#a thousand times worse than looking in the mirror. your skin crawls the more you notice the differences but the worse than those

[dirt-str1der]

Kiryu would literally hate meeting any alternate version of himself like he spends all his time pretending like his body doesnt exist in the third dimension , if he sees a doppelganger he would be like oh ha ha another copycat and then when he realises no. Thats literally another instance of himself he would get so scared and when he gets scared he gets pissed off and he would be unable to stand this other him

[thegnomelord]

If you're up to it, I would like to request FtM reader x dragon Price, reader can be dom or sub I just need more FtM things in life besides myself😞😞 -🐆

Sure, I wasn't in the mood for porn so have some fluff. fair warning I'm not all that confident writing FTM reader so ya'll tell me if this sucks lol

CW: SFW, gender dysphoria, fluff, non sexual nudity, cuddling, scar kissing

Most day are good for you. Most days you're able to get out of bed and go about your day to day duties with confidence.

Not today.

You wake before your alarm with an unpleasant feeling in your gut, tossing and turning for an hour in hopes of falling asleep but it's useless. The morning chill only amplifies the horrid sensation — your skin doesn't feel like your own, your body doesn't feel your own. It's like roaches are crawling beneath your skin, thousands of toothpicks stabbing your nerves every time the cotton of your boxers brushes against your flawed flesh. Old words of people you once considered friends ring in your head like church bells: You're not a real man, you'll never be.

All you are, is a badly made replica in the approximation of what you want to be.

Your bones feel like they're lined with lead, every cell in your body begging you to stay under the covers in the darkness of your room for however long it takes for this feeling to go away. But the sharp ringing of the alarm forces you to rise against your wishes. You don't look at yourself when you shower, but the small glimpse of skin you catch in the mirror makes bile burn the back of your throat. Usually you're proud of your torso and the muscles you've built, but all you can think now as you put on the tight fitting army shirt is how wrong it looks on you. You try to pull on the front a couple of times in an attempt to make it baggier around your chest, before just putting on a jacket regardless that it's the middle of summer.

Recruit duty makes a bad day even worse, adding a headache alongside the discomfort and anxiety that straddle your brain. You hate how snappy and agitated you are with them, running them through grueling drills until they regret being born and have probably called you every name under the sun in their heads. The all collapse when you're finally finished with them, stepping away from them. The day's heat made you sweat like a pig, another round of bile burning the back of your throat at how your clothes stick to you.

You flinch back when a hand grabs your shoulder, quickly whirling around to look who it is with a sharp retort burning on your tongue, only to fizzle out when you're met with Price's face.

Your name sounds so right when he says it, the scent of tobacco curling in your nose as he steps closer to you, wing stretching out to subtly hang over you. "What's going on lad?" Price asks, his voice low, like taking a sip of cool water.

The question makes you hesitate, unable to meet his gaze so you fixate on counting the little chips in the concrete floor. "Just one of those days." You grunt, your voice hoarse and scratchy from belting orders all day.

Price hums in thought and then you feel his wing bump against your back, "Follow me soldier." The deep timber of his voice silences some of the dark thoughts crooning in your ears, and you're helpless to do anything but follow after him like a lost lamb. He leads you back to his room (that you haunt most nights), the place blessedly cool and dark compared to the heat outside.

The second the door closes and locks he pulls you in close, wrapping his steady arms around you and pushing your face into the pillowy bosom of his pecs. You struggle for a moment out of pure instinct, but a single call of your name makes you stop like a puppet on cut strings. He repeats your name like a caress, rolling every syllable on his tongue as his chest rumbles with a deep purr.

You melt into him, nuzzling your nose into the deep valley of his pecs and breathing in his smell. He's more intoxicating than any drug you know; beneath the scents of tobacco, dark coffee, and manly musk there's always something that your mind associates with freshly cut grass and rain on dry gravel — Comfort.

"You're so smart and clever." He croons, resting his chin on top of yours, one hand tracing the curve of your back. "But by god are you a dumb muppet." There's no edge to his words, you don't even think of fighting his admonishments. "How many times have I told you to come to me if you feel like this?"

Too many times, to be honest. You're stubborn if nothing else, you always think you can handle this on your own, you don't want to burden him whenever your mind decides to be a dick to you. "I'm sorry." You mumble into his shirt, your hands slowly wrapping around his thick waist. It always does your head in how your fingers can't quite meet in the middle of his back with how broad he is, muscle and fat shifting beneath your hands.

"Sure you are." He tuts, evidently not believing you for a second. But he doesn't pull away, tail loosely wrapping around your leg and his scent and heat enveloping you, his chest vibrating against your face. "Going to let me take care of my boy, aren't you?" The way he phrases it makes it sound like a statement, and you're unable to resist it.

Your mouth goes dry, your body stuck between wanting more and abhorring any more physical contact. But you nod your head, grumbling something probably nonsensical. And any other day you'd laugh your ass off about the fact you're practically motorboating him, but not today. Today you barely have any energy left to think.

"That's my boy." He purrs, clawed fingers gently scratching your scalp. "Shower?" He asks.

You pause, trying to string together a tangible thought. You doubt you could handle that, not with how dark and heavy your head feels. "No." You croak and nuzzle further into his chest in an attempt to hide.

"S'alright, I'm proud of you." He hums, still holding you close as he shuffles across the room with you blindly following him. "Let's get you out of those sweaty clothes, yeah?" Getting a single nod from you, he starts to slowly take off your clothes, pulling back just enough to distract you with sweet kisses. You try to help in taking his clothes off, but you feel about as useful as a small child helping his parents cook, getting a few chuckles from him.

You wind up gently pushed down on your back, spread across his bed that smells just like him and naked as the day you were born. Before the discomfort can make you shy away and try to cover yourself, he's settling down next to you, claws scraping against your jaw as he pulls you into a slow kiss. You swear you can always taste a bit of eternity every time he kisses you, so unhurried like you'll last as long as him.

"Look at you." He hums as you part, his hands sliding down your shoulders and arms to your hips. "My handsome boy." He tilts his head to kiss all over your face, trailing his lips from your brows to your eyelids, cheeks, nose, chin to wherever else he can reach. His beard is soft against your skin, evidently he'd used that beard care product you'd given him. "So strong and capable. My strong knight."

That gets the first vestige of a chuckle out of you. "Does that mean I get to lay the dragon?" You ask, your lips tugging into a small smirk. You've made that joke god knows how many times, but despite his gripes, Price loves it.

"Cheeky wanker." He huffs, his cool clawed fingers trailing along the curve of your muscles up your torso. "Later, if you're good."

A low sound escapes you when his thumbs brush the even scars beneath your pecs. "Good?" He asks, waiting for you to nod before tilting his head down, horns gently poking your skin for a second before he starts kissing along your scars. His touch is gentle like you're a precious treasure in his hoard, his lips velvet soft against the rough scar tissue. Every brush of his lips makes your skin tingle like a live wire, fire simmering in the place he kisses as he trails from one side to the other, laying equal attention on every inch of your scars.

It's pleasant. Beyond pleasant. It leaves your chest feeling so warm and full like your heart will burst through your ribcage.

You feel like a melted puddle of goo by the time he pulls away to kiss you on the lips again. You don't struggle as he lays down on his side and pulls you to him. A pleased sigh escapes you as you feel his wing drape over you like a blanket, tail curling around one of your legs and arms wrapping around your waist; like he's making sure you can't escape (not that you'd want to.)

Dragons are strange, the scales cool against your skin but his core is hot like a furnace, the duality of it calming your mind. "How are you feeling lad?" He asks, the low timber of his voice vibrating his chest.

You hum and nuzzle into his pecs, the ample chest hair tickling your face. "Better." You grunt, blindly kissing what inch of flesh you can reach. You can't keep your hands from wandering, petting the dark hair of his happy trail as your other hand traces the scales on his side. "Could feel better with a bit more attention though."

A snort leaves him, his breath ghosting over your ear. "You're insatiable." His words would be a lot more insulting if his chest didn't vibrate with a continuous purr, his tail tightening for a second before relaxing.

"You're to blame." You feel better as the words leave you, your chest light as a feather as you get to share a small laugh with him.

"Get some rest, my boy," You hum, your eyelids already starting to feel heavy as you feel him nuzzle his cheek into your hair. You don't doubt the whole base will be able to smell him on you tomorrow. "We'll see about laying dragons later."

"I love you." You murmur into his flesh, his pecs becoming the world's best pillow as you nuzzle closer. You stay awake just long enough to hear him murmur his love for you in your ear.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 6

Summary: Reeling from a confrontation with Rhys, you find yourself at the whim of one of Amarantha's power plays.

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood and gore.

Author's Note: It gets worse so it can get better, I am so sorry for the amount of angst I just put out into the world, there will be better things coming I swear.

Pt 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

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There is nothing but darkness; empty, cold, all consuming darkness. It holds you, carries you through the void as if it has a mind of it’s own. You have no desire to fight it, no will to struggle. It can move you wherever it sees fit; do whatever it desires. If it desires to consume you until you become nothing but the unceasing void, then you will allow it.

You float for hours, days, weeks, you’re unsure, time does not exist here. There are no stars, no light, no varying shades to catch your attention in the emptiness. It’s a shame you’re conscious enough to feel it, because it might have let you sleep more soundly than you ever have.

The darkness flows like a river, carrying you farther and farther away until it finally sets you down, the cold, stone floor beneath you biting through your clothes. As the mist begins to fade, shapes begin to come into view: It’s an alter, lit by thousands upon thousands of candles, their wax melting down the stone steps beneath the alter. Strange symbols have been carved into the sides, a language long forgotten, even in the history books. You manage to raise yourself onto your knees to get a better look at them, dusting your fingers over the markings. Your fingertips are claws again, your hands wreathed in darkness, like shadows, scales crawling their way up your wrists.

It’s wrong.

So wrong.

You’re not a monster! Your hands shouldn’t look like this!

“No! No!”

The symbols on the alter start to glow, spinning, the ancient stone groaning and moving as something from somewhere in the darkness starts to chant.

The scales continue to crawl up your wrists, your arms, spikes forming from your elbows. You try to scream but the sound that comes out of you is the thing of nightmares.

“Stop!” But no pleading will change what you’re becoming…

You jerk awake, screaming.

After your last interaction with Rhys you’d crawled under the covers to have a good cry and must have fallen asleep. You peel of the sheets, tangled around your limbs, and realize with horror that there are claw marks in the mattress, the stuffing scattered around your body. You jump out of it, stumbling, nearly throwing yourself onto the floor, trying to get away.

What have you done?

There are no claws at your fingertips now, no scales crawling across your body, it’s nothing but your own skin and the bandages Rhys had put there earlier. It’s normal. You’re normal. Right?

You stumble your way into the bathroom to wash your face. There is no monster starring back at you in the mirror, but you stare and stare anyway, the water turning cold as it drips off your skin into the sink. “You’ll destroy us all.” Rhys had said, the words an echo in your skull.

You can’t help yourself as you make a fist and slam it into the mirror, shattering it. The impact burns, but it can’t ease the ache in your chest, the yawning chasm you’ve been tumbling into for hours. There is no end to the fall, just nothingness for miles and miles, pulling you down into the deep, dark abyss. You have no way of knowing what’s at the bottom, if the dream is a warning of what sleeps there. You’re about to hit it again when the lock on your door slides out of place.

“What do you fucking want now?” You snarl, fully prepared to find the nearest object in reach and hurl it at Rhys’s stupid head.

But it’s not the violet eyed male you’re so used to seeing at the door this time; not the Attor either, but two shadow figures, made of mist and darkness, their features soft and feminine. Wraiths. They gently shut the door behind them.

“We’re here to get you ready for dinner,” one says in a soft voice.

The other is holding a long swatch of fabric. “The High Lord said you might need some help.”

You grit your teeth, “You’re welcome to tell Rhysand to fucking shove it up his ass.”

One of them giggles as she floats over to you, “I like you.”

The other sets the fabric, no it’s a dress, you can see that now, the fabric such a deep purple it’s almost black, on the ruined bed. She has no mouth to frown, but the way the shadows of what should be her head move makes you think she’s troubled by what she sees. “Amarantha will not be pleased if you show up wearing that to dinner.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You’d forgotten about the dinner.

“It’s an excuse to get dressed up!” Says the first, her shadowy hands reaching for the hem of your shirt. “It’ll look so pretty on you!”

The fact that Rhys had sent them is enough to put you on edge. He is either still so pissed at you that he can’t bare the thought of being in the same room as you, or Amarantha is still so pissed at you that he’s still trying to find a way to calm her down. Either way made you want to bury yourself back under the covers and never come out again.

“How’d I get into this mess?” You grumble.

The first wraith pulls your shirt over your head for you as the second says, “We must be quick. It’s best to not keep her waiting.” That’s all the warning you get before they start dressing you. They’re a bundle of activity as they move you out of your training clothes and into the dress. You can’t help but note that this fits you too, just like the others. It’s velvet, warm against the chill, with a tight bodice that accentuates your figure and then loosens around your hips and falls to your ankles. It glitters when you move in the light as if there are little stars woven into the seems.

It’s beautiful. Something from the Night Court. You want to tear it to shreds.

One of the wraiths brushes and sweeps your hair into a braid that wraps around your head, leaving a few curls loose to frame your face. The other cleans and adds a gloss to your nails. As soon as that’s done they’re swiftly applying powder to your face, coal to your eyes, and a brief swash of dark lipstick across your mouth.

“I’d show you your reflection in the mirror, but…” one of them says.

You eye the shattered glass with a wince. “Sorry.”

The other fixes a stray hair. “You look beautiful all the same.”

You find yourself blushing despite yourself. “Thank you, for all your help.”

One of them giggles and then they disappear as quickly as they’d come, back to wherever the High Lord of the Night Court keeps his, what were they, subjects? Maids? You hadn’t considered that he’d have the people of his court here, especially not after what he’d said earlier about protecting them.

When the door opens again, it’s one of Amarantha’s guards waiting for you. That can’t be a good sign either.

You draw a deep breath as you follow him out. At least it’s not the Attor.

He doesn’t lead you back to the throne room but down a several sets of stairs, past rooms where you hear screaming coming from behind closed doors, into what feels like it might be the very base of the mountain. The floor is rocky here, the walls pock marked with little caves and crevices, some filled with little fires and more armed guards. Monsters you can’t name and things with dozens of eyes peer out at you through the cracks in the walls. Some hiss and snarl. Some scream at you to run away.

You’re heart’s in your throat, the train of your skirts clutched so tightly in your hands you think you might actually rip through it. What have you done?

The guard says nothing as he walks you through the halls. He only stops when you finally come to another humongous door, carved with old and fading symbols. Pillars hold up the roof above it, carved into the shapes of snarling wyverns. This is her dinning hall?

Two more guards stand at attention between the pillars, waiting for the signal from the first to open them. But as you’re ushered inside, there is no great hall waiting to meet you. It’s more of a cave, a single torch mounted to the wall, burnt almost down to the end. At the far end, a metal grate separates you from what looks like a tunnel, but it is too dark to tell.

“What is this?” You demand but the guard is already stepping back, the doors swinging shut behind him, and to your horror, being bolted shut from the outside.

“Hey!” You bang a fist on the door. “Let me out of here!”

But the doors remain locked, no sound coming from behind them.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. You will yourself to breath, to remain calm.

The grate at the far end of the wall slowly begins to slide upward, the ancient, rusted metal groaning and creaking from disuse. It makes the walls rattle as it opens, bit by bit. To your relief, no horrible monster comes climbing out from behind it, it merely opens until there is enough room for you to walk under it. There is in fact a tunnel, the path curving in strange directions like a living thing had been burrowing through the mountain. It smells like it too.

Rhysand had given you the wrong damn thing to wear, that was for sure.

You hike your skirts up with your hands and step into the tunnel, seeing no other option, but the sinking feeling in your stomach grows bigger with each step forward you take. It was a terrible, terrible mistake to challenge Amarantha this early.

The tunnel goes on for miles, twisting and looping the expanse of the mountain, often doubling back on itself like some sort of maze. You’re about half way through, the bottom of your skirts so caked in mud that’s your having a hard time holding them, that you hear a strange, scuffling sound come from behind you. When you turn to look there’s nothing there, but you can hear the echo of footsteps squelching through the muck.

“Hello?” You call, but nothing answers.

You move a little faster, trying to find a way out, your mind imagining a dozen different possibilities of what’s behind you. The chasm in your chest widens, beckons, the thing that prowls at the bottom of it stirring to life. It’s an effort to focus, to breathe, to try and keep it at bay while simultaneously trying to not trip over your skirts.

The tunnel veers so sharp and suddenly left that you slam into the wall.

The footsteps are getting louder behind you; you can hear the heavy rasp of breath too. It doesn’t sound fae, it’s heavy almost, like a creature’s might be.

You hike your skirts back up and run, fighting the mud and the building panic in your chest. Another left, then another, and there, at the far end, light pokes through. Light, so much brighter than any you’ve seen in weeks. You barrel towards it as fast as your legs can carry you, for as fast as you are, that thing behind you is faster. It’s running now too, the walls shaking behind it.

From somewhere beyond the light you hear Amarantha’s cruel voice call out, “Oh good, the entertainment is finally here.”

Shit shit shit!

Are you the entertainment?

Does it matter in the end?

You burst out of the tunnel, the light so blinding after weeks in the dark that you slip and loose your footing trying to shield your eyes. There’s a chorus of laughter above you, as if a large crowd is starring down at you. There’s too much light! It burns.

“Having fun yet, little mouse?” Amarantha coos.

And then something with claws latches onto your shoulder and hurls you across the space.

You don’t even have time to scream, have time to register anything beyond the flash of pain in your shoulder before a wall rises up to meet you. Everything spins as you slam into it and crumple into the mud. The cold seeps through you, plasters you dress to your body. You taste blood.

Something from within the blur of colors swimming across your eyes roars at you.

There’s a crowd somewhere above you cheering.

Trying to wipe the spots out of your eyes only smears mud across your face.

"Get up!" Rhys's voice echoes like a banging gong in your head.

"Stay out of my fucking head!" You slam the door to your mind in his face. Now he suddenly wants to be helpful? Bastard!

You stumble onto your knees, the mud sinking beneath your palms.

"Move!" Rhys has barreled right through the door in your mind like it's made of toothpicks, panic edging his voice. You don't have enough presence of mind to look up to wherever he might be in the crowd. Not when a jagged set of teeth latches onto the already gaping wound in your shoulder and drags you into the center of what you’re pretty sure is a pit. It’s breath is rancid, rotting meat clinging to it’s rows and rows of jagged teeth, clamping down on your shoulder as it shakes you like a rag doll.

You’re going to die here, shaken to death like a toy if you don’t do something. Amarantha certainly isn’t going to save you, not when you’d wounded her pride so thoroughly this morning.

The thing that lives beneath your skin calls again, you can almost imagine a hand reaching out of the chasm, dark and scaled like that thing in your dreams had been. It begs you to reach out and take it.

The pain in your shoulder is blinding, you’re sure you’ll loose that arm entirely if it doesn’t stop shaking you.

You reach out and grab the hand offered, you’re only lifeline, and the chasm does in fact split open. The darkness that lives there swells and fills you so thoroughly you wonder for a moment if you are dead. But then you’re blinking against the light and things start coming into focus, even as your body shifts and morphs. You have talons again, but they’re longer now, slicing through the chest of the beast like they have a mind of it’s own until it’s terrible jaws unclench and drop you. It whimpers as it eyes the dark mist leaking from your body and when you flick a wrist in it’s direction, scattering that darkness, it slams the beast into the wall.

It’s some sort of chimera, it’s great wings flared out behind it’s scaled body. It’s got more teeth and horns than the ones you’d seen depicted in books, like it’s been modified for whatever this great pit is.

The crowd is in fact situated above you, the pit and all it’s tunnels separated by a chain-link dome high above your head, there are tables and benches, and another throne for Amarantha, around the edge, all gaping at your display.

You manage to rise, legs shaking beneath you. The bodice of your gown is in tatters, clinging to your shoulder by no more than a thread, all your exposed skin covered in blood. You can barely raise your right arm, but your left, wreathed in dark tendrils of magic and clawed is clearly visible in the light.

The chimera growls as it stalks back over to you, crouched low, ready to pounce. You’ve sprouted fangs, you can feel them poking into your lip as you snarl back at it, now more animal than girl. Maybe Rhys is right, maybe you really are a monster capable of destroying everyone. You have enough time to finally mark the section of the viewing platform where all the High Lords sit, and you can feel that assessing gaze of his more than all the others. You spare him a glance because you can't help yourself, because for all the pain he's caused you, you want the final nail in your coffin to be the look of disgust on his face when he sees that he's right about you. But it's not disgust that you see at all, but genuine, unbridled fear.

"Don't stop," he urges. "Kill it now!" Not fear of you, but for you? This isn't the time to try and make sense of what games Rhys is playing. The back and forth games, the way he pushes you away but comes back on his own is something you'll have to deal with later, when there's not a monster snarling at your feet, ready to devour you.

You reach into that darkness inside of you, where all your confusion and anger goes, pushed like some sort of sacrifice to the monster that lives within. You grab it, will it back to the surface, and when the chimera lunges, you blast all that energy out of your fingertips. The wave of darkness that flows from you turns the creature into a bloody mist, no bones or claws or teeth left in it’s wake. The mist splatters across your skin; you can taste it on your tongue.

You might have had more time to freak out over it if a second beast didn’t come hurtling out another tunnel. There is no time to think, only to move, as you throw yourself out of the way of it’s claws and back into the mud.

"Good girl."

"Shut up, Rhysand!"

The crowd cheers on the new beast. This one is quicker than the first, catching itself and spinning back to you faster than you can blink. You don’t have time to reach for any of your power, only to raise a hand and your claws tear through the thing’s belly as it flies overhead of you. Blood and gore rain down on you as it crashes into the wall, whining.

It’s in your eyes, your nose, dripping down the back of your ruined dress. Good. No more Night Court clothes for you.

You haul yourself back up and slash at it’s exposed sides, it’s wings, any part of it you can reach with your claws. There is nothing to stop you, your claws slide through it like butter, spraying blood and no matter how your mind screams at you, you can’t stop. Your powers have taken over, it demands that you keep pushing. There isn’t much left of it by the time the third chimera makes it into the pit.

There’s no telling how many Amarantha has at her disposal. Judging by the booing and screaming of the crowd, maybe there isn’t that many.

You’re aware, as you finally leave the ruined corpse of the second, that something is happening to your eyes. They feel different. Things look sharper, clearer. They’ve shifted into something else, but you’re not quite sure what.

As the beast lunges for you, you lunge right back, a flurry of claws and fangs and dark power that makes mud and blood fly. The lights from the chandeliers far above your head sway and shutter, like you’re sucking the power from them, dimming the room. The darkness of the mountain is nothing compared to the void that lives inside you.

You black out for a moment, seeing nothing but darkness and hearing only the sound of your own wild roaring, and when you come to, you’re on your knees in the mud, panting, half laughing with delirium. And the chimera is in pieces before you.

The crowd overhead is on their feet screaming and cursing in disbelief.

You manage to drag your gaze over to where Amarantha sits on her throne, her mouth hanging open. Rhys is standing behind her, stone faced. At her feet, sits that male wearing the collar.

"Get up."

It's too much effort to fight him or push him out of your head, it's clear he's capable of getting in regardless. All those lessons he'd been toying with you, probably trying to lull you into a false sense of security so you weren't prepared for the next time he needed to get something out of you. It's exhausting trying to figure out his play.

Still, there's a small piece of you that knows he's right, that Amarantha is watching, waiting to see what you'll do. If you stay here kneeling, crying in the mud, she'll still take it as a victory, she still found a way to beat you. It takes all your effort to get yourself onto your feet again. Everything feels like it’s trying to push you down into the mud. You’ve never been this exhausted in your life. It’s by sheer force of will that you manage to stand and lock your knees so you don’t crumble back into the mud.

You’re sure you look absolutely disgusting. No one is going to point you out as the daughter of the King of Hybern. There is no princess here in the pit, only this clawed thing.

So, from one monster to another, you look Amarantha in the eyes, and raise your middle finger.

Flame and ice and wind explodes from her so fast that the crowd around her has to jump out of the way to avoid being hit.

There’s another grate in the side of the pit, hidden by rocks and debris but you hear it open all the same. Two guards emerge this time to drag you out. No more beasts for you to fight.

You manage to walk yourself under the grate, but once it starts to close behind you, blocking you from the crowd's sight, you collapse against the wall. As you catch your breath, your claws slowly retract. The dark mist that wreathes your body begins to slow and settle. Your eyes readjust to the dark, to whatever they were before this all started. It feels like the chasm you split open shrinks back inside of you--a volcanic eruption suddenly bubbling back down into the mountain. It leaves you slowly, settling back beneath the surface as if it hadn’t just caused such utter chaos. Your hand shakes as you run it over your eyes, trying to clear away everything clinging to your face. What did you just do?

One of the guards grabs your arm and hauls you off the wall.

Your whole body aches, but the pain in your shoulder, your right arm useless and limp at your side is excruciating. Even the movements from the way they drag you makes it feel like your whole arm might just pop off.

You can’t focus on where they’re leading you, all your energy into staying upright. You hear doors open and see the lights shift and change as you’re lead through other rooms but none of it makes any sense to you.

“I’d like to go back to my room now,” you say, your voice raw. Were you screaming that much?

They ignore you as they continue to lead you in what feels like circles. It’s only when you see a shock of red hair beneath a glittering crown made of bones and rubies that you realize they’ve led you up to where the crowd had been watching your little display. Most of which is clear now. There are jagged icicles sprouting out of one wall, a body impaled on it, another crushed beneath it. The chain-link separating the room from the pit is partially melted, the remains of it swinging back and forth on the wind. Tables and chairs have been strewn about, some broken. There’s a few people moaning and bleeding on the floor, everyone else that could had scattered.

Amarantha remains shaking with rage in the center of the room, ice sprouting from her left hand, crackling and crawling all the way up her elbow, even as her other hand is wreathed in flames. Her eyes are so dark they’re almost wholly black.

The sight of her shakes some alertness back into your body, so at the very least you’re not about to collapse onto the floor.

Most of the High Lords are gone, save for a masked blonde who you can only assume is Tamlin. He’s wearing a collar too, the chain hooked into the floor beside her throne.

And Rhysand, half his shirt torched, is dabbing a damp cloth into a deep blister across his tattooed chest.

This damage is your fault, you realize with a sinking feeling in your gut. If you hadn’t challenged her, pushed her too far, none of this would have happened. Those people under the ice would still be alive and Rhys wouldn’t be hurt. You’re pissed at him but you don’t want to see him hurt. You don’t want to see anyone hurt. You had just been so on edge earlier, so focused on doing something to make Amarantha pay you hadn’t stopped to think about who she’d hurt in the aftermath.

“I’m sure you’re very pleased with yourself,” Amarantha snarls.

You can still taste the blood of those beasts in your mouth. “Thrilled actually,” you say because you can’t stop yourself. You can’t keep all these things at bay, it’s like they just slip out of you and no matter how much your mind reels and balks at it, it comes out anyway.

She moves so fast you barely have time to blink before she’s slapping the hand covered in ice across your face. “You stupid, little bitch!”

It burns as if it was the fire, but even if you wanted to hit her back, you can’t. You don’t have anything left in your body other than to hiss at the contact and try to retain your balance. The last thing you want is to end up on the floor at her feet.

Maybe it doesn’t matter in the end, because, despite all he’d said earlier, and despite the massive blister, Rhys manages to weasel himself in between the two of you. He’d been right about you and he still jumped between you.

“It’s not her fault,” he says.

The room shutters so hard one of the chandeliers falls from the ceiling and crashes to the floor.

“Get out of my way, Rhysand!” She screams.

“It’s my fault.”

The world stops turning for a second. He can’t be serious.

“I pushed her too hard training earlier.”

The lie makes your stomach twist, you sway on your feet trying to reach out and push him out of the way, to tell her that’s not true. But your body won’t move the way you need it to. Everything is sluggish and slow, all your energy reserves tapped. You’d overdone it.

“So you knew she could do that?” Amarantha says and her voice is so deadly quiet that you use the last little bit of your strength to grab Rhys’s wrist and try to pull him out of the line of fire.

“I suspected.”

“And yet you said nothing?”

There is no hesitation in his voice as he says, “No, I didn’t think it was necessary until we knew for sure.”

He needs to move. Maybe there is still some small chance that she can’t kill you, that she would have pulled you out of the pit at the last possible second just to save face with Hybern, but you’re not entirely sure Rhys has that same protection. New High Lords can be made. You tug on his wrist again, but he pays it no mind.

You’re only other option is to hope he can hear you as your stand at the edge of the hallway in your mind, the yawning, dark precipice beyond swirling in various shades of blue and black. “Rhys stop!” You scream. “She’ll kill you!” Damn him. As cruel as he is, as much as you want to hate him, you can’t stand here and let him do this for you. You challenged her and you had beaten her, whatever consequences came with that are yours.

If he hears you, he doesn’t acknowledge it either.

“We’re going to have a very long conversation about where your loyalties lie, Rhysand,” Amarantha snarls as she gestures towards the guards still hovering around behind you.

You’re so dizzy from he blood loss, crimson dripping off your fingers, pooling at your feet, that you’d forgotten they were there. When they move to grab him, he doesn’t fight it.

You can’t breathe again, reaching desperately for any bit of power you can reach inside yourself. He’s an asshole but you can’t let this happen, you can’t let her hurt him. But the chasm that was so readily open to you before is closed, nothing there for you to reach like you’d used every bit you had available.

This couldn’t be happening! Not now.

“It’s not his fault!” You say, but they’re already clamping irons down on his wrists, as if he’d been putting up any fight at all. “This is between you and me.”

She finally flicks her gaze off him to look at you, the corners of her mouth turning up in a grin. “Don’t worry, little mouse, you and I will be working very closely from now on to make sure something like this doesn’t happen again.”

Mother save you!

“Don’t do-”

“Stay quiet.” Rhys hisses before the door that leads to him slams shuts and locks from the inside. He'd heard you, and then he’d locked you out.

You look back and forth between them. Spots are starting to form in the corners of your eyes and there’s pressure in the base of your skull. You can’t tell if it’s from the pain radiating in your shoulder or a headache from expelling so much power at one time. Either way, it’s like a countdown has started. You only have so much left to give before you collapse.

“Get them both out of here before I change my mind about being merciful,” Amarantha hisses.

One guard grabs your busted arm and you can’t help but scream as he gives it a yank.

Rhys lunges at him, snarling something you can't make out, but the other guard grabs him by the hair and yanks him backward.

You’re going to throw up or pass out, the pain making the room spin.

“As if I don’t have enough to deal with with my mate tonight,” she hisses and you barely have enough presence of mind to hear the growl the word drags from Tamlin. Mate. Amarantha is the High Lord of Spring’s mate. “You’re lucky it was you that brought him in today, Rhysand, or things might have gone quite differently.”

The room tilts and blurs and the floor is suddenly rising up to meet you. It’s too much!

The guard yanks you up by the back of your dress, or what’s left of it, the torn fabric tearing further beneath his gloved hands, and back onto your feet. You’re pretty sure you’re crying as he drags you to the door, but there’s so much caked to your face your not entirely sure if it’s tears, blood, or mud sliding down your cheeks.

“Rhys,” you whimper because there is no one else to beg for help, your powers as illusive as ever and damn Amarantha and her stupid court, but your terrified of what will happen to you and him if you pass out right here.

A familiar brush against your mind is the only answer you get as you're dragged back down the stairs. Those stairs, the guard’s boots, it’s the last thing you remember before it all becomes too much and you black out.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Tag List: @mariahoedt, @lovelydove, @twsssmlmaa, @sleepylunarwolf, @judig92, @willowpains, @daughterofthemoons-stuff, @annaaaaaa88, @myheartfollower, @uniquecolorwizard, @eternallyelvish, @waytoomanyteenagefeels

[oftenderweapons]

Steamy Waters — Taehyung

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Lace)

Wordcount: 7.6k ( mostly edited✌️)

Genre: smut, pwp, fluff, slightest angst, established relationship, idol!AU

Rating: 18+ (As usual, I know)

Hello baby bears! Welcome to Taehyung’s Steamy Waters. I must admit this episode is going to be a lot steamier than planned, but I cannot lament. Recently we celebrated Taehyung’s birthday, so I thought I could add a little extra as a late celebration.

There’s not much plot, honestly. Tae and Lace are bathing together in true Kim Taehyung fashion when the intrusive presence of mirrors on every bathroom wall makes it hard not to stare at each other. And when wandering hands — and wandering feet... and wandering mouths — start wandering too much the temperature in the room becomes too hot to handle. Chaos ensues. Especially when Taehyung is... at her service.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: swearing. Wine drinking. Humping, bathtub sex, unprotected sex within an established relationship (don’t make me tell again that you and your partner(s) should be clean before going condomless); massage, slight footjob; oral fixation (not only in terms of oral sex, both male and female receiving btw) but also foot worship, breast worship, body shot, face riding (male receiving), cum eating; spanking, one (1) pussy spank; masturbation (female receiving), also anal fingering (external stimulation only); maid!Taehyung, switch!Taehyung, hard dom!Taehyung, big dick!Taehyung, soft domme!reader, very sub!reader; hair pulling/grabbing; choking kink, degradation kink, overstimulation, squirting, sensory blackout. Taehyung uses a safeword (yellow); did I mention that MIRRORS ARE BACK BUT THIS TIME IT’S WORSE? And if you didn’t guess VOYEURISM 24 out of 10. Also, the softest aftercare and mentions of sleeping pills to help reader relax after... ahem... all of those. Things. In the trigger warnings.

In case you need my masterlist, here it is :)

Enjoy! 💜✨

A jazz piece was playing on the modern gramophone in a corner of the bathroom, somewhere far from the tub, where you and Taehyung would most likely make a splash and quite surely ruin the device.

Taehyung was laying at the opposite side of the tub, head thrown back as your foot rubbed his thigh.

You were pretty chill yourself, arms pressed against the edge of the tub, keeping you from relaxing too much and going under.

“Baths are magic.” You murmured, your toes meeting his hip before sliding back down again.

He hummed in confirmation. “The only problem is with washing one’s hair. It’s so uncomfortable.” He caught your foot underwater, his thumbs digging in the few knots you felt there. If the bath was magic, his hands were miraculous.

You felt your whole body melt and slide half an inch lower, your self restraint too weak to stop you from moaning.

Taehyung smiled fondly and sensuously. “You like it there?” He asked, his fingers moving to the heel, pressing against all those spots he knew from his acupressure appointments.

Your whole leg went insensitive in a very pleasing way. “Yes, you like it, dove.” He said, grinning and moving to your calf, specifically to the spot where the muscle met the bone near your ankle.

“Don’t want your ankles to swell.” He said, pushing your foot into slow, articulate circles.

Your soul definitively abandoned your body.

“We’ll put ice packs on these bad girls as soon as you’re out of the tub.” He said.

“It’s not that bad.” You said, just as he drew two parallel lines with his thumbs digging into your muscle reaching the back of your knee.

You had to grip the rim of tub to keep yourself from end up with your head underwater.

“It is that bad.” He said, rubbing small circles and making sure that all the exertion was magically sucked out of you. “No need to lie to me.” He said, looking at you with his dark eyes, his hair all curled up due to the steam coming from the water and filling the air. His own foot ran down your inner thigh, the sole of his foot ghosting over your pelvis.

There were too many reflective surfaces all over the bathroom.

Angles of him appeared everywhere. Specifically when he lifted your leg and placed a kiss to the upper arch of your foot.

“Shall I move to the other leg?” He asked, lowering your calf back in the water.

You nodded, trying to scoot your hips forward, against his heel.

“Feeling needy?” He asked, as his fingers repeated the procedure he had performed before on your other leg.

“So much.” You replied, using your freshly rejuvenated foot to tease his erection. His massage had activated nerve endings that had probably never really been there before he touched you.

“Let’s finish this leg then,” he said, as he kept pushing your ankle in wide circles.

“Tae,” you called, just as he moaned, your toes tickling his belly while the ball of your foot, way fleshier, teased his head.

“I never thought I could like this.” He said with a small surprised smile before he threw his head back, the cords of his neck tensing, the veins throbbing so clearly under the complicated game of shadows originated by the soft lights in the bathroom.

You loved his bathroom. It was soothing, with all the dark hues and the orangey lights.

His hands stopped for a second. “You’re distracting me.” He said.

“I wanted to treat you nice. For your birthday.” You replied. “I still can’t believe we went vanilla on your birthday night.” You said, still teasing him, hoping you could have him speaking in that soft, deep, dreamy voice he has whenever you’re getting him in the mood.

“It was good vanilla though.” He commented, his hips jerking forward with a small grunt before he felt his spine turn into putty.

“Very good vanilla.” You said, removing his leg from between yours, deciding to be generous and focus on him.

“Still, I owe you birthday sex.” You said, noticing his slow chuckle as you made him part his legs wide.

“Come here.” He said, removing the drain stopper with his fingers and bringing his hand between his legs as you bent your legs underneath your torso and crawled to him, straddling him and grinding your pelvis against his. “This is way better.” He purred, one of his hands keeping him upright while the other one landed on your ass. “You’re so soft.” He said, pushing his crotch up and against you. “I could just...” Once the water was low enough that his cock emerged freely from the surface, he put the drain stopper back in place, taking in your lustful expression as you ground on him.

“I think you’re the one who wants birthday sex.” Taehyung said, grabbing your hips and squishing the skin there.

His touch was always something that set you on fire. Ever since the first time, since your very first touch, he had completely possessed your entire being. Whenever his body connected with yours it felt like your skin and his were ready to part and like the raw extremities of a wound, and heal together, his blood vessels becoming yours, or maybe yours becoming his, until there was no distinction anymore. It was the exact opposite of that kind of surgery performed to separate conjoined twins.

And no surgery, no cutting was necessary. It was just. Preternatural. And so, so natural at the same time.

“Do you need me to stretch you?” He asked, his thumb massaging your clit.

One more bridge between you and him.

“I can take you. I’m so turned on.” You said, bending to kiss his neck and drink the small droplets of water glistening there.

“Was it the massage?” He asked, rolling his head back, offering you even more skin to kiss.

“I don’t know,” you said, licking him. Meanwhile you started noticing it wasn’t water, but rather your own slick making you slide on him.

Water was too unreliable, it would leave you dry and make the whole experience traumatic; especially, considering his size, both in length and girth.

“We can act like it’s your birthday.” He said, kissing a soft spot under your jaw. “Have an early birthday for my Nymphette.” He said, this time nibbling against the sweet spot on your neck.

You chuckled and brought your hands down his chest, scratching his stomach gently and playfully pinching the soft flesh of his belly. You loved him being so lithe and at the same time a bit fluffy in such an adorable spot. It made you think of childhood games, like blowing raspberries of his sensitive tummy. It always makes him so happy that his eyes spark up with pure, innocent joy, his mop of hair immediately coming for your neck and bosom, where he nuzzles in to tickle you before rubbing his face against your breasts like a cuddle some cat.

Once your face parted from his neck and chest, he cupped your face, holding you still. “I love you.” He said, staring in your eyes. And it felt so simple: no big statements, no poetic words, no useless rethorics. “I love you.” He repeated.

You mirrored his hold on you, placing both hands on his cheeks and rubbing your thumb against his divine features. “I love you.”

It holds more meaning than you could ever explain. The obliterating need in both your eyes and his, the urgency and the fondness. You felt like a pot boiling and overflowing with ten thousand ingredients that were a specific mix of his taste and your taste and his smell and yours and all the tastes and smells you’ve experienced together.

The candle burning in his room the first time you made love. His aftershave. Strawberries. Your shampoo, which became his shortly after you moved in. Champagne and that bubbly feeling of having butterflies in your stomach. French macaroons. The first breakfast in bed. The tteokbokki you had eaten with his parents the day he introduced you to them. The light, talk scent of Yeontan’s fur after the first time you bathed him together.

Now you were horny and emotional.

Taehyung seemed to notice. “Are you feeling okay, honey?” He asked, dragging his thumb against your lower lip.

“I just realised how important you are to me.” You said, bending to his face and kissing him.

“Just now?” He asked, slightly surprised as he raised an eyebrow.

“No,” you replied, closing your eyes and touching your face with his, feeling the slight stubble of his cheek against yours, brushing your noses together, focusing on the intense sensation of his face against such a personal, private part of your own body. “Sometimes I just… get lost in the feeling. It feels like being overwhelmed by all the things we share, all that we have together. How many things remind me of you.” You murmured against the tender spot behind his ear.

“I know.” He said. His hands moved to your waist, fingers sinking in the flesh as he invited you to sit up.

You followed his direction. Once he could look at you, all of you, he took his length in his hand. “Inside?” He asked, checking in on you.

You nodded. “Please. Inside.”

He closed his eyes and smiled, pulling you close to his chest once more with one arm wrapped around your waist.

With the hand on his cock, he rubbed his tip up and down your slit, making you moan a couple times, whimpering when you felt his soft tip breach your walls.

“Tae...” You whined, his lips meeting yours and trying to suffocate your lament.

“Hush, Lace,” he said, touching your spine. “Is it wet enough?” He said, pressing his mouth to your temple. “Take your time, love.”

You inhaled and lifted your hips up before sliding down again, one inch at a time, your muscles constricting around him so hard that you had to stop.

“Too tight,” he said, trying to lift you up slightly. “I don’t wanna hurt you.” He said as he kept kissing your face. “Let me stretch you first, love.”

“No.” You whined, your hands stopping his as he tried to slide out of you. “I want it like this. I can take it, just… Easy.” You said, begging. “Please.”

“If it hurts, we stop. Immediately.” He replied, still unsure.

You nodded eagerly and let your hips lower some more. “Kiss me?”

His eyes turned into warm, happy crescents as he obliged, moving his lips against yours. His hips inadvertently jerked upwards, forcing one more inch into you, making you gasp and offering him the perfect chance to let his tongue slide into your mouth.

The kiss was the sweetest poison, with playful flicks and demanding swipes, the tip of his tongue licking the underside of your own as yours arched up toward his palate. In the erotic frenzy of it all, you completely lost control of your legs and before you could notice, he was completely sheathed inside you as he kept sucking on your wet appendage, bobbing his head slightly as your tongue, fully stretched out, methodically appeared and disappeared past his lips. It felt right, your tongue penetrating his mouth as his sex penetrated yours. It felt balanced.

It didn’t take long before your hips started moving, riding him, making him moan and lose the suction he had on your appendage.

Parting from him was a mess of spit, both your eyes and his opening and staring at the silvery string connecting your lips to his. “You’re so hot.” You murmured as his hands landed on your hips, helping you, just as your brought your own palms to your chest, pressing your breasts together, massaging them as they rolled with the way you were simply moving back and forth, not really focusing on bouncing but rather sliding.

Taehyung was immediately captured by the sight of your breasts caught in your palms, his hands staying on your hips to help you while his mouth landed on your left nipple. You quickened your pace as his thumb met your clit, making you whine. “How close?” You asked, brow furrowing as he tugged at your nipple while suctioning it inside his mouth. You moved even faster in reply, gyrating your hips too as he grew more and more eager on your skin, until his teeth had created an indentation on your areola and your nipple was too sensitive to stay inside his mouth, subjected to the ruthless whipping and flicking of his tongue.

“Oh my god, Tae, please, I’m—” You couldn’t put a finger on what was making you so desperately horny, maybe it was simply because you were just out of your period and you had been starving for him for almost a week, but unexpectedly you felt yourself near your edge.

“Lace for fuck’s sake, we’ve just started.” He grunted as he recognised your kegels pulsating around him faster and tighter. “Already?”

You nodded.

“Damn. So hot.” He huffed out before pressing his mouth to your other nipple, giving up on sucking it and deciding to simply loll out his tongue and press it flat against your chest. “Come on, nymph. Cum on my cock.” He swore as he felt you get impossibly tighter. “Fuck it, Lace. Ride it.” He said, removing one hand from your hip before you heard a loud smack, followed by a prickling, burning sensation on your left glute.

The muscles of your ass and legs quivered as you stopped for a second, his thumb restless at the apex of your labia. “Did you—” You shivered as he hit the perfect spot, “Did you just spank me?” You asked, all your muscles tense.

He froze. “… did it… I’m sorry…” He said, confused.

“No, I liked it.” You corrected him. “I was toying with you.” You said with a small smile.

He knew sometimes you weren’t in the mood for spanks and power play. Sometimes you just wanted to be equals and simply get lost in pure, extreme sensations.

He shook his head, incredulous. “Then keep going, nymph.” He said, before surprising you with another spank.

You gasped and chuckled before cupping his jaw and joining your mouths, your hips moving carelessly.

This time he grabbed your ass viciously before slapping it one more time, his tongue being twice as lively as usual as he licked your own tongue, revelling in the velvet paradise of your mouth. Once he felt your hips grow impatient, your movements irregular, he parted from you, throwing his head back, eyes opening, his long lashes fluttering dreamily as he let his mouth hang open before silencing a moan by catching his lower lip between his teeth.

Finally you felt pleasure taking over your body, Taehyung’s eyes opening and focusing up.

He gestured at the ceiling with a jerk of his chin. Following his tip, your gaze turned up. And met the mirror.

In that moment you realised how furiously you were moving on top of him, how eager and desperate and sexy you looked.

“Look at you. So messy for my cock. My little nymph.” He said, smacking your ass once more.

A short whimper exited your mouth as the hit took the air from your lungs.

Your high exploded while his thumb teased the underside of your clit, unprotected by the hood and painfully sensitive by now.

For a second, everything felt too intense, your hair wet and dripping down your back, the water grown cold by now, and his skin so hot, his nipples hard under your thumbs, his hands moving to your breasts once you didn’t need him on your clit anymore, his palms sliding on your half-dry skin and pressing your boobs together before he dove his head forward, dragging his whole face against the soft crevasse that your tits formed together. He started ramming his hips up, fucking into you as your movements slowed down.

He loved suffocating between your breasts, gasping hard as your heartbeat drowned his ears, your breathing like a feral, powerful creature beckoning him toward your dark lair of consuming bliss.

Biting his lip, frowning and groaning repeatedly, he slammed his hips hard against the back of your thighs, four, five, six times before he stilled and screamed in pleasure, the dark granite of the walls amplifying his animalistic sound before he bit into your breast, almost painfully.

Too bad you were still lost somewhere in pleasure, his body finally joining yours.

Maybe you would complain about the bite in the morning, when it would be red and sore and maybe swollen.

“____, fuck. Can we have monthly appointments like this?” He said, gyrating his hips tentatively while you gripped the tub, trying to find purchase as your body betrayed you and collapsed almost entirely.

“Monthly birthdays...” You mused, mouth brushing against the column of his throat.

“Do we really need an occasion to fuck like this?” He asked while his hand kneaded the soft folds of flesh around your torso. He found endless pleasure in feeling every aspect of you under his fingers.

And it never made you feel conscious. Rather, it made you feel appreciated, not like he was avoiding your absolutely average and healthy body fat, but more like his fingers were appreciating every detail of you, singing a hymn to your whole body completely devoid of flaws, praising it in the unwavering, glorious materiality of it.

You felt worshipped.

The shiver that ran down your spine rose him from his blissful slumber. “You’re cold?” He asked, pressing you closer to himself.

You nodded and mouthed at his neck. “You feel too good inside, though.”

He chuckled. “It feels good inside you too.” He replied fondly. Sometimes you wondered how this cockwarming thing never made sense to you before you met him.

“But you need to dry your hair, love.” He patted your ass a couple times. “Don’t want you to get sick.” He said, “Plus, we’re going to be uncomfortable here.” He tried to raise his torso from his slumping. You helped him by sitting up yourself, his dick pulsating inside you and making your eyes roll back in pleasure.

He cackled. “Later.” He said his hands circling your waist and helping you up and off him.

As his cock slid out completely, landing on his belly, completely covered in your and his cum, you licked your lips.

“No.” He said, smirking, already placing his hands on your shoulders, keeping you from bending down and sucking him clean.

“Please, sir?” You whined, arching your brows and pouting.

He looked at your swollen, red lips, at your tongue lashing out to wet them seducingly.

He took his hands away. “Have your fun,” he conceded, his nails scraping your shoulders delicately as you bent forward, one of your hands catching your hair before it got messed up.

With your tongue you licked a thin stripe from the base of his cock all the way up to the tip before engulfing it in your mouth. You easily swallowed a good portion of him before pulling him out, nudging his shaft to the side with your nose and cleaning the messy marks on his belly and his pelvis where your mixed fluids on his flesh had imprinted the shape of his cock.

His moan was dark and sinful before he pleaded for a yellow.

You let him go without hesitation. “Are you okay, pup?” You asked, not even enjoying the mix of your and his taste in your mouth because of your sudden, urgent worry.

“Yeah. I just… I need a slowdown, please.” He said, touching your face weakly. “I’m getting cold.” He said, with soft eyes.

Your worry increased tenfold in your chest. First, you sat up and helped him up yourself. “Okay, Tae. Let me just rinse you, yes?” You called, removing the drain stopper and letting the water flow out before you cleaned up both you and him. The water from the tap ran warm — almost hot — a few seconds later and you managed to rinse him properly before he climbed out of the tub. You followed him and wrapped him up in a towel. “There you go, baby.” You said.

He smiled fondly. “Thank you.”

“Would you like me to dry your hair?” He asked, his beautiful hands balled up in cute fists as he held the large towel around his shoulders.

“No, baby, thank you.” You replied kindly and warmly. “Let me just rinse myself before I dry my hair. I’ll join you in bed in twenty.” You said as you noticed him linger close to the door, showing himself a bit too impatient and excited to head out, possibly to bed, with you by his side. Or on top of him. Or below him. Probably below him, considering you had just ridden him.

Caught in your head, you went back to the tub, rinsing yourself quickly and briskly before stepping out and drying yourself up gingerly, leaving your body slightly damp so that your body lotion would dilute a little with the sparse droplets left on your skin, so that it would absorb better.

Once your body smelled like roses from your breasts down, you rinsed your hands, applied your favourite hair care oil and started the hairdryer. It didn’t take long, fifteen minutes at large, before a rapping at the door interrupted your hair ritual.

You frowned. Taehyung wasn’t one to knock. Just to make sure, you lowered the setting of the hairdryer, waiting in case he did it again and making sure that you had heard correctly.

The sound reappeared.

You switched off the device and placed it in its drawer. “Yes?” You replied.

The door opened.

First, Taehyung’s face appeared, his hair ruffled and dry, his expression sweet and innocent. Was he wearing makeup?

No. Impossible.

He hadn’t actually washed his face yet, but he was definitely without makeup earlier.

His lashes looked longer. His lips redder. And he most definitely had enhanced those beautiful eyes of his with dark eyeshadow lining his upper eyelid, making his stare even more intense.

And was that a heart drawn on his cheekbone?

Indeed.

“May I?” He asked, suspiciously formal and courteous.

“Yes, of course.” You said, with a confused smile.

Next, everything made sense.

God bless him. You thought, your heart skipping a bit and stumbling down approximately sixty flights of stairs.

There, with a fancy silver tray and a fancier glass of red wine on top, stood your amazing, extravagant, glorious, mind blowing, seductive, sultry, indecently sexy, wondrous boyfriend. In a maid dress.

Your body did a strange thing, your mouth hanging open basically already drooling.

Was this how he felt anytime he saw you in lingerie?

“I thought my lady deserves special treatment.” He said, coming closer, placing the tray over the small counter near the sink.

The vinyl playing on the gramophone chose precisely that moment to come to an end.

The mechanic arm lifted and moved away, the plate slowly coming to a stop after all the spinning.

Not that you noticed, you were too busy staring at your boyfriend, imagining what you could possibly do to him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t assist you with your lotion, ma’am.” He said, standing, his hands joining before his stomach. “The uniform is a bit difficult.”

“Don’t worry, darling. All forgiven.” You said, your hand shaking as you reached out to touch his face. “You look incredible.” You said, completely dazzled. “Breathtaking.”

He blushed. “Thank you.” His eyes lowered coyly.

“Really, Taehyung. You look… I am speechless, darling.” You said with a big smile plastered on your face. “You’re unreal.” You said, drawing the shape of his lips, the pink lipgloss looking impossibly perfect on his face, emphasising the desirable curves of his mouth.

He stared in marvel too as you looked completely enraptured by his looks. “You like it?” He asked, insecure.

“Yes, of course I like it, love. You look too good, baby.” You reassured him, feeling a tad underdressed standing naked in front of him, while he had several layers of satin, ribbons, lace and of course, the classy apron. He even had puffy sleeves. And the corset tightened in a complicated lacing on the front. You took in every detail. “Do you feel good in it?” You asked, letting your index finger slide down his jaw, along the curve of his neck, to the small mole on his breastbone.

He nodded. “I’ve been tiptoeing around this for a while.” He said, his hand hesitant, his eyes asking for permission to place it atop of yours.

You agreed with a short nod.

“I didn’t know how you would react.” He said, his gaze guarded.

“I love it.” You said, tightening your hand around his fingers and rubbing his knuckles with your thumb. “And I love you.” You reassured him, pulling your joined hands to your face and placing a small kiss on his ring finger, where someday his wedding ring would lay. “Although we could do a few adjustments,” you said, staring at him with the eyes of a trained lingerie maker. “It could fit so much better on you.” You said, walking around him, observing the few points where the fabric slouched and flopped, unfit for his lithe body. On the back you noticed a zipper. You would remember that for later.

“Here,” you said, pinching the loose fabric around his slim waist. “And here.” You said, fingering the ribbons over his chest. “With slight modifications, we can make it more comfortable for you. And make it look like an actual uniform.” You said, standing behind him as he stood in front of the mirror. You bent to place a kiss on the crook of his neck. “How beautiful.” You said, your hands wrapping around his waist, appreciating how small it was, how elegant and expensive he looked. “Would you like it if I added a small accessory,” you asked, moving your middle finger to trace the column of his throat. “I was thinking about a choker.” You said, “something frilly. Maybe with a small kitten bell. Plenty of soft ribbons and lace. Make this neck look even prettier.” You suggested, placing another kiss on the other side of his neck, this time letting your mouth open and suck just a little.

You weren’t allowed to mark him there with all the upcoming music shows.

He nodded. “I’d love to.” He said, looking in your eyes timidly in the mirror. “But first I’d like to make myself forgiven for being late for the lotion.” He said, bowing his head. “Please, miss.”

Your head rolled back as pleasure travelled from his mouth to your ears to your core.

“Of course, kitty. As long as this is the way you want things to go.” You stated clearly. “I need your consent, kitty.”

“I want it, miss.” He assured you.

“Then proceed, kitty.” You said, wrapping your hand around his throat and tightening it affectionately.

He turned around and looked at your lips. “May I kiss you, miss?” He asked, eyes still deflecting your stare.

“Yes, kitty. Of course, darling.” You replied with a gentle smile.

He bent down slightly and swallowed nervously before placing his lips on yours, the taste was immediately familiar.

“This is not lipgloss, am I right, kitty?” You asked, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Yes, miss. You’re right, miss.”

Damn him. It was lube. Specifically, watermelon-flavoured lube.

You thought how long it would take for this to become too much. For him to become too hot and melt you until all there was left of you was a bottle of sap stored in the fridge.

And your title.

Your ears basked in victory at his perfect speaking manners. You had educated him properly. He was by far your best exercise in domination so far, his manners impeccable at all times when his submissive persona came into play.

“Come on, kitty. Show me how you intend to gain forgiveness.” You spoke sweetly, caressing the hair at his nape.

Soft. So soft. Always so damn soft.

He knelt. Slowly. Very slowly.

Looking up at you with pure, angelic eyes, he poked with his index finger first at your left thigh, and then at his left shoulder.

You grinned.

“You want my leg on your shoulder, kitty?” You asked with an amused smile.  

He nodded eagerly. “Yes, miss. Please, miss.”

You smiled proudly. “That’s a very good kitty.”

Taehyung kept a fond expression, saving his intentions to himself.

Let her think she won, he thought just as his hand landed at your ankle, his fingertips running up the back of your calf, your knee, your thigh, until he applied gentle pressure, inviting you to lift your leg.

Your cunt was right in front of his face, his nose sniffing at your smell, slightly adulterated by your body lotion.

He nuzzled his nose against the tiny patch of hair you kept atop your labia. He loved it without even knowing why. It simply turned him insane. All the time. Especially when he went down on you.

Your hand gripped the hair on the crown of his head, massaging the scalp delicately, but also trying to protect him from potentially bumping it against the drawer under the sink.

“Does it smell good, kitty?” You asked, smiling at him, taking in the view of him.

“Yes, miss. Can I please lick you, miss?” He asked shyly, his voice slightly more high pitched than usual.

“Yes, darling love.” You practically cooed at him.

He didn’t waste a second, his tongue ready to lunge for your opening before he stopped himself with a small gasp. “Thank you, miss.”

You felt even prouder.

God, he really is perfect.

“You’re welcome, kitty.”

And at that, the tip of his tongue brushed the tight rim of muscles lining your entrance, collecting your taste before flattening the muscle and dragging it all the way along your slit, delivering a series of hard flicks as his hands travelled to your ass, helping you ride his face straight away.

You enthusiastically followed his instructions, especially once you felt two of his fingers run from your backside to the front, sliding inside your dripping hole.

“Kitty, that’s very nice.” You said, huffing out an enthusiastic chuckle before it transformed into a sinful deep moan. You started directing his head, his tongue stretched taut past his lips while you ground your crotch against it. “Kitty, this is a very good surprise.” You said, praising him, petting his hair, your eyes closing as he moaned in approval, watching you as you grew more and more lost. You took the glass in your hand, taking a sip of wine and feeling it bloom in your mouth instantly, your cheeks warming up, your veins throbbing with the wild beat of desire awakening your every limb.

Your head rolled back, your hand immediately placing down the glass as you felt your high approach, his fingers sinking all the way to your cervix, tapping against it.

His lips captured your clit, sucking it a couple times before releasing it, pressing it to his front teeth with his strong tongue.

“Tae,” you called, too fucked out to care about pet names and stuff. Your edge was there, waiting for you, all you needed was…

He pulled out his fingers, making you cry out before they returned to their place. Shortly after, his thumb landed on your skin. Wet. Slippery. Right against the oversensitive skin between your cunt and your anus.

All it took was two gentle rubs and your body crumbled, all your weight going to the hand on the sink while your legs shook wildly, your knees too wobbly to survive your high; your other hand too moved to the sink, too scared of hurting your lover. His hands gripped you tighter instead, pushing you harder against his face while his tongue lashed out, the hard muscle grinding against your clit as he moved his head furiously in a nodding motion.

You weren’t sure you called his name or screamed or simply held your breath and stayed silent, your ears were completely out of order.

If it weren’t because of being on your feet, you would have thought you had passed out. Taehyung’s arm stayed tight around your waist while you removed your leg from his shoulder, trembling as you placed it down. “Holy hell.” You said, still gripping the sink for support. You looked at Taehyung. His whole face was covered in wetness, the heart on his cheekbone completely smeared, the only lube left on his mouth being the wetness coming from yourself. “You look amazing, Tae.” You complimented him. “A damn masterpiece.” You said, proud to your very core.

He grinned.

Kitty out. Tiger in.

“May I have some wine now?” He asked, no honorifics, no submission.

You grinned and bit your lip, wiggling your eyebrows.

He wiggles his right back.

Holding the glass, you took a large sip in your mouth, leaving a scarce finger in. You took a step back, bending at your waist and placing your mouth near Taehyung’s. He opened his mouth invitingly and you let a small amount dribble past your lips and fall into his mouth.

He patted his lips wider before stretching up surrounding your lips with his, making sure that not a drop got to waste.

Once he was sated, he placed a finger under your chin, moving it to your throat and wrapping his hand there.

“Now you’re gonna stand up and bend over, Lace.” He ordered, no trace of pliability in his demeanour, and no sign of mercy either.

You obeyed immediately.

“Hands on the sink. Keep them there.” You heard the sound of a zipper. Looking up you noticed that he was naked.

And that he was hard.

You licked your lips nervously.

“Lower your head.” He said, spanking you out of the blue.

So he was in a spanking mood. Mentally, you agreed.

“I know you want me like this. Uh?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.” You replied, inhaling deeply as his fingers drew the line of your spine.

His finger stopped at the middle of your back, pressing on your spine to make it arch until it became almost painful.

“Stay.” He said, grabbing the silver platter and balancing it on your ass. The cold made you hiss, but you focused on staying perfectly still. “Stay.” He repeated, “I need to wash my hands.” He said, before abandoning the platter on your behind and coming to your side, standing right beside you as he washed slowly poured some soap on his palm, opening the tap and wetting his hands rubbing them together as he closed the tap with his elbow.

“It is always a pleasure to look at you like this.” He said, taking all the time in the world.

All you could see was his legs, midthigh down.

“You look like you don’t have a dominant bone in your body.” He mused, making sure that the thin foam reached between his fingers too. “You say ‘yes, sir’ and you sound like the single, most obedient, pliant creature in the world. Like you were made to please me.” He continued, looking at the platter tremble slightly.

He decided he could rinse his hands and dry them.

In half a minute he was standing behind you once more.

With your head hanging low, you felt the weight on your backside diminish imperceptibly. The platter disappeared next, landing on the counter.

Taehyung’s left hand laced with the hair on your nape, moving your rebellious locks aside. Now he had the whole expanse of your back before him, naked and richly arched.

Considering the situation, he cocked an eyebrow, clicking his tongue.

Something cold, like a blade pressed to your lower back, your spine arching even further.

“Stay still.” He said, bending to your ear. “If you move I’m gonna whip you.” He said minaciously.

He didn’t expect a reply, so you didn’t offer any. Cold liquid slid down the crevasse between your shoulder blades, sliding down the dip connecting your neck to your ass. Then something hot and soft appeared at the saddle of your back, where it reached the lowest spot. You put two and two together.

He was doing body shots down your spine.

You were sure when something that must have been his tongue slid all the way up to your nape. “Delicious.” He said, his hand placing down the empty glass on the counter, his erection pressing against your ass. “Let’s see if you can take it.” He murmured, standing straight and tugging at your hair until you were perched on your elbows, his reflection and yours appearing in the mirror in front of you. Which reflected the mirror behind you. Which allowed you to see Taehyung’s handsome figure.

He licked his lip and tipped his head back, looking at you cockily before gripping his hard on, rubbing the soft, velvety head against your labia, spreading your wetness before he let the tip sink in.

You moaned desperately. “Oh god.” You called, closing your eyes and looking away.

He gave a sharp tug at your hair. “Look how good you take my cock.” He said, staying perfectly still until he saw your eyes open through the reflection in the mirror.

“Please.” You begged weakly.

“What?” He asked.

“Please, sir. I’d like you to wreck me, sir.” You whined, pleading for his harsh ministrations, looking at him through the mirror.

He grinned and sunk all the way in.

You screamed.

He spanked you.

You took it with a tiny hiccup.

“Does my cock feel that good?” He asked, backing out.

“Yes, sir.” You replied meekly.

He slammed in again. “This is how you like it?” He asked sadistically, beginning to drive his hips into yours with a punishing pattern.

“Yes, sir. Please.”

“You’re such a slut for this cock.” He said, gritting his teeth, the veins at his neck bulging as his tendons flexed.

“I’m your slut, sir.” You said, ready to cry for him, completely shameless.

He grinned evilly. “Just for my cock. Such a horny fuckdoll.” He teased, delivering one more spank and making you arch your back, the tip of his cock hitting the most perfect spot, “drooling for my cock. Spitting in my mouth. Riding my face.” He rammed in even more furiously, your brow furrowing as you stared at the view of his back muscles flexing as he railed you, his glutes flashing as he hammered into you recklessly. “You’re such a dirty slut. You love being spanked, don’t you?” He asked, landing a loud smack on your other asscheek.

“I do, sir. Please, sir, please please… pl— I’m— Oh, sir.”

He went even harder, his middle finger reaching your clit and rubbing it as fast as he could. “Is this what you want? To cum on this cock? You want my fingers, little fuckdoll?” He asked deviously. “You’re such a pretty nymph. Living to get fucked.”

As you tried to turn toward him and lock your eyes with his, looking for reassurance, you spotted the side mirror, offering you the whole scene as it appeared on the right side. You ended up hypnotised by the motion of his cock sliding in and out too fast for your unfocused eyes to actually capture the whole vision.

Your high crested before you even felt it grow. It overthrew you, your arms failing you, your knees bending and your thighs pressing together.

Taehyung had none of it. His hand forcefully parted your legs again before landing a hard spank on your labia.

“Stay still and take my cock.” He said, angrily keeping his hand on your clit and rubbing it faster while he made you stand straighter, your tits appearing in the mirror in front of you, bouncing as he rammed violently into you.

The high didn’t stop. It grew even more.

He felt you milk him harder and harder. “Cum again, nymph. Cum on my cock again. Make it rain and wet the fucking floor.” He said, growling at your ear. “Look at those tits. So fucking good.” He growled, just as you shook your head in complete helplessness. “I’m gonna suck them like a baby before I fall asleep.” He said, gently slapping one until his strokes became irregular and even more ruthless.

You pushed your own hips hard against him until you finally felt that uncomfortable sensation leave your womb, eyes closing, shoulders collapsing, knees shaking and wobbling until they completely gave out, Taehyung’s body following yours and saving you from the tap as your torso landed against the sink, your legs spasming and leaving the floor as you screamed Taehyung’s name, his hand strumming your clit until you went completely silent and he heard you sob and pant. “Tae.” You called, voice thin before every sensation stopped.

You awoke to Taehyung’s hand touching your face.

“Lace, darling.” He called, “____, love.” He murmured against your ear.

First you realised your legs hurt. Like you had done too much exercise. Next, you realised he wasn’t inside you still. Some part of you felt cold.

“Tae.” You said, confused.

“Oh, baby.” He said, smiling his biggest boxy smile, touching your cheek again, dragging your hair off your eyes. “Are you okay, dove?” He asked, simply looking at you.

You nodded, confused. “I think I blacked out?” You said, trying to stand straight.

He was immediately close to you holding your hand and offering you his body as your support. “You did, love.” He confirmed. “Are you okay?” He asked again, just as you felt your foot land on a wet patch on the floor.

“Did I… ?” You asked, looking at the small puddle there.

“Yeah… ” He smiled sheepishly. “I have your blanket if you’d like.” He said, hugging you to himself.

You shook your head. “Shower?” You asked.

He nodded. “Let’s go.”

He opened the glass door and switched on the soft lights there, set them to the softest tone and helped you in, holding your hand as he used the other to open the tap and test the water for the right temperature. He grabbed your hair tie near the body wash and offered it to you.

“We’ll just rinse real quick, yeah?” He said, leading you under the spray and pouring a small amount of soap in his hands, foaming in up and rubbing it against your legs, before reaching your crotch. “I’ll go easy here,” he warned before his hand skimmed your skin, making sure that you weren’t dripping his seed anymore. Once he was done there, he rinsed his hands and poured some more body wash, repeating the procedure and removing any stain of wine from your back. Satisfied, he pulled you into his arms. “I love you so much, Lace.” He murmured in your ear. “You’re safe here, love.” He reassured you, protecting you. “You are beautiful and strong and sexy.” He said, healing any wound he had caused with his dirty talking, putting you together after pulling you apart. “You are worthy of affection, and respect and love.” He said, watching as you turned and tried to clean him up yourself, his messy eye makeup dribbling down his cheeks.

Once done with the shower, he wrapped you up in his bathrobe, a bit too big for you, making you feel hugged and extra-pampered.

He patted your head with one hand as he removed what was left of his mascara and eyeshadow. And then he placed an arm around you, back hugging you as you both brushed your teeth, his body clad in a towel before he swapped it for a pair of boxers and a sleeping shirt.

“Let’s put you into this.” He said, grabbing one of his robes from his sleeping clothes and wrapping you up in it, lacing your hands with his as you both reached the kitchen.

You stayed silent as he helped you sit on the counter, standing between your legs as he reached for a bottle of water and two glasses, stretching to reach your sleeping pills. He offered you a glass and got a pill ready, passing it to you once he managed to work it open. “There you go, love.”

You nodded and downed the pill, forcing yourself to finish the large cup of water, just as he downed his own, looking at you and making sure that you drank it all.

You placed the cup down and hugged him, waiting for him to finish.

He took your hand in his again, keeping you as close to him as possible as he brought the cups to the sink and led the two of you back to the bedroom.

You climbed the bed absentmindedly as he entered the closet, coming out with a rather large tiger plushie and a fluffy blanket with a polar bear print.

Crawling close to you, he waited for you to remove the robe and slide underneath the covers. Next he threw the blanket on top of your body, making sure that it stayed close to your face. After that, he placed the plushie in your arms, tucking the blanket tight. On his bedside table, he switched on the air purifier, the gentle scent of pine filling the room.

The lights went off.

His body came closer to yours and you cuddled in absentmindedly, his limbs tightening around your shape, warming you up immediately.

“I love you, Lace.” He said, again.

“I love you too,” you replied softly before a yawn.

“My pretty dove. Beautiful dove. My angel… My fairy… My joy… My peace...” And with a litany of sweet praises whispered in your ear, you fell asleep like a baby.

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH4

Yall ready for Uncle Jagged? I’d say out of the first 7 chapters, 4 is probably the one I tweaked the most from the original. It’s still roughly the same, but you’ll notice several key differences. Our girl is gonna get all the love she deserves!

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Chapter 4: The Change

“Do you think we should ask her what’s wrong?” Eliott whispered at lunch the next day as Marinette pushed food around her plate.

“I dunno. It could make things worse,” Macy said.

“But she looks so sad.” Martin winced.

She should have known they’d notice. It’s not like she was trying to hide it. Her heart was too heavy to lift up anymore, and for once, she couldn’t find her smile. There was no light to shed on the situation. No motivation to even go looking for any. She was a ghost of the confident girl they’d met yesterday, so she couldn’t blame them for having whiplash. Still, it was sweet of them to worry.

She set down her fork and forced a pained smile. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine,” she said.

“Did Gabrielle get to you?” Martin shrank, glancing around as if her posse were poised to strike.

“No.” She shook her head, chewing her lip contemplatively before continuing, “It’s my old school. Yesterday my best friend was akumatized because I left, and-”

“Oh, that’s so scary!” Macy gasped. “We’ve had a few akumas here before.”

“Yeah, I think I recognize some of you,” Marinette said, then quickly added, “-from the news.”

“Is everything okay?” Eliott asked.

“Not exactly…” Marinette shifted her gaze back to her plate. “She and I agreed to go our separate ways after everything.”

“Marinette, I’m so sorry,” Macy said.

“It’s probably for the best.” Marinette shrugged. “There’s this girl at my old school that’s a huge liar, and she has everyone wrapped around her finger, including my best friend… my ex-best friend. I tried several times, but I could never prove that she was lying. Then she started turning my friends against me, and—yeah.”

“Wow, no wonder you left,” Eliott said.

Macy stretched across the table to take her hand. “Hey, you have us now, and if there’s anything we’re good at, it’s forgetting about our problems for a little while, so why don’t we do something fun tonight?” She suggested. “I hear Jagged is playing a concert in town; we could go if you want.”

“But I thought it was sold out.” Marinette’s eyebrows knitted together.

“Well, aren’t you friends with Jagged?” Eliott asked. “Ask him for tickets.”

“I- we’re not really that close. I mean, I designed for him a couple of times, but I don’t really think that he would do that. Besides, I wouldn’t want to trouble him…” Marinette rubbed the back of her neck.

“It doesn’t hurt to ask,” Macy said.

Marinette eyed her phone with pursed lips before pulling up her Instagram. Of course she followed Jagged, but she barely interacted with him. He probably wasn’t even the one running the account—most celebrities had an assistant for that. Her request would probably get buried among the thousands of other comments, but it was worth a shot. She typed a quick message and hit send, praying he wouldn’t be too upset with her for asking.

“I’m surprised that a girl as connected as you doesn’t take advantage every now and then,” Eliott said when she set her phone down. “I mean, you know a lot of famous and powerful people.”

“I don’t like to bother anyone.” She curled her shoulders. “Besides I don’t know him that well.”

“Jagged called you his favorite little lady when you were on that TV show with him.” Macy reminded her. “I think it’s safe to say that he likes you enough to give you a few free tickets.”

When Marinette’s phone vibrated on the table, they all crowded around to read Jagged’s reply.

“Yo, Marinette! It would be totally awesome if you could come to my show tonight! The floor’s sold out, but I’ll have Penny send some backstage passes for you and your friends!”

“Well, well, well,” Eliott said. “Looks like we’re going to see Jagged Stone.”

♪♫♪ Better Without You ♪♫♫

Alya toyed with her stylus, gaze fixed on the desk in front of her as she attempted to piece together the last 24 hours. After everything they’d been through together, how could Marinette end things like that? Her stomach churned, recalling the drained look in Marinette’s eyes the night before.

Maybe she’d overreacted. Marinette was her best friend after all, and best friends didn’t abandon each other for no reason. It wasn’t like Alya wanted to stop being friends. She was just so hurt and confused that she’d said it on impulse. She never expected Marinette to agree, but maybe she felt the same way Alya did. Maybe she thought Alya didn’t want to be her friend anymore, so she let her go despite how painful it was. It was a nice thought anyway.

“Good morning, Alya!” Lila greeted with her usual cheeriness, though her face fell upon seeing Alya’s forlorn expression. “Is everything alright?”

“It’s nothing.” Alya blinked out of her trance, shifting in her seat.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.” Lila pried. When Alya remained quiet, Lila placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You can trust me. We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah…” Alya weighed it for a moment before turning to face her. “It’s about Marinette.”

“Oh, I see! You’re upset because she left.” Lila nodded in understanding.

“I tried to talk to her yesterday, but things didn’t exactly go well…” Alya lowered her gaze to her lap with a frown.

“Did she tell you why she left?”

“Not exactly…” Alya bit her lip. “I mean, I have a hunch, but she denied it.”

“It wasn’t because of me, was it?” Lila gasped, and Alya averted her gaze. “It was, wasn’t it? Oh, I never meant to upset her. I even tried to ask her to be my friend in the bathroom the day I came back, but all she did was yell at me and call me names. I didn’t want to tell anyone because everyone loves her, and I didn’t want to start trouble, but she was the reason I got akumatized.”

“She yelled at you?” Alya’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and Lila nodded.

“I just don’t understand what I ever did to her to make her not like me,” she said. “I’m really sorry that she’s taking it out on you.”

“It’s not your fault. Marinette was always a little eccentric. I just don’t know what pushed her over the deep end.” Alya sighed, leaning against her fist. “I guess…our friendship didn’t mean as much to her as I thought.”

Lila eyed her with pursed lips before a smile stretched across her cheeks. “If I was your best friend, I would never leave you like that, Alya,” she said. “In fact, if you want, I could move up to sit by you, but I completely understand if you’re still torn up about Marinette. I’d never try to replace her or anything.”

A small smile curled on Alya’s lips. “Thanks. I could use a friend right now.”

Lila placed her bag on the desk, beaming as she took her new seat. Alya eyed her with a contemplative frown.

She’s a liar. I’ll never be friends with her.

“Just promise me one thing,” Alya said.

“Anything.”

“Promise you won’t ever lie to me,” Alya said.

Lila blinked in surprise but linked their pinkies together nonetheless. “I promise, Alya. You’re my friend. I’d never lie to you.”

“Thanks, Lila. You’re the best.”

♪♫♪ Save Rock and Roll ♪♫♪

“So, you guys really aren’t friends anymore?” Adrien asked later that evening.

Marinette’s chest tightened. Adrien had called her after his Chinese lesson, having overheard about her split from Alya at school. She didn’t dare wonder what people were saying about her—even thinking about it made her skin crawl. Maybe it was for the best that she was going to see Jagged Stone tonight with her new friends. She needed the distraction.

“Nope,” she said. Setting her phone on the dresser, she grabbed sweater from her closet and held it up in front of the mirror.

“Are you okay?” Adrien’s voice was laced with worry.

The corners of Marinette’s eyes stung, and she chewed her cheek, focusing on her outfit. Adrien had already seen her cry once in the last 24 hours. She wasn’t about to let it happen again.

“I don’t know.” She hung the sweater back on the rack with pursed lips and shrugged. “It hurts, but so did being pushed aside for a new girl.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you two were close.”

“Not close enough, apparently.” She swiped through hangers with a little more force than necessary.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to try to work things out?”

Marinette tapped her finger on the bar and nodded. “If I tell her that Lila is lying, it’ll just be more of the same. Even if we told her that Ladybug called her out, Lila would still twist it and make herself the victim.” She grabbed a jacket and slipped it on. “How do I look?”

“Incredible, as always,” Adrien said, bringing a flush to her cheeks as she brushed her hair in the mirror.

“Sorry your dad won’t let you come with us,” she said.

“I’m used to it by now. He barely lets me go to the movies.” Adrien sighed, swiveling back and forth in his chair.

“I’ll try to get Jagged’s autograph for you.”

“Thanks. I promise we’ll do something together soon, even if it’s just sitting on a couch eating ice cream,” he vowed, and Marinette smiled.

“I’m glad I still have you,” she said. “You have no idea how much it means to me that you understand.”

“I’ll always be here for you. Even if I can’t leave my house, you can call me anytime,” he said.

“Thanks, Adrien.” She picked up her phone and waved. “I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun at the concert!”

After he hung up, she pressed a soft kiss to his picture on the screen. Who knew that all she needed to do to get Adrien’s attention was change schools? This was the most they’d talked since they met, and although she wasn’t ready to tell him her feelings, she was loving the attention.

“Ready to go?” she asked her kwami.

“This is your first time hanging out with your new friends outside of school! I’m happy that you’ve made friends so quickly,” Tikki said.

Marinette hooked her purse over her shoulder with a smile. “I have a good feeling about this group. Even if they are insanely rich, I feel like they’re different. They aren’t stuck up or arrogant like Chloe or Gabrielle. They’re nice.”

“Marinette! Your friends are here!” her mom called from the living room.

“Coming!” Marinette closed the clasp of her purse and skipped down the stairs.

“Got your phone?” her mom asked.

“Yep.” She nodded, holding it up.

“And you’ll call us right away if anything happens?” her dad added, arching a warning brow.

“Of course.” She stretched up to kiss his cheek. “Bye, Papa. Bye, Mama.”

“Have fun, sweetie!”

Marinette waved over her shoulder as she headed down the stairs. The limo was waiting outside, and Macy’s butler opened the door when she approached.

“How exciting is it that we have backstage passes to see Jagged Stone?” Macy squealed. “Honestly, Marinette, you’re the best.”

“I still feel a little weird about it,” she admitted sheepishly.

Eliott glanced up from his magazine and rolled his eyes. “Jagged wouldn’t have given you the tickets if he didn’t want to. When you have connections, there’s no shame in using them. That’s how you make friends in high places,” he said. “Don’t worry. We’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

“Then your old friends will all wish they didn’t turn their back on you.” Macy linked her arm through Marinette’s. “Because you’re already the most incredible person I’ve ever met, and I’ve only known you for a couple days. You stood up for someone you didn’t even know, you’ve got all kinds of celebrity connections, and you are wearing the cutest jeans I’ve ever seen!”

“Thanks, I stitched the pattern in myself.” Marinette ran her fingers over her trademark flowers.

“When you start your own fashion line, I want to be your first customer,” Macy said, and Eliott set down his magazine with a scoff.

“Not if I get there first,” he said.

Macy stuck her tongue out at him as they pulled up to Martin’s building. Macy’s butler opened the door again, and the scrawny boy climbed in timidly.

“Hey, Martin.” Marinette smiled.

“Are you sure it’s okay if I come too?” he asked.

“Of course! You’re our friend now,” Marinette assured him.

Martin shifted his gaze to his lap with a small smile.

On the drive over, Macy and Eliott chatted about how annoying their expensive phones were, leaving Martin and Marinette to sit in silence.

“Um, thanks for this,” he said, stealing a quick glance before fixing his gaze back on his shoes. “I’ve never really had any friends. Everyone just kind of walks all over me.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Marinette pressed a hand to the side of her mouth. “I used to be a lot like you.”

“Really?” He blanched.

“At my old school, Chloe Bourgeois used to torment me all the time, but one day someone stood up to her for me and helped me find the courage to do it myself. It gave me a lot more confidence, and I was able to branch out and make more friends.” She lowered her gaze with a frown, heart sinking. Now wasn’t the time for a pity party, so she shook it off and continued, “That’s why I stood up for you because I know how much it changed my life when someone did it for me.”

“Wow,” Martin said. “I still don’t think I could ever be as confident as you.”

“Never say never.”

Awkward silence stretched between them while Macy and Eliott continued gossiping about various celebrities. They were so comfortable with each other that Marinette didn’t know where to interject. She decided it was better to leave them be—she had enough to think about anyway.

She leaned back against the seat with a sigh, recalling old memories of sleepovers and birthday parties and scheme after scheme to get Adrien’s attention. All of that seemed so far away now, and she was left with a gaping hole in its wake. She missed her friends. She missed her old school. She missed all of those memories, and more than anything, she wished she could go back.

But too much had changed now. Lila had everyone wrapped around her finger, so things would never really be the same. Besides, being around Lila wasn’t good for her, and if her friends couldn’t see the truth… It was best for her not to be around them either. Even if it left her feeling empty. Those holes would fill with time, and she’d make new memories with her new friends. Her old life would fade, and eventually she wouldn’t even remember what it was like before.

She had bigger things to worry about anyway—such was the lot she took on when she accepted the call to be Ladybug. Superheroes couldn’t afford to take chances, and Marinette couldn’t afford to have bad friends. This concert was a fresh start for her, a chance to carve a new life with new people who wouldn’t toss her aside like old bread.

When they arrived at the venue, Penny was waiting for them by the back entrance. She draped their passes around each of their necks and clicked her pen.

“Don’t lose these and keep them on at all times, okay?” She instructed before pressing a hand to the Bluetooth device in her ear. “Yes, I’ll go check on Mr. Stone now- uh, come in, the show will be starting soon.”

“This is so exciting!” Macy bounced beside Marinette. “I can’t believe I’m gonna get to meet Jagged Stone, and it’s all thanks to you, Marinette.”

“Yeah, thanks for hooking us up, Marinette.” Eliott echoed.

“It was you who encouraged me to ask, Eliott, and we wouldn’t have gotten here without Macy, so really we all had a hand in it.” Marinette waved it away.

“This is a disaster!”

They all stopped short as Jagged stormed into the hall.

“My lucky jacket is ruined! I can’t do the show like this!” he cried.

Penny rushed to his side to investigate the ripped article in his hands. “I’ll get with wardrobe to see if they have a different one,” she said, but Jagged shook his head indignantly.

“If I can’t wear this jacket, I won’t do the show.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“But Jagged-”

“It’s lucky! All of my best performances happen when I’m wearing that jacket, and who knows what might go wrong if I go on without it!” he whined.

“Jagged?” They turned to Marinette, her friends standing behind her with bewildered expressions. “Is everything alright?”

“Yo, Marinette, you made it, rock on!” He pulled her in for a tight hug. “Too bad I have to cancel.”

“All of this over a jacket?” Martin asked, shrinking when Macy and Jagged turned to him with cutting glares.

“A rockstar’s show isn’t just about music, Martin. A performer’s wardrobe can be the difference between a rock legend and a rock nightmare,” Macy explained with a scoff.

“She’s right. I can’t go on like this. I look ridiculous without it!” Jagged said.

“Maybe I could fix it?” Marinette piped up, and everyone’s heads whipped around to face her.

“Could you really, Marinette?” Jagged perked up.

“The concert starts in 10 minutes. People are already in their seats,” Penny said, consulting her schedule. “Can you make a repair that fast?”

“I can try.” Marinette shrugged.

“Then I leave the fate of my show in your hands, Marinette.” Jagged handed her the jacket. “I have total faith in you.”

Marinette examined the tear in the shoulder seam with a determined frown before pulling out a mini-sewing kit. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she set to work trimming excess threads.

“She carries a sewing kit around with her?” Eliott cocked a brow.

“She’s a designer, of course she does,” Macy said.

Everyone watched her work in eager anticipation, and after a few minutes, Marinette pulled the thread tight to close the gap. Knotting off her work and clipping the last thread, she held it up proudly.

“Done!” she said, and everyone breathed sighs of relief.

“Marinette, you’re my hero!” Jagged cheered. He cupped her cheeks, planting a kiss on her forehead before donning his jacket. “If you hadn’t been here, I wouldn’t have been able to perform. You’re a real lifesaver.”

“3 minutes!” One of the stage-hands announced as Penny passed Jagged his guitar.

“If you ever need anything from me, you’ve got it, Marinette.” Jagged winked.

Marinette bit back a shy smile as the arena erupted with cheers.

“See? If you hadn’t asked Jagged for tickets, you wouldn’t have been here to help him,” Eliott said pointedly as they stood on the sides behind the curtains to watch.

Marinette glowed with pride. Eliott was right. If she hadn’t used her connection to be there, then Jagged would have canceled. It was a weird coincidence, but it eased her guilt about asking for such a big favor, like she was paying Jagged back.

What would her friends back home say if she told them she saved Jagged for real? Of course, Lila would probably come up with something bigger and better to one-up her, but at least she could tell Adrien about it later.

“I want to dedicate this next song to a very special young lady,” Jagged said into the mic. “She has been a huge inspiration to me, and I want to invite her on stage to sing this one with me. Clara and I wrote it to honor the heroes of Paris, and tonight she was my hero, so come on out here, Marinette.”

“No way!” Macy gasped as they all shoved Marinette out onto the stage.

“Marinette is exceptionally talented.” Jagged wrapped an arm around her as she joined him. “In fact, if it wasn’t for her, tonight’s show wouldn’t have happened, so tonight this song is a tribute to you, Marinette. You’re my everyday Ladybug.”

Marinette cupped her hands over her mouth, cheeks hot as she took her place at the mic. As Jagged began to play a familiar melody, she looked at him for her cue.

“Another day, I’m back at school. I think about him, he’s so cool.” She glanced at her friends who gave encouraging nods. “He looks at me, I look away, but does he see me anyway?”

Sensing her unease, Jagged sang along with her softly until it was his turn to take up the second verse. By the second chorus, Marinette was gaining confidence as the crowd cheered them on. She removed the mic from the stand and paced across the stage, touching hands with people in the audience. She was no Clara Nightingale, but she was having fun performing with Jagged. As she belted out the last chorus with Jagged, a familiar rush pulsed through her veins that reminded her of Ladybug.

She was powerful. She was confident. She was free.

[littlefreya]

Nice day for a White Wedding

Summary:  Even on your wedding day, there is no getting away from August. His grip over you has no boundaries.

Pairing: August Walker x Reader (you)

Word count: 3.3K

Warning: Explicit smutty smut, MaleDom/FemSub, stripping, spanking (rather hardcore this time), slight fingering, bondage, rough sex. Wheeeeee

A/N: So my amazing @agniavateira​ who is also my editor(!) challenged me to a request a while ago and it turned out Ummm more explicit than I thought. So I hope you guys don’t unfollow me after this but not blaming you if you will. Also the name, yes, I am a Billy Idol fan. 

Title: Nice Day for a white wedding

White suits you well, a delicate contrast against the shade of your skin. That dress was, without doubt, a marvellous choice. Your mother complained about it being too simple, wanting you to pick something more extravagant. But you knew from the moment you saw it that this dress you wanted to get married in.

The sheer fabric with the little floral details, the way the tulle flows from your hips and falls down your feet makes you feel like a fairytale princess. You can’t help but pose at the mirror in your living room; chin atop the arch of your shoulder, tilting your head and letting your hair sway down your forearm.

All that’s missing is a little golden tiara and a bouquet of pale pink roses and you’ll be ready for the big day.

You nudge your thumb against the diamond ring, and then collect the tulle of the dress in both arms, lifting it and letting it fall calmly onto the floor.  

“Looks good on you, princess.”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins. You don’t even need to turn, that deep thunderous voice is already distinguished. 

Your little fairytale has taken a dark twist. You glance at the reflection, watching how he appears from the umbra of light.

A monstrosity so beautiful it makes your heart feel sunken.  

You keep quiet, letting his footsteps dominate the atmosphere in the room, making it thick and heavy with fear. He moves from the darkness, letting the light shower his face. He looks the same as the day you left him. His face still appears as if it was cut from marble by some artist; that moustache still adorns his face, giving him that dangerous-looking edge. 

Without even noticing you hold your hands together, trying to cover that striking diamond ring. But August notices, his eyes trailing over your reflection, drinking in every detail.

“When is the wedding?”

You swallow hard and narrow your eyes, not wanting to dignify him with an answer. He has no right to be here, to taint the new life you created for yourself. 

Because that’s what hurricane Walker does, he leaves you bleeding, a wreck of a woman. 

August lowers his head, looking at his shoes. Knowing him well, it only means that he is harbouring his anger right now. Hell, he has been harbouring it for the last three years.

“This weekend.” 

Talking to him feels as if you broke some spell or summoned a demon by mistake, making him real and not just a figment of your imagination. 

He answers with a bitter smile, his eyes touched by a storm. 

“You really thought you can just leave and then marry someone else? You really thought I’d never find you?” 

“I never thought you’d care enough to bother.” you dare, assuming you’re right. But you remember what happens when you err with August. The payment is painful.

The storm inside him begins to rage. His eyes blaze, even from where you’re standing you can see the small wrinkles that form at each corner.  

“Turn around.” 

Slowly and carefully, as if to not awaken any sleeping dragons, you turn. Refusing to meet his glare, you stare at the floor, hands laying loose at the tulle of your dress.

“Take off that fucking dress.” 

He commands in a voice so calm and rich it wouldn’t have sounded like order if it was heard by another person. 

Stunned by his demand, you finally gain the courage to look into his eyes. The sight of those blue crystals is the cage that draws you in. 

A prison of delights, made of diamonds. Beautiful, but still sharp.

He smirks, knowing he just won. One look and you are his, you’d fight it every time but the conclusion would always be the same: you’d be sore and sorry. Numerous times you told him it was over, yet you always took him back.  

“Did I stutter? Do as you’re told!”

Much to his delight, your chest heaves, making your breasts rise and fall in the v-shaped cleavage of your dress.. You reach a hand behind your back, pulling the zipper down which immediately makes the dress loosen from your body.  

Staring down at nothing but your shattered dignity, you reach for the strap hooked around your shoulder and begin slipping it down. 

“Slowly, and keep your eyes on me.” August demands, forcing you to pause with the strap in the middle of your forearm. Your eyes dart up to meet his stare, trying to read whatever is in that dark mind. 

Perhaps, it’s best you’d never find out.

The strap slides down your forearm before you tend to the other, letting your fingers strip it down while trying to think of some sensual song in your head. That’s what August wants: debauchery and eroticism.   

Your eyes remain on the beautiful blues obediently, trying to show no fear, but the quiver in your lower lip gives it away. August remains composed, caging you in his gaze, there is a faint grin in it.  

The fancy dress finally slips from your body, the fabric swirling around you for a swift moment like tender petals falling from a rose. It piles at your ankles and you hurry to cover your breasts as if he hasn’t seen them a thousand times before. 

He gives a huff, taking one step closer while shaking his head. 

“Aww, is my little princess getting shy? Lay down your arms.”

You obey, exposing your breasts to him. 

The outlines of his cock begin to show as he hardens against his trousers. The thought of it makes you damp in your underwear. It’s been three years, you can’t help but wonder how many broken mouths he had around him since you left. 

You’ve only been with one man and he is hardly the man August is. Yes, he satisfies you, but August destroyed you. 

His hand reaches to adjust his erection before inching toward you. The soft thud of his footsteps makes your heartbeat pace abnormally. The closer he gets, the bigger he looks. You wonder for a slight moment if he was this muscular back then when you still dated.

Finally, he towers over you, his face tilted down as he looks at you, offering a slanted smirk full of dark desires. You remain stoic, unsure how you’re supposed to react but then he leans in, pressing his lips ever so gently on your forehead. 

Everything you felt three years ago hits you like an axe at the back of your head. You breathe, nearly shocked by the circus of emotions that flood your chest. All that love and lust, all that fury and sorrow. 

Falling for August is worse than any sad love song ever written. The problem is, you’re sinking into an abyss.    

His lips hover over your mouth, his nose gently bumping against yours. Still, he remains there. Only his hands move as they work the seam of your plain cotton panties, rolling them down your thighs. 

He takes your hand, raising it and slightly pulling away so it will be at the level of his face. He looks at your ring finger with harsh disapproval. Opening his mouth, he takes your finger in, making you flinch as the hot wetness of his saliva surrounds your delicate finger. He suckles on it for a mere second. Your finger comes out bare and he spits the ring on the floor with utmost contempt.

With your wrist locked in his large hand, you never dream of protesting. On the contrary, you want to beg him for more, forgetting that you once had dignity. You can’t help but pout at his mouth, your eyes seeking that little freckle on his lower lip. 

“Did you dream of the moment I’d find you?” August asks, letting his finger trace the shape of your mouth.

“Sometimes, it was a nightmare.” you declare, parting your lips against his touch.

August hisses through his nose, his touch turning from gentle to crude in an instant. He grips your nape and conquers your mouth, exploiting your flimsy gasp to slip his tongue in. He kisses you for your betrayal, for all the years he had to suffer others, for the days he needed you and you weren’t there. His lips suck onto yours, changing angles to onslaught you from every direction. His tongue is fickle as it overpowers yours, and you hear that deep hum of his voice that makes you flutter against him.

Your lips are swollen and red when he ends the kiss. If not for the hand that holds your nape and hair, you’d be down on the ground by now.

“Get on your knees.” 

Still breathless you stare at him stunned as if his words are suddenly too complicated. Sighing with a wisp of frustration he shoves you down, forcing you to kneel in front of him. 

You are now facing his very hardened bulge, your eyes stare at his groin and then travel up to look at him submissively. August is in his favourite position, on top, staring down with his chest puffed with arrogance. His hands reach to unbuckle his belt and you can’t help but press your hands to massage that aching desire of his, longing to have him in your mouth.

But he has other plans, forcing your chin away with a pinch of his fingers. “No, I want you on four and I want to see you crawl.”

His hand leaves your chin, his head gestures at the direction of the bedroom. Where you and your-soon-to-be husband spend the night.

“Do as you’re told.” he commands, hardly even needing to raise his voice. “And do it slowly, I want to look at your cunt, I want to see how much you drip for me, understood?”

“Yes, August.” You turn on your knees and begin crawling on four, trying to be as sensual as possible. You arch your back and sway up your ass for the man you’ve abandoned for so many good reasons, yet right now you can’t even think of one.

You can hear the rustle of clothes behind you, the thud of his shoes being thrown somewhere and eventually the sound of the leather of his belt as it slips from around his waist. There is a small smacking sound and you realize he’s still holding the belt and slapping it against his palm. 

Your knees nearly give in at the thought of what awaits you in this bedroom. But you still crawl on, swallowing your pride. 

August kicks the door closed when the two of you are finally inside. It’s just the two of you in the house, you find it odd but then you realize it means to heighten your fear, to make you feel hopeless and owned. 

He reaches for your elbow, pulling you to stand up, letting you glimpse his god-like form only for a moment before throwing you facedown on the bed. You are pleased to see you were right, he has grown bigger in the last three years, gaining more muscle.  

You feel the bed shift as he places one knee on the mattress, and with one strong hand, he collects you to stand on four again while he kneels right behind you. You know what’s coming next but you are still surprised, hissing in as his large hand slaps your ass and then squeezes your flesh possessively.

“Did you miss this, princess?” his hand squeezes even harder, his middle finger slightly teasing your slit. 

You bite your lips, leading forward and squirming with anticipation for the next one. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he asks and grants you another slap, this time making sure not to miss your swollen lips. You gasp, fingers wrapping around the floral linen of the bed. 

“Yes sir.”   

You turn your head, seeing him stare at your mound with sick hunger while the bulge in his trousers appears agonisingly enormous. This is what always scared you about August, how much he was willing to endure to torture others.

“Look away,” he warns you as he notices your stare. You realize the belt is still in his hand and you shiver, uncertain if you want to find out what August planned as your sweet punishment for running away. 

“You thought you can just come into my life and leave?” he asks you, one hand sliding up the curve of your ass. You mean to answer but then you feel movement behind you, and then make the mistake of turning your head to gander at him.   

The first smack takes away your breath. The leather stings against your skin, so harsh that for a moment there you are sure the flesh came off from your behind. You try to be brave, fighting away that cry that begs to escape from your throat. 

You deserve this, after all.

You hear him breathing heavily behind you, prolonging the time of the next smack. You won’t foresee it or get used to the pain too quickly, so the excitement will get you wetter. You try to adjust your breath, your back arching upward and downward when you receive the second smack. 

“Uh!” the whimper you fought to keep leaves your lips, your hand pulls on the bedsheet. The worst part is that you’re throbbing, and not just from the pain. Your petals are swollen red, needy for more and August sees it all, enjoying every second of how pathetic you are.

August unleashes another punishment on your ass and this time you cry is a mixture of pain and pleasure. Your entire body squirms back and forth as if daring him to give you more.

The time in which you receive the fourth, fifth, and sixth smacks are nearly immediate. As you hiss and mewl you can hear August chuckling behind you, his free hand massaging your red aching ass, his fingers sliding up and down between your folds almost clinically to feel the soaking thick wetness that awaits him there. 

“You’re so wet, does this boy of yours make you wet as I do?” 

“No, sir!” your voice cracks into a cry, certain you will receive another smack but instead his hand strokes your body with tenderness that is a complete contrast to what you’ve just gotten used to. August always loved to play hard, he wanted you to feel him, not just his body but the raging storm of emotions inside him. 

But when he is gentle, and he would be occasionally after breaking you apart, it would be the certain touch that’ll make you die out of love. 

His strong digits brush down your sensitive muscles, soothing you, tracing and admiring every curve he missed and yearned for. 

You moan, enjoying his caress, eyes closing dream-like while the mattress shifts again. You sense August as he moves closer, his arm reaching to grab at your torso, pulling you to stand on your weak knees. He keeps you pressed against his chest whispering in your ear how much he missed you while brushing your hair aside. His kisses are amorous, prolonged and wet on your neck, trailing up and down, leaving tingling sensations on your body.

“August…”

You hum in delight, you missed having his name on your tongue even though you’ve been doing that many times while pleasing yourself, ashamed of how even when you ran away, this man still had you captive. 

“Take me, princess,” he demands against your ear in a raspy voice. Somehow you manage to ignore the snake-like sensation of the harness that wraps around your neck. When you realize what he is doing, you’re already leashed and thrown back on your elbows while August kneels behind you, holding one hand around your waist while the other is clasped around the leather strap.

“August!”  

He hushes you sweetly and tugs the strap to warn you, making you grind backwards at his demand. 

“Be my good girl,” he asks darkly and pushes himself all the way inside you, as deep as he can possibly reach. His fist tightly holds the strap, pulling you to him to meet his thrust and slide you on his cock.

Your groans are synced in a delightful unison, both of you overwhelmed by how much you missed each other’s bodies.

August makes you feel whole, not just by his generous length and girth, but because it’s him. Even though he made you cry way too many times that you can count, the ache of not being with him was far, far worse. 

He pulls away from you in an achingly slow rhythm, one hand squeezing your pained cheek while the other slightly loosens on the leash. You already protest at his departure, needing him back inside when his fist clenches again, tugging you back to meet his punishing thrust. 

“You feel... so... good, princess.” his voice is as broken as your heart as he sheaths himself inside you, groaning loudly to let you know how great and tight you are around his cock. “Take it,  take it all.”

You’re a whimpering, feeble thing, completely submissive to his urge. Throwing your head back with your hair falling against your spine, you let him slam into you again. August harnesses you like a bitch, having complete control over you while your heart flutters at both the sensation of his cock splitting you apart and those deep grunts that escape his mouth. You’ve missed everything about him, the scent of his body, the bass of his voice, his ravenous gaze and even his stupid moustache.

You’re in a haze, existence becoming nothing but beating emotions, your united throbbing organs and the friction that continues to tighten and grow. Suddenly, August’s entire weight is sinking onto you. He moves to cover you, one hand pressing on the mattress while the other reaches out to your neck. His fingers lace underneath the leash while he begins to pump into you violently. 

There is wetness on your cheeks, rolling and dripping down your chin beyond your control. August sighs, looking at you and kissing the salty tears away.

“You know, you look really pretty when you cry.” 

Little spasms spiral from your core, right where you are connected, where August is claiming you as his. He grinds you into oblivion, ignoring the resistance of your walls and whispering dirty things in your ear. One by one, the tendrils of pleasure begin to snap and your walls shudder and dance urgently around his cock.

“Did you really think you could just break my heart, princess?!” 

It was all it took to destroy you. You collapse forward, your orgasm is so intense, you crouch down beneath the large man and scream your pleasure into the pillow. Your ass bucks back against him, taking his swollen cock all the way inside and forcing him to lose control and erupt into your body with a shudder and a prolonged grunt.

You feel the warmth of his seed seeping inside you. He likes to grind himself in while filling you with his cum, giving you all he has before pulling out and watching how it trickles down from your battered entrance with some twisted pride.

With his hands around your ribs, he takes you down with him, lying you on your back while he hovers onto you, sweaty and panting. Now begins the part when he takes care of you, soothing kisses and claiming strokes on the wetness of your body.

“Call off the wedding,” he makes one last demand, his lips pressing to your abdomen, trailing down lower in apology for every painful bruise that surely will be there tomorrow. 

You comb the mess of curls on his head between your fingers, watching him with a clenched heart while he lifts your legs and kisses all the way from your curled up knee to your inner thighs. 

“You are coming home with me, and that’s the end of it.”

Closing your eyes, you flex on the mattress with muscles aching from his touch. Your lips part slightly as you whisper your answer into the dark. _______________________________

[wildlittlefoxsworld]

My world crashed almost into pieces | The Old Guard | Andy x Fem!Reader

A/N: So, something new from me ;) I hope you like it and have fun. I think it's not easy to write Andy as a character, she has no many facettes and she is a strong and brave woman, but I try to protray his soft side mostly in my stories. So, that's for everyone who likes soft Andy ❤

Summary: You get injured on a mission and you doesn't wake up. Andy waits anixously for you come back. When you heal she doesn't leave your side and shows you all her love for you.

Warnings: tempory reader's death, major angst

TOG Masterlist

***

„Don’t you dare to leave me,“ she mumbled again and again while watching your body didn’t show any signs of healing. If she must bet, she would say fourty percent of your skin was burnt and from the impact of the explosion you were flung backwards, so you suffered a few broken and silvered bones that cut through skin.

Andy was full of your blood and the car seats were stained as well, but she didn’t care, all she wanted was you to come back and open your pretty eyes. Joe was driving like a mad-man to get away from the men that were following you in black jeeps and Nicky and Booker leaned out of the windows to fire back.

Andy took your injured hand in hers and was careful so she didn’t crash it. Your face was deep red and the raw flesh was stretched over your skull. Of course you died; no human body could survive an explosion, the injuries were too much. She was grateful that Joe handled fast enough and had lifted you in his arms, because all of you needed to get away there as fast as possible. The whole mission was a disaster and she hoped that you didn’t have to pay a price for that.

“Come, babe, wake up. Don’t leave me,” she begged you and felt the tears forming in her eyes. You were on her side for over two thousand years now and when her time hadn’t come yet, then it couldn’t be your time to die now. She wouldn’t know what to do when you wouldn’t revive. You were her whole world and to lose you would break her heart into pieces. Only the thought of a life without you made it hard for her to breathe. She blinked her tears away, but there came only more.

The car ride went chaotic, but Joe succeeded in leaving the jeeps behind them. He looked in the rear-view mirror and met Andy’s gaze. She shook the head slowly and Joe growled angrily. Andy knew that he would be by her side if you wouldn’t make it and she would take revenge, but she didn’t want to think about this scenario. She still had faith that you will come back to her.

The group arrived at one of their many safehouses, well it was just a small cabin, but better than nothing. Andy planned to go here after the mission one way or another, but she never thought that it would be the four of them and your dead body.

“How is she doing?” Nicky asked worriedly and opened the door to lean over your face. He hoped to find any signs of you starting healing. He could imagine how Andy felt in the moment, he wouldn't feel different if it would be Joe. Andy was focused on your face as well and stroked your unharmed right forearm.

“How long?” Joe whispered from the driver seat after he turned around.

“Too long,” Andy replied with trembling lips. “Maybe half an hour already. Why isn’t she healing?”

“She has probably inner injuries too. You know that big wounds need longer to heal. She will be fine,” Nicky assured her and Andy looked hopeful at him. Nicky always found the right words to calm her down, but the waiting stressed her immensely.

Your family waited impatiently that you started to heal. The seconds and minutes were crawling slowly and the silence was unbearable. Andy would give everything she had to hear your laugh again.

The noise when your bones began to crack back in their places and your skin grew back over the red flesh, let Andy flinch, but all of them let out a sigh of relief. Andy didn’t notice that she held her breath the whole time since Nicky spoke.

“Now it won’t take any longer, only a few seconds,” Joe said smiling slightly.

Andy nodded slowly, but never kept her eyes of you, she watched how your body healed in every place that was injured and she laughed weakly when you took your first breath. Your eyes flattered open and you tried to focus on anything. You looked directly at her.

Your whole body hurt when you came back to life. In one moment you killed a man who tried to attack Nicky from behind and in the next moment everything went black. You knew you had died, but you recognized that you lay with your head in Andy’s lap and she was watching you worriedly. You noticed tears on her cheeks and now you were really confused.

“Why are your eyes so red?” you asked confused and knitted your eyebrows together, but you received no answer and Andy’s arms wrapped around your upper body to pull her close to her chest. Your face was buried in the crook of her neck while Andy was rocking back and forward with you.

You were sure something went horribly wrong that made Andy so emotional, because she was hugging you desperately and caressed your hair tenderly. “You’re okay, you’re here,” she whispered again and again more to herself than to you.

“Yes, I’m good, Andy. What happened?” you asked and your voice was muffled. She didn’t let go and you decided to hug her back. You wrapped your arms around her waist and squeezed her gently, to let her know you were there and it would be okay whatever got her so sad and worried. But it seemed your words made it only worse, because Andy began to shake with sobs.

She laid a hand on your cheek and made you looking at her. “Don’t you ever do this again to me,” she said sternly and kissed your forehead for a long moment, she didn't care that there was blood everywhere on your new healed skin. Andy didn’t want to talk about what happened to you. All she wanted was holding you in her arms and listening to your frequent breathing and your steady heartbeat. Your body had been so cold, but now the warmth was spreading in your torso and limbs, but Andy still needed a few minutes to realize that you weren’t dead anymore.

A rock in the size of the Mount Everest fell from her heart the second you openend your eyes. She never felt so happy in her entire life and she would never let go of you again. Never keeping her of you again. Not ever letting anyone hurt again.

“We should go inside. The both of you need a hot bath,” you heard Nicky’s voice and you thought that you must sat in a car with Andy and the others. Slowly the whole situation made sense to you and you assumed that you took too long to revive from the death. But there would be no chance that Andy would explain everything to you, because she didn’t answer your question the first time and you knew her well enough that it meant she didn't want to talk about it.

“Nicky is right, Andromache,” you tried to get her attention and she shifted carefully with you in her arms. She went out of the car, but never let go of you and helped you to stand on your feet. She studied you intensely and wrapped an arm around your middle to push you gently in direction of the small cabin.

You didn't complain when she lead you straight into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. You walked over to the mirror and looked at yourself.

“I look awful,” you commented giggling your reflection, but Andy shook her head. She reached for your shoulders to peel off the rest of your remaining clothes. It stuck to your skin and you felt dirty and itchy. You needed a hot shower and Andy had the same idea in her mind, when she pushed you wordlessly under warn water. A few seconds later a pair of arms wrapped around your body and Andy nuzzled her face to your neck. You weren't used to so much affection from her. Naturally she showed affection when you were alone or when she had a very good day then in front of your family too, but now she was desperate to touch you, feeling you close to her.

“I'm fine, my heart.”

She hugged you harder and started to place kisses on the side of your neck. You turned around in her arms and dug your fingers in her upper arms. She watched you attentive and her eyes still showed worry, pain, sadness, but there was as well relief and her love for you. You understood that she almost lost you today.

“I'm fine,” you reassured her and you leaned your forehead against hers. “You won't lose me, ever, my heart belongs to you and I will be always by your side.”

Andy wasn't good with words, bur her actions showed more than thousand words. She raised a hand and her fingers traced over your eyebrows, cheeks, the soft curve of your lips, her thumb opened your mouth with gentle pressure and then she kissed your lips. Your mouths met from time to time in soft kisses until they moved slowly and sensual. Andy treated you like you could break from the slightest touch of her, but on the other side she wanted to caress all the parts that were injured, feeling only smooth and flawless skin.

Your spine tingled in anticipation when you pulled back and saw Andy's eyes were a few shades darker. The worry was replaced with lust and adoration, her kisses grew deeper and passionately, her hand in the small of your back made you upper body aching and her tongue find the way in your mouth. You will give her everything that she needed and she could take everything that she wanted.

“I was barely so scared in my entire life,” she muttered and the confession took her a lot of bravery, but it didn't matter, she didn't need to be brave or strong in the moment, not here with you.

You didn't answer anything, you simply hugged her with your arms around her shoulders and stood in silence with water raining down on you that turned pink on the way down.

Clean from the dirt and blood you went in the small bedroom that you shared everytime you came to the cabin. She tugged you under the blankets and cuddled you from behind in a firm grip like she thought you could disappear when she fell asleep.

You found sleep while listening to her breathing. You felt secure and happy to be with the woman that meant… well, there wasn't existing any words to describe your love for Andy. She was your other half and the constant in your life. Your feelings grew over the centuries for her into a love so deep that no ocean was big enough to contain it.

Andy whispered lovely words and sweet nothings in your ear what woke you up slowly and you felt the kisses on your face, neck, clevage and chest. Her hands caressed your heated skin from under the blankets and pressed to her hot body so long.

“I need you,” she stated clearly with authority in her voice. You were surprised for a moment, but the worry was back in her eyes and you nodded in agrerment.

“You got a bad dream?” you asked softly. She kissed you desperately as an answer to show you her need to be close to you.

“I'm here. We're both safe here,” you reassured her, whispering against her lips and Andy claimed your mouth again and again. You knew she didn't want to talk, only touch and feel you.

***

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[mirrerover]

Big Plans

“You know shit’s never gonna fucking change, right?” Jason makes to grab for his Zippo. Remembering Dick will happily remove his nuts from his waxed sack for even contemplating smoking inside Dick’s apartment, he stops. His fingers twitch with irritation, nothing like a little nicotine deprivation to start the day. “Gotham’s a gothic nightmare where corruption runs thicker than blood and Blüdhaven’s worse, somehow. Like looking in a funhouse mirror. Uglier. More warped.”

“I really do enjoy our little morning pep talks,” Dick replies, closing the last two buttons on his dress shirt before tucking the fabric into the waistline of his pants. In general, Jason would say he prefers the Kevlar-enhanced, ass-hugging suit Dick prowls the night in—but there’s something to be said for a crisp, white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, forearm veins on display. He doesn’t know how the Blüdhaven criminals are faring but, personally, he wouldn’t mind letting Detective Richard Grayson slap some cuffs on him. Let Dick work him over hard in a surveilled box until Jason cracks, raw and bloody under the harsh fluorescent lights. 

“These fucking places,” Jason grumbles, tired and cranky from watching Dick getting ready to leave, all that warm, gold skin about to slip right out the door. “It’s not something anyone can fix. Nothing short of dropping a bomb on the damn place and razing it to the ground.” 

Dick sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s getting longer, strands brushing the bone of his jaw. He’s no stranger to this; Jason and the trash he talks. Words pouring out of him sharp as knives, the blades full of blood. Just endlessly spewing shit.

“No point to it all, huh?” Dick leans a hip against the dresser, arms folded, eyebrow raised. There’s an ease to him that’s inherent; the way he owns his body, his space, every room he’s in. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to lure me back to bed.”

 Jason thinks it over. Admits, “not originally,” and lets his legs fall apart slowly. Nude body lounging against cheap, synthetic pillows, he’s got Dick’s low-rent sheets strategically draped across his crotch, all tasteful and shit. Just like the Renaissance paintings cluttering the hallways of the Wayne Manor. None of the shameless, naked peacocking Dick gets up to after sex. No, Jason’s classy. Artful. The signature Jason Todd brand. “But are you feelin’ down to fuck?” he asks. 

Dick throws his head back and laughs. Really fucking laughs. Eyes scrunched up and shoulders shaking, all charisma and beauty and warmth. Laughing like that, it’s suddenly easy to see how a group of metahumans chose Dick as their leader despite his lack of superpowers or how the Blüdhaven Police Corps would accept him as their own despite him being the ward of Gotham’s favourite billionaire asshole. There’s something about Dick like there’s something about Bruce. Something captivating and inescapable that would make you launch a thousand ships for them. Burn down entire worlds for them. Jason’s not sure Dick’s aware of that. And in a way, Jason thinks he understands the Joker better than Bruce ever could. 

Dick’s laughter fades too slowly, and Jason would be annoyed but there’s a tightness to Dick’s pants that wasn’t there two minutes ago, and Dick’s always laughing. Joyful and happy. Like those are easy feelings to conjure and easy feelings to have. As if getting out of bed isn’t like crawling out of a dark pit every morning and as if life isn't like taking a suckerpunch to the gut, over and over.

“Wish I could,” Dicks says, and Jason swears he sounds like he means it. “But I got big plans today. Gotta save a city.”

“‘Save a city.’ Jesus Christ. More like go get shanked in the gut.”

Dick shrugs and slips on a watch. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

The other bats all have their day jobs. The Police Detective, the Socialite, the rising Tech Wunderkind, and Jason’s personal favourite: the Student. Jason derives no small amount of pleasure from knowing that Bruce and the Demon Spawn get to suffer through the worst of it. Like an ill-fitted suit, Jason hopes it pulls and itches every time they’ve got to slip their disguises on. It shows how removed they are from the rot and the grit and the filth of what is Gotham. The gore at the core of it all. 

That’s where Jason lives, at its epicentre. 

He’d fallen into it naturally, being a crime lord. It had been a logical first step when he’d come home, head full of green fumes and rage. He’s proud to say, he puts the organized in organized crime. Outshines even the worst of them in calculated vicious violence. The crime part of the job, Jason can admit he’s gotten more discerning about. There’s no peddling drugs to kids or bleeding junkies dry, no people traded like cattle, and he doesn’t like selling guns to the lowlifes clogging Gotham’s streets. So, he’s become a parasite instead. Infiltrates a crime organisation and eats it from the inside out till it finally collapses. Scraps the dead beast for parts and money.

It’s not something Jason talks about with this version of Dick. His shady deals, his underground moonlighting. Never with a cop like the one making his way to the bed right now, uniform tight over thick thighs and a sway in his hips that’s nothing less than sexual warfare. 

“Try smoking in my bed again, Todd,” Dick warns, looming over him. He stops whatever threat he was going to utter, disrupted by Jason grousing at him to fucking let that go already. Perfectly pleasant, Dick does exactly that. Just stares at Jason with a face far too naked and utterly too fond. Something’s creeping under Jason’s skin at the sight of it—an itch he doesn’t know how to scratch, unable to decide whether he wants to kiss the prick or break his perfect face instead.

A little lower, there’s a bruise peeking out of Dick’s collar that looks like a handprint. Jason had put that there last night. Violently. Not even the fun kind of violent but the messy kind. The kind where something hunts Jason through nightmares and his body acts before his sleeping brain has had the chance to catch up—that kind of violence. Maybe a better person would wallow in the guilt and remove themselves from the situation. Not Dick and Jason. They just get better at hiding the batarangs and guns. The 200 pounds of well-trained muscle and murderous reflexes are a little harder to counteract but Dick’s no babe in the woods. Besides, Jason’s not exactly the first lethal bitch between Dick’s bedsheets.

Dick smiles. A teasing thing full of soft edges. “Mornings are hard. Aren’t they, Sugarplum?”

“Fuck you to hell.” Jason groans with feeling, hating the hard lumps of Dick’s mattress when he sinks back into them. “Just get lost already, Birdbrain. There’s no fucking point to you with your clothes on.”

“Nice to know I’m not completely useless.”

Jason wants to fight that far too favourable self-assessment. Would fight it, were he not half a pack of Lucky Strikes and three cups of coffee short of mustering the energy. Which is also the only reason he’s letting Dick press an off-centre kiss to his forehead. A shitty place for a shitty kiss from a shitty person, if you ask Jason. Very much Dick Grayson’s style.

“Try and behave, Little Wing.” Dick’s already moving away from the bed and shrugging on a jacket. “I really like this place. Got three South facing windows and none of the neighbours run a meth lab.”

“Prime Blüdhaven real estate,” Jason mutters darkly.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Dick takes one last look at himself at the mirror, shoots Jason a tacky wink because his existence is a curse, and promises under his breath something that sounds suspiciously like I’ll be back or I’ll miss you. Another twenty seconds later and Jason hears the front door lock click back into place.

His day is wide open now. 

There are things to do but there are always things to do. At any time, Jason’s got about forty things in various stages of motion. Always working on something. Someone. Bigger games than the one he’s running on Dick right now, lighting one up in his bed.

Blowing smoke up into the air, Jason decides that today he’s going to crack the safe Dick keeps behind the panel in his closet. Perfectly harmless, really. Just him fishing through some of Dick’s case files—maybe even solving a few, if he’s feeling charitable. And for tonight, there’s that Malaysian place three blocks over that does a better Rendang than anything he’s found in Gotham. Dick never shuts up about it. Like he’s never going to shut up about the cigarette smell seeping into the wallpaper.

Jason smirks. Solid options. He still has last night’s terrors painted on the back of his eyelids and the feeling of Dick’s neck under his hand but they’re slowly fading. And Dick’s got him covered, said he’d take care of the big plans, so Jason doesn’t have to. And next time, when Jason’s Dick and Dick’s Jason, he’ll have Dick covered too. Jason will tackle the big plans while Dick raids Jason’s fridge and leaves wet towels all over his apartment. Jason knows it’ll happen. It has happened. Just not today.

Maybe tomorrow.

----------------------

@wethatake thanks for being the beta and basically a co-writer. You suck but I love you. <3 Here’s to hoping that your sad little sack of a co-worker doesn’t kill you. XD

[yoursinfulurges]

Toxin and Venom

Slight Dark!Peter Parker x Dark!Reader

Description:

In which a seemingly loving relationship appears greater than it is...

There was something rather terrible about this young man's naive exterior. Though nobody could pinpoint where exactly the dreadfulness laid. His eyes shined a little too brightly, and his words were coated in thick sugar, enough to appear disingenuous to the skillfully trained ears. But there hidden behind is smile concealed the sinister morals of a true manipulator.

Oh' but she was no better herself, twisting words to favour her narrative. Playing as if she was nothing more than a meek little prey.

Warnings: pure angst with an underlining layer of toxicity.

Disclaimer: This is a REWRITE of one of my old stories dated back to a year ago, so if it sounds familiar that is why. This story was originally written for Jung Jaehyun from NCT but seeing as though I've fallen out of love with kpop at the moment, I wanted to repurpose it for my new followers that I've harbored since The Venom Within, as I'm very proud of the way it was written and concluded that I wanted to share with you all. I did improve and change quite a lot so you won't be reading the exact same story and I decided to add a twist to it.

Note: This is more so a college au so the fact that Peter is Spiderman is insignificant...

Word Count: 4.k

_____________

Your boyfriend, Peter, had always been the most kind and caring person you knew. Ever since you met him, and even after months of dating, he still acted like the bashful, kind Disney prince you took him for. Only treating you with nothing but respect and admiration; you often wondered if this boy was even capable of making an insult, or had a bad bone in his body. Fore he acts way too nice and sweet for his own good. Controlling at times but it was with all good intentions...

Originally, you thought the kind gestures and lovely sweet talking was his way of subtly flirting, but after years of dating him, you came to the realization that it was just simply him. Peter didn't need to pretend to be kind and sweet like other guys; given that it was like second nature for him. You loved the boy to death. He showered you with so much love, spoiled you with affection. Treated you like his queen; His shining jewel. Out of the two years that you'd been together, not once has he wronged you.

    That is, up until this exact moment...

You stand there in the middle of the kitchen, tears streaming down your cheeks. At this point you had stopped listening to what he was saying. In fear that if you continued to listen to his harsh words, more of your love would begin to fleet away, and you couldn't afford to lose any more. Despite of all your excessive yelling, you loved Peter. And he meant so much to you. But seeing him in this state, angry and hostile, attacking you viciously with his words, you began to question your future with him.

You couldn't quite fathom what brought on this newfound aggression in your relationship. Though, you had a slight seeking suspicion that it was from all the post-exam stress you both had to endure. Weeks upon weeks of studying and sleepless nights finally took its toll on the both of you. Thus bringing you to this exact moment in time. The once loving home corrupted by the harsh spoken words that fell from both of your lips. Anger and aggression filling the room, space welcoming the negativity with open arms. You had both tainted it...

That was not the boy you fell in love with, but instead somebody meaner, a-kind to venom...

Then again, you weren't a saint yourself either, words you wouldn't have ever thought of saying spilled out of your mouth like toxin. You needed to do something fast to mend your relationship back together...

The mere thought of breaking up with the man hurts you so dearly. You just wanted your loving boyfriend back from what ever abyss he dissapeared off to. Typically your fights never lasted this long, but this one proved to be quite challenging. You just wanted him to stop yelling. But in fear of the unthinkable outcome of your protest, you kept shut and held onto the remaining pieces of your heart. You knew for a fact that Peter would never dear to lay a hand on you, so you tried very desperately to push those thoughts aside. However, his following statements made both tasks very difficult. It was as if he was challenging your composure. Like he wanted the flood gates broken.

Like he wanted you to cave in to the malicious voice whispering in your ear...

His words could've very well be from all the stress, ..or pent up insults and remarks that he'd been silently keeping in. You had no way of telling. You prayed and hoped that it was the first one rather than the assuming latter. Because maybe then, you would consider forgiving him. Even though the words punctured you like bullets, penetrating your inner layers and hurting you in more ways than one. This was not your Peter... You questioned the morals behind his words, were they intended to hurt you, or was it just in the heat of the moment. Regardless, you knew that his words would be something that lingered on forever in your head.

"I don't even know why I stayed this long with you, honestly! What do I even see in you! Stop being so unreasonable! You're easily replaceable, so i don't see why you're acting so high and mighty. News flash y/n, i could do a lot better!"

         And there it was...

His current state and demeanor rivalled that of which the one you used to know. The soft spoken, kind, sweet, shy Peter. The one that still plays with legos despite being nineteen years old. You'd give anything to have him back...

You always knew that Peter could do better, but hearing this from him was a lot different than you saying it to yourself in your head. Before you had started dating you knew he had a chance with Michelle. She was a very pretty girl that went to your university, she was also Peter's chem partner... Michelle was nice, smart, and talented. You were very aware of the little 'thing' they had going on. So to your surprise, when you heard rumors of a certain Peter Parker, looking to ask you out, you almost didn't believe. Hell, you laughed straight into Brad's face and told him he was delusional. If only a hesitant, blush faced Peter wasn't stood right behind you to prove you wrong.

Ever since that day, you questioned Peter's choice. Why did he choose you, when he could've had a chance with Michelle? Someone he was more compatible with... You figured that he saw something special in you that nobody else did. Though, his previous statement proves you wrong and tells you that he doesn't even know why he gave you a chance. You're at a drift, not knowing where this relationship is headed, or where to stand. Knowing that you were replaceable to Peter weakens you. Were you really that insignificant to him? Were you a chore to be around? If so then why did he stay for two years? All these questions ran through your mind as you're frozen in a state of shock. How do you follow such a thing?

You stand silently, wails threatening to break free from your lips, as you shake. Instantly covering your mouth with your palm. You watch as he screamed at you more, words blocked out by the ringing in your ears. Truthfully, you were glad you couldn't hear his words, not knowing how to reciprocate to any more of his personal attacks.

The familiar feeling of despair began to conjure in the pit of your stomach. The tightness in your chest began to focus on your beating heart, constricting you like a boa preying on its meal. Everything around you became a hazy blur as the non stop ringing became more prominent. The cause being your angry boyfriend and his heart-wrenching words. Jolts of anxiety began to climb up from your figure tips, like a thousand spiders crawling on your skin. A feeling you know all too well crept up from behind you. You were beginning to feel frantic and scared, as your breathing became unstable.

You were becoming erratic, desperate to end the fight and be in his arms again.

"What!? Huh, not gonna clap back with some snarky remark. Admit it, you know im right!"

Peter's face was a striking shade of scarlet while he paced back and forth, hands finding themselves tangled in his hair as he mumbled inaudible words. His hair, you remember running your hands through his curly, brown locks this morning when you woke up. Oh, how happy and blissful you both were twelve hours prior to this moment. You both were so content and hopeful with the prospect of your relationship. Being able to finally spend time with each other after a stressful week. Originally, you had planned a date night with Peter. But things began to make a turn for the worse when he began to insult every little thing you did. Now here you were, an hour and forty-five minutes late for your reservations.

A taste for bitterness began to fill your mouth, as your insides churned. Waves of sadness and despair hit you like a tsunami. You suddenly couldn't stand the thought of staying in the same room as Peter. Let alone sleeping in one. Fore his words had impacted you like an arrow through the heart. You felt sick, disgusted, vulnerable, and above all else, hurt.

"God, you're such a fucking bitch sometimes!" Peter spat, but soon after stopped, noticing your sudden change in demeanor. Your once, fuming and aggressive facade was replaced with a much more subdued, fragile, hurt exterior, mirroring how you felt inside. You had given up. The bandage that held your heart together snapped.

You looked up at him, hurt written all over your face. Instantly, Peter rushed your way. He wanted to wrap his arms around you, apologize for calling you a bitch. But stopped when you held your hand out and shook your head, a sob erupting from your mouth. Suddenly, all the hurtful things Peter said rang through his own head.

Oh...

Shit!

"Baby, I-" He started, not knowing how to follow. His mouth suddenly became dry, letting out a sigh of regret. Voice coming out weak and pained. His chest tightening at the sight of what he has done to you. No no no no no no.... Peter knew you weren't the type to forgive and forget. Even if you both manage to somehow recover from this, he knew that his words would always be in your head. You would constantly doubt yourself and his transparency, thinking if it was all an act.

Regret began to eat away at him once again when he noticed your uneven breathing. Another punch in his gut when he took note of your shaking. Peter's eyes quickly darted to yours, his heart breaking when he saw the amount of fear in them. He was uncertain if you were scared of him or your emotions. He wanted it to be the second one. Peter never wanted you to see him in that light. Yet here you were, having an anxiety attack because of him...

He knew that feeling all too well, having suffered from anxiety of his own, but the fact that he was the one to force you into that state shattered him..

"Don't call me that...." You spat coldy, backing away slowly into your shared bedroom. Making sure he didn't follow and locking the door. Once in the cozy room, you sob like la llorona conveying grief. You couldn't bear to see all the happy pictures of you two, when he said so himself, you're nothing special to him. Without thinking, you began to rip off every Polaroid, framed pictures, and drawings from the walls. Not caring of ripping them. You threw them all on the floor. Your vision becoming clouded by tears as you sob. Ruining the white fabric of your oversized sweater with your makeup contaminated tears.

Your body halts, the last remaining picture was of the both of you on your first date. You always considered that day as the happiest moment of your life. But now knowing that you're just a pit stop in Peter's life, the memory manifests into something much darker than obsidian.

You inhale as you looked at the picture one more time. It was you kissing Peter on the cheek. He donned a beautiful cheshire smile, his freckles displaying proudly under the sunlight. He wore a red, hooded sweatshirt with his hero, Iron man's logo depicted on the top right corner. You always love it when he wore sweaters, especially that one. You remembered every emotion you felt as the picture was being taken. Even if you didn't, your expression held it all. You radiated happiness as the butterflies in your stomach became restless. You were so happy...

You sob lightly, your thumb caressing his face as you looked fondly at the picture. Suddenly, words that fell from his mouth earlier replayed in your head. He had purposely attacked your deepest insecurities. Jabbed and taunted you. The Peter you knew would never result to something so cruel and petty. Without putting much thought into it, you began to take the picture out of its frame.

Your ears perking up when you hear the familiar sound of the lock being picked. The jiggling of the doorknob was something you grew accustomed to. Having locked yourselves out of the bedroom on more than one occasion....

Taking one final breath, you rip the picture in two and retreated into the master bathroom. Once the door was slammed shut and locked, all hell broke loose. As if it couldn't have gotten worse alright. Your wails grew louder and more repetitive that you were being to sound like a banshee, mourning for her decaying heart. Eventually, you found yourself curled up in the bathtub, suppressing your cries into your knees as you lowered your head.

Peter finally succeeds in picking the lock, after what seemed like hours, and once he creaked opened the door of your shared bedroom, his heart broke in two. Parts of him began to deteriorate, he wished he had never said those hurtful things. He felt numb and out of touch with reality, sensing his anxiety looming over his shoulder. Peter knew that one of your biggest insecurities was never meaning much to somebody. And that weren't fond of feeling worthless and neglected. He knew your background and upbringing well enough to know just how much you disliked being treated as such.

All he wanted to do was hold you in his arms and kiss your tears away. A pool of sadness brimmed his eyes as he evaluates the damage. From one corner of the room to the other, pictures were left scattered and discarded. The framed drawings of him that you illustrated, sat on the floor of your bedroom, frame cracked and shattered. The Polaroids he held ever so dearly to his heart, littered the bed and floor. He broke down in tears when he sees the torn picture of you both.

How could you vandalize such a treasured memory. But then again, how could he hurt the most precious thing in his life. Seeing the picture ripped apart like this, he knew that somehow he affected your perspective on this whole relationship. His previous words had tainted such beloved memories, and twisted them to seem like nothing more than a one-sided love. He made you question whether he truly loved you or not. Suddenly the realization kicked in, and it kicked in hard. A tsunami of guilt and regret pierced through is heart. His insides churned and it suddenly became very hard to breathe. He suddenly became really aware of how dire this situation was. His following actions may break your relationship if he didn't act wisely.

Peter bends down to hold your piece of the puzzle, a river flow of heart ache cascading down his cheeks, wetting the captured image of you. Your sobs, which had begun to sound like cries of help, due to lack of air, rang threw Peter's ears. Suddenly he grew extremely concerned and rushed to the door, dropping your image.

Immediately, you stop when you heard soft knocks coming from the other end of the door, which was soon followed by cries and sniffling sounds.

"Baby, open the door!" You don't comply with his words and stayed seated in your place, hugging your knees tighter.

"W-what are you gonna do if i don't? Pick the lock and violate my privacy! Just go away P-peter! W-why don't you go find another girl to replace me, because apparently, i-i mean nothing to you!" Screaming at the inanimate door, or more so the person behind it, as you let out a cut short wail. You hated yourself for how weak and broken you sounded. Wishing, you could drown out his stupid words that had already engraved itself deep in your brain.

"Y-you said s-so yourself! I'm easily replaceable! I-if i had known that this relationship was just gonna be one sided then i would've never wasted my time!" Apparent in your tone and words how truly distraught you were, Peter cried harder, cold sweats engulfing his body. He winced at the thought of how broken you were. It only lead him to wonder, what exactly happened and what brought on this fight. Sounding more so a statement rather than a question in his head.

He parted his lips softly, a small whimpering sigh rolling off his tongue.

"Please y/n, just open the door. I-i just want to see you. Please... I-I need to know that you're okay...." his words laced with mixed emotions, such as sorrow and remorse. Despite his current emotional state, Peter's stature looked anything else but composed. God, he was freaking out..

Incoherently mumbling a soft 'please' as he laid his forehead onto the wood door. His hand resting above his head, fist balled tightly, as if ready to start pounding. He was desperate, eyes screwing shut tightly causing a flow of tears to glide down his cheeks. Peter's jaw clenched tightly in frustration, as he beat himself over and over again for saying such things.

After much hesitance, you stood up and made your way to the door. Peter hears the small shuffle and quickly straightens himself out. After seconds of hovering your hand over the knob, you twist it open, instantly unlocking itself and setting free all the pent up emotions. You crack open the door, almost immediately, Peter rushes in and hugs you.

You don't return the hug, silently stiffening in his arms. At that moment, the last few bits of composure you had built back up snaps loose. You become a crying mess in Peter's arms. Feelings of unmeasurable sadness cascade down your cheeks, onto his black long sleeve shirt. You try and push him away, but fail due to his strength. His muscular arms constricting you as if you would fade away.

"Listen to me please." He says softly, tears lightly streaming down his cheeks, though, not to the caliber of yours.

You sniffle lightly, thrashing in his arms. Though, it was no use, his hold was so secure that no amount of resistance would break you free. So, you could do nothing else but endure what he has to say.

"I'm sorry-

Sorry doesn't fix anything Peter, it's just a word!" The teary-eyed male hissed at your words. The amount of hurt and venom your tone held was enough to make his jaw clench and his hold to tighten.

"I know it doesn't, but it's a start. L-look, i didn't mean to say that. I don't know what came over me, or what caused me to say those things. But what i do know is that they were a hundred percent untrue. And i want you to know that..." He pauses briefly to wipe away your tears with his thumb. Dipping his head into the crook of your neck. He took in your floral scent, hoping it would help him regain composure. You feel a tug on your heart at how utterly hurt and small he sounded.

"I love you with all my heart, and that you are the most unique girl I've ever met... If anything i don't know how i even managed to get a girlfriend as beautiful and amazing as you..... Wanna know why I'm with you?" You nod lightly into his chest. His hold readjust itself as he lays his head above yours. Almost content with your slight gesture, but he needed to be sure you were happy.

"It's because you accept me for who i am. You don't pressure me to be perfect all the time, you welcome my flaws with open arms; don't expect anything from me and shower me with so much love everyday... I want you to know that i could never replace you, not that i would ever want to. How did i ever get so lucky... Please y/n, you are one of the most important people in my life.... I-i can't loose you too..." Peter couldn't fathom a future with out you in it. He grew frantic, thinking that this day could be the last together. And that there would be a slight chance that you didn't want to forgive him again. He couldn't let that happen...

"Please say something...." He sighed whilst tears brimmed his eyes, taking your tightening hold on his shirt to keep moving forward.

"Do you remember when we first started dating, that night i texted you that i was frustrated and my anxiety was acting up... And you came over in a heart beat, even though you lived fifteen minutes away... Y-you told me to let it all out, and i cried in your arms for an hour, complaining about everything. I felt so ashamed for crying in front of you, but you told me that i was so brave for accepting my feelings... I know what i said must've hurt you a lot, but I'll do better... I'm sorry for triggering you like that." Peter's tone was barely above whisper, and if he hadn't have said it directly above your ear, you would've missed it. There he was... your Peter....

You thought back to the said memory and smiled fondly, that was the night you both realized that you wanted a more serious title on your relationship. Finally labeling each other as boyfriend and girlfriend. You thought back to all the happy memories you both shared and confirmed that a silly little fight wouldn't get the best of you. Yes, his words might've hurt, but his actions now out ways all of his petty insults. You give into your flourishing heart and forgive him.

Backing away from his chest lightly, you look up at him, gasping slightly at his blood shot eyes. You hesitatly reach up to cup both of his cheeks. Wiping away the remaining tears that streamed down his face. He smiled lightly and leaned into your touch, taking one of your hands in his and place a soft, delicate kiss on it.

"We'll be okay...." You smiled at his comforting words before planting a passionate, loving kiss on his lips. Peter smiled lightly before taking your wrist on his hold and guiding them to wrap around his neck. He deepens the kiss and pulls you closer by your waist.

It was then that he realized that he wanted you to be the only women in his life. And that he wanted nobody else. Suddenly feeling an overly compelling urge in his heart to make up for his actions overcomes him. He was determined to trap you in his web of love again. He couldn't loose you too...

You smile in content, 

          portraying the victim always worked...

'Indeed, we'll be just fine.....'

Perhaps they were both awful people, fooling each other with the reality they both created. But it was done with the intent of love, sick twisted love... He was possessive and she was insecure. And together they were toxin and venom... God forbid anything that tries to get in between them...

_____________

End Note:

For those that don't understand, take notice in Peter's words and how drastically different they are from when he was mad to when he was apologizing. Sweet at first glance but if you really dig deep you'd notice how sugar coated everything seemed, like he's saying what you want to hear. And as for the Reader, I purposely left out how much she contributed to the fight in the beginning to make it seem as though she was the victim, when in reality she was also at fault. The anxiety aspect of this story was very much 'real' since I described what it felt like for me and I wanted her to suffer from anxiety yet have something be a little off. Now, I'm not claiming that the bedroom part was a whole scene to feed her victim persona, but that's up to how you want to view it. This story is subjective and can be taken however way you want to.

[kaiqarker]

off my chest

pairing: xavier plympton x reader

warnings: love confession, smut

summery: on the run from a deranged killer stalking the grounds of camp redwood, you and xavier take shelter in one the cabins. knowing you may not have much time left with each other, secrets are confessed and lead to the two of you making the most of your brief moment of safety.

“YOU WERE RIGHT,” xavier admitted through labored breaths, dirt streaking his vibrant jacket and small cuts gracing his skin from running into numerous branches. “this whole thing was a bad idea.”

she didn’t look much better, sweat sticking to her skin and her hair a bit disheveled from the whole running for their lives ordeal. they were separated from the rest of the group, and quite frankly she didn’t know who was even still alive or not, but she hoped they had gotten to someplace relatively safe like her and xavier.

after aimlessly running through the woods, they stumbled upon the boys cabin, which was luckily vacant of any of the lurking murderers they were trying to get away from. so they locked the door behind them, xavier pushing the couch against the door for good measure, and hoped that they would be safe — even if it was for a few moments.

“no, really? going to newly reopened camp that is the home of one of the most gruesome massacres of all time wasn’t a good idea?” the girl replied bitterly, staring at the barricaded door for a few seconds before allowing herself to sit down on one the beds.

she wiped the sweat off of her forehead with the back of her manicured hand, glancing down to see her once freshly white sneakers were now stained with mud. she didn’t need a mirror to understand she wasn’t necessarily looking her best.

the bed shifted with xavier’s weight as he settled down beside her, his styled blonde hair somehow still looking perfect despite everything they had been through tonight. “no one forced you to come.”

“please. when you found out about this you begged me to come with, said i’d be missing out on so much fun. well, guess what, xavier? my idea of fun isn’t getting murdered.”

“how was i supposed to know this would happen?! i just... wanted to get away. from everything.”

“right. because your pristine life as an aerobics intructer is so stressful.”

he looked over at her, eyeing her still heaving chest and the angry expression coating her lovely face. she appeared to be mad at him, lips tucked into a thin line and fierce eyes staring forward, but xavier knew this was just something to distract herself from showing how really scared she was.

the blonde sighed, and quieted down for a moment. he didn’t want to argue with her. not now. not when with one wrong move he could end up killing them if he made one more stupid decision. he couldn’t let her die.

she felt a slight sensation on top of her head and craned her neck to see that xavier had reached over and pulled a stray leaf out of her hair. she studied the gentle way he grasped it and how he let it float down and land on the floor beneath their feet. her eyes found his and her expression softened.

“this... this isn’t actually your fault, you know?” she whispered to him, stunned for the millionth time by how blue his eyes were.

“yes it is. i brought us all here. i was stupid and selfish and naive.”

“you’re not. xavier i-“

“no, no. stop,” he interrupted, voice trembling slightly from the emotion stirring up within him. it was definitely a rare sight to see; he wasn’t plastering around his cocky smirk or showing off the mischievous glints found within his eyes.

“i have something to tell you. something that i haven’t told anyone else. not chet or montana or ray or brooke.”

she reached over and clasped one of his hands lying limp on his lap, feeling the smooth skin and the warmth radiating from it. “you can tell me anything.”

“the reason- why i wanted to get away so bad is because i... got mixed up in some bad business. with some very powerful people. and i thought if i took this councilor job, and you and everyone else came with me, i could forget all about it. just spend a carefree summer with my friends, not thinking about my mistakes. i was stupid to think they wouldn’t follow me here.”

“that guy. who was killed outside the showers. is he one of the people you were running away from?”

“yeah. he’s, uh, a porn producer.”

her eyes widen in disbelief at his answer, mouth agape. “you-you were in a porno?”

he nods hesitantly, expecting her to yank her her hand back and stare at him in disgust. instead, she does something he doesn’t expect: she laughs. not a tiny giggle or a breathy laugh, a full on burst of uncontrollable laughter that made her head fall back and her lips stretch into a amused grin.

“you think this is funny?” his says as he watches her slowly calm down, his lips twitching because seeing the humor in her eyes makes him want to smile and let out a chuckle of his own.

“oh, i think this is hilarious.”

“you know what? quiet down before someone hears us. i can’t believe you.” xavier shakes his head and playfully pushes her hand off of him, pretending he wanted nothing to do with her now.

“sorry. i’ll stop, i’ll stop,” she breathes out, smiling as her laughter finally dies down. “i just can’t believe it. you were in a porno. was it just you and some girl?”

“it was a gay porno.” he admitted with a scrunched up face.

“wait. you’re gay?”

“no! no, i’m not. which makes it worse.”

“you mean which makes it funnier.”

“we could die any minute and you choose to spend your potentially last minutes with me by making fun of me?”

“been doing that since the day we met. why change it up now?” she asks, feeling a thousand times better than when they first arrived at this place. xavier always seemed to have that effect. he always made her feel better.

he finally lets himself smile at that remark, turning to face her once more. she gazed right back at him, knowing that there was no one else she’d rather be here with. if she was going to die tonight, then she was glad it was going to be with him.

xavier’s grin slowly fades away as their shared look turns into something more intense. his eyes drift from hers for a moment, memorizing how stray stands of hair framed her defined face. how flushed her cheeks were from all the sprinting. how adorable the upturn of her nose was. how pink and kissable her parted lips were.

“you know, since we are getting things off our chest...” he murmured breathlessly, leaning down towards her.

“yeah?”

“i’ve kind of always been in love with you.”

she doesn’t say anything for a moment, processing his words, which makes xavier’s heart start to patter anxiously in his chest. he starts to wonder if he ruined the moment, if it was the wrong thing to say at a time like this, if-

his whirlwind thoughts are put to a stop by her intrusive set of lips colliding with his own. he sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, shocked to see her eyelids fluttering shut and her mouth molded to his. he didn’t believe this was actually happening, but the warmth and softness of her lips pulled him out of his bewildered state and allowed him to finally kiss her back.

immediately, he was addicted to the sensation, taking control of the kiss and using his hands to pull her body closer to his, tilting his head to deepen it further. she felt his fingers wrap around the sides of her waist, holding her securely in place while she herself got lost in the magnificent train wreck that was xavier plympton.

when they break apart for air, she can feel his hot breath fanning her face, eyelids cracking open to see his beautiful face. “i’m kind of in love you too.”

“of course you are. i’m irresistible,” he utters confidently as if seconds beforehand he wasn’t a nervous wreck, which makes her shake her head, amused.

“i was wondering where my cocky prick went.”

“i’m never far, baby.” he winked, encouraging her to giggle softly against his frame, hands grabbing ahold of his jacket.

“i thought chef bertie was your baby.” the girl reminds him, feeling his hands venture from her waist to the end of her shirt, clutching of the fabric.

“you know you’re my number one girl,” xavier utters against her lips, going in for another quick kiss before pulling away from her again. “now, why don’t you let me take this off your chest.”

“we could die any minute and you choose to spend your time trying to get me out of my clothes?” she quoted him, smiling the tiniest bit.

“been trying to since the day we met. why change it up now?” he played along, pushing the piece of clothing up further and revealing more skin until she took over for him and pulled her top all the way off.

she felt his eyes trained on her bra-clutched chest as she pushed his lavender-colored jacket over his shoulders. he didn’t waste any more of their fleeting time, guiding her gently onto her back and crawling on top of her. her legs parted for him, allowing xavier to slot himself between them effortlessly.

fingers carded through his soft and silky hair when she kissed him once more, barely comprehending how one of his hands slid up her thigh and under her skirt. although she sure did notice when she felt his fingertips press against her covered core, gasping and allowing xavier to deepen the kiss and slide his tongue into her mouth. his pants became tighter as he understood the fabric covering her cunt was already damp.

becoming impatient, the blonde diverts his attention to getting her panties off and down her legs. he sits up slightly, breaking the collision of their lips and hooking his fingers into the elastic of her underwear. while he yanked them off her body, he sensed her mouth move to his neck, sucking and nipping at the skin there lightly, a soft moan escaping him from the contact.

“i don’t think we should do this if you can’t keep quiet,” she whispers into his ear, making him shiver from the sensation.

he eventually smirks from her attempt at teasing him, his hands working on getting his pants undone. “trust me, princess, i’m not the one who’s going to have trouble keeping quiet.”

“is that so?”

he hums in confirmation, positioning himself on top of her again. she helps him slide his pants and underwear down enough so his cock could be let out of its confinements, slightly disappointed they didn’t have enough time to get fully undressed and really make the most of their first time together. but, knowing xavier, she was sure he wouldn’t leave her unsatisfied by this quick encounter.

the girl underneath of him shudders when she feels him line himself up with her entrance, her arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders and pull him impossibly closer to her. her heart is beating wildly, but in sync with the boy on top of her, and all of the unsureness about taking such a risk in this dangerous situation faded away when their eyes locked once more. she wanted this. he wanted this.

xavier watched her facial expression carefully when he slowly began to guide his hard and fully erect cock inside of her, searching for any sign of discomfort that would tell him to stop. he only ended up finding her glowing eyes trained on him and the sight of her lips parting to suck in a deep breath. he had trouble keeping his breathing steady himself, the warmth and tightness of her walls squeezing his shaft affecting him immensely. he had to bite his lip to keep from emitting another pleased moan.

“you feel so fucking good,” she murmurs once he is finally all the way in, the helpless tone found in her voice spurring him on more.

“you feel even better,” he sighs, burying his head in the crook of her neck while he started up a slow pace, hips gently knocking against hers.

her nails begin to sink into the flesh of his shoulders that his muscle tank didn’t cover up, back arching up off of the thin mattress in an attempt to deepen his thrusts that were starting to spark waves of pleasure through her body. mindlessly, she allows her head to get buried more in the plush pillow and for her legs to spread wider for him, knowing she could never get enough of this.

“faster, please.”

“are you begging?”

she could feel his smirk against her skin, the hand that hooked her leg over his waist tightening its hold on her. “if that’s what you want to call it. just fuck me harder.”

he obliges to her wishes, the steady and slow pace of his movements picking up speed and force. his hips crashed into hers, which were attempting to match his thrusts, and it automatically gets harder for both of them to remain quiet. xavier sinks his teeth into the spot where her neck and shoulder meet, biting hard enough to make a mark and muffling the groan that would have echoed throughout the cabin. she settled for digging further into his shoulders with her nails, which soon turned into scratching as she dragged them down his back.

tiny whimpers escaped her, which she somehow kept relatively low, his name sometimes coming out in a desperate whisper as well. apart of him was relieved that they both managed to keep it down, not attracting anyone from the outside, but then there was this other part of him. and that other part was curious what it would be like if he purposely made her moan a little louder, if he made her so intoxicated by him that she’d chant his name like a prayer.

he pulls back from her neck, hovering his face over her hers, feeling her chest heave against his from their shallow breathing. she looked as if she was struggling to contain herself, lips quivering and eyes holding a subtle look of strain. maybe it was the simple sight of her, maybe it was how good she felt wrapped around him, or maybe it was the temptation to take this risk further, but whatever it was, it encouraged him to pull both of legs up further up his waist, changing the angle perfectly so he rammed into that one spot that made her lose any form of common sense.

“xavier-“ she protests, panic twisting her features as an overload of pleasure suddenly comes over her. “i-i can’t-“

“you can. come on. show me how much you’re enjoying this. let everyone left alive at this camp hear. i don’t fucking care anymore.”

“fuck you. this isn’t fair.” she whines, eyes screwing shut. she was seconds away from moaning loudly and surrendering to him in their unspoken game.

“sorry, babe, but i’m not dying without hearing you scream my name as you fall apart.” he murmurs back to her, pace still unrelenting. he even intensifies her pleasure more by snaking a hand between her thighs, applying pressure to her clit.

that was when she couldn’t control herself anymore, letting out a choked cry, which was significantly higher in volume. the girl clutched xavier tighter, sensing the pressure that had been building up within her lower abdomen grow more restless. she trembled, muscles straining underneath her smooth skin while she arched her back, needing to be even closer to him. all the while xavier watched, panting and enjoying the view of the love of his life losing any bit of self control left because of him.

“I’m so close,” she whimpers against his lips, their foreheads coming together as xavier focused fully on his harsh movements.

“go ahead, baby. cum around my cock.” xavier encourages, planting soft kisses along her jawline lovingly. it was getting unbelievably harder to control himself, the way her body felt pressed against his, closer than ever before, wrecking him completely; he was on the brink as well.

with a few more snaps of his hips and radical motions along her clit, she came undone, intense pleasure shooting through her. her toes curled while the rest of her body convulsed underneath him, a loud curse passing her lips before he rendered her speechless. her mouth was left ajar, stunned by the intensity and the blissful feeling of it slowly fading away. the experience was nothing short of extraordinary; he was extraordinary.

xavier exclaimed a rather strident moan himself, the sensation of her pussy pulsating around his dick, hugging him euphorically, sending him right to the edge. he even moves to pull out, knowing he was seconds away from orgasming, but is stopped suddenly by her legs clamping around his waist. this time xavier is the one seeming panic and confused and overwhelmed, looking down to search her decomposed face for answers.

she stares back up with eyes that glimmer of passion, a mixture of lust and love, and he swears he’s never seen anything so compelling. “if we’re risking everything, you might as well cum inside of me.”

“i love you so much.” he cries out before muffling any noise by connecting his lips with hers once more, his impending orgasm finally taking over. she feels his release engulf her insides, mixing with her own, something within itself that makes her feel complete.

he stills after a few more lazy thrusts, collapsing on top of her, the exhaustion of this stressful night catching up with both of them. she raises a hand to play with the few strands of hair that fell out of place during this whole ordeal, calm and comforted in this moment they knew was fleeting.

“is it bad?” he questions after propping his head up, blue eyes sparkling in moonlight- lit room.

she knew he was referring to his hair he spent too much time on in the morning, but decides to let her humor take over. “yes, the sex is bad. this isn’t going to work out.”

“you’re so mean to me,” he mutters, shaking his head from side to side with the faintest hint of a smile. “even after i gave you the best sex of your life.”

she opens her mouth to rebuttal, but abrupt pounding on the cabin door halts any words that would have made their way into xavier’s attentive ears. the boy on top of her jumps up at the sound, sending a frantic glance to the barricaded entrance, watching the wooden door vibrate with each hard knock. she sits up as well, ignoring the liquid mess that slipped from the apex of her thighs and stained the sheets.

another set of persistent collisions, appearing heavier and harsher as they used more of their strength to try to break through, was what sent them both into action. xavier hurriedly throws y/n her shirt before yanking his pants back up his legs, shuffling around a bit to fully get them around his waist and buttoned once more. she has her top back over her head in an instant, rushing to her feet and using her discarded panties to quickly clean herself up.

“that can’t be good,” she whispers, fear altering her tone once more.

“i know. let’s get out of here.” he grabs her hand, leading her to the back of the cabin.

seconds later breeze was flowing through an open window, the curtain fluttering as if it was waving in the pair’s dismissal. and they went on, knowing that whatever they faced, they wouldn’t face it alone.

[slashyrogue]

prince charmont and one eye mayhaps? if you're in need of a prince?

You know I actually have a WIP of them I started....two years ago? It’s A/B/O, and Char is the omega. There’s a whole tournament for his “hand” and yeah this made me remember it. I can share some here. 

***

The need to obey was so strong for an omega and something Charmont had been fighting all his adult life. He'd presented as Omega when he was fourteen, an arranged marriage contract broke all at once for the princess's parents would not "have her marry such an abomination." Omegas were almost always female, it had been nothing short of miraculous when he was one, and the strange need that he'd felt even before coming of age made so much sense. He avoided most alphas after that, including his own father, which made his parents' deaths that much worse the following year. Uncle Edgar came at their funeral, hand on Char's arm, and said something that burned right into him till today. "You'll be good, listen to what I say, and let me help you. Won't you Char?" From that day on he lived in a cloud of obeying. Whatever Edgar asked of him he agreed to, waving to crowds and becoming "Prince Char" to the masses while nightly fearing that he would forever be doomed to a life as a caricature of the real person he could have been. But he could not stop himself from fearing to resist. Then his uncle had an idea to bring a partner to him. "A tournament?" Edgar had clapped his hands together, "Yesss! It will be the biggest event the kingdom has ever known! Alphas from around the neighboring kingdoms will come to compete! Whomever wins all four stages will have your hand!" Char resisted the urge to vomit then, swallowing back his anger at the idea of being a prize to be won. Perhaps this would be a good thing, a guarantee unlike his first arranged marriage where an alpha came because they wanted him. But would they want him or the poster prince Uncle Edgar had made him into? He had nodded his assent, patted his shoulder and praised, "Good boy," before rushing off to make plans. Charmont spent the next few weeks watching the posters and signs up that read, TOURNEY FOR TRUE LOVE, his picture beneath. He scented more and more alphas in the crowds when Edgar paraded him out to "salivate their salacious sensibilities." Char looked out at the crowd only to see nothing but lust and leers. He dreaded every day the tourney grew closer, though the very morning it was to start he opened up the balcony doors and scented something odd in the air. It was most definitely alpha, but as he had hated the scent before now he longed to get closer. Char smiled, suddenly lighter. Perhaps he would find his true mate today.  He dressed quickly in a light tunic knowing Edgar would no doubt have him change before the event began in an effort to entice. The moment he entered the dining hall he noticed that Uncle was not alone. There was an alpha beside him, the man had to be at best twice Char's age if not a bit more than that. He had silver in his hair and a pompous look about him that spoke volumes. "Uncle, you did not tell me we were having a guest." The alpha only now seemed to notice Char, a long leering look making the omega's skin crawl. "Charmont, this is Prince Reynard Dragonite," Uncle stated, as the prince grabbed for Charmont's hand, "He will be winning the tourney." Char laughed as Reynard kissed his hand, "I would expect such boasting from every accomplished alpha coming today." Uncle Edgar tittered, patting Char on the head in a demeaning gesture that made him tense. "Oh no, no, no! He is going to win, we will see to that." Char looked at the two men, a sudden thought of the good smelling alpha among the crowd being subjected to whatever dastardly scheme these two men were thinking of making him ill. "Cheating?" he pulled back his hand and saw the sly alpha smile turn into a glare almost immediately. "Char, Char," Edgar purred, standing and almost forcing him to a seat, "Not cheating, merely...helping a friend." Char looked to Reynard again, the alpha's amused grin making him want to throw his plate in the man's self satisfied face. "One cannot have too many friends I suppose," Char said softly, his hands tightened into fists. Uncle Edgar laughed and patted his shoulder, "Spoken like a true ruler!" The rest of breakfast was like a chore, each bite of his morning porridge tasted like poison though he swallowed as much as he could.  He was swept off after finishing to be readied and "made handsome" by a number of servants who treated him like a living doll. They squabbled over clothing him, suggesting colors and fabrics without any need to ask his opinion, mostly ignoring his words when he tried. By the time they were finished and Char was looking in the mirror, he had to admit they'd chosen well. He was wearing almost all white save for a touch of blue in his trousers and jacket, the stitching so ornate that it sparkled in the sun. His hair had been styled to exaggerate the curl of it, framing his face nicely. "Thank you." They all bowed and scurried away, some not even able to look him in the eye. He was grateful for that as there would be several thousand people soon he'd have to pretend to be happy around, he'd rather not have to start so soon. There was a loud horn blast outside, an obvious start to letting the alphas towards their areas of start. He started to walk out of the room when suddenly a scent stopped him short, turning to see the most frightening man he'd ever encountered in his life. The man was scarred, missing his left eye entirely, and his imposing stance screamed predatory even as he moved very slowly he moved with purpose. "I will scream, I..." The scent hit him all at once, melting any sort of resistance and bringing Char closer. "It's you?" The man stopped just short of touching, inhaling Char's scent and shuddered at being so near. "How did you climb without any notice by the guards?" The man reached out and touched his cheek, Char leaned in to his hand nuzzling against it wildly. "This is," he was so warm and the scent so intoxicating that Char was loathe to move away but a gentle knock startled him out of what felt like a drunken haze. "I must go," he had tears in his eyes, "You won't win for it's all an act with an already decided end. Please do not return for I cannot fathom the thought of losing you after indulging in any more than this." He rushed out, trying to keep his composure as he let the maid who'd come to fetch him so her job. "Prince," her nose wiggled, "You smell as if..." Char cursed, shaking his head and turning back inside thankful that the one eyed alpha had gone, though his scent still lingered. The maid had followed, her blushing cheeks as she used oils to help him hide the scent making Char smile. "Thank you, Missy," he kissed her hand, "I don't know what to say." She shook her head, "Your secret is safe with me, Prince." Char squeezed her hand once and straightened his clothing, taking a deep breath preparing to head for his fate. "I'm ready."

[anastasiabeaverhousen87]

Praying to the porcelain God

words: 3205

You been told before never to eat from suspicious food stands, especially if you never tried them before or if Kara or Alex haven’t already approved the food. But today you forgot your lunch at home and the food from the cafeteria was not very appealing for you. One of your co-workers saw you make faces at the food options and invited you to eat lunch with them. They were going to get burgers from a new street vendor a couple of blocks away. It was too tempting; you love cheeseburgers and they made it sound like they were really good. So, you said yes. Everyone was going and you were starving.

The following day you woke up feeling a little odd, a bit nauseous but you didn’t think anything about it. You got a chamomile tea instead of coffee and went about your day as usual. Kara was already gone so you just decided to grab a yogurt and granola bar at work.

You finished getting your things ready and were about to leave the apartment when you felt a sharp pain in your stomach followed by cramping. You went to the bathroom and removed your sweater, you felt a swelling of your abdomen and yes, you lower abdomen was inflamed and felt tender to the touch. Another painful cramp made you run to the toilet and you knew you were screwed the moment you sit down.

y/n: “Fuck!!!, ughh it hurts…damn it, Alex is going to kill me” – you didn’t leave the bathroom for a while, you lamented your poor choices while you were sitting in the toilet seat.

 You decided you needed to let someone know you felt like shit and wouldn’t be able to get to work with further incidents, so you called Kara. Kara was softer and if you play your card right maybe she could be the buffer between Alex’s lecturing and you.  You dialed her number and put it on speaker while washing your hands, you were standing Infront of the sink mirror and put the phone down.

 Kara: “Hi sweet girl, what’s up?”

You were about to respond when you felt nausea hit hard, you saw your reflection become green and you ran to toilet once again. Just in time for you to continue emptying your stomach contents, tears sprung into your eyes as the pain in your stomach grew stronger and effort of being violently ill into the porcelain bowl.

On the other side of the line, Kara was listening to you suffering. “Y/N baby? What’s wrong, where are you?” but at not getting a response she ditched everything to fly straight home following your heartbeat.

You stopped vomiting and felt exhausted, you spit into the toilet and flush it.  You use toilet paper to clean you mouth and drop to the bathroom floor exhausted.  Kara enter the apartment looking for you.

Kara: “y/n?, oh my God what’s wrong baby?”- Kara panics at looking at your body sprawled in the bathroom floor all pale and clammy.

y/n: “Ughh best guess? stomach bug. I just puked my guts out, and before that I emptied my bowels in a different way” - you grimace at the explosive diarrhea you went through less than half an hour ago.

Kara: “Oh sweetie, I’m sorry you feel so poorly. Come on, let me pick you up from the floor”- the blonde woman tries to pick you up, but you feel like you’re not quite over.

Y/n: “Kara, I don’t think I can move quite yet and the floor is cold, it feels nice” –you move a little on the floor to get more of the chilly sensation on your hot skin- “I feel like crap sissy” a tear runs down your cheek and you look up to your sister. Kara brushes the tear away and cradles the side of your face. You are about to move again into a sitting position when you feel your stomach painfully cramp again and you roll into a fetal position trying to make the pain lessen somehow.

Kara: “Oh baby, looks like a horrible stomach bug. But I’m so bad at human illnesses let me call Alex really quick, she is the best when it comes to this kind of things.” Kara looks desperate and seeing you so sick on the floor. Kara is now sitting next to you holding your head in her lap and running her fingers through your hair.

Y/N: “You can’t, busy. Summit in New York” – you mumble trough clenching teeth.

Kara: “I know she is busy with work, but she can take a phone call if it’s an emergency. Its her or the ER. Your call.”

y/n: “Alex…” – you much prefer hearing your helicopter sister ask a thousand question that being prod and wait in the Emergency Room.

Kara takes her phone out of her pocket and dials the number; it rings a few times and then it connects.

Alex: “Hey what’s up, everything okay?”- the red head asks immediately, knowing her sisters wouldn’t be calling her if it was not an emergency.

Kara: “No, y/n is sick. I just found her on the bathroom floor all clammy and she told me she vomited a lot. Also, she thinks it’s a stomach bug.” You can´t hear what Alex says on the phone, then Kara turns the phone on speaker “Ok hold on, yes. Ok ok now you’re on speaker now”

Alex: “Hi little one. I’m so sorry you got sick baby and I bet you feel awful but I need to ask you a few things ok?”

You nod, even though Alex cant see you, but you think if you can let her think it’s a stomach bug going around the office you’ll be off the hook and avoid the speech on getting food from street vendors.

Y/n: “Yeah ok…”- you feel to tire so yes, you can answer whatever she wants as longs she doesn’t ask you to move.

Alex: “Ok sweetie, Kara mentioned vomiting, what else are you feeling? Do you also have diarrhea? is she warm or cold Kara?

Y/N: “painful cramps, diarrhea definitely that was first and the puked my guts out. Honestly, I don’t think there’s anything left inside my intestines by this point. It was super gross Alex. I feel a little cold now. There’s a bug going on around the office and some of the guys got sick”- you say the last part a bit fast and avoid looking at Kara, then you groan in pain at another cramp.

Kara: “She is all clammy, her cheeks are flush, and she is shivering a little. Also, she is now avoiding direct eye contact…” – Kara raises an eyebrow at you, knowing there’s something you are avoiding.

Alex: – “y/n baby, was your stool a little bloody and watery? Or soft and muddy? , also Kara can you check her abdomen does it look a little swollen and prod very gently please “

y/n: “first one”- You can hear Alex give a long sigh

Kara: “definitely swollen and a bit tender”

Alex: “What did you eat yesterday either at lunch or dinner? And don’t even think about lying to me y/n. I will know if you are lying. That’s not just a stomach bug”

Kara is looking down at you worry on her face, “We ate steak and mashed potatoes with some veggies last night. Lena cooked. and I know I can’t get sick, but Lena was okay. So, what did you eat for lunch baby?”

Y/n: “a cheeseburger” –you mumble

Alex: “Where?”

y/n: “A new place near the building, a few of the guys I work with we got burgers yesterday”

Alex: “when you say ´new place, you mean a well stablished franchise or restaurant? Not a street vendor with doubtful hygiene and suspicious meat or produce, right? -  ughh busted, you thought.

y/n: “Street vendor” – you lamented

Kara: “ohh sweetie. You know better than that”- Kara kept her gentle touch but looking a bit disappointed in you.

Alex: “Well baby, I hope the burger was so amazing and worth it, because what you have is food poisoning and most likely due to contaminated ground beef with E. coli. There is nothing to stop it or make it better faster. Your body will get rid of the bacteria during the following days. Simply needs to run its course.”

Y/N: “No cheeseburger in world is worth this pain or disgusting vomiting or explosive diarrhea. I feel like crap Lexie”- you play your Lexi card, so your big sister takes pity on you. You feel bad enough as it is, you don’t need to hear more disappointment from her.

Alex: “I know baby girl. Its quite uncomfortable and painful. You need rest and avoid over exerting, that will only make your stomach feel worse. Kara, I need you to make sure she drinks lots of fluids, she will keep vomiting and having constant bowel movements in the next couple of days and she can get dehydrated very quickly. Lots of water and Pedialyte . Let her stomach to settle first .  Avoid giving her any solid foods until she is no longer nauseous or vomiting as much. Avoid juices or other beverages with a lot of sugar or sweeteners that can make diarrhea worse. Let’s wait for 24 hours like this without any food and after that we can see if you can ease her back into eating soft and bland food. Call me if she gets worse or if the fever is too high.”

Y/N: “not even hungry anyways…”

Kara: “will do Alex, I’m taking off work for the week I’ll let Lena know. She is out of town as well, but I can handle goober just fine. right kiddo?”

You just try to crawl into Kara’s lap you starting to feel cold and so very tired. “Yeah, I’m cold. You warm”

Alex: “She will sleep a lot, wake her up and make her drink water or fluids Kara, its very important. Make sure her temperature doesn’t go above 102 F. if she get above that range just make her take a bath in lukewarm water or use a cold compress. Let her eat ice chips, NO dairy, no caffeine, no sugar, or fatty food. If she does eat those, she will end up throwing up everything. If temperature goes above 103 take her immediately to the ER. It shouldn’t but keep an eye on that. Seriously Kara call me anytime ok?”  

Kara: “Will do Alex. Thanks, and I’ll call you later once y/n is more comfortable and asleep”

Alex: “Ok, feel better sweetie, I’ll be back as soon as I can. Be good for Kara and try to relax and let your body get rid of everything at its own pace. Don’t rush anything. I love you sweetheart. Love you Kara, bye”

Y/N “Bye, love you Lexie”

Kara: “Bye Alex, love you too” – the phone calls gets disconnected. Kara looks down at you. “You think you are ready to move from the bathroom floor to the living room?”

y/n: “can you help me up to rinse my mouth? It tastes like crap ugh”

Kara: “of course. Up we go”- Kara gently stands up with you in her arms and helps you to your feet.

But you get dizzy and grab ahold of Kara’s arms for support

Kara: “hey hey I got you, easy there baby girl”

y/n: “everything its spinning and I don’t feel so g…” but before you can finish the sentence your eyes go wide and Kara see what’s about to happen and helps you to your knees in front of the toilet once again. Kara holds your hair away from your face with her other hand rubbing soothing circles down your spine while providing word of comfort.

You keep vomiting for a few minutes more “ughh I thought I had ridden of everything by now. This Is so disgusting” a few tears leak down your cheeks and Kara just helps you to your feet again and flushes the toilet.

Kara: “I know sweet girl, but Alex did say you will be experiencing vomiting and other stuff for a few days. So, let’s get you rinse your mouth and settle down in the couch so you can sleep this off, okay?”

You just nod and work on getting your teeth brushed and get rid of the nasty taste. Kara helps you to your room to change into your pajamas.

Kara: “Bed or couch?” -you just point down to your bed giving her your answer. “Okay okay” Kara lowers you on your bed and goes to close the curtains so you can rest more comfortably.

y/n: “Hold me?”- you pout pitifully

Kara: “of course baby girl. Let me just get your water and text Lena to let her know I won’t be into work for a few days and also text your boss you’re sick” – I’ll be right back.

y/n:” don’t want water please just hold me, I’m cold sissy”- more tears run down your cheeks, you just want your sister to hold you now.

Kara: “aww chucks, baby you feel real awful don’t ya? Ok here I’ll call later, and you need to drink water in an hour or two. I will wake you up. come here sweet bean”- Kara moves you so you are now lying basically on top of her, you hide your face into her neck and wrap your arms around her. You are leaching on her warmth shamelessly. Kara doesn’t mind at all begins to pat down your back softly like when you were little she needed to calm you down and put to to sleep.

Kara: “Aww my little koala is here. You’re so cuddly baby. I’m sorry you are feeling so poorly but I’ll be here with you all the time. You just close your eyes and go to sleep. You’ll feel better in no time, you’ll see”

y/n: “I’m never eating cheeseburgers again”- you give a yawn and began to drift off. Kara juts chuckles and starts to hum softly a lullaby song she uses since you were a little girl and where having trouble falling asleep or felt sick. You are out in less than 5 minutes.

Kara wait for you to be completely asleep to grab her cellphone she still has on her pocket. Texts Lena you are sick and will call her later, but you are okay just miserable for eating street food. And then sends a quick text to y/n boss, thank Rao she is close friends with y/n otherwise would be a pain to explain why she is texting instead of her employee.

Kara puts the cellphone down on the nightstand and holds y/n more to her chest and begins to run her hand up and down y/n spine and watches her sleep for a little while until herself starts to feel sleepy and decides to take a nap too.

Kara is awaken by your moving around and painful moaning. You curl into yourself as much as you can, trying to wave through the painful cramp in your tummy.

y/n: “It really hurts Kara, it hurts so bad”- you say through clenching teeth and tears sprung into your eyes once again. You feel miserable and in so much pain.  

Kara feels you are getting a bit hotter now and you are sweating too. “Okay little one, I think a bath can help you now, and you need to drink a little bit of water. Come here”

y/n: “No. pelease, no Kara. I just want the pain to stop and sleep again. I don’t want a bath” -you cry softly into her neck

Kara: “I’m sorry baby, but you feel too warm and you will feel better after the bath. I’ll stay with you the whole time.”

Kara picks you up from the bed and takes into the bathroom, she sits you down at the toilet seat while she runs a lukewarm bath for you.

Y/n: “Kara I don’t feel so good…” again you turn green and Kara helps you to sit infront the porcelain bowl once more.

You throw up again, but its mostly bile. Kara holds your hair out of your face while making comforting rubs on your lower back while you continue to be sick. your stomach its already empty from all the previous vomiting and you didn’t really eat anything for breakfast. You feel so weak after the effort it took to vomit once again. You are sweaty and pale and slump into Kara. Kara gently runs a hand down your spine and grabs a small towel to clean off the bile in your lips.

Kara: “sshh …baby come one. Its over now.  Here use this mouth wash to rinse and spit it in the toilet” -Kara then flushes the toilet and strips you off your clothes. She also strips down to her underwear and gets into the tub with you.  She helps you lean into her so she can wash your skin with a soft washcloth and pour the lukewarm water down your body to cool you down. After a while she notices your feel cooler to the touch. Washes your hair gently and lets you lean back onto her. You have always loved the skin to skin contact when feeling sick or unwell. Your sisters have done this many times over the years as well as you mom Eliza. You like feeling their warm skin and listen to their heartbeat. But Kara posses a special feature, she is warmer than any human. You feel her skin on you help you with the chills and you feel yourself drifting off to sleep again.

Kara notices you are almost asleep, and decides you are cool enough now and gently nudges you awake.

Kara: “sweet girl please don’t fall asleep quite yet. Let me dry you off a bit and you need to drink a little bit of water. Then you can sleep again promise”

You grunt in disapproval “Nuh uh … don’t wanna, I just want sleep”

Kara: “ I know sweetie but its not an option, come one”- Kara immediately stands and grabs ahold of you and takes one of the bath robes and uses one on her and then she uses a big fluffy towel to pat you down enough to remove the water excess but leaving your skin a bit damp to help keeping you cool.

She takes you back to your room and sets you on top of the bed and quickly grabs a set of lose shorts and tank top to avoid overheating you.  She then sits you with you back on a pillow resting against the headboard while she speeds to the kitchen to get you ice water.

Kara: “Okay sweetie small sips, just a few smalls sips and that’s it.”- she makes you drink a bit of water and leaves the glass on the nightstand again. You notice she is now wearing a pajamas too and in the nightstand there’s also a bowl with water and a few small towels and an empty plastic bow- “Just in case you feel sick and need to vomit again and avoid a trip to the bathroom”

Y/N:” thank you sissy”- you tear up and your chin trembles.

Kara: “No no don’t cry baby girl. Come here”- she gently lifts you up sits down and then lays you on her side you head resting on her collarbone. She left her soft button- up pajama top mostly open so you can lean into her and feel her skin near the collarbone and upper chest. You settle down and keep listening to her heartbeat.

Kara: “sshh sshh…sweetie just close your eyes and sleep. You’ll feel better soon just sleep now” – once again you feel her gentle touch on your back, down your arms and temple. And that soft voice humming the melody you associate with comfort. you move a little trying to find the perfect spot and just like that in less than 10 minutes you’re asleep.

[seiya234]

the haunting of dipper pines

“At the end of the day, it was as easy as biting into an apple. 

The power lingered in him for only that day.

Henry lingered within him for far, far, far longer than that. 

(a land of deepest shade)

Willow told him once that the mind was like the ocean. 

There was the shore where people ran in and out of the water and onto land again. There were the waters where sunlight infiltrated, the waters where the more recognizable sea creatures lived. Even the twilight zone, where things began to get dark, still would occasionally burp up something recognizable.

Then there was the deep. The black. The vast expanse of the ocean floor where there was still so much unknown. And so much that would never be known. 

“Uh-”

Willow rolled her eyes at him. “So the shore is like, shallow currents. That’s where we dwell most of the time. And then the dark is where things you never think of, or don’t want to think of, or parts of you you don’t acknowledge- that’s where all that lives.”

“Sweetie,” Dipper began. “I... I don’t think that’s how minds work.”

“That’s how mine does.”

“Okay but your experience doesn’t-”

Dipper stopped. Willow’s eyes were cold, far too cold for a sixteen year old.

“Uncle Dipper, it’s a fucking metaphor.”

Willow never swore in front of him. He immediately dropped it. 

The worse of it was, he realized later that she was right. Because in his Shack, there were the places he spent the most time- the living room, the kitchen, the porch and front yard. There were the places he only occasionally went- his bedroom, stan’s office. 

And then there were the dark places. 

The basement. The apple tree.

Where there were gold bricks littered everywhere, lives once lived but forgotten with the weight of who he was now, and the motes of everyone he had ever eaten-

-“Boo,” said a far too familiar red headed face in front of him, before disappearing.-

-but he never had to pay attention to those.

----

(oh you’re going to lose control tonight) 

The first time was right after Ian’s surgery, when he was looking for some nightmares in the fridge, and out of the corner of his eye was a beautiful woman , antlers full of withered fruit and tiny white flowers. But for obvious reasons he had quite a lot on his mind, and it was easy to put down as a figment of his imagination-

-”Does your imagination come to life? Cause like, you live in imagination?” Mabel had asked. “Um. No...Yes... kind of?” Dipper responded. “But if something’s in there, it’s real now, one way or another-

-easily forgotten before going back out into the real world to deal with yet another disaster. 

But then the Flock began to complain about pulling up hanks of red hair amidst the grass. Cleanly cut severed hands and feet began appearing on the roof, out back, and on one memorable occasion in the dishwasher. Flannel shirts would appear on the back of the chairs in the kitchen and just as quickly disappear again. 

Thick rimmed glasses laying on the bathroom sink, that faded away just as Dipper would reach for them.

Late at night, aimlessly changing channels on the tv, watching the dreams of the multitude, and the smell of woodsmoke, slightly musty apples and mustier books, and an undercurrent of blood and sweat, the smell so strong that Dipper whipped around expecting to see Henry standing there right behind him, but he wasn’t he never was never would at least for another few centuries it was Dipper all alone...

Dipper settled back into the couch. He was alone, a part of him would always be alone, and while on any other night that would send him into an angst spiral but tonight it was kind of comforting.

Strong, care worn hands fell upon his shoulders, and Dipper knew without looking that one of the fingers would have a simple silver band with a little chunk of cubic zirconia, that the back of the right hand would have a scar from a cat scratch, that little red hairs poked up from the fingers...

the hands gave Dipper’s shoulders a squeeze and then they weren’t there.

They never were there. 

---

He began to see Henry.

Henry, opening the fridge, and vanishing.

Henry, chopping wood in the yard before vanishing.

Henry, digging under the couch for the remote before, wait for it, vanishing yet fucking again.

The first hundred times, Dipper thought he was imagining things.

The second hundred times, Dipper thought he was about to undergo yet another bad spell- perhaps all these apparitions were harbingers of what was to come? 

By the 347th apparition of Henry, Dipper finally was forced to accept that these... these motes. They were real.

They were Henry.

Or rather, they were parts of him. 

---

(for when you’re gone, i’m a severed soul)

Mabel and Henry’s room, oddly enough, didn’t carry quite the weight that one would imagine that it would. 

Because after that it had been Willow’s room, and then her great-granddaughter, and then Mike's and then...

Point being, so many people had lived in that room, made that the heart of their Shack, that the Mabel and Henry shine had worn off of it for the most part...

Except for the nights when he needed it to be their room. 

The nights when he needed to crawl under one of the many blankets Mabel had created over the years out of her old sweaters, sleep on top of the jersey sheets that Mabel loved but always pulled up and off the mattress, the pancake pillow that Henry slept on and the Pile of memory foam pillows and stuffed animals that Mabel used...

Nights where he would crawl into their bed and remember falling asleep between them, between them with the triplets mixed in there, between them and three to seven grandkids, and Henry’s weird cat that farted all the time, and then just the three of them again, at the end, grey hair and wrinkles and divots in the mattress. 

Nights where he wouldn’t sleep because he couldn’t sleep but he would just set his mind adrift, and do his best to Not Think for awhile. 

And now, nights where he would be in there, and feel the weight of an arm over his chest. Sometimes that arm was wearing an old Oregon State sweatshirt. Sometimes it was bare, showing freckled skin and red hair. And sometimes, some rare times, it was joined by the gentle sound of snoring in his ears, the tickle of hair against his forehead, a foot bumping into his. 

Dipper didn’t turn to see if he was there.

He never was.

-----

For awhile he didn’t acknowledge the motes; because surely they were only unknowing recordings of fleeting moments of time.

But time passed, on and on and on, and the fragments of Henry kept interrupting his solace, so finally Dipper began to talk to them.

They didn’t answer.

He told them about his day.

They didn’t answer.

He broke down in tears in front of them.

They didn’t answer. 

He screamed. 

They didn’t answer.

He raged.

They didn’t answer.

He gave up.

They didn’t answer.

Then one day when he was looking in the mirror, trying to lick some blood off his face, he saw Henry behind him once again.

“Why don’t I see Mabel like I see you?” Dipper asked him, not expecting an answer.

“Because you didn’t chew her soul into a thousand pieces,” Henry answered primly.

Dipper whirled around.

He was gone.

But now Dipper knew they could talk.

---

(from dust and ashes i have called you)

Footsteps upstairs again.

It wasn’t the Flock, Dipper knew that in his bones. He tried to not be a dick about it but... the Shack was his place, his sanctuary. The Flock were welcome to every other part of his mind but here.... here be dragons.

So it wasn’t the Flock. 

The footsteps paused, then turned around and began to walk again. From what it sounded like, they were headed towards the triplets’ old room.

Towards Dipper’s old room. 

He looked up and he could practically see each board of the ceiling ever so lightly wiggle as the steps walked across them. The steps got to the door of the triplets’ room, and then paused.

That pause was familiar; how many times did Henry go up to check on the kids when they were growing up? 

Pause. Then slowly walking back across the floor, headed towards the stairs down.

Dipper tensed on the couch. Would this-

The wood on the stairs began to creak.

Then it faded as it got to the stairs in Dipper’s eyeshot.

Then the footsteps were gone. 

----

After the first time, Dipper began to see Henry in various reflective surfaces. Never for very long, but it was enough to begin a conversation.

“Is it really you?” Dipper asked Henry in his coffee one morning.

“I mean, yes, but I could just as easily still be a figment of your imagination,” Henry replied a few weeks later from the window pane.

“I don’t remember you being this rude when you were alive,” Dipper said primly into his pot of soup. Said rudeness did also put a point into his theory that all of these Henry-visions were hallucinations on his part.

From the blackness of the switched off tv, Henry primly responded, “I apologize for my crankiness, but it’s been a rough century.” 

Dipper couldn’t argue with that.

Time passed.

“I’ve eaten untold numbers of souls,” Dipper said to the Henry who was lurking in the bathroom mirror. “What makes yours different?”

“Because I am special to you,” a Henry sitting on his porch reading a book replied a month later.

“Because you started to pay attention and now you’re looking for me,” another Henry cooking in the kitchen said a year later.

“Because,” and this was Henry’s breath hot in his ear, “Because you are so very lonely.”

----

(so pale so cold so fair)

There were the motes of Henry that were actually awake and aware, that spoke to him, even for the briefest moment. 

But more often, the fragments of Henry’s soul showed up as little repeating events, flashes of the life that Henry lived in the Shack.

So Dipper would go to get something from the vending machine basement door, and look and see Henry assisting an invisible patron, a book in his hand.

Henry, vacuuming a rug and talking in such a way that Dipper knew it was Stan on the other end. 

Henry, running through the living room, chasing three little stars that were long gone by now.

Henry, swinging on the porch swing, holding Mabel’s hand, but he wasn’t holding Mabel’s hand, he was holding fucking air, just like he was nothing but fucking air-

(he took the porch swing down for seventy two years after that, putting it back again when he had finally forgotten why he had taken it down in the first place.)

----

He was trying to figure out which ascot color was better when Henry appeared from behind in the bathroom mirror. 

Dipper didn’t bother to look back, knowing from bitter experience that like Eurydice Henry would only disappear.

“I.. I feel...you got two minutes Dip,” the Henry behind him said. 

Dipper froze. Two minutes. That was nothing. That was forever.

“Uh. How do you feel?”

“Hm. Kind of like the very essence of who I am was broken into literally millions of tiny shards of being, and that I only have the briefest flashes of consciousness before fading away again-”

“Uh.”

“It’s surprisingly hard work coalescing back into a regular soul, did you know that?”

“I mean yes? but-”

The Henry in the mirror was now right behind him, looming over him. His flannel was gone and now he was only wearing a worn black t-shirt, the kind that came in packs in Wal-mart. 

“I’m scattered. I’m missing. I’m missed. And then before that-”

Paloma glared at him in the mirror.

“I was tortured to death and then they took my soul, they broke and twisted me and grew a tree from me and they broke me so how the fuck do you think I’m doing?”

They stared at each other for a second. Then it was just Henry again, and he sighed.

“I’m sorry Dipper. That wasn’t fair. It’s been a long-”

He was gone.

Dipper didn’t see another Henry for five years.

---

(where did you sleep last night?)

He began to remember things that he had long forgotten.

Obviously, he prioritized henry and mabel and stan and kids memories above all else but well, he was old. He had countless friends and family now, lived untold numbers of lives, hadn’t had a second to rest, reset, renew-

So while he remembered quite a lot of that most precious time, he began to remember-

-watching the kids’ play at school and Henry having to sit in the last row because he was so tall....

-hiding behind the couch while some terrible movie Acacia picked was on and Henry, reading and smiling self indulgently...

-dinner at Greasy’s with Henry and that one documentarian, what was his name again? Oh yeah, James! 

-kneeling on the floor, praying loudly because apparently those were the only prayers that counted-

(wait)

-dad’s hand shoving the kitten into the sack, shouting incoherently at him while he cried, knowing what was going to happen next

(wait)

-his girlfriend’s brother, reaching into his chest and grabbing his soul, taking it to his mouth-

(w͓̜̙͈ a̬̯̘͙̯͎ ì̬̤ ṭ͟)

He began to remember things that he had long forgotten...and he began to see things that he had never knew in the first place.

-----

He had a million things he wanted to tell Henry when he finally appeared to Dipper again but the first thing he managed was “I think you’re bleeding into me.”

“Huh,” said the empty flannel shirt that was laid over the back of the porch swing. “I guess we should have expected that.”

Dipper tensed for the shirt to disappear, but no it was still there, so he went on. “I guess it’s kind of fitting. You know. Because of-” Dipper waved the head over his head, and was relieved that the empty shirt chuckled.

“Oh yeah, that. Remember when I wasn’t able to read what I wrote for a month?”

“Yup.” 

The silence stretched. Dipper realized he was waiting for an apology.

“I’m not going to apologize,” the shirt said. “I thought about it- and I could have said all that better. But I’m done apologizing.”

There was a pause. There was a roar in Alcor’s chest- Henry had been rude! Henry had hurt his feelings, his feelings!- but Dipper ignored it, because if he gave in to it.

Something precious would be irrevocably broken. Maybe future Henrys wouldn’t know it, but Dipper would, always and forever. 

So instead he smiled and only said, “Water under the bridge.”

“Good.” Then the shirt disappeared.

But Dipper felt like he would see it again sooner rather than later. 

----

(all the trees of the field will clap their hands)

The Shack began to come alive again...no. Wait.

Not quite. Not quite alive. More the pale imitation of the already pale imitation that was in Dipper’s mind. 

But

There were the sounds of a house lived in. A toilet flushing, the washing machine on a rough spin cycle, clatter of fork and knife on plate... 

The temperature would drop at night and the windows would rattle as if they were being opened- Henry always liked to keep it cold at night when he slept- and rise in the day- because Stan would go around closing all the windows and refusing to turn on the AC to save money... 

It began to feel like Dipper was constantly walking into rooms that people had just left. A turn into the kitchen, and there would be dirty plates and cups on the table, with scraps of unfinished food. The bathroom would be fogged up, with a wet towel hanging to dry and condensation on the mirror. Muddy shoes, the mud still wet on the soles, left on the porch in front of the door. 

The TV turned to the informercials you got after the cartoons died at three am when he walked in, a bowl of popcorn kernels next to the couch, and he had been so close, so close, so fucking close-

But at the end of the day it was just Dipper, out of sync with a reality that had long left him behind.

----

finally, finally they began to just talk. to be.

Conversations began and ended mid-sentence, and it didn’t matter if a year or five or fifty or a hundred had passed, but they began them effortlessly once more.

Here and now, Dipper had Henry all to himself, and they talked and talked, unraveling each memory they had made together, good and bad. Unraveling each one, savoring it, getting the other’s point of view.

Here and now, Dipper had Henry all to himself, unbothered by the passing of time outside of their minds. They talked about the kids. The kids and the grandkids and the great-grandkids, and all the great-great-grandkids that Henry never had a chance to know. 

Here and now, Dipper had Henry all to himself, in a way that he never could have any of his family, because Henry didn’t leave him to get reincarnated, couldn’t leave him for another life, and now all they had was time. Time for Henry to read all the books of the world through the resources of Dipper’s memory, time for infinite amounts of stuttering conversations and bread and apple pies that Dipper hadn’t tasted in eons left on the stove for him. 

But there was one subject that neither of them were ready to broach, and Dipper hoped they never did.

----

(maybe i will always haunt you)

“You know this isn’t going to last forever, right?”

Dipper turned around.

There was no one there.

----

“I think I’m almost done.”

Dipper didn’t say anything because he knew it was true. Henry was able to appear to him for longer and longer periods of time, looking more and more complete. 

“There’s... there’s something I feel a pull to, I think that’s my next life.” 

Dipper still didn’t say anything.

“Look, please tell me you aren’t going to spend whatever we time we have left together giving me the silent treatment.”

Finally, Dipper spoke. “I’m not giving you the silent treatment.” 

Henry peeped over the tops of his glasses and gave him The Look and oh yes, his soul really was close to being reunited. 

“You know... you know I have to go right?”

“Yeah.”

“And that it’s not good for me to stay like this indefinitely?”

“Yeah.”

“And that petulance is unbecoming in a man of your age? “Henry!” 

The redheaded man smirked. “There we go. Now are we actually going to talk about how you feel or what?”

Dipper grimaced. Ugh. Emotional honesty. 

But he did manage to say, “I’m not ready for you to go.” 

Henry sighed. “I know. I’ll admit, I’m not entirely ready to leave either.”

“Then stay.”

“I can’t. I miss them.” He didn’t have to say who it was he missed because Dipper missed the same people.

“I...I could m̫͓̝̳͓̘ḁ̞͍̘͇͓k͙͉̥e̮̰̗̦̺̫̞ you stay.”

Henry smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile, and his shadow began to stretch, the air around his head growing heavy, and the smell of blood filled Dipper’s nose. “You could try.”

The tension rose in Dipper, and then just as easily, faded away. “Yeah I could couldn’t I.”

Part of him still wanted to rage and scream, to get into a long, drawn out fight with Henry, to wail and gnash and exclaim how unfair it was to Henry, to the world.

But the world had changed, and Dipper, somehow, had changed along with it. He was older now. And he had had Henry all to himself for a millennium. 

He had had to eat Henry’s soul out of sheer desperation, to save his brother from further torture, a twisted gift to grant him the power to destroy a den of evil....

But this time, this span, had been a gift in its own right as well.

“Are you mad at me?”

“About what?”

“About... about what I did?”

Henry thought about it for a minute, giving the question the weight it deserved.

“I was a little upset, yes, for about fifty years. Because it did... hurt. Losing myself. Trying to piece myself back together. But deep down, I was never mad at you Dipper. I understood, understand.”

Henry grabbed Dipper’s hand. “And if you remember, I told you to do it as well.”

Another time, there may have been some sobbing, some crying about absolution and lack of deserving, and gnashing of teeth and rending of metaphorical hair.

But Dipper was older. And things changed.

And this time had been a gift, so instead he contented himself to let the conversation slip to lighter topics, to relish the little time he had left with Henry.

---

(and see the flaming skies!)

one day he came home and he was alone.

[bugsandchatons]

when you weren’t mine to lose (4)

Summary: Change is a scary thing, especially when it feels like nothing has stayed the same.

It’s been a year since Marinette became the Guardian of the Miracle Box - a year of struggling beneath a burden she never asked for, a weight that has her leaning on her partner more and more as the hours fly by, of letting him come to her, too, when he needs a soft place to land. A year of falling for the boy who takes on the world by her side with a smile made of sunlight, and fighting the growing urge to tell him what he means to her.

After all, they’ll have time enough for that when Paris is safe.

But when the unthinkable happens, Marinette learns the tragedy of loving someone quietly, and the lines she’ll cross to save him.

  [[AO3]] {from the beginning}

*****

[four: when I’ve got nothing but my aching soul]

The world around her keeps going, but Ladybug’s universe narrows to three things: Chat Noir’s frozen form, the shattered mirror at his feet, and her own hand, reaching in vain across the space between them. At some point, darkness must fall around her in earnest, as the sun dies behind the horizon. At some point, the akumatized victim must gather his strength and crawl away, finding his own way down the fire escape and leaving Ladybug to her vigil.

She doesn’t spare him a glance.

The beeping in her ears blares one last warning and the static fades, bringing the return of sound and with it, faint gasps that come in a rhythm.

It’s coming from her, Ladybug realizes. She can’t seem to find enough air.

There’s a flash of pink and she shuts her eyes against it. When she opens them again, Chat’s blank stare meets her. Her stomach turns, threatening to empty. “I can’t breathe,” she tells him, choking on the words. 

Still, he doesn’t move. 

Another sound finds her, be it mere moments or hours later. It takes too long to realize it’s her name.

“Marinette?” Tikki, exhausted and wide-eyed, is patting her cheek. “Marinette, what happened?”

“Chat, he -” she whispers, lifting a trembling finger. She can’t find any more words, but it’s enough. 

Tikki spins around and makes a strangled sort of sound before zipping over to him. “Chat Noir?” she asks, her voice clear as a bell. Marinette blinks, then sits up straighter and stares. If she can’t fix it, then Tikki will.

“Plagg?” Tikki tries, her voice jumping an octave. “Plagg,” she calls again, before her expression twists. In the blink of an eye, Tikki phases into the Chat statue, before reappearing with something that’s enormous in her hands but tiny when she brings it over and lays it in front of Marinette. 

It’s Chat Noir’s ring, the Black Cat Miraculous in a state she’s never seen it in before. It’s still black, but burned black. The signet face is blank, and the absence of the usual flashing green paw print is as glaring as a missing heartbeat.

When Marinette opens her mouth to speak, nothing makes it past the lump in her throat. She swallows, then tries again, her voice hoarse. “Where’s Plagg?”

Tikki makes a small sound, similar to that of an animal in pain. Everything about her droops. “I don’t know, Marinette. The Miraculous is broken.”

Marinette shakes her head, the movement slow and mechanical. She reaches out for the shattered hand mirror and stares at her own fragmented reflection as it looks back with broken accusation in her eyes. She whispers, “Why didn’t it work, Tikki?”

Tikki closes her eyes. “Lucky Charm has failed before when the Akuma's ability was able to impact it. This is…” she trails off, touching down onto the roof in front of Marinette, her eyes glassy with her own grief when she looks back up. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

It takes a moment for her meaning to land, the only sound Marinette’s harsh, hiccuping breaths. She looks from the black ring to the black statue of a boy whose name she never knew but wanted to learn. Her partner, her kitty, his eyes empty when they were always so bright, his mouth a gaping wound when it used to offer sunbeam smiles.

Marinette had lost him time and time again, but he’d always come back. She’d saved him, over and over. It was never supposed to be permanent.

She looks down at the mirror that failed her, failed him, screws her eyes shut, and smashes it into the rooftop. Glass shards fly free and nick her arms, her cheeks. Marinette does it again, then again. 

“Marinette,” Tikki cries, “you’re hurting yourself, please!” 

Was she? She couldn’t feel it. She gives in anyway, dropping the destroyed mirror and picking up the Miraculous ring instead. She shuffles closer to Chat, stopping just short of touching him. Her hand shakes as she closes her fingers around his ring.

She’s held it before, but she’s always been able to give it back. 

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” her name comes from a low, smooth voice behind her, belonging to someone who wasn’t there before. “In hindsight, I ought to have known it would be you hiding behind Ladybug’s mask.”

She feels Tikki nestle into her hair. Marinette fists her fingers and rises to her knees. She turns slowly, lifting her eyes to meet Hawkmoth’s as he stares down at her. Something inside her catches fire and starts to burn.

“Nothing to say on your behalf?” he asks. “No desperate denials?”

Marinette glares back. If he’s disappointed in her refusal to engage, he says nothing of it. He tips his head down in the smallest of nods. “I’m afraid I require your Miraculous, Mademoiselle.”

She lets out one harsh sound, too sharp and brittle to be a laugh. “Now you ask nicely?” 

Hawkmoth is silent for a beat, then another. He clears his throat. “It would be in your best interest, as well.” She stares him down as he inclines his head in Chat’s direction, but seems unable to fully look his way as he continues, “I can fix what has transpired here tonight.”

“You can fix him,” Marinette turns the words over in her mouth. They taste like ashes. “Why?”

Another silence. Hawkmoth seems to measure what he’d like to say carefully before admitting, “I have reason to believe he’s my son.”

“Your son,” Marinette echoes. The flames inside the cavern of her chest lick higher and higher, a blaze building to an inferno.

“I believe so, yes.” Finally, he turns his gaze to Chat, though any expression Hawkmoth might offer in the face of what he’s wrought hides behind his mask. Marinette’s fingers itch with the desire to claw his eyes out. “This evening, my son did not come home. No one has seen him for hours now, which is an anomaly on its own. He is typically obedient and does not leave our house without accompaniment, so his continued absence is highly unusual.” He pauses, his brow furrowing. “I...have wondered before about the possibility of him being Chat Noir. Now, between the timing of his disappearance and the demise of your partner, the coincidence seems too great to disregard. With your earrings and his ring, I can likely restore him.”

Marinette clenches her fist around the broken ring until it bites into her skin. It wouldn’t be granting any wishes, now. “Restore him,” she says slowly, venom slipping into the cracks in her voice. She rises; one foot underneath her, then the other. “You? You ruined him. You killed him.” 

Hawkmoth watches her, his face infuriatingly blank. Marinette takes a shaky step, putting herself firmly between him and Chat as her emptiness gives way to something vicious and blistering. “You put him in danger every day, and for what? Now he’s gone. You can’t save him,” she spits. “You took him away from me.” 

Her words echo, splintering the quiet of the night. Hawkmoth’s jaw ticks, the only outward sign of his displeasure. “If you’re quite finished with the dramatics,” he begins, “I am offering the chance to change it.” 

“No, you’re trying to get what you want. To take the Miraculous and use them for something selfish. If I were to do that, I wouldn’t need you, now would I?”

Hawkmoth’s lip curls. “You know nothing of me or my purposes. You run around playing hero, but you have no idea of the true power of the forces you interfere with. You are nothing but a child.” 

“Maybe,” Marinette admits, “but I’ve still managed to best you a thousand times over.”

“So you will not cooperate, then.” 

Marinette lifts her eyes to his. He could take the Miraculous from her, she knows, and easily. Tikki hasn’t eaten, and she can’t transform. Marinette doesn’t care. She dares him to take a step. She’ll burn him down and the world along with it. “No,” she says, “I will not.” 

His eyes narrow to slits. “We shall see, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

She stares back, undaunted. His threats can’t touch her. There’s nothing more he can do that would be worse than what he’s already done.

He half-turns, waving his cane towards Chat. “And what are you going to do for him on your own? Give it time. You might find that you and I are not so different when it comes to losing those we love.”

Her breath catches in her lungs. The ring feels like a brand in her palm. Hawkmoth would trade a life to bring back whoever it was he’d lost. If she could, would she make the same choice?

“Go, Hawkmoth,” Tikki speaks up, her little voice colder than Marinette has ever heard it. “The Guardian will deal with you in due time.”

Silence greets her. It stretches on until Marinette hears his footsteps retreat, then fade. 

When he’s gone, she steps closer to Chat, shaking like a leaf in the wind. “Oh, minou, mon rêve,” she whispers. “Can’t you come back to me? I was going to tell you my name,” she lifts a timid hand and lays it against his cool cheek. “I was going to tell you I love you.” 

Ashes fall from his cheek like teardrops, staining her fingers. As though a mere touch was all that was needed, Chat crumbles, ashes falling at her feet and scattering on the wind. When dust is all that remains, something inside Marinette twists and breaks.

She drops to the rooftop when her legs give up, unwilling to hold her any longer. She screams, for Chat, for anyone, until her voice is ragged and nearly spent. She draws freezing air into burning lungs and screams some more, begging Bunnyx to come and take her back, back to when the worst thing she had to face was telling her partner the truth.

Tikki rides out the storm on her shoulder, her little hands pressed to Marinette’s cheek. “Bunnyx will only come if all else has failed, Marinette,” she murmurs. “At the end of everything.”

“Chat is gone,” Marinette whimpers, “Hawkmoth knows who I am. This feels like the end of everything to me.” 

Tikki presses her face to Marinette’s, her little body shaking. “There must be something, then. Something we’ve missed, another chance-”

Another chance. Marinette goes very still. “A second chance,” she gasps. She finds her feet, slowly. She swipes a soot-stained hand over her cheek and turns in the direction of home. “I need to get to my bedroom, Tikki. Without anyone seeing.” She fumbles for her purse and produces half a macaroon. “Please eat, if you can.” 

Like mismatching puzzle pieces, she forces together a plan. A convoluted one, a risky one, but a plan, none-the-less. As she strings it together, she finally feels like she can breathe.

“What are you thinking?” Tikki asks before taking a bite.

Marinette tells her.

 ****

The race to her terrace is a blur. Ladybug stumbles over her potted plants until she reaches the hatch and falls into her bed, then slides down the ladder. She drags herself on weary feet to the locked chest in the corner. Inside, buried beneath several layers of fabric scraps, is the Miracle Box.

Ladybug presses her thumbs to the buttons and watches as it springs open at her touch.

“Are you sure about this, Marinette?” Tikki had asked, blue eyes wide and uncertain.

No. She wasn’t at all sure that this was the right choice, but she was sure that this was her best chance.

Ladybug selects the Miraculous she needs and slides it onto her left wrist. She tucks the box back away safe, stands, and grabs a hair ribbon from her desk. With it, she ties Chat’s ring to her other wrist, pressing the blank signet to her lips before something else catches her eye.

Her phone blinks insistently from the desk. There are a dozen missed messages - her mother, her father, Alya. One in particular grabs her attention, a short text from an unknown number.

This is Nathalie Sancoeur. Miss Dupain-Cheng, is Adrien with you?

She blinks. There are others - another from Alya, from Nino, even Chloe, all asking the same thing.

Is Adrien with you? 

Ladybug’s phone slips from shaking fingers. 

Between the timing of his disappearance and the demise of your partner, the coincidence seems too great to disregard.

Ladybug swallows. She breathes in through her nose and lets it back out. She’d fix it.

“One more time, Tikki,” she’d begged on the rooftop. “If this works, it...it might be awhile.”

Tikki had pressed a kiss to her forehead, determination clear in her eyes. “If it gives us a chance to save Plagg and Chat Noir, then it will be more than worth it. Good luck, Marinette.”

She digs an old, treasured charm bracelet out of her purse and dons it, too. She’d never had to ask for luck before, but now, she would take every bit she could get her hands on. 

Ladybug leaves her home as quietly as she snuck in. She swings down from the roof and slips into the park across the street, letting her feet carry her until she finds herself in front of the statue dedicated to herself and Chat Noir. The violent hole in her chest gapes open, even wider than before.

At least here, she can see his smile.

This time, when her eyes burn and her throat swells and her heart breaks, Ladybug lets it consume her. She lets tears burst through the dam she’d built and drowns in them. She lets the grief pour out of her until she’s choking on it.

Through it all, she waits.

She feels it, when it comes - in the shift in the air, in the chill down her spine. She lets out a ragged breath. “Tikki,” she whispers. “Sass. Unify.”

Then Ladybug reaches out and allows damnation and salvation both to land in the palm of her hand. “There you are, little butterfly. I’ve been waiting for you.” 

[mysterioh]

The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Ch. 16

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

SYNOPSIS: Y/N is an exhausted bio major. Steve is danger with a capital DANGER. She thinks he’s a sarcastic prick with an impressive knowledge in art history. He thinks she’s cute even if she’s only running on one brain cell. All he wants is a single date, but she’s adamant upon denying.

A/N: I wasn’t planning on updating so soon but something came to me yesterday and boom here it is. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Get the tissues ready it’s gonna be real sweet. Future updates might not be until after next week. I’ve got an exam and a speech coming up 😭

MASTERLIST

Ocean Eyes

I've been watching you

For some time

Can't stop staring

At those oceans eyes

Burning cities

And napalm skies

Fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes

Your ocean eyes

-

“Am I going to die?” 

Steve’s lips curve into a smile allowing a chuckle to escape his lips. 

“No, you’re not going to die,” he assures, walking past you with a few books in his hand. 

“But how do you know for sure?” you spin in the leather chair towards him. “What’s your certainty on a scale of one to ten?”

“A thousand,” he replies calmly, slipping the books in the empty spaces of the bookshelf built into the wall. 

He hears an exasperated groan from behind and turns to find you glaring. Lips pressed tight in a serious frown. The color in your eyes flickering in the shadow cast by the fire in the hearth. 

“I’m being serious.” 

Steve turns fully towards you. “And so am I.” He takes a few steps closer then leans against his desk. “No one’s gonna kill you.”

You slouch in his chair with a pout. “You don’t know that,” you mumble while playing with the drawstrings of your hoodie. 

Steve fawns at the sight of you. He stands straight then dips forwards to kiss your forehead. Your cheeks light up at the simple contact of his lips. He caresses the side of your face in his hand. A bit callous against the soft skin of your cheek. “If anyone even so much as thinks about laying a scratch on you, l promise you, there’ll be no one worse than me.”

He brushes the pad of his thumb against your cheekbone. You nodded sheepishly—speechlessly, preoccupied with the warmth residing in his blue eyes. You could’ve described his eyes like the ocean, iridescent and flecked with every shade of blue. 

He picks up the book he left on the desk and returns to the bookshelf. “Besides you seemed pretty confident back there.” 

“I was angry alright?” you explained. “I’m not gonna let some guy say all that and just let him get away with it.” 

“Then why are you so worried now?” Steve asked, fixing the books. There was a set order to the way he shelved his books and he hated it when they weren’t in place. 

“I don’t know,” you lifted yourself off the chair. “Maybe if it was some creep on the street I would’ve done it and not care about the consequences,” walking over, you lean against the shelf next to him. “But this isn’t some guy. He’s a gangster and one that doesn’t like you.” 

He looks over with an amused smile. “I mean what if he tries to ruin something? Like making things harder for you?” 

“Highly doubt that,” Steve chuckles, “Tony has a big mouth but he won’t do anything that’ll cause him trouble,” he returns to his shelving and hands you a book to hold for him. “And messing with the Brooklyn Mob will give him more trouble than he’d like to have.” 

You chuckle at him. “You’re rather confident in yourself.” 

He shrugs with a smug grin. “It’s what comes with being the best.” 

You gently hit him with the book in your hand making him laugh in reply. 

It’s been a while since there’s been a warmed laugh peeking out the door and echoing through the halls of the manor. It’s been empty for years. But all this time, all it really needed was one more. To warm the rooms with a soft beaming smile. To paint the walls with the color of love. To strip it of the darkness that kept its lone inhabitant bounded. 

Steve took a seat in his chair while you took a seat on his desk in front of him. Your palms curled around the edge of it as your legs dangled off, swaying back and forth. 

“Steve.” 

“Hmm?”

“So I’ve been thinking about something lately,” you said, the thump of your heart was steady but your palms were wet around the desk. 

“Oh man, that can’t be good,” he jokes. You kick his leg. He winces while rubbing it with his hand. “Have you ever heard of a joke?” 

“I’m not joking right now,” you stated. 

Steve sits back and puts his hands up. “Okay, okay, serious time now,” he nods but can’t help letting a stupid smile crawl on his lips. 

You grip on the desk loosens to dry your sticky hands. 

“I’m just thinking about some things,” you confessed. 

“Things?” 

“I mean things that we do together,” your cheeks start to heat. “We spend more time together.” 

“And you don’t want to?” 

“No, not that at all,” you replied quickly. “What I’m trying to say is. That, um, I don’t really know where we’re going with this,” you let out with a drop of the shoulders and a defeated sigh. You place your hands in your lap and start fiddling with your fingers. “With us.” 

“Us?” His brows knitted in confusion. “You mean us?” 

"Yeah, us." 

Both of you turn silent. It’s not a surprise to either of you that there’s something more than there was before. As the days passed by, the feelings grew stronger filling you with an inner joy that you couldn’t contain. 

But no real words had been said. You didn’t doubt Steve. He was good and honest. Righteous to a fault in his own chaotic way. Some say actions speak louder than words but sometimes words are needed to create a firm foundation. You needed his word to be sure and you felt like he needed to hear yours. You were just nervous and scared. Extremely scared. 

“So like what do you want us to be?" he asked in a soft tone. It wavers ever so slightly, sounding just as nervous as yours. 

"I-I don't know,” you shake your head. “That's why I'm asking. I'm just–I'm really confused and I've never really done this before,” you confessed. There’s shame hidden behind your words and you feel embarrassed. Embarrassed enough to look away from him and back to your hands. 

"I get that,” he replies, “there's nothing wrong with that,” he shakes his head. 

"I mean it's kind of embarrassing," you mumbled, "I'm twenty-two for crying out loud." 

Steve’s smile fell. He hates that you feel that way. Especially with him. He doesn’t want you to feel ashamed or uncomfortable. He wanted to be the one that you’d trust to never judge you. He takes your hand in his and leads you into his lap. His hands hug the sides of your curves to pull you closer, making your legs straddle his hips. It’s the closest you’ve ever been to him, and the blush on your cheeks reaches the tips of your ears by it all.

"Yeah, you're twenty-two, so what?” he asks. “There's no time card telling you when it's time for you to have a boyfriend or whatever else that's expected as normal. Do things at your own pace. No one's rushing you, sweetheart. Do what makes you happy and comfortable," he fingers weave into yours and squeezes your hand a bit. "I don't really care what we are as long as we’re together." 

His words are unconditional. There’s no wager or penalty. It’s not the freedom that has you so moved. It’s the willingness behind his words. He wants to be with you and it didn’t matter in what way it was. It’s not for show or out of duty. He just wants you for you; and it’s something you don’t really understand. What made you so special that he wanted you? He had the world in his hand, so what did he find in you that made him need you? 

Going from the one that was discarded with a passing eye to being the apple of someone’s eye was too hard for you to believe. It seemed impossible. 

But Steve Rogers had a way of making the impossible possible. Piece by piece, he's chipped away at the stone walls you've built around your heart just enough so he can squeeze inside and pull on the strings that bind your heart, letting it unravel for him. 

He's making you fall faster than you'd like to, but it's something you want, something you need. The need for him and all the things he's willing to give you comes out in a way you wished it didn’t. It bubbles at the corner of your eyes in silvery tears. Ones that were only cried beneath what the world can see. 

It takes courage to break noses and punch mobsters, but this was the mark of valor. The bravest thing you’ve ever done was to show him those tears. The ones that eyes miss but love renders visible. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, cupping your face in his hands, wiping the tears before they fall too far. You look into his eyes. Those same damn eyes that pulled you too far into the water. That had you swept away with foaming blue currents.  

“Nothing,” you shake your head with a small smile, “I just hate you sometimes.” 

A laugh bubbles from his chest that has you smiling. You hit his chest softly with an annoyed chuckle. 

He takes your hands in his and brushes your knuckles with the pads of his thumbs. He looks up to you through long lashes as if he’s looking deep into your soul. He sports a sheepish, boyish, grin that has you melting. 

"Be my girl?" he asks. 

It’s simple and soft and comes out in a whisper as if it’s a secret that only the two you can keep. But it has you beaming from ear to ear and your heart aching, swelling and pressing against its calcified confines. 

You nodded with a smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

His expression mirrors your own as he pulls you closer until your lips land on his in a searing kiss. His thick hands hold you tight around the curve of your waist as your hand travels up the length of his arm and comes to caress his cheek. 

You part to catch a breath and it has him chasing your lips for more. A giggle slips out of your mouth leaving him red and embarrassed. Your thumb brushes against his cheek as you look into his eyes. 

His delicate blue eyes reminded you of the ocean. And you found yourself happily falling headfirst. Every time. 

Drifting along with him in your ocean.

-

No fair

You really know how to make me cry

When you gimme those ocean eyes

I'm scared

I've never fallen from quite this high

Falling into your ocean eyes

Those ocean eyes

TAGLIST (CLOSED): @ashwarren32 @achishisha @chuckennuggets1213 @miraclesoflove @rootcrop @siriusement @savedbystark​ @little-dark-empress​ @great-goddess-of-sin​ @boxofteenageideas​ @imsonick​ @scuzmunkie​ @calwitch​ @captainchrisstan​ @thirstybunz​ @littlebees-things​ @voltage-my2dlove​ @booktease21​ @rinkashirikitateku​ @harleyscheekheart​ @allegra-writes​ @iced-capsicle​ @eliza5616​ @bookgirlunicorn​ @murdermornings​ @fckdeusername​

[chaoskirin]

Reversed (Reworked) Chapter Two

Chapter Title: Sirensong Word Count: 5764 Rating: PG Genre: Fantasy/Gen

Summary: A little more description of this new setting, and a wild Freddie appears! The quartet is complete!! As always, reblogs and comments are very appreciated. <3

Read Chapter on AO3

---

Throwing open the nearest washroom door, Roger parked himself in front of a mirror and grimaced. "Are they going to do this every night?" he hissed, looking back over his shoulder. His eyes--both the white part and the iris--were inky black and eerily deep, filled with stars. Just like they had been the night John first cursed him. He could see, though, which was why the condition had gone unnoticed for days.

John narrowed his eyes, pressing his lips together in what he hoped was a contrite expression. He wasn't particularly good with friend freakouts, mostly because he hadn't had a friend before Roger and Brian came along.

"What! What's that face?!" Roger demanded. "Is that good or bad?"

Brian ducked into the washroom behind the others. "John's face is permanently unimpressed," he replied.

Roger repeated. "Are my eyes. Going to do this. Every night?!" He gestured at them, as if John hadn't yet noticed. "Because this is not okay. It's creepy." He glanced at the mirror again, fake-startled, and added, "See? I'm scaring myself."

John couldn't find any words to express how sorry he was, or how he'd thought Roger was okay with what happened to him, or how he really just wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

"Rog, it's okay," Brian said. "It's at night. They'll be fine tomorrow."

"This is a lot more noticeable than purple," Roger said.

"It is a curse," Brian replied, glancing at John. "If it wasn't unpleasant, it'd be called a charm. We can get you sunglasses or something, if it bothers you."

"It's bothering me!"

John still couldn't even squeak another "I'm sorry." Maybe he'd reached his quota for the day. Or maybe the way Brian was staring at him, angrily waiting for him to say something, robbed him of his ability to speak. He couldn't be sure.

Thankfully, someone chose just that particular moment to walk into the bathroom, and John didn't have to think of anything to say. In fact, even Roger shut up, turning away from the newcomer, as Brian tried (and failed) to appear casual, leaning against the row of sinks.

It was a Ghittan student, wearing the earthy amalgamation of colors characteristic of the View, albeit with a bright red collar that drew attention to his rather sharp features. He stared at them for a moment, before snorting a quick chuckle. "Well then," he said, stepping up to the sink and turning it on. "This isn't suspicious at all. A Vexxzus and an Oerris hanging out together in the loo?" After splashing his face, he pulled an elegant laced kerchief out of one pocket and dabbed himself dry. Smirking, he allowed rather large, protruding upper teeth to show for a moment. "And a Kyyra referee? Should I go get a professor? Or popcorn?"

"You could just bugger off," Roger said. He was hyperventilating, almost out of breath, and pale. John put a hand on his shoulder.

"He okay?" The Ghittan asked, entire tone shifting. It sounded genuine enough. "You aren't beating the stuffing out of him, are you? I think that's a Vexxzusian thing to do. eh?"

John looked at the floor. He had a thousand witty things he could say, but unfortunately, they wouldn't pop into his head until after the Ghittan left. Such was his own curse.

"He's..." Brian started. Roger nodded just a little, and Brian finished with, "Fine," and an obviously strained smile.

"He's not," the Ghittan said in a sing-song voice. He sauntered around Brian and John. For a second, Brian looked as if he might reach out to stop him, but the Kyyra seemed to be entirely non-confrontational, from what John knew of him so far. And John, of course, was almost useless in the face of someone new. If he had even a small measure of bravery, he could have hauled this newcomer out by the hood of his robe, given him a kick in the rear, and told him to mind his own business.

John did all that in his head. He was a hero there.

Eventually, the boy stood directly in front of Roger.

And he stared, dumbfounded and horrified. "Oh, your eyes darling! They're hideous!"

Roger whimpered. It was just the tiniest noise, just the whisper of tears, that caused John to snap. Considering he was already feeling guilty and fairly protective of the boy he cursed, he found it quite easy to locate his backbone.

Reaching into his pocket, he expertly flipped the stopper off one tiny vial and crushed the beetle within it in his hand. Power suffused him, a spell instinctively clawing at his throat to escape.

He smeared the crushed beetle against the Ghittan's jumper. The boy said, "ew."

John smiled. He hadn't meant to smile. It didn't seem like a very smile-worthy moment. Then he said, "I can curse you, too, if you like it so much."

Awkwardly, Brian took John's shoulders and turned him away from the intruder. "Ah--how does one stop a Vexxzus from cursing? He has no gem to take. No wand...? Deacon, no more cursing people. Let's deal with one problem at a time."

Regardless, John struggled free, meeting the Ghittan's eyes. They were wide, his hands raised in shock. Fear. John shook his head, rubbing his temples. "Sorry... S-sorry," he said, tangling his fingers in his hair. "Just--He was making it worse. He was making it worse."

Brian took John's shoulders again. "I know. But we gotta work on that temper. You can't just do stuff like that. Okay?"

John nodded.

"Is this a new thing?" The Ghittan asked. "The hideous eyes, that is? I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean to rub salt in the wound, as it were." He glared at John, suspiciously, then asked Brian, "Did you want me to get a professor?"

"No!" All three of them shouted at once, leaving the poor boy utterly confused.

"It was really an accident," Roger clarified. "I did challenge John to a duel. That's John, by the way." He nodded at the Vexxzus, who raised a hand to wave while still keeping his eyes down. "And I'm Roger. The tall one with the crazy hair is Brian."

"Crazy hair?" Brian asked.

"Freddie," The Ghittan said.

"Anyway, he didn't mean to. Or, I guess he did at the time," Roger said, scratching his chin. "But he feels bad about it, and it'd be really awesome if you didn't tell anyone he did it? We told the Head Matron that I accidentally cursed myself."

"Even though Roger would never be able to pull off a curse that advanced," John said. There! He'd told somebody. He felt much better now. "...Sorry, Roger."

"Oh, no, you're right."

"The staff doesn't know that though," Brian said. "And we'd rather nobody be expelled over this. We're dealing with it."

"Well, I know a thing or two about keeping curses secret," Freddie said. "Maybe this'll make you feel better, eh?" He hopped up on the sink, the old plumbing creaking under his weight. "I am one, you see. A curse, I mean, dears. So what you've got? It's nothing. You'll get used to it, I bet, so don't feel so bad."

"It's not nothing," Roger said. "My eyes are black holes. I've been scaring first-years all week, and someone just now told me I should look in a mirror. I mean, they're only like this at night, so I guess... I guess you're right. It's not so bad." He turned to look in the mirror again, turning his face this way and that. "It'll be amazing on Halloween." He looked at Brian, then John. "Why didn't you guys tell me?"

"We, uh. Meant to?" Brian said. "Anyway, didn't you hear him?" He nodded at the Ghittan.

"Freddie," Freddie said again.

"Right, Freddie. You can't be a curse," Brian said. He rolled his eyes back, thinking. Then he muttered, "Unless you're the one--May I?" He reached for Freddie's hair.

Freddie nodded. "I suppose. I was going to tell you anyway. But don't be surprised if I bite."

Brian tucked Freddie's long, black hair back, revealing both the intricate pattern of scales on the sharp jawline, as well as one severely mutilated ear. The edge was covered with green scar tissue. Brian quickly pulled away, and Freddie's hair fell back, covering the scales again.

As Freddie crossed his legs, John noticed he wasn't wearing shoes. A light smattering of scales sparkled on his pale skin.

"Your ears are--" Roger started.

Freddie interrupted. "Yes! Beautiful, aren't they? Oh, I love telling a good story just as much as you like hearing one, I'm sure. Turned out I possessed the wild magic of humans despite my half-siren lineage. So rare. So special." He paused to smile. "And you know what happens when a human displays magical aptitude."

Everyone groaned. Nobody liked school. Then again, learning magic on top of maths and sciences at least provided a respite to an otherwise boring day.

"Yes, exactly," Freddie continued, pulling a sequins-decorated pouch out of one pocket. He twirled it around his fingers. "Of course I fitted into the Ghittan View. But it turned out, I also suffered from the siren's curse, as well. Dear me... My first week here, I accidentally started humming a jaunty little tune, and before I knew it, there were well over a dozen people following me. Silently. Waiting for me to tell them what to do."

John and Brian glanced at each other. John almost mentioned that they didn't need a life's story, when Brian said, "but the ears...?"

"Oh, yes. Quite mundane. My mum cut them off when I enrolled. Don't worry," he hastily added when Brian gasped. "It was a mutual decision. We thought I'd blend in more if I didn't have fish ears."

"Yeah," Roger said. "You're right, that's worse."

"Excellent," Freddie said. "I do like winning."

"Do you know," Brian asked, his tone almost conversational. And yet John felt the looming storm about to crash down as Brian continued. "...if they intend to admit more creatures to Vale Rest?" John only had time to say, "Oh, Brian, no."

"Creatures," Freddie repeated, his entire demeanor turning icy. It wasn't subtle at all--John definitely recognized the signs of an oncoming anger hurricane, since he was prone to fits himself. Still, he couldn't say anything quickly enough to prevent the inevitable tirade.

Maybe, John wondered, Brian deserved it.

Brian blustered, fumbling for an answer.

"Listen very carefully, darlings," Freddie growled, his brows darkening his eyes.

Then, he began to sing.

It was a beautiful song, in beautiful tenor, with an undertone of something uncomfortable. It was a series of clicks and whistles that Freddie seemed to produce without meaning to, or without realizing it. Almost like whale or dolphin song. And it wasn't long before Roger's and Brian's faces were completely blank, devoid of any expression whatsoever. Freddie hopped off the sink and pointed at all three of them. "Now, you all stay put here until this wears off, then get to your dorms. Got it?"

Roger and Brian nodded obediently, expressions still slack.

"Good," Freddie said. He sighed--sadly, John thought--and headed for the door.

John caught his sleeve, and Freddie whipped around, meeting John's eyes with surprise.

"Are they going to be okay?" John asked.

"Er, yeah. It lasts a few minutes, darling, but they'll be fine. Why aren't you under?"

"Am I supposed to be?"

Freddie looked at the other two. Brian was actually slack-jawed and drooling. "Well, it's not selective. It just affects everyone who hears it. Or, I thought it did. Hm. Lemme try again."

John clapped a hand over Freddie's mouth, and glared. "None of that. You've already got them in a state. You want 'em brain-dead, too?" Still with his hand over Freddie's mouth, he looked past the boy's shoulder and tried, "Brian? Roger?" No answer. Not even a reaction.

Freddie pushed John's hand away. "But why aren't you...?"

"I don't know," John replied, curling his lip. "Why'd you do that to them, anyway? And you were just going to leave them like that? Everyone thinks Vexxzuses are bad. This is just cruel."

"It wears off after a bit, I told you," Freddie said. "I mean, they'll be a bit fuzzy for a while, so that's why I told them to get to their dorms after. It's just hypnotism, you see. They wouldn't do anything against their own self-preservation, or I don't think they'd have let me into Vale Rest. I'm not a full siren." He turned to Brian, getting right up in his face and adding, "And I'm not a creature."

Brian didn't even blink. It was quite disturbing.

"Is that it?" John said. "That's why you--what. Mind-controlled them? With Brian, that's a compliment. I've only known him for a couple weeks, really, and all I know about him is that he loves animals--" John paused and amended as Freddie scowled. "Non-humans, I mean! It's what he's studying here! It's his best subject. He wants to write his thesis on werebats. I think he was kind of happy about maybe getting to know you better."

Freddie blinked, confused. John pushed past him and gave Roger's shoulders a shake. "C'mon, Rog." "They won't listen to you, dear," Freddie said quietly. "Brian studies non-humans?"

"He does. He knows practically everything about them, too."

"Oh." Freddie muttered. "Well. I'm. I'm a being, first of all. But, I'm sorry."

"Maybe tell him when this wears off," John said.

"Oh, he heard me. It's just that he can't do anything at the moment." Freddie turned to them and added, "Besides, I shouldn't be here when they snap out of it. They're probably terrified. It's the whole reason I do this, you see. No one bothers me twice. Nod if you're terrified."

Roger nodded. Brian didn't.

John laughed. "Tell him to nod if he thinks this is the coolest thing in the world."

"Er, okay. Nod if you think this is cool."

Brian nodded.

"I told you," John said. "Non-humans. Beings. Whatever. If you'd given them a chance..."

Freddie didn't say anything. He stared at Brian for a while, then turned his attention to Roger, putting his hand on Roger's cheek. Roger reached for it, and Freddie said, "Don't be scared. It'll wear off, I promise."

Roger nodded.

Freddie tried to remove his hand, but Roger held on, wrapping both his arms around Freddie's.

"Oh, wonderful," Freddie said.

"He's a hugger," John said. "Does this mean it's wearing off?"

"Yeah, if they're acting on their own. But... They won't be very good conversationalists when they snap out of it. Trust me on that."

John waved a hand in front of Brian's face, though the Kyyra didn't even blink. His eyes might have moved, just a bit, but he was still obediently staying put, waiting for the siren's spell to wear off. "They can hear everything we're saying?" John asked.

"That's the horror of Siren Song," Freddie said. "It's why humans don't like them. You're fully conscious as you're made to do things you don't want to do. If I was a full-blood siren, I could make them do anything. They wouldn't even question it. They wouldn't be able to." He turned to Brian and Roger again, stating for their benefit, "But I'm not. Like I said, this is no more than hypnotism. I couldn't make 'em follow me into the ocean and drown, if that's what you're worried about."

"Sounds to me like you're the one that's worried about that," John said. "I mean, they haven't said a word. And apparently I'm immune, so."

"Yes, strange."

"Anyway, you're gonna have Brian following you around like a puppy now, so good job there," John said. He did feel a little bad, making fun of the Kyyra when he couldn't fight back. Still, it was true. Brian could talk for hours about dragons and hippogriffs. Why not sirens? "And it was Roger's idea to lie about who cursed him, so he's already forgiven you, I'm sure."

Freddie hopped up on the sink again, despite Roger's grip on his arm. He brushed the beetle bits off the front of his uniform. "Maybe this is fate, then, me meeting you three."

"Well, I don't believe in fate," John said. "But if you need friends, then I think you got yourself a few." He attempted to hop up on the sink as Freddie had done, but his arms weren't quite up to the task. Giggling, Freddie grabbed the back of his jumper and hauled him up.

"Ugh, why did you have to be a Vexxzus, though?" Freddie asked.

"Look, you're a Ghittan. I feel the same way about you. I mean who uses dirt to do magic? It's weird. The Headmatron used it to heal a broken arm I had a couple weeks ago and it's... It's just..."

"Dirty?" Freddie drawled, smiling.

John grunted. "Trust me here. These two are all right, and these View rivalries are pointless anyway."

"Says the one who cursed a poor, defenseless Oerris."  

"He had it coming."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Roger nod.

"How much longer, you think?" John asked.

"Any second now, probably." Freddie snapped his fingers next to Brian's face, and he actually blinked this time. "They're moving on their own, which is a good indication. It'll be tomorrow before they're themselves again though, I'm afraid. There's a sort of fuzziness that comes along after you break out of Siren's Song."

"Everything is pink and fluffy," Brian mumbled.

"I think I'm gonna get married," Roger said, dreamily.

"Welp. Here we go," Freddie said. "Let's get these two back to their dorms so they can sleep it off."

~*~

The lowest floor of Vale Rest was called the Recreation Well. Most people just called it Rec, or the Well. Located seven floors underground, Rec was a sprawling complex of fields, an enormous hot spring, a gaming compound for those who were Virtuatekk inclined, and a vaulted cave ceiling which held all manner of glowing spell-lights and naturally glowing mosses. It had its own weather patterns overseen by students; understandably, things sometimes went awry in the Recreation Well, but those events were few and far between.

It also featured a well-developed shopping area, ironically called the Weald. Unfortunately for the students, the Weald remained off limits except with special passes, or on certain days. Located behind a magical barrier, a separate entrance admitted the outside public, who found the little underground town quaint and relaxing.

Most new students found it absolutely astounding that someone could fit what amounted to an entire town under Vale Rest's ground, but once they spent the majority of their free time in the Recreation Well, most came to call it home.

"That's just the thing, darling," Freddie said, reaching across their picnic table to take Brian's book away. He scrunched up his face at the picture. "It's not something I can stop. I know you mean well, but  this...?"

"And we're not letting you cut him open," John added. "It's barbaric."

"I wasn't suggesting..." Brian snatched the book back and laid it out on the table. These people had absolutely no imagination whatsoever. Still, he felt bad, after offending Freddie. It wasn't the end of the world, but he hadn't expected the half-siren to be so vocal about his idea. In hind-sight, he should have. "We're mages. If we can find a spell..."

"But I like what I can do," Freddie said, tapping his chest with his fingers. "It's me. I mean, maybe it's a pain sometimes, but it's fantastic defense, isn't it? Against... You know. Vexxzuses."

John elbowed him. "Not against me."

"Which isn't fair," Roger said. With the weather within the Well mirroring the sunny weather outside, his eyes were a bright, golden yellow. Sometimes fluffy clouds would drift across the spell-lights, and his eyes would turn silver. "It's a little frightening. I wish I was inane."

"Immune," Brian said. "You know the right word."

"I do, but it was still funny. Freddie laughed."

"I didn't, dear."

Roger shrugged. "You meant to."

Freddie tapped the picture. It was a mostly humanoid creature, with the tell-tale signs that it was something else entirely. Long, webbed ears, for example, and webbing between each of its fingers and toes. The latter was something Freddie never had to worry about, he'd said. "You know, they probably dissected a siren to get this much detail in the drawing."

Guiltily, Brian pushed the book away. "Well, these illustrations are hundreds of years old. I'm sure it wasn't, er... Related. Look, I'm just trying to help. Sirens are so badly understood..."

The others stared at him. Roger curled his lip a bit and said, "Uh. Freddie is right here."

Brian sighed. "I'm not helping. I'm sorry, it's just that--The creatures I study don't... usually... Talk back--I'm going to stop now before I shove my other foot into my mouth, too." Stifling a groan, he put his head down on the table, curly hair splaying out in all directions.

Freddie patted his shoulder. "Oh, come now, Brian. It just frazzles you so, when you think I'm angry."

"You're not?"

"No! Of course not. I'm the center of attention. It's right where I ought to be."

"Prat," Brian said. He reached for the book, but Roger climbed up onto the table, lifting it from his reach.

"So your ears looked like this?" he asked.

"Smaller, but all sorts of colors." Freddie smiled sadly, and sighed. "They'd sparkle in the sun." "Well, we would have been your friends anyway," Roger said. "Even if you hadn't hacked 'em off."

"I know, that's what makes it so tragic that they're gone." He rested an elbow on the table, and lay his head in his hand. "It would have been too much of a risk, though. I mean, most of the Views get along, but there's always some Kyrra who don't see you as human, then there's the Vexxzuses who're a bit specist. It was better that people got to know me, in all my wonderful glory and humility, before they discovered my deep, dark secret."

John rolled his eyes. Roger turned another few pages in the book. "Green blood, too?"

Freddie nodded. "Oh, that's the coolest part. Look here." He searched around on the table until he found a splinter, and pried it loose with his fingernails. Holding up a thumb, he gave his skin a light stab.

It wasn't exactly green. More like a muddy greenish-brown. Still, very odd, and very cool. "Don't touch, though," Freddie said as he wrapped it in a fresh kerchief. The cloth sizzled. "It'll burn."

"Sirens sound wonderful," John muttered.

"They are," Freddie said, grabbing the book off Roger's knee. "I'm sure I could make some proper edits here and there. Make this chapter much less sensational. This is all fear-mongering stuff."

"So sirens don't lure people to their deaths?" Roger asked.

Brian couldn't help it. He held his breath, while John stared at Roger with surprise. Both of their expressions must have said what words couldn't--how could Roger possibly say something like that, with Freddie sitting right there? And poor Freddie looked distinctly uncomfortable, glancing away. Realizing he was still holding the book, he tossed it on the table, which echoed thunderously through the Well. "Freddie," Roger said.

Freddie held out his hand, stood, and retreated toward the stairwell.

Roger started to stand. Brian reached for his wrist, taking it and shaking his head. "Are you actually an idiot?" Brian asked. "Because sometimes I don't think you actually..."

Freddie appeared directly in front of his face, smiling. Brian squeaked, nearly falling backward off the bench, as Freddie laughed. "You know, it's incredibly difficult to walk off in a proper huff if no one follows and fawns over you. Were you three coming, or...?"

Roger arched his eyebrows. "Are you an idiot?" he asked Brian, who was still trying to slow his pulse. "You did not know he was going to do that!" he called after Roger and John. Standing, he hurried to catch up, too. "You didn't! Dammit, Freddie."

"You should have seen the look on your face," Freddie chuckled.

"I'm laughing," Brian replied, glaring at Roger and John. "They didn't know, either." "We were all in on it," Roger said. Brian elbowed him a little harder than intended. Roger guffawed through a pained "Ouch!" Which just caused John to start chuckling, too.

"They weren't, it just played out so well," Freddie said. "I do love you guys."

"I am sorry about the whole... luring people to their deaths thing," Roger said. "We were just chatting. I wasn't thinking."

"Oh, I'd be offended if it weren't true," Freddie said, his voice growing theatrically dangerous. "Most sirens don't like humans. The ocean is full of trash. Even my father wasn't fond."

"Is this a love story?" John asked. "If this is a romance, I have somewhere else to be."

"Oh, shut it. My dad's a perfect gentleman. Mum was on holiday. He saw her cleaning the beach. I think he was just curious at first, but then he had himself silenced so he could get to know her." Freddie smiled. "It's hard to stop a siren from singing, you know. He had to learn. But he figured it out eventually. It's sad, though. He has such a beautiful voice... I do wish mum could hear it."

"See? It's a romance," John said.

"Right, that's the point I was trying to make. Thank you, John."

John smirked. "You're welcome."

"What I'm saying is that... Maybe it worked for my dad, being silenced. But I don't want to be. I want to be able to talk to you guys. I haven't had friends in years, and, well, I've got a lot to say."

They passed into the central staircase, which stretched all the way through the two aboveground floors. The steps were carved out of the gnarled tree's roots; each one was alive, and often grew offshoots of new staircases, which very often led to nowhere. Some of the stairways were carpeted with moss. Others, ancient beyond understanding, displayed the deeply grooved surfaces of dozens of generations of students. Some were carved or decorated, while others were left to wither away at the tree's whim.

John and Freddie walked ahead, with Roger just behind them. Brian brought up the rear, his head down, hands in his pockets. How could he have even thought that silencing Freddie would be a good idea? Perhaps it would work for an animal... You could silence one of the louder ones and it would barely care. Somehow, he thought Freddie might even appreciate the notion, but now that he really considered it, Brian knew he wouldn't want to lose his voice, either. He was just trying to help. Good intentions. Good intentions often led down the worst roads. But he had another idea. A better one. He hoped.

"Oh, what, are you having a sulk now?" Freddie asked. "Come on, Brian, it's fine. You academics just can't help it. I understand. If you don't constantly invent problems to solve, you languish away."

Brian ignored the insult as Roger had a good chuckle at his expense. "No, it was a stupid thing to suggest. But... I think I can make it up to you. I'm doing really well with non-human healing. We just started, of course, but if I study up a bit, I bet I can figure out how to heal your ears." Unguarded, Freddie brightened. It may have been the first genuine reaction he'd seen from the Ghittan. "You think you could?"

"Yes! I do! I mean, not now..." Freddie's face fell a bit, and Brian hurried to add, "But in a year or two, once I get a good grasp on healing magic. They're some of the hardest spells to master, and regrowing lost ears, with your... physiology. Give me some time. I promise I can do it."

He absolutely could. It was the best consolation he could offer. Freddie, giddy, wiggled a bit. "Yes. Okay! Apology accepted. Let's go to the library and see if we can find some books for you to read. Might as well get a start!"

Brian blinked. "What, now?"

"We've the time!" Freddie said.

It was a fair point, with classes starting later in the morning. They could pop into the library, and with his record, he could likely check out a book more advanced than he'd normally have access to. Shrugging, he followed, as Freddie hummed a happy little tune.

In fact, Brian was so relieved, he almost felt as if he were floating. His mind emptied of all its worries, and soon he could only focus on--oh.

Oh no.

He couldn't say anything. Couldn't deviate from the path set out before him. Couldn't act against Freddie's wishes. Silently, he willed Freddie to stop humming!

They made it up a few more flights before John, quirking a brow, glanced over his shoulder. "You're awfully quiet back there, Rog. Are you sick, or... Ah. Freddie."

Freddie stopped. Brian stopped.

Freddie turned, confused, and realization dawned. He covered his face with his hands, muttering something completely unintelligible. Since his attention was entirely focused on the half-siren, Brian could almost see the conversation playing out in Freddie's mind, even though he said nothing. "This is so frustrating," he finally mumbled. "I didn't mean to do this again, guys."

Brian couldn't do anything. Couldn't say a word of reassurance or even move his eyes. They were locked onto Freddie. Everything the Ghittan did caught Brian's attention. He was stuck.

It was truly amazing how quickly it worked, though. Freddie couldn't have been humming for more than a few seconds before John caught him. But even then, it was too late. Amazing magic, and completely innate, too. No need for a focus.

"There's nothing we can do, either," Freddie went on, pacing back and forth along a step. "I'll--I'll get you guys somewhere safe. Maybe we can talk about that silencing spell after all. Or maybe I'll just command them to stay away? I think I can do that. Yes, it's in their own best interests, so they'd follow the command to the letter, I'm sure. Then again, I'd be down two friends, and I don't want to--"

John shuffled up a couple steps, reached around Freddie's shoulders, and once again covered his mouth.

Freddie swore.

"Freddie, it's hypnotism," John said, removing his hand. "You said it yourself. Right? That's how this works." "Essentially," Freddie replied. His voice was higher, distraught. "I can't keep doing this to them, though. Harmless or not, it can't be comfortable to--Well, look at them!" Brian did feel himself drooling again. That was embarrassing.

"I've always called this the suggestion phase. Right now, I could literally tell them to behave like chickens for the rest of their lives, and they might do it." Freddie quickly amended, "I wouldn't, guys. Promise."

"You said 'might,'" John observed.

"Right. Because eventually it'd go against their sense of self-preservation and they'd stop. At least, I think so. I'd hope so." He paused, rubbing his chin. "Roger, though..."

"Huh," John said. "Hang on."

Setting his bag on the nearest landing, John sat down, shuffling through his things until he found a notebook. Brian would have loved to spy what he was writing, but his attention remained comfortably on Freddie as he waited for that all-important suggestion. He had no choice. Even so, his consciousness remained intact, if not wholly confused by the whole ordeal.

Worried, Freddie chewed on his fingernails as John scratched away at the paper. Eventually, John stood, holding the notebook out. "Tell me this won't work."

Freddie read it over. "Well, you've certainly accounted for everything. I don't know. I can try."

"Go on, then." "Should I just read it?"

"Like I wrote it," John said. "I think I've covered all the loopholes."

"Okay." Freddie nodded, holding the paper in front of him. "Brian May and Roger Taylor. Next time I say 'now', if you hear my song, you're to behave entirely normally, how you would if I wasn't singing at all. From this point forward, my song has no effect on you whatsoever, but you're to remember this suggestion." He paused, then added, "Do you understand?"

Brian felt himself nod.

Freddie looked at Roger, who nodded.

Freddie said, "Now."

And the curse fell away. Not slowly, like before, but immediately. Brian barely had time to reach out as the step jumped up to meet him. Grunting, he seated himself and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear away the last of the lingering fog. "Ooh, that's going to freak me out every time it happens," Roger muttered. "That's bloody scary." "Hopefully it doesn't have to?" Freddie suggested, crouching in front of them. "It's genius, if it works," Brian said. "Go on, then. Sing something." "What? Now? Already? You've just come out of it!" Freddie looked at Roger, who'd grown very still at the suggestion. "Yes," Roger said. "Do it while I’m expecting it. Better if I know it's comin'."

Freddie gave them one last Look, as if they were both daft, and he sang.

It wasn't like the last times. It wasn't beautiful and otherworldly, nor did it melt over him and wrest control of his mind before he realized what was happening. As Freddie sang, Brian felt a certain fuzzy feeling behind his eyes, but when he looked down and checked if he could still move his fingers, he found he wasn't stuck like before. This time, there was something under the song that Brian hadn't heard previously, which was almost grating. It was high-pitched and whiny, borderline unpleasant. Freddie trailed off, and Brian shrugged, glancing over at Roger.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Roger said. "That was terrible, though. What'd you do to your voice?"

Freddie actually cried. His eyes were wide--stunned and almost wild--as a giant grin broke out across his face. He paced a step or two, before throwing his arms around John and sobbing into his shoulder.

"Oh, go on," John said, embarrassed. "It was no more complex then figuring out a puzzle."

Freddie backed away, laughing, then turned and threw himself at Brian and Roger, who somehow managed not to fall face-first down the stairs. John knelt next to them, putting his hand on Freddie's shoulder. No one said anything. Nothing needed to be said.