#In The Morning Bustier

[womenofwrestlingfashion]

Smackdown 9/15/23

Dakota wore the In The Morning Bustier in Noir Floral from White Fox Boutique ($49.99) and the Distressed Detachable Two-Way Pantskirt from Punk Rave ($162)

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Desperate | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello hello hello! I’ve got some good, old-fashioned angst here for ya.

Word Count: 8.4k

Warnings: hella angst. Touch starved Bucky and reader. Some slight NSFW vibes, but nothing graphic.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice when you told him you had to step away for a moment. He remained focused on his clean up duties in the kitchen; he didn’t raise his head or look your way. In fact, he didn’t seem to be noticing you much at all, lately. But as you eyed your ensemble in the full-length mirror in your bedroom, you knew you’d win back his attention.

This was his absolute favorite lingerie of yours. The set that made him so feral, drove him so insane with lust, that he’d broken the headboard last time you wore it. After that, the two of you agreed you’d save it for special occasions only; otherwise, the apartment you shared would need to be entirely refurnished. And though tonight was just a normal, run of the mill Friday night, you needed to pull out the big guns.  

The black leather bustier- the one that made Bucky destroy furniture- hugged your figure perfectly. It’s plunging V-neck ended just above your navel. And the lacy details perfectly mirrored the cheeky black underwear Bucky gifted you last Valentine’s Day. A matching garter belt was the piece de resistance, and it held in place the thigh high stockings that drove Bucky wild. 

You gave yourself one final look before slipping on a pair of black stilettos and stalking out of the room. This was it- the perfect formula for recapturing Bucky’s gaze. 

He’d been distant lately. Almost cold. He hadn’t touched you- in even the most innocent sense- in nineteen days. It had been even longer since you were last able to steal a kiss. And the two of you hadn’t had sex in three weeks, which was unheard of.

Usually, Bucky gave his physical affections freely. He loved touching you, kissing you, holding you. He wanted to play with your hair, hold your hand, kiss your forehead- anything- as long as it meant he got to touch you. To feel you. When he had a rough day, your arms provided him with safety and comfort. And when a mission stole you from his side, your lips welcomed him home. He poured his love for you into every touch, leaving his fingerprints all over your soul.

To him, any moment spent without your skin pressed against his was a moment wasted. 

And your sex life was mind-blowing, to say the least. Bucky’s stamina and eagerness to please you left you breathless and seeing stars almost every night of the week. After a few rounds with him, you found yourself unable to speak, unable to think. The only thing that had the power to permeate your hazy, lust-filled mind was him. Your hunger, your need for him could never be sated, and fucking him only made you want him more. But he was more than happy to give himself over to you. He could pull two or seven orgasms from you before you even knew what hit you. And that was just his warmup. 

But the last three weeks had been completely void of any debauchery. Bucky didn’t slip into your shower or slide his hand up your skirt. He didn’t even grab your ass when you walked by wearing leggings. It was a startling difference that filled the apartment with a biting, bitter cold, chilling you to the bone. But Bucky said- he swore- he was fine. That he was just tired. Or stressed. Or busy with work. And while you knew his work-life was intense, it never before stopped him from jumping at the chance to make you scream. 

And it wasn’t just the lack of erotic touches that gnawed at you. It was the loss of all physical affections. He didn’t reach for your hand in the store. Didn’t pull you into his chest at night. Didn’t kiss you goodbye in the morning. It left you agonized. Miserable. Empty. 

Every day, you wondered what could’ve possibly caused Bucky to pull away. What could make him withdraw from you so suddenly. Worry ate away at you, slowly devouring you whole. He seemed to work late almost every night these past few weeks. And when he was home, your attempts to talk to him about the issue went nowhere. 

You thought he’d gotten past his urge to hide his troubles from you. It took time, but he learned to be honest. To communicate. And when you were finally confident that he’d stopped hiding his struggles, you learned to stop reading into his every mannerism. His every muscle twitch. His every vocal change. If he said he was okay, he was okay. And after working together- he trusted you to listen, and you trusted him to tell you the truth.

And over the last few weeks, he did, indeed, say that he was okay. That there was nothing lurking beneath his surface. And so, you did as he asked, and you believed him.

But after three weeks of nothing- no roaming hands, no bite marks, no early morning quickies- you were hungry for him. Aching for him. You feared that your bottled-up lust would actually drive you crazy. And so, you decided reach for your secret weapon. 

You found Bucky right where you’d left him: leaning over the kitchen sink, taking care of the dishes from dinner. 

You kept your tone light, innocent, casual. “Hey, Buck.”

“Hey, baby.” He didn’t look up. 

“Um, do you think you could help me with something real quick, Sergeant?” Sergeant. It was devious. Wicked, really. The sound of his title coming out of your mouth always got his heart racing, always made the blood drain from his brain and travel elsewhere.

But he didn’t fall for it.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Just give me one second, I’m-” Finally, he looked up.

His words died in throat, his mind went blank. The pan he’d been scrubbing fell into the sink with a loud crash. Want filled his eyes. He could’ve sworn his mouth started watering. 

“What do you think, Sarge? You wanna come over here and,” you ran a few fingers up your thigh, “help me out?” 

You braced yourself, knowing Bucky was about to pounce. You figured you had less than five seconds before he swept you off your feet and hoisted up over his shoulder. He’d fireman-carried you to bed that way more times than you could count, and you knew this would be one of those nights. 

But five seconds became ten. And then fifteen. And then twenty. And all he’d done was stare at you. 

“Buck?” you took a few steps in his direction. “I thought we could have some dessert.”

He struggled to form coherent thoughts or piece sentences together. “Um, well, I was-” he gestured to the mess in the sink, “I was gonna do the dishes.”

“I know, baby,” you placed a light hand on his shoulder. “But I think you can finish them after- I mean, later.”

Bucky should’ve jumped at the opportunity. He should’ve taken you apart right there on the kitchen counter. But he didn’t. He didn’t even touch you. 

He cleared his throat, “I’m- I’m just gonna do ‘em now.”

Without a word, you turned on your stiletto and retreated to the bedroom. 

Humiliation flared in your chest. Tears gathered in your eyes. And your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out the rest of the world. Suddenly, you felt stupid. Foolish. Part of you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment. 

Bucky had every right to refuse your advances- that wasn’t the issue. It was his complete and utter lack of affection for you. If he didn’t want to have sex with you ever again, you’d (probably) survive. But the harsh and sudden halt of any and all physical affection was eating you alive.

You kicked off your heels the moment you entered the bedroom and found yourself stomping toward the bathroom. You needed to get away. To hide. To protect yourself from any further mortification. The bathroom door slammed shut behind you, and you leaned against the cool wood, hoping to find some peace. But the bathroom mirror only doubled your shame. And as you stared at yourself, clad in what you thought to be Bucky’s favorite lingerie, your breathing hitched in your chest. 

This whole venture was so idiotic. So thoroughly and excruciatingly mortifying. It felt like the final nail in the coffin. If Bucky didn’t want you in your best lingerie, he must not want you at all.

The hoodie you’d slipped out of only minutes ago sat crumpled in a pile on the counter, and eagerly you shimmied into it. Anything to cover up your failed attempt at seduction. 

What was wrong with Bucky? Was he not interested in you anymore? Did he find you unattractive? If he wasn’t seeking sex with you, he had to be getting it from someone else, didn’t he? Who was it? Who-

A gentle knock yanked you out of your spiral.

“Sweetheart…” Bucky called through the door. He tried the handle and found it locked. “Can you come out, baby? Please?”

No part of you wanted to leave the safety of the bathroom. Something deep within you feared that this would be it- the tipping point, the moment of truth. If you did as Bucky asked and ventured out of the bathroom, there was a chance that Bucky would drop some major, soul-crushing truth on you. 

Maybe he’d spent the last three weeks trying to figure out how to break up with you, and this was his perfect opportunity. Maybe he’d break your heart and ruin your life the second you opened the bathroom door. If you could just stay in here- forever- maybe he wouldn’t dump you. Maybe you could delay your heartbreak and extend whatever feelings he once had for you, just for a little while.

But if he didn’t want you anymore, what was the point of prolonging the inevitable? 

With a huff, you dabbed at your eyes with your sleeve and opened the door.

There stood Bucky, looking hopeless. Lost. Miserable. He was propped against the door frame with slumped shoulders and a downtrodden expression- but perked up a bit when you opened the door. A sad smile stretched across his face, and he stood up straight, but his frown returned as you brushed right past him. 

“Baby, can we please talk about this?” He almost begged. 

There was a heavy desperation in his voice. Panic blazed through his chest. Something told him he might be losing you.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you!” You removed your garter belt and slipped off one of your stockings. “I’ve been trying to talk to you about this for weeks! And you just keep saying you’re 'fine'. Or that you’re tired. Or that there’s 'nothing to talk about'- when there clearly is!”

Normally, Bucky could always make you feel better with a hug. Anytime the two of you got into a fight, a long, warm embrace helped ease both of you into open, honest communication. But Bucky didn't reach for you. He opted to keep his distance. To allow you some space.

But space was the last thing you wanted. 

“Look, if there’s something going on and you’re not interested in having sex, that’s fine,” you told him. “I get it. It happens sometimes. But the-” you yanked your other thigh high off and tossed it to the side. “The total embargo on physical touch is really fucking with my head.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your hands shook with wrath. “Buck, you’re never home anymore- you’re always ‘working late’.” You let out a sharp exhale, “and when you are home, it’s like you’re on another planet. You keep your distance from me- you won’t even sit next to me on the couch.”

All Bucky could do was nod. Everything you said was true; there wasn’t a point in arguing.

And as the weight of Bucky’s sudden frigidity finally hit you, your fury was snuffed out. Rage no longer pulsed through your veins with each beat of your heart. Grief took its place. It forced its way into your heart, into your bones. You could’ve sworn you felt fractures spider-webbing their way through your ribs. 

Tears trickled slowly down your cheeks at first, but a downpour followed soon after. “Are you- are you not attracted to me anymore?” You asked between heaving sobs. “Do you not want me? Did I do something?”

“Sweetheart, I-”

“Is there…” your voice cracked. Saying it was too much; part of you feared that vocalizing your fear would make it come true. As though another woman would materialize simply because you asked whether she existed. “Is there someone else?”

The question sucked all of the oxygen out of the room. Bucky stared at you with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape. You did your best to get a handle on your shaky breaths and pained wails; if Bucky was about to reveal an affair, you didn’t want to seem so broken. So hopeless. So pathetic. You didn’t want to give him any ammo to take back to his side piece. Any dramatic tales that would make her howl with laughter.

But he didn’t admit to having a mistress. He, instead, let loose a few tears himself. Knowing that he’d made you question his loyalties, that you’d actually feared he’d been unfaithful, made him want to die.  

“Oh my god,” His voice wavered under the hefty weight of his pain,“Baby-” 

“Is there someone better?”

“No.” He couldn’t fathom the suggestion that there was someone- anyone- out there better than you. “There is no one better.”

He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to be near you. In three quick strides, he arrived in your vicinity. But he remained just out of your reach. Everything in him begged - screamed- to hold you close. To kiss you. To take your hand, at the very least. His fingers twitched with the need to touch you. But he refrained. 

 “There’s no one else- of course, there’s not. There will never be anyone else. I still want you, I will always want you. I love you.” 

The overwhelming urge to remove himself from your space barked at him. It screamed and hollered from the deep recesses of his mind. And he knew he should listen. But he couldn’t- not when you were falling apart in front of him. Not when he’d made you feel unwanted, unattractive, and unloved.

“You didn’t do anything, doll,” he hated himself for doing this to you. For making you doubt his love. For reducing you to a sobbing, heaving shell of yourself. “I’m still attracted to you- I’m so attracted to you. You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”

His reassurances helped assuage some of the fear, some of the worry. But only a small portion. Because even though he’d refuted all of your hypotheses and accusations, he still hadn’t given you a reason. And he still hadn’t touched you. 

“Then what’s-” you forced yourself to take a moment to think. To breathe. To get your head on straight. “What’s the problem? What’s going on with you?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He didn’t make eye contact. He simply stared at the area rug, tracing its border with his eyes. And though he knew you needed his touch, needed his affection, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Couldn’t bring himself to slip his hand into yours or cradle your face in his hands. 

His silence sliced through you and tore you open. You could’ve sworn you were bleeding out. 

“Buck, I miss you-” It was needy. Ugly. But you didn’t care. “Please, just be honest with me. I’m worried about you. And this isn’t normal for us, so-”

His words came out so low, so hushed, that you struggled to hear him. “I just haven’t been able to shake what happened last time.”

He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. He gave a small shake of his head. His hands balled into tight fists. He’d thought about what happened over and over and over again. He thought about it every day for the last three weeks. Relived the panic, the fear. And every night when he tried to fall asleep, the scene played out on an endless loop inside his mind. Horrifying nightmares plagued him each time he closed his eyes. He woke up shaking, covered in a cold sweat. There was no escaping it.

---Three weeks ago---

Things started around 8pm. It was all innocent enough, with Bucky spooning you as the two of you rewatched New Girl. But Bucky let his hands roam, as he so often did. And after only one episode, his hand had snaked up your shirt. His warm palm rested against your breast as his fingers swept over your skin. He teased your nipple once, twice. It was all the motivation you needed.

At his prompting, you pushed your body back against his, allowing your ass to grind against him. A low, animalistic moan vibrated deep within his chest. All bets were off after that. 

Before you could even blink, Bucky had you in his arms. He palmed your ass and positioned your legs around his waist as he set off down the hall toward the bedroom. His lips hungrily devoured yours. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging on the strands every now and again. He let more depraved sounds loose and you happily swallowed them all. 

Time lost all meaning after Bucky laid you out on the bed. The world outside of your bedroom ceased to exist- only Bucky remained. The two of you were a frantic, needy tangle of pounding hearts and sweat-slick skin. Teeth marks adorned his chest. Scratches adorned his back and shoulders. And Bucky devoted all of his time, all of his energy, all of him to pleasing you.

He took his time, slowly working you over as though it were his job. He loved teasing you, love watching you squirm. And when he had you absolutely begging, he gave you exactly what you wanted. In fact, he kept giving it to you- and had no intention to stop. 

He’d lost track of time. Lost count of how many times he made you come. All he knew was that double digits had been reached- and that was a long time ago. Was it an hour ago? Or three? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he had his best girl falling apart at the seams. Over and over and over again. 

He made sure to check in with you after every bout of world-shattering ecstasy, and you always gave him the green light. As time passed, your sentences turned into solitary words, which devolved into incoherent, needy sounds. But you always gave him a fervent nod, ensuring that you absolutely wanted- needed- him to continue. 

Even as sweat dampened the hair around your face, even as your lips grew swollen- you wanted more. More Bucky- there was never enough of him. It didn’t matter that he’d carried you to bed hours ago, you were insatiable. If he fucked you for a full twenty-four hours, it still wouldn’t have been enough.

At one point, you ended up in his lap, riding him like your life depended on it. He was seated upright on the edge of the bed, his chest pressed to yours. And by the depraved sounds and shaky breaths that fell from your lips, he knew you were close to yet another heart-stopping moment of bliss. His right arm snaked around your back, holding you firmly in place. He forced his vibranium fist down into the mattress; it gave him the extra leverage he needed to fuck into you even deeper. To push you over the edge. 

With a strangled scream, your orgasm crested over you. Your eyes squeezed shut. Sharp inhales filled your chest. Your mouth hung open. Every muscle in your body went rigid. Tense. Slight tremors rocked you every few moments- it was exactly what Bucky wanted. 

“Oh, that’s my girl,” praises dripped from his lips like honey.  A debauched moan vibrated out of his chest. “So good for me, always so good for me, baby.”

He watched as your eyes rolled back in your head. And with a final exhale, your limp body slumped forward, your face landing against Bucky’s chest. He put his movements on pause and allowed you to recover. To catch your breath. To rest.

He smoothed his cold, metallic hand up and down your spine. “You doing okay, sweetheart? You tired?” He dotted a kiss to your hair, “We can call it a night.”

You didn’t say a word.

“Baby,” he scratched gently at your shoulder blade. “Can you answer me?” 

But you remained silent.

Concern coursed through his veins. He feared he’d gone too far. That he’d pushed you past your limits. And if you were upset, he needed to do whatever he could to help you through. As gently as he could, he used both of his hands to lift your head from his chest. 

What he found sent a wave of chills rushing over his skin. 

You were out cold. Completely unconscious. 

Bucky found himself operating on autopilot. He removed you from his lap and laid you flat on the bed. His fingers searched your neck for a pulse. Your name fell from his lips in a horrified, desperate prayer. 

A breakdown loomed on the horizon, darkening everything around him. His hands shook, his chest tightened. The copper-penny taste of blood exploded across his tongue as he sunk his teeth into his cheek. But he couldn’t fall apart- not when your life depended on it. 

And massive sigh of relief left his chest when he felt your strong, steady pulse beating beneath his fingertips. 

And once he knew that you were, indeed, alive, he allowed himself to fall apart- but only for a moment. Tears dripped down his face and splashed against your chest as he loomed over you. He breathlessly told you he was sorry. That he loved you. That he didn’t mean to hurt you. 

But that was all he permitted. You still needed him, even if you weren’t in dire straits. And so, he forced his emotion behind a wall and pressed on. 

No part of him wanted to leave your side, but it was a necessary evil. He sped through the apartment and into the kitchen, digging in the freezer for ice packs. And when he found the two you required, he snagged a couple dish towels from the drawer by the sink and raced back to the bedroom. 

“Hey, I’m- I’m back, baby,” he said to your unconscious body. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I just had to get-” he held up the icepacks. Even if you couldn’t hear him, he wanted you to know that he’d never- under any circumstances- abandon you when you needed him. 

He wrapped each ice pack in a towel and tucked one behind your neck while the other rested on your chest. And then, all he could do was wait. 

He hovered over you, watching for any signs of waking, any signs of distress. His hands smoothed over your hair and drifted across your cheek. His fingers monitored your pulse every few seconds. His lips left kisses against your forehead. And though he knew that your life wasn’t in danger, it didn’t quell the shaking in his hands. Didn’t stop the waves of nausea cresting over him. 

And he didn’t take a full inhale until your eyelids finally began to flutter open. 

He watched closely as you finally blinked your way back into consciousness. Everything was kind of fuzzy, a bit hazy around the edges. A quiet ringing filled your ears. A slight tremor rendered your hands unsteady. And the world around you seemed to tilt and twist without warning.

But Bucky was right there, anchoring you to the earth. He let a gentle hand rest against your cheek. 

“Hi, baby,” his voice was soft, sweet, comforting.

But you couldn’t respond even if you wanted to, as your synapses refused to get their shit together. Words collided and melted together, dripping into amorphous puddles inside your mind. You swore someone had stuffed your head full of cotton. Everything felt far away; the entire world was muffled somehow, as though you were trapped behind fifty feet of glass.

Concern bled into Bucky’s words, “Sweetheart, are you alright?” 

And it wasn’t easy, but you finally remembered how to think. How to speak. You chipped away at the thick pane of glass separating you from Bucky, and finally answered. 

“’m okay…” You reached for Bucky’s face and allowed your fingers to gently trace down his jawline. His stubble pricked at your skin. His warm breath fanned your face. 

And without warning, tears slipped from your eyes. Rivulets coursed down the sides of your face and dripped into your hair. It was a sudden, jarring shift that sent Bucky’s heart leaping into his throat. 

“Oh, no- oh, sweetheart,” he gently cradled your face in his hands. “Baby, you’re okay- everything’s okay. You’re fine. You’re safe.” 

He did everything in his power to bring you some sense of peace, but the tears refused to stop. And he found himself desperately, hopelessly, trying to comfort you. He tripped over himself again and again, apologizing endlessly. And when that didn’t work, he changed tactics. He spelled out what happened for you in clear, easy to understand terms, ridding you of the dreaded unknown. He promised that you were only out for a minute or two. That you were perfectly safe.  

He left gentle touches against your skin and dotted kisses to your cheeks and hairline- just like you always did for him when he fell to pieces. And if it worked for him, he hoped it might work for you.

He wasn’t sure what brought an end to your waterworks- his reassurances or his touch- but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that you’d finally stopped crying. That your breathing was returning to normal. The sharp pain radiating through his chest dulled a little bit as he dried your last few tears. Finally, your hands stopped trembling. And your heartrate slowly regressed to its mean. He thanked a startling number of deities that you were alive and seemed to be improving.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “How do you feel, baby? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Um…” you dried your damp lashes on the backs of your hands. “I’m cold.”

“Shit- sorry,” Bucky snatched your icepacks from their respective positions and threw them to the floor. 

Guilt bloomed in his chest; he should’ve removed the ice the second you woke up. Should’ve covered you with a blanket. Should’ve used his body to keep yours warm. Should’ve- 

He didn’t have time to spiral into guilt and shame and ‘should haves’. 

He leaned over the side of the bed and located his discarded hoodie, the one you’d yanked over his head only a few hours ago in your insatiable pursuit of his body.

“Hey, here you go, doll,” he gently helped you wriggle into the soft fabric and covered you with the bedspread. And once he was confident that you were comfortable, he slid under the blanket with you and vowed to give you all of his body heat. 

The second he laid down next to you, you rolled onto your side and buried your face in his chest. He curled his body protectively around yours; he wasn’t going to let anything else happen to you tonight. Or ever. His hand swept up and down the length of your spine on a seemingly endless loop. He whispered ‘I love yous’ and “I’m sorrys” until he thought he might go hoarse.

And when your world fell properly into place and you finally felt like yourself again, you plucked your head from his chest.

“Hi,” you reached upward and let your fingers slowly drift across his cheek bones. The slope of his nose. His lips.

“Hi, baby.” He couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at his features. This was the version of you he knew. The version that, only a few minutes ago, hungrily egged him on in his pursuit of your pleasure. “You doing okay?”

You gave him a confident nod, “Yeah, I’m okay now.” Your lips drifted across his, “Sorry, it kinda took me a minute to come back to myself, you know?”

“That’s okay, doll,” he let he tips of his fingers ghost over your spine. “Don’t apologize.”

“And I really didn’t mean for there to be any,” you gave Bucky some unenthusiastic jazz hands, “any theatrics tonight. Sorry about the drama.”

Bucky gave a shake of his head, “No, baby, it’s okay. I’m…” he traced your features with his cold, gentle fingers. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah, I’m totally fine,” you shrugged. “It was weird though, right? This has never happened to me before- I’ve never passed out during sex.” You gazed at him with a spark of lust in your eyes, “You know, I’m actually impressed. You made me come so many times that I actually blacked out. None of my ex-boyfriends can say that.”

You let out a quiet laugh that Bucky didn’t return. He didn’t find it funny- he didn’t find any of this funny. But he put on a smile for your benefit.

“Oh, and sorry about all the crying,” you sighed. “I don’t know what that was about.”

“That’s alright- it happens,” he shrugged. “You went from really high highs and then fell to some pretty low lows. It’s just got to do with the chemicals in your brain, nothing to apologize for.” He trailed kisses across your forehead and down your nose, “Plus, you were probably scared. Or freaked out, at least.”

The guilt sunk its teeth into every fiber of Bucky’s being. And as you nestled closer to him, a tidal wave of revulsion nearly dragged him from the bed. He should’ve known better. Should’ve exercised better judgment. You weren’t like him; you didn’t have the enhanced energy and stamina to match his. He shouldn’t have pushed you to the edge like that. Shouldn’t have carried you past your limits. 

Normally, he’d do anything to be near you. He wanted- needed- to touch you as much as possible. And if he couldn’t touch you, he at least had to be close to you. But the voice in his head screamed at him, telling him to vacate your vicinity. And the overwhelming, urgent need to put some space between his body and yours yanked him out of bed. 

“Baby, I’m gonna go get you some water, okay? And a snack,” he headed for the door, “you stay there, I’ll be right back.”

It was the perfect excuse. He really did need to provide you with sustenance and hydration after your black out- but a trip to the kitchen also provided him with a reason to remove himself from your side. He counted it as a win-win.

And from that moment on, he did his best- his very best- to keep his hands off of you. To stay as far away as possible. To ensure that you would be safe. 

He couldn’t risk your well-being, not again.

------

It wasn’t quite what you expected him to say. And though it was a far better reason than the affair you concocted for him during your downward spiral, it still didn’t make much sense. 

“Last time?” 

What exactly happened last time? You wracked your brain, searching your memories for some terrible event- but you came up empty. And just as you were about to call bullshit on Bucky’s reasoning, you stumbled upon the memory of your innocuous, minute-long black out. 

“Oh, the thing with me passing out?”  

Bucky gave a solemn nod. At the thought of it, his face lost all color, all warmth. A sickly shade of gray tainted his skin.

“Buck, I know that was kind of weird and not at all ideal, but it was fine,” you shrugged, “It wasn’t a big deal.”

You took a cautious step toward him, and much to your dismay, he countered with a step back. 

“If anything, it was a fluke.” Again, you took a step in his direction. And again, he backed away. 

Bucky feared what might happen when you backed him into a corner, when his spine hit the wall. He knew he’d have to slip from your grasp and vacate the room. That he’d have to find an escape. But he knew it would hurt you. After weeks of no warmth, no touching, no physical intimacy, you were barely hanging on by a thread. And if he ran from the room, it would surely cause that thread to snap. But wasn’t that better than the snapping of your neck? Or your spine? Wasn’t it better for you to hurt emotionally, rather than physically?

“Buck, it’s never happened before, and I highly doubt it will ever happen again,” you said. “I didn’t sleep well the night before, and I had a long day leading up to that. I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, I was dehydrated, and I’d been sick the week prior. It was a perfect storm of circumstances that made me pass out. Not you.” 

You intertwined your fingers, locking them together in search of any kind of touch. Any physical reassurance. “Seriously, Buck, that will never happen again. I promise.”

Bucky knew of one surefire way to ensure it would never, ever happen again. All he had to do was keep his distance. If he could refrain from touching you, if he could keep his hands to himself, you’d be safe.

But you’d be miserable- he knew you would. And as he gave you a long once-over, a sharp pain shot through him like lightning. Tear tracks trailed down your cheeks. Your eyes were red and puffy. Dark circles stained your under eyes- you hadn’t been sleeping, had you? No, you’d been staying up all night, worrying about Bucky. About the state of your relationship. 

And when he noticed the way you’d tangled your hands together, the way your right thumb stroked against the back of your left hand, he could’ve sworn he’d been stabbed through the chest. You were so desperate for affection, so robbed of touch, that you were trying- and failing- to self-soothe. 

“I know it was scary for you,” he finally said. “And I know you’re the one who passed out, so I’m not trying to make this about me- I swear. But it was…” He, too, found himself absentmindedly searching for physical comforts. He slowly raked a hand through his hair a few times, but it didn’t have the same effect; only your hands could bring him peace. “It was scary for me, too.”

A pang of anxiety rocketed through you. How could you have been so selfish? So heartless toward Bucky’s plight? Of course, he’d been scared. Of course, the events of that night affected him, too. And you knew that if the situation were reversed, you would’ve been paralyzed with fear. With worry. 

You’d just gotten so swept up, so overwhelmed by the loss of his hands. His lips. His arms. It darkened your periphery and gave you tunnel-vision. All you could see- all you could feel- was the cold. The emptiness. The fear of losing him.

“Shit, baby, I’m-” you reached for Bucky but recoiled. “I’m so sorry. You just- you said you were fine. Every time I asked, you swore everything was okay. So I thought-”

“I know…” Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek. He let his head droop, allowed his gaze to drop to the floor. And he stayed that way. For a while.

His hands dug deep into his pockets and his shoulders fell forward ever so slightly. He found himself awash in regret. Longing. Loneliness. He knew it was his fault; he’d done this to himself. He’d chosen to isolate, to pull away. But it was the safest option for you, wasn’t it? And your safety came before anything and everything else- full stop. 

“It took me a long time,” he finally said, “it took me a long time to be able to touch you. I couldn’t bring myself to do it for…” He silently thought back on that time, adding up the days where he kept his hands to himself- but they were far too numerous. “For a while. Do you remember that?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but I- I guess I always figured it was just some old-fashioned, chivalrous, nineteen-forties type of thing…”

“Well, that was,” a small smile flickered across his face, “that was part of it. But the real reason is that I was too scared. To touch you, I mean.” His smile disappeared. His features suddenly fell. His eyes darkened. “Sometimes, I don’t know my own strength, you know? And I was too- I was so afraid that I’d hurt you, baby.” 

“Oh…” You hadn’t thought of it that way. 

“I had to kind of overcome that fear, and it took time. I think it took me over a month just to hold your hand- and even then, it was only for a second.”

Bucky’s words had an endless darkness to them- a darkness you were well acquainted with by now. When he was really down, when he was going through a particularly miserable time, his voice took on the pitch-black tone of the abyss. And when he found himself drowning in the obsidian sea, it was your hands that guided him out. You’d hold him close to your body, wrapping him in the safety of your embrace- and slowly, he’d wade out of his agony. 

But this time was different. 

No matter desperately you longed to touch him, to comfort him, to save him- you couldn’t. He didn’t want your hands, your body anywhere near him. Of course, he did want you close- he just wouldn’t allow it. 

“But you know I’ve never been afraid of you, right?” Your arm twitched with want. Almost on autopilot, your hand tried to reach out and touch him, but you forbade it. “I’ve never thought that you’d hurt me-”

“I know.” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. You never saw him as a monster or a threat- you never saw him the way he saw himself. “But when we first started dating, I was having these nightmares. I actually had them for the first year of our relationship- at the least…”

Your heart sank. He had enough nightmares as it was; and to know that you’d somehow delivered him a fresh crop of terror made you nauseous.

“Every night when I went to sleep, I’d have these awful dreams…” His eyes took on a hollow quality as he hurdled backward and fell into his memories. “They always started out okay- they seemed like normal dreams. In some of them, we were hugging. In others, we were having sex. And everything was fine. But then, you’d start-” He dragged a few fingers across his bottom lip and down his chin, “you’d start bleeding out of your mouth. Your eyes would roll back in your head. And you’d collapse. You’d die in my arms. Every time.”

A small gasp filled your lungs, “Buck…” It was your most basic, most intrinsic instinct to comfort Bucky with soft, gentle touches. Your hands were his homing signal, and when he got lost in the dark labyrinth of his past, you automatically guided him to safety. You couldn’t remember a time when you’d ever caged that reflex- until now. He stood in front of you, completely despondent, and you couldn’t do a damn thing to help him.

“And the other night- it was exactly like one of my nightmares. You went completely limp, baby, and your eyes rolled back in your head. You were unresponsive. I was so scared, I…” He almost didn’t want to say the words. Didn’t want to tempt the universe by voicing his greatest fear. “I thought I killed you. I thought I’d held you too tight and crushed your spine, or something. I had to-” He cleared his throat, forcing the oncoming emotion away, “I actually had to feel for a pulse to make sure you were still alive.”

“Baby, I- I didn’t know that.” He’d conveniently left that out when he walked you through what happened. He’d sidestepped his horror and his trauma and put you first, as he always did. “But you’d never hurt me- you couldn’t.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not on purpose. But I thought I’d gone too far in the heat of the moment, and…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. “Even though you didn’t pass out because of me, I’m still- I can’t get over it. I can’t stop thinking about it. It was like one of my nightmares had come to life- it hit way too close to home.” He pressed his palms to his eyes for a moment and forced himself to catch his breath. Only when he felt his heartrate return to normal did he speak again. “So, I’ve been scared- too scared to touch you.”

It shattered you. All Bucky did- all he’d ever wanted to do- was protect you. And though he’d spent the last three weeks aching for his best girl, he didn’t dare lay a finger on you- all in the name of your safety. Sure, his execution wasn’t the best, but his intentions were pure and kind, as they always were. 

“But I know I didn’t… I didn’t handle this the right way. And I’m sorry- I’m so sorry I pulled away,” he tripped over himself again and again, desperately begging for your understanding. For your forgiveness. “I know you’re not happy- believe me, I’m not happy either. I’ve been miserable this whole time- I miss you so much, sweetheart. And I never wanted to hurt you like this. I just didn’t…” He gave a small shake of his head, “I didn’t want to hurt you physically, either. And I didn’t know what to do. So, I figured that keeping my hands off of you was safest. But I didn’t mean to upset you.”

All the work he’d done, all the effort he’d put into fixing his self-image had crumbled in one fell swoop- all because you didn’t have the wherewithal to eat breakfast and stay hydrated three weeks ago. Bucky’s normally upright posture was sloped, his shoulders curved forward. He had the same hollow look in his eye that he had when you’d first met him. And now that he’d spent more than five minutes with you, you noticed all of the fingernails on his right hand were bitten down to the quick.

“Shit. Buck, I’m- I’m so sorry, baby.” You dried your cheeks on the sleeve of your hoodie. “I fucked up…”

“No, no. This is all on me- I fucked up. I basically abandoned you.” His voice took on a harsh, sharp edge he only ever reserved for use against himself. You knew the inside of his head was a horror scene, full of admonishing comments and self-flagellation. You wished you could rescue him from his own mind. 

But his tone softened when he spoke about you, “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart-”

“Buck, I accused you of cheating,” you nearly scoffed. It was ridiculous. Completely absurd. That you believed for even a moment that Bucky could actually have a mistress proved just how out of your mind you were. But grief, you figured, was capable of making people believe crazy things. “That was absolutely wrong of me. And I didn’t even-” you shook your head. “I didn’t even think that the other night might have affected you-”

“You were upset, and rightfully so.” He absolved you of any blame, any guilt. “Plus, you were the one who blacked out, not me. My feelings on the subject aren’t nearly as important as yours.”

“But you witnessed it. And it scared you. A lot.” You hated knowing that he’d been too horrified, too paralyzed with fear to even hold your hand. And the fact that he’d dealt with all of it alone was enough to force you to your knees. “I should’ve known better- I should’ve known you were upset. I’m so sorry, Buck. This was so unfair to you, I-”

He held up a hand, halting your words. “You can’t read my mind, sweetheart. And I could’ve communicated better.” He flashed you a sad smile, “That’s something I said I’d work on- communication. And I’m getting better at it, but I’m not perfect yet.”

“I’m not either, so… I guess we both have some stuff to work on. I probably shouldn’t go around alleging that you had an affair out of the blue.” You crossed your arms over your chest, hugging them tight to your body. Even if Bucky wasn’t sleeping with someone else, he still hadn’t allowed himself to touch you. And you were no match for the bone-chilling cold that had settled into the apartment.

“Um, okay, you know what? We can actually- let’s completely forget I said anything about this. Just put it out of your mind, alright?” This time, it was you who retreated. You who stepped away. 

“Sweetheart, wait-” Bucky adopted your role as the pursuer. He took a few strides in your direction, anxious to close the gap between you. He felt you slipping through his fingers, like he may never regain what the two of you used to have. 

“No, Buck, it’s okay. We’re okay. I just want you to do whatever works for you. I don’t want you to be hurting all the time, I don’t want you to be scared.” Again and again, you stroked your thumbs over your upper arms, but it didn’t bring you a hint of comfort. “And if that- if that means you can never touch me again, I’ll understand-”

“That’s not what I want- that’s absolutely not what I want,” Bucky’s eyes were wide. Almost crazed. It was as though the thought of never touching you again threatened to push him to the brink of madness. “I just need to… I need to take it slow. I have to start back at square one, like I did when I first met you. Is that okay? Can you- ”

“Whatever you need, I’m on board.” It was an automatic, instinctual response. Your voice was steady and even, free from any breaks or signs of uncertainty. You’d do anything for him, anything to ease his mind. “We can move as slowly as you need- there’s no rush.”

“But are you… are you sure?” His words dripped with anxiety, with fear. “Cause I can- I can try to get over it. I don’t want you to be miserable, doll. I can-”

“Buck, it’s okay.”

“Baby, I feel like I might…” He nearly doubled over, “I’m afraid I’m gonna lose you over this.”

“You won’t- I promise, you won’t.” Another surge of need coursed through you, begging you to wrap Bucky in an embrace, but you kept your hands to yourself. You’d never push him, would never dream of making him uncomfortable. “You will never lose me. I’m here for you, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care how long it takes.”

And you meant it. Now that Bucky let you in on his secret, you understood that there had to be some distance. Some space. Of course, you’d still miss the physical intimacy. The sleepy mornings spent with your body draped across his chest. The late nights full of depravity and lust. But with the looming darkness of a possible affair banished, you could wait.

Though, you didn’t have to wait long at all.

Because Bucky vanquished space remaining between your body and his. He strode eagerly, anxiously across the room and raised his right hand, desperate to feel you again. But just as his palm grew close to your cheek, he faltered. His brain struggled to reign him in, to put a pause on his possibly dangerous plan. Only millimeters remained between his skin and yours, but he couldn’t find it in him to close the final gap. 

“It’s okay,” you said. “Take your time.”

It was the final push he needed. And finally, he touched you again. His palm lightly ghosted over your cheek, and tears instantly crested over your lash line. The feeling of relief, of home, was almost intoxicating. It was the lightest, softest touch- almost imperceptible. But to you- to Bucky- it was like a fireworks show. 

And after testing the waters with his feather-light touch, he found himself nearly begging for more. 

He allowed his palm to actually rest against your face, to cup your cheek the way he always did. And it acted like an instant pain reliever. The excruciating ache in your chest relented, and your muscles slackened as they released their knots. An all-encompassing warmth wrapped around your entire body, finally ridding you of the vicious cold you’d suffered through all these weeks. This was the warmth you knew you couldn’t live without, the warmth only Bucky could provide. 

His knees almost buckled beneath him, but he wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t allow anything to take this moment from either of you. All this time, he’d felt unmoored, adrift, lost in a dark, endless sea. And no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t seem to find his way back to shore. But with his skin pressed against yours, he finally felt steady. Stable. You provided him with a guiding light. An anchor. He felt more like himself than he had in the last three weeks, all because of you.

Your tears dampened Bucky’s skin, but he didn’t mind. He brushed them gently away with a light sweep of his thumb. 

“Can I?” you motioned to the tears trailing down his cheek.

And after a moment of thought, he gave you a nod. Your hand drifted lightly over his skin to mop up his tears, but your touch only brought on more waterworks. He was so starved of your affection that even the lightest touch made him whimper. He let out a soft, grateful sound that knocked the breath from your chest. 

The two of you remained there a while, soaking in the sensation of the other. Bucky didn’t dare to hug you, and kissing you was still off limits. But his palm remained flush with your cheek for as long as you allowed- and you had no urge to ever remove it.  

You knew there was a long road ahead for him, but you didn’t mind. Starting back at square one with him was something you could handle. Something the two of you could handle together.

“It’s kind of a bummer that I didn’t get to make good use of your…” Bucky gestured to your discarded garter belt and thigh-highs, “outfit.”

You let loose a laugh that vibrated under his palm- the sensation sent a wave of warmth cresting over him.

“It’s alright, Buck. I’ll wear it again, I promise.” You leaned into his touch, greedily searching for more of him. “You can take as much time as you need, okay? I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

———————————

@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @anything-more-than-human

[celestie0]

jjk men reaction to lingerie & also what kind they like most.

helloooo i was bored and wanted to write headcannons for how the jjk men would react when they see you in lingerie and also which types of lingerie would have them acting up lol

➸ incudes nanami, gojo, toji, geto, choso, sukuna ✩ cw. nsfw, sexual content, bdsm/pain (just bc of sukuna)

nanami kento. thigh-high stockings & lace robes

this man loooooves lingerie on his woman. he'd definitely be the one that bought like all of the sets that you have in your wardrobe. it's a ritual to him where he buys you a nice dress with some matching stockings for date nights, he takes you out to an expensive restaurant and has you sittin' pretty across from him, you're teasing him with a show of your lingerie underneath any chance you get until he just can't take it anymore and he's fucking you in the restaurant bathroom. he likes waking up in the morning and seeing you do your hair or your makeup with a nice lace robe on, it's romantic but erotic at the same time. it's also sooo territorial for him that the clothing that's covering the most intimate parts of you have been purchased and chosen by him.

gojo satoru. see-through stuff & bowties

gojo likes lingerie, he always thinks it's a nice surprise, i don't think he would explicitly ask you to wear it but it always gets a reaction out of him when you do. definitely the type of guy to be like 'babe you look soooo sexy in this, but you know when you look your sexiest? when you're wearing nothing at all' and he thinks he's being flattering when in reality you're upset because you spent so much time picking something out that you thought he would like. and then when he sees you're upset, he starts backtracking like 'nooo, i mean, you look sexiest covered up' and then now you're offended. and he never ends up getting laid that night. he would so love the little bowtie across the tits that he gets to pull loose because he thinks it's cute you're like a present for him.

toji fushiguro. crotchless panties & thongs

listen, i really cannot imagine this man caring much for lingerie at all. he probably thinks it's useless and he would ruin all your favorite sets anytime he's tryna fuck because he's too impatient and rough with the flimsy little things. you're whining because he just tore through your favorite cute lace panties and he's saying something like 'anything that stands between you and me fucking you has got to go, sweetheart'. if you ask him to buy you some for valentine's day or something, he'd think you're joking. one day he sees you wearing a thong underneath your low-rise jeans and it awakens something visceral in him, and that ends up being pretty much the only lingerie he ends up liking on you. also, random, but toji's definitely the type to tell you to keep your heels on when he's got you otherwise completely naked and is fucking you.

geto suguru. corsets & garter belts

of all the jjk men, geto would probably be the most appreciative and responsive to seeing you in lingerie. he'd be so sweet when he sees that you've worn something sexy under your clothing like you wore this just for me, my love? and he'd play with you, ask you to do a little twirl or a dance for him to show it off before he's got you on the bed. he's into the classics like the full garter belt set or bustiers/corsets that show off your figure. he's the type to keep it on during sex, just slide the fabric to the side when he wants to fuck you or pull it up or out of the way if he wants access to your tits. he looooves when you send him nudes all dolled up at home while he's out somewhere, counting the minutes until he can get home to you. he'd also be into that boudoir photoshoot stuff, he thinks lingerie is an art form and it really turns him on.

choso kamo. slip dresses & babydolls

i feel like choso would have reaaaally old-fashioned taste in lingerie, he's into slip dresses and vintage stuff, not so much the really lacy or obviously sexy stuff. he would get so worked up seeing you in something like a silk nightgown while you're getting ready for bed or tidying up the room and just comes up behind you to pet at the fabric and the way it clings to your curves. he's also into babydolls, which is probably because that's his exact pet name for you, and anytime you wear one around him just to be a tease he's like dissociating all day because he can't stop thinking about fucking you senseless in the frilly thing. he'd ultimately take any sort of lingerie/clothing off when you two get down to it because he's into fully naked you the most, but something about leaving a lot to the imagination before that just drives him crazy.

ryomen sukuna. bdsm lingerie & chokers

honestly i was like would sukuna even like lingerie...but i think he'd be into anything that has chokers, chains, belts, straps, he'd definitely be into those type that don't cover any part of your tits. you'd bring him a pair of cute fuzzy handcuffs one day and he thinks it's ridiculous before chaining you to the bed and playing with you all night long until you're squirming and squealing underneath him. he likes the lingerie as more of an accessory where it looks like you've been tied and wrapped up just for him, pulling and releasing at the straps so they snap against you and there are red marks on your skin from the outline of your lingerie the next day. any color other than black would be unacceptable. i could honestly see anything that was overly frilly or lacy would be a massive turn-off for him and he'd rather you just be naked.

[jayaury]

Marrying the Maid

More archive short stories. Get more on my P*treon. Enjoy! https://www.patreon.com/JayAury

---

Baron Lukas Instaf fell into his office chair with an audible groan.

Yes.

His office.

He had to keep reminding himself of that fact. To think, he would inherit the barony at a mere twenty years of age. It was quite a bit of pressure, he had to admit.

He found himself looking back at the imposing portrait hanging over the mantle of the fireplace. His father’s picture was of a grim, sullen man with dark hair and a face of hard, disapproving lines.

Lukas had inherited the man’s hair, if not his rough features. He was slimmer than his stocky father. Many said handsomer, and certainly younger. He flexed his hands on the arms of the chair uneasily and scanned the study. He didn’t much care for the decor. But that had always been his problem, as his father had frequently berated him. He was indecisive. Weak.

Well, Lukas had best start getting decisive. For this was his home now.

Well, mostly.

The door swung open with a bang. “Good morning master!”

He sat up sharply as a familiar figure bounced into the room. Clarissa, the family’s maid of two years, was a forceful personality in the house. She filled every room she stepped foot in with her presence and somewhat unconventional character. Lukas had no idea why his father had kept the boisterous redhead.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had a good idea. Two of them, actually. Clarissa was bustier than some holstaurs. In fact, there were rumours that she was one of those bovine maidens, but had filed down her horns. Lukas wasn’t sure how much he believed that, but he did know that she did attend that new cow goddess church that was making waves. And she was unbelievably brash and forceful for a servant. Not to mention teasing. He’d often been at the receiving end of her attentions, leaving him flustered and annoyed.

And she was wearing scent again, he noticed with a sigh. Honestly, it seemed like every day she wore a new kind of perfume. The current one was jasmine, and was shockingly potent. Well, at least it was better than the rosemary she used to wear around his father. In fact, it was almost… pleasant.

“Clarissa!” he sighed, forcing himself not to stare at the maid’s impressive bust. “You-”

“Here with your tea!” she said, sliding the tray into place before him with a wink of her long lashes. “Starting off the morning well, as the big, strong baron should!”

“Clarissa, really. You can’t just-”

“Not to worry, my baron! There’s plenty of cream. I know how much you like it,” she added, picking up a pitcher and pouring a generous helping into his cup. “And you’ll need it today! Because we have quite a bit of work to do.”

In the midst of tidying his papers, Lukas paused. “We do?”

“Of course, my lord! Now that you are baron, we must decide on your betrothed.”

“M-my what!”

“And I have them right here!” Clarissa chimed, lifting a folder out from some hidden recess of her scandalously short skirt (it had to be custom. No other maid in the estate had such a revealingly tight uniform). “Shall we take a look, my baron?”

“Wh… Hold on now, I can’t just-”

“My baron!” Clarissa cried in mock horror. “Surely you realize the importance in choosing your bride? The barony cannot be left without a mistress. Not only for the hard work running the estate, but also the vital work of carrying on the family line! Which means we must choose the most ample, breedable, lovely wife for you.”

“B-breedable? Clarissa! That is-”

“Not to worry, my baron. I’m sure you can manage that. Why, any woman would consider herself lucky to be bent over your table as you thrust home, stuffing her full of your droit de seigneur.”

Lukas’s face burned as it always did whenever Clarissa got going like this. Not to say she was wrong, unfortunately. She was absolutely right. He did need to get married, but it still seemed so early to be shopping for a bride. “Clarissa, really. I-”

“Early to start, my baron! We must be. Once word gets out that Baron Instaf is not only single, but such an adorable, impressive, handsome piece of stud meat, why, we’ll be besieged by eligible young ladies looking to have you mount them like a prized mare! And whichever does will be lucky to have you. Take my word for it!”

“Clarissa! This is… that sort of talk is hardly-”

“You’re so right, my baron. Here I am, chattering away, and you haven’t even gotten a chance to look at the choices! Let’s take a look at the candidates, shall we?”

Lukas sighed, finally giving up. It was near impossible to stop Clarissa once she set her mind to something, though by gods he would soon. He’d have to talk to the head butler about firing her. She treated him far too casually. But for now, he supposed the best thing was just to get this business with the portraits over with.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s take a look…”

“How wise, my dear baron,” Clarissa chirped merrily as she opened the folder to the first page, propping it up just underneath her immense bosom.

Lukas cleared his throat, forcing himself to look at the portrait and not the impressive pair of breasts just above it. “And this is…”

“Mirria Mable. Daughter of a lord in the southern country. Quite the pick specimen. An attractive if air headed young thing. Pretty, but not terribly bright. And not nearly as endowed as me, hm?”

“Clarissa! That’s hardly appropriate,” Lukas said, though he had to admit it was true, and his eyes did quickly steal a glance at Clarissa’s chest as if just to make sure of that. Gods, the room felt suffocating in the perfume she wore. He should open a window, though the scent wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it was a bit… soothing.

Clarissa giggled. “Very true, my baron. We cannot judge a woman less blessed than myself in that respect. Some of us were merely born with a generous bosom. Perfect to lay one’s head upon.”

Lukas rolled his eyes, but felt his cheeks warm at the thought. “I ah… Well, what about the others?”

“The others? Of course, my lord,” Clarissa said, turning the page, her chest bouncing as she did so.

The sight made Lukas realize quite suddenly his mouth was very dry. With haste, he picked up a teacup and took a sip. Mm. Normally he wasn’t a big fan of cream in his tea, but wherever Clarissa got hers, it was delicious.

“Now then,” Clarissa said. “Lady Blumen from the duchy of Clausen seems like a perfect match for you. Nearly as busty as I am, and I know how important that is for you, my baron.”

“Not that important…” he mumbled.

“Ho ho!” Clarissa laughed, the throaty mirth making her breasts bounce most distractingly in her tight top. “How droll you are, my baron! But I know how much you value an impressive pair of breasts. You can barely keep your eyes off mine!”

Lukas flushed again, realizing he had been staring at her chest. He hastily took another sip of tea. Gods, he was feeling a bit light headed. “I ah… What else is there about her?”

“Why, only that she is something of a black widow, my baron. A nasty piece of work. She delights in wedding rich men, then crushing them beneath her heel. Nitpicking them until they don’t dare breathe without her approval. And what a cruel thing, my baron! Why, she cannot understand true love. The love of a good husband willing to do anything for his darling wife. Adore you. Worship her! She’s only in it for the quick cash! No sense of adoring her new spouse like the good boy he is.”

“S-sorry. Good boy?” Lukas said.

Clarissa giggled, her long lashes fluttering again. “Oh yes, my baron. A husband must be assured what a good boy he is. What a good, obedient, lovey dovey dummy he is to his beloved wife. Otherwise, he might get the most silly ideas in his head.”

Lukas felt his cheeks redden at the degrading words, even if they weren’t addressed to him. And he found his eyes looking at Clarissa’s breasts again. Big and soft. The subtle heave as she breathed. Or rather, the not so subtle. Looked like she was as into the discussion as he was.

“Er, right. Sure,” Lukas said, taking another sip of tea, sinking back into his seat with a sigh. “So, not her.”

“Oh no, my baron. You deserve so much better. So much bustier! So much more loving and adoring. A sweet wife who would show you what a good boy you are. Who would let you adore her like the happy, dopey husband you were always meant to be.”

“Er, yes. Yes. But uh… Who is the next one?”

“Oh yes, my baron. That would be the Countess Francesca,” Clarissa said, turning the next page. “But she wouldn’t make an appropriate wife for you either my lord.”

“Hm?” Lukas said, taking another sip, barely paying attention as he watched Clarissa’s breasts bounce. “She wouldn’t? Why… why not?”

“Oh my baron! Why, she does not want children.”

“O-oh,” Lukas said as he took another long drink of his tea. “Yes, that might… might be a problem. Need an heir…”

“Oh no, my baron. Not just one.”

“S-sorry?”

Clarissa gave him a knowing look. “Why, my dear baron, your wife must bear you many children! A dozen at least. A dozen happy, lovely children. Your wife needs to be very eager to take your virile seed. Because I know, my dear baron, that you’re far too much a stud to be satisfied with just one child. That you would like nothing more than to breed your beloved wife at every opportunity. To make her breasts so big… so heavy… so creamy and soft that you can’t help but play with them and kiss them every night.”

Lukas stared at her breasts. Gods, he could imagine it. Imagine those breasts bouncing. Heaving. Wobbling and Clarissa positively glowing from… from…

But… but no. He… he needed to only think of… of his wife like that. Yes. Only his wife. His beloved wife, whoever… whoever it turned out to be.

“I uh…”

“Oh dear, my baron,” Clarissa sighed, closing the folder dramatically, crossing her arms beneath her jiggling bust. “This just won’t do! It seems like there isn’t a noble woman in the land who can satisfy all your needs. A woman so busty. So loving. So beautiful and fertile to satisfy your very high standards.”

“I… y-yes. No one…”

“Oh!” Clarissa suddenly said, brightening visibly. “But then, of course! How silly of me. I didn’t think of that at all! Why, you don’t need a noblewoman for your wife.”

“I… I don’t?” Lukas said, frowning a little, brow wrinkling in concentration. Didn’t he? He was under the impression that was important…

“Oh no, my beloved baron,” Clarissa cooed as she planted her hands on the table, climbing onto it and crawling towards him, pendulous breasts swaying teasingly, her eyes hot, molten with something that made Lukas’s pulse quicken and pound. “Not at all. Why, if the noble stock isn’t up to the standards, then we must simply find another who is. One who is capable of seeing the greatness in you. The handsomeness. The virile… powerful… studliness in you.”

Lukas found himself instinctively retreating, pressing into the back of his chair, watching his maid move towards him like a she-wolf on the hunt. “Wh-who?”

“Now that is the question, isn’t it, my baron,” Clarissa giggled, straightening so she was kneeling on the desk in front of him, her hands cupping her breasts, fondling and massaging them teasingly. “She’d have to know your domain inside and out. She’d have to have every servant in the house already under her thumb. She’d have to know the ways you love things done. She’d have to be so pretty… so clever… so very… very… busty that you just couldn’t say no to her. Every idea she had would just seem like the bestest idea ever. Oops! Did I say breastest?”

“D-did you?” Lukas said, fairly drooling as he watched her bounce and mold her breasts together.

“Maybe I should have, hmm?” Clarissa said. “Because I know how much my baron loves breasts. Big… bouncy… soft breasts. That’s why I know he’ll make the right choice. I know he’ll decide on exactly the right person to be his baroness. To be his loving wife. His devoted mistress. His gorgeous… bouncy… beautiful bride. But who, my baron? Who is busty and smart and beautiful enough for that.”

“Wh-who?” Lukas gasped.

“Think hard, my baron,” Clarissa crooned.

Lukas tried to. He really did. But his mind just didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Every thought he had swirled and squished and bounced and wobbled like Clarissa’s breasts. He whimpered, biting his lower lip, trembling with need as his maid continued to massage her breasts, her buttons straining against her ample tit flesh until… until…

“Mmmm,” Clarissa moaned, tearing open the front of her uniform, her ample, pale breasts spilling into the open. Bouncing with heavy softness. Nipples dark accents to their creamy slopes.

Lukas gasped, jolting like from a physical blow as her breasts bounced free.

“Whoops!” Clarissa giggled. “Did I do that?”

“Y-you… you…” Lukas stammered.

Clarissa’s smile widened. “Me, my lord?” she said coyly. “You want me to be your gorgeous baroness?”

Lukas blinked blankly, his sloshing thoughts struggling. “I…”

“Well, it is true, my lord,” Clarissa cooed, her leg extending, foot pressing against his chest and pushing him and his chair back with a squeak. “I am so very smart. So very beautiful. So very…” she breathed, sliding off the desk, into his lap, Lukas groaning as her weight settled on the hardness of his tenting cock. “Very…” Clarissa moaned as she leaned forward, her ample titflesh pressing against his face. “...Busty…”

Lukas shuddered, inhaling, breathing in the heady scent of Clarissa’s breasts and body. A scent so potent and strong it made his toes curl. Sweet. Heavy and wonderful. Something so real. So potent. The jasmine stuffing his nose. Suffocating his thoughts. And with… with just a faint hint of cream…

“Oh, but whatever would society say,” Clarissa groaned, her hips rocking, rubbing herself upon his thick cock, making Lukas moan and pant under her as his cock throbbed with need. As her breasts squished his face between them and Clarissa’s weight ground him under her. “They might say such terrible things…”

“Ohhhh,” Lukas groaned.

“You’re so right, my baron,” Clarissa giggled. “True love overcomes all odds. And oh, but you do love me, my baron. You do love my big… soft… breasts. And I love you. Loved you so much I tried all sorts of alraune perfumes before I found the one that just. Makes. You. Melt.”

“Mmmm,” Lukas moaned as he inhaled deeply.

“And you love my wonderful, clever mind, don’t you?” Clarissa cooed as she gave her breasts a bounce, swirling his thoughts again to a lather. “So smart to think of buying that holstaur cream for your tea. So clever to know how malleable it makes a good boy. How needy and aroused by big breasts it makes him. How adoring and dumb. How needy and horny and obedient.

“But there is something bigger than my breasts, my baron,” Clarissa moaned as she squeezed her tits around his head. “Oh yes! Believe it. And that is my warm, adoring heart. Perfectly made for my darling baron. Utterly devoted to him. Because I know, my beloved baron, how haaaaard it is for you to think with me around. How distracted you get from a big… soft… pair of breasts. How hard it is for you to rule. You’re not suited for it, my lord. You’re just suited to be a lovey dovey bimbo. A perfect, obedient stud to your darling wife. And oh, my baron, do you really want me? Do you really need me?”

Lukas whimpered beneath his maid, his mind whirling. Drunk on lust and love and heavenly cream and her body. His hands trembled as they touched her, stroking her hips and rump. Touching her back and causing Clarissa to lean forward and bounce teasingly atop him, his chair creaking.

“Oh my baron. If you begged me, then, well, maybe,” Clarissa giggled. “If you told me how much you loved me, how much you need me, then maybe I’d believe you. Maybe I could be convinced to make you my adoring husband. My sweet, brainless stud of a man who’d do anything his busty wife said. Shall we try, my baron?”

“Mmmm,” Lukas moaned into her breasts.

“Let’s,” Clarissa crooned.

Lukas gasped as her breasts came off his face. He blinked dully as he found Clarissa smiling down at him, gaze smoldering and smirk hot with desire.

“I…” Lukas said.

“I want you, my baron,” Clarissa breathed. “Don’t you want me too?”

The note of hot passion in her tone dashed any effort of resistance from him. Lukas’s mouth trembled and he nodded, the truth escaping him in a panting gasp.

“Y-yes,” he said. “W-want you.”

“Do you, my baron?” Clarissa cooed as her hips rose, her hands teased down his chest and to his crotch, Lukas gasping as her fingers played with his bulge, undoing his zipper. “Do you want to fuck your beautiful bride? Propose to her and fuck her and breed her glorious pussy?”

“Y-yes!” Lukas whimpered, his cock springing into the open, a shock of pure ecstasy surging through him as her fingers wrapped around his length. “C-Clarissa, I… I…”

“Oh my baron,” Clarissa giggled, leaning in closer, her molten eyes hot, her rouged lips soft, enunciating every word as he felt his cock guided under the tickling hem of her skirt, brush the smooth skin of her inner thigh, drawn towards the heat of her naked pussy. “Just say… I do.”

“I… I… d-dooooo!” Lukas groaned, head falling back as Clarissa’s body eased down, his cock swallowed in the warm tightness of her pussy. His face buried again under the buxom softness of her ample tits.

“Mmmmm!” Clarissa moaned, her hips rocking, riding her atop his cock with slow, passionate motions that sent throbbing ecstasy radiating through his body and manhood. “Ohhhh my baaaaron! Yes! Yes! I will! I’ll be your baroness! I’ll be your gorgeous wife! Your perfect lover! Your loving, breedable bride. Ah. Ah! Oh goddess yes! Fuck me! Fill me with your cock!”

Lukas groaned beneath her, his lips kissing and licking her breasts, lost in the creamy valley of her tits, trapped in the ecstasy of her figure and the seemingly endless ampleness of her bouncy breasts. His cock throbbed in her, squeezed by her adoring inner walls. Heat consumed him. Pleasure subsumed him.

It was so good. So perfect. He couldn’t break free. Couldn’t resist. The need to cum surged within him. Devoured him. Urged him towards the inevitability of climax. He panted, gasping, moaning under her.

“Yes!” Clarissa gasped. “Oh my baron! Oh my husband! Yes! Fuck me! Fill me! Stuff me full of your cum! Ohhhhh my baron! I neeeed it! Need your mnnn! Your cum! Ah. Yes. Yes! Cum in me, Lukas. Cum in your bride! Fuck me! Breed me! Now! Breed me… nooooow!”

Her voice rose, a crescendo of shameless pleasure, her inner walls tightening, flexing, squeezing his cock with the glory of her peak. As her breasts shuddered around his head, Lukas cried out, surrendering to her pleasure, his cock throbbing, his balls tightening.

And he came.

Blessed release seemed to burst within him. Sear him. Devour him. His cock surrendered to her, filling her in sharp bursts of heady pleasure.

Lukas moaned, lost in her breasts. Lost in the pleasure. Floating in a sea of creamy ecstasy and delight, his mind sinking under waves of soft, bouncy bliss.

Atop him, Clarissa cooed, giggling as she felt him sag, lost beneath her breasts. Her arms wrapped around her new husband’s head, pulling him deeper into her bosom as she looked about the study. Ugh. Such depressing decoration. She’d have to get it cleaned out. And the room would make such a lovely nursery too.

She giggled, admiring the dazed expression of her former master as she smothered him beneath her breasts. She couldn’t wait for the wedding. Especially since she promised that holstaur priestess and her alraune friend they could be her bridesmaids. After all, when one was looking for a husband, one needed a foot in the door. And she just knew her beloved betrothed had some friends in need of busty, brainwashing brides.

Clarissa hummed contentedly, lazily rocking her hips, feeling Lukas’s cock stir anew within her, ready for round two.

Mmm.

All too easy for a clever, busty girl like her…

[hellishjoel]

psycho bitch

3.2k / pairing: brat tamer!joel x f!reader

pt. 1 pt. 2

summary: When Joel ignoring you leads to an expensive shopping spree on his credit card, punishment follows in the form of spanking and a well-deserved pounding. 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, brat tamer!Joel, swearing, dirty talk, pet names (kitten, etc.), degradation, name calling (be nice lol), praise kink, dom!joel, spanking, a little ass play, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, mean joel honestly lol

A/N: it’s official, I’m naming this series psycho because I’m pretty sure that’s what Joel has reader’s name in his phone saved as. his lil psycho <3 we love psycho in this house (it’s you, you’re psycho).

“Say you’re sorry.” Joel sneered, voice low.  You paused the motion of your hips and cocked your head in an attempt to look back at him.  A dopey hm? left your lips. Mistake.  The smack of his hands cracked against your ass, the stinging sensation warming your entire body as you gasped.  “Shit-- Joel!” You whimpered as you writhed under his body, but it was pointless, he had pinned you to the couch. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” “Say you’re sorry,” He repeated. “Say you’re sorry for rackin’ up my credit card.”

If there was one thing you loved doing above all else, it was irritating the shit out of Joel. Whatever he was to you, boyfriend, fuck toy, situationship… whatever role he played, he was more fun riled up. 

You’d rather have the most psychotic, deranged, raving mad sex with Joel than be stuck in missionary for the rest of your life. 

You were at his place, lying in his bed waiting for him to come home from work. And you’d be waiting a while because according to your phone, it was barely noon. Bored, you tried calling him a few times, but he didn’t care to answer. 

To busy your mind, you started watching Clueless. What a horrible idea that was because now, you wished you had the funds to afford Cher Horowitz’s wardrobe. Hm. 

Laid in the lingerie Joel left you in this morning, you rolled onto your tummy and started surfing the different stores you loved for inspiration. You wondered what would drive Joel up a wall. A mini skirt? Knee-high socks? An expensive gold waist chain? They all sounded good. 

Add to cart. Add to cart. Add to cart. 

Your heart clenched at the total. 

“Fuck.” You murmured, tossing your phone to the side in frustration. To live a life of wanting so much, but earning so little was not a life for you. Your lips twisted in thought. 

Maybe Joel would buy the rest of your items if you threw in a new set of lingerie or two. As much as it was for you to wear, it was just as much for his enjoyment. 

You sent him a screenshot of a nice bubble gum pink lace bustier and garter set. The embellishments were gold hearts, and the snaps onto the garters were gold clasps. It was absolutely to die for, despite it being a few hundred dollars. 

cute, isn’t it? 

You sent it off to Joel and chewed on your fingernail for his response.

It made your eyes roll back into your head the way that he continued to ignore you. You decided to give him one last call, and if he didn’t pick up, you were grabbing the emergency American Express on top of the refrigerator and using it for… said emergency. 

If there was one lesson Joel needed to learn, it was that you were not someone to be ignored. 

You spent the rest of the afternoon into the evening online shopping with the Amex, giggling in excitement at the newfound cash flow. Sure, he might not be happy at first, but surely Joel would love everything you bought. It was all for him, after all.  

You had moved from his bed to the couch after eating a late lunch, laid on your tummy in just a t-shirt and thong, still scrolling through your phone.  

Your jaw clicked when the front door was kicked open so fast that it made the floorboards shake. You were used to his theatrics by now, so you continued to lay unphased. 

“The HELL do you think you’re doin’ with that?” Joel snapped as he swiped the Amex card straight from between your fingers. You smirked as you stared down at your phone, mindlessly scrolling and ignoring him. 

“Do you know how many DAMN notifications I got on my phone today? Do you know how many charges you made on the card?” He snapped, shucking off his work boots and jacket as his eyes burned into the back of your head. 

You fluttered out a sigh, finally giving him a little attention and turning your head to him. 

“You don’t like what I bought?” 

Joel was starstruck with anger, it grounded him into one standing spot in the living room with his muscular arms crossed in annoyance. 

“You crossed a line, you fuckin’-- psycho bitch.” He spat his words, venom poison dripping from his pretty lips. “Paid over a thousand dollars today and for what? Lingerie?!”

You stifled a giggle and bit on your lower lip. “And a pink silk robe. Verrrry pretty.”

He scoffed. “Very fuckin’ expensive. Waste of time, waste of money, made me damn near keel over at work today seein’ those bills rack up!” Joel said as his angry growls filled the room. 

“So you were on your phone today, just not talking to me, huh?” Your voice held annoyance, your face in a light pinched expression. 

He ignored you, rolling your eyes as you returned to your phone. 

“Should have said so before I bought everything... Tried calling you, texting you. Never answered me.” You could feel Joel’s obvious annoyance and anger without even looking. 

“I was at work, don’t have time to wait on you hand and foot.”

You lightly shrugged, back turned to him as you pouted. Still laying on your stomach, you lifted your calves and crossed your ankles, ass curving perfectly with your thong on display. You could feel him watching, staring, admiring. 

“Sounds like a you problem, Joel.” 

His scoff was indignant as he sauntered past the coffee table and moved closer to the couch. Joel’s fingertips lightly grazed up the back of your thigh, causing goosebumps in his wake. 

“Does it now?” His southern accent was slick with lust, you could feel his eyes staring at your ass. It was only confirmed when he took a big handful in his palm and squeezed. 

“Mhmmm.” You hummed, paying him no mind. “Bought all of it for you, anyway. Know how much you like seein’ me all prettied up.” Your words were sweet but dangerous, a Venus flytrap waiting to snap Joel up. 

Joel’s jaw was tight with anger, and he was taking it out through the grip of his hand on your juicy flesh.  

“Feel like no one’s ever said no to you before I came along,” Joel muttered. You felt the couch shift, a soft gasp leaving you as he mounted the tops of your thighs with one of his knees smooshed between the cushions and the other on the edge, your body laid between. 

Your lips parted at the feeling, his denim jeans grinding against the smoothness of your thighs. Your phone fell to the floor, and you paid no mind to it. 

Joel was taking all of you in, massaging your gorgeous ass in his wide, warm palms. 

You hummed at the feeling, your head dropping to lay on the arm of the couch.

His fingers lined your thong, and you purred in excitement. 

He loved this pose. He’d sit on your thighs and part his dick right between your ass cheeks, slip right in, and watch his cock disappear into your entrance, enveloped by your flesh. Sometimes his thumb would notch into your second hole, fill you up and drive you up a wall. 

You supposed you were both good at driving each other mad, just in different forms.  

You couldn’t help but try and lift your hips up off the couch, leaning into his touch and lightly grinding up into his palms. 

“Say you’re sorry.” Joel sneered, voice low. 

You paused the motion of your hips and cocked your head in an attempt to look back at him. 

A dopey hm? left your lips. Mistake. 

The smack of his hands cracked against your ass, the stinging sensation warming your entire body as you gasped. 

“Shit-- Joel!” You whimpered as you writhed under his body, but it was pointless, he had pinned you to the couch. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Say you’re sorry,” He repeated. “Say you’re sorry for rackin’ up my credit card.” His signature snarl was sending you into a fit. And now you were just being stubborn. You weren’t sorry, he should be sorry!

“N-No.” A harsh slap hit your backside once more, and a broken crying whine left your throat, your eyes clenching closed. 

This was the worst part about spanking; Joel was ruthless and unforgiving. But the hot sting was soon greeted by an aching pleasure between your thighs. You were going to give the couch a terrible wet puddle. 

A shaky breath left your mouth as you braced for more, it was heaven to get this much attention from him. 

The anxiety was lying in wait. You never knew when he was going to strike your red-soaked ass again, your breath hitched in your throat as you willed yourself to calm down in anticipation. 

“A thousand. Fucking. Dollars. Just for you to be half naked like a little slut.” 

Joel’s words didn’t hurt, they only implored you. He was so goddamn sexy when he talked like this. A soft moan left your lips, not being able to help it. 

You were a wet sopping mess below him, weakly grinding your hips either down into the couch or up into his thighs. Anything to get some sort of friction. Fucking touch me already!

His greedy hands gripped and cupped your ass, pushing it up into your tailbone. He was so fucking possessive, the motion had you moaning. 

“Yeah... I know you fuckin’ like it when I manhandle you. Lucky I even touch you after the shit you pulled today.” He pulled your panties aside and spat down over your pulsing asshole, feeling it glide down to your pussy and between your thighs.

You gulped, and the sound bounced off the walls. “Joel baby, I-” A harsh slap rang so loud, it echoed off the windowpanes. You clenched the couch in your little fists and let out the shaky, whimpery breath you were holding in. His couch would surely have nail marks in them now. 

He spanked you until you were apologetic and deduced to nothing. A writhing apology below him in the form of your cunt sopping wet and mascara tears of pain and pleasure on your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry baby, I’m so f-fuckin’ sorry daddy, please put your hands on me again-”

Smack.

“Fuck! Fuck! Right there, yes Joel, holy sh-shit, can hit me harder baby, feels so good, so so go-”

Smack.

“Fuck! Fuck Joel, owww, p-please baby, lemme make you feel good, take me in any hole you want, I’m yours, I’m yours!” 

You were a whimpering, moaning, mess of a woman under him. He had smacked your ass so hard that it was numb. You hoped his hand would be tattooed on you forever. And you knew that was his point, to imprint the outline of his massive hand on your ass, branding you, announcing to everyone through the way you were going to walk tomorrow that you got bent over and spanked so hard into submission. 

More tears threatened to spill on your waterline, you kept trying to blink them away. You had a dummy fucked grin on your face, Joel could see it with the way your sweaty cheek laid against the couch arm. He raised his hand once more, but you couldn’t take it again. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so fuckin’ sorry, please, please, please..” Your voice trailed off, and his hand lowered. Suddenly, his hands were on your ass again, but now he was massaging into you again, taking away the ache and sting. Somewhat. 

You let out a groveling whimpery moan, jaw dropped as you watched his gorgeous face out of the corner of your eye. His cock was rock hard against your thigh. He had only gotten harder during the whole spanking session. 

“Know you wanna fuck me.” The notion slipped out of your mouth before you even had the chance to reclaim it. A cocky little smirk on your lips as you mustered up all the strength you had and ground your ass up into his hands. 

You felt him peel your ass apart, watching the wet thong sopping with his spit and your arousal sink down to your pussy. He hummed in appreciation, slipping his thumb under the band and brushing against your tight hole. 

“You can keep one pair of lingerie..” Your eyes twinkled in lust, a smile perking up on your lips. 

“Only ‘cause I’m ‘bout to rip these off you.” 

You gasped as your head whipped back to him, watching as he ripped the flimsy lace of your thong into nothingness. He made it look easy, effortless, his strength was nothing to contend. So fucking sexy. 

You bit down on the plush pillow of your lower lip, holding back a grin as your small hands gripped the cushion of the couch. Fuck, he was so riled up tonight. Getting under his skin was always in your best interest.  

Hot, shaky pants left your mouth as you watched him undo his belt buckle, the cool metal clasp falling onto your spanked, red ass with a hiss that had you seething through gritted teeth. 

Joel pushed his jeans and black boxers down his thick thighs, his cock springing free. 

The sight in your peripheral made you writhe your hips under his, but he was heavy weight over you, holding you down as you tried to shake your ass back into his tip. 

This made him scoff out a degrading little puff through his nose, seeing you so desperate for him like this despite being freshly punished. 

The adrenaline of it all heightened your senses, you could really smell him now. 

You liked when Joel smelled like work. His lips and cock tasted musky, fresh and old sweat mixed with the heady smell of lingering cologne he applied in the morning. His odor tickled your nose, and you couldn’t help but let your grin slip. 

“Somethin’ funny, princess?” Joel’s tone was teasing, goading even. He was looking for a fight, a reason to ram you into a speechless existence. Maybe then you’d learn to shut up. But for now… 

Your head twisted against the couch cushion, loose arousal moistening your thighs as you took a shy but brave look back to the man mounting you from behind. 

“You’ll never fuck the attitude out of me.”

Your eyes held his in a seductive staring contest. 

“Is that so?” His grated voice was teetering on no return. You could feel his heavy shaft sitting between your peeled-apart ass cheeks now, his tip lightly notching against your hole as you whimpered with need, an ache for him to fill. 

Joel held himself at his base, loosely pumping his shaft and feeling it swell fat and heavy in his hand. 

His tip was slowly enveloped by your thighs and ass, finding your cunt and slowly pushing in. Your eyes quickly rolled to the back of your head because to be filled up by Joel was an indescribable experience. 

Joel’s head fell, partly in concentration but also in awe watching his dick slip between your folds.

It was messy at first, with broken moans and whimpers leaving you as his hips pushed forward. He parted your insides, trying to accommodate his size. Usually, he didn’t give you this much time. Often you had pissed him off so much that he was bottoming out in one thrust and you were screeching his name in hot, happy pants. 

This was slow, methodical, making you feel the weight of every damn dollar of his you spent today. 

Finally, he plunged in fully to the hilt, bottoming out in one swift thrust that had you choking for air. 

Joel slowly reeled his hips back out, seeing his length glisten in your pretty slick before he slowly joined your bodies together once more. 

Your head was heavy and full, clouded and starry as he fulfilled a need you had been desperately aching for all damn day. 

No amount of clothes could fulfill the hole you needed Joel to fill. 

Joel’s balls were swollen and happy, you can tell by how they slapped against you while he picked up the pace of his thrusts. His hands are splayed around your ribcage, fucking you into the couch and making you feel as if you were sinking into the cushions. 

Your moans were a broken record of his name, feeling your head rock as he started to really pound into you. 

“Joel, Joel, Joel, J-Joh fuck!” You clenched your eyes closed, you could feel his one knee sinking deeper into the couch as he continued to rest on your upper thighs, his other foot coming down onto the floor beside the couch to keep his fill in you. 

With the added traction, he felt like he was fucking you at a million miles an hour. The squeeze on your ribcage shuffled from your sides to your hips, feeling yourself get pounded and straightened out. 

He was merciless when he was fucking you silent like this, making you listen to the echo of your disgusting moans, the only sounds Joel made being his horny growls and fuck-hungry grunts. 

You were squeezing around him perfectly, the curve of your ass and the walls of your cunt milking his length. 

His hips continued to clap your ass, feeling it bounce and reverberate against his abdomen as he started to hunch his body over you. 

You gasped as you felt his palm flatten against your cheek, face smooshing into the cushion and distorting the sounds of your moans. 

“Oooh f- ooh, Jowl, Jowl!” 

His tip tickled your cervix, feeling his cock twitch inside of you. He was close. Your clit was throbbing, begging for release, he needed to keep hitting that spot in you. 

“P-Please, wanna cuwm.” You whimpered, mouth still smooshed. 

Your jaw dropped as he used the leverage from his extended arm holding your face down, fucking into you deep and leaving your ass clapping. 

“Retunin’ all those damn clothes,” Joel grunted, leaving you whining against his palm. 

“Shut up, fuckin’-- little psycho bitch.” 

Your cunt swelled at the compliment, a loud moan leaving you as his piping hot, white cum creamed your walls. 

Please don’t stop, help me finish, so close-

Your eyes widened as Joel moved his hand from the side of your cheek to your shoulder and hoisted you up, your back now flush against his sweaty chest as you both kneeled on the couch. 

His softening length stayed nuzzled inside of you, feeling Joel reach around to circle your clit messily with his free hand as he was still reeling from his own orgasm. 

You cried out and threw your head back on the top of his shoulder, face trying to curl into his neck as he overstimulated your senses. 

Joel’s big firm hand holding you up by your shoulder moved to wrap around your throat, keeping you against him as your hands weakly gripped his wrist. 

“God- God!! Fuck! Joel!” You cried out his name while he squeezed at the sides of your windpipe, your walls clenching around his soft cock as you came desperately down his shaft. You saw stars as Joel restricted your airflow during your orgasm, a dopey grin on your face. 

He threw you back down onto the couch, your body falling into the safety of the cushions. He pulled himself from your soaking cunt, snagging his boxers and pulling them up with ease along with his jeans. All while you were laid out on the couch, fucked dumb as you laid in a heap on the couch. Fuck, that was so good. 

“Joel?” You whimpered, both of you still panting to catch your breaths. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you think about letting me keep all the lingerie?”

You watched with a small smile as he rolled his eyes, trying to hide a grin. 

“You never learn, do you, psycho?” 

You shook your head slowly, pushing your hair away from your sweaty face. 

“Sometimes I need to be told twice.” 

---

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[sailorholly]

Strictly Business Pt 4

Summary: Spencer wants to gain sexual experience before asking his out his dream date. You just want a way to release stress. What could go wrong?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F. BAU Reader

Warnings: Smut. Minors DNI. 18+ ONLY. Use of a vibrator.

W/C: 1.2K

Strictly Business Masterlist

The next morning, Spencer came to your room. He wanted to make sure you would be able to ride together to the police station. He really was trying to make up for his behavior.

After three more days, the team finally closed the case. You couldn’t wait to be back home. Hotch had given everyone two days off. You planned to sleep for most of the first one. Those plans were scrapped when Spencer called, excitedly asking if he could come over.

When he arrived fifteen minutes later, he brought lunch and a black shopping bag. You ate the pizza together, watching an old Disney movie. Your curiosity finally got the better of you, so you asked what was in the bag.

He smiles, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. “I was going for a walk this morning when I saw this shop. I got some stuff for you, but we don’t have to use it if you don’t want to.” His words run together. He’s speaking so fast it takes you a few seconds to understand what he said. You reach for the bag. “I’m sure I will love whatever it is.”

He hands it to you, eagerly waiting for you to see what’s inside. The first item you pull out is a lingerie set. It’s a lilac bustier with mesh cups, small flowers embroidered on the top with matching panties.

You hold it up to admire it. “You want me to wear this for you?” You ask rubbing the silky fabric between your fingers. He swallows, scrunching up his nose in that adorable way you love. “I saw it in the window when I walked by. I made it all the way home before I had to go back for it. I kept imagining you wearing it. But if you don’t like it..”

“It’s perfect! I love it! I can’t wait to try it on for you.” He visibly relaxes now that he knows you approve. “There’s one more gift in there.” He tells you pointing one long, slender finger toward the bag on your lap. You pick it up, reaching in to grab the last item.

You pull out a small, sleek box. You lift the tape on the side, carefully sliding out the contents inside. Your mouth opens in surprise when a blue, mini wand comes out of the box. “You got me a vibrator?” You ask, shocked that he would purchase it. “Do you want me to use this while you watch?” You raise your eyebrows as he fidgets with his hands.

“Actually,” he clears his throat when his voice raises a few octaves. “I was hoping I could use it on you.” You’re not sure you want the old Spencer back. The one that you don’t know what he sounds like when he comes down your throat. The one who who ate you like a starving man. This Spencer is dangerously sexy. You don’t know how you could ever go back.

Once you both ate and the movie was over, Spencer moved closer to you on the sofa. It wasn’t long before his lips descended on yours. His hands slid under your baggy t-shirt, cupping your breasts. He rolls your nipples between his fingers, tugging gently. You lay against the cushions. Spencer climbs on top of you. You giggle when he sticks his head under the hem of your shirt.

He disappears under the large fabric. You feel his wet tongue slide up your stomach. His hot breath on your chest makes you squirm. His lips close around a pebbled nipple. Your hands cling to his head completely covered by your shirt.

He chuckles, his laughter vibrating against you. You moan wantonly. He kisses his way back down, large hands rest on the sides of your panties. He slides them down your legs, placing them on your coffee table. He reaches into the floor, picking up the vibrator.

Spencer presses the middle button and it comes alive with a low hum. Your eyes land on the wand, it looks even smaller in Spencer’s giant hands. The way his fingers wrap around it makes you imagine how it would feel to have those long digits curled inside you.

You weren’t ashamed to admit, you’d thought about it more than once, while watching him read. One slender finger sliding down each page as he absorbed the information. You would never understand how such a mundane task could make you clench around nothing, while at work no less.

He presses the head of the wand to your clit. It’s on the lowest setting. It feels nice, but it’s not enough to get you there. You rest a hand on the back of Spencer’s neck, twisting a curl between your fingers. He locks eyes with you. “More. I need more.”

He pushes the top button twice. You twitch underneath him, moaning his name. “Does that feel good, baby?” he asks. His dark eyes shining with lust as he looks down at you. “It’s so AHH!” You cry out, digging your nails into his soft skin.

He removes the vibe from you. You whine at the loss of contact. He spreads your legs wider, looking at your exposed center. Spencer swipes his finger down your seam collecting some of the slick gathered there. He pops his finger between his lips, sucking your arousal off it.

“Sorry, I just needed a little taste.” He states matter of factly. Before you can reply he turns the vibe up two more notches to its highest setting. He glides it through your folds, up to your clit. The little machine pulses against you.

You clutch at Spencer like you’re drowning and he’s your salvation. The vibrations roll over you in waves causing you to squirm. He places his free hand on your hip, holding you still. He moves the wand over just a tiny bit. The new position makes all the difference. “Spencer!” You cry out. “That’s it, come for me.” He encourages you, as if you have a choice in the matter.

You come apart underneath him. He lets you ride it out, keeping the wand pressed to you. When you’re finished, he goes to the bathroom, coming back with a warm cloth to clean you up. His lips caress yours for just a moment before he pulls away. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I love watching you come.” He confesses. He sits down beside you and you lay your head in his lap.

“Do you think it will be like that with Chloe?” You hate that he brings her up. It’s like he dumped a bucket of cold water over your head. Way to ruin the mood, Spence. “Umm, I’m sure it will be.” You put on your biggest, fakest smile.

“I talked to her this morning.” “Oh?” You ask, even though you could care less. “We picked a day for our first date. It’s in three weeks, if we aren’t out of town for a case. I guess that’s when we will end this.”

You know that this is all for his benefit. That it’s practice. No strings, no emotions. You’re just helping your friend. So why do you feel so bitter and jealous?

Both of your phones receive a notification. The same text from Penelope lit up on both screens: Avengers Assemble. He groans before standing up, complaining that he has to go to his apartment before he goes into work. But you’ve never been so relieved to get called in on your day off.

Part Five

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[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Angst, violence, fear, anxiety, PTSD, mentions of rape.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Full speed ahead from here... Buckle the fuck in my babies, let's get this show on the road! I think we all knew that something was coming and here we are... Rapid fire posting from here on out, are you ready? Again, as always, thank you, thank you, thank you all so very much for all your love and continued support! You guys have made writing this so much fun! <3

Chapter 97: Consequences 

The sun rose slowly that morning, the room being cast in its gentle warm glow.

Shadows danced across the wall, growing larger with every hour that passed, and every crawling step that the sun took to get higher and higher in the sky.

You laid as you were, nestled beneath the sheets, with your hand still reaching for the blade Aemond had gifted you upon his departure. 

Always ready.

Always waiting.

For him.

The maids woke alongside the sun, stretching long arms above their bodies to straighten their spines, vertebrae’s clicking into place and aches settling into their muscles after sleeping on chaises and chairs for many nights straight.

They rose, and helped you rise, dressing you in a deep black and red skirt, with a black leather bustier top. The shoulders were cuffed with metal, with long dripping hoops of chains that pressed cooly against the bare skin of your arms. The neck was high fitting, and splayed outwards like dragon wings. 

As you sat at the table, waiting for the two girls to bring you food to break your fast, Amala entered first, a short bow, and the quietest of apologies on her tongue. The action caused panic to rear its ugly head within you, and so you darted your head backwards towards the bed, seeking out the place you knew the blade to be hidden, with your eyes. 

Movement in your periphery, you turned your head, and met the deep brown eyes of Alicent Hightower, dressed in an even deeper green gown, tight arms and stiff neck, standing in your chambers. 

“Good Morrow, Princess.” She greeted you, hands clasped gently at her front.

Your brows twitched as you looked at her, “Alicent.”

The Dowager Queen walked towards you slowly, “I thought I might join you to break our fasts together.”

You blinked at the Hightower. Her hair was half up, half down, pinned away from her face in a thick braid that Helaena used to wear across the top of her scalp, auburn wisps curling away from her face, escaping the style.

You opened your palm towards Aemond’s empty seat. A silent invitation to join you. A motion for her to sit. An unlikely guest in your chambers whom you had no real power to turn away.

A guest in whom you had to welcome regardless of the desire to slit her throat.

Alicent moved slowly, as though she was floating across the stones. Her feet did not make sounds as she walked, an entirely silent ordeal that made you see Alicent in Aemond in more ways than you had thought before.

Both having to have been seen and not heard. Quiet and dutiful. It was all there, the reflection of a mother in her son. The silent resentment of all those around. The even quieter pain that lingered behind the pairs eyes, pain from duty, pain from having no voice, pain from being trapped to the shadows of men before them.

Pulling out her chair, she seated herself down, eyes flicking about the chambers in inspection.

What she was looking for, you did not know. 

It was not long until Joanna, helped by Amala, brought in the food and plates for the both of you. It was as if the Queen had planned this breakfast, and that it was not at all as spur of the moment as she wished it to seem.

Alicent Hightower was always making calculated moves. 

You wondered what this one was for.

“And how are you?” She asked gently, thanking the girls as they bowed and left the chambers for you to be alone with the older woman.

You cleared your throat, serving yourself a plate of food as you stared at her. You let out a deep sigh through your nose and responded, “I have been better.”

There was no point in lying to her, nor did you wish to soothe any anxieties she, in your opinion, was most likely to have. And though you wished to have nothing to do with the woman seated opposite you, there was no denying the similarities that you both shared. The combined struggle that the both of you would understand, even wordlessly.

You were both women.

Alicent mirrored your actions, serving herself a plate of eggs, toast and cooked tomatoes, “It seems to be something we can all agree on.”

You blinked at her.

“What happened to you,” She began, hands placed delicately in her lap, which you knew to mean she was picking at the skin of her nails, “Was a horrific set of unforeseen circumstances. The Gods-“

“Unforeseen.” You hummed, picking up your goblet of fresh juice taking a sip, “Unforeseen for myself and Aemond, perhaps. But the King and his Council knew that I was to be brought to the Throne Room that day. You knew.”

Alicent cut herself a piece of toast, smearing egg onto its crispy surface, “I had cautioned the King against such an-“

“Alicent, you could not caution an ant if you wished.”  You breathed, cutting into your own toast with far more vigour than needed.

“Aemond was not privy to know-“

“As I am now aware.” You swallowed the bread thickly, “Please be transparent about your coming today.”

Alicent’s doe-y features hardened, and the calculating serpent you had become accustomed to, was revealed to the room, though her eyes still stayed soft, “I came to speak to you about my son.”

“Which one? The rapist, my husband, or the corpse?”

The reminder of Daeron set Alicent’s teeth on edge, jaw clenched as she stared at you, “Aemond.” She grit out.

“My husband then." You gave her a clipped smile, "What did you need to speak to me of, which you could no doubt ask him yourself? Do you not have a better relationship with him than I?”

“I wished to hear it from your own lips.”

“My lips have said many things about your sons, my husband especially. What does the famed Green Queen want to know?” You sighed, munching on some star fruit as the Lady Alicent Hightower struggled to keep her frustrations at bay.

“Do you love him?”

You laughed. 

You didn’t mean to.

But you just did.

Alicent was not impressed, and seemed all together confused. 

“If I did not love him, I would not be here still.”

“You would. It is a marriage-“

“-I would have thrown myself from the window like Helaena if I did not, or ripped his throat out with my teeth..." You paused, "Or yours."

It was blunt. 

Raw.

And hurt the both of you.

You strummed your fingers against the table loudly, looking down as you contemplated your next words.

“I love him. That is the truth of it. A sick and twisted truth if anything, but something I could have never fought. The Gods made us for each other. It is known. But my love for him does not outweigh the hurt he has inflicted upon me. He is still a Kinslayer.”

Alicent tilted her head, leaning back in her chair, chestnut waves falling over her shoulder, “As are you." One singular eyebrow raised, "I think you seem to forget.”

“How can one forget a life one took?" You spoke flatly, disinterested in the actions of the past, "My only consolation was that it was war when I did it. Aemond however, pushed the first piece on the board to start the others that fell. Like mother, like son.”

Alicent ate another piece of her eggs daintily, lifting to her lips with her fork, before swallowing, “The both of you are Kinslayers, acursed in the eyes of the people.”

You gave her a toothy grin, “Then what better way than to have those who are acursed as Kinslayers to be wed to each other. It would surely bring damnation and shame to any other husband or wife and their House, but the Gods made it so that we are together as one. In actions. In sin. In love. A small mercy really.”

Alicent gave an uneven smile, placing her cutlery back onto her plate, “It's strange, I must admit. The predicament we find ourselves in. But if anything, I am glad that it was you. That meek Baratheon girl would not have survived my son, I'm afraid.”

You frowned, and Alicent continued, “I would have no better match for Aemond. You have both always loved each other. You know each other better than anyone else, and at times, though it pains me to admit it, you know my son better than I do. You see him. All of him. The good and the bad. My parts that played in it, and yours. And I believe the Seven helped to bring you together.”

“It was the Old Gods, not the Seven.”

Alicent merely stared at you for a time, picking her napkin up to dab at her lips before placing the napkin back on the table, “With any luck, Aemond should return soon.” She stood, pushing her chair back as she smoothed out her skirts.

“Godspeed.” You prayed, and watched as she bowed and left your chambers. 

You finished your breakfast without the presence of the Dowager Queen, and when you were done, you made your way down to the Library to read.

When you entered the Library it was quiet and still, with one lone servant stoking the flames in the large fireplace, placing three to four large logs inside carefully.

As they heard your entrance, they bowed at the hip, keeping their face to the ground before they scuttled out of the room like a rodent.

You perused the isles of books for some time, fingers tracing over the worn spines, and dusted covers. Leather and embroidered tomes combined. As you came to one isle in particular, you thought back on the way Aemond had taken you against the shelves, face diving between your folds, his tongue lapping at you feverently before spearing you upon his cock.

Your core clenched at the memory.

Picking a tome at random, you pulled the heavy leather bound book from the shelf, making your way to seat yourself before the fire as you opened it up in your lap. The first page was worn, and faded, but the script was slanted beautifully by a careful hand.

‘Maegor the Cruel, The Usurpation of Aegon the Uncrowned, and The Seven Faith Militant. A History.’

You had picked quite the intense read, but began it nonetheless.

‘Maegor the First was the son of King Aegon the First and his eldest sister-wife, Queen Visenya Targaryen. Maegor was born of fire and blood, the prodigy of Aegon the Conqueror, A King who laid waste to all the realms who did not bend the knee on the back of Balerion the Black Dread. Maegor the Cruel had an older half-brother, Aenys the First, who was said to be a fair and just Prince.’

The day floated by as you read the history of Maegor and his violent rise to power.

‘Maegor had six wives, to which the Faith strongly rebuked, polygamy a sin in the eyes of the Seven Faith. Ceryse Hightower, and Alys Harroway - who was later killed by his third wife Tyanna of the Tower. Then, there were the Black Brides; Elinor Costayne, Jayne Westerling, and his niece, Rhaena Targaryen.’

The warmth of the fire settled over you gently, and your eyes excitedly read each page as you got more and more into the violence of the Cruel King. You had read the history once before, but you had been young and under the Septa’s supervision, which made learning about him boring and irksome. 

By now you had gotten half way through the tome.

‘At the death of his father, Aegon the First, his brother Aenys ascended the throne. Maegor was still exiled for his sins in marrying a second wife, and soon after his ascent to the Iron Throne, King Aenys passed. Maegor seized the throne, and crowned himself King. Yet his rule would not be an easy one. Some moons later, Prince Aegon, Maegor’s nephew, laid claim to the Iron Throne, as was his birth right.’

The sound of the library doors echoed in the chambers, but you did not raise your head.

‘Prince Aegon’s claim was supported by several Lords of the Westerlands and Riverlands, and so the Prince marched at the head of an army, fifteen thousand men strong. Queen Tyanna, Maegor’s third wife and the Mistress of Whispers, warned that Maegor's allies would turn on him for his nephews claim if there was show of his prevail. In the Battle Beneath The Gods Eye, Maegor and Aegon’s armies clashed, and fought in a bloody and brutal battle. Men were slain from their horses by archers and swordsman, dragon fire lay waste to hundreds of men, the earth under The Gods Eye was soaked with blood, and many soldiers sank into its red mud. Though it came to an end, Maegor slew his nephew and his dragon Quicksilver, tearing them from the sky on the back of the mighty Black Dread. Maegor the Cruel was thenceforth known for his cruelty and labeled a Kinslayer.’

“Princess, Y/n.” A voice pulled you from your book. Your eyes lifted from the page to meet Ser Criston Cole’s.

You straightened your back, looking to the two guards who flanked him either side, feeling a strange sense of dejavu from the scene before you. 

“Ser Cole.” You greeted him warily, placing the book atop the table in front of you and standing, body ready to take flight.

Ser Criston lifted his head high, “King Aegon has requested for your presence in the Throne Room.”

You blinked, and you stomach did a small flip, fear rising in your throat.

“And I suppose these guards are there to enforce my presence?”

The two men shifted, their armour scratching against each other, eyes aimed at the wall behind you.

Ser Cole breathed, “No, My Lady.”

“Then tell the King I am busy.” You moved to sit back down, but Ser Cole took a step forward towards you. 

It was clear then, that there was no real choice.

Not that you ever had one in the Keep.

It was not a casual invitation that they would like you to believe it was, much like Alicent's breaking her fast with you that morning, but they were not dragging you to the Throne Room, kicking and screaming as they did last time.

It did little to soothe your wrought nerves, but it was at least something.

The small voice in the back of your head screamed that it would be another Maester situation. Your intuition told you to run. Your baser instincts told you to fight.

But what if it was one of the maids?

Panic shot through you, and so you nodded, walking across the room, feeling as though each step further settled your doom. But you could not leave them. If it was one of the maids, if Larys had discovered them, you would not abandon them now in their time of need.

Ser Cole bowed his head to you, holding the door open before he began to lead you to the Iron Throne, the two guards walking closely behind you, ready to snatch you if you so chose to run.

Each step of the men was a shuffle of robes and armour, and you watched the sword on Ser Criston’s side sway heavily with each step, its long blade tapping the side of his thigh.

Each sway reminded you of how Aegon’s hand had swung down, separating the old mans head from his neck. How your Grandsire's blade had tipped at Aegon's side as he descended the steps of the Iron Throne to stand before you.

The blood. 

So much blood.

On you.

On the stones. 

You wondered for a moment, if the stain would still be there, or if they had tasked some poor servants to scrub it out of the porous surface as though their lives depended on it.

You tried to steady your breathing. Counting each step as you saw the large doors to the Iron Throne. Fifty-one. Fifty-Two. Fifty-Three. Fifty-Four.

Kings guards opening the heavy wood doors with steel bracketing along its face to let you in. 

Ser Cole walked ahead of you announcing you to the chambers, as you held your hands behind you, fingers digging sharply into the flesh of your palm. The King Maker voiced boomed as you looked to Aegon, who was seated upon the throne, lazily leaning on one side with his chin in his palm, as though summoning you back to the Throne Room was a chore and a bore. 

The Small Council were about the chambers, dressed in their robes and House colours, watching you with careful and guarded eyes, though nervousness shifted their bodies.

And there, beside the throne, once again, was Aemond. 

His presence did little to settle your nerves.

It was happening again.

Gods, please, help me.

Aemond's gaze had snapped to you as soon as you had entered, and although he stood tall and stiff, hands behind his back and face impassive, your presence had clearly come as a surprise.

Again.

Aemond looked blindsided. 

Completely at a loss as to why you were there, and it showed in his eye. 

The Prince looked as though he had only just arrived back in Kings Landing, dressed still in his riding leathers, hair pulled back and away from his face by braids, and lips pressed into a thin line. His brows had furrowed as he looked at you.

But Aemond hadn’t come straight to you as he usually did. 

Something was amiss.

“Husband,” You called out to him, schooling your voice to hide the rising panic, “I am gladdened to see you hale and hearty and returned home.” You gave him a small smile, and turned to the King, “You requested my presence, Your Grace?”

Aegon did not smile at you. 

He did not even sneer. 

The King merely stared at you with his intense, violet eyes, lips slightly pursing in thought before straightening into a flat line, much like his brother. But beneath those bright eyes you had come to fear, there was something simmering beneath.

Rage.

Swallowing and sensing that you were in danger, you turned to face your husband again, “Did you find the men who were responsible at the Red Fork?”

Aemond was still, shoulders tensed, head turning to look up at his brother who still sat staring at you, crown atop his head. You watched as your husbands lips opened to speak.

Otto Hightower stepped forward, his greying and receding hair shimmering in the light that poured in from the windows. His robes of green were trimmed with fur around his neck and chest, and the pin of the Hand of the King sat against his breast.

“You stand before King Aegon the Second, rightful heir to the Iron Throne.” His voice sent chills down your spine, skin breaking beneath your nails in your palm. It was happening again, “You have been brought before the King and his Council to answer for the crimes you are being charged.”

Your immediate thought was to turn to Aemond, to ask him what was happening, to beg him for help, but you remembered the last time this had happened. You remembered the last time he had stood there and watched.

You remembered as he had done nothing.

You remembered that you were alone.

Again.

Otto straightened, a ringing in your ears beginning to grow louder, “You are accused of treason; For the slaying of the Kings unborn child, aided by the traitor Maester. You are accused of conspiring with Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen against the Crown. You are accused of attempting to recruit Prince Aemond Targaryen to turn cloak and help your mothers cause. How do you plead against these charges?”

“What?” Your voice was so small, and sounded so far away.

This was it.

There was no going back now.

Aegon straightened on the monstrous throne of melted swords, “The Princess was given a gift by the Seven when my seed was put into her womb. She had made a confession to ensuring the death of her pregnancy out of spite when the Maester was charged. She has murdered my son. The Kings son. A highest of treasons.”

Your throat felt dry, “You raped me.”

Aegon’s lip twitched from the smirk he was holding back, “The Princess seduced me with promises of good behaviour for favours and fruit. Star fruit is your favourite, is it not?”

Aegon moaned as he heard you whimper, and let go of your throat, a lungful of air racing through your mouth as you gasped. Aegon fucked himself into you, the sound of his grunts and his flesh slapping against yours filled the chambers with your sobs. 

Aemond bristled beside his brother, eye narrowed on you. His posture was straight, and as your eyes flicked from one brother to the other, you realised there was no hope.

There was no hope for you.

Aemond had made his choice. 

And it was never to be you.

Aegon leant forward on the throne, silver hair shimmering in the light, “The Princess came to me after Prince Aemond left for Harrenhal. She was alone and angry at knowing that my brother was having an affair with the bastard wet-nurse, Alys Rivers. She begged me to warm her bed, and to give her an heir so that my brother would not suspect a thing.”

“You think the Knight would help you?” Aegon sneered, as you thrashed beneath him, pushing at him with all your strength, “Do you think he would listen to you? I could command him to come in here and make him watch, and he would do it. Should I call him for you?” He growled, fingers tightening around your throat, the room beginning to spin. 

You swallowed thickly, the sounds of Aegon’s grunts breaking forth in your memory.

The night he attacked you.

The night he raped you.

The night that changed everything.

“That's a lie.” Your voice cracked, looking up at the King, “You came to my chambers, and held me down, and raped me.” Your eyes flicked across the room, meeting a pair of distressed brown ones, “Alicent, you know this to be the truth. You were there. You helped me.”

Alicent stepped forward, turning to her son, “Is this true, Aegon? Perhaps the Princess had not known the implications. The Maester must have deceived her, or forced her to do as she did under threat.”

Alicent had given you Moon Tea after Aegon. 

She knew.

And she was lying.

"You're lying!" You sneered at the auburn haired woman.

Aegon looked down at his mother in mock pity, “Lord Larys Strong told me that she had been given Moon Tea after she was given my son. She had willingly and enthusiastically drank it, as she knew it was my child inside of her.”

Your stomach twisted in knots, and you felt as though you were going to be sick. But the anger of seeing Alicent play games with her own son, whilst her other watched you, was simply too much for you to bear. 

Damn them all.

“The Queen gave me the Moon Tea.” You declared, voice clipped, "Is that not an act of treason? Try your own blood before the Council for the sins of your flesh.” Your hands came down to your side, clenched into fists. 

You were not going to die in cowardice. 

You would bite, and scratch, and claw until the end.

As you always had done.

“Princess Y/n, might I remind you that you are before the Small Council and King Aegon. You will have time to speak for your innocence when the King has finished his petition.” Otto cautioned you.

Your breathing became laboured, shallow, angry breaths that heaved. 

It was that rage again.

That same rage that you had pushed down and away, that had been there at your finger tips, just beneath the surface of your skin, hiding in the shadows. The rage that you had clipped and preened like a rose bush, to not prick yourself on its thorns. 

A rage that was innately yours. 

Aegon straightened himself, the golden chains that sat heavily against his chest swaying with movement. He shifted, pulling himself to be seated in a stiff and upright position, as though one of the swords he was seated upon had slipped up his spine. 

He looked every bit his mother.

And then he thought. 

And the silence of the chambers was almost as deafening as the ringing in your ears. The pounding of your heart in your head, the rushing of the blood in your veins. You felt every bone in your body, the weight of them, the feel of them. Every tooth in your skull felt as though they were not sitting correctly, your tongue heavy and too large for your mouth. 

Aemond shifted again in your periphery, taking two short steps forward towards you.

Coward.

“Swear yourself to me.” The King boomed in the chambers, his voice echoing in the space and decision made. 

Aegon pushed himself to stand, looking down his nose at you.

“Bend the knee, and swear me as your King.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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[rosie-b]

Follow the Red Wooly String

A soulmate story written for day 6 of @adrinetteapril, "Red String" (with art!!!)

The art is a commission from the talented @sinkdraws! Her commissions are still open, so consider getting some of her art for yourself, and reblog the non-png version of this image from her, too!!

Without further ado, you can read the fic on AO3 or just below! I hope you enjoy :D

The first time Marinette saw the strings, she thought she was hallucinating.

Everyone knew about the Seers, the few people capable of seeing soul-binding strings, but it was exceptionally rare to meet one, let alone develop the Seers’ ability oneself. And, well, Marinette knew herself well enough to know she couldn’t fully trust herself after pulling an anxiety-and-ADHD-fueled all-nighter. Last time it’d happened, she’d been fully convinced that Nino had grown his hair out into a mohawk and loudly complimented him on it several times before passing out in the middle of class. In the aftermath, Nino had sworn to never wear a new hat without telling Marinette about it first again.

So, Marinette had been more dubious than shocked when she closed her eyes for a second too long on her walk to class in the morning and opened them to see a mess of red, white, black, and yellow strings tangling and shifting around on the pavement in front of her. It was a cool hallucination, she knew it was, but Marinette wasn’t about to celebrate having a new power that she’d most likely daydreamed up.

Her heart still did a happy, nervous dance when she saw the deep red string that had just appeared on her finger, though, and Marinette really didn’t want to quash the hope that her vision was coaxing to new life in her chest! She’d wanted to know who her soulmate was for so long, before becoming Ladybug and meeting Master Fu, anyway. What if she finally had a chance to find them?

On the other hand, though, it was probably safer for her not to find out who they were.

Chat Noir had always believed that they were soulmates. He’d asked Master Fu, the day they’d been invited to his home and the turtle kwami had revealed that Master Fu was a Seer, if he’d chosen them because he could tell their strings were connected. 

Master Fu had only chuckled and said that he’d chosen them because he knew they would work well with Plagg and Tikki, not for any other reason. Besides, if Ladybug and Chat Noir really were soulmates, and if Master Fu told them that now, he’d claimed, that would add to the risk of another Seer seeing the string while they were detransformed and telling them each about it, thus revealing their secret identities.

They both knew what that meant— they’d have to give up their Miraculous, even if they were platonic, not romantic, soulmates. Their secret identities were crucial in the fight against Hawk Moth. So, Chat Noir had given up his hope of confirming their bond, and Ladybug had reluctantly given up her dream of finding her own soulmate (or soulmates). After all, if a Seer did take an interest in finding out whose string connected to hers, wasn’t there a risk that the same Seer might find out Ladybug’s identity, or at least who Ladybug’s soulmate was? 

She didn’t want to put herself or her soulmate in danger like that, so she’d suppressed her childhood dream of being brought to her soulmate by a kind Seer and a little red string.

But sometimes, Marinette couldn’t help but stare at Adrien’s pinky finger during class and imagine a scarlet red string there, connecting his soul to hers. Love was a foolish thing, but Marinette wished she could afford its risk for the sake of being with Adrien. As Ladybug, though, she’d never be able to, so even after Master Fu handed over the Guardianship to her, she ignored her dream of being connected to Adrien as much as she could. Because she loved him, she didn’t want to put him in danger with her foolish hopes.

Today, though, as she approached Ms. Bustier’s classroom (only five minutes late!) and watched as the string trailing down from her finger seemed to grow taught, Marinette couldn’t help but hope that maybe, the universe was making an exception for her. Maybe, if she really was becoming a Seer, that meant she could finally find her soulmate without needing to worry about her secret identity!

Maybe this was a sign… if it wasn’t just an exhaustion-fueled hallucination, that was.

Marinette slid into her seat with a quiet apology to her teacher, who sighed but didn’t act surprised, since this kind of behavior wasn’t really that uncommon for Marinette. As Ms. Bustier resumed her lecture, Marinette found herself staring down at the string on her finger again.

It’s still there. What if it is real? She wondered.

Marinette looked around quickly, to make sure no one was watching her, and then gently poked the place where the string seemed to be. If the stories were true, only Seers could physically touch the strings. Everyone else phased through them or avoided them, as though by instinct, but the Seers could follow a string to its owner by sight and touch, and they were even capable of untying the string, releasing the bond between soulmates. That only happened rarely, Marinette remembered as she grasped the thick, red string tied around her little finger.

As it turned out, her string was soft, like it was made with fluffy wool. She touched it again, marveling at the texture under her fingertips. It felt so real! 

In front of her, Adrien shivered.

“You okay, dude? Classroom too chilly for you today?” Nino’s whisper barely reached Marinette’s ears.

Adrien hesitated and then shook his head in response as Ms. Bustier shot Nino a meaningful look. There was no escaping the teacher’s attention for students in the front row.

Marinette turned her attention back to the string for another moment before leaving it alone to at least pretend to take notes. In her sleep-deprived state, her notes usually left something to be desired (legibility, for one), and she shot a nervous glance at Alya, who caught her gaze and offered a smile and nod in return.

“I got you, girl,” she mouthed, and Marinette smiled and mouthed a sincere thank you back.

Class moved on, and Marinette lost herself in trying to pay attention, and then in the way the light from outside fell on Adrien’s hair, and then in several doodles serious notes until lunch. At that point, she decided it would be okay to sneak another peek at her soul-string, if it was still there.

It was, trailing down from her finger to a small, coiled pile on the floor between her and Adrien. Marinette traced it with her eyes as she slowly began to pack up.

Then, Adrien got up to leave, saying something to Nino about lunch at the mansion today, and the pile of Marinette’s soul-string began to unwind itself. Some of it began to follow Adrien, and Marinette jumped up in a panic. 

Her heart rate spiked as she worried about what this could mean; was this part of the hallucination? Was the universe telling her that Adrien was taking her heart away for good? That she’d never have him, but never be able to move on from him? No! She couldn’t accept that!

Marinette knew there was only one thing to do: she had to get her string back from Adrien before he stole it all away!

Alya, who was giving Marinette a concerned look, snapped in front of her face. “Girl, are you okay?” she asked, sounding worried. “What is it?”

Marinette gave Alya a serious, determined look.

“He’s taking my string away,” she declared with a frown, and Alya’s face pinched. 

“Who’s doing what? Sorry, Marinette, but what do you mean?”

Marinette began speed-walking out of the door, leaving her things at the bench. “My string is following him, but I’m not gonna let him steal it from me!” she exclaimed, and hurried off in the direction of her string. She stared intently at the ground, watching as the string tangled and weaved through a mess of other ones. She couldn’t let it escape her sight!

Alya sighed and stayed behind. “Oh, no, don’t worry. I’ll get your stuff for you, Marinette!” she called. “And then you’re taking a nice long nap,” she muttered. Marinette ignored her as she hurried along until she caught up with the culprit, the thief of her treasured string.

Stopping in front of him, Marinette posed dramatically, sticking her hand out and demanding, “Adrien, give me my string back!”

The students in the hallway muttered to each other as Adrien stared at her with a completely perplexed look on his face.

“Give you what? Marinette, what’s going on?” he asked, sounding concerned. “Is everything okay?”

Marinette frowned, and her face went red in the usual fashion even as she stuttered out her defense. She couldn’t let herself be distracted by a pretty face, even if it was Adrien’s!

“String, you keep, uh, thief, uh, give it back!”  She launched herself toward the string, grabbing it and pulling until she reached some invisible knot near Adrien’s finger. He flinched in response, looking hurt and surprised.

Nino, who was standing beside Adrien, looking confused, suddenly lit up. He reached out, stopping Marinette before she could untie the string and take it back.

“Marinette, wait! You said Adrien has your string?”

Marinette paused, looking at Nino suspiciously.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “He’s stealing it; I saw it follow him when he left class!”

Nino nodded, furrowing his brows as he came up with a response. “So, is the string still attached to your finger, too?”

Marinette blinked. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of checking!

She peered down at her own hand, stepping back from Adrien as she did so, and noticed a familiar red string still tied around her finger.

“Yes,” she answered as the gears in her head began spinning, “Yes, it is.”

Adrien choked, and Nino nodded, relaxing. “Cool. So, dude, it sounds like Adrien’s not stealing it, then, right? Since it’s tying you two together,” he said, elbowing Adrien with a small grin.

Adrien’s face turned bright pink. “Nino,” he hissed, looking embarrassed. Nino kept going, though.

“And if it’s your string, and it’s still attached to you, and it’s attached to Adrien, then that sounds like a soul-string to me. This must mean you guys are soulmates!”

Marinette stared at Nino, then at Adrien, and then at the red string still connecting her finger to Adrien’s.

“Oh, no,” she whimpered, the horror of what she’d almost done hitting her. She’d almost untied the string binding her soul to Adrien’s! What kind of half-rate, half-witted Seer was she? “Oh, no, Adrien, I’m so sorry! I—” 

Just then, Alya came out of the classroom, walking up behind Marinette and offering her the backpack she’d forgotten inside. 

“Girl, you are a mess today! Are you sure you— wait. What’s going on?”

Alya looked around at the huddle of students in the hall, who were still staring at Marinette, Nino, and Adrien.

It was all a little too much for Marinette, who’d had a very long day for someone who hadn’t gotten any sleep that past night.

She reached out and grabbed the bag from Alya. “Thanks-see-you-later-bye!”

Before anyone could say anything (before she could embarrass herself further), Marinette took off running towards her home.

It was, without a doubt, the worst morning of her life.

__*__*__*__*__

Finding out who her soulmate was by trying to untie the string binding them together was possibly the most embarrassing thing that had happened to her, Marinette reflected. It hadn’t even been the weirdest thing she’d done — jumping into a dinosaur’s mouth was definitely higher on that list — but she knew the morning’s events would be featuring in her nightmares for years.

She’d almost rejected Adrien, her true love, as her soulmate— by accident, but still! It was hard to fathom a more awkward situation.

Still, after a short lunch and a semi-refreshing nap, she shouldered her backpack and headed back to afternoon class, full of resolve. She couldn’t run away from the mess she’d made! She had to make sure Adrien knew she wasn’t upset that they were soulmates, and that she hadn’t meant to hurt him earlier.

She’d only tell him the color of their string if he wanted her to, though. After all, just finding your soulmate was a big enough occurrence; being told whether the soul bond was romantic or platonic might be too much to find out in one day, especially considering how the reveal had happened.

Marinette hoped Adrien hadn’t decided to stay home to avoid her after what she’d done. He’d seemed pretty overwhelmed by her sudden attack on the soul-string earlier, but not unhappy when Nino had figured out that Marinette and Adrien were soulmates, so maybe that was a good sign. He had seemed really embarrassed, though, about as much as she’d been, herself, so maybe he’d choose to stay home, after all. Goodness knew his father would be only too happy to keep him there.

She didn’t have to worry, though; as she walked onto the school campus, Marinette could already see Adrien standing by the stairs. He looked nervous, she noticed as she walked closer, and if she concentrated, she could feel a kind of tension in their soul-string. She swallowed, mustered up a smile, and waved somewhat awkwardly as she approached him.

Marinette paused there, not quite sure what to do or say, and her eyes flitted over to Nino, who was standing beside his friend again, in hopes of some hint or encouragement. Before Nino could react, though, Adrien stepped forward. He opened his mouth, but hesitated, flushing, and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

Then Marinette felt a slight push at her side from inside her purse. Tikki had encouraged her to tell the truth earlier, at home, and she knew the little kwami was counting on her to set things right.

So, Marinette mustered up all her courage and reached out for Adrien’s hand, the one with the string attached to it. Adrien looked up sharply, nervous and hopeful at the same time, if the emotions Marinette could lightly sense through their soul-string were correct.

“Hi, Adrien,” she said, smiling lightly as she shook his hand as if to introduce herself. “I’m Marinette, and it’s nice to finally meet you, soulmate.”

A brilliant smile broke out on Adrien’s face, and he pulled her into a hug as their classmates cheered around them. Marinette felt her face heat up, but the butterflies she felt in her stomach were happy ones, for once. After a long moment, Adrien finally stepped back, and Marinette noticed that his face was a bit pink, and it looked like he was crying. A spike of alarm shot through her, and she gripped his hands tightly.

“Are you okay?” she asked, feeling worried.

He squeezed her hands back, and Marinette felt a powerful thrum run through their soul-string. 

“I’m more than okay, Marinette,” he told her, “I’m just so happy! You’re not upset you’re my soulmate?”

Marinette’s face hardened. “Never,” she vowed. “I could never be upset about that, Adrien! I’m glad you’re my soulmate.”

Adrien wiped a tear away from his eye, smiling. “This is the best day of my life,” he choked out.

Nino grinned and clapped his back. “I’m really happy for you, dude,” he said, and Alya, who’d come to stand by him and was holding her phone suspiciously like she did to take pictures of the heroes, nodded in excited agreement.

“I feel like a proud mother duck watching my babies swim for the first time,” she joked. “We need a better picture. Pick a pose, sunshines!”

Adrien’s eyes widened, and he hastily dried the rest of his tears away. “A picture? I can’t even think of any poses right now, I’m too excited!”

Alya hummed. “The model can’t think of any poses? Well, that’s fine, I can! How about you dance with him, Marinette? Use up that excited energy before you have to sit still in class!”

Marinette flushed, looking up at Adrien. “A-are you sure, Alya? I can’t even dance, not really, I’m so clumsy!”

“You weren’t clumsy at Chloe’s party, Marinette,” Adrien said shyly. “I thought you were perfect.”

He offered his hands to her, smiling shyly, and she slowly reached out to take them. Nino pressed a button on his phone, and the two of them began swaying to the gentle beat of the music that started to play.

Alya exclaimed and cooed over them, and as the final minutes before class ticked away, Marinette relaxed as she and Adrien began dancing more naturally. She fell into the lead almost by accident, and Adrien grinned up at her as she dipped him while the music swelled. 

“Got your perfect picture, Alya?” she asked with a cocky smile as she spun Adrien around one more time.

“I think I do,” Alya confirmed, grinning at the two soulmates. “Should we head into class? I’m sure Nino can trade Marinette seats so you lovebirds can sit together.”

Adrien blushed and Marinette stuttered, but in the end, they slid into the first row together happily, smiling so brightly that even Ms. Mendeleiev seemed affected by the adorable scene, not mentioning the fact that they were a few seconds late to class the way she usually would. 

As she sat in class, Marinette reflected on her crazy day. She’d gone to school after pulling an all-nighter, discovered her soulmate, almost untied their soul-string, and gone back to school and made it up to him. And her soulmate really was Adrien! Her day could hardly get any better, and now she realized that maybe the universe had been sending her a sign, after all.

If another Seer was going to find out her identity because of the soul-strings, it had probably happened by now. She was no more at risk than she’d ever been, and she’d have to get used to the new feeling of freedom and fear that knowledge brought.

But it was a good feeling overall, a really good one. Maybe she’d even offer to find Chat Noir’s soulmate for him and spread the joy she felt over to him, too! Marinette smiled at the thought of her partner gushing about his new-found soulmate to her. He’d be so happy when he found out about hers, too!

For now, though, she was happy just sitting next to her soulmate, holding hands under the table and taking pride in the happiness radiating from his end of the string. Today had been a good day, after all! 

[sturchling]

I have a request. How about Lila’s mom comes to school because Lila forgot something. And she comes to class only to see them screaming at marinette to stop being “jealous” and stop “bullying” because of another lie Lila told. Lila’s mom also sees mrs. Bustier not doing anything to stop it. So she steps in and Lila pales at the sight of her mom. Then she sets things straight and goes off on Lila for lying again. In the end Lila and the class get punished. And lila gets held back a year.

Mrs. Rossi was already in an annoyed mood. She had already been running late this morning, and needed to get to work. But right as she went to leave, she saw that Lila had left her homework binder on the counter.

She was irritated with her daughter for being so irresponsible. Part of her considered just leaving it there and letting Lila face the consequences. She left it, she can take the bad grade. But then Mrs Rossi remembered that this assignment was worth a lot and if Lila got a bad grade, it would really affect her overall grade.

Mrs Rossi decided to just take it to the school, and she would deal with her daughter later. Little did Mrs Rossi know, Lila would wish her mother had left it alone. She had left the binder on purpose. Lila had planned to blame Marinette for the missing assignment, saying that the girl had wanted Lila to fail so she stole the assignment from her on the way to school.

Mrs Rossi strode into the school and up the stairs to her daughters class, texting on her phone to try and explain to her boss why she is late. Her focus was glued to her phone, that is until she heard the yelling. When she looked up, Mrs Rossi saw the entirety of her daughter’s class, standing and yelling at one girl in the back of the class. They were yelling at her for “bullying Lila” and “stealing her homework” so this girl would have a better than Lila.

But none of this made sense. Lila’s homework wasn’t stolen, Mrs Rossi had it in her hand. Why did the class think this girl stole it? And why wasn’t her daughter correcting them? Surely she knew about her homework, so this girl couldn’t have stolen it. Mrs Rossi felt her stomach twist. She had seen her daughter finally, and she was smiling maliciously.

Then Mrs Rossi understood. Her daughter was lying again. She had done this at every school in Italy. She always lied to everyone, about everything. Fake conditions, fake achievements, anything she could think of. And she had also previously used those lies to target specific students and make them miserable. She had been expelled from several schools for this behavior, but Lila had seemed better since moving to Paris. Reticently, Mrs Rossi realized that Lila had seemed better, because Mrs Rossi had been willfully ignoring it. Now the lack of the communication from the school, and several “school closures” seemed way more troubling.

She glanced at the teacher, Bustier, but Bustier wasn’t doing anything. She was just watching the chaos, like it was some twisted show. Mrs Rossi couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Well, if she wasn’t going to stop this, Mrs Rossi absolutely would. Her daughter wasn’t going to ruin another girl’s life.

Mrs Rossi stormed into the classroom, yelling, “LILA ROSSI”. The entire class whipped around at the sudden intrusion and stared at her. Most looked confused, but Lila didn’t. She looked terrified, and paled almost instantly upon seeing her mother.

“Mom… what are you doing here?” Lila glanced around the room, completely panicked. Especially when she spotted a certain binder in her mother’s arms.

“It doesn’t matter why I’m here. What matters is you are lying again! You told your class that this girl stole your homework? You know good and well that you left it at the house. It’s right here! I thought you had gotten over this lying phase of yours, but clearly not!” Mrs Rossi threw down the binder on the sad excuse of a teacher’s desk, angry beyond measure.

Lila was stuttering, trying to think of someway out of this, as she felt the stares of her class on her. This was very bad, Lila had intended for this lie to fully turn the class against Marinette. She hadn’t expected her mother to see the binder and bring it to the school. “Mom it’s not what you think, Marinette, she… she threatened me. Told me not to bring my homework or I’d be sorr-”

Lila couldn’t even finish her lie, her mother’s anger growing with every word until she exploded. “ENOUGH! You did this in every school you went to in Italy, and I thought I got the lesson through your head this time! Clearly not! I didn’t warn this school because you seemed to understand it this time, I guess that was my own naivety. Get up, you are coming with me to the principals office! I’m willing to bet he has some interesting stories to tell me of what you’ve been up to! I wonder if you have that lying disease again, or the one about saving some random celebrity pet. It’s the same nonsense every time and I’m sick of it!”

Lila tried to stammer out protests, she really did not want her mom to talk to Damocles. But deep down, she knew it was pointless, her mom was furious and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She felt the betrayed looks from the class on her back, as they realized Marinette had been telling the truth. Lila was a habitual liar, and her own mother was confirming it right in front of them, even referencing specific stories Lila had told them.

Lila reluctantly left the classroom with her mother, dreading this conversation and the after effects to come.

And man the after effects were more brutal than Lila expected. She wasn’t expelled exactly, but she almost wishes she was. But her mother had advocated against expulsion, but not for the sake of her daughter. She did it so her daughter couldn’t pull this again at another school.

Instead, Lila was suspended for the rest of the year and as a result would be held back a year and need to repeat it. When she was allowed back, she would be closely monitored by teachers, to make sure she couldn’t get away with anything or trying to bully any students. And a note was placed in her permanent record, so that if she ever did have to transfer for some reason, her next school would be warned.

As for the rest of the class and Bustier, they didn’t escape unscathed either. Most of the class was suspended as well, just for shorter periods of time. The school was a bit more lenient with them, since their actions were based on manipulation and lies, so they wouldn’t be suspended long enough that they would need to repeat the year, but they would be suspended for a few weeks and when they got back, they would have detention for the remainder of the year.

Finally, Bustier was also given an unpaid suspension. To come back to work, she had to complete several hours of retraining on class management, anti bullying tactics, and a wide range of other subjects. Her class got a long term sub in the meantime.

Mrs Rossi may have been annoyed about bringing that binder, but she is glad she did. It opened her eyes to her daughters continuing lies. She was able to put a stop to it this time, and she would make sure her daughter would never be able to pull this nonsense again. 

[carolmunson]

pbv!Steve on V-Day? I can only imagine the level of over-the-topness…

February is Valentine’s month for our boy. He starts on the 1st with a single red rose that he picks up on the way home from the office, delicately handing it to you with a kiss to your cheek while you make dinner.

“Hey valentine,” he murmurs before pressing another kiss to your temple.

“It’s not for another two weeks, Steve,” you smile into chopping aromatics, butterflies fluttering from your stomach to your chest.

“Valentine’s Day isn’t for another two weeks but,” he hangs his coat up by the door with his briefcase, “You’re kind of my forever valentine. So, the name sticks.”

“Your forever Valentine, huh?” you tease, showing off your empty ring finger, “Says who?”

“Patience is such a virtue, Manhattan,” he sighs, “The city’s poisoned you into wanting everything so fast.”

You let a puff of air through your mouth while you slide the celery, onion, and carrots into the heated pot on his newly installed chef’s stove top.

“When the jeweler and I agree on the stone, you will have that ring before you know it,” he says, rehearsed. He reminds you all the time. It’s weeks away. Fiancée is weeks away. But not Valentine’s Day because you told him that’s so cheesy, and Steve Harrington is much smoother than that anyway.

Valentine’s Day is an ordeal. He spends the first two weeks of the month adding a rose, so you end up with a huge bouquet by the holiday. Dinner reservations were made a month and a half in advance — he loves you in red, so your custom garter belt and bustier with lace and crafted boning flash a bloody crimson against your skin under your dress. A surprise. He loves when you surprise him.

Dinner and two bottles of wine and a box of chocolates and a new necklace later you are draped over each other in the living room, making out like teenagers who were told they could never see each other again. He barely has time to appreciate the lingerie before he tears it off you.

In the morning, you make him breakfast to deliver to him in bed. Wine always gives him a hang over, you tease him for getting old too fast when it does.

He smiles sleepily while he sits up, running a large hand over his face and through his hair — watching glinting in the morning light of February 14th.

“Good morning,” he says groggily, admiring you wearing nothing but the short silk robe you cooked in. He kicks himself for not being awake to watch you make it.

“Good morning, valentine,” you say back softly, “I’ll go get you some Advil.”

[ravennm84]

Making Your Own Luck

Quick story I wrote while thinking of Plagg’s love of cheese, Tikki’s love of cookies, and the different ways we associate with good and bad luck. Sprinkle in a little Lila salt and you’ve got some wonderful brain candy to tide you over until the next story. Warm-Fuzzies and enjoy!!

There were more than a few abilities that kwamiis had that normally weren't used. Kaalki could improve her holder's horseback riding ability. Pollen could help flowers grow when she spent enough time in an area. 

Tikki's power over luck and good fortune was very well known. But it wasn't only her lucky charm, but her ability to take away luck. Now, this wouldn't give someone bad luck, that's Plagg's thing and had started the whole black cat crossing your path superstition. It would just set a person's luck to zero, and their actions afterwards would determine if it turned good or bad. This is where the concept of karma and the saying 'making your own luck' came from.

Normally, these were abilities that kwamiis kept to themselves or would become a side effect of being active for an extended period of time. Tikki was able to control that ability easily… until her holder came across that Italian rat, Lila Rossi. Oh, how she wished for the chance to reset that girl's luck and let karma determine her punishment. It would be so easy, just a second of physical contact and all her luck would disappear. Then everything she did would continue to build and grow, not that the little Goddess had to guess which way it would go.

 Then, one glorious Tuesday morning, Lila accused Marinette of stealing her orange pen. Tikki had been eating her blueberry and lemon curd macaron while reclining on a silk scarf when the girl snatched the purse she was in. Marinette tried to get it back, horrified when Lila opened the latch and shoved her hand inside. 

The purse jostled roughly to one side, causing Tikki's cookie to fall to the floor as the stolen pen slid out of the girl's sleeve and into the purse. What happened next occurred so quickly, that she would always claim, while ignoring Plagg's jokes and side eyes, that it was a complete accident. Tikki grabbed the pen, touching Lila’s fingers as she pushed away and fazed through the bottom of the purse. With all the chaos of Lila keeping the purse out of Marinette’s reach and Mme. Bustier, demanding that everyone calm down, no one noticed the kwamii fly under the desks, drop the pen under Lila’s chair, and return to Marinette to hide in her backpack. 

"...but she took my pen, I saw her put it in-"

"If that is the case, you tell me and I will handle it," Bustier said sternly, displeased that her lesson had been interrupted and her pregnancy hormones giving her a shorter fuse. "Give Marinette her purse back, now." She did, barely hiding her smirk. "Marinette, may I please take a look inside your purse?" 

Hands shaking from the adrenaline, having a flashback of the last time her bag had been searched, and worried about Tikki being found, Marinette wanted to say no. It was only when she spotted Tikki out of the corner of her eye, head poking out of her backpack and giving a reassuring nod, that she handed over her purse.

A few seconds later, Bustier handed the purse back and cast a disappointing scowl at Lila. "I believe you owe Marinette an apology." 

Shock broke through Lila’s façade as she sputtered. "But… but she took my favorite orange pen. I swear I saw-"

"Isn't this it?" Nathaniel asked, causing everyone to turn and see him pick the pen up from under their shared desk. 

Sputtering a bit more, Lila clenched her jaw before giving Marinette a terse "sorry" before stomping back to her seat. 

Plagg knew exactly what his Sugarcube had done, he'd felt the slight spike of power after the cookie had shattered on the floor and that brat had shoved her hand into Pigtail's purse. The embarrassment of apologizing in front of the class was just the start. He knew the girl wouldn't accept defeat so easily, and the consequences would keep growing. 

And he was not disappointed. 

Lila tried to trip Marinette in the cafeteria, and ended up stubbing her toe on a table leg hard enough to cry real tears. When she attempted to switch their homework assignments in Mendeleiev's class, the teacher not only spotted the switch but proved it in front of everyone by comparing handwriting. That got Lila a week of detention. 

Then, at the end of the day, Lila accidentally dumped her water bottle all over Marinette’s head and backpack. Despite acting oh-so apologetic and reminding everyone about her weak wrist, she wasn't getting the support or assurances of "it's not your fault" that she expected. Many glared at her while others ran off to get towels to help Marinette. Realizing that she miscalculated and did too much on a single day, Lila made a hasty retreat outside. Only to get absolutely soaked when a car sped through a puddle on the street. 

Plagg laughed his little whiskers off from that one. But he knew it was just starting. He couldn't wait to hear about what happened away from school. 

~oOo~

The following morning, Lila looked like she'd been dropped into Dante's Inferno and spat back out just in time for school. What happened didn't even have anything to do with Marinette, so she couldn't blame it on her. That just annoyed her all the more.

While storming home wet from the puddle, she kicked a pebble that hit a bird, then a flock of birds swarmed her while she ran for two blocks. She shoved a neighbor out of the way when she got to her apartment building, and the door flew back and cracked her in the nose. It bled for over ten minutes. 

She went to the mall for some retail therapy, coupled with a five finger discount, and was caught immediately. Her mother was called and she was banned from the mall for life. Greta was not happy with her daughter and gave her extra chores as punishment. While Lila was muttering mean and disrespectful things about her parents while cleaning the bathroom, she didn't account for the volume of her voice or the bathroom tiles echoing what she said. Her grounding was extended. 

All this made Lila’s mood particularly volatile when she arrived at school that morning. Not bothering to pay attention to what was around her, she gave Mireille a shove out of the way, making the girl stumble down the stairs. A couple seconds later, Lila slipped on the wet steps and fell all the way to the bottom. Her classmates saw the whole thing, and although they were miffed that she pushed someone, they still helped Lila to the nurse to get checked out. Nothing broken, but there were multiple new bruises to match her black and purple nose.

In class, Marinette had to resist the urge to stare at the hot mess her bully had become in a single day. The rest of the class had noticed too. Nathaniel decided to move up a row to sit with Ivan. Rose and Juleka cast wary glances in her direction whenever Lila started muttering to herself. Even Mme. Bustier had to tell Lila multiple times to stop talking with the threat of detention. 

By the time lunch came around, Marinette made sure to be with one other person at all times. With how unhinged Lila was getting, she didn't want to risk being caught alone with her. Luckily, Ivan, Rose, and Juleka wanted to talk with her about the new designs for Kitty Section, so she was covered. 

Lila noticed how the class was starting to avoid her. Fighting off the urge to curse and scream at them, she took a few deep breaths to clear her mind. She'd been rushing too much for the last two days, she knew that. Trying to compensate for her failure was only bringing more attention to herself and the sheep were noticing that something wasn't right. She had to slow down and make them come to her.

For the next few days, Lila backed down. She smiled at her followers, paid attention in class, and would occasionally look at her phone in distress and act like she was fighting off tears. By Monday morning, things were going better for her. She'd avoided getting in any more trouble with her mom and teachers, she'd texted a fake apology to her classmates, and admitted that she was going through something that was causing a lot of stress. When some of them asked what it was, Lila timidly said that she was too nervous to say anything else. She knew they would bug her and assure her that she could tell them anything. 

Monday morning, just as she planned, everyone was encouraging her to trust them and tell them what was bothering her. Seeing that Bustier and Marinette weren't in class yet, she knew now was the time to strike.

Squeezing her eyes shut as she harshly pinched the inside of her elbow to bring tears, she started weaving her story. "It's just, someone's been bullying over text. It's so bad. She keeps telling me that I'll lose all my friends and that I should just kill myself," she said between forced sobs as she dropped her head into her hands. "And it never stops. Sh- she texts all day and into the night. And when I tried to show my mom, the messages were gone. I don't know how, but it's like my phone got hacked and the messages disappear after I've read them."

Max mentioned that there are self deleting message apps, but he wasn’t familiar with them. Then he looked at her searchingly. "You keep saying 'she', that would indicate that you are aware of who is behind this?"

Doing her best surprised face, Lila shook her head. "I can't say, none of you would believe that Marinette would-" she gasped and covered her mouth. "Oh no, I really shouldn't have said anything."

Lila watched as the sheep exchanged surprised looks while Adrien glared at her, but he wouldn't say anything. His father would have made sure of that. 

"You're saying that Marinette, our class rep, has been bullying you over text?" Alix asked, unease evident in her tone.

She shook her head while turning up the water works. "I knew I shouldn't have said an-anything. She's your friend, too."

"You said she's been doing this constantly?" Mylene asked, eyeing her carefully as Lila nodded. "When did she last send you one of those texts?"

Sniffling, Lila rubbed her eyes to give herself a second to think. It felt like these were leading questions, like they knew something she didn't. Meaning they'd probably spent time with her over the weekend and would have noticed her messaging Lila constantly. But since everyone was here and Marinette wasn't…

"Right before class. It- it asked if I was dead yet." Another sniffle and she was sure the class was wrapped around her fing-

"Marinette was right! You are a liar!"

Lila was so surprised by Kim's outburst, she forgot to keep crying and stared at everyone as they glared at her in disgust and moved away from her.

"I can't believe we almost bought that crap you were selling!" Alix turned away, face turning red in anger.

"But- but it's the truth! I-"

"There is a .03% chance of what you said being true." Max interrupted, staring down his nose at her. "At this point it is better that you admit it."

Casting a desperate look around the classroom, she was surprised that no one looked supportive. Even Adrien looked absolutely done with her. Realizing the jig was up, she let her expression morph to anger and annoyance as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Wow, I'm surprised you idiots figured it out. Usually you do exactly what I say after faking a few tears. I'm curious, what gave me away?"

The sudden change in the Italian girl gave them a bit of whiplash, but Nino answered her. "You ruined Marinette’s phone when you dumped your water on her. She isn't getting a new one until this Friday. No way she could have been messaging you at all."

"Huh, I guess it was worth dumping that on her, even if you idiots started to notice." Then she shrugged and stood from her seat. "Oh well, good to know for my next school, this place was getting stagnant anyway."

Kim blocked her way. "You're not going to get away with-"

"Shut it, you stupid jock. I've already got Bitch-stier and Dumb-ocles eating out of my hand. When I tell them you're ganging up on me, all of you will get detention while I walk free." Sidestepping her soon-to-be former classmates, she gave them a sarcastic wave and smile as she bid them "ciao" and opened the door…

To come face to face with a furious teacher, principal, and her mother!? What's she doing here? Did they just hear what I said?

The thought barely finished when her mother reached out, literally grabbed her by the ear, and dragged her out the door. The class watched in shock as Mme Rossi screamed and lectured her daughter all the way to Damocles' office. 

They would be informed days later that Lila had been sent to military school in Italy. In lycee, they heard rumors that she had been arrested for stalking a local celebrity in Venice. During university, Alya found an article about Lila Rossi being sentenced to 30+ years in prison for attempting a ponzi scheme. It had failed terribly and her victims got all their money back, but Lila would have to serve 5 years for each of her victims. 

Not that it mattered to them anymore. The class was too busy with their own lives and futures to put much thought into some lying brat that they went to school with for a little while. 

Bonus:

Tikki fought her grin as she watched Lila being dragged away by her ear as she and Marinette came up the stairs. Sighing with relief, she was about to enjoy a well deserved treat when she heard a familiar snicker behind her.

"Nice going, Sugarcube. Couldn't have done it better, myself." Plagg cackled as he passed her a cookie before indulging in a wedge of cheese he'd brought with him.

She grudgingly took the cookie before looking away from him. "It was an accident, I touched her hand when she tried planting that pen in my holder’s purse. What happened was her own doing and not my fault."

"Su~re. And the fact that she interrupted your cookie time and dumped your macaron onto the floor had nothing to do with it?"

The look she gave him had Plagg laughing on the inside. Only on the inside.

"That was a perfectly baked, blueberry macaron with a tart, lemon curd filling. I only got one bite before it got dumped to the floor. A price had to be paid."

Plagg watched with great affection as his Sugarcube took a bite of her sweet treat. Oh yes, he'd learned millennia ago not to interrupt cookie time. Just like Henry the VIII, that Lenin guy in Russia, and a few others. They had experienced the wrath of the goddess of creation when interrupting cookie time, though Plagg was the only one to know why things went so bad. It made him smart enough never to do it again.

Taglist:

@2confused-2doanything @7-sage-7 @aadnrsstar @abrx2002 @awkwardromances @bayball @babylovebug18 @botanicalfoxx @back-cats-and-broken-mirrors @caffeinetheory @cheshire5210 @chocolateherringtacofan @city-of-all-tunas @classycollectorreviewworld  @corabeth11 @chocolatechipcookiesandcamembert @darkened-flame @delightfulcookiesrecipespizza @fandom-trapped-03 @ghostmaster83@iamblinkmarvelarmy @interobanginyourmom @izang @jesussavedevenme @kazedancer @kitten12113 @lady-phoenix-of-tardis @lilypotter2018 @lunataravler @ladylupuscrow @maskedpainter @ miraculouslydumb @nerd-nowandforever @naruwitch @ola-is-dead @pandacatxd @plushbookworm @plz-excuse-my-inner-ravenclaw @pheonix-biach @pandora-fucking-box @raiderofthelostbooks @ramos123 @rowanrouge @rowanyx @ren121 @seesea22 @seraphichana @sashakoi @shypeacekitten @smartlanceisreal @tazer6787 @that-girl-sakea @thecrazyfantrollshasmoved @the-smallest-kittenz @tishwinchesterannabethjackson @t1dwarrior-of-earth @ulmban @with-forward-motion @wonderbat91939 @zoiechance

[smurphyse]

Big Bad Handsome Man | Spencer Reid

Series Masterlist | Smurph's Masterlist

Part 20 of Room 405

Warnings: angst, tension, awkwardness, strip-tease shows, morning sickness, blood

Summary: You and Spencer finally learn what each other do for a living

There were a few things in life that knocked Spencer on his ass. He really thought he had himself figured out more than once, and sure enough life came by and sucker punched him in the jaw, emerging from a passing crowd like an assassin in the night. 

Each time his body lifted with the force. His feet left the ground and he hit the concrete with such force he was sure that blow would be the one to do him in. Each time, Spencer got back up. Sometimes it took weeks, months, even years …but he got back up eventually. 

Those fists to the chin could never have prepared him for this, tonight. No, this was definitely another thing Spencer never saw coming. 

"And now, the moment you've all been waiting for…" the announcer's voice rang out over the lounge as Spencer and Hotch waited for the Arends' to begin their set. 

The crowd rowdily banged on tables and stomped on the floor, yelling in their excitement. Spencer looked around and cocked a brow at them. It was just a strip tease, how could these people be so into it when none of these performers would want anything to do with them on the outside?

"The Nocturne proudly presents, not for the first time and certainly not the last… the beautiful minds behind this den of depravity, the parents of pleasure, the owners and leads of this proud establishment…"

It felt wrong being here like this, with scantily clad people all selling the idea of sex and strip tease. He supposed it made some people happier to escape into this fantasy for a few hours…but you were his escape and he'd much rather be with you. 

He blanched when he thought about how he'd tell you all about this, but then he thought maybe you'd like to see the show someday. Then he'd have to explain what the hell he was doing here in the first place… oh you were going to make such fun of him. 

"Momma and Daddy, a song of lust and trust. Just don't cream your pants too early, children," the MC purred over the speakers as the lights went dark in the lounge. "It's about to get hot in here."

The curtain began to lift slowly, the drum rolls of the people and the band shuddering the ground beneath them. The tension in the air was thick, heady and putting Spencer on edge. A shimmering sinful red backdrop appeared behind the curtain, the glimmering dancefloor illuminating the whole place with the illusion of depravity. 

Long, lean legs and glittery red stilettos began to appear, followed quickly by a matching bustier and feathered short skirt. Sleek hair was pinned up in a 50s style boudoir look, shining under the spotlights. The woman posed with a grin, leaning on one hip with a flourishing hand pointing up at the lights. 

Charlie Arends stood behind her in black leather pants and a matching vest with nothing underneath, hair slicked back and a confident smirk on his face. He looked over the crowds as they began to cheer, the rest of the stage cast in shadow. He turned his head into the crook of her neck and placed a kiss there. 

When the curtain hit the top, a sultry crimson glow blew across the stage, blinding Spencer for a moment. 

A blasting of trumpets and saxophones exploded through the venue as his eyes adjusted, cheers from the crowd going wild. It was then that Spencer finally took in this woman and her outfit, and his stomach dropped as he noticed the final finishing touch. 

A red collar with a heart charm…just like the one you'd surprised him with all those months ago when he came back from Texas after five weeks away. 

Because the half naked dancer in a barely-there corset for every rich man in this room to see… was you… dancing with Charlie Arends.

Your head turned to press your cheek against Charlie's, and he quickly moved to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. His whole world stopped, a fifty pound weight sinking deeper in his belly as your hand pulled the back of his neck to bring him closer. You pulled away as the music swelled.

"The man is tall, mad, mean and good lookin', and he's got me at his eye," you sang sultrily as you and Charlie locked eyes with cheeky grins. Spencer's fingers gripped his pants leg tightly as boiling hot jealousy coursed through his veins. "When he looks at me, I go weak at the knees. Got me going like no other guy."

Your palm landed gently on your husband's cheek, his arm wrapping around your waist. He twisted you out in a flash, lingering fingers clutching yours as you posed for the crowds. They went wild as Spencer sat, mouth agape, watching you in the last place he'd ever thought you'd be. 

"He's the devil divine, I'm so glad that he's mine. 'Cause he's my big bad handsome man."

A song of lust and trust…

Spencer foolishly thought you saved the lust part for him. Was this how you two always were? Clinging and close and unembarassed by touch?

Spencer's rational mind recalled you saying how close you were with your husband, that you didn't date because people never understood your relationship…but as he watched Charlie Arends dance sexily with you, he wanted to melt into a puddle of self-doubt and anxiety. 

You twirled and sang with your lacquer-lined lips, smiling like a fiend. You turned back to him, belting out with a beautiful confidence, "Oh, the music he plays, the way he moves me and sways, rocks me to the floor."

Charlie placed a palm on your chest and with a choreographed shove pushed you to the floor. Your hand lashed out to grip his tie and pull him with you. Charlie leaned in close and licked a heavy stripe up your neck, and Spencer nearly shredded his pant leg as your eyes rolled back into your head. "When he sings in my ear, he makes me shiver and leer. Leaves me wanting more and more!"

Another carefully planned move later, and you were swept up high, then back on your feet. Charlie twirled you out, and with a faux look of surprise you gazed demurely at the crowd as your bustier slipped off and was thrown to the crowd, leaving you in just a lace red bra. 

The crowd whooped and yelled, and without much thought besides not wanting any of these assholes touching anything belonging to you, Spencer’s hand reached up and snatched it out of the air. 

“Cause he’s my big, bad, handsome man. He’s got me in the palm of his hand…”

A few celebratory claps and disappointed boos sounded out behind him, but Spencer's gaze was solely on you as he clutched the fabric. He vaguely noticed Hotch watching him worryingly out of the corner of his eye, but he ignored it. Instead he rubbed his thumb over the lace and beadwork, his usually lightning fast mind struggling to process. 

He wanted to march right up on stage and throw you over his shoulder. He wanted to carry you out and make sure you knew who you belonged to… but another part of him was heartbroken. You looked so happy, in a way he'd only seen in Room 405. But then again, he'd rarely seen you outside it. 

Your hair bounced free from your updo, falling over your shoulders. It flew with you as Charlie and you performed this routine. It was so practiced, so comfortable and full of trust between the two of you. He couldn't figure out why he felt so crushed, so betrayed. All he knew was that he thought he was falling apart in this stool.

The music swelled and boomed, the lights shone off your bright lipstick. Another flick of Charlie's wrist and your feather skirt was gone, disappearing over the crowd. It left you in only some lingerie and those sparkly stilettos, and it looked like something he would've bought for you. 

Charlie twirled you out and you walked sultrily down the glossy stairs of the stage. Your hands flicked out expertly to draw attention to your figure. The music hit a peak, and with sudden fear, Spencer realized a spotlight had turned to him and you were fast approaching. This seat was a hot seat, a place for the performers to interact with the audience. 

Spencer swore he saw the moment your breath caught in your chest as you spotted him. Your steps faltered, your jaw dropping. He shifted in his seat to sit up straighter, locking eyes with your suddenly pleading gaze. You looked back at Charlie with wide eyes, and his head cocked in confusion, but you quickly snapped back into gear as your part came up again.

Strutting to the hot seat he was in both metaphorically and physically, your hand slipped around Spencer’s shoulders as you plopped down in his lap. One long leg crossed over the other, and it took everything Spencer had not to pick you up and run you out of the lounge. Your palm slid over his chest, a perfectly manicured nail moving up to guide him by the chin to look at your beautiful face.

“With his rugged good looks, yeah, he’s got me hooked,” you sang sweetly, but your eyes were watery. You were scared and trembling in his lap at his reaction, and without much thought Spencer slid a hand over your thigh and squeezed your knee. “Got me where he wants me to be.”

“We’re going to talk about this later,” Spencer whispered in your ear as you sang. “Just act natural so nobody suspects.”

You didn’t react the way he thought, your eyes turning into a squint. In a flash you twirled off his lap. The spotlight followed you as you moved, hugging your curves in a silhouette. Your palms slid over his chest as you sang, “He’s the kind of guy that does it for me.”

With a quick push, Spencer’s chair flew back. He landed heavily on his back on the hardwood, watching in pure shock as you glowered down at him for a moment before turning on your heel away from him as the crowd roared. Hotch was there in a second, pulling him and the chair upright. 

“He’s the devil divine, I’m so glad that he’s mine.” You sauntered back up the stairs slowly, hands flourishing out. The music pulsed through his veins as the crowd exploded with excitement and you wiggled your backside for every man in this place to see. 

“Cause he’s my big. Bad! I’m so glad.” You turned enough to gaze sultrily out at the audience with a cocky grin, body posed seductively and wrenching Spencer’s heart in his chest. “That he’s my big bad handsome man, hmm…”

The lights cut out, flooding everyone in darkness. The crowd went wild, clapping and jeering. Spencer clenched his fingers around the bustier as he stared at the spot you and Charlie had occupied, a vein pulsing painfully in his forehead. 

He knew this was irrational jealousy. You'd told him time and time again that your marriage was in name only…but that chemistry between you and your husband was undeniable. 

Another act came on a few seconds after the lights faded, dancers flying about the stage in shimmering costumes and singing along to the beat, but his vision tunneled as it became nothing but background noise to Spencer's own insecurities. 

You were the owner of the Nocturne, the wife of Charlie Arends, the mother of the witness to a brutal murder. You were the burlesque dancer who hated cops…the one Hotch said had a police officer ex who was abusive and cruel. 

Why did you keep this from him?

"Reid," Hotch's voice came from his right, and Spencer turned to see his boss watching him with concern. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," he spat through gritted teeth. Spencer picked up the bourbon courtesy of Miss Fierce and downed it in one gulp before slamming it back down on the table. 

You ran straight to your office after stepping off stage, flinging the door open to your private bathroom as your stomach lurched. Your knees hit the tile painfully as you threw your dinner up into the toilet loudly. 

Clutching the cool porcelain, your sobs broke free as your stomach emptied itself. The music downstairs vibrated the floor beneath you as you sat in a red lingerie set and sparkly stilettos for everyone to see. God, what did Spencer think of you now?

Everything had been going so well, too well. Loud footsteps came up the stairs as you leaned back to lean on the wall. You suddenly felt so dirty sitting there in underwear and a collar on a strip tease bathroom floor. You were nothing in that moment, once again a pregnant whore who felt like she had nowhere to go.

What the hell was he even doing in a place like this? Had one of his friends dragged him here and he lied and told you it was for work? Could you really be mad at him for coming here when you're the one who owned the den of sin?

Act natural so nobody suspects. He'd talked to you like a dirty little secret…and after this that was probably all you'd be to him. 

Charlie flew into the doorway, collapsing to his knees and putting his hands on your shoulders. You burst into unwanted tears and clung to him like a child. Your future was so uncertain at that moment, and all you wanted was your best friend. 

Charlie curled you up in his lap, holding you so tight you were sure to burst. He brushed back your hair to see you as heavy mascara streaked down your cheeks through the glitter and foundation. 

"Baby, what is going on? Are you okay?" he asked softly, full of such protectiveness you wanted to hold him forever and not let go. 

"Oh, Charlie!" you sobbed hysterically. "I need to go home. Please, please take me home."

"I… I, uhm," Charlie sputtered. He didn't let go of you, but you knew how he got when he felt bad about something. You sat up and watched him warily. 

"What did you do?"

Charlie hung his head in shame, "The FBI is here. They want to talk to you."

You shook your head, "I can't. Not tonight. I need to go home, okay?"

"What's going on?" he asked seriously. His arms around you kept you grounded, but you were terrified. Your whole world seemed to be crashing down around you, and you didn't know what was going to happen next. 

"Charlie…" you whispered. Your voice wavered, and Charlie stiffened. Slowly you raised your eyes to meet his. "I'm pregnant."

His jaw dropped, eyes widening in excitement…but then his face scrunched up as he likely realized that baby had no way of being his. Your heart sank into your belly as you watched the father of your children come to his own terms with this, and he nodded slowly.

“The boyfriend?” he asked quietly. You nodded. “Does he know?”

You shook your head, becoming frantic once more. “And for some reason, he’s in the audience in the hot seat… he didn’t know where I work and now he does and… oh, fuck, Charlie!”

You motioned to the mess you looked now with your smeared makeup and scant clothing. “He’s not going to want me anymore… you don’t know about my past, everything… the more he finds out about me the faster he’s going to leave and so will you!”

Charlie’s hand clamped suddenly over your mouth, his brows furrowing together. He watched you with such determination and love you could have died right there. “I know about your past. I didn’t leave, and if he leaves you because of this then you and that kid are better off without him. I’ll be a dad of six instead of five, and you and I both know whoever you marry after me is going to have to deal with that anyway.”

Tears poured over your cheeks and onto his hand. Charlie simply slipped it away from your mouth and pulled you into a bone crushing hug. You sobbed into his shoulder as he rocked you back and forth. “You… you knew? About me this whole time?”

Charlie nodded against your head, “My dad wanted a background check after you told me you were pregnant. I saw everything, and well… I didn’t give a shit because I knew that you were my soulmate, baby. He tried to talk me out of it and… I lied and told you it was because of the club. I’m glad he’s not in our lives, because we deserve to surround ourselves with people who accept us for who we are.”

He pulled back to brush your hair away from your forehead and smile at you. You couldn’t help but smile back. “That’s what we’ve done for the people here, together. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Okay?”

Your voice shook but you believed him, and you were so happy he never made you talk about being a call girl or made you ever feel bad for having to do what you did to keep Tulip safe. “Okay.”

Charlie kissed you then, soft and slow. It wasn’t sexual, it never was anymore. It was comforting, full of love and devotion in a way so few people would ever understand. You kissed him back, clinging to him like the lifeline he was in the darkness you’d found yourself in so suddenly. 

There was a clearing of a throat, and a soft knock on the doorframe, and when you pulled away you found yourself looking up at Agent Hotchner… and Spencer, holding your discarded bustier.

“Mrs. Arends,” he said softly, always nice to you even though you’d been a raging dick to him time and time again. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, but you couldn’t pull your gaze from the sheepish man before you. He lacked all the confidence he had in Room 405, and instead watched you with watery eyes… you knew he’d seen you kissing Charlie, and it had broken his heart.

“Spencer,” you murmured, mostly in shock.

“Y/N,” he replied quietly. 

Agent Hotchner sighed and ran a hand over his forehead. He held out a hand for you. “I think we have a few things to talk about, including your relationship with Doctor Reid.”

He and Charlie helped you stand shakily while Spencer held himself back with his hands shoved in his pockets. Your brows furrowed, and you pointed between them, “You two know each other?”

Agent Hotchner nodded, “Doctor Reid works with me in the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

Charlie gasped and his head shifted down to you. Everyone seemed to be staring right through you as your brain struggled to process what he was telling you. Charlie thrust a finger at Spencer, “This is the boyfriend?”

Spencer's eyes lit up a bit, turning to you with hopefulness. Anger and confusion battled in your mind for dominance, old memories of Tulip's biological father swirling to the surface. 

“I… I didn’t know,” you muttered, staring hard at Spencer. You cocked your head, “You’re in the FBI? You’re a cop?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, almost shamefully. “I convinced your husband to let us talk to you tonight… about interviewing Tulip. We think she might be th-.”

“You’re a cop!?” you asked again sharply. All the men seemed to take a collective cautious breath in as rage boiled through you like a wildfire. 

Spencer's eyes clamped shut for a moment, like he always did when he was frustrated, and he ran a heavy hand over the back of his neck like he did when he was nervous. You knew that about him, all those little things about his personality…and here he stood before you in too similar a job as someone who almost broke you. 

He opened them slowly, those long lashes flickering as he struggled to contain himself. Spencer straightened his shoulders and locked jaw. His reached out his palm with your bustier and handed it to you. "You should probably get dressed."

Your battered mind struggled through the slosh of emotions and all this new conflicting information, but you managed to look toward the mirror above the sink and see how much of a mess you were. 

Mascara stained your cheeks, your lipstick smeared. Your lingerie was rumpled and rucked up around your waistline. The only thing still in tact was that fucking collar. Your chin began to wobble as you saw yourself… you looked just how you did when you were stripping for money or getting dressed after visiting a client… like a whore, a sex worker no FBI agent would dare be seen with. 

You nodded slowly and grabbed it from him, your arms moving up to cover yourself. Sucking in a pained breath, you moved forward and pushed past them without a word and into your office. 

You had a paper divider by the window so you could change by yourself and in privacy, and a dresser behind it. With wobbly legs, you struggled to carry yourself over, but Charlie was right behind you, keeping you safe without having to ask for it. 

There was a soft knock on the door, and Miss Fierce came in. Her jaw dropped a bit as she spotted you, but she didn't comment on it when she saw Charlie. She thrust a thumb over her shoulder, "I'm sorry to bother, but there's some guy bothering Tessa near the bathrooms."

"Where's Manny?" Charlie asked gruffly, making it clear he didn't want to leave you. 

"He's on stage and so is Marty."

"Go," you told him softly, but he put a hand on your waist to tell me he didn't want to. You pushed him lightly, "Seriously, go take care of it. I'll be fine."

He shifted so you couldn't see Spencer or Aaron, leaning in close, "You sure?"

"We have to take care of our girls, Chuck." You gave him a soft smile, "You know me. I'll be okay."

Charlie nodded and pressed his lips to your forehead. He turned on his heel and made his way out of the office, making sure to take the time to eye Spencer on his way out. Miss Fierce followed after him, closing the door quietly on her way out. 

"Have a seat," you offered, waving my hands at the fuzzy pink chairs in front of my desk. You went behind the divider and opened a drawer where they couldn't see you. There was a dressing mirror in the corner, and it took all you had not to break down looking at yourself. 

"Obviously, this situation was unexpected," Aaron's voice came from the other side. You heard him sigh and continue, "I knew Spencer had a girlfriend, but I didn't know it was you and he had no reason to tell me as such." 

You shrugged a long duster over a bodysuit tank top and pulled on some jeans, but something about that sentence bothered you as you dressed. You slipped on a black pair of stilettos and pulled your hair back into a ponytail. The anger bubbled further to the surface as you wiped off your makeup, and as soon as you were done you flew out from behind the divider in a rage.

“You knew your team was questioning my daughter!?” you snarled as you stomped toward the desk, your finger pointed at Spencer. “Did you read my file?”

His eyes turned to saucers, wide and a bit scared of your rage. Spencer leaned back in the ridiculous chair and braced himself on the arms. “I… I didn’t…”

Aaron put a hand between you as if to protect him. “Out of respect for your privacy and explicitly detailed lack of trust in the police, I did not divulge any information with my team except what was necessary. Doctor Reid had no idea you were the mother of a victim.”

Spencer watched you and nodded as your chest heaved. You couldn't seem to help but growl as you struggled to contain your anger. You hated cops. They couldn't be trusted. 

You decided to sit down and pour yourself a drink of water from the bottle you kept in your desk drawer. You didn't offer Spencer or Aaron anything, just took a long sip and glared at them. 

"We initially came here tonight to see if you were open to the idea of Doctor Reid speaking with Tulip," Aaron continued cautiously. "He doesn't seem to have had any idea you worked here even though you're supposedly together, but I guess that's something we can sort out later."

"I'm pretty sure I told you exactly where to shove your badge after talking to her last time," you replied coldly, setting the heavy tumbler on the desk. "She's had nothing but nightmares since she spoke with you."

"I understand, but Reid has a great rapport with children, and like I said before I believe talking about it is going to help Tulip more than keeping it inside."

You turned to Spencer, who watched you with those damned puppy dog eyes, "Why should she talk to you?"

"I, uhm, specialize in what we call 'cognitive interviews,'" Spencer started slowly. He cleared his throat awkwardly and rubbed his neck again, and all it did was make you angrier. "This is especially helpful with children. We talk them through the incident as if it's happening in real time, and they experience it again in a safe space where they know they can't be injured or harmed."

He swallowed thickly, hardly able to keep eye contact with you. How could he after seeing you on stage? "It helps people work through the effects of early PTSS, as the event no longer tends to appear in their mind like it's still happening."

You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back, eyeing him critically. Spencer leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and finally locked eyes with you. 

"You'll be right by her side, keeping her safe," he pleaded, eyes wide and full of what you could have confused for love for you if tonight hadn't happened. "Please, sweetheart, trust me with this. I won't let anything happen to her. You have to know that."

"I don't know anything right now," you whispered, and he nodded sadly. Using his nickname for you in this situation… it gutted you. 

And knowing you were pregnant…you wanted to believe him, but your mind was so scattered. You had kids who needed you now, and your body was trying to create a new one. All this stress… it couldn't be good for you or the baby. 

A sharp scream echoed from downstairs, jolting all three of you from your spot. Your family was down there, and you were on your feet quicker than Spencer or Aaron. You tore across the room without any thought, barreling down the hallway with them following closely behind. 

"Sweetheart, stop!" Spencer called, and you heard the familiar click of a gun leaving its holster. You hadn't even noticed one on him… so many things you didn't know about the man you were in love with. 

As you reached the bottom of the spiral stairs, you spotted a group of people gathered around the bathroom doors. The music had stopped, and someone had turned all the lights on, which only made the danger seem that much more nefarious. 

"Move!" you yelled, shoving through the throngs of people. If one of your girls was injured, you needed to get to them. "Get out of my way!"

There were a few disgruntled hey lady's as you elbowed your way through them. Flinging open the door to the bathroom, you stopped dead in your tracks at what you saw on the tile floor. 

A man was slumped under the sink, a bloody trail leaking from his stomach and over the porcelain. Your eyes glazed over the scene, not really processing it, until you saw Charlie. 

He lay on his back, and he wasn't moving. His blond hair was flecked with splattered blood and mucus. His face was covered with thick red liquid, pooling beneath him and onto the floor below. Your veins filled with ice as you began to panic. 

You collapsed with a scream, reaching out and cradling his head in your hands. It smeared under your palms and across his skin, but you tried to push that out of your mind. He grunted a bit but his eyes didn't open. "Charlie? C'mon, baby, look at me!"

"Move," Aaron's voice came from the side, and he pushed you away. His hands wandered under Charlie's neck, and you realized he was checking for a pulse. 

"No, no, no," you sputtered, unable to comprehend the sight before you. It was all too much, and you couldn't do this without him. You needed him. 

You tried to put your hands on Charlie again, babbling like a child, "Charlie, baby. Baby, please wake up!"

"Reid, get her out of here!" Aaron snapped, and before you knew it a pair of hands grabbed you under the armpits and lifted you in the air. 

"Get off me! Let me go!" you screeched, kicking and flailing, but Spencer never dropped you. 

He pushed you out the door, and you managed to wiggle out of his grasp, falling to the floor. Your morning sickness hit, and before you knew it you threw up all over the ground.  

The gawking staff and customers cast a wide berth, not wanting to get your sick on them even during a time like this. Spencer's pulled back your ponytail as you threw up again. 

"It’s okay, it's gonna be okay," he soothed, rubbing a palm over your spine. "Sweethe-."

"Get off me!" you snarled, shoving him away. Spencer lifted his hands from you and held them up to prove he wouldn't touch you again. You panted as you watched him on your knees, "Let me in there. Now."

He shook his head firmly, getting on his knees to block you. "I can't do that. I called 911, and they're on their way. You'll only get in the way."

Your face scrunched up in rage as you pointed past him, "That's my husband in there!"

Spencer sighed and nodded. You watched in confusion as a tear trickled down his cheek. 

"I know."

"He needs me." 

Spencer shook his head now and wiped his face, "He needs EMS, and Hotch is first aid certified. You need to stay here."

You couldn't focus your rage anywhere else but at him, lurching forward and shoving him again from your spot on your knees. "You don't get to tell me what to do! Not you, not ever again!"

"Okay," he agreed sotfly. Spencer looked like he wanted to touch you again, but he kept himself back. "Okay, whatever you want."

All the fight left your body as you began to hear sirens, and you went mostly limp on the floor. Tears streaked down your cheeks, your hands slick with blood as you watched the love of your life keep you away from your soulmate. 

"He's my husband," you whispered tearfully. 

"I know," Spencer said again, his chin wobbling. He nodded bravely, but his eyes were red and watery. He gave you a weak smile. 

"I know."

Notes: I promise you we'll have a happy ending!

I also wanted to say thank you. I know this was a long update coming, but I have had some of the craziest stuff go on, both good and bad! I chose to work on other stories since I had a block on this for so long, and people gave me a lot of hate... so for those of you who were nice and encouraging, THANK YOU <3 It means a lot to me.

Taglist:

@thedancingcostumeyoungadult @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner @stitchwrites @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @cle13 @aysixdy @elhotchner @directioner5life @elhotchner @loveeee2134 @preciousbabypeter @la-stuffs @stories-you-wont-hear @hotchlover @fortheloveofwonderland @lokiandhisdagger @bellanutellababyyy @dark-night-sky-99 @straightforbuckybutgayfornatasha @maltamurdock @charelletjee @kansas-reid @zephyrmonkey @spencer-reid-wonderland @spencersprettyslut @im-sure-its-fine @tvdstelenaforever @teddylupintonks  @lilibet261 @kneelforloki @dirtytissuebox @almostgenerallyalways @whovian378 @cl0udyqu33n @thegettingbyp2 @averagestudent03 @the-sun-died-out @squishycalumxo @sebastiansstanswhore 

@louderfortheback @pandabiiissh @calebye

@dottirose @lfaewrites @padsfirewhisky @wheels-upin-thirty @f-me-reid @justanothercmblog 

@rexorangecouny @nomajdetective @halloween-is-my-nationality @spenciesprincess @hoely-scripture @gspenc @princesssmooshie @loveeee2134 @reidslefteyebrow @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @hotchandspencearedilfs @barbietiingz @riverjane-d @2-gay-possums-in-a-trench-coat @simplyparker @thebloomingeagle @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @fangirling-galore @randomhoex @drspencerreid80 @kbakery

@fortheloveofwonderland @athenabrown @yukachankyu @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @baciamisottolalucedicentostelle @athenabrown @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @elhotchner

[sariahsue]

Wherefore Art Thou (My)stery Lady

When a failed attempt to let Chat Noir down easy ends with Ladybug learning his name, she does what any lovesick teenager would do: teases him mercilessly. Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3

Chapter Four

“She really hasn't given you any more hints?” Nino asked. “It's been five days!”

Adrien loved group projects. It meant that there was a chance that he could visit with friends outside of school hours. And given how lucky he had been over the past few days, it didn't even surprise him when Ms. Bustier partnered him with Nino on their history project. 

They sat on his floor together, taking a much-deserved break. Adrien was rereading his texts from Ladybug again, looking for any clues he might have missed. 

Nino was right. It had been five days. Five long days of torture. He hadn’t seen her since their rendezvous on top of Montparnasse Tower, but she had seen him. She’d sent three pictures she’d taken of him when he wasn’t looking. He had his back turned in each one, and he’d been in large crowds as he walked in the hallway in between classes or at the end of the day. Times where there were so many people around that he couldn’t narrow down who she could be, which was deliberate on her part, he was certain. 

They were so close, and he still couldn’t find her.

His phone buzzed with an incoming message.

My Lady – I accidentally called you Kitten in front of my best friend this morning. So embarrassing!  My Lady – I told her I chose that nickname because of all the stupid cat emojis you send me. Adrien – Is that permission to keep sending them to you? My Lady – No.  Adrien – Too bad. Adrien –  😻😽😸

Nino shuffled over, and Adrien scanned the message quickly. Nothing that would arouse suspicion if read. 

“‘My Lady’?” Nino said, reading the contact name at the top. “Getting a little possessive already, huh?”

“No!” Adrien flipped his phone over to hide the messages. “Uh, ‘My’... is short... for ‘mystery.’ She's a mystery lady, but that was too long to fit. So, My Lady.”

“I don't believe you at all, dude, but I'll give you full points for that excuse.” Nino returned to his spot on the floor and started scrolling through his own phone, which he kept hidden from Adrien's view. “You like her already, huh?”

“Yeah,” Adrien said. He and Nino hadn't talked much about it, aside from that first day. Adrien had been too busy trying to piece together who Ladybug was, and he was getting frustrated. All he'd done so far was eliminate everyone in the school. Realizing he missed her on his first pass, he tried again. He looked at the yearbook, made a list of everything he knew about her, spent almost all his time in class puzzling over her, and he'd still come up empty. 

“You should ask her out,” Nino said. “I've known her for a long time, and I think you two would be good for each other.”

Adrien nodded. He'd always thought so. “I asked already.”

“You did? Why didn't you tell me?”

“She said yes, assuming I could figure out who I'm asking!” Adrien flipped onto his back and stared at the high ceiling above him. “You’re not allowed to give me any hints, but what is she like?”

“How's that not a hint?”

“Because I already know what she's like.” He raised the phone, implying that he’d gotten to know her through texting and not midnight rooftop strolls. “I just want a different perspective. Maybe I just need the same information from a new angle.”

“If she gets mad at me, I'm blaming you.”

“But she wants to go out with me, right? So you're really trying to help her.”

“How about this,” Nino said. “I won't tell her if you won't.”

“Deal.”

Nino had been typing away on his screen, cap hiding his eyes, through the whole conversation and finally lifted his head. 

Adrien listened intently as Nino started listing Ladybug's familiar traits.

“She's very creative and sweet, but still tough when she wants to be.” 

Adrien knew both of those well from fighting alongside her. She could come up with the most ridiculous plans and execute them flawlessly. She'd stare down a monster and then turn around and help someone who'd been trying to kill her moments before. 

“She's good at video games.” Another one that he knew, but had forgotten. He'd have to write that down on the list.

“And she can be pretty shy and nervous sometimes. It took her forever to tell you that she likes you.” 

Adrien hadn't thought about it like that. She'd admitted to being anxious and awkwardly obvious about her crush (not that he'd been able to figure out that clue either), but he hadn't mentally added that trait to his image of her. She always seemed so confident and self-assured, and he loved that about her. He'd only ever seen her truly nervous on that first day. 

“That's all you're getting.”

“None of it was really new information,” he said. “But thanks for reminding me of some things.”

“Sure, dude.”

Adrien's phone alerted him to another message. 

My Lady – So... Mystery Lady, huh?

Adrien turned to Nino. “You texted her about that? Since when have you had her number?” 

“Since the day she got her phone.”

My Lady – That was smooth. Plus, now you can use my favorite nickname! Adrien – I could just break into Nino's phone and check his messages, you know. My Lady – That would be cheating! Don't you dare!

“Am I going to do this project by myself?” Nino asked. “Or should I call your girlfriend and ask if I can borrow some of your attention?” 

“Sorry, sorry.” And he was, until the next text from her came in. Nino sighed but didn’t complain as Adrien reflexively reached for his phone.  

My Lady – Kitten, my homework is boring, and I don't want to do it. Talk to me.  Adrien – What do you want me to say? My Lady – I don't know. Anything. Adrien – Okay... 

He searched the room for inspiration but found none. The first thing that caught his attention on his phone was his name for her.

Adrien – What did you name my contact? My Lady – Uh...  My Lady – …  My Lady – Nothing...  Adrien – Nothing as in just a blank space, or nothing as in something that you don't want to say? My Lady – NOTHING Adrien – Uh huh. So what is it? Adrien – Hm? Adrien – Aren't you going to tell me? My Lady – No.  Adrien – Why not? My Lady – I'm going to delete your number if you don't stop asking! Adrien – That won't do anything. I'll just text you again, and then you'll have it again. My Lady – Please unsubscribe me from your mailing list.  Adrien – Is it just a string of hearts or something? My Lady – The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected. Adrien – Or maybe it's “Hot Stuff”? My Lady – New phone. Who dis? Adrien – Wow. It must be reeealllly embarrassing if you don't want to tell me this badly.  My Lady – FINE! My Lady – When I found out who you were, I changed your contact to “Future Husband.” OKAY?!?!?!

If Plagg could see his face right now, Adrien was sure the kwami would gag. He was probably smiling like an idiot. She really thought that it was a possibility?

“You good, dude?”

Adrien only nodded because how was he supposed to explain? Ladybug - LADYBUG - really had decided that she wanted to marry him?!

She was also still waiting for his response. Probably anxiously. Should he gush about how much he loved her or continue with his teasing?

Teasing won out.

Adrien – Oh, Bugaboo, you didn't even buy me a ring yet! My Lady – SHUT UP I'M GOING TO CHANGE IT Adrien – Please don't. Adrien – My ring size is 29, in case you were wondering.  My Lady – That's not even a real size. Adrien – Oh.  Adrien – Father doesn't sell jewelry, so I don't know anything about it. Haha. My Lady – Average sizes are usually between 5 and like 10 or 11. My Lady – In case you were wondering... My Lady – Mine’s 4 and a half.

---

Adrien walked into school the next morning (on time, thankfully! The photographer had been 10 minutes late to the shoot and traffic was horrible all morning) ready to watch the front door for any stragglers who showed up late. He still didn't have any ideas about who Ladybug could be, and he was starting to think he was missing the obvious. So he stood in the middle of the courtyard and scanned faces as they trickled in, but no one in particular stood out to him. No girl was the same height, looked just right, sounded like her, or moved the same way. Over several minutes, the courtyard started filling up. Starting from the doors, he slowly rotated until he’d done a full circle, double checking if someone had slipped past him. Nino was the only one in the crowd who caught his attention.

“Hey, bro!” Nino said, waving as he approached. “You look distracted, which means you haven't figured it out yet.”

“No! And she still won't give me another hint!”

“That's because you have enough to figure it out with, man. You're trying too hard.” He swung an arm over Adrien's shoulders. “Just look at your contact list and find the hole. Should be obvious, my dude.” It was easy for Nino to give advice. He had found out who she was the easy way ages ago.

But Ladybug kept telling him that, too. Plagg, when he didn't avoid the subject entirely, said much the same thing. 

Adrien reached for his phone, but his scroll through his contact list was interrupted by an incoming text image. 

There he and Nino were, in the middle of the crowded courtyard, looking at his phone. Adrien's head snapped up. The photographer had been directly in front of him on the upper level, but that area was now deserted. 

“Come on,” Adrien said. “Maybe we can catch her.” 

He took the stairs two at a time while Nino hollered for him to slow down. Adrien had no plan to do anything of the sort. His Lady had been there just a few seconds ago. She couldn't have gotten far. 

Reaching the top step, he took another look around. There were a few corners that she could be hiding behind, or she could have ducked into a classroom. He debated for only a second. What would Ladybug do if she was trying to trip him up? Probably go where the most people were so she could hide in plain sight. He poked his head into the nearest classroom. A few people waved to him, but no one he knew well enough to have traded phone numbers with. 

He tried a few more, then doubled back and checked the alcoves. There were a lot of people that he knew, and because he was in such a hurry, all of them seemed to want to say hello to him. He stayed only long enough each time to give a very hurried explanation that he was looking for someone in order to excuse himself before running off again. 

“Hey!” Nino said, finally catching up with him. “Will you slow down?”

“Did you see her anywhere? Please tell me that much. Did I overlook her again?”

“I haven't seen her,” Nino said, taking off his hat and fanning himself with it. “What did you eat for breakfast, man? Rocket fuel? I haven't seen you run like that since the last akuma. Or…” Nino put his hat back on and smiled, “do you really just want to find her that bad?”

Two minutes after running out of the courtyard, Adrien found himself up at the top of the stairs overlooking it. He walked to the railing, where Ladybug had been standing when she took her picture of him. She'd been so close, and she'd slipped through his fingers again. He needed to figure her identity out soon, or she’d be the death of him (in the best way possible). 

The courtyard was emptier than it had been a few minutes prior. The flow of students through the front doors had been reduced to a trickle. Only a few stragglers remained at the bottom of the stairs, waiting to go to class until the very last second.

“I think the bell's about to ring,” Nino said, tapping him on the shoulder. “We should go.”

Adrien sighed. Another attempt to find her had ended in failure. 

They trudged back down the stairs to their first class. A few of their friends were ahead of them in the hallway, including Alya and Marinette, who were whispering together. He heard Alya congratulating Marinette about something. He heard only a few words, “likes you a lot!” and “interested.” What were they talking about? He picked up his pace, hoping to get close enough to catch more of the conversation, but Nino called out to them over the crowd to get their attention before he reached them.

Alya cut off her next sentence abruptly and spun around, eyes going to Adrien first before landing on Nino.

“Good morning!” Marinette said, eyes shining. Was he imagining it, or was her gaze lingering on him longer than it usually did? “What have you two been up to this morning? Looking for that mystery lady of yours again?”

“You know about that?” Adrien groaned. “How many people know?” 

A few people shoved past him to get to their classrooms. He hadn't realized they were blocking the traffic.

“Nino told me about it,” Marinette said, starting to walk forward again. “He said you were having some trouble figuring out who she was. Do you want some help?” Behind her back, Nino and Alya exchanged deadpan looks.

“Yeah,” he said. “That would be great. I've tried everything I can think of.” 

Marinette thought about it for a few seconds, tapping her finger to her lips in a slow, exaggerated movement. He glanced down at the finger briefly before turning his attention back to her eyes. 

“Have you tried tricking her into giving you more information? Like ask her about something that happens at school today that only some people know about. Then, if she sees it, you have fewer people to guess from. Maybe you could cat-ch her that way?” She put more emphasis on the first half of the word “catch,” but he wasn't sure why. “What about the assembly today?”

“That's a great idea, Marinette! Thanks!” That was a fantastic idea. The assembly was only for their grade, and if she saw it too, that would really narrow down the pool of candidates. And even if she didn’t, he could exclude an entire grade from his search. He would have to word his questions just right, so she wouldn’t think he was asking for another hint. If she knew he was looking for a way around the rules of her challenge, she might not answer. Or worse, be unhelpful on purpose.

“You're welcome,” she said. “I really hope you find her soon.”

Adrien blinked, surprised to find himself and Marinette alone in the hallway in front of their first period class. His mind was still thinking up exactly how he would pose his questions to seem the most innocent. 

“Really, Marinette. Thank you. I really want to find her.” 

She beamed at him as the bell rang, and they both ran for the classroom door. 

With Marinette’s help, and a little bit of his Lady’s luck, he might know was behind the mask by the end of the day. And he couldn’t wait.

Chapter Five

---

Tag list: @eclipsesmoonshine14, @alittlewolf2, @mlbigbang

[spirallingintothevoid71]

When I first moved into the neighborhood, one of my neighbors brought me over a welcome basket.

She was sweet. Extremely so. Almost too much. Stepford like. Telling me all about the lovely things in their neighborhood.

I assumed she just wanted to evaluate the situation. Ensure an older, single man wasn't bringing trouble to their idyllic little corner of the world.

She left behind a nice fruit basket and some drinks as a welcome. Invited me to a neighborhood barbecue the weekend after next.

I puzzled over the situation for a bit, but then decided not to overthink it, and just enjoy the gift. I had some fruit and a drink of what tasted like a homemade alcoholic beverage.

After a bit, I felt a bit groggy. You're getting weak on your alcohol, I thought wryly, and called it an early night.

That night, I dreamed of her. Of her whispering things in my ear no PTA member should be. Of doing things to my body no sweet neighbor would. Of making me beg her for it, coaxing things out of me I'd only thought of in my wildest imagination.

I woke that morning covered in sweat. My body felt as though it had been put through a ringer. And... I had made a mess of the sheets. Like some prepubescent teenager.

It took me a bit to get myself together and cleaned up, but eventually I went about my day, beginning to unpack.

And then my doorbell rang. It was a different lady, with a different gift basket. Muffins this time, but I recognized the same drink in a bottle.

She had the same questions. The same advice on the neighborhood. The same invite to the neighborhood barbecue. And the same sweet, stepford like sweetness. Exactly the same.

I found it almost unnerving. But I played along. After she'd gone, I went back to work until I realized I needed something to eat.

I saw the basket. Wondered if I should be worried. Then laughed out loud. That dream had really gotten to me. I had a few muffins, polished off the bottle, and went back to work.

Until I started feeling groggy again. I barely managed to undress and get into bed before sleep took me.

And dreamed.

This time I dreamed of my second visitor. She whispered in my ear, told me that I couldn't move. And I found myself unable to, as though tied to the bed by invisible chains.

She used me then. Toyed with me agonizingly slowly with her hands first, until I moaned with the pleasure she was giving me. And that was just the beginning.

Her mouth came next. Her breath along my body, then her lips and tongue. Making me ache, whine with desire. And still I couldn't move.

Until she straddled me. Used me like a plaything for her own pleasure. Staring up at her, straining to lift my leaden arms. Until I exploded uncontrollably, my body convulsing beneath her for what felt like hours. She whispered my dream to an end.

I woke to the same mess, the same exhaustion. I lay there thinking, until I forced myself out of bed. I hadn't dreamed this way in years, maybe ever. And I really needed to get back to work.

Without fail, the next day, at the same time, came another visitor.

Same questions. Same advice on the neighborhood. Same invite to the neighborhood barbecue. And the same sweet, stepford like sweetness. Exactly the same.

I looked warily at the gift basket she'd left. Cookies and sweets this time. And the same bottle. And I found myself both hungry and thirsty. I forced myself to work for an hour or two, but my focus kept returning to the bottle.

I walked over to it. Tried the cookies and sweets. They were delicious. I wasn't surprised. Nor was I surprised when I found myself incredibly thirsty. And wanting to drink from the bottle.

I sat on the couch and drank. And when the grogginess hit me, I simply let it take me.

And dreamed.

My third visitor was there. At my dining room table. Gone was the flower print dress and sensible shoes. In their place were a leather bustier, a leather jacket, and long leather boots. Topped off with fishnet pantyhose. I realized I was on my knees, staring up at her.

Don't be too surprised, she told me. We both know it's where you belong. Where you want to be.

And she was right. As she said those words, I could feel them setting in my mind. I did want to be there.

She led me to the table, where she sat, setting me to work on her boots. When she was satisfied, she pulled me further up between her thighs. I knew what I had to do. What I needed to do. Her moans echoed throughout my living room.

We moved through the living room. Knocking some things over on our way to the couch. She threw me down on it, took me again. That same almost angry, somehow possessive look on her face. And no matter what we did, it was always clear she was in charge.

When she was satiated, she pushed me down onto the floor. There would be no bed for her, no comfortable space. No pretense. I was a toy, there for her use.

She looked down at me almost angrily as she writhed above me. I would bring her pleasure again. I needed to. My own pleasure depended on it. And more, as she looked at me, told me she owned me... I wanted to.

I woke on the couch. This time I had no illusion that it had been a dream. Whatever these seemingly sweet neighborhood ladies had been giving me had somehow rendered me compliant. Pliable.

And... I wanted more.

There was no time to recover this time. As I pulled my clothes on, there was a knock at the door. I made my way to it and she walked in, a commanding presence.

Same questions. Same advice on the neighborhood. Same invite to the neighborhood barbecue. And the same sweet, stepford like sweetness. Exactly the same.

Or, almost. There was no gift basket in her hand. Only a bottle. She handed it to me. Raised an eyebrow.

I didn't think. I opened it and drank. And found myself groggy almost instantly. This time I woke somewhere else. Strapped to a wooden cross beam.

She stood before me. Without any hesitation, she began touching me. At first, her hands, her mouth, seemed everywhere at once. Until she settled in my center, her hand slowly, methodically working me to a frenzy.

She brought me to the edge over and over, until I didn't even beg for release anymore. She, they, had taken me beyond that. I didn't try to fight it. I simply let it happen, my whimpers and moans echoing through the space.

I found myself back inside my house again.

Exhausted.

Needy.

On the day of the barbecue, I arrived just on time.

When she finally took me over the edge, I wasn't thinking at all. It simply happened, my body, my mind convulsing in pure, unadulterated pleasure. Both completely emptying themselves. Something... changed inside me. Broke.

There were only 5 people there.

And me.

They smiled at me.

I knelt.

They led me inside.

I became their toy, to be passed around at their leisure.

I was never happier.

Spiraling into the Void.

The four of them...

[carmysgirl]

i dont know how OF works so ill do my best.

i'm going to say they don't work with each other in this. like maybe richie was talking about OF and carmen went to see what it was about. he sees sydney and he's completely in love.

he starts scrolling through her page. watching her fuck herself with dildos and edging herself with a vibrators. he especially likes a video where she's wearing this pretty green bustier top and matching panties.

the video starts with her teasing herself through her panties. when she takes her middle finger and rubs her clit through her underwear, a wet spot starts forming and carmen doesn't even notice his hand drifting closer and closer to his crotch.

when he tries to heart her video the website prompts him to make an account. through the website registration he sees he has an option to make requests if he makes a donation. suddenly he gets nervous and decides to sleep on it.

sleeping on it doesn't work though. he wakes early and sends $20 with a request to make a video wearing that emerald green lingerie set.

he goes to work absolutely wrecked. he can't stop thinking about sydney but he's so nervous. did he send enough money? will she answer? did he just scam himself? needless to say he waste no time going home and gets back on his computer to log back on.

she posted the video.

sydney is wearing the lingerie set and has a dildo beside her.

"this is for you," she says while making eye contact with the screen.

she takes the dildo and rubs along her folds through her underwear. this time carmen waste no time putting his hands in his pants and stroking his hardened cock.

sydney takes her underwear off and drips lube all around her cunt and starts fucking herself. the sounds it's making is almost too much for carmen. he spits on his cock and strokes slowly. the video is around twenty minutes long and he wants to try and last the whole time.

sydney lets out little whimpers as she sinks the dildo deeper and deeper. was that too much for her? would she be able to take carmen?

carmen tries to match her pace and strokes slowly but eventually he can't take it anymore and cums. he watches the whole video and his hand is back on his cock as he watches her ride her dildo while leaning back. it almost looks like she could be riding him.

carmen takes the rest of his night to gather himself but the next morning and the mornings after he makes more and more requests.

one day he has a message in his inbox. it's from sydney thanking him for spoiling her with his donations. he feels himself blush as he replies that it's no problem.

and that is only the beginning of their story.

im not sure if this is what you wanted. i def need to work on my writing because wtf is this pacing 😭😭

[feroshgirlsims]

Chapter 1.5 - Bad Dreams Are for the Birds

[POV ALICE]

“My fellow TAs hate me, and the Watcher is punishing me with a UTI,” Miko whines as she drags herself into their dorm room. 

Alice cuts off her voice reader as soon as her friend comes in. She isn’t ashamed around Miko, but it’s hard enough to focus on what anyone is saying without a computerized voice reading her all the latest TV gossip.

“They don’t hate you,” she replies, continuing to scroll the red carpet pictures from the Starlight Accolades. 

Was Judith Ward seriously wearing a red bustier? 

“They called me a bitch.”

“I call you a bitch.”

“You call me a bitch with affection,” Miko replies as she toes off her shoes and perches gingerly on the side of her bed. “That’s different.”

The solemn note in her voice makes Alice put down her phone. “Miko, you are not a bitch.”

“I agreed with everyone’s plan to clean up the storage closet, and then I snuck in early this morning and did all myself anyway.”

Ouch. “Okay, so you’re not chill—”

“Hey!”

“But that doesn’t mean you’re a bitch,” Alice assures her. “Although it is very extra. Why the hell would you get up early? And why do all the work yourself?”

“I…” Miko balks.

“Trust other sims exactly 0%?” Alice giggles when she rolls her eyes. “I’m not judging. I’m just saying that if you give someone a chance, they might surprise you.”

“How are you the one saying that? When we met freshman year, I was crying the supply closet, and you gave me a whole ass speech about how sims are shit.” She glances down at Alice’s phone and then narrows her eyes. Her twang becomes more pronounced as she grows more agitated. “And who are you messaging? Is it Jeffery? Because if it’s that motherfucker, I swear I’ll—”

“No,” Alice bites out, her voice sharper than she intended.

Miko startles, “Shit, I’m sorry; I know you worked real hard to get out of that relationship, and you’re never going back. I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s fine,” Alice lies because it isn’t. It won’t ever be. But she can’t say that because then everyone will worry that she’ll screw up again. “How about I get some snacks, and we can stay in tonight?”

“I guess,” Miko hesitates. “Didn’t you want to get pictures of your creepy death cult?”

The students gathering behind Pepper’s Pub are definitely not a death cult. They’re just eccentric undergrads in robes, making them the perfect subjects for an exhibition on Britechester’s Secret Society.

“My death cult can wait,” Alice declares as she jumps up and grabs her wallet. “They’re not anywhere near as important as your injured vajay!” She squeals and tries to block when Miko tosses a ball of yarn at her. 

“Don’t strain yourself!” Alice cackles as she slips out the door. As soon as it shuts, her phone starts buzzing with a message from Vlad. 

She should find it pretentious that he used his full name as his username. He’s also actively scowling in his profile picture, which only works because he’s objectively attractive and probably knows it. Ugh.

But he writes like a Simlish Literature textbook, which sounds kind of nice coming out of her voice reader. And maybe it's just her imagination, but he seems to like arguing with her.

She smiles when she sees his response to her teasing about Jenny and the Duke: 

It’s three paragraphs long.

(First chapters are so hard, omfg. Now, to continue luring them into a false sense of security while I quietly work on the secret society that is definitely not a creepy death cult...)

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