CW: Targcest mentioned in passing. Dubcon implied. Power imbalance. MDNI
Baelor with ED, who just cannot produce an heir. Even when he manages to finish, it's thin and watery and he doesn't need a maester to tell him he's the problem. And yet, without a proper successor, who will be king? Sickly Rhaegel, Aelor after? A young boy more worried about his sister's cunt than actually learning statecraft? Aenys on the other end of the spectrum, spending his nights in his study away from his wife?
Or Maekar, and the drunkard after? Or worse, Aerion?
No. Baelor needs an heir he can shape on his own, even if 'his own' must be subjective. His wife will hate him for it, but needs must, and it's not like she'd dare say anything lest he deny any involvement in the affair - and that's what it would be. An affair. Royal, too, and mores the trouble. Baelor may not show much of it himself, but Targaryen blood is distinctive, has been known to resurface generations on. The same lords that whispered about his own Dornish blood would only grow bolder with a dark haired heir. Or worse, some unaccounted for Tully auburn if he wasn't careful.
Better to stick to what you know, he figures, and thankfully he knows one Targaryen prince who's proven himself more than capable.
Sometimes I think about an AU where the apocalypse didn't happen and the students graduated normally sort of like how they do in the V3 after-story minigame. Despite everything Makoto never really figured out any special skills or talents while he was at Hope's Peak, and Togami graduated the same way he was before: a cold and reserved young man who means business. The tragedy not happening made the two like oil and water; they would come close to eachother but never close enough to form any sort of real bond. Togami was simply not interested in making a friend, and Makoto didn't seem to be of any use for him. He heads off to live his life as the head of his (mostly still alive) family while Makoto decides to settle down and get himself a small apartment above a local bar and work as a bartender down below. It's a regular job but he's satisfied with it, and he can be social when he wants to.
A few years pass. Togami learns that things aren't quite as they seem for him. Due to the nature of his identity his father still is a major deciding factor over everything he does, including picking and choosing who he is to procreate with for the next generation's heir. Life is tense and shameful and he feels tricked. He's had a few children at this point but he doesn't get to see them, as when they're born they're essentially shipped off to be trained for the future battle they'll need to survive to have even a chance at becoming the next heir. He feels miserable and bitter; he hates the world and the people in it. Things feel bleak and he feels like more of an asset to his so-called retired father than the head of a conglomerate. Things get particularly bad when he finds out that the sires of his offspring were determined through a sort of bidding process. Disgusted and offended, he decides to head out into the city to get away from his family and the cold life he lives, even if for just one night.
He wanders around that evening, looking for a place to settle. Fate draws him toward a fairly commonplace but nice enough looking bar when it starts to rain, unforeseen. He enters to see the bar is empty today other than the bartender, who he doesn't immediately recognize. It isn't until said bartender raises his head to look over and cheerfully calls out his name that he realizes it's one of his old classmates. Togami solemnly and professionally wipes the rain from his glasses and goes to take a seat at one of the random tables that aren't immediately next to the bar. "Togami-kun, it's me, Naegi...! Don't you remember me? It's been a while, huh..." Makoto is rambling a bit while he wipes out glasses for later use; Togami listens to him without eye contact or any real show of acknowledgement, like a cat ignoring his owner without the flick of his ears. He doesn't respond to the other man until he is properly settled. "Yes, I remember you—just barely. I had to think for a moment, though. I don't usually waste my time recalling the names or faces of the unimpressive 99%." Togami scalds, but he is only met with a laugh. "You're still like that, Togami-kun...?" Makoto jests, teasingly. Togami sneers a bit. "Like what? And stop calling me that. We aren't children."
Loosely aligned with the Pet Safety Series. Follows [Felix].
Content / warnings: BBU, an outsider being drawn into the system, reluctant(?) whumper pov. BBU-typical dubcon/noncon implied at the end; not explicit. Something more about WRU demo pets.
Ali had left early in the morning, after their first night. But on the kitchen counter, Felix had found a wrapped up sandwich, a bottle of water and an Aspirin. A phone number had been written all over the sandwich bag. Let me know if you liked it - A.
Smiling, Felix had texted him a photo of his lunch in the park behind the facility, careful not to reveal the location.
Ali had replied with a photo of a sandwich just like the one he'd made him, not hiding his work place, a luxury hair salon down town. Oh, look what I'm having! It's a match.
One thing led to the other, one night to the next, and to Felix' own surprise Ali grew into a constant in his life, the light touch of his kisses, the warmth of his body, the smell of his cooking, the sight of his dark eyes drinking him in in the morning.
*
"You don't actually sell cars, do you?"
It was one of the days where Ali worked an afternoon shift, while Felix had to get ready in the morning. With one leg in the dress pants, Felix paused and turned towards Ali.
"Does it matter?"
"Depends." Ali stared at him, hesitating. "Is it people?"
"Depends," Felix replied. "Some would say so. It's a matter of definition, really." He pulled the pants over his other leg and zipped them close. A part of him was getting ready to run and not see Ali again. Would be a shame, really. He'd started to like him. "They were people once. They signed up for it though."
"Pets." Ali stated it without judgement, only mild curiosity. "You're selling pets. You work for WRU?"
"Mh." Felix met Ali's gaze. "Does it... change things?"
Ali squinted, lost in thought for a moment, before he shook his head. "You think it should?"
"I've had dates who got judgmental." Felix shrugged. "It's a pretty controversial business."
"We do have pets in the salon sometimes." Ali pushed himself up in the bed. "A handful of our clients own Guards or Romantics. They bring them in, too, and we style them. I don't judge." He picked up Felix shirt and tossed it to him. "I do judge you for lying to me."
"I would've told you," Felix said, catching the shirt, heart racing at the boldness of his next suggestion. "In fact, Ali, I think I might have a job for you."
***
Ali Beheshti was and had always been a cautious man. His parents had been refugees, and a lot of their mannerisms and fears had been passed down to him. Don't trust the system. Don't trust people who pretend to know what's good for you. Stick to your own business. Always know a way out.
The first time the gates of a WRU facility slid open for him and then closed behind you with a small hiss, he wondered how Felix Kane had made him so readily betray this very part of himself.
Then Felix jogged up to him with that easy smile of his that could light up an entire room, and Ali forbid his thoughts to venture further down that route.
"So glad that you could make it! Big day today. Important client, some heartbroken youtuber who's been talked into a bet that not even a WRU pet could make him not think about his ex. However this trial ends, our products will be on thousands of screens, and I want them to look great."
Ali slapped the large trolley that held his equipment, swallowing down the unease roiling in his stomach. "I've got my red carpet set with me. I can make them camera ready."
They stepped into an elevator, and Felix pressed a kiss on the side of Ali's neck. "You're a saviour."
"Thank me later." Ali gently pushed Felix away. "This is a professional call, remember?"
"Sure." Felix grinned and swiped his id over the keypad. "I will thank you alright, love."
Ali eyed the keypad. Designed to make sure nobody could get in without a permission. Or out. "These pets," he said. "They signed up for this, right?"
"'Course they did." Felix raised an eyebrow. "They all do. Otherwise it would be illegal, wouldn't it? The ones you're going to meet - our demo pets - they have heartbreaking pasts. They're so much better off with us than they've been before. WRU saved them."
"Then why does the security look like a prison?"
Felix didn't miss a beat. "Maybe it rather looks like bank? They're worth a lot. Them and us put a lot of effort into training them to be at their best. People want to steal them. Others want to liberate them. Idiots, really. Our pets don't want to be liberated." He cast Ali a warm smile. "They're very obedient. You're safe. You don't need to worry."
"I, um. Never mind." He had not worried about that. He was too sceptical, probably. Definitely. Right? His parents had just messed him up with their fear of evil governments and imprisonment. "I... Why don't give me a quick run down already? How many are there, what styles do you want? A story you want their looks to tell?"
There were eight in Felix' responsibilty, Ali learned, eight of the so-called Romantics, various genders, various ethnical backgrounds, various stories to tell. The girl next door, the buff teddy bear, the quiet enigma, the dirty little secret, the soft dreamer, the confident performer, the spoiled princess, the devoted servant. Ali didn't dare ask, how the roles were assigned. How the people they'd been before were moulded into these shapes. It all had happened before. They signed up for it. Felix just did the sales part. And Ali just styled them. It wasn't as if his real life clients didn't come to him with stories just like these as well. Just yesterday one of hie regulars had requested to be styled like "Sin itself". This was just another job, one that challenged him in the best ways, one that paid extraordinilarily well - and one that would do a favor to the man he'd love to call his boyfriend some day. A great chance, that's what this was. Nothing less, nothing more.
Felix introduced him to the pets, one by one. They weren't supposed to be in the room together, he explained, only with clients present. Having them bond, to influence each other, would mess with their carefully calibrated training. Ali didn't try to understand that; these intricacies of Felix' job didn't need to bother him.
All of the pets that sat down in the chair in front of him shared an extraordinary beauty. All shared a quiet obedience, and the same set of mannerisms. And all of them flirted with Felix, who just replied with a generous smile. This was the one thing that did bother Ali. But then again, when Felix looked away from them, and at Ali, to give some quiet pointers at what to do, Felix' smile shifted into another one, a more private, cheeky, honest one. These were pets. Ali was a person. It wasn't the same.
"That's Noor," Felix said, when he brought over the last one, a slim man with long black hair an almost ethereal elegance to his movements. He was pierced in his lip and eyebrow, and as easily to see through his fishnet top, also elsewhere on his body. Ali found himself wonder, if that was all of it. Then, if that was exactly what he was meant to wonder about. He inhaled softly, counted to ten, hoping to banish the faint blush creeping up in his cheeks. Or the thought, of how well Felix would know the answer to that.
"Good morning, Mister Ali," Noor said softly.
"Noor?" Ali raised a brow. "A Persian name?"
"He got here right after I met you." Felix smiled. "Couldn't stop thinking about you. So I named him in your honor."
"That's-" Ali frowned. Creepy, a part of his mind whispered. Sweet, another part insisted. "Special," he settled.
Noor slid into the chair in front of him, gaze cast down, not meeting Ali's in the mirror. What had Felix said in that first night? About one of his so called "cars"? Totalled, by a client. Had to be replaced. Noor must've been the replacement. How long would he make it, then? How long the others? Ali swallowed, reached for Noor's long hair instead, letting his hands run through them carefully. It was beautiful, smooth and heavy and soothing. Could need a little more conditioner, maybe. Better care for the tips.
"Noor's the dirty little secret," Felix said, almost affectionate. "I want his hair open, shining, but in a way that makes you want to grab it, pull him around by it, you know?"
Ali wasn't sure if it was the request that made him shiver, or the way he exactly knew the feeling Felix described.
"I do", he said, his voice cracking a little. "I can do that. I'll wash his hair first, add a little treatment."
Felix nodded. "He's been good. You can be gentle."
He'd been like that before, too. Advised Ali, on how gentle to be, as if the hair styling was a part of a regimen of rewards and punishment.
Ali had mostly ignored it. He was always gentle. It would make him a horrible hairdresser, not to take care of the people- humans- beings, in the chair in front of him.
"Sure," he said anyways, and gestured Noor over to the washing basin. He checked the water temperature himself - he'd learned already at pet number three, that they'd say the temperature was fine with perfectly content smiles and soft voices, regardless if it was scalding or freezing. "You good?", he asked, still, mostly from habit.
Noor hummed in reply, a soft, peaceful noise, as Ali gently started massaging his scalp under the warm water.
Ali looked up at Felix, leaning in the door with his arms crossed, watching them with a soft smile. "He's enjoying it," he observed. "I'd love to switch places."
"Later," Ali said.
Noor's shoulders seemed to relax, his breath slowing, as Ali's fingers deftly worked his temples. He wondered quietly, how often the pets received something like that. A reward like that. And what it was for. What being good might encompass.
"You look good together," Felix said. "My favorite pet. And my... favorite person."
"Shush", Ali hissed, unable to hide the blush in his cheeks. "We're working."
"He's asleep." Felix nodded at Noor. "You're doing wonders on him. And it's good. He needs to relax anyway. I'm not meant to do favorites of course, but he is the best of them. I bet he'll be chosen today."
"Quiet," Ali muttered. His favorite person. He hadn't expected how nervous these words would made him feel. "I can't focus."
"I find it hard, too." Felix winked. "I'll think about this picture all day."
Ali reached for the conditioner and decidedly stared down onto Noor's beautiful, ink black hair, determined not to let Felix' words overwhelm him.
Thankfully, Felix did vanish shortly after, probably doing whatever else he needed to prepare for the evening, and Ali could focus on his job.
Felix returned, just as Ali finished blow drying Noor's hair. The pet looked stunning - of course he did. Ali was good at his job, after all. He worked out some strands, artfully twisting them, before he spun the chair towards Felix. "What do you think?"
"Stunning," Felix said, gaze more on Ali than on his model. "There's just something missing, for that freshly fucked look I was going for."
Ali frowned, ready to lash out against that criticism, but Felix was faster, looking at Noor now.
"Noor, dear, do you like what my friend did?"
"Yes, Felix." For the first time, Noor did look up at Ali in the mirror, a shy smile dancing on his pierced lip. "He was very nice."
"I think so, too. And I think you should thank him properly, don't you?"
Noor nodded, and before Ali could properly react to the innuendo, even make sense of what he wanted, his mind lost somewhere between Noor's smile and Felix' voice, the pet swung himself over the chairs armrest and dropped on his knees in front of Ali, looking up at him from deep brown eyes. His teeth played with the piercing in his lower lip, and there was a small dimple in one cheek, when he smiled.
Ali was dizzy. "I-- I don't think-"
"I can't tip you as you deserve, this is a company invoice after all," Felix said. "But I - we - can make you feel good anyway. Believe me. Noor will blow your mind." He smirked. "Literally."
"I- I styled his hair, but-" Ali wanted this. He didn't want it. His pants were awfully tight suddenly, his mind blank. Fuck. He should've been prepared, right? Had he been? Did he want this? He wondered how that piercing would feel.
"I respect if you don't want it, of course, I do, I just thought..." Felix voice was soft. "My boyfriend deserves some relaxation, too."
There was a soft touch between his legs, a hand moving over to his zipper. Ali didn't fight it. Boyfriend. Felix called him his boyfriend. And he wanted him to feel good. Noor wanted it, too. And fuck, if Ali's body wasn't craving it as well.
Felix smiled and stepped in.
"Boyfriend, huh?" Ali asked, huskily, as he felt his pants pulled down, and soft lips wander down his hips.
"If you want to be?"
Ali nodded, unable to speak, and Felix's lips found his just in time for Felix' mouth to absorb the little whimper escaping him when Noor took him in.
"I love you," Felix breathed into their kiss, and whatever Ali's treachereous mind had been whispering was blown away entirely.
CW: Vampire whumpers, whumpee who is also whumper, sadistic whumper, blood drinking, hints of dubcon intimate whump implied (fade to black)
For @amonthofwhump’s 12 Days of Whump, Day Six: Countdown
-
Paris, France, 1940
Erich leans back against the wall, frowning down at the blood under his fingernails as he inspects the cracked, chipped edges. There’s something deeply unsanitary about it, especially since he’s not entirely sure how many peoples’ blood it even is. He can’t possibly do anything about it, though. The blood won’t come out.
The streets of Paris are never empty, not even in these darkest days. There are always those who risk everything for a bit of joy and celebration of life - and there are always those who prey on them.
Of course, there are those who prey on the predators, too.
He sighs, counting inside his mind, as he sees a man pull his overcoat tight and step quickly over a puddle in the street, glancing left and right, the brim of his hat pulled down low to hide his face.
Right on time.
They know where he’s headed - to a small flat above a store that has been raided and razed to charring inside. He intends to terrorize the family still hiding within, demand money they don’t have for their dubious protection from Erich’s own countrymen. Invaded in May and conquered by the end of June, France quakes under a war machine they hadn’t known how to defend against.
Germany is an avalanche burying France, Poland, anywhere else its bony fingers can touch. He hears German spoken in the streets, and he recognizes the language but not the feeling within it. He knows the faces but not their expressions. He doesn’t know his country any longer, but then… he’d stopped recognizing his country long before he’d been turned into this. He thinks of the war he fought for them, for their great Imperial pride, and bitter fury churns inside of him, turning the very saliva in his mouth sour.
How many men had died, then - and how many of their very sons would die this time? All for the pride of some great man who stays hidden behind the lines, demanding the soldiers loathe the enemy to the point of death but never willing to risk himself?
He spits off to the side, eyes narrowing, tongue running over his fangs.
Still.
The man stops, perhaps feeling eyes on him, but he doesn’t see Erich hidden in the shadows. He murmurs to himself, and Erich doesn’t know a lot of French but he does know a curse when he hears one.
Erich keeps counting.
Three… two… one.
Auri drops from the balcony above the man’s head and lands on him, sending him flat on his stomach to the wet sidewalk with little more than a soft oof and the crack of his head against stone.
Their eyes gleam and glimmer iridescent in the darkness, fangs bared, their pale hair white in the near-total darkness aside from street lamps, a wild mess around their shoulders. They lean down and speak into the man’s ear as he struggles, trying to wriggle out from under them, throwing his hands up to try and pull them off.
It doesn’t work.
Erich wonders, idly, what they said to him. Auri doesn’t care about the world, but they feel darkly about what has been done to France for reasons Erich can’t even begin to fathom. He doesn’t ask, granted.
He scratches at the back of his neck, looking over to see a woman and man who were also sneaking out freeze.
The man lets out a strangled scream for help, bouncing off of the buildings around them, as Auri buries their fangs in his throat, fingers dug so deeply into his shoulders that they’re tearing the fabric of his suit.
The woman screams as she sees it, pointing at Auri. “Vampire!” She shrieks, in hysteric terror, and she and the man she’s with go racing away. They don’t try to help, or to pull the vampire off of the dying man.
You don’t stop to help, not in France, not these days.
Erich doesn’t move.
He merely watches Auri’s throat bob as they swallow mouthfuls of hot fresh blood, and then looks up to see the father of the family above the store looking through the window down at the scene, where the muscle meant to scare him is instead dying on his doorstep.
The man looks up and meets Erich’s eyes.
He, after all, had been told in advance where Erich would be standing.
Merci, the man mouths, tipping his chin down in deference. Merci, monsieur. He doesn’t smile, and Erich doesn’t try to either. They only look at each other. Once upon a time they were the same in more ways than ever they were different. Now, though, one is an inhuman predator, and the other a man who wants only to save his wife and children from the jaws of the beast.
Being a monster doesn’t mean he can’t still do a little good, for as long as Auri will let him, as long as their interest in this game holds.
He pushes himself away from the wall and walks to the storefront, his boots scraping in a whisper against the pavement. Auri looks up at him without letting go of their victim, but their eyes sparkle in a wordless invitation.
Feed with me.
As always, he has found, he can’t quite resist their commands. Not even the wordless ones. He starts walking.
Erich looks up to see the man up above close the curtains again, and knows he’ll move on to the next stage of what they had agreed upon. They’ll line up suitcases by the door, pack everything they need. A very particular vehicle will pull up, and the family will pile inside. By dawn, they will be quit of Paris.
By two days from now, they’ll be on a ship with new names, heading across the ocean. New papers, a new life, paid for by the money Erich takes from the ones he and Auri kill.
He can’t save many - but he can save a few.
He knows what will happen to them, in the end, because he has seen what is happening in Germany. What everyone pretends they don’t know is happening, but they do.
He reaches down and Auri lets go just long enough for him to pull the man, who breathes now in wet gasps as his heart fights to keep beating, close to him. Auri pushes themself up to their feet and presses in on the other side, the man sandwiched between them in their unnatural strength. His hands come up to push weakly at Erich’s chest, he begs in whispered French for mercy.
“Nein,” he whispers in return, and he bites down on the man’s left while Auri digs their fangs back in on the right.
Drinking the last of a life with Auri, his packleader, sends a wave of euphoria down Erich’s spine. They are connected through the veins they drain dry. His knees wobble and he locks them to keep standing, his hands moving, burying themselves in Auri’s hair. He groans, softly, as their hands find his waist in turn, jerking him forward. The man is between them, but still he can’t stop but moan in pleasure.
It’s obscene.
It’s devotion.
They break apart only when the man is wholly and truly dead, and Erich pants softly with breath he hasn’t quite gotten used to not needing, looking at the blood smeared red around Auri’s mouth and finding it beautiful.
It was horrifying, once.
He struggles to remember that, in moments like this.
“I-... I want-”
“I know.” Auri grins, licking their lips until red goes pink and wet, eyes half-closed in their own ecstasy. “Are you satisfied, Erich? We’ve killed another evildoer, are we the angel of death passing doorways marked in blood enough for you?”
“They never said angels were lovely or kind,” Erich says, low and rough, and he grabs their arm and pulls them against him, listening to their laughter before he presses his lips to theirs. Both of them have mouths slick with salt-sweet blood and he licks it off their lips and out of their mouth. He pulls away, jerking them along with him, in love with and loathing them in turn, both at once, the strongest things he has ever felt.
They make it into an alley before he’s pulling their shirt off over their head. He hears, dimly, the sound of the car pulling up outside the storefront, of the man telling his children not to look at the body as they pile inside. He hears the engine roar as it pulls away, driving off into the night, heading hell for leather for a life that won’t look like this one.
He hopes it works better for them than it did for him.
Auri’s hands push up under his shirt, nails digging into his bare skin, and he tips his head back against the wall. When they bite him, it doesn’t feel like it did when he was living. Their fangs slide in, bury themselves to the hilt, and the venom floods him like a wash of pure and perfect pleasure.
“Please,” He groans. “Please take me.”
Auri is as bright as the sun, full of blood and a force of nature. They pin his wrists above his head, rolling their hips against his.
“Of course,” They murmur. Their lips move against his jaw, where there’s a scar from the war, that he’ll carry for eternity with the others. “Do it again tomorrow?”
“Please,” He whispers. “Yes. Let me help them.”
“My pleasure.” Auri’s mouth moves against his cheek. “Or yours.”
It starts to rain, but neither of them notices. If they did, they wouldn’t care.
For the ask game - hey Hayko. Tell me how you really feel about Nick?
“Um... at first I was-... really scared of him and still am. He was more deranged and I could-... I couldn’t really tell when he was going to snap and hurt me or when he was pissed off but now, things are a bit more, um, calm. Ever since his detox, he’s been better, I think. He’s more understanding that sometimes I get overwhelmed with the touching but even when he’s not, I don’t... really mind, I guess. Look, I know whatever we have is fucked up but it’s all I have right now.”
Honestly I can see this as part of the Castle of the Crystal AU, but I would probably write it as a oneshot or as a shorter story with no more than 3 chapters. The premise would be that after Seladon starts her relationship with skekSo, everything is peachy for a while because We’re All Friends Here, but when drinking with skekSil one evening because skekSo is too tired and just wants to be left alone, Seladon lets slip that she loves skekSo which leads to skekSil feeling Unexpected Emotions, both because he realizes that he wants Seladon to love only him, and also because that’s his emperor. It was fine when the gelfling was just sexually involved with both of them, but now that she has a love that is more than the typical blind devotion? Unacceptable. SkekSil then starts getting sneaky and underhanded to try to get Seladon out of skekSo’s favor with mild success, but in the end it just drives a wedge between her and skekSil. I would probably end it with the guard’s uprising, and the aftermath of skekSo showing his true colors, because “What did gelfling expect when chose to love Emperor?” seems like it would fit really well here.
Written for day 8 of the @bbu-on-the-side BBU Community Days. Part of Angel's recovery story, while she's with bad caretaker Tim. Follows after this scene (Cory's blackmailing Tim). You'll also hear about Blanca.
After he was done, Cory sat down on the foot of the huge hotel bed. Calmly, he lit himself a cigarette, stared out of the window into the night. He didn't spend another glance at Angel, propped up at the bed's other end. Their room was a junior suite; the honeymoon suite had been already been booked, and some detached part of Angel's mind was oddly relieved about that.
Cory had made sure Tim paid for the room, and this hotel charged impressive prices as it was. Plus, she was sure there'd be an added cleaning fee for smoking.
It hadn't been part of the deal, she thought, feeling oddly betrayed. She didn't say it out loud, of course. Pets didn't know about deals. Pets did what they were told to.
Angel wasn't supposed to be a pet any longer, but she didn't yet know how to be anything else.
"Wouldn't this be the moment for you to tell me, how good I was?" Cory asked, finally looking over his shoulder. She felt his eyes on her body, skimming over old scars, resting on recent bruises and fresh bite marks, ending on the cuffs around her wrists, right where her barcode had once been. Cory had tied her to the bed, and she'd let him. She was made for this, after all. He had threatened Tim, and she loved Tim, so it was up to her to take away that threat, by doing what she did best.
Take what she was given.
She was also made to be good at lying.
But there was something in Cory's tone that riled her up. He wasn't her owner. He wasn't her handler. He wasn't her fiancé. He was a bully.
He'd gotten her body tonight, her performance, his satisfaction out of her; twice already.
He wouldn't get her praise.
Angel pushed herself up in the cushions as far as the cuffs around her wrists allowed her. Cheap sex shop quality, far from what WRU used in training, or what her Sir had built into the play room. Still, she didn't know how to get out of them.
"I wouldn't know," she said, testing the handcuffs once again. "You're obviously more experienced in blackmailing others than I am."
His eyebrows arched up, and he stilled for a moment, looking at her with newly found interest.
"Talking back? They don't teach that to their pets at WRU now, do they?"
"I'm not a pet," she said firmly.
"'Course you are," Cory replied, taking a drag at his cigarette. "I've had a Romantic of my own, you know? Before Renee. Before we had kids. Blanca. Shorter than you, darker hair, bigger bust. Just as needy though."
He pushed himself up and stepped back up next to her, his fingertips casually running up her leg, over her stomach, her breasts, up to her neck.
"Except..." He pulled away, yet Angel still shivered under the ghost of his touch.
Her gaze flew up to the handcuffs. If they were as cheap as they felt, wouldn't there be some mechanism to open them, to end this game? She couldn't see one.
Cory was in front of her again, cigarette between his lips, while his hands were at her neck, something soft and cool pressing against her skin. Leather. All too familiar. A collar. He'd brought a collar.
Angel couldn't breathe, all of a sudden, even before his fingers had fidgeted with the buckle and pulled it close. "This was hers," he whispered into her hair, almost conspiratorially. Cigarette smoke was biting in her eyes, her nostrils. She couldn't fight a cough, the collar pressing onto her neck in response. "I knew something was missing. Suits you just as well, pet."
He picked up his phone from the nightstand, snapped a photo of her.
Angel felt a sob rise in her throat. "No," she rasped. "I'm not-"
"002238."
238. She hadn't been addressed by that in years. 002238. It meant cold rooms, and bright lights, restraints and syringes, white tiles, and pain. So much pain.
Cory smiled, as she stiffened. "Yeah. Looked you up in the system, Angelina. Runaway Romantic. Missing." He leaned over her, his skin brushing over hers as he put away the phone and reached for the hotel pen on the night stand. With his other hand, he grabbed her wrist.
"No," she whined, yanked at her bonds again. Nothing. Pathetic flimsy handcuffs wouldn't give in. What did that say about her?
"Pets don't say no," Cory said. Carefully, he drew a straight line on her wrist. Then another, and another. "And you are a pet."
"I'm not." All she could do was sob. "Please, Cory, please don't-"
"Master Cory," he corrected, eyes narrowed in concentration as he finished his scribbling, the tip of his cigarette dangerously close to her skin. With a sigh, he leaned back. "My old Romantic forgot her place, too. Tried to run."
Angel twisted in her cuffs, tried to look at her wrist. Her head swam. She couldn't read, but she recognised the scribbled barcode, the string of numbers he'd drawn underneath it. Even without the tattoo, she's always worn it under her skin. 002238. Designation Romantic.
It wasn't her.
Not anymore.
Was it?
"Had to send her for refurb. She was used as guard dog bait, I believe that's what they call it. Then shipped to a buddy of mine. Wore her down within weeks. Whatever was left of her, that is. Heard there wasn't much going on in that pretty head of hers any longer. But yeah. That's what happens to bad pets, isn't it."
His thumb caressed the lines on her wrist, smearing the blue ink a little, distorting the image. It didn't make the threat less real.
Guard Dog bait. The Guard Dogs in training had pinned 238's wrists down as well. Never softly though.
Angel sobbed.
"I still have my contacts at WRU, 238. It's just one call away." Cory swung a leg over her hip, straddling her on the hotel bed. He smiled, taking another drag at his cigarette. White ash rained down on her skin.
"What do you say? Will you be a bad pet and go to refurb, like Blanca did? Or will you be a good pet, and I'll let you go on, living the pathetic lie that you're a person?"
Cigarette smoke clouded her vision. She told herself its acrid sting was the reason for the tears forming in her eyes. Nothing else. It was okay. She was okay. This was what she was made for.
"Well?", he prompted.
Fucking, and lying.
"I'll be good," she whispered tonelessly.
"Mmmh. Almost there." His grin was sickening.
"I'll..." She almost choked on the words. "I'll be good, Master Cory."
"You will, pet." His fingers brushed over the collar around her neck. "Remember what you are."
The cigarette was down to a stub, burning bright red as Cory took a final drag and his lips curved into a smile. Angel's eyes widened, as she understood.
Cory brought the cigarette down onto her wrist, pressing it deep into the lines of the makeshift barcode.
His lips were over on hers, too, her scream smothered in a long, passionate kiss, her body arched up against his weight.
When her cry had faded into a soft whimper, Cory finally pulled back.
"Very well, pet," he mumbled, with one hand adjusting the phone on the nightstand, camera directed at them. "Position 34, then. Let's go again. And I expect, that this time, when I'm done, you wouldn't miss the opportunity to tell me how good I was."
A backstory piece on Blanca with her first owner, and a bit of a character study on Renee.
Mostly, however this is a gift for @caramelis dedicated to her great writing and her memorable characters; Emily, Clark (referenced) and Lilah (referenced) are hers. This is set in parallel to this fantastic piece.
Renee found her fiancé's socialising events not very enriching, to say the least. Cory was a lawyer, he was about to make it to partner in a highly specialised, highly prolific law firm. It was 'a man's world', as they liked to reassure each other; and with the growing popularity of WRU-designed whores as status symbols even before yachts and watches and the Porsche's parked along the mansion's driveway, the entertainment aspect of these gatherings had shifted to accommodate that. Partners were still welcome, but of course it were the pets that made the impression.
Her and Cory had even had a little fight about that earlier. His little whore looked fantastic, clothes more exquisite than even hers, higher prices for a lot less fabric, that if everything went well wouldn't even last the night. Renee had forbidden her the shoes though. Blanca - what a stupid name, really, a person could be called that, why not something like 'Kitty' or 'Pumpkin'?- Anyway, she wouldn't actually need shoes for her purpose. And Renee found it appropriate that both Cory and her could tower over her.
That hadn't been the reason for the fight. It was that Renee wanted to emphasise the whore's place. And to arrive in their new Porsche Boxster.
"She doesn't like narrow spaces," Cory had said, absently fondling Blanca's half covered ass. "We're taking the Cayenne."
Renee had seen the tension in the pet's shoulders, and felt a slow smile rise up on her lips. "I never thought pets had the capacity to like or not like anything," she remarked. "Isn't it true, Blanca? Wouldn't you just love to do whatever Cory wanted of you?"
The pet had even managed to produce a shaky smile. "I gladly fulfil all my owner's desires, Madam."
"Well he desires to please me, doesn't he, Cory?" Renee patted the hood of the Boxster's trunk. "And I want to ride this darling car. Get in the trunk."
Her gray eyes were huge, and they got even bigger, as they flicked between Cory and her.
Cory sighed. "You've heard her, Blanca. It's just fifteen minutes. Just close your eyes and breathe calmly."
"P... Please..." The pet had whispered, but Cory's gaze had been on Renee already, and then his lips had followed. "You're a fucking arrogant bitch, Renee," he mumbled into the kiss. "Let's hope for you she doesn't arrive there already ruined."
She'd made a point of kissing him over the trunk, while Blanca was in it. She'd have loved for him to fuck her there, too, just to show the pet underneath who was in charge, but he'd fought her off and checked his watch. "Let's not keep them waiting, love." He'd tossed her the key, knowing what she loved, and Renee had gotten them there in eleven minutes.
The pet, nonetheless, had looked horribly pale, when the valet got her out of the trunk, shaking and swaying on her bare feet.
"Give her something to calm her down," Cory said to the valet, carding a hand through the pet's damp hair, and she'd leaned into it, still full of devotion. He kissed the top of her head. "She's got duties to fulfil tonight."
-
She sure did, even though she wasn't the centre of attention. Some of the men withdrew to the other room, in their centre the petite, dark haired Romantic of some social newcomer whom Renee wasn't particularly familiar with, but who was obviously trumping Blanca in going to be the star of the night.
Renee wouldn't have particularly cared, hadn't it been for the very young woman sitting next to her, said newcomer's wife, it seemed. Emily. "So vulgar, isn't it?" Emily whispered, in an awkward way to initiate small talk. Renee could see Emily's gaze glued to the door to the other room, not entirely closed, in order to allow the Domestics waiting on this party to flurry in and out with drinks.
She wasn't sure what the other woman could see; but judging by the way her teeth tormented her lower lip, it... affected her.
Renee found herself smirking. "Certainly," she concurred. "But that doesn't mean us wives can't have any fun, either, does it?"
She was walking on thin ice here, but she had a hunch, and she'd follow it. That newcomer was interesting for Cory's business, his wife would sure be as well. And Renee had the strong feeling there was just the way to crack her.
A gestured command at one of the servers, and some moments later Blanca appeared at her side. Still pale underneath, but cheeks and skin flushed with exertion, dark red lipstick slightly smudged, hair a bit ruffled. The pet sank to her knees almost soundlessly, looking up at her from slightly glazed eyes. From up here, her breasts were enormous. All natural, Cory had said, with the pride of someone whose only contribution to that had been the money he paid to get her. There was a sheen on her cleavage and neck, milky and sticky, and Renee found a bit of satisfaction knowing that these breasts had at least been used as they should.
Shortly distracted from whatever happened next door Emily looked at them both with a polite raise of her eyebrow. She seemed wildly innocent for someone so voyeurestic. She probably just had to learn.
Renee leaned over and placed a hand over hers. "Here's to the fun us wives deserve as well, Emily." She raised her glass of wine, as Blanca vanished under the table soundlessly, swallowed by the long white tablecloth.
Emily raised her own glass, a polite crease between her brows, but too well mannered to admit she didn't understand.
Then, she flinched, gasped for a moment, hand clutching around Renee's as she stared at her from wide eyes.
"Lean back," Renee whispered. "Make yourself comfortable and..." she tilted her head towards the door. "Enjoy. Here's to you"
Emily seemed to be frozen on her seat, glass tipped to her lips, but not drinking.
Then her hips shifted on her seat, and Renee pictured a delicate pair of panties that her husband probably had never even seen slide down under the table.
Emily's lips parted, for a tiny sigh.
"Here's to me," she whispered, and then her eyes wandered to the door, free hand nestled around her hair delicately, and she didn't say anything for a long while.
She did smile all the time, though.
-
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Pet safety backstory tag list: @gottawhump @labgrowndemon @pigeonwhumps @whumplr-reader
