top of your suit remained, a short dark pinstriped blazer with satin lapels, tightly fastened. No shirt underneath. Just the slightest hint of lace-encased cleavage if you were looking straight down, but nobody was doing that. The gimp suit only had slits for eyeholes. Barely a half-centimeter in height and three centimeters across.

You looked down at the latex-encased head so he could see your small, amused smile.

The encompassing mask had nose holes, of course, to provide ample breathing space. A zipper over the mouth, with a small silicone bulb sticking out of the zipper head. Inflatable gag. One squeezed the bulb to firmly expand the other end that would be in the wearer’s mouth, gagging them once their lips closed around it.

It had been done for you.

How nice.

You held up the wand vibrator.

The muffled whimper was reduced to a squeaking gurgle.

“It seems simple,” you agreed, stepping away and turning it on, the hum rising next to your ear. “But sometimes simple is best, you know.”

It was a little bit of a joke, but all jokes held truths. You circled around the trembling body, the cool air turning hot with the tension you created with every second, every moment, every breath of anticipation in the waiting. It was a long time coming, this moment. You savored it, a rare moment of allowing yourself to enjoy your achievement.

You earned it.

The black latex was covered in thin film of oil, making it look shiny and inviting.

You ran the vibrator along the inside of the covered thigh.

The reaction was immediate. Choked moan and shivering body, defined muscles flexing against the unforgiving fabric, the steady whirring sound intensifying due to contact with a surface. You let out the breath you were holding, chuckling, sliding the wand vibrator up and down, watching him squirm. The latex made sharp crinkling sounds as he moved, whines trapped behind plastic.

For his part, he kept his legs apart, desperate not to close them.

You turned up the setting, saying nothing, moving to the other leg. Up and down, each up moving closer, closer to the center of those joined legs. At the center was a thick, silver zipper. You admired it. Admired the way it shone in the low light of a single exposed bulb, stretching the little that it could while what was beneath it swelled, pushing, twitching, fighting to get out.

“You like that?” you purred.

A strained moan rattled in that flexed chest.

You lifted the wand for just a moment to rub it lightly against that chest, to the sides where you guessed hardened peaks awaited, smiling as the body below you writhed. There we go. Massaged those two spots nice and hard and rough, abusing his nipples, seeing the neck of the suit flex as the head tipped back, strangled cries frantic for release.

Although there was a lot of movement, he kept his body fully exposed to your sexual torture.

You praised him for it.

“A gentleman.”

His back arched, groan leaking past the gag.

“I like that.”

You traveled back down his flexed abdomen, circling his bellybutton, avoiding his crotch, making him whine sharply in dismay, going back to working his thighs. Focused on the inner parts, closer to that quivering bulge. Scooped down, making him sit on the vibrating wand for a bit.

His spine collapsed, quiet sobbing rising behind his confines.

“That’s it. Just give into it,” you whispered. “Give into me.”

You pressed the vibrations to the base of the zipper and his latex-covered balls.

The thick protrusion behind the majority of the silver zipper jerked, swelling even more. The breathing behind the gimp mask was labored and erratic. No sound except guttural whimpers and choked moans, all words snuffed out by the gag, although he wouldn’t have much to say anyway.

The pleasure of being controlled was too good.

You slid the wand up and down his trapped cock, teasing it mercilessly.

His hips thrust up into the punishment, small pleading noises begging for more. You gave in, smiling, turning up the power, the vibrations screaming against the plastic fabric, filling the stone basement with cries both human and machine. You saw his broad shoulders shake and his head thrash, powerful thighs closing and pinning the vicious sensations to his straining erection, the latex too thick to provide full agony.

You let him fuck himself.

It was fun to watch.

He was breathing hard, whining sharply, in the same rhythm and syllables of your given name.

“I’m thinking about it,” you replied, pressing your thumb to the button and pushing the thundering pulse to maximum.

You did.

Think about it.

He screamed behind the mask, the sound mashed into the gag.

You turned the wand off.

The thighs shot back, thudding against the bench and shaking badly, back flat against the bench, ragged puffs of breath rattling the sodden latex. Both sweat and condensation, probably. You let him have a moment of reprieve, although you limited it to a very brief one.

No sense in delaying what he so desperately wanted.

You pressed the head of the wand to his hip and held him down, gripping the heavy-duty zipper and slowly freeing his trapped cock.

The scent of sweat hit you, along with the dirty, delicious aroma of leaking pre-cum. He had shaved, obviously, to prevent any hair from catching. His cock sprang out, thick and erect and purple-red, weeping from the containment, prominent veins pulsating. It was probably this engorged due to the relentless treatment you had given it, reaching maximum girth already. You calmly reached in and scooped his shivering balls out, caressing them gently to wipe some of the sweat off.

You couldn’t see, but you guessed his eyes were rolling back into his head at your soft touch. It was obvious by the way his head tipped back and his stifled moan reverberated from his chest.

You lifted the wand and jammed it into his balls, mashing the ‘on’ button savagely.

He gasped and locked all his joints, everything in him to prevent him from flinching away from the pounding pressure as he wailed around his gag, the sound of teeth scraping against it cutting into the heavy, lust-filled air.

You removed it, smiling.

He whimpered, begging you to do it again.

“I know,” you purred sensibly. “But you’ll like this.”

You swung a leg over his torso and straddled his chest, wrapping your hand around his twitching, rock-hard, leaking length, and placed the wand vibrator directly into his sensitive balls, squashing them with thundering hardness, grinning as you felt his shocked moans travel through your body from your panty-covered pussy now firmly planted onto on his sternum.

“See? I told you you’ll like it,” you chuckled, grinding circles into his scrotum. “I don’t tell lies.”

Your smile dropped.

Your fingers slid down his length, slowly. Curled your index and thumb around the base, tightening, pinching, creating a makeshift cock ring with your hand as you slid the inescapable vibrations up, slowly, slowly, feeling it briefly shake your own hand, then up, up, up to the dark, dripping head of that thick cock whose owner was pleading, crying, hoping for you to abuse.

You gave him what he wanted.

Held it there and tortured him for long, excruciating minutes.

You did say he could ask you for anything.

You raised your hand and stroked the slick shaft, spreading the pre-cum and sweat everywhere. Not quite enough lubrication but you had manicured, pampered hands that you moisturized often, and besides, that edge of uncomfortable was part of this anticipated, desired pain. It was only the beginning of more, your hand strongly pressing the bulbous tip of the wand vibrator to the swollen, inflamed, dark purple head of this delicious-smelling, throbbing, masochistic cock.

You smiled, enjoying it.

Faster, rougher, moving your hand up and down.

He was losing it under you, thrashing powerfully, but you pinned him down with your weight, forcing him to the brink.

“You don’t wanna cum, is that it?” you exhaled. “Afraid this moment will be over too soon?”

Rubbing the punishing relentless vibrations all around, focusing it on the underside of the head where the skin was thinnest and the nerves most concentrated, making him moan in despair and beg for mercy. You pumped him decisively, grip tight, holding him still in the inescapable cage of your closed fingers.

“You should know this kind of hunger is not so easily satisfied.”

You pushed the power to max.

The man under you groaned, and the tension tore apart, violent shot of white suddenly in your vision and then splattered to your face, too close in your craving, your warm breath washing over his jolting, dribbling cock, each jarring thrust of shuddering hips weakening with a grateful sob, his cum spilling down your closed hand.

You pulled the wand away, fascinated.

Turned it off absentmindedly, staring at the dark purple-red head quivering, still squeezing out beading, milky droplets, your index and thumb locked around the base of that tender tip, his taut skin pulsing with each twitch.

Leaned forward and licked.

The body under you shivered in complete bliss.

Your tongue circled around that hot sensitive skin. Tasting sex and sweat, feeling him remain hard in your hand as you loudly and thoroughly sucked his cum off. Every sudden, uncontrolled flinch made the need in your core turn, winding tightly, the gears inside this misfit toy click, click, clicking.

He tasted good.

Like sin.

You let go, lifting your body off him.

Your panties were soaked, glistening juices stamped onto the black latex like a Rorschach print.

Bent down and pulled the useless undergarment off. Threw them aside, leaving the wand vibrator on the bench between the legs. Breathing hard, matching the pained exertion of the man beneath you, staring at the mess you made in this dark stone basement.

Small smile.

This high was addictive.

You reached over behind the head and brusquely lifted it without warning, gripping the zipper at the base of the neck and pulling. The internal, extra-wide flap of the gimp mask prevented any hair or skin from getting caught. You peeled it away, gripping the hem under the chin and turning it inside-out, the zipper at the mouth loosening, causing the inflatable gag to fall out of shaking pink lips, the small mole at the center underneath them quivering.

Long black hair flared out as you tossed the gimp mask aside.

Large brown eyes staring at your exposed, glistening lower lips. Tan skin shining with sweat, faint traces of talcum powder sticking to his hairline.

You smirked.

Jeon Jungkook shuddered, looking up at you.

You placed two fingers under his chin, tipping his head so he had a better view of your pussy.

“I knew exactly what you were doing the entire time.”

His eyes shifted up, breathing hard in large huffs. The key to his shackles was under him, right by his hand. However, locking the cuffs only required sliding together the mechanism, causing the latch to catch and click into place. A person could do it with only a few fingers even in a precarious position. The metal wasn’t too tight around the wrist, only enough to be inescapable.

“But, then again, you were hoping for that.”

You smiled, amused.

“Weren’t you, Jungkook?”

The corner of his lips ticked upward, the silver ring at the edge gleaming.

He knows.

An unpleasant, bitter feeling coiled around the base of your neck.

You paused. Frozen. Remembering words whispered to you in the dark, remembering strong hands holding you down, recalling apathy snaking all over your nerves, your body already knowing the signal to blank out the next moments.

Let’s make a secret.

You shook your head, cutting the thoughts off.

“The things I’m going to do to you,” you forced out with effort.

Looked down at Jungkook, into those clear brown eyes.

Your security guard smiled. Pink tongue flitting over his strained lips, the wet sound grounding your senses, the display of surrender bringing you a strange sense of serene.

“That's none of my business,” Jungkook purred, deep voice laced with indecent desires.

His lips formed your given name, savoring it like a sweet.

Accepting.

Your chest tightened, feeling alive.

You looked back to the wand, indicating to him that you were going to use it again, and then you stepped forward, Jungkook’s lips parting below you, providing a warm welcome to your dripping pussy, closing his mouth around your clit as you lifted the brutal instrument of sexual torture once again, turning it on to press to his shivering balls and wrapping your own soft, pillowy lips around the aching head of his still-hard cock, burning with pleasure as his tongue began to ravenously lick, hungry for your orgasm.

On the floor was his uniform, neatly folded.

The head of an engraved black tiger gleamed in the low light, the switchblade safely tucked in the side leg pocket of the pants.

continued by time to dig up those graves, m | myg, jjk

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x you #jungkook x reader #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #yoonkook x reader #yoonkook smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #yoonkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #misfit toys au

204 notes · View notes

seirclys · 11 months

Text

OG! Penelope Eckhart Headcanons: Personality, Opinions on Characters

Part 2!

This section might not seem like much, but I will be adding in my own headcanons and also the evolution Penelope goes through after the time loops!

——— SPOILERS & TRIGGER WARNING AHEAD(mentions of sexual assault) ———

In addition! Other characters mentioned may be OOC according to the novel, but that's because OG and Siyeon are very different people! Please also keep in mind the curse that basically makes everyone hate/distrust Penelope and the Ancient Wizards! Calliope lovers, beware!

Personality

Penelope was volatile and miserable in her life as an Eorkan noblewoman. Due to the abuse and neglect she suffered at the hands of the servants and the Eckharts, she often lashed out.

Her outbursts were often violent and continued the vicious cycle, and also impacted her social life with those outside the Eckhart duchy.

Due to her lack of etiquette teachers, Penelope was further isolated in high society and made to be ridiculed. In later regressions, she would tunnel-vision into gaining that noble education she was denied in her first life.

Her coping methods were often extreme, such as excessive materialism, alcoholism(especially after she started regressing), excessive sleeping, an eating disorder(when she was younger), and self-harm.

She also ran away often after the regressions started to happen.

Penelope was very violent and verbally abusive to the servants as well, which was her method of expressing her frustration in her situation.

However, she secretly did charity work, handing money and food to starving homeless and orphans. She thought it would be worth it if she could help others without entrapping them in a noble family like she was.

A part of her is childishly bitter about the fact that despite their poverty, they can smile so brightly, while her luxury brings her nothing but cold comfort.

Throughout countless time loops/regressions/Iterations, her personality took a drastic turn.

Because she focused on noble etiquette for several Iterations, Penelope is much more poised and a master in formal etiquette and language, easily reaching levels of Imperial etiquette. In addition, she studied foreign etiquette as well.

However, it's all a mask.

Her sharp tongue is known to cut through anyone in her way.

In addition, she is much more independent, working towards freeing herself from the Eckharts and the cursed semi-immortality she's been given.

The constant torture, humiliation, helplessness, and betrayal in her lifetimes have turned her jaded and bitter. She became much more violent, but her anger has more restraint.

Penelope is extremely vicious and sadistic when pushed over the edge, often delving into physical torture.

Penelope essentially developed some sociopathic tendencies.

Lack of remorse(but guilt can develop in some cases), manipulative behavior, impulsivity, and deceitfulness are some sociopathic behavior.

Penelope also developed promiscuous tendencies, which are related to her daddy issues caused by the duke. It causes her to seek out validating male attention, especially in a sexual manner.

On the other hand, she also sneers at their hypocrisy, of lusting over her and their high expectations and all the nitty-gritty details of their lust.

She's pansexual and demiromantic(which kind of sounds obvious but she trusts NO ONE with her heart).

She has embraced the title of “greatest villainess in the world”.

The Eckharts and MLs

In addition, Penelope hates the Eckharts, having enacted her revenge on them several times.

Derrick she especially hates, since there have been lifetimes he's taken her against her will. However, at some point, she's had to pick up the pieces enough that sex has lost all meaning to her, except transactional.

This is around the time when she starts murdering Derdick if he even tries to touch her.

To Penelope, any physical touch from Derrick, or even close distance makes her anxiety spark up and her violent urges to rise quickly.

For Reynold, she hates him just as much, for how he's treated her with such aggression since childhood, and also because she knows that he's the one who framed her for the necklace.

She's fucking pissed, for lack of a better term. She's often the most verbally explosive when talking to him, uncaring of how her words cut deep.

She has resorted to physical blows before, and nothing tastes better than seeing him crushed underneath her feet.

The duke she just feels bitter hate towards. He made a lot of promises and broke all of them. Penelope is disappointed, for lack of a better word.

He treats her like a political pawn in many lifetimes.

Callisto Regulus

Callisto Regulus is one of the people Penelope hates the most. Not only did he kill her a bunch of times, but she was also forcefully married off to him for political gain several times. Duke Eckhart doesn't care about og!Penelope especially since she doesn't call him "Father" or act like a tamed dog for him.

He was rough with her, and often left her with wounds and bruises from trying to conceive an heir, which would derail the Second Prince's Faction's plans.

She has died at least two separate times during sex from him choking her too hard and from the pain of him breaking her bones on accident.

In addition, she's been poisoned and assassinated A LOT.

Early on, there were also a couple of lifetimes where he pretended to love her for the Duke's support, and she naively loved him back.

She learned to hate him REAL QUICK after everything got revealed.

He was probably one of the few who she actually carried a child with, but it was never full term, or there were complications with the birth. The lack of emotional connection didn't really give him the incentive to save her.

Winter Verdandi

Alright. She fucking hates him as well. Big surprise.

Especially since he was the one who brought Ivonne back and ruined her big day.

He also used her as bait for Laila like in the manhwa, but in a crueler way.

Penelope married him more than Callisto and tried to woo him the most to secure her future against Laila.

Unfortunately, he's still a bastard affected by rumors and basically cheated on Penelope with Ivonne.

yknow what, all of the romanceable MLs have cheated on Penelope with Ivonne at some point.

There were several lifetimes that he delivered her directly to Laila underneath the brainwashing.

She also hates him, perhaps the most after she's made aware that HE'S the one responsible for her hell.

She was pregnant by him for only two lifetimes, each one ending badly, especially with the magic from him and the powers from her.

Winter never let the children get too close to her, fearing that she'd use them as blackmail or hurt them.

Which, rude.

Eckles

She ALSO hates him. Big surprise.

There are several lifetimes where she sought him out herself like in the manhwa and paid for his freedom.

He's arguably one of the most manipulative MLs along with Winter, with Callisto being more of the blunt type.

There have been several lifetimes where Penelope ran away with him to settle down as commoners, but he turned out to be super obsessive and controlling.

After that incident when he broke her legs to prevent her from leaving the house, she stopped relying on him as a potential path out of the duchy.

There have been several regressions where he restored Delman and reigned as King, kidnapping Penelope to be his concubine or wife.

She's most bitter about him because she genuinely trusted him the longest.

With Part 1's mention of Scipretta, he fed the refined version to her in order to make her subservient.

Eckles often drugged her to keep her complacent and willing to his advances.

He'd switch from soft and caring love to obsessive yandere, throwing Penelope off.

Yeah a basic TLDR: all the main characters SUCK ASS in their treatment of OG Penelope.

#lysia's posts #lysia's narratives #villains are destined to die #vadd #death is the only ending for a villainess #death is the only ending for the villainess #ditoeftv #penelope eckhart #original penelope eckhart #og penelope eckhart #og! penelope eckhart #og penelope #derrick eckhart #reynold eckhart #duke eckhart #callisto regulus #winter verdandi #eckles #og!penelope hcs

50 notes · View notes

asykriel · 1 year

Text

Love is the Death of Duty - 5.

® do not repost or translate !

☆ Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Male! Targaryen OC

☆ Status: Ongoing

☆ Summary:

“He is half of my heart.”

War made monsters of them all, but it also brought the two second sons together in a flurry of death, love, deceit and delusion. The story of Aemond Targaryen and the eldest son of Daemon and Rhaenyra, Maegor Targaryen, second of his name.

☆ Warnings: Sexual content, explicit violence, dark themes, targcest etc.

☆ AO3 ☆ || ☆ Wattpad ☆

☆ CHAPTERS: (Prologue) / ( 1 ) / ( 2 ) / ( 3 ) / ( 4 ) / ( 5 ) / ( 6 ) / ( 7 ) / ( 8 ) / ( 9 ) / ( 10 ) / ( 11 ) / ( 12 ) / ( 13 ) / ( 14 ) / ( 15 ) / (16 - WIP)

☆ Masterlist ☆ || ☆ Spotify Playlist ☆

➸ Previous part

➸ Next part

Chapter 5

Hours went by quickly until noon turned into evening and dark was settling in.

Maegor spent every bit of the scarce time he had left in Aemond's company, just basking in each other's presence after they briefly quenched their thirst for one another in the morning. It was an eye opening experience that made Maegor see stars but it was not what he enjoyed most. Hearing Aemond confess his mutual feelings was the real climax for him.

Throughout the day, the two young Princes talked a lot, told tales, reminisced about their childhood together - the good and the bad - and confessed their yearning for each other over and over like an oath meant to ease every little doubt. A sworn oath written in unspilled blood. Aemond even read his nephew from some of his favorite philosophy and history books, sharing his own knowledge about dragons and telling him his favorite things about Vhagar.

The fire was even hotter than before now, but it was a different kind. The kind that gave Maegor confidence and power, put his nerves and anxiety at ease because Aemond wanted him as much as he wanted Aemond. And Maegor would not let anyone intervene in this matter, not even his own father or the Queen herself.

"I will fly with Vhagar to see you. I can take you away even for a short while." Aemond promises, kissing the knuckles of his nephew's hand after they both freshened up to look proper again.

"No uncle, I made you a promise. I will fly to you. As a dragonrider myself." Maegor shakes his head, trying to be firm but he can feel his stomach turn to knots again seeing the older Prince perform such a tender gesture on him again. It was a bittersweet feeling although, because he knew he had to leave soon.

Aemond simply smirks with his lips still on Maegor's hand when he feels his nephew staring holes through his skull. Teasing him like this was something neither of them would ever get bored of or end up disliking.

The gods must have blessed Maegor for allowing him to see and experience such a side of Aemond that no one else, not even his family got to see. The One Eyed Prince was anything but soft or tender in the public, he was cold, twisted and quick to anger and both commonfolk and nobles were afraid of him. For good reason. But with him, in private, Maegor got to see the vulnerable side of Aemond, the Aemond that let his guard down, the Aemond that was traumatized as a child and he was learning how to trust again. It felt forbidden for him to even be a witness to this let alone an accomplice.

"It's nearly time my little Prince, best not to anger your father again." Aemond reminds him and the sorrowful tone in his voice doesn't go unnoticed by Maegor's ears.

The younger Prince simply sighs and nods reluctantly. The more he tried to speak now the tighter the knot in his throat would get and his heart heavier.

They head together towards the door to Aemond's chamber, the older Prince lets his nephew lead the way but stops abruptly when Maegor turns on his heels to face him, surprising him.

"Will you wait for me, uncle?" Maegor cups Aemond's face with both of his hands and ask. The older Prince is startled briefly before he almost leans in into the kind of tender touch that he has been starved off all his life.

"Of course." Aemond says with every bit of sincerity.

"Daor gaomon skorkydoso bōsa mazēza?" Maegor's voice cracks briefly but he keeps his head unbowed.

"Nyke kivio, Maegor." Aemond mirrors his nephew's gesture, catching his face in his hands and planting a chaste kiss on his lips, sealing the oath.

They exit the older Prince's chamber and make their way to the beach where a ship and the Blacks' dragons awaited. There was a cloud dark cloud hanging and reality was starting to creep onto both of them.

Aemond cannot help but feel uneasy and anxious as well. He had an ominous feeling in his gut that he could not explain.

Future was something neither of them had control over and it was gnawing at their sanity. They were both young and inexperienced, Maegor even more than Aemond as he was 4 years younger than his uncle. Despite the age difference, the younger Prince seemed to be much more mature than his older brother, Jace or even Aegon. But then again, it was hard to be as immature as Alicent's eldest child when all Aegon wanted was to drink or fuck himself to death.

Outside, servants were making the final departure preparations. Both families were gathered already, including Viserys looking more poorly than he did last evening at the dinner. But the King insisted he wanted to bid his farewells in person to his daughter, brother and nephews, like always giving little regard of how obvious his favoritism was at the cost of giving any attention to his own children.

Aemond and Maegor appear, later than everyone. Even later than Aegon who normally was late to everything because he was too drunk to deal with the passing of time. This was highly unusual because the two young Princes were always the most punctual out of all children. Maegor could already feel the storm that was coming from his father's side from the moment he felt his gaze on him. Daemon was cunning, of course he could tell what was going on.

All heads turn to them with wide eyes until they rejoin their families sides. Unlike the act that was put up last night at the dinner that everyone was breaking bread together peacefully, the two Princes genuinely look like they are getting along well even with all that unfolded at the dinner, much to the displeasure of some of their family members.

"Where were you all day, brother?" Jace questions in a demanding tone more in a whisper than anything. He could tell Jacaerys was being bitter about Maegor showing up with Aemond after what chaos he unfolded at the feast.

I could ask you the same thing when I found the room empty in the morning.

"I was bidding my farewells, like father told me to." Maegor scoffs but he cautiously eyes Daemon when he mentions him. The Rogue Prince looks at his boots and smirks in return but it was a dangerous smirk, his son could tell. Maegor could not help but let the rebellious nature seep into him and get a little payback for this morning, the temptation to poke at the fire was too big but he had to control himself. There was no need to fuel the spite of his father even more so now. Daemon should have known best however, Maegor was his son after all. Defiance and rebellion ran through the both of them. When they wanted something, they needed to have it no matter the cost.

"Huh? To whom?" Luke butts in and he swears he saw Aemond's violet eye narrow slightly at him as a warning.

"To whoever had ears. In this case Prince Aemond gladly listened to them." Maegor states not as silent as his brothers, with the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

Maegor's half brothers were looking at him completely dumbfounded and almost betrayed. Aegon was eyeing Aemond like he just threw out his last bottle of wine and Otto Hightower is as disapproving as ever, highly suspicious and probably already brewing more plots to poison the King's mind further.

Rhaenyra gives Maegor a suspicious look but part of her was glad that at least one of her children seemed to be on good terms with one of Alicent's children, be it that she did not know how good were those terms. His mother wants to give Aemond the benefit of doubt for last night incident, at least for now. The Queen seemed to share the sentiment but the look on her face was more hesitant. She knew best how Aemond really was and some would say she was even afraid of him at times.

However, out of everyone present it is Daemon who looks absolutely outraged and he makes little effort to hide the scornful expression on his face when he seeks out to stare down Aemond directly. Boldly, the One Eyed Prince holds his glare with his head up high. Daemon knows, might as well let him know that he does not fear him and that he refuses to let go of his son.

However, the last thing Maegor wants is his father making Aemond his number one target. It's not like he doubted the older Prince's combat skills but he also knows how Daemon was, he holds grudges forever. If Daemon wants you dead you will die one way or another, be it by his hand, his dragon or his assassinations. Decades of training and years of wars fought made him the most skilled warrior in Westeros, the extensive scars on his body were the best proof of that. And neither fair fight nor honor brought Daemon that title, Aemond or anyone else would stand little chance of besting the Rogue Prince in a one man duel.

"It saddens me to see you go so swiftly. You must visit again soon." Viserys says painfully from the armchair he was transported in as he cannot find the strength to stand let alone walk anymore. His grandfather was one step in the grave, Maegor and anyone else knew this.

It's enough to make Daemon switch his attention from Aemond to his brother. Maegor looks at his uncle with a fleeting gaze, instinctively checking to make sure he was alright. Immediately Aemond's violet gaze softens when they make eye contact and he gives him an unseen smile. But Maegor registers it and his heart skips a beat. Staying at Dragonstone will be an impossible task with or without dragon.

After a few more brief exchanges between the King and his daughter and brother, it was time to depart. Jace, Luke and Joffrey look the most relieved and excited to finally get out of this place, making their way swiftly to Vermax, Arrax and Tyraxes who await as eagerly as their riders were. Maegor didn't like King's Landing either, preferring rougher and wilder areas like his home in Dragonstone, but he likes Aemond. His mouth feels bitter and his fingers twitch looking at his half brother's dragons. Maegor was going to fulfill his promise. One way or another. No matter the risks.

"My Prince Maegor, I look forward to sparring together again someday soon." Aemond's voice makes Maegor's head immediately turn. A secret reminder, known only by them that the older Prince will wait for his return for as long as it takes.

"A promise is a promise, uncle." Maegor bows his head slightly in courtesy trying to maintain his unbothered facade while his entire body was on fire and his stomach upside down. He has to leave soon or else he might say or do something reckless in front of his whole extended family.

The king gives a nod of approval towards Aemond, for the first time seemingly giving his own child the bare minimum of pride. Truth be told the thought of at least one of his children getting along with one of his daughter's children after so many years of unwanted pranks and incidents, eased the pain in his feeble body.

Daemon scoffs loudly in annoyance, not even looking back anymore as he makes his way down to the beach where Caraxes was waiting impatiently for him. The Rogue Prince is the first to take flight on the back of his capricious Blood Wyrm followed closely by his step sons on their own dragons.

It was their sign to leave and as Maegor, reluctantly follows his mother, making his way down to the beach, suddenly a foreign tug on the sleeve of his tunic urges him to turn swiftly to face the person. He yanks his arm away instinctively at the potential threat. It was Helaena.

"The devourer of its own kin awaits for you in the depths of darkness." She quickly tells Maegor before Alicent runs after her to pull her back to her side, scolding her briefly before checking to see if she has been harmed.

The young Prince blinks twice in surprise. He does not understand what she means and her words quickly get scattered and lost in his mind that is filled with other thoughts instead. Thoughts of Aemond especially, who threw him a clueless look from behind Alicent as well. However, Maegor could feel Aegon glaring at him with burning jealousy from his brother's side.

The young Prince is finally forced to board the ship since he is the only dragonless Targaryen left, along with his mother who had to leave Syrax on Dragonstone so that she could care for her youngest children, Aegon III and Viserys II. Rhaena and Baela join them on the ship as well to aid Rhaenyra with the children and whatever else she might need and they soon set off to voyage.

The women head inside the cabin while Maegor stays on the deck with the crew, gripping onto the railing on the stern of the ship as it slowly raises anchor. He feels nauseous and it was not due to sea sickness.

Aemond is the only one left on the beach, staring back at Maegor with a bittersweet expression. They wave to each other reluctantly and maintain eye contact until the One Eyed Prince remains only a distant silhouette standing on the sand like a statue.

I already miss him..

────────────

The trip back to Dragonstone lasted only 3 days with steady sailing but to Maegor it felt like 3 weeks. Now the true sea sickness was getting to him, he was made for the skies not the oceans. When he set foot on solid ground at last he wanted to thank the gods but changed his mind quickly when he saw Daemon await like an eager hound on the beach, having arrived days earlier on dragon back with his half brothers. Surprisingly his father ignored him, greeting his mother and half sisters instead.

They make eye contact briefly but Maegor quickly avoids his gaze and lowers his head, trying to make himself look small as he heads quickly towards the castle. His whole body is tensed until he reaches the comfort and privacy of his own chambers and sighs loudly. The recent week has taken a toll on his body and his psyche especially.

Maegor orders a hot bath to be drawn in his chamber and lets his tired muscles get soothed in the water until it gets too cold and he is forced to come out, drying himself hastily and changing into his nightwear. Maegor lowers himself into his bed, groaning softly and sleep quickly envelops him. A dreamless slumber awaits him, however his mind could not help but recall Helaena's words. Something about them called to him but the Prince was frustrated that he could not understand the true meaning behind them.

The next day Maegor wakes up late in the evening, having slept throughout the whole day for the first time. A dull headache making him drowsy when he gets up. Rubbing his temples he dresses up in fresh garments and opens the window facing towards the beach to look at the sunset. The cold breeze soothes him and he closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling the salty scent deeply until the familiar sound of wings flapping and laughter fills his ears and he scoffs in annoyance. Maegor's three half brothers were racing on dragonback making rounds around the castle as usually. Envy was biting as his heart again. It was going to drive him mad one day.

With a loud thud he slams the windows shut again and exits his room in search for food and perhaps a new book to keep him company for the night. After he eats a thorough meal, the young Prince heads over to the library, inspecting the hallways for any sign of his father. The last thing he needed now was dealing with the Rogue Prince's punishment and more of his cruel talks. The headache was enough punishment.

Maegor almost sighs in relief when he enters the massive library, closing the door behind him, and finds it empty. He starts searching for a book with no particular subject in mind until he finds one about Targaryen Dreamers and decides on it. Superstitions and prophecies never seemed to have an influence on him, thanks to his father who absolutely despised them and made sure to drill it into his sons minds as well. However, that didn't mean Maegor could not read about anything and everything. For a little while he contemplates if he should read here or back in his room until he settles in an armchair and begins to flip through the pages quite absent minded until he comes across about a certain part which peaks his interest immediately.

Daenys the Dreamer, daughter of Aenar Targaryen. She had visions throughout her life, one of them being a prophetic dream that showed the destruction of Valyria by fire.

The more Maegor read he could not help but think back at Helaena and just wonder if there was any possibility that she could be a dreamer herself. In that case her words only irked at the young Prince's curiosity further. However, he remained a skeptic. Mere words written in a book were not palpable, he needed to see it happen with his own eyes to believe and Helaena's words only confused him. First Maegor needed to understand the meaning before he could even attempt to believe in anything.

Rhaenyra often told him the tale about the Song of Ice and Fire as it was told to her by her father ever since Maegor was a small child but as he grew older he began to disregard it as only a bedtime story.

Suddenly the door flings open, interrupting his reading and Maegor jumps on his feet on high alert, dropping the book on the floor in the process. It was his father.

The young Prince quickly bows respectfully without saying a word and tries to exit the library without even bothering fetching the book anymore, but Daemon stops him. He blocks his way with his imposing presence and herds him back to his initial place, closing the door behind.

"I thought I have been reasonable enough with you, boy." Daemon warns in a surprisingly calm tone. It was deceitful. A trap meant to lure him in.

"Do tell me father what exactly was reasonable about you?" Maegor's temper suddenly become hot and he bites back with no hesitation, regardless of the repercussions. He was tired, irritated and already angered enough by his father's decision days earlier. This was not a childish tantrum he was throwing and he was sick of his father treating it like so. It was a honest wish from the core of his heart.

"That I have not locked you up in your chambers or a dungeon for the rest of your days. Watch your tongue with me." Daemon's illusory calmness fades quickly as his own temper begins to rise.

"You did everything you pleased when you were my age and younger and now you have to treat me like a prisoner? What was it that you always said? Ah yes, duty does not stop us from doing whatever the fuck we want." The young Prince chuckles bitterly in his father's face which only angers Daemon further. In the Rogue Prince's eyes he will always be a child who knew nothing of the world even if Daemon was his mentor. And when it came to this subject, for him, Maegor was nothing more than an insolent brat.

"This is the last warning I am giving you. Unlike him, you have both eyes but you are blind, boy. The Greens want to usurp your mother's throne while my brother is on his deathbed and you think only about laying with that Hightower mongrel." Daemon seethes, beyond exasperated with his son's tantrum. The emphasis on mongrel hits deep like a dagger on Maegor's nerves. He could almost taste the anger on his tongue.

"Prince Aemond is as much of a dragon as we are! If you want to talk about mongrels, father, let us talk about your step sons instead." Maegor barely has time to finish his reproach as Daemon's hand darts out to painfully grab his chin, tilting his head up roughly so that Maegor can look at him straight in the eyes.

"One more word." Daemon warns. And it's not just a sole warning this time, he either bites back his tongue to silence or endures whatever cruel punishment Daemon thought of this time. Maegor chooses silence this time but the defiant glare he holds is as sharp and deadly as his Nightbringer.

The legitimacy of Rhaenyra's dark haired sons was very well known in their family for as long as he could remember, but they pretended to close an eye as they were family and family meant protecting one another in front of everyone who might contest them. Maegor was firm and faithful to that duty but still, could not help to feel the envy poisoning his mind whenever he heard about what they would inherit or when he saw them fly out their dragons while he was stuck to watch them on foot or horseback. The thirst for power was a dangerous matter, it made people go mad in the quest for more. For a Targaryen it was deadly and he was no different.

"Forget that One Eyed cunt for you own good, you brat. Otherwise this childish whim of yours will not end like you want it to end for either of you nor our families." Daemon spits hurtful words meant to wake Maegor up to reality and squeezes his son's face harder to make himself properly heard. Maegor grimaces but the rebellious fire he holds in his eyes is ever scorching this only further angers his father.

"Let it end however it may end. I will never give up on him." The young Prince smiles smugly and slaps his father's hand away, yanking himself from his grip.

Daemon's temper snaps immediately and the back of his hand comes in contact with Maegor's face with a loud smack. Maegor staggers back from the force of the impact, almost tripping and falling in the process if it weren't for the armchair behind him to prevent that from happening.

He looks back at his father in shock, touching the new cut on his lip that started seeping blood. For the first time outside of their usual training sessions Daemon purposely hit him. Maegor felt the sting of betrayal ten times more painful than the hit itself.

"Fool, you do not even have a dragon. If you want to swim all the way back to King's Landing be my guest." Daemon laughs crudely. He was done playing nicely. Even dragons had to be disciplined with a firm hand if they did not wish to obey.

"I am as much of a fucking dragon even without one!" Maegor yells back at Daemon louder than he intended, his voice echoes inside the library and carries out into the hallways. Surely someone else must have heard him but he could not care less. All he wanted to do was get away.

The young Prince suddenly darts by Daemon but his father does not stop him this time, he does not even look back at him. Instead of going straight to his room, Maegor heads out of the castle to cool his head in the cold air, fetching a torch off the wall before exiting the keep.

Hours passed and night found Maegor walking aimlessly along the shore, further away from the castle than he ever been before. The sea breeze got unexpectedly cold the darker it got and with it an, eerie mist was starting to envelop the island's shore.

The young Prince soon finds himself barely able to see anything through the thick fog. He stops abruptly and tries to make up the distant outline of the Dragonstone keep to no avail. If it weren't for the torch he had the wisdom to take, he would have wandered blindly in the fog and darkness.

"Fucking great." He curses under his breath and decides to stubbornly carry onwards instead of going back and try to find the way home. Maegor wanted to be alone, truly alone and away from anyone so that he could calm himself and clear his mind. Returning to the castle now meant receiving more of Daemon's scolding or having to deal with his brothers being too prying. Either of them would make him furious.

Neither darkness nor bad weather scared him, night terrors were just bedtime stories meant to scare children. However he could not help but let his mind stray back to the book the more ominous the atmosphere became.

Several more hours have passed, it must have been past midnight by now and the mist seemed to only get thicker by the minute. Maegor huffs rubbing his body with his free hand to drive away the cold that was biting at his skin. His clothing was not really appropriate for this kind of weather but he would manage.

Suddenly he jabs his foot painfully into something hard and falls over in the sand, dropping the torch next to him. Maegor bites back all the shouts and curses and remains silent, only grunting in response.

Focus. You need to be calm.

He quickly lifts up the torch so it does not die out in the moist sand and starts to take deep breaths. Maegor inhales and exhales a few times before he stands up and brushes the sand off his clothes. The young Prince searches for whatever he tripped on and tries to pick it up. Too heavy to lift but it's not a boulder that he can feel as much. Maegor brings the torch closer to the object made him lose his balance like that and tries to distinguish its features. He sucks in a distressed breath when he realizes.

A dragon skull. But whose?

Maegor suddenly kneels, picking some of the driftwood that was lying around next to the skull and turns it into a couple of small piles. Thankfully the wood was not too moist so it is quite easy to light it on fire with the help of his torch.

When he finishes the young Prince gasps in shock. Everywhere around him through the fog he could make out the remains of dragons, old and bleached out by the elements. How many he could not tell. From a couple of skulls that seemed to be almost as big as Caraxes' head to countless of small ones, some no bigger than a dog. It was a graveyard and Maegor was standing right in the middle of it.

His senses suddenly become hyperalert and he almost wants to dart back in the opposite direction. The sight was dreadful and as much as it pained him to see so many dead dragons, Maegor was also intrigued. All the survival instincts inside him are screaming danger but something else is drawing him, like a fly to a spider web. Dragonstone was a big island, getting lost in this kind of weather was inevitable and while he did not want to face whatever it was that killed all these dragons, something inside him, a flicker of curiosity gnawed at his reason.

Maegor wondered if his parents knew, Daemon must've known for sure, out of every Targaryen he knew, his father was always the one who seemed to be most in tune with dragons and the bond he shared with his Blood Wyrm was unbreakable and went beyond the physical aspect of dragon and rider, their psyches were also in sync, in tune with each other's thoughts and emotions. And after all, it was also Daemon who used to tell him about the wild dragons residing on the island but always mentioned he should stay far away from them and by all means not attempt to claim one. Maybe this was the reason. It had to be. Maegor only hoped that the wild dragons his father was telling him about were still alive and not resting in this graveyard.

Deciding on the spot, the young Prince carried on, he was not fearful but the sight surely unsettled him. His thirst for knowledge and curiosity made him push further through all the bones, not before making sure to gather some driftwood under his free arm in case his torch completely died out and needed to improvise another.

Suddenly the remains started looking more or less fresher, with bits of meat and scales still hanging off some of the long bones. Maegor followed them as if he was following a trail specially laid out for him until he reached in front of what he could only make out as the opening of a gigantic cave. The stench of decaying flesh hit his nose hard and he had to drop the driftwood so he could cover his nose with the sleeve of his tunic. Any sane person would have turned back long ago but something was calling to Maegor and it was calling loudly. It was making his body warm up in the freezing cold and the blood in his veins burn. He only felt like this when he saw Aemond for the first time at their reunion.

Maegor enters the cave, and thanks the gods that the fog did not reach inside the grotto so he can see better with the help of his torch. He tries to tread closely and as silently as possible but he soon realizes that there was no longer any sand under him, just countless bones and remains old and new, some turned to dust by the passing of times or charred by what he could only guess was dragonfire. The lower he shines his torch the more remains he sees, not just dragons, but various mammals as well and eventually even mutilated corpses of humans, some of them only weeks old from what he could tell.

A deep rumbling bellow makes him stop dead in his tracks and freeze.

Dragon. Could it be Vermithor?

It did not make sense. Maegor was familiar with the Dragonmont volcano where Vermithor had his lair, having visited there with Daemon before. There was no dragon graveyard at Dragonmont, nor a giant cave opening towards the beach.

Maegor holds his breath but his eyes dart around, trying to make out any sign of the beast in the dark but he sees nothing. Only pitch blackness ahead and his torch was barely alive anymore. He looks at the dying light, counting until it will extinguish. Should he advance and risk disturbing the slumber of an unknown dragon or quickly head back out of the cave?

With a last weak flicker the torch from his hand dies out and Maegor finds himself lost in total darkness.

Another louder bellow snaps him out of his thoughts. The sound of sniffing starts to echo through the cave and suddenly the ground beneath him starts to shake as the beast begins to shift around somewhere in the depths of the cave.

Who are you fire breather?

So much for not disturbing. The beast is wide awake now and it surely smelled Maegor.

The young Prince curses silently, gripping the handle of the consumed torch tightly until his knuckles turn white.

"Māzīs!" Maegor shouts, throwing the torch somewhere on the ground next to him and extends out both of his arms tauntingly.

Suddenly a thunderous growl almost deafens him, but he does not stagger. He keeps his arms out and glares at the darkness in front of him. Maegor can't see the beast but he knows it can see him.

"Māzīs." He commands again firmly and takes a step forward boldly, recklessly. There is no fear whatsoever in his bones.

The cave begins to shake as if its walls are about to give in and crumble on top of him. Maegor stands his ground and coughs drily from all the dust falling on top of him from the ceiling. Whatever dragon it was, it must have been massive.

An faint orange glow suddenly appears in the darkness and it draws Maegor's attention immediately. The glow seemingly starts to become brighter until the young Prince realizes with eyes wide open.

Dragonfire.

He lunges himself with all his strength to his left, falling on top of all the bones under him but safely avoiding the searing flames above him. The Prince was now certain this was no Vermithor. The Bronze Fury knew him and Daemon well from their visits and he was never hostile like this even when Maegor failed to claim him.

The whole grotto lights up and the young Prince finally gets a fleeting glimpse of the silhouette of the beast at the end of the cave. A massive monstrosity. He knew exactly who it was. Daemon had briefly mentioned him, he told Maegor stories that not even the Rogue Prince believed they were true yet here he was. Right in front of him, in all his glory.

The most infamous and elusive wild dragon. Cannibal asthe commonfolk and dragonseeds named him. The one who feasted on his own blood.

The devourer of its own kin awaits for you in the depths of darkness.

The Prince is in awe but before he could admire it any longer, the dragon notices he missed and puts out his flames, only to redirect them again towards Maegor.

"Daor! Lykiri!" Maegor scrambles to his feet, shouting back the beast and notices a moment of hesitation before the dragon refuses to obey the commands and lights up the cave again.

Maegor dodges again, and uses the fire to his advantage to see a crevice light up by the flames inside the cave's wall, small enough to allow him to slip in. He makes a run for it and after him, the beast starts to move again while spitting fire, riled up by the chase.

The Prince barely manages to squeeze himself inside the tight crevice on time. A sigh of relief escapes his lips and the dragonfire stops.

"A fucking Targaryen becoming dinner for a dragon." Maegor laughs bitterly. What a pathetic way to die for someone that has the blood of the dragon. But something does not add up, a dragon like Cannibal would have killed him instantly if he really wanted. Maybe he did not want Maegor dead or maybe he just enjoyed taunting his prey.

Suddenly the beast crawls up next to the crevice, growling low and dangerously until his head is right next to it and for the first time Maegor can finally see the giant eye of the dragon looking at him through the small crack. Bright sapphire blue, it was almost glowing in the darkness and the Prince could not help but feel completely bewitched. He is suddenly reminded of Aemond and he sucks in a breath. Of course he remembers.

"A promise is a promise." He mutters under his breath.

Maegor begins to sing softly in the tradition of the Old Valyrian ways, just like his father taught him when they paid visits to Vermithor to keep him company or when he was a child and was desperately trying to hatch his given egg to no avail.

Drakari pykiros

Tīkummo jemiros

Yn lantyz bartossa

Saelot vāedis

The sharp slitted pupil of Cannibal dilates briefly before turning back into a thin slit but his growling fades into a bellow of acknowledgment.

Hen ñuhā elēnī

Perzyssy vestretis

Se gēlȳn irūdaks

Ānogrose

Maegor takes small step forward, squeezing closer to the exit of the crevice that was hiding him. He observes the dragon for any sign that he might begin with his hostilities again and tests his patience.

Perzyro udrȳssi

Ezīmptos laehossi

Hārossa letagon

Aōt vāedan

The prince extends his hand outside the crevice, trying to reach out to the beast. A loud growl warns him not to but he does not flinch, instead he boldly touches the scales under his ethereal eye. The spark he felt running through his body made his blood scorch and freeze at the same time.

Hae mērot gierūli

Se hāros bartossi

Prūmȳsa sōvīli

Gevī dāerī

Boldly, Maegor makes one final move before he sings his last verse. He squeezes completely out of his hiding place and right in front of the notorious monster before him. If this would end with his death he would embrace it, content that he was at least dying trying to fulfill his promise to Aemond. Something was telling Maegor he would live to see another day. He hoped he would because he craved to see Aemond again.

"Hae bōsa hae iksā ñuhon kesā dōrī sagon iā buzdari." The young Prince tells him softly, and the dragon turns his massive head so that he can face Maegor directly and breathe in his scent deeply with a few long sniffs, especially his face. The fire breather seemed to be particularly interested in scenting out the smell of the dried blood from Daemon's inflicted wound earlier.

The Cannibal bares his sword like teeth and growls again in intimidation but Maegor touches his muzzle fearlessly.

"Ivestragī nyke emagon ao se kosti udrāzma se vys." The young Prince starts to rub over the scales trying to soothe the beast. And it seems to be working, the massive dragon observes him without anymore noisy threats for now and takes another sniff.

"Cannibal iksis daor iā sȳz brōzi. Kesā sagon rūntan hae Saagael." Maegor promises, staring right into the blazing sapphire gaze. His heart swells with pride when he sees the dragon rumbling and his pupils seem to dilate again with curiosity. The young Prince takes this as his sign to push his luck even further and he presses his forehead against the giant muzzle, closing his eyes and embracing the scorching heat emanating from the dragon.

Maegor leans his whole body against the beast without fear, his feet barely touching the ground anymore on his tiptoes. He could not help but feel tingly and dizzy from a similar kind of rush he felt with Aemond. If the dragon wanted him dead he would have been long ashes by now.

The devourer of its own kin awaits for you in the depths of darkness.

The young Prince chuckles softly against the scales in excitement, keeping his eyes closed and without noticing, Cannibal - now named Saagael - mirrors Maegor and closes his own sapphire colored eyes.

After all these years, you're finally mine.

────────────

Translations

Daor gaomon skorkydoso bōsa mazēza? = No matter how long it takes?

Nyke kivio, Maegor = I promise, Maegor

Hae bōsa hae iksā ñuhon kesā dōrī sagon iā buzdari = As long as you are mine you will never be a slave.

Māzīs = Come

Daor = No

Lykiri = Calm

Cannibal iksis daor iā sȳz brōzi. Kesā sagon rūntan hae Sagaael*. = Cannibal is not a good name. You will be remembered as Saagael*

Saagael* - also known as the Giver of Pain and faceless Saagael, is a god worshipped in Lys. Whenever a child went missing, the ignorant would look at one another and talk of Saagael's insatiable thirst for blood.

Hāros Bartossi song translation:

Fire breather

Winged leader

But two heads

To a third sing

From my voice

The fires have spoken

And the price has been paid

With blood magicWith words of flame

With clear eyes

To bind the three

To you I sing