#and it is the most humiliating thing in the world as far as I’m concerned

[emberphoenix-san]

why is it so humiliating asking something of someone. Ugh

[tightjeansjavi]

❆ I’ll have a blue heartache for certain ❆

A/N: thank you to everyone who is sending me requests for things that Joel Miller deserves most in the world <3 this one is VERY angsty, so buckle up 🥲

joel deserves nice things™ ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

~word count : 2.9k~

pairing | Joel Miller x Kansas City informant f!reader

Summary: to Joel Miller, you’re nothing but an informant rat in his eyes.

Warnings: angst, mean old man Joel, morally gray reader, Joel is a bit of a hypocrite, a sprinkle of touch depravity, Ellie is her sweet self, implied age gap but reader is of legal age, grief, humiliation, hurt and comfort, a sprinkle of fluff, small mention of Christmas, allusion to child loss, talk of violence, kinda unrequited feelings, mutual understanding, sorta a happy ending? +18 minors dni!

“I don’t take kindly to strays, let alone fuckin’ rats, sweetheart.”

This was your first interaction with Joel Miller. All muscles, no heart, or so you had perceived him to be. He had a soft spot for the girl that trailed alongside him. You knew this was a fact, and not a matter of opinion.

Regardless, Joel didn’t respect you, but he tolerated you just enough to keep you alive. He didn’t want any business in knowing why you became an informant, but he had no problem calling you a rat straight to your face.

It wasn’t a lifestyle you wanted. It was a choice, but one based around survival. And for a man so brutish, you thought he would understand, empathize with you even. But instead you were met with cold, hardened stares from piercing brown eyes.

Your very existence vexed him and made him question whether he was a hypocrite himself. What difference was there between a man that murdered innocents for survival, and a woman that turned men like him in to save her own skin. He didn’t want the lines to be blurred. He didn’t want to empathize with the likes of you. He refused it.

“You and I aren’t so different after all, Joel.” You tried to reason with him one day during the tireless journey to Wyoming in search of Joel’s younger brother, Tommy.

Ellie was lengths ahead of you and him when he literally slammed on the breaks. His abrupt halt had you nearly colliding right into his back from how quickly he had stopped.

He whipped around, jaw ticked and eyes blazed with fury that you would even dare to compare yourself to him, and he to you.

“You and I are nothin’ alike. I had my reasons, and you chose to take the cheap way out. Don’t think that jus’ cus’ some time has passed out here that I’m suddenly gonna start bein’ nice to ya. You’re a fuckin’ fool if you think that to be true, girl. I will never view you as my equal.”

His words sliced through you like sharpened blades dipped in putrid poison, souring your gut and springing tears to the corner of your eyes. Joel Miller was one mean, mean man. You stood your ground, and he stood his. His eyes flickered when a silent tear rolled down your trembling cheek. He said nothing more on the matter.

“What’s the hold up back there?” Ellie had turned back around when she could no longer hear either yours or Joel’s footsteps close behind her.

Joel responded with a grunt and, “nothin’s the matter.”

You stood there dumbly with your fists clenched tightly at your sides when you tasted the salty residue of your single stray tear. You were angry at yourself for allowing this asshole to make you feel weak. One day Joel Miller would succumb to you. It would just take some time. And as far as you were concerned, there was plenty of it to go around.

The seasons began to change gradually, as they always do, until winter arrived and it was already proving to be a brutal one. Frigid temperatures, ongoing blizzards, treacherous deep snow. These changes that inevitably brought new challenges were visibly beginning to affect Joel more than he was willing to let on. You saw right through his facade. He couldn’t hide from your trained eyes that easily.

As night began to fall the three of you found yourselves situated in a cave near the river. Being this far out in the wilderness was peaceful in a sense. The threat of people was non-existent, and the infected stayed closer to the cities. Out here you could see billions upon billions of twinkling stars in the jet black sky. The northern lights, a natural feat that you had dreamed of seeing as a child. It was even more beautiful than you could ever imagine. Bright, brilliant hues of greens, blues, even some pinks.

You were so lost in a trance of nature’s beauty that you couldn’t feel Joel’s eyes staring you down. Or the way he took notice of your almost childlike wonder at the night sky. In his mind they were just stars. He’d seen plenty of them in his lifetime, sure, but were they really all that impressive?

He shook his head at the thought of humanizing the likes of you. A rat would always be a rat, and not even the damn northern lights could change his opinion on you.

“Ellie,” he gruffly said, “get down from there before you break your neck.” He sternly requested the teen who was also gazing up at the night sky in the same manner as you were.

Ellie let out a huff of air before she climbed down from the rock she was standing on and joined you and Joel by the fire.

“So, I’ve been thinking, let’s say we find the Fireflies, and it all works. They draw my blood and put it through their fancy machines and pop out a cure. Then what? Like, what do we do?”

Joel brought his flask of whiskey to his lips, taking a small swig to help warm him up, and also ease the constant ache in his back. “Didn’t realize there was gonna be a ‘we’ in this scenario.”

Ellie gave him a funny look, one that he raised a brow at. “Okay, fine. What are you doing then?”

In Joel’s mind it was never an option to think about these topics before. Not when his only goal in mind was to find Tommy, deliver Ellie to the Fireflies. From there? He really hadn’t thought about it.

“It’s never been an option for me..” he cleared his throat. “Maybe an old farmhouse, some land..a ranch. That sorta thing I guess.”

Ellie brought her knees up to her chest, scooting herself closer to the fire, closer to him. “Okay, so, old man Joel, some kinda ranch. What kind though?”

He grimaced at Ellie calling him old. He wasn’t that old was he? “Sheep.” His response was flat. “I would raise sheep.”

“Sheep?” Ellie questioned.

“Yep. Sheep. They’re quiet, do what they’re told.”

You could feel yourself being drawn into their conversation bit by bit. You knew that Joel’s soft spot for Ellie was rising to the surface bit by bit, day by day.

“Sheep are nice. I mean, they are quiet, sure. But their wool is the best material to make sweaters, blankets—” you were cut off by his stern voice. Slicing you down yet again when you only had wished to be a part of the conversation.

“Ain’t nobody asked for your opinion.” Joel snapped.

“Joel..” Ellie let out a sigh. Her eyes met yours in an empathetic gaze. “Well, what about you? After all of this is said and done, where will you go?”

You ignored him entirely and instead focused all your attention on Ellie and her question. “I haven’t really thought about it either. Suppose that taking the ranch route wouldn’t be so bad. The country life is a peaceful one. Except, I think I’d have some cows..maybe some horses to keep my company.”

“Romantic” Ellie stifled a giggle. “Well, no offense to either of you, but I don’t think ranch life is for me. Sure, it sounds cozy, but all I’ve ever known is the QZ. In front of you there is a wall, and the ocean behind. There’s nowhere else to look but up.”

“Space?” You asked with genuine curiosity.

“Yes! I mean, look at it up there. So much still to be discovered. I read every book I could get my hands on in the school library. Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell.” Ellie responded with pure enthusiasm.

“But you know who my favorite is?” Ellie leaned in close, awaiting both yours and Joel’s replies.

“Sally Ride.” You and Joel said in unison. Your heads snapped towards one another, eyes locking before he cleared his throat and tore his gaze from you.

“Sally fuckin’ Ride! Best astronaut name ever!” Ellie’s voice echoed through the opening of the cave.

“I’ll take the first watch.” You announced while grabbing your rifle from where it laid against one of the rock formations.

Joel was already standing up with his own rifle slung across his shoulder. “I got it.”

“Joel, I’ll take the first and you can take the second.” There was more you wanted to say, but with both his and Ellie’s eyes on you now, you refrained from saying more.

He responded with a curt nod before he made himself comfortable against the cave wall once more.

While you were up on the same rock that Ellie was on earlier, you could hear her and Joel still conversing. The conversation had taken a somber turn when she questioned whether the vaccine would work. Joel reassured her that it would, and Marlene knew what she was doing.

The last thing you heard was Joel telling Ellie to get some sleep and, “Dream of sheep ranches on the moon.”

He let out a frustrated grunt when he couldn’t quite tear through the strip of duct tape that he planned to use as a makeshift patch for his torn soles in his boot. Even the warmth from the fire couldn’t keep his toes at a comfortable temperature for long. The bitter chill was beginning to seep through the cracks of the worn material.

Can’t even fix my fuckin’ boot?

His internal thoughts plagued him. Made him feel weak, unreliable, a failure.

He tossed the roll of duct tape to the side with an irritated grumble. How the hell was he supposed to keep you and Ellie alive when he couldn’t even believe himself?

He refused to look in your direction when he heard the familiar crunching of snow beneath your boots. In his peripheral he saw your hand reach down and pick up the roll of duct tape.

“Need some help?” You asked, crouching down alongside him.

“Not from you.” His jaw ticked, nostrils flaring from the close proximity. It was as if you really were the plague, or some dreadful unnamed poison.

“So you’d rather let your toes freeze?” Your question hung heavy in the air. He reluctantly turned his head to the side. Eyes flitted upwards in brief contact before he scoffed,

“No. I’d rather not let my toes freeze.”

You tore off a strip of tape with your teeth, and only when he gave you the silent nod of approval, did you then assist in taping up his boot.

“If you clench your jaw any tighter, I’m afraid you're gonna end up breaking some teeth.” You murmured quietly. You tore off a few more pieces of tape and secured them around the hole in his boot. He was watching you intently as he tried to piece together your reasons for helping out someone who was so cruel to you. Why not just let his toes freeze and fall off? Why grace him with your kindness?

“Should hold for a few days I reckon.” You placed the roll of duct tape back into his bag while he watched you in silence.

“Look, you don’t have to answer this, but I just want to know the reason.”

“What reason?” He gruffly asked.

You sighed, leaning back against the cold cave wall. Your shoulders could have nearly brushed if it weren’t for how stiff he was sitting.

“The reason why you hate me so much, Joel.”

“Don’t be naive. I already told you that I have no respect for rats. You want me to fuckin’ say it again, huh?” He sneered.

“No. That’s not the reason. You think it is, but it’s not. Not when I know what you are too, Joel.”

“What the hell are y’goin’ on about? You’re an informer. A once FEDRA rat that probably sent god knows how many people to their deaths. People who were just trying to survive. People with families, friends, partners. You’re a selfish coward that only gave a damn about saving her own skin.”

You smiled sadly, resting your head back against the cave wall with your gloved hands between your knees. “And what about my own family that I was trying to keep alive? What about them, Joel?”

He didn’t know what to say. His words were lodged in his throat, trapped there and unable to escape. He never thought about you having a family. People you cared for as much as he cared for Ellie.

“I had a family once, Joel. People who I loved. And I would do anything I could to protect them and keep them alive. My parents were old. My siblings were too young. I was the eldest. Their only daughter that had enough fuckin’ guts to do some terrible, godawful things in the name of love. All for what? I failed them, Joel. I couldn’t keep them alive. Kathleen and her people overthrew FEDRA. Myself and my family were at the top of her list. She butchered them. Made it a public spectacle all because I helped turn her brother in with Henry. Her brother was a good man, he didn’t deserve to die, but neither did my family.”

“So, you can sit there and judge me. Call me a rat, a selfish coward, but then what of you? What do you see when you look into the river and see your reflection? I know what I see, Joel Miller. I see a man who is afraid of his own dark truths. His own skeletons in his closet.”

It felt better than you had expected to get this all off your chest. To tell this man your truth. To tell him the reasons for your actions. To show him that you weren’t so different after all.

He wanted to be angry at you. He wanted to scream, spit out hurtful words to beat you down further. He was a hypocrite all along and he felt humiliated down to his bare bones.

“I’m sorry.” He finally spoke just above a whisper.

“You’re only sorry because I’ve put you into a position where you’ve been forced to humanize me, Joel. You’re not actually sorry. You just feel like you should be.” You shook your head.

“No, that’s..not true. Darlin’, you’re right. You’re right about all of it. You see a man afraid of his own dark truths. I am that man. I’m the man that couldn’t keep his daughter safe. I couldn’t save her and I blamed myself for it everyday since. I couldn’t stop my own brother from losin’ himself entirely. I’m the reason he joined the Fireflies. He wanted to make a difference in the world, and I wanted to destroy it. All of it. I’ve got more blood on my hands than you could possibly ever imagine. I hate you because I hate myself.” He admitted.

“And yet I don’t hate you, Joel. I should, but I don’t. I can’t. I can’t hate someone who I see myself in. The ugly bits of survival, the bloodshed, the sacrifice. It’s all the same. We’ll do anything for the ones we love. It doesn’t make you and I monsters. No matter what our minds tell us what we are, we know the truth. We are all just people.”

Joel swallowed the visible lump growing in his throat. He could feel tears begin to prick the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away. His fists clenched at his sides. His breath shuddered when he felt your warm palm encasing his wrist. His head snapped in your direction from the contact. Brows furrowed, lips parting, eyes wide like a deers.

“It’s okay, Joel.” You whispered.

He finally wept. Ugly, snot filled silent sobs that wrecked through his entire being. And you were still there alongside him. His tears were finally allowed to freely fall, and you didn’t judge him for it, and he didn’t judge you when your own began to drip down your cheeks.

His sudden need for comfort increased when he shakily brought his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. Your cheek was squished against his chest. Your own arm draped around his middle, hand splayed across his covered stomach where you could feel each rise and fall of his lungs inhaling precious oxygen.

Sometimes human beings could find comfort in even those they viewed as strangers.

“Joel.” You whispered. Your tears had long since dried along your skin from the bitter cold. “What month do you think it is right now?”

He sniffled, gazing up at the night sky, and the millions of twinkling stars scattered about.

“December, I think.” He murmured softly.

“Oh,” you sighed, “I wonder if civilization still celebrates Christmas. I wonder if there’s any joy left in the world.”

You can feel his heartbeat through the layers he’s wearing. The subtle shift of his arm around you when it begins to grow numb from the position it’s locked in. He doesn’t let you go, however. He keeps holding you.

“I wonder that too, darlin.’” He rasped.

Your head lifts from laying against his chest. His eyes flicker down to yours. The embers from the fire still glow brightly, just enough that you can make out the warmth in his deep brown eyes as they land upon your face. “Well, if tonight happens to be Christmas Eve, then I wish you a Merry Christmas, Joel Miller.”

A smile tugs across the corner of his lips. His head dips down, lips brushing across your forehead in a tender sweep. “If tonight is Christmas Eve, then I wish you a Merry Christmas as well, darlin.’”

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[rheanyraaaa]

Water Lilly (Part 2)

Robb Stark x Frey!Reader (F)

Enemies To Lovers

Summary: Y/N Frey, is the youngest daughter of Walder Frey, here she converses with her newly wed Husband and learns her place as his wife and what she believes is a burden.

note: i’m mostly building for now, introducing you to OC’s and now we have proper conversations w Robb.

edit: lmao forgot i was writing an enemies to lovers. dw enemies will be more prevalent.

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The tent walls flapped with the bitter wind as Y/N sat alone in her quarters, huddled under furs. Outside, the camp bustled with activity; soldiers shouted orders, horses’ hooves stamped against frozen ground, and the clanging of swords echoed under a dim, cloudy sky. Robb’s army had pitched camp farther south, closer to the front lines, and the distant drums of war thrummed in the air. Yet within her tent, there was only the stillness, heavy as stone.

A month into this marriage, and she was still a stranger to her husband. They exchanged polite greetings when they crossed paths the occasional nod, a formal “Good morning, my lady,” or a brief “Sleep well” but those words felt thin, like brittle ice that would shatter under any real weight. Robb spent most of his time with the troops, strategizing and commanding. Or with Talisa.

The knowledge of his mistress had stung more than you cared to admit. Talisa Maegyr, the beautiful healer from Volantis, had captivated him from the first day. Word of Robb’s infidelity swept through camp like wildfire, as gossip does, leaving Irene feeling raw and humiliated. Robb’s nights were spent not in her tent, but in Talisa’s, the two of them wrapped in a warmth and intimacy that he’d offer only a glimpse off during your bedding ceremony.

You took a slow breath, pressing a hand to your stomach. You hadn’t felt well for days, your body unsteady, your appetite faint, but it had only been that morning that she recognized what the faint ache in her stomach truly meant. She was carrying Robb’s child their child, and a quick trip with the Maester confirmed all suspicions.

A swell of fear rose within you, twisting with sorrow. She was alone, and Robb Stark did not love you. And now you would have a child, an heir to the North, though you had never felt so far from it. The world outside was dangerous and bloody, and you had no certainty that Robb would even care to claim the child they had created together.

A sound at the entrance broke Y/N’s thoughts. Her guard, Ser Alec, stepped inside, his tanned face etched with concern as he regarded her. He was a tall, steady presence, his dark Dorneish eyes sharp and warm with familiarity. Alec had been by her side since her childhood, always a loyal protector and one of the few friends she truly had left.

“My lady,” he said, bowing his head slightly, “you look… troubled. Are you well?”

You force a small smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Alec, I’ve been better.”

He steps closer, his gaze softening, the warmth in his eyes the closest thing to comfort you’ve felt in weeks. “Tell me,” he says gently.

Your breath trembles as you meet his gaze, and words begin to spill out, unbidden and raw. “I feel… alone here. Trapped, really.” You draw in a sharp breath, pressing a hand to your stomach almost without thinking. “I’ve found myself with child, Alec.”

His expression flickers with surprise, then with understanding, a deep compassion softening the sharp edges of his face. “A child?” he murmurs. He reaches out, hesitates, then gently takes your hand. “That’s wonderful news, my lady,” he says, though you can see the worry flickering in his eyes.

“It is,” you whisper, trying to hold back the wave of conflicting emotions. “And yet, I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. Robb barely acknowledges me. He lies in Talisa’s bed every night as if I were nothing more than… than a treaty.” You feel your voice falter, and you close your eyes, willing yourself to stay composed. “How am I meant to raise a child when its father is… is barely even mine?”

Ser Alec’s face darkens, his mouth tightening. “He is a fool, my lady. A fool to treat you like this. You deserve more than cold greetings and a hollow bed.”

You glance down, hiding the blush that rises in your cheeks. Ser Alec’s words have always been kind. When you look back up, he’s still holding your hand, his expression a mixture of concern and fierce loyalty.

“Thank you, Alec,” you whisper, voice catching. He is something solid in a world of chaos. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Just then, a sharp voice cuts through the quiet of the tent. “Am I interrupting?”

You both turn to find Robb standing in the entrance, his gaze icy and unreadable, taking in the scene with a slight clench to his jaw. You quickly pull your hand back from Alec’s, stepping back.

Alec bows his head to Robb, stepping away from you but keeping his posture respectful. “My lord,” he says, voice calm but cool. “I was only ensuring the lady’s well-being.”

“Thank you, Ser Alec,” Robb says, his tone laced with an edge. “I can take care of my wife from here.”

Alec’s eyes meet yours, a question lingering there, as if asking whether you truly wish to be left alone. But you nod faintly, trying to reassure him even as unease twists within you. With a stiff bow, Alec murmurs, “My lady,” before stepping past Robb and out of the tent, leaving you alone with your husband.

For a moment, there’s only silence between you and Robb, the tension thick as frost on a winter morning. He doesn’t approach you immediately, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, his mouth set in a hard line.

After a moment, he breaks the silence, his tone cold and laced with a hint of accusation. “You seem… well-guarded,” he says, the words sharp enough to sting. “I hope Ser Alec isn’t needed for more than what’s expected of him.”

You take a slow, steadying breath, willing yourself not to snap. “Alec has been with me since I was a child,” you reply, your voice soft but firm. “He’s my friend, Robb. Nothing more.”

Robb nods, but the jealousy remains evident in the hard lines of his expression. The silence stretches again, heavy and uncomfortable, until you feel the weight of the words you must say pressing on you, desperate to be released.

“Robb…” You hesitate, unsure how he will take the news. But this is not something you can keep to yourself, nor something you should. “I’m with child.”

His face shifts, a flicker of surprise breaking through his cold exterior, followed quickly by something softer, almost hesitant. The hardness in his gaze melts as he processes the news, and he swallows, his jaw relaxing. Slowly, the hint of a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, tentative, almost vulnerable.

“A child?” he echoes, his voice quiet, as though testing the word on his tongue.

You nod, and for a brief moment, you see the young man beneath the weight of command, the boy who perhaps dreamed of family, of something beyond the battlefield. He steps forward, his hand hovering near your stomach as though he’s unsure if he should touch you.

When you nod again, he gently places his hand on your belly, the warmth of his palm sinking through the fabric of your gown. His gaze softens further, his fingers resting lightly, reverently, as if afraid the slightest pressure would break the fragile moment.

“A son… or a daughter,” he says quietly, his voice edged with wonder. “Ours.”

You watch him, studying the flickers of emotion crossing his face. It’s the first time you’ve seen him like this unguarded, stripped of the command and the anger, and for a heartbeat, you feel a swell of hope. Perhaps this child could be a bridge between you, a chance to bring you closer to him, to soften the wall that’s grown between you since the day you wed.

But as quickly as it appeared, his expression fades, and the coldness slips back over him like a familiar cloak. He removes his hand, his face hardening with the weight of duty and the responsibilities that loom over him.

“You’ll be well cared for, of course,” he says, stepping back and folding his arms. “Anything you need, you’ll have it.”

A pang of disappointment settles in your chest, but you manage a nod. “Thank you, my lord.”

He lingers a moment longer, as if wanting to say more, but then turns sharply and strides toward the tent’s exit. Just before he leaves, he glances back, his expression caught somewhere between duty and regret.

“Rest well, Irene,” he murmurs, his voice gentler than before. Then, without another word, he’s gone, leaving you alone once again, with only the ghost of his touch on your belly and the faint hope that someday he might see you as something more than his silent bride.

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Tags!!! (Tell me if you want to be tagged)

@samieree @maysileeewrites

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

Omg that last ask got me thinking. Would dick ever amputate a limb or paralyze his darling to keep them with him? Perhaps as a very last resort if none of his other efforts work out? I imagine if he did it would only make his coddling worse because now his darling is actually helpless in many ways without range of movement.

𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐒…

!!! GN reader, surgical paralysis/amputation, brief mentions of an operation (a DIY operation, yippee), manipulation, gaslighting(?), drugging, extreme infantilizing.

That’s horrifying, I love it so much.

I gave this a LOT of thought, and you know what? I think there’s a chance he’d actually go this far. Dick Grayson is the type of yandere that snowballs into madness; thoughts that would’ve made him sick to his stomach months ago seem more and more rational as his fears and paranoia get the best of him. It’s definitely a last resort, but one that’s for your own good.

(Because everything he does is for your own good…)

Honestly, I’m torn between paralysis and amputation. There’s probably a higher chance of him paralyzing you than amputation, as it would raise less eyebrows from onlookers (despite completely limiting your contact with the outside world, he still has the heart to take you outside), but that entirely doesn’t rule out amputation!! Both options are plausible.

I think that amputation is the better option cuz A.) it’s the freakier option, and B.) I love the idea of him chaining you to the bed by securing some caplike cuff over your nubs, so…

A humane operation is the only option. An IV being slipped into your arm while you sleep, a consistent moderation of anesthesia into your bloodstream, only the most careful cuts and incisions… you may wanna consider yourself lucky that your captive has the foresight to do the necessary research. The whole procedure goes without a hitch, and you eventually wake up with either no feeling in your legs, or just no legs at all. And of course he’d be there by your side to help you through the shock.

Now, I toyed with the idea of him possibly convincing you beforehand that something was wrong with your legs. Maybe he’d put on his best concerned act as he asks if they feel okay, doing an assessment over them and grimacing at what he “sees.” He’d continue this for weeks, pretending the condition of your legs was only getting worse as he’d ask things like, “are you sure you don’t feel any pain?” Eventually, he may actually convince you that something was wrong, so waking up one day after his operation wouldn’t be as shocking… but I personally don’t like that idea as much.

Instead, I think there would be no build up to this. You went to sleep one night, and then the morning came with no feeling in/no legs at all. There might be a possibility of him making up some sort of lie; something about an accident, sprinkle in some crocodile tears and soft hints that it was because “you didn’t listen to him,” and voila. Solid enough story, I guess. But I’m in love with the idea of him initially offering no explanation at all. Then, when you finally get over the shock to ask what happened, he’d simply answer with something along the lines of, “it had to be done,” leaving you to put the horrific pieces together on your own.

If you fuck with the amputation option, then it should be noted that he gives you the proper medication to make sure nothing gets infected. This ain’t the Civil War, you’re not getting some nasty ass disease on Dick’s watch.

The coddling would certainly get worse after this. And you it’s not like you have any other choice, either. If he didn’t already lock you away in his room, you’re now stuck in there for sure until he gets home. He carries you around the apartment, making sure you’re comfortable wherever he sets you down and, yes, putting you through the humiliation of helping you go to the bathroom (he’d reassure you that there’s nothing to be ashamed of, but that somehow makes you feel worse).

Going out in public might already be a rare occurrence, but now it seems to be limited to once a month, or even a couple months, as he doesn’t want to risk anything happening to you in your current state. However, as mentioned before, he still has the heart to take you outside. So he uses a wheelchair; one he’s owned for a while, if we’re going off of the last ask. But he’d probably continue to drug you before going out, just as a precaution.

This is… not the most ideal outcome… by any means. It’s best that you never lead him to believe this has to be done, and if it’s too late, then I suggest you act as good as possible; you don’t want him taking your arms away from you, too.

If I write a small blurb about this in the future, it’s gonna be the amputation option. SUE ME.

[nininikki]

𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊: j. kirschtein x fem!reader

✧ summary! — there’s nothing in the world that feels better than beating jean kirschtein. except maybe fucking him. (inspired by this request)

✧ warnings! — jean and reader are rivals, insults, fencing (🤺), reader’s kinda mean to jean but he’ll be fine, hate sex, somewhat rough, bit of nipple play, hair pulling, brief handjob, unprotected p in v (wrap it up), mirror sex, slight clit play, finger sucking, choking, degradation, name calling (slut), orgasm denial.

✧ author’s note! — first request ever, let’s go!! lmk if i missed anything in the warnings!

✧ word count! — 2.6k

“did you fucking see that? did you see that fucking look on his fucking face?”

the blood that normally rushed through your veins had been promptly replaced with triumph. triumph that evidently couldn’t be contained as you bounced up and off the floor of your dorm room.

sasha—your proud, but awfully concerned roommate—only sat gingerly at the edge of her bed. having just finished a family sized bag of bugle chips, she settled on congratulating you with soft claps of her crumb-covered hands. “that is, uh,” her face bounced between expressions before landing on a somewhat smile. “that’s amazing, (y/n), but—”

“i know, right. and, he had this, like, kicked puppy look, y’know?” you voice trailed off as you began searching through your drawers for a pair of pajama pants. “like pure defeat. it was fuckin’ incredible.”

just an hour or so ago, jean kirschtein had made the dire mistake of challenging you to a brief fencing match. a game of which you were only mildly skilled, so you’d feared you might end up in one of those rare predicaments where jean—fucking jean, of all people—managed to beat you.

“you are such a bad sport.” sasha chuckled from where she sat behind you. “he almost had you, though. it was neck and neck.”

you giddily pulled some pants from your drawer, turning in the direction of the shower with a smile. “now that, i can admit. see, i’m a great sport.”

***

eren was on his third peal of laughter in the past five minutes. the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers as heaps of schoolgirl giggles whistled through his lips. “how’d you let her get away with that shit, man? i mean, you were, like,” eren combed a hand through his hair and pinched his fingers together so close they were almost touching. “right here.”

“kiss my ass, jaeger.” jean only murmured, choosing to live in blissful amnesia about the whole thing. he’d opened the page of some random jane austen novel and began pretending to read.

this was, by far, his most humiliating defeat. not because of the fact that he lost, but how.

the sheer swiftness and grace with which your blade moved almost made it impossible for him to believe you were anything other than advanced. although, maybe this was what hardly remarkable looked like for you—those being the words you used to describe your fencing skills.

but still, where you were good, jean was always better. at least that’s what he told himself on the frequent—yes, very frequent—occasions that he bested you in something.

that thought could wait. for jean was too busy trying to stick his winning blow. except you moved with so much effortless agility he missed you by only the hair of an inch.

you were back on his heels with a cocky giggle pouring from your mouth. “oh, come on, kirschtein. do you want me or not?”

what a stupid question to ask. of course he wanted you. he’d wanted you since before he even knew what want was. since your eighth grade spelling bee where you managed to halt the match at a perfect tie. since every occurrence thereafter where the two of you had needed to beat one another more than you needed air.

so, yes. he fucking wanted you. how could he not? you were the most insufferably brilliant, wickedly talented, and oftentimes the funniest person he’d ever had the displeasure of knowing. and god help him if you weren’t beautiful as all hell too.

wait, huh?

in enough of the time it had taken him to form that thought, the blunted tip of your blade had jabbed directly into his chest, right above the rapid beating of his heart.

from then on, jean had taken the route of not thinking at all. because he knew that if he did, you’d be the only thing on his mind.

and seriously, how could he let a thought like that slip through the finely trained cracks and crevices of his own mind? you were, by all experiences and understandings, his rival. universally, anciently, eternally. you had been on opposing sides of some invisible thing for as long as he could remember.

so, why? why, why, why had such a sickening thought started to bloom—in the way fungus did, not flowers. totally not.—so suddenly through the concrete cracks of his brain?

well, that could only be possible if such a thought wasn’t so sudden at all

***

you were perhaps the only person who could still look good in fluorescent lighting. a fact jean guiltily registered when you pulled back the bathroom door and stood practically swathed in it. it flushed you bare, made you look naked and real and impossibly prettier. prettier. despite how well the description characterized you, jean still harbored his own habitual difficulty associating such a nice phrase—a compliment—with you.

“ugh.” you scoffed upon taking your eyes away from the mirror, a wand of lipstick halfway to your now frowning lips. “i’ll be out in a second. try not to piss yourself.” you barked over the blaring music.

as flushed as you made the skin behind his ears, you were still a pain in the ass. “i actually wanted to talk to you.” jean practically vomited the words, not yet used to speaking to you sans malice or insults.

“about?”

another bout of word vomit. “about what happened today.”

“you mean when i kicked your ass in fencing.”

“see, that’s the thing. i—i didn’t mean to lose.”

“yeah, no one really means to get their ass kicked.” your lips jumped into a contented smirk. “that’s what makes doing it so fun. especially when it’s you, right, kirschtein?”

“you’re a real class act, you know that?”

“glad you think so highly of me.” you dropped your lipstick into your purse and leaned against the counter. arms folded and one brow beautifully, interrogatively arched. “but c’mon, what about earlier today? what was so pressing that you had to follow me into the bathroom?”

“i don’t know, i…” jean blinked, trying to scrape some semblances of confidence together. “i’m sick of fighting with you.”

“are you this butthurt about earlier?” you scoffed, looking almost hurt and pursing your freshly lacquered lips together. “i mean, if that’s why—” you turned away from him and back into the mirror with an insultingly exasperated sigh. “if you came here to mope about what a loser you are, this isn’t the place.”

now it was jean’s turn to scoff. and that he did, kicking the bathroom door closed behind him and leaning his weight over on the narrow counter. the fury and disbelief jean felt must have been sheer on his face, because of your lackluster attempt at a turnaround. “look, i’m just saying i’m not exactly great with sympathy. or whatever it is you’re trying to do here.”

anger tunneled through his veins, as hot and passionate as those feelings he felt earlier. “you know what, fuck you.”

“yeah, as if i’d ever let a loser like you anywhere near m—” but you didn’t get to finish your sentence, because jean’s fingers were pulling you into him by the nape of your neck. in a split second in what you think was a kiss.

it was more an aggressive gnashing of teeth and tongue with frustrated groans of anger soundtracking it. you hardly even felt his lips, except for when he tried to break away and you pulled the bottom one between your teeth. which led to his hands finding the backs of your thighs so he could prop you onto the cold countertop.

he then took you in a more proper kiss. one that was certain to have your lips bruised by the end of it. one that sent the minute vibration of a whimper out of your mouth and over his. “i hate you,” jean murmured over you, arousal and anger pooling between your legs as he palmed your tits through your shirt. in that same moment you were wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer as he rasped, “so fucking much.”

your hands strung fervently between the ashy blonde moss of his hair. “not more than i hate you.” you hissed as he pulled your shirt over your head. his lips dragged across your jaw, down your, over your collarbone—not stopping until he was at your chest, at which point he was haste in pulling the straps of your bra off your shoulders.

with your hardened nipples exposed to the brisk bathroom air, jean was free to wrap his lips around one and suck and pinch as he pleased. lidded eyes glazed with malice as he peered up at you, mouth wrapping eagerly around you. all while his hand toyed aimlessly with the button on your jeans.

“the hell are you waiting for?” you asked, unexpectedly breathless. tugging a little harder on his hair elicited exactly the reaction you were hoping for.

in an instant, your jaw was in his grip and he was pulling you close enough to his face that he could’ve—should’ve—kissed you, but he didn’t. “shut the fuck up.” he hoarsely demanded. “you don’t get to rush this.”

try me, you might as well have said. because in that same second your lips and hands were on him again. groping at his stiffened cock through his pants working a hickey into the smooth skin of his neck.

his dick sprung free from the confines of his underwear—shaded a blushing red, leaking a milky bead of precum from the head, and littered with pretty veins—you barely gave yourself a moment to think before you were wrapping an eager hand around it.

all the while, jean was struggling to pull your shorts over the curve of your ass. poorly contained shudders wracking his body with every stroke you dealt him. “c’mon, kirschtein. show me you’re not as useless as i think.”

and then you went from perched upon the counter to bent directly over it. a yelp sprouted from your parted mouth as jean all but yanked your shorts down your legs. from this view, you were staring at your hazy reflection in the bathroom mirror—eyes lidded and brimmed with untamed desire, the lipstick you’d originally ventured here to fix now smudged worse than before.

you steal a glance up at jean, whose hair sat mangled atop his head. hickies purpling his jaw and collarbones. chest heaving only slightly. when the two of you made eye contact through the mirror, you could feel jean hooking his fingers under the crotch of your underwear so he could slide them down your legs.

weak with anticipation, your vision grew bleary and unfocused. “hey, hey,” but jean had your jaw in his grasp again, directing your focus back to him. “keep your eyes on me, alright.”

you only meekly nodded, even though he was certainly telling more than asking.

his fingers ghosted over the engorged head of your clit, and even when you wanted to shut your eyes as shockwaves of pleasure rolled over you, jean’s grip on your jaw tightened every time you tried. “did you not hear what the fuck i said?” he’d grunt into your ear, neglecting your pussy by taking his fingers away from it. he’d instead stick those same fingers into your mouth, running the pads of them over your tongue and letting you suck the taste from them.

then finally, his hands were on your hips, and the tip of his cock was sliding through the sodden folds of your cunt. “what was that you said earlier?” jean asked as he dipped his head into your waiting heat. “‘as if i’d ever let a loser like you anywhere near me’”

truthfully, you didn’t regret saying that. if you hadn’t, you’d have gone back downstairs to that party and not been here receiving what might’ve been the best sex of your life. (although you’d never admit that to him.)

you didn’t have time to answer because jean was kissing you. his tongue was breathtakingly soft as it mulled around in your mouth. when he pulled away, leaving strings of saliva connecting your lips, you hardly had a chance to register it before he was sliding into you with a deep grunt.

you promptly died of infatuation at the feeling of having him inside you. growing dumber and dumber off the way the curve of his cock slid up into you at just the right angle. and it didn’t take long before he bottomed out, at which point you both sang sweet moans into the stuffy bathroom air. “i hate you.” you moaned into the reflection, but his thrusts only sped up. “i hate you, i fuckin’ hate you. i—ohmygod!”

jean snaked a hand around your throat, his relentless grip sending mixed waves of pleasure and pain through your body. “you hate me so much,” he panted into the crook of your neck, “but you’re letting me fuck you like this.” his grip tightened, and you could feel the slicked walls of your cunt clench in response. “nasty fuckin’ slut.”

it wasn’t long before the head of his dick was prodding that sweet spot inside you. “don’t stop. i’m so close.” wracking your body with the most debaucherous fixes of saccharine satisfaction and pushing you closer and closer to your release. “i’m gonna cum, don’t—”

mischief crawled over jean’s flushed gestures as he blushed, his thrusts coming to a subtle halt. “ask me nicely.”

you had no other choice but to die, because there was no way you’d be able to walk out of here from a half finished fuck with a neglected orgasm. but there was also even less way you’d be nice to jean kirschtein of all fucking people.

but then he leaned over and brought his lips to yours in a soft kiss. not nearly as rough as the previous ones had been and almost out of character for the two of you. “c’mon, i know how bad you want it.” jean murmured into your mouth, sending—dare i say—butterflies in fervent laps around your tummy. “be nice so i can give you what you need, yeah?”

normally, you’d have scolded him for just outright assuming he knew anything about you. but this wasn’t normally and this time, he was right. he kissed you again, and that’s when you uttered, “please,” under his lips. “please, don’t stop.”

jean kissed you again, but at the front of your cheek. a ghost of a smile appeared over his lips. “atta girl.”

slowly but surely, his thrusts resumed and you right where you left off: toeing the edge of an orgasm with every passing second. “oh,” you whimpered as you gazed into jean’s eyes through the mirror. his very sweet, very determined eyes. that sight coupled with the feeling of his cock piercing your very soul was what sent you over.

the orgasm practically poured out of you. a white hot flash of blinding pleasure that had left you shaking where you stood and surely sheathed his dick in the thick, creamy mess of your own cum. and jean wasn’t far behind, quickly pulling out of you and covering your back in warm streaks of his own spend.

you both needed a moment to recover. heavy breaths crushing your lungs and a post orgasmic-haze looming over your heads in a tangible cloud.

“here, don’t move.” jean unfurled a towel from a nearby closet and doused it with water before gently wiping down your back. “see, all better.”

“thanks, i guess.” you said, unsure of the proper thing to say to someone who just wiped their cum off your back.

when you were done shrugging your clothes over your body and making sure your makeup shed no discretion as to what you’d just been doing, you cautioned a small kiss to jean’s jaw. “tell anyone about this and i’ll kill you.”

he only smirked back at you with a roll of his eyes, but answered nonetheless. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

© NININIKKI. do not translate, copy, or modify my works in any way shape or form.

[mamuscript]

They Had To

After we watched the season finale - and then rewatched it, then rewatched both seasons, then watched about a hundred hours of YouTube edits (that last one may have been just me) - we had an hours-long argument about who was “at fault.” After the last ten agonizing minutes of GO2, my hubba was very anti-Aziraphale.

I can’t really blame him for feeling that way - that “I Forgive You” is seared into my soul in a way I’m not ready to forgive Mr. Gaiman for, yet. It was crushing, and the way you could see the hope draining from Crowley is a study in expertise by David Tennant.

I heard someone say recently that you know a storyteller has done their job when you get to the end and, however much you never saw it coming before, once you arrive there, it seems as inevitable as the sun rising in the morning. 

This is the beauty, the agony, and the absolute mastery of the final fifteen minutes of GO2.

Because neither Crowley or Aziraphale could have done anything else in that scene. 

Crowley was cast out of Heaven for what we have reason to believe was a minor infraction. He’s spent millenia witnessing the cruelty, unfairness, and incompetence of Heaven. He looked into Gabriel’s face as the archangel told (who he believed to be) Aziraphale to shut his stupid mouth and die, already. In the deleted scenes, we see that he witnessed Heaven giving a demon permission to humiliate Aziraphale, just for fun, before they killed him - which is the height of cruelty; cruelty for cruelty’s sake. There is no question in Crowley’s mind that Heaven are the bad guys just as much as Hell - possibly more so, since they wear a cloak of righteousness while they commit their atrocities. At least Hell is honest about what they’re doing.

There’s no world in which Crowley could ever agree to go back to working for Heaven, and part of the pain of that scene is that if Aziraphale had taken a moment to really think about it, he would have realized that.

But.

First (and I identify with this way too strongly), Aziraphale is a company man. He knows that there are problems in middle management, but he still believes in the rightness and goodness of God. As far as he’s concerned, Heaven isn’t the archangels or the Metatron; Heaven is God. And while God, as far as he knows, is responsible for the eviction from Eden, and for the flood, and for allowing humans who start off in abject poverty to be judged by the same standards as those who are given more advantages, he also truly believes in the ineffability of God. He was told, long ago, that all of these things are part of the Ineffable Plan, and Aziraphale would never think to believe that anybody was deceiving him - either intentionally or otherwise - without being explicitly told so.

And crucially, he hasn’t seen what Crowley has seen. He didn’t witness - and hasn’t been told about - whatever transgression Crowley committed that resulted in his fall, and however much he has grown to love Crowley for who the demon has become alongside him, he doesn’t have enough information to know that Crowley didn’t deserve to be cast out at the time. And Aziraphale was not there when Gabriel told him to die; he didn’t look into Gabriel’s face and see the pure, cold malevolence there, the proof that however much goodness there may still be in God, She isn’t actively calling the shots, and the beings who are are ruthless and capable of malevolence. He hasn’t had that experience and doesn’t have that depth of understanding.

But most importantly, Aziraphale is, at his core, a being of justice, of love, of goodness. He has seen things like the flood, he knows there are problems, and he has been powerless in the face of them - but now, he can help. “I can make a difference,” he says. Aziraphale, because of his core nature, cannot see an opportunity to make the world and Heaven a better place and not seize it. 

He can’t have made any choice other than the one he made. And if Crowley had taken a moment to really think about it, he would have known that he was asking the impossible.

So, for my money, the tragedy of that scene didn’t begin when Crowley said, “And you told him just where he can stick it, then?” even though that was the beginning of the most painful moments of the series, perhaps of all of television (at least for me). All of that - Crowley’s rejection of Heaven, Aziraphale’s rejection of Crowley’s declaration of love, their brutal separation - was inevitable the second the Metatron put the offer on the table. 

(Which, among other things, means that the Metatron is a deeply manipulative villain.) That’s what makes the final scene so riveting, so painful. It’s not only that we want these two beings to be happy and in love and together, and due to pride and miscommunication they aren't. It’s that with who each of them is in their soul, as things currently stand, they are incapable of being together.

[chthonicgodling]

@duck-n-clover - [from the replies of this post] more about Rane being born in avengers tower you say???????

GIGGLES WEEEEELLLL IF YOU INSISTTTTTT .,,, it’s time to MAKE LOKI REALLY MAD BY TELLING THIS STORY-

cw for uh. lol. childbirth????

So Lemme just say. despite my modern day constant humiliating insistence of pretending the mcu is not a thing that exists, even despite still clutching EeL desperately in my claws for over a decade - it is I guess time to admit that the mcu is… in fact, and of course, partially canon to the Elysium’verse.., BUT only up to the events of 2012 (you know). In that peak post avengers haze of “everyone is friends and family and living together in the tower” bliss world. THATS where Elysium exists lmao. ALSO IMPORTANT THOR IS BACK ON ASGARD AND DOES NOT LIVE WITH THEM

NOWADAYS this is not relevant in ANY way other than Loki’s continued presence here and - lmao honestly I forget all the time that technically he’s. well.

but it’s OBVIOUSLY ughhhhhh not a secret that I was deeply into ~things~ back then and for quite some time after, so yes the avengers exist in here obviously and yes they had aaaaall interacted tangentially with aaaaall your fave Elysium characters, although - at least as far as fenixe and I together were concerned - primarily just as cameo characters. A point of contact and team of allies in the mortal world, interacting usually through Tory and Epi (Prince of the Underworld, and his Advisor).

That’s all a Liiiiittle bit more context for what I’m about to explain so NOW allow me to go on a huge tangent to loop around to finally explaining wtf I’m talking about 😌 under the cut for mercy

When deities have babies, pregnancy side effects beyond the usual list varies a little bit more than in mortals, and more specifically to gods. As a godling develops in utero, along with developing physically they have an entire realm of magical powers and abilities developing steadily as well!! this sudden growth of baby powers can very often interfere with the existing magic abilities of the deity carrying the baby, at varying degrees of intensity depending on a number of factors, or even just exactly how powerful that baby will be. Best and most often case scenario— a malfunctioning of basic god abilities like teleporting. Worst case scenario - losing powers completely, those basic ones or even ALL powers like for example when Maci had been pregnant with Neo and she’d completely lost everything even her pyrokinesis, let alone the Neo specific side effects(that’s a story for another post)— or when Epi was pregnant with Ty and Bel and he completely lost the ability to shapeshift. Etc, etc.

Now, Loki’s magic isn’t inherent to being a god like in the Greek pantheon - as a different breed of god, Loki’s powers stem from HIS own specific innate ability (called seidr in Asgard, found in many but mostly actually accessed and practiced by goddesses which. is a whole other fucked up thing loki had to deal with, fucking sorcery gender roles, whatever 🙄 well good thing Loki’s a woman too when he feels like it!!! Representation win! this Norse chaos god IS nonbinary!!)

ANYWAY his powers come from his own ability that he had THEN honed and trained and practiced for hundreds of years to perfect. Rane was Loki’s eighth pregnancy, and though the previous seven times had found Loki’s abilities indeed slightly dampened — making him indeed slightly more vulnerable — Loki had always had an iron grip control of his own seidr enough to prevent any of his burgeoning children from affecting him TOO dramatically through the durations of those pregnancies. Howeverrrrrrrr by the time Loki was pregnant with Rane, Loki’s inherent magic was actually… different. Enhanced. Extremely enhanced.

If you’ll recall, a few years prior, he had absorbed all of the magic of the Underworld, and though that had significantly boosted his own abilities, it also proved a new and exciting challenge to learn and wrangle! A type of magic inherently MORE unruly! ……..so………

those two things in mind — the effects of a growing godling + a much more naturally chaotic magic source in Loki — resulted in a pregnancy in which ALL of Loki’s magic abilities went COMPLETELY haywire.

beyond being a source of all sorts of comedic accidental hijinks - things that naturally occur when you have an overpowered very pregnant chaos god with suddenly no ability to fully control the magic at his fingertips - Loki’s abilities to do very basic things such as shapeshifting or teleporting became much more unreliable, the powers coming and going in surges. This is important background info!

Are we following me still okay good. nowwww The second important variable has to do with the relationships Loki was involved with at the time as well. So Through the course of his pregnancy with Rane, remember the latter stages of it found Tory pregnant with Eisa and Einmyria along with that chaos (when Tory briefly left the palace he’d actually camped out in the avengers tower cause he figured Loki would not - and currently, COULD not - get over there!). But the early stages of it also found Loki’s relationship-friendship with Flower Nymph (Rane’s other parent, currently being retconned and redone) turned upside down again.

They’d just broken up and agreed cautiously and tersely to just be friends when Loki realized he was pregnant with her child and, though Flower Nymph was not the type of person to start a vicious fight, she WAS deeply upset enough by Loki pulling away from her even with baby for them to start gently bickering again - Loki didn’t want anyone near him while he was pregnant not even her, she did NOT like that, He fully disappeared on her after specifically promising not to do that, yknow, like an asshole- I know he’s traumatized but it IS so hard to defend him sometimes fgkfkfk - before sheepishly returning, him then trying to pull away again ANYWAY. It all revolves around Loki being , yes traumatized but BEYOND THAT, being generally emotionally stunted and completely unwilling or unable to let her inside the many walls he’d built up, this was why they broke up in the first place!! but now even worse with the baby. (Everyone told him he was being a dick to her, it’s worth mentioning…… he WAS??????? honestly SHE broke up with him all of the times but it was ALL his fault every time fgkfk gOD—)

Eventually - once the drama with Eisa and Einmyria died down and everything was stable enough again - that Flower Nymph decided that she’d had enough of Loki. it was just!! enough!! she deserved better!!! Loki clearly didn’t want anything to do with her no matter how hard she’d tried for their sake and his sake and the sake of unborn baby Rane but finally his behavior was too much and so she ran away. Where else to go to avoid seeing Loki again than of course to……. that one place he wouldn’t and COULDNT go……

When she sought sanctuary in the avengers tower, they let her stay and gave Tory a courtesy call to notify him that she was someplace safe, in case anyone had been looking. Of course once she was gone was the second Loki whined about getting her back 🙄 and HE’D been looking for her. Tory spoke to her and she - ughghhh despite herself still with such affection for him jesus christ - asked him to just let Loki know where she was and that she was safe. Tory let Loki know, and then told him in no uncertain terms to leave her and the avengers the fuck alone - Loki was INSULTED AND FURIOUS that she would gO STAY AT THE HOME OF HIS MORTAL ENEMIES OF ALL PEOPLE!??? And sulked about it for QUITE some time, though he stayed away for her sake. Vali and Nari visited her a few times though (they’d always been close with her🥹)

Aaaaand then days later Loki’s water broke.

Naturally Loki.,, Disobeying everyone’s direct orders,,,., just immediately gathered up his strength to teleport straight into the middle of the avengers tower to collect Her and tell her that their baby was coming 🤪 cool thanks! The avengers dIDNT ENJOY THIS LOL!?? But SHE was overjoyed that he had returned!

Only one problem though!

Loki’s haywire magic and all of that noxious Underworld essence flowing through his veins and the baby he was now about to give birth to proved to be an AWFUL combo and all at once Loki- became extremely physically ill (vomiting mystery underworld goo gross); COMPLETELY lost the ability to teleport back or— ANYWHERE; and hELLO WAS ALSO!!? going into labor????? Flower nymphs dont teleport either!!!

Tory was called to come collect his pet chaos entity except, new problem - Tory was ALSO pregnant and HIS malfunctioning pregnancy magic could not teleport him AND Loki both back.

…so they called Epi (“…Damn it how do these situations ALWAYS involve him”) except Epi!! just generally like most gods!!! was not strong enough magically to teleport him AND Loki AND Rane AND Tory AND the twins AND Giselle all back to the palace at once and okay you know what we no longer have time to fight about this bc tHERES??? A BABY COMING??????

oh my god, the argument that ensued from an EXTREMELY IRATE INDIGNANT LOKI???? even while Loki was in active labor. and throwing up. to summarize ; along the lines of “ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT” until finally the avengers (at this point primarily just Steve and Tony actually fgkfkf) went into uhh. Crisis business mode and explained tersely Okay well clearly you don’t have much of a choice, you’re either going to have the baby in the middle of our living room or you can move to the bed over there. Finally in increasing desperation Loki agreed - agreed aka being physically dragged to the other room fighting and whining the entire time fgkfkff - so long as all of THEM would go the fuck away somewhere else. okay fine deal whatever! EXCEPT

….next problem was of course due to HAYWIRE MAGIC Loki’s usual ability to give birth in any and every shape was also.,, NOW SUDDENLY malfunctioning. the palace had delivered a good handful of babies by then but no one had ever given anyone an entire c-section 🙃

to Loki’s utter abject misery and FURIOUS MORTIFICATION, Epi and Tory dragged the team back in to just jackass together — well Bruce is a fucking doctor at least kindave — oh my gods you cANNOT BE SERIOUS—

and so, in one of the single most humiliating moments of Loki’s life, Rane was delivered via emergency c-section in the avengers tower by Dr. Banner himself.

this is a fun and cool way to interact with your archnemesises.

Loki has stayed away from all of them forever and ever and ever after, lmfao.

I’ll end this thread of utter ridiculous insanity with the following canon convo snippet quote lmao,

Loki: “So am I to be penalized for going and fetching Giselle of my own accord?”

Tory:  “No, you already got your punishment. […] The guy who smashed you into concrete gave you a c-section.”

Loki: ….the heaviest of sighs

thank you for giving me the slightest opportunity to spit out another whole essay! THERES SO MUCH CHAOS IN HERE BUT THE END

bats my eyelashes. part of me to this day wants to completely divorce ALL remnants of the mcu from Elysium but then part of me…. Remembers this happening and it’s still one of the funniest things that’s ever happened ever and so we can never change it fgkfkflflskdmgkf gOD -

[chryso-poeia]

The following text might be triggering for some but i felt like writing, so enjoy or don’t.

TLDR - Normalize everything and become your ideal self; you can keep your culture puppeteering and group identity. Raise up the individual.

-

Gay trauma. Growing up without representation or acceptance at large causes people to internalize what is projected on them by the weak, thus understandably one rebels against normative society. LGBTQ plus individuals then have to build themselves up often alone, from the ground up. At which point it should be understood that a certain reactivity will be inherent for a reason. Because if you grow up with ideas force fed to you about how you’re wrong in who you are as a baseline; a level of defensiveness is then warranted. This is manifested through subtle to severe trauma; the extensions or byproducts of weak minded masses. The same straight masses that often haven’t had to grow up behind a glass pane to everyone and everything else. To me yet still, i extend understanding to people by the very fact that indeed, we can all just operate in accordance with our consciousness.

Now i can only speak for myself but when you have to try everything in the way of rebellion without any established structure or if there is, it’s likely to be laughably psuedo-progressive resources shared by people that labor under the same subconscious homophobia or conservative ideologies that lay the ground work for the prosecution, witch hunting and discrimination of the LGBTQ that is still very much alive today, to extreme extents in some parts of the world. To be kindapped, tortured, humiliated and murdered for your sexuality?

Anyhow, by going through the LGBTQ+ process of finding oneself in society; you will break down, at which point there’s a crossroad betweem evolving or withering. The building up process after the fact is what has often created amazingly lucid, liberating and creative expressions and works of art within Queer culture, by individuals whose awareness and insight is nothing short of acute and crucial in western culture. Also, none of this accounts for other types or trauma neither, which might add layers upon layers or complexity and disorder upon the existing. That being said; we are nothing without the past but only in the way of lessons and healing

Alas, i will never understand why my private life is anyone else’s concern unless i allow them in. These same masses will preach acceptance but they do not share the queer experience. Besides, it’s not anyone else’s job to accept oneself, that’s all internal. Now counter culture provides safety and acceptance. But for me, i never had a sense of belonging because i was either too little or too much. So i came to realize that i was fighting invisible ideas perpetuated by people whose ideas mean nothing (when you know who you are and you understand intrinsic human value). Because most people only give meaning to things based on the context of their conditioned bias.

Now the importance of representation, education, normalization and external support cannot be overstated, especially resources for kids, created by LGBTQ individuals. Because the truth so far as i’m concerned is that, if you do not share my experience, i am not interested in your fake sympathy or half assed acceptance. Acceptance and knowledge of self will always be key and not dependance on some forced conformity by proxy to any one culture or ideology that i do not vibe with. Because nothing and no one gets to play with your value if you draw all power back to you.

So personally, no one and nothing holds power over me, i believe in removing everything that is in any way disempowering from my very vocabulary. I choose my words and meanings and thus; it is then that they are given power. The past is a lesson, not a sentence. So i choose to be free and full of love. Because i get to do so, because i’m human.

[wondernimbus]

two sworn enemies — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

summary: there is only one thing worse than being hated by draco malfoy; it’s being fancied by him.

requests are closed for now! please refrain from plagiarizing my work.

After being on the receiving end of Malfoy's torment for four whole years at Hogwarts—a place where she's supposed to be making friends and learning and making the most out of all her youthful years—[Y/N] is beginning to grow tired.

The last thing she’s supposed to be worrying about is a snarky Slytherin boy who always has some sort of rude remark resting on his lips every time he comes across her in the corridors. Or anywhere, for that matter—Draco Malfoy's incessant jest seems to stay within no boundaries.

Eleven-year-old [Y/N] used to be fazed by it; she used to cry herself to sleep every time the platinum blond would push past her in the hallway, yelling out something offensive on his way, usually to do with her friendship with blood-traitors and the "big-headed" Harry Potter (or so Malfoy referred to him). She used to feel angry—angry enough to want to whip her wand out at him and hex him into oblivion every time he'd even as much as lay eyes on her. But the more Malfoy tried to bother her, the more it didn't anymore.

Fourth year wasn't so bad. Malfoy had already called her about a hundred nasty names at that point and was running out of them—his creativity was dwindling and [Y/N]'s concern along with it. She'd even laughed at him, one time during Transfiguration class—genuinely laughed, not out of frustration or anger but because she found something that he said to her funny.

"How does it feel being surrounded by blood-traitors and Mudbloods, [Y/L/N]? Pity you chose the wrong crowd to hang around."

"How did it feel to get punched by a girl, Malfoy? I hear Hermione packs quite a punch."

Malfoy’s nose had wrinkled into his signature sneer before he scoffed. "Tell Granger she can improve her right hook." At which point [Y/N] had snorted out a laugh—and yes, it wasn't a full-blown burst of chortles, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

Fifth year rolls around and Draco Malfoy is the least of [Y/N]'s worries. She's gotten over his nagging at this point; all his jabs have lost a bit, if not all of their luster.

But then a week after classes have started, Malfoy starts acting—weird. Very weird. [Y/N] has no idea what's gotten into him, but Draco's cruel insults seem to have veered off course and taken a very dramatic turn. He still yells at her in the hallways, but not to make some harmful jibe [Y/N] has heard thousands of times before. Instead Draco—yes, Draco Malfoy, the same boy who has never once failed to torment her in the past years they've known each other—has now made it a habit to yell pick-up lines. At her. At [Y/N]. At the same girl he's been bad-mouthing for the past four years.

The first time it happens, [Y/N] can't believe her ears. She thinks he's yelling at someone else other than her, because there is no way bloody Draco Malfoy is shouting "DO YOU PLAY QUIDDITCH? BECAUSE YOU SEEM LIKE A KEEPER" at her from halfway across the Great Hall.

But he's definitely staring at her, grinning widely in that conceited sort of way that [Y/N] has always despised.

"Is he talking to me?" [Y/N] asks Hermione, bewildered.

"Looks like it." Hermione looks just as surprised as her. "Knowing Malfoy, he's not up to anything good. Ignore him, [Y/N]."

But ignoring Draco Malfoy is not something [Y/N] is capable of; the feistiness in her makes sure of that. So instead of moving on and turning a blind eye, she cups her hands over her mouth and yells, just as loud, "ARE YOU A BLUDGER? BECAUSE I'D LOVE TO BASH A BEATER'S BAT INTO YOUR—"

Whatever Malfoy is up to, [Y/N] isn't entirely sure she's enjoying it. The next afternoon—also in the Great Hall, while [Y/N] is doing her homework instead of eating lunch (because Snape apparently thinks it's a good idea to ask for a four-page essay when the school year has barely even started), there's a thump and [Y/N] looks up to see that there's a little red envelope sitting on her empty plate. Looking even further up, she sees an owl flying away from the table and out of the roof of the Great Hall, where the owls always come from to deliver letters—although that only happens at breakfast. Which means this is from someone else, likely another student.

[Y/N] stares.

"It's a Howler," Harry says from next to her, like she doesn't already know.

"I'm aware," she mutters, narrowing her eyes at it before she sets down her quill to grab it.

"Who would send you a Howler?" Ron has looked up from where he'd been shoveling beans into his plate. He crowds into her space, peering at the envelope she now holds in her hands; and she can't really answer him, because only her name is scribbled across the front in handwriting she doesn't recognize. Whoever sent it to her didn't bother with writing their own name.

She hesitates, brows furrowed as she, too, wonders where it's from. Her parents don't have a reason to send her a Howler—unless she's done something wrong that she isn't aware of. But it's only been a week since school has started and as far as she can tell, she hasn't done anything worthy of being sent a Howler. Or at least not yet.

"Might as well," she sighs—it's going to deliver its message one way or the other, anyway, and [Y/N] prefers to open it herself than have it burst into flames, rain ashes down upon her homework, and then start talking—so she opens the envelope.

The Howler jumps to life in front of her, hovering in front of her face, and [Y/N] has never seen a piece of stationery look so angry before. A forked tongue slips out of the envelope—[Y/N] braces herself for the worst, despite not knowing who on earth might have sent it—until a familiar voice booms around the Great Hall.

"ARE YOU A BASILISK? BECAUSE WHEN I SAW YOU, I FROZE."

Ron's shoulders automatically start shaking with laughter. Most of the Great Hall—or at least the ones close enough to hear the Howler—have turned around to watch the spectacle unfold, giggling behind their palms and pointing at [Y/N] like she can't see them. [Y/N], in the meantime, stares, completely dead to the world and everything else around her, because she knows that voice.

But then the Howler keeps talking. "IF YOU LET ME TAKE YOU ON A DATE, I CAN PROMISE YOU THINGS THOSE FILTHY PEASANTS CAN NEVER GIVE YOU."

The entire hall has fallen completely silent. [Y/N] feels her face burning up, but not with embarrassment—[Y/N] is angry. She feels it thrumming in her veins, curling around her lungs, clouding all of her senses.

With a single flick of [Y/N]'s wand, the Howler bursts into flames with a final feeble wheeze of I'm also a fairly good snogger. Ron is roaring with laughter and Harry has also joined in. Two-faced gits.

[Y/N] slams her palms down on the table and vaguely even registers the pain this gives her as she steps out from behind the bench and turns around to face the Slytherin table because of course she knows who sent the Howler. Of course she knows who would go out of his way to humiliate her in front of the entirety of Hogwarts, because that extremely irritating, maddeningly haughty voice can only belong to one person—and sure enough, the idiot in question is standing there on top of the benches, arms outstretched towards her and that proud, snooty look on his face like he expects her to actually be impressed.

Over Ron and Harry's laughter, [Y/N] shouts angrily, "Malfoy!"

Malfoy drops his arms to his sides, hops off the bench, and swaggers towards her. She meets him halfway—and when she does, she doesn't hesitate to shove him angrily by the shoulders. He stumbles back a little, but he's still grinning annoyingly wide. "Have you come to me bearing an answer?" he says, his tone mocking, and [Y/N] just barely suppresses herself from whipping out her wand and jabbing it somewhere she wouldn't want a wand anywhere near. They are still surrounded by teachers. "I imagine it's a yes—who would turn me down, after all—"

"Drop the fucking act," she hisses; all eyes are on them, because Hogwarts never passes up a chance for gossip, and this might be the most exciting one yet. Draco Malfoy publicly asking out the girl everyone knows he's hated, and has hated him, for a long time—what a spectacle. But [Y/N] knows that his intentions are far from genuine; this is just another way to humiliate her and get on her nerves. And as much as she hates to admit it, it's a pretty good fucking move, because she hasn't been this annoyed by him in a long time.

Her teeth are gritted together so hard her words barely come out coherent. "I don't know what you're playing at," she practically growls, taking a step closer to get in his face, "But I encourage you to get yourself together."

But Malfoy seems unaffected. "Pity you didn't let the Howler finish," he drawls, still with that same smirk on his lips as he wriggles his brows suggestively. "I could've told you more about my superior snogging skills."

"Which is exactly why I didn't," she fumes. "We're in the middle of lunch—any more of you talking about your 'superior snogging skills' and the entirety of this hall would've thrown up on themselves. I know I would've."

At this, the smile on Malfoy's face droops a little, a ghost of his familiar sneer seeping in. [Y/N] takes a step back away from him, because she can't stand being more than a few feet near the prat. "You've got a lot of nerve, pulling this," she scoffs. "Try it again and you'll regret it. Now excuse me while I go do my bloody homework."

And then she turns around, goes back to the Gryffindor table, and does her bloody homework.

—

But Malfoy, as it turns out, isn't as weak-willed as he lets on. She's started receiving Howlers every morning at breakfast, all of which burst into flames every time to rain ashes upon her innocent plate of eggs and toast, but only after loudly blurting out some ridiculously bad pick-up line. It's been four days since the first Howler and they've only gotten progressively worse ever since—"you must be a Boggart because I'm terrified of pretty women"—and [Y/N] is beginning to grow so very tired.

Today, she hexes him in the middle of the hallway just as he's coming out of Potions class. She had warned him, all those days ago, that he'd regret it if he didn't let up. So [Y/N] watches, terribly amused as Draco starts wailing in the corridor, his hands splayed over his face in a measly attempt to cover the sardines falling out of his nostrils. It's an irreversible hex—or at least for eight hours—but until then, Draco will have to deal with the tiny fishes that shoot out of his nose at random intervals. [Y/N] can't bring herself to feel bad, not when he's humiliated her time and time again in front of so many people.

No Howlers arrive the morning after. There's a sense of what feels like disappointment coming off of the Great Hall; some people have actually turned around in their seats to watch her in anticipation for an owl to come swooping down upon her bearing a red envelope. Unfortunately for them, it doesn't happen. [Y/N], meanwhile, is finally at peace.

Or at least until Ron jabs her in the side and goes, "So are you?" he's grinning. "A Boggart, I mean."

It's a reference to the Howler she received yesterday. Her movements are dangerously swift; immediately she smacks the back of his head, sending him into a complaining frenzy. She rolls her eyes. "Stupid Malfoy."

"As much as I hate to say this," Harry begins, "I kind of wish you hadn't hexed him into stopping. His pick-up lines were pretty funny."

"Ha!" [Y/N] points a finger at Harry and nods approvingly, laughing a little. "That's a good one, Harry."

Harry stares at her dead in the eye. "Oh, I wasn't joking."

Her face falls.

"I suppose being on the receiving end of Malfoy's affection isn't any better than being hated by him," says Hermione, offering [Y/N] a sympathetic smile. "It's a good thing you showed him not to mess with you any further, [Y/N]."

[Y/N] tries for a smile of her own, but it comes out all stiff and crooked. "I feel like the past few days have been a fever dream," she says, shuddering. "This new form of—bullying, I don't know—has just been so weird. The bad names I've gotten used to, but—the compliments? The pick-up lines?"

"D'you think he's gone off his rocker?" Ron suggests.

"Maybe he fancies you," says Hermione off-handedly.

The effect this has on the three is instantaneous; Ron, Harry, and [Y/N] simultaneously blanch as though they've all swallowed something sour at the same time. Ron is choking on a piece of toast and Harry has spit water everywhere.

"Absolutely not," [Y/N] is shaking her head, nose wrinkled in distaste. "He can't possibly—that's ridiculous. We've hated each other for years."

"Feelings do change," Hermione shrugs, rolling her eyes at Ron and Harry, who have yet to recover from their initial shock. "And besides, it was just a suggestion. Although I don't see why he'd go out of his way to send you Howlers repeatedly asking you out if he doesn't fancy you."

"Because he wants to humiliate me in front of everyone!"

"Oh, alright, alright," Hermione sighs, sensing her defeat. "But you never know."

Ron has gathered his bearings once more. He turns to Hermione, genuine concern flooding his features, and blubbers, "Did I hear you right? Malfoy—fancying [Y/N]?"

"Yes, Ronald." Another eye-roll. "It's not that outlandish. Boys are boys—even Malfoy."

"Merlin's beard," he slumps down in his seat, shaking his head. "I don't think I've ever been this surprised. Not since I heard that Percy managed to score himself a girlfriend, and that was three years ago."

A few days pass, and while no more Howlers arrive, Malfoy is still as insistent as ever in his attempts to "woo" her—or, well, whatever it is he's trying to do. [Y/N] doesn’t quite know what to call it anymore; for some reason, it no longer feels like an attempt to bully or humiliate her. It's not as though he's insulting her, and it's not like her reputation is in any way being lessened. In fact, most of Hogwarts, it seems, enjoys the so-called "love-hate relationship" they've got going on, and expects them to get together sometime in the near future.

[Y/N] learns all of this from Fred and George, who are always a good source of gossip.

"What better love story than two sworn enemies falling in love?" George gushes, clasping his hands together.

"So romantic," Fred sings, closing his eyes and swaying his hips as though listening to a sultry tune only he can hear. “Setting aside their differences to answer the call of their hearts."

"Oh, Malfoy's still an arse, of course."

"But it's still romantic."

Part of [Y/N] wishes that the twins hadn’t told her that, because it makes it all the more confusing on her part. If, by some miracle, Malfoy does fancy her—what is she supposed to do? Ride off with him into the sunset? They are enemies—they have been for four, supposedly five years now, except this year Malfoy is being an insufferable twat who won't stop yelling pick-up lines at her in the hallways.

[Y/N] decides to turn a blind eye on him. If she ignores him for long enough, he's bound to stop.

Right?

—

Despite being a close friend to the famous Harry Potter, [Y/N] can say she’s made a name for herself at school that stretches far beyond just that girl who hangs out with the Chosen One. She’s been playing for the Gryffindor Quidditch team for two years and has contributed to some of the house’s most fantastic wins as a Chaser, and she’s also a fairly good student. She may have a penchant for trouble-making, but she knows how to limit herself. She prides herself for her work ethic and thus her grades are above average—enough for her to earn the favor of most of her teachers and for eager first-years to sometimes come up to her asking for help doing homework.

But enough for those very same first-years to come up to her in the hallway ready to do all of her biddings for the day, practically demanding her to hand over her books so that they can carry them for her? No. Certainly not. [Y/N] may have made a name for herself, but definitely not one renowned enough to earn the eleven-year-olds now crowded around her moments after she steps out of potions class, telling her that, “We’re here at your disposal! If you need us to do anything, just say the word!”

[Y/N] stares at the three children clustered around her, all wide-eyed and for some reason incredibly eager for her to start bossing them around.

Taken aback, she ushers them into a corner; the hallway is busy and people will keep bumping into them if they stay in the middle of the hallway like that.

Once away from the bustling main corridor, she bends down a little so that she’s at eye-level with all of them. “At my disposal?” she repeats, eyes narrowing playfully. “What do you mean?”

“We’re here to carry your books for you or grab you snacks from the kitchens or tie your shoelaces if you need us to!” one of them exclaims, bouncing on his toes.

Alright—this is getting ridiculous. [Y/N] pauses, lips pressed together into a thin line as she stares at each one of the first-years in turn; all three of them are staring at her as though waiting for her to start asking them to do push-ups.

She inhales. Someone must have put them up to this, because there is no way these children woke up this morning and simultaneously decided to become her servants for the day.

“Well,” she begins, smiling at them—and good grief, did she really look that young when she was eleven? “Thank you for offering to help me. I appreciate it, really—but lucky for me I’ve got some very capable arms and I think I can handle tying my shoelaces and carrying my books around and whatnot. But again—thank you. You’re all very nice.”

She pauses to look at their reactions; the smiles on their faces have drooped a little as they turn to one another, seemingly at a loss for words. “But,” the one girl says, frowning, “We’re supposed to help you.”

[Y/N] raises her eyebrows. “Supposed to?”

Someone definitely put them up to this—[Y/N] is certain of it now. And she has a good guess as to who.

She starts by saying, tone gentle, “Did someone tell you to do this? Because that’s really kind, and I’d love to thank them.”

The girl bunches up her lips in thought, shuffling her feet against the ground. “We’re not supposed to say,” she mutters, glancing at the two boys next to her nervously.

[Y/N] inhales. She needs confirmation, so she crouches down so that she’s the same height as them, and offers them all the friendliest, most trustworthy smile she can muster. The kind that wins over eleven-year-olds. “You won’t get in trouble if you tell me,” she tells them gently, and waits for them to nod in understanding before she goes, “Was it Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?”

They don’t have to respond—the looks on their faces are enough confirmation. [Y/N] suppresses the urge to roll her eyes, because of course Malfoy is the kind of person to somehow get first-years to do something like this. And she’s pretty sure it has something to do with bribery.

“Did he promise to give you anything, maybe?” [Y/N] presses on patiently.

The girl leans in and cups her hand over her mouth to whisper excitedly, “Chocolate frogs. Five for each of us.”

Ah. Of course. [Y/N] sighs inwardly and nods, standing up properly to once more tower over the tiny first-years. As much as she would love to have her own personal butlers, there is absolutely no way she is agreeing to take any part in exploiting these young kids. So she ruffles all of their hair in turn and promises to give them much, much more chocolate frogs than Malfoy will ever be able to offer if they swear to ignore him for the rest of their lives.

So she stands there in the hallway, a minute late for Transfiguration, watching the three first-years skip down the hallway, grinning excitedly to themselves—no doubt because they’ve just been promised what could be an infinite supply of chocolate frogs.

Which [Y/N] will now have to spend a lump of her summer savings on. Great. Bloody fantastic.

She didn’t think she could hate Draco Malfoy even more than she already did, but now, with the burden of buying chocolate frogs resting on her shoulders, she realizes that anything is possible.

[Y/N] finds Draco later on in the day when she’s heading to the Great Hall for dinner; as she’s passing by a window that coincidentally overlooks the Quidditch pitch, she sees him zooming around the stadium by himself, no doubt practicing to better his (in [Y/N]’s opinion) ghastly Seeker skills.

So she trudges off to the pitch, arms folded over her chest as she yells, “Malfoy!”

He notices, stops in mid-air, and immediately flies down to land in front of her, one hand on his hip and the other resting on top of his broom. That signature smirk is already on his face, mirrored by [Y/N]'s angry scowl. “Here to take me up on my offer for a date?” he grins, shaking his (sweaty, wet) hair out of his eyes. [Y/N] watches the movement, unimpressed. “Or were you just planning to watch me practice?”

She scoffs, tearing her eyes away from the way he’s running a hand through his blond hair. “Neither. I thought you were bad enough, Malfoy, but bribing first-years into doing my bidding for me? In exchange for bloody chocolate frogs?”

Malfoy’s hand pauses in carding through his hair. He drops it back to his side. “So you figured it out.”

”Why else would first-years be so eager for me to boss them around?”

”Maybe because they find you just as beautiful as I do?” he suggests, eyes glinting, the smile on his face growing even wider. [Y/N] lets out a quick breath of incredulous laughter, because is he really still keeping this act up when no one is around to see? Is he that desperate to get on her nerves?

“Just stop it, Malfoy,” she says through gritted teeth, taking a step closer to him. At this, he whistles a little, eyebrows rising, and for some reason [Y/N] tries very, very hard not to look at the sweat trickling down his forehead, the pale pink hue of his cheeks from the strain of practicing—“Please for the love of Merlin can you just drop the whole I’m-in-love-with-you act? You got what you wanted. You’ve annoyed me enough.”

Draco's nose wrinkles. “Oh, but that’s not what I wanted,” the smile on his face falters a little. ”Did you really think I did all of this just to annoy you?”

[Y/N]’s eyebrows furrow—and is that her heart skipping a beat? No. No, definitely not. Falling quiet for a few moments, she finally sniffs and says, “Why else would you go out of your way to act absolutely smitten by me?”

An echo of Hermione's voice from several days ago reverberates through her head. Maybe he fancies you.

Malfoy shrugs, his smirk falling just the tiniest bit to be replaced by a semblance of sincerity. But that can’t be. And then he says, “Maybe I fancy you,” and [Y/N]’s eyes widen.

That can’t be right. Flabbergasted, she blinks, taking a step back. This has to be some sort of joke—no, yes, that’s exactly what this is: another way to crawl under her skin and annoy the daylights out of her. She has to applaud him for his creativity.

Pinching the space between her eyes in irritation, she looks up at Malfoy, inhales, and says, deadpan, “I’m being serious.”

“I am too,” Malfoy counters, eyebrows raised innocently, and [Y/N] has never wanted to smack him more than she does now.

She lets out another incredulous laugh, because this entire situation is just so bloody ridiculous that she can’t quite wrap her head around it. Throwing her hands up in the air in frustration, she turns to him and says, “Alright—okay. Let’s say you do fancy me. I’m going to pretend for a few seconds that you do—okay?”

Draco watches her, evidently amused judging by his grin, shrugs, and nods.

“Okay,” she huffs. “If you do fancy me—why on earth would you?”

Draco opens his mouth, but she cuts him off: “We hate each other, Malfoy. We’ve hated each other since the moment you laid eyes on me and I laid eyes on you. What could have possibly changed your rotten mind?”

He rolls his eyes at this, shifting a little on where he stands. “For starters,” he begins, like he’s talking to a five-year-old, “I didn’t hate you. I disliked the fact that you hung out with the wrong sort of people.”

”The wrong sort of people,” she repeats, deadpan.

“The Weasleys. Blood traitors. Mudbloods.”

She scowls at him, brain struggling to fathom what the bloody hell he’s trying to tell her. Managing to once more plow through her confusion, she says, “Your point is?”

“I’d have asked you out long ago if only you were smarter with who you chose to befriend,” and there it is—that familiar, distasteful sneer [Y/N] hasn’t seen in a long time. “Your family’s one of the oldest wizarding families around. It’s a shame.”

She lets out another scoff of disbelief, but the first few of Draco's words have something inside of her stirring. She refuses to address it and instead says, “So—and again, I’m pretending—you fancy me because of my family?”

He lets out a little sniff. “Not what I said.”

”What is it you’re trying to say, then?”

“Blimey, how long is it going to take you to realize that I actually bloody fancy you?”

Draco has dropped all pretense of nonchalant arrogance; he’s staring at her, obviously frustrated and a little annoyed. He stops leaning on his broom and lets it drop to the ground in favor of advancing towards her until he’s mere inches away from her face.

”I fancy you,” he repeats, and it’s funny, how he says it, because declarations of love are supposed to be sweet and gentle—not scathing and angry. He’s scowling down at her, lip curling, brows drawn in together in the middle in a tight frown. “I’ve decided that I don’t care who you hang around anymore because I fancy you. Do you get it now?”

[Y/N] swallows, staring at him, momentarily frozen. Malfoy doesn’t seem as though he’s joking—and now she doesn’t know what to say. She’s never been this close to him before—close enough to see herself in the reflection of his eyes, which are a striking grey and remind her of thunderstorms brewing behind dark clouds—

She takes in a deep breath and swivels around, turning away from him. “Stop sending children to be my servants,” she says, and starts to walk away—until Malfoy grabs her wrist and forces her to look at him again.

For a moment the look in his eyes convinces [Y/N] that he’s about to apologize, but then his lips are splitting into a wide grin again and he says, “What if I bribe a seventh year into doing your homework for you?”

Another scoff. She tears her wrist away from his grip and stalks off, in complete and utter disbelief.

”Or a house-elf to bring you food?” he calls after her. “Someone to do your hair for you in the morning? Or someone to yell at me for you?”

She halts at the last one, and for some odd, unknown reason, she feels like smiling. But she doesn’t, because that will open a door into something she isn’t sure she wants to explore. So she turns around, suppressing that mysterious little smile, already twenty feet away from Malfoy as she says, loudly, “I like doing that last one myself, thanks.”

From this distance, she thinks Malfoy might be smiling. But she doesn’t stay long enough to find out.

click here to read pt. 2!

[checkmatein3moves]

30th march // n.z.

“Then I’m leaving.”

“Don’t be dramatic. For once. Just don’t.” Mars’ eyes flick up from his screen just long enough to show his disapproval — his dismissal.

But Noir refuses to be dismissed. “It’s nine o’clock. You said you’d give me time today. I’m tired of you doing this, frankly.”

As if it wasn’t humiliating enough to finally submit to his father’s rules, the insistence that he schedule a meeting and be treated like a client was salt in the festering wound.

“I’m busy. Clearly. The world does not revolve around you; something I thought I had taught you better,” Mars deadpans.

“Dad—“ he starts, biting his tongue so he won’t growl. “At least talk to me properly.”

Please, he almost says, but he won’t beg. Calling the man by his unearned title is difficult enough.

Mars takes off his glasses, then. Slowly. The cold stare makes Noir feel like a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf, but the feeling is so familiar he may as well call it home. He doesn’t flinch, though a pressure he cannot name builds behind his eyes.

“I don’t think you realise how imperative it is that I have this contract perfectly watertight by the end of the week. Too many people are watching this deal that would love to pounce on the slightest mistake.” Mars’ words follow a disjointed cadence one might use to explain the stock market to a small child. “I don’t need to remind you that Benz is continuously breathing down my neck.” 

“Why are you so worried about Benz? I doubt he sits around poring over your contracts to get the better of you. Maybe you should be more like him instead, and coast on your reputation a bit more. What good does this obsession do?” 

Too prickled is Noir to regret talking to his father like that, a wave of desperate anger drowning out any fear. When Mars’ still silence falls hard upon them both, it starts to rankle into disappointment.

“I find Benz’s lacking concern for thoroughness and reliance on the intangible completely unworthy of any man in his position. Being elite is about far more than the illusion of power. I try my best to be patient with you, Noir, but you do make it difficult.” 

“Then help me. That’s what I’m here for now. Teach me how to be the kind of person you can be proud of. If I really know nothing, then tell me how—”

“I already agreed to waste my time walking you through the kind of things I was doing independently by seventeen,” Mars snaps. “Sometimes my schedule changes. You know that. I shouldn’t have to hold your hand at twenty-one—”

“I’m twenty-fucking-two!” Noir stands up from his chair so quickly that he stumbles into Mars’ desk, then propels himself away with a violent recoil. Then, more pathetically, “It’s my birthday. You promised me the hour for my birthday.”

It’s embarrassing to be hurt by Mars. To be seen as a mockery of his image no matter how hard he tries. Mars sighs, then, and looks up at Noir — truly meets his gaze, his notorious frown a hint softer than usual. The suggestion of remorse flickering in his eyes freezes him on the spot. 

“I love you, Noir.” The way his father says it sends a pins-and-needles feel through his heart; dread. “But you must let go of such sentimentalities in this world, if you ever truly hope to be worthy of the same from anybody else.” 

Fresh sickness courses through his veins; of course, how can he ever be anything other than the runt of Mars Zu’s litter? The one that deserves pity at the most and a kick in the flank at the least. His fingers move to cradle a phantom pain below his waist as though he’s actually been struck. 

“Thanks for the lesson,” he mumbles, physically incapable of saying any of the other thousand things screaming in his mind. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

Mars’ eyes narrow and his lips part as though weighing up whether to twist the knife or nurse the wound. Instead, he nods. “Good. Go and enjoy the rest of your birthday, now.”

The gentleness of the order makes him flinch. It’s all he can do to hold himself together enough to walk through the door of the office and sit down on the hallway carpet outside. There’s a bone-deep ache that almost turns him back around to argue with his father until Mars wins or they both lose their breath, but his survival instincts hold him back. 

There’s no winning against an opponent that doesn’t even care enough to play. But if I stop playing, I must give up breathing life into the lie that this was ever just a game. There’s never any looking back. 

“Just survive it,” he whispers to himself, staring into the palm of his hand. He’ll just get stronger. Surely that’ll be easy if the alternative is leaving. 

[kiatheinsomniac]

1. I LOVE your writing! You're amazing! 2. If it's not too much trouble, could I request something where Ezio's wife is feeling quite insecure because she feels like she isn't as good as some of the other women Ezio has "been" with like Caterina and Ezio is trying to assure her that she shouldn't feel like that

Of course!! Sorry that it's taken me so long to get round to this, I've hardly been active on Tumblr at all in quite a while but I miss it here :(

She glanced over to where the Contessa was being checked over by a doctor while Ezio worriedly looked over her. Deep down, she knew that he was only concerned because she was a powerful ally to the brotherhood and her arrest at the hands of the Borgia had put her contribution to that alliance in jeopardy. But she couldn't help but fear that he was worried because they had a history together.

Claudia had told (Y/n) enough of what her husband was like in his youth - romancing every attractive woman he laid eyes on. On good days, this made her feel special - she were the one he married, after all - but on worse ones, it made her worry that he felt he could do better and go back to some of these women. Ezio was a faithful man, especially when it came to family, but this didn't stop her from worrying that she may not quite reach what he's been treated to by other women in his past.

She must have been glaring a little too hard though, because soon enough, Claudia was by her side, her arms folded.

"The woman is fine, I have a meeting to attend and he’s holding it up to fuss over her.” She snapped in disdain, her voice lowered as to not carry across the stone walls of Isola Tiberina’s Assassin hideout. 

“I don’t like it.” (Y/n) confessed, her eyes shooting daggers at the Contessa of Forli. Claudia raised a brow at the acid in her tone, finding it so unlike her sister-in-law to be so bitter. Glancing over at Claudia’s expression of surprise, she stepped her way out of the conversation to go and fetch Ezio. He had duties as Mentor of the Brotherhood and she had the claws of jealousy tying knots at her like a marionette. Emotions were something personal to (Y/n) and she wouldn’t watch herself become a wreck over some half-disgraced woman who had lost hold of her city. 

She could remember Ezio telling her how impressed he was to see a woman running a city all on her lonesome once... 

She cleared her throat, dismissing the thought as she did.

“Ezio, our contacts are waiting for you.” She spoke up, her face and voice the mask of business to hide her feelings. 

“Sì, I just-” 

“Bartolomeo has barracks to attend to, Volpe has a tavern to maintain and Claudia has a brothel to run.” She cut him off, watching as he turned his head quickly to face her, his expression a lock of shock and offence, “While they wait for you, their factions wait for them. You keep our entire Brotherhood on hold in a most dire hour to fuss over the Contessa who I’m sure if capable enough of getting her own health in order with the medico.” Ezio had stood now from Caterina’s side, bewildered at his wife’s ill temper. 

“Amore-“

“You have a job to do so go do it!” She snapped, “I have recruits to attend to and correspondence to deal with.” And with that said, she stormed off to the study in order to deal with the letters sent from the Brotherhood’s contacts across Italia. 

She set the few recruits that she had gathered in Roma some training assignments and filed through all the available contracts in the Mediterranean, even going as far as to reorganise all the books of the study’s library. All of this was done to avoid going to bed, knowing that Ezio would be there and knowing that he wold ask her about her attitude from earlier. 

It was when she was obsessively trying to get the paperweights in position that the door opened. In stepped the last man that she was willing to face in that moment: her poor husband who had suffered the brunt of her lashing out in jealousy. 

“Gioia,” He began, his tone soft yet cautious, “come to bed.” 

“But I need to sort these out…”

“I’m sure that the papers won’t grow wings and start flying any time soon.” He walked behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder and inhaling deeply as he pressed his face to her neck, “Come, I want to hold you and talk.” 

“I just need...” She obsessively tried to get the weight to fit between the lines of the letter perfectly, some part of her mind telling her that everything would be alright if all these little things were exactly where they needed to be, that she wouldn’t have to talk about her feelings if she just got these other things sorted out first. 

“You need to lay down with your husband,” One of his palms splayed across her stomach, tenderly rubbing up and down as his other hand caressed her waist, “and let him hold you in his arms,” A soft kiss pressed to the nape of her neck, “and tell him all about what has you so stressed. Doesn’t that sound good?”

“Yeah, except the talking about my feelings bit.” She mumbled as the weight refused to quite fit between the lines, tears pricking her eyes, even if she tried to laugh a little. Ezio hummed knowingly. 

“Come on…”

“Ok...” She surrendered, letting him lead her upstairs with one arm around her waist while his free hand held her own, smaller, hand in his. 

He lead her up to their room where he began to strip her of her clothes that day, leaving her in a chemise. He frowned in sadness at her apathy, the way she didn’t melt into his touches as she usually would, and worry set into his veins. 

He pulled her to the bed where he lay beside her, propped up on one elbow while she laid on her back, her bottom lip trembling, eyes glassy and jaw held tight in determination to keep a cool composure. 

“What has upset you?”

“It’s stupid.” She replied simply, “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you or worried you, you don’t deserve that.” She took in a quick breath and covered her face with her hands, a small sob escaping her lips, each one that followed like a pair of scissors to his heartstrings. 

“If it’s making you feel this way, it can’t be stupid.” He rested a hand on her arm and she turned away from him, her hand gripping the case of the pillow under her head impossibly tightly. 

“It’s the Contessa.” She mumbled into the plush pillow, her cheeks already heating up in humiliation, “The way you risked your life to save her today and then you were fussing over her health and...” 

“Amore, you know that I would do all the same and more for you.” He spoke, almost in disbelief that this is what she was so upset about. There was a long silence as she wrapped her arms around her torso, hoping that somehow she could physically hold herself together with her arms. 

“Why did you marry me?” Fresh tears wet her cheeks and she muffled the sound of her crying in the sheets. He drew closer to her and held her in his arms, feeling her frame jolt with each sob. 

“Because I’m in love with you.” He replied simply, “I’m in love with the way you see the world and people, I’m in love with your passion and humour and intelligence.” He squeezed her tightly. 

“But you could have had any woman you pleased, any woman you’ve been with before. The countess of Forli: the only woman strong enough to run her own city and even fend off Borgia armies.” She hesitated but now that she had bottled up such strong emotions all day, the glass had cracked and no one could hold in its contents lest they slice their hands on the glass. “And don’t think I didn’t overhear that night back in Monteriggioni when I was still just the decipherer Leonardo had sent for the codex pages.” 

Once upon a time, this would have been a time for Ezio to be boastful, but now that he was a married man, he only felt rather embarrassed instead. Looking away for a moment, his eyes came back to land upon his wife. 

“You worry that you don’t live up to the women I’ve had before then?” He asked cautiously, knowing that this question may well only make things far worse if he were wrong. 

“She’s a fucking countess who runs her own city and has her own armies, not to mention the fact that she’s also very clearly good in bed. Who am I? The goddamn babysitter of all the recruits.” She threw her hands up in the air before rolling onto her back and turning her head to face him, at last, with teary eyes. 

“You, amore mio,” He began, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek, turning his body even more so in her direction, “are the woman who stole my heart so quickly, that I simply couldn’t wait to marry you.” It was true, they had only been seeing each other for just over 18 months when he asked her to marry him. “You’re an Assassin who is fighting for everyone in Roma and then all of Italia behind her borders.” A conviction began to grow within his voice as he took up her left hand in his, holding it up so that she could see her wedding and engagement rings. “You are the only woman in this world that I want to spend the rest of my life with.” He brought her hand up to place a kiss upon her knuckles. “I have had histories with women before, we both know this… But they are the past and you,” He leaned down to place a soft kiss upon her lips, lingering and tender, “are my future.” 

A small smile quivered upon her lips as fresh tears welled in her eyes, tears of an overwhelming sentiment of love. 

“I love you with all my heart, Ezio.”

[multiplefandomsblog]

request(s); IZURU SMUT WITH AFAB READER - IT DOESNT MATTER WHAT THE CONTENT INCLUDED IN IT IS,I JUST, NO ONE REALLY WRITES FOR THE SCARY M A N 😢😢😢

paring(s); Izuru x AFAB!reader

warning(s); cussing, woAHH reader is a prostitute hired by enoshima, reader is AFAB, oral sex (m receiving), humiliation kink whoop, degradation kink double whoop, ah yes dirty talk, degrading names, spit-play,  prositution, multiple orgasms, wall sex, slow and steady wins the race, dumbification, begging, dacryphillia, sadism, kind of like fuck or die???? but not really??????? AND DEAR LORD I HAD NO IDEA WHAT I WAS DOING WITH THIS GOD oii

note; i actually had a dream similar to this— also i lowkey got attached to these characters and now im seriously considering making a series of this???? DHSBJDDBF IDK IT REMINDS ME OF, LIKE AAAA IDK

wc; 4.1k+

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Everything was terribly boring. 

It was funny; that had been the only thought Izuru seemed to have in his brain, even as you were on your knees sucking him off like he was your last meal. Glaring down at you, he stifled a disappointed sigh. In all honesty, you weren’t bad; but he knows he could do much better, perhaps even find much better. It was almost a guarantee that he’d get someone else to do the job for him much better. 

Sitting on the throne of a comfortable chair, he had barely broken a sweat, nor had he even moaned a single time. Of course, that would frustrate you; you were squeezing whatever couldn’t fit in your mouth, ‘faking’ moans—or at least that’s what you told yourself you were doing—to send vibrations down his spine, and swallowing all the filthy pre-cum of his cock had released. And the man didn’t even have the gall to at least pretend to like it. 

It irritated you.

Why had he even accepted Enoshima’s offer for you if he hadn’t even been enjoying it? You hadn’t even touched yourself yet, and you were the one completely soaking in your panties—whilst you swore you heard him sigh, and not one of pleasure. Every part of it was humiliating for you.

“This is boring, get off.” You perked your head up, popping your lips off the unsatisfied pink tip, and to your humiliation, you looked up at him with sad, puppy dog eyes; ones that you hadn’t even purposely put on. You felt your heart drop all the way down to your stomach, “Boring…?” Well, that did it. 

Desperation turned into anger, and before you knew it, you had been crawling on this man’s lap, thighs straddling him, and hands digging into his shoulder as you looked down at him with feigned dominance. You gritted your teeth, he hadn’t a single reaction, just a look of genuine curiosity, and the same look of bored annoyance. He didn’t seem to like being suddenly touched, not like you even cared. Boring, huh? You’d prove to this self-entitled fuck, you weren’t as boring as he thought you to be. 

“... What do you think you’re doing?” With his question of genuine intent to know, his dull tone of voice seemed to have affected your interpretation of what he truly meant to say. Despite the condescending and almost offended tone, he truly wanted to know. Someone like you, crawling into his lap as if you hadn’t been face-to-face with possibly the world’s most dangerous human being; brought a small spark of interest in his chest.

Maybe you had some potential, he would think. “Are you trying to prove yourself to me?” With his eyes gleaming with curiosity and anticipation, you leaned back as you felt him lean in. With his nose inches away from yours, you shrunk just a slight but kept your act as strong as you could hold it for.

You gulped, gaze and grip faltering underneath his piercing gaze. Suddenly you felt small again. Your previous surge of dominance seemed to crumble and collapse as he brought his hands up to grope at your hips, reminding you who was really in charge here. He narrowed his eyes as he felt your hesitance and yielding, his large hands that had cupped your ass had practically been supporting all your weight as you backed down in the body and in mind. Damn it. He wondered where your confidence went, it was only just getting fun— but perhaps, all good things come to an end.

Well. He wasn’t going to let you give up that easily.

Suddenly, he let go, causing your ass that had once been held up by his hands, to fall back and knock onto his knees harshly; and you swore you could see a ghost of an expectant smirk on his face. Surprising you further, Izuru uttered 4 words that only seemed to confuse you, yet excite you all the same.

“Go on then. Try.” Your breath hitched, averted eyes now confused and focused them back onto the long-haired male. “W- what?” Izuru’s eyes narrowed at you, and the impatient look he had sent to you almost felt like a reward as you felt yourself growing more sodden. “Try and prove that you aren’t just another hole. That’s why you’re still here, no?” He spoke, and you swore you could hear his voice lower in tone.

He rested his hands on the armrests of his chair, leaning back ever so slightly as he got comfortable; as if he was about to watch a performance made just for him—which hadn’t been far from the truth.

But to your surprise and not his, you obeyed. 

If this was your chance to prove yourself to him— the ultimate hope that everyone seemed to be intimidated by—you’d take it. Of course, you would. 

Despite the growing anxiety in your heart that you’d mess up, you pushed it down and put one brave façade; he would sense your fear if you displayed it too much. 

Your efforts turned futile anyway; you should’ve known he’d sense your hesitance. 

Acknowledging your hesitance you thought hadn’t been too obvious about, Izuru brought it up. “What’s stopping you? Your fear?” Izuru hummed, leaning down to peck at your chest, “Well, that’s understandable; you should be scared.” Followed by the light sound of his lips against your heated shoulder. 

“... Though I assume that’s not what you’re afraid of at this moment.” Assume? More like knew. You were so predictable to him, a flick of your finger could tell him exactly what you’re thinking. With a tender gaze you were surely seeing wrong, he stared up at you expectantly as he waited for your answer. 

“Well?” You gritted your teeth at his sudden gentleness, taking more offence to it than you should have. You didn’t like being treated with kid gloves, not by him at least; for all you know, he kills children. “I’m not scared of anything—” He was huge, of course, you were terrified. ”How do you know I’m not just trying to slow it down, so you’re ready for it?” You challenged, shifting yourself above his tip that still glistened with your saliva from the earlier blow. Izuru looked at you, nearly taken aback. 

It made you feel incompetent. As if he thought you couldn’t do it, as if he thought you couldn’t give him the best night of your life. Of course, you’d be offended. No one likes being underestimated, especially not by him. It just brings you a whole new different feeling of humiliation. 

And he knew that. He just wanted you to hurry up, you know, provoke you a little. Foreplay was… Boring; he’d think with a small smile.

“Surely, you’re not that idio—” He cut himself off with a sharp inhale, lips parting and eyebrow twitching from the way your slick cunt slid over the tip of his dick, sinking in with ease. “I- I’m not what?” You breathed out, a shaky, smug grin contorting on your face as you tried your best to conceal the fact his dick had felt like it had literally been splitting you in two. “Hnnahh— Jesus-” You dropped your head for a second, nails digging deeper into the material of his suit; surprisingly, he didn’t care all that much about the material damage—at the moment, he cared more about the fact you hadn’t even sunk half his dick in yet, and you already looked like you were near-tears.

Maybe care would be an overstatement. 

You bit down on your once-smug smile, jaw going slack as you felt the pleasant curve of his dick, rub against your vaginal walls ever so slightly—following the movements of your own heavy panting. “You shouldn’t be so cocky, S/o.” He didn’t seem to hear the irony hiding in between his almost-mocking words.

You scoffed at his taunting statement, staring him straight in the eye as you walked further into his trap, and sunk down lower—stifling a wince as you felt him sink in you alarmingly deep. How big was he!? Well, you already knew the answer to that question. Your jaw still hurt from earlier. But that stretch had been positively incomparable to the stretch your pussy had currently been experiencing. 

Izuru pursed his lips, silently groaning at the way your walls clamped onto him as if you were already trying to milk him of his cum. You were so tight, he noted in his mind; well he wasn’t going to complain. As a sex worker, he would’ve expected you to be looser, easier to slip in; it seemed one of his predictions had been incorrect. 

In a dry, uncaring tone, he addressed the bead of sweat forming on your forehead from the stretch. “Can you really take it? You look like you’re in pain.” the part that irked you the most had been the small undertone of genuine concern for your being. Yeah, Izuru; the ultimate I-don’t-care-if-you’re-dead, cared if you could take his dick. 

Maybe your heart would’ve been swelling with joy, had it not taken a large hit on your pride. You were a sex worker, not the protagonist of a fucking romance comedy. 

You could feel yourself growing angrier and angrier by the second; a large part of you just wanted to get him off and leave—but there was a larger part of you that… strangely wanted to please this man, prove him wrong.

Don’t get me wrong, the urge was purely sexual. 

Rolling your eyes at his ‘concern’, “Can you just- Nh!” you held your breath before clutching onto his suit a little more desperately than you wanted to as you sunk the rest of him inside you. Embarrassment made its debut in your reddening cheeks as you unwillingly let a few whimpers slip out. “—B- be fucking quiet? For on- Mn! O- once?” He paused before retorting back in that same blunt tone, seemingly unamused by your curses as he had been busy watching your bodily reactions closely, as well as feeling them first hand. “... You’re shivering.” He addressed the tremor of your shoulders, as well as the contractions of your walls against his cock. 

“It- It’s cold.” You lied through your teeth, to which he found annoying; surely, you knew that he would read through that lie, so what was the point of even trying? 

Sighing in annoyance, he bucked his hips, exhaling sharply through his nose as you yelped and collapsed onto him, body going limp as you felt him hit your sweet spot. With a slightly panicked moan, you dug your shined face deeper into the crook of his shoulder, causing him to shiver as he felt the breath of your moan hit his neck. “Hnn-! A- a- already?” Izuru scoffed quietly, “I thought you wanted me to be quiet. Which one is it?” Izuru’s condescending voice kissed your ear, and you felt your own shivers being sent down your spine from his voice alone. 

Putting on an annoyed façade that would soon shatter, you rolled your eyes—something you would probably be doing often tonight. “You’re really annoying, you know th-? Oh-! Oh fuck-!” You moaned, eyes shooting open, revealing your dilated pupils to the wall behind him. With your hands fanned out on his suited back, you arched your back against him, grinding slowly as you hugged him off the back of his chair. 

Mewling quietly, you found yourself trying to stifle your own moans, so you could hear better his own; only to pout as you heard nothing. Your sole purpose and presence with him at this moment had been to please him. You… needed to please him.

And only Atua knows what Junko’ll do to you if she finds out you didn’t satisfy him. 

Sighing in slight frustration, you felt him tense underneath your touch as you locked your lips onto his neck, lips searching and exploring every inch of the sensitive skin of his neck. Izuru’s eyes widened a fraction, only to lid as he felt himself growing bored again. “What are you doing?” You muffled against his neck, “I’m trying to find your erogenous zone—“ a large grin grew on your face as you felt him go rigid and stiff against you—as if he wasn’t already rigid and stiff—as you grazed your teeth on a certain spot on his Adams’s apple, a sign that you hit the jackpot.

“There, huh? I never would’ve guessed…” You spoke through gentle moans caused by Izuru’s natural reaction to fuck up into you harder. He shivered, sure, he was good at everything; but even he didn’t know he had an erogenous zone—or rather, where it was.

And now you had this information. 

You felt your confidence sprout back up again as you felt him melt, slowly but surely into your embrace, and slowly but surely, you tried gaining back control of what had been happening. 

That had been your plan; but as soon as your hands reached up to tangle your fingers in his hair, he flinched, nails digging into your hips harshly. “Hands off.” He growled, crimson gaze darkening in irritation from your feather-like tugs. 

Yeah, your plan. 

His scalp was sensitive, and he had made the mistake of reacting so strongly to your touch to it, right in front of you no less. It was a weakness; one you’d surely take advantage of as you fucked this man. Or rather, as he fucked you. Izuru grimaced as he could practically hear the mischievous grin in your voice, “Yeah?” with a warning tone, Izuru tried stopping you, “S/o.” you probably shouldn’t have felt as excited as you did from his warning voice; especially from a guy like him, but there was a part of you that really wanted to know what would happen—what he was warning you about. 

So you made the best mistake of your life; and tugged the already impatient man’s hair. 

Izuru hadn’t given you the time to even inhale a single breath, as he had you pinned to the wall in half a second. Shit, he’s fast. Well, what did you expect? Izuru was definitely more than ordinary—and as you still felt the stretch burning between your legs, you knew that more than anyone. “I- Izuru?” Izuru sighed as you shrunk underneath his hold, forcing him to hold you up by his hips that had been pressed up against you. Your cattiness seemed to disappear the moment he manhandled you to the wall; it was predictable. All bark, no bite. He wondered why he wasted his time with you. 

With your eyes wide and helpless, Izuru remained unamused. “Let’s get this over with.”

Underneath the shell of your body, you could feel your blood boil as the man thrusting into you, had given you that familiar condescending stare of pity. He didn’t seem very pitiful as he watched you writhe and squirm underneath him from his unrelenting pace, though you could still read the emotion clear as day; your eyes glared right back at him—though you could barely see where you had been glaring, as your vision had been blurred from your own tears.

He was planning to push you to your limits, because, maybe when you’re sobbing and begging for him to stop; maybe then, you’d be less boring. 

‘He was the ultimate at everything; of course, he would be good at this too-’ “Fuhh...- fuck!” Your first orgasm of the night washed over your body, shaking uncontrollably as you had been less than prepared for it. You’d often have to fake your orgasms or get yourself off once the person using you was done. So you, whether it was fortunately or unfortunately, weren’t used to cumming so quickly. Previous thoughts of distaste had been long forgotten, as you had now been completely weak; moments away from breaking down and throwing away your dignity to prolong sex with Izuru. 

Sobs spilled out of your mouth as Izuru helped you ride out your high. The man watched you from above, hands hooking underneath your thighs and slamming you against the wall harder than your body had gone slack in your arms. For him, it felt more like he was pleasuring you—but for some reason, he didn’t mind all too much. 

Through tear-stained eyelids, you glared at him, your warm body still trembling from the near-mind-blowing orgasm he granted you. “I- I can take it.” At least, you thought you could. In all honesty, you didn’t care. You wanted it, and furthermore, he hasn’t even cum yet. Your job wasn’t finished. If you had to be fucked until your mind broke for him to cum, you’d do it. You didn’t have a choice—but even if you did, you wouldn’t deny him; you’d have to be insane to. 

“How... persistent…” Izuru murmured quietly to himself, bringing a hand up to tap your chin, causing you to perk your head up and flush at the gentle touch; the way he looked at you made you feel as if you were a mere science project being examined. It may have not been ideal, but being gazed at like nothing but a lowly bug is better than being ignored.  

It was so easy to fuck you into submission, he thought. Grunting, he pulled all the way out, lip twitching at the lewd squelch of your pussy. He almost lost himself in the way your walls fluttered around the tip of his cock once again, before tightening as if you were trying to welcome him back in.

Izuru, with a sharp inhale, roughly slammed back in, hitting all the right places despite the thrust being as quick as a flash of a camera. You gasped for air, you felt as if you had just been punched with his hips—and before you could recover from it, you felt him pull out yet again, only to slam back in, a small exhale huffing out the man’s lips as he kept on doing that same repetition. 

“F- faster— Pl- please!” You choked out as tears welled up in your eyes, his thrusts had been so powerful and forceful, yet so calculated; as if he was aiming for your G-spot every time he thrust in—which he was. He growled under his breath, voice still monotone but more strained than before—it was almost impossible for him.  

“You’re too tight to go fast.” He deadpanned, “if I go any faster, I might break you.” He didn’t really care whether he broke you, but who in their right mind would want to be broken? 

It was almost comedic how quickly you perked up at the mention of being broken. “I- I wanna! Really bad, r- real bad! Please!” You blabbered and begged like an idiot, your dignity long gone. He hissed at the way your pussy gushed with your juices and excitement, struggling yet again to piston himself into you. “Do you only think with your cunt?” Izuru narrowed his eyes down at you, disbelief and disgust gleamed in his red eyes; and it only made you squeeze around him unwillingly.

You shrunk, shaking your head as a babyish pout contorted onto your lips. “N- no, I-” The slow slapping noises of his hips on yours grew in volume, and your eyes widened as you could feel and hear him getting more frantic, hitting you deeper—places you were sure weren’t even supposed to be touched were abused by the crown of his growing cock.

Through a tone that tried its best to be calm and composed, Izuru shakily breathed out. “Open your mouth.” 

“W- Huh?” With slurred speech and crossed eyes, you tried your best to find his red eyes through the tears that blurred your vision. You were so fucked out, you weren’t even sure if he had actually said anything or if it had been your imagination.

“You heard me, don’t play dumb.” You hadn’t been playing dumb; you were dumbed. But Izuru held no patience for your games, and you could definitely feel that in his increasingly painful grip on your ass—he was sure to leave a bruise on your skin. With a confused look in your eye, you hesitantly dropped your jaw for him, whimpering and jolting as you felt something wet spew into your mouth. Before you could whine or even get the chance to complain, Izuru had forcefully knocked you against the wall again, lightly hitting your head as he steadied you against the surface with one hand as he used the other to close your jaw.

You hadn’t even registered the fact you had spit into your mouth as your mind had been too foggy from the intense feeling building up in your stomach once again. “Swallow.” Without so much as a questioning noise as a reaction to what he had done, you obeyed. Swallowing thickly with bleary eyes, you tried your best to keep eye contact with the man who seemed way too calm for the aggressive pace he had been maintaining like a pro.

Not thinking much of it, you dropped your jaw and flattened your tongue down against your chin; it was almost instinctual as you obediently showed him you had swallowed all of it. It seemed to please him, as he traced his thumb absentmindedly over your jawline; it almost felt like a reward, to be touched like that. His gentle hands differed greatly from his pace that fastened within each second that passed the both of you by. 

Your moans grew in volume, and you could feel yourself getting overwhelmed by how fucking good it felt to be fucked by him; moans and groans turned into full-blown hysterical sobbing as you felt your second climax approach. He grunted in frustration as he felt your walls clamp around him once again, convulsing as you gasped for air, his breaths huffing out in small intervals as he tried to get himself to his own high. 

Nothing was said as you threw yourself into him, hugging himself close to you as if he was your lifeline despite your twitching body—you weren’t sure how long you could hold on before you passed out, but you tried your best to stay conscious. He hadn’t cum yet.

It may have frustrated him, but it also frustrated you. Running your hands down his neck to his well-defined jaw, you cradled his skull before attaching your lips onto his neck desperately, practically slobbering over him like a dog as you kissed and sucked at his neck—to which he groaned quietly at. It was a terrible job, you were necking him so sloppily, and he hated himself for grading your performance when really, he should’ve been indulging in it.

The sounds of his hips slapping against yours, combined with your small moans that you tried to muffle against his neck, had overwhelmed his senses and he found himself going blank in the mind for less than half a second. 

It was dangerous, to leave yourself vulnerable like that. 

So without another word, sound, or thrust, he hoisted you up and dropped you against the chair; in which you unravelled like a velvet carpet over the soft, plush furniture. Your legs wrapped around his waist as you didn’t want to part from him, you didn’t want it to stop. There, he continued his assault to your already battered cunt, grunts and sharp sighs spilling out his mouth as he concentrated on getting himself to climax. 

“F- fuck, Izuru— Izuru, you’re splitting me- in t- two!” You sobbed out, arms flying up to wipe your tears away that prevented you from seeing the esthetical man above you. With his hair looking like it was flowing behind him, and the thin layer of sweat shining on his skin, you felt your heart beat a little faster— what?

You hadn’t even been able to register the dread of the realization of your feelings, as, without warning, Izuru creamed inside you. His hips stuttered to a stop, and he leaned himself completely over your body that had folded over the back rest of the chair, nose meeting the crook of your mid-chest. “Hhah...” He panted, clammy hands that had been gripping onto your skin tightly, loosened as he took a second before getting up and off you. 

You scrambled up from your position on the chair, legs and pussy numb as you struggled sitting up.“Wait Izuru—!” You called out for him, catching his attention as he cleaned himself up with a convenient towel Junko had left on the table. 

Zipping up the fly of his pants, he stared at you, waiting for you to continue what you had been planning to say as he flattened the creases of his suit. 

“W- were you...” You gulped, flushing as you recalled what you had done earlier. “Were you satisfied?” Your voice had been meek, afraid of his answer for more than one reason. Junko really would show you despair if she found out you didn’t satisfy him. “... I’ll let her know I was.” You sighed in relief, shoulders going slack as you fell back on the chair. You’d live another day.

[cutethingstolove]

Back to Class

Photos and Inspiration From @little-stephanies-diary​ and @babiechristy​, Part 15

After the most amazing night’s sleep either of them had ever had, Stephanie and Courtney woke up early Monday morning dreading having to go to school. As Stephanie laid there, her arms wrapped around Courtney, Steph lowered her hand down and felt the front of Courtney’s diaper to find it surprisingly full! Courtney pretended to still be sleeping as she felt this, partly because she didn’t want to acknowledge that she was wet again and partly because she liked how Steph’s hand felt against her body. Stephanie, still thinking her friend was asleep, pulled her hand back up before shaking Courtney slightly to wake her up.

“Morning Court,” Steph said quietly, “We need to get up for school.”

“Can’t we just stay in bed,” Courtney said in a groggy voice, “Last night was so much fun, and I really don’t want to get up.”

“No,” Steph scolded, “We have to get up for school. We can’t skip; it’s only the second week of the semester!”

“Fine,” Courtney said reluctantly, “I’ll get up.”

Rolling out of the bed, Courtney stood up and could feel the weight of her soaked diaper pulling down between her legs. Normally, she would have only been wearing a Goodnite, but this bigger diaper was nice to have on as she would have probably leaked through a pullup if that was all she wore last night. She stood next to the bed for a minute waiting for Stephanie who was sneakily checking her own diaper to make sure it was dry. Once Stephanie was sure she had actually stayed dry, she crawled out of bed and suggested they go down for breakfast before changing into their school uniforms.

Courtney pulled her light blue sweatpants on over her diaper, but Stephanie didn’t bother putting on any bottoms before they headed downstairs to eat. As the girls arrived in the dining room, they found Steph’s dad already at the table having already made pancakes again for breakfast. The girls took their seats, and began taking food for themselves. It wasn’t long, however, before Steph’s dad spoke up asking the girls how their night had been.

“We had a great time!,” Stephanie piped up, “Courtney even agreed to wear one of the big diapers instead of her Goodnite!”

“Yeah,” Courtney replied quickly, “Steph even helped me put it on. I’m kid of glad I had it on cause I had another accident last night and it was a big one. I don’t think my Goodnite would have handled it.”

“Oh?,” said with a bit of surprise, “You helped her like I help you huh Steph?”

“Daddy!,” Steph nearly yelled, “Courtney didn’t know you help me!”

“I’m sorry princess,” her dad apologized, “I thought you had told her everything.”

“She didn’t tell me that,” Courtney said with a giggle, “That explains why she was so good at it!”

A little humiliated, Steph sheepishly said, “At least I stayed dry last night…”

“Well I’m proud of you honey,” her Steph’s dad said lifting her spirits, “But Courtney, an accident two nights in a row? Maybe you need potty training like Steph.”

“Very funny sir,” Courtney rebuked, “I might have had an accident last night, but I’ve never had one during the day.”

“Steph hadn’t either,” dad said, “Until last Tuesday at lunch.”

“You told me you had your accident on Monday,” Courtney squealed at Steph, “And you told me it happened during math class!”

Staring at her plate, Stephanie meekly said, “I didn’t want you to know about Tuesday’s issue. I guess I wanted you to think that today was my last day having to wear a Goodnite to school.”

Not wanting to stay at the table with all of her secrets exposed, Stephanie said she was full and sulked off to her room. When she saw Vincent on her bed, she grabbed him and hugged him tightly while pouting a little. This was probably the most humiliated she had felt since the nurse had told her that her best option was to wear a diaper after she wet her panties in class a week earlier. Figuring that it was too late now, however, she pulled out her computer and  hopped onto her bed to check some of her favorite websites while waiting for Courtney to finish eating.

Meanwhile, back in the dining room, Steph’s dad asked Courtney a bit more seriously if she thought a week of potty training might be needed. Courtney asked what it would entail, and Steph’s dad laid out the week of wearing pullups during the day and bigger diapers at night. Courtney thought about it for a couple minutes while eating her pancakes before responding that it wasn’t the worst idea in the world. She did really like how the bigger diaper felt while she was sleeping, and she was already used to wearing a Goodnite every night anyway so it wouldn’t be too hard to wear one during the day. She agreed that Steph’s dad could call her parents and tell them about it, and where to buy the bigger diapers. She had just finished eating and stood up from the table walking through the kitchen when she turned around, pulled down the front of her sweats, and raised a finger to her lip to signal that she didn’t want her secret to be known.

Courtney made her way back upstairs to Steph’s room and filled her friend in on how she was going to be doing ‘potty training’ too. Stephanie was taken aback at hearing this, but realized it might not be so bad knowing that her friend was going to be going through the same thing she was. She thought it would be especially nice to have someone at school to talk about this with. Stephanie explained what she had been doing to keep her pullups hidden, how the nurse had extra diapers in case she had an accident during school, and even told her how cute the bunny diapers that the nurse had were. Courtney actually really enjoyed hearing all about the process, and was a little excited for it to begin!

Stephanie stood up from the bed and headed to the bathroom to change out of her big diaper and into a Goodnite for the day. When she was done with this somewhat normal routine, she went back to her room in just her t-shirt and pullup. As she entered the room, Courtney asked why Stephanie never seemed too concerned with wearing bottoms in case her dad might see her. Steph explained that she didn’t really worry about it since they lived alone and her dad wasn’t a creep. She even said that her dad probably would mind if Courtney walked around in just a diaper.

Feeling a little emboldened, Courtney took the opportunity and took off her sweatpants and socks before throwing them in her duffle bag. Still a bit scared, but wanting to seem confident, she strutted across the hallway to the bathroom to change in just her diaper and a gray sweatshirt that she had tossed on because she was cold. When she was in the bathroom, she saw herself in the mirror in her soaked diaper, and a little curious to se how much it could hold, she let her bladder loose. It was actually holding quite a lot, until Courtney started to feel something wet running down her leg. Realizing that these could hold quite a lot of pee, they weren’t leak-proof. She sank to the floor a little embarrassed at the mess she had made in her friend’s house.

Knowing she was running late for school, she quickly pulled of her wet diaper and tossed it I the trash. She grabbed a couple of the Goodnites that were stashed under the sink, pulling one on herself and using the other to clean up the puddle on the floor. Once she was satisfied that she had captured every drop, she tossed the wet Goodnite in the trash on top of her soaked diaper from the night before. She strutted across the hallway again to find Stephanie  buttoning up her shirt, her stockings, garter and Goodnite on display. Courtney grabbed a spare uniform from the closet and raced to change as realized how far behind she was.

After the girls were both dressed, they headed downstairs to walk to their bus stop. Steph’s dad stopped them and asked them to show that they were both wearing their Goodnites. Compliantly, both girls raised their skirts showing off their pullups both giggling a little. After an approving nod, the girls left the house and start walking to the bus stop. As they walked, their hands frequently brushing, they talked bout how fun their weekend had been and that they should have sleepovers more often. The bus pulled up right as they arrived, and the girls found a seat near the front and sat down next to each other giggling non-stop.

 To Be Continued…

[semischarmed]

The Visit

I glance at my phone. 30 minutes. 30 minutes in this chair waiting for the doctor. 30 minutes in a freezing cold examination room wearing nothing but the disposable gown the nurse told me to wear. Now, I’m normally quite patient, but I begin to worry that they may have simply forgotten about me. I sit up straight, ready to leave the chair and ask for the nurse, when my new doctor comes into the room in a rush.

“Hey, Hey! Sorry, sorry. My last patient meeting went a bit over. That alright?“ He grins and verdant eyes sparkle. The man was dreamy. I could say nothing beyond nodding in agreement. 

“Great! Glad to hear it” he beams. I feel an explosion of warmth within my chest and stomach and can’t help but smile back. 

”Thank you so much for understanding. I’m Doctor Ryan! Good to meet you.” I readily shake his hand. Firm. Sturdy. Calloused.  

“Okay great, so we’re just gonna run through your vitals, and… says here you noticed an odd mark show up near your penis?” I flush bright red in embarrassment at the mention. Unperturbed, he continues without skipping a beat “Hmmm.. we’ll definitely want to get that checked. Probably harmless, but could be something bad…  I know the nurse probably covered most of these questions and took your vitals, but [he smirks] just wanna sure we get everything checked correctly, alright?” Damn it. Doctors always have a such way with words, I can’t help but melt in their arms. I feel a numb happy sensation wash over me and again nod in agreement. He was cute, too cute. God. Of course, whatever he thought this appointment was, he was completely off. Most likely picked up the wrong sheet or something, cause I only came for some immunizations. 

Still, the man has me spellbound. I comply with his every whim as he continues running through his normal questioning. In every word, he further puts my will to sleep, with every phrase he draws me closer. To me, his every sentence has progressively slowed the world around us. Not that I’m complaining. I am adrift, motionless in his pool of questioning, sandwiched between warm ocean and sunlight. For a short few moments, I am at peace. I was practically sleeping by the time the second round of questions finished. I feel a warm hand on my shoulder and break my spell slightly and I focus in on his beautiful face. “You okay there, bud?” More nods his way.

“Awesome. Let’s get started then.”

———

The physical was.. something else. We start with just an examination of my body. Pale, scholarly eyes remark on my every blemish, my every curve. It would be a nightmare in any other scenario, but in the secure glance of my doctor, I knew I was safe. Still, near his radiant heat, I could not help but get just a bit flustered. My answers are short, odd, my heart rate jumping to his vicinity.

He wiggles his stethoscope in the air. “We’re just gonna get your heart rate okay?” My mouth is hanging open and drooling slightly, but I nod. Really, it’s all I can do. Stunned to obedience. He just spoke so confidently, so assured in his examination. His tone was out of this world. It’s bright but resonant, like each word reverberated his command in my chest. His voice was no less potent. Sound-waves embrace the air with sweet honey, but an undertone of audible trust. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything else, still caught in this man’s spell. Now, a handsome man gets me feeling the same way a doctor often does. But he was both. I can manage nothing beyond a smile and continue nodding “okay.” 

I moan at the touch of the stethoscope. It was ice. Penetrative, cold ice, but in his expert hands, it felt like gift from the man. I imagine the metal is a piece of him, precious metal, precious silver embedding itself in me. I want it in me forever- uh, the man, not the stethoscope. 

He grunts. Fuck. “Sorry” I say sheepishly. That moan was definitely audible then. Further embarrassment floods me, only tempered by by the tingling sense of relaxation I felt in being examined by this man. He takes the odd outburst in stride, giving a half smile before continuing. “Believe it or not, you’re not the first”. The man was a professional through and through.

---

In the middle of making sure my reflexes were still functioning, his face winces, and his upper lip trembles, immediately breaking my illusion. He lets out a quick gasp “Ah.. I.. aahhh” barely audibly. I watch as his knuckles grasp the sides of the cushion in my chair desperately, going white in the process. For the first time in our entire session, the haze cast by this man’s being is broken entirely. I feel the dullness in my mind clear as I take note of the oddness from what had just transpired. His mouth goes wide and his face scrunches up into an emotion that I can’t quite place between pain and pleasure. Maybe both? In any case, before I can even investigate further, it relaxes immediately. Emotionless. 

Then, his eyes twitch before going glassy. Doctor Ryan looked like he was about to throw up. Pleading eyes stare into my soul, but the rest of his face remains blank. I am shocked beyond shocked at this point to do anything beyond stare in disbelief while a shit-eating grin slowly paints his face. His eyes blink back to lucidity- now focused on me, and single tear pools on the corner of his left eye and drips down his cheek. He stops it with his thumb before it can drop further, before nonchalantly wrapping plump lips around it. In a slight suction noise, when he pulls the thumb out his mouth in what looks to be a deliberately seductive manner, staring intently at my face the entire time. What the fuck. 

Immediately, he returns to examining me, making no mention of what had just occurred. This time though, his movements seem just a bit erratic, a bit unrefined. I also catch brief glimpses of that same cringing face every time he moves to the next step in his examination, like he was pulling long-forgotten memories from what should be a fairly standard procedure. He repeats the physical, this time going over my every part much more slowly. Any touch, any connection we had seemed to linger just a bit longer than needed. He almost seemed... Interested? Nervous? Whatever case, with every movement, and every step, his hands get a bit steadier, actions more confident. Whatever just happened to him seemed to be over. I am intrigued, if a bit scared. He was acting suspicious. Too many things seemed to line up for me to dismiss this as just normal checkup. In lustful wishes, I invoke whatever I can, hoping I’m correct. I try to sneak a peak at the outline of his admittedly large penis in his scrubs. Absolutely Flaccid. Odd. Disappointing, to say the least. Whatever this weird, hot doctor was doing, he wasn’t getting off on it.

When he gets to my lower body, he abruptly splits my knees open, spreading my legs wide. Another moan almost escapes me. Thankfully a veil of disposable fabric separates my doctor from my now semi-erect penis. Unthankfully, I can’t help but tent the gown full mast when his ice cold hands begin to trace and snake slowly around my inner thigh. I look at him in shock and he just beams back at me like the past few minutes had not just happened. “Hmmm… great legs…” My face goes crimson and I scream internally at my own inability to control my own body. “Okay, your -hNnggg-ah cha-chart, yes. Apologies for the outburst… your chart seemed to mention some concerns about your penis? Let’s take a closer look” He states, looking up at me with a half-smile. 

“No- er, I think- ah, you got the wrong-” I can barely stammer out a response in the raw stimulation of Doctor Ryan grabbing and gently examining my cock and balls. Pleasure bloomed wherever his fingers glided over. This was a mental battle I could not win. Mind versus body. I was fighting myself, my own urges. He makes gentle cupping motions around my balls, back and forth. I look at him in bewilderment. There was no way this was just for a normal examination. He smiles pleasantly, “just checking for anything out of place… so far, so good”. Mystery solved, I guess. He slowly wraps thick fingers, encircling my cock in an embrace. Not solved. Not solved. I am rock hard. He gives a short chuckle. “Well, at the very least, your nerves appear to be working…. Blood flow looks good as well…Nothing out of the ordinary so far”. I am beet red at this point. Fuck me. I can’t even compose myself in front of this man. 

Then, Doctor Ryan gives it a tug. FUCK. 

“Holy shiiiiiit” I moan out. I turn my head away as my body quivers and gives in to a moment of divine pleasure. Betrayed by my own senses. A second, higher pitched moan escapes my now open throat, barely audible, while the a tiny bit of clear fluid spills onto the doctor’s unflinching hand. I can’t bear to look this guy in the eye. I need a new fucking doctor.

“You know, this is completely natural. Absolutely a normal human body response. Don’t worry about it” he says absentmindedly as he continues. “If anything, at least we know you can still produce, so it doesn’t look like there’s anything to worry about”. He mumbles happily. Outside my sightline, I swear I hear a licking, slurping noise. His hand, looked a bit wetter than before too.That being said, my brain has shut down from humiliation. At this point all I can manage is a blank nod. 

“Well, good news- you’re perfectly hea- Oh! Actually, do you mind?” He begins to unbutton his coat and then proceeds set it on the table beside me.  “You know it’s always a bit hot and stuffy in these rooms”. My eyes can’t help but visually eat at the feast before me. Bare chest and stray hairs poke out from his scrubs. The sleeves are taut around his massive biceps. Despite the objectively unflattering material, it can’t help but conform slightly to his muscular physique. It was pretty clear before, but it was definitely fact now. My doctor was hot as fuck. Something about his last question eats away at my my brain. It wasn’t hot at all. The room is cold, dry, sterile. Hell, this whole hospital is. It’s like he has me back in a trance though. Words smooth as silk, body like sculpture. He had a power over me, so I nod in compliance without even acknowledging how absurd the previous statement was.

“So, as I was saying... the good news is your vitals are all in line.” He laughs kindly, patting my stomach “Maybe eat a bit more protein every now and then”. The voice is warm and reassuring. My brain relaxes to the end in sight to this half dream-half nightmare. I start to get up to get changed before I realize the entire reason for the visit.

“Hey-er, wait! My Immunizations! I needed to get some immunizations done for my-“ 

“Oh?” He cuts me off, eyebrows raised. Intrigue paints his face.  

Then he leans in close, head right up to my ear until the parts of chest peaking from the hospital gown touches the stray hairs poking out from his scrubs. Until we share warmth in that cold examination room. He breathes alongside me in rhythm as he exhales.

“You…don’t need any immunizations. I do… well, I did, anyway. It’s too late for him now...But we do have something planned, for you-we’re gonna try an experimental processss. A brand new… test…just for you...” He whispers. He pauses as he continues to breathe and I feel the hot, damp air emanating from his mouth coat my ear. “We need to test you for... stimulation.” Dear God. That last word he draws out in a far, far different tone than before. It neither clinical nor polite, and it hit like a brick. There was raw emotion in that last word. Raw lust. He cups the other side of my face pulling my left cheek to touch his. Like his chest, it’s quite warm. I’m flush with redness and confusion. I gulp nervously.

His tone returns in its warmth and politeness, contrasted by the intimate position we are in. “Hmmmmm salivating...mmmm... Quite a bit actually. You’re either haven’t eaten… or… you’re hungry for something.” I can’t manage out anything coherent amidst the sensory overload. He continues confidently, “C’mon... I’m your primary care physician? Let me take care of it. Let me take care of you...” He sticks his hand down his own pants, scratching to readjust. With our chests together, I am brought to our present moment. A moment in paradise. When he ebbs, I flow. Like a dance, my chest caves in with every exhale as his puffs out. He does in turn. We were partners. His scent pours out unconfined, unfiltered by distance, concentrated in our proximity. Like rainfall and crushed grass. I could live in it. With our cheeks pressed together, I feel his every movement. Every word spoken drawn in by my inhale. These would be mine to keep. This moment was ours and ours alone. He brings up the same hand, now a bit slimier to take a whiff before shoving that sweaty, funky smelling hand right to my face. I can’t control myself and start inhaling my hot doctor. I lick the man’s hand clean. Delicious.

I continue lapping it up in silence before he finally breaks it to speak. “Mhmmmmm... that’s the stuff... Maybe if we feed you enough of this hot doctor’s cum, you’d pick up on some of his residual intelligence and figure who’s really running this man.” My eyes light up, and the pieces finally all click together in my head. I chuckle. 

“Good to see you too, Ben.”

———

“Leave it to humans to take something so beautifully sensual and twist it. He’s a bit too good at compartmentalizing. In many respects… It’s fucking hot. But, you know, when he’s in this work mode, he sees you as nothing more than sack of meat. We’re not getting anywhere with him without a little push”. Without warning, Ben pulls the doctor’s pants down and fiddles with his new dick- still flaccid. Jesus Christ it’s huge. 

“Look, even this... appendage. Yes that’s an atypical response. I mean look at me, look at this new body we acquired. I’m swimming in this human’s hormones.” He wraps his hand around and begins pumping it. “But see here, it’s still all clinical in this head. I can only get inside him so far. We need something to end this human’s resistance. We need something extra to break him out of this trance. We need raw emotion.”

Just then, the door comes wide open. It’s Austin.

As he closes the door behind him, I see his face more clearly. It’s Austin’s body, but its pilot is undeniably Ben. Austin had a certain swagger to him that my little alien buddy just can’t quite replicate.

Ryan’s mouth opens wide and I watch as his true form exits from my doctor’s mouth and shoot strait into Austin’s welcoming nose. I watch as the doctor goes lucid. His eyes go wide and he stares at me in horror before attempting to escape. Before he can, he is pinned to the ground by the far larger Austin. “Cmon man, smell this fucking body. Feel something”

“If you can’t… we’ll do it for you. We’re going for a wild ride.. relax and enjoy it.” Austin’s eyes roll to the back of his head, and I watch as he gives a crazed grin, jaws open unnaturally wide. His tongue sticks out, his head is bright red, and pulsing silver courses through now-prominent veins. Damn. My Doctor looks at me with one last pleading glance, but all I can do is moan “I want you mine.” 

Doctor Ryan lets out an involuntary scream when he notices the changes in Austin’s face, which only work to his disadvantage as a pulsating, semi-solid mass of silver falls into his open maw. Austin sticks their mouths together. Using his tongue, he maintains a steady passageway for Ben. Using his lips, Austin keeps the doctor’s pried open to forcibly receive the precious silver. Their heads bob back and forth as more and more of the slimy mass falls into doctor. I watch as a massive lumps outline themselves in his throat, then his chest, before disappearing into the depths of his body. I notice a little bit pool and spill out the corner of his mouth. When the process is over, Austin’s body falls limply to the side. I stare at the messy pile of silver goo still smeared over Ryan’s drooling mouth. Should I?

I lean over, giving my dream man a kiss. My eyes flutter at the prospect. Ugh, he’s perfect. I feel the every contour of the face of man who would soon be ours, before sucking up the excess silver an a bit of his drool in my mouth. No use putting this stuff to waste. 

In a flash, I feel ecstasy. “Jesus fucking christ” I moan, as I feel a burst of energy from within. The parts of silver which were Ben settle into me, surging me with power and I feel his thoughts reverberate in my mind. In that split second, I also feel the vertigo of looking from two bodies at once. I feel the immense pleasure of controlling two bodies at once and the parts of silver which were Austin become immediately apparent. Goddamn what a fucking power trip. Austin was mine. A quick rush of stolen confidence from my previous tormentor floods my insides and I welcome my updated sense of self. Fuck yeah. Took a part of him for me. He’s never getting this back. I stare at his body and will it up. My dominion, now. While his head still hung unconscious, I move my fingers and tingle in delight as I watch his hands follow. The moment is fleeting though, and I feel the disappointment as my vision recedes back to my singular one.”Hope you liked that” I feel Ben state in my head. “Just a taste. This piece of us you’ve ingested... I think it’s best you keep it. I find this setup beneficial to us both. We can keep in constant contact this way. You might find some residual power left over Austin too, thought probably not in the way you think… at least… not yet.“ 

Before I can question him in my head, the doctor’s body shivers awake and then spasms before letting out a primal scream. Ryan’s looked... bigger? Almost swollen. His body occupied the same space they did before, but there was a larger presence to him. His muscles pump up, obviously riled into a frenzy. “Just a little attitude adjustment, and...Goddamn easy mode, Fuck!” He faces me. His eyes are rolled to the back of his head and silvery veins pulse all over his body. Seconds later, he settles and his eyes return to focus me. “Fuck yeah, you wanted this doctor, right? Bro, you know my bod’s way better. Fuck it though, I don’t care  as I’m a part of the ride. Remember your fucking promise.” He states through gritted teeth. Unnatural coming out of the normally Angelic Doctor Ryan. 

“Your Doc’s too nice though, right? You… Ben… you deserve better. I’ll make us better for you. Look how much fucking bigger, how much more of a fucking man we are with some Austin mixed in....” I am speechless, but he’s right. The doctor now exuded a dominating presence. In any other circumstance, I’d be frightened and compliant. In the presence of Ben, I felt safe.

“Thank Ben he brought us inside this man. Mmmmmm his brain is delicious… I feel so much smarter inside him. We’re gonna fuck him up. Make him better, like you did to me. Twist his head. Make him want your cum almost as much as I do. Make him want to spread more Ben around…. Mmmm speaking of, I feel him inside me. He’s squirming into us both out and goddamn it feels good.” Ryan’s body moans Austin’s moan. “I can’t wait for you to learn how to do this... to put yourself inside me-Please! Fuck! Learn it faster! That... part of me you stole… I feel good as part of you, right? You like it in you, right? Pure fucking jock. Take good care of it…more where that came from”. It was definitely my doctor, but between the behavior and facial expressions, undeniably Austin. Well, post-Ben Austin.

“I-Arrgh” I watch curiously as the doctor’s body shivers. “Ben’s... ready for you.” He winks as his eyes briefly roll to their sockets and roll back. Austin-er Ryan’s demeanor immediately changed ”Had to do a little arranging inside this doctor. We just need one final piece. Ryan’s body ready to receive its new masters. I need you to put as much cum inside this man as you can... I really like this one, his position is useful. But his mind... it’s so vast. He’s no Austin...It’s gonna take a lot more of our genetic material to tame it.”

Austin-er Ben does pushups on the floor. He clears a few hundred before wiping his sweat all over his scrubs. Of course, despite channeling Austin’s very essence, this body is not nearly as buff or as muscular as his so I watch as Ryan is forced to push up and down beyond his limits, tears streaming down his eyes, hands and legs shaking in protest, forced smiling all the while. Previously crisp scrub are now stained, damp in Ben’s body’s perspiration. The smell this weird, hybrid mix emanated was unique. Of course, it still had the cleanliness I’d expect from a doctor. Fresh cologne and nature- exactly what I’d expect from the healthy, professional man which had previous examined me. This man before me was not the same man as before. Because, interwoven was the musk, the testosterone, the pungent stink of our deranged puppet Austin. It was altogether divine. 

“Look at this.” He states with a sneer as he does a bicep flex. His damp scrubs hug his muscle tightly, almost breaking at the seams. The bicep is throbbing. “I feel this body crying in pain and exhaustion. From his mind though... do you know how muscles are made? Tiny tears regrown stronger” A pulse of silver darts through his veins, immediately returning it to stillness. “What wonderful new information. We’re gonna use that. Fill into these layers with a bit of Ben, and a bit of you”. He starts laughing now “Doc Ryan here doesn’t call the shots…This isn’t his body anymore… It’s ours.” 

With that, Ben lifts my gown and sticks his drenched head near my already-hard cock. Fuck he’s warm. Our sweat and scents mingle and I feel my inner thighs go moist in the perspiration in the air. 

“Austin, to the forefront. Combined effort. We need him body and mind. Let us create a new Ryan,” he states. My doctor slowly wrap his thick, plump lips over my dick. Moment’s later, the man’s wet tongue slides forward. I shudder. A bit tickles in a spot just below the head and I squirm on the spot. Jesus fuck, oh- oh fuck, he’s good- he’s really good.

My shaking hands are sloppily held in place. I move them reflexively in the onslaught of pleasure. It’s like Ryan’s body was made for this. Absolute Heaven. I let out a loud moan as I continue to squirm in the confines of my position. Ben had commandeered some control of Austin’s unconscious body, and it stood there, just over me, holding my hands in place and body. Its eyes were rolled back, mouth drooling. Bits of spit dribbled to my forehead. I paid them no mind. Basically an extension of my own bodily fluids at this point anyway. Besides, whatever made Austin, Austin was mostly inside Ryan now, helping Ben add a wonderful new addition to our collection. 

Ryan’s sensual motions, His body expertly bobbing, beckons mine. Erotic symphony. I can do nothing beyond quake in my seat. I hold for as long as I can but it’s too much. This was it. First, I moan. Then, I scream. FUCK. Goddamn bliss. Sweet Release. Pure Ecstasy. I am reduced to babbling internally as I release more and more of myself inside Ryan’s welcoming mouth. Using his powerful chest, he creates a slight suction, greedily taking as much of my cum inside as he can. The body begins to choke for air, but I feel Austin and Ben smile instead and continue inhaling my cum. Their eyes only relayed one word. More. There’s not much else I could have done anyway, because I continue to spew load after load inside the man. It’s the best I ever felt, the longest it’s ever been and the most I ever given. I sit in extended euphoria, paralyzed in bliss. Logic aside, ethics aside, this was my new order. Our new order. In my mind I strive to continue on, to bring more to this light. So many delicious fucking bodies in this town. So many new ‘me’s destined, yearning for my control- even if they didn’t know it yet. That last bit might have been some of Austin’s megalomania in me.   

The phone rings at Ryan’s side and he picks it up. Someone patches in a call. 

“Doctor are you alright? We heard some odd noises“. I watch Ben in alarm. He cracks his head to the side, cock still in his mouth, and veins coursing in silver fluid display prominently in his temples. He switches demeanor almost seamlessly back. In contrast, like strings cut, Austin’s body falls over me, unmoving. I didn’t mind. I inhale his jock essence as I listen in.

“Yewph- Iw- Ehem.. I’m quiw ahwigh, *gulp*… ahhh yeah.. Apologies, Nancy this appointment is taking just a bit longer than expected. I’ll be ready soon- just need a little more time with this one.” Every word again resounds warmly, calmly, politely in this man. When Ben channels Ryan, it’s like I’m hearing the same person who examined me earlier. He was ours. I glance his way and a bit of my cum is still on his lips as he continues his conversation. He happily draws it to his mouth with a finger and sucks it clean. My cock is drenched in the doctors sweat. Fucking hot. Ben found us a real catch. “Dr. Ben” ends the call and mentally, he’s back to our present situation, back to huffing in breathless pleasure, as he continues sucking the any residual mess in me clean. He gives me a wink as he finishes. 

Ryan then stands over to Austin, and, in a reverse of the process from earlier vomits out the same silvery mass, now slick with streaks of white, back into its container. There was significantly less this time. From the still open mouth of Ryan, I watch the tiny man emerge, giving me a motion that indicated he was smiling. “I’m staying in this one a bit longer. Driving this particular specimen gives me a pleasure not wholly physical.” The mouth slowly closes and Ryan’s eyes show life again. He smiles. I look expectantly at the two of them. They begin making out. The sounds are sloppy and I can’t help but get a bit jealous. Taking note, they both stop abruptly before giving me a wink. The both speak at once while Ryan begins stripping stark naked.

“Can’t help it...You should come and stay in this room for a while. My next patient’s got quite a body we can utilize, based on this man’s memory. You still got some cum left in you? I can’t expand further without it” I nod happily. If Ben thinks he’s cute, we had to at least try. What am I saying? I can produce like a motherfucker, took part of my bully inside, made it mine. I may not look it yet, but I was alpha now.  

“Austin, strip down, I need some new clothes, and yours are a better fit.” Austin’s face cringes and I watch as his normal personality returns. Normal was a stretch, because he was far more subservient now than he was before this all began. Ben then looks at me with a toothy smile as he walks over to my pile of neatly folded clothes and digs out my underwear. He nonchalantly strips stark naked and then proceeds to put on my underwear. “This is a tight- Hmph!” He struggles to get each thick leg through “-ah, your clothes...Mmm! So tiny”. This results in my hot, nearly naked doctor wearing my underwear tightly. It’s pulled to its seams as it’s forced to constrict and hold together the doctor’s massive package. I watch as his cock begins to get hard, only to be restricted by the fabric. He moans at the setup. “Ayyyyeeee fuck! Fuck yeah. It feels like you’re in here, squeezing this host’s cock and ass. I’m gonna make sure he wears this forever. I’m gonna make sure this imprints our scent into this man. Look at me. Look at this muscle. Ryan..mmmmm.... all the brains and brawn in the world couldn’t help you. Every time he gets hard on, I want him to be wearing this. I want his penis to scrape this, to be bound by it, forever a reminder of who the real Ryan is now.”

Ben’s new doctor personality switches back. He politely gestures to his pile of clothes, still freshly warm before looking at me. “If you’re gonna be my assistant, you’ll need to look the part,” he states with a kind smile. I eye the warm pile, almost steaming in the residual heat. Ryan’s body licks its lips. Ben again. “Wear it. This man is ours, forever. Take ownership of that. Of those clothes. There’s so much of your genetic material embedded inside this particular specimen, at this point these are your own as much as it is his.”

I rush over to put the scrubs on, to feel the residual heat in my doctor Ryan envelop me. I relish in it. Still warm and moist with his sweat. It was like I was wearing the man myself. Of course, it fits loosely over me, and I barely pass as an assistant. He leans over to me. “smell it” he whispers. “Smell yourself. I like you better this way”. He’s right. I smell so fucking alpha in this getup. Ben then begins putting on Austin’s clothes, which are a much better fit. 

In contrast, Austin is forced to wear the remainder my clothes, which he creepily sniffs first and ends up with it fitting way too tight and revealing on him. I gesture to offer the scrubs I just put on instead, but he immediately declines in a huff, “No... I’m fucking better this way. More... complete” He moans “This was the way I was meant to be... yours... wearing this makes me feel like you’re here inside me, wearing your own clothes. I belong like this...This is your body, it misses you, and he doesn’t feel whole until you’re back home.” He pats himself. “I can’t wait for you to become this. And I’m not fucking taking no for an answer either. One day, I’m putting you where you belong- inside me so we can never be separated again. Moving around feels empty when you’re not in here doing it for me”. What the fuck did Ben do? The guy, my previous bully was horny just being near me. It felt amazing.

I silently thank Ben. Whatever Austin was rambling on about turned me the fuck on. I smiled. That piece of Austin I ingested earlier- I think his shitty vocab’s been rubbing off on me. Regardless, Austin was right- wearing him, controlling him from the inside was where I belonged. I deserved it. Deserved him. “Wait for us at home- we won’t be long” Ben instructs Austin through Ryan in a fatherly tone. Austin complies, leaving the room, staring longingly at me until he no longer could. 

Ben puts on his coat. “Well then, that’s settled. I hope your cock is ready, human, we have a full schedule of bodies to possess.“

-End of “Ben Pt. 2″-

A smarter version of me would have split this into two parts. Also, preemptive apologies to anyone in a medical profession.

[robininthelabyrinth]

There was a comment a while back about NMJ having capybara energy. So have a cracky prompt of some strategists in the Sunshot Campaign deciding how this could be weaponized, or used as an interrogation technique. If they give cooperate and give information, they can be in a cuddle pile with NMJ.

ao3

The worst part about war was, unquestionably, the war itself.

The loss of life, the injuries, the stress – the agonizing terror of knowing that each moment might be your last, the painful boredom of waiting for something to happen, the shaking anxiety of never knowing which one the day would bring. Watching your friends and family suffer, watching innocent people suffer…it was grotesquely awful in ways Lan Xichen had never even dreamed of it being.

And yet, as if war wasn’t bad enough by itself, it also had – side effects.

Evil creatures thrived on resentful energy, their own or others’, gathered at sites of death or violence, and there was nothing that they liked better than the wasted spiritual energy that accompanied the untimely death of cultivators. This war, sect against sect, was a breeding ground for all the creatures that they ought to be night-hunting, not encouraging.

Led by Nie Mingjue, who never forgot his obligations, their side – the Four Great Sects, that was – took care of the innocent people who were being harmed by their war, protecting them from the immediate aftereffects, settling them in new places if their homes were damaged, making sure they weren’t caught in the middle of ongoing battle. Sects that skimped on their duties to the common people were mercilessly cut off in turn, where necessary, and Nie Mingjue had even demanded that Lanling Jin personally recompense an entire village that had lost their homes due to their negligence or else face the next Wen attack without his aid – the cost of doing so was negligible for them, but the humiliating loss of face among the rest of the sects that he had even had felt the need to make the threat, coupled with the fact that they really did need his help, served as an extremely potent reminder for everyone else.

When possible, the sects devoted some resources to night-hunting, trying to restrain the effects of their war, but it was like trying to hold back an avalanche that had already started: they could mitigate some of the damage, but until the war was over, it would only get worse and worse.

It didn’t help, naturally, that the Wen sect’s leaders didn’t care one whit about the effects of their actions.

Wen Ruohan loudly blamed the other Great Sects for it, claiming that they were ‘rebelling’ against him – as if they hadn’t all been equal just before – and that the heavens were punishing them for their violation of the natural order; his commanders followed suit, disdaining even the distraction of night-hunting and making dismissive promises that it would all be resolved when the war was won.

Still, however Wen Ruohan felt, however his generals and commanders felt, even they couldn’t ignore all the effects.

Especially not the ones that hit everyone equally.

“More nightmares?” Lan Xichen asked Jiang Cheng as he came into the command tent, rubbing his red eyes and looking awful. They all looked awful, but the recent affliction of dream-eaters that had swept through their camp and the enemy’s was especially vicious - particularly on those like Jiang Cheng, who had already existing trauma and were already burdened by nightmares. They were killing the creatures that generated the nightmares as quickly as possible, but there was only so much they could do with the encampment of the Wen sect not far away, waiting for a display of weakness that would give them the opportunity to attack.

The Wen sect were afflicted by the dream-eaters, too, and under any other circumstances Lan Xichen would propose that they raise the flag of truce long enough to eradicate the menace. Unfortunately, the Wen sect had proved themselves fundamentally untrustworthy – Jiang Cheng’s own family situation told the story quite vividly, even if Lan Xichen didn’t have to only close his eyes to see the burning of the Cloud Recesses – and so they all just suffered, instead.

“Bad ones,” Jiang Cheng said grimly, and nodded at Wei Wuxian, who had followed him into the tent looking, somehow, even worse. Not a great surprise, given that he’d been trapped in the Burial Mounds and now utilized resentful energy as a weapon – he had to be even more susceptible to the nightmares than the rest of them, but there was nothing to be done about it; his new cultivation style was too valuable for him to stop now. If Lan Xichen had to guess, Wei Wuxian was working himself to the bone and collapsing into nightmares, never getting any rest; his eyes were bloodshot, his face haggard, his waist too thin.

When Lan Wangji entered the tent next and saw Wei Wuxian there, looking half-dead, his face immediately twisted in what Lan Xichen recognized as clear concern. Poor Lan Wangji was suffering, too, although perhaps Lan Xichen was the only one who could tell.

Lan Xichen felt a stab of pain on all their behalf, all of them, and handed out tea to strengthen their spirits. He’d selected the most energizing blend he could find in preparation for this meeting, their first in several weeks – they were all fighting their own fronts, Lanling Jin in Langya, Qinghe Nie in Hejian, so on and so forth, but they needed to coordinate, and these in-person meetings were the best option for it.

And they really needed to discuss what to do about this new nightmare scourge.

“I think it’s like this for everyone,” Jiang Cheng said, accepting the tea, and Lan Xichen was just in the middle of nodding when he heard a strange sound – laughter, of all things.

They all turned to stare at the door, where Nie Huaisang was walking in, followed by an exhausted-looking Jin Zixuan as his father’s representative. It had been Lan Xichen who had asked for Nie Huaisang to be brought here from his refuge at the Cloud Recesses, thinking that this highly protected meeting was as close to safety on the battlefield as they could get and that it would be good for Nie Mingjue to see his little brother safe and sound.

Of all of them, they needed Nie Mingjue to remain strong. He was the Great Sects’ most effective general, their most terrifying war god; he was as viciously effective a general as he was a frontline fighter, designing many of the strategies they all used and providing many of their sects with critical assistance even though his Nie sect and its affiliated sects were the least numerous of the Great Sects, excluding only the significantly diminished forces of the Jiang sect.

More than his personal contribution, though, he’d become something of a lucky talisman for the rest of them. Lan Xichen had heard all sorts of stories about each and every one of them - Jiang Cheng as the resurrected phoenix, unkillable; Wei Wuxian as a demon barely leashed and used for their own purposes; Lan Xichen himself as a beacon of light bringing hope to those who needed it most - but that was nothing compared to what was said and believed about Nie Mingjue: that as long as Chifeng-zun was there, inexorable and inviolable, the unquestioned king of Hejian, the Wen sect’s eventual defeat was inevitable.

Even Lan Xichen found himself thinking it, reassuring himself late at night that all their efforts were not for nothing, that it would all end well in the end.

It wasn’t a healthy way of thinking, not for them and least of all for Nie Mingjue himself, who had to live up to that terrible reputation, but it was what was getting them through each day of this terrible war. So if there was something within Lan Xichen’s power to help Nie Mingjue keep himself together, he would do it, no matter the risk.

Nie Huaisang had arrived at their encampment the day before, with Nie Mingjue himself arriving even later, coming very late at night, and now it was morning and Nie Huaisang was laughing.

Laughing free and easy as if he didn’t have a care in the world, no less, and probably at one of his own jokes; Jin Zixuan was looking at him as if he’d never seen such a strange and wonderous thing in his life, and Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian and…well, everyone, really, were all following suit. They’d all laughed in recent days, of course, war lending itself to black humor, but Nie Huaisang looked so light-hearted.

So…well-rested.

“Huaisang,” Lan Xichen said, blinking owlishly at him. “You look…good.” No, that wasn’t the word he was looking for. “Healthy.”

Not in need of sleep, he meant.

“Oh, well, you know,” Nie Huaisang demurred, hiding his face behind his fan. “I’m happy to see da-ge, that’s all. I get to comfort myself that he’s well and get a good night’s sleep for once; why wouldn’t I be well? Nothing much to it.”

“Good night’s sleep?” Jiang Cheng echoed, looking disbelieving – as well he should, too. Their current encampent was right next to one of the worst collections of nightmare afflicting creatures, the vicious dream-eaters that confused the mind and injured the spirit. “You got a good night’s sleep?”

“Better here than in the Cloud Recesses?” Wei Wuxian asked, rubbing his eyes. “Really?”

“Uh, yes?” Nie Huaisang said, and now it was his turn to blink at them. “My da-ge is here. I slept well and untroubled for the first time in ages.”

“That sounds...nice,” Jin Zixuan said, rubbing his eyes as well – probably inspired by Wei Wuxian. Such things were communicative. “You must have been worried about him.”

“Oh, da-ge will be fine, I’m sure,” Nie Huaisang said blithely, and Lan Xichen suppressed the abrupt and overwhelming desire to punch him. “But I have nightmares sometimes, you know, and there’s no reason not to use medicine if it’s available, right?”

“Medicine?” Lan Wangji asked, voice intent, and Lan Xichen went from mild irritation to sadness at once: for Lan Wangji to ask such a thing, to show such weakness, the nightmares must be very bad indeed.

“Yes, my da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said. “He’s nightmare-proof.”

“I’m glad that that works for you,” Jiang Cheng said snippily. “Pity about the rest of us.”

Nie Huaisang frowned at him. “It’s not just me,” he said. “It’s just how he is. Don’t you know?”

Lan Xichen was going to intervene and settle them down – their tempers were all unduly short, given the nightmare situation, and he really didn’t want to have to deal with that before having to cope with the same from Nie Mingjue, whose temper was extremely short at the best of times – but then just as he was opening his mouth to say something he was suddenly hit by an overwhelming feeling of sudden calm, the same sort of pleasant languor that came in the early morning of a calm rest day where you didn’t need to get out of bed, or perhaps in a warm and lazy afternoon when you had nothing to do and were considering a nap.  

It was amazing.

Lan Xichen could see the same effect taking hold of the others, too: Jin Zixuan let out a little sigh, Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji both rocked back a little on their heels, eyes sliding closed in pleasure, Wei Wuxian actually let out a near-audible whimper of relief –

And then Nie Mingjue walked into the command tent.

“Good morning,” he said. He looked as steady as always, a tall and unshakable mountain; his brow was creased in his usual expression of neutral ill-humor and one could arguably feel the heat of his always simmering temper, but at the moment it just felt like warmth. “It’s good to see you all.”

They all murmured greetings in return, watching as Nie Mingjue – and the aura of calm relaxation that, apparently, accompanied him – passed them by and went towards the table where they had laid out all their plans. Unconsciously, they followed after him, drifting in his wake, each of them edging closer to him without ever having made a decision on it; as the other sect leaders who were leading the war showed up, they did the same, and by the time the usual pleasantries had concluded and the meeting was about to start, Nie Mingjue could barely turn around without nearly bumping into someone who had drifted too close.

Lan Xichen really ought to tell them to stop – he was the courier, the connection between the sects, familiar with each and every one of them – but he found himself instead abusing his position and his history as Nie Mingjue’s old friend to finagle a place at his right side, just behind his shoulder, and just stood there, his eyes half-lidded as he basked in the feeling. It was a little like really good meditation, he thought, the type that centered you and grounded you, let you be steady and hold your ground, come what may.

As the general, Nie Mingjue opened the meeting, running through the usual updates – he was short and to the point as always, which invariably made these meetings run significantly better because after a start like that even the most long-winded and shameless of old men felt a bit constrained to keep their words within the realm of the reasonable. After he finished detailing their current positions, the Wen sect’s latest moves and his predictions on their next, certain counters he planned to use – all at a very high level of generality, of course, in the event of spies – Nie Mingjue looked around, frowning a little: they had been all listening with surprising quietude, not a single objection or comment among them the way there usually was.

“Is there any other business?” he asked.

One of the leaders of a smaller sect – Sect Leader Ouyang – visibly shook himself and coughed. “The…scourge?”

“Scourge?” Nie Mingjue scowled. “What scourge? Has there been a greater than usual resurgence of evil creatures? What type? Why was I not informed?”

Lan Xichen looked at his old friend as though seeing him for the first time, as though abruptly realizing that your old familiar pillow was in fact a wonderous treasured pearl to be held carefully in one’s hand.

“It’s dream-eaters,” Jiang Cheng said, sounding blank and surprised. “The sort that cause nightmares...you know the type, surely? Common enough and usually fairly harmless, but there’s a whole lot of them and they’re breeding faster than we can kill them – not unless we devote ourselves just to the task, which we can’t do. Has - has the Nie sect not suffered from this affliction?”

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, frowning, and he seemed oddly discomforted, the reason for which he immediately revealed: “In fact, I’ve never seen a dream-eater. They’re not common in Qinghe, I think.”

That was impossible, of course – dream-eaters were notorious for being a pest that could be found anywhere, no matter what the climate or terrain; it was a little like saying that your household had never known a rat.

Although, Lan Xichen supposed, one could see such a statement being made by the single household in the village possessed of a cat…

“That was one of the main reasons I wanted to have this meeting,” he said, clearing his throat. He had told most of the sect leaders that it would be on the agenda, but he hadn’t had time to meet with Nie Mingjue, nor had he needed to – as the general, Nie Mingjue’s presence was a necessity, and so Lan Xichen had known that he would be there and had assumed (incorrectly, it seemed) that he would obviously want to devote some time to the issue. “It has been a rise in the number of such creatures, and yet we cannot divert attention from our frontline. Surely there must be some solution?”

“If it’s so severe, then we could strike a balance,” Nie Mingjue said, looking relieved at the possibility of turning the discussion onto the practical. “Those sects in regions with less ongoing strife could send teams to other fronts specifically to aid in eliminating the dream-eaters –”

“How has Qinghe Nie not suffered from the affliction?” The person interrupting was one of the sect leaders affiliated with Lanling Jin, even though Jin Zixuan turned and glared death at him. “Whatever can be said about dream-eaters in Qinghe, Hejian certainly doesn’t lack them, or at least it never has before. If there is some means of resisting them, it ought to be shared.”

That particular sect leader had arrived late and was seated relatively far back; perhaps he was out of range of Nie Mingjue, and hadn’t noticed – or perhaps, and more likely, he was simply being obnoxious and looking for an opportunity to snatch up whatever talisman Nie Mingjue was using to relieve the effects of the dream-eaters for Lanling Jin’s benefit. As if they had some greater claim to it, when they were doing the least of the fighting..!

“I haven’t seen them,” Nie Mingjue said, his face black with annoyance that Lan Xichen knew was merely a cover for embarrassment. “Not even in Hejian.”

Nie Huaisang giggled behind his fan. “That’s not your fault, da-ge,” he said. “They run away when they see you coming. Isn’t that right, Xiaochun-shushu?”

Eyes turned to the man standing by Nie Mingjue’s side – one of the Nie sect commanders – who looked a little awkward to be put on the spot, shifting his weight and clearing his throat. “To the extent it has been an issue at any of our outposts, we usually ask the Sect Leader to check in on morale, which generally resolves the issue,” he said circumspectly, and Nie Mingjue looked minorly outraged at the suggestion that his entire sect apparently used him as a way to ward off a creature usually classified as a minor pest. Without telling him, no less.

“So the effect is not caused by a talisman or spiritual instrument?” Sect Leader Yao asked, looking disappointed. “Nothing that can be duplicated?”

“What effect?” Nie Mingjue asked.

“Perhaps we could ask Sect Leader Nie to visit some of the other territories?” another sect leader suggested.

“And risk Hejian? Don’t be ridiculous,” Jiang Cheng said, though he looked sorely tempted.

“What effect?” Nie Mingjue asked again.

“I wonder if the Wen sect is suffering to the extent we are,” Wei Wuxian said thoughtfully, spinning his flute in his hand. “We have some prisoners of war, don’t we? They might be inclined to share more information if they were a little more relaxed. Don’t you think?”

“Especially following a state of heightened distress,” Jin Zixuan said, nodding. “The relief will be much more pronounced, which could lower their defenses –”

“Maybe we could even get –”

“Xichen,” Nie Mingjue hissed in his ear as the debate began in earnest, each sect leader rushing forward to add in their views. “What are they talking about?”

Lan Xichen looked helplessly at Nie Huaisang who scuttled over. “It’s the dream-eaters, da-ge,” he said in an undertone. “Sustained exposure. People get tired, cranky, irritable; their cultivation is weakened, their focus impaired…they become simultaneously less sensitive to certain things, like social niceties, and more sensitive to other things. Like a feeling of steadiness and reliability.”

“…so?” Nie Mingjue said.

“So a lot of people are noticing for the first time that you’re very – uh – grounding.”

“Grounding,” Nie Mingjue said skeptically. “Like…a lightning rod?”

It wasn’t quite the metaphor Lan Xichen would have gone with.

“It’s always like this?” he asked Nie Huaisang, fascinated, and Nie Huaisang nodded. “Why didn’t I notice?”

“You probably noticed subconsciously?” Nie Huaisang guessed. “People like being around da-ge, even when they don’t like him. Anyway, you’re usually very steady yourself, Xichen-gege –” Nie Mingjue sighed at his brother’s rudeness. “– so you probably didn’t notice that you were feeling even more so. In our sect, you’ll find parents coming by to drop off their kids next to da-ge; they follow him like a flock of ducklings, it’s the only thing that keeps them quiet…”

“I thought they just liked watching me train?”

“I mean, they like that, too, da-ge, I’m sure. But mostly people just feel safe when you’re around.”

Safe. Yes, that was what it felt like, calm and safe and secure, like there was a rock-solid foundation to the world that nothing could tear down; like even if Nie Mingjue were at the end of his rope, he would still do everything he could not to let you down.

“It’s very nice,” Lan Xichen said.

Nie Mingjue was pinching the bridge of his nose. “Huaisang,” he said. “If this is such a common phenomenon, why didn’t anyone tell me about it?”

“To be honest, we were a little worried that it’d go away if anyone pointed it out to you,” Nie Huaisang said. “Apparently not. Good!”

“This is ridiculous. I’m a sect leader, a front-line fighter, a general…I can’t go traipsing around fighting dream-eaters. We have a war to fight!”

“People fight better if they can sleep,” Nie Huaisang said wisely, and Lan Xichen nodded in firm support. Lan Wanji had drifted over at some point and looked to now be sleeping standing up, which was practically an endorsement as well. “Anyway, I think the idea of gathering people up to go deal with the problem is a good one, and anyone who’s really desperate for a good night’s rest can trade over to fight in Hejian for a while. That’ll keep your forces fresh, encourage the circulation of people and the development of relationships between the various sects, and you’ll have the chance to get a good look at who’s actually competent or not while they fight directly under you.”

“Hmm, true,” Nie Mingjue said, and Lan Xichen had to agree – it wasn’t a bad idea at all. Maybe it was the fact that Nie Huaisang was the only one of them who’d gotten any sleep that had allowed him to be the one to suggest it.

“And of course, best of all, as long as our side is getting relief and the Wen sect isn’t…”

“Oh, all right,” Nie Mingjue said. “I still think this is ridiculous, and I’m having some difficulty believing that I really give off some sort of – sleep field, or whatever.”

“You do,” Lan Xichen said. “In fact, I may propose that we break up the meeting temporarily to allow everyone to take a brief nap.”

“We are not doing that,” Nie Mingjue said. “We’re not toddlers.”

“We should do that,” Lan Wangji said, opening his eyes.

Wei Wuxian’s head turned at the sound of Lan Wangji’s voice. “Do what?”

“Break up the meeting for everyone to take a nap and return with steadied nerves and calmer minds,” Nie Huaisang said.

“We should definitely do that,” Wei Wuxian said, and nudged Jiang Cheng. “Hey, Jiang Cheng, how do you feel about everyone in the room taking a nap before we continue discussing the war?”

“That is the best idea I’ve ever heard,” Jiang Cheng said.

“You’re not serious,” Nie Mingjue said. “You cannot be serious right now.”

“Oh, we are very serious,” Lan Xichen said, and cleared his throat, waving for people’s attention. “Everyone, in light of the scourge of dream-eaters we’ve all been struggling with over the past few weeks, I have a suggestion…”

[batsandbugs]

A Kiss With a Fist

AN: Hey everyone another fic coming at you! This is for the Maribat Drabble Exchange hosted by @eat0crow I’m so excited to be participating! My fic was for @pixiebuggiewrites​ who wanted a Daminette soulmate fic. Sorry I couldn’t squeeze anybody else in here it was already getting pretty long! I hope you all enjoy! You can also read it here on ao3! (Pictures are NOT mine)

Damian stormed away from the hotel, aggressively zipping his coat. He didn’t care where he was going, only that it was away from here.

He didn’t want to be in Paris. He didn’t want to watch out for incompetent amateurs. He didn’t want to ‘control your anger, Damian’. He wanted to be sent home.

The calm night taunted him, the Parisian streets were too bight and too clean, resembling nothing like his dark city. He missed patrolling, he missed his animals, hell, a part of him (a small, barely negligible part he would never admit to) even missed his siblings. But no, he was stuck here, under his father’s orders until the situation in Paris drew to a conclusion.

Considering it took five years for outside help to be even called in, he had no clue how long the mission would last. He still hadn’t met the so-called-heroes of Paris, but the research he conducted showed they were ill-trained, undisciplined, and relying on so much luck it was a fucking miracle their city wasn’t a smoking ruin by now.

He sighed, sticking his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. He regretted not grabbing his gloves in his storm out. He’d been so irritated at his father that even though the man was on the other side of a screen, half-way across an ocean, Damian needed to physically leave to calm his anger. It left him little time to grab essentials for a chilly winter night like a hat, or gloves. He considered himself lucky for remembering to grab a coat at all.

He wandered for a solid hour, the cold sinking into his bones chilling the raging inferno that always seemed to bubble inside him. By the time he no longer wanted to scream at anyone, he was sufficiently lost, considering he hadn’t taken his phone with him either.

Coming to rest on a bridge he took a seat on a small bench. He puffed a warm breath of air into his chilly hands rubbing them together. Nighttime in Paris was so… different compared to Gotham. While big cities never truly slept, this was positively peaceful in comparison to what he was used to. He hadn’t even heard a single sound of ruckus or distress, which seemed strange considering the city was currently besieged by a magical butterfly terrorist.

Damian inwardly scoffed. Butterfly terrorist. True, being a Gothamite meant no room to judge, but he found it hard to think of a stranger string of words.

He sighed; Damian didn’t even know what his father wanted him to do here. Sure, he knew French and was a proficient fighter, but what could that even lend to the situation? They needed a detective, and, as much as he hated to admit it, Drake would have been the better option in that department. Unfortunately, he was off-world. Grayson was dealing with a problem in Hong Kong with Cass. Brown was paired with the rest of the Sirens taking care of Gotham along with Batman, and Todd…

Well, even he recognized what an awful choice Todd would be against a villain who literally used strong negative emotions as his weapon of choice. Damian had a temper; Todd was a ticking-time-bomb.

A high-pitched screech cut through the night air, before being noticeably muffled. Damian was on his feet and running before he even mentally acknowledged it. The thud of his boots on the cobblestone bridge sent small shocks through his legs. Another large clatter directed him off to a side street a couple of feet away. Three men had cornered a tiny slip of a woman, who held her purse like a weapon.

Damian saw red. “Hey, why don’t you pick on someone your own size,” he yelled in French. There was one benefit to being in a foreign city, Damian did not have to play the part of a clueless rich kid who couldn’t hold his own in a fight.

The brutes turned to him and grinned mean smiles. One guy stepped forward. “Come on man, we’re just having a little fun. You can join if you-” Damian cut off the disgusting words with a jab to the nose. Then he spun around, sweeping the second guy’s feet from underneath him, hitting him with a punch to the face to knock him out cold. The first guy hadn’t lost consciousness, but he was doubled over which allowed Damian to knee him in the stomach. Another punch to the face and he was out cold too.

He turned to finish off the last guy, only to see the woman roundhouse kicking him to the head. The burly man fell with a thud. The alley turned eerily silent, the only sounds coming from the sharp breaths of both Damian and the girl. His pulse fluttered fast; the heat of the battle warmed his chilled limbs.

A red purse laid on the ground near his feet. Picking it up he walked over to the small woman, no teen she looked about his age, who was still sharply breathing.

“Here, this is-” a blur is all he saw before a sharp pain spread across his nose.

Did she-

Did she just punch him in the face?

The shock of it sent him sprawling onto the ground, and he blinked away the tears forming in his eyes. Damian cradled his throbbing nose, anger bubbled once more under his skin before-

*Zing*  

The connection hit him like a train. A deep well of rightness spreading through him. He looked up through bleary eyes to find the woman staring at him in similar shock.

“You’re my soulmate,” they sputtered at each other.

Damian inwardly groaned. The League made initiates kill their soulmate should they ever find them to prove their loyalty. He grew up never wanting to find his soulmate, knowing they would serve as nothing but a distraction and weakness. Even when he joined his father, the idea seemed an unneeded liability. Sure, his brothers found their soulmates within the superhero community, but what were the chances he would too?

A small whimper escaped the mouth of the guy lying unconscious on the ground, knocked out by the woman the universe thought would be the perfect match for him. Damian tilted his head. She might not be a superhero, but maybe the universe knew him better than he first imagined.

“OhmygoshIamsosorry!” the flood of words spilled from his soulmate’s mouth, her face a deep shade of red. “I was just-”

“Acting on instinct and adrenaline? Appropriate, considering the threat you just faced,” he said without anger. “Your right hook is sufficiently adequate.”

“Um… thanks? Are you alright though?” She extended a hand to help him off the ground. He took it, his larger hand enveloped hers, but she showed a surprising amount of strength as she pulled him up. The contact sent another *zing* through his body, smaller and more subdued though. Damian found himself reluctant to let go.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He suffered worse in training before. With the initial pain dissipated, all that was left was a dull throbbing that would be gone by morning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” she said with a bright smile. He took the chance to finally observe his soulmate. She was small, couldn’t be more than 5’2, which meant at 6’1 he towered over her. She was of mixed descent, with dark hair spilling over her shoulders, and bright blue eyes. Her arms and legs were toned with muscle, and she held herself with grace and confidence. She wore a face of tasteful makeup and was clothed in a short red dress and a pair of strappy heels with no jacket in sight. He had no clue how she wasn’t freezing to death.

Her smile dimmed a bit. “Actually, no, I’ve had better days. Today has kinda been a perfect disaster; first I’m late for school, then I forgot my homework, and my class bully decided it was a pick-on-Marinette day. There’s a three-hour Akuma fight, involving mind-control, which is always a total drag. I finally get home to find my parents worried sick about me because I hadn’t answered my phone which got destroyed at the beginning of the fight. I go to my class’s senior Valentine’s day dance hoping to finally confess to the guy I’ve had a crush on for years, only to get humiliated because he already has a girlfriend, and everyone else in my class knew and decided not to tell me. When I get away not to cause a scene, not only do I forget my jacket, but I also get attacked by three bumbling idiots with more mouths than brains.” She chuckled, hollow and verging on manic.

Damian stood there, unsure how to take all of that. He filed away the fact she was being bullied, and that she commonly dealt with Akuma attacks. Both equally important, as far as he was concerned.

“Now, here I am, standing in front of my gorgeous soulmate I punched in the face, after beating up said earlier idiots, rambling my mouth off because I don’t know the meaning of the word chill. Yep! I’ve certainly had better days. Ohmygoshimatotalmesskillmenow.” She muttered the last part into her hands, but Damian understood her all the same.

He would come back to the gorgeous thing later.

“…Do you want my jacket? You look cold.” It wasn’t the smoothest thing he could have said, nor the most appropriate considering the mess of a day she’d had. However, the manners Alfred drilled into his brain came knocking and if he was cold with a turtle-neck long-sleeved shirt and a jacket, she must be freezing in all that… nothingness. He averted his eyes from her exposed skin, looking at her face instead.

His soulmate looked at him for a long moment, before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

“You know what, yeah, a jacket would be nice,” she said in a tired voice. Damian shed his coat quickly, not minding the sharp sting of cold that hit him. He helped his soulmate into the sleeves and took an odd little pleasure in seeing how tiny she looked in the folds of his jacket.  

“I’m Marinette, by the way, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She wrapped the jacket closer cuddling into the heat. “Sorry for kinda freaking out on you there.”

“The kind of day you’ve had has surely broken lesser mortals. Any coping method is your due. I’m Damian, Damian Wayne. It’s a pleasure to meet you Marinette.” He smiles, although the gesture feels odd, trying to appear non-threatening. While his soulmate (and maybe he was coming around to this faster than he thought possible) was obviously skilled at dealing with a variety of stressors, he didn’t want to add any more and risk her being akumatized.

“You as well Damian.” She shivered despite the added protection of his coat, as a gust of wind swept through the alleyway. “As much fun as this conversation has been, it might be best for us to get out of the cold.”

“Indeed. What will we do with these inconveniences?” he asked, poking one of the guys with the tip of his boot.

She sighed, picking her purse from the ground where he’d dropped it. “We’ll call the police to come pick them up. They’ll be cold, but fine.”

Damian scowled, “It’s better than they deserve.” He sneered at the guy who offered for Damian to join them. Join them in assaulting this tiny, bright girl, who’d been through enough. His soulmate. The bubbling rage began anew, and he wished he’d done more than just knock them unconscious, they deserved far worse for thinking, daring, to touch-

A small hand rested on his arm, dragging him out of his violent thoughts. “I’m fine Damian. Even if you hadn’t arrived, I would have been fine. I can hold my own in a fight. This is Paris after all.”

“Tt,” Damian scoffed. “Fine. We’ll leave them to their fates.” And if their fates happened to involve complete ruination of their online lives, credit scores, and secure information? Well, that was hardly his fault, now was it?

“There’s a good café opened late around the corner. Would you- would you like to go there?” Marinette asked.

Damian smiled at the tentative offer. “I would very much enjoy that, yes. I’ve been out for longer than I should, coffee would be great right about now.” She giggled and he felt his stomach flutter. Funny, giggling always annoyed him, but that bright clear sound... he could grow used to that.

Walking out of the dark alley, listening to Marinette talk to the police on her phone, Damian sighed. The streets no longer felt too clean, or the lights too bright. Yes, he was colder, and yes this was a complication, but for some reason, Damian could not bring himself to care.

Maybe Paris wouldn’t be so bad after all.