Magnus had experience with Shadowhunters even before his sudden involvement in the Brooklyn kids, and he’d always known that healing Shadowhunters was the warlock equivalent of attempting surgery on someone who wasn’t sedated.
They could not calm down. For some inexplicable reason it ran in their blood, the need to constantly get up despite broken bones or newly stitched wounds was innate in all of them. Plus, most of their injuries were fixable by their own hands, so those that they needed Magnus’ help with were usually pretty severe and sometimes exhausting to fix.
Jace Wayland was no exception.
“Please lay down, dear, you’re making this harder than it needs to be.” Magnus pleaded, watching the blonde Shadowhunter struggle to sit upright on his sofa.
“You…said…you already got the…poison out.” Jace huffed, wiping a hand across his glistening forehead. “I need to…figure out who…who…”
“I got it out, but you’re still going to feel the effects. You can’t even think straight.” Magnus insisted, putting his hands to Jace’s shoulders and gently easing him down against the plump pillow that he’d brought in from the guest bed. “You need rest. Alec and Izzy are out investigating who poisoned you.”
“They could be attacked.” Jace croaked, finally having caught his breath now that he was resting horizontally. “I should be with them.”
“They are more than capable. That tracking method that Isabelle figured out is really working. They should be able to find whoever did this and take them out.” Magnus assured him. He watched Jace mentally battle himself, trying to figure out what the best option was for himself and his siblings. Finally he seemed to give up, probably knowing that his feverish brain and body wouldn’t cooperate long enough to even get him out the front door.
“Isabelle is so smart.” Jace mumbled. His eyes were glazed over a bit, his vision cast in the direction of the far left wall. His fever was making him a little out of it.
“That she is.” Magnus agreed, casting a cooling spell over Jace’s body. He watched Jace visibly relax, his stiff posture melting away. His fists unclenched. “Good boy. Just relax.”
“What’s that light?” Jace asked, his hand moving up to point vaguely in the direction of the far wall.
“Hmm?” Magnus wasn’t entirely paying attention. He was trying to remember the potion he had for fevers that wouldn’t make Jace any more zoned out than he already was. There was one with werewolf claw, Dravak scales, but did he have enough scales? He would have to check the–
“Magnus what is that?” Jace interrupted his thoughts again, persistently pointing at the wall. Magnus glanced up and felt his heart sink when he saw the gleaming red light on the wall.
“Oh no.” He muttered, standing up.
His far wall was made up of a collection of nearly two-hundred little glass vials. Each vial represented a Downworlder that he cared about, containing a piece of identification that Magnus hexed specifically so that he could keep track of them and how they were doing. They contained fingernail clippings, fur, scales, anything. And when one of his Downworlders wasn’t doing well, their vial lit up red.
He hurried over and pulled the glowing vial off the wall, his heart sinking when he saw the contents: a few wispy strands of brown hair.
“Jace, have you seen Simon recently?” Magnus asked, already pulling out his phone and scrolling through his contacts. The Shadowhunter looked much more alert now, and he sat up straighter against his pillow.
“Not in a few nights. Why? What’s wrong?”
“He might be in trouble.” Magnus murmured worriedly. He looked over at Jace, whose face was clenched with pain and pressure from sitting upright again. “Lay down, blondie. It’s alright.”
He called Simon, pacing the length of his living room as the phone rang and rang and rang. Voicemail. Magnus pressed the call button again, refusing to give up. Nothing. Panic was beginning to swell in his stomach as he pressed call again.
“Just stay there, Jace.” Magnus said soothingly as he began to conjure a portal with his free hand. “I’ll be right back.”
“Is he okay?” Jace asked, sounding alarmed.
“We’ll see.” Magnus murmured, stepping through the portal. He was spit out into the boat house, which he’d only seen once when he’d taken Simon home from India. The place was considerably more spruced up now than it had been, which only served to make Magnus a little sad. He didn’t want Simon to have to make an old boathouse into a home.
He looked around, spotting Simon’s buzzing phone on a pea green chair in the makeshift living room that Simon had made. He moved forward, noticing with horror that Simon was on the floor, curled up behind the chair with a blanket wrapped around his body.
He was shivering noticeably, and there was blood around his mouth. Magnus looked to the side and saw a pool of blood on the ground, presumably where Simon had been sick.
Magnus tentatively put a hand to Simon’s shoulder, and the young vampire flinched.
“It’s just me, Simon.” Magnus whispered. “It’s Magnus.”
“M–Magnus.” Simon all but whimpered. “S’mthing’s wrong.”
“Don’t worry, darling.” Magnus pulled him gently up into a sitting position. He stretched his arms under Simon’s shoulders and knees and carefully lifted him. The fledgling’s skin was hot, hotter than a vampire’s should be. Magnus had no idea what was afflicting him, because it was pretty difficult to make a vampire sick. “We’re going to my place, okay? We’re going through a portal. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
Simon clutched at Magnus’ shirt tightly, and the warlock took that as a sign that he was ready. He hurried to the portal and stepped through, aware the entire time of Simon’s state.
Jace had not laid back down, and when he saw Simon he attempted to stand up entirely.
“Is he okay? What the hell happened?” Jace prodded. He had to lean heavily against the arm of the couch to keep himself steady, and Magnus had to stop to think. He needed access to his potions, which were already set out on the coffee table. Both boys should be laying down, but Simon needed it more.
“Jace, sit.” He instructed, pointing at the armchair adjacent from the sofa. He eased Simon down to the now vacated sofa, untangling the blanket from his body and laying it neatly over him.
“What’s wrong with him?” Jace pressed.
“I don’t know yet.” Magnus murmured, praying to God that Jace would just shut up and let him sort things out. He put a hand to Simon’s cheek, trying to get the boy to stir. “Simon? Come on, sunshine, wake up.”
His eyelids flickered open and struggle to stay that way. Magnus pressed a palm to Simon’s forehead and winced, trying to piece everything together in his head. Vampires only ran fevers when they were injured or poisoned by tainted blood. He didn’t see any outward injuries on Simon, and he was pretty sure Simon knew better than to just drink any blood he found.
“Simon, where did you get the last blood you drank?” Magnus asked, shaking his shoulder slightly to make him more alert.
“Raphael.” Simon rasped.
Simon and Raphael were on better terms now, having talked everything out and reached a tentative peace treaty. Raphael still wasn’t crazy about Simon, but he was supplying him blood and making sure he was safe. Magnus knew that Raphael would never give Simon, or really any innocent vampire, poisoned blood. So what was it?
“What hurts?” Magnus asked, resorting to his go-to question when he wasn’t sure what was wrong.
“Everything.” Simon croaked weakly. He was curled up into a tight ball, a hand pressed flat to his midsection. “It’s like a burning–everywhere. Happened really suddenly.”
“Sounds like what happened with me.” Jace remarked softly, and Magnus looked up to meet his gaze. He was right. The symptoms, the fever, the pain. It was all the exact same situation that he’d been in an hour earlier with Jace.
“Simon,” Magnus put a hand to his face again and forced him awake. “Did anyone have access to your blood? Anyone except Raphael? Or did anyone you didn’t know get anywhere near you in the last twenty-four hours?”
“No.” Simon mumbled. “Stayed at the boathouse. All day. Got my blood straight from R–Raphael. I’m cold, Magnus.”
“Here.” Jace tossed the blanket that was draped over the armchair to Magnus, who covered Simon with it. “Magnus, maybe it’s the same thing?”
“It can’t be.” Magnus muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “You were poisoned because someone infiltrated the Institute. Someone is after you, probably someone working for Valentine. They had a plan and they executed it. Why would someone poison Simon? And how would they even know how to find him?”
Jace shook his head, clearly as puzzled as Magnus. He absentmindedly wiped at his forehead, and Magnus noticed the pink tint to his cheeks. He waved his hand to cast another cooling spell, the first one clearly having worn off.
And then Simon relaxed on the couch, the flush to his face fading.
“Hey,” Magnus sat up straighter, “the cooling spell just worked on him.”
“What?” Jace mumbled. “Did it like, get onto him too?”
“That’s not how it works.” Magnus said. He watched in wonderment as Simon kicked the blanket away, now shivering with the added coolness. “Uh. So. Simon, when did the pain start?”
“Coupl’a hours ago.”
Magnus nearly laughed. “It’s the blood. He can feel what you feel.”
“The pain, the spell.” Magnus counted them off on his fingers. “You’re connected now. He can feel what you feel.”
There was a silence. Jace seemed to accept this, sitting back in his chair and simply shutting his eyes. He was probably to exhausted to think much about the situation. Simon’s eyelids flickered open again and he looked in Jace’s direction.
“Please don’t get poisoned again.”
Alec returned in the morning, and Magnus showed him his discovery. He had both boys sleeping in one of the wide four-poster beds in the guest room. They didn’t put up much of a fight about sharing a bed, considering they were both exhausted and sick. Plus, Magnus expected there was something that linked the boys that was a bit stronger than the shared blood.
“So it’s like Simon is your parabatai now, too!” Magnus teased, nudging Alec.
“No. Nope. It’s not.”
Simon slept for a long time, and when he woke up he was still clearly feeling shaky. But he was coherent enough to talk, which was an improvement from the night before.
Magnus had him propped up on the couch, sipping blood through a Sonic cup, while he explained the entire link as well as he could. Simon seemed unphased.
“Look, Jace is very reckless.” Magnus told Simon. “So you’re going to be in pain probably like, a lot. And when that happens you need to call me, rather than just laying on the floor of the boathouse. Alright?”
“I didn’t wanna bother you.” Simon said with a half-hearted shrug. “Like everyone always does.”
“It’s not a bother to take care of my family.” Magnus promised, running a hand through Simon’s hair. “Call me next time, sunshine. Alright?”
Simon rolled his eyes at the pet name, but he nodded. “Alright. I’m gonna go back to bed, okay?”
“No problem. You can pick any guest room you’d like, I just put you with Jace last night for convenience.”
Simon nodded and got up, and Magnus watched him shuffle into the room that Jace still slept in. He peeked in a few minutes later and smiled when he saw the boys curled up together, the same peaceful expression on both their faces.
[Korean] [grammar] [study tips] [study notes]
Sometimes mother tongue grammar is harder than English grammar. In my everyday life, I just say , speak, write and read Korean without any complex thinking. So all those complicate grammar components which I didn’t notice before make me embarrassed.
So there, I write down example sentences to make me understand which one is gramatically right one. Learning grammar in sentence I think is the best way of studying grammar!
84. Cuz I'm clumsy as hell. Lol. With hoseok. <3 much love
A/N omg thank you so much i never knew how much i needed to write some Hobi smut. I’m gonna write more for Hobi, he’s so beautiful and i love him. Much love for you too!
84. Don’t trip.
‘Shhh baby, shhh! Be quiet!’
intoxicated giggles and lightheaded, whispering babbling filled the empty, abandoned room as you tried to make your way through the darkness.
‘Hobi there’s no one here! Rela- IIIH!’, you squeaked as you heard something behind you until you realized it was only the wind blowing through the cracks of the old, disintegrated wooden windows.
‘Baby! Shhh!’, Hoseok whisper-shouted once again but he couldn’t help but giggle again himself.
After a night of hanging out at the pub along with the rest of the guys, your boyfriend and you stumbled home, a little more than slightly buzzed, until Hoseok spotted an abandoned house at the corner of the street. He only needs a little bit of a buzz to get overly confident and adventurous so before you knew what was happening, he dragged you along into the spooky, cracking house because ‘It’s been too long since you two went on an adventure together.’
Right. The last adventure you had was when you took a walk and decided to take a de-tour through the pastures with horses, your shoes getting drenched with mud and horse shit and the horses almost attacking you. It did make a funny story to tell afterwards though.
Lost in thought, you didn’t see the obstacle on the ground in front of you and almost tripped over it as a result. You stumbled and gripped on to your boyfriend’s jacket just in time before you almost faceplanted the floor.
‘Oh my god that was close!’, you exclaimed, a little shocked but relieved you didn’t fall face-first on the dirty hard ground, a laugh bubbling up your throat as you clung on to your Hobi tighter.
Your laughter was infectuous as you got him giggling with you, like you were two toddlers in kindergarden.
‘Here, take my hand. Don’t trip.’, he chuckled as he didn’t wait for your reaction and firmly took your hand in his before leading you through the dark, deserted space again.
It seemed like you were standing in what used to be a living room, only this area strongly lit by the moonlight shining through big holes in the roof, the wood and roof tiles eaten away by the passage of time. The bright white light lit up Hoseok’s face, making you stop in your tracks instantly.
No matter how long you’ve known this boy, no matter how long you’ve been together, no matter how many times you’ve ran your fingers through his soft, chestnut brown hair and kissed his pretty plump lips, the sight of him would still make you stop and stare. You were starting to feel dizzy and you wondered whether it was because of him or the alcohol. Probably both.
As he turned around, confused at why you suddenly stopped, the game of shadows and light contoured his features in the most attractive way. Your boyfriend was already so handsome, but now, seeing him in the middle of the night with only the moon and the stars as a light source, he looked like a magical creature. The kind that’s so compellingly beautiful you knew it could only be meant to lure you in to some danger, and you couldn’t resist getting closer.
He parted his lips to ask you what was wrong but you captured them with yours immediately, wrapping your arms around his neck and stealing the breath right out of his lungs.
A soft whimper left his mouth into yours as he grabbed on to your waist, pulling you closer until there was literally no space left between your bodies. Your lips molded against eachother like a lock and a key, a perfect fit. You opened your mouth to let him slide his tongue inside and whirl it around yours. Small, needy moans and soft mewls rolled off both your tangled tongues as your makeout session kept growing in heat.
Hoseok stepped forward, not letting you go for one second as he pushed your back against the nearest wall. His hands roamed all over your upper body until he placed them next to your head on the wall, leaning on them to pull back just a little and catch his breath.
You were both panting heavily, looking eachother intensely in the eyes before he smirked so cheekily your knees tended to give out. Your hands were still clawed into his white Tshirt as you closed your eyes and lifted your lips up once again, craving more, silently begging him to kiss you again. You missed the heat and softness of his full lips against yours.
Hoseok didn’t need to move much since his face was only mere inches away from yours, yet he chose to brush his gorgeous, sharp nose over yours and being so close you could feel his hot breath against your lips.
‘You look like a goddess in this moonlight.’, he whispered, still nuzzling your nose and drawing circles around the tip with his own.
Your grip on his shirt tightened and your breaths became shaky as you leaned your body into his in all-overpowering desire.
‘Hobi… I want you.’
‘Like here? Right now?’, his voice smooth like honey, like a sweet wave that washes over you, soaks into your skin and forms goosebumps all over your body.
‘Yes. Please, now.’
‘You sure you want that?’, he kept teasing you with that shit eating grin on his face. Drunk Hoseok was even more playful than sober Hoseok and you really didn’t have the patience to deal with it now. But you knew just how to make him cave.
You pouted and shook your head slowly while tracing a single finger up and down his sternum through his shirt.
‘Don’t want it oppa. Need it.’, you said softly, looking up at him doe eyed.
‘Oh, fuck..’, he sighed before he crashed his mouth on yours again and gripped your thighs to lift you up against the wall, ready to make sweet love to you in the dazzling moonlight.
Who knew his lame adventures could turn out like this as well?
Holster proudly considers himself a Coral Reef Expert - in the Justin Oluransi way, not the scientist way. It’s just, well, after three years spent living with his best friend and six months spent dating him, he may as well have a PhD in everything coral reef, Great Barrier and otherwise. For example, among his many, many other talents, Holster can sense exactly when Ransom needs a break, he knows what the signs of a panic attack look like before Ransom even knows he’s showing them, and he’s even started carrying Ransom’s favorite study snacks with him at all times, since they’re such a great distraction. He’s not trying to brag or anything, he just knows he’s a great boyfriend, one who knows exactly what a coral reef shutdown looks like and how to fix it.
But for all that he knows about fixing Ransom’s breakdowns, he emphatically does not know how to fix his own. Which is why, at midnight on a Friday night, Adam Birkholtz is missing the chance to dance at Samwell’s Winter Screw with his boyfriend in favor of lying on the floor curled up into a ball underneath a table on the second floor of Founders’ library.
Did he mention he feels like shit?
The library was his idea. His asshole Econ professor scheduled a major test for tomorrow, one that he can’t afford to fail, and refused to move it even after the Screw was announced. So, reluctantly, Holster had sent Ransom off with March and a goodbye kiss to party with everyone else and had set himself up to study in a secluded corner of the Reference section, surrounded by dusty old encyclopedias that look like they hadn’t been opened in decades. And until fifteen minutes ago, he was doing great. He’d stopped procrastinating enough to actually study three whole chapters, and he was all ready to start in on the fourth when things just… fell apart.
He doesn’t really know what happened. One minute, he was making flashcards and the next, his hands were shaking too much to hold a pen. A dozen things hit him all at once - their impending anniversary (what to get Rans, the light of his life?), the stress of this stupid test (there were still so many more flashcards to make), what Rans must think of him for ditching him tonight (he knows he understands, but that doesn’t mean Holster feels any less guilty about it). Graduation, leaving Samwell, finishing the hockey season, being a good captain for his team and an even better D-man for Ransom… It was a lot, and it was suffocating. So he did the one thing he knows works for Rans, no matter what.
He crawled under the table, tucked his knees in, and tried to let everything run its course.
Only things weren’t running their course, they were pressing down on him like a heavy weight, and he hasn’t been able to properly take a deep breath since he got down here.
As he hugs his knees tighter to his chest in an attempt to calm himself down, he hears his phone buzz from its spot on the floor next to him.
Rans: u okay? had a great time, wish u were here. can i come visit? founders, right?
Holtzy: fine, still working - wish i was there too </3 and yes and yes, second floor
It doesn’t work. The thought of Ransom finding him like this only makes things worse, and he squeezes his eyes shut against the onslaught of panic that threatens to overwhelm him. This is a strictly one-coral-reef-relationship; Ransom needs someone stable, someone who can actually handle things, not some shaky mess that loses it over nothing.
He hears the door swing open and holds his breath. Rans is still in his suit - he must have come right from the dance. Holster watches as his dress shoes, the ones he usually saves for the hockey banquet, cross the room, then stop directly in front of him. His phone buzzes again.
Rans: bro i’m here, second floor right?
Holster doesn’t have to say anything, though, because Ransom immediately peers under the table at the sound, brows furrowed in concern. When he takes Holster in, his expression softens. He drops to his knees and shuffles under the table as best he can until he comes to a stop right in front of his d-man.
“Hey,” he says softly, and it may have only been a few hours, but man, has Adam missed him. “I think you’re sitting in my seat.” It’s lame, but Holster smiles anyway.
“Hi,” he says, his voice scratchy. “How was Screw?”
“Good,” Ransom grins. “March says hi, and April does, too. Jack and Shitty came down for Bits and Lardo and they’re both staying the night, so, uh, we’ll see them tomorrow. Everyone was cute, bro, but I needed you there to help me fine them all. We could have bought two new dryers with all that money!”
See, here’s the thing. Holster knows it was a joke, he knows it was lighthearted, he knows he didn’t tell Ransom what’s wrong, and that Ransom can’t read his mind. The rational part of his brain knows all of these things. But the stressed out part?
The stressed out part reminds him that he’s a terrible boyfriend for missing his last ever Winter Screw, the only one he would have attended with Ransom on his arm instead of as his wingman, and also that Ransom probably hates him right now.
So when he sniffs and his vision starts to blur, the wide-eyed, panicked look on Ransom’s face only makes him cry harder.
“Shit, Holtzy, um, it’s okay, bro, come here,” Ransom says, pulling Holster into his lap. He tries to remember the things Holster tells him when he’s in the middle of a panic attack, but nothing seems right, so he settles for running a hand through Holster’s hair instead. “It’s okay, I’m here, you’re okay.”
He doesn’t often see Holster like this, but he knows he’ll talk when he’s ready. They’re captains, they communicate, it’s what they do best on (and off) the ice. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Holster raises his head.
“You’re not mad?” he asks through his tears, and Ransom frowns.
“No, of course not. Why would I be?”
“Because I ditched you,” he sobs. “We were supposed to go to Screw together this year.”
“You had to study,” Ransom says, tightening his hold on Holster. “Nobody understands that more than me, you know that. It’s okay, I’m not mad.”
“But… but I fucked it up, like I always fuck everything up.”
“No, no, you didn’t. It’s not your fault you have a test tomorrow, it’s Professor Douchebag’s. And you could never fuck everything up,” Ransom adds. “You’re my best friend and a perfect boyfriend and an amazing hockey player and a fantastic captain, Holtz. The whole team thinks so, too. Well, maybe not the boyfriend part, that would be weird.” Holster sniffs, but he giggles a little, and Ransom smiles. “But everything else, yeah.”
“I really did want to go to Winter Screw with you, though,” Holster sighs. “I had my suit all ready and everything, and I was totally gonna get you flowers or a corsage or something, it was gonna be so good, Rans, and we were gonna be cuter than Jack and Bits.”
Ransom laughs. “Bro, we already are cuter than Jack and Bits. Come on,” he says, leaning back a little to actually look at Holster and wipe away a few tears, “Let’s get you out from under here, okay?”
Holster nods and pulls himself out of Ransom’s lap and up off the floor, with Rans not far behind him. He’s tapping away at his phone, and no sooner does Holster raise an eyebrow than Frank Sinatra starts playing quietly from the speaker.
“Seriously, Rans? We’re in a library,” Holster starts, but then Ransom’s setting the phone down on the table’s edge and holding his hand out, and his grin is blinding.
“Adam Birkholtz,” he starts, bending a little at the waist. “Can I have this dance?”
Holster, in true Holster fashion, lights up and immediately grabs Ransom’s hand, spinning him toward him. “Anything for you, bro,” he declares as they waltz down the Britannica aisle.
So, yeah, Justin Oluransi is basically the best boyfriend/bro/coral reef Holster could ask for. And maybe they didn’t quite make it to Winter Screw, but getting lost in the reference stacks is five times, ten times, a million times better, and much more them.
Holy shit yes. Yes it would. Nate proposes "games" to test Andy's endurance and strength (you need a lot of that) and they consist of Andy having to do everyday things with a vibrator shoved inside of him and buzzing against his sweet spot. ✨
Hi! I love your writing. :-) Could you write an AU where it was Hermione who died at the Battle, and Fred’s reaction to it? - a-dreadful-penny
You. Hate. Me.
“Hermione!” Fred coughed, trying to clear his lungs of the thick, dark smoke he was inhaling as he ran down the corridor after her. “Hermione, wait! Wait for me!”
Flashes of light illuminated the sky, only visible as what looked like colored lightning flashes. Green, then red, then purple, more green, white, more green. Another cough shook his body as he ran. Ron and Harry had gone to the Room of Requirement and now Fred was afraid he was about to lose Hermione in the confusion. He had sworn he would stay with her. He could still hear Percy and George running behind him.
An ear-piercing shriek sounded up ahead and Fred’s blood ran cold. Blood rushed to his brain and he tried to shake off the haze, screaming, “Hermione!” before taking off at a dead sprint.
catharsis: episode tag, 2.3k, angst, alcohol abuse, spoilers for 12x03.
The clock on the shelf won’t stop ticking.
Dean scrubs his hands through his hair and hunches closer to the table. He sucks in a breath, but it catches halfway down, aching there like it’s trying to claw its way out of his chest. A noise shudders in his throat. He reaches for his beer ─ his fourth, maybe his fifth. All that’s left is the bottom of the bottle. It goes down like lukewarm piss.
It’s been about an hour since ─ fuck. Since. He’s having trouble keeping his eyes open. He rubs at them until gray spots buzz behind his eyelids. He sucks in another breath, and then another. Then he pops the cap on a fresh beer. The bottle is wet from sitting out. He wipes the sweat-ring off the table with the palm of his hand.
The clock is still ticking. Dean drains the neck of his beer and replays the last two days in his head. He thinks about the snacks he bought, the music he listened to, the route he took to St. Paul, the greasy spoon he stopped at for lunch. Somewhere in there, he must’ve made a bad decision. Knowing him, probably more than one.
Way late on this one cause it was a bit harder to think on how to go about this with these two. (I fully admit thinking on Oso’s traits were harder then expected) Anyways, was asked about drawing Sparks and Buzz dressed up like Osomatsu and Choromatsu since their personalities fit those two pretty well. Was to also finish the circle of OCs dressed as the Matsuno bros. After that last drawing with Sparks being annoyed not getting a fun role in this whole silly theme, he was very happy to have this spot. XD Buzz wasn’t for it though.
Sparks and Buzz are normally best friends, but picturing Buzz uppercutting Sparks for his stupidity amuses me. For those that don’t know, Buzz wears a mask(his whole head is not what it seems), so his expressions are a bit more limited, but that makes him more fun, IMO. Also why Sparks isn’t wearing a normal pull over…his head fins don’t allow pull overs. So he made due with another type.
Emma’s weekend routine was the cornerstone of her week. She’d finish work on Friday, head back to her apartment, and kill a bit of time - have something to eat, fool around online. After that, she’d get all dolled up and hit the clubs or the bars. And, long story short, she’d get wasted.
She worked hard, after all. All week long she worked full-time, then spent hours with her online classes. From nine AM Monday until five PM Friday, she was all business.
And on the weekend, she partied enough to make up for it.
Sometimes she’d meet someone, sometimes she wouldn’t. It wasn’t really important, either way. Emma wasn’t looking for a relationship - she didn’t have the time or energy to juggle something like that. A casual hookup, though - that was always welcome.
There were never a shortage of guys interested, of course. Emma knew she was hot, and liked to show it off. Most of them couldn’t keep up with her, though, so she blew them off.
On this particular night, things were going well. The bar was packed, loud, and rowdy. The drinks were flowing freely. Emma was feeling good.
The guy she was talking to was tall, with a nice jawline and good-looking arms. Everything else was maybe just a bit blurry - she was a few drinks deep, after all. But despite the lack of specifics, he looked just fine to her.
Emma remembered him buying her another drink. She remembered the way he leaned in, towering over her a bit, and she remembered liking it. She remembered him making some lame joke, and remembered laughing at it. She remembered swatting his chest playfully, and enjoying how it felt through his shirt. She remembered-
Nothing else. Everything after that was blank.
She blinked herself awake, mouth dry, head throbbing, body twisted with various little aches. She reached up, brushed the hair out of her eyes - or at least, she tried to. Her hands were pinned behind her back. Emma shifted, confused, and only then did she wake up enough to pay attention to her surroundings.
She was on the floor, in some sort of small, dark space. A closet?
Her hands were behind her back. Bound. Same with her ankles.
She was wearing clothes that weren’t hers. Some sort of… corset? Stockings?
…exactly what the fuck was happening here?
Emma shifted her weight, trying to move. Her body was sore. That made sense - apparently she’d been tied up and dumped on a floor for the night, after all. There was a particularly sharp pain in the back of her neck.
She needed to get out of here. That much was clear. She took a deep breath, hoping there was somebody nearby to hear here, and screamed-
-’…help,’ Emma whispered. “Help me.”
Her voice just froze in her throat. Her neck twinged painfully, and her whole mind seemed to buzz. It wasn’t just like she’d lost her voice - it was like she forgot how to yell.
A cold ball of fear began forming in the pit of her stomach. “Help,” she whispered again, trying desperately to shout, to bellow, to shriek. “Please, help me.” She could barely hear her own words, what with her pounding heartbeat. She pulled her legs back, kicked hard at the closet door-
-and they fluttered against it, weakly. She tried to lift them again, but her muscles just seemed so weak. She wanted to wriggle into a stronger position, somewhere that she could kick out again, but her body wasn’t listening. She wanted to try and squirm her arms out of the restraints, but her arms were limp, unresponsive.
She couldn’t yell, couldn’t move. She was stuck here, helpless, at the mercy of god knows who or what. Something was very wrong with her. Emma felt herself tipping from fear into full-blown panic. Her breaths became short, ragged. She-
-felt herself relax, just a little. Then a little more. With every heartbeat, she felt her body calming, muscles becoming less tense, breathing slowing and becoming more regular. She was trapped in a closet, yes. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything. That was all true. But she felt remarkably… relaxed about the whole thing.
She wondered how she got here. That guy, last night - did he slip something in her drink? Knock her out, bring her here? Jesus. That was possible, wasn’t it? He was so-
-tall, and good-looking. Emma’s head felt so strange. It was like there was a low, humming drone clouding her thoughts. She couldn’t focus. She couldn’t seem to get upset or worried about it, but she know there was something wrong with her. She was-
-confused. What was she just thinking? Where was she?
Her mind felt… strange. Vacant.
The idea boomed in the empty spaces of her mind, echoing like a gunshot in an empty ballroom. It bounced and reverberated and ricocheted, shivering its way into all the crevices and cracks of her mind.
Emma gasped. She shivered, squirmed. The sudden heat in her pussy bloomed, knocking her off balance. She clenched her thighs together and whimpered. Oh, god - suddenly, she was just so-
-yes. Yes, fuck yes - she was needy. She had never felt like this before. She didn’t just want to be fucked - she had to be fucked. It was like thirst, or hunger - undeniable, deeply physical, an utter requirement.
The words were booming in her brain more quickly now, more forcefully. Emma didn’t know what she was a slave to, what that meant, but she knew it was true. The strength and electricity of the words left no room for doubt or uncertainty. “Slave,” she whispered, tasting the word on her lips. It made her clit throb.
Emma whimpered, squirming again, when suddenly, the closet doors slid open.
There he was. The guy. The one from last night. He was standing over her, gazing down at her. Emma blinked, eyes adjusting to the sudden light, looking up at him-
-and felt a wave of awe. He was so… incredible. Powerful. Commanding. Sexy. She-
-gasped, gazing up. He leaned down, pushing her hair out of the way, looking at the back of her neck. She was-
-trembling with the sensation of him touching her. Her mouth was open. She was dripping. Her mind was a soft, buzzing blank spot in the center of her head.
“Looks like the injection site healed up nicely,” he was saying. “It’ll be sore for a few days, but shouldn’t be too bad.”
He looked down at her, seeing the need and worship in her eyes, and grinned.
“And it looks like the control chip is working pretty well, hm?”
Emma could only whimper nonsense syllables, lips parted, cunt soaked. She felt like-
-she was falling down an endless pit, and there was nothing at the bottom but Him. Everything else in the world but Him was dull and fuzzy and unimportant. He grinned again, leaned down, lifted her up into a better position. He undid his jeans, letting his cock hang free, and Emma gurgled wordless need.
He pushed it into her mouth, and she felt herself spilling over with excitement and arousal and-
(Thanks to the inimitable lizzidoll for offering up this beautiful picture. I know I didn’t do it justice, but I hope it was enjoyable nonetheless.)