#it may have something to do w the fact that they both heavily crave love but are too scared to be genuine

[shortcakelils]

Lily and Cup as Stolitz makes so much sense and idk why 😭

teehee

[writtenvisionary]

Not Her Idea

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WC: 2.9k

Summary: She most definitely did not adopt a small black cat and name him Mini Noir. Nope. But she can't help but swoon over what an adorable sight the real superhero with his mini namesake is. Based on this Tumblr post by @akuma-eater

It wasn’t her idea. It most definitely was NOT her idea to adopt a black kitten and name it after Chat Noir. Nope. If you ask, her parents were the ones who insisted. Because it was not her who suggested it.

She would definitely regret it later if she did. But she didn’t.

Although as Marinette pets the small, soft creature, a smile forms on her face. He rubs up against her, craving attention. Of course she gives it to him; who is she to deny?

She was still debating if she should tell her partner or not. His ego is already so huge, and there are so many of his fans that have named a pet after him already. If he knew that his own partner named her cat after him?

She would never hear the end of it.

There was also the fact that Alya would freak about the name and start demanding answers, because what teenage girl in Paris wasn’t attracted to the, admittedly hot, superhero? Again, she would never hear the end of it.

But when the words slipped out of her mouth in class, her friends immediately wanted to see the new kitten. Which makes sense. She really should have expected it. So she said that they can all come over after school and meet the little guy.

Now she’s frantically running around her room, tidying up before they make their way into her space, while Mini Noir innocently sits on her chaise, staring at her with wide green eyes.

All posters of Adrien ripped down: check. Scattered trash in garbage bin: check. Litter box cleaned and kitten has food and water: check. Fabric put away: check.

“Tikki, hide,” she whispers to her kwami, who promptly phases into her purse on her desk.

She takes a deep breath.

“Alright, you can come up!” She calls.

Footsteps are then heard making their way up the steps, and suddenly she’s not alone in her room anymore.

Attention is immediately turned to the kitten on her chaise. She watches in awe as Alya coos over her, and Nino rests a hand on his girlfriend’s shoulders, keeping her grounded. He reaches over to pet Mini Noir with his other hand, who leans into his touch and starts to purr.

Marinette glances over at Adrien. Her knees buckle at the look of pure happiness in his eyes, and she can feel a her cheeks heating up. Their eyes meet and she smiles.

“Y-you w-wanna pet the smitten, I MEAN kitten?”

He sends her a grin and nods. 

She somehow finds the strength to look back at her other friends.

“Hey guys, can A-Adrien see him?”

Yeah, she hates the stutter just as much as Alya does.

They agree and happily back up so that the blonde model can pet the little creature. Adrien slowly takes a few steps forward and puts out his hand for the kitten to smell. After deciding that Adrien is apparently a safe human, he rubs against his hand.

“Aw,” he mumbles. “He’s so sweet.”

Her heart melts.

“Hey, Mari. What’s his name? You didn’t tell us at lunch.”

She barely hears the question. Her eyes are trained on her crush as he carefully picks up the kitten and sits down, letting Mini Noir stand up on his lap. He gently pets him, coaxing him to lay down.

“Marinette,” Alya says, catching her attention.

“Oh,” she looks to her, then gulps.

Should I tell her? She’s not gonna let me live this down.

…. Oh, whatever. He needs people to refer to him as something.

“Mini Noir, or just Minou.”

Marinette looks back to Adrien, not wanting to see her bff’s reaction, and bites her lip. 

His grin had softened, but his eyes are watering. He continues to pet her kitten, who had finally laid down, as he blinks to stop the tears from falling.

“Are you okay, Adrien?”

He looks up at her, and suddenly he can’t stop the salty liquid from rolling down his cheeks. A smile crosses his features.

“I’m perfectly okay. Just… wish I had a cat.”

Not that she has a say, because she sucks at lying herself, but she can tell that he’s not telling the truth. Something seems… off.

“I get it. I’ve wanted a pet for so long. I can’t imagine what it’s like being alone in that huge house with no one, not even a pet,” she says, and woah she just talked to him without stuttering.

Adrien nods, looking back down at his secret namesake, and scratching behind his ears. Even though it may compromise his identity, he has to come visit tonight as Chat Noir. He has a right to meet a cat named after him, right? He doesn’t want to leave him at all.

But he has no choice. His father needs him home by four o’clock to get ready for his interview at six. Not that he’s excited for it, but he doesn’t want to disappoint the man any more than he already has. He’s sick of being a failure.

With that depressing thought in mind, he lets out a sigh.

“I gotta get going, guys. Let me know if you ever wanna hang out again and I’ll see what I can do.”

The three of his friends nod, Marinette looking oddly worried, and Adrien takes Mini Noir in his hands. He stands, handing the kitten to his favorite everyday Ladybug, but not before leaving a kiss atop the cat’s little head.

After he leaves, the atmosphere turned awkward. 

Nino grunts.

“His dad is getting on my last nerve,” he grumbles. “You guys don’t even know half the shit he goes through. I wanna get him out of there, but I don’t know how.”

Marinette’s eyebrows furrow.

“What’s going on?”

“Yeah, Nino, you haven’t even told me anything. And I’m dating you. So?” Alya asks, hands on her hips.

The DJ sighs, taking his cap off and running a hand over his short hair.

“Gabe isolates him from his friends, doesn’t eat with him at dinner, and Adrien has to set an appointment to even see him. That’s neglect. Gabriel is not a good father, and something tells me there’s something he does behind closed doors that Adrien can’t tell me about.”

Alya and Marinette stare at him, now concerned.

“Well, what can we do?” Marinette asks.

Nino shakes his head.

“Nothing. I’ve tried to talk to Gabriel, and obviously I was banned from the mansion. Adrien doesn’t think there’s anything wrong, Nathalie keeps saying that it’s not her business, and the Gorilla doesn’t even talk.”

“True, and even if we’re able to convince Adrien that his father is a dickhead, we won’t be able to do anything because he’s rich and famous and will probably be able to overrule any charges we press,” Alya explains with an eye roll.

The entire subject makes Marinette’s heart pound, and she honestly just wants the focus to go back on her kitten.

So, she swallows and forces a smile.

“We’ll figure it out. You guys wanna play with him for a bit while I help my parents down in the bakery?”

Both friends agree with an excited nod, so she hands off Mini Noir to Alya and rushes down the stairs. The tension in that room was too much for her to handle. She needed to get away.

—

Marinette sits at her desk, hand-sewing her latest design with soft music sounding from her speaker. Her face twists in concentration as she tilts her head, readjusting the position of her hands to work at a better angle.

A knock at her top bedroom hatch startles her.

Gently setting down the piece she was working on, she stands and takes a few steps to the other side of her room. Then she glances up at the window on the hatch above her loft bed, and smiles at the sight.

She really should have guessed.

He comes by every other night. Originally, it was for some pastries for his kwami, but it soon became time for him to unwind after a busy day. She has come to quite enjoy his presence.

It’s why she named her kitty after him; he was so important to her, and so was Chat Noir.

“Coming,” she calls to him as she steps up the ladder.

When she reaches the hatch, her eyes lock with the black cat hero before pushing it open.

He jumps right through the opening, landing right on top of her bed. She shakes her head as she closes it, eyeing him through her peripheral. His forearm lay over his eyes, head on the pillow, breathing heavily.

“You good, kitty?”

He nods, pulling his arm away to look at her.

“My dad wanted me home for an interview earlier and then said he didn’t want me to go,” he frowns. “I had to leave my friends. I didn’t want to, and I didn’t even need to!”

“Aw,” she mumbles, lowering herself at the end of her bed.

“Well, I think I have something that will cheer you up!”

One of his eyebrows perks up, as well as the corner of his lips. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

She holds up a finger, trying to stifle an excited smile, then makes her way down from the loft.

A soft mew is heard from below, catching Chat Noir’s attention. So he looks over her railing, and the pure glee he feels when a black kitten is spotted cannot be tamed. His grin hurts, eyes following Marinette’s movements as she struggles to catch him (or her, he didn’t know) from running around the room. When she finally secures the small creature in her hands, she huffs a sigh of relief. Chat bites his lip, watching in awe.

She’s so adorable. 

Oh, and the cat’s adorable too.

Marinette struggles as she walks up her ladder, out of breath, but ultimately looks up at Chat Noir with a winded smile.

“Meet,” she swallows, “Mini Noir, or Minou.”

“Aw, oh my gosh. You named him after me? Mari, really?”

She could tell that his question was full of innocence, despite how teasing the word’s connotations are.

“Of course,” she feels her cheeks heat up. “You mean a lot to me. I would name a million things after you, Chaton.”

Chat Noir tried to stop it, but tears started forming all over again. Just… knowing that he actually means something to someone… it’s overwhelming. Not to mention that he loves cats. This is like a double whammy.

He’s so happy. He wishes he knew how to thank her. For now, a simple smile and hug would have to do.

She lets herself be engulfed in his arms, replying to his “Thank you” with an “Always.” He makes sure to leave room for their furry friend, who had resolved to curling up in Marinette’s lap.

When they separate, Chat Noir immediately looks down at the kitten, petting him with a smile.

Mini Noir stares at his honorary father with wide, green eyes and a little heart-shaped nose that nearly makes Chat melt. He scratches behind the kitten’s ears, enjoying the purrs that erupt from him. He wishes he could restrain himself from purring, but that seemed frivolous because he doesn’t even know when he starts.

Marinette giggles beside him and he sighs, not taking his eyes off Mini Noir.

“Was I purring again?”

“Yup,” she says, popping the ‘p.’

Then fingers are running through his hair and everything around him comes to a stop. His eyes flutter closed, and he leans into her touch. His purr returns, unwillingly, as he accepts the pets from Marinette. An angry meow from her lap makes his hand start moving again, giving Mini Noir the same treatment that his favorite fashion designer was giving him.

He was in heaven; experiencing pure ecstasy, feeling a kind of love that he hasn’t felt in such a long time. And the kitten… he just feels so appreciated.

Understandably, he’s disappointed when she pulls away. He glares at her, frowning hard, but she only boop’s his nose and hands the kitten over to him.

“Sorry, Chat. Gotta get those treats from the bakery, and set up the video game. Have fun!”

He shakes his head, leaning back on the bed and letting the kitten crawl on top of him. His little paws knead into his leather suit, leaving his claws to dig into the leather, so he ends up having to tenderly pull his paws off of him. He rubs the pads, gently massaging them. Mini Noir lets him, surprisingly. In fact, he plops down onto his back and stretches, allowing his paws to web out.

Chat Noir giggles, “Hey, princess? Are you sure this one’s for me?”

She scoffs.

“No, Chaton. This is my kitty. You just get the pleasure of seeing him a lot.”

He feigns hurt, dramatically gasping.

“You mean that I’m not your kitty?”

Marinette groans, “You know what I meant. Besides, aren’t you Ladybug’s kitty?”

Chat shrugs, looking back at the cute ball of fluff on his stomach. He smiles.

“I don’t think so. She calls me ‘kitty’ but it’s just a nickname. We’re not together or anything.” His voice drops into something smaller as he takes ahold of his mini’s paws again. “I wish we were, but she doesn’t like me like that. I’m sure I annoy her.”

The designer wanted nothing more than for him to believe that he was not annoying but he had such a low self-esteem that it was hard to really convince him of anything. But she sighs and does her best anyway.

“Chat Noir, you are anything but annoying. If she doesn’t see how amazing you are, she’s missing out.” Her tone turns predatory. “And if she ever says you are annoying, or stupid, or anything you’ve said about yourself, I will NOT hesitate to send her a giant punch to the gut.”

Her empty threat causes a smile to break through his chagrined frown, and a chuckle to escape his larynx (yes he pays attention in science class).

“You always say the right thing, Princess. Thank you,” he admits.

Marinette was going to reply, but her mother called her name from downstairs. She sends her two kitties a nervous smile.

“Be right back.”

Then she exits the room, abandoning the symbols of bad luck on her bed. She just hopes they will behave until she gets back with a tray of yummy, cheesy pastries.

To her surprise, they do. It’s Chat, actually, who ends up falling asleep, while mini Chat Noir prances around her room. He was de-transformed, but luckily he had already turned away from the hatch, hiding his true identity from her. This made her sigh in relief.

A snore sounds through the room, and she shakes her head.

Poor kitty doesn’t get enough sleep.

She makes a point to grab a throw blanket from her chaise on her way up to him, then drapes it over him. Then she heads back down the ladder to catch the little kitten, before bringing him back up to the real superhero. Mini Noir immediately settles in next to him, curling into a little ball flush against his side. Marinette can’t help but mumble a tiny ‘awe’ at the sight.

“Psst, Chat. Can you hear me?”

Nothing. He’s out cold.

Plagg flies in front of her with crossed arms, grunting.

“What is the meaning of this, Pigtails?”

Marinette shrugs, “Meaning of what?”

Plagg rolls his eyes.

“Why is there another thing here? I thought I was the main event!”

“His name is Mr. Mini Noir, or Minou. You can call him Chat Noir Jr, for all I care, just whatever you want to call him, Plagg, but nothing disrespectful,” she looks at him with indignation. “It’s a small kitten. Please be gentle.”

Plagg scoffs, floating over to the cat. She wants to turn and see his interaction with the other cat, but then she’d risk seeing Chat’s civilian identity and she wasn’t ready for that yet.

“This is family, Pigtails. We’re the same breed—“

“No you’re—“

“—And I will always love my kittens. I just don’t always outwardly show it. My insults are laced with love, little lady.”

She tilts her head slightly in admission.

He floats back in front of her, that scowl returning on his magical features once more.

“Okay, now where is my cheese.”

It wasn’t a question, but a demand. She smiles and shakes her head.

“It’s on my desk. Be quick before Chat wakes up.”

She watches Plagg glance over her shoulder at the sleeping boy, before he nods and promptly takes flight. Then she feasts her eyes on the way he inhales a multitude of cheese triangles that have been sat on the desk in front of him.

Only one minute passes before he’s back at her side. His tiny arms are crossed over his chest.

“Thanks, Pigtails. Where’s Tikki?”

Marinette smirks, “If she didn’t come out, that means she doesn’t want to see you.”

He rolls his eyes, floating back to his chosen.

“Rude,” she can hear him mutter angrily.

Plagg zips back into the ring, and a flash of green light encases her room before fading away. She is left with two sleeping black cats and a heavy load of homework.

—

It most definitely was her idea to adopt her mini chat noir.

That’s certainly why she’s sneakily snapping a few photos of the pair, snickering as she does so.

What’s one kitten without another? Just lonely.

Something tells her that Chat is already lonely enough outside of the mask. She didn’t want him to feel that way anymore. Who is she to deny him of a friend?

She doesn’t regret it. In fact, she is very happy with this turn of events.

Things are now paws-itively purr-fect.

[keytomythoughts]

Eleutheromania | Chapter 06

Chapter Index

╭⋟────────────────────────╮

Ｌｕｃａｓ

Settling back into my bunk, I cross my arms underneath my head, closing my eyes briefly for sleep to take me over. Today’s training was intensive, all of my muscles and limbs sore from over-exerting itself. The moon is bright tonight, though it’s well past midnight—almost three in the morning. Yet, I’m restless. My mind isn’t just tired. 

Because every time my eyelids shut, I picture her. 

It’s almost like a routine, every night. Even after long and tiring days, seeing her conjure right in front of my eyes fills my body with this profound energy, this light that carries me through my darkest days. Jaeun, my heart. My soul, my love. The woman who I’ve grown to love with this compelling passion. The feeling never fleets from my heart, because I know how much she’s going through already. And I know that as long as she’s a part of my life, I will always come back to her. As will she to me.

My lips twitch into a small smile. I picture her, standing in her angelic glory. A true goddess, no doubt. How long has it been since I’ve last seen her? Last been with her? 

I frown. Almost four years now. And yet, she has been patient all this time. Her eyes, those beautiful flecks of an emerald—like a glowing, gorgeous gem—shimmering with pure delight whenever she sees me through her screen. The darkened rays of the sun spooling down her shoulders like a waterfall of gold mixed with rich Earth. The way her locks would curl around her slender fingers when she was anxious. Her scent, so captivating and sweet, similar to lavender and peaches. The smell drunkening my senses with every closing proximity. Silky-smooth skin leaving traces of electricity wherever she touches me, yet her touch is always gentle and pure. Her laugh, a sound so rich and lively that it would put angels to shame for being nothing compared to her.

Everything. God, just everything about her.  

Seeing her like this gives me strength and courage, the hope that one day I’ll leave this wretched place and take her far away where we can live the way we want to. No social system. No Sabres. No monarch. And no restrictions.

Just me and Jaeun, gazing out at the many sunsets until the warm glow has sunken to allow the night sky to take its place. For the long walks we’d take through parks and beaches, hands intertwined. Running through fields and lying down next to each other, one of us eventually cuddled up in the other's embrace. Desiring nothing more than to simply be with one another.

I picture this reality almost religiously, praying that soon I would be able to make it a reality for us both. To feel pleasure and peace, love and despair, longing and remorse, nostalgia and reminisce. As long as it’s us two against the world, I wouldn’t give a damn what came in our way to stop us.

I would fight it all, for her. So that she would stay by my side.

The slumber nearly pulls me in until I feel my pocket vibrating. My eyes open right away, knowing the only person who would be calling me at this time.

When I hold my phone to my face, I see that it’s indeed a call. 

From Jaeun.

I glance around quickly to make sure no one else is in here before answering it. My heart catches in my throat, fearing something must’ve happened to her for her to be still up and calling this late. I wait anxiously as our videos load on either side of the screens. Fixing my position, I wait as her video focuses on her face. I smile. She’s curled up on my side of the bed again, her body clad in one of my favorite hoodies. Looking at her from across the screen, I can’t help the grin that comes to my face, seeing her angelic face after a while. 

But, today, her radiance is a little dim. It isn’t completely snuffed out, just dull. The expression on her face…I don’t know. It didn’t rub me the right way.

“Jaeun, baby, is everything okay? It’s not like you to be up this late.”

Her eyes shift around nervously, and I know that something’s visibly wrong. I wish I could, at this moment, reach out and hold her in my arms. To comfort her in any way that I can.

I hear her breathe heavily. 

“I’m fine, babe. It’s just…I wanted to see you.”

There’s no way I can bypass the way her voice wavers. Never has she been like this, as if she’s scared, hesitant. 

Jaeun…

“Babe, what’s the matter?” I cut right to the chase, knowing full well the scope of my girlfriend and her emotions all too well. Whether it be face-to-face or through a medium, I can always decipher her, read her expressions. But this time, it feels very unsettling.

I shift so I can get a better view of her. She still doesn’t respond, but I can tell she’s taking a little too long to answer, as if she can’t find the right words to say. 

I frown. What’s wrong, my love?

“L-Lucas..” 

The way my name leaves her mouth confirms my suspicion that something definitely has happened, and she’s troubled by whatever it is. How desperately I want to be there next to her right now, she has no idea. I see her lips tremble, the way she casually tries to bring up her sleeve to obscure her face from my vision. My heart races, the desire to protect her growing even stronger.

“Jaeun, you’re scaring me. Talk to me, baby. Please. I’m right here,” I coax her gently, begging her to reveal why she’s in such discomfort. 

That’s when I see her tears. One by one, little drops of water spilling from her beautiful pearl-green eyes. Those pretty, shining orbs are now clouded with sorrow. My heart wrenches painfully in my chest as my eyes widen, nervously darting around her face. 

“Are you—Jaeun are you crying??”

She doesn’t respond, but the tears continue to streak down her soft cheeks, her shoulders shaking in the process. 

“Oh god, baby, why are you crying? Did something happen? Are you hurt?” My fingers grasp the device tightly in my hand, the other going to pull the strands of my hair. The uncertainty is making my heart race at an abnormal speed, the adrenaline rushing throughout my body as my muscles tighten. 

She shakes her head in denial, but the tears don’t stop. Her loud sobs echo through the call, and I find my own heart sinking. Painfully wrenching in my chest as I watch her. Uselessly watching, hating myself for not being able to do anything for her right now. Despising the fact that I can’t comfort her when she’s at her most and needs me the most. My Jaeun, my beautiful girlfriend, the complete love of my life. 

What caused you so much pain to make you cry this much? 

“Breathe, love. Please, just try to calm down.”

Lucas, you idiot. Is that what you say? You’re hopeless.

I release a deep sigh, fingers still tugging at my roots to the point that it hurts my scalp. I didn’t care, though. I just need to know why Jaeun is the way she is right now. “Shit, why am I not there with you when I can be at your side and wipe your tears away?”

Her sobs quiet, but the tears still shine on her cheeks, the new wave replacing the old trail. She parts her lips, and I try to inch closer to the phone. As if by doing this will make me reach her physically.

“L-Lucas…” She breathes through her tears, her voice slightly hoarse from the result of her crying so hard.

I hold my breath, waiting for her to continue. She sniffles.

“Y-You know that I love you, right?”

My heart plummets into my stomach. Seeing her so broken, so hurt…and the only woman I will ever love no matter how many lifetimes I live is asking me if she knows that my heart only beats for her, that everything I do is so that I can be with her forever.

“Of course, baby. And I love you even more,” I pause, the air collecting in my lungs, struggling to say all that I can to her to make her never doubt that notion. The notion that I can never live without her. That I long for her. That I wish to kiss her pain away, to enclose her in my arms, feeling her skin radiate the heat that I’ve grown to crave as each day passes without her near me. To make her feel love, the way she deserves it. Every inch of my being for her, and only her.  

I swallow, my own tears threatening to make their appearance. “God, I miss you so much. Every day, I just want to come home. To be with you. Not a minute goes by where I’m not thinking of you, Jaeun.”

Jaeun remains silent again, but her expression softens, the initial discomfort gone, but there’s something else hidden in her eyes. The hesitation. Her lips part, then close. When they open again, she whispers something almost inaudible.

“I-I…I'm pregnant.”

I freeze. My eyes widen as I feel all the muscles in my body go stiff.

Did I hear her right?

I gulp. “W-What did you say, love?” My voice sounds shaky, but it’s purely an accident. The sudden delivery of this news leaves me speechless. Pure shock. My mind runs through a series of thoughts, not one making complete, concrete sense. 

Her voice sounds a little stronger now, resolve replacing the remorse. 

“I’m pregnant, Lucas.”

Fearing someone may have overheard her, even though I made sure that I was completely alone, I immediately slide off my bunk and go outside. The outside air is definitely cooler than in the barracks, but at least out here, there’s a less chance of someone hearing this conversation. Positioning myself near a lamp post, I let the dim light bathe me in its glow, luminating the device in my hand.

I sigh, my hand resting on top of my head. Then it falls to the side of my face.

“Are you serious?”

She nods shyly. “I took the test earlier today. It came out positive.”

I purse my lips. My eyes travel around my surroundings. Anywhere away from the camera. The barrage of emotions I’m feeling right now is very hard to distinguish, so I stay silent, letting my thoughts slowly process. 

Oh my god. Oh my god.

She’s pregnant. 

Jaeun’s pregnant. 

I get so caught up in my thoughts, that one thought shining through the rest that I barely hear her voice calling out for me. 

“Lucas? Baby, say something,” she pleads. I make out the slight shakiness in her voice, realizing if I didn’t respond, she would feel doubt and guilt. This time, her tears will be because I didn’t brush away the misconceptions when that’s what I needed to do. That’s the last thing I would ever want to make her feel. Her tears, for as long as I live, will never be because of me. Not if I can do anything about it. And right now, I know what I have to do.

My chest heaves, the tears springing free and travelling down my face. I make no attempt to wipe them away. 

I breathe out an airy laugh, a small smile forming on my face.

“I’m going to be a father..”

I turn back to her as more tears pool in my eyes, each dripping slowly. She gasps, but the tears she sheds are not out of pain or sadness. No, they’re from happiness. Her laughter fills my ears, and I can’t help laughing along with her, the sound resonating beautifully. Our laughs and tears mixing as one, our hearts unravelling all that had been entrapped.

“Jaeun, you’re carrying my child,” I manage to say. “Our child!” My chest inflates, but my smile still remains, as does hers. “You have no idea how desperately I want to go running to you, right now. Baby, it’s taking every ounce in my being to control myself.”

She laughs, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve.

I grin, the love shining from just my expression alone. All of it directed to her, the only person in my life who I will ever look at the way I do.

“So,” she sniffles once more, “you’re not mad?”

The answer comes out before I have time to think about it, but it comes directly from my heart. “Baby, no, god no. Why would you ever think that? I would never.” 

I run my thumb across the screen, wishing I could touch her. The ache I feel from being away from her for too long filling my senses once again. 

My voice lowers just with that overwhelming sensation. “I love you with all my heart. And nothing will ever change that, Jaeun. Nothing.”

Either I say it once or a million times over until I sound like a broken record, my heart will always accept this as the one solid truth in my life. No matter what, this love I have for Jaeun is sound. 

The sound of her laughter rings in my ears again. “I love you so much, babe. I miss you. God, I really do.” 

Judging by the way her voice lowered at the end, I had a strong feeling she would burst into tears again. And while she always appears beautiful to me no matter how she looked, I didn’t like to see her cry. Not with me around. 

She tilts her head upwards, and I’m unable to see her face anymore. If I were there, I would gently, slowly, use my fingers to hook her by her chin and bring her face to my level, to make sure she’s looking straight into my eyes. To close the gap between us in a sweet, passionate kiss. Lips syncing to match the rhythmic beats of our elated hearts, our hands pulling each other closer to convey the love mere words can’t do justice for.

“Jaeun, babe, look at me.”

A couple seconds pass before she brings her head back down. I never get tired of looking at her, never. It always amazes me how lucky I am to have someone like her walk into my life and fill each and every corner with her light. Her smile, the cute way her nose crinkles when she laughs. Her beauty, dazzling. Those emeralds that remind me why I continue to fight so hard. She’s mine, and I’m hers. Our hearts have sealed this from when we were both teens to our now adult lives.

My heart skips a beat, the excitement bubbling up all over again.

“I promise,” I start, my voice thick, “I’ll come back home soon. I swear, I’ll do whatever I can.” I gaze into her eyes once more, the flames of desire burning from the tips of my fingers to the organ beating wildly in my chest. The resolve growing hard in my mind that it’s preventing me from thinking straight. These feelings, the ones I’ve kept in check for so long come pouring out. And I don’t stop them. I want her to see just how crazy she makes me feel.

I lick my lips, realizing they were dry. “God, I…I just want to kiss you so badly right now, jagi. I want to feel you again.”

Despite the poor lighting, I take note of her cheeks growing pink. Not going to lie, it’s cute to see her embarrassed. Blushing, because of me. 

God, how badly I want to feel her skin against my own. It’s driving me wild.

“I guess that will give you more of a reason to come, right? And besides,” she shifts, her hand now pressed to her stomach, “it’s not just me you’ll be coming home to.”

I can’t help but smile, knowing that our baby is growing in her as we speak. It’s strange, but there’s this feeling of joy, of pride, that I’m fathering this child. That I was able to put a part of me in Jaeun, my love blossoming a new creation within her.

My smile changes to a smirk as my mind divulges into my more darker and sinful desires. Despite the chill outside, I find my body growing hotter, overcome with this burning lust.

“You better be ready. I won’t go easy, love.”

Teasing, tempting. It’s one of the ways I enjoy drawing her in, luring her like a prey to its predator. And her eyes, wide with this somewhat misty look, convey the same feeling as mine.

Insatiable thirst.

“Neither will I, babe.”

God, how can she be so freaking sexy and goddamn cute at the same time?

Jaeun giggles, not realizing I half-muttered what I was thinking. A deep chuckle escapes my throat, fighting back the urge to not think any more sinful thoughts. 

Looking at the glint in Jaeun’s misty-green eyes, I realize the same effect she has on me, I have the same on her. Imagining her body writhing under me, the waves of pleasure I would deliver to her. The endless time we spend in each other’s grasp. I miss it. I want it. All of it, even if it is for just a moment. I long to be with her again more than anything. A moment of showing her how much I love her, care for her, miss her, desire her…the feelings only she’s capable of making me feel. 

All, only for her. 

I snicker, trying to divert my intense passion onto her restless state. “I’ve fired you up, haven’t I?”

Her cheeks burn brighter, like the color of strawberries. “Shut up, Lucas!”

I laugh, her reaction so pure and genuine.

Oh baby, you have no idea what I’m feeling right now, even if you can’t see it. It’s all because of you, making me feel so vulnerable.

These moments, times like these, they’re ones I wish to cherish with her face-to-face. Calling like this doesn’t do our love justice. Eventually, our love will grow, transgressing from the two of us to our unborn child.

We’ll be a family. 

I drift off thinking about our future. Even though I know how risky this is, our lives now both at a higher stake if someone were to have us figured out, I picture it all. The three of us together, loving and happy. Failing to realize, again, that I’m blurting my questions out loud.

“Do you think it’s a boy? Or a girl?” My heart skips a beat, not giving a chance for Jaeun to answer before my momentum picks up its giddiness. “What if they’re twins??”

She giggles as she shakes her head. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see, babe.”

I pout, a grunt of disapproval escaping from deep in my throat.

“No fairrr,” I purposely drag out the last word, whining to get my point across.

All she does is smile, the whites of her teeth flashing their way through my chest and into my heart that beat erratically. Jaeun then rubs her eyes, and I can tell she’s exhausted. And for the following months after, she’ll have to be careful not to exert herself too much. For her and the baby.

“Jagi, get some rest, okay? I’ll talk to you as soon as I can, I promise,” I say, softly.

She shakes her head. “But I’m not tired.”

My heart softens, seeing her struggle to stay awake because we can’t guarantee when a conversation like this can happen often, if ever again for some time.

“You can’t lie to me, baby,” my voice still soft and whisper-like.

Jaeun shakes her head again. “I can’t sleep, not without you.”

Oh, Jaeun. 

A ghost of a smile forms on my lips, my chest heaving out of this pure ecstasy of love, wishing to reach out and brush the dark blonde strands away from her face. Letting my fingers trace over her delicate features one by one. Planting soft kisses. 

I’m sorry, I know how hard this must be for you. Thank you for being patient with me. I’m forever in your debt, my love.

I lower my voice, this time to purposely lure her into the sleep she desperately needs. “Just think I’m right there, laying down next to you. My arms wrapped tightly around you. My fingers stroking your hair, the soft kisses I would leave on your skin.”

Each scenario, I imagine myself with her there as well. I feel a dull pang in my chest, desiring so much but accomplishing none.

Soon, I think wearily. I’ll be with you soon, Jaeun.

Her eyes slowly flutter closed, surprised how she’s able to continue holding the phone in her hand. I watch as her breathing becomes rhythmic, her body finally giving in to slumber. Watching her is pure bliss. It reminds me of the countless mornings we woke up together, sometimes catching her still sleeping. She always looked peaceful, so beautiful. 

I hear her sigh, words leaving her lips in a hushed whisper. But I catch every single one. 

“I love you, Lucas..”

I chuckle, heart swelling no matter how many times she has said the same phrase. “Not as much as I love you, Jaeun. Good night, my love. I’ll visit you in your dreams, just wait for me soon.”  

With that, I take one good look at her before I end the call and slip the device back into my pocket. I slowly make my way towards the barracks, seeing as there’s not much time left before sunrise. Hard to believe we were talking for over an hour. 

I can’t believe I’m becoming a father.

I look down to the gravel beneath me, aimlessly kicking at the loose stones. Yet, I smile. A small one, but it’s there. The air isn’t as chilly now, and I find the outside atmosphere slightly comforting, knowing now that both Jaeun and the soon-to-be born child will be waiting for me. 

I stop in my tracks just before the door to my barracks. I glance upwards, the few stars still present twinkling in the early morning haze. 

Jaeun…just hold on. Just a little longer. I’ll be home soon.

I promise.

Chapter 05 | Chapter 06 | Chapter 07 

[grimey--gal]

Whew- @yesiscandyskiller​‘s commission took a lot longer than I’d thought it would. But I’m usually slow at sex scenes anyways, and boy was this a whole lot of fun! Have at it, you dirty girl ;)

In the most technical sense, the word masochist means a person who derives sexual satisfaction from their own pain and humiliation. Chucky knows what the word means, has used it to refer to others and has heard it be used to refer to others. He knows that Tiffany was not this; pain and humiliation made her angry and distant, and whenever he had tried anything of the sort, it had always gone sour and he had not felt very proud of his choice. In the end, typically she had gotten revenge, and had torn him asunder. The way he felt during then, well, he isn’t sure he is ready to talk about it. He has always associated the word with someone who submits or is dominated, and he does not like the sound of either of those.

He does know that he looks forward to conflict, and pain. He has always been sure that it did not really matter, so long as he ended up on top as the victor. He had been sure of this for quite a long time, and then life happened, and particularly Andy Barclay happened. And when Andy Barclay had held a hand against his throat out of anger and frustration and pure authority for the first time, there was an electricity that lay in the pit of his core, and he remembers feeling his pulse so strong, just underneath the hold between Andy’s index and thumb. His heart had fluttered wildly, and there was an uncontrollable rushing. He had not understood it, but he had known one thing for sure: he wanted more. 

He craves more, and it had been what spurred him to continue pursuing Andy, despite not necessarily needing him anymore. Although, when he thinks about the way it makes him feel, when they’re eye to eye, chest to chest in combat, he wonders if perhaps he does need him after all. Deep down, he knows he is not alive if he is not facing Andy, feeling his blood boil with immense heat, charging against him, feeling anger, pain, humiliation. He had always appreciated when he had won against him in any measure in the past, but the first sting of defeat had held such a thrill to him. The first time he had tasted it, he felt as if he had truly discovered something rare and delicious, almost forbidden. And his appetite for the forbidden has only grown.  

There is a constant hunger, for Andy’s hands on him, and not in the way that most would yearn for touch. He wants a hit, he wants a bite, he wants to antagonize and be punished for it. He wants to be throttled and thrown, and broken. He knows Andy will give this to him. He just needs to push the right buttons. 

It is lucky he knows Andy so well, and knows just how to crawl under his skin. Andy is not the most readable person by any means, but with the right amount of care and patience, there is a weak link. A chink in his stolid armor. He just needs to say and do the right thing, and strike him somewhere vulnerable and hot. He needs to flip the switch on inside him, because when he does, he will get what he wants. He will have what he needs. When he turns Andy Barclay, he is never disappointed by the result. He just needs to do it right, and the energy he gives, he will get in return. It never fails to work this way. 

The right moment strikes, surprisingly while Andy is at work, and he has gone down to visit. He has made quite the habit of bothering Andy while he is tending to his shop, to the point that regulars have become used to his presence - and even look forward to it. He can tell by the shine in their eyes. It is entertaining to them, when he and Andy argue and harp at each other. He loves the attention, and leaving Andy bewildered and flustered is merely a bonus. He can feel himself grinning just thinking about it. 

He’s whistling when he enters the shop from the back door connected to the stairs. A little out of breath, but already leering, the hunger for conflict growling in his stomach. Andy hears a customer call his name before he turns to see him, the tell-tale scowl of annoyance already forming on his brows. There is green in his eyes, Chucky can see the light catch it just barely. 

“Don’t panic, I’m here now,” he announces, despite the current residents in the store already aware. He only says it to watch Andy roll his eyes and blow out a hot breath. One that he has felt many times on the back of his neck. He swallows heavily, the longing burning inside him. 

He makes his way to the counter, hopping on top of it despite the physical toll it takes on him. He regains his bearings, leaning back on his hands, and gives Andy a wink, enjoying the way Andy deliberately turns away from him, muttering angrily under his breath. The customer enjoys it as well, smiling to himself and shaking his head. 

“Alright, how much did you fuck up before I got here? Be honest,” he teases, just to begin a small rise out of Andy. But he has merely begun. These playful quips will get him nowhere, he knows. He has to strike where it hurts, and hard. He has to give Andy the feeling of losing control, to make him retaliate. He wants to be bruised for weeks. 

“You do realize that I’ve been running this without you for a while now, right?” Andy responds, no change in his voice. As it usually is. But the fact that he has responded means he has engaged, and the game can begin. He threw the ball in Andy’s court, and Andy had ricocheted it back, as he’d hoped he would. As he’d known he would. They are both in a cycle, and neither of them ever do anything to end it. 

“I don’t want to imagine what it had been like,” he returns quickly. At this, Andy snorts, but distracts himself with work, and Chucky is left with the thrumming. Either Andy is truly unaware, or he is playing him. If it is the latter, it is working, as the silent treatment that follows drives Chucky insane. Beyond the occasional joke directed at his expense (to which customers laugh and play along, ignorant of the opposition that is occuring), Andy does not spare another word towards him for the remainder of his shift. 

This is when Chucky decides it is time to stomp his foot and nick his ankle with a letter opener, to which Andy retaliates by swiping the letter opener and pocketing it, giving Chucky a stiff smile before pinching his ear and tugging him aside, opening the drawer. It stings, but not enough. It is never enough, not until he truly has every piece of Andy’s attention. He is an all or nothing personality, but with Andy, even nothing is not acceptable. He needs it all, and only all of it. 

“Please find something else to do,” Andy says, and he despite the pleasantries, he is not begging. It is a demand. Chucky can hear it in his tone. He is not asking. He is ordering. Chucky grins, giddier than anyone should be in the face of a threat. He kicks at Andy’s shin again, enjoying Andy’s hiss of annoyance. He knows that the cut stings. 

“I did find something to do, in case you didn’t notice,” he replies, a little too smug. Andy stares at him for a minute, and he thinks he may have finally gotten his attention. But Andy leaves his side instead, closing down the shop doors, locking the gates and setting the alarm. Chucky watches, in disappointment and disbelief, as Andy continues to shut down his store, a complete one-eighty from what he had been expecting. The customers are gone. They are alone. He had set the scene. And yet, Andy had decided suddenly that he just didn’t feel like playing. 

He growls in irritation. He tugs at his ear, wanting to feel it again. The brush of aggression, small as it was. The subtle display of dominance. He wants there to be a challenge. He wants to rise to that challenge and lose to Andy Barclay’s hand. His own hand is not enough. It is merely a taste. He wants more than a small sting.

Another useless jab and he is upstairs in the apartment again, drunk and fuming. He can’t stop his leg from shaking against the couch. Which is irritating, considering he has never had a nervous tic before. He blames it on Andy. A lot of problems have been cropping up inside him because of Andy lately. The aggressive frustration builds up on itself and it explodes out in the form of him throwing beer cans at the walls, one nearly hitting Andy straight between the eyes when he walks through the door. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, breathless. He takes a look around the apartment, noticing the mess. His eyes widen in disbelief. Chucky whips around to face him, feeling himself burning to the brim. Seeing Andy in his eyeline does nothing to cool the fever. If anything, it only pours more gasoline on the flame. 

“Mind your damn business,” is what he growls back in response, crumpling up another empty can and chucking it in Andy’s general direction as hard as he can. Andy curses and mutters something under his breath, dodging it at the last second.

“What’re you looking for, Chucky?” he asks, finally. He sounds a bit impatient.

“Why do I have to be looking for something? Can’t you just accept that you’re a little shit and I hate you?” Chucky slurs out. 

The light in Andy’s eyes changes then. A different glow, an animal on the prowl. “No,” Andy persists, head cocked to the side. “You want something, don’t you?” 

Oh and he does. He cannot die the thrill he’s feeling, just from the way the hair rises from the back of his neck because of the change in Andy’s tone of voice. He feels the challenge growing between them again. The gauntlet has been thrown. He has waited and thirsted, and now Andy is finally picking it up. He can feel himself salivating just from the thought of it, and his fists clench instinctually. He can feel his pulse thrumming away, and he swallows. He can practically feel his excitement growing. 

“You could never give me what I want,” he antagonizes, standing up. He takes a step forward. He notices Andy does the same. He finds an irrational joy bubbling up out of him, and he giggles wildly. “Even though I’m sure you want to so badly.”  

“What?” Andy asks, pointedly, but Chucky can see his Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down, and boy is it mesmerizing. He knows he has struck a nerve. He will not pretend that he has not noticed the lingering glances, the longer touching, or the way they’ve gotten comfortably closer, and closer, and closer. He knows. He just wants to spring the trap. He will not deny he has enjoyed those moments, but they are too slow, too cold. He wants things to sizzle, he wants to be sauteed, and he wants Andy to be the oil, singeing him, stinging him, He want to burn. 

“You know what I mean, and you’re a fucking coward, Andy Barclay,” he spits, watching the rage igniting in Andy’s pupils. But he has his complete attention, and this is what he wants. “You’ve always been a coward. Weak and pathetic. You have no ambition, and no motive, and no balls.”

A lot of things happen very fast, very suddenly. Chucky faintly registers bottles and crushed cans and other items crashing off of the table, and feels Andy’s hand around his throat. His skull smashes against the floor, and he feels his brain rattling around inside. He finds himself frazzled, and a little out of breath, but exhilarated nonetheless. Andy looms over him, a scowl plastered on his face, but he can see underneath, he feels the same addicting excitement. They have both been waiting for this for a long, long time. 

“Say that again,” Andy threatens, and there is so much venom in his voice. Chucky loves how he is finally able to pull the strings. He has sprung the trap, and is caught in it. Andy is the hunter, and he cannot wait for what might happen now. 

“What? The part where you said you had no balls?” he repeats, groaning when his head is slammed against the floor again. Andy slaps him across his cheek, the back of his hand swift and strong, and Chucky cannot help the fact that his blood instantly rushes south. He has been fantasizing on this for a long time. The last time they’d been intimate, it had been rough, but they had been inexperienced, and he had only craved more since. He wants the monster in Andy to come out and wreck him. 

This is what a masochist is, he thinks vaguely to himself, as he eggs Andy on, just to be thrown against the floor once more, just to feel himself be abused at Andy’s hands. He is enjoying every second of it, even though he yelps when Andy lifts him up and smashes him against the coffee table, his lower back sure to bruise from its wooden edge. Andy has a strong grip in his hair, and he feels as if he is being scalped, from the way he pulls so he has to look at him. The satisfaction he feels when he sees that same excitement in Andy’s eyes is more than he had expected. Andy is thoroughly enjoying this as well, although he masks it under a heavyset brow. He can feel the way his pulse twitches. He has  been waiting to decimate him, he had just needed an out. And Chucky has given him the out he needed. 

“Go on, then, do you worst,” he taunts, despite knowing there is absolutely no escape for him at this point. “You think you can break me?”

“I don’t know,” Andy murmurs, hand on his jaw. Their faces are close. He can feel the heat of Andy’s breath against his cheek. “But I’m going to have fun finding out.” 

Chucky sinks his teeth into Andy’s neck, and when Andy gives a low groan and tears away, his grin is much more obvious. He chuckles under his breath, and then Chucky feels his head being lifted by his hair and slammed down again, and he can feel the scratch of Andy’s beard against his neck, and Andy’s teeth against his ear. 

“I hope you last, button,” Andy whispers into him, and Chucky knows he remembers. They both do. It isn’t as if they could forget. This has happened before, and it is happening again. “I want to play with you for a long, long time.” 

He has waited so long for this. They both have. He can feel Andy’s pent up desire now, brushing against his leg, as Andy presses into him, already fumbling with his buttons. He does not kiss him this time, and a part of him breaks just from this, but he is determined to hold out. It isn’t a fight if he does not resist, after all. Andy holds him down by his neck again, and the lack of air makes him dizzy. 

“Is... that… all you’ve got…. Andy?” he laughs, between heavy breathing. Andy is tearing off his clothes now, tossing them aside, and something about how animalistic his moves are is a wild turn on. He has known this. It still throws him off every time. He thinks perhaps it might be because Andy is so gentle in every other aspect of his life. Sometimes, he forgets just how assertive Andy can be. He shivers from the cold air hitting his skin, but also from this rerun revelation. 

Andy does not respond to his taunt, not verbally anyways. He does swing him over his shoulder, carrying him into his bedroom. Chucky is plopped onto the bed, feeling the cushioned mattress and pillows beneath him as he sinks into them, and before he can sit up, Andy is back over him again. He barely catches a glimpse of what appears to be rope, red, before he is flipped over and Andy is sitting on top of him, tying his arms behind his back. He grunts when Andy ties the first knot. It’s tight.

“Ah, so you need to tie me up, a big man like you? I’ve been saying you’re a pussy,” and he doesn’t know why he keeps doing it, but he can’t help himself. The ropes are new, and there’s something about it that strikes a bit of fear into him, but he smarts off nonetheless. 

Andy snorts at this, practically ignoring his prodding. Chucky watches as he continues to tie the rope around him. Andy’s hands are steady but rough, and he cannot help the low hiss that escapes him every time he feels the rope cut into his skin. He can feel everything now. It is a blessing and a curse. He is not sure what it is right now. It does not take long before he realizes what Andy is doing. The criss-cross patterns Andy is forming across his body are unmistakable. 

“Oh, you’ve been on the naughty side of the internet, huh, Barclay?” he says, as Andy ties yet another knot. He knows this will leave marks. He can already feel the way the knots affect his blood flow. Andy has tightened it just enough, which of course he has. He has to admire the amount of dedication; this is not an art that comes overnight. He had no idea either, which only leaves him more begrudgingly impressed and curious as to how Andy had managed this.

He’ll never say it, but his favorite part of letting Andy destroy him is that he knows through it all, Andy Barclay will take care of him. He always has. He always will. Chucky does not like giving up control, and he will fight tooth and nail to keep it, but losing it to Andy always feels alright. Much better than alright, as he continually pushes for Andy to take it, over and over again. 

“You’re one to talk about being naughty,” Andy replies, calmly, and Chucky has already noticed it countless times so far tonight, but every time he looks into his eyes and sees nothing but eager dominance, he feels an electrifying sensation. Or maybe it is just the ropes, marking him. Either way, he can feel the shift taking over in his mind already, of the role he is about to play. “Wasn’t it you that was practically begging for me to do this to you?”

He is saying this as he casually takes each of his nipples and pinches them in what appears to be very rudimentary clothespins. Chucky snorts, unsure of what Andy expects this will do.

“I haven’t the slightest fucking clue what you’re talking about,” he retorts, and Andy is laying him down with his stomach against the bed, a hand running up against his left thigh. The sound of the slap against his ass registers before the sting does, and he inhales, sharply. 

“You know exactly what I’m referring to, button, don’t try and deny it now,” Andy murmurs against his ear, a hand cupping his ass, rubbing at it. Chucky anticipates it before it comes again, another blow that smarts, and then he sees Andy rolling up his sleeves, and god if that doesn’t make him hard, just from the sheer knowledge of what this means. Andy smacks him again, hard, and this time, he grunts. When his body shakes, the clothespins tug at his nipples, and now he understands. He can hear a shuffling, and the next time he feels a sting across his ass cheeks, he distinctly knows it is not Andy’s hand. He can feel the leather cutting into his skin. 

“Now,” Andy starts, and runs his fingers over the reddening marks. He squeezes his ass firmly before smacking it again. “You’ve finally got all of my attention , just like you wanted. But I’ve got all of you, all night. Ultimately, you’re mine. Do you understand that?”

“Fuck off,” Chucky spits at him, and the belt comes down hard this time, and he whines. He shouldn’t enjoy how it hurts. But he does. 

“That’s alright,” Andy responds coolly, whipping him again. “You will.”

 The amount of confidence in the statement shows what control he has gained now in comparison to the very first time they’d done this. It’s dizzying. The first time, they had both been all emotions. Andy had been a novice at it, unsure and reacting from gut instinct. 

This, Chucky thinks - as he’s stricken again by the belt, its whistling penetrating his ears before it lands with another punishing blow - this is something entirely different. The first time they’d done this, Andy might have burned out, if he’d fought longer. This time, he knows merely from the way Andy is handling him that he will go all night, if that’s what it takes. And he will enjoy the entire process of breaking him down. 

He’s lost count of the amount of times his bottom has been offended by the belt when he feels his eyes welling up. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip anyways, just out of spite. And, honestly, out of a morbidly genuine curiosity as to what Andy will do, should he hold out long enough. The tears do fall though, and he is mortified that he has no way to hide it, and Andy catches it almost right away, swiping them off of his cheeks with his index finger. 

“What’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted, button?” he asks, and it takes everything in Chucky’s power not to sob uncontrollably when he is hit again, and again, and again. Andy pulls back for a moment, and this is the moment that is the worst - when Andy makes that sound with the belt and yet Chucky never feels the hit. He winces for nothing, and the grin on Andy’s face is too much for him to bear. 

He expects a taunt, and then for Andy to ease up, but instead Andy’s hand is on his ass again, smacking with no mercy in sight, and the intimacy of it being his hand again changes things for him. The pins are surely bruising his nipples now, and they add more layers of pain each time Andy lays a punishing hand on him. 

“There, now, don’t give up so soon,” Andy murmurs, and Chucky growls, despite so desperately tempted to call it quits. Andy is squeezing his ass now, no doubt running his hands over the marks he’s left. Chucky can tell from the way his fingers trace across his now hyper-sensitive skin. He’s tracing the lines of where his skin is no doubt bruised and swelling. Andy leans in close, smacking him again, biting at his ear. “I’m nowhere near done yet.” 

“When did I say I was giving up?” Chucky challenges, despite his voice shaky. Despite tears drying on his cheeks. His pride will be the death of him. Andy chuckles, running his fingers in Chucky’s tangled hair before tugging it back, exposing his neck, biting into him. He rolls him onto his back, marking down his throat, and Chucky knows he won’t be going anywhere tomorrow. Not without wounding his pride publicly. Andy nibbles- no, gnaws- at his collarbone, and he inhales sharply, catching himself only barely. Andy laughs against him, mouth sucking, beard scratching, and Chucky feels so sore, from the ropes and from the belt. 

His cock, untouched, reflects the sentiment. Bound in the red, he can see it now, straining against its restriction. Denied. Andy catches his eyes, and for a moment, Chucky believes that this is it, but Andy does not touch him. 

“Well? What happens now?” he asks, struggling in his binding. He is trying to keep his ground, but he can feel his strength slipping out of him. His attempt at a provocation sounds more like a whine, and Andy scrapes his teeth against his earlobe, clearly enjoying every taunt he makes. 

So Andy has even ruined his chances of saving face. His attempts to fight back have only caused Andy immense joy, and if anything, have fueled him to go on longer. 

“It’s so nice that you have such a mouth on you,” he says in response, and even though he is petting his hair, Chucky knows Andy is not planning on being gentle anytime soon. The sound of his fly coming undone confirms his suspicions. Andy taps his cheek, turning him over and pushing him down, pushing his face against his cock. Chucky makes an effort to gag, as if it offends him, but truthfully, the smell and feel of it leave him eager. Breathless. 

“Be good now, button, don’t do something you’ll regret,” Andy coaxes. Every time. Every time he uses that endearment, it makes Chucky melt, and he absolutely despises it. Andy should not have any kind of dominion over him with such a simple word, and yet, he does. There are several pet names he has used in their most secretive and intimate moments, ones that he will never disclose to anyone. But this one - this one gets under his skin. It hits him right in places he didn’t know he had anymore.

Andy is pushing his cock into his mouth, and the way it sets on his tongue makes it hard for him to resist. But he does, practically grinning up at Andy, who lets out a sigh, grinning. Chucky doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that his stubbornness is endearing. He opens his mouth to snap at him, and then realizes too late that he’s lost. 

“There, now, no teeth. I promise you won’t like what comes next if you do,” Andy warns him, and Chucky feels the head slide behind his teeth, and he is so, so tempted. He suckles at it for a moment, before giving Andy a look and biting down as hard as he can, enjoying the way that Andy groans aloud. 

“Oh,” Andy gasps out in pain. “Oh.” 

He takes Chucky’s head in his hands, and Chucky does not like the way he is smiling right now. Andy is deep into his hair, and then Chucky feels his throat being rammed, and he gags, tears pricking at his eyes against his volition yet again. He sucks in air through his nostrils, squirming frantically in his bondage, and Andy is just holding himself so deep inside him, and Chucky has forgotten just how large he is…

And then Andy pulls out, and Chucky is gasping for air, and coughing, and his heart is beating in his throat, and his own cock is hurting more than ever. The line of his saliva connects his mouth to the tip of Andy’s cock. Andy pushes back in, and for the first time, he whimpers, because despite everything, he is just a little bit afraid. 

“Now,” Andy says, tapping his cheek. “Let’s try that again, hmm, button? No teeth.”

This time, Chucky does not try him. 

With his mouth around Andy’s cock, gagging and attempting to not do anything to cause that again, he feels Andy’s hand trailing down his stomach, curling around his cock, and he thinks that perhaps now, this will be over soon. He finds out very soon he is mistaken, as Andy only teases him, hands around his balls, only barely rubbing, before removing contact, and he is becoming very frustrated. 

“Andy,” he grits out around the cock in his mouth, and he wants to scream so badly. At this point, it is hurting his entire body just to hold himself together. He does not know how long they have been like this, with Andy toying with him as he likes, and he does not know how much longer they will be like this. There are no clocks anywhere, nothing to give him any count-down. At this point, he does not know how long he will hold out, and this worries him. Andy pulls him off of his cock, running his head around Chucky’s chin and mouth. 

“I like this look on you much better,” Andy says, and Chucky doesn’t even want to know what that means. He doesn’t have much of a choice on the matter, as Andy swivels him on the bed to face the dresser mirror, and he can see just what it is Andy is crowing about. 

He looks debauched. He cannot help himself when he scowls at it, just wanting to challenge it so bad. He can still see the mark where Andy had first slapped his cheek, drool around his chin, his nipples are definitely beginning to swell from the pinch of the clothespins, and his eyes are red-rimmed. He can see the tears welling up, and more than ever, he fights to push them back down. 

Andy is nowhere near concerned as to how he feels about having to look at himself as he’s already adjusting him onto his lap, sucking at his neck again. It’s worse, seeing his reflection, watching Andy’s hand graze over his body, his mouth against his neck. Andy puts a hand around his throat, and jerks his face towards the mirror. 

“You’re not allowed to look away,” he growls into his ear, and just as Chucky begins to retort, Andy rips one of the pins off, and he stops mid-argument and screams from the shock. Andy flicks at the remaining pin, a threat. A tear falls then, and he has to watch it happen. Andy is pinching his free nipple, and Chucky does not have to wonder, he knows that Andy enjoys it; he can see his grin, reflecting at him. 

Andy bites at his ear, and then his hand is trailing down, and the hiss of relief Chucky feels when Andy’s fingers wrap around his cock seems to echo. Andy laughs into his skin, tugging at him, and then he feels the slap of the belt, but on his inner thigh, and he outright screams. Andy holds him by the chin as he whips him, and he watches his breakdown in the mirror, his face crumpling against his will. 

“Oh, what?” Andy taunts him, and if he weren’t tied up, Chucky feels he might have right-hooked him then. But the desperation is hard for him to contain, and when Andy whips him again, the belt staking another claim across his chest, he wriggles against the bonds, despite knowing that it is a fruitless effort. Andy continues, lips against his ear, sending shockwaves down his spine. “You thought there’d be a little bit of foreplay and you’d get what you wanted? So soon?” 

He slams Chucky’s body against the bed, hand on his face, forcing him to stay with his eyes on the mirror. Chucky, despite his pride and judgment, finds himself mesmerized and unable to tear his reflection away. Something about him smashed into the mattress, tied, bruised, with Andy above him, is much, much more arousing when he can see it. He can watch his defeat, and finally see what Andy sees. He can be the surrendered and the victor, all in one.

He watches as Andy sinks his teeth into the flesh of his ass, and he feels the gurgling laugh before it comes. “Come on, Andy, enough with the theatrics,” he says, despite bucking from the feel of Andy’s teeth scraping and drawing blood. “You and I both know you can break me, so do it already.” 

“Ah, so now it’s I can break you,” Andy responds. He clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. “How disappointing.” 

He slaps Chucky’s cock, and Chucky growls and twists against the bed. “Rest assured, I will break you,” Andy mutters. He runs a finger down his spine, down across his ass, until it is poking at him. Prodding into him. “But it will be on my terms, button.” 

Andy pushes two fingers into his mouth, a hand clenching his jaw open. He knows he would try to bite. And he would be right. His fingers are all knuckles in, and Chucky gags around him, squirming under him, just trying to breathe through his nose. No sooner have Andy’s fingers left his throat, they are jammed into his asshole, thrusting just as forcefully as they had been when they were in his mouth. Chucky begins to pant, a soft whine starting in his throat. 

“Andy, c’mon already,” he goads, to no avail. They’ve done this enough times before that he knows that Andy knows how to touch him. The fact that Andy has not hit him just right means that Andy is doing this intentionally. He is merely stretching him out, making him burn, just because he wants to. And because he can. 

And he is not planning on changing his agenda anytime soon. Chucky knows this when he starts whistling, digging through a bag on the floor. 

“Jesus, you really spent time and money on me, huh?” he wheezes at the sight of the dildo. It is not as large as Andy, but its size is intimidating all the same. Andy starts fingering him again, curling his fingers only once, and Chucky feels lightheaded, and then it is only more pain. He chokes back a scream, and Andy guides the dildo towards his mouth.

“Open up, button,” he says. His voice is low and gentle, but Chucky knows better than to fall for it. There is a trick somewhere. “As soon as you do what you’re told, you’ll have everything you want.” 

He touches him again inside, just so, and Chucky cannot help the moan that spills out then. Andy slides the toy into his mouth. Another gentle stroke, and he finds himself suckling at it, just to feel Any touch him that way again. Anything to keep Andy’s fingers right where they are. There is no point in fighting or biting at this point, seeing as the toy will feel nothing. There is no winning consequence for him if he misbehaves. 

Andy chuckles, clicking his tongue. Chucky feels a wave of humiliation and defeat, but it doesn’t stop him from following his own desperation. Andy grabs him by the ropes along his arms, and Chucky feels the dildo be pulled from his mouth, only for Andy to shove it into his ass, thrusting it in and out roughly. It is cold, and hard, and it feels nothing like Andy’s fingers, or his cock, and it leaves him void of satisfaction. 

He turns his eyes back to the mirror, desperately hoping to see Andy preparing to enter him soon, but he sees Andy settling in, seemingly content to fuck him on this toy. He holds him over his lap and shoves his head into the mattress, changing the angle, and Chucky can feel the plastic phallus going deep inside him, harsh and unforgiving.

“Andy…” he tries to grit out, and he had a biting comeback, he swears he did, but he feels the thrust of the dildo again, and Andy pulling at his hair, and he forgets what he was going to say. “Please!” 

“What do you want, button?” Andy asks, but the wolfish grin on his face gives it away. Andy knows what he wants. He just wants to hear him beg for it. This was the trick. Andy had given him a little taste, just to yank it away. 

Andy Barclay is cruel, and he knows it. And Chucky loves it, whether he’ll admit it or not. At the moment though, it is only causing his desperation to rise. His body is aching, and his cock is straining against the rope, and there is no mercy for him. 

“You know what I want, so just hand it over already!” he screeches, feeling himself go feral. Andy whips him, and it comes by surprise, and he screams. “Ah!”

“That is not the way to ask, and you know that,” Andy reprimands him, and the belt smacks against his already injured ass again, and Chucky hisses. “Try again.” 

He pushes the toy back in at that, and Chucky knows Andy will not budge until he gets what he wants. He is not bothered by having to continue this way either, Chucky can see that in his eyes. His panic grows. He wriggles in his bonds, buckling against Andy’s lap. 

“Fuck me, you piece of shit,” he growls, whining. 

Andy hums disapprovingly. “Aren’t I already?” he asks, pushing the dildo in deeper with his thumb. He taps at it when it pops up, and Chucky feels the burning each time it rubs in and out against the rim of his hole. “Are you saying you want my cock inside you, button?” 

Chucky inhales, just trying to steady his breath. Andy cups his cock and strokes gently. He feels the pressure building in his stomach. “Come on now, button, don’t be so stubborn,” Andy coos in his ear, and Chucky shivers. He’s panting into the mattress, his arousal about to explode out of him. “All you have to do is ask nicely.” 

“...Andy…”

He grits his teeth. The dildo pushes in and out. Hard, unfeeling. 

“...please…” 

Andy does not change course. He just snickers and continues to fuck him with the toy, his hand now removed from Chucky’s cock. Chucky presses his face into the mattress, angry and humiliated. His cheeks are burning with embarrassment. 

“...I want you to fuck me.”

No change. He growls, feeling his eyes welling up. 

“I need it to be you, Andy. Please, please … fuck me.”

Andy slides the toy out. Chucky feels his entire body shudder in relief. He is already lifting his ass up, and he swallows heavily, trying hard not to break. He is sure he has made it through the worst part now, and finally, he can have what he wants. Andy angles himself, pushing in without preparation or warning, and Chucky shouts as Andy sinks into him, deep and punishing. 

“A-Andy!” 

Andy snaps into him again, drawing another cry from his throat. “Is this what you wanted, hmm?” he asks, leaning over him, his body warm and strong against his small body. “You wanted me to fuck you myself? Nothing is quite as good as me, isn’t that right?” 

Chucky grunts, just trying to adjust, but god does it feel right. It feels more than right; it is perfect, it was wanted, it was needed. He can’t move at all, and there is no escape. He can feel Andy deep inside him, warm but firm, and he wants to cum each time Andy hits his prostate. 

“Yes,” he relents, and it’s true, nothing is quite as good as him actually having Andy inside him, and he just wants Andy to bring him to completion, he’ll do anything to get it. Andy rams him again, but he has not released the ties around his cock, and Chucky can only feel the growing pressure, and even as he waits, the relief does not come. Andy bites his shoulder, fucking him hard, and he is throbbing from head to toe. He chokes, and then he begins to whimper. Andy slams harder into him, stretching him out and filling him up, and drawing out tears.

“A-A-Andy…!” he cries, feeling his body fall into the mattress each time Andy thrusts inside him. He squirms, helpless, bound. “I-please… I… I can’t. It’s too much...” 

“Oh, no, button,” Andy murmurs in his ear, snapping his hips. The table has officially been turned, and Andy is teasing him now. “You can and you fucking will. You wanted this so bad. I’m just giving you what you want.” 

He pumps into him, harder, and Chucky sobs, beyond broken. Pleas spill from his mouth, and he begins to babble, in so much pain just from wanting to feel release. 

“Andy, Andy,” he begs, helpless. “Please! Please… it’s so much - it’s so much, fuck! Just let me cum, let me- ahh, ahh!” 

Andy turns his head so he faces the mirror again, and he can see his hair mussed and his cheeks stained with tears. He scowls, but then he’s sobbing again, and he sees himself, with Andy fucking him, breaking down in his reflection. 

“You want to come, button?” Andy asks, thrusting into him, punishing him just right. Chucky nods, crying against the mattress, feeling and seeing his nose start to run. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you, button?”

“Yes,” Chucky whimpers, and he is desperate beyond imagination. “I’ll do anything, I’ll do anything, Andy, please. I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, I promise, please…!” 

“Fuck,” Andy is moaning, and Chucky feels him throbbing and stretching inside him, releasing. He pants against Chucky’s ear, not moving. Just still. Chucky can feel his rapid heartbeat against his neck. He feels each time Andy twitches inside him, more warm liquid filling him. “You’re irresistible when you talk like this, you know that?” 

Chucky is sniffling, the intensity gone, save for his cock, which is still red and swollen and needy. “Andy, please,” he begs weakly, squirming against him. “Please - touch me. Touch my cock, please. I can’t hold it anymore…” 

“Of course, button,” Andy replies, his voice soft. “I told you all you had to do was ask.” 

He rolls over, turning Chucky’s body around so that he could cradle him, a hand around his cock. He gently strokes at it, tugging, and Chucky feels his senses rush back, and wants nothing more than to cover his face, but that is not an option. He bites his bottom lip until it bleeds, and then he is coming into Andy’s hand, moaning loudly despite his efforts to save some small amount of pride. Andy leaves for a moment, presumably to clean up, and returns with a wet cloth.

“There, there,” Andy murmurs, as he wipes Chucky down, cleaning the mess they’ve made. He wipes stray tears from his cheeks. Tears he hadn’t even realized were still there. “That’s my good guy. You did so good, baby.”

He begins to undo the bindings, and Chucky feels his muscles screaming with relief as each knot comes apart. Andy rubs at his arms and legs, bringing the tingling rush of blood back into his veins. Chucky can hear his heartbeat in his ears; he feels his adrenaline coming down, slowly, and the need for validation creeping in. He sniffles, and when Andy finally kisses him, pressing his lips against his forehead, he cannot stop the tears, no matter how hard he tries. He never can, at this part. 

He loves to be broken down by Andy Barclay, and the truth is, it is because he believes he deserves it. He knows he has done Andy wrong, time and time again, and he will let him down in the future, again and again. Nothing feels better than when Andy breaks him down, leaving him ruined, drawing cries out of him, bruising him. 

But, now that his thirst for pain has been quenched, nothing feels better still, than when Andy pieces him back together, and this is a feeling that is so good that it hurts. Because this part is hard for him to believe he deserves. Andy positions him down on the bed, stomach against the pillows, and Chucky winces when he feels a warming oil being rubbed into his sore bottom. He can see the marks now, looking in the mirror, and he knows the marks will be there for days. 

It is so hard to accept this part. He cries, face in the pillows, trying to hide it, knowing there is no point. He knows Andy can tell, from the way his body is shaking. His strength has been exhausted beyond him being able to pretend right now. It is easy for him to accept punishment from Andy, he is a glutton for it, but it is hard for him to accept love from him. This part is hard. Harder than everything Andy had just done to him.

“Hey, hey,” and now Andy is cooing to him, and Chucky is sobbing again, but for an entirely different reason. Andy turns him over, rubbing his knuckles against his cheeks, touching him gently. Kissing him gently, his beard only lightly scratching his skin. This only makes things worse. “You know I love you, don’t you, button?” 

“Don’t,” Chucky growls, defensive despite his tears. He shoves at Andy’s hands, a scowl etching into his face. “Cut that shit out, Andy, you know I hate it.” 

“Button,” Andy says. He pulls Chucky into his arms, and as much as Chucky wants to pretend he doesn’t want it, it doesn’t take long before he melts, nose pressing into Andy’s chest, crying his heart out. Andy’s fingers run up and down his back. When he starts to stroke his neck, Chucky whimpers softly, and he holds onto Andy, finally surrendering.

“You held out for so long,” Andy says, kissing him. He laughs into his hair. “I was really expecting to see the sun go up before I finally had you.” 

Chucky feels one of his hands slide down against his sore bottom, rubbing at it tenderly. He shifts in Andy’s arms, unable to look at him. Not yet. This is always hard for him to come to terms with. Andy has to touch his chin, and carefully tug his face towards him, before he finally looks him in the eyes. 

“It’s okay,” he says, “it’s okay,” and Chucky rolls his eyes, but he grins, before tucking his face away again, his entire body pulsing wildly. 

“I hate you,” he mutters. He knows they both know he doesn’t mean it. Andy snorts and pulls the covers over them. “Yeah, hate you too. Now, if I’m tired, I know you are.” 

“As if you know anything,” Chucky quips, but Andy is already falling asleep, arms cradling him as if he is the most precious thing in the world. Times like this, Chucky finds himself believing he actually is. He can feel Andy’s breathing deepen against him.

His body is weary, he’s weak, and Andy is right - he’s exhausted. He is only going to be all the more sore tomorrow. He knows he’s going to feel this for the next week or so, and something about that is exciting to him. Having Andy stake his claim on him kindles a fire inside him. Now that he has finally gotten what he’d been yearning for, he finds himself contentedly falling asleep, still replaying everything that had just occurred. The pain, the pleasure, his ultimate defeat,  and Andy’s aftercare (and more truthfully than anything, this part makes his stomach warm the most). He falls asleep with a contented grin on his face, the masochistic side of him finally satisfied. 

For now, anyways.

[docholligay]

The Intercession of St. Raphael 5: To Walk in The Way He Has Commanded

Patreon realease day! Up through Chapter nine on Patreon! 

“What the hell, dude!”

Seiya hissed into her ear, sitting next to her outside of Father Anthony’s office, the velvet of the chair coverings worn where a thousand girls before them had sat, waiting for judgment. Haruka did not react, just stared down at her hands, rubbing her thumb over the back of her palm. It was early, and Father Anthony was likely making them wait because he had no desire to be up himself--it was simply designed as a further punishment for the both of them.

Both Haruka and Seiya had taken their usual route of forcing femininity as hard as possible when brought for punishment. Seiya looked nearly demure in her lace-trimmed blouse, her hair pinned back with delicate gold clips, her legs crossed neatly under her pastel blue skirt, gently flared out at the knee. Haruka had little casual clothing anyhow, none of which she had devoted to being ladylike, and so she wore her uniform, pressed by Mako this morning, the peter pan blouse selected, accented by a pink ribbon in her hair from Usagi.

“I said,” Seiya stared hard at her. “What the hell, dude? I thought we agreed we don’t want to end up here, again, with Father fucking Anthony.”

Haruka sighed and flopped back in the chair, forgetting her urge to be ladylike, staring out the window and wishing she could fly away into the clouds. “I’m sorry.”

Seiya sat back, somehow more taken aback by Haruka’s genuine apology than the fact that Haruka had hit her in the first place.

It took her a moment to recover. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Haruka kept staring out the window, barely registering the quiet miracle of she and Seiya having a civil conversation, “I got into a fight with Mina last night.”

In the way of most stories people tell, this was not entirely true, nor entirely false.

Haruka would have told you she finally unleashed after years of small jokes that barbed at her, that even she could only take so much, that Mina had been cruel, and that Mina herself had offered no defense for her action, for the way she had manipulated Haruka’s feelings for a joke. She would have edited her choked-back tears, and the way she had stormed out of their shared room and slept on the floor of the small chapel where she had spoken with Michiru just a few weeks previously. She would never had said that the chapel had once seemed a cathedral to her, when Michiru touched her hand, incense woven into the woodwork and surrounding her, as if she’d been blessed, but that now it was just a small and dingy place where she buried herself into the tattered carpet, at least kind enough to absorb her errant tears.

Mina would have told you that Haruka exploded at her when she had touched her shoulder in concern, that she could not have said a word if she had wanted to, that Haruka made no sense and she had no idea what she was even talking about, that she thought Haruka must be drunk or on drugs on something to explain her erratic behavior. She would have edited out her hurt, that she had never seen Haruka so angry with her, that she was confused and scared and worried, that she had looked for Haruka for hours before going to bed, slipping a note under her pillow and hoping she’d come home, that it hurt more deeply than any argument she had with any lover.

Seiya gave an awkward shrug. “Sucks, fighting with your girl.”

“It’s not like that. I’ve known her since I was eight, Kou, she’s like my sister.”

“Yeah, I got one of those too.” Seiya recovered, finally, and waved her hands over at Haruka. “So why the fuck did you hit me?”

Haruka wanted to pour the sourness out of her soul, wanted to cleanse the rotted hurt from her heart, to lay it tenderly within the soft love of forgiveness, but all she could see is Mary looking down on her with shame, the backs of the saints turned to her, and she could not hear the reassuring whispers of love and gentleness, only the fierce anger of men who had used the words of the saints as a weapon.

And so she choked out, “Because I’m stupid.”

“I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know how to treat you when you’re like this. Maybe you should just hit me again. I can deal with that.”

Haruka buried her head in her hands, her legs spread, and groaned heavily.

“Ladies.” The voice was cold and commanding, and Haruka immediately remembered that she was supposed to be very demure, and sat up straight, crossing her ankles.

“Good morning, Father Anthony.” It was in perfect concert.

He beckoned them with his hand. “Into my office. Now.”

They half-scrambled, not wanting to be any more of Father Anthony’s personal annoyances than they already were--he has a hard man, and his distaste for children was only surpassed by his dislike of teenagers, to say nothing of ones who wore their hair too short, wore pants too often, and walked too heavy.

They sat down on the plush chairs in his office, the room smelling of tobacco and a light mist of flowers. The colors were dark and imposing, the entire place giving off the air of judgement that he doubtless craved.

“I hope you are pleased that this is how we all have to spend our weekend.” He sat down at his desk and glowered at the two of them.

Seiya and Haruka looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes, wondering if they were meant to respond.

The answer was, luckily, no, and so Father Anthony continued:

“From the report of several bystanders, I have it on good authority that you were the one to throw the first punch, Miss Tenoh, and I am very curious as to why you thought that a good idea.” His voice was dripping with condescension, and Haruka felt anger and shame in a glorious duet that burned hot on her skin.

Haruka did not know how to begin to explain, even to someone who held her in good faith, and certainly not to the man who held her in contempt. That she had been hurt, and sad, and all of it had built up in her, in the way things do, and she tried to stop herself when it happened, but she was just so angry, and her feelings so tender.

“Haruka, answer me.” He gazed over the desk at her, his eyes boring into her soul, looking for every crack and chip.

Haruka fidgeted uncomfortably, looking up at Father Anthony through her bangs, narrowly obscuring his gaze, a weak confessional panel between them.

“I saw her with...a boy...that I liked. I was jealous. I thought he might like me. It was stupid. I’m not the kind of girl any gi--guy might fall for.” She bowed her head, staring at the floor. “My friends told me he liked me because they thought it would be funny.”

Father Anthony seemed a strange mix of surprised and appeased. Seiya looked over at her, and even out of the corner of her eye, Haruka could see her rising compassion. It only made her feel more ashamed, that she was an object of pity in Seiya’s eyes, and she shrugged.

“Sorry I hit you.”

“Envy is among the ugliest sins, Haruka.” Father Anthony boomed over the desk.

“I know.”

He pushed himself out from the desk and drew his hands behind his back thoughtfully, strutting about the large oak-paneled office.

“And, in addition to that, to strike against your Sister in Christ over desires of the flesh.”

You don’t know the half of it, Father. You have no idea how much trouble I should be in.

“Haruka, your continued presence at this school is representative of Holy Mother Church's commitment to the poor and the unwanted,” she winced at the word, but Father Anthony was not so much as looking at her, “and it is a privilege for you. If we were forced to tell the state that you belong better in--”

“It was my fault, Father.” Both Haruka and Father Anthony’s heads snapped to look at her. “I knew Haruka liked...that boy, and I bragged about it in front of her. I caused my sister to stumble.”

He frowned deeply, and it was difficult to tell whether he was more disappointed that Seiya had done such a thing or that his speech threatening Haruka’s home of nearly ten years had been interrupted. The children who paid were not subject to nearly the same discussions, and the Kou family had enough put into the school that a light slap on the wrist was most of what he could manage.

“50 Hail Marys, Miss Kou, and my personal admonition that it would be wise not to stoke the anger in others. One day you may meet with someone whose bite outshines their bark.”

Seiya grinned. “Well, this shiner doesn’t feel great.”

He frowned heavily at her, and she sat back up straight and folded her hands in her lap.

“Miss Tenoh, it would do you well to reflect on the sort of company you keep, if your story is to be believed.”

“Trust me, Father, I am.” She spat the words, thinking of Mina, and how she and Rei must have giggled over Haruka’s hurt and pain.

“I cannot ignore that you were the one moved to violence, whatever Miss Kou might have said. 50 Hail Marys and a loss of your commissary privileges for one month.”

Haruka burst. She had worked so hard for the small amount of pocket change that she had, and she delighted in the times she picked up a candy bar, or some soda, or any of the small pleasures allotted to her. “Are you kidding me?! Father Anthony, that’s not fair, I--”

“You are fortunate, Miss Tenoh, that I do not remove you from the track team, for all it seems to fire up your blood.”

Haruka stopped immediately, her face grave, and bit her lip.

“Yes, I thought as much. Temper, Miss Tenoh. I am told it causes you grief, and you should reflect on your lack of control, don’t you agree?” He looked down his nose at her. “Hm?”

“Yes, Father Anthony.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you for advising me.”

He looked down at the paper on his desk and waved his hand. “You may go.”

Seiya and Haruka stood up as quickly as they could without seeming as if they were rushing out in an unladylike way, and went to gather their belongings, Seiya’s leather satchel sitting next to Haruka’s tattered green bag.

“Thank you.” The words were bitter in her mouth as she scooped to pick up her bag.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Why did you--”

“When I say, don’t mention it, I mean, tell no one, I’ll deny it, and never talk to me about it again.” Seiya picked up her bag and turned back toward Haruka. “Father Anthony’s a dick.”

Haruka nodded her assent, and they wordlessly walked down the hall to the back stairs.

“Let me give you some advice. Michiru’s hot, but she’s a Kaioh. She’s mean, and she’s crazy, and she could probably have you killed if she wanted to. Nobody likes her, the only friend she has is Rei, and probably only because Senator Hino needs to be up the Kaiohs’ ass for political reasons. There’s tons of girls in this school, Haruka.”

Haruka’s mouth was open to defend Michiru before she realized she had done it, but she stopped herself and closed it, remembering that Seiya had done her a great and unexpected favor, and she could, at least, sit for a moment and listen to what she had to say.

“I mean, do what you want,” Seiya waved her hand dismissively, “I’m not gonna cover your ass again, but I’ve gone to school with her since I started going to school, and trust me on this one. Her whole family’s creepy.”

Haruka nodded. “Okay.”

Seiya sighed at the non-committal nature of it all, turned on her heel, and headed back to the dorm hall.

Haruka looked out at the campus, the green beginning to grey under a quickly-darkening sky, the raindrops heavy in the bottom of the clouds, begging to burst forth. She walked toward the tree at the end of the field--the day after the St. Stephen’s dance was almost always quiet, and the coming rain had only stilled the normally busy hum of the girls’ school even further.

Which was fine with Haruka--she didn’t want to go back to her room, but she didn’t want to see anyone, either. What she really wished, most desperately, was that her suggestion of a punching bag in the gym center had been taken up, but Father Anthony had called it ‘completely inappropriate for young ladies.’

A punching bag was inappropriate, but that flower arranging was still a part of Home Ec was a vital skill.

She touched her chest for reassurance, and then remembered the lost medal. When it rained it poured, it supposed, though the slight misting drizzle of the day seemed to deny her even this. She looked back up at the clouds. They looked so heavy, she could tell there was a torrent inside of them just waiting to be free, to break out and rain down on the land, covering it. BUt it was restrained, held back to this sad drizzle.

She thought about walking the few miles up the road to St. Stephen’s, to ask about the medal, but though, considering her recent bent into lawlessness in the eyes of Father Anthony, this might not be the widest choice.

Instead, she shuffled slowly across the field, the wool coat provided for them just barely hitting her hip. She was as ill-fit and wrong for it as for everything else in this place. She sighed heavily and leaned against the tree at the other end, looked up at the pattern of grey between the fading green of the leaves.

She understood them, she thought, slowly dying as she tried to cling to something that didn’t want her anymore.

Glad to see you’re still being as dramatic as humanly possible, Heathcliff, she could hear Mina say.

Mina. The rage boiled in her again, how Mina could do something so cruel. That, in itself, she supposed, was not the greatest surprise--she had been known to strike back at people aggressively when they got in her way, or had done something she considered something a slight. No, the great surprise was that Mina could have done something like that to her.

It had been years since they both came to this place, stuffed together in the back of a station wagon, a social worker assuring them that this was a marvelous opportunity, that Mother Mary’s was a brilliant and exceptional learning institution, (and this Haruka would have happily concurred with, were she not so certain that such things were essentially wasted on her), that they should be happy and grateful. Mina, young as she was, had still seemed rather unaffected by the whole thing, as happy in one place as another so long as there was something to be fiddled with, a person to be teased, a rule to be exploited.

Haruka, on the other hand, had been crushed, feeling the dream of her having a family set aside. Her grandmother had died only a year prior, and her mother had seemed wholly disinterested in raising her. She had a vision of someone coming and telling her they wanted her to be their new daughter, and pictured birthdays and Christmases overflowing with the warm smells of home.

But she was not the sort of doll anyone selected from the shelf, she thought, gangly and boyish, never the honor student.

Mina had patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she winked, “you’ll be okay.”

She could not possibly have known such a thing, but she played it off with such confidence that Haruka believed her instantly.

“Yeah?” She had furrowed her brow, trying to look tough, in a move that would become very familiar to her. “I’m not scared.”

“No one said you were.” Mina sassed back.

Haruka had crossed her arms and slumped down in the seat. “I never wanted a stupid family or anything anyway.”

“Good, ‘cause you’re not getting one.”

Haruka shot her a look, then, with all the insult her child’s face could offer.

She had shrugged. “Just being honest,” she extended her hand, “Call me Mina.”

“Haruka.” She shook her hand, feeling very adult in the moment.

Mina had been wrong, when she’d said that, Haruka reflected, sliding down the tree and sitting at its roots. It was true that no one had ever wanted to adopt them--Haruka had given up the idea later than most, but she eventually got it through hr thick skull--but they had become a family to each other, and as Usagi and Mako had come along, they had been worked into the fabric as well, making some sort of quilt of useless and throwaway patches.

It had always worked for Haruka, on some level, just having Mina to care about her, but she could not square Mina’s betrayal with the rest of their lives.

Mina had sat by her as she trembled and shook from the chicken pox last year, only teasing her later as the only human being capable of being in a boarding school and waiting til she was 15 to catch it. They’d discussed a dozen hurts and fears and Haruka had even seen Mina cry, which she considered no small sight. She didn’t like being mad at Mina. She hated it.

But she would never get over what Mina had done to her, not now, not ever. She balled her fists and bit her lip.

Temper, Miss Tenoh.

Had anyone ever had the idea that Joan had decided to leave France because she was simply so sad, and so hurt, by what was happening, that all she could was react with any army? Likely not--that wasn’t the way saints thought, God had told her to do it, not the burn in the belly of her soul, but Haruka longed to tell someone what it felt like. To know that someone understood what it was to have that aching hurt down inside, to want to lash out like a rattlesnake, but of course, Haruka only ever bit herself in the end.

“Haruka, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Jesus Christ, I’ve been worried sick, you flipped the fuck out last night, and I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning, if this is some kind of lesbian dramatics that’s fine but for fuck’s sake, keep me in the loop.”

She didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

[quirkydeaky]

Life is Real {Chapter Three}

ROGER TAYLOR

how will Roger cope when he finds that his new best friend,  whom he’s falling in love with, is slowly dying?

.

HI! So I’m back and hoping this series will not flop, lol. A few people have been interested in seeing this, so here I am with what people want! If you want, drop a comment or send me an ask and I’ll add you to my tag list. Mwah!

{p.s - send me asks cause i want mutuals and my ask box is open! eek!}

Also… This story is a multi-part fan-fiction with heavy, mature themes. The Original (and Main) Female Character has a type of Cancer. The type will not be mentioned, but there may be some scenes with heavy implements of medication, treatment or heavily implied scenes at a hospital.

I DO understand that this topic hits close to home for a lot of people, and if this angst-based series is not something for you, please ignore. Thank you.

.

W/C: 2.6k+

Warnings: Fluff, Angst.

Main Characters: 80s!Roger Taylor, MammaMia2!Lily James

[so, basically this chapter has a lot of dialogue, but this is where Lillian finally become completely honest with Roger about her deathly illness. This is where things are finally beginning to take place in the plot. Enjoy honey’s xxx]

"So he actually threw your maracas into the audience?" Lillian questions after hearing the magnificently odd story of how Roger stole his maracas after hours of searching, only for Freddie to throw them into the audience.

"I'm not joking!" He said as Lillian burst into another fit of laughter at his exasperated tone. "You should've seen me, though... I was ecstatic after finding them, and for him to throw them into the audience like that for one of our audience members to take home? I was fuming!" He exclaimed, throwing his free hand that wasn't connected to the steering wheel and resting dangerously close to Lilly's thigh into the air.

"Any other stories I need to hear about?" She questioned.

"Heard about that time I trashed my kit? Pretty sure it was '74, Rainbow Theatre?"

"No! But why would you even consider, let alone, do such a thing?"

"Terrible night that was. Don't get me wrong, though... a great performance from the four of us from the circumstances we were put in, the electricity cutting in and out constantly I think pushed me over the edge, along with some other things."

"Sounds interesting. Can't believe I'm in the car with the actual Roger Taylor."

"Oh, 's nothing, really. Quite the opposite of how a lot of fans would actually react, I guess. You're the type of down to earth that I really appreciate."

"That's nice to know, I appreciate the compliment."

"Wait- don't get me wrong... you are actually a fan, right?"

"Yes, I am, Roger. Don't think you're boasting about your one of a kind, crazy talented band to someone who really isn't listening or appreciating the stories, because I am, really."

"You have our albums?"

"Every single one. From Smile's first 45 to The Game that was released a little over a month ago. Love it all."

"Even Smile's first release? Wow, you've stuck around a while, have you not?"

Nodding in agreement, she replied. "I have."

"But, why don't you know about some of our stories, and stuff? Like, that story of me trashing the kit, almost everyone in London knows about it, not to mention holds it against me, to this day, almost six and a half years later!"

"Well, I- don't really know. At the start when you guys became famous after Killer Queen, I was just graduating Uni at the time, and was busy with trying to find some temporary work, but then had to drop that job as some other things got in the way."

"What kind of things?" Roger questioned.

Roger's eagerness really didn't go unnoticeable. He was in a form of desperation to find out about his new, so called best friend that he needed in his life. He knew this friendship was really going to work, basing it off already being able to tell that the trust and communication was there between the two. But Roger really didn't realise that he could press this somewhat introverted yet extroverted woman too much.

Ignoring his previous comment, she continued.

"And as of recent times, I've picked up a one-shift a week part-time job while working and focusing on the creative aspect of my life-"

"As I mentioned before, what kind of things got in the way?" He pressed, eyes flicking over to her before regaining focus on the road, making Lilly shift in her seat and lean more towards and against the locked door of the travelling car, feeling a blush creep up her neck and towards her cheeks.

"I- I can't really explain. Not right now."

"If it's something explicit or something that has or is scaring, even hurting you... you can tell me. I have no one to tell, if that's what your wondering."

Its not that Lillian wanted to hide such a massive part of her life that was impacting almost everything she did from Roger. It'd be an act of cruelty and dishonesty, having and letting him open up when she hasn't done the same.

"I- yeah, I guess. Okay."

"Okay? You'll tell me?"

She nodded, nerves and fear encasing her voice so much she was afraid to speak. "When is the next turn off?"

"In a couple of minutes, love. 'Want me to just pull into a park or something just outside London?"

"Yeah, just do that."

.

"Okay. You're going to get the truth, obviously," Lillian begins as they step towards a park bench after stepping out of the car not long before, about to get down into the nitty gritty before being interrupted.

"I would hope so."

"Right. Do you want this the light or the hard way?"

"I'll take either, as long as you're comfortable." Roger says with a shrug as he sits on the seat, patting the space next to him to invite her.

Sitting down, she continues. "How easily d'you take me being upfront and probably confronting?"

"I'm fine."

"Okay," She starts, turning and facing him, gaze ripping away from the empty, large space in front of them. Crossing her legs, Lillian fiddles in her bag before taking out three small bottles of different medications, two bottles being almost full as she only collected them from the pharmacy two or so days ago, another being half full.

While Roger stares at the bottles now laid out in front of him, he's lost for words, many assumptions being made in his head that were now not only crammed with lyrics, beats, things to do and his slowly failing marriage, but now his poor, new best friend's health and safety.

"So, what... it's the fourteenth of July, 1980, and doctor's aren't really sure if I'll make it to my thirtieth birthday... that's in April of 1983."

Roger is still speechless, mouth now agape. He doesn't know how to respond to that. Like, this woman who he's already in admiration of, slowly becoming his new best friend, one he is already developing small feelings for, is dying?

It's not what he expected.

What she didn't expect, though, was a response from him. And she hadn't received one yet, and she was fine with that.

It was what she expected. Not to receive a response.

Another thing, though, was how surprised Lillian was with herself. She didn't even have the heart to consider how she, herself, would feel telling Roger all of this. She knew she was comfortable with him the minute they began that proper conversation at the end of his driveway, but having him as the first person to know about her cancer was something entirely different.

Yet, she was okay with it.

"I'm so, so sorry, Lil. I- wow," He says.

Lil. That was new.

She liked it.

"I can't even explain how apologetic and bad I feel."

"And you don't have to, Roger." Lilly said, shaking her head.

"I've been dealing with this on my own for a little over three years. It's cancer. I didn't know it ran in my family, I don't think it does. But it can happen to anyone, at any time. People just need to accept that, and after a while, I learnt. I learnt how to accept that I had the cancer tag that no one knew I walked around with everyday. I didn't have anyone to tell. Mum? She's off with some new bloke, forgotten about me. Don't even know where dad is. I'm an only child and have no friends, except you. Roger, this may be confronting, but I need- god, I need you to understand and accept me for who I am."

"Lil-"

"Please." She begs, in desperation for a little love from someone in her life. Platonically from Roger, of course. He had a wife.

His wife that was slowly becoming further and further away from him, that was.

"Lillian, listen to me." Roger began, griping her shoulders, surprising her with the action and making her chin lift, gaze locking on his.

"I will accept you for whoever you are. The fact that you have cancer? That matters so much to me, in the aspect of me looking after you, driving you to treatment, appointments, whatever. I don't care what I have to do. You have me. I understand, I'm the first person you've had in a long time, and knowing that? I simply can't leave you on your own when you need me most."

Lillian was crying at this point, the realisation of finally having someone who not only will treat her right, but not verbally abuse her like both of her father's. Not a person who will leave her alone, like her mother or that so called friend Sophie. The realisation that someone will finally realise of her existence.

The realisation that someone will love her.

Her tears were flowing freely, Roger cooing and wiping them away as he brought her in for a hug.

Only her second hug in however many years. Both hugs being from Roger.

With the bottles of medication forgotten, she latched her arms around Roger's neck forcefully, knocking over one bottle and climbing over the other two to have a more meaningful hug with the man she now called her best friend.

The touch of his skin on hers lit a fire inside of her, almost instantly craving the small amount of affection she hadn't received in so, so long, with the same happening for Roger.

She wasn't the only one that was craving affection. He was too.

With a slowly disintegrating marriage, how could he not? His wife was now settling for divorce papers. Fights at home become common. Returning to an empty house came even more often then not.

Roger hadn't had a proper, genuine hug in over a year; small side hugs from his three best friends not surfacing even close enough to a real life display of the comfort he needed of so much in his life.

But he had Lillian now. Even if it wasn't for as long as he needed.

The loss of affection, god, Roger didn't know how much it would draw him closer to this new person in his life. One who hadn't experienced affection, comfort, anything of that sort for so long.

The hug lasted a while, sobs still eliciting Lilly's throat as Roger rubbed her back. The small amount of affection that they were both on the receiving end of automatically drew the two closer together, their desperation untameable.

They both wanted someone to love them, and they both wanted to love someone.

That's exactly why when Lillian's head lifted from his shoulder where it lay seconds beforehand, that they both didn't make any effort to pull any further away from each other, Lilly basically resting on his crossed legs.

Roger took a moment to admire the girl's tear stained face, her pretty, sculpted cheek bones blotched a beetroot red, taking the attention away from where her wet eyelashes rested upon her skin where freckles gently lay, eyebrows crinkling as she admired Roger in the exact same way.

She narrowly avoided being caught by Roger as she admired his flawless skin, pale skin a little flushed from the light breeze that blew through the park on a late Summer afternoon, probably also flushed from the intimacy and close proximity of the two bodies in the hug they shared. His breathing was ragged as it escaped his pink, thin yet pillowy lips, a little chapped from gnawing at them in between sentences as he talked up a storm in the car.

His piercing blue eyes caught her own hazel shaded ones as her eyes flicked over his face for the last time, her gaze almost catching something else in motion behind him, all to avoid him, yet what she wasn't giving him, he wanted.

Attention.

He wanted her attention. He wanted her admiration.

Bringing his hand to her chin, he grasped it between his thumb, index and middle fingers, drawing her gaze back to his, eyes locking with one another. Even though he wasn't originally planning to get go of his grasp on her, he did. Only to replace his fingers to fiddle with the only ring he wore.

His wedding band.

"Roger," Lillian started as her eyes caught his actions as he began pushing it up and down is finger, a contemplative face present on his gorgeous features. "What are you-"

"She treats me like shit," Is all the man said before regaining focus on Lillian, stopping his actions and shifting a little closer to the twenty seven year old woman. "Fights with me constantly," He mumbled. "Could say the woman hates me and wouldn't even feel a rid of guilt."

"Roger, I'm-"

"Don't bother, she's settling for divorce papers, and the worst thing? She's not even upset about it. Always says in our fights that she can't wait to get out of the toxic life I've always given her. She hates me. Hasn't loved me in over a year. Haven't felt love from anyone in over a year." He recited, as if the story was what he had told numerous times to different people, or even to himself. Maybe that's why he has no guilt. Only desperation and sadness.

"But no one sees how desperate I am for love to be shown in my direction. The love you receive from friends as they continuously support you hasn't even lasted me long enough. Don't know what to do with myself."

While Lillian was listening and trying to understand the concept of the message Roger was trying to convey, she was interrupted as her body jerked at the sound of church bells ringing in the distance, signalling the beginning of a new hour of the day. Eyes flicking to her watch that she wore on her wrist, it read six p.m.

Her gaze refocused towards the sky after that, ears still perked at the sound of the continuous church bells, still ringing. Breathing in the fresh air and being out in the brisk hours of the beginning of the night was something she rarely got to do, so she focused her eyes on the slowly darkening blue of the sky, searching for the moon to appear at any moment.

Her gaze dropped to the seat the pair were sat on after hearing a light clutter noise. Looking up and seeing Roger with his mouth slightly parted, breathing ragged and increasing as the seconds passed.

The thing Lilly had missed was the way Roger looked at her, trying to succumb and make a decision as she was distracted from his presence. He couldn't help himself, but in the short time the two have known each other, he was beginning to develop feelings for her, and while it was oh so wrong, it felt so, so right, too.

That's why the light clatter noise drew the attention of Lillian. It's exactly what Roger wanted. Her attention.

Her own lips parted at the sight of Roger, and the sight of what caused the clutter noise on the metal bench seat.

His wedding band.

And even if Lillian could only experience three of the main senses at that current time; smelling Roger's cologne, feeling the goosebumps on her skin appear because of Roger's close proximity in his presence, seeing Roger with wide, hazel eyes, that's when she was privileged to feeling and tasting.

The feeling of his pillowy and slightly chapped lips.

The taste of his cigarette.

Roger had kissed her. And almost nothing had felt so right in his life when he felt Lillian kiss back, only for her to pull away seconds later, opening her eyes slowly out of pure bliss before widening them in shock and oblivion.

And at the same time, their mouth opened, spitting out both the obvious, and the not so obvious.

"Roger! You have a wife." "I'm not hers anymore."

TAG LIST: @rogerinathehystericalqueen @toger-raylor @jennyggggrrr @xox-talia-xox​  @hottestofspaces @stormtrprinstilettos @devil-in-those-eyes @redspecialty​​ @brian-roger-deaky-and-fred​​ @ogrogerbattle​​ @im-addicted-to-queen​​ @killerqueenbucky​​ @xgoingdownx​​ @benhardyisdaddy​ @luvborhap​ @loveandbeloved29​ @deacytits @loversoon

[icharchivist]

You just gave me a sad image of a mentally/emotionally broken Lavi (desperately trying to hold on to anything after what he's been through and losing Gramps) following Allen around like a kitten after it's momma. Because Allen is his #1 bookman duty now and also symbolizes the light Lavi desperately craves in this dark ugly world. Hoshino did say the plot woukd test Allen amd Lavi to their limits. I think you're right. Lavi is going to be damaged in a big way and maybe he'll be clinging to-

2 to Allen more then ever for some stability (I do wonder if the Noah will hunt after Lavi too if he escapes before they're finished w/him?). But Lavi jas a tendency to go violently nuts if Allen's in serious danger so I wonder if watching Allen constantly hunted by everyone and slowly losing his identity to Neah might do worse for his psyche in this scenario? Take care too!

oUTCH but i also kinda love the picture help??? 

But you have a good point in general though. Hoshino did say too that she once told Lavi’s fate to one of her editors and he apparently was horrified, so looking forward t h a t one huh. I’m kinda expecting the worst tbh but i’m just.. so scared dkjfhd

I think it would be neat though to call back to the whole “you are light” scene and how Allen helped get Lavi back from when his mind was broken though. I keep wondering if the Ark’s arc wasn’t just very forshadowy in general (the one that comes to mind is how Kanda was the only one who managed to kill his immortal enemy by just. keep fighting and fighting and fighting because “anything that is human can be killed” which had horrific ramification when we learn later than in the past he had to do exactly that with Alma’s body when he had to kill Alma so.. ye.) and if so, Lavi’s mind being at the mercy of the Noah and Allen managing to drift him back into focus on what he would want could make sense. especially since Lavi’s conflict in the Ark was all about his Bookman’s persona and the emotions he felt that made him want to get personal during the war as well to protect those he loved, or avenge them (like how he tried to attack Tyki immediatly upon realizing it’s the guy who trid to kill Allen)

tbh the fact that Lavi had been heavily tortured by Noahs for the sake of the 14th and knowing the hardship Nea put Allen through (Lavi was the only one who witnessed Cross and Allen’s conversation about Allen thinking Mana only ever loved him because of the 14th, aside from the crows in the room), I doubt he will kindly take in Nea’s persona and i’d be inclined to think it might even be something that would fuck him over to have to have the very reason he was tortured walking around by trying to destroy the life of a dear friend.

And as you said, Lavi did tend to go in some major length for Allen so I doubt seeing him being lost to Nea will be good on him. 

Also imo Lavi and Allen had often paralleled each other in term of their theme of Identity: both had had different names in the past, both are struggling between the path they chose (exorcist/bookman) and the other path calling on them one way or another (Noah/Exorcist), both are more tied to a third party of the war (Allen with Nea, Lavi with the Bookman) which is in itself an identity that might take over, both tend to keep some sort of fake smile and distance with others to not let their true emotions show, hell even the fact they both have eyes with mysteries, or even that Lavi’s conflict was expressed by showing different version of himself inside of him when Allen has Nea/The Mana influence also in conflict inside him (see why i differenciate the two: the eye stopped Nea from taking control in the Alma arc), this sort of things.  

So i’d be inclined to think that if Lavi’s identity is being put in question again (especially in a case where he would have to take the role of Bookman), this is something that might come up again.

(and it’s not even touching the theory stuff like what if past!Allen was the ancient apprentice Bookman “already lost because of the 14th”, the fact last trace of the Bookmen we have are in the Campbell Mansion kinda linking Nea/Bookman, or the very weird stuff about Lavi’s innocence stuff (... i mean i’m not hiding that i’m pro Lavi=Heart but even outside of that, it’s sketchy that it’s canon Lavi and Bookman found innocences AFTER they decided they were going to the Order for their recording)- if those topics get touched upon it might even more ties stuff about their identity and their place in the holy war)

As for the Noah, it would depend on their plans. On one hand they may try to keep Lavi under their heels if only because the only fact Lavi knows what they care about is enough leverage against them to not let it slip, but we know the Noah also tends to use the tools at their dispositions if they want to hurt. Again, Road did break Lavi’s mind just to attack Allen knowing fully well Allen would be unable to fight back or would have to hurt his friend.

........ this is a major mess of a post i’m so sorry dkjhfd but I honestly don’t know where it’s going with Lavi’s plot. I have theories and some themes that can come in, and I don’t really manage to think outside of those, but it therefore makes it harder to project myself in a future when I don’t know what that future is yet to offer.

At best I would at least hope that Lavi and Allen would manage to help each other out,to sort their identities, their place in all of this, after all they went through, and I really hope Lavi’s possible trauma due to the tortures is touched on and leave some conflict with that situation still while still, hopefully, being by Allen’s side.

it’s just orz please I just want to see Lavi at this point

You’re sweet nonny tho

[thegoddamnfangirl]

Li’l Lou

Pairings- Loki Laufeyson x Reader, starring dense!reader.

Requested by anon and based on this imagine of mine.

Warnings- this is probably not as romantic as you expect. I had no idea what to write, so I came up with something which I hope is kinda funny?

  The sign was bold and intimidating (yes, signs can be intimidating, especially if you’ve talked to the landlord who writes the signs)- No pets allowed.

 Which was a pity for you, cat- premi supreme. You had been living in the building for a about a year now- the accommodations were good and the rent was reasonable- and boy, did you long for the company of a feline friend.

 But you were respectful (read: afraid) of your landlord and his wishes, so you had suppressed the urge to go out and buy an army of kittens. And then, one day, you succumbed.

 There it was, the most majestic creature you had ever seen. Glossy black from head to toe, with eyes that looked like jade, lounging gracefully on the top step of your apartment building’s entrance. 

  “Mrrrrrow,” he said when he saw you. You had mentally just assumed the cat was a ‘he’.

  “Oh my god,” you breathed. “You are the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen in my entire life.”

  The cat looked like he agreed.

You inched closer and extended a hand to touch him. The top of his head was silky smooth, and he stood up at your touch, and rubbed his hand against your hand, making a rusty noise at the back of his throat which was probably his way of purring.

  You had to get home, though, and it was cold outside, so you walked past the cat and headed inside the building. 

  As you climbed up the stairs, you looked behind to see that the cat had actually followed you inside, and was waiting on the step before yours for you to move on.

  You did, and he followed.

Now, it was cold outside, as previously mentioned. As you were unlocking your apartment,  the cat was waiting, and you fancied he was anticipating the heat that would be within. 

 “Oh, I could get kicked out of the building for this,” you groaned, opening the door and letting the cat trot inside.

    You gave the cat some food,  which he seemed to appreciate. He was a graceful, well behaved creature, and while you were showering, you decided you were going to keep him. He had no collar, so you might as well.

 You came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy towel, to see the cat sitting on his haunches on your bed, staring intently at you.

 Something about that green-eyed gaze made you uncomfortable. You grabbed some clothes from your closet and decided to get dressed in the privacy of the bathroom.

   You dressed in comfy pajama shorts and an oversized shirt, and got underneath you covers feeling relaxed and happy. The cat walked up to your face and sat down by your end of the covers, almost as if silently demanding entrance. You opened up the covers, and he slunk inside them, settling down next to your stomach and beginning to purr.

   “What should I name you?” you wondered out loud.

“Mrrrrrow,” said the cat, and you were sure he was telling you his actual name in Cat.

  “Well, I don’t speak Cat...” you said. “I think I’m gonna call you Lou-Lou.”

You always had loved funny names for cats.

  There was a hiss from inside the covers; Lou-Lou’s way of saying that he did not like that name.

  “Too bad, li’l Lou, the name has stuck,” you said, before you fell asleep.

It had been a few days since you had let Lou-Lou in. You had explained to him that it was imperative that he be quiet and well-behaved, or you would both be chucked out by the landlord, and he acted like he understood. Lou-Lou was practically incognito.

  Funny cat, he was. He liked water, for one thing. This one time, you were taking a warm shower, he had jumped inside, mrrrrrow-ing loudly- only to be chased away by your yells and a bottle of shampoo thrown at him.

 Work took up a lot of your time, but Lou-Lou was a behaved cat. You managed to come home twice during work to put food and water out for him. Today, however, you had been held up during lunch break, and unable to come home to give Lou-Lou food.

On account of this, you hurried home, hoping Lou-Lou wasn’t terribly hungry.  On opening the front door, you were surprised not to find him loping towards you in greeting, as he usually did.

“Lou-Lou?” you called out, worried that he might’ve somehow escaped in search of food. You went into your bedroom, and froze.

   There was a man on your bed.

A tall, dapper man, dressed in green and black, with a huge grin on his face and familiar jade eyes.

 “Hello, darling,” he said in sultry tone, and something about it reminded you about the way Lou-Lou said “mrrrrrow”.

  Your throat went dry.

“W-who are you?” you asked.

  His grin grew wider.

“Don’t you recognize me?” he asked. “You let me inside your home. You even gave me a name...Lou-Lou.” This last part was pronounced with distaste.

 You blinked at him a few times.

“However, you were unaware of my identity, and still are, so I shall enlighten you. I am Loki, God of Mischief and rightful heir to the throne of Asgard, and a skilled shape-shifter.”

  To prove his point, he shrunk into Lou-Lou, then turned back into himself.

“Okay...” you began. 

“Could I have Lou-Lou back, though?”

  Wrong question. Loki’s eyes darkened- he stood up and took a few menacing steps towards you.

  “You ask for a kitten, girl, when you can have a god?” he breathed.

You held your ground, despite being intimidated by his height.

 “W-well, cats are...you were...you were very cuddly as Lou-Lou.”

  He grinned again, coming closer.

“Oh, my love,” he said in a low tone. “I can be so much more than simply....cuddly.”

His hand suddenly had an iron grip on your arm- he threw you on the bed and advanced over you, breathing heavily.

  There was a hungry look in his eyes as they roved over your entire body.

“OMG!” you exclaimed, jumping up and grabbing his wrist.

  “Lou-Lou, I forgot to feed you! I’m such a terrible owner, I’m so sorry I forgot!”

You led him by the hand to the kitchen. When you looked back, you saw that he looked completely nonplussed.

 “You look hungry, Lou,” you told him.

“Hungry, yes,” he mumbled. “But not for cat food.” 

  His gaze was fixed on you in that intense way, and you understood.

  “Of course, Lou-Lou; you get human food,” you said sympathetically.

Loki’s palm hit his forehead. 

  “Y-you- are all mortals this abysmally slow?” he asked.

“Lou-Lou!” you said. “Be nice. Is this the sort of stuff you used to say when you hissed at me? It’s very rude; anyway, sit down, Lou-Lou, you’re hungry.”

  Loki slumped into a chair.

“You may call me Loki,” he growled.

  “Sure thing, Lou-Lou,” you replied, microwaving some spaghetti for him.

 Your back was turned to him- suddenly, you felt his breath on the back of your neck.

 “It is not food that I crave, sweetheart.”

You turned, not at all perturbed by the closeness of your faces.

  “What do you want, then, Lou-Lou? You’re a very finicky cat.”

He bit his lower lip, his arms slipping around your waist.

  “Perhaps you should come to bed and see.”

“Oh, are you sleepy, Lou? Are you sure you don;t want any dinner?” you asked. “I mean, we can go to sleep if you want to- I know how you like to cuddle. You know, the fact that you’re actually a person solves a lot of things- you can be a cat when you feel like it, and whenever the landlord makes a surprise visit, you can turn into yourself again!”

Loki sighed as you led him to the bedroom, resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to ‘get some’.

[crushingonrazz]

Roommate Bros One-Shot

Rating: Mature

UL!Sans & UF!Papyrus (also background Magenta)

W: sex addiction and loneliness/depression

Roommate Bros is a fic that I co-wrote with the amazing @queenofbiscuits​ over on Ao3! It was an amazing project that we both had a ton of fun working on! I don’t feel comfortable posting up the whole thing, since I wasn’t the only one that wrote it, but I would still love it if you guys would go check it out in full!

Below the cut, I’ve added my personal favorite chapter from RB, a one-shot that I wrote to delve into Lust’s character so I think it’s okay? (Fresh if you don’t want this on mine let me know, I can take it down). Consider it a teaser trailer for if you click that link up there lol. This won’t be the only RB thing I ever post since there’s a chapter in COSOS as well, but I just wanted to post this! Enjoy!

The first time Lust met one of his alternates, he got slapped across the face.

Looking back, it wasn't particularly surprising, but at the time, he remembered being extremely confused. He had found himself, along with his brother, tossed through the void and into a world where the native version of himself wore a comfortable blue hoodie and made a habit of leaning against the nearest wall in a tired sort of way that automatically made Lust offer to help him fall asleep. Comic, as he was later dubbed, had gawked at him for a long moment, then reached out and delivered a stinging smack that left Lust reeling with the unexpectedness of it. He'd just been being nice, and it wasn't like he wasn't always down to help if it included that.

Before too long, though, he was educated, through a few more slaps and a lot of yelling on the part of the SwapFell brothers. This world, and the majority of the worlds in the multiverse, didn’t exactly have the same views on sex as his world did.

Lust wasn't sure exactly what caused it, but he remembered the moment when it finally clicked for him that his access to the activity would be much decreased. His panic attack had come seemingly out of nowhere, and his brother had been extremely concerned. The soft turtleneck sweater Pink had been wearing seemed to grate against Lust’s bones, seeming to mock him with the modesty of it, and it just drove him further into his own mind.

He needed sex. Sex was...His method of coping. He would get lost inside himself, hating the world and his place in it, unable to function unless he'd been fucked until he couldn't think any more.

He didn't know why all of the others seemed to think they were so much better than he was. He'd been drinking with Comic, and he was pretty sure that there was nothing sadder than when he got going. He'd seen Red work his way through eight packs of cigarettes in a single afternoon, and even if Blue was too naive to realize that Italian seasoning wasn't usually kept in plastic bags, everyone else knew what Stretch got up to when his mind got the best of him.

So where the fuck did they get off judging him for his coping mechanisms? At least he could remember what he'd done the next morning.

Even once they got to the surface, things barely got easier. There were more people, sure, but sex with humans didn't feel nearly as satisfying as it did with other monsters. There was a lack of connection, almost no involvement of souls. It distracted him and fulfilled his need for physical affection, sure, but it just didn't...fill him. At least...not in the way he’d grown to crave so desperately.

Even as the empty hole inside him grew deeper, his brother seemed to get happier and happier. He’d never had the same problems as Lust, his had been a different kind of loneliness. Before too long, he found himself showered in kisses and affection and attention without needing to use his usual methods, courtesy of Lust’s alternate from UnderFell.

Things really seemed to reach their lowest point when the two announced their engagement. Lust was happy for his brother, he really was! In fact, he was ecstatic!

Right up until he realized that this meant he would be left to live alone in his house.

The thought terrified him. The house, which had previously felt almost too small for his normal tastes, now seemed infinitely too big and empty, what with Pink having left to live in the Fell brothers’ home until such a time as the two could find their own space. He dreaded the wedding, having to resist begging his brother to not leave him so permanently or to not get married. But the day came, and Lust found himself going through the motions of congratulations almost as though he was watching it all through someone else’s eyes, holding back tears and the urge to go find someone to lose himself in.

“You seem absolutely overjoyed to be here.”

The voice was unexpected, and Lust jolted suddenly, glancing up at the speaker. The wedding was over, but they were in the midst of the reception, and Lust had found a table in the back to sit and pretend this wasn't happening, to pretend that he wouldn’t have to go back to an empty house at the end of the night and know for a fact that his brother was never coming back.

Red's brother stood in front of him. They'd spoken a few times before, settling details and setting up dates for different meetings and events. As their brothers’ best men, they'd been forced to interact many times, actually, despite the other's apparent distaste for him. Lust couldnt understand why the other seemed to take such great delight in being an asshole, he got on with Pink almost too well.

When Lust didn't respond, Fell continued, sitting at the table and propping his feet up on the chair that stood between them. “Seriously, if I didn't know any better, I’d think you were at a funeral.”

Lust grimaced at him and sipped at his drink, electing not to respond. The other rolled his eyes and joined him in his silence. Despite the almost prickly air that surrounded him, Lust found himself relaxing slightly. He'd been craving the proximity of another monster but none of these assholes seemed to be willing to get within ten feet of him, as though they were afraid he'd try to fuck them right there in the middle of his brother's wedding.

Screw them. He'd have at least been polite enough to meet them in the bathroom. He wasn't a fucking animal.

There was an uncomfortable silence between them, broken only by the laughter of the other partygoers, before Fell spoke again. “May I be honest with you for a moment?”

Lust spared him a withering look, then nodded slightly. Why the fuck not.

“I share the sentiment.”

Lust turned to look at him fully, surprised. Fell had seemed almost as invested in this wedding as their brothers.

Fell saw the look and shrugged. “Don't get me wrong, I approve the union. I don't think I've ever seen Red as happy as he is when he's with your brother. Pink...allows him to be more open with himself. And with me.” He paused for a long moment, picking at his sleeves and looking away. “But there is something lonely about having your brother be so completely tied to another person when it's only been the two of us for so long.”

Lust studied him carefully. Fell had hit on a large portion of his own problem, an immense percentage of the reason Lust was finding himself to be so incredibly...unwilling to let his brother go.

“You aren't even alone,” Lust found himself saying before he could really think about it. “You still have Red. Pink...he left me.” He decided to blame the drink and the exhaustion and the overwhelming emotions for his honesty, waiting for the other’s answer.

Fell snorted. “Do you truly think that my brother is any more present in my life than he is in yours?”

Fair enough. Pink and Red did tend to be a bit...involved in one another.

Lust felt his mouth moving, and words coming out of their own accord before he could stop them. “Do you get sorta lonely sometimes?”

Fell snorted slightly, but he looked thoughtful. “Yes, I do. But so do most people.”

Lust shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. It’s more...do you ever feel like you need to be around people? Like if you don’t, you’ll fall apart?” His voice broke on the last word, and he withdrew from the other slightly, his cheeks flushing in shame at letting the other see such a hidden part of him.

Fell turned and met his eyes. Lust was prepared for judgement, for the other to burst into laughter and call him a whore, but he received none of it. Instead, Fell just shook his head. “No...I have quite the opposite problem, actually. I get too much of people, and I want them to leave me alone. There are very few people I can stand to exchange more than a couple of words with.”

“Our brothers?”

Fell nodded, then shrugged. “And you, I suppose, though you are…” he smirked slightly, and Lust raised one brow in response. “...irritating, at times. There is no need to be offended, however. Most people tend to be.”

Lust just rolled his eyes, but there was a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. He sipped at his drink, rolling the liquid around in his mouth for a moment as an idea occurred to him.

Fell made to stand up, and Lust’s eyes snapped up before he suddenly reached out and grabbed onto his wrist, surprised by the panic that was accompanying the thought of seeing him go.

“Hang on, just...wait a second. I have a question.”

Fell sighed heavily and sat back down, looking at him questioningly.

Lust took a deep breath, and plowed on, pushing down the thoughts that he was being an idiot, of course the other wasn’t going to say yes.

“Do you think you could stand me enough to live with me? Because I have an extra room in my house now and I wouldn’t keep you awake at all hours having loud sex.” He winked. "At least, not most nights."

Fell laughed slightly, then seemed to realize that Lust was serious, and sobered. “Wait, really? You want to live with me? You must be more lonely than I thought.”

Lust shrugged, not about to argue with that.

Fell regarded him silently for a moment, then nodded thoughtfully for a moment. “Yeah, okay. At this point anything would be better than whatever these idiots’ honeymoon is going to entail.” He looked down slightly, then back up at Lust’s face. “You have my contact details, correct? Call me tomorrow morning sometime and we can discuss this further.” And with that, he stood up and walked away, leaving Lust to sit alone at the table.

It was only after he got into his car to go home that Lust realized that his parting congratulations to the happy couple had been more sincere than any he had given them before.

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