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[tojisun]

immoral in a stranger’s lap (WIP)

established price x f!reader; poly!141 x f!reader

cw: smut - mdni; switching povs; older men x younger women trope; so much speedrun yearning from the squad; john calling the ‘shots’ and shots being reader; power dynamics at play // 2.6k words

extra notes: filing this as WIP wednesday because i could no longer find the inspiration to finish it. i have a concrete idea of how i wanted it to go but writing it became so difficult, still hope it’s a good read! (title from gibson girl - ec)

Captain has a pretty darling—apparently she’s doe-eyed and young. 

She packs him food when she can and always writes him letters, dainty envelopes spritzed with perfume and sealed with wax and baby’s breaths. 

They always sit atop every other sealed envelopes because the rookies are afraid of damaging the package. No one can really blame them, not after seeing the extent of care and love put into a single parcel. Apparently, she writes to their Captain even when she has a burner to use to contact him; choosing to, instead, fill up envelopes with a love so sweet it makes their teeth ache. 

Captain has a pretty darling—that’s the news that’s been circulating around the base recently, cascading through the gaps of their barracks and settling into the corners of their own rooms. The knowledge of normalcy pierces against the hard-set routine that sustained them through the years, and fills their jowls with their own yawning desire.

Because now they know it’s achievable. Liveable. Guilt no longer races through their veins when they dream about the idea of settling and, instead, they lean into the want yowling from the bases of their stomach. It makes them twitch, leaving them feeling too hyper-aware of everything. 

Hunger swirls from their irises and they watch, on the sidelines, as their Captain submerges himself in the one good thing he has. They refuse to name the new feeling, the one rising from their desires, but it is futile—it bloats, leaving them gritting their teeth and clenching their jaws as though by doing so, they could stop the venom. 

They couldn’t. Jealousy sings in their blood.

-

They were startled by the invitation, frozen in their steps when the Captain extended his home to them—“My baby wants to get to know my friends.”

His smile was kind, gentle, the years having made him brighter, but his eyes—the look in them is cold, calculating. Dangerous on all fronts. There was a beast lying in waiting and its presence bore down on them, the siren sounds of a threat ringing because this one was greater than them all.

“Alright,” Ghost replied, the first to get his voice back.

“Great,” their Captain said, then he was off, hand fishing his burner from his pocket to call his pretty darling. His beautiful sweetheart.

‘My baby’ he said. 

And now, they get to meet you. 

Their gums ached with the phantom desire to bite; to have their teeth digging into flesh—not tearing fully but puncturing enough to mark. To taste.

Their eyes met, their blood thrumming with singularity, and their excitement palpable as it left them in tethers. Because there was much to be said about the mutual desire; how it rippled amidst them all, now noticed by their Captain and invited to play. 

-

The quaint little house lives on the outskirts of the city, not really detached but far enough to know that this was a conscious decision carved out by their Captain. 

It has a huge front lawn from inside the white picket fence, littered with a well-tended garden full of shrubs and flowers and stone plants. Their trained eyes flit to the hanging entryway sign—“Home Sweet Home”—and to the small baby’s breath wreath tacked underneath the plank, and feel viscous nectar slide down their throats. 

It’s all so domestic, so gentle, that a strange feeling settles deep in their stomachs, their steadied steps dying down to shuffles as their boots crunch against the gravel. They feel like intruders, even when they have yet to set foot inside their Captain’s home. Their mission-trained bodies are stark against this place, which oozes with comfort and flowery scents so delicate it makes their blood jump.

Simon takes the lead again, herding the pack in silence. He raps his knuckles against the well-loved door, sharp knocks bouncing from the wood. Soap and Gaz are both quiet behind him, and they are all tense in their reluctant patience. 

It seemed like now that you are close—just a door away—they no longer know how to leash the desire lapping at their feet; ears straining, mouth dry. The hunger scratches at their throats, ragged. Angry. 

(It had taken weeks when their Captain finally reached out again with a date and a location, disclosing the details in a way he always did for missions. It had grounded them for a while, bodies locking the way they do when their Captain barked out orders—his expectations pushing them to their limits, their mind geared into a focal point. 

“Be kind,” he said, lighting a cigarette.

Gaz ran his tongue on the back of his teeth, head tilting at the sudden twitch from Soap.

“‘Course,” the Sergeant replied with a grin, one that was a bite too big. “We always are.”

Their Captain hummed, eyeing Johnny with a pensive look. Kyle looked away, hoping to melt into the background to avoid any more of their Captain’s playful teasing. 

Then, Kyle met their Lieutenant's eyes, wide and rabid, and saw his desire leaking from his pores. His fists were balled, leather gloves straining against the force, and Kyle felt a shiver rack his body at seeing the tangible excitement coming from Simon.

It was so huge, it felt daunting. Addicting.)

Their fingers twitch at the sound of the door’s lock clicking—something they catalogue—before it swings open. 

Johnny’s shoulders tense up, his breath getting stuck in his throat at the morbid anticipation burning through him. Simon’s bulk is hiding the view, a solid wall between him and you, but Johnny waits, sees the way their Lieutenant’s gait changes, and knows he needs to be good. 

“Oh! You must be John’s friends!” 

Simon devours the sight you make, razing his eyes down your form, noting the fine details of domesticity that you’re clothed in—all soft and flowy material that brings out the shine in your eyes as you look up at him, head tipped up to account for the ridiculous height difference.

Something glints in his peripheral—

“Yeah,” he hears himself say. “It's nice to finally meet you.”

A diamond ring.

-

Their Captain introduces you to them, cinnamon in his eyes and his words honeyed. Your name settles on the tip of their tongues, waiting to be digested. To be sounded out by their own voices.

Simon murmurs it to himself, feels the word sliding between the cracks of his teeth like milk, and gulps it down, starving. It fuels him, this little piece he now has of you, and sets him ablaze as you flutter between them with gentle questions and quiet giggles.

You are soft—too soft for any of them, in fact—but they can see why their Captain is enamoured, his own desire greater than their own. It is intense as it scalds down their spines and jagged because their Captain isn’t a good man, they all aren’t, but there is something disconcerting in the way their Captain had claimed you. 

It was rushed, sweet to a fault, but done so rapidly it felt like a beast pouncing on its prey. Like their Captain had seen the beauty of your soul and decided, then, that you’re all his.

Simon washes down the taste of defeat in his mouth with his whiskey, mentally dedicating this drink to his Captain because he knows he would’ve done the same. He would’ve kept you in a home just as cozy; would've played house with you to distract you from the foulness of his virtues because kindness, civilian to that extent, can become so foreign to them now. He would keep you full of him, satiated with his presence and dripping with his cum—

“Sweetheart, c'mere.” Their Captain’s voice pierces the staccato of his thoughts. Simon twitches, suppressing the full-body jolt because there’s something measured in the way their Captain called you. 

They watch as you pad towards him with a hum, a bounce in your steps, before reaching to cup his cheek the moment you get close. 

“Hi,” you murmur, a breath too quiet.

Their Captain chuckles, basking in your warmth, before curling an arm around your waist and tugging you to his lap. You fall with a little gasp, your hand tight on Price’s shirt as your eyes swing to them in surprise.

“John, they–” 

Price kisses the back of your shoulder, fixing his arm over your stomach. “They won’t mind.” Dark eyes turn to them too. “Would you, boys?”

They feel parched; thirst palpable in the way they have their jaws clenched, their tongues heavy inside their mouths. They devour the pretty sight you make—all bashful looks and hunched shoulders, looking so utterly soft, so charmingly fragile, atop their Captain’s lap.

It sets off their base instincts, their desires ravaging their sanities.

“No,” Gaz is surprisingly the one to reply. His voice was smooth and clear, bouncing against the walls with surety. “Don’t mind at all.”

There must be something in the way Gaz was looking at you or perhaps you were also able to hear the unabashed want coating his words, but whatever it was, it made you sit up straighter, head tilted to the side, thinking. 

Considering.

It makes all of them jolt, even Price feels a stirring inside his jeans at the sudden shift in your posture, because this changes everything.

It was not that they would be satisfied with only having a look, with only seeing what they want and pretending that their thoughts—dirty and ragged and full of filth—are enough to satiate the fire stoking deep inside, but they didn’t want to set off their Captain.

They didn’t want to meet the beast inside the man’s eyes, and be further punished by having you be taken away from their reach. Because the moment they crossed that little door, the moment you smiled up at them and told them that they’re welcome in your quaint little home, in your space, you were theirs.

And their Captain would just have to deal with that.

But Price is already looking at them with crinkled eyes, his lips busy as it dragged all over the expanse of your shoulder, his palm gentle as it rubs over your stomach. 

Kyle takes it for what it is—a permission.

-

Johnny fists his cock, muffling his moans on the back of his palm, remembering the way you looked. The way you smelled. 

All flowers and vanilla—it’s cliche yet so, so fitting. 

You were so curious, poking at Ghost’s tattoos and murmuring your awe at every revelation of their becoming, stories that were watered down because they didn’t want to scare you. They didn’t want to push you away.

You were so enamoured by them, all giggly when Garrick told you about his recent mission with the Captain and Laswell, pressing yourself to his space and vibrating in anticipation at every turn. Their Captain rumbled in laughter when you turned to him with a gasp, disbelief coating your voice as you whined, “John, you didn’t!”

There was that pride in your eyes when their Captain reassured you of their success, and you preened when he said, “We had to return to you, after all, baby.”

You got so quiet and shy, then. So docile, just like the precious darling that you are.

So it burned him when it had been his turn to receive your attention. 

“‘Soap’?” you asked, nose scrunching in that way that made him coo.

“Yeah, lassie. S’cool, huh?”

You were sitting so close, he could feel the heat from your thigh reverberating from where it was pressed to his. He breathed you in, slow and careful, and felt ablaze with the knowledge that everyone’s eyes were on you two.

Not only their Captain’s but Simon’s. Their Lieutenant whose growled promises ravaged his throat the night before, grunting and groaning, using Johnny’s skin as an alternative to yours. 

(“Imagine ‘er, Johnny.” He rutted forward, lips tickling the shell of Johnny’s ear. “Imagine ‘er so full of you.”

It had Johnny mewling, ragged gasps rasping between his clenched teeth because he could imagine it, alright.

He imagined the way you’d be stuffed—greedy holes gaping as you took their cocks and their cum. Their Captain would be there, Garrick too. Their Captain would fuck his own fist as he watched them take you apart with pleasure, and Garrick would have your mouth, his tip painting your lips with his pre- before fucking it down your throat.

“Fuck!” Johnny cried out, humping the mattress to get more stimulation; to feel better.

He imagined that he was rutting against your chest, sliding between the valley of your tits while Ghost took him from the back. He imagined the way you would watch them, enraptured amidst your pleasure because he knew you wanted a show. 

They always do.

“Cum for me, pup,” Ghost rumbled into his ear and Johnny’s body locked in obedience, intense euphoria seizing him whole.)

He cums with your name on his lips, rumbled in a way he hopes would drive you mad. Would make you desperate. 

Johnny wants to make a slut out of you. Strip your sweetness and tinge it with sin—show you what they say about men like him. Like them. He wants to take you, or whatever scraps their Captain gives them, because every inch and every part of you is too delectable.

“Fuck,” he whispers, eyeing the thick rivulets of cum pooling in his palm. 

What he would give to see you lick this clean.

-

“So, what’d you think of her?” Their Captain asks as he twirls his glass of bourbon, the alcohol sloshing carefully from inside the cup like liquid gold. It snags fractures of light, smothering the little glints with its every ripple.

Simon hums, distracted, his mind a gallery made up of all of the little bits and pieces he was able to snatch from that day in the quaint little house: the sound of your voice, the titter of your giggles, the way you looked up at him when he offered to help pluck out the cups stowed away in the highest shelves, before your lips danced into a grateful little smile, dimpling your cheeks and wrinkling your eyes.

You were everything he adored. The woman of his dreams, there, in the pretty little cage that their Captain has you in. 

“She's beautiful,” Ghost says, quiet. Honest. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, really.” 

It is in the stretching silence that follows that he picks up his own whiskey and pours it into his parched mouth to wash down the desire lodged in his throat. He doesn’t look at his Captain; he doesn’t want to be the one to ask.

He wants it to be offered; to be presented to him like the twisted blessing that it is. 

Simon wants to know if you would allow him. If you would allow all of them to have you too. 

Price huffs, his glass clinking against the table when he had put it down. Simon licks the back of his teeth as he waits, patience thrumming underneath his veins raggedly. He feels like a boy, waiting to be told that he’s done good; that his obedience is going to be rewarded lucratively. 

Price chuckles like he can read the thoughts churning in Simon’s mind.

“Not yet,” is all that their Captain replies. 

Not yet—it was not a rejection, then.

Simon burns, feeling the way such simple words sustain him. The idea that they were allowed to taste, not now, not yet, but soon, in that cage that you call a home.

[biteyoubiteme]

raspberry stains

vampire!sunghoon x fem!reader

❦︎ synopsis: left alone on the streets of your small village you are offered the opportunity to trade your life for only a small price to pay. You are given to vampire prince sunghoon who has not had a taste for blood for almost a lifetime. Not because he does not feel hunger but because he has not found the one that temps him. ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ warnings: vampires, blood, blood drinking, angst, dark themes, reader held against her will, biting, no protection, creampie, prob forgot some sorry

⋅˚₊‧ wc: 18.5k ‧₊˚ ⋅

❦︎ ⸝⸝⸝ now playing: sacrifice (eat me up) -enhypen an: thank you to my bestie @luvsicktyun who sent me an ask after we watched so much en o'clock together on a late friday night. I do not think ill be writing a lot for enha and I will not be taking requests for them! I do hope you enjoy this tho bc I love vampires so much <33 this is not proofread pls forgive me sweet angels I am a monster

[m.list]

To be a gift was to be a blessing. Young girls and boys were picked up off the streets of dying villages, rampant with sickness and filth. The heavily coated royal servants cased the roads, their scent fragrant and foreign. Even if they were not turned they still had that enticing pull to them, lined with the beckoning aura of the vampires just by association. Or maybe it was because no one in your village had seen such decadence, that slow prowl, ruby red gems dripping from chains slung around their bodies showing you who's kingdom they belonged to. 

You had only heard stories of the vampires sending to find feeders outside of their kingdoms. Not stolen, kidnapped, or captured. Persuaded by the idea of a full belly that none born to this kind of poverty had ever experienced since falling away from their mothers. It's why when the servant leaned down next to your half-stiff body, trembling from the cold wind, you let him. Let him breathe in the scent of you, eyes closing as you send a prayer for some kind of savior from this cold hell you had been born into. Fingers numb as you held them, knowing that as tight as you had gripped it should have hurt, knees pulled to your chest, the half moth eaten blanket wrapped around you the only relic you had from once living between four walls and not against one. 

“Have you ever been fed from before?” It was that single question that made you blink back to reality, looking at the pale face inspecting you. He was a vampire, you could tell from the faint ring of red around his iris’ but it didn't scare you as you had been told it should have. Even if you would be taken away, anywhere would be better than the cobble street digging into you, staining your clothes. It wasn't a bed as you had tried to convince yourself every night as you faded to sleep. If they locked you in a cellar you're sure even if it's cold it would at least keep you dry from the snow, blocked from the wind. 

“Never,” the word sealed your fate like a fresh wax stamp. They had not believed you, not fully. They turned over your wrists, tipped your chin looking over your neck and any hot spot most vampires liked to drink from often, just to make sure they found no puncture marks. You were weak and malleable, easy enough to pick up and carry away like the bodies they carted after the plague. 

You didn't ask questions, not when they handed you broth to drink, breaking the unintentional fast you had found yourself stuck in. not when they led you out of their horse-drawn carriage and through the back doors of a towering stone castle. It had been a long journey, one you spent most of your time relishing in because of the momentary block from the constant wind you had been subjected to while on the streets. But you should have watched the way in so you could have had some hope of knowing the way back out. 

Be grateful, you didn't say the words out loud but they kept on a persistent loop in your brain, rattling around your skull until you wouldn't think any other thoughts but that one demand. You should be grateful, everyone you knew would have told you the same thing. You had food coming at the same hours every day, new clothes that were nicer than you had ever worn, made of fabrics you had never seen in your town's shop before it was run down and ransacked. And they kept you in a small room with a fire, tended often by a maid who did not look at you. But it was all a very pretty cage. 

And after a full belly and a right bed to sleep on your mind was clearing. Every little thing that you had been told about the vampires was coming back to you in small spurts. They did not take nicely to anyone besides themselves and their feeders, on occasion, but even then the feeders were their property and not their friends. And you knew even if they were being nice, making you stronger, and dolling you up, it all came at a price that you would have to pay in blood. 

You didn't know how painful the cost would be, the stories were filled with conflicting reports. You had known a girl who had taken a vampire lover once and she had come back hazy-eyed and begging to see him again. It was not the kind of inhibition you would have wanted to lose. The girl you had once known had come back hollow, not in the sense of being bloodless but of being bound to a feeling that was unlike any other. And that made you scared. Even more so than horror stories that had come back about the burning that set place in one's veins the second they had been bitten, the draw of blood being sucked clean from them had felt like a hot iron branding them in thin lines all over their bodies. Pain was one thing, loss of oneself was another. 

You had wanted help, you had not cared about what would happen to you when you were starving, cold, and so so alone. You would have let them bite you right then without a second thought but you had time to think over what it all meant now. You would be stuck here, bound and passed around like a bottle of cheap wine they found for a good deal because to them you were just a thing to be owned and put away once done. Sure they fed you but it was only in turn to feed themselves. They clothed you but only so that they could look at something pretty while they took from you. At least they had you warm with a bed you could rest on but you're sure that blood warmed was better than blood cold. 

The thoughts of leaving showed up even before they came in with the pearl necklace. The length of the pearls strung together is worth more than you had thought possible for a piece of jewelry. The beads looked like white opal, heavy against your collarbone as they fasted the necklace securely. A long trail of them beaded down in a row dangled down your back as if it was a long lead. Because it was a collar, not a fashion statement. You were nothing more than a pet for them and you knew it the second one of them pulled on the string while trying to see if it was in place. The movement had sent your hand to your neck, fingers slipping between your windpipe and the beads, tugging on them to try and see if there was any give and finding none at all. 

It had made you cry, feeling the pearls cold, the weight down your back made you straighten, wanting to get away from the feeling, the shock of them like frozen fingertips on your spine. They set out clothes for you, silk and chiffon, flowing around your waist and legs, your wrists wrapped in soft mesh cuffs sprayed with a faint perfume. They were making you look appealing, pinching your cheeks, your lips, trying to get more blood flow through them.  

“He will find you very pretty,” one of the many handmaids muttered as she pressed a cloth to the corner of your eyes, collecting the tear that had threatened to spill. “The prince enjoys pretty things,” 

You watched the way your chin trembled in the mirror, your teeth clenching to try and get the image out of your head of some prince who would want something pretty to feed from. It only made you want to run from the through, from this castle dawned in candlelight and heavily velvet-covered curtains. You haven't seen the sun in over a week, not unless they let you walk up the winding stairs from your room to the kitchen. The soft light comes through the diamond-patterned glass. But they didn't take you down to pick what you wanted for dinner anymore after you had tried to run. 

It had happened in a blink, the door was open, the cold air sweeping in around your ankles the second you made it down the last step. It had been a split-second thought, your body had already been on edge, flight or flight taking over your every sense but you hadn't had an opening or outlet to get the feeling out. And so the second you had seen that bright light, blinding from only having seen the light of the fire in your room for so long, you took the opportunity and fled. 

They had caught you and you didn't even have it in you to fight it anymore. The words going round and round, again and again, be grateful- be grateful- be grateful- 

“You won't be staying in here for long, most gifts stay with their charge,” a handmaiden comments, fixing your skirt making sure it's laid exactly where she wants it to be. “And I've seen your room, it is very nice,” as if that was supposed to make you feel any better as if it would stop the tears from slipping.

They could set you up with everything you had ever wanted but it would not make you forget that once you had complete control over everything in your life. Yes, you had been in the streets, half alive with no hope, willing to take any option to get you away from it. But now all that was settling over you was fear. Your stomach always turned, everyday you twisted your hands together, worrying at your nails, twisting the mesh cuffs around and around your wrist, trying to distract yourself from the bugs making a home in your belly. You wonder if other gifts had felt butterflies or the same mayflies you had; the kind that picked over dead things and not sipped from vibrant flowers. 

It felt wrong to enjoy something that felt like dying even if you didn't know what it felt like to have teeth scratching over a vein just yet. This was supposed to be a blessing but all you felt was the feeling of being trapped, lured in with a small chunk of cheese like a mouse right before it was snapped in half. You were wiggling, each tear a squeak, a cry for help. But no one who set a mouse trap that was intended for death helped save the mouse they had captured. 

They made sure the pearls would never come off. Welding the latch shut after you had hidden them. The weight of them stuck and still not familiar when they finally got you ready to be gifted. They had prepped you enough, fed you enough to bring life back into your face, and the person you saw in the mirror was one you would have never recognized at first glance. She was not you and you hated the one who would have you because they had done this.  

When they brought you from your room they twisted the pearls until the lead was in front, easy to pull you along behind the servant they had sent to bring you down. You did not fight this time, not when all their eyes were on you and you felt as if you had given up on yourself. Not only were you scared but you were done. You had missed the opportunity to make it out, they had been fast, and there had been nowhere to hide before you hit the treeline of the surrounding forest. If you ran again they had people who would see exactly where you were at any time, and you didn't know the woods or the way back to your village. There was nothing to do but give in. 

They had gone over the list of things you would have to do for the vampire you would be assigned to. The long list was told to you over and over again. But they kept up the same few points, never let another feed from you, you were to be theirs alone, listen to them at all times, and follow them close. It felt silly to be treated like a puppy with attachment issues. 

It wasn't until they had brought you to the throne room that you first laid eyes on Sunghoon. In an instant he had caught you in his stare, almost as quickly you saw the slight tremor in his nose, a twitch that was stilled within the second you had seen it. He swallowed thickly, jaw working as he took you in. Everyone turned to you, looking over what they had done to make you as close to perfect as you needed to be as a gift. 

Your throat was tight with so many eyes on you. The rows of vampires make the air smell too sweet and alluring. Your body was telling you to run, pulse pumping and hammering in your ears. Sunghoon sat at the raised dais with his father, the throne he sat on only slightly smaller, still forged in gold, intricate patterns of ivy surrounding his head like the laurels worn by the gods. 

“I got you a gift,” the sultry voice of the king was heavy in the empty air. A room full of still vampires was like a room full of statues, his voice carried between their bodies echoing even if he did not speak up louder than if he were ordering tea. “It's good luck to be gifted a feeder on a solstice and I'm sure you will find her to be very sweet, my men went out looking for only the most decedent of feasts for you,” 

And Sunghoon could smell the sweetness on you, the perfume sprayed to your wrists only highlighting the temptation you should have brought to him. For a second he could feel his fangs tingle for the first time in what felt like forever and he had wanted to let them down but then he caught that faint hint of something bitter. His stomach flipped, and he tried to keep his face clear; tried not to let his weakness show. You were scared, the fear tinting your blood with something he couldn't quite put his finger on. 

Sunghoon had spent years unable to explain why he found it so hard to feed when it was all but expected of him if he wanted to live. He had never met a starving vampire, he had known the hungry, seen them in the streets fighting over meals but it did not feel as if they were being carved open from the hollowness. Sunghoon had been hollow for what felt like years, only stomaching drops of blood at a time before they threatened to come back up. He had never seen a vampire sick like he got, had never come across someone who shivered at the scent of a perfectly healthy girl so willing to turn her wrist to his waiting mouth. But he could not bring his fang forward to do the job, not when he smelt that faint thread of fear in their blood. 

They had been tainted even if only a little bit but it was there poisoning them. And he could smell it on you even across the room, your beating heart loud to his ears, echoing the promise of being full. He did get hungry, he was always hungry, and you did tempt him, but he knew that fear was marbling your blood like the fat marbling a steak, others found it gave the blood a spice that was needed but to him it only made him cringe. 

You were a gift and he could not turn you away, not when it would show weakness to those who did not know how much of a struggle it was to feed. He would look as weak as he felt when he was so empty. And if you were scared he didn't want to make it worse by trying to feed and coming away unable, then it only colored the blood with the taste of disappointment and that was worse for him to stomach. 

“Thank you, my king,” it was the only response he could muster, eyes finding the pulse point at your neck, watching the thumping vein like he was expected to. But as he watched he could scent the way it made you feel, could tell the others envied him as they smelt that spicy sweetness as it flooded the room. The only other feeder here was his father's, the pearl necklace chained to the side of his seat as he had her standing right by his side. 

He knew that having a feeder always available was a display of wealth, always a meal ready whenever he even felt the urge. But anything would be better than subjecting someone to be tied to his side when he was already broken. A vase that had cracks in it so that anything added would spill out of him. He didn't want to keep you any more than you must have wanted to stay by his side. Royal feeders could not be fed on by anyone else and so he knows that you were unmarked by anyone else's fangs. And he would not be able to show you that it wasn't supposed to feel bad, that he had been told it was a pleasurable feeling if one found the right match, but Sunghoon had mourned that he would never find the one. 

The nights had passed with him thinking about how it was the last thing he wanted. He had lived this long with the hunger he could spend the rest of his life like this. It didn't even hurt anymore, didn't ache as it had when he was a child. Back then it had been an unbearable pain, trying to swallow fast mouthfuls to make sure that even a bit would get down, but it was only for a small time that it would curb any hunger he felt. He would curse and cry over the pain, beg to be like anyone else, and he had tried to use his compulsion on a human once, but still, even under the spell he could taste it, the overripe fruit flavor like sickening wine on his lips, staining his teeth and making him break apart into a mess of pleads. 

He wanted to be like the others, even in their disgusting overindulgence, anything was worth wishing for when he was so empty. But no amount of blood could make him feel the same joy they felt when everyone else fed. So he was okay with being alone, okay with the thirst, the pain of being empty. But it was not your cross to bear, he did not want you to worry over him, hating him he could stand, he would weave that into an excuse as a reason to send you back wherever it was they had found you. But he could not say that now with the audience before them waiting for his elation at the perfectly sweet gift his father, his king, had given him. 

The staff member was quick to pull you along by your pearls but at least when they pulled you forward they did not choke you as it had when they pulled you backward. He left you right at the first step, the black and white marble, glossed and reflecting the candlelight back at you. When the pearl chain was dropped it was heavy against your chest and for the first time you found comfort in the weight of it, the only thing that was now a constant, something familiar in the room of unfamiliar. 

Sunghoon stood, his head dipping down as he bowed, bent halfway, one hand on his stomach and the other at his side before righting himself and meeting you at the bottom of the steps. He reached out and you flinched, eyes screwed shut, worried to feel the brush of his fingers on you when he grabbed the pearls to tug you up the steps to stand right next to the throne he had gotten up from. But the ghosting of his fingers did not come, your eyes peeling open to look down at where he held his palm up for you to place yours. It was a soft invitation that you did not want to accept. 

He was so very pretty when you looked up at him, eyes following the moles on his skin like connecting the stars to make a constellation in the night. He looked at you blankly, lips set in stone, still a faint shade of pink, eyes lazy and waiting for you to put your hand in his. You could hardly see the red line around his iris, so dark it was fading into the darkness of his gaze. You watched the way his mouth opened only the smallest bit, take it, the words not even spoken so that it would only be caught by those looking at him and not heard. He blinked, slow, lashes matching the dark strands of his hair handing on his brow. 

You followed his command, scared he would take the pearls and tug you like the other one had. He was cold, skin silky smooth as your fingers graced his, not wanting to give him access to your palm as if that would make it any better to have your hand in his. “Careful of your skirt,” he muttered looking down at the way the fabric pooled on the ground, easy enough to step on while you made your way up the dias. Your free hand twisted in your dress, picking it up so that you could have your slippered steps unblocked as you followed him. He did not pull you along, did not lead you, he was there as someone to make sure you did not fall and that was it, dropping your hand the second that you made it up safe. 

Next to him on the armrest of his chair, a loop was welded in, the perfect spot to hook your pearls to and make sure that you wouldn't run. But he did not attach it, only let you stand there like some coat rack next to a door. Your lips pursed, you had been told not to cry, warned over again that it was not something they wanted to see; you were to be grateful, not tearful. 

But Sunghoon could scent the saltiness building behind your eyes, could tell you were about to cry just by the way you had been shot through with sadness in a second. He had no way to make it better, not when they still had an hour to sit in the throne room to watch the rest of the gifts brought in. From all over people had traveled to give solstice gifts to the crown for good favor. He had no time to get away and he knew the second they dismissed everyone he would have to explain himself to you. He could already predict the way you would smell then, the sadness maybe even twinged with disappointment, that's how they usually were. 

And it wasn't as if you didn't smell divine to him already. He wanted to taste you, his father was right, you were the sweetest he had ever come across, but this was still overtaken by fear. And now being closer to you he could feel the ache in his fangs more prominently, a twinge that hurt along his gums. But it faded when the tears threatened. 

You stood there, looking out over the people, watching as they came up one by one and gifted things, placing them on a pile at their feet. You should have been tossed right amongst the jewels and lavish wines tainted with blood. You were no better than the spoils they collected now, only you had a heartbeat they were kind enough to recognize and put to the side as ‘extra special’ but it was only a ruse. 

It took forever for them all to finally be dismissed for dinner and it was then that real panic began to sink in. You watched the way they picked themselves up, working their way out the door chatting, and going over what was waiting for them in the dining room. But your eyes were glued ahead watching how freely they walked, watching how they went left and not right where you knew the kitchen was tucked away for the feeders and remaining unused by the rest of them. If he took you out the same way you could run, head right and since your pearls were in front of you it might be easier to slip by without being tugged back. 

But it was a pipedream you knew as much and it's why the tears did not stop at your lashes but finally slid down your cheeks without a sound. 

“For tonight could I gain permission to skip over this feast?” The prince's voice was heavy, the question sinking into you like a stone thrown into the lake. He wanted you alone. 

“Of course,” it was no secret from the king the struggle Sunghoon had. It was less a secret how much he had tried to rectify the situation. You were the last option in a long list of failures, the king did not need his people watching the way his son would react if he could not take in even a mouthful of one of the most tempting feeders found in over a century. 

His finger touched the tip of your elbow, a light command for you to follow after him as he stood up. He lifted his hand out again for you when you reached the steps, your sniffling loud even to your own ears as you pressed your fingertips to his, letting him lead you down the way you had come up. “And Sunghoon,” it made the boy next to you pause in his tracks, the edges of his lips dipping, lips pursed as he waited for his order, “try this time,” 

“Of course father,” but even you could tell it was strained, half said because he was expected to. 

The prince did not grab your pearls only expecting you to follow behind him as his footsteps echoed in the hall, so much louder than your soft slippers they had given you. Something that you had realized was so that you wouldn't run; in the woods, you would need more than something so easily pierced through by a lone thorny branch. The thought of escaping only passed briefly once, your heart rate quickening at the idea made Sunghoon turn around, the doors already closed to the throne room, but it didn't mean his father would not be able to hear him. “No,” he didn't need to elaborate, not when you were so clearly turned to not follow him. 

“I-” but he cut you off with a shake of his head, waving a pale hand in the direction of the stairs. 

He did not move until you did, waiting for you to make it next to him before he continued his ascent up to wherever it was he was planning on keeping you. The castle was too large for you to remember the turns he had taken before reaching his room. Your mind was overrun with the fear of what would happen the second he closed the doors behind the two of you to focus on the left and right turns. Your breathing was coming out in huffs more focused on coming out through your nose, every drawl in from your lungs feeling erratic and strange. 

The hallway to his rooms was long and dark, none of the candles lit as you felt your feet start to drag, every step slower and slower as he pushed open his door. He stood there with his arm extended, half in the dark, a soft glow of the fire inside fanning over his pale skin. He did not pressure you to go forward, let you stand there and look at him, trying to catch your breath, trying to right your mind and not turn around again to run. “I just want to talk,” he spoke low so that you wouldn't get scared by the sound. 

If before you had found yourself to be caged they were testing how easy it was to recapture you now, how easy it was to get you to follow commands. But you had nowhere else to go so shakily you raised your hand to wipe at your tears, nodding as you made the last few steps towards his door. You don't want to touch him as you pass but it's inevitable in the small space, shoulder brushing his chest. It makes you shudder, you try and pull yourself together but the sound of the door closing behind you is enough to make it worse. The tremble cascading down your limbs that even the warmth from the fire does not help to calm. 

The space is large enough to have been the biggest room you had ever seen, taking up more space than even the one they kept you in before with some of the other girls. The fireplace itself is larger than the one in your local town's bar, neatly tended and cleared of ash. A neat set of a couch and chairs sat right in front of the flames, perfect to cozy up and read from the bookshelf that was tucked into the corner. It was dark, the windows covered with the same thick red velvet curtains as the rest of the castle. It blocked the moonlight you're sure would have been coming in to cast the bed in a silver glow. 

To the far corner, there was an archway into a bathroom, the tub partially covered with a dark wood divider. There was only one other door, half hidden behind the sheer canopy of the bed was right next to a dark nightstand with a book, left open with a thin-bladed letter opener as the bookmark. You could hear the girls telling you how lucky you were to be given to the prince of all people, not a lesser royal aristocrat with no space but to send their feeder back down to the waiting hall next to the kitchen where they had first brought you. 

But even that had felt better than this. You would have been amongst humans like you, not stuck so far from where everyone was that you would have to pray you could find a way out. And it wasn't your room, it was his room that you were invading. The sheets were still slightly rumpled from where he must have been sitting before leaving. It made your stomach turn again, even if you had shared with all those other girls you wouldn't have been trapped as severely as you were now. 

But Sunghoon did not move further into the space after closing the door, the survey of the room was quick so that you wouldn't have your back to him. And there he stood taking you in his hands by his sides, palms turned up. “I'm not going to feed from you, not now, and even if my father asked me to try I won't, not unless you want that but I can tell it's not in the cards right now,” he gets the words out in a rush, “the room is mostly yours now, you can have the bed, it's better than what they expected you to sleep on but I have no qualms about taking the spare room,” he nods to the door half hidden, “I won't bother you, and later we can have the wardrobes switched so that you have the space,” 

The shock was quick, he was giving up the space for you, a prince shoved in a closet and for what? To make you feel less scared? It wouldn't change the situation, it wouldn't make you come around. “I don't want your pity,” it was the only word you could think of to classify the situation. It felt like pity, it was more than you had thought or asked for but it didn't make you any less fearful. 

“It's not pity-” 

“What is it then? Some kind of truce? A scheme? If you're going to take my blood, just take it and get it over with, pretending you won't will only make it worse,” the words are bitter to your tongue but they come out just as you had wanted them. His brows drew close, lips downturned. If you were to be nothing but a blood bag to him you didn't need to be treated nicely, you knew the truth of the situation and it was not in your favor. Let him take from you, let him be a monster but you would not let him play nice when he was anything but. Giving you the bed was not a bandage to the situation but something to make it feel as if you owed him for this small grace. 

“I'm not pretending, I do not want to feed from you, and so I won't. Believe me or not I do not care but I'm not going to shove you in the closet like some petty gift I did not like and won't remember until next spring. You can have the room and it's for my own conscience that is true but also because it's right,” he shoves his hands into his pockets, taking the long way around the edge of the room so as to not get close to you, your eyes following him as he goes. “We can talk in the morning,” it's the last thing he says before he picks up his book from the nightstand, closing it around the blade you wished you could have kept before disappearing behind the door. 

The soft slam is enough to make you let out a breath, the huff bringing forth a new wave of tears as you shake your head, ashamed to be crying in the first place. You didn't want to lay in his bed, not when it was still wrinkled and near the door he had gone through. You didn't want to sleep at all, not here, not when you didn't know what would happen when you closed your eyes. But you did know you wanted warmth so you curled yourself up against the bookshelf near the fire. Your back was guarded and both doors in your eyeline as you tried to get yourself to stop crying. 

Sunghoon could hear the constant stream of tears, his book tossed to the floor next to him while he looked up at the ceiling from where he lay in bed. The tingle in his gums had gone, his stomach sick as he took in the unease of the situation. He didn't think he would have left you alone to cry but it had felt like the only thing he could do with everything he had been given. He wanted to say sorry, apologize for everything but not knowing if that was the right thing to do.Leaving you felt right, staying in the small bed, the small room, felt right. He didn't need the space anyway, didn't want it, and he could care less about anything else so long as you didn't think he was some hungry monster looking to drain you dry when it was farthest from the truth. 

But it was impossible to convey that to you when you were so terrified, he could tell you were on the brink of giving up, that if he had turned away from you for even a second you would have run off. It was easy to let you go, he wanted you to have what you wanted but if you ran he would have to explain your absence. They would know it was a lie if he said he overfed to the point of you dying, he wouldn't smell like you not even faintly, he wouldn't have a body to prove it, and it was almost an impossible thought with his track record. If his father thought for a second that Sunghoon had fed so much as to kill a feeder he would have been ashamed for wasting a gift that he could have kept to keep him sustained for years. 

He could not just let you go without consequence for that action, he needed to let you go after explaining that you were not the one. But his father had gifted you to him in front of so many people. Sunghoon knew that even if he could not feed from you, he would be told to keep you even if it was to show off a lie. People questioned why Sunghoon wasn't around at feasts, questioned what kind of king it would make him if the time ever came if he could not indulge like the rest of them. His father hadn't called him weak but he could see the word in his eyes when he confessed time and time that he could not drink from a vein. 

They had given you pearls, that royal leash a life sentence whether you knew it or not. You would be tied to him until he found a way to get you out but running right now was not an option. And just like him he could tell that you got no sleep, your heartbeat never slowing down, the fear still keeping its constant trek through your bloodstream. He could not stop thinking it over, listening to your soft crying, it only made him feel like he was turning himself inside out keeping you here. He didn't want to be a captor, didn't want to be the person who was tied to another just because it was expected of them. 

And when he saw you there, sitting watching the fire before you noticed him he could see the beauty behind the teartracks. They had made it so that you would look like a goddess, a blessing for him that would keep on giving, and yet neither of you felt very blessed. Not when you noticed him move just enough to catch your attention. Your heart is hammering as you push yourself to stand on weak legs. Your eyes lined in sleep, hand twisted in the dangling pearls that fell right to your navel. 

“You must be hungry,” even if he could not feel the hunger anymore he knew that others kept up a comfortable schedule with the feeling if it went past curtain times. “I can take you down to the kitchen or I can have someone bring your meals here, whatever it is you want,” 

You caught onto the hope of seeing the kitchen, of walking past a window to feel the sun, of being so close to the exit you knew. “The kitchen,” you kept his eye, trying to show him that you were watching him, but it felt like you were playing a game of who would back down first, a game you didn't think you would win at all. 

“And after?” he tilted his head, his clothes wrinkled from his resting, the hollows of his eyes showing faint bruises from restlessness. 

“After?” Sunghoon didn't need to scent your blood or hear your heart when you had the fear written so clearly all over your features. 

“I don't find it fun to be locked up in the room all day, if you wanted to go to the library, the gardens, wherever it is I can take you,” 

It felt like an illusion of freedom, he would not leave you alone, you were nothing more than a prisoner with her guard going around from room to room before he took his payment at the end of the day. But the gardens sounded enticing, and learning about the castle felt enticing. If going around and looking at every corner of your cell to find a loose bar you could slip from was an option you would take it, watched or not. He had not come out of the room all night, you had waited and he did not once even try the door knob. If you could find a way out today, finally count the turns on the way down and up you would be able to sneak out tonight. Your wardrobes were not switched and you could take anything you needed to make yourself unrecognizable before leaving. 

Your fingers twisted in the pearls, tight enough for you to feel the pull as if leading yourself to speak. “The gardens…” 

Sunghoon nodded once, “We can go after you have had a proper meal,” he gave you space to get yourself ready and waited by the door for you when you were done. He held the door open for you again just as he had when letting you in. and this time you made sure to know the way down not needing to know the way back up. You counted the right turns, the left, the amount of stairs you took, and where the kitchen doors were. 

But you weren't hungry, too busy thinking over the map in your head and how it was forming along with all the other information you were keeping, like how many people you had passed. Left, right, right, stairs, left, right, left, door. It seemed so easy but you knew if you were scared it would flicker out like a candle near an open window. Sunghoon collected things for you, taking the basket with the two of you as he led you down to the gardens. 

You had believed for a long time vampires could not step foot in the sun and that would have made all of this so much easier if it was true. But the vampires were only annoyed in the sunlight, eyes sensitive but not to the point they could not see. And most of the time it was grey in the sky, the clouds low most mornings just like this one where the fog settles over the emerald green hedges. Here they did not have to worry much about the direct sunlight because there hardly was any around. 

The fresh air was more than enough to make you relish in one small victory on a growing list of losses. Even with the soft mist clinging to your lashes, cooling your heated cheeks it was enough to make you crack a sad smile. It had been so long since you felt anything besides worry and panic. But your smile didn't last for long, not when you lowered your head and could feel the weight of the pearls still around your neck. As much as they had become a habit to hold it was not a comfort but a reminder of being stuck and bound to them. 

Sunghoon watched the way you toyed with the necklace, not even noticing that you were doing it as you watched the sunset later in the day. He did not ask when you wanted to go in, did not ask if you wanted to go anywhere else, just gave you the space to breathe even just a little bit. But he watched how your fingers tightened when it was finally dark, your food untouched in the basket he carried back up to the room. He placed it down on the nightstand when the two of you made it back. 

Your nerves were on high alert being in private with him and he could tell. “You should try to eat and get some rest tonight, tomorrow we have to spend dinner with the others, and it's best to be ready,” 

Dinner, vampires didn't eat anything else to sustain themselves. You knew they could but it did little to help curve their hunger. Most of them drank from a vein or a glass tainted with liquor, most of them enjoying blood laced with wine. But you knew that they would not be sitting around sipping from glasses over light conversation. Sunghoon didn't know how to explain his plan without confessing how burdened he felt. “I didn't lie when I said I wouldn't drink from you, I will keep my promise but we are still expected at the table,” 

You watched the way he swallowed, his lips turned down. He felt small, the confession right at the edge of his tongue but it would not come free, “I-” he watched the way your knuckles flexed, fist twisted around the contract the two of you had found yourself bound to. And he couldn't even hold up his end of the deal. “I'll find somewhere else to sleep tonight,” 

But Sunghoon had nowhere else to go, if anyone found him outside his room they would gossip. His father would hear eventually and know that he had not tried, he would know he had failed again over something so small, something that was supposed to be so natural. And so he sat right outside the door, hoping that thinking of him being somewhere else even if he was still a doorway away would help you find even a wink of sleep. But he could hear the sound of your pacing footsteps working round and round the room. 

You worried at your lip, tugging at the pearls around your neck and trying to pull them free for even a moment's breath. He said he wouldn't try unless you said he could, he said he wouldn't but you had no way of knowing if he was telling the truth. You hardly knew him at all, didn't know if he was known for being deceptive and you could not afford to be lied to, not when it felt so lasting to be here. You would not only have to live with being fed from but would have to live with being played for the rest of the time you were sitting around here. 

And it wasn't even about being bitten. You knew that you had given yourself up to it, knew it the second you had let them pick you up without saying anything, you had turned in so much to be here and you would sit here and try to make it okay. Tomorrow it would not surprise you if he lied and bit you right there at the table in front of them all, it wouldn't surprise you if he went back on what he said because you expected it. And at this point, it did not matter anymore because your mind was working again and again, be grateful, be grateful, be grateful.  

You would have to be grateful, stomach the upset, and swallow your pride. So you sat at the side of his bed, sinking into the mattress just enough to know that if you fell back it would envelop you like the petals of a flower. And you felt so tired after being up for so long. And even with the soundtrack of your mantra ringing around in your skull you picked up the same rhythm of the floor plan. Said it again and again like counting sheep, laying over the sheets that still smelled of him. That faint scent of white flowers was sweet and alluring. 

It was upsetting to like the way the smell of him made you feel. Vampires were made to be the kind of beings you could not resist even if your body was telling you that something was not quite right about the situation. You knew fight or flight and being in a room full of them only triggered the sense. But here, warm in his bed, looking up at the canopy that he must have looked up to a thousand times, resting your head on his sweet smelling pillow you could not find it in yourself to want to run. Not until after you rested at least. 

But you did not tuck yourself in, facing the door and watching the handle as if that would provide you comfort with your eyes closed. You breathed in, deep and swallowing the scent you drifted off, half awake for your body wouldn't let you fall into true sleep. Sunghoon could tell this as he leaned against the wall, half wishing he would have gone into his new bed to rest but if you were to get little sleep so would he. He wanted you to trust him, not to trick you but just so that he could show his true intentions. 

So early before you had even snuck to take a quick bath without him around, he went to the kitchen and collected as many red fruits as he could, dark crimson cherries, the beads of a pomegranate, and the soft easily ground raspberries, anything that would stain his lips the color of wine. He folded them up into a soft cloth, tucking them behind his back as he went back up to the room. By then you were already changed and watching the door, waiting for him. 

But he did not burst in through the door as you had expected since this was his room and only partially yours, no, he knocked, knuckles light on the hardwood, he could have been confused with a branch hitting the side of the house with a soft breeze. The soft patter of your heart quickened nonetheless. Shoulders tightening, limbs locking, your flight was slowly turning to freeze without your permission. 

“You can come in,” the words were necessary but sickening to pull forward. 

Sunghoon was rumpled, eyes soft as he looked down at his hands revealing the bundle of fruit. He had crushed a cherry on his walk up when he passed a staff member, the juice slipping down his palm and wrist. You had only seen the red for a brief moment, the faint trail of it having your attention before he opened his hands for you to see the rest. “I know it's crazy,” he already felt small even suggesting his plan. 

This wasn't something that was expected of a prince, of any vampire. It was something that he had done when he was young, hiding away from the truth and still believing that his father couldn't tell he wasn't getting enough in his system. It felt worse letting someone in on his secret. “For the dinner, you're going to have to put some of these fruits in the mesh cuffs you have on. If they are already stained they won’t think anything of it,” 

It didn't make any sense to you as to why he would go to such lengths to keep up his promise to you. You could feel yourself pushing back at his kindness, he was slotted in your mind as an enemy and any amount of niceties would not place him anywhere else. “When it's time I'll grab your wrist and bite the fruit not you,” 

“Why?” your confusion was a mix of distaste and curiosity, your brows drawn together as you looked at his red-stained fingers. “Why not just bite me and get it over with?” 

He swallowed thickly, throat bobbing as he dropped any eye contact he had held with you. You took the opportunity to look over the moles on his face, finding the trail of them, already remembering as if it had been the map out of this room, only you didn't need to repeat it to yourself; it was as if you had already known the path. “I don't want your blood,” he clenched his jaw after he said it as if that was too much to have slipped out in the first place. 

You don't know why it felt like he had slammed a door in your face, the weight of it heavy and fitting so neatly against its frame. It shouldn't have hurt, your mind trying to recoil from the pain you shouldn't feel and yet did. You had wanted to be the one to twist the lock, press your back against the wood, and keep your feet planted. But here he was doing it all on his own. And before you could ask again, the why so close to being dropped between you like a thin glassed champagne flute, he left you with nothing but the maroon cloth stuffed with fruit and your waiting question. 

Before it had felt as if you had been given some kind of grace to work with. He had said he wouldn't feed from you like it was a gift you should thank him for. But now he was standing in front of you and saying he didn't want your blood, not that it was something he was holding himself back from. The words were settling over you and tightening around your limbs, you shouldn't feel anything except relief not worry about something being wrong with you. There was no reason to be thinking over this when you didn't want it in the first place, no reason to let the confession sink you so low. 

But you would do what you needed to do nonetheless, turning around and tucking the fruit against the mesh at your wrist. He would have his mouth there, close to your vein in only a few hours and it set your nerves aflame. Not only would it be him around but everyone else, the other vampires who would have teeth stained with blood instead of fruit. You would see the other feeders, the ones that you were supposed to be replicated after. You would see what rumor had been real, would it hurt them, or would it feel like bliss? 

Either one felt like a death sentence, slowly losing one's self with or without you noticing, one tricking you into believing it was okay and the other tearing you apart. It was all you could think about when he finally came back, his clothes changed and hair done to hang perfectly around his face. He first looked down at your wrists, laid next to you at your side neatly hiding the faint stain showing up. “It shouldn't take too long,” he whispered, fingers playing with the pearls slung across his chest. 

It was the first time you had seen such a chain on him, it matched your pearls perfectly, the latch made so that he could hook you up to follow him without him having to tug you along with his own hands. It wasn't fear that was slinking through you now but anger, hot and ashamed. “You're not tying me up,” you drew the line there, he could bite you all he wanted before he found you chined to him with anything more than a speech written contract. 

You backed up, legs hitting the bed and stilling you in your place. “I'm not going to be paraded around like that, like I'm a purse at your side, a dog at your feet,” you spit the words, letting them land at his feet and sticking to the world around you. It already felt like a curse to have the stupid chain around you no matter how expensive, no matter how pretty it was, nothing more than a reminder for him that you were little in comparison to him. 

“I didn't say you would be, I have to wear it, I don't have to use it,” he tugged on his own pearls looking down at them for the first time, “they want us down soon and I want to go over the plan again,” he looked up, catching your eyes to make sure you were listening. You nodded to let him continue, “I won't bite you, my fangs won't even come out, I just need to stain my mouth and your wrists, nothing more and nothing less, okay?” 

“Okay,” you would have to believe him now more than ever, this was a test that both of you would have to pass for both of you to feel comfortable in the situation. The trust is stretched thin enough to fall apart or be strengthened. 

Sunghoon could tell you were scared the second he was at his seat with you next to him sitting on his armrest. If he had even been tempted to feed tonight it would have been washed away the second the others came in and you were faced with them and their bruised necks and wrists. The faint puncture marks made by fangs over and over again only looked worse in the candlelight. Your hands twisted in your lap, wrists turned in so that no one could see the stains already made. Sunghoon wanted to say anything to calm your nerves, whisper it if only someone would not be able to hear but he could not. 

His father sat next to him at the head of the table, already ready to get the dinner over with as fast as the two of you did. He didn't want to see his son make a fool of himself if he couldn't even try to drink. He had seen Sunghoon unable to let his fangs down, watching him pull away with hardly a drop on his lips before he had to leave. He didn't care if he was putting him on the spot now with trying but he needed to know that he could get it done, needed to know he would make an effort as much as he could. 

But you could hardly pay any attention to anything else besides the girl in front of you. Dressed as you were, the gauzy fabric of her dress flowed around her like a breeze while she took her seat at her vampire's armrest. She didn't seem scared, she seemed excited to sit there, leaning back against him. Her faint smile was hazy, looking from his hand in hers. It didn't settle your fears but set them in stone, her wrist covered like yours, dots of blood staining the mesh. 

But It felt wrong to witness them the second the meal started, the intimacy shocking you more than the feel on sunghoons hand on your arm. In this room he was the only constant, his soft fingers tapping against your skin to get your attention. But it was hard to turn away the second the man in front of you flashed his fangs, the sight of them making your knees weak in the worst way. The soft hum of approval from the feeder he sank his teeth into slid across the table in a wave. Her lashes fluttered, pressing her wrist closer to his mouth without even having to be asked. She wanted it to happen, wanted him to take the long sips he was indulging in. No one was paying any attention to Sunghoon and you when they were so consumed by their own meals. 

Sunghoon slid his hand down to your wrist, the feeling traveling up to your elbow, the hair on the back of your neck rising as he looked up at you for approval. Sitting like this, with you higher, looking down on him and his asking gaze, you felt like drowning. Because for a split second, you wanted to know what it felt like, hoped that in some way you would know even just a little bit without him going too far, taking too much. And you were scared that with one look he would know you were thinking about him in that way, thinking about him doing the one thing he said he would not because of you but because he didn't want to do it.

Every soft movement he made with your hand in his was torture, fear slinking back into you, the spicy scent of it flooding his senses. He was so close to having your wrist at his mouth, your eyes stuck on him as he pulled up the mesh just enough so that he could make it look like he could get his teeth into place, the fruit trapped in the fabric. 

Your breathing was pulling closer together, each puff tumbling into the next, mouth slightly open as you watched his lips part. He didn't take his eyes off you, teeth in a neat row already looking as if they were tipped with fangs but unlike the man across from you, they did not elongate. His lips ghosted over your pulse point, the thrumming of your rushing blood soft against his mouth as he took in the first raspberry, the crunch mimicking the way it would have been when piercing into your skin. If you had to play the part you did it well, gasping as if it had been you he had bitten, shocked by the way his lips felt so gently against your delicate skin.

He pressed in further, hand wrapped around yours as you curled your fingers around his. The pitted cherry was next to find its demise at his sharp teeth, the juice of it slipping down your arm like a thin line of freshly spilled blood. Your free hand twisted in your skirt, watching the way he faked the look of pleasure from that first bite. 

You shouldn't feel this way, shouldn't feel like you wanted him to just slip up, have his teeth scrape against your skin if even just a scratch. And he was so gentle with you, lips pressed like a soft kiss, feeling the warmth of you against him made him hum, it had been so long since he had felt heat like this so close to him. He tried to keep his teeth as far away from you, he didn't want to scare you much less make it seem like he was on the verge of lying. Because he might have been lying to everyone but he couldn't lie to you, not when you needed the truth the most. 

Sunghoon watched the way you wet your bottom lip, watching his mouth, his throat as he swallowed. It felt dangerous and intimate, twisted in deception and staining his judgment. And for a second, the width of a hair, he could smell your blood go clean, whether it was in his imagination being this close to you or reality he had to pull away. And the spicy sweetness flooded over him again when you saw the way his mouth was stained like he had glass after glass of red wine. He licked his lips, wiping at the edge of his mouth, and tried to stomach the faint ribbons of hunger unraveling in his stomach. 

He tried to ignore it, ignore the fact he knew it was wrong, and yet how wrong could it be to hope that you could curb his hunger even if it was only an inkling of the feeling? But the memory of the way he had rejected the last drop of spiced blood was still fresh in his mind. He would not try again, not now, and not when you hadn't offered. But you had been pressing back on his mouth, pressing your wrist to him like you wanted him to do it or maybe it was his own delusion teasing him with the idea. 

And you would not look at him with his lips tinted a new shade of pink, the crawling on your skin closer to light touches and not the feel of spiders. He had not lied, he had kept his word and you didn't know what to do with that. 

You kept your distance on the way back to the room, distracted enough to climb into his bed the second he had gone to his. You didn't fight the sleep that came over you either, the days of unrest coming back to have you pay your dues. Nothing was without a price it seemed because even in sleep you were plagued with the reality of the day. In your dreams, you begged Sunghoon to bite you; held your wrist out for him, and let him take your blood. You could see his fangs and watched them right before he pushed them into you. The pain felt blinding, racing up your arm until it circled your heart, squeezing until you felt yourself snap up in bed, half a scream caught in your throat. 

Panting you held your hand over your heart, skin slick with the cold sweat you had broken out into only seconds ago that had felt like an eternity. Your subconscious was telling you no to the temptation pushed in front of you. You knew vampires held a power to pull people in, knew them to use it against even the strongest of people. And now you understand it all. He was calling on something deeply instinctual inside you, the surface layer of it making you fearful but whatever was underneath was dangerous and bewitching to your right mind. 

You could not go back to sleep after you were up already. Sitting with your back against the headboard waiting for him to come out of his room while you tugged on the pearls at your neck, not strong enough to pull them free. For a short time, you had even walked over to his bookshelf to look through the boring titles he had stocked up. No more letter openers waiting between the pages as you flipped through tome after tome. It's why the second he came out from the little room he had been sleeping you asked him to go to the library. 

Sunghoon was surprised by you asking him to go anywhere, you wouldn't talk to him if you didn't have to and you knew not to leave the room without him unless you did have a plan to escape. He jumped on the opportunity to please you, a silent thank you written into the action for the night before. 

He could not stop thinking about your soft gasp, the way you had watched him so closely. He had grown up with so many people's eyes on him, watching every little move he made and scrutinizing every wrong turn. It was not uncommon for any aristocrat, even one held as high as he was to want one moment without eyes on them. During feedings had been one of the few moments of peace he could have in a room full of people, that was until people started to watch out to make sure he was getting food in his system. But you did not make him feel nervous, did not make him feel as if he needed to be ashamed of what he was, of what he could not do and tried so hard to accomplish. You had watched him in awe. 

He liked to have your eyes on him, watching the way they fell to each spot on his face, the one right under his eyes, to the one on the side of his nose, and down to the edge of his lips. Your eyes lingered, tracing the shape of his mouth, the line he ran over his bottom lip with his tongue. He wanted you to look at him like that again because if you could persist he could drink his fill of your features, trace the line of your nose, the shape of your eyes, your lips, without fearing that you would get too scared to look at him ever again. 

When you looked at him like that he was not the monster he felt you saw him but just a boy trying to find his footing amongst the rest of them just like you were. He hated to know what your blood smelled like fearless, the sweetness enough to ache his teeth in just the right way, the kind of temptation that he was told to stay away from indulging so fiercely in.

But it was a distant scent, gone as quickly as it had shown up and yet he was stuck thinking about it as he sat with you in the library. He had given you space, let you go around and around to find whatever it was you wanted to look at. Finding his seat to rest with his book but his mind did not stop moving, he watched you; followed the invisible trail you drew with your movements. You traced your finger over the spine of each book you came across, reading the names to yourself. He tried to guess the next one you would pick, stacking up the titles that seemed to have grabbed your attention enough for you to pull it from the shelf in the first place, looking for a correlation if there was any except the face they had caught your eye. 

You were calmer here in the new space, even when there was not much sunlight except for a small window set into the ceiling. Just the small bit of light it let through even on a grey day was better than nothing at all. And you felt better having Sunghoon sitting around knowing he had held himself back even after being so close to your vein, even when around all the blood in the room. But it didn't put you at ease, not entirely with your dream still so close to the surface of your mind. You had never felt pain as you had imagined while asleep but even just a touch of that pain would have felt all consuming. 

Picking up a book you skimmed the first few pages, flicking between the yellowing pages catching the smell of aged paper and ink stopping randomly on a page you did not care to read. You had the intention to find a book to read but it didn't have to be instantly and Sunghoon was giving you enough space to take all the time you needed to find one. But you could spend so long just doing exactly that, turning to random pages looking for something to pull your attention long enough to want to start from the beginning. And just as you started to find that interest you slide your finger along the single page you had in hand. 

It was quick, the pain didn't even register until it was too late. The bubbling of blood bright red and nauseating. It was nothing but a thin line, right across the pad of your pointer finger, slicing the fingerprint in half like the visual representation of you being split down the middle. You felt heavy right at your center, a fist around your stomach, churning up your worry while the rest of your limbs felt so separate and far away. 

Sunghoon could smell the blood as soon as that first bead donned your finger, pricked like a sleep-entrance princess. The cinnamon sugar scent you had been carrying turned gingery and intense around the room in an instant. Chest heaving you stood frozen watching how the line darkened with each passing second. He didn't want to make it so obvious that he was making his way to you but there was no way around it when he was in front of you, wrapping your finger up in his handkerchief instead of delighting in your slip up. 

“It's okay, it's small, nothing too bad,” he tried to soothe, your hand curling around his, clenching around the cloth as if it was the only thing keeping you from that pain made from your dreamscape. Vampires were strong, you're sure that if he wanted he could rip the handkerchief in two without any struggle, just as easily as he could have split your skin like the thin sheet of paper with the edge of one fang. The fabric was keeping nothing from him, not while it soaked in the color of your blood like it would wine, the stain so close to the raspberries that had been left on your mesh cuffs only the night before. 

It was hard not to think of him as you had in your dream, but here there were no fangs present, just his understanding eyes and steady hand in yours. It was not as it had been in your mind with him lunging for the opportunity to hurt you. Having him this close to you made the power of him flood your mind. Every time he got near you found yourself leaning in and not away, the time together only bringing him closer past the borders you had built around yourself.

You tried to remind yourself that this is what they did, lured you in, with their intoxicating aura, cunning and clandestine. But even as you said it to yourself, let the warnings ring out like a dinner bell. You couldn't make the thought stick any more than you could the idea that you needed to be grateful. For this small second, you were nothing more than just someone who couldn't take their eyes off of the person in front of them. Needing to be closer, needing to find whatever it was you were missing in yourself and get it from him. 

The papercut was so far removed from your mind, everything blurring as you leaned closer, breathing in the same air as he did, each inhale slowing your pulse until you were just about to press your lips to his. The ghost of him just brushing your mouth is the kind of feeling that would haunt you for years to come. Both of you tugged away from the other as the sound of the library door opening echoed, the quick slink of the guillotine cutting the moment away almost as fast as it had started. 

The realization of what had almost happened was blinding, cutting across your vision and clearing your head as you turned away from looking at him. You had read about vampire compulsion and knew that even if they were not trying it could slip free and confuse even the strongest person. You refused to believe it was you alone who had leaned in, refused to believe it was you who had wanted him to be so close to you in the first place. But you could not stop thinking about the round shape of his bottom lip, thinking about how it would fit so perfectly between your own. 

“Dinner is soon my prince, I was told to give you fair warning,” the butler who had come in muttered, Sunghoon giving his full attention to him as if he could not bring himself to look at you. All you could focus on was the numbing of your fingers from how hard you held them, tightening and tightening with each passing second that you had to think about what had almost happened. 

Wanting to kiss him was unlike wanting to be bitten by him. Being bitten was in your contract, what you had been told would happen between the two of you. Being kissed was not something that should have been crossing your mind when he was going to be the person to ruin you. You could live with him taking your blood, knowing that if anything happened between the two of you that would be it. But the magnetism was not only calling the iron in your veins but pulling back your steely inhibitions. 

So much so that when you found yourself on the edge of his chair that same night, raspberries tucked in the stained mesh cuffs, pressing your wrist to his mouth without him even having to ask. His fingers curled around yours the same way, holding your hand, and wishing he was leaning back in, just enough to breathe in the same air again. Because even Sunghoon could feel his resolve tumbling down the cliff of his restraint, slowly chipping away at the hold he had because his gums ached, throat sore, his teeth scraping against your waiting vein. 

Your gasp was almost as sweet as he knew your blood would be flooding his taste buds. The need was shocking enough for him to pull away from you, keep your wrist at a distance because he was worried if he was any closer, if he smelled your blood go clean for even a second like the last time he would not be able to keep his fangs back. And he felt disgusted with himself from the thought of not being able to hold himself back. 

He did not want to be like the monster you must have thought that he was. Monster enough to not be able to stop himself and yet you were not thinking about him in that way. All you could think about was that you wanted it, wanted it so bad that you held onto his hand harder, waiting for him to bring your wrist back up. You could feel the part of your sanity leaving you, the part that had kept you in line long enough to think of an escape plan. 

The word makes you find yourself again because while you go back up the stairs you don't even think about remembering the way back down. And it's the first night that you don't worry about him coming out from his room while you sleep. The sheets now still partially smelling of you mixed with the faint intoxicating smell of him, the pillow lulling you to sleep without much effort at all. 

It was the first night you could feel the tiredness pulling in your limbs enough to where it didn't matter if you were scared it only mattered that you fell asleep. Aided by the ease you were feeling about wanting him closer to you than you should. 

Sunghoon could tell the second you were asleep, breathing evening out, heart rate slowing down but it was the sweetness that did him in. The scent curled through the air, his deep inhale made the smell coat his throat, his mouth filling with venom, gums burning, body shaking. He didn't even remember making it out of his room, the darkness of his shadow pooling over you as he was backlit but the dying flames in the fireplace. But he could see the soft line of your neck, the delicate curve leading to the back of your hairline, the shell of your ear. The thin skin covering your eyes, down the shape of your cheek until he was looking down your jaw back to the curve of your neck, right over where he could see the soft rhythm of your pulse. 

He didn't even feel himself open the door, his hands balled into fists by his sides, nails digging into his palms, knuckles whitening from the tightness. Watching the faint rise and fall of your sleeping chest, the way your lips parted just slightly. He could associate your mouth with wanting to bite you because of how often he found himself looking at your lips the second his teeth were close to your vein. 

And for the first time in what felt like years Sunghoon felt his fangs push through his gums, digging into the unfamiliar spots of the soft flesh of his inner lips. Because you were too sweet to hold back from, the just ripe scent of fresh raspberries and the soft decadence of vanilla.

He was telling himself to pull away, to get away from the edge of the bed, lock himself in his room, and think about nothing else, think about everything that had nothing to do with you and your enticing blood. But he could not stop the thoughts from invading his brain; if before he had been physically sick he knew that this was a different kind of plague overtaking him. The kind that would have him stop at nothing to get to you, the kinda they wrote about in dystopian books about chaos and destruction. He felt like every bit the monster you must believe him to be and yet he could not find it in himself to care at all because he just wanted one taste, the smallest bit, a drop if anything else. 

It takes everything in him to stop from reaching out one finger, he wants just to feel the flutter of your pulse, just to know that there, underneath your unresisting skin was the warmth and cure to his hunger that he had not even known that he had been searching for. It had been so long since that he had even felt the soft fist in his stomach, the tightening working its way up his esophagus. The feeling was so close to how he believed it to feel for you that first day standing in the hall, stuck there standing in the doorway trying to catch your breath. It's that image that makes him leave, the fear he had scented then, had seen written all over your face, your body. If it had taken you everything to step foot into his room he would give his all to walk away now. 

So he ran, half stumbling to get away from the bed, the canopy swaying around the bed you lay from how close he had been to giving in and taking from you and not leaving you with the trust you had been working to give him. The door slamming is what woke you, he had not meant it but he didn't know how much he was trying to keep his distance. If he had stayed just right outside he could have smelled the fear course through you in an instant but even then he was holding his breath to make sure not even a bit more of the temptation could slip past his restraint. 

But you sat up, heart picking up its speed as you looked around in the darkness, the embers in the fireplace glowing so low that they mixed in with the ash, fading down into nothing but a pale blanket of twilight. He was gone, you knew as much, his door half open could not have slammed itself. Your hand had found its way up to your throat, feeling the clammy coolness coming over you from the adrenaline finding its home around your joints and in your stomach. 

The pearls you wore were warm and unwanted, a reminder of exactly how your plan had been fumbled through fingers wishing to run through Sunghoon’s dark hair. You tugged on the necklace, the leash, pulled until you could feel the pearls dimpling your skin. It felt impossibly tight to think about wanting him when still bound like this. In a single glance, anyone would know that you did not belong anywhere except under the blood-hungry. If you broke the necklace and collected the pearlescent beads they would keep you sustained long enough to go far away from here. 

But in his bed, smelling the faint white floral scent of him surrounding you mixed with the heady perfume of the wood burned fire it was so difficult to pick yourself up and run. It was worse because you wanted him to want you. Why must it only be you who had to resist the pull from the other, shouldn't it have been the other way around? Didn't they tell you that he would have wanted- needed to have you around him? That he would crave you with everything in him after only a few feedings since vampires got so attached and territorial over their feeders. 

You had found yourself in a thorny bush, pinched and kept in place, any slight movement left you with the stinging pain of betrayal. Flowers were supposed to be pretty not painful and yet all you could feel were the sharp thorns. He was supposed to be in your place, stuck and begging to be released by you; your blood the shears to snip away the twisted branches. But he didn’t want you, no lasting desire woven into what was supposed to be a tapestry of temptation after temptation. 

There was no lying in the reason why you picked yourself up off the bed, even less when you felt the tears start. To be unwanted was worse than to be here wanted with his teeth in your vein because at least then you could pretend you didn't enjoy it or let yourself know how much you truly did enjoy it and just succumb. 

So you ran, did what you said you would, and stumbled down the empty hall washed in nothing but darkness. The curtains were drawn close, the plush velvet carpet that ran over the center of the hardwood soft and slippery under your barefoot. You didn't even notice you had left your shoes behind in the room, thin and slippered or not it would have been better than nothing. 

The castle groaned, the shudder of the wind hitting the stone was nothing short of frightful when gust after gust was shaking the trees lining the property. The rain pattered on the thick glass windows even if you couldn't see it, it echoed in the empty halls like a warning. But you couldn't stop yourself now, not when you knew that if you saw him even for a second you wouldn't want to go back, beg him to know why you, why not you? As the lightning started to crack, thunder rumbling felt underfoot as you pushed the doors open to the empty kitchen that you had been waiting to do. 

The glow that cut across the sky lit up the whole expanse of grass and trees, the stretched limbs of the winter empty branches twisted, curling, and frightening for the second that they had been exposed by the lightning. The thunder was so close that you could feel it sync up with the unease washing over you. The rain was too loud to think and if you stepped out you would be drenched and cold by morning. Frozen over like a lake in late January. The tears came harder than before wanting to be back in his room as a redundant decorative house plant he kept alive because watching it die would be more hassle. 

Sunghoon had gone all the way to the kitchen when he had left. Picking over the stocks of what they had to have them ready for you in the morning when you woke up. In some twisted sense of an apology for something you didn't even know he had done. And had tried to make sure that he could stop the hunger. Trying to stomach a handful of raspberries as if that would help him any but it would give him no sustenance. He could not go down to find a new feeder, refused to go out and try to find anyone who was willing because it had never felt right, he had never been hungry for anyone until you. 

His fangs wouldn't even go back up, not when he felt as if you were invading every part of him, his flesh so weak that he was yearning to be close to you. Not only did he want his mouth pressed to your neck to eradicate his hunger but so that he could let his lips find places to remember, places that would make you feel just as weak as he did. 

Then he knew you were there, the loud wash of the rain echoing in the kitchens the second you had pushed the door open. He had started to learn the rhythm of your heart just as he had known his own, softly beating faintly behind his ribcage making room to take you in without him even realizing it. He knew the only reason you would be down here was to run, he was not dense enough to believe you had wanted to stay all of the time, not when you were so fearful of him in the first place. He had known of only a few feeders who had regretted their decisions to come here and even then the stories were few and far between.  

He wanted you to stay and it wasn't only because he had found himself craving you but because he had been missing something for a long time. Not only this feeling but some kind of twisted friendship or even just acquaintanceship. He had never felt so lonely, not until he wasn't alone anymore. Having someone to match up his breaths with even if they were a room away felt better than sitting alone in his room with nothing and no one to think or lean on. 

And now you were leaving, standing just at the edge of the doorframe with the wind beating the rain down on you. Your dress already so thin had turned sheer with the wetness, your chin dripping with droplets of water and tears. He ached to see you so ready to run. He had never before begged for things that were outside of his control, he could find balance within the chaos of others' decisions because like so many he never had an option to change things on a whim like so many people before him. He knew being a prince set him up higher; people believed he had the world right at his fingertip but it was nothing but emptiness sitting around a fireplace waiting to feel the same kind of hunger as everyone else around you. 

He wanted you now even if he had said he wouldn't, he would let you go, he would- but his fingers curled around your arm tugging you inside, away from the pelting rain, and into the circle of his arms. You were soaked clean through, shaking in his grasp but instead of pushing you away, you pressed in further. 

You don't need anything more than to smell the faint white flowers that had been left on the pillowcases. You pulled him closer, the thin tunic he wore twisting in your grasp as you pressed your face into his chest, knowing you shouldn't and yet needing it nonetheless. It didn't matter if he was also getting wet just from holding you and you didn't care if his coolness was not warming you but making you shiver harder. “I don't want to leave,” it was so easy to say it this close when it felt as if it was only you and him and nothing in between. 

They were words you didn't think you would say out loud let alone words that you had come to fully understand until they were leaving you. But here right against him, where you really wanted to be, it was hard not to say them. 

“Don't go, you don't have to if you don't want to but if you want to leave I can find some way to make it happen,” the words felt wrong, he didn't want you to leave but he wouldn't let you suffer. But you only held on, shaking your head and letting him hold you. 

“I hate this,” you grit out, wishing you knew why you felt this way. You knew yourself and this was so consuming, this need for him to want you back. Before it would not have mattered, the steps down from his room to this very door would have been going around your head, Left, right, right, stairs, left, right, left, door, not the constant echo of his deep voice telling you, ‘I don't want your blood,’ the line itself had found a way to worm under your skin. That worm burrows holes in your sound-minded reasoning, your weak heart, and even weaker flesh. “I hate that I don't want to leave and I hate how you don't-” 

“How I don’t what?” Sunghoon was finding it hard to take in full breaths because instead of flooding with fear when in his grasp you were leveling out into calm serene. The swirling scent of you overwhelmed him, feet planted so stiffly and it was the only thing he could focus on this close trying to keep his fang back. 

You push away keeping your fists in his shirt, his arms still circling you if he let go you would be back out the door in the rain. But you only looked at him, taking in the sight of his dark eyes searching you for an answer you didn't want to confess to. Saying it out loud, asking him all your questions would pull you apart into nothing but empty bones hollowed out as cleanly as the promises you kept for yourself. You had said you would run, promised yourself that it would be so easy to get out if you just had the way and now you stood here in his arms like it was nothing at all. But it was clawing up your back, stringing itself across your shoulders and around your neck like a damned albatross you had been burdened with; forced on you by your own hands. 

But you couldn't keep it in anymore, the words spilling free like a knocked over glass of wine, deep and crimson, “I hate how you don't want me and I hate that even if your need is the only reason I'm here it should be a blessing and all I can think was that I was gifted a curse. I hate myself for wanting you so bad when you don't even think about wanting me,” 

The words were like the slamming of a door, the lock heavy and twisting true as he took in your admission. He had wanted nothing more than to prove you wrong, wanted everything in him to give in but he couldn't. Not like this with you on the verge of leaving, not when you feared him still if even only a little bit. He wanted to give you everything you wanted, he needed for nothing, not until he felt this bewitchment overtake him even now opening his mouth to get the words out he felt his gums tingling. 

Sunghoon had teeth that already faintly resembled fangs, the permanent outline to tell you exactly who he was even under all the promises not to bite you. But now, his lips only just parted. You watched as they elongated, they were only a bit longer, but you could see the definition. Seeing the others with their teeth in the other feeders had been scary, all the malice written over their faces even if it were only what you had painted in your minds over their lustful glances and soft hands. But now you could see why the other feeders had leaned in at the sight, turned their wrists and chins so willingly at the sight as if they were nothing but marionettes to be controlled by the sight of their vampire coming to take from them. 

Seeing him, brows tight, and ashamed, he looked nothing more than a boy looking for forgiveness at the knees of your confession and you wanted nothing more than to give him the grace he so desperately sought after. You leaned in, entranced by his becoming call, every mole on his porcelain skin leading you back to the soft shape of his eyes and the plush pink of his lips. 

You were magnetic, pulling him in closer to you, not even from the faint ripples of hunger but from the allure of your every passing breath where you looked at him like that. He did not care about what you had thought about him previously, not about anything else except this moment where you wanted him and he needed you. 

Just one brush of his lips against yours was all that he sought after. He was so close to kissing you just like he had been in the library, so near the edge of a cliff he could not fall from and ever return, if there had been any rope tied around him it was his sanity and it had gone slack snapping halfway down once he muttered, “all I ever do is crave you, my appetite so unfulfilled not only because I'm struggling to resist you right at this very moment but because there is nothing else, no one else I have ever wanted more than you. It feels so unreasonably dangerous to subject you to my burning need and yet…” he let the soft puff of breath fall over your lips, taking it in and swallowing it down as if it were a star you had trapped in a jar. 

He was so close when the thought passed over you, the fading memory of the reason why you had run. The split second was like ink in a pool of clear water, unraveling like the fingers you had fisted around his heart and soul because he could not take for you when you did not want it, not when he could smell that spicy sweetness mixing together. But even then he wanted to try, just a drop would do no matter the burn, he wanted it. 

But he did not kiss you, he led you back up to your room, clenching his jaw and holding his breath all the way back up the stairs. He kept his mind on the next step he had to take and not the way the fabric of your dress clung to your skin, not the way the soft roar of your blood was the only sound he could focus on even through the storm hitting against the walls. The second he had let you go to bed and he found himself in the privacy of his own small space he could not stop the thoughts. 

He was starving. Completely empty of anything he had ever felt before. He had believed he had known hunger back when he was young, believed he would never feel anything worse in his life because there was no cure. He had felt in his bones there was no cure except time and suppression but this hunger had broken something in him. He had believed himself a stone mountain, the waves of hunger hitting the side of him gone dry only now he was beginning to believe he had been hollow the whole time, a cave that had been shown the light after the tidal wave came tumbling through to make the echoing emptiness known. 

He had known of the desolate expanse of his insides but had never felt as if they ran so deep. But he was a mess of nothing but clawing realization, it wasn't just that he wanted you, it was that he felt as if he would die without you. How he had distanced himself for so long, how he found himself restraining even now was taking most of his thinking because if he listened in he could still hear the pitter patter of your half asleep heartbeat waiting for him in the other room. The soft sound mixed with the mewl of his name. 

You were calling for him, drunk on a dream you tossed in the sheets, the fabric twisting around your legs, bunching your dress around your hips as you turned. It was some kind of sense that let you know that he had left his room. Eyes flickering open seeing him half hidden behind the gauzy canopy. Everything felt so sudden the second you said his name in that breathy whisper again he was half hanging on by a thread, finding himself leaning over you all over again. 

He loved to see you like this, whining and laying back against his pillows, tucked under him with the sweet aroma of your trust wafting from your blood. “Sunghoon,” his name is like a plea for something only he could provide. Because he knew the feeling, your name in response was the only answer he could find as he took in inhale after inhale of temptation. His fangs ached as he held back. 

You lifted your hands until they cupped his face in your palms, pushing back his hair hanging by his ears. It had taken so little time to memorize his features even when you told yourself that you shouldn't have, but there was no way you could forget about a face like his. With one finger you trace across his nose, watching his lashes flutter, brows coming in together as he groans. Your finger seeks out the sound, not from his throat but at his lips, following the shape of his cupid's bow. 

There was no resistance as you pressed your finger between his lips and pressed against his fang. Your shocked gasp was followed by a flood of the spicy smell of your fear but for a moment your blood was clean of anything but sweetness. You watched as Sunghoon’s eyes went unsteady, hazy from that one drop. The wash of the taste took over everything he could think about and it did not fix any emptiness but widened a cavern of uncontrollable need. 

It was fast, his hips sinking into yours, keeping you locked in place, your finger gone from his mouth as both hands found homes in his hair, gently holding as you found yourself frozen still waiting for his next move. Because he was at your neck, fangs brushing over your pulse now beating erratically just beneath the surface of your thin skin. It was taking everything not to bite down, even just the faint tracing, the feel of how fragile it was to break through and take everything he had been waiting for. 

“Do it,” but it felt nothing short of wrong for him to hear those words coming from you. He wanted it, could feel the way he would have begged to have more, and yet he could not take it without knowing you wanted it truly. 

The coolness of his body pressed against you and the drag of his teeth sent a shiver down your body, arching up into him, giving more room for him to bite you. It was in that movement that you felt how hard he was for you. Your moving hips only make it known, your begging gasps not only for his mouth but all of him. “Please,” it was desperate and caught in the back of your mouth as you whined again. 

Everything about you was so consuming, the way your fear was replaced by the sweet smell of your arousal. Your hands pulled him in closer, legs opening to push him into the cradle of your hips. And then he bit down. 

It was a flood of pure unadulterated euphoria, the first taste had been nothing like this, sweet, yes, but not the sugary saccharine flavor that had now overwhelmed him to the point of uncontrollable pulls of mouthful after mouthful. He did not think that he could find a way to ever be full, not when all he wanted to do was drink. To devour you whole and never apologize for what he had done, monster or not. 

And for you, the venom was numbing bliss, body going slack and malleable in response, nerves set to feel every feather light touch he gave. He was curving into you, pressing you harder into the mattress as you hummed, that hazy moan rippling through the air as you finally understood why people gave up so much for this one feeling. Nothing would be able to top this, not when you were slipping into some unknown part of yourself and finding that nothing had ever felt better. You would let him go on until you could not think but it was easy enough to do that because thoughts came in half-formed sentences, everything was by touch and sensation, stripped down to nerves that only sought out pleasure. 

Sunghoon had practiced restraint all his life, he had never had to pull away from something or someone because he hadn't wanted to be there in the first place. But pulling away he found was harder than starting in the first place. Addicted in nothing more than half a second. But he knew he would have to stop and breathe, to let you breathe. His mouth stained red, he kissed over the puncture marks he had created, relishing in the tremble each brush of his lips made your body react with. “No, don’t stop-” the whine followed by the roll of your hips against him. “More, I need more,” 

“Just a second, too fast and I won't stop next time,” he kept his trail going, kissing and re-kissing over the bloodstains in the pattern of his lips from your jaw back down to your collarbone. He wanted to make a mess of you, teeth lightly scratching down the column of your throat loving the sound of your sensitivity. His body was trembling with the need to sink into you in any way he could consume you, body and soul. 

But it wasn't what you wanted, this whole time you had been waiting for this one moment, struggling to think you would enjoy it and now you were taught that you had been keeping yourself away from a feeling you never wanted to be out of. If he had asked for your wrist you wouldn't hold your hand behind your back but press it to his mouth. Your hands moved down his body, feeling the thin material of his shirt and needing to get your warm hands on his skin, needing the sensation to feed into your sensitivity. 

And for the first time, Sunghoon was flushed, pink cheeks and lips deepening in color. Your blood was so close to how he had looked stained with raspberry marrow. “You look so pretty like this,” he whispered, thumb moving to brush at the soft skin under your eye like he would catch a tear. “Where have you been hidden all my life?” 

But it didn't matter about before, not when he was all you could think about at that moment, all you could feel as you rolled your hips under him, needing him to understand that it was more that you needed. And he wanted it too, working on instinct, pushing up your thin nightgown following the line from your thigh up your hip, his fingers digging into your soft flesh at the sight of you. Neither of you worried about stripping completely, Sunghoon’s white tunic thrown aside and his pants unbuttoned by your nimble hands.  

Your gasp at the stretch of him pushing into you was so like the breathy shock from the first sight of his mouth on your wrist. Clawing at him you pulled his body in closer letting him sink in as much as he could and you felt full and unbelievably greedy. One hand dragged through the silky strands of his hair, cupping his skull and pressing his face back into your neck where he breathed in the delicacy of your pleasure, hot open mouth pressed over the marks he had already made resisting from drinking again just yet. Your other hand found itself scratching at his toned back, legs widening for him. 

If holding back from your blood had been difficult on its own, being this close was taking all the restraint he had mustered for years. He gave shallow languid thrusts, pressed right against a spot far enough to make your lashes flutter with every movement. You were slipping from your sane mind as if you had even been there for a long time. But his hold on your hip and the other hand fisting the sheets in a deadly strangle were the only thing grounding Sunghoon to himself without surrendering to nothing but needy instinct that ripped at his restraint. And you were whispering, lips hardly moving as you leaned your head back giving him more access to your fluttering pulse point. “Please, Sunghoon- please,” 

He let his hand on your hip slip lower, wedged between the two of you he found your clit, rubbing soft circles to match the slow thrusts he found himself unable to contain. You whined as his nose brushed over the bruised space he had created, his panting inhalation twisting your insides into a tight knot that only he knew how to undo. And when he bit down again he was overtaken by the complete sense of unquenchable thirst. 

For you everything was tumbling together in perfect ecstasy, his fingers, his body, his mouth, he was so in tune with you and you alone that it was easy to find yourself falling over the edge. Your moans and trembling body under him only make him lose a part of himself that he had been holding. His fingers once placed on your clit moved away so as to not overstimulate you now wrapped around your neck, gently holding you in place as he takes one final mouthful of a cure he never knew he would have found. 

He pulled his mouth away from your vein, fingers curling around the pearl necklace you wore, the willpower it had taken to do so focused solely on iridescent beads under hand. And then he followed after you, filling you with everything he had, shivering as he moaned into the hollow of your neck, into your ear. The necklace snapped as he leveraged thrust after thrust into you drawing out both of your highs as the sound of spilling beads against the hardwood floor rained down. The bed is a mess of the pearls, all of them slipping and trapping themself in any spot they could find between the two of you. 

You didn't want to let him go, not after the two of you were done and he was still slowly pumping his release into you and finding new places to kiss along your skin. “I would sacrifice so much to have you like this over and over again,” the rumble of his words vibrating against your chest, his voice deep and husky against your ear. 

He had taken the words right from you, as if he had reached into your head and pulled them into existence. Fear had been warping the mirror of your reality, the fear of the unknown blacking out the first instinct you had when faced with a single question, ‘Have you ever been fed from before?’ 

You had reached out and let them take you and it had been in a state of desperate worry that you did not know how much of yourself you would have lost to him if he bit you even one time. But being here, feeling the warmth of your blood under his skin settled your unease. It was never a question, not after knowing what it felt like to be had, not after knowing how it felt to be fed from. “You have me already,” you whispered, his ghosting lips catching the words right as they left you. “Just don’t hurt me,” 

“Never,” hurting a blessing felt like a crime he would never come back from. Kissing you until you tasted your blood on his tongue; until your heartbeats had synced. 

🏷taglist: @xylatox @cutehoons02 @cyjhhyj @izzyy-stuff want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask! I do not write for enha this is my first time and I don't know how much ill be writing for them in the future this is for the taglist for this fic only!

[sigh-tofm]

if you’re their sugar baby… (18+)

… price

- absolutely spoils you. adores giving you anything you want. if your gaze lingers in a shop window, he’ll buy you whatever’s in it. you suspect he’s infiltrated your phone somehow, because anything you look at online will show up on your doorstep a few days later. he takes you to private jewellery fittings and sits back with a glass of whisky while the jewellers puts glimmering necklaces and earrings on you.

in return, he likes showing you off. regularly takes you out to restaurants so expensive they don’t even list their prices on the menu. spoon feeds you black caviar and picks out the correct wine, the bottles so old they still have wax seals on them. loves seeing you wearing the dresses he buys for you, revealing the fleshier parts of your body that the rest of society tells you to hide. always wants you to wear diamonds in your ears when you’re his date. nothing is ever too expensive if it’s for you.

takes you to a luxurious hotel after and fucks you good and well in the satin sheets. goes back to base before you wake up the morning after, and leaves a generous cash tip on the nightstand in addition to the monthly four digit payments transferred directly to your bank account.

… kyle

- takes care of you. a sergeant’s pay is low compared to a captain’s, but it’s still a substantial amount and much, much more than you make. enjoys having a pretty lady to spoil. any visit to the hairdresser or nail salon is on him. will occasionally request a specific colour for your nails, and you know it’s to match a dress he’s bought you, waiting for you at home.

takes you dancing, spends the whole night downtown and treats you to high-end street food at three in the morning. you get fancy cocktails and colourful shots and anything else you want to try. if another woman gets close to him on the dance floor, he makes a point out of feeling you up, splaying his hands over you wide hips and soft tummy.

takes you home to his and you both fall right to sleep, waking up past noon the day after. arranges a massage for you to help with your hangover. sits in on the appointment and flips your towel up to eat you out when the massage therapist leaves. reminds you to use the credit card he’s given you in between your orgasms.

… johnny

- whisks you away to scotland when he’s off duty. borrows the family cabin in the highlands and accommodates you both in the master bedroom, spending the cold nights in a grand bed with a heavy pelt covering the duvet. loves the fantasy of having a big, soft secret stowed away in the mountains.

spends the days hiking with you or takes you down to the coast, where you watch the wild waves and enjoy cottage pie in a local pub. asks for the finest whiskey, refusing anything but the best for you. tells you all about the history of the old stone kirk of the town over steaming mugs of spiked cider.

lays the pelt out on the floor before the great fireplace in the living room and grins when you mention the cliché of it all. remarks that clichés exist for a reason and pulls you close. your skin grows goosebumps in the cold air of the cabin, but the fireplace (and the rigorous activity on the pelt rug) warms you both up. lays with you after, smoothing his hand over your side and enjoying how your soft body gives way to the pressure of his fingers. pays for first class on your flight back home and gives you cash enough to cover both rent and supplies for the month. makes out with you messily at the airport before you part ways.

… simon

- takes you along to all his going ons outside of active duty. enjoys having a partner in crime, so to speak. in the military he’s a lone wolf, so when he’s off he just wants to have you for company. price thinks it’s a good idea for him too, to at least pretend he has some normalcy in his life. you oblige. he takes you to all his mundane errands; groceries, changing the tires of his car, walking the old bridle paths in his area.

has you tucked in under his arm when the footie’s on in the evening, trays of hot takeaway on the sofa table. if you can’t decide what you want to order, he has you list everything you’re interested in and orders it all. entertains your questions about football terminology and plays with your hair. pulls a blanket over you when you’re close to falling asleep and turns the volume down.

herds you to bed after a little while and so enjoys having a warm, soft body to put his arm around at night. to you, it’s all so casual and natural that you almost forget it’s an arrangement, but he never forgets to pay for your company according to your agreement and always tips generously.

doesn’t say it out loud, but likes it when you straddle him on the sofa and lets him feel you up and make out with you until he comes in his pants like a schoolboy.

[slytherizz]

The Price of Dignity - Sebastian Sallow/F!MC

Tags/Warnings: 18+ | Dubious Consent | explicit sexual content | Azkaban!Seb | Masturbation

All tags can be found on Ao3

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: Inexplicably, despite her betrayal - she still made him hard. And the price of dignity is not worth the cost of a moment of feeling alive.

A/N If you've read 'In the Shadow of Us' it's an unhinged prequel of Seb in Azkaban. If you haven't - you can still enjoy some no-context angsty wanking. Azkaban Seb my beloved. I've missed writing you.

Days bled into each other. Waxed and waned in shades of grey that were never quite new or whole. Colour void and desolate in his narrow world. Unceasing waves crashed against the monolith. Brine and salt spray dashed hope across the bay. As tattered and discarded as its residents. 

Sebastian sprawled on the half rotten mattress. He had spent the first month dragging it around like a prized but festering corpse to every corner of his cell in hope he would find somewhere it would stay dry. It was a futile effort but sometimes he still tried to. Not because he thought he could succeed but more of just a way to pass the time.  

But there was simply too much of it. Sprawling out in front of him. An open waiting maw of nothingness. 

Patience was not one of Sebastian’s virtues. There has never been enough time then. Told time and time again that one second he’d blink and his youth would be gone. Perhaps because his had never gotten to begin. Guttered out before his prime.

When there was nothing to rush to, no purpose for waking, no reason to grasp ahold and pull himself forward - time felt suffocatingly infinite.

Not a blessing but a curse. Sand slipped through your fingers as you tried to snatch a hold of it - or it trapped you alone in the bottom of the hourglass. Buried you alive under the weight of it. 

Sebastian stared up at the ceiling, his vision swimming. Boredom, as crippling to his clever mind. A dementor he bred and nurtured inside his own head. He knew every corner, stone and scratch. The ones he’d made, crude drawings with a sharpened stone. Wrote stories, epic poetry about his brothers and sisters who had made the rest. Played hopscotch, chasing memories of Anne when the torches flickered. 

When had he lost that particular tether? The one still bargained, wared with the truth and naively believed that she would come for him? Wept for his mother in the same vein. 

The girl who he loved never existed. But all the same, it felt as if she died. And he mourned them both. 

Not enough life lived to reflect back on. Sebastian circled the drain of memories of his brief chance at life. But still even now he could not wrap his head around how someone he’d known for mere months had altered the course of his trajectory so significantly was a mystery. Or was it? And in his arrogance, he’d courted a devil and thought his quick thinking could save himself from the flames. 

Fallen into her, moon eyes like a fae trap. Convinced himself that maybe, just maybe, the scales had finally tipped in his favour and out poured his perfect solution. A tool. A treasure. A saviour bundled in the body of a lost soul so like his own. Pretty, pliant and yearning.  Convinced himself that it was love. 

Her residence, all but a brief fragment in his life, had been the anchor tied to his ankles which pulled him below unforgiving waters. 

Sebastian scrubbed his hands over his face, itched away the salt on his skin. Half moons of dirt cresting his nails. The tattoo on his wrist - a reminder, an inky burning stain and a trophy for what she cost him.

Inexplicably, despite her betrayal - she still made him hard. 

Reminded him that he was still very much a man. A hot-blooded one at that. One that wanted to live, scream, rage - to fuck. 

Even now, the thought of traitorous hands on his skin still made his blood thrum. His body ached with need, at the memory of her coming undone on his cock. Her climax breaking with his fist fisted possessively in her hair. It boiled him from the inside out. Made his cock twitch. Reminded him he was still alive.  

Which was something easily forgotten. Sometimes he wondered if his humanity had been taken from him or at some stage he abandoned it? It wasn’t a quill or a checked coat easily misplaced or borrowed away but in some regards he’d left it long before she’d had the Auror’s cart him off to Azkaban. 

Sebastian loosened the drawstring of his trousers and shucked the threadbare cotton down his thighs. Cock achingly hard arching up towards his stomach.

Yes - still very much a man. One that wanted to feel a warm body writhing beneath him again. The thunder of a heart under his palm as he made it race. The give of soft flesh beneath his teeth. Not just a body. Her body . Clenching around him as he forced orgasm after each shattering orgasm out of her. Feel her at her most alive and he, the root cause. 

A spring twanged as it snapped, giving out as he sank deeper into the mattress. Later it would dig into his back. Sebastian stretched out until his heels found purchase on the rough hewn stone. He hissed through his teeth as he swiped his thumb across the pearlescent bead growing at his tip. Smeared it across the head, down his shaft. Groaned low and guttural. Head tipped back, notched between bricks the sound of his reedy laboured breaths echoed loud as he worked himself over. If he didn’t come he’d cry, until his throat was raw and his face salt slick and tight as a drum. But for tonight he would fist his cock and remember he was alive. 

At some point, he had gone beyond caring who heard him. The first time he’d woken, hard and wanting he’d huddled himself into the corner. But even the resolve clad in iron eventually rusted and he’d muffled the shame of his pleas of her name into his pillow. It didn’t belong in this place but nor did he. Blame and bitterness circled the drain as he tried to stifle his moans as he worked himself over. Back when he thought maybe there was something worth preserving. That he could leave this place. That he could be a man again. 

But what was the point in preserving his dignity when all it did was cost him the only small pleasures he could glean from this place? What was dignity against feeling the sparked heat across his skin as he fucked his fist? 

Who was he preserving it for anyways? Certainly not her. If anything the thought of how his filthy wretched hands could stain her only made him hunger. How he might dirty her skin as he cooed in her ear, ‘all the guard know you let me fuck you - fast and raw.’  

He wanted her to hate it. 

Hate that it was him. Hate that only he could make her feel her most alive. Hate herself for how much she loved it. Fuck her till she cried.  

What would it would be like to fuck her right here? Right into this soiled mattress in his cell. 

Two jailbirds cooing in the same rusted cage. 

Soft planes of her body spooled out like a silk sheet that didn’t belong. Clean and untainted. Pulse fluttering in her throat, chest heaving eyes wide as she would try to wriggle free of him as she did her sins. Fear. Disgust. Lust. All those wretched things people cringe away from. All those undignified things that Sebastian craved, etched across her face.   

Feel her body tremble and spasm as he pressed himself into her. Hard thrusts into her tight heat as her traitorous body trembled and clenched around his cock. Lick the soap and mallowsweet from her skin. Salt and sweat on his tongue marking her as his as he held her wrist bound above her head. 

Let the guards watch. The other inmates jeer. Why should he care? Return the favour by stripping her of her dignity as she had him. 

Fuck her until she was pleading for release. On all fours presenting her cunt to him. A bitch in heat with her arse in the air. Her own dignity gone, the way of martyrs. Begging him for it, her hands clawing the stones, mark scratches where he counted days as he drove into her. Beg him to let her cum. Make her purr and keen for the man she condemned. Sea spray and salt tears across her cheeks as her core pulsed around him and he filled her greedy cunt with his seed again and again - until eventually it took.  

Sebastian spat her name, like a curse. Foul and depraved. A filthy groan came hard. Spend pulsing from his cock, painting his stomach soiling the hem of his shirt. He panted hard, whimpering as he continued to stroke his still twitching cock. Tried to prolong his bliss before it slipped away and took with it another part of himself that he bartered away. 

A hacked cough and the sound of spit hitting the floor. “Again? For fucks sake put you dick away 216.”

“Bugger off,” Sebastian called back, voice still reedy and strained from his release. “Just because you haven’t been able to get it up since ‘93.“ An irrefutable stab in the dark when not one of them knew what year it was. 

“Leave him,” another disembodied voice crooned. “I wouldn’t mind a go on his bird either.”

Her name on their gnarled and bitten tongues sounded wrong. Chewed up and spat out like bone shards between their teeth that would giveaway to infection and decay. But from the first moment he’d spoken it here he’d lost it. It didn’t belong to him anymore, or perhaps he belonged too much to this place and he was too made up of her and everything they’d twisted themselves into. 

Even once he was long gone. When they’d hollowed out his core and all that was left of her with it. Dragged his lifeless body from this prison to be cast into the sea - the walls of this tomb would always remember her name.

[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; departures loom as quiet preparations fill the manor—trunks packed, ledgers sealed, and final words exchanged. change echoes in every hallway, but so does the slow, steady rhythm of something new taking root—one built from choice.

⚠️ warnings; none

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

Leah’s impending journey left the manor rooms half-filled with open trunks and neat stacks of parchment. In the west corridor, she knelt beside a cedar chest, carefully rolling traveling cloaks treated with preservation oil. You sorted ledgers on a low table nearby—closing the last of the spring tariffs, sealing envelopes with the coven crest. The two of you worked in a companionable hush broken only by Sybil’s nails clicking as she padded from doorway to doorway, supervising.

“This one is ready,” Leah announced, snapping brass latches shut. She rose, brushing rogue strands of  hair from her face. Even in departure, her touch on your household felt gentle but final—folding linens the maids missed, labeling apothecary vials so the next hand could find them.

You nodded, sliding the final ledger onto the Done pile. “That’s the last of the correspondence for the western enclaves. Once it’s posted, the council can’t claim delays.”

Leah smiled—proud, bittersweet. “You’ve become frighteningly efficient.”

“Necessity,” you murmured, yet some warmth crept into your tone. She had been a steady right hand, the hollow her absence would carve already ached.

While you finished waxing the envelope, Leah’s gaze drifted to the open panes framing the distant town. “The pack has been busy,” she said casually, but her eyes shone with curiosity. 

You arched a brow but didn’t look up. “Busy?”

Leah took the hint of permission. “Price mediated a land dispute between a goblin smith and a human black-powder guild—apparently finished it in two hours what the local arbiter stalled for weeks. Gaz dismantled a set of counterfeit ward stones at the southern gate yesterday morning. And Soap…” her lips twitched, “…fixed half the thatched roofs on Market Row in one afternoon—by hand.”

You sealed your letter with a brisk press, muttering how all these letter could've been an email. “They promised to help the town, not crowd me.”

“They’re not crowding,” Leah answered softly. “Just… proving they can be pillars worth leaning on.”

Reports had reached you too—via merchants, watch-captains, even the high-strung florist who never kept a secret. Each story chipped at the jagged edges of old hurt, reshaping anger into something harder to name.

Leah crossed the rug, placing a calming hand on Sybil’s head when the hound sensed your shift in mood. “Time changes all things,” she said. “Even hearts.” She hesitated. “That includes mine. I’m not leaving because I doubt you. I’m leaving to be sure of myself—so I can return on my own terms, not as someone you feel responsible for.”

You swallowed, then met her gaze. “And I’m letting you go because I trust you’ll find what you need—and because the door will stay open.”

She smiled, eyes bright. “Exactly.”

A bell chimed in the courtyard; a messenger waited to take the sealed ledgers to town. You handed the satchel over. As his footsteps faded, you turned back to Leah and the half-packed trunks.

The pack was keeping its distance, yet every day their actions left fingerprints of loyalty on the town’s pulse. You could ignore the stories, but not the results: fewer petty squabbles, quicker aid, safer streets after dark.

Leah closed the final trunk and laced the lock. “See you later?” she confirmed.

“Later,” you echoed, voice steady.

She reached out and you clasped forearms—an oath of equals. Sybil leaned against both your legs, tail giving a single, approving wag.

The following days would bring departures and decisions—old allies gone, new pillars rising, and the lingering choice of whether to let four stubborn men stand at your side once more. But tonight there was quiet work completed, trunks packed, and an ember of possibility warming the halls of the manor.

. . .

Ironically, it was your mothers who made their exit first—leaving the manor’s drive before Leah could even finish packing.

Dawn spilled across the manor grounds like diluted gold, catching in dew-beads and turning every spider-thread in the gardens into a line of fine fire. From an upstairs balcony you had watched light crawl over the eastern hedge maze, breathing it's chilly perfume of wet boxwood and lilac, until the orange disk of the sun finally cleared the orchard rooftops. Only then did you descend—robes cinched, posture iron—ready to escort the last of the old guard on their journey into retirement.

The staff had risen early to help with the move. Soft beeswax rays of sunshine flickered over portraits of long-dead matriarchs: stern faces, jeweled collars, eyes painted to follow passers-by. Those ghosts had loomed over your girlhood like judges; today they bore witness one final time to the woman the coven had named First Seat.

Your Mother—the Matriarch no longer—waited in the foyer, spine poker-straight. She wore traveling wool the color of river slate, her dark and silver braid coiled so tightly you wondered if it hurt. Cath Palug, sat perched upon her shoulders like a living stole, pale green eyes glimmering beneath the hood. The cat’s tail flicked; its gaze settled on you with its usual  inscrutable feline calculation.

König and Horangi waited up ahead.

Even dressed for civilian travel, König still looked hewn from a mountainside: his usual mask hid all expression, a fitted black bomber jacket stretched over a broad frame, dark turtleneck and cargo-cut trousers tucked into matte combat boots. Horangi, by contrast, balanced ease and polish in a charcoal pea coat, slim chinos, and polished oxford shoes, a muted cashmere neck-scarf knotted with effortless style. The two would accompany your mothers only as far as the lakeside estate; after that, they’d chart their own paths beneath wider skies.

You felt the peculiar tug of nostalgia and unfinished sorrow. Months earlier, König had confessed a devotion that had grown quietly, dangerously, into love. You had refused with the harsh but fair words; he had bowed his head in mute acceptance. Since that day, he had served (sometimes) without complaint, but his eyes sometimes drifted toward the windows as though they were thresholds to a horizon his soul already crossed.

Today those windows were open.

Parked at the foot of the marble steps waited a familiar midnight-blue luxury sedan—sleek lines, chrome accents throwing sparks of sunrise. Its engine idled in a low, velvety purr, headlights winking pale gold under the growing dawn. 

You descended first, Sybil padding at your heel. She paused on the threshold, nose lifted to taste the scent of journeys and good-byes. Then you faced the house again and extended your arm to your Mother. She hesitated only long enough to let pride stiffen her posture before she accepted. Her palm was cool, bones delicate as the carved ivory clasps she once favored.

Halfway to the waiting sedan she slowed, forcing you into step with her measured gait. The foyer’s hush swallowed every sound but the soft tap of her shoes and the faint purr of the idling engine outside. At the final stair she stopped entirely, hand still resting on your forearm, pale eyes searching your face for cracks you refused to show.

“Remember,” she began, voice low enough that even Sybil’s ears barely twitched, “inheritance is heavier than it first appears.”

You let a thin, knowing smile curve your mouth. “And remember,” you replied, matching her hush with a whip of sarcasm wrapped in silk, “I never said I’d carry your inheritance. I promised I’d build a legacy of my own—one made for me, not a relic on loan from centuries of your design.” You tilted your head, letting the words settle like frost on marble. “So you can retire comfortably now. Truly.”

A small flicker crossed her expression before she spared you a single regal nod. No blessing, no apology; simply the tacit acknowledgement that the torch had passed and would burn in hands she could no longer guide.

Suddenly, Cath Palug leapt from your Mother’s shoulder to König’s, claws kneading into the cloak like a cat perched upon a familiar stone pillar. König endured without flinching. When they reached the open car’s door, he stooped, turning sideways to help your Mother ascend it. She moved with dignity if not ease, the stiff line of her back broadcasting refusal of pity. Her familiar slipped inside first, tail curling around the doorframe like black smoke before vanishing into the velvet interior.

At the top of the stairs, your Mom finally appeared, her chair coming alive, its curved walnut legs unfolding from beneath the seat—six slender, jointed appendages that clicked softly against the marble. Barghest trotted proudly alongside, tongue slipping past sleek jaws each time she leaned to murmur reassurance. Behind them hurried attendants bearing wicker baskets: tins of her favorite teas, extra shawls stitched with protective sigils, and leather-bound volumes whose margins were dense with your Mother’s uncompromising spell-theorems.e margins were latticed with spell-theorems written in your Mother’s ruthless hand.

You knelt beside your Mom, Barghest pressed like living obsidian against her calf. She raised a hand to your cheek—not with tender awe, but with the brittle gentleness of someone who knows she’s fractured things beyond easy repair. Her thumb paused on your jawline, as though weighing whether comfort was hers to offer.

“I failed you in more ways than one,” she said quietly—no quaver, no dramatics. “But I did not fail Leah, and I won’t pretend that erases anything else.”

A rush of complicated heat flickered behind your eyes, but you held her gaze without softening. “You saved her, yes. And for that I’m grateful. It doesn’t wipe the slate—but it means something.” You exhaled, steeling your tone. “We both have to live with the rest.”

Something like resolve settled over her face. She gave a single, accepting nod—no weeping farewells, no pleas for absolution. It was the cleanest honesty the two of you had ever managed.

Horangi stepped forward to take the chair’s carved armrests. With a murmured command the walnut legs folded beneath the seat, locking into travel form. He guided the floating chair to the sedan’s open door; Barghest vaulted gracefully inside first, turning once before settling on the floor mat. Horangi braced Mom’s forearm, helped her pivot smoothly into place, then collapsed the enchanted chair into a lacquered case that slid into the trunk with a soft click.

König hefted the last two pieces of luggage—one hand each—stowing them with methodical care. The early sun gilded the scars slicing across his jaw, though the black cloth mask hid the rest of his expression. When the boot snapped shut he returned to you, towering, immense, but strangely hesitant.

He removed a glove, brushed a warm, leather-scarred palm over your hair, and bent to press his masked forehead to yours—an old battlefield benediction. “Mountains will bow to you,” he rumbled. “If one refuses… you know the name to call.”

Your shoulders eased—just a fraction. “Go find a home that belongs to you,” you answered. “Thank you for guarding mine while you did.”

Horangi then reappeared, catching your hand. He offered a subtle wordess bow, lips grazing your knuckles with knightly grace. Then he nodded and slid into the passenger seat.

König circled to the driver’s side, massive frame folding behind the wheel. The engine’s purr deepened. As the sedan rolled down the gravel lane, you watched your Mother’s silhouette hold perfectly upright in the rear window—neither apology nor condemnation in her posture, only acceptance of the future she no longer controlled. The car turned at the orchard bend and was gone.

Silence expanded in their wake. Sybil pressed against your thigh, catching the tremor that rippled through you now that witnesses were gone. Leah stepped from the doorway, cloak draped over her arm; she met your gaze with a bittersweet nod, understanding the hollow that follows farewell.

You exhaled, fogging the cool air. Two pillars of the old age were gone and another friend would leave in the days to follow. Change pressed against you on all sides—heavy, uncertain, alive.

Yet the manor’s wards thrummed reassurance beneath your skin; the orchard beyond glittered with dew; somewhere on Market Row, townsfolk would be opening shutters to a day safer than the one before, partly because four wolves now patrolled its borders. Your legacy—your own, not inherited—beat like a budding heart in the chest of every new dawn.

You set your shoulders, turned back toward the house, and Sybil matched your stride. Each step felt lighter than the one before.

divider credit

[aftermidnightspecial]

⛧Demons of Abbadon⛧ - Male Demon (Raumael) x GN Chubby Human Reader

Wordcount: 3,573 Summary + warnings: Smut with plot | size difference | You are an aspiring demon lord and intend to summon a strong demon. But when things don't go to plan, you get more than you bargain for when Raumael answers your evocation. Coming to an agreement, you seal the contract, paying the price with your soul and body. ⛧ A/N: Shout out to the anon who requested a demon fic. C: And special thanks to @sea-stone for beta reading this for me and letting me know I needed to add more smut.

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You steadied your breath, fingers trembling over the spine of the ancient tome that rest in your hands. Your skin was drained of color and clammy in the candlelight. The sheen of your skin glistening in the low illumination of flickering flames that lapped hungrily at the wicks of the wax pillars. Each candle you had painstakingly lit till the room was bright and the temperature had risen substantially. The shadows that quivered and jumped along the walls tauntingly made you wince. Even your own traitorous shadow took part in this hellish provocation.

The chalk circle and neatly drawn sygils were scrawled over the floorboards in curious flowing patterns woven around your bare feet, where the same symbols and patterns were mirrored on your flesh. You close your eyes, desperation creasing your brow. Without further hesitation, despite your own wavering spirit, you parted a remarkably dry mouth and read. The ancient words spilled from your lips like boiling water, hissing and bubbling forth. The wooden planks beneath the chalk enchantments shuddered and began to quake angrily, the patterns on the floor rolling like the waves of the ocean. 

This didn’t deter you, despite the roiling of your stomach, you continued reading, steeling yourself to this unsettling exhibition of power. As you continued to speak the words, the pages of the book ripped themselves free, and like a flock of doves, took to the air. A maelstrom of yellowed pages swirled around you. The paper flew past you violently, lightly slicing your flesh with each pass. You stared ahead, the page you needed to read from hovered in front of your face, bound by your speech, transfixed even as every object around you seemed to come to life by your words. 

You faltered momentarily as the sygils that you’d drawn on your skin began to burn, but nothing would stop you now. Speaking the words that were on the page and in your heart, having memorized them prior to the evocation you were relying on. The final moment was upon you. Summoning forth the infernal being from the depths of the eternal burning pit to break free from the chains of Abaddon and do your bidding. 

Hesitating for a moment, you revel in the power that surged around and through you. The same that had lifted up the books and pages, even your desk chair was spinning throughout the room.

Suddenly, the candles died, flames extinguished. It was now the sygils you’d drawn on the floor and on your own skin that glowed brightly in unholy illumination.

You let the demonic name roll off of your tongue in a smooth chorus, your voice powerful and commanding despite your normal demeanor. The floorboards cracked open, splintering and peeling back upon themselves. Dark smoke billowing from the gaping wooden maw, the large hole the magic had created was vomiting out ash and brimstone debris, sounding like a rumbling freight train was coming through the floor. 

You tumbled backwards, taking deep, gasping breaths of air as you caught the briefest glimpse of the dark silhouette through the smoke. The figure that had emerged felt every bit as evil that you thought It might. Though instead of a disgusting monster as you’d expected, It seems you have evoked something else. Someone else. Rising from the hole, was an imposing, masculine figure, cloaked in smoke and shadows, but Its glowing eyes were on you, now examining you with dour displeasure and a furrowed brow.

"Oh no." You swallow, frozen in place.

There was an awkward stretch of silence as the smoke was beginning to settle, but It was the demon who decided to speak first. "Why am I here?" It drawled as It scorned you with, glowering with boredom. You could hardly process what was happening, merely in shock, suffering from both excitement and horror from what you’d done.

"A-Agannud?" You managed to ask, your voice only quavering slightly in Its presence. That is, you assumed the demonkin standing before you was the one you’d summoned.

The monstrous creature scoffed, as if he'd been insulted by such an accusation. "Wrong, wrong, wrong.” Its scowl turned Its lips down, serrated teeth on display. 

The Hellspawn stood amongst the rubble of the room, the gaping hole in the floor having sealed itself at some point. You were now utterly alone in your bedroom with a demonic entity that was contained only by the chalk sygils you’d scrawled on the floor earlier. At least you hoped that the sygils were containing It. But you were no longer so sure. 

It was something of a beast, but also had enough human qualities to give you pause. A human-like face, though… Its neck was perhaps slightly too long, even if the neck was thick with muscle and sinew. The facial features were obscured as Its coal black skin absorbed the light, made looking at the demon for too long a troubling task. It was also larger than you expected, perhaps seven feet tall, with muscular arms that were also perhaps a bit too long to be human. As It shifted Its weight and moved, you could have sworn Its shape changed, but It could be the low light playing tricks on you in a most unsettling way. Its lower half was still obscured in shadows and smoke, drawn around It like a cloak made of oblivion. For a moment, you could have sworn that multiple sets of eyes opened elsewhere upon Its body to observe you before they closed.

"N-no?” Unnerved, you pressed on regardless. You had studied this, you knew how to talk to demons. “How? I summoned Agannud? And, well, that has to be you?" 

"You sound unsure. Are you positive it was Agannud you called forth from the pits of Abbadon?" Its voice rumbled in such a deep register that you felt the vibrations from your perch on the floor. Quickly you stood up but it did little to fortify your nerves. This demon was still towering over you, Its lips twisting into a smirk, serrated teeth gleaning in the light of the sygils.

"Well yes? But-" You were saying but, It cut you off before you could work through your logic.

Its glowing abyssal eyes were on you now, there was no escape from their scrutiny. “There is your answer. You're not confident enough to summon anything, so you could not know who you called forth. It's not a game you know. There is a price, I have a price.” The demon paused as It lowered itself to Its haunches so that they were eye level with you now. With little pause, It rest Its elbows on Its knees. “The price is high." It growled. 

You froze, frightened of what was going to happen now. You had played with the darkest of magics and now there would be a tremendous penalty. Your life? Your soul? Could there be anything worse than losing your soul? You considered how to release him back to the depths of Abbadon, but would you ever get an opportunity to have summoned such a powerful demon? You had heard of Raumael and there was a reason you had not named him. Some entities were simply too strong to be controlled.

It continued to speak, "You are so very fortunate, because you've managed to catch my attention instead of that nobody, Agannud.” A toothy grin stretched Its maw, bringing no comfort to you, unable to partake in Its amusement.

“Though I have to admit, I'm rather embarrassed on your behalf. Despite how strong your evocation was, the fact of the matter is that your prompt was untethered, open ended, very erratic, and poorly executed.” An unnerving chuckle rumbled from the breadth of Its chest. “And that is exactly why your evocation normally would have gone unanswered. Damn my curiosity." It chastised you endlessly, sounding like a disappointed teacher rather than an infernal spirit here to do your bidding.

Its cutting remarks did nothing to fortify your will to speak out against that of which you’d summoned. But this was a demon you had called upon, sort of, and while it was an imposing figure with a crushing demonic aura to match, you had to take control. You took a step forward and steeled yourself for what came next. 

 "I don’t think so, demon. Tell me your name?" You commanded It with the same self confidence you had used to summon the creature itself.

It looked terribly unhappy with your renewed disposition, but It didn't have much of a choice and was forced to answer. "Raumael." It replied with contempt.

Flashing Its sharp, wolfish teeth your way was likely meant to scare you, but instead you found that the demon Raumael may actually have something of a nice smile. So much so that your cheeks began to feel warm, something that had little to do with the hellfire that radiated off of him.

“Then Raumael, you will do my bidding.” You commanded.

"I don't really feel like it. Maybe some other time." Raumael snidely remarked.

You balked, “What? You’re my demon! You have to?” baffled, you continued. “Those are the rules.” 

“Not without a contract they aren’t. As I already told you, my price is high.” Raumael drawled, bored by you it seemed.

You clenched your jaw, aggravated. 

He began to laugh, the deep rumble echoed throughout the small room. While It was unsettling, you didn’t find It unpleasant. “Hmm. Perhaps you will be the one following my orders and I’ll have your soul anyway.” The demon stepped closer to you, on the edge of the circle, towering over you, peering down over the ample curvature of his pec muscles. Perhaps Abbadon had a gym, you considered as this demon was fit.

You swallowed and shook your head, not so sure things wouldn’t wind up that way. “You aren’t leaving until you sign my contract. You get to walk around up here, but will do as I ask.” 

The demon tilted his head, “Will I?” his tone mocking.

“You will.”

“Then you will pay my price.” Raum said as he stood and towered over you.

“Which is?”

“Your eternal soul. When you die, I will drag you down to Abbadon.”

You swallow, uncomfortable. “Anything else?” 

“Your body.” 

“My body?!” The suggestion was unthinkable. “Demonic possession is out of the question!”

“That is not what I’m asking for.” Raum said as he beckoned you to come into the circle with a crook of his claws.

You stayed still, the request unclear. 

Obsidian eyes pierced yours, “I want to seal the contract with your body.” The demon parsed out, and as if sensing you were still dumbfounded, clarified, “Not possession.” 

This was an uncommon practice, but not entirely unheard of to seal a demonic contract with a sexual act. This seemed to be the case here. But with a demon as powerful as Raumael at your command, you’d accomplish everything you had set out to do. What was a bit of sex and your immortal soul in exchange for unlimited infernal power at your fingertips?

Steeling your nerves, you step into the circle with the onyx skinned demonkin, your body tense, moving with all the flexibility of an eight hour old corpse. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly as his claws circled the nape of your neck, the other prickling at your hips as he reclined you within the illuminated ring of sygils. The glow from the enchanted glyphs better elucidated the demon’s features, a handsome, masculine face, you thought. Though the longer that your eyes roamed his features, the more things you found were not quite human. Like your sight was playing tricks on you.

The ashes and debris surround your head like a corona of chaotic wreckage, but it did nothing to dissuade your demon from sealing your contract. Raumael languidly climbed atop you with his long limbs on either side of your smaller, human body. His dark, substantial frame absorbing the light, as if his flesh was made from the abyss itself. Intense mercurial eyes stared down at you, lips parting as he lowered his head, his warm mouth brushing your shoulder.  You clench your fists and tense up, waiting. 

"This doesn't have to hurt, little Master." He advised, claws tracing the length of your arm with surprising care. 

"I'm not your master yet." You manage.

"Per our agreement. You'll be my Master while we're under contract. You may not find the other monikers used for mortals so flattering.” 

You nod with hesitation, continuing to observe the way he moved, his larger body engulfing you, knees pushing your legs apart. A razor sharp claw cut through the fabric of your shorts to expose the tender flesh of your lower torso. A shudder wracks your body, feeling wound as tight as a coil while the warm air of the room washed over your bare skin. 

“Calm yourself and you just may enjoy this.” He said gruffly, his large body pressing down on you. Suddenly, distinctly male anatomy prodded at the cleft of your rear, his other claw slid down the length of your spine, careful not to shred your delicate human skin. 

You nod your consent, trying to relax as he licks two of his fingers before reaching down to get you slick with saliva, mindful of his claws, he avoids penetrating you with his digits. The pads of his fingers firmly rubbed the tension from the tightly clenched flesh between your legs. To your surprise he moved back, his lips kissing your collarbone and down the center of your chest. Raum’s hand released your nape and was instead put to work as they began to fondle down your torso, sliding over your chest, his mouth descending to take a pert nipple between his lips, rolling his tongue over it. You cried out, surprised and trembling as his serrated teeth brushed the tiny bud of flesh, sending a jolt of arousal through your entire body. 

Raum’s lips moved onward, kissing and nipping their way southward as you squirmed under his attention, he couldn’t have looked more pleased. You considered him as you peeked through your lashes at the immense demon, long talon-like digits tracing down your ribcage before settling on either side of your hips, squeezing your padding as they explored your body. Raum wasn’t complaining about extra flesh, if anything, the demon seemed to enjoy touching and squeezing you like a glorified stress ball. 

Everywhere Raum’s skin grazed yours was left warm, as if his pleasure was dependent on your own arousal, reveling in your soft frame. He left you trembling, arching into his caress as he seemed to want to cause more of your wanton behaviors. The way you mewled and tensed and shuddered for him. You entirely went stiff, physically aching for more than delicate touches, you wanted so keenly to be filled.

 “Please.” You rasped, muscles all over your body clenching and unclenching with need.

This plea only slowed the demon, who now seemed to be moving at a glacial pace. He was in no hurry to take you, to penetrate you and seal the contract. Your impatience would be your downfall, clearly. In a desperate attempt to take what you needed, you foisted your hips upwards at him, but not quickly enough. He pulled back, his cock still out of your reach. “Not yet.” He said, watching as your face contorted, awash with lust.  

The head of his length pressed firmly against you, parting your flesh indelicately, but went no further than the tip of his colossal length pressing at the tender split at the apex of your legs.. “Is this what you want, Master?” He asked as claws circle your waist, your belly compressed underneath razor sharp nails. His lips curl as he elicits a gasp from you as his cock throbs with need against you, precum dribbling into your hole. 

Nodding eagerly, your shoulders pinch together as you twisted beneath the weight of him, a moan slipping past your lips, surprising you as you thought you’d sealed yourself against enjoying the act, but you’d fallen so far so fast. Raum had seen to it that your body would enjoy itself whether you liked it or not. 

Raumael slanted his slightly too large mouth over yours, sliding his hips forward so that your bodies were pressed hard against each other, his talons gripping tightly at your nape. It was a possessive hold, a possessive kiss. 

Your lips softened and gave way to his tongue, tilting your head upwards to receive more of his heated kiss. Your breath escaped as he folded atop you, his hips finding their rhythm quickly as your flesh parted for his ample girth. You groan as you’re stretched, your tender flesh splayed wide to accommodate his fat cock as he rocked your body against his, his claw firmly on your lower back holding you. His rock hard length slid deeper inside you, knocking the air from your lungs with each bone-rattling thrust. 

You cry out, every part of you feels like it's on fire, your hands clawing at the massive pecs that hovered above your face before finding purchase on his broad shoulders. You weren't sure when you stopped thinking of him as It and more as a he. Perhaps when his cock barged its way inside of you, or earlier even when you'd noted his physique and handsome face.

Squirming underneath his weight, the heat of his skin warmed you to your core, as he pushed into your body, all of your nerve endings suddenly at attention as the burn of his hellfire washed over you. You wrapped your legs around him, welcoming the heat as you felt yourself unfurling, digging your nails into his shoulders as the glow of your orgasm was building. Your thighs quivered as your body seemed to have a mind of its own.

You gasp, mindlessly as his breath stirred against your shoulder, serrated teeth and warm lips pressed on the soft skin there. The demon’s hard length thrust into you, hot like coals and smooth as silk, as the base of his mound crashed against your hips. Slick with precum and fluids mixing in an obscene union. Your body was raw and pulsing as you tensed with every thrust, toes curling in pleasure, nails raking over his obsidian skin. Your breath hitched as every part of you felt as if you had shattered in that moment. Your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks, your eyes rolling back as you silently clenched, holding onto your demon for dear life.

Raumael held you in a bruising grip, pumping furiously into you, every muscle tense and strained. You felt him swelling, growing harder, filling you more than you ever could have anticipated. He lifted you by your pelvis off the floor, angling you higher to meet his fearsome thrusts, his face contorted with evident focus. The demon’s dark brow furrowed, lips curled in a snarl as a spasm began to shake him. With a guttural hiss, his body jerked as he suddenly flooded with you what felt like an endless supply of hot, slick fluid, flooding out of you as you were filled to capacity as it smeared your inner thighs and trickled down the cleft of your bottom.  

Suddenly then, the illumination of the sygils stopped. The only light that was cast upon you was the tiny sliver from beneath the closed door and a pair of dark eyes reflecting that miniscule glow back upon you. Your body was numb, like it was made completely of static and you felt utterly drained, slick with sweat, a mixture of yours and his. 

There were several minutes where both of you only focused on breathing, the demon still having pinned you beneath him, his cock stuffed inside of you as cum gushed out and pooled on the floor. A terrible mess you both had made. 

"Is that it?" You asked, breaking the silence, your breathing unsteady.

All the candles flickered to life suddenly and your demon peered down at you, quite offended. "Did you not cum too?" Raum scowled as he sat back on his haunches, carefully releasing you from his grip as his erection slowly dissipated.

"Oh! No, I did!" Your face turned scarlet at the questioning and you realize how that may have been misconstrue. "I meant...our contract is sealed?" 

"You can't tell?" Raumael scoffed, unimpressed as he observed you closely now. 

"It’s just that you're my first." You explain as you sit up, gesturing to the sygils and then to him.

"First?" Raum perked up, as you seemed to summon every ounce of his attention. 

"Yes...first demon and..." You trail off. 

He glanced down at you for a moment, "Oh, that makes things interesting. You should have negotiated our contract, Master. I would have given you a better deal." He chuckled, but very tenderly began to clean you up. This bit of information seemed to garner a modicum of sympathy from the devil. 

Perhaps it wasn’t too late to renegotiate?

“No.” He said simply, as if he was reading your mind. This did not stop him from examining you for damage. How cute he was concerned, but there was a very legitimate reason for it. You shouldn’t confuse his concern for care. It was contractually his job to make sure you’re okay. 

“But-” 

Raum shook his head. “Absolutely not.” He reaffirmed. 

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Original works Masterlist

[the-faceless-bride]

Worship me, you love to.

Price is whipped for his wife. Youthful, fun, loving. He has a picture of you in his wallet so you're always near. Everyone knows he's whipped. But what they don't know, is how much he truly worships you and the ground you walk on.

Warnings: Pure porn, femdom, m. Receiving fingering, glove kink, Slapping, Degrading, humiliation? 'our wife' price? (maybe in the future if anyone likes this.) Price is a mommy's guy, a sub, you won't change my mind.

Price knew he might be in a little trouble with his darling wife. He forgot to call when he debriefed with his team. Went out for drinks and had a good time. But once the clock hit 12 he realized he hadn't spoken to you once. And he panicked.

Rushing out of the pub while being teased by his mates about needing to "get home to the boss."

They had no idea...

When Price pushed open the door dropping his bags he heard the soft sound of the stereo playing a sweet toon. The smell of a lit cigarette, he noticed the lights were off and some candles were lit. It was the particular pink wax/lotion candle that caused an alarm.

"Welcome home." he heard from behind him.

You were beautiful. You sat with a cigarette and a glass of red wine; hair loosely curled and a tight dress that hugged your waist and presented your breasts beautifully, dark leather gloves covered your pretty hands; your makeup was light and sweet but you held something dark in your eyes.

"Baby-"

"Johnathan Price... You've made mommy very angry."

Price took a shaky breath, and gulped. He was in deep trouble. He was going to be punished, he knew for sure.

He took a step toward you, "im sorry-" you put your hand out pointing at him, "Ah-ah!" a sound of protest. Telling him to not move.

"on your knees."

John took a breath before slowly lowering to his knees.

"crawl," you demanded.

John slowly put down his hands, slowly making his way towards you.

When he was close enough, you saw the look in his eyes; the look to please, to submit, to let go. To worship you.

You smirked, crossing your legs and spreading them slightly.

John groaned softly at the sight of no panties.

"I had such a sweet surprise for you. To come home and let you bend me over and take me however and wherever you wanted... But you've been a bad boy Price. Naughty boys don't get rewards like that."

He whines; it's almost inaudible. You place your heel atop his head so he stares at your bare wet cunt. His eyes look so glossy.

Before he can move you strike, pushing him back on his knees before giving him a smack across his face.

He gasps, "What do you say?"

"i-im sorry-"

"sorry... Who?"

"Sorry Mommy. I'm sorry Mommy."

"and?"

"thank you."

You grab him by his hair at the base of his head, "What a dirty slut you are Price." he moans, deep and rich in his chest. "how pathetic are you? Already hard? How disgusting." John stares deep into your eyes, letting himself fully submit himself to you. The goddess that allowed him to marry her.

You smile down at him, "I wonder how your team would react to seeing their Captin isn't as strong and commanding as they think he is. How would they react to seeing their Captin is really a disgusting slut that loves to be hurt and called names."

You let his hair go and he pushed his head into your lower stomach, his breath broken and uneven. His breath fans across your body and his wet eyes leave spots on your dress.

"is that who you were with? Your team? Do they need to be punished too?" he took a risk letting his hands graze over your body from your calves to your thighs, to your ass and finally resting on your hips. "naught boys who have no mommy to teach them how to behave? Maybe I can hit two birds with one stone, hm? Punish you by not letting you touch Mommy and teaching your boys how good it feels to behave?" John is uncomfortably hard now, it strains against his belt. The slightest move of his hips causes a painful yet amazing friction.

"I bet Johnny is a naughty brat, I bet Simon is a stubborn thing. Maybe I can use those pretty ropes on him, huh?" John starts to grind on your heeled foot, his beard tickles your leg as he drags his lips over you, not kissing but waiting for permission.

"though. I think Kyle is a good boy. I'm sure he's a sweet boy who would live to please Mommy. Tell me. Is he a good boy?" John doesn't answer, you kick him away and he desperately tries to hold onto you. He looks up from the floor.

"answer. Me."

"yes. Yes, Mommy. Kyle is a very good boy." John's face feels hot.

You hum pleased by John's answer.

"I bet he is.-" You make your way around John and kneel behind him pulling him to lay fully on his back, "tell me, Do you feel good being in charge? Do you get pleasure in telling you're boys what to do? Do you enjoy it when Kyle is a good boy for you?"

You slowly unbuckle John's belt pulling his pants and boxers down to his thighs and no lower.

"Yes." John flushed. "say it."

"I like it when Kyle is a good boy for me."

"Funny how you get off being the one in charge, but you're such a sweet, pliant slut for Mommy." you tease. Pushing your fingers into John's mouth. Pushing far into his mouth making him gag on your leather Gloves before pulling your hand away and trailing down to his body.

Your fingers are covered in his spit circling his ring of muscle. But at no point do you give him what he wants. "beg."

And he doesn't just beg. He cries.

"Please, Mommy. I didn't mean to be bad.-"

"I'll be good I promise!-"

"I promise to take my punishment like a good boy-"

"please. Please. Please. PLEASE."

John lets out a pleasured cry. As you push your fingers inside him. Whispering in his ears about how you'll forgive him if he promises to be good.

"you need to prove you weren't bad on purpose baby"

"keep to your promise, or I'll punish you harshly next time- maybe Kyle can show you how to be a good boy for me"

"good. Seeing you take your punishment like a good boy makes Mommy very proud."

John's cock twitched and covered his soft stomach and chest. You haven't even touched his cock once.

"what a good boy. Now let's finish up your punishment and get you in a nice warm bath yeah?" you take off one of your gloves before picking up the wax/lotion candle, you stand over his face letting him stare up at your leaking cunt.

"take a deep breath baby, it's hot."

[bravadce]

Lennox Laurrier & The

Subtle Art of Influence

Tucked behind a modest booth at the St. Vincent Jewelry Center is a legacy being quietly recut. Lennox Laurrier, armed with a G.I.A. education and an eye for precision, is redefining her family’s custom jewelry business from the bench up by balancing private clients and L.A.’s social circuit with seamless control. This isn’t inheritance, it's her own foundation set stone by stone.

Complex Magazine, July 2025

The name that echoes through Los Angeles high society is the same one humbly displayed above the glass cases on the first floor of the St. Vincent Jewelry Center, the West Coast’s shrine to everything gleaming and precision cut. It blends in among the neighboring booths, but what’s inside sets it unmistakably apart. Vivid stones anchor each display like exclamation points in a sea of frozen starlight, each one caged in carbon. The sight of it commands your attention just as much as the lively man behind the counter does.

Adrian Laurrier doesn’t look like the type to have cut multimillion dollar deals over Kashmir sapphires or spent the last three decades carving masterpieces from raw stone. But looks, like diamonds, can be deceiving. With the sleeves of his shirt hiked past the elbows and a loupe always within reach, he runs the floor with the type of authority you only get from doing something long enough to stop second guessing. Adrian’s work built the Laurrier name into one of quiet power in the Diamond District; commonly recognized for custom pieces that whisper luxury instead of screaming it.

And now, his daughter Lennox is reshaping the legacy.

When I meet her, it’s just past 9 a.m., and the first floor is already flooded with the most experienced hagglers who make buying a competitive sport. She greets her father with a quiet exchange of updates, shorthand talk built from years of working side by side. A couple parcels from Sri Lanka are late. A three-stone emerald engagement ring was casted by a new hire and needs quality control. A long standing client is asking for pear shaped diamonds, “nothing too icy.” She scrolls through vendor emails while sipping an espresso that’s already gone lukewarm, flagging stones that have the potential to meet her standards for color and clarity at first glance. Her G.I.A. certification is an advantage in this world, equipping her with a mastery in the technical that allows her to spot heat treatment within seconds and tell you exactly why the price of gold is dropping or spiking. 

Eventually we step away from the center and into the backroom of their private studio space, a short drive but worlds away from the bustle of St. Vincent. The room smells faintly of metal and lavender polish. The floor's scattered with tool cases, wax molds stacked upon themselves, loupe cloths, and filled sketchbooks scribbled with drawings and barely legible handwriting. A stark contrast to the tools of her workbench that are arranged with a surgical neatness. This is where the dirty work happens, she tells me. She sets a spinel in a platinum claw setting, adjusting the tension with a laser focus, each movement as deliberate as calligraphy.

Sometimes she sketches by hand, other times she works in CAD, building digital prototypes dependent on client and paternal approval to come to life. Her fingers move between appliances without hesitation: ring mandrel, bezel pusher, divider compass. A recent commission is laid out beside her in wax, a grown up take on the friendship bracelets you made at ten but this time with solid gold letter beads encrusted with diamonds. She shows me a tray of colorful melee gems, no bigger than grains of sand, that she’ll be pavé setting into the charms. It’s delicate work, and she loses herself in it. No posing nor performative hustle. Just a quiet obsession with getting it right.

By early afternoon, she’s gone again; off to meet clients behind closed doors. “Privacy’s everything,” she says, slipping on a pair of oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses. These aren’t red carpet walk-ins or casual buyers. Some of them are stylists, others private collectors, and a few are names I’d need to redact if this were a legal document. She won’t let me sit in, but I don’t take it personally. In her world, trust is the real currency, and Lennox has it in spades.

At sunset, she’s back home in West Hollywood, trading her bench apron for Cavalli. Her phone buzzes with dinner RSVPs and whispered club openings. She calls it networking, and maybe it is. Because while her family name opened the door, Lennox is shaping a presence all her own, one that exists beyond the showcase lights. A fixture in the city’s social circuit, she’s just as known for her underground art world ties as she is for her ability to source untreated Burmese moonstones.

“I know what this looks like,” she says, smiling, a little sharp. “But this isn’t just partying. It’s how I built this.” She says it like a statement of fact. Like a cut grade, or a carat weight. Something you can measure. Something you can prove.

And when she does open that showroom—rumored to be near Westwood Village, though she won’t confirm—you’ll know it. Not from a press release, but from the way the right people start showing up wearing pieces that don’t need introductions.

[cutiepieautistic]

Stimming on a budget:

Cut up straws(especially ones in fun colors!) And string or cord can be used to create fidgets similar to pony bead rollers,and so can wooden beads!

You can use nuts and bolts and other metal parts from hardware stores can be used to make metal fidgets!

You can make worry stones out of play doughs,simply just form them into your desired shapes and let them dry to create your worry stones!

You can use leftover fabric scraps,cheap vase fillers or lentils and other small,dry food stuffs or marbles or pony beads/wooden beads to create beanbags!

You can use pipe cleaners and various cheap,large hole beads to create sliding fidgets or tangle-like fidgets!

You can use binder clips or cheap floral wires and cheap beads to create rolling bead fidgets,or use pop tabs and other large hole objects instead!

You can use things from nature to stim,such as stones or acorns!

Use hair gel or various small,nonsharp objects to fill up a zip lock bag. Duct tape it shut,and presto you now have a fidget bag!

You can use small strongly scented objects to fill up a small jar,bottle or tule bag to carry with you. You can use it for olfactory stimming on the go!

You can use cheap scented oils dollar stores/discount stores to scent beanbags,small glass bottles/worry stones etc etc.

You can buy baby teether at discount stores for a cheaper alternative to high price name brand chewy toys!

Certain dollar stores sell chewy silicone beads,and baby teether and silicone straws.

You can use rice,lentils,legumes,other dry food stuffs,acorns,rocks,small metal objects and rocks or other objects that make sounds to fill up a large hole bottle to use for auditory stimming!

Cheap candles make for good olfactory stimming toys,and you can watch them as their wicks burn down for extra visual stimming!

You can use soft,squishy car sponges for squishing,or rubbing against your skin and picking at!

You can use rice,or other small non sharp weighted things to fill up a kid's bath cloth,then sew it up tightly for a weighted stim toy! Add scents with the aformentied scented oils from a discount store or dollar store,or add dried flowers from outside for an even cheaper scent option!

You can use pony beads,duct tape,and flexible plastic woven tubes(you can find these sold as cat toys,even or as party supplies at a dollar store!) To create your own marble meshes/boinks!

You can use clear glue from the dollar store,and a little bit of baking soda melted into hot water to make slime! You can use small containers at the dollar store to store your slime. You can also find scented orbeez or regular orbeez and slime or putties(and so many other stim toys!)at certain dollar stores!

You can silly putty at the dollar store,and use buttons,pony beads or other small non sticky/dirty objects to create your own therapy putty! You can dig those small objects out of the putty to strengthen your motor skills!

Cheese wax can be used similar to putty once you warm it up in your hands! (Just be sure not to play with it so long that it completely melts on your hands!)

Plants and other natural things can be used to stim in multiple ways!

You can use safety pins+ sead beads and other beads with large enough holes to fit onto the needle,and slide all of the beads that fit onto it and close it,to create a spinning bead fidget!

You can use strings of beads from craft store bargian bins for stimming!

You can pick apart felt sheets!

if you fill up plastic or metal containers with small objects that make lots of sounds,then you can use that as an auditory stimming toy!

Shower gel and gel like body washes from discount stores/dollar stores can be used similar to slime! You can also use corn starch and water to create oobleck!

Feel free to add on your own suggestions!

[tarithenurse]

I see fire - 15

Fandom: D&D 5E/homebrew campaign. Word count: 3239. Contents: Hangover-hack, travel, stranger-danger, fighting, death, luck, gore, mystery. A/N: Any questions are welcome. Please comment and like and reblog. Let me know if you want a tag. Divider by @firefly-graphics

XV

“My hair hurts,” Morella complains, blinking miserably against the sun.

The sigh coming from Anvindr is partially a testimony to his own state but more to the fact that no one really is surprised with the druid’s poor condition.

“Can’t you just...heal it away?” he asks.

The colourful female just groans. “Then I have to think.”

“But just for a while.”

Interrupting what might turn into bickering, Zilvra asks her friends to wait there for a moment. “I’ll be right back,” and with that she heads into Travis’ Wax.

There’s only one other customer in the shop and as the huge, burly man behind the counter looks past her at the newcomer, Zilvra flashes him the hand-sign in Thieves’ Can’t for “business”, earning a curt nod: clearly he understands, meaning she must be in the right place as suspected.

It takes a moment during which Zilvra peruses the wares (a multitude of candles in different heights, thicknesses, colours and even scents) but then the customer leaves, allowing the man – who must be Travis – to focus on the drow.

“What can I do for you?”

His voice startles her because it is so light but she manages to keep collected.

“I’ve lost my tools and was hoping you would either be able to acquire new for me or at the very least point me in the right direction,” the rogue explains, with her hands signalling lock-picking.

“I can get that for you if you give me a few days and pay up front.”

“There’s no rush, I’m heading out for a while but expect to be back within a week.”

Travis nods. “12 copper then.”

For a heartbeat, the drow considers bartering but she doesn’t quite know what a fair price would be Topside and so she relents, counting out the copper and handing them over.

“Pleasure doing business,” the man squeaks, pocketing the money.

“See you soon.”

Once back on the street, it’s evident that Morella has taken the genasi’s advice and magicked her hangover away because she’s much more chipper. The male on the other hand wants to know what Zilvra was up to and he’s promised an explanation once they’re out of town.

They only have one more stop to make and that is by the Adventurer’s Guild to get paid for the jobs they have completed.

“Take care,” Tio warns the group, handing them 60 copper.

“You too.”

---

“So?” Anvindr demands.

Zilvra adjusts the wooden goggles slightly. “Hm?”

“Travis’ Wax. What was that about?”

She explains briefly about lacking certain items after her arrest and how she wants new sets.

“Oh, maybe I could have just made them for you,” is his reply which makes her look at him questioningly. “I can conjure tools every day. Woodcarving, stone carving, you name it. They only last 24 hours but they’re good quality.”

“Lock picking tools?” the rogue asks, slightly disbelieving.

The genasi wrinkles his brow. “No, but why’d you need them?” Morella giggles, patting his arm. “Why wouldn’t you just knock?” he insists, though.

---

That evening, the trio rests in Oldgarde knowing there’s still five days of travel to go before they reach the tower. They talk a bit with Davis but he’s too preoccupied and instead they hang out at the inn where also another adventuring group of silver rank is stopping by.

Deciding to play nice, Zilvra brings them ale and soon both groups are chatting about their experiences. They call themselves the Footsoldiers and are heading south to investigate a mine there.

“You better be careful,” Anvindr warns them, “we’ve been to a few mines and apart from the duergar there’s been something else there too.”

One of them, Valmir – a man with white robes and neatly kept hair, looks to the others with concern. “Something...what?”

“Fire,” Morella beams slightly creepily. “Living fire.”

Fred, the scarred melee in the group, looks bummed as he does gather that fire won’t be as susceptible to his weapons as the dark dwarves would be.

Letting the Footsoldiers in on what little the trio knows about mines, duergar, and the fire creatures, there’s little else the friends can do to help but the men are happy, feeling better prepared with the knowledge.

“And where are you off to?” Valmir asks.

“East past the logging camp,” Zilvra deflects neatly, “taking a bit of time for our own.”

The three men nod before the last – a ragtag-looking, robed guy with a wild beard – leans in, having just finished his ale: “If you go far east you’ll reach the swamps on the other side of a mountain range...we’ve just been there and found ourselves between orcs and ogres working together.”

“Mhmm,” Fred chimes in. “Watch out for the orcs, they’re strong and smart...and impressive sprinters capable of closing any gap rapidly. We were hard pressed just dealing with one.”

The trio exchange glances, happy that they aren’t going that far.

“Good to know,” Morella nods.

---

Nothing much happens on the trip but on the fourth day, the trio sees a cart in the distance with two familiar figures, Elmer and Harris, turning off towards the logging camp but they decide not to try and hail the men and rather continue on.

---

Watching Morella skip ahead of the other two, Zilvra can’t help but marvel at how much more vivid the eladrin’s green hue is compared to the plants they pass and yet when the druid does stand still, she seems to belong rather than stick out like Anvindr with his blue skin or Zilvra herself with her slate hue. Even the birds and little critters seem not to mind the druid...in fact, they seem thoroughly unbothered by anything at all and perhaps its because of that, that the trio suddenly stumble out into a clearing with a stout tower at the centre without any warning.

Round and perhaps a bit boring, the only part of the architecture that seems to carry any more thought than brutal practicality is the glass dome. Torches burn magically by the closed entry door but other than that the place looks quiet.

Too quiet.

No one hails the trio or tries to stop them as they withdraw a bit again into the bushes, finding a place to observe and wait the night rather than storm in unprepared. Anvindr and Morella see to the camp while Zilvra sneaks off, scouting the perimeter for any signs of...well, anything.

She’s made it about half way around the tower when she spots him: a man lying beneath the bushes, grasses and leafy branches used as disguise but incapable of hiding the sheer size of him. And he’s seen her too, it’s clear because their eyes lock – pale blue with golden brown – forging a mutual understanding that there’s no reason to pretend and so Zilvra waves.

He’s big for a human at a distance and seems somehow more imposing when he comes over, adjusting the cloth that covers half his face.

“Didn’t expect anyone coming around,” he admits.

“Didn’t expect anyone lying in the bushes,” she counters.

Nodding, the large man surveys the area before looking Zilvra up and down once more. “Why are you here?”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, the drow recalls Paul Davis’ warning about trusting people. But at the same time...this guy wears a bandana similar to the ones the Mason people they’ve met so far have.

“Something seems to be up with the towers,” she begins haltingly, trying and failing to read his expression, “decided I’d check it out.”

“Took it upon yourself, did you?” he rumbles. “Impressive initiative.”

He reaches out to pat her on the shoulder, his touch making her freeze up and thus offering no resistance when the pat turns into a grasp and the other fist comes flying with a force that cracks several of her ribs and knocks the wind out of her.

It’s an unfair fight even as Zilvra dances to avoid the devastating punches while back-pedalling towards the campsite. She gets several jabs in with her rapier but he seems to just shrug the pain off, almost like he enjoys it. Then there’s a snarl of a wolf followed by two rapid shots and finally the man looks surprised even if it’s only for a moment because the brief confusion morphs into cold rage and flames begins to crackle from his fists.

“You should’ve said you brought friends and they wouldn’t’ve had to have missed out at first,” he growls, sending Morella flying with a single flaming punch that reduces her wolf form to her normal appearance with a puff. “Eladrin shit,” he snarls.

Three against one, and the trio still find themselves hard pressed although they seem to offer a worthy resistance too. It’s just not enough.

Having resorted to her crossbow to stay out of range of the hits the enemy tries to land, Zilvra watches with blind fear as her friend, Morella, is knocked unconscious and crumbles to the ground.

“Anvindr...run...” she gasps, throwing herself headfirst at the brutal man to win the genasi some time.

She’s vaguely aware through the pounding of her own heart in her ears that he calls for aid from the tower. The rogue dodges one fist, her dagger landing deep in the opponent’s thigh but as she’s about to step out of reach once more, he grabs her by the braid, yanks her onto the ground and the last thing she sees is a flaming fist coming for her face.

---

Gentle, warm hands are cradling the pounding skull of the drow, fingertips tracing the edges of bruises as the swelling diminishes just a bit. Enough to open the eyes.

Morella is there, leaning down and looking quite a lot worse for wear but smiling at the sight of consciousness returning to her friend.

“What happened?” Where -?” Zilvra beings only to be shushed by the druid.

“Glad to have you back,” a different, familiar voice says.

Looking about, the rogue sees #2 a few paces away. His brows are furrowed and his lips are pressed into a thin line.

Anvindr comes over, helping both girls to their feet. “I called out for the people in the tower to help, but he – the guy – said he’d killed them all. He was gonna kill me too but then #2 here showed up. The other guy is called #5 and he ran off.”

As if on cue, a distant roar can be heard in the direction Anvindr had just indicated. South.

“That sounded like...” Morella begins before allowing her voice to fade away.

“Like what?” #2 asks sharply.

The eladrin swallows. “Like a dragon.” Her eyes are big and filled with confusion. “I once new a dragon. Boil, the Protector of Forests.”

“Never heard of it.”

She shakes her head. “He’s a Fey Dragon. But this...it sounded just like that.”

For a long moment, they all stand in silence, listening for more but eventually it’s the sounds of the birds and critters that return.

Unable to keep to her feet, Zilvra allows herself to plop down onto the grass once more. She can reach her discarded weapons from there, drying them off in the emerald tufts before sheathing them. Morella joins her, stretching out as the sun begins to set beyond the trees.

“Why are you here?” Zilvra asks #2. “Not that I mind – thank you for saving us, really but...how...?”

There’s finally a smile on the man’s lips, as wry as it may be. “Klaud told me what you were up to so I figured I’d better warn you that someone were playing both sides of this mess...guess we know who it was now.” The smile fades. “I’d previously sent a gold group to investigate a tower and they found themselves having to flee...but at least they were able to ascertain that the Tower there had been wiped out.” He rubs his face. “Didn’t find out why or by who but...things will start to move now that he knows that I know of his betrayal.” #2 looks sternly at the trio. “That also means you three will be in jeopardy.”

Anvindr looks down at the girls. “I think we gathered as much.”

“Get out of Stouvania.”

“Right...we were already toying with that idea...” Anvindr mumbles, earning a raised brow but no questions voiced out loud. “Before we part we need to check out this place and there’s...we met a guy, called himself Gavin.”

It doesn’t take long to fill in #2 on what the trio had learned at the Lockett Logging Camp. What does come as a surprise to them, however, is that the man just nods, admitting to having trained many of the men that now are the core of the Masons, including the leader. Just like him, he explains, they were part of an elite intelligence corps and they all wanted Stouvania to prosper.

“Garrion Clarke was a good friend of mine. I considered many of them my friends. Men with the hearts in the right place although they have lost their way now.” #2 sighs. “They all have their area of expertise: intelligence gathering, tactician, you name it.”

Anvindr looks up at that. “Tactician...smart enough to predict how an entire people will search for a better home if their country is starved of resources?”

#2 nods. “Even smarter.”

Pushing up off the grass, Zilvra drags Morella along. “Right, so you know what you’re facing, that Stouvania is dealing with yet another corruption too...and we still haven’t checked out this tower.”

Resolutely, she walks up to the door and knocks on it, unsurprisingly receiving no answer. Investigating, at least there are no mechanical traps but it is locked – a detail that under normal circumstances could be dealt with if it hadn’t been locked by arcane means but together with Anvindr, the rogue manages to bypass the warding and soon the door swings open, allowing a stench of decay to waft out into the faces of the four peering in.

Gagging, they all take a step back to steel themselves and then the trio follows in #2’s wake as he crosses the threshold.

It’s a massacre. Still lying where they fell, guards and magicians alike are strewn across the floor and staircases. Some clearly tried to escape but the only way was up, trapping themselves. Others must have tried to fight because their weapons are drawn and there are marks from magical missiles like firebolts...but none of it had been any help against their foe.

“This is...” #2 is at a loss for words.

There’s nothing the trio can say to comfort the man and so they just follow him, eyes peeled for any sign of survivors or movement that doesn’t belong. Nothing.

At the very top of the tower, underneath the centre of the glass domed ceiling, is a large orb with the vague lines of a map and little sparks moving across the surface.

“These must be the anomalies in the area,” Zilvra deduces, studying the places that correspond with mines and...and a rapidly moving dot rushing south at an incredible pace.

“Hold on,” Morella mumbles. She manages to find some paper and an intact inkwell and she quickly tries to trace what the orb shows, placing little crosses for each spark. “That one’s so fast,” she points to the one heading in the southern direction.

“Dragon?” Anvindr asks nervously.

Morella’s nose wrinkles. “Are we saying #5 is a dragon or that he has a dragon?”

“What’s to the south?” Zilvra asks #2, pointing to the orb.

He studies it for a moment. “Silver Keep is southeast. But that’s not part of Stouvania and I see no tactical advantage for him by heading there.”

“Maybe a personal connection?” the drow suggests.

It earns her a shrug. “Don’t know...he’s fairly knew to the ranks although he’s been climbing fast. But I have to reconsider all I thought I knew about him.”

“While we speculate,” Anvindr suggests with a wary eye on the human, “let’s check out the place for anything useful.”

Calling upon his arcane gifts, Anvindr scours the place magically, finding that obviously the large orb with the sparks is magical (and too big to carry with them) but one other item radiates in his vision as well: a large gemstone with a word carved into it that according to both him and Morella is Gnomish for “power”.

“Doril,” Anvindr speaks it out loud, causing the other three to stop what they’re doing.

It’s as though his gaze turns inwards, the genasi listening to something he alone can hear but they can all hear his reply: “I’m Anvindr Hayate. The Tower has fallen, all are dead.”

#2 is rushing across the room, and he slaps the softly glowing gem out of the genasi’s hand. “What are you doing?”

“You don’t know if you can trust them!” Zilvra groans, having understood that the gem must be an advanced Sending Stone, allowing communication across great distances.

“Out. You must go,” #2 implores, ushering the trio down the stairs. “You must leave the country.”

“And you?” Morella asks with kind concern.

He looks torn. “I can’t leave things as they are...there are people that must be warned. I’ll head back. You can’t count on me having your back another time so let this be a lesson in when it’s time to run rather than fight...although I doubt you could’ve run from him.” At the Tower door, he pauses, grabbing on to Anvindr. “To the far, far south, there’s a mountain range which used to be occupied by giants...there are remnants of machinery there, mechanisms and feats of engineering.”

The genasi nods although with some confusion before asking, “will Silver Keep be a safe place for us to go?”

“And if not, do you know anything of a place called Umbra?” Zilvra questions.

The man’s head whips towards her, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

Baffled by the sharp reaction, she takes a step back. “I just...we need to lie low and -”

“According to rumour, many of your kin’s men aren’t keen on the matriarchy and their role in it. The ones that managed to escape should apparently have founded Umbra and now work as vigilantes, mercenaries, freelancers, anything they can find that still keeps them hidden from the females of their kin because they would not risk going back.” Studying the female drow, a soft understanding dawns on his features. “You’re looking for someone...well, good luck. If it does exist, then it should be between the farmlands to the south and Silver Keep to the east. According to rumour male drow have been spotted there and there are indeed abandoned mines, too derelict for use but maybe not for those in need.” Zilvra nods, too happy for the first leads to be able to thank him. “If you learn anything...tell me.” He turns to leave but then stops. “One last thing, Anvindr....maybe don’t use your name while travelling?” and with that he’s off.

The trio stands looking at each other for a moment. They’re beat up and tired and the sun has long since settled but it’s clear that they can’t stay there.

“Let’s go,” Zilvra sighs, taking the lead back to their little camp where they retrieve their backpacks.

From there they go northeast, reconnecting with the road and on for a while before eventually succumbing to fatigue and barely creating an adequate shelter for themselves.

[royalcarcare321]

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Visit Royal Car Care – Varanasi’s trusted name for PPF coating. We’ll give your car a shine that stays, and a shield that lasts.

📍 Location: S 17/79-A, Ghausabad Road, beside Om Sai Mandir, Nadesar, Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh 221002

 📞 Call Now: [ 9795312345 ]

Final Thought: Because When Your Car Looks Good, You Feel Good

Your car reflects your personality. Don’t let daily wear and tear take that away. With Royal Car Care’s PPF Coating in Varanasi, you’re not just protecting your car—you’re preserving your pride.

[paint-protection-films]

How Paint Protection Films Save You Money in the Long Run.

Owning a car is more than just about driving from one place to another — it’s about pride, comfort, and in many cases, a significant financial investment. But keeping your car looking fresh and new isn’t always easy, especially in India’s harsh climate and busy traffic conditions. That’s where Paint Protection Film (PPF) steps in as a smart, long-term solution.

You may think of PPF as just another car accessory — but here’s the truth: it’s an investment that can save you a surprising amount of money over time.

Let’s break down how.

1. Avoid Repainting Costs

The most obvious way PPF helps your wallet is by protecting your car’s original paint from scratches, stone chips, bird droppings, and road debris. Over time, these small damages can build up, making your car look old and worn. Repainting your car or getting touch-ups isn’t cheap — especially if you care about quality.

By installing high-quality PPF, like the ones offered at Proteq, you’re creating a durable layer that absorbs the damage instead of your paint. That alone can save you tens of thousands of rupees over the years.

2. Boosts Resale Value

Planning to sell or upgrade your car in a few years? Buyers always prefer a well-maintained vehicle. A car that looks brand new — with no visible scratches or paint damage — can demand a higher resale price.

Paint Protection Film helps maintain that “fresh from the showroom” look. When it’s time to sell, you’ll likely get better offers, all thanks to that one-time investment you made in protecting the exterior.

3. Reduces Maintenance Costs

Without PPF, car owners often spend extra money on polishing, waxing, and detailing — trying to bring back that lost shine. While those services help temporarily, they don’t protect your paint long-term.

PPF, on the other hand, acts as a permanent defense layer. It resists stains, repels water, and even heals minor scratches with heat. The result? Less frequent visits to detailing shops, and more money in your pocket.

4. Shields Against Environmental Damage

India’s climate isn’t gentle on cars. From intense sunlight in the summer to monsoon rains and urban pollution, your car faces a daily assault.

UV rays can fade your car’s color. Acid rain and dust can eat away at the paint. But PPF offers a protective shield that blocks UV rays, resists corrosion, and keeps your car’s finish intact — all without the need for expensive corrections or fixes.

5. Long-Term Protection = Long-Term Savings

High-quality PPF can last 5 to 10 years, depending on the brand and maintenance. That’s a decade of reduced paint damage, lower maintenance bills, and better resale value — all from a one-time application.

While some might see it as an upfront cost, smart car owners see it for what it truly is: a long-term savings plan for their vehicle.

Final Thoughts

In a country like India where roads, weather, and pollution take a toll on your car, Paint Protection Film isn’t a luxury — it’s a wise investment. It’s not just about keeping your car pretty; it’s about protecting your money and maintaining your peace of mind.If you’re considering PPF, don’t compromise on quality. Trust experts like Proteq, who specialize in professional-grade PPF installation for long-lasting results. Your car — and your wallet — will thank you later.

[am-android]

per your question on Engage: as a FE fan myself I think it's one of the best games in the series--the mechanics are extremely fun and have all the best features of the basic FE gameplay while also introducing new battle features that are super fun to play and replay.

I know Engage gets a lot of shit for the art style and story but honestly? The art grew on me and I love how colorful everything is, and the vibrancy really makes the world feel alive and also makes the more serious/sad scenes w/ less colors hit harder as a result.

And I honestly have no idea what people are on about the story and characters--Engage has hands-down one of the best stories in the series. The worldbuilding is consistent, the general plot is very strong, the characters are some of my favorite in the entire series and have just as much depth to them as any other game, and best of all there are no plot holes or gaping contradictions in lore. Because the story is straightforward (no route splits like Fates or 3H), and genuinely earnest, a lot of online fans seem to have had a bad reaction to it, but like literally any other FE game, if you actually pay attention to the details and read supports and other flavor text, Engage is just as complex a story with just as much depth (if not more) than past games (and honestly, the characterization has always? been in the supports? so like, I literally do not know what other fans are on about when they call Engage's characters more shallow or less complex).

There is SO much going on in Engage's story, and if I had the free time I could write a lot of longform essay posts analyzing story elements, themes, characters, and so on. The FE fandom in general has always been pretty toxic and has a lot of very vocal elitists, so I wouldn't count the lack of "gushing praise" as indicative of a game's quality. Literally every irl FE fan I know has also loved the game, it's one of the most FE of FE games, and pays a lot of homage to the series as a whole. In fact I don't think we've had as FE-esque a game since Awakening, which was supposed to be the series' swan song if it didn't manage to save the series. I was extremely satisfied with Engage, it's my personal favorite of the FE games.

Regarding the price though, I bought the game when it came out for only $60? So if you're looking at an $80 copy, that's super suspicious. Check out a few different retailers to see if you can get the game cheaper--you might even be able to find a used copy for under $60. Also like, you do not need the DLC, it's pretty much all just extra stuff that you don't need to complete the game, and the DLC characters and story (while also super fun and cool), aren't needed for the main game's story, like, they don't add any extra context to things or augment existing plot points or anything, so I'd say don't bother w/ the DLC unless you're really interested in it, which should save you a bit of money as well.

At the end of the day, the choice is up to you of course--but I personally loved Engage a whole lot, and most dedicated fans I know also loved it. There might be a free demo you can download too, if you wanna just test it out first. But you do what you wanna do!

60+20$ DLC is where i got the price tag.

That said, I've heard similar criticisms of being more shallow levied against 3 Houses and Fates and Sacred Stones so I'm guessing its just people waxing nostalgia here and there.

But yeah, this has been without competition the most complete account in either direction I've heard of the game. I was too distracted by the myriad bells and whistles to even see that there was a demo, so I think I'll give that a shot. Thanks!

[gravexheart]

most   times,   a   ghost   is   a   wish. — the  last  memories  of  lorelai  carnevale,  already  deceased. 

momma always said you’d end up in a grave, perry.

buried face down, left unmarked. it’s that damned ambition of yours which will put you six feet under. you always wanted. hungered. the hunger always waxed and waned but the source of it never ran out because the source of it was always you.

and you wanted, above all else, to make a goddamn name for yourself.

momma said you belonged to the silver screen, too.

i know she practically crooned this old tune since you were in the cradle, ran her red fingernails down the side of your face and idolized you with a whisper, “that’s a face that should be in the big pictures.” she was a woman of many words and lofty dreams herself, envisioned herself as an actress but ended up becoming a nurse. in between her own dances with death, she’d go to the old disco bar down the street and weave between the smoke and shadows, elegantly but always smelling of iodine.

she wanted none of that for you. instead she deemed you prospero carnevale, prospero for a firstborn son who would prosper and reach the heights of stardom she never did.

in a way, it was her ambition you took up.

and in a way, it was her ambition that killed you, too.

but a person’s choices are their own, no matter the circumstances. i believe that, perry. and i believe you fucked up. the path to the stars was clear for you, paved out seamlessly in cobble and polished stone, but you had to go and get damn greedy, didn’t cha’? had to go look for a bloody shortcut.

i told you that we never should have messed with him. the day you and the man in the trench-coat crossed paths was a test of faith and you failed god’s test. i knew he was not from this world. his eyes held none of the human spark, and his smile always teemed too full of, well, now i know it to be malice. he was the devil and you let him into our home, for what? to upstage your rivals? to win a stupid gold trophy?

perry, you goddamn fool.

but i’m the bigger fool for being your accomplice, for letting you go through with it. i should have read the terms and conditions, should have foreseen the price that the monster would ask for his dark favor. i also took the monster’s hand in mine, oblivious to the blood glistening across it until our fates were sealed. or at least, until mine was. i should have protected you better.

i should have been a better sister.

born a few years younger, different fathers, but i have always been taking care of you, so what’s one last act of care, then? you look so serene like this, eyes closed and a halo of dark hair splayed out around your head. but death has made an effigy out of you. it loves you, clearly, but you love life more.

so take your second chance. do something goddamn worthwhile with it. etch your name in the stars, make them know what we carnevale’s are made out of. i’ll cheer you on from the dark spaces between.

wake up, perry.

wake up.

[fordcrownvictoria]

Album Review: Winter in the Belly of a Snake | 25th Anniversay Edition by Venetian Snares

When Winter in the Belly of a Snake by Venetian Snares was quietly released in 2000, few anticipated the ripple effect it would leave on the ambient-noise underground. The album, elusive in both distribution and tone, became a cult classic almost overnight—though "overnight" in the slow-burning world of experimental music meant several years of whispered reverence on forums, cassette trades, and dimly lit art collectives. Now, 25 years later, its reemergence—still scarce, still shadowy, and now priced at nearly $200 on collector markets—feels less like a reissue and more like an archaeological event.

From the first few seconds of the opener, “Solstice Meridian,” listeners are dropped into a sonic environment that feels glacial, yet pregnant with quiet violence—like walking across a frozen lake and hearing cracks deep below. Venetian Snares doesn't compose songs in the traditional sense; instead, they construct ecosystems, often centered around droning analog textures, granular synthesis, and fragments of tape-decayed field recordings. The 25th anniversary edition doesn’t try to remaster the original grit out of the album—a wise decision. The hiss remains. The tape warble remains. What’s added, subtly, is spatial fidelity: a deeper dynamic range that lets you feel the distance between sounds. On “Feral Light Through Frozen Glass,” what once sounded like a haunted tape loop now emerges like a memory flickering behind layers of ice and time. The bonus track, “Kharma Reflux (Uncut),” is 17 minutes of pure dread and beauty, showcasing how ahead of its time Venetian Shades truly was.

Emotionally, the album still carries the weight of its title. Winter in the Belly of a Snake is about discomfort, containment, and transformation. The metaphor is grotesque and intimate: winter not as a season, but as a hibernating stasis inside something ancient and cold. Even a quarter-century later, it evokes the same haunted inwardness—perfect for sleepless nights and post-apocalyptic dawns.

That brings us to the price: $200, if you can find it. This isn’t just about scarcity, though the original pressing was limited to 117 numbered copies, hand-assembled by the artist with wax-sealed envelopes and burned onto black polycarbonate CD-Rs. It’s about myth. Venetian Snares never toured, never gave interviews, and seemed to vanish not long after this release. The album isn’t just music—it’s an artifact of a vanished world, one before Bandcamp, before algorithmic recommendation. Every listen feels like a séance.

Is it worth $200? That depends. If you're a collector of esoteric ambient, then yes—it’s a Rosetta Stone. If you're a casual listener curious about "weird noise stuff," you're better off streaming the bootleg rips on YouTube (assuming they stay up). But for those who’ve lived with this album—who’ve grown alongside its frigid introspection—the price isn’t for the music alone. It’s for the time capsule. It’s for the ritual.

Rating: 9.5/10 — An icy masterpiece that feels more alive 25 years later than ever before.