#and killed his capture by gnawing off his dick

[callmebill]

do you think billdip is a proship? cause some account with ships of mable and dipper did some proship month thing and included billdip. it made me feel weird cause billdip is nothing like proship :<

I just go by this definition:

If I had to label it, I'd call Billdip proship for sure. You really need to consider what often goes into the classic billdip dynamic; all the tropes and cliches that give it a particular flavor, as well as a "problematic" flare.

Your typical "Bill Takes Over the World and Dipper Makes a Deal That Saves His Family But Now He Belongs To Bill" fics, or the ones where Bill turns Dipper evil or just straight up possesses his body. Most of what Billdip is revolves around a power imbalance. If not, it's Bill being pushy and possessive. It's important to note that what's "problematic" varies between viewers, and while most Billdip shippers probably don't pay any mind to it, it's good to keep in mind that those who don't are going to process this relationship through the lense of canon. They don't see what we see. Explain what Billdip is to anyone out of the loop, and they imagine a 12 year old boy and a literal triangle.

The term "Proship" in of itself it pretty subjective. It really depends on where you draw the line, if at all. That being said, I've gotten pretty deep into things, and I'd say Billdip's one of those ships that doesn't have any particular Does or Don't, fandom-wise. Gore, sexual slavery, manipulation, age gaps, power imbalances. It's very prevalent in the Billdip community, and I'd go so far as to say it seldom pulls punches. Which I love.

[yanderenightmare]

bitchy bratty catty pretty-girl who gives fuck-all, the school tries to straighten her ways by introducing her to a temporary captured shiggy, who is soooo fucking pissed off at this smug pretty bitch, going to track her down and make her pay!!!! >-< plez Mizz Nightmare

yandere kidnapper ! SHIGARAKI TOMURA

TIP-JAR

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, dubcon/noncon, abuse, profanity, bullying, anxiety, drugging, kidnapping, abduction

CUTTHROAT

“Wow! Right for the kill?! You’re real cutthroat.”

She wasn’t really surprised to hear that they’d caught him, and unlike many others she wasn’t surprised to hear that they’d be holding him on campus. She had full confidence in both the faculty, the promising Hero-course students, and UA’s security system, knowing damn well it could serve well as a prison not just for the students who went there, such as herself, but for the leader of the League of Villains as well.

To say she felt safe as she walked with Aizawa to meet him would be an understatement. She knew why the teacher had been tasked with taking her there, the intention being to scare her, give her a picture of what scum she would become if she continued down the path of fuck-all she was currently on. But, even though she wanted to rebel against taking any orders, she was feeling something far more superior than the will to fight back, something that trumped safety and laid waste to fear, she was feeling thrill. 

This would be a means to an end, a cure for boredom as well as a way to show once and for all that she was a hopeless cause, maybe then these obsessive heroes would leave her the fuck alone already.

“Wow, you’re really ugly! I mean, they warned me you were, but I could never’ve imagined it’d be this bad!”

She was jeering laughs at the lanky figure who towered over her, his hand wrapped tightly around her throat and his eyes spiraling in disbelief in process of understanding why what was found beneath his fingertips wasn’t turning to ash.

“Aren’t bad guys supposed to be sexy?” Her idiotic rambling only succeeded in confusing him more as she shrugged his seemingly useless normal hand away, walking to sit down on the floor, knowing it would be a while until Aizawa let her out again. “You know, to seduce and lure people into their ranks?” She looked over the meal tray he’d flipped out of her hand before seizing her throat, nothing sharp, no cutlery, no broken glass, just one measly apple. “I’m guessing you’re not in charge of recruiting. I mean… who would ever want to follow your ugly mug?”

She watched in anticipation of what remark he’d hurl her way. She’d heard he was bratty, she’d heard he was the one who could set her straight, divert her from this collision-course she’d set herself out on. Yet, his response was more than disappointing, not at all the tornado of a tantrum she had been preparing for. “You talk too much.” He didn’t even sound at all any provoked by her words, dismissing her as he slowly made to pick up the apple from the ground, checking to see if it was his quirk that was gone or if there was something else afoot, finding his answer in the ashes of the fruit.

“Come on.” She drawled, crossing her legs beneath her, keen eyes looking at him as he too sat back down to lean against the wall, looking only a fair bit of annoyed with her presence, as though she were a stain on his shirt, an inconvenience of some sorts. “You were gonna kill me!” She laughed, his red scrutinizing orbs looking to her with a sneer. “Without a thought, in cold blood, no remorse, even after I gave you food like the mutt you are, the least I can do is spit in your face!” 

He didn’t answer. Eyes still set on her where she sat planted without a single care, annoyed with how comfortable she looked, as though she were in her element, as though she was winning some sort of game, a game that wasn’t even about him as her eyes flittered to the black-glass of the window every now and again.

She clicked her tongue, beginning a new ramble. “Tell me, Shiggy.” She smiled, eyes wicked and gleaming and untamed. “That quirk of yours…”

She might have phrased it all like a question, but Shigaraki could hear it plain and simple, how her one goal was to mock him, poke at him until he burst, and not even for the sake of watching him burst, but for the sake of proving to whomever was on the other side of that glass that they couldn’t tame her. He didn’t need to know her entire story to see that much, how he was being used as a pawn to convert some meaningless pretty-girl.

“Can you control it? Or does everything you touch turn to ash no matter your desire?” It wouldn’t have been out of place if she’d licked her lips with how dripping with venom her words were. “It’s like the Midas touch, isn’t it?”

Her poetic phrasing of his deadly quirk had his eyes narrowing, but he hadn’t much time to think her wording over before she began a new escapade.

“Have you ever fucked anyone, Shiggy?” She didn’t even look at him as she asked, alerting him of what he already knew, how she had no interest in his answer, only his reaction, and the reaction his reaction would beckon from the people in the other room. 

She was trying to rile him up, prove how vicious she could be, prove how she hadn’t a single fuck to give. 

“I bet you’ve never truly touched anyone. How could you? I mean, first…” She laid down on her back with a careless roll, looking to the ceiling, ignoring him if it weren’t for the fact she was talking to him, or about him, or at him. “Who would ever want to fuck you? All those wrinkles and all those scars. You look like the onset of death.” She giggled, and he watched her tits bounce as though they were laughing at him too. “I cannot imagine anyone willingly wanting whatever you have to offer. And even if you force it on them, you’d be bound to fuck up with how much they’d struggle.” You’d think she carried a vendetta toward him, with how personal her attacks were, yet it was all given away with how little she was paying attention to him, as though she’d judged already whatever it was she found interesting and was now done with him. All she remained focused on was creating a show, to see how far she could take it before anyone came in to stop her, how much she could poke until something snapped, how much she could bend until something broke. “Just one slip of the hand and you’re left with your dick only halfway wet in a pile of dust.”

He didn’t know if she knew how correct her imagery was, he guessed she didn’t, he wanted to believe she’d show a bit more restraint then, a bit more unease, more respect. She acted as though she wasn’t trapped in a box with a notorious villain, seemingly unaware of her own stature as well as his. She was nothing but a school-girl and yet she felt comfortable enough in her safety to be lying on her back, flinging insult at the person she was locked in with.

“I don’t see how it could bother you for too long though.” Again, she had him intrigued. “I mean… pretty stupid bitches who’re only worth one fuck anyway can’t really be counted as a loss, can it?”

It was clear she didn’t view herself as one of said pretty stupid bitches, even though a pretty stupid bitch is exactly what she looked like in Shigaraki’s eyes. Perhaps that was her point exactly.

“Have you ever dusted someone who did count as a loss?” She rolled over, head propped up on her elbows, laying in her palms, her feet kicking the air behind her. “You ever fuck up so bad? Committed an irredeemable act? Something so unforgivable even you can’t forgive yourself?” Her eyes were set on him again now. “Do you think about it every day?” Her tone shifted then, to something sadistically sweet. “Does it hurt just as much now as it did then?” Her face split into a grin, eyes ablaze as she observed, searched for a breach in his composure. “What happened to mommy and daddy, Shiggy.” She singsonged, toying with him. “Were they your first victims? Did you cry? Do you still cry? Or did they deserve it?”

Her look was earnest, salacious until she rolled her eyes in boredom at his lack of response.

Sighing, she calmed back down, briefly. “I get it… You don’t want to play with me ‘cause you don’t think I’m a worthy player.” She scoffed as she looked to the side with a melodramatic drag. “You should check yourself. We keep you in a cage, give you food, have you on a leash and collar. You’re nothing but our pet!”

She giggled again, biting her tongue, gnawing on it between the rows of her teeth with her mouth open in a wide smile.

“You know… My quirk is called immunity, but it should really be called repellent.” She looked at her hands then, now kneeling in front of him. Her gaze split like lightning, snapping to look at him again, a catlike smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. “You and I aren’t that different, are we?” It looked for a second as though she were about to stand up, but the movement fell short as she instead gave way to crawl closer to him, one elegant arm followed by the other, all with the grace of a huntress, a panther easing in for the kill. “In fact… I think I’d go as far and say we’re the exact same…” His eyes didn’t deceive him, this time she did lick her lips, only now her words weren’t dripping with venom, but with some other sickly-sweet nectar. “’Cause…where I never let anyone come close, you let ‘em come close… only for them to die!”

“That’s enough.” He must have closed his eyes the second he felt her breath fan over his face, because he’d missed the time the erasure hero had walked in. “This was a waste of time.” The dark-haired man groaned, disappointed.

“Aw, really?”

She wasn’t in front of him anymore, to his surprising disappointment, though her sweet smell still lingered about him pleasantly.

“And I was just getting to the fun part…” She walked to the threshold of the cell-door, not once indicating she’d turn around and take one final look at him. “Well, anyway… tootles, pet.”

Even as she insulted him, she did it twice over by not returning his gaze.

-

She was still sleeping, she noted as her mind, though still groggy and drowsed out, became lucid enough to start thinking. She was sleeping, yet the sleep felt unsafe, as though her alarm was bound to go off any second, firmly shaking her awake and telling her time was running out for her to get to school. And if she’d slept through the alarm, a teacher was soon to come fetch her. Yet, for now she remained halfway asleep, waiting for an alarm or a knock on the door unknowing of how it would never arrive.

He wasn’t sure if it was the drug that had perhaps made some of her senses dull under the impression, for… surely she should feel that her mouth was stuffed full and made to suck on a rag, surely she should feel that her wrists were tied together behind her back, and how her thighs and legs were secured together in a frog tie, the rough rope, scratchy in texture, and how it scraped against her soft doughy skin. Perhaps he didn’t tie them tight enough. It was hard to get a good grip without accidentally dusting the ropes, but he knew the struggle was worth it, seeing her now, in all her defenseless vulnerable rightful glory.

“Not so tough now…” He taunted at her small sleeping frame. Even with her clothes still on, he knew her naked body was only a mere touch away from him. How he could spread her open without her being able to kick, only wiggle for him, like a worm on a hook. No… that imagery is too ugly to be describing her, when she’s so far from ugly. She’s more like a butterfly trapped on a pin, wings fluttering hopelessly, reduced to nothing but beauty, nothing but a little doll for him to play with, tamper and poke fun at just like how she’d done back when he was captured at UA.

He decided pro putting the blindfold on her, perhaps the product of her bullying him in the cell, her jabs at his appearance subconsciously having gotten to him despite himself wanting to dust them off like he did with everything else. Her comments were sharp, and seemed to have the same type of immunity her body had, where his ego, much like himself, hadn’t the thickest of skin. Besides, she was… so painfully out of his league.

It hardly mattered though, now that he would regain all the control.

She laid on her stomach, face mushed against the mattress. He’d removed the pillows and comforter so she’d be placed like a centerpiece on his little operating table. She looked so harmless now, so sweet, especially tied up the way she was, and with those whimpering moans that were simmering to the surface, breaching her sleep, escorted by her wiggling, her delicious tempting little wiggling, begging for Shigaraki to come introduce himself, now with the turned tables.

“Did you really think I was just gonna let it slide?” Her wiggles came to an abrupt holt, breath caught in her throat, making her choke out a curt gasp through the thickness of her makeshift gag. “Did you think you were safe? Like you were simply spitting on a grave. No ghosts coming to haunt you.” She panicked once she felt the bed dip, four fingers sharp in their venture, sweeping up her back, settling around her neck, drawing out painful sudden studded goosebumps, spreading across her skin like wildfire in a field. “Silly little slut.” She squealed at the feel of his warm breath on her cheek, unable to move away, her head halfway buried in the soft mattress, teeth sinking into the cloth in her mouth when his tongue, wet with drool, large and flat, dragged up her already teary cheek. “Boo.”

Her ears were burning, so much blood gushing and rushing and pooling in her head like a storm, she barely registered him drawing back with that maniacal giggle, where with as trademark as it were, there was no doubt where she was or who she was with. Yet, she hadn’t the time to think about it, she hadn’t the time to regret or answer questions she hadn’t even the time to ask, because as her mind was cooking up chaotic whirlwinds of fear, crippling fear despite being crippled enough already, brutal fear that her gut feeling like acid festering and mind reeling in on itself in such vehemence she felt she might just faint, give out like a light in a blizzard, she was given no time before he was talking again, pushing her even further out on the edge she found herself, stepping on her fingers one by one, with no mercy as she dangled above jagged rock that were sure to spear her like an arrow through a dove.

“You were wrong, you know.” She felt his hands trace a careful set of four fingers down the fabric of her shirt, rubbing into her spine, further pushing the breath from out of her lungs. “I’ve fucked before.” He spoke casually, though peppered in between the notes of nonchalance was found the spiked flavors of spiteful mockery, like the mean girl on campus, like how she usually talks, like how she had spoken to him. “But, what I haven’t done is played with someone’s body the way I’m gonna play with yours.” He listened to her whimper, sobs surely to soon wrack through her body, uncontrollably and thoroughly, making her gasp and choke on nothing but air and fear. “I mean, it’s only fair.” She heard the shrug in his voice, that sarcastic sigh and lightheartedness. “You fuck with me, I fuck with you.” This time he growled and she swore she would piss herself with how scared she was.

He was going to kill her, she knew it, she could feel it crawling up and down her body as though mites were hidden in her clothes. She already sensed him peeling off her skin, flaying her with her screaming. And in those seconds, those hopeless seconds, she wished for death, for it to be quick, painless, like simply snuffing out a light. She nearly prayed, squeezing her eyes shut to pray to that God or Devil she never believed in, never needed as badly as she needed them now. She wished for her heart to give out, for the right vein to pop, for a lung to collapse, anything, just for her to be dead before he had the mind to torture her to death.

“Does that sound fun, pet.” And there she broke, waterworks in full effect, no longer simple silent tears but something that had built under pressure like boiling pot of water, bubbling, soon to be blubbering incoherent sobs out into her gag, all to his vengeful amusement.

He watched her for a moment, one longer than he’d probably intended, despite not having view of her eyes, watching the blindfold wet as her eyes leaked at the complete overwhelming loss of hope, lips sucking on the gag those tears that managed to escape and run down to salt her lips.

“So pretty, aren’t you?” He accused, giving her barefoot a squeeze, making her wiggle with what mobility the bonds allowed her, looking handicapped, as though he’d disintegrated both her arms and legs when he’d simply tied them up where they would be stored safely and out of the way until he deemed it okay for her to use them again, where until then… she’d remain his little immobile toy. “Pretty little girl, all tied up.” He giggled, both amused and pleased, leaning down to tug those locks of hair that had curtained her face behind her ear, making the thin wisps at the back of her neck bristle in alarm. “All alone with the big bad ugly villain.” He bit it out with a smirk, and she swore she felt venom drop where he spit the words on her face. “Pretty girl… dressed in such pretty things.” He mused, tugging on the fabric of her silk pajama shirt, his other hand stroking a thumb over himself and his caged member, the beast behind the boxer, the one she was still so completely unaware of. “To hide her rotten core.”

He snickered some more at the notice of how ticklish she was, or perhaps it wasn’t as much a reflex but rather a violent display of her fear, how she kicked, or tried to kick her legs, once his hand with its lanky slender fingers danced a pattern on the sole of her foot.

“They won’t be of much help to you now…”

It’s was a cute display, seeing her struggle in an attempt to swat away his spidering hand, endearing, had him drooling he realized, but didn’t bother to wipe his chin, instead giving into the urge he had to touch what was so temptingly sprawled out before him.

“I bet you think of these as your armor, don’t you?”

All five of his fingers touched down on her shirt, and soon there was no shirt left to separate his dry course fingers from her warm skin. He nearly let out a gasp as he watched how she stayed in place, having not become a pyramid of ash. Her beautiful body still right there, warm glowing skin still touchable, more touchable than anything else.

“Keeping you safe from prying eyes and hands… Not my hands though.”

He could excuse how he hesitated on the fact of him wanting to enjoy himself, wretchedly and thoroughly, gorging in every moment he was gonna make her scream, but… he knew that wasn’t the reason… he was… and he hated to admit it, but… nervous. He had this gorgeous creature trapped and under his thumb and he was nervous? No matter how terrified she was and immobilized it was like she still had the power, just like she had in that prison cell.

Perhaps it was due to the fact that he’d thought about her everyday he was trapped in there. She had said she would see him later yet she never once, not once, came a second time. Why would she lie? Just to fuck with him some more? One last and lasting punch in the face? He had dreamed of it. How many times had he fantasized about doing every possible nasty thing in the book to her, teach her a lesson, make her beg, make her kneel, make her bow before him? But now, having her right there, this frail little girl who wouldn’t have the strength to fight him even without the tight rope holding her down, this little girl who despite being just that had him enthralled for months, still just as hellbent, enslaved, spellbound to make her pay… but that wasn’t it either… making her pay was only half of it, maybe even less… what he wanted, what he truly wanted, was to prove to her that he could have her wrapped around his finger despite being what ugly freak she’d made him out to be, that despite being ugly, he could have a pretty-girl like her melting.

He gave fully into his wishes then, her shorts gone with a touch, leaving her in a precious pair of cotton boxers. A sigh of reverence left him, a shudder running through him. He was expecting red lace or something exotic, something vain and narcissistic meant to enhance or simply show off just how pretty she was. He figured that was what she’d dress in, something sexy, because she had the full body that one believes go hand in hand with hot lingerie, yet… she’d chosen comfort. And why wouldn’t she? When she could make it look like the hottest item his eyes ever had the privilege of seeing.

“Fuck…” He drawled, now with a wanton whine, his hand giving himself a squeeze as his cock was beginning to strain uncomfortably inside the confines of his boxers. “Just look at you…”

He only barely dared touch her, not just out of fear of her disappearing like anything else would, but because he didn’t at all feel as though he had the right to put his hands on something so beautiful.

“You shouldn’t be allowed to wear clothes.” He stated, still in awe. “Not when they cover up this perfect body.”

She screamed into her gag as he grabbed around her waist, pulling her pliable little body up into a kneeling position, then pulling and arranging some further to have her in the same position, just over his slap this time, with his bulging cock rubbing through the fabric of his briefs up into her still clothed sex, though with both cloths a thin material she felt the abrasive ticklish friction begin to stir something in her lower abdomen despite her fear and no regard to her disgust. And now, provided with the full view of her delectable little frame, her precious tits sprung free and strutting towards him with how her arms were bent in their confinement behind her back, and perky by both the cold wind of his breath and the goosebump-giving anxiety, leveled with his face, looking eager to receive his mouth, perfect nipples for him to suck on, gnaw between the rows of his teeth.

“These perfect tits…” He licked his lips, hands kneading one mound greedily as the other held her steady. “And this…” He placed all five fingers on the fabric of her panties, turning them to ash, all five staying to touch the delicate skin of her sex, feeling her quake, such a good replacement to feeling someone disintegrate. He groaned out a curse, body sagging, slouching at the sight of her exposed bare little private, he hunched over in awe as he ran his fingers through to disappear in the slit of her precious pussy. “This perfect little pussy.”

She wiggled on his digits with a squealing whimpering sob, so alive and warm and soft he could cry with how safe he was beginning to feel, without the fear of touching just a bit too much getting in the way. Although he was feeling the slight sensation of inferiority in the light of her perfection, or maybe even because of it, he decided he’d give a little scare, perhaps as a means of tipping or evening the scales.

“You know, pretty girl…” His other hand, the one not currently preoccupied with cupping her pussy, brutally brazen for the first time, spread its fingers to stroke the dome of her ass, before curling like claws to grab a fist-full of the ample flesh, making her jump and lose balance, resulting in falling flush against his chest all with a muffled cry. Her face mushed against his collar, her wet reddened nose painting tears onto his throat, such a strange type of comfort against his scars. “I’ve never slapped anyone?” He could feel her heartbeat and how it hammered like a race-horse on the track. “Or, no, I’ve slapped plenty, but a slap from me means death, usually.” His hand ascended, wrapping around her throat, all five fingers with hungry-pressured fingertips, guiding her back off his chest to sit properly, though leaning to bite her earlobe, all to feel her rub down on his aching cock some more. “But I slap you and it means pretty marks and pretty screams, doesn’t it?”

He laughed, knowing full well that he wasn’t going to hurt her, or at least not as badly as he had given reason to think.

“Such a fucking pretty girl, aren’t you?” He trailed a path of wet open-mouthed kisses down her neck and between her breasts, gripping her waist as she recoiled back. “With pretty tits.” Breath labored, or hefty with greed and desire. “Pretty girl with a pretty pussy.” He squeezed her sides, as though getting ready to make a ragdoll of her again, pulling her into the desired position. “Let me taste you.”

Her heart hammered like a hammer hitting an anvil, as she was placed on her back, hands crushed beneath her, uncomfortably wrenching in their bonds. Her mind, stuck in its prospect, hadn’t pieced it together, despite having been stripped naked, she still hadn’t given it a thought, hadn’t dared give it a thought, but his comment made the realization coat thickly, drape her and the pressure seemed too much for her mind to take, plummeting into a free-fall. He wasn’t just going to kill her, he was going to rape her first.

Thighs easily pried open for him to settle in between, scooting back on the bed so he could lie down, lower half humping the mattress desperately, imagining having her wrapped around him, but all in good time. She shook more than writhed, seizurely beneath him, with her blushed pussy a beautiful slit so ripe for the taking, quivering at the warming breath he whispered upon the tender flesh. With his hands wrapped around each their ankle he pushed her thighs and legs up and out of the way as to not have her knee him in the head while he feasted.

He listened to her struggling to breathe, her stomach rising and falling sporadically with her sobs, untuned and painful and begging for any kindness he had to spare, he was going to give her exactly that. Kindness.

His chapped lips felt so good it was cruel, abrasive and inescapably delicious, welcomed yet unwelcome by the bucking of her hips as she squealed into her gag, falling prey to more and more hopelessness. His tongue came second, warm and wet and long and strong, sliding in between her folds only to swipe up and flick off at her clit, forcing a shudder to run all the way through her core into the tips of her toes, mind reeling.

“So cute.” He noted the sensitivity with a mocking jeer, the sound simmering on her skin. “I bet a pretty girl like you’ve never been fucked by a guy like me before.” Then his teeth were the ones to make an impact, grazing over her budding clit with how it reached out in search for stimulation, having its wish granted in such a sense forcing her toes to curl. “Come on my ugly face, pretty-girl.” She really couldn’t resist with how his words were tickling on that sensitive spot, and how intent on finding and following that spot that had her coming on done and abusing it, playing with it with his tongue and chapped lips, switching between such smooth soft yet forceful pressure and bristled rough chaffed contact, making her spasm, wanting so desperately to tug her arms loose to push his incessant face off, because she wouldn’t be able to resist it, she was going to come and make an humiliating mess on his tongue just like he wanted, the knot was going to snap and she would be screaming from the force of it.

He smirked with the taste of her essence on his tongue, giving her a couple more torturous kitty-licks that had her brutally recoiling by the oversensitivity he was abusing. It served well as an ego-boost as he was suddenly feeling the urge to take her blindfold off, make her gaze upon who had her wrapped around his finger. What more, he wanted to remove her gag, hear what she had to say to defend herself, what pathetic please she would come with to try and prevent him from going any further.

His mouth sloshed its way up her stomach, hands touching and grabbing and groping with greedy fingers onto anything and everything they got ahold of, feeling up her smooth skin and soft flesh, before having made their way to grab at the blindfold. Her eyes were petrified, blinking rapidly, especially every time his clothed cock bumped into her bare pussy, leaving strings of spit and fine silken cum to hang from between where she parted with the cotton of his pants.

She was thoroughly out of it, delirious, fear-ridden and numbed with pleasure, cotton yet swivel-eyed as he fought to be her focus. He pulled the gag out of her mouth too, wiping his chin before turning the fabric to ash, eyes looking her over all the while.

His tongue rolled over his lips. “Such a pretty face.” He gathered her face between his fingers, blunt fingertips pushing into squishy bloated cheeks. “Even prettier with those tears you fucking crybaby.” It will never get old, the feeling of nothing happening still under all his five fingers. “Even better with my handprint, don’t you think?” It was funny how she didn’t seem to pick up anything of what he was saying. “Or covered in my cum.” Her brows had scrunched so hopelessly close together, whimpers upon sniffles and whiny mewling and hiccupping panting, so pathetic and precious. “So fucking pretty.” He groaned, giving his lips a second wetting with his tongue. “Kiss me, pretty-girl.” He scrunched her lips together some more, leaving her incapable of refusing.

She tasted herself on his tongue, choking on the sweetness as he forced it like a slug down her throat. Her own tongue submissive in nature, staying beneath and out of the way of his. It was a series varying from needy whimpering moans and growls that followed from his throat, poured into her receiving mouth, giving nothing but weak whines in return. His one free hand, the other one still holding a firm grip onto her chin and cheeks, continued in its hungry exploration, grabbing with an almost childlike curious freedom, leaving painful marks in their wake, having her yelp against his willful lips, which smirk grew upon every inch of reaction she fed him, until pulling away in a haze, panting, with a new little wish he was going to have her be the star of.

“Let me fuck that pretty face.”

She hadn’t the time, nor the mind, to form any protest, reduced to mere whimpering as he pulled her back into a kneeling position, conjoined thighs and legs folded beneath and supporting her ass, still with her arms tied snuggly and unbudgingly behind her back, made to watch him fiddle with the band to his sweats, pulling them below his hips and falling to his thighs, displaying his surprisingly clean boxers and not so surprising hardness. Cock throbbing within its confines, fighting desperately to come free. His hand pulling his boxers down and, cock springing loose, slapping against his abdomen, standing long and hard, tip blushed red and angry, a bead of pre-cum spilling sweetly from his slit.

“Open up, lick it up.”

She’d been lost in taking in the sheer size of him, girth thick and threatening, looking bigger than what she could wrap her hand around, her stomach twisting in tension and unease. Too caught up in imagine it ripping her apart than realizing how he was going to fit it into her mouth first.

Her eyes widened upon the thought, lips slightly apart in horror, bottom-lip quivering. “Come on, pretty-girl.” One hand tugged on his shaft, the other gripped her face, protruding nails to sink into her jaw, prying her mouth father apart to accommodate his size.

She whined at the taste of him, arms struggling behind her back, knees shuffling wider apart to support herself as he pushed on further, fingernails still digging into her soft cheeks, making her lips pucker into a soft welcoming oval. He liked the way her brows furrowed into that beautiful look of plead that had his balls aching where they hung, soon to be pressed up against her soft skin, smothering her chin. He also enjoyed how her whimpers had turned to delicious little vibrations of his cock, drumming alongside his length, such pretty friction.

“Come on, take all of me.” He licked his lips as he urged, other hand coming to caress the back of her skull, gathering her pretty locks between his fingers, abandoning all regard to how she should be turning to nothing but dust molecules instead of being a nice warm soft wet pleasure hole for him. His usually small scrutinizing scarlet eyes turning moon-wide with lustful frenzy. Voice ragged as he clawed at her scalp to obey him, no thought to her whining in protest. “You can do better.” His tip met with the back of her throat and her whine turned more desperate, nearly a scream, but he couldn’t care, not with the memory of her talking to him like he was some pussy-bitch, he was going to show her who the bitch and who the boss was. “Such a pretty little thing with such a nasty filthy ugly fucking mouth.” He spit through grit teeth, begging to fuck the back of her throat, having her gagging on him, hopeless in search for breath. “A mouth like that is only good for one thing.” He gave a few more painfully deep ruts, having her eyes roll back at the loss of breath, before ripping loose again. “Same goes for that pussy.”

“No, no.” She scrambled on the bed, trying to get away, trying to rip free, so hopeless he should have felt bad, but couldn’t bring himself to the feeling as he sat there and laughed, eyes wild, dick prospering, hand pumping his length to the sight of her.

He followed her pathetic struggling little shame, climbing on top of her. The panic swallowed her again, forcing a overwhelmed rush of sobs to come spluttering and blubbering and screaming from her little shape caught beneath him. “Such a little slut.” His fingers were at once groping her pussy, diving between her folds to rub her slit and clit. “Still so wet, are you excited?” She turned her head away as she struggled, eyes squeezed shut. “Aw, pretending it’s not me.” He snickered. “Good luck.”

Offended, he decided against making it pleasant for her, thinking she deserved as little sympathy from him as she had showed him, but his brutal actions slowed at the feel of the pressure around his finger when he’d pushed it inside her.

“So tight.” He stated, shocked as he tried swirling the digit inside, to feel the walls giving little wiggle-room to do so. She winced as he hooked, a heavy breathy shrill type of wince, as though he was pulling a knife from her gut.

He left the finger there, much to her discomfort.

“That comment…” He started, working her tightness as much as he could, still with only one finger. “When we first met.” His other hand gathered her face again, forcing her to look at him as he leaned down, resting his forehead on hers, wanting to see those eyes as he got confirmation on his suspicion. “You said you push people away… that you were a… repellant.” Her breathing hitched as she sniveled like a little girl who scraped her knee. “Did that count for this as well?”

He hadn’t yet let the smile stretch on his face, but the chiding smirk started to grow as the answer was clearly displayed all over her face and by the telltale feeling his finger shoved inside her way too tight hole told him.

“Aww, is the pretty little girl a virgin?” He gave her no inch of regret, even with the fact clear as day. Having worked her tightness well enough to cram another bony-knuckled finger inside her, making her cry out. “Don’t worry, that pretty pussy is in good hands.”

She owed him, this way they would be even. Besides, he wasn’t making it completely miserable for her either. Her face might be telling one story of torment, but her drooling pussy was telling him something utterly different. Perhaps it was due to her amateur ability to hold on, but she was soon creaming all over his fingers, body spasming in tired bliss, eyes fluttering for a moment or two, trying to grasp what the fuck was happening. It was adorable.

“I think my little slut is ready.”

She murmured a sigh, energy spent on crying and struggling and coming twice already, all she could do was moan when his cockhead broke through her tight little weeping hole. He had to moan as well at the snug hug her pussy squeezed and seized him with, biting roughly into his bottom lip, tooth snaggling in the dip of his scar. Brows raised in bliss, scrunched in an eruption, as he sunk deeper and deeper into her tight convulsing cunt, preciously clutching around him, fluttering upon the fulfilling snug fit that had her toes cramping in their curled state, eyes zoning out, unable to focus, mouth blubbering and chewing on incoherent sentences, only capable on slurring out muddled moans and wet gasps as he fucked slowly into, lolling his hips forward carefully, holding onto the mouthwatering feeling of her warmth around him.

He pushed his thumb into her clit, which had her back arching and moan ripped from her throat before she settled down into the mattress again, welcoming the stimulation where she was crippled to preventit. “Your pretty pussy loves being taken by my disgusting cock, doesn’t it?” She could only hum and croon in reply, as he hit the very back, pushing into her cervix with a rather soft nudge, having her result to sucking on her bottom-lip, purring whines like a little kitten taking pleasure from their master. “I hear it in your pretty moans.”

He was no longer biting out the word pretty as though it were a curse or venom on his tongue. It sounded more like praise than anything, something akin to awe, pride even, smug for having it all under his thumb, burying his cock inside the word, for being the one to have reduced such a pretty thing to such a pretty mess, all for him, all by him, making her all his.

She made a shuddering gasp, moaning into his mouth as he leaned down. “Oh, is the pretty girl gonna cum all over my disgusting cock.” He cooed, all five fingers placed on her cheek when cupping it to have those gorgeous opium-blown eyes look at him when she came undone, for him to find such dangerous satisfaction in seeing her conquered beneath him, finding it to be the last push to send him off his own edge as well. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum in that pretty pussy.”

He made to have that final bone-crushing kiss, faces mushed together in a sloppy mess of wet slippery tongues and drool, moaning and groaning, inhaling each-other.

Reduced to mere gasping and panting. Cock, having for the first time felt the fulfilling pleasure of blowing inside the warm comfort of a precious goddess, feeling her gush and come all over him in the near split-second, feeling her clench and tighten around him like a vice, robbing and ringing and milking him for every drop he was worth. He gave some more pumps, pushing deep within her, felt a shudder run down the underside of his cock, overstimulated and satisfied for the first time.

Still coming down from his high, he made to take in her shape and state.

He hadn’t really fantasized she’d be so pliant after being fucked, but looking at her now, he couldn’t imagine her any other way, anything more right then her glossy sweat-slicked body spasming in aftershocks of her orgasms, laid so preciously snug against his chest, thighs visibly shaking with still small feeble stuttering moans slipping from her lips in blubbers. He wasn’t too far from the same state himself, having had only barely the mind before exhaustion rendered his limbs too heavy for moving, to untie the knots and rearrange them into something more comfortable. He decided tying her wrists together in front of her to be better, legs free but too tired and dumbed-out to struggle.

He looked at her drowsy state with a smile, betting he could make such a grateful little pet out of her, and if not, then scramble her mind through so many cruel methods, and make do with a brainless toy instead. But, looking down at that blissed-out hopeless look on her face and that dainty defenseless body he’d manipulated and forced to its knees, he couldn’t really see how any cruel methods would be needed.

It seemed to him that all she needed was cock, a couple of orgasms forced from her pent-up body, a little relief. The little brat was just a bit grouchy and grumpy because she hadn’t had her pussy played with. He could relate, he also gets frustrated when not getting his dick wet for a while. She was just begging for someone to come handle her and that’s all there was to it. Just look at her now, so sweet and spent, lying in his arms.

Come to think of it, he knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be needing to apply any harsh treatments in taming her, she just needed to be tied up and made to feel just how good being taken care of feels until she accepted it willingly. And if and when she decides on being bratty, he’ll have plenty of methods of shutting that trap right up, or in making her scream.

TIP-JAR

[xxtraord1nary]

POV

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x f!mc (Charlotte West)

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Constructive criticism is always welcome! No hate please and thank you for reading reblog and comment if you enjoyed.

Summary: A very naughty and heavily pregnant Charlotte much prefers her handsome lovers point of view.

Warnings: Strong Language, Fellatio, Sex, and a tad of dark humor. If that makes you uncomfortable please exit stage left because you’ve been warned. Overall vulgar.

Tag list: @katkart122 @missmiimiie @openheartfanfics

“Tobias, I am not playing with you get that damn camera out of my face! It's way too early for your shit.” Charlotte snapped whilst swatting at the pest she called a husband as he continued to record his very moody wife with his old camera he found a couple a months ago when Char ordered him with a broom in hand to go “clean that damn garage” or he could sleep on the couch for a month, so that being all the motivation he needed Tobias got to it with vigor.

“You're really good at this whole black mama thing Charlie.” he teases with a shit eating grin plastered on his stupidly perfect face. “Keep it up and I’ll be a single black mama if you don’t quit.” she grunted while taking down her plaited kinky tendrils that in the morning tended to have a mind of their own.

“Now why would you say that?”

“Because I’m going to kill you” she said whilst continuing to grumpily apply toothpaste to her electric toothbrush.

“Really talking like that when I’m recording, then the police will immediately know who to be held responsible in the case of my untimely demise, Charlie.” he further ribbed while shaking his head playfully behind the lens.

“Screw you and the police Carrick.” she spat.

“Babe, you know all you have to do is corporate and let me get my daily picture of you and our little Tiny Tia. So get with the program.” he chided with a small but genuine smile as he further gazed at the love of his life and their little one growing inside her very pregnant belly.

“Alright two things: that name is super cute and I’m surprised you came up with that yourself.”

“I’m good for something, see?” to which she answered with a ‘meh’ and shrug of her shoulders.

“I’m offended.” and again another answer in the form of shrugged shoulders and a hard roll of the eyes.

“Now for two, why on earth do you need a picture every day?” she whined with tired eyes.

“This is our first child out of many, I need to capture every moment. Now lift up your shirt!” he confidently proclaimed.

She didn’t want to burst his little bubble but if he thought for a second she was pushing another of his big headed babies out of her lady parts he was sorely mistaken. ‘What the hell is “out of many” anyways?’ she pondered with a perplexed expression. “Absolutely not, I look like a gross ragamuffin.”

He sighed, “Charlie lift up your shirt or I’m gonna hold out.” he asservated pleased with her shocked expression. “Oh yeah, hold out what exactly?” she challenged with raised eyebrows. He knew the denial of sex would be the thing to do it for her. Already she had an insatiable sexual appetite hence here they were here six months pregnant, but pregnancy hormones only amplified that. “You really don’t wanna play those games with me Tobias, or you’ll find yourself handcuffed to bed and taken by force.” she lightheartedly fired back. “I’m quite intrigued as long as I can return the favor.” he huskily dropped an octave and whispered to her. She shivered and scoffed “You a silly little freak.” with a laugh.

“Honestly Charlie, all this is unnecessary as all I wanted was my pictures and could have been going about my business by now but someone refused to get along with the picture. Pun heavily intended.” he sighed.

“Okay I’ll bite, but what are you even doing with these pictures?”

“Well, if you must know. I take your picture or video then I pleasure myself.” he sexily drawled “then upload it online to make a virtual scrapbook.” he happily finished. “Why am I not surprised?” she chuckled as she shoved his laughing form. “Wait, you still masturabte?” she inquisitively questioned.

“Well, yeah sometimes you're in a horrifying mood and I’d rather work with what I’ve got than you ripping my head off, do you?”

“Actually no, not since I met you at least.” she truthfully noted, as her hands just didn’t do the job since Dr. Tobias Carrick waltzed into her life with his devilishly handsome face and rocked her world.

“I’m doing my job right then.” he pressed with a smirk. “Mhm, too right if you ask me.” she quipped pointing to her very round and beautiful stomach adorned with barely visible glittery stretch marks that only magnified her beauty and strength. “What’s on your mind now?” he pried while she poked at her bump in the mirror. “Me and Sienna, Aurora, and Jackie are going out to Carson Beach and I can’t decide whether to wear a two or one piece.”

“Two pieces of course so I can enjoy the fruits of my labor.” he smiled proudly.

“Four minutes hardly constitutes at “labor” she mocked with air quotes. He smacked his teeth in annoyance, “If you loved me you’d do this for me.” he pleaded. And now it was her turn to kiss her teeth, “Fine!” she huffed. “But leave my face out of it, I look icky in the mornings.” to which he eagerly disagreed and pecked her lips but not before muttering something along the lines of “stunning”.

“Alright, I’ll give you your little video but you have to do something for me.” she suggestively proposed. To which he readily agreed as he loved her ‘just been fucked’ afterglow. He then turned off the old camcorder and attempted to put it away but she fingered the loops of his jeans “Uh uh turn it back on.”

He was sure his eyes were completely bulging out of his skull and managed to mutter a “Charlie a-are you serious?” in his daze. She nodded and sunk down to her knees as she slowly tugged down his boxers and elicited a low groan from him.

In the lens of the camera she expertly handled his member with care and tenderly began to stroke him giggling at his floored expression. “You ready for me, Tobias?” she tantalizingly asked not ceasing her stroking. Receiving an eager nod and thumbs up from the camera she smirked at her success in making the talkative bastard speechless. Expertly she teased his large in girth and lengthy member with the tip of her tongue before guiding him into her mouth as she had done tons of times before sucking her mans dick like a woman starved.

“Oh god, slow down baby.” Tobias pitifully groaned while screwing his mind down as the love of his life expertly worked him. “You wanna be inside me, baby?” she whispered in a sultry tone against the head of his member cursing a pleasant shiver to rack his body. He didn’t answer but instead made a gesture behind the camera for me to turn around. He thanked the heavens above for the easy access and the fact that she was wearing one of his shirts and abandoned underwear long ago. She hissed as his large strong hand cam crashing down on her bare ass, and soothed the pleasant sting with a soft rub. “Perfect.” he murmured as he continued his caressing of her more than generous backside. “How’s the view?” she asked with a wink through the mirror.

And with a quick and brutal thrust he was inside leaving her panting mess on the cold surface of the bathroom countertop as she moaned slowly.

“Amazing.” he quickly answered before he began his unrelenting deep thrust. “Deeper” she moaned out in the air. Resting on her palms and easing away from the countertop she made eye contact with a chipper Tobias as he violently thrust into her and she had to brace herself. “Where are you going Char?” Tobias teased as she stood on her tiptoes desperately in an unsuccessful attempt of creating space between them.

“Damn I know I told him deeper, but now he's just showing out for the camera.” she thought while groaning as he hit a spot inside her making let out a loud guttural moan. He made the most out of his opportunity reaching to rub her clit. Moaning even louder he soon used one hand to grip her shoulder as he angled the camcorder downwards to catch sight of his pelvis meeting her dripping cunt. Closing her eyes for some reprieve she opened them to meet Tobias’s eyes in the mirror to find him damn near gnawing through his lip to hold back his loud groans.

Her release soon crep up on her and she moaned loudly, “Baby, I-” to which he cut her off as he sped up his tireless thrust, “Me too. Don’t wait for me.” and with that she came harder than ever and fell back on the counter, a panting mess and sweating bullets and winced as he pulled out of her. She mistakenly thought he was going to clean her only for him to zoom in the camera to get a close up of her used pussy with his milky cum dripping out of her.

Once he caught his breath he chuckled “That was amazing and it wasn’t even my birthday.” to which she rolled her eyes with a dazed expression and a small smile on her face since enjoying the after effects of their morning activities.

“Yeah yeah you better delete that.” she warned turning on the shower.

“Uh-Uh Charlie we just made a porno, I’m downloading this to my USB and keeping it in my safe.” he remarked while being transfixed at the camcorder in his hands causing her to snort with laughter.

“Whatever, if it gets leaked I better get paid for it.” she declared while leaving to her shower leaving Tobias in a cheerful fit of post orgasmic laughter.

Fin.

A/N: That was nasty and you read it so you’re nasty too.

[lemonyellowlogic]

the harder the rain, the sweeter the sun: chapter seven

-o-

first

previous

-o-

chapter seven: the bedroom 

Days later, Roman walked around his area of the garden, pulling the last of the weeds. The sun beat down on him that day, sweat pouring from his brow. Roman hated it, he hated feeling sticky, and dirty, and just...disgusting, but he was thankfully done with his chores. 

He winced as he twisted to the side too fast and pulled his healing wound, but it didn’t bleed, so he tried ignoring it. Roman walked to the other side of the cottage to wash up his face and hands in the river, but then he saw Diego.

The merperson sat on the shore of the river, his golden tail shining in the sunlight with the dark blacks near the end of it swirling in the water. 

Diego’s hair was wet, like he’d just pulled himself out of the water, and his dark curls lay messy on his head. Scales ran down his sides and arms, a contrast to his copper skin. He was absolutely beautiful, and Roman was absolutely mortified when Diego turned around and saw his staring.

Diego's face flushed bright red, and he squawked in indignation. Roman spluttered out an apology, “Oh goodness, I am sorry! I was just about to rinse off and I-”

Roman was cut off by Diego throwing his arm up and a wave of water throwing itself onto Roman. Roman spluttered as Diego glared at him, and the merperson hissed, “Rinsed off enough?” Before slipping back into the water and disappearing.

--

Later, Roman laid on the floor in Virgil’s room, Virgil himself sprawled out on his bed. Roman had been complaining over Diego for five minutes and Virgil was starting to get bored. The room was extremely hot, warmth seeping into their skin and sweat pouring out of it. Roman wiped his forehead, making a sound of disgust as the slick sweat on it after.

“And then he poured water all over me! Emile wouldn’t even let me inside until I dried off.”

Virgil snorted, “Yeah, that’s just like Emile.”

Roman groaned, laying his forearm over his face, “I just don’t get him, Virgil. He hates me.”

Virgil rolled over, his head poking over the edge of his bed to look at Roman, “Ugh, you’re boring,” He said with a grin, “Do you want to go help me bug Diego then?”

Roman looked at Roman from under his arm, “I already told you he hates me, I’m not going to make it even worse.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, “No, he doesn’t, you two are just dramatic.”

Raising his eyebrows, Roman sat up, eye to eye with Virgil, and he counted out of his fingers, “He hasn’t even attempted to talk to me except from when Remy literally forced him to, every time he meets my eyes, he glares at me, he ignores anything I try to say to him, and he literally soaked me in water without tried to hear my reasoning or my apology! What else can I do?”

Virgil gnawed on his lip, “Look, I’ve known Dee for years now, he’s a little difficult to figure out when you meet him, but I feel like the two of you could be friends soon. Just, when there's no one else around, try talking to him. When you’ve tried talking to him before, was there anyone else around?”

Roman thought for a moment, tilting his head to the side, “Possibly, but I don’t see-”

“He probably just felt cornered, he already dislikes humans, so that's understandable.”

Roman groaned, falling back down on the ground, “Why does he hate humans so much? I never even did anything to him!”

Virgil winced, laying onto his back and staring at the ceiling, “It’s not my story to tell, but I don’t think it’s anything personal towards you.”

Roman rolled onto his stomach, looking up at the bed, “Why don't you hate humans then?”

Virgil sighed, “Well, I try not to hate most things. I hate the idea of humans and how the majority of them treat us, but I don’t hate, like, an individual without having a reason. Diego’s just been treated not the best by quite a few, so I think he sees all of them like that.”

Roman hummed, a few seconds passing in a comfortable silence before he sat up and asked, “Had you ever met a human before me?”

Virgil winced, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean...yeah, but it’s not a good story.”

“What’d you mean?”

“Well,” Virgil settled himself, sitting cross-legged with his elbows on his knees as he looked at Roman, “I’m a dragon.”

Roman’s eyebrows raised, before falling in confusion, “Well, I know you can turn into one, but how are-”

“Dragons are shapeshifters,” Virgil ran his fingers through his hair awkwardly, “We can shift to full dragon to a human form, but I’ll always have my ears,” He motioned to them, tracing their sharp point, “Eyes,” He pulled on his lower eye with a grin, showing off his bright green eyes, “And marks,” He dragged his pointer fingers down his cheeks, mimicking the pattern the black marks on his cheeks followed, “In both forms. Most people see dragons in our, ya know, dragon form, but the way we’ve survived so long is by going into our human form to escape.”

Roman nodded, still a bit confused, “How does this relate to meeting a human?”

Virgil pursed his lips, “Well, when I was like ten, I was stolen from my family by human hunters who planned on skinning me and selling the parts.”

Roman choked on nothing because just how casually Virgil said the fact, “What?”

He shrugged, his shoulders tense, “I shifted to human after I was captured and managed to escape, but when I had gone to my home, my family had moved on without me, “ Virgil’s voice turned bitter, “They didn’t even try waiting a few days. They just left because they were scared of being taken too.”

Virgil looked harshly at Roman, “The humans stole me but my parents abandoned me. I don’t like humans because they try to kill my people and treat us like trash, but you were kind and you didn’t ever try to hurt any of us. So, I trust you. Diego doesn’t see that.”

Roman nodded silently, and a few seconds passed in silence before Virgil sighed, launching himself backwards into his bed, laying back with his hands behind his head. Roman perched his head on the edge of Virgil’s bed, “Wait, so does that mean you can have wings?”

Virgil shoved at Roman’s face, pushing him off the bed, “Shut up. And no, only in my dragon form, which I don't really love going into when I don't have to, it’s a hassle, ya know?’

“I literally have no way of relating to that statement, Virgil.”

The two laughed in the dark-grey room, and Roman stood up afterwards, “Well, I’ll try talking to Diego more tonight, okay?”

“Thanks, I know you won’t regret it. Just don’t be a dick.”

Roman looked appalled, “I am never a d-that word!”

Virgil cocked an eyebrow, “You sure, human boy?”

Virgil cackled at Roman’s expression but then squealed in surprise as his pillow was thrown into his face, knocking him onto the floor, where he continued to laugh even as Roman huffed out of the room.

-o-

next

masterlist

[jetsandbennie]

as it always is

summary: 26 snapshots of love and lust with brian. or an nsfw alphabet, but i’m extra

warnings: all smut. hint of angst. fingering, male and female receiving oral, overstimulation, edging, threesome, some john x reader, dom!brian, sub!brian, phone sex, breeding kink, spanking, choking. a lot more. no set time period really.

pairing: brian may x female reader

AFTERCARE … acts of comfort after intercourse.

Your breathing is pathetically heavy as the mattress dips beside you - chest rises and falls with your short gasps, and a lone tear slides down your cheek. Drips down your neck and ends its path on your collarbone, the wetness settling into a lone trail - like the tributary of a river.

And Brian is beside you, moonlight giving his body a luminescent effect, and you swear the his mane of curls glows in the light. In his hands he’s holding a rag, and droplets of water sprinkle onto his thigh because he’s clutching it just a bit too tight.

He says, “Do you want to have a bath, baby?” And you shake your head. Your body doesn’t feel as though it could handle the walk to the bathroom so Brian smiles, leans down and kisses your forehead, and then settles himself between your legs. Just a hair away from your most sensitive spots, and when he exhales the breath tickles your clit. The wet cloth drags along your inner thighs, wiping up his and your cum, and the water is too cold, really. But you’re sweating - beyond that point, really. Dripping. So you let Brian wipe you up, and then he places the rag on the nightstand and looks back at you.

Wordlessly you raise your arm up to him. He smiles and slides under the covers beside you, wrapping his body around yours. You always want him to hold you after he tears you apart and he’s only too willing to comply, because you look like the essence of innocence against the white bedsheets. Your face presses into his chest, arms around his back, and as you fall asleep the world falls away - every sense is full of him.

 BODY PART … to love & to hold.

“Brian, baby.”

You turn your head and look at him, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes feel like they’re burning a target into you but it feels great - the way he looks you up and down, at the half-zipped dress you’ve been struggling with, and his teeth trace over his bottom lip. Gnawing on the skin, just the way you’ve told him not to. It’ll ruin your lips, you whispered to him as you spread cherry flavoured chapstick on his puckered, chapped lips. And we don’t want that.

Brian steps into your shared bedroom before you even finish the request. Long fingers work at tugging the zipper up, tightening the short black number to a point where it feels almost constricting, but you look up to meet your own eyes in the mirror. And you feel wonderful.

(Brian bought the dress. Brought it home from when he was on tour in a big paper bag, and when you wear it now you can only imagine that. Hands tracing over the silky fabric in a small shop in some random city, thinking of you in it, flagging down a worker to ask about the price.)

“What do you think?” you question, voice sweet as spun sugar as you tilt your head back to look at him. His fingers tug the bottom of the dress down, and you smile even though you try not to - and then his digits trail up your thigh and over your stomach.

Hands massage over your breasts, tweaking at your nipples until they’re hardened beneath his touch. And then his lips are on your neck, teeth grazing the column of your throat, and a choked up moan forces its way into the still air surrounding the pair of you. Fingers move up more until they can tug down one of the straps of the dress, and then he forces his hand into the top - hand cold against your bare breast and you arch your chest into him, begging him for more of something. Of anything.

Soft humming against your neck. “I do like it,” Brian tells you. “A bit more than I should, I reckon.”

 CUM … unadulterated love & lust.

A hand at your throat. Skin beneath your fingernails as you drag them up the smooth expanse of his back. Fingers rubbing your clit, and they certainly aren’t yours. Bliss, bliss, bliss, wrapping itself around you and squeezing until you’re positive it’ll kill you in its wake.

And Brian repeats, “You want me to cum inside of you? Hmm?”

Your back arches up, choking out a small moan, and his fingers tighten against your throat. Speaking is a struggle and one you don’t reckon you’d give up for the world, but your head shakily nods up and down. The small movement doesn’t capture your neediness for him, pump you full of his seed, but by his wicked grin you think he gets it.

“M’gonna fill you up, baby,” he hisses into your ear, and a chill runs its way up your spine. “And you’re gonna carry it around inside of you all day.” Words are punctuated by the sharp snapping of his hips against yours, drawing out the melody of moans from deep within your core. “Doesn’t that sound lovely?”

It’s all you can do to nod as he pushes himself balls-deep inside of you, and as he groans, the sound strangled and detached, you know he’s too far gone in his pleasure.

 DIRTY SECRET … shared only between two lovers.

Brian’s calloused hands smooth over your hips and then over the globes of your ass. It’s comforting even when you’ve never felt more uncomfortable - his two fingers buried in your ass, his cold ring brushing against your skin with every movement.

You’d been on your hands and now you’ve fallen to your elbows, giving up on the thought of staying upright. You’re positively week for him, physically and mentally, but he’s there for you. A soft mantra of ‘you’re okay’ constantly fresh off his lips, going straight to your heart and soul. Filling you with his love before he’s even started with you.

“This -” you swallow thickly as Brian pulls his fingers out of you, and then you can hear fumbling - when you look behind you Brian is dribbling lube onto his fingers from the bottle he bought specifically for this occasion, and you squeeze your eyes shut again. “This stays between us, baby. Right?”

You can hear the wet sounds of Brian pumping his cock a few times, coating it in a thin layer of lube, and then the tip of his dick pokes at your ass and you instinctively cry out. It’s not necessarily an unknown feeling but - but God, he’s big and you feel so little in comparison.

A pair of lips presses against the back of your neck, and you give him the reaffirming nod - do it, do it, do it, the nod says. Brian presses his hand against your back and then pushes himself inside of you, slowly at first until he’s bottomed out and you’re crying out, moaning bloody murder so he waits until you’re quieter before telling you, voice mock-sympathetic, “It’ll never leave these four walls. I give you my word.”

 EXPERIENCE … how long it’s been done.

You have carpet burn on your knees. It’s only slightly painful but oddly erotic, the visible result of pleasuring Brian just so. And he loves it - you love it - and the burn doesn’t even hurt after a while. You learn to get used to it, in any case.

His long, thin fingers comb through your hair and scratch your scalp, nails digging into your head just hard enough to make you moan around the mouthful of cock you have. His hair is matted with sweat, head leaning back with his mouth wide, and his hips jerk upwards when you flick your tongue just right against the head of his cock.

“Christ, baby,” Brian hisses, and his grip on your hair squeezes. From your spot in front of him, tongue lapping a thick stripe up the underside of his dick, you smirk. Waggle your eyebrows. “You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear.”

Vibrations roll through his body as you hum around his cock, taking him as deep as you can go. And you count … 1, 2, 3 … and when you reach the nice even number of 20 you pull your mouth off of him, pressing a kiss to his tip. It’s leaking of precum and you know he’s close just by the way his hands shake in your hair.

“How did you get so good at this?” Brian demands, tone breathy even as he tries to be firm. You’re not sure if it’s a real question, at first, but then he grabs your hair and forces your head up so you’re staring him right in his eyes.

You shrug, and then shake your head a bit so his grip loosens on your locks. “You don’t even want to know, Brian,” you tell him, and then you return to sucking his cock, cheeks hollowed, with so much vigor that he forgets he even asked.

 FAVOURITE … preferred before all others.

“Happy birthday, Brian.”

Your voice is low and throaty as you brace your hands on his pale shoulders, sinking down onto his thick cock until you’re certain you feel him in every crevice of your body - he’s coursing through your veins, making your mouth water, and when he braces his hands on your ass his touch leaves you with goosebumps all over.

He throws his head back against his soft pillow, and his curls bounce with the movement - Brian groans loudly and leaves scratches in your skin as you begin to move, and he refuses to lift his nails off of the softness of your ass. Just watches with heavy eyes as you raise yourself off of him and then sink back down with a throaty cry.

Your names, voices mingling with each other in the thick, dense air of the hotel room, drown out the sounds of your wetness and skin slapping skin. It’s a beautiful cacophony of soft noises, and you swear to yourself that you could survive off of this alone. All of it.

“Baby,” Brian whimpers, and your eyes meet his again. “I’m gonna cum so hard.” It sounds like a warning and you nod slowly, hair sticking to your sweaty back. “Fuck. I love - I love when you ride me. I love it.”

I know, you want to say, but the words lodge themselves in your throat, and instead all you can do is moan. You reach for his hands and bring them to your clit - he takes the hint easily, pressing his finger into the small bud, and your chest heaves with the pressure of sucking in breaths at the feeling. If he thinks he’s going to cum hard, you’re fairly positive you’re going to outdo him because there’s nothing better than this.

 GOOFY … a break in regular moods.

Your bodies move in tandem with each other, and you’d find it impressive, usually - but you don’t have the ability to even think clearly. Mind is too foggy, a thin sheet of alcohol coating your brain, and all you can focus on is Brian.

His hands, his mouth, his leg as it hooks around your hip. His back is against the wall and his hair is fluffy beneath your fingers. When you tug on the soft strands just right he whines into your mouth, and you grin against his mouth.

“Why -” Brian’s voice is soft as his fingers tug at the top of your skirt, pulling it down so he can palm your ass with both hands. “Why are you laughing?”

To show him you tug his hair again, watching as he moans out softly, and then you lean closer, pressing your head to his chest, feeling his billowing shirt tickling your cheek. His fingers pick at your panties, letting the hem snap against your hip before working on tugging your skirt down your thighs.

And you’re still giggling, grasping onto his shirt to keep him close to you, even as your mind starts to fog up even more and you’re pretty sure you’re almost passed out, close to falling onto the bed and going to sleep for the rest of the night, but then Brian is on his knees in front of you and you try to calm yourself down.

“S’not funny,” Brian tells you, pressing a kiss to your thigh as he drops your skirt to your ankles, and it only makes you laugh harder.

 HAIR … the perfect grip.

One delicious smack lands on your ass, and you throw your head back with a desperate yell - a mixture of pleasure and pain, of bliss and chaos. Another finds the same spot and you can picture the next week or so, of wincing when you sit, but then you’re reminding yourself to stay in the present, which is the best place to be. As Brian buries his fingers in your hair to force your head up, pulls himself out of your dripping cunt before slamming back into you, slaps your ass again and again.

Your legs shake with every thrust of pleasure you’re being overwhelmed with, and if you adjust your hips just right the covers beneath you will brush your clit but it’s the most amount of pressure you’re getting there. Brian’s made it clear through the night - this is about him. His pleasure. You’re just there for him to fuck, to get off on.

“So fucking tight around me,” Brian grunts into your ear, leaning down so his chest is flush against your back. He nips your ear and you yelp, and then he tugs your hair violently and you can feel strands parting ways with your scalp. “Feels so fucking good, doesn’t it? Bet you feel so full.”

You nod desperately. Your cheeks are flaming and your legs are quivering, and Brian just chuckles. The cruel noise goes straight into your ear.

“Do you wanna cum?” he asks, and you know it’s a trick. Know it so fucking well. “Want to cum around my cock?”

But you can’t help but submit to these games of his, so you croak, “Yes! Yes, I need to cum, please.”

Brian clicks his tongue and straightens up, slamming his hips into you with more energy. More anger. “Too bad, isn’t it? Bad girls don’t get to cum.”

And as pressure builds up in your core, begging to be released as your hair is tugged over and over, you can’t help but think that disobedience seems so very appealing at the moment …

 INTIMACY … the love that’s always shared.

Your fingers grasp the comforter beneath you, and you get a handful of covers and one small, pink petal.

You bring the rose up to your face, sniffing it softly - it has no scent but you make one up. Imagine that it smells like sunshine and love and Brian, though the last component may be from the man with his lips wrapped around your nipple. Teeth grazes your peaked bud every so often and it just makes you moan louder.

Feels so good … feels so good … You’re begging to tell him but your mind won’t let any words past your mouth. Only soft moans as he takes his time on your breasts, hand kneading the one he isn’t kissing and suckling, and you need him to know how well he’s doing.

From the glint in his eyes … he already knows.

“I love you,” you finally choke out, and his eyes meet yours. They’re soft, now, not cocky as they were before, and a lone tear slides down your cheek. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Brian tells you, and you squeeze around the petal you’re clutching until it’s merely a small pink ball in the grasp of your shaky fingers.

 JACK OFF … to masturbate all alone.

You press your ear to the bathroom door, the wood cool against your skin. Your hand grasps the doorknob, on the brink of opening it but then you stopped yourself to listen.

Slow breathing. Quiet except for the water falling in the shower, and then a loud moan cracks the silence. It’s mixed with the shower and the birds chirping outside and your breaths that you want desperately to steady.

Two fingers bury themselves in your cunt, fueled by the sounds of Brian in the shower and you know what he’s doing. Can imagine it, in fact, his hand on the wall and the other pumping his thick cock, because he thought you were asleep when you snuck off to the shower and you did nothing to convince him otherwise. But it would be nearly impossible for someone to hear his absolutely delectable noises and not feel neediness throbbing in their core …

And you’re not special.

A small, breathy moan escapes your mouth and you gnaw on your lip, trying to keep yourself silent as your hand brushes against your clit. Your body jerks involuntarily and your fingertips ghost over that perfect spot right inside of you and then you gasp loudly, and you know it was too loud without even having to think about it.

Pause.

Then the shower turns off, and you pull your fingers out of your thin cotton panties, wiping your wetness on your thigh. No matter if Brian heard you - you’ll hop back in bed, exactly as you were. Make believe you were asleep the entire time.

Some activities are better kept to yourself, you think.

 KINK … individual sexual preferences.

You refuse to move your lips off of Brian’s.

Even when his fingers trace circles over your clit, drawing letters and numbers that you couldn’t identify if your life depended on it. Maybe he’s telling a story on your body - the story of how you two came to be, and isn’t that a tale in itself. But you can’t be bothered to remember it, because living in the past when the present is this spectacular just seems like a mistake.

“Filling me so good, Bri,” you murmur to your boyfriend against his mouth, and he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull his face into your neck, rolling your hips as he thrusts his into yours, filling you over and over and over again until you feel completely overwhelmed.

(You won’t tell him to stop, no matter what.)

“How does it feel?” your question is more of a demand and Brian knows it, pressing his lips to your sweaty neck as he sheaths himself into your pussy again and again. “Tell me what it feels like, baby.”

“So - good -”

It’s an unsatisfactory answer but one you’ll accept anyway. You grip his hair and tug his head up so you can examine his expressions, but when your hand leaves his hair his head moves to flop back again - you remedy this by wrapping your hand around his throat, squeezing just enough to keep his head in place, and Brian’s next overly aroused cry is choked up just as he, himself, is.

 LOCATION … a place outside of the bedroom.

Your hips work up and down on Brian’s lap, the slight movements covered by the flowy material of your dress - the yellow compliments your skin and your immoral activities, but even if people can’t necessarily see, they can probably put it together.

The stool is uncomfortable to be on like this, but Brian is there for you, hands on your thighs to keep you from falling over and arms wrapped around your back. How you move is constricted but he helps, like always, pulling you up and down on top of him while you gasp moans into his shoulder.

And into your ear comes his teasing words, mixed in with grunts, telling you that you’re such a fucking slut and he can’t believe you’re doing this here and anyone could be watching but you know he doesn’t give a shit. If he did he would push you off and he doesn’t. The bar is packed enough that no one notices the two of you, anyway. Most of the focus is on Freddie, across the room, anyway. When you push Brian’s hair down he’s just another guy at the bar, and you’re just another fucking whore who needs to fuck her man on a stool during an afterparty.

You don’t care.

“Baby -” a lone tear slides down your cheek, dark with your mascara, because it’s so slow and mellow because if you go too fast people will notice. And that’s just embarrassing enough to keep your hips rocking at a slow pace. “Baby, I need to - need to cum. Please.”

Brian’s hand rubs circles into the small of your back. The comforting movement gives away his stone-cold boyfriend facade and you appreciate it. You know Brian more than anyone. Know that he could never let himself fuck you fast and rough and hard, drop away every ounce of comfort. He’d never allow himself to.

“Cum for me, baby,” he tells you, a whisper in your ear. You grip the ends of his hair as you press your hips down, sucking into his shoulder so you don’t cry out, and you pray that Freddie’s entertainment far, far away is keeping the guests from getting their drinks. For now, at least.

 MOTIVATION … why it needs to be done.

“You aren’t wearing that.”

Brian stands in the kitchen, clutching a small glass of wine. His rings clang against the glass as he lips it to his mouth and takes a sip, and before he darts his tongue out to lap out the remnants of the alcohol off his lips, you can imagine licking it off. Kissing him feverishly, sucking off every bit of wine left on his lips.

You cross your arms over your chest, cleavage showing through the deep red cocktail dress you’re donning. “Yes, I am.”

A thick mop of curls sways in the air as Brian shakes his head, setting his glass down on the kitchen counter, and then he takes a step towards you. “You need to change, baby.”

“I don’t want to.”

You stick out your bottom lip and when Brian is close enough to you he leans down to kiss you, just the way you’d been picturing, and his mouth still tastes of alcohol. But also something else - the sweet taste of candy, a ray of sunshine, the mint toothpaste you buy that he adores using.

When he pulls away you huff in protest, and he braces one hand on your hip. The fabric of the dress is cold beneath his touch and when he squeezes you jump.

Then Brian tells you, voice low and dangerous and bright red panic sirens go of in your mind, “No, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to go and change out of this,” and he pinches the limited amount of extra fabric in the dress as it to reiterate what you’re changing out of, “because if you don’t, I’m gonna have no choice but to fuck you over the dinner table before we can even make it to Roger’s birthday party.”

He pauses. “Do you understand?”

And you hate that you comply so easily, but you nod, knickers feeling a bit damp from the arousal that’s suddenly soaking your pussy. “But, baby,” you coo, leaning up to kiss his jaw, “I hardly have any other dresses.”

“I’ll find you one,” Brian tells you. “I’ll buy you a new dress, and it’ll be the sexiest one out there.”

 NO … something that won’t be done.

The sounds of dishes clanging downstairs is what forces Brian’s head off of yours, detaching your lips and glancing warily towards the door, and you drop your head against the small, hard mattress of his childhood bed with a groan.

Your legs wrap around Brian’s waist but the pair of you, even as pressed together as you are, are struggling not to fall off the bed and onto the entirely-too-soft carpet, and you just want to get back to absolutely devouring his lips but all of a sudden he looks apprehensive.

A hand buries itself in his thick mop of curls, fingers smoothing over his scalp. “Come on, baby. It’ll be hours before they want us downstairs,” you tell him, voice a whisper, and then you lean up to press your lips to his. He leans into it momentarily - tongue darting to lap at your bottom lip, and your mouth opens with a soft moan - but then he pulls away again.

“They’re gonna hear.” His concern is cute, truthfully, and you’ve never met his parents before but they seem the nice type. Easygoing.

“She said she’s making us a nice big dinner. We have time.” And you’re not sure if you do, really, but you’re throbbing with need and he’s the only one who can help you. Give you the boost you need in the right direction. “Brian, baby.”

He hums as you pull his face back so he’s looking at you, and your eyes meet - the chocolate of his orbs are soft and precious, and he looks like the epitome of innocence, even if you know he isn’t. Even if you know, deep in your core, that he couldn’t be farther from that, but the show he puts on for his parents … well, it’s impressive.

The heel of your foot digs into his back but then you pause, drop your head back again, and ask, “Do you really not want to, baby?”

Brian breathes out and then nods. “I’m - I’m nervous. It’s not the right place. Or time. I would - die - if my parents heard us fucking up here.”

You comb your fingers through his hair and push yourself up so you’re sitting up against his unstable-seeming headboard. He adjusts so he’s still on top of you, his cheek pressed to your chest as you scratch his scalp, foot massaging his back, and even if you’re desperate for him you know where he draws the line. And this is it.

ORGASM … a beautiful state of euphoria.

Desperate kisses trail across your chest like a wildfire through the hills, burning down trees and taking down life in its path - though unlike a fire this is beautiful, fingers pumping in and out of your pussy and lips on your breasts and your chest arches up into him, whimpers falling out of your mouth.

Brian’s fingers are long and slender and, in your opinion, positively perfect for fingering you, because when he curls them just right he hits that spot inside of you - the one that makes you cry out, stars dotting your vision until you remember, vividly, the nights you’d spend outside as a child staring up at the night sky. It feels the same, too, when you’re just on the cusp of cumming for him and he’s whispering the command against your skin, like a plead, and your breathing picks up into short, sweet gasps.

You swallow thickly, pushing his face more into your breasts and Brian smiles against your nipples, flicking his tongue just so against the peaked bud, and finally your legs tighten around his waist. Quivering, sobbing out, desperatedesperatedesperate for the release he’s giving you, and when he whispers against your chest to cum on my fingers, come on, it just milks your orgasm out even more.

 PACE … how fast things are going.

Faster. Faster.

Brian’s hips snap against yours and it seems blurry, how fast he’s going, but it’s never enough - never fast enough to make you forget, to keep the tears from your eyes, and his arms around your back provide the littlest bit of comfort in your haze - messy with tears and sadness and anger and you swear you’ve never needed him to fuck your brains out this much.

“Please,” you beg, voice cracking, and Brian looks up at you with furrowed brows. It has to be the fifth time you’ve pleaded for him to fuck you harderfasterdeeper and he’s never seemed alarm by the request until this point but maybe now he is concerned. Concerned because he can’t go any faster, and you haven’t told him why you’re upset. Haven’t told him anything besides how he has to fuck you now and he has to do it fast or you think you’ll lose your mind. “Brian, baby, please.”

You don’t have to add onto it any more and Brian is burying his face in your neck, and you reach down to grab his wrist, pull it back and then slam it down again over your clit, and you throw your head back and yelp - Brian presses a soft kiss to your throat and then repeats the action, and you find that when he’s doing that the pace is fine.

Even if it isn’t as fast as you need.

Even if all you can think is a silent plead.

Faster. Faster. Please, Brian. Faster …

 QUICKIE … a rushed encounter.

Dirty secrets fill your brain as he huffs them into your ear, breath hot against the side of your throat, and his grip is bruising on your wrists - clutches them together, holds them high above your head, the mirror cool against the back of your hands. When you tilt your head back you can feel blood rushing to your head and Brian’s hand is firm against your back, keeping you upright as your legs won’t.

A hand presses against your mouth, firm, muffling every noise that’s desperate to fill the small space. Brian’s lips attach themselves to the side of your neck, sucking a dark spot into your skin, and the action - which you love, god you love it - keeps him quiet.

“Cum for me,” Brian whispers to you, snapping his hips, bottoming out until your bodies are flush against each other. Your finger digs tight circles into your clit, prolonging the pleasure that courses through your veins - overwhelms your senses - tickles your spirit. “Baby girl, cum around my cock. I know you’re fucking close. I can feel your tight pussy clenching around me.”

You whimper and then pucker your lips, pressing a wet kiss to his palm, and Brian moans against your neck. When you speak he can barely hear it, and when he lifts his hand away from your mouth a loud cry forces its way from your throat, and immediately he clamps his palm back over your lips.

Eyes squeeze shut as Brian pushes into you, slowing his movements as he hisses, drops of spit escaping his lips and spattering your neck, “You fucking slut,” and you know you’re not going to be able to cum until after the show.

 RISK … an increased chance of exposure.

To everyone else, you look poised and perfect. When cameras flash to your face you send them a bright grin, raising your left hand to give a sultry wave - Brian, beside you, an arm draped over your shoulders, purposely avoids looking at the cameras that are desperate to get a glance at him. Award shows aren’t his thing, you don’t reckon, but his reluctance to show his face on television might have something to do with your hand, pumping his cock beneath the table.

Knuckles are white against the edge of the table, wrinkling the nice beige tablecloth, and every so often Brian pushes his chair in - right against the table, swallowing thickly and shutting his eyes.

What’s wrong with him, Roger whispers into your ear from where he sits on your other side. You look over at the drummer, swiping your thumb over the tip of Brian’s dick, and shake your head sympathetically. Migraine, you tell Roger, and he nods slowly. But his eyes take a bit too long to leave Brian’s face, and he raises his eyebrows, and you wonder if he suspects anything.

You tighten your grip on Brian’s shaft, and he sucks in a breath, nail just about digging through the tablecloth, and you turn to look at him.

“Are you okay, baby?” the soft sweet tone you use is nothing like the things you’re doing to him beneath the table, and then you rest your cheek against his shoulder. To anyone, it seems sweet and comforting, but when Brian leans in and whispers directly into your ear about the risks of getting caught because you need to be a fucking tease at an awards show and what if someone sees, it truly is anything but.

 STAMINA … how long one can go for.

“Turn around.”

The command sends a fresh tear dripping down your cheek and onto your nose, and your limbs feel like jelly - you’re fairly positive you can’t move but then Brian grips your hips, pulling you from your stomach onto your back, and he clicks his tongue in mock sympathy, rubbing his thumb over your cheeks to collect the drop of wetness.

You watch as he brings his thumb up to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick up the tear, and you squeeze your eyes shut. Your legs are quivering and your face is heated, sweat beading on your upper lip, but Brian doesn’t give a shit.

In an instant he’s sheathing himself back into your heat, groaning out again at the feeling - your cunt tight around his cock - as if he hasn’t been fucking you for the past two hours. He cums and pulls out and buries his face between your thighs, edging you until you’re sobbing and he’s rock hard and then he’s back to it.

“Come on, honey, why are you crying?” it’s a breathy coo, and you can fool yourself into thinking he’s being genuine. Like he isn’t trying to tear you apart, break you at the seams, with just his cock driving in and out of you. “Do you want me to stop, baby?”

And you shake your head, sweaty hair swaying, and you sniffle pathetically. Your hands beneath your thighs lift them up, stretching the muscles taut in your thighs until it burns. But then Brian is leaning down, pressing a kiss to your lips and trailing them up your cheeks, collecting the stream of tears that have been gathering on your face.

(It’s easier to imagine he’s genuine when he acts so precious about it.)

 TOY … the best things to play with.

His soft whines are like a melody to your ears, and the way his hips buck up into your hand is so sweet you feel like you have a cavity - and your hand works up and down his cock before hitting the cock ring, metal cooling your skin from the warmness of the bedroom.

You lean down to press your lips to his forehead, tasting the sweat coating his face, and then you press your forehead against his. Every breath goes directly into his mouth, wide open to whimper and cry out and god isn’t he precious.

“How do you feel, baby?” you murmur, leaning down to press your lips to his top one. He leans his head up into yours and then his hips jerk up again, fucking your hand, and you don’t need the response to know.

“I need to - I -” he stutters, voice cracking on the last syllable, and finally he drops his head against the pillow. The cock ring was your idea but you knew he’d love it, and he does - you can tell, can tell by how the safeword hasn’t fallen off his lips. “I wanna cum.” His voice drops and you swipe your thumb over the tip of his cock, which you know drives him fucking insane, and a loud cry forces its way from his throat, only silenced when you lean down to press your lips firmly against his.

 UNFAIR … not conforming to principles of equality.

Hands push your thighs up, stretching your muscles desperately, and the nice, soft comforters of the hotel bed crinkle beneath your fingers - Brian’s nose nudges your clit and his fingernails dig into your soft skin, tongue lapping at every drop of wetness that coats your folds.

This is punishment - what you’re getting for jacking him off at the award ceremony, for making a fool out of him in front of live television, in front of his friends, in front of everyone.

“You wanna cum, baby?” Brian growls against your cunt, teeth grazing against your clit, and you throw your head back with a pathetic whine, digging your nails into the bedspread. “Keep making those fucking noises. Do you wanna cum?”

Don’t answer. He wants to hear you beg. And you won’t fucking let him.

A smack lands across your clit as Brian nibbles on your inner thigh, and it’s a warning. One that jolts through your body as your thighs beg to close, to ease the pain in your legs. And then, “I said do you want to fucking cum, baby.”

It isn’t a question anymore. So you whimper, squeeze your eyes shut, moan, “Yes,” and then you open your eyes again so you can look at him again.

Bastardbastardbastardbastard … the only word that runs through your mind as you note the glint in Brian’s eyes, sending a chill rolling up your spine, and you know, now, that this is all a fucking game to him.

“You know I hate being teased,” Brian hisses, wrapping his lips around your clit, and you don’t mention how you hate it more.

 VOLUME … how loud one is during intercourse.

A loud smack rings out in your bedroom, causing your body to bounce forward on the mattress, a loud sob ripping through your throat.

“Louder,” a voice tells you, and then fingers are gripping your chin and forcing your head up and your eyes - blurry, so blurry - can’t make out who it is. The lack of thick dark curls atop his head makes you think it’s John, and when you bring your hand up to place your hand over his cheek you know it’s him. “You can be louder. Can’t she, Brian?”

And, from behind you, a gruff voice nods in affirmation. “So much louder,” Brian grunts, pulling your hips to his and slamming his cock back into your dripping cunt. Dripping for him and for John, who cards his fingers through your hair and then pushes your head back down onto his cock, and you gag pathetically as you take him into your throat.

A hand lands back down on your ass, and then the same calloused palm rubs over the bruising skin - the slightest remedy for the pulsing ache, but you appreciate the thought. And you know what he wants, why Brian keeps smacking your ass, and when he pushes himself back into you, you take John out of your mouth, toss your head back, and scream.

Fuck the neighbors.

 WET … saturated with liquid.

Beads of water rain down, but Brian’s back blocks the majority of it - the only spots that get on you land on your hands, leaving deep scratches into his back, ones that’ll surely turn shades of white and red in the upcoming days. His lips press against your neck, teeth grazing your throat, fingers sliding in and out of your pussy.

You press your palms to his shoulder, force him down to his knees and he nearly slides on the soaking floor of the shower - and as you drape one of your legs over his shoulder, push his face into your cunt, you feel powerful. Having a man of such profile kneeling before you, dedicated solely to your pleasure, feels like a gift from the heavens above -

And you intend on making the most of what you’ve been given.

 X-RAY … seeing something private.

Teeth detach from each other, creating a noise you recognize all too well as you tug down the zipper of Brian’s black jeans, exposing the dark red color of his boxers to you. His erection is visible, even before you were preparing for sucking him off. When you’d been seated on his thigh, crying into his shoulder as you got yourself off on his thigh, you’d felt it.

You finger the hem of his boxers, pulling them slowly down over his thighs until his erect cock exposes itself - slapping against his bare stomach, and Brian moans at the sensation of not being constricted but you’re not focusing on that - focusing on wrapping your fingers around his shaft, mouth widening as you take in the sight -

God, he’s big, bigger than anyone you’ve been with - thick and long, a dusting of thick dark hair drawing your attention, and when Brian’s eyes meet yours he looks - embarrassed, maybe, surprised at your surprise, and his fingers tangle in your hair.

“What?” he questions, voice high. You’ve never done this before, never gotten to the sexual part of your relationship, and he hadn’t seemed nervous before now - radiated confidence, like it was an aura that overtook everyone around him.

And you shake your head. Don’t want to worry him at all, make him think that you’re disappointed, so you lean in and press a kiss to the tip of his cock. “You’re so big, baby,” you tell him, wide eyes prolonging eye contact with him as you take him as far as you can into your mouth, thriving off of his loud cry.

 YEARNING … intense longing for someone.

“Help me, baby,” Brian’s crackly voice begs through the phone, and even when you feel half out of it due to time you know he needs you - know exactly what he wants. “I’m - I’m so fucking horny. I can’t -”

The shitty phone drowns out the rest of his sentence but you get it - push yourself onto your elbows and lean against your headboard, sliding one hand into your cotton panties and dragging a finger through your dripping folds. “Brian, baby,” you coo softly, and he stops his rambling abruptly. You can picture him, hand around his cock, desperate for you to talk him through his haze. He’s best at doing it with your help, getting himself off. “What’s going on?”

“I’m so fucking hard, it hurts, baby,” he moans. “Want you to be sucking my cock -”

“I know.”

“I miss you so much,” and his voice breaks, your heart along with it, as you slide a finger into your cunt.

You click your tongue sympathetically, heel of your hand rubbing against your overly sensitive clit. “Want to hear what I’m doing?” you question, and thousands of miles away Brian sits up in bed, tightening his grasp on his cock. He nods, first, remembers you can’t see him, and whimpers, “Yes.”

Your sultry voice talks to him - i’m fingering myself so good, baby, imagining it’s you - can you do that? And even if his hand will never be as good as your tight cunt, clenching around him, Brian thinks it’ll work.

 ZZZ … sleep, sleep, sleep.

When all is said and done your back is pressed to his chest, sweat sticking your bodies together as his fingertips trace patterns into your thigh - he breathes against your neck, leaning in to press a kiss to your skin, feeling your body quiver.

“How was that?” Brian whispers, the way he always does. Even if there’s no need to speak so softly he does it, makes sure you’re good and fine in his nice soft voice. Anything else would ruin the mood, he thinks, and you have to say - when his arms are around you, the room still and silent - you think you agree.

“It was so good, Brian,” you respond, voice riddled with sleep and brutal exhaustion. And then you smile, grab his wrist and pull his arm firmer around your body. “You know it always is.”

[v01d-ch1ld]

The Bright White Light, The Cool Night Breeze

Jason stood on a Gotham roof, slouched over on himself with his helmet at his feet. He needs a cigarette. There are no words for the pain in his chest or the screams of torment in his head. She’s gone. Never to return again. He knows it. No one lives long in the capture of the Joker. That was a lesson of hard experience. He could still feel the pain of his ribs breaking as the crowbar came down on his prone weak form. He can hear the clown laughing and his pained screams. All just par for the course at this point. His whole life has been loss from the beginning. He should be used to it by now…and yet, there is nothing he could do. The last time he felt this bad was when Tim fell victim to the Joker’s schemes. That was a dark day and he was in Metropolis. When he heard about it second hand from Barbra, he almost lost his mind. Replacement or not, he still cared for the kid. Bruce forbade him to come home until it was resolved, and he was forced to obey due to the simultaneous drain of funds due to Oracle.

             Honestly, the sinking feeling in his chest that had been there since his resurrection was not helping the churning of his stomach as those memories rushed through his head. He took out a cigarette from his jacket and lit it with easily practiced motions. There were only two ways to deal with his stress right now: kill or smoke. He chose the one that wouldn’t result in Bruce beating the shit out of him again. The only comfort that he had was the fact that Dick wasn’t doing much better than he was at the moment. Dick had searched for about a month before he nearly had a mental breakdown. Bruce sent him back to Bludhaven and told the police not to let him back into Gotham for fear of Nightwing going on a Red Hood style rampage. Jason, on the other hand, is still searching but he is finding it harder and harder to put on his helmet every day. Just another connection to that bastard. No one can keep track of the Joker for long. He keeps switching locations and covering his tracks.

             They all loved her, but Jason most of all. He loved her like it was his last lifeline. There were no words for how he felt for her and there never would be. She was the reason that he managed to endure Bruce, depression, and psychotic tendencies. She made him want to keep fighting. If she dies…Gotham’s rogues will die with her, he vows, saving Joker for last and to hell with what Bruce may say. Exhaling smoke he rolls his shoulders back and looks out into the bleak Gotham night.

              Across town, in an abandoned club Rebecca was practicing some moves on a pole. Catwoman was trying to gauge her flexibility. As she arched her back around the pole she pulled her left leg over her head and used her ankle to grip the pole for balance, her shorts riding up to see the barest shadow of her underwear. Usually she would have minded, but lately, something has possessed her to be more rebellious. Maybe it was the drugs, but more likely it was because it pissed the Joker off to see others ogling his daughter. Her hands slid down the pole as she spun around it upside down. Her arms had bruises and scabs all over them, but she didn’t care; it wasn’t like pain actually affected her anymore. Her nerve endings were so fried she was surprised she still recognized pressure on her skin. She couldn’t feel cold or pain, only pleasure or heat. She didn’t suppose that this was a foul existence. She swung herself off the pole. She was bored. She had been learning 3 different fighting styles, how to use guns, knives, blunt force weapons, and her custom daggers and now all she was working on was parkour. She wanted blood. Blood could slake the awful gnawing on the inside of her brain. It felt prickly and uncomfortable, like a numb burning sensation.

             “You have good balance, kid.” Catwoman purred from the chaise she was perched on. Rebecca tutted like a certain demon spawn. She cartwheeled off stage and vaulted herself onto a table and stretched. She tore the stitches on her exposed stomach in the process. If there was one good thing about this arrangement is that she had developed beautiful abs. She felt something running across her skin and saw the blood. Taking a finger, she scooped some into her hands and licked them clean. Jumping off the table she went to get the first aid kit and her auntie Ivy.

The halls were barely lit. Her eyes were becoming far more sensitive to light as of late and she threw temper tantrums until they finally turned the lights down. She strutted down the halls knowing damn well that if anyone touched her, she would give them hell and then her father would give them death. Skipping down the polished concrete halls, she ran her nails along the walls making a nice scratching sound. As she skipped she started to sing. Nonsense snippets of songs that made no sense combined the way that she did.

             When she got to the private rooms, she went to the door that she knew was serving as Ivy’s boudoir. Not bothering to knock, Rebecca walked inside and flopped on her sitting flower. She was the only one other than Harley that Pamela would let into her room and because of this, she got a sitting flower. Ivy was typing on a laptop very quickly.

             “I thought you were practicing with that hussy. What brings you here, Rosebud?” Ivy still hadn’t looked up.

             “One of the gifts daddy gave me started bleeding because I ripped my stitches.” Rebecca’s voice had changed too. Her throat was raw after the last time Joker took her into the lab rooms. After she stopped bleeding and foaming at the mouth, her voice sounded deeper and raspier, yet at the same time, she was capable of vocal mimicry to a terrifying degree, even able to produce a facsimile of male vocal tones. She was currently mimicking Harley to emphasize the sarcasm. Ivy looked up and saw the blood running sluggishly out of her stitches. Sighing and grabbing the first aid kit, she moved Rebecca’s flower closer to her own.

             “How did you manage to rip them? This is the third time this week!” Ivy huffed as she began to sanitize the needle.

             “I was practicing parkour. Daddy wants me to be as good as the wonder brats.” Rebecca said, speaking normally. She rolled her green, lightly glowing eyes. The chemicals that she and her father’s DNA were bathed in created the sick looking radioactive green. Looking into Ivy’s nearly turquoise eyes, she smirked, “I have to admit though, it brings back memories of when I used to take gymnastics.”

             “I’m going to give you your next dose while you’re here. It should help.” Ivy said while cutting the ruined stitches out of her side. Rebecca nodded. The enhancement drugs were different from the chemicals which were different from the psychosis-inducing drugs that she has been getting from her father. They were to make her joints more tensile, her bones denser, her muscles stronger, her agility improved and enhance her healing factor by a small fraction. It would help her heal faster and without scarring. The serum was derived from her blood sample, Ivy’s plants and some of the multitude of supplies that Joker had stolen from Star Labs, Wayne Tech, and Lex Corp. over the years. Ivy and Victor had been slaving over the stuff for about two weeks before it was done. But boy, did it hit the spot. She was able to actually function after lab days when her body was pushed past the limits of physiology.

             As soon as Ivy finished the stitches, she went to one of the tables in her room and grabbed a hypodermic needle. She hooked up the drip and plunged the IV into her arm. Rebecca leaned back and sighed in her flower, the sensation of the serum hitting her veins was nearly euphoric. It was tingly and relaxing yet energizing all at the same time. The world was temporarily okay. She knew that the serum had CBD in it to keep her calm and not rip the needle out, but she wouldn’t have taken it out anyway, it felt too good.

             Her long green-black hair flowed over the petals of the purple flower that she had taken to using as a bed. She understood why Ivy liked to sleep on them, they were really comfortable. This particular flower smelled divine and mixed with the sensation of the serum had her in a semi-conscious state. She gave a dizzy smile with her black lips and giggled. Ivy looked down at her and gave her a sad smile, which soon went back to her normal expressionless countenance. She flipped her hair and went back to her flower and continues to work on her laptop.

             Rebecca listened to her keystrokes absently and she began to think. She was losing memories. She knew it. It was an undeniable fact that with all the chemicals that there was bound to be some damage to her neural synapses. So, she worked hard to remember her old life. One that she knew was out of her reach forever now, but still full of happy memories. She remembered boys. Two of them were older than her. One of them she considered like her brother, the other was associated with something intense but undiscovered, new, powerful. The other two were younger and she thought of them as little brothers. She cared for them deeply and even though they both had issues conveying their emotions, she knew they cared about her. Then there was a cold presence in her head. A man. He was intimidation and cool rage. Terrifying was the word she would use to describe him.

             “You’re wrong, they don’t care about you. If they did they would have come for you by now.” It was back. That voice.

             It usually came while she was recovering from labs. That intrusive voice in her head. It gave her migraines of unbearable caliber. It confused memories and destroyed long-held convictions. It rearranged her personality and made her angry. Angry that she had lost control and was losing more every day. It created doubt. Doubt kills in this business. And above all, she wanted to at least live through this because in her eyes that meant she won.

Next: http://deepdarkvoidchild.tumblr.com/post/179315515577/if-bitterness-is-my-cancer-fire-is-my-cure

tags: @nxttime @dcuniversefanatic @dcdweeb @ravennightingaleandavatempus

[robininthelabyrinth]

AU where Alex the Rat is actually Len, somehow stuck in the shape of a rat

Fic: Down the Rat Hole (ao3 link)Fandom: DC’s Legends of Tomorrow, DiscworldPairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

Summary: Len was surprised to wake up after the Oculus. He was even more surprised to wake up a rat.

SQUEAK, the skeletal rat in the black cowl with the little scythe says apologetically, like that explains anything.

A/N: for @oneiriad, who wanted some fluff to fix the season 2 finale

—————————————————————————-

Len knew what he was doing when he went to the Oculus and took Mick’s place: he was signing his own death warrant.

Which, he supposes, makes waking up a surprise.

Not quite as big a surprise as waking up…small.

And noticeably inhuman.

There’s also a rat in front of him.

Sort of.

The rat’s kind of…skeletal. And wearing some sort of dark cloak and clutching at what appears to be a match-sized scythe as it stands on its hind legs.

But those eyes – the bright, bright blue of the Oculus, glinting distantly inside the rat’s skull – are rather unmistakable.

SQUEAK, the rat says apologetically.

Len blinks. “What do you mean, ‘oops’?” he demands.

EEK, the rat says. SQUEAK. SQUEAK.

“Yes, I am damn well going to take it personally! You kept me from dying in a rat body?!”

The rat shrugs helplessly. SQUEAK.

“What do you mean, he was busy?”

The rat gestures effusively.

Len snorts. “Well, in that case. But seriously, what do I do now?”

SQUEAK.

“Yeah, good point. Not really your area of expertise, is it?”

The rat reaches out and solemnly nuzzles Len’s shoulders.

Len can’t help but smile. “Aw,” he says. “Thanks.”

SQUEAK. The rat thought about it for a second. EEK.

“Yeah, see you soon but not too soon. Got it.”

He blinks, and the rat is gone.

Leaving Len alive.

But also a rat.

Damnit.

Well, some life is better than no life. Only question is, what to do now?

He finds his answer quick enough when the smell of something incredibly familiar – dark, smoky, the scent of detergent mixed with a faint smell of something fresh, like hay – sweeps by. He’s not sure what it is, but he follows it right up until he finds himself staring at a boot.

Len might not have recognized Mick’s now-incredibly-enhanced scent, but he definitely knows his boots.

It’s Mick!

Which means, of course, that the Waverider is close by.

Time to get some help.

Sadly, this is easier said than done. He makes his way onto the Waverider – success! He’s not trapped in whatever-the-hell era, getting fleas! – but after that…

Len’s first attempt at communicating with Gideon does not work, because apparently he only speaks in squeaks now.

She does offer him peace terms after he disables the first three cleaning-bots she sends after him.

Len squeaks in acceptance, then goes to raid the food cabinet. He’s really hyper as a rat, he’s noticed; far more bouncing and inclined to be excitable about things.

Being a rat is an adventure, but all things considered, he really needs to figure out a way to communicate with the humans on the Waverider.

Well, at first.

Then he wants to punch the people on the Waverider, because seriously, is he the only one who can tell that Mick’s depressed? And that everyone’s ‘teasing’ isn’t doing his mental state any favors?

Apparently so.

Of course, just as Len is starting to think about what he can do other than leaving droppings in Sara’s weaponry and Ray’s tech – crass and immature, yes, but Len’s like that – Ray ends up being shrunk down and stuck that size.

Len can’t resist barreling after him with his best imitation of the rock in Indiana Jones, just with larger teeth.

Ray flees in extremely gratifying terror.

Of course, it doesn’t last. Ray gets his growing mojo back – and promptly tracks Len down.

Luckily, the boy scout – sorry, eagle scout – is too soft to actually exterminate him. He puts him in a cage instead.

And gives him to Mick as a present.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Len says to his partner, who makes a kissy-face at him.

It is kind of nice to have Mick caring for him again. Mick always did care more about eating at regular times and making sure they had somewhere decent to sleep, and this is kind of like that, with Mick getting him a nice soft pillow and making his own wood shavings for Len to play in and feeding him on the regular.

Okay, the trick training sessions are new, but what the hell. It’s not the dumbest thing Len’s done for Mick’s treats.

Besides, Mick’s delight when Len actually plays dead is worth every last bit of humiliation. Even when he goes around the ship showing everybody how smart his rat is.

He makes a point to crawl into the pockets of Mick’s time-appropriate outfits.

That’s how he ends up in a war zone, squeaking – quite indignantly – “That’s not me! What the hell! What did they do to me?! I’d never say that!”

Evil Leonard stalks off, leaving Mick behind, sore and confused by the punch to the face.

“He’s not a hallucination!” Len squeaks angrily. “He’s an asshole!”

It doesn’t help, of course. Mick notices him and pulls him out, petting him a bit. Len’s noticed that that relaxes Mick, the act of stroking; he’s definitely getting Mick a real therapy animal when he’s back to himself. Feels really good on Len’s part, too.

“That was weird, right?” Mick whispers to him. “That he hit me? How could I have hallucinated that?”

“Brainwashing,” Len suggests. “Cognitive intrusion. That thing you did with Rip. Hologram. Possibly Earth-whatever version. Because that is definitely not me.”

And then Stein is a jerk and the Legends are jerks and Mick is having a very bad time and suddenly he’s making very bad decisions.

“No!” Len squeaks. “Don’t do the thing! Ignore evil me! He’s…okay, he’s right about the Legends being dicks to you. 100% right on that front. But seriously! Not me!”

Mick changes sides.

A blind man could’ve seen it coming, but apparently the Legends didn’t.

Len’s just happy he’s safely in Mick’s pocket, angrily gnawing on the little wood matchstick Mick has shoved in there.

Stupid evil Len. Mick probably misses Len so much, trapped as he is among the Legends, that he’s letting his heart make decisions instead of his brains.

If Len finds his alternate self, he’s gonna bite him.

Unfortunately, they get straight to the point.

The spearpoint.

Len sniggers.

“Is that a mouse?” Damien says, scowling at Len.

Len tries to flip him off with his little ratty paws.

“His name’s Axl,” Mick tells him. “He’s mine.”

Damien snorts. “You brought a pet?”

“He has the plague,” Mick says. “Want to hold him?”

Damien backs off.

Gooooo, Mick!

And then Merlyn comes back with the spear and everyone’s practically jerking each other off with all the compliments and everything – ew, mental image, scrub scrub scrub…okay, it’s kinda weird that when Len thinks that, he automatically raises his paws and scrubs at his head.

But then they all circle up on the spear and Merlyn starts chanting and wow, this is such a bad idea but Len slips out of Mick’s pocket and goes over to wrap his body around the base of the spear and thinks, as hard as he can, Let me come back to Mick. Let me still be with him.

He ends up in a cage with Ray Palmer, but he’s in the same building as Mick.

That’s…something?

Maybe he should’ve been more specific.

Of course, it all goes terribly wrong soon enough – Mick coming in looking wretched, like he’s seen a ghost and possibly betrayed that ghost, along with what’s-his-name, the annoying one – and Mick explains that he’s made a terrible mistake by choosing the Legion –

Yes! Good! Evil Len zero, real Len…also zero, but at least evil Len doesn’t have Mick anymore!

- and then they all punch him, which is less good.

Mick does put Len back into his pocket, though. Len’s staying close this time.

Close enough to see the entire clusterfuck of them going back in time to meet themselves.

Close enough to see evil Len kill Mick.

Len scampers out of Mick’s pocket, intent on revenge of some sort, but the past version of Mick manages it first, blasting him with the heat gun. The look in his eyes –

It’s like he’s given up. Given up everything.

“Mick, it’s not me,” Len says. He might be begging a little. “Don’t let him taint your memory of me. I was never like this. I swear.”

Mick doesn’t reply.

Of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand Len’s squeaking.

They capture the Legion and put them in the brig.

“What’re you going to do?” Amaya asks Mick.

He shakes his head. His shoulders are slumped. “I’m going to put him back,” he says. He sounds so tired. So lost. So defeated. And it’s all Len’s fault. Evil Len, anyway. “I’m gonna tell him – I’m gonna tell him that I’ll put him on the right path. The path to being a better person. The path to saving all of you. And then I’m going to wipe his memory and let him go.”

Terrible plan, since that is not Len and he will mess up the goddamn timeline.

They drop off the others first, Darkh and Merlyn and all.

Personally, Len thinks that dropping Merlyn off at all is stupid. He’s from the same era as them; they could totally kill him without consequence to the timeline.

Mick swallows and goes to the brig.

“Come to take care of me?” evil Len drawls.

“Oh, shut up,” Len squeaks, and crawls out of Mick’s pocket.

“I’m here to – hey, buddy, where do you think you’re going?” Mick asks, noticing Len’s steady path down his trousers.

“Now you notice,” Len grumbles, and evades Mick’s reaching hands to dart into the brig where evil Len sits, body tense and eyes narrow.

“I owe you a bite,” Len tells him. “You asshole. I can’t believe any version of me would kill Mick. Any version of Mick.”

“Nice pet,” evil Len says, and reaches forward lazily as if to pet him.

“Shut up,” Mick says.

“Bite me. Literally,” Len says, and darts forward to sink his teeth into evil Len’s skin.

There is a sudden glowing bright blue light all around.

Len is, in fact, floating in a circle of blue light.

“Why am I floating?” he asks.

I’M TRYING TO FIX A MISTAKE. Some great big hollow voice, like piled up coffins falling over each other, but it sounds rather sheepish. The tall figure with its skeletal face and its robes and its scythe looks pretty sheepish, too. It’s all in the Oculus-blue squint of his eyes. THE GRIM SQUEAKER HAS BEEN LECTURING ME ABOUT IT. THIS SEEMED LIKE AN APPROPRIATE MOMENT.

SQUEAK, Death of Rat says encouragingly.

“Fair enough,” Len says and floats his way into evil Len’s chest, Beauty and the Beast style.

There’s a great big flash of light and suddenly, Len’s blinking at a gaping Mick.

Blinking with human eyes.

“Oh thank fucking god,” Len says with relief. “Can you understand me?”

“Uh,” Mick says. “Yeah. What’d you do to my rat?”

“Nothing,” Len says. “I think we…merged?”

YOUR ORIGINAL SELF HAS RETURNED TO THE TIME STREAM.

Mick suddenly stands very, very straight. He must have heard him this time, too.

“Thanks,” Len tells them, with a special nod to Death of Rats.

DON’T MENTION IT. EVER. REALLY. A pause. THANKS FOR DESTROYING THE OCULUS. IT WAS EXTREMELY ANNOYING.

Len waves a hand.

“What just happened?” Mick says.

“I’m back,” Len says happily. “Also, I can’t believe you ever thought that asshole was me. Same pretty face, sure, but he was a dick.”

“He was.” Mick sounds a bit dazed. “And you’re…”

“Leonard Snart, post-Oculus, thank you very much.”

“And…Axl?”

“…also me,” Len says. “Never tell anyone.”

“I’m hallucinating,” Mick says weakly.

“No, but I am going to go give the Legends a piece of my mind,” Len says, trying to get up.

He frowns.

Something is wrong.

“Uh, Len? You want to stand up on two legs?”

Oh, right.

“Sorry,” Len says. “The rat thing. You get used to it.”

“Is that why you did the playing dead trick?” Mick asks. “Wait. You did the playing dead trick!”

“Never mention it to anybody,” Len says.

He’s having some trouble getting himself up right, so Mick reaches down and pulls him up.

It’s nice.

Len smiles at him. “Missed you, partner,” he says. “Also, never tell anyone I said that, either. I got a reputation to maintain.”

“Len,” Mick croaks, suddenly believing, and he pulls him into a great big hug. Len permits himself to return it. No one’s looking. “Lenny.”

“Sorry it took me so long,” Len says. “Gideon wouldn’t believe I wasn’t a rat.”

Mick shakes his head. “I don’t care,” he says. “I don’t.”

“Gideon, confirm that the timeline is back to normal?” Len says.

“Confirmed, Mr. Snart. Your past self is back in the warehouse where you had originally been picked up, lacking any memory of what happened here.”

“You’re back,” Mick says.

“Yeah.”

“Your hair is fluffy.”

“I…don’t know why that is,” Len says. He thinks about it for a second. “But you can still pet it.”

“What?”

“Pet it,” Len says encouragingly. “It’s fluffy. You like petting fluffy things. You were very good at it when I was a rat.”

Mick starts laughing, his eyes wet, and pulls Len in again for another hug.

Len resigns himself to yelling at the Legends later.

He’s got a partner to take care of.