#bottle filling line solution

[nichromepackaging]

Eco-Friendly Agrochemical Packaging: How India’s Manufacturers Can Stay Ahead of Global Sustainability Trends

The rising agricultural demand and growing awareness of modern farming practices have led to the flourishing of the Indian agrochemical sector and increased export opportunities. However, this growth has come at a time when environmental sustainability is under strict global scrutiny. As agrochemical usage increases, so does the volume of packaging waste, prompting regulatory bodies and environmentally conscious consumers to challenge traditional packaging materials.

[nichromeafricapackagingmachine]

Dairy Product Packaging Machine

Reliable, low-maintenance multitrack machines for milk powder in small SKUs; bottle filling lines, tin filling lines and cup filling lines for yogurt & dairy products, and fast milk pouch packaging machines. Indias pioneering milk pouch packing machine manufacturer, Nichrome offers a gamut of dairy packaging solutions, including complete mini-dairy plants

[martinadola]

Soft Drink Plant Manufacturer

What services does Waterman Engineers Australia offer for soft drink manufacturing plants? Waterman Engineers Australia offers many solutions designed to meet specific needs of beverage bottling plants, including standard plant layout design, water treatment facilities, mixing, and blending plant, carbonation facility, as well as automated filling and packaging lines together with sustainability initiatives. Besides, it provides turnkey solutions that ensure efficient, compliant, and sustainable overall production process. For details visit: https://watermanaustralia.com/soft-drink-manufacturing-plant/

[orphicsun]

nightwish; e.w

content: sleep-deprived reader + dealer ellie, mentions of weed and technically drug dealing, friends w/ benefits in development, make-out session with masturbation (r!), teasing, cheesy dirty talk (this is cannon ellie i fear), fingering (r! receiving), kinda sleepy sex.

The nights in which you cannot fall asleep have always been the worst. Your childhood was spent likewise, tossing in your bed and reading with droopy eyes, trying to will yourself to slumber. Your adulthood was filled with melatonin gummies and the eventual walk to your closet for the hitachi wand in hopes that would put you to bed.

Before you met Ellie, it was endless hours of staring up at the ceiling. You would try every possible sleep position online articles could offer, stare up at the ceiling and count sheep, and doomscroll until you had to wake up for your job early in the morning. You gave up on sleep a lot.

Ellie didn't start out as a the most conventional solution, anyways. You had found yourself reaching out to her for the strands of weed that would calm your nerves rather than bring you into that giggles-and-munchies state of mind. Ellie seemed to be awake on her own accord, so it became less of a shock every time she agreed to meet up with you in an empty Wendy's parking lot, agreeing to meet up and sell to you.

But Ellie being your dealer was only because she was a friend of a friend. The dealings started out brief. She would hand you the bag, and you would give her the money.

Then, one suggestion turned into a smoke session, and one smoke session turned into four. And from there, the fix to your long-term sleeping issues became more and more out of standard. The bottle of melatonin grew dusty on your shelf the more Ellie came over.

And eventually, Ellie and you liked to joke that you were cuddle buddies. You let her lay behind you and rub her hands over your side, giving a kiss to the back of your neck that could be passed off as a 'friendship kiss.' (Who were you kidding?) It helped you sleep to feel safe in Ellie's arms.

But that was the last piece of innocence in the dynamic you and Ellie had. Because what started as another way to help you sleep turned into something you don't plan on telling even your closest friends.

Ellie has you sat across her lap, your own hand shoved down into your pajama pants. You rub your clit at a desperate pace as she shoves her tongue into your mouth for you to suck on.

You didn't plan on masturbating on your dealer's lap, but one joking suggestion that "an orgasm would wear you out" was taken too seriously.

You moan as Ellie's tongue licks the inside of your mouth, your lips molded together and hot against each other's. Ellie doesn't make a move to touch you, either. It drives you crazy. You want to ask her to fuck you herself, but you can already hear the teasing in her voice. It plays in your head over and over again every time you contemplate guiding her hand to your cunt.

"What, you can't get yourself off? Do I have to do everything for you?"

It wouldn't be said in a way that meant anything mean or truly insulting. You can imagine the way the words would be low and teasing, a smile on her face. You know if you asked, she'd easily retrieve the harness and toy from your closet you bought months ago. You know the teasing would be worth it. Still, you sit with your ass pressed against her thighs, feeling your own two fingers rub circles onto your clit and not Ellie's.

Part of it is the aspect of teasing. Ellie is well aware that you are past the dealer and customer line. Fuck, you're past the friendship line. You wrap your lips around her tongue and let her grope your tits so willingly. Ellie isn't a player at all, and yet playing the game of 'who will be the first to take the next step' is enticing. Neither of you want to break first.

Ellie pulls away from your mouth to catch her breath, and her hand leaves your waist to spread over one of your tits, squeezing to hear the way your breath hitches. She can see the way your movements speed up the more she works you. She adds the pressure by leaving sloppy, wet kisses all over your rapidly-beating pulse. She knows it's only a matter of time before you ask for her touch, for what both of you want.

But you don't. At first, Ellie thinks you got really into the moment, but your hand leaves your pants soaked and your breathing slows, she realizes you didn't ask for it at all. You took care of yourself.

And without even realizing or caring, Ellie breaks.

"You already came?" She asks you, voice still breathless but obvious confusion laced within her tone. There is a slight whine you can't really make out.

"Yeah? You suggested it, and I think it worked. I'm honestly pretty worn out." You lie. You still want her. You will let her give you another if she asks..

"Are you sure?"

"What are you suggesting, Ellie?"

She scoffs, but the sound is more amused than anything. "I'm just saying, you don't seem that sleepy. I think you didn't do a very good job."

"Excuse me?" You laugh. "That isn't answering my question, you know."

"I know you aren't stupid, even when you've smoked one of my joints." Ellie teases. "I'm suggesting.." her hands cup your face so she can speak into your ear. "You let me take care of you."

"Oh?"

Ellie grins. "Yeah. You'll be snoring by the time I'm done with you."

You laugh, but your heart-rate speeds up once again as you feel Ellie's hand trailing down your body and slipping into your pants.

"I don't think that's sexy, El."

"Oh, trust me. It is. You'll be so turned, you'll complete the entire REM cycle."

You snort and playfully smack her shoulder. "You better not keep me waiting, then. I have work in the morning, and I need some sleep."

You feel Ellie's fingers feel up the soaked patch on your panties, teasing your already-dripping hole through the fabric.

"Then trust me..I'll take care of you, okay?"

You nod, and Ellie smiles softly. You pull her in for a kiss again, this time the action being more soft and sweet. Ellie tugs at the lacy edge of your panties as if making sure you want her. You push back into her touch, and you’re rewarded with the feeling of Ellie finally pulling your panties to the side and teasing your dripping slit with her finger.

“Mmphh..” you moan into the kiss, and Ellie pulls away to mark up your neck. You open up for her so easily—spreading your legs to accommodate for her hand and tilting your neck back for more of her mouth’s attack on your sensitive skin.

“Shh, I’ve got you. Can you relax for me?” Ellie mumbles out her question into your neck.

“I’ll try.”

“Good.” She smiles and brushes over your clit, rubbing back and forth on the swollen bud. You’re still a bit sensitive from your last orgasm, so Ellie doesn’t abuse the action too much. Any other time sure, but she remembers that this is about getting you relaxed and sleepy.

“Can you handle two fingers?”

“Please..”

You feel two, slightly calloused fingers prod at your entrance. You’d usually tense up or jolt, but Ellie leaves soft, comforting kisses on your neck. Her free hand settles around your hip and you feel relaxed.

Ellie takes the opportunity to slide her digits into your cunt, and immediately groans at the feeling of your walls clenching around her, drawing her deeper inside.

You instinctively move your hips back and forth in her lap, and you keep chasing the feeling she gives you. Ellie easily fills every bit of you that you crave to feel her. She works you open and continues to coo soft praises in your ear, encouraging your movements.

"There you go, babe. Just like that." She praises.

You melt into her the more she pleases you, and you rest your head on her shoulder and leave soft kisses on her neck. When your body is all relaxed and open to everything she can give you, she begins to pump her fingers in and out of your wetness until you clutch her hand and beg for more.

Ellie was already hitting every sensitive spot inside of you, but begins to tend to your most sensitive when her fingertips curl to seek out your sweet spot and caress into it. Her pace quickens in time with your desperation. Each squeeze on her wrist rewards you.

When you finally cum, Ellie eases you through the ride, drawing out each last drop of pleasure from you until your desperation is satiated. You're left a sticky, half-awake mess in her lap when your heart-rate is slowed and you've recovered from the orgasm. Her hand leaves your panties and she gives you a kiss on the cheek.

You'll sleep well tonight for the first time in weeks.

taglist: @witzs, @bewareofmyglock, @ruelezz, @mitskimisfit, @g4ys0n, @eriiwaii, @meow4510, @plasticl0v3r, @frillynpinkprincess want to be added to my taglist? click here

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐎𝐑 .

# with trafalgar law.

your captain was nothing if not thorough — and as talented doctor, he offered quite a luscious method to help with your cramps.

⎰ & KINKTOBER. smut (mdni!). period sex. bloodplay. fingering (reader!receiving). blood!tasting (menstrual blood, yes). afab!reader. no y/n used.

WC: 2.3k.

trafalgar law was a doctor — sadistic, yes; self-taught, of course; but one regardless. his mind was attuned to his crew’s health properties, from allergies, to those who had a lower immunity system; from the divergent blood types to medical-related phobias. bepo hated oral medicine with overly sweet tastes; jean bart, although sizable, could not stand needles. and you had a set of quite awful cramps, enough to leave you bedridden until the week’s ending. it was, without an ounce of doubt, your most prominent issue — the one who bought him the greater worry. it left him wary enough then, yet said coddling had a gradual increase once he engaged in a relationship with you.

law had the interval of your period scheduled; committed to memory. pain medicines were reserved with the purpose of aiding you; thermal bags were both heated and freezed beforehand. he researched herbs with soothing properties and went as far — a proof of his love, he would add — as inquiring the straw-hats’ cook on teas that could, somehow, offer some respite. law had tried on a dozen sets of solutions, which one to no avail, for your ache lingered regardless of the chosen method. it left him with an ever-present bitter taste at the tip of his tongue, as the man was unused to said hopelessness, all but forced to sit back and witness your pain without a decent manner with which to soothe it.

you were not present for breakfast that morning, whereas bepo had a sheet with your shifts and duties, dividing them with shachi. for your pain was too sharp, you were granted a week-worth of rest, unallowed to lift a weight heavier than a plume. ikkaku had then entered the shared kitchen, holding an emptied cup — whose previous contents he presumed to be water — and discarding a plastic, pill bottle of a potent medicine he had prepared, a week prior. ikkaku informed him that you were resting — a bit nauseous, as expected, yet nothing quite worrisome — and though the woman had not read underneath the lines of what you stated, law understood it well enough. you were discarding his lingering aid, willing to withstand the cramps without him, for law grew twice as frustrated every month, and you had noted.

he left the kitchen right thereafter, his mood souring. it was ridiculous; unfathomable. law was a doctor — a surgeon — who had healed life-threatening diseases and wounds, yet failed to soothe the merest cramps; to offer comfort to the one he loved the most. he clicked his tongue, rummaging through the books in his office, convinced that he was but missing something, prideful enough to refuse the perspective of succumbing to a thing such as morphine.

nerves. brain chemicals. it should not have taken him that long to figure that out, but it did — and he was fuming. orgasms increased the blood flow; released endorphins; decreased the levels of cortisol. how could have he forgotten that? law clicked his tongue regardless, filled with clear annoyance at himself as he strived for your shared bedroom with ikkaku, delighted, at last, at the fact neither of you would be bothered, for the crew, too, was well-aware of the intensity of your pain.

he knocked — once, twice. not an answer was received, yet law entered regardless, eyes getting used to the overall darkness of the room, granting him the sight of your figure underneath the bed sheets. he approached you, placing a hand on your forehead; relieved to know you were far from feverish. your knees were pressed to your chest, and he could see slight eye-bags, pointing to a clear lack of sleep due to the pain. you were dozing off, unaware of your surroundings, set for a nap. he felt a pang of guilt as his arms removed you from your solace, holding you bridal-style, the activation of his powers leading you both to his own bedroom.

“law?” you inquired, nuzzling closer, a bit confused at the sudden shift. your voice was rough — pained —, and he caught himself filled with the urge to protect you, yet again.

“did i wake you?” he murmured, landing you on the mattress with certain tenderness.

“no,” you lied, ever more comfortable at the press of the sheets under your sore body.

law hummed, not believing a thing, yet not willing to pester you either. instead, he placed a set of pillows under your hips, caressing your cheek with calculated gentleness.

“i figured something that might help,” law whispered, allowing his hand to travel down your neck.

“i took some pills a while ago,” you meekly pointed out, sighing in relief as his fingers brushed against your collarbone. “and that infusion you made me drink tasted like shit. no offense.”

“none taken,” he reassured, licking his lips as his eyes swallowed the sight of you. “it’s a more pleasant one, if you’re willing.”

you stared at him through a half-opened eye, intrigued despite the context. you wore a thin, silken nightgown, the straps slipping past your shoulders, not much left for the imagination. it gave him a glimpse of your curves; your breasts; the underline of your underwear. law spared a mere glance at his sheets, deciding the incessant brushing of the blood stains right thereafter would be far worth it, so long as he could claim you. his hand hovered over your covered intimacy, applying a natural pressure, however neither forceful nor demanding.

“if you’re willing”, law repeated, and you licked your lips, wincing ever-so-slightly at a sudden, sharp pang. he could see the mental effort required for the production of words, soothing your unspoken worries with a caress of his thumb. law was a doctor; blood did not phase him, rather brought forward certain excitement. he all but wished for you to understand that. “i’m willing.”

“are you sure?” you croaked out, pain so sharp you could barely keep your eyes open.

“let me take care of you,” he pleaded, with half the mind to be ashamed of the desperation in his own tone.

you offered him a curt nod of agreement; limp frame conceding to his guiding touch. law raised the nightgown past your arms, throwing it somewhere in the room. with his knees sunk on the mattress, frame towering over your laid one, he began removing your underwear, shuddering with anticipation at the sight of blood staining your pad. he hummed, regretting the eagerness that led to a lack of proper preparation, for he had neither towels nor medical gloves to contain the flow of your period. yet, his mind could not help but point out a singular thought — did he care enough about the mess to be bothered, when you were in such dire need for relief? indeed, he didn’t.

with particular attention, he discarded the underwear and panties on the ground, allowing your hips to be supported by the pillows, without a single preoccupation regarding the possible blood stains. instead, lithe fingers trailed down towards your intimacy, a pair traveling through your folds; testing the waters. law leaned forward in order to have a proper glimpse of your expressions, yet failing not to have his eyes wander to your hardening nipples. he hummed, index meeting your clit as he drew circular, slow movements on it.

the texture of menstrual blood did not seem so far off that of your pre-cum. perhaps thicker, a bit warmer, with the biggest divergence being the color; nothing else. as a digit busied itself with your swollen bud, law teased your entrance with his pinky, grunting as a clot of blood brushed against the touch.

“talk to me, baby,” he rasped out, eyes tethered to your face as his thumb increased the pace of its ministrations on your clit.

you breathed out meekly, fingers gripping the sheets, nose scrunched as you grew accustomed to the stimulation. the blood made the sliding of his thumb faster; erratic. the lascivious sound of your aroused cunt filling the room. law felt his mouth grow dry at the sight, diving into one of your breasts, swirling, warm tongue on the hardened nipple being the solution he found in order not to lap at your blood instead. your back arched, a drawn-out mewl escaping past your opened lips as he ceased the teasing of your clit, wrist angled in a way that had his index and middle finger sliding inside your entrance with extreme ease.

“faster,” you pleaded, a bit of strength returning to your voice.

law thrusted his fingers, knuckle deep, attempting to reach the deepest inches of your walls. the natural shade of his skin returned mingled with red, the tattooed E and A but a mere memory of black underneath the crimson curtain. it was stickier than the river-stream texture of one’s blood, a stubborn line connecting the middle of his fingers, breaking apart only when they were shoved inside yet again, scissoring your walls with regained fervor. he spared a glance towards your growing blissful expression, grunting at the flutter of ideas that wrapped themselves around his mind, failing to ignore the possibilities as his own blood flushed to his hardening cock.

it smeared the fabric of the pillowcase and trailed down his palm, and law spared a brief ounce of attention to the other, neglected breast, using his free fingers to pinch at your nipple before his lips detached themselves from your chest with a single ‘pop’. he adored your tits — really, could not phantom a week without his mouth sucking bruises on it — but on that particular moment, law wanted to observe the in-and-out of his fingers inside your cunt, to commit the blood-coated digits to memory. the tip of his index abused your g-spot and he all but licked his lips, starved for a taste.

your moans were but an angel’s choir, and law had to fight the urge to let a pathetic whimper of his own escape past his lips, for he was, at last, helping you; being the one to demolish the source of your pain. yet, despite his own previous delay, he could not help but to be a little egotistical, lust clouding his scarce selflessness.

“is it better?” he questioned, and you nodded meekly, eyes dazed; pupils blown.

“y-yes,” you stuttered. “don’t stop, please.”

and though his legs began to ache and his cock ached amidst the coffins of his underwear and jeans, law increased the tempo of his thrusts, adding a third finger at the assurance that your walls were parted enough. you bit the back of your hand, swiftly muffling a shout. law groaned, using the thumb of his other hand to draw circles on your clit, marveling at the speed with which blood invaded the inside of his nail; smeared the poor digit.

“i’m close, baby,” you warned, without a need per say, for he noted the approach of your orgasm through the manner with which you clenched around him; impossibly tighter.

“let go for me,” he encouraged, retreating his fingers to the point of his nails before thrusting them yet again, knuckles bloodied; palm sticky.

your entire figure trembled, legs desperate; back jumping from the mattress. his glance was enraptured by the sight of your cum, white mingled with red, an ever-crescent battle whose stage was the pillow underneath, growing wet and dark at the onslaught of your essences. law removed his fingers, raising them to the light, obsessed with the strings intertwined around them; the state of his nails; the memories of parted clots staining the digits. he was but hypnotized, ignoring the confused calling of his name, the ever-so-grateful words you poured into his ears. instead, law began to drag his bloodied fingers on the flesh of your bare stomach, pupils blown with lust as the shade of you, too, grew smeared.

law wiped his fingers clean, and was swift to insert two of them inside your sensitive entrance. your body the canvas, whereas your cunt was the pallet, sheltering the red dye that would grant him the creation of a masterpiece — one he strived to ruin, for law was far from an accomplished, patient painter. he continued with the drag of his fingers on your flesh, from your ribs to your hip-bones; from your breasts to the spot under your navel. at every brief thrust of his fingers, teasing of your folds, you sucked in a harsh breath, your entire body reacting to the somewhat overstimulation.

when law could not hold himself back any longer — the famished beast gnawing underneath his ribcage — he dived in, tongue wiping the mess he had made. law left long stripes of saliva in its wake at every lick, his mouth sucking newer bruises on certain inches of flesh. the taste was not as metallic as he had expected, not as strong, either. it had a lingering bit of salt amidst the iron, for it was mingled with your cum, and both made for a thicker, stretchier combination on his tongue, an unique texture he had never tasted before. law spared particular attention to your breasts, hungrily lapping at it; collecting every last drop of lingering blood.

he distracted you from the fact that his pants and underwear had slid off from their previous position; that his leaking cock had slapped his stomach before he guided the tip to your abused entrance. when law pushed an inch inside, your eyes widened, hands wrapping around his neck out of instinct.

“can i?” he inquired, pressing his palms against the mattress, one at each side of your head.

“yes,” you breathed out. “please, baby.”

law was careful, a languid shove of his hips stretching your walls until he bottomed out, grunting with his eyes closed. he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, breathing into your mouth as he began to move — thrusts with a wild tempo, the incessant chase for his own orgasm. a crown of blood wrapped itself around his tip, his entire girth a shade of bright red; pale pink. law hid his face in the crook of your neck, moaning as your hands slipped under this shirt, nails dragging on the bare skin of his back.

he brushed against your g-spot; thrusted himself deep enough to challenge your cervix. you moaned, pain long-forgotten as his tip all but drooled inside your walls, spreading them open without an ounce of mercy. law’s knees buckled; you began to squeeze his girth as though a ruthless, famished beast, so tight he would not be able to slide as freely, was it not for the present blood.

“cum for me again,” law encouraged, meeting your glance, his voice raw and desperate. “let me—ngh—take your pain, baby. c’mon.”

you whimpered, a broken, mute moan preceding the second tide of your orgasm after a particular harsh set of his thrusts. your expression, contorted in pleasure, had him removing his cock swiftly, pumping it twice before shooting his load on your stomach, mouth agape at the blood that surrounded his shaft; stained his palm. law struggled to collect his breath, shifting in order to sit on the mattress and offer his knees a well-deserved rest, one of his hands meeting your own as he intertwined your fingers together.

after prolonged, tired minutes spent in comfort within the walls of a bedroom that reeked of sex, sweat and blood, your voice echoed.

“i liked this method,” you whispered, and he angled his head to get a glimpse of your face.

“yeah, me too.”

— 🐈‍⬛ : damn this writer’s block got hands!!!! jokes aside, i love freaky law!!!! send more freaky law requests i’m going to get thru this writer’s block 👏 by writing more 👏.

[kitten4sannie]

blood pact

pairing: vampire! wooyoung x human! reader (fem)

genre: vampire society au, a lil bit of angst, smut

summary: living in a city overrun by bloodsuckers is already hard enough on its own, but you’re really put to the test when one of them ends up being your only hope in the face of danger.

w.c: 4.3k

warnings: blood/injury, depictions of violence, death(s)? of a few vampires, hard-ish dom (slight tamer)! wooyoung, subby (tiny bit bratty)! reader, these mfs are nasty alr, some light brat taming, one or two little slaps, praise/degradation, pet names/name calling, blood kink obv <3 (includes blood drinking/sharing), kissing, oral (giving), throat fucking, brief breath play, pain kink, mutual masturbation, lotus position but it’s rough !!, creampie

a/n: oh mannn i’m a bit late again 😣 but im excited to share this one with you all !! i wanted to thank my dear lily for beta reading this one for me and giving me lovely feedback that helps me grow as a writer, it truly means the world to me my dear 🩷 once again i do apologize if this fic seems disjointed in any way ,, things have been a bit weird but i won’t let life stop me from sharing nasty smut >:((( lol i hope you enjoy and please lemme know what you thought <33

song rec: dirt - depeche mode (we’re taking it wayyy back with this one <3)

fictober 2024

You were never able to pinpoint exactly when humanity went to shit, as it had always been in a state of constant conflict and disarray, but somewhere along the way, it turned into a raging dumpster fire — one that was close to impossible to put out once it was lit. Unbeknownst to humans, there was a society of vampires that lived in the shadows for centuries, waiting patiently until it was the perfect time to make their existence known and feared. What better time to take over the world than when the humans were too busy being at each other’s throats to even realize they had a common enemy, one that would drain them of their life source within a blink of an eye? 

Anyone with a pulse had no choice but to fall in line and succumb to their undead overlords, having to make up their mind about whether they would like to join forces with the enemy by desecrating their DNA and joining those that single-handedly brought upon humanity’s destruction, or grovel at their feet and become a slave, a house pet of sorts whose soul purpose was to feed and entertain their blood-sucking masters.

It was not an easy choice for most, and especially for you, so you simply found another solution — blend in. If you embodied everything a vampire was, even down to their immeasurable sense of pride and entitlement, how could they tell you apart from the others? And when they saw through your ruse, you would drive a stake through their still heart. You would never join their empire, let alone be one of their toys, especially not for some pompous undead prick that would treat you like a glorified juice box. 

Yet, here you were, drunk off your ass at a gothic nightclub that welcomed vampiric guests and shunned anyone with a beating heart, unless they were owned and branded. 

“Gimme another whiskey, neat,” you slurred, holding your empty shot glass to the poor excuse of a human bartender standing on the other side of the bar. You scoffed at the jeweled collar he wore around his neck, knowing he was owned by whatever undead asshole that ran the nightclub. You had your own collar, of course, but you had taken it from someone that was…no longer in need of it. You did what you had to, to make it through another night in the corrupted world you regretfully called your home. 

“I should cut you off, y’know, especially after being such a dick to me all night,” the man mumbled, despite reaching underneath the bar to grab an almost empty bottle of whiskey and filling your glass back up, not wanting to risk angering his superiors. 

“But, you won’t. Your vampiric asshole of a boss wouldn’t like that you’re denying a paying customer.” You stuck your tongue out at the man, much to his dismay. You sipped on the whiskey, liking the way it burned as it went down your throat, grateful that you could still feel something, even if it was a drunkenness that would most likely do irreversible damage to your liver. It’s not like your life really mattered, not in this timeline, at least. 

You lazily held your glass up in his direction, blowing a few strands of loose hair out of your eyes. The man simply held up the empty bottle and gave you a tight smile. “All out. Now, would you pay your tab?” 

“Fineeee, oh my god,” you groaned dramatically, standing up from the barstool and wobbling a bit, fishing for your wallet somewhere inside your worn trench coat. When you opened it up, you came upon the discovery that it was completely empty, looking up to find fear inside the bartender’s eyes. “L-listen, I can replace that bottle, okay? I-I’ll…just need to stop by the local temp agency first.” 

“I think you should leave, before they catch wind of this…” the bartender warned you under his breath, unconsciously tugging at his collar. 

Swallowing harshly, you glanced around the crowded, dingy club past the collar of your coat, before stumbling your way past many vampire patrons that were drunk off the blood of their human pets who stayed close to them, wishing your blurry surroundings weren’t moving in slow motion. Paranoid that somebody was following you, you looked past your shoulder, only seeing the same crowd of drunken patrons. Temporarily relieved, you swiftly faced forward again, only to accidentally bump into someone face-first, your teeth clinking into the metal of their lip ring, your hands almost getting caught in the many necklaces they were wearing. “I’m so sorry, oh my god, please don’t kill me,” you automatically apologized, already knowing they weren’t human based on the lack of a collar and color in their cheeks. 

“If I wanted to, I would,” Wooyoung teased in his own special way, quite aware of the way your heart rate spiked as soon as his light, airy words reached your ears. He enjoyed playing around with his food as much as the next vampire, but lately, it’s grown quite dull, like everything else in his never-ending life.

“O-oh!” you squeaked, letting out a nervous laugh, sticking one hand into your coat pocket to wrap your fingers around the sharp stake you carried with you everywhere. 

He brought one manicured finger up to tap against the jewel sitting snugly against your collared neck, leaning in to press his lips against the slope of your ear. “I’d take you right here in front of everyone, drink you dry. Let them all enjoy the pretty sounds you’d make. Does that sound fun?” 

“Oh, you can try it, if you want,” you goaded him, looking up at him with your big doe eyes once he pulled back, wondering if he knew just how unhinged you were, just how on the edge you really were. “But, what happens if I’m poisonous? I might not be worth the stomachache.” 

Wooyoung chuckled to himself, not used to any human acting so boldly towards him. “Fair point, human.” 

“Y/N,” you corrected him, letting go of you weapon in favor of wrapping your finger around one of his silver necklaces, teasing him back in your own way. “You should at least know my name if you’re going to drink from me.” 

Wooyoung mused at your actions, studying you with his sly fox eyes, licking at the mole on his lip. He would’ve pursed you if you hadn’t suddenly gotten spooked by something, turning his head to watch you continue making your way out of the club, noticing that the owner quickly followed after you. Things were certainly getting interesting. 

By the time you inhaled the cold night air into your lungs, you had already broke out into a sweat. You let your heavy coat hang off past your shoulders and leaned back against a nearby wall, regretting all the alcohol you had subjected your poor body into taking. “Fuck me…” you groaned, shutting your eyes and leaning your head back into the cool concrete behind you, hoping that would make the world stop spinning. 

“Is that an invitation…?” asked the very vampire you had been talking shit about to the bartender just a few minutes earlier. “It’s the least you could offer me in exchange for all the whiskey you drank in my club, filthy human.” 

Your blood ran cold. “D-don’t you even think about touching me…You aren’t my owner.” 

“Oh, because of this little collar you have on? You really don’t have a clue about our kind, do you? There’s no pheromones on you, just your own filthy human scent,” the vampire chided, running his finger along the worn band of your lace collar. It made your skin crawl. You struggled to keep down all the alcohol you had drowned yourself in. Just then, he ripped it from your neck and replaced it with his slender fingers, squeezing around it until your vision grew just that more blurry. “But, don’t worry, I’ll make up for all the lost time that you haven’t been used like a proper toy.” 

Blinding rage joined the revulsion you felt for the individual that continued to toy with you as though you were a defenseless child, the culmination of it churning around inside your body like molten hot lava ready to pour out of you. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” you barked, shoving your hands into his shoulders as hard as you could, your feverish anger growing that much more when he hardly moved. 

In response, the vampire tugged your coat down and ripped open your top, causing the buttons to fly off. His abhorrent words became nothing more than radio static inside your ringing ears, once you saw red, clutching the wooden stake inside your pocket so tightly that it pierced your fragile skin. You reeled your arm back and drove it straight into the owner’s side, so violently that the wood split into shards, not letting go of it until you knew that it was lodged deeply inside him, wishing, hoping he felt even a fragment of the pain his kind had caused you. “Die,” you muttered, searching his eyes for some sign of shock, regret, grief, anything. 

Confusion overtook your flushed features when the man simply laughed directly in your face, as though he were savoring a joke that you weren’t in on, suddenly feeling a white hot burning pain inside your abdomen. Something was wrong, deeply wrong. You tried to speak, but you couldn’t, not while you were gurgling on your own blood. You looked down to see the hilt of a dagger sticking out of your stomach, reality hitting you like a ton of bricks, rendering it impossible to draw in air. 

“It never ceases to amuse me when a blood bag thinks they can stop someone like me with something as silly as a wooden stake,” he began, letting out a small hum, as he drove his ritual dagger in as far as it could go. He leaned in close to you, twisting the knife around inside you just to hear the delightful sounds of agony that escaped your red tinted lips. “I’ve been alive longer than your entire bloodline, pathetic human, and I’ll be outliving you tonight.” And with that, the club owner ripped the dagger back out and strolled back into the building, licking the crimson that still ran down the sides of his blade. 

You should’ve known this would happen eventually in a world like this. You had no power from the very start. Why had you been blind to the truth until this very moment, when all you could see was your precious blood leaving your body? Regardless, it was far too late to ruminate over trivial things. Death’s gentle whispers were lulling you to sleep, its sweet promises of rest numbing out most of the visceral emotions that coursed through your veins. Slumping against the wall, you held your middle with trembling hands, gazing up at the full moon that loomed over you, wanting to enjoy her beauty one last time — at least, until someone blocked your view. 

“For fuck’s sake, can’t you see I’m dying here? Let me look at the moon in peace…” you murmured, weakly glaring up at the stranger you had met inside that godforsaken club only a couple minutes ago.

“You still got some fire in you, doncha, sweetheart?” Wooyoung mused, crouching down so you were at eye level, reaching out to gently ruffle your hair. “But, you’ll die of blood loss soon…pity.”

“You’re very observant,” you replied snarkily, leaning your head back into the wall, your vision growing darker by the second. You let out a long, defeated sigh, choking a bit on the blood left inside your raw throat. “Are you just here to watch me die? If that’s the case, can you do me a favor and make it quick?” 

“You didn’t seem like the type to give up so easily.” He leaned in close to you, his crimson eyes shining that much brighter when he asked, “Don’t you want revenge?” 

His question echoed inside your mind, once as a whisper, and eventually as a desperate plea. “And what if I do…? It’s not like I can do much now…”

“Let me turn you.” He bared his fangs. “You’ll live, and you’ll be so much stronger than ever before.” He watched as your eyes widened, then returned to normal, figuring you were weighing your options, though they were vastly limited. “You’ll be free to take his life away, do with it as you please, just like he was going to do to you. Doesn’t that sound delicious?” 

A few drops of blood dribbled down the side of your mouth. The sand in your hourglass was about to run out. “What do you get in return?” 

Wooyoung’s lips curled up into a sadistic smile, his eyes resembling glowing crescent moons. “I’ll be your Master, of course. It’s only fair, being your savior, and all.” 

Though that was the very last thing you wanted, you were far too stubborn to die out in such a pathetic fashion. Not only that, but you were being offered the deal of a lifetime, at the end of your lifetime, to be exact, and in exchange for your mortal soul, you could enact sweet, sweet revenge and have a new tale to tell, one that no man or monster could ever take from you. 

“Speak now, or forever hold your peace,” Wooyoung joked slyly, tapping the invisible watch on his wrist. 

“Alright, deal, but make it quick–” you were barely able to enunciate, before Wooyoung was all over you, one hand holding the side of your head, while the other felt where your artery was, immediately sinking his fangs deep into your neck to start the transformation process. 

When you came to, you looked up at your savior, your eyes as red as the blood he had sucked out of you, all of the immense pain that plagued your body gone as quickly as it came, instead replaced by an indescribable thirst. 

“How do you feel, pet?” Wooyoung asked, licking remnants of your life source from his manicured fingers. 

You bared your new, needle sharp fangs to your Master. “Hungry.” 

He smiled at you like a proud father would. “I think I know how we can fix that.” 

-

The last thing the vampiric club owner expected to see when he was sitting inside the comfort of his secluded office was the human woman he had just murdered out of cold blood stomping up to his desk and tossing it out of the way like it wasn’t made of marble. 

“H-hey, we can talk about this, right?” he asked nervously, holding his hands up, along with the stacks of cash that were in between his grubby fingers. “You want money? You can have it!” 

You grabbed him by the collar, yanking him towards you so violently, he just about broke his neck. “I don’t want money. I want your life.” 

When Wooyoung casually strolled into the cush office and pressed his back against the opaque door, the other vampire pleaded at him with his wide eyes. “Wooyoung, baby, this is your favorite club, isn’t it? Haven’t I treated you good here?” 

“Y/N will treat you good too, don’t worry,” he reassures sweetly, dragging his tongue across his pointed teeth. He brought his finger up to his chin like he just remembered something, nodding to himself. “Ahh, she does bite, though.” 

Just as Wooyoung’s cackles rang out inside the vast room, the club owner shifted his frightened gaze to you just in time to see your jaw open wide, gulping at the sheer size of your fangs. And just like that, you bit down onto the vampire’s neck, getting a good grip on his skin, before swiftly turning your head and causing a fountain of blood to rain over you. 

Once you were done feeding, there was hardly anything left of the club owner. Most of him was inside you, and the rest was left splattered across the pedestrian paintings he had up on the walls. Still sitting on the floor near scattered, bloodied hundred dollar bills, you licked up the rest of him from your fingers, your entire body vibrating with pleasure now that your killer was no longer with you, and for other reasons you couldn’t quite explain. Perhaps it had something to do with your new body and your newfound love for excess.

Wooyoung clapped his hands together with giddy delight, giving the top of your head a few pats as a reward. “What a good girl. Do you feel full?” 

Shaking your head, you reached up to Wooyoung’s waistband, undoing the belt buckle and easing his pants down, licking at your red stained lips all the while. The burning, mind-melting desire to consume didn’t leave you, it only multiplied. It clouded your mind, made you feel like you might lose your mind if you didn’t make it stop. “Not enough…my throat…need it filled…” 

“Ahh, I see,” Wooyoung sighed knowingly. This always happened with the humans he turned; they turned into insatiable monsters, always driven by their need for more. He could never get tired of it. Leaning his back against the dripping wall, he reached down to slide his fingers into your soft hair, angling your head upwards, cooing softly at you as he pushed his way into your mouth. “Be careful with your fangs, sweetheart.” 

Relaxing your throat upon the sudden intrusion, you opened your mouth wider, as to not pierce Wooyoung’s cock with your new fangs, feeling content once the entirety of his twitching length fit snugly inside. It was when the vampire thrusted further into your throat that you made a wet gagging sound, tears forming inside your crimson eyes, closing them. 

“Ah, ah,” Wooyoung tutted, giving your cheek a light smack, smiling sweetly down at you when your eyes opened back up. “That’s right, you better look at me with those pretty eyes of yours if you’re going to take me down your throat like this. That’s what a good pet does.” 

Once Wooyoung started to fuck your throat, eager to fill it with his cum, his pale fingers pulling tightly at your hair, you did your best not to choke around him, welcoming him in again, over and over, until saliva and pre-cum dripped down your chin and along your bare chest.

“Mmnh….nnnhmm…” you moaned in approval, reaching up to hold onto his bucking hips, digging your nails into his protruding hip bones. You blinked more tears away, wanting to see Wooyoung’s sadistic face without the constant blurriness that plagued your vision. Whether you had a penchant for punishment or you were simply bloodthirsty, it caused you to prod at the vampire’s cock with your fangs, the tangy flavor of iron joining the abundance of precum that lubed up your throat. 

“Fuck, you’re a naughty girl, biting me like that,” Wooyoung hissed in between violent thrusts, suddenly holding your head still when the entirety of his cock was inside your throat, your nose brushing against his pubic bone, satisfied with the filthy gurgling noises you couldn’t help but make for him, feeling more of your spit drip down his heavy balls. He smacked his hand against your cheek again, watching it grow rosy, before pinching your nose tightly. “But, you can’t help it, huh? You just want to be put in your place. I can’t blame you for that.”

The sensation was suffocating, the feeling of being used added onto the constant buzz of pleasure that was running through your veins; it was nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. It almost made you wish that you had let yourself be turned a long time ago. No one could stop you now, not even him. Maybe your humanity was slipping away from you, much like your sanity with each passing moment. 

It wasn’t until you could breathe again and something warm, heavy, was pressing down on the tip of your tongue that you faded back into reality, just in time for Wooyoung to shoot a seemingly never-ending cumshot down the back of your aching throat.

“You’ll swallow, won’t you?” he asked sweetly, giving the bottom of your chin a light tickle with his clawed fingers. 

When you stuck out your tongue to show him that nothing was left, Wooyoung grabbed you by the chin and yanked you towards him, biting the tip of your tongue to draw blood. You watched him suck it off with half-lidded eyes, having to close your thighs together to keep a fresh wave of slick from dripping out of you. 

Before you knew it, he was on the floor with you, not even needing to pull you into his lap, groaning into your mouth as you climbed into it yourself, the heated kiss you shared consisting mostly of tongue, pointed teeth, and blood. You swapped red-tinted saliva back and forth, your hands working in tandem to tear off each other’s clothes and grope one another wherever you could, trying to create as much friction between your lower halves as you could, Wooyoung’s stiff cock rubbing deliciously into your clothed cunt. 

You broke the kiss when your thirst once again grew too strong to ignore, reaching up to run your index finger over the mole on Wooyoung’s glistening bottom lip, hissing softly when he pierced it with one of his fangs. You both watched the blood slowly trickle down along your skin, sharing a similar look with one another, before you leaned in to lap it up, your tongues meeting in the middle. 

As though telepathically connected, you reached to slip your panties off from underneath your skirt the same time Wooyoung undid the buttons of his pants, immediately rubbing at yourselves in order to get off as quickly as possible. 

“Look at me when you cum,” Wooyoung demanded between huffs of air, staring you down past his wispy lashes, the speed at which he was stroking his cock producing lewd squelching sounds, his slender fingers slicked up with his abundant pre-cum. 

Trembling, you opened up your teary eyes to look at Wooyoung, the indescribable pleasure etched into his face causing you to throb nonstop, curling your fingers up in just the right way to launch you into a world of ecstasy. “C-cumming…” 

Wooyoung groaned at the sight and feeling of your release spilling into his lap, squeezing his hand tightly around the base of his cock, hot spurts of cum landing on your abdomen and dripping down your bare cunt, not even caring that you both dirted his designer jeans with your shared arousal. “I’m gonna make you do that again, on my cock this time, you hear me?” he growled at you, lifting you up like you weighed nothing and dropping you down onto his growing erection. 

“Fuck,” you gasped sharply, holding onto his shoulders to keep your composure, your thighs still shaking from your residual pleasure, a low, burning pain present within your core  as your hole stretched to accommodate the vampire’s size. “T-too much…” 

Wooyoung’s ego just about doubled in that moment, his ringed fingers closing in on your soft waist, suddenly bucking his hips up into you like it was his sole mission to do so in the afterlife. Smiling smugly at the small, broken noises he was punching out of you with his vicious thrusts, he couldn’t help but let out a few crazed giggles. “Can’t take it now that I’m rearranging these pretty guts of yours, huh?” He mirrored your pout, his lower lip jutting out. “But, I thought you were my cum slut, my good little blood whore.” 

“I am…! I–fuck, I am, Master…!” you found yourself crying out, tears inside your hazy eyes, tasting dried blood when you wet your dry lips, knowing you wouldn’t even recognize your reflection if you saw it now. You were a new model, remolded, changed for the better. 

His hypnotic eyes began to glow. “Be a good sleeve and take it for your Master, yeah?”

You did as he said, taking everything he gave you like a pliant doll, letting him lick, bite, drink from you, and fuck you dumb for as long as his still heart desired, wondering if he was even aware of how much your blood boiled inside you. 

Wooyoung was just like the others. They were all the same, treating you like a helpless toy, using you for their enjoyment and tossing you aside when they were bored, viewing your humanity as your downfall, and perhaps they were right. Like two magnets, you couldn’t live without the other, and now, you were a monster like him, one in the same. 

Just as you both reached your climax together, holding desperately onto one another, Wooyoung’s bewitching gaze no longer holding captive, you felt a supreme power rise within yourself. You didn’t need him, not when you were now your own Master. The only thing you served now was your endless hunger. 

Wooyoung couldn’t get you off once you latched onto his neck, gasping and sputtering, his constant struggles only forcing your fangs just that much deeper into his skin and the artery you had targeted, digging his claws into your back as a last ditch effort. “But, we…we made a pact,” he coughed out, his gravelly voice reflecting the immense pain he felt. He couldn’t fight back any longer, simply slumping back against the wall to accept his fate, holding his hand up to his torn neck, despite it not doing anything to prevent the crimson from flowing through his fingers. “I don’t understand…” 

“I recall warning you that I was poisonous,” you replied softly, licking remnants of his precious life source from your stained lips. 

He couldn’t help but smile, his eyes resembling half-moons. “Fair point, human…”

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are]

could u maybeeeee do a rough caretaker x super sensitive whumpee? Maybe hospital setting, non con drugs, force feeding?? idk but i LOVED ur out like a light

By the end this turned into kind of a Munchausen by Proxy syndrome situation at least to me, where Caretaker is convinced Whumpee is sick or maybe they're just the one making Whumpee sick..? Anyway read it how you like! I hope this is okay for you and ticked all the boxes!!!

CWs: forced drugging, needles, sedation, medical setting, forced feeding, forced intubation (NG tube) restraints

“Let me GO!"

“Just hold still.” Caretaker ground out, pinning a wriggling Whumpee to their chest. “You're making this more difficult than it has to be.”

They threw Whumpee onto the bed, easily overpowering them and slipping both wrists and ankles into soft padded cuffs that were tied to the bed.

Whumpee let out a terrified shriek as Caretaker affixed the last restraint, then picked up a syringe off a metal trolley next to the bed.

“Here, this should help.” Caretaker flicked the cap off the syringe and drove the needle into Whumpee's thigh, emptying the contents swiftly into the muscle. Whumpee let out a cry like a wounded animal as the drug began to pump into their system.

“No, no, no..” Whumpee breathed as their limbs began to weaken and go slack in the restraints. "Don't.. need it. I'm fine.. mmfine.."

“Much better.” Caretaker patted Whumpee's head. “This is all for your own good. You get that, right?” They asked, smiling softly.

Whumpee’s heavy breaths slowed, and their head slumped back against the pillows.

“That's better. Now we can get some food into you.”

Caretaker turned their back on Whumpee, rummaging amongst medical supplies as they set up a tray with various tubes and syringes.

They snapped on a pair of blue nitrile gloves, causing Whumpee to flinch against the restraints.

The drugs hadn't fully taken effect yet, and so Whumpee knew whatever was about to happen would not be pleasant.

Caretaker ignored their pleas, reaching for a long piece of tubing, which they removed from sterile packaging. They held the tubing up to Whumpee's cheek, measuring it and marking a line across it with a marker. Then, Caretaker covered the end of the tube in some kind of gel before leaning over and shoving it up into Whumpee's nostril without warning. Whumpee began to cough and splutter, trying to pull their head away, but Caretaker trapped their head in place and continued to force the tube further up. Whumpee felt the tube reach the back of their nose and begin to go down their throat. It was a horrifying, invasive feeling as they began to cough and gag at the foreign object, eyes watering with the force of the intrusion. The tube was still going further and further down until it seemed to reach deep inside their stomach. Finally, Caretaker stopped, pulling back and using a small piece of tape to tape the other end of the tube to Whumpee's cheek. Whumpee took in a deep breath racked with sobs as they tried to steady their queasy stomach.

Caretaker patted their head. “Wasn't that easier when you stopped fighting?” They asked condescendingly.

Whumpee spat in their direction. Caretaker simply sighed and cleaned up the spit from Whumpee's chin. They then picked up a bottle-like container, poured an unappetising solution into it, and then attached tubing to it, which ran to the end of the tube on Whumpee's face. They hung the bottle up on an IV stand as the concotction began to flow from the stand into the tube and into Whumpee's stomach. The initial sensation was just cold. Then, the solution travelled into Whumpee's stomach, and the sensation of being filled from within made Whumpee gag again.

“Deep breaths.” Caretaker cooed, massaging Whumpee's stomach.

Tears pooled in Whumpee's eyes as they tried to breathe through the nausea, finally managing to get through the sensation until all the solution was gone. As the next breath left their body, they felt their eyes growing heavy.

“You can sleep now, Whumpee.” Caretaker soothed, stroking their gloved hand through Whumpee's hair. “Sh, just rest.”

Whumpee wanted to say no, that there was something wrong, but the drugs were making the room spin, and they just wanted to close their eyes and …

Caretaker smiled as Whumpee's head drooped against their chest, their patient finally unconscious, finally calm. They whispered, “Just rest. I'll take care of you. I'm the only one who can make you better.”

[chuubian]

Angel of small death

Tags demon Chuuya x fem reader, religious symbolism, cruel Chuuya, loss of virginity, drinking and smoking, no protection, light bondage, is this considered monsterfucking, rough sex, degradation, breeding kink, mirror sex, religious guilt yummm, MDNI

Summary Being a virgin at your age isn’t cute anymore, it’s depressing. You decide to go out and do something about it, but there’s something just a little bit off about the man you met.

A/N hehehe for Valentine's Day I wanted to do something a little bit darker. Chuuya being an angel or demon is always on my mind.

Enough is enough. You have to get this over and done with. No more naively waiting for love, it's time. At this point it was getting embarrassing— being a virgin at 20. Since it didn't happen naturally, you have to take matters into your own hands.

It's agonizing listening to your friends talk about all the things they do and experience. The random hookups, the fruitful relationships, the crazy nights spent just having fun. They actually live life. Why can't you have that? Envy and resentment fills your entire body when they treat it as if it's not a big deal. Your head feels like it's about to explode from bottled up dissatisfaction. There's only one solution.

Growing up evangelical, there was still a sense of dread at the thought of going to a bar. It's a place filled with drinking and sex— filled with sin. Even after leaving the faith, lingering guilt dictates your entire life. Having never been to a bar, you don't know what to expect. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you debate whether you should really wear this. Is it too much?

White lace stockings adorn your thighs. Silk fabric hugs your waist— draping elegantly and accentuating all your best assets. You spent hours agonizing over your hair. It leaves your arms shaking, aching from tedious styling. Glitter is dabbed onto the thin skin of your eyelids, lined with dark charcoal and mascara layered over your eyelashes. This is the best you've ever looked, but self doubt is creeping in. Stalking the dark recesses of your mind. Hunting and butchering any confidence you may have.

Pushing down all your apprehension, you grab your jacket and call a cab. Unfortunately, none of your friends are joining you tonight. If they were, maybe it'd be easier to ignore the giant pit of anxiety forming in the bottom of your stomach. Are you really going to do this? There's still time to stop.

You prepared early. The bottle of tequila in your freezer had been left untouched until this moment. Taking it out, you unsteadily pour yourself a shot. Hopefully this helps your panicking heart— beating away rapidly in your ribcage. Alcohol isn't something you have often. As you throw the drink back, your throat constricts and burns despite it being chilled for several hours, heat pooling in your belly. It tastes bitter and disgusting. Your tummy clenches, attempting to send the drink back up— rejecting it completely.

The taxi is waiting outside when you're done. It takes a few minutes before the tequila affects your cognition, so you get in easily, relaxing into the backseat. It's weird. Being alone, all dressed up. Just to go to a sleazy bar. Tugging at the edges of your clothes— discomfort sinks into your bones. Even your own skin feels foreign. Wrong. And the quietude within the car makes your brain whirl.

The cab arrives quickly. There's a thick cloud of smoke fogging your vision, and plaguing your lungs once you walk inside. It's filled with middle aged, unkempt men. Hardly any women are in sight, and the few that are, have a scowl permanently etched onto their foreheads. You take a seat at the bar, away from any people. It's hard to start up a conversation with anyone.

Nervously, you order yourself a martini. You need something strong. It's salty and horribly bitter, but the drink you had previously— and this one— work together to relax the muscles that were so terribly tense before. Sighing, you look around. Everyone is caught up in their own little world. The determination you had before suddenly vanishes and your only wish is to go home. Despite the warmth blazing through your figure, a cold sweat breaks out over your skin. Shivers seem to attack you, leaving you a pile of terrified bones. You shouldn't have come here. Maybe you were just meant to die a virgin. It's fine, you could live with that. Probably.

“You scared?”

A gruff voice speaks up behind you. You whip your head around. The man is ginger with clearly expensive clothing and an intimidating aura. Something about him makes a shiver run down your spine. Your lips pop open dumbly— forming an ‘O’ shape.

The ginger man's gloved hand comes up to grab your chin, dragging you closer and leaning in— quietly observing every little detail of your face. Although the man is not necessarily large, he’s muscular. Well built. It feels as if he’s towering over you. Like goliath standing over you, squashing any chance of escape or survival.

“Relax, I won't bite… unless you like that.”

Ignoring your instincts screaming at you to run, to run back home and never look back, you feel drawn to the strange man. Something keeps you planted in your stool. His cool minty breath wafts into your face— suffocating you. You take a deep breath, but it does nothing to ease the nerves pulsing beneath your sinew and tissue. He smiles at the sight of your unease.

“I'll get you a drink.”

It's not a question. He wraps an arm around your waist and the intoxicating scent of his cologne smothers you and drowns all your senses. You can't move. The man is strangely cold, and from the corner of your eye you swear you can see a shadow that looks like wings. Maybe it's just your imagination. You shake your head, clearing your mind, and suddenly they're gone.

A disorienting ring echoes through your ears while he orders for you. The rest of the encounter is a blur. Drink after drink appears in front of you, and you down them without a second thought. Your initial apprehension is forgotten as the charming man pulls you closer and closer, until you're almost straddling his lap. You don't seem to notice— or mind— how his hands roam down your waist and teasingly play with the hem of your stockings.

“It’s getting kind of crowded… Why don't we go somewhere more private?”

Veins throbbing with a disgusting mix of alcohol and blood rushing through them, you nod without hesitation. A hollow feeling spreads over your chest and ribcage. Sudden guilt weighs heavy on your shoulders. Are you really doing this?

“To yours?”

It's a question of safety. You may be about to sleep with a man you barely know, but under no circumstances should he know where you live. A wide grin spreads over his features. His teeth are blinding and sharp, like fangs.

“Not exactly.”

He wraps his thin fingers around your wrist, helping you up into your feet. The sudden movement has your head spinning and your stomach churning. God, it feels like you're going to throw up. A silent prayer plays in your mind. Part of you regrets ever even thinking of coming here. This goes against everything you've ever believed in. Against every oath you've ever taken.

The devil themselves must be laughing at you now. Wrapping their slender snake-like tail around your throat and squeezing as hard as they can. You can't protest even if you wanted to. Silently, with shaking legs, you let Chuuya— whose name is the only thing you can truly remember from your conversation— lead you out of the bar and into the cold night air.

“Where are we going?”

He doesn't answer. Did he not hear you? The burnt rubber and tar scent of the street follows you everywhere. Your eyes dart around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. In the shadows, you can faintly make out the silhouette of smiling figures— laughing and mocking you. Alcohol has rendered your legs practically useless as they quiver with every step, the only thing holding your weaker body up is Chuuya’s strong arms.

Your blurred vision watches his handsome stoic appearance. Is it really possible a man like this is interested in you? Streetlights illuminate his face. He almost looks like an angel. Like something to be worshipped. You can finally see his eyes clearly, without the dark veil his hat leaves in the way.

Wheezing, the small amount of air left in your lungs evaporates. They're stunning. Bright, breathtaking blue. Like nothing you had ever seen before.

Your heart almost stops at the sight.

The dark pupil in the middle of his iris is insanely dark. Oddly shaped. Almost elongated. Is that normal? Nothing about him seems real.

Broken, fluorescent neon lights flicker at you— calling out to you, ridiculing you. Every object surrounding you seems to know who you are and what you're up to. You've never done this, and they know. Everyone does. They can tell from the look on your face. You're not meant to be here.

Barely any cars are parked at the motel’s lot. It's completely empty except for a few shady people hanging around and the bored front desk employee. If something were to happen, no one would hear you scream. Maybe that's why he chose this place.

The flight up the stairs to the room feels like a death march. The man's grip does nothing to relieve the nervous, cold thrill that seems to freeze your blood over. If anything he's making it worse. His skin— even through the layers of clothing— feels like ice. Your hairs are standing on end, prickling you painfully.

“Here we are.”

He takes a small key card out of his pocket, quickly unlocking the door and pulling you inside the room.

It's dirty. The walls are covered in what you can only assume is solidified cigarette smoke. It smells faintly of urine and gasoline. Only scarlet sheets and flat pillows are on the bed— no comforter. Mirrors cover the ceiling above the bed and there's red ambient lighting instead of regular bulbs.

Chuuya does not bother locking the room. He opts to lightly urge you deeper into the room, sitting on the bed, helping you onto his lap with your legs on either side of his. Fear grips your heart. It pounds away in your sternum laboriously, struggling to break free of the restraints this man — no— this thing has it in.

“Wait I.. I have to tell you something.”

“Hm?”

Freezing cold gloved hands caress your legs. Goosebumps rise up your thighs and arms. Your hands apprehensively clutch the lapels of his jacket. The blue in his iris has darkened to nearly pitch black— swallowing any radiance into its depths. He's too close. It's oppressive. You're not sure this is something you'll survive. At least, not with your sanity.

“I've never done anything like this…”

“Oh honey…”

Voice dripping with arrogance, a cheap snicker finds its way onto his smug face. He toys with the lace band of your stockings, pulling and then letting the garter strap snap back against your thigh.

“I know. Anyone with eyes can tell.”

Scorching hot shame burns across your face. Your back seems to absorb it all, spreading it through your entire system and dampening your skin with sweat. Chuuya presses your front completely against his, taking off his gloves and revealing his pale, scarred hands. When he grabs your waist again, you tense up. Sharp claws press against your skin, threatening to rip your flesh apart.

What…?

A dumbfounded gasp rips itself from your lungs. Your mind screams at you to run, but your body won't listen. This is payback. Retribution straight from the lord himself for daring to stray from his teachings. You deserve the hell this devil will put you through.

Chuuya can tell you're afraid, but he won't let go so easily. His sharpened talons dig into the fat surrounding your hips.

“No no no… this is what you wanted. You can't leave that soon.”

His rough lips press against the tender skin of your neck, hot tongue dragging over the veins and arteries beneath your skin— flames engulf you as searing, fervent lust takes over your alcohol infused brain. Your mouth goes dry and your fingertips tingle, going numb.

You never realized how much you need this.

Scratches and bite marks will surely cover your entire body by tomorrow, but you don't really pay it much mind. He’s like a ravenous animal, getting a small taste of food for the first time in a millenia. His huge claws shred through the snowy white silk fabric adorning your figure.

“I can't wait. When I see a sweet thing like you, I can't resist.”

Chuuya bites into the supple flesh of your throat harshly with his pointed, needle-like fangs. Your hands rest on his chest, bracing yourself for the sharp pain that washes over your neck. The soft thump of a heart isn't there, just uneasy stillness.

Your bottom lip trembles, futilely trying to hold back the terror and desperate cries of pain asphyxiating you. A low growl rumbles through his chest. He pushes you down onto your back, eyes wide and staring up at him. Chuuya wastes no time in starting to undress. Nimbly, his flexible, clawed fingers undo the tie loosely knotted around his neck. Jagged nails dig into your wrists, holding them above your head and fastening them down with his tie. If you even tried to get out— which you wouldn't dream of doing— he'd overpower you easily. A lowly sinner is reduced to a devotee in the face of temptation.

With your hands out of the way, the thing can finally have his way with you. He pushes the tattered fabric off your frame. A rush of cold air sweeps over your newly exposed skin. It feels weird. Like being put on display to be assessed and lambasted. Your eyes dart around, desperate for any way to fix the predicament you've gotten yourself in, but there's no way out.

Wrists aching and nagging for freedom, your body tenses as Chuuyas talons trace the lump over your esophagus. Threatening to rip your throat out.

“Cute… Are you scared?”

Smirking, he gets a vicious glint in his eyes— It's a bizarre change from his previously lifeless gaze. A snake wraps itself around your neck, trapping any words that threaten to bubble up. He hovers over you and rids himself of all the layers keeping you two apart.

Chuuya’s skin glistens under the cheap motel lights. It looks plastic-y, unnaturally shiny. Your eyes follow the angelic lines of his strong, muscled chest. It left you breathless— lungs wrung dry. Tears well up in your eyes, obscuring your view, but somehow your corneas can make out vague shadows sticking out of his back, right by his shoulder blades.

“Are those-?”

Rough lips cut you off. Your mind is filled in a hazy cloud of exhilaration and thirst. He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes— a disgusting combination that you can't help being lured by. You let out a surprised squeak as a forked tongue glides over your bottom lip. Chuuya takes that as an opportunity, taking advantage of your bewilderment, to slip his tongue inside, deepening the kiss. It's like he's trying to devour you whole. As if he wants to possess you.

Without thinking, your hands attempt to reach out for the shadows only to be pulled back over your head by the fabric ensnared around your wrists. He lazily drags his lips away from yours. A shameful, loud smack resonates across the otherwise quiet room. Your eyelids flutter open, immediately noticing the inky black feathers behind him— shiny and strong.

A knot of panic expands in your chest. Little glimpses of memories you thought you'd buried down deep bob back up to the surface. Dreading the eventual Armageddon. Fearing not only for yourself, but your family and friends who could be sent to the deepest circle in hell for the simplest of transgressions. There's a reason for those seemingly arbitrary rules in your congregation. You knew what was at stake, but somehow you managed to convince yourself none of it was real. That it wasn't a big deal if you indulged for once.

“You're staring.”

“A demon...?”

You're speechless. Staring at the spread out wings in front of you, Chuuya sits back up straight, leaning away from you and letting you breathe. They're massive. Large enough to cover you entirely, shielding you from the prying eyes of God. A heavy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach and a wave of nausea flushes over you.

“Oh, look at that.”

Chuuya’s voice is lower. Dark and rough— he's enjoying this. His thumb runs over your puffy bottom lip, toying with it. Toying with you. His other hand travels down over your throat, then down to your chest, pinching your nipple meanly, twisting. He relishes in your choked up whine.

“Don't tell me you don't enjoy that, I know it's a lie.”

“I can’t- You're a demon!”

Cackling, he lets go.

“I know, kind of obvious isn't it? Besides… by the way you’re reacting, you clearly like it.”

“But-”

“Shhh. Be quiet.”

Your mouth snaps shut, teeth clanking together bitterly. Leaning down, his lips close around the little nub, fangs attaching themselves onto it and scraping cruelly. A euphoric sensation courses through you, his name tumbling from your lips uncontrollably as your hands clench, arching up into his touch.

“Fuck… C-Chuuya..!”

Tugging harshly, his teeth scrape over your nipple— making your cunt throb. You should not feel this way at the hands of a monster like him. It's wrong.

But it feels so right.

Goosebumps rise up across your skin. Your eyebrows knit together meanwhile his large hands grip onto your waist, claws stinging. Chuuya’s lips pop as he finally lets up, and you finally resign yourself to your fate. Looking up at the ceiling, your body jolts at the sight of his wings reflected on the mirror. They look heavy— held up by his strong back muscles.

His wings sway gently and glitter under the soft red lights, trapping your bodies underneath. Then, Chuuya flips you over onto your tummy— his coarse lips trailing little kisses down your spine. Every time his skin makes contact with yours, little sparks of arousal bounce over your ribs and out to your limbs. His rapid breath tickled you and it was hard to stay still.

Your hands were stretched far above your head, with your elbows and head resting on the cheap, lumpy pillow. He forces your hips up, with your knees planted firmly on the bed and your face embedded in the abrasive cushion below you. Freezing air conditioning chills you to the bone. You're a lab experiment, a scrap of prey— spread open and ready to be dissected.

“Don't move, angel.”

He pushes your back down, forcing it into a painful arch.

“There you go, stay just like that.”

Pointed talons wander past your vertebrae and down to the supple flesh of your ass, leaving dark red scratches etched onto your skin. Your insides are roaring, begging you to fight back. To leave while you can. But your heart wants otherwise. He's so handsome. His smell surrounds you— it's hypnotizing. And although his touch burns, you can't help craving more. He's like a drug you can't get enough of.

Your body easily obeys, trying its hardest to maintain the unpleasant bend in your spine. A strangled cry forces itself past your lips as your legs shake with the effort to hold their own weight up.

“Are you seriously struggling with something so simple?”

Hefty, cold hands land between your shoulder blades, grinding you into the scratchy sheets. A shiver works itself through you. You arduously unclench all your muscles, sucking in lungfuls of sleazy motel air and Chuuya’s heady scent.

“I–I’m trying…”

“It's not enough. Try harder.”

You hear some shuffling behind you, the bed creaks and the heat from Chuuya’s figure is temporarily gone before you feel him looming over you— his thighs pressed against the backs of yours. He leans down, crushing your body underneath his wings encircling you. Nosing at your throat, he presses his hips against your backside, letting you feel how hard he is.

A calloused hand ruthlessly tangles itself in your hair, pulling. His other hand snakes underneath you, leaving behind flashes of heat. You feel feverish as his hand unexpectedly pinches your inner thigh— delighting in the sound you make— before his fingers part your soaked, messy folds. Your form tenses when a finger easily slips in, embarrassing squelching sounds fill the air as he pumps it into you.

The intrusion feels foreign, not good or bad, just different. You let out a sigh of relief, glad that it's not as painful as you feared. Chuuya's thumb gets to work on your clit, rubbing it in tight little circles. Your body moves as if it's been electrocuted, letting out a garbled moan.

“Chuuya…”

“Feels good huh?”

Another finger joins the first, curling against your sweet spot. It doesn't take long for you to be reduced to a puddle of tears and snot— fat globs of salty teardrops soaking the pillow beneath you. Your lower belly aches, an empty craving spreading and shrouding you. An angelic plea falls from your lips, with his name distorted and muffled.

Your weeping only encourages him more— his pace getting faster and rougher. His claws, despite being sharp enough to cut your ribcage open, don't hurt. Your mind is solely focused on the sensation of his flexible fingers inside your dripping cunt. It's not surprising that a demon would be so well versed in matters of depravity.

Just as the pool of heat in your tummy seems like it's going to erupt, when it feels like your figure is floating— ascending to a new heaven, Chuuya’s movements halt. The blood rushes within your ear canal loudly and your tissue is shuddering underneath your skin. It takes everything in you to hold back your sobs. His surprisingly gentle hand cards through your hair, shushing you sweetly.

“Shhh dont cry, angel. I didn't even hurt you, you should've known I wouldn't let you cum that fast. It's, honestly, all on you.”

He stays like that— with his entire mass weighing you down. Carefully, his fingers withdraw and your body fights to keep him in place, squeezing around nothing. You feel too empty. Now that you've had a taste of the forbidden fruit, you can't fathom a world without it.

There's a pulsing lump in your throat from the built up frustration, drawing a shaky sigh from your belly. Your ears barely manage to pick up the noise of his thick, feathery wings flapping and the low growl that vibrates in his chest. Thankfully the stinging in your eyes has finally stopped at this point, but it's not enough for Chuuya. He needs more.

He doesn't make you wait much longer, pushing into the sloppy mess of your pussy. The air is shoved out of your lungs. Your body tightens, denying him entry, floundering. Every cell of your being stings.

“Fuck.. w-wait..”

Chuuyas hips still. One hand comes up to rest on your thigh, leaving a trail of your arousal cooling on the surface of your skin. His thumb traces gentle circles onto the soft flesh of your hips. The hand in your hair tugs at the locks sternly, turning your entire head to face the side wall.

“Watch.”

The back of your neck strains to angle itself the way he wants— it feels like your head is about to snap off. Your eyes drift over to the mirror veiling the wall. You can see everything from here— the flexing of his muscles, how his wings hang low and heavy, the way his stronger body easily molds and manipulates your own. His figure glows under the cheap lighting, the red hair surrounding his face looks like a crimson halo— the former golden glow now tainted by the depravity he surrounds himself with regularly.

“Chuuya please!”

He doesn't wait for you to relax before completely sheathing himself inside of you, groaning when his pelvis crashes with your backside, forcing your walls to make way for him. It's too sudden. Too big. Is he a fucking monster?? The curve of your spine, your knees, and your wrists all sting— pushed to their limits and more. There's no way you can handle more, but Chuuya does not exactly grant you the freedom of choice.

Your scalp tingles as his grip in your hair tightens. His hips start rocking up into you, forcing you to adjust. You choke on your own spit as he savagely pounds against your sweet spot, spearing you open and holding you down.

“Oh God…”

“Don't call him, he's not here, I am.”

The mirrored image is hard to make out through the wave of tears building in your waterline, but you can faintly make out the image of his flushing skin and aggressive movements. You don't even want to look at yourself. The image of you bent to a demon's will is far too humiliating to take.

“Even your God can't help you now.”

Beads of moisture slide between your bodies, sticking your hair to your overheated forehead. Pitchy wails get trapped in the hollow of your chest. Chuuyas defined muscles overextend themselves as they pick up the pace, slamming his cock into your sensitive cunt without faltering. Every nerve ending in your body is lit on fire, frayed and hyper-sensitive. Through the reflection, you swear you see his eyes go fully dark— like black holes, sucking in any life that they can.

“Agh… f-fuck…”

Unconsciously, your hips roll back against him. There's something so delicious about being split open like this. It hurts like hell. Every single muscle, tendon, ligament, and bone in your figure is going to be screaming at you tomorrow. But through the intense torture youre being put through, your neurons can still find bliss in the afterglow.

There is no pleasure without pain. No light without darkness.

“Fucking slut.”

You let out a mortified, wounded cry wail beneath him, squirming. Eyebrows and nose scrunching, your protests come out in distorted groans. Your hands clench, digging your nails into the palm of your hand as your elbows struggle to stabilize themselves. Every time you attempt to get back up, Chuuya speeds up— brutally whacking his hips into the plush tissue of your ass, fucking you dumb.

The choir of salacious noises between the two of you sound inhuman. Your throat feels like it's being torn open with a knife. Your eyes shut tight, toes curling, as your entire body tenses and shudders. Lava seems to form in your lower tummy, boiling you from the inside out.

“This is all you’re good for, isn't it? Say it”

“Nghh N-no!”

Your brain is spinning, obliged to accept the overloading sensations and transgressions Chuuya is committing against you. Every movement in your body is dulled and slowed— it's like your nervous system would rather focus on the vicious slam of his hips into your cunt, than to help you have any form of mobility.

“Fucking say it.”

Your mouth forms the words before you have a chance to deny them.

“That's all I’m g-good for…”

A puddle forms on the dirty motel sheets made of your arousal, sweat, and your melting figure. Chuuyas arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, wings encapsulating both your bodies and hiding the mirror from view. It's almost romantic how sweetly he holds you.

Almost.

“ ‘m gonna fucking breed you. You're mine.”

The puddle of lava in your tummy gets more and more restless— bubbling angrily and threatening to erupt. With one last ruthless thrust into the spongy little spot inside you, the lava surges out, burning everything around it. Your orgasm seems to go on forever, scorching you but also dunking you in arctic waters. Chuuyas hips still against you, releasing hot spurts of cum into you. You can't really think about what that could mean for you in the future.

The apocalypse feels like it has finally come for you. Destroying everything in its way and leaving the earth a blazing wasteland. Only this time, you aren't worthy of salvation. You will be left alone to the mercy of the devil before you. Revolting bile is pushed against your teeth and you're forced to swallow it back.

Remorseful, your body trembles with effort as you attempt to sit up— to get Chuuya out of you and away from you as soon as possible. Only, it's impossible to move. Chuuya’s chuckle is devious and low, sending a chill through your bones.

“Oh no… I'm not done with you yet, angel.”

[valkyriexo]

You have a Migraine | Seungmin

ᑉ³pairing; Seungmin x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Sickfic, Comfort, Fluff

ᑉ³warnings; Reader dealing with a migraine, Pills mentioned

ᑉ³Authors Note; Other members coming soon! Edited.

Part of the "He helps you when.." collection. Other members parts: Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room as you lie in bed, cocooned in blankets. But despite the peaceful scene outside your window, there's no rest to be found within the confines of your own mind.

Your temples throb with a relentless intensity, each pulse sending shockwaves of pain through your skull. Migraine days are the worst, and today seems determined to be the pinnacle of that agony.

You try to ignore the pounding in your head, focusing instead on the rhythmic ticking of the clock on your bedside table. But even the steady beat seems to mock you, a reminder of the passing minutes that only serve to prolong your suffering.

With a heavy sigh, you reach out for the bottle of painkillers that has become a permanent fixture in your life. You're all too familiar with the ritual of opening its childproof cap, but today, as you twist it off, your heart sinks.

The bottle is empty.

With a groan, you try to summon the strength to get out of bed, but the pain pins you down like an anchor. Frustration, thick and palpable, mixes with the pain, creating a cocktail of misery that threatens to engulf you entirely. Each attempt to rise is met with a wave of nausea, a cruel reminder of the physical toll this puts on you. The room spins, a dizzying carousel of sensations that leaves you disoriented and defeated.

You clench your teeth, willing yourself to push through the fog of agony that clouds your mind.

Every muscle in your body protests as you attempt to sit up, each movement sending shockwaves of pain radiating outward from the epicenter in your head.

With a final, desperate effort, you manage to swing your legs over the edge of the bed, your feet meeting the cold, unforgiving floor below. But even this small victory feels hollow, overshadowed by the relentless drumbeat of pain that reverberates through you.

You close your eyes against the harsh glare of the morning light. But even in the darkness behind your eyelids, the pain persists.

You can't bring yourself to stand, the pain worsening with each passing moment. Doubts gnaw at the edges of your consciousness. Were there even any pills left in the medicine cabinet?

The thought of standing seems utterly futile, a mountain too steep to climb in your current state.

Your mind races, searching desperately for a solution amid the fog of agony. There's only one thing you can think to do. With trembling fingers, you reach for your phone, wincing at the harsh light it emits as you unlock the screen and dial Seungmin's number.

Each ring feels like an eternity, each passing second an eternity of suffering. But then, finally, his voice breaks through the haze of pain.

"Hello?" His voice is filled with concern.

"Seungmin," you manage to choke out, your voice barely more than a whisper. "It's... it's bad. I need... help."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, a heartbeat of uncertainty before Seungmin's reassuring voice fills your ears once more. "I'm on my way," he says, his words a promise of relief.

As you wait for Seungmin's arrival, time seems to stretch into eternity, each moment punctuated by the relentless throbbing in your temples. The minutes drag on, each one feeling like an eternity as you struggle to hold onto a semblance of composure amidst the storm of pain.

Finally, just when you're beginning to fear that he might not come, there's a soft knock on the door. You struggle to open your eyes, squinting against the harsh light filtering through the curtains. "Come in," you manage to croak out.

It swings open to reveal Seungmin standing on the other side. His eyes widen in concern as he takes in your disheveled appearance, and without a word, he steps forward to wrap you in a gentle embrace.

"I'm here," he murmurs softly, his voice a soothing balm against the raw edges of your pain. "Everything's going to be okay."

"It hurts so much, Minnie," you say, tears escaping despite your efforts to hold them back.

"I know, I know," he replies, his voice laced with empathy, his eyes reflecting the depth of his concern.

His eyes scan the room, searching for any way to alleviate your suffering. Spotting the dimmer switch, he stands silently. With a flick of his wrist, he adjusts the lighting, the soft glow casting shadows that offer a respite from the harsh brightness.

Not content with just that, he strides over to the window, pulling the curtains closed carefully. Each movement is precise, deliberate, as he ensures not a single ray of light infiltrates the room. The darkness that envelops you feels like a sanctuary, shielding you from the pain.

As he returns to your side, you feel a sense of gratitude wash over you, a warmth that eases the chill of pain.

"Better?" he asks, his voice gentle as he takes a seat beside you on the bed, resuming his previous position.

You nod gratefully, the gesture feeling like too much effort.

Seungmin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small bottle of pills. He had remembered your preferred medication, and he always keep it on hand, whether in the dorms or car. With a reassuring smile, he hands you a couple of pills along with a bottle of water from your nightstand.

After a few moments of silence, the medication starts to work its magic, gradually easing the relentless ache in your head.

"I'm sorry," you say softly, breaking the silence that envelops the room.

Seungmin turns to you, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What for?"

"I know you're not really big on physical touch," you explain, your voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry I bothered you with all this."

His expression softens, and he reaches out to gently squeeze your hand. "Hey, don't apologize. I'm here because I want to be. Helping you through this is the least I can do."

As he spoke, your head pinged with pain, every word feeling like a hammer striking against your skull. You wince, from the noise, the throbbing in your temples growing more intense with each syllable.

"I know noise tends to be painful when this happens, and I just want to let you know that I'm okay with sitting in silence, as long as you're comfortable," Seungmin says quietly.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, both from the pain and from the overwhelming kindness of his words. Despite the agony you're enduring, he remains by your side, offering his own version of comfort.

Seungmin's touch is gentle as he runs his fingers through your hair, his movements soothing against your scalp. His fingertips tracing delicate patterns across your skin as if trying to soothe away the pain with each caress. His kisses are soft and fleeting, pressed gently against your forehead and temples, a gesture of comfort and affection in the midst of your suffering.

"Thank you," you manage to murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

He shakes his head, his expression gentle and reassuring. "Stop apologizing. Just rest."

With a nod, you lean back against him and the pillows, finding solace in the silence that descends upon the room. At that moment, despite the pain, you feel a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that whatever happens, you will always have him by your side.

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

[spiderlilyserendipity]

Useful 🔞🔞🔞 (Jimin x Reader)

Summary: You’ve stretched yourself thin lately and you know it, and so does your boyfriend Jimin. As Jimin always takes good care of you, you decide to give him a treat to thank him—and as always, Jimin gives you back your love tenfold. 

Tags: Dom!Jimin, Sub!Y/N, minimal plot, massages, kneeling, collars, Y/N calls Jimin sir, sub space, oral (m. and f. receiving), praise kink, breeding, cock drunk Y/N, multiple orgasms (f.), protective!jimin (🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵), aftercare!!!!!!

Warnings: Unprotected sex (don’t do that LOL)

W/C: 3055 (3k)

A/N: Guess who’s back on their bullshit? ME. Sorry I kind of disappeared again LOL being a functioning adult is the worst. Anyway, here's some massage-turned-unprotected-sex. <33

Sometimes, you get in moods like this. Moods where everything is irritating and stupid and simultaneously upsetting. You know yourself well enough to know it has to do with you stretching yourself too thin. Work? Of course you can do that task. Family? Absolutely you can attend that event. Friends? Yes, you’d love to go out tonight. 

Jimin also knows you well enough to know when you’re getting like this. You know he’s noticed, from the way he puts in a bit more effort lately to keep you happy. He buys your favourite takeout dinner and bath bombs and even a new matching scarf and gloves set to keep you warm. That’s the way Jimin is—a natural giver with a considerate, purposeful mind. He never so much as says a word to you about your little gifts, but you know he notices when you give him a few more kisses than usual to silently show your affection. 

But you’re getting to a point now where two things become obvious: you need a break before you burn out, and Jimin needs to be shown that you appreciate him before he starts to feel burned out himself. 

The solution comes in the form of an at-home spa kit you buy online. It’s not much, a little warmer and a bottle of lavender scented oil, along with some candles and little hand towels. But knowing Jimin—and knowing you—you don’t stop there. Instead, you hop in the shower as soon as you come home. You wash up and dress in only panties and one of Jimin’s oversized sweaters, light candles and then warm up the oil. 

As your shared bedroom is filled with romantic lighting and the sweet lavender smell, your mind wanders. You think of Jimin’s face when he sees you like this, how his eyes will darken and a smirk will spread on his lips. You think of taking care of him and thanking him for all he does for you with both words and your hands on his body. And naturally, you think of how Jimin will return the favour—with firm words and strong arms around you. A perfect balance of sweetness, teasing, and protectiveness: that’s Park Jimin. 

Your eyes flicker to the collar you set on the nightstand, a black leather collar with plush inner lining and a custom silver J embroidered on the front. You press your thighs together, waiting. 

“Baby?” Your heart leaps as you hear Jimin’s voice down the hallway. Your boyfriend emerges from the hall, curious eyes peeking into the dimly lit room. Then, he sees you, scantily dressed in front of the bed. Jimin smiles, but there’s that familiar edge. “Oh, what’s this?” He asks. 

You lick your lips as Jimin draws closer, loosening his tie. “A surprise.” You whisper. 

Jimin laughs, taking a seat on the bed. “I can see that.” He says, glancing at the massage oil. Your boyfriend brings you to stand between his spread legs with both hands on your wrists. You swallow as he looks up at you with darkness in his eyes. “What kind of surprise, exactly?”

“A massage.” You reply, pressing your thighs together again. Jimin notices, but he’s not strict with you today—he knows you’re too worked up to be teased today. Instead, the man leans in, pressing kisses against your belly over your sweater. You shiver—his lips are still cold from outside, even through the soft material.

“That will be fun.” Jimin says. “Thank you for doing this, baby.”

“No, thank you.” You say, and to anyone else, you would sound like strangers. But only you know the way Jimin’s simple words and touches make you want to obey him, show him how grateful you are, how well you can take care of him. Jimin knows it, too, which is why he lets go of your wrists and runs his hands—which are warm, likely from wearing mittens—up and down the backs of your thighs. “You’ve been so nice to me. I-I want to take care of you.”

Jimin hums, and it’s more beautiful than any melody you’ve ever heard. “Mmhm.” He says, and one hand brushes over your clothed core. You shiver. “Want to submit to me?” He asks, then begins kneading your ass. His touch is firm, reminding you of your place even as you tower over him. 

“Please.” You gasp. “Please, sir.”

“Go get your collar.” Jimin answers, letting go of you. He leans back on his hands as you scurry to the nightstand and back. You kneel on the plush rug by Jimin’s feet, then present your collar to him with both hands. The dom accepts it from you, and you elongate your neck for his ease of access. Jimin plants his elbows on his knees, bending over you to fix the collar in place. “What’s your colour, baby?” The dom asks even though you both know how desperate you are already.

“Green, sir.” 

“Good girl.” Jimin says, then stands up. You look up at him, face a few inches below his clothed cock. Jimin’s eyes darken. He knows what you want, and you both know he’s never denied it to you within limits. You wait patiently as the dom removes his pants, then his boxers and discards them on the floor. When Jimin sits down, you grab the warmed bottle of massage oil off the bed. 

“May I begin, sir?”

“Yes.” Jimin answers, and even he sounds slightly breathless now.

You begin on his right leg, massaging his thigh dutifully. You work away at the knots caused by long hours, then down to his calf. “You have a talent for this.” Jimin praises you, carding a hand through your hair. Your face burns as you sit between his legs and serve him, but you feel so good, so useful. And Jimin is nothing if not vocal about it. “Such a quick learner. My good, smart girl.”

“Thank you.” You whisper as you finish massaging the right leg, then move to his left leg. You repeat your motions, slow and dutiful. As you work at one particular knot in the back of Jimin’s left calf, he sighs in relief. You smile and Jimin catches it. 

“Feel good that you’re helping me?” He asks, and you look up at him. Jimin cups your face with one hand, looking down at you with love. It makes you want to cry in joy, but it also makes your vagina throb as you want to give yourself to him. But you tell yourself to be patient. You want to make Jimin feel good, and you know Jimin will return it tenfold to you in due time. “Massage my hips for me, baby. They’re a bit sore.”

You nod, putting a bit more oil on your hands. You place your hands on Jimin’s hips, running your thumbs along the groove of his V-line and pressing your fingers into his hips. You work at his hips until you end up down at his mons pubis and then lower, where a hard, heavy cock hangs between his legs. “C-Can I help you with that, too, sir?” You ask, and you surprise yourself with how whiny it comes out. 

Jimin laughs at your politeness. “Of course, beautiful.”

You lick your lips, running your slicked hands over Jimin’s cock. You run your hands up and down the shaft, collecting pre-come to lubricate him further. You take the tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around. Jimin groans above you, spilling praise from his lips. “Oh, that’s right. Just like that. So good, so perfect for me.”

His praise urges you to take him deeper until your nose presses against his mons pubis. You use your hands to cup his balls, massaging them gently. You work your way up and down the shaft, with Jimin’s ever-louder sighs and curses egging you on. You can feel the tightness in Jimin’s abdomen, the way he wants to come in your mouth. And you’d let him, oh how you’d let him. 

But before he can come, Jimin pulls you off him. You look at him, confused. “Come here.” Jimin says, and you climb up into the bed. You eye his cock, but Jimin gives you a breathless chuckle. “You haven’t massaged my back yet, remember?” He reminds you. You blush, and Jimin beckons you closer with two fingers. You position yourself behind him, sitting with your thighs on either side of Jimin’s hips, and add more oil to your hands before massaging his shoulders. 

Jimin sighs as you work away the tension, and his hands find your calves, stroking small circles into your skin. You’re halfway down Jimin’s back when he wraps his arms around your calves and pulls. You gasp as you end up with your clothed vagina against his bare ass. Jimin chuckles, and you know he can feel how wet you are. Flushing in embarrassment, you try to shuffle back, but your boyfriend holds you in place. “I think that’s enough for my back. Why don’t you come over to the front?” Jimin purrs, glancing at you over his shoulder. You gasp as he presses himself back against your soaked panties.

“Y-Yes sir.” You say, and Jimin releases your calves. 

You crawl around Jimin, and the dom lays down. He folds his arms up behind his head, looking comfortable like he’s laying on a sunbed somewhere warm. “Get on my lap.” He says. “And take everything off.”

You remove the two articles you’re wearing in a heartbeat, then straddle your boyfriend’s hips. It’s a struggle to not push yourself down on the leaking cock tucked just behind your ass, since Jimin hasn’t given you permission to ride him yet. 

You run your oiled hands up and down Jimin’s abdomen, over the hard ridges of his ribs and the plushness of his belly. Jimin looks at you for a moment, then grins. “You know, I’m not a big fan of this oil. Can we try something else for wetness?” 

“L-Like?” You ask, but Jimin just holds his hands out to you. You flush, knowing what he wants.

You crawl closer, until you’re straddling Jimin’s face. “Oh, that’s much better.” He says, then breathes cool air onto your already throbbing clit. “Such a useful, useful girl I have.” Jimin says. Before you can thank him, he presses his tongue past the opening of your sopping wet hole. You whimper, almost collapsing but JImin holds you up with his strong grip. “So busy being useful you forgot you’re supposed to feel good, too, didn’t you?” He asks, looking up at you darkly. “But you’re always like that. Always thinking you have to do it all alone, even though I’m right here—” He says, then swirls his tongue around inside you. You cry out. 

“Sorry! I’m sorry, sir!” You beg.

Jimin licks a stripe from your hole up to your clit. Then, he sucks at the bud until you’re shaking above him. “Are you? Are you going to let me put you in your place?”

“Yes, yes, sir!” You chant.

Jimin releases one hand from your hips, sliding it down the curve of your ass until it finds your hole. He presses two digits inside you, and you accommodate them easily. “Good girl.” He praises you, and you’re almost crying by now. You cry out his title. “Count.” He orders.

“T-Ten…N-Nine…” You count, trembling from the force of not coming from Jimin’s skillful lips against your most sensitive lips. “Eight…s-seven, oh—” You moan as Jimin nips at your inner fold, then releases it. Then, Jimin begins pumping his fingers in and out of you faster. “S-Six, five, four—” You continue as Jimin eggs you on. 

“T-Three, oh, two, one—” You pant heavily.

“Now.” Jimin orders and tears fall from your eyes and you shake so hard from your orgasm that he has to hold you up. “Good girl. That’s my girl.” He praises you, turning you so you can lay down against the bed.

“Yours. Yours.” You repeat hazily as Jimin arranges himself above you. He plants his hands on either side of your waist, then kisses you long and deep. 

“Colour?” He checks. 

“Green, please, sir.” You say, guiding his hand up to your collar. “Yours, please, sir.” You all but babble. Jimin beams with pride. 

“That’s right. All mine.” Jimin says, kissing at your hardened nipples, then down to your belly. With one hand, he begins rubbing at your clit again. He works you back up until you’re whiny and grinding against him for another orgasm. “Would my good girl like my cock?” Jimin asks, even though he knows the answer.

“Yes!” You answer immediately. 

“Where?” Jimin teases. You reach down and spread your outer folds, not caring how messy you look right now. Jimin’s gaze darkens. “Right here? In your pretty hole?” He asks, sliding two fingers back into you. You whine as he wiggles the fingers inside you until the room is full of wet sounds. 

“Yes, please. W-Want your cock, sir.” You beg, clenching around his fingers.

Jimin withdraws his fingers, then lines himself up to your entrance. You both moan as he bottoms out within seconds from how soaked and loose you are. “Where do you feel that, baby?” Jimin asks, more for his pride than any other reason. 

You place a hand on your belly. “Right here.” You say. “All full.”

“Yeah?” Jimin says, gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart. He thrusts in and you have to fight not to come right then and there. 

“Yeah.” You whimper. “W-Want your come right there.”

“I know.” Jimin coos at you. “You need your hole nice and full, don’t you? Need to fill up your pretty belly with my seed so you remember who you belong to. So you can quit. Trying. To do. Everything. By yourself.” Jimin says, punctuating his words with long and deep strokes that have your back arching off the bed.

“P-Please sir.” You whine. “Your seed. Please.”

“Gonna come again already?” Jimin asks, knowing your body well. When you reply yes and plead him for permission, Jimin leans down and kisses your forehead. “Hold on a bit more, you can do it.”

“Y-Yes. Yes. Anything you say!” You say, feeling cock drunk. It doesn’t take more than that, only a few more pumps until Jimin’s hips are stuttering from the way you clench him desperately—even as he’s moving. 

“Rub your clit.” Jimin orders, and you reach down, rubbing hard and fast. Within seconds, Jimin is slamming into you one last time, filling you with his hot seed. You come hard around him a second time, but Jimin isn’t done there. He pulls you up, making you squeal. You whine as your positions reverse, with you on top and Jimin laying down. “You can come around me one more time, since you were such a good, good girl.” He praises, entangling a hand in your hair. His grip is firm but not painful. 

“Thank you, sir.” You reply gratefully, running your fingers over your clit. There’s something exhilarating about being stuffed full of come and getting to put yourself on display with it. You make a show of pushing yourself to a third orgasm around Jimin, his seed making both of your thighs sticky and gooey. 

“Show yourself to me again.” Jimin demands, and you spread your folds to him again. The dom growls. “Such a pretty cunt. Who owns that?”

“You, sir!”

“That’s right.” Jimin replies. “Gonna come again for me? My good girl, making a mess with my seed?”

“Yes, please!” You all but scream.

“What a pretty fucking girl. I want to give you my come again and again, until you can feel a baby growing where I put my seed. You would love that, wouldn’t you? Being shown off to everyone as the pretty, obedient girl I got to knock up and to take care of?”

“Yes, oh, please—” You’re crying again, almost insane with the thought of being protected and taken care of by Jimin. You’re so deep into your subspace by now all you can think of is how safe and good you feel right now. “Please, all yours—”

“Come.”

The single word sends you over the edge, and you tremble around him a third time. You lay down on top of Jimin with his cock still inside you. The dom wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “So sweet. My perfect baby.” He praises you, peppering kisses on your temple and forehead. 

“Thank you. Thank you sir.” You repeat over and over, and Jimin holds you tight. 

Once you’re ready, Jimin slides out of you. You roll onto the sheets, but Jimin doesn’t give you time to get lazy. “Come on, we need to shower.” He says, pulling you up into his arms bridal style. You squeal, tucking your chin over his shoulder. 

Jimin helps you shower, particularly gentle with your hips and legs as he knows they’re sore now. He helps you dress in your pyjamas. Then, he lifts you onto the counter, insisting on doing your skincare routine for you. You giggle but let him help you, knowing he likes to spoil you like this. Once you’re done, you hold your arms out to be carried back to bed. Jimin laughs, kissing you again. 

“Oh, you’re a real menace.” Jimin complains dramatically, setting you down in the armchair a few paces from the bed. You grin up at him, and Jimin strokes a hand down the side of your face lovingly. “I’ll be right back.” He says. 

You watch him leave the room, then return with two granola bars and a bottle of water. “I know you ate, but just in case.” Jimin says, watching you open the snacks. While you eat and drink water, your boyfriend changes the bedsheets and blows out the candles. Once he’s done with that, you join him in bed. Jimin envelopes you in his arms, kissing your forehead softly. 

“That wasn’t too much for you, was it?” He checks. 

“No, not at all.” You say, feeling shy when Jimin looks at you with that intense look—like he’d do anything to make sure you’re comfortable and safe. “Thank you.” You add.

Jimin smiles. “You’re welcome, my love.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, my baby.”

[nichromepackaging]

Eco-Friendly Agrochemical Packaging: How India’s Manufacturers Can Stay Ahead of Global Sustainability Trends

The rising agricultural demand and growing awareness of modern farming practices have led to the flourishing of the Indian agrochemical sector and increased export opportunities. However, this growth has come at a time when environmental sustainability is under strict global scrutiny. As agrochemical usage increases, so does the volume of packaging waste, prompting regulatory bodies and…

[nichromeafricapackagingmachine]

How to Choose the Right Packaging Machines for Your Dairy Business

The dairy industry in Africa is growing rapidly, and with it, the demand for efficient and reliable dairy packaging solutions. Whether you’re packaging milk, milk powder, or other dairy products, choosing the right milk packaging machine is critical to your business’s success. With so many options available, how do you decide which machine is best for your needs?

At Nichrome Africa, we specialize in providing cutting-edge dairy packaging solutions tailored to meet the unique requirements of the dairy businesses. In this blog, we’ll guide you through the process of selecting the perfect milk packaging machine for your operations.

1. Understanding Your Business Needs

Assessing Your Dairy Business Requirements

It is essential to evaluate your business needs before investing in any dairy packaging solution. This evaluation could be based on the following points.

What is the nature of your dairy products? (Liquid, powder or both)

What is your production capacity?

What would be the volume and quantity you’ll be packing with these machines?

What packaging format do you need (e.g., pouches, bottles, sachets)?

The packaging machine manufacturers offer a variety of packaging machines tailored to your packaging needs. For example, the milk pouch packing machine offers CSSP format pouches that are ideal for milk packaging and could be customized for the packaging of the curd. There are also Milk-filling machines attached to complete packaging systems to pack the milk in bottles or cartons. Whereas the milk powder packaging machine is specific to the powder packaging.

At Nichrome, we offer a wide range of milk packaging solutions designed to adapt to various business scales and needs. Our team can help you assess your requirements and recommend the best machine for your operations.

2. Types of Dairy Packaging Solutions

Exploring Your Options

There are several types of milk packaging machines, each catering to specific needs. Let’s explore these:

Milk Pouch Packing Machines: Ideal for packaging liquid milk in pouches. These machines are cost-effective and widely used in the dairy industry.

Automatic Bottle Filling Line Liquid: This is an automated, sustainable and highly efficient way to pack the milk into glass bottles. Going beyond the milk packaging machines, this line offers a complete packaging system.

Automatic Bottle Filling Line Solid: This is an automated system to pack solid dairy solutions like milk powder, custard powder, etc. into small jars.

Milk Powder Packing Machines: Designed for packaging milk powder in sachets or bags, ensuring precision and hygiene.

Tin Filling and Packing Systems: This is again a complete filling and packaging system ideal for packing milk powder into tins.

Nichrome’s range of milk packaging machines includes advanced options including high-speed, automatic milk packing machines like Fillpack Servo 15K Alpha and milk powder filling machines like Multitrack Stickpack with Multi Head Servo Auger Filler for small sachets and Excel 400 with Servo Auger for pouches, ensuring that you find the perfect solution for your business. It also offers end-to-end packaging solutions for bottle and tin filling.

3. Key Features to Look For While Choosing the Right Milk Packaging Machine

What Makes a Great Milk Packaging Machine?

When selecting a milk packaging machine, consider the following features:

Automation Level: Choose between manual, semi-automatic, or fully automatic milk packing machines based on your production needs. The ratio of the production count should be directly proportional to the level of automation.

Speed and Efficiency: High-speed machines can significantly boost your output. However, it is critical to check the precision and accuracy in packing with the pace.

Durability and Maintenance: Opt for machines made from high-quality materials that require minimal maintenance.

Compatibility: Ensure the machine is compatible with your preferred packaging materials.

Nichrome’s milk packaging solutions are designed with these features in mind, delivering high performance, reliability, and ease of use. They also offer PLC-controlled solutions to pack with precision and avoid any wastage due to spillage.

4. Budget Considerations

Understanding the Cost of Milk Packaging Machines

The cost of milk packing machines varies depending on factors like:

Machine type and automation level.

Production capacity.

Additional features (e.g., sealing, labelling).

For example, an automatic milk packing machine price may be higher than a semi-automatic model, but the long-term ROI often justifies the investment.

At Nichrome Africa, we offer cost-effective dairy product packaging solutions without compromising on quality. Our team can help you find a machine that fits your budget while meeting your production needs.

5. Evaluating Suppliers

Choosing the Right Partner for Your Packaging Needs

Selecting a reliable supplier is just as important as choosing the right machine. When evaluating suppliers, consider:

Experience and expertise in the industry.

After-sales support and maintenance services.

Availability of spare parts and training.

Nichrome has decades of experience in providing milk packaging solutions to businesses. Our commitment to customer satisfaction and comprehensive support services make us the ideal partner for your packaging needs. We provide support for the complete lifecycle of packing your product. We are dedicated to evolving as per the changing consumer preferences. We listen and understand your requirements and enhance our solutions to cater to your product packaging needs. We also offer customized solutions tailored to your production requirements.

Conclusion

Choosing the right milk packaging machine is a critical decision that can impact your dairy business’s efficiency, productivity, and profitability. By understanding your needs, exploring your options, and partnering with a reliable supplier like Nichrome, you can find the perfect solution for your operations. At Nichrome, we’re committed to delivering innovative dairy packaging solutions that meet the unique needs of African dairy businesses. Explore our range of milk packaging machines today and take the first step towards transforming your packaging process

[pagejodi]

⋆˚✿˖° ̊Breaking Point-AL50

Masterlist - Part 1

Pairing: Arthur Leclerc X fem!reader

Summary: A fake relationship meant to fix a PR disaster spirals out of control when one stolen kiss makes it all feel real

Warnings: Implied Intimacy, Fake Relationship, Swearing, Alcohol Use, Use of yn

a/n: The second installment of the Breaking Point series is now out! If you haven’t read part 1 please read it. Enjoy and thank you for the support -Jodi🤍

I didn’t stop moving until I was inside my apartment. The door clicked shut behind me, and I pressed my back to it, chest rising and falling like I’d just run a marathon. My lips still tingled, an echo of something that wasn’t supposed to happen. I stood there for a solid five minutes trying to make sense of what I’d just done. Then I bee lined it straight to the kitchen, opened the dishwasher, and pulled out the nearest glass I could find. I didn’t even bother to check if it was clean. Just grabbed the bottle of wine that had been collecting dust above the fridge, and poured. I took a long sip, the kind that wasn’t for taste but for escape.

The wine was cheap. Too dry. Bitter. But it was better than thinking. I set the glass down, then picked it back up. “You weren’t supposed to kiss him,” I muttered to myself. Trying to come up with solutions as to why it happened. The one I landed on was just two people in a quiet room, surrounded by dim lighting, and a little too tired. But the worst part of this all was he gave me the choice to back out and I didn’t want to.

Something about the warm comforting feeling he gave off. The way he’d looked at me like he wasn’t seeing the girl he used to tease, or the fake girlfriend he’d hired. Just…me.

“This is exactly how it gets messy,” I said. I finished the glass in one gulp and pouring myself another.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The door closed shut with shame behind her, but I didn’t move. Not for a long time. I stayed right there on the couch, staring at the space she’d just vacated like it might tell me what the fuck I’d just done. No cameras. No audience. Just her and me and that kiss.

The plan was clean, simple: appearances, smiles, a few convincing Instagram posts, then we part ways and forget it ever happened.

But the second she looked at me like that with her guard down, and the weight of the night hanging in her eyes I cracked. This is exactly what I was worried about.

I got up going into autopilot. The place felt too quiet now. Too still. I filled a glass of water I didn’t even want, drank half, and set it down with a little more force than necessary. I leaned against the counter and stared out the window. Monaco glittered in the dark, the city glowing. I’d lived here my whole life, but it never really felt like mine. Not the way it did for Charles. He belonged here polished, perfect, press ready. Me? I was the reckless one. The Leclerc with something to prove.

And the whole reason I got into this mess was supposed to be for damage control. A distraction from the headlines that always show my losses and not my wins.

For the first time in a long time I wasn’t sure what was real and what I just wanted to be real. I pushed away from the counter and grabbed my phone. I looked at my phone again. Still no message. Not that I expected one. And I wasn’t going to be the one to reach out. Not yet. But I knew one thing for sure.

This was no longer just pretend.

And I wasn’t ready to let her go.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The next morning I woke to what could only be described as my skull felt two sizes too small for my brain. My mouth was dry. My eyes were glued shut, mascara smudged to hell. And my stomach rolled with the kind of regret that only cheap wine and emotional distress could brew. I groaned and buried my face into the pillow.

The light filtering through the blinds stabbing my eyes like tiny knives, and I winced, dragging the covers over my head like that might erase the memory of last night.

Spoiler: it didn’t.

I kissed Arthur Leclerc. Nope still very much real.

I sat up slowly, regretting every movement I made. My head pounded behind my eyes, and my body felt like it had been dragged behind a moving car. My dress was still crumpled on the floor, my heels by the front door, and the two empty wine bottle sat mocking me on the kitchen counter.

Marching myself to the bathroom, wincing at my reflection. Smudged makeup, pillow creased cheek, hair doing things I couldn’t explain. I jumped in the shower trying shake off the memory of Arthur’s fingertips brushing my cheek. His voice, soft and unsure. “You can tell me to stop.’” It only made it worse.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I looked in the mirror and yelled back to myself. I brushed my teeth with slow, deliberate motions. Then dragged myself to the kitchen and poured a glass of water like it was a holy ritual. My phone blinked on the counter, three unread messages. and who were they from no one just my phone telling me I need to update it. I didn’t know if that made me relieved or disappointed. Or both?

We kissed. We crossed a line.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

By noon my hangover subsided and I was watching whatever cheesy movie was on. My phone buzzed I glanced down at it and saw his name. “Are you ok?” Three words not some dumb joke just a quiet check-in. I stared at the message for one minute then another. Before settling on saying “I’ve been better. Cheap wine was a choice.” “Wait you were drinking last night?”. Fuck, why did I tell him that. I dragged a hand down my face.”Yeah. After I left. Just me and a bottle of cheap red and a lot of denial.” There was another long pause. The typing bubble appeared, then vanished. Then came back. “You didn’t need to do that. I’m coming over rn we need to talk”

I saw the text. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

The moment I read his text my chest got tight in that familiar, awful way that said you care too much and you’re scared to death of it. I set the phone face down on the coffee table like it was something that could burn me if I held it too long.

Twenty minutes later there was a knock at the door. Opening the door. He stood there, hoodie over a t-shirt, hands shoved in his pockets, looking like he’d been pacing the whole way over. “You didn’t answer,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know what to say,” I admitted.

Arthur walked in without another word. He didn’t sit. Just stood in the middle of my living room, looking around like it was suddenly unfamiliar. Like we weren’t just here a week ago, bickering over fake couple photos and rehearsed lines. He turned to face me. “You drank alone last night. After we kissed.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” I said again, softer this time.

“You could’ve called me.”

“You kissed me,” I said. “Sober. On purpose. I panicked. Kill me.”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, frustration and something else something stronger tightening his shoulders “I kissed you because I wanted to. Because I thought you did too.”

“I did!” The words came out too loud, too fast. “I did want to. That’s the problem, Arthur.”

Arthur froze. “You did want to,” he echoed, voice laced with frustration. “Then why are we acting like it was a mistake?”

“Because it was,” I said, arms crossed tightly over my chest, trying to shield myself from the weight of it all. “Not the kiss. Just... everything around it. The timing. The reasons. Us.”

You could see his jaw tightening. “There is no ‘us.’ That was the whole point, remember? Fake girlfriend. Fake relationship. Clean slate.” He was angry now, but not at me. Not really. I could tell by the way his fingers flexed at his sides, by the way he wasn’t meeting my eyes.

Taking a step closer, my voice steadier than I felt. “Exactly. So why the fuck did it feel so damn real?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he closed the space between us. His eyes found mine, sharp and searching. “Because maybe it is.”

My breath caught.

“No cameras,” he continued. “No fans, no sponsors, no pressure. Just you and me in this shitty, quiet room, and it still felt like something.”

I hated how much I agreed with him. I couldn’t let myself fall for him not after building these wall. “I don’t know how to go about this?” I admitted, my voice cracking. “Not with you. Not when I still don’t know if this is just guilt or loneliness or you trying to fix a mess you started.”

Arthur’s shoulders dropped, like the fight had drained out of him. “I’m not trying to fix anything,” he said. “I’m just trying not to lose the first real thing I’ve felt in a long time.”

The room went quiet again. Thick with unsaid thoughts now spoken.

He looked at me not like the boy who used to push me off the monkey bars, not like the man who pulled me into the spotlight for damage control, but like someone who saw me. Really saw me.

“I know I don’t deserve a second chance,” he said gathering my hands and bringing them to his chest. “But I’d rather try and screw it up than pretend this doesn’t mean anything to me.” He look me in the eyes raw and glossy.

Wrapping my arms around his. “I’m not promising anything,” I whispered into his neck

“I’m not asking for a promise,” he said. “Just… don’t walk away. Not yet.”

I don’t know if I could. Not now maybe never.

~•~•~•~•~��~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

All I could think about was holding her close, my hand moving slowly up and down her back like it might calm her or me. I pull away just enough to look in her eyes, to see if she felt it too. Cupping her cheek, gentle and certain, and bring her into another kiss. This time it was long, unhurried, the kind that said everything I didn’t know how to put into words.

Her breath hitched softly against my lips, and I felt her fingers thread into my hair, pulling me closer like she didn’t want to let go either. The world outside that room the expectations, the lies, the charade faded until there was nothing left but us. Every touch, every slow drag of my hand down her back, was a promise and a question all at once. Was this just a moment stolen from the chaos, or something real breaking through the cracks? I pulled back just enough to catch her gaze, searching for an answer in the quiet desperation swirling there. Her eyes were shining, vulnerable and fierce all at once.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

I woke up to the sound of my phone, buzzing relentlessly on the nightstand. My head was still foggy trying to wake up. I groaned and reached for my phone squinting at the barrage of notifications, texts, missed calls, and then the news alerts.

BREAKING: Arthur Leclerc and Y/N Y/L/N Monaco’s New Power Couple?
Followed by others like: “Is This the Real Deal or Just Another PR Stunt?”

Every article was the same photos from the gala, laughing together under golden lights, snapshots from our little café date, even grainy old class photos someone had dug up. Somehow, the line we’d drawn between fake and real had been blurred, twisted, and plastered across the internet for everyone to dissect.

I scrolled through social media. Fans, reporters, paparazzi, everyone was speculating. Posting clips, theories, memes. Calling us the hottest new couple.

To the world, we were in love. And maybe so were we

Then I felt it. An arm wrapping around my waist, warm and familiar. I turned slowly, heart stuttering at the sight beside me.

Arthur Leclerc.

Still half-asleep, impossibly real. Lying next to me like he belonged there.

© pagejodi tumblr 2025, please refrain from plagiarizing my work, translating or claiming my works as yours.

images from pinterest !

@livelaughleclerc

[lilyswrittenworks]

X| Two Teachers are Better than One

Warning(s): None

Synopsis: To combat the summer heat, (Y/n) decides to switch things up and move the class outside under the shade of their school’s community garden. 

You exhaled sharply, placing your hands on your hips as you scanned the room. The rhythmic sound of fans whirring filled the space, but the stale heat seemed to cling to everyone's skin like a second layer. Your eyes flicked to the open sliding doors at the far end of the dojo, where the shimmering heat distorted the view of the courtyard beyond.

You knew pushing them too hard in this heat would only exhaust them further. Martial arts wasn't just about physical strength—it was about balance. Discipline, yes, but also knowing when to ease up.

A bead of sweat trailed down the side of your temple before you clapped your hands twice, the sharp sound echoing through the room.

“Alright, listen up! Everyone, break stance.”

Relieved sighs filled the air as the students dropped their stances, some immediately kneeling to catch their breath, others wiping sweat from their flushed faces.

“But don't think I'm letting you off easy,” you added with a smirk, crossing your arms. “Discipline doesn't waver just because the weather's not in your favor.”

A few older students straightened at your words, but the younger ones still wilted under the heat. Your gaze softened.

“Hydrate yourselves. Ten-minute break.”

The students scattered toward their water bottles, eager to quench their thirst. You stepped down from the podium, wiping your forehead with a cloth tucked into your belt. Your mind wandered trying to come up with a solution to combat the summer heat.

An idea flickered in your mind, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Ten minutes passed quickly, and with a sharp whistle, the students lined up again, albeit slower than usual. Their expressions were a mix of exhaustion and curiosity.

“Alright,” you called out, walking toward the open doors. “We're moving class outside today.”

The students blinked in surprise, murmurs rippling through the crowd.

“The heat's getting to you, and the last thing I want is anyone passing out in the middle of training.” Your smile turned playful. “But that doesn't mean we're done. Defense isn't just about holding your ground—it's about adapting to your surroundings.”

You stepped into the sunlight, motioning for them to follow. The air outside was hot, but at least the breeze was stronger. The students shuffled out, some shading their eyes from the glare.

Your gaze flicked toward the garden where you spotted the fountain at its center, an almost mischievous glint in your eye.

“Today's lesson is about fluidity.” You turned to face them, hands on your hips. “Defense can be rigid, yes, but the best defense flows like water.”

A few students exchanged confused glances, but others began catching on as you walked over to the fountain, dipping your hand into the cool water. The splash echoed through the courtyard, drawing all eyes to you.

“Water doesn't resist—it moves around obstacles. It cools, it refreshes… and it can strike when necessary.”

Without warning, you flicked your wet fingers toward a young dark-haired boy, sending a small spray of water his way. The boy yelped, jumping back. The students froze, stunned into silence.

Then, laughter bubbled up from the younger ones, breaking the tension.

A slow grin spread across your face.

“Lesson one: always be prepared for the unexpected.”

With the good amount of trees and the large wooden pergola roof overhead, which was covered with thick vines and orchids, there was enough shade to shelter you and your students from the blazing sun. It made you feel content. You made the right call by moving the class outside.

“Alright, I want you all to split into small groups of five, with one person doing the attacking while the four will only focus on defense and deflecting, got it?”

“Yes, sensei!” they all answered in unison, their voices echoing through the garden before they scattered like leaves in the wind.

You remained beside the fountain, your eyes trailing after your students as they took their positions among the greenery. One path to your right was lined with hydrangea shrubs, their blue and purple blossoms swaying gently in the breeze. On the opposite side, lavender stood tall, filling the air with its calming fragrance. This once-tiny garden, built with your students' dedication and hard work, had flourished over the years— a living testament to their care. Each plant had been chosen by the hands that trained here, making this place more than just a training ground— it was a sanctuary.

A hush fell over the space, broken only by the soft trickle of water from the fountain behind you. You closed your eyes, letting the sounds wash over you— the rhythmic clash of hands slapping, distant laughter, and the faint rustling of leaves. It was peaceful in a way that made the world feel far away, the weight on your shoulders momentarily lighter.

The breeze stirred, carrying with it the familiar presence that made your senses flicker. You didn't need to open your eyes to know who it was.

“I had a feeling you would pop by,” you said, a smile already tugging at your lips.

Piccolo's heavy footsteps came to a stop beside you. He glanced toward the lavender, his long ears giving the slightest twitch. “You weren’t at the dojo. I wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

Your smile softened. “That’s sweet of you to check up on me.”

Piccolo let out a low grunt, crossing his arms as he looked away. “It’s not a big deal,” he muttered, though the deepening hue of his cheeks suggested otherwise.

You chuckled softly. “Still, I appreciate it.”

Your gaze drifted back to your students, watching as they engaged in their defensive drills, the air filled with the rhythmic sounds of feet shuffling, light grunts, and the occasional slap of a successfully deflected strike. A soft breeze rustled through the pergola’s vines, carrying the scent of lavender and damp earth.

Piccolo shifted his weight beside you, his keen eyes scanning the students. “They seem more focused out here,” he observed.

You nodded. “The heat inside the dojo was unbearable. I figured the garden would be a better place to train—more shade, fresh air, and nature to keep them grounded.” You paused, smirking. “Not to mention, it stops them from whining about the temperature.”

Piccolo huffed in amusement. “Smart move.”

For a while, neither of you spoke, simply standing side by side, soaking in the peaceful atmosphere of the garden. It wasn’t often that you got quiet moments like this—between training your students and the chaos that life tended to throw at you, stillness was a rare gift.

Then, Piccolo spoke again, his voice lower this time. “You’re doing a good job with them.”

Your eyes widened slightly before a warm smile took over your lips. “Coming from you, that means a lot.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but you caught the way his fingers briefly curled at his sides, as if debating whether to say something more. Finally, he glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “You push them hard, but you care. They see that.”

You exhaled softly, a gentle warmth spreading in your chest. “I do care about them. They’re more than just my students.” You tilted your head slightly, gazing up at him. “Kind of like how you care about us, even if you pretend you don’t.”

Piccolo let out a scoff but didn’t refute your words. Instead, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking in the tranquil surroundings before speaking again.

“…You should take a break too, (Y/n).”

You blinked in surprise. “Huh?”

“You’re always putting your students first.” His eyes flickered to you, sharp yet oddly gentle. “Don’t forget to look after yourself too.”

Something about his words sent a flutter through your chest. You weren’t sure if it was the concern in his voice or the fact that it was coming from him of all people, but either way, it made your smile soften.

“I will,” you assured him. “But only if you promise to do the same.”

Piccolo raised a brow. “I don’t need—”

“No excuses,” you cut in playfully. “You may be tough, but even you need to recharge every now and then.”

He stared at you for a moment before exhaling through his nose. “…Fine.”

You grinned. “Good.”

The two of you stood there a little while longer, side by side, as the afternoon sun peeked through the leaves, casting dappled light across the garden. As much as you loved the peaceful moment that you and Piccolo shared, you were itching to walk around and observe your students in action. But as you went to take a step away from the fountain when suddenly Piccolo stopped you, his hand firmly held onto your shoulder preventing you from taking another step.

Confused, you looked over to him. “Piccolo, what are you—”

“What part of taking a break did you not understand?”

Judging by the earnestness in his tone, he wasn’t just saying it—he meant it. “Wait—you mean take a break, like now? I thought you meant later or something!” You shifted to fully face him. 

The gentle breeze carried the distant sounds of students practicing in the garden, their movements punctuated by soft grunts and the occasional shuffle of feet on the grass. Birds chirped in the trees above, filling the warm afternoon with a tranquil melody. Yet, despite the serene atmosphere surrounding the garden, there was a flicker of defiance lingering in your chest.

You shifted under Piccolo’s steady gaze, your lips parting as if to protest—but the look in his onyx eyes silenced you before the words could leave your mouth. His gaze was unwavering, serious, yet not harsh. He wasn’t just ordering you to rest—he was asking you to. His hand on your shoulder was firm, radiating a quiet reassurance that made your heart ache.

You exhaled slowly, your eyes flickering down to the grass beneath your feet.

“I... I don’t know,” you admitted softly, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I took a proper break.”

Piccolo’s brow furrowed, a subtle frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. He already suspected as much—but hearing you say it aloud made his chest tighten.

“You push yourself too hard,” he murmured, his voice low but certain. “Always worrying about everyone else... but when do you ever stop to worry about yourself?”

His words struck a nerve, sending a pang through your heart.

You opened your mouth to argue—because that’s what you always did. You had to be strong, had to keep going. Your students needed you, your dojo needed you. If you slowed down, who would pick up the slack? Who would make sure everyone got the guidance they needed?

But Piccolo already knew what you were going to say before you could even speak.

“That’s exactly why I’m stepping in,” he said firmly, his hand slipping away from your shoulder only to fold across his broad chest. His cape shifted slightly as he leaned back, his sharp gaze still locked onto you. “Your students will be fine. They’re disciplined... because you taught them how to be. And if they have questions—” his brow arched slightly, a hint of dry amusement flashing in his eyes, “—I think I can handle it.”

You blinked at him, utterly dumbfounded.

The idea of Piccolo, the stoic namekian, teaching your students martial arts was almost too surreal to process. Sure, he’d been around the dojo plenty of times, observing quietly from the sidelines or offering advice during sparring matches when asked. But to actually step in as an instructor? That was different.

“But... what if they don’t listen to you?” you asked hesitantly, trying to mask the small spark of curiosity blooming in your chest.

Piccolo smirked, just barely.

“They will.”

You almost snorted at how confident he sounded, but the thought of him towering over your students—arms folded, sharp gaze watching their every move—painted such a vivid picture in your mind that you actually believed him.

Of course they’d listen.

Hell, they’d probably be terrified not to.

Still, the worry gnawed at you.

“I just... I don’t know how to not be involved,” you admitted quietly, your fingers toying with the hem of your black gi sleeve. “I’m so used to being the one in charge, making sure everything runs smoothly.”

Piccolo’s expression softened—just barely.

“I know,” he said, his deep voice surprisingly gentle. “It’s not easy to let go... but you need to trust me. Just for today.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Trust him.

Those two simple words carried so much weight, more than he probably realized. You weren’t sure when it happened—when Piccolo had become such a steady presence in your life, someone you could lean on without even realizing you were doing it. But the thought of handing over your responsibilities, even just for a little while... it scared you.

Because if you let go, even for a moment, you weren’t sure what you’d find underneath all the exhaustion you’d been pushing down for so long.

But Piccolo could see that too.

He always saw right through you.

His large hand reached out again, this time brushing against your elbow—careful, deliberate, as if giving you one final chance to pull away.

“Let me take care of things for once,” he said softly. “You’ve done more than enough.”

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest.

The warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, grounding you in place. He wasn’t pushing you... he was giving you the choice.

And for once—just this once—you wanted to let someone else carry the weight.

Your fingers curled slightly, nails pressing into your palms as you wrestled with the decision.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you exhaled shakily and gave him a small, reluctant nod.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Just for today.”

Piccolo’s lips twitched ever so slightly—not quite a smile, but something close.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

You watched as he stepped away, his cape billowing slightly behind him as he turned toward the center of the garden. His tall, imposing figure looked perfectly at ease—like he belonged there. He really was going to teach your students.

You weren’t sure who was more insane—you for agreeing to this... or him for offering in the first place.

As he walked away, you couldn’t resist calling out after him.

“If any of them cry, I will blame you!”

Piccolo paused mid-step, glancing back over his shoulder with that same faint smirk playing on his lips.

“They’ll survive.”

You snorted, finally allowing yourself to sink back onto the edge of the fountain, letting the cool breeze wash over you.

For the first time in what felt like forever... you allowed yourself to just be.

And as you watched Piccolo, listening to his deep voice echoing throughout the garden as he barked instructions to your students, you realized something.

Maybe... it wasn’t so bad to let someone take care of you for a change.

(2,523 words)

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Part IX

You are currently reading part X

Part XI

Tag list:

@utakamo

@nerdy-girl-named-pumpkin

[seeminglyunconcious]

A Session with the Reader

Newt goes through with his memory wipe operation with Bad, but finds himself in a situation. He's sitting in a room with someone, something... is this therapy?

Thank you to @mikaikaika for giving this a first read through and for all my other works!

Full read here or below!

“Mortals could never imagine the hoops one has to jump through to find a therapist as an immortal. Before you ask, yes, they are just as human as you. They even experience the same emotional spectrum too, fascinating is it not? The only thing that separates you from them is lifespan.”

At first, New didn’t have to think about it— forgoing any thought about his feelings towards his childhood friend and throwing them into the deepest parts of the abyss his corruption-addled body had created. Then, he found himself saving him: breaking that glass prison he had put him in and guiding him forth through the door to the world they had abandoned before. Most recently, his mind— no, his heart—simply couldn’t bear it and found another soul to confide in which he thought he had found the ultimate solution: a memory wipe. 

Which led to this warming scene: Newt was laying in a sofa with cloud-like cushions and across from him sat an unknown being wearing a tweed suit, a book open in hand as the crackling of fire could be heard echoing throughout the room.

The being looked to be wooden, carried no facial features, and only wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses that sat atop where the nose would be. A faint glow tinted the lens, taking in what seemed to be scripts of various styles from the open book in hand. From this distance, Newt couldn’t make out the cover or any text, but he could feel something within him recoil.

“You’re finally awake, welcome.” A magnetic voice spoke into his mind, it was one that held the confidence of authority and the calmness one would expect in a tranquil lake. Mixed together, Newt couldn’t help but feel relaxed.

“You have a very interesting story so far.” Their tone was languid as if taking in a rare artefact. “Innocence. Disruption. Hope. Love. Ascent. Downfall. And most recently- regret.”

With each word, Newt’s mind was shaken. Each quake invoking memories long gone— either forgotten by decision or swept under by time itself. Yet, under the voice, they came shooting up from the depths with clarity as if they had been experienced yesterday. He reached out, a withered hand extending from the dark robes he wore, as if trying to grab them and caress the fools who had no idea what awaited them. It was for naught though, memories are just that.

“Very few come wandering into my adobe with such a rich background. Even fewer come here experiencing a lifetime's worth of slop.” Disdain, and it dripped off those words like ink from a broken pen.

“It would make sense. Those who pretend to be gods, can never be gods.” The figure on the other couch set the book down on the table that materialized to their right. Their head now fully turned to him, watching— somehow— through those glasses. “You don’t have the right nor the indifference of one. You care too much about things, about these toys that you consider a source of calamity.”

They stood up, their form in full view. It wore a tweed jacket with matching pants and shoes— all of it was made of paper. Newt was sure he read the title of “The Realm Today” on the exposed inner shirt. A quill-shaped pin was attached to its lapel collar, a symbol or just an accessory?

It walked over to a section of bare wall where a bar and cupboard full of different bottles, of what could only be assumed to be liquor, materialized from flashing gold lines. “You’re quite an erudite fellow. Tell me, what do you think of ants?”

The sound of gurgling liquid filled the air. Ants? 

Newt knew of them, but never bothered besides the occasional spritz of the pest solution he once mixed in the boutique many years ago. By the time the calamities became the norm, creatures that didn’t have a direct impact on survival rates were directly ignored. He wasn’t even sure if some existed in the Realm today. Perhaps it was time to check, were they important?

“And that’s the only similarity you have with being a god.” The voice boomed in his head, once again shaking his mind bringing up memories of the time he stood within the research spires of the Null- overlooking the vast emptiness that was.

“Otherwise, a pitiful waste of a good story you were. At least— I thought so–- until a single name kept floating back up from the unending filth. Lucas.”

The name brought a chill down Newt’s spine and he unintentionally massaged his chest as if there was a wound there.

“Lucas. Lucas. Lucas…” It repeated the name, each recitation shaking him to his core and bringing up once foggy memories in Newt’s mind.

Once, when they were on the run from the pillagers that had raided their village, Newt had badly twisted his ankle. It was on Lucas’ shoulder he had clung to the whole night as they trudged along the riverside and it was because of his thoughtful care the swelling went down faster than expected. That night the blond boy tore up a part of his shirt and used it as a pad to hold the cold water from the river and applied it to his ankle, by morning he was able to walk on his own again.

Another time, they had both gotten sick due to the combination of malnutrition and cold. It was Lucas, that unrelenting guy, that nursed them both back to health. Although he tried to hide it from Newt, he saw the blond head leave their makeshift shack in the morning and come back by noon with blackened bread and tossed aside food. He did this for the whole week—coming and going—bringing back food, rags, and other things to improve their livelihood until they had gotten better. Newt knew, only he escaped unscathed, he saw on occasion the consequences of his friend’s behavior— a permanent cough. One eventually proved to be deadly if he overexerted himself.

Finally, it was that time… when he had come home with a poppy and Lucas with his amethyst. When their hands intertwined in unspoken promise. When that deep red burned scars across his heart. The memory he had thought he’d rid of, the one he fed to a demon.

A sweet smell wafted over from beside his head. Newt turned to find a new table propped up next to him with a small glass filled with what could only be wine.

“Come. Drink with me. Isn’t this what Lucas likes to drink?” He watches as this thing puts the glass near where its mouth would’ve been and tips the liquid forth; however, instead of spilling, the liquid slowly disappears not even leaving stain on the wood. It utters a satisfied sigh before the glasses are pointed his way again.

“Sweet. A tinge of bitterness, but it mellows out near the end. Addicting. I see why he keeps turning up throughout the pages of your story. It would be a shame if he did vanish forever.”

It gestures towards the glass beside him, “Go on. Didn’t you always want a taste of your Lucas before he became another’s? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, I assure you.”

The voice filled with temptation brought about visages of memory in his head: all of it of him. Newt didn’t say anything but his eyes were already on the clear goblet. The liquid inside carefully reflected the light of the fireplace, shining in conjunction with the crystalline structure of its container. It was like a show of temptation.

It called for him. A sip wouldn’t be bad…

A shaky, withered hand stretched out towards the table. And it's not like it's actually him or any of the sort, it’s just wine. Only wine.

Just before his fingers made contact with the enticing burgundy fluid he stopped. The trembling had stopped as well.

“Oh?” The being leans back on its chair, book in hand once more. “You don’t believe me or no— you do believe me, just you don’t trust yourself. Is this Lucas that important to you to warrant so many boundaries? You’ve done your equal share of taking care of one another, watching the other’s back, and even shared moments alone and you STILL don’t want to grasp a single opportunity.”

It voiced its question and accusation to his mind without any remorse. Newt took back his hand, enveloping it into the folds of his robe and sat up. He shouldn’t waste time here, wherever this even was. Yet no matter where he looked, it was like a blank page. Besides the four walls, only the fireplace and the sofas they sat on were filled in with exquisite detail as if drawn in by pen.

Even the bar where the being had just visited left no evidence of existing except for the wine glass next to him.

“Don’t bother.” The thing spoke, turning a page in the book.

“You can’t rationalize anything here. It is beyond your scope, but it all might well be within your ability. After all, you are the author of your story are you not? Or are those god-like platitudes only for show?”

Silence, except for the occasional crack of embers.

Newt was lost. He didn’t know where he was and this thing seemed to exactly know who he was. Exposing his feelings, reading him like…

His eyes dilated and focused on the book the being was holding. It was dark and quite thick, probably bound in leather, and looked well maintained. It was too far to see the lettering or title to prove his revelation.

“You’re right. It’s exactly what you think.”

“And before you start spiraling into some boorish conspiracy— no. I don’t want anything from you, have nothing to do with you being here, and can’t send you back. I simply read. That’s all I do.

Passing stories come by here and again relieving me of my boredom. And that’s just what you are— a book.” It pats the pages of the book in his lap. “Rather boring I might say, for someone who’s been alive for so long. Those 34 odd or something million years were truly wasted on you and your compatriots. That’s why I disdain you calling yourselves gods, it’s simply an insult to those with the power and creativity of them.”

“So… Newt.”

This was the first time it called out his name and Newt didn’t have any appreciation in the way it said it.

“You share a name with a billion other existences out there, but that’s where any similarities end. Moreover, you’re a bore! Even the amphibians that share your name lead more interesting lives on the day to day. Hell, there’s even another who bears semblance to your struggles but isn't so cowardly!”

The being’s hands undulated this way and that expressed his distaste for himself. On more than one occasion, the lens caught the light of the fire and Newt swore he saw angry eyes that couldn’t exist beneath.

“Oh if I could write and alter your story I would. Alas…” It slumped back on the chair, arms falling to the sides. “I’m only allowed to read.”

They sit there in silence once more for a time. Newt couldn’t really do anything. He had tried, many times from the moment that drink came out earlier, to teleport away as he usually could. He was stuck. So he chose to sit here, waiting, until they got bored and set him free.

“You STILL don’t understand!?” The voice once again boomed in his head driving a sharp pain into his mind. It felt like fingers, digging into the crevices of his brain, clawing dully into the gray matter. Newt wanted to shout, but nothing came out.

“Pride has eroded your confidence! Your high and mighty self are a mere husk of what you were all those years ago when you were caught and interrogated.” It turned into sharp whispers, each word like a whip upon his flesh— tearing and exposing the falsehoods he had layered upon himself. He fell to the floor and hunched into a fetal position, trying to protect himself.

“You want to yearn and love— for WHAT?! Lucas!?” Another tremor shook Newt’s mind, this time it was when he was watching over Lucas’ imprisonment. A memory he chose to hide deep within his mind, the day he sent in that snail.

“Oh dear, perhaps he saw what you truly were when you set him free. You weren’t his Newt anymore, even you knew this right— Keeper #2812?!”

Newt was on the floor, his eyes glazed over with the memory of that day.

It was engraved in his mind forever: the pain he saw, the disgust, the fear. Everything was painted on Lucas’ face as he hobbled over to the exit he had left open. He corralled him towards the portal— rationalizing all the way and attempting to comfort the person he loved about his new beginning, a new chance at life as Lukey. He was mourning, but he didn’t shed tears. Because that was the worst part, Newt was never there.

Time flew backwards. The colors faded until all that was left was the pitch black darkness of the Null and the white glow of the endstone rods. 

Newt—no, it was Keeper 2812— was standing before his own agenda for the day and it was filled with excitement. They were working on Project SNAIL, today was an attempt to extract the memory fragments it stole from the long-term scientific subject simply dubbed “L”.

He was responsible for collecting the physical copies of data that recorded skulk research and cross-reference them with any successfully extracted memory fragments. Only he had access to the physical stuff for reasons he had long forgotten, but lately he was given the green-light to take over the project in full capacity allowing him to bring forth everything he had. There were talks around the other Keepers recently that High Keeper candidate positions would be available soon, and he was eyeing the spot.

Being a High Keeper meant more insight on their other projects and being able to transfer manpower around. It dissatisfied him greatly when they overlooked him before considering his apprenticeship under Epsilon themselves, bless the Seven. Project SNAIL and the cure would be his breakthrough!

2812 walked to his office wondering about the ways he’d have to attempt to make the scientific department more efficient. Currently, the way resources and personnel were distributed made breakthroughs almost impossible— he couldn’t even remember when the last one was. Regardless, this time it would be his team!

Upon entering his office space, a sense of nostalgia assailed his withered senses. It was clean, only a small pot of withered poppies decorated the lone desk in the room. 2812 rarely came here, preferring to spend time steeped in research, the driving force for that lost on him. He walked over and pulled out the box hidden beneath the desk, trepidation filled his body as he leaned down to open it. What was inside?

It was him. Newt.

“Boring. Cliche. A little touching, but the details need some work if you want to lie to someone who’s read stories even longer than yours dear 2812.” A voice cut through the memory with a sneer. “Lies, no matter how perfect and seamless they may seem, will always have a tell. You couldn’t be two places at once, 2812, don’t you remember? You were already assigned to help the Outworlders during this time…”

“You escaped. You wanted a promotion. You used a friend. Be honest!”

Time flowed backwards again, the colors losing themselves, the light becoming more dull. He was back—standing before his agenda for today and it was filled with excitement.

“Again!” The world shook, tearing apart the room 2812 was standing in back into an abyss.

Time flowed back, the colors lost themselves, the light losing its meaning in a place of darkness. There he stood, standing before his agenda again. It was filled with excitement. A tear fell down his face.

“You can’t lie forever, deceit in the face of all recorded time is at most idealistic. And when one checks out the book with your name written all over it, don’t you think it’s easy to tell when you fib?” The voice boomed, with a gentle caring tone, yet it reeked of scorn. “A new page writes itself when the story progresses—sorry to be blunt, but you’ve just written two pages of absolute garbage.”

“Come on, you wanted this. Just remember!” The voice thundered.

Newt was on the floor, staring up at the blank ceiling.

His hood was moist with the tears that had gushed out when forced to face the truth of it all. On the chair nearby, the being watched, as the book in its lap started to slowly turn the pages— backwards.

He was… afraid. Chosen as a High Keeper candidate because of his connections to the late Epsilon. His friend tucked away in a corner of the Null research institute like a lab rat and was unable to do anything. For millennia it was like this, always making attempts to try and save him, always ending in failure.

Until that fateful day when he let the SNAIL in and he received a missive to participate in Project Outworlder. When he had reached his limits— his patience. The observers were a chance, unintentional and probably ruined any possibility of a future, but it meant he could let him free. Newt was meant to die then. Obliterated when found out by the others, but fate was cruel—Stultus found him.

He never liked him, a devil in Keeper’s clothing. In a weird way they were kindred spirits that  held different ideals that weren’t compatible with the current regime of High Keepers. Stultus longed for chaos, entertainment. Newt just wanted a home with Lucas. They’d agreed to stay out of each other’s way.

Keeper 2812 is his name now—Newt, was stolen away by that devil—all for a chance. And a chance he did get. The observers came, Stultus made a fuss as his forte bearing the identity and fate of Newt, a deceiver locked in the stage of pretend. So he took his leave to find him, to give one final gift.

2812 remembered the glass shatter. Liquid gushed everywhere, the cold body of his most cherished, and the hazel eyes that looked back at him with confusion. He drew out the hoodie that “he” once knit for Lucas, it was pure white, made from the finest threads “he” could’ve ever afforded as a research apprentice. It fit him well. 2812 made sure the dimmed light fled towards the direction of the sky where he would be appreciated.

2812 hurriedly shoved a piece of paper in Lucas’ hands, “Even if you never remember me, I am happy with the life we shared. I will be there for you, you won’t know, but I will…”

He watched as the boy went into the portal back to the realm, the hazel eyes moistened by reluctance and acceptance.

“Don’t look back.” 

He waited. The High Keepers should’ve found out by now, they were never one for staying their hand. Instead—

Clap. Clap. Clap.

“What a performance Newt~! I would have almost believed it if I wasn't the one taking the fall for the things you’ve done.” A sleazy, sarcastic voice broke the sad atmosphere that was penetrating the ruined hall and from shadows a robed individual walked out. From them he felt the air charged with chaos wanting to be unbound, it was like a beast in skin, an out and out devil. Stultus.

“Or rather… Keeper 2812? Newt is my name now, a fate that you’ve given me, unless~ you want it back?” The devil spun himself around and looked at the spot where he’d gone invisible, a smile only he could see faced him with an arm outstretched.

“What are you doing here? What do you want?” He was tired. The fate of being nameless was a cruel one and it starts off with an unending exhaustion.

“A game! A bet—if the bond of childhood sweethearts can overcome time, space, and the menaces that are the Outworlders.” Stultus’ clenched his outstretched hand into a fist as the grin he saw before twisted into a terrible scowl before returning into the devilish smile.

“You will be my entertainment, the new star that replaces the falling one! How about it?”

Newt hesitated, staring at the outstretched hand as it called out to him. In it was his name, his fate, his story… he’d never met a devil, but Epsilon and Lucas had stories of them. They both warned him of the liars with tongues dripping with silver lies, how it would be like trusting a betrayer. What he never understood was—how would they know?

Clap. Two blackened hands met; one withered, the other as dark as obsidian, an oath made, a fate exchanged.

“Was it so hard to accept the truth? To realize that you almost wiped yourself, your entire existence, just for a chance? Tsk sk tsk. AND you made two deals with a devil to boot.” The being was standing over Newt, slightly leaned over, their glasses staying put despite having no ears, nor nose for it to be perched on. Strings of letters in various scripts flew out of his head straight into the lens as it shook its head.

“Did it ruin your fantasy of how you would’ve gotten back together— his Newt, your Lucas?” Its voice echoed with disgust in Newt’s mind.

“All of it was because fate deemed it so, but you didn’t account for the pangolin did you? Didn’t take it to heart what that other fellow said, how Outworlders would affect your little play?”

It stood straight and headed back to his chair, picking up the book once more, carefully holding it up for its guest to see. Newt got a better look now, only the covers were intact, but the binding looked like it was stitched together haphazardly. This was him— put together on the surface, but barely holding together using threads of falsehoods and ideals of love.

“Outworlders. Trading of Names. Disgusting filth, all of it.” The flames grew hotter in the room.

“Only devils would spoil a perfectly naturally made story. And the Outworlders…” The fire dimmed allowing shadows to dance across the empty walls. From his view, he saw the being clench a wooden hand over the lapel pin.

“Imagine having to write a story in conjunction with multiple authors—all of which are children; the once clear path has become muddled with refuse and fifteen different roads that can lead a perfect character down the path of mediocracy or worse!”

“And those in charge of it all-! Keepers.” The voice spoke the word with more than disgust, contempt—maybe. Newt felt the spectacles look towards his direction. “How far they’ve fallen…”

They sat there in silence, the anger and regret that had consumed them both ebbing away in time with the dying flame in the fireplace. Newt wasn’t sure how much time had passed, maybe hours or even days, before the other spoke again.

“You can leave whenever you know… I’m not keeping you here. As I said, I only read.”

No response.

“I’ve read your whole story already, up until this moment. Nothing more can happen here and I can assure you that staying here is not a sanctuary.” There was a trace sense of reluctance in its tone, the hands that held the book came up to its face and hovered before the spectacles it wore.

“This is a prison. Unless you’ve got something to atone, I believe you should be able to figure a way out.”

Newt still stayed on the floor, examining the ceiling, marvelling how much it reminded him of Lucas. It was pristine, yet held the fine texture of crumpled paper. Not absolutely perfect, but it held the hallmarks of potential. Potential he never grasped. 

In the end, Newt chose a way out that was suited for him.

As he stepped into the embers—his body screamed in silence—withered tendons, necrotized bones, and threads of purple corruption burned away until all that was left was ash. The being watched, unperturbed, as the book he’d been holding the entire time slowly ignited and disintegrated into dust.

A clove-like smell reminiscent of the carnations a young boy once took care of in a small boutique filled the room.

“I have no idea what you have gained here, but I hope some clarity in remembering your story was enough. If it wasn’t… the Reading Room has never been kind enough to let a story pass through without a price.” The lens of the glasses kept staring into the fireplace, waiting for something.

He woke up in a field of poppies, a meteor brew in hand, with no recollection of how he got here. He felt something was missing, but how do you remember something you never had?

Pieces of paper flew out of the ashes onto a small table by a lone, empty chair. They stacked themselves onto a nice pile before a beautiful pair of gold-rimmed glasses landed on top. As if a pen, a title emerged from the first point of contact:

Childhood Sweethearts =Newt=

[shhtickerbook]

Burnt Sugar

Wonka agere one shot fic! for all those asking for more CG! lofty content. This was very self indulgent and comforting for me heh. As always A03 link below or just read under cut!

-

Willy Wonka was sitting at his workbench, his chocolate making case taking up the whole table. A line of multicoloured corked bottles sitting on a shelf beside, each labelled with a symbol. (it was much easier than reading small lettering)

With extreme care he used a pipette to sample out just a few drops of liquid sunlight, dropping it into the glass spiral condenser. The amber bead travelling down the clear corkscrew before it made contact into a heated flask filled with a light blue serum. It was supposed to turn an aqua hue, but instead it became more of a mint green. Willy frowned in annoyance, tapping the glass gently to try and encourage it to mix further. Stubbornly it remained the same, it didn’t make sense, he was sure his measurements were correct. Biting in his lower lip as his foot shook up and down as he concentrated.

Very carefully again, he transferred one more drop of the golden liquid through the pipette. But squeezed the dropper a little too hard with his shaking hands, Willy cursing under his breath. He was exhausted to say the least, the past few days had been filled with constant recipe revisions and experiments. This batch was to be of his new idea! Mood lollipops, the idea was that with each lick the candy would change hue and flavour to match your mood. But the mechanics of it were proving to be insanely complex. Scattered papers and sketches of blueprints and experiments littered all around the tabletop and room.

With the excess force added to the dropper, far more than what he wanted poured into the mix. The aqua base quickly turned bright, almost neon green, not before it began to bubble worryingly.

“Nonono-“

Wonka muttered, pulling at his hair anxiously. Quickly he scrambled through his case in search of an ingredient to try and balance out the PH of the elixir. Just managing to find something that could work, but by the time he had turned around the solution was boiling furiously, a foam starting to build and ride up through the glass tubing. Willy didn’t know what to do, he was about to lose hours of work. He pressed his thumb against the neck of the tube, but the green candy mixture rose up to meet his skin, which was burning hot.

“Owwwch!”

He yelped as he removed his hand, the molten sugar having burned a small circle onto his thumb. Sucking on it hard to try and relieve the pain, having to watch in defeat as his hours of work pumped out of the tubing, emerald foam spilling out across his desk. Molten candy mixture spreading over everything, his plans and other important equipment.

Wonka’s face screwed up, clenched hands shaking in frustration. All that work for nothing, the experiments and a complete waste of expensive ingredients, all for him to mess it up and ruin all of it. It wasn’t often Willy got angry, it just wasn’t the kind of person he was. But this was too much, frustration bubbling over just like the melted candy had. In one sweep he attacked his work station, the spiral conductor being thrown from the table and smashing into splinters against the floor. Thick molten candy also exploding into his wall and floor, fusing itself to the surface. Willy scared himself with the noise, flinching away in alarm. He hadn’t meant to destroy it, instantly regretting his decision. The glass spiral now lying in three pieces across the floor.

Said conductor was one of his first pieces of equipment he got, it was whilst he was travelling through Germany in search of ingredients. He’d been feeling under the weather and visited a local chemist, who then introduced him to his laboratory equipment. A world of beakers, flasks, and more. Upon discussion he had the idea of using the them to expand his chocolate making. The old man sold him that conductor for half the usual price, as well as the exchange of a few chocolates of course.

Willy stood in silence as he stared at what he’d done. The smell of burning sugar filling the room horribly. The realisation of what he’d done only made him feel even worse, holding the back of his chair before kicking it over. He didn’t care anymore. Mood lollipops were a stupid idea anyways, he tried to reassure himself. He stepped back before falling to floor, biting hard on his lip. Childish tears threatening to fall, but he squeezed his eyes shut tight to keep them at bay.

He was so caught up in his misery that he didn’t notice the door creaking open, the sound of very small boots entering. Followed by a shocked exclaim in a pertinent voice.

“Willy Wonka what on EARTH has happened in here.”

The Oompa Loompa had heard such commotion from the workshop, having to come investigate. He wasn’t expecting to see such carnage inside, glass and melted sugar everywhere. Putting down a teacup he had in hand, he carefully stepped over broken glass as he looked around in horror at the mess. Willy groaned at the arrival of Lofty, his head buried in his hands. It was the last person he wanted to be around right now.

“Go-way”

He mumbled miserably, he didn’t have the brain to deal with Loftys judgment. But he wasn’t going to get out of it that easily, especially not from Lofty of all people.

“Not a chance, look at the mess you’ve made in here? Why there’s melted sugar stuck to the ceiling of all places!”

He looked up in horror, kicking away pieces of glass as he approached the chocolatier. Who was curled up on himself in complete defeat. Even Lofty realised that he was clearly feeling quite woeful right now, sighing sympathetically.

“Nevermind, we can deal with all this later. Out you get before you break anything else”

The Oompa Loompa barked out the order as he pinched his brow, tugging at Wonkas sleeve. He knew that Willy had been working himself too hard over the last couple days, and was clearly in need of some TLC. But yet again he was ignored, which he didn’t appreciate in the slightest. Placing two hands on his hips he spoke again, more firmly.

“Willy Wonka you are to get up immediately, you’ve been working yourself silly and this nonsense is clearly a direct result of it.”

He gestured again to the mess, Willy lifting his head to look at it apprehensively. It somehow looked even worse, and the state of his favourite conductor broken on the floor just upset him further.

“Leave me ‘lone”

He murmured wearily, glaring at the Oompa Loompa. Who just returned the expression with a glare, meaning business. From the tone of his voice, Lofty began to suspect the boys current state of mind. His tone of voice and body language giving it away.

“I’m not going anywhere, now. OUT.”

His voice rising sternly, Willy jumping at the noise. Before glaring hard and standing to his feet, towering over Lofty as he snarled.

“FINE!”

Wonka yelled back, stomping his way out of room. Nearly bowling the Oompa Loompa right over. Whilst leaving, his boot collided with the last remaining spiral of his conductor. Splintering entirely underneath his shoe, he paused for a moment before continuing outside. Willy felt as if his body was filled with boiling oil, ready to explode just like his chemistry supplies. He marched through his flat, not even sure what to do with himself. He felt overwhelmed, tired, frustrated and any other possible word for just plain horrible! It didn’t help when the set of small footsteps followed behind him curtly.

“Careful! You’re going to track glass throughout the house with that stomping.”

Lofty commented, but it only further aggravated Wonkas mood. His pretentious tone of voice feeling like nails on a chalkboard to his already sour mood. Turning around suddenly as he stopped him in his tracks, Lofty looking up cool as ever with his teacup back in hand.

“Oh don’t you ever SHUT UP!”

Willy threw out his arm, accidently hitting the teacup from Loftys hand. It smashed against the door frame before exploding into ceramic shards.

-

There was a terrible long silence for a moment, once again Willy highly regretting what he’d just done in a temper. Lofty looked at the remains on the floor as his took a breath in, trying to keep his own composure. It was one of his cups from Loompa Land, he had a few others, but it was still a sentimental item from his home. The clay itself collected from the river that ran through the island, before being fired in a uniquely designed Loompa kiln. It was a lengthy process, but the island produced some of the most beautiful ceramic.

He looked right up, making eye contact with the chocolatier. His face was unnervingly neutral in expression, that’s when Willy realised just how big a trouble he was in. Lofty lifted a hand and motioned for Willy to lean down, remaining his stone cold expression.

“Whilst I can understand that you’re feeling upset, that wasn’t acceptable behaviour.”

His tone was slightly different, extremely serious but still gentle. As if someone slowly poured a glass of icy cold water down the back of his shirt. Willy felt his sleeve being pulled, before being taken by surprise as Lofty briskly lead him away. He had to hunch over due to his tiny stature, and tried to pull away. Somehow Lofty’s grip was incredibly strong regardless of his size.

“What are you doing? Let go of me!”

Willy had meant for his tone to come off commanding, but it came out instead as pathetic and whiny. Giving the exact opposite impression he wanted to convey.

“If you are so intent on behaving like a child, then you are going to be treated as such.”

Lofty continued as he led the man into the sitting room, pointing towards the corner where a circular woven rug sat. Willy looking in complete bewilderment, wondering what in the world Lofty was playing at.

“Sit. There. Ten minutes”

Willy frowned in confusion before chuckling in utter disbelief. Once again trying to jerk away from the iron grip on his sleeve.

“You’ve got to be joking me-“

“Oh I certainly am not. If you are choosing to act out like this then you’re going to be treated accordingly.”

He stated, no longer willing to tolerate this misbehaviour. He was well aware that Wonka had times in which he felt younger than his physical age, and all this behaviour pointed towards him feeling so. Acting like a complete brat must be his way to communicate said emotions.

“I-Im not going to be put into a timeout”

Willy said defensively, hating it even more so when he could feel his defensives starting to crumble. The tone of voice and instructions making him feel very vulnerable. His reaction only furthered Lofty’s suspicions of his dwindling headspace.

“Are you sure about that? Because I disagree.”

Lofty firmly pulled him to the corner, before tugging hard down. It was remarkable how strong he was, considering his size. The jolt unsteadying Wonka as he fell onto his rear. It didn’t hurt, but paired with Lofty’s firm expression and his already sensitive emotions?

It made him feel too vulnerable and small, swallowing hard to keep down any tears. But even still against his own self control, a few dribbled over. Curling in on himself as he sniffled to himself miserably, it seemed to be the last straw for his headspace slipping.

Even Lofty sympathetically shook his head at the sorry sight, but had a suspicion that it was what he needed. Wonka was the type of person who far too often bottled up any negative emotion, always trying to keep his signature (and often irritating optimism)

So pulling a pocket watch from his waistcoat, he checked the time.

“Your ten minutes begin now”

Willy looked up with a glare, he didn’t want to wait ten minutes. It wasn’t fair, he hadn’t meant to break Loftys silly teacup. Although there was a part of him that felt guilty about it, it was a pretty teacup. He watched as the Oompa Loompa turned on his heel, gathering each shard of ceramic from the floor.

Wonka didn’t even know why he had even entertained this silly idea, but with his current headspace Willy couldn’t stop the onslaught of tears, mixed with self pity and overwhelm. Whining and groaning from pure frustration, wanting any kind of attention. He wanted Lofty to come over and apologise for putting him here, or at least offer some kind of response. But Lofty didn’t react at all, just continuing to clean. The lack of any kind of reaction though infuriated Willy further.

He’d been placed onto the oval rug, legs tucked up to his chest. So with a huff he kicked both his legs out from underneath him, boots slamming onto the floorboards with a loud clunk. Lofty was faced away as he swept the broken crockery, but sighed before responding.

“Please remove your shoes from the floor, I don’t want you leaving scuff marks on the mahogany”

He sternly requested, Willy swallowing and instinctively pulling his feet back. Cursing himself for being so easily scolded, it was something about his tone of voice that just cut through him like butter. It just built even more anger and frustration within himself. He was scowling to himself when he thought came to mind, remove his shoes Lofty told him.

Fine. He’ll remove his shoes alright. Fumbling a little with the laces, Willy untangled the lace from his boot. Grabbing ahold of the sole he pulled hard to get it off, holding the boot to his chest with a frown. Before he could change his mind, he raised the boot high above his head. And in one angry motion he hurled the shoe hard, colliding with the doorway where Lofty was disposing of the mess. A chunk of the skirting board chipped off from the projectile hitting from such force.

The Oompa Loompa jumped in surprise at the projectile, but still retained his cool exterior. Taking another deep breath to regulate himself, he knew a reaction was exactly what Wonka was trying to get out of him. So he calmly just pulled out his pocket watch once again, resetting the timer with a sigh and a shaking head.

“Congratulations Mr Wonka, you have now had your time reset , with an added five minutes for throwing that shoe. Even think about doing the same with the other one, and you can trust me when I say you’ll be spending the rest of the evening on that mat.”

He spoke with a dead serious tone, turning to look Willy directly in the eye to show he really really meant it. Wonka’s angry body language visibly deflating like a balloon, shrinking down. He knew that Lofty wasn’t taking any more of his tricks. He couldn’t even be naughty properly, just like how he couldn’t finish that stupid recipe. With only one boot on he tucked his legs back under his chin, sniffing as he felt his eyes watering. This time he couldn’t hold it in, bursting into floods of tears. Quickly escalating into bubbling sobs, everything all at once crashing in on itself.

Willy couldn’t even tell what he was crying about, whether it breaking his condenser, yelling at Lofty or being scolded at for throwing the stupid shoe. It seemed to be days of pent up emotion just exploding out of him. His cries ended up hitching and hiccuping , making his head throb horribly. It felt as if he’d been marooned on this silly carpet for hours. After five minutes his sorrowful howling had escalated to the point where he wasn’t sure if he could breathe, any time he tried to stop he just dissolved into panicked sobs again.

Lofty knew that he had no option but to intervene at this point, regardless of his punishment. Slowly walking over before sitting down across from him on the floor.

“Alright you’re going to make yourself sick at this rate, you’re not taking in enough air with your silly gasping.”

Willy looked up through his tears to see the Oompa Loompa sitting across from him. Although still amongst the meltdown, he glared at him.

“Go-a-WAY!”

He yelled as best he could, but his voice cracked and whimpered which ruined the effect he wanted yet again.

“Not happening I’m afraid. Now try take in some deep breaths with me, before you keel over from lack of oxygen.”

Willy’s head was in-fact feeling a bit dizzy, as were his hands that were beginning to tingle with pins and needles. As if he had a fizzy soda pop running through his veins. It was difficult to try and break out of the cycle of hyperventilation, watching closely as Lofty demonstrated. Who placed an orange hand to his stomach, before breathing in deeply.

“Copy as such, hold a hand over your belly and breathe in, hold it for a few moments before letting go. Feel your stomach rise in and out the way as you do so.”

Willy found this all rather silly sounding, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Even if Lofty had been so mean as to put him in timeout. He took in the breath, but halfway through it hitched again. Falling back into the unhelpful gasping.

“Try again, with me this time”

Loftys tone was still firm, but gentle also. Willy swallowing as fat tears kept on spilling over. He nodded and tried again, holding his hands over his belly. This time successfully taking in a deep breath and feeling his stomach rising and falling. He carried on following Lofty’s example for a couple minutes, and although the torrent of tears hadn’t stopped, Willy had managed to calm down a little.

“That’s much better, now would you say we’re done with the tantrum at last? I fear for the house’s interior if we plan on throwing any more shoes.”

Willy nodded tearfully, looking over at the ceramic shards that had been swept into a pile, sitting to the chunk that had been chipped from the skirting board from the boot. Then remembering the mess in his workshop he caused, he just ruined everything.

“Mmso-sorry..”

Face screwing up again, swallowing to try keep himself from falling to pieces again. Lofty sighed sympathetically, shaking his head as he unfolded a handkerchief from his waistcoat.

“Now that’s enough of that, I know it was an accident- well at least some of it was. Regardless, from the look of it you’ve served your time anyways.”

Lofty checking his pocket and watch before he stood up to daub around the chocolatiers hot teary face. A surprisingly gentle and kind action that was quite unheard of coming from Lofty. The fabric was extremely soft, there was even a pretty design embroidered onto it. He was then handed the cloth once Lofty was satisfied with his mopped up eyes.

“Now blow that nose of yours, you’ve probably given yourself a terrible headache.”

Wonka sniffed with a nod, but felt the pretty stitching with his fingers. It felt a little sacrilegious to make it gross by blowing his nose into it.

“It’s too- pretty”

Willy mumbled, the corners were stitched with tiny little exotic flowers and vines. Maybe they were the ones you got in Loompa land. It was a shame that he didn’t spend too much time there on his travels, only a quick stop in search of cocoa beans.

“It’s quite alright, keep it if you’d like. I can always make another.”

Lofty said flippantly, seeing a flicker of a smile in Wonka’s face at the gift. Although it wasn’t like he deserved it from how miserable he’d been acting. It was clear that with Lofty’s small hands he could then create the smallest and most intricate detail.

Even still, Willy didn’t want to ruin it. Stuffing the hanky into his pocket before resolving to use his sleeve to wipe his nose. Much to Loftys utter disgust, Willy just hoping that he wouldn’t change his mind on the gift.

“Ugh, and I give you a perfectly good handkerchief for nothing”

Lofty spoke, shaking his head in disappointment. For the first time Willy letting out a small chuckle, although still between the tears dribbling down his cheeks. Even Lofty couldn’t help but smirk, pleased to see that his spirits had lifted even a little.

“I suppose you can get off that mat now, I gather you’ve certainly learned your lesson.”

Loftys small hand patted Willy’s knee, who took in a deep breath as he nodded. Apart from the headache he already had, Willys head was feeling extremely fuzzy. The outburst had caused him to slip very small, very quickly. Thankfully Lofty had already connected the dots on that matter, and it was very clear Wonka was going to need some caring for this evening. Willy knuckled his bloodshot eyes as he stood up, feeling a slight head rush as he did so.

“Careful! Don’t need to add falling over and flattening me to the list of trouble today.”

Lofty warned, standing and dusting himself off. Looking up at Willy as he stood fidgeting with his hands. Not quite sure what to do with himself, thankfully Lofty took charge again. Despite his towering size over him, all he could see above him was a tired little child. One that seemed to be in desperate need of some comfort and rest.

“Come on then, let’s get you settled and into bed.”

Lofty held up his hand, just high enough so that Willy could hook a finger into the palm of his small hand. Willy allowing himself to be lead through the flat, his other hand making its way to his lips as he chewed on his thumbnail. It was only early evening, but Wonka felt exhausted regardless. The upset had taken all the energy from his system and left him drained and weary. Lofty swiftly delivered the boy to his bedroom, greeted by the warm red and pink tones decorated throughout.

Similar to his childhood home, Willy had a bed built into the wall much like his mother’s canal boat. The structure having a short ornate barrier that on the boat was meant to prevent one from falling out during a storm. Although no longer on the water, it was an aspect that Willy always found comforting. The raised sides creating a safe barrier, he often fell out of his ramshackle bed at scrubbits during the night when he stayed there. The hardboard flooring extremely unforgiving to your body when you fell upon it. Even still, there was also a homemade rag rug sitting on the floor beside. Noodle and her Mother had made it for him as a housewarming gift for when he first moved into his new home.

Willy let go of Lofty’s hand to kneel down on the floor to run his hand over said item. It was made from scrap pieces of multiple kinds of fabric tied together, he liked the texture of it.

All the while Lofty tutted at the rooms lack of organisation, disapprovingly picking up a discarded vest that was lying on the ground.

“Really Mr Wonka, you’re too old to be keeping your room in such a sorry state”

Lofty couldn’t help but comment, before looking over at the little chocolatier who was just kneeling on the carpet, running his hand over its surface, the other chewing on his thumb. Lofty realised his own irony of his comment, chuckling to himself.

“Well, perhaps not at the moment I see”

There was something endearing about Wonka like this, well apart from the tantrum. That part he could live without, but you can’t exactly pick and choose these things. Willy himself was feeling very small, head fuzzy and little. But especially tired, he was so sleepy. He hadn’t been sleeping properly for the past couple days, mind too busy with calculations for new candies and chocolate.

“You need to get into bed, get changed into your nightclothes and I’ll return in a few minutes with some sustenance.”

Lofty called, Willy turning away from the rug to look over with a weak nod. Eating and drinking properly was yet another matter that he’d been neglecting. By his bed sat a drawer containing his nightclothes, deciding to just shuffle on his rear over rather than walk.

Willy ended up deciding on his favourite pair, an incredibly soft magenta material. It had small gold buttons down the middle though, and he had a little trouble getting them done up. The fabric felt heavenly against his skin, the material reminding him of one of his mother’s old smocks. With his eyes closed he held the sleeve close to his cheek, just imagining the sweet smell of her perfume, a soft gentle tune being hummed.

On his bed he spied a familiar looking companion, a navy knitted toucan was peaking his beak from beneath the blanket. Willy pulling himself up to crawl onto his bed, carefully collecting his bird friend, Chester. Both button eyes looking up at his own red bloodshot ones from crying. He manoeuvred his wing to reach up and wipe his own eyes.

don’t cry willy, it’s okay

As Willy continued his imaginary conversation with the stuffed animal, Lofty re-entered the room. Holding a wooden tray with him, he couldn’t help a fond chuckle at seeing the man in some kind of whispered conversation with the inanimate object. Wonka heard said laugh though, head whipping around as he threw the plush behind him. His face burning scarlet, Lofty must find him so silly.

But the Oompa Loompa wasn’t phased in the slightest, shaking his head with a small knowing smile.

“I believe I’ve already met- Charles is it? Before, no need to throw him away in my presence”

He reassured indifferently with a shrug, Willy feeling a little better.

“Chester! name is Chester.”

He had to correct the mistake, frustrated that Lofty had once again forgotten his name. Lofty simply looked up and shook his head.

“My apologies Chester”

Willy then turned to pick up the toucan again, whose eyes had been a bit skewed by being thrown. Which gave him a very understandable expression of annoyance.

ouch! You’re lucky I didn’t split a seam there. Charles though huh? Makes me sound fancy, don’t mind it.

Willy held the bird close to his chest in apology, who thankfully was very forgiving. Lofty approaching and placing the tray on the side table. On it sat two drinks, one small mug of tea, and a glass bottle of what looked to be hot chocolate.

Willy blushed a little again at the sight of it, remembering it had been something Abacus had purchased for him. A rubber nipple was stretched over the neck of the glass bottle to keep it sealed.

“Abacus already warned me of your capability of spilling drinks when you’re feeling young, I thought especially right now, it’s what you need”

Lofty stated matter of factly, not willing to risk Wonka creating any more mess tonight. Willy looked down played with his fingers, feeling a bit torn on whether he wanted it or not. But before he could make a decision, Lofty caught sight of something, clicking his tongue.

“Oh for heavens sake let me fix those buttons, you’ve created quite a mess of it.”

Without hesitation he reached forward to fix them, unbuttoning and rebuttoning each row. Willy hasn’t even realised he’d buttoned each row into the wrong buttonhole, looking down to watch as Lofty small hands fixed the error. Chuffing to himself smugly when finished, Willy didn’t think he could feel any smaller. The simple action had sunk him even further into headspace, but he appreciated how Lofty took charge like this. There was no room for him to start second guessing or feel self conscious.

So when Lofty did offer the bottle afterwards, he didn’t hesitate and took it with both hands. It was hot, but not so hot that it burned. It was filled with a milky sweet hot chocolate, whilst Lofty sipped on his own dark mocha.

“Cmon, into bed now. I do say there may be a possibility of a story if you get settled quickly.”

With widened eyes Willy quickly scrambled beneath his blanket, he did love stories so. Abacus always read in his comforting baritone rumble, but he’d never had a story yet from Lofty. There was a small stack of hardback books piled underneath a shelf, yet another gift from Noodle. She knew how much Willy enjoyed books, whilst both little and big now. But he had a soft spot for these picture books, they were short and had easy rounded lettering.

Pointing at the stack once settled inside bed, Lofty began to sift through them. Smiling at the charming watercolour illustrations, each book was its own story but they seemed to all share the theme of the characters being animals who acted much the same as humans. Beginning to understand now that Willy struggled with decision making at the moment, Lofty chose one of the books himself. Settling on one which depicted a family of kittens performing household chores.

Willy smiled when recognising the title, reaching out to trace the covers illustration when Lofty perched on the bed beside him.

“Now are we all comfortable?”

Lofty turned to see the chocolatier tucked into bed, the small toucans beak hooked over the covers. Willy held the bottle in both hands, only realising now that he was quite peckish. The hot chocolate was soothing against his raw throat from crying, and he guzzled it down eagerly. Although he was quickly interrupted with a gentle nudge of the elbow from Lofty.

“You’ll give yourself hiccups again if you drink it too fast Wonka, it’s not going anywhere.”

He chastised, Willy releasing the grip on the bottle with a sheepish giggle. Lofty then returning to the book, reading out the title in a clear gentle tone.

“Five little Kittens…”

By the end of the story, the rest of the bottle had been drained to nothing. Willy loved the book, even more so with Lofty reading. He would often pause between pages to rely his own thoughts and comments, which made Willy laugh. Surprisingly Lofty also did voices! Lowering his pitch up and down for each of the different feline characters.

“Alright then, how about one more and you try get some rest.”

Lofty spoke quietly, wanting to settle the boy in hopes he would fall asleep. Willy’s eyelids were beginning to flutter, the hot chocolate having filled his belly with a bloom of warmth. Lofty just chose the next book in the stack, this one’s cover featuring a squirrel in a blizzard whilst he hid inside a tree trunk.

By the time that Lofty had gotten through the middle of the story, he heard a gentle rumbling from beside him. Willy Wonka completely out for the count, snoring softly with one hand still ahold of the glass bottle. It was an endearing sight, even Lofty couldn’t lie. With a fond chuckle, he laid a hand to gently stroke his brown curly hair from his face.

“I do say, I definitely prefer you like this.”