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matildaverse · 11 months

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Please tell about your verses Scriddler and any headcanons for them 🙏

Okay, firstly thank you so much for this question. I would say I’m sorry for what’s to come but you asked for it this is all on you (to anyone else who unfortunately has to witness this blame anon I’m innocent). Quick preface idk who knows this but a friend and I are (VERY SLOWLY) working on our own little project which may or may not include Scriddler. My favourite character ever is Riddler theirs is Scarecrow so it works quite well. I literally got hired for a full time job today though so emphasis on SLOW.

Now I think this could be interpreted a few different ways so I’m going to break down the prompt and if I completely missed the mark whoops I’ll try again. Categories I’ve chosen are: Riddler, Scarecrow, them as a couple, and finally some of my WIPs silly goofs.

RIDDLER

Uses his Arkham outfit for mechanic/dirty work because POCKETS

Arkham uniform has a lot of question mark doodles

Nygma is the name, Nashton is the alias.

April Fools birthday cause he’s gothams biggest fool

Honourary member of Gotham city sirens

I’m personally biased toward forensic science Eddie HOWEVER questions multiply the mystery is the greatest work to ever exist. So I want a combination of that with forensic riddler (thinking he uses his circus gig to fund college). I am biased as a forensic girlie myself HOWEVER I HAVE GOOD REASONING I think it’s interesting how Ed reflects/mirrors Batman in many ways. E.g. in the Batman 2022 how they both take a creature they fear (bats/rats) and use it to fuel their version of vengeance.

I just want to mention the rats again because they are his spirit animal EVERY writer no matter the media understands he is a rat man and he has such a strong connection to them. I have a thread on a bunch of instances not sure if I posted that here. Someone I think commented on it saying he’s akin to a rat in a maze and I just wanna further that with how he uses that feeling to try and put Batman in the same position. He wants him to feel just as powerless.

I want to continue with the concept of powerlessness because I believe it’s such a strong and important motif for Eddie. Now Ed was beaten a lot by his father and fellow school kids. He’s a scrawny guy so he doesn’t really have the strength to fight back. This is kinda the first instance of him becoming powerless. I have a theory that his father not only beat him for ‘cheating’ but also maybe because he didn’t fit his ideals of a MANS MAN. I can’t remember where I got this from (maybe Arkham asylum imterview? That one my fair lady type comic??) but I like the idea that his father was disappointed maybe even jealous of Ed’s intelligence. He wanted a macho type son similar to himself. A footballer kid who was good with the ladies. Ed’s father comes across as a bit of a stupid alcoholic.

Now I’m probably not going to articulate this very well at 2:31am so apologies but I believe this leads into his ✨PHYSICAL DESIGN✨

Now a common denominator I absolutely adore in forensic riddler stories (others too but mainly these) is his slow progression into his signature look. Arkham Origins, Zero Year, Gotham, and even Batman Forever start Ed off in regular work clothes. He often slowly progresses into green clothes throughout the story to show he’s closer to ‘snapping’. Here are some of my concepts of potential employed Eddie

I also believe that Ed’s sexuality progresses alongside this. This is why I think there’s a bit of conflict in fans whether he’s a whore or an incel virgin. Truth is he’s both! Gotham showcased this well, in the beginning he’s very repressed and antisocial. Virgin supreme. As he slowly becomes his ‘true self’ he becomes more confident. He becomes confident in his villainy, he becomes more confident in his sexuality, and he becomes more confident in his attire.

Now I also think at the beginning he gets a bit too silly with it which is why he wears… spandex. I’m not drawing that tho so we may skip that phase. At the same time he may get a bit too silly with his um… bedroom activities. I am working on a list of all the rogues he’s screwed in every universe but essentially a lot of d listers; king tut, clock king, cluemaster, calendar man (this one hurt to add), capt. boomerang etc.

Nygma, unlike Crane who has a pretty consistent apathetic take on fashion, prides himself on his appearance and as I touched on before it reflects his state-of-mind. Edward can have some high highs. He will make sure he looks as dapper as can be when present his next ‘greatest riddle’ to Batman. HOWEVER when this ultimately fails for the billionth time he spirals. When he’s in his obsessive mode he can neglect some pretty important hygiene (Arkham series handles this well). His hair may grow out become messy especially when locked up in Arkham.

I have this design for him all cleaned up but I think it may be like a fancy event riddler instead of his official outfit cause the plain green suit is kinda iconic but I’d love to hear input! Idk cause I put the plushie in a regular green suit.

Arkham concepts:

Honestly havent figured out the glasses situation yet whether they’re forever or like reading glasses cause the domino mask is fun but also 🤓

ALMOST DONE WITH just EDDIE I PROMISE! Finally permanent damage/injuries. Now I have some (non-confirmed) ideas for Jon and desperately want to avoid same face syndrome cause my art isn’t great yet. I quite Minaj’s Eddie saying he ‘heals like a lobster’ I think that’s a fun way of describing why he doesn’t have much permanent damage especially on his face. He does however have scars on his chest from Arkham torture which he carved into a ? To reclaim power (I made a post about this but quick recap image)

SCARECROW

lives on coffee

Horse girl (that kid in class who loves horses so much they only draw horses they live breathe and eat horsy)

Year one origin with granny (him and Ed have a kinship through bad parental figures)

Also wanna take it a little further since we all know and love him covering himself in rat blood and getting the shit pecked out of him but I reckon she’d have other very religious based cruelties in store. So I think he’d have self-flagellation scars perhaps maybe a more modern iteration of this not sure

Unrelated, but I reckon Harley was his student and in class when he shot the gun

Cannot cook also terrible diet probably cause granny barely fed him

So nearsighted that anytime he wears the mask he runs into stuff

Can’t drive well ( I like in manbat when he has to hype himself up to drive)

Obvi the pet crows. One of them looks a lil funky like it’s gonna drop dead any second but it somehow keeps being alive.

CANNOT USE TECH TO SAVE HIS LIFE. He’d use carrier crow if he could. He just got used to fax. Ed has to set up the screens when he does his lil Gotham takeovers because he refuses to learn.

He is so freaking lanky

Okay so I don’t feel comfortable sharing my friends art without permission so I’ll just show some of my panels of their design for him (excuse Jeremiah and hatter)

Jon I think has a very slim face maybe even a broken nose I’ve given him a little tan I’m no geography expert but Georgia sounds like a hot place in comparison to cloudy Gotham and since he’d hang outside to avoid granny he’d be out in the fields a lot. HOWEVER this is not the final design I just gave him a face I thought suited as I am yet to receive a maskless concept art from my project partner.

TOGETHER (this is literally the only thing you asked for I’m so sorry)

they both fixate on a task so bad they forget to eat.

Riddler helps with computer stuff

Ed is at first disgusted by Jon’s dress sense but I think kinda comes around when he understands that it’s his way of expressing himself. Even if he’s always covered in hay

Idk if I’ve gone full insanity 3:33am mode but there’s a video of Mathew grey gubler in cowboy gear doing the hoedown I just pretend that’s Ed taking jon to Georgia or something and being like look Jon it’s your southern culture and like pissing him off

I think what originally draws Jon in is Ed’s fear of powerlessness which I think represents itself as a fear of intimacy (even in his whore era I’m not sure he gets really close with people)

In our version Ed gets arrested first so he gets the top bunk dibs however even if they were arrested at the same time Jon probably would be too long for that bunk

Uhhh kinda NSFW (hence why it’s last so it’s easier to skip) which I don’t talk about much but THE MOTIF OF POWERLESSNESS. So like one question I notice people ask when there’s a m/m ship is which one tops. Now I believe in this case (early relationship) Ed refuses to give up power so he’s on top. In fact he may even avoid any type of sexytime where he can be put in a vulnerable position. However as trust and mutual not murder happens he may lower his defences and do an old switcheroo. Someone else can write that fic tho I’m not sure I’m ready 😭

#I AM SO SORRY I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT CAME OVER ME #SCRIDDLER #PLEASE GOD LET THE READ MORE THING WORK

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mercy-erts · 6 months

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So I felt silly and goofy and slighty rewrote one scene from Frozen empire + doodle

SPOILERS UNDER!!!!⛄️

It was like everything was going too quick, almost dying to a possessed lion statue, and watching Phoebe go against that dickless with the knowledge they were gonna lose the firehouse.

Before he could even leave, he was stopped by Winston, who had that same disappointment in his eyes when he scolded Phoebe.

He tried to reason with Winston, mentioning the wax cylinder, the chanting and how they were in danger. If that possesser would've made it to the lab-

"SHUT UP! Shut up, jeeze.." Winston finally snapped, swallowing hard as he finally was able to speak his mind. "We're too old for this!' He added, gesturing to both of them.

Ray stammered, his expression showing confusion to bringing up their age. "I-I don't know what are age has to do with this." He started, physically shaking from all the overwhelming emotions he felt. "There was a chant on that cylinder, it was a trigger it was a catalyst it was-!"

"You could have gotten hurt." Winston interrupted, a lump in his throat just saying those words. "Y-You could have got those kids hurt." He put his hand on Ray's arm, his eyes gazing into Ray's. Ray swore he saw tears in Winston's eyes, and he felt a lump in his own throat.

But that fear was still there, he needed Winston to just understand. "You just need to listen, just listen to me-"

"You're sounding like Spengler, Ray."

Ray froze, completely caught off guard by that statement made. He pushed Winston's hand off his arm, hurt in his eyes being compared to his former friend. He remembered Egon's insane ramblings, about Gozer that he never believed. Now he sounded like him, the thing he despised.

Winston sighed deeply, rubbing his face as he stepped back from Ray. Regret was in his tone as he spoke. "Ray, these are our golden age. Go out to a vacation or a ruin! I don't want you to end up like Egon, Obsessed with ghosts and die like a ghosts." He choked out, his voice shaking.

There was silence for a moment, allowing the two to process this argument. Before anything was said, Winston walked past Ray, walking down the stairs to leave.

Ray looked down the stairs, watching him go too. He stood there, feeling like a ghost himself in this world.

#ghostbusters #ghostbusters frozen empire #Ghostbusters frozen empire spoilers #ray stantz #winston zeddemore #fanart #fic #mercy drabble #writing #mercy ert

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we-were-made-of-stars-once · 1 year

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QUICK LIFE UPDATE:

So yesterday was a really terrible day for me. I had just gotten fired from my job and I've been moping around all day. I was already in a tight financial situation for the past few weeks (taking out multiple loans and losing more money due to commuting issues) and now I don't know how I'll be able to afford my rent, food, etc. Till I find a new job. I felt really hopeless since finding a new job is already a hurdle in and of itself and I've got bills to pay pretty damn soon.

But I've realized this could be a perfect opportunity to pursue something that only seemed like a pipe dream. Let me explain. . . At my previous jobs, my coworkers and even a few customers would always say how they liked my digital art (because I'd mention that I dabbled in drawing whenever they wanted to get to know me more and my hobbies. Y'know ✨socializing✨) and how I could probably get into making money from my art. . .of course I always doubt myself too harshly even when the compliments and praises come from my family and friends. . . But now, I think I might have a shot at honing in on my skills. Now that I have the time and I still have my art tablet and a brand new computer (that I still have to figure out how to pay off 👀. . . .)

But anyways. . . Earlier I was super depressed and stressed out the whole day. Until I randomly remembered to check my mail and got my package from a Patreon subscription that I'm subscribed to and I'm a huge fan of! The sticker above is a gift from one of my favorite extremely underrated creators. @hasaniwalker . His story of Doris Doodle and Dawn Doodle is super inspiring to me (even tho it's about silly haha cartoon characters 😅) the emotional journey and the protagonists story really resonates with me. . . and for a moment, I kinda correlated Doris' experience of losing her career with my own. The hopelessness, the despair, the fear of what's next. . .

Doris' struggles in some weird way were like my struggles. . . (Or maybe I'm just projecting and over analyzing too much pfffttttt 😅) But I digress. . . As I stared at this silly little sticker, I started contemplating the efforts and dedication he must have put into this passion project. The trials and errors of trying to bring this project up off the ground. The creator of this underrated comic is one of my many artist role models. A real life glimpse of what I could become someday. An artistic storyteller. A visionary hoping to make something meaningful to my audience. A Creator.

So this is my official notice to y'all if anybody is actually caring to read all of this lol I will try my hand at doing ART COMMISSIONS. I've still got a lot of research to do first though, like how to price stuff and all the other technical details. But I've got a lot of support from my loved ones and artist friends to help me on this journey of pursuing my dream job as a artist (even though I might not be good enough right now and it sounds naive and a bit too optimistic. . . I can at least try, right. . .?)

TLDR: LIFE SUCKS AND IM GONNA DO ART COMMISSIONS SOON TO MAKE IT POSSIBLY SUCK LESS???

@dawnanddorisqna @hasanistories @hasaniwalker

Honorable mention to my irl art mentor friend @en1gmat1c for being cool beans 😎

#deadass once i learn to draw furries ITS OVER FOR U BITCHES #my post #art commissions #drawing commisions #art #commissions #doris doodle #dawn doodle #stickers #maybe someday i could have a artist booth at a convention #or maybe even work in the animation studio #who knows #maybe dabble in tattooing???#idk as long as i can keep doing what I love

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thekraziesreside · 21 hours

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I want to drop some Hyde lore since I haven't gotten any asks that let me talk about her.

This song is perfect for an idea I had for Hyde and Rick meeting- which I'll get to later on the post. (I have too many thoughts and even if I must scream into the void I will scream)

Hyde despises Em(s) and is the main reason only a handful of them exist in the multiverse of Rick and Morty. She's spent most her life destroying their dimensions and killing them off. A limited group of Em's found a way to cut their worlds off from her so she wouldn't be able to locate them (like how Prime Rick made it nearly impossible for Rick to find him.) Hyde has a rational reason for hating Em's but despite her deep seeded hatred she's calm and calculating, and very seldom gets angry. (And yes in the animatic she's very enthusiastic but she typically doesn't show much emotion.) Hyde enjoys her solitude and not being bothered after she's nearly wiped the other Em's out of existence, and yes she's aware there are still a few stragglers but their drive to survive amuses her because it ties back to why she hates Em's.

So why does Hyde hate Em's? I guess you're going to have to ask to find out- (no no I can't wait any longer even if it's not clever) How can a creature be so afraid of death, crave it so desperately- create a device and mount it into her back so she can't die- yet try anything to experience the sweet relief of death? It's pathetic, they don't even know what they want- they crave the love of people who will never know her because she won't let them in. In a way she's their god- a merciful being who will work to put them out of the misery they subject themselves to.

Also fun fact: Hyde doesn't have the same physical augmentations the other Em's have, I haven't yet decided if she has a way to not be killed or if she's just "better" than her counterparts. But she's one of the few Em's who keeps her long hair cut she had as a kid because she never got away, and got the bad EMd (end) Another fun fact: Bill hates her because she's no fun at all.

On to the song! I doodled this shit so quick because I'm worried I'll forget my little silly animatics that replay in my head because I jump fandom to fandom in my own day dreams. And as added insurance I decided to roughly outline it, too.

The premise is that Rick is still stupidly chasing down ghosts trying to find Rick Prime, but Em knows how dangerous that parallel is. Rick's and Em's are surprisingly similar (the whole Hyde killing Em's was something I did way before Rick Prime so why not lean into the similarities instead of scrapping the idea?) Em does end up following Rick, Summer, and Morty to this pocket dimension, because she's too afraid to let them get hurt and not do anything about it. Though Hyde really doesn't give a damn about a lot of things- so Em knows she's probably the only one at major risk.

An eerie silence fills the ship, it doesn't look like Rick technology, it's too... basic. For ambiance the lyrics play quietly in the background. The lyrics hinting at the parallels between Hyde and Rick- and even Rick Prime. Humans are such simple creatures and Hyde doesn't deny this fact.

Leaving them feeling betrayed Breaking the bonds that you've made Deep down, we're lonely demons from hell Hello A voice quietly echoes on the seemingly abandoned screens, a visage of Hyde appears for a moment before the screens and lights begin to shut off in time with the rhythm

Drown in your sorrow and fears Technological apparatus sprout up from the walls of the ship, quickly targeting Rick and Em, and as Em dashes to save Morty and Summer a metal container emerges and encapsulates them (Hyde doesn't care about hurting them shhh) Choke on your blood and your tears Bleed 'til you've run out of years And here's where I think it would be so fun to have all the past visions of how Hyde has torn apart and killed various Em's as our Em struggles against the ship trying to help the kids and Rick. Plus for the animatic it's fun to draw Hyde going wild, slamming her hands onto her control panel with her weight as she watches on as she tortures Em.

We are the same, you and I, I End scene with Rick and Hyde being left in the ruins of her ship, Hyde untouched, Rick alone not knowing what's happened to his grand kids- Em possibly dead. Em did warn him, she taunts, it's a shame really.

#Rough sketch #I can't wait to draw gore of Em's suffering #like I might just skip half of it just to draw Em in pain hehehe #Spotify

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nagipops · 3 years

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KONOHA ELEVEN IN A ZOOM CLASS!

FEATURING: naruto, sakura, shikamaru, ino, choji, hinata, kiba, shino, neji, rock lee, and tenten

WARNINGS: mentions of food

NARUTO

definitely has forgotten that he was unmuted multiple times

or his camera was accidentally turned on

you could just see him sprawled on his bed with a bowl of instant ramen on his lap and a blanket wrapped around himself

EARRAPE SLURPS!! rip headphone users.

sometimes he notices that his camera’s turned on and you can see him freak out and scramble to turn it off

but he accidentally unmutes himself too and so you just hear panicked yelling

his device topples to the floor with a loud crash and he screams so loud istg

the next thing you see is naruto’s face hovering over the camera in fear just before his camera turns off and he’s muted again

the teacher is so confused?? naruto should i call an ambulance

but when he’s not eating in class, he’s sleeping in class

too busy sleeping to leave the zoom at the end of class so he’s always the last one left in the meeting besides the teacher

always asks sakura what happened during the zoom and she is FED UP

SAKURA

enters the waiting room 15 minutes before class is actually supposed to begin

spends the next 15 minutes rearranging her work area, making sure she’s prepared for the day

sits properly at her desk with her hair smoothed down and her face positioned perfectly in frame

if no one else has their camera on, she’s the only one with it on

seriously, she ALWAYS HAS IT ON

and she never leaves the screen somehow

diligently takes notes, uses the “raise hand” feature every two minutes to ask a question

sometimes it can get a bit annoying, even for the teacher

but she almost always gets perfect marks

acts like in angel in class, but after class... no promises, naruto!

SHIKAMARU

this man can barely stay awake during missions, so during a zoom? HECK NAH

shikamaru is literally me,, half asleep during lessons but somehow gets amazing grades

everyone’s either pissed at or envious of him (especially naruto)

obviously does not have his camera on

and rarely ever unmutes

uses the chat feature to answer the teacher’s questions but this man is basically asleep so its so incoherent

“shikamaru, what is a hyperbole?”

in chat: “a hyeprbole is a exsaggerayed phras,e”

teacher definitely thinks he’s cheating on tests

INO

either a) daydreaming about boys or b) checking herself out in the zoom camera OR c) secretly fuming at sakura’s know-it-all behavior

the two girls definitely compete to see who can raise their virtual hand first

"ahem, ahem- sensei? could i answer this question?"

her voice gets all sickly sweet and sakura HATES IT

the two of them totally got caught insulting each other in the private chat

100% the type of student to rewrite her notes after classes with various markers and colored pens and pretty fonts and patterns and whatnot

loves doodling flowers in her notebook during boring lessons!

CHOJI

another strong contender for the Loudest Student award!

not on purpose though, he just forgets that space bar = unmute, and plays some jumping game in another tab (like the no internet dino game!)

also,, rip headphone users

c r o n c h munch munch munch

are you kidding this man's chews are loud enough in person, but with a HEADSET?! hoo boy.

has conked out several times during class

just imagine the name Choji Akimichi with a profile picture of a bag of chips light up with the green box around it with a thunk

the teacher and class is so confused

but then you hear mumbles of "barbeque... chips... barbeque..."

and you realize that the man fell asleep onto his keyboard

he sleeps through the rest of class

HINATA

shy bb has never ONCE turned on her camera

the only time she's ever unmuted was to say "here" during attendance on the first day of school

if the teacher ever takes attendance again, she just uses the raise hand feature

what if naruto-kun thinks my voice is ugly? what if i accidentally turn on my camera? what if the teacher thinks i'm not paying attention? what if-

poor baby is too busy worrying about showing herself on zoom to actually pay attention

actually gets good grades though and her classmates wonder if she’s even there

her zoom pfp is definitely just a purple google “H”

KIBA

has the CUTEST zoom pfp hands down

it’s a selfie of him grinning cheerily with baby akamaru

100% has his camera on the whole time to show off his pup

he loves seeing everyone’s faces on screen melt and aww at the lil big doggo

sometimes akamaru just walks in front of the camera and blocks kiba from view and you just see a massive wall of white fur on screen LMAO

even though kiba’s muted, you can see him and akamaru bickering about who knows what

or even play fighting,, these two get into full on BRAWLS during class

just imagine akamaru shoves kiba into his desk and his camera crashes to the ground overturned so you see the ceiling and the occasional dog tail wagging in the corner

seriously, can the teacher ever catch a break with this class?

the answer is no.

SHINO

his zoom pfp is just a tick.

a singular tick

totally answers questions in chat with proper capitalization and punctuation

shikamaru’s improper answers tick him off

“A hyperbole is an expression that is greatly exaggerated. They are used in order to create emphasis.”

has never unmuted in his life either

he’s so unfazed by everything that goes down in class that it’s funny

if anything the slightest bit RELATED to bugs comes up during class, in 0.00238 seconds this man has an entire essay about them posted in chat, almost like he had it copied and READY to paste

everyone's definitely shocked that there’s actually a human listening behind a tick profile picture

NEJI

a very diligent note taker

seriously, this man writes like a printer; perfectly even handwriting that looks like a font, a million words per minute

everyone asks him for his notes after the zoom because they’re so neat (especially naruto, to neji’s dismay)

he gets excellent grades since he’s so organized and focused

just wishes the zoom would be over so he can work alone in peace

really hates unmuting so he often gives one-word answers in the chat

“Yes” “47” “Present” “Goodbye”

has used a zoom reaction ONCE in his life and he has never wanted to crawl into a hole and perish more

it was a complete accident,, mans was just trying to open the chat to type in his answer, but in a cruel twist of fate he clicked on the 😂 reaction

and he just sat there for ten excruciating seconds in complete and utter shock and shame for ten excruciating seconds as he prayed for it to disappear

tenten would never let him live that down

ROCK LEE

Zoom Reaction Enthusiast

😂😮👍🎉❤️ 24/7

naruto accidentally unmutes himself? 😮

choji falls asleep on his keyboard? 😂

neji answers something correctly? 👍

tenten received the highest score in class? 🎉

akamaru appears on screen? ❤️

unmutes whenever he needs to, but he thinks the little emoticons are so silly and cute

otherwise, he is EXTRA FOCUSED and EXTREMELY DETERMINED to learn all of the things

he’s the first to unmute whenever the teacher asks if the class can see the screen share, hear them correctly, etc.

never takes his eyes off the screen!! he could be missing out on important information

I FEEL LIKE,, i feel like he would totally keep his camera off when he’s muted but whenever he unmutes he would also turn his camera on

so when he says a quick “yes!” his camera turns on but before his camera can adjust properly to the light he mutes and turns his camera back off so his face is just super dark for a split second LMAOOO

tell me im wrong

TENTEN

exasperated by this entire class

thinks her and neji are the only sane ones in the class and it’s true

wants to tell sakura and ino to stop competing and just focus on learning, since they’re the only other girls in the class besides hinata

plus she’s just fed up with all the lazy boys

takes great pride in passing every assignment, test, or exam with flying colors

teachers pet, but the quieter type who stays after every zoom and sends lots of emails regarding assignments and grades and whatnot (unlike sakura and ino who rub it in the teacher’s face)

doesn’t like helping other people besides neji, girl’s got a soft spot for him since they have a mutual respect for each other

but if you’re a handsome prince, maybe she’ll help you out!

if you enjoyed this post, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) feel free to request here, and make sure to read the rules first! have a lovely day everyone <3

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hypertonicplague · 3 years

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Awoa awoa

Doodling dumb shit has been hard this past month so I decided to do a lil writing to maybe chill me out

BIG ASS WARNING IM NOT A WRITER, I HAVENT WRITEN AN ESSAY IN 3 YEARS. THIS WAS NOT BETA READ N LIKE JUST me doin something for fun

THATS ALL THIS IS, if 4 fun so please do take it w a soft heart 🥺🙏🏻

I’m gonna tag this as gnMCxLucifer written in first person. MC is definitely 100% ooc just cuz so if ur like me n can’t handle other ppls emotions 👉🏼😎👉🏼 this is 4 u bestie. So enjoy! Sorry for any grammar n punctuation errors! N feedback is welcomed cuz this was kinda fun so I might start doin more lmaaooo

Your true self

GNMcxLucifer short fic

Warnings: crying, toxic mindset (not really though?? It’s more like refusing to acknowledge the other side of a person), spoilers for lesson 16 (just a hint), n being a dick, angst

Lucifer Morning Star, Avatar of pride, and the eldest of the 7 kings of hell. A sadist with a passion for punishment, a hellion who dare to challenge even God himself. Someone I should’ve feared from the beginning but…as fate would have it…I didn’t. Ripped from my normal life in the “human realm” and forced to help a childish prince “unite the realms” in literal hell. A bothersome task but one I had to do without fail (least I get my entire body rearranged…) all while being under the care of…him and his brothers. Wasn’t exactly how I wanted to spend a year of my life but…it without a choice I ended up surviving it. Months of homework, pranks, dodging death, learning magic, and domesticating 6 demon lords eventually filled my heart with joy and unnerving easy, it had become my new normal and one that I welcomed whole heartily. I loved them, I absolutely loved and adored all of them, even the one that choked the life out of me. Love and forgiveness wasn’t something hell got often, if at all, so with my human’s mercy and heart I’d grant them an endless supply of it. Even to the one who side eyed me at dinner, who’d correct and point out my every mistake, who’d spare me no harsh words when I messed something up, no praise when I’d complete a complicated task, who’d be quick to shoot me a glare for any reason, who’d treat me like a child or a dog (whichever his mood decided I would be that day), and endless other things that would make my spine tremble and hands cold.

But it wasn’t his fault, he was a demon, a powerful demon with an image to uphold. His brothers are allowed to let their walls down, to allow themselves to be pet and praised and loved, to lay down in the lap of a human and dream uneventful sinless dreams, to get brought tea and coffee when they had a bad day, they’re allowed to sit in the humans room when they weren’t there, they could wear the humans clothes and feel falsely safe, they-

They….got love…and he wanted it too. It burned him up inside to admit it, tortured him to an extent too. Love was something he’d watch his brothers receive with envies eyes and snarls. A human’s pure love.

It was something I could give to him whenever I wished and, to both our surprises, I did. I got under that tough skin of his and ran my fingers through his hair. I sat him down and talked to him, I played pranks on and with him, I got to see all of him. Every side of him I could think of he showed me, his silly side, his angry side, his tired side, his mocking side, his sadistic side, his domestic side, every side except….one… one I never wished to see but he on the other hand decided that he wanted me to. I proved myself enough to see it to him. It was supposed to be his way of saying ‘I love you, I trust you, unconditionally’ but….words are more than enough…they could’ve been…

But as the avatar of pride was, when he made his mind up to do something not even God himself could stop him, so I was shown something I never, ever wanted to see from him. A side that could’ve stayed hidden forever and even after that.

It was a late night when it happened, a cold night, full of paperwork and cursed music. I never thought of it as anything different from every other night, I made Lucifer his bitter coffee, piled some tea cakes and odd small sandwiches on a plate, and set off to his room. I knocked on his door three times in a off pattern rhythm (something we decided on so that he knew when I came in and wouldn’t cast me a killing glare), he didn’t answer. That was a red flag, the only one I’d get for this long night ahead.

‘Maybe he’s really into his work right now??’

I thought to myself as I let myself in.

He could be doing….that….

A scene straight out of a horror movie from my own theater laid before me.

Paperwork, piles and piles of paperwork so delicately surrounded the Avatar of Pride, he was sitting, pen thrown across his desk, one gloved hand cradling his face while the other pushed itself into his hair, his body was shaking, his body was shaking violently as if he were cold. And honestly I thought he was, my brain couldn’t, wouldn’t process what was happening. Not until….he moved his hand down…and looked right at me….not through me not past me like he always does but completely and utterly at me.

His eyes were blood shot, hot heavy tears were leaking from his eyes and down his chin ruining whatever paper he was working on, his eyebrows were knitted together, he looked….tired…upset…and…shaken up.

Lucifer Morning Star, the sadistic Avatar of Pride, eldest of the 7 kings of hell, the right hand man of the literal DEVIL HIMSELF, is looking at me with the same look a child that had a nightmare would give to his father. His mouth wouldn’t say it but his eyes would, he wanted….he wanted something only a human, no, something only I could give him. Something he’d been longing for since the day he fell, something he’d dream about, something that he stay up at night daydreaming of having, something that made him sit in his shower, closing his eyes and losing himself in the water’s warmth. He wanted….baseless, unconditional, forgiving, whole hearted, genuine, gentle, and affirming…..comfort.

I stood there and waited, watching, breathing heavily. But not for long as he stood up from his desk and reached his arms out to me, his tears started getting heavier and started running down his red face faster as he ran towards me.

He wrapped his entire body around me and pushed us both to the ground, for a couple seconds I just laid there. This wasn’t something I’ve ever done for him nor did I think I’d need to do for him. I’ve done it for Mammon countless times, Asmo too, Beel on the occasion, and Levi almost after every losing game. But Lucifer? The thought never crossed my mind and now that I’m here, with him trying to coax it out of me I can’t help but feel something I’ve never felt before.

I grabbed his head softly and pushed his nose into my shoulder, I used my other arm to wrap around his back and rubbed it up and down his spine, I kept my fingers tangled in his hair, shushing him, affirming him, that I’m here and everything’s gonna be alright. He cried harder tucking his hands and arms between our chest’s, his entire body was between my legs and ontop of me. The feeling of it all was crushing, not only his weight but….that feeling as well.

I am a human, nothing can change that. He’s a demon, an quick to remind me of this when I joke a little too much with him. And being human I loved him, and right by that love I’ve set aside just for him a new feeling directed at him came. Something I wouldn’t tell him about or ever show.

I’m glad he can’t see my face because if he did then he might’ve figured out that new feeling all by himself. My face and heart wore the same expression that night, the same feeling….of….

Disgust.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #om! swd #om!#obey me lucifer #lucifer #om! lucifer #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me x reader #obey me luci x reader #obey me angst #angst #ficcin around #thats gon be my fic tag loooooll

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

Text

Male vampire x male character - Part Three (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This is going to be a four-parter, folks! And here's 3866 words of Part Three for you. Angst ahoy, but you know me, ok, so trust me. Here we meet Alec's little brother, and you'll find out why Sebastien was so jumpy and weird about the Twayblade name.

Part One, Part Two

Alec’s ‘one night stand’ with Sebastien turned into a whole month of of ‘one-night-stands’, and culminated in Sebastien asking him to dinner the following weekend - a pattern which repeated itself every weekend after that.

Sure, the sex was probably the most incredible sex that Alec had ever experienced in his entire life, but what he came to enjoy even more was the time they spent over meals and cups of tea in the intervening time, talking about everything from history to politics to video games and books and everything else besides. Sebastien talked about literature a lot, and Alec sketched him and illustrated his conversations while he spoke.

“You could really make something of yourself with talent like that,” Sebastien had murmured once as Alec had doodled a quick rendition of the Victory of Samothrace on the back of a coffee shop receipt one afternoon in the park.

“Meh,” he shrugged without looking up. “I’d like to, but I’ve got a steady job now, you know? I’m not going to throw it all away just because some gallery might take my work and I might make something of a name for myself, you know?”

Sebastien sighed. “Talent is such an overused word, and great art is rarely based on raw talent alone, but with your dedication over the years, you’ve really honed what natural abilities you have into something exceptional, Alec. I think you should make a go of it at least.”

Alec had flushed, and Sebastien had been distracted by the rising colour his cheeks long enough to abandon that train of thought in favour of kissing him silly on a park bench, and Alec hadn’t much minded.

At an Iranian restaurant near Alec’s place one Friday, four weeks after Halloween, Sebastien leaned on his elbow and popped a fragrant and decadent zoolbia into his mouth, and Alec watched, oddly fixated by the way his fingers held the little fried treat. His eyes, dark and warm and inviting, blinked slowly and he offered Alec a slow-dawning smile that stole his breath.

“We should go to the museum again,” Alec he blurted, thinking back three days when they’d spent their lunchtime meandering around the Italian Renaissance gallery together.

“Mmm?” he asked, licking his fingers in a way that made Alec’s jeans tighten and his throat close.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “I mean, I know you’re not sick of me waxing endlessly about quattrocento art just yet…” he said, sipping his delicious cup of tea and trying not to choke on it as Sebastien’s ankle skimmed up his leg beneath the table.

“No,” Sebastien admitted. “You’re right. I’m not.”

With the bill paid by Sebastien this time, after Alec had bought them lunch the previous day, the two of them left the cosy warmth of the restaurant and stepped out into a bitter November night. “Oh fuck it’s cold,” Alec swore immediately, drawing up the collar of his coat.

“You want to head home?” Sebastien asked, a hand on the small of his back.

Unconsciously, Alec leaned into it and smiled up at him. They’d not yet been to Alec’s apartment, and he found himself more and more reluctant to let Sebastien in now that he’d seen the stunning penthouse that he called home. “If you’re sure? I think your wardrobe has more square footage than my entire place though…”

“Alec,” he purred, taking Alec’s hand in his and squeezing his fingers. “I —”

“—You’re freezing,” he commented, interrupting whatever Sebastien had been about to say.

“I don't tend to run hot,” he conceded, “But neither do I feel the cold much. I’d like to see your home, and you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

He leaned in close and kissed the junction of Alec’s jaw and neck for a moment, his lips lingering, tongue just lapping at his skin and sending shivers down Alec’s whole body, shorting out his brain for a heartbeat or six. Sebastien raked his teeth over Alec’s pounding pulse point and he went still, frozen in a paroxysm of pleasure and, oddly, a strange thrill of fear he couldn’t quite place. Instead of pulling away when he recovered himself, however, he tilted his head further to one side, offering himself to Sebastien’s mouth, and the other man moaned decadently, deepening his attentions.

Sebastien’s hands found Alec’s belt and he tugged him sharply closer so that their hips met. Alec tried not to grind himself against Sebastien — they were still on a public street for goodness’ sake — but desire was washing through him in pulsing waves and it was becoming harder and harder to think rationally. That wasn’t the only thing that was becoming hard either, and he let out a harsh grunt before forcing himself to step back with a sheepish grin.

When he looked up at Sebastien, he found that the slightly taller man had frozen and was breathing hard, eyes closed, lips pursed together as though restraining himself from something.

“You ok?”

“Fine,” Sebastien hissed, still not opening his eyes.

Alec frowned. Sebastien looked like he was in pain of all things. “You sure? You look —”

“I’m fine!” he snapped through a clenched jaw. “Let’s go. You’re right. It is cold.”

The short walk to Alec’s apartment passed in tense silence, with Sebastien keeping his eyes locked downwards on the pavement, though he did deign to hold Alec’s hand. He couldn’t help wondering if perhaps he’d pushed things too far in public, given how proper Sebastien tended to be, but then again, Sebastien was the one who had deepened the gesture by practically mauling at his neck for three minutes straight back then.

Alec’s apartment building wasn’t fancy at all, and it certainly didn’t have a doorman, and once they’d stumbled in through the hallway with the busted light fitting in the ceiling, Alec smashed the elevator call button only to find it dull and non-responsive. “Damn,” he cursed. “Out of order again. Stairs?”

“If needs be,” Sebastien said with a gracious smile.

“This would never happen over at Buckingham Palace,” he quipped back, and Sebastien cracked a smile at Alec’s silly nickname for his apartment block.

“Exercise will shake all that dinner down,” he conceded.

Alec twitched his eyebrows in agreement and held the door open to the stairwell for him. As he passed by in the confined space, Sebastien stopped and leaned in, taking Alec’s jaw in his cool hands and kissing him gently, reverently, on the lips.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I was rude back then.”

Alec shrugged, feeling awkward at the sheer, heartfelt tenderness in the gesture.

“I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

“I like it when you’re rougher with me,” he smirked. “You should know that after a month of fucking me senseless.”

As if Alec’s words had hit him like a sledgehammer to the nuts, Sebastien rolled his eyes and grimaced, but he did laugh. “You do seem to like a firm hand, granted,” he said. “Let’s get upstairs shall we? Before I take you right here, and I’m not sure how sanitary this situation is…”

Alec needed no more encouragement, and he didn’t even get to give Sebastien the fleeting, one-minute tour of his tiny flat before the man was on him, kissing him blind and backing him into a wall hard enough to knock the wind from him. Sebastien came alive in moments like that, when he could kiss him and lavish attention on Alec, and the latter was not about to stop him.

It wasn’t long before Sebastien’s wandering lips found Alec’s neck again, and as Alec gasped, fists balled into Sebastien’s shirt collar, he felt the sharp prick of teeth quickly followed by the generous suck of a love bite in the making. His knees went weak and he nearly staggered as a huge rush of endorphins swam through his mind, leaving him limp and wobbly all over. Well, almost everywhere.

“I want you,” he gasped, and Sebastien lost no time in locating the tiny bedroom and tossing him onto the bed, stripping them both with startlingly attractive efficiency. Alec barely managed to yank a bottle of lube and a box of condoms from his top drawer before Sebastien was spreading his legs and laving his tongue up over the curve of his balls.

“Oh fuck me,” Alec exclaimed as Sebastien’s slick finger slid into him and he hissed at the intrusion. A moment later, he was lying with his head flung back into the pillows while Sebastien slid a second inside him and began to do just that with his fingers until Alec was finally ready — and more than desperate — for Sebastien’s cock.

Sebastien had a beautiful body, all lean, corded muscle and slender lines, and as he got more and more aroused, his deep olive skin seemed to glow almost supernaturally. He was perfection incarnate. Bernini couldn’t have carved him, even if he’d been given a lifetime to try. Alec was no Bernini but he’d still love to sculpt him.

Sebastien chuckled sweetly and crooked his finger, sending a jolt of searing pleasure through Alec so hard his vision whited out for a moment and his back arched. “I’m flattered,” Sebastien murmured, placing open-mouthed, messy kisses down Alec’s leg as he spontaneously bent that knee up.

“Shit, I said that out loud…” he laughed, still vague and giddy with the sensations sparking under his skin.

“Mmm,” he smiled, lowering his face to Alec’s inner thigh and kissing fervently all up his leg to the crease of his thigh and hips before smoothing his leg back down onto the bed. His breath fanned out across Alec’s sensitive skin and he quivered and bucked, causing Sebastien’s curled finger to brush his prostate again and he yelled.

“Please…”

Moments later, Sebastien entered him at last and stilled, allowing him to adjust to the new intrusion.

When he fucked him like this, Sebastien seemed to take on a new energy, becoming something almost more primal, and Alec lived for it. The expression on his face as he closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the heat of Alec’s body closing around him, taking him, drawing him in, was something he would never get used to, no matter how many times it happened. He was certain of it.

“You’re so tight,” Sebastien grunted, easily shifting Alec’s hips up a degree or two and adjusting his own angle so that he could thrust into his prostrate with every stroke.

Alec’s words failed him as immense pleasure ripped through him, building and building. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep that up,” he barely managed to grunt as Sebastien somehow picked up the pace and began to pound into him with renewed vigour. The man seemed utterly devoted to Alec’s pleasure, as if it was the only thing driving him.

With an utterly inhuman snarl, Sebastien opened his mouth and whispered, “Come for me.”

The sheer weight of command in his voice tore through Alec and he came instantly, untouched, painting his torso with ropes of his release and wrenching Sebastien’s own orgasm from him by sheer force a second after.

Sebastien curled forwards with a hiss, hips spasming as he released, and his lips found Alec’s neck again, and then his collarbone. In the daze of his own peak, Alec thought he saw a flash of red in Sebastien’s eyes again, but he was out of sight too quickly for him to believe what he’d seen. Instead, he found Sebastien kissing his hammering pulse while he finished. Finally going still, Sebastien slumped atop him, breathing hard, his white-blond hair spilling everywhere and tickling Alec’s stubble. He was too tired to care though.

When he woke, hours later, he realised groggily that it must be the middle of the night. Sebastien was curled up beside him, obviously having found the tiny bathroom to clean up, and he was now spread out beside him on his small, lumpy mattress as if this were a palace and he a prince, not some tiny, shitty apartment in the rough bit of town.

Something about the way Sebastien slept still freaked Alec the fuck out. He didn’t seem to be breathing, and when he had laid his palm on Sebastien’s chest on their first night together, the man had gasped and jolted awake like the living dead, sucking in air like he’d been underwater for hours. This time, he refrained from touching him, and instead stared at his inhuman beauty. There wasn’t a mark or scar or freckle on him, and his darkly tanned body spread out over the white sheets like a bronze sculpture arranged in a gallery for the adoration of thousands. And yet he chose Alec to be his only supplicant. Something lurched in his chest and he smiled bashfully, blushing, although there was no one to witness it.

Awake, Sebastien looked maybe thirty, thirty five years old, but asleep, he looked far younger; closer to eighteen or nineteen perhaps, with an innocence around his white-lashed eyes and the natural downward curl of his beautiful lips.

Unable to resist touching him completely, Alec kissed him and rolled over, drawing the duvet up around his ears and sinking back into a deep, dreamless sleep. His whole body felt heavy and satiated in a way he’d never experienced before with anyone. Something clenched in his heart; this felt right somehow.

But nothing is fated to last forever, is it?

Alec stirred groggily, unwillingly, the next morning, becoming aware of a rapid-fire knocking on the apartment door. Grunting, he kicked back the covers and fished for a pair of boxers and a shirt from the floor beside the bed. Sebastien slept on, apparently not having moved at all since the previous evening. Did he have sleep apnoea or something? It was something he’d have to bring up after he’d sorted whatever this was. It wasn’t natural for a man to sleep like that.

Like the dead.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” he grumbled, stumbling across the apartment and peering though the peephole in the door. Twitching back in surprise, he opened it. “Theo?”

His little brother’s bright, sunny grin beamed back at him. “Hey bro,” he chuckled jovially, stepping in as if he owned the place and shooting him a cheeky look back over his shoulder. “Brunch?”

“Brunch?” Alec frowned. “Since when do you do ‘brunch’? And since when is it brunchtime anyway?” He glanced at the clock in the kitchen and his eyebrows rose. It was well past eleven o’clock.

“Late night, I see,” Theo snickered, eyeing Sebastien’s shirt which was still on the floor outside the bedroom door, currently ajar from Alec’s hasty exit.

“Shut up.”

Theo’s grin doubled and his blue eyes glittered. Like Alec, he had the unusual combination of dark hair and blue eyes, and like Alec he could be described as ‘roguish’ at times. Now though, it bordered on downright Puckish. Looking not his actual twenty-one years but somewhere closer to sixteen, Theo shook his head.

“Brother mine, when will you —” he snorted but then stopped and his expression fell, shattering from playful to horrified in a heartbeat before he rapidly attempted to cover it by turning towards the bedroom. “Is he still here?” he whispered.

“Yeah, so keep the jokes to a minimum, would you?” Alec snarled. “What did you want anyway?”

But Theo had changed completely. Gone was the ebullient Labrador puppy and instead a tense, alert, wary young man stood before him.

“What the fuck’s wrong?” Alec hissed, heartbeat ticking faster like an over-wound clock.

And Theo spun and then froze as the door to the bedroom opened and Sebastien appeared on the threshold.

Theo’s lip curled into an ugly snarl and Sebastien regraded him steadily, apparently unfazed by the unexpected hostility.

“The younger Twayblade, I assume,” he said with such ice in his usually warm tone that it shook Alec into stunned silence. “Well, this is unexpected.”

“You’re shitting me,” Theo whispered, horror thickening his tone.

Alec blinked and looked from Sebastien to his little brother and back again. Never in all his years of dating men had he felt so uneasy around a family member. “What’s going on…?” he finally croaked.

“That’s what — who — you’re sleeping with?” Theo practically spat out.

Cold, defensive vitriol bubbled up inside him and he might actually have lunged for his brother had Sebastien not crossed the room in three rapid strides and laid a gentle hand on his forearm. “I take my leave,” he said quickly.

“Not so fast, fang-face,” Theo sneered and Sebastien froze. “Get away from my brother.”

“Or what?” Sebastien said in the quietest and steadiest of voices.

“What the fuck is going on!” Alec blurted into the tense silence that followed Sebastien’s taunt.

The other two blinked, and Sebastien sighed. He met Alec’s eye as he asked, “You really didn’t know at all, did you?”

“Know what?” Alec snapped, rage rolling through him. “Do you two know each other or something? What am I missing here?”

“I think this is a family matter that you need to work out between you,” Sebastien said, voice still tinged with frost. “Alec, you know where to reach me if you decide to continue what we’ve shared this past month.” And with that, he turned and walked from the apartment.

“Wait, stop!” Alec yelled after him, but he was gone down the stairwell and Theo was at his side, tugging him back into the apartment. “Fucking explain yourself!” he snapped, rounding on his brother.

“You’d… better sit down.”

“No. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

Theo stared him down, meeting blazing sapphire stare with blazing sapphire stare. “Sit. Down.”

The tone of his voice shocked Alec into doing exactly that, and he sank numbly down onto the saggy old couch in the living room without a word.

What followed next was like something from a movie.

“The Twayblades are an ancient family of monster hunters,” Theo said gently. “Father’s not in the military. Well, he is, but it’s not a normal unit or anything. That’s just a cover.”

“And mother?” he asked mechanically, the information-dump that Theo had just heaped upon him not sinking in, but floating like scum on the surface of his churning mind.

“She’s one too. And Ellie.”

“Ellie hunts… monsters?” he asked. “Like… what… the Boogeyman? Bigfoot?” Incredulity made his tone flippant, but something in the calm sincerity of his brother’s eyes told him it was true, no matter how stupid it sounded.

“Dracula…?” Theo added darkly.

“Dracula.” And then the penny dropped. “Wait. ‘Fang-face’. You’re saying you think my boyfriend is a vampire?”

Theo levelled him with a look from where he was leaning against the windowsill, arms folded over his chest in a manner eerily reminiscent of his big brother.

Now as Alec regarded him, he saw the harsh young man that this little kid had become. The puppy fat had melted into a steel jaw and a hard gaze, and his body seemed coiled for action at any moment. He had the body of a soldier, Alec realised with plunging horror. He knew Theo worked out — he was apparently a personal trainer and nutritional coach for celebrities in London, but even that seemed to have been a lie after what he’d just learned. Apparently the Twayblades actually hunted monsters — he and their parents and their older sister Ellie. Alec and Angie had been left out because they were apparently not ‘hunter material’ whatever that meant. Maybe it meant he was a monster fucker instead. He almost laughed.

“Theo, come on… I can’t believe any of this,” Alec said, leaning back into the sofa and pressing the heels of his palms to his aching eyeballs. All he’d wanted to do this morning was to wake up and maybe have Sebastien fuck him into the mattress a few times before breakfast until he was wrung out and softly buzzing like they had every weekend for the last month.

Now he was having some bizarre fairytale forced at him and he was supposed to believe it like it was some kind of sick joke. But he did believe it, and that was what scared him most of all. It wasn’t a joke. Theo showed him videos his father and he had captured on some of their ‘hunts’, exterminating a poltergeist here and eradicating a revenant there, and in the end Theo phoned their father on speaker, opening without preamble, “Dad, Alec’s dating a vampire.”

“Do you have proof?” was their father’s instant, chilling response. No ‘I'm sorry, what did you say, son?’ or ‘What’s all this nonsense?’. No. He went straight to the heart of it. With a stake.

“Just walked past the sucker leaving the flat.”

“Ancient?”

“No, thank goodness. Maybe just a century at most?”

“Can you eliminate him without alerting Alec?” their father asked, at which point Alec’s heart cracked.

He leapt to his feet and blurted, “Fucking what?”

After a heartbeat of silence, their father sighed. “Unfortunate. I had hoped to keep you and Angela out of this.”

“You’re telling me it’s all real?” he asked, goggling at Theo who held the phone out on speaker between them like it was a live grenade. “You’re all insane!”

“Tell me something, son,” his father said flatly. “Have his eyes ever flared red during a moment of passion? Does he seem to fixate on your neck? Do you find yourself willing to do as he wishes without question?”

Theo interjected quickly, “He’s not compelled. His eyes are clear.”

“Well, that’s something at least,” their father scoffed. “Theo, you know what you have to do. Kill it.”

“‘It’?” Alec shot, eyes bulging, and Theo did have the grace to cringe. “Kill it? You’re going to kill him? He’s a lecturer at the university, Theo. You can’t just fucking kill him?!”

“He might be under the guild rules…” Theo said. “He might be a blood bank user, not a live-feeder… I’ll look into it first.”

Alec’s knees turned to water but he kept himself upright through sheer force of will.

“Fine. But don’t hesitate. And don’t make concessions just because Alec might be compromised.”

Theo nodded and hung up without farewell. “Look, Alec,” he grimaced. “I’m… I’m sorry, ok? I didn’t come here to —”

“— to kill my boyfriend?” he growled, taking a step towards his little brother. To his credit, Theo did actually take half a step back in the face of Alec’s confused, hurt, betrayed ire, holding his hand palm-up.

“No. I came here to see if you wanted to grab lunch, but —”

“—Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out!” he roared, jabbing his index finger at the door and pulling out his phone.

Theo surprised him by nodding and leaving, shutting the door behind him with a click and leaving Alec standing in the centre of the living room, chest heaving, phone in hand, ears ringing.

As his brother’s footsteps disappeared down the stairwell, he unlocked his phone and dialled Sebastien’s number.

Three rings in, Sebastien answered.

“It it true?” Alec asked without preamble.

After a long inhale, Sebastien answered. “…Yes.”

Sorry for the cliffie!! More soon, but it’ll hit Patreon first, then Tumblr. Don’t let me forget, either!

Part Four

___

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

#vampire #vampire boyfriend #exophilia #male vampire #male vampire x male human #male vampire x human #mlm #mlm exophilia

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imissjoongsmullet · 4 years

Text

Something Better (1/2)

Pairing: Bang Chan x reader

Genre: fluff/angst (will lead to smut eventually because hi hello it’s me writing about Chan)

Summary: You and Chan have been best friends since before you can remember but now that you’re in college, things start to feel strange, especially with the way he acts when it comes to your boyfriend.

Read part 2

Warnings: part 1 of 2 (probably), cutesy friendship stuff, lots of stupid banter, bit of suggestive conversations, a good dash of angst, Changbin as your boyfriend (do you need a warning for that lol), oh and though this one is pretty clean, there will be smut in later chapters.

Word Count: 2k

Author’s Note: Ok so I’m going to try to keep this to 2 chapters but I can’t promise anything. Anyone who follows me knows I tend to get carried away it’s a thing... Also, yes, this is such a cliché trope but BOY DO I LOVE IT! Thanks again for the request. I had a great time writing this!

►

Five minutes to four. Almost there. The old man at the front of the auditorium had been droning on about the history of bleebidiblah wherever for the past two hours and you were very much ready for it all to end and for the weekend to begin. You heard a pencil drop beside you and turned to see your friend pick it back up and place it between his upper lip and nose.

“Looking great,” you whispered, fighting back a smile.

“I know,” he snickered, making the thing drop into his lap for the dozenth time that class.

Chan was kind of an idiot. But he was also kind of your best friend. You’d grown up in the same neighborhood and had been inseparable since kindergarten. He was the first person you’d went to when you’d found out Santa wasn’t real, the first person you’d ever sneaked out of the house to go to a party with and the first person you’d ever gotten blackout drunk with; not to mention he was the only one who knew about your irrational fear of oven toasters. He knew everything about you and you knew everything about him. You were a team, tied together so much so, that you’d even decided to follow each other to the same college.

“Hey,” he nudged your shoulder, “how about we go downtown tonight and celebrate the weekend? I heard it’s prolonged happy hour at GB’s.”

The twinkle in his eyes made you want to say yes; it was a very tempting offer. “Can’t,” you replied eventually, scrunching up your nose at him.

“Come on, why not?” said Chan, leaning in and shaking your thigh, “we can go to karaoke after and you can crash at my place. I bought so many Doritos and they’re not gonna eat themselves.”

You bit your lip. “I kind of promised Changbin I’d go over tonight.” You already knew what was coming.

“Again?” he exclaimed a bit too loudly, drawing the attention of some of the other students, “you stayed over like three times this week already.” He sagged in his chair, rolling his eyes at you.

“Don’t be a child,” you retorted shoving him lightly.

That put some of his smile back in place. “You know, I think this Changbin guy isn’t the one for you,” said Chan, pretending to look pensive, “he’s got shifty looking eyes… and his nose is too big.”

You couldn’t keep from chuckling. Dipping down in your chair out of sight of your teacher, you turned to your friend. “You’re so full of shit, what does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “maybe he’s having evil, shifty, big-nosed plans and you don’t even know it.”

“Your nose is big too, you know?” you said, pinching his nose.

He slapped your hand away and pinched you back, which made you cry out so loud the teacher went silent, eyes in your direction. Your cheeks flushed hot but just as you were about to apologize to the entire auditorium, the bell rang, pushing everyone around you into motion.

“Oops,” said Chan, eyes full of mischief as he rose from his chair along with everyone else.

You packed your things and followed him, kicking at his heels pettily.

“Seriously though, all the staying over,” Chan went on once you were out in the packed hallway, “sure he isn’t tiring you out?” The wicked grin on his face told you exactly what he meant.

“Chan, I swear if you don’t shut up,” you started but he interrupted fast.

“I just mean, you’re a studious girl,” he explained, grabbing your shoulders and rubbing them, “you can’t have a shifty-eyed boy like him distract you from your super important studies with sexy times.”

“And you taking me out to GB’s is helping me with my studies how exactly?”

“At least I’m not trying to put my dick in you every single night.”

“Chan!” you yelled out, looking around frantically at all the other students within earshot of your conversation.

“Aww,” Chan chuckled, hugging you closer, putting his lips near your ear, “you’re so cute when you’re all flustered.”

You were extremely happy he was behind you and couldn’t see the look on your face because you were even redder than before, staring eyes-wide into space. For as close and you and Chan were, you couldn’t help but feel shy whenever he mentioned sexual stuff around you. Not that you weren’t a sexual person; you just didn’t really know how to act around him when it came to those things. It didn’t help that you felt him all over you now, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand right up.

“Listen,” you said, shrugging out of his grip and trying to compose yourself, “how about we hang out tomorrow night? I’m sure the drinks will be just as toxic and delicious then.”

He came up next to you. “Fine, but you’re buying,” he said, “you’ve been leaving me lonely far too much. I demand compensation.”

You smiled and shook your head. “Fine.”

[I’ll be there in 10]

You hurriedly typed as you left Changbin’s place. You were meeting Chan for coffee. You were supposed to work on an assignment together that afternoon but you felt more than a little distracted after the previous night hadn’t ended up as fun as you’d hoped. You didn’t even really remember how it had started but you and Changbin had gotten into an argument that had lasted for most of the night. It wasn’t anything heartbreaking; it was just frustrating that your relationship wasn’t going the way you’d imagined it. And now you’d have to face Chan and pretend everything was okay because you were far too prideful to give him the satisfaction of saying ‘I told you so’.

He was waiting at your typical spot in the back of the café, his notebook ready on the table. You were happily surprised to find him jotting things down as you walked up. When you sat down, however, you realized he’d just been doodling obscenities in the margins of his book.

“Good afternoon,” you said, closing his book and grabbing the coffee he’d ordered for you.

You felt his eyes on you as you sipped the burning hot drink. You were just waiting for it at this point.

“So,” he started, amusement dripping down his face, “how was last night?”

“Shut up,” you countered, opening up your own book and looking anywhere but at him.

You and Chan were used to working together. Chan always had problems focusing and you were always there to give him the kick in the ass he needed to get the work done. On the other hand, Chan was the one coming up with the most creative ideas for your projects so, despite your differences, you worked quite well off of each other.

For a while, things were fine: Chan was on his second coffee and the ideas flowed generously; you just had to write them down and turn them into usable content. Things were nice and light as they should be. You took a break and ordered waffles, enjoying them without any mention of Changbin; it was great. You talked about concerts you were excited to go to together in the coming months, showed each other movie trailers of stuff you really wanted to watch together and you laughed at the absolute dumbest things. You thought perhaps it was the caffeine that was making you both so silly.

Unfortunately, after that initial boost of energy, came the inevitable crash.

By the time Chan was picking at the ice at the bottom of his empty third coffee, things were started to shift. You were trying to finish up the assignment but it was clear Chan was starting to get burnt out. Gradually, conversation trickled away from the project at hand and into less productive territory.

“What is it you like about him?” he asked, staring zombie-like into his cup.

“Not now, Chan,” you sighed, eyes on your laptop screen. You felt his fingers at your side, poking lazily.

“No, come on,” he said, voice sleepy, “I wanna know.”

You stopped typing and took a deep breath.

“He’s—” you started, trying to think of something while your head replayed how you’d argued the night before.

Chan let out a chuckle. “Yeah, he sounds great.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you groaned, a little harsher than you’d meant it, “let’s just get this done.”

But Chan didn’t let up. Your inability to define your love for Changbin had apparently made him very eager to tease you and it was getting harder and harder to ignore him.

“I bet he sleeps with his socks on,” he said, sipping his empty drink loudly, “weirdo.”

“Chan please.”

“Tell me he doesn’t.”

“Chan.”

“He totally does, doesn’t he!”

“Chan I swear if you don’t shut up I’m gonna kick you where it really hurts!”

“Fine,” he said, still laughing, putting up his hands in defense, “jeez, I was just having fun.” Then he came closer and, entirely oblivious, wrapped his arms around you tight. “No more coffee for you, it makes you mean.” He gave your temple a quick kiss and, chuckling, got up from his seat.

“Gotta pee, this coffee is going right through me, be right back.”

It occurred to you, as you watched him walk off, how odd your relationship with Chan was. Or maybe Chan was just an odd person? Or maybe he was simply acting oddly recently? You tried to shrug off the confusing thoughts and instead opened up your phone. The last text from Changbin was right at the top. You clicked it and smiled, rereading the sweet message he’d sent you the day before. You should probably make up with him soon, you decided.

After another half hour of half-assed adjustments, you and Chan finally called it a day.

“If you could input your slides right after mine, I’ll do the touch ups and bring it all to class,” you said, staring at your laptop screen, “we should probably go over it together the day before though.”

Chan’s face was in his arms on the table, looking drowsy. “Yeah, sounds good,” he mumbled, “I’ll type them out by Monday, we’ve got most of the stuff down already, it shouldn’t be hard.”

“Good,” you nodded, finally letting yourself sit back and relax. You closed your eyes in a long yawn as you stretched out your arms. When you opened them again Chan was looking at you.

“Tired huh?” he said, his lips curling up into a knowing smirk.

You stared back at your friend blankly. “You know what? Yes, I am actually. I stayed up most of the night.”

His eyebrows rose up in surprise but he didn’t speak.

“And that’s all I’m gonna say on the matter so can we please wrap this up now?” you added, “I think I should go see Changbin later tonight cause— well, we just have some things to discuss.”

“Wait, hold up,” said Chan, straightening up beside you and, finally, all laughter was wiped from his face, “I thought we were going out tonight.”

The memory of your promise hit you, throwing a small dose of guilt over your head. “I’m sorry, Chan, really. I just got some things to do—”

“Some things to do?” he interrupted, now definitely irritated, “you’re gonna ditch your best friend for some mediocre sex?”

“Chan that’s not what this is,” you started but you knew you’d set him off and there was no going back.

“Whatever,” he snapped, “it’s fine I’ll call some people who actually wanna hang out—”

“Chan—” you tried, shocked at the rapidity with which his mood had switched.

“—instead of someone who’ll leave me for the first boy to give her the least bit of attention—”

“Hey!” you said, getting up from your seat, heating up from the sting of his words.

Chan got up as well, the look in his eyes pained. “I said it’s fine,” he repeated, placing some money on the table and walking out.

(part 2)

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doorsclosingslowly · 3 years

Text

Hell is just a beat away (3/9)

Despite early promise, young Maul has turned out to be a disappointment, willfully delaying his training with secret attempts to make himself friends from scrap metal. He must be properly motivated, and so Darth Sidious sends him to a slave market on an impossible mission. It backfires. Star Wars: Darth Maul (2017) comic AU | 5.2k | warning for slavery, sexual assault of a teenager (non-graphic)

Ten to doomsday, moving fast

Eldra does not sleep. She refuses. If she has to bite her fingers bloody when her eyelids threaten to drop, then so be it. Master Fyaar would have chastened her for it—she always insists that Eldra be at her best regardless of circumstance, and staying awake for what must be more than one or two entire standard days now will help with neither her innate distractibility nor her willful emotions. Her secret inadequacy, unknown to all but Fyaar, who chose Eldra when she was ten and had yet to develop the mind that is, and she has rarely admitted to those fears even in the privacy of her own brain, the mind that is perhaps fundamentally unsuited to the noble path of the Jedi. Sure, she does well enough in her classes, though she drives her teachers to frustration with her incessant fiddling with any trinket at all within her reach and her doodling and her daydreams. Sure, she mostly behaves acceptably among people, though she does not pick up on the right cues to be a diplomat and she vacillates too often between excited talking and secret loneliness, when she, once again, finds her peers more interested in each other than in whatever she has wanted to share. Her one friend in the Order is Bayro who’s two years older, though now she’s not even sure if Bayro would see her as more than a friendly, clingy acquaintance, and—

Will Bayro even miss her? They’ve made plans to watch a holovid after Eldra’s back from Teth and Bayro aces the Advanced Test on Coruscant Sublevels 6665 through 7900. Vague plans, though, and since Eldra didn’t know how long she’d have to guard Mayor Woobudg… Bayro will probably notice in a few months that Eldra hasn’t returned to the Temple, and then watch the holovid with one of her many other friends. She’ll—

Watch your feelings, Eldra, she remembers. It hurts. The memory of Master Fyaar hurts worse than even the imaginary indifference of Bayro does, but it’s necessary. As ever, Master Fyaar’s warning is right, even if it’s only the ghost of Fyaar living on inside Eldra’s grief. Eldra almost lost her calm over a scenario of her own imagination, yet another reminder of her unsuitable mercurial temperament. Yet another reminder of why she needs Fyaar, needs her constant watch, if she wants to remain on the path of the Jedi.

And Master Zalandas Fyaar is dead.

Fyaar’s dead.

Eldra watched her murder, and the murder of everyone she was supposed to protect on this mission. Eldra watched her murder and did not reach for the dark side of the force to avenge her. Eldra watched and held still.

Eldra allowed herself to be abducted.

She does not sleep in her tiny cell, just as she didn’t sleep on the freight ship that carried her to an unknown planet far away from bloodied Teth. She didn’t sleep then as stubbornly as she does now, but even before her wide-open burning eyes the pictures will not stop. The blood. The touch. The grin of her vile captor when he said that she would fetch a tidy sum, despite being a blue twi’lek (“A dime a dozen, they are, and this one’s not even a trained dancer! She hasn’t even… look!” Her captor had pulled her upper lip away then, and she had snapped for his fingers. “She’s still got those awful sharp teeth! Who the hell lets a twi’lek girl walk around with sharp teeth? She could tear a guy’s throat out, with these!”) she would still be worth a quick sale to her captors but only because she is (was) a Jedi padawan, and apparently there are quite a few pieces of shit out there who’d like to hurt a Jedi. Or—she keeps her eyes open, open, open till tears threaten to drop, and yet the thought comes. Or fuck one. Same difference.

A toy that’s padawan-shaped. That’s why they let her keep her own robes. But at least they did.

Watch your feelings, but still, Eldra shakes to her very core. She’s never thought of herself as being anything but a person, slightly inadequate perhaps in all ways that matter to her but a person; a luminous being, a small conduit for the very force to act through in the material galaxy; but now she’s been caught and taught that what she is is actually just a twi’lek girl. Cheap. Interchangeable. Nothing but her species and her gender, nothing but her flesh: a pretty dancer, never mind she hates dancing and if she ever makes it out, if the Jedi find and rescue her, please, please, she will never ever dance not even a single one of those silly novelty dances ever again even if Bayro does it first. She’ll go to whatever lengths needed to never be appraised, judged, looked upon, perceived as anything but a luminous dutiful Jedi ever again.

To these people, she’s not a person. Not a Jedi, unless the fetish counts, not really, not to the slavers and—watch your feelings, but still, the seething disgust returns and she wants nothing more than her lightsaber through her captor’s hearts or their hands torn off by her teeth—perhaps, maybe, please no, not truly anymore either to herself.

⁂

Maul wakes up to insistent beeping. He’s never heard the noise before, except—somewhere behind the headache and the nausea he remembers—except roughly five minutes ago, and five minutes before that, and five minutes before… He’s read about those periodical noises. Snooze button on an alarm clock, they’re called. He’s never used them before. He’s never used—Master teaches that a slothful tool is a tool broken, useless, and he’s never before dared to oversleep, even with his throat swollen and filled with mucus he didn’t, but now—it is a mercy he does not deserve, that Master was not here to witness Maul fail so deeply on this mission and just because something beats a booming drum inside his head and stuffed his stomach full of eels twisting up languidly through his esophagus.

Not real eels, though. He checks his vomit after throwing up. No eels. No animals hatched inside him; it’s just an inconvenient illness. And he feels better already, after spewing out the clear oily water and half-digested bread and no eels whatsoever. He does feel much better. Definitely. Illness during his mission would be inconvenient.

He has ample time to travel to the palace of Xev Xrexus before the padawan is sold there. Time he is grateful for, because Master’s ship will not let him in, so he has no access to his stilts or anything else he prepared apart from his cloak and the vocoder mask he carried in his satchel to the convenience store like a talisman of ingenuity and pretense. He doesn’t have his finest Sith robes that he left safe inside, only to be worn in the moment of Darth Maul’s triumph, and most of his weapons, too, apart from one anonymous knife strapped to his shin, are still tidied away in the ship Master gave him that will now pulverize anyone who dares approach.

Luckily, Maul is both incredibly clever—he figured out the location of the padawan! Despite Master giving him a wrong date and location! Solely by his own superior Sith cunning!—and he is within another sucker’s ship now—he sliced the lock in minutes! Because he is Darth Maul!—and the ship is full of new tools for improvisation.

Such as the large pair of black sunglasses that helps guard him at least slightly against the sun’s sickening poking and poking and poking of his cerebral cortex. Such as the trio of black shirts that, belted with a strange deltoid strip of fabric, bulk up his frame considerably and also make him feel toasty warm. Nar Shaddaa is cold, but Maul isn’t. Yet another victory to add to his tally.

With the gloves and the vocoder mask and the Sith cloak added on top, every square centimeter of Maul’s flesh is covered, and as he struts in front of the berth mirror he decides: he looks both incredibly dignified and scary, not to himself obviously but to those forcenull denizens of the underworld who will yet learn to tremble before the almighty Sith. He looks almost as impressive as Master. He doesn’t have the pale chin lurking under his cowl, obviously the most Sithly of looks, but in a pinch the black leather covering his cheeks and the opaque gridded speaker over his mouth should do almost as well.

Before he leaves, he ransacks the ship. No point in abandoning tools he might yet use. Everything he can carry, he stuffs inside his satchel.

Then, he begins the long pedestrian march to the palace of Xrexus. As usual, while he walks, he seethes in the Sithly anger of how much faster he could go if only he had a decent speeder bike. Soon, he reminds himself. Soon. After the oncoming awesome success of this mission, Master will be impressed enough to bestow the title of Darth and gift him a CK-6 swoop bike tuned up to the limits of terrestrial speed. Soon. Besides, with how slow the nausea is to settle, it’s perhaps a tiny bit useful that he is forced to take this brisk long walk in the Nar Shaddaa morning air. Although his coat and shirts fluttering with the speed of his bike would look very cool… He loses himself in his daydreams, and before long, he spies a duo of falleen in white dress shirts and black pants before the palace that belongs to Xev Xrexor.

The most adventurous part of his mission has just begun.

“Greetings,” Maul growls haughtily with the handsome baritone of his vocoder. “I have chosen to purchase a Jedi slave today. I trust this is the location for these sorts of errands?”

“Are you on the guest list?” the left falleen asks.

Guest list? Yet another complication. But Maul must not fail. “I am Ma Goweelr,” he says, borrowing the name of the man whose ship he ransacked. He found an identification card with his name on it and wisely brought it with him. He pulls it out now.

“You don’t look like Goweelr, friend,” she says.

“Unfortunately, I had… an accident.” Blast. They cannot see his face, so tt’s the height issue again. If Maul had his stilts, he could have made his way through easily, but because Master saw fit to lock the ship—no, it’s not Master’s fault. Because Maul was stupid enough to leave his tools aboard the ship, he now falters. What to do. What to do. What to—

“He’s slow,” the other bouncer whispers to his partner, but loudly enough that Maul heard it without issue. He stares intently at Maul, almost if he was expecting a specific reaction.

The left falleen winks. “All right. A little grease in the palm goes a long way, friend.”

Grease? Necessary for the function of machines. Cooking, apparently, also. Often a type of fat, either animal or plant-based, though hydrocarbons mined on certain planets or synthesized in labs such as Corellia’s X-Tech Max nowadays are a far more affordable and controllable—

“He’s dumb, Brighta. We don’t care whether you’re on the guest list. We want a bribe.”

A… Maul’s certain he read about bribes somewhere, but—

“Cash. Money. Credits.”

Credits! Maul found some on the ship. Since they were light enough, he put them in his satchel. The force is with him! He pulls out the chits he found, rummaging in a perhaps less than dignified way—the falleen exchange a look over his head that he’s too busy to try to read, but it doesn’t seem hostile—and when he hands over five thousand credits their vague non-hostility turns to genuine excitement.

“House Xrexus is honored to host you for this auction, sir,” the male falleen says when he opens the door.

“As am I,” Maul replies with a bow. When he walks past, the female bouncer taps him on the shoulder and then bends down to whisper in his ear.

“The Jedi’s auction’s in two hours, but the preview starts in one and she’ll probably get snapped up then, so. Might wanna hurry.”

“Thank… you?” Maul rumbles and winces at the vocoder turning his slight surprise into a question, but the falleen does not laugh this time.

“Appreciative customers are rare. Come back anytime,” and she winks and pushes him with her—warm, strong, startling—hand the rest of the way through the door and then slams it shut.

Presale. Other customers. Complicating factors Maul would not even have known about if it wasn’t for the bouncer—and for the force, therefore, willing him to succeed—because he didn’t… He did not actually expect any competition. After all, there are no other Sith but the Master and his apprentice. Who, then, would have need of a Jedi padawan? Who has need of Xrexus’ auction at all when they are not sent by their Master? Their… Master. Master might compete with Maul at this sale, both as a test of Maul’s readiness and as a failsafe, should Maul not manage to succeed in his mission. Master is incredibly smart after all, and foresees any number of possible twists and turns of a scenario, as unlikely as they might be. Even such unlikely eventualities as Darth Maul not completing in his mission. Master considers everything. It’s why he’s the Master.

Luckily, Maul was forewarned, and so when he passes a fire exit plan of the palace that’s nailed to a wall in the empty entrance hall he looks for any possible… There. A server room. A small bureau. Two places where Maul might gain access to the databases of Xrexus and convince the filing system that he has already bought the Jedi, before the first competitor has even placed their bid. It’s the only surefire way of preempting a person as thorough and prompt as Master is, and besides… Maul understands machines. He can charm and bend them to his will. His confusion at the bouncers’ hints and the tip the falleen gave him when he would never have expected anything of the sort based on the way the previous part of the encounter had passed—never mind the blasted lack of his carefully constructed stilts—were a sore reminder that in the field of people Maul does not yet excel to the standard of a Sith. Something he must remedy, but perhaps not on a mission as important as this. (Perhaps not among people who are oily and stare too hard.)

Laughter peals in a room straight ahead, but the server room is one floor down a side staircase. It’s sectioned off by a dangly gold chain that Maul needs to barely duck to pass under, and no-one passes through either the main corridor he left or the dusty unlit staircase while Maul hops down, thinking I am Sith alternating with I am shadow on every step.

The hallway leading to the server room is just as deserted. The door is locked, but Maul has sliced the access pads of twelve ships now and has refined his technique to under three minutes of elegant fiddling. This lock takes two seconds.

A datapad is already hanging inside right next to the door, from the cable with which it’s plugged into a socket there. Maul picks it up. Its screen is thrice-cracked and fixed up with clear tape. The touchscreen is incredibly sluggish to react, but as much as he might love the challenge of repairing it he only has less than an hour to spare. If he must, he will, but—gloves. He removes the right one, and the datapad responds.

A login screen.

Thus-far, the security has been abysmal. Worse than what he improvised for the secret hiding space of the first functional droid he built, and so he enters root, root. It works.

Pathetic, Maul thinks. Disappointing. Embarrassing. Horrendous. Useless. Awful. You deserve this. You deserve worse. It almost takes off some of the giddiness at how well Maul has been performing on his mission, thus far. His opponents are veritable morons. It is no great feat, to succeed against people as unprepared for basic survival as these, and it does not take a Sith’s cunning—it’s not worthy of the great Darth Maul who learns under Darth Sidious the greatest creature in the galaxy—to fight them.

In the central database he changes the status of the Jedi padawan to Sold and the buyer to Ma Goweelrand types in 666666666 for the winning bid. It’s a large number, and Jedi means valuable. It should pass muster. Probably. Money: yet another area where Maul requires further instruction. There was another card Maul stole with information on Goweelr’s account with the InterGalactic Banking Clan, and he enters it in the respective field. As to the user listed as making these changes, he picks the fifth-most appearing in the database. If he wanted to arouse no suspicion at all, he would need to research Xrexus’ organization in total, but—he’d really rather not. Even glancing at some of the entries of the database reawakened the eels in his stomach.

He pettily changes the admin password and wipes the screen carefully before he logs out.

Mission almost complete.

Half an hour left until the beginning of the presale, a clock tells him, and that’s most likely when they will check the padawan’s entry and approach Goweelr as her legitimate buyer. Everything is going according to plan, as long as he is not caught down here.

Since Maul is Sith and shadow and incredibly silent and deadly, he isn’t.

He sneaks back up and then strides, with as much power and dignity as he can muster when he wants to skip giddily to celebrate a job well done, into the room where the laughter comes from. It’s—

It’s bright. Loud. Full. But more than any other adjective, it’s huge, a room that is a thousand times bigger than anything Maul has ever set foot in, with a domed ceiling rising so far above that he can’t make out any details there. Can’t see whether there are any cameras, or snipers—can’t see anything but the luster and wealth on display. Plants growing on floating bowls of silver, plants he has never seen anywhere but in holos (Most plants are plants he’s only ever seen in holos. Almost all of them. Master rarely makes him train off-planet, and there is nothing but fire on Mustafar.), plants and waterfalls. Delicate staircases that appear to hover in the air just like the tree-bowls are. It looks like something out of a dream, if Maul’s dreams were able to imagine impossible worlds and not just impossible people who’ll save him.

Below it all, there are throngs of people in various kinds of festive garb, chatting and sipping on dainty glasses. People of most species he’s ever read about. Even…

Even a zabrak. There’s a zabrak over in a corner, not an Iridonian zabrak like the ones Maul finds often in his research but a zabrak who looks startingly close to him, hairless and bright and black-marked, only he’s much taller than Maul—he’s tall! Maul always worried that his species was doomed to remain as small as he is right now but he’s tall! He won’t need stilts forever!—and he’s yellow.

Idly—or trying to appear idle but actually shivering with curiosity—he saunters closer. The zabrak, it’s quickly obvious, is not here as a buyer. He’s chained up, both manacles connected to the neck cuff, though the bonds look so flimsy that Maul could have snapped them. He’s almost naked except for a pair of trousers that barely reaches his thighs and, moreover, is made of a fabric far too flimsy and tight to fight in. His skin is weirdly shiny as well, as if he was sweating but that is unlikely, given Maul’s not too hot under his three shirts and a cloak (in fact, it gets colder the closer Maul comes to the strange zabrak), and the yellow zabrak’s not exercising either but standing completely still, feet slightly apart and arms raised in a poor imitation of a fighting pose. The claws on his hand and feet would be called neatly trimmed if Maul didn’t know intimately that this length means they’re cut so close to the bed that it irritates several internal nerves. The horns are filed too close as well, and they look blunt.

A fighting slave.

No. A pretend fighting slave.

Everything about him might look fearsome to one who does not know what to watch for, but he does not stand or dress or groom himself like a fighter.

It’s—it’s difficult for Maul to sort out his reaction. This is a zabrak, the first person like him he’s ever seen, but he’s also a mockery of the warrior he trains so hard to become. Are all other zabraks like this? Does Maul look like this to other people? Flimsy and fake? It is almost enough to be ashamed of the association, and Maul is glad that with his clothes no-one else here can guess at their shared species.

“Welcome,” the unchained human next to the zabrak shouts, and Maul cranes his neck but apparently it’s addressed to him. “What are you looking for? A nightly companion? A gladiator? A—”

“This is not a gladiator,” Maul growls.

“Ah, well, he’s versatile,” the slaver says. “Do you see his muscles?” He squeezes the other zabrak’s biceps. The zabrak does not react. “He is excellent at bearing pain as well,” and alright, Maul will give him that. From this close, he can see the faint network of scars.

“He’s truly a wild beast when you want him that way,” and if to contradict him—the first time Maul feels anything approaching pride at their kinship—the zabrak refuses to bare his teeth, even when the human slaps him in the face twice and then prods him with something bearing electric sparks. Still, the zabrak will not relent. He’s breathing and moving but somewhere deep in his eyes he looks nothing short of dead.

“I have business elsewhere,” Maul stutters out and the vocoder smooths it into a low growl. The queasy pit in his stomach must be the return of the eels, or else the force aims to reveal to him that he might be being observed by fleets of holodroids, a technological wonder he should research immediately upon completion of his mission, when he will never think of the scar-covered zabrak and his empty eyes ever again. He won’t even remember his face or his color. No, Maul will attempt to engineer holodroids and present them to his Master, who will be proud.

That’s what he thinks about, while he wanders the huge room at random. Holodroids. He doesn’t think about zabraks. In fact, he’s forgotten every fact he ever heard about that species. No zabraks exist but Maul. That’s the way it goes.

He doesn’t think of zabraks at all for several more minutes, and then a tannoy system message calls out for Ma Goweelr and his time of floating is over.

⁂

Thus far, the boy’s little adventure has been a disappointment. There were moments of fear and shame and misery, but mostly, what Sidious receives from him is bright giddy elation at being entrusted with this mission. It should have figured that Maul is not intelligent enough to see through his Master’s true plans, and yet—it was folly on his part, Sidous is prepared to admit that, but he expected more of his little zabrak.

Well. More agony, mostly.

He’ll have to be a little more patient. Someday soon, Maul’s luck will have to run out.

⁂

“This is her, Sir. Opening the cell now,” a woman says in front of the suddenly-bright cell, and Eldra’s hard-won, tattered, wide-eyed serenity dissipates.

It’s Dilar. Dilar, self-loathing traitor of a twi’lek slave. Eldra’s only known her for a day and enjoyed exactly zero seconds of it. The old woman’s hatred and revulsion at what she is forced to do, preparing slaves to be sold on, crowds out the very air. For the slavers, her utter loathing might be imperceptible—Dilar is a grudging, but polite tool—but it’s everywhere in the force, and Eldra cannot breathe. It’s hard enough keeping herself calm—keeping herself Jedi—when she knows that any time now a lecher with a Jedi fetish will come to her cell.

A lecher, or her rescuer.

Watch your feelings: do not give in to despair, Eldra, as Fyaar would say if she could. Maybe a Jedi will come.

It’s a war inside her, equal parts of hope and terror, and without her Master’s guidance how will Eldra find the strength to make herself calm again? Calm, serene, like the Jedi she was supposed to be.

A Jedi is better than this.

There is no emotion. There is peace.

There is no hatred, especially. Eldra should not hate Dilar. She shouldn’t hate every single slaver in the entire world, with even deeper depths of seething odium reserved for anyone selling or buying her. She shouldn’t. She does.

She isn’t wearing a force-suppressant collar, but that doesn’t matter. There are things far more binding than chains, than collars, in this world: Eldra promised her Master that she would be strong. She promised. She promised, and she hates these slavers. If she reached for the force now, she wouldn’t be able to call herself Jedi anymore. She would fail her Master and lose herself.

She would use her hatred to kill her tormentors. She would tear their throats out.

She would Fall.

Fear, raging and cold, has been her only companion for uncounted waking days now, that and bitter loathing. Master Fyaar died in front of her. Eldra’s been stripped of everything she thought she was and turned into a commodity, and now the only bright spot in her life is the fact that Martrey Woobudg the slaver, slaver, slaver who brought them to Teth is also fucking dead. Hopefully, it hurt.

The sudden hope is new, fragile and staggering and still too volatile to make reaching for the force safe. Hope: maybe the new arrival isn’t one of them. Eldra’s Master was in constant contact with the Temple, after all, and they must know about the ambush by now. They must have sent someone to save Eldra. (She tries very very hard not to remember that they don’t, sometimes, search for missing padawans, because of deferring to a higher purpose and the will of the force and being instruments of the Galactic Senate and not privileging attachments, including to their padawans, over the greater good et cetera et cetera, which is a code of conduct that Eldra, too, had always believed in. Until she got thrown in this cell, at least.)

Please, let it be a Jedi. Even if she gets thrown out for her hatred. Please, let it be a Jedi.

“Get up, girl,” Dilar says.

Eldra struggles onto her feet. She almost loses her balance, and that would kriffing hurt, because she’s got little chance of breaking her fall. Her hands are cuffed in front of her, encased in thin manacles she could easily break out of if it wasn’t pointless. If she wasn’t watched at all times. If she could use the force without Falling. If there was any way off this planet she doesn’t even know the name of. She could break them, but she can’t. They’re tight, and her shoulders ache from the forced immobility. (Almost, she’d told the slavers that restraining someone like this for days on end was a sure way of causing muscle damage, that they were lowering her value—were hurting her, by treating her like this, but she’d reconsidered. It would probably count as ‘helping slavers’. She hopes instead that they lose all their captives to their own bad practices. Eldra will not help them, if it kills her.)

If her visitor is a slaver, they’ll probably enjoy the sight of her helplessness. If they’re a Jedi, there may be compassion, pity, judgment—they’ll feel how scared she is, and how close to breaking—and that’ll be even more embarrassing to deal with afterwards, but at least there will be an afterwards for her.

For a second, the force floods with pain. Anger. Then, the presence hides itself again. Doesn’t matter. She’s felt it.

A force user.

A… Jedi, then?

Would a Jedi… Eldra herself would be angry, if she saw anyone else treated the way she is now, no matter how hard she tries for serenity. Eldra isn’t a good Jedi though. She’s too scared for that.

She looks up. If the visitor is a Jedi, Eldra doesn’t recognize them. But that means nothing: they’re covered head-to-toe in layers of black fabric. They’re wearing some sort of mask that covers their lower face, too, and oversized mirrored-glass sunglasses, and gloves, and a cowled cloak and what looks like at least two shirts, one over the other. They look like a black ball with legs sticking out. They look like someone decided to dress up as the platonic concept of shady. They look ridiculous.

They’re very short as well. They’re about twice the height of Grandmaster Yoda, and shorter than pretty much everybody else that Eldra knows. Well… they could be Master Piell. Would Master Piell dress up like this, though? Would he come to rescue her? Would he… well, he wouldn’t feel like the visitor in the force. Even Piell is a Master of the High Council. He wouldn’t fall prey to emotions as easily as Eldra did. He would not fail the light.

The only bit of skin that Eldra can make out is the bridge of the nose, between the jaw-mask and those sunglasses. Red.

Whoever it is isn’t human.

It might give hope, but—whoever it is has already paid and they own Eldra now, they tell the slavers, in a deep and slightly mechanic voice.

Paid.

Own.

Not a rescue, then. The Jedi wouldn’t reward a slaver for abducting a padawan.

Eldra will not cry. Not because if does not befit a Jedi, because the Jedi didn’t come for her. Eldra remained faithful—barely—she didn’t give in to her hatred and fear, didn’t Fall… and no-one came to rescue her. She will never see the temple again. She’ll never watch those holovids with Bayro, and Bayro—will she even notice? Will she mourn Eldra? Or will she be relieved that the clingy kid is gone?

She won’t cry. She will not give Dilar or this new buyer the satisfaction.

The shielding of Eldra’s cell opens. Dilar attaches a chain to Eldra’s manacles and her buyer ties the other end to their belt. They barely look at her, at least—in the nightmares she refused to allow herself to grow into images they always looked at her, excited and hungry, but this buyer seems curt and weirdly business-like.

Without another word, they start walking.

Eldra has no choice but to follow. The Jedi didn’t come. She is alone. Whatever awaits her outside, though, it can hardly be worse than this cell.

#darth maul #eldra kaitis #savage opress #savage oppress #hell is just a beat away #dimtraces makes things

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hold-my-hand-kuroo · 4 years

Text

soulmates

i can’t believe i woke up two hours earlier to write for some 2d boy’s birthday-

this isn’t a soulmate au i’m sorry

pairing: shirabu x reader

Shirabu Kenjirou doesn’t believe in soulmates, because by extension, that’d mean that things such as luck and miracles and even Santa would also exist. He likes to think that his hours of studying and sheer grit are the reasons that he was accepted into Shiratorizawa. What he lacks in talent, he’ll make up with his efforts and his efforts only; he doesn’t need something silly like magic, especially when said magic couldn’t come through when he needed it the most.

He replays the memory of Karasuno’s 10 over and over again in his mind, even after the third years have said their goodbyes. He remembers it all, the fatigue in his body, the lead of his legs, and the noise of the ball thudding up and down on their side of the court. He wonders what would happen if magic had really existed. Would he have been able to react faster then and save the ball?

Shirabu doesn’t like mulling over the past since it’s a waste of his time, but sometimes when he’s studying by himself, too tired to think straight, he finds himself zoning out. It’s not good for him, and he knows it, focusing too keenly on all his weaknesses and trying to find a way to fix them, but he can’t help it. Because he doesn’t believe in miracles, he only has himself.

If he’s feeling a little generous, though, maybe he’d consider you a little magical.

You’ve seen him around on campus, always studying alone by a corner and wearing a terrible scowl when someone got too loud or tried to pester him. Between majoring in sciences and the volleyball club, you realize two things: he’s an incredibly hard worker, and you’ve definitely been looking at him too much to know these things without ever having a proper conversation with him. There was just something admirable about the way he carried himself and how he’d always be working hard without complaining about being tired.

He’s quite the frequent customer at the cafe where you part-time at, and you’re not surprised. Someone with his lifestyle would need gallons of coffee to keep going, but you don’t think he’s there for the coffee. Perhaps it’s the quiet atmosphere where he can study. Maybe he’s escaping from a particularly loud roommate, or maybe the library seats are all taken. You don’t know for sure, but what you do realize is that he definitely at least knows of your existence with his short and curt nods for greeting. If you got lucky, he’d give you a quiet “Hey.”

He gets you worried. Sometimes, he’d be hunched over at his seat but without the usually concentrated furrow of his brow or his moving pen and graceful, yet quick flip of textbook pages. He’d just be staring blankly at the table, an expression unreadable, and he’d stay like that for moments at a time before shaking his head in frustration, pushing himself to his limit to go back to work. It’s hard to watch, and you almost wish you could do something, but you don’t. Not when he knew you just as the barista that went to the same university. You’d hate to pry.

It’s not until on one particularly dreary day that he walks in without so much as a nod that you realize the problem is larger than you feared it was. By now, he’s used to just handing over his cash, knowing well that you memorized his regular order, and as you turn around to grab a mug, you hear him clatter into a seat in the corner, sighing. The burst of freak courage that rushes through you almost makes you walk right up to him and ask what’s wrong, but you steel yourself. He hated being disturbed out of nowhere.

You place his coffee gently on a tray, sliding a piece of tiramisu on it as well before walking quietly over to his table. He doesn’t seem to take notice of you, hand running through his hair and staring a little bit too hard at the formulas taunting him on the paper. Silently, you leave his order on the table and leave without a word.

By the time Shirabu realizes that his coffee has long gone cold and that there’s an extra plate that he doesn’t remember paying for, you’re already gone, leaving your shift to someone else. He sits there, confused. Then, he spots a little slip of paper and reaches for it.

“You’re always working so hard, so I’m sure it’ll pay off. Don’t worry too much about setbacks, and remember to breathe! Also, I’m not sure if you like sweets or not, but don’t worry about the tiramisu. It’s on the house!”

Shirabu isn’t the kind of person to enjoy desserts; the sugar makes him crash sooner than he’d like, and it isn’t exactly good for his health. He’d much prefer something salty over something sweet, but after thinking a bite, he reconsiders. He doesn’t like it that much, but for some reason, he finds himself eating all of it. It’s good, but not because of the taste. He wants to know exactly why, but he’s reminded once more that he has a math examen tomorrow along with a paper due.

The following afternoon, Shirabu walks into the cafe and spares you not one word, but four.

“Hey,” he murmurs, looking away. His cheeks are slightly tinted, and he hopes you don’t notice. “Thanks for yesterday.”

ii.

Shirabu doesn’t believe in magic, because it’s unexplainable and unreliable. You’re close to half-magic because while you’re not entirely unreliable, your effect on him is absolutely unexplainable. It throws him in for a loop.

The first instance of your unpredictability is when the two of you are paired as lab partners. That gets things going between you two, exchanging numbers and talking more frequently than usual. Now instead of, “Hey,” he says, “Good morning,” “Good afternoon,” or, “Are you still up?” to you. It’s exciting, and you hope that he considers you a friend at the very least.

On Shirabu’s part, he finds that your energy is a good counter to the tired mornings he so often faces, and when you give him your signature smile, he feels his heart buzzing. He reasons that it’s because you’re such a breath of fresh air; it’s not often that he lets someone loud but not annoying into his life considering that his past experiences with energetic people were subpar. He likes being lab partners with you because you do your fair share, and he knows he can count on you during the rare times he needs help, and vice versa. You’re like the perfect fit for him, covering for his weaknesses, while he covered for yours.

He used to hate late nights of doing work since his eyes always got tired from staring endlessly at a screen of words and nothing more, but now they’re not so bad. He’ll find himself calling you if he knows you’re up, enjoying the sound of your whispers, as you’re afraid to wake your neighbors up at the dead of night. Sometimes the two of you exchange playful banter, and he’ll feel the weight being lifted off his shoulders, even if temporarily.

He enjoys a lot of things about you, and he almost finds it strange how even the smallest things you do get him a little bit happy. Just a little. Whenever you’re proofreading his essays, he finds that your comments, while still very helpful, are filled with energy. He used to think that exclamation marks were just a way to convey false energy in work and formal emails, but when he sees his paper littered with just hundreds, maybe even thousands of them, he can’t help but crack into a small smile over how silly it is. If you leave small doodles on the margin of his papers from when the two of you study together during lunch breaks or in between classes, he’ll always look at them fondly for a while before filing them neatly away.

He knows you’re busy as well, but after the first time he sees you wait for him outside of the gym for practice to end with coffee in hand, he begins to anticipate your appearance more and more. He likes how you don’t mind that he walks out disheveled, sweaty, and maybe cranky depending on how practice went, and his heart will always flutter if you comment on how good his sets were. You don’t know a thing about volleyball, and he’s probably aware of the fact, but when words like, “Cool,” or “Graceful,” flow out of your mouth, he thinks he must be going crazy. He feels like Goshiki getting all happy over just small praises and desperately wishes that he could stop being so lame.

“You don’t have to come by so often, you know,” he says one day even though he wants to ask you to stop by the gym every day. “You must be busy too, right?”

“I just study outside the benches while I’m waiting for you, so it’s not like I’m wasting my time,” you respond back, walking with an extra spring in your step. Whenever Shirabu walked you back to your apartment, you were always on Cloud 9.

He doesn’t say anything after and opts to revel in the comfortable silence that sits between you too. He wonders if you like being with a guy like him, someone so serious, so boring, and so critical of others. He’s blunt about almost everything, and he’s the driest texter alive according to Tendou. A part of him worries that you’ll get bored with such a bland and severe personality, and he’s not sure if you’re hurt by his directness. He thinks about other people that could probably serve as a better companion, and when he starts realizing how long the list is, he feels a bit of fear in his stomach.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, quick to pick up whether or not Shirabu’s silence meant content or discomfort. He appreciates it a lot.

“No,” he says quickly. You take it as a sign to drop the topic. He’d tell you later if he felt like it, and if he didn’t, it wasn’t a big deal. You’d help him cheer up without knowing what was wrong anyways.

“Today, there was this customer that walked in,” you start again, moving your arms slightly for emphasis in your story. Shirabu finds it endearing, but then he catches himself thinking it and comes to a frightful realization in the middle of your story.

Magic doesn’t exist, but love does. Shirabu doesn’t understand either of them.

iii.

In another world, if Shirabu did believe in magic and wished for his other half, he thinks they’d be exactly like you.

Still, he’s not entirely convinced that magic in this world exists, no matter how many times you make him watch all the Harry Potter movies with you. He needs a miracle to help him put into words how much he loves you because he thinks that by now, he should’ve said the L-word a long time ago, or at least enough to match how often you say it to him. It never loses its effect, though, and it always makes him flustered.

“Love you,” you’ll say to him randomly when the two of you are alone, and his face will go beet red.

“Me too,” is all he’ll be able to manage, but he wishes so desperately that he can return those same words one day.

You don’t really need him to verbalize it, though. He’s the type of person who shows his affection physically whether it’s running his fingers through your hair when you’re feeling down or gently squeezing your hand in public. His hugs are warm, and while it was a little awkward and stiff at first, they’re more relaxed and frequent now. You like how he’ll let you rest on his chest after a hard day and how he’d never let you go until he’s more than convinced that you’re fine. Whenever he brushes away your tears with a stray thumb, you feel all your worries and anxieties disappear.

In return, you’ll practically pull his figure into you whenever he comes home feeling frustrated or upset, resting his head at the crook of your neck while rubbing circles on his back. You let him vent, and after hours of him explaining to you how pathetic he finds himself, you’ll kiss him until he’s all better. In truth, he doesn’t think he deserves the love you give him, especially when he feels as if he can’t return it back tenfold despite trying his hardest.

It’s late at night like it usually is when he’s studying. You had gone to bed hours before, so it surprises him when he hears the bedroom door creak open and the shuffling of your feet against the floor. He turns his head around from his laptop, taking off his glasses and rubbing his dry eyes before giving you a proper look with the tilt of his head.

“You should be asleep,” he murmurs rather guiltily. “I’ll be in bed soon.”

“That’s what you always say,” you chuckle, voice tired. You rub your eyes too before taking a seat right next to him on the couch. “Still studying?”

“Sorry,” he sighs, moving an arm so that you can wrap your arms around his side and rest your head against his body. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise-“

“No, it’s all good.” Your eyes scan across the website he’s looking at, and you almost gag at the wall of words. “We can take a long nap together this weekend. After you ace your exam.”

He smiles softly, lowering his head to press a chaste kiss on your cheek before returning his attention back to the screen. He’d prefer it if you fell asleep back in bed, not because you’re distracting, but because he knows how the screen light distracts you from dozing off comfortably. You don’t seem to be willing to let go, though, and he isn’t going to tell you to leave him when he desperately wants you by his side at all times.

“Why don’t I read some of it to you?” you offer, stifling a yawn. You hear him laugh quietly and frown. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he says quietly, caressing the side of your face. You lean into his touch. “It’s just that…you know that I’ll get distracted if you start reading to me, right? I’d probably fall asleep.”

“That’s the point.” He rolls his eyes playfully, pressing another kiss, this time on your nose because he can’t help himself. “I think you’re already pretty distracted right now, aren’t you?”

“Can you blame me?” His voice is low and tired, but content, and you enjoy how it vibrates from his chest. You see him eyeing your lips more and more at each word you speak, and you have to hold in your smirk. “I need to recharge for a bit.”

Setting aside his laptop, he bends down to press his lips against yours, pulling your body close to his. He feels your fingers run through his hair and against his scalp, tempting him to further the kiss. You’re the one to pull away first much to his dismay, and he lets out a quiet whine as you look and admire the red mess that you’ve turned Shirabu into.

“I’ll let you recharge more after you’re done working,” you tease, grinning. He breaks into a smile and reaches back for his computer, making a sound of agreement.

“I’ll be done soon, love.”

Shirabu doesn’t trust magic. Miracles and wishes and made up spells are silly figments of childhood imagination. Soulmates, though, he thinks, may be closer to reality than he had initially thought. He can’t say he minds it.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #shirabu kenjirou #kenjirou shirabu #shirabu #shirabu x reader #shirabu kenjirou x reader #kenjirou shirabu x reader #hbd shirabu #salty setter #and by two hours earlier i mean a regular wake-up time

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smutbymia · 5 years

Text

rule breaker (haechan bratty sub au)

WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT 18+ (no protection mentioned, sexual content)

Word Count: 6.4k 😯

Themes: femdom, friendship, fwb, switch, sub/dom themes, edging, replacement of the title Mistress with Princess*

Pairing: Haechan/Lee Dong-hyuck x Female Reader (ft. appearances from mark lee)

PLOT: Dong-hyuck, the hyperactive and silly class clown isn’t used to following directions -- inside or outside of the bedroom. After his friend (Y/N) goes through a sudden breakup, and the discovery of a pair of handcuffs leads him to the reasoning why, he finds himself in an interesting position. He may be in for more than he expects when she offers to show him just what it was that her ex couldn’t handle.

PS: Requests are open for fics and short blurbs

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You absentmindedly doodled in your notebook as your teacher taught the last lesson of the day. Graduation was quickly approaching and it was clear that most other students, yourself included, had mentally checked out.

The sun poured through the massive glass windows of the classroom, putting emphasis on the speckles of dust that danced through the air and even more emphasis on the boy in the row in front of you, one desk over, who glowed under its rays.

His tanned skin and bronze hair looked even more rich than they usually did at this time of the afternoon. With nothing else around to distract yourself with, you momentarily admired him. Lee Dong-hyuck. I mean, yes... he was certainly attractive -- but you’d hardly admit it to his face.

“Haechan, that’s enough,” murmured the teacher, in an exasperated tone. He called the student by the nickname most of his classmates used. The name he preferred.

The classroom was filled with a fit of giggles, coming from the students. You missed the joke. Not that you missed much. This was a typical occurrence. Hyuck was what most people would refer to as a class clown but not exactly in the traditional sense. He didn’t necessarily crack jokes, or aim for the approval of others through his form of “entertainment”. He was quick witted, and mouthy, and quite frankly a bit of an asshole but with a class this boring -- such things were greatly appreciated to lift the spirits of the students who were surely just watching the clock in hopes of the final bell ringing sooner rather than later.

Hyuck shot a quick apology back at the teacher. Mark lee, his best friend who also happened to be seated directly next to him at the desk right in front of you, pulled him into a headlock the second the teacher turned back towards the blackboard and began to ruffle his hair. The boys tried their hardest to quietly withhold their leftover laughter from whatever stupid comment was made earlier.

“Hyung, relax!” Hyuck jokingly began, “I know you’re used to having crazy hair, but that life isn’t for me!”. He smoothed out his hair as Mark flicked him -- a punishment for his slick comment.

“My hair isn’t crazy... its just a bit curly!” he said, trying his best to fix the dark ringlets that cascaded over his forehead.

You reached across your desk and softly pulled at one of his curls. “Don’t listen to him Mark, your curls are seriously too cute,” you whispered as you shot him a quick wink. His cheeks flushed pink and he responded with a shy smile and quick nod of his head in your direction.

Hyuck swivelled his head around, narrowing his eyes at Mark before turning to you with an expression you were far too familiar with. The boy pouted as he leaned his elbow back onto the empty desk next to you before fluttering his eyes as he rested his cheek in the palm of his hand.

“And what about me, Y/N?” he asked. As lovely as he looked, still glowing in the sunlight, you had no choice but to take him down a peg... but not before having some fun with the little flirt.

“Hmm...” you sighed, narrowing your gaze as though you were thinking deeply. You brushed your hand across his exposed cheek and leaned closer to his face. The smug look on his face disappeared with each inch you eliminated between the two of you. By the time your faces were directly in front of each other, he looked a little flustered.

You lowered your voice seductively before speaking. “I think...” you began, “you’re probably due for a haircut.” Mark chuckled under his breath after witnessing the exchange.

Just as you thought you’d won the battle, Hyuck quickly snapped back “But then you’d have nothing to pull on, Y/N”. With your faces still close together, he dropped his gaze to your lips before licking his own.

“Okay, gross...” murmured Mark, before turning his attention back to the teacher who was still aimlessly drawing formulas all over the chalkboard. Hyuck’s intense gaze shifted between your lips and your eyes before you decided to break the distance between the two of you.

“In your dreams, Dong-hyuck,” you said as you leaned back into your chair, sighing deeply and rolling your eyes. He furrowed his brows, annoyed at your refusal to call him by the name everyone else used.

“Actually, you usually call me Haechan when you’re screaming my name in my dreams...” he mumbled stubbornly before turning back around in his seat. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, completely impressed by how nonchalantly he admitted to fantasizing about you. Typical Hyuck.

The rest of the class passed by painfully slow. The final bell pretty much brought every student back from the dead as they jumped up, excited to start their weekends. You gathered your belongings to leave class with both Mark and Hyuck trailing behind you.

All three of you had gone to school together for years and were considered to be pretty decent friends. Mark and Hyuck were obviously extremely close, like brothers almost, and you were once a big part of their friendship as well until you all hit puberty and the dynamic seemed to shift. Hyuck got more flirty, Mark got a little more nervous, and the time you all spent together was limited to whatever classes you coincidentally shared and conversations at parties or in passing at school.

This was one of those moments. The three of you navigated your ways through the halls of your school as other students chattered amongst themselves about the parties happening that weekend, while emptying out their lockers for the day.

Hyuck and Mark were discussing some new album that had just been released when you reached the entrance of your school.

“Hey, isn’t that your boyfriend over there?” Hyuck asked, nudging your shoulder.

All three of you glanced up at a boy hanging by the bottom of the staircase, speaking with a group of students. His smile dropped from his face the second he looked up and met your gaze, replacing it with an expression of... fear, almost. He quickly wrapped up his conversation and turned in the opposite direction before walking off.

“Jeez, Y/N. What was that about?” Mark asked.

“Yeah, he looks terrified. What did you do to him?” Hyuck began, “and where do I sign up?” He chuckled at his own remark as Mark rolled his eyes.

The two boys turned to you waiting for a response but all they got was a shrug. This wasn’t anything new.

“Just another guy who thought he could handle me. The usual,” you stated, pulling out your phone from your pocket to scroll through the notifications.

Hyuck and Mark both stared at you wide-eyed, not quite sure what to make of your intentionally ambiguous statement. You gracefully pushed past them, disregarding the encounter with your ex, and continued walking down the stairs. The boys fell right into step behind you.

Your mom had sent you a message, reminding you that you were going to be alone for the weekend while she went away with her new boyfriend -- for the second time this month.

“Ugh, again?” you mumbled to yourself. Hyuck grabbed the phone out of your hand to read the message as mark peered over his shoulder.

“You’re so lucky you have us, you know. When’s the last time we camped out at your place anyway?” he said, tilting his head while racking his brain.

“7th grade” Mark responded, “You almost slipped off the roof when we climbed up through Y/N’s window.”

You all chuckled at the memory. You had almost forgotten just how close you all once were. The thought of being home alone for the second weekend in a row did sound boring.

Hyuck slung his arm around your shoulder as Mark fiddled with his cellphone next to the both of you as you walked your way through campus. The sun still broke through the few clouds left in the sky as students lounged around outdoors and others caught their busses home.

“You know what you need?” he began, “A real man like me. Someone who can protect you! Someone who can take control and --” the sound of Marks phone cut him off and quite frankly, you were thankful.

“Oh jeez, I totally forgot that I promised Jaemin I’d help him with something tonight. Is it cool if I meet up with you guys a little later? I’ll make it just before bed, I promise!” he said, as he walked backwards, nearly stumbling over his feet as he responded to the message before breaking off into a run back towards the school entrance.

You both shook your heads at his hasty exit. “Meet me in an hour?” Hyuck asked. You nodded in agreement before you both went your separate ways for the time being.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You were just about to step into the shower when there was a knock at your door. You descended the staircase and opened the door to Hyuck standing out front with an overnight bag in hand.

It may have been a while but he entered your home as if it was his own, kicking off his shoes in the same place your family did and climbing his way up the stairs back towards your bedroom, mumbling about some surprise party Mark and Jaemin were planning for Jeno’s birthday.

Once you got back to the room, Hyuck dropped his bag and flopped backwards into your bed. “Ah, I can’t believe you still have those,” he said, pointing at the glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling before pulling out his phone to take a picture that you were certain he’d send to mark. The three of you struggled to get those up there the last time they were over.

“I’m going to shower -- and before you ask, yes... without you,” you proclaimed. Hyuck, who had been ready to make that exact remark suddenly shut his mouth before nodding his head and returning his attention to his cellphone.

A few moments later you returned to the room, fresh out of the shower, in a pair of lounge shorts and a white tank top that sat just at your waist. However, Hyuck was no longer on your bed where you left him.

He had changed into some sweats but stood shirtless with his back facing you, his tanned skin and muscles emphasized by the setting sun that spilled the remainder of its golden orange light through your window. You really couldn’t help but take a brief moment to admire him. As you got closer to him, he turned around with a mischievous grin on his face. That admiration disappeared the second you realized why.

“You know... I was wondering where those marks on your bed frame came from,” he teased as he held a pair of black handcuffs in his hands.

“Did you SERIOUSLY go through my stuff?!” you yelled, marching across the room to retrieve the cuffs from him. He lifted them out of your reach and dangled them over your head.

Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink as you jumped up, just now realizing how much taller than you he now was.

“Y/N, now I see why your ex is so scared of you!” he joked, “Wait.. HEY!”

You had jumped up onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist. He instinctively held onto you to avoid the two of you toppling over. Your handcuffs were finally within your reach again. When the commotion settled, you realized you were still in his arms and pressed against his half naked body. As you began to lower yourself, you were met with the feeling of his erection.

“Okay, seriously? That quickly?” you questioned, as the bulge grew against your center. Hyuck slowly put you down with a sheepish grin on his face.

“Its not my fault you’re basically naked!” he retorted.

“Says you! Besides this is my room,” you countered, slapping his chest. He winced in pain as he rubbed the spot that was now plastered with a faint outline of your hand.

“Is this how rough you are during sex?” he said jokingly. You furrowed your brows, lips descending into a slight frown, suddenly self conscious about the statement. You weren’t exactly insecure about your kinks, but because they played a role in your recent breakup the topic was a bit sensitive.

He noticed the sudden change in your expression and sat himself on the edge of your bed before speaking again. “Hey, I was just kidding. This stuff seems hot, I just --” he began before you interrupted him.

“He freaked out and started acting weird, Hyuck. He acted like I was some sort of monster for even suggesting the type of sex I wanted to have. I mean, I get it’s not for everyone but he looks at me now like I’m crazy and we didn’t even try anything,” you confessed. It felt good to get the reasoning behind your breakup off your chest because you hadn’t had anyone to speak to about it yet.

He took the handcuffs from your hand before snapping them open. “Show me,” he demanded. You were taken aback by his sudden proclamation.

“With all due respect, I don’t think you’re the right candidate for this kind of stuff,” you said, laughing at the thought of Hyuck powerless. Your laugh faded when you watched as he attached himself to your headboard, now laying there with his hands above his head.

He looked... sexy. Your breathing increased slightly and your nipples hardened through your shirt. You were hoping Hyuck was too distracted by his positioning to notice but his eyes scanned right over your body the second you attempted to meet his gaze.

“Wow, you must be really into this stuff...” he said, not looking away from the rise and fall of your breasts and their protruding nipples. You were too caught off guard by the sudden change in your rooms atmosphere to speak. Instead, you crawled across the bed before unlocking the handcuffs, and freeing his arms.

“Wait, I thought you were going to...” he began.

“If you want to see what it’s like, you need to do exactly as I say,” you said in almost a whisper. He stared up at you, still laying on your bed with a surprised look on his face. Your tone had changed. He nodded, and you turned to get off the bed before rummaging through your closet for a box that Hyuck hadn’t yet found.

You placed it on the edge of your bed and he curiously peered towards it, ready for your demonstration. You weren’t exactly sure how far this would go. You weren’t even sure if you’d end up having sex but you were curious to see how Hyuck would feel about your preferences, and you valued his opinion.

“Stand up,” you demanded sternly. A smile danced across his face as he excitedly rushed off the bed. “Undress,” you continued.

“Wait, for real?” he almost yelled. It dawned on you that you were actually about to potentially cross a line between your demonstration and actual sex. You backtracked slightly.

“Um... just your pants. Keep your boxers on,” you answered. Hyuck’s face fell, clearly disappointed. He sighed and untied the waist band of his sweats before stepping out of them.

He instinctively stepped forward to tug at the strings on your shorts, assuming that you’d both be getting undressed. You grabbed his wrist in response, with your other hand gripping at his neck. He froze, taken aback by your quick movements.

“Did I say you could undress me?” you asked, raising your eyebrows. Hyuck was momentarily flustered before his smile broke across his face once more.

“Wow, Y/N. I didn’t think you had it in you,” he laughed, as he freed his wrist from your grasp to rope his hands around your waist.

“First rule. You refer to me as princess,” you said, as you removed your hand from his neck and swatted his hand away from your waist. “And you seem to be having difficulty keeping your hands to yourself...” you began.

You returned to your closet to grab a belt -- the solution to your problem. “Can you blame me? Look at you... wait what are you getting that for?” he asked, noticing the leather belt you were carrying towards him.

“Your actions have consequences, baby. Hold out your hands,” you demanded. He narrowed his eyes at you in defiance, his mischievous smile returning. “I won’t ask you again. Hold out your hands Hyuck,” you repeated. This was already getting exhausting. You knew he’d be a handful but you didn’t expect it to start this early.

He finally complied, and you fastened the belt around his wrists, tugging at it to make sure that it was secure enough.

“Okay Y/N, what’s next?” he asked. The look on your face was telling. He knew almost instantly that he had made a mistake and was quick to correct himself, “I- I mean princess,” he stuttered.

“Good, you’re learning. On your knees,” you ordered. He dropped to his knees almost immediately. You sat down on the bed with Hyuck facing you, pausing to stroke his cheek as you examined his face. He looked so beautiful on his knees in front of you like that, even though it took him so long. You could feel yourself getting turned on again at the sight of him in yet another submissive position.

You took another moment to trail your eyes down his body, pausing at the large erection bulging out of his boxers. “Have you been turned on this entire time, baby?” you asked, still stroking his face. He nodded.

“Please use your words, Hyuck,” you urged.

“Yes, princess,” he said calmly.

“You’ve already given me such a hard time. You like breaking rules don’t you?” you asked him. You had leaned forward to meet him at eye level, your faces centimetres from one another. Your every breath danced against his lips, and his against yours.

“Yes, princess,” he admitted.

“If you break the rules, you’ll get punished. I won’t go easy on you, especially if you do it on purpose. Do you understand me?” you said, no gripping his face.

“Y-yes princess,” he stammered.

“Undress me,” you ordered. He began to lift himself off his knees before you reached out and pushed him back down towards the floor. A brief look of confusion crossed his face as he looked down at his bound hands.

“Use your teeth, baby,” you urged. You began by lifting one of your feet towards him. He peeled off your sock before doing the same on the other foot.

You helped him up to his feet and he proceeded to hook his teeth around one of the straps of your tank top, followed by the other. He struggled slightly but eventually pulled the top down the length of your body, leaving you topless.

He stared at your bare chest, nipples erect, and stepped closer to you with a look of hunger in his eyes. “Keep going,” you demanded. He seemed to snap out of his trance as he glanced back up to meet your gaze. There was a familiar look in his eyes. A look that always came before trouble.

Hyuck lowered himself to his knees as slowly as he possibly could, blowing air across your nipples, across your chest, and down your tummy. The sensation sent shivers down your body. You didn’t bother stopping him. It felt good. He’d be getting punished for it later anyway.

As he reached the waistband of your shorts, he untied them with his teeth before dragging them down the length of your legs, followed by your panties. When he was done, he peered up at your naked body.

“Fuck,” he murmured to himself. His gaze took in every inch of you. “You’re so beautiful, princess.”

Your heart fluttered at his statement. You sat back at the edge of the bed, and he instinctively returned to his position directly in front of you, like an obedient sub.

“Hyuck, listen. Before we continue, we need to establish a safe word. If you feel uncomfortable, say sunset and i’ll stop whatever i’m doing,” you said. “Yes, princess,” he responded almost immediately, “but i think i’ll be able to handle it.” He flashed a quick wink before running his eyes back over your body again, this time biting his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I’m serious. I’m not going to go easy on you. Especially since you’ve been such a brat so far,” you said. You slowly spread your legs then reached out and grabbed him by his hair before pulling him towards you.

Hyuck wasted no time diving towards your heat faster than you even directed him, mouth agape. You had to pull his head back before he could make contact with your skin, no matter how badly you wanted it.

“Don’t be so eager, baby. Wait for your directions,” you reminded him. You held him centimetres away from your slit by his hair. “Stick your tongue out for me,” you ordered. He quickly complied. You brought him closer to your center and the second he met your hot flesh, he licked the entire length of it.

You groaned in response at the sudden contact before forcing his head backward. You had to stay in control. No matter how good it felt.

“I- I didn’t tell you to move your tongue,” you stammered. Your breathing had increased and your chest was now quickly rising and falling.

“Stick your tongue out. I’m going to ride your face. And you aren’t going to move your tongue until I say you can. Do you understand, baby?” you asked, still out of breath.

Hyuck groaned, his erection desperately forcing itself against the fabric of his boxer briefs. “Yes, princess. I understand,” he responded, before resuming his position.

You brought his head back into position, once again moaning at the sudden contact. This time Hyuck followed his orders and remained still. You slowly began rocking your hips back and forth against his tongue.

“Oh, yes baby. Fuck... You’re doing so well,” you praised. Your other hand reached up to massage your breasts, still moving rhythmically against Hyuck’s face. He stared up at you, wide eyed, admiring the expressions of pleasure on your face. He looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world and it turned you on even more.

With one hand still wrapped in his hair, you applied more pressure to yourself feeling his tongue slip through your folds as you gyrated your hips faster. His nose brushed up against your clit with every stroke and the higher you raised your hips, the deeper his tongue dove into your entrance. You watched as your juices covered his chin, soaking the entire bottom half of his face.

“Dong-Hyuck... you- you look so pretty. Like an angel,” you began. It wasn’t like you to shower a sub with so much affection but you couldn’t help it this time. He groaned in response. The sensation increased your pleasure as his mouth vibrated.

“Do you want me to cum on your face like this?” you asked, getting closer to your orgasm. “I’m so close baby,” you moaned. He groaned once more in response sending the vibrations back through your body, this time shutting his eyes.

“Fuck me with your tongue. I need you to look me in the eyes while you do it,” you ordered. Hyuck followed your orders, meeting your gaze once more as he altered the angle of his tongue to better penetrate your hole. With your fingers intertwined in his hair, you forced his tongue in and out of yourself. Your free hand dropped from your chest as you began to draw circles on your clit.

You felt the tension building up inside you. You momentarily threw your head back, enjoying the stimulation -- beads of sweat dripping down the sides of your forehead. One last look at the boy between your legs was all it took to send you over the edge as you reached your climax. It was beyond any orgasm you had ever reached before. You could feel your legs shake as the rest of your body convulsed. Still savouring every last moment, you continued to jerk yourself over Hyuck’s face, body shivering at the overstimulation, before falling back onto your bed.

The room was filled with gasps from both you and Hyuck, as you attempted to slowed your heart rate and as he caught his breath. After a few minutes, you lifted yourself back up. Hyuck sat there still, gazing curiously at you. He was taken aback by your intense orgasm.

“Are you okay, Princess?” he quietly asked. You must have been laying there longer than you thought. You nodded. His face was still covered in your juices when you got up to grab a towel before kneeling down to him and wiping his chin.

He watched you, attempting to read your face while you cleaned him up. As you shifted your position to get closer to him your knee brushed against his erection. He winced in pain. The poor baby had been turned on for quite some time now and he shifted his thighs looking for some relief.

You discarded the towel before motioning for Hyuck to stand. Once he was back up on his feet again, you stripped him of his remaining piece of clothing.

His erection sprang free from his boxers, nearly hitting you in the face due to your proximity. This time, it was you who was on their knees in front of Hyuck. He looked down at you with an equally pained and eager expression on his face, waiting for your next move.

“Wow, Hyuck. I didn’t expect you to be this big,” you cooed, as you dragged your fingernails over his length. He shutter in response, moaning under his breath.

“Did it turn you on when I used your face like that?” you asked, gazing up at him seductively. He shifted his footing before responding.

“Yes princess, of course,” he said. He reached down, arms still bound by your leather belt, towards his cock. You stopped him immediately.

“You don’t get to touch yourself. And you don’t get to cum until I say you do, understood?” you ordered. Hyuck groaned in response, clearly frustrated at the predicament he was in.

Your hands circled around his base as you gripped him. He let out a deep moan and threw his head back, nearly losing his footing. He was so turned on, every touch seemed to numb his senses. You began slowly pumping up and down his length, watching his legs shake. A bead of pre-cum, escaped from his tip as his pleasure increased. Knowing it would push him over the edge, with a quick swipe of your tongue, you tasted him.

“Y/N... babe, please...” he whined. “I need to come,” he pleaded.

“You’re breaking a lot of rules, Hyuck. And you know what happens when you break rules right?” you warned.“I get punished,” he responded.

“So you do know better, after all,” you said, releasing him from your grip. He groaned at the loss of contact. Feeling defeated. You watched as he hung his head, eyes closed. You almost felt bad but you warned him that you wouldn’t go easy on him.

You motioned for him to lay on the bed and he did. You removed the belt from around his wrists, softly rubbing at the red marks it left behind. Hyuck looked exhausted.

You raised his arms up and fastened him back to the headboard with the handcuffs he had place himself in before. He complied without complaints. You crawled across the bed to retrieve a black silk blindfold from the box you had brought out earlier.

Hyuck peered over your shoulder, trying to spot the other objects inside but gave up quickly, overestimating the amount of energy he had left. His head feel back against the pillows on your bed as he awaited his fate.

You straddled him, with his erection pressing gently against your ass causing him to stir and groan beneath you. Once the blindfold was secure, you directed your attention back towards his erection, once again pumping at his length.

Hyuck’s body jerked in response to your touch as he raised his hips up, trying to thrust into your hand before you pushed him back into place. “Don’t be fussy. Hold still or else this will take longer than it needs to,” you warned.

He was breathing deeply now, as more beads of cum gathered at his tip. He was trying his best not to release himself but you could tell he was close. Covering his eyes had probably increased his senses, but it also seemed to calm him down a bit more. You made a mental note of it for next time.

You froze as you caught yourself absentmindedly thinking about having sex with Hyuck like this again. He groaned again, disappointed at the halt in your strokes. This had been the second or third time you had stopped.

You had been edging him all this time without realizing and you knew he was nearing his limit. You took the opportunity to lick along base of his cock all the way back up to the tip. He shivered and let out his loudest moan yet.

“F-fuck. P-please, do that again,” he pleaded. You sunk your mouth over the tip of his throbbing erection and his head fell back onto the pillow. He moaned your name as you slowly took every inch of him into your mouth, feeling the tip brush against your throat.

Hyuck muttered every curse word he knew, along with a couple of dirty phrases that you didn’t expect to hear. He even moaned your name, which should have warranted another punishment if it hadn’t sounded so fucking amazing falling from his parted lips. Still you couldn’t allow him to speak so freely.

You removed yourself from his length which generated yet another groan from Hyuck. You sat quietly by his side for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall and a single tear slide down one of his cheeks before picking up the discarded pair of panties he had taken off of you earlier and balling them up in your firsts.

“You’re too loud baby. I need to fix that. Open your mouth for me,” you cooed as you ran your free hand across his chest. Hyuck whimpered before opening up his mouth. You placed the undies inside carefully. This was it. This was the image you’d have imprinted in your mind forever. The image of Hyuck cuffed and blindfolded to your bed with your panties in his mouth. You couldn’t help but lower your hands to touch yourself. You slipped a finger into your entrance, quietly moaning.

It took Hyuck a moment to realize what you were doing. it wasn’t until the sounds of you fucking yourself increased that he let out a knowing moan and began pulling at the handcuffs.

Wetness seeped out of you when you straddled his hips, hovering over his erection. You positioned him at your entrance before slowly sinking down onto him. He let out a deep muffled growl in response and immediately started to thrust himself up into you, hitting your sweet spot.

“Oh my goodness, Hyuck...” you gasped, with each thrust. You shouldn’t have been letting him move so much. As each stroke became more frantic, you used every ounce of your will power to pull yourself off of him once more.

This time Hyuck protested even more. He yanked at the handcuffs, rattling the bed frame. You knew you were torturing him at this point. He still hadn’t used the safe word yet but you knew he was at his limit. You reached towards his blindfold first, removing it from his eyes. His eyelids where low but he still shifted his gaze to meet yours. You pulled the panties from his mouth and reached up to free him of his hand cuffs.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a quiet tone.

“Sunset,” you whispered. His face twisted in confusion.

“Huh? But I d-didn’t say it,” he responded.

“I know, baby, But I did. I can’t take it anymore,” you confessed.

“Can I?” his voice trailed off as he moved his hands towards you, hovering them over your skin asking for permission to touch you, as if the rules still applied. He was so well behaved -- the complete opposite from how he was when you first began. You nodded and he let out a sigh of relief as his hands traced the outline of your body, first moving up your arms before gliding over your breasts.

He delicately ran his fingers over your nipples and then back down your stomach again. He paused at your hips before snaking his hands around you to grip your ass, sighing as though he had been waiting his whole life to do so.

The pressure was building back up for you both. His erection still hadn’t disappeared and you were shocked he had held off for so long. You reached down as he watched you position yourself to sink down onto him once more before he stopped you.

“You’re not in charge anymore are you?” he asked, eyes going dark. His demeanour had changed but he still was taking heavy breaths, yearning for his own release.

“Technically...no,” you hesitantly responded.

“Good,” Hyuck stated, as he propped himself up on the bed. Within seconds he had repositioned you. Your arms were pressed against your bed frame, as you arched your back. He wanted you from behind. Hyuck wasn’t patient as he placed one of his arms next to yours to steady himself and the other around the base of his cock.

He thrusted into you, drawing a loud moan from your lips. He wrapped his free arm around you, applying pressure to the lower part of your stomach as he disappeared into you over and over again.

Your breasts bounced with every stroke. He pulled your hips towards himself, burying himself as deeply into you as he possibly could.

“I’ve been waiting so long to do this to you,” he groaned into your ear before capturing a lobe between his teeth. The sensation sent tingles down your spine. He proceeded to drop kisses down your neck, marking you, as you approached your orgasm. He quickened his pace, the sound of slapping flesh filling the room. You could feel him throbbing inside you, so incredibly close to his release.

“Fuck, i- I can’t hold it any longer!” he exclaimed. He reached his free hand down between your legs before rubbing circles onto your clit while thrusting into you.

“H-Haechan,” you moaned. It was the first time you had ever used his nickname and it was just enough to send him over the edge.

“Y/N.. baby.. fuck,” he stammered. Your orgasm coursed through you as you felt him fill your insides with his cum. His body went still for a second before he collapsed onto your back, heavily breathing and unable to hold up his own weight.

Haechan gasped for air as you moved from under him, laying him gently on the bed. Beads of sweat were scattered across his face. Before he could regain his composure, you slipped out of bed to clean yourself up. Minutes later, you returned in a new set of pyjamas and a few other items. Haechan’s eyes shot open as you ran a hot towel over his body, cleaning him up. He simply stared up at you, not moving or saying a word as you took care of him. You rubbed oil onto his wrists, massaging over the red indentations the belt and handcuffs left behind, before massaging his knees as well.

When you were done, you pulled him into your chest and bundled him up under your bedsheets. The two of you didn’t move for what felt like ages. After some time had passed, Haechan had slipped out of bed to put on a new change of clothes. You took the opportunity to grab some water and fruit from the kitchen before you both sat next to each other again, aimlessly chatting as you always did. Things had changed between you two. He brushed your hair out of your face as always, but this time his touches lingered more. He playfully licked the juices off your fingers as you fed him fruit, but still teased you as he typically would. He even stopped to sprinkle your face with kisses before capturing your lips with his own. Neither of you really knew what this meant for your relationship but that wasn’t a conversation that needed to happen now anyway.

As you giggled with each other, picking at what was left over the fruits, you both fell silent as you heard footsteps on your staircase.

Marks head popped into your doorway seconds later. “Hey, you idiots didn’t even lock the door, and what happened to your phones I’ve been trying to call you for the past hour!” he complained, dropping his bag next to Hyuck’s.

“Hyung!” Haechan proclaimed, still taken aback by Marks sudden entrance.

“Don’t hyung me, what the hell have you guys been --” marks voice trailed off as his eyes zeroed in on the headboard.

“Yo Y/N, what did you do to your bed... wait,” his voiced trailed off once more as his eyes dropped to the marks on Haechan’s wrists. He tried to cover them up with his sleeves but was too late.

“Holy shit, you let her use those handcuffs that you showed me on you? WAIT... What the fuck happened here?” he exclaimed, jumping off the bed in shock.

You and Haechan burst into a fit of laughter at Mark, who looked equally horrified and disgusted. His cheeks were blushing bright red, and the warmth had reached his ears too.

“You guys are gross, you know that...” he muttered, pulling the plate of fruits away from you both, trying his hardest not to touch the bed.

Moments later, Marks words registered in your head and soon enough you were pushing Haechan off of the bed and onto the floor to join his best friend.

“I can’t believe you sent him a picture of the handcuffs too! You idiot!” you yelled.

“It was BEFORE we used them!” he responded. The three of you laughed and bickered back and forth as the sun finally set.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

final words: wow this one was a bit tough to write. Haechan is a mischievous little thing in this fic and in real life too but I still couldn’t handle the thought of him suffering too much. He’ll always make me soft no matter what 🥺 also Mark was supposed to have a smaller part in this but he just fit so well I even had to put him in the opening gif! please leave your thoughts/comments or feel free to give any criticism so I can correct anything that may be insensitive/inaccurate in my fics. Thank you!

#nct127 #mark lee #nct #nct 127 #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 smut #haechan scenarios #haechan imagines #nct haechan #haechan smut #haechan #nct dream fanfic #nct dream smut #lee donghyuck #nct dream #donghyuck #nct donghyuck #markchan #markhyuck

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ofsinnersandsaints · 5 years

Text

Rest in My Arms

Fjord’s got PTSD and Jester’s cool with it; bonus gossiping about beauyasha and the reading of romance novels

AO3

Jester got ready for bed and watched as Fjord went through his nightly ritual whenever they slept somewhere other than the hut.

As she took off her leathers, he prowled the room and made sure there was no way anyone could have snuck in earlier to hide under the couch or in the wardrobe. Jester had never felt unsafe in the chateau, but she understood Fjord’s fear and patiently waited him out.

“I caught Beau and Yasha making out.”

He looked up and Jester saw the quick quirk of his lips. “Yeah? ‘Bout time, I thought Nott was going to have lock them in a room somewhere with her knife.”

Jester giggled and climbed on top of her bed – their bed, she corrected herself – and thought about herself at fifteen feeling very alone. Teenaged-Jester would be very impressed Adult-Jester was sharing her childhood bedroom with a hot, sailor boyfriend.

“Caleb has the manacles too,” she remembered, unlacing her boots and kicking them onto the floor. “If things got really desperate, we could have always handcuffed them together.”

“Did they catch you spying on them?” he asked as he looked under the bed.

Jester wished she could take the fear from him, but for Fjord the monsters which could hide under there were real and they had killed him once before. Instead, she kept the conversation light and happy the way he did for her when memories of the Iron Angels came for her in her sleep.

How many times had he calmed her frantic heartbeat by telling her about his time at sea? They didn’t keep a tally of who had helped who more, it was just understood they’d always be there for each other.

“I wasn’t spying on them,” she argued, but didn’t make any attempt to sound convincing. “I was just making sure everything was good.”

“And everything was good?” Fjord asked as he reached into the bag of holding. Jester winced at the loud noise coming from the bell now in his hand, and waited until he’d hung it on the doorknob before answering his question.

She waggled her eyebrows, “Things were very good.”

He snorted and put a bell on each curtain rod, adjusting the rope so it hung in the middle of the curtain. If anyone tried to sneak into their room in the middle of the night, the bells would sound and wake them up. It wouldn’t be a ton of notice, but she and Fjord would at least be awake for whatever attack might be coming.

Fjord had tried to learn the alarm spell Caleb used all the time, but Fjord’s magic just wouldn’t work like that, so this was the next best thing. Last time they were here Jester made a point to talk to Bluud about the patrols around the chateau within Fjord’s hearing, hoping that knowing that might make him sleep a little better.

“I guess we won’t wake them up for breakfast in the morning,” Fjord teased as he sat at the edge of the bed. Jester shifted so she was sitting next to him, and he automatically held out his arm to her. It was a silly thing, and she couldn’t remember exactly how it had started, but part of their nightly routine was Jester helping Fjord out of his armor.

“We can have something sent up,” Jester suggested pragmatically as she tossed one of the arm pieces onto the nearby chair and started on the other one. “They’ll need to keep their strength up.”

“That’s very considerate of you, Jester.”

She ignored the slight tease in his voice and threw the second piece of armor to meet the other one and turned around so Fjord could undo tie at the back of her dress. It was easily something she could do herself – it was something she had done herself – but it was such a couple thing to do and it always made her heart feel a little warm around the edges.

“Are you doodling tonight?” he asked as he got up to divest himself of the rest of his leathers.

Jester shook her head and pulled off her dress, but before she could throw it Fjord took it from her hands and hung it from one of the hooks near the wardrobe. “Nope, I’m too tired. I don’t know how teleporting is just as exhausting as actually travelling, but I’m always wore out by the time we arrive.”

“It’s the time change,” he told her as he walked around the room to turn down the lanterns, but she knew he was also taking one last look at the room before getting into bed. His fingers brushing lightly against the bells as if to test to make sure they were working.

He’d told her once the bells had been inspired by her. Apparently, he’d been thinking about something to hang from the doorknobs for a while, but wasn’t sure if shells would be loud enough to wake him up. Then she’d used Toll the Dead during a fight and immediately afterwards he bought the bells.

The first night he’d hung them up had been the best sleep either of them had gotten in weeks.

Jester climbed under the covers and when he joined her he was shirtless, which was her favorite version of Fjord. Unless he was in the hot tub back at the Xorhouse, he almost never went anywhere unless he was fully clothed. She liked to think this was a Fjord only she got to see.

Jester waited until he was settled on his side of the bed and then practically laid on top of him. They hadn’t been sharing a bed long, and at first she had kept her distance because her skin was always just a little bit cool and she didn’t want to make him cold. But Fjord had pulled her across the bed one night and told her, very seriously and with a twinkle in his eye, that when it was hot like it was during the summer it was easier to sleep with her pressed right up against him.

She wasn’t sure if she believed him, and what would they do when it was winter? But Jester wasn’t about to argue, and pressed herself against the warmth of his bare skin, draping one of her legs over his.

As they lay in the silence of the chateau Fjord ran a finger up and down her arm, which was a pretty good indicator for Jester he wasn’t trying to sleep. His mind was focused on something else and she was just about to poke him when he spoke up in the darkness.

“Thanks, by the way.”

“For what, Fjord?”

There was a beat of silence before he answered. “For putting up with my nonsense.”

Insulted on his behalf, Jester put her hand on his chest – right over his scar – and lifted herself up so she could look down at him. “It’s not nonsense.”

He snorted like he didn’t believe her. “It’s a little bit nonsense.”

Jester huffed out a breath and rolled her eyes, hoped he could hear it in her voice if he couldn’t see it. “Does it help?”

“Help?”

“Checking the room, putting up the bells, does it help?”

“Well,” he fidgeted beneath her hands and looked away, just a little bit shy. “Yeah, it does.”

“Then it’s not nonsense.” She looked down at her hand and moved her fingers over the puckered skin. Magic healed wounds faster, but it didn’t take away the scars, instead it looked like it had been there for years instead of months. It looked healed over even though the damage was still fresh and raw for Fjord.

“No one blames you for being wary, for making sure what happened on the Ball Eater never happens again. Maybe one day you’ll be able to go to sleep without putting up the bells, but until that night happens it doesn’t both me to have them up. And if you never get to that place, that’s okay too. When we get our own place we’ll hang bells on every window and all the door knobs.”

Jester sat up, suddenly excited by the idea forming in her mind. “We’ll make them different notes! Whenever we walk from one room to another it’ll be like music! And then if someone does attack the house we’ll be like ‘That was a high c’ or however music works, and we’ll know exactly where they’re coming from. This is brilliant.”

When she refocused her gaze back on Fjord he was looking up at her with a soft smile, his eyes just a little unfocused. “What?”

“You’re perfect.”

Jester’s heart did a kind of ladylike faint in her ribcage, and she covered it up with bravado. “I know that, Fjord.”

He smiled at her like he knew what was going on inside of her, and knowing him like she did, he probably did. “I’m serious, Jester. You’re perfect for me.”

That was better, Jester thought. She didn’t like the idea of being perfect, that was too high a standard to keep up with, but she loved the idea she was perfect for him. The same way his steadiness and warmth was perfect for her.

She picked up his hand and held it in her lap. “I love you, Fjord.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d said it, but then the first time she’d uttered those words he’d been dead and unable to hear them. So now she said them as much as possible, to make sure he always knew and never forgot about much he was loved.

To the bottom of the sea and back.

“I love you too, Jester.” His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand, “Why don’t you get your book out and read a chapter?”

Jester grinned and got off the bed to get her latest book from the haversack. “I knew you were invested.”

“Well, the last time you read it Sir Harlan was standing on a ledge, fighting a zombie knight. How the hell is he going to get out of it?”

Jester snuggled back under the covers and opened the book to where she’d last left off. On nights when she had nightmares Fjord would sometimes read from books until she fell asleep, and on other nights she read from it just so they could have something happy and silly to think about before going to sleep.

Fjord liked to pretend he was indifferent to them, but she’d once caught him reading ahead to make sure the hero survived a very scary fight.

“Okay,” Jester rested her head on Fjord’s shoulder and picked up where they’d left off a few days ago. “Sir Harlan knew he was in an untenable situation, but he would not give up. Not when the fairest lady of the land was only two floors up, trying to get to him. He would not perish from this fiendish nightmare when he was so close to being with her again.”

And so she kept reading until the hero was no longer in danger, thanks to the Lady Isabella who was handy with a crossbow.

Eventually they fell asleep, wrapped around each other.

The bells were silent.

#fjord #jester lavorre #fjorester #critical role #critical role fic

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stubbedbakutoes · 4 years

Text

Inked

pairing: kageyama tobio x reader

genre: tattoo artist au

masterlist

You could watch him all day.

The way he bites his lip gently, as his eyes are trained on the needle and the skin with such dedication, or the way he holds his breath when he makes the first mark and exhales only after he's put the needle down.

You wandered into the shop, marveling over the intricate designs that adorned the walls, tasteful photographs of the skin he's worked on hanging on simple frames, the pointed needles resting on the counter with the colored inks neatly organized in an extensive rainbow on the counter.

“Thinking of getting one?” He grins at you, lopsided, pink-lipped – crossing his fully inked arms as he stands next to you, matching your gaze at the work that surrounded his walls.

“Yeah, still deciding. Did you design all of these?”

“Yep,” He replies with a shy proudness in his voice, giving you a quick side glance – this girl with the untouched skin.

You look back at him with awe in your eyes, a certain wonder for his work that makes his heart lift with pride from your appreciation.

You ask him shy questions, how he came up with that design, whether it was strange to tattoo a certain design onto a particular body part, laughing at the stories he tells about his customers, the peculiar meanings behind the more memorable tattoos he's done.

You're an avid listener, more than happy to hear his smooth voice.

It's been a year and you're still "deciding" on what tattoo you want to get.

You always visit his shop when you have a pocket of spare time, his face lighting up the moment he sees you walk through the door, putting away his phone or magazine, all his attention on you.

“Got a design already?” He asks you that every time, just to see the rose tint in your cheeks when you try to look away.

“Not yet.”

You think he knows you're not here for the tattoos, but the boy who creates it.

He doesn't comment on it, and he definitely doesn't mind.

Kageyama's more than happy to spend his afternoon with you, on quiet days where the store is still saved for your laughter mixing with his, on busy days when he asks you to stay for a moment, to which you always oblige, sitting on a chair and watching Kageyama prepare the equipment and draw the picture onto soft skin with the precision of a surgeon.

And you're the only person he tells the meaning of his tattoos to; full stories with no details uncut, embarrassing and intimate, his stories inked onto his arm like a biography, his innermost thoughts painted for you.

You're the only person he shows his black leather sketchbook to – “They're just... just mindless doodles, really” – because he wants to see that wonder in your eyes that you had the first time you saw his work.

He's always shy to show his more personal work; not simple designs, but complex scenes of stories that skin could never cover.

He watches you, biting his lip as you carefully flip the pages. “They're beautiful.”

He wishes he has the courage to say the same words back to you, but all he can ever manage is a thank you.

“There's a blank space.”

You notice it one day, a small chunk on the inside of his forearm a pale white, a stark contrast to the sleeves of color that covered his arms, making the art on his skin feel incomplete.

“I'm saving it for a special someone.”

"Still deciding?" His tone is teasing as he wiped the last needle clean.

"Yes. I do."

He looks at you with surprised eyes, putting the needles down to come to your side, peering over your shoulder at the printed paper in your hand.

You don't have to ask if he can do it, if he needs to practice – he's done things more complex, and what you wanted was a child's drawing in comparison to the art on his arms.

He gestures you to the padded seat, taking the paper from your hands and studying it for a moment more before sitting down on his stool, spinning slightly as he grins at you.

"Where do you want it?"

His touch is feather-light on your sensitive skin.

The needle pricks at the soft area that sends small spikes of fear and pain through you at first, but one look into his reassuring eyes is all you needed, grabbing onto the handle of the seat a little tighter.

"Ready?"

He's patient, caring; waiting for your little nod before continuing with the needle on your skin.

The pads of his fingers are lightly holding your skin in place, his touch warm in contrast to the cold metal and cool ink that he prints with precision.

And maybe it's just you, maybe it's just your nerves and your excitement – but there's something intimate about the way he smiles up from the curves of your body to check up on you, about the way his touch is gentle in handling you, a lover's caress and not a service requirement.

He finishes with a soft blow on the pink-tinged skin, the regular rules and responsibilities that he recites to you as he starts to put away the ink again.

"Do you like it?" He asks it casually, washing the needles but giving you a quick glance to gouge your reaction.

"I love it, It's beautiful! Thank you."

There's something about the thought of having you walk around with a piece of his art – a piece of him, almost – that brings a smile to his face.

"Do you like it?"

He's taken aback by your question – nobody's ever asked him that before, not when they're too busy fawning over their new tattoo – but you're sitting up with expectant eyes on his figure.

"It's every bit as beautiful as you."

"Was that a compliment to me or to you?"

"I'll take it as both."

You pull out your wallet, but he zooms over on his rolling stool, placing a hand on yours to stop you.

"I'd like to take my payment in another way, actually." Despite the grin on his face, his knees are shaking at what he's about to ask, hoping that you can't see the tremors through the holes of his ripped jeans.

"Don't be silly – I can't just not pay you after your beautiful work. How much will it be?"

"D-dinner." He says the words and there's no taking them back, staring at your wide eyes despite the heat that was creeping into his cheeks.

"Pardon me?"

"Dinner. With me. As in we can... we can go out and you can pay me back that way."

He's starting to trace the ink on his knuckles, a nervous tic – maybe he's read you all wrong, maybe you were just interested in the tattoos and not the boy like he thought, maybe he was being too straightforward, maybe he should've waited – "

"Deal."

A relieved sigh escapes his lips and a laugh trickles from yours at the tension that leaves his shoulders, the poor boy shaking his head with a grin that splits from ear to ear.

You extend a hand out to him and he takes it, his hand enveloping yours in the agreement.

You catch a glimpse of the patch of pale white on his forearm, and you smile to yourself when you see it.

You think you know the perfect design for it.

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laadychat · 5 years

Text

Chill Days

There’s one thing Nino was certain of. It was that when Marinette’s mad, it’s down right terrifying. He hasn’t been on the receiving end of it (thank God, wasn’t that a relief), but he had witnessed it enough times. He knew what signs to look for and what to avoid. Nino knows it’s been a while since she got angry (Kim really needed to control his mouth). The thing is, Marinette is the sweetest girl he knows. She would always go out of her way to help anyone, be there to encourage and give feed back, all in all, she’s a great person. And she’s nice. Even to people like Chloé, she’s hardly ever actually gotten really, truly, angry. When they say don’t piss off the nice people, it’s some pretty solid advice to live by. He felt it before seeing her.

The hairs on the back of his neck pricked up and the atmosphere was much colder than it was a few moments prior. Where there was a loud lull of chatter, it was replaced with a sudden silent that had his blood chilling. He locked gaze with Alya, and where as he was starting to feel dread, her eyes filled with confusion.

Ah, she’s never seen her angry.

He looked around the classroom and noticed how even Chloé was scooting away from the door. And when he glanced at Adrien, his eyebrows raised. The boy next to him didn’t seem to notice anything and he was busy doodling and giggling. But before he could voice out his thoughts, the door of the classroom opened.

It didn’t open with a bang - it wasn’t even loud, but the girl behind it made it seem so much more menacing. He averted his eyed quickly, but with the moment glance he saw had confirmed the scowl he knew would be there. Oh, God, who pissed her off?

Nino swears, a pin could be dropped and it would be heard clearly with just how quiet it was.

“Marinette! Good morning!”

Flinching from the sudden voice next to him, Nino shook his head, glancing at the boy as he put a finger on his lips. He knew Marinette had a soft spot for Adrien, but when she's mad, no one is safe. Even Adrien.

But it seemed like Adrien wasn’t getting the message. Instead of shutting up, like what a normal human being would do, he was basically bouncing in his seat and smirking. Whipping his head around, Nino was frowning until he caught where she was looking. And just froze. That heated glare he saw from afa before was suddenly aimed in his direction. Immediately, thoughts of all the ways he could beg for forgiveness flash through his mind. Should he get down on his knees and beg? Get flowers? Chocolate? Maybe get her those fancy fabrics she likes so much? Maybe-

“Adrien.”

He stiffened, inching further away from where she stood. He’s never heard her speak so

coldly before. And looking at her more closely now, Nino let out a sigh of relief because the glare wasn’t actually towards him. He was beginning to relax now that he knew Marinette was staring next to him and not at him. That means he didn’t piss her off, which he never, ever, wanted to do in the first place. So the only person who could have-

Adrien.

Eyed widen in disbelief, the aspiring DJ stared at his deskmate. The boy had the audacity to look smug. What the hell could Adrien have done to piss Marinette off? And why isn’t he asking for forgiveness right now?

That’s it, this is Adrien’s funeral. It was nice knowing you, dude.

He watched how they held a stare off, Marinette and Adrien. The class president had a very blank faced expression, yet cold and fury filled eyes. Adrien,

God, why is he grinning, held her gaze and looked relaxed. Relaxed!

Marinette walked towards her desk and placed a hand on the model’s shoulder. That’s when Nino saw him finch and moved to the edge of the seat bench when she spoke.

“Can we talk during lunch?”

That definitely sounded like a demand and not a request. Nino saw the shiver run through Adrien’s body but the smile didn’t change. If anything, it actually got wider.

What was he doing? Adrien, abort! Abort!

Adrien nodded his head and gave the girl a loop-sided smile, one Nino has never seen on the boy before. The DJ was so utterly lost.

What has his best friend, the one and only Adrien Agreste, the literal sunshine boy of Paris for heaven sakes, do to piss of Marinette Dupain-Cheng?

The baker girl only stared at the model deadpanned, and he saw his smile flatter. Seeming to find this satisfying, she continued towards her seat. It was only then that Nino felt himself finally relax. Okay, everything will be okay and he’ll help Adrien apologize to the scary girl. He glanced at Alya and felt a pang of sympathy. The poor girl was staring at her best friend in utter shock (and a bit of fear if he was being honest) and was almost falling off her seat. He grabbed his phone as quietly as he could and sent her a quick text to catch her up with things. When she read it and nodded in understanding, he was glad to have one less things to worry about.

Nino knows the drill when this happens. Almost everyone did at this point (poor Max had to learn it the hard way, but Marinette made sure to apologize afterwards). Don’t talk unless absolutely necessary, like when a teacher called on them, and don’t make any noise. And when comes around lunch time, give her a shoulder massage. The only person Marinette spoke to during these times was himself.

Marinette snapped her eyes and locked gaze with him and Nino gave her a gentle smile.

“Nino, can you ask Alix and Kim to stop by the bakery during lunch and grab us some snacks?”

Nodding, he gave her two thumbs up. This was something else he knew was coming. It was his job to be the mediator between her and everyone else. When he looked over at the two mentioned peers, he saw them nod in understanding. Everyone had a role to play; Alix and Kim got pasteries, Max and Nathaniel would set up video games on the class projector, Juleka and Rose would grab candies from a nearby store, Ivan and Mylene would have blankets and pillows ready. Even Chloé had a role - she and Sabrina are in charge of catering food.

Don’t make the mistake, it isn’t just for Marinette. All the things were for the whole class. It was a way of saying sorry but at the same time, having the whole class get back to normal. Marinette’s anger usually only lasted until the beginning of lunch. And usually by the end of lunch, everything was back to normal. So Nino was able to smile more - this meant that everything should be resolved by lunch. Great. No biggy. Turning to Alya, Nino mentioned for him and her to switch seats. He saw the hesitation in her before moving her things and Nink gave her a quick kiss on the cheeks. I’ll explain later, it translated.

Now sitting next to her, he began to massage her shoulder gently. It’s not because she ever asked for it, but it always seemed to calm her down. And he very much would want a calm Marinette before his boy Adrien experiences her wrath.

“So, Mari, how was your weekend? Cause mine was absolutely pawsome.”

Pausing in his movements, Nino stared at the boy in front of him, slowly feeling the fear come back to him. He frantically shook his head and ‘shut up’, he mouthed. Even Alya was shushing him.

With an eerie calmness, Marinette lifted her head towards Adrien. “Excuse me?”

Adrien, he kept the silly grin on his face but Nino could see the anxiety start to creep in his eyes. And Marinette must have seen it too because she immediately relaxed. They continued their stare off and hesitantly, Nino started massaging her shoulders again. Almost like a miracle (an answered prayer?), whatever was silently going on between them was enough to have back away from her earlier anger. And Adrien, the whole dumbass he was, was now smiling differently. It was much more gentle and dare he say, affectionate.

And just like, the atmosphere cleared up and Marinette herself seemed to have the softness and sweetness return to her. She turned towards the boy next to her and gave him a quick hug, but Nino was too stunned to do much more than gape at her.

“Thanks Nino! And,” she turned and faced the rest of the class sheepishly. “sorry everyone. Do you guys still want to do the chill day stuff?”

Realizing he wasn’t the only one stunned by the turn of events, Nino saw everyone with various ranges of emotions but they all looked equally in disbelief. How could he blame them? Marinette’s nice and her anger was short lasted but it usually took until lunch for everything to cool down. And all it took was a look from Adrien for her to calm down.

What the fuck just happened?

“Dupain-Cheng, I’ve never seen you that angry before.” Chloé huffed, and it looked like she was trying her best not to seem as off put by the whole situation as the rest of the class. “I need chill day just to get over how stressed you made me, I thought you were actually gonna kill Adrien. Plus,” she stared at her nails. “food’s already been ordered.” The class snapped out of the daze they found themselves in, each one voicing out their complaints and relief. Nino watched the boy that caused all of this in the first place and noticed how relief was the first thing he register on his face. And he was still looking at Marinette with that soft gaze again. Nino was now desperate to know what happened but his fear of the anger coming back stopped it. Besides, she’ll call and rant later tonight anyways. For now, Nino was content with switching back to his original seat, chastising his best friend, and having the happy atmosphere return.

ao3

#miraculous ladybug #tales of ladybug and cat noir #Marinette #adrien x marinette #marinette dupain cheng #ml ladybug #fanfic #ml fanfic #nino lahiffe #nino x alya #nino is an angel #adrien #adrien x ladybug #adrien agreste #ladybug #laadychat fics

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