#i may not be a woman but i hold with me a type of indignation and anger for every one of you

[caffeinatedopossum]

Happy international women's day!

Because nothing says happy international woman's day like a joke about horrific medical malpractice (I'm so sorry)

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

When the Longing Returns (Phantom of the Opera 2004 Fanfiction) || Erik x Christine

Ch. 2 Author's Notes

Read the Fic here on tumblr or read a spicier version on AO3

◇ I specifically refer to the carriage here as a barouche, because I was tired of using the word carriage. I couldn't call it a coach because a coach is fully enclosed so I went and did my research and it's definitely a barouche. Which is to say a four-wheeled horse-drawn carriage with a collapsible roof. They may have one or two rows of seating. The one used in the movie has only one.

Fun fact, a barouche is specifically mentioned in Leroux's novel, though it's not the carriage that Erik actually takes Christine out in, which is a Brougham.

◇ Let's talk about Gerik and the gloves. Has anyone else noticed the fact that movie!Erik has gloves and stage!Erik does not? So the whole first part of the First Lair he's touching her sexily WITH LEATHER GLOVES, and not actually making any skin contact. Of course there are the BDSM tones there, but more importantly this could be read as him keeping a barrier between them, either out of fear or respect for her or both?

The skin on skin occurring for the first time in the graveyard when he holds her hand to give her his ring is pretty significant, but it was overshadowed by the even more significant fact that he's just put his ring on her finger. So a bare-hand face touch registers even more for the both of them because he's touched her face before, but only with gloves on.

My Reylo bitches out there will understand my love of a gloves-on-gloves-off runner, I'm sure. Once again, Joel Schumacher and Alexandra Byrne doing me a solid.

◇ I did say we'd be getting more of the ring, and you know what there's even more details forthcoming. The ring is my favorite character, I guess.

It's very, very important to me (as I said in the notes for chapter 1) that this ring be one of his own rings. I really wanted it to be personal to him, something that is part of his every day attire. This way, when he gives it to Christine, while it does stand in the conventional role of the wedding ring in 19th century France as a visible claim of ownership (bride bought and paid for--it was not uncommon for only brides to have wedding rings, so there was no indication of mutual belonging, either), but also subverts and transcends it.

This ring is not one he bought and paid for solely to stake his claim on her, but something he owned already, something that is his own posession, and symbolizes not just that she belongs to him, but that he is entrusting to her and giving her possession of himself and everything that is his, both emotionally and in terms of his worldly goods. In a time when good men of society (like Raoul) for all intents and purposes legally owned their wives, this extra-legal promise of spiritual marriage being sealed by the man giving his property to the woman to keep for her own seems particularly impactful and very stirring to me. It also seems like exactly the type of thing Erik would do, since everything about him exists outside of convention and the rules of society.

This all likely stems from my obsession with old fashioned Anglican wedding vows--which were ironic because in England, too, men legally absorbed all their wives' possessions and were capable of cutting off the wife's access to her own money if he chose to, but read:

"With this ring, I thee wed. This gold and silver I give to thee.

With my body, I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods, I thee endow."

And while I can slide that right into my Twilight OC fic where the OC in question was the daughter of an Anglican vicar, I can't do the same with my PotO fic, so I have to sneak in little homages wherever I can.

Also I just cannot get over the idea of Christine wearing what is obviously a man's ring as her wedding band. Every time she looks at it she's going to think first and foremost, not "Ooo, sparkly" but "Mm...dark sexy man..."

◇ "Christine hid the surge of indignation she felt at his use of the epithet, fighting to keep it from breaking into her face, but she couldn't prevent her grip from tightening, harder than she even thought possible of herself."

This is very reminiscent of the moment in the novel when Christine, in a moment of confrontation with Raoul, grips his arm with a strength "no one could have suspected in a creature so frail". This is demonstrative of the power and independence Erik has instilled in Christine by awakening her sexuality and maturity. Interestingly though, I did not write this as an homage to that moment, because I hadn't even read the book yet.

◇ I don't know about you guys, but I love historical fashion. So when I'm reading historical romances written in the modern day, it really gets up my nose when clothing descriptions are fumbled with or glossed over using terminology that sorta sounds old-timey. You might think you're being vague enough to get away with it, but not with me you're not.

   It really takes me out of the mood in historically set smut when it talks about the man just undoing the buttons on her dress and she's not wearing anything underneath. No corset, no stays--no chemise. Hate that shit. Unsexy. (Glares at Julia Quinn)

And on the off chance that she is wearing some foundation garments, they're usually handled all wrong.

So I'm gonna take a self-congratulatory moment to talk about the little clothing things here that I did to make sure we're feeling fully authentic.

Christine undresses in the dormitory and she's described as "loosening" her corset laces, not "unlacing" her corset because corsets of this period didn't need to be fully unlaced to get them off. Really, few corsets after the romantic era did.

Emmy Rossum's corset in the movie is *fine*, as Hollywood corsets go,

but if you want a good idea of what a real, functional corset from the early 1870's would look like this is it.

Note how the shape is slightly different.

Also worth noting is the fact that i have Christine crawling into bed in her chemise after undressing. The chemise, for anyone who doesn't know, is the basic undergarment throughout basically the whole of modern history, from the medieval period right up to the edwardians. They were a bit like a slip and were essential for keeping your nasty sweat and body oils OFF your good outer clothes and also your first line of defense against corset chafing. Madame Giry is seen in an excellent example of period correct corset and chemise. (And the corset even looks like it kind of fits her) They also doubled as your nightgown unless you were rich. Christine obviously has a proper nightgown, but I figured that she would probably not bother to put that back on for a morning snooze.

Now as an aside, the movie (which is my primary basis for this fic, though I'm bending some things and taking some liberties) begins in 1870. Christine's silhouettes are straight up mid- 1860's. About 1865, if we wanna get specific. Her gala dress is DIRECTLY inspired by this portrait of Empress Elisabeth "Sissi" of Austria, which was painted in 1865. So that's a problem in Canon.

◇ Writing this chapter from Erik's POV for the first time was basically me with the Big Book of Insults for Young Men open beside me and it was so much fun. I loved letting him revel in Christine playing Raoul like

And frankly that was me as well, and I hope all of you.

[nvc-nonviolent-communication]

What Is the Difference between Power and Control?

APRIL 24, 2019 BY MARY KAY REINEMANN

In my experience, the words power and control are often used interchangeably. For example: “He has the power to fire me.” Or “Money is power.” “She controls my life; I’m powerless.”

We also use the word “power” (but not “control”) to refer to a person with inner power like Gandhi or Mandela or Martin Luther King, Jr. And we conflate power and control when we talk of “political power” or a “powerful CEO.”

I want to clarify what I see as distinctive qualities indicated by these words. They are essentially different things. I don’t even think of them like apples and oranges, which are both fruits. They are more like rocks and animals — completely different types or categories. They each have a place and they are not the same thing.

Because I do not see others making these distinctions in my everyday conversation and reading, I want to be clear that I am defining these terms in a narrow sense to help bring clarity in my own mind and in discussion with others.

I use the word power to indicate the intrinsic capacity to make a choice in alignment with my own values. Power is a need. We all have power, we all make choices, sometimes unconsciously and/or without taking responsibility for those choices. We can “give away” our power by denying responsibility for our choices and going along with the choices of others. Holding onto our own power is essential in the practice of NVC. This involves learning to take complete responsibility for our own choices. I am responsible for my own feelings, needs and choices.

Control is a strategy. Often when I am ferreting out needs, I arrive at “wanting to be in control” of a situation. If I dig deeply enough, I may find the place where I want to be in control of every situation, all the time. “If only everyone behaved in the way I believe they should behave…” or “understood that…then everything would finally be alright!”

A story from Marshall Rosenberg’s book Nonviolent Communication cites the diary of a woman imprisoned in a concentration camp to illustrate the difference between power and control:

“I am not easily frightened. Not because I am brave but because I know that I am dealing with human beings, and that I must try as hard as I can to understand everything that anyone ever does. And that was the real import of this morning: not that a disgruntled young Gestapo officer yelled at me, but that I felt no indignation, rather a real compassion, and would have liked to ask ‘did you have a very unhappy childhood, has your girlfriend let you down?’ Yes, he looked harassed and driven, sullen and weak. I should have liked to start treating him there and then, for I know that pitiful young men like that are dangerous as soon as they are let loose on mankind.”

— Etty Hillesum: A Diary (Nonviolent Communication, Rosenberg, second edition, p2)

Etty Hillesum does not have control over the situation she is in or the young Gestapo officer. She does, however, hold onto her power. The young officer, on the other hand, appears to be in control of the situation (he has the gun), but I wonder if he was saying, years later, “I had to do it.” This excuse is a clear indication of having given away one’s power. Powerful people choose a response and take responsibility for it. They may not have control over the consequences (which can be severe) and they do not use the excuse of “I had to” or “they made me do it.” Etty actually goes beyond a simple choice — she embodies compassion in her response. She has arrived at the stage of unconscious competence in automatically making choices in alignment with her values or what you might call her ‘truest self.” This is the result of practice and leads to another quality that is important in the discussion of power and control: strength.

Strength is a measure of the ability and skill one has developed to consciously control (or wield) one’s innate power — just like someone who lifts weights and exercises can develop the strength to lift more and more weight. With practice one develops the strength to make more and more conscious choices, and to face more challenging or difficult choices without losing one’s “center” or “self” or compromising one’s values. Eventually, we may arrive at a state where we automatically respond without even having to think about it, like Etty when she felt compassion for the guard. This might be called mastery, embodiment or unconscious competence. Strength refers to the learned, earned and developed capacity to make conscious or unconscious choices in alignment with our values; it may or may not lead to the ability and authority to control something or inspire someone else.

Choice is something we cannot avoid. To choose not to act is a choice just as choosing a specific action is a choice. We make our choices consciously and/or unconsciously.

“Power,” “strength,” or “control” are value-neutral terms. These are capacities which can be developed (or made conscious) with practice (just like muscles can be developed with exercise and training) and can be used for whatever the person chooses to use them for. They develop independently of cognitive, intellectual, social, moral, emotional or other developmental lines.

In NVC, we say that the choice to use power with others instead of power under (giving in) * or power over (trying to control) * other people is a core value. The protective use of force is the use of control to protect universal needs when necessary. I use these definitions to refer specifically to our relationships with one another as human beings. I personally consider both “power under” and “power over” to be strategies, and therefore forms of control, not power. “Power with” can refer to either the sharing of authentic power (we freely make choices together to serve the needs of all) or “control with” (we create strategies to meet needs). We can use both power and control with one another in alignment with the intention of NVC.

* A note about control: While ideally one uses “power with” other human beings, having the ability and authority to control one’s environment and the circumstances of one’s own life is an important capacity. Again, these are value-neutral capabilities. We all want a certain amount of control in our lives. We would all agree that Ette Hillesum had the right (authority) to control the circumstances of her life; that she did not have the ability to do so during the Second World War resulted in the loss of her life. Legally, morally and ethically, most of us would agree that usurping her authority and ability to be in control of her life circumstances did not meet universal human needs and was not in accord with the values most of us would choose for ourselves. (We might simply say “that’s wrong!”) Her power, however, remained intact — and she had the strength (learned and earned through practice and training) to hold onto her power to embody her highest ideals in devastating circumstances.

[th3yadorekay]

racism 

White privilege- In wikipedia  it defines white privilege as “inherent advantages possessed by a white person on the basis of their race in a society characterized by racial inequality and injustice. With the image I have provided down below it shows an elderly white woman who is holding a sign with the written words, “They don't shoot white women like me.” Meaning that she is fully aware that that society as a whole allows her to have advantages over color  due to the color of her skin. Having white privilege allows you to do things without fear of being judged by your skin and won't be a target. White privilege indicates both obvious and less obvious passive advantages that white people may not recognize they have but this white lady do recognize that policeman don't shoot white females like her.

Individual racism-In the textbook it defines individual racism as “personal prejudiced beliefs and discriminatory actions based on race.” With the cartoon I had provided, this shows two whitd men looking down at what appears to be a colored person laying down and one of the men in the image states, “I'm sorry you just don't fit in. “Meaning that he dont belong because hes not like them which is treating him like an outsider due to him being a person of color.

Microagression- In the book it defines  mircoagression is “common, everyday verbal or behavioral indignities and slights that communicate hostile, derogatory, and negative messages about someone’s race, gender, sexual orientation, or religion.” This image shows a lady holding a sign with the words of a microaggression statement , “ No where are you really from?” These words implies that she's not really “American” and she seems like she's a foreigner by the way she looks. 

Phenotype- Phenotype refers to an individual's observable traits, such as height, eye color and blood type. Phenotype is basically what your dna makes of you, in my example it shows different eye colors, which is one of the physical traits of a phenotype.

Phenotype

Jim Crow- The Jim Crow laws were state and local laws enforcing racial segregation in the Southern United States. This image shows an example on what would be considered normal during the time these laws were in use. Signs and labels through America stating, “whites only or Coloreds” these labels were made to enforce segregation.

Jim Crow law

Race -  referred to the common ancestry of a group of humans who shared characteristics that had developed over time.A race is a categorization of humans based on shared physical or social qualities into groups generally viewed as distinct within a given society. The term came into common usage during the 1500s, when it was used to refer to groups of various kinds, including those characterized by close kinship relations. Its a way to categorize people due to their pheonotype.

[kayydadon]

field work: chapter 5

NATIVISM

The favoring of certain long-term inhabitants, namely whites, over new immigrants

While doing this assignment I was on the phone with one of my friends back home and she was helped me understand how her community deals with NATIVISM. Growing up in NYC you will always see Asian people no matter the place you are living, some people would make the most horrible jokes about them such as “keep your animals away from them or its going to be they dinner” or “every Chinese person is smart in math” and many others. As covid-19 heavily hit us, people jokes and crimes to Asian people was very scary for their community, people would attack Asian people as if they were able to control a virus. Most of them was scared to leave they houses for work and school, the did not want they grandparents to go to the market without somebody because of fear.

MISCEGENATION

A demeaning historical term for interracial

In this image you see an interracial couple, this type of marriage or relationships was not always in American. people in American now still have comments about this type of relationships such as “he or she doesn’t know nothing about he or she history” or “why can you find yourself a people from your cultural” but no matter the color of your skin or race the love you got for one and other should be the reason you are together

MICROAGGRESSIONS

Common, everyday verbal or behavioral indignities and slights that communicate hostile, derogatory, and negative messages about someone’s race, gender, sexual orientation or religion.

Microaggressions in the black community is always something we talk about to get it to stop all the time. As a black woman growing up I always wonder why if I want to wear my hair out its not professional but its other community go to hairstyle I chose this picture to show that black women have a lot to hold in the everyday life

RACISM

Individuals’ thoughts and actions and institutional patterns and policies that create or reproduce unequal access to power, privilege, resources, and opportunities based on imagined differences among groups.

While searching racism I went back to 2020, every black person saw Derek Chauvin use is knee to murder George Floyd, people took it to the streets to protects because this is not the first-time offices using the power on other people. Kaepernick (the football) help people understand this life for so many people of color in America as he used his platform to show respect for his people by taking a knee

WHITE SUPREMACY

The belief that whites are biologically different from and superior to people of other races.

 I chose this image because this is the first time, I saw white supremacy they believe because of the color of your skin you can’t have equal rights and equality. Some may say former president was a white supremacist due to his actions and the way he spoke about other races

INSTITUTIONAL RACISM

Patterns by which racial inequality is structed through key cultural institutions, policies, and systems.

I chose to add two images for this because listening to the video and looking at the picture gives you a better vision of the path you had to take to get were you are one quote I always go by is no matter how look it took you what matter is you at the finish line the American we live in does not give black people the same opportunity as white people

[jingyismom]

Time for more sex-cursed Lan Wangji!

a messy, self-indulgent spree imported from twt and lightly edited

explicit, wangxian, 9k, canon divergence fix-it

mild dubcon because of the nature of sex curses (but like, they do their best to communicate around it), and cw for brief thoughts of self harm, no other warnings

This curse's origin is mysterious, perhaps politically guided. Someone is trying to throttle Gusu Lan's alliance prospects by removing Lan Wangji's stellar marriageability after Sunshot. It works, after a fashion.

Wei Wuxian is in the Burial Mounds, farming and hardening his heart as the resentment worsens his health, subsisting on memories of Lan Wangji's single visit.

Lan Wangji is at home in Gusu, pining away while they rebuild the Cloud Recesses.

One day, he begins to burn up with unexplained fever.

The healers examine him quickly and thoroughly and determine first that he's been cursed. This is not entirely shocking, but it of course angers the entire sect. Next they test for the curse's nature. It turns out to be a very classic, very coarse type of love curse.

The afflicted will burn up, losing all their sense and senses, and eventually die, if their body's “needs” are not satisfied by the one it craves most.

The healers are disgusted. Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren are outraged. But Lan Wangji becomes very calm at the news.

Before, he felt anxiety. The urgent desperation of a dying man waiting to be told how to live.

Now he is just waiting to die.

For you see, the choice between throwing himself at another human being—no matter who they may be—and meeting death with dignity, is an easy one.

Everyone else privy to this information disagrees. The argument that follows is short, but heated:

"Well, Wangji?" Lan Qiren begins once the initial furor has died down. "How do you wish to...go about this?"

Lan Wangji, over-warm and aching, looks up at him from the examination bed. Gusu Lan funeral rites are ancient and immutable. He does not understand the question.

Lan Qiren purses his lips and glances around. "We must find the person first," he prompts.

Ah. The person responsible. Yes, Lan Wangji does have business with them before he dies. He stands, only swaying slightly. "I am well enough to exact justice. Let us cast the rebound."

Lan Xichen steps forward then, and gently pushes him back to sitting. "It has been cast. However, justice can wait. Your health must come first."

Lan Wangji looks between his uncle, his brother, and the one doctor allowed to be present. Surely they would not be joking at a time like this.

"I do not understand," he says.

The three exchange a look. "Breaking the curse must be our priority," says Lan Xichen.

Lan Wangji is not sure he heard correctly. But it would be cruel to give him unfounded hope. "I was unaware there was another way."

"...There is not," says Lan Xichen, his gentleness unfailing.

Lan Wangji experiences a moment of deep confusion before the horror sets in.

"You cannot mean this," he says through his shock. "Surely you cannot mean to cast aside so many disciplines at the whim of a base villain."

"The disciplines are a guide," Lan Qiren says, hands behind his back, looking into the distance, "to ensure a life well-lived. They are not meant to inspire martyrdom."

Lan Wangji's mouth falls open. He stares at his uncle, mute with betrayal. He has never heard of any such leeway before, not in regards to disciplines of such a serious nature.

"You can understand, can't you?" Lan Xichen says. "That no rule is more important than your life.”

Lan Wangji disagrees vehemently. "I would not buy my life with such behavior."

Lan Qiren huffs in irritation. "We may perform a marriage in haste, if you wish."

Lan Wangji balks at him. That his uncle should speak so flippantly of...such a thing. It is unimaginable. And besides, forcing a marriage on Wei—on anyone in this way is surely only adding insult to heinous injury.

"I refuse," he says.

Lan Xichen exchanges a look with the doctor, and sits beside him. "Perhaps the other person should be allowed part of that choice."

Ridiculous. "There is no such person." Preventing this course of action is worth one lie, Lan Wangji reasons.

"With respect, Hanguang-jun, if that were true, the curse would not have been able to take hold," says the doctor.

The use of his title feels uncomfortably ironic from a woman who helped deliver him at birth. He glares at her. She smiles tiredly in return.

"Wangji," Lan Xichen says. His tone is beginning to grate on Lan Wangji's raw nerves. "You will at least try, won't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him in disbelief, in anger, in righteous indignation.

"Never," he says.

A hand slaps his shoulder. "Apologies," says the doctor, and the world goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to dark wood beams dappled by lacy sunlight, and a faint smell of char in the air. His head is heavy, his limbs full of lead. He swallows around the dry thickness in his throat.

"Water," comes a familiar voice.

With effort, Lan Wangji sits up. His stomach is roiling, his mind fogged from the coma and the curse both. The doctor, crouching beside him in the carriage, offers him a bowl of water.

He takes it, and asks, "What have you done?"

She sighs.

"My duty," she says, "with the help of your brother."

She draws back the curtain at the carriage entrance, revealing a sea of black, twisted trees and gray tumbled walls.

Lan Wangji's blood freezes in his veins. He just barely stops himself from asking how they knew.

"Why," he asks instead, a much safer question.

She considers him. "Your brother said if he was wrong, he would beg forgiveness afterward. But it couldn't hurt to have an expert in resentment and curses look at you anyway."

A stab of sick embarrassment makes Lan Wangji’s stomach clench.

Has he been so obvious? Is he such a lovesick fool that anyone with eyes can see his shame?

The doctor pats his shoulder gruffly and he flinches, expecting more needles.

"Ah he's your brother, he's bound to know things you don't want him to," she says. "Come on. Out you get."

He allows her to tug him out of the carriage and onto solid ground. The air is stifling with resentment, but he is glad to be free of his bonds. Now he can look for his chance to get away.

There are six Lan disciples flanking them. He eyes them warily, wondering what they know. When the doctor pulls him out of earshot, and pitches her voice low, he is satisfied that they have not been fully informed.

"Your family and I agreed to give you a chance first," she says. "You have 24 hours to take care of this yourself. After that, I will personally tell Wei-gongzi of your brother's message. I have been assured he will not jeopardize your well-being if fully-informed."

Lan Wangji gapes at her. He does not know what he expected to happen, but it was not this...this...mercenary attempt at...forcing...

The curse has weakened him such that he cannot fly his sword. He can hardly walk in a straight line, let alone run. He has very little recourse now that everyone in his life has gone absolutely mad. His heart is racing with the adrenaline of upheaval, of fear, of impending death.

He wrenches his arm from her grasp and stalks off of the road, into the brush. She calls after him, but he does not mean to escape. He cannot manage that alone. Instead, he sits. He takes a deep breath. He sinks into meditation.

"Hanguang-jun," she calls. She approaches, hands on her hips. She sighs. "Well, if it's like that, then there's nothing stopping me from telling him right now."

She turns, and Lan Wangji feels a lurch of helplessness, when a new voice rings clear through the fog.

"Tell what to whom?"

Lan Wangji's eyes snap open. Wei Wuxian is standing on the other side of the carriage, the child A-Yuan in his arms, eyeing the Lan delegation with suspicion. Wen Ning is with him, and the Lan disciples shift nervously just looking at him, but Wei Wuxian sets A-Yuan in his arms, and he leaps away up the mountain.

"Might I assume this little party has come for me?" Wei Wuxian goes on, twirling his flute. His eyes are shrewd and cold, similar to the way they had looked when he had first returned during the war.

At the sight of him, at the sound of his voice, the curse...reacts.

A horrid, uncomfortable shiver of need runs through Lan Wangji's body alongside his own simple relief and joy at seeing Wei Wuxian again, looking relatively well. He fights it, keeping still among the weeds, hoping against hope to go unnoticed.

"Yiling Laozu," the doctor greets him with a deep bow. "We have indeed come to humbly beg your aid."

"I see," he says. "And what will you give me in return?"

The doctor hesitates, clearly discomfited by the context Wei Wuxian is currently unaware of. "We may...discuss that. Once we have informed you of the details."

Wei Wuxian hums, considering. Cold. Detached. "And if I am disinclined to—"

He breaks off. The doctor has moved so that she and Lan Wangji are both in Wei Wuxian's line of sight. Lan Wangji closes his eyes rather than see the moment of recognition, rather than feel the weight of Wei Wuxian's eyes on him, like this.

"Lan Zhan?"

Lan Wangji clamps his jaw shut. It is a struggle not simply to crawl to him.

The renewed ice in Wei Wuxian's voice when next he speaks makes Lan Wangji aware of the warmth with which he had said his name. His curls his shaking hands into fists on his knees.

"What have you done to him?"

The doctor sighs. "We have done nothing. He has been cursed, which is why we brought him here. If you—"

"Daifu," Lan Wangji interrupts, his voice thin.

She stops speaking.

Lan Wangji opens his eyes, but does not look at Wei Wuxian, not yet. If he is careful, and uses his remaining strength correctly, he can perhaps...perhaps guide the situation. Toward escape. With Wei Wuxian's help.

He may have to lie to him. He hopes he will be forgiven, all things considered.

Lan Wangji stands slowly, carefully, considering each movement so as not to reveal the state he is in.

"I will speak with him," he says to the doctor.

She eyes him. "24 hours," she says.

He does not acknowledge this. He thinks they both know it will not come to that, though his idea differs greatly from hers. He judges, from the time they have allotted and his own weakness, that he has perhaps a day and a half, total, to wait them out. Doable, if he is careful and intelligent about it.

He can manage.

He walks over to Wei Wuxian, careful to keep two arm's lengths between them. This close is already too close: a fine, constant tremor has made a home in all of his tightly-locked muscles. He feels the moment his fever begins to rise further. The sides of his throat hurt, the interiors of his ears. He wonders if his hearing will go first, or his eyes.

"Allow me to explain," he says to him.

"Of course," Wei Wuxian answers.

He sounds strange. Cold, still. Lan Wangji wants to look at him, and almost slips, but manages to stop himself. He follows him up the hill, past the wards, through the resentment that clings to them both, now. He keeps his careful distance, following behind.

"What happened?" Wei Wuxian asks, as they walk.

"A curse," Lan Wangji says carefully. "Origin unknown. The rebound has been cast. I did not wish to burden you with this, but they are...they will not listen to reason. Wei Ying, if you would but help me, I would deal with this on my own."

"Oh?"

"I...wish to seek justice. They will not allow it. But you understand. If there is another path off the mountain, if you would show me the way past them, I could—"

Wei Wuxian stops dead, and Lan Wangji, with his eyes in the ground, runs into him. 

For a blazing, agonizing moment, he is touching Wei Wuxian, clinging to him, every element in his body sighing and crying out at once in satisfaction, in the torturous need for more.

He tears himself away, stumbling back, almost falling. Wei Wuxian reaches out as if to catch him, but falters.

"Lan Zhan, you can hardly stand," he says, alarmed, "and you want to go and fight someone?"

Lan Wangji draws himself up taller again, trying hard to stop his shaking. He cannot look at him. He cannot look. He is already dying, now, just from not looking. "It is my right."

"...It is..." Wei Wuxian says at length, watching him closely. "And it still will be once you're well again. Your doctors really couldn't tell what type of curse it is?"

Lan Wangji says nothing, trying to think past the way every inch of his skin feels as if it is burning clean off. The pain of it screams through him, worse than anything he has ever felt. Wei Wuxian is still speaking, but it is hard to make sense of it. When Wei Wuxian begins walking again, slowly, it is all he can do to both follow and stay away from him. This, here, now, is worse than death. If it lasts, he certainly will not be sane when the end finally comes. He lets go of any thoughts of a dignified death.

Fortunately, by the time they reach the cool dark of the cave Wei Wuxian calls home, the pain has subsided to a distant roar. Unfortunately, he hoped never to reach this point. He tries his only play again, unable to think of any new tactic.

"Please show me the way off the mountain," he says without preamble.

Wei Wuxian is quiet for a beat. "You really don't want my help that much?"

Lan Wangji is so confused by this question, and then struck by the irony of it, that he almost begins to laugh. A shivery, jittery feeling fills his chest, and he leans against the nearest solid surface. He wishes he were wearing a loose outer layer over his blue travel robes, the better to hide his shaking. He does not know how to respond.

"You haven't so much as looked at me once since you got here," Wei Wuxian goes on, digging through strange pots and objects on a table, "so I get it. But you'll have to forgive me if I disregard your objection to the kind of work I do, when it comes to your life."

"My life, my life," Lan Wangji mocks, accidentally out loud. Why is everyone suddenly so obsessed with his life? He was ready to give it freely in the war, but chance let him keep it. What difference does giving it now in the name of keeping himself clean of shame make? Why will nobody allow him this choice?

"What shame?" Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Wangji buckles at the realization that he has said all of this out loud. He goes to the floor, to his knees.

"Nothing," he says. "The shame of not having warded off such a simple attack."

"Lan Zhan...you want to die because you didn't defend against a curse you didn't know was coming?"

Lan Wangji lapses into silence. He has said too much already. He does not know how to get out of this. He can only...he can only stay quiet. Refuse to speak or move.

"Lan Zhan...I feel like I'm missing something here. I only want to help.”

Lan Wangji grits his teeth and stares hard at the floor in front of him. He has rarely ever felt so trapped, so utterly helpless. The extended, full-body pain is dulling his mind by the moment. The hems of Wei Wuxian's robes come into view, and it takes everything in him not to fall forward into him, to plead, to beg. His breath is hitching at random intervals now, his heart tripping as it prepares to fail entirely.

There is a soft gust of air, and an odd prickling sensation across his face.

"Now let's see—oh," Wei Wuxian says. "I...oh."

Lan Wangji wilts at his stilted, awkward tone. He knows now, surely. Can see him truly.

"So that's why you want to leave, and why they won't let you. They want me to find another way to break it, to stop you from...ah."

Lan Wangji sorts through the words, trying to comprehend them.

"Sorry," Wei Wuxian goes on. "I...it's unbreakable, otherwise. A very old, airtight spell. You...will Gusu Lan start a war with me if I do just let you go...ah, handle this the old-fashioned way?"

Comprehension dawns. And with it, a way out.

Lan Wangji rushes to agree. "They—" He cuts off. Will they? If they think Wei Wuxian has willingly let him die, rather than...

He takes a breath. Another. Forces his mind past the endless litany of pleas for relief.

"Show me the way " he says, his words breathless and short, "and then tell Lan-daifu what you have done. And why. But give me time to. Get away. And you will be safe."

Wei Wuxian pauses. "How...ah. How far—how much time?"

Lan Wangji tries hard to come up with an answer for that. His progress will be slow. But he need only find a place to hide.

"Half a day," he hazards.

Wei Wuxian seems to vacillate. "Are you sure you can make it on your own?"

Lan Wangji wants to rage. To weep. To curse himself to the heavens for being so depraved toward so endlessly kind a man. His heart hurts, even as his body strains toward him.

This lie may be the worst he will ever tell.

"I will be fine,” he says.

"Alright." Wei Wuxian sounds unconvinced. "I trust you."

Lan Wangji nearly convulses, holding back a sob. How will he ever be forgiven?

He cannot think of it. Only this, only what comes next. Only keeping Wei Wuxian safe from this mess.

"Lan Zhan?"

"Mn," he manages.

"Would you look at me, now? I haven't...used any demonic cultivation on you. It's safe, I promise I won't. I just. Can't we say goodbye properly?"

Lan Wangji has not moved from the floor. He does not move. He should try. A parting gift. Just one look.

But if he is going to leave. If he is going to succeed. He cannot.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says again, frustrated now.

Lan Wangji does not look. He is so close to freedom from the horrible pull, from the way his very veins are trying to tear themselves free to wrap around Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian steps forward, and Lan Wangji's breath leaves him all at once. Suddenly, there are fingers beneath his jaw, kind but firm, tilting his chin up. He has no choice but to look.

(Inspired by this art.)

Wei Wuxian is there. Tall and strong and perfect, tiredness mixed with something bittersweet on his lovely face. Lan Wangji's entire being melts toward him, a deep, sharp tug from inside his bones, a mindless, helpless, straining need that pushes a low, wanting sound from his throat.

Wei Wuxian snatches his hand away and backs up half a step, staring at him.

"Sorry," he says, blank. Confused. "I thought it was...I didn't realize...sorry."

Lan Wangji, now that he has looked, cannot look away. He has overbalanced without Wei Wuxian's support, fallen forward onto his hands, but he cannot stop looking at him. He will look at him, and keep looking; he prays Wei Wuxian is the last thing he sees before he dies.

The most shameful part of this is that none of it is the curse twisting his thoughts. None of this is. All the curse is doing is making the way he always feels impossible to ignore.

"Wei Ying," his voice implores. He does not mean it to.

Wei Wuxian takes another step back and looks down at the bowl of powder in his hand, confused. "I was certain it was that curse," he says to himself. "If I was wrong, then maybe I could break it..."

Lan Wangji tries to scrape his composure back together. He tries. He tries. His fingers scrape on the rough stone floor. He does not reach out for him. That is something.

Wei Wuxian looks at him again, then hastily away. Lan Wangji does not ever want to know what it is he sees.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, as Lan Wangji shakes, and shakes. "Where...where were you trying to go? I thought you...I thought you were, ah, thinking of a certain someone."

Lan Wangji's arms are weak. They are going to give out. He cannot answer him.

"I'm confused, and I...may have made a mistake," Wei Wuxian goes on, still backing away slowly, "but I just want to help. Can you tell me what was happening before, and what's happening now?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head, and the motion shatters his fragile balance. He falls, and curls tightly around himself in the dirt.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian says, suddenly close.

Lan Wangji sees his hand reach out, then pause, and he can't stop himself from taking hold of it, just to be touching him. His body screams for it, and he gasps raggedly at the contact.

Wei Wuxian wrenches his arm free. Lan Wangji wishes he were dead.

"Fuck," Wei Wuxian mutters to himself. "I...I'm sorry. I made this so much worse, I..."

"No," Lan Wangji rasps. He cannot hear Wei Wuxian berate himself thus. His dignity has now died, and he himself will soon follow. This is all that matters. "Not your fault."

Wei Wuxian huffs, crouching beside him. "It is...at least partially my fault, at this point, I'm pretty sure. You wouldn't be...reacting. Like this. If it weren't. Is...can I...do a few more tests? To check what I got wrong, and maybe—"

"You were not wrong."

He does not mean to say it.

His need to reassure has overridden his sense, and his mind is too slow now to piece together what it will mean before it leaves his mouth. The regret once it does is instantaneous. He tries to curl himself yet smaller in the dirt.

Wei Wuxian is silent. Lan Wangji cannot stop making small, pitiful, pained sounds in the back of his throat. Everything hurts. Everything.

"I don't understand," Wei Wuxian says quietly.

Lan Wangji lies shivering on the floor, arms locked around himself to prevent any more untoward behavior. He cannot take it back. He cannot try to explain. There is nothing he could say, regardless.

"Lan Zhan...but you..."

He can hear Wei Wuxian thinking, but it only registers in the far back of his mind. The rest of his consciousness is taken up by pain, and by ruthless restraint.

"You wanted to leave to get away from me," Wei Wuxian says, finally.

Lan Wangji does not answer. He wishes he had his sword. He would use it now to end this.

Wei Wuxian begins to back away again, and Lan Wangji’s body moves without his permission. He grips the skirt of Wei Wuxian’s robes in his fist and drags himself closer, pressing his cheek to Wei Wuxian's knee.

Shameful. Wanton. The small part of himself that is still aware berates the action. But he cannot let go. He cannot move away. The only part of him that is not howling with pain is the side of his face pressed to coarse fabric.

"Lan Zhan, you…," Wei Wuxian is trying to gently pry Lan Wangji's fingers from his hem. "You wanted to leave, remember? You don't want...you don't."

"Want," Lan Wangji croaks, pressing closer. "Wanted to spare you."

"Ah, Lan Zhan...I...I'm still not sure it's that specific curse, it could...there could be other..."

"It is," Lan Wangji says, half-crawling up Wei Wuxian's leg. He wants to stop himself. It is impossible.

"Lan Zhan...you...you shouldn't—"

"Stop me," Lan Wangji pleads, nuzzling against Wei Wuxian's thigh, "Wei Ying, I can't...please. Stop me."

There is a long near-silence filled with harsh breaths, in which Lan Wangji is almost certain he imagines the light touch of fingers brushing his mussed hair back from his forehead. Then Wei Wuxian speaks.

"No," he says. "You'll die, if I do. Lan Zhan. I won't let that happen."

He touches Lan Wangji's face. Lan Wangji whimpers into him.

He knows this will break the fragile repairs they have made to their friendship. He will likely never see him again, at least not on good terms. The thought makes him feel ill. He should protest. Refuse. Flee. He can do exactly none of these things. He reaches for Wei Wuxian's wrist, to hold his hand to his face, but Wei Wuxian flinches away.

"You can't...Lan Zhan. I'm going to help you," he says, "but you have to...you can't...you can't touch me."

Lan Wangji feels another tight clench of shame. He nods against his leg. He understands: he knows any small part of this is too much to ask, let alone bearing his unwelcome, curse-fevered grasping.

"Okay," says Wei Wuxian. He slides his fingers beneath Lan Wangji’s chin again, tipping his face up.

He looks so uncertain. So beautiful in the dim light. Lan Wangji wants to weep with it.

"Lan Zhan, I know it doesn't count for much like this, but you have to tell me. You have to tell me what you need."

Lan Wangji turns his head, pressing his face between Wei Wuxian's thigh and stomach, trying to reach into him, to feel more of him, to stop hurting just enough to think. It does not work.

"You," he breathes, into the scent of earth, and stringent soap, and Wei Wuxian.

A harsh, uneven breath ghosts across his hair, and Wei Wuxian's hands grip his shoulders. He thinks he is about to be pushed away again, but instead Wei Wuxian pulls him up, pulls him close, folds him into his embrace.

Lan Wangji sobs into his shoulder, trying at once to get closer and to hold himself apart, instinct demanding, even now, that he try to conceal his obvious, disgraceful hardness. His muscles quake under the strain of doing both and neither, and Wei Wuxian smooths one hand down his back, pressing him close, pressing them flush. Lan Wangji chokes back a shocked sound.

"Shh," Wei Wuxian soothes. "It's alright."

It is not alright. It is the end of the thing Lan Wangji holds most dear.

But he does not have it in him to argue. He is shifting against him, his overheated body begging for touch, indeed for ravishment. He is mindless with it. The pain is not subsiding but slipping sideways into something more, something different, something necessary.

He is on his knees on hard stone, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this: sweetly, hazily, with and without hope. But never like this. Never sick with remorse, with need, dying and demanding and defiling. His deepest desire twisted into a nightmare.

He whimpers again, his lips finding the soft coolness of Wei Wuxian's throat. Wei Wuxian jerks away again, and Lan Wangji fists his hands tighter at his sides, trying, trying not to overstep again.

"I—sorry," he gasps out. He will never be able to apologize enough. But he will try.

"Don't apologize," says Wei Wuxian. "I—"

He cuts himself off. Lan Wangji does not have enough sense to wonder why. In the same moment, one of his thighs gives under the strain, and he falls against him heavily. They tip over, to the floor, and he reaches out on instinct to brace them both. When he is again conscious of himself, Wei Wuxian is lying on top of him, breathing hard, both of Lan Wangji's wrists pinned to the floor in one hand. Lan Wangji arches against him inadvertently, and turns his face into his own bicep.

"Sorry, I...so sorry," he pants, his hips flexing, searching for friction. "I have...no control...”

"I know," Wei Wuxian says, "I know, I shouldn't have..." he swallows hard. "I'm going to keep you like this. Can I?"

Lan Wangji nods frantically, his eyes shut tight. He does not care. Anything that he can do to make this any less invasive for Wei Wuxian, he will do.

Wei Wuxian pulls away then, his hold still firm on Lan Wangji's wrists. Lan Wangji squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stop moving, to stop searching for touch, to stop making such a disgusting spectacle of himself, but to no avail. What feels like centuries later, he hears the telltale sounds of talisman activation. He is too far gone in his pain to look up, to see what they are. He simply lies there, pinned and writhing, his breath catching in his throat. The sounds it makes are small, pitiful, desperate.

Just like him.

Eventually, Wei Wuxian leans back over him, a considering look in his eye. His hand hovers at Lan Wangjis belt.

"I—should I..."

"Yes," pleads Lan Wangji.

He needs Wei Wuxian's skin on his skin. He does not know how discerning the curse is about what happens now, but it feels as if he will die without it. Wei Wuxian takes what looks like a fortifying breath and unties the belt. Lan Wangji, unable to help, instead hinders the process with his ceaseless movement. But Wei Wuxian manages it with deft hands, and immediately unties each layer of robes in quick succession until Lan Wangji’s chest and stomach are bare.

The cool air of the cave does not soothe his burning. It burns like ice instead. Lan Wangji shivers, an ugly whine escaping him.

"What," Wei Wuxian asks, pausing, "what is it?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head. He will bear it. He will not make demands.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, "you need to talk to me, I...I don't want to make this even worse, or, or draw it out longer."

Something small and dark crumples in Lan Wangji's chest. He does not want that either. He will need to speak. To ask.

"Hurts," he says, rough and thick.

"Where?"

"...Not...not touching me."

Wei Wuxian makes a distressed noise and lays both his palms flat over Lan Wangji's ribs. Lan Wangji groans, pressing up into them.

"Please," he whispers, helpless. "Please."

"Oh, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian murmurs, something sad like regret. He leans closer and slides one hand down. Lan Wangji shudders under him. "I'm just going to..."

Lan Wangji nods again, holding his breath to stop the whines from escaping the back of his throat.

Wei Wuxian unties Lan Wangji's trousers and slips his hand inside. Clever fingers wrap hesitantly around him, and he bucks up into them with an obscene moan. It is minor relief from the most consuming pain he has ever felt, and it is simultaneously the most intense pleasure he has ever experienced. All of these sensations, coexisting in his fallible human body, feel likely to rip him apart.

"Wei Ying," he moans again, when Wei Wuxian moves his hand.

He gasps for air, his body twisting into it, his whole being searching for Wei Wuxian. He makes another piteous sound, the torment of it all overwhelming. Wei Wuxian leans down against him then, his own robes open, pressing them skin to skin.

Lan Wangji sobs. It is something. It is something. The pain abates somewhat, and he sighs, turning toward him, his mouth brushing Wei Wuxian's hair. He has the wherewithal now to fight the urge to kiss his head properly, his face, anything he can reach. He holds himself still beneath him instead. And Wei Wuxian touches him, and touches him. The incomprehensible pleasure builds, and builds, until Lan Wangji cannot breathe. But it does not break.

Something almost like soft lips brushes his throat.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says into his ear, "this, is this...will this be enough?"

The pleasure is just another kind of pain, now. Lan Wangji shakes his head as sweat rolls off of him, as he tries and fails to get enough air to speak.

Wei Wuxian clears his throat. "What, then?"

Lan Wangji's body knows what it needs. But he does not want to tell.

"Come on, Lan Zhan, after all this? Don't get shy on me now."

He misses the joking tone he is aiming for, but the pure, unmistakable Wei Wuxian-ness of the tease sends a surge of genuine desire through Lan Wangji. He wraps his legs around Wei Wuxian's hips and pulls him down. Wei Wuxian breathes in sharply.

"You just...you want...but only..."

"Please," says Lan Wangji, barely voiced. "In—" he cannot say it. "Please."

"Ah," Wei Wuxian whispers, into his skin. "If—are you sure?"

Lan Wangji whines. He wishes he were not so very sure. He wishes he were not asking Wei Wuxian to do something so intimate, so extreme. He wishes Wei Wuxian had let him die before it ever came to this.

"Alright Lan Zhan, just hold—hold on," he says, and is gone.

Lan Wangji clamps his mouth shut on a scream as the agony slams back into him, worse even than before.

Not soon enough, Wei Wuxian returns to divest him of his boots, socks and trousers. Lan Wangji fights him without meaning to, trying to keep his knees curled up to his chest, trying to minimize the hurt. Wei Wuxian is briskly patient, handling him with aching care he does not deserve.

And then he is upon him, chest and stomach, hips and thighs, smooth and hard and exquisite. Lan Wangji almost forgets the pain in the rush of gratitude, of solace. Their robes trail off them both, gathering dust as they move together in halting fits and starts.

"Don't let me hurt you, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian grits out, a strong hand lifting one of Lan Wangji's thighs by the back of the knee.

It is nonsense. He could not hurt Lan Wangji any more than this. And Lan Wangji could not stop him now if he did.

But the kindness. Even in this. Tears prick at Lan Wangji's eyes. He will miss him. He will miss all of Wei Wuxian with all of himself. He will never stop missing him. He will never move past this regret as long as he lives. How could he? Every breath he draws will be by the grace of Wei Wuxian.

Suddenly there is slick pressure against him, against his most private of places, and he gasps, loud and wretched. Wei Wuxian exhales, uneven and deep, and pushes in, in, in. Slowly. So slowly. Lan Wangji bites down hard on his lip to keep from begging for it. His arms are pinned, as are his hips, Wei Wuxian holding him steady, holding him still. Lan Wangji loses all sense. There is only the weight of Wei Wuxian, the full, stinging press of him, the searing pain, the devastating euphoria of being this close, and yet so very far in every way that counts.

Ages pass before Wei Wuxian is fully seated inside him. By then Lan Wangji's breaths are wet and shallow; scraping, desolate things. He does not know any longer what hurts and what feels good. It is all one and the same. He only knows he needs more, in some primal, wordless way.

He asks with the arch of his back, the squeeze of his thighs. He tries, somehow, to keep quiet, but fails more often than not.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says tightly, "try to relax, I'm going to move. Tell me if it...if it's right."

Lan Wangji manages a loose nod, though he barely understands.

And Wei Wuxian moves. He rolls his hips against him, shifting inside of him, and Lan Wangji groans. Each deep, short thrust pushes air from his lungs, and he lacks the strength to catch it again. It is beyond pleasure. It is ecstatic. To have Wei Wuxian around him, inside him, panting above him. A deep, villainous part of him wants it never to end. The rest of him howls for release.

He is dripping now, steadily, onto his own stomach. He can feel it pooling on his belly, unpleasantly cool. He whimpers between desperate, panting breaths, beyond words.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, breath shivering across Lan Wangji's collarbone, "I can't...can't keep this up, you feel too—" his breath catches, and he pauses. "I'm going to finish. You need to come."

Dimly, distantly, the idea that Wei Wuxian should derive pleasure from this, no matter how perfunctory, gives Lan Wangji a perverse sort of satisfaction. It snuffs out like a candle at the nebulous thought that perhaps in another world, they could have had this for real.

In this world, the fact remains that this has gone on far too long. But Lan Wangji can do nothing about it. He meets Wei Wuxian's thrusts, leans into the pleasure, tries to gain the momentum to go over the edge. He should be able to. It should be easy. He has been so hard for so long, has been given more now than in his absolute wildest and wettest of dreams, and yet he hovers, scant inches away.

Wei Wuxian loses patience, his head dropping to Lan Wangji's shoulder. He grunts softly and fists Lan Wangji's wet cock, quick and merciless. Lan Wangji cries out, shuddering violently with the extended, expansive stimulation, worked both inside and out, helplessly, utterly unmade by Wei Wuxian's touch.

And still he does not crest. He is sobbing steadily now, ugly and jagged, and Wei Wuxian kisses his shoulder, his throat, his cheek.

"Were we wrong?" He asks, breathless. "Lan Zhan please, tell—show me, I...I can't...you...I can't lose you. Lan Zhan?"

Exhausted, Lan Wangji turns his tearstained face toward him, blindly seeking. Perhaps they were all wrong. Perhaps he will die now, like this. And perhaps it is selfish of him, but having heard those words, he finds his regret to be less than it should be. Everything, everything hurts. But Wei Wuxian will miss him, too. Of course he will. They are zhiji. This, miraculously, will not erase that. It is more than he deserves. Wei Wuxian has always been more than he deserves.

Lan Wangji heaves, and writhes, and cries.

Wei Wuxian kisses him. Soft, gloriously cool lips on his.

An odd, fleeting, hollow feeling.

The dam breaks. The pain goes suddenly quiet. Roaring to fullness in its absence is the killing swell of such a long-delayed climax. It is possible that he calls Wei Wuxian's name. It is impossible to know.

The world, again, goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to gray light and distant birdsong. A sharp edge is digging into his shoulder. He shifts, then goes still at the deep ache in his entire body.

He remembers.

"Hanguang-jun should drink this," says a brisk voice to his right.

Wen Qing sits there, watching him. His heart skips a beat and he looks down. But he is fully clothed once more.

Her smile is wry as she holds a cup out to him. Laboriously, he sits up to take it. It is bitter, but familiar. A restorative. He thanks her formally.

She shakes her head. "No need.” She turns to go.

"Wen-guniang," Lan Wangji says. She pauses. "How long has it been gone?"

She turns to stare at him. He knows she knows what he means.

"How? When?"

She looks away. "You'll have to ask him."

The pang of loss he felt upon waking with Wei Wuxian gone speaks for him. "Will he let me?"

 He lies on the slab of rock that serves as Wei Wuxian's bed for too long. It is difficult to tell the passage of time in the Burial Mounds, but it seems slightly brighter than it had...before. He reasons that it could well be the next morning. He wonders if Wei Wuxian slept beside him, then tosses the thought away as gross indulgence. He wonders instead, as he has many times since his last visit, if Wei Wuxian sleeps at all.

First, his excuse to tarry is meditation. He works at it, simultaneously restoring his drained core and healing himself, until the discomfort fades from his every movement to just a specific few.

Once that is done, he has no reason to be idle. But the voice in his head, Wei Wuxian's blisteringly cold one that had called him his proper name all those months ago, keeps him in place. He hears it saying all manner of things in response to seeing him now.

"What more could you possibly want of me?" Wei Wuxian sneers in his mind. And he would be right to do so.

But Lan Wangji does not intend to ask anything of him ever again.

And there is the other thing. The fact that his robes should be uncomfortable, filthy, but they have been cleaned, dried, and arranged back onto his body properly. Comfortably. Almost as if—

He dares not imagine. But at the very least it does not speak of utter contempt.

So he rises. He follows the path Wen Qing told him of. And he does something foolish. He hopes.

After no short while of walking, he comes to a slightly darker, more silent corner of deadened forest. He rounds a bend and sees Wei Wuxian crouched a little ways off, and then hears high, lilting notes as if through water. The energies are strange here, and Wei Wuxian is speaking to with them in their own language.

Lan Wangji approaches until he sees Wei Wuxian go still. He says nothing. Wei Wuxian drops his flute from his lips.

"Are you well?" He asks without rising or turning.

"I am."

Wei Wuxian nods. "Your people are waiting for you."

It is a dismissal. Lan Wangji recognizes this. But he will impose just a little bit longer.

"Your core," he says. Wei Wuxian stands abruptly, still facing away, gripping Chenqing. "Can it be replaced?"

Wei Wuxian whirls to face him, anger and fear warring with the questions on his face.

Lan Wangji has other questions, too. But they do not matter. He is intelligent enough to piece together the cold, empty space where Wei Wuxian's core should be, the tired guilt on Wen Qing's face, and...

"Your scar," he says, dropping his gaze to the scorched earth.

He should not know of it. But he does, now, and he also owes a greater debt than he can ever repay. Wei Wuxian does not respond. How dearly Lan Wangji wants to see his expression. But he will not infringe on any more of his privacy.

The wind howls. He waits.

"You won't tell anybody," Wei Wuxian says uncertainly.

Lan Wangji stiffens. "I will not."

"Nobody told you?"

"Nobody.”

Wei Wuxian pauses, momentarily satisfied.

"You're not going to ask how? Or when?"

Lan Wangji would like to. He would like to know everything of Wei Wuxian, even his sorrow, his pain. But he is not entitled to those things. There is only one point that matters.

"Can it be replaced? Can the procedure be reversed?"

Wei Wuxian sighs. Lan Wangji can tell he does not wish to speak of this.

"So single-minded, Lan Zhan," he scolds, then shakes his head. "The chance of success would be small; the chance of finding a donor, much smaller."

But this is all Lan Wangji hoped to hear. It is enough. He goes to his knees, arms circled in front of his chest.

"Allow me," he says.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian darts forward, trying to pull Lan Wangji up from the ground. Eventually he gives up and goes to his knees in front of him, pushing at his arms. "Lan Zhan, stop this," he says, panicked. "Don't be stupid, stop—Lan Zhan, you can't be serious."

"Please allow me," Lan Wangji repeats, eyes downcast.

"Stop this!" Wei Wuxian shouts. "It can't be done, and I wouldn't take it from you anyway!"

Lan Wangji flinches bodily. He had not considered...but yes. Everything in him is sullied. He bends at the waist, bowing further.

"Apologies for the offense," he says, then snaps his mouth shut. His voice is too obviously strained.

"Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian says, still alarmed.

Lan Wangji needs to leave. He has already overstayed. But he...he has not tried hard enough.

"This debt is too great to repay in one lifetime," he says. "Please inform this one of what he may do to begin."

Wei Wuxian sags, dragging one of Lan Wangji's wrists with him. "Lan Zhan, there is no debt between us."

Lan Wangji only just stops himself from glancing up. He does not understand.

"I owe you my life and more," he says. "You took great pains to save me, even as the situation proved me unworthy of it. I owe—"

"You owe me nothing," Wei Wuxian insists, shaking Lan Wangji's arm. "There were no great pains. Nobody is unworthy. Well...you aren't."

Lan Wangji opens his mouth to protest, but Wei Wuxian speaks over him.

"People have...desires, Lan Zhan. There's nothing unworthy about it."

"But you—"

"Stop," he says. He sounds so, so tired. "If you hadn't been...dying. If we—" He stops. "Just keep my secret," he says, and lets go of his wrist. "And live well."

Lan Wangji closes his eyes. The thought of going back to his home, his life, after this, had not yet occurred to him. It sinks him from his knees to the ground. How can he do this? How can he leave him this way?

"Wei Ying," he pleads. "I must...I must do something. I cannot...I..."

"Why, Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian asks, not unkindly. "You have responsibilities. People to protect, just like me. Live well, and count things even between us. Why not?"

Lan Wangji’s chest caves in. He does not make the sound clawing up his throat.

"You...truly, you must know why," he says. "After... you must know. I would not leave you in need. I could not."

"Ah, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says sadly. He shuffles forward. Lan Wangji startles at the feel of fingertips on his cheek. "You're too good. But all I need is," he huffs, "political asylum for me and 40 friends? It's not your burden."

Suddenly yet slowly, like the first burst of sunrise, an idea reveals itself on the horizon of Lan Wangji’s mind. It is unorthodox. And likely unwelcome. But it is all he has.

"My uncle made a suggestion," he says. "When my affliction became known. It is true that he did not know what it would mean, but I would hold him to it. If it is not...hateful, to you."

"I don't know what you mean," Wei Wuxian says warily.

Lan Wangji steels himself. "You are perceived as the head of a sect. A proper alliance could protect your people, and Gusu Lan is in need of hands for rebuilding. The person who cast this curse upon me has given the perfect excuse, and made themselves scapegoat. If you would...I would not ask anything of you, if you agreed. It would be a marriage in name only, as you wish it."

Wei Wuxian's silence turns to spluttering. "M—Lan Zh—marriage?? What—how—"

"If the idea is odious, I will not mention it again. But as I said. My uncle suggested it. And under the circumstances, he cannot refuse."

"Your—he—Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, look at me. Look at me, please."

Lan Wangji looks at him. His eyes are wide. Disbelieving. Concerned.

"Your uncle would qi deviate if you even hinted at such a thing," he says. "Gusu Lan is in a precarious enough position, you don't need...I have nothing to offer in return." He pats his lower stomach, empty of spiritual energy, emphatically. “Nothing. Don't be ridiculous."

"It is not ridiculous," Lan Wangji argues, certain now that he is right. "You can offer more protection for us, and we can offer legitimacy. The person who cast this curse can be seen to have forced our hands. Has—has forced our hands."

He stops himself. He should not push this. Wei Wuxian is looking at him as if he does not know him.

"You don't want to marry me, Lan Zhan."

This gives Lan Wangji pause. It is a confusing objection, to say the least. He stares, trying to comprehend. He clears his throat. Takes a breath.

"If you are under the impression..." he stops. Drops his eyes once more. "...that the...impetus of the curse. Is the whole of the way I—”

"Demonic cultivation," Wei Wuxian interrupts. "It would be unhealthy. For you. And your elders! They wouldn't let me, not if I were...attached to your sect. To you.”

A fair concern, and one Lan Wangji has been turning over in his own mind as well. "Is this your only objection?"

Wei Wuxian casts about. "Ah..."

Lan Wangji takes one last plunge. "The elders can be reasoned with, compromises can be made. I am not concerned for my health: being near you could never be harmful to me." He hears himself, then, and amends, "Though you need not. Be near me. That is not a condition."

"You would defend this?" Wei Wuxian asks, bemused.

"Defend what?"

"My cultivation path. You..."

Lan Wangji resists a sigh. "I understand the reason, now. And I believe...if you did not object. We could work toward making it safe, without stripping you of what your hard work has created."

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says. He reaches out, then stops.

Lan Wangji stares at his hand, hovering between them. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his eyes, in his tongue.

"Wei Ying."

"You would let me, though?"

His tone is gently mocking. His head is cocked to the side, the edge of a smile playing across his lips. It knocks the breath from Lan Wangji's chest.

"Let you?" He asks, dazed.

"Be near you."

Lan Wangji's heart stops. It is a moment before he can respond.

"I would. Always."

Wei Wuxian takes his hand, and sighs. "You don't owe me this," he says again.

"I do," Lan Wangji counters, off-kilter. "I owe you. And I want to. I would want to, even if—"

He loosens his tight grip on Wei Wuxian's hand. He is saying too much, taking too much, being too much. He settles himself. Finds the words that matter.

"It would be a thing happily given, with no strings attached, should you wish it."

Wei Wuxian laughs strangely. "Lan Zhan, you really..." He shakes his head. "I'd marry you in an instant, you know," says.

Lan Wangji's neck hurts from the speed with which he looks up at him. Hope, warm and liquid, blooms through his limbs.

"But I can't make this decision on my own," Wei Wuxian goes on. "It's not just my life. We have to talk it over with everyone."

"Yes," Lan Wangji says, surprised, and eager now that he sees the possibility of success. Of doing something of use.

"Alright," says Wei Wuxian, a smile hidden in the corner of his mouth. "I can't promise...but it...it could work."

"It will," Lan Wangji says, certain that the strength of his conviction alone will carry them through if need be.

He feels strange and dreamlike, confused but heartened by the turn in this conversation. That Wei Wuxian can stand the sight of him, let alone wish to ally with him personally, seems too wonderful to be true. Another Wei Wuxian hallmark.

"But Lan Zhan, no more talk of strings," Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Wangji sobers and nods. It is unseemly. Of course their understanding must be a tacit one, now.

But his hand is suddenly in both of Wei Wuxian's.

"You need to stop feeling guilty," Wei Wuxian says, looking down at it. "If I were your husband...if I were. We could try all that again, but without the impending doom. We could try it again any way we like, any time—all the time—and we'd—"

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji interrupts, strangled. His heart is in his throat. He cannot comprehend what he is hearing. His ears, his face, are on fire.

Wei Wuxian smiles down at their hands, one part shy, one part mischief. "I think we could get really good at it, if we had the chance, don't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him. "You..."

"Mn," says Wei Wuxian, meeting his eyes.

He shines so bright, even without any core to speak of. He takes Lan Wangji's breath away.

"I take it back," Wei Wuxian says, his voice suddenly urgent. "I like strings. Mine is that if this happens, I want to be your real husband. In name, in practice, in bed, and in your heart. Because you would be, in mine."

Lan Wangji's voice sticks in his throat. He feels...he feels unreal. He does not know what to do, to say. Perhaps they never broke the curse at all and he has simply gone mad. But Wei Wuxian's fingers stroking his palm, the root-knotted dirt beneath his shins, are real. He sways, unbalanced.

Wei Wuxian reaches out. Catches him. Folds him into his arms for a second time. Lan Wangji's breath shudders out of him.

He is on his knees, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this many ways. But never has it been so real, so full of hope. He wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian in turn, buries his face in his shoulder.

Wei Wuxian huffs. "Jiang Cheng is going to be so angry."

Lan Wangji comes back down to earth. It is true he had not thought of this. He makes to pull away. "How should—"

Wei Wuxian clutches him tighter. "I don't care," he says, "I don't care, we can manage him." He pauses, then speaks more softly. "Maybe...I could see shijie's wedding after all. Or—no. It's too soon, I—"

"Yes," says Lan Wangji. "You will. We will go together."

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, and lets it out into Lan Wangji's hair.

"Together," he says.

It takes several serious, and at times uncomfortable, discussions, but in the end, Gusu Lan’s Second Jade is indeed thoroughly removed from the marriage pool of the great sects. The curse caster is found and punished. And everybody else lives happily ever after.

The end.

-----

(Thank you for coming on this wildly self-indulgent journey, I hope you enjoyed it. If you’d like to read some actually nicely-polished, fleshed-out fics by me—including another sex-cursed LWJ—check out my AO3.)

[retrogalwrites]

ex boyfriend!Touya x reader

Title: “ Fool me once, then again and again “ / view on ao3

Pairing: Touya x f! reader

Summary: You are dating Natsuo Todoroki, and you finally get to meet his family, everything was going well. Until you realize you have already met his older brother Touya before.

Warnings: dubcon, slight yandere, manipulation, gaslighting, blackmail, cheating, cuckolding, corruption, mindbreak of sorts, toxic ex boyfriend relationship

Other contents: creampie, rough sex, tit slapping, sub/dom, masochism

words: 6,826

For the longest time, you had believed that those stories of people finding true love were nothing but total bullshit.

After all, in a sea of hookups, uncommitted relationships and one night stands, it was almost laughable to think that anyone out there was going to somehow be the one and only. You went through college with nothing but bad relationships and heartbreak under your belt, things you would've rather left forgotten. By the time you had graduated, you managed to land a job, and were happy living on your own, there were no expectations from you towards love, not at all.

Until you met Natsuo Todoroki.

It was an unexpected meeting, much like out of those same cheesy romantic movies that you had always mocked. You two bumped into each other at a coffee shop, a guy that you had never seen before who spilled his coffee all over you, awkwardly apologized a hundred times, invited you to watch a movie, and the rest was history. You always teased him over it too, how his clumsiness somehow helped him to get a girlfriend. Watching him go all red in the face never failed to make you laugh.

Natsuo was the most wonderful boyfriend you could've asked for, easily topping any other relationship you had in the past. Despite being the son of a hero, and not just any hero but the number one hero of the country, Natsuo was humble and friendly, just living like an average guy and working hard as a nurse at the nearby hospital. Someone that you wouldn't even think had a family with the sort of money and influence the Todorokis were known for.

He also was always so sweet and gentle, funny too, a lovable big guy that treated you with so much care. Even during sex, he only ever made the most tender love to you, like you were a precious thing, a treasure that could break if he was too rough.

And you loved it, truly, you loved him, knew he felt very much the same too. Because he gathered the courage to introduce you to his family officially.

You two arrived at the Todoroki state on a cold Friday evening, just in time for dinner. There you were going to meet everyone and stay for the weekend.

His father, the number one hero Endeavor, was much like what he looked like on television. Big, rough and intimidating, but treated you with good manners. Then his mother, Rei, a soft-spoken woman that welcomed you kindly, she was friendly much like her son. Things seemed tense between them underneath the surface, expectedly so, since you knew from Natsuo that they were going through a divorce. It made their attempts at cohabitation just to make you feel comfortable at least appreciated.

His big sister, Fuyumi, was much like him too, sweet and gentle, a nice girl that made you feel right away at home, so excited to finally meet you. Then last but not least was his little brother, Shouto, a quiet but nice boy who tried his best to do small talk when he had to. You could tell that he at least was welcoming of you, which was good enough.

It was awkward at first, you were nervous to be dealing with them at first but you had managed entire thing just fine so far, much to your relief, as well as Natsuo's.

However, the last relative in the household had yet to arrive, the eldest sibling, and Natsuo's older, Touya. Apparently it was nothing out of the ordinary for him to be so unfashionably late, and dinner would not be put on hold just because he couldn't bother to show up on time, as Endeavor had put it. Even Natsuo seemed to reluctantly agree with his father on that regard.

Natsuo had told you before, about his brother's unruly behavior and a bit on an intense attitude, calling him a hellraiser. He had been only a bit worried that if you met him, you'd be slightly put off. Naturally you assured him it would be fine.

But it was only when you saw the guy that you understood just what a grave mistake you had made.

Only then that you realized that all the cheesy romance, all that stuff from the movies, really came with a price.

Right there, waltzing into the dinning room without a single care in the world, long strides and hands inside his pockets. The raven dyed hair, the piercings, the tattoos, even the smell of smoke and cinders filling your nostrils, it was all familiar, too familiar.

It was your ex boyfriend, Dabi.

Blue eyes fixated on your face almost instantly, stared and burned a hole right through your soul. A knowing look on his features, lips curling into a crooked grin, sardonic and throughly amused, a glint of joy in a face you had hoped to never see again.

"Well, well, well! So this is the girlfriend? Now I see why our little Natsu is so smitten."

Touya drawled, slowly like savoring every syllable, a type of teasing that tasted deliciously on his tongue. Just the sound of his voice,so low and raspy from the cigarettes you knew he always smoked, was making your heart race with anxiety and anger.

Touya took his seat at the dinning table. He deliberately took the chair in front of you just to watch you, of course he would, you had almost expected him to. Eyes still fixated on you, he plopped his elbows on the table and leaned on the surface, and you were so grateful for the table keeping him from getting any closer.

"Where did you even find this hottie, bro? I may just go there and get one of my own."

Heat rose to your cheeks, burning and painting your skin red with something like indignation, but to the others probably seemed just like shy demure. Yet in contrast to your body's temperature, on the inside it was like the blood in your veins had turned into ice, a violent shiver running down your spine that felt like high voltage, you gripped your thighs with both hands just to keep yourself from shaking.

"Touya don't be rude..." Fuyumi grimaced, sighing. This behavior clearly was nothing new to them, it seemed, but it was nothing new to you either.

"This is [Name], be nice." Rei joined the attempt to get the male to behave, probably for your sake.

In reality, you wished they wouldn't be trying to intervene, but you couldn't blame them either for not knowing something you desperately didn't want any of them to know.

Specially not Natsuo.

But you couldn't just get up and run, Touya knew you were trapped.

"Oh? Well, ain't that a pretty name? You probably already know who I am though, right?"

It was so cruelly calculated, every word spoken, a man already set out to make sure you squirmed in your seat.

"I'm Natsuo's big brother, I bet he talks about me all the time! This lil guy sure loves me."

"Oh please, I only told her how annoying you can be." Natsuo scoffed, rolling his eyes with the unconcerned, even if embarrassed, nature of someone who had no idea what was happening beneath the surface.

"But really, I'm proud of our little bro for scoring this high, y'know what I mean, Natsu?"

You looked down, unable to meet his gaze any longer.

"K-Knock it off, Touya." Natsuo grabbed your hand from underneath the table, and you almost jumped from the sudden contact, almost expecting to be burned. But it was cold, your beloved Natsuo's cool touch, and when you turned to look at him, he smiled at you with a gentle, apologetical smile. Probably thinking his brother's banter had caused you to feel uncomfortable. And while it was the right thought, he really had no idea.

Still, his touch grounded you back from the anxious dread that had been growing in your mind so quickly, and you felt like smiling back at him.

You loved Natsuo, you really did.

Suddenly a hand was extended towards you, and it took all of your will power not to flinch. Your attention cruelly ripped away from your boyfriend to stare at Touya's hand, waiting for a handshake.

The dread had returned, you didn't even realize you were staring.

"Sorry, sorry, let's keep the brother talk for later, m'kay?" He smirked at Natsuo, then turned at you to add, hand still out waiting for you to take it, he knew you had to take it.

"It's nice to meet you, [Name]."

You felt everyone's eyes on you, watching you, and resignation was your only answer. Cautiously, you were reaching out to him, held his hand in a hesitant hold.

The moment his rough skin brushed against yours, you felt it, again. A wave of heat spreading through your body like wildfire, just like you remembered from years past, that warm sensation tingling at your nerves, filling your lungs, the pit of your stomach.

It was nothing like Natsuo's cold touch, it was hot, burning, scorching.

"Um, yes. N-Nice to meet you too." You let go of him immediately, stumbling over your words and trying not to glare.

"Yep, really nice to meet my new sister in law."

"That's enough, Touya." The stern, booming voice of Endeavor silenced everyone at the table, specially the eldest son. "We are having dinner right now, have the decency to behave."

Endeavor could be quite scary, but you were much grateful for the intervention. Unlike Touya, of course, who immediately had tensed up, gritted his teeth with brows furrowed into a sour expression for a second, before that carefree look was back on his face, it was so quickly that you wondered if you had imagined it.

"Wait, are they getting married already?" Shouto quipped all of the sudden with genuine confusion, endearingly so.

Almost everyone seemed to be amused by the comment, even Touya, and some teasing looks were thrown at Natsuo, who had turned beet red from the embarrassment.

You found yourself a little embarrassed too, in a much lighter hearted way and that was a welcome change, it almost made you forget that feeling of someone's piercing blue eyes staring at you.

 ——————

 Natsuo would touch your hand or your knee all through the night, smiling at you and gazing at your face with those loving eyes that could melt your heart. And yet, Touya made sure that your attention wasn't taken off him for long. Trying to rope you in conversation that held cruel double meaning, kept only pushing your buttons with sadistic glee.

You had to take a break, urgently, so you excused yourself with the pretenses of going to the bathroom.

You got up from your seat and rushed out the dinning room and into the hallways, not even really noticing that Natsuo had asked if you needed someone to show you were the bathroom was located.

You needed a moment alone to gather your thoughts, get your shit together. So you walked further into the huge Todoroki residence, looking for the nearest bathroom, though finding it was really not all that important in the end. As long as you were away from Touya for a bit, you would be fine.

Touya. A name foreign on your tongue, unlike Dabi. It upset you, and that on itself upset you even more, not only to know what an idiot you had been so many years ago, but that you still cared. But, could you be blamed? Could you be judged? When this jerk had to show up now, of all times, and——

"Hey baby, bathroom is the other way."

You stopped on your tracks, freezing on the spot. Your mouth felt dry and your hands balled into fists. That dreaded voice's hot breath feeling like it was tickling the shell of your ear, but you reacted only when you felt the brush of his warm hand placing itself on your shoulder.

Practically jumping away, you removed yourself from his touch, turning around to face that same amused grin you wished to smack off his face. That same grin that used to give your butterflies.

"Why did you follow me?" You spoke with a voice full of annoyance, bolder and direct, now that the rest of the family was out of earshot, you could at least give yourself the indulgence of expressing your feelings.

"Leave me alone, just...leave me alone, would you?"

Touya laughed. Of course he laughed. You didn't know what else you had expected. He had always done the same thing, laugh at your distress and mock you for it.

"Woah, now! Calm down, this is my house, are you trying to kick me out my own house?"

He jokingly raised his hands, didn't bother to hide his amusement, a broad smile that stretched from ear to ear. You only sighed with exasperation.

"You know that's not what I mean. God, you're still such an asshole."

You shook your head, but he simply shrugged dispassionately, dismissively. You hadn't even taken notice of your clenched fists, knuckles had begun to turn white, anger bubbling inside you just like it used to back in the day.

"Dunno what you got against me, I mean you're the one that came here willingly, remember? No one told you to go date my brother." You could've sworn he almost sounded resentful, but he had no right to be.

"I didn't know. I mean, how could I have? You clearly never told me your actual name Dabi, oh I'm sorry, I mean Touya." He never really told you anything substancial about himself in hindsight, and you felt like an even bigger fool, for having overlooked that along every other glaring red flag he carried around. Your own conflicted feelings made you miss the way something in his blue eyes flickered, tongue running over his lower lip.

"Well, it wasn't a big deal. It's not like it mattered, did it? We had a lot of fun anyway." He chuckled lowly, openly leering at you and making you blush from anger.

"Fun? Seriously, you call that fun?!" You laughed in disbelief, a bitter sound. "After all the crap you put me through, you just ended up dumping me. No, fuck your fun."

His expression turned dark then, a shadow over his eyes that had narrowed just slightly. His amusement had become annoyance.

"The crap I put you through? I don't recall you ever complaining when you begged for my cock like a damn college whore."

"That's not—!!"

"What, not true? Oh but I remember it very well. You'd always be so needy for my cock, letting me fuck you just whenever I wanted, heh, wherever I wanted too. Like a dumb bitch in heat. Come on, we both were on it for the sex more than anything. Now you're acting all high and mighty? Shit ain't cute babe."

It was like a punch in the gut that sucked all the air out of you, it rendered you speechless for a moment, shame and anger inside of you making your body shake. Had it really been like that? No, you did all those things because you were a stupid girl in love back then.

It was exhausting suddenly having to explain yourself to yourself, you didn't have the mental strength for it. You brought your fingers to pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing wearily. It was foolish of you to shut your eyes for even second however, just trying to gather your jumbled thoughts like that, because Touya took it as an invitation to close the distance between the two.

A sudden, familiar feeling of warmth enveloped your body, his arms circling around your waist and pulling you against his broad chest. But it was not a gentle touch, he was squeezing you in his hold to make sure he had you caged. You gasped, every muscle in your body tensing up like a frightened prey in a wolf's grasp. Your body felt hot.

"You're so cold, sugartits. Are you seriously not happy to see me? Not one bit?"

He spoke so softly all of sudden, you knew he was trying to appease you. He rested his chin on the crown of your head as he held you, one of his hands taking purchase of your hair, pulling at it just enough that you felt a slight sting in your scalp. Your lips parted slightly, a moan almost attempting to escape.

"Let me go, and don't call me that." You tried wiggling out of his hold, to push him off you, but he only tightened his grip.

"Call you what? Sugartits? Aww, but you used to love it."

Purring like a cat, you felt the smell of cigarettes and cinders invading your nostrils, bringing back vivid memories of the many times he used you hold you down to smooth-talk his way out of trouble, hold you down and fuck you senseless until you forgot whatever it was that you were mad about.

The thought alone frightened you to the bone, the realization of the sort of memories Touya was pulling out of you so effortlessly. The heat enveloping your body felt like it was burning you, threatening to cremate you with his quirk. It was nothing like Natsuo's cold touch and you hated it.

You couldn't let him keep holding you like that, it was wrong, it was dangerous, and gathering all your strength, you placed your hands on his chest to get him off. It didn't work, he only laughed at your attempt.

"Come on, do you really hate me that much? I just want to talk, honest. Don't you want to talk this out?" Looking up at him, the expression you saw was serious, soft, something you had only seen back when you were with him a few times. Touya was dangling the hope for closure above your head like a dog's treat, and you took the bait.

"What is there to talk about? You dumped me after fucking me for months, just to chase more tail." You a soft murmur from your lips, resignation. You felt his chest heave with a satisfied huff.

"Well yeah, but I tried to call you, you changed your number."

"Because I knew you just wanted to hook up."

"Well, you got me there." He chuckled, completely unashamed and it didn't even begin to surprise you.

"I did really like you back then, you know? And you broke my fucking heart." It was useless to tell him that, and yet you did.

"I liked you too, but you know that I'm a bastard baby, it's just my nature."

You frowned, there was no comfort in his words or even a sense of guilt from him, just the factual reality of things. You had been an idiot for getting involved with him, but it wasn't like you hadn't known that from the start. It still upset you, but the more you thought about it, the more you felt it was necessary to just let it be if you ever hoped to survive the night.

"I don't care what you do, in fact I'd rather we both forget anything ever happened. Just...don't ruin this for me." The plea in your voice was genuine, a heartfelt request, lowered lashes as you looked down before biting your lip. "Don't tell Natsuo about this, please. That's all I ask."

Touya went stiff against you, a hum purring at the back of his throat almost as if he had found your words no short of fascinating. You looked upwards to meet his gaze, he seemed pensive, while your expression was surprised.

"You really love him, huh? Lucky him, to think that used to be me." He chuckled, rolling his shoulders with a sense of light-hearted acceptance, the amusement had returned to that lazy grin. "I wasn't planning on ruining anything for my lil' bro, give me some credit. I just couldn't help teasing you a bit."

Admittedly you hadn't thought of it that way, that maybe even if Touya had no loyalty towards you, for his family he held enough of it to avoid crossing a line like that. It almost made you feel ashamed of yourself, how conceited it probably looked that you had assumed Touya really would care about fucking with you over his sibling's happiness.

For the first time that night, you felt hopeful, a sigh of relief that left your lips carried away all the weight you had on your shoulders.

"Well, then...thank you." A truthful feeling of gratitude. You even forced yourself to subtly smile at Touya, and you though for a second that his eyes softened at the sight. But then he just waved his hand at you dismissively.

"By the way, I wasn't joking earlier. The bathroom is that door over there. If you still want to use it."

You had almost forgotten about that, and while you had no need to go, part of you still needed some time alone to take in all that had happened in just one night so far.

There was slight hesitation, a feeling in your gut that told you not to. And you ignored it, like you ignored all the red flags in the past.

Nodding at Touya, you turned around and headed for the bathroom, but he called out to you again immediately.

"Wait, let me help you open it, that one door always gets stuck." Not even waiting for an answer he fumbled with the knob for a bit before it opened, Touya stepped to the side to let you in.

And then, just as you were crossing the doorframe, muttering a soft 'thanks', you were pushed inside the room by two large hands.

You yelped, stumbling over your feet and tripping onto a soft surface. The moonlight filtered through a narrow window enough to letting you see that you were not in a bathroom at all, but instead in what seemed to be a bedroom, may a guest room? You had no idea. The soft surface under your knees was definitely a futon at least. Confused and panicking you turned around to try getting up and rush out that room, just in time to see Touya walking in, closing the door and locking it behind him.

You felt the room's temperature go up.

"T-Touya? Touya!" You spoke once in confusion, then in anger. He tricked you, and you fell for it like and idiot, all over again. "Fuck you, I knew you were trying to pull something like this."

"You are really funny, sugartits. Seriously." Slowly, in long strides, he approached you. Completely ignoring your protests. "Saying that you love Natsuo with that innocent look on your face, really? What a comedian."

"What are you—?!"

Getting on his knees in from if you, Touya grabbed you by the jaw, squeezing your cheeks and roughly forcing you to look at him in the eye. That bruising touch you knew so well, it made your chest start tightening and face to burn red.

Looking at Touya in that dim light made you shiver, he had an horrifyingly wide smile, baring his teeth. You could feel the steam coming out of his nostrils, and for a moment you were afraid he'd actually set the place on fire.

"Do you think you can just go saying shit like that when I know just what a slut you are for my cock?"

He laughed mockingly, and yet the condescending tone dropping off his words made you realize it was an statement full of endearment.

"No, I'm not!" You struggled to pull away from him, clawing at his hand around your jaw, but he was just much stronger than you, always had been. "That was a long time ago, I was stupid. That wasn't real, what I have with Natsuo is real."

"So you say." Rolling his eyes, he scoffed. Touya brought his lips to your forehead, giving you a chaste kiss, the softness of his lips and the cold metal of his lip piercings was something you wished to have forgotten, a whine almost left your lips. "But I know you missed me."

"I did not. Let me go!"

"You're so cruel, sugartits. 'Cause, I did miss you lots, y'know?"

It shouldn't have, it really shouldn't, but that statement made you pause, freeze on the spot and look at him confused and surprised. A meek 'what?' came from your lips. Touya took advantage of your momentary lack of resistance to roughly push you backwards with enough force that you were falling onto your back over the futon.

"I'll tell you the truth, even after I kept fucking bitches for a while after our 'break up', I realized that none of them really compared to you." He explained slowly, drawling each word with a raspy voice, your heart beating loudly in your ways almost drowned the sound.

"Turns out no other pussy felt like yours, so good and tight, god...best one I've ever had. Oh, and no one else was quite as much of a whore either to be honest, I mean shit, we used to get all down and dirty, remember?"

He pulled out his phone out of his pocket, and started to browse through it. You should've taken that chance to try escape, or at least kick his stupid face, but your body wasn't moving. The shock of what he was saying, petrified you, as did what you imagined he was doing.

"But you disappeared. So I've only had these to jerk off now and then, trying to imagine your nice pussy around my cock." He showed you the screen of his phone, and it was what you had been fearing the most.

Pictures of you, old pictures that Touya had taken years ago during sex. There were many, too many, you felt the world collapsing around you, as if you hadn't been already laying down, you would've collapsed with it for sure.

"Never thought I would see you again, imagine my surprise when Natsuo just came home with my favorite cumdumpster as girlfriend."

"I'm not yours!!"

You refuted passionately, he could insult you all he wanted, call you all sort of names, but you were not going to let him claim you as his belonging.

You were Natsuo's, no one else's, you told Touya, you told yourself.

You were trying to get back up, but Touya was already crawling above you and shoving the screen of his phone in your face, showing off those lewd pictures of yourself.

Pictures of you doing all sort of nasty sexual things with Touya.

"I wonder if my lil' bro would be thinking the same as you if he saw these though. I mean, you two love eachother right? I guess he probably won't mind..."

"Alright I get it, what do you want from me?"

That quick temper of yours made him huff a laugh, something like fondness in it. Well, you weren't so stupid as to not realize what was happening, what was Touya getting at. Swallowing the lump in your throat you tried to keep yourself from shaking, but having Touya above you like that was leaving you short of breath, heart hammering in your chest.

"Let me fuck you." He said so casually, putting the phone back into his pocket without even breaking eye contact. "Here and now, let me fuck you real good one last time."

You breathed through your nostrils, slowly, taking in the situation you were in. Taking in his outrageous words that gave you chills.

"You can't be serious..."

"I am very serious, sugartits. I just wanna bury myself inside your pussy, for old times' sake. C'mon, you don't even care about my cock anymore, right? It shouldn't change anything to give me one last pity-fuck."

It was surreal, ridiculous, atrocious, the entire thing. Yet, what other option did you have? Even if you screamed for help, it would mean Natsuo would find out about this, find you like this. You parted your lips to ask hesitantly.

"Only once...no more than that, right? And then you delete those pictures, promise me. Dammit, promise me Touya!!"

"Yeah, yeah, geez. I promise, just once, and these pictures will be gone forever." He spoke seriously, a longing look in his eyes behind the cockiness. "So, whaddaya say?"

"Alright."

Those were the words that would seal the deal, and Touya didn't really need any more than that to get started. You felt his lips coming down to attack you with urgency, planting an open mouthed kiss on your shoulder while he nuzzled his nose into the juncture of your neck, inhaling your scent in a big indulgent sniff.

"Fuck, you still using that shampoo with the vanilla? Mmm, it was my favorite." He purred loudly, a satisfied grin and hot breath against your skin.

You gasped, unable to keep yourself from reacting to the stimulation, your body remembering it all over again, squirming underneath his frame as he pinned you down. That sound you made had his cock twitching inside his pants, member already growing hard and throbbing with rushing blood. He made sure to let you know by rutting himself against your clothed pussy, his hardness big enough to poke at your entrance through the layers of clothing. You bit your lips, so hard you could've drawn blood, just too keep yourself from moaning at the friction, your pussy already becoming slick and dampening your panties.

Then he was pulling back, earning a confused sound out of you, which then turned to a cry when a large hand crept up to the top of your dress, pulling it down to free your breasts and let them bounce bare for him. You tried to cover yourself on instinct, but Touya caught both of your wrists and held them down.

"God, I had missed these two. Now I remember why I started calling you sugartits." He chuckled lowly, one hand letting go of your wrist just to grope one of your breasts.

Fingers roughly sinking into the soft flesh before he drew his hand back, and slapped your breast, hard. It made a dry sound only matched by the cry you tried to muffle with your free hand. It stung, it hurt, you could swear that it burned. Then he slapped the other breasts as well, flesh jiggling as the skin turned red and raw, nipples become hard and stiff.

"Fuck, Touya...!!" You hissed through gritted teeth, and he only laughed. "D-Don't do that so suddenly."

"What? You used to love that, don't tell me you and Natsu don't do shit like this?" Of course you didn't. It was so different that being with Natsuo, the heat, the roughness, it was nothing like when he gently made love to you. This was not what you wanted, not anymore, and yet...you felt that familiar arousal in your gut, the tingly sensation in your core as more slickness dripped from your folds.

Touya was soon leaning over one of your tender breasts, mouth latching to the nipple and teeth scrapping the pebbled skin around the puffy areolae, his tongue lapping around the nipple, you could feel his tongue-piercing against the skin. He hollowed his cheeks as he sucked with fervor into his greedy mouth, drool and spit coating your chest.

"Hey wait!! Don't leave marks, don't leave m—oooh!!" He growled against your breast and you felt his teeth bitting at the flesh, your toes curled and you threw your head back with a pitiful whine. That definitely was going to leave a mark, he did it on purpose.

Just like he purposely lifted the hem of your dress and ripped your panties off you like a savage. You hated the memories it brought, of the countless pairs of panties you had lost this way when you were with him, Natsuo never did things like this.

Natsuo was not like this, he was gentle and sweet and—

The abrupt feeling of two fingers breaching through your outer pussy lips and into the heat of your core had your back arching, eyes wide open and tears pricking your eyes because the sudden intrusion. Dabi's long digits slid inside of your pulsating walls, the slippery flesh wrapping around them as you involuntarily clamped down. You moaned, barely muffling the sound using now both of your hands to cover your mouth in a desperate attempt to stop making noises.

"Fuck, baby you are still tight as shit." He spoke with his mouth still muffled against your breast, you could feel the shit-eating grin on his face. "I thought I'd have to prepare you a little more, but you are nice and wet, ready for my cock."

No, you weren't ready. You didn't want to be ready, you were doing this for you and Natsuo, and that was it. Shaking your head, Touya only snickered mockingly, as if he knew better, but he didn't. He absolutely didn't, whatever you two had was in the past, and you didn't want to be fucked by any other man than your boyfriend!!

"Just make it quick, please..."

"That depends on how good you squeeze me, baby."

Touya pulled back, hands unbuckling his belts and pulling down his pants. Your eyes almost bulging out of your head at the sight of his hard cock as it sprung free, bobbing against his abdomen with a pearly dollop of precum dribbling from the supple head, his shaft was as long and thick as you remembered, a pulsating vein on the underside that went from the head to the bushy white hair at his base.

You hated yourself for moaning at the sight, for being so weak. Touya somehow didn't make fun on you for that, he was too busy grabbing your ankles and pulling you down towards him, his own eyes fixated on the sight of your soaked pussy. The look of his eyes was ravenous and absolutely enthralled, his breath had quickened as he stared at the pretty slick flesh, bringing his cock to your puffy pussy lips, sandwiching his it in between them and sliding himself up and down, coating himself in your wetness.

It was driving you crazy with need, a maddening need that was awakening after years. And something you hated yourself for, feeling that fire in your loins in a way you never felt with Natsuo. You hated yourself for wanting to be fucked the way Touya used to fuck you.

"Oh, baby. I'm not even inside and you're already squirming." He grinned down at you, watching you through half-lidded eyes burning with lust.

"Shut up! Please just...just...ohh."

You didn't know what were you were begging for, but it didn't matter when you felt the tip of his cock positioned at your entrance, before the feeling of him entering you slowly, he wanted your every muscle to feel every part of him. A violent wave of pleasure rocked your body, Touya's cock stretched your walls like no one else could, even after years it was like your pussy had never forgotten the feeling and shape of him, welcoming him into your heat and betraying your need to cling to your convictions.

"Holy shit, oh fuck...this is what I was talking about. Best pussy I've ever had." You heard him pant and moan above you, his mouth gasping for air with eyes shut, like he was savoring the best feeling in the entire world. Your fleshy walls were sucking him in like crazy, he shuddered grabbing you by the hips with his large hands. "Hnng, so tight, fuck...it's like you're trying to rip my dick off. You sure Natsuo's been fucking you enough? Can't believe you're still so tight."

"S-Shut up!! Don't...bring him up now...please."

You couldn't stop wishing that Touya would just start moving already, fuck you already, in your heart you apologized to Natsuo over and over, you were doing it for your sakes, you were doing it for him.

"You are right, let's forget about him. Right now, this pussy belongs to me."

Touya pulled out his length until only the head was nudging at your heat, before he slammed his entire cock back in until he was balls deep inside, filling you up entirely. The head of his cock could almost hit the entrance of your cervix, god he was so big, it was different than Natsuo, he reached deeper than anyone you had ever had, you felt absolutely stuffed.

Gasping for air, you clung to his shoulders, trying to remember how to breath. But Touya didn't give you any chance to adjust before he began thrusting himself in and out your pussy, scrapping your walls with his cock following a brutal, bruising pace that had you pinned down against the futon as Touya jackhammered himself into you.

"T-Touya, fuck, fuck." It hurt, it really fucking hurt, and yet your body was craving that pain and heat you had been deprived from for so long, and you hated yourself so much for it, tears started to run down your cheeks.

Touya watched you with furrowed brows, licking his lips at the erotic sight of your bruised tits bouncing like crazy, but it wasn't until he noticed your tears that he felt himself swelling up inside you, cock harder than ever before. He leaned over you, face inches away from yours with his tongue out. He lapped at your salty tears, groaning in pleasure.

"Dabi, call me Dabi...for old times sake...oh fuck" He whispered against your skin, his hand leaving your hip to delve down towards your clit. He started playing with that little bundle of nerves, flickering it until you were just about to lose your mind, dizziness making you feel near to fainting.

"Dabi...!!"

You orgasm ripped through you violently, abruptly, toes curling and mind going black before you knew it, before you could even hope to do anything about it. Your walls were clamping around Touya and coating his cock in your release.

"Fuuuuuuck..." He groaned, you were so impossibly tight around him he almost came in that very moment.

You went limp, exhausted, but he kep fucking you until he reached his own release soon after. His cock throbbed, and you feel the warmth of his cum inside you as he filled you up in a sloppy creampie, and god he came a lot, jets of semen coated your insides until your womb was filled to the brim. You felt his cock softening inside, before he pulled out.

"That was great, babe. I knew you were the best." He sighed lightly and content, smiling shamelessly at the mess he made of your pussy, cum flooding out of your hole. "You didn't even tell me to pull out."

You tried to get up, but your body ached already, so you remained on your back with him still on top.

"The pictures...delete them."

"Nah, I don't think so."

The fact those words only shocked you halfway was perhaps sadder than him playing you for a fool again.

"You promised..." You said softly, weakly smacking Touya in the chest, barely phased anymore.

"I'm a bastard, sugartits. Can't lose my number one slut that easily, not when I finally found you again."

What an absolute douchebag.

—————

Natsuo knocked on the bathroom door, worriedly calling your name.

"Hey, [Name]? Are you okay? You've been gone for a bit."

After a moment, you replied, opening the door and exiting the bathroom. Seeing Natsuo's relieved smile made you so happy, and you smiled back.

"Don't tell your parents but I got lost, so it took me a bit to find the bathroom." You said with an embarrassed expression, voice to match, distress that was in a way still real.

"Oh no, I knew I should've accompanied you." Natsuo sighed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "Sorry love, but didn't you see my brother? I told him to tell you where to go if he saw you."

You quickly shook your head. Hoping that the toilet paper you held between your legs would keep Touya's cum from spilling out.

—————

That night, when everyone had fallen asleep. You sneaked out of your room, careful not to wake up Natsuo. You planted a sweet, chaste kiss on his lips, gazed at him lovingly. You were doing it for you and Natsuo. You keep telling yourself.

Hearing a soft knocking sound, Touya smiled to himself. He walked to open the door of his bedroom to find you there, fingers lifting the hem of your dress to show your naked pussy underneath. Folds already glistening with the fluids of your arousal.

You heart was doing it for Natsuo.

But your body would always do it for Touya.

[quietlyimplode]

Hey @vancityfire13 have the bestest of days. Thanks for always being so kind; I feel very lucky to know you. Anyway. May the year ahead be magic.

.

“As long as she thinks like a man, no one objects to a women’s way of thinking.” Virginia Woolf. (Warnings for misogyny)

Five times Natasha looked across the room at Maria and had a silent understanding about things the others wouldn't understand (and the one time she didn’t) (kind of)

.

1/ text me when you’re home

Clint opens the door and puts his wallet and keys in the bowl. He know if they don’t go in there, they’ll be lost forever. He undoes his bow tie and his pants before looking across to Natasha who is standing at the door, typing something on her phone.

“What are you doing?” He asks, thinking she’s like nothing more to unzip her dress, step out of her heels and get into the comfy clothing.

“Just..” she stops, finishing typing and then putting her bag next to the bowl and throwing her phone onto the table. As it lands, it vibrates twice consecutively.

“Who are you messaging?” He asks curiously.

“Maria.”

Clint is confused.

“Do you message her often?”

Natasha sits on the couch, undoing her shoes that have clearly been cutting into her feet all night. Not that he ever would have realised.

“She said to message when I got home.” She pauses.

“I don’t think she knew you’d be with me on the mission.”

Clint blinks slowly.

“Why would she need to know when you’re home? Was it part of the mission parameters that you had to be home at a certain time?”

Natasha cocks her head.

“No?”

He grabs a water from the fridge.

“I don’t get it.” He tells her bluntly, passing it over.

“She wanted to make sure I was home safe.”

Clint thinks he understands.

“So like an early warning thing.” He questions.

Frowning, she takes a swig of water and passes it back to him.

“More like.. safety. If you don’t message by a certain time, she’ll know something’s gone wrong.”

Clint nods.

“She’s never done that with me before.”

The note is met with a laugh.

“You’re not a woman.”

Clint’s lost again.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

She smiles, he doesn’t get why she’s giving him her sad smile.

“It’s ok. It’s just one less thing you have to worry about. Now; unzip me.”

Clint complies, thinking on why women need to text each other when they get home.

.

It’s not until the next next mission where Natasha doesn’t get home on time, that he realises that the world isn’t always kind or accommodating to women as it is to men. He makes a note to himself to get Natasha to message him as well, liking that it’s an extra layer of protection for her.

.

2/ getting ready

“Why do you do that?” Steve asks tentatively, walking into the bathroom, to see where the two women are.

“What?” They say, simultaneously.

“Go to the bathroom together, get ready together?” He looks genuinely confused.

Making eye contact in the mirror, Natasha and Maria laugh.

“Steve.” Maria turns and looks at him. “As you got ready for Stark’s party this afternoon, what did you do? Shower? Get changed? Ready to go?”

Steve looks down at his clothing, and runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, why?”

Natasha turns back the mirror and continues to apply her mascara.

“To get ready, we need to shower, wash and style our hair, make sure our clothing matches, find shoes..”

“Make up.” Maria add in.

“Make up,” Natasha confirms. “It’s a process.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“It’s too much,” he mumbles, “why is there all these expectations on women?”

Maria and Natasha shrug in unison.

.

3/ expectation of knowing how to handle children

Maria is happy for Cho, the newborn is so small in her arms, his tiny hands reaching up and curling back.

“Do you want to hold him?” Cho’s partner picks the baby up and prompts Maria, holding the baby towards her.

“Oh. No, thank you.” Maria smiles and tries not to look at the disappointment in their face as she takes a step back.

Natasha however, is cornered, sitting on the couch as she’s handed the baby.

Maria laughs at her as they make eye contact, and Natasha holds the baby under his armpits. Natasha shakes her head, and looks uncomfortable as Clint comes to her rescue, taking the baby and cooing as he makes baby noises.

Cho comes over and greets Maria, asking how she is.

Maria smiles. “How are you?” She asks, as Cho watches Clint move around with the baby. Maria can’t decipher the look on his face as he looks towards Natasha.

“Going well, all things considered. Sleep deprived, but we expected that.”

Maria laughs, “anything you didn’t expect?” She probes.

Cho thinks for a minute, “after birth pains. Croup. Cradle cap. Do you know babies can get blocked tear ducts? Cause I didn’t.”

Maria laughs again and shakes her head.

“You seem to be doing well though?” She asks tentatively as Clint hands over the grizzling baby.

“Why do people always assume that women just know what to do with a baby? Like that we just naturally know and like them?”

Maria pauses and Natasha approaches, handing her a blue cupcake.

“Uhhhh.” Maria isn’t sure what to say to Cho’s rant, whether she should be worried.

Cho acknowledges Natasha and continues. “They say it’s rewarding, and it is, but what they don’t tell you is, how much of a change it is, how you second guess everything and how much is just assumed because you are a woman.” She looks sadly at her son.

“I love him, but I miss my work too, I know how to do that.”

Maria looks over to Natasha, who she knows can’t have children, and then thinks of herself who isn’t sure she wants them, then across to Cho who has them and wonders on the expectations and judgments they’ve all had when talking of children; especially being in the work they are. Anger stirs as she knows it’s not a decision that’s not everyone gets asked of them.

.

4/ showing emotions

“Romanoff. Calm down.”

Natasha bristles.

“Excuse me?”

Fury looks at her and then looks over to Maria, who is also staring him down.

The women look at each other and Fury adjusts his position.

“You know how much we can do here. There’s no point in getting angry about it. We will have to wait and see.”

“With all due respect… sir, there is something we can do about it, and I’m proposing a way to get them out; if you’d just..”

Fury cuts her off by standing,

“Not at the expense of this agency, and yourself. This conversation is over, go home, calm down, and wait to hear from me. We will do something when the time is right.”

Natasha stands with him, face blank as she stalks out of the room.

“Sir. Wait.” Maria calls him back.

Fury stops and turns towards Maria.

“Not you too, Hill.”

“You didn’t even listen to her proposal. Did you even realise that she showed emotion in the debrief, stood up to you? Do you even know how much of a big deal that is for her?” Maria pauses, throws Natasha’s mission parameters on the table toward him. “Read it. I know you’re not one to back track on your word, but you know she’s going to do it anyway. Perhaps release the jet and weapons.”

Maria makes her way to the door.

“If it was Rumlow, or Bryce, or Barton, you wouldn’t have told them to calm down, you would have been as indignant as they are.”

She leaves hoping he mulls on her parting shot.

.

Natasha isn’t emotional in debriefs again for a very long time. Maria is though, playing devils advocate for missions she believes in. She hopes Natasha knows it’s ok, that emotions are powerful, and not just permitted for men.

5/ compliments

Natasha isn’t a stranger to compliments being thrown at her. Cat calls, whistles, back handed compliments, she’s probably heard them all. Clint even teases her, whistling when she’s dressed up, calling her beautiful and sexy. From him, it feels comfortable, fun and playful- there’s no expectation attached; when it’s others it feels heavy.

.

She’s returning from a honey pot mission, still dressed in high leather boots, short dress and hair piled up on her head.

She needs to find Clint or place to decompress, feeling on edge and knowing in herself that her window of tolerance is low.

Rounding the corner, there’s a wolf whistle. She sucks in a breath as she sees who it is and rolls her eyes.

“Fuck off, Bennett.” She says, irritation in her words.

“There’s no one better than you at those missions, huh? You look just right.” He raises his eyebrows and bites on his lip as Natasha feels her stomach drop at the uncomfortableness of his statement.

She’s heads into Maria’s office, hoping she’s not there, but it seems her bad luck is carrying through as she’s met with Maria staring at her.

“Romanoff?” The question is implicit.

“Bennett.” She pulls out.

Maria looks Natasha up and down, and motions for her to sit. Standing and moving away from her chair, she opens the cupboard on the left, and pulls out a hoodie and sweat pants.

“They’re clean, I swear,” she clarifies.

Natasha is already undressing as Maria moves to the door, locking it. She then pulls out cookies and sets them on her desk, an offering of sorts.

“Sorry he’s a dick.”

Natasha sits. “You don’t need to apologise for him.”

Maria nods.

Fatigue washes over Natasha. “Sometimes I feel like they just don’t get it. The difference in being a male spy vs a female one.” She sighs and grabs a cookie. It’s the first thing she’s eaten all night.

“I think they get it, I don’t think they care.” Maria scoffs.

“Maybe so.” Natasha concedes, and then thinks of Clint. “Some do, perhaps.”

Maria is silent.

“Does it ever feel like we are just typecast into roles? Like the expectations for us are so different to them?” Natasha asks, copying Maria and putting her feet up on the desk, now her shoes are off and feet are bare.

“Honestly? Yes.” Maria looks lost in thought, and Natasha has never considered the amount of hazing and sexism she’s had to endure to get to the positions she’s in.

They’re silent for while, neither wanting to break the quiet thoughts both are clearly having.

“I don’t think I want to do these types of missions anymore,” Natasha says softly, almost to herself.

Maria knows what courage is behind that statement.

“I’ll let Fury know.” She says, almost as softly.

Natasha nods and smiles, ”He won’t care. He thinks I’m ok with everything.” She’s almost despondent in her response.

Maria is adamant to make sure the request doesn’t go unheard. No matter what.

“That was then. This is now. It’s ok to have preferences. The fact that you know that; I think, is important.” She doesn’t add that she thinks Natasha is the brave for even saying so.

Maria hands Natasha her phone.

“Here.”

Natasha takes it lightly.

“I know you probably want to get home and shower. Clint should have his on him, I think he got released from medical about an hour ago, so should be around somewhere.”

Natasha nods, sending a message and then handing the phone back to its owner.

“I’ll get on the paperwork.” Maria promises.

.

+1

Maria is looking at Natasha, wanting to know exactly what she is thinking, but she doesn’t make eye contact. Natasha’s eyes don’t move from a spot near the screen where the last ten minutes of her last mission is played out, recorded by Redwing.

Maria cringes as Natasha’s hair is grabbed and she’s thrown against the garage door, keeps her face stoic as the man laughs at her and calls her a bitch.

She hates that her friend is so often subjected to this brutality and name calling, and tries to catch her eye in solidarity.

Maria looks over to Clint, asking him silently if she’s ok.

Clint’s almost imperceptible shrug makes her worry more, what happened before Maria and Sam found her, fighting in the hanger.

The debrief is over within the hour and Natasha is out of there before Maria is even standing.

“Clint.” She calls, grabbing his arm for him to wait.

“I know.”

“Tell her if she needs to talk.” She knows Clint will be her first port of call, but she wants Natasha to know the option is there.

“Thanks.”

.

Maria gets home after finishing the paperwork for the last scoping mission, and feels her phone vibrate in her pocket.

“Clint told me.” It reads. “I’m home safe.”

Maria smiles, thankful she’s making contact.

“Sometimes, the others don’t understand. Message me if you want.” She adds in two pictures she’s changed into gifs, the first one of the street in Suzhou where they had the best dumplings and reminisced on all the food they’d like to try but didn’t have the courage.

The second of the snow covered town in Switzerland, where Natasha had bought a cake to celebrate, when Maria asked her what for, Natasha had just laughed and said to pick something.

Maria, unsure of Natasha’s stances on birthdays, had gone out and bought candles and then they’d watched as they’d burnt down in the low light.

The phone vibrates again.

“Cake tomorrow?”

Maria smiles.

“Sounds like a plan.”

.

[herstarburststories]

Devil, bring me to heaven

Kinktober day 5: Deep throat

Hauntober: Moonlight

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader

Summary: You suck Dean off under the moonlight and you both are interrupted.

Warnings: oral sex (male receiving), public sex, jealous!dean, kinda of non intentional voyeurism for a bit, hint of fluff bc yes

Your knees ached against the soaked cement. It rained earlier, making the situation more painful and you mind a bit more sickened with the realization that you couldn’t change a thing. Man, that would probably leave some bruises.

Then again Dean loved bruises on you. At least, this demonic version of the king of your heart did. He enjoyed love marks and hickeys before. It made Sam constantly call you two horny teenagers. It was rougher now, but this was still Dean.

It was Dean. That was all that mattered, even if you had to lose yourself to find him.

The cold ground was as unrepentant to you as the green-eyed demon's cock in your face. He was hard, his precum wetting your cheek as you dared to look up. The moonlight shined on his face as if it had always been meant for him.

You kissed his balls, already familiar with how he liked his blowjobs. You didn't have time to spare here, though. You two were in an open parking lot behind a forgettable restaurant — someone could easily walk through here. You had to make him come quick.

Dean's toughened hands caressed your head, tangling his fingers in the glossy strands of hair. You looked so beautiful like this, on your knees just for him. He may be a demon now, the Knight of Hell even, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate you — especially when you knew his body so well. 

“Come on, baby girl. Take it slow. You know I love some good foreplay, no rush here.” He pulled you back once your skilled mouth became too spirited for his liking. Dean was relaxed tonight. Maybe he'd even go slow on you later. You could take your time here.

You did as he said like you usually do when it comes to sex. Your smart mouth and commandeering nature always melted away when he was like this, exposing you at your neediest. Dean, of course, was more than happy to oblige.

You teased at his tightened sac, enjoying the weight of the stiff cock pressed against your cheek. Your mouth got greedy as time passed by, starting to mouth at the soft flesh of one of his testicles while your fingers slowly rubbed the other one. Dean let out a quiet groan, fingers sunken in the ocean of your hair to lead you to his throbbing cock. You two were dwindling into the night, coalesced as one holy sin.

Your lips had barely been placed on the side of his velvety cockhead when you heard footsteps. You grunted after giving his dick an open-mouthed kiss and started to pull away, but Dean wasn’t having any of this.

If someone had a problem with his girl sucking his cock, then he'd simply kill them. Granted, he'd probably kill them anyway for seeing you in that position — this was only meant for his eyes, green or black.

The unfortunate person might’ve been lucky to die for this, honestly. Dean would say that seeing you blow him off was a pretty damn good last thing to see before being murdered. He was a man about Sam’s age; tall, yet not as tall as Dean; and muscular. Dark hair, hazel eyes, and tan skin. He was essentially the guy you'd call your type before you met Dean.

The Winchester had seen enough crappy 70’s flicks to know you had a weakness for it. He already hates this guy's guts. He was going to die or, at least, bleed enough to make unleash a crimson river under the moon’s pale radiance.

What? He was a demon, after all. He didn’t need much of a reason to hate, much less channel his aggression onto any Tom, Dick, or Harry that so much as looked at you twice. 

The man's steps grew closer as Dean guided your swollen lips back to his cock. You whined and nuzzled his sweat-slick skin as if there was no better place to be. Still, you weren't sure about someone else seeing you suck Dean off. You've never minded some harmless public touching, but this is way more forward than anything you’ve ever done before.

The male stopped in his tracks, the hard pavement under your knees digging into your skin as you jolt. Your lips were gentle to the base of his shaft. You kissed your way to the top where the precum smeared your lips. Your hands on his hips dug in, winding him in closer while your tongue soothed the ache of his weeping head. 

“Whoa, woman. You know I love it when you do that thing.” Dean grunted under his breath when you slipped your tongue into his slit. Your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock before swallowing him thickly, soaking up the warmth of his slick spill. “Yeah, honey. Go ahead. Take all of me into your mouth.”

“What the fuck?” The other male choked, taking in the scene with wide eyes. You didn't appear to be forced onto doing this, so he didn't rush to push Dean away, but why the hell were you two fucking behind an Arby's? This was his dad's restaurant!

You jumped a little when you heard his voice. Why didn't he just keep walking? You were so embarrassed by anyone but Dean seeing you like this. Even though you had your clothes on, you also had half of a cock inside your mouth. Contradictorily enough, it also turned you on. Someone was seeing that you were Dean's and he was yours.

The eldest Winchester could feel hesitancy in the tenseness of your neck, but he soon managed to wipe away your worry with his hand on the back of your head, caressing your hair with a gentleness that could only come from his human side.

“What? Haven't seen a hot girl sucking cock before? You should try a porn site, buddy.” Dean gave him a whimsy smirk, forcing himself not to moan as you swirl your tongue around the heat of his still-hard cock. You leaned in as he was coaxed with the promise of your tight throat. Just like you two trained.

Besides his flushed cheeks and obvious arousal despite his indignant surprise, the guy managed to speak: “Who the fuck do you think you are? This is a serious establishment.”

“I'm Dean Winchester,” the demon answered with a cocky smirk. The unprecedented third party to their fun might not know what his name holds now, but he surely would find out soon. “And this is Y/N Y/L/N. She's too busy to tell you hello right now, all hungry for my cock. My girl just can't let it go, not even for a minute.” Dean shook his head lightly, as if you were some poor, needy thing. Pursing his lips, he asked, “And you are…? Wait. I don't care. Get lost.”

“I'm Priestly Conner. Just the owner of this place.” The stranger, Priestly, groaned in fury. He was hiding the fact that his dad was the actual owner. How dared Dean to disrespect and degenerate his ego like this? The Winchester, though, couldn't care less. He gave the Priest dude or whatever was his name the chance to walk away and keep his life. You’d taken the time to swallow more of him, the glossy sheen of his swollen cock buried in your throat as you repressed the urge to gag. It was perfect. “Can she get up? And can you get your dick back in your pants and leave now?”

Priestly's voice was starting to irritate Dean's ears. Hurting his ego was good, but wasn't it obvious who had control of the situation here? Besides, he wanted to enjoy this blowjob, thank you. That man was nothing but a distraction. If you could talk now, you'd probably roll your eyes, slap Dean's puffed chest, and something along the lines of ease up and knock off the alpha-macho behavior, Winchester.

As usual, you'd probably be right. There was no reason to garner unnecessary attention to yourselves over a spoiled little man wearing clothes more expensive than Dean's car. He tried to take it easy and give Priestly one last chance.

“Yeah, sure. Just two problems: I don't answer to you, and my girl won't let go of my cock.” He grinned darkly. To prove his point, the green-eyed man moved back a little. You let out a sharp whine, nosing close enough for your nose to brush against coarse hair. His balls slapped your chin with the sudden jerk, your slippery tongue enveloping his hardness in a desperate effort to keep him close. Fuck, that felt good. “See? She's all about my dick, sorry. Don't worry, babe. It's all yours.”

Dean ran his fingers through your hair in a soft reminder that he wasn’t going anywhere without you. He murmured encouragement under his breath as you sucked his cock. His girl was so good to him.

“You… She…” Priestly was tenting in his pants, unexpectedly excited by the scene like it was live action porn meant just for him. Dean groaned. Couldn't this dude get the hint and leave? He was getting the best head of his life here. “G-get your bitch and get the hell out of here!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, both you and Dean knew he fucked up.

“Now, now, now. No name calling. It’s rich of you to call her a bitch and still get a hard on out of it.” Dean bore his cock down harder into the wet of your throat. It made you gag, but you kept going as if you were made to keep his dick in your mouth. When he howled, neither of you were able to discern if it was out of anger or pleasure. “Maybe that's why you don't have a girl right now, buddy. You don't know how to treat women, so you don't get a good suck.”

“You… ”

“I'm done with you.” With a waft of his hand, Pristley was thrown at the wall, hitting his head and falling unconscious on the floor. Weak. “Come on, honey. Make me cum so I can go wake up that son of a bitch and break his back for disrespecting you.”

A moan reverberated in your throat, causing a whimper out of Dean as his dick throbbed. He pulled your hair and started to move his hips, fucking your mouth as if he was fucking your pussy. He was tearing you apart, thrusting deep you like you had a sweet spot there too. 

You felt so full like this. Sure, it wasn't like having him inside your cunt, but the warm sensation of his cock occupying all of your throat was heavenly even when you knew how inappropriate that sounded: the devil taking you to heaven.

You coughed when Dean’s rhythm hastened, thighs pressed together in a loose attempt to gain some relief for your wet pussy. Your hands cradled his balls, massaging them while your mouth swallowed his cock.

It didn't take longer for him to cum, shooting his load inside you as you took all of it. He tasted a little too salty, a flavor you’ve grown accustomed to since his transition into demonhood, but you found yourself quickly craving it. You loved how he tasted and how he came so much and all for you.

Dean kept his hands on your head, helping you remain standing until you swallowed all of his cum. You finally released his dick with an audible pop, looking up to him. The moon made the big tears budding in your eyes glisten marvelously. Dean felt so lucky. He helped you to get up, kissing you softly for once. The old Dean, your Dean, came in glimpses sometimes. 

He tasted himself on your lips. It was a delicious proof that you were still his. He had to let Sammy go, but you were here. He still had family, someone to cling to. Someone who wouldn't change him. Dean licked your lips.

“So good, honey.”

Your legs still trembled as your pussy cried out for attention. Thankfully, Dean held you close. “What are you gonna do about him?”

You nodded at the breathing body on the floor, your voice gruff from taking him so deeply. He loved it.

“That son of bitch?” He groaned at the mention of the annoying interruption. You placed your hand on his heart, rubbing there. Dean placed his forehead on yours. “He disrespect you so he's gonna die.” His green eyes changed into black with a wink, showing the actual weight of his darkness. “And then I'll eat you out and fuck that pretty pussy that's already wet for me.”

“Dean…” You sighed, ready to try putting some sense in his head, but then his bruised hand slipped, fingertips touching your bare arm, your hand, and then your belly, hips, and pelvis. Dean pressed a single digit on your clothed heat. You managed to ruin your panties, yourself, and the silk skirt all for him. You gave in. “Okay. Be quick.”

“I wasn't asking for you permission to kill him, Y/N.” He raised his eyebrows as your hips chased his touch.

“I know, but you still need my permission to get inside me,” you said despite the situation. You didn't think talking so casually about killing a guy would somehow become your new normal. Although, in all honesty, it wasn't that different from the hunter’s life before.“Take it or leave it, Dean.”

“Yeah, okay. Whatever.” He huffed, rolling his eyes before he pulled away to walk towards Priestly. “You better go wait in the car if you don't wanna see some blood, sweetheart.”

“Make it quick. And Dean?”

“What?” his gruff voice asked, turning to face you. You were so gorgeous under the sequin moon. 

“Cuddles later?” You beamed at him, as if he wasn't about to murder someone.

The single smile he gave you in return could convince any jury of his innocence. “Of course, honey.”

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[ivyveil]

Mary Me

the one where he proposes aka the 1940s installment of The Soulmates Verse, Sign of the Times

A/N: Bringing this back from AO3, hope you guys enjoy! I wanted to create a series of ‘soulmate’ Harry/Y/N where they try to make it work each decade, and fate hasn’t seemed to get the memo. Here’s my Tumblr masterlist, and my AO3 hub! Thank you for reading, hope everyone is staying safe.

The room was swathed in a deep maroon. Curtains draped against the windows, curves forming around the sills and down the gold columns on either side.

It was a nice restaurant, with expensive-looking candles and fresh-cut flowers on each table. The bar wasn’t fully stocked enough for the crowds milling about, having yet to find its balance of supply since Prohibition ended a few months ago. It was a rough adjustment for everyone, with the prices taking a jolt and the people having to remember what a drink tasted like without poison.

While the idea of a fancy restaurant would allude towards privacy, this dinner was anything but. Granted, it was a personal room but the numerous crowds of friends and family around the table led the mood towards something more lively than dim lights and slow jazz. Tables were pushed against the walls, only a handful actually sitting down, and the band had taken its land near one of the corners, setting up an orchestra to dance for.

It was a gathering, a party.

Nerves were knotted against the floor of your stomach, and despite having a glass of champagne in one hand and hooch in the other, nothing was easing the clench. Perhaps it was residue from hardships that had only ended a few years ago, or it could be the more instinctive nerves - holding alcohol without needing to look over one’s shoulder was still new for everyone. Even now, you saw Nick stealing a glance at the waitstaff, as if sussing out which was the cop.

“‘lright, love?” Harry spoke low, his hand briefly resting against your back as he came around from behind. It wasn’t far into the party, enough time having passed for his entrance to be marked by everyone already feeling tipsy, but not raising an eyebrow at his late arrival.

His suit was understated, a black with minimal design. His mother would tailor all of his suits, resulting in most of them being the absolute extravagant pieces for all the parties he threw - the magnificent ones where the moon grew twice to try and be an inch closer, where the ocean glittered around his villa and you could strain to taste the rose-colored smoke in the air. They were alive with people and spirits and spirited people, and the types who would disappear in the morning and you’d question their existence, but never their stories.

His suit was fine, but his hair was a proper mess. Harry had insisted to you a few days ago, a dopey smile on his face as he leaned against your shoulder, that it was a rebel of the highest degree.  You knew the words were bullshit, but the way he spoke sounded like a home you’d never known, so you listened.

“You need a haircut.” The words came out before you could properly hold them back, the liquor having moistened your throat and disconnected your mind from your choices.

Harry broke into a smile, this time shaking his head slightly so the curls danced, delighted, in the dim glow.

“You like it?” he asked, and you made a sour face in response. He took one of the drinks from your hands, making the low noise in the back of his throat to signal disapproval. Where Harry managed to gather his rebellious streak of societal indignity, but still manage to believe that women should be held up on pedestals and protected, eluded you.

But you were still dizzy with him. Drunk in the way he said your name, caught up in his eyelashes, a fatal swoop in your chest that felt like laying in bed after a long day’s work. You were simply infatuated, but insistent on the fact that the feelings drifted no farther. Infatuation could be controlled, but love.

Love would be an entire beast that you couldn’t battle. It would include leaving him, leaving him because Mary was cemented down in his roots. Not that you’d agree with it, but she was, and it was a reality you lived with.

They’d been sweet on each other for the first couple months. You hadn’t kept up on the details too much. But time had worn their feelings thin, wafering holes poking through in the way they loved. Which was a wrong, horrendous source of comfort to you - but it terrified you, as well. Harry was the embodiment of love, with how he danced and moved and swayed into the moonlight, and yet there was something off in the way he loved Mary. It felt like a commitment for the sake of, rather than motivated each day, and the failures of love haunted you.

“Where’s Mary?”

Harry shrugged, taking a swig of the drink and looking against the crowd. The two of you were propped against the wall, as if only existing in the plane of the party by the physical constraints. If you had your way, your souls would fall through the wallpaper and into something more exquisite.

Harry had a way of making the dullest parties exciting, and you wondered what he had up his sleeve. But his face showed no signs of telling, a crease along his forehead denting in his sudden gloom and moodiness.

“Dunno. Was gonna find her, thought she’d be with yeh.”

That was his mistake, his constant mistake, of seeking his love around you. It was there but not where he expected - it was manifestation he sought, the woman he called ‘darling’ on late nights out, not the friend he called ‘love’ because it meant nothing.

Words didn’t quite fit your mood, so you merely shrugged and shifted your weight between legs. The music had picked up but your feet had been worn to the bone by running all over town the previous night, so you prayed Harry’s stance next to you would dissuade any men from approaching.

“Think I’ve got to end things with Mary, yeah?”

It was a loaded question, especially with Harry’s eyes staring into yours. It was a rush, how the lights cascaded down the side of his face and his hair was a horrible mess, an unsightly vision for anyone in town, but he was utterly angelic nonetheless. It was a weird sensation against your throat, seeing him tragic and sad, and not knowing how to respond that wouldn’t be an attempt to benefit your own tragic and sad.

“Why’d you say that?” you asked.

“It was never right, was it?” He spoke thoughtfully, scanning your face for agreement, and apparently finding some, for he continued. “It’s reached an end.”

Silence befell the two of you, yet it was heavy with the implication of further words against his tongue. They weren’t spoken yet, but you felt with one more moment-

“I’ve got somethin’ I need to say to yeh. After it’s done.” His eyes had swept to his feet, the dirty tips of his shoes from the soil around the town.

You both were misplaced, you felt it in your soul and the way you two would wrap in each other’s auras, clasped at the hands and promising you’d escape this hellhole of a town one day. And it only was proven in how Harry’s eyebrows sloped together, a defiance in the order of things prominent in his pursed lips.

“Okay,” you drawled it out, but Harry didn’t seem to find anything humorous. With a tilted neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing and drawing your eyes in like flies to honey, he downed the rest of your champagne.

“See her over there,” he mumbled, slipping back into the throngs of the party. He was still incredibly visible, a mess of hair and clunky shoes passing through the sea towards his girl. She was sat, pretty and prim, but you could tell she felt only half. Mary had an odd sense about her, a jealousy towards you for sure, but a feeling around her sphere of influence that she wasn’t full unless Harry was there. Half-dazed without, only focused on him with, there was seemingly no win.

The pair of them slipped out into the night together, with your eyes trailing behind. Mary was oblivious as to how the conversation would go, and for that, you were conflicted.

It must have made you an awful person, how the nerves crashed against giddiness. The drinks may have kicked into effect, because before you knew it - you were swaying and dancing against the moonlight, around the tables with the rest of the folk, pained heels clipping against the floor as they did every night, dancing out the mundanity of a town life crippled with the distrust of life. It would be a conversation for the rest of the night, how Harry would retell the dramatic discussion with fire in his eyes and a sadness plunging into his heart, because he always felt guilty and you’d never understand why.

You glided out of the mass, panting with how the dance took your breath away, feeling the redness built up in your cheeks and the sweat on your brow. You passed Nick with his wide eyes and bursts of laughter, and noticed how he winked at you when you left the room. The restroom was calling.

The main hall of the restaurant was bustling with normal activity, waiters dashing around with massively weighed trays balanced against their shoulders. There was a coat rack near the entrance, huddled with pounds of jackets, hats, and scarves, and a lone Harry Styles squatted next to it.

He looked up when you passed by, the hollows of his cheeks straining purple in the grotesque lights.

You paused next to him, almost dashing around to head and pee, but his expression caught you off guard..

He looked in another world. His eyes, blue with morose, opened to look at nothing. Eyelids heavy with almost boredom, but his posture offered enough to let you know his demons were free once more.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, and once he shifted to the side, you took the cue to sit beside him, crossing your legs and ignoring your body’s protests.

His mouth open and closed, his fingers spread wide in front of him to grasp onto his senses, but they were nowhere to be found. His lips were glistening, perhaps from him licking them continuously, but a small streak against his cheek made you think otherwise.

“Was she upset?” It was all you had to offer, but it seemed like you hadn’t struck gold. He continued to mime whatever words that were escaping him, but your attention had been caught elsewhere.

In one of his hands, you had thought he was holding onto his pack of cigarettes. At second glance, however, it wasn’t. It was terrible.

The fact it wasn’t, and the fact his mouth was gaping, and the fact his eyes were glassed and that his shoulders were quivering – it all accumulated into a story you never expected.

A blue velvet box, iconic in its time, holding only one thing inside.

“Harry, is that-”

“She’s pregnant,” he managed to choke out, not glancing at the box, his voice cracking in its sudden revival, “Mary’s pregnant.”

“She’s what.”

“Couldn’t break it off, would she gonna do? Can’t go back to live with her parents, the town’s too far off-” he continued to speak, words that made sense when combined but gibberish with how he stringed them. It was a rant that had been built into his lungs and found a small stream to blow off, with only your collection of stammers breaking through the dam.

“Did you–’re you–is that–”

“Proposed. Bit rushed, didn’t get on a knee, but it did its duty. I did mine, anyhow,” he said, a desperate gloominess clutched your dress as he presented the box. His fingers fumbled against the velvet, nubbed fingertips and signs of bitten skin surrounding the nails.

Opened, the box was empty. The contents were stuck on Mary’s finger, presumably back at the party showing off the latest development in her life.

“Congratulations.” It didn’t feel as if it were you who said anything, the voice too breathless and at ease to have come out of your body, with its thundering heartbeat and screaming mind.

“Gotta get a job, gotta call up Howard ‘n see what’s not ‘n the papers. There’s gotta be something, yeah? Need a crib, now, too.” It was clear his mind was far off, into what he needed to do, in the adult-life that neither of you had never quite fit into, but was now thrust upon him.

All your mind was on, was the trip you two had been planning for the past year. Harry had promised train tickets across the country, down towards where the sun always shone and the waters were constantly warm around your ankles, even in the dead of night. Maps and notebooks had cluttered your office for months, with strings attaching your future endeavors in a maze of findings. It had started out as an escape from the Depression, the one that had seemingly ended but never quite had, the one where your throats were aching for more than speakeasies could offer.

It wasn’t going to happen. It simply couldn’t. You’d never see how he would look, dozed off across from you on your hundredth train, his backpack used as a makeshift pillow. You’d never feel the brutal mountain winds with him. You’d never be able to wander around the greatest cities of America, you’d never explore all the lives you could’ve lived, in towns you never knew existed.

The realization brought you to another moment, another question, one out of place with Harry’s rant but in tune with how your blood ran cold.

“Where’d you get the ring?”

That snapped Harry’s attention, and his bloodshot eyes managed to find you in their blur. Perhaps it was an expectation, for you to ask, but the surprise against his lips, how they parted with a slacked jaw and a sharp inhale, said otherwise.

“Wha’?”

You repeated yourself, and he staggered into a motionless statue of himself, a final shake of his shoulders until he ceased to move. Just stared at you, haunted.

I’ve got somethin’ I need to say to yeh.

“Harry.” To your surprise, it almost sounded admonished.

His eyes were pleading for you not to speak. For speaking would bring it into existence, and he could never juggle it all. Neither of you could, it was a mortal flaw that ran deep into your flesh, and now against your heart, where it felt it would stay forever.

You felt compelled to speak anyway, motivated slightly by the intoxication and the exhaustion and the bitterness in which life was taking from you continuously, without ceasing, and this was the one chance to take something back for yourself. To give a bit of yourself back towards him, to offer a glimpse of the life that could’ve been.

“I would’ve said yes.”

It was quiet.

You thought Harry was being quiet, as well, but his hands reached up to wrack against his scalp, collecting at his hair and his head went between his knees.

He gave a nod, a gentle movement from your perspective, and a choked cry. It was stifled by the sudden uproar within the restaurant – perhaps another fight, perhaps another birthday, you didn’t care – and your arm went around his shoulder, bringing him into your chest.

You cried. Tucked away, hidden behind swaths of clothing that had belonged to the rich and now hung off the poor, surrounded by lights and glamour that suddenly became cheap and instrumental, compared to what you two had deserved. He felt warm against your skin, his forehead now pressed against your shoulder as his body pushed forward in distress. Time stretched to allow for you both to have one moment, a solace against the blazing sun of normalcy. It was one minute until Anne would burst through the party doors, searching for her son, perhaps having caught a glimpse of the truth and knowing where his heart truly was.

But for that minute, his heart was in your chest, the beats matching up, the pair united for a last breath.

The box slipped from his fingers and landed on the floor, half-open and completely empty.

It was a reality you’d have to live with.

[darkmulti]

Dr. Park

Doctor!Seonghwa x intern!female reader

⚠️Warnings: dirty talking, oral (fem receiving), overstimulation, anal, slapping, spanking, spitting, choking, cum play, degradation, sadist!seonghwa

Poorly written medical stuff. Don’t kill me!

If you want to read the story but not the smut I will put *** at the smut part. Let your imagination take over after that❣️

Some people may consider this non consensual sex so

PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

——————————————————————————

“Oh look at you all knocked out and snoring. Mind toning it down, you’re waking the patients up.”

Your friend Wooyoung enters the room with a bottle of water in hand. He climbs the ladder and lays down next to you on the bunk bed.

“What’s wrong doll?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What’s wrong princess?”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“What’s wrong baby?”

Your hands cover your face in annoyance.

“You are one annoying mother fucker.”

“I know babe. But you know who’s more annoying? Seonghwa.”

A groan left your lips. Even hearing his name was tormenting.

“He really worked you to the bone, didn’t he?”

“Wooyoung I’ve been up for the last 72 hours being his personal assistant. I’m an intern. Here to help and treat people. Not to be his little, fucking assistant. I don’t know why I had to get assigned to him. All he wants me to do is get his lunch, or coffee. He even told me to go fetch his car. I am not a fucking chauffeur!”

You said in an indignant tone.

“There there, my poor little Y/N.”

The male laughed at your frustrated state, pissing you off even more.

“Shut up, you’re not helping. Now if you excuse me like I said, I haven’t gotten any sleep in the last 72 hours, so if you can please leave that would be great.”

You close your eyes once again until you feel two arms wrap around you.

“Wooyoungieeeee! Please let me sleeeeep!”

You whine at the man who now fully had you in his embrace.

“Shh, you’ll sleep better like this.”

You comply and relax your body. Your arms were making its way to snake around his body, until your pager went off.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Hurriedly you get off the bed and grab your laboratory coat, quickly putting it on along with your shoes.

“See you later Wooyoung!”

You rush over to the MRI room to see Seonghwa sitting there, observing the screen.

“Took you long enough.”

He spat out in a displeasing tone.

“Sorry, I-”

“Save it. Sit down.”

You sat down on the chair next to him and join his eyes on the screen.

“She has a brain tumor.”

“Malignant Astrocytoma. She said that she couldn’t see out of her right eye. We have to run some tests to make sure.”

Seonghwa sighs and presses the button to tell the lady that it’s over.

“Y/N you’re in charge of telling her.”

“I-”

“Complain one more time and I’ll give this case to another intern. As a doctor this is your responsibility. You can’t throw a hissy fit when something doesn’t go your way.”

A stern look places on his face. His hands gather the scattered papers and taps it on the desk into a neat pile.

“This afternoon. It better be done or else I’ll give the case to Wooyoung.”

Satisfied with his words he gets up and leaves. Your fingers tangled into your hair, slightly tugging on it in frustration. Seonghwa was just taunting you at this point. For his own amusement.

You get out of the room and go downstairs to get lunch. With your heart racing in your chest, anxiety took over you.

This afternoon?

Your eyes scan the cafeteria and you catch Wooyoung digging into his sandwich. You speed walk toward him and drop your tray on the table.

“I need your help.”

At that moment Wooyoung was just about to bite into his sandwich. His eyes look into yours and he freezes.

“Right now?”

“I-I don’t know! Seonghwa pulled me back to reality. How am I supposed to tell a lady she has a brain tumor? Or how am I supposed to break the news to people that their loved ones passed away? Wooyoung I don’t have the heart to do this job!”

“Sit down and calm down. If you want I can come with you.”

“Seonghwa said I have to do it this afternoon and he’s gonna be there too. But I’m just scared.”

“Hey listen.”

He puts his sandwich down and holds your hands.

“I will be right there behind you for extra support. Someone needs to tell them, and when you’re no longer an intern it will fully be your responsibility. The first times always the worst time.”

After reassuring you he went back to munching on his sandwich.

“You’re right. I have to practice.”

“Exactly. It’s unfortunate, but it’s also our job. Hopefully we can get rid of it.”

“Hopefully”

Weight lifted off your shoulders after talking about it. While enjoying your lunch you practice your speech with Wooyoung.

Thirty minutes later you found yourself standing in front of her door. Seonghwa walks up behind you and looks at Wooyoung.

“What’re you doing here? This is Y/N’s case.”

“Uhhh, I just wanted to hear more about this case. You know, learn more.”

Wooyoung makes up a bizarre excuse and Seonghwa rolls his eyes. He enters the room first and you and Woo follow.

Shivers run up your spine and you sharply inhale.

“Hello Ms. Gilbert. The MRI scan showed a mass on the left side of your brain. We’re predicting that it’s a Malignant Astrocytoma, but we have to run a couple of tests before we’re sure.”

“Cancer?”

She asks with tears in her eyes.

“No it’s a tumor. If you came to the hospital any later, it would’ve lead to cancer.”

You respond.

“Can you, Can I call my family.”

“Of course, we’ll tell the nurses right away. But do you have any questions?”

“Is it removable?”

“We’re not exactly sure with what we’re dealing with, but once the test results come back in, we will have you fully updated and guide you through the procedure.”

The woman sniffs her snot up and then covers her mouth.

“That’s all. Please leave my room.”

Your head lowers down. Seonghwa and Wooyoung walk in front of you and you walk out, closing the door gently.

“Didn’t know you had the gut in you.”

Spoke Seonghwa.

“I didn’t either. Now if you excuse me I have to do more research about this case.”

After responding you walk away, only to be yanked back.

“There’s nothing to do research on. We have to wait for the test results. Go home and rest. You have to come back at 7 o’clock for the event. All interns are expected to be there.”

Seonghwa looks at you and Wooyoung, making sure it went through your heads.

“Finally. You’re telling me to go home.”

Seonghwa chuckles at your response and leaves both of you there.

“I guess I’ll see you this evening?”

“You know it!”

You playfully push Wooyoung and you both went your separate ways.

As soon as you arrived home, you showered and slept for four hours. Your feet were throbbing and your hands were aching. The recharge of energy was everything to your body.

While groaning and regretting life decisions you get up, and slip into a classy, black dress and flats. You straighten your hair and do your makeup lightly, so you don’t attract too much attention.

“Perfect”

You turn off all the lights and leave to your car.

Upon arrival, you see Wooyoung outside talking to other interns. He was dressed in a classic tux, looking like a groom. Wooyoung was indeed a handsome, young man. But not your type,,,,,,, maybe.

You park your car and get out, locking it afterward. Wooyoung walks over to you with his hands in his pockets.

“Well, you look stunning.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“What’re you talking about?” He says in a whiny and offended tone. “I always look good.” He huffs.

“Yeah yeah whatever. Let’s go inside, it’s cold.”

Wooyoung protectively puts an arm around your waist and guides you inside to where the event was taking place.

“What kind of event is this anyway?”

You ask Wooyoung

“I think they’re other doctors from other hospitals here. There are some new interns here too.”

Your eyes scan the room until they stop and meet Seonghwa.

He was talking to this other girl, who seemed rather close to him.

“Does Seonghwa have a secret wife or girlfriend that we don’t know about?”

You say jokingly, and gesture towards Seonghwa.

“Ex-wife”

“What?!”

You whisper yell.

“I meant it jokingly Woo. Is that actually his ex?”

“Yeah. Never knew a heartless man could get married. Oh well, anything is possible.”

Wooyoung grabs two drinks from the table and hands one to you.

“They’re serving alcohol in a hospital?”

“It’s not alcohol, it’s juice.”

“Oh”

You two were making small talk and started talking to the other doctors and interns until you saw Seonghwa signaling you to come over. You quickly excuse yourself and make your way over to Seonghwa and his apparent ex wife.

“Oh so this is Y/N. Your new girlfriend.”

Her sentence took you by surprise. Why was Seonghwa telling her that? Has he told more than one person?

He discreetly nudges you to go along with it and you do.

“Uh, yes I am. May I ask who you are?”

“Ex wife of Seonghwa. Shocked that he didn’t tell you about me.”

“Yeah I prefer not to talk about my ex wife with my girlfriend.”

Seongwha says in a rude manner.

The woman smirks and questions you again.

“Who was that man that you walked in with?”

“That was my… brother, Wooyoung.”

“Oh, I see. Best of luck for you, Seonghwa is a hard one to deal with.”

She winks and clicks her tongue at you. Then lavishly walks away into the crowd. You turn to Seonghwa and say

“You better have a good excuse for why you told her that we were dating.”

Seonghwa grabs your wrist and pulls you into an empty room.

“Heyy, let me go! And turn on the lights!”

Your ears perk up when you hear the door lock.

“Seonghwa, I’m sure whatever you have to say can be said with the lights-”

***

Before you could finish your sentence, Seonghwa backs you up against the wall. He cups your cheeks and before you could protest he shoves his tongues into the back of your mouth. His lips danced against yours and his hands went underneath your dress to tug on your underwear.

“Take them off.”

He pulls your dress up and you slide your panties off. You whimper at the cold breeze hitting you wet lips.

Seonghwa bends down and picks up the panties then, displays it in front of your face.

“Black, lace panties. My favourite.”

He places it in your mouth, before kneeling down and spreading your legs.

“Look at this dripping cunt. Who are you getting this wet for?”

A cold slap lands on your pussy, making you jump up.

“Is it for Wooyoung? You two have a thing together, right?”

Before you could answer Seonghwa’s warm tongue lays on your clit, making your walls clench around nothing. His hands placed onto your thighs and held them open, while flicking his tongue onto your clit.

Your hands push his hair back and you spread you legs wider for him.

“Seonghwaa~ Don’t fucking stop!”

Ignoring your order he stops and spanks your ass.

“It’s daddy, you filthy cunt.”

He gets back up and takes the panties out of your mouth, which was drenched in saliva. Throwing it behind him, he starts to suck on your exposed collarbone, and makes his way up to your jawline.

“Open your mouth.”

“No”

Seonghwa grabs your jaw and pulls it down. He spits in your mouth and on your cheek. He pushes your jaw back up and demands you to swallow it.

You gulp it down, and try not to think about it.

“Such a nasty little whore you are.”

The ball of saliva glides down your cheek, until Seonghwa’s fingers rub it all around your cheek, making it feel sticky and tight.

“Come here whore.”

He pulls you towards the recovery bed and bends your body over it.

“Wait! Please be gentle I haven’t had sex in a really-”

He pulls your hair back and spanks your ass, making you yelp.

“I’m a sadist sweetheart. I don’t do anything gentle.”

Without warning the man rams into your asshole, and you struggle underneath him. The sudden stretch felt like lava was being poured into your hole.

“AHHH FUCK! SEONGHWA SLOW DOWN PLEASE!”

You yell desperately while tears run down your cheek.

“I guess we’ll try anal another day.”

He takes his massive cock out of your tight butthole and slides it into your pussy.

“Better?”

“Better”

You faintly whispered out.

Seonghwa grabs one of your legs and places it on the bed, so it was easier to thrust. He grabs your hips and starts relieving all his stress and anger. He grunted and growled your name and whispered sinful things to you.

“You have no fucking idea how long I’ve been waiting for this. My cock pounding deep inside your pussy. Only my cock can make you scream and cry. I’ll prove it to you slut.”

Seonghwa went a little bit faster and gripped onto your hips a little harder, slamming in and out.

He knocked all the thoughts and concerns out of you. All your stress and worries suddenly disappeared. You’ve never felt this happy in your life. Finally having nothing to worry about. This is what you needed. You needed someone to own you, someone to punish your negative mind.

“Faster daddy! Please I’ve been such a bad girl!”

You beg.

“Oh my baby girl wants more? I’ll give her more.”

Seonghwa makes his thrust short but hard, causing all the air to knock out of you.

“OW PLEASE SEONGHWA MAKE ME CUM!”

You scream and move your hips against his cock, feeling your orgasm approach.

“Daddy daddy daddy daddy please! I’m gonna,,,,, oh fuck I’m gonna.”

Seonghwa pulls out making you collapse and cry.

“Holy shit! Fuck fuck fuck! Daddy! Why did you do that?”

You hiss and your hips start humping on nothing. You wanted to yell at him so badly, but didn’t find enough courage or energy to do so.

“I don’t allow bad girls to cum. You have to beg me to cum, slut. My cock is superior. It’s better than any other cock. You have to cry underneath me and beg if you want MY cock and cum to fill you up. Got it?”

“Yes daddy”

You said like a good little sub you were.

“Good. I don’t like repeating myself.”

Seonghwa picks you up off the floor and lays you on the bed. He places your legs on his shoulders and angles his cock to thrust right into your gspot.

You wince and your legs kick up, feeling your lower abdomen being really tight. It didn’t take Seonghwa long to notice your distressed state. He leans in, close to your face and spits on it once again.

He grabs your neck and chokes you, while his hips started heating up and eventually started pounding into you. His balls swung back and forth hitting you cunt each time, making you even more needy. With his other hand he slaps you across the face making you sob out again.

You loved this. Seonghwa had his way around you and now your under him, while he pounds his 8 inch dick into your throbbing pussy.

“Fuck daddy. Daddy can I please cum? Ow fuck please!”

“Little girls don’t swear. Try that again.”

He spanks your ass and kneads it afterward.

“Daddy, can I please cum? Pretty please!”

“Good girl. Go right ahead.”

You shake underneath him as you try to ride the best orgasm of your life. Feeling an intense tickle starting in your abdomen, then moving out to your whole body. Your muscles clench and you sharply inhale and you squeeze the cum out of you. Once your cum covers Seonghwa’s veiny, thick cock, your mind goes blank and you release your muscles. Trying to find yourself you release your breath and quiver underneath the man.

“Fuck babygirl. Look at your sensitive state underneath me. You looked destroyed.”

Seonghwa cums flows into you and he takes his cock out of you, so it could breathe. You didn’t respond to him, as you were still feeling a little overwhelmed and exhausted.

“I’ve never orgasmed in my life.”

Seonghwa looks at you and raises his eyebrows.

“I told you my cock is superior. It can make anyone feel good. Why do you think my ex wife is running back to me? She misses this good ol cock.”

You chuckle at his statement and think about how you’re gonna get out of here.

“Seonghwa I can’t feel my legs.”

“Well, that’s too bad. I guess I have to take you home with me tonight.”

——————————————————————————

Oh I’m so sorry for not posting for so long. I have a busy week and loads of homework so I’m probably not going to be too active. I hope I can get request done by the end of this week though. Also this was a request and I hoped you liked it❣️

Edited🔐

Xoxo, N❣️

[elvy-chae]

Demeter was an intimidating woman under normal circumstances.  When she stood tall and furious, the goddess of harvest was downright terrifying.  Terrified was unfortunately not a feeling Hades could afford to be feeling right now.  Instead the god of the underworld felt tired, strung out and almost detached.  She knew her declaration would amount to this reaction from Demeter.  Hades absently listened to the other woman’s outrage while trying very hard not to wistfully look at the paperwork piled on her desk, something she would much rather be focusing on than being yelled at.

“-you selfish bitch-,” Demeter’s tirade had turned personal, and in response Hades’ domain rumbled.  The god may be able to hide the emotions on her face, but her domain had no such social restrictions.  Luckily, Demeter wasn’t fully incensed and stopped shrieking immediately. Hades leaned forward in her chair, carefully holding Demeter’s murderous gaze.

“I trust I need not remind you that hospitality will only get you so far when you stand in *my* domain,” Hades said in an almost purr.  Demeter snorted, but decreased her looming, instead standing as a pillar to indignant rage before the desk.  Hades took a deep breath.

“I stand by my declaration.  Your plants will get no nutrients from the ground,” the god continued, steel in her voice.  “You are welcome back in my domain if you wish to negotiate.  And no, Demeter…”

Hades allowed herself to glare at the goddess.  “I will not tolerate being yelled at in my own home again.”

Demeter turned on her heel, back straight as the rod shoved up her ass, and stormed out.  Hades sighed, and put her head on the desk, her black hair pooled around her.

“I hate working with people.”

 ////

“Hi!  I’m Persephone!  I am here on my mother’s behalf!”

Hades blinked at the ray of sunshine in the form of a god.  Persephone’s bright smile took up their dark face. 

“You’re mother…”, the god of the underworld was too confused and decided it was entirely too early for this kind of nonsense.

“Sent me to negotiate with you,” Persephone basically sang.  They skipped around Hades standing in the doorway with a cup of coffee.  All Hades could do was just continue to stare in incomprehension.

“Can I have some coffee?” 

“No,” Hades said.  This god already had entirely too much energy for this early in the morning.  The sun had barely risen in the mortal realm, the day had barely started, and Hades had stayed up way too late after Demeter had left yesterday.  With an almost imperceptible grump, Hades closed the door to her home.

“Forgive me, Persephone, but-“

“You can call me Percy!”

“…Percy.  Forgive me, but my personal home is hardly the place for negotiations of the type I need to have with your mother.”  Much less the time, Hades mentally added, giving a quick glance to the clock.

“Oh, I figured this would let us get to know each other!  You know, negotiations help when both parties can relate to one another.”

“I’m sure…” Hades said, trying not to let their annoyance show.  She wasn’t sure what kind of joke Demeter was playing on her, but to send an inexperienced god to negotiate… maybe the goddess was hoping to wear her down with all the sunshine and smiles.  The god of the underworld allowed herself a self-pitying sigh.

“As you can see, I’m not entirely ready to deal with… anything.  If you could give me some time to prepare, I will take you out for breakfast.”

Persephone beamed.  “Perfect!”

[sinfulsachi]

After Heist

Prompt: Aftercare Additional Tags: Dom/Sub, Dirty Talk, Breath Play - Choking Words: 2.1k Fandom: Magic Kaito - KaiAo / KidAo

I dedicate this to @sup-poki, because, well, it’s Poki. :3

.

.

“It’s tonight! Kid is going to steal another gem tonight!”

“Kyaah! Will you come and see him?”

“Of course! I never miss any of my husband’s heists. Ever.”

Aoko gorges the first sip of her morning tea in silence. For that alone she contemplates changing their meetup place to a different cafe. She doesn’t want him to get overly arrogant from the unwarranted compliments, nor she to keep rolling her eyes skyward the rest of their stay. It’s too early to get this cranky.

She looks at her watch. Fifteen minutes until he arrives.

Sighing, Aoko decides to waste her time anyway listening to a conversation she’s long used to but prefers not hearing.

The adjacent fangirls converse about the Kid posters they spent the whole night finishing, the cameras they have charged overnight, where the best view is to watch his entrance...all the boring stuff.

Then, the more solemn lady between the two ponders out loud, “I wonder if Kid has a girlfriend.”

Aoko’s ears perk up.

“And if his girlfriend knows he’s a hot magician thief,” the louder blondie supplemented.

She takes a sip of tea. Yes to both, her mind answers.

“Imagine being fucked by Kid before and after his heists. I’d be sooo jealous.”

Aoko chokes on her drink. 

The two girls were quick to throw her table a wary glance. Pretending to be preoccupied with the morning paper, she holds the print nearer her face and scrunches at the headline.

Safe, Aoko sighs, as her curious spectators let her go. Though for what she supposes is an extra precaution, the rowdy blonde moves her chair so that her back faces her. Aoko snorts inwardly. As if that can save her from her bat ears. Especially not with that scandalous tone.

“What if I make a sign in big bold letters, ‘Kid-sama, I want you to steal my virginity’?”

“Add a please! Beg for it and who knows, he might visit your bedroom after the heist.”

Oh god. At that instant, Aoko thinks of leaving. This isn’t the kind of conversation she wants to hear at nine in the morning. Two rabid fangirls daydreaming about being nailed by an infamous thief, who happens to be her father’s enemy, who happens to be Kaito, who happens to be her...? No, thanks. The disrespect. Her growing indignation. The damage to her brain cells. She’s not in the mood for this.

Aoko stays.

“Do you think Kid fucks hard? Or is he the slow and sensual type?” The rosette asks her other friend dreamily as if she’s asking about innocent middle school crushes. 

“Oh, sister. I bet he’s a rough fucker,” the blonde replies. She leans closer to her friend and looks left and right before continuing in a much lower voice, “My two cents is he ties his girl in bed and dominates her like a champ.” 

Something flashes in Aoko’s brain like a movie clip on a big white projector.

「Still clad in all white, he pinned both of her hands with his gloved one, her chest facing the wall as his other hand roamed her backside and gave her ass a delicious spank.

“Looking forward to this, my dirty little Nakamori-san?” he hissed in her ear, then nipped at the underside of her lobe with those lips that were Kid’s if she wanted, but Kaito’s nonetheless.

“Y-Yes,” she rasped, voice shaking from thrill and anticipation. It’s always after heists that he’s most insatiable.」

Pressing her cup to the seam of her lips, Aoko turns her head away from the conversing girls, in case she fails to hide her growing smirk properly.

Well, her one cent isn’t wrong.

“Oh? But I think he’s a pure gentleman in bed,” the rosette opines. “You know, always asks his girl what she wants then he’ll give it to her and more.” She squeals dreamily again.

Aoko bites her inner cheeks.

「They made it to her bed, losing clothes piece by piece as they moved. He climbed above her, and Aoko wrapped her arms around his sweaty shoulders, her fingertips exploring his chiseled back muscles for new scars. His mouth traveled her neck down her sternum, and he gave her cute little mounds gentle flicks with his palm, before taking an erect nipple between his teeth.

“Where do you want me tonight?” he asked, muffled, kissing between her breasts.

“Please... on top and inside me.”

She felt him smirk on her chest. “As you wish, milady.”」

Aoko tips her head down, staring at the ground with a funny smile on her face. Hah. She isn’t wrong either.

“Mm, that may be so, but! Hear this—” the girl scoots closer to the other, ignoring the fact that her voice becomes much more audible from that angle, “I think we can agree on one thing. Kid would be sooo discreet while he screws you. So hot, right?” 

Aoko can practically hear the thirst bleeding out of the blonde’s voice. She hates it. Partly because no other woman should be fantasizing about him like that, and partly because the thirst reminds her of her own.

Discreet, they say?

「It wasn’t the echoes of distant police sirens and helicopter rotors that kept her heart pumping erratically in her chest. It was the fact that the man above her was the fugitive they were searching for, and the man instead of hiding in a safer place, chose to be in her room...

“If Nakamori-keibu knew I was doing this to his daughter, he’d figure out exactly where to search...but he doesn’t, does he?” Aoko shook her head, eyes unstably fluttering as he pounded her aggressively.

...Instead of retiring for the night, chose to land on her balcony, stealthy, as he’d done twice or thrice before...

“H-Harder,” she panted, knees trembling from the force of his body tunneling in and out of her.

"Like this?” He rammed her twice the force up the hilt and her walls clenched around him, wet and tight. 

“Like that, y-yes!”

...Instead of changing first to civilian attire, chose to hold her, kiss her, and fuck her then and there.

“Yeah?” Not stopping his rhythm, his hand pinned one of her wrists on the sheets, while the other crept up her petite neck, gripped her under the jaw and gave a tender squeeze, and her mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ as he elicited from her a hot sound between a whimper and a moan. The same hand angled her tearful face up, meeting his hooded gaze, “Always ready to be choked like the naughty Nakamori-san I know, hm?”

An intense shudder ran through her spine; her mouth was so wet yet so dry, and his hand lacing her neck trapped all the words in her throat. Heady eyes still set on him, she nodded, frantic, ecstatic.

"Say it, say you love this,” he ordered, slightly loosening his grip to allow her to speak but not stopping his merciless pounding below.

“Y-Yes, s...so much...” she managed to croak.

Smirking lecherously, he leaned down to kiss the sweat and tears on her cheeks. “Very good girl.”」

Aoko bites her lip and presses her thighs together. No, she shouldn’t be feeling this pulsing ache between her legs at nine in the morning.

“But you know what the sad part is?” 

“What?”

“That Kid will probably leave you out in the cold after the deed. Poof. Just like that. No trace whatsoever. I mean,” the blonde shrugs, “magician, and thief.” 

“I’m fine even with that... like, that’s where we’re getting the appeal right? The mystery? As long as he doesn’t erase my memory of our love making, I’m good,” the rosette replies, and Aoko from a table away cannot believe her ears.

Clearly these girls are in it just for the thrill of the sex. Sex with the mysterious magician thief. That’s not what she’s here for and that’s what makes her different.

「“Ahh, Ka-Kai...nnh!”

Orgasmic moans filled the room as his hot essence flooded her. He continued to thrust, shooting thick spurts while Aoko writhed on the sheets, cries distorted by a thumb in her mouth. Like the tears trickling down her face, fluids oozed out her entrance down the sheets even when he hadn’t yet pulled out. The wet warmth drowned her entire body in delirious pleasure. Same with him as she felt him throb inside, cock up for more action.

They could still handle more.

Which she understood if he wouldn’t do, because his attire was still on the floor and the rotor sounds remained audible. He ought to hide soon.

But he flipped her so she was straddling him, both still connected at the hip.

“Ride me, Aoko.” It wasn’t an order; his eyes were begging. “I missed you so much.”

Her heart leapt because this was her favorite part, and he was giving it to her again. The second was much more sacred, just she and he, no alter persona. She bucked a pace, slow, going fast, lewd wet sounds interplaying with their soft grunts and moans, his nails digging her hips and hers his clavicle until for the second time she rutted on him and he in her.

She collapsed, chest wheezing, ear pressed over his drumming heart. His fingers ran up and down her spine, calming her. The sirens and rotors faded away and their inhales and exhales became much more prominent.

She felt soft kisses on top of her unruly hair.

“Not the gem you’re looking for?” she murmured on his skin after some time.

“Not the gem I’m looking for.” His hand massaged her scalp. The Kid tone was long gone; she was talking to a Kaito doing a job for his late father. That was how she had always viewed it.

“Did it hurt when I...?” he asked. Aoko smiled.

“Not as much as the wound on your back,” she answered.

“Pfft, ‘s nothing. Just a minor slip when I was hurrying here.” They both giggled.

“Please go home and fix yourself... or else Aoko will call their attention to you.” She looked up and met his tired blue eyes. His aftercares after heists were the best.

“No you wouldn’t,” he grinned, kissed her forehead.

“Yes, Aoko would.” She raised a taunting brow.

“Will you hide me under your bed?”

"No.”

“Aww, c’mon Nakamori-saaaan.”

She gigglesnorted. “Shut it or else Aoko will really expose you."」

She doesn’t hear the outward snort she makes. Nor the recent arrival of the person who has taken the seat across her.

“Warui, Aoko!” Kaito’s palms are pressed together in front of his bowed head. “Jii-chan and I had to handle some last-minute preparations. Sorry!”

“No problem.”

Kaito lags. “...No problem?”

“Aoko isn’t mad.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “You’re not mad...?”

“Actually Aoko is...” she trails off, noticing the noise of the two girls die down as their eyes rake Kaito’s side profile. The blonde whispers something to her friend, leering eyes still planted on the man. She doesn’t need to hear to know what they’re talking about.

She cannot fault them for thirsting over an infamous ‘bachelor’ magician thief everybody in Japan knows. But try thirsting over another girl’s man and who knows what she’ll do.

“Actually Aoko’s thinking if she should just meet Kaito in his house...” She tinkers with the empty cup in front of her. “But since he’s already here, she’ll just pull him with her back."

“What do you mean?” 

"After those preparations with Jii-chan, Kaito may want some warm-up...”

"Warm-up?” His brows crinkle, but Aoko’s two fingers tiptoe up his hand that is on the table, and they smoothen eventually upon realization. “Oh.” 

“...Think it’s a bad idea? Before heist?” She bites her lip.

“Gods, no,” smirking, he encloses her two fingers around an iron grip, and, very slowly, makes one pumping movement with his fist, “I may in fact, need some intense warm-up before the main event tonight,” he says in a low voice, and Aoko giggles. 

“Stop that, someone might see us.” 

He grins haughtily. “You suggested it.”

“No it wasn’t Aoko. It’s them.”

“Them?”

Aoko stands upright, pulls her bag and Kaito’s hand. “Nothing of interest,” she laughs, “Let’s go?”

“Wow, aren’t you in a hurry,” Kaito’s sneer is as wide as a Cheshire cat’s, but not as wide as Aoko’s when they pass by the two girls’ table. She feels their eyes follow them as they exit the shop, and Aoko knows it’s bad to gloat but right now she’s as good as winning a lottery. The man they are eyecandying and the phantom thief they are dreaming of screwing? Both men are about to do to her - and only to her - what they’ve been fantasizing.

Later, and tonight. 

[ragingbookdragon]

You Can Take Off All My Clothes And Never See Me Naked PT. 6

A Haytham Kenway x Reader Story

Word Count: 3,200 Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Past Abuse

Author’s Note: This chapter does go deep into the past abuse, so if that’s triggering, please be advised and be responsible. -Thorne

Haytham…was conflicted. Which wasn’t something he was too keen on telling anyone, let alone admitting to himself—he was a rather proud man. Feelings of the heart—love, which he even dreaded thinking about it—were not something he was truly accustomed to following.

           He’d not had any dalliances nor anything deeper since leaving Ziio and while he knew he’d never forget her, he couldn’t help but feel the same deep longing when he thought of (Y/N), the desire to hold her.

           Regardless of the fact that their social standings proved error, she was about as tight lipped about herself and her feelings as a miser’s purse during tax season. She was temperamental and found herself in deeper situations than she realized, partially in anger, the other part—well, it was mostly anger. She was snippy and used so much profanity that Haytham was surprised she hadn’t been struck by biblical lightning.

           But she was smart, absolutely, phenomenally intelligent, and could bounce theories with him back and forth for hours, pointing out every little instance of error and correcting it—(Y/N) was really the reason they’d conquered the gang-headquarters so easily, and increased trade-route with southern merchants. She could read and speak at least four different languages, from what Haytham had inconspicuously spied her doing so, and found that she gathered more information from drunk patrons than any of his top informants. She was broad-minded, which made him smile as he remembered the way she took Charles down six or seven pegs when she mentioned the Cherokee and Creek tribes. He’d never admit it, but the anger that had filled her and righteously come out towards his second-in-command filled him with great desire for her. He almost felt juvenile for even thinking about it. Foolish, is how he really felt.

           And she was beautiful. Not because she took special care of her appearance—she did, but that wasn’t what Haytham meant—but because she simply was. She hid every aspect of herself that she could, her personality, her life, even her soul. And while Haytham couldn’t claim to be the most open person, even he was more so than (Y/N). He briefly wondered if his attraction to her was the result of her obscurity. Did he genuinely feel attraction to her? Or was he just enticed by her secrets? By the dark shadows that lurked behind her eyes, holding tight to an equally dark past? Haytham had the feeling that her past was just as dark as hers, and from the little pieces she’d shared, the scar, the betrayal, perhaps worse.

           He heaved a sigh and rubbed his eyes, waiting for the spots to disappear before he opened them once more. When he did, she was before him, a cocked eyebrow high on her forehead.

           “That was quite a sigh.” She remarked. “Everything alright, Haytham?”

           He almost smiled at how easily she used his name now but forced himself to frown. “I’m fine, (Y/N). Simply tired.”

           “Probably wouldn’t kill you to take the day off,” she said, collapsing into the seat before his desk. “Or days.” Her eyes shown with humor. “All work and no play makes dull boys. Isn’t that what they say?”

           Haytham chuckled. “Something along those lines.” He flicked a piece of paper her way, watching as she picked it up and read it. “Truthfully, that’s what I’m dreading.”

           (Y/N) glanced up at him. “I shouldn’t be surprised that the elite are holding a ball during a war, and yet, I am.” She tossed the invitation back onto the desk and crossed one of her legs over the other. “Are you required to go?”

           “Not required,” He said, and she filled in for him.

           “But bad manners and image on you if you don’t.” He nodded and she hummed. “So, what’s the deal? All you have to do is go, say hello, spend an hour, and then leave?”

           He allowed himself a rare moment of complaint, lolling his head back onto the chair. “That’s the deal. I don’t want to spend an hour talking to uptight colonists.”

           “This coming from the ‘King of The Uptight Gentries’, himself?” (Y/N) deadpanned and Haytham’s head snapped up as he glared at her; she waved it off. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Haytham, but—”

           “I don’t understand why people say don’t take this the wrong way, and then say something that is usually taken the wrong way.” He remarked and she rolled her eyes.

           “Well if you don’t act like a pissbaby about it, you’ll be okay.” Again, she ignored his glaring eyes. “So, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re an uptight asshole who’s arrogant around people who aren’t of the same social standing that you are.” His jaw dropped. “You think that people who are of lower classes aren’t really worth your time and that’s why you think attending a ball of the colonies is a pain in your ass—because you’re of the gentry and they think they’re better than everyone else.” (Y/N) simply wore a satisfied expression. “And that’s why all your friends are also uptight assholes.”

           Haytham felt like he’d been slapped, and he could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck and across his cheeks—she definitely saw it because she grinned.

           “Aw, are you embarrassed?” (Y/N) huffed a laugh. “I’m not surprised. You’re not the type to get insulted with the truth very often.”

           “I am not embarrassed.” He countered, though his flustered appearance and voice did little to convince her.

           She leaned forward and hit him with a barrage of commands. “Then look me in my eyes and tell me you’ve never disregarded someone because they were a servant or a maid. Tell me you’ve never disregarded someone because they didn’t have shoes on their feet and were begging for money or food.” Her eyes narrowed almost sadly, and she murmured, “Tell me you’ve never disregarded someone because they weren’t fortunate like you, and born into a wealthy, high-class family that never wanted for anything.”

           “I—” he couldn’t manage anything and it had been a long time since Haytham felt any form of shame, but as he lowered his head and frowned, he felt it searing through his chest with a fury.

           “You’re a good person, Haytham.” His head shot up and he met her eyes, though they held a heavy bearing. “But for all the good you do for the upper-class…you’ve still got a long way to go with the little people.” (Y/N) rose from her seat and headed for the door.

           Something in his mind screamed at him to stop her and he called, “(Y/N), wait.” She turned, waiting for him, and he confessed, “I…have yet to find a partner to attend with me.” He tried for a smile. “Would you do me the honor of attending with me?”

           A rare smile crossed her lips, and it made his heart thump wildly in his ribcage. “I shall.” She spun on her heel and opened the door.

           “I’ll have a dress ready for you!” he added, and she simply waved a hand in response.

           When the door shut, Haytham collapsed into his chair and breathed, “Oh god, what have I done?”

***

           He smiled politely at every couple that passed and while his composure gave off the feeling of full confidence, inside, Haytham was a mess. (Y/N) hadn’t shown up yet, and he felt like a fool waiting around for her. He briefly wondered if she was standing him up. And while he wouldn’t put it past her—because it was something she would absolutely do—he felt like she would’ve at least sent a note before it. He let out an inaudible sigh and the ladylike giggle from behind him nearly sent him a foot in the air. He spun and he followed up an elegant navy-blue gown adorned with glittering jewels; he felt like he’d been shot.

           (Y/N) stood there with a coy smile, the gown tailored perfectly to her. “Lord Haytham, if I may be so bold, it’s almost as if you’ve never seen a woman before.”

           His mouth opened and closed like a fish and he blurted out, “You look beautiful.”

           She pressed a hand to her chest, toying with the ribbon at her décolleté, “I feel I should’ve known this was the color you’d choose.” She took his arm and squeezed his bicep. “Navy Blue is your signature color.”

           Haytham swallowed thickly and cleared his throat. “It’s always been an easy color to request.”

           (Y/N) laughed delicately and whispered, “Liar.” She nodded to the doors. “Do be a gentleman and escort me.”

           He snapped his mouth shut to prevent any more embarrassing statements and did as she said. As they neared them, he murmured, “I can help you when you need it when dealing with the elite. Some things might be—”

           “I know how to act like a lady, Haytham.” Her words were short and clipped and they booked no room for questions, but something in the way her jaw set told Haytham that she’d learned etiquette in a less than pleasing way.

           “As you say,” he replied and tipped his head at the guards stationed at the doors.

           They walked inside and immediately he could feel the eyes of the room on him, and gauging (Y/N)’s reaction, she could too. But she merely smiled and batted her eyelashes as they passed the other attendees.

           She gracefully plucked two champagne chutes from a servant’s tray and handed one to Haytham. “Here,” she hummed, taking a sip of her own.

           He accepted it with a quiet, ‘thank you’, and raised it to his lips. It was light, bubbly, and pleasant to the palate and as it went down his throat, he looked to her. Her eyes inconspicuously drifted from the patrons of the ball, sometimes lingering on people she seemed to know, others she didn’t.

           “Anyone catch you eye, (Y/N)?” It came off more teasing than he’d meant, and she chuckled.

           “Why? Are you jealous, Haytham?” She stared into his steel eyes. “Afraid to lose to a colonial man?”

           His jaw twitched and a flash of indignation came across him, but not at her—rather the thought of some other man taking his place.

           A woman appeared from the side and practically squealed. “(Y/N)!”

           She turned her head, face brightening at the woman in the lavender gown. “Grace!” (Y/N) pulled away from Haytham and he almost made a noise of complaint at the loss of contact. She hugged the woman before pulling away, looking her up and down. “Look at you! You look absolutely wonderful!”

           Grace flipped her long golden hair. “Well, it’s all thanks to you!” Her green eyes shifted to Haytham and she nudged (Y/N) in the ribs; a flash of pain crossed her face and Haytham almost asked about it. “Who’s this handsome fellow you’re with?”

           (Y/N) shushed her. “Grace!” The woman giggled and she sighed. “He’s my boss.” She turned and held out her hand to Haytham. “Grace, meet Haytham Kenway. Haytham, this is an old friend of mine, Grace Montgomery.”

           Haytham took Grace’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, a charming smile on his lips as he greeted her. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Montgomery.”

           Grace giggled like a schoolgirl causing (Y/N) to roll her eyes. “The pleasure’s mine, Mister Kenway.” She looked at (Y/N). “If I wasn’t married to my Isaac, I’d be beating you away with a stick.”

           (Y/N) couldn’t fight the rather unladylike cackle that left her, and she quipped, “You and every other available bachelorette in the colonies.”

           The women laughed and Grace looked at Haytham. “Mister Kenway, I hope you’ll allow me to steal (Y/N) away for a few moments. Isaac and I owe her a lot, and we’d love to catch up with her.”

           Haytham saw a colleague coming his way in his peripheral and he smiled. “Of course. Please, enjoy your time.” He met (Y/N)’s eyes and winked, watching her turn away quickly, but with a smile.

***Later That Evening***

           For a master of observation and tracking, Haytham was absolutely clueless about where (Y/N) had gone. She’d made a game of catching his eye the entire night and sending him flirtatious smiles—at least, that’s what he hoped they were. But somehow, she’d managed to lose his watchful gaze and disappear into almost thin air.

           He inconspicuously looked around for her, not wanting anyone to know a man had lost his partner, god forbid anyone ask where she was. Haytham passed the balcony and stopped, catching sight of the familiar navy-blue gown billowing in the wind.

           He walked up behind her and leaned on the railing beside her. “Long night?” he asked.

           (Y/N) didn’t look at him, but a grin crossed her lips. “A lot of smiling and ass-kissing.” Her eyes drifted to the rose garden below them and she offered, “Care for a stroll in the gardens?”

           Haytham rose and held his hand out, watching her set hers in it. They ignored the looks people gave them and descended the stairs into the garden, finding refuge in the arch.

           She sat on the bench, Haytham beside her and she looked up at the sky. “It’s beautiful out here.”

           “It is,” he responded, but his eyes were on her. He watched her raise a hand to her ribs and gently prod the area. “Is something the matter?”

           (Y/N) glanced over then down at her hand. “Oh, no. I recently got a tattoo and I—”

           “A tattoo?!” Haytham’s voice reeked of incredulity.

           She rolled her eyes. “I take it you’re a tattoo-virgin, then?”

           He almost recoiled at being called a virgin of anything. “I’ve scars all across my body, but no…no tattoos.”

           “They’re not that bad.” (Y/N) shrugged. “It’s sore, but nothing serious.”

           “What is it?” Haytham asked, cheeks reddening, and he cursed himself at such delinquent thoughts running through his brain.

           “A sun and a moon.”

           “May I ask why those symbols?”

           (Y/N) met his eyes. “To remind me that with the night comes the day.” He eyes went to the stars. “That there is hope for tomorrow.”

           “That’s a beautiful sentiment, (Y/N).” he murmured.

           She huffed lightly. “Feels a bit childish.”

           “It’s not.”

           She looked over and smiled heartfully. “Thank you.” He tipped his head in acknowledgement.

           They lapsed into a peaceful silence and over time, their hands had drifted together, thumbs brushing the backs of them.

           (Y/N) let her eyes fall to the ground. “It covers the scar below my left breast.” She felt his eyes on her but refused to look at him. “In fact, it’s not a scar at all…but a brandmark.” (Y/N) heard his sharp intake of breath and she stood, suddenly feeling cramped.

           She took a few steps away and leaned against the opposite arch, gazing out at the cityscape. “I received it when I couldn’t pay back the ‘time and resources’ he’d poured into me.” Her fingers dug into her side and the pain relieved her tension. “I was beaten and abused…humiliated and assaulted.” The tears felt hot coming down her cheeks. “For fifteen years, I lived in hell.”

           “How’d you escape?”

           (Y/N) looked over her shoulder; Haytham had stood and begun walking in an arc to stand on the other side of the arch. “I wasn’t the only girl there. There were others.”

           “A harem then?”

           She nodded. “Of sorts.” (Y/N) let out a heavy breath and wiped her cheeks. “A woman named Na’ilah trained me to fight. With my body, with weapons, with anything I could hold.” She met Haytham’s gaze. “We planned for two years to escape but…someone found out and told.”

           “You obviously got out.” Haytham recognized.

           “I did.” She nodded. “Na’ilah had managed to send message to a merchant’s boat. The guards appeared as we were boarding.” (Y/N)’s face twisted painfully. “Na’ilah threw me up to the sailors and told them to go. She…stayed behind to fight the guards off.”

           “Did she succeed?” he asked.

           “She did,” (Y/N) answered with pride. “She saw me off with a tearful smile and I never saw her again.” She looked at him. “I was twenty-five. I had no money, nothing to my name, and nowhere to go, but somehow I managed to get to the colonies and from there on I’ve…” she sighed heavily, her shoulders dropping. “I’ve managed to survive.”

           Haytham stood up from his leaned position and held out his hand to her. She took it. “How many have you told your story to?”

           (Y/N) scoffed. “That I haven’t killed afterwards?” He didn’t say anything, and she lowered her eyes. “You’re the only one.”

           “Truly?”

           Her eyes shot to him and she scowled. “It’s not exactly something I find I enjoy reminiscing about, Haytham.”

           He shook his head. “I meant no disrespect, (Y/N).” He met her gaze. “I just assumed you’d found someone to tell.”

           “Haytham, I’ve built a life on killing men who abuse women like I was. I’ve never really found time to tell people my life story.”

           “And yet, you’ve told me.” His words were soft, and he stepped to her, free hand coming to rest on her cheek, warm and gentle.

           (Y/N) narrowed her gaze, but it wasn’t with suspicion, rather fondness. “And yet I’ve told you.”

           Haytham’s heart grieved for her, for her pain, but with it came the urge to protect her. To keep her from ever feeling harm again. The indignation from earlier came back and with a harsh thump to his ribcage, he finally found himself admitting it—he was irrevocably in love with (Y/N).

           “(Y/N), I want to—”

           His words were cut off by the brush rustling and they split like they’d been burned, eyes narrowing suspiciously at the intrusion. A boot stepped out and (Y/N) picked up the concrete vase, raising it in defense. Someone turned the corner, and she felt her arms go slack.

           “Shay?”

           The Irishman smiled, but it dropped when he saw the vase. “Oh my god, were you going to hit me with that?”

           “I mean—I don’t know!” (Y/N) gestured to him. “What the hell are you doing here?” She set the vase back down and he turned to face Haytham as well.

           “We’ve got a bit of a situation, sir. We need you both.” The two looked at one another and Shay smirked. “Were you two having a moment?”

           Their heads snapped to him and they both snapped, “No!” They met eyes and laughed, and Shay rolled his eyes, spinning on his heel.

           “Yeah, yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.”

           (Y/N) glared at the back of his head and hiked her dress up, kicking him in the rear as hard as she could. “Yeah, and with hair like that, you’d pass!”

           Shay howled and turned on her. “That wasn’t nice!”

           “I’m not nice, Shay! I’m a bitch!”

           He scowled at her. “If my father didn’t teach me to respect women, I’d agree with you, but I won’t.”

           Haytham watched the two of them as they bickered, but his eyes kept drifting to (Y/N)’s face and all he felt was warmth spreading though him.

[gainaxvel3o]

A Miraculous Tale of Rubybug and Cat Blake Chapter 5

Previous / First / Next

Watts up, Doc?

“Two of my pawns have been taken out of the board.”

Monarch paced around the room. Her face was framed by the purple light coming from the little butterflies surrounding her. Nooro’s magic felt wondrous to be around, intoxicating in it’s warmth, even corrupted by dark desire. “Tyrian Callows nearly succeeded in killing the champions,” Monarch spoke. “His pride got to him, but if trained well he would have made a proud Huntsman for me. The downside of involving the police in affairs. They let a body go to waste.”

She felt a shiver down her body. Poor Nooro… he continued to fight against her even knowing he didn’t have a chance. Such a small, whiny, pathetic little thing. Behaviors more suited to children than an ancient powerful being that of creation. Many myths would be destroyed by simply observing the Kwamis.

“I will need someone smarter. Wiser. A person susceptible to my power, who will be able to calculate the most efficient path to success.”

She closed her eyes. Butterflies were everywhere in the city, dismissed by most as just little flying insects interrupting their path. They didn’t know the butterflies could hear the whispers underneath their breath, the thoughts they hold back every waking moment…

Her eyes flashed red, her sclera briefly turning black.

“Yes… he will bring me the Miraculous!”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The first thing Blake Belladonna did when she woke up was brush her teeth.

The second thing she did was inspect her eyes in the mirror. She noticed the small circles forming under them. It had been difficult for her to find sleep for any given week. It only got worse since the other day, when she fought alongside Ladybug, against Scorpio.

“YOU TOOK AWAY MY POWER! I WAS SCORPIO! I AM SCOR-“

A loud ringing noise.

There was no peace in his eyes. Only shock.

“If you move then you’re gonna end up like him. Get down!”

“NINJA VANISH!”

Blake had heard about incidents like these. The police firing when they didn’t need to, against someone they shouldn’t have. Tyrian Callows was a murderer. There should be no guilt in his death. Even so, being in the moment when it happened, the bullet firing… that caught her off guard.

She wondered about Ladybug, imagining if her lady was having nightmares like she did. She wondered how she was able to cope with the death of a man, even if it wasn’t her fault.

“What’s been buggin’ you, gloomy cat?” Blake sighed. “Plagg.” “You gonna tell me?” The little cat Kwami grinned wildly. “Do I gotta be a bad kitty?”

“Do what you want. It is irrelevant to me.”

Blake swiped some locks of her hair away from her face. She closed her eyes, breathing in. “I hope Ladybug is okay. The fight the other day was intense.” “No need to worry. Tikki picks her champions well. No doubt she’s bounced back and ready to go, good as new as can be.”

“That’s a relief.”

It was. Ladybug came across as naive and nervous every time Blake met her. Skilled yes, but nearly always in trouble every time Blake arrived. Blake admired the girl’s spirit, but knew that she would need plenty of help. So long as Ladybug needed her, Chat Noir would be happy to serve.

Blake drank the water from the sink and spat it out. She took out a small tube, bringing out the pills and swallowing them.

“Plagg?” “Hm?”

“Why are the Miraculouses so special?” “They have us, pretty sure that makes them special.” “Chadwick. Scorpio. Both of them wanted our Miraculous. What would he need ours for?” “Ah… Yeah I should tell you.” Blake’s eyes snapped open. “You didn’t think it was important before?!” 

“No you’re right, let me explain.” Plagg said. “Tikki and I, we’re the Kwamis of Creation and Destruction. When we’re together we can accomplish miracles beyond anything mortal can imagine.”

“Like… genies?”

“Yeah, but we’re not bound by rules the way those twerps are. Whoever’s the boss has Nooro and probably wants Tikki and I to fulfill a wish.” “Hmmm…”

Blake shook the little rube in her hand. Her eyes narrowed a little. “So you could grant any wish right?” “Probably. Why, you gonna swipe the earrings?” “I won’t.” “Then why the question?” Blake hesitated, before deciding to risk it. 

“I’m just wondering if they could…” She shook the tube. “You know, make it so I don’t have to take these?” She had only rarely seen Plagg get serious around her. His mischievous smile gave away to a frown, contemplating her question. “It could do that yeah. You’d probably feel more comfortable without ‘em. Thing is, the type of magic we are… the wishes we grant come at a cost. In order to get a thing, something has to be given back.”

“Equivalent exchange…” Blake sighed again. “Nothing is ever free is it?” “I wish it were so, gloomy cat.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The corridors made Blake feel uneasy.

There were just so many… people. Students, teachers, employees… Blake tried to ignore them. She tried to ignore the noises and small talk that could be heard down the hallway; she tried not to look for any mention of her name that came with disgust or insult; no matter what she did, the feeling of anxiety came with her. At last, Blake glanced around trying to catch someone. Anyone. 

Nothing came. Nobody did.

It was silly. Nobody knew her, she was practically invisible to the crowd. They were too wrapped up in the hum and drum of their own lives to think anything of her. Even so, Blake felt uncomfortable. Even if she knew, logically, that no one stared at her, that no one knew her, she felt as if any moment somebody would jump out and call her by name, revealing her to the world. 

To her relief, no one did. Blake shuddered. College was supposed to be a fresh start for her. In many ways, it was exactly what she needed. Even though she walked into the room late, no one batted an eye. She took a seat behind her (so far) best friend, with no one the wiser.

“Mornin’ Blakey,” Yang winked at her. “Had trouble rollin’ out of bed?” If Plagg and Yang ever met, they’d probably make a great team. Blake thanked the universe they haven’t. Yet.

“My sleep schedule isn’t your concern Yang.” Blake placed her bag underneath her seat. “What’s the lesson for today?”

“Oh it’s just the doc rambling off. You haven’t missed much.”

“You will be missing something, Miss Xiao-Long.” The teacher twirled his brown mustache. “Your grade, if you keep speaking out of turn.” Yang narrowed her eyes in contempt before yawning. Dr. Arthur Watts was the type of man to carry himself with great self importance. His lab assistant, a man with green hair and glasses larger than his own eyes, fidgeted behind him. A machine lied in the middle of the table, a metal skeleton, the body split as if it was reaching for it’s toes.

“As you can see, students,” Dr. Watts spat out, “We’re supposed to be studying history. What better demonstration of history can there be, than actively participating in it?” “D-doctor,” Bartholomew Oobleck, the doctor’s assistant, stuttered while he sipped his coffee. “I must insist this to be a terrible idea! The prototype isn’t even out of testing stage!” “Nonsense. Activate the machine!”

Oobleck, against his better knowledge and wisdom, pressed the button on the robot. The almost sinister sounds of beeps and smoke rising were heard across the room, the metal skeleton raising itself up. It stared at the students, freaking them out with it’s slow deliberate patterns. Arthur Watts grinned.

“My machine was rejected for being an inferior product,” He said to the room. “As you can see, it is clearly nonsense. Wave at them my robot!”

It did so, mimicking the human action of waving hi at people to the best of it’s ability. However, everyone could see smoke rising from the machine’s head. A minor explosion was heard, the skeleton head twisting, turning and churning before falling to the floor, sending nuts and bolts flying around the room.

“A… minor setback.” Dr. Watts said finally. “But if I can make it work then I’ll finally be able to ascend to the scientific community! No more classes for me with idiotic, inattentive students at least!”

There was a moment of silence among the students who weren’t quite sure what to make of this display. Blake raised a hand up.

“Yes Miss Belladonna? Who I may remind you all was late to this lecture? Would you care to voice your objections?”

Blake was keenly aware of the chuckles from behind and in front of her. She put them aside. “I was late, I’ll try to keep that in check.” Blake said. “However, while this… experiment looks rather interesting, aren’t we supposed to be learning about American history?” Indignant at the response, Dr. Watts turned to his assistant, who was whispering little curses to himself. He was on his own for this. “But you are!” Dr. Watts shouted. “You’re participating in our experiment!” “Would it not be better to do it in an actual lab?” Blake said. “With actual doctors checking on it? Not in a classroom where we’re supposed to be learning something else entirely? No wonder you haven’t been certified yet, you’ve been very unprofessional.”

Laughter came. Not at Blake, but at the incompetent doctor she had to remind herself. Dr. Watts blushed furiously.

“A once in a lifetime opportunity…” Dr. Watts pouteed. “-and you throw it away?!?” “I told you this would happen Arthur,” Oobleck tried to reason. “Maybe we can open up the textbooks and get back on track, there’s still an hour-“

But the doctor wasn’t hearing any of it. He grabbed his coat and marched out of the room, ignoring the laughter of, in his mind, infantile ignoramus adults. “BAH! If this how they act then they are not worthy of me.”

The door slammed shut. Watts would complain to the Headmaster later. The stupid woman gave him an inattentive classroom. He brought out a cigar. 

“Stupid children, stupid Oobleck. I’m supposed to be a genius scientist but… graaargh! I’ll get revenge at some point.”

Arthur twirled his mustache, feeling something on his shoulder. He turned to see that what landed was a small butterfly.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Oobleck looked around not sure what to say. The students erupted into conversation, completely ignoring the green haired man. Any chance of a normal class had died when Watts left the room.

“Whoah Blake.” Yang whistled to her friend. “That was awesome.” “Not really.” Blake waved it off. "An idiot is a hot air balloon that needs to be popped, less they fly off into space and have it’s occupants freeze to death.” “Isn’t space a vacuum though?” Blake rolled her eyes.

“You okay though?” Yang asked. “You seem a bit tense.” Perceptive. Blake cursed in her head coming up with an excuse.

“I didn’t sleep well, so I’m a bit on edge.” Blake supposed that would do. “How did this guy end up a teacher, let alone our teacher?” “Ah, you missed that part of the opening act.” Yang said. “Dude apparently got fired from his old job, so Salem brought him here as a favor. Since every other position was filled he had teach history since he had the degree for it.”

“Ah, that does explain it. Salem is a nice person.” “Yeah, too nice.” Yang slumped on the table, resting her head on her shoulders. “Not that I’m ungrateful, but she should be more careful with who she picks ya know?”

Blake nods. “I suppose so.”

‘Then again.’ She thought. ‘If it weren’t for her… why I be allowed here?’

“Anyway,” Yang continued. “Wanna skip class? Ruby’s got some designs she wanted to show me, and I’m getting the distinct impression the teacher won’t be coming back.” “Maybe…” She felt her ring vibrate. “Um, maybe not today.”

“Oh come on we haven’t even hung out yet!”

“I’m sorry it’s just that I remembered something and-“

The door was suddenly kicked down. Blake and Yang turned their heads bewildered ash the sight.

“Hello children!” A raspy voice spoke to the classroom. “Do you want to participate in an EXCITING EXPERIMENT?!”

Blake surmised him to be yet another freakish villain, the same as Chadwick and Scorpio. The man had credit for going for something a bit more stylish than the other two. The black long coat mixed with the red scarf around the neck, the man’s eyes by oversized goggles and a cigar on the mouth.  “My my my, how come you’re not all excited? As a Huntsman of the Great and Mighty Monarch, I’m going to have to ask ALL OF YOU to sit down until those pathetic hero brats show up.”

“What is this madness Arthur?!?” Oobleck placed a shoulder on Dr. Watts. “How did you even change your outfit so quickly, you weren’t even in this when you-”

BAM! Oobleck fell to the floor, spasming from electric shocks as Dr. Watts blew away the smoke from the gun.

“Arthur Watts is a disrespected genius, but…” He smirked in delight. “KillerWatts will be happy to avenge him, I have so many plans to execute, with so little time!”

He pulled out another gun with his pocket right, firing both at the ceiling, leaving the lights dimmed and broken. The students could only watch in horror as the Shockslinger chuckled.

“What’s the doc doing?!”

“Is he like a supervillain? Like the guys Ladybug and Chat Noir fight?” “Shit we gotta go run!”

They were piling out and fast. Blake knew she needed to find a spot so she could transform into Chat Noir and take care of this villain. Perhaps she could take advantage of the chaos to find a place to hide. “Blake we gotta stick together!” Yang grabbed her friend’s arm. “Now move!” Or she could get dragged by Yang, away from any place they could do so. 

“Yang maybe we need to find a place to hide,” Blake pointed in one direction. “I could look for help over there-“ “Are you crazy?!?” Yang pulled harder. “I’m not leaving you alone for a second, c’mon!”

As her friend took her away, Blake realized that transforming would be a difficult task. She knew she needed to find out, but how? Where was Ladybug?

As she thought of that, KillerWatts cursed himself for allowing the brats to get away. His master already told him the mission: find the miraculous, bring it to her, everyone else was secondary. As much as he wanted revenge, KillerWatts knew he needed to set his priorities straight.

“Those insufferable little brats will get what’s coming to them later. For now though…” He walked over to his failed machine. Gently, Watts fired a bullet from his gun into the robot, causing blue electric waves to spread over the robot’a.

“We should spread a bit of chaos… just enough for Ladybug to appear."

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“Hey Ren! Look at this!” Nora stuffed a pair of peas into her mouth, then brought a straw to her lips. She spat the peas through the straw into the air, where it hit Cardin Winchester. He turned around, flipping the middler finger to Nora, who just waved at him. Ren clapped.

“Fantastic as always Nora.”

“Thanks Ren.” Pyrrha and Jaune decided to shrug at that. Jaune glanced over to Ruby, seeing her focused on her notebook.

“What’s up Ruby?” Jaune scooched over to Ruby. “Working on a new design right now?” 

“Huh?” Ruby blinked. “Oh yeah! Weiss suggested some ideas for designs and I’ve been trying to figure out how to get them right. I’m going to meet with her later to see what she thinks.” “… You’re working with Weiss?” Jaune raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you and Weiss umm… Hate each other?” “I don’t… hate her I guess?” Ruby shrugged. “I don’t like her, but she’s seen my designs and wants to help me get better. If I want to get a career going, I feel like I should get advice from someone who’s already working in the industry right?” “Makes sense.” Ren said. “If one studies the art of the blade, they mustn’t be too picky about who they learn it from.” “… yeah I guess?” ‘Ren can be so strange sometimes,’ Ruby thought. ‘At least he’s supportive?’ “You’re a fashion designer, Ruby?” Pyrrha asked. “Have you made any designs yet?” “Ohhhh she is, Pyrrha!” Jaune pointed at the notebook. “Ruby showed me her notebook during inauguration, she’s not half bad!” “Oh stop it Jaune!” Ruby giggled. “I’m not great… yet…” “Ruby’s a fashion designer?!” Nora popped in front of Ruby, which startled the girl. "COME ON LET US SEE!”

“Nora, that’s not how you ask friends for favors. You do it from an approximately two feet away so you’re at tackling distance.” “Oh right sorry Ren.” Nora pulled back. “May we pleaaaase see your cool stuff? Please?” Ruby felt eyes on her. She wanted to keep some ideas to herself but… well these were her friends… Ruby supposed it would’t be a problem this one time.  Laughing awkwardly, she laid out her notebook for her friends.

“It’s not much but… here they are!” They looked at her notes in awe at the skill. There were pictures and drawings of elaborate, elegant outfit designs, inked to the slightest detail, with notes on the side explaining how they were supposed to be stitched, what fabrics would work with this or that, each dress not just sticking to one style but dipping into other types. Goth, pastel, others, Ruby had a talent for not just doing one, but knowing how to mix them together.

“Wow Ren look at these! I gotta ask Ruby to make our wedding outfits!” “Agreed. She is quite adept.” “These aren’t bad.” Pyrrha looked at Ruby. “Have you thought about posting these online?” “Maybe?” Ruby said. “I only just started college… I want to keep a low profile now.”

“Low profile?!” Jaune pointed at a design in the book. “Ruby that kind of t talent should be out there for all to see!”

“I just don’t think I’m ready that’s all.” Pyrrha noticed how Ruby was nervous, so she laid a hand on Jaune’s shoulder to calm him down. “I can understand what you mean, Ruby.” Pyrrha smiled. “I came here so I could avoid too much publicity. Do consider my point though. If you want opportunities you’re going to have to take risks. Not just here, for all life.” “Huh…” Ruby frowned. “That’s what Weiss said.” “She’s right, Ruby.” Pyrrha placed a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “I might be able to put in a good word for you.” “You could?!?” Ruby’s eyes lit up before she gently brought Pyrrha’s hand away. “Uh ahem, let me think about it. Maybe.”

She thought of the possibilities that could come from this. Maybe other designers will see them and give her a chance? With Pyrrha, a popular athlete, giving a good word maybe something could be done. But would it work? Of course her friends would praise her. Maybe she should need to speak to Weiss first. She’d probably tell her not to do it, being an expert and all. What if she did get people to notice her but they turn her down?

(What if she saw it?)

“HOLY CRAP, RUN!” Ruby heard it before her earrings vibrated. A panicked student ran down the mess hall just as a set of walls broke, revealing a robot with blue sparks surrounding it.

“Kill the brats.” The robot spoke. “Bring the miraculous to the Master!”

“Shit what was that?!?” Jaune got up from the chair. “We gotta move!”

Ruby knew she had to act quickly. She pushed the notebook into her bag and ran with the others. Nora fired peas from her straw at the robot. They disintegrated upon impact due to the electric current. Thankfully for her Ren grabbed her hand and moved with Jaune. “Why is it attacking us, here?” Pyrrha turned her head led and right. “Where’s Ruby?!”

Jaune turned around, having just noticed his friend’s absence. “Ruby, RUBY!!!”

The robot turned it’s attention towards Jaune, who was desperately looking around.

“RUBY!” “Jaune watch out!" A red spot appeared on Jaune’s chest. Before he could get fired on, a yoyo appeared over Jaune’s arm, pulling him away from laser fire. “You should be more careful.” Ladybug said. “This is the second time I saved you. Get going!” “But Ruby-!” “I’ll find her soon, but move!” Ruby felt guilty sending her friend away. She had ducked under a table during the chaos. She knew what she had to do.

“Okay you bucket of bolts!” Ladybug shouted to the robot. “Let’s see what you’re made of!” The robot fired concentrated electric blasts at Ladybug, but she was quick and nimble, leaping across the tables with ease. Her eyes narrowed, she used the yoyo to catch one of the robot’s legs, pulling on it to break it off. Once it did, the robot fell to the side, firing at Ladybug again. However, she jumped through the air, raising a leg to attack it’s head.

SMASH! The head went flying, falling just a few steps away. Ladybug let out a breath.

“Holy crap.” Ruby said to herself. “I should be careful with my own strength. She waited for the butterfly to come out, to de-grimmify the robot, fix the area, get some answers. Chat would appreciate a situation she didn’t have to be called for.

“I guess this isn’t it.” Ladybug said. “That means the real Huntsman must be in here somewhere.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

It was hard for Blake to concentrate when she could hear bullets flying in the air.

“Hahahahaha! Stupid kids are going to get what’s coming to them!”

She heard the doctor shout his grazed ramblings behind her. She cringed as Yang took her behind a wall.

“Which way do we go? That bastard’s gonna track us down sooner or later.” Yang looked around. “Where’s Ladybug and Chat Noir when you need ‘em?”

Blake wished she could laugh. She wasn’t sure about Ladybug, but Blake would certainly not be able to answer her about Chat Noir. Unless Plagg decided to take control right now, Blake wasn’t sure she wanted to risk her identity just yet to Yang.

“Maybe if we head down the mess hall.” Blake pointed. “Maybe we could get help.“

“Yeah, great idea.” Yang’s eyes widened. “Wait no. Ruby’s with her friends in the cafeteria. What if he gets there?”

Damn. Blake hadn’t considered that. “Maybe…” Blake tried to think. “Maybe we could head into a different classroom? Call someone?”

“Maybe. I don’t know I-” Yang breathed in and out. “God things have gotten weird so quickly.” “What do you mean?” “What, the superheroes, the donkey monsters, the scorpion guy, now our teacher’s a crappy cowboy? World’s gone insane since we showed up in town.”

Blake laughed. “Yeah they have. I wish I could say things’ll get better but…” “I wouldn’t believe it if it came from you. You’re too gloomy for nice thoughts.” “Harsh, though not unfair." “I’m good at reading people like that.”

Oh Plagg would love Yang if they met. Maybe…

“Yang I think…” Blake breathed. “I think I might have a way out of this.” Yang raised an eyebrow. “Well out with it, I don’t think I have any- GAAH!“ Blake watched in horror as Yang fell to the ground. She clutched her arm, bleeding from the side. Blake saw a hole where Yang’s arm originally was. “Ggh! What the hell?!?”

“Do you enjoy my handiwork?” KillerWatts grinned at the frightened teenagers. Better yet, these two were the slackers who made a fool of him in today’s class. “Foolish children. You mock and insult your betters…” He raised a gun at Yang. "Who’s laughing now?!!!?” It amused KillerWatts when Blake stood in between Yang and himself. She raised her hands in defiance.

“Don’t hurt my friend! Do whatever you want to me, just let her go!”

“B-Blake no-!” “Idiot.” Dr. Watts’s eye twitched. “You’re the one who humiliated me… You don’t deserve even one of my bullets.” He grabbed the offending student and threw Blake through the window.

“Say good bye!” “BLAKE!”

As she was tossed out of the window, Blake thought about the events that lead up to this moment. Her past, her present, her friendships with Yang, Ladybug… Ruby… she couldn’t let them die.

“Plagg, Claws-"

Blake felt arms surrounding her shoulders before she could even spout the words. She looked to see her savior, as they landed at the lawn. “You alright miss?” Ladybug said. “You’re not injured?”

Blake blushed, nodding her head.

“Good.” Ladybug cleared her throat. “You better hurry inside. My partner hasn’t shown up yet and I need to stop the villain quickly.” “Of course… I won’t get in your way.” Blake’s eyes widened. “Watch out for the doctor! He has guns! He shot my friend Yang in the arm.”

She was surprised at the way Ladybug glared. “He won’t get away with it, I promise.”

As Ladybug jumped up to face the evil scientist, Blake dashed away. She rubbed the ring.

“What’s up gloomy cat?” “Plagg, CLAWS OUT!” _____________________________________________________________________________________ “Well well well, if it isn’t Ladybug! You arrived at last.”

Ruby watched Yang bleed out next to the villain and saw red. How dare this pathetic, cruel little man do that to her sister?! He had to pay.

“Monarch demands your earrings.” KillerWatts pointed a gun at her. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint your highness, would you?” “She’ll have to pry them off herself, over my dead body.” “That can be arranged.” Without a moment’s hesitation, the fight began. KillerWatts fired at her, but Ladybug quickstepped past them as if they were slower than dirt. She threw her yoyo to tangle one of Watts’ arms.

“Do you think that will be enough?!” Watts fired his other gun to break the Yoyo’s string. “You really are a child-“ A sharp pain! The gun was knocked away from his right hand. Ladybug had another yoyo in her hand.

“Why you-!” She ducked below him, kicking him off balance. KillerWatts immediately fired from his left hand, which Ladybug jumped away to avoid them. Watts got up quickly, just in time to avoid two strikes from two yoyos. Somehow Ladybug’s broken yoyo repaired itself.

“You’re fast, Ladybug.” He said. "Not fast enough.” He fired again. Ladybug dodged again.

“You’re not particularly creative, sir.” Ladybug said. “Even Chadwick varied his monsters.” “It’s KillerWatts dear. Watch what you say brat-“ The bullets froze in mid air.

“-You might end up regretting it!” Ladybug was surprised by how fast the bullets moved. She had to keep herself moving less they hit her.

“What the heck are these?” “Fool! You think Monarch hands out powers without imagination! Your efforts so far-“

The bullets glowed.

“-WILL DETONATE BEFORE YOUR EYES!”

Miniature explosions shocked Ladybug still, the current making her drop to her knees. “GAAAAAAAH!” “Heh heh.” “No…” Yang tried to get up, but her arm hurt so badly. “Ladybug no!”

KillerWatts laughed, walking over to his defeated foe with nary a concern.

“A fitting end to a worthless brat. It is a wonder that the others had so much problem with her. The difference between peons and a genius.” He reached over to the earrings… before something slammed into his chest. KillerWatts jumped away, pointing guns at the intruder. “You won’t lay a hand on her.” Chat pointed her staff at him. “Surrender now.” “Oh great.” Dr. Watts sneered. “More naughty children to kill.” He fired several shots at Chat, who smashed them all at once with her staff. One by one they were each broken to KillerWatts’ amazement. “I have to study that staff… after I take it from your corpse!”

Chat moved quickly. She didn’t even flinch at the bullets moving towards her, smashing some as she ran towards her target. “Say your prayers!” “Wrong thing to say, kitty cat.” The bullets that Chat hadn’t destroyed detonated again. This time, they formed an electric trap around her. “You…” Chat said. “What did you do?!” “I dare you to move towards me, I dare you.”

Chat glared at her opponent. She took a step, but a laser shot near her foot, leaving a black spot on the floor. The laser fired again, which Chat had to move. Ladybug came to. She noticed KillerWatts laughing while her partner was dodging the lighting in the trap. She had to figure out a way to help out her friend.

“Here goes nothing…” She whispered. "Lucky charm!” Tikki had told her of this ability. When pushed into a dangerous situation, Ladybug wielders can summon an object that will help turn the tide of battle. Ruby didn’t have a choice but to use it. The yoyo glowed, releasing…

“A razor?” Ladybug picked up the electric razor with her hand. She looked it up and down.

“What the heck? This is supposed to help me against that psycho?!? What am I supposed to do, shave off his mustache?” She blinked. “Oh you gotta be kidding me.” Given who she was dealing with, it wouldn’t surprise her. Ruby sighed.

“Okay let’s get this going.”

“Hahahahahaha dance for me you stupid cat!” KillerWatts laughed. “Give praise to your superior mind!”

Chat cursed in her head as she moved from the laser. Why did the Butterfly miraculous grant it’s users these versatile, almost overpowered abilities while she and Ladybug were so limited?! It angered her over it’s unfairness.

“When I get out of here, I’m going to rant to Plagg. Maybe limit his cheese until I-“ “Chat grab on!” She blinked as the yoyo appeared in the trap. Chat grabbed it, and felt herself being pulled from the trap.

“What?” KillerWatts’ eye twitched. “No…” “Thank you my lady.” Chat collected herself. "What’s the plan?” Ladybug showed her the electric razor. “What are you-“ Chat’s eyes darted from the razor to KillerWatts. “Oh. That makes far too much sense.” They dashed one last time. The dup kept switching places, avoiding the bullets again.

“Damn you!” KillerWatts shouted. “Die!” Chat went in front of Ladybug, destroying a few bullets, while Ladybug used both of her yo-yos to move them closer to their opponent. “Die!”

He was about to fire again, but they were knocked away by a yoyo and a staff strike.

“YOU ALL SHOULD JUST DIE!!!!” He shouted even as Blake grabbed his arms behind him, Ladybug activating the razor.

“No stop-!”

SHZZZZ

His mustache was gone. Destroyed, in the blink of an eye, by the razor. Arthur couldn't even process this blasphemy happening as the butterfly appeared. Ladybug caught the glowing insect with her yoyo.

“MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!” As it happens in these situations, the ladybugs fixed everything. KillerWatts was no more, as Dr. Arthur Watts lied in the ground, probably knocked out from the shock of his mustache gone. Ladybug and Chat gazed at each other.

“That man is so fired.” Chat said. “Not bad Ladybug. You were great today.” “You’re not so bad yourself, Chat.” Ladybug said. “You ok?” “I am.” “Me too!” Yang swung her arm around freely. She was cheery “Damn my arm’s good! Would be a shame if I lost it.” Ladybug and Chat laughed awkwardly at that joke. Yang smiled before panicking. “Oh crap! I need to find Blake! And Ruby! Sorry guys gotta run!" Yang ran off to the hallway. Ladybug and Chat shrugged.

“See you around Chat.” “Likewise, Bugaboo.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“Foiled again. This is getting so annoying.” Monarch slammed a fist at the table. KillerWatts did come closer to capturing the miraculous than the other two, but almost is not the same as total victory. She had to change her strategy somehow. How did they arrive to the school so quickly?

She stopped herself.

“How did they arrive so quickly to the school?”

Monarch turned on her computer. She typed into the mainframe, pulling up a list of students from this year. She smirked in realization. 

“It seems not all was lost today. I may have a clue.”

Author’s Notes:

I was originally gonna have Arthur be like this Frankenstein parody “FrankenWatts” but that fell through. I was also going to call hi “The ShockSlinger” but my friend came up with KillerWatts, which was a way better name. Thank you friend for having more sense than me!

I was going to have more moments between Blake and Ladybug to sort of set up a Ladrien situation, but the story didn’t feel right for such a thing. I hope you’re satisfied anyway!

[roc-thoughtblog]

Sense and Sensibility Readthrough Part 7.5

Or, where I was gonna start chapter 11, but needed to talk about why I thought Willoughby's observation was wrong.

And then, of course, I turned it into something really long, so that's taken up my reading session today. (I still haven't finished writing my thoughts on Narrative Voice either, because it has gotten loooong.)

Anyway.

"Brandon is just the kind of man," said Willoughby one day, when they were talking of him together, "whom everybody speaks well of, and nobody cares about; whom all are delighted to see, and nobody remembers to talk to."

Elinor is right, here, that Willoughby is demonstrably wrong in his assessment of Colonel Brandon's social activity. It's not merely the fact that Elinor herself has taken an interest in Brandon enough, but simply the fact that Willoughby's claim that nobody remembers to talk to Brandon, is predicated on Willoughby himself dismissing the existence/value of the Middletons in general. It's not true that Brandon is not spoken to, it's that he's not spoken to by an arbitrary class of people whom Willoughby thinks matters, such as Willoughby, Marianne and Elinor, which he himself is a part of.

> "That he is patronised by you," replied Willoughby, "is certainly in his favour; but as for the esteem of the others, it is a reproach in itself. Who would submit to the indignity of being approved by such a woman as Lady Middleton and Mrs. Jennings, that could command the indifference of anybody else?"

We know the Middletons speak to him, because Willoughby himself admits it, but we also know from his own words that they don't count, only Elinor does. In fact, he considers them a negative. Social noise. Detractors by association even, a bad or shallow crowd. I wouldn't be surprised is he considers servants here also. After all, Marianne has already said as much in her statements around being 27, and we're lead to believe they share perspective on most things. Were it to be that Colonel Brandon was comfortable and sociable with the Middletons' maids and butlers, I think Willoughby would still consider him an unfortunate case.

And importantly, we know that the Middletons don't restrict themselves to just speaking with him, they also do care about him and his problems. Elinor has referenced that Sir Middleton clearly knows about whatever has troubled his history, and does have an investment in seeing the man socialise. Mrs. Jennings, for all her misplaced enthusiasm, does have an interest in his romantic life or woes as it may be. Just because these cares are aligned with their own interests of socialising and matchmaking, doesn't invalidate them. (Can't say much for Lady Middleton but the narrative has ventured that Lady Middleton specifically is a little cold outside the topic of her own children.) And, you know, who knows what other friends Brandon may have. We aren't him. He was even a Colonel, he must at least have military mates.

We see the Middletons as very flawed individuals because the narrative has framed them this way. Sir Middleton is ignorant, Lady Middleton is self-absorbed and Mrs. Jennings is shallow; on this line we're also expected to dismiss their value as individuals and friends at least slightly, the same way Willoughby and Marianne do.

But really, we can turn that assessment straight around, on Marianne in particular. She can be considered narrow-minded and dismissive. Arrogant perhaps, maybe even cold to people who are unfamiliar to her. As self-absorbed as Lady Middleton, perhaps, or as shallow as Mrs. Jennings. She's not so different, but she gets a pass inside the story for being young and pretty, and out of story for being the protagonist. It's easier to dismiss her flaws because they are presented, but not highlighted. But, again, we can turn that back around for the Middletons! If perhaps Brandon were the protagonist, would Mrs. Jennings have the same cheerful warmth as Mama Middleton? Maybe Lady M does care, but is simply detached like Elinor? There is certainly nobody in the story as genuinely generous and well-meaningly sociable as Sir M.

How might the Dashwoods appear then? Elinor might be cold, disinteresting, even if she shows some care. Marianne, pretty but vain and shallow; friendly, but mayhap just as likely to ask somebody to sing a song she just heard, or to bulldoze somebody with her opinions. Mama Dashwood might even appear as self-absorbed in her own family as Lady M; she made a point not to socialise beyond walking distance.

Either way, my point being, they are not so different. Watch Willoughby or anyone, including herself, give Marianne the time of day if she were older or dumpier! Or a servant! Is my statement here to mean that noone will give her attention? No, actually. Plenty of nice, genuine, and flawed people will anyway. Just that Willoughby and Marianne themselves, and anybody with that particular flaw of pride, would not.

So, yeah! Willoughby's observation was incorrect, and very myopic really. Such is youth, except come on man, Marianne is 17 but you're my age. You should know better! Man's definitely coasted on some social privilege his whole life and it shows.

"I do not dislike him. I consider him, on the contrary, as a very respectable man, who has everybody's good word, and nobody's notice; who, has more money than he can spend, more time than he knows how to employ, and two new coats every year."

I think Willoughby genuinely considers himself to not dislike Brandon. After all, he doesn't hate him, and he knows he has no reason to dislike him. I think Willoughby is the type of person who genuinely considers themselves to not dislike anyone, because, again, he has no reason to. They don't matter to him in that way.

But I think his general attitude speaks for itself. After all, he does find Lady Middleton and Mrs. Jennings thoroughly disrespectable, even by association. He considers Brandon a respectable man, but only in the ways in which he considers Brandon to have potential to be amongst people like himself and Marianne. He otherwise has everything callous to say about the aspects of Brandon's personality and circumstance that keep him from joining what he perceives as a more lively and acceptable strata of sociability. He certainly takes no issue with Marianne's actual open dislike of the man. (Though, come to think of it, that may be at least in part Mrs. Jenning's fault for setting her on him through thoroughly inappropriate real-person-shipping.)

I do think Willoughby has a great, mostly unvoiced disdain for Brandon's crowd, and I think that disdain extends to Brandon himself for having just enough potential to escape it, but not doing so. I get flashbacks to cases like in To Kill a Mockingbird (and uh, real life...) where people don't think they're racist, but also quite obviously don't think anything of the black community, and also look down on anyone who associates with them, like the guy has to always pretend he's drunk, and Atticus Finch himself. Disliking other people is a bad thing that other people do! This case is probably nowhere near as serious, but it comes from similar places on basic levels. Exclusivity, tribalism, elitism, prejudice, ostracisation, from where deeper, deeper problems take root.

STATUS! That's a word that could have been useful to me but I haven't used.

Anyway, I take this perspective because it's not as though I wasn't there too at one point, though absolutely nowhere near the extent of Marianne or Willoughby. I certainly didn't hold those conscious opinions, but I still felt the pressure to define the boundaries of people I should befriend, and I did unjustifiably dismiss people who I thought were dismissable by arbitrary social standards I didn't even understand. And for what? After all, I was exactly the same type of arbitrarily dismissable person! I was a weird kid! Weird kids are not socially prestigious material!

It's strange how easily ingrained that arbitrary-social-boundary-drawing is. Seriously, where exactly are children getting it from? Answer’s probably obvious but I’m already going too long.

I think, it's a very important thing to unlearn. If not least because it's a source of very deep societal problems, it can also potentially be another thing that leads somebody into a situation of, "everybody speaks well of, and nobody cares about; whom all are delighted to see, and nobody remembers to talk to." Not because noone cares or wants to speak to them, but because they've arbitrarily blinded themselves to people who do! There will of course be Willoughbys and Mariannes who don't care about you and think little of you, but at the end of the day they're a minority, and in terms of social interaction they're really no different from every other Middleton who might genuinely care.

It's ironically a fate that will most likely to hit hardest a Marianne or Willoughby who falls from social grace. After all, if they lose whatever privilege of personality or appearance, wealth or youth that keeps them afloat, they'd have noone to care about them or to talk to! Just lots and lots of Middletons, or probably worse. And befriending those people would involve, gasp, lowering your social standards! Descending to the level of people whom you have implicitly thought to have been beneath you this whole time! And now you've become a Brandon, who is old, and most unfortunately boring, and who only interacts with the Middletons, who don't count.

What a terrible fate!

Final Thoughts: So yeah, I think Willoughby was wrong, and also I think he's more than a little disdainful. He's definitely the kind of guy who has always had the luxury of arbitrarily making his choice of social affiliation, and has never had to challenge his prejudices. If he thinks nobody wants to talk to Brandon, well, on top of not being correct, he's also quite satisfied to play his own role in Brandon's perceived ostracisation. Not saying you are obligated to socialise with people whom you don’t have any interest in, but man, there’s no reason to do ‘em like that.

Wait, I've definitely used both the words pride and prejudice in this tangent. Hmm.

Anyway, making friends, and especially connecting with them, can be hard, but Brandon at least seems to be doing fine. The kids just have a superiority complex.