#my head died but you know if i had time i would turn this into a visual novel but with rlly minimizedddd options... like a visual fic

[frownyalfred]

Since we believe the older Jason gets, the more he looks /acts like Bruce, if he attends a gala because of an obligation (i.e. Alfred guilt trips him and the others) how often does he get mistaken as his dad?

Does he take a little advantage and pretends with the more drunker socialites, and tricks them into donating to the lesser known charities that he knows get ignored and directly impact Gotham's poorer neighborhoods?

(Or does he just starts rumors to mess with them all about his dad's rich boy myth. He def makes shifts the hors d'eourves into almost small chilly dogs if he can)

"Mr. Wayne. There you are!"

Jason turned around, smiling wide enough his jaw hurt. With the slim-cut suit, the thin glass of champagne in his hand, and the angle of his shoulders, the whole move was practically a flourish. It was how Bruce did it, after all -- and frankly? It didn't feel too bad.

The true joy came, however, from seeing the faces of the two women as his identity registered. Their smiles tightened, but didn't disappear entirely. Not Bruce Wayne. Close -- but no cigar.

"Mr. Wayne is my father," Jason said, just a little lower than Bruce normally would. He let his eyes settle on the first woman -- blonde, thin lips, eyes narrowed -- and tilted his head, just a fraction. "But I get that all the time. It's flattering, really."

Was it?

"My mistake. You look just like him from behind," the blonde woman said, her strained smile returning. "Jason, yes? Truly remarkable."

Jason swapped his champagne glass into his left hand, holding out his right to her. "Jason Todd. And that's what I strive for at events like these -- remarkable."

The other woman laughed a little at that, breaking ranks with her friend. She was a little older, with more wrinkles on her face than she should have, at her age. A smoker, probably. "Jessica."

Jason shook her offered hand, giving her a smile. "A pleasure, Jessica."

"Anne," the blonde woman added, like an afterthought. Jason hadn't missed the way she'd avoided giving her name when they'd shaken.

Jason skipped right over that tidbit. "Are you looking for Bruce, then? I can point you in the right direction, but you might need to call a cab. He's at Wayne Manor tonight, unfortunately. A little under the weather."

If you can call three broken ribs and a concussion "under the weather."

"Oh, how awful," Jessica said, holding a hand over her mouth. She turned to Anne. "Did you know about this?"

"Of course not," Anne said, eyes narrowing in on Jason again. "Is he alright? It's not like him to miss an event like this."

Jason realized, idly, that was, in fact, Anne Regis. And that he was, in fact, standing at the Regis Charity night. Which meant Anne was -- in all likelihood -- pissed by Bruce's nonarrival. And disappointed in his replacement, if the way her lips pursed meant anything.

"Well, I'm sure he'll make the next one," Jason offered, shrugging one shoulder. Bruce's suit pulled a little, reminding him that silk and satin had less wiggle room than spandex and Kevlar weave. "Fear not, I did bring his check. And his checkbook, if the one he wrote wasn't...satisfactory enough."

It was telling, how Anne's eyes didn't light up at the idea of a larger gift. It meant that this event wasn't really about raising money -- it never was. It was about seeing and being seen. And Anne Regis had wanted to cash in on Bruce Wayne's presence, not his money. His social standing, his charm, his glamor -- not his checkbook.

"That's lovely, dear. What a thoughtful son." Anne glanced over her shoulder, indicating she was about to excuse herself. "Jessica, it looks like Roger is back. Why don't we excuse ourselves--" heh "--and say hello?"

Jessica gave Jason a warmer smile than Anne. "Stay sharp, kid."

"Tell Bruce I said hello," Anne said, with a nod that might have been charming, several decades ago. "We'll have to do brunch soon."

They left, disappearing back into the sea of people. As soon as they were out of sight, Jason diverted to the back bar, setting down his glass of champagne.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked him, taking the glass before Jason could even look for a discard tray.

Jason glanced at the impressive array of bottles, suddenly understanding why Bruce tended to stick to soda water or seltzer at these events. Every single word he'd traded with the women had been like a spar of its own. He needed to stay sharp. Sharper than he did, normally.

"Diet coke, lime, please," Jason said, digging into his pocket and pulling out a crumpled twenty. He put it in the tip jar, not missing the grateful spark in the bartender's eyes.

"Right away, sir."

[satorella]

“𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰”

“Y’know you have to go back to Germany eventually, right?” You said while lying on 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫’𝐬 chest, listening to his heartbeat.

He sighs, dragging a finger up and down your spine. “I know, Liebchen [darling/sweetheart].” He pauses before continuing, “…I hate leaving you...” You had no response. You couldn’t tell him to just up and drop his career for you. Not that you would ever make him, or let him, do that in the first place. Soccer was all he knew, before you. And you were understanding of that. “Come with me.” He breaks the silence. You lifted your head up off his chest and gave him a confused look. “Micha, you know I can’t.” “Why not? You’re not even happy here in your own country.” He made a good point.

“So, what? Just drop everything, sell my house, my car, leave my friends and family, my life behind?” You were pacing around your room now, while he was still relaxed on your bed, his private area only being covered by the thin blanket. He was casually just flipping through the novel you were currently into. “Ja.” [Yes.] You stopped and glared at him. “Babe, this is serious. Do you realize what you’re asking of me?” “Mhm.” Your eye twitched at his nonchalance. He snaps your book shut and finally looks up at you. “I’ll take care of you. What was that thing you would always say? That you’re ‘meant to be a passenger princess’ or whatever? Well, now you can be.” He shrugs. “For the record, I only said that once or twice!” You look away sheepishly. He couldn’t help but smirk at your expression. “Riiiight.” He replied sarcastically, sitting up on the edge of your bed. He pulled the blanket off, exposing himself and patted his thigh, beckoning you to come. You practically melted at the gorgeous, naked sight of him and walked over. He grabbed your waist and pulled you in between his legs, “Come on, Engel [Angel].” His voice was soft. “And what about when you leave for games? I’ll be alone again, but in a foreign country.” You slightly pouted, playing with the blue ends of his hair. He shrugged again, “You will come with me to my games too. So einfach ist das.” [It’s that simple.] It wasn’t a bad idea.

You did love watching him play. You even got too into it at times.

He remembered one time when he’d been shoved and landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him. As he laid there on the field, trying to get his breath back, he looked up into the stands and saw you screaming at the top of your lungs at the ref, almost about to climb over the railing to give the other player a piece of your mind. Thankfully, Ness was benched during that half of the game and was able to calm you down before security came. It turned him on… how feral you got for him…

He dicked you down so good that night.

He pulled you even closer so that you were straddling him now, his hands making their way under your robe and slowly up your sides. “S-So… you realize… you’re basically asking me to move in with you, right?” You clarified. His hands slowly moved up higher, thumbs lightly tracing circles on your bare skin. “That’s the general idea, ja.” He kept talking as if all this was no big deal. But now that you think about it, it would have happened eventually… so. He hummed as he gently cupped your breasts, taking your now hardening nubs between his index and middle finger. You slightly threw your head back, enjoying his touch. He grabbed ahold of your hips as you started to rock against him, his grip becoming a bit rougher as he started to guide your movements. He leaned in, pressing his lips against you; starting from your shoulder and making his way up to your neck. “M-Micha… we… we still need to discuss this…” You bit your bottom lip, trying to stay focused. “No more talking. Just fucking.” His voice was low and demanding; once bright blue eyes, now dark. “Sag einfach ja.” [Just say yes.] He whispers. You let out a content sigh. He really knew how to make you loosen up, didn’t he?

Tsk.

He undid the knot on your robe and let it slip off of you. A shiver ran through you as the cool air hit your skin, along with his touch. You moaned out a “yes” just as you sunk down onto his hard cock. You guys may actively fuck like rabbits, but you don’t think you’ll ever get used to his larger size. He gave you a second to adjust, before he wrapped your legs around his waist and stood up to place you on the edge of your vanity. “Ah! B-Babe! My makeup!” You whimpered as his hard thrusts caused all your things to topple over. He grabs your chin and captures your lips in a sloppy kiss to stop you from talking.

“I’ll buy you more in Germany.” He grunts.

© 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒-𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

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[unassimilatedsoul]

Merely learning that there really are alternate realities is incredible; having the chance to explore one is even more so. Being invited by another version of myself to go to a multiversal conference of alternate versions of me? Now that’s just too weird and fascinating to pass up. Even the simple fact that they somehow tracked me down and sent me an email from another universe has staggering implications.

The invitation came with a countdown timer, and instructions for building a teleportation beacon. It wasn’t easy to build it in time; I hadn’t so much as soldered a circuit together in over a decade. This project was far more advanced than anything I had ever attempted even before I got out of practice with electronics. Still, I found the instructions were incredibly intuitive, lending credibility to the claim that I was being invited by myself.

The morning of the conference, I wake up a bit sleep deprived, but ready to go: I finished the beacon the night before. I strap on my backpack and wait for the countdown to finish.

As the countdown reaches zero, I activate the beacon. Seconds tick by as I start to wonder, did I actually build it right? Is this all just a prank? Did I misunderstand what I was reading?

And about that time is when reality turned inside out.

Next thing I know, I’m lying on the floor and hear a voice, both like my own and not. “Hang on, is that a mammal?”

Sitting up, I look around what appears to be a room in an office building, and a dozen compound eyes meet my gaze. “Something with an endoskeleton at any rate” another voice says, coming from one of the many beetle-like people staring back at me. One of them approaches, and reaches out a hand of sorts. “Are you okay?”

“I think so, just a bit dizzy.” Taking the hand of the beetle-person in front of me, who is dressed in something that looks for all the world like a polo and slacks, I get to my feet. The hand is softer than you would expect for someone with an exoskeleton. “So you’re sure I’m one of you guys? Because seriously, this is-”

“Really weird, I know. But you’re from Earth, the same as the rest of us, just one where evolution took a different path.” The beetle-person steps back, looking me up and down now that I’m standing at my full height. I’m about a head taller than anyone else in the room. “A really different path.”

“But how can we really be different versions of the same person? I mean, no offense, but…” I gesture vaguely towards myself.

“Frankly, the fact that any of us could be ‘alternate versions’ of the same person by random chance is unbelievable. The fact that our worlds have diverged so wildly, and yet converged again independently to form our ancestors and families, to say nothing of cultures and societies that are recognizable across timelines, is statistically so improbable that it shouldn’t have happened even once. Yet it apparently happens all the time. Actually, part of the point of this conference is to try to figure out why.”

Another beetle-person perks up: “You don’t happen to be a paleontologist, are you?”

“No, but I know the broad strokes. I imagine you have a few questio-” is about as far as I get before I break into a coughing fit.

Taking a moment to recover, I now know what it looks like when beetlefolk are worried. “Are you sure you’re okay?” says the one who helped me up.

The comment about paleontology gets me thinking. “The largest insect to ever live on my Earth died out millions of years ago. Some say it could only get that large because there was a lot more oxygen in the atmosphere back then.”

“How big was it?”

“Smaller than all of you.”

I try to focus on how I feel. My throat is tight and scratchy, and it’s getting harder to breathe. I hear the voices of my alternate beetle-selves around me, talking through the implications.

“My Earth has plenty of mammals, it should be fine, right?”

“Yeah, but they didn’t evolve in a low-oxygen environment. That one did. What happens when a mammal gets too much oxygen?”

“I don’t know, but it’s probably not good.”

After a moment’s pause, the one that helped me up quickly backs away from me. “Send it back! Send it back now!”

imagine if you teleported to a big multiversal hub of every version of you from every parallel universe and like 99.99% were just minor variations of some weird beetle alien and it turned out being a human made you one of the zany gimmick versions

[mimipolo]

I MEAN... Nam-gyu x Female guard 🧎‍♀️

THAT WOULD BE CRAZYYY

(NSFW) 🤭

Nam-gyu x femguard! reader

Sorry for being gone a family member of mine died🙁

I actually enjoyed writing this a lot so I hope you like it!

Anyone that knows how to make my posts prettier please hmu💔

The games were getting boring, the high the drugs have him initially didn't hit the same and his body constantly craved for another outlet. It was infuriating, it was like his body ached to release this frustration he couldn't make out where from.

Lately though, he's felt like he's been watched by one of the guards with the square symbol on their mask, he knew it was their job and all to keep an eye on them to shoot them down when players are eliminated but damn this one guard had been staring him down hard. He'd just spare a dirty look before but now it'd been making him paranoid.

So much so it had him tossing and turning in his bed, the mattresses are too thin and pillows too flat. It was driving him mad. Sighing with new found resolution he pushed himself off his back and made his descent down the bunk. A little splash of water would do him good. He hoped at least. Or he would actually lose his shit.

Dragging his feet lazily to bang at the door for the guards to open it. He didn't bother being polite, watching other people's experiences it was easier to let them know you're serious about going from the get go. And it worked. A circle guard begrudgingly opened the door and escorted him to the bathroom.

He'd spent quite a bit of time just staring at himself in the mirror blankly as he watched the water trickle down his face to the sink bowl below. The constant battling with the morals of himself and why he deserved to be in here in the first place were clouding his mind without the mind nulling effects of Thanos' drugs.

Swearing dismissively at his own thoughts he pushed himself off the sink and walks out of the bathroom. Except this time he's greeted by a square guard rather than the circle one from before, the fact alone had the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end as he warily followed after them at the silent gesture of their head.

He finds himself being backed up into the bathroom again, the door now closing with a resounding click that had him on edge immediately as his eyes scanned his surroundings then back on you.

"What do you want huh?"

| ₊˚⊹ᰔ

One thing lead to another and now he's backed up against the furthest wall from the door, his breaths coming out heavy as he looks down at you. It doesn't seem like you have a weapon on you but he really isn't feeling like fucking around and finding out.

And then you're pulling off your mask, pushing it off and tucking your hair to one side.

You're beautiful.

It takes him a second to collect himself as: first off he didn't expect you to be a woman, and second why do you have the prettiest eyes he's ever seen? Now he's enjoying this tension, you're staring him down still and you look oddly familiar. But he doesn't give a shit right now, he's been feeling so pent up this whole time and you're presenting a perfect opportunity to let go a little.

Before you can open your mouth to speak he's smashing his lips against yours amateurly, slim hands working their way down your back until one reaches your ass and squeezes hopelessly. His sudden neediness catches you by surprise but it's not unwelcome as you also let your hands roam up to his hair and down his chest causing him to sigh deeply against your lips.

He pulls away for a split moment, lips connected by spit and he's grasping clumsily at the zip of your uniform, pressing his already growing hard on against your thigh.

"Is that why you've been watching me so closely, huh?" he says between breaths.

"You want me right?"

"This is only for my benefit... don't get it twisted." you murmur between his rushed kisses, your hands finding themselves on the same sink he leaned on before.

"Yeah you keep believin' that, it's gonna change soon..."

He can't believe how fast his heart is beating just from seeing you shirtless in front of him. Had it really been that long?Who cares. There's a woman in front of him panting in his ear and he wasn't about to pass up this beautiful blessing.

Surprisingly he's more considerate of the maintenance of your uniform as he pulls the tracksuit down to your hips and let's it pool at your ankles. He can't help but bite deep marks into your collar when you cautiously push your hair out of the way causing you to gasp slightly.

He's pushing his hips hard against yours, each rock of his body sending shivers down both your spines as he grasps you harder. One hand is fondling your tits, tracing the outline of your bra with such focus it almost irked you.

"Think we're both worked up enough, just lemme fuck you, please..."

His words are whispered in short breaths against the base of your neck as he gives kitten licks to your collarbone. His half lidded eyes shoot up to yours excitedly when he feels the small hum of your approval against his lips. You'd honestly been waiting forever, quickly growing tired of squeezing your thighs together and resisting the urge to meet his dry thrusts against you.

He's kissing you even more passionately than before, reciprocating had made you accidentally nick his lip with your teeth. Your eyes widen when you taste the metallic crimson on your tongue and you're pulling away to apologize.

He's huffing softly like he's disappointed you bothered stopping and licks the blood from his busted lip, then yours before moving in to kiss you again.

Apparently unafraid of getting nicked again.

Slender fingers pull your panties down to pool at your ankles alongside your uniform, rushing to pull his own tracksuit off. You help him shrug off his jacket and pull his pants down for him earning a strained whine from him when your barely brush his crotch.

Pecking your lips repeatedly as he pulls down his boxers and crowds your space, forcing you to lean against the sink more. But he keeps moving forwards, lifting up your hips slightly so you're slightly sat on the ceramic top so you kick your tracksuit off completely, then he starts to line himself up against you.

He gasps sharply when the tip pushes against your clit, his body hunching over slightly as his head falls. Repeating the action a few more times, smearing his pre cum all over your pussy, making more of a mess than you initially planned to clean up. But it's like his mind is somewhere else completely, occasional whimpers leaving his throat, pink lips he bit down on harshly as he rubbed his cock against your folds.

"You feel so n-nice... not even inside you yet. Who woulda thought h-huh?"

And he's finally nudging himself inside, stretching you out more than what you were prepared for making you bite your lip as you place a firm hand over your mouth to muffle the moan about to leave your lips. He grins stupidly at the sight as he finally bottoms out. He's holding your hips in a death binding grip and you wish he would move already. What you didn't know is that he's internally willing himself not to cum on the spot. He definitely needed this.

Without any warning he's slamming his hips into yours, the hand over your mouth that had relaxed tightening again to quiet your sounds. You honestly thought he was stupid for a moment, not even caring for the sounds that fell from his own lips as his eyes locked with yours, their dusted hazily from the pleasure of your walls wetly wrapped around him. The sounds coming from your wetness was embarassing enough, reaching your ears and making them burn.

"F-uck...so good could finish right now...don't think I can pull o-out."

What? Can't pull out? Your eyes widen at the statement and one of your hands leave the edge of the sink to roughly tug at his hair to snap him out of it but you're met with a loud moan in response. The strong verbal feedback from the action that was meant to be harsh startled you slightly, but the sound he made went straight to your core, making you squeeze around him tighter. You're slowly forgetting what you had wanted to say as your body's response and your hand in his hair triggers his urge to finally cum.

Pressing his pelvis harder against you with each snap of his hips so your clit gets stimulated. You let go of your grip on the sink completely now, one hand dug tightly in his hair and the other clawing gently at the nape of his neck. You're slightly surprised his grip on your hips is enough to support you and honestly if he was more aware he'd be surprised too.

But he's not, he's pushing himself into you deeper and deeper and you swear his trying to shoot it right into your womb. Silent whines rack your body as he tucks his head into your neck, inhaling your scent deeply.

Then he's cumming, deep. Your eyes shoot open at the unfamiliar warm feeling filling you up. His hips are still stuttering to help you get there and you finally come undone with a small cry. The orgasm hitting harder than what you expected causing you to wrap your legs around his hips in a vice grip. His thrusts have slowed significantly, making sure he'd given you all of him before he'd even dream of stopping.

When he finally pulls out you're instantly met with the emptiness in your stomach, everything between your legs feels sticky and your legs trembled. He's panting softly against your neck and holding you close to him but now he's rubbing your back possessively as he whispers small thanks against your skin.

He's picking you up off the sink and placing you back on your feet carefully, you thank him quietly for doing so. But then he's laying his jacket openly on the floor and taking you by the waist to slowly lower you onto it?

"'m not done yet...just one more I promise. It'll feel great for both of us."

Small kisses along the curve of your breasts to your cheek urge you to agree playfully and your hair splays out on the floor. This probably wouldn't be the last one.

| ₊˚⊹ᰔ

You hadn't meant it to become routine, really, you didn't. But somehow he was able to figure out who you were each time you were on duty. He'd put in the effort of learning the guards rotation so he knew when you'd be around to escort him back from the bathroom. You always insist that this can't be a daily think but he only smiles as he pulls off your mask for you and backs you into a nearby stall.

#needthat

[amxritt]

Stay

Rafe Cameron x f!reader

Summary: inspired by Stay by Gracie Abrams

Word Count: 4.4K

Warnings: angst (lots of it), brief mentions of addiction, uhh more probably idk

“You told me something when I left but I don’t remember. Maybe ‘cause all I could do then was stare at the floor”

The fight had been brewing for weeks. Rafe had been spiraling—late nights, glazed eyes, erratic moods. Y/n felt the weight of it all pressing down on her. She had known something was wrong, had seen the signs, but she had hoped he’d stop before things got this bad.

Now, they stood in his bedroom, the air thick with tension. Rafe paced back and forth like a caged animal, his voice rising with frustration. He shouted about how she didn’t understand, how this wasn’t her problem to fix. Y/n flinched at the sharpness in his tone, staying rooted to the edge of his bed, her gaze fixed firmly on the carpet beneath her feet.

She hated when he yelled. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tried to shield herself from the storm brewing inside him.

“You don’t get it, Y/n,” Rafe spat, his voice breaking. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. This is my life.”

“And I care about it!” she shot back, finally looking up. Her voice wavered, but her resolve didn’t. “I care about you, Rafe. But I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself.”

He froze mid-step, his back to her. For a moment, she thought he might actually listen. But then he shook his head, muttering something under his breath she couldn’t quite catch.

Y/n exhaled shakily, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted to scream at him, shake him until he understood how much this was breaking her. But all she could do was sit there, staring at the floor as the words she wanted to say died in her throat.

“I held myself ‘cause you wouldn’t, all wrapped in my sweatshirt Wonder if you even noticed that that one was yours”

The room was chilly despite the summer heat outside. The Camerons always kept the AC cranked up, and the breeze from the window only made it worse. Y/n pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around them. She was wearing a hoodie—one of Rafe’s, though she doubted he’d noticed.

He had given it to her back when they were sophomores, one night after a bonfire when she’d forgotten to bring a jacket. She’d meant to return it, but somehow it had become hers. Rafe never seemed to mind; he used to say it looked better on her anyway.

Now, as she sat there clutching the fabric like a lifeline, she wondered if he even remembered that it was his. Probably not. Not with how high he was right now. His eyes were glassy, his movements erratic. He didn’t seem to notice much of anything anymore.

“And maybe I should’ve, but I never told you, ‘I’m sorry.’ Know that I tried, but my words always got in the way.”

That night was the breaking point. Y/n had stood in his doorway, tears streaming down her face as she told him she couldn’t do this anymore.

“I can’t watch you hurt yourself, Rafe,” she had said, her voice cracking. “I love you too much to stand by and do nothing. But I can’t save you. You have to want to save yourself.”

He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, his jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. She waited for him to stop her, to say something—anything—that would make her stay. But he didn’t.

As she turned to leave, he muttered something under his breath. She couldn’t hear it over the pounding in her ears.

Now, months later, she replayed that night over and over in her head. She wished she had stayed longer, had said something different. She wished she had told him she was sorry—for leaving, for not being enough to make him stop. But the words never came out right, no matter how many times she rehearsed them in her head.

“Could you hold me without any talking? We could try to go back where we started ”

Y/n’s day had been hell. Her parents had been on her case all morning, snapping at her for things that weren’t even her fault. By the time they told her to “go stay at a friend’s house” for the night, she felt like she was about to break.

Typically, when stuff like this happened, she just went to Rafe’s, but she hadn’t talked to him since that night a few months ago.

She ended up at the beach—their beach. It was a quiet, secluded spot they had discovered years ago. It had always been their escape, their sanctuary. Now it was just another place that reminded her of him.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, she pulled out her phone and stared at his name in her contacts. She shouldn’t call him. She knew that. But the weight of the day was too much to carry alone.

She had called him a few times since that night, and each time he picked up right away and stayed on the line, even though she would never actually talk to him. She just needed to hear his breathing. She needed to know he hadn’t overdosed, that he was okay.

Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before she pressed call.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Y/n?” His voice was rough, but there was a softness to it that made her chest ache.

She didn’t say anything for a moment, struggling to find the words. Finally, she whispered, “Can I come over?”

“I don’t even have to stay”

Rafe didn’t say anything when she showed up at his door, just stepped aside to let her in.

They didn’t talk as she changed into one of his t-shirts and climbed into bed beside him. He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over hers, before she turned to him and whispered, “Can you just hold me?”

He nodded, pulling her close. She felt the tension in his body slowly melt away as they lay there in the dark, their breathing syncing.

“Don’t worry, I won’t stay,” Y/n whispered, breaking the silence.

“It’s okay if you do,” Rafe whispered, but Y/n cut him off, “I won’t.”

For a little while, it felt like nothing had changed. Like they were still the kids who spent their summers on the beach, dreaming about a future that didn’t seem so far away.

But morning always came too soon.

When Rafe woke up, she was gone. Her side of the bed was cold, her clothes neatly folded at the foot of his bed.

“I don’t remember the last time I heard from your sister, Didn’t expect to, but I sorta thought that I would.”

Y/n had always been close to Wheezie, even when she and Rafe were arguing. They spent countless days together shopping, watching movies, having spa nights, and talking about everything and nothing. She was like the little sister Y/n always wanted.

Rafe would sometimes barge in, rolling his eyes at whatever ridiculous movie they were watching, but Y/n would catch the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Those nights felt safe. Whole.

After Y/n left, she half-expected Wheezie to text her, to ask if she was okay or if they could still hang out like they used to. But weeks turned into months, and the silence stretched out between them.

Y/n thought about reaching out herself, but every time she opened her phone, the weight of what had happened with Rafe stopped her. What would she even say? That she missed her? That she wasn’t sure if she could face Rafe’s family without falling apart?

Sometimes, she’d scroll through old photos of them together, her heart aching for the easy sister-like bond they had. Wheezie’s smile stared back at her from the screen—bright, carefree, and untouched by the storm that had torn everything apart.

“Wish I could tell you by now that i felt more indifferent”

Y/n sat with her knees to her chest on the beach, their beach—the one where they had spent countless evenings watching the sun melt into the ocean. The waves stretched out before her, their rhythmic crash and retreat, a cruel reminder of the ebb and flow of her relationship with Rafe.

She always knew walking away would be hard, but she thought she’d feel more indifferent by now, that the ache in her chest would dull over time. Instead, every day felt like a battle against memories that refused to stay buried.

She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply, trying to ground herself. But the moment she did, images of Rafe flooded her mind: his lopsided grin when he teased her, the way his hand lingered on hers, the quiet moments when his walls came down, and he let her see the man he could be.

“Why can’t I let you go?” she whispered, her voice trembling. The wind carried her words out to the sea, where they dissolved like everything else she’d tried to hold onto.

A seagull called overhead, snapping her back to the present. She ran her fingers through the sand, letting the grains slip through them. She wanted to feel indifferent. She needed to feel indifferent. But how do you stop caring about someone who was your whole world? She would give anything to have him back, but not until he quit the drugs.

“Catch myself thinking about you more than I should”

Y/n stood in line at the coffee shop, waiting for her order, when a man with Rafe’s build walked through the door. Her breath caught, her heart skipping a beat before logic kicked in. It wasn’t him.

But for those few seconds, her mind betrayed her, painting a picture of what it would be like if it were him. Would he smile at her? Would his eyes light up the way they used to when they saw her? Or would he look past her, as if the memories they shared were as distant to him as they were vivid to her?

Even in moments like this, she caught herself thinking about him. She wondered what he was doing now, if he was happy, if he ever thought about her too. It had been months since they’d spoken, and yet he was still there, lingering in the corners of her mind.

“And maybe I should’ve but I never told you I miss you I almost said it but don’t know if you feel the same.”

The fluorescent lights of the grocery store buzzed as Y/n walked down the produce aisle, her list in hand. She was focused on selecting the ripest lemons, reaching on her tiptoes to get them off the top shelf, when a familiar hand reached past hers and plucked one off the shelf.

She looked up, and her heart stopped. It was Rafe.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. His presence was like a punch to the gut—familiar and painful all at once. He looked healthier, steadier, but his eyes still held that same quiet sadness she knew too well.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Y/n swallowed hard, her mind racing. She wanted to say something, to bridge the gap between them. I miss you, she thought. The words sat on the tip of her tongue, heavy and unspoken.

Instead, she managed a weak smile. “Hey.”

They stood there, awkward and unsure. She wanted to ask how he’d been, if he was happy, if he ever thought about her. But the fear of what his answers might be kept her silent.

As he walked away, her heart ached with all the things she wished she had said. He was respecting the boundaries she had set, and she was grateful for that, but she couldn’t stop thinking about what she could’ve said. Maybe I should’ve told him. Maybe it would’ve changed something. Or maybe it wouldn’t have mattered at all.

“Could you hold me without any talking? We could try to go back where we started I don't even have to stay”

Y/n sat cross-legged on her bed, absently scrolling through her phone when it buzzed. Rafe’s name lit up the screen.

She wasn’t expecting it, but her thumb hovered for only a moment before she answered. “Rafe?” she said softly.

The line was silent except for the sound of his uneven breathing. Her heart sank. “Rafe, are you okay?” she asked, her voice tight with worry.

Finally, he spoke, his voice strained and shaky. “I…I need your help.”

Y/n sat up straight, her pulse quickening. “Where are you?”

A pause followed before he replied, “I’m at Topper’s.” His words were slurred, and she could tell he’d been drinking. “Listen, Y/n/n, you… you don’t have to do this.”

“Rafe, it’s fine. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

She didn’t hesitate. Throwing on her shoes and grabbing her keys, she was out the door.

When she arrived, Rafe sat slouched on the front porch, his head in his hands. As she pulled up, he stood slowly and made his way to the car. Sliding into the passenger seat, he looked at her with tired, bloodshot eyes.

“Thank you… for coming,” he muttered.

“Of course,” Y/n said softly. “You called.”

Her voice was calm, steady—exactly what he needed. Rafe didn’t respond, but the corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile.

The drive back to Tannyhill was silent. When they arrived, Rafe hesitated before opening the car door.

“Can you… come in?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n nodded. “Yeah, I can.”

Inside, as he opened his bedroom door, she noticed his hands—bruised, scratched, and swollen knuckles.

“Rafe!” she gasped, reaching for his hand. Her heart raced as they touched. She hadn’t felt his touch in so long. “What happened?”

He pulled his hand back, avoiding her gaze. “It’s nothing. Just… got into a little disagreement,” he mumbled, dropping his keys on the dresser.

“Rafe…” she began, her tone firm, but she stopped when she saw the exhaustion in his eyes. “Here, let me clean it up.”

In the bathroom, she sat him down on the closed toilet seat and retrieved the first aid kit. Quietly, she began tending to his cuts.

He didn’t flinch when she dabbed rubbing alcohol on the wounds, but she noticed the way his jaw tightened. Neither of them spoke as she worked, her touch gentle and precise.

When she finished, she stood and said, “Go get in bed. I’ll clean this up and be right there.”

By the time she returned to his room, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slouched. He glanced at her as she walked in, shifting to make space for her beside him.

Y/n slid into bed, and they lay there in the dark, the faint hum of the air conditioning the only sound. Rafe wrapped his arms around her, holding her like she was his anchor to the world. She held him just as tightly, resting her head against his chest.

No words were spoken. None were needed.

“If I woke up with you in the morning I’d forget all the ways that we’re broken I don’t care if you’ve changed, I don’t even have to stay”

Morning light filtered through the blinds, painting golden streaks across the room. Y/n woke slowly, her senses adjusting to the warmth of Rafe’s arms wrapped around her. For a moment, she forgot the heartbreak, the arguments, and the nights spent crying herself to sleep.

She stayed still, savoring the rare peace. His breathing was steady, his chest rising and falling against her back. It felt like old times, like they were still those carefree kids.

Quietly, she slipped out of bed and made her way to the kitchen. She brewed coffee, cooked eggs, and relished the grounding normalcy of it all.

When she returned with a tray of food and Advil, Rafe was awake, propped up on one elbow, watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.

“I thought you’d left,” he said, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

She set the tray down and sat beside him. “I just wanted to make sure you had food and Advil,” she said softly.

“Thank you.” He reached out and took her hand, his touch hesitant. “Look, Y/n, I-I know you said you wouldn’t…” His voice faltered, as if the words were too heavy. “Until I… Until I stopped. But do you ever think we could—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off gently, her voice steady. It hurt to see him like this, a shadow of the confident man she remembered. “Rafe… I meant what I said. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be here for you. Even if you haven’t gotten better yet… I’ll still be here when you need me.”

Her voice trailed off, and he nodded, understanding despite the hurt. For now, they had this moment—fleeting, imperfect, but theirs.

She didn’t stay much longer, not wanting to overstep. As she walked to the door, Rafe stopped her. “Will you ever stop leaving?”

Turning to face him, she gave a sad, genuine smile. “I’ll stop leaving when you get better, Rafe. I promise.”

With that, she walked out of the Cameron house. Leaving him was never easy, but she knew it was the only way for him to heal.

Authors note: Long story for my first post, I hope you like it! I take requests but I'm not sure how to set that up yet so messages, comments, or whatever works if you want to send one in. I am tempted to make a part 2 to this, so if anyone is interested lmk!

[thewinter-eden]

You Called?

images are mine (except middle HJ pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. ATE pcs are my inspo for this series.

part 5 of the skz crack!horror series.

pairing: Han Jisung x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: demon!Jisung is summoned by your friends during a drunken college party. They’re trying to scare you, pretend to summon a demon and then lock you in the basement until they decide to let you out, but then the demon actually comes, and he thinks your friends are jerks.

warnings: Fear/comfort, edgy but soft Jisung, terrorizing of minor characters, discussion of spiritualism/afterlife, my only reference for demons is Supernatural, reader is freaked out by witchcraft, slight disparaging of witchcraft and mysticism (does not reflect actual beliefs), Jisung is instantly whipped, deals, fear, this one turned out a little angsty, truth or dare.

word count: 5k

Comment a request to be tagged.

series info

“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Of course you don’t. But clearly, your aunt did.”

Yes, it’s your aunt’s fault. If only she didn’t have a basement full of jarred herbs and tarot cards and ouija boards and weird leathery spell books, you wouldn’t be in this predicament. You’d be in a different one, for sure, because having the friends that you have isn’t your aunt’s fault, it’s yours, but still—you wouldn’t be locked in a basement with three of your friends browsing through your aunt’s dusty new agey books.

“Now, come on, sit around the circle thing.” One of your friends, Rami, tugs you down by your elbow to sit cross-legged on the edge of a chalk rune on the floor. It looks aged and scuffed and mostly faded by dust and time, but present enough to be identifiable as something mystical.

“I’m serious, I don’t think my aunt would have wanted us down here.” You mutter. It seems colder all of a sudden, chills covering your arms and shivering down your spine.

“Then she should have cleaned it out before she died I guess.” Rami returned, gesturing for Chae and Boyoung to sit down as well. “And besides, this was your penalty. You accepted it, so this is what we’re doing.”

You wouldn’t have accepted the stupid penalty for the stupid drinking game from the stupid college party upstairs if the alternative hadn’t been being cornered by the greasy frat boy who kept slipping his hands under your shirt every time he got the chance.

Next time your cousin tries to convince you to come over and “let loose with a couple of friends” you’re going to remember that her idea of hanging out is a massive college kegger.

“Alright, here it is.” Boyoung draws her legs up underneath her and rests the massive tome of the spell book she’s holding across her knees. She shoots the others a devious smirk, and then clears her throat. “Are we ready?”

You most certainly are not.

It’s not like you believe in the afterlife and mysticism and witchcraft and all of the other spiritualism nuances that your aunt was into, but you also recognize that you definitely don’t know everything about the scope of the universe. You’re willing to admit that you might be wrong about what exists and what is folklore, and you’re certainly not enthusiastic about playing around with the afterlife—just in case.

You’ve never even touched a Ouija board, because what if?

You don’t think they work, but what if?

And now, because you lost a stupid drinking game, your stupid friends are going to use the demon summoning ritual that your aunt just had, like it’s an old family recipe or something.

“Can I pick a different penalty?” You try again, your palms sweating. Yeah, sure, nothing’s going to happen because it’s obviously an old gift shop spell book (a really old, really big gift shop spell book), but all the half-burnt candles and chalk runes and hanging herbs around you are starting to freak you out.

Boyoung and Chae both shake their heads, while Rami reaches out and snatches your elbow. “This was the deal—one summoning spell, and then ten minutes by yourself. You agreed.”

You feel like crying.

You regret it. You regret coming. You didn’t like your aunt when she was alive—who gives their nieces and nephews cat whiskers and tinctures for birthdays?—and you certainly don’t like your cousin now—she clearly has a terrible idea of a good time—so why did you even come tonight?

At this point, you’re even wishing you can go back upstairs and ask the greasy frat boy to rescue you from your friends. They’re way too excited about leaving you locked in the creepy basement after a demonic invocation, whether they believe in it or not.

“Go ahead!” Chae nudges Boyoung. “Hurry up, I wanna go back upstairs.”

“It’s fucking creepy in here.” Rami agrees, rubbing her arms and jutting her chin towards the book.

“Why don’t we just do something else? Forget the basement.” You complain, starting to get back to your feet.

Predictably, Rami yanks you back down. “Rules are rules! Go ahead, Boyoung-ah.”

That’s how you find yourself sitting in a dark basement while your friend chants ominously in Latin, your heart racing like you’ve just run a marathon. Why did it have to be a demon summoning? Why couldn’t it have been a séance? At least if you were going to be playing around with pretend spiritualism, you could pretend to talk to someone you actually liked.

Your dad had died when you were little, you could pretend to have a tear-jerking reunion and then get the fuck out of that creepy old witch house once your friends were satisfied.

Why do you even call them your friends anyway?

You’re all just the members of a few too many group projects for your biology classes, more associates than anything else.

But Boyoung is still chanting, tripping over awkward pronunciation of the dead language and squinting through the faint light to see the faded text on the ancient pages.

You don’t think it’s your imagination when a whisper of air ruffles the hair at the back of your neck, but you’re also extremely anxious at the moment. So anxious that you physically jump when Boyoung slams the book shut.

“Done!” She chirps, hopping to her feet and dusting off the seat of her skirt. She fixes you with an evil grin. “Ten minutes by yourself!” Then she loops her arm through Chae’s and your three associates clamber back up the rickety stairs to the basement door.

Before they leave you, teary and trembling on the concrete floor, Rami pauses and looks back at you. “And no using your phone. If we see any light under the door, we’ll keep it locked for an extra ten minutes.”

It was a meaningless threat, because you know for sure they’re gonna go upstairs and get more drinks and find more friends, and you’re going to have to call your cousin to let you out after they forget about you.

So there you are. In the dark, in a creepy basement, all by yourself. You’re still sitting on the ground, cross-legged, your shaky hands gripping at your knees like it’s the only thing grounding you.

It’s just an empty basement.

It’s just you, by yourself.

You decide to close your eyes and focus on your breathing, counting the lengths of each inhale and exhale until the vague sounds of Boyoung’s invocation fades from your memory. You sit there, just breathing, urging the tension to melt from your muscles, until it feels like an eternity has passed.

The party is still in full swing on the floor above you, the music and laughter floating beneath the door down to you. You focus on the shouting voices until your spine relaxes.

When your eyes finally open and blink down at the bright screen of your phone, reading the giant numbers of the clock glaring back at you, you realize you’ve only been alone for three minutes.

Every ounce of tension returns, winding through the fibers in your muscles until it’s clamped around your bones and settled in the roots of your teeth. You’re still in a creepy witchy basement for another seven freaking minutes. As the darkness seems to physically seep into your skin, your gaze is sweeping the shadows of the room.

Bookshelves covered in spilled wax, random feathers, jars of little stones and dirt (hopefully dirt?), various crystals, tons of super old books, crates of more books, larger jars of plants and branches that you can’t begin to make sense of, and an aura that you can’t quite put your finger on.

You can’t say why you feel like you’re being watched, especially when you know you’re alone, but your heart is once again inexplicably racing in your chest.

There’s no one.

The shadow to your left is the marble bust of a saint or an angel or something, the one near your feet is the pile of musty blankets on an old wooden chair, the one straight ahead of you is the kettle that hangs from a frame over the ashy pit of a cold fireplace.

Honestly what the hell was your aunt up to before she died?

You bring yourself back, focusing on the cold concrete beneath your butt, the way your ankle is grinding into the floor, the cold that’s curling its fingers around your throat when your shirt slips off of one shoulder.

As you try to slip back into the calm refuge that you’d found with your eyes closed, desperate to not emerge from the pit of the basement with tear streaks of dust and mascara, all you can hear is your own breathing.

There’s no one in there with you, no one in the shadows, no one lurking behind the stairs.

Sucking in a deep breath, you hold it and listen to your heart pounding in your ears. It’s a trick you learned to calm yourself when you were young, counting to four between breaths. In the next few moments, you feel your body begin to relax and sink back into a neutral position.

Your lungs burn as you count to four for the tenth time.

The next exhale is loud.

And it is most decidedly not your own.

You shoot upright, hand snapping out to clutch at your phone. Fuck what Rami said, you need that flashlight. Tracking the shadows again as your sweat-slicked hands fight your thumbprint reader, eyes widely combing every inch of the dark room, you find yourself unable to peer past the blackness to see the source of the sound that made your heart flip.

Your phone just keeps shaking its “try again” message at you, stubbornly refusing to unlock.

Until you see them—and you realize that you’ve already been looking at them—your gaze landing on them a dozen times in the past thirty seconds, not even registering them.

Until they blink back at you.

Your fingers stomp your passcode in and swipe on the flashlight.

Cold white light floods the room, and he’s standing there, staring at you.

You scream, bundled nerves exploding your body backwards and you find yourself on your feet, scrambling back against a heavy bookshelf.

But he’s just standing there, watching you from the other edge of the chalk circle thing you were sitting on. His head is tilted slightly, sharp eyes hooded as he beholds you silently.

Your arm is practically spasming as you try to keep your light pointed at him and check all the walls and corners at the same time, your brain screaming at you to figure out where he came from. Where did he come from? There’s only one door in the basement, and it’s up the flight of stairs to your left.

“What the fuck?” You screech, your other hand scrambling for something—anything.

The man’s eyes narrow.

He’s not especially tall, but he’s lean and strong, dressed in all black, his raven hair curling over his forehead and neck. There’s something devilishly beautiful about him, about the honey of his skin and the flick of his tongue between his lips.

His eyes mimic yours, tracing you up and down, and his tongue flicks again. Then he opens his mouth and his chin twitches up, short locks of hair flipping away from his eyes. “You called?”

The sultry baritone of his voice floats to your ears with heavy, dangerous weight, and your fingers automatically clamp around the first thing you find. Before you can reason your way through your next decision, you hurl it—the book you’re suddenly holding—directly at his head.

The man flinches, knocking the book aside with the swipe of his hand, but doesn’t realize there’s a second one coming.

You’re pelting them as quickly as you can find them, yanking ancient (probably valuable) books off of the shelf, sending up plumes of dust everywhere, hurling them at the man as you edge your way towards the stairs. He’s standing between you and your exit and you’ll be damned (hopefully not literally) if you’re going to be sacrificed to a demon in your freaky aunt’s basement.

But then his voice reaches you with a completely different tone.

“Stop! Oh my god, stop!” He’s twisted away from you, his hands up covering his face. You see glimpses of his eyes gone impossibly wide, lips jutting out in a disbelieving pout, trying desperately to catch your gaze. He dodges another book and dances away from another. “Why are you—stop!—you called me!”

Another book strikes his shoulder and his pitch goes even higher.

“You literally called me! Stop!”

You stop.

He sounds so…offended that you’re battering him with books that you just plant yourself, clutching a heavy tome to your chest, gaping at him.

He takes a second to collect himself, smoothing down the sleek black jacket that wraps around his thick shoulders and falls snugly around his narrow waist.

Running a hand through his hair and shaking dust out of it, he gapes right back at you. “Do you know how rare it is for this to happen?” He demands, eyes still comically wide. “We don’t just come when called anymore! You—” He jabs a finger in your direction and you shriek, flinching. “Are lucky that I was curious!”

Your hope of coming out of this experience without wearing your mascara in crusted ribbons down your cheeks went out the window about fifteen books ago. “You…you’re…” You suck in a deep breath that sounds like it choked you all the way down. “You?”

The man glares at you, planting his hands on his hips. “You are unbelievably rude.” He decides, taking a step closer as though you aren’t literally hiding behind the giant book in your hands. “You reach through the veil to call upon a spiritual being in the year of our Lord, 2025, and when I answer the freaking phone you throw a library at me? This is why we don’t talk to you people anymore.”

But he doesn’t reach to touch you or attack you and stomp on your skull, so you lower the book away from your face ever so slightly.

He’s standing in front of you, arms crossed over his chest, a disappointed frown on his face.

You take a second to blink at him, a flood of tears trickling down your cheeks. There’s so much happening, so much shattering your entire perception of the universe right now, but there’s only one thing on your mind. “Did you just say ‘oh my god’?”

At your timid, whimpering voice, the demon’s eyes roll. “Are you serious right now?”

You flinch, stumbling back. “It’s just…” Your eyes wander and you mentally pinch yourself. But, honestly, he’s fucking gorgeous and your racing heart is making your head spin already. “You’re a demon?”

“Yeah, so?” He shoots back.

“So…” you swallow harshly. “God?”

This brings a smirk to his lips. “If you came down here to ask about God, I think you’ve got the wrong number.”

“I didn’t call you.” You argue, glancing behind you to make sure you aren’t going to be falling into a coffin or some other terrible thing that your aunt has hidden back there.

He looks confused. “You didn’t?” He glances around. “Someone did. It’s not like I can get the address wrong.”

“My friends called you.” There’s nowhere for you to go. You’re standing against the wall, mere feet away from a literal demon, and there’s nowhere you can run from him.

At the obviously otherwise empty basement, the demon raises his eyebrows at you. “Where are they?”

You shakily point towards the stairs as you slide down the wall to the floor. “At the party. It was a dare. A penalty for a dumb game—they were supposed to pretend to summon a demon with all of this weird shit and then I was supposed to stay down here for ten minutes by myself—they just wanted to scare me. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please just go away, I’ll never bother you, I swear.” You’re sobbing, completely overwhelmed, feeling completely exposed to this spiritual being as he watches you fall apart.

You’ve got the massive tome propped up on your lap, leaned against your forehead to shield yourself as you weep.

Do demons kill people?

Do they just possess people?

Are you going to go on from this night demon-possessed?

Are you supposed to pray or something?

Weight lifts from your bones as the tome is suddenly taken from you, and you blink past tears to see that the demon is crouched in front of you, dark strands of hair dancing with his eyelashes as he peers into your fearful face.

His gaze traces the trembling in your shoulders, your hands, your thighs, the rigid, bulging muscles in your throat and forearms as your body tightens with terror. When he speaks again, his deep voice is gentle. “Your friends summoned a demon and locked you in here by yourself?”

There’s nothing you can do but nod, wishing you hadn’t skipped your weekly phone call to your mom earlier. You wish you’d told her you love her, that you never meant to be possessed by a demon.

You see his hand lift and your eyes squeeze shut, a whimpering gasp rushing past your lips. If you get out of here alive, you’re burning down the basement and going to church.

But then his warm—feverishly hot, actually—fingertips glide over the wetness of your face, and his thumb is wiping at your tears. When your eyes snap open, he’s cupping your cheek in one hand but his eyes are black fire. “Stay here, baby, I’ll be right back.”

His touch disappears in a swirl of black smoke and he’s gone, vanished right before you like he was never there.

But your cheek is still throbbing from the heat of his palm, your heart thumping in your chest from the impact of his low voice.

Did he just call you baby?

All of that goes directly out of your mind because in the next second, you can hear enormous crashes of thunder above your head. The music from the party dies with an electric squeal that makes your ears sting, and then screams fill the air. The ceiling of the basement pounds and trembles with running footsteps from the floor above, furniture crashing and college students stumbling into things.

There’s a flicker from beneath the basement door, and then the light disappears.

The single bulb over your head goes out.

You scramble for your phone, turning the flashlight back on, heart hammering as you listen.

The screams begin to fade, sounding farther and farther away, until the house above you is completely silent.

Black smoke puffs in front of you and there he is again, the demon with the fire in his eyes.

The reflexive yelp that scratches up your throat is accidental, but it seems to douse the flames and the man’s gaze softens as he lowers himself to the floor, mimicking your folded-knees position. He lifts a hand and gestures to you, beckoning you closer.

Obviously you don’t move, terrified out of your mind. “What the hell did you just do?”

“I locked them in a room with me and scared them.” He shrugs. “It wasn’t as funny as they thought it was going to be. Your friends are assholes and I don’t think you should hang out with them anymore.” He tilts his head at you, his hand still extended. “I didn’t hurt them, I promise. They just ran away. As long as they stay away from you, they’ll be fine.”

You’re going to be completely honest with yourself, you didn’t have nearly enough wits about you to wonder if he’d gone up and slaughtered the whole bunch of them. But it’s nice that he didn’t, you guess.

“So.” He claps both hands to his knees. “This is a college party? I haven’t been to one of these in ages. Do you still play truth or dare?”

Your mouth falls open.

He scoots closer.

“Why as long as they stay away from me?” You’re grasping for understanding, wondering why you’re still on the filthy floor in the creepiest room you’ve ever found yourself in, staring at a demon who’s just asked you to play truth or dare.

The demon’s eyes narrow but his lips curl in a playful smirk. “Truth or dare, baby?”

You can’t help the shiver. Do you refuse to play? He’s a literal demon who can apparently call upon thunder and destroy sound and electrical systems and frighten the bejeezus out of an entire college party.

It stands to reason that playing the silly game is probably in your best interest.

“Truth.” The tiny whisper of your voice puts a flash of teasing disappointment in his eyes.

“Okay,” He says, and scoots even closer. “Are you grateful I made your friends piss themselves for you?”

A storm of emotions strike you. Are you grateful? Yeah, a little bit. It would have been hilarious to watch, now that you think about it. Are you confused as to why he did it? More than you can articulate. Would you have ever asked him to get revenge over a penalty that was supposed to be a joke? Honestly, probably not. Are you going to tell him that?

Hell to the no.

“Yes.” You swallow. “I’m grateful.”

He looks satisfied with your answer, with himself. “Good. Your turn. Ask me.”

You don’t want to ask him. You want to leave this house just like everybody else did, with your tail between your legs and your world changed forever—but alive. But you can’t. So you clench your fists and shed another round of tears. “Truth or dare?”

What would you even dare him to do?

“Dare,” He says devilishly, tongue flicking out to scrape his teeth. His eyes are mischief and intrigue, but they’re watching the trail of your tears with undeniable softness.

“I dare you…” Your voice chokes like a candle being blown out, and you struggle to get it back. “I dare you not to hurt me.” It’s pathetic. It’s laughably pathetic, but you’re scared beyond all reason and you need any kind of reassurance to keep you sane right now.

The teasing falls from his expression instantly, and a solemn stare levels with you. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe with me, I swear it.” His hands twitch, he wants to wipe the tears from your face, but he won’t—not again—not until you’re not afraid of him anymore.

You could weep all over again from the sheer anxiety of it all. “Why? Why would I believe you? Why me?”

He just smiles. “It’s my turn. Truth or dare?”

You are absolutely not ready to take a dare from a demon. “Truth.”

“Tell me your name. I’m Jisung.”

Jisung is looking at you like you’re a harbinger of hope, and you suddenly wonder if your name is supposed to hold power. Does giving your name to a demon give him power over you? Should you lie? Do you keep it to yourself?

But he gave you his name. (Or did he lie?)

You tell him. You’re locked in a basement with him—he doesn’t need a magical connection to you to kill you. He could hurt you whenever he wants.

He says your name out loud and you flinch, waiting. But your blood doesn’t boil, your eyes don’t explode, your brain doesn’t leak out of your ears. Your name on his tongue gives you confidence though, like he’s acknowledged you on an existential level and now you can look him in the eyes.

“Truth or dare.”

“Truth.” He already knows you won’t dare him to do anything, not while your mind is still racing with questions.

“Tell me why I’m safe with you, Jisung.”

He blinks at the strength in your voice, at his name in your mouth. It’s so overwhelming, to hear his name spoken aloud, that he has to turn away from you. How long has it been since he’s heard it? A millennium? An eon? Has it ever sounded so warm before? He’s blinking back tears, coughing past an ache in his chest, scrambling to collect himself before he looks back at you.

He could tell you any number of things and they would be true, but would they be enough? You’re the first face he’s seen in decades. You’re the first person who’s looked at him in years. You’re the first person who’s said his name without hurling it like a curse against him. You didn’t beg for your life when he appeared, you apologized like you bumped into him at the supermarket. Because he keeps waiting to see what you’re going to do next, say next, if you’re going to hold his gaze again.

But how does he say that to you?

He settles on his first realization of you. “Because you didn’t use me.”

You’re confused, fear falling away from your face completely as you puzzle through that statement. “I didn’t use you?”

He nods towards the book of spells that holds his invocation. “People summon demons to make deals—to use our power for their own gain. If we answer a call, it’s with the understanding that we’re being summoned to be leeched off of. You’re the first human I’ve ever come to who didn’t want anything from me.” If his throat tightens as he says it, he blames it on a millennium of loneliness and not the swell of pity that floods your eyes.

So he clears his throat and plops his chin in both palms. “Truth or dare?”

You’re warming up now, leaning into the rawness of the open wound he just exposed to you, and you feel your cheeks heat. “Dare.”

He’s stunned, delighted, and he smiles. “Dare?”

You swallow thickly, avoiding his gaze, and nod. “Dare.”

Jisung leans forward on his knees and one hand, the other lifting to wipe the last of your tears, and he lingers there, hovering right next to you. “Make a deal with me.”

The words strike you with conflicting fear and excitement, your eyes wide as you stare at him. Radiating heat from his skin kisses your face, feeding the blush on your cheeks. “But you just said—”

“It’s my deal,” He interrupts. “My terms with you.”

You don’t know whether to be scared or interested, but you have few options in the way of reactions. “What are the terms?”

“Summon me again.” He says simply. “Whenever you want to. Regularly. And I’ll protect you.”

You’re gaping directly into his face now, utterly baffled and not at all afraid. “Protect me from what?”

Jisung shrugs and lowers himself back into a seated position, this time so close that his knees are touching yours. “Anything, really. But there is the reality that once you’ve reached through the veil, there are traces of you on my side of it as well. Your presence is known now, you might be vulnerable to things from the other side.”

“Things?” You repeat. “What kinds of things?”

He frowns, like he doesn’t want to tell you. “Demons, spirits, the fallen. But I’ll protect you from all of them. They might not find you, they might not care—but if they do, I’ll be there.”

This is so much worse than a stupid prank demon summoning. “Why? Why would you make this deal?”

He smiles at you then, and it’s the most vulnerable he’s looked so far. “There’s not much in the way of goodness where I’m from. I miss it.”

“Goodness?” You repeat, frowning.

“You.” He says, reaching out and flicking your knee lightly. “Friendship. Smiles. Warm touch. Laughter. Shit—” He breaks off and turns his head away and you think you see him wiping wetness away from his own eyes. When he looks at you again, you almost think you had imagined it. “Give up your stupid ass friends and take me instead.”

You’re stunned; floored; flabbergasted. One of those weird hawk feathers on the bookshelves could knock you right over. “Jisung?” What do you even say to that?

He heaves a massive sigh and both of his hands curl over your knees. You don’t mind. You honestly don’t mind. Even if you know better than to trust him all at once, you don’t mind the way he’s touching you—the way he’s looking at you.

If he’s trying to trick you into some kind of possession, grooming you to be some kind of slave, you don’t know. You’re terrified that you’re being taken in by the most beautiful sad eyes you’ve ever seen, but right now you’re stuck.

He’s still watching you, eyes hooded and hoping, and you give a nod. “Okay. Deal.”

His fingers tighten around your knees and you would be terrified at the feeling of being caught in his grasp if it weren’t for the gaping grin that spreads across his face like you’ve just told a child he can go to Disney World.

“Is there some kind of blood pact we have to do to settle the deal? A contract?” You ask nervously, hoping you know which of the dozens of the books on the floor holds the invocation. “What if I summon the wrong demon on accident?”

“Just add my name to the invocation, I’ll come.” He says, and the smile on his face is addictive.

“You’ll come just because I call?”

Jisung squeezes your knees. “If you call me, I’ll come. And promise me you’ll ditch those assholes that locked you down here.” He pulls you closer to him, eyebrows lowering in earnest. “If any demon other than myself had answered, you could have come out of this experience very differently. I don’t want you around any more of their idiotic ideas.”

You laugh then, finally, and he stares at you in awe. “I promise.”

The demon straightens, satisfied, and then he’s extending one hand to you, which you willingly take this time. “The deal seals with a kiss. There’s no fine print, not for you. You have my word—regardless of what you think a demon’s word is worth.”

He has a point, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You let him pull you to your feet, you help him find the spell book and tear the page out, slipping it into your pocket like you’ve just gotten his phone number.

When he circles back to you, he doesn’t look so dangerous anymore. “Are you ready?”

You’re nervous, still doubting what may come of your future, but you’re not scared right now. Instead, you nod, and let his warm hands tilt your chin up. You see the black flames ignite in his eyes once again, just before Jisung presses a searing kiss to your lips and fire shoots down your body.

It’s a simple kiss, as simple as pushing a stamp into a wax seal, but when he leans back to observe the heat blooming across your cheeks, your mind is gone. You feel his forehead touch yours, the whisper of his breath on your skin, the burning impact of his next words, but you’re only barely keeping up.

Because you definitely no longer regret coming to this party, or losing that stupid drinking game.

“You’re mine now, baby,” Jisung whispers against your cheek, and flashes you a wink. “Just call me and I’m yours.”

@whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella @babyphotos0325 @softfor-svtptg @furfoxsake22 @tubelightanyaa @kayleefriedchicken @rockstarkkami @sp1derst0rrr @eastjonowhere @its-stayville-forever @allenajade-ite @naraportokala @jinniejjam @blackberryrains @feetoffthemalfoy @highandalive @scarlet789 @ramadiiiisme @thecutiepieme @lemonn015

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[sanni276]

Joker Jr. AU but a bit different

I have recently seen and read several Tim Drake AU's where he is Joker Jr. They were all really interesting but I noticed how Tim was (obviously since that's like the main trait of the Joker) always insane in these fics, which has given me the following idea: Tim is Joker Jr. but he is not insane and actually purposefully became him to at as a spy.

Hear me out: Little 11/12-year old Timothy was out at night doing some nighttime photography (*cough* batstalking *cough*) when he witnessed the Joker doing something so brutally sick and wrong (Barbara being shot maybe?) that Tim decided that Joker needed to be stopped and it had to happen soon. Somewhere in that thought process it somehow got into his head that he had to do something.

I am sadly not actually smart enough to explain to you how he did it, but Tim tricks the Joker into making him his "son" and into thinking that he is insane. However instead of bringing chaos and harm upon the people of Gotham, Tim is using JJ as a cover to infiltrate the world of Gotham's rogues and send warnings to the police and citizens before attacks so they can be stopped or at least as many people saved as possible.

Another use of Tim pretending to be JJ is, that he can slowly convince Harley to leave the Joker over time and even better: Joker might take him to Ethiopia where Tim saves Jason. Through Jason's vague memories of being rescued in the last second by a child that was with the Joker? the Bat's finally become aware of the fact that Joker has a child (i imagine that they only heard rumours about it before and they kind of brushed it off since the story didn't really add up or some other excuse like that). They are obviously very concerned but when they finally find Tim and expect to meet a traumaticzed child that has become close to insanity, this happens instead:

*Batman and co. dramatically landing on the roof JJ is standing on*

*Tim turning around and starting to wave exitedly when he sees them*: Hi :)! Omg I can't believe I'm meeting you guys, i am a big fan do you need something from me? Information maybe? That would be no problem although you might have to wait a bit if you need like specific info on a rogue because i would have to investigate first and-

Nightwing: Wtf B?! You told me to come from Blud tonight since I am the best of us with children but I wouldn't touch whatever this is with a ten-foot-pole.

Batman (ignoring his son): Hello Timothy (yeah they figured out his identity), we are here to rescue you from the Joker and bring you home to your family.

Tim: Rescue me? Why would you have to rescue me? *whispering to himself* and my parents have found out i'm not at drake manor? I am going to have to check they're travel plans again.

*Bat's sharing a concerned glance*

Jason: I know this is hard to understand for you and you must be so scared, but Joker is very dangerous. We can help you. You are safe now and you don't need to defend him.

*Tim looking at them with a confused Pikachu face*: Ewwww, I would rather drop my camera off a roof than defend the Joker. I think we are having a little misunderstanding right now.

Tim, completly convinced from his Hero's greatness, just assumed that the Bat's knew about his existence, who he was and that he was only pretending to be a rogue. Why wouldn't they? There the best detectives in the world after all!

He then procedes to explain to them how he is literally the perfect spy, since his parents wouldn't even really miss him if he died and he already made contingencies that would assure all the data and evidence he has on people would be automatically deleted.

The Bat's leave that rooftop not only without Tim, but also somehow even more concerned than before.

In conclusion: Give me an AU that is just Tim my sweet-summer child doing the most reckless shit that is somehow atually very helpful for everyone while the Batfam is just desperatly trying and failing to convince Tim that he has no obligation for what he is doing and that his sacrifice would not be worth it (during the many encounters they have, Tim slowly turns out to be the perfect adoption bait and I think we all already know how this is going to end.)

This is literally my first ever tumblr post or post about the batfam so I hope I did this the right way and this was somewhat possible to enjoy. Please tell me if i made any mistakes since english isn't my first language and feel free to write fic's using my idea!

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

Long Term Effects Of Blot

I'm not writing this out the same way as last time. Anyways

I've always loved the idea of overblots having long-lasting effects on the body- like the immune system, when the body begins to sense an 'enemy', it'll take precautions to ensure it doesn't affect you as badly as last time. However the difference lies in things like viruses - COVID, for example, had way too many spike proteins to just give the SARS vaccine out. Sometimes there are mutations our body can't account for right away.

Applying this to blot accumulation - I think there needs to be a physiological response, and seeing as we know that once someone overblots, they are more likely to OB again, the symptoms are a little scary, especially since the topic is not very heavily researched.

General Symptoms

Darkening of blood vessels, specifically in the extremities

Exhaustion and fatigue (this is the body trying to shut down before any extreme emotions can be felt)

Loss of appetite

Lower magic throughput and output

Metallic taste in the mouth

Dizziness

Migraines (specifically only aura phase seems to be strong)

Severe dehydration

PTSD symptoms are exacerbated - more on this next

Those are all mostly physical reactions to the accumulation of blot - I also think that memories that are related to the reason someone overblots will worsen the symptoms.

I.e. When Riddle hyperfocuses on his work to the point of exhaustion, the tips of his fingers start to turn black and he begins hearing his mom's disembodied voice. Usually that Alone makes him go to bed.

When Leona and Falena get into disagreements, he has to keep a cool head otherwise a band of blot will form under his skin in the form of an upside down crown on his forehead.

When the tweels poke fun or tease Azul about his old eating habits, their voices imitate the sound of laughter from school children

Sometimes when Jamil is getting close to his limit with Kalim, his UM activates without him noticing as a stress response to make Kalim do as he says - nothing major usually, but it scares Jamil that his magic can do that.

If Vil has been stressed out and starts looking in the mirror too long, his reflection starts to change into something horrific.

Sometimes Idia wonders what would happen if he opened the gates again, if he did go find his brother. The soundtrack to the videogame they played before Ortho died starts playing in his head on loop, his tears black and burning until he can find something to distract himself.

Mal I'll wait on bc. not done the book but yknow

For my OC Viz, ((minor) spoilers if you haven't finished her lore fic - TW for gore/horror elements, demons, Child abuse, death, etc. Please read at your own discretion)

She overblots when she's a kid/fights her mom, but doesn't remember. Her symptoms are pretty persistent - even though SHE's not using magic directly, her gauntlets are using her magic in order to function + the intake of magic from other people/her surroundings is a contributing factor to her hallucinations and physical reactions to the other overblotters.

Anyways, Taglist: @nemisisnemi @theleechyskrunkly @lumdays @distant-velleity @elenauaurs @fluffle-writes @my-cursed-brain @starry-night-rose

DM to be added/removed

[violet-eng]

🔞 See you on the other side | Thanos (Choi Subong x fem!reader)

I HAVEN'T WRITTEN ANYTHING IN A LONG TIME, VERY ASHAMED OF HOW BADLY WRITTEN OR BASIC THIS MAY BE.

Anyway, I don't know where this came from, I've had this desire for Choi Seunghyun stuck for like 10 years now, somehow I had to get rid of it. I'm still embarrassed…

Awkward plot, as always, I must add drama because if my life is full of drama then the fanfic just the same.

Summary: Fem reader has cancer, her ex is Subong, who asked her for drugs when she was working at the hospital, she gave them to him because they were for his jet lag and dizziness, but things escalate and she ends up fired and he with some sort of dependency. Anyway, they meet again in the squid game and he tries to fix everything with her because he obviously didn't forget her. And OBVIOUSLY for this first fic we have the typical and respectable BATHROOM SCENE.

Warnings 🔞🔥: mentions of cancer, SEX, SMUT, oral fem receiving, fingering. That…

In this fic, Thanos would be behaving somewhat bottom/sub? Is real life T.O.P a bottom? ask jiyong, enjoyyyyyy but not too much

〇△□〇△□〇△□〇△□〇△□〇△□〇△□〇△□〇△□〇△□

Three people down, or perhaps it was four? In situations where one's personal safety is compromised, the finer details can appear insignificant. Your hands and legs trembled, and your entire body was a nervous system susceptible to error and misstep. You felt the acceleration of your heartbeat in your throat and ears, echoing in your head, and perspiration running down your cheekbones, the salty sensation in your mouth.

Your eyes turned to the spot where a figure was jumping carefree, holding the surprise in your chest when you saw Subong in the crowd, your Subong. He looked like a hallucination, hovering among the players, jumping over the corpses with a maniacal grin… drugs… your drugs.

The daily game had reached its end. It was shocking that people had died in such a strange way, and there were many questions to be answered. However, the pain was even more overwhelming because cancer was like that: painful, unbearable without medicine, especially in the current circumstances.

'Señorita' the voice was behind you; you felt his presence, the shadow of his figure enveloping you completely, and the scent of his skin and the dye of his hair brought back precious but bitter memories. How much pain love can endure.

'Su-bong', you whispered, though you thought your voice was firm, the nuance was faint and the volume low.

'My baby! What are you doing here?"His arms abruptly embraced you, drawing you into his body, and your cheek bumped against his chest.You felt that familiar, heady feeling of being protected by him — loved.

Away from the crowd, Subong inspects your face, noticing spots of blood that are not yours and a couple of dark circles under your eyes… nothing else.

'You don't look well,' he says with a grimace.

'I need some,' you say, your breathing heavy, your eyes watering, your gaze beseeching, 'You owe me. I got them for you.'

He does not take you up on your request, nor does he attempt to argue with you, because he knows that is one of the reasons you lost your medical licence.

'Say "Aaah"'.

He brings one of his hands in front of you, a colourful pill between his fingers, and slowly touches your lower lip to make you open your mouth.His fingers enter, and your tongue takes the pill, but habit, treacherous habit, appears and your tongue tastes his fingers. A touch of what you had been.

Your eyes meet his as you both reminisce about the good times you shared during your relationship. When you two were an item, he would gently slide his fingers into your mouth, and within moments, you would be caught up in a passionate embrace, him on top of you, making love from behind while whispering a range of compliments in your ear.

'Better?' he inquires, his fingers gently tracing the lips around your mouth. You nod as the memory fades. You feel as if you've tasted a taste of normality, something you haven't enjoyed in years.

The night after games and food, you feel heavy and lethargic. You sweat and shiver, and you realise that it is a reaction of your body. You had treated several patients like this for years, and the helplessness of becoming one had made you fall into a very dark place, almost abandoning yourself.

"Bathroom" you request one of the guards, but your voice is not as steady as your gaze. The guard declines, and you consider that if you had a pen with you, you would have moved him out of your way, as you did with the insurance agent who had refused to cover your chemotherapy.

"It's urgent. I just want to freshen up" you insist, aware that in your position you can't make demands like that.

‘Hey bro, she has cancer, if it was your sister or your mother would you treat her like this?’ Subong appears at the right moment, after having watched you for a long time, “look at her, she can't even stand up”.

He places his arm around you and shakes you vigorously, as if manipulating a rag doll. His methods are deceptively straightforward, yet his success is unparalleled.Even if you had been in optimal health, he would have still prevailed.

You wash your face and pour water on the back of your neck, observing the reflection in the mirror. Your bruised features bear little resemblance to the respectable oncologist you used to be.

Subong's drugs have effectively mitigated your feelings of rejection, causing all sentiments towards the person in the mirror to dissipate within moments. Although you don't recognize yourself, you feel a sense of rejuvenation, as if returning to a state of strength and painlessness.

Subong approaches you, resting his chin on your shoulder, leaning his hands against the sink. You feel his breath in your ear and the soft brush of his lips on your neck, his kisses below your ear, at the precise spot that makes your skin bristle, reminiscent of their days together.

Subong's voice, husky and subtle, with sweet undertones, asks, "Feeling better?" The enigma that is Subong: he seems impenetrable and stoic when he raps, yet under the stage he is a sensitive and playful creature, always with a striking look and a touch of madness.

"Better," you reply, looking in the mirror and observing the closeness between the two of you, as if time hasn't passed, as if you were never done with him, as if your souls weren't on a tightrope drifting off to who knows where. You experience a sense of longing for him, the intimacy, the warmth of his embrace, the soft rhythm of his breathing, the way his lips cling to your skin without kissing you, as if it causes him discomfort to touch you, as if you were made of porcelain.

"When we make that money, I'll pay for your chemotherapy," he says. His voice is masculine and deep, rough, and his eyes are like fogged glass, intrinsically wounded by your illness as if it were his own.

"What about your debts?" you inquire, turning to him, cradling his face in your hands, him still leaning on the sink behind you.

He bends down to look at you blearily, and with a smirk, almost cartoonishly, he says, "Fuck the debt. I only care about your well-being. I'll see who I'll take his share from."

This provokes laughter from you, which you hadn't experienced in nearly a year. The corners of your lips ache, and the sensation of your cheeks expanding sends shivers down your skin.

Subong remarks, "There it is," as he touches the tip of your nose. "My girl's cute laugh." His fingers trace the contours of your lips, evoking memories on your skin with his touch, and reviving sensations you thought were lost.

He knows how to make you feel good, how to tease you, and how to be gentle because he knows your body wouldn't be able to handle it if he used all his strength.It's like when you went to the bars -the body remembers, so you move naturally from soft kisses and panting to one of the cubicles.

Your pants are on the floor, your underwear is around one of your ankles, and you are sitting on the toilet seat.Subong is skilled at rapping, which allows his tongue to glide with delight. He breathes softly as he holds his face between your legs.His fingers glide up your thighs, tracing ancient marks with his thumbs, while his tongue paints your velvety walls with his devotion.

You intertwine your fingers in his hair, your head thrown back, your eyes rolling back as the combination of drugs and his adept tongue takes hold. You hear him emit a low, throaty sound as you discreetly disengage from his grasp and press his face against yours, his nose brushing against your sensitive area.

You inhale his scent, the rhythm of your heart accelerating, and you feel the warmth of his fingers between your legs. His fingers begin to brush against your folds, and you recognize the familiarity of this touch.

"I don't think I can bear it," you whisper, pulling him away from you. Your hands are in his hair, your eyes fixed on his, which are black and smiling as his tongue wipes his chin. His tanned skin is glistening with the crystals of your juices.

"I promise to be gentle. I will make you feel good, baby." The dichotomy of sweetness of his face and the naughtiness of his fingers exploring your womanhood plunges you into an unknown territory somewhere between amusement and discretion.He enjoys seeing the way you squirm at his touch, at his fingers delving inside you and roaming over formerly dominated territory.

He swiftly locates your sensitive areas, his fingers pressing firmly into your body. His fingers disappear into your ecstasy, and you begin to rhythmically shake your hips, in harmony with the intruders testing your last reserves of sanity.

"So… ohhh-"

Subong looks at you satisfied as you begin to chant incoherently. He has always loved to please you, and that's why he has been so devoted to your body, learning every nook and cranny and experimenting with his movements to achieve the perfect reaction of your being, which is now destroyed under his fingers.

"More," you moan, gripping his shoulders with your nails, and he, your devoted instrument of pleasure, takes you to the edge of losing yourself in your own pleasure, of feeling every electric fiber of your body.

"Don't hold back."The rough voice and soft tongue are in full effect, and you can feel your body responding with heightened sensation. Your voice is almost a scream, your teeth holding back your lips, and your shoulders tensing as it reaches its peak, and then it explodes inside you. You exhale hard, your legs wrapping around his head, your hands in his hair, almost tearing out his locks.

"Shit," he laughs, as you shudder and catch your breath. "When you heal, I'll do you better. I promise." He rises to kiss you, his tongue touching the roof of your mouth, and your own taste bathes your tongue.

"How did you know I had cancer?" you know this is not the time to ask, and yet you do.He smiles over your lips as he kisses you.

"When I went to see you at the hospital, they told me you had been arrested by the police for stabbing an insurance agent during your chemotherapy," he says over you, proud as he wipes traces of saliva from your chin.

"You knew my medical license had been taken away. Why did you look for me at the hospital?"

"I wanted to beg your forgiveness. I would ask one of your old friends for her phone to call you, you would have answered them," he said, kneeling down to pull your panties up.

"I am sorry I blocked your number."

"It's all in the past," he says, smiling up from the floor and wiping his lip with his thumb. "It was good," he continues, "when we get out of here, you can unblock me."

"Do you believe we'll survive this?" you pull up your pants and escort him out of the cubicle.

"I'm not certain of anything, but if anything happens, I'll see you on the other side," he says, taking your hand in his and stroking the back of your skin.

"See you on the other side…"

[tumblingxelian]

"Are we discussing the writers intentions with Jaune, Jaune as a general character or the audience reception to Jaune and are we singling out a specific audience or the collective?"

All three really. The collective.

To start, I'm fascinated by how Jaune seems to contrast the girls in terms of their development. His growth is very loud and in your face in specific moments like Jaundice or the prom or Volume 3's finale.

Hell, his moment in the Battle for Haven has him not getting the trauma induced power up to punch Cinder hard but rather to heal Weiss. After that, he's to the side healing those who need it. It's a big moment but his only moment aside from a small passing mention of his semblance.

It feels like peaks and valley when it comes to the times when he gets the focus.

All while the girls have each of their journeys spread across the whole show's intended run. Ruby's arc of trying to move forward too much has always been there but with weekly episode releases and hiatuses between seasons, it's causes even those who are well meaning to overlook it.

I don't know if that came out right so make of my thoughts what you will.

OK so its too hot for me to do any recording or other projects but I can answer asks, so let's get to this (Cracks bottle of cold water over my head) Let's do this!

So, Jaune is certainly a divisive character and while I have warmed up to him somewhat over the years, and while I adore RWBY I often feel he can be a disruptive element, but also one that does in fact serve a purpose. Keep that in mind for my response going forward.

So, touching on your stuff first, it is interesting, though I would argue against the idea that the girls don't also at times have very loud character development.

Weiss's shifter after talking to Port, her summons, the Atlas party, ETC. Blake running away & confronting Roman, her everything with Ilia, the final confrontation with Adam and the Bees kiss as just some examples.

Interestingly Ruby and Yang are on the more quiet end of character development scales with stuff building up slowly and quietly. Though not without their big moments, Ruby's eulogy and explosion, Yang's confrontation with Raven and the bees kiss, ETC.

Still, I think I see what you mean in how these things tend to be framed and handled in a much more varied way than media usually does.

IE, Jaune losing it at Cinder in V5 is basically him lacing the temperament of a Huntsmen that his allies have and it accomplishes nothing on his end as far as "Badass confrontation" goes and instead he only starts to grow after leaning into the role of support & healer, even defaulting more to Yang as leader in V7 during their rescue work.

Overall and I said this in my Bees essay that CRWBY like long form story telling, and that influences a lot of how RWBY is written.

In these regards Jaune does feel interesting/odd because he does have several... Archetypical moments of character growth as you say. What's interesting to me and what I think the writers are going for is that how good some of these even are for him can be questionable.

What I mean is like...

Jaune went to Beacon with a very "Idiot Shounen hero" attitude towards things. He cheated his way into an elite school and kind of just assumed it'd work out. He didn't try that hard in classes till he was being blackmailed, rejected help out of pride and even when he did seek it out it was only after he had a "win" under his belt that wasn't even wholly his but he doesn't know that.

The thing is, very little ever went Jaune's way on these things either in the short term or long term.

IE, he short term he showed up at Beacon and nearly died and or failed (Subversion of his shounen expectations.) But then he was helpedby a cool girl who ineplicably liked him and said he had a lot of Aura! (This falls in line with his Shounen expectations!)

But then it turns out he still sucks at classes and having what a girl who has a crush on you says is a lot of Aura doesn't mean much when surrounded by other people who also have a lot of Aura and have been training all their lives (Subversion again)

He then manages to retain his pride and defend his team and wins a battle "All on his own" except he ignored Glynda's advice and only won because Pyrrha guided his hand. Though after this he did swallow his pride and get help, its sort of net neutral?

Moving forward he wasn't that involved in the plot, but his stuff in V2, was very "Standard" school stuff, but then it was followed up by his love interest also being his mentor being a problem because Pyrrha fulfilled the trope of the mentor dying. Jaune was also cut out of that entire conflict (Wisely) because he's not actually the main character and he'd only get in the way. (Subversions all round! Be it for the cool girl liking the Shounen loser, him not being the MC, Pyrrha being his mentor and the tragic "Brightest of their generation" before she was his love interest and so on!)

Just within the first three volumes we see that there's this dichotomy of Jaune trying t and sometimes even getting to play much more standard story beats "Straight" that RWBY usually avoid. Only for them to then get blindsided by RWBY's more subversive elements.

But the key thing here is you only notice the latter if you pay attention to the whole, and not the individual moments. This is a problem I had with Jaune till about V6/7; because despite my insights here I do think the execution has been murky more often than not.

Still, with the above in mind, I think one can easily where how things flow out from there, with Jaune trying to play these self assigned roles and getting these moments of "Standard storytelling."

Only for something to come along later and put a spin on it.

V4 Jaune gives a nice speech to Ruby but it ultimately just serves to reinforce her burgeoning issues because he also missed her tendency to repress and when placed in a scenario like he would have been with Pyrrha he froze up and couldn't act, IE Tyrian almost getting Ruby.

He finally got his big speech and rage at Cinder, but was actively being told to chill by Qrow and Cinder gives near zero fucks and rather than getting a power up he gains a power that assigns him a support role over a "badass" role.

We also get to see something in V6 which I thin is often neglected in Jaune analysis, that boy has a fucking temper!

We've seen it with him shouting at Pyrrha, at Cinder and then outright attacking Oscar. But he always calms down afterwards and no one seems to hold it against him, but the thing is this means he never really works on it. The only thing that can shut it down is his own sense of shame rather than actual self control like say, Yang has.

But I digress, my interpretation of the writers intent but I basically think Jaune is meant to serve four purposes in the narrative:

1: Counterpart & foil to Ruby as leaders with very different skills & roles in universe. 2: Counterpart & commentary on shitty male authority figures who needs to unlearn toxic masculinity. 3: A longform subversion of the typical "idiot Shounen hero" who gets by on gumption and lots of natural talent. 4: The closest person we get to a wholly normal person in universe, as even Oscar has an ancient wizard in his head.

These are all interesting things and I can see what the creators are aiming for, or so I believe. However, I do think the execution of all this is often murky.

The short form stuff I mention above is some of the hardest to grapple with cos until you see it pay off it just seems like standardized story tropes, and even then the emphasis these ideas require to work can be disruptive to other characters narrative importance.

What's more while interesting and impossible to fully comment on until the story is wholly done, it is hard to say how strictly necessary some of these ideas are to explore given RWBY's limited run time. & the fact some of them could be divided up and given to more temporary characters who don't need as much narrative real estate.

Thus I can definitely get why people often find Jaune frustrating. Hell, I can often find him frustrating, especially because I think some of his traits are meant to evoke a degree or irritation with him. But all of this also feeds into why he can be such a divisive character.

As for people who just project onto Jaune and make him super harm big badass, ugh, idiots unworthy of consideration who frankly shouldn't be watching RWBY, I have nothing to say to them.

Anyway I hope this was coherent, thanks for the ask, sorry it took so long!

[daenysthedreamersblog]

SECRET OF US - VIII

i told you things

i told you things that i never said to anybody else, i regret them but I'll pack it up and practice leaving you were all at once 'til the fade to black 'til the yellow glow turned a little sad you were in my hands, but you're good at leaving

masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter

summary: you head into the viper's den of your father's household with coriolanus snow

pairings: modern!coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: MDNI! swearing, drinking, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex

notes: rip tiktok also sorry im a slow writer ya'll im a perfectionist to my core

The sun didn't fit. It should be dark, gloomy depressing outside to follow the tone for today, rain and storms hiding away any chance of joy...instead the sky was clear, a bright yellow ray beaming down into you face making you look away.

His hand is resting on your thigh, you watch his finger tap along the meat of you leg. You think of a time when you glared daggers at a boy's head as he sat in front of you in some class. You follow his arm up until your looking at said boy's head watching the road. What force led you here to this moment in time? You knew what force back then, what stern hand had guided you, the voice incessantly in your head sounded too much like your father's.

You sighed staring back out into the road ahead, "Do you remember back then?" He makes a noise to question you. "School, when we first met."

He shuffles his hand around the steering wheel eyes focused on the distant road. "Um I guess, why?"

"No reason." You chew on the side of your finger and wonder how different your lives could have been if you hadn't given into your father's anger, a senseless competition. Would a hand be resting on your thigh still? "Do you think we would have been friends?"

He finally glanced over at you, "If you hadn't been such a raging bi-!" You whack his arm, "I'm kidding! Probably, who knows...and anyways its over now no use dwelling on it."

You watch his knuckle tighten slowly on the wheel and you feel like he's not telling the truth about something, but you don't push. He's right, the past was the past. "You were so cute in school I hated hating you."

"Figured." He smirked over at you. "And what about now?"

You cross your arms, "No comment."

"Spoken like a true politician." He chuckled. "Got to keep the cards close huh?"

"It's where they belong." You glance out the window.

His hand lands back on your thigh, "Maybe they belong to the wind." You wanted to, for him, for yourself, but trusting him was too hard despite trying. You had tried for years with Coriolanus Snow, years of blood, sweat and tears to ruin each other. That creeping fear that he was out to get you didn't go away within one sweet kiss.

You chew on your finger until the skin bleeds.

Your parents had lived close to the academy where you had went to high school, still owned the home where they frequently stayed. They also owned property away from the city, where the traffic was light and the stars were visible. 

The house was right off the beach, overlooking the water with plenty of space to accommodate you and your friends, but you had no intention of actually staying there, trapping yourself in with your parents. 

Instead, you followed Coriolanus into the elevator of the hotel you were choosing for lodging. "Do they know you're in yet?"

"No." You shook your head toying with the handle of your suitcase. "Few more hours of peace right?" You glance up at him, "Did you come up here with..."

The Plinths.

He nodded, "Yeah." You knew they owned property across town, had went to a party with Arachne and Clem there when you were younger. You figured he hadn't come back since Sejanus had died.

"Isn't it crazy we've been so involved in each other lives, yet we don't seem to really know each other." The elevator dings and you lead the way out and down the hall. 

The students you had went to high school with you had been going to school with since you were a child. Your families grew up together, you had the same circle, and hung around the same people. Yet, he sometimes felt like a stranger to you. "Probably because we never really knew anything, just the surface layer."

You slide the key into the door and push it open rolling your suitcase off to the side and flopping down across the king bed. "Aren't you just a giant onion Coriolanus Snow?"

"An onion." He laughs the bed dipping as he crawled next to you.

"Let me peel you." You drew circles into his wrist as he stared down at you. Gosh he was beautiful, you had shied away from that, denied that but now you can't stop admiring it.

He smiles, "Tell me something real."

You let him brush hair away from your face, "You have such pretty eyes."

"What a cop out." He rolled those pretty eyes, "Too easy."

"Doesn't make it any less true."

He leans down and kisses the side of your mouth, "True." You waited for him to speak his truth, "I'm worried about tonight." You pulled back confusion written on every feature. Coriolanus sighed, "He-Your father...he-well you know what he's like." 

You sat up, "I don't understand."

"I just...he's not going to like that you and I are..." You sucked in a breath. Say it, define this, make it real. "Not trying to kill each other." Disappointment settled in your stomach. "I have a feeling he's going to try and change that."

You furrow your brows, "Why?"

He ran a hand over his face, "He wants whats best for you, and that doesn't include anyone but him."

"He doesn't get to decide that." You climbed on top of him cupping his face. "I'm done letting him control me."

His hands slid around your waist, "I know."

You kiss him words being too raw to tell him you thought he was the best thing you had right now. He swings you around until your back hits the bed, until he’s hovering over you, kissing down your neck, collarbones pulling your shirt over your head to continue trailing his mouth down the center of your breast. 

Your fingers work his belt open to allow him the space to push his pants down his legs and onto the floor. He's kissing down your stomach, kissing your hips as he inches off your underwear and pants laying you naked before him. He kisses your inner thigh, kisses the heat pulsating from your between your legs, and then he plants the gentle kiss to your clit as your back arches in anticipatory pleasure. He worships you, he glides his tongue along your clit, swirling and teasing the bud as your claws dig into his scalp. He presses down hard, moving his mouth in delicate motions that draws sweat to your hairline as two finger push inside of you. Your back arches even further, your hips tilting upward as his mouth wraps around your clit, stars peppering your vision. "Coryo," You moan for him feeling his smile deep within your cunt. His tongue slides over your clit one last time, fingers curling deep inside of you the pleasure incinerating you before you orgasm. You turn your face as you whine out into the air feeling him lap up every ounce of you until your withering under his mouth.

He's off the next second flipping you onto your stomach and hoisting you up onto all fours. You have one moment to grip the sheets before he pushes his cock inside of you. You groan from your throat as he grabs onto your hips to slam in and out of you and all you can do is arch for him to slide him deeper, slide him to that spot you like all too well. "So good," he pants out. "So good to me." You flatten your chest to the bed, bitting onto your knuckle as your body bends even further for him.

"Mhm," Is all you can whimper out as he thrust hard and fast into every inch of you. Your body is clenching down around him, the pressure building up too fast already. He was right, it was so good, how could it be this good between you two. You had been with other people, he no doubt had as well, but this...this was a different plane of existance. "You feel so good." You tell him the same.

He lets out a breathy laugh, his strokes slow and deep. "Do I?" He reaches around your body fingers pressing into your clit, drawing circles into it. "Tell me baby girl, tell me how good it feels." You do. You're a blubbering whining mess for him, mewling for more as you scream into those stupid hotel sheets. "Cum on my cock then, show me how good it feels." You do that too twisting your fingers into the bed as your body clamps down around him. He grips onto you hips again moving at a rabid pace to chase his own pleasure, spilling inside of you with your name on his lips.

You lay like that for a while, bent over, him inside of you until it didn't seem reasonable anymore. He reluctantly pulled out, you reluctantly let him, and then he's pulling your sweating bodies together across messy sheets. You need to shower, you need to get ready, prepare for this disastrous event.

But you close you eyes, and revel in the warmth of his skin a little longer.

You smooth down the black dress, fidgeting with the jewelry littering your fingers. "Hey." His warm hand slides into yours. "We don't have to go." He comes in close tucking hair behind your ear as he trails a finger down your cheek. "We can go back, spend the whole night in that hotel room." You sucked in a breath cheeks heating despite the slight chill in the air. He smirked, "Spend it having you spread open beneath me."

You leaned into his hand, "As nice as that sounds..." You tugged his hand down from your face your fingers tangled in an intricate web of connection. "I have to face him."

The door opens and you find yourself dropping his hand taking the slight sidestep away from him. You catch it, he catches it, but you avoid looking at him. "Mother." You rush into her arms the only comfort you had ever found growing up.

"My darling girl." She kisses your cheeks and peers at Coriolanus Snow. "Mr. Snow, what a surprise." She holds out her hand allowing him to press a respectable kiss to it before ushering everyone inside to avoid awkward conversations. 

You stand there in the foyer awkwardly anyways. "You have a lovely home." He tells your mother.

She waves his flattery away, "She's not in her prime, only had the dust shook off for this pointless party." She eyed you tenderly, "Come by our building when we all get back to the city, now that is a lovely home."

"I'm sure he has better things to do that admire your paint choices." You fought to not roll your eyes as worlds incessantly collided in front of you. Coriolanus had always been overly cordial with the elite set of parents your fellow students had, smoozing them at various events...even yours.

He smiled down at you, "I'm a avid paint admirer." He runs a hand down the sleeve of your coat. "Let me hang this up for you."

Your mother motions down the hall, "Coat check is right through there." You shrug out of your coat and watch him disappear with it, "I thought we hated him?" She whispers in your ear.

"We do-we did...I did." You glance at her. "I don't hate him anymore, at least I don't think I do."

She studied your face, "No you don't hmm." You had your father's eyes, cold, hard eyes chased away by all the warmth in your mother's who's softness always enveloped you, a softness you searched endless inside of yourself. She gave you life, she knew your soul even if you didn't. "I meant what I said, have him come by when you get back."

"No." You scoffed.

Her eyes narrowed, "You're as difficult as your father, your own worst enemy." You hear his footsteps returning, "Why don't you give him a tour?" She runs a hand down your arm before walking away.

He smirked down at you, "Absolutely not," You pointed at him.

His hands grabbed onto your waist pulling you in, "Show me you room kitten."

"You're as bad as her." You groaned shoving past him and up the stairs. You walk him into the house showing him various offices and rooms and bathrooms. He's not interested in it, he knows you're stalling as you approach the last door. "This is my room." You grimace as you open the door letting him walk inside.

He flips on the light glancing around at your bedroom as if he never been in one before. It was different than you room in the city, the one you chose, you decorated and lived in. This one was a view into your adolescents, the version he never got to see behind closed doors. He peers at your bare desk, littered with random pictures of Arachne and Clemensia. He slowly gazes at the walls covered in various awards and degrees, the small book shelf with childish fiction books hidden beside literature your father planted. Then his fingers are trailing along the white floral detailing on your powder blue bedspread.

"Roses," He traces the stem off of one.

"I guess." You were picking at your nails waiting for the snap of judgement. 

He finally meets your eyes, "It's cute." You don't respond as he starts digging through your bedside table. "Your mother seemed okay with me being here."

"She knows how to bite her tongue." You step inward, "Been hiding her opinions for years now."

He sighs sitting on your cushioned perfectly made bed, "And what are her true opinions of me then kitten?"

You come around the bed, fingers trailing along the white wooden bedpost until you're in front of him. "I'm sure nothing appropriate." You smirk down at him as hands ghost the back of your thighs until his palms are pressed into your backside.

"What are your opinions?" 

You straddle him, his hard cock digging into you. "Nothing appropriate."

His mouth hovers along yours, "Tell me something real."

I need you. "I need you inside of me."

He kisses you hard as you grind your body down onto his. It's fast and heated and you're fighting with his pants as he hikes up you dress to dig his fingers into your soaked cunt. "So needy for me." He smiles along your mouth, nipping your bottom lip before sprawling you out on your old bed.

"Always," You don't let him go far. You keep your arms around his neck allowing him to spread you open, to push inside of you slowly, inch by inch, letting him envelope you inside out. When he's filled you completley you let your legs wrap around him gently, letting him rock his hips against yours. You felt every inch of his body, every inch of his soul consuming you with every long slow stoke of his cock. He kisses you again, tongues melding together as your bodies had done, until every part of you seems attached to his.

Your hands trail down his back, feeling every muscle rippling under his dress shirt as he thrust into you. You're never sated, never full enough of him and you think you may never be and the idea terrifies you. So you tuck your face into his neck and kiss him, kiss his pulse and hold onto him before he slips through your fingertips, before you let him.

In the end you know it would be your fault, it had always been your fault.

You feel heat filling your veins, his fire engulfing you in it's blue flame raging against your amber glow. "My girl," He groans against your face, the words branding on your skin. "My pretty girl." In some other version of this you would ask him if he means it, if he could ever want you that way, and maybe he would, but not here, not now. You relish in the delusion of simplicity of being his.

You tilt your hips, you take him deeper, you close your eyes and feel every shock of pleasure shooting across your body. You clamp down around him, like you always would, and orgasm tangled up in everything that was him. His hips stutter as he cums soon after open mouth breathing against your hair. You feel the tightness in your throat, the realization of the serene bubble you made hidden under sexual desire. There was so much more, so much, and you could never look it in the face.

He kisses your forehead, and you wonder if he feels it too.

He stares down at you gentle fingers brush hair out of your face, "I may have smudged your makeup a little."

You chuckle at the break in tension, "That's alright."

"You're still beautiful." Your cheeks burn, "You've always been beautiful."

"Even back then?" You wince when he pulls out, as he helps you sit up to collect yourself.

He nods as he adjust his pants. "Then, now." He smirks up at you, "You've aged like an expensive wine."

"Your favorite flavor I assume?" You pull your dress down into place.

He watches you, "You are exquisitely delicious kitten."

You smile to yourself as you use the small vanity to fix yourself back up, cover up marks and smudges, straighten out your dress. “I see why now.” He says and you look at him through the mirror as he stares out of your bedroom window. “Why you like to go there..” The docks in the city.

You walk over to him taking in the same view he was; the dark water lapping on a cold beach. The lone boats still sitting along the nearly empty dock of people waiting for spring to break through finally. “It’s nice to always imagine the escape, picture a different life, romanticize the little things.” You sighed, “I spent a lot of time in here; needed to pass the time, wondered if I could float away too.”

“So philosophic.” He smirks.

You gaze up at him, “Just a depressed teenager actually.”

He chuckles, “No wonder you grew teeth and claws.” You turn to face him as he creeps closer to you, slowly like he might spook you, and he could because he was right. You always thought you were born with fangs, poison laced in your gums from who you were always meant to be, but really it had been a defensive measure. Now it seemed to difficult to put them away after so long, all the raw, jagged parts of you and he still chose to come closer.  Your heart flips in relief, in some sort of confirmation, that he could see you, but it's falling just as quick with fear, with a need hide from his scrutinizing gaze. You've spent years honing this craft, tucking the monster quietly inside, trying to make it small enough to fit into a life that wasn't yours. He cups your face anyways forcing you to burn underneath its intensity.

Your brows crease, "Coriolanus." He kisses you, softly, like you were made of precious glass, melted and woven to fit within his palm. It's too much, too much emotion is pouring into your chest that you need to pull away. As if you could let it all come to the surface, as if you could believe the walls you had spent years building could be let go.

He sighs through his nostrils as he opens his eyes to stare down at you disappointment in his gaze, "You dropped my hand."

You played dumb, "What?"

"You dropped my hand."

You scoff, "What did you expect me to do, to say? 'Hey mom here's this guy I'm fucking?' Doesn't really roll off the tongue."

He rolled his eyes, "She knows who I am."

"That's not the point."

He narrowed in on you, "Then what is the point?"

"You tell me!" You snap like the viper buried deep down inside of you, the wild snake your father had forced you to be, the creature within your soul Coriolanus had always seen. You're breathing heavy watching him study every expression hidden under false anger.

"You always go on the offensive when you're avoiding questions." He reminds you after he had spent years observing you to dissect your soul. He takes a slow step forward, his middle finger twisting around your own, "I get it, truly more than you know. I just wish you knew. Is it so hard to trust me?"

"Yes." You breath.

His eyebrows furrow, "Why?"

"I spent my whole life mistrusting you, how do you unlearn a behavior." You feel your fingers tugging away from him. "Do you even trust me?"

He's pulling your hand back to him, to hold against his heart; steady and strong beneath his sternum. "More than I should." And he was right to, you were never able to offer him any security back in regards to whatever this was. You had always had to strike deeper, more lethally. ”Change, you change, that's how you unlearn things...I changed."

"Not much."

He playfully glares, "Just enough."

Maybe you had misjudged him, maybe you had always misjudged him. “What do you want?” It wasn’t accusatory, but the honest question.

“What do you want?” There is was, the stalemate, the cold war of neither of you wanting to admit the ever consuming truth. No, he would never admit defeat first. He wanted to pummel you beneath his iron fist first, or did he? You weren't sure you knew anything anymore. You knew you wanted to hear the words from his mouth, words you know you may never hear at all, pathetic words you're sure were just your own.

I care about you. I want you. I'm falling in love with you.

 "Come on." You struggle to step away fully so your hand comes up to interlock with his. "We're already late.”

So, no you may never hear them because even you weren’t willing to reveal the soft parts of yourself, so why should he? Everyone had always controlled you, used you, and even when you tried to make your own choices it was thwarted by your father. It was difficult to relent that feeling, that fear; it was difficult to push the fangs back up into your gums and give in to those things you truly wanted. 

You let him walk slightly behind you as you head back into the party, as you head right for the open bar needing to dull the feelings swarming your head. But now that your here, downing a glass of champagne where everyone can see your father's heir, the anxiety sets in. Your skin was crawling, you felt everyone staring at you as you drained a flute quickly grabbing another one. This was stupid, this was your dumb idea and you wanted to peel off your own fingernails to claw your way out of this pit of snakes. 

"There she is." Your father's voice sends oily sludge down your spine as he speaks your name, demanding you to turn and look at him. You do. He's the same as ever, more gray hair popping up on his head than last time, his clean shaven face, dark soulless eyes peering into the depths of yours. He's quick to take your hand, pull you in close pretending to kiss your cheek. "What is Coriolanus Snow doing at my party?"

"I invited him." You're firm. 

"Stupid girl." You quickly search the party finding him speaking with your father's business partners...networking. You should have felt unease at the sight, but you had stopped competing with him long ago and who cares if he networked for his own career. "Highbottom." Your father turned to the man next to him, "My daughter had told me her email was hacked a few months back, she never got your message for her to apply."

His fingers dug into your shoulder forcing you to respond, to grovel. "I'm so sorry Mr. Highbottom, I know how amazing of an opportunity that internship would be at your company. I would love to still apply if you are open to more candidates."

He didn't care, he had always been going to give you the position due to your father. "Technology is a fickle thing hmm...Come by my office when you get back to the city, we'll set something up for you."

You shake his hand. "Thank you sir."

"Good job." Your father had whispered once Highbottom had disappeared from view. "Now get that fucking leech out of here."

You glared; you’re glad he’s upset, you’re glad he didn’t plan for this. It didn’t make his disappointment easier to withstand, "It's not like that anymore."

Your father ordered a glass of brown liquor sneering into the cup. "Oh really. Tell me how many kisses did it take for you to forget who he is.” You don’t answer only take another long, slow drink. “Not much I suppose since he’s here no doubt whispering into everyone’s ear about how he’s the better option than you.” He watched you set the empty glass down before you looked at him. “The funny thing is…he is.”

It hurts. It had always hurt, you don't let on. “Then let him be better.” You narrow your eyes, “I’ll go where I’m wanted not where you’re wanted.”

Your father sighed, “Then go nowhere I guess.” He shakes his head, “Who would want you? A love sick withering woman who would rather wander aimlessly then stake her claim at what is so rightfully hers.” Your eyes quiver, “You’ve brought yourself so low, and for what? That bottom feeder?”

The sound of Coriolanus saying you father’s name snaps you out of it. “Mind if I borrow your daughter?”

He gives you a tight lipped smile. “We’re not done with this conversation.” Your father finished his drink and walked away without even acknowledging Coriolanus. 

You stared up at him your insides steeling up. “Come dance.” He pulls you by the hand towards the middle of the room, you can’t even hear the sound of the slow music playing over the sound of blood rushing in your ears. You can’t even hear him ask his questions until he says your name multiple times. You look up at him, "How did it go?"

You laughed sarcastically into the air. "I am a coward. It's like the minute I'm around him I'm just a little girl again scared to disappoint her father." 

"What does he want anyways?" He asked his hand sliding down the length of your spine, like his touch was the only thing holding you together.

"Money, power, glory." You watch the back of his head leaving the room. "He wants his empire, he wants me right there beside him so even when he's forced to step down he'll always be my shadow, he'll always be in control." Your eyes meet Coriolanus’s once more, "I think most of all, he wants me to want it."

"And you don't."

"And I don't." Then you’re looking at his chest, feeling the warmth of his palm within your own, and once again wonder how you found yourself here; finding comfort with him, finding security with him. "I don't know what I want, who I am...I just know I don't want to be controlled."

"When did you realize that?" He asked simply.

It wasn't simple, and you sighed. "Arachne had just come out." The air feels tight as you recount. "Her parents weren't happy, and she had come over with Clem for comfort, for reassurance. My father..." You swallow hard. "My father wanted me to convince her to lie, to pretend to be someone she wasn't, to take it back., and I almost did it. I almost agreed to do it."

You look up at his gaze; he wasn't judging you like you had judged yourself. He had always seen the worst parts of you and never looked away. "What made you decide not to?"

"I got back to my room, and I saw her laughing with Clem and I realized I never wanted my friend to not smile like that." You blink remembering the brightness in her eyes, "If she had to be pretend to be someone she wasn't...she never would have been able to be happy. I couldn't do that to her." His hand soothes the small of your back, "If I was more like him, if I wanted to be like him, I would have been completely okay with ruining her life."

He stilled. "You aren't like him."

Couples are spinning around you, laughter rings out in distant areas of the room, you feel your mother watching you somehow, or maybe that was something only mother’s could make their child feel. “I always felt too much, too keenly; hatred and worry and…love.” His blue eyes twinkle in the golden chandelier light. “Hatred is easier to admit than love.” Too much, too much, you’re revealing too much… "It's easy, but his…disappointment, his disgrace, it’s too much to bear. I have no more room for it, and it disgust me how much I allow him to bend me.”

His hand strokes your cheek forcing you to tilt your face up for him, “The wind kitten.” He repeats, “The only way to make room is to let some of it go. You can’t change him, you cant let him change you.” Another brush of his thumb, “I see you…I’ve always seen you. I know who you are, who you harbor, the bad and…the good.” He's kissing you then, cupping your face up to his as you hold onto his wrist savoring the taste of him. ”Let’s get out of here."

“Okay.”

Soon enough your rushing back though the party trying to find coats and purses to leave in a mad dash. Your father couldn't be too mad, you had come, made amends with his friend, would maybe try for that job...probably not. "I can't find my phone.” You cursed your dress, you wished you gave it to him instead but your searching ever nook for that stupid device, and then you remember. “My room, I-I must have left it up there earlier.”

Your room is dark once more as you push the door open seeing the screen light up on a slightly rumpled comforter. You scoop it up into your hands before turning and coming face to face with your father. “Did you really think you could leave without finishing our conversation?”

“Yes, I’m leaving.” You held your chin high trying to draw from Coriolanus’s strength. 

His eyes narrowed, ”Before you go..." You’re mid trying to open your phone to text Coriolanus when you look up at him. "Did he ever mention his father to you?"

"What? No? Why would he?" Crassus Snow had died many years ago, before you had even went to school with his son. He had worked with your father for some time but nothing noteworthy.

Your father shrugged. "Interesting."

You cross your arms. "Spit it out already."

"Crassus Snow and I were friends." He said the air growing heavy, thick with the weight of his words; they hung in the space between you, suffocating, pressing against your chest. "I was making huge success, he wasn't, invested into the wrong places and he was jealous, hungry for more, for what I had." Your hand covered your mouth as your father stood up straighter. "He was never able to recoup what he lost. He died knowing his fortune was in ashes, his only saving grace would have been his son, so I couldn't have that. No, he would not haunt me any longer."

So he had sent you to destroy that last living memory of an old friend, an old enemy. You remember the lecture, the hatred your father had instilled in your for that boy.

Your father smirked, "And I knew he would have left his son the same task."

"He's not like his father." You shook your head, you never knew the man, but if he was anything like your father...

"Isn't he? Just as cruel and manipulative and power hungry with an ambition like a knife." He laughed at you, "Do you truly think he cares for you? Come on darling I know I raised you to be smarter than that."

Your heart froze up, "Maybe he changed after the accident, maybe he realized theres more important things in life."

Another cruel laugh, "He realized he's nothing without The Plinths and he's lucky they never pressed charges for him getting their son killed."

"He-He..." You're spinning out words hitting you like bullets.

Your father struck his final blow, "He's using you." A cold whisper. "You don't think I've been watching him all night, networking, scheming his way into places meant for you. He's using you like he used that Plinth boy and you are falling into the same little trap that will get you cast out or worse..." Two hands ran down your arms, a father's comfort. "You're faltering, you're letting opportunity pass you by, giving up power for a silly boy who could never love you."

"That's not true." Your nails dig deep into your palms.

"Is that all it took for you to give up? A sweet kiss, the moon on a string?" He tsked at you like a child. "I would pity you if I wasn't so disappointed, but then again you are just a woman.”

Anger flared within you steel locking around every wall. “Woman? Is that meant to be an insult?”

“Of course it is.” He scoffs. “If you were a man he wouldn’t have been able to weasel his way close to you. He knew all the tricks to emotionally manipulate you.” He laughed at you, “He’s probably down there right now sealing a deal meant for you because you let him pass you by, you let him make you weak.” You want him to stop, to shut up, to leave you alone, so you slip into the only version of you he adored.

You smirk, fangs slipping down the lie burning hotter than the poison dripping out. “You don’t think I know that. You don’t think I can see through his little tricks.” You tilted your head to the side hair spilling onto your shoulder. “Oh father, you should know me better, you raised me.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow urging you to continue.

“I’ve been planning it for months, the moment I knew we were going to be scene partners.” You gaze at your nails as if destroying a life was boring. “It’s my final move, my checkmate to say. I’ve gotten him right where I want him and he believes he can see some version of good inside me to soften up.” Your smile feels evil, vile. “You wanted me to hate him, but I hate him so much more on my own. I can’t wait to send him out with nothing, to destroy him one last time, to be rid of him forever.”

Your father actually smiles at you, “I’m impressed. He does seem rather smitten with you.” 

“He's a leech as you've always said father.” You hold your head with putrid pride. “And he’s hooked on tight.”

The floorboard creaks your bedroom door opening wider as your infected heart plummets to your stomach, the ground feels like it had fallen out from beneath you.

“Coriolanus.” His blue eyes are dark with anger, with pain, with-with… “Coriolanus.” You go to chase after him but your father’s grip wraps tight around your arm.

Your father's mouth curved into a wicked smile,”If only all of that were true hmm?”

“You knew.” You’re hyperventilating, heaving heavy breaths. “You knew-He…” You think to your phone open on your bed. “You texted him to come up here…you knew he would be standing there…you egged me on to say all of that, to hurt him.”

His grip squeezes on your bicep. “I know what’s best for you, and Coriolanus Snow is not that.” You try to move but he's latched on tight, "You think I would let that boy, with his father's blood, take anything that was mine?"

“You’re wrong.” You seethe getting in close knowing everything you felt for him was the opposite of hatred. “He’s better than both of us.” You wrangle out of his grasp, and then you’re running after Coriolanus Snow. “Corio!” You watch him throw his coat on, storming out of the front door. “Coriolanus!” You’re sprinting down the steps. “Snow!” He stills on the same porch you had arrived together on, in the same place you had dropped his hand. “I-I didn’t mean what I said.”

He doesn’t even turn to look at you. “He raised you as vicious as him, power hungry and armed to the teeth.” The same words he had said to you on that concrete sidewalk. "Don't waste your breath, you'll just embarrass yourself."

“Please.” You feel tears brimming in your eyes, ‘Please just…look at me.” He won’t and you go to reach for him, but you hand falls back to your side. “You asked me what I wanted earlier.” You swallow back fear. You were tired of lying, pretending to be strong, pretending to not care when all you cared about was him. Screw the past, screw the feud and your father, you wanted Coriolanus Snow, you wanted to love him. “I want you.”

You can’t see his face, but you know he’s glaring. “I don’t care.” You can't see straight, your vision is spotty. “I don’t care about you. I never did.” Your knee buckles, “You were just something to pass the time, to see if I could use you all the same.”

You reach out finally but his coat slides past your fingertips as he walks away from you, as he disappears into the night.

You don't go back inside. Instead you drown yourself in a bottle of champagne on a frozen beach, watching boats sit stagnant when you’re stupid enough to text him.

Please Coriolanus…talk to me.

The text never gets delivered.

It hits you then.

He blocked you. He left you.

He left.

big yikes

next chapter coming soon

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 6

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 1200

Masterlist

———————————————————————

It was late on that Tuesday night. Past 10 p.m. Alexia and I were going over the final preparations for Thursday’s event. Many guests had confirmed, much to our delight. We were expecting over 200 people, which meant we’d need to reorganize the office for the evening.  

The only downside, on Alexia's end, was that the Mayor hadn't confirmed her attendance. At least, it was assumed she wouldn't be coming, as she hadn't deigned to reply to my message, simply sending an email to schedule a Friday meeting at the construction site, saying she wasn’t available before then. Not a word about the invitation. This didn’t bother me. Her presence always made me uneasy, and I didn’t like that feeling.

At 10:40 p.m., my phone buzzed. A new notification. An email.

"Good evening, 

I’ll be attending your event on Thursday, accompanied, at 8 p.m. I won’t stay long.

Lucy."

Stunned, I read the email several times. That curt tone—there was no mistaking it, it was classic Lucy. Alexia looked at me in surprise and asked what was going on.

"The dragon is coming. Tomorrow at 8 p.m.!"

Alexia shrieked and jumped into my arms.

“You’re the best! We’ll call the press tomorrow!”

“I don’t think she’s coming because of me! She’s bringing someone … but who?”

"Her husband!"

I had forgotten she was married. I had never met her husband, and she had never mentioned him.

"Alexia, there’s a problem. Philou is very likely to be there, and she doesn’t know. I might need to let her know…"

Philippe was the opposition leader from the last rather heated election. To say they didn’t get along was an understatement.

"No, no, no! Just tell her we’re expecting her! They’re adults! And with so many people there, they don’t have to cross paths. Everything will be fine!"

I didn’t quite share her optimism.  

I sat down at my keyboard.

Good evening, Lucy,

We’re delighted you’ll be attending! (Hypocrisy x1)  

We eagerly await your arrival. (Hypocrisy x2)

Best regards,  

Ona

---

Thursday, 8:30 p.m., the party was in full swing. I wore a black dress for the occasion, both classy and sexy, hugging my curves. My long blonde hair was up, and I wore high heels, which was rare for me.  

The guests moved between the cocktail bar and the hors d’oeuvres. A band, friends of Alexia’s, was playing. We had completely rearranged the space, with an exhibition of our work from the past year, along with paintings by local artists. The effect was fabulous. The evening was starting perfectly, and I moved from guest to guest, smiling as the alcohol began to flow through my veins. Alexia was nearby, looking a bit tense, her eyes darting toward the entrance, watching for the Mayor, who still hadn’t arrived. Would she come? The thought barely crossed my mind.

Suddenly, the chatter died down, and heads turned toward the large entrance door. Lucy had just entered, accompanied by a tall, gray-haired man—her husband, presumably.  

She looked stunning, in a royal blue dress that fit her perfectly. She didn’t look 42 at all. I was captivated, taking in the curves of her body, her lips, her gaze… She radiated. She greeted many people with a broad smile, shook plenty of hands, then made her way toward us, still wearing that rare smile when she looked at me.

“Good evening! Thank you for the invitation! May I introduce my husband, Paul.”

Tall, commanding, he greeted us politely.

“Good evening, Madame Bronze,” Alexia said eagerly, as usual, going a bit overboard. “And this is my partner…”

“And the mother of your future child, I presume?” she teased, laughing. So, the dragon had a sense of humor. “Congratulations, by the way.”

Then she turned to me, her piercing blue eyes holding mine.

“Good evening. So, uh… This is my friend, Alessia is…”

“A surgeon?” she cut in instantly, with a mischievous look that only I noticed.

We took some photos for the press, and as the conversation turned to the hospital expansion, I stepped away from the group.

I needed to catch my breath, to clear my head. Her arrival, her gaze—I knew now. I desired her as much as I couldn’t stand her. It was a raw, physical desire. I had to regain control of myself; I didn’t like the effect she had on me. Calm down, Ona, calm down.

I went to chat with a few guests, then moved to the music area and began to dance. Alessia joined me, and soon, we were kissing. The alcohol was rushing through my veins, I was euphoric.

At 11 p.m., the guests started leaving, one by one. I hadn’t seen Lucy again; she must have left much earlier. My head was spinning from the alcohol. I decided to go outside to the large terrace for a cigarette.

I lit my cigarette when I was surprised by a voice.

“You smoke?”

It was Lucy.  

“You smoke?” I replied, noticing the cigarette between her fingers.

She smiled and stepped closer. Silence settled between us, which I decided to break.

“I thought you’d left long ago!”

“No, what can I say, you get caught up talking, and time flies. Plus, the cocktails are really quite good.”

Her eyes were sparkling; she must have had more than one cocktail, I thought with amusement.

“And your husband?”

“He went home. He has to take the twins early tomorrow for a school trip.”

The twins? My mind was hazy. Ah yes, Alexia had mentioned she had 16-year-old twins.

To my surprise, she asked:

“How long have you been with that Alessia?”

It was the first time she’d ever asked me something personal.

“We’re not together anymore, well, not really… We keep in touch, and…”

I was rambling, digging myself deeper. She reached for my forearm, and her touch gave me goosebumps.

“I see, I see. And have you always liked women?”

Her question caught me off guard. We had gone from talking about work to “tell me about your coming out.”

“More or less. I dated a few guys, but nothing serious. I’ve known I liked women since I was 20.”

I continued, now looking directly at her.

“And you’ve always liked men?”

I smiled broadly, meeting her intense blue gaze. I needed to calm down. The alcohol was loosening me up a bit too much.

“Well, that’s something Madame Mayor cannot disclose! Private life!”

She smiled back, holding my gaze. Neither of us wanted to look away. It was like a standoff.  

This time, I reached for her forearm, leaned a little closer, and murmured.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to find out…”

Get a grip, Ona! You’re going too far. She looked at me, seemingly amused.

Our exchange was suddenly interrupted by a man stumbling toward us, shouting incoherently.  

I recognized him. It was Philippe, visibly drunk, a glass in hand.

“Well, The Mayor! Great to see you here!”

He staggered, completely inebriated, and I tried to push him back. Lucy’s face showed concern.

“You’re a bastard, M’am! An old hag spouting lies about me! Scum! Bitch!”

He was yelling now, and all the remaining guests had turned their attention to us. It was a nightmare.  

As Lucy tried to pull away, he threw his drink in her face and attempted to grab her arm. Covered in mojito, Lucy shot a glare at Philippe, then at me. I held Philippe back, trying to apologize to her.  

But it was too late. She had turned on her heel, striding toward the exit under Alexia’s astonished gaze, and slammed the door.

A complete disaster.

[flightfoot]

ML Fanfic Recs for Completed Fics 40K-70K Words

Got 16 fics here! More lengthy fics than I would have thought, actually, given that there have been fewer ML fics this year than last year.

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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He Couldn't Remember (Falling For Her) by @purpleautumnvision

"If I was given a choice in who Chat Noir would be, I would've chosen you." "And there's nobody else in the whole world I'd rather have as my little bug." Without secret identities in the way, Marinette and Adrien get to live out their love story and put their heads together to discover the identity of Hawk Moth... but an unforeseen twist puts the Miraculouses in Gabriel's hands. When he makes his wish for a world where his wife never became sick from using the broken Peacock Miraculous, the universe requires someone else to become sick in order to maintain balance. Who better than his greatest enemy, Ladybug herself? Adrien, with his memories rewritten by the wish, wakes up in a world without superheroes, without Hawk Moth, without Marinette, without friends, and without a clue as to why everything feels so wrong. Something's missing, but he's gonna find out what. Then he'll put his world back into place.

So this was a fascinating scenario, with Adrien waking up in a world where Marinette was dead while his mother was alive, a world that as far as he knew had always been the case... but having weird feelings he can't explain. And not just him, I love how much focus Alya gets here as well! Turns out that the memories are kind of hidden, but still present, and since Adrien and Alya never got to meet Marinette in this universe (she died just before the new school year began, at the same time that Emilie did in the normal universe) AND Adrien and Alya were her closest friends in the previous universe, their feelings towards her are closest to the surface and least impacted by the memories from this universe.

The other people in this universe... well, the class isn't taking Marinette's death well. It's fascinating to see just how much her death effects them, to see how it haunts them, and I loved seeing their reactions to Adrien's weird behavior about their dead classmate who he never got a chance to meet, it shows how strange some of this can look to the outside, and it doesn't help that these are grieving kids.

Just... this is a great fic, I highly recommend checking it out!

---

this is my winter song to you by katrinette

On the last day of school before winter break, Adrien overhears someone singing in one of the classrooms. By the time he gets there, she's gone. He can't get her out of his head. And he keeps hearing her, wherever he goes, until she's the only thing that he can think about. But Adrien doesn't know who she is. At least... not yet. ––– Set against the backdrop of season 4 before Kuro Neko, Adrien begins to really understand the role that his friends play in his life.

Ah this is a lovely Lovesquare fic! Adrien's smitten with a voice he hears and he just keeps on hearing snippets of her singing, but can't track her down and it's driving him crazy!

There's a lot of cute Adrienette and slice-of-life in here, so if you want a low-key fluffy fic full of Adrien's and Marinette's usual adorableness, you came to the right place!

---

Herbs And Steam by @liiinerle

Juleka le Flor Blef, nature witch from near the forest of Couffaine, arrives at Eiffel Castle so she can partake in the Queen's Trials - a contest to determine the strongest witch in all of France. She wants to prove the strength of her magic, but when she arrives, her attention is quickly distracted by two very interesting women: Kagami, the princess, who seems to act nothing like a princess should; and Marinette, the blacksmith, who has created a magic all her own through metal, steam, and ingenuity. Juleka is immediately besotted with both of them, and needs to work extra hard to focus on her magic. Juleka also soon becomes aware that there is stronger magic at Eiffel castle than she had expected. For one thing, there's a tree in the courtyard put there years ago by a witch whose powers seem to surpass hers; for another, there's Alya la Pluvie Versaunt, who must be the most powerful mage Juleka has ever met...

Unusual poly here, there aren't a lot of Juleka/Kagami/Marinette fics! I love the world here, getting to see all these different witches honing their craft, and Juleka making friends with many of them - though especially the nonwitches Kagami and Marinette, of course XD. If you like some femslash or a good fantasy AU, this fic should scratch that itch!

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Under Your Spell by @hazel652

Marinette loves Quidditch more than anything. That is…until a distraction arrives in the form of Hogwarts’ newest fifth-year, Adrien Agreste. When one of their professors organises a magical surprise for Valentine's Day, will Marinette finally be able to confess her feelings – or will it all end in disaster?

So this is an adorable slice-of-life Hogwarts AU, it's mostly Adrien and Marinette dancing around each other, with a subplot about Chloe basically pulling a Draco and bribing her way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team (much to the Slytherins' consternation) playing out in the background.

---

a wish come true by Magaritas

"My wish has three parts. First, I wish my love, Emilie, never fell ill to the Peacock Miraculous' wounds." When Gabriel's ultimate wish is granted, he is brought back to a time long before any of his grievances came into fruition. However, he soon realizes that every wish comes with an equal consequence. "The second part of my wish is that I would have never been struck by Chat Noir's cataclysm." The only way for him to solve all of the new problems that arise is to make another wish, isn't it? But since he is no longer in possession of the two most powerful miraculouses, how would he go about getting them back without rising suspicion from his now healed wife? "Finally, I wish that Adrien Agreste never became Chat Noir, and that Marinette Dupain-Cheng never became Ladybug." And how will our two heroes manage to reunite in a world where they never got to meet?

I loved seeing Emilie and Nathalie figuring out what was going on in this world, and taking active steps to help the kids out, especially with how Adrien's hurt. They're not just standing by, nor are they willing to just let Gabriel hurt others.

Of course, Adrien and Marinette are also active, but they have less clue about something being wrong than Emilie and Nathalie do. But they'll manage to find their ways to each other, one way or another...

---

In Pursuit of the Uneatable by @nemaliwrites

Who do you trust when your own reflection becomes a stranger? In a Paris where Lila weaves tales that blind the city, Marinette stands accused, isolated. Her parents' trust is shattered, her friends distant, and in battle, illusions blur the line between ally and enemy. As the shadows and uncertainty threaten to close in, Marinette finds herself turning to the last person who claims to be on her side: a boy in a white mask who calls himself a fox hunter.

THIS IS NOT A BASHING FIC. Well, Lila bashing, I guess, but even then she gets a lot more consideration than usual. Anyway, there's no animosity towards Marinette's friends and family here. Instead, the fic has more of this melancholy, contemplative tone, with Marinette feeling boxed in by Lila, and trying to figure out how to navigate her circumstances, especially being around Lila. Even when there isn't any particular threat against her, just having Lila around, knowing that she could pull something else to make Marinette's life worse, and thinking that there's no way to counter her, that she always wins... you can feel how suffocating it is. But she does have a way out, a mysterious boy who she's seen around, who completely has her back as far as Lila's concerned... but she might not want him to, to the extent that he goes.

By the way, this IS a Lovesquare fic, the thing with the boy... well, that'll make sense once you read the fic. But it's not romantic, I can tell you that.

Anyway, it's this interesting psychological, low-key sort of fic. If you want a look at the more emotional consequences of Lila's brand of bullying and isolation WITHOUT any sort of demonization or bashing towards anyone else, but just exploring the effects on Marinette and how to respond to it, then this fic is worth a look.

---

Hanahaki by @generalluxun

First fic: Late Bloomer

On what might very well be the last night of her life, Sabrina Raincomprix pulls out a very special scrapbook, pressed between the pages is the past, the past she has never shared with anyone. She relives how she got to this moment one page at a time, preparing herself for the end. A phone call interrupts her self-imposed exile and brings news that could change her life forever. Even if it does though the question looms... change it how?

I love this series, how it shows how both Sabrina and Chloe have changed, how bad Chloe's circumstances are, and how much she needs help. She's not in good shape when Sabrina reunites with her - she's got a pretty severe eating disorder, for one thing - and Sabrina can't just... leave things like they are.

I love the delving into of Chloe's and Sabrina's psychology and viewpoints, and them both growing as a result (this is solely from Sabrina's perspective, but Chloe's the focus of the plot, so you see a lot of her).

---

Bubblegum Soul by @wehadabondingmoment

"The impulse to throw away his ring, to slam it on the ground and watch its metallic splinters chap away at his soul, got more tempting by the second. Maybe, for a moment, he would learn what it meant to be alive." (Or: Hawk Moth has been defeated and Adrien is suffering more than ever. Armed with unhealthy coping mechanisms and the knowledge that he apparently isn't human, he embarks on a journey of self-discovery.) (Except that his father isn't quite ready to give up just yet.)

Poor Adrien. His father's defeated, but that doesn't mean that he's alright. Dealing with finding out that he's a sentimonster via his father attempting to order him around... that's harsh.

And it doesn't help that while he gets one ring back pretty quickly, he doesn't realize that he has a second amok...

If you like angsty sentiadrien fic, this'll be right up your alley! It's M-rated, but I'm not sure why. Maybe because Adrien's just kind of in a bad headspace?

---

The Adventures of Babybug and Kitten Noir by @unecoccinellenoire

When Chat Noir gets turned into a baby all seems lost to Ladybug....or is it?

So despite what the name and the summary makes it sound like, this fic is less about Chat Noir and Ladybug, and more about their parents, with Gabriel and Nathalie discovering that baby!Chat Noir is Adrien, and Tom and Sabine finding out that baby!Ladybug is Marinette. Needless to say, neither group are happy about their discovery.

I loved seeing the parents work things out here. While most ML fics are about Adrien and Marinette driving the plot and ultimately, the resolution (for obvious reasons), in this case, we get to see the adults being reasonable and competent, and doing their best with this new situation they've been thrown into.

---

Each Hum And Click by @echo-has-queries

Kagami thought her understandably high standards for a match in marriage would mean she could avoid being paired with a man by her mother. That she could keep perfecting her flying-machine skills and eventually take over her mother’s place in leading the Tsurugi steam engine manufacturing company without having to defer to a man. She would have thought that when her mother told her to test the Agreste boy as a marriage match she had been kidding - if her mother ever kid. But she was serious and there truly was no fault to be found with Gabriel Agreste's son - except for the small detail of course, that he was not human. So Kagami must turn to the only fine mechanic she knows in Paris to find a solution to this new dilemma. But perhaps the dilemma could turn out to be the solution itself. Written for the AU Roulette Challenge 2024 with the prompt: Steampunk AU

So this fic is entirely from Kagami's POV, and it is a treat! It's an Adrigaminette fic, which you slowly figure out from reading the fic, if you didn't check the tags - Kagami may have tried not to like Adrien, but he grew on her regardless, and then a few chapters in you find out about hers and Marinette's failed relationship. I loved slowly finding out why the two of them broke up, when there are clearly still strong feelings between them, and how it ties into Kagami's character arc and the overall themes of the story: standing up for yourself, breaking free from those who would control you, and forging your own path.

---

Soul Seeker by hislittlelady

After a shooting on her 6th birthday, Marinette Dupain-Cheng died. She was brought to the afterlife by her grandmother. She was content. Until the paramedics did their jobs and suddenly she wasn’t dead anymore. Waking up to find that half of her soul had remained tethered to the afterlife, allowing her the ability to see things others can’t, Marinette grows up an outcast. It isn’t until she moves in with her only friend, a detective she’s known since preschool, that she finds her purpose, solving his harder cases with the help of her spiritual connections. Three years later, she’s thriving. Her own business, two best friends, a K-9 drop out as a companion- life couldn’t get better. Until she meets Chat. A ghost with amnesia and a mask to match, Chat isn’t sure what he needs to move on to the afterlife (and, considering he’s stuck around for another three years, he doesn’t seem in all that much of a hurry to figure it out either!) When Amelie Agreste, a socialite from out of town, comes to Marinette for help locating her missing nephew, Marinette knows her career and her life will be on the line. But even a murderer intent on silencing her forever can’t keep Marinette from seeking the truth.

This is a really fun detective story. You can probably guess one or two of the major twists (not counting the twist of "Adrien is Chat Noir" which I certainly HOPE isn't a spoiler to anyone reading this), but that doesn't make it any less satisfying, especially with how Marinette's and Chat's relationship is developed. Or well, what interactions we see from them, since they've known each other for years by the time the story starts. I adore the "my friend is a ghost" trope, and the identity shenanigans and mystery around what actually happened to Adrien kept me wondering.

It's an M-rated fic, which I'm guessing is mostly due to an attempted sexual assault at one point in the story, though it doesn't get very far before it's stopped. I also want to warn Luka fans that he's not shown in the best light in this fic, though it's not too extreme.

---

Through Yellow Eyes by @echo-has-queries

"Nooroo bleeds and Paris drowns in his blood." The day of the Blight, Paris bore witness to a horror too grand to comprehend. Only Chloé Bourgeois bore witness to a miracle. Marinette, Alya and the rest of Paris will need more than faith in Gimmi to survive. As the city's sanity hangs by a thread, bodies, minds, and souls are traded with the unknown in order to hold on to the things they each treasure most. Written for the AU Roulette Challenge 2024 with the prompt: Cosmic Horror AU

If you like Cosmic Horror (Lovecraftian I think? Though this isn't really my wheelhouse), then this is the story for you! I love seeing how Paris copes with the madness seeping through its streets, somehow going about daily life despite it all.

Kwamis here are more inhuman, more separated from humanity. There's no cute little miniature form to help bridge the gap. While humans can still meld with kwami, it's not all quite as firmly in the human's control as it normally is, and the side effects are worse. It doesn't help that the kwamis can't fully understand squishy little humans' wants, needs, or morality.

Like, as Ladybug, Marinette can't remember her human name, and her human concerns are somewhat muted. While as Marinette, she can't remember certain aspects of her time as Ladybug, and only regains those memories when she transforms again. She also has to be careful about restoring everything, as she can't just give Tikki a cookie and call it a day. Instead, she herself needs to eat enough to compensate for the lost energy, which can be a substantial portion of the goods in her parents' bakery.

As for Adrien... well, this is still going off of Sentimonster Adrien, though the ritual to create him went differently... and went wrong. But he is still Adrien.

Chloe's interesting as well, she's this sort of priest, this missionary for the kwamis, but her methods are... well, not the best. She still has a bunch of her canonical hangups, even though she IS somewhat helpful.

I love Alya in here, she's just desperately trying to figure out what's going on so that she can try to fix it, especially since Nino's one of the people who's been driven mad by the Blight. She does find some answers, and even ends up being partially responsible for Ladybug's creation and Chat's and Ladybug's subsequent fight against the worst effects of the Blight, but the risks, danger, and side effects she suffers are still significant. Though some of those side effects can be used to her advantage.

Anyway, I really enjoyed this AU and thought it was an interesting take on the subject, I highly recommend checking it out!

---

Phantom Pains (and other hints of you) by @buggachat

She couldn't remember anything. Not where she was going, where she'd been, why she was in this stairwell, or even her own name. But as she watched the blood pool at the base of the steps, she at least knew one thing for certain: the corpse was hers. Getting used to being dead was going to have its growing pains. — “Well, unlucky lady,” Chat Noir greeted with a bow, “Can I get your name?” “Didn’t we just talk about this? I told you, I don’t remember it.” “And I told you,” he reminded, “that you can just pick whatever fits you best.” — Ladybug and Chat Noir may not remember who they once were, but at least the two lost souls can find comfort in each other's company. But as Ladybug starts uncovering more and more memories of her life, letting the past go doesn't seem as easy as Chat Noir claims it to be.

So this is a beautiful, sweet, tragic love story of two lost souls wandering around with each other, yet with Ladybug still desperately wanting to be found, to remember who she was - and wanting to know why Chat so adamantly wanted to stay amnesiac. It's got some neat worldbuilding, and some fantastic prose. It's just a really nice little story!

---

Do You Read Me? by @19thsentry-blog

The problem with being a Couffaine was the hereditary bits. The stubbornness. The weird need to pick a fight with authority for no reason besides the principle of it. The way being a Couffaine meant falling in love, fast as a car crash, and just as deadly. It ruined you forever.

So basically, this takes place a few years after Season 5, in the post-Wish world. Luka takes over as the Ladybug Holder, battling Chrysalis in Marinette's place. It's causing him some strain, since it's hard to hold down a job when you need to vanish randomly for long periods of time while on the clock, and it doesn't help that Chrysalis is a lot sneakier than Monarch was.

That's not the core of the story though. No, the real story starts up at chapter 3, when Luka suddenly wakes up in 19th century London, supposedly having always been there, and talking to a 19th century version of Max. From there, he soon gets escorted to Felix, who is a detective around those parts and agrees to host him for awhile.

This is a Sherlock Holmes inspired story, with the setting ripped straight out of those old stories, and I think it does a great job of that! Felix feels natural as Sherlock, with his deductive abilities, and the mystery really does read a lot like a Sherlock story. Though of course, the ultimate cause is more magical in nature.

I love Luka's perspective in this story and his and Felix's dynamic, it just feels very natural and well done!

I was satisfied with how the mystery wrapped up, 19thsentry did a good job of making things make sense at the end, and it felt satisfying. If you want a story with some great characterization for Luka or Felix, or just feel like a mystery, this is the story for you!

---

A part of me recognizes you (do you feel it too?) by Nalalaa

In which Adrien leaves Paris to escape the mediatic storm of Hawkmoth’s defeat and forget about the nightmares that crawl along the walls of his bedroom. In which Marinette stays, left caring for memories and a child she cherishes more than anything. Six years later, a string of coincidences has the two meeting again as strangers. Secrets long left untold are revealed and slowly, they work to untangle the lies and misunderstandings that had once kept them apart.

Classic plot here, but that makes it no less good. Ladybug and Chat Noir were a couple, he unknowingly got her pregnant, and when they took down Hawkmoth a few days later, Chat ran off and disappeared without a word to anyone, leaving Ladybug to give birth and raise her child alone. Until Adrien comes back from his sabbatical a few years later, finally ready to face the ghosts of his past, to find that Marinette's a single mom, with the father of her child being unknown. He gradually gets closer to her and her kid, only to eventually find out that HE'S the father... yeah you can fill in the blanks from there.

There's not really any plot twists or surprises to the plot, but there aren't meant to be. It's just a bunch of hurt people who care about each other navigating this fraught situation they found themselves in, trying to move forward towards a better future.

---

Methusalenette by @liiinerle

Dear Diary... --- After Lila's defeat, Marinette and her friends realise that something is up with their bodies. Some are aging faster than they should - and some slower. As the realisation sinks in, Marinette worries about what has happened, what is happening, and what will happen in the future. As it turns out, she has a lot more future to look forward to than most... Epistolary fic (journal entries/news clippings/other).

This is a very melancholy, somewhat sad fic, as some of Marinette's friends age way faster than they should have, while others, including herself, age far too slowly. There's a lot of loss and worry and guilt here. No one had any clue that this was going to happen, but they have to live with the consequences - or die with the consequences, in some cases - nonetheless.

[mama-qwerty]

Second Chances v1

Okay, here's the start of my de-aged Knux story. I like the beginning, but am not thrilled with what happens after she finds little Knux. I don't know what's bothering me about it, but it's just not jiving with me.

But I wrote 6200 words, so I'mma post it. I might rework it once I can figure out just where the problem is.

Calling it 'version 1' in case I tweak it and post again later.

~~~~~

The fire burned down, leaving just a few soft flickers of flame against the burning embers at the bottom of the fire pit. Two figures sat around it, on opposite sides. They sat in silence, watching as the last of the flames died down, the darkness of the night around them moving in to replace the light.

“All I’m saying is you could have come to me, and I would have helped you.” Callie’s voice was soft, but edged with frustration. “You aren’t out in those arenas anymore. You’re not on your own anymore. I’m here, and I can help you.”

The echidna across from her frowned, scratching at the bandage on his arm. It was sloppily applied; he’d injured himself during one of his training sessions, and tended to it himself without her assistance.

“No need,” Knuckles said, waving a hand. “I am capable of taking care of myself.”

She sighed. “I know you are, but you don’t have to. I’m here. All you have to do is come to me.”

He let out a huff, giving his head a shake. “I do not need your help.”

Callie rolled her eyes. This was a sensitive subject, but one she had tried again and again to instill upon him in the months since he’d come to live with her. Yes, he was the most dangerous warrior in the galaxy. (Or had been, anyway.) But that life was behind him now. She was going to make sure that life was done, and he never had to feel alone and hunted again.

But he was a stubborn kid. Very, very stubborn. There’d been times when he’d come home looking as though he’d gone three rounds with a pissed off gorilla, and only offered a wave of his hand when she was, understandably, a bit freaked out by that. “I was training,” was his only explanation, which only raised further questions in her mind.

He was still acting like he was on his own, expecting an attack at every turn. She supposed it was second nature to him by now, having been on the run since he was so little, and it was unreasonable to expect that to fade. At all, let alone after only a few months.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be frustrated by it. And that she couldn’t try to show him that he didn’t have to take care of himself anymore. Not like that.

“Look,” she said, rubbing her eyes beneath her glasses before looking back at him. “I’m not saying you’re some little kid who needs his boo boos kissed. I just want to make sure you’re okay. I would hope that you trust me enough to let me know if you slice yourself open on one of your training runs.”

Knuckles clicked his tongue. “It was a minor wound. I’ve had much worse.”

“That’s not the point, and by the way, the blood all over my towels says otherwise. I thought you’d lost an arm with the mess you’d left behind.”

“You are overreacting.”

“Actually, I think I’m being quite calm and collected, all things considered,” she said, leaning forward to rest her forearms on her knees. “You’re not a child, but you’re still a kid who’s under my care, and I don’t think it’s out of line for me to want you to, you know, tell me when you nearly cut your arm off.”

He rolled his eyes and gave out a huff. “I did not—“

“Can you focus on what I mean instead of what I’m saying?”

“And can you not treat me as though I were some foolish child who needs supervised?”

“I’m not—“

“Enough!” Knuckles stood, rolling his shoulders. “I do not need tending like a puggle. I am a fierce warrior and do not need your coddling. I am grateful for your guidance and support, but your concern is misplaced.”

She sat up, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “For cripes’ sake, Knux, I don’t want to coddle you—“

“I am going to bed. Good night.”

And with that, the echidna stalked toward the house, leaving her by the dying fire.

Callie heaved a deep sigh, rubbing her temples with both hands.

“. . . I just want you to let me take care of you. At least a little.”

She heard the kitchen door slam, and gave a little groan.

That could have gone better.

~X~X~X~

Ridiculous.

Unnecessary.

Condescending.

Knuckles didn’t quite stomp, but didn’t quite not stomp up the stairs, pushing the door to his room open. He kicked it closed behind him, a soft growl in the back of his throat.

Take care of him. She wanted to ‘take care of him’? He took care of himself. He didn’t need her help for that. The only reason he was still alive after all these years was because he was strong and tough and self-reliant.

He tore open the velcro straps at the base of his gloves, giving his arms a sharp flick to send the heavy mitts flying. They bounced off the wall, landing on the floor with two solid thuds. The woman didn’t like when he did that, and would call out to remind him not to when she heard it.

Well, she wasn’t here right now, was she? He was a warrior. He didn’t need such rules.

With a grumble, he sat heavily on the mattress on the floor, shoving aside the curtain that hung over it in a tent-like covering. A few quick movements and his boots were loose enough to toe off. He used more force than necessary, sending them cartwheeling heel over toe into the door. More loud thuds as they settled on the floor, one on its side and the other upright.

He didn’t depend on others. He’d been shown time and time again that trusting others was a recipe for treachery and betrayal. Everyone he’d trusted had hurt him. Turned him in for rewards, used him for their own gain. Yet he continued to trust, continued to hope that someone would help him. Would be his friend.

His mother had praised his kind heart as a child, but now he wondered if it were more of a hindrance than advantage.

Flopping onto his back, he looked up at the ceiling, his eyes floating over the little painted dots there. Back when he first agreed to stay with her, Callie had brought Tails over to try and get as accurate a sky map as possible for those little dots. The clever fox had somehow found the positions of the constellations and stars over Knuckles’ village, and he and Callie had painstakingly painted each one to match those Knuckles had seen in his childhood.

It was a touching gesture. No one had ever gone so out of their way to make him comfortable. To give him a bit of familiarity to his home. He appreciated it.

But it made a tight knot twist behind his ribs when he looked up at them.

Because he couldn’t remember what the constellations were.

The knowledge seemed to flick at his consciousness, teasing the back of his mind, but when he tried to pull the names forward, wrap his tongue around them and throw them out, they disappeared back into his fading memories.

He was losing his connection to his people. His tribe.

The language that he’d been raised on, the words that once rolled off his tongue with ease, now took more effort to get right. Callie had encouraged him to share his mother tongue with her, which he appreciated, but sometimes when he said a word, it didn’t feel right on his lips. As though it were something he had no right to speak anymore.

He had learned a number of different languages in his travels—how many, he wasn’t sure, as there was a certain degree of overlap in a few—and sometimes it felt as though these new languages had almost pushed out his first. Smothered it.

And now, like the fire just a few moments before, there were only a few little embers left of what he remembered. His tribe. His customs. His language. His heritage.

Slowly dying.

He was the last. It was his duty to keep his culture intact. To not lose sight of who he is, what he is. To do so would dishonor the memory of his entire species.

His father.

Knuckles stared at the ceiling, at those little blobs of glowing paint, brow furrowed. He knew those stars, he knew them. He could hear his father naming them as he pointed. Could hear his voice, feel his father’s hand on his shoulder as he sat close by. Felt the soft breeze of the night as it rippled through his quills, while the others sat and chatted by the village fire.

He remembered all of this.

But the words, the syllables, refused to form.

A low growl rumbling in his chest, Knuckles rolled over to crawl into his artificial burrow. Yanking the curtain closed, he bundled himself beneath the thick blanket inside, curling into a tight ball. Shame burned in his belly, because it had taken so long to find the Master Emerald. It had taken nearly ten years to hunt it down. And in that time he had been so concerned with his own survival, he had lost his tether to the very reason he was doing it in the first place.

He missed his tribe. He missed his father. He missed feeling part of something, of being cared for. This planet was fine, one of the more comfortable ones he’d been on, but it wasn’t his home. This house wasn’t his home.

He wanted to go home. Back to when he didn’t feel so lost. So afraid.

So alone.

After a long moment, Knuckles drew in a deep breath, letting it out in a long, slow exhale. He’d been rude to Callie. She’d opened her home to him, and had never expected anything from him except courtesy in return. It was so different from what he’d experienced before—any other time he’d trusted others, they would have turned on him by now. She’d been nothing but kind to him.

Still. That seed of doubt poked at the back of his mind. Maybe it was time to stop being so trusting. To stop expecting anything other than betrayal. Despite her kindness, she could still turn on him. He had to be vigilant.

Soon after, his eyes began to close, and Knuckles the Echidna, last surviving member of his race, and guardian of the Master Emerald, fell asleep.

~X~X~X~

She should have handled that better.

Callie dumped a pitcher of water over the glowing embers in the fire pit, stirring it in with a poker to douse the last of the heat. As the wood hissed and smoked, she cursed herself for coming on too strong with Knuckles.

He was a proud kid. A fighter. A survivor. She knew that.

She really should have expected this reaction, honestly. Suggesting he needed to come to her simply because he’d injured himself? No matter how much blood she’d found in the bathroom—which had been a lot, and she may or may not have freaked out a little bit—she should have just let him come to her when he was ready.

But she didn’t. She pushed. And now she’d pushed him even farther away than he already was.

Once she was satisfied the fire had been adequately extinguished, Callie stood and pushed against the small of her back to produce that familiar crack. Massaging the area, she turned, and headed into the house.

She paused by Knuckles’ door as she headed down the hall to her own room. Leaning in, she heard a soft growl as he moved around. She supposed it was lucky he even came in instead of just wandering off into the trees surrounding her home. Sometimes he stayed out all night, and though she tried not to worry—he could take care of himself, after all—she did.

Her fingers curled into a fist, and she raised it to knock. It hovered near the wood for a moment, before lowering back to her side.

He didn’t need her checking on him. He was a big boy, capable of taking care of himself. He could take care of himself. She just had to keep reminding herself that.

Maybe it was time for her to just back off. He wasn’t like Sonic or Tails. He hadn’t been looking for a family. A home. He’d been looking for that magic rock. And now it sat in his closet, protected by a high-tech security system concocted by Tails. Knuckles sometimes sat before it, meditating. She was glad he had found the thing that had been driving him for most of his life, but saw the question in his eyes on the rare occasions he sat still.

Now what?

She wished she could tell him.

She wished she could help him.

But he didn’t want her help. Didn’t need it. Had said as much not fifteen minutes ago.

Maybe it was time she started listening to him.

With a sigh, Callie turned and headed to her bedroom, trying to convince herself she was worrying for nothing.

~X~X~X~

The night wore on. The house grew quiet.

Inside the middle bedroom, a faint green glow seeped from the closet.

~X~X~X~

Sunlight filtered in through the curtains, and Callie blinked against it.

God her head hurt. Sitting by the fire last night had dried out her sinuses something awful, and she uttered a grunt in the back of her throat as she pushed herself to sit up. She had to peel her tongue off the roof of her mouth.

What a night. After collapsing in bed, she’d tossed and turned for a while, eventually falling into a restless sleep with really, really weird dreams. Something about an egg and trees and a giant owl?

She shook her head. Weird. She didn’t normally remember her dreams.

With some effort she managed to push herself out of bed, shuffling to the bathroom to pee, splash some water on her face, and drag a brush through her hair before folding it into a loose braid. Tossing on a t-shirt and jeans, she pulled her glasses on and headed toward the stairs.

She stopped at Knuckles’ door once again, and this time quietly pushed it open to peek inside. The door thudded against something, and she looked down to see his boots lumped right behind it. She rolled her eyes. Probably got pissed and tossed them again.

Despite his differences, he was still very much a teenager.

Glancing up, she could barely make out a moving shape beneath his blanket. It was unusual for him to still be in bed (well, his artificial burrow, anyway) this late. Normally he was up with the sun to train or patrol or whatever it was he did with himself when he left the house.

Her heart gave a clench when she realized she didn’t really know what he did when he wasn’t here. “Training” was a pretty vague term, and she didn’t know if that meant exercising or running some death course he’d built himself up in the mountains. She could honestly believe either one.

With a sigh, she pulled back, leaving the door open a crack. She’d make some breakfast, and maybe the lure of a hot meal will draw him down so she could apologize for last night.

Her cats’ cries hit her once she reached the bottom of the stairs, and she rolled her eyes as she headed toward the kitchen.

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said with a sigh. She reached into a cabinet to pull out a can of cat food, popping the lid off to shlorp the stuff onto a plate. “You’re starving. Just wasting away. However did you survive on only the dry food you always have available to you since yesterday’s breakfast?”

The cats responded with excited meows as she placed the plate on the floor, before attacking the food as though they weren’t lazy housecats who did nothing but sit around all day before occasionally getting underfoot just as she decided to walk down the hall.

Another eye roll and Callie moved to start her coffeemaker. She’d forgotten to set it last night. With practiced ease of a daily ritual, she cleaned yesterday’s pot, refilled the water and grounds, and let it do its thing.

A yawn escaped her as she leaned back against the counter, massaging her temple, her eyes closed. The soft crunches of dry cat food came from the other side of the counter, as the coffeemaker hummed behind her.

She’d messed things up last night. Once she’d had her coffee, she’d make some bacon and eggs, maybe toss a few sausages in as an apology for overstepping. As he ate—if he ate—she’d tell him she would just stay out of his way, and let him come to her if he needed.

It went against everything she wanted, but this wasn’t about her. It was about Knuckles, and his comfort.

He could take care of himself.

That just needed to be her mantra for a while. Until it stuck.

Bloom and Suki argued a bit over the last bits of moist food, just like they always did every morning. She mostly ignored them. For sisters who’d been adopted at the same time, they really hadn’t bonded, or even seemed to like each other all that much.

A louder growl floated to her, and she called a quick “Knock it off” to them. It faded to softer hissing, as though they were arguing over whose fault it was they were yelled at. Callie sighed, rubbing her temple again, when a thought came to her.

She could still hear the crunch of dry cat food.

That . . . wasn’t right.

Opening her eyes, she leaned over to catch a glimpse of both cats—her only cats—still scarfing down the moist food on one side of the kitchen island.

And still, the crunching continued.

Great.

She hadn’t had her coffee yet, and there was already a problem. Some animal must have gotten into the house and was helping itself to her cats’ food. Mouse? Rat? Squirrel? Not exactly something she wanted to deal with at not quite 8 AM on a Saturday morning.

Moving slowly, Callie grabbed a dish towel, hoping to surprise the whatever-it-was and nab it before it had a chance to run or bite her. Would it work? Probably not. But she had to do something.

She moved slowly, coming around the counter making as little noise as possible. Inch by inch she rounded the island, before she could see the cat food bowl, and the creature having a free lunch. Or breakfast, as it were.

And she froze.

Sitting in front of the bowl, grabbing handfuls of dry cat food and shoving them into its mouth, crunching loudly, was a . . . little red echidna.

“What the . . .”

She spoke without realizing, and the little thing froze, whipping his head around to look at her, eyes wide. Violet eyes. Ones that looked so, so much like those of the echidna upstairs. Her eyes flicked down and took note of the white patch of fur in the shape of a crescent moon on his little chest.

Oh god.

It couldn’t be.

Was that . . . ?

They stood there, staring at each other, frozen in shock for a long moment.

Then the little echidna—what were they called? She couldn’t remember at the moment—reached forward, his eyes never leaving hers, and grabbed another handful of cat food to bring to his mouth.

That got her moving.

“NO!”

Her voice was louder and sharper than she intended, and when she reached for him, he gave a little squeak, turning to scramble away from her. He ran on all fours, a kind of loping half-crawl, half-gallop kind of gait, and he was fast. Callie hurried behind him, her socked feet threatening to slip on her laminated floors.

“No no no,” she muttered as he ran beneath the kitchen table. She slid to a stop and yanked a chair away, falling to her knees to try and grab him, just as he scooted through the other side and made a beeline for the living room. Getting to her feet once more, she followed, trying to keep him in sight. He was about as large as one of her cats—bigger than a kitten, but not a full on adult—which meant he could fit in places she couldn’t reach.

Like behind the computer desk where her laptop sat. He squeezed between it and the wall, and Callie hurled the rolling chair out of the way as she threw herself beneath the desk. The little echidna—what the hell were they called again??—skittered along the back, getting tangled in the cord for the lamp and pulling it down with a crash as he bolted from behind the desk and headed for the side table by the couch.

“Stop!”

He gave another little squeak at her order, but never slowed. Scrambling behind the side table, he latched onto the curtain, climbing deceptively fast for a little guy his size. Realizing she was still holding the hand towel, Callie threw it toward him, not necessarily thinking through what that was supposed to accomplish. But she never expected his reaction.

He launched himself off the curtain and flew across the room.

No, not flew, exactly. More like glide. Like a flying squirrel.

But still.

“Are you kidding me??”

While gliding seemed to come naturally to him, landing did not, and he bounced off the TV, tumbling down to the floor with a few grunts. She hurried over to him, and caught his leg just as he was trying to scurry beneath the TV stand.

“Gotcha!”

He did not like being caught, wiggling and twisting his body like a live wire, uttering little grunts and growls as he did so. Callie kept having to rearrange her grip on him, alternating between grabbing a limb before switching to a different one when he jack-knifed his body to try and hurl himself out of her hands.

It was like trying to hold doll filled with Jell-O, if that doll hated you and was trying to bite you and poke you with its quills.

In desperation, she tried something that usually worked when her own son was cranky and fighting all those years ago.

She tickled him.

At first she wasn’t even sure if he was ticklish. Did creatures with fur have tickle triggers, or did their fur absorb that touch before it could work? It wasn’t exactly a question she’d ever thought to ask Maddie, and certainly not something Knuckles would ever let her know about. Weaknesses and all that.

Her fingers danced over his sides, seeking out the spots that most humans found ticklish, and he continued to fight her. A little more juggling, and she ended up holding him by an ankle, the rest of him dangling. She brought her other hand up and went for the bottom of his foot.

And he giggled.

Her fingers wiggled, barely touching the pads on his foot, and now he wiggled and twisted for a different reason, laughing and giggling at the touch. A smile curled her lips and she gave a little amused hum of her own.

“There, that’s not so bad, is it?”

When his laughter went a little wheezy, she stopped her tickle attack and carefully adjusted him so she held him beneath his arms. He giggled a little more before looking up at her, his eyes big and wide. She felt his little chest heaving from the laughter, and gave him a good look over.

Same eyes. Same moon mark on his chest. She moved him so she could see the arm that was bandaged last night. There was still a tiny wound there.

“Holy . . . ohmygod . . . you’re him. Knuckles?” He didn’t respond to his name. Could he understand her at all? “You’re a . . .”

“Knock knock, MacPhersons!” a voice called as the kitchen door opened. Wade came in, carrying a bag from Dough Ray Me Bakery. “I brought breakie! Or snackie!”

“Baby,” she said, looking at the deputy over her shoulder.

“Yes, dear?” He snickered, amused by his own joke. “Ah, kidding, what are you—”

“BABY,” she said, louder and more urgent. She turned and held the little echidna out.

Wade stopped, his eyes going wide. “Did . . . did Knux have a baby?”

“Knux IS the baby,” she said, moving closer. The boy turned his head, looking between the two adults. “I woke up and he was like this.”

Silence settled for a moment, before Wade rubbed the back of his neck. “So . . . is this something space echidna do? Like a phoenix kinda thing?”

Callie opened her mouth to answer, before closing it again. She looked between echidna and man, before giving Wade a look. “I think my smoke detectors would have gone off if he’d burst into flames to revert to a . . . joey. No, that’s kangaroos. Damnit. What are baby echidna called?”

Wade shrugged. “Think the other boys are like this?”

Her eyes went wide. YES! Verifying Sonic and Tails were babies too wouldn’t exactly make this okay, but would go a long way into making her feel less . . . weird about it. Shared experiences and all that.

“I’ll check.” She thrust Knuckles toward Wade, who looked distinctly unsure about taking him. “C’mon, Wade. I have to make a phone call.”

“I dunno, I’m not really great with—“

That’s as far as he got before she practically dropped the little echidna into his hands. She rushed to the counter, grabbed her phone, and punched Maddie’s contact. It ran twice before she picked up.

“Hey, Cal!”

“Hey, Mads, uh, sorry to call so early, I just have a quick question.”

“Shoot.”

Callie glanced over at Wade, who had pulled Knuckles to cradle against his chest. Knux gazed up at the man, playing with the buttons on the hideous Hawaiian shirt he liked to wear on days off.

“Your kids wouldn’t happen to be, I dunno . . . babies?”

A slight pause.

“It depends on the situation, really.”

“RUDE!” A certain hedgehog’s voice called out in the background.

Oh. Oh no.

“That seemed an oddly specific question for this early in the morning,” Maddie continued, seemingly ignoring her hog son. “Why do you ask?”

A soft, not quite sane laugh escaped Callie, and she switched from an audio call to video. “Because, funny story . . . Today I woke up to . . .” She turned the phone to show Wade holding little Knux. “This.”

Silence. Then, “OH MY GOD! HE’S SO CUTE!”

Wade blushed. “Aw, thanks, Maddie!”

Callie rolled her eyes, and pulled the phone back around to herself. “Maddie, he’s a baby. Why is he a baby?”

“Why are you asking me? I don’t know any more than you do about his species.”

“Don’t tell me you think he’s like some space phoenix thing, too.”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” Callie sighed, reaching beneath her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

“Hang on, lemme ask Tails.” Maddie’s voice went a little muffled as she blocked the mic, turning to call for her younger son. There was some back and forth between the two, when Tails came on screen.

“Hi, Callie!”

“Hey, Floof,” she said, dropping her hand and giving him a weak smile. “Your mom fill you in?”

“Yeah, and I’m not completely clear on echidna physiology but am pretty sure they don’t spontaneously revert to become babies overnight.”

“Wait a minute, Knux is a baby???” Sonic’s voice started faint but got louder as he pushed forward, sticking his nose in the camera. “LEMME SEE!!”

Callie sighed, and turned to show the hog. A gasp, followed by laughter, and she pulled the phone back around with a cocked eyebrow.

“Hey, see if you can remove the stick from his butt now, so he’ll be more fun when he grows up!”

“Sonic!”

A warning call from Maddie, who wrestled control of her phone from her older son.

“So,” Callie said, trying to redirect the conversation. “Any ideas how this happened, or how to change him back?”

“Tails?” Maddie asked, turning the phone slightly to get the fox in frame. He rubbed his chin slightly, before looking back up.

“The Master Emerald is said to be able to change reality, based solely on thought alone,” he said, before shrugging. “Maybe that has something to do with it.”

Callie could have slapped her forehead. Duh. She knew the Master Emerald could do that, that’s what the whole trouble with Robotnik was when Knux first came. That should have been her first thought, honestly.

She blamed the lack of caffeine.

“That’s a good call, Tails,” she said, glancing over at Wade. He’d pulled Knuckles up and was currently dancing with him, making silly faces. The boy laughed, kicking his little feet, and Callie’s heart just about melted. She looked back to Tails. “I’ll see if I can, I dunno, convince the Emerald to change him back.”

The fox looked hesitant, but nodded. “Probably your best bet. Just . . . be careful.”

“I will. Thanks, guys. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

The Wachowski’s said their goodbyes, and she hung up, putting her phone back on the counter.

“You sure you wanna use that?” Wade asked, pulling Knux back to hold against him. He still swayed back and forth, seemingly without realizing he was doing it. “Could make things weirder.”

“Not sure we have much of a choice, Wade.”

She paused, looking up the stairs toward Knuckles’ room. She tried not to think about having a magic rock capable of altering reality in her house. One that allowed Robotnik to create a giant robot out of cars and trains and who knew what else. One that apparently worked through thought alone.

Because if she thought too hard on it, it really, really, really freaked her out.

“We can call Sonic and Tails to come over,” Wade said, his voice softer. “They know a little more about it and maybe could help.”

Part of her wanted to say yes, because this was way too much to deal with. At all, much less before her morning coffee. She turned and looked back at Knuckles, who was seemingly fine hanging over Wade’s arm.

She sighed.

“No,” she said, giving her braid a little tug. “We don’t know for sure that’s what changed him. What if the other boys come over and BOOM, they get babified? Then we’ll still be on our own and Maddie will be pissed. No thanks.” She sighed again, steeling herself. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She made her way upstairs, into Knuckles’ room, and opened his closet door. The Master Emerald sat in its little glass box, its ever present soft glow illuminating the otherwise dark room. With a few calming breaths, she reached forward and pressed her thumb on the little square plate at the base. There was a soft beep, and a little recording of Tails’ voice filled the air.

“Identification code, please.”

Callie leaned forward to speak toward the mic. “Callie MacPherson, 7322-07.”

A second later there was another beep, and Tails’ voice again.

“Access granted! Hi, Callie!”

There was a click and a hiss as the top of the clear box opened, swinging back to allow access. The material the container was constructed with looked like glass, but Tails had called it some sort of polymer that was stronger than steel—a recipe he’d concocted back on his home planet when he was five, and at that point she’d stopped listening because it sounded like a lot of tech talk, and frankly she got the feeling that some of Tails’ inventions were borderline illegal no matter what planet he was on.

She reached into the box now, and carefully took hold of the Master Emerald, lifting it out slowly. She’d only touched it once before, as Tails was installing the security system.

She didn’t like touching it.

It was warm.

Not warm as in ‘a rock that had been sitting in the sun’ warm. But warm as in ‘something that was somehow generating its own heat’ warm.

It was almost a living warmth.

And beyond that, it seemed to . . . thrum in her hands.

She tried to tell herself she was simply feeling her own heartbeat through it, that somehow the gem was amplifying it back to her.

But considering how her heart was pounding in her own ears right now, the gem’s . . . well, pulse didn’t match the rhythm.

She tried not to think about it.

She tried not to think about anything, considering the powers the gem held.

Having her house turn into gingerbread because of the ones she used to make with her mother at Christmas popped into her head was the last thing she needed right now.

(damnit stop thinking about that)

Hurrying downstairs, she found Wade entertaining Knuckles by tossing him in the air before catching him. The little echidna laughed, his soft voice squeaking with his happy giggles.

Callie was only a little jealous that Wade could coax such happy sounds from the boy. She didn’t think she’d ever heard teen Knux sound that free. That happy. Sure, he’d been through hell in his quest to find the gem now in her hands, but she thought she had given him a nice safe place to stay. A home.

Maybe she’d just been fooling herself.

Focus.

“Keep doing that and he’s gonna barf on you,” she said, in what she hoped sounded like her usual snark.

Wade caught him one last time, before giving the boy a little nose nuzzle. “Ah, he’s okay. He’s a cute little guy!”

“Yeah, well, why don’t we see if we can change him back—PUGGLE!” The word came out loud and suddenly, and Wade and Knuckles both jerked. She gave them an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I’d been trying to think of that word all morning. Anyway . . .” She held up the Master Emerald. “Shall we give it a try?”

Wade nodded, turning Knuckles around so they both faced Callie. She stepped forward, holding the gem up in front of the little puggle.

Nothing happened.

She gave the Emerald a little shake. “C’mon. Change him back. Uh, please.”

Nothing.

“Think maybe it’s like a genie kinda thing?” Wade offered, and Knuckles turned his head to look at him. “Like, you gotta wish for it or something?”

“Tails said it works by thought,” Callie responded, watching as the puggle turned back and began chewing on the nearest edge of the Emerald. “But I’m not exactly sure how to do that. And kinda worried about a monkey’s paw kinda situation.”

“Oh, like you wish for something and it grants it in the most horrible, twisted way possible. Like instead of changing him back to his normal self he’s a . . . I dunno, an eclair or something.”

Callie gave him a look. “Why would he be an eclair?”

Wade shrugged. “It kinda sounds like echidna. And maybe it sounds so much like echidna that you think of eclair instead and now he’s a delicious pastry and—”

“I’m not going to think of an eclair instead of echidna,” she snapped, before pulling her lips in tight. “Well I wasn’t before you said that, now that’s all I can think of, thank you very much.”

Closing her eyes, Callie drew in a deep breath, before letting it out slowly.

Okay.

She opened her eyes, and met Wade’s gaze. “I’m gonna try picturing him like he was yesterday, and see if that works. Ready?” Wade nodded, holding Knuckles out. “Okay. Here goes.”

Callie closed her eyes again, squeezing them shut tightly as she pictured Knuckles, teenage Knuckles, and definitely not an eclair, standing before her and giving her that typical scowl, his arms crossed. She kept that image in her mind, her grip tightening on the Master Emerald.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to happen. A feeling of some sort of energy or something flowing through her as the Emerald did what she wanted. A sudden shift of the air around her. Something.

That didn’t happen.

What did happen was little Knuckles sneezing, spraying the Master Emerald—and her—with little puggle snot. She jerked, opening her eyes.

“Well, that’s just grand, that is,” she said in her best Wallace impersonation. She turned and walked to the hand towel she’d thrown at Knuckles while he was hanging off her curtain, and picked it up to wipe the spray off the most dangerous and powerful gem in the entire galaxy. Then she turned the towel to herself, wiping her face and heaving a sigh.

“At least he’s not an eclair,” Wade offered, tucking Knux into his elbow. “What now?”

Callie cocked an eyebrow at him, tucking the Emerald against her hip. Her eyes flicked behind him, and found her coffee pot nice and full. “Coffee,” she said, heading toward it.

~~~~~

And that's where I petered out because it's just not working. UGH

[ball33rina]

THIS TYPE OF LOVE ISN'T RATIONAL.

─── kai anderson x f! reader. smut.

warnings: mention of p in v, fingering and curses.

Minors, do not interact or read this, I am not responsible for what you read either.

The only thing separating you was the strong glass in front of you and Kai, who held the phone to his ear and his cold gaze was fixed on you. You knew he was manipulating you and somehow there you were, talking to a man you met thanks to him dialing the wrong phone line when he wanted to call Ally Mayfair and ended up calling you. He took it as an opportunity, if he manipulated the right people outside and the right people inside the prison he would be free before the elections start.

"You look hotter than the pictures you send me." he told you, a slight smirk painted on his perfect face that posed with some dark circles under his eyes. His voice was subtle and husky in your ear through that phone that was the only savior of their conversation.

"Thank you" you whispered looking down while also holding the phone to your ear.

"Hey look at me" he insisted making you raise your face looking at him. "When I get out of this dump...I'll make sure to give you the best fucking of your life." He nodded, as if that was all you were there for. Sex. Though most of it was.

"Kai, let's make sure you get out of here first" you whispered into the phone, he let out a laugh lowering the phone a little and then returning it to his ear.

"Don't say anything," he said into the phone, looking at you through the glass and mouthing the words, "I'll be out before you know it."

You felt your skin crawl and looked up at the guards who seemed completely unaware of what was happening.

"I have a guard on my side. She's in my cult too." He said, the simple fact that a "she" was near him made you feel jealous, let's see, it's kai, We know that Kai fucks anything that walks. Noticing your face he let out a low laugh and reached out his hand, resting it on the glass. "Don't worry babe. No one can match those boobs you have."

And you rolled your eyes again, clenching your teeth, damn... is everything sexual?

"Kai just stop it okay? You're making me feel uncomfortable with...literally two 60 year old ladies next to me." you said annoyed, yes, two women sitting on either side of you talking to their children.

"fuck 'em" He frowned into a grimace looking at the ladies whose sons turned to look at Kai.

"i said, stop it" You said firmly, he looked back at you and bit his lip, bringing his face closer to the glass with his ear resting on the phone.

"I love feisty girls" he purred and you were about to hang up the phone but he immediately interrupted you. "Okay, okay... I'm sorry babe, I didn't mean to make our romance so public."

He said making you roll your eyes, he just smiled looking at you, knowing he had you right where he wanted you.

"Tell me, what will you do the first time you see me there...with you" He said, tilting his head, and he was so sexy doing whatever he was.

"Scream in horror and call the police of course—" you said and his laughter interrupted you.

"As if you haven't done your research on Mr. Kai Anderson, the Michigan cult leader, who of course is a city councilman." He chuckled teasing you. "You'll do everything except scream in horror and call the police."

"As if you really knew me." You said bitterly even though you knew he knew perfectly well about you, he had people everywhere. "You're not a councilman anymore...get a grip."

"No, you only told me everything about yourself the twenty times we called each other," he said, raising an eyebrow. "And you offend me y/n, don't you know that a councilor doesn't stop being a councilor even if he dies? Sometimes I doubt your intelligence, princess. But it's okay, I can deal with that."

You rolled your eyes just to make him laugh again.

"now, now. Don't you roll your eyes at your boyfriend" He waved his pointing finger in your direction. "We're running out of time, So, be alert to calls, any strange number that calls your house...you answer. When you hear my voice you will listen carefully to where I will wait for you to pick me up in your grandmother's car. I will be dressed as a guard."

He whisper on the phone looking around hoping no one would hear him. And of course, ordering you to do things like... the crime of taking your grandmother's car without asking to borrow it.

"She'll be mad if she finds out I took it without asking to borrow it," you said worriedly, obviously caring a lot about your family in a situation like this.

"Honestly y/n, I don't give a shit about your dying grandmother. Do as I say, and you will be well rewarded." He said firmly and hung up the phone, getting up from his seat and looking at you one last time through that glass before being taken back to his cell. You couldn't help but stare at how good his ass looked in that prison uniform.

You were waiting parked in an alley that was a few blocks away from the maximum security prison, nervously waiting for Kai while you checked the time on your phone's clock, the car radio playing a cringe song.

It was that, your nerves and your lost vision were interrupted when someone knocked on your car door waiting for you to open it, when you looked up there was Kai dressed as a guard, and god he looked so damn hot like that. You quickly unlocked the car and he got into the passenger seat.

"Drive" he said giving you the order while he adjusted himself in the seat, you just looked at him, it was the first time you saw him... that wasn't through a glass. When he noticed that you weren't moving he looked at you. "I said fucking drive do i have to spell it out for you or what?"

"sorry—" You said, swallowing hard, and began to drive your grandmother's car, doing the most normal thing so that no one would notice that you had a criminal by your side.

Your morale started to hit you as you drove down the road, Kai constantly checking the rearview mirrors as your hands trembled and grasped the steering wheel.

A few minutes later Kai sighed and rested his hand on your thigh. "Good job."

You glanced at him and continued driving. "Then I'll take you home...with me."

He looked at you and let out a mocking laugh. "There's no way I'm letting your old grandmother hear us having sex."

You groaned and sighed, looking ahead, your fingers tightening on the steering wheel.

"drop the whole fucking "old" or "dying grandmother! I remind you that you are sitting on HER CAR." You yelled at him and that alone was enough to turn him on, he laughed looking at you and raised the hand that was resting on your thigh to your cheek, poking it with his finger.

You shook your head away from him, this bastard. If he wasn't so hot and you didn't have a mental hospital complex you'd dump him in the middle of the road.

It was around 2 pm when you and Kai arrived at your grandmother's house, the old lady didn't notice when you smuggled him into the house, and now both of you had locked yourselves in your room.

He looked around with a raised eyebrow and threw the guard cap he wore to the ground revealing his...attractive buzzcut that he told you before used to have long, electric blue dyed hair.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from a room in your name." He said, pointing at the One Direction posters around him.

"Leave that alone, they've been there for years," you said, overwhelmed and worried that your grandmother would come in. At which, Kai came after you, hugging you from behind, his long, veiny hands touching your stomach.

"Shhh, she's not going to notice. Plus, she seems to have a hearing problem," he whispered in your ear in a low, husky voice, making your stomach fill with butterflies and your panties feel wet. The tip of his nose began to slide over your ear down to your neck, inhaling your scent as you closed your eyes and lowered your hands over his.

His lips began to plant soft kisses on your neck, slowly opening his mouth to mark you with his hickeys...and his hips, beginning to grind against your ass through the pants you both wore.

"fuck, you made me so hard." he whispered, moving his hands down to your pants as he slowly ground the bulge in his pants into your ass, his hands agilely unbuttoning your pants. "I told you I would reward you for being a good girl." he whispered teasing you.

His fingers slowly opened the button of your pants and slowly lowered the zipper, his left hand entering your pants and then sliding under your panties, feeling how you were getting wet from the way he touched you.

"I know you were touching yourself thinking of me," he smiled, as if he had actually been watching you before. Yes, you had done it so many times that you lost count.

His middle finger began to slide up and down your pussy slit, collecting your wetness as he continued to grind behind you. His lips moving back up to your ear to bite your lobe.

"What about you?" you whispered back, wishing he had at least touched himself with you in mind. Just then, his finger collecting your wetness pressed against the tiny nub of nerves on your clit, making you gasp and push your hips back bumping against his pelvis in those pants..

"So many times. I slid my hand up and down my length with the same hand I'm using to touch you," he whispered to you, his voice ragged as his finger moved nimbly in circles over your clit making you gasp. "And then I came so much that I moaned your name...imagining you riding me in many positions."

You swallowed hard as the very finger that was playing with your clit slid down pushing itself inside your entrance, soon joined by another finger to begin moving his fingers inside of you followed by a sound of skin rubbing together.

You started to moan quietly, afraid that your grandmother would hear you. Kai slid his free hand, which he wasn't using, inside your shirt to feel your breasts, the ones he talked to you about so much, the ones he even masturbated thinking about.

He rested his forehead on your shoulder as you threw your head back, his fingers pushing back and forth inside you making you open your mouth and release small moans, as he hit that good spot, his hand that was resting on your breasts, began to squeeze them hard as if they were going to run away from him, feeling your erect nipple between his fingers.

"My cock is going to explode if I don't fuck you" he whispered with a slight husky laugh, and quickly pushed you onto your bed. Realizing what you were going to do... you were about to have sex with a criminal who escaped from prison to get revenge on a woman but now you had him in front of you, unbuttoning his pants so he could fuck you.

You, while he was undressing, took the opportunity to finish taking off your pants and your underwear, revealing your body, in his eyes you were perfect. He didn't even make sure to take off all his clothes, just his shirt revealing his well-formed chest and back...his perfect abdomen and V zone.

Moving closer to you and pushing your legs open as he pulled his pants down enough to pull his cock out of his boxers, which sprang free from its confiness the tip leaking precum. You swallowed hard as you noticed the incredible size he had between his legs, not exactly the biggest but not the smallest either... in fact, a good size... just enough to make you drip.

Spitting on his fingers to rub them over your pussy making sure you were completely soaked while his other hand worked on stroking himself sliding the precum into the base of it, bucking his hips forward to rub the tip of his cock up and down your pussy slit making you gasp, wanting to just impale yourself on his erection.

"fuck..." he whispered, and simply pushed himself inside you, having a little difficulty. But once inside you he adjusted both forearms to the sides of your head and began to move, kissing your neck. "So tight" he whispered as he moved, both of you panting and releasing breaths at the same time, your hands squeezing his back as his movements began to get a little hard.

The bed cracking with each hard thrust he gave, his lips moving down to your exposed erect nipples and sucking on each one, his pelvis slamming hard against your pussy as his balls slammed into your ass. The tip of his cock kissing your cervix.

You closed your eyes tightly, starting to moan louder and as if he was aware, he brought his hand to your mouth to silence you by squeezing it there tightly. "Shut up, we don't want to draw the old lady's attention."

You began to moan more and more, your sounds muffled by his hand as the bed cracked more and the headboard slammed against the wall, if he tried to be quiet, no shit you could still hear the bed.

But you both were about to cum and he just made sure you did, he slid his free hand between your legs again and started rubbing your clit rapidly while you tried to close your legs but the pressure of his thrusts didn't let you. So you responded by moaning loudly and scratching his back, arching your back.

Soon, he began to cum, painting your insides white as your hips shook, taking him all in...slowly cumming as well, milking his cock.

He pulled his hand away from your mouth as you gasped for air, your face red as he took the opportunity to lightly bite your nipple.

"I could fuck you again and again," he assured, looking up and staring into your eyes.

"Make sure you do it after you claim that position tomorrow." You whispered about what he would do to stop Ally from winning the election.

"Calm down princess. That position has always been mine" he brought his face closer to yours biting your lower lip lightly. "and you are my first lady."

[slurp-imagines]

Kamo Noritoshi - Just classmates, just an accident.

Summary: Reader tripped in front of Noritoshi and he accidentally saw up their skirt. It's been hours and it's still on his mind.

A/N: this was written for my OC originally, just removed names. so it's a female reader wearing a skirt. kind of works as a self-insert if you're okay with she/her pronouns.

Tags: NSFW/18+, M/F, masturbation, one-sided feelings / not in relationship, 3rd person narration

Words: 1,279

He feels disgustingly perverted. But he can't stop thinking about it.

They were in the wooded training zone together for a simple class exercise in the early morning. It was hours ago. She's tripped and fallen a little ways ahead of him. And he hadn't tried to look. It was natural to look at unexpected movement happening right in front of him.

She'd stood up and laughed it off with only the faintest hints of warmth in her cheeks, knowing he'd seen and knowing it couldn't be changed.

It was hours ago, though. He had gone through multiple other classes. Eaten lunch. Taken an exam. Went through his after-school training. Completed his school day with all the diligence and care to detail that everyone would expect from him.

Silently putting great effort into staying on task. Into forcing that single, erotically persistent mental image away from his attention.

The way the fabric hugged her butt, framed by the pleats of her skirt. He actually didn't see that much, and that somehow makes it harder to forget. The way his eyes quickly traveled up her thighs and then between them, the sharp pang of guilt before he finally forced his gaze away. He's wrong for looking – she isn't his to look at.

But he wants her to be. So, so badly. As soon as he's alone in his dormitory, the memory creeps back into his attention. This time he lets it stay there. He locks his door and doesn't bother turning on the lights, just undresses and goes straight into his shower room and starts the water.

To his credit, he does reconsider for a moment while his member twitches between his thighs, growing harder. Is it fair to do this? Is it fair to her?

I guess you aren't the worst option, she'd told him. I woulda maybe died if it was one of the first-year guys.

That must mean she wouldn't mind, no…? Yes? She was embarrassed, but she wasn't upset with him. She would have hated it if the first-years had seen, but if it was him– since it was him, she was okay with it. That's what she meant, wasn't it? This wasn't wrong, was it?

After just a moment's hesitation, Noritoshi's hand moves between his legs, grasping his erection. He was already almost full mast, just thinking about her. To think she has this much of an effect over him…

He sighs out, turning to face the wall and leaning his arm against it as he begins slowly stroking himself. Hot water pelts his back as he closes his eyes and focuses on the mental image of her, on all fours on the forest floor, the skirt of her dress haphazardly tossed up over her hips. What would she have looked like if she'd wanted him to stare longer? He thinks of her coy expressions, the beautiful curl of her lips when she wants to get a reaction out of him. Imagining her there, perking her ass up and spreading her legs for him, blushing just like he saw her today, smiling invitingly like she always does…

He moans, a soft hum low in his throat. His hand curls his palm around the tip and twists slightly. Precum quickly coats his fingers, dribbling down the rest of his cock. He gives himself a few full strokes, smearing it over himself, delighting in the smooth glide that results.

What he'd seen of her ass was just as beautiful and enticing as the rest of her. He wishes he could have touched her, the cleft where thigh meets her rear, the valley between her legs. Wishes he could have moved her panties to the side, seen pink folds beneath pink fabric…

He puts his hand back on the head, thrusting into the tunnel of his fingers. Imagining himself on his knees with her in the forest, pushing his cock into the tunnel of her warmth instead. She'd cry out his name. Kamo-kun? Noritoshi? It didn't matter. He just wanted to feel her, warm and wet and squeezing him. Wanted her to take him, to want him.

She would be welcoming but demanding, the same as she's always been. She'd let him fuck her until he couldn't anymore. She'd whine and moan and call out his name from between her glossy, plush lips, she would tell him she needs more, faster, harder, and he would give it to her as soon as she asked. Because no matter how much he pretends, deep down he knows he can't deny her anything. In fact, he wants to give her everything she could ever ask for. He would, if he could.

"Y-Y/N..."

He can't help calling out for her, too, though his voice remains quiet underneath the spray of water. He imagines his hands pushing her skirt further up, until he could grip the bare skin of her waist, pulling her body back onto his cock. Watching her ass bouncing off his hips, his member disappearing into her soft pussy over and over again.

He wishes he could give her this, make her feel this touched and pleasured. Wishes he could make her blush and beg until she came all over him, overcome by the feelings he'd aroused in her. He imagines her collapsing onto the ground after he's finished with her, turning herself over and smiling up at him, breathless and sultry, legs spread wide and fingers spreading herself even wider. His load dripping out of her hole. It's erotic and it's obscene, it's– he needs it, needs her, needs her to want him–

Noritoshi stifles his groan into his arm while his cum paints the wall in front of him with thick, creamy droplets. Hot semen dribbles down his fist while he trembles and fucks his hand in a restrained, twitchy rhythm, slowly winding down from his peak.

Noritoshi breathes in and out of his mouth once he feels he has his voice back under control. A new sense of shame washes over him when he opens his eyes and stares at the mess he'd made of the shower wall. He takes one of the wrappings out of his hair – he was so preoccupied he forgot to even remove them – and uses that to wipe it off. He'd just throw it out afterward, he has plenty to spare. There is just no way he could continue wearing the remnants of what he'd just done.

But at least now that he's gotten it out of his system, he can forget about that image properly. At his age, this was just something he had to take care of sometimes. He wasn't wrong for it.

And she would forgive him even if she knew, anyway… She'd said it herself, that he wasn't the worst option. She had laughed it off before, she would do it again.

This wasn't a bad thing that he'd done. It was just… all of it, an accident.

Tomorrow, he will be normal again. His thoughts clear, attention focused where it's actually meant to be.

He will be normal. And they will just be classmates again.

He turns back into the shower spray, and tries hard to ignore his disappointment.