#after they have a fight kind of like in the punishment thread or after nearly getting caught or something

[darkwants]

@fcundaticnsofdecay

Soon You Will Be Gone 2017. 

[bells-of-black-sunday]

🔥

Unpopular Opinions | Accepting

This one is genuinely unpopular but: B.aulders G.ate 3 didn't deserve nearly the amount of awards it got at the v.ideo g.ame awards and while it is a good game it is still one of the most over hyped games I've played to date. Let me explain.

I'm not saying it's a bad game, it's gorgeous, the va work is incredible, the story is fun until you hit act 3, tons of content, and a lot of replay-ability, but my god most of this stuff came in patches after it's release. The entirety of the third act is extremely rushed to the point where you only have 1 actual boss fight in the entire game out of the 3 big bads they set up. G.ortash and O.rin got fucking shafted in terms of story and game play and are barely used even when they should be esp if you're running a d.urge character. You actively get insanely punished for playing an evil tav it's extremely stupid and only now over a year after it's release did we even get evil endings.

Why wasn't that on launch? This game took so long in development, because the devs were too focused on adding way too much to the game instead of focusing on making sure it was actually complete on launch. They self admit the third act is very rushed, so why not have actually put in the fucking time to finish your story properly instead of talking about adding multiplayer sex scenes??? That's not even mentioning how W.hyll still doesn't have a majority of what other romance paths have, because god forbid we give one of the black camp members anything.

Oh and it took them what? 6 months? To add anything to after you play the game to actually tie up the plot threads they laid out and give a stratifying conclusion to the relationships you built. That's not even counting how d.urge is barely a story line and probably should've stayed a recruit-able npc or something if they weren't going to put effort into it until a year later. I'm so tired of games being expensive as all hell, but not being complete on release. It's so fucking stupid that you're paying 60 or 70 dollars for a game that isn't complete until a year after it's released.

The game has so many flaws that really could've been solved with how long it was in development, e and my friends joked for actual years it was never coming out, because L.arian kept talking about adding more and more and well we see how that turned out. Also speaking as someone who plays d.nd, 5e combat is so fucking boing holy shit, the combat in the game is a slog because of that, they should've stuck to D.ivinity's token based combat system. Funnily enough D.ivinty gives you more freedom in combat than the d.nd game.

I'm going to be real after watching someone play A.lan W.ake 2, the only other game to win anything and b.g3 fans still bitched, I'm genuinely pissed it didn't win more awards, that's an actual complete game with an incredible story and incredible full album soundtrack that also has a full 30 min musical section and a 20 minute short film in it that you can watch. Not counting the multiple commercials and bits that you can watch on the tv that is all live action. How the fuck didn't it win? The combat is really smooth and the boss fights are fun, there's genuine tense moments and really emotional ones.

It treats it's audience with the maturity they respect, since it's been so long since the first game. It's so campy and fun, not a perfect game by any means, the pc port for example is really stupid, but you expect that with R.emedy. There's kind of forced replay-ability in it, because new game plus gives you story that ties up more of the loose ends, I think so of the pacing towards the end should've been cleaned up i.e actually sprinkling answers throughout instead of giving them all at the end.

I genuinely think A.lan's VA should've won of A.starion's, the line delivery and ability to play multiple characters and you not really notice is incredible. The Mr. S.cratch sections in the tv like in I forget which dlc from the first game where it's A.lan's dark thoughts that are the monster are honestly extremely haunting. Genuinely to go from the first game to how he is here, my god what range and improvement. You've still got the "this is really a metaphor for depression and anxiety and every dark part of you" stuff going on, but it's not shoved down your throat.

I think incorporating live action into the game was a brilliant choice to add to the uncanny nature of literally everything. Genuinely it's such an incredible game that while flawed, deserved way more recognition than it got. Yet when it came out it got massively over shadowed, because everyone in B.g3 is hot or something, so that means it's better.

I'm not saying I didn't enjoy my time with B.g3, I did, it's a fun game. I get people replaying it, but aside form character dialogue that you can look up to see what changes and the new added endings, there's not much to it's story. It's a really basic d.nd campaign with a lot of fluff and a rushed third act for literally no reason after you build up hype about how strong and powerful the d.ead threes chosen are meanwhile they never reach the stakes or height of K.ethric's boss battle that is insanely early into the game.

[hnychn]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄 [𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈]

summary : levi wanted to believe the Fates were kind, but he should have known better

warnings : character death, heavy loss, a single mention of suicide, more greek myth allusions, fem! reader

word count : 3000+

a/n : omgomgomg tysm @yeehawslap for giving me permission to write this, i swear when i read their post i was immediately inspired to write this and i'm so sorry to your feelings :') also i swear i changed the title of this like, ten times

attack on titan masterlist || navigation

The Fates had dealt Levi a rough life. 

When the goddess Clotho had spun the thread of his life, she must have incorporated thorns into every string; even now Levi could feel the pricks of guilt that chipped away at his soul each time he opened the bottom drawer of his desk and faced the bloodied scout patches of the lives lost.. 

Lachesis had enforced his life; she had been the one to use his thread to create. Although, Levi must admit, the fates must have favored him a tiny bit if they had sent you to him. You, his lovely wife whom he met one late evening under the stars, a gash on his head and gauze in your hand ready for you to patch up. 

You had been there to take out every thorn in his thread Clotho had stuck in his life; every ounce of guilt, every second of regret had been a burden on his shoulders you relieved by simply being there. 

Perhaps the Fates weren't all that bad. 

They must have been even just an ounce of virtuous if they had allowed him to call you his forever. The fates had strung together a love story into his thread of life and allowed him to invite someone into the most intimate parts of him, allow him to find peace within someone; to create a life together. 

Levi could remember the day when you burst into his office, a smile so bright he was sure even the sun was envious of the warmth you radiated. No words were spoken as you pulled him into your arms and cried. 

It was only through hiccups and sobs did he hear your soft voice tell him he had created a life. And while your stomach was still as flat as it had been the night before and many nights before that, he pressed his hand against it nonetheless and promised to protect the life within you until his very last breath. 

Perhaps the Fates weren't all that bad. 

Isabel, as the two of you named your daughter, had become a nearly carbon copy of her father. not only did she share many features in common with him, she also inherited his strength. 

She was able to hold her head up on her own only a mere months after birth, and she often gave you a terrible fright when she climbed out of her crib at night with a strength a toddler shouldn't have. Though, it was of no real surprise to either of you; you were sure your womb must have taken a terrible beating with the strength of her kicks while she was still growing inside of you. 

And, with her strength and many similarities with her father, came her desire to join the scouts. 

It was the first time in her life Levi had denied her something. 

Admittedly, little Isabel had her cold, ruthless captain of a father wrapped around her stubby little finger since the moment you pushed her out of your womb. You could hear the way he promised to give her anything her little heart desired and often you found yourself being more strict with her. 

Though, this had been Levi's one fear. 

Levi has seen countless people fall beyond the walls. He's witnessed Farlan and Isabel (his daughter's namesake) tragically torn to pieces by those wandering monsters. He’s seen countless bodies piled up in wagons to return to the walls for burning. 

You’ve seen your fair share of horrors, too. You’ve seen the injuries people walk into your clinic with, the blood gushing through gaping wounds, their bones snapped in angles they shouldn't, the limbs you've had to amputate; and the sheer image of your daughter being one of them was enough for you to turn green with sickness. 

There were countless arguments between Levi and Isabel (you often found yourself the mediator of these fights and cursing the fates for making both father and daughter stubborn as mules). But ultimately, Levi had caved as he always did, and promised to train her harder than anyone else in the training corps.

True to his word, Isabel often returned home with bruises and collapsed next to you on the couch, her head falling into your lap with fatigue. You smiled as you ran your fingers through her hair as she tiredly recounted her training with her father and other members of the Training Corps. 

She had recounted many stories of the friends she’s made there; an arrogant boy named Jean who she loved to tease and roughhouse with, a boy with a buzzcut named Connie she liked to mess around with and prank occasionally, and a girl named Sasha. 

The dusty pink on her cheeks when she told you stories about her sprouted an inkling inside of you that made you think she was more than just a friend to your daughter. You only smiled as she went on. 

Though, late at night, when your husband had long ago fallen asleep and your daughter was tucked safely away in her room, did you find yourself praying to the Fates. You prayed no arm would come to your daughter and she would lead the happy life she deserved. You prayed the Fates were kind.  

Perhaps . . . the Fates weren't kind . . .  

Levi should have known the fates hadn't meant to give him a life as peaceful as his (or as peaceful as it could be with you and Isabel by his side). He should have known better than to think the Fates were righteous.  

Afterall, the goddess Atropos always came to collect what was due. Atropos was the third and final Fate, the goddess who cut the threads her sisters weaved and toyed with. She was the one who claimed souls. Atropos watched time and time again as Levi avoided her attempts to collect his thread and grew frustrated the more he slipped through her fingers like sand. So, Atropos did the next best thing. 

She stole a life close to him. 

Levi could feel his blood run cold when Jean walked in, his hands fisting the shirts of two children and his eyes wild with shock. His words were shaky and his eyes were covered in a daze of denial, as if his mind was trying to protect him from the inevitable heartbreak he would experience. 

Levi waited with a bated breath for Jean to crack a smile and admit this was all some sick joke he could punish him later for. That his whole thing was nothing but a nightmare and he was bak at home, cuddled in bed with you and your daughter was sleeping soundly in her room just down the hall. 

But he knew it wasn't a dream, not when you gasped as you did, when he could practically see your heart shattering in your eyes and the way you nearly pushed him to the floor as you ran to the back of the airship. Levi followed close. 

"ISABEL!" 

You had practically thrown Connie to the side to get to your daughter. Her eyes were hazy with the same veil of death you had seen time and time again with your patients and friends. Sasha stood still to the side, her eyes wide and her hands shaking, “should have been me, it should have been me.” She chanted the words like a spell that would somehow transfer the wound to her, a spell that would miraculously heal your daughter who lay on the cold hard floor of the airship, blood slowly seeping out of her. 

The logical medic in your brain delivered you the harsh truth as you assessed your daughter and her wounds. The unforgiving voice hissed in your ear about her inevitable death, the wound is too fatal, there’s no way she’ll make it back to the island. You hushed the voice as quick as it spoke, your heart denying the severity of the situation. 

"oh," Levi could only watch as you clutched onto Isabel, your hands working like clockwork as they put pressure on her wound despite the violent shake in them, "oh, my baby..." 

Levi took a hesitant step closer. It was haunting, watching his daughter who held so many of his qualities lay on the floor, bleeding to death. He had remembered the many times she pulled his hair as a child, giggling loudly as she pointed out the obvious, ‘I’m just like you, daddy!’ 

Oh, how he wished he could go back to those moments. When his daughter was nothing but a small child he cradled in his arms, tucking her safely under his chin as he gently rocked her side to side to lully her back into a deep sleep. He wished to go back to the nights he held your hair back as your stomach churned with nausea and your daughter was but a growing fetus, protected within the walls of your womb. 

"M . . . mommy . . .” Isabel breathed. 

You sobbed harder, "it's okay baby, i'm here, mommy's here." 

You ran your fingers through her hair, hushed her and soothing her as you once did many years ago when she was nothing but a small baby clutching onto the material of your dress. 

She had been so tiny then, so fragile and sweet and innocent. But she had long since grown out of her baby face and matured into a strong woman you were proud to have nurtured. But in this moment, it was as if she returned to the same fragile baby as she was years ago as she clutched onto the straps of your gear like a lifeline, her eyes dull but full of fear and hesitance.

"Mommy please, i'm- s' scared . . ." her voice was breathy and you could see the energy drain from her eyes the harder she tried to keep them open.

You wanted to be selfish, to tell her to keep her eyes open, to keep breathing and push through the pain. But you could see the pain flash in her eyes each time she took a breath, you could hear her breathy wince with every movement she made, and you knew you couldn’t be selfish. 

Levi could see your resolve slowly crumble, the way the shake in your hands grew more and more violent and he could practically see the screams bubble in your throat as you tried to swallow them down to comfort your daughter. Levi knew if he didn't step in now, there would be no salvaging the broken pieces of you after this. 

"It’s okay, princess." Levi crouched down on the other side of his daughter, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he tried to keep his composure. 

Her head slowly turned to him, "d-daddy . . . ?" 

Levi hummed, "Yeah, it's me princess. It’s okay, you did so well, you were so brave." 

"I was?" her words were breathy and rushed as she tried to cling on to the last threads of her life. You could feel her grip in your gear lose its strength and you nearly let the screams clawing at your throat escape. 

pleasepleasepleaseplease, you begged, not her please not my baby. 

"So brave." 

Levi had never felt so helpless watching his daughter's eyes lose their life, he could only sit there and reassure her that everything would be fine and she had done good as she took her last breaths. Images of the other Isabel laying dead on the floor flashed through his mind and Levi nearly vomited. 

"I love you" 

Levi nodded, "I know. I love you too, princess. Now rest." 

The winds howled loudly outside, but there was nothing loud enough to drown out the screams that had finally escaped from you as you gripped your daughter’s hand so tight your knuckles turned white. Levi held you close as tears of his own dripped down his face and an indescribable weight placed itself in his heart.  

The Fates were not kind. 

Life after that seemed to lose its shine. 

Your home was hauntinly quiet. Every inch of the home had memories of your daughter carved into the wooden frame. Her first words, her first steps, her first breath. You had given birth to your daughter in the living room, and where the walls once gave you comfort and warmed your heart with reminders of the first life you had brought into the world, it now made you sick with grief and added to the weight in your heart. She had taken her first steps in the hallways, clutching your fingers tight as you guided her down the hall to Levi who waited for her with a proud smile. Her first words had been in the kitchen, where you and Levi cooked dinner for your quaint little family and she called out to the two of you, begging for attention. And who was Levi to deny his princess? 

You and Levi struggled to find your places in the world after that. Late at night, the two of you often clung to each other for comfort. Though, you knew Isabel’s death was hitting Levi harder than you. You could see it in the way he tucked her Scout badge into the left breast pocket of his shirts, hoping to keep the memory of her close to his heart; the way he avoided every mirror like it was the plague. You could see it in the way he flinched whenever he caught sight of his reflection, his own steel grey eyes and matted black hair staring hauntingly back at him. 

Isabel had taken after her father the most, afterall. 

You also found Levi’s features a bit hard to look at after that. It was hard to look into his eyes and see your daughter staring right back at you with a pleading look to not leave. There had been late night conversations where Levi assured you he knew of his similarities to Isabel and promised to not be mad if you wanted to leave him, 'I find it hard to look at myself sometimes.'

But you only held him tighter and stuck closer to his side, washing away any thoughts he had of you leaving him. You married him because you loved him, and nothing could change that. Even if he looked so similar to your lost daughter. 

The Fates also decided to make your lives a bit harder, as if taking away your first born hadn’t been enough suffering to put you both through. Levi had been sent away with Zeke into hiding. Initially, you wanted to go with him, to stick by his side and cling to your life support, but the others hadn’t allowed it. 

Hango could only grip your wrist tight as you watched Levi climb into the carriage and ride away. 

You begged Hange not to leave you alone after that; because you knew if you were left alone for long enough, there would be nothing stopping you from joining your daughter in the afterlife. 

Hange stayed by your side. 

You wanted to vomit. 

You could feel the sickening churn in your stomach as you stared down at the very girl who had stolen the life from your daughter. The images of your daughter clutching on to you tightly and her scared voice begging you to comfort her rang loud in your ears. Your mouth had dried instantly, any one of the thousand of words rattling in your head stopped by the numbness in your mouth. There were so many things you wanted to say, so many words you wanted to exchange with the girl who had taken your child from you. 

You could see Nicolo’s mouth move and his adam's apple bob with every sound he made, but it was all muffled whitenoise as your eyes trained onto the little girl who stared up at you with a look of horror and fear. 

“ . . . kill her,” Nicolo’s voice buzzed in your ears. 

You hadn’t even realised you took the knife from his hands until you heard Hange speak up from behind you. She begged you to put the knife down, to think rationally. 

But how could you? How could your mind think of anything other than harming the girl who was the cause of all your pain? When the girl who murdered your daughter was right in front of you, sitting on her knees, vulnerable. Your heart screamed and thrashed against the veins that held it in place for you to stab her, to make her feel the same pain your baby had to go through. 

But then she looked up at you. Her eyes were wide with the same fear and pleading look your daughter had in her final moments. You dropped the knife, your shoulders shaking as your eyes lined with unshed tears. 

“Kill a child. . . you- you want me to kill a child. . .” Armin stared at you from the side as your shoulders sagged and a few tears escaped your eyes, and he couldn’t help but realize how tired you looked. As if the weight the world had placed on your shoulders was finally catching up to you and your body struggled to carry it any longer. 

“I can’t do that. She’s a child. Someone’s daughter.” You collapsed to the floor, your hands digging to the carpet underneath you, “I can’t kill a child, not while I know what it feels like to lose your own. I can’t put another mother through the same pain I’m in. I just- can’t.” 

Hange kneeled next to you and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, her lips pressed into a thin line and sympathy swimming in her eyes for her friend who had lost her world. You looked back up to Gabi and she nearly flinched with how broken and tired your eyes looked, “I can only hope she’s found peace in the afterlife. . . 

“I can only hope the Goddesses of Fate are kind to her soul.”  

[stillebesat]

Demon Comfort (1/3)

DECEMBER DRABBLES DAY 10 Sanders Sides: Logan, Virgil  Blurb: Lurking under a Human’s bed should be downright dull for a Demon of Logan’s rank. And yet...he can’t help but be intrigued by his human charge. Fic Type: Demon!AU, Demon!Logan  Overall Fic Warnings: Near Death Experiences, Freezing, Burning, Hazing Talk, Manipulation  Taglist in reblog. 

It wasn’t the most glorious of jobs. Logan wouldn’t be the first demon to admit it. Lurking under a human’s bed was mundane at best and outright mind numbing at worst. 

They were so distracted with their technology these days, so overloaded with sensory input from a variety of sources that most humans would barely twitch if their demon companion made themselves known. 

No. Beyond using this as an exercise in learning how to terrorize the youngest of human offspring, ones whose minds were much more easy to scare because of their simplistic fears, the only other time a demon was ever assigned to this task was...well as punishment.  

And unfortunately for Logan, who had had a good three millennia of experience under his wings...this was definitely a punishment. To be forced back into lurking under a human’s bed like an overgrown dust bunny.

He knew this sentence was meant to break him. To drive him crazy from how extremely dull it would get as soon as the child grew old enough to stop fearing the monster under their bed.

Except it wasn’t. Logan allowed a small smile to play upon his lips, tail swishing back and forth. Because apparently his superiors could make mistakes. After all, he’d been told he would be condemned to lurking underneath a child’s bed.

Instead, he’d found himself underneath a near-adult’s. One who would soon be leaving his childhood home to pursue an education elsewhere and learn to navigate the world of being an adult on his own. 

It had turned out to be a far more interesting punishment than Logan had expected. The near-adults were known to his kind to often be in a stage of tumultuous growth, easy to influence when their heads were filled to the brim with a variety of doubts and fears that hovered like a dark storm cloud above them. A tangle of ever shifting and writhing threads that Logan had learned to love, in the past half year on earth he’d been here, to tease apart and influence so he could better understand what spurred this near-adult through life.

Virgil, the charge he’d been assigned to, truly was a diamond in the rough compared to the other near-adults he’d glimpsed while stuck here. The storm cloud over his head so tangled, that Logan could easily play with the threads for hours, teasing through them, seeing how each dark thought influenced the human as he tossed and turned on the thin mattress over his head each night.

Only Virgil wasn’t currently tossing and turning over his head. 

Logan silently exhaled, his breath misting in front of him as his leathery wings twitched in irritation. He ran his fingers over his horns, trying and failing to focus on the Alice in Wonderland book that his charge had left on the floor this morning as he listened to the human shiver on the couch in the living room on the other side of the wall. 

He hadn’t often had the opportunity to study humans when their planet frosted over since his particular type of demon preferred the warmer climates of Earth that were similar to his native inner ring of Hell. Had had very little interest in ever doing so.

But Logan’s current human had chosen to move away from the heat and the shining sun when he ‘left the nest’ as his fellow demons termed it. 

Further north than Logan would have preferred. But despite hours upon hours of tugging and twisting at the quivering thoughts in Virgil’s mind... this had been one decision he hadn’t managed to turn to his favor. 

No, Virgil had wanted a new start far away from his previous life, far far away from everyone he knew, and he’d decided that heading to a colder climate was the best course of action.

Now Logan was definitely regretting not fighting with those slippery thoughts harder. But how could he, or the human, have known that a freak cold snap would leave the state frozen in near arctic conditions? 

It was cold enough outside of the four walls of the first floor apartment that humans were dying if they ventured out for longer than a few minutes.

Inside? It was nearly as bad because the apartment had been without power and therefore without its ability to heat the place for the past seventy-two hours. 

His charge, his stubbornly stubborn, but very poor charge had to be the only human left in the entire complex. The last of the other residents having left over forty-eight hours ago to safer and warmer options once it became clear that the power couldn’t be fixed until the weather warmed.

If it ever warmed. 

Logan shut the book, having not read a single word on the page for the past hour. He rested his head on the cover, wings trembling as he fought to keep his body temperature lower so that no steam would come off his body and alert his charge to his presence.

This would have been much easier if he could just come out from under the bed and take Virgil somewhere warmer. He had wings did he not? He could fly them anywhere--but no.

Logan grimaced, running his tongue over his fangs. Demons and Humans weren’t supposed to mingle unless a Human summoned them. 

And until that unlikely event happened. 

Virgil couldn’t know he was there. 

Which was a pity. Even if he hadn’t had his wings to fly them away, his physical manifestation would have done much in his favor in convincing his charge to leave this frozen wasteland.

Instead, Logan had fought for hours with the tangles in Virgil’s mind, pulling at all the proper strings to get him to leave---and yet again had irritatingly lost to his charge.

There was a reason why he hadn’t minded being stuck with Virgil for the foreseeable future and it was because his, dare he say it? Smart and brilliant human could bring up excellent, if befuddling at times, points to his silent arguments that Logan couldn’t easily manipulate in his favor. 

His charge’s finances were borderline nonexistent. Which meant he couldn’t afford to fly back home. And Virgil didn’t own a car so he couldn’t drive anywhere. The buses weren’t running either because of the cold. Nor could he afford to stay in a hotel. 

And most unfortunately, moving away from everyone he knew and Virgil’s naturally reclusive nature meant that his charge had no friends or even acquaintances to go live with within a thousand miles while his obnoxiously loud, rude, and inconsiderate roommates had vanished without so much as checking in with him to make sure he had a place to go to. 

No. Logan growled under his breath, tail tapping against the floor. For all intents and purposes. Virgil was on his own to survive this cold snap--

He jerked his head up, glancing to the wall with a frown at the sudden silence coming from the other room.

That wasn’t right.

Automatically Logan reached out for the sluggish tangle of thoughts that Virgil always had twisting about his head.

Nothing. 

Logan blinked. That definitely wasn’t right. He pushed up onto his elbows, barely remembering to duck his head to avoid piercing the mattress above with his horns.

Virgil couldn’t have left. Not in this weather. He was too cautious for that. Logan would have heard the door slam at least which meant that Virgil was still here and if he was still here he should be able to reach those tangled thoughts even while his charge slept unless Virgil had--had----

“No.” Logan rolled out from under the bed, chest throbbing uncomfortably as he sprang to his feet and burst through the bedroom door into the living room. His wings spread wide as he grabbed the motionless figure from his cocoon of blankets on the couch, wincing at the frozen chill that burned his skin as he cradled the nearly blue human in his arms. His wings snapped shut around the near-adult to insulate him from the cold, his wings taking on a red glow as allowed his inner fire to burn hotter to get heat into his charge’s frozen body. 

He should have tried harder to get him to leave! Especially when the power had gone out. He shouldn’t have let--“Virgil.” Logan shook his charge, using the back of his hand to brush the purple bangs from out of the human’s eyes. “VIRGIL.”  

The human suddenly gasped, twitching in Logan’s arms as his glazed eyes fluttered open, meeting Logan’s own slitted ones for a heart stopping second before they closed. The human twisted, pressing his frozen face into Logan’s side, violently trembling. “C-c-co-o-ld.” He mumbled.

Alive. The tightness in his chest eased as Logan shoved to his feet, holding Virgil close like a mother cradling her demon spawn as he moved back to his charge’s bedroom where he would be able to use his hellfire in the smaller space more effectively to ensure the young human would survive. “Not for long, I promise you that.” 

It wasn’t proper, he shouldn’t have come out and revealed himself like this in the first place without taking on a human disguise. He shouldn’t have cared if Virgil perished. He should have just gone back to Hell to say that his sentence had ended with the death of his charge instead of trying to save him--but propriety could go screw itself. 

Virgil was far too interesting of a human to lose to something as stupid as freezing to death. 

“Wh-who--y-y-y-you?” Virgil managed to ask through chattering teeth as Logan entered his--well he supposed it was technically their room since Logan lived there too. 

“A--” Well he wasn’t really a friend now was he? Demons and Humans couldn’t be friends. And Logan’s actions in toying with the human’s mind would hardly be deemed acceptable in most human social circles he was sure. “A Guardian.” He said, settling on that particular term with a twitch of his tail as he climbed onto the bed, adjusting his wings to ensure that the heat radiating off of him remained focused on keeping Virgil warm. 

 Technically he was looking out for Virgil’s well-being, even if he hadn’t taken such direct action in doing so before this moment.  

The human sighed, eyes fluttering again as his arms shifted, pressing frozen fingers into Logan’s side. “An--An-Angel?” Logan snorted, shaking his head as he carefully ran his clawed fingers through the human’s hair. “Hardly, You may call me…” He took a breath, it was another rule he shouldn’t break, but he’d already broken at least a dozen already. Why not add a lucky thirteenth to the list? “Logan.”

Odds were the human wasn’t mentally cognizant enough for it to do any harm. If luck was on his side, Virgil would think this whole thing a dream once he really woke up.  

“Lo.” Virgil breathed, his trembling form relaxing as the blue tinge to his skin faded. “Th-th-thanks.” 

Logan swallowed, his hearts stuttering in his chest at the unexpected nickname. Mentally he shook his head, settling them into a more comfortable position where he would be able to leave the human as soon as his body temperature returned to a satisfactory level. 

It was nothing. Nothing. The human probably just couldn’t say his whole name without stuttering. That was it. He’d be back under the bed before Virgil woke and the human would think the whole thing a dream. So this...this was nothing. Everything would return to normal on the morrow where Logan would lurk under the bed and the near-adult would remain unaware of just exactly how his room was managing to stay warmer than the rest of the apartment. 

And yet. 

“You’re welcome.” He whispered, unable to stop running his claws through Virgil’s hair as his shuddering breaths evened out into the steady rhythm of sleep; for once not thinking about picking at the tangle of thoughts faintly twisting above the human’s head. 

To Be Continued Part 2  Part 3

[shutupaboutandraste]

“Hear this now — I will always come for you” for Fenders? <3

OKAY so like. I saw this and was just immediately inspired and knew exactly what I wanted to write so I hope you like it!

It's more pre-ship, buuuuut still Fenders.

Words: 3203 Pairing: Fenris/Anders For @dadrunkwriting

ACT I

To say Fenris didn’t trust Anders would be an understatement. An abomination through and through, he would never understand Hawke’s trust in him. Perhaps, it was because of her sister-- Bethany always seemed to vouch for him, something else that made Fenris’ head spin. Never before Bethany Hawke had he seen a mage so in control of themself. Yet, there was Bethany who shined in beauty, grace, and kindness all without being possessed or resorting to blood magic. He had only known her for a short time since he was approached by Hawke’s motley crew.

Still, he stuck by them, despite it all. Hawke had become a good friend in the short time he had known her. Even if her taste in women was… questionable. Anyone with eyes could see the tall warrior had affection for the Dalish blood mage of all people. Of course, that did exclude the elf in question. Merrill seemed entirely blind, even when Hawke told her that she was free to call her Aingheal. To everyone else, that name seemed off limits and Merrill seemed content to leave it that way for herself. Strange woman…

There were days he thought about leaving. Danarius could arrive any day on the doorstep of his borrowed mansion any day. The thought of leaving, however, left the taste of ash in his mouth. Little things were what he would miss-- Hawke coming to check in on him, coming back to the mansion to find little plates of food from Merrill, Isabela’s flirting, all of it. Loyalty threaded into Hawke’s group, evident in the way they watched each other’s back in battle to those little gestures Fenris had grown fond of in the past few months. Echoes of his days with the Fog Warriors sang softly within him.

These thoughts tumbled and toppled over each other with each passing day. Fenris took each one in and compartmentalized it within. These were the people that he had thrown his lot in with, for better or worse. Yet, he never knew if Merrill would be possessed by a demon, or whether Anders would suddenly turn on them to fulfill the desires of Vengeance. So, when Anders was still glowing after an encounter with a Tal Vashoth mercenary group on the wounded coast, Fenris leaped into action.

His brands lit up as he reached for Anders. Justice’s glare flashed his way, but he did not flinch. The only thing that stopped him was Hawke’s sword in his way. His heels let him skid to a stop just in time to avoid phasing through it. There was always a chance that phasing through a weapon would just wind up with him impaled.

“What the hell, Fenris?”

Varric whistled, “Easy, Broody! That one is friendly.”

“Hardly,” he snarled, “Why is your demon still active, mage?”

“I AM NO DEMON,” boomed that voice that both was and was not Anders. Still, it didn’t argue further, seemingly releasing Anders for its thrall.

Anders snarled at him, “Justice was fine! You could have killed me!”

Fenris crossed his arms, holding his head high, acting as if he could stand down the taller man, “And you could have killed Hawke.”

Hawke scoffed, “I can fight my own battles. Thanks. Justice doesn’t scare me.”

There she went again, trusting the fool mage and his demon. Even though Fenris had warned her of all he saw in Tevinter, Hawke insisted that she knew better. One day she might live to regret it. Fenris hoped that he didn’t live to see that day. For all his terse nature, he did want Hawke to be right about Anders. So, he let the argument brewing inside him die.

Hawke was a harsh woman. When she spoke, there was no argument, one simply followed. That did not make her unkind, simply firm. It was one of the many things Fenris found himself respecting, all but in awe of. Leadership decorated Hawke like well-fitted armor. There was very little she could do now to waiver his trust in her. The group began heading out, Varric and Hawke immediately taking to counting out the loot as they walked.

Fenris came up to walk beside Anders, “You may have favor with Hawke, mage, but hear this, should you betray her--”

“Why are you so sure of my guilt long before I’ve committed a crime?”

“Should you betray her, hear this now-- I will always come for you. That is a threat.”

ACT II

Putting trust in Hawke was far from misplaced. Long after the Deep Roads, she still remained his friend, helped him when Hadriana came knocking, and trusted him in return. Fenris was a regular member of her party, trusting him even about Aveline whom she had known for far longer. Hawke was a natural, but ruthless in her efficiency. Fenris respected that, even when he wasn’t sure he agreed. Sometimes, Fenris caught Hawke with a wild, angry glint in her eye as she plowed through enemies with an almost sadistic glee. Fighting was the happiest he had seen her bar her time spent with Merrill or after she was permitted a visit with Bethany at the Circle.

Yet, still, Hawke persisted with Anders. The mage had only grown more rebellious and unstable since they had met. Fenris did not despise him, but Anders set his teeth on edge in a way Fenris had not known in some time. Yet, she had left him to deal with the wounded as healer and protector while she fought the Arishok.

Upon the kill, Fenris thought she might cut off the Qunari leader’s head and hoist it up as a trophy. If she was, she never got the chance as she was rushed upon. The word ‘Champion’ echoed about the halls of the Viscount’s Keep. Before Fenris’ very eyes, the city seemed to be turned upside down. In the chaos, he managed to stumble out of the building, attempting to follow Merrill and Varric as they both rushed after Hawke.

Bethany was outside, tailing Orsino under the watchful eye of Meredith-- Shit. Where was Anders?

Templars milled about outside, keeping watch over mages who were working on healing the wounded while Aveline’s guard began lining up the dead, human, dwarf, elf, and qunari alike. There was no mess of dirty blond hair among them. No matter what he thought, Anders did a service in Darktown. Without him, the Ferelden refugees would be worse off. Instead of following whatever parade was forming around Hawke, he ducked down a side street, attempting to search for Anders.

Smoke still filled the air, making Fenris cough as he attempted to plunge ahead. Loud wailing was still echoing in the streets, amid the cheers of victory. Loss had still struck everyone fiercely. While he searched for Anders, he also kept his eyes peeled for Isabela. Wherever she had left to go to, he had a sinking feeling that she was never coming back.

Neither deep black curls nor a dirty blond mop was what caught his eye. Instead, it was Aveline’s flash of bright ginger hair. And, safe from templars, Anders was next to her. Fenris found himself surprisingly sighing with relief. He had worried for nothing. Carefully, he approached them.

“This is your fault,” Anders snapped, teeth grit as he tried to control Justice.

Aveline snarled, “What? Saving you from templars?”

“No! The Qunari attack!” he replied, “Much as I appreciate you getting me out of there.”

“Isabela stole that tome,” muttered Aveline, crossing her arms, “That’s what started this.”

“Isabela stole that stupid book ages ago. Then you let that… that monster get away with raping a girl!” Blue crackled at the edges of Anders’ eyes, which he shut, quickly as he tried to slow his breathing. His self-control after a long day of casting and healing was reaching its limit.

Aveline rubbed her nose bridge in frustration, “Anders, honestly, I don’t know what you expect me to do--”

“Punish the guard?” offered Anders, ��Or would that be too much effort because the victim was an elf? I didn’t realize we were in Tevinter.”

“That was uncalled for,” snarled Aveline, clearly close to losing her patience.

Quickly, nearly fade-stepping to get there, Fenris went forward, taking Anders by the shoulders. Justice flashed, but Anders merely looked alarmed at being touched. His eyes narrowed on Aveline, who instead just looked relieved that someone else had interrupted them. He nodded at her slowly.

“Hawke asked me to escort him back to Darktown,” he said, “Go to your guards.”

“Be safe,” she said before turning to leave.

Anders scoffed, pulling away from Fenris and trudging ahead, “I should be out there healing.”

“You can deal with the injured that make it to the clinic,” sighed Fenris.

He crossed his arms, trudging forward, “Did Hawke really ask you to come check on me? I figured she’d send someone else. Varric, maybe, or--”

“She’s too busy entertaining the masses,” admitted Fenris, “I wanted to make sure you did not get caught by the templars.”

“Me?” Anders scoffed, “Why do you care?”

Why do you care about the lives of elves? Fenris wanted to ask. Yet… He knew why. While the Spirit within Anders could ebb and flow between Justice and Vengeance, Fenris knew that the Anders had originally allowed a spirit in him. Anders had stories of Justice and their time with the Grey Wardens as separate people. Letting the guard go unpunished was unjust, no matter who the victim was, but as usual it was elves who saw the short end of the stick.

Despite every notion Fenris had of the other man, Anders continued to prove himself dedicated to the people, even if those people were usually mages. Everyone was welcome at his clinic, from refugees to the Seneschal himself. Many things Anders did annoyed Fenris, but his dedication and passion were to be admired. To see a spark of joy when healing, that was something Fenris could respect. Maybe he even wanted to, if he would just let himself.

Hawke expected his loyalty-- she had it, of course, but she still expected it. When that loyalty was questioned, she made sure you knew about it. When he had run off after killing Hadriana, she had made her position known. If Fenris wanted to do that again, he better damn well wait until they got back to Kirkwall so they weren’t romping across the Wounded Coast without help. Her anger had shamed him.

A few nights later, he had brought Anders dinner. The practice was not uncommon among the group, but it happened when Anders failed to show up at the Hanged Man. Usually, they played a round of Wicked Grace to see who took the meal. Fenris had been the first out, thus the man to take the meal. Anders had been finishing up with a patient-- a little elven girl with a scraped knee. The injury was hardly worth the time of a healer with Anders’ caliber, yet Fenris watched as he distracted her with jokes while healing her knee. Once he was done, he patted it, making her smile before he dug around for a bit, pulling out a sweet. Most of them were stale, but the refugee children hardly cared, always pleased that the healer had candy for them.

When he saw Fenris, Anders had asked him if he was okay. There was no yelling about Fenris’ comment about how magic spoiled everything--though Anders had made a snide remark when he had spoken it. No, concern lined the wrinkles of Anders’ face as he graciously took the meal, double and triple checking that Fenris didn’t need healing or something to help. Once that was over with, Anders huffed, told Fenris he was stubborn, thanked him for the meal, and reminded him to clean the up mansion before he caught something from the corpses.

“Hear this now,” he said, “I will always come for you. That is a promise.”

ACT III

Smoke had a horrible, overwhelming scent. After the Qunari attack, he didn’t have the stomach to even enjoy a good campfire anymore. But watching the rubble of the Chantry smolder before him sent a revulsion through his gut. Why did Anders always have to be such a fool? Why couldn’t he just wait for the conflict to run its inevitable course?

Hawke did not ask for their opinions. Sebastian was furious-- so was she. Merrill had her hands clasped at her heart as they watched Aingheal Hawke walk around Anders like a predatory animal. For prey, he looked remarkably calm, sad, even.

Run, you idiot. Petrify her and run for your life.

Anders didn’t move. He wanted to die. Fenris felt sick.

“I trusted you,” hissed Hawke, “I made you part of my family; I protected you. Then you LIE to me, have me help you do this.”

“The war is inevitable,” said Anders, “Justice and I have done what had to be done. Kill me if you will and be done with it.”

“You put my WIFE in danger! You put my SISTER in danger!” Hawke raised a fist, bashing it across the side of Anders’ head.

“Vhennan, no!” exclaimed Merril, “Don’t kill ‘im. He can help us protect the mages, please.”

“He doesn’t deserve to live!” bit back Sebastian.

Hawke growled, “Do not speak to her that way! Merrill, I can’t. He’s too dangerous. He’s… He’s not the Anders we knew. Not anymore.”

Fenris felt his fist clench at his side. These theatrics were ridiculous-- there was a city to save. And, to be frank, either they chose Anders to die as he pleased or they went with Merrill’s plan. Hawke had seemingly chosen the former. Tears streamed down Merrill’s cheeks as she looked away, her wife hoisting her greatsword high. Fenris felt his insides twist.

He remembered the Anders he thought he knew. Once upon a time, that man had been an abomination, just a foolish mage playing Maker. Then, things had shifted. As much as he wanted things to be simple, Anders never allowed anything to be so. With his manifesto and ranting, came the healing and the gentle touches. Even when he himself forgot to eat, he never let anyone else forget. He would risk hair and hide in battle to protect others.

One night, not long after Hawke had been dubbed the Champion, Anders had admitted to Fenris that he had not always been so selfless. Justice was what brought out the best in him-- that if Fenris hated him now, he would have loathed the Anders of the Circle or the Grey Wardens, all flirt and wit and self-serving. Somehow, Fenris doubted that was the whole story.

Each passing day over the last three years, he found he craved it more. Was Anders really so different? Or was he exaggerating in an effort to self-loathe everything about himself? One minute he was witty and charismatic the next he seemed to gain ten years from exhaustion. Yet, each day, that wit and charisma faded away. A demon-- not a traditional one, but some sort of sickness of the mind-- had taken hold of the healer. Had anyone tried to help him?

Varric, perhaps, refusing to give into such demands like taking a pillow that meant so much Anders. Yet, no one else knew what to do. None of them knew how to cope with this shell of their friend. But he was still there. After Danarius, Hawke had clapped him on the back, asked him if he was alright, and went on her way.

Anders had shown up that night, barging his way in, double-checking injuries he had already healed while Fenris pushed him away. It didn’t work, of course. The mage had always been too stubborn for that. No matter how easy it would be for Fenris to kill him, Anders had never feared him. He treated him like any other friend. Only a week ago, he had invited Anders to eat dinner together… privately.

And then Fenris, cowardly, had failed to show.

Showing up would not have changed this event. No, Anders was too far into this plan, he was sure. Yet, now, he could not find it in him to overthink. Firelight glinted on Hawke’s as it arched its way down. Far faster than he knew that he could run, Fenris found himself knelt at Anders’ side. His hands clutched the other man’s shoulders, before shoving him forward. Lyrium flickered to life.

Hawke’s sword passed through him. Phantom sensations touched him, but did not harm him. Anders looked at him from where he had fallen, gathering himself up as he stared at them all. His feet slid backward, his mouth attempting to make Fenris’ name. Behind him, Hawke seethed.

“Run!” he ordered, urging Anders, “Run! Hear this, I will always come for you! I will find you! Go!”

Anders nodded quickly, life suddenly seeming to spring forth in his eyes. Oh, how long had Fenris longed to see that glint again. He had not realized he had ached for it until he saw its gleam. The mage took off, rushing away and into the chaos of the street. Once he was out of sight, Fenris turned to face them. Sebastian had his bow cocked at his head while Hawke looked disgusted.

“You bastard,” she hissed, “What had gotten into you?”

“What has gotten into you?” he repeated, “Anders was your friend. More-so than he ever was mine.” And yet, his stupid, treacherous heart and all of its longing had found the sympathy to save him.

“You were right,” she sneered, “He was always an abomination. I was blind.”

“Your wife is a blood mage,” snapped Fenris, “Shall you put her to the sword next?” Merrill gasped, but he glanced at her, trying to show her that it was not something he wanted. Hawke looked appalled at such a suggestion, thank the Maker, and lowered her sword.

Hawke did not circle him like a prey animal as she did Anders. No, instead he raised her nose to him. Golden eyes, just a bit hazel and always piercing, cast their judgement down on him. In an instant, without thinking, she saw what he had done as throwing away her loyalty to save Anders. And Hawke always expected his loyalty.

“I loved you like a brother,” she said, shaking her head, “Get out. Get out of my sight. If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you both.” Merril sobbed, Varric quickly tending to her, looking unusually surly at Hawke. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t so unusual. Hawke was always funnier in his tales than she was in person. Perhaps Fenris had been blinded to something Varric had always seen.

Fenris did not say goodbye. Instead, he walked away with pride, head held high, a free man who would not be tethered to a woman who confused loyalty with ownership. Fenris owed her much, but she did not own him. And a free man was allowed to walk into whatever fate he damned well please.

Fenris chose Anders, and he knew he would keep choosing Anders every day after. All he had to do was find him.

[fitzefitcher]

It's fine if not, but do you feel up for expounding on your feelings about the new Kalimdor book?

I'm going to start first by linking to the twitter thread I had made on the day of, when I was still in shock over it, and then copypasta what I had wrote for maybe better reading:

"I did Not think the Kalimdor book would be the thing to fucking break me, but here it is, the reminder that, even after all this time of fighting for better rights and better representation, if left unprompted, all blizzard was ever going to do was lip service and no more. Idk it’s just fucking heartbreaking that they would do this, especially in the middle of everything else that’s happening, because it just proves the fear that no matter what we do, they’re just not going to view anyone outside of a very select group of people as human beings. I want to like this game. I want to like this story. I have spent at least half my lifetime dedicated to this game and this community, but it’s been getting harder to do so, and all this did was remind me that me and my friends were never really welcome in the first place. Everyone in my immediate peer circle are some kind of marginalized group, which already makes interacting with the community at large prickly at best and the worst being actively targeted, harassed, and abused until they’re driven out or worse, so to see that blizzard would do this, would make it explicitly clear that they aren’t welcome, that they were never welcome, after all this time and effort spent trying to improve the community, trying to get their employees fair pay and equal rights, it’s just. Completely and utterly alienating, and heartbreaking. That they would do this isn’t a surprise, no. It’s never a surprise when this happens. But it is a confirmation of a deep-seated fear cooking in the back of the head for anyone who’s ever marginalized. It’s a confirmation that you can no longer trust them. That you could never trust them. That all that time, and all that effort spent, was for nothing, and there’s nothing you can do to get that back. And that, I feel, can cause so much damage that it feels insurmountable. I want to believe that things can better. I want to believe if we keep working at it we can fix this. But I am utterly exhausted. I am tired of being punished every time I believe they can do better. I am tired of my loved ones being punished far worse just for being themselves. I want to move forward from this. But with everything as it is, I don’t know what even can be done, at this point."

And now that it's been a few days, and I've calmed down a bit, I'm still really hurt and disappointed, but it's not nearly as sharp, and now I'm just frustrated and angry. The only thing I can really think of in terms of moving forward is just that- moving forward. Continuing to push to improve themselves, and each other. It's really the only thing we can do, and it feels hard, even impossible, but unless we keep walking that path, nothing will get done. So we have to push through and keep going. We have to believe that things can be fixed, because if we don't, then they never will. If we don't stick up for ourselves and for each other, nobody ever will.

[zv5x]

So uhh,,, I'm starting to get into writing again after restarting everything, so to really warm myself up I'm doing the Yandere ABC's prompt thingy with Spirit! Cause I need the Spirit simps to return to my blog and cause Spirit is my main source of serotonin!!! Plz enjoy teehee, and I promise I'll get to all of your requests soon! let me have my Spirit simping hour, I need it very much ( :̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅) Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get? - Spirit is VERY intense affection wise, and is almost always holding onto you in one way or another. Whether that be laying his head on your chest and purring quietly, or by insisting that your hand stays connected with his while outside, he's always making sure he has a good handle on you. He's also very protective and caring, so expect to be feeling a lot safer in the future. And I mean a LOT safer. Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling? - Spirit was never a big fan of wasting his time on the filth that keeps the two of you apart, so he likes to keep rival elimination quick and painless. However, if he feels that whoever he's killing isn't worthy of a quick death, he will most definitely accommodate to that fact. Or, if you ask him to kill someone and specifically request for it to be long and messy, he'd do it without a shread of hesitation. After all, he'd do anything to prove his loyalty to you. Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them? - Mocking you isn't in Spirit's vocabulary. He could never treat you with a shread of inhumanity (unless that is, he sees it as needed), as he feels you deserve the best and nothing but the best. He owes his life to you! You saved him, you showed him that the world wasn't nearly as vile as he once thought. Treating you with anything less than the love and adoration that you deserve just doesn't seem like a concept to him even. If he get's to the point where he sees abduction as necessary, he might do the occasional "ara ara" type shit while stepping on your chest though lol, he can get like that sometimes. He'd step on you very gently, though..he doesn't want to hurt you too bad Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will? - Before you even got him out of the game in which he was trapped, he was very creepily overbearing. Though, he couldn't directly show that considering he wouldn't ever get let out then. He'd just keep tabs on all your devices through the shadows. P.S., it was very kind of you to make a ROM of his game for your laptop for him to move into! It made things so much easier for him! Now he can have a much easier time watching you sleep and hearing you breathe when he's placed right by your side on your bed (you said you didn't want him to be lonely, which he thought was very kind and cute of you. It's exactly why he adores you so much). It also makes it so much easier to look through your phone since you have that data connected to your laptop as well. Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling? - What was that, (Y/N)? Spirit's actions are making you doubt his undying love for you? No fear! He'll pour his entire heart to you right then and there! He'll list of just every little thing about you that makes his heart beat fast, he'll also lovingly alert you to the fact that he owes his life along with everything that he is, all to you! He wouldn't be alive or free if it wasn't for you! The coding of his game would have crumbled and basically ate him alive, so without you he'd probably be dead. Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back? - A combination of betrayal and confusion. Confusion, due to the fact he just doesn't understand why you'd want to leave him. Isn't this exactly what you humans consider true love? The idea of being with someone who would gladly bare any level of agony just to be the only one you gaze upon, the idea of someone being willing to go to any

length just to see that smile of yours that they always adore seeing, how is this not what humans consider love? The feeling of betrayal from you doing something as selfish as trying to leave him, the pain could almost eat him alive. How could you? He's done everything for you, he's given you every inch of love and affection that he has to offer, and you repay him by trying to leave him all alone? Expect the biggest guilt trip you've ever experienced. "I thought you loved me, dearest! Why would you try and leave me?!" Along with millions of demands to know who you were running away to. There had to be some place for you to go when you left him after all, so whose throat does he have to slit just to prove to you how much he adores you? Go on, don't be shy, tell him! Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape? - The hunting you down aspect of all of this? Yeah, I guess he could consider it a game. But the thing is, he never really considers what he's doing Hunting you down unless you're directly trying to run from him. So, at that point, hunting you down is exactly what he's doing. Spirit considers everything he's doing to be completely understandable and normal for human relationships. So he definitely doesn't consider what he's doing to be a "game" or anything else similar. His love for you isn't just some game, it's serious and it's all he has Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them? - If you ever dare cheat on him, expect to see the last thread of sanity he has in him just snap right before your eyes. He could never kill you, no. But your little partner? Expect them to be torn to shreads right before your very eyes. Ever hear one of those crazy ass yandere laughs? Yeah. He'd pull that too. He'd quite literally go ballistic, getting up when who you cheated on him with isn't even recognizable, screaming at you and demanding to know the reason for your disloyalty. He did everything for you! And you just go on and pull shit like this? No. He won't accept it. You won't get away with it. He still loves you of course, and will remind you of that fact every millisecond, but you can tell he just isn't the same. More possessive, more angry and suffocating. Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling? - Spirit definitely wants to marry you. Like, this is a fact. He's basically your fiance without even proposing to you yet. He'd definitely enjoy a few kids as well, but only if you want them as well and are able to have them. He understands any reason you might not want kids, and he won't pressure you. Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope? - He's like, literally the CEO of jealous (As well as the CEO of protectiveness). His protective nature causes him to be extremely suspicious of others and their intentions. Sometimes if he feels that person was getting a little too friendly with you, he'll possessively wrap his arms around you while you're talking to them and growl at them until they power walk away out of fear. Sometimes while the two of you are cuddling he'll subtly and quietly bite your neck to leave marks. Or, sometimes he just goes for the more direct route, and offs anyone who he saw as in his way. He can't have anyone walking in on private property thinking it's their own, can he? Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling? - He's usually extremely understanding and sweet. Spirit doesn't like having to use fear tactics to get his way, since he hates it when he has to resort to putting fear in you. Around you, Spirit is more loving than he ever was around anyone before. You're his precious darling after all! You saved him, you taught him what love was like. How could he not act painfully loving and sweet in your presence? You just make his heart flutter so violently. Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling? - Literally exploding Senpai's face off one day while you were paying his game. He's just been watching you for so long, allowing

Senpai to soak up all your love and attention. He just couldn't contain the jealousy, or the rage. He didn't get what Senpai did to be getting so much affection from you. So, he got rid of the problem. Senpai. He was able to convince you Senpai was completely unalive and unfeeling, just lines of code. Which, he was lines of code, but Spirit knew very well that he was aware of the world and environment around him, and could very much so be considered...alive. However, you didn't need to know that. Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else? - Kinda? You know how protective and jealous he can be, but he completely hides the fact he's literally committed murder. He doesn't want you to think of him as some heartless monster, now does he? That wouldn't do at all. He needs you to adore him, just as much as he adores you. He wants you to be fully willing to marry him, and live out the rest of eternity with him. How could that happen if the very thought of him scares you? Naughty: How would they punish their darling? - The usual, causing you physical pain. His methods of doing this vary, along with the severity of the pain. But, lucky for you it takes a lot to get him to the point to where he sees punishment as the only way. Additionally, if you allow him too, he could get a little...lewder with the punishments... Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling? - Not many, if everything goes by his plan. However, if you refuse to do what he says, he'll take away as many rights as he can. Physical freedom, friends, family, and everything else in between. If he feels something is keeping you from him, he'll snatch it away in a millisecond. You don't need it. However, if everything goes to plan, then great! He's so happy you realize that your future is with him, and only him! Patience: How patient are they with their darling? - Oh, he's extremely patient! That is, unless you do something to upset him. Don't show too much fear, don't yell or scream at him, don't deliberately make him jealous, or do anything similar, and everything will be okay! He understands why you might be a little reluctant, as you've probably never had someone as loving and adoring as him in your life! So much affection being given to you is something you need to get used to, he would know. It took him a little bit to fully adjust to all the love you had for him. Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on? - No. He wouldn't. Not in the slightest. He'd never be able to move on if you were to leave him forever. If you die, he could just chase you down to wherever you ended up considering he was a demon himself. But, if you somehow find a way to get away from him even after he chases you down? He'll be devastated. He thought you loved him, he loved you so much. He still does love you. He can't let you go, he just can't. He needs you. He lives for you. He craves you. You're his light, his everything, he can't imagine an existence without you by his side. But, that won't even happen, he won't let you go no matter what. You won't be able to loosen yourself from his grip. Not that you want to though, right? (Extra fact: Spirit wouldn't hesitate to resort to killing you himself, just so he could drag you down to Hell and keep you there forever. If it's something he needs to do, then he'll do it no questions asked. He hates causing you pain, he really does. But Spirit will do whatever it takes to have your love) Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go? - Spirit has a very warped view of love, so while he is capable of feeling guilt, he doesn't at all regret what he's done. He feels guilt for the way you cried when he tried snuggling you and holding you, he felt guilt for the way you trembled as he reached out to you, but he just couldn't feel bad for the people he damned and murdered. They were trying to take you away from him, and that's absolutely unforgivable. Stigma:

What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)? - Definitely his time in the Hating Simulator. He was completely ripped away from all contact with the outside world and everyone that inhabited it, human or not. He stayed like that for years, until his captors daughter finally decided to dispose of him. Then, somehow, he met you. You decided to pick his game and it's console up, and take him home. He didn't trust you at first, but soon, watching you talk to Senpai and get closer with him, he fell in love with you. Hard. He needed you in his life, he needed to keep you. He had to have you. You needed to be his, and his alone. Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves? - Confused, but still upset and guilty. He hates seeing you in pain, whether that pain be physical or mental. So to hear you scream and cry with such pain, it absolutely makes his heart shatter. But he just doesn't understand why you're acting in such agony...aren't you happy? Don't you love him? He'll probably look at you with a pained look in his eyes. He'll try and hold you in his arms and hold you close to his chest, no matter how hard you struggle. Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere? - Literally chasing you down to wherever you go, with no effort at all. He makes it so you CAN'T escape him, no matter how hard you try, and no matter who you cry to for help. With any other Yandere, there's always the possibility of escape. Whether it be by leaving their basement, killing them in self defense, getting them arrested, etc, etc. But with Spirit, there's nothing you can do. You're going to love him, or he'll make your life a living hell. Quite literally, in fact. Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape? - While there is literally no way to escape him, you can try and manipulate him to get whatever you wish. Spirit is extremely touch starved, to the point where he'll probably tremble and shake with pleasure if you do as much as reach out to him. Just hold him in your lap and let him purr into your neck as you run your finger through his hair, he'll be literal putty in your hands. While trying to use this against him to escape will result in harsh punishment, if you can think of anything you can get out of him using this then by all means go for it. Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling? - Only if needed. Spirit doesn't wish to cause you pain, but he won't hesitate to if he thinks it will make you love him and stop that hopeless struggling of yours. Spirit will make sure to cuddle you and kiss you after each punishment however, praising you in a soft whisper about how good you've been for him while he taught you a lesson. Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over? - If you want to know how much you mean to him, Spirit will without hesitation get on one knee and kiss the tips of your hand as he purrs words of pure love. He'll make sure you know just how loved and important you are to him by the end of the night, any way you wish for him to, no matter how direct or "explicit" Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap? - After escaping the Hating Simulator, maybe about a year Zenith: Would they ever break their darling? - If you were to "break" under his care, rest assured it was completely unintentionally. But, he'll still take your submission as a win. You're willing to tell you love him, you're willing to marry him and live a life with him, and that's all Spirit needs. He loves you so much ♡

[meggannn]

one thing that bugs me within HZD fandom—or at least in a lot of reddit threads and the occasional tumblr note—is how the discussion of Aloy as the chosen one because of the circumstances of her birth always gets reframed around [REDACTED] in a way that discredits Aloy.

I do love the “hero is a rando” stories as much as the next person, but what I like about HZD is that it sets up Aloy to be some incredible savior and then it turns out... well, she might do cool things, but she’s kind of a jerk, actually! and she has every right to not want to help most people when she’s been hurt and mistreated by them for all of her young life.

Aloy is a hero, yes, but not because of her birth, but because she chooses to be one. and it’s a hard choice for her, because her natural inclination is to help herself—which is an understandable trait now that she is old enough to try to give herself what she was denied for nearly twenty years—and I like that they keep stressing that.

now that we’re under the cut I’m gonna talk spoilers.

Aloy is a great fighter and impressive machine-hunter and she is very smart, but that’s not because she’s Elisabet’s clone, but because she had to develop those skills to survive. every part about her personality and skillset can really be attributed to a few key elements about her: being an outcast and shunned and judged for something out of her control, growing up in the wilds in a world full of dangerous machines, not being raised with any sense of family or friends or community, and her feelings of loneliness. everything about her personality and abilities has a tie back to one or several of those things, either as a way to explain them, or overcome them. those were things Aloy did because she chose to chase the mystery of her past, but her Elisabet genes didn’t do them for her.

so it really does bug me when people talk about it as if it’s Elisabet’s acumen that should be given credit when we talk about why Aloy is the hero of her own story. I think we are far enough as a culture that we can acknowledge nurture plays a much bigger role in someone’s personality than nature, even for clones. (and I think this is why the Lightkeeper Protocol was doomed to fail anyway.) I think GAIA, when awake, may eventually struggle with this initially, calling her Elisabet instead of Aloy because it’s Elisabet she misses and wants to see again, and she doesn’t know Aloy at all—but she is an AI, and can adapt quickly.

but why I think it bothers me so much is that this “she’s a natural hero” narrative goes against Rost’s last lesson that he teaches Aloy in the prologue. Aloy’s flaws are that she is selfish and often self-centered, and doesn’t rely a lot on others, often to the point of discrediting their abilities. she barges into the Hunters Lodge and demands Talanah take her on as a thrush based on her own assumption that she’s as good a hunter, if not better, than most of the people in the building. she says “I’m faster on my own” to Erend’s incredulity, implying others would just slow her down. they’re completely understandable foibles for someone who has been alone and shunned by the world her entire life and learned to survive because of it.

but Aloy isn’t strong or smart or brave because she was a clone of Elisabet. she could have walked away from seeking revenge against the Eclipse, and arguably, she might have even done it if she hadn’t had a personal interest in the matter: finding out who Elisabet was. Sylens even calls her out multiple times for her short-sightedness in focusing on “what happened to Elisabet?” instead of "what happened to the world?” (I think in ELEUTHIA-9 she says something like "This is interesting, but it's not why I'm here though" and Sylens says sarcastically "Right, what's the whole of human history compared to the origins of one girl?")

again: it’s completely understandable that the girl raised with no family is looking for, y’know, her family, but I think it’s also a pointed choice by the writers: Aloy doesn’t really feel like she belongs to a tribe, so she feels, in some sense, that she has nothing to lose by antagonizing and refusing help to anyone. what are they going to do, banish her? her one lifeline is Rost: it’s her love for him, and his last act of sacrifice for her, that propels her self-centered (though by no means wrong) desire of “I need to find where I came from” to “these people are killers who threaten what I believe in,” and “they will kill again, and even if they will hurt the people who hurt me, many of whom I still dislike, I must do my best to stop them.”

the biggest scene that shows her laser focus on her own interests to the extent of others’ is when Erend asks her for help tracking Ersa’s killer and she denies him without the player's input. I thought that was an interesting choice because the game is canonically telling us that Aloy will barge her way past allies to get what she wants, and she will not be nice about it. like, Erend, a man grieving, tries to get her to stop for two seconds to hear out his ask for help, and she says “Out of the way” and “That’s your war, not mine.” Normally games might give you a choice to say yes or no to helping an ally, even if the game will eventually force you help them to progress the story; but the writers made a choice to show her denying a friend help, just after he helped her. It shows she’s still at the point in her journey where she sees others either as allies to help her or as foes in her way, and she might help allies if she makes time for it on her own (side quests), but when she's impatient and picks up the scent of her prey, she’s willing to ignore others’ needs.

it’s honestly debatable if she would have even cared so much about seeking revenge against the Eclipse if Helis hadn’t killed Rost: certainly she may have been interested in seeing them punished for their ambush against a bunch of Nora teenagers, but she mentions Rost the most consistently when she talks about tracking down Helis, not even Vala or the other Braves (RIP). even to Sylens, who didn’t know any of them, she says “You [didn’t say you knew the man] who killed my... who almost killed me.” (also, sob forever that Aloy still can’t call him her dad even after he’s dead, only “the man who raised her.” Rost really did not teach her to ever call him “Dad.” it’s no wonder why she was so focused on finding at least one parent, a mother, who is centered throughout Nora culture.) but the Nora ambush, while a factor, is still kind of... a side thing. she is most interested in their connection to this mysterious woman-who-might-be-her-mother, and the mystery of why they tried to kill her. people just assume that she is after them out of vengeance for the Nora, and she does not correct them as she uses her Seeker title to explore her own interests.

and speaking of Sylens, I think they are great foils for each other just for this reason: Aloy immediately senses there’s something she doesn’t like about him from basically the moment he makes contact. he’s prickly, arrogant, impatient, unsympathetic, and hates to play nice or work as a team. but like... are they really all that different? I think that Aloy sees Sylens in her future if she doesn’t learn to get along with people. like Aloy, Sylens is definitely rude to you, but I hope you realize you, too, are also pretty rude to others as well! (though you could argue this is a game mechanic so she can ask the questions that the player might be wondering.)

this is not all to say that she’s dispassionate or uncaring, or that her mission isn’t sympathetic or understandable. she helps people out, but her goal driving the story, her True North in a way, is really her own interest to find out who she is and where she came from. one of the significant moments she grows in this regard is when she comes out of ELEUTHIA-9 and decides to fight for the Nora, and for the entire world. she just discovered the truth of her birth isn't what she wanted, and she even thinks afterwards that she’s “not a person, just an instrument.” she’s devastated. what on earth does it mean, that she’s a “recreation” of Elisabet? they don’t have words for “clone” in her world—she thinks it means she’s literally not a human being. she doesn’t want a grand destiny to save the world, she just wants to find her mother and have that sense of belonging she was denied for so long, and she didn’t find that—turns out, she never had that. and now she’s being expected to take on this huge burden about restoring GAIA and fighting subfunctions that she doesn’t understand. both of her “mothers" are dead and there are a bunch of people waiting outside the bunker for her to tell them what their goddess is saying.

so when she walks out of that bunker and sees a bunch of scared, hopeful faces looking at her for answers, her decision to fight HADES—not just on behalf of GAIA but on behalf of the Nora and Carja and Oseram and all others—is her accepting that even though she isn’t what she thought and didn’t get what she wanted, she needs to help others because she is a still part of this world and can make a difference. that’s what makes her heroic. her hero-worship of Elisabet is understandable, but it’s not what’s going to get her through the next challenges in her life—only her own growth and commitment to doing good will do that.

when she tells Rost “if I’m going to fight for something, it’s going to be something I believe in,” I think that was her saying “I’ll fight for that something, but if I find it, I think I’ll end up finding it on my own, and it won’t be with the Nora.” at that time in her journey, she was running the Proving to get something for herself, not to serve the Nora, which she would have been expected to do normally if she had successfully completed it. but she does find something to believe in, and it is with the Nora, both physically in the mountain, and in the spirit of any community: it’s not Elisabet herself, like she thought, but it is what Elisabet stood for, and died for. she may not fully understand what GAIA or the subfunctions are yet, but she knows that their survival and mutual cooperation are necessary for the betterment of people now and civilizations everywhere. she isn’t really fighting for Elisabet or the Old Ones, or I don’t think so, at least—I think it is a factor to do all of this in Elisabet’s memory, in some way, but mostly I think she’s fighting for people alive today. it’s the same conclusion Elisabet came to: the Old Ones are doomed, but people of the future might still have a chance, and that chance is worth her dedication.

but how how a lonely girl ends up fighting to save the world when she barely understands it or the people in it, is an interesting challenge. for this reason I also expect to see her faults in full display in the sequels. Aloy’s tactlessness is a big flaw of hers when it comes to her dismissiveness and occasional derision toward any religion/cultural traditions she doesn’t understand or value. she works through this in some way over the course of the story, like when she decides to spare the Nora the truth of their goddess with an easy lie after leaving ELEUTHIA-9, but particularly in the DLC (which can take place at any point in the story), she challenges a werak to become the chieftan of a tribe she knows very little about, just to get something for herself: she wants to further her goal of investigating AI. I expect this trait of hers will be something we see more of in future games, her barging into a community she doesn’t know anything about and telling them how to do things for their own good. (I call it the “Solas Problem” from Dragon Age Inquisition.) she might be right most of the time, but she also needs to learn how to talk to the people she’s trying to save, and learn how to save them without changing who they are.

[koutarousangel]

━ chaos / bokuto kōtarō.

prompt : an angel falls in love with a demon ... quite literally.

genre : angst ... a lot of it

warning(s) : religious undertones, alludes to sex, mention of a blade, slight mention of violence, reader is ... well, a demon.

song recs : falling in reverse ━ eden ; afterthought  ━ joji ; listen before you go ━ billie eilish.

author’s note : i was doing a lucifer rewatch and the bit with maze and amenadiel came up and i was just like 🤔. this was originally meant for kuroo, but i have different plans for him so i was like HMMM who’s the perfect candidate for an angel and ofc .... bo fits the bill cmon now ! title’s inspired by this poem.

EPISODE ONE  ━ the fallen angel.

you had pictured yourself in this position before.

more accurately, you had dreamt of it, your hellblade positioned at the base of his neck, ready to slice the skin open and get him completely off your back, so that you could continue to trapeze through earth, laying waste to the spoils humans had created and the ones they’re also subsequently punished for when they’re in hell.

but you hesitated.

there was a point when the two of you were at each other’s throats, pitted against each other as mortal enemies. fight after fight forced the string of sexual tension to grow taught and at one point it broke apart, and you’d fallen into bed one time after the next.

you hesitated because it was supposed to be a one time thing, a mistake, but you kept looking for him everywhere, and he looked for you and the pillow talk became longer and longer and you learned about each other. you hesitated because there was something in the way that he held you, how he gazed at you, how he gave you a sense of purpose. 

the thought of how you would be ridiculed if you had ever returned to hell disappeared whenever his warm, honey-coloured eyes fell on you, and your heart that wasn’t meant for love beat with a different rhythm, proving so many people wrong.

a demon falling in love with an angel ; how strange.

tears stung the corners of your eyes as you shook your head out of your thoughts, almost losing your grip on the hellblade before you grit your teeth, trying to force yourself to move and get it over with, but the hesitation lasted for a second too long.

fingers encircled both of your wrists and you were flipped over, pinned to the plush bed underneath you as bokuto’s body hovered over yours.

“if you wanted to do it, you shouldn’t have hesitated,” his voice came out in an angry growl, but you could discern the disappointment weaving through the tone of his voice. his hair fell over his eyes, a stark contrast to the spiked upstyle it usually sits in, but even though the trusses of grey hair partially obstructed his golden eyes, betrayal had taken adoration’s place in them. 

a coherent sentence couldn’t make it past your lips, words coming out in a string of babbles, punctuated by a gutteral sob, silent prayers to try and find the right words running laps through your head.

a demon caught in prayer ; how unique.

“i’m sorry,” your voice was a whimper. it was uncharacteristic, seeing as your voice usually drips confidence, accompanied by your snarky words and scheming smirk, traits he’d grown to find endearing, “kōtarō, i’m sorry.”

he grimaced and looked away, holding back his emotions and deciding to stand his ground instead, “no, you’re not,” he pressed down on your wrists more, frustration seeping through his fingertips, “this was your plan from the start.”

“only after i figured out why you were sent,” your confession came out through gritted teeth as you tried to get angry again, hating the helpless feeling that had taken over your body, but then letting your bottom lip tremble again as you let go of the tension in your shoulders, “i don’t want to go back kō, i don’t … please.”

his grip loosened and his eyes glazed over with tears that threatened to stain his flushed cheeks, “i was ready to follow you,” his words came out in a pained whisper, his breath fanning over your face.

wind swirled around the two of you as he extended his wings, items in the vicinity clattering to the ground and making a mess. as you peered up, a small gasp fell past your lips. instead of the pure white you remember seeing the first time, the feathers were greying, some of them had already turned black and some were singed.

your eyebrows knitted together and a frown befell your features as you gently ran your fingers along the blackened feathers, catching his slight wince out of the corner of your eye and you flinched away from his wings.

“i’m not worth it,” all the confidence that is usually present in your voice was snuffed out, replaced with uncertainty. the façade broke even further and the tears streamed freely and steadily down your face as you shook your head, “you don’t deserve hell, you’re good… you can save yourself and go home.”

bokuto let go of your wrists and shushed you as you broke down underneath him, pulling your frame onto his lap and letting you wrap your legs around his waist, cradling your face in his hands and placing his head against your forehead, “you’re worth it all,” he whispers, “screw heaven and hell, wherever you go, i follow.” 

but even after his words managed to calm you down and pressed kisses to every inch of your body, you couldn’t help but feel guilt settle at the pit of your stomach. you gazed at his innocent face as he slept and imagined him amongst the demons of hell and it made you sick.

in the morning he woke up to an empty, cold bed, for you loved him far too much to let him go through hell. and after figuring out that you had left your phone behind, he yelled and broke nearly every single thing in the room, wings extended and pain running through them as more feathers darkened. as he dropped down to his knees and his wings drooped on either side of him, he looked like a broken renaissance painting; the fallen angel.

as you stood in front of the gates of hell, the elder demon towered above you and looked down at you with pure disgust.

“your heart has started to purify.”

that meant you couldn’t get back into hell and you had nowhere to go, “how? i tried to kill an angel.”

the demon tuts and shakes their head in disappointment, looking at you as if you were a toddler and not a high ranking demon, “the angel,” they all but spit, “you fell in love with him and spared his life … it’s pathetic.”

you had nowhere to go … nowhere except earth.

over the span of a couple of hours, you’d gone to hell, gotten banished and sent back to the mortal world, alone. the elder demon was right … it was incredibly pathetic.

sitting at the bar only added to how pathetic the situation actually was; as you swirled your drink over and over, eyes following the amber liquid as it chased itself in circles. a huff exhaled past your lips as you felt a presence beside you, not ready to deal with some sleazebag who wanted to get into your pants. 

but when you looked over, ready to pick a fight, your breath caught in your throat as honey-coloured eyes met yours. 

“heaven doesn’t want me,” he shrugged simply, smile settled on his face, the same blinding smile you’d fallen in love with, the one that had purified your heard.

you let out a small giggle, “and hell’s afraid i’ll take over,” your voice had the same cocky lilt in your voice, smirk crossing your features as you looked up at the fallen angel with pure love in your eyes. the kind of love that neither heaven nor hell could handle.

the red thread taglist : @lovingcupcakeavenue​ @laineywritesstuff​ 

tell me if you’d like to be added to the taglist ! 

[disastermages]

A Different Kind of Gusu Trio pt. 2

there’s an edit for this au now! by one of my friends! who is very sweet! link

“Uncle,” Lan Xichen says, his brush still held in his hand as he speaks, his eyes focused on his uncle’s bowed head, “I’ve decided not to expel Young Master Wei and the rest of the Jiang disciples.” He says it cheerfully, as though it would keep his uncle from arguing with him.

“The elders have already made their decision, Xichen.” Lan Qiren says, setting down his own brush and frowning. A decision that he’d been conveniently left out of, Lan Xichen remembers, his smile threatening to fall as he continues to draft a letter to the Laoling Qin. He’d yet to write a letter to Jiang Yanli to give his account of what had happened, the intention had been to bide time and take care with the words, but Lan Xichen knows that he’s stalling.

He knew it wasn’t a fair punishment, he’d heard the repeated insult of his friend from at least three different disciples aside from Wei Wuxian, and Lan Xichen had done everything he could to stop himself from coming down harder on Jin Zixuan.

“I am aware of the decision, Uncle, as sect leader, I’ve decided to overlook it.” It was entirely too early in his position to be pulling at these kinds of threads, but Wei Wuxian had been in the right, and that was the most important thing, wasn’t it?

Lan Qiren sighs and sets both of his hands on the table in front of him, leaning forward ever so slightly like he used to do when he and Wangji had been children. “Whatever affection you hold for Lady Jiang cannot cloud your judgement now, Xichen.” His uncle sounds exhausted as he speaks, like he had when Wangji had taken to kneeling outside their mother’s house in the snow.

Lan Xichen had long since stopped drafting his letter to the Laoling Qin, ink seeps into the paper and onto his desk as he forces himself to keep smiling in spite of the insinuation. “Jiang Yanli is my sworn sister, Uncle.” Lan Xichen reminds, leaving no room for argument within the statement before he continues on. “Young Master Wei is already an exceptional cultivator, it would be negligent of the Lan clan to allow him to leave before honing his skills under our instruction.” He’d been planning this argument out in his head since he’d been informed of the elder’s decision, he wouldn’t back down now.

“Wei Ying is a heretic and a menace.” Lan Qiren nearly interrupts, his voice getting louder, “The boy had a thick enough face to propose the use of demonic cultivation in a room full of disciples, he drives Wangji to distraction, not to mention the incident with Young Master Jin, and you’re suggesting we reward this behavior?” Lan Xichen rolls his shoulders back as his uncle keeps speaking, allowing the smile to drop off his face entirely as he sets down his brush.

“Young Master Wei will indeed be punished for causing a disturbance, as well as shouting and running within Cloud Recesses,” Lan Xichen says, knowing how long his uncle’s list could truly get if he let him continue on, “as will Young Master Jin. What I’m suggesting, Uncle, is that with enough study and meditation, Young Master Wei’s impulses and temperament could very well improve.” Lan Xichen can feel himself getting riled and pulls himself back, it didn’t matter that he agreed with what Wei Wuxian had done, there had to be at least some form of punishment, if only to appease the clan elders.

His uncle doesn’t need to know that he’d promised Jiang Yanli and Nie Mingjue both that he’d look after their younger brothers while they were here, but he intended to keep the secret all the same.

A few moments of stiff silence fill the Hanshi, neither of them moving or looking away from one another before Lan Qiren sits back with something between a sigh and a growl. “Fine. Do as you will, Xichen.” Lan Qiren says finally, picking up his brush once more with a flick of his sleeve that, coming from anyone else, Lan Xichen could have accused of being passive aggressive.

“Thank you, Uncle.” Lan Xichen says, inclining his head and smiling once again. It’s only when Lan Qiren says nothing that Lan Xichen realizes that his letter has now been ruined and soaked through with ink.

It’s another few hours before he manages to run into Wei Wuxian on his way to the administrative offices, three letters held in his hand that Wei Wuxian’s eyes settle on immediately. Lan Xichen decides not to call him out for the way he pales at the sight of them.

“Is Grandmaster Lan still worked up?” Wei Wuxian asks him, smiling sheepishly and folding his arms behind his back when Lan Xichen gestures for him to follow. He has no doubts that his uncle had told Wei Wuxian exactly what his punishment would be long before the elders met to decide, a finger raised in his face while his own approached a shade of purple Lan Xichen once thought specific to the Jiang sect.

Stifling a chuckle, Lan Xichen smiles and shakes his head. “I’ve managed to talk uncle down.” It wasn’t a complete lie, uncle had told him to do as he pleased and Lan Xichen was going to do exactly that, he was sect leader now and it was his responsibility. “I still have to meet with your uncle and Sect Leader Jin, but I’ve managed to find a more appropriate punishment.”

Wei Wuxian’s cheeks puff out in a pout next to him as he crosses his arms over his chest. “You heard what he said about Shijie, I couldn’t let it slide.” Wei Wuxian defends, looking every bit as scolded as Jiang Yanli joked that he did when he was in trouble.

“I don’t disagree with what you did, Young Master Wei.” Lan Xichen says plainly, biting back a smile when he sees surprise pass over Wei Wuxian’s face before he continues. “Your sister is a very dear friend of mine, and I find Young Master Jin’s actions were uncalled for and childish at best.” Lan Xichen doesn’t tell Wei Wuxian what he considers Jin Zixuan’s actions at their worst, he’d save that kind of talk for Nie Mingjue.

“Some sort of punishment is to be called for, things standing as they are, Young Master Wei.” Lan Xichen finishes, making sure to look Wei Wuxian in the eyes as he speaks, and to his surprise, Wei Wuxian nods and doesn’t argue anymore, though Lan Xichen can see gears turning in his eyes.

“Does that mean more copying in the library pavilion with Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian knocks his shoulder into Lan Xichen as they walk together, grinning up at him the same way he’d seen him do to Jiang Cheng.

It makes it that much easier to smile back at him. “Another stipulation of your punishment, Young Master Wei, is that I’m to be the one to administer it.” The grin falls off of Wei Wuxian’s face almost immediately and it takes his years of restraint not to laugh as he walks ahead to the administrative offices without turning around once.

~

“Traitor.” Nie Mingjue calls as he watches Nie Huaisang plaster himself to Jiang Yanli’s side, and Nie Huaisang makes a show of turning his head and sticking his tongue out at his older brother.

The way Nie Mingjue shakes his head isn’t unfond when Jiang Yanli looks back up at him. She could remind him that he doesn’t have any room to talk, that when her brothers had flanked him on either side and asked question after question about sword forms and cultivation techniques, he’d indulged them and answered every question he could, which had only led to more questions.

Instead she smiles back at him before she lets Nie Huaisang pull her over to a market stall selling bolts of fabric. “If the two of you ever come to Lotus Pier, we could make the trip to Yunping, some of the merchants there even let us watch them dye the silks last time.” Jiang Yanli hums, leaning over Nie Huaisang’s shoulder to look at them, he was shorter than his brother, Jiang Yanli actually had a chance of doing it.

“Keep telling him stuff like that and I’ll never get him back here, Yanli.” Nie Mingjue says, coming to stand next to her. It had been a stroke of luck that the cultivation conference was being held in Qinghe, a gift that Jiang Yanli wouldn’t look too hard at, her father had even agreed to leave a few days early so she could visit with her friends before the work started.

“I’m sure A-Xian, A-Cheng,  and Lan Wangji could find him and bring him back to you again.” Jiang Yanli teases, hiding her laugh behind her sleeve when Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I don’t want to have your brothers and Lan Wangji fighting fairy statues every time A-Sang gets it into his head to wander off.”

“Da-ge, you already punished me for that.” Nie Huaisang says as easily as he might comment about the weather, happily humming as money and bolts of fabric change hands.

“Making you practice with your saber is hardly a punishment, A-Sang.” They’re standing in front of each other now, Nie Mingjue’s arms still crossed and Nie Huaisang tapping his fan against the palm of his hand. Nie Mingjue had told her about these stand-offs, how they usually led to nothing more than him letting his brother off the hook.

“At the ungodly hours you train at! Yanli-jie, it was earlier than the Lans expected us to wake up! He torments me,” Nie Huaisang turns to her as he whines, throwing himself against her side again and nearly toppling the both of them before Nie Mingjue puts a hand out to steady them.

Once she’s not in danger of falling over she sighs and smiles, before she nudges a lock of hair out of Nie Huaisang’s face. “Your Da-ge only wants what’s best for you, A-Sang.” She chides him lightly, the same way she’d speak to her own brothers, her smile only widening when Nie Mingjue snorts and Nie Huaisang pushes away from her.

“I should have known you’d be on his side! You’re as bad as Er-ge, Yanli-jie!” Nie Huaisang calls over his shoulder as he walks off, looking truly victimized as Nie Mingjue steps closer to her side, the smile still on his face as he struggles to stop laughing.

“Xichen and the rest of the Lan attachment should be arriving soon.” Nie Mingjue says, laughter still clinging to the edge of his voice as he nudges her with his elbow, the most he could get away with since their half-hearted attempt at a chaperone had stomped off.

“We’ll have to find my brothers before we go, A-Xian won’t forgive me if he doesn’t get to greet Lan Wangji when he arrives.” It was such a silly thing, but her brother acted as though he wouldn’t get to see Lan Wangji at all if he didn’t get to greet him first, it was as cute to her as it was frustrating to Jiang Cheng.

“Does that mean what I think it means?” Nie Mingjue asks as they start walking back to the entrance hall of Unclean Realm. The three of them didn’t hide anything in the letters they’d sent to each other, even if it meant that they all had to suffer from the same headaches that came from Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji missing each other’s signals completely.

“After Xichen pushed them into a closet and put a spell on the lock?” Jiang Yanli asks, grinning when she thinks about the letter she’d received from Lan Xichen, and then the one from Wei Wuxian a week later, one from a fellow conspirator and the other from her poor, scandalized, little brother. “Unfortunately not.”

Nie Mingjue stops them both in the middle of the path then, his eyes wide in confusion, “How?!” It’s Jiang Yanli’s turn to laugh out loud now, bending forward slightly before she pulls herself back.

“A-Xian is oblivious and Lan Wangji is a perfect gentleman.” Jiang Yanli explains with a shake of her head. She was sure there was more to it, but the bare bones of it would do, wouldn’t it?

“I’m going to tell them.” Nie Mingjue says, nodding ahead as they come into the courtyard and see Nie Huaisang giving Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng both an undoubtedly exaggerated report of what they’d done to him in the marketplace.

Jiang Yanli’s mouth drops open for just a minute before she taps the back of her hand against Nie Mingjue’s arm. “Mingjue, don’t you dare! They have to figure this out on their own.” Nie Mingjue seems to pause for a moment and then relents.

“Fine, but I’m joining in on the next idea that Xichen has.” Nie Mingjue says, though it looks like he’s working on a few of his own, and really, she’d welcome them, she’d already tried explaining matters of the heart to Wei Wuxian, and he’d asked her if she was talking about Jin Zixuan.

Jiang Yanli had decided to give it a rest then.

~

The three of them retire to their rooms one after the other that night, Jiang Yanli under the guise of being tired from the days events, Nie Mingjue under the threat of looming paperwork that threatened to swallow the rest of his desk, and Lan Xichen using the excuse of needing to meditate after such a long meeting.

It only takes an hour for all of them to manage to sneak into Nie Huaisang’s aviary, settling down around a smaller table than the one they’d sat at in Cloud Recesses, and with different tea, but the company is all the same.

“Uncle has added another thousand rules to the wall since Young Master Wei left.” Lan Xichen says with a grin as Nie Mingjue pours tea for all of them.

“Surely not just because of XianXian!” Jiang Yanli says, passing a plate of rose cakes over to Xichen, who pauses to think as he takes one for himself and two for Nie Mingjue.

“Not all of them, a few are dedicated to A-Sang, I’m sure.” He says, laughing now as he sets the plate onto the table.

“A-Sang has rules already, his were the ones about skipping class and leaving early.” Nie Mingjue announces, taking up the plate again and dropping two of the cakes onto Jiang Yanli’s plate when he sees that she hadn’t taken any, she doesn’t argue with him.

“Do not bring animals into the classrooms and do not draw on the back of exam scrolls.” Lan Xichen argues, lifting his finger, but not pointing like his uncle, and Jiang Yanli snorts into her cup of tea. “I can’t imagine who else those rules would be for.”

As if on cue, a canary lights upon the spot between Jiang Yanli and Lan Xichen, it’s head cocking to the side as if it were waiting for them to continue talking about it. Jiang Yanli offers the bird a crumb of her cakes before she thinks to stop herself. “I’m not defending you when A-Sang asks why his bird suddenly likes you better than him, Yanli.” Nie Mingjue says as the bird hops closer to her, hoping for more before flitting off to another perch.

“Were any rules added after Lan Wangji’s incident?” Jiang Yanli asks, intentionally stirring the pot as she pours more tea for the three of them. She’d nearly laughed for a week when she’d received that letter, enjoying every moment Lan Xichen spent lementing to her that he was happy his brother finally had friends his own age, but he hadn’t gone as far as to teach Lan Wangji how to not get caught.

Lan Xichen levels her with a look before he breaks the next second. “Do not sleep in another person’s room, do not thoughtlessly accept food or drink, and do not submit yourself the wills of others.” Lan Xichen supplies helpfully, listing off the ones he’d personally gone through and had his uncle clarify to avoid future confusion. Nie Mingjue’s shoulders come forward as he laughs, his head down just slightly.

“How have you been after what happened?” Lan Xichen asks after the cakes have run out, eyes focused on the empty plate in front of the three of them. He isn’t asking to be cruel, Jiang Yanli knows that, he’s asking because he cares, but the question still makes her draw into herself, Nie Mingjue’s hand landing on her arm in response.

“It’s manageable now.” She says, choosing her words at first, but then remembering who she’s with. “I am not the one he wants to be married to, and I don’t want a marriage like my mother and father’s, so it’s better that it happened now.” She smiles up at them sadly as she says it, Nie Mingjue’s hand tightening and Lan Xichen’s reaching out across the table for hers.

“He’s an idiot, we’ll find someone better for you.” Nie Mingjue says suddenly, “We’ll find someone who will treat you better than he ever could’ve, someone whose father isn’t a lech.” Hearing it is enough to make Jiang Yanli laugh again, her hands tightening on both of theirs now.

“I was unaware that the formidable Sect Leader Nie was such a skilled matchmaker.” Lan Xichen says with a raised eyebrow, and Nie Mingjue jerks his hand away from him, ignoring the grin he’d gotten in return.

“I can spot a good man or woman when I see one, Xichen.” Nie Mingjue defends and turns himself towards Jiang Yanli, “My first piece of advice is to cut that one loose. He’s nothing but trouble.” Nie Mingjue nods his head at Lan Xichen as he says it, refusing to give him another second of his attention.

“Don’t fight.” Jiang Yanli says, an unknown weight seeming to lift off of her heart by the second, “The two of you sound like A-Cheng and A-Xian when you do.”

“That’s not true,” Lan Xichen says, putting his hand on Nie Mingjue’s shoulder now, “Mingjue hasn’t threatened to break my legs once.”

“That can change, Sect Leader Lan.” Nie Mingjue says, elbowing Lan Xichen in the ribs, but nowhere near as hard as he could have.

They squabble and tease for a few more minutes, and Jiang Yanli doesn’t lift a finger to calm either of them down, instead she watches and laughs, refilling their cups of tea before the pot has a chance to go cold. She’s missed this. She missed the teasing and sneaking around late at night, the letters were nice, they got her through most of missing the two of them, but it wasn’t the same as having them right in front of her.

She’d missed them, Jiang Yanli acknowledges to herself, finishing her last cup of tea and smiling. They’d had a year together before, but they had a week together now, maybe two if the conference dragged out like it usually did, surely they could fit some of that time together, couldn’t they?

She would make sure that they did.

[honeyzen]

domesticated - k.d

genre: smut, petplay 

words: 4.4k 

warnings: kitten!play, dom doyoung, choking, unprotected sex (use protection!)

The sky outside darkened a midnight blue as you sat quietly on the couch, watching shapes and colours contort on the television. Your mouth widened in a yawn as shuffling footsteps wandered over from the kitchen, they gently pattered until your boyfriend Doyoung appeared from behind a wall. His eyes darted around the room as he set a bowl of popcorn on the table, fingers curling around a piece before he lumped down beside you. His tall frame slumped on the sofa, arm nearest to you stretching around, giving you the room the snake around his torso. Cosying into Doyoung you felt his fingers bury into your waist, his other hand reaching over and grabbing the remote. You felt the rumble of a pondering sigh, Doyoung beginning to flick through the channels as he always did. He was indecisive, easily bored and on nights like this, where neither had work the next day or a reason to protest, you knew how it would end.

Even the night you met he was like this.

In college, you had found it difficult to bond with anyone. Parties were too loud, being alone in your dorm was too quiet, balancing the two was near impossible. Especially when you hadn’t had much experience with people or being away from home in the first place. In the end, you relied heavily on your roommate to take you out and show you the way of the world. And she tried her hardest, it’s just that not much of it interested you though you did try your best.

After another night sat in the quietest room of a frat party, you began to feel despondent to the entire college experience altogether. You flicked through the books in the bedroom you’d barricaded yourself in, sighing when a porno magazine fell from between two classic novels. You bent over to pick it up, skirt riding high although it didn’t seem to matter alone in the room. As your fingers grabbed the corner as to avoid any residue that may linger between pages, you heard the oak door behind you open wide. A panic washed over you, heat rising to your cheeks as you half expected to spin around and find a drunken couple wanting to consummate. Instead, as you turned, while holding the magazine behind your back cautiously, you saw a sober looking man stood in the doorframe.

The blush hanging over your cheeks only intensified. His stature was large, shoulders broad in his blue, baggy jumper. Eyes big and brown, dark hair falling into his eyes as his slender fingers came up to brush it away. You stood speechless as his bottom lip became hooked beneath his teeth, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment before he stepped into the room. Your chest felt thick with embarrassment. You kept the magazine pressed tightly to your back, stepping back and the man stepped forward.

‘Sorry, I thought this room was free.’ You said quietly.

‘Uh, no, no, it’s fine honestly, I just um, usually keep my bedroom off limits while there’s parties. I like it, clean, don’t want people you know, in my bed.’ The man whispered, and despite the loud music, you could hear his every low toned word perfectly.

‘Understandable. I’m really sorry, I just kinda wanted to get out the way of everyone,’ you chuckled nervously, ‘I don’t really like parties that much.’

‘Like I said, it’s fine.’ The man smiled wide, exposing a gummy grin that only made you blush further. ‘I’m Doyoung by the way.’ He finished, reaching his hand out to shake yours.

Instinctively, you lurched forward. The magazine slipping out of your grip for just a moment, but long enough for it to drop to the ground. It splayed open on the carpet, thudding wide to the centre fold. Your chest tightened; stomach burned. You couldn’t bare to look back at what Doyoung was seeing.

‘I’m so sorry.’ You apologized quickly.

‘Where was that?’

‘Um, on the bookshelf, between Dracula and Wuthering Heights. It kinda just fell out, I, um, wanted to read.’ You laughed at how ridiculous you sounded.

‘Oh, right.’ Doyoung managed somehow to look more worried than you, his fingers scratching at his head. As his arm raised up, so did his jumper, revealing the soft toned torso beneath. You felt yourself tighten.

‘Look, I’m sorry, I should let you get to bed or,’ you mumbled as quickly as you could, wishing to vanish from the building altogether. You spun on your heels once again, bending down to pick up the magazine and return it to its owner. However, when you did, you actually saw what was sprawled across the pages.

A woman was sat on a red, leather sofa in a pristine lingerie, her privates covered though the sheerness left nothing to the imagination. Her arms were twisted behind her back, threaded together perfectly with thick, crimson rope. Her legs were wide open on the sofa, still covered in the same beautiful rope but this time only for aesthetic purposes. The expression on her face was that of pleasure, eyes closed, mouth wide kind of pleasure. Her makeup and hair was immaculate, untouched. It was a beautiful image, the kind that could have gotten away with being in an art gallery.

Confusion waved over you. The expectation of seeing unrealistic, graphic depictions of two women or a woman and a man had been dashed. There was only a soft, artistic image that left you with no words, only a deep yearning that maybe one day, you could be that woman. Clearly desired, clearly within someone’s control but beautiful and immaculate all the same.

Doyoung let out a withering sigh as you lifted the magazine and turned to face him. He stepped closer, fighting back the urge to rip the magazine from your grasp and throw it underneath his bed. Doyoung waited for you to wrinkle your face in disgust, to snicker at the image but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, you began to flick through the images. Turning your head to see all the sideward pages, tracing your fingers over the threads of rope that where consistent throughout the entire magazine. You pondered at it as though it were an art magazine, you seemed to appreciate it as one. Doyoung was gobsmacked.

After a few moments, you closed the magazine, handing it over to Doyoung. He gently took it from you, his fingers dancing over yours for a moment before the heat of his digits disappeared.

‘It’s beautiful.’ You said without thinking.

‘What?’

‘Um, it’s beautiful.’ You repeated.

‘Yeah, yeah, it is.’ Doyoung concurred nervously, staring at your features as they twisted in thought.

‘Do people actually do that? Or is it just for the pictures?’

‘You mean the, the rope?’ Doyoung asked politely as you merely nodding back shyly, your lip between your teeth.

‘I think I’d like to try it.’ You admitted, looking up at Doyoung to find his eyebrows scrunched in disbelief. ‘With you, please.’ You finished, not quite understanding what you’d asked for, but knowing in your gut that it felt right.

Nearly two years later and you were still trying out so many different, new things with Doyoung. When you met, you were both shy. Wrapped up in desires both of you thought no one but you had, but meeting each other, it gave you both the outlet you desperately needed. You often looked for things to try, often on nights like this when you both had time to kill. Whether it was between the pages of magazines or online, you found that both you and Doyoung had an endless stream of erotic things you wanted to try.

A ritual you’d created early into your relationship was looking at the trending page of a porn site, rooting around for something you hadn’t already done a thousand times and trying it. No pre-judgements, no reservations, just trying something to see the outcome. There were times when you or Doyoung decided the thing was not for you but often enough, both of you found that whatever you did, as long as it was with each other, it was perfect. This ritual however meant that things often got a little taboo which didn’t bother either of you but there was a certain stigma to some things and sometimes that did give you reservations. Out of an ingrained habit that was built into all people, when you saw something strange, it took a lot to try it. But with Doyoung, you never felt uncomfortable.

Doyoung sighed from beside you signally that he could find nothing to watch and so, the ritual begun.

You peered up at him, eyes big and doe. Doyoung waited for a moment before looking down and smiling warmly. ‘You wanna choose something tonight?’

Your mouth lifted to smile back at him, nodding happily, hands almost snatching the remote from your boyfriend. He chuckled. Usually you both picked, though really, you’d go along with whatever Doyoung wanted. Letting you choose without protesting was a special occasion and it made you light up like nothing else. You opened up the website on the television, still shy about looking at such lewd things in front of someone else on a large scale. The screen became sodden with erotic video links and dirty advertisements, all clearly made by men who knew nothing about women. You tutted to yourself, flicking down through the pages and pages until something towards the bottom left caught your eye.

‘Naughty kitten punished.’

With eyebrows knotted you turned to Doyoung. ‘Is this really a thing? Dressing up like a cat, I mean, I know I’ve done it for Halloween but for, fucking?’

‘Of course, it is. If you can think of it, there’s probably porn made of it.’ He retorted with a smirk wiped across his lips.

‘I don’t like that sentiment.’

‘So, that’s a no?’ Doyoung peered, careening his head to stare his umber orbs into yours. His grip around your side tightened a little, allowing you to feel the warmth emanating from beneath his black t-shirt. From habit, you closed your eyes, enjoying the small circles he drew into your hip.

‘Well?’

‘I, I mean, it’s weird, right? Dressing up like an animal?’ You said sceptically.

‘Obviously, but it’s not out of the league of what we’ve done before.’ Doyoung added.

‘I guess.’

‘It’s your call, princess.’

‘Uh, I mean, I have the costume… maybe it’d be nice to get some use out of it?’ You felt yourself defending your ideas, ideas that you knew deep down Doyoung would never judge. And yet, the shame of desire was so engrained in you, that you could not help it.

‘Let’s go get you dressed then.’ Doyoung smiled, standing from the couch, his stature above you like a skyscraper. You fought back the urge to reach out for his jean button right then and instead smiled to yourself with sparks alight in your mind.

‘Maybe I should go alone, if you come, we’ll never get back out the bedroom.’ You taunted standing up beside Doyoung. His smile lowered as yours grew ten-fold. You found your hands resting on Doyoung’s wide shoulders, pushing him back slightly until he sat back against the sofa. His legs widened, back slumping, as though inviting you to sit atop him, instead, you began walking to the bedroom, a chuckle leaving your mouth.

After sulking into the bedroom, you shared with your boyfriend, you began the hunt for the outfit you’d worn once and long forgotten. While it was true that Doyoung accompanying you would’ve lead to something before you’d be able to grasp the costume, you also needed to root through your messy wardrobe for it. Which was, undoubtably, a mood killer. Through grumbles and profanities, your hands dived through piles of clothes, each pile loosely organised by occasion. Dating Doyoung meant that the fancy dress pile was rather large and took some time to sift through. Until, almost at the bottom of the pile, two clip on ears poked out. As you grasped them, the soft fur tickled your palm, their deep brown nearly matching Doyoung’s eyes. Beneath the ears was a pink, leather collar that Doyoung had gifted you separate from the costume and to match, you pulled a set of pink, lacy lingerie from another messy pile.

You tugged down your sweatpants and removed the hoodie you’d stolen from Doyoung earlier in the day and pulled the pink lace over your head. The soft material felt like warm honey on your skin, and perfectly covered your body enough that you felt like the woman in that magazine. After slithering the undies up your bare legs, you grappled the ears once more. With fur between your fingers, you attached them high on your head, staring in the mirror at how sweet the clips looked. You smiled strangely excited for what you had been a little weirded out at first.

Staring down at your collar, a thought came to you, bringing warmth to your loin. You wandered over to a set of draws by the bed, heaved open the bottom section and pulled out a chain leash, the metal clasps jingling as you did so. Your smile grew as you flattened your hair and prepared yourself.

Timidly, you tiptoed back into the living room, head low as you approached where Doyoung still sat. With open palms, you knelt before your boyfriend, raising the items that sat atop your hands. After a few moments of silence, you peered up gently, looking over his face for any kind of emotion.

‘Look down.’ He muttered sullenly.

You followed his order immediately, keeping your palms up but eyes toward the hardwood floor. After another moment, the weight of the chain and collar disappeared and Doyoung’s feet came into your view and moved behind you. Though a cautious wave of anxiety rolled through your stomach, you still remained staring at the floor in silence. A sigh passed through your lips as cold fingers brushed your hair aside and cool leather pressed against your throat. Doyoung’s cold digits appeared again as he buckled up the collar and latched on the chain leash to hold you in place.

His hand remained low of the chain, gripping it so tight that it choked you slightly but still, you stared at the ground, motionless. A low snicker came from behind you, making your stomach swirl and tighten as moisture moved toward your heat. It was torture not to turn and look at him but following his orders was more important. You waited for what felt like forever until a palm mellowed over the top of your head, soothing over your hair, and following over the ears. Doyoung’s frame moved around you, allowing for you to see his lower legs once more and just knowing he was there, that he was the one touching you made it harder not to look up.

‘Look up at me baby.’ Doyoung finally said.

Your head snapped up immediately, big eyes staring desperately toward Doyoung and the grin smeared across his face. The confidence clearing instilled in him was terrifying and so, so arousing. You mewled, Doyoung raising his eyebrows as he smoothed over your head once more. From instinct you pushed your head up into his palm, nuzzling close to feel warmth from him.

‘My good kitten.’

A warmth filled your lower region, burning with every moment Doyoung touched you in any way. Until suddenly, a large heave bevelled through your body, the chain rattling as you were forced to push into Doyoung’s legs. Your hands leant atop his feet, wide eyes begging him to do something, anything. Doyoung merely grinned, tugging on the chain once more as he sat back on the couch and pulled you between his legs. Your features faced his crotch, mouth only a few inches from his covered length that tented his tight jeans. Just seeing you knelt before him, perky ears and collar and pink lace made him unimaginably hard and Doyoung struggled to compose himself. One more tug on your leash and your chin came to sit above his thigh. Doyoung released the chain, sitting it beside himself as he moved his fingers to his jeans.

You felt yourself smile, knowing what was to come. Pushing your face against his thigh, you purred, nose nuzzling into his clothed muscles. Doyoung let out a splintered moan, coaxing you to continue. As you did, you heard the undoing of a zip and rustling of thick material. The silence that settled in after is what made you look up, your eyes widening as you saw Doyoung holding his member tightly, slowly moving his hand up and down. He kept his darkened gaze locked upon you. Moving his other hand, Doyoung cupped your cheeks, soothing his thumb over the blush that painted your skin. His fingers moved slowly until he danced them to the back of your neck, his grip tightening and forcing your face forward. He pulled violently until you were face to face with his length.

‘Go on, kitten.’ Doyoung whispered.

He pushed his length toward you slightly, allowing your lips to engulf the tip and sink down the shaft. Doyoung let his head fall back against the sofa pillow and a low growl fall from his mouth. His noises only propelled you to continue, head bobbing up and down quickly as his member began to hit the back of your throat. It burnt, a kind of burning that travelled all the way down to your core, that was beginning to drip with desire. You lifted your hands and placed them atop Doyoung’s thighs for stability. Doyoung gripped your hair, twisting it into a makeshift ponytail and using it to control your pace. The tightness spread all over your body and ached in your loin. A need for Doyoung to be buried deep within you exploded.

The speed became relentless as you peered upward, staring at Doyoung’s scrunched up features; small, rhythmic groans pouring from his lips. You longed to kiss him, to nuzzle your fuzzy ears into the crook of his neck. You wished to be his pet forever.

‘Baby, stop, stop.’ Doyoung repeated frantically, pulling your mouth off his length by your hair. You understood why he stopped, for he wanted to be within you just as much as you wanted him inside you, but the loss of contact hurt, nonetheless. Spit dribbled from your lips, lining from Doyoung’s member to your mouth. He groaned low once more as you mewled, staring up at him with pleading eyes.

Watching from the ground, Doyoung pushed his hard member back in his jeans, sat up straight and patted his lap. You nearly leap up, pouncing onto Doyoung like the kitten you were pretending to be. With legs either side of him and arms slung over his shoulders, you waited. His expression twisted into a smirk, a devilish thought swirling around his mind.

‘Lie down on me, ass up.’ He muttered sternly. You watched his eyes for a further moment before Doyoung raised his eyebrows and nodded downward at his lap. You lifted yourself slightly and flipped over, placing your waist in Doyoung’s lap. Your face burrowed into the couch, feet kicking the edge of the seat and heat pressing directly onto Doyoung’s still stiff length. After a second, you felt as your boyfriend pulled your lace underwear down your thighs, cold fingers dragging over your skin. He lingered them back up to your ass, spreading his palm wide over the flesh. Doyoung kept it there for a moment, still and gentle, your stomach settling before suddenly, his touch disappeared and reappeared with a sharp, jolting sting.

A yelp came spurting out your lips, a chuckling emanating from Doyoung as again, his touch left and smacked back down. You mewled helplessly, another slap.

‘Count for me, okay kitten, five more.’ He said softly, swaying his hand over your red, hot skin before once more, lifting it and slapping it back down. A gasp escaped your throat.

‘One.’

Doyoung chuckled again, forcing down a particularly devilish spank.

‘Two.’

Your ass burnt painfully, the side that Doyoung had been slapping beginning to feel bruised and swollen. It was beautiful, and as another hit pummelled down upon you, a wave of pleasure rippled through you.

‘Three.’

Another.

‘Four.’

Doyoung soothed over your skin one more time as he lifted his hand and brought it down mercilessly. You yelped once more, feeling the other side burn just as the first. A small tear spat from your eye, trickling down your cheek and dripping onto the couch below.

‘Five.’ You croaked.

You lay down for a moment, air aggressively attacking your bruised ass as Doyoung removed his hand and placed into on the back of your thigh. He gently stroked the skin, giving you a few moments to catch your breath and recuperate.

Doyoung held onto your upper arm, pulling you up to kneel beside him. A finger coming up to swipe away a stray tear.

‘Do you wanna stop? We can?’ He enquired softly; eyes tender as his hand careened your jaw.

‘Fuck no.’ You said, leaping over once more to sit back in Doyoung’s lap, legs either side of his and lips reaching forward to kiss the man beneath you. With mouths collided, you wrangled your arms around Doyoung’s shoulders, his tongue darting between your lips and exploring your mouth. Instinctively, you began playing with the hair on the back of his neck, pulling slightly so Doyoung tilted his head back. You took advantage of the position, dragging your lips down to kiss and nibble at his slender neck. Doyoung groaned, his hands wandering to the underwear that still sat at your thighs, pulling them lower until they could no longer move. You felt the material dig into your flesh, stuck in their current position. While you wanted your bare heat to sit against Doyoung, you dreaded the idea of moving. He tugged again, helpless.

‘Rip them, rip them please, please.’ You begged, merely wanting to feel him beneath you, desperate for any pressure or friction against your heat.

‘Sure?’

‘Do it.’

Doyoung wrapped his fingers around one side of the fragile, lacy material and heaved it apart. The sound of ripping filled the room as Doyoung groaned, moving the material away as finally, he had access to your core. You felt the bulge in his jeans harden once more, pressed tight to the wetness that was pooling from within you. It burnt to be so close but separated by the already unzipped jeans. Doyoung held your hips, pushing you down to tease. A whimper fell from your lips.

‘Aw, is my kitten desperate? What does she want?’

‘You, please, I want you.’ You mumbled, unable to speak properly from sheer desperation.

‘Want me? To do what?’

‘I want you to fuck me! Please, fuck me!’ You almost screamed helplessly, Doyoung merely grinning, proud he had made you so desperate.

With his hands on your hips, Doyoung pushed you backwards further down his thighs. Giving him enough room to pull his jeans below his waist, allowing his hard member to spring gently from the material. It clung, pressed between his groin and your heat, that had, by now, created a wet patch on Doyoung’s trousers. You pushed upward, kneeling as you moved back up the thighs below you. Doyoung held your waist with one hand and with the other, moved his member to the entrance of your core. He was moving slow, but you wanted him, wanted him buried within you. And so, you pushed downward, feeling as you sunk onto Doyoung and he disappeared within you.

Doyoung let out a moan as you whimpered. The feeling of him inside you, putting pressure against you was intoxicating, so intoxicating that you could not move for a moment. As you began moving, slowly up and down Doyoung’s length, every inch of him burnt against every inch of you. The man below held desperately onto your hips, pulling you up and down to take complete control of the pace. The rhythmic tempo made a coil of pleasure begin to spin in your stomach, the grip upon you tight and almost painful. Another whimper fell from your lips as Doyoung let his head tilt back in pleasure. You shook, placing your hands upon his shoulders for stability, body nearly slumping against him.

His fingers began to trail up your body, tracing the pink, sheer lace that covered your breasts, swirling past and up your throat. His journey stopped, fingers halting and spreading up against your skin as he grappled the chain that attached to the collar. You let a loud moan explode into the atmosphere as you lifted yourself up and down Doyoung’s member, the pleasure in your loin beginning to burn. Low growls fell from Doyoung’s mouth, filling your ears like music as his grip upon you, both on your waist and collar, tightened. Air tightly passed through your windpipe, head spinning as you arched yourself quicker upon Doyoung. He growled loudly, his face scrunching up in pleasure as you felt him release inside of you, the warm liquid applying even more pressure inside your heat. The hot, wet feeling made you complete, and you felt yourself tighten and spasm on his member.

A last, prolonged mewl fell from your lips as you ceased your movements, still sat upon Doyoung’s member. His tempered sighs filled the room, grip on your collar loosening and hand falling back to your waist. You fell into Doyoung. Chests pressed together as sweat mixed like a cocktail of pleasure and sleepiness. Doyoung wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close, your cheek pressed flush against the crook of his neck. While holding you, Doyoung lifted slightly, giving him enough room to remove himself from your heat. A stifled moan fell from both of you, heat swelling around the room. You sighed, sleepy upon your equally tired boyfriend.

‘That was nice.’ You whimpered in a hushed tone.

‘It was, wasn’t it?’ Doyoung agreed, your head tilting upward to stare into his big, doe eyes. ‘C’mon kitten, let’s go and get you cleaned up and in bed.’ He soothed, fingers weaving through your hair as you purred once more against his chest. Nuzzling into him as your ears nudged his chin.

[dcbutinamrev]

Dancing Queen (Historical Lams)

*This literally came to me last night. So, enjoy this fluffy oneshot after all the angst I have written! Feel free to send in Lams oneshot prompts/requests! They’re always welcomed!* 

*** 

Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton sits at the rectangular wooden table along with their close friends and aide-de-camps: Richard Kidder Meade, Tench Tilghman, Robert Hanson Harrison, and John Fitzgerald. Hamilton and Laurens sit beside each other, closer than usual. It’s a quiet, peaceful evening with their friends chatting around them quietly as they work, birds chirping outside, some horses whinning, white-feathered quills scratching agaisnt the parchment sprawled out in front of them. Candles flickering. 

Hamilton bites his lip as he fights back a smirk as he sneaks a glance at his beloved Laurens. He sighs dreamily and feeling bold,stops his writing and rests his freckled cheek in his palm, gazing up at his Laurens dreamily. Laurens hunches over in his seat as the others, his brows furrowed together and his rich sky-blue eyes are narrowed with deep concentration. Hamilton notices a crease forms in his forehead underneath the honey-blonde bangs that dangle in front of his eyes. His honey-colored hair pulled back in a braided ponytail draped over his neck, secured tightly with the traditional dark blue ribbon. He wears only his long-sleeved white, ruffled shirt and breeches and his boots. His Continental blue coat draped over the back of his chair. 

Laurens shifts his eyes over towards Hamilton’s when he feels as though he’s being watched. Laurens raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his face when he sees Hamilton  gazing up at him. Laurens winks once before going back to his work. Hamilton pinches his lips together tightly, his dark blue eyes, that has a light shade of violet, grow wide as a deep hue of red, red as his hair, dusts across his cheeks as he whips his head back towards his work. 

“Bonjoure, mon amies!” the Marquis de Lafayette bellows, bursting into the aide-de-camp office with his arms open wide and a beaming smile on his face. 

Hamilton gasps with relief and excitment as he shoots upright from his chair and rushes over towards his old friend, barrelling right into him, Lafayette chuckles as he stumbles backwards a little but thankfully catches hold of the doorframe to catch his balance. 

“Marquis!” Hamilton gasps as he pulls apart from their embrace. Lafayette smiles wide, pats Hamilton on the shoulder once before greeting him properly with the traditional faire la baise. “It’s so good to see you again! Back and safely returned to us once more!” 

“Ah, petit lion,” Lafayette says. “It’s so good to see again as well! How do you fare?” 

Hamilton shrugs. “I am well. Thank you. Please! Please! Come in! There should be enough room at the table for you!” 

Hamilton pushes Lafayette inside the office eagerly while Lafayette merely chuckles, rolling his eyes affectionately as he sits himself down. Lafayette laughs and nods as he greets each of his old friends. He freezes when his eyes land on Laurens and smiles wide. 

“Ah! Monsuire Laurens!” Lafayette says, embracing Laurens tightly. 

“Marquis,” Laurens says, tipping his head slightly. Hamilton stands daringly close beside him, smiling wide up at the two. “It’s so good to see you again.” Laurens clenches his fists to fight back the urge to wrap an arm around Hamilton. 

“You as well,” the Marquis says. 

“Lafayette...” says a voice. A voice that is calm and steady yet terse at the same time. 

All heads turn to face General Washington walking down the steps and into the office with a warm, gentle smile on his face. A rare sight. Lafayette smiles respectfully and bows with his arms stiff at his side. Washington bows as well before greeting each other with the faire la baise. 

“It’s good to have you back,” Washington says, patting Lafayette’s shoulder.

“It’s good to be back, mon General,” Lafayette says, embracing Washington once more. 

“Gentleman,” Washington says, turning to face the other aides among them. 

The aides all come to attention: backs stiff and straight, eyes transfixed on the General, jaws clenched, arms stiff at their sides. General Washington walks around the table towards the head of the table and rests his hands upon it. 

“I have recieved a letter from uh...a Miss Potts I believe her name was...and she invitied us tonight to uh...to...” 

“To what, Your Exellency?” Tilghman questions. 

“Well, in shorter terms, to have an evening ball.”

Hamilton and Laurens both glance at each other before back at the General. 

“Tonight?” Laurens says, raising an eyebrow. 

Washington nods. “Yes. We are to leave momentarily.” 

Hamilton and Laurens gapes at the General as he sits himself down to return a reply to Miss Potts. 

~~~ 

Night comes quicker than any of them could expect. It’s almost pitch-black, but not nearly. Hamilton sits on their bed in their shared room, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeve, biting his lower lip as his leg bounces up and down. Laurens frowns in the mirror’s reflection as he adjusts his cravat and glances at him over his shoulder. 

“Are you alright, my dear boy?” Laurens asks. 

Hamilton swallows. “I uh...I guess you could say...I am a little nervous...” 

“Nervous?” Laurens inquires, tilting his head as he reaches for his blue Continental coat, sliding his arms through the sleeves. “About what?” 

Hamilton swallows again as he nervously stands up and stands in front of Laurens, smoothing out any wrinkles in his uniform. Hamilton grins as he glances up at Laurens. 

“Ah, well...I am not that great of a dancer and uh...well...what...what would I do if I should make a full of myself?” Hamilton says. 

Laurens chuckles as he leans down to peck Hamilton’s lips, nudging his nose agaisnt Hamilton’s. “You will not.” 

“I won’t?” 

Laurens shakes his head. “No. You shall not. I will not let you.” 

Hamilton giggles, rolling his eyes as he leans agaisnt Laurens, closing his eyes as he listens to Laurens’s heartbeat. Laurens smiles fondly before pressing a kiss to Hamilton’s russet curls.

“Oh, Jack...always being the hero...”‘ Hamilton chuckles. 

Laurens hums as he presses his lips to Hamilton’s, wrapping his arms around his waist and just holding him, his cheek on Hamilton’s head. Laurens smiles to himself as he envisoins his Hamilton in his arms, twirling and spinning around the room, being able to kiss him without the fear of horrified punishment. Seeing Hamilton smile, hearing his laugh. 

I’ll make it happen, Laurens glances back down at Hamilton as best he can. For him. For us. 

~~~ 

The aides along with the General himself arrives at Miss Potts residence. Carriages line up the sidewalk, women and officers walking in and out of the house. Hamilton stands near Laurens, eyeing the house warily and swallowing with nervousness. Daringly, Laurens brushes his knuckles agaisnt Hamilton’s at their sides. Hamitlon fights the urge to slide his fingers through Laurens’s. 

The General and Lafayette are the first to enter the house. As the door swings open, Hamilton could hear people laughing about inside, wine glasses clinking, music playing inside. Through the small crack as the door closes, Hamlton could see women’s dresses twirling about faintly. Hamilton swallows, letting out a nervous breath. 

“Are you coming, Alexander?” Laurens asks over his shoulder. 

Hamilton nods as he jogs up to Laurens and as the two climb the porch steps, Hamilton asks, “John? What if...what if they...what if they take me away from you?” 

Laurens frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“What if the women in there? What if they decide to dance with me?” 

Laurens laughs as he opens the door for Hamilton. “That’s what you’re afraid of? If that be so, then do not fear, Alexander. I will not be upset.” 

Hamilton frowns. “Are you sure?” 

Laurens nods. “Yes.” 

Hamilton waits as he watches Laurens discuss something with the musician holding the violin. Hamilton frowns when Laurens nods his head in his direction. The violinist nods with a kind smile before continuing his piece. Laurens manuvers through the twirling dresses and coats and stands in front of Hamilton with a smduge look on his face. Hamilton looks slightly terrified yet unimpressed. 

“John...what did you do?” Hamilton demands. 

Laurens shrugs. “You’ll see, Alexander. You’ll see.” 

After a few minutes, the women and men on the floor bow to each other once their dance was finished. Laurens eyes the violinist who nods at the other men by the instruments and begins his piece, a slow steady pace. Hamitlon frowns, his eyes widening with realization as Laurens comes to stand in front of him. 

Hamilton gasps sharply, fear clearly written in his eyes as he feels others eyeing them. Some have small smiles on their faces, some eye them curiously, some sipping their wine. Hamilton’s eyes lands on Lafayette’s. Lafayette smiles wide and nods. He then spots the General beside him who also nods. Hamilton swallows before turning back to Laurens, who extends his hand out towards him.

“Will you do me the honor and join me in this dance?” Laurens says, a smirk on his face and an eyebrow raised. “Alexander?”  

Hamitlon swallows again as he slowly glances around the room, fear squeezing his chest. 

“John...what are you doing?” Hamilton whispers. 

“What does it look like?” Laurens counters. “I’m offering you a dance, Alexander.” 

“But...but...” 

“Shh. Let’s not think about that. They only view us as friends. They do not know my true intention.” 

A pause. Hamilton stares at Laurens with disbelief. Laurens clears his throat. 

“Will you do me the honor of joining me in this dance, Colonel Hamilton?” Laurens says with a grin to his face. 

Hamilton swallows again, licks his lips once, smiling before nodding. He rests his hand in Laurens and Laurens helps Hamilton to his feet. Hamitlon tries not to eye the others watching as Laurens leads him to the middle of the floor but he fails a that. Hamilton rests his hand on Laurens’s shoulder, while the other dangerously threads through Laurens’s. Laurens grins as he rests his hand on Hamilton’s hip, squeezing Hamilton’s hand as they start to glide around the floor in a bobbing motion. They’re eyes never leaving each other’s. 

“You are a reckless fool, Jack,” Hamilton whispers sharply. 

Laurens laughs as he lifts their threaded hands overhead. Hamilton blushes a deep shade of red as he twirls around under their lifted arms before going back to their original position. They continue bobbing up and down, their chest scarily close. Their lips a breath apart. 

“Anything for you, my Dancing Queen...anything...” Laurens whispers into Hamilton’s ear. 

Hamilton shudders agaisnt Laurens’s breath and looks back up into his eyes. He raises an eyebrow. 

“Queen?” Hamilton asks. “Don’t you mean...King?” 

“Well, a King needs his Queen doesn’t he?” Laurens says. “If I am the King...then you, my Alex, will be my Dancing Queen.”

Hamilton giggles. He nods, so desperately wanting to kiss Laurens. “Of course.” 

Laurens smiles as he pulls Hamilton closer to him so his cheek is on Laurens’s shoulder. Hamilton blushes deeply, biting his lip. But he doesn’t feel fear this time. He feels an overwhelming sense of calmness. Of peace. 

“As you wish...my King...” 

[stones-x-bones]

When You Come Undone || Morgan and Bex

TIMING: A little after Bex went to see Kyle PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @inbextween SUMMARY: Morgan consoles Bex and gets her to finally admit that death is scary. CONTENT: PTSD mention, Domestic/Child Abuse mention

Bex woke up in her bed but didn’t remember how she got there. She remembered leaving to meet Kyle and pacing outside the cafe and seeing Kyle and then-- oh. Bex turned onto her side in her bed and found herself staring at her door. It was dark in the room, but it was still light outside, and it was streaming through the hastily closed curtains behind her. She was alone in the room, but she could hear voices outside her door. Stiffly, she sat up, wincing as her chest throbbed. She’d exerted herself too much. She always pushed herself too much. Squeezing her eyes shut as she braced herself through the wave of pain, arms shaking, she tried to recall how much damage she’d done. She remembered falling into the grass, could hear the sidewalk cracking beneath her fingertips as she crawled away. She remembered Kyle saying something to her, and then a frantic beating in her chest, and a scream. Another voice. A familiar one. It was the same voice on the other side of the door. Bex pressed her ear to it and closed her eyes, letting the cool touch of the wood calm the fire in her chest. Morgan was too far away for her to hear what she was saying, so she backed away and went back to her bed, sinking on top of the blankets as if her limbs were melting. Finally, the door opened and light streamed in and Bex looked across the room to see Morgan standing in her doorway. She had something in her hands-- water, food, maybe-- and what Bex presumed to be as worried of a look as she could muster right now. She turned away and curled her arms into her chest, hugging her pillow. She didn’t want to talk, but she wondered if Morgan would even fight her on it. 

Morgan went over the whole incident with Deirdre after she tucked Bex in bed. There was so much she didn’t know, but she could guess, couldn’t she? And what now? Did she let her sleep it off and keep blaming herself? Did she drag everything out of her? Morgan was at a loss, but at least she knew that Bex had to eat, and hydrate. She put together a little meal and some soothing tea and brought it up to Bex’s room on a tray.

“Hey, honey--?” She called softly, trying to gauge if she was awake. 

Bex was curled up in bed, clutching her pillow like it was the only thing keeping her on the ground.

“I brought you a little something to help you get your strength back. You’ll get sick if you stay like this on an empty stomach and dehydrated, and I know you don’t want that.” She came inside and set the tray on the nightstand, then sat on the bed next to the girl and trailed her fingertips along her stiff back. “We don’t have to talk about it right away, but you do need to take care of yourself, honey. Okay? Can you sit up a little on your own?”

Bex clutched her pillow tighter at the touch. She didn’t mean to, but she did. Her body was still taught from the afternoon, but she was tired, so tired. She felt as if someone had unplugged her or drained her energy through a funnel and taken every bit of her away with it. She buried her face in the pillow when Morgan sat on the bed, prodded her to sit up. She knew she needed to eat, to drink some water, to do something other than lay in this bed, but she didn’t want to. She just wanted to lay here, as if defeated after a long day. Except the day hadn’t been long, it had been short and painful and terrorizing. Her heart pumped a little faster at the thought and she squeezed until her knuckles turned white before unclenching. A technique she’d learned a long time ago to make herself tired, to calm herself down. She shifted to turn her head to look back at Morgan. She looked worried, possibly upset. Her eyes went to the tray of food. “I’m not hungry,” she mumbled, feeling much like a sick child, wasting away in a bed that she wished could swallow her whole.

Morgan brought her hand up to Bex’s hair, teasing out the tangles with a lighter touch than she’d used before. “I am familiar with that feeling,” she said. “I just want to help, Bex. I can hold you up, if you feel too weak. I know you like to do for yourself, but it’ll be harder if you wait till your body gets sick. And if you’re trying to punish yourself-- well, you already know what I’m going to say about that. But you don’t have to do things for yourself all the time. Sometimes you can do things for other people. For me, for Mina, maybe. You’re not alone in this world, honey. So you don’t have to act like you are. You are loved, always.” Slowly, Morgan shifted closer on the bed and checked Bex’s cheeks for tears with a brush of her fingers. “Tell me how I can help.”

She had not been crying, there wasn’t enough energy left in her for that. Bex supposed she’d screamed it all out while she relived her nightmare on the front lawn of the campus. It still played behind her eyelids and stung in her chest. Morgan’s soft voice broke through her mind just like it had not some few hours ago. Bex turned to look at her again before turning onto her other side to face Morgan, still gripping her pillow as it were her only lifeline. She felt hollowed out, empty, old versions of herself trying to replace the one that she’d worked so hard to grow. “That’s…never happened before,” she managed to say, throat grainy and raw, probably from all the screaming she’d done. She worked her way over until her head was on Morgan’s lap and drew in a shuddering breath. “I don’t understand why that happened.” Or maybe she did, but tucked away in all of the memories of hiding and holding it in and boxing her trauma, the instructions weren’t so clear. For all the times her parents broke her bones, they’d never made her fear dying.

Morgan let Bex settle on her and reached out to guide her lanky body a little closer to her. Taking their closeness as a cue, she brushed Bex’s hair off her shoulders and started combing her fingers slowly through. “Well, you’ve never had a near death experience before either,” she said softly, barely above a whisper. “That’s not your everyday, brush it off kind of trauma. That latches onto you, like with little hooks, or like tar. You have to get off you on purpose, intentionally, or it pulls you down whenever it wants. And that’s not an easy thing. Sometimes, working at it can feel like it’s sinking you anyway, so why bother. But you have to, so you can be free.”

Bex felt both full and empty at the same time. There was too much inside and yet not enough. She knew there was pain and fear but she didn’t know how to grab onto it and push it away. She burrowed her face into Morgan’s lap. She was being selfish, she knew it-- Morgan was dealing with her own trauma, her own death, and here Bex was, unable to even comprehend the fact that she’d nearly die. She’d nearly died. She almost died, alone in an alley. Bled out from a chest wound. Her body stiffened and threatened panic again, but she forced her eyes shut and held her breath. “I don’t want to think about it at all,” she murmured, “I just want it to go away.” 

“Sshh…” Morgan saw the tension clench in Bex’s back and brought her other hand down to rub it gently, as if she could coax the muscles into giving Bex an easier time with her pain. “You can’t go back, sweetheart,” she said. “Can you tell me what you saw? Not the whole thing, just the image, or the feeling. What happened for you when things started to go wrong?”

“I don’t want to,” Bex protested, putting a hand over her eyes, squeezing tight. “I don’t want to talk about it. It makes me feel sick and like I can’t breath and like it’s happening all over again.” And it kept happening, over and over and over again. An infinite loop in her head reminding her of what almost happened, what could’ve happened, what did happen. She was afraid of so much, she didn’t want to be afraid of more. But she was. She was. “I don’t know how to make it stop. It starts and I see-- and I feel-- like it’s happening again. But it’s not, I know it’s not. So why does it feel like it is?” 

“Because you can’t release what you won’t look at or touch, Bex,” Morgan sighed. “You can’t put up your clothes or take out the trash without at least seeing what you’re doing somehow, right? Help me understand. What is that feeling? Or that sight?” She gave her a gentle squeeze. “It won’t take you, and it can’t hurt me. Your magic couldn’t hurt me even if it tried. We’re safe here, together. And I just want to understand, Bex. I suffered something similar, so I can guess what that panic was like, and how your thoughts might have raced, how everything hurt, and maybe you felt tired, but also like you couldn’t stop, not for anything. But I don’t know everything. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.” Slowly, she moved her hand on the girls’ back to thread with the one over her eyes. “Not everything, I wouldn’t ask that of you, especially now. Just a piece, if you feel like you can.”

“No,” Bex cried, but her eyes were dry, “no. I can’t. I don’t want to. I don’t want to make you-- I can’t be a burden to you. You’re already-- I don’t want to.” She squeezed Morgan’s hand back. She couldn’t string sentences together as they all raced too quickly through her head. “I want to be better. I can be better for you,” she said before she realized what she was really saying. “I can be good. I can. I don’t want to make things harder. I didn’t mean to.” Her mind was shutting down again, but she tried to fight against it. She didn’t want to go back to that place. It was dragging her down, like Morgan said, little hooks. Drowning in tar. “I don’t want to go back there.” 

“Hey--Bex, hey--” Morgan slid down until she was flat on the bed and Bex’s head was propped up on her shoulder. “Listen to me, Bexley. You do not have to be good. Not for me, not for anyone here. You do not have to work harder or be better. You do not have to be anything other than what you are. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You do not have to whip yourself with guilt, or shame. You do not have to be good, Bex. Can you look at me and say that? Because I don’t do anything I don’t want to. I will not ask you for something and then shame you for giving it to me. If I am trying to crawl down the pit, it’s because I want to. The kind of pit you’re in, the kind of dark that’s pulling on you, is so hard for people who haven’t been touched by death to understand. And I want to be with you in it. Whether you talk to me about it or not, I want to be with you. Do you understand? Am I making sense right now?”

Bex clung to Morgan like she’d previously clung to her pillow. Fingers dug into cloth. You do not have to be good. Her heart stammered and jumped into her throat. How was she supposed to believe that? She wanted to believe it. You do not have to be good, Bex. She drew in a breath and held it, until her heartbeat slowed and she exhaled, long and sharp. She nodded against Morgan’s shoulder. “Okay,” she managed to breath out, “okay.” She understood-- or, at least, she could try to understand. She couldn’t really understand, how to not be good for someone. How to not make sure she was good so she didn’t make things hard or worse or be a burden. She didn’t understand because her mother had never let her know there was any other option. She drew in another shaky breath. “I-I heard him, you know,” she said barely above a whisper, “i-in my head. When he was--” she swallowed, jaw tightening, killing me, “--attacking me. I heard him.”

Morgan wrapped Bex up as tight as she could without pressing into her bandages. “I love you, just as you are, Bex. Good or not. Maybe especially not.” Without thinking, she pressed a kiss to the top of her head and cradled her against her chest the way she had ached for her mother to cradle her when her bones felt like they were going to snap after a fresh panic attack. Then she listened. “Oh, Bex,” she whispered sadly. She grazed her fingers through her hair, imagining she could comb out the memory. “And you don’t want to tell him, do you? But it feels different, knowing what that sounds like, how much of him is gone. Oh, Bex-- do you still hear it when you talk to him, or was it only when you saw him?”

Bex needed not to hold so tightly onto those words. She knew Morgan meant them, but she also knew the more she accepted them, the harder it would be when the eventuality came and she had to leave this place. She didn’t want to leave. There was a sudden chill in the room, or maybe it was just in her body, and she began to shiver. “How could I tell him that? It would ruin him,” she murmured, shaking her head, “I can’t do that to him. I can’t.” She couldn’t. She’d hurt him enough. Her chest ached, inside and out. “When I heard his voice,” she answered quietly, “when I saw his eyes. They-- they were the same. His eyes were…” they flashed in her mind again, human to wolf and Bex seized up, squeezing her eyes shut, breathing increasing for a moment. “I didn’t know I’d-- I didn’t know. I didn’t know,” she repeated into Morgan’s chest, shaking her head. “I didn’t know.”

Morgan gave Bex another squeezed and hushed her tense body. “You’re safe with me,” she whispered. She tried to imagine what hearing the voice of your death would be like, and worse, to see that face in someone you wanted to be close to. “No, of course not. That wouldn’t be kind. But it’s not kind to carry that alone either.” She would never be able to explain it, even Morgan struggled, thinking of Constance in her terrible youth and anger. What had she said? Had she supervillain laughed? Had she gone on a moral tirade? Or pronounced Morgan guilty? She shivered, starting to feel sick herself. “I am so very sorry, Bex,” she said at last, still whispering so as not to scare the girl out of her openness. “No one knows when something like that is going to happen to them. Even if they go in knowing it’s dangerous, it’s different when it happens, when the world stops and what’s in front of you can’t be real but it is. And not being able to do anything about it, that’s not something people expect either. I never did tell you how proud I am of you using your magic to get me and Mina to you in time. I was a little wrapped up in being terrified, but you fought for you and Kyle. You’re the reason it wasn’t worse. I know that’s not very comforting right now, but maybe someday. You did so well, and your compassion for your friend in the middle of all that fear, is so incredible, sweetheart. But you don’t have to be incredible all the time. You’re not betraying him, if you let yourself feel how scared you were, if you let that be real. Kyle’s your friend, not his wolf. Not anytime soon, at least.”

“I don’t know where else to put it,” Bex whispered, “I don’t know who else-- I can’t let anyone carry this. I-- I can’t.” She burrowed further into Morgan, still shaking in her arms. The more they talked, the more Bex remembered. The more she saw it. The more she fell back into the tar. But the word proud-- proud, she could hardly believe it was a real word anymore-- echoed in her head and she could feel some of the tar peeling away from her. Hot tears pooled down her cheeks before she realized they were there. “I was so scared,” she whispered, laying completely still on Morgan now, staring towards her door as if she expected all the answers to carve themselves into the wood, “I thought I was...I was sure I was going to die.” It was the first time she’d admitted it, even if it was whispered quietly into a silent room. “I didn’t want to die.”

Morgan steadied Bex in her arms and breathed slowly. “You put it down. You let go. And you let me have a piece of it too. I’ve literally got superstrength,” she murmured. The familiarity of Bex’s words struck something inside her, a nerve so numb from pain and remembrance she didn’t feel much beyond recognition. She combed Bex’s hair and saw the scenes play out on the blank ceiling, her trauma and Bex’’s mixing together like two shades of paint. 

“I know, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I know. But you’re here. You’re here, and this wave will pass faster if you let it happen. Let go, Bex. I’ve got you. You’re safe to let go…” As much as she could, at least. Morgan thought she had shed a lot of her death over the last year, but as much as she pulled out her fear, her anguish, the desperate ache in her that still went I don’t want to die, there was always a little more. The root of the thing stayed buried inside her.

But how? How was she supposed to let go? She didn’t know. She didn’t know. Bex stilled in Morgan’s arms as she tried to take in what she was saying. As she tried to understand the familiarity in her voice. Morgan knew. Morgan had died and Morgan knew. Bex had been lucky. So lucky. She was here, she was alive. What if she’d died? Who would miss her? Who would cry for her? Would Morgan? Would Mina? Would Nell? 

Would her parents?

Bex drew in a deep breath. And then she let it go, and she let go as much as she could. It came out in quiet sobs muffled by Morgan’s shirt, and painful whispers of apologies and pleas. And when she had nothing left, she simply drew in a breath-- in for three-- and let it go-- out for five. She squeezed Morgan tighter. “Thank you,” she finally mumbled. She hadn’t cried properly since it happened. She hadn’t cried properly in ages. Her body felt tired, but no longer stiff. “For...carrying it with me.”

Morgan listened to Bex’s cries and let her memories swirl and moved her hands through the girl’s hair to keep herself grounded in this bed, this room, this safe little life she and Deirdre had scraped together. But as she listened, and resisted, and held steady, The seed of her death pulled on her, and she found herself crying silently too. When Bex had spent herself, Morgan wiped her eyes first, then Bex’s. “Anytime, sweetheart. My zombie strength is yours anytime.”

[a-cat001]

Winter Warfare

Christmas had come to pass but the memories of winter had still laid their touch upon Tokyo, blanketing it in a sheet of crystal white. With Christmas having just passed, the students of Santa school were having their break before they returned to their studies, so Yule decided now would be the best time to invite you over to visit and hang out. Ryota had wanted to join but was sadly denied as Shiro had put off Ryota’s and Kengo’s extra lessons for the holidays but now that they have ended, they will be busy in study sessions. You arrive at the entrance of the Santa school, trudging through the sea of snow that goes up to your knees, to see a reindeer transient waiting by the door. As they turn their head their gaze falls upon you and begins to run up to you, “Hey there MC, I’m so glad to see you!”. The transient stops in front of you and begins to look you up and down, you are wearing your winter outfit but could have dressed a bit more warmly considering how cold the weather turned, “You must be freezing out here, come on Krampus is waiting for us inside” he states as he grabs your hand to lead you inside. As you make your way to Youl’s dorm room you admire the surroundings of the school which are still decorated top to bottom with festive lights, ribbon and garland. “Wow, even though Christmas was yesterday it still feels like everyone’s gearing up for the festivities.” You announce, “Yeah, I guess we just haven’t had the chance to take some of this stuff down, although a good amount will stay up anyways.” Yule says as he smiles at the decorations that adorn the walls. “It’s kind of sad that Christmas has ended, even though it was just yesterday I already miss the smiling faces of those children when they received their presents” Yule looks to the side with a brief glint of disappointment before you speak to him “Well at least there will always be next year, so now you have something to look forward to”. This seems to snap Yule out of his stupor as he looks back at you with surprise before swiftly shaking his head and putting on a new face that was brimming with determination and hope, “Your right! I won’t forget the past filled with smiles but I’m not going to let it keep from working towards making new ones, I’m going to work hard and look forward to next Christmas from this point on!”. Yule’s newfound confidence radiates out from him, a confidence he feels he can only show when he is near those closest to him and so to himself he thanks the threads of fate that have led to meeting you, as well as his friends like Ryota and Krampus. You and Yule finally arrive at his dorm room, a soft glow emanates from beneath the door, from which a shadow passes back and forth. The door opens to reveal Krampus turned away from you and setting up what looks to be a small snack table full of delicious looking treats that give off a sweet, warm aroma reminiscent of dinner on Christmas night. You and Yule enter the room before greeting Krampus who jumps at the sound of your voice, nearly dropping a plate topped with cookies. Krampus manages to catch himself before dropping the plate, quickly setting it down onto the table before turning to the two of you, “You two really scared me there, n-next time knock before you enter,.. That was embarrassing.”. “Sorry Krampus-senpai, we didn’t mean to scare you but look who came!” Yule exclaims, indicating over to you to which you smile and wave to Krmapus. “O-oh, hey MC, I’m really glad you decided to come hang out with us.” Krampus says while scratching his chin with his index finger. Looking past Krampus to the snack table you gaze upon the home-made treats before looking back to Krampus, “Those snacks look amazing Krampus, did you make them?” you ask, causing Krampus to look back to the snack table, “Hmm? Oh, Yule made those for us to enjoy while we hang out.” he replies. Yule then happily chimes in upon the discussion stating “Baking is actually offered here as an extracurricular course, so I have some experience with these kinds of things.”, Yule then leans in to whisper into your ear, “Although Krampus-senpai actually helped bake several of these.” he says but it is clearly evident that Krampus overheard the little note that Yule shared as he quickly pulls his hood over his head to hide his now blushing face. You are quick to change the subject to pull Krampus from his embarrassment, “So what do you guys want to do?”, at this Krampus looks back at you with a glint in his eyes as a confident smile spread across his face. In the next instant he whips around with his arms crossed over his chest, in each hand he held a stack of DVDs fanned out like a hand of cards. “HAHA! Look I’ve got plenty of Ranger shows from each season!” he roared, the sight of the DVD’s seemed to cause Yule to collapse in exhaustion, “I wonder how many ranger shows Krampus has shown to yule?” you think to yourself as you look down at the stunned reindeer. Krampus then leans in close, his face looking embarrassed but with a child-like smile at the same time “I’d be really happy if you would pick out the first one.” he says, extending his selection of DVDs for you to pick from. Before you can respond Yule picks himself off the ground and recomposes himself “No offense Krampus-senpai but could we possibly save the ranger shows for later tonight?” he say while scratching the back of his head, “I just really want to go out and do something right now, I’m still full of energy from last night.”. Krampus lets out an exhausted sigh, letting his arms drop to his side “I can’t believe you're still so full of energy after last night, I’m still pretty worn out from all the stress and punishing I had to do last night.”, “Sounds like you’ve had it rough, what exactly happened last night.” you ask him, to which he turns away to avoid looking you in the eye before responding “I-i’d rather not talk about it.”. You begin to walk around the room thinking of what to do before you stop next to the window, gazing out into the blinding white that surrounds the school and covers the earth you get an idea. “Hey guys wait right here I have an idea!” both Yule and Krampus cock their heads in curiosity as you rush outside the dorms, making your way outside to the front of the school and dig your hands into the soft snow, picking it up and shaping into several white spheres. 

Back in the dorm room Yule and Krampus converse with each other over what you could have possibly come up with before hearing the rush of footsteps coming up to the door followed by a “Hey!”, as they turn around two snowballs hit them square in the nose with sniper-like precision, sending out a spray of frost on impact. Krampus shakes the snow of his nose, “Hey, what was that for?”, “Come on, you're not gonna take that lying down are ya?” you shout before turning on your heels and dashing out the dorm once more. Krampus quickly grins before shouting after you “You bet I won’t!”, taking a sprint after you followed by Yule. As you rush outside you turn back and throw another snowball, Krampus notices the incoming snowball before he makes it outside and quickly uses the entrance door as a shield, the snowball splatting against it. As you’ve run out of snowballs you crouch down to gather more snow, giving Krampus the chance to move beyond the entrance, vaulting over the railing and into the snow before reaching down and gathering a massive amount of snow in his arms. After you finish shaping the snow into suitable ammo you stand back up with your arm pulled back, ready to fire another snowball but stop when you notice the entirety of your vision is blocked by the massive oncoming snowball Krampus hurls at you. The massive snowball hits you directly in the face,  the force of the impact sending you reeling backwards into the snow, Yule, who had been watching, grabs his antlers in panic before shouting out, “Don’t you think you may have thrown that bit too hard!?”. Krampus quickly turns from excitement to panic as he rushes over to your side, accompanied by Yule, “I-i’m sorry, I didn’t mean to throw it so hard, I just got caught up in the moment!” he says in alarm as he helps you sit up. Once you're up you shake away the snow before exclaiming “Woooo, that was awesome, nice shot Krampus!”, Krampus becoming quickly relieved at your excited reaction as you hop to your feet, “come on, I’m not down for the count yet!” you yell before dashing away to grab more snowballs. 

The three of you continue your free-for-all snowball fight, snowballs flying one direction only to fly back with return fire from the safety of the snow fort each of the three of you had built. With all the snow and frost flying back and forth some stray snowballs crash against the windows of the school, catching the attention of other students who were passing by. As the students line up around the windows to see the spectacle, many turn and rush back to their rooms to grab their coats and join in on the winter fun. The three of you learn just how much attention your snowball fight has garnered when a volley of snoballs rains down from the sidelines, you turn to look at your attackers, seeing more students coming out one after the other and before long everyone is joining in on the fight and eventually forming teams. Many of the teams had directed their attention to you and your friends with their leader coming forth, “We know who you are the guild master of the summoners! We may not be able to win a normal battle against you but snowball fights are our turf! I can’t wait to tell everyone I beat the summoner guild master!”, at his command the small army of fellow students ready their aim and simultaneously launch their snowballs into the air, which rain down upon the three of you. The three of you quickly take cover behind one of the forts you had made, a mutual agreement formed between you three to defeat the common foe. You and Krampus launch snowball after snowball while Yule replenishes your ammunition, the technique behind the three of you works like a well-oiled machine but are slowly being pushed back. As you and Krampus are pinned down you look to see that Yule has disappeared, “Where did Yule go” you ask aloud only to be swiftly answered as a sleigh pulled by Yule, stops drift out in front of you, sending a wave of snow crashing down upon the enemy and creating a momentary ceasefire. Yule then motions to you and speaks “get in” he says in a serious tone, to which Krampus lifts you up into the sleigh and begins to pass snowballs to you before lifting himself into the sleigh. Once Krampus is in, Yule takes off at blinding speed just as the other students restart their assault but Yule is able to bob and weave throughout the field with ease while you and Krampus launch snowballs from your newfound mobile artillery unit. You are soon able to push back your opponents with equal force despite the difference in numbers, the tides of war hang in the balance as neither side is ready to give in but the balance is soon disrupted as a large figure jumps from the top of the school and lands between both parties and sends up snow. Both sides stop their fire at the figure entrance who stands tall to reveal black Ded, a mischievous smile spread across his face, “all right you brats, class is in session, time to show how a real santa does a snowball!”. As soon as Ded finishes speaking, several different guns materialize around, each one giving off a resounding click before they fire off ammunition made of snow, the spray of fire sending both sides scrambling for cover while Ded’s laughter rings out into the winter air. Even with Yule’s skillful maneuvering you and Krampus are forced to duck into the sleigh as Ded continues his onslaught without reprieve, “Where’s Melusine when you need her?!” you ask aloud. “Achoo” Melusine sneezes, “What is the matter frau Melusine?” Licht asks, “Tis nothing Monsieur Licht, I just felt a slight chill.” she responds, “Perhaps it is the result of this frigid weather we have today.”, Melusine stares out into the distance and narrows her eyes, “Perhaps”. suddenly Ded seems to double over “Gaah! My back again!” he yells. Seizing this opportunity, you jump from the sleigh with snowballs in hand and head towards Ded to strike your decisive blow, but little to your knowledge Ded’s grin returns as he instantly straightens up, this time with a missile launcher in hand. “Hah! Gotcha now!” He bellows, followed by the thunderous boom of his cannon firing off a massive snowball, the world seems to slow down as you watch the snowball fly towards you, “Welp, I guess this is how I go out.” you think to yourself. In the moment you have resigned yourself, You find the path between you and the snowball blocked by Krampus, “Not so fast! The hero always arrives at the best moment to save people in distress! Winter punisher!” he roars, rearing back his fist before swinging full force at the oncoming projectile, smashing it on contact into nothing more than shimmering crystals that dance throughout the air. Krampus retains his pose with his fist outstretched for a moment before placing his hands on his hips in a triumphant pose, a gallant laugh accompanying his new persona. “Krampus, you're my hero!” you shout while running up to him and embracing him causing his face to blush as well as stiffen in response but relaxes before patting you on the head “T-there, there, if you're ever in trouble, the hero Krampus will always show up to protect you.”. As you release Krampus, Yule runs up to the two of you “That was awesome Krampus-senpai! Although Mr. Ded is still up.”, you turn to Yules indication and true to his word Ded is still standing, seeming to stand in waiting for your next move. “Well in that case, it’s time for some wild punishment!” Krampus thrusts both hands in the air as he shouts before he then equips his sacred artifact claws, meanwhile you and Yule nod in silent agreement and begin to roll together a massive snowball. Krampus then charges forward at Ded, his claws at the ready while you and Yule carry the large snowball behind him. With a wicked smile, Ded unleashes another barrage of snowballs in your direction but in response Krampus turns into a flurry of slashes, chains and bells ring out into the air with ominous sound as though everything else had gone silent. As Krampus carves a path towards Ded you and and Yule follow behind and begin to close the distance until you're finally within range to which Krampus stomps his boot into the ground and spins on his heel like a whirlwind, slicing up any remaining snowballs between you and Ded. Krampus quickly regains his footing and side steps out of the way for you and Yule who together, launch the snowball, hitting Ded and toppling him over. With Ded half buried in snow he gives a small chuckle before he raises both his hands in defeat, “Alright you three, I give, I guess I really am getting old.”, as he announces his defeat the students that had been previously hiding let out a resounding cheer. Despite the excitement in the air, you, Yule and Krampus are exhausted and ready to head inside to warmth and some delicious food.

With the conclusion of the snowball fight, the three of you head inside to clean off and sit down to watch some DVDs. Yule lights a fire in the fireplace while Krampus turns on the television and inserts a DVD and you grab one of the plates of cookies before moving over in front of the TV and sit down. You grab one of the cookies from the plate and bite into it, the warm taste of ginger floods your mouth and you're lost in a moment of bliss. In that moment you are unaware as Krampus sits down behind you, his arms wrapping around your stomach and pulling you in close while also placing his chin on top of your head, effectively surrounding you in a living blanket of warm therian fur. Craning your head around to look at Krampus he looks back down at you with flushed cheeks “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t cold after being outside so long.” he says softly trying his best to maintain eye contact. As you look at Krampus another hand comes to gently rest on your own, turning your head again you see Yule red with embarrassment as he sits next to you, his hand clasping onto your own. Krampus takes notice of this and smiles before reaching out and wrapping one arm around Yule, pulling him into you and Krampus, he seems nervous at first but quickly settles in as he leans up against you with Krampus still behind the two of you. Now settled into your warm huddle you begin the ranger show marathon that extends well into the night and into sleep. “Heh, just like little children” Ded whispered to himself as he gazed down at the three of you who had fallen asleep with you and Yule cuddling each other while also being cradled in Krampus’s arms, holding the three of you close, each had a soft smile upon their faces. Ded pulled out a large blanket and draped it over the three of you before turning to leave, “You really do hold a soft spot for them black” White Ded says from within “Shut up will ya! I’m just doing a small favor.”, “Hoho how flustered you have become, even if that was true you still seemed quite merry to play with those three earlier.” white retorts. Black Ded grumbles to himself a bit before leaving, giving one last look at the three sleeping before flashing a gentle smile and closing the door.

[smalltragedy]

* herman tommeraas, cis man + he/him | you know donovan mercer, right? they’re twenty one, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, four months? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to ice boy by corbin like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole fear hidden behind a stoic stare, bleeding from your nose and from your gums, and the night sky with all its stars, with all its mystery and unknown thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is march 15th, so they’re a pisces, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 21, est, they/them )

looks away as i finally post his intro after being kinda awol fr however long. i love him a lot n hes also bri’s character mercy’s younger brother so u hv to be nice to him. think abt mercy’s life. then think abt ducky. im sry in advance tht his intro’s a little longer ive hd ducky fr like. a year or two n i’ve been playing him a While <3 as always like this if u’d like 2 plot n i’ll try 2 msg u bck bt otherwise im gna just hop right into threads bc obv i need to. change my methods.

ABUSE, VIOLENCE, DRUG ABUSE, EYE INJURY, GANG MENTIONS TW.

mini playlist.

father ;; the front bottoms / ice boy ;; corbin / lose yourself ;; eminem / my own worst enemy ;; lit / say it ain’t so ;; weezer / maps ;; yeah yeah yeahs / star stopping ;; lil peep / benz truck ;; lil peep / trauma ;; nf / northern downpour ;; panic! at the disco / your graduation ;; modern baseball.

statistics.

full name: donovan mercer.

nickname(s): ducky.

birthday: march 15th, 1999.

zodiac: pisces sun, aquarius moon, aquarius ascending.

mbti & temperament: intp & theorist / phlegmatic.

label: the despondent.

hometown: hell’s kitchen, new york.

sexuality: bisexual (bt not out). 

pinterest.

biography.

born in hell’s kitchen to vinny mercer and a mother who ran out of the hospital as fast as she could, as soon as she was able. she’d gone so quick that she’d never given ducky a middle name - just donovan. the younger brother of mercy (shoutout 2 bri)

his father’s the right-hand man of a well known mob boss named lars amaretto, and so, you can imagine the kind of environment ducky (& mercy) grew up in. weapon & drug dealings, interrogations, violence around every corner. a brutal way of living, no place to raise two children.

implied abuse tw // their father was not kind, or merciful - and ducky was a runt compared to mercy, small and sensitive and kinder than his brother. weak, and filled with softness, with big brown eyes and a smile that should’ve been able to melt ice - but it didn’t. and it never did.

he cried often, and was punished often for it until he learned to stop crying - at least in front of their father, and mercy too, at some point. only in the comfort of his room, with doors locked and blinds drawn closed. implied abuse end of tw

he dreamed, too, dreamt often. he’d been obsessed with outer space since childhood, as long as he could remember. school had once shown man landing on the moon, and ducky wanted that. wanted to be that, wanted to be there, up with the stars, discovering the unthinkable.

abuse mention // but it was discouraged, heavily so - projects destroyed by an angry fist only to be reconstructed to the best of ducky’s ability, with mercy’s help, all throughout the night. he’d saved up for a telescope when he was thirteen, but it’d been destroyed almost immediately when discovered. not a day went by that their father didn’t tell ducky that he was, first and foremost, stupid - and would always be. end of abuse mention

to the point where he stopped trying, simply. he never graduated high school.

abuse mention // anxiety mention // anyways … at the age of fifteen, he’d have enough. he was sick of the abuse, the pain - the crying behind closed doors, the sneaking around, the constant feeling of needing to escape, impending doom, anxiety attacks in the shower and in school bathrooms and at the back of the bus where nobody sat besides him because he was - that boy, the son of that man, the brother of that brute. he’d been a teenager and he’d already been an outcast by all means - an outcast in his family, no matter how hard he tried to appease vinny, and an outsider everywhere else.

the plan took months of preparation, paper ripped out from the back of his school notebook and stuffed beneath his mattress, details of his escape from a checklist of essential items to makeshift maps of bus routes to different cities.

all for nothing, the moment vinny discovered it, the edge of a map sticking out after a rushed morning.

heavy abuse tw // violence tw // it’d been the same day he’d gotten the nickname - ducky - the way the wound wrapped below his mouth, and the way it’d begun to heal - puckered, at first, like a duck’s bill. a better name than eyepatch, at the very least. the scar’d run from the arch of his left brow, across his eye, down his cheek, and below his lip. his eye sustained injury, and not allowed to see a doctor about it, it never healed properly.

eye injury // corneal scarring, impairing his left eye. astronaut dreams destroyed, but not in a matter of seconds. in the matter of an hour, maybe more - and that’d been much, much worse. 

he stopped trying to run away after that. tried to be more like their father, more like mercy - more brutish, less feeling. spoke less, and less. spoke hardly at all, unless spoken to first.

still didn’t matter. still lived his days in fear, still knew it’d never change. nothing would ever change.

the mercer brothers have been floating around the north carolina scene for ~5ish years now, trailing after their father who is consistently chasing after their mother with no luck. they’re currently residing in palm motel. can we get a hell yeah?

personality & facts.

he’s actually very? intimidating? when you first meet him. mercy’s younger brother, with a criminal’s record almost as long as his - a scarred face and a mean resting face. it takes at least five minutes of conversation beyond small talk before it starts to weigh on your mind that maybe, he’s not as bad as he seems.

and - well, he isn’t. but he’s guarded - so guarded. more-so than mercy, because mercy’s quicker to anger, quicker to react, and ducky tries so hard to drown out the noise. but he’s not a robot, and his facial expressions can give him away in a second.

he’s seen what happened when mercy had a glimpse of something good in his life (though, it wasn’t actually good at all - mercy had someone, at least. at the very least) - and how quickly it’d all fallen, and so ducky puts a barrier between him and others. distant, as much as he can be.

it hurts, because ducky isn’t by any means antisocial. he doesn’t hate people - he wants to be normal, wants to have friends and a girlfriend - or maybe even a boyfriend, god - but he’s so afraid. ducky is, by nature, a very scared person. terrified to his very core. he knows there is always eyes on him, and mercy too, and he knows that nothing is worth getting someone else hurt.

you know him as mercy’s little brother, and he’s quiet you know that - but his name is ducky, and you think - he’s not too bad. and he knows this, knows the doubts. knows that it’ll get back to mercy, eventually, that his brother is nothing more but a pussy. so he fights more than he’d like to, against the guilt that buries itself deep within his chest with every thrown fist. he throws up, afterwards, in the garbage can outside. too much to drink, he says, rare grin - because grins are convincing, and grins with bleeding gums are intimidating. he learned that from his brother.

violence makes him sick to his very stomach. he can’t watch horror films, or even action films, without feeling queasy. there’s been more times than he can count where he’d thrown up after a fight, or after an interrogation, usually in private but in the occasional presence of mercy.

they fight, a lot, sometimes - ducky’s too soft, too weak, and it’s bad and it’s terrible and ducky knows that mercy’s afraid. for him, of their father, and his wraith. ducky knows that if mercy isn’t hard on him now, their father will be on him harder. still. there’s resentment, small but there, like the flame of a match. he doesn’t know what’ll happen when there’s nothing more to burn, but he doesn’t want to find out. he’s afraid to find out.

he’s still in love with the moon and the stars, and the planet’s - and their moons, too. its subdued, now, though. a silent passion - one that is often not watered, left for rot. he sneaks into engineering lectures at the community college, occasionally, or physics, or whatever peeks the small curiosity inside of him.

commits small acts of kindness when nobody looks. doors held open, the meals of elderly folk eating alone suddenly paid. picks up litter besides trash bins, and always cooks extra than what he needs and leaves the rest for mercy. it’s these small things that make him feel, just the slightest, better about himself.

because god - there are layers and layers of self-loathing. it’s a labyrinth, and he’d never speak of it - but he can’t stand his own reflection. doesn’t keep photos of his family, only a few sparingly of mercy.

a liar, sad to say. has little experience with. ehem. intimacy, and the bodies of others, but lies often and says that he does. mostly to his brother, but word travels quick - and he’s not nearly as much as a fuckboy as is rumored, having only been with a handful of girls, if even that. it’s better this way - if people know that he throws others away like they’re nothing.

he ghosts often, too, if he does get to talking with anybody. the moment ducky feels a spark, something pulling at his poor heart, he ghosts. he develops feelings too easily, too often than he’d like. has left many friendships without explanation, because of this. you know the priest in fleabag season 2? the scene where he comes to fleabag’s house? yeah. tht’s ducky!

has maybe half the amount of clients that mercy does, but he’s working on it.

pretends he doesn’t care as much as he does. pretends a lot, like there’s nothing soft to him. but a trained eye can see clearly through this. even so - even if you can see that there’s more to ducky than violence and drug deals - you’d still have to break through a dozen walls.

in the rare occasion you get him talking - i mean, talking a lot - he’ll talk about space. ramble off a dozen useless facts about dwarf stars and black holes and all of jupiter’s moons. about a video game he likes, about nothing and everything at all. but as soon as he begins, he stops - embarrassed. apologizes, shuts his mouth, disappears to wherever. anywhere but there.

drug abuse // has a. complicated relationship with benzos n xanax n a various assortment of painkillers. ironic bc he hates drugs due to. his chosen career n wldnt do most of what they sell, bt yknow. this ws inevitable. hates beer bt forces himself 2 drink it bc toxic masculinity probably man idk.

overall just … he’s a soft boy, with a big heart - bigger than anybody else in his family, that’s for sure, but his exterior is far different than that, and it’s hard to tell.

violence mention // purposely loses fights so that he doesn’t have to severely hurt someone. because sometimes he just - he was raised in a violent environment, and sometimes he snaps. sometimes ducky just fucking snaps. and his vision goes red, and he can’t control himself - because need to survive kicks in, and violence is all he knows. if someone pushes ducky - pushes him enough, he breaks. he fights back. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows, and that’s not an excuse - and he knows this, and god, he’s so tired. he is so. tired.

wanted plots.

u look good tonight ... ;; wld love a connection in which he is feeling emotionally compromised n maybe kinda hs a thing w someone bt hes like. very unreliable n kinda ghosting bc he is very afraid n it wld b maybe bad fr them to b anything other than hook ups. cld apply to smth very intensive or smth very surface lvl i’ll take thousands.

palms sweaty ... moms spaghetti ... ;; ppl tht ducky just hs fkn brawled. cld b anybody fr any reason. ducky prob lost n he prob lost on purpose bt also ur muse cld maybe kick ducky’s ass? cld b a fake fight cld b a real fight. cld b a npc fight n then ur muse cn patch up ducky? possibilities endless. maybe they hv a nice spaghetti dinner n both of them r both bruised up frm their fight. sometimes fights end in spaghetti dinners. thanks eminnem or whatever.

own worse enemy... ;; ducky needs friends bt hes bad at making friends n sometimes he fks shit up by pushing ppl away n self sabotaging n being a major cunt n sometimes he just ghosts bt hes always very remorseful abt it? this cld b a very like. up n down friendship of any type its just. where do they stand. r they friends. r they enemies. r they lovers? probably not lovers. prob just platonic. but still its the thought tht counts. 

and also ;; literally just like. anything. clients who buy off of him n like. casual friends n casual enemies n casual hookups. ppl hes ghosted. ppl hes embarrassed himself in front of. maybe ur muse tries to get ducky to socialize or maybe ducky is like. u are too much fr me. n ur muse runs off crying. endless possibilities all u hv to do is call this number now. 

[honeyctzen]

domesticated - kd

genre: smut, petplay

warnings: kitten!play, dom!doyoung, oral (male recieving), unprotected sex, spanking 

words: 4.4k

The sky outside darkened a midnight blue as you sat quietly on the couch, watching shapes and colours contort on the television. Your mouth widened in a yawn as shuffling footsteps wandered over from the kitchen, they gently pattered until your boyfriend Doyoung appeared from behind a wall. His eyes darted around the room as he set a bowl of popcorn on the table, fingers curling around a piece before he lumped down beside you. His tall frame slumped on the sofa, arm nearest to you stretching around, giving you the room the snake around his torso. Cosying into Doyoung you felt his fingers bury into your waist, his other hand reaching over and grabbing the remote. You felt the rumble of a pondering sigh, Doyoung beginning to flick through the channels as he always did. He was indecisive, easily bored and on nights like this, where neither had work the next day or a reason to protest, you knew how it would end.

Even the night you met he was like this.

In college, you had found it difficult to bond with anyone. Parties were too loud, being alone in your dorm was too quiet, balancing the two was near impossible. Especially when you hadn’t had much experience with people or being away from home in the first place. In the end, you relied heavily on your roommate to take you out and show you the way of the world. And she tried her hardest, it’s just that not much of it interested you though you did try your best.

After another night sat in the quietest room of a frat party, you began to feel despondent to the entire college experience altogether. You flicked through the books in the bedroom you’d barricaded yourself in, sighing when a porno magazine fell from between two classic novels. You bent over to pick it up, skirt riding high although it didn’t seem to matter alone in the room. As your fingers grabbed the corner as to avoid any residue that may linger between pages, you heard the oak door behind you open wide. A panic washed over you, heat rising to your cheeks as you half expected to spin around and find a drunken couple wanting to consummate. Instead, as you turned, while holding the magazine behind your back cautiously, you saw a sober looking man stood in the doorframe.

The blush hanging over your cheeks only intensified. His stature was large, shoulders broad in his blue, baggy jumper. Eyes big and brown, dark hair falling into his eyes as his slender fingers came up to brush it away. You stood speechless as his bottom lip became hooked beneath his teeth, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment before he stepped into the room. Your chest felt thick with embarrassment. You kept the magazine pressed tightly to your back, stepping back and the man stepped forward.

‘Sorry, I thought this room was free.’ You said quietly.

‘Uh, no, no, it’s fine honestly, I just um, usually keep my bedroom off limits while there’s parties. I like it, clean, don’t want people you know, in my bed.’ The man whispered, and despite the loud music, you could hear his every low toned word perfectly.

‘Understandable. I’m really sorry, I just kinda wanted to get out the way of everyone,’ you chuckled nervously, ‘I don’t really like parties that much.’

‘Like I said, it’s fine.’ The man smiled wide, exposing a gummy grin that only made you blush further. ‘I’m Doyoung by the way.’ He finished, reaching his hand out to shake yours.

Instinctively, you lurched forward. The magazine slipping out of your grip for just a moment, but long enough for it to drop to the ground. It splayed open on the carpet, thudding wide to the centre fold. Your chest tightened; stomach burned. You couldn’t bare to look back at what Doyoung was seeing.

‘I’m so sorry.’ You apologized quickly.

‘Where was that?’

‘Um, on the bookshelf, between Dracula and Wuthering Heights. It kinda just fell out, I, um, wanted to read.’ You laughed at how ridiculous you sounded.

‘Oh, right.’ Doyoung managed somehow to look more worried than you, his fingers scratching at his head. As his arm raised up, so did his jumper, revealing the soft toned torso beneath. You felt yourself tighten.

‘Look, I’m sorry, I should let you get to bed or,’ you mumbled as quickly as you could, wishing to vanish from the building altogether. You spun on your heels once again, bending down to pick up the magazine and return it to its owner. However, when you did, you actually saw what was sprawled across the pages.

A woman was sat on a red, leather sofa in a pristine lingerie, her privates covered though the sheerness left nothing to the imagination. Her arms were twisted behind her back, threaded together perfectly with thick, crimson rope. Her legs were wide open on the sofa, still covered in the same beautiful rope but this time only for aesthetic purposes. The expression on her face was that of pleasure, eyes closed, mouth wide kind of pleasure. Her makeup and hair was immaculate, untouched. It was a beautiful image, the kind that could have gotten away with being in an art gallery.

Confusion waved over you. The expectation of seeing unrealistic, graphic depictions of two women or a woman and a man had been dashed. There was only a soft, artistic image that left you with no words, only a deep yearning that maybe one day, you could be that woman. Clearly desired, clearly within someone’s control but beautiful and immaculate all the same.

Doyoung let out a withering sigh as you lifted the magazine and turned to face him. He stepped closer, fighting back the urge to rip the magazine from your grasp and throw it underneath his bed. Doyoung waited for you to wrinkle your face in disgust, to snicker at the image but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, you began to flick through the images. Turning your head to see all the sideward pages, tracing your fingers over the threads of rope that where consistent throughout the entire magazine. You pondered at it as though it were an art magazine, you seemed to appreciate it as one. Doyoung was gobsmacked.

After a few moments, you closed the magazine, handing it over to Doyoung. He gently took it from you, his fingers dancing over yours for a moment before the heat of his digits disappeared.

‘It’s beautiful.’ You said without thinking.

‘What?’

‘Um, it’s beautiful.’ You repeated.

‘Yeah, yeah, it is.’ Doyoung concurred nervously, staring at your features as they twisted in thought.

‘Do people actually do that? Or is it just for the pictures?’

‘You mean the, the rope?’ Doyoung asked politely as you merely nodding back shyly, your lip between your teeth.

‘I think I’d like to try it.’ You admitted, looking up at Doyoung to find his eyebrows scrunched in disbelief. ‘With you, please.’ You finished, not quite understanding what you’d asked for, but knowing in your gut that it felt right.

Nearly two years later and you were still trying out so many different, new things with Doyoung. When you met, you were both shy. Wrapped up in desires both of you thought no one but you had, but meeting each other, it gave you both the outlet you desperately needed. You often looked for things to try, often on nights like this when you both had time to kill. Whether it was between the pages of magazines or online, you found that both you and Doyoung had an endless stream of erotic things you wanted to try.

A ritual you’d created early into your relationship was looking at the trending page of a porn site, rooting around for something you hadn’t already done a thousand times and trying it. No pre-judgements, no reservations, just trying something to see the outcome. There were times when you or Doyoung decided the thing was not for you but often enough, both of you found that whatever you did, as long as it was with each other, it was perfect. This ritual however meant that things often got a little taboo which didn’t bother either of you but there was a certain stigma to some things and sometimes that did give you reservations. Out of an ingrained habit that was built into all people, when you saw something strange, it took a lot to try it. But with Doyoung, you never felt uncomfortable.

Doyoung sighed from beside you signally that he could find nothing to watch and so, the ritual begun.

You peered up at him, eyes big and doe. Doyoung waited for a moment before looking down and smiling warmly. ‘You wanna choose something tonight?’

Your mouth lifted to smile back at him, nodding happily, hands almost snatching the remote from your boyfriend. He chuckled. Usually you both picked, though really, you’d go along with whatever Doyoung wanted. Letting you choose without protesting was a special occasion and it made you light up like nothing else. You opened up the website on the television, still shy about looking at such lewd things in front of someone else on a large scale. The screen became sodden with erotic video links and dirty advertisements, all clearly made by men who knew nothing about women. You tutted to yourself, flicking down through the pages and pages until something towards the bottom left caught your eye.

‘Naughty kitten punished.’

With eyebrows knotted you turned to Doyoung. ‘Is this really a thing? Dressing up like a cat, I mean, I know I’ve done it for Halloween but for, fucking?’

‘Of course, it is. If you can think of it, there’s probably porn made of it.’ He retorted with a smirk wiped across his lips.

‘I don’t like that sentiment.’

‘So, that’s a no?’ Doyoung peered, careening his head to stare his umber orbs into yours. His grip around your side tightened a little, allowing you to feel the warmth emanating from beneath his black t-shirt. From habit, you closed your eyes, enjoying the small circles he drew into your hip.

‘Well?’

‘I, I mean, it’s weird, right? Dressing up like an animal?’ You said sceptically.

‘Obviously, but it’s not out of the league of what we’ve done before.’ Doyoung added.

‘I guess.’

‘It’s your call, princess.’

‘Uh, I mean, I have the costume… maybe it’d be nice to get some use out of it?’ You felt yourself defending your ideas, ideas that you knew deep down Doyoung would never judge. And yet, the shame of desire was so engrained in you, that you could not help it.

‘Let’s go get you dressed then.’ Doyoung smiled, standing from the couch, his stature above you like a skyscraper. You fought back the urge to reach out for his jean button right then and instead smiled to yourself with sparks alight in your mind.

‘Maybe I should go alone, if you come, we’ll never get back out the bedroom.’ You taunted standing up beside Doyoung. His smile lowered as yours grew ten-fold. You found your hands resting on Doyoung’s wide shoulders, pushing him back slightly until he sat back against the sofa. His legs widened, back slumping, as though inviting you to sit atop him, instead, you began walking to the bedroom, a chuckle leaving your mouth.

After sulking into the bedroom, you shared with your boyfriend, you began the hunt for the outfit you’d worn once and long forgotten. While it was true that Doyoung accompanying you would’ve lead to something before you’d be able to grasp the costume, you also needed to root through your messy wardrobe for it. Which was, undoubtedly, a mood killer. Through grumbles and profanities, your hands dived through piles of clothes, each pile loosely organised by occasion. Dating Doyoung meant that the fancy dress pile was rather large and took some time to sift through. Until, almost at the bottom of the pile, two clip on ears poked out. As you grasped them, the soft fur tickled your palm, their deep brown nearly matching Doyoung’s eyes. Beneath the ears was a pink, leather collar that Doyoung had gifted you separate from the costume and to match, you pulled a set of pink, lacy lingerie from another messy pile.

You tugged down your sweatpants and removed the hoodie you’d stolen from Doyoung earlier in the day and pulled the pink lace over your head. The soft material felt like warm honey on your skin, and perfectly covered your body enough that you felt like the woman in that magazine. After slithering the undies up your bare legs, you grappled the ears once more. With fur between your fingers, you attached them high on your head, staring in the mirror at how sweet the clips looked. You smiled strangely excited for what you had been a little weirded out at first.

Staring down at your collar, a thought came to you, bringing warmth to your loin. You wandered over to a set of draws by the bed, heaved open the bottom section and pulled out a chain leash, the metal clasps jingling as you did so. Your smile grew as you flattened your hair and prepared yourself.

Timidly, you tiptoed back into the living room, head low as you approached where Doyoung still sat. With open palms, you knelt before your boyfriend, raising the items that sat atop your hands. After a few moments of silence, you peered up gently, looking over his face for any kind of emotion.

‘Look down.’ He muttered sullenly.

You followed his order immediately, keeping your palms up but eyes toward the hardwood floor. After another moment, the weight of the chain and collar disappeared and Doyoung’s feet came into your view and moved behind you. Though a cautious wave of anxiety rolled through your stomach, you still remained staring at the floor in silence. A sigh passed through your lips as cold fingers brushed your hair aside and cool leather pressed against your throat. Doyoung’s cold digits appeared again as he buckled up the collar and latched on the chain leash to hold you in place.

His hand remained low of the chain, gripping it so tight that it choked you slightly but still, you stared at the ground, motionless. A low snicker came from behind you, making your stomach swirl and tighten as moisture moved toward your heat. It was torture not to turn and look at him but following his orders was more important. You waited for what felt like forever until a palm mellowed over the top of your head, soothing over your hair, and following over the ears. Doyoung’s frame moved around you, allowing for you to see his lower legs once more and just knowing he was there, that he was the one touching you made it harder not to look up.

‘Look up at me baby.’ Doyoung finally said.

Your head snapped up immediately, big eyes staring desperately toward Doyoung and the grin smeared across his face. The confidence clearing instilled in him was terrifying and so, so arousing. You mewled, Doyoung raising his eyebrows as he smoothed over your head once more. From instinct you pushed your head up into his palm, nuzzling close to feel warmth from him.

‘My good kitten.’

A warmth filled your lower region, burning with every moment Doyoung touched you in any way. Until suddenly, a large heave bevelled through your body, the chain rattling as you were forced to push into Doyoung’s legs. Your hands leant atop his feet, wide eyes begging him to do something, anything. Doyoung merely grinned, tugging on the chain once more as he sat back on the couch and pulled you between his legs. Your features faced his crotch, mouth only a few inches from his covered length that tented his tight jeans. Just seeing you knelt before him, perky ears and collar and pink lace made him unimaginably hard and Doyoung struggled to compose himself. One more tug on your leash and your chin came to sit above his thigh. Doyoung released the chain, sitting it beside himself as he moved his fingers to his jeans.

You felt yourself smile, knowing what was to come. Pushing your face against his thigh, you purred, nose nuzzling into his clothed muscles. Doyoung let out a splintered moan, coaxing you to continue. As you did, you heard the undoing of a zip and rustling of thick material. The silence that settled in after is what made you look up, your eyes widening as you saw Doyoung holding his member tightly, slowly moving his hand up and down. He kept his darkened gaze locked upon you. Moving his other hand, Doyoung cupped your cheeks, soothing his thumb over the blush that painted your skin. His fingers moved slowly until he danced them to the back of your neck, his grip tightening and forcing your face forward. He pulled violently until you were face to face with his length.

‘Go on, kitten.’ Doyoung whispered.

He pushed his length toward you slightly, allowing your lips to engulf the tip and sink down the shaft. Doyoung let his head fall back against the sofa pillow and a low growl fall from his mouth. His noises only propelled you to continue, head bobbing up and down quickly as his member began to hit the back of your throat. It burnt, a kind of burning that travelled all the way down to your core, that was beginning to drip with desire. You lifted your hands and placed them atop Doyoung’s thighs for stability. Doyoung gripped your hair, twisting it into a makeshift ponytail and using it to control your pace. The tightness spread all over your body and ached in your loin. A need for Doyoung to be buried deep within you exploded.

The speed became relentless as you peered upward, staring at Doyoung’s scrunched up features; small, rhythmic groans pouring from his lips. You longed to kiss him, to nuzzle your fuzzy ears into the crook of his neck. You wished to be his pet forever.

‘Baby, stop, stop.’ Doyoung repeated frantically, pulling your mouth off his length by your hair. You understood why he stopped, for he wanted to be within you just as much as you wanted him inside you, but the loss of contact hurt, nonetheless. Spit dribbled from your lips, lining from Doyoung’s member to your mouth. He groaned low once more as you mewled, staring up at him with pleading eyes.

Watching from the ground, Doyoung pushed his hard member back in his jeans, sat up straight and patted his lap. You nearly leap up, pouncing onto Doyoung like the kitten you were pretending to be. With legs either side of him and arms slung over his shoulders, you waited. His expression twisted into a smirk, a devilish thought swirling around his mind.

‘Lie down on me, ass up.’ He muttered sternly. You watched his eyes for a further moment before Doyoung raised his eyebrows and nodded downward at his lap. You lifted yourself slightly and flipped over, placing your waist in Doyoung’s lap. Your face burrowed into the couch, feet kicking the edge of the seat and heat pressing directly onto Doyoung’s still stiff length. After a second, you felt as your boyfriend pulled your lace underwear down your thighs, cold fingers dragging over your skin. He lingered them back up to your ass, spreading his palm wide over the flesh. Doyoung kept it there for a moment, still and gentle, your stomach settling before suddenly, his touch disappeared and reappeared with a sharp, jolting sting.

A yelp came spurting out your lips, a chuckling emanating from Doyoung as again, his touch left and smacked back down. You mewled helplessly, another slap.

‘Count for me, okay kitten, five more.’ He said softly, swaying his hand over your red, hot skin before once more, lifting it and slapping it back down. A gasp escaped your throat.

‘One.’

Doyoung chuckled again, forcing down a particularly devilish spank.

‘Two.’

Your ass burnt painfully, the side that Doyoung had been slapping beginning to feel bruised and swollen. It was beautiful, and as another hit pummelled down upon you, a wave of pleasure rippled through you.

‘Three.’

Another.

‘Four.’

Doyoung soothed over your skin one more time as he lifted his hand and brought it down mercilessly. You yelped once more, feeling the other side burn just as the first. A small tear spat from your eye, trickling down your cheek and dripping onto the couch below.

‘Five.’ You croaked.

You lay down for a moment, air aggressively attacking your bruised ass as Doyoung removed his hand and placed into on the back of your thigh. He gently stroked the skin, giving you a few moments to catch your breath and recuperate.

Doyoung held onto your upper arm, pulling you up to kneel beside him. A finger coming up to swipe away a stray tear.

‘Do you wanna stop? We can?’ He enquired softly; eyes tender as his hand careened your jaw.

‘Fuck no.’ You said, leaping over once more to sit back in Doyoung’s lap, legs either side of his and lips reaching forward to kiss the man beneath you. With mouths collided, you wrangled your arms around Doyoung’s shoulders, his tongue darting between your lips and exploring your mouth. Instinctively, you began playing with the hair on the back of his neck, pulling slightly so Doyoung tilted his head back. You took advantage of the position, dragging your lips down to kiss and nibble at his slender neck. Doyoung groaned, his hands wandering to the underwear that still sat at your thighs, pulling them lower until they could no longer move. You felt the material dig into your flesh, stuck in their current position. While you wanted your bare heat to sit against Doyoung, you dreaded the idea of moving. He tugged again, helpless.

‘Rip them, rip them please, please.’ You begged, merely wanting to feel him beneath you, desperate for any pressure or friction against your heat.

‘Sure?’

‘Do it.’

Doyoung wrapped his fingers around one side of the fragile, lacy material and heaved it apart. The sound of ripping filled the room as Doyoung groaned, moving the material away as finally, he had access to your core. You felt the bulge in his jeans harden once more, pressed tight to the wetness that was pooling from within you. It burnt to be so close but separated by the already unzipped jeans. Doyoung held your hips, pushing you down to tease. A whimper fell from your lips.

‘Aw, is my kitten desperate? What does she want?’

‘You, please, I want you.’ You mumbled, unable to speak properly from sheer desperation.

‘Want me? To do what?’

‘I want you to fuck me! Please, fuck me!’ You almost screamed helplessly, Doyoung merely grinning, proud he had made you so desperate.

With his hands on your hips, Doyoung pushed you backwards further down his thighs. Giving him enough room to pull his jeans below his waist, allowing his hard member to spring gently from the material. It clung, pressed between his groin and your heat, that had, by now, created a wet patch on Doyoung’s trousers. You pushed upward, kneeling as you moved back up the thighs below you. Doyoung held your waist with one hand and with the other, moved his member to the entrance of your core. He was moving slow, but you wanted him, wanted him buried within you. And so, you pushed downward, feeling as you sunk onto Doyoung and he disappeared within you.

Doyoung let out a moan as you whimpered. The feeling of him inside you, putting pressure against you was intoxicating, so intoxicating that you could not move for a moment. As you began moving, slowly up and down Doyoung’s length, every inch of him burnt against every inch of you. The man below held desperately onto your hips, pulling you up and down to take complete control of the pace. The rhythmic tempo made a coil of pleasure begin to spin in your stomach, the grip upon you tight and almost painful. Another whimper fell from your lips as Doyoung let his head tilt back in pleasure. You shook, placing your hands upon his shoulders for stability, body nearly slumping against him.

His fingers began to trail up your body, tracing the pink, sheer lace that covered your breasts, swirling past and up your throat. His journey stopped, fingers halting and spreading up against your skin as he grappled the chain that attached to the collar. You let a loud moan explode into the atmosphere as you lifted yourself up and down Doyoung’s member, the pleasure in your loin beginning to burn. Low growls fell from Doyoung’s mouth, filling your ears like music as his grip upon you, both on your waist and collar, tightened. Air tightly passed through your windpipe, head spinning as you arched yourself quicker upon Doyoung. He growled loudly, his face scrunching up in pleasure as you felt him release inside of you, the warm liquid applying even more pressure inside your heat. The hot, wet feeling made you complete, and you felt yourself tighten and spasm on his member.

A last, prolonged mewl fell from your lips as you ceased your movements, still sat upon Doyoung’s member. His tempered sighs filled the room, grip on your collar loosening and hand falling back to your waist. You fell into Doyoung. Chests pressed together as sweat mixed like a cocktail of pleasure and sleepiness. Doyoung wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close, your cheek pressed flush against the crook of his neck. While holding you, Doyoung lifted slightly, giving him enough room to remove himself from your heat. A stifled moan fell from both of you, heat swelling around the room. You sighed, sleepy upon your equally tired boyfriend.

‘That was nice.’ You whimpered in a hushed tone.

‘It was, wasn’t it?’ Doyoung agreed, your head tilting upward to stare into his big, doe eyes. ‘C’mon kitten, let’s go and get you cleaned up and in bed.’ He soothed, fingers weaving through your hair as you purred once more against his chest. Nuzzling into him as your ears nudged his chin.