#and then tie a rope to his leg similar like he did you and bring him to a cliff

[knific]

trophy the flying buddy

[bonny-kookoo]

Sing to me: JJK x Reader 🔞

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Mermaid AU, Siren!Jungkook, Prince!Jungkook, homeless!Reader, Romance,  Smut duh

Wordcount: 5k (medium)

Tags/Warnings: okay so, spoiled kook, possessive kook, Theres literally an attempted murder lol, drowning? whoops, blood oh no, reader is hella fucking dense ok, biting, courting lol, fish boy is in love, whoops, anyways we got sexy times too, because in this AU fishboy got legs n all of that hah, unprotected sex because, guys pls this ain't supposed to he realistic, wrap it before you tap it folks, its also not all that filthy lol, blink and you'll miss the scene, honestly I didn't include much smut because yall nasty so you will ask for dirty drabbles anyways, not that I mind lol, k I'm done I think, wow mom I've sinned less than usual..

Summary: Help me love myself, and I might learn to love you as well.

Or alternatively: you save Jungkook from being killed, and he totally gets the wrong signals. But he's cute, so its fine. Probably.

Jungkook is floating.

He thinks about what lies above the waves, and cant think of anything he really finds interesting. The surface is littered in junk, in things humans leave behind without thinking twice about it. It's air is thick and stuffy, hard to breathe and never clear at all. It's crowded, with creatures who at the end of the day all look the same in his eyes. There's nothing exciting about the world people walk on.

Its boring, and dirty.

His own home is, compared to that, a kingdom radiating like the moon itself. It shines and sparkles, and harbors some of the most beautiful creatures ever to be found. He and his family, as well as everyone else, live in peace with nature down underneath the waves, existing side by side instead of trying to gain the upper hand all the time.

And he's reminded of the cruelty of man, when he finds himself caught in a net.

He's somehow made the fishermen drop it instead of pulling him up on their boat. But that doesn't mean he's free- he's still struggling with it, fighting it, but he cant rip it apart. All he does really, is tie the knots tighter, have them dig into his skin until spots are rubbed raw. He can't really swim anywhere at this point, gives up as he can see the last lights of his distant home fade into the distance.

Jungkook is floating.

He's slowly being led by the waves, by the love of wind and waters, as he closes his eyes. Its a pity, really; for a prince held so high to die by the mere hands of the poor, he thinks. It's upsetting him, very much so, but he takes it as it is. There's nothing he can do anyways, as he slowly comes into contact with the sand below. It washes him up onto short, the dry sand sticking to his body, waves pushing him higher and higher onto the ground.

He shivers, the cold outside air biting at his skin now unsheltered and defenseless.

He doesn't know how long he lays there.

But at some point, steps are heard on the sand. He keeps his eyes closed, doesn't care about what will happen next- he really just wants to have it be over by now, the ropes already painfully burning his skin at certain spots. He's sure theres sand in his wounds as something touches him- warm fingers, hesitant, and almost shy.

He keeps his eyes closed.

"My god, I hate humans.." You mutter under your breath, your voice hitting his ears, making him notice the way it sounds. He thinks it sounds very similar to some of his kind; sirens being blessed with voices sweet and enchanting. Maybe you were one of the strays who had decided to live on the surface for some reason? But your smell was entirely human, although much sweeter and pleasant than anyone he'd met before. And then, after a small short moment of pain-

He's free.

His arms flop to his side, and he breathes in deeply- finally able to fully move again. His eyes open, and adjust to the night for a moment, before they meet yours.

How interesting.

"Jungkook?" Jimin asks him, curious to what has gotten the young Siren so occupied. Typically, Jungkook would be watching the annual kingdom dances with at least some form of interest; even if it was just a glimpse of it, just to make his parents worry less about him misbehaving. But today, as the graceful dancers move around to the orchestra playing, the young prince is absolutely not there. At least not mentally. "Jungkook." The older one scolds, getting Jungkooks attention- his gaze hard and annoyed. "Please, young prince- at least try to pretend you're interested. This is after all part of our culture." He strategically uses his title as teasing- something which makes Jungkook snort without any fun.

"I really don't want to be here." He explains, and Jimin sighs. "I'd rather be at the surface.." He mumbles, being careful not to be too loud- but Jimin does pick it up, and so does his partner, Taehyung, next to him- now leaning a bit forward to hear better.

"Oh?" Jimin asks. "What could be of interest there, I wonder?" He teases, and Jungkook grows even more irritated.

"Nothing that should interest a whore like you." He says harshly, though Jimin knows he means no harm with it. Jimin is, after all, a man who enjoys the simple pleasures in life- which is why he can't quite grasp why Jungkook, a young man in his prime like himself, doesn't seem to care about whats going on around him.

"Hm, but I think she must be absolutely divine if you're willing to risk the wrath of your own mother just to see her." He says, and Taehyung snickers next to him, clearly amused.

But to both of their surprise, Jungkook grows.. calm. Theres even a glimpse of a smile on his lip as he rests his head on his head, elbow on the armrest of his throne. "That she is." He says, quietly, as he watches the young woman in front of him. He has to imagine you there instead, moving oh so gracefully to the sounds of his Kingdom's greatest musicians- dressed in the most beautiful gown he'd gift you. "That she is.." He repeats, a dreaming look on his face that Jimin has not seen before.

Jungkook watches you.

He enjoys watching you on your daily trips to the beach, picking up cans and bottles, and other things people throw away without care. You're cleaning up the beach, and he thinks its a very good behavior- he likes the way you always carefully scan the ground and sides for any garbage. He swims a little closer as he spots you squatting down; eyes lighting up as you pick up a shell he'd personally not care much for. It's slightly pink- but nothing he hasn't seen in his life. They're so common, and he suddenly thinks that if this already makes you happy, what if he was to bring you something else? Something better, something more worth your attention?

He feels a rush of excitement.

Dashing into the opposite direction, he makes his way towards the ground below, eyes scanning the ground as he searches for something. He spots it after a few minutes of searching, but when he holds the pearl, he hesitates.

Its not enough.

No, that's not what you should get. He's only paying back his dept, yeah, that's what he's doing. But what if he was overdoing it by bringing you something too expensive or rare? No, he should be smart about it, yeah. Start small, and work your way up he thinks, as he takes the pearls he's collected while deep in thought, and pushes himself back to the top, swimming easily. He hopes you're still there-

And there you are, dipping your feet into the water.

He looks at what he can see; only able to see clearly underneath the waves rather than above. There's a bracelet hanging around your ankle, and it looks cheap, he thinks. It only helps him by giving him ideas for his next gifts- if you would accept his first, that is. He's never been rejected before, but then again, has always rejected instead. Nothing had interested him to the extend you did. Maybe you really were of his kind, secretly.

When he slowly brings his head up the waves, you don't get scared, or flinch. You simply look, spot him, and smile.

He likes that expression.

He comes closer, free hand helping him onto the stone you sit on, his hand holding your gift eagerly pushing against yours. You understand quickly, and open them, and he smiles. You're smart, he notes, and it only adds to your qualities, he thinks. Dropping the pearls, your eyes sparkle again- as they should, he thinks with pride. You inspect them with big eyes, as if you've never seen something alike. He enjoys your reaction- and you nod at him. "Thank you- are they for me to keep?" You ask, pointing to them, and then at your chest. He's not fully fluent in human language, but has picked up on some words and phrases, since Seokjin had recently strayed- teaching him some stuff whenever he got bored and visited his younger brother.

So Jungkook nods. "You." He says, and you like the sound of his voice; fittingly just as handsome as the rest of him, you think. But then again- his kind is known for its beauty and enchanting voices. "Keep." He tells you, pushing your closed palm a bit closer to your body as if to underline his statement. You think its cute, in a way.

"Okay." You say. "I'll keep them-?" You ask, and he doesn't understand, until you point to yourself, and say a name- yours, he supposes.

"Ah-" He starts, pointing to himself. "Jungkook. Jeon, Jungkook." He tells you, and you nod, smiling.

"It's nice to meet you, Jeon Jungkook." You smile, and he grins back, slightly sharpened canines in stark contrast with his bunny-like smile.

He thinks its nice to meet you too.

"But you're a witch, aren't you?" Jungkook argues, staring at Taehyung. "I thought you were all so capable." He challenges, and Taehyungs eyes darken- quite literally, since sea witches do technically have black eyes- but conceal them, as to not scare off people. He regains his composure however when Jimins hand lays on his shoulder.

"Now now, no need to become huffy." He says. "He didn't say he can't do it- he simply told you that its not that easy." He explains, and Jungkook sighs, rolling his eyes. Ever the spoiled prince, they think to themselves.

"I don't care about that." He states. "Can you do it, or can you not?" He asks, and Taehyung thinks for a moment.

"I.." He begins, before he sighs. "I can. But, there's a catch, Jungkook." He tells him, and this time, the youngest of the group seems just as serious as he listens. "I can't promise that.. the result will be what you will expect." He says.

"What do you mean?" Jungkook asks.

"There's a chance she won't survive it."

He doesn't think much about why you're so often sitting on that rocky structure close to the deep- he likes not having to get out of the water to be close to you. And you think, Jungkook is quite the interesting being.

He’s curious; that much you can tell. His hands rest on your knees, your toes sometimes brushing against his abdomen as he swims closer- face coming forward to properly look at you. His vision must be bad outside of the waters you assume, his brown eyes squinting in concentration until he huffs and let’s himself back into the waters. You chuckle, and simply take off your jacket, slipping into the water as well as you control your breath- his entire face brightening at your body now underwater in his world, finally clear to see for his eyes.

You’re pretty, he thinks, definitely prettier than any other human he’d encountered before. The clothes covering your breasts and private parts a bit dull and boring for his taste- but he’d change that soon. He smiles, happy, before holding up his finger as if to signal for you to wait before he swims away, elegantly and fast. You swim up to breath some air, catch your breath, until there’s a hand around your calf, holding, fingers running over the skin, signaling you to come down again. You follow his question, taking a deep breath to meet him underneath the surface; his excited hands wrapping something around your neck, before he swims in circles as if he’s suddenly got too much energy. You point to yourself, as if to ask if you can keep it- and he nods, wide eyes watching you with a smile that you can’t help but mirror.

You don't quite realize what he's doing.

He however thinks you know. You know that he's courting you, and you're interested in him. You know that he's just given you more than a simple gift. He only believes you're letting him work for it- something he happily does, taking on the challenge as always. He swims closer, holds your shoulders, as his eyes look into yours, his gaze happy and child-like almost. He's close to finally showing you affection- but you suddenly swim to the surface instead.

And even though he knows you only wanted to breathe, he can't help but feel slightly sour at the ruined moment.

"You're awfully happy these days." His mother says, watching her son in the gardens of the palace. "May I ask what has gotten you in such a bright mood?" She asks, and Jungkook doesn't quite know how to break it to her. He knows its not forbidden, knows it has, and does, happen each and every day it seems- but there's still fear inside of him. Theres still hesitation, even though he is not ashamed of what has happened- of what he has done. His mother however notices. "You know you can trust me, right?" She says, and he nods.

Its now or never.

"I've found a mate." He says, and his mother smiles warmly, holding his cheek as she kisses it in congratulation. "Its a human." He says, quietly, hurried- but his mother continues to smile.

"I have suspected as much." She states. "Your friend- Park Jimin- is not very good at talking quietly." She snickers, and Jungkook curses under his breath about how he wants to strangle him. Theres a huge weight lifted off of him however; finally having said it, made it very real to him, in a way- even though it was already.

Because, after all; you were wearing his kingdom's sigil around your neck already. He had claimed you.

He's restless the next time he swims to the shore to meet you again- eager to see you to give you the news of his family's acceptance.

You're late- later than usual, and his brows are furrowed, mood upset at your mannerism. You're usually always on time, always just as eager to see him he thinks- but this time, you're not there. After his anger however, he grows increasingly worried instead. What if something had happened to you instead? Oh what a bad person he would be to be mad at you for getting into an unfortunate situation. As guilt slowly makes his way into his body, claims his muscles, he moves to sit on the stone he usually finds you on. He tries to look around- rain on his skin making it possible to be out way more comfortably.

He spots movement above.

Theres a person he can't make out- throwing something off the cliff down into the sea, and Jungkook clicks his tongue in anger, already upset- but still curious on what it was the person had been so eager to discard. Typically, its tiny things or plastic he finds- but this is something else, he knows.

Underwater, he smells blood.

His pupils contract, eyes widening, as he spots the black bag slowly making its way to the bottom of the sea- red trail leading from it. Its not the blood however that makes him frantic- its the smell of it, of you, that stops his heart.

He gets you out the bag, his anger over the entire situation diminishing into nothing as he holds you close, eyes spotting the deep cut on your side, and the scratches on your face. Unsure where to bring you, he holds you close, brings you onto his back as one of his hands hold yours, your arms around his neck. He swims quickly to the only place he knows you can breathe.

The underwater cave is big enough for now, he thinks, as he brings your body onto the ground, out the water. He doesn't notice he's crying, doesn't quite speak, his native language of clicking sounds and little noises escaping him as he whines out for your attention, waiting for you to wake up somehow. He's been so invested in making you like him and accept him that he's got no idea what to do with a human. Are you cold? How can he warm you up? How does he stop bleeding wounds? How much can you bleed before you die? Are you already dying?

Jungkook doesn't know what to do. So he simply lays by your side, holding you close, in hopes his slightly higher body temperature can keep you warm.

"He's doing the best he can-" Jimin says, Seokjin next to Taehyung as they both lean over your body. Both witches are concentrated, already exhausted, but there's no way they're giving up on you now. Not only because you're important to Jungkook- but because no one deserves to simply die like this.

"I know, I know!" Jungkook huffs out, pupils turned into cat like slits- a clear sign of the absolute terror and chaos inside of him. "What if they're best isn't good enough? Jimin, I can't loose her, you don't understand-" He starts, but Jimin holds the younger one's shoulders, for the first time serious with him.

"I do." He glances at Taehyung. Jimin had saved Taehyung before as well- the young sea witch having been hit by a fisherman's harpoon years ago. Ever since then, Jimin had been attached to the witch like glue. "Trust me, I really do. And they're doing all they can to make sure she's going to be fine." He promises, and Jungkook nods.

All he can do is pray.

When you wake up, there's several things you notice.

First, you're alive. Having a raging headache, and your limbs and muscles feel horribly tender, but you're alive. There's also strings of rope tied to two rock formations acting like a clothing line, several blankets and clothes hanging from it. They don't look human-made to you- the fabrics and designs not something you would think of as regular. There's a bucket and several stained rags- now copper-brown with old blood. Its then that you look down, seeing your cut sewed shut.

You also notice its rather soft underneath you.

Its sheepskin laid over seaweed you notice- the whool soft and fluffy, and warm. Everything seems to be so thoughtfully placed, even some decorative items- you can spot fireflies casually sitting in a jar close by, and burned wood, probably to . Probably to make light during the night. You're tired however, so you simply lay down again. Quite honestly, surely you should fee worried about the situation- but then again, there was no one to miss you, no place you called your home anyways. No use in worrying- because deep down, you had your suspicion.

A Jungkook swims to the surface with the plastic box in his arms, he's careful not to throw it too hard onto the ground. As he steps out the water, he's sure to at least try and his his hands of most the water before he goes to check on the blankets he had brought this early morning. They've dried enough, he notices, and is glad about that, as he picks one up.

You don't have to be cold anymore, he thinks.

He's unnaturally careful for his typical character- his usual behavior quite the opposite as it was now. Now, he's making sure you're properly tucked in, as he notices your eyes watching him.

He freezes, for a moment.

Jungkook hasn't really thought much about what would happen if you were to wake up- after all, Seokjin had told him he was unsure if you were to wake up this early in the first place, and Taehyung didn't even know if you would wake up at all. He'd told his younger brother to be prepared for any reaction really; fear, confusion, maybe even anger. But you seem calm, curious even, and Jungkook decides to sit down in front of your face, waiting.

"You brought me here, right?" You ask, and he nods, eyes not leaving your form.

"You-.. hurt." He points to the spot where your wound had been. "Also hurt." His hand points to your head. "Brothers, helped." He informs you, and you smile, nodding at his words. He suddenly looks at the ground, mumbling. "I.. worried. Thought... you, dying." He tells you, and you sit up slowly again, keeping the blanket around your shoulders.

"I'm not dead though." You say, and he nods. "Thank you, Jungkook. Now we're even." You say, and he tilts his head in confusion- a mannerism you could only think of as cute. "I saved you- you saved me." You say, and he smiles, nodding.

"I-" He starts, leaning forward a bit, now way more energetic and lighthearted as before. "I- we-" He growls a little in frustration, and you cant help but giggle at his troubles- the chirps and clicks escaping him foreign- but somehow, they feel hazy, as if your mind knows the language, but has forgotten what it meant. He's trying so hard you notice, and appreciate. "You like here?" He asks, and points around. You nod, and he beams at you. "I made." He tells you, proudly so.

"I guessed as much. Its very thoughtful of you, thank you." You say, and he nods, happy you like what he did for you. Its not a permanent solution, obviously, but as soon as you're healed well enough, he already planned a new spot for you to come with him.

You just don't know it yet.

There's a weird feeling inside of you.

It's like homesickness, you think. Every time you look at the waters, you feel- sad? It's making you uneasy, and with every day passing by, it just gets worse and worse. But it's today, that you cant take it.

When you dip your legs into the water, it soothes an ache you can't recognize ever having. It helps your skin, it somehow feels as if you're breathing again. But It's not enough, you think- before you let yourself fall into the deep end.

You're floating.

It's like leaving a stuffy and crowded mall, just to stand in a park, fresh air after it had rained, and light breeze clearing your head. Everything is silent, but not at the same time- the water around you feeling as if you're being hugged, held. It makes you relax, makes you let go, makes you only exist for a moment.

You're floating.

And there's a sudden wave of realization that you're also breathing. There's no water in your lungs- or maybe there is, and you just don't feel it being there. Darkness surrounds you as you don't know where you are exactly- theres no telling where is where, no way to know if you're upright or not. Maybe you've died?

Did you drown?

If you did, it would explain Jungkook being there. He's swimming towards you with a face full of worry, as he grabs your wrist and holds you close. "I can't even let you out of my sight for a mere day it seems, my love." He sighs, and your eyes widen. Its almost comedic how his own do the same, focusing on your neck, as he touches.

You're sensitive, and shift away from his touch.

"It-" He starts, now holding your shoulders, as he begins to smile. "It worked! It really did- by the dragon kind, you look absolutely divine!" He laughs, and can't help but hold your hands, eyes roaming your appearance, as you don't quite get it- until you follow his gaze.

Just like him, there's fins now on the sides of your calfs, smaller ones on your ankles as well. Theres also ones decorating your outer forearms- they look like the ones you'd always see on goldfish as a kid. There's something alike to scales as well, but barely noticable. "I- what happened to me?" You ask, and Junkook smiles.

"You.. almost died." He admits, taking your hand and swimming to what you assume is back towards the cave. "You had been robbed during the day, and when I found you.. well, you know what happened." He says. "While you were asleep, we were thinking about what to do. There was no way you would survive as a human- so, a friend of mine- Taehyung- performed a ritual, together with Seokjin, my brother." He says. You finally spot light, glad to be able to have at least some form of orientation. "I'm glad you're adjusting so quickly, my love." He states, smiling at you.

You notice the petname again.

"Jungkook-" You start, as you both reach the cave again, sitting on the edge of where the ground of the cave meets the water. "Why are you.. calling me that?" You ask, and Jungkook seems confused.

"Why do you ask?" He questions. And you don't quite follow, until he continues. "You're my mate- I am only addressing you as such."

Your eyes widen. "Wait- we're-" You start, and its only then that it clicks in Jungkooks head.

"Oh." He says- the dissapointment bitter and evident in his voice. "You.. didn't know?" He asks, and you shake your head, unsure what he means. "I see.." He tells you, suddenly distant. "I.. will bring you breakfast tomorrow.. sleep well." He abruptly says, and before you can say anything, he's already gone.

What just happened?

"There you are!" A voice says, deeper than Jungkooks, but not unfamiliar. Taehyung had been visiting and bringing you food and nescessities ever since that talk with Jungkook. This time, however, Taehyung seems like he wants to say something. You look at him, silently urging him, and he sits down next to you, sighing.

"Does he hate me?" You ask, quietly, and Taehyung looks sad.

"He could never." He says. "He just.. didn't take the rejection well. He'll need time to come around. It won't take that much time- his mother is already trying to get a new partner for him." He explains, and your head whips around towards him. "I- you.. did reject him, right?" He asks, slowly. "You do.. not love him, right?" He urges again, and you groan suddenly, throwing your face into your hands.

"Oh my god I'm so stupid.." You say. "It all.. everything was so overwhelming, I didn't even notice what he was doing." You cry into your hands, as Taehyungs hand places itself onto your back, trying to soothe you. "I though.. especially after I found out about his status.." You mumble. "How could he want me?" You ask, and Taehyung sighs.

"Head up, little siren." He says. "He's still able to hear you sing, if you want to." He says, and you look at him.

"But how?" You say. "I have no idea where the kingdom, or anything really is. And he won't come see me until its too late." You say.

"Well-" Taehyung says, standing up, and holding out his hand. "-allow me to escort the future princess to her lover."

"How did you find me?" He simply asks, not turning around, as you float closer. "I'm sorry, but I still need time to.. get over-" He starts, but you don't let him finish, instead leaning into his back, your arms around his middle.

"I'm stupid." You say. "I'm really, really stupid." He shakes his head, but you continue. "Just because I didn't realize- doesn't mean that I don't feel anything for you." You say. "I just.. felt unworthy, I guess. Insignificant." You admit, and he turns around, holding your face in his hands.

"You really are not gifted with the mind of the dragons king, my love." He states teasingly, the glimmer in his eyes returning. "My status means nothing to me, if that meant I could not have you." He says, and you lean forward, capturing his lips. "I hope you know what this meant, at least." He teases, and your eyes widen, scared you might've done something wrong. "It means you love me." He says, and you chuckle.

"Good." You say. "Because I do."

Even though he thinks you looked like a goddess reborn in your white and pearl decorated gown from the wedding, he enjoys you without it, close to him, just as much. He's alive, he's feeling, he's in love, as his hands move over your skin, his senses filled with you and nothing else.

The sounds you make for him are sweeter than any siren's song he's ever heard or could ever sing himself. No member of his kind is as enchanting as you, he decides, as he bites and kisses the sensitive skin of your neck. Jimin had teased him relentlessly the entire evening and night by trying to send you sweet words, to which you didn't react- but that didn't mean that it didn't piss him off.

You were his.

His princess- and soon to be queen, one day.

And he's planning on making that very evident, as he marks up your skin with little bites, visible for everyone to see. He wants everyone to know, even though by tomorrow, the entire Kingdom will celebrate the marriage of its prince anyways. He's more than ready to show you off, to hold you close, to have people see the divine being at his side that's you.

It's only natural for his hands to roam your skin, for his lips to worhip every inch it seems, as you reach out for his hand every second it leaves you. It's painfully endearing he thinks, how you can be so innocent and pure, while he's between your legs, performing the sinful act of pleasuring you with his mouth.

You pull him towards you, as you straddle his waist, leaning down to kiss him. He's in god's divine lands he thinks, as he suddenly feels you sinking down on his awaiting length. You fit around him perfectly, more so than he could've ever imagined. And as you both move, he holds you close, happy that here, in his world, he doesn't need to breathe.

He can kiss you as long as he wants.

(c)Bonny-Kookoo. I spilled strawberry milk on my poor laptop while writing this.

[cazzyvintage]

Wine Red

Synopsis: You prepare a fun evening for Zemo after he gets back from his work

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings/Tags: Switch reader and switch Zemo, Cuffs, Rope, Smut, Fingering, Blindfold, Vaginal sex, unsafe sex, blow job, kinky, Romantic smut

FOR MATURE READERS

Also posted on my ao3 account, under the same name

You smiled as the last candle lit up. You tiptoe across the floor, careful not to disturb the rose petals you had scattered on the floor, or knocking over one of the many candles that covered the floor in a heart-shaped pattern. You jump over to the bed, sitting down on the red satin that covers it. You glanced over to the wine that laid in the ice bucket debating if you should open it early but you decide against it. Instead, you grab Zemo’s coat, the one with the fur collar which you had stolen from him, and draped it over your body which you were only wearing red victoria secret lace underwear on. You lied back on the bed, your head on the pillows anticipating what’s coming when Zemo enters through the door. Zemo often had to work late into the evening because of his business, which left you at home alone a lot. You didn’t mind; you found things to keep you occupied, but when he came back home, you wanted to spend every moment with him making up for the time you lost.

You don’t have to wait long till you hear the front door open and close and footsteps slowly come up the stairs. You sit upwards, eyes locked on the door as it opens.

Zemo slowly walks in, his eyes lighting up as he sees you. He cheekily grins at you as his eyes rake up and down your body.

“So that’s what happened to my coat”

Zemo was wearing his formal clothes, black tailored trousers, a white dress shirt with a tie around it. He had already shrugged his suit jacket off and was holding it in his arm. You could feel yourself warming up at just seeing how tight fitted the shirt was to Zemo. It showed off the slight muscles he has built up and complimented his figure.

“I think the coat suits me,” you reply, shaking your shoulders at him, making the coat move slightly on your body, the fur shaking under your chin.

Zemo places his suit jacket on a chair at the side, then gets onto the bed, crawling over you till he is hovering over your legs.

He places kisses on them, moving upwards to your underwear. You throw your head back in pleasure as you feel the light kisses gently trail up your legs. He glances up, “Is there a special occasion I have forgotten”

“No occasion, I just wanted some fun”

You reach forward grasping onto his tie and pulling him forward till he is leaning over you. You crash your lips onto his hungrily. Tugging on his thin top lip. He brings his hands up to tangle in your hair, trying to keep your head steady as he delves deeper into the kiss. You flicker your tongue against his lips and he opens them quickly to let you in. He moans slightly as he feels you exploring him passionately. Your tongue intertwining with his, rubbing and prodding it. His hand sneaks down your body, brushing against your underwear. His fingers hooking on the hem of your underwear, wanting to pull them down. You smirk, feeling the bulge in his trousers press against you, knowing his impatience always got the best of him. You pull back from the kiss and push him over till he was laying by the side of you.

“Hey!” he whines from suddenly being deprived of the passion.

“I thought we could have a drink first” you cheekily say, leaning onto your side to grab the wine.

“Such a tease” Zemo whispers, also turning onto his side so he pressed into your back and left a brief kiss on your shoulder as his hand rested on your hip. He then sits up, grabbing the glasses off to the side as you pour the wine.

“How was your day?” you ask after a few minutes of you two cuddling and together drinking.

“It was good. I had to attend some business meetings. You know what about. There was one guy who had some big ideas. I reminded him exactly who had the power there”

“Flaunting the fact you are a Baron again,” you say

“Of course. What’s the point of having the title if I can’t flaunt it”

You place your now empty glass on the side and take Zemo’s glass out of his hand. He raises his eyebrow at you questionably, but grins widely as you push him onto his back and crawl on top of him. Straddling his hips. You shrug the coat off and chuck it to the floor. Your underwear following it.

“Who has the power now?” you ask him as you look down on him. Your hands trail up his body, playing with the tie, but as soon as they reach the collar you aggressively pull the shirt and tie off him, leaving him bare chested.

He shakily breaths out as the bulge in his pants pushes against you. “You, my baroness”

You reach into the draw by the side and pull out a pair of cuffs. Quickly grasping his wrists, you attach the cuffs to them and use the other end of the cuffs to attach them to the headboard.

“And don’t you forget it” you whisper in his ear then kiss him passionately. You could feel the inside of your pants get wetter as you watched Zemo’s hands strain against the cuffs bounding him. His urge to wrap his arms around you was strong, but he also enjoyed being completely vulnerable to you, so he let you take the lead this time. You leave his lips trailing down his body. You trace your tongue along the outline of his abs and when you get to them you place multiple kisses on his v line. Zemo groans, feeling all the blood rush down below.

Tugging at his trousers, you slowly slip them down, leaving him in his boxers. You could see his dick pressing up against the thin fabric. You pull the boxers off, letting it spring loose. It was a suitable length, not too long to hurt, but certainly enough to leave you satisfied. Already some pre cum had leaked out the tip. Gently you hold it in your hand and run your tongue up the side, licking up the pre-cum. Your eyes never leave Zemo’s as he watches you, his chest heaving heavily. You rub your hand along the base and your mouth goes over the top, sucking. Zemo pushes his head back into the pillows, letting at a moan as he thrusts his hips up, making your mouth take in more of his dick. You can feel it hit the back of your throat, you try desperately hard not to gag.

You bop your head up and down, eyes glued on Zemo’s face of delight. His slight moans he let out were music to your ears. His eyes were half closed, his mouth ajar, and a light blush came to his cheeks. Your tongue rested against the side and let it run over the vein that ran up his dick. You could feel him harden in your mouth and his nails dug into his hands as he came close. Chuckling, you pulled away before he could release.

Zemo whined as your denial to him. “You’ll pay for that later y/n” he growls

“We’ll see” you tease climbing back onto him, nipping the skin on his collarbone. Sitting up, you position yourself over his waist and slide onto his dick. You breathe in as you feel him stretch you open, filling you up. Zemo groans, his back arching slightly as he fights his urges to hold on to you as his hands strain in the cuffs. You place your hands on his chest, your nails dragging slightly, to keep you steady as you move your hips in a circular motion and try to move up and down slightly.

Your moans join in with his as you could feel your pleasure rising. Zemo started moving his hips in time with yours, his skin brushing up hardly against your clit, sending pleasure through your brain. You held on tight and you rode up and down on his waist, feeling the knot in your stomach tightening.

“Y/n'' he moaned, and you knew he was close. You could feel him twitch inside of you and then his seed released, squirting into you. You were quick to follow in climaxing, cumming over him as you float onto Cloud 9.

You move off him and collapse beside him, panting heavily. You reach over to Zemo, taking the cuffs off his hands, letting him freely move his arms again.

After laying beside you for a few minutes, Zemo gets off the side of the bed, walking over to the draw to grab something out of a draw. You lean on your side, your eyes admiring his ass as his back is turned to yours.

“Going for a 2nd round are we” you ask smirking, Zemo’s turns his head chuckling seeing where you were staring, “I said you would pay for what you did earlier”

He approaches you again, holding something in his hand. You raise an eyebrow at him curiously, then giggle when you realise what it was.

Zemo grabs his tie that had been discarded on the floor and takes it to your face, covering your eyes and tying it behind your head, taking away your sense of sight. His hands trail up your skin, making you feel tingles. Goosebumps rise on you, being utterly helpless to him.

Being unable to see, he used it to his advantage to touch and kiss you in places before pulling away so you did not know where he would touch next. One moment he was on your neck, then the next moment he was on your thigh.

You could feel yourself getting wetter wanting him and you whined as he teased you. “Have more patience, y/n '' Zemo muttered, pressing a kiss on to your stomach.

He pulls back again; he grabs what he had gotten out of the draw. He grabs your wrists and ties the red rope around them. He attaches them to the headboard, similar to what you had done to him. He takes the rest of the rope and wraps it around your boobs and chest, taking it down to wrap around your tights and tying them to the side of the bed, leaving you spread.

He moves off the bed, leaving you completely vulnerable. “Zemo” you moan out, feeling the urge to want to feel him inside you. Your toes dig into the sheets of the bed.

“Oh, do you want something y/n?” Zemo asks, sounding as if he was across the room

“You know what I want!” You say growling

“I really don’t. Use your sweet words and tell me,” Zemo replies

“Please Zemo”

“Please what?” Zemo asks as you feel the bed dip near the end

“Touch me”

“Like this?” one of his fingers touches your leg, the contact making you jerk. His finger trails up your leg, on your inner thigh but stops short before your core then moves away

“More!” you moan, and he places his hand on your tight, his hands digging into the soft flesh. His other hand reaching up to your core, hovering just outside it.

“Please Zemo, fuck me” you finally beg and you can feel the breath of his chuckle against your tight.

Swiftly one of his fingers entered you, curling inside, making you cry out. He moves it in and out, pushing in as far as he can. He quickly enters one finger, then another after stretching you out. Because of earlier you were really wet allowing him to easily pump his fingers in and out of you, many sounds came out because of it.

Your clit throbs from its desire for attention, making you cry. Zemo knew how you were feeling, but he was waiting for you to say. Finally, you give in crying out, “Zemo please touch my clit”

“If you so wish my Baroness”

Your back arches as you feel his wet tongue come in contact with your clit, twisting around its nub, sending waves of shocks throughout your body. He rocked your world as his fingers worked in and out of you and his mouth sucked on your clit. You strained against the restraints as you felt yourself sweating. You felt the climax coming again, but just like you had with Zemo previously; he pulled away before you were satisfied.

“Zemo!” you groaned, but he didn’t leave you for long. He crawled up till he was over your body and then slipped his dick inside of you. One of his hands wrapped around the side of your neck, squeezing while his other hand fondled your breast. His mouth wrapped around your other breast, sucking on the nipple as he thrusts quickly into you. The force makes your body bob up and down. Your moans grew louder and louder as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten again. Zemo switches giving attention to the other breast. He sucks and slightly grazes his teeth on it making you gasp. Zemo finally leaves your breasts to pull you into a passionate kiss while his other hand goes back to giving your clit some more attention. In doing so, he causes you to orgasm, clenching down on his dick tightly. You moan into his lips as he grunts, thrusting into you. He slightly bites your bottom lip as his thrusts grow less rhythmic and wild till he thrusts one ultimate time, releasing into you once again.

He lies on top of you, panting. He reaches up and takes the tie off you and undo the rope attached to the headboard. You bring your arms over his head, hugging him and closing your eyes, drifting off into a sleep as you hold him close.

Taglist: @multiyfandomgirl40 @there-goes-thefighter @yallgotkik @montypythonsholysnail @bunniwritesx @checkurwindow @huntheimpossible @Jayxkelsi @avgravy @freyjasamael @ineffablebean

[siriusmydeer]

james potter smut alphabet

james potter x fem!reader

a/n: that took from 9:45pm-12:pm then 7am-9:20am THAT TOOK SO LONG OMG

i’m sorry if it’s bad

warning: literally pure sex smut all that jazz

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

that man is the softest dom, literally the DEFINITION. he gives u so many kisses, he praises u, he will shower with you, wash your hair, gives u his clothes LITERALLY THE BEST.

“mhm jamie, too tired” you murmur. your body melting into the mattress as you speak, all worn down. “but, love.” he pushes your hair behind your ears, pulling you up. “gotta get you all nice and clean f’me.”

he pulls you up, his calloused hands gripping onto your thighs, bringing you into the bathroom. the shower already nice and warm ready for the both of you. he’s holding you under the warm water to the point where you might collapse if it wasn’t for his grip.

“you did good love, so so good all f’me.” he says sponging kisses on your forehead, both of his hands on your lower back holding you.

“i love you, my sweets.”

“you’re the only one f’me.”

you were so tired, so vulnerable just allowing james to take care of you because that’s all he wanted to do.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

his biceps, simple. he does A LOT of quidditch training to get to his strength. he also takes pride in being able to just fuck you against the lockers from his strength. it also inflates his ego when he catches you staring at his biceps. or when he’s taking you underneath him your gripping his biceps like your life depended on it.

“james- fuck.” you moaned into his neck, his lips sucking dark hues into your collar bones and his left forearm resting right beside your head and his other gripping around your waist.

he started going slower, but deeper. he hit a new angle inside of you almost hitting your cervix. you let out a strangled moan gripping his bicep almost digging your nails into the flesh.

his head dipping out from beneath your neck to slot your plush reddened lips with his.

that man and you’re THIGHS. he’s a thigh man don’t tell me other wise. whether ur in your school skirt, jeans, leggings, underwear ;) his legs AND HANDS always divert to the soft plush skin of your thigh.

your ankles insticntly went to lock around james’ head, he had been in between your thighs for hours on end without a stop.

“james- i’m gonna cum.” you breathed out in a moan. his hands squeezing at the flesh on your thigh, they were reddened and begging to lightly bruise from him doing those similar actions for the last hour and a half.

“cum darling, cum for me.”

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

so, esentially speaking theres wizard potions to block out pregnancy. so he would be CUMMING INSIDE OF U. not nessesarily a breeding kink but he likes when your full and stuffed with his cum. he also loves to cum on your chest or thighs because he likes the contrast to your skin and he think it makes you so utterly pretty.

the wave of euphoria and stars dancing across your vision had almost come to an end as your boyfriends thrust got sloppy and rigid.

“pretty girl where do you want it, where do you want my cum?” he panted to you, close to his release.

“i want you to cum inside me jamie, please. fill me up.” you let out a small moan at his constant friction when you felt ropes of seed shoot into you, he rode out his orgasam then pulled out. you clenched around nothing as he came face to you cunt.

he pushed his fingers into you, a small moan leaving your mouth as you made eye contact with him.

“gotta keep you all nice and full, yeah?”

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

there’s nothing he would want more than a lap dance. you in you your lingerie you had just bought giving him a little show after one of a quidditch wins. 

“mhm, sit f’me.” you whispered into his ear, placing him to hit at the end of his four poster bed.

“and what have you got going on darling? a suprise?” he said, leaning against his two hands watching you pry at your tie and slip it off.

slowly unbuttoning your school blouse, flinging it on the floor. he lets out a small groan at the sight of you almost naked in your skirt. you walk towards him shuffling onto his lap.

“you did win after all, and winners get rewards.” you said circling your hips onto his clothed cock .

“fuck... the things you do to me.” he groaned into your ear as you continued.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

i’m gonna be honest i don’t think that much when you first get together. i mean there’s been ladies he’s a marauder but he’s only ever wanted to you so i feel like he just gets to know your body really well and he sort of just has instincts. like during your first time there’s those little awkward moments but you both make it run all good and smoothly

“s’gonna hurt y/n.” he murmured to you, situating himself in between your legs as you lock your ankles behind his back.

“i know, but i want this. i want you. i need you inside me.” you whisper in desperation for him, needing to feel him.

“you ready?”

“mhm, please.”

he slowly started to slide into you, when you let out your first hiss of discomfort, he slotted his fingers between yours and slightly halted his movements.

“keep going jamie.” you encouraged

he slid his way into your cunt until he was fully in.

“move please, i need to feel you.” he did his first pulse, light movements when you let an involuntary moan escape the threshold of your lips.

“mhm- jamie, keep going.”

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

missionary bc he just wants to see your beautiful face, against the quidditch lockers so he can just hold you against them or doggy bc he likes to choke you or pull you up so he can see your back arch for him.

you heard the bang of metal as james took you against the quidditch lockers and you tried to muffle your moans against his lips.

“gotta- gotta be quiet love. wouldn’t want anyone to know what we’re doing in here.” he panted into you ear. he continued as he angled your leg higher, hitting you g-spot as he continued his pace.

“james fuck- so good. so fucking good.”

“you look so fucking beautiful like this y/n.”

“j-james i- i cant hold on much longer. s’too much.” you moaned and whimpered from the back of your throat.

“pretty girl cum for me.”

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

there’s 2 kinds of sex with james, giggly super soft lovie sex. not necessarily making jokes but just giggling because he just tickled your side my accident or accidentally bumping noses. or there’s big dom daddy james where it’s very PASSIONATE but he’s very dominate.

his hand ran down the depth of your curves, a little giggle bubbling through your throat. he looked at you with a cocked brow, repeating his action as his chin rested on your stomach a small smirk on his lips.

you giggled again, your hand running through his hair. you brought his face to your lips as your finger tips danced under his jaw.

he giggled at your actions as well, also seemingly ticklish under his neck.

“you’re so distracting james potter.” you groaned as he continued to pulse through you while giggling at you.

“i’m distractingly beautiful y/n y/l/n”

“quite insuffer- fuck!” you were caught off with a moan as his fingertips danced on your clit. stimulating you.

“hmmm darling, cat got your tongue?”

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

so james has that thick mangle of tresses on his head, so i feel like he’s quite cleanly shaven, maybe just a bit of a stubble? but i feel like he would shave not only to make it more comfortable for him but for you seemingly easier and more comfortable.

i don’t think he would care if you were shaved or not, as long as you were comfortable your natural body hair is not stopping him from going down on your or having sex with you.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

ROMANCE KING ILL SAY IT ONCE ILL SAY IT TWICE ILL SAY IT THREE TIMES IF HE COULD EVERYTIME HE WOULD SPREAD ROSE PETALS AND CANDLES AND LIGHT FIRE PLACES AND E V E R Y T H I N G. during the whole thing your hands would e interlocked with his, chests pressed against eachother, eye contact, soft touches, soft kisses and mumbles of praise like whew.

“jamie- what’s this?” you asked, your eyes scanning around the room with floating candles and rose petals on the floor.

“well i figured i’d make it special, i dunno.” he murmured shoving his hands in his pockets. you turned towards him with a grin your face.

you grasped his face between your palms lightly kissing his lips before speaking.

“a real sap you are potter, my sap.”

“correct, 10 points go y/h.”

“thanks professor potter.” you teased before leaning in to kiss his lips again.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

i feel like he would A LOT and you would catch him A LOT. somwtimes u aren’t always there but u know what is there, a picture of you and his hands and he makes due when he needs too. but normally he just goes to you because he would rather anyways but sometimes there are bigger priorities then his random hard ons.

“y/n- fuck me...” he moaned, his hand pumping his cock in one hand and the other gripping his bed post, knuckles turning a shade of white.

his only thought being the way you looked under him, on top of him, infront of him, you’re beautiful beautiful body. you were currently occupied helping mcgonagall with extra transfiguration while james was in need... of you.

you had finished early, waltzing into james’ room like normal except you were met with a familiar sight of james pumping his cock in his hand while his head was slightly leant back and his jaw was slack.

you cleared your throat, crossing your arms and a smirk on your lips with an eyebrow raise. “couldnt wait atleast an hour could you?” you teased, walking closer.

“well now that your here, could you lend a hand?”

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

james has a daddy kink😐 literally that’s one of his most prominent kinks. i mean your his angel, his darling girl he would do anything for you i mean he just wants to make you happy. and i mean you calling him daddy while withering under him just makes him 😁

“daddy... please.” you begged him.

“ive been a good girl. i promise!” you were almost yelling at him, wanting him to understand.

“sweetheart we’re you a good girl when flirting with sirius?” his face got seemingly close to yours, asking you the question while raising one of his eyebrows.

“no daddy.” you said, embarassed. you had been waiting for james attention all night long but instead he was stuck all up in detention for a prank against snape.

and then when he finally arrived to the common room he barely spared you a word, so you did what you had to do to grab his attention and... it worked.

“so tell me baby, whyd you break the rules?”

“i just wanted your attention daddy! i just wanted you!”

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

i think his fave would be the dorms in the bed. but the prefects bath is a very close second. and he surely doesn’t mind the common room or broom closets that are very open to public where you both could get caught in comprising positions.

you heard the slosh of the water beside you, as you moved your hips onto james’ submerged underneath the prefects bath water as u straddled him.

his hands came to steady your hips as your buried your head in his neck, and continuously grinding your cunt onto james’ dick.

“fuck angel... just like that.” he moaned while tightening his grip

“f-fuck jamie-“ you whimpered in his ear, clawing at his shoulders.

“you’re doing amazing pretty girl, keep doing- fuck- you feel so good around me.” he praised you while groaning.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

SO JAMES LOVES HAVING HIS HAIR PULLED IN BED; WHEN HES GOING DOWN ON YOU, IN MISSIONAIRY, WHEN YOUR RIDING HIM JUST ALL THE TIME SO WHEN U PLAY WITH THAT MANZ HAIR HE COULD THROW YOU OVER IN SECONDS AND GET U ON THAT BED.

“so fucking tired.” james muttered walking into the common room after a two hour detention with filch.

he saw your body displayed on the vermillion couch, very opening that his body could just rest on yours while you were in a conversation with remus and sirius.

he quietly sprawled his head on your lap, his arms arranging around your waist as he gor comfortable.

you mindlessly started caressing his hair, and pulling on the tuffs lovingly, that was until you felt a hard pressure pressing against your calf that you remembered james’ small dirty secret.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

i don’t feel like he would be into hurting you? like slapping, knife kinks, seeing you hurt i don’t think he would find that arousing he would more just be concerned because he doesn’t like to see your hurting. i think he would still like spankings but i don’t think he would slap you in the face or anything.

“so y/n, d’you think you’d try it?” sirius asked you, while your eyes paid more attention on the potions text book infront of you.

“try what?” you muttered, clearly disinterested in the conversation.

“knives in bed.”

you brought your head up to look at him, cocking an eyebrow confused at his question.

“um, probably not. i don’t know that’s an odd question pads.” you muttered turning your attention back to your potions book.

“but wouldnt that like... hurt her?” you heard james say in a concerned and confused tone to sirius.

“could if you wanted too, but it’s more of the thrill.” sirius replied to james.

“no, i don’t think i want the ‘thrill’ m’good, thanks.” he agitatedly replied to sirius and looked at his own book.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

i feel like he would like both equally but he’s more of a giver at heart. it’s kind of whatever happens in the moment because when your thighs are wrapped around his head it’s like heaven but your pretty lips wrapped around his cock? also heaven.



your hands braced his thighs as your plunged your mouth deeper onto his girth, trying to take him all in while breathing for your knows.

“you take my cock so well pretty girl.” he praises to you, his hand in a makeshift pony tail holding your hair away from your face.

you went back to his tip, kissing and swirling your tongue around trying to catch your breath before pushing your mouth onto him keeping a fast past.

“i’m gonna cum-“ he groaned and his own release shooting ropes of cum down youve throat cut him off.

he slowly rid out his high as you continue to suck and then swirled your tongue around the tip and opening your mouth to show that you had swallowed his release.

“good girl.”

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

i feel like he changes pace a lot? sometimes it’s really fast, and deep but sometimes very slow and passionate and deep and loving. he’s a man of many talents and whatever the mood is he can keep that pace.

his hand had one firm grasp on your waist as he pounded you from behind and the other gripped the root of your hair.

“you gonna be a messy little girl?” he taunted you through gritted teeth

“y-yes.” you muttered through moans.

he had just lost a quidditch match to slytherin and you offered a solution.

something nice and rough.

and that’s exactly what the both of you wanted.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

i feel like they would happen from time to time but i feel like he would be more into proper sex because you are literally his only priority like getting you off is all he cares about so maybe there’s a quick a few times but definitely not all the time.

“shh if you’re not quiet someone’s going to walk walk by and hear.” james taunted you, your legs wrapped around his waist and your head dug into his neck trying to hold back your moans.

“james- i- i cant s’too much, too much.” you said while biting your lip, unable to see much do you the darkness of the broom closet.

“well sweet girl that’s what happens when you get needy during school hm? is my pretty little slut gonna cum all over my cock while anyone could walk in?” he began to mock you.

“mhm- yes.” your lip becoming dry and chapped from all the incessant biting, “please can i cum?”

“go on, cum y/n.”

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

i feel as long as it wasn’t hurting you or it ended up with you or him like getting with other people he would try it?

“are you sure, m’scared i might hurt you.” james murmured while tying your hands up to the bed post.

“m’fine, promise.” you assured him, that night you were trying something new. both of you had previously talked about ties and bondage and you wanted to try it once to see if you’d both like it.

you pulled on the ropes a bit making sure they weren’t cutting off the circulation of your wrists.

“see? m’good jamie.”

“ok but if something happens tell me, i don’t want you to hold back because i might be enjoying it you’re not.”

“james i promise.”

“i love you, y/n.”

“i love you too.”

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

that man happens to be a QUIDDITCH PRODIGY. HE IS A SEEKER. WHICH MEANS HE CAN LAST AWHILE. i believe that he would stop when you wanted to stop, like he could fuck you all night if he wanted too.

“one more darling, one more f’me.” his voice hoarse from the previous three rounds.

he wanted to know if you could go any more, ready to stop at any time.

“one more?” you said breathily to him.

“just one.”

“yes daddy, i want you, please.” you plead to your bespectacled boyfriend, you began clenching around nothing feeling empty again.

“mhm please, please i want you.”

“alright darling, no need to fret. m’right here.” he assured.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

i think he’s more like “why would you need those when you have me.” type of guy. like i don’t feel like he would have them even for punishments he would rather do it himself, even because he would feel closer to you like he’d rather fuck and tease you then silicone (bruh 😭)

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

i feel like you would do more of the teasing because he would automatically become obdient to you. if he was teasing it wouldn’t be for long because he would fuck himself from watching you squirm and tease you.

his palm rested on the inside of your thigh, tracing little shapes as goosebumps rose onto your skin.

“nervous, darling?” he teased in your ear while you were trying to converse with peter about arithmancy homework during dinner at the great hall.

“james. stop. teasing.” you said through gritted teeth, your legs squirming at his fingers grazing your panties.

“but you’re so beautiful like this, about to make a mess during dinner? think that’s polite y/n?” he mocked you, he loved that he had that effect on you.

you turned towards his face that was almost touching the shell of your ear.

“if you keep doing this i won’t fuck you for a month.” you whispered, venom like words leaving your throat.

his sapphire eyes quickly widened as he moved his hand by the cap of your knee. you smirked as he was almost frantic by your words.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

he wants the whole hogwarts castle to know that you’re his so he is loud. he groans, he moans, he dirty talks, he moans your name like he is EXTRA with it. sometimes you almost have to shush him but he’s not having any of that.

“james, hush! you’re going to get all the prefrecfs scrambling around the room if you’re to loud!” you said covering his mouth, feeling him smirk against your palm.

“but darling, that’s the whole point. don’t you want everyone to know who you belong to?” you flushed and pulled your hand away from his face.

“that’s what i thought love.”

“you know sirius will never let us live this down, bet he can hear from the common room.”

“then let’s give him a show, shall we?”

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

cockwarming. if you’re being a brat that’s one of the ways he’s gonna punish you, while he’s working on a prank and his arm is just around your waist to make you stop squirming.

“if you’re going to be a brat angel, i’m gonna start treating you like one.” he murmured to your squirming figure as he tried to figure out a new prank on snape.

you were sat on top of his cock, clenching and squirming almost begging for him to touch you.

“jamie please i need you, please, please please.” you begged him, yet no avail. a determined look on his face as he was scribbling on the parchment.

he swatted your bum, you jolted a bit at the sudden friction of his hand and began to whine.

he looked at you, a dark look in his eyes which shut you up immediately because you knew what that look meant.

“hmm, so you can listen to the rules? good girl.”

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

that man is big and thick and he KNOWS HE IS. i’d say 8inches hard?

you rested your bum on to your calves before scooching up to this belt buckle as he was standing, holding a faux-ponytail of your hair between his calloused fingers.

“are you sure, y/n? you don’t have to if you don’t want too.” he looked down at you, puling your eyes to look in his sapphire ones.

“m’sure james.” you assured him, undoing the buckle and swiftly pulling down his boxers and uniform pants at the same time.

his shirt discarded on the floor earlier, his dick slapping his clenched stomach. he was already hard from your teasing and grinding earlier.

your eyes widened at his size, nervous how you would fit it all in your mouth.

“what’s wrong darling?” he started to get concerned at your frozen state.

“nothing.. y-your just, so big.” you said looking at his cock and hearing a chuckle in the backround.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

i feel like it’s pretty high but it’s always depending on you, he would rather die than force you to do anything if you weren’t feeling it or just didn’t want too. so if you’re up for anything than so is he.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

if it’s during the day i don’t think he would get that tired, but if it was during the night and he just finished aftercare i feel like you would lay on his chest if he hadn’t worked you hard enough and you guys would just talk about anthing. but if you guys did a lot of rounds and you were on the verge of slumber he would just kiss your hairline and praise you as you fell asleep.

“my good girl.” he said while kissing your forehead. “i love you so so much, you’re the only one for me.” his hand dragging against the arch of your back, the only thing seperating him from your skin was the shirt he put on you.

“my sweets, does everything for me. how could i have gotten so lucky.” he whispered on the shell of your ear.

“hmm, jamie been asking myself the same thing.” you murmured, sleep almost pulling you under but not enough for you to reply to him.

“goodnight james. i love you.”

“i love you more, my sweets.”

taglist: @mushroomfleur @fathermarty @kittykylax @famdomhideout @90steaology

if you’re username is crossed out that means the blog name is incorrect and you need to resubmit your form form my taglist!

[gingersnaaps]

red light, green light

If there’s one thing that being with Aran Ojiro has taught you, it’s the importance of trust.

wc: 2.2k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, noncon, very unhealthy portrayal of bdsm dynamics, bondage, breathplay bc deepthroat, bratty/switchy!reader at the start turns into sub!reader, blowjob, penetration, fem!reader with inner genitals

a/n: written for @fallensvint's collab!! not proofread,, ill get to it later

i don’t want minors interacting with my content

The first time he’d wrapped those ties around your wrist, smooth and silky and surprisingly secure, you’d stared at him with confusion.

“Aran,” you mumbled. “What’s our safeword?”

He smiled, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Don’t you trust me?”

You’d been a bit apprehensive in the beginning, but as it turned out, he was right.

Every time he fucked you after that, every time he bound your wrists and spanked you until your ass glowed red - he always knew when to stop. It was as if he had some kind of sixth sense, a magic ability to read every twitch of your hips and crease of your brows, all the subtle signs that laid bare your inner thoughts and feelings. He knew when to give you more, when to slow down, when to stop entirely.

All you had to do was to close your eyes and let him take over. It felt easy. It felt right.

You suppose it made sense, too. He was a little older, a little wiser, and much more experienced. He knew what he was doing, and he was the one who showed you the ropes - quite literally. Aran knew how to tie all sorts of different knots, square knots and half-hitches and lark’s heads, letting you watch with your eyes blown wide as he threaded the rope into intricate patterns.

Still, at the end of the day, your favorite toy would always be the silk ties he’d first used. They had this allure to them, this magnetic pull that radiated out from the box in which he kept them. And when he used them to bind your wrists nice and tight, deft hands working quickly as the silk slid across your skin, your mind would always blur into a thick haze of arousal and want that left your cunt dripping with heat.

Sex was always better when he tied you up.

He didn’t have to hold you down, because the ties did the work for him, the restraints leaving your mind fogged up with submission, every thought wiped clean except the urge to be a good girl for him. It made him lose his fucking mind to see your doe eyes peering up through the lashes, begging oh-so-sweetly for him to fuck you. And since you always asked so nicely, he’s more than happy to oblige you.

He pounds his cock into your tight, quivering little hole, hips snapping relentlessly, each drag of this dick against your slick, sensitive walls coaxing a squeal from your lips, your cunt fluttering pathetically as pleasure starts to twist in your gut. You’d never deny how good it felt to be fucked stupid while tied up.

But there was more to your little obsession with his silk ties than just that.

There was some small part of you, some unexplainable compulsion, hidden beneath your sweet cries and high-pitched whimpers, that wanted to find out what Aran would look like if he was on the receiving end of things.

You wanted to see what he’d do.

_

It happens on a Saturday morning.

He’s exhausted from a full week of work - the volleyball season is in full swing again, and it always takes him some time to readjust, even if he doesn’t normally sleep in. It’s rare that you wake up earlier than him.

And maybe the alcohol you’d been drinking last night hadn’t worn off entirely, or maybe you were just feeling a little bold that day, a little impulsive, because you take one look at his sleeping form before you reach under the bed for his little box of toys. Sure, you hadn’t exactly discussed this with him beforehand - but he’d done similar things to you before: tied you up without warning, tried different positions in the middle of sex, little things here and there that were never really expected. The surprise was just supposed to be part of the fun, right?

The soft light of early morning filters in through the windows and sets his skin aglow. He looks so at peace when he’s asleep, so calm, the lines in his forehead and the bags under his eyes melting as he dozes away.

There’s not so much as a twitch from him as you tie his wrists together.

You pull aside the comforter, crawling on top of him until your face is inches away from his clothed cock. He looks so good like this - so handsome - the outline of his dick pressing up near his thigh, his toned legs exposed to the cold morning air. You press soft kisses along his inner thigh, trailing your lips up and down the shaft of his cock, dragging the tip of your tongue against the fabric.

There’s a soft rustling noise, and you feel him shift beneath you. “Babe?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

You giggle nervously. “Good morning, Aran.”

“What are you doing?”

You blink up at him through your lashes and pull down his boxers. His cock springs out - it’s half-hard already, the tip slightly swollen, and you trail a finger over the leaking slit.

“Nice way to wake up, I won’t lie,” he says, sighing happily. He shifts slightly, as if trying to get up - and freezes.

You feel his body tense up, thighs flexing as you flick your tongue along his length.

“What happened to my hands?”

Your heart rate spikes. His voice is a bit more measured now, a bit more controlled, an underlying warning threaded through every word.

“Did you tie me up?” he asks, soft and dangerous.

You’re too flustered to make eye contact with him any longer, ducking away under his gaze. You nod hesitantly. His cock strains, twitching slightly, and you wrap your velvet lips around the head, taking him into your warm, wet, mouth with a pop.

“You better get these restraints off right fucking now.”

His outburst startles you. You weren’t expecting such a strong reaction, but the anger that undercuts his words is clear as day. If you untie him now, you know you’ll be in for a hell of an extremely unpleasant ride, one that might end with your ass blooming with bruises and face stained with tears.

For the first time since you’d gotten with Aran, the emotion that seeps into your veins isn’t excitement.

It’s fear.

You stay mute, bringing your hands up to scratch lightly across his thigh, drawing a groan from his chest. Your cunt pulses involuntarily at the noise he makes.

Maybe if you make him cum hard enough, he’ll forgive you.

It’s this faint, stupid, hope that makes you stretch your throat around his cock, trying to fit as much of him in as possible, lips bulging as you drool and slobber around him. It’s messy, pathetic - but your goal isn’t to preserve your dignity. It’s to make him feel good enough to let this slide.

“Feels so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,” he breathes, hips bucking upwards, cock sliding in further past your swollen, shiny, lips.

Maybe your strategy would even work.

You bob up and down, working his cock until it grows rock-hard against your tongue, the head pulsing and throbbing in your mouth, your tongue tracing along the underside of each vein. Precum dribbles down your throat, salty and slick, and you swallow eagerly. Your mind grows hazy as you slide yourself further down onto his dick, the up-and-down, back-and-forth motion intoxicating as he fills up every sense you have with his taste, his scent, the sight of his abs flexing as he strains against your mouth. You feel a hand slide to rest on top of your head, and you melt.

The expression on your face when the realization finally hits is too fucking precious.

You pull off of his cock, a string of drool still hanging from the corner of your lips, eyes darting around frantically. The silk bindings that you’d wrapped around his wrists lie in tatters on the bed, all torn and ripped, and Aran stretches leisurely.

“Why’d you stop?” he asks, the barest hint of a grin in his voice. “I didn’t say that you could stop.”

He leans forward, grabbing onto the top of your head, and drags you back to him until your lips are grazing the tip of his cock again. Disappointment is etched onto his features, but it’s a strange, twisted sort of disappointment - his eyes glitter, his pupils dilating - almost as if he’s giddy that you’d messed up and made a fool of yourself.

“Please,” you whimper. “D-don’t-”

“You know what happens to bad girls, don’t you?” he asks gravely, shaking his head. “Bad girls get punished. Don’t complain if you get what you deserve.”

With that, he forces your mouth back onto his dick, but with the help of his insistent hands, you’re able to take him even deeper than you were before. Your throat burns red and raw as he shoves your little mouth as deep as possible on his cock, gorging you on his thick, swollen length, impaling you on his dick until your eyes begin to tear up.

“Need to breathe,” you mumble, but your words are barely coherent with your mouth stuffed so full. The only noise that comes through are your small, desperate moans, and the little gagging noises from the back of your throat.

“What’s that?” he asks, nonchalant. “Didn’t hear you properly, baby. Speak up.”

It’s at this point that panic begins to flood your veins. Your head hurts from how hard he’s gripping it, a dull, throbbing ache that leaves tears trickling down your face. You’re not sure he’s going to relent any time soon, either, because Aran seems dead set on making sure he sees your punishment through, even if it means leaving your jaw sore and tender for days. A haze begins to settle over your brain from the lack of oxygen, black spots creeping into the edges of your vision -

You lose it.

"Red," you scream against his cock. "Red." You faintly remember reading somewhere that this was the word that meant stop, the one that was used when things went to far.

"I'm not sure what that means, baby."

“Please, Aran,” you cry. “I’m serious. Stop. Stop. I’m not kidding.”

Your chest heaves uncontrollably with your sobs, tears and drool mixing as slick drips down his shaft and onto his fat balls. The words you want to get out aren’t really coming through, but you keep trying, slobbering all around his dick as your muffled moans vibrate against his crotch.

He sighs. “Alright, alright. You’re a bit softer than I thought.”

His words send a pang of hurt through your chest - you’d tried your hardest, and wasn’t that enough? - but it’s pure relief that floods into your veins when he finally drags you off of his cock. You gasp for air, wheezing and coughing as oxygen finally floods into your lungs.

You look pretty, he thinks. A bit like a drowned kitten, with your lashes wet, your hair messed up, and lips all bitten and swollen and leaking with drool.

It makes his cock twitch against his stomach.

He flips you over onto the bed, pinning your wrists down, and lines the tip of his cock up so it prods at your entrance. “Ready?” he asks.

And to be honest, you’re not, but at least he’s stopped choking you with his cock. Maybe you should be grateful for that.

When he pushes his cockhead past your tight, clenched pussy lips, it’s unbearably slow. It leaves your insides aching, raw and needy, even when the drag of his dick against your slick, ribbed, walls stops, even when he’s bottomed out and his balls are tapping gently against your cunt. He fucks you slow and deep, pushing up against your g-spot, breaking you apart on his cock until you’re sobbing again for an entirely different reason.

This is punishment, remember?

It feels like hours have gone by before that familiar wave of pleasure begins to build steadily in your core. Every thrust of his hips leaves you reeling, eyes rolling back into your head, fingers fisting at the bedsheets - but he’s still fucking you so slowly it hurts. Your cunt clenches uselessly, greedy and desperate, as if it’s trying to keep him buried inside you, and it draws a breathy chuckle from his lips.

“Close?” he asks, pulling his cock out almost all the way.

You nod eagerly and buck your hips up. You don’t really care if you look stupid or pathetic, because all you want right now is for him to speed up his maddeningly slow pace, to fuck you until you’re drooling into the mattress.

He pushes back in, snapping his hips harshly, and you squeal - you’re right on the precipice, your orgasm building and coiling tight in your gut, the walls of your cunt cinching around his cock like a vice -

He pulls out.

You’re silent for a few seconds, brain still too hazy to comprehend what he’s doing, but then you hear him speak, voice low and rough, and you shiver.

“Bad girls don’t get to cum.”

[korpuskat]

i'd be appalled if i saw you ever try to be a saint [Pagan Min/Reader]

[Ao3 Mirror] Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 1,944 Content: DFAB & Gender Neutral Reader. Blasphemy & Sacrilege, Inappropriate Use of Religious Objects, Shibari, Bondage, Suspension, Begging, 

"I didn't think you'd be into... this..." You murmur, raise your arms as Pagan's nimble fingers slide the rope around your chest, once, then twice, forming lines across your skin with the deep red-brown material.

"Oh? Why's that?" He grins and it makes your stomach flip- a completely different anxiety than the one that's born from being completely nude as he takes his time forming shapes with his preferred medium. "One must be adventurous to rule a kingdom, and it's quite aesthetically pleasing."

"Thought it would be too similar to your work."

"Work, hah." He carefully threads the ends of the ropes back behind you, pausing to give you a moment to turn away from him. "Maybe for De Pleur, but I for one do not make it a habit to personally tie up terrorists with this much care." With only light touches he brings your arms back and binds them at your elbows, weaves the rope around your outstretched limbs until you can no longer pull them apart or lift them, as he secures that set of knots to harness forming at your chest.

"Though," He starts, then taps your shoulder to make you turn again. His eyes wander over your body, appraising his work thus far before lowering himself to his knees to begin working again at your waist. "This does give me some ideas."

"Thought you didn't want to tie up terrorists." You tease him and it earns you a half-amused glance and raised eyebrow.

"I don't, but someone must. It's the only way to stop them from making a mess of things." His hands are tireless, forming a thick, intricate weave along your outer thigh before it splits into individual strands- and Pagan tips you backwards onto the bed as he finishes that foot with your toes extended, leaving your leg as immobilized as your arms. Only a few minutes in and you can't move the majority of your body- and the thought sends a wave of heat through your body, culminating between your legs. In a vain attempt to subdue the building desire, you press your thighs together- which does not go unnoticed.

"Always so needy." He tsks, but his words carry no weight. Even if you didn't know your neediness made him feel wanted, his own excitement was obvious, tenting the front of his pants. "Almost done." He purrs and rolls you onto your stomach. He touches your unbound leg. "Lift, please."

The angle is odd, but you raise your leg as much as you can. It must be enough, because Pagan rests your ankle in the crook of his arms as he works more rope down this leg. He seems to work quicker, his own impatience growing- and you can't blame him. That heat burns between your legs and you have nothing left to sate it with other than the imaginings of what's to come.

"There." Pagan sighs, and steps away from the bed. He walks around in front of you, once again appraising his work- and you realize you can't put your leg down. Without his support, your leg hangs in the air, the rope shorter on the back of your leg than the front, the tension alone keeping it up. It's an odd sensation, like your weight isn't spread the way it should be- but you don't focus on it long as Pagan retrieves his phone.

All at once the heat rushes to your cheeks and you're ducking your face into his plush beddings. He laughs, always one to enjoy your embarrassment. "Nothing to be shy about, darling. Don't you want to look good for your king?"

"You're horrible." You grumble into the mattress, try desperately to close your legs as he circles around.

"Mmm," His clothes brush against your inner thighs. "Is this so horrible?" His fingers slip between your labia, slick and easy with your building arousal. Unbidden, your hips buck as best they can with the ropes restricting them, and still Pagan is as careful as he was threading the ropes. Never once do the pads of his fingers touch your clit, circling tantalizingly close and never quite making contact. All it does is fan the flame, all your focus centered on the feather-light pinpoints of his touch.

He stops as quickly as he started, coming around in front of you once more. Your mouth is already open, correctly anticipating his ritual of making you clean his fingers.

"Now this may take a moment." Behind you once more, he messes with the ropes- and you struggle to figure out what's happening- until you feel a peculiar pull across your body. You twist in your binds, try to glance over your shoulder- all you get a glimpse of him with his shirt sleeves rolled up, buttoned to expose more of his forearms as he grabs the rope again and pulls.

This time you slide right off the side of the bed. "Pagan?" Your voice shakes, not quite sure what to make of it- and he pulls again, not even answering you. One leg bent back, you balance carefully on the toes of one foot- each pull on the ropes takes more and more of your weight. He keeps going until you're nearly hanging by your leg, almost inverted except for your one leg that still dances across the floor, skittering across Pagan’s plush carpets for purchase, not quite supporting you and not quite dangling.

Pagan exhales, and with your new position you spin lightly in the center of the room, field of view drifting around until you catch sight of him again. He's trying off the rope, and mutters half to himself, "Let's buy a winch next time."

Though he sweats lightly, as soon as he makes eye contact with you the exhaustion wears off quick. His fingertips remain light and teasing as they trace down the long lines of rope, testing the strength of his knots that keep you in your perilous position.

"I think," He says, breathless, "this is right where you belong, don't you?" His fingers race along your arms, up to your shoulders, up and up till they're stroking through your hair. You strain to look up at him, watch as the fire builds in his eyes. "It's what you really want, to be under my power. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, nothing to do but to obey me."

With a whine you avert your eyes, try once more to bring your thighs together- and all it takes is a rough tug at your hair to bring your focus back to him. Your hands flex aimlessly, staring at him as he licks his lips, "That sweet pussy of your must be aching by now. I know you want to beg, so go on."

"P-please." It's hardly more than a whisper, and Pagan's face hardens, more insulted than amused by your first attempt. A forceful swallow and you try again, "Please, Pagan... touch me?"

"Tsk, that was pitiful. You can do better than that."

A bite to your lip and you’re still fighting to get the words out past your shame. "Please, I need it, I'm aching," You whine, can't even drop your head with his hand still tangled into your hair. "I- I'll do anything you want."

The knuckles of his free hand caress the side of your face. "Oh, I know you will, darling. But that's bargaining not begging. Is the blood rushing to your head already? Come on dear, let it out."

You're aching and he won't stop, ruthless, almost sadistic and all you want- all you really want- "Use- use me. Please, King Min, please, use me- I want- I want to make you cum, I want to taste you, please-"

Pagan grins, unashamedly pleased in your slow descent into subspace. "All you had to do was ask." Finally, he releases his hold on your hair which leaves your scalp tingling and your neck straining to keep watching. It's a sight worth fighting for; he unbuckles his belt and makes short work of his pants, the pink fabric parting- and your whole body throbs. With one hand he strokes himself, takes care to draw his foreskin back and watch as you begin to drool. If he could, perhaps he'd tease you like this for hours- make you watch him slowly please himself while you beg and insist that you could help. It would be agony for you both.

His own impatience is what makes him grasp your hair again- and he doesn't even have to tell you to open your mouth.

His taste and scent fill your every sense- the faintest twinge of sweat, but mostly soap and his cologne. Until, of course, he holds the sides of your head and begins to move. The first hint of bitter precum has you moaning, remembering the last time you'd had the privilege of making your king come undone with your tongue.

"I didn't tell you where these ropes came from, did I?" He manages to say between grunts, doesn't wait for you to try to answer. "Some unloyal citizens had thought to- oh, to rebuild one of those bell towers."

Your mind fights to the surface to understand, but all you can manage to do is stare up at him with big, glassy eyes. "They're sanctified. Meant to dispel fucking demons." He says and lets his head fall back. The weight of his words begins to settle in- and he pulls you as far as you can go and holds you there. Your nose flush with his abdomen, pressed against the black, well trimmed hairs. Your throat spasms with the intrusion, gagging- and Pagan doesn’t let up until your chest begins to burn.

He pulls you off him entirely. You gasp in lungfuls of air as he wrenches your head up again. He's half-crazed, panting, as rabid as you've ever seen him- "Are they working? Do you feel like you're curing evil?"

There's no right answer. Nothing you could say would be right, but he’s pleased enough at your open-mouthed panting, how you’ve nearly come undone just from sucking him off.

Pagan grabs the rope and spins you, your one foot dragging on the floor until you're facing away from him again. His hands find your hip and your strung-up leg- and there's nothing for you to do but squirm. He pushes in and his first thrust is like music; your whole body sings for the stimulation, the attention, the touch of your king. As rough as he can be with your body swaying, his fingers dig into your skin, desperate for any sort of leverage. Hard, then harder- his short-clipped nails biting into your skin. It's still not good enough; he grabs the ropes that twist around your arms, his fingers winding around his own knots as he yanks you back onto his cock.

His other hand reaches around, latches onto your throat and pulls as hard as he can, your body aching as you're bent backwards, straining against the ropes. Close, close enough for him to pant in your ear as he fucks you- "They're for worship.” He spits the word, drives it home with a thrust so hard he must bruise your cervix- and follows it with a hand sliding over your side, over each line of rope. Down, over your belly, down to your still-neglected clit. You keen as he brushes it, draws faint circles over it- "Do you feel worshipped?" His teeth close around the shell of your ear- and that's all it takes.

Lightning passes through you, leaves you gasping, begging with empty words as Pagan grunts, mutters a "Fuck, fuck!" A long, stuttering sigh- and his forehead rests against your shoulder, breath slowing in rhythm with your still-twitching body.

The serenity doesn't last long- the ropes cutting into your skin brings you down from your high. A single tiny "Ow." has Pagan up- and through his own post-orgasmic stupor manages to cut through the ropes and steady you enough to fall back onto his bed together.

With half-asleep limbs you shuck the knots from your body. Pagan watches with one eye before conceding, "Maybe too adventurous."

----

If you like my fics, please consider reblogging or leaving a tip on my Ko-fi!

[tenseoyong]

Dom A-Z: Mark

Cr.

Ko-Fi | Masterlist

A- Aftercare (how does he take care of his sub?) Mark is very doting when he’s taking care of his sub post-sex. He immediately shuffles off to grab some water or juice box for you to rehydrate while he re-rights the room and returning with his small ‘clean-up kit’ of a cool washcloth, clean panties and one of his t-shirts that is saturated in his comforting smell, and some soothing creams for the more tender areas that need a bit of relief all while the sweet boy sings praise after praise of how well you did for him before retiring to the bed for some sweet kisses and gentle cuddling. 

B- Bondage (does he like it? what does he use?) Bondage is definitely something Dom!Mark is interested in, and brings into the bedroom on a fairly frequent basis. He doesn’t use bondage constantly, however, and doesn’t always use it...fully, if that makes sense? Like he may bind your hands one night, but leave your legs free to move as they please, or very leniently tie your hands but not tightly, and not bound to anything solid to completely hinder your movement. He’s more of a fan of using various ropes or one of his many ties to bind you, rather than the harsh mental spreading bars or handcuffs. 

C- Control (how controlling is he?) Mark is fairly middle ground, he’s very much dominant in everything he does, but he doesn’t exude this ‘I’m in charge, so do every single thing I say without objection’, at some times you can almost forget about your roles. He likes a bit of back and forth, a tug of war for control, he likes a bratty sub, truly. But he never fails to wipe that sly look off your face when he’s had enough of your playing, and putting you back in your place. 

D- Dynamic (what roles does he fill?) Your relationship really stemmed from the need for some freedom without any judgement, and real fulfilling satisfaction and relaxation. Being stretched thin, Mark needs something that gives him that and he’s happy to find that release with your relationship. Being able to have complete comfort with you, while exploring so many different kinks and toys and scenarios, with no fear of being judged or failure. Being able to let out pent up energy and stress, and then get sweet cuddles and kisses and unlimited reassurance afterwards, it’s like a gift from heaven to Mark.

E- Edging (an eager to please dom, or a tease that draws it out?) Edging with Mark would have to be something you’d discussed before hand, like ‘hey, I want you to edge me tonight, don’t stop when I say stop’ because Mark is such a pleaser. Often times he starts out wanting to tease you a bit, but at the first bit of whining and begging, he easily complies and just ends up overstimulating you in the end instead. Mark’s very much an eager to please lover, but that can end up being a curse when he’s decided he’s not going to stop pleasing you and the pleasure starts taking some painful twists...

F- Fetishes (what kinks does he have?) Overstimulation is a given. A very small pain kink, he likes spanking you a bit here and there, and nipple clamps occasionally make an appearance. I feel like Mark would be very much into roleplaying, and really likes when you dress up for the bedroom. It’s always like a treat, not knowing what exactly is going to be waiting for him when he opens the bedroom door, whether he’s going to be met with a school girl or a character from whatever anime you two are currently binge watching. And the spontaneous dressing up is one of Mark’s absolutely favorite things. Along a similar note, he’s got a huge interest and fascination with the various styles and designs of lingerie you acquire. Definitely a thigh high or stockings lover. 

G- Good (how does he reward his sub?) Mark’s a very lovey-dovey dom. He rewards his sub almost constantly, whether it be with a quiet night in, eating junk food and watching movies while cuddled together on the couch. Or spoiling you with a surprise shopping spree. His favorite reward though, whether it’s for your benefit or his, he doesn’t know or will admit, is laying you down and eating you out for hours on end. He loves hearing every shaky breath and moan and squeak you make while he’s between your legs, twitching limbs tossed over his shoulders while his hands hold down your bucking hips while he makes you cum over and over all while singing praise after praise for his oh so good princess. 

H- Humiliation (what kinds of punishments does he use?) A bit of a mixture, it’s sort of overstimulating and denial all in one? When you’ve royally upset Mark, and you’ve moved passed the standard belting he dishes out, Mark makes you wear the dreaded vibrating panties and refuses to let you near him for whatever amount of time he’s deemed fit for your punishment. You’ll carry on with your day as normal, with Mark withdrawing from you any time you try and get near while toying with the small remote. You’ll be sitting on separate ends of the couch, watching tv, while he casually flicks the remote on and off, listening to your gasps and watches how you twitch and shuffle against the couch, trying to find release before he turns the remote off. He’ll wait until you’ve cooled off completely before starting the remote up again, continuously bringing you close to your release before ripping it away from you again, and again, until you’ve learned your lesson. 

I- Intensity (how far does he go?) While he’s eager to play and happy to try almost any and everything new, Mark is still very cautious. He takes his time, watching how your body responds to him and the new toys you’re fooling around with. He’s careful not to push the limits he’s mentally kept track of, and extra careful not to intentionally or unintentionally hurt you. So, no, Mark’s not an incredibly intense lover, he doesn’t often push the limits in fear of harming you in one way or another.

J- Joy (what does he like about being dominant?) Throwing back to Dynamic, Mark loves freedom and satisfaction he finds in your relationship that he can’t find anywhere else. Being stretched across every unit SM can come up with, Mark is always worrying about something or another, about practicing to get his multiple choreos down perfectly, or reciting his lines. But when he’s home, it’s just you and him. There’s not judgement, you’re not watching him fuck you with a harsh critique like the choreographers, there’s virtually no way to disappoint his lover, and that’s something he really loves about your relationship. You can feel the stress radiating from him, and are more than eager to aid him in relieving it. 

K- Kissing (is he romantic during sex as a dom?) Mark isn’t...not romantic during sex, he’s not just some abrasive dom getting his rocks off and leaving you high and dry, right? But he’s not exactly traditionally romantic either, he’s a very...erratic lover. Mark covers you in hickies and messy kisses, not exactly loving kisses and loving eyes. He’s very much an excited young guy, and he’s not focusing on honeyed words when he’s trying to get you to cum for the fourth time. Mark’s definitely a pillow talker afterwards, you’ll be showered in praise and affection once you’ve both calmed down, but during, don’t expect much candles and mood lighting kind of romance from Mark.  

L- Lust (what gets him going - does anything set him off in a dominant mood?) As I said, Mark does have quite a love for your various...outfits. One of your (and his, but he won’t admit it) favorite ways to turn Mark on, is wearing some of the expensive lingerie and a skirt, and not so subtly flash your panties to him, bending over or jumping a bit to high and the wind catches the flowy fabric. The sight alone is enough to get him aroused, but it’ll stick in his head for as long as it takes to find a private spot to ravage you. ‘you dirty girl, you did that on purpose, huh? trying to tease me, hm? well, go on then, bend over and show me your pretty panties.’

M- Masturbation (how does he get off? does he let his sub get off?) Mark’s a surprisingly big fan of dry humping. He loves watching you get off on his thigh, or letting you grind against him until you both are satisfied. Mark definitely isn’t a dom that doesn’t let his sub get off on their own. He doesn’t even set up a definite rule for his sub masturbating, but he certainly appreciates when his sub calls or facetimes him when you’re getting yourself off, and he’s able to find his own release to your small moans and shaky breaths through the phone. 

N- Nicknames (what pet names does he use?) Usually, Mark tends to stick to your real name. He likes that sort of tender moment when you use your actual names, almost like calling you or him a title sort of removes him from the act, like it’s just playing and not actually...him, if that makes sense. So, he doesn’t use his nicknames for you very often in bed (like I read y’all’s smuts, do you call your boo thang daddy every other word or like you do in fics or???) but he’s particularly fond of baby/baby girl or princess. Those are his main, go-to names he likes to use. It’s just the cutest ones Mark can think of and something ticks inside him when you throw on a cute smile and bat your eyes at him every time he said ‘right, baby girl?’

O- Orgasm (when does he get off?) Most times, Mark cums before he’s decided he’s finished with you. He’s got a perfectly good set of fingers and a miracle working tongue, just because he cums, doesn’t mean he’s done for the night. Mark usually gets off about the 2nd or 3rd orgasm he pulls from you, when he can feel the muscles in your thighs twitching and flexing around his hips and beneath his fingertips, right when the pleasure is starting to tick into pain and you start whining. Seeing your flushed face and scrunched eyebrows while you beg ‘please, I can’t take anymore, please cum sir’, that he finally finds his own release. 

P- Place (when/where won’t he dom?) Any time you or he’s had a bad day, Mark takes domming off the schedule for the day. Neither of you would be in the right mindset, and Mark definitely doesn’t want to initiate anything when he’s upset over fear that he’ll end up focusing too much on his feelings and not pay attention to you, and hurting you in the end. Mental days aside, Mark is opposed to anything publicly (see Umbrage), he likes to keep this part of your relationship privately. 

Q- Questionable (what are his limits? kinks he’s opposed to?) Mark is fairly open to a lot. He’s more than happy to hear out anything you want to try, or you both find interesting enough to dabble with. Sometimes you find something to try, and once you have, find it’s not your thing but that’s half the fun and the reason Mark needs the open dialogue with you. Mark doesn’t mind a little spanking here or there, but full on paddling and breaking the skin is too much for him. Wax play was attempted, but seeing how red your skin stayed afterwards made him a bit iffy, and he’s not too eager at a second attempt. Most degrading is off the table, Mark’s too soft of a lover to even pretend to talk like that. A few people in forums you two had dabbled in had asked about swapping, and you’ll never see Mark shut something down so fast, he is outrageously against swapping partners or sharing you in any way.  

R- Rules (what rules does he set up and their reasons?) Massively important rules aside (safe words, aftercare is a must, etc), Mark’s only real rule is that this is very private, between you two alone. Nothing leaves the safe privacy of your homes. He’s a private lover, and honestly took forever to even bring up the fact he was seeing someone to his friends and members, and the last thing he wants is anyone to know anything about what you two do sexually together. That’s a personal dynamic between you and him, and no one else needs to know about that, and that’s how Mark likes to keep it. Not to mention, he knows he’s going to be teased to the ends of the earth, and honestly, he’d like to avoid that at all costs.

S- Strictness (how seriously does he take his role as a dom? does he follow through with punishments?) Mark is nowhere near a strict dom, by any means. He’s laughably lenient with his baby, as long as it’s nothing really serious that has to be addressed (ignoring or failing to use a safe word, and ending up really hurt or injured), you can usually wiggle your way out of being in trouble. A cute pout and a few bats of your eyelashes, and Mark usually throws in the tower, groaning about ‘fuck, how can I be mad at my cute little princess?’ and you’re in the clear. Definitely take advantage of that. 

T- Title (does he go by any names when he’s being dominant?) Being a Dom while still being mentally a middle school boy is quite a funny concept, and it’s always amusing to see where exactly Mark draws certain lines. The boy will giggle when he sees boobs, and then in the same breath call you his little cum slut, but then gets weird about being called Daddy. He’s a strange one, to be honest. Most of the time, Mark doesn’t demand you call him any particular title, just happy to hear you panting and whining his name, but on occasion, he’s pleased to hear a few soft ‘yes sir’s drifting from your sweet lips. 

U- Umbrage (what will it take to make him punish his sub?) Mark is a particularly lenient dom. He really gives you every chance under the sun to behave or correct your attitude or make amends on your own before he dishes out any punishments. But at some point, you definitely will cross a line and he’ll have to hand out a worthy punishment. Aside from very important rules you don’t have the option to ignore, like using safe words and having dialogues over your limits and boundaries. He lets you get away with a lot privately, but when you start acting out in public or around his members, Mark won’t tolerate that. Getting a little too bratty at a group dinner, after he’s already warned you once to watch your attitude, acting up in a shop when he’s looking at something and you’re demanding attention, or trying to not to subtly get Mark to...act on something during dorm movie nights, and you’re going to be feeling sore for a few days to follow. 

V- Voice (does he use a tone? how does it differ from his normal voice?) All I can hear in my mind like 80% of my day is that fan meeting Mark and telling him he looks nicer in person, and him responding in that teasing, low voice, ‘Ah, so I look ugly on tv?’ and just...Boy. Mark’s got a pretty low, sort of rough voice already. He doesn’t particularly change his voice much, it just hits different when he isn’t talking like the cute boy next door, and starts whispering the most sinful things you could imagine. 

W- Weakness (does he break character - when?) He does break character, like, a lot. Obviously, you two have safe words and precautions set in place, but Mark is still always hesitant and takes a lot of time checking on you, making sure he’s not crossing any boundaries or hurting you in any way. He breaks a lot during more physically intense playtimes, checking every few smacks of a paddle, soothing a warm hand over the heated skin while cooing, ‘aw, poor baby, it hurts doesn’t it? hm, oh, I know, but you can handle it, can’t you? good girl..’ 

X- Excitement (does he plan out the fun?) Mark is very much a spur of the moment lover. Honestly, he’s ready to jump your bones any second of the day, and the poor guy simply can’t plan that much to begin with. Sometimes, he’ll just burst through the door like, ‘I’ve got 45 minutes until I have to be at practice, panties off, on your knees, now,’ and he’s got absolutely no game plan on what’s on the agenda for that 45 minutes. On the slight occasion when Mark has enough of a heads up to actually plan out some fun, he does take advantage of it and make use of every moment he’s been gifted.  

Y- Yield (what won’t he do?) Very much an explorer, Mark is fairly open in all things sexual. He’s always game to experiment and try new things, whether that be different outfits, roles, toys, or kinks, he’s happy to give anything a shot, really. While he’s unrelenting and shows such a powerful side in the bedroom with spankings and the like, Mark is still a sweetie through it all, funny enough; so verbal degrading is a big no-go for him. Beyond it just doing nothing sexual for him, Mark just can’t bare speaking to you or about you so filthily. 

Z - Zzz (does he have to nap afterwards?) Mark is definitely a member that has bursts of energy, but isn’t energetic all the way time and therefore, absolutely finds himself needing some rest after sex. It’s quite cute, actually, seeing the dominant persona just melt off him as soon as you’ve both hit your limits and can’t cum anymore; seeing Mark go from essentially tying you in a knot and remorsefully fucking you like only he can to the glowing-skinned, sweet and cuddly boy you know and love is quite a sight to see. Sometimes he’s barely able to pull himself together long enough to get through your much needed aftercare before he’s crashing onto the bed, unable and unwilling to move again until many hours pass. 

[skylarmoon71]

Leonardo Fanfiction- Oneshot

"I'm gonna kill you guys!!!" Leo's yell echoed all the way through the halls. When you step inside the lair, you're a bit confused. That is until you see all three turtles running out of Leo's room laughing. Mikey catches you on his way out. "Hey (Y/N)!!" He's not able to say much more, because he's already disappeared with his brothers. You can only imagine what they've gotten up to. When you get to Leo's room, you peek your head in, and the sight of him tied to his bed almost knocks the air right out of you. His arms are held over his head, and the rope that they've used to keep him bound is doing its job. You can see him struggling, and the action just makes his muscles bulge. So, it was no secret you had a thing for the blue bandana turtle. Well, you suppose it was. Only April really knew about it. Which is why she constantly badgered you to make a move.

"L-Leo?" when he sees you his eyes light up. "(Y/N)! Hey can you help me out of this. Raph and the others thought it would be a funny joke. Just wait until I get free." He's already plotting his punishment, and you smile at the fatherly manner that Leo acts. You sort of get why Splinter appointed him the leader.

Despite Raph's assumption that Leo is the favourite, you know it's more about maturity. Each of them have their own traits that make them unique. Leo's is the air of authority that just oozes around him. He's the voice of reason, and he always puts the interest of what's best for his family before himself. That's probably what's so attractive in your eyes. His effortless selflessness.

You walk in slowly. As you do so you're about to climb up the side and reach over, but from the angle of the bed, and his desk close by, it's near impossible. Leo notices your predicament.

"Maybe you should climb over me." It's completely innocent, he's not trying anything you know that, still, you can't help your mind from straying to that. So you obey, hesitantly climbing unto the bed. You inch up, hooking your legs on either side of his waist, apologizing when you almost tumble on top of him. Leo just offers a smile, and you lean over to make quick work at taking out the knots of the rope. You try to keep your eyes focused on the task, if only to distract you.

"She smells really good.." Leo hasn't failed to notice you, although it may seem like it. When you came into their lives it was unexpected, now it's come to the point when he can't imagine not seeing your face on a regular basis. He's been trying to tell himself that there's nothing that could ever happen. You don't even see him as more than a friend, maybe even a brother. Just the thought makes him grimace. He certainly didn't see you in a platonic manner. With his hands restricted, he's silently thinking that being tied up isn't that bad. When he hears the little grunts of frustration, he looks up. "Is everything okay?" you nod, sticking your tongue out. "Yeah I just, these ties are really good. How the hell did they manage to do this?"

He's a bit embarrassed, but it was three against one. He doesn't want to admit he was caught off guard. He's a ninja. Stealth and alertness is part of his life. When he doesn't answer, you look at him, and at that moment he does the same. Your gazes meet, and it's like you don't even remember that you should be working at the ties.

Leo leans up slightly, as much as the ropes will permit. And the action makes you slide down a little, now he's face to face with you, and you're unable to utter a word. "I think maybe I let my guard down before.." he mutters. You don't even process that he's answering your previous question. "That's bad.." you mumble back. Your dazed look brings a small smile to Leo's lips.

"Sometimes it isn't that bad." you're praying that the statement has more meaning. Your question seems answered when he leans in slowly. Your breathing is shallow, and you just stay still, because you're terrified if you move, then this will all go away. As he inches closer, you close your eyes to anticipate it. When your lips connect, your brows knit, completely taken. Leo doesn't deepen, or push too much. It's just a gentle brushing of lips. You still can't believe it.

"Donnie!!" April's voice rings, and you jolt, staring at Leo in surprise.

"Donnie I need you to-" before you can move, April is already standing in front of the door. When she sees the situation she gapes. You're not sure what to say. How could you explain that this wasn't what she might be assuming.

"S-Sorry! I'll give you guys some space." She darts away, and you fumble.

"N-No April it isn't what it looks like!!"

This would be interesting.

~~~

Leo has been freed, and Splinter has taken it upon himself to enlist the punishment. A few hours in the hashi. Leo's is grinning the entire time as he watches his brothers walk to some very painful hours of training. "Raph made me!" Mikey calls out in an attempt to escape.

"It was your idea dumnut!!" He whacks him over the head, and you laugh, watching them trail off. Now, it's just you, Leo and April. He notices, clearing his throat, making the excuse that he has to tend to his bonsai tree. As he's going to leave, there's a brief moment when he looks your way. His eyes are so distracting, and piercing. It's not even a full minute, and you have to direct your eyes elsewhere to keep your heart under control. When he's out of sight, you're able to think straight. It's then that you catch the look on April's face.

"You sly dog, so his brother's tie him up and you take advantage of the poor guy. " you shake your head with flushed cheeks. "T-That's not what happened!" you protest. April just folds her hands, waiting for an explanation. "Details, come on!" you sigh, there isn't anyway for you to escape this. You pull her to the couch, Hopefully sitting will help settle your nerves.

"I was just trying to help him out of the ropes. But then he..he leaned in April. He initiated it. I was so shocked, I can't even remember if I responded." you press your hands to your cheeks.

"Is it stupid of me to assume that he likes me, even just a little."

"Trust me (Y/N), I know a lot about guys, and Leo's he's one of the most decent ones you'll meet. And he isn't even human." you giggle. "Honestly, I think he feels the same way you do. But you know Leo, he puts duty and family above all else. I'm shocked he was the one that made the first move. I think you're going to have to initiate the next one. I'm sorry I barged in, maybe things would have gotten spicier~" you flush hitting her arm, which she just laughs in return.

"Just tell him how you feel, everything else will just fall in." With a deep breath, you nod. Although it would be a bit difficult, maybe she was right. He did kiss you, so that counted for something.

~~~

April stuck around waiting to ask for some assistance from Donnie. You've been alone with your thoughts for a while, trying to mentally prep yourself for the upcoming conversation with Leo. You've buzzed by his room at least six times, but whenever you get close you'd chicken out. Finally tired of your cowardice, you stomp over there, knocking. You stand there waiting patiently for him to open up, and as the seconds fly by, you're a little less sure.

"What the hell am I doing! I can't do this!" you're about to take off, hopefully before he answers. Luck isn't on your side, because the door swings open, and you swear Leo's nervous, almost like he's been expecting this.

"Leo I...we..I think that...you know?" It's not even an actual sentence, but he gets the message, ushering you inside. He closes the door, and you're now facing him again. You don't know whether to sit or stand. The bed is a bit too daunting right now.

Leo's not really looking at you. It doesn't really help.

"I just thought we should, you know, talk about earlier." he knows that's why you're here. What scares him is the prospect of losing you. All because he was unable to control himself.

"I'm sorry (Y/N). I really shouldn't have done that." You blink. "What?"

He shakes his head. "It was a mistake. I hope we can still be friends. "

"Friends." Just the word shatters you. So it was all imagined. He'd never intended to kiss you. Maybe it was just him getting lost in the moment. Whatever it was, he obviously doesn't think it was right. Your head lowers, and you want to cry, but you know that'll just make Leo feel bad. You weren't sure you could take his pity right now. "Well, y-yeah sure. I-I'm glad we talked this over."

It's important that you get out as quickly as possibly. Maybe find April so you can cry your eyes out. As your hand grabs the knob, Leo takes your wrist. "Wait (Y/N)." you turn slowly, not too sure you want to hear anymore. If he says friends again you'll break down right there.

"I lied, I don't want us to just be friends." you pause, confused and a little angry. Was he messing with you?

"I know I just said that's what I want but it's not true. Friends don't wake up every morning thinking about the way you smile. Or how you make even the baggiest sweatshirts look absolutely stunning. Friends don't make the other person's heart beat like crazy every time you walk into the room, or look at me.."

You're the one who's heart beat has gone crazy at Leo's confession.

"I do value our friendship, more than anything else, but I also want something more. I kept telling myself it was wrong to kiss you like that. I should have asked permission. I felt like I took advantage of you." It's funny, because he was the one who was tied up at that moment.

"If you feel even a fraction of what I feel for you, then I'd like to try and be maybe something more. I-If that's what you want too of course." You know a confession like that is risky, especially in his case. He's already kissed you, so he must assume he's threading in dangerous water. It's quite the opposite.

"That's all I've ever really wanted Leo." His face illuminates so much light, and you wouldn't be surprised if you have a similar expression. His hand slips from your wrist, and he takes your hand in his. The feeling is indescribable. You smile up at him, glowing, and pulling him to the bed to take a seat. He's following your lead, probably the first situation he's a follower, and not a leader. You scoot closer to him and he isn't very sure how to proceed. 

He knows you won't mind if he kisses you, but he's sort of anticipating your kiss. He wants you to take control. When you lean in, he does the same, and you join in the middle. A sweet little kiss. It's so innocent, the way your lips move against his. He supposes that's something else he loves about you. You're innocent. His mindset is somewhat of an adult, he had to be to protect his family. But when he's with you, he feels like a kid again. A teenager. This is what normal teenagers do. They have relationships, fall in love.

He's far from normal, but that doesn't stop him from enjoying the normalcy he can get whenever it presents itself. You're pulling away, and he does too, just a little. He wants to see your face. You're flushed cheeks, puckered lips. It's a sight that drives him wild. He's shocked when you jump into his lap, pushing him backwards and pinning his wrists to the bed. You're not wearing a cocky smirk, no, far from it. You look almost hypnotized. Like you're in a haze. Leo gulps, not prepared for this progression.

"When you were tied up earlier, I couldn't stop myself from thinking about all the things I wanted to do to you. " One of your hands trail from his wrist, going down his body, over his chest, down his torso. Leo has to force himself to stay quiet. Against his will, he releases a soft groan. He knows he can easily get out of your hold. You aren't a challenge for him. But at the moment, he doesn't want to. He's never been in such a position. 

Even though you haven't overpowered him physically, you have done so in every other aspect. Your words have informed him that maybe he misread you. You're not as entirely innocent as he's believed. That excites him. "You can do whatever you want (Y/N)." You look back at him, and the need in his eyes, it almost rivals yours. Those words, that's all you need. You reclaim his lips, and Leo is happy to return it, lost in how heavenly your body feels, pressed to his. He's been captured, with no escape. And he doesn't really want to. He'd gladly be your hostage anyday.

[arcanascribbles]

Disheveled Lover (Lucio) 🌹

Warnings: Meany head Lucio, Y/N is so dumb like stealing from Lucio-, Punishment kink.

Requested: No

Word count: 1168

The grass obviously hadn't been trimmed because it was beginning to become irritating as Y/N ran through it. He was quick, his legs moving silently as he ran through the garden, Mercedes growling loudly as the he sprinted after him. He slipped through the garden to the fountain before tumbling into the cave. He skidded to a halt when Count Lucio stood before him, his eyes looking over his golden claws boredly. He turned to Y/N and smirked widely.

"There is my favorite servant!" Y/N backed away fearfully and hissed under his breath. He adjusted his satchel so it was around his back. Mercedes stalked up the bag and tugged it off of the shaking male, before dropping it at his masters feet and sitting beside the similar dog. Lucio opened the bag and poured the contents out. His smirk turned dark as a golden artifact fell to the ground with a clank. His crimson eyes turned up to the servant and his smirk morphed into a sneer. His voice came out gravel,

"Stealing are we Y/N?" The male muttered out a quiet yes before bowing his head in apology. The count smirked at his quick apology and decided to have his fun with the attractive male.

"We are going to have to give a punishment." Lucio smirked and walked around the servant, observing the males ass. Lucio leaned into the ear of the thief and whispered quietly while he wrapped his gauntlet around the man's waist and spoke, "You are to come to my chambers in an hour. Wear a robe and nothing else, bring the artifact with you." With that Lucio turned and walked out of the cave his two dogs trailing behind him loyally. Y/N shuddered and walked out of the cave. He walked to his chambers which were in the castle and followed his instructions. He stripped and slid into a robe tightening the rope around his body before grabbing the artifact and beginning his journey to Lucio's hall. As he passed the dogs both looked at him expectantly than let him pass. He slid between them and knocked on the door. The response was a low gravely voice, growling out,

"Come in." Y/N slipped into the room and looked towards the figure. He was spinning a glass of wine in his hand and with the other he held out his palm. His face wasn't turned but Y/N could tell he was pissed. He walked up to him and slid the artifact into Lucio's palm and stepped back. Lucio looked at it and smirked. He then turned and looked over the servant and sneered at him,

"The robe take it off." He hissed, disgust rung through his voice. Y/N slowly let the robe fall to the ground, his body, completely naked, was shown to a fully clothed Lucio. Lucio smirked at Y/N's length which was huge, and Y/N turned from Lucio's gaze looking away and out the window else where. Lucio approached and turned Y/N's chin with his golden claw and sneered,

"You are not to look away from me, understand?" The servant nodded and looked into the crimson eyes of the sadist count. The count muttered a good before continuing to look at the males form. He smiled and gave his orders to the servant,

"You are to go to the bed and climb into it, sit on your knees and close your eyes." The servant did as told and shut his eyes. He felt Lucio tie a strip of silk around his eyes and felt a pang of fear, that rised slowly to arousal. Y/N heard his second order.

"Suck my cock until you see fit." The servant was taken aback a bit before hearing the sound of clothes dropping and the clang of Lucio's medals hitting the ground. He felt Lucio lead his hand to his cock and hissed at the smallest touch. Y/N took the tip and swirled his tongue around it before taking down a little over half of Lucio's member. Y/N realized he was larger than he thought and tried to take as much as he could without hitting his gag reflex. Lucio hissed and grabbed Y/N's hair and pulled his head down onto his full length. Y/N gagged and bobbed his head a few times before pulling further away from the base and working on the tip and front of Lucio. Lucio sneered out,

" I may have said what you see fit but your still going to pleasure me thief." Lucio said this as he bucked his hips down Y/N's throat and growled at the sensation of Y/N gagging. Y/N continued to take down Lucio's member taking short quick breaths as he did so. He hissed as Lucio came into his throat and pulled out with a soft pop. Y/N heard drawers opening and closing before Lucio pulled him up and shove him onto the ground. Lucio hissed out and spoke,

"On your knees thief." Y/N did as told and was surprised at the feeling of the cool tile, but didn't say as such. This tile was more expensive than anything he owned. Lucio walked around him and tied his hands behind him back and ruffled the males hair as he made his way to the front to appreciate his handy work. Lucio leaned into Y/N's neck and bit. Hard . He could feel blood drip from his neck down his chest. Lucio pulled back his lips doused in a coat of red. He spoke, his voice almost light and kind,

"Give me a smile dear." He winked and gave a smirk, while his gauntlet held up his chin. Y/N smiled extravagantly. He was tied up, with a sharp nail beneath his chin, a lascivious smile on his face, disheveled hair, all while kneeling, and bleeding onto the floor.

Lucio smirked at his smile and knelt down before taking all of Y/N's length down his throat, taking every inch before pulling almost all the way off and then going back down, gagging himself every time. He continued to take him down before popping off and speaking,

"Cum as you wish thief, I am not one to deny pleasure that often." Y/N hissed as he felt Lucio take him down again and continuing the same pattern as before except now with the occasional tongue swirl. Y/N came after the fourth tongue swirl a low moan released from his as he did so. Lucio pulled off the blind-fold to see Y/N's expression, he saw the red face, his eyes had small tears blossoming from them, his tongue stuck out slightly and he was panting heavily. Lucio smirked and used his nails to cut the rope, and helped up Y/N. He leaned in and whispered roughly,

"Steal again and I'll make sure you can't stand." He smirked and threw him his robe before turning and walking into the bathroom, leaving the poor servant to let himself out.

Maybe stealing again wouldn't be that bad if he's the one to catch me.

[gothgirlmahi]

All That’s Best (Chapter Two)

Dark!Steve x Reader

Masterlist

Warnings: non con, dub con

This is like a...transition chapter. Things pick up soon. Like...this is probably the most tame chapter for a while.

Chapter 2

Steve practically fucked you unconscious the night before and you slept like a brick. When you woke up the bed was empty and you found yourself wondering where he ran off to. As far as escape attempts went, you knew you were essentially hopeless. That didn’t mean you would be an easy captive, though. Just because he had the upper hand didn’t mean you would make it any easier for him.

You went to clean yourself up in the bathroom. There was still the mess between your legs to deal with and you wanted to wash off...Steve. There was still an aching in your lower regions from how hard he had taken you and you hoped it wouldn’t happen again. After walking in the bathroom, you nearly stepped back out in shock.

On the shelves were every single product you used to get ready for the day or get ready for bed. A quick glance around showed he hadn’t seemed to forget anything. He would only have known this if he had been in your apartment at some point and you cursed yourself for being so stupid.

It had to have been that fucking window. It was your own carelessness but you were sure even if the window was locked, that wouldn’t have stopped him. Wouldn’t it have been much easier to just kidnap you while you were on the date? Steve Rogers didn’t make a lot of sense to you. People like that probably didn’t even make a lot of sense to themselves.

The shower had you feeling a little better. The water pressure was perfect, much better than the one in your apartment. While cleaning yourself off, you noticed a puncture mark on your arm. You figured that must have been how Steve got you so quickly.

The familiar products were a small comfort in your prison. Doing your daily routine let you forget where you where even if just for a few minutes. When finished, you left the bathroom wrapped in a towel and were startled to see Steve sitting on the bed, dressed for the day. He smiled at you.

“Hi, sweetie. Do you feel any better today?”

Sweetie. Sweetie.

God, you could punch him.

“I’m fine.”

You kept walking to the closet. You almost laughed when you saw that some of your clothes were here along with an extensive new wardrobe of similar styles. Everything was meticulously chosen. Bra size, shoe size, ring size were all correct. You didn’t even know your ring size. Had he gone through your closet and fucking measured? He really hadn’t forgotten anything. Unreal.

You heard him rummaging around in the bathroom and peeked out to see him putting your dirty clothes in the hamper in your room. You threw on a casual dress you liked after quickly realizing there was no underwear. Of course there wasn’t.

When you left the closet, Steve was still waiting patiently on the bed.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thanks. I call this look ‘I’ve been kidnapped by a psycho.’”

You expected Steve to get mad but he just laughed. You knew it was a bad idea to poke a bear, but you couldn’t help it.

“Do you want to come upstairs with me for breakfast?”

Upstairs? Yes. Breakfast? Yes. With him? No.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to be good?”

You blinked.

“Yes.”

And you were good. You let him hold your hand and guide you up the stairs. A look around revealed a well furnished modern house. It didn’t look much lived in which confused you. Things went bad quickly when Steve came up behind you with rope.

“What are you doing?!”

“Just a precaution.”

“Get away from me!”

The fact that he thought it would be a good idea to tie you up only made you angry. Well, all of this made you angry but this in particular was egregious. He said the only way he would bring you upstairs was if he knew for sure you would be good. So he tied you to a kitchen chair and told you to stop screaming because he was just trying to help you. But you didn’t go without a fight (which he obviously won). Steve smiled, sitting in the chair next to you.

“That’s better. Good morning, honey. How did you sleep?”

You glared at him.

“Fuck you.” You were still out of breath from your little tussle with him.

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair before standing up and walking around the kitchen.

“Look, I know this is an adjustment. I know you’re frustrated, but we can get through this.”

“I am more than frustrated and the fact that you don’t seem to understand what you’ve done at all makes it that much worse.”

He pulled a waffle maker out of a cabinet and you frowned.

“Waffles are your favorite, right?”

Your eyes went wide.

The only thought going through you head was this motherfucker is crazy. How long had he been watching you? What else did he know?

You didn’t say anything and his face fell.

“Answer me,” he demanded. His tone was even but his eyes were alight with anger.

“Yes.”

“Good. Alright, sit tight. Breakfast will be ready soon.” The immediate change in his demeanor going back to lighthearted and happy had your head spinning.

“So, are you originally from New York?” he asked. You weren’t in the mood for casual conversation but didn’t have much of a choice but to humor him.

“Yes.”

“Let me guess—Manhattan?”

“Brooklyn.”

“Wow. We have a lot in common.”

“I doubt it.”

“How the hell did you end up in Siberia? Do you remember why HYDRA took you?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I guess I’m just a hot ticket item right now.”

You were being insufferable on purpose. It was a talent of yours. If you were going to be miserable, you were going to make him miserable too. So you kept going.

“You’d make a good HYDRA agent considering your track record of lying and kidnapping people to further your own goals.”

“I did this to keep you safe. I didn’t bring you here to hurt you. You don’t have any family or anyone looking out for you so I did.”

“That just sounds like HYDRA with less confidence.”

“You said you liked me and I thought we got along well so I don’t understand why you’re being like this. When I was with you I saw that I had a chance to be happy so I took it.”

He sat a plate in front of you. Two waffles covered in all of your favorite toppings. He took a seat next to you with his own plate.

“What about my happiness?”

“I can make you happy if you let me. I can also make you very miserable if you don’t comply with me. So how about you lose the attitude and we can enjoy our meal. Okay, sweetheart?”

The look of thinly veiled anger in Steve’s eyes made you shut up. You ate in silence while he mostly just talked at you. He asked you a lot of questions you either didn’t know the answer to or didn’t want to answer so you shrugged a lot. It didn’t seem to bother him so he talked about himself instead.

After breakfast Steve took you back downstairs and left you alone for a while. You spent the day reading, doodling, making lists of all the things in the room, another list of things you wish you had, a list of things Steve had said to you. There wasn’t much else to do. You flipped through the TV just to find nothing interesting was on.

You looked at the clock. It was nearing three in the afternoon. Where was Steve? Maybe he had gone somewhere. Maybe he was mad at you. You didn’t really care. A day without Steve was a good day as far as you were concerned.

Boredom took over so you hopped back in bed.

Steve was conflicted. He spent a lot of the day wondering what he should do about you. He knew you wouldn’t be receptive to him, but you were actively antagonistic. It was like you didn’t want to be happy.

That was okay. He just had to spend more time with you.

Steve opened the door to the basement before making sure it was locked behind him. He called your name softly and got no reply. A peek into your bedroom showed you sprawled out on the bed. His intent was to come get you so you all could eat together but you were sound asleep. No problem. He could wake you up.

Steve climbed on the bed between your legs. He pressed a kiss to your clit before lapping at it carefully a few times. His tongue darted out to give a few longer licks. You moaned unconsciously and pushed your hips closer. He smiled to himself at your reaction before licking his lips and savoring the sweet taste of you. He dived back in with vigor, his plump lips wrapping around your bud and sucking it into his mouth.

Another moan slipped from your lips and Steve’s blue eyes caught your own before he tightened his grip on your thighs so you couldn’t squirm away from him. Your hand instinctively went to grab his hair.

He pushed his tongue down lower to tease at your entrance and a few shallow pumps in your hole. You tried to push him away with no success. You weren’t strong enough to stop him and you weren’t even sure you wanted to.

If Steve Rogers was anything, it was good with his mouth. Giving stupid pep talks. Convincing you to go on a date with him. Eating you like a starving man. Slowing licking every part of your insides like an inmate savoring his last meal.

He slowly moved up again, sucking on your labia a bit before devouring your clit. He lavished you with harsh licks and sucks that pushed you closer to climax with each thrash of his tongue.

One of his hands left your thighs and you looked to see what he was doing when two fingers were thrust into you without preamble. You could hear how wet you were, with his mouth sucking on you and his fingers playing in your pussy. You collapsed into his touch, using your grip on his hair to push him even further into your core. His name left your mouth in sharp gasps and he let you grind against his face while he stimulated you.

You reasoned with yourself that you were only human and this was only a human reaction. This was some kind of manipulation tactic / power move he was trying on you.

His mouth came down on yours, forcing his tongue in and kissing you. You could taste yourself on him and he swirled his tongue around trying to get some reaction but you gave him nothing. Just laid limply like a doll. You knew he didn’t care, he was going to take you either way.

When he pushed into you, the friction and his girth rubbing along your insides was enough to push you over the edge. Steve hissed as you tightened around him, burying his face in your neck.

“Oh, fuck, baby. You can cum on daddy’s cock as much as you need. You’re so good to me. I’m gonna take care of you forever.”

He had pulled your hips at an angle off the bed to slam into you. His moans were growled into your ear with every thrust.

You tried to push at his chest, push him off of you, but he took both of your wrists in one of his hands and slammed them above your head.

“Stop. You know you want it. Even if you lie to me, your pussy can’t. You always get so fucking wet for me. This little cunt gets so tight when I talk about how much I wanna put a baby in you. Isn’t that right? You want me to fuck a baby into you?”

“Steve, why are you doing this to me?”

He leaned down to kiss both of your tear stained cheeks and smiled, caressing your face.

“Shh. I have to protect you.”

“I don’t feel protected. I feel trapped.”

“I—fuck. I would die before I let anything happen to you.”

He went at you hard, slamming into your cervix and you whimpered in pain. A low groan was let out near your ear as his hips stuttered in their rhythm. Steve reached down and brushed his thumb over your clit.

“You have to cum again, it increases the chances of pregnancy.”

Your brain was screaming at you. Steve was an expert. An expert at reading you. An expert at manipulating your body to do what he wanted and right now he wanted you to come. You released the tension from your body and laid back, letting him plow you and tease your pearl. You were close. Steve could tell and sped up his movements on you. His mouth latched onto your nipple and sucked. Your vision flashed white as your back arched off the bed. Steve groaned, pushing deeper into you and finding his own release. His cum was hot inside you and you tightened around him again after feeling it.

It was the best sex you ever had and it was forced on you by Steve Rogers of all people. You hadn’t wanted it but you couldn’t deny how he made you feel.

You didn’t have the strength or energy to push him away. Steve had claimed you as his and you’d just have to live with it. Deal with it somehow. He nipped at your neck gently before releasing you and pulling out.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. Even after the fact, your legs were still shaking. Steve laid on his back and pulled you to lay against his chest. You complied, limp and pliant in his arms. A kiss was pressed to your hair.

His hand stroked your back gently and under normal circumstances it would have lulled you to sleep. You just couldn’t shake the thought that this was crazy and Steve Rogers was crazy and you had no idea what was going through his head. No idea what twisted chain of logic he followed to convince himself this was okay.

There was no way you could keep dealing with this. You’d have to find a way out.

.........

Taglist:  @xoxabs88xox @momc95 @princessdancingonthesunshine @sllooney @americasass81 @shippers-heart @villanellevi

Masterlist // Chapter Three

[the--highlanders]

Ride Home

on a ride back to the TARDIS, Polly finds herself a bit out of her comfort zone.

on ao3.

Biting her lip, Polly stared up at the towering form of the creature before her. Its legs looked almost too spindly to hold its weight, ending in neat hooves that she might even have called dainty. There was something giraffe-like about it, in the great neck and swishing tail, but its back was too long and sloping, divided up by three humps. Saddles were nestled into the spaces between them, held in place by a dizzying array of straps and ropes and chains, and the ladders that swung down from them looked decidedly less than solid.

She threw a glance over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the Doctor, and wrinkled her nose at his benevolent smile. “Are you sure about this?”

“Quite sure,” he replied, his voice as smooth and unworried as his expression. “They’re the best way to cross the swamp, you know.”

Privately, Polly wished they had been handed the keys to something more like a car instead, but she could not bring herself to say so aloud. It had been very kind of the village to lend them two beasts for the journey back to the TARDIS. And yet she still could not bring herself to reach out one hand to the ladder and begin the climb.

“Won’t they just be stuck out there?” she asked, scrambling around to find an excuse, some problem the Doctor had not yet thought of. The thing swung its enormous neck down as she spoke, bringing its head around to prod at her with its short, bristly trunk. The tip of it was wet, and she shuddered, wiping her sleeve on her hip. The motion left a long smear of something on the fleecy fabric, like the track left behind by a snail, and she grimaced, scrubbing harder at the spot until it had disappeared. “I mean – we will be leaving them behind when we get to the TARDIS, after all,” she added.

“Oh, I shouldn’t worry about that.” Wandering around her, the Doctor held his hand up to the other creature. He did not so much as flinch when it nosed at him, nor did he seem to mind the splotch of mucus left on his palm. “They’re very intelligent creatures, you know. They’ll be able to get home just fine.”

“Just think about the swamp, Pol,” Ben put in, grinning. “Dunno about you, but I don’t want to walk through there again.”

That was true enough, she supposed.

“I’ll ride in front,” Ben was saying. “If you’re too scared to.”

His words galled her into grasping the sides of the ladder, her hands sweaty against the scratchy surface of the rope – and once she had grabbed it, she could hardly step back and let go. “I’m not scared,” she declared, more for her own benefit than Ben’s. Had he done it on purpose? she wondered. Or was he just goading her, without really expecting her to take it to heart?

Either way, she was here now. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself upward, stiffening when the ladder swung inwards to bump against the creature’s belly. She took the next step laboriously, still clinging to the ladder as if she was a thousand metres above the ground. The creature shifted from side to side impatiently, flicking its tail like it thought she was some pesky fly come to bother it, and she froze, half-expecting it to take off with her still clinging onto its side. But it stilled again, and she dragged herself onwards. It was much easier to grasp the wooden rungs, she found, and she edged upwards until she found herself high enough that the ladder was stabilised against the creature’s side. She reached towards the saddle with a huff of relief, catching hold of the metal loops that hung from its side and laying her forehead against the leather for a moment. But when she moved again, her slick palms slipped against the metal, and she blanched, leaning forward to slam her body into the creature’s side. She stayed pressed there for a long moment, feeling her breaths push in and out against those of the creature, but eventually the relief at having caught herself propelled her upwards, and she eased her leg over the top of the saddle.

“I’m alright,” she called down, then winced. She could only have been on the ladder for a few minutes, and most of that had been spent standing still. The creature’s back was hardly high enough to warrant her telling the others she was alright. But they seemed so small down there, and the tops of the twisted swamp trees so close.

“I’m glad,” the Doctor called back. “Ah – Ben, why don’t you go next?”

Ben had scaled the ladder and swung his leg over the creature's back almost before the words had finished leaving the Doctor’s mouth. He had been raring to go the whole time, Polly thought with a twinge of something that was most definitely not petulance. Trust Ben to throw himself into something like this while she looked down at the ground with an uneasy stomach.

“What’s the weather like up here?” he quipped, settling himself into the saddle behind her with a grin.

She tried to meet him smile for smile. “Wind’s a bit stronger.”

“Sure, sure.” He was fiddling with something, but she did not dare lean around for a better view. “Have you strapped yourself in yet?”

“I was just about to.” Twisting around to fasten the straps, she caught a glimpse of Jamie and the Doctor clambering onto their own creature. She was a little gratified to see that they were as tentative as she had been, the Doctor pushing Jamie up until he was all but thrown over the saddle before starting his own nervous climb. But they settled themselves in easily enough, and she leant towards them as subtly as she could to catch whatever the Doctor was telling Jamie.

“- this is only a little different,” he was saying. Only a little different from what? Polly wondered. Perched atop such an enormous creature on the edge of a twisted, gnarled alien swamp, she had never felt further from Earth. She could not imagine anything even remotely similar, even after all their travels. “Roll the rope up, like that, yes -” Fumbling to copy Jamie’s motions, Polly managed to roll the thing up alright – but then she was left holding it. She cast around one-handed for something to tie it up with, settling on a loose strap. Maybe she had been meant to tie herself down with that, she thought. Still, she felt secure enough. There could be no real harm in it.

A clatter of hooves on pebbles beside her made her glance up to see Jamie and the Doctor’s creature setting off at a brisk walk, loping away towards the swamp pools. The Doctor had clearly told Jamie something about getting the thing going, but whatever it had been, she had missed it in her distraction with the ladder. There were reins sitting in front of her, looped loosely around the lump on the front of the saddle, and she picked them up tentatively, holding them high against her chest. That was steering sorted, she supposed – but how to move forward? She gave a half-hearted kick at the creature’s sides, but if it felt the impact through the thick leather of the saddle, it did not show it. Setting her jaw, she kicked again, harder, and it simply tossed its head, long ears flickering.

“Hit its neck with the reins,” Ben put in. “That’s what the Doctor said.”

“I knew that,” she tossed back at him – but there was no real conviction in her voice, and she did as he said. The creature shivered at the impact, the saddles shaking as its skin rippled, and for a moment Polly was glad of the straps holding her in place. But it skipped forward into a walk, striding over to where the Doctor and Jamie’s creature stood waiting for them.

“Took ye long enough,” Jamie called over to them, grinning. He was enjoying this too, she thought bitterly. Only the Doctor seemed to share any of her discomfort, grasping tightly at the front of his saddle. “Come on!”

He slapped the reins against the creature’s neck, quickly, sharply, and it set off at a brisk trot, legs flicking out in front of it. Polly pressed her own creature on more slowly, watching in trepidation as Jamie’s mount threw itself chest-first into the closest swamp pool. The impact broke up the clumped algae stagnating on the surface, and threw black mud over Jamie and the Doctor, leaving dark spots on their sleeves. Wincing, Polly glanced down at her pink jumper – but the creatures’ legs were long enough that the mud only brushed the edge of the saddle flaps. Nudging her own creature forwards, she guided it into dipping down more carefully, sliding rather than plunging into the pool.

“I could’ve steered, Pol,” Ben called from behind her. “You didn’t have to do it.”

Polly twisted around to throw him a dirty look, but she teetered dangerously far to one side, the straps holding her in place going taut, and she threw herself back the other way, clutching white-knuckled at the reins. “I’m fine,” she replied through gritted teeth. Her heart was pounding after another near miss, and she was sure her voice would be unsteady, too, if she let it. “I just don’t want to get dirty, that’s all.”

“Come off it, duchess.” Ben did not sound particularly convinced. She tossed her head, trying to ignore him. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m not,” she protested – but their creature made a great leap forward just as the words left her mouth, pitching them backwards, and she grasped at its neck with a yelp. She did not have to turn around to feel the weight of Ben’s smug expression. “I’m not,” she said, more evenly this time. “Why would I be nervous?”

“Dunno. Just thought you might be, that’s all.”

Clambering out of the pool, their creature ambled over to stand beside the Doctor and Jamie’s mount. The pair of them stood there, huffing and twitching their trunks, each of them coated so thickly in mud up to their bellies that it entirely obscured their reddish coats. To Polly’s relief, the next stretch of terrain looked mostly dry, with only a few shallow puddles marring the expanse of moss that carpeted the ground.

Puddles that a creature as tall as this could surely stride over, if it was going fast enough.

Once again, she wondered if Ben’s needling was just to bother her, or if he really meant to encourage her. She was perched up ridiculously high, yes, and glancing down to the ground made her stomach flip over. But she was safely strapped in, and the creatures knew their way around the swamps. And if Jamie could ride the thing so easily, surely there was no reason why she should not be able to.

“I’ll race you,” she called over to Jamie, taking up her reins and readjusting her seat with all the restless energy of a jockey. Her creature snorted and stamped its foot, like it had sensed her change in demeanour. But Ben tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned around to see him frowning.

“Polly -” Now he was the one sounding nervous. Satisfaction flashed through her, though it was quickly tempered by guilt. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“They know where they’re going,” Polly reassured him, patting their creature’s neck. “Think about it this way, we’ll be back to the TARDIS sooner.” Twisting around, she shuffled the reins into one hand and clapped him on the shoulder with the other. “If you’re scared, you can always walk back.”

“Of course I’m not scared,” Ben scoffed.

“Good.” His mouth snapped shut, and she turned around again, drawing herself up a little higher.

Jamie had watched their banter with an air of amusement. “You’re sure?” he called over.

“Of course.”

[searchingwardrobes]

The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 5/11

Still separated, Emma and Killian learn that fate gives . . . and fate takes away. Yes, Emma and Killian are still separated in this chapter, but you begin to see how their lives are following similar paths. We still need tissues, I'm afraid. The angst is still strong!

Thanks as always to the mods of the @captainswanbigbang​ for organizing the CSRT and my betas: @shippingtheswann​, @optomisticgirl​, and @distant-rose​.

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …

Rating: M for eventual sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape

Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and positive Millian

Words: Around 2,300 in this chapter

** Complete and updated every Monday** Also on A03

Emma: Age 18

Emma can finally have the family she’s always craved. Every sharp and overwhelming pain from her womb reminds her of that fact. Pain that rolls through her, unceasing. She grasps the railing on the bed as best she can with her left wrist handcuffed to the bed. Her left ankle is shackled too, and everytime she writhes with the excruciating pain, it rubs her skin raw.

The doctor hadn’t been phased by the handcuffs, however. He’d even argued with her guards to take them off, but it was an argument he’d lost. He’s a bright spot amidst the pain, humiliation, and heartbreak of this day. He is surprisingly kind and gentle and reminds Emma of a grandfather who sneaks his grandchildren peppermints when their parents aren’t looking. That’s what they show in holiday commercials, anyways. The ones that made Emma long for a family of her own for so many lonely years. Yet fate is cruel, the timing never right, and this is a chance at a family she can’t accept.

The contraction subsides, but she knows that the reprieve will be far too brief. Whimpering, she gives the nurse a pleading look.

“Can’t I have an epidural?”

“I’m sorry, Emma, you didn’t get here soon enough. It’s time to push.”

Emma’s heartbeat triples, and spots swim before her eyes. She thought there would be something for the pain. No one told her anything about what childbirth would be like. She read no books, she had no mother to talk to. She looks up at the ceiling as panic overwhelms her. The doctor puts a reassuring hand to her knee.

“You can do this Emma,” he tells her, “just take a deep breath as I count to three, then bear down. One . . . two . . Three!”

Emma does as he says, and the pain is so great it feels like she might split in two. At the same time, the waves of the contractions demand that she push. Sweat beads on her temple and her legs tremble. She collapses against the hospital bed, exhausted.

“The baby’s crowning, Emma! I’m going to count again, and you push. One . . . two . . . THREE!”

Emma pushes again, and she sees stars as a ring of fire seems to bloom between her legs. A strangled sob escapes her lips. Surely she can’t survive this; it’s too much. The lights in the room flicker, and she hears a lightbulb pop, but honestly everything could crumble around her and she wouldn’t care. She just wants this torture to end.

“The heads out, Emma,” the doctor says, his voice still calm and encouraging, “so the worst is over. Push for me again, okay? Ready?”

“I can’t,” Emma chokes out. Her body is trembling all over.

“Yes, you can,” the doctor says firmly. “Look at me, Emma. You can do this.”

She nods, her lips trembling. She wishes she had someone to hold her hand, but she’s all alone. Instead, she grasps the railings of the bed and when the doctor counts to three again, she pushes with all she has. A baby’s cry splits the air, and she collapses against the pillows behind her.

“It’s a boy, Emma!” the doctor cries joyfully.

Emma turns her head, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. She’s afraid if she looks at him -

“Do you want to hold him?” the doctor asks.

Emma grips the railing of the bed tighter and shakes her head, tears slipping down her face. She hears the nurse whisper something to the doctor.

“You know, Emma,” the doctor says gently, “you can still change your mind.”

Still refusing to look at the crying bundle in his arms, Emma shakes her head as her tears come faster. “I can’t,” she chokes, “I can’t be a mother.” How would she even know how?

The doctor comes closer to the bed. “Some mothers at least like to say goodbye. It’s up to you. I just want you to know your rights.”

Emma’s breath catches then. She’s terrified, but what if she regrets this moment later? What if she thinks back and wishes she had told him why? He’s just a newborn baby, but maybe somewhere deep inside, he’ll understand. She turns her tear stained face to the baby in the doctor’s arms.

“Maybe I’ll just hold him for a few minutes.”

The doctor nods and gently lays the baby in the crook of Emma’s handcuffed arm. He’s covered in blood and afterbirth, but he’s still so beautiful, that Emma smiles. She reaches down to trace his cheek, and the tiny baby reaches up to grasp one of her fingers. She gasps in surprise to see what’s on the inside of his wrist: the same birthmark she bears on hers. She leans down and presses a kiss against it, then she whispers so only the baby can hear.

“I love you, you hear me? This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I still have time to serve. I want you to go to a family, not into foster care.” Emma presses her eyes closed as tears stream down her face. “I love you so, so much, please know that. I’m trying to do the right thing - the best thing for you.”

Tears have completely blurred her vision when she gives the baby back, and as they wheel the hospital bassinet out of the room, her entire sore and weary body shakes with the violence of her sobs.

Killian: Age 18

Captain Hook turns eighteen quietly, telling no one of the significance of the day, not even Milah. He would have long ago forgotten when his birthday is if not for Liam, and now that his brother is gone, he sees no reason to celebrate.

“I’m eighteen now,” he whispers against Milah’s shoulder blade one night a week later.

She turns in his arms, but he can’t see her face in the darkness of the cabin. “You’re a man now,” she tells him, tracing his jaw.

It’s all she says, tucking herself beneath his chin and going quiet. He thinks of Pan, the only boy who never grows up. Killian’s hand traces Milah’s spine gently, and he feels a tiny bit better when she sighs softly.

Mason is another year older as well, and his legs are long beneath the cuffs of his trousers. Hook finds the naval uniform that once belonged to Jim Hawkins, former cabin boy of the Jewel of the Realm and current loyal member of Hook’s crew. Mason has to roll the pants up and tie them with a bit of rope, but they fit him well enough. Seeing the uniform takes Killian back to that fateful day when he was sixteen. How would things have been different if Jim Hawkins hadn’t broken his leg? Would Liam still be alive?

He shrugs off such thoughts as he stands at the helm three weeks after becoming a man and ruffles Mason’s hair. Milah smiles at her little brother fondly, and Killian wonders if he can ever get the softness from her that Mason elicits.

“Why are you so melancholy lately?” she asks him as he leaves the wheel to Starkey and stands at the prow scanning the horizon with his spyglass.

“What do you mean?”

She leans against the railing and peruses him slowly. “I don’t know. Ever since you turned eighteen -”

“That has nothing to do with it,” he interrupts in a scoffing tone.

Milah rubs her hand up and down his arm. “Is it what the fairies told us?”

He arches a brow and says dryly, “What do I care about pixie dust?”

Milah shrugs, “Well, Tinker Bell did say that it’s tied to the island somehow.”

“Good riddance,” he grumbles.

“Killian Jones,” she snaps, shoving him in the shoulder, “I’m trying to talk to you!”

“And I’m telling you there’s nothing to talk about!” he shouts back.

Most girls would have cried or at least gotten teary eyed, but Milah isn’t most girls. “Tiger Lily was right. You’re a jackass.”

“Wait,” he apologizes, grasping her around the waist before she can storm off. She pretends to fight him, but the sparkle in her eyes betrays her. He brushes a kiss to her lips, “I just have a lot on my mind, okay?”

“Me too,” she whispers as she fiddles with the hair at the nape of his neck. “The young boy Tiger Lily said Pan is looking for . . . do you think it could be Mason?”

“Don’t worry about that love, you know that I - wait a minute,” Killian sets Milah away from him suddenly, scanning the fog that shrouds Neverland once again. He swallows nervously when he sees the dinghy cutting slowly through the mist.

“What is it?” Milah asks.

“Get Mason,” he says sharply, “hide below deck.”

“I’ll hide him,” she replies, “but I’ll return to fight by your side.”

Hook’s eyes flash as he uses his steel appendage to pull her gently closer. “No, Milah. You’ve never come face to face with the lost boys.”

“I’ve fought grown men!” she argues.

“These aren’t mere boys. And don’t ask me how, but I know Pan is with them. Please,” he impolores, “promise me you’ll stay below.”

She nods, her chin dropping to her chest.

“Go,” he tells her, shoving her gently, and she races across the deck, grabbing Mason as she goes. Hook strides towards the port side as Curly calls out from the crows nest that a boat is approaching. Lost boys are soon scrambling up the side of the ship like ants, and Pan swoops through the sky, crowing. Hook refuses to glance upward, standing with his arms clasped behind his back as Pan’s new right hand, Felix, scrambles over the railing.

Felix swings his club in an arc and then rests it against his shoulder. “Hook.”

“Felix.”

“We know you’re hiding -”

“A lost boy?” Hook arches a brow. “We aren’t hiding that at all, lad. Look around you. My entire crew are former lost boys.”

“There’s one I want in particular,” Pan says as he lands just behind Killian, “a young one.”

“They’re all young,” Killian snaps.

Peter gets right in Captain Hook’s face. “Just give me the little one, and I’ll leave your crew alone.”

“Never!” a voice shouts, and Killian winces at the sound. He turns to see Milah standing there, her hair wild, her eyes blazing, and a cutlass in her hand.

“A girl!” exclaims one of Pan’s crew, and when Killian glances at the lad he watches as the teenager’s gaze sweeps hungrily over Milah’s form.

“Milah,” Killian says to her in a warning tone, but Milah simply advances to fight at his side as she always does. He grumbles, “bloody stubborn woman,” under his breath as he pulls his own sword from its scabbard.

“You’re going to fight for a child?” Pan snaps.

Killian shrugs. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

He lunges forward, but Peter blocks the sword with his dagger. With a shout, pirates and lost boys fall upon one another with their weapons and the clash of steel rings through the air along with the zing of arrows. Pan, as usual, drives Hook mad by taking to the air and swooping just out of reach of his sword time and again until the boy’s arms begin to pinwheel wildly and he grasps for the rigging before falling to the deck. It surprises Killian and he misses the window of opportunity to take Pan down. Peter maneuvers Hook across the deck, until the pirate finds himself fighting both Pan and Felix. He spins, his coat swinging around him, parrying the strikes of both boys, until suddenly he’s only facing Felix and Pan has transported himself with his magic right behind -

“Milah!” Killian cries. “Look out!”

She spins around, but she isn’t prepared for Peter Pan to strike out with his hand, not his sword. It plunges into her chest, and Milah chokes out a strangled breath.

“No!” Killian screams. He pushes Felix aside, his sword and hook slicing with unrestrained rage through one lost boy after another in his haste to get to Milah. He gets to her side just as she falls, and he catches her in his arms, his sword clattering to the ground. Above them, Pan begins to squeeze, and Milah gasps in pain. Her hand comes up, trembling, to touch Killian’s cheek.

“I love you,” she whispers as her heart turns to dust in Peter’s hand.

“I told you,” Pan sneers, letting the remains of Milah’s heart flutter to the deck, “girls are nothing but trouble.”

“Milah!” a small voice cries out, and everyone on deck, even the lost boys, have fallen silent as a tearful Mason flings himself over his sister’s still body.

Rage swells in Killian’s heart, and he lunges with a feral cry at Peter Pan, hook aloft. The demon boy shoots into the sky, crowing and laughing as the sharp steel misses him by a hair.

“Pan!” Felix calls out, and Killian turns, his heart lurching in fear to see Mason’s skinny arm clutched in Felix’s hand. “He doesn’t have the mark.”

“What?” Pan’s face contorts in rage as he swoops in towards Mason, but before he can get there, Hook intercepts and scoops the little boy up into his arms. He slashes out with his hook, and Peter howls as the tip slices across his leg. The boy who never grows up tumbles bleeding from the sky, landing in the dinghy with a thud. The lost boys scramble over the railing after their leader in fear.

Killian leans over the side of the Jolly Roger, Mason clinging to his neck, sobbing. “I had my revenge against the crown,” Hook shouts at the retreating boat, “I will have it against you as well, Pan, I swear it!”

Peter Pan stands in the middle of the small boat and shouts back, “Try living long enough, old man!”

Tagging:   @snowbellewells​​​  @kmomof4​​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​ @teamhook​​ @bethacaciakay​​ @let-it-raines​​ @welllpthisishappening​​ @wellhellotragic​​ @winterbaby89​​ @xhookswenchx​​ @courtorderedcake​​ @branlovestowrite​​ @hollyethecurious​​ @vvbooklady1256​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​ @carpedzem​​ @ekr032-blog-blog​​ @jennjenn615​​ @tiganasummertree​​ @lfh1226-linda​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​ @spartanguard​​ @shireness-says​​ @scientificapricot​​ @stahlop​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​ @superchocovian​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​ @snidgetsafan​​ @ohmakemeahercules​​ @thislassishooked​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​ @nikkiemms​​@delirious-latenight-laughs​

[whatzaoverwatch]

The Reaper of the Opera Chapter 2: Think of Me

I am glad to bring this idea into fruition. I’ve been sitting on it for quite awhile, but the real inspiration came from @stormcallart and their Phantom!Gabriel artwork (seriously, check it out). Sorry it seemed like a bit of world building in the first chapter, I want it to have the same fundamentals as the stageplay alongside some added perks.

First Next

“How is she, doctor?” Ana the physician who stepped out of Hana Song’s dressing room. The blonde hair woman adjusted her tied up hair. Her blue eyes looking to Ana at her question. Watching the womans’ face look discouraged at the situation.

“Her leg is sprained; she won’t be able to properly move for a week. She demands that I fix it, but I’m no miracle worker,” The doctor looked at the group before her consisting of Ana, Reinhardt, and Torbjorn, “I am afraid she won’t be able to sing at tonights’ performance.”

“I see…thank you for coming on such short notice, Angela.” Ana thanked. A gentle hand rested on her shoulder from the doctor before Angela made her leave.

“Just what we needed,” Torbjorn grunted at the news, “The first day on the job, and our star is hurt.”

“It’s a curse I tell you!” Reinhardt claims rather dramatically, “It must’ve been the doing of this Reaper!”

“Reinhardt you are falling for complete superstition,” Turning to the lager man, he points his finger directly at his face, “Just another fairy tale to scare you out of your pants. Probably an old rope that gave out.”

“I wouldn’t blame you for thinking that.” A drawled voice came between the group, drawing their attention to a scruffy beard man, sauntering over with a rope in hand and his other holding the cigar between his lips. A white button down shirt and rolled up sleeves presented his built muscles. An evident tattoo shown on one of his forearms that held the rope.

“Ah Jesse, there you are,” Ana hummed turning to the men, “Gentlemen, this is Jesse McCree. He’s our stage handler. Did you figure out what happened?”

“Only theories so far. I know when something isn’t feeling right around here. Take a gander,” he presents the rope to the group, pointing at the very end of it. The ends falling apart by the delicate touch, “this here is what was holding that bag up in the scaffolding. Now I check the ropes every now and again to make sure they are safe. But lemme tell you, this here rope wasn’t out for wear: it was shot clean off. If you ask me it is downright sabotage.”

Ana took hold of the rope to inspect it further, Reinhardt taking a seat to process it before Torbjorn speaks up again.

“Sabotage or not, we have a show tonight and there is no main star. The best thing we can do is postpone the performance.” The others turn to the shorter mans’ suggestion in shock.

“But Torbjorn! The show must go on! We are completely booked we cannot turn the audience down!” Reinhardt reminds running his hand over his white hair.

“Then what do you suggest we do? Do a performance without the biggest star? We will be the laughing-stock of the entire country!”

The group fell into silence for a moment. Knowing their choices were limited and their time was short. Knowing what needed to be done, Ana returned the rope over to Jesse.

“Well if you suggest we postpone the show, then you might as well make the announcement.” Ana reluctantly admitted, taking her cane to walk back towards the stage where the others sat in waiting.

The two men took a long look to one another before they concluded what needed to be done. Heading towards the stage as the dancers sat in their groups. Musicians rested in their own place alongside other stage handlers. Awaiting the news as Torbjorn cleared his throat to finally speak.

“We have just been informed that Hana Song is in no condition to perform. Unless we can find another solution, we will have to cancel tonights’ show.”

Chatter began to grow within the group. Some in shock of the sudden incident, others relieved that Hana received some form of karma for her attitude. The dancers themselves huddled in close.

“The show is cancelled? Now Madame Amari will put us through even harder rehearsals.” Lena, the perky pixie hair brunette huffed. Stretching her arms from exhaustion awaiting the inevitable.

“What did you expect? When things do not go well, she trains us harder. Fareeha would know first-hand since she’s her daughter.” Amelie, the long dark ponytail haired woman pointed out coldly. The dark-skinned woman turned over with a rather stern look. A similar tattoo to her mothers rested on the opposite eye.

“Her being my mother doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Looking towards the group, seeing that they weren’t so eager to leave with no show, “I just don’t see how they won’t get somebody to just replace Hana.”

“Hey wait a minute, [Name],” Lena turned over to you, who had been silently sitting across from the women, “You should volunteer to perform!”

“Huh?? Me??” You perked up, feeling rather sheepish of the suggestion, “Gee Lena I don’t know…”

“Excuse me! Mr. Managers!” Before you could protest, she stood right up. The group turning to the rather perky dancer.

“Yes Miss…erm…” Reinhardt began to trail off until Ana whispered to him. Perking up when he heard what she told him, “Miss Lena Oxton?”

“Oh, no need for the formalities, Lena is fine. But may I ask: if we were to get someone to replace the lead role, would the show go on?” You suddenly didn’t like where this was going. Watching as the two men ponder the idea.

“I don’t see why not. Every performer must have an understudy. Do you know of anyone that would fit?” Torbjorn questioned with a glare. Oh no, you thought, only to suddenly feel Lena lift you up from your position.

“I volunteer [Name]!” A few hushed whispers and giggles could be heard, leaving you rather embarrassed. Even Ana was very intrigued by the choice.

“Miss [Name], are you capable of taking over the lead role?” Reinhardt questioned you directly. Feeling rather nervous, stumbling as Lena pulled you closer to the center stage.

“Oh yes! She’s told me she memorized the entire role. I have even heard her sing. She is wonderful,” Turning to face you, she takes your hands with a beaming smile, “Go ahead [Name], show them.”

Giving you no choice but to follow through, you gave your friend a nod of agreement to give it a try. Squeezing her hands in return, you meekly took the stage. Your mind going numb as Ana instructs Lucio to head over to the piano to play a piece. Everyone waiting in anticipation as the music began to come in. Your voice coming in soft and quiet, obviously shy from the sudden push into the spotlight. Awkward and shaky as the looking faces began to judge you in silence. Torbjorn and Reinhardt waiting as the shorter man turned to Ana.

“Tell me bout this [Name].” He asked as you continued to fall short on your words a bit. Ana turned to him, resting her hands on her cane.

“She is [Name & Last Name].” She informed him, grabbing the attention of Reinhardt.

“[Last Name]? As in, the famous violinist [Last Name]???” Speaking out of shock, only to be hushed by his excitement.

“Indeed, that was her father. Unfortunately, he died many years ago leaving her in the hands of the Opera House. I am afraid this is her only home, but she had never stood out aside from her dancing.”

In the middle of their conversation, you began to feel that you should stop singing and run away. Embarrassed at the humiliation and wanting to crawl away in the smallest cabinet. Suddenly, you began to hear something of a whisper. A familiar voice in your thoughts that cradled your fear. Someone tell you to sing, to let your voice be heard.

“Sing my dear, sing for me.”

The heat of confidence building inside you at the build of the chorus. Your voice now clear and vibrant for everyone to hear. Leaving everyone in awe at your vocal strength beginning to blossom before their very ears. When you hit the final notes of the song, it was as if you were taken to the very performance. Upfront and extravagant to the audience. Ending the song in silence, the room was filled with a feeling you hadn’t felt before. Returning to your shy form, you were greeted with various claps and cheers from your ensemble. A proud Lena embracing you with excitement, leaving you stunned as even Reinhardt was brought to tears.

“M-My God…that was wonderful!” He cheered with absolute pride. Leaving you flustered as the group surrounded you with praises. Ana left with a rather impressed smile, leaning down to Torbjorn.

“Well, it is as your companion said, the show must go on.” She hummed, watching Torbjorn shake away the awe in his look before approaching you.

“Aye, that’ll do Miss [Name], you’ve got the part. Everyone! Back into rehearsals, and someone get her fitted for her costumes. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

“You heard the man, on with the show!” Reinhardt shouted with delight, setting everyone off in a hurry.

-

Evening

An older, rather uninterested man looked before the Overwatch Opera House and its audience heading indoors. Dressed in a black and blue suit, faded scales seen within the waist coat. A clean-shaven goatee on his face with his hair perfectly tied in a scale printed tie. The wind letting his hair tie flow in the wind before he is approached by another. His face displeased by who lingered by his side.

“Must you keep fussing over that hideous tie?” The man spoke rather distastefully at his companion.

Turning to a green haired companion who wore a suit of his own. Only for his to be a mix of black and green than the black and blue. Rolled up sleeves to show his flesh was mostly made of metal and scars, especially around the face. A sight that he was still not accustomed to. The others face scrunched as he focused on fixing his tie.

“Forgive me if my attire doesn’t please you, brother,” The man sighed, finally setting it straight with a satisfied smirk, “May I remind you that I agreed to join you as a way to mend our past together? No matter what you have chosen whether it be a circus or an opera house.”

The stoic man huffed before looking back towards the theatre. “As you may remember, father would always take us to the Opera house. However, I recall you passing out before the curtains even lifted Genji.”

“I am glad you still have such fond memories of me Hanzo,” He chimed with a cheeky grin, “So I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me if that occurs tonight.”

“Don’t you dare, you were lucky I managed to obtain these tickets when I did.” he scolded as they entered inside.

The main area filled with nobles and rich folk alike, taking in their drinks and smokes before entering the theatre. Laughter filled as strings of music could be heard throughout. Humans and omnics alike taking their places and chattering to one another

“Hana Song is the youngest and most beloved performers in the company. I have longed to hear her song the moment we had returned to this country. I do not wish to have this performance interrupted by your snoring.”

“I’ll keep it to a minimum for you dear brother,” Genji hums, pulling out the tickets when they approach the ticket taker, “What seats do we have? Box 5?”

“Indeed, a rather short notice place, but a proper seat no less.” Hanzo explained, making their way towards their assigned seating.

Presented with a rather unused box to take their seats. An overlook of not only the stage, but the entire crowd that was below. The seats filling rather quickly as patrons stepped in one by one. Being sold out was an understatement while they took in their places. Hanzo taking his place rather formally while Genji took a more relaxed position. Receiving a rather unimpressed sneer by Hanzo, letting him look over the crowd.

Taking notice of an opposite end box filled with two older men, drinking to their delight alongside a blonde-haired woman and a young brunette. Laughing proudly as the older brother hoped they were silent with the performance. The glistening chandelier light beginning to fade to silence the audience. A spotlight appeared before a dark-skinned man with a formerly trimmed beard and a clean cut curly haired head.

“Madames and Monsieurs, welcome to tonights’ performance at the Overwatch Opera Company. Before we begin I must first make an announcement,” The man spoke with his hands clasped together, “The leading role of tonight’s performance, originally played by Hana Song, will now be replaced by [Name & Last Name] who will be making her debut as a leading role. In the meantime, sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.”

“What??” Both Hanzo and Genji spoke in quiet unison. Hanzo rather displeased as he sat upright.

The one time he gets his chance to hear the Hana Song, only for an understudy to take her place. Rather displeased by the announcement, he looked over to see his brother also taking the news in. But not of bitterness, but with an unusual surprise. Before he could question it, the curtains rose, and the performance began.

Everything in the show was spectacular, to every dance number, to every note that was sung. Even if [Name] was an understudy, her natural tones brought an entirely fresh and new take to the performance. Her presence was like a delicate flower without a doubt. Fluently moving as her voice sung of elegance.

The audience was left in tears at her solos. Even impressing the doubtful Hanzo. The older brother couldn’t help but notice every time [Name] would take the stage, Genji was entranced by her. It was better than having him sleep through the entire thing, he thought. When the ensemble came for the curtain call, everyone was up on their feet, cheering and whistling with amazement at the show. When the curtains had fallen, the two had risen from their seats, stretching from being seated for so long.

“I am not sure what to be impressed by more: the performance itself or the fact that you managed to stay awake the entire time,” Hanzo told Genji, suddenly seeing him in a hurry, “There is no need to rush Genji our reservations will still be available.”

“I will be right back, brother.” He spoke rather quickly, causing the older one to halt him in his tracks.

“Where are you going?” Genji looked over to his brother, seeing the question in his eyes only to pat him on the shoulder.

“I will meet you outside the doors, I must pay someone a visit.” Before Hanzo could ask who he was seeing, he was gone. Leaving the man to stand there in disbelief.

“I will never understand your actions, Genji.” He muttered, grabbing his coat to leave.

To be continued

[talpup]

Chaos: 44

Summary: The day Aizawa Shouta betrayed his Love was the day the Daimon lost everything that mattered in his life. Now, with her awake from her slumber and memory wiped, he has another chance at having her and being happy. There’s only the small problem of heaven wanting his Love dead, and hell wanting control of her. And her promise to protect and help another. Oh! And her remembering what he did.

But Shouta has waited so long to have her back. Has planned and taken measures to see his Love protected. He won’t loose her this time. He’ll do anything to keep her safe, and stop her from remembering his betrayal. Cost and consequences be damned.

Though it really is a shame that the cost just might bring about Chaos.

Please remember, this fic is rated explicit and has warnings of violence, sex, questionable con, and non-con (though we’re thankfully done with that), and other possible triggers.

***If you prefer reading off AO3 here’s the link for that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155333/chapters/55955119

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Sorry, I've been meaning to add this note since I first introduced the Nenu but kept on forgetting.

For those that don't know, Nenu is a different spelling for Nu or Nun. Depending on what period of ancient Egyptian mythology one's looking at, the Nu is a sort of creator figure that was a watery abyss from which the earth/land came forth from, or (if looking at the negative aspects of later years) a being of chaos and disorder.  The Nu was also described as the 'Father of the gods'.

While the Nenu in Chaos isn't the ancient Egyptian Nenu, I have taken aspects of this mythological deity.

44.1

Shouta's eyes glowed red with his power.  A black tendril burst into existence and wrapped around the beast that had charged him.  He growled, gritting his teeth in effort to restrain the creature with the dense, rope-like blackness.

“Where’s Anna?  Dabi!  Find her.”  Shouta pulled his blade from the beast and stabbed it again.

Dabi set out a blast of white flames and the beast charging him and Shigaraki.  Though no smoke billowed from the seems of his stitches, there was an unpleasant warmth beginning to build from the use of his affinity.

So longer, better use but still an inevitable backlash, Dabi thought as he continued.  Not the greatest news, but good to know I guess.

“Dabi!” Shouta barked.

Dabi grimaced at the telltale burning of the Ties compel.  “Damn it! Aizawa!  I’m a little busy trying not to died.  You’re the one with the Tie that tells you where she is.  You find her!”

Shouta growled taking his anger and frustrations out at the clawing beast.

If the Tie was working, allowing him to sense where Reyanna was, he wouldn’t be asking the stupid Demon to find her.  This damned place must have similar blocks to those that heaven had.

44.2

Reyanna broke away from the Nenu’s hold and flinted several meters back.

Where was Shouta?  She had to get back to him.

“Face me, Sister.”

“I’m not your damned sister, you crazy abomination.”  She tried to call forth her blade but it was more instinct than anything else.

The weapon didn’t come.  Instead her open hand was left empty, her bid unanswered; the blade that had been like a part of her since childhood now nothing but pieces and dust.

The Nenu took a step toward her.

Reyanna crouched and took two back.

“Is that what you think of yourself?  As an abomination?  No wonder you refuse to open yourself to who you truly are.”

Reyanna’s hand closed into a fist.  “I’m nothing like you!  Now tell me, where’s Shouta?”

The Nenu’s bat-like winds expanded making the room they were in even darker.  “You’re right, little Sister.  You are nothing like me.  But you are a child of Chaos just the same.  Bow and submit, and I may yet let your Lover live.”

As much as it hurt her eyes to look the Nenu’s duel form, Reyanna didn’t look away.  One of the first rules Shouta had ever taught her was to never take your eyes off a superior enemy; and the fact was, the enemy standing before her was by far superior.

This Third had to be the most formidable enemy she had ever faced.  The Nenu was greater than the Great Rock that she battled for half a day and nearly lost to.  He might even been greater than Toshinori, who had killed her.

Keeping one eye on the Nenu, she quickly scanned the room.

There were no doors or windows.  She was alone with this thing and saw no physical means of escape.  She tried to flint back to Shouta; but found that she couldn’t flint out of the room.

Shouta… She was the reason he was here.  She had brought Shouta into this mess. She had endangered her Love without thought or care all because he had made her betray her promise to Abril and then hidden that fact.

Damn her stubborn pride, and irrational anger towards him.  She was the one who had broke.  It was her desire for him that broke her.  He was just trying to see her safe and well.  But his deeds and her dwindling fury meant nothing in the face of this.

The worlds.  Her life. All of existence. None of it meant anything.  Not without him.

She had to find him and get him out of here.  To hell with her promise to Abril.  To hell with the task of closing one of the gates.  All that matter was Shouta.  He was the reason for everything.  He was <em>her</em> reason for everything.  Even if she didn’t live to tell him that or how sorry she was; she had to live long enough to find him and see him safe.

Reyanna straightened to her full height, eyes glowing with her power. “Where’s Shouta!”

44.3

“...Shouta!” Reyanna’s voice sounded from overhead.

Shouta's head snapped up.  “Anna!”

He grunted, chest sliced open by claws.  Growling he stabbed the thing again, blade slicing downward through its leg as he pulled the weapon out.

“Zashi! Hold the thing.”

“What!” Hizashi stopped pulling at his embedded blade, to look at the Daimon.

Was Shouta insane?  He couldn’t hold the thing.  They could barely stop it from killing them while working together.

Shouta didn’t respond.  He had already let the dark tendrils fall away from the creature and tried to flint to Reyanna.

Though he could flint, Shouta quickly found that he couldn’t flint up there.  He scowled at the sky above, noticing that both Reyanna’s and the Nenu’s feet were flat as if they were standing on something instead of hovering in the air.

Dense black tendril reappearing Shouta cast it out thinking to lasso her and pull her to him.

At the same time as Shouta made his move, Hawks took to the air, having called back his feathers.  Both Shouta's dark coil and Hawks hit the same invisible barrier and fell back.

Shouta's dense, dark tendril disappeared.

Hawks tumbled to the ground.

“There’s some kind of barrier.”  Hawks said, shaking his ring head.

“Shou!” Hizashi both pleaded and warned.

The Angel was being thrown about.

He refused to let go of his blade which was still embedded in the shoulder of the beast he and Shouta were facing.

Caring little about Hizashi’s presence, the creature bucked wildly and made a zigzagged line toward Shouta.

44.4

Hand in Todoroki’s, Hitoshi allowed his Boyfriend to half lead, half drag him down the countless flights of stairs.

“Just how far down does this place go?”  Hitoshi panted.

It felt like they had been running forever and he doubted the others could hold out for long when the Nenu woke back up.

“We’re not going down.  We’re going up.”

Hitoshi’s feet planted in place.  He would’ve fallen over from Todoroki’s pulling grip if he hadn’t begun moving again so quickly.

“Up! We’re going the wrong way!”

“No we’re not.”  Todoroki said, calmly.  “Look out the window.”

Window. What window?  Hitoshi was about to force the other boy to stop when light suddenly flooded the place.  The once steep, narrow, dark stairs that had been chiseled roughly into the stone changed and expanded. The space was now airy.  The stairs wide and marbled, the balustrade ornate.  Most disconcerting, they were no longer going down but up, and they hadn’t missed a step or changed direction.

Hitoshi gawked, now thinking that he had gone crazy.

“Remember where we are.  This place is the home of Third’s.  The children of Chaos don’t follow the same rules and order that we do, and neither does their world.”  Todoroki said, eyes ever focused ahead.

Hitoshi looked about in awe.

He was a Third, granted a made one.  But he felt stupid for not knowing these things.  Then again he hadn’t had many dealings with Thirds. And the few encounters that he had, hadn’t exactly been friendly. It wasn’t as if the Were’s that had attacked his home and killed his parents had left a handbook.

He almost snorted at the thought.

If there had been a handbook, Aizawa probably would’ve made him memorize every word, coma, and period. He could almost hear his mentor now.  <em>Word choice and phrasing are often key.  When it comes to the written word, punctuation or lack there of is just as important.</em>

It felt silly to look out the window and confirm what his eyes now saw; but his eyes had told him something completely different just a moment ago.

Hitoshi looked out the window.

“Anna!” The Were’s heart lurched.

He tugged against Todoroki’s hand, mind reeling.  Could she flint to safety from such a height? The Nenu was choking her.  The Nenu’s wings weren’t even moving.  How could he just hover there? They had to help her.

Todoroki pulled Hitoshi along, focused solely on his task. “She’ll either open herself up to the truth and realize what she’s done, or die.”

Hitoshi didn’t understand what the Llaes was saying but none of that mattered.

He pulled harder against Todoroki’s hold.  “We have to help her! Aizawa--”

“Not even Aizawa can help her now.  This is something she has to do and face alone. Either she accepts, or it was all for nothing, and we die.”

“What?”

Todoroki tugged at Hitoshi’s hand.  “All we can do is get to the chamber door and hope for the best.  Come on.”

44.5

Able to see both the room and open air they seemingly floated in, the Nenu chuckled at Reyanna’s demanding question.

He glanced down looking at the fallen Seraphim watching the Daimon battle one of his Aspects.

While the three beast below where him, or more correctly parts of him, it was like multi tasking. His mind and eye could only concentrate on so many things at once, and only one of them well.  The three Aspects below were mostly fighting without thought.  Like breathing, the beasts movements were more autonomic than consciously done. Any changes in their actions could be done; but similar to holding ones breath, it could only be done for so long.

Just the act of being split was draining.  Add to that him keeping Reyanna from seeing both surroundings like the way she saw both of him, and he would tire fairly quickly.  The wounds his Aspects took from those down below, while not yet felt or seen on his main body, did put a direct toil on his system.

Reyanna’s lips curled.  The shadow’s within the room pulled toward her.

“Shouta. Where is h--”

The Nenu was on her quicker than she could see.

His hand wrapped around her throat.

Before she could register the act, let alone respond to it, she was lifted up into the air.

Reyanna clawed at the Nenu’s crushing hand.  Her legs kicked out. Toes pointed, she tried to touch the stone floor in effort to take some of the weight off her strangled trachea.

“Insolent whelp.”  The Nenu’s other hand pressed against her chest, claws digging in right where Toshinori’s blade had pierced and killed her.

Reyanna’s choked gurgle shortened to a harsh staccato. She would’ve cried out in pain if she could get any air through her raw, burning windpipe.  Her eyes widened and squeezed shut.  The best she could manage in this state, without her blade, were futile hits and kicks.

Her power radiated a burning cold that seemed to do nothing to him.

She tried to pull his shadow from him but it barely even twitched in her direction.

“Such a pathetic daughter of Chaos you are.  It burns me to think of you as a sister.”

45.6

Though the beast he and Hizashi were fighting required all of his attention to merely stay alive, Shouta chanced a look up.  What he saw made his blood boil and run cold.

“Anna!”

“Shouta!” Hizashi flinted between the striking beast and his friend.

Shouta's head spun around.

He saw claws tear through Hizashi’s flesh, the raking gouges deep enough to slice through something vital and kill.

“Zashi!”

Hizashi fell back against the Daimon.

“Hang on.”  Shouta flinted them a half mile away, near the top of a steep hill.  “I got you.  Just hang on.”

Shouta reached into his pocket, cursing his sticky blood coated hand that made the fabric cling.

His fingers wrapped around a vial, pocket tearing as he pulled it out.

“Here.” Shouta’s shaking hands fumbled, trying to uncap the bottle.

Hizashi’s hand closed around the Daimon's wrist. “Shou… Don’t.”

“Shut up and save your strength.”

Hizashi smiled weakly and shook his head.  “You need to save that for yourself or Anna, yeah.”

Anna… Shouta's fingers stopped.  He looked up at his Love who was being strangled by the Nenu and willed her to fight.

Why was it that when she needed him most he couldn’t get to her?  He couldn’t loose her again.  He wasn’t even sure if the vial he held was the real deal and would work.

A Phoenix potion.  The most rare and difficult potion a witch could brew.  Such a thing required a laundry list of ingredients, all of them near impossible to find and acquire.  Even then, the cost of making such a potion demanded an incredible cost.  Usually the witch’s life or that of a loved one.

The vial had been bubble wrapped and pushed through the mail slot at Hizashi's penthouse apartment only yesterday.  There had been no note, just two Words, <em>for Aizawa</em>.

Shouta had no idea who had secretly left him such a thing.  Okay he had some idea.  More like an educated guess.  It wasn’t as if he knew very many witches. Certainly not many that could come close to acquiring even a quarter of the needed ingredients.

Still, even if Nighteye could use his affinity’s sight and knew what they would up to, that didn’t explain why  the Witch would give him such a rare and value thing.

“Zashi.” Shouta swallowed, pulling his worried gaze away from Reyanna to look at his friend.

The Angel was right.  He couldn’t use it to save him.  Reyanna might need it.  He couldn’t lose her again.

“It’s alright, Shou.”

“Why?” Shouta demanded with heated fierceness.

Why had Hizashi gotten between him and the beast?  He was the fool who had taken his eyes off of the thing.  He couldn’t even save Reyanna, and now his oldest and only friend was dying because of him.

“You know why.  You’re my friend.  You gave me a chance and stuck with me when no other would.”

Shouta could've scoffed.  As it was, he couldn’t stop the roll of his eyes.  “I was just doing my job.  Logically speaking, you were bound to be good for something.”

Hizashi started to laugh but it quickly turned to coughs of blood.

Shouta grimaced.  He wouldn’t cry.  He wouldn’t shed a single tear. Instead he would stay by the Angels side till he died, find a way to save Reyanna, and lay waste to this place and all the creatures in it.

“Be happy, Shou.  Do right.  Win Anna back.  And be happy, okay.”

I write for my own enjoyment, but edit and post for yours.  If you enjoyed reading this at all please comment and let me know.  It’s the only thing that encourages me to keep editing and posting.

Thank you to those who have left hearts.  And a great big THANK YOU to those who have left comments or re-blogged.  They really mean a lot.

As always, an extra special thank you to @inorganicone2230​ for their encouragement and friendship, and help brainstorming.  Your thoughts and our chats mean a lot.

[strawberry-skies-xx]

forget the bottle

C H A P T E R   F O U R

tags: geralt / jaskier, yennefer, PTSD, post-s1e6, s1e6 fix-it, a fix-it of sorts, pyschological trauma, psychological torture, magical fuckery, mind manipulation, aftermath of psychological torture, emotional/psychological abuse, torture, nilfgaard, captured by nilfgaard, fringilla, fluff and angst, protective yennefer, yennefer ships it, idiots in love, love confessions, happy ending, solitary confinement

author’s note: last chapter :D

main masterlist | story on ao3

Jaskier woke up from the sleep he didn’t even know he’d fallen into, and he couldn’t feel the press of ropes against his skin, or the blindfold against his eyes.

He unfolded from his position, somehow not panicking at the sudden freedom, stretching his legs and arching, and slowly opened his eyes, adjusting to the light. The cabin was dark, however - there was no light to be adjusted to. He could hear the even breathing of what he assumed was Ciri, because somehow he knew Yennefer didn’t breathe that loudly after being on the run from Nilfgaard for months, in danger nearly constantly. He didn’t question how he knew it, he didn’t realize he even knew it - he just did.

But he was still vigilant in keeping himself in the dark about Geralt. Those memories would not slip through, they brought on too many feelings and it was easier to stay oblivious before he remembered and started fighting again. Fighting was difficult, fighting hurt him and made others hurt him and Jaskier didn’t want that.

He rolled to his other side, and hit a hard wall of muscle. Geralt was laying in the bed with him, almost falling off of it with the way he was trying to keep himself apart from Jaskier. Jaskier remembered the confining darkness of his arms, the warmth even as he was held in place - and then he remembered how he had left so suddenly, without a word or a comfort, and he had had to ask Yennefer to get what he wanted.

He frowned, rolling over and sitting up on the edge of the bed, legs hanging down. There was something off now, he felt wrong, like there was something missing. He didn’t know what it was, but it didn’t hesitate to make itself known, making his leg bounce and his eyes dart around, unseeing in the darkness.

The darkness used to be comforting. He knew that, if he didn’t feel so wrong right now, he’d relish the way he couldn’t see a thing, and he’d probably roll over and press himself against the safety of Geralt’s shirt, and the warm darkness there.

He didn’t know what had changed so suddenly, but it made him restless and he didn’t like it at all. He picked up the pants Yennefer had magicked onto the floor when he had asked her to tie him up, and pulled them and the shirt on before standing up as quietly as possible. He paused, listening to Geralt, but the Witcher didn’t move, and he let out a quiet, controlled breath.

Jaskier walked carefully forward, using the map of the small cabin he’d formed in his mind, and found the door, slowly turning the knob and closing it silently behind him - miraculously without waking up any of the occupants inside. The moonlight glinted off of the trees, bathing everything in silver, and for some reason Jaskier found the comfort in the fact he could see something, rather than that he couldn’t.

And, the memories were tugging at his mind, begging to be let out.

Jaskier already knew more about Yennefer than he’d like. Memories of her were slipping through the cracks, not tied to any feeling at all, but still slipping. The way her eyebrow raised condescendingly, the way they were not quite friends but not quite enemies, her smile which betrayed nothing and the way he’d imagined her fucking him - before… before something he didn’t remember. Something that involved Geralt.

Jaskier slid down to lean against the wall of the cabin, staring up at the dark sky scattered with stars, and flinched when a shadow came over him and Yennefer was suddenly there. She’d appeared without him noticing, like she was a ghost.

“Can’t sleep?”

He hummed. Someday, he thought, maybe he’d talk. Sing, even. Not now, though. He didn’t want to talk, or sing, but the past Jaskier was begging to be let out and he wasn’t sure if he could fight him. Especially with the objects of his affections and so many of his best memories around him constantly, talking to him, making him remember.

“A few hours ago you were asking to be in complete darkness. Now you’re seeking out the moonlight?” Yennefer asked, not accusatory or judgmental. Neutral, and it gave Jaskier the feeling that he had the choice of whether to answer it or not. The freedom… wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

I’m… remembering, he thought, and felt the resulting brush of her magic against his mind to tell him that she’d heard him.

“How much are you remembering?”

Your condescending eyebrow raise, he thought, and she laughed softly. We were… not enemies, but not friends?

Yennefer nodded. “I wouldn’t wish this on you, Jaskier. You’re not my favorite person, but this…”

She went quiet, shaking her head slightly, and Jaskier didn’t answer. They both fell into a comfortable silence, neither of them keeping track of the time.

Why am I remembering you and not Geralt? he asked suddenly, what felt like several hours later. Her magic had been drifting near his mind the entire time; he knew she heard him. The old Jaskier… the one Geralt cares about, he cared about Geralt too. You and I weren’t friends like I was with Geralt.

Jaskier did remember the feeling of safety he got when he was with Geralt, the deeper feeling that he got and didn’t want to spend the time analyzing, though it was both warm and painful at the same time. He knew he had a closer connection with Geralt than he did with Yennefer - so why were memories of her slipping through and not Geralt?

Yennefer leaned her head back against the wall. “You locked away your memories because they made you feel too much,” she said, both question and statement. Jaskier nodded and she continued. “I have less emotional ties to you than Geralt does. Memories of me don’t bring up as many feelings that memories of Geralt do, so you’re not fighting as hard against them.”

Jaskier frowned. He wanted to fight against all of them, he didn’t want any memories to come through. But, he supposed if he was being forced to drag the memories back up, Yennefer was right. She didn’t give him as much emotional turmoil as Geralt did. Fuck, even just thinking of the name brought on a whole slew of emotions, ones that were too tangled and painful for him to sort through, so he simply put it on the back burner.

He closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted again, but he didn’t want to face the darkness inside. For once, the darkness wasn’t comforting at all. Something, some part of the locked door, had broken in him, and he was being slowly brought back to himself whether he liked it or not. And, that started with the dark, which had suddenly become suffocating rather than welcoming, cold rather than warm.

Yennefer stood up. “You’re about to fall asleep. Let’s go inside.”

Jaskier hummed. No. Inside is dark.

He got a laugh in return. “I’ll give you a light.”

Fine, he thought reluctantly. He opened his eyes and pushed himself up, standing up and following Yennefer inside the cabin, where she flicked her fingers and a soft glowing light appeared over his bed.

He frowned at it, still restless and anxious, but he obliged when she gave him a sharp glare and slid into his bed. Turned out, the light above his head was rather comforting against the shadows, and Jaskier found himself sinking into sleep faster than he thought he would, subconsciously rolling to curl into Geralt.

Jaskier woke to a soft, amused rumble from Geralt, vibrating through his chest and against Jaskier’s ear where it had been pressed against him. He hummed and tightened his arm around Geralt, not realizing what he was doing until Geralt tensed and Jaskier pulled away like he’d been burned, eyes wide.

That was- far too close for comfort. Jaskier could feel his memories, could sense them on the edge of remembering and he hated it. Something like needles poked at his skin when he looked at Geralt, a feeling he hadn’t felt for a long time because he locked away the memories that gave him it.

Jaskier frowned and pushed himself off the bed, not looking at Geralt’s puzzled golden gaze. His eyes filled with something too close to hurt for Jaskier to be comfortable, before they shuttered and all expression fled, replaced by a neutral mask. He walked to the door and out without saying a word, without looking at the Witcher he knew too well laying in the bed.

He slid down against the wall as soon as he got out, burying his head in his knees and fighting away the panic threatening to overtake him. He wasn’t supposed to remember Geralt. None of this was supposed to happen, he wasn’t supposed to be here. If Nilfgaard had just. Taken the information they wanted from him, did with him what they would, instead of- of being rescued and forced to remember things he didn’t want to. It would’ve all been better.

Slowly, he dragged his breathing down and darkness didn’t dance at the edges of his vision, he stopped shaking and he raised his head from where it was buried in his knees. The sun was rising above the trees, casting everything in golden light, like honey.

Like honey. Jaskier’s breath caught - the words were. Familiar. They were poetry - poetry that the old Jaskier wrote, poetry that the old Jaskier sung. He sighed and stood up abruptly, taking his eyes off of the rising sun, not thinking about honey or gold or a mountain with a similar view, flashing briefly in his mind.

He looked at the cabin - quaint, like you’d find in fairytales with the wicked witch and the innocent girl, his mind supplied automatically - and ran one hand through his hair, tugging slightly and relishing in the pain. Pain, like Nilfgaard had brought. Pain like he was supposed to run away from, to get rid of. Not- not bring back, not look at a golden-eyed, white-haired Witcher and feel needles pricking him, not look at a violet-eyed sorceress and feel the surge of irritation he didn’t even fucking remember where it came from.

He gave a soft growl of frustration. Everything was fucking poetry now, he thought like the old Jaskier and something in him wanted to sing it, too. Wanted to sing of the emerald green grass, sing of the amber eyes glowing in the night and moonlight glinting off of white hair. He wanted to be annoying, like the old Jaskier. The one Fringilla had worked so hard to get rid of.

Jaskier felt his breaths coming faster for a second time, could see his vision tunneling and his body shaking, but this time he couldn’t stop it. It was all too much, he was remembering too much too fast and now- now that damned Witcher was beside him, unfairly deep voice rumbling in his ear, so fucking soothing no matter if he didn’t even remember him. It set off a new surge of irritation in Jaskier, and he wanted to curse, to rage and scream at the world for dragging him back to the pain his past memories brought.

“Jaskier. In, out. Breathe.”

Of course, it was Geralt, so Jaskier’s body was practically trained to follow the rumbling instructions, pulling his breath down, pulling his heart rate down and the world slowly returning to his view without black spots dancing at the edge of it. He shook - somehow, between the panic attack and Geralt, he’d started crying - and sank slowly down, feeling Geralt’s arms circle around him and attempt to pick him up before he hit the ground.

Except, this time it wasn’t comforting. Jaskier thrashed, fought against Geralt’s arms until he let go, and he glared before running into the forest. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he wanted to be away from the scent of leather and sword oil and the strong arms holding him and golden eyes, white hair, a deep voice. It was overwhelming, too much, too fast.

Jaskier ran until his breaths were coming short and his legs were burning, and he stopped, leaning against a tree and breathing hard.  He shut his eyes, feeling himself start shaking - again - and sunk slowly down against the bark until he hit the ground, a sob caught in his throat.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought to himself - and of course, there was the brush of magic against his mind telling him that Yennefer had heard him. His breath hitched and another sob rose in his throat, catching until he swallowed through it and thudded his head back against the tree bark, staring up at the sky through the leaves.

Blue sky, his mind told him, with white clouds like cotton. Jaskier couldn’t escape the poetry now, couldn’t escape the way he thought of the world, with the foolish optimism and way he saw some sort of beauty in everything before. The old him was pounding against the locked door, yelling and screaming and demanding to be let out. Jaskier didn’t know if he could hold him back - some small, hidden part of him didn’t want to.

“Jaskier.”

He sighed, tilting his head slightly towards the feminine voice as Yennefer slid down to sit next to him. She stayed quiet - not demanding anything, not uncertain of what to do, not judging. It was a refreshing change of pace from Geralt, who, for all he wanted Jaskier to get better, didn’t quite know how to deal with him - both before and after.

What, he thought flatly.

“Nothing. You don’t have to say or do anything. But I’m here,” she replied neutrally. Her magic wove around his mind, not waiting for a response but ready in case he did.

And, he did. There was too much in Jaskier to keep in, he was feeling and remembering far too much to hold it all in.

I don’t know why I’m fighting so hard, he thought first. He paused. I’m around you two, and I know the memories are going to come back whether I want them to or not. I know fighting against them is only going to make it harder and more painful when I do remember. But-

He shook his head. Yennefer didn’t say anything, only resumed her companionable, unjudging silence. They locked me in that dark cell for a month, Yen, he continued, the nickname slipping out again, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. No food, no contact. Just a bucket of water, a cup, and a corner to piss in. It was freezing. Couldn’t see my hand in front of my face.

Somehow, he didn’t panic when he thought of it. There was this detached numbness to his thoughts, as if he hadn’t lived it. Sure, if someone tried shoving him into that cell again he’d kick and scream and fight against them with all that he had, but thinking about it only gave him a sense of detached neutrality and that was it. And, he knew he was supposed to have his memories back. His memories contained everything he fought for, they were why he kept fighting until he locked them away to save himself, but now he wanted to fight and he didn’t even remember what he was fighting for.

I don’t know, he finished. He didn’t know what he was going to say after that. He just didn’t know.

“I can’t help you with your memories, Jaskier,” Yennefer said. “But we’re not against you.”

He sighed. I know.

She stood up. “Let’s go inside.”

Jaskier closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them and standing up. Okay.

Dinner that night was dried jerky and fruit. Jaskier sat in the chair at the table, Geralt on his right, Ciri on his left, and Yennefer across from him. The table was silent and Jaskier shifted in his seat from discomfort, glancing up at the three before glancing down.

“How was training today, Ciri?” Yennefer asked finally, sending a glare across at Geralt for making it so uncomfortably silent.

“It was good,” she said simply, then paused. Her face was thoughtful, as if she was hesitating to say something, and she looked up suddenly, emerald eyes sharp and piercing, like when she was going to ask something and wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Tell me a story of the old days.”

Geralt frowned and Yennefer’s brow furrowed in puzzlement, but Jaskier watched them both smooth out their features and Yennefer respond first. “What story would you like us to tell?”

Ciri’s brow furrowed, and she turned her attention to Geralt. “Tell me about when you met Yen. I want you to tell it.”

Yennefer grinned into her drink - imagine when he got to the part where he walked into her hosting an orgy. That was sure to be the most interesting part of the story, she was sure. Or, maybe the naked mayor.

Geralt frowned, giving a quick glare at Yen - who was failing to hide her smile in her drink - and glancing at Jaskier before looking at Ciri. “I was hunting a djinn,” he said.

Ciri grinned. “The ones that grant wishes?”

Geralt grunted in affirmation. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere but there, and Yennefer looked like she was having the time of her life watching him try to tell the story - minus the inappropriate parts.

Geralt’s eyes flicked to Jaskier again, hesitating, and Jaskier suddenly didn’t like where this was going. “Someone-“ Geralt cut off and paused. “Someone was with me. I found the djinn and the amphora was opened accidentally. They thought they had the wishes. They made two wishes and I told them not to make a third one. I was the one with the wishes, and I wished for some peace without knowing it. I took them to Yennefer when the djinn misinterpreted my wish and decided to take their voice.”

Jaskier frowned. Oh, and I suppose you’re just going to not mention the fact that you said my singing was like a fillingless pie, he thought sarcastically.

Jaskier froze. Yennefer’s eyes snapped to him and he met them, realizing what he’d said. Geralt frowned, glancing between the two. “What?”

Fuck. Jaskier stood up from the table abruptly. Ciri’s brow furrowed and she looked between the three. “What’s happening? Jaskier?”

He shook his head and turned, walking out the door. Yennefer followed; he flinched when the door slammed behind her and she stopped a few steps away from him, watching him carefully. Surprisingly, he wasn’t panicking- but bits and pieces were coming back to him in a flood, snapping together like a puzzle.

“I just want some damn peace!”

“Well, here’s your peace!”

Jaskier turned wide blue eyes on Yennefer as the memories came back - everything, from the panicked moment when he’d started vomiting blood and couldn’t speak, to when he’d watched Geralt and Yennefer-

Oh.

Yennefer tilted her head, violet eyes sharp as she watched him. “Jaskier,” she said carefully. He shook his head, hand going to his throat as he tried to push words out for the first time since he’d been captive - and some broken part of him still fought against the memories, against his voice.

And then, more memories came flooding back. Flashes of living in Lettenhove, running away to Oxenfurt where he drank and fucked and sang. Leaning against a pole in an inn in Posada with his lute in hand, having bread thrown at him, seeing white hair in the corner of the inn and walking over - come on, you must have some review for me; three words or less.

Walking next to Geralt after hunting a devil, singing a song at full volume as the sun shone down and his future laid in front of him - toss a coin to your Witcher, o valley of plenty, oh-oh-oh. Asking a favor of Geralt, “and the last thing I want is someone needing me-“; “and yet here we are”, singing at a betrothal feast in Cintra’s court.

Sitting by a fireplace in Cintra, with Ciri, with his fingers dancing across lute strings and his voice filling the air.  Hunting a djinn, staring through a window as Geralt and Yennefer fucked.

Climbing a mountain to hunt a dragon, waking up late. “If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

Now- now it was too much, now Jaskier could feel the panic setting in, his vision tunneling and breaths coming short. Some part of him berated himself for having yet another panic attack, the broken part of him didn’t want to be such a burden. Jaskier forcefully dragged his breaths down before he could show any symptoms, blinked and kept Yennefer’s face in clear view, made sure he wasn’t shaking. His hand was shaking, but no one needed to know that.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and a bolt of panic shot through him so he bit his sleeve. No talking then. But, he remembered everything. Heartbreak needled at him now, pain and mild irritation when he looked at Yennefer, and suddenly he understood why he felt so safe when Geralt held him.

Yennefer didn’t react, didn’t make a huge deal out of any of it. “Jaskier,” she said quietly. Jaskier silently thanked her for that, because she might be the least overwhelming person of the three of them. Even Ciri might ask questions, might be confused or panic because he was acting weird. And Geralt- well. Yennefer was the only stable one, she was the only one that could truly make him relax for now.

He lowered his arm, feeling steadier than he had since he’d been rescued - and, now he could say that it was a rescue and not something terrible. He remembered why he was fighting against Nilfgaard now, he knew why he had broken and he knew he wouldn’t ever do it again if he could help it. The memories alone would be enough to haunt him for months - years, maybe.

I remember you, he thought. Yennefer’s face didn’t change, but her magic skimmed his mind so he knew she heard him. I remember Ciri. And Geralt. I know why-

He cut off. He wasn’t going to tell Yennefer that. Jaskier was in love with Geralt, and that was how it was going to stay. Geralt wasn’t in love with him, Yennefer didn’t need to know. It was a secret that stayed with him.

Yennefer’s eyes softened. “I know, Jaskier.” She didn’t continue, just watched him, and suddenly Jaskier felt a lot like a bug pinned to a board. Like she knew something he didn’t.

He glared. I’m going inside, he thought in frustration, and turned on his heel and did exactly that. This time, the door slammed and he didn’t flinch.

He did stop, however, when Geralt stood up from his place at the table and fixed his golden eyes on him, curious but not pressing. Ciri was nowhere to be found - perhaps outside the back, reading or collecting herbs. She wouldn’t go far, never as far as for Geralt to lose her scent, but even that was quite a distance.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, walking closer. Jaskier stood frozen, his newly-remembered memories flashing through his mind. He stood still when Geralt stopped two steps away from him and never did he feel a flash of fear.

Geralt’s golden eyes met his, and Jaskier thought maybe he knew what Yennefer wasn’t telling him.

“Geralt,” he breathed, and closed his eyes when the shadow of panic shot through him, but Geralt was reaching out now, circling his arms around him and pulling him closer and Jaskier found himself calm before he had even begun to start panicking.

Still, he took a breath before speaking again, trying not to shake when he did. “Can I-“ he said softly, and Geralt didn’t move, which he was thankful for because Jaskier didn’t know if he’d be able to continue without Geralt surrounding him with his body, his arms, the scent of leather and sword oil. “Can I tell you something?”

Geralt pulled away. “Yes, Jaskier. Anything.”

He let out a breath and nodded, as if steeling himself, then started pulling Geralt over to the bed. He stopped beside it and hesitated. This could either go terribly or amazingly, and he didn’t know which way it would go. His heart was pounding just thinking about it.

Jaskier turned to face Geralt, whose brow was furrowed and golden eyes confused. “Jaskier, what’s-“

He cut him off with a kiss, tilting his head and leaning just slightly up - Geralt had always been the smallest bit taller than him - and felt Geralt tense in front of him. Jaskier pulled back, eyes wide, scared that he’d done something wrong-

Geralt’s hands went to Jaskier’s waist, holding him gently, like he was something fragile, and he pressed his lips back to Jaskier’s, swallowing his small hitch of breath.

“About time,” came Yennefer’s voice from the door. They both broke apart, though somehow knew this wasn’t over, but was barely beginning, and turned to her - Jaskier suddenly energized from what he’d discovered, and Geralt irritated that she’d interrupted. “You can do that later. Ciri is coming in soon.”

She turned around and left. Geralt turned to Jaskier, who met his eyes, and Jaskier glanced down.

Geralt’s fingers slid under his chin and lifted it, until Jaskier was forced to meet his eyes again, and Geralt slotted his lips against Jaskier’s again. He melted into it, eyes closing, before Geralt pulled back.

“I love you,” Jaskier whispered, then shut his eyes again at the slight panic rising up at the words. Geralt pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him and sitting on the bed. Jaskier brought his legs up to fold in his lap, and Geralt swung his legs up on the bed until he could lay down and let Jaskier curl into him, adjusting the position until Geralt’s arms were circled around Jaskier as his face was buried in his black shirt.

The darkness there wasn’t anything like Jaskier had felt before. It was the same warm, safe feeling, but he knew if he moved Geralt would let him, and he had no desire to block out all light like before - but there was still light coming through anyway. Geralt wouldn’t cage Jaskier, and this time that thought was comforting. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to go into a dark room, or be pinned in place, again.

The door opened, letting Yennefer and Ciri in, and Jaskier shifted closer to Geralt. He heard Yennefer’s soft voice talking to Ciri, and them taking up the other bed, and felt himself slipping into sleep.

“Love you,” Geralt rumbled quietly in his ear, nearly a whisper - he didn’t think it was meant for Jaskier to hear, but he did.

He smiled softly to himself and closed his eyes, knowing he had all four of them as a new family, and even though he knew he’d be haunted by the memories of Nilfgaard’s torture, he’d have them - and Geralt, especially - to help him through it. That would always be worth it in the end.

There was no place he’d rather be.

[doctor-spencer-ried]

Just a Crush (II)

Pairing: Spencer Reid X Reader

Hanahaki Disease AU

Summary: You go to the newest crime scene to figure out just what you’re dealing with. It all seems to land you in a dead end though. All you’re left with is a loose profile and a cough that is seriously starting to get on your nerves.

Warning: Graphic violence in later parts, crime scene

 Part 1 ~ Part 2 (Word count: 1653)

A/N: My knowledge of behavioral analysis is limited to this show and my Forensic class, so there may be holes and incorrect analysis.

~~~

“So this is the scene of the latest murder?” Emily asks as you two trek through the overgrown forest.

“Yah. The locals say an old lady used to grow flowers out in this greenery. Not many of them have actually been out here though,” you explain.

She purses her lips then asks, “Who found the bodies then?”

“The old lady’s granddaughter. She came out here hoping to restore the greenery in memory of her grandma.”

It was sad really. For such a peaceful place to be the scene of a gruesome murder. You hope the poor girl will still restore it after all of this is over. It deserves that much.

You jolt a little as your phone vibrates in your pocket. You fish it out and flip it open when you notice it’s Spencer.

“Yah Spence?” You grin, missing the narrow-eyed look Emily sends you.

“Are you at the crime scene yet?” His voice comes through the speaker softly.

“Almost. How about you guys?”

The team had split up to examine each scene. Spencer and Morgan were supposed to go to the second scene, an abandoned motel.

“We’re here. There’s not much to look at, though.” You stifle a giggle at his irritated tone. “There’s a lot of overgrown plants everywhere, so finding any evidence out there will be practically impossible.”

“It’s the same around here,” you tell him, “overgrown plants and all.”

You hear him blow a puff of air out in frustration.

“I think Morgan and I are going to go talk to the victim’s families after we finish checking the place out, start on victimology. I just wanted to call and make sure you and Emily are okay.”

“We’re all good here,” You hum. “We’re coming up on the greenery so I’m gonna let you go.”

“Okay, talk to you later, (y/n).”

The phone clicks and you slide it back into your pocket with a sigh.

“Be careful.”

You turn to Emily, eyebrow raised questioningly.

“It sounds like you like him. It’s actually really obvious, especially after this morning.” She shrugs. “Just...be careful.”

“Okay?”

What is she so worried about? No harm can come from a tiny crush. It will probably go away in a few days, anyways.

The two of you duck under the police tape and make your way into the abandoned building. You take note of the broken glass in the door. The unsub forced his way in. You scrunch your nose as you step into the greenery. The sickly sweet scent of flowers assaults you, almost forcing you to take a step back at the pungency. It causes an uneasy feeling to grow in your chest. That itch in your throat comes back. You cough and walk further in the place, gently pinching your nose to stifle the overbearing scent.

The crime scene is a small room in the back of the building, the nursery. Everything seems in order on the shelves, but that is the only normal thing about the room. The blood soaked chairs and floor are blaringly out of place in the warm, green room. There is noticeably more blood under one of the chairs, likely from the female victim. You carefully avoid the puddles of blood and stoop to examine the chair. The victims were tied with nylon rope, using complex yet beautiful knots, ones no average person would know. They remind you of the knots a Boy Scout learns to tie.

“He really made sure they couldn’t escape,” Emily muses as she checks the other chair, “He tied the arms, legs, and torso, that’s pretty extreme.”

“So, possibly paranoid? That could be why he picks these incredibly remote locations. He doesn’t want them to be found. Doesn’t want to be faced with what he’s done. He doesn’t think people will come out here, so it’ll be like nothing happened. We’re lucky the girl came here at the time she did.”

There’s no telling how the crime scene would have been after a few days. The fresh evidence should help create a more detailed profile.

“Okay so,” you begin to process the scene as a whole, attempting to mentally recreate the events that happened, “the unsub gets in through that door by breaking the glass and unlocking it from the inside. He then drags in the victims,” You crouch down near the door, noting the smooth path of disturbed dirt along the floor that travels to the back room, “and ties them up back here. We can assume he’s strong enough to drag a grown man then.”

“How would he have gotten both of them in here without a struggle?” Emily wonders aloud.

“Both of the victims could have been unconscious. He may have physically incapacitated them, or drugged them. Based on the amount of violence though, I imagine he wanted them to be conscious for every bit of it, so I doubt he drugged them.” You work off of her question, allowing it to guide your thought process.

Drugs would make it too easy for this guy. He wanted to torture these people, mentally and physically. You don’t think he’s a sadist though. The attacks are too violent and imprecise. They’re done in a fit of rage. Jealousy perhaps.

“The unsub tortures the woman, making sure he watches-” you gesture to the chair when the man would have sat, “-and then he kills her. After she’s dead, he slits the man’s throat and calmly walks out.”

“No signs of remorse,” Emily chips in, “He leaves them still tied up. No message either.”

You nod, lips pursed as you scan the scene once more. There doesn’t seem to be anything that you’re missing.

“Let’s go meet the others back at the department,” you suggest, “I’m sure Hotch will want to give the police a profile to go off of.”

Emily agrees and the two of you start the walk back to the car. You only relax once you get there and the stench of flowers no longer surrounds you.

---

You pop a peppermint in your mouth, hoping to ease whatever is bugging you as you step into the local police station. Hopefully you’re not getting sick. Hotch might make you go home in that case and you’d rather stay to help catch this son of a gun.

“Did you two find anything at the scene?” Hotch is immediately beside you.

Emily is the first to respond, “Nothing different really. It did bring up some questions though.”

“Yah, the victims were dragged into the building, but we don’t know how he got them in without a struggle. We’ll need the autopsy reports to know for sure.”

“The chief of police just dropped those off,” Hotch informs you, “We’ll go over them when Reid and Morgan get back.”

You nod and follow him to the room the team was given to work in. You don’t know when Spencer and Morgan are going to get back, so you strike up a mindless conversation with Emily. It helps take your mind off of the weird sensation plaguing you.

Thankfully, it’s not long before Spencer and Morgan show up. You smile and wave at Spencer who returns it before taking the seat beside you. Your grin grows wider.

“You talked to the families?”

He nods. “Yah. We confirmed the reports. So-“

“So,” Hotch cuts him off and Spencer falls silent, lips twitching up awkwardly, “victimology?”

“Right! All the victims were killed in pairs, and after questioning the families, we confirmed that all the victims were in long-term relationships.”

“Did you find any connections between the couples?”

“Nothing specific” Morgan chips in, “I have Garcia checking into their histories.”

“There might not be anything…” you mumble, thinking more to yourself.

The other look at you questioningly, and you blush.

“What is it, (l/n)?”

“Well, I mean, look at the victims.” You gesture to the pictures laid out on the table. “All of them are from different age groups, and none of them look very similar. Point is, all of them are very different. The unsub could just be targeting random couples off the street. We theorized before that he struggled with women in the past.”

“And assuming that he’s probably never had a functioning relationship, he could be targeting them out of jealousy,” Spencer catches your drift quickly, “If he was facing constant rejection, the build up of anger could have lead to him taking out his aggression on any innocent couples he sees.”

“We still don’t know how he gets them to the crime scene though,” Emily interjects, “The police found no signs of a break in or a struggle at the homes, and that’s where they were last seen.”

You turn to Hotch, “You said they sent the autopsy reports, right? Did they find anything that could help us?”

“All the victims were knocked unconscious by a blunt object. He likely caught them off guard after being welcomed into the home.”

“So the victims probably knew the unsub in some way,” Morgan concludes.

“I don’t think that really helps us. This town’s fairly small,” Spencer chirps, earning a glare from Morgan.

A faint smile rests on your lips as you watch the team continue to bounce ideas off of each other. You chip in when you can, of course. Garcia also calls to add what she’s learned, though it’s not much.

Everything you have so far seems generic almost. It could be any single, Caucasian man in the town. With no forensic evidence, it’s going to be hard to get anything figured out until he either kills again or someone comes forward with some testimony. The best you can hope for is someone can recognize the profile you’ve come up with so far.

“Let’s go share the preliminary profile with the police. J.J. will make a statement to the press as well. Let’s hope something turns up.”

Let’s hope.

Part 3