#but I do try to keep an open mind cause I never know

[wandixx]

Christmas in Mount Justice

cartoon version of Young Justice, written instead of sleeping and I'll be honest, I kinda run out of steam at the end, but it'd take me until next year if I didn't push through, so here it is, and hopefully it's not quite visible where I started pushing through it, I hope you'll enjoy

words: 4633

“Since, hopefully, this is the last time we're seeing each other before Christmas–” Black Canary announced, stretching after finished training“ I wish you all merry and healthy and boring Christmas” she finished with a wide warm smile. Danny barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. This goddamn worst time of the year. He checked once more if his mental shields were up. According to M'gann, ghosts were really loud on mind reading wavelengths so he needed to keep them up most of the time. He wasn't an asshole to drown his friend in absolute hatred of Christmas.

“You too Black Canary!” Wally yelled, running like the earth was burning to get cookies M'gann baked “By the way, what are your plans?” he asked upon his return.

Did they really have to keep talking about it? Danny was half considering just dropping through the floor to escape this conversation but chose against it because he really didn't want to answer all the questions it would cause or hear a ‘you can't deal with all unwanted conversations by escaping them’ lecture again any time soon. He could and he would, the Freakshow incident was just one way to prove it.

“B and I have to attend some stuffy rich people party” Robin said with clear displeasure “I still need to plan what mess to stir there. Chandeliers swinging are banned and so is arson so I have to get creative.”

“You actually set something on fire?! That's sick as hell!” the speedster's enthusiasm didn't waver as he threw a few cookies at Danny. It was nice that someone remembered about Danny's slightly enhanced metabolism. They (both Young Justice and Amity squad) still didn't understand it completely but the working hypothesis was that he needed to eat more to make up for ectoplasm he couldn't consume in quantities big enough for his ghost side since it was poisonous to humans and he had to dose it carefully. Being a halfa was rough like that some(most)times. 

“Well, lighter is easy to sneak inside–” Robin explained and honestly Danny never expected to hear Gotham’s feared vigilante go over logistics of arson but he guessed it was his life now, he could use this info to do something about at least one Christmas tree in Amity or share it with Sam. She mentioned some upcoming rich people party too”–and amount of alcohol there is astonishing, really you'd think that people would try to stay sober on event like that but apparently–”

“I'm having dinner with my mom and some family friends–” Artemis interrupted “Can't wait spend God knows how many hours with all of them talking over each other and asking awkward questions” she tried to sound displeased but there was no way she could hide her fondness and wasn't that a wild thing to see. Seriously, he almost choked on a cookie. In theory Danny knew some people genuinely liked Christmes but–

Just like that? Just happy to–

Yeah, he knew but couldn't quite comprehend. Sam was exactly like that, found but trying to seem annoyed to keep up with her goth persona. Tucker was way more open about his delight.

For Danny Christmas was only too loud because everyone was singing badly and too bright because of lights and too stuffy and there was this damned argument about Santa and yelling and fe–

“Oh, me too! We also planned a movie night with Central Rogues, this time it's Cold’s turn. I wish he won't pick Die Hard again…”

Well, Danny guessed movie night with Rogues, that clearly meant an off evening since they wouldn't try to stir things up while watching the movie, sounded like a really nice idea. Personally he would do without people who try to turn him into a pulp every other day but apparently things worked differently in Central.

“King Orin wanted to introduce me to some surface celebrations as well,” Kaldur said with a warm smile and halfa forcefully stopped himself from giving their leader a weird look. Even him?! Betrayal, absolute betrayal! 

“Well, I don't really celebrate so I'm staying here, maybe training a bit, I'm not sure yet,” M'gann announced shyly and it took all his willpower to not hug her for being the only sensible person in the room.

“Yeah, I'm staying too. Apparently I'm not invited to family gatherings” Conner added bitterly. 

“Honestly your not missing much,” Danny muttered “It's just perfectly prepared and measured argument breeding space, believe me”

Wally tried to protest but one pointed glare and it dissolved through power of ‘don't make Conner feel about it any worse than he already does’. Danny felt a little guilty for using it to sooth his own hatred towards Christmas but not too much. He really wanted to reassure his friend and ways he went about it were no one else's business. 

“And what are your plans, Danny?” M'gann asked gently after he didn't continue. He really wished he didn't have to answer but keeping his emotions hidden meant nobody could see that something was up and say ‘you don't have to tell if you don't want to’ or other shit like that.

“Not sure yet. I think I will crash with you here honestly. If we believe this magic book we found, there is a Christmas truce in Zone, so there shouldn't be any ghost attacks and your company is always great,” he smiled sincerely.

“Wouldn't your parents ask questions if you just skipped Christmas, though?” Wally asked a bit cautiously but Danny waved his concern off with a vague ‘eh’ sound.

“Will you show us some Christmas traditions then? As a part of ‘earthly traditions’ course?” M'gann's eyes almost shone with excitement and Conner looked hopeful and it made him feel conflicted. The whole point of crashing in Mount Justice with two aliens was to not touch anything Christmas related with thirty feet long stick but alas M'gann asked nicely and was pretty. These were two big ideals fighting inside of him then and there while he tried to keep his face and outer mind blank enough to not bring any suspicion.

Betrayal to second, no third, power! He wanted to escape this hell of an experience! 

But well, he could shape the experience in a way that's the least painful and M'gann and Conner were really great friends…

“Sure”

He couldn't quite match her enthusiastic grin or even Conner’s bit smaller one.

He was going to regret it, wouldn't he?

***

“Guys, I messed up so bad…” Danny whined,  curling on Sam's enormous bed covered in fluffy blankets and nice pillows.

“What did you do this time?” girl asked with a smirk. Halfa was sometimes mad how well his friends knew him and didn't take his dramatics as seriously as he would like to.

“I wanted to have a sleepover at Team's HQ during Christmas, you know, to escape it. Only ones who will stay are Miss Martian and Superboy, aliens, so I thought it's a good idea. And then they asked me to show them ‘earthly Christmas traditions’ and I AGREED!” he yelled, his hands flying dramatically at the confession.

His friends, little traitors they were, just laughed.

He came to get some help, advice on either doing this introduction well because Danny Fenton was known for a lot of things but half-assing projects he agreed to do wasn't one of them (homework was obligatory without his consents ergo didn't count) or gracefully getting away from mess his idiocy brought onto him, not to be laughed at! He had enough of it at other times.

Though they got to work when they calmed down, making Danny revisit the idea of not talking to them ever again and throwing it out of the window.

“Alright,” Tucker started, preparing his note and planner apps before continuing “what do you want to show them? Gingerbread house?”

“Of course” Danny huffed because as much as he hated Christmas and its traditions, gingerbread house was decent one. Making one at Tucker's place three years ago when he had been introduced to the idea was one of his best memories related to the holiday. Even though it was cut short by trip to the ER because dumbass little Danny had wanted a little gingerbread man he set aside and he had eaten him still all fresh and 350°F hot and got severe burns in his mouth and throat because apparently his instinctual response to burning in his mouth was to swallow instead of to spit.

“Gifts.” Sam raised in a way that meant she was not taking any complaints and Danny didn't really want to argue. His track record with gifts from his parents wasn't too good ever since he had a brief just-like-dad phase and they didn't realize it ended after a month but other people knew how to fix it. The Voyager Lego set he got from Sam the year before still made him smile when his eyes landed on it. 

Tucker noted it down. “What else? Christmas tree?”

Danny winced but nodded. He wasn't too fond of it but it was too big to miss it.

“Ugly sweaters?”

“Superboy would actually develop laser vision if I tried it”

“Movie marathon? I can lend you some DvDs”

“Yeah, it's probably a good idea. Kid Flash mentioned it too.”

“Santa Claus?” Sam asked with a smirk and Danny threw a pillow at her.

“Who is Santa Claus? I never heard of him, must be a Rhode Island thing” he answered with a straight face, not knowing how many times he will have to repeat it.

**

Phantom: hey guys!

Phantom: want a Crisscross Christmas

Phantom: ?

Artemis: The what?

Phantom: oh, you know

Phantom: this thing were we draw aech othres names anf have to buy a gift

Kid Flash: you mena Secret Santa

Kid Flash: ???

Phantom: never heard of that

Phantom: thats a wierd naem

Phantom: but if rules match, call it whatever yoyu wnat

Aqualad: I like this idea

Robin: GIft drop-off on 27th is okay for everyone?

7 people liked this message

Robin: i take that for yes. 50$ budget?

Kid Flash: Robin, Rob, Bob, my best pal. I have 5$ and single slice of bubblegum to my name rn

Kid Flash: No, actually no bubblegum anymore

Kid Flash: 10$ is top I could spend

Phantom: Same

Artemis: Same

Aqualad: Me too

Miss Martian: I'm not sure if me and Superboy have any money, actually

Phantom: See Rob?

Phantom: just be a good samamritanina and give them 10$ instead og flaunting batmans money

***

"Important question. How do one pick a present?"

"You know, it's good if it's something personal, either in a way that it's something they want or need, a gag gift that'd be funny for both of you, or just something that made you think of them"

"Yeah, yeah, I read the mom blogs, none of this actually helps, what am I supposed to get for Artemis?!"

***

"Alright, so. I have a list of things I think you need to learn about Christmas. We're kinda late to the party, so I cut off some stuff because there is no way we would make it in time."

"Sounds about right, what do we start with?"

"Most classic of classics, the Christmas tree, Batman already greenlit it, so it's waiting outside"

***

"So, Christmas tree is evergreen plant, conifer, sometimes only branch or synthetically made model, that, if living, is cut down from Christmas tree nursery, and then put inside the house, usually in the living room or other space that is considered repre-"

"Danny, we live in society, we have basic knowledge on American traditions that is literally everywhere. We don't need it to be spoon fed to us in a voice more robotic way than Red Tornado, literal robot"

"Conner!"

"What?! I'm not wrong"

"Sorry. Let's get to decorating then?"

"If you want to ramble, we'd be more than happy to listen. It's obvious that you took a lot of care to learn everything."

"Speak for yourself"

"Conner!"

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, with what exactly do we plan to decorate it?"

"Oh, this one is easy. I asked around people to donate some stuff, and Batman got us few things after I asked for permission for the tree. He even asked Justice League to drop us some things too."

"That's nice of them"

"Yeah, though I'm a bit worried about gifts from Arrows and Robin, y'know. They all had this type of smile that means either a gag idea, merch or exploding glitter and I'm not sure which option scares me the most"

"Glitter"

"Glitter"

"Yeah, you're right"

***

"Did… um… did Superman bring anything?"

"Yes, actually! He brought pretty big box of stuff and mentioned dropping of some food for Christmas in the morning or the afternoon of the first day. He said he was happy that you got the experience even if he isn't able to be the one to give it to you. I think he is coming around"

It was an interesting thing about Danny. He wasn't all that good with authority figures or frankly adults in general, and he never passed on the chance to tear in Superman for his treatment of Conner, if he saw the man, but in private he was surprisingly pro-Superman and tried to make them "see his perspective" with some pretty convincing arguments. Everyone else was still unimpressed but Danny never gave up.

M'gann still wasn't sure if in these circumstances she found it cute or annoying.

"Bullshit"

"If that's what you want to believe in"

***

"Oh, hello Megan! Red Tornado, would you like to join us in decorating the Christmas tree?"

"This… seems like a decent idea. What is the procedure of it?"

"We already put on the lights, so now we're placing baubles and other hanging decorations, before we finish off with paper chains and these fuzzy boas. We need them evenly spread out on all of the tree, preferably in a way, that things in similar colors aren't right next to each other, alright?"

"Yes, Phantom, instructions are clear"

"Great. Do we want some music in the background? My friends usually play some Christmas songs to get us all in 'the right mood' as he calls it?"

"Good idea, I'll play something."

"Thanks Meg"

"Just hear the sleigh bell jingling…"

"Is this… yeah, it's Carpenters, it's Jazz's favo- oh shit"

"Got it!"

"Nice catch Conner! Red Tornado, sorry I didn't clarify before, we're not decorating the side by the wall."

"Understood"

***

"We have only one last thing left then"

"Yeah?"

"The star at the top. The youngest child of the family usually get the honor. Conner, it's you time to shine~"

"Shut up already"

"How is he supposed to reach the top though? He can't fly"

"Step stool or someone has to hold him up lion king style"

"Lion king- Don't you dare! Keep those hands to yourself! Danny!

***

"So, what's next on your magical list?"

"Gingerbread house. It's a moment for you to shine Meg, because I'm absolute mess in the kitchen and I don't think Conner is much better"

"Actually-"

"blah, blah, blah, absolutely perfect, could be hired at Michelin star restaurant right this instant blah, blah, blah"

"Oh, you little-"

"I believe the arguments are supposed to start at the Christmas table and not before. It seemed to be consensus in my sources. Was I mistaken?"

Conner stopped dead in his tracks, as confused as M'gann at the question.

Danny laughed so hard he fell on the ground.

"Red Tornado, what does that mean?"

"There is no need to spread misinformation until we can get confirmation whether my sources were correct or not"

"Danny? Danny?! What does he mean?! Why are you laughing?!"

Danny just stayed curled on the floor, almost wheezing.

***

"So, we have all of the ingredients, right? Flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves-"

"I think it's still in the cabinet, let me grab it real quick"

"Alright, other than cloves, do we have salt, vegetable shortening, granulated sugar, molasses, an egg- I mean, applesauce? Yeah? Let's hope it'll work. Okay, I think were ready"

"Ginger?"

"What?"

"Do we have ginger ready?"

"I don't think so, I'm pretty sure we've run out about a week ago? Why- oh wait"

"Did we seriously forgot to get ginger to make The Gingerbread House?! It's literally in the name!"

They all just stood in silence for a long moment.

"We're idiots"

"Well said, well said"

"I believe there are better names to describe you in this situation. Unfortunately, I cannot recall them"

"Thanks Red Tornado, that was helpful"

"Maybe we can still buy it?"

"It's 10:34 PM, December 23rd, M'gann, what shop would even be open?"

"Shut up Conner, it's actually not a bad idea. I think I've seen- yes, there is something open until eleven, about five minutes out if I fly"

***

"There was no ginger at the shop, but I got cranberry for later, if needed, and some chips to snack on"

"It's fine, we found unopened pack of powdered ginger in the back of the cabinet"

"That's great! Give me a minute to return this packet I liberated on my way home?"

"Danny!"

***

"Hey, M'gann!"

"Yeah?"

"Would you like to invite your uncle to our dinner?"

"That's a great idea Conner, thank you!"

***

"Okay, wait, wait, wait, before you two get weirdly aggressive about it again-"

"We're not that aggressive and it's a serious matter"

"I don't have any ghosts to get of my misplaced aggression out on so I'm funneling it into cake decorating instead"

"M'gann, you literally are trying to choke him right now, Danny, even I know it's concerning and I have less than half a year of learning what is considered normal under my belt. Anyway, before you escalate it again, how about each one of us gets one side of the house and then we work in pairs on the roof?"

"I like that"

"But what about aesthetic integrity!"

"It's quite literally against the point of gingerbread house"

***

"Before we go to sleep, I believe it's a widespread tradition to leave milk and cookies for the Santa Claus on the Christmas Eve evening"

"Huh"

"What is it this time?"

"Nothing really, chill out Conner, I just never heard of that"

It was so clearly a lie it probably couldn't even be called that, but at this point everyone realized, that for some reason bearded man in red was a sore subject, and they stopped trying to learn why. Maybe some day he'd tell them.

***

"Sorry. This person is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone."

"Hey Dani, it's Danny. Merry Christmas, please let me know when you get that. I'm celebrating outside of home, safe, with some friends, so if you want, I can give you an address and you can drop by. They're all more than okay with ghost stuff and have a history of accepting someone similar to you without any questions. I'm sure they'd love you. Let me know you're alright and if you want to join us. Sorry I keep calling, I'm at the worrywart stage. Love you, please stay safe."

Danny was doing pretty well with this whole "organizing Christmas". Really. M'gann did kick him out to breathe a bit of fresh air (and wait for the Superman and food he was supposed to bring in) because his hands were shaking too much, but other than that he was fine. Really. He was getting a bit panicky because he didn't hear a word from his sister in the past week and usually she let them know if she knew she would go somewhere where that could happen but she just as often didn't because she spontaneously decided to do something else. Trackers they made her wear showed she was fine.

It didn't really help, he wasn't sure if there was anything less than actually hearing or preferably seeing her that could reassure him.

It wasn't even talking about all of the trouble that was a bit closer to home, because Christmas never meant anything good for him, with or without his parents stirring up the Santa-fight. They weren't there and yet, he still couldn't make himself believe it could be any better this time. For Ancients sake, he made sure there was no Santa Claus in whole Mountain, nothing to remind him of how it always was and his brain still decided to be stupid about it.

So now he was standing in thin hoodie out in Rhode Island winter, in hopes that cold would shock him out of spiraling, trying to keep his breaths even and not fly away because it felt all like a little too much at the moment. he was standing in thin hoodie out in Rhode Island winter, waiting for a man who would awkwardly try to do the whole 'I'm an adult you can trust' routine and then treat him like messenger pigeon to contact the child that actually wanted and needed him. He couldn't entirely blame him but-

"Are you quite alright?"

"I'm fine"

"Are you sure? It's quite cold to be dressed like this and your heartbeat is quite erratic."

"I'm fine as old wine Superman, please say your piece before someone comes to see what took me so long"

"Danny-"

"I'm serious. Leave it alone and just give me the food"

Superman looked a bit conflicted, clearly considering all of the potential pros and cons of digging in further and choose wrong.

"You're worried about Dani"

"You're the last person I want to talk to about her," Danny spat out, anxiety quickly turning into anger.

"Of course, but-"

"Have two civil conversations with your clone before trying to tell me how I should handle mine" As soon as these words left his mouth, Danny regretted them, if only a little, but he kept pushing "I told you about her to explain why I'm willing to vouch for you. It doesn't make you someone I'll confide in. It doesn't make you someone I trust. It doesn't make me approve of the way your handling it. It just means I understand. But you're an adult man and experienced hero with stable job and adult shit figured out and I'm a teenager with home just safe enough for me to stay and family that'd question how third child just showed up. We are not the same."

Superman flinched away at some point during the rant, looking properly humbled. He avoided eye contact and just reached forward to pass him hard plastic case filled with food containers and smaller boxes wrapped up in nice Christmas themed paper.

"Alright kiddo. Get it inside before you turn into a icicle. And tell Conner I wish him Merry Christmas, alright? I mean, I wish it to everyone but…"

Damn, if the "never meet your heroes" person wasn't right.

"You're a coward Superman. Come in and tell him that yourself"

***

Conner lashed out, as expected, but it was far more subdued than it would be just few month before. To his credit, Superman stayed the whole time it went down and only left when boy mostly calmed down and wouldn't feel like he was being ignored. Man even tried to respond to some allegations, though he wasn't really heard. Conner ranted some more after hero left, but overall it went better than Danny thought it would.

Then they had dinner, which went… surprisingly well. Apparently, not having to worry about being attacked by the main dish did wonders to Danny's overall jitters (and didn't everyone get super weird when he mentioned it). Not having people start nonsensical fights also helped. He knew better than to mention that.

Also, turns out that Superman or whoever he got to make them food was freaking amazing cook, thank you very much. Danny wasn't necessarily fasting, not in a way he knew some people did in the period preceding Christmas or at least on Christmas Eve, but the tension of past few days made it hard to eat a lot. It definitely lessened now that the thing was happening and seemingly going well, so he was absolutely ravenous. To be completely honest, as far as he could tell, everyone else matched his enthusiasm.

There was a bit off moment at the beginning, when Martian Manhunter asked him if he shouldn't be with his family during holidays, but Danny quickly and subtly brushed it off and nobody mentioned that afterwards.

He may have overeaten, actually, for once in his live, which he may regret in the morning, but at the moment, it made him quite content.

Then came the gifts, which also went better than he expected. For once there was no need to act like he enjoyed the gift despite already planning on how to get rid of it. Even better, focus was almost fully removed from him, obviously, because it wasn't his first rodeo.

Conner looked so lost and confused with the gift he got from Superman's mom, it was almost heartbreaking. It was beautiful crocheted scarf, black and red, with his symbol on each end, and an apology note explaining that Mrs Martha Kent would give him something more note worthy but she learned about him way to late to make something better. There was also promise of more worthy gift in near future. Danny knew all that because Conner read it out loud, asking everyone to help him make sense of that. There was only so much they could do.

Other than that, he got some nice flannel shirts from M'gann, quite a few sweets. He also got a book from Danny (it was a sin he didn't read "The Martian" before) and concepts of new hero suits for him, that Sam somehow sneaked between the pages. It was certainly a lot to explain without making anyone angry.

M'gann got two different cook books, that unfortunately didn't include Fenton fudge recipe (Dad was really protective over it), some surprisingly obscure merch from "Hello Megan" and more sweets.

Red Tornado got an apron and few tokens of appreciation, that robot quite liked, as far as Danny could tell.

Martian Manhuter, due to how rarely he visited, was the hardest to pick presents for, which resulted in some general little trinkets.

Danny got night sky projector, which was really cool, and potted plant, for some reason, which, while also cool, because plants are cool (Sam would rekill him if he thought otherwise), he knew far too well, would not survive until July. It wasn't only because he could barely take care of himself, let alone whole ass plant (see also, that one time he either drowned or dried three cacti), but also because of the times ghosts (or home security) attacked him in his room. He was thankful anyway. Maybe it could push him into finally getting some contingencies against that, that’d actually work. After all, it was quite a pretty plant.

By the time they moved to the couch to watch “Die Hard” of all things (it was only DVD that Tucker provided that didn’t have Santa Claus as a prominent character, because of course that little traitor would do that), Danny had to admit that this Christmas was… nice. Enjoyable. Pretty amazing actually. Good enough that he could understand people waiting for it the whole year. He couldn’t tell that he joined their ranks, but he certainly could understand them.

It was also downright exhausting and at some point even dynamic fights of John McClane couldn’t keep his eyes open. It was fine though. He was safe, he was warm, almost squeezed against his friends. It was good place to just relax.

It’s been first time in a long time since he felt that on Christmas.

********

I'm not sure if I managed to properly Conner's... whole thing, if he turned out too hostile, let's just say he was still pissed about the whole "wasn't invited to Clark's family gathering" thing and it made him a bit more antsy.

I'm not sure how well I managed to handle it, but I don't want to bash neither Clark nor Conner. They're both victims in this situation and while the way Clark handled it was far from ideal, it's also far from worst he could do and I believe he deserves a bit more grace. In the end, on psychological level he is just human and humans don't always handle being baby trapped perfectly. Maybe I have more understanding towards him because my prefered way of handling conflicts is walking out and locking myself in my room, but idk. Maybe I'm capable of more coherent explanation when it's not 3:44 AM

Ginger shenanigans were inspired by my own Christmas preparation adventures, when I was making bread dough for the Christmas Eve and decided to add rosemary to make it more ✨festive✨ and got really attached to the idea. My mom agreed, then it turned out we didn't have any, then I went to the shop like twenty minutes before it closed at 11PM so at least one guy was there to replenish his alcohol suplies. My mom called to tell me to also buy some powdered garlic and beetroot. Turned out we had rosemary at home. At shop I only found garlic. I also brought energy drink, because I was tired but had more stuff to do and some snacks just because.

Bread turned out pretty good.

I sincerely believe if I was solely responsible of making gingerbread, I would forget to get ginger (or like, to fit with "it's in the name" thing, pepper, because in Polish it's "piernik")

I'm really sorry if the drop in quality by the end is noticable, if this thing stayed unfinished whole another year i'd do something I'd regret later.

[writingwisterias]

Following on from previous Leon Eras, how do you think all the different Leon Eras would react to a best friend or S/O that's been there when he's seen Ada and knows how he feels about her, so they're always feeling a little bit inadequate? Like there's always that little voice in the back of their mind telling them that they're not good enough for Leon and that they'll never be as good as her? Especially for the best friend who's secretly in love with him, they probably never said anything earlier because of their insecurities, I imagine that RE4R Leon would almost pretend not to see it because he's torn between how he feels but DI Leon would be the kind to keep you locked in a cuddle until you feel a little bit better about yourself

Hi Anon!

So I do think this is a really interesting idea especially since how Leon reacts to ada in the game is important to his character's development! However this is no hate on ada because I love her and would do anything she asked me to 👀

Warnings: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, insecurities, slight angst

GN!Reader

RE2:

This is where Ada becomes a big impact in his life and how he would view/trust people in general

So if you started dating him after the events of raccoon City I would say it can be hard to deal with

Not only his insecurities about your loyalty would feed into the relationship, he's constantly watching for underlying meanings in your words

But also he's just generally guilty in what happened at the end

I don't think he would be hung up on the kiss they shared, but I do think how he reacts to people and forming a trusting bond when they ask him to do things would be difficult.

Because he doesn't see her after the events of raccoon City until Spain I don't think seeing her would cause a problem to you.

Just the trauma she added to the night unintentionally

RE4R:

Now we enter more interesting territory where their relationship is now complicated

If you are dating him whilst he goes to span the first thing he does is tell you he saw her

He's going to be very open about it and would probably tell you everything she did

I think he admires her in her constant watching and protective nature over him whenever she knows it or not

That being said I do think adding you into the mixture of their complicated affection would cause some difficulties

He's trying desperately to be respectful over your feelings but also he has a lot of questions for Ada he wants answering

I think he would tip toe around the line of knowing it's wrong but purely so he can get the closure he needs

He's willing to take the chance that you would be understanding when he does eventually tell you

Infinite Darkness:

We don't actually see Leon and Ada interact in this Era of him

So if there is any discourse about it, I would say it's because he keeps mentioning her

Maybe he doesn't mean to or he doesn't understand what he is doing but he's constantly talking to you about her

I doubt it's all praise, nor would it be about her looks but the constant mention of her name would eventually get to you

If you mention it he would probably be upset because she is a large part of her life but he would get over it I'm sure

Damnation:

Okay this is where things begin to complicate with their relationship and you

There is that one line in the film where it suggests that they did have a night together

I don't think he would hold that over your head in anyway. He's not comparing you to her at all

But you are

Let's say you are his partner and joined him on this mission, you are a witness to the banter and cant help but feel a bit jealous

Like she's everything you aren't in your own eyes

I think he would get a bit frustrated with how you are taking it and the fact you never seem to understand that he only cares about you

You can't blame him, it's silly to be jealous he wouldn't be with you if he wants her

But seeing how he reacts to her and their history does make you sad

RE6:

This is the main game we see their relationship almost end but also left open

So we will replace you with Helena because it's more interesting.

It turns the situations into he prioritized her safety over yours even though he is in a relationship with you.

He doesn't actually realize what he's done until after the events of the game and he has a lot to make up for

I think it would take him a while to realize as well like he's not going to understand why you are upset straight away

Not because he's dumb but because in his head she needed more help

He would get frustrated with your reaction and not really understand where you are coming from because nothing happened. There was no kiss or anything

It ended with a goodbye and a promise to maybe see each other again soon.

And that's what angers you, until he figures that out it would be rocky whenever she gets mentioned

Vendetta:

Again we don't see Ada interact with Leon in this so if there is an issue it's because he's bringing her up

And of course he will...he's drunk and hates the world

So I don't think he would bring her up in a negative way so when you do get touchy about her- he's confused

I think he would dismiss your concerns because he's literally not said a good thing

It's not until you explain it to him that he understands it sounds like he's still hung up on her

So he would make an effort to show you that's not the case, whenever that's literally saying it during sex

I'm talking like major praise towards you..he would never say her name during that time but imply that you are better

It does work sort of because he is worshipping you but is also doing it on the base of hating her

Eventually he would get distracted by something else to hate on and it wouldn't be a problem

Death Island:

He's not bringing her up as she's part of his past at all

But let's say you are both out n about and he catches the eye of someone that looks similar to her

He then has to explain it to you because he freezes and double takes

The explanation of the complicated history would make it difficult for you because what do you mean this woman has been through almost every important event of his life

Very quick to reassure you he's not seen her in years nor does he want to

He's very content with how his life has turned out and doesn't want you to think otherwise

He would understand if you need constant reassurance over the topic he's more mature so he understands how the situation can be seen

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - In a Jam - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

When the bond goes from sweet to septic...

tw: possessive behavior, control issues, parental abuse.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"Wow," Jinx drawled, "you really got yourself into a jam, Silly. Question is: is it strawberry with extra goop, or raspberry with extra seeds? Both'll give ya the squirts."

"Trust you to think with your bowels, Jinx."

Silco stood by the bay window, backlit by the smoldering neon cityscape. He wore his grimmest expression: all crags and canyons, and a furrowed brow so deeply grooved it'd be fit to sow seeds. It was the forbidding shell he retreated into whenever the stress levels skyrocketed and a bloodbath loomed on the horizon. 

Jinx had seen the look, more and more, as her body healed and the city fell to ruin. Conversely, she found it reassuring.  Silco was no Prince Valiant, even at his most mellow. And he needed to project menace to the masses, so they wouldn't drag his guts out through his nostrils. But the menace was by no means skin deep.  It went down to his marrow: that fiendish focus that kept him honed utterly on his target.

And when you knew him the way Jinx knew him, you knew he'd never miss.

The cicatrix between her ribs twinged.

It was a reminder: Silco had split her open to carve a path of repossession through her ribcage. He'd do it again without a second thought. He'd do whatever it took to put her back together again, like the rest of Zaun. 

And his hands were still red and dripping.

It should've unsettled Jinx. But she couldn't dredge the feelings up. They were buried too deep: the kind of place you didn't go digging unless you wanted the ground to split beneath you, and send you plunging straight to hell.

So she shrugged.

"C'mon, Silly! It's just a joke."

She flopped back into bed. Her muscles, like overcooked noodles, couldn't endure more than the day's physical therapy before they sang the body brownout. She was bored of her bedroom; bored of being weak; and so terribly bored of being bored that she'd rather take a chance on an Enforcer's bayonet, than sit out the fray for a moment longer.

Silco, reading her mind, turned to face her.

"You will not set foot out there," he said. "You will stay here. Is that understood?"

"But—"

"Is that understood?"

A direct command.

Jinx hated direct commands. They were an insult to her intellect. She wasn't a diligent little droid, like Sevika. She was Jinx, dammit! Jinx did as she damn well pleased. It wasn't her style to stay cooped up in the suite, stewing, when the rest of her world was aflame. It especially wasn't her style to obey, if Silco took a tone with her. It meant he was trying to tell her something that his ego couldn't spit out on its own.

Him and his ego. Jinx could practically see the whole of Zaun balanced precariously on its lofty peak.

But she knew him well enough to know what sat underneath: a plea.

Jinx sighed, and propped herself up against the pillows.

"I can help," she argued. "If I keep to the shadows, nobody'll notice—"

"It's a risk I won't take."

"C'mon, Silly! The city needs to see me! I'm the Postergirl of the Revolution. I'm the face of your cause. I'm—"

"Not ready."

A chill descended. Deja vu, like gooseflesh, pricked down her spine. She remembered Vi saying that, the night she left the first time. The night that started it all, so Vi left-right-left every night thereafter.

A reminder that Jinx would never be ready; she was the unfinished girl. The screw-up; the screw-loose. And not even death could complete her. All it did was spit her out, unfinished as ever.

Imperfect.

The cicatrix twinged, again, like an invisible fishhook tugging on her rib.

"Is it—because of what I did?" Jinx asked. "Because I messed up? Are you punishing me?"

The room's emotional acoustic was a minefield of echoes. Silco, usually quicksilver, seemed frozen in place.

"Jinx—"

"Because—if you are,  you should just say it! I'll take my lumps like a grownup. Just—please!—don't lock me up. I know—the mess we're in is my fault. I know me and Vik fu—fudged things up. But he's out there doing his part to set it right! Why not me? I can help too. You just have to let me try!"

She didn't want to beg.  Begging made you small. Like a little girl needing attention. Jinx was neither of those things. Need was Vi's MO. The need to save everyone, the need to fight unbeatable odds and chase unwinnable dreams.

The need to run and run and never, ever stop running.

Silco stayed.

His silhouette shifted in the gloom. One of the overhead lamps flickered. It'd been doing that for days: the city grid was on the fritz. The faulty filament flared, then faded. The room's shadows, so sharp, receded like fangs back into the gums.

In their place, Silco's real expression emerged. The cragged exterior had sloughed away, leaving something soft and sad behind.

"Oh, child," he murmured. "You don't understand."

He took the armchair at her bedside. Didn't touch her, but leaned in, the better for her to see him, if her eyes weren't so damn blurry.

"I have not locked you up," he said. "But I need you out of harm's way. For good reason, Jinx. You were not at death's door. You were six feet under it, and heading straight to hell. Viktor's intervention saved you, yes. But to what end? To put you in the crosshairs of the bastards who'd see you dead?"

 Jinx knuckled her eyes with a fist. The blur became a burn.

"It's not so simple," she insisted, because there was a point to be made here, if only she could articulate it. "If you're gonna stand against those baddies, you'll need my help! They'll keep coming, and they don't stop coming, and—well. You know the song."

Silco smiled grimly.

"I do, Jinx. But if you want me to play to the chorus, I'm afraid you've picked the wrong partner."

"I thought that's what we were," she sniffled. "Partners."

He shook his head.

"A partnership implies equals. You're not my equal, Jinx. You're my better. You always have been. But if I am to be anything of value in return—then you have to let me do what's best. You have to trust me."

The fishhook between her ribs twisted.

Jinx's throat was tight, eyes wet.

"Okay," she said, very quietly. "Okay."

 He didn't relax. But the tension ebbed by degrees, a seismic undertow.

"Thank you."

Reaching out, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The fingertips lingered on her cheek, cold on hot. Jinx, shivering, melted into the touch.

Somehow, in the interceding days, he'd scaled back on the little rituals of affection. The ones that were nearly second nature. The hug hello, the forehead kiss goodnight, the absent shoulder-squeeze: they were all in abeyance, and had been since The Change.

At first, she'd been too discombobulated to notice. She was still coming to grips with her own body; with the metal on her hand; with the magic in her mind; with the emotions divvied between herself and Viktor.

Between the old Jinx, and the new. 

She couldn't handle the additional stimulus. And she'd been too overwhelmed, too out of it, to pinpoint the missing element.

Until now.

She missed his touch, cold though it was.

Not the hugs; or the kisses. Those were nice. But they were part and parcel of fatherhood, and Silco wore it with the same gravity as his killer's cowl, the mantle draped darkly over him like it was born there. They were part of the duty he'd charged himself with, the night he'd found that lost little girl, then taken her home and renamed her after his own black heart.

They were his, and he gave them freely.

 Now there was a rationing.

On cue, his hand began to retreat. Impulsively, Jinx caught it in both her own.

"If," she said, and there was a quaver in her voice she couldn't repress, "If you're gonna make me sit on the sidelines, then at least lemme help in other ways."

"What way?"

"Viktor's got his hands full with the disaster in the Deadlands. I wanna be useful too. I wanna—fix things." She squeezed his hand. "I'll go through my schematics in the Aerie. The stuff that didn't make the cut for the Expo. Old models for air-scrubbers. Moisture meters for water levels. Structural drying systems. Maybe even something that purifies the air, if I can make the numbers work." She bit her lip, hard enough to sting. "I will make the numbers work. I swear!"

His hand turned beneath hers. Their fingers twined. They didn't fit perfectly any longer: her augmented metal, his flesh and bone. But they fit the way she and Silco always had. The broken gaps filled with love; the jagged edges polished killingly sharp by rage.

"You'll fix this?" he asked, and for all his gravitas, he was a man on tenterhooks. "For Zaun?"

She nodded. Big firm up-and-down. "And for you."

Silco's face remained shadowed by doubt. But a soft pride lit his mismatched eyes from within. His thumb brushed across her knuckles. It snagged, gently, on the metal joints.

"All right," he said.

A hot-pink arrow smote Jinx's heart. The feeling of coming back from a place of death. Before she could lose her nerve, she asked him the question she'd been holding back since the day she awoke in the suite.

"Silco?"

"Yes?"

"Where—where's Gemmie?"

The Hex-gem hadn't been in her bedroom. Or anywhere in the penthouse. She knew, because she'd searched. Because she'd feel it, same way she felt, like a prickle of warmth at her hairline, whenever sunlight steeped the Fissure noon. She knew it wasn't lost, because she could still sense its presence in Zaun, the same way she knew the exact time on a sunless day: a pulsing node of light in the dark. 

A ghostly pain; her own.

Silco's features shifted. He didn't respond, which was a response in and of itself.  As was the way he began, very carefully, to extract his hand. 

Jinx tightened her hold. But he'd withdrawn, the shell back in place. The tenderness was gone.

He stood.

"The Hex-gem," he said, "is in a secure location. Where it will not fall into the wrong hands. Or do further damage. To Zaun—or to yourself."

Jinx's breath jittered. The fishhook between her ribs, yanked sharply, messily loose.

"Where's Gemmie!?" she cried, tears leaping into her eyes. "I want her back!"

"Jinx," he said. "No."

It wasn't the father's patient refusal. Or the kingpin's measured warning.

This was a stranger's voice.

The man she'd first seen in the burning alleyway. His face, all sharp lines licked in flames, a knife hidden behind his back and shadows slinking behind his eyes.

It was a voice that brooked no disobedience; a voice that meant death to all who crossed him.

It was a voice Jinx loathed, instinctively. Loathed it so much she wanted to sink her teeth into his throat, and rip it out, and spray bloodsplatter across the room.

But she'd been weak too long. Relied on him too much. Let the fear of loss and loneliness become her shadow, following her, step-for-step, everywhere she went.

She couldn't hate him. Not yet. It'd take all the will she possessed.

So she did what came naturally.

She burst into tears.

It was an ugly cry: terrible, bestial, high-pitched wails. She couldn't help it. The reaction was visceral. The pain of separation from her other self; lurking in her peripheral for weeks, was now a searing throb in her temples. But the sight of him—so implacable, so immovable, a monster in all the ways that mattered—is what shocked her into shrieking, agonized wakefulness.

"You can't! She's mine! She's me! You can't take her away!"

Silco, flint-faced, made no reply.

"Why?!" She beat the pillow, then hurled it across the room. It was an inadequate substitute. She needed to break, maim, destroy. Else her grief would rip out through the seam her sutures had sealed shut. The split he'd made himself, that terrible night when she'd burst, and everything had come pouring out. "Why why why why—"

"Jinx," he said. "Hush."

"Not until you tell me why!"

"It's for your own safety! It's unstable. It nearly destroyed you! Nearly killed us all!"

"That wasn't the gem! That was the magic overloading! Like—like a power-grid exploding after a lightning strike! It's not her fault! It was the Void—the magic—just being a big bully!"

"I've no time for semantics, Jinx. It is what it is. And I'll be damned if I give it to you, and see it blow a hole through your chest!"

"The gem didn't do that!" she exploded. "That was you!"

Silco fell still. Jinx was no longer crying. A deep rage had overtaken her, the kind that could not be expressed in anything other than violence. Not the violence of action, but the violence of words. And the ones that hurt the most were the ones she hadn't dared speak of, and that he hadn't dared admit, in all the days since The Change.

The truth.

"It was you," she repeated. "All of it! You—pushing me to be the biggest and baddest, because otherwise our enemies were gonna chew Zaun up, and spit it out like bubblegum.  You—keeping Vi away from me, when all she wanted was to love me and all I wanted was to love her! You—afraid I'd become Powder again. Be a useless weakling who always needed saving. Well, guess what? The joke's on you, Silco. You got me right where you wanted! I'm stuck in this bed with nowhere to go and nobody to save and no idea how I'm gonna make a comeback! I'm the weak one now, and that's all I'll be if you keep Gemmie away. I won't have anything to work for. Anyone to fight for. Nothing to believe in." Tears streaked her cheeks. "Nothing except the love that put me in that hole in the first place."

By the end, her voice had lapsed to a ragged whisper.  The anger bled out, leaving her weak, shivery, exhausted.

Silco was still as a stone. The only motion was his chest, rising slowly up and down. His lips were deathly pale. The Devil eye was the color of a thrombosed vein.

"You blame me," he said, and there was a rawness to his voice at odds with the stoic expression.

"I do," Jinx seethed.

The silence cut deep.

"You blame me," Silco repeated. "And so be it. It doesn't change my decision. The Hex-core stays locked, where it won't hurt you—or Zaun. I don't trust it, and I never have. It's too powerful for anyone's hands. Yours least of all."

"Because you don't trust me," Jinx said bitterly. "Because I couldn't deliver the goods to your door, and now I'm a liability."

The vein in his temple pulsed.

"Because," Silco countered, "magic, as I've always suspected, is an indiscriminate force that will devour its wielder from the inside-out. You are not immune, Jinx. I will not let it take you. Even if it means taking drastic measures. You will not have the gem back, because I will not let you die. That's final."

 "I hate you!"

Silco reacted with a suddenness that shocked Jinx. He crossed the space between them in three strides and took her face in his hands. It wasn't a gentle grasp. The pressure left indentations in Jinx's cheeks: cold, then burning. His eyes were the same.

It felt less like a connection than an implosion, the gravity well between them pulling everything inward, the world collapsing around them, leaving only him and her at its burning center.

Them, and a love so barbed it hurt to touch.

"Then do," Silco said, and there was an undercurrent to his voice that made her nauseous. Ice, bilge, and pure black ichor "Hate me. Curse me. Send me, or all of Zaun, to hell for all I care. Because I don't care, Jinx. Not anymore."

The lamp, overhead, flickered again. Jinx said nothing.

"All I want," Silco went on, "all I'll ever want, is to keep you alive. Because you are my daughter. Mine. And if you think a few weeks' bonding with a stone will change that, then I've done an awful job of proving it. I've lost everything, Jinx.  I lost Vander. Lost Nandi. Lost my youth and my sight and half the flesh on my face. And if the magic is going to consume the only thing I have left, then it will take nothing at all. Do you understand?"

Jinx was trembling. Not fear; or anger. Only the hollowed-out ache that comes when a deeply cherished faith is proven a sham. A false-god, whose favor would be revoked in a heartbeat should the real threat rear its ugly head.

Her, and him, and the city they once called home.

"Yes," she whispered.

The pressure on her cheeks eased. The pad of his thumb, gently, met the corner of her left eye, then her right. They came away damp. All her tears were spent. There was a strange clarity to the absence: a sense of loss that was, at the same time, a lightness.

A single feather that could set a body to flight.

"I'll have the Aerie prepared," Silco told her. "Tomorrow, under supervision, you may resume work. Th Hex-gem stays under lock and key. If I catch the faintest hint that you're trying to find it, or take it for yourself—"

"You won't," she said.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Jinx's eyelids drooped. Her head spun. Her ribs hurt. She slumped. He guided her into the pillows. She was dimly aware of him tucking the duvet around her, loving and lethal and leaving her cold.

Kissing her forehead, he straightened.  The lightbulb's flickering intensified, its dying filament flashing on, then off. His features, as he loomed in, came in glimpses of shadow.

Jinx reminded herself that monsters were monsters because of their hunger, not the form they took to satisfy it. Silco was no different; and the thing he hungered for most was her heart.

Too bad Jinx was a monster, too. And monsters were always hungriest when their own was threatened.

"I love you," he whispered.

Then he left.

The door fell shut, a thunderclap. Above, the lamp flickered: a final, spastic flash. It was a blade pressed against the throat of Jinx's sanity, a hair's width from cutting clean through.

Then the bulb fizzed out. Darkness flooded the room, thick as blood, filling every nook and cranny. And all Jinx saw was red, red, red—  

She screamed, and threw the nearest projectile: a bedside lamp, which shattered into shards against the hardwood. 

Silco was gone.

Her anger remained: a heatwave under her skin.

[flightfoot]

ML Fanfic Recs for Completed Fics Under 4000 Words

Hope everyone likes my selection here! I've got 21 fics for your perusal, mostly either humor or angst fics. When it comes to shorter wordcounts, those are the two genres that tend to make the greatest impact for me. Humor especially seems to thrive in short-form fics, I rarely see it in longer ones - if it appears in longer fics, it's usually in rom-com form.

I've tagged every author that I knew the tumblr username of. Feel free to tag the author if I didn't manage to get them!

All of these fics will be in my Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics Of 2024 Collection, and if you like that, please consider checking out my other collections, Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics Of 2023, Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics Of 2022, and Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics - Misc. Years.

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The Challenges of Changing Your Life by Shortdreamer

In the days following their return to their own universe Marinette was faced with several new challenges. But the most intimidating challenge that Marinette faced was getting to know her “new” partner.

Great ML Paris Special fic here! I love Marinette changing how she interacts with the people in her life in order to try to forge relationships, and hopefully, maybe even gain some semblance of the life her counterpart has.

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The Magical Rainbow Flying Caticorn by CrochetJellybean

Kagami is just trying to have a fun day with Marinette when Felix keeps messaging her. Apparently Adrien stole the peacock miraculous and won't give it back.

So this is a fun little fic. Felix is very annoyed at having lost his Miraculous, but hey, at least the kwamis are amused with the situation! There might as well be some sort of upside to being a Senti XD.

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The Self I Should Be (The Self I Could Be) by @pisoprano

Adrien realizes he has some feelings for Loveybug. Loveybug realizes that Adrien still misses Ladybug.

I love how this fic explores "private selves" and "public selves" for both Adrien and Marinette, lets them both relax a bit and decide what kind of dynamic they want to have. It's excellent!

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never been in love by @bittersweetresilience

Félix wonders if he has a heart. If he does, it doesn't beat like that.

I love this look at aromantic!Felix, him wrestling with his feelings (or lack of them) as he struggles to come to terms with them, especially since part of his father's abuse involved Colt telling him he could never love.

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Always Trending! by @candlemouse

Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, and YouTube argue over the Parisian superheroes’ relationship and identities. Things heat up even more when interviews from the Ladyblogger, Chat Noir, Adrien Agreste, and Ladybug release!

This is a fun little glimpse into social media within Miraculous's world, especially with the speculation over secret identities. People keep on putting forward Adrien Agreste as possibly being Ladybug or Chat Noir, even though he's too busy to possibly be a superhero XD

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Paper Masks by @jheqiawrites

“How do you feel about causing a little mischief?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I beg your pardon?” Loveybug swatted him playfully on the shoulder. “You know, trouble, pranks, clownery, buffoonery, silliness, a lark, a jest, sheer jiggery-pokery!” “That depends on what kind of shenanigans you had in mind.” She giggled, eyes wide and bright with appreciation. “ Ooh, that’s a good one! I should write that down sometime. But, as for your question…” She pulled her yoyo out and flicked it open, spilling white light over their feet. “It wasn’t so much a question as a statement of concern,” Catwalker said, but forgot immediately what else he had been going to say when he saw Loveybug pull roll after roll of toilet paper out of the white field. All he could do was stare as she continued to pull out rolls until she had made a small pyramid on the floor next to them. “Excuse me if I sound rude, but what on earth are you going to do with those?” The smile she gave him was pure puckishness. She waved at the bright figure of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. “My lord, have you ever TPied a national monument?”

Loveybug AU fic here! (obviously). I loved the absurdity of these two trying to TP... well, I won't spoil where they eventually decide deserves the treatment XD. Mostly, though, I love both Loveybug and Cat Walker (but mostly Loveybug) breaking down, breaking out of their new personas, and really getting to talk with each other.

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you could win a rabbit by @purplecatghostposts

Félix raises an eyebrow but obliges. He should probably get on with it before Adrien second guesses himself too hard and tries to take it back. Félix pulls the tissue paper out and squints at what’s inside. It’s— a plushie? He takes it out of the bag to get a better look at it. All of the air is stolen from his lungs the second he does. A rabbit plushie. A white rabbit plushie. (Or for Félix’s next birthday, Adrien teams up with Marinette to make Félix a rabbit plushie, much like the one he had as a kid. Old feelings Félix thought he buried return in full force.)

I loved seeing a potential backstory to the torn stuffed bunny we saw in the play in Representation, and Felix's reaction to getting another rabbit plush was heart-wrenching!

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A Domestic Cold War by @unecoccinellenoire

Félix lives with a murderer. It’s not the first time. Unfortunately his cousin would never ever forgive him if Félix was to take Nathalie Sancoeur off the board.

I like the conversation Nathalie and Felix have here. They don't like each other (or well, Felix doesn't like Nathalie, Nathalie is just ambivalent about him), but they come to an understanding. It's interesting to see Nathalie's viewpoint on life and killing, and hear allusions to the things she was up to before she became Gabriel's secretary.

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the eyes that follow me; the ghost of my errors by NeonLite

There was something wrong with Duusu. More than Felix thinks should be. He didn’t have a frame of reference for Duusu’s behaviours. He doesn’t know what’s normal for the Kwami or how Kwami were supposed to act at all. The information he gathered from the tablet wasn’t much, he learned even less about the Kwamis but… Felix didn’t have a frame of reference for Duusu’s behaviour. But he didn’t think the Kwami of Emotion should look so empty.

I love how this fic acknowledges how Felix doomed the rest of the kwamis to staying with Gabriel, and how unhappy Duusu would be about that. Which Felix understands, but he was also desperate, and right now he can't stay transformed for long or keep any sentis he makes alive, which just... you can feel his desperation and bottled-up guilt. He knows what he did was wrong, but he'd still do it again, in order to feel safe for once in his life.

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see a world so beautiful and strange (spinning off somewhere) by @that-was-anticlimactic

“Why? Why are you suppressing?” “Because I can't tic,” Alya whispered, fingernails digging into the skin on her arm. “I know Tourette’s isn’t exactly uncommon, but it’s part of my identity as Alya Césaire. It can’t be a part of Rena Rouge, too. Someone could figure out who I am and then…” And then she’d have to give up the coolest thing that’s ever happened to her, give up living her dreams. [or, alya suppresses as rena rogue in order to protect her identity, but neither ladybug nor trixx will let her hurt herself like that]

I love how this fic goes into some of Alya's thoughts and insecurities about having Tourette's, how the general public doesn't understand, and then lets her receive comfort and validation afterwards. It's just... really nice.

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i'm worried 'bout the future by @purplecatghostposts

He edges closer to Adrien, lowering his voice to barely a whisper. “If it comes down to it, I’ll distract him while you run and hide the first second you get.” “What?” Adrien blurts, louder than Félix would like. His eyes dart to Argos but thankfully, he doesn’t turn around. Félix shoots Adrien a look to lower his voice and thankfully, his cousin listens. “You think we can’t trust him?” “He has the Peacock Miraculous.” Félix points out. “He’s from the future.” Adrien counters. “And Future Chat Noir trusts him so… Maybe we can trust him too?” (Or Chat Noir and a Peacock Hero from a decade in the future end up in the past and save their past selves. Félix is wary of whoever this ‘Argos’ is.)

I love time travel fics. Felix being really wary of the Peacock hero's deliciously ironic, something that Argos realizes and he doesn't. While Adrien's just happy to see his future self and completely trusts what Chat tells him. I loved how Argos was put out when he realized why his past self is afraid of him and trying to reassure him as best he can without giving away spoilers.

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The Black Cat of the Family by Anonymous

To Felix, Chat Noir is freedom. Pure freedom, unhindered by anything (well, except perhaps a little too much dedication to Ladybug). He goes where he pleases when he pleases. He acts so ridiculous, like no one was ever watching, even when everyone was watching. He chafes at orders and authority, even when the orders are coming from Ladybug herself. He's free to be whoever he wants, in a way Felix only wishes he could be. So of course he starts flirting with the catboy. It also doesn't hurt that the superhero is easy on the eyes. Chat Noir, meanwhile, is simply trying to figure out how to reject his cousin without revealing his own secret identity. But when has anything in his love life ever worked out for him? Or, in other words: Somehow the Fathom-Graham de Vanily-Agreste family becomes even more dysfunctional in brand new ways.

This was fun, I liked the natural way Chat caught Felix's attention with his kindness, wit, and hidden depths. It makes sense why Felix would slowly develop a crush on him, while Chat just thinks that he's having fun with his cousin.

Also Chat's reaction when he realizes that Felix is, in fact, confessing his crush on him, is just priceless XD.

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Handle With Care by @dragonchris

AU where soulmates can feel each other's emotions. But having a soulmate isn't always beautiful and romantic. Sometimes it's messy. Sometimes it hurts. Marc and Nath have to learn what that means for them.

This was cute, I loved seeing how Nathaniel and Marc both thought about their soulmate, and how they cope with the aftermath of Reverser in this AU. Helps that Alix is a platonic soulmate of Nathaniel's here (Nathaniel has two soulmates).

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Draining the Tank by @trinketsinthesun

After a hard day of being Paris's most famous fashion designer and supervillain, Gabriel Agreste wants nothing more than a hot bath. But with the hot water tank always empty, he starts to wonder - why is Adrien taking such long showers?

So this fic is rated M, and it's rated that high because Gabriel comes to suspect that Adrien's long showers are due to him masturbating while he's taking them (no masturbation actually takes place in the fic). Then he notices that Adrien's long showers happen to occur most frequently during akuma attacks and draws his own hilariously wrong conclusions XD.

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Marinette's Temporal Daycare by Choppa01

What do you do if your child is in danger and you have access to time travel? If you're Marinette (A.K.A Ladybug) you send them back in time to your younger self. Bunnix goes back in time to do the drop-off, expecting to surprise a younger Marinette. Instead she is the one who ends up being surprised.

I love the "Adrien and Marinette babysit for their future selves" trope, so this fic was a delight to read! It's ramping the trope up to 11, with multiple different Bunnixes dropping off kids from across timelines, and Marinette having long-since figured out a system to make this work for everyone.

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I Want to Remember by @kiraheartilly36

Adrien wants to remember all the times Gabriel tried to be a good dad.

This fic is less than 200 words, you could fit the entire thing in an AO3 summary if you wanted to, but I found it both sad and hilarious. Some dark humor here.

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The Wifi Trap by @jessecosay

Written for the Miraculous Fanworks Anniversary Prompts 2024 for Teleocrater. Alternative universe. Alya is trapped as Lady WiFi, even after being freed by Ladybug. But, at least she has Marinette on her side.

I love fics where people are trapped as their akumatized selves, so this one was right up my alley from the beginning! I love Alya trying to cope with the prejudice people are displaying towards her for being akumatized, and Marinette helping to defend her. Thankfully, while its unfortunate that she's trapped in Lady Wifi's form, she DOES also have access to her akumatized self's powers, which comes in handy...

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Overload by Verse

The power of creation is not by any mean gentle.

This is a Miraculous side effects fic. Marinette's body will create and create and create, overproducing and causing harm to her unless she finds a way to purge the excess. She got lucky that the particular way her body overproduces is relatively simple to handle and can be harnessed for good purposes. Other Ladybug wielders were not so lucky.

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Not the Ghost by Yellow_Soul

She… wasn't alone. Not anymore. Even when they parted ways, she would still have someone to come back to. A person that would look forward to seeing her.

I loved this fic's take on why Reverse!Marinette and Reverse!Sabine apparently have a bad relationship. It makes sense that if Tom died, Sabine may be unable to cope with it and begin lashing out or distancing herself out of stress and grief. Love the idea of Adrien and Marinette commiserating over their similar circumstances as well.

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LOCAL SUPERVILLAIN IS A PEDO?!? by AlexJX

Gabriel stares at the morning news headlines… And walks straight out of the room. “...Father?”

People start noticing that Hawkmoth keeps akumatizing children and reach certain conclusions. It doesn't help that demanding some kids' "Miraculous" or "magic jewels" could be seen as a euphemism.

Ladybug and Chat Noir do nothing to help the situation.

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Fall From Grace by PlasmusDogmatic

fall from grace verb 1. lose favor or a position of power or honor.

So this story explores a scenario where the Miracuteam is gradually put through darker and more brutal scenarios, becoming darker and more brutal to match, until Parisians are about as afraid of them as the actual villains - and also know that it's partially their own fault, since part of the reason the Miracuteam is more hostile and brutal is because Paris started being harsher and more critical towards them as they struggled more. I found this exploration of their descent really interesting, as the team doesn't turn "evil" at any point, per se, they just get placed in worse and worse circumstances and adapt in some damaging ways.

[mamiya-a]

Playing dangerous

Mother Miranda/reader

Warning for explicit content.

Chapter 14: Love

Summary:

"Love is nothing else but an insatiable thirst of enjoying a greedily desired object." - Michel de Montaigne.

Miranda doesn't like her situation, at all. Neither her current weak position on that matter. She would easily say and show her clear hatred towards the happening, if it weren't for her pride whispering into her ears, honey covered words telling her she can endure it. Although, with every passing second she gets angrier, a rare feeling, given her eagerness for participation. She blinks rapidly, questioning if rushing out of this quickly put together trap is worth the trouble. Of course not, she came here willingly. Yet the purpose of her visit has lost its sense.

Miranda can feel thickness of darkness landing upon her body, though she feels more like a corpse currently, it's enough to keep her awake and sane. The devoid of light has never been a problem to her, but eyes can easily betray the brain. The picture of an unknown room is clearly, an empty box she has found herself trapped in, however it hurts her to acknowledge she's alone. Loneliness is a trait she often suffers from. Swallowing it is a kid's game, but knowing that someone you love has left you on purpose is another question.

Waiting for Mia is a long, boring tragedy. Miranda would say exhausting if she were a normal human. Which she's not, which Mia loves. Owning her rare obedience is a strange pleasure for the younger women. That's why she feels no guilt in locking her so called lover in a trap she can escape, but won't - simply because she has been instructed to behave. That's why Miranda's mobility is limited too. With her stomach pressed to a significantly soft bed, head buried in pillows and arms wrapping with tight rope, she can't do anything else but to wait.

It's raining outside. Every drop of salty sky water hits the ground relentlessly, causing an echo inside the overall silent room. Miranda uses each droplet to count the minutes , spent in pure darkness and solitude. Her mind even starts to wonder if this is some kind of punishment Mia is forcing upon her, after hearing the news that the blonde woman wishes to cut their relationship. This time entirely. Thinking about this makes her pale skin itchy, the rope is squeezing her wrists too tightly, three layers of scrappy robes are covering her uncomfortably and her hair is spilling around her face. Everything is irritating her, everything is too stimulating. The sounds of the rain and the emptiness of the bedroom. Nothing and everything merging together to spin her head to the point of dizziness.

Then the door opens. It's strange how the morally evil woman brings light into Miranda's universe. It's pure manipulation, of course. A very precisely calculated tactic - to drawn the helpless woman to the point of pity and immediately after hit her with illuminating care. Mia's strings of love are twisted, but not enough since they crave to capture another soul into them. And Miranda has made the mistake to allow this. The yellow light ,coming from another room, quickly dies. Mia replaces it by turning on a lamp , strong enough to illuminate the bedroom. A curved smile appears on her face once she gets assured Miranda has followed her instructions and is just like she left her. At her mercy, that is.

"Obedient as always." - Mia's comment is unnecessary polite. The other women tries her best to stay calm, yet something is the thick air is suggests an unpleasant event. The brunette's steps get closer and closer until her entire body stops beside the bed. Miranda shifts her head to a side only to be able to witness the placing of a knife and few candles, which Mia places on the left nightstand. Blue eyes sharpen, staring at the objects, trying to understand their need. - "I hope you're not awaiting a reward, not after..."

"Is that why you made me wait?" - Mia's face obtains an angry expression upon being cut from her right to speak. Miranda's voice is louder than usual, hinting her actual opinion towards the happening and perhaps the woman beside her. She pulls on the ropes, earning herself a click of the brunette's tongue. Rage is certainly a burning emotion. - "For candles? I'm not in the mood to play, Mia, so will you stop with-"

"Ethan...keeps on noticing  a different scent on me." - with a fake, forced smile Mia begins to explain. Blue eyes tracking her every move as her hand searches for something inside her pocket. Soon enough she pulls out a lighter. - "I don't know what kind of perfume you're using, but it's strong, Miri." - the younger woman's quick fingers manage to fire up the waiting to ignite tips of the candles. After a few sniffs Miranda acknowledges they're scented. She cannot exactly find out the origin, however it's something floral  and unexpectedly strong. - "And we can't have him finding out about us, can we?"

Ethan Winters. The man who's last name Mia proudly wears as her own. Her chosen lover, her partner is life, her husband. The enemy in Miranda's eyes. With the passing years she realised she cannot replace him, no matter how much she tries, how much she submits to Mia or try to win her over. Everything she has wrapped her claws around are the mere words of love her colleague has whispered to her in moments of passion. Useless hope, with no room for justice. It took Miranda a while but now she sees it clearly. If Mia were to desire it she would never show up in her life again. Like a cold statue without a beating heart, which the blonde keeps on hugging, craving for crumbs of warmth. Isn't that the reason she came here? To Mia's family house, shared with her husband, in order to end it all and forever. Yet she found herself out of luck. Ethan was absent, which allowed Mia to drag her into her bed again, the bed she shares with the poor man.

A realisation slowly builds up inside Miranda's mind. Mia is inescapable. She's trapped - both physically and mentally. It makes her...weak.

"You think he would get suspicious if you just told him you've got yourself a new perfume?" - the blonde's voice is changed. The irritation has been replaced with calmness. To Mia, however, her tone is filled with annoying audacity to argue. So much for her forced obedience. The younger woman scoffs, her smile daring to disappear.

"You just can't stop yourself and your...solutions, can you?" - as if their roles has been replaced, Mia is now the angry one. She finds the knife from earlier without mich struggle. Miranda senses her idea, but fails to stop her. A second later the room fills up with awful sounds of tearing fabric. A hissing noise escapes the blonde woman's lips, her bare back now completely exposed. - "Can't even keep her mouth shut." - a final whisper before the tip of the knife presses it's sharpness to Miranda's lower back.

"Mia." - although Miranda speaks her name in attempt to confront her, the other woman can't help herself but bite her lower lip. She enjoys her name being repeated in such voice, especially now when she knows there's no excitement behind her tone. Only discomfort, or in her eyes - fear. She knows Miranda would never actually be afraid of her, but she settles to believe it. The knife continues down, forcing out another hiss, it's sharpness following the many layers of robes, but not with the intention to ruin them as well.

"I love it when you wear those fancy ceremonial clothes. Always forcing your authority on others." - the dark colours, the elements of the late lords, who died from Miranda's hand, the pure drama of her outfit - with the crow feathers and many fabrics, piling up on each other, offering a fake vision of a priestess's image is undeniable consuming. Mia loves it because it shows how much power Miranda has, and how much she's ready to throw away just for the brunette's attention alone. Now, however, she can't hide her anger of seeing her chosen outfit. After all her little, shackled village has been long fallen to ruins, along with her followers. Miranda has no reason to wear this old clothes. Yet she has done it - only to show her power and maturity. And maybe to restore something that has been dead for years - the respect Mia once had for her. - "Is that why you came dressed like that? To scare us?" - Mia makes a pause, giving herself enough time to lean over Miranda's head and to speak to her in a whisper. - "or...maybe to seek control?" - she smiles. - "the control you granted me."

"...You're crossing a line, Mia." - it's a weak attempt for a warning, even Miranda realises that after the sentence leaves her dry throat. The line she's speaking of is practically non-existent, and if it had sides, both of them would agree Mia is the one holding the stronger one. She easily mixes her own domination over Miranda and she knows which buttons to press just enough to anger her, knowing that even then she won't find out. Even currently, when their relationship is more than questionable and none of them is sure what to call it. Professionalism and love are already forgotten about.

"Am I really?" - her breath is hot against Miranda's ear. It makes her head dizzy all over again. - "You're the one allowing this to happen, Miri." - Mia moves back, somehow reminded her informal lover how to breathe normally. The blonde woman takes a good look at her shackled, probably bruised wrists from the ropes and sighs. She finds herself very close to ripping them. Just before that, however, Mia changes the position of the knife - this time pressing it at the space between her shoulder blades, where the black veins like curves are the thickest. This motion forces Miranda to choke. Mia knows any touch with more pressure against her back feels like playing with her bare spine, yet the younger woman doesn't think of stopping. - "Just look at you...I wonder what all those who have fallen dead at your feet will say about you now...cold, relentless...mad." - Mia describes a version of Miranda that she herself has forgotten about, once reunited with her daughter. The brunette doesn't fail to remind her just how ruthless she was. - "A murder hidden under the skin of a god. What would your daughter think of you?"

Miranda's rage is more than expected. Eva is the real end line for her. But Mia knows her well, too well. A reaction is almost unnecessary. All she does is wrap her fingers around thin layers of honey coloured hair and twist, while also pushing down so Miranda's face can stay buried in the pillows. This way her weak screams come out muffled and secured while Mia drags the knife over her sensitive back. She only stops once her crimson blood becomes a visible paint on the blank canvas of her skin.

"Mia...Mia..." - all that's left to fill up the room now is soft, almost silent whispers of a name, too nicely sounding for an evil woman like its carrier. The knife is gone after few repeats of that name. Now Miranda sees it laying calmly next to the candles, which are burning with might, filling their glass jars with melted wax. - "Can you...stop this already? I'm tired." - for a split second Mia allows herself to show mercy, her heart beating irregularly at the view of tears running down her informal lover's face. Then she remembers herself and her needs. Full control over the woman, who controls everyone.

"Not before you show me your wings, pretty bird." - it is a command. Mixed with fake love. Mia is one of very few people Miranda has allowed to know about her great weakness. It's satirical - how her strongest and most recognisable ability, her glorious dark wings, ten at the count, are also the thing able to force her to throw up from pain, which she usually doesn't even feel. Although Miranda hasn't really been thinking about her mistake of sharing this knowledge with Mia. Until now, since she's forcing it versus her. Yet, she can't bring herself to be disobedient.

A loud sound, awfully familiar to bones cracking, echoes through the room, soon filing it to the brim. Mia watches in interest as Miranda's back wrinkles to the point of breaking skin, pouring more blood to the already weird looking piece of dark art on it. Few seconds later and her curious eyes meet up with tons of tar black feathers, exploding out of the open wounds. Mia takes a step back as the wings, strongly resembling the ones of a crow, tend to grow quite large in size. It's fascinating, the unusual nature of the blonde woman laying helpless on the bed. It's exciting to play with it, to experiment, to pull and twist until you get a reaction out of her. Mia doesn't stop the new waves of torture upon Miranda until she cries out again, few broken feathers spreading around the floor.

"Don't tell me you can't endure a little pain, Miri?" - her voice is more than just mocking. She enjoys the show before her like an actual spectacle in a circle, with the bonus that she's the one deciding the presented tricks. - "I  thought you said this could be arousing for you?" - a memory pops up inside her mind. In the heat of passioned rolling in the sheets Miranda declared her liking to showing her true nature in bed. Just thinking how many times she came that night while Mia stimulated her additionally is outrageous. So long ago, the brunette's principals have changed.

"Only when you're gentle." - Miranda hisses back in response, her own mind wandering in the same shared memory. All she feels now is pain, not even the good type of pain she doesn't mind receiving from time to time. This is a lot, much more than the usual toughness between them. Mia roots out another large feather, gently caressing her cheek before tossing it to the ground. - "...you're anything but that, Mia."

"Please, 'gentle' stopped working for you long ago." - Miranda silence herself by biting her lip. Mia's words are not entirely false, but that gentleness she's talking about the blonde interprets like a way of distance between the two of them. A relationship that started with innocent glares and small love incidents, such as touching hands or bumping into eachother, has now formed into a circle of hate and desire, completely built on lies and difficulties.   - "Tell me if I lift your robes and allow myself to explore will I find you already soaked, love?" - Mia speaks with confidence. Instead of keeping to her words, however, her hand moves to the nightstand, from where she swiftly grabs a green coloured candle. The scent is intoxicating. - "Or should I try harder to get you in the mood?"

"Mia, stop this, stop it, Mia-" - there's a hint of panic in Miranda's voice, her eyes so focused on the woman beside her they might count as unmovable. She gasps as Mia uses one hand to spreads her large wings to a maximum. The other brings the candy impossibly close, allowing the blonde woman to acknowledge the heat of the flame. - "You're mad, Mia, you truly are-"

"Yet you're the one trying to deny me?" - the brunette hisses - "When we both know you're mine." - all the previous pain doesn't compare to the dripping, hot wax hitting her back. It's torture. Her wings loose their glorious shape, they tilt down, as if surrounding themselves. Miranda's nails dig so hard into her palms, which forces yet another part of her body to bleed. Her mouth reminds open, eyes shut, anger forcing a dark line between her eyebrows. At least the wave is quick to wash off. That's until Mia grabs another candle and while pouring its melted wax all over her wounded back she begins to whisper in her ears again. - "I love you, Miranda, I love you so much.."

These words. That poisonous feeling.

I love you.

How can love hurt this badly?

.

.

.

"Mommy?" - a different voice echoes through Miranda's head. This one is sweet, innocent, devoid of evilness and painful ideas. It belongs to a child, she's certain. She blinks, droplets of salty tears are now evaporating from her cheeks and finally she allows herself to relax. A warm feeling explodes inside her chest, her arms trembling as she tries to lift them. The room around her, although entirely changed, remains dark. The world has shifted and she finds herself in another timeline, long forgetting. One that shouldn't be alive. In which Eva shouldn't be alive, yet there she stands - calmly laying in her bed, covered in every blanket Miranda could find in her tiny house. - "mommy, are you okay?"

Her daughter calls out for her again. Then Miranda's whole attention falls on her. Every memory of Mia and her awful torture is gone by the second her child's tiny hand searches for her. The woman grabs it, however her face doesn't shines up with happiness as it should. Eva barely moves her upper limb, not to mention it happens with a painful groan. Then the reality hits her. Miranda hates to go through this again but she has to acknowledge it. Eva is dying. And judging by her state the sickness has taken the bigger part of her body and consciousness. She grips her daughter's hand, in hope to transfer the suffering to herself.

"Yes, I'm fine, little dove." - Miranda assures her, tenderly cupping her cheeks, thumbs brushing against her pale skin. Eva sighs, enjoying her mother's loving touch, while trying to ignore the burning feeling building up in her lungs. At some point it overflows and she begins to cough, strong and dry, she struggles to take a breath. Miranda's motherly instincts immediately kick in, helping her up and allowing her to sit straight. She rubs her back, reminding her to try and breathe through her nose. Finally Eva sucks in a flow of fresh air. However as this happens she bares her teeth and quickly places her palms together, under her chin. Thick clouds of blood begin to pour from between her dry lips and she struggles to collect it, allowing it to drip to her bedsheets. It's not surprising they are already stained from a similar recent events.

Miranda's nightmares are standing right in front of her again. Staring at her blue eyes with a relentless sharpness. Eva begins to cry. Her sobs mix with the rapid banging of her mother's hearts against her weak ribcage. The woman fears it might break it and her body as a whole. Unconsciously she lets go of her daughter's hand, glare still fixed to her crying expression. It's painful to watch her struggle and to be helpless. It's not her fault. She keeps on telling herself. She's not guilty. He is. But then again. The mother has to bear the burden of her child dying, doesn't she? The father is absent, which for their case is better. A mother must be strong, but when she find herself in ruins...what hope is left for the daughter? None.

"Mommy?" - a weak call.

"Yes, Eva?" - a forced reply.

"Do you love me?." - these words again. With Mia they felt like an obligation, with Eva they feel like an undone promise. Miranda would keep on loving her daughter, even if she turned into a walking corpse. She puts a hand on her shoulder, aiming to show her the support she needs. This action leaves her terrified as the girl screams in pain. Just a second is enough for the woman to realise her child's body is much weaker than it seems and even the softest touch can harm. More tears occupy Eva's eyes. - "I won't blame you if you stop...I won't blame you if you decide to love another daughter...after all it's too late for me, isn't it?"

"No, Eva, I'll always love you." - she declares, her arms shaking. She knows putting them anywhere around the girl is dangerous, but keeping them to herself seems selfish. Their eyes meet, the blue of the ocean seeking its twin in the sky again. It's a tragedy they're destined to never touch. That's why Miranda decides to keep her touch to herself. - "no matter what happens I'll be with you and I'll find a way for you to be with me." - a pause, filled with fear and more tears. A hopeless assurance. - "I promise you, little dove."

"Just us?" - lying to her is like cutting off her still growing wings, however given her sickness she's never ment to fly anyway. Miranda would be happy if Eva could become a bird. Like the crows they always feed on the windows. Oh to be one. Freedom is your best of friend. You can travel the world and not worry for a single thing. If you get lucky enough you'll even find yourself a group of winged friends. A family.

"Just us." - they both smile at eachother. Eva is calm enough to lay back down on her uncomfortable bed. Miranda on the other hand starts to pile her with different questions. If she's hungry, if she's thirsty, if she wants something, if she's sleepy, if she should just leave her alone... Eva shakes her head to each of them. Currently she only desires to break the massive clock responsible for the passing time all around the world and stay in this moment forever. The girl hates change. But surely she's changing. Change means death in a lot of interpretations. And her own...is just around the corner. She knows this is will hurt her mother - the only person able to show pure love. She can't risk that for the selfish act of pushing forward. She's ready to sacrifice time. Yet she's no god, neither is Miranda.

Eva begins to cough again. This time is worse. With every try for a full breath more and more liquid blood drips out of her mouth. It's suffocating. The panic is her mother's eyes is a sure sign this is her last struggle. Soon the girls body begins to shake. Miranda screams. The world goes even darker. When the woman finally allows herself to touch her , she regrets it immediately. Eva's body begins to rot, falling apart with every rushed caress. It's a nightmare, it's hell, it's death. The hour of her death. The clock can't be stopped. Miranda cannot bear it. That annoying yet familiar feeling of pure acid burning her throat overfills her and she wraps a hand at the base of her throat. She curse herself for running away, but something inside her tells her Eva understands well and doesn't judge.

Miranda's legs don't feel real as she sprints through her small house, then her home town, full of people that despise her, and finally they give up just as she enters a thick labyrinth of trees. She allows herself to rest against one, her chest falling up and down rapidly, as she's out breath. The group is wet and sticky, dirty and covered with dark dirt as she hits it hard. She pulls on her hair, threatening to rip it off completely. Her nails travel around her skin, guilty anger leaving behind red lines. She screams again and again to the point of vomiting and being dizzy. Then she begins to sob, hugging her knees tightly to her breasts. She's helpless yet again.

Then she sees something between the many dead looking trees. It's quickly recognisable. With thick fur, long straight legs, bulging eyes, and curved antlers, the deer is not difficult to spot. Every knowledge she has about this animal is proven to be wrong, because instead of running away in fear the glorious looking deer takes few steps forward. Soon enough it stands directly in front of Miranda. She thinks of it as blind, judging by the lack of colour in it's eyes. Her own oceans stare at it for a long time, until the animal decides to carefully lay down beside her. Miranda's breath hitches, not knowing what to expect from the wild life. Her lips slightly part and she breaks with her fear in order to shape a sentence.

"What do you want from me?" - what a familiar question.

*****

Reality's weight is heavier than expected. Miranda quietly groans once her eyelids twitch, triggered by her awakening. It's rare for her to dream,  though when it happens there's nothing special about it - just nightmares, mixed with old, depressing memories. It's exhausting really, even after so many years the back of her head is  still pulsating with dull pain, due to her consciousness getting overwhelmed. Few draining moments pass before she starts to acknowledge how the bedsheets are touching her, how the bigger part of your shared blanket is pulled and crushed from her fists, despite her ability to be unbothered by the cold.

Rays of sunlight force her eyes to snap open, rapidly sending panicked glares around the room. It's morning, early, calming melodies of singing birds outside are a sure sign of it. Miranda notices an open window, which she doesn't remember leaving like that before bed. It seems like most of her habits have been transformed to you and she's more than thankful. There's nothing more relaxing than taking a deep breath of clean, morning air. It helps with her nerves, especially now. A light breeze rolls in from outside, gently caressing her cheeks. Then she raises her numb hands, her thin fingers running across her skin, where they find wet drops of tears. How disgusting, how weak. The salty droplets are pure history once she brushes them gone with the back of her hands.

The blonde woman stays like frozen, eyes unfocused around the room. Despite her desire to be alone in such moments of weakness she easily senses your presence. Miranda shifts, her body following her head immediately after she turns to face you. She smiles, it's genuine. And there you are - sat silently beside her, fingers rubbing your chin while you look intensely at your phone, clearly reading something as your eyes are traveling up and down the screen. The woman notes it as unpleasant, judging by your slightly worried expression. You manage to sigh just before she moves impossibly close to you. There's no room for words or orders between the two of you. Miranda finds her position by shoving her head onto your chest, while you move to hands aside, giving her enough space to do so. Once settled, the woman almost purrs while you run careful fingers through her messy, but surprisingly not tangled hair.

"Good morning, Mira." - you voice out low enough not to startle her. Although you're still mainly focused on your phone, you can't stop yourself from looking down. She has her eyes close, nose buried somewhere near the collar of your shirt as she tries to breathe in your scent. Said shirt is not even yours, but you know very well she enjoys it when you decide to wear something from her own wardrobe, even if it's just for sleeping. - "Slept well?"

"What are you reading?" - Miranda completely ignores your question, clearly not showing interest in telling you about her nightmares. You let her be, scrolling to the top of the document you're putting your whole attention to. She jerks her head upwards, trying to steal a look as well. You bring your phone closer, purely for her comfort. She goes through the very first sentences and bites her lip. - "...you father."

"After so much waiting I finally receive a report about his current condition." - you take a pause, locking and tossing your phone aside. - "Only to be assured he's getting worse." - although it's rather hard for her to show empathy, she tries her best. Miranda hugs you tightly, gladly accepting your hands, which wrap uncomfortable around her back, triggering her but not enough to acknowledge it. - "they say  his heart is weak and they don't know... if he's going to make it this time."

With the ridiculous amount of money Miranda pays you, his hospital bills have been almost entirety paid, yet those doctors are still playing games with you. They never suggest a solution, just pills or more bad news, more complications. But can you even blame them? They probably are as clueless as you are. Even if you speed your way to graduating university and gaining a medical title, would you be even able to do something different than them? If your father is still alive, that is.

"You worry too much." - part of you gets mad at her comment, you even pull away when she tries to connect her lips with yours. A scoff is all you get before she places a kiss to your cheekbone. - "it's going to eat you alive, darling, you should stop."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" - you're not capable of helping. She's right as always, the helpless feeling is eating you alive. - "just pray for him?" - you've done that already. Gods are either deaf or ruthless. Perhaps both, because an answer, a blessing from them has always been absent.

"Believe in him, it's all you can do, isn't it?" - you can't decide if she's being satire or for real, yet you melt once she shifts again, somehow managing to sit straight in your lap. Her hands cups your cheeks and this time you allow her the kiss she's so eagerly searching for. Her lips ghost above yours, almost in a teasing manner, as she speaks again. - "...maybe... he'll happen upon a miracle."

Miranda's suggestion weirdly reminds you of your own 'miracle' - this job surely feels like a blessing. And the only God, who seems real, is your beloved blonde woman herself.

.

.

.

The scene around you is awfully comforting. Nice waves of warmth occupy your lower body, due to a soft blanket, placed carefully above your legs. The clock on the wall loudly announces it's almost lunch. Nobody is bothered, including you. You're sat on the large sofa in the living room, entirely immersed in your studies. Your attention span locked between textbooks and Miranda's soft voice, while she corrects or adds something to your private lesson. The television is on, however you don't find it distracting. It's only working to entertain Eva, who's a bit annoyed. Unable to escape from her mother's lap , she stays still while watching whatever movie plays in front of her. The poor girl hasn't been able to escape Miranda's embrace from early in the morning till now, as if the woman needs to be glued to her. It's strange for both you and Eva, but you choose not to address it since you both know Miranda expresses her love differently. From time to time she brushes a tender hand through the girl's golden hair, as If to assure herself Eva's real.

In between this proximity, though the blonde woman has decided to multitask. And by that she means torturing you. It's not something bad, really, but forcing you cover a large amount of study material, while correcting you on every second sentence or adding more and more information for you to remember, is surely a lot more than you usually do to prepare for upcoming exams. At least she's a master in her craft, her given details are a free gift you gladly accept. It would be a nice study session if your mind wasn't so unfocused.

"You're not paying enough attention." - her sharp comment pulls you out of a trance, which you fail to realise you've gotten yourself into. Her hand lands on your shoulder. You're sure it's mentioned to comfort you, but her action only brings you more stress. - "We've covered this material already and the questions are not hard, darling, come on." - she taps on your open exam book. She's correct. Closed questions as the current, with given answers to choose the right one from are a child's play. Yet when you voice out your opinion, Miranda gives you a pitiful look. - "Wrong again."

"Fucking bullshit..." - you curse out, starting out loud but then lowering the volume as you're reminded of Eva's presence.

"Language." - like the serious  mother she is Miranda gives you a warning, accompanied by a mean glare. You swear one day her dark blue eyes are going to cut out holes in your skin. Until then her nails might do the job instead. As if to punish you she digs them into your shoulder, sighing. You roll your eyes at her next comment. - "There's no need to be vulgar."

"Sorry..." - you whisper out. Miranda is not the one to tolerate casual cursing around her house. You've almost never heard her voice out some herself. Expect when she's in bed with you but that's another story you've both decided not to talk about. You quickly find the problem in the current situation. Eva shouldn't be exposed to your out of place words, the blonde woman aims to show you this by tilting her head towards the girl. - "You've heard nothing, Eva."

"Heard what now?" - and just like that Miranda's daughter snaps out of her careful observation of the movie and turns to you. A large smile appears on your lips, while Miranda only scoffs. Of course the girl can't be even bothered to pay any attention to the happening around her, to the things, which don't concern her.

"Love that kid." - you laugh out, deciding it's finally time for a break. Miranda on the other side stops you just before you can manage to close your textbooks and stand up. The corner of her lips are slightly stretched downwards, her eyebrows furrowed as she's clearly not pleased. When she reopens your textbooks you realise it's not because of her daughter hearing bad words, but purely because of your awful performance with the easiest of tests. You decide to be honest with her, praying she'll understand. - "I'm getting tired of studying, can we take a break, Mira?" - you don't forget to add an additional 'please' just to increase your chances. 

"You've achieved nothing today." - Rude. You swallow, not having the energy to defend yourself. - "I don't understand what's stopping you from focusing?" - this makes you bite your lower lip, turning your head to a side. Escaping her burning eyes.

"Miranda, I can't just forget about- " - you're forced to stop, sensing an incoming voice crack. Emotions are a cruel thing. Even without the clear vision of your father suffering alone, imagining him it's enough to make your throat dry. You take a deep breath in, trying to form an argument. Any trace of anger is gone from her face once you collect enough courage to look at her. - "Tell me how can I focus when my father is out there, dying alone, and I can't do anything to help him?"

"Darling, I told you to not-"

"Put yourself in my shoes." - your slightly louder tone catches even Eva's attention, who gives you a bored glare.  - "it's not endurable to even imagine the pain in your body while you watch your only family die, because you're simply not enough to help.!" - with this you manage to gag her completely. A line is even crossed, as Miranda wraps a hand around her throat, her other one pulling Eva closer. The little girl obtains a worried expression and you swallow, realising you've said too much of your worries. - "...at least try to understand."

For the first time you're given an amazing example of judgement. Both mother and daughter swiftly turn to you, with no room for consideration. Two dark bullets bang against your chest, forcing you swallow a painful lump in your throat. This thread is minimal since it's quickly followed by two more angry eyes, lighter in color but just as fierce. It's a curious abnormality. After few seconds the inseparable family members give eachother a look, mutually deciding to not address the topic or you angry outburst. Perhaps you've hit a nerve, completely unaware of its existence. Miranda leans to whisper in Eva's ear, which leads the girl to change sitting positions - crawling out of her mother's lap, allowing her to eventually move freely. Which she does. The blonde woman stands up, covered in silence, then she extends an arm, giving you little to no time to consider taking it.

Miranda walks rapidly as always. She easily guides you, or more like drags you behind her as you fail to catch up fast enough, through the mansion. Lucky for you this home of many rooms and corridors has turned to a familiarity, so you quickly understand you're being lead to the library. You find yourself surrounded by many bookshelves, piled up with more study materials, just as the echoing sound of heels hitting clear flooring disappears. Even with large, open windows, devoid of curtains - big part, combined with many distant edges, of the room remains chillingly dark. At least it's quiet. You manage to hear Miranda murmuring about a better atmosphere for studying. Your hands curl up and tighten in fists.

But then you get surprised. Instead of rushing you into more memorising, the blonde woman simply tosses your textbooks to an empty table and settles down on the puffy sofa opposite of the paper screen you use on casual movie nights. Her hand lifts up to take most of her forehead as she sighs with closed eyes. You stay frozen in place, unable to complete the puzzle. Miranda is yet again acting out those strange scenes, which leave you more than confused. This time however the usual headache is missing and you're somehow calm. An unexpected laughter startles you,  thought you're more interested in what exactly Miranda is finding funny.

"Darling, I understand you more than well... that's why I brought you here." - her alluring voice settles to almost whispering in the second part of her sentence. Miranda lifts up her head, chin proudly pointing at you while she pats a seat next to her, silently inviting you to sit. Her perfect set of white teeth is appealing. - "come to me, little deer."

"Look...Mira..." - you start unsurely, using her own cards against her by calling her by the chosen nickname - "I'm sorry for... reacting in such a way, but my head is truly a mess right now and I can't just ignore everything, you know?" - the woman nods, severely happy as you take a step in her direction.

"I know, darling." - Miranda is quick to spread out her arms  once you get close enough to bend down and wrap yourself in her embrace. The sweet scent of her perfume is one reason for you head to be shoved in the crook of her neck. - "You can tell me more, I'm all ears."

"It's so unfair." - you fiercely point out, reminding yourself that Miranda is not a stress doll and the way you're starting to squeeze her, out of self anger, shouldn't be allowed. You decide to keep yourself locked in the right hug, but slowly move to a side so you can actually take a position of sitting next to her. - "I've carried so much guilt for the passing of my mother, but it seems like that alone...is not enough to satisfy death." - you bare your teeth - "Why should I feel equally guilty and useless over matters I can't control?"

"It's not your fault." - you allow the blonde woman to put you in an angle, where your head is rested somewhere between her shoulder and chest. You curl up next to her, covering yourself in her warmth and comfort. - "It never was and It will never be." - her long fingers, strangely not covered in their usual metal accessories, trace the path of your jawline. - "Your father loves you...I'm sure your mother did as well."

"They won't save him." - you declare, noticing how your chin slightly shakes, while hot tears gather into your eyes. - "I... won't be able to save him."

"I believe in you." - it would be a crime to say her touch isn't the most comforting feeling in the world. She's careful and sweet, as if she's caressing a baby. Her fingertips brush loosen strands of hair behind your ear, then moving on to cup your cheeks. These actions are almost enough to make you believe as well. Yet your stubbornness, or in this case self doubt, kicks in.

"Miranda." - short but emotionally charged warning. Stopping the discussion here would be nice, since you don't want to be crying your eyes out in front of her.

"Darling." - her sharp response is never too late. You feel burning pressure on your chin. You lift your head up to meet her eyes, strictly following the demands of her fingers. - "I'll tell you this one time - the more you doubt yourself, the more I'm going to push you to success."

The clear declaration, presented as non physical contract,  can be easily spotted in action. Taking her eagerness for you to cover most of this semester's material from today for example. To think of it now, her interest in your studies increased surprisingly fast since this morning, when you received the not so well accepted news about your father and when you began to feel absolutely miserable, which continued for most of the day and....oh. Oh, this woman.

"He's everything I've got." - a world without him would be hell. You can't think of more lovable and understand person, who's always there when you need them, who laughs and cries with you, who supports you in both success and failure, who loves you. Miranda comes awfully close, but... - "Loosing him will leave me alone." - your eyes connect with hers - "I hate to be alone, Miranda."

"My own father died when I was pretty young, soon the same faith followed my mother." - she hums her words out, tapping unable to stay at one place fingers along the edge of the sofa. - "I've been alone for most of my life - it was rather difficult, I had to learn how to take care of myself...to cook, work, survive at last, because at some point I had literally nothing to my name." - it's hard to imagine the filthy rich Miranda struggling with...well anything really. Her story shows exactly how put together she is, and how much she's not really sharing with others.  - "I gave birth alone too, Eva almost wiped me out of existence that day." - although she says it with laughter, you can't miss the way she covers her long healed stomach with one hand, perhaps being too overwhelmed with hurtful memories.

"I'm sorry you had to..." - you suck in a breath, suddenly feeling unsure about how to comfort her. All you can think of is hugging her so tightly, it might happen to be risky for her lungs if you decide to squeeze a little more. - "Life has been unfair to you too, I'm so-"

"Sweet darling, I desire no pity." - she gently grabs your face in soft hands, smiling down at you. Suddenly her lap begins to look much more inviting and comfortable than the sofa itself. If it weren't for your composed tolerance, you would be all over her in a matter of seconds. - "I'm telling you this because I want you to know." - she leans in closer, noses brushing together while her lips ghost over yours. - "Whatever is to happen...you don't have to be alone."

But of course, the universe works in abnormal way. If it was destined for your father to descend with the sun, Miranda will bring less light but equal love with the moon. Is it greedy to desire both at the same time, thought? Is it possible?

"Why are we here, Mira?" - your every instinct is screaming at you to kiss her. Yet your mind keeps on wondering why did she drag you into the library if not for studying?

"I do need to apologise for not letting you express your worries this morning." - you blink, only know realising she has used solitary and comfort as a weapon, in order to make you speak your mind. And you don't even feel angry.  - "I admit I wasn't in my best condition to listen, but neglecting your problems was wrong." - she quickly explains that it became clear to her when you couldn't keep up with your normal focus. - "I didn't want to force you into this matter in front of Eva, however, that's why I I chose the library."

Kissing her now feels right, kissing her now it's a need. You don't try to be gentle or patient. You claim her lips with lust and desperation, she gasps in your mouth, never to refuse you, though. She whispers out your name between millions of kisses, when you move to pay attention to her jaw and neck she even sighs above you, sending a burning thrill to every cell in your body. You want to keep her, have her, consume her, rip off her skin in search for her soul - which you desire to embrace. You know this is impossible, but you're also certain you would never stop trying. Miranda bites her lower lip as your fingers start exploring the skin underneath her shirt, her own hands deep in roots of your hair while she presses your head even further into her neck, enjoying how short of breath you are. Just when you're about to unclip her bra behind her back she suddenly jerks and pushes you off herself, with awful strength. You give her a confused look to which she doesn't respond. All she does is try to fix her clothes, completely ignoring you. You understand her actions soon enough, because the door swings open unexpectedly, at least for you.

"Mommy, your phone!" - Eva rushes to Miranda,  passing by you with ease, as if you don't exist. The blonde woman gives a kind smile to her daughter before taking the device  out of her small, but extremely careful hands. The sudden appearance of the girl is born because of someone calling Miranda. All three of you are confused by the unnamed number, but she picks up anyway.

The phone call is short, yet judging by Miranda's straight face and serious, bossy voice, you can take a hint it's something professional. In the few minutes of communication, the blonde woman barely speaks up, mainly focusing on the information spilling from the other side of the phone. At the end of it , she only asks - 'later today?" , then nods with a bored face. When she hangs up,  Miranda is not surprised to find you and Eva, both waiting to hear about the happening. However, her gaze falls only on you.

"You have won me another group meeting, darling." - you're quickly reminded of your email, which lead to Miranda having many propositions from different companies to work with. Perhaps this will be her lucky one. - "They didn't even leave room for wondering. I have to get ready."

.

.

.

Knocking on Miranda's bedroom door feels out of place. The action sets you back to time when you used be a stranger with this chamber, with this family and mainly - the woman occupying your mind. Now it's different, you're different. Her response is just a hum, letting you know it's okay to come in. You don't wait for a second confirmation. You poke your head inside the room, searching for said blonde woman inside of it. - "It has been almost two hours, you sure you won't be late?"

Strangely you fail to spot her immediately. Signs of her presence are all over the place, some so noticeable they might actually poke your eyes. Starting with her sweet perfume wandering in invisible waves in the air and ending with a pile of rejected clothes from her wardrobe, failed attempts for an outfit. Her open jewelry boxes on the bed work against her as well. Finally you notice few pairs of entirely new heels, which even get you wondering when did she manage to buy them, yet again devoid of use. You're not fast enough to check the bathroom, since the bright lighting from inside quickly washes off and Miranda runs out with a genuine smile.

"I'm ready, darling." - she says, stopping in the centre of the room, as if standing on a podium. - "What do you think?"

You find yourself stunned. Her clothes of choice are incredibly fitting, you're burned with the sense of her beauty. Slender and shapely, yet elegant as always Miranda stands before you in a tailored black suit, the pants hugging her hips tightly, but not uncomfortably by all means,and long legs while the jacket accentuates her figure, the cut emphasizing her waist, nicely accentuating her curves. The crisp white shirt underneath is perfectly buttoned up, a subtle hint of cleavage showing. Her confident stance and commanding aura only add to her stunning presence. It's enough to take your breath away. The woman's long hair is styled in a sleek and sophisticated slick-back hairstyle. The blonde strands are pulled back from her face, allowing her stunning features to shine through. She's not the keenest on makeup, but she has done enough to contour the rich blue colour of her eyes. You allow yourself to start using your lungs normally again once she takes a step further to you, strong metal heel hitting the floor as she does.

"Can you stay home?" - you blurt out, suddenly and without thinking, allowing your rapidly beating heart to make a decision instead of your actual brain. You have to put your hands behind your back, just to stop them from connecting with her.

"Are you joking?" - Miranda asks, worried. She's quick as a flash while turning to her oversized mirror, observing herself. - "I can't look that bad,..right?"

"No! No, you look good, Mira, I promise you." - you voice out, pure excitement rolling off your tongue, as you try to stay composed and not ask for her hand in marriage on the spot. If that would be enough to describe how alluring she actually looked. After all, you dare not stray from your position. - "I'm just not used to seeing you...in a suit, that is."

"Well I don't usually wear one." - she replies with honesty, bringing up her hands to fix dangling, shiny earrings. Despite her addiction for jewelry, currently Miranda's body is awfully limited from said expensive metal accessories. - "But I was informed the group I am to meet will be restricted to one gender only." - she scoffs, rolling her yes. Then she points at the black suit covering her. - "In a room full of men, I aim to fit, not stand out."

You perfectly understand her desire to be less noticeable between her despised men, her hatred towards them is normal, yet it never fails to make you laugh. Now, however, you can't miss the opportunity to tease her.

"No pretty girls to impress, Miranda?" - she turns her head towards you, with a lifted eyebrow. You greet her with a smirk. Although she's rather covered in surprise, she cunningly returns the favour.

"The one pretty girl I want is already in front of me." - you bite your lower lip. Having her confirming her attraction for you is enough to satisfy your every need. Perhaps the only thing missing is her skin against yours, but you know you're going to have to wait for that. - "And I'm certain she's more than just impressed, isn't she?"

Yes, you will definitely struggle while waiting for her to get back home.

*****

It has been one boring, long drive. And when followed by an even more dull meeting you can really loose any social battery. It's what Miranda is currently experiencing, what she's enduring. Another useless team, another hour wasted in observing documents and listening to fake promises for success. Her sparkle of interest is long forgotten about, not like these men were able to reach it anyway. She's yet to find something that pulls you in like her previous company. Miranda still wonders how The connections convinced her to share her undying ideas and professionalism. Perhaps it was the fact that Mia instructed her to everything, perhaps she was too drunk in hope for the rebirth of her daughter. Many different factors, which are sadly missing in her current situation.

Her ears transform into victims of a symphony of annoyance, as the three men trying to over talk themselves begin to increase their voice volumes. Even the angry tapping of her fingers along the curved, metal table is not hearable anymore. She thinks it's funny, how the table is bended in a circle to symbolise equality, yet some members of the group haven't spoken a word since the beginning, not because they don't want to,but because others don't allow it. Miranda's despair overflows her mind and she rolls her eyes with irritation. Two men have been arguing for ten minutes straight and finding a solution between themselves is a hard task, it seems. Just when she's about to let out yet another forced sigh, her phone vibrates with a notification. Surely, more interesting than the happening.

Miranda gives her screen a sharp glare, only for her shoulders to suddenly roll backwards as she carefully reads your name in her mind a few times, just to make sure you're actually texting her. An unexpected saviour. She opens your shared chat without second thoughts. Your messages shines like gold in a dark mine.

I lied.

This one confuses her, though few new ones follow immediately after.

You looked more than simply good, Miranda.

The usage of her full name thrills her. She looks down at herself in order to be reminded of the fancy suit she's wearing. She smiles upon realising the wonders it has done to you alone. Her eyes wander up to check the time. Judging by the already late hour, her daughters must be asleep in bed, which allows her beloved babysitter some time for herself...and her thoughts. Miranda is pleased she's the one to cross your mind. After a little bit of rethinking, she decides to tease.

It's a pity I wasn't good enough for you to force me to stay home. It would have been for the better.

Miranda clearly remembers the path of desire in your eyes from earlier. She curses herself for not acknowledging it then. Your response is a little delayed, but eventually it pops up on her screen. She tries her best to stop the edges of her lips from curling up, not wanting unwanted attention falling on her.

You looked good enough for me to consume. And worship.

Before her thumbs can stretch up to tap on the small keyboard another message makes it's presence clear.

I can't stop thinking about you, Mira. When are you coming home?

You are getting obsessed, darling.

Your eagerness might just make her jump out of her seat and drive home fast enough to catch up before you can go to sleep. Not surprisingly your response comes with unbelievable speed, but Miranda's eyes can even move to read it , she detects her name being spoken. Someone actually voices it out a few more times, which causes her to turn off her phone and turn to that direction.

A man stands opposite of her, trying his best to look tall and mighty. His see through impatience fails him. One single glare from beneath Miranda's eyelashes is enough to break his fake wall of confidence. Choosing to cooperate, however, she lazily rolls a wrist in the air, guiding him into speaking. After a quick clearing of his throat, he does it, voice surprisingly steady.

"As I was saying, in order for both goals to be reached,..and for this meeting to has an actual good end.." - he adds with a murmur, to which Miranda doesn't react. At least not visible, but she makes a mind note of agreement. - "We also need details and information." - the man's hand lands on top of a document folder, rested on the round table, forcing out an unnecessary tud. - "So far we've got nothing."

Before Miranda can even think of answering, another voice joins the conversation. Softer, but much more unsure.

"Ah, what my colleague is trying to say is that..." - she makes a grimace when he blinks with frustration, as if praying for the right words to come. - "We were promised inhuman opportunities, however instead of revealing them you've only stayed silent,.. ma'am."

"Am I obligated to show an example?" - Miranda hums out, getting a bit annoyed. She's sensing doubt... it's unfamiliar to her, yet she can't expect the blind respect and devotion she once received.

"You claim to be an immortal!" - a third man interrupts with a rather loud scoff. She closes her eyes, gathering patience, clearly overwhelmed by the fact that her consumption turned out to be true. - "With your... promised abilities, you're closer to gods than humans." - he sucks in a breath, chin high as the sky. - "So why seek an alliance with us.?"

Miranda chooses to think all these meetings were purely born, because the kind words you put into that original email. But she has never mentioned to you about the existence of a second one, going in much further detail about Miranda's research and skills. She knows for a facts that's the only thing pushing her forward to her final goal. While they can't even be bothered to read your email to the end, she deeply appropriates it.

"Your statement is correct - if I were a god, I wouldn't be here." - she leans forward, placing her elbows on the table, sighing deeply. - "I'd like to cut the chase here. From my own understanding, you're not interested in anything else but what power I possess." - she can only imagine them drooling over the smallest piece of her DNA for experimenting.

"If your strength is what you claim it to be, we can increase it to a maximum and create a new era for humanity-"

"Of course you will." - a forced face shines through her mask of ignorance. How can she forget about the never changing human nature. Her shoulders are rolled back, adding more straightness to her posture. - "I've lived through both world wars, and many more." - Miranda speaks casually, as if those blood drenched events happened just yesterday. Her words force some of the men to share confused words. - "It's curious, you make sure to remember dates and deaths, however you don't learn from history." - a pause. - "And now you think of creating another version of the super soldiers you've craved for years."

"...We're destined for evolution." - the room falls silent for a while. Until Miranda shatters it with a heavy hand.

"You can ruin the world all over again, I'm certain it won't bother me." - she aims to make it clear - even if she's not exactly a god as they think, she's not on their level neither. At the end she'd be the one to survive. - "I have the following preposition - instead of focusing on the people you're going to ascend to your future paradise, you can help the ones you're going to leave behind." - she allows herself to look at almost every unfamiliar face, gaining confidence as she sees hints of consideration. - "Saving people isn't exactly what I do normally, however currently I prefer it." - Miranda doesn't feel obliged to share details of who exactly she's trying to help. Her personal life has nothing to do with these people. - "It's part of my own deal."

The men are filled with hesitation. She holds every single one under a sharp glare. Then the first one, who decided to start a conversation with her, swallows and turns to her.

"We'll listen to you." - with that she's pleased. .

.

.

Unexpectedly the meeting ends well. A deal is made. A contract has been signed. With some additions, for which she's happy noone questioned or denied. Her struggles finally come to an end. And by all means she wishes to go home and have a very nice visit with her bed. And you, of course. As you cross her tired out mind, Miranda quickly pulls out her neglected phone out. Few drops of now starting rain falling on its smooth screen. Miranda rushes to a spot, with the intention to hide from the sky. Can't risk to loose her well deserved cigarette after this exhausting interaction.

The hour is quite late. She mentally notes, while dragging another puff from the cigarette, covering her face in a veil of smoke. She hates to drive during night time, it's unsettling, even for her. She starts to wonder if you're still awake, yet calling you doesn't do it for her, since it would be her last wish to wake you up just to be assured you were sleeping. She unlocks her phone just as a men, familiar from the already finished meeting, walks rapidly past her. The rain is gaining rage, mindlessly hitting the ground with grand droplets. He doesn't look at her, how out of manners. Miranda can't say she's bothered, there's more time for her attention to fix upon the message from before, which she couldn't read on the spot. Once it properly crosses her dark eyes, she smiles, the butt of her cigarette hitting the pavement.

You're an obsession I've already welcomed.

*****

Miranda happens to find her bedroom completely empty. Her bed - devoid of warmth. The room itself - dark and lonely. It's not to her liking, it's triggering her. Because something is clearly missing. You are missing. And she can't even lie to herself, let alone anyone else, that it's way too uncomfortable for her. After a swift second observation, as if her eyes are even able to betray her, she turns on her heel - straight to your own bedroom. She supposes that's the only other place you would be. Her strange ability to track anyone in the near radius confirms it. She's only left to wonder why exactly have you decided to choose your funny sized, compared to hers, bed.

A nice ray of calmness runs through her face once she locks eyes with your sleeping self. Body curled up in soft sheets you look more than cozy. Miranda takes few steps further to your bed. She allows herself to observe you long enough for her chest to tighten. And perhaps for her inner voice to whisper she's being a bit creepy, again...Then she makes up her mind. Miranda tries her best to be dead silent while undressing, clothes too itchy already, too irritating. The jacket from nice fabric hits the floor first. Too tired to care for her outfit getting dirty, she finds no problem with throwing her black pants on top of it too. After removing her bra  as well, she remains only covered by her white shirt. Good enough to mimic pyjamas.

Your bed is certainly less large than her own. She doesn't think it's meant for the both of you. Yet Miranda doesn't face much of an obstacle snuggling nicely behind you. Her long arms stretch out, under the covers, in order to wrap around your waist and pull you closer. She leans into you, her chest pressing to your back, while she shoves her face to the back of your neck. Finally she can feel relaxed. With Mia she never got to enjoy cuddling, for which she has a soft spot, and that lead her to be outrageously touch started. It's not something you can easily get out of her as information, but the way she can't even stops herself from tracing your skin with her nails is enough of a sign. But she overdoses it, since you twitch a few time in your sleep, before slowly opening an eye. Being a light sleeper is another thing you've inherited from her, it seems.

"Mm..what-..." - you murmur out, only to feel a soft kiss, carefully placed on your nape. If the fact that this mansion is in the middle of nowhere was unknown to you, fear from someone breaking in would definitely be present. But you know better. There's only one person who would sneak up on you like that, and you don't seem to mind it.

"I wasn't aiming to wake you up, darling." - Miranda whispers, her hands getting braver and wandering beneath your shirt. She often does this, something about holding you as close as possible. There's a hint of guilt in her voice, because truly this wasn't her intention. A shiver turns down your spine when her lips move up to the shell of your ear, breath hotter than ever. Then she decides to transfer the guilt to you. - "But you weren't in our bed."

"You know I can't sleep without you." - in your defense you did try, but her...your shared bed is just too big for you to be lying there alone. Plus if she's the one with the habit to hold, you enjoy being held , especially in her embrace, so naturally after so many nights of that exact motion - you needed to change the area. You lazily start to turn around, she backs away in order to give you enough space. There's no room for wasting time once you're able to face her. She reaches out first, locking her lips with yours, however you, fully awake now, put much more effort into the kiss. Her hands move to your back, nails digging in your shoulder blades, while your own push her shoulders down, until you shift in such position that has her pinned beneath you. - "I'm glad you're finally home." - you say in between heated kissing, then you add. - "How was your meeting?"

"It's safe to say I've found what I was searching for." - her eyebrow lifts in curiosity as you extend a hand to your nightstand, only to light up a lamp after a bit of search for the button. Now you can see her clearly. - "We just need a bit more time for preparation, before officially starting." - she watches carefully while you adjust yourself to a sitting position, stranding her lower stomach and hips, with your own. Her face lights up when she remembers something. - "Oh, and darling, I wanted to tell you-"

"Respectfully, I would love to listen to you all night, Miranda." - you voice out, eyes locked at her body now instead of her face, she surely looks beautiful under you. - "and don't get me wrong, I'm very happy for you." - you begin to chew on your lip, fingers practically trembling when you bring them to the collar of her shirt, eager to yank it off. - "but I've been waiting for more than I can endure and..." - you pull on the fabric, close to loosing your control. Your eyes lift up to meet hers. - "Can I?"

"All yours, darling." - you're thankful she understands your needs, hearing her consent is a blessing to your ears. You decide to take your sweet time. Your fingers work slowly, unbuttoning her shirt with ease. And just a few seconds later you brush the now open and two sided shirt aside, exposing her bare chest to you. She's breathtaking as always. The observation of her body takes more of your time and attention than usual. Beneath the weak lighting her skin looks extremely inviting. You fear your lower lip might bleed out from the pressure your teeth force on it, once you gain enough consciousness to start touching her properly. Your hands carefully press to her stomach, then you move them to a side, grabbing her waist. Lifting them is pleasant, you get to feel her ribcage and count every single bone there, before you stop at her breasts. Their size is perfect for you since they fit amazingly well into your palms. As you cup them, you can't stop yourself from teasing her a little, just few brushes of your thumbs against her nipples are enough to harden them. It thrills you to the core. Soon your hands find themselves around her throat, which forces her head to be thrown back, and you squeeze. A cold shiver runs down her body, one which even you can feel, combined with a soft gasp from between her lips. How vulnerable she looks right now, all for you. Miranda being so casually yours is alarming and thrilling at the same time. At least she trusts you enough to allow all of this. Only if she knew what exactly runs through your head when she submits herself so easily. Part of you if convinced she knows, because it's Miranda after all.

"Every time, and I mean every fucking time, when we get intimate I'm divided in two." - she hums, not minding it when your fingers lift to press against her lips - in order to silence her for a while and enjoy their softness. - "For some reason I overflow with greedy rage, I want to be mean and hurtful, because a voice in my head is constantly whispering about you deserving it. I don't understand it." - her eyebrows twist in so much confusion and you almost panic, having said too much, but you contain yourself. A bit forced - you continue. - "Then I-...change...I become eager to please you, to make you feel good, show you love and care, be as gentle as I possibly can and... it's what I've told you many times - I just want to treat you right. Like it should be." - words equally overwhelm  and run away from you. Even you start to wonder what exactly you're trying to tell her. All you know it's important, and it's coming from somewhere deep inside of you. The anxious beats of your heart are an easy confirmation. - "Do you think...that's normal, Miranda? I'm obsessed, devoted, ready to worship, but at the same time I feel so-"

"Show me your yearning, precious darling." - Miranda finds the the power to yank you down at her, kissing you with might. Once you loose yourself into her again, she runs her nails down your back, forcing it to form a slight arch. If this continues you're certain you'll be both ruined, yet noone seems to care. Your head fills with rushing blood and in an attempt to loosen the pressure, you shift down to her neck, placing eager open-mouthed kisses, which quickly turn into bites. Miranda holds in a moan, clearly enjoying the roughness you can bring out. Then she curls up a finger under your chin, forcing you to make eye contact. - "I wish to know how it feels like."

Miranda plays with you a bit too much. But that's okay, you love her games. You're not certain what possesses you to show your claim on her out of a sudden, since she's the one to normally leave you covered in marks. Yet both of you groan in pleasure as you begin to descend down her body, lips softly pressing against smooth skin, before nibbling enough for the flesh to redden. On her part, Miranda considers your actions reasonable and she eagerly pushes your head even lower. After a quick awkward adjustment, in order for you to get more space while freezing between her legs, you look up to her. Your almost sure bet of Miranda already glaring down at you doesn't fail. Like usual, her method of silencing moans is a long, curled finger in between her teeth. Although she has been rather quiet for tonight, not like you've started anything yet. A rushed brush through your hair symbolizes her way of convincing you to continue. You can easily remove her underwear and dive into her, but you've never been so close to actually going down on her. Of course you plan on mimicking everything she does, yet you won't be able to feel satisfied with just that. So you wait, fingers hooked at both sides of her panties, while the realisation slowly hits her. For once you're happy she's so good at reading your mind, or maybe you've just gotten too close...

"People do this differently, darling." - Miranda starts to explain, her hand caressing your cheek. You lean into her touch without much of a thought. She then proceeds to lift her upper body up, pressing her back against the bed's headboard. - "But you don't care about other people, do you?" - the smirk on her face is awfully sinful. - "You only want to know what I  like?" - even if her rough tone hints for her sentence to be a formal declaration, you catch up with the small particles for a question.

"Can't please you if you don't show me how." - hasn't it always been like that? You always relying on her guidance. Miranda lets out a hum, oddly resembling a purr. You decide it's finally time to get rid of her underwear, leaving her with only the unbuttoned shirt, which only stays on her back because of the long sleeves. Yet it remains mainly useless, as its idea of coverage is not completed.

"Slowly, I like to enjoy it." - for you is a command, filled with need, for her is a selfish act. Her many times with Mia had a very odd pattern - she was either overstimulated or completely denied, sometimes there was just nothing, just pain, which the other women has decided Miranda deserves. She never got to enjoy her given orgasms. - "Be as messy as you like, I don't mind it." - with that she parts her legs for you, forcing you to swallow. - "Just don't tease...much."

She's bare for your shaking eyes, smooth and soft. When you part her with the help of your fingers, you also note she's aroused by the situation, since you find her clearly glistering. Your head is a spinning mess, while your teeth do your best to distract you by biting the inside of your cheek. Then all reason is throw out of the window. You launch your mouth on her like it's the last thing you'll ever do. She hums, partly in protest, partly in pleasure. It's wrong and you know it, she doesn't directly do this. Miranda always prepares you more than enough - red bites on your thighs, slow sensational licks to your throbbing core until she's satisfied enough to eat her meal. Distracted by your own overthinking, you don't realise how you slowly begin to shift away, thankfully your girlfriend is not known for patience and rushes to bring you back to her.

"Don't make me beg." - Miranda whispers - "I need you."

Perhaps that's the boost, which was till now missing. You concentrate enough, ignoring the captivating energy rushing through your veins and forcing your heart to beat irregularly. This time you approach her with a slow lick, though large enough to almost cover her whole. The flat of your tongue is glued to her wetness. Miranda tastes even better from when you lick her off your fingers, it's a sweet mixture of sourness. Adding your saliva makes a great combination. Soon the promised mess from earlier comes to life. You drag your so far calm tongue along her slit, then further up, it moves perfectly smooth between her lower lips. When you reach her clit, a moan slips from her vocal cords, reminding you of her sensitivity. The bundle of nerves is practically throbbing with need as you take it into your mouth. You attack it with lazy, painfully slow licks while looking up to Miranda. Her nails are implying constant torture to the sheets beneath her, but overall she's strangely composed. Not being able to satisfy her is not to your liking.

"You're so addictive." - You praise her loudly, earning a small, but warm smile. Helping yourself with strong hands, you press her spread hips to the mattress while occupying her with hot open-mouthed kisses. - "So lethally beautiful." - she lets out a gasp, as your thumbs stretching out to reveal her opening to you, tongue slowly curling it. - "Not a single flaw on you, perfection."

Both of you are used to your flatter when it comes to making love with her. Your words of appreciation are  a blessing for Miranda ears and... it's truly no secret they also work as aphrodisiacs. It turns her too way too much. And the blonde woman finds it extremely difficult  to stay still not moan too loudly as your tongue penetrates her without a warning. It's a melting pleasure for both of you. She's tight and warm, in order for you actually give her something - you lock your jaw in place and push forward until your fully extended tongue muscles slip inside of her, nose left to teasingly rub against her clit. Then you allow yourself to explore. You spell both yours and Miranda's name against her inner walls, which twitch in excitement. It's long before she rest her head on a pillow while her hips jerk off forward, needs more friction.

"Were you hiding from me all this time, darling?" - she's expected to start talking her nonsense when near her edge, but surprisingly against tonight - her words are sharply calculated, despite her having to stop between heavy breaths and urgent hisses. - "Joking around with that boy when you're clearly made to worship a woman's body?" - there goes her never ending race against Philip. And your ex boyfriend is not even on the competition anymore. Your tongue leaves her with a wet pop, forcing out a whimper out of her. You lick your lips before exposing her puffy clit to more exploding fire. Miranda finds herself out of breath, yet still the muscles of her neck flex out when she speaks again. Specifying her worries for you. - "...My body."

Nothing feels real at the moment. As if time has frozen you don't even consider the outside world. The room, sheltering you, is completely invisible. Only Miranda exists for you. And her pleasure. A hand, quiet as a snake, roams through the sheets down between her legs. A helper for your jaw, which is already getting tired from bobbing up and down. You interrupt your working mouth, only to quick take two fingers inside it. Covering them with great amount of saliva, you later on release them from between your lips. Miranda is practically a leaking mess, yet it would never hurt to add more lubricant. She easily takes both fingers until they sink knuckle deep inside of her. Once they start moving the woman woman, wraps a palm over her own mouth and throws her head back, loosing any ability to hold her precious eye contact. Although she tries her best, hitched moans still manage to explode out of her. You alarm yourself by the sound, something finally clicking inside your mind. Your personal room is much closer to the kid's bedrooms than Miranda's one, so naturally she'd be forced to muffle herself. Perhaps covering her with kisses might help. While ascending in search for her lips, however, she suddenly snaps at you - voice slightly irritated.

"No, baby, you can't deny me that golden tongue of yours."  - her unbelievably strong hand shoves your head back to her core, her hips now jerking upwards. Any anxiety about her daughters being faced with a very bad example evaporate from your thoughts. You open your mouth, allowing your tongue to just sticks out of it as she positions herself in a way, that will bring friction to her clit everytime she moves her hips up and down, rubbing against your face with need. Miranda keeps one arm wrapped at the back of your neck, holding you firmly, while the other is bended behind her - a weak elbow barely being able to hold her half up body while she seeks her pleasure. Your fingers never slow down, finding her sweet spot with ease, hitting it with the same rhythm she moves her pelvis. - "mmm...you're going to make me come, darling." - her declaration only switches a key inside of you, which immediately makes you double your efforts. Her moans turn into straight, breathless ahs, legs finally giving in to uncontrollable trembling. She is so close - you can practically taste her orgasm. - "Can I come for you, my sweet little deer?"

One moment Miranda is begging you for a release, and the next she's already curled up on one side, breathing so heavily that her pants easily fill the entire room, and the sheets are soaked beneath her still-shaking hips. You stare at her with a shocked expression, completely devoured of the situation. Your right hand remains with spread out fingers, the last move you did inside of her before she snapped in half, and by looking at it you note it's covered in a glove of her dripping wetness. Unbelievable, you've never pushed her that far. Every cell of your being wants to do it again. You wait for her breathing to calm down to regular, which definitely takes a few minutes. After that, however, Miranda just...stops moving. As if dead. You call out her nail, getting absolutely zero reaction in return. Moving closer to her is a good decision, but running a hand up her slightly exposed from the crumpled shirt back - not as good. She twitches with a hiss the moment your fingertips make contact with the black tissue on it.

"Not my back,��Mi-" - she turns with the speed of light, eyes burning in golden colour, voice angrier than ever. You gulp, moving your hand back, and she sighs. - "...my darling."

"Sorry...I-"

"No, I should apologise." - Miranda skillfully wraps her fingers around your retreating wrist and pulls it back to her, sending a wave of sweet kisses down the path of your knuckles. - "I'm... barely able to form a thought right now, darling."

Well you should just go ahead a pat yourself on the shoulder. A statement from a while ago spawns in your mind out of the blue - Miranda was correct as usual, she's not hard to please when you know which buttons to push. Luckily for you, you know every single one of them.

"So...are you in for another round, granny, or are you too tired?" - you question her with a smirk, shifting so you can sit next to her on the bed. Your hands work fast to dispose your own clothing. Another pile finds a place on the floor.

"Call me granny again and I'll ruin you." - so she can think, after all. A little pissy than you would like, but still very inviting.

"Is that a promise or a threat..." - Miranda narrows her dark eyes at you. - "...granny."

The blonde woman is all over you before you can get your answer.

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"Fuck...fuck...Mira-" - You feel a light slap slide across your ass. Another punishment about swearing, for which Miranda warns you about so often. Because of your position, pushed hard into the mattress, she can do whatever she wants. Oh, she's rather dominant when she decides to be. She has your legs intertwined with hers, one hooked up her shoulder for more access while your hips are rubbing together. You keep on staring at one single bulging vein on her stomach, it's low - starting from the apex of her left thigh and ending nearly her belly button. This is enough to keep your attention and not make you observe with how much need she grinds her throbbing core against yours. Because surely looking for too long will make you loose your mind. Although you choose not to use one sense it doesn't mean you can block your others from working. Your shared wetness merging together is echoing through the room, facing no other obstacles but additional heavy panting. - "Why don't we...fuck-" - and slap to your skin. - "...it would be easier to go to your room, no? You have your preparations there..."

"Don't you think it's more enjoyable to just... let you feel me like this, rather than being filled to the brim with a toy, hm?" - Miranda talks with confidence, as if she wasn't the one barely moving not so long ago. Though after having you come for her two time in a row- you're much more sensitive. She hugs the shaking leg around her shoulder, while moving even faster, rewarding you with another sticky kiss from her clit to your own. You almost scream from pleasure.

"Can't..." - Miranda lowers herself, bending your leg until your hip in almost glued to your stomach. You're flexible, but it surely sting your muscles a little. Not like you can focus on pain currently. For the first time since you've started being intimate, you find yourself being the one to dig nails into her shoulders. You don't dare to bother her back, however, for which she's thankful. Soon she leans her head down in order to kiss you. - "too much, Mira, I can't-"

"I know, darling, I know." - she coos at you with fake pity, turning your head to a side so she can lick your neck. Unexpectedly you grab her hips and push her against you. She hisses out, eyes widened. She's not going to be the only one struggling with the overwhelming pleasure. - "Yes..., I feel good too."

A world-shaking orgasm strikes you like a thunder. Miranda guides you through it, whispering praise while not allowing you rest, since she's seaking her own high peak. You completely loose track of reality. Everything happens too fast and the only thing clear enough for you to focus on is Miranda. Your goodness of beauty, in her purest moments of heat. Your favourite type of chaos, your evening sky and morning sun. You're certain now, in what exactly you wanted to tell her earlier with all your fancy words of admiration.

"I love you, Miranda, I love you so much."

The world slows down, the earth turns to ice , before it completely stops rotating. The illusion of the material and the immaterial is broken. The dark blue ocean pours over you, almost  drowning you.  Miranda's gaze is just that intoxicating once she tilts her head down. The air between you is as thick as a wall, even though no one is breathing. Then everything breaks. Miranda shatters into a million pieces. You don't even realize the weight of your words before they bring bitter drops to her eyes. You hate when she cries, but right now you hate yourself and your stupid feelings more.

Before you can even think of protesting or somehow appeasing her, she digs sharp nails into your temples. Your mind shuts down, giving her complete control. She sniffles, allowing herself to once again penetrate your brain, currently filled with regret. She removes anything that would hurt her. She removes the memory of your shared love. It eating her from the inside that there's no way for her to  remove the feeling entirely. She can't allow herself to be loved again.

"Please don't do this to me, you can't." - Miranda won't endure it again. The pure taste of poison. Although you're not mentally with her, she can control your body how she wishes. She forced you to sleep immediately, while she escapes your combined trap of flesh. - "Anything but that feeling again.." - she whispers more to herself than you. 

The blonde woman begins to cough, her hand quickly curling around her neck. A familiar feeling of pressure in her chest rises up to her mouth and she leans forward, squeezing her eyes shut, breathing deeply. She curses once as she falls to the floor, a second time as she runs to the bathroom, and a third time as her mouth fills with unnecessary drool. She stares at the mirror across from her, eyes bulging, for mere seconds, but it's enough to fill her with enough rage to knock her low again. The tiles beneath her body are cold. Miranda hates herself, hates when she feels so weak, hates the fact that none of the marks  you gave her will stay on her skin, she hates the fact that you love her.

I love you, Miranda, I love you, Miranda...two voices pop into her head. Mia doesn't belong there, but she can't bear to think about  you. Her skin warms and no matter how many times she swallows , the lump in her throat won't go away. She can't put off the inevitable. Miranda leans over the toilet, holding her hair in one hand as she coughs. Soon the unpleasant feeling of vomiting totally overwhelms her and she empties her stomach.

She's not surprised to discover that the liquid has no color. She vomits up pure stomach juices for the simple reason that she just doesn't eat. She hasn't had to in years. Not before you showed up and started bitching about how she wasn't getting enough to eat. Not until you started caring...A new wave of stomach acid comes out of her mouth. A certain amount of time passes, filled in coughing and more vomiting before she settles to the ground, exhausted.

The unpleasant habit of throwing up when under a lot of stress or pressure is something she has been struggling with for a long time, but can never overcome. Her stomach hurts, her throat and nose burn, and she's sure her teeth would be rotting right now if it weren't for the saliva that has accumulated in her mouth.

I love you, Miranda... Enough. This is a living hell. It's too soon, it's too rushed, you can't love her, she can't...leave her past behind. Miranda doesn't believe she can experience love without her familiar pain, and even though you're too different from Mia, she can't be sure, not when you told her yourself tonight that part of you longs to hurt her. Lovely, now her head is starting to throb too.

Exhausted and weak, she stands up. Still completely naked, except for her now teasing white shirt, she returns with quiet steps to the bedroom. She knows you are sleeping deeply because she herself is holding you under this influence. As she watches you, however , a sad sigh escapes her throat. It's all her fault. Miranda cannot accept your love, nor give you hers.

She bends down to pick up the clothes from the floor before leaving your room and disappearing into the night, leaving you alone.

[hemingwaystan]

A Guide To Actually Portraying The Lords Part 2: House Beneviento

Hello, fellow RE8 fans, this is the second part of a rant/post/open letter/essay which I intend as a detailed essay with five parts on how they should've portrayed the lords and then Miranda, with more realism and nuance, because they are nuanced characters when you actually think but Capcom is so bad at showing it. This is my opinion, feel free to disagree.

This is the section I'd change the least of but that doesn't mean I don't have a ton of shit to say so here we go. I'd say the player shouldn't be lured to the manor, the Duke just tells you where it is, no Mia picture, assuming we keep Mia because honestly? Ethan as a single dad makes more sense. No Mia bashing it's just that a marriage, if we think with even a tiny bit of logic can't survive all that. Also single dad rep is so rare in media. Because the player being lured to the manor, to me, just feels illogical to her portrayal otherwise, think about it. Donna is portrayed as a recluse who almost never leaves her house right? She probably didn't even want to have a Rose flask. She's the least involved in Miranda's work. Why would she want to bring another person, let alone one set on killing her or at least from her perspective but honestly pretty much true, to her house? Why would she in any universe want a home-invasion. So the player arrives in the manor and begins tripping balls. I'd keep this mostly the same with a handful of major changes, Angie and Donna don't do anything that could be misinterpreted to cause the braindead infantilization of them some people have been doing.

Throughout the house you'll experience flashbacks, one of your life in the mannequin section, and 2-3 of Donna's life, besides that mostly general horror stuff but also those. You'll see a few major moments in Donna's life so the characterization isn't limited to just reading stuff. But right before the end, in a vision, she cries, she has no idea you're seeing this as with the others. These visions of her only happen after the player first gets a hit off on Angie (Donna) which I'll instead put around 65% in. Killing Angie is still the focus through this because as far as you know Angie is not secretly Donna and they're, of course, trying to kill you. This happens because it lessens her control over her powers which she had before but in the pain is also experiencing a spiral because like, wouldn't you if you were in this situation, especially if you already had Major Depression. So we see our own reflection in the proverbial mirror but we also see manifestations of Donna's life and emotions.

The player will also be attacked by groups of armed dolls more than once, maybe every time you break them in defense Angie gets angrier causing some kind of increase in danger. Just because you get one stab off on Angie early doesn't mean it will end quickly, because Angie could be anywhere, not just among the dolls, hiding in any number of places, maybe even in the basement at times although the baby would've already happened by now. Trying to destroy Angie is just the goal but you have to do all the other Resident Evil puzzle shit throughout as before. And I'll put this to rest, the baby is and will be a hallucination, being eaten by it is representative of losing your mind. Why the fuck would she keep a giant baby in her basement? This is kind of out there but toward the end their could be like a sanity meter that goes down slowly. Like 90% in, you're in the room where she said "You can't leave, I won't let you." earlier. And right as you're finally about to defeat Angie the mirror shatters and you see the actual world.

Donna is on the floor, the blood is still on the wall, but she's very much not dead, just very injured, she'd survive because Cadou regen if you don't continue. You see her face either way because the veil was knocked off during the fight so there'll be real emotion to see in her expression. She begs you not to kill her. It's your decision whether you do or not, if you don't she'll show you where she hid the Rose flask, this also means she might say a couple things to the player, maybe good luck or something, Angie will say something too so it's proven and not just obvious that they're independent entities that are closely connected. Maybe Donna gives you a really good defensive charm and if you do kill her you'll get Angie and a Donna crystal to sell to the Duke for like combined 1.5x what Angie is worth in game, you'll also get a horrible charm with a directly opposing bonus as the one she would give you in the spare route (this is more for storytelling purposes as opposed to the kill one being useful) but you will have to search the house for the flask which will be a fucking pain but still a puzzle with clues. But past the gameplay decision, the real, meaningful choice is, are you putting a mentally ill servant of Miranda that tried to murder you out of her misery or is she not evil, just a victim of Miranda that deserves to live.

[yoomiefumes]

❥𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝒷 ــــــــﮩ٨ـ

Yandere!oc x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

Content warning!!!

Flawed moral compass, reader is self centered, obsessive behavior, violence (lots of it), animal abuse, graphic description of said abuse, minor sexual content .

This story is not meant to glorify any of the topics mentioned, and is created solely for the purpose of entertainment. I do not support/condone any of the actions the characters are committing

If you feel uncomfortable/any of the content might be triggering, please click off for your own well being. The media you consume is your own responsibility.

Meaningless confession here and there, a pile of untouched letters sitting in your locker, the many whispers and glances, endless praises. When had it all became so dull?

Your fingers wrap around the handle of the classroom door before sliding it open, upon your entrance you noticed the many pairs of eyes staring at you. The very same eyes that once held admiration now look’s at you in what you can only assume as disgust, resentment, perhaps.. fear? You don’t know them, well.. you don’t bother to anyways. It wasn’t always like this, you were once adored, praised, the schools heart throb. It was only because of one mistake, his mistake. Your eyes darts towards the corner of the classroom, amidst the blur of faces, you lock gaze with a pair of gray eyes. You scoff, throwing your bag on your table causing a unnecessary scene just, because. There was no point on keeping the angelic facade anymore, there for you can start acting on your true passion. Being an inconvenience and nuisance to everyone around you. If these people insist on giving you attention might as well relish in it. It’s not like haven’t tried to salvage your reputation, its just.. that worthless outcast of a nerd had manage to standupforhimself retaliate against you.

When did this all start again..?

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Gray eyes trail over to a figure, standing out amongst the crowd. You, in all your glory charming people left and right. Benedict wasn’t sure whether it was your face, your hair, body language, or your sweet words. Weaving people inside into your circle, as if knowing just the right thing to say and do. It’s like watching a stage performance, and you shining beautifully underneath the spotlight capturing the audience in trance. From that moment on he begun watching you, observing, analyzing your every performance. Like a loyal audience. Though to his dismay, it seems like he’s not the only one who’s got eyes on you. It’s fine, he’ll just need to get rid of them, right? Wrong. Your cult fans are never ending, he’d get rid of one and a whole other hoard of them comes in. To Benedict they’re like zombies, brain dead, annoying, and never ending.

One random evening he once again found himself stalking observing you. Strange, you seem.. odd today. Theres a subtle harshness in your expression, he noticed as he quietly trails behind you quietly. After walking a greta distance from the school building, it seems like you’ve led him into what seems to be a garden, an abandoned one at that, assuming by the dry fountain that you decide to sit on. He pulls out his phone, focusing the camera on your sitting form. Suddenly a pigeon had also taken an interest with you, landing next to you chirping. It truly looked like a scene straight out of a movie.

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You drag yourself out of class, a strained smile on your lips as yet another blurry figure greets you in the hallway. Your mind swarmed with a flood of thoughts, you can still their clammy hands on your body. A nice warm bath you think as you walk faster. It seems like today everyone had telepathically agreed to pester you. Before you realized you’re already in front of what seems to be a garden, you take a seat at the old fountain trying to catch your breath. To your surprise, a pigeon landed next to you. You scooped it up in your hands, running your fingers through its feather’s. It’s warm, your fingers gave it a squeeze, firm but soft.. It felt nice.

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He could feel his lips tug into a smile at the encounter as you scoop the bird into your hands.. and then he heard a loud chirp followed by a crack, his eyes widens at the sight. You sat up, tossing the mangled bird aside. A slight smile tugs at the corner of your lips, as you wipe your hand with handkerchief, cleaning the evidence off of your hands.

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You eyed the black haired man in front of you, as he shuffles around awkwardly, before handing you a pink letter. Ah,you’re dealing with this again. You gave him a polite smile thanking him, making his cheek flush as he ran off. How annoying.

You continue with your routine as usual. Before you know it the first bell rings, a sign for the students to head inside their assigned classroom. You take your seat, a few people instantly surrounding you and you make small talk with them, like usual. After a while, you were eventually left alone. You’re reminded of the pink letter from the black haired male. You opened the seal, and begun reading it. Your eyes landed on “meet me at the roof top after school.” So it’s that type of confession. Aw, his look’s truly matches his personality. It’s so pathetic, it was almost cute. Though your definition of cute is quite different, it seems.

The last bell rings, as the students pack up their bag rushing out the classroom. You also got up, making your way to the roof top. The wind blows through your hair as you look around for the black haired guy. Suddenly you feel a light tap on your shoulders alerting you of someone else’s presence. Turning around, you spot familiar gray eyes. “You.. really came?” He mutters, barely loud enough to hear. “Of course! I had agreed after all” you smile as begin thinking of how to reject this guy. “Actually.. i um.. i’ve liked you for a while now.. i’m aware you don’t really know me. But i’m sure we can get to know each other!” He blurts out, a shade of red overtaking his cheeks. Oh, how naive. Reminds you of some familiar faces from back in the days. “Ah, i really appreciate that you have feeling for me. But-“ before you can finish your response you felt a pair of hands clasping your own. “Please..! I- i’ll do anything.. you have to go out with me..” he spoke, no longer a flustered mess as a look of desperation overtakes his face. It look’s like he seemed to be the pushy type, how annoying. You really want to get this over with. “Look, i’d really love to but” “Please..! I-i can’t live without you. Just give me a chance.. j-just one chance” he cuts you off again. This guy is really starting to get on your nerves. “Like i said.. i’d love to be but-“ you tug your hands away, your happy go lucky facade almost slipping. “I know what you did in the garden.” The words roll out of his mouth so smoothly, his stutter from before was no where in sight. You felt your eye twitch as you clench your fist, nails digging into your skin. “Oh really? You must’ve have the wrong person. Now if you excuse me, i have better things to do.” You scoff, turning around. He stops you, taking out his phone. “I have proof of what you did to that pigeon-“

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Before he can finish his sentence, he was thrown to the floor. Your hands warped tightly around his throat, your face full of rage, you on top of him. Thats new, he could feel a shiver ran down his spine. It surprisingly felt.. good. “Delete it.” You breathe out, your breath shaky. You raised one of your fist in a threatening manner, while the other one moved to grasp the collar of his shirt. “Go out with me” he repeats in a sickeningly sweet tone, a hand coming up to caress your cheek.

He felt a sharp pain on his nose, then left side of his face. Eventually the pain spreads all over his face, he couldn’t make your expression due to your hair covering your face. “You better keep mouth shut, i’ll fucking kill you if you show your face again. And i’m known to keep my words.” He could hear you scoff at him. You picked up the phone laying on the ground, before tossing it down the 4 story high building. You turned towards him, giving him a hard kick on the stomach before leaving him laying on the floor.

He turned his head, watching your figure get smaller. He could feel a smile tug on his busted lips, ah you were so cute. You really need to work on your punches, it was sloppy and uncoordinated. You could’ve really hurt yourself if you keep doing that, he sighs wiping the blood off his nose. Now he’s left to deal with the tent on his pants, he turned his head away, his face red in embarrassment. Fuck, he needs to control himself. Good thing you didn’t seem to notice, he sighs as heads towards the infirmary.

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You step foot into the all too familiar building, on time like always. You make your way through the hallway, many pairs of eyes instantly locked on your figure. Except this time there were no sign of friendliness on their features, strange. You brushed it off making your way to your classroom. Sliding open the door, the very same thing happened again, this time they’re whispering amongst themself while looking at something on their phone. Huh? What is it this time, A fight? Maybe someone got pregnant again, you shrug taking your seat scrolling through your phone mindlessly. That is until you felt something dripping down your face, soaking your hair as a giggle erupted from your assaulter. You stand up, grabbing one of them by the collar “who do you think you are..?” you spoke glaring at them. “Haha! Look at this psycho.. you’re really are an asshole.” They snap back. “The fuck are you blabbering about?!” You screamed, shoving them against a table. “It’s surprising that you’ve still got the guts to show up after that video got leaked everywhere.” one of them shoved their phone in front of your face. You feel your blood boil at sight, shoving away the person in your hold. You grab a chair, making at screeching noise.

Your eyes met with a pair of gray ones, he opened his mouth to say something. But before he got the chance to say anything, a loud slam was heard. You toss the chair aside, your chest heaving, your head reeling. You stare at the ceiling, the only sound you can hear being the loud ring in your ears and your own breath. Amidst your dazed out state, unaware of your surrounding you fail to notice the commotion happening around you. Some had their phones out, treating you like some type of fucked up entertainment. A few checked on the man laying on the ground, the rest exited the classroom.

The next thing you knew, you were in the principal office. Sitting to none other than Mr. Fuckface himself. Speaking of faces, with the damage you’ve done, his face really is fucked. The thought almost made you laugh, but you held down the urge. “You’re very lucky Mr. Dhammika decided not press charges.” The old man sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Now i want you two to sort this out, to ensure this incident will not repeat.” He spoke, though he said ‘two of you’ his undying stare at you is enough for you to know what he wants. You turn to Benedict, putting on the most genuine smile you can muster up without beating the living daylights out him once more. “I sincerely apologize to you Benedict, i’am aware of what i’ve done and i’am regretful of my actions. I hope you can forgive me, and we can start over.” You spoke, extending your hands towards the black haired male. He took your hand, holding it a tad bit too long before you forcefully yank your hand away.

The both of you exited the principal’s office. You let your smile fall, cussing underneath your breath. There goes your reputation that you build with sweat and tears (not really). Snapping out of your thoughts, you realized the black haired man is still standing next to you. You scoff, turning to leave. But not before you step on his shoes, what? After all the troubles this fuck caused you, you’re allowed to be a little petty at least.

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After the incident, you realized that your position in the school’s social hierarchy has dropped significantly overnight. You’ve been stripped off of your crown and gold, and now reduced to nothing but a fallen noble paraded through the town to make an example of. Fuck, how are you going to recover from this?

It also seems like there’s a bounty plastered all over you, you old foes and friends now all jumping in the chance to torment the living daylights out of you. At first it was rather harmless, talking about you in front of your face, being a target for their crumpled paper balls. Then it escalated to them getting physical with you. If it were just one or two people, you can still deal with them. But it seems like these pussy coward fucks like to their whole friend group to torment you. Pathetic really, imagine asking for backup’s to bully someone like? Can’t even bully someone with dignity. You laugh before taking a bite out of your sandwich, sitting on top of a toilet, locking yourself inside one of the cubicles. This is truly a new low you’ve reached.

Meanwhile, fuckface used his sob story of being relentlessly tormented by you to sky rocket to the top of the hierarchy. Sure you’re not completely innocent but fuckface totally exaggerating, it’s not like you did it daily, it was only twice!

On your way back to class, someone had spilled on your new white cardigan. It’s Fucking chocolate milk, on your brand new WHITE cardigan. After denting another locker by bashing someone’s head on it, you decided that was your last straw.

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Benedict gray eyes landed on your smaller form approaching him , a smile tugged the corner of his lips before he quickly puts on a neutral expression. You’ve demanded requested to meet in the roof top after school, ah how cute, just like the first time you assaulted him has a heart to heart conversation. “Hi there.. fu.. uhm Benedict. Thank you for meeting me. Since we’re on good terms now i offer you a deal.” Oh? His interest are piqued, straight to the point are we. “Clear up my name, and i’ll do anything you want” you spoke, hands on your hips. Is this your attempt at making yourself look more intimidating? How cute! You’re cute, everything you do is cute, Ah is this what people call cuteness aggression? You must’ve noticed that his attention wasn’t on you. “Listen i’m feeling kind today, i’ll even beat up a few people for you. How about that?” You grin, clearly trying to keep up your facade. He shook his head, crossing his arms, watching your face drop. You offered a few other deals, to which he all declined. He opened his mouth but before he can utter a word, you pulled him down to your level by his collar. “What is that you want?! Fucking hell.. spit it out already damn it.” You scoff, losing your composure. “Hm, what great offers you’ve given me sweetheart. But i think i’d rather take you instead.” What? What the fuck? This is not the same motherfucker that confessed his feelings while stuttering, you froze in your spot. “Huh..? No way.” You scoff, turning around to leave “i’d rather die than be seen with you.” Before you can take a one more step, your back is pressed against the wall. One hand holding down your arms by the wrist, the other grasping your face. “You’re not in the place to pick and choose sweetheart, it’s either me or suffer your social downfall.” He chuckles, enjoying the way you struggle against his grasp. “Who know’s, you might actually die in their hands.” He coo’s, squishing your cheeks together watching anger over takes your face once again. “Fuck! Fine, i’ll go alone with your shitty fantasy.” you scoff. He lets you go, upon given the opportunity you strike your fist towards his face. Only for him to catch it, giving your balled up fist a kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow sweet heart.” He hum’s happily, leaving your still shocked self but not before giving you a quick peck on the lips.

You drag yourself back home, your bag slung over your shoulder. You’re unsure of what emotion you’re feeling currently, anger, confusion? But one thing you knew, you already dreaded on what tomorrow has in store for you. You bury yourself under your blanket blinking in and out of consciousness, until you hear a notification from your phone. The message coming from an unsaved contact. “Hi darling, this is your boyfriend! ^^” you scoff at the text, turning your phone on dnd mode before going to sleep.

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You arrived in front of the school gate, sucking on a strawberry lollipop. Considering you didn’t get to have breakfast, it’ll hold off your hunger for a while. Until it was rudely snatched off your hand that is. You turned to the culprit, only to be met with the all now too familiar gray eyes. “Mm.. sweet, I can’t if it’s because of the sugar or because of you.” He spoke, interlocking his fingers with your own. You attempt to pull away, only to feel his nails dig into your skin. A subtle warning. “Don’t be so grumpy, it’s only seven in the morning.” He pouts, gross you think to yourself. “You can have it back.” He smiles, offering you, your now infested by his saliva lollipop. “Er.. no thanks.” He laughs at your response

As you enter the school, multiple eyes stared at the both of you. Fuckface managed to somehow convince the majority that the two of you are now in a happy relationship (congradolonces i guess).

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Having Benedict by your side, seemed to drive away your tormentors. But it seems like with each day Benedict had grown more and more.. touchy. Each time he would get too close for comfort, you’d always stop him with a jab. But even then it seems like the man might’ve enjoyed that too. Proudly showing off the bruises, and (accidental) bites that you left. Labeling them as “love bites” after that you reminded yourself to never bite him again. Being near him felt suffocating, he’s always looming over you, watching you. “Knock it off..! I’m sick of you breathing down my ne-“ you grew silent when you notice the expression on his face, it was nothing like you’ve before. “Quit it.” He spoke, before you can process it. You’re already tumbling down the stairs, you let out a strained gasp from the pain, your vision grows blurry from the impact. You tried to get up, only to feel a struck of pain from your ankle. “See? This is what happened when you don’t listen to me.” He sighs, squatting next to you. Your vision goes black.

You woke up, your head pounding. You sat up, rubbing your eyes. Hah.. it was a bad dream? You feel a smile tug at the corner of your lips. You almost cried tears of joy until a familiar voice shatters your fantasy. “Aw, what got you all smiley like that? Did you dream about me?” You snap your head toward the voice. Finding the black haired man sitting beside your bed, his hand on his chin propping up his head. “You motherfu-“ “a-ah darling, from now on no more bad words. I’ve decided to fix that potty mouth of yours.” He spoke, clasping a hand over your mouth. Out of instinct, you bit his hand. He winced slightly as he pulled back “and this.. violent hitting habit of yours. Though i’m okay with the biting.. if it you were to bite me in.. certain places.” He spoke the last part in a teasing tone, as he squished your cheek, to which you slapped his hands away quickly earning a sigh from him. “Ah, you truly are stubborn.” He huffs, suddenly pinning you against the bed “you don’t get it don’t you..? You won’t escape me, you can’t. i’d really hate to harm you darling, but if you keep this up..” he trails off, his gray eyes bore into your own. “Are you scared? I can feel your pulse quickening. Can you feel your heart throb?” He pressed down on your wrist. “Awe did i spooked you out too much darling?” He leans down right next to your ear. “Don’t worry we’ll have plenty of time to work on that attitude of your’s.” He lifts his head, now facing you. “I love you.” Warm lips pressed against your own, you feel your skin crawl at the sensation. Your fate was truly sealed with that kiss.

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Character Design + a/n

Although the character is truly up to the readers interpretation, here’s the canon the design that i made!

I made like a whole info board of Benedict, if anyone’s interested i’ll post the full thing ^^

Thank you for reading my story, i’am new to writing critiques, likes, and reblog are appreciated!

[ripplestitchskein]

Setting aside the age old “A lot of women are doing it must be silly or bad” trend of a newish medium that happens with literally anything I do take issue with the idea that recommendations on booktok are somehow worse than recommendations in literally any other space?Recommendations are going to be a mixed bag regardless, taste is subjective in all things.

I just hate the “this is on this platform so it must be bad or low quality by default” mindset. There could be amazing works of literature on WattPad, I dunno, I don’t use it but I do know that there are INCREDIBLE MASTERPIECES on Ao3 that no one ever talks about and then some truly heinously written things that might as well be a daily trending for how often I see them touted. I’ve read some slop I put down after two paragraphs on Kindle Unlimited and some stuff that made me reconsider my entire life it was so good.

I’ve had really close friends I vibe with on every level tell me “you have to read this it’s amazing” and been like “do I even know this person anymore? Do they know me? This is awful” when I do and I’m sure I’ve gushed over something and they’ve checked it out and been like “WTF is she thinking?”

There is going to be garbage in every space, there is going to be treasure, there are going to be things that we’re just posted for a laugh or as a money grab, or written by AI, etc. Just broad sweeping generalizations hurt communities, and authors, and readers though. It makes people feel bad for no reason. You might also miss out on something really special. “Oh it was recommended by booktok it must be awful” or “oh it’s posted on wattpad it must be written by a 13 year old” and really it’s what you’ve been looking for your whole life you just missed out.

I just want people to create things and consume things and find what they like without generalizations or assumptions that Y thing is garbage because it’s on Y platform or was recommended by Y community and Z thing is probably good because it’s on this platform or is traditionally published or is a NYT Bestseller or whatever. It just bums me out that things get written off simply because of something arbitrary like being mentioned in a certain space or hosted on a certain platform.

A good take away though: You might think what you create is garbage but as we can clearly see there are people who love other people’s garbage, so post your garbage because it’s treasure to someone out there.

there’s absolutely something to be said about ‘booktok’ books being largely wattpad quality written erotica i’m certainly not reading them however having seen a guy on tiktok make a video like ‘all the women in your life are READING PORN’ about a book he picked up and read in his FEMALE FRIEND’S HOUSE in a tone of scandalised horror and disgust i actually don’t think men should be making those criticisms. he said he picked it up expecting a romance and was horrified it was GOONER SHIT he said specifically like ‘who are you getting your pussy wet FOR??’ in a tone of revulsion. idk man im not sure shes the weird one. i kind of wish you were dead

[grotius]

oooo i love when you read/watch/play something and wake up sick with emotion the next morning

[woovalin]

i’m in such disbelief right now and beyond disgusted.

i really hope y’all are choosing your morals over kpop; because we do not know these men at all. i will never side with or defend a predator and a criminal, even with little to no proof. even if there is the smallest chance he may be innocent, i will always believe the victim first.

some of you, as fans of the boys for years and him in general, i know you must be feeling disappointed and betrayed. you’re not dumb for previously supporting him, as we couldn’t have possibly known. but now is the time for a reality check and it’s time to wake up and take a step back. this just goes to show that we know absolutely nothing about them.

for sm to just outright put out a statement on their own before any rumors even surfaced and immediately kick him out? this has to be insanely serious and i’m terrified of what he could’ve done. the crazy thing is with everything currently happening in korea with the telegram situation, and korean women constantly being in danger in general because of the men there, i’m not at all surprised that celebrities are being exposed. sm has protected criminals before, and held onto lucas when his scandal came out as well as other artists who have been exposed for similar crimes. i can’t even imagine the severity of the current situation. we’ve seen what happened with the burning sun, and these men are not immune to being misogynistic, vile human beings.

members have already unfollowed him and deleted posts with him in them; his best friend of 17yrs has unfollowed him. the company taking the initiative and him getting kicked out of the group in less than a second before anything even came out, no denying the claims or even trying to defend him. that should be enough to tell you and understand how serious this actually is. i am beyond disgusted with him and this whole situation.

i sincerely hope the victim is doing okay and praying for them to heal and get the justice they deserve. and remember that your love for these celebrities should always be conditional, because we do not know them. it’s their job to put on a show and show you their public persona, but behind closed doors? we don’t know what they’re actually like. we put them on a pedestal and yet we don’t know what they’re really capable of. they are still men after all. i hope the police are taking this seriously. there needs to be consequences and these women need to be protected.

let this be a lesson to all of us. they don’t know us, and we don’t know them, not really, not at all.

ALWAYS choose morals over these strangers you idolize. and as women, we should be standing with the victims.

maybe not all men, but enough of them. and maybe not all men, but somehow always a man. and going forward, i will continue to support nct as a whole with the remaining members. however, keeping the situation in mind, i will be supporting from afar for a little while. if the situation escalates and other members are investigated and new information comes to light about the rest of them either knowing or possibly being involved, it would be best to step away for good. i will do my best to stay updated. but i do hope the rest of the members are doing okay, and hopefully no other members were involved; but this, just shows that they can always surprise us. you never think it’ll be your fave, until it is.

let’s hope this causes a domino effect and more of these people are exposed and charged for the crimes they’re committing.

sending love to anyone who has ever experienced sexual violence or has been targeted and been in a similar situation. it is not your fault and it never was!

love you all and my dms are always open if you need to vent. <3

❗️EDIT: also i wanna add that we need to not praise the rest of the members or any other celebrity for simply unfollowing him on social media. that is the least of anyone’s worries.

we don’t know if they were aware, we don’t know if they knew and were protecting him or turning a blind eye. it could be them trying to save themselves and clear their guilty conscience. maybe they didn’t know and are just as shocked as we are, we don’t know that either.

we blindly trust these people and believe they have good intentions but look at where that can lead to. fans being upset is valid, yes; but remember people with money and power will do whatever it takes to sweep things under the rug and make it go away in order to save face and keep their image and reputation.

follow-up post here.

[bi-writes]

idk just thinking about seeing your lieutenant for the first time, this big giant dog of a man, and thinking to yourself, "hmmm yeah, i'm gonna make that thing mine." (18+)

like. i'm thinking about seeing him walk into the room for the first time. fresh off an op, still in all his gear. he's angry cause he's been awake off and on for 40 hours at this point, and he sinks down into a chair in the mess hall, and your eyes bug cause the chair fucking bends with his weight.

and you're just like "omg omg omg holy shit" cause this fucking brute is just huge and beefy, and you had no idea this was your type until you watched his hand curl around a cup and make it look miniature. and you're wondering like "fuck i bet those holsters are custom made" cause you don't think you've ever seen them stretch that far around someone's thigh.

ughghghghgh, and he's dumb as shit, too, or maybe he's just fucking blind. you give him every hint in the book, every indication of how you feel other than pasting a giant neon sign on your forehead that says "fuck me."

you wear the tightest cargo pants you can get. you let the buttons on your shirts go low whenever he's near. you make excuses to see him late, delivering him paperwork in the middle of the night, meeting him out for a smoke (and he's never seen you smoke anything), shuffling your way in front of him in line so you can bump into him and graze your ass against his front. he even catches you this way--even curls his hand around your waist and steadies you before letting you go impatiently.

fuck, bending over in front of him, the obnoxious giggling, the excuses to dangle your tits in his face. you want this man underneath you, on top of you, tangled around you and suffocating you with those enormous arms, and he barely side-glances at you whenever you're in his vicinity, and it's infuriating.

what do you have to do to reel this thing in? how many bones do you have to give him?

how many times do i have to flash my bra at you for you to fuck me over your desk?!

you can't eat another cherry in front of him. you can't drop more sauce onto your cleavage. you cannot come out of the showers in just a towel in front of him anymore because you're going to lose your fucking mind--

you even made out with his beloved little sergeant, his favorite little know-it-all that can't stop blowing shit up. that blue-eyed, insufferable, yapper of a scot that kisses all wet, with teeth, who pants like a puppy when he asks if he can 'ave a taste of y'r bonnie cunt, please, please, please--

and you say yes, because maybe he'll finally fucking shut up if you drown him between your thighs and never let him come up for air.

face down, ass up, cargos around your ankles, hips pushing past against that puppy's stubble as he devours you on his knees. his big hands spread your ass for him, and his thumbs flick over your folds as he opens you up, a cackle leaving him before he opens his mouth wide and kisses your pussy all sloppy and uncoordinated.

when the door swings open and hits the wall with a bang, the puppy tries to leave. he tries to move, but you reach back and grip his mohawk, scowling as you shove his face back where it belongs as your lieutenant stands at the door and heaves with anger.

"uh uh," you snap, and your sergeant on his knees whines, his blue eyes a little foggy and wet as he blinks up at you. but he complies, his tongue slurping, and you flutter your lashes at your lieutenant as you keep johnny muzzled in your cunt. "sorry, lieutenant. is this your office? must've read the sign wrong."

you reel from the contact. a big hand grips you by the hair, slamming you down against his desk, and you choke as you try and gasp for air. like a good boy, johnny settles where he is, shoving his tongue down your hole and moaning low when he realizes you're dripping down his chin now that his lieutenant has you.

"y'think this is funny, eh?" ghost mutters in your ear. "y'think i don't know wot y'r doin'? think i 'aven't caught on, think i 'aven't noticed wot a fuckin' insatiable bloody pain in my arse you've been ever since y'got 'ere?!"

you whimper, relaxing against the desk, and ghost tugs at your hair again, shaking his head.

"oi! y'don't get to be stupid just because y'r gettin' y'r cunny played with," ghost snaps. "y'r a right headache."

you laugh, getting up to your elbows, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as ghost scruffs johnny by the base of his mohawk and cups your pussy with one big hand. you gasp, leaning your head back, because finally, yes, it's all i want, please, please, please--

"'f you wanted to be my pet so bad," ghost murmurs, fitting himself behind you, leaning over your shoulder as he spits into your ear, "all ya had to do was fuckin' ask, swee'eart."

when your eyes open, ghost hums, clicking his tongue under the mask.

"use y'r words," he growls. "be a good girl, and say wot it is y'want."

"want you," you whine, and he sighs deeply, closing his eyes, and you drown out the sounds of johnny sputtering at your feet as ghost bends you at the hip a little more, arching your back.

"mmm...tha'sit. was tha' so hard?"

[riaki]

i literally cant stop thinkin’ about highschoolbully!gojo who used to be your ride or die ‘til he started getting attention from those popular jock type guys who are always assholes to everyone. and him being.. well, him means he preens under attention no matter who it’s from, so naturally he started to gravitate towards that group and their little troop of cheerleading fangirls. and then he started distancing from you and without either of you really realizing it, you’ve slipped between the other’s fingers. but the way he acts towards you makes you think he let you fall without moving a muscle to slow you down.

soon enough, a year swings by and by the end of it he’s gone from your life, save as just another face in the gaggle of boys who make crude jokes and laugh at smart kids and pop milk cartoons during lunch just for the hell of it. but you’re minding your own business, ‘cause you’re mature enough to realize that people come and go, no matter how close you might’ve been and you think it’s unfortunate that so many memories could be thrown aside in a blink of an eye, but it makes a lot of sense when you walk past satoru and his friends bullying some random kid. you don’t know him, but you’ve heard enough to realize it’s his girlfriend satoru’s flirting with while his ‘gang’ kick at the kid. and it’s sickening, but you don’t say anything when you walk by.

and when you don’t ever see the kid afterward and catch the dark eyebags under his girlfriend’s eyes, you come to the cruel realization that satoru isn’t the boy who’d bandage the scrape on your knee you got from tripping in the playground or buy you a soda because he’s noticed your sweat when you were walking home and you don’t have any money left on you.

it’s a glass half empty, half full type of situation. on the one hand, you don’t have him anymore. on the other hand, you don’t have him anymore. that is, you lost your best friend, but you’ve also lost someone who has the potential to absolutely ruin your life. and you don’t know whether to be glad or not, so you just mind your own business even if it hurts a little when he ignores you, stops tossing paper at your head in class (unless it’s to embarrass you) and stops walking you to and from school.

but the cherry on top of the shit cake is that he doesn't get it. so when he approaches you in the library one day after satiating the need to tear pages from books and make them into paper airplanes to throw at people, he doesn't seem to understand why you try to ignore him, or put off his attempts to hold a convo. but the worst part is that he's just sleazy and clueless about it. it's like he took an eraser and wiped every single year of your friendship off the chalkboard with one fell swipe, and you wish he'd done that too to the less-than-appropriate messages he and his friends had written towards one of your classmates.

he doesn't understand why you're hesitant to talk, and that's what makes it the worst. he always thinks he's in the right, and he keeps setting you off and it sucks that he knows exactly what sets you off. "i'm an asshole? what're you talking about? really, you're in over your head. you never change." he laughs, and you ignore him, and he gets bored, and he's about to leave when he spots your wallet open next to your book, on the table. there's a polaroid peeking out, and he recognizes the tufts of white hair to be him. but there's a weird feeling in his chest, and he thinks he gets it from you, so he leaves because he thinks you're weird.

and it goes on; you practically become a nobody in satoru's eyes, because of that weird, weird feeling you give him. it's unfamiliar and he's never gotten it before and he doesn't like it. but it's unavoidable when your professor pairs you two for the end-of-term project. and of course, you're ready to do all the work, because that's how it always was between you when you were kids. but sometimes he'd surprise you by helping, and he'd show you that he was actually intelligent just to earn your praise because he liked it. but he ignored you, and you did everything, and it would've been okay if not for his friends egging him on to present your entire project when the day came and leave you with no content for a grade.

that's the first time it hits him: does he really want to do that? but it's not like it'll be the first time; you've always taken the hits for him, because you're naturally smart and you'll pick yourself back up in no time, and you get why he does it, so it'll be okay. so he agrees, and he enjoys the time he gets to spend with you through it, but the nagging weird feeling that blooms in his chest like a pesky weed only grows stronger. that's all his feelings ever seem to do around you.

but before you know it, presentation day swings around. you had coffee this morning (on his card), and you're ready enough to shoot him a small smile that sends his heart a-flutter. so you go up, feeling up to the task and ready until— he starts talking, and talking, and talking, and people don't think that he's taking your words out of your mouth because he's intelligent when he wants to make you praise him and you don't get the chance to get a word in and you notice the guys are laughing and hitting each other's shoulders to themselves in the upper rows and before you know it it's over. people are clapping but moreso they're looking at you and they're whispering— but it's terribly loud and they don't bother to hide it. they call you things that shouldn't bother you but they do anyway, because it's satoru's fault, and you're such a fool for thinking you could have it your way again.

so you leave class early, excusing yourself and ignoring the way your professor gives you a distasteful look and scribbles something next to your name. you're out the door in a second, neglecting your bags and satoru's a little lost because— didn't he just do good? people were clapping, and laughing with him and not at him, but it's attention either way so he doesn't mind. so why do you? why did you look at him like he stabbed you in the back? and his friends are calling his name, and he wishes he could chase after you and do something but he doesn't.

and it's a little sickening what they do next; one of their girls grabbed your bags and tossed it to them, and they've started rifling through it as if they own it, tearing up your shit and dumping everything onto the ground and he's kind of just... glued to the chair by his feelings. his heart feels like it's been patched together and the weird fuzzy feeling he had in his chest that's been cultivating has extinguished to be replaced with something he realizes he's only ever felt when it comes to you— guilt.

he's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't realize his friend is silently offering him something— nudging his side to get his attention. he takes it without really realizing he moved his hand, and his silent friend with the gauges in his ears and the dark hair gets up and leaves without another word. when satoru looks down, he realizes he's been given your wallet. "the reward for betraying your baby," they call it. like all you're worth is the money in your account.

he's a little curious. that's how he's always been; asking you questions, rummaging through your stuff, laughing sheepishly and shaking it off when you caught him red-handed. so he opens it up, ignoring your sad little cards and the funny look on your license. he's looking for something, subconsciously; but he doesn't find it. there's no white tuft of hair to suggest his presence in your life; just empty black leather. nothing else.

and he doesn't see you after. or the following day. or the following weeks; weeks that turn into months that turn into the end of school and he's graduating but you're not by his side. and neither are his so called 'friends'; the only thing he has to their name is your own ruined friendship. it's a shame; he feels alone. very alone. no fuzzy weird feeling, not even that thing people call guilt. no attention to chase, and connections are ever harder to make. it shouldn'tve mattered that much, right? it was just a presentation. why wouldn't you just come back to him like you always did? were you not still friends...?

but the blood is still on his hands, and he doesn't manage to ever wash it off. guilt has a way of festering; of weighing on the heart 'till there's nothing left to feel or think but unfortunate circumstance and what could've been done differently. it just sucks that he never tried hard enough to keep you from slipping between his grasp. and now, he doesn't even have a polaroid to your friendship's name.

pt.2

[sttoru]

[ 𝐈 𝐁𝐄𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 ]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. the king of curses cannot fight off his primal urges and thus you suffer the consequences.

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. smut, angst (w/ comfort), p.orn with mostly plot. mäting press. choking. rough like.. condescendingly rough. objectification. toxic relationship? yes. small hint of creampiē. double cawks. reader gets called ‘slut, girl, woman’ wc: 3.9k

“look at that slutty cunt takin’ my cock. think i wanna try fitting both at once in that lil’ hole. keh,” sukuna grunts as he looks down at you from above. your legs are burning from being folded in half—matter of fact—your entire body is aching.

any normal person would call out their safeword in a situation like this. you’re overwhelmed to the point that your brain doesn’t know what to do. you’re experiencing euphoria, yet feel like your doom is right around the corner.

you’re playing with fire whenever you’re intimate with the king of curses.

it’s too addictive to stop. being his favorite concubine has given you enough motivation to push through any difficulties. any discomfort your body feels, is automatically discarded and replaced with drowning pleasure. it’s like sukuna has put a spell on you; one that’s unbreakable.

“fffnghh—my lord,” you gasp for air as one of his big hands wrap tightly around your throat. your airway is blocked, nearly crushed by sukuna’s immense force. you get a flashback to the last time he’s choked you, how sukuna nearly lost control of his own strength.

your eyes are watery as your insides follow each thrust. back and forth, in and out. it is a simple rhythm, but you cannot get enough. the harsh and sticky echoes of skin slapping against skin are nearly ear deafening. his heavy balls bounce against the plush flesh of your ass with every move, ready to unload everything they’ve stored.

“shut up,” sukuna spits, looking down at you like you’re but a mere insect. perhaps you were exactly that to him in the heat of the moment. his red eyes show that he’s losing himself. that cruel yet greedy look only intensifies with the second, “you only speak when y’re spoken to—or did y’ forget your damn place?”

you swallow your words and resort to simple moaning after you apologise, “i’m sorry, m’lord.” your blurry vision creates a trippy illusion, giving sukuna eight arms and eyes. not only are you seeing double, the feeling of ecstasy is twice as strong. you feel like you’re being ripped apart from the inside.

you can’t speak about it. you’re not allowed to open your mouth unless it’s to moan or breathe. perhaps even the latter is too much to ask. your fingers shake as they wrap around sukuna’s wrist. you try to tug at the hand that is wrapped around your throat, but your strength is gone.

your body is shaking violently with each thrust. you can’t keep up with anything that’s happening. you’re unable to process the feeling of sukuna’s second cock trying to prod its way into your cunt as well. you’re going to break — he’s going to break you.

you want to speak up and tell him you can’t take both in the same hole at once. it’s an impossible task; one can’t even fit that easily. he’s girthy and got an immense length, an inhuman one you’ve never seen before. you swear you can feel him in your tummy. the tip feeling like it's nestled right underneath your belly button.

sukuna scoffs as you tighten up around his lower cock. you’re weak; a weak human who he can’t seem to get out of his mind. he wants to exploit that obedience of yours today—to ruin you mentally and physically.

he can’t ignore those urges to ruin that what causes him weakness. he wishes to regain the power over himself again. that can only be done by consuming you, removing you from existence.

“i can’t fuckin’ stand you,” sukuna growls, his eyes darkening beyond imagination, “y’re always in the way.” you’re scared of the king of curses, which rarely happens. the last time you were afraid of his monstrous aura was during your first encounter in the woods. his manly hand squeezes your throat until you’re genuinely struggling to breathe.

there’s an unmistakable sense of danger boiling in your guts. this is the real nature of the curse named ryomen sukuna. the man above you, who’s drilling his cock into you while you’re suffering, is the real deal.

the true face of the man you thought you knew.

“i’m gonna get rid of you, y’hear? after this, y’re nothing,” sukuna pants, sweat droplets falling onto your cheeks from above. he looks like he’s internally fighting with himself. the expression on his face tells you enough. you want to reach a hand out towards his cheek and hold it.

he looks beautiful, even when he spews such serious threats at you. your cunt is burning and holding tightly onto his cock, even when you realise it may break you.

you’ve stayed for so long with him, even when you know you’ll one day die at his side or by his hands.

locks of his pink hair stick to his forehead. sweat rolls down those black tattoos. all four red eyes are burning with a carnal desire to claim you as his property—to destroy you like his property. as is his right. that’s the only way to satiate that overwhelming feeling inside of sukuna.

whenever you’re around him, he finds himself drawn by your presence. he wants you to stay by his side all day, and if you aren’t, it’s like gravity is pulling him towards you. sukuna despises it—he craves to possess you, yet also get rid of your entire being. that way he can return to his normal self. the monster he's known as.

“i’ll throw ya away—gonna get a new toy to spend more time with,” the king of curses digs his nails into the back of your knees. the tip of his upper cock glides back and forth over your clit, teasing the bundle of nerves until it’s burning. you’re losing yourself in both pleasure and pain.

the hurtful words don’t seem to affect you. you still look up at him like he’s your everything—like he’s the reason you exist. sukuna turns furious the moment he notices that his threats don’t seem to work. you’re impossible and he hates that which he cannot control.

he cuts off any air that may enter your lungs. your eyes widen and your fingers tug at his wrist so he’d let loose, but alas. you’re going to lose consciousness without a doubt. tears stream down your cheeks, though not because of the hopelessness you’re feeling.

“i do not need you anymore,” sukuna says gruffly, trying to convince himself of that statement as well. he never needed anyone else during his entire lifetime, so why would he need you? he can replace you with any another woman.

your body goes limp. sukuna’s voice is muffled as you enter a state of half consciousness. you’re at the bridge between life and death. your eyes catch a glimpse of the faint struggle in his eyes.

he looks like a monster through and through, visibly acting like one too. though you’re able to catch a glimpse of an underlying vulnerability. that part of him that always shows itself when you two are alone—making you feel special because you’re the only one allowed to witness it.

you crack a faint, weak smile. even if you perish right then and there, it’s going to be at the hands of the man you’ve learnt to love. the sorcerer who’s made you feel on top of the world, without him realising it. you’ll forever be thankful for the moments you’ve spent together.

you’ll never forget the times where sukuna has made you feel safe in those same arms that will now be your death.

a tear slides down your temple. you look sukuna in the eyes while you’re seconds away from meeting your end. you show no signs of struggle as he gives you your final command;

“die.”

you close your eyes. your fingers loosen their grip around sukuna’s wrist before you let your hand fall at your side. you’ve accepted your fate with a weary smile, honored to have sukuna be the last thing you see, “understood, my lord.”

you’ve lost feeling in all limbs and your eyelids droop. all you can do is await for death to come collect your soul. it’s dark and you can’t hear a thing anymore. you’re confused when the burning sensation in your lungs returns.

your eyes fly open the moment some oxygen is able to reach your airway again. the harsh fingers around your neck have disappeared, though not without leaving aching marks. you clutch your chest as it hurts to breathe after not being able to for the longest time.

you gasp and cough uncontrollably. you wince and blink the tears away from your eyes, refocusing your vision on the large stature detaching from your side. you’re bewildered to say the least—not realising the reason behind sukuna’s sudden change of heart. he’s sworn to get rid of you, didn’t he?

he told you to die and yet he let you live.

“fuck,” the king of curses groans after he snapped out of the dangerous state he was in. he’s panting snd staring at the hand that was once wrapped around your throat. he’s not looking at you at all.

you feel him pull out which makes you hiss. you sit up, the adrenaline helping your tired body move itself. sukuna is silent, with no emotions apparent on his face. however one thing you can conclude for sure is that he’s caught off guard by his own actions.

he can’t get it out of his head. the vision of you laying beneath him, accepting your doom as told. even on the brink of death, you oblige. you accept his every word. why? sukuna’s head is filled with unanswered questions.

you’re an enigma that he cannot solve.

“out of the way, girl,” sukuna easily shoves you to the side with one hand. he’s still not looking you in the eyes. he refuses to look in the eyes of the one woman whom he tried to kill. the sole woman who seems to accept him for who he is.

you’re the only one who’s able to understand him and yet he tried to get rid of you. perhaps he’s afraid of being understood and accepted. sukuna is fine on his own—there’s no need for anyone by his side.

you manage to get your breathing under control after a couple seconds. you’re still hyperventilating, but it’s getting better. your body shakes as you cover yourself with the sheets, your hair messily covering your vision. you reach a hand out to sukuna, curious about what’s gotten into him, “i’m, ngh- are you okay, m—”

“i said, get out,” the man raises his voice before harshly grabbing your wrist. sukuna pushes you towards the exit of his chambers. you stumble forward and manage to catch yourself by grabbing onto the nearest wall. everything is happening so fast.

you simply nod and grab your robes from the floor. you hurriedly cover yourself before stepping out of the room. you fall to your knees not two steps away into the hallway. your hand flies up to your neck, touching it as if making sure that you’re still alive.

you can’t believe sukuna spared you. if he changed his mind one second later than he originally had, you’d be a lost cause.

tears well up in your eyes as the gravity of the situation settles in. you may have accepted your fate in the heat of the moment, but now that it’s over, you’re left trembling on your own. you can’t shake off that intense look in sukuna’s eyes as he pounded you into the mattress.

he was hungry for your soul. to consume you and not leave any of your bones—to get rid of you so you’re out of his sight and mind.

you sniffle and can’t bring yourself to stand up. you’ve lost strength in your legs because the adrenaline levels in your body have dropped. you slowly crawl over the floor and hope that no one catches you in a pitiful state like this.

you manage to get a couple metres away, though soon find yourself staring at a pair of socks that come into view. you lift your head and the owner of the tabi eventually appears in sight.

“uraume,” your voice is hoarse. you make eye contact with sukuna’s personal chef as they stand before you, their expression unreadable.

the sigh they let out tells you that they’ve expected such an outcome since long ago. without a word, they reach a hand out and help you up.

. . .

it’s been a week since then. uraume has helped you recover from that unfortunate experience. the other concubines didn’t dare talk to you. they’ve noticed the change in sukuna’s behavior after that night he spent with you.

he’s gone on more rampages than he usually does. he’s been killing innocent servants who walked past him while on duty, and visiting nearby villages only to commit mass destruction. his emotions are uncontrollable at this point and no one has a clue on what to do.

the best option is to stay out of sukuna’s sight. and not to mess with you, just in case.

you’ve personally tried to approach him a couple times, but either chicken out or get totally ignored. you really want to talk it out, though it may seem impossible. you’ve evaded death once, you’re not sure if you can do that twice.

you’re currently sitting on a bench in the courtyard as uraume is applying an ointment to your throat. your neck still hurts with every move you make. the strength of sukuna’s hand is not to be underestimated, you know that.

you flinch as they rub the cold liquid over your achy skin. it helps numbing the pain, which is god sent for when you want to sleep. you can easily rest without having to suffer the unbearable discomfort in your neck muscles.

it’s a bit quiet in the garden. it isn’t unusual for uraume to be silent, but you’re aching to talk about what’s bothering you. of course, the oh-so-important subject includes no one other than the king of curses.

you sigh and start rambling about your failed attempts to reconcile your relationship with sukuna. you’re getting frustrated and sad at the situation. you want nothing more than to go back to how things were—with you receiving special treatment.

you miss his voice, his touches, his hair, his skin, his muscles, his eyes, his hugs. . . it’s all too much to bear with. you want the sukuna you know back. you don’t care if he tried to get rid of you. you’ve long understood that it was his primal, unspoken urges that had taken over his brain.

“i don’t know.. he doesn’t want to talk to me nor see me,” you shrug and pout. uraume nods and tilts your chin back gently to get the ointment in every little cranny. you stare up at the bright blue sky, the gentle breeze being comforting, both mentally and physically.

your ears pick up on footsteps behind you. heavy footsteps which you recognise as sukuna’s. you whip your head to the side, perhaps a bit too fast, causing the pain in your neck muscles to return. you hear uraume sigh as they see their hard work go to waste in under a split second.

your eyes are focused on sukuna’s large stature filling out the layout of the garden. uraume politely bows at their master after taking a few steps away from you. they don’t lift their head as sukuna walks past you both.

he doesn’t spare you a glance. it’s like you’re not there at all. you frown and pout, though know better than to make a fool out of yourself and speak up. you watch the man walk into the main building of the estate, his sharp eyes focused on the path ahead, his hands resting inside the sleeves of his black kimono.

once sukuna disappears from your vision, you sigh and slump back against the bench. you look at uraume as they move close to you again, taking a glance at your neck. you huff and cock your head to the entrance of the building, “see! that’s what i mean!”

you’re clearly fed up. you just want to make up. you don’t care about the fact that he nearly killed you in that moment. you simply desire to feel that connection between the two of you again. a complicated relationship with its many ups and downs. it may be toxic, but you crave it.

uraume hums at your worries. they radiate a sense of peace that inevitably calms you down as well. they take a quick glance at the direction where sukuna was last seen. they’ve been serving him ever since decennia back—way before you became his concubine.

they’ve never seen him this conflicted, but they don’t tell you that. uraume looks back at you with a simple nod, trusting that you’ll be fine. if your life has been spared when sukuna was in such an indescribable irrational state of mind, then there’s nothing to worry about.

you’re the only one who’s ever escaped death by his hands. that is an incredible feat by itself.

uraume rubs the oil over your neck again, getting the last spots as they reassure you with one simple sentence; “i’m sure lord sukuna simply requires some time alone.”

. . .

you take uraume’s comment seriously. if sukuna needed time, you’ll give him as much space as possible. and thus it’s been another week ever since then.

it’s a sunday night and you can’t sleep. you get up from your futon and wrap a simple blanket around your body. you can’t be bothered to brush your hair or look proper. no one will be up during this ungodly hour anyway.

you sneak out of your chambers and walk down the long hallways. you slide the door to the courtyard open and step out onto the pavement after putting on your geta. it’s a chilly night with a full moon, perfect weather to take a breather.

you walk around the familiar scenery and crouch down near a patch of flowers. they’re your favorites. sukuna had personally ordered his servants to plant them in the garden after he found out you like them. the memory brings a fond smile to your face.

such small yet meaningful actions never fail to melt your heart. it’s another reason why you want to make up with sukuna. you want to help with whatever he’s struggling with, however you know that man will never accept the aid.

you wish to support him at the very least. you want to show your devotion to him, if that already wasn’t clear to him.

you sigh and stand up. you’re caught up in your own thoughts to realise that someone’s been watching you the entire time. you walk straight forward until you reach the koi pond. you stare at the fish as they float in the clear water.

you wish you could be as carefree as them. you turn around to walk back to your room after it’s getting a bit too cold. you did not expect to bump your head against a hard surface. “ow,” you rub your forehead and look up.

there he stands; the man you’ve been dying to see and speak to. sukuna stares down at you without uttering a word, his sharp eyes finally looking into yours.

“ry— my lord,” you stammer, switching to a more polite stance. you’re thrilled, but the excitement quickly dies down as you remember uraume’s words; he needs time. you don’t want to disturb him, as much as you want to jump into his arms. you bow your head at him, “have a good night.”

your heart hurts as you force yourself away from sukuna. you step away from him and look at the ground as you walk. simply seeing him from up close again has been enough for now. though, your body yearns for more.

a simple touch will suffice. . .

you’re surprised when you feel a tug at the blanket around your shoulders. you stumble back and nearly fall on your bum if it wasn’t for sukuna holding you up. you feel an arm sneak around your waist from behind, surprisingly gentle. much gentle than ever before.

sukuna lowers his head to whisper in your ear. he lets his wet tongue slide over the shell, nibbling at the skin as if reminding himself of your taste, “stay.”

it’s an order, that you can tell. you’re weak for him and thus you obey without a single sign of protest. you feel a sudden sharp sting on the side of your neck which makes you remember what caused it. sukuna seems to notice the same thing.

it’s been getting better, but you still randomly get tingles near your neck area when you move it around too much. you silently push through the pain, which only lasts about a few seconds.

sukuna doesn’t comment on it, but takes a mental note of the sight. he’s recalling that time when you’ve nearly died at his hands. his eyes darken at the memory. he’s been trying to process the fact that he’s lost control over himself. those dark urges had taken over his mind and body, nearly consuming him whole.

they’re still hidden inside him—the desires to possess you, crush you, consume and devour your heart, body and soul. they intensify when you’re with him. it doesn’t happen with anyone else.

sukuna still cannot comprehend why you. what does that feeling in his stomach mean whenever he’s with you? it’s irritating, because it confuses him. confusing things which he doesn’t hold the answer over, annoy the king of curses.

an urge to claim someone as his forever, going as far as to want to consume them, is a new feeling to sukuna. it’s an unhealthy obsession that’s started because of you.

is that what humans call love?

he’s thought about it. perhaps, that is the case. but it must be a different type of love—one that’s so overwhelming that it’s dangerous. for both parties involved.

sukuna sighs. thinking about emotions and feelings isn’t his forte—it never really was. it’s stupid and foolish. and yet sukuna feels like a true king whenever you’re with him. your devotion to him sends shivers down his spine in a good way.

it showed two weeks ago. he saw how you accepted your position; your death. it turns him on to see you so submissive and obedient. maybe that’s also a reason why he nearly lost his mind that day.

lust is a scary thing.

sukuna’s lips avoid your neck. he rests his forehead on top of your shoulder, simply standing still against you from behind. the chilly breeze is long forgotten as his large stature protects you from the cold air. you don’t even need your blanket anymore.

you smile in content as you finally get what you want. you don’t even need an apology. hell—you don’t even need any words. this moment is more than enough to rebuild your relationship with the man behind you.

“y’re not going anywhere, yeah?” sukuna says in a low and possessive tone. it’s another command you follow without hesitation. he’s never going to tell you directly, but the lack of your presence has definitely been felt. now that he has you, his favorite concubine, he’s not going to lose you again. he won’t allow it.

you nod at sukuna��s words with a chuckle. you’re happy to be back in his warm embrace. you know that sukuna isn’t one to talk about his own inner turmoil, so you don’t push it.

those dark urges of his are to be discussed another day, if sukuna allows it. for now, this fleeting moment is more than enough. you reply to his order as you always do, to any command that leaves his lips;

“understood, my lord.”

[tender-rosiey]

desire — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: me? not sticking to the poll? no wayyy 😙 I AM SORRY I COULDNT RESIST HEIAN!SUKUNA X CONCUBINE!READER next up will be the dad one (I hope) <3

the servants jump in fear as they hear yet another loud crash thunder through the hallway. some of them even latch onto the pillars near them, fearing that the shaking ground would crumble right under their feet.

“uraume, another one!” they hear their lord’s voice shout venomously.

they realize that if the collapsing ground doesn’t kill them then there is a possibility that sukuna might do it himself.

for some reason, this morning, sukuna has been in a terrible mood. with the first ray of sunlight, he had slammed the door of the chambers open.

with an ever-permanent scowl, he scanned the hall filled with concubines and servants.

his chest was heaving slowly; his breath almost scalding hot as he breathed out. he looked at uraume and says, “I need five people sent to the vacant room this instant.”

with no other word, he turned and exited the hall, closing the door with a bang.

the servants were wide-eyed, and they frantically looked at each other.

some of them started weeping, scared out of their minds that they might be chosen. others were considering the option of fleeing because what can they do so uraume doesn’t choose them for whatever massacre sukuna was planning?

uraume exhaled lightly, “you have heard lord sukuna,” they stared at the myriad of quivering servants, emotionless, “stand in line.”

and so it was.

now, on the other side of the door is sukuna crushing the skull of yet another servant. he breathes heavily, fury flowed through his veins.

he stares at the pool of blood on the ground, the splatters of it on the walls, and the splashes of it on the ceiling. his jaw tightens as he thinks of the reason of why all of this happened.

yesterday was the first night he had ever spent with you.

of course, that entailed bedding you—the norm for your position—but what had sukuna in a turmoil was the conversations, the words exchanged, and soft touches you had given him before anything.

he had seen you in the estate on occasion, acknowledging you as one of the better looking concubines, but it was only yesterday that he actually interacted with you.

from the moment you entered his room to the moment you left, it was all like none other.

he had never entertained the idea of making conversations with his concubines as they only had one purpose—to serve him. on days when he was in a good mood, he would tease, speak lowly, anything to get a reaction.

all of that was to fuel his own pleasure, since he hated stagnancy.

to your luck, though, yesterday, he felt very pleased—whispers of it being caused by defeating yet another considerably strong opponent. so, he talked to you.

“so, what’s your name?” he asked, small smirk playing on his face, when you were first brought into the room. pretty little thing you were seated in front of him, eyes not knowing where to look and trying to keep in mind all the instructions uraume told you.

he expected you to be meek, bordering on shy.

however, despite maintaining humility as you were told, you spoke your name with pride, and for the first time since you entered, you looked him in the eyes.

he should’ve had you killed for that little act; however, he noted that you immediately averted your eyes after it. perhaps, it’s your way of screaming ‘remember me’, a way to engrave yourself into his memory even for a millisecond.

it had sukuna smiling smugly before commenting, “you’re quite bold…and peculiar,” he rested his chin on his palm, “did they not inform you to not look me in the eyes unless you’re told to?”

you straightened your shoulders and spoke carefully, “I was, but I was taught by my parents to be prideful of who I am.”

“and pride is a good thing for servant to display in front of their king?”

your eyebrows furrowed, and you pursed your lips, mumbling, “no—but I was born like this, my lord, so I apologize.”

he chuckled, hand holding your face and moving it with ease, “I should have you decapitated for that attitude.”

your eyes drifted to the window, but the nail that sunk lightly into your cheek snapped you back to reality. sukuna scowled, “look at me when I speak to you.”

“didn’t you say that I am not to do that, my lord?” you asked, looking him straight in the eyes.

“I changed my mind,” he grined devilishly, “you complaining?”

“I could never.”

he leaned closer to you and whispers, “smart girl.”

and so, the night went as he took you for himself. what surprised him in the whole ordeal is that he found himself being just a tad bit gentler when tears prickle at the corner of your eye.

he actually spoke to you through it, but what resonated with him the most is what happened after.

you slowly gathered your robes with all the strength you can muster. however, sukuna called out from his position on the bed, “did I order you to leave?”

you blinked in confusion and spluttered, “b-but uraume said that you don’t like—”

“and my orders are above uraume’s: you are to stay until I tell you to leave.”

you clutched your belongings to your chest. you felt your heart squeeze in a bit of fear and excitement. you have been caught off guard by him more than once already.

you had come in expecting a ruthless and painful night, but it was surprisingly pleasant.

the little talk before it was also easier on your heart than you had assumed. you thought that he wouldn’t even bother talking to you and would just take you like an animal as you have heard the concubines bellow and wail.

so when a thumb was wiping away your tears and a hand was holding your waist with a light touch, you wondered whether the man you were with was truly the king of curses, the man that everybody was screaming and thrashing about.

though, you felt that it might be a test of some sort—something to make you lower your guard before he can do what he truly wanted.

so, with that in mind, you spoke up, “but my lord, I can’t possibly stay in your own chambers; that would be disrespecting you.”

he grunted, a frown making its way to his face, “I decide what’s disrespectful and what isn’t, so you better make your way here, before you regret it,” his eyes flashed with a threat, “I don’t have the time to deal or put up with your every objection.”

instantly, you scurried to the bed where he is comfortably laying down while propping body up on his elbow.

you stood just by the bed and asked, “where would you like me to—”

his hand held your forearm and pulled you right beside him, so you’re laying by his side and still looking up at him. he smirked down at you, “you ask too many questions.”

you didn’t know what to do with your hands. they gripped your kimono while you murmured, “sorry.”

he sighed and with a roll of his eyes, he hummed, “you will stay with me until midnight; you are to entertain me until then.”

you looked at him in shock then you looked at the window. your mouth hung open before you snapped your head back to him, “but the sun has only just set.”

with a raise of his eyebrows and a small smirk, he inquired, “you planning on disobeying me?”

“never!”

“then get to it.”

and you did, gathering all the stories, anecdotes, poems, and songs you can think of to fill the time. during your hours with him, you find out that sukuna is a man of interest in literature.

and there were multiple times where you would talk about a story, assuming that he doesn’t know it only for him to continue the telling of the story himself.

during your hours with him, you saw that he is not completely disregarding of people around him. you saw that he acknowledges those who are truly strong. you saw that he wants to make a world that is whipped to satisfy his own desires.

his rampages are not completely based off of bloodlust.

during your hours with him, you felt content in a way you never thought you could experience with him of all people.

but, during his hours with you, sukuna has never felt so conflicted yet so satisfied. satisfaction should be something good for him, as he only does what he pleases.

if your company is what pleases him then your company shall be what he gets, right?

but why your company? why are you different? why is his pleasuring dependent on you and your talking and not the death that he could bring you?

he was confused and annoyed, yet he was content at the same time. he was so caught up in you that midnight had fallen to him suddenly. he only noticed when the moon’s light hits your face, and your face has never been clearer—even under the sun.

he noted each and every delicate feature, and he frowned because why is he doing it? what does he get from it? he needed time for himself to think this through.

he needed to know why does he feel this way and only from a night spent with you?

surely, you had done something.

so, he silently raised his hand, and you paused right away. your hands settled on your lap, and your smile slowly turned into a thin line, one that’s nervous as you await his next order. he looked up at you, eyes burning.

he then commanded you sternly, “leave.”

you nodded, wasting no time in gathering your things and scurrying out of the chambers but without a small and hesitant, “good night, my lord.”

sukuna’s eyes widened a fraction as he looked up at the door closing behind you. he groaned, throwing his back. he figured that he could just think about it in the morning when he wakes up, but the thing is

he doesn’t wake up

because he doesn’t sleep.

thoughts flooded with images of you, your voice, and your touch to the point that no slumber was he granted. it drove him insane. he is the king of curses; he shouldn’t be tied to a thought of one person, a mere concubine at that.

he racked his brain for the cause of it, but he couldn’t think of any. since the moment you came in till the moment you went out, he had kept his eyes on you.

he thought it was to make sure that you don’t do anything foolish, but he doesn’t know when did his eyes follow you just for you.

so, with anger swirling in his gut, he got up and did what he can to quench his anger, and that’s how everything got this point:

him standing in the middle of the—formerly vacant—room that is now filled with flesh and painted with blood and you who is treading through the gardens with a blissful smile.

your thoughts wander to the night before as you reminisce every soft touch and every little praise you were granted, and it lifts your mood even more.

unaware of the chaos that happened in your absence, you entered the hall where half of the people have disappeared.

your eyebrows furrow, and you look at the weeping ladies, “where are the rest?”

hiccups are all you hear, and eyeshot eyes are what you see. their sobs are unseizing even as they look you in the eye. you hear light footsteps behind you, so you turn and see uraume standing at the door.

they look you in the eye, “are you y/n?”

you nod slowly, and they hum, “lord sukuna has requested for your presence.”

you light up considerably while the other concubines shake in fear as their eyes dart to you. one of them jumps out of her place and latches at you, “no! no! don’t go! he will—”

“silence!” uraume snaps.

the lady holding onto you quickly lets go and crawls back to hide behind the others.

she grips tightly onto the shoulder of the woman in front of her, tears streaming down her face as she is faced with uraume’s sneer.

uraume looks up at you and affirmed, “go.”

after a while, you finally find yourself face to face with the entrance of sukuna’s chamber.

you take a deep breath, and you carefully push the door and speak up softly, “my lord, you called for me?”

you feel a hand roughly clutch your arm and snatches you inside. you are then slammed against the wall. you let out a yelp as pain shoots up your spine.

you squeeze your eyes shut, afraid of the sight that you will see.

and even though you can’t see his eyes, you can feel the heat from his glare. the venom dripping from his voice doesn’t help as he sneers, “what have you done?”

you force your eyes open slowly, and you stutter, “w-what?”

a hand flies to your throat and is wrapped securely around it. you choke out a small, “my lord!”

his grip tightens, and you feel tears form in your eyes and flow down your face.

more than ever, you feel the fear that his looming figure sends through everybody else, you feel the fire of his red eyes scorch your skin, and you feel the aura that everybody talked about.

an overwhelming evil.

“I don’t understand what game you’re playing, but you better stop it this instance,” he threatens, and you let out a sob.

“what game, my lord? I don’t understand!” you manage to choke out.

your hear him let out a breath before he says lowly, “I have told you that desires and pleasures are fluctuating, right?”

fearing for your life, you nod desperately. you feel his grip loosen, and he leans down to rest his forehead on your own.

with furrowed brows and a deep scowl, his eyes bore into your own as he holds your face up with his other hand, “then why do I still desire you?”

you blink owlishly at him then speak cautiously, “didn’t you say that you take what you desire?”

he raises an eyebrow, urging you to continue. slowly and hesitantly, you raise your hand to cup his face.

you look him up in the eyes, and you find them following your every moment. “then what’s wrong with,” you hesitate, “with taking this one?”

you look innocent as you look up at him, but to him, your words are nothing but.

with a low chuckle, he pulls your face closer to his own, “temptress,” and he seals your lips with his.

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will send yuuta after you

[targaryen-dynasty]

SET ME ALIGHT AGAIN.

Cregan Stark x female!Targaryen!Reader (Part 2 here)

"It was on request of your younger brother's small council that Lord Cregan Stark agreed to take you to the North with him to prevent you from succumbing to grief like your aunt did. And now it's at his hands that the haze in your eyes is replaced by an emotion you haven't felt in so long, an emotion he’s giving back to you. And you let it flood you."

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; p in v, oral (fem receiving), angst (?), breeding kink, size kink, size difference, romantic fucking in front of the fireplace, afab reader, post dance of the dragons

WORDS: 4.8 K

NOTES: I dedicate this to @sylasthegrim. You're not only one of the few people I really grew fond of in the short time we truly got to know each other, but since both our minds basically came down to the same idea, this is for you! Thanks for beta reading this. 💕

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

You’ve been in Winterfell for a moon’s turn by now, and have quickly noticed that the ancestral castle possesses a beauty and calmness the Red Keep can be jealous of. But even that isn’t enough to make you feel at home – as if you could ever call a place your home again. Not after you’ve witnessed almost everyone in your family, no matter whether you liked them or not, perish at the hands of each other. 

It was on request of your younger brother, now dubbed King Aegon the third, or rather of his small council that Lord Cregan Stark agreed to take you to the North with him to prevent you from succumbing to grief like your aunt did. And while you’re grateful for the chance to flee the one place that has caused you more hurt than good, riding in a carriage up to the far North like a commoner wasn’t exactly pleasant. 

But how else should you have gotten there when your precious mount died along its kind as the common people stormed the Dragonpit?

For the past month, you’ve very rarely seen the sun – or anyone else than your maids. 

Your days are spent in your chambers, not leaving the safety of the Guest House as you often try to find the sleep you can’t seem to get at night. And during the night, when the Hour of the Owl strikes and no light other than that of the moon reaches Winterfell, one often finds you wandering the quiet halls of the castle. Sometimes one even spots you outside in the Godswood, regardless of the low temperatures that make the three pools fed by an underground hot spring look even more inviting. 

But warmth and comfort are never what you’re after. 

You feel incredibly daring tonight, sitting beneath the ancient weirwood tree on one of its roots. Although there is a thick fur coat draped around your frame, the thin nightgown beneath does not allow you to be kept as warm as one usually desires, your bare feet hidden inside of the coat not a big help either. 

Tiptoeing barefoot through the snow was the hardest part, but it was worth it as it gave you exactly what your body longs for. 

You’re far too absorbed by the reflection of the moon dancing on the pool of black water beneath the tree, and the peaceful allure of the snow-covered night that you don’t notice you’re not alone anymore.  

“Princess?” a husky voice rings out from the shadows, one you’d even recognize in a room full of loud and drunken men. 

Almost as if he doesn’t want to startle you, the tall frame of the Lord of Winterfell approaches you without any sudden moves, becoming more visible with the moonlight shining down on him. “What are you doing out here this late?”

Only when he’s stopping not far away from you do you avert your eyes from him to the water again. “I could ask you the same, Lord Stark,” you reply softly. 

A chuckle rumbles in his chest at your remark, and you can’t help the tint of heat hearing it brings to your cheeks. “Indeed you could,” he says. “I have not slept well, and the night has a peaceful allure. But you should not be out in the open without any guards, especially not this late at night.”

You drag your index finger through the snow at your side, drawing a mindless pattern in the dark as you do not pay any mind to his words. “And why is that, Lord Stark?” you ask, a certain snarkiness to your tone. “There is nothing worse that could happen to me than what I have already endured.”

Cregan sighs, and even in the dim light you can make out that he’s scratching his stubble covered chin. “And yet, should something else happen to you, I would not like myself for neglecting you and not protecting you just as I have sworn to the king,” he explains. “Besides, there is a cold chill in the air that I can not believe you are not feeling right now.”

“Perhaps that is the answer you’ve been looking for, my lord,” you mumble. “Perhaps I came here to feel something.”

The Wolf of the North doesn’t immediately answer you. Instead, there lingers a pause between you. But it’s not uncomfortable or feels as though it doesn't pass, no, you find yourself to actually enjoy his company. 

His next words, however, even surprise you as you didn’t think he was capable of it. “Feeling the cold of the snow has its way to make one feel alive, that much is true,” he agrees, and then looks up to the dark sky. “You wish to feel something else than the pain of the absence of the people you’ve lost in this war, I understand… I think.”

His words make the feeling of emptiness, the hollowing ache of loss just worse, while at the same time, he seems to know the feeling of craving pain when you’re just so used to it. 

“This cold bite, the chill that lingers on the skin — no one should want to feel it, Princess. It makes even my bones shake, do you know that? Surely you must be shivering, and we should be getting you inside. I should be getting you inside.”

You know he‘s right. While his words are blunt in nature, they are very much that of truth. You shouldn’t be out here, nor should you want to be out here. There‘s nothing to enjoy about this cold chill and the snow, not when you‘re as sparsely dressed as you are. You‘re not yet used to the chill of Winterfell, of the North. 

Cregan offers you his hand, but you‘re still hesitant to take it. Albeit you reach out, your significantly smaller hand hovers over his, not yet grabbing it. “You‘re not exactly wearing proper attire to be out in this wretched cold for very long,“ he remarks. “Let me help you get up, your feet must be in agony by now.“

“And what if I don‘t want to?“

“Then I will still get you up.“ There is a tinge of amusement in his voice now, seeing this little bit of rebelliousness from you, your strength of mind. Even if he doesn’t exactly approve of it. “I shall simply pick you up myself, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you inside to your chambers, even though I‘d get you quite angry and don‘t imagine you want me to do just that.“

You don’t believe he actually has the gumption to do something like that at first, although you know he’s able to muster a decent amount of strength that would easily allow him to lift you up. But then, you wonder if he would truly do it if challenged. “Try that, if you dare, my lord.”

He lets out a snort of amusement, enjoying the teasing that slowly shapes between you two. It still is a challenge, and as a man of his station, he could never let words like this go unspoken. “Oh, I dare, Princess.” 

Putting forth his arm, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and easily pulls you forwards onto your feet without applying too much pressure. You’re certainly caught off guard by his actual willingness to lift you up, and a squeal escapes your lips before you’re tossed on his strong shoulder as if you are some silly, helpless girl. 

Cregan carries you through the Godswood and towards the Guest House, though you don’t resist too much as you’re hanging there over his shoulder – a part of you is grateful you don’t have to walk through the snow with your bare feet once more. 

“Lord Stark, put me down at once!” you demand with a little twinge of laughter in your voice. You feel so light, much lighter than you imagine he’s used to lifting up, almost as if it’s taken all of the pressure off your shoulders. 

But when there doesn’t come an answer from him, you grow slightly frustrated. “What if anyone sees, you madman!” you remark, embarrassment warming your cheeks. 

“Madman? That’s rich coming from the woman who was willing to freeze to death in the snow,” he says jokingly, approaching the large doors. “Who do you think could see us at this hour, princess? The rats? And what if they do? What if someone sees me carrying the poor princess, who had the gall to get out of her bed after midnight and wander the Godswood while in her nightgown?” Although there is amusement in his voice, you also notice the faintest hint of flirtation laced within. “Will they judge me for carrying her, or would they judge her for her imprudent midnight excursion?”

You stay silent thrown over his shoulder, not sure how to reply. You thought you had a good comeback, but it seems Cregan is one step ahead of you. The flirtatious teasing you’ve heard catches you off guard, not expecting to hear it from him at all. It makes your cheeks flush with even more embarrassment when you notice that he’s actually right. But you don’t want to admit the truth in what he’s said. 

“You mock me, but you shall see there would be much scandal if someone were to see this,” you retort, trying to keep calm as you’re now a little bit flustered by these sudden developments. “Besides,” you say, trying to remain unbothered and nonchalant, “who says I won’t tell a tale of you being the imprudent one?”

“Ah, you little rascal,” Cregan replies with a chuckle, giving your thigh a tight squeeze. “I see you’d find a way to turn the tides and have it end up with me being the bad guy, taking my chances on a vulnerable woman in the guise of protecting her.”

You’re clearly enjoying the teasing a tad too much, enjoying these quick and witty back-to-backs with him, taking your mind off of your grief. Drawing in a deep breath, you hold onto Cregan’s thick coat. “What would you have been protecting me from, Lord Stark?” you ask with feigned innocence. “Were the trees too menacing that you just had to sweep me off my feet to carry me away from their clutches?”

“No, I am afraid it was not the trees that had me worried, Princess,” Cregan replies as he brings you further into the Guest House, easily opening the door to the sleeping quarters with one hand. “The cold was the greater menace, and it had you in its grasp.”

Your words die in your throat when he puts you down on your bed, the soft furs very welcomed beneath your cold feet. You look up at him with wide eyes and a heaving chest as he towers over your significantly smaller frame, and you wait for him to make the next move. 

There’s a moment of silence between you, obviously he’s considering his next words. 

And boy do they disappoint you. “I shall make sure a fire is lit for you to warm yourself, princess,” he says, turning around to approach the hearth on the other side of the room. 

Cregan crouches down to build and start a small fire in the hearth that should last the night, not wanting you to stay too cold. But you wouldn’t be a thoroughbred dragon if it didn’t mean for you to take any risks. And so you get onto your cold feet, the coat still draped around your shoulders sliding down to the ground. 

Feeling a bit too exposed too quickly, you grab one of the thick fur blankets laying on your bed instead and wrap it around your frame, before you tiptoe towards the large wolf kneeling in front of the fireplace. 

“I have something different in mind,” you speak softly. Cregan, startled by your words and your sudden approach, turns around and faces you as he rises to his feet. You reach and bury your hands in the collar of his coat, the blanket falling to the ground in the process, and when you use your grip to pull him close, you find that he does not shy away in the least – if anything, he follows the tug to connect your lips in a heated kiss. 

He brings his large hands to your waist with ease, and presses his body against yours. The wolf feels like he’s drowning in you, in your lips, your warmth, your presence and scent. Wanting to lose himself in the moment, in you, his hands wander lower to your hips. 

“I did not expect you to do this tonight,” he breathes against your lips, breaking the silence. 

“And I did not expect some things from you tonight either,” you reply, breathlessly, voice breaking with every breath you take. “Is that a bad thing?”

His voice is low and smooth as he speaks, shaking his head. “Quite the contrary.” There is a flirtatious smile on his lips, and a playfulness you haven’t seen before in his gray eyes. It’s as if that small spark between you has quickly evolved into an inferno that now burns bright in the both of you. 

It’s a fierce and burning kiss when your lips connect once more, fueled by the fires coursing through your veins. You release a soft whimper with his large paws trailing over your sides, feeling the fabric of your nightgown. 

“If we continue this, I won’t be able to stop myself,” he rasps.

You tilt your head back to look at him, a cheeky grin on your lips. “Perhaps I do not want you to.”

Cregan’s eyebrows raise at your reply, and you feel his hands tighten around your waist once more. He can’t help but feel a jolt of arousal run down his back, which prompts him to release a low chuckle. “Well, if you wish for it that much…” he whispers in response, before pulling you back toward him, kissing you passionately. 

A breathless chuckle slips past your lips as you pull back from him, licking your kiss swollen lips. “But there are a few things we need to get you out of first,” you tease, tugging at the thick, furry coat that’s draped over his broad shoulders. 

“Are you this eager to have your hands over all of me?” he replies with a flirtatious smirk, but still unclips the coat and lets it fall to the ground. He doesn’t mind you seeming quite intent to get him out of his armor, allowing you to fumble with the clasps and buckles, and eventually helps you remove the heavy bits until he’s left wearing nothing but his breeches. But even those are quickly unlaced by you, left to be a puddle around his feet. 

“My my, do you not feel a little too hot still, Lord Stark?” you tease, letting your fingers wander over his exposed stomach. You can’t help but feel warmth creeping onto your cheeks as you see him in such little clothing, so exposed. He’s a muscular man, tall and large, and the sight of his bare skin with the dark of hair on his chest and a trail of it running below his undergarments is a welcoming one. 

Through the linen you see that he’s already hard and begging, waiting for you to take things further. Truly a shame you seem to relish in the teasing. 

Goosebumps prickle on his skin in the wake of your finger, making you smile. You drag your finger along the waistband of his undergarments, hooking it beneath to tug on it. He knows what you desire, and he’s not ashamed to give you just that. “I do not see you so eager to remove your own clothes, Princess,” he teases, undoing the laces in the front for his undergarments to join his breeches. “It is hardly fair you want to see all of me, yet I am not allowed to do the same.”

You take in a sharp breath at the sight of his hard cock, standing to full attention. It has you licking your lips. Batting your eyelashes at him, you’re quick to pull your nightgown over your head, a smirk on your lips. A flimsy piece of linen conceals what lies between your legs, but it’s still enough for him to all but devour your almost bare frame. 

“There,” you whisper, “now we are on equal grounds.”

Cregan takes a moment to look over you, licking his lips at the sight of your breasts fully exposed mto him. He knows you’re no maiden who’s completely untouched, you wouldn’t be as confident if you were, but it doesn’t stop him from appreciating the sight in front of him. 

“Equal grounds, truly?” he asks you, taking a step toward you. One arm snakes around your waist, pulling you against him, as his other hand fists the linen of your smallclothes. “I think you still have an advantage over me, Princess. Because I have yet to see what lies beneath your undergarments.”

Your palms rest flatly against his chest, and you press a chaste kiss to his skin. “I will not stop you, Lord Stark,” you whisper, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. 

“Then let’s make these ‘equal grounds’ a little bit more equal, hm?” Cregan whispers as well. He sinks to his knees with his mouth trailing a path down your body, licking and kissing over your skin until he reaches your navel. His large hands trail over your sides and thighs on his way down, the movement and sight making your breath hitch in your throat. 

A shudder ripples through your body as he tugs your smallclothes down your legs, and while you watch him with your hands buried in his dark curls, his eyes are all but focused on what’s between your legs. 

He drapes one of your legs over his broad shoulder, his dark blown eyes darting up to meet yours, and before you can make any teasing remark, his mouth is on you. A gasp catches in your throat. “Cregan, please,” you whimper, forgetting all courtesies the moment his tongue drags through your slit. There’s no softness, no gentleness in the way he all but devours your cunt, the previous teasing having made his patience run thin. 

Your head tips back in pleasure as his tongue alternates between sliding into you and swirling around your pearl, noticing both options have you grind your hips against his face. The tip of his nose rubs so perfectly against your pearl when his mouth pays attention to your entrance, and Cregan’s fingers dig into your flesh with your body tensing up already, keeping you steady. 

The Wolf of the North growls against your cunt as if he’s truly turned into one, devouring you with all he’s got, the sheer pleasure brought by his tongue and lips taking over you. 

As you look down at him again, you find him already staring up at you, watching you carefully as you slowly but surely unravel on his tongue. It’s intense, but you’re captivated enough not to break eye contact. 

“Gods, yes, I–” you whimper, and fall apart all over his tongue with a shudder. If it wasn’t for Cregan’s paws on your body, you would have lost balance by now, especially with the way he seemed to work his tongue in and out of you faster just in rhythm to his nose rubbing your pearl. 

He pulls away from you slowly as your peak subsides, and with his beard and lips glistening with the remnants of your arousal, how could you not pounce on him right then and there?

He supports his body with one arm placed on the ground and stretches his legs as you push yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his strong neck. The taste of yourself on his tongue makes you moan against his lips before you deepen the kiss. 

Cregan’s hard cock is nestled between your bodies, and you can’t resist wrapping your hand around it, stroking him once, twice, before you shift your hips and slowly sink down on him. 

Muscular arms completely wrap around your waist, making you very well aware of the size difference between the two of you. You’re significantly smaller than him, and relish in the feeling of being safe and protected with him around. You two haven’t been too close upon your arrival in the North, but it seems that there has been a hidden attraction lingering for quite some time. 

You know your hips would sooner or later become sore from pumping him with your core, hence you stick to rocking your hips back and forth with his cock stuffed deep inside you. It’s intimate and slow, but with the coarse hairs around the base of his cock dragging over your pearl with each swivel of your hips, you’re still racing for completion. 

While he mouths along your jaw and the curve of your throat, one of his hands comes up to cup your breast. Rolling the perky bud between his index finger and thumb, the slight sting works wonders to amplify the pleasure coursing through your veins. 

“By the Seven,” you whimper, grinding your hips against him with more determination. 

There comes a sharp hiss in return from him, barely audible between the open mouthed kisses he presses to your collar bones. You’re clawing at his shoulders and neck by now, scratching it despite the sensuality of your movements, and it feels as though you’re even drawing blood. But he doesn’t care about that – he rather enjoys having a woman that doesn’t hold back. 

Trailing his lips up to your throat, he nudges your chin with his nose, prompting you to tip your head back. “It’s not them you need to pray to right now, Princess,” Cregan rasps, a clear strain to his voice. “But perhaps I should take that as a compliment, hm?”

His words cause you to chuckle, and you’re grateful that he’s quickly distracted by kissing your throat again, because otherwise he might have noticed the heat his words bring to your cheeks. “If that is…” you trail off panting, burying your hand in his curls to tug his head back, forcing him to look up at you. The sight of his dark blown eyes hungrily gazing at you sends a shiver down your spine. You feel desired. “If that is a compliment, then I shall have to say it much more often.”

You’re not sure if it’s the fact you state wanting to compliment him more often, or if he’s just not used to having an appreciative lover in general, but your words seem to flip a switch inside of him. You quickly find yourself lowered on the fur blankets, warming your back while the flames heat up your skin and Cregan your blood. 

Nestled between your legs, he’s growing more determined now, the sensual rocking of your hips clearly not enough for him, but you don’t mind it. As much as you enjoy being in control, setting the tone, you also revel in following the lead. 

He’s propped up on one elbow, supporting himself as he thrusts into you, rolling his hips that make his cock drag so expertly against the sweet spot inside of you. 

With one hand, you hold onto his broad shoulder, digging your nails into his skin, while the other gropes at his chest, teasing his bud just like he’s done with yours before. The feeling of his coarse hairs beneath your fingers feels somewhat strange at first, for Aemond hasn’t had as much chest hair as Cregan does, but it’s also comforting. 

The familiar coil in the pit of your belly tightens slowly with his hips snapping into yours over and over again, split open by his hard cock.  

“Will you fill me up, my lord?” you moan breathily, arching your back with your breasts pressing against his sturdy frame. 

Cregan releases a choked groan at the question, and for a moment you can feel his hips stutter. You briefly wonder if you’ve pushed your luck too far, especially with him not replying immediately, until his raspy voice cuts through the heavy pants and moans. 

“Only if you let me take you to wife, Princess.” 

You inevitably clench down around him as a small, hiccuped gasp catches in your throat, resulting in Cregan drawing in a sharp breath. The haze in your eyes is replaced by an emotion you haven't felt in so long, an emotion he’s now giving back to you. And you let it flood you. 

Your hand comes from his chest to his biceps, holding onto it as you gather your thoughts. His hips haven’t slowed down one bit, and he’s truly expecting you to answer as if he wasn’t repeatedly impaling you on his cock right now. 

Staring up at him with wide eyes, your voice isn’t any louder than a whisper. “It would be foolish of me to turn this offer down,” you reply.

An impish smirk dances along Cregan’s features. “Is that meant to be a yes?”

“Y-Yes, it is, “ you whimper beneath him, arching your back once more. 

The warmth of his body, his weight and scent cloud your every being, and his thrusts are determined and harsh enough to render you speechless, your mind and body completely claimed by him. 

His hand snakes between your bodies, aiming for your sensitive pearl. Though the coarse hair around his cock has granted you at least a bit of friction, it’s not enough to bring you to your peak. His thumb circles over the little bud, fully coated with your arousal, and the thread in your belly is close to snapping. 

“Then I just might,” he grunts in return. 

Your body jerks at the sudden touch, but his muscular frame between your legs is enough to keep you pinned to the ground. “I need you… Cregan,” you whimper, bringing a hand behind his head to pull him down for a heated kiss. Your lips hardly part to release whimpers and moans, swallowing each other’s sounds of pleasure without any shame. “Let me give you a spare.”

It appears that your words give him a new-found vigor that leaves you gasping, the pace of his hips increasing. As you start to roll your hips against his thumb, you not only create some friction that feeds your pleasure but his as well. It’s not long after that your peak washes over you with a soft gasp, walls clenching around him like a vice. 

With your small frame trembling between his strong arms, Cregan releases a strained grunt, his own peak being milked out of him by your cunt fluttering around his cock. He keeps on dragging his thumb over your sensitive pearl, prolonging your peak and the pleasure that comes with it.

You stare up at him with wide eyes as you’re milking him for every drop, because there’s something so vulnerable in this wolf of a man, towering over you with his skin glistening with sweat, so desperate to fill you with his seed and breed you. 

The last jolts of his peak force him to languidly rut his hips into yours, desperately chasing the feeling of bliss that courses through your veins. His chest heaves with every heavy breath he takes, and the dark curls are damp and fall into his face. 

Only as Cregan is certain there’s not one drop of his seed left inside of him does he slowly stop his ministrations, and the hand that has toyed with your bud seizes your hips, stilling them.

His erratic breaths fans over your sweaty skin with his lips pressing to your temple. The feeling of being whole with him doesn’t leave you, not when his weight pins you down and keeps you grounded, easing your tumbled mind.  

“I shall welcome the arrival of any child you bear me,” Cregan says, inevitably breaking the silence. 

A smile spreads across your lips as you wrap your legs around his hips, and your arms around his neck. “Be careful what you wish for. My children will certainly be just as stubborn as me.”

His heart is practically pounding against his ribs, and he can feel himself on the verge of being lost by your touch alone again. You make him go wild and feral, your bold and flirtatious nature bringing out another side to him that’s completely unexpected. And yet it feels so right.  

The teasing banter brings a smile to his lips and a light to his gray eyes, your wit and humor shining through. “Let them be stubborn, then,” he chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “They only need to be half as feisty as you, and I shall be the happiest man in Winterfell.”

[nottsangel]

SEVEN. just the tip — bsf!theo

warnings — smut 18+. vaginal sex. praise kink.

kinkmas mlist. moodboard. more.

“theo… we really shouldn’t be doing this.” you whisper weakly, breaths coming out in uneven bursts, naked bodies pressed closely together with his painfully hard cock poking your thigh, coating your skin with precum. you feel disappointed in yourself for letting things go this far with your best friend, and you can’t help but worry about ruining the friendship.

“baby, please, i need you so bad. wanna feel you.” theo pleads, his lips frantically covering your sensitive neck with quick kisses, breathing heavily against your skin. you feel your cunt pulse at his touch, an undeniable need for him building within you, and you can’t seem to resist any more, your mind fuzzy with desire.

“how about—” theo began, his voice slightly muffled against your skin before pulling back, “how about, you know, just the tip? please? just need to feel you for a bit. that’s all i need.”

you let out a heavy sigh, feeling every last ounce of self control leave your body, before reluctantly nodding your head and slowly opening your legs further, inviting him in. a relieved and thrilled expression appears on his face, almost in disbelief that he finally gets to feel you.

“but just the tip!” you warn him, knowing that feeling him, your best friend, deeper inside of you could lead to irreversible consequences.

“mhm, mhm. just the tip, piccola. that’s all.” you feel the head of his cock nudge at your soaked entrance, his sweaty, muscular body right on top of you with his face buried in the crook of your neck, before slowly pushing the tip in and letting out a deep, guttural groan at the feeling.

“cazzo. so fucking tight.” he growls as he slowly pulls out again. he starts setting a slow but steady rhythm, fucking you as shallowly as possible, your walls desperately trying to suck him in and craving to pull him in deeper, but theo obediently fights against it— for now.

“i— i can’t.” he murmurs against your neck, his hands desperately gripping the sheets next to your head, knuckles turning white. when you part your lips to speak with confusion written all over your face, he unexpectedly pushes in so fucking deep, your eyes widening at the full sensation, until you feel his balls pressed against your skin.

“theo! what the fuck!” you gasp, his teeth now biting down on your skin to keep himself from coming right then and there, before slowly thrusting in and out of you. fuck, fuck, fuck. you know you should push him off you, tell him that this isn’t worth ruining your friendship over— but you can’t. the way his cock drags along your sensitive inner walls so deliciously, hitting all the right spots, leaves you craving for more.

“you just feel so fucking good, bella. taking my cock so well.” you wrap your arms around his neck with your heels digging into his lower back, desperately pushing him deeper into you and moaning his name so loudly, you’re certain the students in the dorm rooms next to his can hear your screams.

theo notices how tightly you squeeze around his cock at his praise, a sly, naughty smirk dancing on his lips. he suddenly pulls back from your neck, lust-filled eyes locking with yours, faces merely inches apart from each other, the cocky expression on his face causing your cheeks to heat up.

“so you have a little praise kink, huh? i’ll remember that.”

“theo! i— i don’t!”

“oh, you don’t? so if i tell you i’ve never fucked a girl this perfect ever before—who feels this good, with such a pretty face, and cazzo, those beautiful tits—you’re not gonna turn into a blabbering mess?”

“i— no, it’s… just, you’re—”

“hm. that’s what i thought. so fucking cute.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡