#I mean it had its charm with the different oranges and browns

[mitamicah]

More Blonde!Jere practice :3

[thedarkestrivernymph]

It's The Season Of The Witch!

Mean! Warlock x Witch! Reader

warnings: suggestive themes, mentions of ghosts, briefly mentioning virginity and its loss, degradation/friendly bullying

©Copyright -2024-thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

word count: 2148

The seasons changed—the greenery losing its special glimmer, fading into muted oranges, soft browns and warm reds, while the skies turned gray, swallowing up the world in clouds and starless nights.

It was biting cold again with your fingers cracking and popping as if they were crusted with frost, trembling as you pulled your scarf higher. As always your nose was buried in a book, squinting trying to make out the words swirling in front of your vision, sparking a buzzing and drumming in your temple.

“Mag’, does this make any sense to you? Here— use two wizard spoons of frog slime, three pines, a strand of gold, the tooth of a vampire and a pinch of cinnamon— do they think I am rich or sumthing? Besides what is a wizard spoon? What does the professor want from me, ugh!” you groaned, visibly agitated, trembling, even though you adored a woollen pullover and a thick fur blanket wrapped around your figure, your dorm was still biting cold—and the cause was clear; the broken window facing the courtyard of the most prestigious wizarding school in the nation “The thirteen wonders” after the thirteen base rules of being a witch.

Sighing you let the lid of the heavy book in your arms fall shut, allowing dust to blow at your face, the howling wind mocking your misery as chuckling reached your sensitive eardrums, you were certain that it was one of the many spirits haunting this school—they loved to humiliate and mock students whenever they could. God since the window broke the protective charm had been broken and some cheap duct tape, and an inexperienced witch such as yourself failed to fix it, which is why you had to dreadfully wait two weeks until it could be repaired.

“Mag—Mag! Magnus!” you called out again, huffing at the lack of response from your familiar, annoyed by his ignorance of you—as he did painfully often, tricking you, pranking you, jesting at your expense, sometimes you wondered if he was a fiend disguised as a friend.

Still no response, not even a soft flitter of paws across the old moaning tiles—nothing. Something hot and flashing suddenly cursed through you, a certain unease settling deep in you, it wasn't unusual for him to ignore you, yes, but you couldn't sense him, that was everything but normal. Rising to your feet ever so slowly, you were quick to grab your wand, fuzzy socks gliding over the floors. No one expect you was here—alright perhaps a few other students scattered around in different rooms all around the huge castle that was your school—yet no one in your year was present, no creaking of tiles, no thuds of footsteps, no laughter, no screams, no cries. Well it was to be expected, it was afterall autumn break, with Halloween just around the corner; a national holiday in the wizarding world. But with no place to go, you had been forced to stay here all alone—well with your familiar who now had suspiciously disappeared.

“Mag?” you called out again shakily, hot panic surging through your veins, face reddening as your heart threatened to burst out of your chest—there would be no one to hear you scream if something tragic had actually happened, no one to aid you in this wing of the building. Approaching the door to the hallway, you took another choked breath, lungs too deflated to properly fill up enough to avoid making your head all fuzzy. Clutching the iron doorknob, wand pointed sharply at the door, you ever so slowly, challenging a snail’s pace, twisted the handle and cracked a split of the door open to peek out with one eye. Judging it safe enough, you pushed the door open all the way, only to stagger the moment you were met with the sight of a stranger.

“Sup’ witchy.” exclaimed the tall shadowy figure of a man, dark locks trailed down his shoulders to his elbows—while his eyes were two piercing jewels of green, glimmering with the familiar silver of something devious in them, that you were certain you knew.

Nevertheless you shrieked-“Stay back!” and attempted to slam the door back in place, only for a large, clawed hand to forbid you from doing so. The corner of his plush lips curled into a toothy grin, pointed teeth showcasing in the display of mischief.

“Ya’re such an airhead, gosh. Were you fed marbles instead of peas as a kid? Why’d ya got that scowl on your face for? It’s me. Your Mag’.” he clicked his tongue in annoyance, an oddly shaped one at that, as was everything about him—more feline than human—but that wouldn't mean that menacing figure was actually your adorable Mag’, right? Magnus was a lithe black cat, with sleek sloped shoulders, piercing greens for eyes and a sharp tongue—he would never stop taunting you in your head. Well the stranger in front of you definitely had that in common with him.

You huffed, rolling your eyes, less defensive, more annoyed than anything, keeping your wand pointed at his chest as a not so subtle warning. “Yeah, so you're Mag’ huh? Newsflash you intruder, Mag’ is a cat that barely reaches up to my knee. If you wanted to lie, you could have at least claimed to be a human, not a cat! Now speak or I will hex your entire bloodline!” you growled lowly, trying out a tactic to intimidate the man clad in black in front of you, obviously a powerful wizard—powerful enough too see through your little guise.

“Oh, witchy. Amusing as always—ya really don't believe ya old ‘pal? I have been your familiar since seven full moons—and that's how you thank me? I am offended.” the man who claimed to be your familiar uttered, bulky arms easily peeling open the door, the rusty hinges crying out in pain as you stumbled back horror painting your face white as a sheet of paper.

“You're not Mag’ stop it! Get out! Right now! Or I will hex you! I am a powerful witch afterall—” his laughter cut you short, your display of bravery faltering as he pushed the wooden door gently close behind him, locking it, ensuring no one would disrupt the both of you. “A powerful witch? Sweety, you're everything but that. Ya are clumsy, forgetful, ditzy, naive, on the dumber side most definitely—” he listed off everything Mag’ usually teased you about, as malicious as the man in front of you, but—it couldn't be actually him, right?

“No—hey—wait, what? How do you know so much about me, you creep!” you demanded voice booming—not even the whistle of the breeze nor the usual giggles of ghosts long disintegrated into the air, only remnants remaining, could be heard—everything was dead silent, a gruesome foreshadowing along with the sick churn of your gut, screaming at your to run.

“Cuz’ I’m Mag’ witchy, duh. You're really dense sometimes y’know?” he chuckled, tilting his head to the side to stare at you as if you were the crazy one here.

“Then prove it! Tell me something only Mag’ could know!” you raised your wand higher, squinting, until your features morphed into a deep distrusting grimace, awaiting for him to speak up and prove himself a liar.

“Oh? Doll— ya really want me to dig up all the dirt I have on ya?” he cocked a brow up arrogantly, strong arms folded over his chest, shirt so tight it clung to each bump and dent of his muscular form.

“Alright, game’s on,” he grinned “Ya loathe your history teacher, you always call her an old hag, despite the fact that she's y’know, just thirty-two, but whatever witchy. And ya hate that one girl’s gut, the one two grades under you, just cuz’ she's got a picture perfect family. But actually her dad's an alcoholic and mommy’s got an twenty year old lover, but whatever dolly, unnecessary details, am I right?” he chuckled softly, the tone rich like velvet, pulling you under a spell, as you stumbled back, sinking onto your bed with your mouth agap, bewildered by just how much he knew.

He quirked a brow at you, staring at your wand still directed at him like an arrow ready to plunge into his blackened heart.

“Still not enough? Alright, anything for ya, doll,” he muttered, sighing as he looked down at you, seeing you sink into piles of furs and wools, decorated with autumn colours—which just fit you so fucking well, he had to bit down on the inside of his cheek “Ya hate grapefruits, but love anything with caramel. Every year on your birthday ya receive a sad little single letter from the orphanage. Cuz' of that—magic is ya obsession, ya strive to be perfect, am I right? And this fixation makes ya so fucking jealous of others—you hate a fuck ton of people, doll, slightly concerning, but nothing condemnable.” he was inching closer with each sentence, stalking closer like an animal ready to pounce on his prey—eyes flickering with something that caged your breath in your lungs.

“Ya kissed only one boy your entire life and get all skittish just at the thought of sex. Despite—ya still touch yourself, whenever your roommate brings over a boy to fuck, like the little fucking pervert you are? Ya dream of being robbed of your virginity, am I right? And doll, here I am, to do so, after hundreds of years of being caged in that awful body, I am finally free and the ditzy little witch that freed me is you, so let me show ya how grateful I can be.” he leaned down, hands splayed across the fur on both sides of your head, breathing into the shell of your ear, as one of his knees softly pressed into the ache between your thighs.

“C’mon let loose, your Mag’ will take care of ya.” honey dripped from his lips, making your head spin from the suffocation—robbed of air and space to breathe, feeling suddenly hot under all that itchy wool, your head was far too heavy to register all the new information rivaling in importance inside of it. So Mag was actually a powerful warlock and he had been hexed, but somehow you lifted that spell and now as a thank you, he wanted to what—fuck? Huh.

You could feel Mag or whatever his real name was lower himself, textured skin brushing against your cheek, while his sharp claws enclosed around your jaw keeping you in place—squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to ground yourself with the feeling of the wool beneath your fingertips, the soft mattress sinking from the weight of the two of you. So that was how you were going to lose your virginity? To a random warlock you had taken as your familiar—who even was he? The black-haired man definitely was your type, and getting your cherry popped by someone who knew you so well, felt sort of soothing, so perhaps this wasn't so bad.

You felt a playful nimble on your bottom lip, okay so this was it, he was starting now, you grimaced, puckering up your lips and readying yourself for a night full of passion.

Until you felt him shake—followed by deep rumbling laughter that ripped from his chest, boisterous and booming, clutching his stomach with one paw while he kept himself from falling onto you with the other as he slumped forward and over you. Prying your eyes open you stared at him perplexed, baffled by his sudden amusement, detecting twinkling droplets of tears rolling down his cheek from how hard he was wheezing.

“Eh— eh?” you blinked, once, then twice, then thrice, your mind blank.

“Witchy, ya're gold! Ya really believed I would ravish ya, huh? Comedy gold! I tell ya—” he couldn't contain his tears, gasping for air, tumbling over to sink into the spot on the bed next to you, the old construct creaking. “By Satan! Ya really are the most entertaining thing ever! I wonder if ya were just always this way or ya were dropped after your birth.” he joked, only slowly did his choking on his own spit die down, as he curled his hands beneath the wild curls that adored his head, staring at you, tilting his head again. “Or would ya actually want to?—”

“Shut up!” you screeched, red in the face, whacking over his devilishly handsome features with a pillow.

He laughed again—and so came the day to an end, with your new very human familiar having caused you a pair of beet red ears and a deep scowl.

[foliosgirl]

Use me

"I've heard so many things about her" said the man with the long, black hair, shaking his head and wide-eyed as I walked past the band. And although I didn't even listen to this "music", it had reached me that the singer had constantly changing "relationships".

How pathetic. I was used to people judging me, so I ignored this statement and the disdainful looks and smirking faces of the other band members at first as if I hadn't noticed.

It was actually a cool party and I know I'd said I'd ignore the stupid line, but it still fucked me off that it was okay as a man to sleep with all the women all the time, but as a woman? That made you a cheap hoe. People said at least as much about Noah as they did about me, but with him it was accepted and he was the super fucker. He wasn't my type, but he did look interesting. Tall, brown, short hair, well-trained but not too muscular, broad shoulders and an Asian touch. And countless tattoos. A lot of other women were saying that you could have a lot of fun with him. But he also grinned disdainfully in my direction when the eyes of his colleague, who was talking about me, met mine. He scrutinized me and was probably not used to someone showing no interest in him. And I wouldn't do that either. I didn't need to give confirmation to someone like that.

I didn't know if I wanted to stay here after my best friend had unfortunately already left the party. It was a warm summer's day and I felt good, just a little tired by now. The sun found its place behind the horizon, which was turning red-orange. I ordered a drink at the bar. My short, not-so-tight, light floral summer dress slipped up between my legs as I took a seat in a deckchair opposite the band. It was the only free seat. Perfect. Not.

I rolled my eyes inwardly, but actually sighed and put on my sunglasses.

"Emma?" I heard a male voice say.

"Sam?" I asked, taking off my sunglasses and smiling.

"You look good." His compliment made me blush

"So do you." I said, shocked. Sam had become so incredibly hot. Even hotter than when we were dating. Although it had been about five years since we'd last seen each other, I hadn't forgotten our kisses or our sex. He had whored me out. Our fuck relationship was more intimate than some romantic relationships.

He reached out his hand, pulled me up, then sat down in the deckchair and pulled me onto his lap.

I knew Sam was an asshole as a person by now, but I didn't care. He was like he used to be with me. I thought. He also fucked every woman he wanted to. He had charm and…did I mention he looked hot?

"Do you know the boys?" I whispered in his ear.

"Who do you mean?"

"Across from us."

"Yes. Shall I introduce you?"

"Nah," I said shaking my head, kissed Sam and then looked at Noah, who was now watching us.

His eyes narrowed. The dark-haired and probably youngest of his bandmates with puppy eyes nudged him, asked "Somebody's at home?" and laughed.

I apologized to Sam and went to the bathroom.

As I was heading back, I almost ran into Noah, who was also heading to the restroom.

"Watch out!" I grumbled.

"Watch out, YOU!" he replied, annoyed.

Our eyes met briefly. Fuck, he was hot. Although he had the door handle in his hand by now, I was sure he was looking at my ass and I was right. I saw it as I turned to the side.

"Asshole," I bitched and went back to Sam, who had picked up another chick in the short time and was talking animatedly.

'Men are just all assholes' I thought.

I just sat down on Sam's lap anyway and the other chick realized she was out of place and walked away.

"Have I ruined your next one-night stand now?" I asked with a mean undertone.

I hadn't had sex for a long time and hadn't seen Sam for a long time.

"When are you planning to leave?" I asked him. "I don't know yet. Definitely until I have a chick for tonight."

"That's why you have me," I whispered in his ear.

"I know you inside out. I want to try something new."

"Like what?"

"Well, new women. Every woman is different."

"The last time was five years ago. Do you think I'm still the innocent girl I used to be?"

"You were never innocent."

"Because you whored me out."

"No, no, no. I'm not letting you blame me for that. You had the depraved in you. I just teased it out."

"If you don't fuck me today, you're missing out," I grinned.

He stroked my shoulder gently. I was still sitting on his lap in the deckchair with my face turned towards him.

He shook his head. "I'm in the mood for a blonde today."

That fucking asshole. The way he played with me. And in my situation, where I was horny and the proof was between my legs. My cunt got wetter.

The seat next to him became free. I jumped up and sat down.

"Then don't." I said in a huff.

"Last offer for me to introduce you. Which one do you fancy?"

"None of them at all." I said flippantly and moved my straw back and forth in my almost empty glass.

"You're a bad liar."

I put my sunglasses back on and ignored Sam. I watched the boys and reached for my phone to find out the singer's name.

Noah. Nice name. But he seemed so arrogant.

I guess that was it for today.

I put my sunglasses on my forehead and took one last look at him before I left the party.

Frustrated, I opened Tinder and swiped as I slowly walked down the hill. Everything was spinning. The alcohol was kicking in and I was at a level where I seemed to lose all inhibitions.

Next to me, a car slowed down until it finally came to a halt. "Can I give you a lift?" someone called out.

"No, thanks." I said without turning around.

"Come on. You're obviously not feeling that well."

I walked up to the driver of the convertible and leaned in at the driver's door. "I'm fine." I grinned.

By nowI realized that the driver was Noah.

"Oh God." I said, rolling my eyes and turned away again. What a show-off car.

"Are you with Sam?"

"What's it to you?"

"Guess not then." he grinned slightly.

"What's it to you?"

"You're repeating yourself."

"Is it true what they say about you?"

"Is it true what they say about YOU?" he shot back.

"What do they say about me?"

"What do they say about ME?"

"You're silly." I said and went back to the other side.

"And you're bitchy."

"You're annoying."

"YOU'RE annoying."

"Stop mimicking me all the time. If you had nothing to hide you'd just answer my questions, but you just ask counter-questions, so I'm thinking my part."

"What do you think?"

After I had clearly shown him what I thought of his question, namely nothing at all and that he was annoying me, I went on without a word.

After a few minutes, I heard someone accelerate and cut me off.

"Get in the car."

"Will you finally leave me alone?"

"If you're going to puke, let me know first."

I sat down in the front passenger seat. My dress had ridden up, but I didn't care.

Before Noah shifted into gear, I caught him looking at my thighs. Or in between, I didn't know exactly.

"It's definitely true what they say about you."

"That's what I think about you too. I just want you to get home safely."

"Oh yeah, are you being a gentleman now, huh? We don't even know each other."

"So, in that state, you're easy pickings."

"For who?"

"For men who are like wild animals."

I grinned. For me, that was a compliment. And today I really would have been easy to have, but that's what I wanted. I finally wanted to have sex again and the proof was the now wet, shaved pussy between my legs. I looked at his hands during the ride. They were completely tattooed.

"I don't understand how you can get completely tattooed."

"Can you say something nice while I'm driving you home?"

"You won't leave me alone otherwise."

"Do you have tattoos?"

"In places you can't see," I grinned.

"So you disfigure yourself too."

"I didn't say you disfigure yourself. Well, although…"

"Are you always this bitchy?"

"No. I can be quite sweet…" I said and smiled sweetly.

"…But you have to earn it."

Noah grinned disparagingly.

"Why are you driving so funny? We should be right there. You're completely wrong." I picked up my cell phone.

"Oh, Tinder?"

"None of your business."

"Sure."

I started the route planner. "Turn around at the next opportunity, then turn right."

"Did you hear?"

"Please?" he asked, pretending he hadn't heard me.

I rolled my eyes.

"Can I drive?"

"Absolutely not."

"I can drive."

"Maybe, but not my car."

I think he was taking a detour just to engage me further in conversation.

"Is it true that you're always hooking up with other guys?"

"My God, yes. Are you happy now?"

"Not quite."

Irritated by his answer, but unable to say anything in response, I faltered.

"You're swiping him away? Why?"

"Not my type. Too boring."

"Who's your type? And don't answer with 'None of your business' again."

"I hear a lot about you." I distracted from the topic.

"Like what?"

"A lot of things. That you sleep with one girl a maximum of 4-5 times and then it's the next one's turn. In short: you're whoring around a lot."

"Because it's difficult to find the right one."

"Who's the right one?"

"Sweet, loyal, not out for my money or success. She should do something that has nothing to do with the music industry."

"Because?"

"It's just better if everyone leads their own professional life and someone doesn't constantly interfere because they think they know everything better."

Valid point.

He knew what he wanted. His self-confidence was sexy. I felt more and more attracted to him.

"Well, to me that sounds more like you're incapable of having a relationship."

"What can't men offer you that you're looking for?"

"Loyalty, self-confidence and respect. There's always at least one thing missing."

"Yes? Well, I know a few who are single and they would all be what you describe."

"But I'm not into your bandmates with long hair."

"Wait a minute. Only two have long hair. And I wasn't talking about them. They're all taken and don't always take loyalty very seriously."

"Are you talking badly about your bandmates right now?"

"No." Noah said, sighing and rolling his eyes.

I had caught him out. He regretted his statement. I could see it in his eyes.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone, but you can't be so naive."

He was right. I was already very mean. Somehow my mouth was talking faster than I could think.

We actually didn't speak for the last few minutes.

"You can stop here."

"We can go to my place, too."

"I thought I was a bitch?"

"You are. But I'm not giving up hope of getting to know your good side."

"I don't want to get to know anyone at the moment," I said in a more annoyed tone than I actually wanted to.

"Then why are you tindering?"

"I'm asking you. To have fun."

I got out of the car, expecting Noah to do the same, but he stayed in the car.

"What's wrong? Don't you want to go upstairs?"

"To my place if I do," Noah said coolly.

"Why?"

"I feel more comfortable like this." he replied, shrugging his shoulders.

I didn't want him to get everything he wanted, but I could tell he was serious and I didn't want to waste any time. My cunt was literally crying out for a cock and he was just there. I didn't want to miss out on the opportunity and to keep dinking now would have unnecessarily prolonged everything.

"All right then. But we'll have breakfast together tomorrow and you'll drive me to work."

"Okay."

He must have been afraid of losing control or something. Or bad experiences when he was at a woman's house.

But when we arrived at his huge house, I had a different feeling. I'm sure he wanted to show off, but then again, didn't he want someone coming after his money? That's not how things worked here in LA.

I marveled at his beautiful house, but didn't let on.

"You're very naive."

"Why?"

"This is where you live? This is your house, isn't it? And you're surprised that the women are only interested in your money and success? That's just the way it is here in L.A. You haven't lived here that long. A little tip: You could have accepted my invitation. If I were you, I wouldn't invite every woman over to my house."

"Six years. In the house for three years. Do you like it?"

I ignored this stupid question because I didn't care how wealthy he was or how famous he was. Anyway, no one with an ounce of taste would have denied that this house was beautiful. I would have fucked with him anywhere. In the kitchen, on a couch, in a one-bedroom apartment. He could have been a waiter or a dishwasher for all I cared. My eyes fell on his neck, which was completely adorned with tattoos, so I didn't recognize any particular motive. They distracted me. It made him so much more sexy than I would have ever admitted.

"Where are you from?"

"From Virginia. And you?"

"I was born and raised here and went to New York for college, then back. Now I'm 35 and thinking about moving away again."

"Why? It's nice here."

"It's not nice here at all. And the people are just fake."

"I don't think you're fake. Have a seat. What do you want to drink?"

Noah disappeared into the kitchen before I could answer. I made myself comfortable on the beige-colored, large sofa and looked after him. I wondered if he had a tattoo on his back too. If so, I couldn't see it because he was wearing a white t-shirt.

But what I did notice were his broad shoulders and his beautiful, muscular upper arms.

He pressed a glass of water into my hand. "This will be best for you."

He was more polite and I slowly realized that it was out of place to continue teasing him and asking provocative questions.

"Why don't you care what happens to me if I'm a slut who's always hooking up with some guy anyway?"

"I don't know. I know Sam. I don't think Sam is friends with really bad women."

"We're not friends."

"Then what?"

"We hooked up many years ago, that's all."

"Nothing serious?"

I shook my head. "Just fun. Sex. Lots of sex. For years. Until I moved away to study and now he doesn't care about me and doesn't even want to fuck me anymore. Everyone always wants 20-year-old chicks who've had surgery," I said, annoyed.

"You look good and I think you know that. I don't think you look old."

"I'm not actually old either." I grinned.

"But older than me and that excites me."

"Are you hitting on me right now?"

"What if it?"

"Then we can talk about it." I smiled sheepishly.

I became like a little girl: reserved and let him take control of the rest of the evening and night.

"We don't have to talk much. What are you into?"

Somehow I felt uncomfortable suddenly making myself emotionally naked in front of him like this.

"Uhm."

"Uhm what? You were so cheeky earlier and now you're suddenly so shy?"

He patted his lap.

"Give me a lap dance." He could tell I was hesitant. "Come on. I can't offer you loyalty, but you'll definitely get respect from me. But you'll also learn something about respect. You can't demand something you can't offer yourself."

His words did something to me. He seemed dominant and I didn't only loved that, I needed it. I wanted to give up control and for him to do whatever he wanted to me.

"Just don't hurt me. And no kisses"

"I'm not going to hurt you. Maybe a little. Because you were so naughty all the time."

"Music? And the right kind, please. Just not your band's noise."

Noah laughed, pulled up my dress and slapped my ass hard. He must have liked what he couldn't see before, because his subsequent laughter was filthy. Although it hurt a little, it turned me on. His whole look, his many tattoos, his body. Everything. I'd never had sex with a man who looked anything like him.

"What kind of music do you want to hear?" "Something I can give you a lap dance to."

"Hmm." he pondered. After a short time, he had chosen the song.

'If you're horny let's do it, ride it, my pony'

I was excited. Although I was always hooking up with random guys, it was different with Noah. I was inhibited.

He's just a man. He's like all men.

I pushed him down on the sofa and rubbed my ass over his lap. My dress slid up and Noah slapped my ass again.

"What was that for now?"

"Because you have a hot ass. Turn around."

I did as he asked and sat on his lap, facing him. His piercing gaze searched my eyes, but I couldn't maintain eye contact.

"Always fucking other guys and you play coy with me, huh? Why?"

He grabbed my chin with his right hand. "Fucking look at me," he said grudgingly.

Although I would never have guessed him to be like that, I liked it when he was rough. "I don't like sluts. I like good girls who are well brought up. And I'm going to have to bring you up properly."

I felt his bulge in his black pants.

"Are you ready?"

I tried to loosen up and moved my hips forward and back like I was riding him.

He held my hips firmly and I looked into his beautiful chestnut eyes. He ran his right hand into my hair and pulled me towards him to kiss me.

I stopped him immediately. "No kisses!"

His left hand began to slip the straps of my dress over my shoulders. The top of my dress fell straight down and he had a clear view of my black lace bra squeezing my breasts together.

"Fuck," he grinned. He skillfully undid the clasp of my bra, which popped right open. "Take it off! I want to see your tits."

I threw the bra on the floor, took his hands and he knew exactly what I wanted. He massaged my breasts and started licking my nipples in alternating circular motions.

"Get on your knees and open my pants."

I was amazed at his big, thick cock, which was just waiting to be freed and was literally popping out of his pants.

Before Noah could say anything, I licked the drop of pleasure from his tip. "How do you like it?"

"How do I like it? Do you really want to know?"

He pushed my head deep onto his cock. I immediately choked, pulled my head back and gasped for air.

"Probably a bit much for you, huh? Always having a big face, whoring around, but then not being able to handle a real cock. You've got a lot to learn."

I breathed through my nose and thought about how Sam had trained me to take his cock all the way down my throat.

It was easier for me not to gag quite so much now, but breathing properly was hard because Noah was fucking my mouth and holding my head at the same time. It was so kinky.

"You have such a beautiful mouth, but unfortunately you're using it wrong. Your cheeky attitude has only made me want to fuck even more.

Lean over the couch. Good girl. Stay like that." He pulled off his t-shirt and shoved it into my wet pussy with one firm thrust. "Oh God, Noah."

"Am I your god, yes?" he grinned spitefully. "Answer me!"

"You fuck me so good," I moaned.

"I can't hear you. Louder!"

I literally screamed because his cock was actually too big for me.

"If you keep being so loud, I'll shove it down your sweet little throat again. Do you want the neighbors to hear you?"

I noticed how he laughed dirty.

"You think I've never had a big cock before?" I asked cheekily.

"What do I care about other cocks? Obviously no one has fucked you really really well yet, have they?"

I shook my head. He continued to slap my ass while his left hand cupped my neck. I moaned louder. "That's a shame. When you're into getting fucked really hard, huh?"

"Keep fucking me. Don't stop."

"Eh eh. What do you say?"

"Please?"

"Was that a question?"

"Please fuck me Noah. Just like that. Don't stop."

"Good girl. Since when is your pussy so wet? Since you sat down across from us and your dress rode up? Wishing that tattooed guy would fuck you hard tonight all night, huh? I saw you looking over there. Did you think I was into vanilla sex and romance? If a woman is worth it maybe, but you're there to satisfy me. Right?"

"Yes, Noah," I moaned.

"You fucking L.A. bitches are killing me. You're the reason why I can't have a relationship. And now you get my cock in your sweet ass. How many have you had in your ass? Was Sam in there too? Did he fuck you well?"

I didn't answer.

"Answer me my questions."

"Maybe five cocks and yes, Sam got to do almost everything to me."

"What wasn't?"

"Cumming on my face."

"I would love to cum on your pretty face."

Noah was careful as he penetrated my ass. His right hand pampered my clitoris with circular movements. I squealed with excitement.

"Turn around. I need to see you."

Of course I obeyed him. He bent my legs, pressed them to my right side both back together at the calves and fucked me further in my ass.

"Much better like this, isn't it? Can you feel how deep he's going in?"

"Oh my god yes, Noah."

We looked deep into each other's eyes.

"Please fuck me in my cunt. Please Noah."

"I'll fuck your cunt when I feel like it, understand? If you knew how hot your ass felt, you wouldn't pull it out either." "Please Noah. Please, please fuck my cunt," I begged.

His right index finger found its way into my pussy, which was now dripping with lust. "Do you always leak like this during sex?"

"Only when I'm being fucked well."

"When was the last time?"

"Last week."

"You fucking little hoe. From now on, I'm going to fuck you when you leak. Understand?"

I agreed with a submissive nod and looked at him innocently.

"Uh huh."

Noah pulled his cock out without warning and jerked it in front of my face. I tried to lick it. "Not so greedy. Doesn't my good girl want to be fucked in her tight, wet pussy anymore, does she?"

"Yes, please fuck me. Please fuck me really hard." I begged again.

"How am I supposed to say 'no'?"

He put my legs on his shoulders and pushed me hard into my wet pussy. I leaked more and more. I could only imagine the mess I was leaving on his bright, new couch. How ironic when we were doing such flithy things. "Good girl. I know how to deal with you. Have you learned your lesson? Respect me and you'll get everything you deserve from me."

I moaned louder and finally orgasmed. "Did my good girl have fun and now you're panting? I'm far from finished with you. But I'll give you a little break."

I clawed at his hips, which continued to thrust me hard. Suddenly he pulled his cock out again and jerked it in front of me. "Open your whorish mouth."

I opened my mouth, looked him in the eye and swallowed his load. The rest landed in my face and on my tits. His load of cum was huge.

"Such a good girl. Lets me use her like that." he praised me and stroked my head. "Come on, let's go into the bathroom."

He took me by the hand into the bathroom and ran water into a large sitting bathtub, which was more like a whirlpool. "Pick a bath foam."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Bathing with you? Because it's relaxing and I need you rested."

It felt like he was owning me and I liked it. It was a bit like with Sam back then. With Sam, I had realized for the first time that I was submissive and whorish.

I tied my long, brown hair into a messi bun and sat down in the bathtub.

"Why are you always jumping from one woman to the next? Why can't you love someone?"

"You said yourself how things are in LA. How am I supposed to fall in love?"

"You're right. I feel the same way."

He stroked my thigh under the water.

"How much older than you am I?"

"Six years."

"And you think that makes that much difference?"

"It's obvious that you know what you want. And you're also submissive. I like that."

"I'm sorry I was so shitty to you earlier. I just really can't get to know anyone right now. All I want is non-committal sex. But it always has a bad taste when someone always has someone new to go to bed with."

"And people have to accept and understand that with you? You're outing yourself as incapable of having a relationship with what you're saying."

He was so right. I didn't say anything more.

"I love it when you keep your mouth shut."

Noah grinned.

"There's usually only one solution to that."

"Don't worry. In a moment you can prove again how sorry you are that you were so cheeky to me earlier. You'll make up for all your backtalk."

Noah took some shower gel in his hands, rubbed it in and massaged my shoulders.

"You're tense."

I enjoyed his massage, but broke it off after a few minutes and got out of the warm, bubble-filled tub.

"Come out." I said with a smile.

"Oh wow, never believed I'd see you smiling."

"If you don't come out, I won't be smiling for long."

He threw a towel over me from behind and dried me off.

"Why can't I kiss you?"

"Because we're just having sex. Kissing is too intimate."

"Kissing is more intimate than sex?" he asked in amazement.

"It is for me. I don't want to build a relationship. I just want to have fun, you don't need kisses for that."

"I think this is the first time I've had sex without kissing a woman."

"There's always a first time," I said, shrugging my shoulders.

Noah was deeply relaxed after the bath, changed into fresh clothes and made us snacks.

A sweet gesture that set him apart from other men. My alcohol level was now non-existent and I continued to drink water diligently.

"How do you actually know Sam?"

"Through all the parties. Not really my cup of tea. I prefer to be at home, but sometimes it just has to be. It's just L.A. You have to show up there every now and then"

I nodded in agreement.

"Were you there because of him or…?"

"No, because of my work."

"What do you do for work?"

"I'm a social media manager for a cosmetics company."

"What does that have to do with music?"

"Nothing, but we're always looking for influencers as brand ambassadors. And there are always influencers at these parties."

"Or Onlyfans girls." Noah grinned.

"I should have guessed you'd like them." I laughed. "But we don't work with them. We're looking for pretty women. Not too sexy, not too many surgeries. We are a serious brand."

I reached for the chips. Apparently we shared a mutual fondness for sour cream potato chips.

"Is this going to be a one night stand or are we going to meet again?" he asked.

"Seriously? You can't go to bed with someone more than 4-5 times anyway. You're always jumping to the next one."

"That's not true at all. I just have to be more careful than others. As soon as I notice that someone is blabbing something, I have to end it. Besides, it doesn't always work out that way."

"But it does with us?"

"Yeah, I think so. We work well together, don't we?"

"Hmmm," I agreed, humming contentedly.

I thought about all the things that I didn't realize had become essential to me. How he had slapped my ass, how he had called me a good girl, how he had pulled my hair. How he had used me like a whore.

All of this was new to me in that form and I knew I never wanted vanilla sex again.

He lay down and pulled me onto his lap. "Sit on my cock."

I carefully pulled Noah's pants down, pushed my thong to the side and slowly lowered myself onto his hard, thick cock.

"If you only knew how hot your cunt feels. So wet and so tight. It's almost eating my cock up."

I smiled at his compliment.

He massaged my breasts and looked into my eyes.

I couldn't maintain eye contact for long. I didn't want to fall in love, especially not with him. I would only be unhappy.

"Look at me."

"Noah, I can't do this."

"You have to. Be a good girl. Show me how much you enjoy it. I wanted to fuck you right when I saw you."

"Why?"

"Because I can tell you know what you want. That's sexy."

He stuck his index and middle fingers in my mouth. I licked it.

"Good girl. You just want sex, huh? You can have it. Who do you call from now on when you're horny and need a cock?"

"You."

"You're such a clever, good girl. If I could, I'd bang you every day."

His words turned me on more and more. I liked being his personal slut, but I wasn't stupid. I knew how it went with these guys. You'd have sex once and hear nothing for weeks, then suddenly you'd be written to and told to spread your legs again. I came to terms with it. Sam was finally history.

"Why did you look at me with such contempt earlier?"

"Because it fucked me off that I might not get you. And because I realized that you have a cheeky, cheeky nature. Fuck, your tits are so hot."

He lifted me off his erect cock. "Let's go to the bedroom. I've got something special planned for you."

He led the way and we walked up the stairs to his bedroom. It was clean. All brightly decorated in white. Even the bedding was white and it was tidier than I would have expected. I grinned because it was so ironic that we would do such filthy things in a white bed. He threw me on the bed and made me wait. In a box under the bed, he pulled out a black silk scarf.

"May I tie you up?"

I had never done this before and was overwhelmed by the question.

"Please."

"You control me enough as it is."

"There can never be enough control, baby. So?"

I nodded.

"Think of a safeword and bend over." I obeyed him, kneeling down and looking into a large mirror in front of me, peering over the mirror into his eyes. Damn, sex in front of a mirror was so hot. How was I going to survive this? My cunt was so soaked.

He grabbed my wrists and tied them to the headboard of the bed in front of me. I moaned at the thought that it was about to get down to business again. I sensed that he was about to go feral again and let him. With a tug, he pulled the soft cloth around my wrists tighter. I winced.

"What's your safeword?"

"I don't know. Do I really need one?"

"What if you do? I want to make you feel good. You're more innocent than I thought. I don't want to force you to do anything."

"I like the way you use me. Hmm, how about 'Stop'?"

Noah laughed. "'Stop?' Come on, that's boring." He slapped my ass. 1x, 2x, 3x…I moaned and felt my juice running out my inner thighs.

"Still haven't had enough, huh?"

I shook my head.

"I have one: 'Soft'" I said and realized how I blushed.

"Sweet." he teased me.

"I'll start soft with you, don't worry"

It was nice, but I needed it harder.

"Please fuck me harder" I moaned after a few minutes of pleasure. I almost had tears in my eyes. I was in agony as he fucked me. He kissed my neck and put his left hand around my throat.

"Harder, huh? Hard enough like this?"

He pushed faster with firm thrusts from behind into my tight, wet cunt.

"You horny little slut. How you leak because you want to be fucked hard by me. Who spoiled you like that?"

"Like you're not into it yourself." He slowed his thrusts, pulled my head back by my hair and kissed me on the mouth.

It felt exactly as I'd imagined it would.

"You're such an asshole. I bet you do that with all women."

"Only with sluts like you. And not many are like that. You provoke me. Why do you have such a horny, tight cunt? How am I supposed to resist? I want to use you and see how you enjoy it. I know you enjoy it."

My eyes searched his again over the mirror. We looked into each other's eyes for minutes. His thrusts hurt, but they were so good at the same time. I squinted my eyes in between.

"Uh uh. Be a good girl". He slapped my ass again. Over and over again.

"I love the way you fuck me."

"I love the way you let me use you. Such a good girl. Where do you want your reward right now?"

I didn't answer.

"In your mouth, huh? I can see it in your mouth, you little whore. I'm going to cum all the way down your tight, petite throat. That's what you want, isn't it? Otherwise, say what you want. Use your mouth for something other than being naughty or giving a blowjob."

"Please squirt everything in my mouth right away."

"Good decision. Then you can't talk back anymore. Did you seriously think I'd let you treat me like an idiot? You don't like my tattoos? You fucking liar. You're into it. I noticed it straight away. You fucked me with your eyes" He slapped my ass again.

"Fuck, if you could see how nice and red your ass is and how it wiggles when I thrust you from behind."

Noah took his phone and filmed my ass wiggling as he slapped it and thrust harder and harder. "Are you still holding out?"

"Uh huh," I moaned softly.

He held the video in front of my nose and thrust harder and faster. "Do you see what a horny hoe you are?"

I wasn't ashamed. Not a bit. It looked like porn and it turned me on so much.

"Everyone gets what they deserve. Especially good girls. Open your sweet fuck mouth."

I opened my mouth and Noah pushed my head down deep until his cock was in my throat. "Breathe through your nose. That's a good girl."

He emptied his sperm into my mouth and down my throat. I had to gag because there was so much and his thick cock was pulsating in my throat. In the meantime, it felt as if it had become even thicker. He stroked my head "Take my cock down your throat with greed. Swallow it all, be my good girl." I fought back tears but obeyed him.

"God. Sam's an idiot if he didn't want to fuck you today."

"Sam is history for me for good."

"That's good. You're mine from now on. I've marked you with my cum."

He untied the cloth from my wrists and kissed me on my mouth. I no longer resisted. It was beautiful, his kiss was gentle.

"You don't want to cuddle with me now, do you?" I asked skeptically. "If you ask like that, YOU definitely want to cuddle, am I right?"

He pulled me towards him so that he was lying behind me and put his right arm around me. He inhaled deeply the scent of the rest of my perfume that I had sprayed on myself earlier that evening. "You smell good. You have a good taste."

"That's why I slept with you tonight, Noah," I grinned.

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

Part 2 or Noah's POV? What do you want to read next?

Part 2

Use me Part 2

As I had correctly suspected, I didn't hear from Noah for a while. He had my cell phone number, I had his too, but I didn't get in touch. I was too proud and working so much that I wouldn't have had time to see him again. One day in the home office with my colleague, which we moved to a quiet café, I received a message on Instagram in the afternoon from an account I didn't know. It was called 'ramenpartytime'. 'Who was that guy in the café earlier? Who the hell was this person behind 'ramenpartytime'? No picture uploaded, just a cartoon drawing of a cat in a ramen bowl as a display picture, 639 followers.

I closed the message and didn't reply. If it was a stalker, it was best not to respond at all, but the message still worried me a little. Another few weeks went by and I didn't do anything other than work, eat, drink and sleep. I had good money, but no time to spend it. What a shitty life. When I came home one evening, there was a black convertible opposite my house, the same model that Noah drove. As I unlocked my front door and was taking out the keys to my apartment, I suddenly heard a male voice behind me say. “I thought you were my good girl, but you can be so wrong.” “Noah?” I turned around. “Noah or your god. Isn't it?” “Don't scare me like that.”

He hugged me in greeting and looked me in the eye. “How are you?” He smiled, but for whatever reason I wasn't really happy to see him. I wasn't prepared. My make-up was no longer fresh and I felt uncomfortable because I had been sweating all day in my skirt and top. I unlocked the front door, but didn't invite him in because I was completely overwhelmed by the situation. He remained standing in the doorway. “Aren't you going to let me in?” “Yes, of course,” I said, confused. He grabbed my shoulders from behind and kissed my neck. “Noah,” I groaned, laughing and pulling my shoulders up because it tickled. “I'm afraid I don't have that much space and it's not tidy right now because I'm just working.” I opened the living room door and let him step forward onto the sofa. “Sounds like you could do with some relaxation.” “I really could.” “Fuck, I haven't got anything. I forgot to go by groceries.” “Hey, come here,” said Noah, who was already lying on the sofa, taking off his shoes. He stretched out his right arm. “Wait a minute. I've got drinks. What do you want?” I turned to the side so that he had a clear view of my shelf. “Do you mix cocktails?” “Maybe. Just say what you want.” I smiled. “I'll have whatever you mix. Anything.” “Even with alcohol?” He nodded. “Ok, fine.” I smiled.

I stood with my back to him and he watched me while I freestyled our drinks. I happily walked over to him on the sofa with both glasses and straws. “Thank you. Tell me. What's going on with you? You haven't been in touch at all.” He couldn't be serious. I had feared it would be like this. It was always like this. Sex, then nothing for weeks and then suddenly, out of nowhere, sex again as if nothing had happened. “Like I said. Eat, sleep, repeat.” “And who was the guy last time?” “What guy? What are you talking about?” Slowly, the doorbell rang. “ramenpartytime” was Noah. He didn't say anything, just continued to look at me expectantly. “Did you text me that weird message on Insta?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. He nodded. “We're not together. You've been ignoring me for weeks. Why are you asking me why I haven't contacted you? You could have contacted me just as easily.” “Oh, come on. So who was the guy?” “A colleague from work. Are you jealous?” “As long as you weren't shagging him, no.” I rolled my eyes. “Are you being cheeky again?” he asked quietly, putting his glass down and pulling me against his chest. “I missed you.” I laughed, “Yeah, sure.” “Yes, really.” He ran his hand down my cleavage. My knees went weak. “If you really did, you would have contacted me.” “As it happens, I've been working a lot too. Would I be here now otherwise?” Noah was good at silencing me. “After all, you read my message but never replied.” he continued. “Because I thought it was a fucking stalker. How was I supposed to know you were behind a cartoon cat picture like that?” I laughed. He pushed me up and put a big pillow under my back. “Relax.” He pushed up my skirt, grinned when he saw my skimpy panties, impatiently yanked them aside and kissed my pussy. “Oh. My. God.” “Shhh.” he admonished me. My legs were shaking. I don't know how long it had been since I'd been pampered between my legs. I ran my right hand into his full, dark hair and clawed at his right shoulder with my left.” “I didn't know you could get that feral.” he grinned. His warm breath was pleasant between my legs. He sucked on my wet, aroused spot between my legs and fingered me in the meantime. “How quickly my good girl gets wet. You have such a beautiful cunt, you know that?” His tongue pressed more aggressively against my clit and as if that wasn't enough he stuck it into my dripping hole. Although the position was submissive, he was anything but. He was still Naoh as I had come to know him: confident and dominant. “Please don't stop.” “Don't worry. This won't be your only orgasm today. After that, I'll fuck you properly in all your holes. You deserve to have someone take good care of you.” It didn't take long for me to orgasm and to my surprise I even squirted, which didn't happen often. I usually only came that quickly when I was pleasuring myself. “You little hoe.” he grinned dirty, sat down on the sofa and pushed me onto the floor in front of him. “You know what you have to do, don't you?” I nodded and exhaled exhaustedly. His cock was only slightly hard so far. I slowly took it out of his shorts and pleasured him, still on my knees. “Fuck, you suck so good. I knew you wouldn't let me down. You won't, will you?” He dropped his head back and pulled lightly on my hair before pushing my head down further. His tip bored into my neck and I tapped exhaustedly against his thigh. “Looks like we both don't have that much energy today, huh?” he said softly, letting me set the pace. “Remember your safeword?” In fact, I'd forgotten it because I'd never needed it. Noah could tell I was thinking and would never remember it. “Okay, fine. I'll show you your safeword. Where's the bedroom?” I guided him and he threw me onto the bed.

“Use me, Noah.” “Be careful what you wish for.” I gave him the sweetest smile I had ever had. He grabbed my chin and kissed me on the mouth. “No kissing, Noah. That was and is still my rule.” I pulled my head away. “Rules are there to be broken. I know you like it. You can't tell me to use you and then block it. Remember your safeword?” I shook my head. Noah kissed me gently on the neck, moving down to my breasts to my mound of Venus where he stopped. “Your safeword was 'soft'.” I guess it was a good sign that I had forgotten. “Now it's time for you to use me. Have no inhibitions.” I pulled him on top of me and clawed at his back. My nails were painted a little longer than usual in red.

I didn't want to kiss him, but I did it automatically. It felt so good. His hands held my face, our kisses became wilder and wetter until I finally said, “I need your cock inside me.” I pushed his big, hard cock into my leaking cunt. “You're so incredibly good. You always know what to do. Believe me, I won't just fuck you 4-5 times like the others.” “Stop talking about others when your cock is inside me. Fuck me hard,” I bitched. “That was so obvious. My little bitch wants it hard, huh? Hard enough?” he asked as he held onto my neck with his right hand and thrust into me like there was no tomorrow. I wanted to feel his dominance non-stop. “I have to fuck you differently. I can't make you happy like this.” He took my legs up, to the side and slowly penetrated my ass. “This is the best position for you, isn't it? Do you know how much I love that you're so depraved?” I signaled him no. “Do I have to prove it to you again?” “Yes, Noah.”

He thrust harder and faster than I thought anyone could possibly be capable of. After a few minutes, he panted, “You're killing me.” I was also completely out of breath. I couldn't hold back my tears anymore because he was brutal like never before, but I liked it. I needed it. “Sit on me. Ride me. Show me how much you desire my cock. How you desire me.” He wiped away my tears. I noticed how the salty liquid had already mixed with my mascara, eye shadow and foundation and was running down my face. I obeyed him and settled down on his now rock-hard, long, thick cock.

Although I was completely destroyed, I tried my best to be the best slut he had ever had in bed. I never wanted it to end. “That's it. That's the right way. Good girl. Your crack is made for my cock.” “Is it?” I asked, watching my pelvis rise and fall as I bobbed on it. “Hey. Look at me. I want to see you enjoy it.” I looked into his eyes for minutes until I realized his cock was starting to twitch. “Apparently I'm doing my job very well. He's already twitching.” Noah hummed a “Hmmm.” pulled him out and ordered me to lie on the bed. I knew immediately what I had to do, lay across the bed and let my head hang off the edge of the bed. He squirted all over my face after he jerked his huge, hard cock with a few powerful movements and I caught some of his cum with my mouth. He put his right thumb in my mouth and pushed his cum that was around my mouth further into my mouth. “Be my good girl and swallow. What's it like to be used like that?” “It's the best feeling ever.”

I rushed into the bathroom and looked at my face in the mirror. I looked so dirty. Noah came after me and stopped in the doorway. “You do realize I have to take my makeup off now, right?” Grinning, Noah told me that he really wanted to see how my make-up was running down my face. “Sure, just once” I grinned and washed my face. “I've missed the way you say my name, the way you fuck, the way you taste.” “Then get in touch with me. It doesn't just have to be every few weeks.” “Or you can get in touch. I'm sure you've thought about our night just as often as I have.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Huh?” He sat me down on the washing machine. I had to kiss him, I couldn't help but pull him close and stick my tongue down his throat. “What's wrong with you?” “Why?” “First you don't want me to kiss you and now you can't get enough?” “Since when do I get enough of you, Noah? I'll never have enough. Will you?” “Not if you're my good girl and stay that way. You haven't had anything with anyone else in the time we haven't seen each other, have you?” “No.” “That's good. Me neither.”

His eyes fell on my clothes rack. He reached for a black lace body that was low-cut. “It's brand new,” I grinned. “Did you buy this for me?” he asked dirtily, kissing my neck and moving his tongue to my breasts. “Who knows” “Simple question, simple answer” he said roughly and slapped me lightly on the cheek. Again, something I didn't think I would like. I wondered how far I would go. How far I was prepared to completely switch off my boundaries and just be submissive, just there for him to satisfy him. “I imagined our reunion differently, to be honest.” “How did you imagine it?” he whispered in my ear. His breath was hot and his lips soft. He nibbled on my earlobe and then kissed me on the mouth again. “Tell me.” “I thought you'd call me, tell me to put on some nice clothes and order me to your house like a hooker.” “So you'd like that, huh?” I nodded and blushed, horrified at my own increasingly withering fantasies. “We'll do that next time. When do you have time?” “The day after tomorrow?” With a grin, Noah agreed. “The day after tomorrow at 8pm. You'll love it. I'll do everything I can to make sure you stay my good girl.”

On the day in question, a message arrived at 6pm. 'Your Uber is coming at 7:40 pm. Make yourself pretty for me.' I put on the skimpy lace bodysuit that squeezed my breasts, a leather mini skirt, my favorite black high heels that were 12centimetres high and a plain white blouse. I hadn't dressed up like this for a long time. My make-up was more than usual now that I knew Noah liked it when my make-up ran during sex. I had endless energy and had taken the extra time off and slept a lot. Today he would push himself to his limits and fuck me over and over again all evening and into the night until he didn't have a drop of cum left in him. Shortly before 8pm I was already standing in front of his house. The nervousness made my heart pound in my throat. I swallowed and rang the doorbell. He opened the door without a word and lifted me up. My legs sought their way around his back and intertwined at the ankle cuffs. He was impatient and so was I, but I could tell he knew exactly what he wanted. His dominance was so appealing. I couldn't wait. He put me down so I could stand and he could sit on the bed. I started to unbutton my blouse. “Eh, eh. Did I tell you to take your clothes off?” My face showed only astonishment. He pulled me towards him by the chin and kissed me fiercely. This time his kiss was anything but tender, but wild and demanding. He slapped my cheek with his right hand. “I thought you would have understood your role by now, but you're still not good enough for me."

He could see the desperation on my heavily made-up face. “You're so fucking hot. Dressed up extra slutty for me. You like being my little whore, huh?” Although I didn't really have any boundaries left in my head, the blush shot up my face. I loved it when he said dirty things like that to me. “No need to blush. I know what you're like. There's nothing wrong with that. I'll prove it to you. I could come just looking at your tits. How hot they look, being squeezed like that.” He grabbed my neck and licked over my plunging neckline. “The blouse can go, the rest stays on.” I didn't contradict him. His right hand searched for the clasp of my bodysuit, which he now opened and without warning pressed directly on my clitoris with his thumb and immediately found the spot that made me groan. “You're not really wet yet. Want to make it a bit hard for me today, huh?” He stuck his thumb in my cunt and worked it until it was wet and smacking. “I'm going to take you apart like never before today, trust me on that.” “That was my plan too.” “Open your sweet fuck mouth. How's that taste, huh?” he whispered in my ear as he shoved his cunt juice-soaked thumb into my mouth. “After my cunt, which is always ready for you,” I whispered back in his ear.

I licked over his tattooed neck and danced uninhibitedly on his lap. “Look at your tits, how horny they jiggle. I love your whorish way.” I could feel it in his pants before he even said it to me. “I love the way you fuck me.” “Yes?” he asked, unsurprised. “That's good. You're mine, only mine. I'll make sure no other man will ever fuck you again. Unless I allow it. Get on your knees and undress me. Seduce me like it's the last time you'll ever be able to fuck me.” “Noah, what are you saying?” He stroked my head. “You know what I mean. Be my good girl and do everything I tell you, yes.” He hooked his left index finger on my leather cocker and took his right hand to push my head onto his hard cock. “It's not quite that hard yet.” He slapped me lightly on my mouth. “Then try harder, you slut!”

His words fired me up. They motivated me to be on my knees at his mercy and let his cock get harder in my mouth. “See, you can do it. You suck so well, I'll never get enough of it.” I now slowly pressed my head onto his cock and gagged and drooled like I had never done in my life. My covered breasts rubbed against his thighs. “You're such a good girl for me and you're so good with my cock. You're getting wilder and wilder. Do you notice how you're losing your inhibitions more and more?” I interrupted the blow job to agree with him. He stroked my head and slapped my face gently the next moment. I loved the alternating game. Whenever I was spanked, I took him even deeper into my mouth, drooling and moaning. “Spit on it” I obeyed him. I obeyed him all the time and didn't talk back. “Go into the bedroom and kneel on the bed.” I walked forward and stuck my ass out at him. “Keep your head down,” he directed me. “Good girl.”

He took both my arms back and held me by my wrists while he alternately thrust into my pussy and ass. “How do you like that, huh? You're so quiet today. Moan more and show me how much you enjoy it when I take dirty turns ramming my cock into both your holes.” Since I didn't respond directly, I got a slap on my ass. “I can't hear you.” He pulled my hair. “You like it when I work your ass, huh? How can you be so whorish?” “Everyone gets what they deserve,” I said seductively. Noah moaned louder than ever. “You love my ass, don't you?” “I love everything about you.”

Noah kept pounding my ass until it got hot. Over and over again and I was sure he was already flaming red, but I knew how it was turning him on and me too. I moaned as he started pounding his cock into my wet hole. “God, fuck me hard. Please.” “Little bitch, be quiet. I'll fuck you any way I want!” He covered my mouth with his right hand, his left still gripping my wrists tightly. When he realized that I was struggling to breathe, he took his hand away and put his middle finger in my mouth. “Suck it. Good girl. Y would definitely celebrate a second dick, huh?” I shook my head. “Noah,” I said admonishingly. “Calm down. I just wanted to test you. You're mine. I marked you, remember?” “What if I'd like a threesome?” I provoked him. “Then I'll get a slut for it. What do you like? Blonde? Brunette?” “Threesome with a man.”

He turned me around and his eyebrows drew together. His frown line got deeper than ever. “Forget it. Are you afraid someone else might be better than you?” I didn't know what to say to that. “Tell me.” “Maybe. But what's the point of a woman having three holes when a man only has one dick?” I had silenced Noah. He took me in his favorite position, legs on his shoulders, and it didn't take long for me to orgasm. “You little cunt. Don't even dream about it. What man can make you come as hard as me, huh?” He pulled my hair and stuck his finger into my cunt, which was screaming with pleasure. "You're always wet. Be a good girl and suck my finger clean." I stuck my tongue out and ran the tip of my tongue over his finger. "Eh, eh." He stuck it all the way down my throat. "That's the right way to suck. Imagine it's my cock. You always take it greedily into your sweet fuck mouth, don't you? That's good. My good girl." he grinned dirty and stroked my head. He was driving me crazy. He switched from dominant to tender. We changed positions. He now wanted me to ride him slowly. I felt particularly spoiled because I was still wearing almost all my clothes except for my blouse. "Do you like it like that? Do you like my outfit so much that you don't want me to take it off?"

"That's right. You're not only good, you're also smart" Our foreheads stuck together. I gazed into his eyes, spoiled, as I put my pussy over his cock and slowly moved it up and down. He held on to my high heels and moaned until his right hand lifted my breasts out over my sexy lace body. "Fuck, I love the way your tits jiggle." Noah now reached next to him at the bedside table and filmed me doing my best to bring him to orgasm. "Look." He held the video in front of my face. My face wasn't on it, you could see me from my black chocker and mainly my breasts jiggling. It looked like a porn movie again, just like the video from our first one where he filmed me from behind. "What do you actually do with the videos?" "Don't worry about them. They're in my locked folder. What do you think I do with them? When I jerk off, I watch them and think about you. I don't need to watch porn anymore if you're such a good girl for me."

I turned around so he could now film my ass and me riding it the other way. "Film my ass again," I said. Noah grinned, "Do you want to see it?" Completely exhausted, I could only nod. "I didn't know my ass looked so hot." I laughed. "Otherwise I wouldn't be fucking you." He took my hair so that it lay like a plait in his right hand and pulled it. "You're my little whore, aren't you?" "Of course you are, Noah. Your good girl and your whore. Whatever you want." He groaned and quickly pushed me onto the bed. He squirted all over my ass. What I didn't realize was that he had picked up his phone again and filmed the finale. "God, look at that." It turned me on to see myself used like that. Still on all fours, I didn't dare get up so as not to mess up his bed. Noah gasped behind me and reached for a tissue from the box on his bedside table. "One tissue isn't enough, I think." I grinned.

The End

@xmads-omensx @english-fucker @dsireland86 @pathion @philomenie @vanishxcanvas @cook-anna @astridwesson @wildflower28902 @lma1986 @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @rebelheart90 @dravenskye @fadingintothegrey @masked-omen @onlyjamesbuchananbarnes @marvelousmal @clingylittlebun-blog @thisisntablogspost @tikosblogg @lindasormunen @deepestmongerwolfeclipse @yayuthebunny @dvvlish @norvinastoff @amelia-acero @dominuslunae @sarahrosw36q @importantquotesforcaliforni-blog @caitcoreeeee @shelby08 @starcrossedwasteland @industrialdreadhead @c0ncrete-jungl3 @bandznerd @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @fadingintothegrey @rebelheart90 @kochajmy @shilohrosechicken @marchcaos

[bookloover35]

I Wanna Merry You Someday- Jack Kelly x fem reader.

The streets of New York were alive with the hum of voices, the clatter of carriage wheels, and the hustle of people going about their day. Among the crowd, you stood, watching as a group of Newsies took a quick break, some lounging on crates, others exchanging jokes. But your eyes were fixed on one person—the boy with the wild, carefree spirit who was always at the center of everything.

Jack Kelly.

His brown hair was messy as usual, and his grin was as charming as it was mischievous. He caught your gaze and winked, sending a flutter to your heart. He always had that effect on you, ever since you first met him months ago. The connection between the two of you was instant, though it had taken you a while to admit to yourself how much you cared for him.

Jack was trouble, of that you were certain. He lived for the moment, never concerned with tomorrow, always chasing freedom. And yet, when he was around, the world felt like it was just a little bit better, a little bit more magical.

You weren't sure how it happened, but over time, you became close. Close enough to share moments of laughter, stolen kisses, and quiet nights on rooftops, looking at the stars. It was easy to pretend like nothing mattered when you were with him—like you were just two people, enjoying each other's company in a city full of chaos.

Today was different, though. There was something in the air, something that made your heart beat a little faster. Maybe it was the way the sun was starting to set, casting a golden glow over everything, or the way Jack had been glancing your way more often than usual.

"Hey, (Y/N), you gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna join me?" Jack called out to you, a playful smile dancing on his lips. He was leaning casually against a lamppost, his arms crossed.

You grinned, feeling your cheeks warm. "What, you missin' me already, Kelly?"

Jack shrugged, the grin never leaving his face. "Just figure it'd be better to have you next to me than watchin' from a distance."

With a roll of your eyes, you walked over to him, sidestepping a few Newsies along the way. Jack straightened up as you neared, and you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes softened when they met yours. It was one of those rare moments where you saw the side of him that wasn't always visible to the world—vulnerable, sincere, like he was letting down his guard for just a second.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You're looking mighty fine today."

"Flattery won't get you far, Jack Kelly," you teased, though your heart fluttered at the compliment.

He chuckled, moving a bit closer to you. "Yeah? Well, maybe I gotta try somethin' else to get your attention."

Before you could respond, he placed a hand on your shoulder and gently guided you towards the edge of the roof where he'd taken to spending a lot of time lately, watching the world go by.

The view from the rooftop was breathtaking. The city sprawled out in front of you, buildings rising up like giants, the sun beginning its descent behind them, casting the skyline in a brilliant pink and orange hue. You leaned against the brick wall, Jack standing close beside you, both of you content in the silence that only moments like this could create.

After a few minutes, Jack spoke again, his voice quieter now, more serious.

"You ever think about what comes next, (Y/N)?" He asked, his gaze still on the horizon.

You blinked, surprised by the question. Jack Kelly wasn't the type to dwell on the future. He was always more about living in the moment, chasing the next adventure.

"What do you mean?" you asked, turning to face him.

Jack hesitated for a moment, like he was working through something in his mind. "I mean... we've got the city, we've got the Newsies, we've got all this freedom. But... I keep thinkin' 'bout what we'd do if we didn't have to keep fightin' for it, you know? What if there was somethin' more?"

Your pulse quickened. Was he talking about what you thought he was talking about?

You swallowed, your voice coming out softer than usual. "What do you want, Jack?"

He turned toward you then, his expression intense but warm. "I want you, (Y/N). All of you. Not just now, not just for today... but for the long haul. I wanna be there with you when we're old and wrinkled and still fightin' the world together. I wanna marry you one day."

Your heart stopped, and for a moment, the world seemed to freeze. Jack Kelly, the boy who could charm the socks off anyone and always seemed to live for the moment, was standing in front of you, speaking words you never thought you'd hear. Words that made your heart swell with emotion.

"You want to marry me?" you whispered, unsure if your ears were deceiving you.

Jack laughed, but it was different from his usual carefree chuckles. There was a hint of nervousness, of hopefulness. "Yeah. I wanna marry you. And I know it might sound crazy, but I can see it, (Y/N). I can see us, a little house somewhere, kids runnin' around, maybe a dog—"

"You want a dog?" you interrupted, laughing despite the overwhelming feeling in your chest.

He smiled, a genuine, soft smile, before nodding. "Yeah, why not? I think we'd make a pretty good team. What do you say?"

For a moment, you just stared at him, your mind racing. The future, the idea of forever with Jack Kelly—it felt surreal, yet perfect. He was everything you never thought you'd want, and everything you knew you'd need.

Without a word, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him tightly. He stiffened at first, then relaxed into the embrace, his arms wrapping around you in return. You could feel his heart beating in time with yours.

"I say... I wanna marry you too, Jack," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

His laughter, soft and genuine, filled the space between you. "Yeah? Well, one day we'll make it happen. I promise you that."

And in that moment, as you stood there in his arms, looking out at the city together, you knew that whatever came next, you'd face it together.

[emmtropywrites]

"Flowers", a BG3 Shadowheart fanfic. Chapter 2: Roots

Part 1

Also on AO3

The sky is turning orange when you close up shop the next evening and head for the Tabernacle. You have one of each of the flowers that Shadowheart picked, wrapped up in simple brown paper, tied with twine. You figure that if Selune required fancy offerings, she would have become goddess of the moon and money.

The streets are loud, always. People laugh and cry and shout and there never seems to be a moment’s peace. You know that the noise is good for some people, that the allure of the city calls to a certain type of person. But you also know that you are not that type of person. What you’d said to Shadowheart about a garden had been true, but only a peek into what you truly wanted out of life.

You step into the Tabernacle and let your eyes adjust to the dimmer light; while not exactly gloomy, the inside of the Tabernacle is a lot less bright. The stone buildings and streets of Baldur’s Gate tend to reflect the sunlight back up at your eyes, and you constantly feel like you’re squinting when you’re walking about during the day.

There are many statues of various gods, and you nervously realize that you don’t really know what Selune looks like. Taking a deep breath, you approach a nearby Cleric and say, “Um, hi, I have an offering? For Selune? Do you know…” You trail off as the Cleric nods and quickly directs you to a shrine in front of a relatively plain statue.

Ordinarily, you don’t pay much attention to gods, as they haven’t paid much attention to you. As you set your bouquet on the shrine, however, you can’t help but feel like you should say something.

Sneaking a glance around to make sure no one can hear, you look up at the statue and say quietly, “Thank you for sending Shadowheart and her friends to save the city.”

After a moment of quiet, you turn to leave, not really sure if you’re supposed to feel any different. There, in the doorway, the sunset turning her silver hair into a halo, stands Shadowheart. You suddenly feel like you’ve been caught doing something unscrupulous, even though everyone is welcome to come into the Tabernacle.

She catches sight of you at the same time, and- to your relief- smiles. As she approaches, you see that she’s wearing a light dress, lilac in color. “Well, I didn’t expect to find you here,” she says, tilting her head.

“I- you said something about Selune blessing me, so I figured I should come pay respects,” you stammer. “You’re a hero, after all.”

Shadowheart rolls her eyes, sighing lightly. “I prefer the term ‘unwitting champion’, but thank you for the compliment.”

“Do you at least get a hero’s salary?” You joke.

“No, but I do get unlimited vacation time,” she replies, taking your humor in stride.

“And what do you do with all that free time?” Hoping she’ll take the hint that you would like to spend more time with her, you replicate her head tilt.

Shadowheart pauses for a moment, her eyes searching your face. “Cooking, caring for houseplants… Spending time with friends. Can I count you among those?”

You shrug. “I’ve never been called a houseplant before, but there’s a first time for everything.”

For a moment, you think she might hit you for making such a silly joke, but then her glower is replaced by a reluctant smile. “You think you’re quite clever, don’t you. I mean, you’re right, but still.”

“Well, I think I should take any opportunity to make you smile,” you reply. Then, taking a chance, add on, “It’s such a pretty smile, after all.”

She raises her eyebrows, surprised, but not upset. “Clever and charming? I can’t help but feel there’s some dark secret you’re hiding.”

You shrug. “Honestly? I think everyone has some darkness in them. This world is a hard place to live in. But I don’t consider my darkness a secret. It’s…” you pause, looking for the right description. Catching sight of Selune’s statue, you say, “It’s like the moon. The moon has a dark side, and at different times, it is greater or lesser than its light side. But it is still the moon, regardless of how much light or darkness it shows.”

You look back at Shadowheart, and see her gazing at you with a mixture of hesitance and hope. “Would you like to get dinner with me?” She asks, her voice tinged with anxiety.

You smile and nod enthusiastically. “I would love to.”

[werewolfvanillapotato]

Date (part 1 and 2) Chloe X Red

The dusky light painted the sky in hues of lavender and orange, casting long shadows across wonderland A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the ancient talking tree, whispering secrets only they could understand. The air was alive with the sweet scent of honeysuckle and the faint hum of doodle birds serenading the twilight.

Red pov: (walking to the front of the castle)

Okay, my first date, I've never been on a date before probably because I've been trapped in wonderland for so long and there's just not many humans here, and my strict mom the queen of hearts. But this is it, I'm going on a date with Chloe charming a umm friend you can say... who I met at auradon prep. the girl with the sparkling brown eyes and a smile that could light up the whole of Wonderland. I thought to myself as I'm walking towards the front of the castle where I ask chloe to meet me at. How do I look?... am I supposed to bring something like flowers or something?wait ... why am I even asking myself those, it's just a stupid date chloe ask me on.

"Hey you're right on time." I said as I walked towards Chloe 

"Andddd you're late " Chloe said in response 

"As always " Chloe added

"What do you mean, I'm right on time." I said checking my pocket watch "7:00, ah, right, time in wonderland is a little different from auradon's"

" well anyways, ready to go? No really, before my mom catches us" I said grabbing her arm and ran off with her 

Once we're in the clear, I let go of her arm "oww" Chloe mumbled as she rubbed her arm

"Here we are.." I grab a golden key from my pocket, I open the door to reveal a beautiful garden the air filled with the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle. The garden was alive with color. Giant, iridescent mushrooms glowed with an ethereal light, while rabbits in velvet coats scurried playfully beneath the boughs of luminous trees. 

"Wow... this place is beautiful Red!" Chloe said stunned,her fingers brushing a petal of a giant, talking rose.

" yeah, I found this place when I was sneaking out of the castle when I was little "

I pointed to a hidden pond, its surface shimmering with moonlight. 'I love this place,' I whispered. 'It's a secret haven, a place where we can be ourselves.'

Chloe smiled, dipping her fingers into the cool water. 'It's beautiful,' she agreed. 'And you... you're beautiful too, Red.'

My heart skipped a beat, I've never felt this way before,Chloe's gaze was unwavering. Her sparkling brown eyes reflecting the moonlit water. The air between us crackled with unspoken feelings.

The magical garden, a secret oasis within the bustling Wonderland, was a symphony of colour and scent. Giant, glowing flowers bloomed in every shade imaginable, their petals whispering secrets in the gentle breeze. Talking flowers, with faces sculpted from petals, giggled and gossiped amongst themselves. 

Chloe pov:

I sat next to red under a tree that looks like as if it was enchanted The air hummed with the delicate scent of starflower and the whisper of unseen fairies. As we sat under the ancient tree, its gnarled branches twinkling with enchantment, I felt a sense of wonder that I had never known. 

This place is a dream come true,' i whispered my eyes wide with wonder.

Red smiled , I've never seen her smile before.

" it looks good on you,you should smile more often " I said brushing a hair out of Red's face

Red blushed " wa- don't tell me what to do!" She looks just like an angry cat, it's adorable 

We got up and continued our stroll when suddenly she stripped over a branch and i caught her just in time but we both fell over and landed in a flower bed.at this point I was hovering over her and our faces were inches apart, I start to feel my face grow warm, I quickly get off her and we shared an awkward laugh. As the sun dipped behind the horizon, casting a golden glow across the vast expanse, the landscape transformed into a canvas of ethereal beauty. The once vibrant hues of the day faded into a tranquil symphony of soft colors. "I think it's time to heads back, before your mom finds out you're missing" I said "like she even cares if I'm missing or not " Red added, I felt kinda bad for her,I truly can't imagine how hard it is for her." I'll walk you home?" I asked " sure "Red replied

[annabtg]

Fanfic Self-Appreciation

Stole this from @artemisia-black and @merlinsbudgiesmugglers, because I haven't been writing lately and I think I need to treat myself a little.

Ten favourite lines (or paragraphs) from ten of my lowest kudos'd fics, with no links - because this is not about raising a fic's stats, but about celebrating the work I've written over the years despite its lack of popularity and - as I realized when I found out it was hard to find lines I unapologetically love in some of these fics - learning to be kind to myself! Most of these snippets are from old fics, and looking back to one's own writing can bring forth terrible amounts of cringe - but I encourage everyone, myself included, to take pride in their older works and find the beauty in the simpler, less refined, more innocent writing. :)

Feel free to copy, borrow and tailor this concept to your needs and tastes! The idea is to learn to appreciate our writing despite our hang-ups, whatever those may be!

Cut for length:

1. And then the green jets of light come again. Simultaneously, this time.

2. They need both. The traitor will come back for his creature, they know – and Bellatrix will be ready for him. He's no match for her. Too arrogant, too surrendered to his emotions to be a dangerous opponent. Too dedicated to the filthy creature's earthy charms. What idiot would value carnal pleasures over the pure light of magic?

3. There's also green like jealousy. It's when he sees Lily Evans hand in hand with that idiot, Caradoc Dearborn, and the next time he looks into the mirror, he sees that his skin has a light, puke-coloured tint.

4. Tonks had refrained from sitting beside him on the bench. She had sat on the back of it, steadying herself by keeping firm grip on it with both hands, absently swinging her legs as she watched for suspicious movements in the nearby streets. Her hair, now a little longer than usual and coloured a dull brown that matched his – it was uncanny how different she looked in it – swayed slightly with every movement she made. He had a lovely view of her profile from where he was sitting, when he turned to look at her; the evening sun passed through the thick leafage of the oak trees and doused her in shades of orange and pink.

5. Of course it’s not any help. What help can a small stick made of paper and tobacco possibly be? What comfort can it offer, when its life ends merely ten minutes after it begins? It has no soul, no understanding. It can’t stop the tears that start streaming down my face. But I put it in my mouth and breathe its bitterness in anyway. As long as I’m drowning my sobs under the thick layers of its tar, as long as I don’t bury my face in my hands, as long as my mind is so intently concentrated on the burning tip of the cigarette, as long as exhaling doesn’t come out like whispering his name, it’s not really crying.

6. He kept watching them, sulking, making plans on how to avenge the offence. Sirius, sitting next to him, was sulking too, as a means of supporting his friend. Remus was watching James warily; he knew him well enough to know he wouldn't let Barbara get away with what she'd told him. As for Peter, he was searching for another argument to convince James he shouldn't get upset over it. The previous six hadn't worked.

7. They say that opposites attract. Perhaps that’s why James Potter, loud by principle and overly energetic by definition, feels so drawn to Lily Evans. There’s something about her quiet demeanour, something so foreign to him and, for that reason exactly, so mystifying. Wrapping his mind around the idea of someone being so serene of their own accord is impossible. To him, Lily Evans is impossible.

8. He pretended to return to his book, but couldn't help watching her with the corner of his eye as she walked in, dressed in a bright green Muggle top, blue jeans and colourful sneakers. She was... loud, in all aspects. The first thought that had crossed Remus's mind upon seeing her, was that this was a girl that could never go unnoticed. Whether that was because of her styling choices, her wit, her perkiness or her destructive clumsiness, though, he couldn't tell for sure.

9. “But I could let you go to hell for hating on my son,” he says, raising a threatening finger.

10. “We all deserve love, Remus. It’s not an award we earn for not being werewolves.”

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

Jessica was ravenously hungry by the time she got back to Oldbrush Valley. It had been a long day at the end of a long week. So it was no surprise that her first stop was at the Oldbrush Valley 24-Hour Diner. Latif wasn't around, given that it was two in the morning, but she still gave a polite wave to the night staff and smiled apologetically as she ordered a burger that was more grease than meat, a side of fried potatoes, and a plate of hash browns with onion and mushroom. She resolved to tip well as the server took her order and went to the back.

Then she heard the bell at the door ring. She didn't look up from the book she was pretending to read - she was hoping not to have her face noticed if she could help it - but unfortunately, the stranger took a seat at the booth directly across from her, so she was forced to look up.

The stranger was wearing an off-brand Stetson, a pair of torn and well-loved sturdy blue jeans, and a plain white tank top under a bona-fide deerskin jacket, fringes and all. There was patch on the right breast of the jacket, clearly handmade that read "SHE/HER - IT/IT - YEE/HAW". Her chestnut brown hair was short, barely visible under the hat, and she was lightly tanned and freckled from time in the sun. There was a faded scar across its left eye, and those eyes were colored a slightly unnatural tawny orange. Despite these differences, Jessica clearly marked the stranger as being, without a doubt, herself. She sighed and folded the book. "Hey."

"Howdy, pilgrim," the older Jessica said, tipping her hat. Yee spoke in an exaggerated light drawl, like a southern belle in a period drama. "Name's Jessie. How bout yourself?"

"That isn't our voice," Jessica said, squinting. "And what's with your eyes?"

Jessie laughed. "Ah been 'round the block enough t'know when fakin' a voice ain't gonna hurt anyone. An' we're half Texan, remember? I ain't appropriatin' nothin'. Mama would be proud. An' the eyes are contacts. Ah still got the worst vision this side'a the Mississippi, but the glasses didn' exactly fit in with th'cowgirl charm."

"Okay, but why in tarnation," she said, putting on an accent herself, "are you pretending to be a cowboy?"

"Started doin' it as a joke based on somethin' a friend of a friend of a friend were talkin' about. Kept the bit up a bit too long, then figured out it were givin' me a right bit a'gender euphoria. So ah'm still doin' it, pilgrim."

"And that's why you have fucking 'yee/haw' pronouns? Wait, does this mean I'm going to be a cowboy in..." she studied Jessie's face. "Er, around four years? Five?"

"Three years an' eight months, by my count. The scar don't help my girlish complexion, ah'm sure, but I reckon I don't look like I'm turnin' to dust jes' yet. An' it ain't that simple. We ain't... connected, properly, though ah do represent one version of yer future, the end result a'three years a choices an' events that may happen similarly or may diverge wildly. Lotta that's up to you. If'n ya wanna try out the cowboy thing, I can take you to the shop where I got my hat."

"I think I'll be alright for now. So... what are you and the other Jessica doing here?"

Jessie looked confused at this. "Other Jessica?"

"The one still at OVER? With the dyed hair?"

"Ah... don't know nothin' about that one, ah'm afraid. Might be somethin' the two'a us oughta look into. Ah'm here to keep an eye on you, an' to keep things on track, t'turn out in our favor." It paused. "More or less. Ah ain't exactly back here'a mah own free will, but as long as ah'm in this time period, might as well do what I can t'help y'all along."

"I don't want to be 'helped along.' I don't want any part of this. I want to go away and live."

"Fraid it ain't that simple. Yer a proper parta this mess now, an' it ain't easy gettin' free'a it. Once the people involved know yer name, know yer important, that importance is gonna propagate in all directions, makin' its way to anyone who finds themself part'a this. It ain't just WOE.BEGONE that's got us down as a person of interest. OVER, The Flinchites, the Walters Base... an' that's sayin' nothin' a' OI tryna hunt us down."

"Wait, what? Flinchites? Walters Base? OI? I don't know what any of that means, Jessie-"

"An' we ain't got time fer me t'explain it. Ah'll fill ya in later, ah promise, but things are heatin' up for ya. Case in point, the goons waiting for'ya outside this diner."

"The what?"

"You were followed, Jessica. Two men in a black van been tailin'ya since ya got back into the valley. Ah don't recognize them, but ah reckon by the pistols in their laps they ain't got friendly intentions with us."

"Shit. Shit. What do we do now?" Jessica stood up in a panic.

"Y'calm down, first of all. Ain't any help panickin'. Ah reckon they ain't plannin' on confrontin' us while we're in the diner, or they woulda done so. Probably plannin' on shootin'ya down in cold blood when you get back to the car. Or if they're really gettin' artsy with it, they rigged yer hunk'a junk up to explode when ya hit the ignition."

"So?"

"So that means we got time t'relax an' think of a plan. An' to eat our food." Yee waved over the server. "Howdy, ma'am, you're lookin' right purdy. Ah'll take a caffeine-free Diet Pepsi, an order'a fried potatoes, an' a side'a sausage gravy. All on a separate check from my friend here. An' if'n y'all can forget y'saw the two'a us here at the same time if folks come around askin', that'd be mighty kind."

[classicalshorts]

BROWNED off!

(Okay, so this is strictly orange, but I couldn't find brown in the options menu)

Now, brown is something of a DARK horse in both Latin and Greek. (Start as I mean to go on…) Neither language had a word for brown that corresponds our label of a specific shade or variety of shades. Latin did have the word brunus, but this is Medieval, not Classical and comes from a Germanic word that is earlier in origins. Compare the modern German braun. Again, the root may come from Proto-Indo-European behr- denoting both brown and a general unspecified dark hue. This, however, does not mean that the ancients did not perceive brown, only that they categorized and labelled it in a different way.

Words such as fuscus can include brown, but not exclusively, and refer to a more general ‘dark’ hue or range of hues. From this word comes a super English word, a little old-fashioned now perhaps and one that may be dubbed one of my Old-Fashioned Fancies, to obfuscate. If you obfuscate your true motives, you hide them, keep them in the dark, and the act of concealment or obfuscation is deliberate.

castaneus is perhaps the nearest one gets to a word for a colour brown. Via French, this word became chestnut and can also refer to its rich brown colour. There is also the Latin spadix from Greek σπαδιξ, referring to a nut or date-like brown. Virgil uses the word to refer to the colour of horses in his Georgics, 3.82. From this we derive the charming word for a bright brown hue, spadiceous. Marvellous, obscure (another Latin word for dark), and definitely under-used.

In Greek, ξανθος (as shown in Yellow Varieties) can denote a tawny colour, so a shade of brown or brownish-yellow, but it is not 'brown' in the sense of our term. Edgeworth in his 1983 article on ancient Greek words for brown concluded that αἰθων, which generally means 'shining' could also denote a reddish-brown. Sadly, I not currently found an English word that comes from this.

Brown, therefore, is a very interesting topic for considering how the Greeks and Romans differently classified brown - a dark shade or hue rather than a labelled colour in its own right.

[remedyxxl]

feeling lonely & shopping for shoes again

its so stupid how im actually hyperfixating on barefoot shoes but not even in the running/physiological way but in the sense that im obsessed with understanding and typifying the different styles and gaining a broad knowledge of every single available barefoot shoe on the market - mostly bc they are generally so ugly due to the lack of sole, which means that the style must come from the body of the shoe rather than the sole, which is the part of shoes that ive found so attractive in the past. yet barefoot shoes have totally corrected my gait just by my gaining of the sensory feeling of the ground allowing me to have greater awareness of how my foot connects to my overall posture and gait - previously i walked with like zero awareness of my foot, just moving my legs and letting my feet atrophy, squished into shoes which provided a negative kind of sensory feedback, in their tightness allowing a crushing sensation to be my primary feedback that i received from gravity

i have a pair of all-black vivos which are intended for "hiking" potentially but don't have their grippy 7mm sole that their other hiking models have, so its a 5.5mm overall stack + a 2mm thermal insole which ive found feels better overall. they look too unassuming+businesslike for me though, i want a more feminine shoe to accompany them, but other than crocs (not barefoot but close) its been almost impossible to find a colorful, feminine barefoot shoe that is wide enough for me, which also appeals to my style - i used to wear clogs/etc which were feminine bc of their height, but thats obviously out of the question now that my bodys adjusted to barefoot and i dont want to go back, but the available options are so limited

i could get more mens vivos (womens vivos are too narrow for me) bc i like what i have, and they have one colorful model of trail runner, but their branding is so fucking obtrusive and ugly, i hate that they have branding in white accents on the hikers that i have now, at least their dna logo on the side is black and not noticeable, i like their brown hikers in the same style - also want brown boots, as i build my shoe collection again - but the dna thing is so bright white on the brown

i like some of the shoes on mukishoes and magical shoes but they are both based in the EU and returns sound like a nightmare, camper peu is another option but barefoot enough for me, i think they have a stack height of 10mm and i hear they run super narrow, and their mens models are all masculine, i want a warm color like purple, burgundy, pink, or orange with darker accents, i tried some older models of the merrell vapor glove but they were so insanely narrow i had no room for my toes to splay, but i really like that feminine, athletic style - magicalshoes explorer 2.0 is probably the closest i can get but again EU shipping

once i figure out a casual, low top shoe i want maybe a mary jane or a chukka, which get even uglier because theres barely any potential for a charming ugliness, which characterizes most of what i find redeemable in barefoot trail runners

[gayestnerdsinfiction]

Danse Macabre

everyone wish a happy happy birthday/halloween to @korereapers and give her a big thank u for inspiring me to write this fic!! 

read on ao3

Jonathan was known for being reserved, stoic, even rigid at times. He was not the kind of person people associated with a fun time, and as a result his name rarely made it onto event guest lists. Until he began seeing Edward he had very little reason to find himself at any social function, much less a party. But that didn’t mean the Scarecrow couldn’t appreciate a bit of debauchery every so often.

Edward often made a point of bringing Jonathan as his plus-one to the various outings he occupied his time with, and Oswald’s annual Halloween party was no different. Edward had approached Jonathan on the fifteenth of September—two weeks before Oswald’s invitations even made it into the mail—to discuss potential couple’s costumes. By October first Edward had all but locked himself away in his office, the sewing machine running tirelessly for hours at a time.

When Jonathan finally got to see the finished costumes, he had to admit he was impressed with his partner’s handiwork. They were two eighteenth century style suits, one in a brilliant emerald silk and the other in midnight blue velvet. The green suit was paired with a black waistcoat and cream colored cravat. The blue ensemble had gold detailing on the lapels with a waistcoat to match, and when Jonathan ran his fingers across the fabric even he could identify its quality.

“You couldn’t settle for storebought costumes?” Jonathan asked, never resisting a moment to criticize his lover’s extravagance.

“Store-bought vampire costumes are so passé,” Edward replied, as if everyone should know that. “If you really want to stand out, you need to apply a personal touch.”

“Mm,” he hummed, still fingering the blue velvet absently. “So I’m Lestat, then?”

“Yes. And I shall be your naïve, corruptible Louis.” With a flourish, he donned the shoulder length wig he had ordered to complete the look, dark strands falling sloppily over his own orange locks. “I have his eyes,” he said, batting his lashes to draw attention to the eyes in question, an even more brilliant green than the costume. “Though, your hair is probably better suited for Louis’ style. He’s the brunette, after all.”

“If you expect me to put on a blond wig, you are sorely mistaken.”

“I don’t expect any such thing, darling. I only expect you to humor me by dressing up as toxic gay vampires for one night.”

That was something Jonathan could provide. After all, he could do toxic gayness any day of the year.

Though he had put his foot down about the wig, Edward had been able to coax him into wearing a pair of plastic fangs in addition to the elaborate, if narratively inaccurate, costume. With his messy curls and cool brown skin, Jonathan wasn’t much of a match for the vampire Lestat. Edward, however, completely looked the part. His eyes were sharp, wig set perfectly on his scalp, false nails and fangs securely in place. The natural pallor of his skin was fitting for the role, and his freckles had been obscured by creamy, ivory foundation. He was stunning, of course, with all the allure and charm one would expect from a bloodsucking creature of the night. Jonathan felt like a cheap imitation standing beside him, an eyesore by contrast, even though he was wearing a custom velvet suit. He was no competition, that was for sure.

But they weren’t here to compete, he had to remind himself. After all, most of the Lounge’s occupants were too inebriated to notice the details of their costumes, and those that weren’t were too interested in achieving such a state to care. And, after he downed a few drinks himself, Jonathan decided he didn’t really care either.

He was just polishing off two fingers of Scotch when he felt Edward’s soft hand slip into his own, tugging slightly. “Dance with me,” he requested, his voice a little too loud. “I love this song.”

Jonathan had no idea what song it was; some pop garbage with a blaring drumbeat. But he got to his feet and allowed himself to be led into the throng of bodies undulating under the strobing lights. Jonathan liked to dance, and he liked it even more when he was drunk. Even though the music was less than interesting, he couldn’t help but feel his body settle into a comfortable rhythm. His hands found Edward’s waist, pulling the smaller man close against him. Edward responded in kind, pushing his hips back to grind his ass against Jonathan’s groin. One of his hands moved to tangle in Edward’s hair, giving it an experimental tug.

“Careful!” Edward yelped, straightening up almost instantly. “Don’t snatch my wig off in front of everyone.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, not feeling especially apologetic. He swept the curtain of hair to the side and pressed his lips to the nape of Edward’s neck, allowing one of his fangs to dig lightly into his skin.

“Mm,” Edward hummed, turning to face his partner. “You’re not sorry.” He kissed Jonathan, plastic teeth knocking together awkwardly. Before Jonathan could lean in to kiss him again, Edward’s hand appeared in the space between them, pressing a finger to his lips. “One more dance and then we can leave,” he said sternly.

Jonathan sighed, knowing that one dance could easily become two, or three, or a conversation with a friend, or God knows what else. But Edward’s charm was difficult to resist, even when he didn’t look as good as he did right then. He was dazzling as Louis, but he would’ve made a fantastic Lestat. “Fine,” he acquiesced. “One more dance.” 

[yeojaa]

stay gold.

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  blond!jk being a good boy?  idk.  that’s literally it.  wc. 3k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif​, ofc.  author note.  this was meant to be pwp but i cannot shut up so here is this mess that is neither pwp nor something with a legit plotline. 🤠 blame blondie.

Having a content creator boyfriend is fun.  Usually.

You get to go on cool trips, he gives you all of the random shit his sponsors send him, and you get to preen like a cat that ate the canary when his DMs blow up with hundreds of messages.  

Sure, there are the downsides.  All his stupid pranks - the ones that piss you off when you’re trying to do your makeup, the ones that have him dunking ice cubes on you while you’re in the middle of a shower - and his perpetual recording, camera glued to his hand and if not that, then his phone.  There are the rude comments - the oh, that’s his girlfriend? He could do better was a common one - and the long hours he spends editing, holed away in his office;  the beyond inappropriate packages he gets in the mail, thongs and other things that he immediately tosses away with a reassuring tilt of his pretty head.

You don’t mind it though.  He enjoys it, thrives on it, and you’re there to support him.

But you’d never expected this.

This Adonis standing in the doorway, freshly styled strands pushed back from his forehead, glimmering gold falling across his eyes.  He looks, for lack of a better word, unreal.

(You’re not often speechless.  Can’t be, when you’re dating someone like Jeon Jungkook and everything he does either makes you laugh or infuriates you.  Boring isn’t a part of his vocabulary and you’ve learnt to keep up with his antics over the years.)

(Still, this comes close, stealing all the air from your lungs.)

“Hey, baby.”  It’s his usual greeting, offered without hesitation as he crosses the threshold and tosses his keys into the catch-all by the door.  Kicks off his chunky sneakers and peels his sweater over his head, effectively tousling the tawny threads.

He’s so handsome it’s outright disgusting, leaving you gaping up at him from your post on the couch.  Gives you very little to work with as he shimmies down the hall, grabs an apple off the kitchen island, and then not-so-gracefully plops himself down beside you.  

You still haven’t found your words by the time he takes two gigantic bites, flesh crunching between his teeth, big doe eyes sparkling like he’s stepped right out of a Disney film.

“D’you like it?”  

Did you?  Well, obviously.

You’ve never imagined Jungkook blond.  He’d gone through a phase in college, colours of the rainbow rotating through the ends of his hair.  Brown, red, orange, blue.  You’d loved each hue but this was something else entirely.  (Different even from the two months he’d spent as full-on ginger, committing far too hard to his Haikyuu!! Halloween costume.)

This version of him is steeped in some twisted fantasy, a dream crafted by years of bedtime stories and happily ever afters.  It screams Prince Charming and has you reaching for him before you know what you’re doing, threading fingers through the surprisingly soft silk that curls over his ears and looks so lovely next to the silver of his piercings.  

You mean to be gentle, to comb delicately through flax but fuck.  He looks so good you want to devour him.  (You can only imagine your face - a lovesick puppy brought home from the pound.)

There’s still apple in his mouth, juice tracking down his chin because you’re really making it quite hard for him to chew when you’ve got him like this, two hands on either side of his face, holding him in place.  Inspecting him like a piece of meat as he peers at you, deceptively innocent and amused.  “That’s a yes?”  

An answer comes in the form of a kiss, of limbs rearranging and settling directly into his lap.  Knees wide, chest to chest, you can’t even be bothered by the sickly sticky feel of his skin, the way his hands are too cold to be creeping up beneath the hem of your - his - shirt.

(Where had he put the apple?  You know it’s not finished, two bites in and left to roll all over the rug.  You’ll give him shit for that later, when you’re not so distracted.)

“You look like Barbie,”  you mumble against his lips, into the warmth of his mouth.  You ignore the way he laughs, swallowing it down with a pass of your tongue and too much spit swapped, a string of saliva caught between you when you come up for air. 

Somehow, you’re still lightheaded, all your thoughts framed into the familiar silhouette of the boy beneath you.  Cherry red lips - your fault, from all your biting and teasing and the balm you’d applied earlier - and blond hair.  Who would’ve known that was your weakness?

(Deep down, you know Jungkook as a whole is the issue.  That it’s your stupid handsome boyfriend with his lopsided smile and bunny teeth, dimples and that scar on his cheek.  This is just a new layer to be explored, another reason you love him added to the Jungkook Best Boy jar that sits front and centre in your mind’s eye.)

“Don’t say that,”  he groans, equal parts reproach and affection, palms resting where they belong, nestled over your spine.  Long fingers toy with the soft cotton of your thong, brushing over the seamless material with small repetitive motions. 

You realise then his hands aren’t the only things heating up.

The two of you have an understanding, an abiding awareness of the boundaries of your relationship and the roles you take on.  Best friend, occasional sucker for the sake of a TikTok, lover.

He knows how much you hate your dirty laundry being aired - does his very best to never post anything that might be misconstrued, ensures he only ever portrays you in a good light because the internet could be cruel.  (Even if he argued with you in the quiet of your home, he’d keep you safe outside of the four walls.)  

You know how he needs his quiet time but that sometimes, a night out was unavoidable, a part of his life he - and by extension you - couldn’t always say no to.  (Even if you were achy and tired by midnight, glaring down at your phone as he made his rounds, exchanged contact details and rambled about shit that meant nothing.)

He’s learnt to make your eggs the way you love them:  soft in the centre, covered with too much pepper.  He never washes your clothes in hot water (not after The Great Sweater debacle) and he always makes sure not to use your special memory foam pillow.  

You kiss him goodnight without fail and play with his hair until he falls asleep;  you bury your face against his chest when he’s had a long day, signing your love with the felt-tip of your lips.  You bring him fresh cut fruit when he’s been working for more than three hours and wash his hair when he’s stressed. 

Knowing each other was easy;  loving each other was like breathing.

This, though, is different.  New.  Special.  

He’s never been like this before, glazed over in the eyes, patience wearing thin.  Sat so well, picture perfect beneath you and cornsilk crown lighting his entire expression up like a halo, he’s ethereal. 

“Baby,”  he whines, grits through his teeth as you roll your hips that much slower, the glide impossibly smooth thanks to the lychee watermelon lube he’d received to his PO box.  (One of the items you hadn’t thrown away from that package, together with a handful of other toys that’d come in handy over the months.)

You’re shameless, soothing a hand across his cheek, thumb slipping past his lips.  (You ignore the noise of indignation, meet it with a twinkling laugh of your own.)  It sweeps over his tongue, pressing down in tandem with the second sound - one that echoes out of his chest, a growl that pitches into a whine and makes your ears buzz.  “Hi, baby.”

“Stop teasing.”  It’s practically begging - or as close to it as Jungkook will get.  It draws a smile and another pass of your thumb, gliding across his gums to slot against the interior of his cheek.  You’ve got him fishhooked, immobile, even as he glares up at you.

(He’s so, so handsome.  Looks utterly out of it even as he tries to harden his gaze, coerce you into doing what he wants with that stare that makes your heart lurch pathetically in your chest.)

“You don’t like this?”

You know he does - that he loves being pampered.  That he’ll rarely ask, instead pouting at you from wherever he sits until you turn to putty under his gaze and smother him in all the love you have to offer.

“I do.  I just—”  The rest of his words don’t come, stolen by a gasp when you grind against him, swollen head of his cock bumping against your clit.  He’s making a mess of you both, back arching, hips rising, hands fisted into the sheets even as he chases friction like a dog does its tail.  The warmth between your legs is so close he looks as if he’ll lose his mind, rutting against your cunt like just the right angle might get him what he wants.  “Fuck, baby.”

“I’m trying,”  you retort, mouthful of teasing that only earns you another glare, some poor semblance of one as he bites into the webbing of your hand, bucks up impatiently.

“Please.”  He tries again, a different tactic this time, all sugar-spun sweetness.  Strawberry shortcake rather than sour cherry pie, so eager to get what he wants that he’s not above pulling out all the stops.  A hand risen from the sheets, digits decorated in ink swimming over your skin, sinking into the meat of your thigh.

(He doesn’t push though.  Knows you’ll pull the moment he does.)

“Please?”  An echo chamber, endlessly teasing, and a ducked head, lips finding the sweat-slick column of his throat.  Just one drag of your tongue has him crumbling further, careful composure slipping with each swivel of your hips, the edge of your teeth.  There’s nothing but desperation radiating off him, demand choked back when you drift lower, tracing over his chest, teasing him in the ways you know best.  

It’s all so unnecessary, drawing out what he wants until he’s a goner, three seconds from combusting beneath you.  You’d give him anything he ever asked for - offer it all up on a silver plate, a meal fit for a king.  This is just fun, different and exciting. 

You relent with a minor adjustment, settling yourself against him, face dropped into the crook of his neck.  “Slowly.”

He repeats after you, uncertain and hopeful;  his hand falls further, warmth descending to pull you close, hold you still.   As much as he needs this - needs you - he loves the slow burn just as much.  The stutter of his pulse gives him away, erratic beneath your touch.  He’s a thousand miles above the clouds, floating on cloud nine;  every second passed is another tingle of his toes, a tightening of the coil in his stomach.

When he aligns himself against your core, pre-cum pearling over his tip, he does exactly as you’ve asked.  Sinks into you at such a leisurely pace you wonder if you might be the one who splinters apart, shatters into a million tiny pieces at the way he splits you open.  

“Good?”  Jungkook asks so nicely it’s impossible for you to say no, to deny him this tiny bit of reassurance.  

(Maybe it’s the way he looks, crowned in glittering gold, painted by Fra Angelico.  Or maybe it’s how his smile spills like sunshine, a peachy pink horizon dragging over the apples of his cheeks, burnt red like their namesake.)

(Whatever it is, it’s everything you want, packed perfectly and pouting.)

“Good boy,”  you purr, breath hitching once he’s sheathed to the hilt, seated so deeply within that you swear you can feel him in your throat.

You’ve never felt so full before - close to overflow, taunted and taxed by ridges and veins, each flex of his hips that drives him somehow further within your fluttering walls.  So full you might burst, that you can’t possibly hold yourself together when he begins to move, fucking you tenderly, as if he can feel the weight of the moment.  

There’s something happening.  A shift in the air, in the axis of your planet that revolves around him.  It falls on its side, spins wildly out of control, and you’re emotional.  It’s not just his hair - that gilded crown he wears, heavy heavy heavy like aureate coin - or the impossible dark of his eyes - blown out, an entire galaxy devoured by the supermassive black hole that is his pupils.  It’s the things you can’t see, the pieces beneath skin, soft and jammy, the tongue-tart sweetness.

(The thing with Jungkook is that he doesn’t let go, refuses to fully submit, always so careful to regulate his voice when things get to be too much.  He’ll blink back his tears, stifle a sob, even as his breath disappears from nothing but a delicate brush of his chest.)

You take his vulnerability as a treasure, hold it close and craft a chest for its home, promise to keep it safe even while you're the one who poses the most danger.  When it’s your teeth and tongue that eviscerates the soft of his flesh, makes him keen and gasp, heart pounding like hooves, beat imprinted against, under, into your palms.

When he begs you to move - manages the request in a broken articulation that makes you giggle - you give, swivel your hips in a figure eight, an infinity of motion that never ends.  

You take all he has to offer and sing your praise into the wet of his mouth.  Lick over teeth and gums and trade spit for love;  know there’s only more where that came from, that the fountain begs to overflow as he finally - finally - breaks that much more, gripping your hips gentle as can be.  Hands soothe up and down, an unspoken plea in how he thumbs your hip bones, taps hopefully over the small of your lower back.

He doesn’t need to speak for you to hear him. 

It’s more than a kiss forming against your skin.  It’s a confession of adoration, sealed by the frame of his mouth, cemented by the sting of his teeth.  It’s I love you without saying it, plastering the pecks along your spine, placing them safely in all the spaces you’ve created for him.

It’s also an apology, because he’s just torn your castle to pieces, shattered your entire fantasy into smithereens.

He hadn’t expected you to react the way you had, rolling off him as if he hadn’t just been chasing the sweet bliss of release, splitting your walls and making you wail above him.  It has him pouting, utilising the one thing that melts you down like candle wax.  

“Baby,”  he whines, reaching for you, needy and horny and so hard he imagines all the blood has rushed from his head straight to his cock.  Everything spins when he moves with you, scrambles across the California king to paw at your hip.  

He’d been so good for you - wasn’t that enough?

“Don’t,”  you grumble, searing his insides with just one look.  (It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.)

“But—”  A plea punctuated by groping hands, eager as always, smoothing over the swell of your ass, flesh squeezing between knuckles.  He’d normally let this go - fuck into his closed fist in the shower after he’s done something to cut playtime short - but he can’t help it now.  He’s been on the edge for so long, lit up in neon that demands to be seen, heard, felt.

“Don’t dye it again.”  

Oh?

That has him reeling, laughing, such a stupid grin across his face.  It devours everything else, spearing dimples into place as he pulls you against him.  You can feel his smile forming against your skin, the wet drag of his tongue as he sucks a welt into the sensitive spot of your shoulder.

“You wanna play with Barbie, baby?”  It’s such a stupid line - utterly sophomoric and riddled with teasing and yet the delivery has you shivering in his arms, equally childish huff splitting your lips.

Jungkook doesn’t listen to you often - not about silly things like this - but he figures he can, just this once.

“I won’t,”  he chirps, sneaking another kiss, stamping another smooch.  It’s working exactly as he wants, stilling your protesting limbs as he cages you to him, slips his hand back where he most wants to be.  The glide is perfect, a mixture of arousal and fruity lubricant;  he slips a finger in without resistance, grinding his palm against your clit. 

“R-really?”  Of course you don’t believe him.  He messes with you too often, plays too many pranks.  (He deserves that.) 

His promise comes too easy, driven by how nice you feel, how pretty you sound when he presses another digit in along the first.  The scissor of his fingers is languid, exploring for the spots that make you breathless as he hums a noise of affirmation against your neck;  he fucks you open as if he has to, as if you aren’t already dripping, eagerly sucking him in.  “Really.”  

“Put it in then, Ken doll.”

He laughs - and then he does.  In bed, with your knee hooked over his, pace slow and sure and sinful.  In the shower, bent over with his hands bruising your hips.  In the kitchen for a late night snack, another apple in his mouth and your hands in his hair.

Maybe blonds did have more fun. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @codeinebelle​

[mandoalorian]

Happiness [Maxwell Lorenzano x f!Reader]

Author’s note: Please heed warnings before you read. This is angst. There’s a little fluff and a few spicy moments, but at its core, this is a pretty angsty read. It’s a different interpretation of Maxwell, post WW84. Reblogs are so appreciated. I worked really hard on this and it’s not showing up in tags so if you could reblog it... it would literally mean the world to me :( <3

Summary: After the dreamstone debacle, Maxwell Lord loses custody of his son, his home, his job and all his wealth. He has nothing, and what was once the simple task of ‘living’, is suddenly proving to be extremely difficult. Until a beacon of light enters his life. He can only hope that you don’t find out who he really is.

Word count: 4000+

Rating: 18+

Warnings: depression/suicidal thoughts, PSTD/trauma implications, poverty, starvation, binge eating, allusions to sex, male masturbation, food and drink mention.

Masterlist

Max is usually pretty good at keeping himself to himself, but when he hears the commotion from outside his small shanty apartment, he cautiously stalks towards the front door and leans into the wood, gazing out the peephole. He spots you, struggling to unlock the door located on the far side of the hall. Your arms are filled with brown paper bags and an abundance of cardboard boxes circle around your feet. He hears you curse as you drop one of the paper bags. It rips, and groceries spill onto the floor with a clatter. He swallows thickly, feeling his tummy grumble at the sight of fresh fruit and colourful veg. Max hadn’t eaten a single meal this week.

He spends a few more seconds watching you struggle, before the guilt swarms over him and he feels like a creep. He does wonder if he should leave his apartment and help you out though, but eventually he decides on turning his heel and walks back to the torn leather sofa. He just knows he’ll be some kind of intrusion on you. If Max has learned one thing, it’s that he needs to stay away from other people. Otherwise, he’d just hurt them. Even if hurting them was the last thing he intended to do.

Still, he finds himself marvelling over you. He wants to go over and introduce himself. He thinks you’re absolutely stunning. Maybe it’s just because he hasn’t seen a woman (other than his ex-wife) in just short of a year, or maybe it’s something more genuine -- like the way you wear your hair or that glimmer in your eye. Once upon a time, Maxwell would’ve strolled on over to your apartment with the utmost confidence and charm, with the sole intention of winning you over and taking you back to his place. He wouldn’t dare do that now.

He stares at the wall clock, and watches as the minute leg ticks. It’s painfully slow. It’s 5:52pm, and Maxwell is just waiting until 6pm, because he knows at 6pm he can call his son, Alistair. If he tries calling a second earlier though, he is certain his ex-wife will throw a rage, claiming that he’s breaking court order. Maxwell had never been one to follow rules, but now, he didn’t have much of a choice. As he waits for the leg to strike 6, all he can really do is think about you. Truth be told, he hates that he’s thinking about you this much. He doesn't even know you.

But you’re so pretty. Your features are soft and delicate. Your clothes fit you perfectly and hug your body in all the right places. He can’t help but think what you sound like. He wonders if you’re from around here. He wonders why you moved into this particular neighbourhood, out of all the other neighbourhoods in rural D.C. He should go over and say hello at least. It would be the polite thing to do. He considers bringing over a bottle of wine to make a peace offering, but then he remembers all he has in his refrigerator is a stick of butter and a bottle of milk that has grown old and fermented. He assumes that you probably wouldn’t care for such housewarming gifts.

Maxwell calls Alistair as soon as the clock turns six. As always, Alistair is more than excited to speak to his dad, beaming brightly down the line. Alistair tells Maxwell about his step-father, and how he’d built a pool in their back garden for Ali and his mom. Max’s lips curl into a frown when he realises that his ex’s new husband is giving Alistair everything Max couldn’t. And once again, Maxwell feels like he has failed as a father.

For a short while, Alistair babbles about his day at school and how he got full marks on a pop quiz. Maxwell is as proud as punch. He has no doubt that success will one day find Alistair, he just hopes Alistair has an easier time handling it. Max can hear a faint yelling in the background of the phone call and eventually Alistair is interrupted.

“Oh-- mommy is calling me to eat dinner.” Alistair says softly, his voice suddenly growing oddly timid. Max’s stomach grumbles again at the mention of dinner.

“But we still have ten minutes left of our phone call.” Max replies matter-of-factly. He hopes Alistair can’t hear the disappointment in his voice. This isn’t his fault. He hears his ex yell again and Max can’t help but feel his face harden with disdain.

“I know, I’m sorry daddy, but I have to go.” The croak in Alistair’s voice is enough to break Maxwell’s heart. He wishes this could’ve been different. It should’ve been different.

Max knows he can’t argue though. It’s only futile. So he accepts the fact that Alistair has to leave the phone call early -- at least he was getting something to eat. Maxwell remembers when he was Alistair’s age. His mom always struggled to put food on the table because his dad would spend all the money on drinks at the local bar. Maxwell is just grateful his son isn’t starving.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Maxwell reassures before taking a shaky exhale. “I love y--”

But then, the line went dead. Max assumes that Alistair’s mom has ripped the phone from his hand and hung up. Sighing, Maxwell forces himself to stand up and walk on over to his bedroom. The bed is unmade and there are several piles of dirty laundry all over the floor. He jams open the sticky window and climbs onto the balcony, inhaling the cool evening air and lighting a cigarette. Smoking was a habit he’d gotten himself into when he was much younger, but he’d grown out of it when he’d hit limelight. Now though, it was growing back in to be a shameful addiction that he just couldn’t shake. It helped him stop feeling hunger, though.

As he flicks the orange lit ash over the edge of the balcony, his eyes catch on you again. You are standing on the street, talking to some guy. You’re laughing, and it looks like this mystery man’s hand is caressing your arm. It’s probably your boyfriend; Maxwell assumes, and the pang of jealousy in his chest turns into unadulterated sadness as he realises he was probably never going to find love again. He peers over the edge of the balcony once more as he takes a final drag of the cigarette, and he wonders if the jump would kill him.

Maxwell’s eyes begin to sting, and he climbs back into his bedroom, knocking his head on the window pane in the process.

He can’t sleep that night, and he tosses and turns in his three quarter sized bed. He could feel every spring in his mattress. What he would give to just sleep one more night in the soft, plush king sized bed he used to take for granted. He switched on his amber tinged bedside lamp and swatted away a moth that flew towards it. Maxwell stared at the ceiling and wondered if the damp had gotten worse. Even if it had, it wasn’t like Max had the courage to bring it up with the landlord.

He finds himself thinking about you again. He lived to see the way you smiled when you spoke to that guy, or the way your hair blew ever so slightly in the evening breeze. Max wraps his hand around his semi-hard cock and begins to jerk himself off. To nobody’s surprise though, he doesn’t finish -- the overwhelming feeling of revolt consuming him. He thinks he’s disgusting, and that nobody would ever want to touch him. He can’t even stand touching himself.

He falls asleep not long after that.

Max once had a pretty decent sleep schedule, going to bed at 10 and waking up at 6. But now he was up until the early hours of the morning, overthinking and hating himself. He wakes up three or four times a night from the same recurring nightmare. It’s a replay from the clear night of July ‘84, when he took over everyone’s TV screens. His doctor prescribed him therapy for it, which would probably help, but Maxwell just can’t afford it.

He wakes up to the sound of a bang on his front door. Max scrambles to his feet in a panic, checking the time on his alarm clock. It’s 2pm. And the person at the door could easily be his landlord, finally having enough and kicking him out. Max’s rent is two months overdue.

But it’s not his unforgiving landlord. It’s you. And you’re holding a fruit basket.

“Hey neighbour!” you smile pleasantly before introducing yourself to him. “I just moved in across the hall. I wasn’t sure what you’d like… but I figured everyone likes fruit!”

Maxwell stays quiet, standing there in complete disbelief. No one has shown him this amount of kindness in so long…

The prolonged silence makes you feel a little strange. He still hasn’t accepted the fruit basket, nor had he said anything. He was just… staring at you. It wasn’t a slimy gawk. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what his dark eyes were trying to tell you.

“—I’m sorry,” you continue eventually when he doesn’t speak, dropping the fruit basket by your side and turning away. “I uh— would you like me to get you something else?”

Maxwell’s eyes widen and he quickly shakes his head. “No!” he exclaims, opening his front door wider and taking the fruit basket from you. “I’m sorry,” he apologises. “I uh— I love fruit.”

You smile at his fluster, and you swear you notice a rosy pink blush cross his cheeks. It’s adorable.

“Oh okay, that’s good then.”

Maxwell prays you can’t hear his stomach grumble at the sight of the fresh fruit. He’s so excited to eat it all. “How can I repay you?”

You raise your eyebrows at his proposition and chuckle awkwardly. “Repay me? No no,” you laugh. “It’s just a fruit basket,”

It wasn’t just a fruit basket though. It was the only food Max had.

“I mean, you could tell me your name.”

Maxwell curses, realising he hasn’t even introduced himself. Gods— he wonders when exactly he’d lost his charm.

“Right, I’m sorry. I’m Max.” He extends his arm and offers you a handshake. You giggle, but accept.

He feels a bolt of electricity run up his arm when your fingers interlink with his, and he wonders if you can feel it too.

“Very formal Max,” you acknowledge with a smile.

Maxwell genuinely hasn’t communicated with anyone since July 1984. It’s probably about time he ditches the businessman persona, although he doesn’t realise he still uses it from time to time. Old habits die hard.

“I must say, I feel like I recognise you from somewhere.”

“No. You don’t.” Maxwell quickly snaps back and you’re afraid you struck a nerve.

There’s a longer silence and you find yourself wondering about your neighbour. He’s right in front of you and yet you can’t help but feel as though he’s some kind of enigma. Maybe it’s the crinkles in the corner of his eyes or his wry smile.

“Um…” you mumble, your gaze trailing behind him as you try and peer into his apartment. You can’t see much though. From where you stand it looks very empty… and brown. “If you weren’t busy tonight maybe you could come over and we could get to know each other. I uh-- don’t have many friends yet.” you explain shyly, nervously biting your lip.

You didn’t usually get nervous talking to new people, but there was just something about Maxwell that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His presence made butterflies flutter in your tummy and your hands feel clammy with excitement… or maybe anticipation. He stares at you blankly before clearing his throat.

“I uh-- yeah I mean-- maybe,” Maxwell shrugs cooly. “If I’m not busy.”

Pft, busy. Max hasn’t been busy since the dreamstone debacle.

“Of course,” you nod your head and smile. “Well, you’re welcome to come on over anytime.”

And then, without thinking, Maxwell replies. “And you’re welcome to come over here anytime too.”

You feel your smile grow into a grin and you reach out, placing your hand on Max’s arm. “Okay, well, it was nice meeting you.” you bite your lip.

Max’s heart stops when you touch him, and for the first time, he doesn’t flinch away. You’re holding his bicep and… he likes it. It’s not sending him into a spur of anxiety, in fact, he feels better just for finally plucking the courage to talk to you. And now you’re touching him. You’re not repulsed or disgusted… in fact, you’re smiling. You look happy, and maybe Max is happy too. Maybe. Max doesn’t even realise the small smile that’s crept upon his lips.

“Nice meeting you too.” He swallows and you wave goodbye.

He watches you walk back into your apartment, drinking in your appearance. You were wearing jeans and a sweatshirt today. It was casual… but he liked it.

Even when he finally gets back into his apartment and slumps against his front door, he’s still smiling. This feeling is so unfamiliar.

Maxwell finds himself pondering whether or not he should visit you tonight. He so desperately wanted to see you again-- see your pretty face and sparkling eyes and that perfect smile. Maybe Max could have a friend. That would be nice.

But he quickly gets scared again. He knows immediately that you’re too good for him, and that he’ll only end up hurting you. And then he’ll be left alone again. Max doesn’t know if he can survive another heartbreak.

Once again, he lights a cigarette and sits on the balcony, and wonders if the jump will kill him.

Then he realises he suddenly doesn’t want to die. At least, not yet. He wants to see you again first.

Max doesn’t even bother finishing the cigarette. He taps away the ash and climbs back inside, stripping himself of his clothes and turning on the shower. If he was going to see you tonight, he’d at least make the effort.

The soap he uses is from Dollar Tree, and it doesn’t really have a scent. It made a change from his favourite Jo Malone pomegranate fragranced soap, that’s for sure. He gets annoyed trying to squirt out the very little remenints of his shampoo bottle. Although he doesn’t have much, he’s satisfied when he comes out of the shower. He feels clean and fresh.

Maxwell rakes through his tiny collapsing wardrobe, trying to find an outfit that will make him appear somewhat presentable. He’s probably overthinking this whole thing -- after all, it isn’t exactly a date. But he still feels the strong inclination to impress you. He so desperately wants to be liked by you.

Most of his everyday wear is stained or ripped or very aged. But then he spots the small duffel bag at the bottom of his closet and he remembers he packed some of his old business wear when he moved out of his manor and into this apartment. He hadn’t looked in the duffel bag once since moving though, afraid that seeing the clothes would unleash some kind of trauma on him.

Max crosses his legs and hesitantly unzips the black bag. Inside, he finds a few fitted shirts, a few tailored pants, and one suit jacket. He even spots a belt and two patterned ties. He’s a little upset though when he can’t find the suspenders he used to wear. They were always his favourite part of his outfit.

Maxwell can’t bring himself to dress in the whole get up, but he does pick out a white button down shirt and grey pants. He tucks the shirt in, and wraps the belt through the loops in his pants, clicking it into place. Opting to look slightly more casual, Max leaves the first two buttons of his shirt undone and rolls the sleeves up to his elbows.

And for the first time in a long time, Max likes the way he looks. He wishes he had some cologne to spray, and he could definitely do with a haircut, but this is good enough.

He doesn’t want to seem desperate, so he does wait (albeit impatiently) until 8:30pm to see you. In the meantime, he eats over half of the fruit basket. He tells himself he’ll stop after an apple and an orange, but strangely enough. He can’t. He can’t stop. It just tastes so good and he’s so hungry -- so he eats until he feels sick. He wants to lie down because he really doesn’t feel too good at all, but he’s not going to pass up this opportunity to see you for anything. He feels a little cold, so he throws on his suit jacket which is grey in colour and matches the tailored pants. Max chokes down a glass of water, straightens up his posture, and knocks on your door.

He’s not waiting for long, and he’s delighted when he sees you answer the door. Your lips are painted a ruby red colour and you’re wearing your hair differently. Not only that, but you’d changed out of your sweater and jeans, and now you’re doting a knee length flowy dress. Your feet are slipped into some fuzzy looking slippers though, and Max admires the small diamond stud earrings that you don. They really bring out the colour of your eyes.

“I was hoping you’d come.” you reveal nervously, opening the door wider and looking your neighbour up and down. He looks so incredibly handsome in his change of outfit. Max feels himself blush under your gaze and he smiles.

“I just couldn’t pass this up.” he laughs nervously.

You move out the way and gesture for him to enter your apartment. Max notes that it’s roughly the same size as his, but it’s already filled with more furniture. Judging from the plentiful cardboard boxes in every corner, you hadn’t finished unpacking either. You find yourself watching Max as he takes in your front room. You take his jacket and hang it on your coat peg which stands by your front door. You definitely do recognise him from somewhere, especially seeing him in that shirt and those pants…

You shrug off your curiosity temporarily though, and take his hand, pulling him into your kitchen. Max loves the way your hand fits so perfectly into his. He doesn’t want you to pull away. And you don’t, until you reach the refrigerator.

“I have cranberry juice, tea, coffee-- no milk though, uh…” you trail off and check the cupboards. You beam when you see the bottle of champagne that your friend had gifted you. It was to celebrate moving out. You present him with it and grin. “Would you care to have a glass with me?”

Max remembers the distinct taste of the bubbles on his lips and he nods in agreement. You don’t have any fancy glasses, let alone flutes, so you pour the pale yellow liquid into two plastic tumblers. You hand one to Max and cradle your own in both of your hands.

“You should propose a toast.” you laugh jokingly.

Luckily, Maxwell has always been able to handle being put on the spot. He only takes a few seconds to come up with something.

“To new friends.” he announces with a charming smile, and clinks his cup against yours.

Max hasn’t had a drink in a long time, so it doesn’t take long for it to reside in his system and he begins to feel a bit tipsy. It’s not bad though. Maxwell is relaxed, and he’s comfortable. You bounce off each other and make each other laugh right up until the early hours of the morning. You bring out Monopoly and you’re surprised at how good he is at it. He gives you advice on buying properties and investments and it truly sounds like he knows what he’s talking about. You wonder what he does for a living.

“I didn’t say this earlier,” Max says as you pour out the last of the champagne. The alcohol has him buzzing with confidence. “But you look breathtaking, really. That dress and those earrings and your lips…”

And you don’t know what it is, but Max just makes you feel so good. “My lips?” you repeat breathlessly, gazing into his honeyed brown eyes.

Max nods wordlessly when you climb into his lap and straddle his hips. You place the palms of your hands flat against his chest and nudge your nose against his, giggling playfully. Max feels scared -- he’d never been this close to anyone in so long, let alone a beautiful woman like yourself.

Gods, he’s so handsome too. A small piece of his hair has fallen out of place and it crosses his forehead. You’re quick to brush it out of his face with your finger, and one of your hands cup his cheek. He closes his eyes and leans into the warmth of your touch, humming in contentment. When he opens his eyes again, they’re noticeably shades darker.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, his voice low like it had dropped a few octaves.

You nod desperately and your lips crash against his.

You don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the adrenaline but he’s an amazing kisser -- perhaps the best you’ve ever had. You roll your hips over his lap and he moans, but doesn’t break the kiss once. His large hands roam around your back and squeeze at the soft flesh of your thighs. The Monopoly game has been long discarded now, leaving only you and Max revelling in each other’s touch.

You want more. You want him. You dip your hand in between your bodies and find his belt, trying your best to undo the buckle so you can get him out of his pants. You’re certain you can feel his erection pressing against the inside of your thigh, and you’d be right in thinking he wants this too.

But what he wants the most, is to not ruin things between you both, and Max feels like that maybe this is all happening a bit too fast. He doesn’t want to reject you, and he’s afraid of hurting you, but he’s also afraid of you getting so close to him -- that you find out who he truly is, and the things he does. He doesn’t want to lose you because you make him feel so happy. For the first time in potentially years, Maxwell feels genuine happiness. He doesn’t want to fuck up, not when he’s been doing so well.

So he pulls away from you breathlessly and moves your hands away from him. He holds them though, brushing his thumbs in comforting circles against your soft skin.

“I really like you,” he smiles. “And tonight has been… great. You have no idea how much I’ve enjoyed myself. But I-- I really want to see you again. And do this again. And have a good time with you. I just don’t think we should-- you know--” Maxwell tries to explain. He feels bad for rejecting you. “It’s not that I don’t want to. Because trust me,” he sighs, closing his brown eyes. “I really really do. But--”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” you smile, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “I understand, and honestly, I think you’re probably right. I’ve had a good time too though.”

Maxwell can’t help but beam knowing that there’s no hard feelings between you both.

“So we can do this again?” he asks hopefully.

“Yes.” you reply, pressing a chaste yet sweet kiss to his lips.

You wiggle off his lap and Maxwell stands up. “I should head back home then,” he says. “It’s late. But maybe we can do something tomorrow?”

“I’d like that a lot.” you agree.

Max gives you one final kiss and part of you wants to ask him if he’d be willing to stay the night. You shake away the temptation and tell yourself there’d be plenty more opportunities for him to stay over. Before he leaves, you see him abruptly spin around on his heel and point his index finger towards you.

And your heart drops.

You freeze.

You think you can feel your blood run cold and the colour drain out of your face.

Because in that moment, when he points his finger at you, you recognise him.

You remember him.

You know who he is.

“I almost forgot my jacket.” Max laughs, sliding past you.

You feel like you can’t move though.

This was the man who single handedly almost destroyed the entire planet.

But how -- how could it be Maxwell Lord? He was so sweet and kind and funny. How could the man you just made out with, the man you shared a bottle of champagne with -- your own neighbour…

How could it be Maxwell Lord?

How hadn’t you noticed sooner. Hell, his name was literally Max Lorenzano.

“Goodnight.” Max tells you.

You try and force yourself to say it back but no words come out. Your throat feels dry and you’re panicking.

Max doesn’t even notice though. He’s too busy beaming with happiness when he leaves.

You aren’t sure if you’re going to see him again.

When Maxwell gets back home, he can’t rid himself of the grin that’s plastered across his lips. He sits out on the balcony and lights a cigarette, but this time, when he looks at the ground beneath you, he doesn’t wonder if the jump will kill him.

His eyebrows furrow together when he notices the florist across the road, and he wonders how much a bouquet of flowers will cost him. He wants to get you something; as a thank you for giving him a good time.

He simply can’t wait to see you again.

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[critrolesideblog]

Evening falls in the Pearlbow Wilderness with the last of the autumn leaves. A bitter wind heralds the coming of winter as it rattles its way through the skeletal trees, and the veil of gray that has been pulled across the sky all day awaits its cue to blanket the world beneath with snow. So, when a golden-amber light shines briefly in the wilderness, halfway between Erdeloch and Kaltenloch, there is no mistaking it for dying sunlight, which has not been seen by these tree trunks for some time, and it is little surprise at all, when a man with hair the color of a hearthfire appears out of the light with the soft crunch and thump of sturdy boots meeting forest floor.

The man looks north briefly, and then turns in a slow, clockwise circle, his azure eyes, bruised from lack of sleep, searching for any sign of his quarry. He hears the familiar, chittering call of an elf owl, and watches it take to the sky in a flutter of feathers and rustle of tree branches. A smile pulls on one side of his lips, and he hopes the bird is a good omen as he turns the slow circle again, but he finds only trees, trees, and more trees. The wind, delighted to have a new orange toy at its disposal, tugs excitedly at his hair. "Go where the wind blows, I suppose," he says with a sigh, and the leaves on the ground agree quietly that it is really the only sensible way to be getting along.

As he sets off west-northwest, he reaches into one of his coat's many pockets to touch the trinket housed there. It is a small thing, barely larger than a gold coin. He stole it over a year prior from a place far east of here. He turns it over in his pocket four times, before methodically tracing the design on its face with his thumb, a new habit he has picked up in recent weeks as he has searched for the woman it reminds him of.

Night arrives quickly in the autumnal wilderness, and cold quickly follows suit. Luckily, the man knows a thing or two about light and heat. He produces a flame in his unpocketed hand as quickly and easily as most people breathe. Most trees would be perturbed at the sudden appearance of fire in their midst, but the trees of this forest are old and delight in the man's bright magic. You are so close, they whisper as the wind glides across their branches. She is just there. The snow, sensing its cue, begins to fall then, kissing the man on the top of his head, shoulders, and cheeks, melting against his skin like a lover. Come, come, the flurries beckon. You are very close. He does not hear them, but he feels a renewed determination, or perhaps stubbornness, as he sets his shoulders and forges ahead.

It is the light he notices first. He extinguishes the flame in his hand, thinking it a possible trick of eye, but no, he can definitely glimpse a glimmer of light up ahead. He notices the trees next, the way they have created a path for him, their branches curling elegantly overhead like living archways. Finally, pace quickening, he catches the scent of woodsmoke and food on the air. As he gets closer, the glimmer coalesces into a series of arcane lights, like too-still fireflies, leading a path up to the door of a home, now visible in the clearing, and wreathing it in gold. He feels a pang of nostalgia as he is reminded of a tree, far away, glowing with daylight in a city of eternal night.

He blames this rush of sentimentality for his lack of caution as he steps through the final archway. He does not sense the arcane wire until he has already tripped it. He hisses in pain, flinching backward, as bright, white light sears his retinas. Old habit brings his hands instinctively level with his face, palms outward, a position of readiness disguised as surrender. He hears what can only be the door ahead opening with a groan, and a woman's voice calls out from the light, full-throated and wary.

"Who's there?"

"My name is Caleb, Caleb Widogast." He replies, trying his best to keep his voice level and calm, despite his mounting discomfort at the fact that he cannot see. "I mean you no harm. I am looking for someone. I believe her name is Torvi. I met her once, some years ago, and I wish to speak with her, if I may." He pauses to allow a reply, but all he hears is the wind in the branches and the faint crackle of a fire. He can feel his pulse thumping nervously in his throat. He ventures to speak again. "I," he pauses, considering how direct he should be. "I met her in-- in a place called--"

"I know what the place is called." The woman's voice is not soft exactly, but it is no longer quite so sharp. The lights dim back to their firefly glow. "You are not the first person from Vergessen to find their way here." He thinks it might be sadness he hears in her voice and ventures to open his eyes slowly.

As the black splotches on his vision reduce, the woman comes slowly into focus. He notices first the book in a sling on her hip, dark leather stark against the golden yellow of her dress. Next, the dishcloth in her hands, giving the impression of being caught in the middle of a chore and undoubtedly hiding any number of spell components. It is not Torvi. Torvi's face is the first clear memory he has after ... after. He thinks he sees a resemblance, in the shape of her eyes, the sweet-apple roundness of her cheekbones, the broad curve of her nose, the pointed slope of her ears. Her jaw is different, though, more square, her shoulders more broad, her stature just a bit too tall. "May I ask who you are?"

"I'm Maeve, Torvi's sister." She beckons him with a tilt of her head. "Come on in."

Caleb approaches with greater caution this time, as Maeve steps back, opening the door further. He casts Detect Magic with a practiced twist of his hand and spots no further traps on the path ahead of him -- at least, none that are currently activated. There are, however, a dozen different wards that he can see around the perimeter of the clearing and a dozen more traps besides. It is some of the most intricately woven Abjuration magic he has had the pleasure of witnessing, and he regrets, for just an instant before he steps through the doorway, that he does not have time right now to investigate it further.

His beleaguered eyes adjust to the candle and firelight of the interior to take in a simple but well-appointed home. There are cabinets and a large work bench along the far wall. Herbs of all varieties hang from the rafters. There is a bookcase filled to bursting with books of all sizes, some of which glow with magic. There is a large dining table, crowned with a steaming cauldron of stew, and there, in a chair by the hearthfire, is Torvi. She has a blanket pulled around her, and she is leaning against one side of the armchair, her arm curled beneath her chin as a pillow, gazing into the hearthfire, seemingly lost in thought, or perhaps, just lost. She gives no indication that she has noticed him enter.

He has had weeks to get used to the idea of her being alive and not dead, as he had assumed her to be from the moment Ikithon took posession of her holy symbol all those years ago, but no amount of mental preparation could have prepared him for the experience of seeing her there exactly as he remembered her.

"This will hurt." The first words to cut through the clouds in a decade, as the heart-shaped face of a half-Elven woman, with dark-brown skin and sunlight-on-honey eyes, comes into focus, her warm hands caressing his face. "Like saltwater on a wound, it is necessary. There is so much you may yet do." Her expression shifts, then, from an apologetic smile to slack-jawed awe. Her eyes are bright as they rove across his face. "I see the face of Corellon in you."

Now that he is within the warmth of the home, Caleb cannot attribute the tingling numbness in his face and hands to the cold. His heart pounds against his ribcage, as desperate to escape as he suddenly is, but he manages to draw in a deep, shaky breath. Breathe, he reminds himself. He  grips the charm in his pocket with all his strength, such as it is, and takes a deep breath again. Eins, swei, drei... It takes him a moment to realize that Maeve is looking at him expectantly. "Sorry?" He croaks.

"I said, if you want to speak with her, you'll have to wait, but if you're not in a hurry, she'll come around soon enough."

"Ah, ja, I can wait." He picks a point on Maeve's cheek, just below her eyes, to fix his gaze upon. Stay on task, Widogast. "I had hoped to speak with you as well. Perhaps, we can do that first." One of her eyebrows quirks upward.

"Alright," she says, after a moment. "We can do that over dinner. You can set your coat and things there" Though her words are phrased as suggestions, her voice rings with the authority of someone used to being listened to, as she motions to a coat rack by the door. Her eyes flick to his pocketed hand. There is still a wariness in the set of her shoulders, and the dishcloth still partly obscures one of her hands. Ah.

Caleb nods in acquiescence and acknowledgment, one paranoid arcanist to another, and removes the hand from his pocket slowly, palming the trinket as he does so. He turns away from her and divests himself of his scarf and coat, keeping the trinket in hand all the while. He keeps his eyes on the wood floor, the cob wall, the curling leaf design of the wooden coat hooks. When he turns back, Maeve has set three places at the dining table. "Ah, none for me, please," he says, waving a staying hand as he crosses to the table. She pauses, ladle suspended in midair, and her eyes pass over his thin form, even thinner now that he no longer has his coat, in frank, skeptical appraisal. Judging by the unimpressed look on her face, she finds him wanting.

"We feed our guests around here," she says, in the same authoritative tone, and ladles soup into each of the three bowls. Caleb's lips form a thin line, briefly, the only outward indication of his inward prickling at this insistence, but he quickly clears the frown from his face. He wants her amenable to his request, and if he has to eat a little, in spite of the knotted nerves residing where his stomach should be, so be it. He notices that his bowl, at least, is more broth than vegetable as Maeve retrieves a large loaf of crusty bread from a cupboard, tears off a large piece for each of them, and settles into the seat across the table from him. "So," she says, before digging into her bowl. "What did you wish to speak to me about?"

Caleb takes a deep breath. "Are you familiar with a man by the name of Trent Ikithon?"

Maeve stills. Her eyes meet Caleb's, wary and discerning. "I know of him -- he is one of the members of the Cerberus Assembly -- but I have never met him."

"Count yourself lucky," Caleb says, forcing his face into a wry smile. He launches into a monologue he has rehearsed many times over the past few weeks, detailing some of the crimes of his former mentor, how Ikithon used Vergessen as a base of operations, the ordeal of his trial and imprisonment, the nigh certainty of the involvement of other Assembly members in Ikithon's crimes, and the painstaking, fruitless search to find anyone willing to testify against them. Maeve's eyes stay on him all the while as she takes in every word with a quiet, steadfast focus that reminds him of another wizard he knows. "So," he says at last, after pausing to eat a small bite of broth-soaked bread. "If there is any evidence you can offer, any testimony of anything you or your sister might have witnessed --"

"No."

Caleb blinks once, twice, three times. "No?"

"No," she repeats, softly. "I admire what you are doing, but we cannot help you."

"If you are afraid of reprisals, I can assure you--"

"I'm fairly certain you can assure nothing where the Assembly is involved," she says, with a cynical smile, "no matter how powerful you or your friends with the Cobalt Soul are. But, nevertheless, I have no evidence to offer. I witnessed nothing, aside from my sister's declining health, which is too circumstantial to be helpful, and any evidence she might offer would not stand up in court of law."

Caleb's shoulders and head curl forward as her words hit him like a blow to the chest. He hazards a glance at the woman by the fire, who has not moved over the course of their conversation. "Is she so unwell?"

". . . No." Maeve drags the word out into two syllables. "She is much better than she was, but..." She taps a quick staccato rhythm against the side of her bowl with her spoon, before gazing across the room at her sister. "Torvi was not insane before she went to Vergessen, only inconvenient. When she was a teenager, she began performing miracles and wonders around our village, and she was not shy about declaring their provenance. She was always blessing people that they may 'walk in Corellon's beauty' or 'may the light of the Archeart guide them.'" Caleb's heart sinks as he guesses where this story is going. Maeve shrugs, her gaze dropping back to her bowl. "We got fined every time the Reapers came to town. The villagers didn't care, so long as their kid was healed or their shop brought in coin -- a blessing was a blessing. But she didn't stop there. She also went after the priest to the All-Hammer that kept the shrine in our village. She said he worshiped the Empire, not the Gods."

"I bet that made her a lot of friends in high places."

Maeve gives a snort of humorless laughter at this, her cynical smile returning. "No kidding. My parents made a deal with the lawmaster: instead of sending her to jail, they agreed that her worship of "false gods"--" she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers "-- was a sign of her obvious madness, and sent her to Vergessen instead." She pushes her soup around the bowl with her spoon. "They thought they were doing her a kindness. But, regardless," her eyes flash up to catch his, hard with grim certainty. "Even if she was completely well, I think we both know the word of a convicted heretic and idolator is worth very little in the eyes of the law."

Caleb rubs his tired eyes with a sigh, as his left hand worries at the charm. He has so much work yet to do. Da'leth, Margolin, Tversky -- they were all too close to the Volstrucker program not to have been involved. They had to be removed from power for any real change to take place, and his search for concrete evidence and testimony had been so fruitless. When he had found record of Torvi's discharge from Vergessen, it ... it had felt like a sign, he admits to himself, cringing a little at the irrationality of it. A sign that perhaps he was on the verge of a breakthrough. He unfurls his hand to reveal the trinket: a small disc of silver engraved with two moons backed by a four-pointed star.

Maeve, glimpsing the symbol, tilts her head curiously. "Are you a devotee of Corellon?"

The idea that someone could mistake him for a devotee of any god is strange enough to make him fumble the charm as he turns it over again in his hand. "Ah, I cannot say so, no. I have never been much for religion."

Maeve's gestures with her chin toward the book holstered at his side. "Why bother with the fickle will of Gods when us mortals can achieve so much on our own?" It is not really a question. There is a book on her own hip after all.

Caleb nods. "That is part of it." He turns the charm over in his hand again, and a memory rises to the surface of his mind: the soft, rhythmic clack-clack of wooden prayer beads as they sift through his mother's clever fingers. She kneels before the shrine of Pelor, eyes closed, the dawn light shining off her burnished copper hair, prayers whispering earnestly through her lips. Much good that it did her. "For a long time, it seemed to me the supposed benevolence of the gods was nothing but a cruel joke." Bless my son that he may live always in Your light. "My view is a bit softer now, but ..." Bless our Empire that we may bring light to the dark corners of the world.

Maeve nods. Her eyes gleam with a cold anger. "I rage at that one, sometimes," she says, her eyes darting toward the moonlit star in his hand. "And argue -- one-sided." A wry smile twists her lips.

The sudden scrape of metal on metal makes both of their heads turn at once toward the front window. It opens with a creak and in hops a tiny elf owl.

Maeve rises and crosses quickly to the window. "You've been eavesdropping, haven't you?" She asks, as she closes the window with a sharp snap. "It's very rude to keep your guest waiting." The owl's head swivels to gaze at Caleb, and he recognizes immediately the familiar glow of Fey magic in the bird's eyes. With another little hop, it takes flight from the window sill and lands on the table a foot from him. There is a long moment of silence as the bird looks him over, this way and that, and -- pip, pip, pip-- hops a little closer, faerie fire still burning its eyes.

Caleb remembers well the safe, comforting distance of viewing the world through a familiar's eyes. "I had a little owl like you once," he says, softly. A smile tugs at his lips as he remembers Frumpkin perched on Beau's shoulder, his tiny feathers ruffled by the ocean breeze. "Well, he was a cat really, but he was an owl for a little while."

"She is a bigger owl really," says the first voice he remembers from Vergessen. "But she is small for right now."

Caleb takes a deep breath. Eins, swei, drei... He forces himself to tear his eyes from the safe visage of the little bird and face her. She is not quite looking at him, but she is facing his direction now. He can see clearly now that the light reflected in her upturned eyes is not fire but Fey. "Do-- do you remember me, Schwester?"

"Of course, I do," she says, voice soft and warm.

Caleb rubs his thumb over the design on the charm one last time. "I brought this for you," he says, holding it out for the owl to inspect. "To replace the one that was taken." The owl bobs its head this way and that in a circular motion, and then snaps up the trinket so quickly that Caleb barely has time to worry for his fingers before the bird is midair again. She lands on the back of the chair, dropping the charm onto Torvi's waiting palm. Her hand closes around it, and as it does, the light in her eyes grows and brightens until they shine like twin stars from her face. They are bright enough that Caleb is not able to look at her long without needing to avert his weary eyes. It is not unlike the ways he has seen Jester and Caduceus' magic manifest at times, and he wonders what visions her deity is granting her, as Maeve resumes her seat across from him.

The room is quiet for a long while, save for the crackle of the hearthfire and the occasional scrape of Maeve's spoon against her bowl. The tiny owl is beginning to doze on the back of the chair, when the light disappears from Torvi's eyes with a blink, and she looks down at the trinket with her own eyes for the first time. "Beautiful," she whispers, as errant tears spill down her cheeks.

"Schwester..." It feels cruel to ask, another sin to add to the pile, but she is here now. Really here, and he has traveled all this way. He has to ask. "Schwester, is there anything you remember about your time at Vergessen, any evidence you can offer, any direction you can point me in, to help me bring down those who used that place for evil?"

Still gazing at the talisman, she tilts her head in a way that reminds Caleb of a curious bird and seems to consider his question for a moment. "You were the first one I restored in that place," she says at last. "Half mad and half cursed, so young and so full of Corellon's beauty and magic." The ghost of a smile curls around her lips as she rubs her thumb over the design on the charm in much the same way Caleb had a moment before. "And now you have done so many beautiful and important things." And ugly and terrible things, Caleb thinks wryly. The scales are not yet balanced.

"I just need to do a little more, Schwester." A phantom, stinging itch starts up in his forearms, and his fingers worry against each other for lack of the charm to turn between them.

Torvi's eyes meet his without warning, and he is caught like a startled creature in the sudden glimpse of sunlight.

"Fuck, if I ever have to sit in a courtroom again, it'll be too fuckin' soon," Beau says, stretching in the dim lamplight outside the tavern. He makes a noise of agreement, and she glances at him. "Y'know, Yasha's got some unfinished business in Xhorhas. We've been talking about taking off for a few weeks, few months maybe, to go back to her old stomping grounds..." She looks at Caleb sidelong, and he can read the concern in the slight shift in the pitch of her voice, the rising of her shoulders, the tilt of her head, though she plays it off well. He knows he looks like shit. It turned out listening to weeks of testimony against his abuser was not a great aid to his already-fitful sleep.

"Gut." He says, and he means it. "It will be good for her to get some closure. She deserves it, and you both deserve some time to yourselves." He offers her a smile he hopes is reassuring.

She nods, and between one breath and the next, her arms are around him. He allows himself to lean into her vice-like grip, hugging her back as hard as he can. "Take it easy, while we're gone, alright, man? We'll kick some more Assembly ass when we get back." She releases him at last and gives him a pat on the cheek. "Get some rest, man. You deserve it."

Caleb feels the heavy weight of his allotment of Trent Ikithon's platinum and gold in his coat pocket and knows that he does not. "Ja," he says. "I will. There's just a little more to do."

"And then what?" The question snaps Caleb's attention back to the present. Torvi is peering at him, her eyes seeming to search in his for an answer. "A little more, and then what? After you find this evidence you need, will it be a little more still, or will you rest?"

If he found evidence against Da'leth and the others, there would be more trials. The web would unravel further still, and he would have new threads to follow. Not to mention, the problem of the ex-Volstrucker scattered to the winds. "Well, you know what they say," he says with a sardonic grin. "There is no rest for the wicked." Torvi does not return his grin.

"You are not wicked." She says this with such certainty that it sparks a small flame of anger in his chest.

"How do you know?" He asks, more than a little petulantly.

"I know." And there is something in the compassionate depths of her sunlit eyes that makes Caleb think, inexplicably, that she does know. She knows what transpired before Vergessen and since. The flame in his chest is quenched thoroughly. He tears his gaze from hers at last, eins, swei, drei... "Alas," she continues, once his breathing has evened out again. "My memories from Vergessen are... muddled." She concludes quietly. "But if I think of anything helpful, I can contact you." He nods, his eyes on the floorboards, as disappointment washes over him.

"I suppose I'll be on my way then." He says, quietly, and rises from his seat. Maeve rises with him.

"I'd like a favor from you before you go," says Torvi, as he turns from the table. He looks up, in surprise.

"Name it."

"I'd like you to hold onto this for me," she says, holding the talisman out with a smile. "I'm always losing mine."

"It's true," mutters Maeve. "I'm always finding them in strange places."

"This one means a lot to me," Torvi says. "I don't want to lose it." She holds the charm out toward him insistently. "Keep it safe for me."

Maeve looks at him sidelong and sighs. "If you don't, she'll just find some way of sneaking it into your pocket as you leave."

"It's true," Torvi agrees, and there is mischief twinkling amidst the warm affection in her eyes, a particular mix that reminds him strongly of Jester. He crosses to her to take the trinket back, and as he does so, her fingers catch his. He feels a familiar warmth settle over him. "May you walk in Corellon's beauty, Bruder." When Maeve had said the words earlier, they had sounded trite to Caleb's ears, but Torvi's benediction was infused with such sincerity.

Caleb bends forward slightly, brushing his lips against her knuckles. "Danke, Schwester." She smiles at him warmly, as he releases her grasp and pockets the trinket.

Maeve opens the door for him as he hastily dons his scarf and coat and steps out into the frigid air. To Caleb's surprise, she follows him out onto the step, closing the door behind her. The clearing is now covered in a thin layer of snow, and their breaths create little puffs of fog in the dim glow of the arcane lights. Maeve leans out past the eave of the house for a moment to look up at the sky, but the stars are veiled with clouds. She frowns and straightens, crossing her arms. "Can I give you a little advice?" She asks, her voice pitched low, eyes following the meandering descent of a snowflake.

Caleb watches the snowflake, also, watches it spiral and drift, until it is lost in a sea of shadow. He is not sure he wants advice. He wants evidence, a direction to go in. He has lost his only lead, and now, he is back at square one.

"When I'm stuck on a spell," Maeve continues. "I find the best thing to do is take a break. Then, when I'm doing laundry or gardening or whatever, the solution will come to me." She reaches out a hand past the eave to catch some of the falling snow. "Even the Wildmother can't bloom all the time." A strong gust of wind swirls around them then, trying its best to push Caleb northward. Caleb adjusts his scarf and coat to stop its icy fingers from trailing down his neck, and Maeve shrugs. "Take it or leave it."

"Thank you," Caleb says with a nod. Maeve nods back and turns to re-enter the house, closing the door behind her with a soft thud.

Caleb steps off of the porch, re-casting detect magic with a twist of his hand. He wants to be well clear of the Abjuration magic before he attempts to teleport. The snow crunches under his boots as he makes his way down the row of lights, and the wind whistles in the tree branches and tries, once again, to tug him northward, pulling at his hair this time, loosening it from its tie.

The sharp, clean smell of the fresh snow reminds Caleb of Eiselcross... of Essek. The thought of reuniting with Essek had been a light at the end of the tunnel, during Ikithon's trial. He had even spent time crafting his own Sending spell, so he could contact Essek once the trial was over. When the day came, it had felt too selfish to use it. There was still so much to do.

And Essek isn't the only thing awaiting him in Eiselcross. In the underworld of Aeor lies a crucible, a final test of his tentative, hard-won, untrustworthy goodness.

Caleb walks much further than he needs to. The snowflakes try to kiss his worries away. When this doesn't work, they stop falling, leaving only the wind carding its fingers through his hair with alternating sweetness and frustration. It whistles some more to catch his attention, but he is too lost in his spiraling thoughts to hear it.

He does hear another noise, though, or thinks he does. He cannot find the little owl when he looks up to the tree branches, but he does see a star. A single star, bright enough to shine through a thinning in the veil, twinkling, safe and familiar...

Caleb swears under his breath and yanks a copper wire out of his pocket, before he can think better of it. He shapes it much like he has seen Jester do numerous times and takes a deep breath. He visualizes Essek, his lilac eyes, his high cheekbones, the iridescent freckles dusted across his twilight skin, the elegant curve of his jaw, the small dimples that appear on his cheeks when he smiles, really smiles, and speaks the magic word. "Hallo, Freund, I--" It occurs to him suddenly that, although it is a very reasonable 6:13 in the evening in this part of the Pearlbow Wilderness, it is much deeper into the night at Vurmas Outpost. "I apologize I didn't think of the time. I hope I'm not disturbing you." Nine words left. "Thinking I'll travel to you soon... to exchange theories?" The words leave his lips with the ghost of a smile, and he thinks he hears a smile in Essek's voice as well, when he responds:

"Caleb Widogast, it is good to hear your voice no matter the time of night. I can think of nothing else I would rather do."

.

.

.

Notes: I rather extended the limits of Read Object and Read Mind from the Knowledge Domain descriptions, because.

[plush-rabbit]

Soulmate AU - Sako Atsuhiro

Request: Ooooo all this Compress stuff has me yearning!! Can I request a little something for him that’s a soulmate AU - the one where when you touch your soulmate everything blossoms into color? And he’s being chased by the authorities and bumps into a bystander and sees color? He’s so shocked and frazzled he just marbles them and steals them away on the run? Then when they’re safe he’s romantic and also yandere? Pleeeaaase!!!

A/N: Headcanons because I think I wanna play with it since soulmate aus tend to be kinda story heavy, might do a story for this later if i think there's more to be said

-

It’s due to his own need to be the center of attention and announce himself that he is currently running away from the authorities. No matter what he throws at the oncoming heroes, he can’t escape them. His legs are starting to grow tired and he’s unable to properly think as he turns a corner, touching his body and transporting himself into a marble. While it’s difficult to gauge whether the heroes have passed, he holds his breath for a few moments before returning to his size. Just as he’s about to turn, he bumps into you, his hand coming out to steady you- he may be a villain, but he’s still a gentleman. His bare hand clasps around yours, gripping onto you tightly and pulling you close to his chest.

Just like that, in the same moment he held your hand, color blooms into his life. His head aches and his eyes burn, color seared into him and a flood of it overstimulating both you and him. You hiss, and close your eyes and while it be an innate thing for you to curl onto yourself, you curl onto him, resting our head against his chest and holding onto his hand with such a tight grip that it’s starting to sting a bit. Color is around him, painting the alley that was in a grayscale into something much livelier, something so full that it causes his chest to feel tight. You try to pull away from him, tears in your eyes- such a lovely color, he thinks to himself, he wonders if you think the same for him. It’s a bold world, one where you occupy such a small space, in soft colors that flower over you. Whether it’s the rush of color that suddenly filled him or you, tears well in his eyes.

In the distance, he can hear sirens. Whether it’s for him or someone- or something- else, he can’t be bothered to truly care about the significance. All he can truly care about is that you’re standing in front of him, living and breathing and holding his hand. You call him mister, trying to pull your hand away and he shakes his head visibly. The sirens approach closer and he simply can’t leave you there. He just met you. You’re in his hands- quite literally. The sirens grow closer, ringing in his ear and making the headache form that much sharper.

He only has a moment to think, and in a hasty thought process- that he’ll attribute to the headache- he wants to take you. You’re already in his hand- your sweet face looking up at him, the color in your eyes reflecting his own mask, the dim, orange light glowing against your pupils. He can’t convince you to run away from him, no doubt you have your own life, but he also can’t risk letting you go. It was hard enough to find you and who knows how it’ll be if you decide to leave him. He apologizes to you, his hand squeezing against yours. You gasp, and suddenly you’re in the palm of his hand- a pale blue marble looking up at him and finding its way to the center of his palm.

Panic courses through his veins, echoes in his heart and makes him unable to think properly. All he knows is that he has to be alone for the moment. Alone with you. He makes a quick stop at the League of Villains main hideout, stopping in and dropping off the things that were needed. His hand never leaves the inside of his pocket where he rolls you between his fingers. Worry must be evident on him, because right before he’s supposed to leave, a hand grasps onto the arm that holds you. He turns, pulling away quickly and grasping his hand around you. He just can’t be here. Something important came up- something he can’t exactly explain but he’ll be back, he promises to the League who can only watch in a mixture of concern and judgement.

A part of him worries that they believe he might be double-crossing them, but he shakes his head. They know him, they know he wouldn’t run away and betray them. In the same moment, he receives a message telling him to be safe from his friend. Once he’s in a safe place, he places you down worry making his lips raw. He needs to release you, he knows that. In a simple touch, you’re pulled away, flat on your back and looking around the dimly lit room with scared eyes. He calms your worry, his voice coming out in soft hushes, his hands raised as he hovers above you, pleading for you to relax. He won’t hurt you- how could he? He’s your soulmate and you’re his. His mask slowly starts to slip, his charismatic face coming off and revealing a spiral of knots and interconnected webbing that makes him lose focus and his charm. He’s frantic, pleading for you to stop crying.

You just need to understand that he couldn’t just leave you. He couldn’t let you just walk away from him when he was right in front of you. It takes quite a while before you stop to cry and even longer before he’s able to approach you. Your hand slips to the pocket of your jeans, and in that same second, he marbles your phone, throwing it into a small velvet sack where it’s lost with other items he’s collected and forgotten. You just have to understand that you can’t leave him. Not when he’s taken you with him. Not when you still haven’t calmed down and embraced him. He’s your soulmate. He won’t hurt you. You can sleep away from him, keep your back turned toward him. You can do whatever you want, as long as you’re comfortable. Your trust is something that he has to earn, he can deal with that.

Perhaps that’s why you both are soulmates, because like you,his trust is something to be gained as well. He can’t leave you alone when he’s going to go get you food, he has to marble you. He debates whether telling you that people are actually searching for you, but when you thank him for the meal, letting his hands rest over yours for a moment longer, he decides not to. When you start to cry, he’s quick to hold you, running his hand down your back and making sure that your arms are pinned between the two bodies. A warm feeling blooms in his chest when you stop fighting against him, when you finally lean into him. You finally start to face him, to reach out to him with cold hands, whimpering about how you can’t seem to fall asleep. Your hand will graze over his jaw and he can feel your breath. You’ll start to muse about the outside world, mentioning how if you both had met under different circumstances, he wouldn’t have been forced into doing what he did.

Time is ticking. He has to go back to the League eventually and he’s already promised you that he wouldn’t put you in a marble without your consent. Now, he simply can’t leave you. He can’t just toss you back into civilization with the simple promise of you keeping in contact with him. It’s easier if you stay with him. But while you may be more relaxed in his presence, he still knows that you want to be free. You still sleep with your back turned to him, your body curled in on itself. You don’t fully trust him. You don’t fully love him. His tongue brushes over his lips and he knows what he has to do. When you awaken, he’s rough, gripping you by the shoulders and trying his best to scare you. Despite you crying and having it break his heart, he doesn’t relent. It’s safer with him. People haven’t even searched for you. Your stuff isn’t even in your home- it’s been packed and shipped to some warehouse where it can collect dust. There’s no heroes that are prowling the streets, no missing posters- you’re a ghost, vanished in the dead of night by a man who would never stop searching for you if you disappeared. All you have to do is stay with him, let him protect you.

Atsuhiro is your only means of human contact. He’s the only one who’s shown you love and care despite stealing you. It’s safe being around him. Nice, even. He holds you and gives you the biggest portion of the meal, he keeps you warm and hasn’t actually harmed you. All you have to do is accept him as your soulmate, to view color and be with him. He’s sweet enough, a bit eccentric, but he hasn’t ever actually harmed you. It’s easy to accept his offer of a relationship. To offer yourself to him and beg for him to take care of you. His touch is gentle, pressed against your temple, his eyes a warm chocolate brown with hints of a velvety red. He holds your hand, his smile sweet like honey and he tells you that he’ll be your soulmate for as long as you’ll have him.

[mochegato]

Capturing a Dream

Chapter 1 - Meeting the Team

This was it.  She was excited.  No excited wasn’t the word.  Terrified? Yeah, that was closer.  Marinette was about to step into the Young Justice base for the first time and meet her new teammates.  What if they don’t like her?  What if they don’t let her join the team?  What if they let her join the team but they exclude her?  What if they get mad at her because she won’t expose her identity and they think she doesn’t trust them?  What if she messes up and she ends up getting someone killed?  What if she gets one of her teammates killed? What if she gets someone else killed? What if… No!  

She wasn’t going to do that.  She wasn’t the same 14 year old girl who spiraled into anxiety-induced, worst-case-scenario, death spirals.  She was 17 now.  She was in her final year of school before college, nearly an adult, legally, she was an adult.  She was the Guardian.  She was a hero.  She was already in a prestigious internship with one of the biggest names in fashion.  She was working with the Justice League, well Young Justice, but that was better because there wasn’t as much of a time commitment, which was really good because she didn’t have much to spare… where was she going with this? Right!  She was smart.  She was competent.  She was confident(ish).  She was… standing outside the zeta tube opening staring at it like an idiot, and she was going to be late.  

She took a deep breath and ran her free hand over the costume she wasn’t quite used to yet, trying to find comfort in the feeling and focus her mind.  She could do this.  She may no longer be able to be Ladybug for secrecy reasons, but Ladybug wasn’t her only option.  She was Chimera now and Chimera was not linked back to the miraculous.  So this new and completely un-miraculous affiliated hero definitely wasn’t unifying the fox and horse miraculous.  Chimera was a separate and unmiraculous hero.  She was a new heroic entity; a powerful amalgamation of divergent parts; an illusion, who uses illusions; a dream that can never be captured.   Chimera was just another magical hero working in the background.

Gone was the flashy, bright suit of a central hero.  She was a shadow now and her suit reflected her new role.  The base of the suit was a brown so dark, it almost looked black.  Her knee-high boots and gloves that reached to midway up her bicep were both black, meeting with the brown core of the suit with a strip of deep orange.  Her mask was the same dark brown color with deep orange at the corners.    She no longer had her yoyo, but in its place was a rope that responded to her like her yoyo did.  Her flute across her back completed her weaponry.

She was still a hero, just not a miraculous one, as far as anyone else knew. She was still protecting people for now, she just wasn’t on the front lines anymore.  She was still protecting the miraculous and would for the rest of her life.  And she was still… standing outside the Zeta tube opening, staring.

She closed her eyes, and walked through the portal.  Before she let out her breath, she could feel a difference in the air around her.  She heard a digital voice say “Recognize Chimera B12.”  She opened one eye tentatively and jumped back with a quiet squeak when she saw Batman standing on the other side giving her an amused smile next to Black Canary and a red figure.  

Black Canary stepped forward, “Welcome to Mount Justice, Chimera.  You’ve already met Batman.  This is Red Tornado.  He supervises the cave here.” Chimera nodded to him but before she could say anything Black Canary continued speaking.  “We are very excited to have you here.  While you are training and on missions, this will be your home.  I know you have an apartment near your internship, but if you ever want to get away, you are always welcome to stay here whenever and however long you want to.” Her voice was warm and welcoming.  She leaned over and lowered her voice, “lead lined walls and no bugs or cameras allowed in the personal rooms in case you want to drop your transformation while you are here.”  She gave her a nod and started walking, motioning to Chimera to follow her.

“As discussed before, your team knows nothing about you.  What you choose to disclose is your decision.  Only Batman and I know anything more.  The team is used to people hiding their identities so there is no pressure to give your personal identity.  I mean, there might be teasing, but you are under absolutely no obligation to divulge and they will respect that.  Especially since Robin is under the same requirement.”  

They entered into a small sitting area that appeared to be their common room. The first thing she noticed was a kitchen that was almost as nice as her parents’ kitchen in the bakery and significantly bigger.  She let out a quiet “Wow” without even noticing she had done it.  She would have to try that out as soon as she was able to get back to it.

“Pretty nice, huh?” She heard from behind her.  She whirled around and finally noticed the other half of the room were a few couches and chairs were clustered in front of a television.  More significantly, there was a red headed boy talking to her, standing in front of four other teens.  They were looking at her with uncertainty and a slight bit of curiosity except the red headed boy who looked excited to meet her, and the larger black haired boy who looked a bit hostile.

“Uh, yeah.  It’s… um, a really nice kitchen.  It looks… really professional.”  She stammered, trying to keep the nerves out of her voice.

The red head smiled brightly at her.  “Only the best for the Justice League.”

“Alright team, it’s nice to see your smiling faces.” Black Canary started with more than a hint of sarcasm.  “I would like to introduce you to your new team member.  This is Chimera.”  Chimera gave an awkward wave to the Young Justice members.  “She was recruited by the Justice League.  Her identity is secret and will stay that way, am I clear?” She stared at each of the team members one at a time.  “Good. She is here under an outside deal so she may not always be available for missions, but she will be here whenever she can be.”

The red head raised his hand. “Wally, you don’t have to raise your hand.” Batman said tiredly.

“What is the outside deal?  What does that even mean?”

“It means something else brought her to our vicinity and she is only available to us because of that.  The details of the deal are not important.  Only that she is a hero on your team and every bit as dedicated to the team as the rest of you.”

“How is she as dedicated if she can’t commit to being here?” Artemis snarked quietly to Superboy.

“We all have outside lives that demand our attention.  There are times I can’t go out with the Justice League.  One of the others cover for me.  Are you suggesting I am not committed to the Justice League?” Batman stared harshly at her.

“No, sir.” Artemis shrunk back.

“I’m sorry, I have school and… other obligations, but I promise I will give you as much time and attention as I can spare without going insane.  Learned that the hard way.” She looked down as she muttered the last part under her breath.  She quickly looked back up hoping nobody heard her.  Everyone seemed to have the same expressions on their faces except Superboy who was giving her a quizzical look.  “I am committed to the team.  I want to be here, I promise.  Um… here, I brought macarons!”  She said with forced cheeriness, attempting to placate their suspicions and hostility. She opened the lid to the box of macarons she had brought with her.

Chimera’s hair blew back as Wally rushed forward.  He had already grabbed three macarons before she even saw him move. “These are delicious!  Where did you get them?”

“Thank you.  I made them. I like to bake.”  She smiled broadly at him.

Wally stared at her with his jaw open, the macaron close to falling out of his mouth. “Marry me.” He said dreamily.

Chimera giggled at him.  “How about I use the only-the-best kitchen to make something else for you a bit later instead?”

Wally gave her a bright grin.  “That will work.”  He looked at the rest of the macarons longingly then back at his teammates.  “Uh…. These are absolutely terrible and you shouldn’t have to be subjected to them.  I’ll just finish these off so you don’t have to.”  He reached back toward the box but Chimera closed the lid and raised an amused brow at him.

“Move over,” Robin pushed Wally to the side.  “Thank you Chimera.  That was sweet of you.”  He took a bite and looked back up at her with a smile.  “Hey, Wally was right.  These are delicious.  Artemis, Kaldur, Superboy, get over here and try these.”

Kaldur and Artemis came over, Artemis shoving Wally again for no apparent reason. Superboy stayed where he had been and continued to eye her suspiciously.  Wally looked at them with a pout.  “Hey!  Leave some for me.”

“You’ve already had a bunch.  The rest of us get some too.” Artemis rolled her eyes.

“Hey, I have a fast metabolism.  I need to eat.” Wally whined.

“Thank you… I’m sorry, I didn’t get any of your names.” Chimera said apologetically.

“Tall, blonde, and hostile is Artemis.  Tall, blonde, and aloof is Kaldur.  Tall, dark, and broody back there is Superboy.  You already met Wally, aka Kid Flash.  And I’m Robin.”  Robin gave her a charming smile and shook her hand.

She gave them all a brilliant smile.  “It is nice to meet you all.  I’m really excited to work with you.”  Wally smiled broadly at her and gave a lovesick sigh.  Artemis groaned and turned away.

Kaldur moved forward and extended his hand to her, “Welcome to the team.”

She shook his hand and gave him a warm smile.  “Thank you.”

“Okay, now that everyone has introduced themselves, let’s get to the training area.  I’m interested to see how Chimera’s powers work with the rest of yours.”  Black Canary announced.

“The training area is just this way,” Robin said with a suave smile, sweeping his arm out toward the direction they were supposed to move.

“Thanks,” Chimera smiled anxiously at him.

Wally came up on the other side of her and bumped his shoulder gently into hers.  “Don’t worry, we’ll take it easy on you.” He said with a wink.

Chimera looked at him blank faced for a few seconds before throwing him a sassy grin.  “It’s not me I’m worried about, speedy.”

“Oh no, Speedy was someone else.” Artemis threw in, moving past the group.

“You’re kidding.” Chimera stared at her.

“Nope.” Artemis responded popping the p.  “A whole different hero.  Not even fast either.  Makes no sense.”

“Good to know.” Chimera nodded absentmindedly.

“Oh, she can never meet Speedy.” Wally looked at the other heroes with wide eyes.

“Is he that bad?” Chimera asked, concern seeping into her eyes.

Artemis turned back to her and grinned wickedly, “No, he’s afraid you’ll start dating him.”

“Ahh.  I don’t date teammates so, don’t worry.”  Chimera reassured Wally with a clap on his back.  Artemis barely contained the chuckles that were fighting to spill out.

Wally gave her a distressed look, “But, teammates are great.  They are supportive and understand you… They’re… They’re the ideal dating material.”

“You make some interesting points.” She nodded as though contemplating his words.  “Luckily, you have very pretty and interesting teammates, four at least from what I can see.  So you have a wealth of dating material at your disposal.”  Chimera gave him a wink and walked ahead of him.  Artemis cackled loudly and threw her arm over Chimera’s shoulders, walking along with her.  “I think I’m going to like having you here.”

Chimera smiled at her.  “Good.  I hope so.”

Black Canary gave them a serious look and stood in the middle of the sparring area as the team lined up around the edges.  “Let’s get started.  This is an exhibition sparring match.  We want to see what you can do and what your teammates can do and see how you can mesh.”

“You don’t know what she can do?” Kaldur asked.

“I know. It’s you I’m concerned about.  You’re going to be working with her and leading her. You need to know what she can do. So, Chimera?  Go full force.  We want to know what to plan for in the field.”  Black Canary commanded.

Chimera looked at her unsure.  “Full force?  Are you sure? I don’t want to… That can be really dangerous.”

Black Canary nodded in understanding.  “I get that, but I assure you it will be fine.  We just need to see where you are in your skills, so we need you to give it your all.”

Chimera eyes got even bigger, “I’m not going to kill someone to prove a point.  I can do a demonstration instead.”

The rest of the team looked at her insulted.  Robin finally spoke up to scoff at her.  “We can take it.  We’ve dealt with worse.  Don’t worry.”

Ladybug looked back at him with wide eyes.  “It isn’t… I don’t think I’m a better fighter than you.  I’m positive you all have better training than I do, especially since I don’t have any, it’s just… I’ve brought down the Eiffel Tower with one hit before.  Thank god for miraculous ladybugs.  But you all look a bit more…” she struggled for an appropriate word to finish her thought, “…vulnerable.  I really don’t want to hurt any of you.”  She shot him a pleading look.

Superboy stepped forward with a determined look on his face. “Then try me.  I’m less…” he paused as if thinking, “what was that word you used… Vulnerable.”

She looked at him uncertain then looked over to Black Canary, taking note of her stern expression.  She nodded and stepped onto the mat.  “I’ll make it work.” Chimera offered uncertainly.

They faced each other for a few moments before settling into a fighting stance.  When she was ready, Chimera nodded to Superboy.  He rushed at her and extended his arm at the last second to deliver a haymaker punch.  Chimera bent backwards and twirled in a semi-circle so she was standing behind him and kicked him in the butt, sending him sprawling on the floor.  He got up and glared at her.  He rushed her again, this time aiming for her waist so she couldn’t duck under him.  She stared at him coming at her like a deer in headlights.  Superboy got a smug glint in his eye as he closed in on her.  At the last second, Chimera jumped up and rolled down his back, landing on her feet behind him, the wide eyed expression long gone.

“We need you to try, Chimera.  We need you to actually fight, not just dodge.”  Batman stated sternly.

Chimera looked over to him to nod at the instruction. The momentary distraction was enough for Superboy to land a hard hit to her stomach.  The force of the impact sent her flying across the mat.  The team winced and groaned in sympathy as she hit a wall with a hard thump.  Superboy moved over to her to check on her but stopped half way to her.   Chimera stood up and cocked her head to the side, examining Superboy.  She raised her brow and asked calmly, “So… super strength.  Invulnerability?”

He nodded at her.  “Okay then.”  She smirked at him, walking back to the central area of the room.  “Let’s do this.”  He smiled slightly and nodded.  She immediately launched herself at him, catching him by surprise.  She punched him hard enough to send him across the room in the opposite direction.  He slid toward the wall but was able to regain enough control to use the wall as a springboard to launch himself back at her.  She saw him coming and twisted at the last second, using his momentum against him to push him off balance.  He recovered quicker than she expected and swept her legs out from under her. She used her momentum to turn the fall into a flip, leading to a series of flips and twists taking her away from him, giving her some space to think.

They circled around each other trying to plan their next move.  Suddenly Chimera stopped and looked like she just realized something.  “Oh I forgot.  I’m supposed to be showing my skills…” she started innocently.  Superboy took advantage of her apparent distraction to jump at her again but that was the moment she had been waiting for.  “Voyage” she whispered and created a portal behind her. She stepped out of the way at the last possible second, sending Superboy through the portal at full speed.  The portal ended close to the rock wall on the other side of the room.  Superboy almost slammed into the wall with his full force but she had left him enough room to bounce back off the wall and launch himself back through the portal and back in front of her, throwing a punch toward her sternum that she was just barely able to twist away from, rolling along his arm until she was in the perfect position to elbow him in the back of his head.  He grunted and turned back toward her, circling around her again.

“Full force, Chimera,” Black Canary chastised her.

“Not going to make him bleed on purpose for a game, Ms. Canary.” Chimera responded, still focused on Superboy.  “Besides, we’re not done yet.”  She turned to Superboy, “Right?”  He nodded at her, an amused glint in his eyes.  “I haven’t even showed off all my skills yet.”

“Well, let’s see those skills you keep talking about.” Superboy taunted her.

“If you say so Superboy.” She smirked at him then frowned.  “I don’t appreciate that your actual name is the name I would have called you to taunt you.  You’re making my job harder.”

He frowned at her, the amused look that had been in his eyes dropping.  “So sorry my name is an inconvenience.  You can call me The Weapon like my makers did if you prefer.”

Chimera stood up straight, fidgeting and frowning at him.  “That’s… really?” She looked around to the other heroes.  They all nodded solemnly.

She looked back at him with softer eyes.  “What do you want to be called?” She asked in a kind tone.

“I… Superboy.”  He said stiffly, not exactly sure how to respond to the shift in atmosphere.

Chimera nodded and gave him a warm smile.  “Superboy it is.  No nicknames unless you approve of them.”

“As heartwarming as this is, you are supposed to be sparring.” Black Canary reminded them.

“Right,” Chimera said shook her head to refocus herself. “Sorry.”  She whispered “Mirage,” bringing her flute up to her lips.  As soon as the notes were heard, a dozen replicas of her appeared and began running around the circle.  Superboy tried to scan them but they all looked identical even with his infrared vision.  He stilled to listen for a heartbeat or breathing, but he couldn’t detect it in any of them.  He looked around wildly.  It was a sea of dark brown and bright orange.  He nodded to himself calculating the possibilities.  Most likely she managed to split herself.  So either they are all fully sentient or there is a central figure controlling them.  He’d have to hope for the latter.

His eyes flicked to one of the figures running at him.  The figure jumped into a flying kick.  He dodged out of the way and rolled to his feet, looking around again for the next attack. He didn’t wait long.  Another figure ducked low to sweep his feet.  He jumped over her but felt a sharp pain in his side as one of the replicas body checked him with enough force to knock him into the far wall.  

Superboy shook his head to clear it.  When he took more than a few seconds to recover, the replicas looked at him concerned.  One of them finally moved forward and asked “Are you okay to continue?”  

He stared at the replica for a few moments before nodding.  “We’re not done yet.”  All the replicas smiled at him and moved into new positions, waiting for him to indicate he was ready.  As soon as he nodded two replicas moved to attack him, one went high, one went for his legs.  He lunged for the one going high, jumping over the one going for his legs.  As soon as he reached her, she disappeared.  Not meeting the resistance he had expected, the force of the lunge caused him to lay out flat on the floor.  He grunted and jumped up before any of the replicas could attack again.  

As soon as he was up he looked around with a grin. “Mirage,” he repeated.  They were all an illusion.  He just had to find the real one.  Two attacked him again.  He hit one causing it to disappear but the other one hit him with her flute, knocking him to the side.  He shook his head again and turned back to them and backed away, giving himself space. He just had to find the one. There had to be an indication of which one was the real one.  He couldn’t use his infrared vision or hearing.  Maybe there was something about them.  He stared at them as they circled around each other.  There!  There was one with a different shade of orange, the shade Chimera had before the match. All the replicas had bright orange but the real Chimera had deep orange accents.  

He kept his eyes moving so she wouldn’t know he’d made her.  He moved forward toward one of the replicas moving to punch her.  Chimera attacked from the side again, coming at him before he could touch the replica and make it disappear.  He grinned to himself.  At the last second, he changed his trajectory and sent another haymaker toward her.  He jerked back in pain as the replica he had been moving toward originally made contact, knocking the air out of his lungs. He grunted in anger and confusion as a rope was tied around him, pinning down his arms.  His legs were swept out from under him causing him to land hard. He trashed with all his strength as he felt her tying his legs too.  He kept thrashing against the rope, but no matter how hard he pushed and pulled, the rope showed no indication of weakening.  

After a few moments of him pointlessly struggling, Black Canary walked over and declared Chimera the winner.  She smiled excitedly at Chimera.  “Now we know what we’re working with and we can plan how to incorporate your skills into missions and approaches to your training.”

Chimera nodded in understanding and looked over to the team who were still watching her in various degrees of surprise.  Kaldur nodded in approval.  Wally and Artemis stared at her in shock.  Robin was pointing and laughing at Superboy.  Chimera glowered at him and turned back to Superboy, releasing the rope so he could get up.  

As soon as he was freed, Superboy jumped up and rubbed his arms, glaring at the floor.  Chimera smiled nervously in his direction, but he refused to look at her and had turned his body away from her.  She sighed and looked down too, shifting nervously.  After a few moments, she started gathering up the rope to tie it back around her waist.  She furrowed her brows at the sound of Robin still laughing, which seemed to upset Superboy even more.  She narrowed her eyes at him and whipped the rope out in his direction.  It snapped a few inches away from his face with a crack so loud it reverberated throughout the cave.  Robin jumped away awkwardly and fell backwards, landing on his butt.

Superboy looked from Robin to her.  He let out a small laugh and gave her a smile. Chimera took it as a good sign and smiled back at him.  “That was a lot of fun.  You are really good at picking up on details, otherwise that color trick wouldn’t have worked.” Her voice was soft, like she was addressing a scared child.

He nodded at her and quietly said, “Thanks. It was fun.”

“Does that mean we can do it again sometime?  I need practice sparring and I’m usually afraid I’ll hurt someone when I’m in the suit and when I’m not, it isn’t as effective. I mean, helpful still, but not as effective.”  He stared at her for a few seconds but finally nodded at her.

“That was a pretty good introduction but it’s getting late now.  I think it’s time to call it a night.  Red Tornado, can you take Chimera to the room she will be using so she can recharge?” Black Canary asked.

When Chimera returned a few minutes later, the group smiled at her and gave their goodbyes.  They made plans for everyone to return the next day for more training.  One by one, they all left through the Zeta tubes except for Superboy.  Chimera looked at him confused.  “Are you not leaving too?”

“No.” He stated coldly.

“Why not?  I mean… if you don’t mind me asking.” She stammered out.

“Because I live here.” He grumbled back at her.

“Alone?” She gasped.

“With Red Tornado.” He corrected defiantly.

“But no other… people? In this big, empty, cold place?” She looked out over the cave, the empty, cold, inhospitable place he was going to call home.

“I like being alone.”  He stated in an annoyed voice.

Something that looked like anger flashed across her face transforming into a determined look before she smoothed it out and gave him a cheeky grin.  “That’s a shame.”  

He narrowed his eyes looking at her suspiciously, “Why is that?”

“I’m moving in.”  Her smile grew bigger.

He furrowed his brow and frowned, “What?”

“I’m moving in.  I have school and, uh… stuff during the day, but I’ll be here in the mornings and at night, most weekends.” She nodded at him.  “It will be like a sleepover every night… except we’ll be sleeping in separate rooms.”

He stared at her for a few seconds, unsure how to react. “Whatever,” he grunted walking back toward the residence area.  “Dinner is usually in like 30 minutes.” He called over his shoulder.  She smiled in his direction.  It wasn’t a warm welcome but it was better than nothing.  

“Are you sure about this?  It isn’t required for you to live here.  Most of the members don’t.” Black Canary reassured her.

“That’s why I’m doing it.  I’ve already had one teammate who had to live essentially alone and isolated in a big, empty space.  He hated it.  It messes with your self-worth and your ability to interact with other people, no matter how badly you want to.  It scrapes away at your humanity.  I couldn’t really do anything for his living situation, but I can do something for Superboy.”

“It will make keeping your identity more difficult.” Batman warned her softly.

“I know, but he’s my teammate.  I won’t abandon him.  And I need a friend here too.  I’ll be all alone otherwise, so… it will be mutually beneficial… I hope.”  She added tentatively.

Batman and Black Canary shared an approving look with each other and turned back to her.  “Okay.  Let us or Red Tornado know if you need anything.  We really think you are going to fit in amazingly with this team.”

Chimera smiled at them and shifted slightly to look out over the rest of the cave.  “I think so, too.”

Chapter 2