#inner city slums

[newyorkthegoldenage]

A back alley in a row of tenements, 1937.

Photo: Max Yavno via the Museum of Contemporary Art

[ladydeath-vanserra]

yknow how in the hunger games district one was one of the first districts to join the rebellion? consider: Velaris joining the Illyrians in their rebellion and Uprising against the IC okay thank you and good night

[swordsandholly]

Fancy

Ch 2: Just Be Nice to the Gentlemen, Fancy

Previous | Next | Ao3

NSFW | MDNI

Vampire! Poly 141 x Fem! Plus Size! Reader

Word Count: 7k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life.

Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate for the better.

A/N: Y’all are getting updates to two fics in a row bc my Wellbutrin has well and truly kicked in. Say thank you to big pharma or whatever

A week passes. You tucked that wad of cash into your special hiding spot behind the vent above your bed. It still feels like it’s burning a hole through you. You made lists of things everything you could possibly spend it on, how much each item costs individually, how much it might help if you save it. In the end, you decided - rather impulsively - to get all new water filters for your entire apartment. The shower head and both sinks. It eats away most of the cash but you’ve never felt so clean - never realized the amount of sludge sticking to your skin until it wasn’t anymore.

The four men haven’t come back, at least to your knowledge. Most likely they’re done with you after that single meeting. They’ve gone back to Cherry and you’re back to working as a server - having meager tips shoved down the bust of your dress and too rough hands grabbing your inner thighs.

After the gentile treatment you received, though, you feel a bit disgusted. Reminded that they choose to be this way. That vampires aren’t just like that, they aren’t made like that, they choose to treat you - to treat humans - terribly. It makes your gut churn with anger in a way it hasn’t since you were an over-achieving teen sneaking out to attend protests in the lower city square.

It is what it is. Life goes on.

The train lurches on your way to work, as usual. News and advertisements scroll along the screens lining the top of the cabin.

TWO DEAD: LOWER THIRD STREET - BOTH EXSANGUINATED

DISAPPEARANCES CONTINUE TO GROW IN NUMBER IN THE FRENCH QUARTER

ONCE AGAIN THE CITY COUNCIL OVERRULES SUIT FOR HUMAN REPRESENTATIVE CHAIR

UNIDENTIFIED SUBSTANCE FOUND IN JANE DOE

With grit teeth you tear your eyes away. People around you whisper, conspire about what might be going on. As if you all don’t already know what’s happening. As if there isn’t a cancer in this city centuries old.

Nothing is new under the constant night.

Life goes on.

You sigh, quietly checking yourself in the mirror before locking up your things in the employee break room and punching in your time card. Before you can even step foot toward the main floor, a girl with pitch black hair begins charging toward you.

“You!” Cherry stomps up to you, voice cracking with anger. Her platform boots raise her up above your level.

You nearly jump out of your skin, instinctively backing away and against the wall. “W-what -“

“You stole my clients!” She shrieks.

“I- what?”

“Cherry.” The owner warns, appearing behind her. A shadow looming over the two of you. A man ready to grab the scruffs of two warring kittens. A few other girls who just arrived for their shifts stare with wide, nervous eyes.

The last time there was a fight here a girl got her eye stabbed out.

“You took them! They’re my best paying clients and you took them! What did you do, huh? You suck their cocks for free?” Her face is barely an inch from yours and a sharp acrylic nail pokes your chest so harshly you’re surprised it doesn’t break skin.

It’s your turn to fume - face hot and hands balling into fists. “How dare you! I swear to god I-“

“Ladies!” The owner booms, grabbing both your shoulders, effectively putting an end to this little spat before it can escalate further. “Quiet. Our guests will hear you. Cherry, go smoke a cig and cool the fuck off. Fancy, follow me.”

You feel a bit like a child on their way to the principles office as you follow the owner toward the bar, wringing your hands and glancing around wildly. Despite your irritation, fear creeps through every part of you. The other girls are staring - whispering to each other behind perfectly manicured hands.

“I - sir - I really didn’t-“ You stop when that same gold tray is shoved into your hands.

“I don’t care what you did or didn’t do.” He sighs loudly. “They’re requesting you.”

“But I don’t-“

“I. Don’t. Care.” He points at you in much the same fashion as Cherry before him. “Your job is what our guests want you to do. So go do your job”

Your jaw clicks as you shut it. Cherry is glaring absolute fucking daggers at you from the back room, her sparking red dress nearly matching the shade of her face. You can’t blame her. You’re taking her clients, her paycheck, her survival. It makes you feel a bit monstrous, if you’re honest with yourself. There isn’t any time to focus on that too much as you’re ushered to the private booths. There’s no reason for you to give this up, either. If they want you they want you, and it’s their fault for kicking her to the curb.

It’s your survival too, at the end of the day.

It feels eerie to walk down this corridor again. To stand before that heavy curtain again. Your hands don’t shake this time, though. Even with the added tension from your previous interaction they remain steady.

They’re seated the same as before. Simon’s mask is different - a regular balaclava as opposed to the skull. You realize that his eyebrows and lashes are blonde - so strangely soft for such a harsh looking man. They’re all dressed far more casually, it seems. All the way down to Johnny’s sneakers that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe based on the brand. John has traded his suit coat for a simple one with sherpa lining. Kyle braided his hair since last time.

“Evenin’, Fancy.” John smiles warmly. The way it makes your heart flutter is utterly shameful.

“Hello.” You smile, tilting your head and setting down the tray. Same as before. Rinse and repeat. They ordered liquor this time - bourbon, you think. Maybe scotch. Same difference. “You’ve gotten me into trouble.”

“Have we, now?” John drapes an arm over the back of the booth.

“Cherry isn’t exactly happy.” You fake pout as you hand out the glasses. “Thinks I did something salacious to steal you away.”

“How do you know you didn’t?” John gives you a once over. Blue eyes dragging down every curve and angle of your body.

“I suppose I don’t.” You sigh. “Nothing in my right mind, though.”

“Sorry about that, love. It’s for your own good.”

“Right.” The only thing more powerful than plausible deniability is actual deniability. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Can get yer pretty little arse over here.” Johnny grabs you by the waist, setting you down in his lap. You gasp at the sudden motion, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders for balance.

“I think ‘little’ is a bit of a misnomer, there, hun.” You snicker.

“Aye, as it should be.” His hand wanders to pinch your hip.

“You’re a dog, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Och, ye wound me, lass.”

You glance over at Simon briefly, eyes meeting his. He tilts his head forward. Those dark eyes hold no less intensity than before. They take you in like they want to eat you whole. He probably does.

John must signal him - a nod or a curl of finger - because you’re being passed into the center of the booth again and set right up at John’s side. Vampire covens are simple things. Strong hierarchies that are rarely challenged unless a leader falls or fails spectacularly.

Top dog gets the chew toy.

“I like the change of attire.” You smile, tugging at the soft sherpa of his coat.

“Suits not your style?”

“They’re nice… I see so many of them, though.” You lean into his side, letting your head fall back on his shoulder. “Besides, this fits you better, I think. Matches the beard.”

You let your hand venture up to trace along his jaw, reveling in the gentle scratch of his beard. It’s pleasant. Well cared for. You briefly wonder what his budget for beard products is. He leans into the touch. You’ve always wondered how you to feel to them. Is it a gentle warmth or a scorching flame? Either way, they never seem to mind.

“You boys planning on talking business tonight?” You tilt your head.

“Ah, not tonight.” He chuckles, taking your hand and pressing a light kiss to the back of it. “Tonight is purely about rest and relaxation. Need it after the week we’ve had.”

Somehow the other three manage to melt into the background. You might not know much - if anything - about him, but John Price is the type of man to fill a room all on his own. You felt that the first time you saw him.

“I can certainly help with that.” You grin, letting your hand trail up his thigh. You move slowly, waiting to see how he reacts, and go to hook a leg across his lap to straddle him.

To your surprise, he just grabs your waist and sets you back into your seat. “Don’t need to do all that, luv. Just talk with us.”

Part of you wants to laugh. There’s no way guys like this are the lonely, chatty type. But then, as you take in his face, you can see the exhaustion in his eyes. Vampires don’t get bags under their eyes or stress lines, but it still shows. Still swirls in their irises so distinctly.

“Wanted to pick your brain about somethin’, actually.” John sighs, taking a slow sip from his drink.

You scoff. “Me?”

“You’re a smart girl.”

“Am I?” You can’t help but laugh. “What, you need help picking out some lingerie for your mistress?”

John rolls his eyes at you. Kyle chuckles behind him. They’re far more quiet than last time. At least, the little bit you remember form last time.

“Our company has had some recent… expansions.” John mulls his words over carefully, which sets of alarm bells in the back of your mind. “We want to take the opportunity to do something for the lower city.”

“Why?” You spit far too honestly - involuntarily dropping the facade of an escort. What are they doing to pull this out of you? Is it compulsion?

Just as John opens his mouth to answer you, a phone rings. Loud and piercing through the tension in the air. Simon sighs loudly and answers, speaking so low you aren’t sure if he’s speaking at all. All eyes are trained on him. Except yours. You look around at the strain in their faces. The dread.

Simon grunts something before hanging up. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” John demands.

“The kind we can’t leave til’ tomorrow.”

There’s a collective groan throughout the room. Johnny looks like he wants to smash the closest thing he could find.

“Fuckin’ hell…Sorry, darling. Looks like we’ll have to resume this another time.” John sighs loudly and takes your hand to help pull you from the booth. He pauses with you off to the side - glancing over his shoulder and nodding to the others as they pass through the curtain before turning back to you. “Can I trouble you for a kiss at least? To tide me over?”

“Always.” Once again, the response is far too automatic for your liking. Then again, there are worse things than happily kissing a good looking man. Even if he is what he is.

John chuckles. It’s low and rich and causes you to lean forward despite yourself. Sometimes you forget just how alluring they’re built to be. Made to draw you in. An angler fish. John leans forward to meet you, still holding your hand in his. His lips are cool, a little rough but also gentle. There’s a hint of almost desperation in the way he pushes closer before who you can only assume is Simon clears his throat.

“Pay for a full night plus tip - as an apology for leaving so suddenly. Take the rest of the night, dove.” John smiles down at you and presses another tied roll of cash into your palm. “Don’t want my favorite girl having to scrape by for tips after we leave. Bad look, that.”

“T-thanks…” You murmur, keeping your eyes locked on him. Almost afraid to look down at the amount in your hand. There’s a heft to it that you both appreciate and are terrified of.

John pats your hand and leans forward to place a rather chaste kiss on your cheek before disappearing out the curtain just like that first time.

You’re not sure how much more unbridled tenderness you can handle.

~~~

It’s not even a full week before they’re back. This time, it’s just Kyle and Johnny who greet you on the other side of the curtain. That fact should relax you - not having to focus your attention on so many men should make it easier. Instead, it feels foreboding after the way they left last time. It makes your shoulders tense.

Why are you worried about John? A little voice in the back of your head questions. Why are you worried about a fucking vamp?

“Hello.” You murmur, setting the usual tray on the table seemingly in slow motion. “Just the two of you today?”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Kyle grins. “We’re more than enough company.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You hum, passing out their drinks and sliding into the curved booth to get between them.

“Nothing to cure a shit week like blowin’ off a little steam with a pretty woman.” Kyle tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his other hand coming to rest on your thigh. Dogs without their leashes.

You hum. “Work got you down? You had that ‘problem’ last time.”

“Och, aye. Been a right bitch lately.” Johnny groans, tilting his head back and slinging an arm around your shoulders on the back of the booth. “At least we got that one bit sorted.”

“It was your own damn fault.” Kyle scoffs at him.

“Oi. Maybe if you payed attention to who-“

Kyle grabs Johnny’s lips, pinching them shut. “Price said not in front of the girl.”

You glance between them. The last thing you need is to be sat in the middle of a vampire brawl. Goodbye mortal plane if so.

That seems to be enough to get Johnny to drop it, opting to throw back his drink in one fell swoop and scoot in closer to you, strong arm looping around your waist.

Kyle’s hands trace down over your shoulders. “You’re a fuckin’ luxury, baby girl.”

“Can I have a kiss, hen?” Johnny leans close, fingers tracing your jaw.

Your lip quirks up. “Can you afford a kiss? Seeing as I’m such a luxury, apparently.”

It’s Kyle who moves next - pulling you fully into his lap and pushing you further into Johnny. “We can afford much more than that, love.”

The tip of a fang grazes your neck. It’s slow, gentile, not nearly enough to break the skin. Not quite a threat.

A promise.

It’s barely a hair of movement. A slight tilt, a minute lean and your lips press against Johnny’s. His lips are cold but softer than you expected. Your hands find his shoulders, his tongue darts across your lower lip and you part for him. A well memorized dance. Kyle’s hands drag up your hips to rest on your waist, holding you in place between them.

“D’you have any idea how good you smell?” Kyle murmurs in your ear.

“Or taste.” Johnny sighs into your lips. You pull back, snickering and wiping your lipstick off his lips. He has the prettiest, dopiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Come home with us?” Kyle asks, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “We’ll take such good care of you.”

“You just got here.” You murmur.

“An’ now we’re askin’ if ye’d like tae come home with us.” Johnny grins.

You tilt your head back, debating on how to ask about pay. It’s a question that needs to be asked, but a sensitive one at the same time. You don’t want to offend, but you don’t want to end up walking away from their home empty handed. Just as you go to open your mouth and subtly talk rates, you’re cut off.

“How’s 5k sound, lovie?” Kyle murmurs. Are they fucking mind readers?

You pray they don’t notice the way you choke briefly, body tensing for a fraction of a second. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit! That’s more than twice what you make in month.

“I’ll take that bewildered stare as a yes.” He laughs, moving a hand from your waist to knead at your hip.

They call a car. You don’t have to explain where you’re going to anyone - being pressed between them is enough. It used to be a little shameful for you to walk out on a man’s arm for the whole club to see. When you were young and not quite so resigned to the state of the world - when you hadn’t quite realized that the only god you should care for is green and made of paper. These days you couldn’t care less. They all know, and they’re all taking part in the same debauchery (or jealous that they can’t afford to.) It’s all goods and services, at the end of the day.

Johnny wastes no time pulling you into his lap as soon as you climb into the car - a massive, black SUV that still smells brand new. At least the seats are soft on your knees as you hover over his lap.

“No, no, full weight on me, bonnie.” He grabs your hips and pushes you to sit on his thighs. “Tha’s it.”

His hand disappears under your skirt, two fingers tracing up your sex through the thin cloth of your underwear. Messily grinding while placing sloppy, open mouth kisses along your neck and shoulder. You gasp and whine as he presses against your clit. Just enough to tease, always moving away before you can properly grind down on him. Fucking tease. Kyle watches with an appreciative grin lazily spread across his face.

Your eyes widen to saucers as you pull up to the building. One of the biggest residential skyscrapers in the city. A glowing paragon. One of only five you can see at all times from any part of the city. You’re pretty sure, if you could get to the top, that you would be able to point out your apartment. If you could see it through the smog, that is.

Kyle pins you to the wall of the elevator, lips intertwined with yours and a hand twisted in your hair. Yours knot into the material of his coat. He tastes like liquor and something you can’t quite place. Something sweeter than candy and far more satisfying.

You glance over his shoulder at Johnny just as the man readjusts his pants. He grins, keeping his hand there to palm himself as soon as he catches your eye.

Cheeky bastard.

The elevator stops so gently you might have missed it if not for the dinging and the doors parting. Kyle pulls you out into a small foyer while Johnny fumbles for a keycard.

You think you might have a heart attack when they slip you through one of the two massive front doors. It has to take up the entire floor - or at least most of it. There’s a whole pool on the right side of the balcony. An area that looks like a greenhouse mirrors it to the left. Floor to ceiling windows allow you to see the faux stars so clearly up here.

“Do you all live here?” You ask quietly, staring around the massive penthouse.

The decor is simple. Dark, heavy woods and expensive, rich toned fabrics. It doesn’t have that sterile air that so many vampire homes have. It looks lived in. Used. Even with the obviously untouched kitchen. To this day you don’t understand why vampire homes have them at all. A formality, you suppose.

Johnny nods. “Och, aye, but John and Si are… workin’.”

You decide it’s probably smartest not to pry into whatever “work” means. “So, the mice will play while the cats are away?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Kyle nods, a little smirk playing across his face.

You glance away, debating on asking a possibly invasive question. You can’t ever be too careful with the hierarchy of covens. “And John doesn’t mind you… having me first?”

They blink at you for a moment before bursting out laughing. Your face heats. It makes you feel childish, as if you asked a stupid question. It’s not a stupid question. It’s perfectly valid! At least thats what you’ve heard from other working girls…

“Oh, no, doll. He doesn’t care.” Kyle grins and hooks an arm around your shoulders.

“Might be a bit miffed he wasnae here tae join in on the fun but he’s not jealous like tha’.” Johnny mimics him with an arm around your waist as they pull you to the side.

The two exchange a look briefly with grins plastered across their faces before turning you to the right and leading you down a short hallway. A large, wooden door opens into a bedroom that could swallow your apartment whole. The decor is a bit chaotic - clothes lay across the floor leading to the bathroom and two walls are covered from the floor to halfway up with drawings and paintings.

You know what you’re here for but you can’t help wandering over to them and staring. They’re so intricate. Every detail rendered perfectly. Some are from the city, others are from far away places you aren’t sure exist anymore. A few portraits of the boys here and there and some other people you don’t know. A sketch of a man with scars littering his strong face catches your eye.

“Whose are these?” You ask in a hushed whisper, as if speaking too loudly will disrupt them.

“Ah, mine.” Johnny saunters up behind you, hands resting on your broad hips.

“They’re beautiful…” You’ve only seen art like this in the museums you visited in school.

“Could do one of ye. Ye’d make a bonnie portrait.” He murmurs, pressing his cheek to yours.

Your gut reaction is to say yes. Is that how you want to be remembered, though? Just another face only immortalized on some creature’s wall. A nameless face from eras gone by. Would he write your name down? Would they remember you in a hundred years? In fifty years? In ten, even?

You settle on a gentle “Maybe.”

Johnny takes the hint, turning you toward the bed where Kyle is already leaned. “Gonnae tear a hole in my damn pants if we donnae get a move on.”

The bed is huge, to say the least. Circular and outfitted with layers upon layers of soft pillows and probably the highest thread count sheets you’ve ever seen. It’s unmade, the comforter falling halfway off one side of it. Not that you need it for what’s to come.

Johnny kneels behind you as soon as you step between Kyle’s legs where he’s sat on the bed. Deft hands unbuckle the straps of your heels. Little nips and kisses trail up your thighs. Kyle reaches around you and presses his lips to yours - so softly - before carefully pulling down the zipper of your dress.

It’s so easy to let them take charge. To be a doll for them to do as they please. There are worse things in life than being delicately undressed by two handsome (and well paying) men. Their hands are far more gentle than you expected while they strip you, muttering little appreciative hums and compliments so low that you almost miss them. You stand bare before them, letting them take you in. Hands and eyes roaming. Johnny presses a sweet kiss to your cunt before standing, sending a little jolt up your spine.

He grins like he won some game you didn’t even know you were playing.

You turn to carefully peel off Johnny’s shirt. Your lip catches in your teeth as you run your hands over hard muscle and through a layer of thick, downy hair that leads to the waistband of his pants. So distracted by the sight before you that you don’t notice Kyle pressing against your back, locking you between them as they kiss above you. A shiver runs through you as you watch their jaws flex and hands grapple for one another.

Fucking Christ.

Sometimes you forget how good it is to fuck people you’re actually attracted to. Even if they are paying customers the same as the rest.

An unceremonious squeak escapes you when you’re suddenly flung onto the bed. Not hard enough to hurt but enough to bounce until Johnny appears on top of you, fingers pinching at the soft fat on your sides and laving at your neck with a cool tongue. He keeps his teeth out of the way as he moves down your body to take your nipple between his lips. Much appreciated.

“Need a taste, bonnie. Ye smell so good. So sweet.” Johnny whines, kneeling between your legs. You watch him lower himself slowly as Kyle slots in behind you, shirt long forgone and hands tracing up your sides to knead at your breasts.

As much as you want to pout at not getting to see Kyle undress, you can’t focus on much other than Johnny’s mouth diving into you. Your instinct is to close your legs at the sudden onslaught, but Johnny’s hands keep them solidly in place - spread wide and hooked around his arms.

“Fuck.” You gasp, head tilting back onto Kyle’s shoulder. Your hand wanders down, carding through Johnny’s mo-hawk. He places a harsh suck to your clit and your fingers tighten around the hair at the base of his neck involuntarily pushing him further into you.

You expect him to be upset, for a brief moment, that you’ve been too rough with him. Took too much charge. Instead he just keens desperately against you, picking up the pace - devouring you like a man starved.

“C-Christ, Johnny!” You gasp, fingers digging further into his scalp and the sheets.

“He likes it when you’re mean t’him.” Kyle murmurs in your ear. “Got him fuckin’ pussy drunk already.”

You roll your hips down onto his tongue as he flattens it against you, grinding his face into your pussy. He shifts, never breaking contact, and slips two thick fingers inside you. You whine, eyes screwed shut as you ride it out. Kyle grabs your chin, tilting you back into a kiss. All it takes is Johnny curling his fingers to send you toppling over the edge, back arching sharply.

Johnny rears back onto his haunches just as you peel your eyes back open, chin slick and shiny. His hands desperately pull at his belt and fly. “Cannae take it anymore.”

Kyle chuckles, smiling down at you. “You’d think after two centuries he’d learn a little patience.”

You smile back, quip dying in your throat as Johnny grinds his uncut cock between your folds - coating it in your slick. Fuck, he’s thick - punching every bit of air in your lungs as he pushes in.

“So fuckin’ warm.” He moans, brow furrowed and lips parted.

Lord help you, he’s beautiful. Even beyond that statuesque perfection all vampires have, he must have been gorgeous in life. Kyle is too, you realize as you tilt your head back to kiss him. You wonder what they would look like with ruddy cheeks - with faces warm as yours is. If Johnny would blush all the way down to his chest. If they tanned. Burnt. Freckled. Ran warm or cold. All the little differences that come with a beating heart.

All thoughts disappear at once as Johnny rolls his hips into you. You gasp, “Please.”

That’s all he needs, apparently, setting a brutal pace off the bat. Pushing you back into Kyle with every thrust with enough force that your teeth nearly knock together. Kyle’s fingers continue to pluck at your nipples. You can feel his still clothed cock pressing against your back, hips twitching at the brief friction.

“Fuck. Alright.” Kyle grunts, moving from behind you - leaving you flopping back on the bed with your hands fisting the sheets. You can hear his belt coming undone but can’t bring yourself to focus on it with Johnny relentlessly pumping into you. That is until Kyle taps the head of his cock against your lips, kneeling beside you.

He’s pretty. Not as thick as Johnny but perfectly proportioned. He doesn’t even have to ask or press forward, you want it between your lips. Seek it out. It’s cool on your tongue, calming under the relentlessness that is Johnny.

“Been tae long since we had somethin’ so nice an’ soft in our bed.” Johnny whines. As if that fact genuinely pains him.

Kyle hums in agreement, taking his time fucking into your mouth. “That it has.”

He reaches over to grab Johnny by the back of the neck, pulling him until their lips crash together. Johnny’s hands tighten where they hold you and Kyle’s pace picks up.

“Fuck, she likes tha’.” Johnny pulls back just enough to speak. “Clenchin’ down on me.”

All you can manage is a whine in response - body on fire. Every nerve feels like it’s pulsing, the whole of you utterly consumed by them. Johnny lifts your hips off the bed, arching your back so that he can fuck up into you. The new angle leaves you desperately moaning. Practically singing around Kyle’s cock as your climax hits you like a train. Rocking through you and tensing every muscle.

“Thassit, love, doin’ so good f’us.” Kyle cards his fingers through your hair. It’s strangely gentle, considering the way his cock now bullies the back of your throat while Johnny’s ruts against your g-spot. “How’s she feel, Johnny?”

The man in question just babbles incoherently, fingers digging into your wide hips enough that they’ll surely bruise. At least he’s aware enough not to crush you entirely. Kyle chuckles at him, the sound cutting off in a moan as you angle to take him deeper and wrap your hand around the length you can’t take.

“G-gonnae cum.” Johnny stutters, rhythm faltering and becoming more shallow as he approaches the edge. He pulls out with a choked groan, fucking his fist as he spills onto your thigh.

Kyle mercifully pulls away, letting you gasp for air. Your voice will be raw tomorrow, but fuck if it isn’t worth it when you’re getting fucked like that.

Johnny sighs, collapsing on his back. “Gi’ me a minute…”

“Gettin’ old, Johnny?” Kyle quips.

“Feck off.” He grunts, turning to look at you as you catch your breath. You can’t quite interpret the look in his eyes - whatever it may be - before Kyle is lifting you up at the waist.

“C’mere, love.” Kyle pulls you, sitting back on his haunches and turning your back to him. Your legs tremble uselessly, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he moves you into place. He doesn’t waste time sitting you on his cock. Kyle isn’t as rough as Johnny, taking his time with lifting off and dropping you onto his cock. A slow motion of your hips while his hands squeeze the soft layer over your waist.

“Fuck, Kyle…” You sigh, head lolling against his shoulder.

“Y’like that, baby?” He murmurs, kissing up your shoulder and neck. One hand moves from your waist to travel up the valley of your breasts. It doesn’t quite wrap around your throat, just rests at the base of it - index finger hooking into your necklace.

It’s a leisurely roll of your hips against each other. A break from the brutal pace before. He’s not desperate like Johnny - instead taking his time whispering sweet nothings and dirty words into your ear. Movements slow and easy.

You think, for a moment, that this is the closest you’ve ever been to “making love.”

Then again, maybe you’re just cock drunk.

You don’t notice Johnny getting up until he’s in front of you, hands on your thighs and lips crashing against yours. Already hard and leaking again after only a handful of minutes. Even for a vampire, that’s pretty damn impressive.

“Bonnie, please.” He moans into your mouth. Cool hands take yours and wrap them around his cock, setting a rhythm to match Kyle’s thrusts into you. “Yer fuckin’ perfect.”

It’s overwhelming. Kyle’s hands roam over your body as you bounce on his cock, draping himself over your back and nipping at your ear. Johnny’s tongue continues to explore every part of your mouth as he thrusts desperately into your hands. His fingers slip down to your clit, moving in leisurely circles that have you bucking forward into him.

“Gonna cum f’me, pretty girl?” Kyle groans into your ear. “Chokin’ my fuckin’, cock.”

You whine against Johnny’s lips, eyes screwed shut. He’s close again, pace quickening. His fingers roughly grind against your over sensitive clit. Someone is chanting, begging, and it takes longer than it should to realize it’s you. “Please, please, just - fuck - I can’t - fucking Christ-“

“Thassit, thassit, fuckin’ hell look at y’two.” Kyle pants, bottoming out with every thrust.

You cum with a choked cry, falling forward against Johnny as he coats your hands and moans. Kyle isn’t far behind, painting your back with a pretty, low groan and a jumble of praises for you and Johnny alike.

Your body feels like jelly, limbs trembling and weight leaned entirely against Johnny. He coos at you and soothes down your hair. A strong arm wraps around your shoulders to steady you. Kyle comes back with a warm rag - when he left, you’re not sure - gently wiping you down with a an unfamiliar level of care.

“I can do it.” You reach for the cloth.

“No, no, love.” He says gently, taking your hands and carefully cleaning them off with precision. He stops to rub the back of your hand with his thumb, something unreadable and warm behind his eyes.

“Drink this.” Johnny holds out a glass to you. When did he even get that?

“Tap water?” You frown slightly, looking him up and down.

“What’s wrong with tap?” He snorts. Oh. Right. Upper city.

“Thanks.” You murmur, chugging it greedily. The physical exhaustion begins to creep up your bones, your legs already practically useless. Keeping up with vampires is a young man’s game and you’re just starting to see the signs of aging out. “I better g-“

“Better lay down.” Kyle cuts you off, taking the glass and pushing your shoulders to lay flat on the bed.

You chew your lip. You don’t usually stay at client’s homes overnight. Then again… the sheets seem to envelope you in a cool cocoon. Calming on your too-hot skin and tired muscles. Muscles that do not want to walk all the way to the train depot. Besides, Johnny and Kyle have been so nice. If they want you to spend then night then what’s the harm, right? You’ll just sneak out in the morning.

So, you let them crawl into the bed bracketing you on either side. Johnny’s arm slings over your waist, cool breath puffing against the back of your neck. Kyle lays in front of you, placing small kisses across your face before pulling the comforter over the three of you.

There are worse fates than sleeping with two handsome men on high thread count sheets for a night…

You wake shivering violently. Between the cold air and Johnny and Kyle’s cool skin you feel like an icicle. Your throat burns and you croak out a groan as you try to sit up. Kyle was rougher than you’d realized in the moment. Johnny has your back pinned against his chest with a strong arm thrown around your waist, not even breathing. It’s so easy to forget that they don’t have to. Kyle truly looks like a statue like this. Entirely still, solid as marble and just as perfect.

You sigh, quietly and carefully wiggling your way off the bed. You don’t pay attention to whose clothes you grab - some tshirt that’s more fitted than you’d like but covers enough to get the job done. You hiss at the slight creak of the door. Neither Johnny nor Kyle stir. If they woke up, they don’t react to you padding out to the main house.

That first door across the hall is slightly ajar, a low stream of cool toned light pooling in the floor just below it. Against your better judgement, you stop, looking around before peeking inside. Not that you can make out much other than a large bed with a dark canopy pulled closed around it. The rest of the room looks barren - the only source of light coming from what you assume to be an attached bathroom.

“Lookin’ f’somethin’?” A baritone voice grunts behind you. You squeak quietly, whirling on your heel and coming face to face with Simon. Well, face to chest considering his sheer height.

“Sorry!” You croak, voice still hoarse. “I didn’t mean- I-“

“S’fine.” The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. You hope it’s amusement, at least. “Need somethin’?”

“J-just getting some water.. sorry to bother you-“ You begin backing away, giving him a wide birth as you step toward the kitchen. Even without inhuman strength you fully believe this man could snap you in two.

“Come on, then.” He nods toward the kitchen, stepping in front of you. You nearly protest, but opt to just follow. He already caught you snooping at best - at worst he thinks you were planning to steal. If letting him accompany you keeps you alive and out of trouble with them then you’ll gladly trail behind this behemoth of a man.

You pause by the kitchen island as Simon goes to grab… a mug? You watch him fill an electric kettle and flick it on, digging through the cabinet to produce a small packet. A tea bag labeled Honey Vanilla Chamomile.

“Y-you don’t have to-“

“How’d our boys treat you?” Simon asks as he opens the little packet with deft fingers - oddly precise for the size of them.

“Good.” You blurt, hands wringing as you shift your weight side to side.

“Johnny behave himself?”

“The picture of civility.” You snort. If leaving bruises on your hips from fucking you six ways to Sunday counts as civil.

Simon chuckles but doesn’t say anything else. Just puts together a little mug of tea for you, stirring and steeping perfectly before pushing the thing across the counter. You take it slowly, eyeing him. Waiting for some sort of tell that you shouldn’t drink this. Then another shiver runs down your spine and you grab the warm cup happily.

“Should get a heating system put in…” Simon grumbles under his breath, looking around the apartment. You wonder just how much more he can see than you in the near pitch black environment.

“Why?” You snort. “You don’t need it.”

“You do.”

You blink at him rather stupidly - brain too tired and muddled to make sense of whatever that might mean. Probably just means humans in general. They probably have plenty of women and men over on a regular basis. Even if it is just for the night. Oddly considerate, either way.

“What’s the deal with the mask?” You blurt again, the slight lapse of silence putting you on edge.

Simon just shakes his head. “To ‘ide my face.”

“Booooring!” You boo, throwing out a dramatic thumbs down. To your surprise, you’re not met with annoyance. Just a deep chuckle and another shake of his head. “Thanks for the tea.”

Simon nods and snags the now empty mug from you. You chugged it far faster than you realized. It worked, too. Your voice isn’t as hoarse and your throat doesn’t sting when you swallow.

“I should probably…” You murmur, looking back toward the room where Johnny and Kyle are assumably still sleeping away.

Simon grunts in agreement, following you back to his own door. You don’t know what possesses you to stop beside him. To turn and meet his gaze with far less confidence than you’re used to wielding. You owe him for the tea, though.

“Do you want…uh…” You murmur, glancing into the room behind him.

Simon looks from you to the bed behind him - only to turn back with those smile lines forming in the corners of his eyes once again. “Not tonight, pretty girl. You’ve ‘ad enough.”

You jump involuntarily when his large hand cups your cheek - thumb caressing ever to gently over your cheekbone. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the fact that non-sexual touches are so rare in your life, but either way you find yourself tilting into it. Just a little.

“Sleep well, sweet’eart.” With that he steps into his room, shutting the door with near deathly silence behind him.

Oh.

Okay.

You stare at his closed door for a few seconds too long, a slight furrow in your brow before turning back to Johnny’s room. The two of them haven’t moved much since you left, though Johnny has somehow ended up spread eagle across most of the bed. With some gentle maneuvering you manage to curl up in the crook of his outstretched arm with your head on his chest and back pressed against Kyle’s.

These men are going to be the death of you.

A/N: I wanted to put more into this chapter but I had to draw the line somewhere so it’s going to just have to get pushed to the next one.

Part of me was worried they’re fucking too early but then I remembered I can do what I want🫡

[written-in-flowers]

His Kitten: Demon!Seonghwa x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Incubus!Seonghwa x Fem!Reader | side pairings: demon!yeosang x reader, demon!jongho x reader

Word Count: 9k

Genre: smut, angst, slight fluffiness MINORS DNI

Tags: Enslavement, master/slave dynamic, enemies to fuck buddies, hate sex (w/ yeosang), degradation (w/yeosang), sloppy oral sex (m. and f. receiving/giving), rough oral sex, squirting, fingering, handjobs, masturbating, couch sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism (w/Jongho), use of petnames (kitten, love, slut), praise kink, swallowing cum, dirty talk, slight edging, mild overstimulation, sloppy seconds in a way,

Summary: YN reaches the second part of her first day: Master Seonghwa, the sophisticated man who loves music, poetry and science. But, even surrounded by decadence and refinement, Seonghwa can be anything but proper.

Previously on Pretty Pet | > Next

***

Baths used to be your favorite things about the living world. You’d buy expensive bath bubbles, drink champagne and listen to the radio after a long work week. Sitting in the porcelain tub, you rested against the back and let yourself soak in the warm water. The bathtub built into a window frame, you had a perfect view of the sprawling gardens beyond the palace. An expanse of greenery and vibrancy you’d never see anywhere else in Hell. You found it odd, as you sat there and stared out the window. Movies usually depicted Hell as being this dark place with fiery lava lakes and rocky floors and ceilings. Yet, the highest level had all the beauty and magnificence you wouldn’t find in the inner circles. You supposed the smoggy skies, hot weather, and fire are for the tortured to suffer through, not the torturers. 

“Ah, here you are. I figured you’d be cleaning up in here.”

Yeosang’s voice came from somewhere behind you, but you didn’t respond. The brothers must truly be wealthy if they have such a grand estate. A bronze fountain of a young woman surrounded by birds and flowers sat in the middle of the garden, the water spouting like crystals from the birds’ mouths. You imagined it looked more beautiful in person. 

“The Masters have already left for work,” Yeosang continued, “But Master Seonghwa would like to have lunch with you when he returns.”

You’d never seen such a luxurious place before. Luxury for you was fast cars, designer clothes and fine jewelry. But this place carried every comfort you could possibly think of. It did not feel like much of a punishment to you. 

“Which means I have to take you to his apartment to acquaint you with the place,” he continued, not noticing your glazed over expression. 

If being a demon’s slave meant you got to enjoy fine luxuries like this, was it really so bad? 

“He also drummed up a schedule for you as well,” you heard him moving around behind you, likely pulling together a ‘Seonghwa approved’ outfit for you. “It isn’t much like Master San’s schedule with the housewife duties, but it is rather demanding. I believe you’ll learn a lot if you listen and pay attention…”

You supposed you should still feel scared and anxious, but you couldn’t be bothered anymore. Years of being in the slums of the inner city, Inferno, destroyed any sort of fear you might’ve once had. Fear and misery turned into close friends of yours, and you learned to tolerate their company. You’d spent most of your living life surviving, and your afterlife was no different. The House of Kisses was a cesse pool of low-life demons, Imps, eager to enjoy "exotic tastes" while humans suffered in a new kind of way. The average succubi cost a dime a dozen, but humans went for much higher prices. Brothel owners loved showcasing their human slaves as special items. This meant you received a lot more patrons than the next average succubi. In the living world, that might’ve been a good thing, but in Inferno, in Hell, it’s not. You’d grown to enjoy the beasts who ravaged you because the alternative was wallowing in self-pity. You don’t like pity parties. 

“...Master Seonghwa loves music…”

In this grand keep, you had all the things you couldn’t get in the brothel. Clean water, fresh air, sunlight and an actual bed became dreams to you in the House of Kisses. Okay, sure, you have to juggle three horny incubi on the regular, and possibly their servants at times, but it was fine. The Masters haven’t treated you in any particularly terrible way; you preferred them over the hulking, wretched brutes in the brothels. You pictured the muscular beasts then, recalling various shades of green, red, and orange with eyes of black or yellow. They looked like demons. Your Masters, and other high-born demons, did not. 

“-You should also be aware that Master Seonghwa expects proper ettitquete and-”

“-How come they resemble humans?”

“Pardon?”

“High borns,” you turned in the bath to face him. “Why don’t they look like other demons? The only similarities they share are horns, claws and teeth. Why is that?”

“Higher forms of demons must imitate humans in order to corrupt and seduce them,” he explained. You noticed he held a pale blue dress made of satin and tulle. “We’re born this way.” 

“Yeah, but they’re in their home? Why keep the disguise?”

“It’s not a disguise,” he drawled, hanging up the dress and grabbing a towel. “It’s how we’re made. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. It’s beyond your realm of intelligence.”

You glared at him, standing when he approached you. “It would be easier if you just said they’re some kind of higher form of demon or whatever.”

“That’s what I said,” he wrapped the towel around you and began drying you off. “You weren’t listening.”

“I was listening,” you argued, “And you said you’re born that way. How? Is it through evolution? Did a demon fuck a human and all of a sudden their offspring came out resembling humans?”

“It happened out of necessity,” he said. “We couldn’t very well lure people from the path of God if we looked like those down below, could we?”

“In the stories they did.”

“Yes, well those are stories.” 

You felt him dry up your thighs and stop at your hips. “Stories have truths to them,” you said, not noticing where he came at level, “And knowing myself, I can imagine there was some lady somewhere who wanted to fuck a demon. Like, not all the people in the whatever-hundred century were prudes. I’m sure my ancestors carried on the way I did before I died.” When you didn’t hear a response, you looked down to see Yeosang staring right at your crotch. “Um, hello? Is there something weird about it?”

“No,” he said, clearing his throat and quickly returning to dry you up. “It’s fine. I’m just surprised by the lack of sores on you. I was sure you’d have one or two from all that fucking you do in the brothels.”

“If I had sores, you would’ve found them when you washed me, duh.”

“They’re hidden sometimes,” he said, drying your back. “You brothel whores like to hide them with makeup or creams to keep yourselves in business. It’s a shame humans can still get sick here in Hell,” he said, though didn’t sound very sad about it. “You end up infecting the rest of us because you can’t keep yourselves clean.”

“It’s demons who give it to us first most of the time.”

“Yes, the disgusting ones you’re used to rolling around with, I’m sure.” 

“Not all of them are like that,” you remarked, needing to at least get one back. 

“Most of them.”

Yeosang put you in the satin and tulle dress, seeing the shades of light blue each time you swished it around. You fixed your hair into a more comfortable style, and Yeosang insisted you add a ribbon to it somewhere. Cute. Innocent. Delicate. That was Seonghwa’s type. You hated the idea of having to be the sickeningly sweet, shy kitten, but you knew you must. 

“Here,” Yeosang handed you another laminated paper, “Seonghwa’s schedule.” 

Seonghwa’s schedule for you differed from San’s. “Where is Seonghwa anyways?”

“The Masters are all at work,” he said. “Master Seonghwa always comes home for his lunch break, preferring to eat comfortably at home than deal with his coworkers. It also gives him time to work on home projects instead of work ones.”

“Home projects? Like crafting?” you snorted envisioning the proper, stern brother making paper mache crafts or knitting. 

“Master Seonghwa is an intelligent man with lots of various interests: the exploration of science and chemistry being one of them. He likes to experiment with different things,” he said. “But now that he has you, I’m sure you’ll be his main focus.” 

You didn’t want to think what sort of ‘experiments’ a demon could have. 

You read the laminated paper he’d given you as he walked you from San’s bedroom to Seonghwa’s room down the hall. At the top, it read that you’d be seeing him on his own on Mondays and Thursdays, while having you with his brothers on Sundays. San’s read something similar, except you had him Wednesdays and Saturdays. Hongjoong, you guess, would be Tuesday and Friday. You felt like you were in school again: going from class to class on separate days, getting the times and periods confused. Seonghwa’s idea of a proper schedule included language, writing, reading, and musical subjects, rather than chores.

“6am: wake up for morning routine. 7am: wake up Master. 8am: breakfast with Master. 9am: Cello lesson,” you read out loud. “10am: Piano lesson. 11:10am to 12:15pm: Singing lessons- I don’t need singing lessons,” you let out a soft laugh.

“Master Seonghwa enjoys music,” he said, “And he said he wants his pet to know how to play instruments and sing beautifully. He is our master, so we must give him whatever he wants. If he wants his caged bird to sing, you’re going to sing.”

“I sing when I want to.”

“Not anymore. You lost that freedom when you decided a life of excess at the expense of others was more important than being a good person.”

“Good is subjective to me.”

“Psh, it would be.”

“Well, alright Mr. Snotty Pants, who is my teacher then?”

“Me,” he said.

“Why you?”

“Because I’m more qualified for it than anyone else, and I am your handler,” he said. “Yunho is too busy, and Jongho is too soft. I’ll be stricter, which Master Seonghwa wanted.” 

“Then why doesn’t he just teach me himself if he thinks I need a strict teacher?”

“Because he’s a busy man, and he doesn’t have all the time in the world like some of us around here.”

You knew a dig at you when you saw it. You went back to your schedule as he opened the door with a key. “1pm to 2:30pm, lunch with Master. 3pm to 4pm: World Literature. 4:24pm to 5pm: History and Geography of Inferno. 5pm: Master returns home. 6pm: dinner with Master, 7pm: bath and bed routine. 8pm: bedtime. When would I have time to go to the next Master’s room? San wants me to wake up at 6am. I’d be leaving Seonghwa before he’s even woken up.”

“Your time with Seonghwa would be finished, honestly. As I said, he’s a busy man,” he rolled his eyes, “I’d be the one waking you up. The Masters like to keep a strict schedule, and giving you a proper routine keeps your mind occupied. We need to preserve the few brain cells left to you. Here we are. Seonghwa’s apartments.”

While San stuck to a retro style, Seonghwa took a more refined approach. White walls with intricate gold borders that led up into murals on the ceiling, everything looked very ornamental and expensive. The high ceilings gave space for the large chandelier that gave warmth to the room at night, and brightness to the angelic scenery painted into the different panels. It reminded you of Versailles in France with its finery and excess of wealth. You spotted a white piano in the corner by the window, where Seonghwa expected you to play for him while he lounged back on the seats nearby. You played piano as a child, but you’d fallen out of it in your teen years.

 Yeosang took you through the main sitting room, and into a private parlor where you’d sit with Seonghwa after he came home from work. Like San, he’d left a list of drinks he liked and how to make them. That was one problem you wouldn’t have. You knew alcoholic drinks like you knew your colors and fabrics.

“Here is the library,” Yeosang said, bringing you into a large room lined with bookshelves, “You’ll be having most of your lessons in here. Music lessons will be in the music room-”

“-It is the music room, so one would assume that already-”

“Just making sure. Some of your humans can’t even write a proper sentence, let alone put two and two together,” he continued walking ahead of you. "Master Seonghwa likes to spend his leisure time in these rooms, so do your best to actually pay attention in your lessons. Your position in this household would be pointless if you can’t please your masters in and out of the bedroom.”

“I’ve become pretty aware of that, yeah.” You scanned one of the shelves, reading titles of books you’d heard of but never read before. “He’s the bookish brother, then?”

“Yes, he is. Master Seonghwa is a man of culture and refinement. He likes things to be neat and clean. He likes his sluts to have some sort of brain he can pick at or divulge in an intelligent conversation with. It’s why he picked you, a brainless slum slut, to be his slave. He can rebuild your brain into what he wants. Kind of like a mechanic getting a basic car and designing it to their liking.”

“I’m not ‘brainless’.”

“Ha, cute,” he snorted. “I’d hate to see what happened if you failed to be even partly more interesting than you are right now.”

Or he’d secretly enjoy it. Yeosang finished giving you the tour and brought you back into the main room. “Obviously, you aren’t going to have your lessons today since it’s already too late for some of them, so you’re free to roam around until Master Seonghwa arrives. Try not to break anything. Everything here costs more than you do.”

With that, Yeosang left you standing in the sitting room. You thought you’d met snotty people before, but Yeosang took the cake. Putting his snide remarks aside, you walked over to the piano. You hated to tell Seonghwa that he was wasting his time with the music lessons. You sat at the bench, putting your fingers over the ivory keys, and began playing a tune that came to you so easily.

“I come home in the morning light, my mother says when you gonna live your life right? Oh Mama dear, we’re not the fortunate ones, and girls, they wanna have fun…oh girls just wanna have fun…”

You remembered listening to the song when it first came out. It became your personal anthem. You played it during road trips with your friends. You danced to it in your bedroom and whenever it came on at clubs. Eventually, you learned how to play it on the piano. Music was one of the few freedoms you’re allowed to still have. Brothel owners loved inviting musicians to entertain the customers, and you could sit and listen to them in between clients. You might not sing well, but you didn’t sound terrible, people said. 

You’d finished the song, feeling upbeat and free, when a voice cut it off like a knife. 

“You said you couldn’t sing.”

Snapping your head up, fear bounced up into your throat to squash all your joy. Seonghwa stood a few feet from you, leaning against the back of a chair near the window. The bright sunlight illuminated one side of his face, casting the other half in shadow. He didn’t seem too upset, more surprised than anything else. 

“I can’t,” you said, your palms sweating, “I don’t sing well, which is what I assumed you all wanted to know.”

“And you never mentioned being about to play the piano either.”

“You didn’t ask,” you replied. If he wanted to know, he should’ve looked for that when he poked around in your head. 

He huffed a laugh, then came over to the piano bench. “What other songs do you know?”

“Not the ones you’d want me to play.”

“Such as?”

“Those boring compositions the nerdy kids played at recitals and talent shows,” you rolled your eyes. “You know, Chopin, Beethoven, and Mozart. The classic dudes.”

“I do like the classics,” he admitted, “But I found the music humans listen to equally enjoyable. Hongjoong likes it more than me, so he’ll love this, but I like it too.”

“They don’t play our music here.”

“I know. I mean when I went above ground.”

“You went to the living world?”

“My brothers and I go up there and cause mischief sometimes,” he said with a sneer. “Just when I think humans can not get any worse, they manage to prove me wrong. I was probably there when you overdosed, if anything.”

“Trust me,” you shook your head, “If I’d seen you there, I wouldn’t have bothered with the coke at all.”

“So, you’re saying you would’ve taken me home with you?” he said, facing you and sliding a hand on your lap. 

“You’re beautiful. Of course.”

“Makes being my slave a lot more appealing, doesn’t it?”

“It does. If you hadn’t taken me in, I’d be back in the circle whirling around in that big cyclone.” The thought of it sweeped its way back to you.

“What is it like there? I've never been there myself.”

“Tormenting. I felt so many sensations and feelings all at once forever without a break. It’s that feeling of thinking it’ll stop eventually, but then it never does. It keeps going and going,” you traced one of the black keys, not even registering Seonghwa’s hand as you envisioned your original punishment. “When they pulled me out of that storm, I thought I’d been saved and would be waking up any moment. But, that didn’t happen. I was thrown from one prison into another.”

“You deserved it.”

“I did,” you nodded. “I know that now. My company-my scam-It hurt so many people. I sold people penny stocks at high prices, and raked in the money when those stocks turned out to bring them only dimes. That man you mentioned? His name was Randal Singer. He was an assistant manager at a Rite Aid. I tricked him into thinking investing would help his finances.” You gulped, tapping a key to distract yourself. You played the first notes of TOTO’s ‘Africa’ idly, not really following the flow exactly. “His wife was pregnant; they’d just gotten married and wanted to save up for a home. I told him investing in stocks would get him there faster.” 

“Not to mention all the men you fucked to get yourself in that position,” he said, “Though, I will commend you on one thing: you blasted that glass ceiling. Before you, women could only be secretaries in that office. You started there, and worked up to leaving and owning your own investment company.”

“I fucked my way to the top,” you said, recalling Hongjoong’s words from earlier that morning. “I didn’t care if my lovers had spouses or partners. I saw what they could get me, and I took it. I don’t know how I ended up in lust, when I should’ve gone to greed.”

“They go hand-in-hand in my opinion,” he shrugged. “People who live like that have a bit of both. Look at Yunho: he is a demon of greed, but he indulges in lustful acts greedily. He has an orgasm, and then wants even more. He watched you fuck one of us, but then wants to watch you do it again.”

“I suppose,” you shrugged. “I still don’t know how some things work here.”

“If you don’t know,” he said, “The answer is usually ‘magic’.” 

“Master?” Yunho appeared in the dining room doorway, purposefully avoiding eye contact with you, “Lunch is ready.”

“Perfect. I’m famished.” 

You walked with Seonghwa into the decadent, intimate dining room. On plates of fine china with gold utensils, servants in white and gold uniforms served the first course: a green salad with a raspberry vinaigrette. You sensed a three course meal coming on, and didn’t eat the entire salad. 

“How was your morning with San?” he asked, washing some salad down with white wine. 

“It was…fine.”

“Just fine? From what he said, you left a few stains in his newly pressed pants.” 

“It was incredible,” you said, “What else do you want me to say?”

“That you hated it and you thought about me the whole time,” he smirked before chewing on more salad. 

You actually laughed, “Fine, Master. I hated every single second and wished it was you.”

“As you should.” He then asked, “Yeosang told you about your schedule, yes?”

“Yes.”

“What did you think of it?”

“Reminds me of college.”

“Did you even go to college?”

“For a bit.” 

The servants took your salads away, and brought the main course: a rice bowl topped with black beans, cherry tomatoes, cilantro and peppers. The servant who placed down yours added a dollop of sour cream to the top. It reminded you of the fancy dinners you went out to on weekends. Drinking expensive wine and eating food you couldn’t pronounce sounded so nice at the time. 

“What did you study?” He asked curiously. 

“Business. I hated it, so I dropped out my first year.”

“Why did you hate it?”

You thought about it a moment, picking at your bowl and eating it quietly. “It made me feel stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

“I grew up thinking I was smart, because I did pretty okay in school. I got into college, and I'm around people who really are smart and I realized how dumb I actually am.”

“You're not dumb.”

“I am,” you huffed out a laugh. “I really am.”

“Kitten, you owned an investment firm where you cleverly scammed innocent people for their money. Someone with no brains wouldn't be able to pull that off, and besides,” he scooped up more of his rice, “Brains aren't everything. You're beautiful, Kitten, and that pretty privilege got you in a lot of doors. You also have brawn.”

“Brawn?”

“Not in the physical way, but the emotional way,” he said. “You're gutsy. You take risks. You saw something you wanted, something that could get you somewhere and you went for it. Do you know how crazy and desperate you have to be to willingly give yourself over to slavers? You didn’t know what you'd be getting into and it completely backfired. But still, you saw that you might get a better deal somewhere else, and took it. I find that quite admirable, and my brothers feel the same.”

Not many people applauded your “talents” before. They spent too much time on how terrible you'd been in your previous life. You smiled to yourself and began eating your lunch. Dessert was a regular chocolate parfait with chocolate chips and creamy mousse. It tasted better than anything you'd ever eaten in the inner circles. 

“I have some time left in my lunch break,” he said, pushing out his chair when lunch ended. “Sit with me for a while.”

You both went back to the sitting room with the piano, taking seats on the couch. 

“Even in Hell there are office jobs, huh?” you asked with amusement. You curled up to him as he’d want you to, and put your arms around his as if clinging to him. Men like Seonghwa like the extra attention. You knew many businessmen who enjoyed the special attention of a beautiful woman.

“In a way,” he said, arm draped over your shoulder. “I’m a Burrower.”

“A ‘Burrower’? What is that?”

“What you saw me do at breakfast,” he said, “It’s sort of like being a judgment of souls. I see into a person’s mind, and dig out all the terrible things they’ve done. That way, I can put in a suggestion of where they go. It’s not up to me in the end, but what I report back is taken into consideration.”

“A big job then?”

“Very big and very important.”

“I didn’t know I belonged to such a high-ranking person,” you said, giving him a small smile. 

“You do,” he nuzzled your nose softly. “It makes you sort of special. I’m sure it’s nothing you won’t be used to in the long run. You liked the special treatment when you were alive; I think you’ll like it more when you’re here too.”

“I’m never opposed to special treatment,” you replied with a mischievous smile. “What about your brothers?”

“San works in the fighting arena as a Champion,” he answered. “If someone wishes to escape Inferno and go to Purgatory to begin their repentance, they have to go through San first.”

“I’m assuming through a fight?”

“Yes, through a fight to the death. The first one to get cut three times loses.”

“Does anyone ever win?”

“Hardly ever,” he said. “San says they have to really want to repent for their sins. They have to want to be saved, not just to escape their punishments. The ones who really want it have a higher chance than someone wanting to get out.”

“Hongjoong works there too?”

“Hongjoong?” he scoffed, “Never. He’s too bloodthirsty for the arena. No, Hongjoong works in the lowest circle as a Scourge.”

“A Scourge?” 

“He tortures the worst of the worst. Think of dictators, mass murderers, child killers, and all those types. Hongjoong’s job, if they’re sent to the lowest circles, is to torture them until they mentally break,” he explained. 

“What is the point in breaking them? They’re already in Hell.”

“Makes their time here more miserable. They inflicted misery onto others in their lifetimes, now it will be done back to them,” he shrugged. “It only makes sense.” 

“I suppose.” 

Lounging back on the sitting room couch, it felt like you weren't in Hell at all. You might be on vacation in the French countryside with a lover or friends. The brothers clearly modeled their home after the palaces and decadence of 18th century France. You wondered why that was. 

“It's my favorite time period and place.”

You wished he'd keep out of your head for at least a few minutes. 

“But, you're not-”

“-French? I know, but I grew up there. When I inherited this place, it was old and dreary. Demon architecture is heavy on the gothic styles of the 12th to 16th centuries with the high towers, extended buttresses and asymmetry. It's so dark, and depressing to me. I like sunlight and splendor, which the baroque and rococo styles have,” he stared up at the murals on the ceiling, “It's so refined and sophisticated. It reminds me of home.”

“I'll take your word for it.”

“You'll learn about it soon enough,” he said. “Yeosang and I will make sure you can actually hold an intelligent conversation.” He took a strand of your hair to play with, “You can have that with me, you know.”

“Get out of my head.”

“I’m your master, woman,” he said a bit sternly. “I can be in your head in as many ways as I like.” When you grew quiet, he continued, “As I said, you can have all of that with me. I am a man-”

“-A demon-” you corrected.

“-A demon who likes the finer things in life. Hell has so few luxuries for those condemned to suffer here, but it has plenty for those who live here,” he moved closer to you, sliding himself across the couch until your thighs touched. “Being my kitten gets you a lot of nice things, if you’re good.”

“And bad ones if I’m naughty?”

“That’s typically how these things work.” His hand found your knee, and slowly went upwards. “You get good things if you're good, and bad things if you're bad.”

“What would you consider “bad”, Master?” You decided to match his energy and reach over to cup his groin. Seonghwa did not object but instead inhaled a sharp breath. “Me coming onto you? Me wanting to taste you like I did last night? I only want to be your good kitten, Master.” Your fingers traced the seam of his crotch, feeling his cock underneath the smooth fabric. “What would get me punished?” 

“You being inappropriate in public,” he lifted your dress, his arousal growing against your hand, “Swearing. Cursing. Not going to your lessons. Not listening to your instructors. Lying to me. Let other people aside from my brothers touch you without permission.” His floral pheromone seeped out of his pores and onto you instead. You found yourself drawing closer and closer to him; you moved your thighs apart to let him touch further. “Why? Do you plan on breaking each one?”

“What would my punishment be if I did? A hard spanking? A whipping?”

“If I tell you, then you'll be prepared,” he softly circled your clit area while you gradually pumped his cock from outside his pants. “I don't want you to know.” He cleared his throat in a cough when your thumb rolled over his clothed tip. “On your knees, Kitten. I think you deserve a special treat today.”

You slipped down onto the floor below him, and ran your hands up Seonghwa’s thighs. He let out a deep breath as you massaged his inner thighs and kissed along his bulge. You could almost smell him through the layers of cloth. Excitement bubbled in your stomach, trickling down into your panties once again. You’re sure part of your need came from his enchanting scents, but you’d loved it too. Hearing his low grunts and praises as you sucked him off turned you on more than anything. The anticipation alone might kill you if you don't have him soon. Hands traveling up his inner thighs to where his balls sat, you rolled your thumbs over them as you kissed up to his belt buckle. Seonghwa scooped up your hair, and simply followed your motions until he unbuckled himself for you. You licked your lips, saliva building up at the mere outline of him inches from your mouth. When he withdrew himself, you immediately went for it but he pulled you back by the hair. 

“Wait,” he ordered gently, “Good girls wait.”

Seonghwa started stroking himself in front of you. You took in the long fingers slowly rubbing up and down; his thumb running over the veins coursing blood to make him harder, and pressing his forefingers on the other side of the head. You thought about that thick tip deep in your throat, cutting off your air and making you drool around him. The salty taste of his cum hadn’t been off-putting at all. It made you want more. You could nearly taste it on your tongue already as his erection grew in his hand. 

“Spit on it for me, Kitten,” he said in his gentle voice. His mouth fell open when he saw you drool over his tip, centimeters away from licking the hole you'd spat on. “Good girl,” he praised, using your spit to lube himself up. 

“Master, can I have it now, please?” You pouted, knowing exactly what kind of woman he wanted. 

He tightened his grip on your hair and said, “Patience, sweetheart. Have patience.”

“But, it looks so good,” you said.

“I know it does,” he gave a particularly long stroke, covering even his tip before sliding back down. “But, you want it extra hard when you suck on it, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you wait, baby.”

“Can I at least play with these?” You rubbed over his balls again, which made him jolt lightly. “Please?”

“May I or Can I?”

“May I, Master?” You corrected yourself.

“You may, Kitten.”

He groaned as you continued. Seonghwa let out streams of breathy moans as you rubbed up and around them. Hard stones that moved wherever your palm pushed them, you imagined each touch added fire to the kindling inside him. You never wanted to suck someone so badly before. Looking up at him from the floor, you could see his lean body underneath the neat, white shirt. His abs tensed whenever you gently tugged on his sack, and his arm flexed from the tension he brought on himself. His low, deep groans had you throbbing for his attention. You considered humping him as you'd done to San, but he caught this at once. 

“Don't,” Seonghwa ordered, yanking your head back to look at him, “You stay put. I won't have you humping me like some pathetic dog.” He spread streams of precum over himself, wiping it on his fingers to stick in your mouth. “You're my kitten, not my puppy.”

“But, Master-” you spoke with his fingers settling on your tongue. Your pussy throbbed from the digits spreading him around. 

“-’But’ nothing, Kitten. You'll get your attention when you get it,” he said, intently watching your lips around his fore and index fingers. “Stick out your tongue.”

Seonghwa dragged his wet tip along your outstretched tongue. Taste buds absorbing the salty strings melted right away. It had your thighs shaking. Your hips started rocking back and forth, wanting him to touch and finger you the way you desperately needed. You swatted your tongue against the underside, and he smacked his shaft to your cheek. 

“I said stick it out, not to lick.”

“I'm sorry, Master. It just tastes so good,” you said, batting your lashes innocently. “I love sucking it.”  

“I know, Kitten,” he said, going back to rubbing himself on your tongue and lips. “I remember how eagerly you swallowed my loads last night. If you're good, I'll give you as much as you want.”

“Really?” You asked, voice distorted by your outstretched tongue. 

“Yes, really,” he chuckled, pushing himself further up your tongue and into your mouth. “I love spoiling my kittens.” He shuddered once he swirled the head around your tongue. “Give it a lick now, sweetheart. Just licking.”

You continued groping his balls while you began licking up and down his dick. Seonghwa leaned back in his seat, watching your tongue draw swirls along the sensitive vein running through it. Reaching the top, you felt tempted to suck up the clear drops leaking out, but instead you lapped at them. Seonghwa hissed through his teeth when your eyes met. He chuckled and shook his head when you spat it out onto his cock again. The laughter died out when you proceeded to continue interchanging spitting and licking him. Permitting you to use your hands, Seonghwa knew it was over once both your hands wrapped around his cock. Kitten licking his tip, you used your hands to massage the rest. 

“Put it in your mouth,” he moaned, head rolling back as you did as told. “Take it all the way to the back. I'm going to cum down your pretty throat.”

Sinking him fully to the back of your throat brought on a satisfaction that had you whimpering around him. His head forcing you to keep him there, Seonghwa's stream of low curses and desperate whines made you wetter. Tears burned your eyes, and you struggled to breathe through your nose as he blocked your airway. You clung to his thighs, fingers clutching his pants as you struggled to breathe. A few pumps in and out of your mouth caused gurgling and gagging sounds that Seonghwa loved enough to keep doing it. More drool trailed down from your mouth to your chin, dirtying your dress and his nice pants. Seonghwa collected this when he pulled out, and made you suck it off him. Your burning sex tightened for something to grab onto, but you were given nothing. Instead, you had your throat penetrated again. 

“Make me…make me cum,” Seonghwa said after a while, guiding your head up and down him freely now. “Your master wants to cum now.”

He gave you free reign at last. You moved your mouth and hands in tandem as you milked his orgasm out of him. It started in shuddering breaths and tensing thighs, before rolling to a tight abdomen and fingers gripping the seat. Hot streaks of cum splattered in your mouth and you swallowed the thick goodness right away. His orgasm fully taking over, Seonghwa released his moans into the air and continued bucking his hips into your face. In the last few waves, he forced your nose right up to his pelvis and spilled directly into your throat. Seonghwa gave you a minute to swallow what he left behind, and get a few deep breaths in before he spoke. 

“Show me,” he said. 

You parted your lips to show your empty mouth.

“Very good,” he grinned. 

Then he kissed you, sloppy mouth and all. Seonghwa cupped your jaw and lifted it enough for him to deepen your kiss. Your pussy still ached for his touch; panties so soaked from your wetness that it stuck to your folds and thinned the cotton material. 

“It's my turn now,” he said between kisses, “Let me see how wet you've gotten.”

You laid down longways with your back to the armrest and legs spread. Seonghwa groaned softly when he lifted your dress to see your wet panties. He bent down, hands on your thighs as he lapped on the darkening spot. The constant brushes made you tense up and grip the couch cushions under you. He pushed both sides of your underwear into the middle, separating your lips from your hard clit, and you thought you might cum right there. Singling out your clit through your panties, Seonghwa’s direct licks sent tremors throughout your thighs and legs. He held onto them, keeping them locked in his arms as he continued the torture. 

“I almost don’t even need to take these off,” he jested, giving long flat licks to the outer folds. “It’s like you’re not even wearing panties.”

“Because you make me so wet, Master,” you breathed a whimper. Looking down, you saw dark hair curtaining his face between your thighs. He made sure you could see his long tongue slowly tasting you. “So much wetter than either of my other masters do.”

This earned you a few rapid, swirling touches that arched your back. “Is that right?” he said, suspicious of the obvious lie. “I find that hard to believe,” he slipped his thumb past the panty line to your clenching entrance, “My brothers are quite good at making dirty sluts wet.”

“But you do it the best.”

This ego-stroking had him pulling your underwear aside and snaking two fingers inside. Sucking up the mess he’d made, Seonghwa’s fingers pushed in and out with ease. Your eyes fell shut as you savored the tightness building deep in your core. Each time his fingers curled and wiggled inwards, you pictured them against your g-spot right then. Full lips wrapped around your clit, he swirled his tongue up and over it in time with his fingers. 

“Master, Master,” you panted, “I’m going to cum. I’m going to-”

“-Hold it for me, Kitten,” he ordered between kisses to your sex, “I haven’t fucked you yet.” He moved his fingers faster, “I’m enjoying fingering and licking you too much to stop now.”

He placed kisses up your inner thighs as his thumb and fingers worked you easily. From years of training, you learned how to withhold your orgasm for a prolonged time. Taking deep breaths, you tried holding your climax as Seonghwa continued fingering you. But, even this became difficult after a while. He withdrew his fingers and spread your juices around your clit while he replaced them with his tongue. Lifting your legs up to your chest, Seonghwa hovered over your lower half to stick his tongue deep inside. You swore he’d somehow made it longer just to tickle your sensitive center. His low moans caused a vibrating sensation that reached your clit and had you tearing up from the desperation. 

“Master, please…”

“To cum,” you cried out when he easily slipped his tongue back into your heat. “Please. Please, please…”

“Hm?” he pulled out his tongue, “What is it, Kitten? What do you need?”

“You sound so cute when you beg,” he said, giving his tongue a break to use his fingers. “I’d love to watch Hongjoong make you beg. He’s far crueler than I am,” he smiled at the idea, rapidly rubbing your clit and sticking his fingers back inside. “Keep begging.”

You wept as you kept on begging. Your orgasm threatened to rise up each time he went particularly deep. Tears fell down the corners of your eyes and down your temples as the pressure strengthened. Somehow this demon broke right through your willpower, and had you clawing his expensive furniture. Seonghwa brought you into his lap, and you thought he’d use his cock next, but he didn’t. Instead, he put your back to his chest and kept your legs apart with his knees. Arms around your waist, he continued fingering you as before. 

“Such a cute kitten,” he cooed in your ear, pinching your nipple through your thin dress. “Crying and shaking in my arms like this.” He licked a tear that broke through your lash line, “You want to cum so badly, but you want to be a good girl and hold onto it for me.” 

It dawned on you that something hard rested between your ass cheeks. Something thick and hardening underneath you. Yes, yes, you wanted that there.

“Not today, love,” he said, almost disappointed. “I have work to do soon.” You whined miserably, and he laughed. “Don’t despair, pet. I’ll let you cum this time. Go on and cum for me.”

Seonghwa pulled out right at the last second, rubbing your clit, as small spurts of clear fluid came out onto the floor. Not too long or too thick, but enough that Seonghwa saw them on the polished floors. Your body seized up in his embrace, quaking thighs and nails digging through his pants. He let out a surprised gasp as you came down. Shaking and taking deep breaths, you rested back against him to enjoy the last bits of pleasure before he pulled away completely. 

“I had no idea you could do that,” he said in a smile. “How delightful. I know someone who will enjoy cleaning this up for me…”

You thought he might call on San or Hongjoong. They might have come back early, and are looking for you right now. Except, it wasn’t their names he called. 

“Yeosang! Come here!”

Yeosang seemingly appeared from nowhere, standing upright with his hands behind his back as Yunho had hours earlier. His eyes, already big, widened at the erotic sight in front of him. He visibly gulped as he stared down your body. 

“You called, sir?” he said in a high pitch, which he covered with a cough. 

“Kitten is dirty,” he said, “And I need someone to clean her for me. I’d clean her myself, but I have to go back to work. You understand, I’m sure?”

“I understand completely, sir, but,” he licked his lips, “Surely, you do not wish for me to…She is your pet, not mine. It’s improper for a servant to touch something belonging to his master.” 

Seonghwa smiled at his words, “You’re truly one-of-a-kind, Yeosang. This isn’t the first time you’ve enjoyed leftovers, and I cherish you far too greatly to deny you luxuries from time to time. Don’t be shy. Consider this part of your duties for today, hm?”

Seonghwa motioned for you to slide off his lap and moved your legs apart again. Yeosang would never do it. He made his dislike of you obvious by now, and he thinks you’re a “slum slut”. You expected him to reject his master’s gift, and insist he resume his daily routine. He made a few timid strides towards the couch, but kept his distance. He forced himself to focus on your face instead of your messy thighs. Seonghwa, seeing he needed more convincing, finally removed your underwear and tossed them aside. 

“Don’t act so above humans, Yeosang,” Seonghwa snickered. “I know you have a preference for them. I remember how you licked that one girl clean after we’d all had a turn with her. I never thought you enjoyed pleasures like that until then. Come and clean my slave for me.” 

“If you…insist, Master.”

Yeosang came over and knelt in front of you. His tongue, foreign and new, made soft, timid licks at first. Seonghwa sat beside you, eyes glinting with delight as Yeosang cleaned you with his tongue. You mewled whenever he touched near your clit, the bud becoming sensitive from your recent orgasm. The first few touches remained uncertain and shy until a new gush of your juices broke through. Then Yeosang pulled them apart to thoroughly clean each crevasse. You heard him give a satisfied moan at the taste of you on his tongue. When he finished, he pulled away for you to see the sheen of cum left on his chin and mouth. Seonghwa inspected his work, and you’d admit Yeosang nearly pulled you back into desire. 

“Well done, Yeosang, as expected,” Seonghwa said, standing and zipping himself back up. “Kitten is lucky to have a handler willing to do what he can to keep her tidy and clean.” He gazed down to see a distinct bump in Yeosang’s trousers. This amused him rather than upset him. He turned to you, “Kitten, give your handler a hand, won’t you? It’s the least you could do.” 

Without bothering to stick around, Seonghwa fixed his tie and put on his suit jacket as he left. Yeosang stood up from the ground, pale cheeks tinged a bright pink that went to his ears. He used his handkerchief to wipe his mouth. 

“Do you want me to do it?” you asked, unsure whether he’d take it that far. 

“Master Seonghwa has insisted so…” he took a deep breath, “A quick one just to please him.”

“We don’t really have to.”

“I think you know as well as I do that he’ll know if we have or not,” he said sharply. He sat on the couch beside you and undid his trousers, “Don’t dawdle, YN. I have things to do that are more important.” 

Yeosang did not have the same length or width as his masters. Simply eating you out gave his length a special kind of red around the tip and shaft. You looked up at him, uncertain if he really wanted this or not. Yeosang, unlike some in the house, made it clear he did not like you. 

“What did I just say?” he snapped you from your thoughts with a cold voice. “Get to it, slut. It’s nothing you haven’t already done.” When you did not move, he let out a growl and took your hand. “We don’t have to like one another. There’s nowhere written that we have to share a personal connection to enjoy this. I wasn’t told to pleasure you, but after hearing you last night and licking you clean now…” he seemed reluctant to admit it, swallowing his words before finally saying, “I’m afraid it is all I’ll be thinking about…”

“But you-”

“-Yeosang, are you here? Yunho says we’re to go over-” Jongho’s voice was cut off by a loud gasp. He took in the scene before him, and found it hard to make words. “Yeo…Yeosang, what are you doing? Have you lost your senses completely? The masters will have you whipped for this! Let go of her now before someone sees!”

“Master Seonghwa allowed it,” Yeosang said simply. “She's being difficult. I don't know why. These slum sluts look for any reason to jump on a cock.”

“Don't act like you wouldn't like it,” you spat back at him. Reaching into his lap, you began carefully stroking Yeosang. He gave a shaky breath, arms on the back of the couch. “You've been looking down your nose at me since I got here. You're a slave just like me.” You squeezed the middle hard, and he moaned as his eyes closed. “Why are you so much better?”

“Because I don't give my holes to the highest bidder,” he said through gritted teeth as he watched your hand stroke him. 

“You did that when you ended up in this house,” you said, jerking him faster. Clear precum began leaking From him almost right away. “Look at you, already about to burst for me. What's the matter, Yeosang? Can't hold it back? Do you cum too quickly?”

“Fuck you,” he huffed, “Slut.”

“A slut who's about to make you cum,” you retorted. 

“Since it's all you know how to do. Even right now…You're jerking me off in front of Jongho, because you're so used to it that you don't care who watches,” he grabbed your hand and made you pick up the pace. “We all watched you through Yunho’s peep holes last night. We watched you get run through like a bitch in a kennel. We saw you cum so many times you barely remembered your own name.”

“And I bet you jerked off to me like the penniless perverts who peek into brothel windows,” you said, gripping him tightly. “You're too fucking poor to buy a woman, and that’s if you could find a slave who’d have you in the first place.”

Yeosang grabbed your chin with his other hand, glaring at you as he spoke, “You think I fucking care if they want it or not? They're just a hole.” He pulled your ear to his lips, “You are just a hole. You're a pretty slutty hole for them and anyone else to fuck. You're lucky they wouldn't let me have you.” He pressed his lips right to your ear, “I'd fuck you so hard and for so long you wouldn't be able to sit for weeks.” 

“I doubt it,” you scoffed. “Not with this tiny thing.”

“You better hope they never throw you in the greenhouse,” he said. “The greenhouse whores are fair game. Trust me,” he laughed through teeth, “I'll fuck you-you-you all night if I w-wa-wan’t.”

In a few more pumps, thick white drops shot out in short spurts. Directed at his clean, pressed uniform, it splattered against the black fabric as Yeosang trembled in place. You kept the wave going. You pumped him the same speed, hard and fast, until your arm started burning. When he finished, Yeosang laid back on the couch, sweat beading his brow and chest heaving.  You purposefully wiped your sticky hand on his pant leg, which made him growl.

“Oh, I'm sorry, Yeosang,” you said innocently, “Did you make a mess on your nice, clean uniform?”

“Bitch,” he grunted, using a handkerchief to wipe most of the mess. “Like I said, you're lucky they like you.” He zipped himself up and stood from the couch. “If they didn’t, you’d be a mindless hole in the greenhouse.” 

“Bye Yeosang,” you beamed, “Hope you can get those stains out.”

Yeosang slammed the door behind him, leaving you and Jongho alone. You spotted the slight bump in his pants. The animosity still stayed in your chest as you said, “Did you have fun watching me too?”

“Huh, what?” Jongho asked, flustered and embarrassed. “Oh, um well, if you… it's nothing uncommon here. We all do that. The Masters don't mind, really.”

You giggled at his awkwardness, “Did you like it though?”

“I did,” he nodded. “I don't like it like Yeosang, but yes, I did, um, you know… enjoy watching you.”

You stood from the couch, feeling the stickiness between your thighs again, and smiled at him. “Maybe your masters will let you have a taste someday.”

“Oh, I don't think they would. I haven't worked here as long as the others.”

“You never know,” you said as you walked past him, “You just might get lucky.”

You walked into Seonghwa’s bathroom alone, shedding off your dress as you waited for the warm water. You hadn't seen him until you'd gotten in the water, inhaling the lavender scent rising from the suds. Jongho sat on a chair in the corner of the room, his cock in his hand and jerking hurriedly. You couldn't help laughing. 

“Are you even allowed to watch?” you asked, no longer bothered by it. 

“We can watch,” he said, “Not touch.”

“You're just going to sit there and watch me bathe then?” You sat up more in the tub, making sure the suds just barely covered your chest. Lathering them in soap, Jongho groaned at the sight of you touching yourself.

“If it's…okay.”

“I don't mind,” you rose from the water, soap bubbles still clinging to you. “I'm used to being watched all the time.”

So, you lathered yourself in soap as Jongho masturbated in front of you. You supposed if you'd be living in a palace full of horny perverts, you'd enjoy yourself. The thought of having as much demon cock as you wanted sounded like a dream. Even if your masters decided when and who you'd do it with, you knew with the right words or touches, they'd melt in your mouth. It made you feel like the woman you used to be: an ambitious vixen. You’d missed making men drool over you without having to do much of anything; you enjoyed the teasing. You let out soft sighs whenever you felt over a specific spot or brought attention to certain parts of your body. Jongho looked at nothing but you. It was when you jiggled and spread your ass cheeks did he finally cum. Like Yeosang, he dirtied his black slacks with thid strings of white. You felt tempted to clean them with your mouth, wanting to taste the long dick softening in his hand. But, you knew better. 

“I'm sorry,” he said quickly, wiping himself with a towel. “I really shouldn't have come here-”

“-Will you at least help me dry off? I forgot to bring a towel,” you cut him off. Jongho grabbed it, then handed it to you. “And it's okay,” you said, getting out to dry off. “I don't mind. I'm used to it.”

“I still shouldn't take advantage of my position over you,” he said. “I don't want you to think I'm that kind of handler. I wouldn't do that to you.’

“Unless our Masters say so, right?”

“Right.”

Just because he looked so sweet and you couldn't help yourself, you drew close and said, “I do hope that happens soon. There are a lot more positions you could have over me.”

“YN…”

You let him have one last peek before leaving the bathroom. You might get in trouble, you might not. You didn't care at the moment. It felt good. For once, you held a bit of power in your hands, and nobody could take it from you. 

***

A/N: as you can see, I can't stop myself from adding the other members lmao I hope you enjoyed this one, Hongjoong is one the way and...yeah, you're in for it lol

[shattered-eagle]

Shattered Eagle: Fall of an Empire

Demo (216k WIP, 07/14/2024) | Forum

You are an advisor in a declining empire, beset by unrest, barbarians, and forces beyond your comprehension. Can you save the empire from doom?

Explore a fictional world inspired by the late Roman Empire.

Be male or female, cisgender or transgender, straight, gay, bisexual or asexual.

Serve the imperial family dutifully, or secure your own rise to power.

Choose from up to five careers, from a veteran of the legion to a shadowy spymaster.

Learn the secrets of sorcery or untangle the ancient mysteries behind the Empire.

Navigate the viper’s nest of imperial politics to find allies or paramours, including the empress herself, a cunning senator, a ruthless crime boss, a barbarian general, or a foreign prince.

SETTING SYNOPSIS

Through over five centuries of conquest, the Iudian Empire has come to rule the Inner Sea, becoming the most powerful realm in the known world.

From the western hills of Ezperia, the northern forests of Hevernica, the sophisticated cities of Attika, the eastern deserts of Midyan, and the southern rivers of Seyet, all fell before what the world calls the Iudian Sorceresses, the women who wield fire itself against their enemies. For it is indeed women who rule in Iudia, as ordained by the mother goddess Gaia herself.

Yet, the Empire is not without troubles, and her glory days seem past her. Crippling civil wars, endemic corruption and ceaseless invasion have all contributed to the woes of the once great Empire.

Threats old and new rear their heads in times such as these. A resurgent Pharia, the Empire’s old eastern rival, threatens to seize the eastern provinces. Civil unrest has escalated in the capital of the capital, the flames fanned by an increasingly bold criminal underground.

The greatest danger may come from the north, however. Beyond the cold barbarian lands comes a enemy you have only heard rumor of, the Witch King of the Ongi. It is said the warrior rides at the head of a massive host, wielding great magic that has united all the tribes of the far steppe together out of fear of his power. He has called a holy war against the Empire, claiming it as a nation of demons to be cleansed from the earth.

Will you hold the Empire steady in her time of crisis, claw your way to power, or seek to solve ancient mysteries? The fate of Iudia is in your hands.

MAJOR CHARACTERS

Empress Julia Vitallia Hevernica (48F)

A harsh woman who forced the Empire back together with blood and steel, Julia has reigned as Empress for a decade. She is a strong military leader and a pious woman, who frequently prays to the Goddess for guidance. She is cruel towards her enemies, but possesses a certain pragmatic streak, and has invested much of her authority in you so that you might govern the Empire while she wages war.

Consul Consentia Plinia Dorica (55F)

The leader of the now-sidelined Senate, the ancient legislature of grandiose aristocrats which once governed the Empire alone, Consentia is bent on advocating for what she sees as the fundamental rights of the public and restoring the power of the old Republic. She is a passionate orator and the wealthiest woman in the Empire, barring the Empress herself, and has struck a deal with the crime lord Ceto in order to gain the support of the masses for her reforms.

Tribune Ceto Vera (43F)

Coming up from the poorest slums of the capital, Ceto is the Empire’s most notorious crime lord, ruling the streets by both spreading out her ill-gotten gains to the people and making brutal examples out of those who refuse to acknowledge her authority. Lately, she has entered politics and become a staunch advocate for the rights of the common people, forming an uneasy alliance with the Consul to push back against the ever encroaching imperial autocracy.

Legate Antonius Lethungius/Amalrik Wulfhid (40M)

Born to an imperial mother who named him Antonius and a barbarian father who named him Amalrik, the Legate is a man caught between two bitterly opposed worlds. A skilled and charismatic general, he has won the steadfast loyalty of the Empire's barbarian auxiliaries with his victories on the field of battle, yet his true loyalties remain unknown. Is he a dutiful man of the Empire, or a proud, unbowed barbarian?

Prince Darius of Pharia (33M)

Darius, third son of the great King of Kings, serves in the imperial capital as the ambassador and hostage from the eastern realm of Pharia, the Empire’s oldest and most powerful rival. Over the past decade and half, however, Darius has become more than a mere captive, having established great wealth and influence in the capital with his charm and wit, and is now a major power player in his own right.

CONTENT WARNING

These themes and depictions are present in the current demo, or are planned to be present in the final product.

Depictions of violence & warfare (including gore), references to torture, sexual references and themes, drug & alcohol abuse, physical & emotional abuse, sexism, suicide, slavery, homophobia, & transphobia.

UPDATE LOG

04/14/2024: Chapter I (50k Words | 18k Playthrough) 05/07/2024: Chapter II (105k Words | 39k Playthrough) 06/05/2024: Chapter III (156k Words | 59k Playthrough) 07/14/2024: Chapter IV (216k Words | 73k Playthrough)

[easternmind]

The weird and wonderful history of Kowloon as a digital interactive space - Part I

The Kowloon Walled City was one of the most emblematic locations in Hong Kong due to its irregular, fast-paced and largely ungoverned growth within a minute parcel of land. During the occupation of Hong Kong Island by the British in the mid 18th century, the Qing authorities surrounded the area with walls, turning it into a strategic position from where to closely inspect the foreign nation's covert activities. Almost a century later, during World War II, the area was seized by the Japanese, who tore down the walls and repurposed the stone for the construction of a nearby airport.

After the war, China would eventually regain possession of the city, though the disinterest of local authorities in addressing its increasing social disturbances placed it in a downward path to a state of utter degradation. By the 1970s, Kowloon had become the epicentre of Hong Kong's criminal underworld, dominated by a handful of its most vicious Triads.

Towards the last years of its existence, the ancient settlement was as a precarious heap of concrete, sheltering nearly half a million people within less than seven acres of land. Cultural and political changes in China made it increasingly difficult for this urban anomaly to remain unaddressed. In the late 1980s, an action plan was put together aiming to relocate its inhabitants and reconvert the real estate into an inner-city park. Stories about residents refusing to leave their unsafe and unsanitary homes were featured prominently in newspapers, baffling readers all over the world. Once the single most densely populated area in the world, this enclave was an architectural aberration whose disconcerting aesthetic influenced numerous works of art in different fields of creation; including a small yet consequential number of video games that briefly reference or prominently feature this abominably transfixing space.

九龍島 (Kyu-Ryu-Tou) - Starcraft - 1986

The year is 2025. An arms dealer escalates the tensions between East and West by developing a genetic weapon in a secret base at Kowloon Island. The United Nations react by sending in their best man, Jamie Starr. Unrelated to the Walled City itself, the first game to be located in the Kowloon peninsula - and indeed include the name as a part of its title - is this obscure turn-based RPG, Kyu-Ryu-Tou for the NEC PC88 and FM-77 machines. The game is a sequel to Shangai, released the year before, featuring the same protagonist. Starcraft would also go on to produce a third instalment in 1987 named TO.KY.O. Clearly there wasn't much regard here from the developers part for geographic accuracy, as Kowloon is depicted here as being an island. While Hong Kong's southern territory is composed of an actual island, all the different areas named Kowloon are located in the mainland.

Riot City - Westone - 1991

One of the most shameless specimens among a relatively long list of Final Fight clones, Riot City contains subtle references to Kowloon, though never referring to it by name. Two narcotics detectives are assigned with the mission of dismantling a cartel running a crime-ridden located in fictional Riot Island. This recurring yet geographically nonsensical notion of Kowloon as an island comes up here, yet again. The final moment of the introduction sequence for this minor Sega arcade success shows both protagonists approaching a tight cluster of buildings whose source inspiration is quite unmistakable. Because Westone maintained ownership of most of this production's intellectual property, a later port to the PC Engine entitled Riot Zone was made possible with the help of Hudson soft. Kowloon's Gate - Zeque - 1997

Reviving the Walled City through the lens of cybermystic surrealism, Kowloon's Gate is a dense, daunting adventure masterfully capturing the slum's dark and narrow recesses. This 1997 Japanese Playstation exclusive spans across four discs of unparalleled full motion 3D CGI spectacle, alternating with real-time 3D dungeons brimming with outlandish characters and concepts deeply inspired by Chinese history, geography and cultural traditions.

Ironically, Zeque managed to embed the theme of Feng-Shui, the ancient geomantic art seeking harmony between the individual and their surrounding space, into a story set in the world's most historically untidy district.

SaGa Frontier - Square - 1997

SaGa Frontier takes place in a solar system named The Regions, composed of multiple inhabited worlds for the player to explore, each with its different degree of civilizational development and culture. One of these planets goes by the suggestive name Kūron. Its pervasive neon light signs, food stalls, makeshift cabins and rooftop scaffolding instantly evoke the memory of China’s so-called city of darkness.

Shadow Hearts - Sacnoth - 2001

Shortly after the release of Koudelka, Sacnoth's initiated the development of Shadow Hearts, the first episode from a cult RPG trilogy exclusively designed for the Playstation 2. In good Japanese fashion, the game proposes an anachronistic yet visually suggestive depiction of Kowloon, portraying its architectural style and degree of decay as it existed in the late twentieth century, despite the fact that the game's events take place during the nineteen twenties.

Just as noteworthy is the almost complete absence of any inhabitants, which inadvertently make this portrayal of the quarter eerily reminiscent of the state in which it was found circa 1993 or 1994, as local authorities brought the long, arduous eviction project to a close.

Shenmue II - SEGA AM2 - 2001

Shenmue II exhibits the most complete and period-accurate video game representation of Kowloon to date. While more recent games featuring this area may represent a number of its aspects with the aid of improved visual fidelity, none features it with such depth as this masterpiece of masterpieces. More than mere background decoration, Kowloon exists in the Shenmue series as a crucial, climacteric element of its modern epic narrative.

It is a well known fact that Yu Suzuki and his team conducted extensive research of the region so as to achieve a result that impresses even to this day. It must be noted, however, that they have similarly taken a fair share of creative liberty when converting the area to best align with the themes they wished to explore. Further reading is required for a more complete context in this regard, namely how this area ties with an early Dreamcast tech demo design which fans lovingly named Tower of Babel. Ostensively, technical limitations did curtail the degree of precision in which the surrounding area could be replicated. The aerial view from the cutscene in which Ryo Hazuki arrives on location places Kowloon at an imaginary degree of elevation over surrounding vegetation. In the year of 1987, during which the game is set, the actual enclave stood perfectly levelled with a myriad of other modern buildings, undoubtedly more than could be reproduced under the circumstances. These trifling considerations aside, Shenmue II entirely succeeds in capturing the vibrant life and mesmerizing beauty of the destitute and decayed urban agglomeration, in a way that it was deemed entirely impossible at the time of its release.

For reasons entirely related to per post content limitations imposed by Tumblr, this article will be continued in PART II.

[willowser]

one thousand lonely stars, hiding in the cold—

android!shouto x reader

wc: 2k+

tags: angst, cyberpunk dystopian setting, financial vulnerability, explicit language, minor mention of sex work + sex workers, reader has strong/conflicting feelings about their situation, and — as always — the question of true humanity.

notes: what a great opportunity this was for me to continue exploring this idea !! tysm to @shoto-brainrot for not only giving me the chance, but also for being such a support and helping me to figure out all this commission jazz !! i so appreciate you, and i hope you enjoy it ! 🩷

original post

You’ve yet to find out what caused the damage to Shouto’s faceplate.

By the time you discovered him outside the credit exchange, he had been busted open and left for—whatever the equivalent of dead is for an android. A gaping hole in the left side of his disturbingly human face exposed his inner circuitry to the rain and you think that should have finished him off, truly, but—he's still kicking. 

Technology in the lower district is distinct. The most careful hands could have crafted him down in the best underground salvage yard and he still wouldn't have lasted half an hour with his face submerged in a shallow mud puddle like that. Wiring would have been shot, fuses blown.

Even if the Todoroki Corporation symbol on his wrist wasn't glowing, a blinking light in time with his would-be heart, you'd know what he is. You'd know he didn't belong down here, beneath the smog, in the industrial bones of your dying city.

And yet—

The left side of Shouto's face took the brunt of whatever blow he'd been dealt, and the scarring—if it's even called that?—has extended down over his cheekbone and backward, so violently that his ear had only barely been hanging on. Without the bandage you've wrapped him up in, he's quite a sight: half a tangled mess of wires and pins, a dull cyan light glowing in his orbital socket. With the wrapping, however, he’s almost exactly as he was meant to be: seamless.

The fate of his detached ear had been unknown. Until this morning.

It still works, much to your surprise, learning so only after wondering aloud the whereabouts of your data docket and hearing Shouto answer from across the apartment. Whoever put him together, you realize, took great care to make him durable, adamantine; the carbon nanotubes and polymer arrays that make up his cochlea were hardly affected by the assault.

Someone—or something—meant to harm him, and you know that for certain, now. Such wreckage couldn’t have happened naturally, not to a Skin-Puppet like him.

(When you look at him, you can’t help but consider his creator. How far he is from them and why. If the hands that made him and the hands that ruined him are the same, if he meant to leave or if he was cast out. You haven’t asked, but it’s odd that a machine could keep such information to himself—itself.)

(Given the brutality behind his mutilation, perhaps it’s best you don’t know the answers.)

Working tech from the richer district—KōkyōLuxuria, above the smog, built high into the clouds—could not only earn you enough to eat this week, but also to pay off all your debts to the League. Maybe even finance a decent apartment a few stories up.

And that’s why you’re here: racing through the slums in the rain, doing your damndest to make this sale before time runs out and you’re forced to find another buyer. Coming across a Hack with 1,640,254 credits in their docket is rare; who knows when you’ll find someone from the Trade in Musutafu sector again? You’re likely to sooner perish—either from your empty stomach or that broker that demanded payment two days ago.

Shouto, however, doesn’t see the urgency.

“Hello, handsome! Awful cold out tonight…care to warm me up?”

“Oh, hello.”

At the even, all-too-friendly lilt in his voice, you halt your sprint again, and spin around with a hiss. “Shouto!” You snap—but it comes too late; the Entertainers have struck like lightning, already scrambling his code. 

Out of habit, you’d pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head before leaving the apartment, and now the material separates his image from view—though you can easily imagine the pleasant expression showing on his face, illuminated in pink under the NanotechNymph advertisement.

At his easily captured interest, two women strut from the open doors of the low-lit den, all allure and swaying hips, mirage flickering beneath the heavy rain. They only meet him halfway—too far from the emanator deep within the club—and you dash forward to stop him from wordlessly accepting their offer. You can’t afford to owe anyone any more than you already do.

“Shouto,” you say again, mouth twisting when he looks at you simply. Despite the hood, his bandage grows dark from the rain and—despite his framework, worry fluxes in your stomach at the thought of him getting too wet. “We have to go.”

“Aww,” an Entertainer says to you, girlish pout pulling down her full lips. “You don’t want to come inside and play with us?”

“No,” you try not to look at them any longer, just in case that racks up a charge, too. Rock solid as he is, Shouto allows himself to be steered away, much to your relief. “Buzz off, holo-ham.”

“I’d like to play.” Shouto pipes up, peeking behind his shoulder when the girls squeal in excitement. “Can we come back once we’ve finished?”

“Not for that kind of play.” You put a hand on the back of his head and swivel it, all while shoving him down the sidewalk. You almost remark on how man-like he’s acting, before chasing the thought away.

“What other types of play are there?”

“Just—hush.” 

And he does, finally, when you loop your arm through his: a presumably innocent gesture that draws his attention fully back to you, as physical touch seems to do, with him. Beneath the material of the jacket, he feels natural, all muscle and bone, even leaning into you as if the weather has made him cold. You can feel him tracing your face with his one-eyed gaze—scanning you—and you pretend not to notice.

“Your heart rate has gone up. Have I made you angry?”

“Yes,” you tell him, though he hasn’t, really. “You and your curiosity are gonna make me late, and then we’ll be in some serious shit.”

He looks away then, down to the soaked pavement, a mimicry of disappointment. From the corner of your eye, you can see his manufactured Adam’s apple bob, and the muscle beneath your hand shifts.

“They seemed nice, the holograms.” He says, and you can’t help the soft snort such a comment merits. 

“Yeah, they’re nice, alright, until you can’t pay them.”

Shouto looks at you once again, stride threatening to falter until you tug him along. “Do you know them?”

You already know where he’s going with his question, and the corner of his lips quirk up when you cast him a filthy look. “Well, no, but—”

“Then how do you know—”

“I just do, alright?” You frown at him and he accepts it in full, studying once more. Whatever he finds in your expression amuses enough that he’s placated for the moment, though you know it won’t be long before he’s piping up again.

He does it often—studies you: body language, physiological changes, speech patterns, vocal cues. Human behavior he catalogs and streams to someone back at the Corporation headquarters, finding the miniscule details he can use against you, some day. Whatever the reason behind his damage, he is still a product of his evil overlords, made for reasons you can only imagine. 

This is what you tell yourself. 

As his fingers shift until their smooth pads are brushing the delicate veins in your wrists, as he tightens his arm around yours when another stranger on the streets knocks your shoulder, as he leans into the warmth of your humanness: this is what you tell yourself.

You’re overcome with a sense of loss and you don’t know why, and you clear the strange lump hardening in your throat. “Life lesson number six, Todoroki,” you murmur it closely to him, nearly into the fabric at his shoulder, though he doesn’t react to the name. “Everybody wants something from someone, holo-hams included.”

Shouto seems to process your words, for a moment, and his face is expressionless when you steal a peek up at him. Technicolor rains down on your both, swathing him in a wild array as advertisements dance on the buildings that tower above you, and again you think of his creator. The careful hands that crafted his smooth cheeks, the sharp line of his nose, the leanness of his body. You wonder if he’s ever been deemed precious.

Nearly all of the residents relegated to the lower districts owe the Todoroki Corporation in some way. Be it through credit loans or applied interest rates on subsidized housing or hidden costs and high premiums on mandatory, shit insurance—Enji Todoroki sits in the lap of KōkyōLuxuria, has probably never even stepped down from his pedestal. 

There’s no good reason a product of his could have found its way to you: this is what you tell yourself.

“And you want my ear.” Shouto says, looking back down at you as your shoulders tense. There isn’t a byte of hostility in his voice, but he must understand the sharpness to what he’s saying.

“Yes,” you admit with a nod, and some underlying, rogue streak of guilt has you pressing into him, as if your proximity could make up for your selfishness. “The sensors in your ear are gonna pay for our dinner tonight, handsome.”

His stride falters once more, and despite the time clock ticking in the back of your mind—you let him stop you. Maybe you want him to. Nothing ever goes unnoticed by him and you know that and maybe it’s cruel of you to say such a thing, to offer a comfort you can’t admit to, but Shouto looks down at you in all his ruination and—

Before he can say anything, a fat drop of water hits the tip of his perfectly manufactured nose. It makes him flinch, delayed, and the surprise he wears and the scrunch of his brow seem so—human, there before you. Shouto tilts his face to the dark, smoggy sky, and again that worry bites you, about too much water trickling into his core.

“We’re going to be late,” you repeat, though it’s much weaker than it was earlier. This is one those moments in which he overrides all your defenses, uploads something warm and hopeful and frightening into your chest cavity; you can’t tell if you want to run because you have to, for the sale—or if it’s a result of watching him now, haloed in neon.

He’s not one to ignore you, but he doesn’t respond, instead retracting his arm from your grip in order to push the hood back off his head. Raindrops soak into his bandage and the excess pools, dripping down over the line of his jaw and the column of his throat. So close to him, you can see the goosebumps that break out across his skin.

(You wonder if he’s ever been deemed precious. You wonder if he meant to leave, or if he was cast out. You wonder if he was created for continued corruption—or if someone out there wanted him to experience life, no matter how rusty.)

(You wonder if he feels as human as he looks. If he can blush, or if the soft skin below his ear can bruise.)

A small sound bubbles out of him, like a light laugh of disbelief. 

You found him face down in the rain; you’re not sure why it could cause such a reaction now, but he turns to eye the commercial playing behind him, before watching the path of a man walking by the two of you. Rain collects in his perfect cupid’s bow until he licks it away, and his hair slicks to the side when he pushes it out of his face. 

Shouto turns his attention back to you rather plainly, though the edges of his smile pull up a little higher than they usually do, enough that the apples of his cheeks round. He asks you, “What’s going to be for our dinner?” and the question is oddly worded, but each one is intentional. 

Maybe it’s not the rain that amuses him—and maybe it is. Maybe it really is that simple, that innocent. Maybe it’s the microtremors in your voice and your increased heart rate, all the little details that could never go unnoticed. 

There isn’t a way that this could end well: this is what you tell yourself.

You nod once and turn to face back the way you came, resigned, before looping your arm through his again. You trace the delicate veins on the inside of his wrist, careful not to cover the slow-blinking symbol embedded there, and you decide it doesn’t matter what his creator did or didn’t want. Because he has wants of his own, just like anyone.

“Okay,” you sigh, and when you slosh through the puddles collecting on the sidewalk, Shouto seems happy to follow along, this time. “I can probably sweet talk Toyomitsu into buying us some takoyaki, but you’re gonna have to play it cool.”

“Is this the kind of play you were talking about?”

That lilt has returned to his voice, even and friendly and amused.

“No,” you swat at him to hear his little huff of laughter, “now stop asking about that.”

Of course he doesn’t.

[fatehbaz]

They’ve built a “Great Wheel” on the Seattle waterfront [...].

The small timber village became a military outpost in the Puget Sound War [...], [and] soon evolved into a trade gateway, with timber tailings and other industrial trash from Henry Yesler’s mill used to fill in the marshlands [...], atop which migrant laborers raised tents and shanties [...] now working to feed raw materials into the furnaces of the Second Industrial Revolution burning in the East. [...] The first nationwide strike ripped across the country’s railways in 1877, but in Seattle the unrest took on a grim character, as thousands of unemployed white workers rioted against their Chinese counterparts [...]. Meanwhile, [...] local elites rebuilt [...] downtown [...] from scratch, hosting the tallest building on the West Coast alongside other new constructs [fueled] with money gleaned from the supply chains linking eastern capital to Alaskan gold. [...] Today the city - again rebuilt [...] - is seen as one of the primary beneficiaries of the “Fifth” Industrial Revolution in information technology, outshone only by California’s Silicon Valley. [...] The digital was increasingly thought of as somehow "immaterial," sustained by intellectual labor more than physical toil [...].

Silicon Valley myths of [...] "immaterial" labor disguise a more gruesome dynamic in which growing segments of the global labor force are being deprived even of the basic brutality of the wage, instead forced out into growing rings of slums, prisons, and global wastelands. [...]

---

Perched alongside a downtown business corridor [...], Seattle's Great Wheel seems to peer out over [...] [the] prophesied “cooperative commons,” an infotech metropolis abutting the beauty of an evergreen arcadia. But travel below Seattle’s cluster of infotech industries and the image appears much the same as that of a hundred years prior - a trade gateway, squeezing value from supply chains by selling transport and logistical support. The southern stretch of the metropolis bears little resemblance to the revitalized urban core of the city proper. Instead of the “cognitive labor” of Microsoft, it is defined instead by the cold calculation of companies like UPS, founded in Seattle when the city was one link in a colonial supply chain built first for timber, then Alaskan gold, then World War. [...]

In south Seattle, this logistics empire takes the form of faceless warehouses, food processing facilities, container trucks, rail yards, and industrial parks concentrated between two seaports, an international airport, three major interstates, and railroads traveling in all directions. Meanwhile, the poor have been priced out of the old inner city, moving southward [...]. [T]hey can be found staffing the airport and the rail yards, hauling cargo in and out of two the major seaports, loading boxes in warehouses [...]. And, beyond them, the shadow stretches out to Washington’s rural hinterlands where migrant laborers staff a new boom in agriculture and raw materials [...] - and further still into America’s long-depressed interior, where the Great Wheel meets its opposite: Memphis, the FedEx logistics city, watched over by a great black pyramid [the infamous Bass Pro Shop pyramid]. [...]

Every Seattle is capable of creating an eco-friendly, “cooperative commonwealth” tended by apps and algorithms only insofar as there is a Memphis that can provide human workers to sort the packages, a Shanghai to build the containers that carry them, and a Shenzhen to solder together the circuits of the machines that govern it all.

---

All text above by: Phil A. Neel. "The Great Wheel". Brooklyn Rail. April 2015. Published online at: brooklynrail.org/2015/04/field-notes/the-great-wheel. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Text within brackets added by me for clarity. Presented here for commentary, teaching, personal use, criticism purposes.]

[what-the-flux]

At long last, I can post the finished art! I had been sitting on it for some weeks, waiting for the inspiration to hit to write a short piece to accompany it. Definitely recommend full viewing.

oOo ----------------------------------------------------- oOo

Glittering motes of dust hung suspended in waning late afternoon light shining through the skylights. The upper levels of the City-Beneath-The-Cube were lighter and airier than outsiders realized, but the walls, planters and walkways of planed and etched stone that went down many stories made the whole of the place feel like some kind of precision-wrought canyon dotted with workshops, passages and arcades where the locals and laborers bustled.

(continued under the cut)

Lorr still knew this place well, despite the many years separating his former life and younger self from his current one. It hadn’t changed much, the smells and the noise were the same but he noted that there were new, more effective safety railings in the Public Commons and that the local favorite dive, Pi’s had updated their signage (finally).

The bounty hunter rubbed a hand across his face, closing his eyes momentarily as he let his ears take over, picking up all the sounds surrounding him. He would need to move further away from the Commons to better filter the urban background static. Lorr had just sent out his hawk Deputy to scope out the area in case they got lucky and found their mark momentarily out in the open. Both he and Deputy were already familiar with her, so that wouldn’t be difficult. Problem was, it also meant she’d immediately recognize the hawk for who he was and what it meant as well. A part of Lorr secretly hoped she’d get tipped off early.

Why did I agree to this? It wasn’t the money, not this time. Am I trying to make a point? She nearly got us killed and then ran for it. But I know her. Knew her. I can’t just erase all this history just because of one incident, one indiscretion can I? Maybe this is how I have to get through to her.

He sighed inwardly and braced against his spear as he rose from a crouch, the movement preternaturally smooth and deliberate, like a predatory animal. He looked down from his high vantage as he faced the section of the Undercube that was known to the denizens as the Plexus. It was a network of tunnels, access ‘ports, antechambers, quarries and dwellings that confounded natural senses of direction. Less public-facing, much more closed in and easier to hide. Or lose a pursuer.

The slim asura made his way down the ledge he was using to survey, walking along a catwalk only just wide enough to admit a mid-sized labor golem at most. His ears twitched and he sniffed, feeling the minute air currents of a service tunnel cleverly tucked behind a cleft in the worked stone. Still not certain this was were his mark had proceeded but knowing it would get him into the center of the Plexus quicker, he decided to go for it anyway. Forced to stow his spear in such close quarters, he kept a hand on his dagger as he stalked forward into the passage, the inside only dimly lit by a track of dim yellow quartz-lights along the floor.

Infrared imaging on his monocle made it easy for him to get an idea of the topography of the inner workings of the maze of service tunnels he found himself in, but he was careful to not rely on it solely. He stopped every so often, using his eyes and ears but also a generous amount of intuition to pick the correct course. Chambers became somewhat larger and more spacious as he passed golem foundries, making his way steadily downward. He was becoming more aware that he knew where he was going, it was like retracing steps from his childhood back to the colorful yet rundown living warrens and slums that he grew up in.

She wouldn’t go all the way back there, would she? Lorr was starting to think it wasn’t just him that was trying to make some kind of point.

The smells and noise were subtly changing and it wasn’t long before he found himself in the center of the Plexus. Part bazaar, part manufactory, it acted as the working class nerve center and was a riot of activity, industrial clamor and smells.

He was certain of where he was going now. He didn’t know why exactly she came all the way down here where they had all met in the early days before the nonsense with the Whispers and fighting dragons happened, but he was determined to find where this chase ended. He’d get answers, and if it meant having to fail his mission and come back to his current boss empty handed, then so be it.

[1800naveen]

It's funny when I see Tik Tok slideshows with High Lady Feyre and how her title is so cool.

Since she got the title, has she done anything besides painting with people? Rhysand does the work while she paints?

Isn't she being a housewife with this? No offense but... Actually, fuck it. Full offense, take it with a pinch of salt or a hand full and shove it up your ass.

How about helping out in Illyria or Hewn City? They got slums in Velaris but these guys are building their sixth mansion or some shit. SLUMS.

And the stupid death pact. "But after everything they went through" Zip it. Yes, they went through stuff but it's a dumbass decision to decide on a pact that if one dies, the other dies too. This is fucked up what I'm going to say (like the most fucked up thing I'm going to say) but on one day, I was thinking about this death pact and it was reminding me of something. After some time, what it reminded me of was Adolf and Eva Bruan killing themselves on the same day. I'm aware that I'm fucked up for thinking of this, don't comment it out. (I felt some regret for even thinking it the first time). Here's a better alternative: Bonnie and Clyde.

You leave your son an orphan. Who the fuck is going to rule after they're gone? None from the inner circle can, I assume. And if they can, don't because they're going to immediately mess it up.

And how the fae age and stuff, Feyre being in her twenties when she was with child is odd. Is that the fae version of a teenage pregnancy? She should've been in the club.

Remember when people were hyping up Crescent City 3 and expected Aelin to be in it so that we would have the main protagonist trio all fighting? Where's it at? Aelin is chilling in her world (Good for her. She shouldn't have to suffer dealing with Rhysand). I heard that Feyre wasn't even in the book because she was taking care of Nyx? Haven't read Crescent City so correct me if I'm wrong. And then, we have big daddy Rhysand taking the spotlight and acting like a prick towards Nesta, Ember, and Bryce. He says to Nesta that she should've taken Bryce's head off??? What the fuck?

Nesta saying that she wouldn't be killed or executed, at least not now or not today makes me sad for her. She deserves so much better, I'll shout it to the rooftops.

TLDR: Bonnie and Clyde did it better than Feysand ever could.

[avegool]

City Boy, Farm Girl

Read on Ao3 Here.

 The little bar was hidden in one of the back alleys of one of the many culturally distinct sections of the City. It was one of the only animatronic-friendly bars and was often full of them. Animatronics didn’t necessarily drink, but they wanted to be able to go to social places, too, without the possibility of being attacked for not being “normal.”

 What even was normal in the world? You could be more robot than human, but you would still be ranked above the animatronics.

 Animatronics were seen as lesser beings. Servants. Slaves, to some. To you, they were friends. They were just like everyone else, just without the human parts hidden beneath the metal.

 Though, the one looming over you at the bar was one of the least pleasant ones you had the misfortune of meeting. For someone who only came up to your shoulders, they were sure adamant about hitting on you. They even made lewd comments about your ass. You ignored the ferret-shaped animatronic at first, continuing to drink the whiskey in your hand.

 Then, Ferret got handsy.

 Now. You weren’t confrontational in the least. You tried to keep the peace in any situation you were put in - a rarity in the City. Most people would throw a hit or whip out a gun whenever the smallest little problem arose.

 You chalked it up to being raised on a farm, not in the crazy urban City that never ended, never slept, and never stopped. No wonder people were violent here. You would be too, if you grew up in such a toxic environment.

 But when the Ferret touched your ass. That was it.

 You placed your cup down on the countertop and swiveled on the bar stool to look at him. He leaned against the counter and grinned at you, his fluffy ears jolting upright.

 “Touch me again, I dare you,” you warned, “I might not be a city girl, but I know how to put an animal down.”

 His inner fans whirred and he leaned closer. Ferret clearly enjoyed your threat. He grabbed onto your arm with his claws and gazed up at you with half-lidded eyes-

 “Wow, a fleshy that can turn me on just like that, please say-”

 Another claw, larger, sharper, and greener rested on the ferret’s head. The smaller animatronic turned his head, his neck creaking from the excess weight now placed upon it. His speckled-green eyes widened at the sight of the newly arrived gator- or maybe he was a crocodile. You weren’t sure.

 “Now, I know ya weren’t hitting on my girl,” the gator said, “You know what I do to creeps like ya?”

 The fact that a second, larger animatronic was now here and claiming you to be his was terrifying. What did you do to deserve this treatment? Is it the lack of cybernetics that most of the other City dwellers have? Or did you just give out a vibe? You had no clue, but you regretted going for an overpriced drink in the slums of the City. You might have been better off just going to your hotel room and snatching a drink from the fridge.

 The ferret recoiled from the alligator, nearly tripping on his own tail trying to get away. Whoever this gator was, he was clearly known around the bar. Once the ferret was gone, the gator took his seat in the bar stool beside you.

 You wearily watched him before rotating your legs back under the bar. You downed the rest of your whiskey and wondered if you should run while you had the chance.

 The gator rapped his knuckles on the bar, “Another one of what she’s having.” he demanded.

 The human behind the bar nodded. Her bangles and rings jingling as she moved to get the bottle of whiskey from the shelf. She poured an amount into your glass before disappearing onto the other side of the bar again.

 You stared at the glass and shivered. Now you were in the gator’s debt. Whoever he was.

 You decided to nip it in the bud before you got yourself in too deep.

 “Thank you,” you said, “But I can handle myself. I was doing fine before you came in.”

 It came out ruder than you expected, but it was good enough. Maybe he would get the hint and move on. You weren’t interested. You weren’t staying in the City very long, and you didn’t plan on making friends or anything else.

 “Sure looked like ya needed help,” he grumbled back, lowering his star-shaped glasses to get a good look at you with his red eyes. “You’re a fleshy. Doubt you could last long against one of us.”

 He…made a point. Unlike the majority of the population, you did not have any enhancements. No super strength. No super agility. Nothing. You were just a plain-Jane human. An animatronic could easily overpower you. There was no comparing a fleshy and an animatronic. Would the ferret have gotten pushier? Would he have forced himself on you? You’d never know, now.

 You finally grabbed the glass and took a sip of the whiskey. He got it for you. You might as well drink it. He did you two favors. You won’t let them go to waste.

 You say your name.

 The gator grunted. He was just as rude as the ferret.

 You downed the rest of your whiskey and stood up, placing a tenner on the bar top. You patted down your cargos.

 “Thanks for the drink,” you mumbled, “See ya.”

 You didn’t make it very far before the gator grabbed onto the sleeve of your leather jacket. You don’t turn to look at him, but you do stop. He obviously wanted to say something.

 “Monty,” he said, “That’s the name. You’re not from around here, are ya?”

 You chuckled and stashed your hands in your pockets. “Is it that obvious?”

 “Yeah, it is.” He didn’t even hesitate. “Let me walk ya home. Streets get dicey at night. Especially ‘round here.”

 Your immediate answer was ‘no.’ But. The ferret could still be lingering around outside, waiting for you. Or something worse. Your first night here you were harassed by a group of men. Everyone made the City out to be so great, but in reality, it was just a cesspool of the worst people.

 You turned to look at Monty over your shoulder. “Yeah, that’d be nice, thanks,” Came out of your mouth before you meant it to.

 Well, no changing your mind now. Monty stood up from the barstool, and you realized just how tall he was. He easily towered over you, and the size of his arms made you completely understand why the ferret was so terrified. Monty was gigantic and looked strong. His bright-red mohawk and beard paired with the leather trousers he wore tucked into large combat boots was downright…no it wasn’t as scary as you thought. It looked good on him. Monty didn’t wear a shirt, though, you supposed he didn’t need to.

 He sidestepped around you and walked toward the bar door, waving his hand at the patrons he passed. His tail swished back and forth as he walked, though it was elegant. It never got close to knocking anything around. A few of the other customers waved and called his name, but you didn’t want to stick around to find out why he was so well-known. Monty wasn’t your friend. He was just a dude walking you home.

 The door jingled as it closed behind you. Monty was standing a little ways up the alley, waiting for you to come lead him. But he wasn’t looking at you. His piercing red glare was aimed for something just behind you. You looked over your shoulder, and the ferret was standing there, petrified. Good call having Monty walk you home.

 Monty’s tail beat against the wet stone of the alley, impatient, probably. You spared the ferret one last, nasty glance before hastily making your way toward the gator.

 As you approached his side, he tucked his hands in his pockets. “Where to?”

 “I’m staying the hotel on Third,” you said, “The Jefferson.”

 Monty began to walk toward the direction Third street was. He knew the City well, you realized. It was so large. You got lost the first day you came. The underground was confusing, and you struggled to decipher it. But he knew exactly where he was and where he was going. Maybe it was an animatronic thing. Maybe they had an inbuilt GPS. With your sense of direction, you were a tad bit jealous.

 You followed behind him, careful to not trip on his tail. It swayed left to right in a pattern, and you couldn’t help but watch it.

 “How long ya stayin’ for?”

 You barely recognized that Monty was talking to you. In fact, you nearly missed the curb he stepped off, causing you to stumble. He just watched you over his shoulder with humored eyes. Smooth, smooth. Only you would be a clumsy dumbass in front of this monstrous animatronic.

 Your brain finally registered his question.

 “Oh, only a few more days.” you replied, “I only came here to settle some family matters, then I’m going back to the farm.”

 Monty grunted in reply, stepping up onto the next curb. There were no cars on the street. In fact, cars were rarely used in the city. Most people used some sort of flying scooter contraptions or the Underground.

 “Ya live on a farm, huh?” Monty mused, “I bet that’s borin’.”

 You almost stumbled on his tail when you stepped onto the curb. But Monty grabbed ahold of your sleeve before you could step on it.

 “Not too boring,” you countered, “I like the peace. Don’t you ever get tired of the toxicity of the City?”

 Monty stopped walking at your question. It was an innocent one. He recognized it. But truthfully, he never thought of leaving the City. It was the only place that animatronics were “welcomed.” He was built and raised here.

 Before he could reply, a scooter zipped by, and you jumped. They were loud when they were too close to the ground. You even fell backwards onto the cement of the sidewalk. Ouch. Monty growled in the direction of the scooter, but said nothing about your damaged pride.

 He offered you a hand.

 Gratefully, you accepted.

 Once on your feet, the two of you continued to walk. Third street was a few blocks up, so you didn’t expect to make it there for at least a little while.

 Finally Monty gathered an answer. “I don’t think I’d like it out there,” he said, “At least here, people tolerate us.”

 It was a weird way to word that. You hummed to yourself in thought. Animatronics were certainly looked down upon here. They weren’t treated well at all, and were still considered sub-class citizens. They couldn’t vote. They had little to no rights. Most places didn’t even allow animatronics in the doors.

 “My neighbor’s an animatronic,” You said at last. “Everyone treats him well. He even comes to repair my machines, sometimes. Really good guy.”

 That was news to him. He’s never heard of an animatronic leaving the City. This was where they would go to get repaired. Upgrades. Anything they could possibly need.

 “What does he do if he gets damaged?”

 The question left Monty’s mouth before he could stop it. Life outside the City was a curiosity, now. If another animatronic lived out there, then surely more could.

 “He lives with the tech, actually,” you replied, “Some dude that used to live here got sick of the life. Brought Bonnie and a few others with him. Now he lives on a farm, but Bonnie’s the only one that tends to it. He’s been good at upkeeping Bonnie, though.”

 The two of you crossed the street again until you were on Eight street. Monty kept his thoughts to himself now, though you didn’t seem to mind the questions.

 You were rather charming, in a way. Different from the other humans Monty got along with. You didn’t look at him like he was beneath you, either. The fact that you chose an animatronic-friendly bar spoke volumes to him. Especially since it was nine streets up from your hotel. It meant that you had actively sought it out. Though, he wouldn’t say that out loud. He appreciated a good human now and then.

 A few kids were tossing a ball-pod back and forth in one of the alleys. Two humans, and one animatronic. They were all giggling, and shoving each other around. You watched in curiosity as you passed, though Monty didn’t give them a second look. He was used to seeing the children that lived in the slums. Hell, that’s where he grew up. This was Monty’s domain.

 “Hey Monty!”

 “Hi Mont!”

 The children started bellowing and calling out to him, waving frantically as they spotted him. You looked from them to the gator walking in front of you and grinned. Monty waved in the direction of the kids, but didn’t stop to talk to them. No matter. They continued to play with the pod.

 “So. You’re quite popular here, huh?” you teased, “Are you famous or something?”

 Monty was chuffed to hear that you could recognize his popularity. “Ya could say that,” he said, “Used to play in a band when I was younger. Now that I’m older, though, I just pick fights with the fleshies that think they can bully us.”

 Ah. He was a vigilante of some sort. A punk. Though, he easily defended you against one of his own. Maybe he just had some hero complex.

 “You ever get tired of that?”

 It sounded ruder than you intended. Accusatory. In reality, Monty wasn’t doing anything to be ashamed of.

 “No,” he replied, “It makes life worthwhile. Don’t ya get tired of digging in the dirt?”

 “No, ‘it makes life worthwhile,’” you instantly replied, “There aren’t a lot of farms left in the world. It’s nice growing something non-synthetic. I’d invite you to visit, but I don’t think you’d like it.”

 The truth was, Monty would like it. A large open field to run around in? No one to rely on him? Sounded like a vacation. Sounded like magic. The only grass Monty had ever seen were the rare bits and pieces that poke up in the sidewalk before maintenance. Everything about your life was completely foreign to him.

 “It can’t be too bad,” he said, “If someone like ya can handle it, I definitely can.”

 You laughed at that. It was a nice laugh. Not musical or melodical. Real. Rough. A little dorky. It was endearing in a society where everyone had to be perfect.

 Monty watched you from over the tops of his glasses, entranced by the look on your face. He almost wanted to laugh too. Your laugh was contagious. He even felt his silicone lips rise in a grin.

 “Fine then,” you countered, “You’ll have to come spend a few days on the farm. I’ll show you the ropes. You’ll be a farm boy in no time.”

 Hospitality was rare. The fact you openly invited an animatronic you just met to your home, whether joking or not, was odd. Weird. You were weird. Trusting in a weird way.

 Seventh street was quite busy. It had a few clubs and restaurants that were open to those that lingered well into the night. For people like you. People like Monty, too. Fleshies glared at him as he walked by. He ignored them. You glared back.

 Monty only knew you for maybe half an hour by this point, but he liked your guts. And your smile. And your laugh.

 “Keep your eyes to yourself,” you hissed at a passing woman that had additional, robotic arms.

 Why humans would fashion themselves with robotic limbs yet act in such an awful way toward animatronics was beyond you. Imitation was a form of flattery, but in this case, humans were trying to just be better than what they were imitating. It was annoying. It was shallow. Monty watched as the multi-armed woman huffed and entered the line for the nearest club. A few other humans that were commenting quite rudely on Monty’s looks withered under your glare.

 Monty believed you now. You could defend yourself, at least against humans. And here you were defending him against humans. You were something else.

 Sixth street wasn’t much better. But at least most of the humans on this road elected to just ignore Monty’s presence. You walked quietly beside him, looking around at the different neon signs in windows, eyes wide with curiosity, not unlike a child’s. The City was still so new to you, and you were leaving so soon, too. As much as you hated it here, there was just something so…nice about having anything within walking distance.

 Monty watched you from the corner of his eye. He watched you looking around, bewildered and amazed.

 He took these views for granted. They were all he’s seen his entire life. They weren’t interesting or cool or even pleasant anymore. They were just there, in the background of his mind.

 “How ya sleepin’ here?” he asked, “Is the light annoyin’?”

 A good question. You wondered if you looked like shit to prompt it, though.

 “Eh,” you kicked at a stone as you passed it. “The lights are annoying, but I can sleep anywhere. The City just makes my insomnia a little worse is all.”

 It was true. Your insomnia was a lot worse in the City. You knew you could be out wandering the streets and looking at things. The constant drabble of people talking. The lights constantly on and flickering. The noise was enough to drive you insane. The first night you didn’t sleep at all. Then one of the neighboring ladies in the room next to you offered ear plugs. She was a saint.

 “Insomnia, huh?”

 Monty didn’t know much about it. He didn’t “sleep” the ways humans did.

 You hummed in response, tucking your hands into the pockets of your jacket. That was another thing you noticed in the City. It was never cold. Your jacket was just anxiety deterrent. It had no other use. You could walk down the street naked and be perfectly comfortable with the temperature.

 It was especially strange since it was October.

 It definitely explained why so many people dressed in so little clothes. That wasn’t for you. Fancy clothes did not bode well on the farm.

 Fifth and Fourth street were practically deserted. A few humans slithered around the entrances to casinos and strip-clubs, but most were assumably inside. A strange looking animatronic sat on the front steps of a brothel, smoking some sort of pipe. How he managed to do that without lungs was beyond your comprehension.

 “Hey Mon’gomery,” the robot breathed out a puff of multi-colored smoke, “Didn’ know you had a human fe’ish.”

 Your face burned at the accusation, and you immediately looked away from the Fox-shaped animatronic. Is that why Monty was helping you? To get in your pants? Did animatronics even have anything in theirs?

 “Nah, not like that,” Monty said, “Fergeusson was botherin’ her and I’m just walkin’ her home.”

 The fox slapped his knee and chuckled, more smoke puffing out of his mouth and nostrils. You noticed he only had one good hand, the other was painfully absent. In fact, he looked really tattered, damaged. His ears with broken in different places, and his one eye was sunken in and covered in a patch. Dude had a rough life.

 He also wore a security guard uniform. No doubt the guard for the brothel he sat in front of.

 “Aye, he’s such a weasel tha’ Fergeusson,” the fox rolled his singular eye, “She is qui’e a beau’iful lass. Nor surprised he sough’ her ou’.”

  Monty laughed a little, too. “She’s nice,” he waved the fox’s words off, “She’s a farm girl. Not used ta the City.”

 The fox laughed a long. “Farm girl, huh?”

 You nod, meekly, “All my life. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cut the conversation off, but I really need to get to my hotel.”

 “Righ’, righ’,” the fox nodded, “Sorry bou’ tha’, maybe nex’ ‘ime. See ya la’er Mon’gomery.”

 “Later Foxy,” Monty grunted.

 Monty nudged you to start walking again, and soon you were on Third.

 Your hotel was on the corner. It was the smallest and dingiest of the buildings on this street, but otherwise nice. It was one of the only remaining brick buildings in the City - most had been replaced years ago. The front desk lady had told you all about it. The hotel was a historic building. It was the oldest building in the City, supposedly. You didn’t know if that was true or not.

 If it was, you thought they would take better care of it. Alas.

 You stopped right in front of the hotel. The door was held open by a stone. The window on the left was shattered. There were leaves covering the porch. It wasn’t much. But it was your temporary home.

 You turn to look at Monty. “Thank you for walking me here,” you said, “And thank you with Fergeusson. Ah…wait hold on.”

 You pulled your wallet out of your pocket and flick it open to dig for some cash. But Monty grabbed your wrist before you could pull it out.

 “Don’t need ta pay me,” he said, “I reckon you would’ve gotten back just fine without me, anyway. Just consider it a pit stop on my way back.”

 Your eyebrows knitted together, but you elected to put your wallet away anyway. If he didn’t want money, then you wouldn’t force it on him. (It was money for the train ride home, anyway.) But, you didn’t want to send him away with nothing.

 You motioned for Monty to come down to your height. He rolled his eyes behind his glasses but did bend closer to you. He assumed you were going to whisper something in his ear? Not that he had an ear, mind you.

 But you didn’t whisper anything.

 You stood on your tiptoes to reach the rest of the way and pressed your soft, pink lips against the side of his snout. And just like that, the warmth was gone and you were skipping up the steps into the hotel. Monty watched you disappear inside the door before he straightened his spine.

 He gently touched the side of his snout that you had just kissed. More than a little surprised.

 Monty never realized how warm humans were.

 He spared one last glance at the door and turned around to walk back to the bar. He had a bone to pick with Fergeusson still.

 You spent all day in the lawyer’s office, only to get nothing done. He spent too long on the phone with other clients, which, you supposed was fine since they were actually paying him. But your lawyer, who was your cousin, was doing your case free. Pro-bono. It wasn’t even really your case. It was your father’s, but he was too ill to travel anymore, so it was up to you to handle.

 It wasn’t even a big deal. It just had to do with your father’s medical issues and his power of attorney should be. Your brother immediately demanded he be it. But he wanted to trash the farm. Sell it to the City so it could expand and he could make a profit. But you wanted the farm. You did all the work for it, and it was originally meant to be yours. Your father just never finished his will before he fell sick.

 After a long ten hours, you called it quits for the day. You were hungry and nursing a poor mood, so you elected to once again go across the street into the alleyway to the only animatronic-friendly bar. That was how you found it yesterday. It was closest place that served food to your cousin’s office. The animatronic-friendly bit was just a happy coincidence.

 You had never seen so many animatronics before entering the city. It was amazing yesterday being in the presence of them in the bar. Today, you hoped it would be just as amazing. Without the ferret harassing you. Hopefully. Maybe you would even bump into your new friend, Monty. You had asked your cousin if he knew Monty.

“Oh him?” he had sounded annoyed, “He’s a bit of a brute. Are you sure that’s the right name? I can’t imagine someone like Montgomery Gator walking a girl home at night. Bit of a ridiculous image if you ask me.”

 You brushed him off at the time. Monty had been nothing but- well. He was considerate. A little gruff, but really not a bad guy. He was nice to talk to. He was really the only one aside from your cousin that you’ve spoken to all week.

 The bar was less populated now than it had been last night. It was only a little after lunchtime, so you weren’t surprised.

 The stool you sat on yesterday was unoccupied, so you immediately maneuvered to situate yourself there. You were a creature of habit. You enjoyed sitting in the same place every time. Once sat, you looked at the menu sitting off to the side to see what sort of foods the bar offered. You didn’t expect much, especially if mostly animatronics hung around.

 As if like magic, shortly after you sat down, the bar’s door flicked open again and the bell jingled with the movement. You didn’t look toward the source, instead you continued to look through the menu. There were normal things you’d find at a bar - pizza, wings, fries. You weren’t really hungry for any of those things.

 You’d kill for some of your mother’s cooking right now.

 Fresh vegetables and fruits right off the farm? Sign you up.

 The bartender noticed your indecision and approached, placing a glass of tap-water in front of you. There weren’t any other humans around right now, so he didn’t have anyone else to really attend to except for you.

 “You’re not from here, huh?” he questioned, “You’re looking at the menu awfully hard, need any help?”

 You wondered if you had a sign taped to your forehead that said you weren’t from the City. Every single person you had the pleasure to talk to could just tell. Was it the clothes? The lack of enhancements? Just your face in general?

 “Don’t really need help, no,” you mused, “I’m just hungry, but not that hungry, I guess, as none of these seem to be interesting.“

 The bartender crossed his arms and hummed, “We could go off-menu, I’m sure,” he encouraged, “The chef rarely gets to do anything special since we’re mostly busy with them robots. Whatcha hungry for?”

 You wondered. What exactly were you hungry for? If a chef was willing to make you whatever you wanted, you should really take advantage of that.

 “Stew,” you finally said, “Beef stew. With lots of potatoes.”

 “Got it.” the bartender nodded and then disappeared into the kitchen through the doors behind the bar.

 “That sounds pretty good.”

 The stool beside you creaked with the weight of its new guest. You turn to look away from the kitchen doors and find yourself face to face with Monty again. Today, he’s wearing dark-washed jeans with platformed boots. A dark t-shirt with the sleeves torn off. No sunglasses, just tired eyes stared at you.

 “Oh hey,” you said, “I wasn’t expecting to run into you again. Did you get home alright yesterday?”

 The alligator looked at you incredulously at such a weird question - “Did-did I get home alright?“ he repeated. He was going to say something nasty, but at the look of genuine fondness and worry on your face, he had to bite his tongue, ”’Course, no one’s better than me.“

 You beamed. Your smile was contagious, and Monty couldn’t help but grin back, eyes half lidded and face resting against his hand. Why were you so cute?

 “Are all farm girls cute like ya?”

 You weren’t expecting a question like that. Hell, he wasn’t expecting a question like that either.

 You blushed furiously and averted your eyes, covering your face with a single hand as you looked the other way. Monty’s fans whirred to life in his chassis, and he, too, looked away from you.

 Awkward. Awkward.

 The bartender handed you another cup of water. You hadn’t realized you chugged your first one down. Or that he came out of the kitchen. You took a good few sips of this water, trying to ease the warmth in your face just enough so you could look at Monty again.

 When you finally looked over again, he was staring. So much for getting rid of your flustered face.

 “Didja sleep well las’ night?” he asked, “I know ya said it was makin’ your insomnia bad.”

 Oh. He remembered your conversation from last night.

 “Oh, well,” you rubbed at the back of your neck, “I barely slept, honestly. My insomnia was pretty awful, but I was also anxious about my meeting today.”

 Monty tapped his claw on the bar-top, “How’d tha’ go?”

 You didn’t remember exactly what you told him about your meetings. But you were pretty sure he knew you were here specifically for them.

 “Alright, we’re almost done,” you said, “Should finish it all up tomorrow. I’ll probably take the late train home.”

 Monty hummed in reply, his red eyes moving from your face to your hand clutching the glass of water. He couldn’t tell if you were relieved or anxious to be going home so soon. He had a general idea of how you felt about the City (not good), so he assumed you’d be happy, but something about your body language told him that wasn’t the case.

 “Homesick?” he offered.

 You took another sip of your water, watching as the kitchen door swung open and the bartender swept back into the room with a tray. He placed the tray on the bar beside you and moved the bowl off it onto the top in front of you, as well as a bit of bread and butter on a smaller plate.

 “Yeah. I am,” you admitted to Monty, “At the same time, it’s nice to meet new people and spend time with my cousin. It’s kinda lonely at home.”

 You took a deep smell of the stew in front of you and hummed. It was delightful and you couldn’t wait to dig in. Unravelling the napkin bundle, you pluck out the singular spoon and scooped a spoonful up, getting a fat chunk of potato with the broth. Perfect.

 It tasted as good as it smelled. Gently salty. You could taste garlic and onion. It wasn’t as good as your mother’s, but it was a close second.

 “Why dontcha stay, then?”

 You swallowed the mouthful and placed the spoon down. Monty made a very valid point.

 “Because I don’t like the City,” you replied after a few minutes, “It’s not for me. The countryside is where I belong, even if it’s a little lonely. I think I’d be just as lonely here as back home. Don’t you get lonely here?”

 The truth was. He did. Monty didn’t have a lot of friends anymore. Not since Roxy and Chica moved away. He and Freddy never really got along.

 “Yeah,” he grunted, “Yeah, I do.”

 The conversation lulled.

 You ate more of your stew. Monty watched out of the corner of his eye. Well. This was awkward, but you supposed that was to be expected. Monty wasn’t your friend. You barely had anything in common. He had just been nice enough to walk you home last night…and sit next to you today.

 You nibbled on your bread, avoiding his gaze. He was staring at you, still.

 Once your bit of bread was gone, you had no excuse to ignore him though.

 “Don’t mind me, but I’m going to be a little forward here,” you cautioned, “You’re strong, and I could really use your help getting the farm set up for the autumn. I’d pay you, of course, and house you. Any repairs would be on me.”

 Monty looked at you, surprised this time - “Look, kid, that’s nice an’ all, but we just met,” he said, but honestly? Monty did wonder what the countryside was like. And he liked you. More than he should for just meeting you last night.

 You were interesting.

 “Just, think about it!” you countered, “I’m usually pretty good at telling when someone’s a good person. I think you’d really like it on the farm, and…I think I’d like you on the farm, too.”

 Monty looked away, rubbing at his snout and trying to calm his whirring fans down. You were so tantalizingly different than the other humans he met in the City. Trusting. Open. But you can handle yourself. You weren’t afraid of making a fool of yourself, either.

 “I’ll think abou’ it.”

 You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face. Monty really would be good to have on the farm. Plus, then Bonnie wouldn’t be as lonely.

 The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a little while longer.

 You spent all of the next day with your cousin once again. He was busy most of the time and couldn’t spare your issue too much focus, but in the few minutes he could spare, he did a lot. By the end of the day, you had all your paper work explained, signed, and tucked away. You had planned on staying in the City at least another week, but you weren’t too sad about going home.

 Your cousin had shooed you out the office after he completed everything, telling you to finally go home and rest. You clearly weren’t built for City life if you looked this tired.

 Instead of going to the animatronic bar like you had the last few days, you elected to just go back to the hotel room. You had to pack. You had to book a train ticket to get home. It would be expensive for a same day ticket, but you so badly missed home. You were sick of the City sights and smells.

 You just had one little misthought about leaving.

 Monty.

 Even though you had only known him a handful of days, he was a quick friend. He had sat with you every time you attended the bar. The last day in particular, he was very interested in how things worked on the farm.

 “What kinda plants do you keep?” Monty had asked, “It’s gettin’ cold so I can’ imagine you plan’ a lot right now.”

 You had chuckled. “Yeah, we’re kinda just getting ready for the winter season,” you replied, “We still have some things growing - corn, pumpkins. My family makes corn mazes every year for the neighborhood kids to enjoy.” 

 “That sounds really redneck, no offense,” Monty had laughed, “Corn mazes? Do ya have pumpkin carvin’ contests, too?”

 “It’s more fun than it sounds, I swear!”

 You were going to miss him. It would be easier if you didn’t say goodbye. If you saw his face, you might just stay. You didn’t have a lot of friends, and now that you had one.

 It was rough.

 Your heart ached at the thought of leaving him, though. Admittedly, you were feeling a little bit of a crush for him. Though, you shoved it down as far as you could. You couldn’t love someone from the City. You couldn’t live in the City to be with someone.

 You needed to go and say goodbye. And you would once you finished packing. You had to go that way, anyway, to reach the train station. Fortunately, you didn’t have a lot to pack. A few clothes. Toiletries. A few knickknacks you purchased in the City for presents. Each of those fit neatly in your duffel.

 All you had to do now was pay for the hotel and leave. You double checked you packed everything before you left the room and closed the door behind you. Luckily, you didn’t have to wait for the manager. He stood at the desk for the first time in days, scrawling something in a ledger. He looked up at you as you entered the lobby, smiled softly, and placed the pen down.

 “Are you checking out?” He asked.

 You nodded and pulled your wallet out to fish for cash. You handed him the remaining cash you had - just enough to cover the hotel room. Your cousin was generous enough to at least pay for that since he couldn’t house you. The manager counted out the bills in front of you, placing each one in an envelope as he did.

 “Alright! Thank you for staying,” he cooed, “I hope you have wonderful travels. Hope to see you soon!”

 You thanked him profusely. Then, you left the hotel too.

 You had a late train, not until almost eight at night. You only had around an hour. But that should be more than enough time to go and say goodbye to Monty and then make it to the station on time.

 The walk to the bar seemed so quick. Maybe it was because you were sad. Maybe it was because you had been there so often the last few days. Or maybe you were just moving fast, didn’t want to delay the inevitable. But you did know that the closer you got, the sadder you became. You didn’t want to say goodbye to Monty. It was nice having a friend in the City. And you doubted you would ever see him again after today.

 That was even more depressing.

 But you two weren’t particularly close or anything. At least. Neither of you said you were. You were just friends hanging out together while you visited the City. You told stories of your lives to each other, and nestled into booths in the back of the bar for privacy so you could get to know one another more.

 But you couldn’t help but think back to when Monty had saved you from that Ferret animatronic. Claiming you were his girl.

 Imagine wanting to be an animatronic’s girlfriend. It was weird, you told yourself. But you liked Monty. He was so nice to you, and he treated you so specially.

 And he didn’t care that you weren’t from the City.

 You shook the thoughts out of your head. No need to get yourself even more upset at leaving.

 The bar was lively at seven. Lots of people and animatronics alike were piled in, watching the football game on the television, drinking to their hearts content. One animatronic couple were canoodling in the back of the bar in a corner booth, too.

 You didn’t catch glimpse of your gator. Uh. Monty. He hadn’t arrived yet. You frowned and sat at one of the empty bar stools, placing your duffel between your feet. You would have to leave in a few minutes, with or without saying goodbye to Monty. While you waited, you ordered a rum-and-coke. It would help dull the anxiety in your chest over the long train ride coming up.

 It didn’t take too long fort he bartender to get to your order. He placed it in front of you and frowned - “Are you looking for Montgomery?” he asked, “He hasn’t been in today. Said he had somethin’ to do.”

 “Oh. Thanks.”

 The bartender nodded and went to serve another patron. You stared at your rum-and-coke and frowned deeper. You supposed that you wouldn’t get to say goodbye to Monty, then. He was probably off with his friends. Or maybe he really did have a girlfriend, and you were just being some loser clinging to him every time he popped into the bar.

 You sipped your drink and sighed.

 Wow, you really hyped up a friendship that clearly wasn’t a friendship, huh?

 He had magically shown up every time you were at the bar, but now that you were actually leaving, he was absent. You didn’t even have his phone number to call him and wish him goodbye.

 You placed a tenner on the bar after you finished your drink, spared another look around the establishment, and decided you would leave. You couldn’t waste anymore time here.

 You palmed your duffel and wished the bartender a goodnight. Then, you were out the door and back on the street. You had around thirty minutes to get to the station. It was about a twenty-five minute walk, if you remembered right. You didn’t waste anytime.

 Montgomery had wanted to pick you up from the hotel. You made it pretty clear the night before that you were almost done with your cousin. And you probably would be leaving in the next few days. So, he “joked” about taking you out on a real date. Clearly you thought he really was joking. He had asked the manager if he could call up to your room. But the manager informed Monty that you had already checked out.

 He knew he fucked up at that point. He should have made his intentions more clear from the beginning. Monty really liked you, for a fleshy. Not that he didn’t like fleshies. He just never thought he’d like one.

 Monty had just left the hotel when Trevor, the bartender, sent him a text that you were there. With your bag. And you looked sad. Monty hadn’t even wanted to go to the bar today. He wanted to take you to his favorite hangout and introduce you to his friends. But of course, plans change when you don’t actually make plans.

 By the time he got to the bar, you were gone already. He wondered if you had a train coming soon. He swore there wasn’t a train until nine, but he could be wrong.

 He would just meet you at the train station, then.

 You stood on the platform, just behind the yellow line. Your duffel was slung over your shoulder again, and your hands were hidden away in the pockets of your leather jacket. It was getting chilly the darker the City’s natural light got. You didn’t mind too much. You’d be on a train in a few minutes.

 According to the board, your train was even arriving a little earlier than intended. You were glad you got there when you did. As much as it saddened you to not see Monty.

 You really missed home, though. And you already checked out of your hotel. You couldn’t wait around on the hope that your gator friend would show up just to say goodbye.

 You kicked at the bumps on the yellow line. There weren’t many others taking this train. It was the last train that led out of the City for the night. Your last chance to get home for today.

 As you toed the line, you could hear the train approaching in the distance. Two minutes before eight, early like the board said. You watched it appear from a dark tunnel, its lights blinding you as you stared. This train connected to your neighboring town’s line, and you would just walk home from there. It was a peaceful walk through the corn fields, and you didn’t normally mind it.

 It slowed down as it reached the platform, coming to a shaky and loud stop. Its doors pulled apart, and the passengers poured out. You waited patiently for the carriage you stood in front of to clear before you stepped into it. It was fairly empty now that most of the passengers had gotten off. You walked down about halfway before sitting at a seat with a table.

 Then, you gazed out the window, waiting for the train to resume its journey once more.

 Only a few more people got on your carriage. You ignored them in favor of looking out at the platform, more than a little sad to leave the City behind.

 Someone sat beside you, much to your displeasure. The train was practically empty. Who in their right mind would sit next to a stranger-

 “Hey, kid.”

 You whipped around hard enough to nearly give yourself whiplash. Monty sat beside you, taking up one and a half seats with his giganticness. He had his head leaning against his hand which was propped up on the table by his elbow. He just stared at you.

 “H-hey,” you said, “Wait. You can’t be on the train. It’s going back to my home.”

 You shoved at his shoulder. Trying to nudge him to get up.

 He let out a bark of laughter, gaining several glares from other passengers. “I know where it’s goin’,” he mused, “Wherever you’re goin’, I wanna go, too.”

 Your face burned. Instead of shoving his shoulder, your hand relaxed and just sat there. Monty pulled the sunglasses of his face. He supposed he didn’t need them in the dark. He wanted to see you better.

 “But what about your friends?” you asked, “You can’t just impulsively decide to come with me.”

 Monty laughed again, “Are ya tryin’ to get rid of me?” he said, “Y’know, I came by your hotel. Wanted to take you out on a proper date, but ya weren’t there. Imagine my surprise.”

 However red your face was before, it was triple so now. “What? I thought you were joking about that,” you said.

 He gently grabbed a strange of your hair and gave it a gentle tug. “I wasn��t,” he replied, “I realized that I like ya. I like ya a lot.”

 “But I’m not worth you throwing your life away to live in the middle of nowhere-”

 “Shh,” Monty wrapped his arm around your shoulders, “City life ain’t for me anyway. I’ve been bored for months. And ya make farm life sound fun. ‘Sides. Who don’t like corn mazes and carvin’ pumpkins?”

 “But Monty-”

 “No, I’m serious here. Let me come and stay with ya, see where the two of us go. Consider it an adventure.”

 Instead of arguing further, you leaned your head against his chest. He hadn’t expected that, and you could hear (and feel) his fans kicking on.

 Something about him making his life alongside you an adventure stirred the butterflies in your stomach. Whether Monty meant to or not, he was causing waves of affection to just roll through your body. You never thought you’d like an animatronic like that. But in all honesty, you only knew the one from home. Monty was, by all means, alive. He might have been made out of metal and silicone, but he was real and alive and you could touch him.

 “I’m glad you’re coming,” you whispered, “I didn’t want to leave…you…behind.”

 “But ya didn’ want ta stay,” Monty said, “Me neither, honestly. City gets boring. And I’d like to see more of the world.”

 The train finally began to move again.

 “You know you’ll have to help around the farm,” you said, “Bonnie won’t let you be lazy.”

 Monty shrugged and grinned, “I’m not afraid of some hard work,” he said, “I think I’ll enjoy life on your little farm.”

 You wanted to laugh. Your farm was anything but little. He’ll see eventually.

 But for now, you were just content leaning against him and thinking about the future you might have together.

-

[shallyne]

Sisterhood

A little drabble between Nesta and Feyre. Canon divergent, around the start acosf.

"Do you see how easy it is to get into your apartment now?"

Nesta jumped up from a stained chair, whirling to Feyre with a glare. If looks could kill, Feyre would be dead. But so epuld Nesta because Feyre was besides herself with worry because Nesta was too stubborn to let the complex, her apartment, get fixed. Feyre wasn't worried because someone could do her harm, Velaris was a peaceful city and this part of the city was the nearest to a slum, it was still okay, just outdated. What worried Feyre was that Nesta didn't know, didn't even listen, but still didn't care if she was safe.

"You are Fae!" Nesta nearly barked, stomping to the door and gesturing for Feyre to leave. "You can winnow wherever you want. Now go."

Feyre waved a hand and turned her back to Nesta, taking a look at the dirty apartment. "Not if you ward it." she replied to her sister as she took a look in a cupboard. It was empty, of course it was. She had to take one look at her sister to know nothing was here. Nesta had lost weight, too quickly, even for Fae. She only went out to bars, keeping herself up with booze and, occasionally, very expensive fruit. Feyre wouldn't mind if Nesta spent her money, if it was for necessities like clothing and food and hygiene products. She wouldn't mind if Nesta allows herself luxuries. No, she did mind when her sister was slowly killing herself. With a snap of Feyre's fingers, the apartment was clean and food filled the cupboards. "I'm not here to make fun of you, Nesta."

"Oh really?" she slammed the front door and walked over to a window. "So you aren't talking to your precious inner circle about me? You won't tell them how pathetic I am, rotting in a disgusting apartment?"

"We talk because we want to help you!" Feyre said agitated. Nesta couldn't really believe they made fun of her for struggling. Everyone one of them had struggled once, if someone could understand a struggle it was her precious inner circle. Especially Feyre and Elain. "And no, they don't even know I'm here. I wanted to see how you are doing?"

"How do you think I'm doing?" Nesta asked. There was less bite in the question than Nesta wanted to, if Feyre could read the way she clenched her jaw correctly.

"I think you must be lonely." Feyre said, a little softer. "I think xou could use some company."

"I don't want company."

"Why are you like this?" Feyre asked, exasperated. "Why don't you let me help you? Or Elain, I know you two are closer–"

"Were." Nesta interrupted, crossing her arms and looking away.

"Why?"

"I guess spite is stronger than love." her sister said, a tad sadly. But she cleared her throat and stood straight, as if showing emotion was any weakness. Nesta probably thought that, was sure about it, as our mother had tought her.

"And that's why you are alone." Feyre said, quietly but Nesta heard it. "Food is in the cupboards, anything you wish for. It won't go bad. If you need anything, send word. I'm at the house or the gallery."

Feyre walked to the door, pressing the door handle down. When the door was already halfway open, Nesta said, almost whispered, " I'm not alone."

Feyre asked, "What do you mean?"

"You're here, are you not?" her sister said and when Feyre turned around, Nesta's blue-gray eyss were already trained on here.

"You push me away all the time." Feyre replied, swallowing down the wave of emotions that were crawling uo her throat, the tears that almost spilled.

"Yet you stand in my apartment. Quite rudely, but you do."

Feyre sighed and closed the door, fully facing her sister. "You don't want the Inner Circle as company, you don't wsnt me or Elain, you don't want friends." Nesta opened her mouth but Fexre kept talking, "What about priestesses?"

"What? No. I'm nit becoming a priestess."

"That's not what I mean. The library, in the house of wind, priestesses are working there. Maybe I can get you a job there, I'll have to ask, it's their decision." Feyre showed a hint of a smile, "You'll mostly be alone. The priestesses are doing their tasks, you'll do yours. You love books, do you not? I remember you spending every free minute in a library when we were kids and mother was away to another party." It was one of the very few domestic memories Feyre had.

"I–" Nesta said. "I don't know."

"You'll get out of the apartment, you'll do something in an environment you like." Feyre probably sounded desperate, she didn't care. "Please let me ask, if you don't like it we can talk about alternatives."

"Fine, but you'll have to let me quit if I don't like it." Nesta said, muttering something else under her breath that Feyre couldn't understand.

"I will," Feyre said, sure that Nesta wouldn't. She'd like the library, provided that the priestesses agree to let her work there. "I will talk to Rhys and write a letter to Clotho."

Nesta huffed and Feyre knew it was the mention of her mate that triggered that reaction. "Why don't you like him?"

"He's an arrogant asshole." Nesta snapped. "He thinks the worst of me, he won't let me near the library."

"Well, firstly, that's part of his charm. Secondly, I'll get what I want," Feyre grinned at her sister. "Don't you worry about that."

She saw the tick on Nesta's mouth, the side that almost went up. "Fine."

"Great, I'll get her when I get news back about your job." Feyre opened the door again, for the final time, "Again, if you need anything send word."

"Bye." Nesta said clipped and when the door fell closed behind Feyre, she breathed a sigh of relief.

[anarchywoofwoof]

“Poor people used to live in slums. Now the economically disadvantaged occupy sub-standard housing in the inner cities. And they’re broke. They’re broke. They don’t have a negative cash-flow position — they’re fucking broke. Because a lot of them were fired. You know, fired. Management wanted to curtail redundancies in the human resources area, so many people are no longer viable members of the workforce.” — George Carlin

[haggishlyhagging]

[Note: Written in 1990. Long quote but a good analysis of how leftist men reacted to second wave feminism.]

The second wave of the women's liberation movement was born a brief twenty-two years ago. A large segment of this movement was generated by left-wing women who painfully discovered that their male comrades dismissed their struggle as trivial compared to the "larger issues" of classism, racism, capitalism, and imperialism. The male mentality could not, or would not, grasp the premise that women, as a sex, suffered from discrimination, rape, and battering, whether located in the gilded cages of suburbia or the slums of the inner city. After many bitter confrontations, these women came to understand that men, whether Marxists or reactionary warmongers, were equally reluctant to forego their male prerogatives. So they struck out for themselves, and created the radical arm of the women's liberation movement.

When the sit-ins, street theater, antiwar demonstrations, and student rebellions dissipated in a conservative climate no longer conducive to their protests, the revolutionaries of the 1960s and early 1970s exchanged Karl Marx, Mao, and Che Guevera for the teachings of Eastern gurus, Werner Ehrhart (EST founder), the American Civil Liberties Union, and the Human Potential Movement. They moved from collective freedom to freedom of the spirit, from group action to self-assertiveness, from the rights of the oppressed to the individual right of Nazis and pornographers, and from radical change to superficial reform. The radicals of the 1960s became the liberals of the 1970s and 1980s and in the process undermined the work of the women's movement.

For a while "women's liberation" was a household word and it was no longer fashionable to belittle its impact. The simultaneous emergence of the "sexual revolution," however, became a convenient, though erroneous, synonym for "feminist revolution." It offered some free thinkers the comfortable illusion of tolerating feminism without depriving men of their legacy of sexual privilege. They could support issues favoring birth control and abortion; these issues eased sexual access to women without the responsibility for unwanted pregnancy. They could with good conscience, enjoy Playboy and Penthouse as women-loving feminist publications and still retain the identification of women as sexually available playthings. Others, who wanted in on the then-exciting attention-getting women’s movement, adapted the principles of feminism to a masculine cause. The “feminine mystique” was replicated by the "masculine mystique"; women as "sex objects" were matched by men as "achiever objects," and the stifling sex roles which socialized women to be passive and dependent were equated with stifling sex roles which conditioned men to be brave, strong, domineering, and independent. Just as women sought to free themselves from the constraints of sex roles, so men wanted to break the bonds of machismo (Joseph Pleck and Jack Sawyer, 1974). From the rib of the women's liberation movement, the men's liberation movement was born.

Men's meetings and consciousness-raising groups were organized. Books and articles appeared announcing that men's emotional lives were stunted. Being a master was a burden. Men no longer wanted the strain of competition or of living up to a masculine image of strength, success, and sexual performance. Warren Farrell, prime organizer and founder of this movement, said in his book The Liberated Man: "This is the only revolution (women's) in which the alleged oppressed is in love with and sharing children with the oppressor. . . . Therefore this makes it possible for the growth of one person to benefit from the growth of the other" (Warren Farrell, 1975: p. 5). This struck a chord in many women. He offered the possibility that these newly sensitive men understood the plight of women and wanted to change and grow by embracing and integrating the precepts of feminism.

On the surface, the pleas of the men's liberationists were very appealing; but closer examination and personal experience revealed a self-serving program and a disarming strategy to defuse the threat to male hegemony posed by our movement. Male liberationists overlooked the fact that, no matter how much women tried, their association with "feminist" men was opportunistically exploited in the work place, the home, the family, and in bed. This oversight was the logical consequence of misinterpreting female emancipation as a boon to men. The financially independent woman, Farrell claimed, will share the breadwinning burden, will no longer use men as "security objects," and will give men more time to spend with the children. The woman in control of her life will not feel the need to control her husband and, in case of divorce, will relieve him of alimony and child support. And, most important, since men traditionally make "the pass" and expose their "fragile egos" to the "emotional hurt" of refusal, the sexually free women will do the asking and men will have the opportunity to do the rejecting. But, Farrell warned, "Men cannot be expected to participate in these changes unless women's liberation is redefined as a two-sex movement which provides enough benefits for men to make the change worthwhile" (Warren Farrell, 1975: p. 161).

What changes is Farrell talking about? Farrell and his followers managed not to notice that working women have always shared the breadwinning burden and, in today's standard two-income home, they do so more than ever. They ignored the fact that men have always availed themselves of women's income and labor as much for their own security as the reverse; that men have always had the greater need to exercise control over either financially dependent or independent women; that they rarely use leisure time with children, rarely meet alimony and child-support obligations and that men, traditionally in the driver's seat, more often than not humiliate and reject women sexually and otherwise. Farrell's platform for a two-sex movement was carried a step further by the Berkeley Men's Center Manifesto. It proposed that "human liberation" is the only ultimate goal because "all liberation movements are equally important; there is no hierarchy in oppression" (Joseph Pleck & Jack Sawyer, 1974: p. 174). Clearly, these men had not the slightest understanding of what the women's movement was all about. Had they bothered to learn, they might know that movement women never sought to entice men with rewards nor make compromises in exchange for their support. Had they bothered to investigate sexist history, they might know that, vis-a-vis men and women, there has always existed a hierarchy of oppression, that even the most subjugated and enslaved men have always kept women in a state of subordination.

The concept of male liberation has no basis in history because men, as a sex, were never oppressed within age-old established patriarchal ideology, which still controls our social structure and its institutions. Consequently, male liberationists invented their own agenda, which would allow them to continue to enjoy their existing advantages at the expense of women's existing disadvantages. And their goals for human liberation—more cooptation than a mutually beneficial alliance—could only dull the sharp edges of sexist politics to nonthreatening ineffectiveness. Their platform merely reinforced the entrenched sexist status quo. And when women would not buy their proposals, would not accept them as our benefactors nor allow them to piggy-back off our movement, male liberationists did not retreat graciously; they became angrier and nastier.

-Florence Rush, “The Many Faces of Backlash” in The Sexual Liberals and the Attack on Feminism

[written-in-flowers]

The Costume: Demon!San x Demon!Wooyoung

Pairing: Incubs!San x Incubus!Wooyoung/ Side pairing(s): Wooyoung x OFC, demonline x fem!reader

Genre: Smut, slight angst

Word Count: 6K

Summary: Wooyoung is swamped with costume orders for the big ball, and one of his favorite clients arrives to try on his costume. When he confronts Wooyoung about a secret kink, he can't help but partake in a bit of relaxation.

Tags: cuckolding fantasy, cheating fantasy, cheating roleplay, bisexual!wooyoung, bisexual!san, anal sex, anal fingering, oral sex, 69-position, multiple positions, handjobs, blowjobs, frottage, dom/sub undertones, semi-public, casual sex, mentions of bad childhood, mirror sex, deep throat, rough oral sex, sloppy oral, belly bulging.

Pretty Lady Masterlist

***

Satin? No, too plain. 

Silk? No, too common. 

Perhaps a nice lace and velvet combo? Suede rather than velvet? Leather works too. Nobody could resist a good leather outfit. If not leather, a latex bodysuit is versatile. The Passionate Heart Ball is a time for everyone to show their best side. Wooyoung knew his designs needed to amaze and impress the masses in order for anyone to care. It made him resent them more. 

“Master?”

Peacocks. That’s what most of the demons who come into his shop are, a bunch of peacocks. They prance around in their lavish clothing, flaunting their wealth and privilege to the lower classes. Wooyoung used to envy them. He’d stand on the street corners, the commotion of the common streets going past him, and see them pass by. He saw the garish displays of wealth and wished he could have them too. Little Wooyoung dreamed of having enough food to eat and drink, wearing clothes without holes and living in houses with more than one room. He thought with a bit of success, he’d get into the club, but when he did finally reach it, the club kept their doors closed. Wooyoung realized that even if he wore the clothes and jewels, he would always be “common born”. They might like wearing his clothes, but they still looked down their noses. His parentage did not matter. 

“Master…”

Even if his mother was distantly related to the king, they'd still lived in the slums of the inner city. Wooyoung carried memories of his father pushing him into the street blindfolded to beg for money. He claimed people pitied blind, homeless children more than they did a grown man. He’d stand by street corners, in his rags and bare feet, with his wooden cup and occasionally smack around a long stick. People pitied the blind demon child who walked about with his stick and cup every morning, afternoon and night. Nobody questioned it either. Not once did somebody bother pulling off the strip of cloth covering his eyes. Wooyoung made a decent bit of coin, but whatever he made went to his parents.

‘Please, take compassion on a poor orphan, descended from King Lucifer himself!’

“Master-”

“-What, Kyra?”

Wooyoung looked up from his sketch pad to see Kyra on his bed. On all fours, the green-skinned demon wore nothing except her diamond collar. The demon behind her, lean and handsome, kept a good grip on her hips as he kept steadily pushing forwards. He took in the scene of them on his bed of red velvet and satin. Such a sight usually pleased him, but not tonight. His shoulders felt heavy, and he couldn’t concentrate on any one thing.

“Would you like me to try a different position?” she asked, seeing his discontentment. “Or perhaps you’d like to do me now?”

“No,” he said, going back to his sketches, “Keep going as you were.”

Kyra’s high grunts and his partner’s low groans became background noise. Wooyoung drew out the long, evening gown one of his clients requested. She told him she wanted something glamorous, alluding to the old starlets of the 1920’s and 30’s. Such a gown would cost more than his family’s old house alone. No doubt she could house ten families and still have room for her decadent fine china collection and four hellcats. Wooyoung, while liking some of his clients, could not stand most of them. As he grew, he’d learned to enjoy tricking, lying, and stealing from these upper-class demons. He still did it from time to time, especially with people like Lady Akura, the she-demon who claimed to bed pharaohs. Wooyoung had the obsidian, gold and aquamarine cat sculpture he’d taken the last time he visited. It astounded him. He could take and take and take from these people, and they didn’t notice.

“Master, please come here. He doesn’t feel as good as you,” she pleaded. “Nobody fucks me like you do.”

“No, they don’t.”

Fashion did not come into his life until much later. He’d taken up working for the gang leader, Lady Madeline, whom everyone called ‘Mad Maddie’ on a count of her violent outbursts. She kept an exclusive group of demon children and adolescents who ran errands in exchange for food and board. Wooyoung recalled Maddie’s main business: her boutique. ‘Opulence’ catered to every style and class in Hell. Wooyoung remembered walking into her workroom after a day in the city and seeing bolts of fine fabrics, designs on her worktable, and the different custom outfits she’d made to order. He’d always find her at her sewing machine or worktable, fashioning up a new dress or shirt for a rich demon somewhere. Wooyoung found her work awe-inspiring. Maddie did things with fabric that he didn’t think possible. A boy from the slums whose worn clothes hung on by threads, even the plainest shirt seemed expensive to him. But, Maddie’s designs stood out amongst the rest. They had style and class. They popped with colors and glittered with gems. She dressed everyone and anyone. She’d made him a few nice shirts and pants when he started working in her shop.

‘A handsome boy like you should look smart, not ragged.’

His slave’s orgasm brought him back out of his head. Wooyoung glanced up from his sketchpad to see her fervently pushing into her partner. Her almond-shaped eyes squeezed tight, full lips parted in every moan, and delicate hands balled into fists in his sheets, she made a beautiful sight. He watched her cum hard around the cock inside her, forcing herself still as the whore he’d bought rode it out for her. The man withdrew when she finished, stroking himself to completion over her round, perky ass. Wooyoung saw streaks of white fall on her lime-green skin, licking his lips when he saw the thick streams trail down to her thighs.

“You may go now, Royle,” said Wooyoung, “Your money’s on the dresser.”

“Thank you, sir,” said the demon, immediately getting off the bed and bowing to him.

Teenage Wooyoung would be stunned to see people bowing before him. This world, this new life he lived, was only a pipe dream to his younger self. The luxury of having his own pleasure slave would sound unbelievable. When Royle left, Kyra remained on the bed. He went back to his design, deciding Lady Crane would appreciate an arachnid approach. From the waist line, he began drawing spider legs.

“Did I not please you, Master?”

“You did well, Kyra.”

“You hardly watched.”

“I heard.”

“You’re barely hard.”

She was right. He found pretending to like someone stroking his ego annoying. Demons of pride typically enjoyed their lovers extolling their beauty and expecting them to be dominant. While Wooyoung didn’t mind being in charge, he grew the hardest when his lovers faked being unfaithful. Kyra was the only other person who knew what he truly enjoyed, and indulged whenever he liked. Wooyoung had asked the proprietor of Scarlet Silk to bring him one of his regulars, but instead he sent Royle. He did not want to risk Royle learning about his kink and whispering it to others.

“It’s one of our busiest seasons,” he said, reaching for an excuse. “Lady Crane says she needs her gown the day after tomorrow.”

“You’ve worked all day,” she said, and he heard the pout in her voice. “You should relax or otherwise you’ll end up burnt out by the end.”

“If I’m burnt out it means we’ve done well.”

As he finished the last leg, he heard feet walk across the soft carpet. She gently took the pad from him, and sat in his lap. The scent of sex and sweat came off her skin, which usually aroused him but not tonight. Kyra cupped his cheek and kissed him softly. Wooyoung did not object to her pulling him from his sweatpants and stroking him. Once it grew harder, she pushed him inside her. Wooyoung let out a low groan at the snug walls encompassing his length. Kyra’s body pulsated around him, already wet from her recent orgasm but slowly yearning for a second one. Wooyoung found the closeness relaxing, rather than tense. Her plump, warm body pressed against his skinny, hard one, arms sliding around his neck. He bit his inner lip when she put his hands on her breasts, the supple mounds filling his hands. 

“What do you think of it?” he asked her, nodding to the drawing on the end table.

“It’s beautiful, Master,” she said, looking over to examine it as she let go of his hands.“She’ll love it.”

"I hope so. Lady Crane isn’t as picky as Lady Akura, but I don’t like disappointing. The Passionate Heart Ball is the biggest event of the social season. I want my clients looking their best.” Her walls clenched him tightly, but she stayed firmly planted in his lap. “It’s good for business.”

“Is that really so important?” she asked, hands on his shoulders.

“Yes, it is. If people see how unique and beautiful my designs are, they’ll want to visit the shop and get their own. I need the trendiest, most popular people in the city wearing my clothes, and Lady Crane will wear them splendidly.”

“So will Lady YN.”

Wooyoung grinned at the thought of you. One of his best and most popular clients, the newest Lady of Eden inspired people to ask for 80’s styles. He believed you didn’t understand how important and popular you are in Hell. People loved talking to you. They loved watching everything you did. When you began embracing your floral-side, he had clients ordering floral patterns or jewelry to impress you. Perhaps they hoped you’d get them in with your boyfriends, giving them a boost in reputation. 

“Our lovely lady and her boyfriends came up with a pretty good group costume.”

“Oh?”

“Different barbies.”

Kyra snorted, “I’m sorry? Aren’t they men?”

“You think that stops them?” he laughed at her scoff. “She wants to be Disco Barbie, while San is Surfer Ken, Seonghwa is Cowboy Ken, and Hongjoong is Peaches and Cream Barbie.”

“Peaches and Cream Barbie?”

“It’s just an excuse for him to wear a big puffy dress. It’s pretty creative. I liked her designs.” 

As Kyra began gradually riding him, he pictured the four nobles in their massive keep. Modeled similarly to the Palace of Versailles in Paris, Asmodeus’s three sons lived in the lap of luxury, yet stayed apart from the rest of the elite. When they initially met, he thought the highest of the high borns considered themselves above the entire world. However, they proved him wrong immediately. Wooyoung thought of Hongjoong laughing at two noblewomen who wrinkled their noses at his sloppy drunkenness; San had rolled his eyes and told them to loosen their corsets before they suffocated on their own self-importance. Seonghwa, he recalled, remarked how they had no reason to lift their noses; he said their husbands were far worse when they indulged too much. Wooyoung realized then that he liked them. 

He also did like seeing them undress during their fittings. 

“I don’t know why I’m here,” she said into his ear, sliding her arms around his neck. “Royle fucked me ten times better than you ever could.”

The words broke him into a shudder. “Did he?”

“He made me cum so hard, and fucked me so good,” she continued, sliding up and down on his length. “All you do is pump a few times and then roll over. It’s pathetic.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, hands on her hips. “I thought you liked it.”

“You thought wrong, didn’t you?”

Despite this, Wooyoung bucked his hips into her faster. He’d let you see this side of him in his work room because he knew you’d understand. Living with a demon like Hongjoong, you must have been exposed to all kinds of kinks. While it had begun by accident, he didn’t feel embarrassed by it.

Not with you.

****

“Wooyoung, this is gorgeous! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Lady Crane stood in front of the long mirror on top of a small platform. As he fixed the last spider leg, the willowy woman adjusted the high lace collar and looked pleased. Pride blossomed in his chest at her compliment. A compliment felt good regardless of who it came from. 

“It’ll go great with the mask!” she said, nodding over to the mannequin head wearing a black venetian mask. All around the edges near the eyes, the maker painted black ones meant to be glimmering spider eyes. “I love, love, love it!” she beamed down at him when he stood up, clapping along with the two servants accompanying her. “Well done, Wooyoung. Once again, you’ve proved to be a master of your craft!”

“I’m glad you think so, my lady,” he bowed his head. 

She had her servants remove the dress, while one of his assistants began packing it up for her. Wooyoung listened to her rave about the costume, and how it’ll be the best one at the ball. While he agreed about the craftsmanship, he knew it’d be far from the best. Examining his work from afar, he felt he could’ve done better with it. The legs, while made of fine materials and detailed, looked stiff and jutted outwards too much. Had it been a client he cared about keeping, he’d suggest keeping it in the shop to avoid damage then work on it quietly. If she said anything, he’d tell her seeing her in the gown inspired him to elevate the look. The elite loved being complimented and told how inspirational they are. He knew because he loved it too.

When Lady Crane left to the front counter, Wooyoung turned to the peacock costume on a mannequin. Lord Byron, as old and decrepit as he is, insisted on being a glamorous peacock. Wooyoung hoped he never looked that way when he aged. Demons aged incredibly slowly, living for thousands of years before falling into a “youthful sleep”. A youthful sleep happened to be the natural state of hibernation for demons. He never witnessed it, but when their body finally gave out, the elderly demon was put into a coffin and left to regenerate back to their youthful selves. Wooyoung knew he’d age one day, but he might just go to sleep early if he became liver-spotted and wrinkled. Fixing gold and blue gems onto the shoulders, he heard his beaded curtain clack open.

“Good Brother in Fire,” he heard San’s voice say in disgust, “What is that monstrosity?”

“Lord Byron requested it,” Wooyoung said, sewing a lightning bolt pin to the shoulder. “His wife is a flamingo. It’s equally ridiculous.” 

“I thought you designed the costumes?”

“They had a specific vision they demanded I carry out.”

“Considering he’s on his way to his sleep, I’m not surprised.” He could feel the demon lord walking behind him, looking at the feathery pink costume next to him. A soft laugh escaped San as he touched one of the feathers on the collar “They’re definitely going to be talked about.”

“Are your brothers with you?”

“They’ll be along soon,” he said. “Seonghwa is with YN on a coffee date and Hongjoong is still in the lower circles. I came ahead during a lunch break.”

Wooyoung turned to see him wearing a tan suit with a red tie. The rose and serpent tie pin declared his house right away. When he was younger, Wooyoung wanted to wear the crowned lion of Lucifer, but his mother disagreed. She said only the nobles could wear them, not the common born children. When he grew up, Wooyoung decided to flash it anyway in his subtle ways. Wearing his sigil put him amongst the elite. Today, he wore it from his ear in a dangling earring. 

“I’d hoped to browse the jewelry section when I came in,” said San, “But the place was so packed I didn’t bother. I miss the days when I could walk in here and browse at my leisure.”

“You still can. There will only be a few dozen people in the way.”

“You need to move into a new spot,” he said. “This shop is too small for your clientele.”

“I like my shop, thanks. Maddie gave it to me.”

“Mad Maddie, you mean.”

“If she were here, she’d take out your eye with a sewing needle.”

“She could try,” he sneered. “Where is she anyways? Wouldn’t she be awake by now?”

“She retired,” he said, “And went to live with her kids by the river. She gave me the shop before she went to sleep and told me to keep it.”

“And look at what you’ve done with it.” 

He finished putting on the last gem, then looked over at San. Golden with broad muscular shoulders and short black hair, Lord San is a dreamboat. Wooyoung saw crowds of admirers fawn over him at the arena showings. They cheered and chanted his name, fueling his adrenaline and ego. Him dressing as a Ken doll made more sense than a Barbie. A physique like his shouldn’t be hidden from the world. 

“Do you want to wait for your brothers to start the alterations or go on ahead of them?” Wooyoung asked, already retrieving the three hanger bags from the rack.

“We can start,” San said, loosening his tie. “Hongjoong might be a while and Seonghwa and YN get caught up whenever they’re together.”

He hung up the three bags on a separate rack, and drew out San’s first. “Why Barbie dolls? I thought you’d want to be a mythological god or something otherworldly like that.” 

“It’s unexpected,” he shrugged, removing his jacket. “Nobody’s asked for something modern or creative like that around here. Plus, YN really wants to be a Disco Barbie. She says the rough draft you showed her was fabulous, and she’s super excited. You likely have dozens of other guys asking for deity costumes. ” 

“You have no idea,” he grinned. He did his best not to notice San unbuttoning his shirt. The last thing he needed keeping him behind on work was a hot demon body. “I have six Zeus, four Hades, three Poseidon, three Apollo, a bunch of Aphrodites, Heras, Persephones, and all the rest. It’s tedious, but I try making them different from one another. It’s why I find YN’s work so refreshing. She never wants to be like anyone else. While other women are going to be wearing the usual Greek and Roman costumes, she’ll have an outfit entirely her own.” 

“She loves clothes,” he said. “I don't know why she bothered with a business career. She would’ve made an excellent fashion designer.”

“You don’t get rich quick through clothes.” 

Wooyoung removed the costume he’d designed for San. Surfer Ken only came with a pair of swim trunks, a puka shell necklace, sunglasses and a string bracelet. It was by far the easiest costume he’d made so far. Wooyoung turned around and San stood in nothing but his boxers. A lump formed in his throat at the vision of this god-like demon standing half-naked in his workroom. It reminded him briefly of you when you’d last visited. He found himself staring up and down the man’s broad body without 

“Um, I have your costume here,” he said, forcing himself to look at San’s face.

San walked over and stood close to Wooyoung. “Nice,” he nodded his approval, seeing the palm tree silhouette painted on the bottom and rising up into the thighs of the orange and yellow trunks. “Very nice. It shows a little, but not too much.”

“I thought you might like that. You work on that body all the time; you should show it off as much as you can, right?”

Wooyoung’s insides fluttered when San laughed. “I do all the time,” he smiled.

He pulled on the shorts, and Wooyoung took in his defined muscles and smooth skin. He briefly thought of you and San entangled in his bed like Kyra and Royle. You’d tell him over and over that San was the better lover. You’d make sure he could see it from every angle, showing him how San’s cock split you open in every thrust. Wooyoung might die from that.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“That you and YN did it in here.”

“Yes, we did.”

“How was she?” he asked, fixing the pants around his hips. “Did you like it?”

“I loved it. She’s…different.”

“She said you’re a cuck,” San glanced over at him when he sensed his silence. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody. I think it’s interesting that a demon of pride likes to be degraded. They usually like being in charge and doing the degrading.”

“Um, well…I don’t really know how to explain it,” he said. “I guess I can blame my upbringing for it, but it’s something I’ve always liked.”

San looked him up and down, then turned from the mirror. “Is it just girls or does it apply to guys too?”

“Wha-what do you mean?”

“I mean, can I be your cheating boyfriend or do I have to be the other man for it to work?”

Wooyoung thought about it, unsure how to answer the question. He’d never switched up his fantasy before, exchanging the girlfriend in favor or a boyfriend. “If there’s another guy in the room,” he shrugged. “It feels wrong if you’re my boyfriend and you’re cheating on me with a girl.”

“That’s fine. I don’t mind being The Other Guy,” he smirked. He reached for the diamond crown hanging from Wooyoung’s ear, the light brush of his knuckle making Wooyoung gulp. “As long as I got a chance to show you how good I fucked your girlfriend afterwards, I’m more than fine with it.”

“My lord…”

“What? You weren’t so shy with YN. Why am I different?”

“Guys are always different for me,” he admitted sheepishly. “Girls are easy to talk to because I already know what they like, but guys just…I suppose they intimidate me.”

“How so? I think it’d be the opposite since you know what guys like and not what girls like.”

Wooyoung looked over San’s face again. He took in his small eyes and mouth, with his tall nose and sharp jawline. A face carved by gods, certainly. How can he be smooth and cool in front of a face like that? All the blood in his body pumped straight to his groin when San moved in closer. His warmth slowly crept onto Wooyoung’s, building up the heat between them. Eyes heavy with lust, San lifted Wooyoung’s chin when he’d turned away and spoke softly.

“How am I intimidating, Wooyoung?” he asked, a firmness behind the gentleness.

“You’re, you know, hot.”

“So is YN.”

“Yes, but that’s different.”

“How?”

“It’s…”

“You’re more attracted to me,” he finished, moving Wooyoung back into his work table. “That’s why.”

“I-I like girls too.”

“I know, and that’s fine, but you find men harder to flirt with because you like them more,” he said. “This cuck fantasy of yours might even be partly because you’re jealous that I’m fucking her and not you.” 

“Did you come ahead of your brothers just for this?” Wooyoung giggled, unable to keep the heat from filling his cheeks. 

“Maybe,” he smirked. “Maybe I wanted to see how good you fucked my girlfriend.”

“Or you can…” Wooyoung hesitated, trying to hide his growing hardon, “You can show me how you fuck her?” He took it a tentative step further, “I want to see why she keeps going to you when she has me.”

San slipped his hands over his narrow hips, giving a gentle squeeze before bringing him in for a kiss. Wooyoung slumped against the table as the kiss weakened him, easily opening himself up. San’s hands slipped up his sides and around his back, securing him close as their kiss deepened. Wooyoung held onto his bicep, and nearly moaned when it flexed in his hand. With only his trunks on, Wooyoung slid his hands down San’s hard chest and abdomen. His cock throbbed when San’s tongue slipped into his mouth, slowly rolling around it. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He never imagined someone like San would want anything with him. He had the occasional good looking man, but they’re usually pleasure slaves he’d bought for the night, not dukes. 

“You’re just as pretty as she is,” San murmured between kisses, feeling underneath Wooyoung’s shirt. “I could fuck you both all day.”

“Have you done that with her?”

“Often,” he said, feeling up and down his back. “She tells me once she starts, she can’t get enough. She has to keep going until she can’t anymore. Not that I complain,” he reached up to pinch one of his nipples, “I could pound her tight holes for hours.” He moved one hand around to grab Wooyoung’s ass, giving him a delicate squeeze, “And I could do the same to yours.” 

“If that’s what you want,” he said. 

San chuckled, “It is. Why do you think I started fucking your girlfriend, Wooyoung?”

“Because you liked her?”

“Partially,” he started unbuckling Wooyoung’s jeans, “I started seeing her because I wanted you to notice me.”

“What?”

Wooyoung noticed San’s large bulge when the latter tugged down the front of his pants. His mouth watered seeing it poking in his direction, a tiny wet spot appearing at the head. The anticipation bubbled in his lower belly when he drunk in the hands against his crotch. Their fingertips and palms drew closer, making Wooyoung’s cock pulsate. When San slowly tugged down the boxers underneath his jeans, Wooyoung moaned when he stuck his hand inside them.

“I thought if you saw me fucking your girlfriend’s brains out,” San continued, rubbing Wooyoung’s tip with the flat of his palm, “You’d want me to do it to you too.” He wrapped his hand around the shaft, then said, “I thought if you caught me with her in your bed, you’d want to join and I could fuck both of you together. I want to fuck you just as much as her,” he stroked Wooyoung slowly and grinned at his soft groan, “I’ve been dying to play with your cock. Can I do that?” he kissed Wooyoung softly, “Can I play with your cock for a while, Wooyoung? I want to taste it.” He pecked his lips a few times as he pumped him carefully. “I want to suck you off and hear all the pretty sounds you make when I do it. I bet you sound just as lovely as your girlfriend.”

“You can play with it,” Wooyoung whimpered, unable to stay still with the pleasure beaming around inside him, “As long as I can play with yours.” He reached out to the large bulge in between them, hearing San’s deep groan.

“Yes,” he breathed, “Of course you can.”

Wooyoung shuddered at the heat filling his hand. Wooyoung could feel the veins throbbing from the blood pumping through it. Their lips came back together, tongues sliding back over as they fondled one another. He loved how it felt in his hand. He saw the length in every long stroke, and the width in every gentle squeeze. Feeling the slightest bit of stickiness, Wooyoung used it to wet the tip poking from the waistband. He moaned into San’s mouth when he withdrew him from his pants, being relieved of the tightness.

“You have such a nice cock,” San groaned, licking the tips of his fingers to wipe around Wooyoung’s end. “How could she not love this? I know I would, if I were her.”

“I don’t know,” he whined, body fully still as the pleasure mounted. “I thought I had a nice one.”

“You do,” he swiped up some precum and licked it from his hand, “And it tastes delicious. If she won’t suck it, then I’m happy to do it.” He kissed Wooyoung again, moving his hips into his hand as he grew harder, “I’ll take her place any time.” He gave the head a squeeze that made Wooyoung whimper, “I can fuck you. You can fuck me. I’ll be whichever you want, baby. I just want,” he swiped a bead of clean precum from the leaking head, “A mouthful of this.”

Wooyoung moaned as San sucked the drop off his finger. With both of their cocks out, San moved his head away and pressed Wooyoung’s tip to his own. Their cocks touching, it brought on a new sensation that turned him into jelly. He moaned each time San’s thick tip pushed underneath his own, grazing the sensitive wrinkles that drove him crazy. A part of him didn’t want it to stop. He wanted to keep going forever, if possible. When the heat became too much, Wooyoung removed his shirt and tugged down his jeans. San spat between them to add more fluid to the mess forming.

“Upstairs?” 

“Upstairs.”

Before the penthouse, Wooyoung used to live in the apartment above the shop. He still kept all the old furniture up there in case he decided to work overnight. Opening a door hidden by purple curtains, San and Wooyoung kissed and fondled one another up the stairs to the second apartment. When the door closed, Wooyoung brought him over to the large bed by the windows. San laid him on the bed and rested on top of him. Straddling his hips, San continued grinding their cocks together as they kissed. Wooyoung’s entire body suddenly became sensitive. He bit his lower lip once San’s mouth found his nipple, the tongue swirling and flicking the peak before sucking firmly. San groaned into it as Wooyoung’s hands grabbed his pert ass cheeks, starting to roll and spread them. Wooyoung would’ve loved to stay hanging up above the teasing.

“How’s this, sweetheart?” San asked, sitting up to gently rub their ballsacks together. He flashed a grin when Wooyoung squirmed at the delicate feeling. “Is that good?”

“Yes,” he whined, starting to stroke San’s cock again. “You look so hot like this,” he said, “I know why she fucks you so much.”

“Oh yeah?” San chuckled breathily, holding himself up to give Wooyoung more to touch. “That’s what I’ve always wanted to hear.”

He spat on his own cock to slicken Wooyoung’s hand, and continued grinding into him. Wooyoung thought he might cum from that alone. The feeling of San leaking in his hand, his heavy balls pressing to his own, and listening to his wanton moans was enough to bring anyone over the edge. 

“No, no, no, baby,” San moaned, “Not yet. We just started.”

“It f-feels so good though.”

“I know it does,” he cooed, stopping his grinding and laying back down over him. Wooyoung whined when he went back to rocking against him. “But, I need you to be good and hold it in for me. I can be patient; we’ll take it slow.”

San laid down beside him in an inverted position, putting his cock inches from Wooyoung’s mouth and vice versa. Putting one arm between his legs to hold him there, San slipped him fully in his mouth. Wooyoung cried out at the hot mouth and tongue gently massaging his pulsating length; the arm holding him in place started grabbing his ass at the same time. He returned the favor by plunging San deep in his mouth. Salty precum spilled onto his tongue as things started up. He mimicked San’s moves so he received all the pleasure he was giving. It drove him insane. He tasted so much better than he thought he would, and he wanted as much as he could get.

“It tastes so good,” Wooyoung moaned against the throbbing head. “I want more.” 

“You’ll get more, baby boy,” San moaned, licking the head in between. “You’ll get all my cum soon. Just be patient and enjoy my mouth for a bit.”

“I’ve always wanted to taste it,” he whimpered, licking up a string of precum that threatened to come out. “I want to see why she’s always sucking you dry.”

“Then taste it, sweetheart,” he said, giving his ass cheek a squeeze and burying Wooyoung in his throat. Wooyoung moaned around the dick in his mouth once he felt that tightness engulf him. “Take my dick all the way in there and get all the cum you want,” he breathed when he pulled back.

No longer using his hands, San kept pushing Wooyoung to his throat as he used both hands to grope his ass. Wooyoung went ahead and did the same. He loved the slight suffocation that came with deep throating San’s girth. He loved the feeling of the head pushing against his uvula and choking him. San groaned when Wooyoung’s arms wrapped around him to grab his ass. The round cheeks molded to his fingers in every squeeze; he could feel the natural demon-slick starting to leak from him with arousal. It tempted Wooyoung into touching him there, which had San pathetically moaning.

“Touch it,” San said, hardly pulling Wooyoung from his mouth. “Touch it, please.”

Even with drool and precum dripping from his mouth, his cheeks and jaw beginning to burn, Wooyoung slipped a finger into the fluttering entrance. Rigid walls clenched the digit prodding all the way to the rough patch that made San tremble. This did not remain one sided for long. Wooyoung squealed when two fingers slid deep into his ass. The two of them wriggled and thrusted around for as much pleasure as possible. Neither of them could help the feelings coursing through them as they fingered and sucked one another. When San rolled them over with him on top, Wooyoung planted himself properly over San and rocked into his mouth. San continued doing the same, even reaching down to hold Wooyoung’s head by the hair. Right as Wooyoung started shaking from his oncoming orgasm, San pulled away.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” San groaned, sliding from Wooyoung to end up on top of him. “I need you to stay still like your pretty girlfriend does, okay?” he asked hurriedly, slapping his cock over Wooyoung’s leaking hole.

San hooked their legs together and laid down on top of him, pinning him to the bed, as he slid smoothly inside. Wooyoung’s moans elongated and went higher with the thick, long length finally buried in him. San reached between him and the bed for the dick dripping onto the sheets, jerking him in time with his gradual thrusts. Wooyoung, kept down by San’s body, surrendered to the constant waves of pleasure coming at him. The world became drowned out by all the senses being stimulated at once. In a nearby mirror, he saw their bodies pressed together like puzzle pieces, their asses rippling each time they met. He reached down to touch San’s thigh, wanting to hold onto some part of him as the other subjected him to massive amounts of pleasure.

“You look so good, baby,” San groaned in his ear, catching them in the mirror. “Just as pretty as your girlfriend. Her ass jiggles when I fuck her from behind too.” He made a few fast thrusts just to prove it, and Wooyoung nearly came right there. San rolled them onto their sides, lifting Wooyoung’s leg so they faced the mirror. “You take me so well too,” he said, angling it so Wooyoung saw them connected in the mirror, “Look at that: your pretty wet hole stretched around my fat cock. Does it feel good, honey?”

“Yes,” Wooyoung cried, starting to stroke himself as he watched San fuck him. “It feels amazing. Your cock feels so fucking good. Please, don’t stop. I want you to fuck me how you fuck her. Fuck me how you fuck her.”

San obliged. He knelt up, straddling Wooyoung’s thigh and putting his leg over his shoulder, and pushed deep inside. Wooyoung swore his belly bulged with San so deep inside. His eyes rolled back at the mind-numbing feeling. He never had a dick as big as San’s before, and he won’t want another ever again.

“Fuck, it’s deep,” Wooyoung moaned, eyes rolling back. “It’s so fucking deep inside me.” He felt his lower stomach and huffed out a laugh when he felt a bump, “God, that’s really hot.” 

“It is,” San agreed, keeping himself hilt-deep and playing with Wooyoung’s sensitive balls. “I could be up in your guts for ages,” he said, watching his partner contort in the mirror. He smirked seeing Wooyoung slowly spiral deeper into his pleasure. “Such a silly cock slut,” he cooed, giving a few short pumps in and out. “Do you want me to keep going like this?”

“Yes!” 

“We’re going to have to-to do more of this la-later,” San said, looking in the mirror with Wooyoung as he kept going the same pace. “I don’t think I can hold my cum any longer. Your ass is fucking milking it out of me.”

“Like hers?”

“Just like hers, baby. Just…like hers.”

“Can I cum too then?” he pouted, feeling himself standing right on the edge of it. He felt San’s tip pushing deep into him every time, the feeling driving him closer to his orgasm. “Please, please, please.”

“Yes, please. I want my pretty baby to cum all over me.” 

San withdrew from him and Wooyoung rolled onto his back. The two of them stroked themselves to their orgasms. Each of them painted the others’ chest and stomach in white strings and droplets. Wooyoung thought he might linger there forever, enduring a never-ending orgasm for eternity before it finally slowed down. San let out a few more pumps until nothing else dropped out of him. The two of them admired their work on the other, still softly groaning and touching each others’ sides. When San fell onto the bed beside him, something dawned on Wooyoung.

“Your brothers and YN were never going to come, were they?”

San chuckled, “Not at all.”

Wooyoung could help but laugh with him.

“Um, well, I was going to come on my own anyways.”

The two of them looked up to see you standing near the bed. Arms crossed, you did not appear outraged at the sight before you, nor did you seem aroused. San sat up, groaning from the soreness in his muscles, and looked over at you. 

“Darling, you’re here.”

“I am, and you’re here too,” you said, trying not to smile. “You know, when I told you about me and Wooyoung, it wasn’t a suggestion to screw him without me.” 

“Hey, I came to see my costume,” San said in defense. 

“His outfit needed alterations,” said Wooyoung, slowly coming down from the high. “I was taking his measurements, and you know how that is. One minute you’re taking in his leg measurements, and the next his dick is in your mouth. It’s a lot.” He shut his eyes as he said, “You’re the one who told your boyfriend that I like cuckolding.” 

“I didn’t think he’d steal my idea,” you replied. 

“Your idea?” 

“Yeah, I was going to insist you deliver the costumes yourself and then make my proposition,” you said, “But it appears San went ahead of me.”

“I didn’t plan for it to go how it did,” San glanced over to him with a smile, “But I’m so glad it did.” He gave Wooyoung a soft kiss that could’ve reignited everything in an instant. 

“Well, when you two are done, can you help me decide between two mask designs?” you asked Wooyoung. “I drew up some and want your opinion on them.”

“Alright, I’ll give them a look.”

“Thanks.” 

San flopped back on the bed as you went back downstairs, a soft laugh escaping him. “She’s cute.”

“You really couldn’t wait, huh?”

“Have you seen yourself, Wooyoung? I wouldn’t have waited for anything.” 

“Fucking incubi,” Wooyoung laughed, shaking his head. “Not that I’m complaining, but I did hope for a second round.”

“There will be a second round,” he assured him with a smile. “You can count on that.”

Wooyoung grinned as he watched the demon lord get out of bed and head for the door. Light headed and dazed, he could hardly focus on anything else for a few minutes. His entire body felt rearranged inside and out. 

He'd definitely be making that delivery. 

***

A/N: I hope you guys really liked this side story for Wooyoung. I sort of let this one go where it wanted, and it landed in some woosan sex lol I do have parts of the regular story coming up, but I have so many side stuff that won't have much YN in it that I still wanted to share them. Reblog and like loves <3

[skyeblue8]

ᗯҽɬɬ, ყ'αɬɬ ρι𝓬ƙҽԃ 𝜏ԋҽ Ɛɳʋყ Ꭱιɳց, ടσ... 😈

-> This is going to be my own thoughts, world-building and establishment of the Envy Ring, which is truly going to be exciting considering it has even been mentioned in canon yet. Now, if you have any critiques or notes for what you believe should be in this ring, please leave a note in the comments about it. And be sure to vote for the next ring you want me to write about. Also...

⚠️WARNING⚠️ But for some of this to work, the rings may have to be swapped around from their original placement. I know it's not a big deal, but it's just a thing I want you to remember.

Anyway, first things first...

Envy's Environment:

•••》 In terms of the overall ring color scheme, I believe Envy would be an all around ombré shade of deep blue, indigo, black and purple to represent the deep feel of the ocean while also giving off a sense of mystery and superiority from the purple shades, mystery that works since the inhabitants will have a habit of being two-faced, but more on that later...

•••》 For the civilization itself, I think that the ring would simply function as a semi-futuristic underwater society with a sea creature motif to the buildings. The inner landscape will function as a sort of capital or city while the outer landscape is largely dark, creepy, and wild with demonic coral and aqautic life. Entry into the ring from the 666 elevator will be via a long arched bridge:

•••》A majority of the Ring would look almost like a shadow city (kind of like an "other-mother" type deal where a lot of the popular buildings and attractions are shadowy, aqautic copies of those in other rings, kinda like Mammon with Loo Loo Land only it will have more Envy influence to it.)

•••》 The more upper class buildings and residents will reside in the center of the ring, with the big establishments like restaurants, apartments, etc. largely rooted to the ocean floor while those in the outer slums are more ragged and left to drift aimlessly in the current, like the floating islands of Sloth but underwater. Moreover, the fancier apartments and homes will have a futuristic and lumimous bubble design that fits with the rest of their surroundings. I'm sure there is more that can be done for the environment of Envy, but I'll add more another day.

Envy's Residents:

•••》The people of Envy will (obviously) consist of various anthropomorphic sea creatures whose overall wealth, status, and treatment are depended on their looks/beauty as the core theme of Envy is longing for what others possess and thus, the natives of this ring will treat the lower accordingly. And to differentiate the natives from the sinners, sinners who become aquatic demons will adopt a more brighter color pallette than the natives, and will essentially possess a skeletal system whereas others will not. (I'm thinking this on the spot, so don't judge just yet).

• In simple terms it would go from:

1. Attractive Sea Creatures (Jellyfish, Seahorses, Bioluminous Squid, Multi-pattern fish, etc.) —> I.E. The Wealthy, High Class, and most respected

2. Unattractive Sea Creatures (Angler fish, Sharks, Piranhas, Blob fish, really any aesthetically vicious predator) —> I.E The Poor, The Lower Class, the disrespected

•••》Sinners can end up in either category, depending on how kind Lucifer decides to be when they fall into Hell. And ultimately, despite the sweet looks the upper class may possess, they're still not above cruel and sadistic behavior as anyone else. And, if you happen to be lucky enough to be rich down in Envy without being robbed or swindled, then you can easily buy your status regardless of your looks.

•••》Because of this vanity contest, I can imagine that the ring would have the best modeling agencies, fashion designers, and makeup artists in all of Hell living/working there. (See Helsa, who pegs me as bratty, rich, and vain)

Now, as sharks are already so common in Helluva Boss and can apparently procreate with imps, I'll be labeling them the "imps of the Envy Ring". These creatures are so big, unsightly, and widespread that they're often forced to retreat into the dark recesses of the Envy Ring so their presence doesn't taint the image of Leviathan's Ring.

•••》Regarding those who visit Envy and aren't aquatic demons, they're able to transport around via air tubes, trams, mini-elevators and walkways.

•••》Now, something visitors need to keep in mind when visiting is that with Envy comes Insecurity, especially with the prince, Leviathan, towards the number of residents he has compared to other rings. Because of this, you may have a difficult time trying to leave the ring rather than entering it as those guarding the entrance may purposefully make it difficult as per the orders of their prince (unless your one of the lower class hense why their are so many sharks out and about).

• That's all I got for now, though I will come back later to do a follow up post on Leviathan himself. Until then, leave any notes, suggestions, etc that you may have in the comments and please vote for the next ring: