#my sick little brain. and its love for putting these two in all the trappings of a het relationship

[possamble]

Going back to work after this but

[thebubblesareevil]

This is a continuation of big brother Danny but I don’t know how to put a link on here so enjoy

But first I just wanted to say I was not expecting so many people to enjoy this and if anyone wants to write an actual fic for this I will love u forever but in the meantime enjoy my brain vomit

When Dick first approached the Fentons it was not long after the death of the Fenton parents and danny was not able to meet with him at first so he first introduced himself to his sister jazz. At first she was suspicious of this kid who wanted to meet with her brother but refused to say why and she knew for a fact he was not a friend because her socially awkward brother only has 2 friends. But while he waited for danny to come home from “visiting family” duck stayed in a hotel in amity with Bruce both of them thought the ghost theme around town was over done but that’s what tourist traps are like they definitely didn’t see any ghost durning their stay. When Danny finally arrived he looked like he went toe to toe with scarecrow he was pale and looked incredibly sick with a young girl trailing behind him. When they all sit down on the couch dick starts to explain who he is and who Bruce is and he tells danny that he his brother. Danny is shocked he knew he was adopted but had no idea that he had a brother. He brightens up significantly and comments that he is officially no longer the youngest sibling. Dick and Bruce can’t stay for much longer because Wayne enterprises can’t go with out its ceo for too long wink wink.

Once they are gone jazz immediately turns to make sure Danny is okay. He says he’s not sure and that after everything that happened with their parents he’s not sure what to think about this but that two things are certain that he wants to get to know his little brother and that until he shows that he can handle the truth dick cannot know about phantom. Jazz asks him what’s going on and how the ghost zone reacted to everything

Danny goes on to explain that based on what happened it is clear that the infinite realms have blessed his reign as king and he was coronated almost immediately after he was done healing in the far frozen and that he has officially named Elle his daughter but to the living she will still be his cousin.

Honestly jazz is trying to keep a level head while she looks at her little brother and her new niece/cousin and pushes down any doubt she has knowing that right now what her brother needs is support and not concern and she jokes how she has no idea how they managed to fit the crown on his big head while giving him a knuckle sandwich and Elle jumps on them both as they all laugh.

It isn’t until about a year later when Danny is graduating that he decides to move to Gotham to be closer to his brother they had been in contact since their first meeting and while he has managed to broker peace with the other ghosts his protective obsession goes crazy every time dick tells him about a villain attack so he decides to apply to Gotham university so at the very least he is able to see that his brother is safe at the end of the day even if he is constantly getting into fights. His friend Wally eats like crazy which is fine because it distracts dick from how much Danny doesn’t eat everything is going great for awhile. Danny is able to spend plenty of time with both his family and his kingdom due to portal time shenanigans and clockwork and it really helped when jazz took that job at Arkham everything is great…

Enjoy!! Might make more im welcome to suggestions

[bubbletimestories]

Loki using hypnosis to help Y/N sleep (Ask)

Here for @coldalienpersonagoth , sorry for the delay. Lot of things happened ^^' (and in a way, my newfound love helped me a bit writing this.)

The blanket weighs too heavily on your shoulders, but every time you push it away, the cold comes over you and you put it up furiously. You'd done everything you could to get to sleep: avoid screens, read a little, get into bed at the first yawn. But the fact remains that your brain refuses to pause, to switch off your train of thought for a few hours. Tomorrow you have to get up early, you need that night's sleep. However, the hours go by and you're still wide awake. It's a vicious circle of irritation, fatigue and anxiety that embraces and suffocates you. You let out the umpteenth sigh as you turn over, your body tense and feverish. The bedroom door ajar, Loki stands on the threshold and despite the darkness, you can make out his concern. Loki, who sleeps so little, has been listening to you spinning for the past two hours and can sense your annoyance. With his supple gait, the god enters the room and comes to sit on the edge of the bed as you apologize for disturbing him, as if it were your fault. The young man dismisses it all with a wave of his hand.

"It's alright, my love. Tell me instead what preoccupies your mind, what clutters your head and clouds it."

You know he's sincere, waiting for you to confide in him, and he's always been good at relieving your conscience of its clouds. So you step aside to let him lie beside you, relieved that he has broken your isolation and solitude. It doesn't take long for the words to flow from your lips, and it does you good to express aloud what's haunting you. Your work stresses you out, you have a lot to think about, to anticipate, you feel like you're swimming against the tide while your colleagues are on the shore. You work so hard you're sick with fatigue and yet you're never satisfied, it's never enough.

Loki listens to you without interrupting, one hand resting in your hair, his slender fingers slipping between your locks in a very gentle movement, a delicate caress. After several long minutes, you catch your breath and realize that having poured all your anguish into the dark leaves you with an emptier head, as if you'd pulled the plug out of a bathtub that's about to overflow. Relieved, you hug the Asgardian, who continues to stroke your hair without saying a word, as you seek neither advice nor approval. You're just looking to get it off your chest, and you have.

Have your eyes gotten used to the dark? You can make out your lover's features better, the room bathed in a slightly flickering bluish glow, like the beating of a calmed heart. Loki closes his arms around you, not enough to feel trapped but enough to limit your nervous movements, like a weighted blanket providing a welcome cocoon. His hands keep coming and going, one in your hair, the other down your back, while his lips graze the top of your head. You relax, tenderly caressing his chest as a sweet scent reaches you, the kind that makes you smile, that soothes. You know it's the god who summons it ; he knows your tastes, what pleases you. The silence seems less oppressive, and you struggle to string your thoughts together, simply concentrating on this sensation of well-being, the gentle warmth at your back, the presence of the one you love so close to you.

Loki doesn't need words to calm the flow of your thoughts; his embrace alone conveys his intention. "Rest, my beloved. Lay your weary head on my shoulder and deposit your sorrows, entrust them to me. I promise, I promise to take care of you. You can close your eyes, I'll watch over you." You could almost hear those words in your mind, the softness of his voice in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes close, you try to keep them open, to look at Loki to enjoy this moment, but it's an uphill struggle.

The young man smiles, places his hand on your cheek to part a lock, his warm palm overcoming your last resistance. Your whole body relaxes, your mind silent, soothed by the warmth of his caresses. Unless there's something magical in the air. It's only when your breath slows and deepens that Loki removes the sweet smell, returning the room to its original darkness. He won't slip away tonight; he'll remain your cocoon for the night, your haven so you can rest fully. Sleep well, my love.

[angel-gone-south]

SM - Ink Black

【☆】★【☆】

You were the least excited for your family’s annual vacation. Sure, you usually went somewhere great, but you were getting so sick of your parents lately. They weren’t problematic, to say, just overbearing. They kinda… babied you.

“You got everything, pumkin?” Your mother asked, and you sighed.

“Yes, momma.” Your annoyed tone flew over her head.

“Great, let’s go!” She buzzed excitedly. Your father was loading the car, but beamed when he saw the two of you approach.

“Hey gang! We all set?”

“Yes dear.” Your mother giggled, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. You groaned. Their streaks of hair had started to fade lightly into an array of silver hues. They’d gotten tattoos, borders around their wrists, almost like a bracelet announcing their soulmates to the world.

You loved your parents, but the car ride was killing you. Their sickeningly sweet comments were boring a hole and pouring acid into your brain. You popped in your earbuds, blasting a medley of The Cure, Arctic Monkeys, Specimen, and Killing Joke to drown out your small world.

Your car pulled up a long, empty road. Through the snow you went, and eventually into a small valley between two or three mountains, where stood a town of prissy, upper-middle class charm. You rolled your eyes. Tourist trap.

Once in the hotel, and settled into your room, you immediately separated from your parents. You found a teen room, which was virtually empty. The place was pretty swanky, a television with a Roku and a dock for a Nintendo Switch.

The beanbag in the corner you slunk into was wonderful- as were the sour gummies you’d swindled the vending machine out of. You sighed happily, one earbud in and one out as you doodled in your sketchbook.

You nearly jumped five feet in the air when an equally aggravated teenage boy flopped himself in the beanbag across from you.

He was broad. Tall dark and handsome, you could put it. His skin was pretty pale, and he had a bit of muscle tone in his arms and neck. His Adam’s apple and collarbone were pronounced, and as you gazed down, you noted his stomach seemed soft above his defined legs clad in skinny jeans.

He was fairly ‘goth’; shaggy bleach blonde hair adorned with a dark beanie, swimming blue eyes encircled with eyeliner, silver chain hanging down to end in a small pentagram charm on his ribs. Tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, leading down to wrists adorned with bracelets and painted black fingers sporting rings that made your head spin.

He finally lifted his head from its spot on his shoulder to size you up, much like you had him. After what felt like forever, he gave you a nod of approval. You held out the bag of gummies, and he gratefully accepted some, taking the snack as a sign it was okay to start talking.

“Hi. I’m Stan.” You chuckled a little at his name, somewhat unbefitting for him.

“[Name]. Nice to meet someone my own age here.”

“Right? Aspen is always filled with such old, prissy people.”

“Yes, oh my god!”

The two of you had hit it off. Your tastes in music, clothes, and snacks aligned almost to a t. Come the time for dinner, neither of you dared separate from the other.

It wasn’t until your families sat together, and your parents started to talk, that you looked at your wrist. You glanced between it, and Stan. Couldn’t be him, right? His hair was blonde. But then, why were neither of his parents?

“Stanley,” His mother scolded. “Hats off at the dinner table.”

“Aw, but mom, we aren’t even home!”

“Stanley. Marsh.” Her tone was a warning. He quickly removed his hat, tucking it into his back pocket. You let out an audible gasp at the sight of his grown roots that were a deep, inky black save for a patch of [color].

He looked at you funny, but you just scrambled for his wrist, beaming at the sight of your initials. You placed yours next to his, pointing out the streak of black that separated your hair like a line of motor oil.

He blushed, but there was an undertone of green in his gills that made you giggle as you ate together happily.

Your vacation would be a whole lot better than you’d thought.

【☆】★【☆】

oh my god why is this long

[yikimiki]

thinking so fucking hard about loser/stoner eren and popular/mean girl reader............ how she'll tease him and bully him at school but when they're fucking its always the opposite way around........ he has such a grip on her and shes so whipped for him that the pent up teasing just comes out during sex and he is just being so mean to her

This is a different au from the other loser eren asks — aiming more towards stoner!eren x popular!reader!! Also this got really long?? It’s a mix of headcanons and drabbles so hold on

warnings: smut, dirty talk, mean dom eren, rough sex, crying, creampie, multiple rounds, spanking, hair pulling, mentions of drugs (weed), degradation, use of “bitch”, “slut”, “whore”, “cocksleeve”, no prep, ass play, size kink, dumbification, mentions of spitting, dubcon (just to be sure)

No but imagine... Eren is this outcast, unbothered type of guy that doesn’t give a fuck about the social hierarchy of college or whatever. For some sick and twisted reason, you are particularly interested in him — there’s something about his baggy clothes, long hair under his cap/beanie and his “fuck everything” attitude that gets you going. But you can’t really show that you’re attracted to a complete loser like him, it would ruin your reputation, so you have to pretend as if you love teasing him, mocking him. Which, like, it’s totally funny.

It works for some time, until you are alone in a room with him. It happens in some weird college party that you almost didn’t go to, when you decide to take a break from dealing with your drunk friends and find shelter in a bedroom somewhere. It takes you some time to find one that it’s not locked or... being used, but eventually you open the door to find Eren, just scrolling through his phone with a blunt hanging from his lips. This time, considering it’s just you and him, you skip the provocations and ask him what he’s doing alone in there, you sit next to him in bed and listen as he complains about some friend that dragged him to that obnoxious party.

“I was just passing some time before I found an excuse to leave,” he says, locking his phone and putting it on the nightstand. The smell of weed is filling the stuffed air, and Eren takes another hit before putting his blunt out. “And what are you doing here? Got tired of ruining everyone’s night and decided to ruin mine?”

“It’s always more fun with you.” You smile, one hand landing on his shoulder. Eren tenses under your touch, bright green eyes trying to see if you’re just making fun of him again. Still, there’s something else burning at the bottom of your irises that he has never seen before, something that makes his stomach clench in anticipation. “Besides… now I have you all to myself.”

“What are you getting at?” He asks, but his voice sounds lower, eyebrows furrowed in doubt. You two are close, so much closer than ever before, and he can feel your gentle breathing on his lips when you lean closer. His heart picks up, and his hands are fighting to touch your body. “If this is some sort of prank, I swear—“

“It’s not a prank,” you whisper, looking down at his lips. Eren swallows dry — it’s funny: even after months of teasing, this is the clearer reaction you’ve ever received from him. “Can I kiss you?”

Eren has never heard you ask for anything — especially from him. It takes him some time to warm up to the idea (and to make sure you’re not just fucking with him again), his cock stirring awake in his baggy pants, before he gives you a curt nod. You smile, leaning in and joining your lips in a heated kiss.

And you swear you have the upper hand for some time. You sit on his lap, run your fingers through his hair and watch as he becomes pudding under your touches — just groaning and sighing against your lips as his rough hands squeeze your ass, making you grind your pussy down against his hard cock until you’re soaking through the fabric. But then something in the air suddenly switches and Eren is turning you around, trapping you beneath his large body as his lips eagerly move down to your neck, hands practically tearing your top open so he can suck on your tits.

You whimper and ask him to slow down, but he’s not really listening at this point — if you’re giving yourself to him, he’s going to make good use of his time. Especially when he thinks you should learn one thing or two about how to properly behave, about not always getting what you want, but what you deserve after teasing him for so long. All those months of pent-up frustration are getting to his head, turning into a power trip as he notices that he’s so much stronger than you, that he can do whatever he wants and you’ll just have to take it. And he’s gonna make sure you’ll take it all.

In no time, you’re completely naked, clothes mindlessly thrown around the room and Eren is looking at your body like he can eat you whole. He asks you to “Turn around,” as he takes off his own clothes, and your surprised at the eagerness in which you follow his command. You don’t know what’s going on with you — all those bitter comments you’d throw at him are now long gone, barely a ghost at the back of your mind when you feel him shuffle closer to you. Eren pulls your hips upwards, presses your face down against the mattress and spanks your ass so hard you swear you see stars.

“Eren!” You cry out, both from pleasure and surprise. “What are you—“

“Shut up.” His hands come down against your ass once more, making you whine. “You never fucking stop talking, such an annoying bitch.” Your skin burns as he lays down more hits against your ass cheeks, your hands helplessly holding onto the bedsheets. “This is what you wanted, uh? Wanted me to snap, to treat you like the needy whore you are.”

“Y-Yes,” you stutter. Your pussy is so aroused that you just feel yourself dripping down your thighs, the coldness of the air making you shiver. You never needed someone as much as you needed him. “Eren, fuck me,” you sob.

His large figure leans over you, one hand yanking your hair back as his face stops next to yours. You can feel his cock — huge, throbbing, heavy — in between your sensitive ass cheeks, and the notion that he’s about to stretch you out so wide makes you whine. “Didn’t fucking listen, why don’t you get some fucking manners and try again?”

“Please, Eren, f-fuck me,” you utter, arching your back against his cock. You never noticed how big and strong he is, but now that he’s towering over you, you have no choice but to feel yourself shrinking beneath him. “Please, please.”

He scoffs. “Needy bitch,” but he releases your hair and pushes your face down against the mattress, using his free hand to align himself with your dripping cunt. “Not so fucking chatty now, are you?” You barely have time to answer before he’s pressing his cockhead against your pussy, your hole fluttering around his length as he continues to push in. Eren is huge, definitely the biggest you’ve ever had, and the lack of prep only makes you feel the stretch even more. “Shit, look at this tight fucking cunt,” he breathes out. His hands are squeezing your ass so hard you just know it’ll be sore in the morning, but you don’t care. “Can’t believe you kept this from me for so fucking long.”

You have half the thought of apologizing, but you can’t do it when he bottoms out. By the time that his cock is fully inside you, you can barely utter out an incomprehensible string of “S-So huge, E-Eren— too much— fuck, so big, I can’t take it, I can’t...” before he’s moving his cock in and out of you.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He asks, spanking your ass once again. The noise is so much louder this time, your moan following it shortly. “Fucking annoyed me for months just because you wanted to milk my cock like a desperate little whore,” he seethes, grabbing your ass forcefully as he drills into your soaking cunt. Eren is going hard and fast, so much so that you feel as if your brain is rattling inside your head, tits bouncing against the mattress as he continues his unforgiving pace. “Always knew you were a slut, I just didn’t know you’d be so fucking— shit — so fucking insufferable.”

“I’m s-sorry,” you whine, tears streaming down your face because of how good it all feels.

He scoffs. “Not yet. But you’ll be sorry.”

And boy how sorry you are. You had no idea that Eren would have that ridiculous amount of stamina, but you don’t even know how many times you’ve cum by the end of the night. Eren fucks you full of his cum again and again, spanking you and pulling your hair every time you misbehave and can’t keep it in like he tells you to — because “you’re such a dumb bitch, can’t even listen when you’re full of cock”.

He makes you cum on his fingers, on his cock, on his tongue, even makes you desperately grind against his thigh to get yourself off just because he likes how dumb you look. He fills every whole he can — spits in your mouth, fucks your throat, fingers your ass as he’s fucking you from the back and promises that next time it’ll be his cock. He’s just so mean, so revengeful of every time you annoyed him that he can’t be nice even if he tried. It’s just too good to have almighty little you turned into a stupid slut for his cock, crying and begging for him to fill you up one more time.

“Listen to me,” he hisses, making you turn your head to look at him. Your eyes are glazed over, barely able to find his with your orgasm building up again. “This is all you’re fucking good for,” he says, and his cock throbs inside you. Eren’s cum is seeping down your thighs, coating his length and making his slide easier as he continues to pound inside your abused cunt. “You’re made to be a cocksleeve, this pussy is made to take my cock. Do you understand?” You agree with a whiny yes. “Gonna stop fucking annoying me now? You can just ask and I’ll fuck you whenever you want, okay?” You nod, only half there, and for the first time that night he calls you “Good girl,” before stuffing you full of his cum again.”

Anyways???? Idk what came over me but yeah. Popular girl reader that is a complete slut for loser eren when theyre fucking. I rest my case.

[bullshxtvixen]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Pairing: Bokuto x Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Song: Put It On Me - Matt Maeson 

Warnings: 18+, Coercion(dubcon themes), size kink, cream pie, virginity kink, corruption kink, rough sex, spitting, spanking, light choking, light assplay(I couldn’t help myself), dom!bokuto(he’s kind of an ass oops).

A/N: So uh, it’s finally here…My first fic in two months and i’m ngl, i’ve been dreading posting for so long, but i tried to give you guys something good for my return, so please let me know what you think and go easy on me, i’m a little rusty sksks. However, this is a gift for @thekraziesreside because she drew me them most amazing Kenma x Me icon and i needed to pay her back somehow!!

Shoutout to my amazing friends @deathcab4daddy​, @dymphnasprose​ and @spicykzumeknma​, who i’m sure are sick of beta reading this by now and having me freaking out about posting it. Thank you for all your grammar corrections that I will probably never learn from, I love you all

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“I-I’m a virgin.”

The words slip from your tongue before you can stop them.

The large hands that had been tracing the contours of your body stilled. You had to stop yourself from flinching when his intense golden stare shot to your face.

“What…” He let the word trail off, a well-practised mask of surprise coming into place on his features.

It was second nature to him now, letting his face morph into whatever expression he needed it to at a moments notice. No one ever suspected the friendly Ace of being anything other than a good guy, and really, he wasn’t a bad guy. No, he just relished in taking the innocence of unsuspecting women who easily fell into his trap.

Like you.

“I’m a virgin, Kou.” Even though you were straddling him, you still had to look up to meet his eyes. 

With the tips of your ears burning, you moved to get off of his lap as if you could escape from your embarrassing confession. You couldn’t believe you’d openly admitted you were an inexperienced virgin to the guy you’d only just met a week ago.  A mutual friend had introduced the two of you, and you’d quickly fallen for his ‘nice guy’ act.

You hadn’t even put a foot on the floor before you were pulled back and thrown into the pillows. The weight of Bokuto’s body was quick to settle on top of you, pressing you down into the plush mattress. 

“What are y-” before you could finish your sentence, your wrists were pinned above your head, rendering your arms useless in his firm grip. The muscles in your abdomen tightened at his rough treatment, and you couldn’t stop the small gasp that fell from your lip. Turning your head to the side, you tried in vain to hide your flustered expression.

Bokuto felt his cock twitch in the grey sweats that hung low on his hips.

The innocent ones were always the most responsive. He fought off a grin as the thought crossed his mind.

“Did you really think I was going to let you get away after telling me something like that?” He growled, warm breath ghosting over your face and across your neck. He watched with a glint in his eyes as you shivered under him. 

Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

“Do you know what that means, little bird?”

Your heart raced at the nickname.

Could he make you sing for him?

Certain he could hear your heartbeat fluttering like a hummingbird's wings in your chest, you silently prayed for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. The mortification you felt was palpable in the space between you.

Bokuto thought it was cute how bashful you were, so unsure and unwilling to show him your real feelings, even though your body told him everything he needed to know. Still, he’d have you voicing your innermost desires sooner or later- it was only a matter of time.

“Well?” He pressed, not allowing you to dwell on your thoughts any longer. He didn’t want to have to put in too much effort to break you.

Your voice was small and unsure when you answered him, eyes looking anywhere but his direction, “No.” 

He was so close, closer than any man had ever been before. The proximity made it hard to think straight as the warmth of his body seeped into your bones, and his masculine scent invaded your senses. 

It was almost stifling.

His tongue darted out, licking a wet strip up the side of your exposed neck before pressing a soft kiss just below your ear. He felt you shiver beneath him before pulling back and watching a deep blush journey down to your chest. It was so pure...He couldn’t wait to be the one to defile your virtue.

Gently grasping your chin between his thumb and index finger, he turned your face until you had no option but to meet his simmering gaze. 

Begrudgingly, you looked up at the man looming over you and found he was already observing your flustered expression. He stared so openly and without shame that you began to squirm under him.

Bokuto saw your blush deepen further and wondered what you’d look like when he eased his cock inside your virgin hole.

Would your eyes roll into the back of your head? Would your nails imbed themselves in his back? Or maybe you’d simply cry out in pain and pleasure as he ripped through your innocence?

All kinds of scenarios whirled around in his brain, sending his mind into overdrive. 

Unconsciously, he ground the head of his cock against your clothed slit and was rewarded when he heard your sharp intake of breath. 

Heat pooled in his groin. 

It was such a pretty sound. He wanted more, and he didn’t need to feel the slick collecting in the crotch of your underwear to know your feelings mirrored his.

His smile was predatory as he answered.

“It means that I’ll be the first person to fill your tight little pussy up with cum. I’ll stretch your walls around my cock and pump you so full that it’ll be dripping out of you for days.” 

The lewd words fell from his mouth with ease, and you found yourself shifting as your body all of a sudden became too warm as if the temperature in the room had spiked, but you knew it was his words alone that had caused your reaction.

You hated how easily he affected you.

“I bet you want me to corrupt your sweet little body, don’t you?” He already knew the answer.

Your body responded of its own accord, turning into putty beneath him. Your hips rolled against his as your back arched off the bed at the feeling of his cock nudging against your clit. The knot in your stomach tightened. 

The grip on your wrists tightened. Bokuto took a few steadying breaths, struggling to hold himself back. You seemed so tiny and fragile as you lay beneath his brawny form, and he was scared he would break you if he gave in to his own desires too soon.

Maybe that’s what you wanted. The sadistic voice in the back of his mind purred. 

“I- I don’t know.” Your voice wavered as you answered him honestly. Doubt had begun to gnaw at your gut. Waiting didn’t seem like the worst idea- there was no rush, after all.

He closed his eyes for a split second to hide the annoyance that no doubt flickered through them. When he reopened them, he became the personification of a bird of prey, and you were his next meal.

Your mouth became dry as you lied entrapped by his stare.

“Come on, I can make you feel good.” As if he was digging his talons in to prevent your escape, he rolled his hips against yours once more, making sure that his cock rubbed firmly over your swelling clit. The side of his mouth quirked up when a tentative moan left your parted lips. 

“That’s it, you like that, don’t you? You want me to make you feel good, don’t you, little bird?” another roll of his hips, and he watched the doubt dissolve away for now.

“Koutarou...please.” Your voice was small, uncertain as you begged. 

You didn’t know what you were begging for, you just knew he could give it to you, whatever it was.

Golden eyes flashed at the way your voice was saturated with need. For a moment he thought that maybe you weren’t a virgin, but instead, a succubus, come to steal his soul. 

He would let you.

The weight of his body left yours, and in seconds, you were stripped of all of your clothing, which was thrown haphazardly around the room. His soon followed.

Eager eyes drank in the sight of your naked body before him. Your skin was so beautiful and unmarred by another person, so enticing and begging for his touch. Soon you would be littered in his marks as he lay claim to your body, inside and out.

Growing self-conscious under his prolonged stare, you tried in vain to cover your most intimate parts.

“There’s no use trying to hide from me. I’m going to become well-acquainted with your body by the time I’m done with you.”

A gasp escaped your lips when his fingers reached down and ghosted over your folds. A groan left him when he felt just how wet you were.

“Well, looks like someone’s already dripping at the thought of being ruined by my cock- isn’t that cute?” Though his tone was mocking, his words still sent excitement trickling down your spine.

Spreading your lips, he circled a thick finger around your twitching entrance, smiling devilishly when you whined for him. Through heavy-lidded eyes, he witnessed your jaw go slack as he eased the first finger past the slick opening, surprised when he was met with little resistance. 

Soon he was able to work himself knuckle-deep, and your walls fluttered around him in welcome.

Such a slutty pussy for someone so untouched. 

“You’re so tight, baby. Your pussy’s sucking my finger in so nicely; I bet you’re going to feel amazing when I stuff my cock inside.”

You groaned as his fingers started to move within your previously untainted walls. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling like you’d feared it would be- it was almost like a welcoming pressure had settled deep within you. 

“Kou… more.” 

A chuckle met your ears in line with his warm lips brushing against your pubic bone, “Your wish is my command.”

When the second finger was added, the discomfort became evident on your face. He didn’t pause his movements; instead, their pace increased as pain and pleasure fought for dominance at the apex of your thighs.

“That’s it, you can do it. The pain will stop soon,” At that moment he chose to curl his fingers and press them against the spongy spot deep within your sopping cunt. The pain dulled and was overshadowed by pleasure as he played with your body as if it were an instrument he was fine-tuning. 

“Ah- fuck, I-” Your breathing accelerated as the pressure in the pit of your stomach began to increase . Your hips started to buck up off the bed when his thumb joined his ministrations and began working tight circles against your clit. Sparks of excitement like nothing you’d felt before shot through your veins. Stringing thoughts together became almost impossible.

If this was what his fingers could do, you weren’t sure you’d be able to remain sane once his cock entered you.

“There it is,” he cooed, fingertips rubbing against the same spot, this time with a little more vigour, “God, you look so beautiful with my fingers inside you, you’re drenching them, baby.”

A thick fog came over your mind as they stroked and stretched your walls, creating a pressure in your abdomen that threatened to overflow at any second. It almost scared you, and yet, you couldn’t prevent your hips from desperately grinding down against his hand.

“More,” you cried, your breaths beginning to come out in pants.

The wet squelching sounds of your pussy filled the room as his hand became a blur between your thighs. The sound only added to your arousal.

When your legs began to quake, he lowered his head and added his mouth to the mix, suckling skillfully at your puffy clit. His lips were cool as they attached themselves to your heated skin, the difference in temperature causing a prolonged whine to leave you.

His tongue swirled around the sensitive nub, his fingers working your insides, coiling, stroking and stretching until the pressure that had been steadily rising in your stomach finally exploded within your body. It erupted from your core, spreading through you like wildfire.

Your hands found hair, pulling and twisting the soft locks as you came hard around his fingers. He moaned at the flash of pain in his scalp- causing his own desire to heighten. Your walls pulsed as he continued to curl his fingers against your g-spot. 

“Yes, yes, yes! Fuck, Kou, fuck, oh god, oh god!” Your cries of delight were music to Bokuto’s ears. It excited him so much that he couldn’t help but gently rut his hips into the mattress. His cock was painfully hard now, and precum leaked freely from his swelling tip. He needed to be inside you soon or he’d lose his mind.

Pulling his fingers from your pussy, you watched through half-lidded eyes as he brought them to his mouth and began to eagerly lap at them. 

“Koutarou…That was....” Your brain was still riding its high, unable to give you an end to your sentence.

He pulled his hand from his mouth, “I told you I’d make you feel good. Now, before I fuck your brains out, why don’t you see how good you taste?”

The musky smell of your arousal filled your nostrils as he brought his fingers to your lips.

“Open.” It wasn’t a request.

At your hesitance, he quirked a brow, “I promise you taste amazing. Now, open.”

You obeyed, still riding the endorphin high he’d pulled from your body. Because of this, you didn’t even notice that he’d reached over and pressed record on his phone that was propped up on the nightstand. He’d made sure to angle it so the camera pointed directly at your face.

He found people were much more...compliant... if he had video footage he could use against them in the event that they changed their minds.

With a grin, he placed the two fingers he’d had knuckle deep in your cunt against your tongue.

The tart taste of your release was quick to spread over your tastebuds. His eyes darkened when you began to swirl your tongue around his fingers, lightly sucking on them until they were completely clean of your arousal. 

It was so erotic that you found it hard to maintain eye contact. 

He released a shaky breath before pulling his fingers from your mouth with a satisfying ‘pop’.

“You’re a little minx, you know that?” He teased, allowing one of his hands to come to rest next to your head while the other reached between your bodies. Taking his length in his hand, he watched a mix of anticipation and fear come over your features when you looked down.

Your audible gulp was heard in the silence that followed.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected, but this was beyond anything your mind had come up with. Even though you’d never had sex before, you knew he was big. His cock was thick and heavy where it hung between his legs. Veins ran along the sides of his shaft, the largest one snaking directly down the centre before splitting in two near the swollen head. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like having something so big inside your body.

“I don’t think I can do this.” Your voice wavered, doe-eyes shining with fear as they met his.

He acknowledged your fear with a condescending sneer, “Oh, little bird, you really think you have a choice?” he nodded towards the nightstand.

The blood in your veins turned icy, and your body began to tremble as you lay eyes on the phone, screen open and recording.

Breathing became difficult as panic rose in your chest. You’d been so naive. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“It’s been recording for the last couple of minutes. Now,” his rough fingers came to rest against the sides of your throat, squeezing lightly as he brought his face just inches from yours, “you can either behave, and this will feel amazing for both of us, or you can be a brat, and the only person this is going to be fun for is me. Not to mention, I’ll send the video around to every person you know, including your boss.” 

At the mention of your boss, your whole body deflated. He had you right where he wanted you. While the thought of your friends and family seeing the video was mortifying, you couldn’t risk losing your job. Your virginity was a small price to pay to make sure the video stayed hidden.

Anger bloomed in your chest as you leered up at the spiky-haired man, but you had no fight in you. It was useless to even try.

“If I do this, you’ll make it go away?” You tried to make your voice sound confident, but it cracked at the end.

He couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto his face when he realised you were giving in, “Of course- no one else will ever see it.”

He watched the internal battle going on behind your mind before your eyes hardened.

“Fine, so be it. I’ll play your sick game.” You spat, what else did you have to lose?

Bokuto’s eyes widened when you reached down and removed his hand from his length before replacing it with your own. It was softer than you’d imagined, yet firm at the same time. Like steel encased in velvet. 

“You like the feeling of my cock, baby? It’ll feel even better when I'm balls deep inside you. You’ll be my little slut and take it all like a good girl, won’t you?”

The man above you let out a rumbling moan from deep within his chest when your fingers flexed around him, head falling against your chest. Your wavering hands felt so small as they struggled to circle his impressive girth. It again reminded him of the size difference between the two of you.

Your eyes darted between him and the phone. He took the hint and reached over, turning the phone off and laying it flat against the nightstand.

He turned back to you with a smug smirk. 

You wanted to slap the look right off his face, but violence would probably result in the video being circulated faster.

Resigning yourself to your fate, you dipped the head of the thick muscle between your folds. Your slick coated it instantly. Lining him up with your entrance, you waited for him to meet your gaze. When he did, he saw the hatred burning in them. It made his cock throb in your palm.

When he pressed his hips forward, all at once, the air left your body as heat flooded your core.

Bokuto studied your face intently, drinking in the way your pupils dilated and your mouth dropped open into a silent moan. If he could burn one image into his mind, it was your face at that moment as he stole the last remnants of your innocence from you.

“Hng-fuck...it feels...s-so-” Your hands blindly grasped at his broad shoulders, seeking some kind of anchor as the burning feeling of his cock threatening to split you open sent your mind into a frenzy.

“So what, baby?” He cooed, body tense above you. “How does it feel? Come on, little bird, use your words.”

Nails dug into his shoulder blades as he worked himself into you. Hissing out a breath, he savoured the way your lower muscles clenched around his girth before relaxing, only to repeat the motion moments later, pulling him deeper into your heated sheath.

“So full. So so full, so fucking good.” You whimpered, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. It was a fullness, unlike anything you’d ever felt before. Every nerve in your body had come to life, and a familiar heat began to pool in your lower body once again. Bokuto’s control began to slip, and he soon realised he was trembling above you in an effort to hold back. Heat was surging through his own body, clouding his mind and bringing him closer to his climax. If he didn’t move soon...

“Ah, fuck, I need…” He couldn’t finish the rest of his sentence, his mind was lost to the beast you’d unleashed inside of him. With a harsh snap of his hips, he sheathed the rest of his cock inside your wet heat.

A scream ripped from your throat as your poor cunt was suddenly filled to the brim with the Ace’s cock. His hips lay flush against yours as he bottomed out inside you, the plush head of his length kissing your cervix. He stretched your body in such a sinful way that for a second, you forgot how to breathe. 

Even though you never wanted anything to do with him and the thought of him being inside you made you feel sick, you couldn’t stop your body’s natural reaction to him.

On instinct, your legs wrapped around his hips, heels pressing against his ass. You didn’t know where your confidence had come from, and in your lust-driven craze, you didn’t care. In fact, it was almost as if a switch had been flicked in your mind. All you knew was that you craved him.

“Shit, you’re choking my cock with that sweet little pussy. Fuck.”

“Koutarou...move. Please.” You panted, cutting him off, “I need you to move, now.”

The heels of your feet dug into his ass while you simultaneously rolled your hips into his. The movement sent flares of desire straight to your core.

Bokuto didn’t need to be told twice.

The first few of his thrusts were short and practised as if he was testing whether or not your body could handle him. When he was met with mewls and whimpers, he couldn’t stop himself from picking up his pace and slamming mercilessly into your greedy pussy. 

The pressure you’d experienced before started to build once again, only this time it felt more intense, almost out of control as you writhed beneath him.

There were many ways you’d imagined losing your virginity; slow, soft, romantic sex with someone you’d known for years; gentle caresses and stolen kisses beneath a slither of moonlight as your lover whispered loving words into your ear.

This was nothing like that. 

Bokuto’s thrusts were bruising, unforgiving, and the power behind each one jolted your entire body. He was animalistic as he fucked into you.

This wasn’t love-making. This was rough, hard fucking, and you found yourself growing intoxicated as you were forced to drink in every sensation he was pulling from you. 

He’d been wrong before, you weren’t like the other girls at all. They’d all cried and begged for him to go easy. But you, you thrived on him using your body, even savoured the feeling of being fucked like a whore.

The realisation made his head spin. If you liked being fucked like a whore, he was happy to oblige.

A strangled cry echoed through the room when his teeth latched onto the sensitive skin of your nipple. His hot tongue swirled around the pebbled nub, sending bolts of desire splintering through you as the pressure inside you bubbled up and threatened to explode at any moment.

His mouth left you all too soon.

“Such a good girl. You’re taking my cock so well. Who knew a virgin could be such a dirty little slut? I bet you’re loving this, being used like a cocksleeve.” The words left his mouth in a rush as if he’d forget them if he didn’t get them out fast enough. 

Leaning back, he hooked his arms beneath your knees, still continuing his assault on your cunt. He couldn’t help but reach around and press a hand on your stomach. Desire stirred in his groin when he felt himself moving beneath his palm. 

“Fuck, that’s so hot. I’m practically in your stomach…” His words died off when he felt your walls begin to spasm.

“Kou, I’m- fuck- I’m going to cum.”

No, he wouldn’t let you cum just yet, it was too soon. He knew if he drew it out much longer, you’d be too sore for another round, but he wanted- no, he needed- to test just how far he could corrupt you.

Without thinking, he leant over your body and allowed a string of his saliva to slowly drip from his mouth. It gave you enough time to move if it was too much for you.

You didn’t move. No, instead you eagerly stuck your tongue out and waited for his spit to drip onto it, like a puppy begging for a treat.

When you swallowed it with a smirk on your face, he finally lost all semblance of control.

You weren’t entirely sure what happened next, but next thing you knew, you were stomach-down on the bed.

“Wha-”

The sound of impact as Bokuto’s hand met the supple flesh of your ass rang in your ears. You barely had time to register the searing heat blooming across your rear before he brought his hand down again on the opposite side.

“Get that fucking ass in the air.” 

Bringing your knees under you and sticking your ass out as much as you could, you waited for his next move as your orgasm began to dwindle.

Bokuto bit his lip as he watched you present yourself to him, puffy lips glistening in the dim light.

Gripping your hip with one hand, he used the other to give your ass a few slaps with his length before realigning himself with your entrance. You were so wet and stretched so well that with a harsh snap of his hips, his entire length was buried deep in you with no resistance.

“Fuck!” Your voice was hoarse as you cried out from being stuffed with his cock again.

The angle this new position set had his cock dragging along your walls, caressing them as he fucked into your heat. The new pace he set was brutal as he chased his own high.

Skin against skin became the only sound in the room as his weighty balls slapped against your clit- each time the coil in your stomach tightened.

Your body stiffened when you heard him spit, followed by the feel of moisture coming into contact at the top of your ass.

He’d been lost in his mind as he watched your puffy slit suck in his length, and when his eyes travelled up to the puckered hole just above, he couldn’t help himself.

“Don’t worry,” He spread the spit around your pucker with his thumb before gently applying pressure, “I’ll ruin this hole next time, little bird. But first, I want you to get an idea of just how good I can be to you.”

When his thumb slipped past the tight ring of muscle, your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

A sense of euphoria settled deep within you as you lay there and let the Ace pound into you with reckless abandon.

Bokuto became drunk on the cries he was sure you didn’t even realise were falling from your mouth as drool pooled beneath your cheek and turned the bedsheets a darker shade.

It wouldn’t be long now. He could feel his balls tightening as heat spread through his body. Not to mention, your legs had started to quiver with the first signs of your release.

“You ready to come for me again, baby?” His hips never faltered from the harsh pace he’d set.

“I can’t...too much...fuck.”

He found it almost endearing that you thought you had a choice. 

“Wrong answer.”

You didn’t think it was possible for him to fuck you any harder, but a last burst of energy had him pistoning his hips into you with such force that you had to reach above your head and press a shakey hand against the headboard to stop your body from jolting forward.

Your body couldn’t take much more stimulation and seconds later you cried out your release into the mattress.

Your first orgasm was nothing compared to the pure ecstasy you felt in those following moments as you came hard around the thick muscle still pumping into your aching walls.

Stars flashed across your vision as your toes curled, and your hands blindly clawed at the mattress. It was as if you’d been washed out to sea in an ocean of bliss, and you had no choice but to ride the waves crashing through you.

Bokuto’s thrust became sporadic until finally, his body went taut behind you, balls tightening as he emptied his seed into your spasming walls. 

His cum was warm as it splashed against your cervix, staining every inch of your insides with the thick fluid.

White noise rang in your ears as your body rode out its chemical high.

Bokuto pulled his thumb and cock from your holes once his balls were empty. Once removed, your body collapsed to the side, exhausted.

Bokuto’s own energy was about to run out, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your twitching cunt. His cum had started to dribble out from between your swollen lips in a steady stream of white.

Instinct had him reaching out and pressing as much of it back into your body as he could. He ignored the weak cries that the action coaxed from your mouth as his fingers brushed against tender flesh.

He’d fucked you raw. 

You’d be sore for days after this. Hell, a dull ache had settled in his own muscles.

With a groan, he used the last of his energy to scoop your thoroughly fucked body off the bed and carry you the short distance to the bathroom. Placing you gingerly down into the toilet seat, he only let go when he was sure you weren’t going to fall face-first onto the cold tile floor.

Grabbing a small cloth, he made quick work of rubbing the musky smell of sex from your body before jumping into the shower and ridding himself of the thin layer of sweat sticking to him. The warm water felt amazing against his skin, and suddenly, tiredness came over him. All of his limbs felt heavy as if weights had been attached to them. He’d definitely been rougher than he meant to- fucking never usually took this much out of him.

You’d been so lost in your after-sex daze that he almost jumped out of his skin when you finally spoke.

“So...When can we go again?” Your voice was far more lucid than he’d expected. It seemed in your daze you’d forgotten your hatred towards him. He knew some gentle persuasion was all it would take to unlock your inner animal.

Raising a brow, he turned to see a sly smile creep onto your face as you sat naked on his toilet. 

You at least had the decency to blush at your request.

“I mean...that’s if you want to. Oh, and you’d better delete that video or I’ll rip your cock off and shove it down your throat.”

He thought you might just be a succubus after all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

THERE IT IS!! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK<3 Likes/Reblogs/Comments are always appreciated and mean more than you realise ^.^

You can add yourself to me taglist here 

[enderwoah]

ORIGINS SMP HEADCANONS (because i love them): SEASON TWO EDITION BAYBEEE

(this is really long ENJOY :gun:)

tommy

he is phil's son smile

phil's most recent son at least

he's got like one more somewhere

he picked this one up off the dangerous streets a few years ago and he's been sticking with phil ever since

his wings are small- not too small to fly, but they're untrained to the point where it would take a lot or work to get him off the ground

but at first, he didn't really seem to want to learn all that much?

(he has three scars on his face- all from trying to learn how to fly when he was younger)

(he gave up after the third one)

("if at first you don't succeed; try, try again" is his motto, and he tried all three times)

but!! phil and wilbur are very persuasive :) and now that he knows he can fly, he's not going to rest until he does

he's a little manipulative to get what he wants sometimes, but can you blame someone that lived on the street for so long?

he had to do that to survive! it's not his fault.

(it's a great excuse.)

he laughs like a kookaburra amen

he squawks when he gets scared

he chirps. he tries not to because it makes phil go absolutely bird-brained but he does sometimes and he hates it.

tubbo

NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO BE A B[GUNSHOTS]

god he is. so fucking annoying (/rp)

he simply does not know when to stop

he ignores social cues to see when someone is annoyed

(see: he can read social cues. he does read social cues. when you get annoyed that's when he starts being more annoying, because you're more likely to give him what he wants to get him to shut the fuck up.)

he loves talking to (at) people, especially people he doesn't really know that well

so he's trying to be friends with ranboo, but the absolute prick keeps trying to avoid any actual conversations, so that's not working

he buzzes when he gets excited-happy

his fingertips are completely blackened and horrendously sharp, functioning as ten individual stingers

they don't do any actual damage but he's working on that

techno

wither hybrid (??)

how can you be a wither hybrid?? nobody got down and dirty with the wither

he's an experiment

the reason we haven't seen him yet? he's staying away from the main area of the smp

he doesn't want to ruin its natural beauty with his withering effect, so he keeps to himself on the outskirts of the smp

which sucks

withers get health from killing things

he's not fully a wither, so he gets energy from being around people and sort of draining their life force a little bit

he feels terrible when he's with just one person because they are Literally his life support and it makes the person feel like shit

when he's with a big group of people its great!! he only has to take a little bit from everyone and its barely noticable!!

but then there's the wither part. so he has to stay away.

he's always tired

always exhausted

he's a farmer, so taking it from animals works, but god does he miss people

but he can only visit a few times and for very short

(he's afraid that one of these days he'll get so bad that the next time he sees someone he'll accidentally kill them)

(it already happened once. he's blessed that he's been forgiven, even made friends with by the victims, but he doubts he'll be able to pull that off again with no consequences like last time)

wilbur

phantlings are dead elytrians, and given that wilbur was phil's son...he's a phantling

he died in the late 50s and was a librarian when he was alive, so he's very possessive (ha) over all of his things

you should never ask to "borrow" anything from him, he will hound you about it until you give it back

it's best to just say that you want something from him to keep

even if youre going to give it back

just for your own peace of mind

phantlings can feel fear and get a genuine feeling of elation from scaring people

of course, sometimes its unwelcome (feeling large amounts of fear from someone they care about in a bad way just makes them pissed)

but for the most part, wilbur loves appearing in the corner of people's visions just to jumpscare them a few minutes later

all in good fun, of course!! it's just hilarious :)

being the lighthearted, fun guy he is, he's not particularly secretive about his method of death

"how did i die? well, it all started -- ended -- on november 16th, 1958!"

"i walked out of the library late, since i took the shift for my wife since she was feeling sick and i worked there anyways,"

"the streets were dark and only lit up by gaslamps...and out of an alley...appeared..........."

techno.

he didn't mean it. wilbur isn't at all mad at him (anymore)

he was starving. he didn't know that one touch would be enough to fully revitalize him...

and murder wilbur where he stood.

sneeg

has details on everyone on the server

you Cannot Hide Shit From Sneeg

its impossible

if you find of his any shittly little mouse holes then you're doomed

you find one and there are twenty more

he's under your floorboards while you're having your important discussion about trapping the nether roof

sucks to suck ig??

he seems to be the favourite of many, which is weird since he rarely goes out of his way to actually talk to many people

he's the only person that tubbo doesn't actively try to annoy (or maybe he just doesn't find tubbo's antics all that annoying)

he's the only person that ranboo stays around (or maybe he stays around ranboo- he and Phil seem to be the only ones not off-put by his slightly sadistic and whiny demeanour (not counting tubbo, who annoys him anyways)

phil seems to be more protective of him than he thinks is normal (he lets sneeg ride on his shoulder while travelling, so he doesn't really complain)

niki is completely protective over him (again, not complaining)

contrary to popular believe, he does not get high from sugar

if anything he gets

high-per

(get it)

(high-per)

(hyper)

he's literally just a nine-year old getting a sugar rush leave him alone

phil

take the normal "bird-brain" headcanons and multiply it by like sixty-four

and you've got origins phil

he can't see glass- or, rather, he can, but it doesn't register that 'hey, this is a solid surface i am going to slam into'

its very funny for everyone else but he's pretty sure he has permanent brain damage from the blunt force trauma

if there is ANYONE on the server who dares to chirp, bird or no, they must understand that they are signing away their privacy and giving phil the right to go absolutely bonkers over them momma bird style

(shoutout to tommy, wilbur, ranboo, and fundy for having to suffer through this)

"oh??? you don't have wings?? you don't have feathers?? omg?? then what's this im preening?? what do you mean im just braiding your hair?? nono this is preening smile"

god help you if you dare to have wings

poor tommy, wilbur, sneeg, and tubbo

phil can't help himself alright

do you think he wants to be any sort of protective over sneegsnag?

no!! but he cant stop himself!! sneeg might damage his wings if he keeps flying those super long distances!!! nnnno! carry the bug man!!!

it's weird, he's always had that protective sense over ranboo, too

but ranboo very obviously doesn't have wings, so he doesn't get it...

ranboo

yes ur a peasant

yes ur poor

yes im cooler than u

what r u gonna do about it

the enderdragon's son! partially a dragon, partially enderman, partially human (don't ask, his other mom is a hybrid), all spoiled brat!

given that he has a ton of dragon genes, he's extremely possessive over his stuff and Yes He Does Do The Hoarding Thing

he has a pile of rings and gold chains and necklaces and most of his jewellery hidden underneath his bed

(if you ask him, no, he doesn't)

not to wear

just to Have

one time, fundy stole one (1) bracelet from the hoard and ranboo was sent into a panic for a good 24 hours

he wouldn't leave his cave and kept counting and recounting as if that'd make the missing piece reappear

(when fundy had to give it back because of the guilt, he expected to get his face bitten off)

(instead, he just watched as the prince was flooded with relief, telling him to get the hell out and nothing more)

it's weird, he has so much gold and even a crown, and yet here he is

living with all those people ^^^

truth be told, the enderdragon isn't a very nice dragon

nor is she a very kind queen

nor was the other queen

nor was her son

there was a mutiny in the end, leading to the dragon queen and her wife being killed brutally by the crowd of angered people

they went after their son next, who had ordered executions and worked servants to the bone just as much as they had

they cut off his wings in the middle of the square

he was sure he was going to die until a random person (a peasant) jumped up and yelled at them for publicly torturing a child

but ranboo didn't really catch all of it, given he was delirious from pain

he got to get some stuff quickly and escape with his life

this wasn't too long ago, either, so he's still trying to...adjust...to people talking rudely to him

(he's also trying to adjust to not having wings)

(hence why he hurls himself off the edges of cliffs and then has to teleport to the bottom instead of glide. he keeps forgetting.)

[starshipsofstarlord]

Hi <3 I'm not sure if you're comfortable writing this but I'll try :) Smth where Buckys girlfriend suffers from a lung illness and normally he supports her whenever she feels bad, but one time he's on a long mission where he cant be there when he struggles breathing. Then the other Avengers at the compound take her to the hospital and call Buck who immediately rushes home to be by your side and it's all cute and fluffy in the end? :) Thank you very much <3

Trapped Air

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | whilst on a mission, you suffer with your breathing problems, leaving all to panic as you have air trapped in your lungs.

Warnings | breathing problems, angst, mentions of death, swearing, mentions of torture

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

There had been no call back from Bucky; he was on a mission far away, and deep undercover, and the fact that you had no response did not surprise you, however, it was impossible not to feel overcome with worry.

From what you knew, he was somewhere in Austria with Steve, and most likely irritated by the company of Sam. The thought of them together, waiting for further intel made you smile, and so you sat up on the sofa; the place where you had fallen into a rural slumber late the previous evening. That thought also made you lightly snicker to yourself, and had you grasping your chest in agony at the action.

You adjusted your seat on the sofa, kicking the blanket under your legs as you tried to relax your entire body. To subdue the worry for your love that you had and were experiencing, you and Nat had watched a movie, your head running with thoughts of the danger that your boyfriend was possibly under.

It was no doubt that James Buchanan Barnes, the White Wolf and former Winter Soldier was a fine fighter; he had endured and survived wars, achieving victory in the vast majority of his battles. But still, he was nothing more than a man, with a veil of serum coursing through his veins, and whilst it made him much stronger, he was still sustainable to injury, and worse.

Countless times had you seen him braised in bruises, and kissed along the seam of his scars, and though he had lived through decades, and still appeared unscathed considering the circumstances, he was a mortal man, able to die and it was far too clear for your scared eyes that he wouldn’t be able to survive every fall.

An emptiness peeled away inside of you as you placed the phone down, resting your head upon the arm of the sofa of where you had done so priorly. Taking a deep breath, you wheezed, feeling nothing more than internal pain, and it was not just for your longing to see Bucky again. It was indeed something else, a condition that you had grown used to over the years.

It had taken everything from you; the job that you had so well partook in was diminished to being unsuitable for your health. Being an avenger had once been your only purpose, but it had been the one thing that had broken you. From all the rubble and other pesticides that you had breathed in, it had tampered with your lungs, and made you to be nothing more than a victim, a fallen hero.

The worse thing about being fallen in such a way was that you had not died on the job, instead, you were being tormented every time you watched your friends leave the compound, carrying a duffel bag that had all the necessities that they could possibly need for the gruelling months ahead on the missions that they had been sent on.

Knowing that if you weren’t so inwardly broken and that if that were the case, you could have easily accompanied Bucky and the others on their uncover op made you feel worthless, and disposable. As your chest raked the air that surpassed its roots, it waded a feeling through every limb that was attached to you.

Large gulps from the air machine that was beside you usually helped, but as your brought the medically introverted oxygen mask to surround the lower half of your face, the torturous sensation failed to fade. It remained, stuck in the collapse of your airways, refusing to allow air into your defined bloodstream.

The factor alone had you panicking, and as you went to stand, there was a pounding fire coursing through your head. Your eyes got dreary, fluttering as you reached out to grasp for the side of the seating area to stabilise your steps. But it wasn’t enough, all of your weight leant to one side, and a loud and colossal smash echoed through the room.

You helplessly laid there, having no ability to get up, as the shards of the glass table that had tried to break your fall, and had ended up breaking instead, stabbed mercilessly into the canvas of your back. It made you feel like a dartboard, free to the attempts of anything that put a bet on to try. This was your final fall from greatness, and if you weren’t to survive this, that would be o-

“Y/n.” A voice rushed out, as footsteps scrambled to come to your side. The silouhette of a blurry man knelt beside you, sickened with their own scheme of panic. “Nat!” He called out towards the kitchen, you hearing the pitter patter of her assumed footsteps that were toed in competent heels.

“Clint, what happened?” She asked, but giving him a break to compose his answer as she called warily out for FRIDAY, relieved when the AI answered her order. “Get one of Stark’s cars ready to go to the hospital, inform who needs to know. Y/n’s just had a nasty fall, and I assume more.”

“She was like this when I got in here.” Was the archer’s delirious response. His hands raised your head out of the cracked pieces, gently picking the sharp crystals out of your hair. He was sick with worry, he knew that you were touring a difficult road, one that no one else on the team could fathom to understand, but despite all that, he was still there for you, as were the numerous others.

Wearing his priceless suit, Tony rushed into the room, his brown eyes blown wide as he scoped the scene. “She’s losing consciousness.” Nat informed the pair, focusing on how your eyes barely had the strength to stay open. Your breathing was laboured, and the choke emitting from it was audible, making all witnesses wince from the threatening sound.

“My car is ready, on our way to the ER, give Barnes a call.” He held the keys to his vehicle, swinging them around his finger, as he watched Clint and Natasha hoist you up, and support you through the journey to the front of the compound. Nat stroked your hair as she bit back her own tears, combing tenderly through the slightly bloody tresses to soothe her own present anxiety.

The mission was turning out to be a bust, they were tracking Zemo after his great escape; hence why their departure was classified. It was unknown why the once Baron of Sokovia had fled to the country, but all prior intel had supported the idea that he was searching for a partner to help finish his work, if he were to ever get caught by the American government again.

Bucky hated being away from the place that had slowly become his home. It made him feel lost, but if he wanted to remain within said area to continue his life, he had to follow Fury’s orders, or else the panel that had granted him freedom for all his past actions, may happen to change his mind.

The gig of being an avenger was more of Steve’s expertise, he was loved by the country, and had never tried to break its order down piece by piece. Before he was cleared to join the team, and the debate that lead to Steve and Tony siding against one another, he was nothing more than a tense ghost story.

All knew he was real, but most were too scared to admit that the Winter Solider was an assassinating figure in existence. To everyone’s dismay now, following rule number two, he was no longer HYDRA’s pet weapon. He, for the first time in his life, had some kind of clarity on who he was.

His identity, was James Bucky Barnes, the White Wolf, the protector of the world and a renounced ally of Wakanda. And he was happy to be known as such, in a way, the new him cleared his red ledger, and that faded away with that damned red book.

No one had the power to control his mind again, all of his actions were now completely up to him. At first, with the reign over himself, he had been unsure on how to start with this new and invented soldier that he had become. He was no longer taking refuge behind the facade of T’Challa’s country anymore, for he was no a wanted man of the state.

But Sam enjoyed prodding at his ‘cyborg brain’, driving him to certain frustration. Though, it did not matter as much, for he found the peace he had been searching for after that little bit of calm that he had experienced on his hideaway.

You. A retired avenger, that had kicked his ass, and continued to brag about it to this day, when he was under Pierce’s demeaning orders. Though, it saddened him, to have the knowledge that you no longer had the ability to pin him down on a training mat, or throw his best friend’s shield in his silent face.

There was no longer an ignition of strength to fight left within you, you were weak from the condition that had and was holding you hostage in its devastating grasp. The debts of your god deeds had wormed their way through your body, destroying it bit by bit.

Whenever he was away, missing the presence that you had once accompanied him with, he was unable but to do anything but worry about your struggling health. He feared that one day, he would get a call claiming that you had experienced a traumatic accident, and as he sat in the small and cluttered motel room, the vibrancy and life that his phone was off putting had him nervously on edge.

“It’s Fury.” He claimed to his rugged partners, putting the man that had regained control of his empire on loud speaker, awaiting for the patch wearing associate to respond to his acceptance of the call. A moment of silence had him standing, the next, caused him to pace. Steve frowned, well aware that Fury only went silent, and did not barking affirmative orders when something had happened.

That man was an absolute whore for the dramatics, he had even faked his own death on multiple accounts. There was nothing the man could fathom not to do, and this sure as hell, in the name of Goose, was not the first instance he had informed his recruits of shocking factors. Steve remembered when the dark clothed man informed him that he was in the 21st century, and to this day, it remained to be the greatest shock that he had experienced.

The second had got to be the reveal of Bucky’s survival, that heart stopping moment had gone in slow motion, as the soldat whipped his unmasked face around to face his opponents, and he was quickly recognised. You had been there to ease the confusion and the humongous shock that wired his brain. And not to mention, to soothe the wave of emotions, you had prompted at jokes at about kicking his best friend’s fine ass.

That had only been the start to a long road ahead, it had all seemed like your quad of rebelling would go on forever. Sam Wilson was your best friend, and the first to be told of your failure to continue your raids on missions, and to say that he was holding back fountains in his eyes, was a casual understatement. The Falcon had felt angry at himself for not realising the increase in coughs that fled from your sassy mouth, or how quickly you would get tired.

He put some of that blame upon himself, claiming that he should have been the first to notice the signs. It was his idea, before your struggles were revealed to anyone else, to refuse your aid on missions, which lead to conspiracies from the team. For a couple of weeks, the members that you had fought alongside for so long had speculated that you were pregnant,and even Bucky had even began to fall for that idea.

In the end, they had all wished for that to be true, a child would be a gift, whereas instead, you were bestowed with a curse. Sam had offered for you to stay with Sarah and the kids, but upon your insistence, you remained in the compound, organising files and watching cinematic classics for the thousandth time.

But anyone could see, that every time they discussed the missions, of left to endure them, your face fell, appeased by the thought that you’d never share that experience again. They all tried to distract you, Thor had even taken you on a vacation to New Asgard so that you could relax and play video games with Korg, yelling frustratedly at Noobmaster69 as the kid tried to spite your friend and his gaming skills.

That though, had not ended well, and instead, the noise had brought you insufferable pain, and you had to be taken home. But what was home anymore? You hardly felt as though you belonged upon the army of your friends, or the guardians that they were aligned with.

And so, it was very understandable why Bucky was inclined to worry. All his dragged our life, he had watched people die, or awakened from cryo to find them gone, and the split moments that he were required on missions, was another moment that he had lost with you.

He gulped as he waited for Fury to say something, anything! And when he did, he wished that he could go back in time, and stop you from ever having been an avenger. “It’s agent Y/L/N, something has happened...”

It had been hours of no news, and Stark tapped his well dressed foot. He had requested, - no, insisted the best doctors to tend to your internal and external injury, claiming that if your condition was made any worse, he would personally make sure that they never tended to another patient again.

He was not usually one to be so aggressive, but he feared loss, it was a great flaw and attribute of his. Possibly, in some people’s judgemental eyes, he cared too much, but he never thought so. To him, the billionaire was human, no matter what the citizens over the world thought of him.

Sure, he wore an iron suit to protect the world, but beneath all the metal, he had a heart. And he’d be damned sure that he used it, and that it beat for a purpose. Natasha and Clint were either side of him, the assassins on her phone as she read the captain’s well written message.

“They’ve entered the country.” She spoke, referring to Sam, Bucky and Steve. It was a relief that they were going to be here soon, then they’d all look sane in comparison to Barnes. It was doubtful that he was holding himself together well, these hours had been torture to all of them, but he had actually been tortured in multiple gruelling occasions, but it was nothing in comparison to this.

One of the country’s best and devoted doctors opened the door to the room that you were being stabilised in, leading to all eyes waiting outside to stare hopefully at him. It was an intimidating thing, to have three avengers leaving him with one of their owns lives in his hands, he was not a hero. But to them, he was to be, they trusted him and the various recommendations that had suggested that he would be best suited to the deed.

The fact that he was the man in charge in this situation was to be great steak in his career, though, he would never be able to anyone, not even family, that he had saved the life of an avenger. Due to doctor patient confidentially, he was bribed into silence by the philanthropist himself, who was certain that he was fine for paying for the entire service himself.

Money had no importance to Tony, not as his friend was the patient that could have died. The man removed his sunglasses, sternly looking up at the kind doctor with pleading and urgent eyes, wanting to scoop every detail that he could from the eccentric medic. “How is she?”

The doctor gulped, well aware that there was a weight apparent on his shoulders, even when delivering any news. But this, was a whole new experience, he knew that you, the woman hoisted up in the hospital bed, had saved his coursing during the battle of New York. He was grateful, for everything that you had done, but simultaneously, felt the need to be careful with any tactic that he used to save your life.

“Well,” he licked his dry lips, watching as the Black Widow herself stared into his soul, “she’s stable, for now. And it would be okay if one of you went in, she’s currently in the midst of waking up. However, she is going to be unable to give much in the verse of a conversation, the oxygen mask that she’s wearing has to stay on, and it will not be a good if she tries to waste the breath she’s being given to talk.”

He was interrupted by the sound of competent running down the hall, it was as though the men dressed in their gear ignored the no running rule. But it was understandable, seeing as Bucky’s eyes were wild and wide, as he came to a stop and asked what was going on. Clint stood, bracing a hand upon his shoulder, before informing him the details they had just been given. “I think you should be the first to see her.”

Bucky didn’t argue with Clint, and instead, walked into the room, ensuring that he shut the door behind himself. He smiled painfully at the sight; there were so many tubes, and all the surrounding machines were lit up with statistics that he did not understand. Nevertheless, he looked towards the vacant seat beside your bed, and claimed it for his ass that you had once kicked.

Your eyes watched as he looked down upon you, your hands reaching to remove the mask, but he placed his hand upon your own, and replaced them to be upon your chest. “Shush darling, no talking, doctor’s orders.” He spoke, rubbing your cheek with his right hand, feeling the corner of the mask against the inside of his palm.

“Had me so worried doll, thought I was gonna lose you.” At the thought, a grimace presented itself of his woeful face, and to comfort him, you placed your fingers around his own, absentmindedly playing with them as you listened to his sincere voice. “On the way here, I spoke to Shuri, we are going to see if she can help you in anyway, as long as you’re okay with that. Does that sound good baby?”

Fluttering your eyelashes as you looked through their webbed curtain to stare lovingly at him, you nodded your head, ignoring the spiteful pains that emitted from where the glass had shallowly penetrated your scalp. “Alright, I’ll let her know. And I was thinking...” he waited for a moment to continue, being encouraged by the crease between his brow line.

“What if we stay in Wakanda, and we leave all this behind? We can still see people when they visit, and we can just, have some calm to ourselves. No missions, no aliens to fight, and no Zemo to chase. Or I was thinking, we go and live by Sarah, you love those kids, they’re basically your nephews, and we could take boat rides during the middle of the night, and help the people who live there, and...”

At his rambling, you smiled beneath the plastic system that was around your mouth, listening to him talk and talk about your future together. Yes, you missed missions, but you would give all that up for a normal and easy life, with Bucky Barnes.

[ace-nlis]

How they met you & fell in love

a/n: This is the first time I decided to actually write something with the intention of posting it. I hope that whoever reads this enjoys it. I'm sorry if I've misspelled anything, English isn't my first language. I hope I did well for my first writing post >.<

WARNINGS: none apart from slight violence. Female reader. Cussing.

Otherwise; fluffy content.

(Y/n) - Your name

(L/n) - Last name

Like or repost if you enjoy <3

Akaashi:

When you first met him, you thought he was a pretty boy with a resting bitch face. He is an extremely straight forward 'say it how it is' type of person and you respected him for that because it isn’t always easy to just speak your mind upfront in this day and age. He didn’t really look all that friendly or approachable, but since you were friends with Bokuto you just had to suck it up and stick around. It was pretty awkward talking to him or even just being around him at first, until you realized that his exterior was an act and he’s a total softy when he isn’t trying to call Bo out on his bullshit. You found him to be an intriguing person, but also rather intimidating. He was peaceful, he didn’t talk all that much and kept to himself like a true introvert. You were the opposite, more of an ambivert type. You tried your best to befriend him, but little did you know that friendship would spiral into something else along the line.

After a while of being friends, Akaashi got red in the ears in your presence. He was easily flustered around you, and the both of you often tended to flirt and bicker as if it was second nature. The two of you in a room together never got boring. Everyone around you could tell the two of you were head over heels for each other. You thought the opposite though, you felt that the friendship was never going to progress into anything more and that your crush was meaningless because nothing would come of it. After being friends for several months, nearly reaching the 1 year milestone, you eventually started to distance yourself.

You always thought the way Akaashi acted around you was purely just because the two of you had a close bond as friends, nothing more, nothing less. Akaashi on the other hand was devastated when he noticed the drastic changes in the close bond you both shared. He noticed that whenever he walked into a room, you’d disappear. Whenever he tried to call you, you wouldn’t answer the phone and make up some excuse that you were busy. The poor guy felt like his sanity was hanging on a thread and all he wanted was to speak to you, figure out what he did wrong and at least go back to how things once were. One day, he cornered you in an empty classroom. His eyes seemed frantic and he made sure to trap you between his arms and leave no room for you to escape so he could get answers. “(Y/n), are you okay? Why have you been avoiding me? Did I do something wrong?”

It seemed like the questions that were wracking his brain kept tumbling out, and in an overwhelmed panic she stopped him. The next thing the both of them knew was that her lips were pressed to his. At first his eyes were wide and body was stiff with shock. He didn’t know how to respond, and he firmly believed that this was a dream. In her mind, she thought she had just made the biggest mistake of her life because he wasn’t responding to it, he was just standing there and embarrassment slowly started to flood her. Before she could pull away from him, his arms slackened and his hands slid down the wall beside her, eventually placing them on her hips and pulling her body flush against his while kissing her back feverishly. When the two pulled away, they were out of breath and their eyes had a dazed look in them as they locked eyes. He leaned his head against hers and sighed in relief, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist as he kept his eyes locked on hers. I think that’s when you both knew that there was no way in hell you’d let go of each other at any point in time because it really felt like you were meant to be together.

Oikawa:

You knew of Oikawa Tooru but you never actually wanted to be acquainted with him. To you he sounded like a total sleazebag, a player that loved breaking female students’ hearts left and right. Unfortunately for you, you just so happened to bump into him on Valentines day after having to reject a poor freshman. When you bumped into Oikawa, he thought that you were another girl ready to confess to him due to the box of chocolates in your hands and a smirk instantly made its way onto his face as he reached over to take the box. Your immediate response was to slap his hand away. If looks could kill, he sure as hell would be more than 6 feet under because you were not up for anyone's bullshit. Oikawa gasped in shock and retracted his hand immediately with a pout. “Hey! I know you. You’re (L/n), hmm. Aren’t you a friend of Iwa? You know, you don’t have to be embarrassed about trying to confess to me. I always appreciate a new follower.”

A mix between a scoff and a laugh of disbelief made its way out of you as you immediately shoved the box of chocolates into your bag. “Wow, I knew you were vain but I guess I underestimated just how much. If you think I have any interest in an asshole like you then you must be smoking something. I have no interest in being one of your petty little toys that you hold on a string. I refuse to be one of your little puppets that follow you around to show my undying admiration for someone as shitty as you. No wonder he calls you Shittykawa. You truly are a self centered douche.”

Oikawa’s face was burning red with embarrassment as she pushed past him and continued going to her class. He was astonished, shocked beyond any words imaginary as he stood there and tried to process what had just happened. Eventually he was brought back to his senses when Iwaizumi smacked him over the head and told him to stop staring like a dumbass and get to practice. “Iwa, How do you know (L/n)?” He asked suddenly after they walked in silence for several minutes, which was very unlike Oikawa. “I’m in the majority of her classes and she lives a block away from me. Why?”

“She’s weird. I thought she was gonna confess and then she slapped my hand and called me a douche.” Oikawa said, his tone was completely flat for once and Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow at his friend. “Yeah, well what do you expect? She has better things to do than fawn over you, Shittykawa.”

*Insert offended Oikawa noises here*

Needless to say, his first encounter with you was not exactly what he would’ve liked it to be. Slowly though he tried to fish more information out on you, he wanted to understand why you weren’t like the other girls who practically fell in love with him at first sight and why you were the way that you were in general. That meant that any time Iwaizumi would meet up with you at a park to study together or whenever you guys would spend any type of time together that Tooru would tag along. Teachers thought that you were having a blooming friendship with him though and much to your dismay you ended up getting partnered with him on a school project. You felt sick to the pit of your stomach because you truly didn’t want him to come to your home, but he kept insisting and you knew that there would be no point in trying to convince him otherwise so you gave in to his stubbornness.

You felt ashamed the moment he stepped through the front door, your parents were never home and you had to take care of your younger twin siblings. The house was a mess, and that was when he understood why you had such a cold persona around others. You wanted to distance yourself from people and push them away as much as possible in order for you to not have to go through the embarrassment of looking like a train wreck to everyone else in the circumstances that you were in as opposed to your usual well put together attitude. To your surprise though, he was patient. He jumped in on helping you clean, he even helped the twins with any homework questions they had in between working on your project together and showed no judgement. In fact, he gave you a look of understanding.

After that, you were able to tolerate him more and you allowed him to visit the twins more often while even bringing along his nephew for all of them to play together. He taught them how to play volleyball while also helping you in the kitchen when you needed it. He didn’t want to admit it, but he honestly fell in love with you because of how genuine you were. You guys flirted, but it was suffocating to him like all the other girls who flirted with him on a daily basis. He only had interest in you, and you bet your ass Iwa teased the shit out of him for it. Your project got an incredible score of 100% and the two of you celebrated together by playing some volleyball even though you were complete shit at it. He didn’t care though and had fun. You found yourselves hanging a lot more often, being around each other almost 24/7 and you even met his family at some point. They absolutely loved you, and so did he.

He tried to figure out how he’d confess to you, he wanted it to be special. He wanted it to be a moment the both of you would remember because he quite honestly couldn’t see him spending any of his time with any other girl apart from you. Of course he was extremely nervous and skeptical on how to approach it, it was a 50/50 chance of you liking him back. The thoughts left his mind when he heard your voice outside a local supermarket, asking someone to leave you alone and that immediately flipped a switch in his brain. He quickly tried to look for you and found you trying to tell some tipsy guy that you didn’t want anything to do with him to which he immediately went over with his hands tucked in his pocket.

“Hey (Y/n), everything okay?” he asked as he coldly stared at the man that had been harassing you. A quiet “Oh thank god” was whispered underneath your breath as you managed to force your way closer to Tooru. He immediately wrapped one arm around your waist and kept his eyes locked on the other older gentleman that had been bothering you. The guy smirked, “Oh nothing man, I was trying to have a chat with her and she got all bitchy. That’s all.” (Y/n) could feel his body language immediately became a lot more tense, but you quickly pulled at him and tried to evade the situation. “It’s not worth it, Tooru. Let’s just go, okay? We can get some milk bread and watch movies or something.”

“I don’t appreciate the way you talk about my (Y/n)-chan. In fact, I’d advise you to leave her alone before I make you regret even breathing the same air as her. Got that?” He spoke calmly as he gently nudged you out of the alleyway next to the store. “Hey, who the hell do you think you are? Huh? Can’t just take my woman like that, dude.” This is when you truly saw how angry Oikawa could get as all he did was throw a punch and the guy was down. You could only stare in shock at what had just unfolded in front of you. “If you ever talk about her like that again I swear I’ll make you regret you ever existed.” At that he tugged you along and when the two of you were a few blocks away you grabbed hold of his hand and inspected it. “You seriously didn’t have to go that far. I don’t care what a low life has to say about me, at least I don’t live in the streets and I’ve got a roof over my head.” He remained silent for a moment before latching his hand onto your wrist and pulling you into his chest. “I’d never let anyone do or say anything to hurt you. Remember that. I’m just sorry you had to witness me get like that. I’ll make it up to you though.”

“Oh? I think a date would be a pretty nice way to make it up to me since you insisted on calling me your (Y/n)-chan” you said, giving him a cheeky smile to which he could only reply with a teasing smirk. “Hm, seems only fair after I saved you as heroically as I did.”

“Whatever you say, douche”

*insert baffled Oikawa noises here*

[strange-lace]

Misunderstandings

I HAVE FINALL MADE CONTENT FOR MY SPIDER MONKIE AU! And SURPRISE, it’s angst!

Despite his best efforts, MK knew that he was a terrifying image to humans when he dropped his glamor. He loomed over most people due to his size, lower body plated with a dark exoskeleton with long legs which were sharp enough to impale someone without much effort. MK had tried to make it look less intimidating by painting bright little doodles all over his lower body. Soft and precise strokes decorated his exoskeleton with a couple of noticeably lower quality, lines shaky and uneven as if done by a beginner. Yet they were the ones he treasured the most. Particularly the large purple and orange hourglass symbol dead center on his spider abdomen.

"Am I doing this right sweetie?" She asked, long black hair pinned back to keep it clean yet it was still stained with streaks of paint. The same can be said for her worn robe, the faded fabrics speckled with rainbow flecks of paint. Her lips were pursed in concentration as the paintbrush shook in her hands.

It was certainly an image of the feared Spider Queen that few had the luxury of seeing and living to remember it, MK being one of them.

"Yeah mom, you're doing great. Try focusing on where you want the brush to go instead, it'll help smooth out your strokes," he suggested, having to contort a slight bit to see what she was doing. She followed his advice and happily finished the symbol.

"There! Now everyone will know to fear my little spiderling the moment they lay their eyes on him," Spider Queen cooed, putting the paintbrush away to pat MK on the head, accidentally staining his dark hair with the purple and orange paint which had gotten on her hands.

MK held a brief smile at the memory before letting out a sigh. 

Unfortunately, bright colors and cutesy symbols could only do so much against the large collective fear of demons, especially big ones with fangs and multiple legs. Which he was unfortunate enough to find out when fighting a demon who's whole speciality was glamor magic and could see right through him.

"That must be uncomfortable, squeezing yourself into such a small form. How about I give you a chance to stretch your legs for a while?" The demon said mockingly and before MK knew it, he was enveloped in a cloud of shimmering dust. Suddenly, everything was a lot smaller to him and MK was left to clumsily stumble as his two legs became eight without warning. He squinted as the world was now a lot brighter through his four eyes, colors even more vivid than before to the point it nearly gave him a headache.

Yet it all only registered to MK when he heard people start screaming about a giant spider demon.

“Oh no…” He whispered to himself, wincing as his vision cleared only to see civilians running away from him. And while he understood why, it still felt like a stab to his heart to see people terrified of him. The hurt quickly became panic once he hit what felt like a blockade to his magic, preventing him from re-activating his glamor.

MK was stuck like this for the time being.

“This can’t get any worse,” he hissed, freely skittering through the now empty streets now that he wasn’t at risk of accidentally stepping on someone. He was instantly proven wrong when he heard the twin sound of motors headed right him and MK had to dodge quickly to avoid getting hit by Mei’s bike head on and from Pigsy’s truck from crashing into one of his legs.

It just got worse.

"Alright demon, might be best to give up now-!" Mei froze mid-boast, face going pale underneath her helmet. She was soon joined by Pigsy, Sandy, and Tang who looked at what had her so shaken and their own confusion quickly transformed into their own individual shows of shock. Pigsy looked genuinely sick, Tang didn’t seem to be breathing with wide eyes behind his glasses, and Sandy’s entire being seemed to bristle as if to make himself look even bigger out of self-defense.

It dawned on MK once he saw they were all staring at the staff still clenched in his clawed hand.

That he was still holding while in his true form. Which wouldn’t look out of place as part of the Spider Queen’s forces, skin now covered in purple fur and eyes a dizzying bright green. And was still wearing his easily recognizable orange and purple jacket and headband now draped around his neck from the chaos.

MK now realizes that this did not paint a good picture in his favor.

“I… can explain,” he stuttered, wincing at the sound of his own voice: hoarse and deeper to his own ears.

He had no way of explaining this.

“What did you do to my boy?” Pigsy was the first to break the silence, eerily calm yet everyone could tell that his rake was close to snapping with how tight his grip was. Following behind him, everyone else’s shock and horror morphed into rage and MK felt his stomach tighten further and further in fear. Tang’s eyes were hidden behind the glare of his glasses with a stillness to him that made you fear he would strike at any moment before you could react. Sandy’s entire demeanor had changed in a way that made MK understand Pigsy’s past descriptions as him being a feared warrior.

And Mei?

Well Mei’s entire being was wreathed in green and vibrating with barely restrained wrath.

MK stumbled back on his eight legs, feeling incredibly small in the face of his family’s anger despite towering over them.

They didn’t know it was him. As far as they knew, he was just another demon.

He didn’t know if this was better or worse for him.

“We will not repeat ourselves, demon: What did you do to our kid?” Tang demanded with a glare as sharp as knives. MK soon found himself surrounded, breath turning shorter and shorter as his family came closer and looked ready to tear him apart if it meant getting the answers they wanted. Yet he could only see the image of the calabash copies of his family and mentor pouncing at him to prevent him from escaping, countless nightmares of them successfully trapping them in his “perfect” world weighing on his spine.

So it was only natural that he panicked when they all descended upon him as he remained silent, throat closed up in sheer anxiety. It had happened so fast but before MK knew it, he had bound them all in web cocoons without even meaning to. 

Yet he took the opportunity while they were struggling to free themselves to go for the most logical course of action according to his panic-ridden brain: run away, far and fast. He didn’t even know where he was going, all MK knew was that he had to make himself scarce around the city until he could finally use his glamor again. If he wasn't sick from panic, he could almost laugh at the image of himself struggling to balance all eight of his spider legs on the staff as he pogoed through the city.

So it shouldn’t really have surprised to find himself on the beach of Flowering Fruit Mountain, the monkeys scattering away in fear at the sight of him as he created a small crater in the sand.

The following silence was deafening, allowing his thoughts to continue to run wild without anything to focus on. He only faintly realized that tears were running down his face as the mountain breeze gently blew against him, as if trying to offer its own form of comfort as he spiraled. 

MK couldn't stop seeing the faces of his loved ones, his family, as they looked at him with such hatred and rage. He tried to keep reminding himself that it was only because they didn't know it was him, as far as they knew he was a random powerful demon who managed to get their hands on the staff. But tell that to his heart, which felt like it was genuinely breaking into pieces. The pain was enough to put MK to his knees, choking on his tears and grip on the staff tight enough to make the joints of his exoskeleton-plated hands ache.

"Kid? You here kid?" MK didn't even think, he found himself scrambling towards the familiar voice of the Monkey King, desperate for comfort. Sun Wukong grunted as he found his arms now full of a panicked spider demon but was able to adjust his footing before he could lose his balance. He let out a sigh of relief, no longer struggling to hold since he had lifted far heavier people in his long life. Questions died on his tongue as the sound of muffled sobs entered his ears, his successor’s face buried in his fur as if wanting nothing more than to hide from the world.

“What happened bud? You wanna talk about it?” MK was silent for a moment before he gave a garbled response in the Monkey King’s fur. “Sorry, what was that?”

“A demon messed with my glamor, leaving me stuck like this and they saw me. They didn’t know it was me and they saw the staff and they thought… they hated me,” he rambled, a fresh round of tears leaving his four eyes. Wukong remained silent but silently walked towards his home, MK still in his arms.

“Oh kid, I’m so sorry. You know that they wouldn’t be that way if they knew that it’s you. But that definitely explains why Pigsy called me, threatening to eviscerate me the moment he saw me if anything had happened to you,” Wukong gave a smile at the wheezy chuckle MK let out at the image of his boss and father figure calling the Monkey King just to rip into him. Yeah, that sounded like Pigsy alright. “I think I can fix up whatever that demon did to your glamor. Then you can hang out here for a while, if you want, before going back home. That sound good bud?”

“Yeah… sounds great Monkey King,” MK answered before letting out a yawn, now left exhausted now that the anxiety and panic has leaked from his system with the presence of his other father figure mentor there to comfort him. Wukong gave a chuckle, gently placing MK down on his couch and putting on Monkey King: The Animated Series without a second thought. Seemingly realizing that he was no danger to them or their king, the monkeys quickly began to use MK as their personal jungle gym without any fear. That seemed to do the trick, as he was now chuckling at the sight of the little monkey’s looking at the doodles on his exoskeleton with curiosity.

Wukong watched the scene before him with a warm look in his eyes before it quickly hardened as he slipped out of his home for a moment. Pulling out his phone, he gave a deep sigh to calm himself before tapping to call a very specific number.

“Sun Wukong, to what do I owe the pleasure?” A velvety voice answered upon the third ring.

“A demon severely messed up the kid and I figured you’d like to… return the favor,” he answered, voice dead serious.

The line went silent, the echoes of enraged hissing barely audible in the background.

“What did they do to my baby?” Any hint of playfulness was gone in the voice, the Spider Queen enraged to know that someone had harmed her son in such a way to make the Monkey King willing to contact her.

“Messed with his glamor and the others saw him, nearly attacked him thinking he was a demon that had managed to get the staff. He’s fine physically but he’s an emotional mess. All the kid was able to tell me was that they specialize in glamor magic. Think you can work off that?”

“Of course I can, what do you take me for?! But… is he alright?” Wukong smiled, almost quipping about her getting soft over the years but she could very easily call him a hypocrite.

“I have him with me and have everything under control. Just do what you do best S.Q. and I’ll keep in touch, ‘kay?” Everything about him was casual yet the look in the Monkey King’s eyes was nothing but fire that promised he would have burned whoever harmed his kid without mercy, if he wasn’t “retired”.

“Of course, might as well make use of your “retirement” after all. I’ll make sure to make our… displeasure to that foolish demon evident for the both of us. Take care of my spiderling Wukong, otherwise I will figure out a way to make you mortal to end you.” Despite her tone, Spider Queen was only half serious since she knew ending the Monkey King would make MK upset with her. And the last thing she wanted to do was lose her spiderling after searching for him for so long.

“Sure you will S.Q., I totally believe that. But until later, see ya!” Wukong said before hanging up, satisfied but antsy which was typical after every occasion he spoke with the Spider Queen. Walking back inside, he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of MK now fast asleep with the monkey’s cuddled around him.

Totally worth it.

[fruitcoops]

Hi! If u have any time, I would love to read some fluffy Coops hurt/comfort! Maybe Remus having a nightmare about Greyback?

I can, yes! For those of you wondering why I didn’t continue the Greyback audio series despite a couple different asks: someone kept coming into my inbox and bothering me about progress, and I got tired of it. I write for fun, and if the story isn’t flowing I generally work on something else for a bit until inspiration strikes. Constantly asking (like, three times a day) about a fic will not get it out faster.

Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for nightmares, past injury, and self-deprecating dream talk (briefly)

Greyback was out of the league, and rumors had begun to fly about a possible court case. Remus had received hundreds of texts, emails, and DMs from people expressing their condolences—his old teammates had contacted him more in the past 48 hours than they had in literal years.

And he was so unbelievably tired.

Hattie rumbled against his front and Sirius was solid and warm behind him, curved in a protective parenthesis against the endless unanswered messages. Upon Remus’ request, he had taken his phone and put it on the top shelf of the laundry room cupboards; anyone who wanted to talk to Remus would go through Sirius, first. He couldn’t think of anyone that mattered who didn’t have Sirius’ phone number.

“Are you still awake?” Sirius murmured against the nape of his neck. Remus nodded silently. “Do you want to take some melatonin?”

“It’s alright.”

Sirius shifted and pulled the blankets further onto their shoulders; Hattie wiggled up until her face was out of the sheets, then sighed heavily. “Do you want to talk?”

Remus shrugged, suddenly feeling shaky and untethered. He had only caught a passing glance of Greyback at the conference, staring him down across the lobby until his handlers took him away and left Remus alone with the media. The look in his eyes was almost murderous. “Just don’t let go.”

The arm around his waist tightened and he closed his eyes, matching his breaths with Sirius’ until his world narrowed to the heartbeat against his shoulder and Hattie’s fur in his hand. No aching feet, no pounding head, no verge-of-tears clog in his throat—just Sirius, just Hattie, just them in their bed and the whole world locked outside.

“We’re going to be okay, right?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Sirius moved and a small pocket of cold lodged behind Remus’ knees. “Re, I knew what happened before the story came out.”

“But know there’s…”He waved a hand in the air. “People. Cameras. So many people trying to contact me all the time, and I’m tired. I haven’t really been here for you.”

“Remus.” Sirius tugged on his shoulder until he rolled onto his back, but kept their sides pressed together. “You don’t have to be here for me right now. It’s my job to be there for you while this is going on. Besides, I’m used to dealing with media and nosy people.”

Remus exhaled slowly. “Thank you for taking my phone.”

“You asked me to do it.”

“Still. You could’ve said no.”

“You have enough on your plate already, mon loup.” Sirius trailed his fingers lightly through Remus’ hair and he closed his eyes. “Sleep. I know you didn’t last night.”

“I slept a little bit.”

“Yeah, for about two hours.” A gentle kiss pressed against his cheek. “Sleep.”

He took a deep breath and tried to relax, letting the tension drain from his muscles and allowing the tsunami of exhaustion to wash through in its place. His brain still ran at a million miles per hour and he could feel the beginnings of yet another headache—though who was he kidding, the last week had been a constant headache—but he focused on his heartbeat and breathed in the familiar scent of their bedroom.

Remus felt himself slipping, and suddenly all he smelled was sweat. Sweat and fear and the spongy plastic of the mats sticking to his cheek. He couldn’t feel any pain, but the terror of someone’s hands on his body bolted all the way to his core. Pressure on his thighs as the person’s knees pinned him down; pressure on his back and a palm by his shoulder blade; pressure, so much pressure, on one joint until it gave out and Remus was falling.

He was cold, colder than any ice bath, and gasping for air.

He won’t love you. He never did. Nobody will ever be able to tether you for long. He’ll get tired of trying.

“Please,” Remus begged as the roaring wave came up behind him. A blurry face appeared ahead, with cold eyes and a razor-sharp smile. “No, no—”

Fenrir wouldn’t let go. He was trapped like a fish in a net, struggling and fighting against the harsh grip until his eyes flew open and someone was talking right next to his ear and it was too much too much too much—

“No!” His elbow slammed into something soft and the warmth across his chest disappeared. “Get off me!”

Bedroom. He was in a bed, in a bedroom. In his bedroom. It smelled like lavender and laundry detergent. Hattie was on the floor, carefully sniffing his hand and watching him with huge gray eyes as he pulled his knees to his chest and waited for the last of the nightmare to tremble through him.

A hand brushed against his arm and he flinched, teeth chattering despite the warm room. “Don’t touch me.”

“Okay.” The mattress dipped as Sirius sat up and crossed his legs, sitting patiently and rubbing one rib.

Remus’ mouth went dry. “Did I hit you?”

“Just your elbow.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not. I hit you.”

“Do you want to take a look?” Sirius asked, his voice soft. Remus blinked rapidly and shifted to face him; he lifted the edge of his sleep shirt and gestured to his ribs. “See? No marks. You didn’t hurt me, just surprised me.”

“Part of me wishes they never found that video,” Remus said. The words tumbled from his lips—he had been choking them down for days now, but he was too tired to hold them in anymore. “I wish nobody ever knew except you and me and him.”

Sirius hummed. “That’s fair.”

“It’s stupid. He deserves what he’s getting.”

“He does.”

Frustration bubbled in his chest. “Then—then I have to choose one, right? He deserves what he’s getting and I deserve to move on and his name should be dragged through the mud, but I just want people to leave me the fuck alone.”

His shoulders folded in and he pressed his forehead to his knees; there were no tears left, but that didn’t stop the shivering that made his stomach hurt. “Can I touch you?” Sirius asked after a moment.

“Yeah.” Remus leaned into him, laying both his legs over one of Sirius’ and curling up like a barnacle against his side. “Sorry for dumping all this on you.”

“Re, this isn’t dumping stuff on me. This is communicating how you feel, and Heather says that’s a good thing.”

“Heather isn’t here.”

“When’s your next appointment?”

“Monday.”

Sirius gave him a squeeze. “I’m not a therapist, but I can hug you until Monday if you want.”

Remus laughed a little—there wasn’t much humor in it, but at least it was there. “That sounds pretty nice, actually. I’m going to take a shower and then make some tea.”

“It’s a mint with honey kind of day?”

“Yeah.”

Forty minutes later, when Remus was mostly dry and bundled in his most comfortable sick-day clothes, he went downstairs and found a steaming mug of mint tea with honey waiting on the coffee table. Sirius smiled and patted the couch as the opening credits of Avatar began. It felt…well, it felt almost normal.

[therenlover]

Brutal (A Demon!Daniel Bruhl x Starlet!Reader Ficlet)

(So, this is the first little ficlet in my Sour series, which can be found HERE! I hope you enjoy it! Also, enjoy blurry Checo, because he’s who @creme-bruhlee and I imagine as demon!Daniel)

“And I'm so tired that I might / Quit my job, start a new life / And they'd all be so disappointed / 'Cause who am I if not exploited?”

Synopsis: A crime of passion accidentally summons a handsome demon who offers to make your deepest desires come true... for a price, of course. 

Rating; M (16+)

Warnings: Vague Allusions to Past Dubcon/Noncon, Explicit Language, Implied Sexual Content, Non-Explicit Murder, Making A Deal With A Demon, Maybe A Tiny Bit Of Monsterfucking???? If You Squint??? Not Really Though

Word Count: 1500~

-------

“What is it that you desire?”

The man- no, creature- before you was shrouded in the darkest corner of your dressing room, perched languidly upon the chaise lounge that had been oh so kindly included in the rider of your contract by whatever filthy fucker decided they wanted to have you this time. He didn’t matter now, though. No, not now that his brains were splattered against the carpet. The only thing that mattered anymore was the creature in the corner. 

Even in the darkness, you could see its razor-sharp teeth glinting in the low light. 

Trembling with unused adrenaline, you smiled back at it, hands still covered in blood. “I’m not answering that until you answer a few questions of my own,” 

Surprisingly, the thing seemed to lean further back into its plush seat as it nodded, long pointed tail undulating slowly, like a python preparing to strike. “Very well. It makes no difference to me how long you draw out our little deal,” slowly, the thing chuckled, “Besides, for you, pretty one, I’d wait all the time in the world,” 

You groaned at his exaggerated wink. 

Still, it was too late to turn back now. With the blood on your hands for the death of the man at your feet, both physically and metaphorically, there was nowhere to go but forward. Maybe making a deal with the devil wasn’t your original plan, but it sure as hell was better than prison. With a sigh, you sat down heavily into your high-backed makeup chair. 

“So I’m assuming you’re a demon?”

The creature in the corner made some sort of deep, proud noise in its chest as its two, shadowy hands came up to stroke its curved horns, much like a goat’s, with a certain puff-chested reverence. Even while beholding it in that darkness, its features shrouded in black, there was an allure to the strange monster, a strange, sick draw. You were helpless to whatever had appeared before you and all its powers. Somehow, though, you had seemed to intrigue it despite your comparative weakness. 

“I go by many names, but demon is one of them,” it purred, red eyes glinting with something more than bloodlust, “I prefer others,”

“What should I call you then?”

“Whatever you please,”

You scoffed. “You said you had many names, why can’t you tell me even one?”

It huffed a long sigh, and if you didn’t know better, you would’ve said that you saw smoke erupt from where its nostrils should be. 

That being said, it didn’t seem like the thing was frustrated. If anything, the creature seemed amused. From its words, you could only assume it had been hundreds of years since it had last entertained itself on the human realm. You could only hope your rage was entertaining enough to keep any of its less desirable emotions at bay. 

“Names have power, Schatz. I can’t just go around telling everybody who I am,” it’s accent felt thicker as it leaned back, “but I suppose, if you and I were to make a deal, that I could allow you to name me something. Or I could choose one for you,”

“What if I didn’t make deal with you?” you challenged the creature with a smirk. 

It hummed low in its chest as it pondered your question. “Now that would be no fun,” 

“For me or for you?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. Time was getting short now, with the clock on the wall ticking down the minutes until someone would arrive at your dressing room door to lead you out towards the set where the rest of the cast and crew were waiting. If they found you with the body it was over. Things with the demon needed to be resolved, and they needed to be resolved fast. 

Thankfully, it didn’t toy with you any more than you expected it to. 

“For both of us,” it replied, tail flicking almost excitedly, “I can’t touch you if we don’t make a deal, for better or for worse, and even then your soul wouldn’t be mine to toy with until the deal was complete. That being said, you’re in a pretty sticky situation. I think you need me just about as much as I need you, so I’ll ask again; What do you desire?”

You swallowed thickly. 

On one hand, you couldn’t imagine things would end up very pleasantly for you once the dark shadow who had staked its claim on that awful chaise lounge finally did have a chance to get its clawed hands on your soul. On the other hand, though, you had nothing left to lose. Fame, especially so young, always came at a price. You would wager to guess that even if your soul hadn’t been claimed by a demon, that it had already been stolen away by the producers and directors that pulled the strings of your life like you were some obedient little puppet dancing for an audience who wanted to devour you whole. 

In the end, an eternity in Hell with whatever was grinning at you like the Cheshire cat from the shadows might even be preferable to the horrors you’d already seen. 

Slowly, you answered its question. 

“I want to make every single person who ever took advantage of me suffer the same pain they put me through,” 

The creature’s face split into a toothy smile. 

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” 

Moving like smoke on water, it stood from its place on the chaise lounge, morphing in shape and size as it approached and held out it’s newly human-shaped hand to you. In his new form, at least, you assumed it was a he, the creature was handsome, all dark eyes and slick hair. He looked young, and somehow, even with his new, thin lips and human teeth, he retained his signature smile. You took his hand and shook it without hesitation.

Even with your heart beating almost out of your chest, you had to admit that, with a demon at your side, you felt more empowered than you ever had before. 

He noticed. 

“I am known to my kin as Asmodeus,” he cooed, long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he drew near to you. You couldn’t bring yourself to mind, “You, though, my sweetest pet, may call me Daniel,” 

Daniel. 

Somehow, even after you had seen the faintest traces of his beastly form, you had to admit that the name suited him. Maybe not as well as Asmodeus, but it worked well enough. You looked up at him through lidded eyes. “I’m-”

Before you could answer, he pressed a finger to your rouged lips. 

“I know everything about you sweetling, no need for introductions. There is one last thing we need to do to seal the deal, though,” 

A pit formed in your stomach as you gulped, caught in Daniel’s entrancing gaze. You had to assume there was some sort of magic to it, a spell that kept you trapped for all long as he could stare down into your eyes. Still, it would do you no good to fight it. Besides, the pangs that were making their way through your whole being weren’t fear. 

Oh no, they were something much worse. 

“What do we need to do?” You asked, wetting your lips with your tongue. 

Daniel replied with a sly smile and a soft chuckle. “I need you to kiss me, of course,” 

Who were you to disagree with the expert?

With all the strength and bravery you could muster, you surged up and met Daniel’s lips with your own, melting into the kiss as he quickly took over, skilled tongue darting into your mouth to claim it as his own. He bit hard on your lip, hard enough to draw blood, but you couldn’t bring yourself to mind, not when your hands were busy exploring up under his shirt and finding purchase on the firm muscles that waited below. 

To be fair, he wasn’t exactly keeping his hands to himself either.

Sooner than you would have liked, though, Daniel was pulling his lips away from yours. It was just a fraction of an inch, your swollen mouths still connected by a string of saliva tinted a dark red with your blood, but you were already keening from the loss of him the second you caught your breath. The sound pleased him. 

“What are we to do first, sweetling?” he purred, letting his nails run gently against the soft skin of your waist, “I’m at your command,” His breath was hot against your fact, and he smelled like gun smoke. 

It drove you wild. 

You snuck a look at the clock before turning back to him, eyes aflame. “In about ten minutes we’ll need to have the mess in here cleaned up with any evidence gone, but before we do that, I want you- no, I need you to fuck me. Can you make that happen?”

Daniel beamed. 

“Oh, sweet girl, anything is possible with me at your side,” As he whipped you around to push you against the chaise lounge, licking his lips, he couldn’t help but add, “I believe this is the beginning of a very beneficial partnership,” 

And against all odds, as you hooked a leg up around his waist and pulled him in for another searing kiss, you had to agree.

--------

a/n: WOW WOW WOW THAT WAS GARBAGE BUT I LOVED IT. I finished season 5 of Lucifer yesterday, so I was in the mood for some demonic shit. I hope it was at least semi-enjoyable despite being straight up shitty writing lol. 

Taglist: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace , @multiyfandomgirl40 ,  @lovelymischief , @be-cautious-around-bri 

[miracle-sham]

Yet So Poison Entwined We Fracture.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Saturday Challenge 1: Hurt No Comfort} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] |

| It all went wrong so quickly. Marinette thought she could trust Jason, that he'd never betray her. And Jason thought the same. But with a truth-serum turned poison seeping through their veins, neither had thought to look for the purple feathers. |

| Word Count: 1,706. |

———

| A/N: I'll try and keep this short and sweet but it's nice to dip back into writing for Maribat, I really missed it whilst I was gone. Also I've now got a author's channel in MGI where I sometimes put title sneak peaks, snippets, and random au ramblings, so y'know feel free to pop into the channel and have a gander if you'd fancy! And one last thing, keen eyes may have noticed I've added a Spotify Playlist Link, it contains all the songs I listened to when working on this oneshot, if you're curious! |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics or a specific Au, then feel free to send me a dm and or ask! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

Marinette staggers back, clutching at her bloodied side as the world spins for a moment and everything blurs. Breath catches in her throat as a sharp pang of betrayal pierces her heart, tears springing to the corners of her eyes unbidden. Whimpering, she barely manages to cry out, “J–Jason?”

Heartbreak coating his name like the truth serum-poison making its way through her system at this very moment.

She makes an awful choking noise and collapses to her knees, scrunching her face up and wheezing. Barely is she able to keep her eyes open, fixated on staring at someone she thought she could trust.

Smirking lazily, Jason saunters up to her, crouches and then grabs her face by the chin, forcing her to tilt her head up to continue staring at him in the eyes. “Aw, did you really fucking think I cared about you this entire time?”

Marinette swallows thickly—unable to conjure up a response to him. Black spots start to form in the corner of her vision like watching a spattering of embers burning away on a piece of paper.

He tilts his head to the side and snorts, “really? Nothing to say, no heartfelt "I trusted you!" or "you're lying!". Not even a "I know the real you is still in there?", how fucking pathetic.”

There's a small part of her brain that starts flashing red lights and wailing alarms—warning her that she's in danger, that she's hurt, that she's stopped breathing. She can't breathe, can't move, can't say anything or she'll spill all her remaining secrets.

Jason sighs and drops her chin. “And here I fucking thought your shitty-ass reaction to me betraying you would be more fun.”

Grimacing, she waits a heartbeat after he lets go before mustering all her strength to slam her skull into his—if I'm going down, you're coming with me for this, Marinette mentally vows.

There's a horrendous thwacking sound as the impact lands, and Marinette feels as though her brain has turned into a blender that just had its blades snap mid blend.

Jason, on the other hand, flings himself backwards and curses up a storm. He pulls out one of his guns and with dizzying vision, manages to shoot a bullet that just clips the uninjured side of her ribs. “That's what you fucking get for that you bitch!”

Marinette doubles over as the pain seems to ricochet through her; vision blacking out completely. She struggles for breath, her hearing cutting off not a second later. Objectively, she's aware she's not alone. But as her senses shut down one by one, leaving her helplessly trapped in her own mind, she can't help but wonder why her heart aches with loneliness. I'm sorry, she silently apologises to no one and everyone.

Distantly, she thinks she's swaying—or collapsing again maybe. But it's hard to tell, it's disorientating trying to focus on the world with dying senses.

Marinette is lost. Every little movement, every little thought—it's agony, a struggle to keep going, keep holding on. Once more, she silently pleas for forgiveness from the kwami.

She stops.

Stops breathing. Heart stops beating. Stops fighting. It all stops.

At least this way, she thinks to herself, I can't spill any secrets from the truth serum-poison if I carry them to the grave instead…

She sinks into the darkness, clinging to her final thought in numb relief as she does so. Everything fades away.

———

Jason groans as the knife Marinette is wielding digs deeper between his ribs.

She doesn't move back immediately, so he grits his teeth and roundhouse kicks at her—the heavy thump of collision makes his wound burn like acid has just been poured on it.

He's a few seconds too slow pulling his leg back, as Marinette slices the knife through his calf.

“Fuck!” He bites out, throwing himself further out of her range and breathing. “Marinette!”

With the gall to smile faux-innocently, she plays with the knife in her hand, slipping it between her fingers and swirling it about. “Yes, Jason?”

“The fuck are you doing!?” He growls, shifting his position when she doesn't move to apply pressure to the calf wound.

She shrugs, seemingly unbothered, “what? Did you really think this wouldn't happen one day? That I wouldn't get sick of you. Show you just how much you've hurt me the entire time we've known each other?”

Jason spits blood from his mouth at the warehouse floor in front of her. “I don't believe whatever shit you're being made to spew, but I sure as fucking hell know that you'd never do something as fucked up as this.”

“Oh, that's cute! You still believe in me. What's next, are you going to beg me to come to my senses? Are you going to cry my name and hope it changes my mind? Are you going to declare that the "real" me is still there inside and that you're going to save me?” Marinette giggles, high-pitched and yet hollow sounding.

Jason flinches at the sound, breathing stuttering as the poison from her knife starts to really seep in. Shit, he thinks to himself, truth serum-poison. If I'm not careful I'm gonna say shit that should stay secret.

A flash of silver catches the edge of his vision. And it's all the warning he gets. He immediately ducks and rolls, cursing under his breath as his wounds are aggravated. The air by his hair swooshes as the blade just narrowly misses.

Marinette giggles taper off into a hiss of fury. Her hair slips out of her pigtails from the constant movement, and multiple strands fall in front of her face. She huffs, ineffectively blowing them out of the way. “Did you really think I ever loved you?”

“Yes!” The words are choked out of his mouth before he can even think, the truth serum-poison kicking in hard and fast. Jason wheezes and the taste of iron lingers like malice in his throat. Fuck, he thinks desperately, I'm running out of time and Marinette isn't snapping out of whatever the fuck's been done to her.

He stumbles into another roll, as the blade comes swinging at him again. His vision blurts violently, and the next thing Jason knows—is that his view has suddenly tipped upside down and that there's a throbbing ache radiating from the back of his shoulders and head.

“Huh, you really do have a thick skull. Normally that'd be enough to knock anyone else out. Well, I guess I'll have to do this the old fashioned way.” Marinette rambles, pulling out a rag.

Jason grunts as he pushes himself only to be slammed back into the concrete warehouse floor, rag pressed firmly over his mouth and nose.

He thrashes and refuses to inhale. Marinette scowls and kicks him sharply into the ribs, causing him to gasp through gritted teeth. But it's enough to affect him.

His vision teeters then flickers to black, he can feel his movements slowing—becoming more and more sluggish until he's as still as he was in that fucking coffin he's had to crawl out of once before. At least, he barely manages to cling to the final thought, I can't spill any secrets if I carry them to the grave once more.

And then it all fades away.

———

Lila steeples her finger and smirks. She's sitting in her plain white office for the Agreste, three monitors set up before her on the desk. The middle screen shows her emails and a few tabs up on fashion for work-related reasons. The outer two screens, however, show the feed to two identical cells—two by four by five metres with cement floors and grey brick walls, no windows and a single plain black metal door. No furniture either, not even beds or toilets, just chains attached to the wall opposite the door. And in the chains is what has Lila so very happy indeed; Marinette and Jason, one in each cell and both stuck in the chains with no hope for escape.

A steady pool of blood has already formed beneath the both of them, thanks to the wonderful work of her Sentimonster duplicates of the two.

Lila can't help but monologue in her glee, “It's so excellently simple really. Even if one escapes, there's no way they'll help the other escape now. Now they've experienced the pain of betrayal and torture inflicted by the other!”

Footsteps approach the door to her office; all it takes is a quick click and click of the mouse and her two outer screen feeds flip to showing more work-related tabs and emails.

The door opens to reveal Adrien, slightly dishevelled—hair and shirt ruffled, eyes red with dark bags beneath them, and shiny tear streaks down his cheeks—he stands in the threshold, shaking. “Did you know?”

Lila smiles in fake confusion. “Know what?”

Adrien swallows, gaze flickering to her screens. “Marinette's dead. So is Jason.”

Lila tilts her head to the side to make it look as though she's thinking. “The Wayne boy that was close to her, right? Oh dear.”

His tired gaze turns back to Lila as he continues. “They think both of them were kidnapped and tortured separately. Police have found traces of an altered truth-serum among the bloodstains and…” He chokes for a second, grief plain as day across his face. “and they found pieces of fingers, ears, slices of skin, and all.”

“Oh, oh, that's horrible!” Lila gasps, covering her mouth with her hands to hide the victorious curl forming on her lips. “Have they found out who was cruel enough to do that to them yet?”

Adrien shakes his head silently.

“Hopefully, the culprit will be found soon. But if you need any support, I'll always be here for you, Adrien!” Lila gravely announces, bobbing her head slightly as she spoke.

He narrows his eyes at her, shakes his head, and then stalks away from her office.

She scowls as soon as his back turns and gets up to shut her door. “Well,” She says to herself as she flips back to the cell feed, “at least that means I'll have plenty of time to pull the secrets from you two without the police thinking to look for you alive.”

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| Also feel free to send me any asks or comments with any questions you have regarding this oneshot, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

[honeysidesarchived]

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

pt. iii: tra i due litigante terzo gode ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 3.6k

warnings: mentions of animal death (canon-typical), clown on clown violence.

rating: m/t

notes: putting this little project of mine up on the internet for strangers to see was incredibly nerve-wracking, but i have been so lucky to be received so kindly by folks! thank you to everyone who reads, it really means the absolute most to me.

i don't know if i mentioned this before, but you can find translations for the (google-translated) italian at the bottom of each chapter on my ao3. i know it's a hassle, i'm sorry!! just can't find an easy place to put them here without spoiling what's going on in the chap ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ

thank you as always to my lovely beta @starcrier, my lover my life my shawty my wife; this could not be done at all without you. ♡ and to @belorage, who loves euphie enough to send me the cutest message that managed to kick my ass into gear to get this chapter edited!!

Two days after the engagement party, when Santino has finally made up for his delay and lateness, is when he ruins it all again.

Later, Euphemia will think that he can’t help it—he is destined to be a wrecker, a ruiner, even if it’s for himself. It’s not his fault, not really, she’ll say. Ignoring that he is a perfectly autonomous adult means that she can excuse his thoughtlessness and not call it selfishness.

One of Santi’s men tries to tell her that he’s busy as she strides through the museum, heels clipping the floor with a strict, stark cadence. The smell of the doctor’s office is still stuck in her palette. She feels a wad of anxiety, anticipation, coiling deep in the pit of her stomach, a black stone dropped there to torture her with its heaviness. Santino will be happy, she thinks absently, chewing the inside of her cheek as she moves. He’s always wanted this.

The man is keeping pace with her well enough, despite her long legs and the purpose with which she walks to one of the back rooms of the museum.

“Bella,” he says, reaching to stop her, “per favore, he is in a meeting.”

The words put a sour taste in her mouth. Busy, the man is trying to say, too busy for you, for this, right now.

“Trust me, Gianni,” she replies dryly, “he’ll want to make time for this.”

She takes two steps into the room past the other guards, who don’t bother trying to stop her. The room is marked primarily by a high ceiling, which allows all of the paintings to be hung in it in their varying degrees of size. Euphemia recognizes Santino sitting on the bench first, and then another man that he’s talking to. The man looks like he’s just come off of the streets, his hair dark and the scruff that she can see on the side of his face manicured enough to look like he just hasn’t bothered recently.

It takes Euphemia’s brain a few seconds to register the facial features of the man who turns to look at her over his shoulder. He would be nothing, mean nothing, to her if she didn’t see the way his expression flattened, his gaze sweeping over her—calculating. Measuring. Identifying.

He looks dirty, unshowered, covered in soot, and she thinks back to two nights ago when Santino showed up to their engagement party smelling like fire and gunpowder.

Santino stands abruptly. He might be angry, or perhaps worried; it’s hard to tell the difference with him. But she can’t look at him, anyway, her gaze fixed on the stranger who is not much of a stranger at all, who she knows because of the scary stories. The rest of the world may as well be melting down around her, some sick Van Gogh painting, and she can’t look away.

John Wick has dark eyes. Shark’s eyes, she thinks. Black, soulless. Like the glass eyes on a teddy bear. She feels her stomach lurch as fear washes over her in a slick, wet wave, reminding her that she’s already received one bout of stressful news this afternoon.

He watches her. She’s sure he’s sizing her up—that is what John Wick is made to do—but after a second, he glances to Santino, gauging his reaction. If he thinks she's any kind of a threat, he's not letting it show.

“I told you not to let anyone in,” Santi says angrily to Gianni, helpless behind her—because Gianni would have never dared to grab her arm to stop her, would have never thought it acceptable to handle her like street rabble.

“Santi,” Euphie says, feeling very small and very far away and somewhere that her body isn't, “who is that?”

She knows, but she wants to hear him say it.

He steps around the bench, excusing himself from his conversation with Wick and crossing the space between them to guide her out of the room with his hands on her arms. She lets him, not because she isn’t burning with rage but because if Santino doesn’t show her where to go, Euphemia will just stand there, fear driving icy-hot spears through her chest.

He takes her as far as around the corner of the room, maybe to put as much space between her and John Wick as he can afford, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. She starts to shrug his hands off of her, and oh, there it is—the shrieking, panging fear, and fury, boiling inside of her. Venomous, indignant. Her mind is a mess of color and noise and she’s vaguely aware that maybe she should be working hard to keep her voice down, but it no longer matters.

A lot of things shouldn’t have happened that did. What’s one more?

“You brought him here?” She can feel her voice bordering on hysteria. “Are you a fucking idiot, Santi? What part of I don’t want John Wick near my life—”

“Euphie, Euphie, Euphie,” Santi says, trying his sweet-talk; condescending, like he’s speaking to a child. “Lower your voice, tesora, and we’ll talk about it.”

Her hand moves of its own accord, a knee-jerk reaction to Santi sweetly telling her to shut up, and she slaps him. Hard. As hard as she can manage. The second her palm connects with the side of his face, and the needles start stinging in her palm, she thinks that she regrets it: but all she can really think about is the pure fear and rage coursing through her body, pummeling adrenaline through her bloodstream until she feels like she’s going to be sick.

And, a little, too, a warmth blooming in her chest: satisfaction.

Santino's head doesn't turn back to her right away. There is a heartbeat of a moment where only silence reigns, where his fingers reach and touch the place her palm had made contact with, like he can't believe she did it. Maybe he can't, but then he'd be a bigger idiot than Euphemia thought.

He turns to face her again and holds up a hand—perhaps to call for a moment of inaction, or to be prepared for a second blow, she’s not sure and she doesn’t care. Santi begins, his voice a low threat, “Do not do anything else you're going to regret, Euphemia.”

Anything else you’re going to regret, he says, as though she will regret having done this.

“Fuck you,” she snaps, her voice rising in volume further yet. The poison reverberates on the high, smooth glass ceiling, bouncing off of the marble walls until it’s all echoing around them. “He knows what I look like, what—what I sound like, he knows my name, Santi, you—”

She's pushing him, hitting his chest; an impatient and weak battering. She wants both to get him away from her as much as possible and keep him close. Santi catches her wrists with bruising force, trapping her and making her look at him.

“Euphemia, basta—if you had waited,” he bites out, “then—”

“I’m pregnant!” The words leave her in a visceral, furious shout, her heart thundering in her chest, her flight or fight demanding one or the other. She rips her wrists from his grip. It feels like her entire body is vibrating. “You fucking idiot—I was late, I just got back from the doctor, and—and you’re not supposed to have him here anyway! You promised me, Santino D’Antonio, you promised me!”

There is a heartbeat of time, of space, where her fiance stares at her like he doesn’t quite think that she’s real. Red blooms on his cheek where her hand made contact and the dark of his pupils has all but swallowed up the beautiful green of his irises. Finally, something seems to kick the gears back into motion, and he plunges on, catching his footing.

“Euphie,” Santi says, reaching for her again, “Euphie, listen to me. John came to me, I didn’t—”

“I don’t need a fucking history lesson, Santino!” Euphemia spits, brushing his hand away from her arm. Blood is rushing through her head, louder and louder, demanding she raise her own volume to be heard over it. “I told you to leave him alone. You insisted, and I thought that was the end of it—you came late to the party that night because of him, isn’t that right? So why is he here, Santi? Why is John Wick near me and my baby?”

Santino stares at her. She can see the flex of his jaw when his teeth clench, trying to maintain what shred of control he has. He swallows, lifting a finger, to indicate one minute, and it takes all of her self-control not to scream at him that he doesn’t get any more minutes. But there is some pleasure in seeing him a little ruffled; to see the way his eyes dart over her face, trying to keep everything collected neatly in his mind, filed away for premium use. She wants to shake him until he is really rattled.

“It may have taken more persuasion than I anticipated,” Santi says finally, at last.

Euphemia makes a sound something like wrecking, like grief, because she knew this was going to happen and he told her it wouldn’t but here they are anyway. It’s a death knell, ringing in her ribcage, in the cavity of her chest. Dead, dead, dead, we’re all fucking dead now, don’t you see it? You, and me, and now our baby, dead like stones.

He continues quickly, over the sound of her agony, “But that doesn’t matter—cara mia, listen to me, it doesn’t matter because now John will do what I ask him to, and we don’t have to worry about anything else. Euphie, Euphie—come here, we'll talk about this.”

She’s going to be sick. The doctor’s words are still rolling around in her head; avoid stress, make sure you sleep and eat well. Can’t be worrying that baby, can we, Miss Volpe? Make sure your fiance does all the work, hm?

“It does matter. It matters the most, Santi, I—I told you to leave him be, I told you, and you said that you would only ask and that would be it—”

She’s grieving, now, lamenting the loss of her happiness, the hysteria taking a melancholic edge in her voice as the sorrow sweeps over her. Santi keeps reaching for her, to try and ground her back to him, and for the first time since she met him she just can’t stand to feel him touching her, saying her name, trying to sweet-talk her. His hands sweep her shoulders, coming up for his thumb to brush the nape of her neck; instinctively, her shoulders scrunch up to disembark them, arms shoving his off of her.

He says, “Tesora, we can talk about this—”

“You did exactly what I asked you not to,” she manages out, taking a step back from him. “I ask you for two things, Santi. Helping my mother, and not putting yourself at war with John Wick. I do not—you should not have asked him at all!”

“Euphie—”

By the time Santino reaches for her again, she’s turning and walking away, her steps unsteady. She’s sure that she’s sweating, or crying, or maybe both or neither and her body is just kicking into overdrive with gut-wrenching sweeps of grief rocking through her body now that she’s got Baba Yaga fifteen feet from her. From her and her baby.

“Euphie!” Santino’s voice echoes down the main hall of the museum, lighter now. Almost like they never argued at all. “We’ll talk when I get home, si? Mi amore?”

Euphemia is certain she’s never heard a sentence more infuriating in her entire life. It sparks something violent in her. It had been dormant, had stepped aside for her mourning, but it catches fire the second Santino says, we’ll talk when I get home.

Incensed, she turns and slides the engagement ring off of her finger, throwing it as hard as she can at him. Gianni had been trailing her, certainly at Santino's behest, and he tries to stop her—but it's too late, the fury inside of her forcing her to move more quickly than Gianni anticipates.

He catches her around the waist and she considers, briefly, the logistics of wrenching Gianni's arm off of her to go and slap Santino again; instead, she watches the expensive engagement ring bounce off of the front of Santino's jacket and clatter on the floor.

The way he tilts his head, as though expecting her to lob it at his face, and the irritated expression that comes over him is almost as good as actually having hit her original target of that pretty face of his.

Then, it’s pure, sheer, furious indignation that crosses Santi’s face, but she has no time to think about what that means for her.

“Fuck you, Santi,” she bites out venomously. “Fuck. You. Don’t fucking bother coming home.”

“Bella,” Gianni says, “we should get you back.”

Euphemia debates slapping Gianni, too, but it would be unfair; in his defense, he did try to keep her out of the room. She turns and marches her way out, the doors slamming shut behind her and the cold air of New York in the fall washing over her. As Gianni speaks on the phone and calls the driver around, she glances up at the sky; gray and soft as wedding silk, it stretches, endless, cut in pieces by the skyscrapers parsing it out.

A fool, she thinks. Santino has always made a fool out of me, and this is no one’s fault but my own.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Two hours later, Euphemia hears him enter the loft. He lets the door click shut softly behind him, not slamming it, not storming through. She expected no less; Santi so rarely lets the anger really take hold of him, so rarely lets himself scream or yell or throw something. I’m marrying a fucking sociopath, she thinks, but there’s no heat to the thought; only exhaustion, only a tiredness that goes bone-deep

Even now, she still thinks of it as present tense: she’s marrying a sociopath, as though she didn’t try to hit him in the face with the engagement ring he picked out for her just hours ago, as though in the end, she will still be his. She will.

“Are you calmed down?” Santino asks, in the way that only he could manage—condescending, and soft. Euphemia can’t withhold the vicious scoff that rolls out of her the second he talks.

“I told you not to come home,” she replies tartly, “but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You are apparently as deaf as you are stupid.”

“So no, then.”

“What do you want me to say, Santi?” Euphemia demands, looking at him now. She’s got a suitcase out but there’s nothing in it; she can’t bring herself to pack, to think about going back home to Tuscany where her mother is waiting, barely sober because she can only stay sober for about a month at a time before she falls back to her old habits. “Why don’t you invite our friend John Wick up for dinner, hm? I’m sure he’d like that, after you did whatever you did to make him show up here. Perhaps you took a page out of that idiot Iosef’s book and killed his new dog?”

“He owes me,” Santino insists, glossing over her needling, “and I will get what I am owed.”

She has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Do you know how fucking stupid you sound?” she asks, incredulous. “If I die before telling you how incredibly, disgustingly stupid you sound when you say that, then I will—”

Santino kisses her. He does it because he knows that she’s not expecting it, and it has its desired effect; she stills, all of the furious energy like bottled lightning capped again. He kisses her softly, with no rage, but she can feel it woven into the sinew of his posture.

She thinks about slapping him again. But he probably knows that, because he grabs her hands, gripping them in his; the pressure is more relaxing than it is infuriating, which almost drives her mad, but it does what Santino always does. It pulls her apart until all that’s left is the hurt, the fear, welling up inside of her like a tidal wave crashing into the shore.

“He’s doing what I asked,” he murmurs. “And then we’ll be done with John Wick. Mia piccola volpe, look at me.”

“No,” she says, trying to sound angry but it comes out an agonized sound; she’s crying before she can stop herself, tears burning the edges of her eyes and a big, wet gasping breath necessary for her to keep going. “No, I don’t want to look at you anymore, Santi—”

“He’s doing what I ask, and then I promise, you and I will be done with John Wick forever.” His voice is urgent and insistent. “The three of us, tesora. Isn’t that right? You weren’t just saying that to get back at me?”

She nods, numbly. They had been careful, because she’d said she wasn’t ready—but mistakes happened. Pills got forgotten. She wishes that she could have lied about it and kept it secret. Maybe he’d be acting differently now if she wasn’t carrying his child; maybe his face would be something else.

“Euphie,” he whispers, taking her face in his hands. “My perfect, gorgeous Euphie—my greatest piece of art.” He kisses her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. “And the one with the most bite, too, even when you are so ungrateful for the things that I do. My face still hurts.”

“Good,” Euphemia manages out, her voice wobbling. “You deserve it. Idiota.”

“Maybe,” Santi replies. He tucks her against his chest and kisses her hair. “I never thought I would piss you off enough to get you to hit me—and you did cause quite a scene in front of Wick.”

“Stop.” Just the sound of that monster’s name makes her stomach churn. “Stress is bad for the baby.”

He laughs, the first real laugh in what feels like days since he’s decided on this path with John Wick. “Fine, I will not mention him again. But know that after this, it will be done. Permanently. Forever. Si? Tell me you understand, Euphie.”

She’s so tired. She’s so tired down into her core, the kind of tired that doesn’t go away with a nap or a cup of coffee. “Si,” she replies, closing her eyes. “Capisco, Santi.”

Somehow, Santi’s words that things will be done “permanently” with John Wick only manage to make her more uneasy.

She can’t remember what exactly carries her through the rest of the evening. She remembers calling her mother to check on her, to ask if she’s keeping up with her meetings. She can’t bring herself to come clean about the surprise pregnancy; it’s early, anyway, and her mother would only stress her out more.

“Sei la mia stella più preziosa,” her mother says. “Ti amo, Effie.”

“Yes, mama,” Euphie sighs, unable to say the words back. “Buona notte.”

She hits the red end call button on the phone screen, setting it face-down on the countertop and leaning her palms against the marble. God, she knows that she’d fucking kill a man for a drag of a cigarette—but she could never. Not now. Not when she has—

The sound of paper on the countertop stirs her from her half-bent position. Santino slides it across to her, setting a pen down next to her hand. It’s their marriage certificate. He’s already signed it, and while she stares at it numbly, he takes her left hand and puts the engagement ring back on her finger, but this time with the diamond wedding band he’d picked out as well.

“Santi,” she starts, but he tsks his tongue, quieting her. She’s too tired to be offended.

“Sign the certificate, amore,” he says. “Do not fuss. You’re going to stop throwing this ring at me, yes?”

There are a million reasons not to sign it: but the words that came out of her mouth are, “We don’t have the witnesses or the officiant.”

“Do we need a witness or officiant greater than God himself?” Santino replies. He leans against the counter from the other side, watching her. He is polished, pristine. Any remains of her earlier transgression against him are now completely gone, at least the physical marks. She’s sure that he won’t forget very soon that she raised a hand against him. “Sign it, Euphie, and be my wife.”

She stares at the paper. She feels like she’s melting; her life can’t be real anymore, not when John Wick was, just hours ago, feet away from her, and she’s pregnant, and now Santino is asking her to sign their marriage certificate right now.

The implications fill her with dread. What’s the rush? If nothing’s wrong, if they’ll be done with John Wick, what’s the rush?

“You said that you had nothing before me,” Santino says, breaking her out of her eerie, absent-minded disconnect. He brushes the hair from her face. “You will never have nothing again.”

Euphemia signs the certificate in a haze. It doesn’t feel any different after; she doesn’t feel different and neither does Santino in relation to her, and the realization that they had felt married for a few years now sinks down on her.

Santino rounds the counter to her, taking her face and kissing her; her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, the corner of her mouth and eventually just kissing her. His hand smooths over her stomach, admiring, and he brushes their noses together.

“Perfetto e tutto mio,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “Isn’t that right, Euphemia?”

She replies, without thinking, “Si, sono tuo.”

Always, she thinks, always yours, whether I like it or not.

[preciouspeterbparker]

i wish i were, part 3

part one

part two

summary: it’s getting harder to pretend that everything is okay. 

word count: 4.2k

warnings: step- inc*st, smut, underage sex, suicidal ideation (oops), ANGST, depression, self-harm mention (doesn’t actually happen, just intrusive thoughts), it’s all mentioned very casually so if this is triggering for you please don’t read!! <3 , ambiguous ending 

this is the last part y’all! thanks for going on this ride with me. this was my first multi-chap fic and it kinda gave me the confidence to know that i’m capable of writing longer stuff without it being super shitty lol. sorry that it’s taken me so long!! 

love you all

- bloo 

It's getting harder to pretend that everything is okay.

Peter hates to say it, fuck, the thought physically pains him, but he’s glad the school year’s almost over. He’s glad that it’s almost time for graduation, time for Tony to leave for the special summer program MIT invited him to participate in. 

He just wants to stop feeling like this, never wants to feel like this ever again. He always feels heavy, weighed down, like his clothes are soaking wet. It’s a feeling that goes deep into his bones, leaving him cold, aching, and tired. 

It’s a good thing there’s not really any work left to do for school, other than exams; Peter spends most of his time in bed, headphones on and staring at the wall, the one that separates his room from Tony’s. 

He keeps hearing Pepper’s voice in his head. He thinks you hung the moon, babe. It’s so cute. The words make him burn inside, make him want to dig his fingers in and peel his skin back until the feeling spills out of him. Until his blood spill out, until he doesn’t have to deal with this anymore- Fuck-

That’s how his brain is working, now. The intrusive thoughts have reached new levels. Peter’s always had them, he’s been passively suicidal for most of his adolescence, but it seems that any minor inconvenience has him ready to end it all. But it makes sense, he supposes. He’s already hurting, already weary and withdrawn. It really wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge. 

Too bad he doesn’t really want to die. He just wants everything to...stop. So that he doesn’t have to feel like this.

And because the universe is obviously enjoying fucking with him, the first thing he sees walking out of first period is Pepper walking down the hallway, a faded black t-shirt hanging from her shoulders, exposing the bright red of her bra straps. 

Peter recognizes the garment immediately.

It’s the Black Sabbath shirt, the one he’d kept under his pillow for over a week. The one he’d spilled multiple loads of cum onto before finally putting it in his laundry and carefully slipping it back into Tony’s room once it had been washed. 

And now Pepper’s wearing it. Which means Tony gave it to her.

Peter stops, freezes right there in the doorway of Mrs. Flannigan’s classroom. He blinks, staring blankly in the direction the blonde had gone. His classmates protest behind him, pushing forward until he snaps out of it. Taking a few stumbling steps to the side, he leans back against the wall.

He feels like he can’t breathe. Some kid walking down the hall looks at him funny, and he realizes that there are tears rolling down his cheeks. Hastily wiping them away, he slowly pushes himself off the wall and starts making a hasty exit to the bathroom, head down and eyes trained on the linoleum. 

Then- 

“Hey, Peter- Wait, Pete what’s wrong, what happened?”

Shuddering, barely able to contain the sob that threatens to rip its way out, Peter ignores Tony, just pushes past him and doesn’t stop moving until he’s locked in the private restroom. 

With his back to the door, Peter slides down til his butt’s on the cold ground, arms wrapped around his knees as he tries to muffle his cries as he sits there, shaking.

He just wants it to stop.

***

Something’s up with Peter, and Tony has a sinking feeling that it’s got something to do with him. But he doesn’t know what he possibly could have done. 

They’d had such a nice time celebrating his birthday. He even had a new photo in his wallet, a polaroid of him and Peter cheesing goofily into the camera. Looking at it brings a smile to his face. 

He really does love his little brother. Though he was young, Tony can remember life before Richard and Peter came into their lives. He remembers being an only child as lonely hours spent trying to entertain himself while his mom was busy working, trying to support him as a single parent. He’d been ecstatic upon meeting Richard and finding out that he had a little boy, too, that he was going to get a brother. 

Tony knows that he and Peter haven’t been spending as much time together as they usually do, but he just chalked it up to it being his senior year. He wanted to spend the time with his friends, with his girlfriend, making the best of their last bit of time together before everything changes. 

Peter’s words from his birthday ring in his head. I don’t want you to...forget me. Maybe he’s feeling left behind? 

He’s only got a little over a week left until graduation, and then a week after that he leaves for MIT. That’s not much time at all.

The teen resolves to make some more time in his schedule to spend with his younger brother. Rhodey and the guys and Pep can deal for a couple days. 

***

Peter’s pulled out of the clusterfuck of ruminative thoughts that have kept him awake for the past week by the squeak of his bedroom door being opened. He blinks under the covers, instinctively curling in on himself. He’s been under here for hours, but he still feels so cold.

Tony’s voice comes through the small crack he’s created between the door and the jamb, one eye peeking inside. “Peter? Are you….” He pauses and clears his throat before continuing softly, “Are you okay?” 

The lump under the covers that is Peter shifts a little. His voice is dull and monotone when he replies, as apathetic as he can muster. “...Just leave me alone, Tony.” So much for that. Even saying his brother’s name hurts, a lot more than he thought it would, making his voice crack pathetically. Peter pulls his hands up to his chest and tries to quell the sudden surge of emotion that rushes through him, stifling a whimper. Please just go away. 

Of course, instead of listening for once in his fucking life, Tony opens the door further so that he can slip inside. It closes behind him with a soft click and he takes a tentative step towards the queen bed that’s pushed up against the walls in the corner of the dark bedroom. "Pete…" Peter can hear him softly pad over to the nightstand and flick on the small lamp sitting there. His breathing in the quiet room is near deafening to Peter. “I…” He hovers there for a minute before sighing and sitting at the foot of the bed. “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong. So that I can… I just want to help, Pete.”

The silence stretches on uncomfortably between them and even under the covers, Peter can feel the worried gaze burning him alive. 

His skin is crawling with how badly he wants to crawl out of the covers and into Tony’s lap, the way he would when they were younger and he was upset. He needs to get Tony out of here. He can’t- 

Peter moves so that his head is exposed, but he looks down at the bed rather than the other teen. "No, it’s fine. I mean I-, I’m fine," Peter sniffles, blinking furiously in an attempt to will the tears away. Fuck. His- fuck, his throat is tight, he can't swallow. His mouth falls open, a shuddering breath escaping as the muscles in his throat spasm. "I get it, Tony. I promise I get it, I really do. I do. She's-" 

Fuck. He must really be exhausted, he wasn’t supposed to say that, wasn’t supposed to let on the truth of why he’s upset. Peter's eyes flit around like he's on speed, darting from one focal point to another without him truly seeing anything. His voice is hoarse, thin. It's as small as he feels. Miniscule. Insignificant. He’s gonna ruin everything but he can’t make himself stop. "I mean, I can’t- I can't compete with-" The words come to an abrupt halt, his mouth snapping shut. 

Tony nudges Peter’s foot with his knee. “What? Peter.” He bumps against Peter again until the younger boy looks up to make eye contact. 

That stupid fucking crease forms between his older brother's eyebrows. Peter wants to slap him. Or kiss him. Mostly he wants to scream. 

"Peter, what? Compete with who? Are you talking about Pepper? I know we haven’t been spending much time together, but I’m gonna fix that before I leave, I promise. I don’t want you to feel left behind, not at all but I still don’t get- What’s this got to do with -," Tony starts, placatingly. But there’s something in his eyes, in the barely there tremor in his voice- And Peter suddenly realizes that Tony knows, has to know at least a little bit. 

He swears his vision flashes red for a second. "It has everything to do with her," Peter all but shrieks, nails digging crescent-shaped welts into his palms. He feels overwhelmed, trapped. Like a hermit crab without its shell- vulnerable, horribly exposed. It comes out without his consent, and so does his fucking stutter. Fuck it all. "And I know- I know- I know I'm fucked up, Tony, I know it, but I love you, the way that you love h-huh-her.” 

He takes a shuddering breath, reeling from saying the words out loud for the first time. “I'm sss-suh-sick, and g-gross and you- I know I'm a fff-fuh-freak and nnn-now- now you’re gonna hate me!" Peter sobs, his entire body shaking as he works himself towards an anxiety attack, a panic attack, a heart attack, fucking something. “I can’t even fu-fu-fu-fucking talk-” There’s snot and tears running down his face, he’s upset himself so much he can’t get through a fucking sentence. He knows he’s making a fucking fool of himself. He’s so stupid, why did he ever think that anything could come from this. He just wants it all to stop, he wants Tony to leave so that he can figure out some way to fix this, to make it all go away-

Tony’s staring at him, mouth parted, dark eyes wide and concerned. "Baby, what- I could never hate you, babydoll." It’s like the nickname comes out instinctually, the sound of Peter’s stutter instantly taking him back to the way he would console Peter when they were much younger, pulling him into his arms and rocking him like his own little baby. 

He climbs on the bed and burrows into the nest of blankets and pillows that Peter has created, but he stays sitting up. His arms wrap around his baby brother and pull him up into his lap so that he’s close to his chest, in spite of the younger’s attempts to squirm away. “Calm down, Pete.” Tony presses his lips to Peter’s head when his cries only increase, frowning at how hot the skin of his forehead is. “You’ve gotta calm down,” he soothes. “C’mon, it’ll get better once you calm down, baby, you know that.” One of his hands glides up and down Peter’s heaving back. 

Gasping, Peter shakes his head. He buries his face in the space where Tony’s pec and arm meet, taking a shuddering breath through his mouth. He’s trying to calm down but it’s not working. “I’m so- I’m so ssss-sss-suh-sorry, Tuh-Tony!” He feels like he’s gonna pass out. Shifting a bit, he pulls his head back in an attempt to get some more air. They almost make eye contact but he hurriedly looks away. He’s ruined everything. Tony hasn’t reacted to his confession yet but Peter knows that it’s gonna be bad, it’s gonna be so bad when he does. 

What’s he got left to lose?

Peter can't help himself; he leans in. The tips of their noses brush, and he pauses there for a moment. He can hear Tony's sharp intake of breath through his own heaving as they finally lock eyes. The look in Tony's chocolate depths is- Peter doesn’t really know. Tony's never looked at him like this before, no one has.

“Tony,” he whispers shakily, breath catching in his throat before closing the distance between them. Time stands still for a moment before something breaks, the tension snapping like a rubberband pulled too tight. Their mouths meet and Peter immediately whines at the feeling of Tony’s lips on his, body instinctively arching up against his brother’s, too lost in it to feel embarrassed of how easy he is to get worked up. 

It’s...everything he ever dreamed of.

Tony’s hands move to cup his cheeks, and Peter’s own hands find their way into the other’s dark, wavy locks as their mouths move against each other. There’s a swipe of tongue across his bottom lip, timidly asking for entrance. The younger obliges immediately, letting the warm muscle slide into his mouth where it meets his own. It sends shivers down his spine and he keens when his tongue is sucked into the wet of Tony’s mouth. His dick begins to fill rapidly in his sweats, leaving him feeling lightheaded and a bit disoriented.

Peter’s never made out with anyone before, but this- 

He thinks he understands what all of the hype is about, now. 

They pull apart, both gasping for air. Tony moves his head slightly, taking heaving breaths that blow onto the exposed skin of Peter’s neck, and his entire body seizes. The elder brother pauses, eyes darkening, before he latches his mouth there and sucking, hard- Fuck, Peter swears he’s about to cum in his pants. 

“Tony.” The name is all but ripped from his throat, ragged and wanton and filthy sounding. He didn’t know he could feel this good. There’s precum steadily leaking from the slit at the tip of his cock, and though he can’t see it at the moment, he’s sure there’s a wet spot staining the crotch of his pants. 

More moist air on the sensitive skin of his neck, now slightly red from being rubbed by the stubble covering Tony’s chin. “Shit, Peter,” comes the eighteen year old’s wrecked gasp and his hips shift, nudging his own erection against Peter’s thigh. “Fuck, fuck.”

Peter feels like he’s losing his mind. “Tony, Tony lemme- Wanna touch you, please-,” he says, unable to put together a full sentence. The cock he’s been dreaming about for almost a year is within his reach and he doesn’t know how they got here, has no idea what’s going to happen after, but he’s so fucking close to getting what he’s wanted for so long but thought he could never have. His hands flutter restlessly near the front of his brother’s basketball shorts and the bulge that’s pressing insistently against the loose material. 

“Yeah,” Tony gasps, shifting Peter out of his lap so that he can lie down on the bed on his side and then he pulls Peter down with him, facing each other. “Me too, can I…,” he trails off, the fingers of his right hand running down Peter’s body from his shoulder down to the sharp point of his hip bone. 

All Peter can do is nod jerkily, already reaching to tug at the dark red fabric that’s wrapped around the older teen’s waist. He lets out a desperate, frustrated sound when they get caught, but Tony’s hands take over for him, so he pushes his own pants down to his knees instead. His dick hangs down heavily once it's free of its confines, and there’s a quiet thud as Tony’s slaps against the dark hairs smattered across his lower belly. 

Looking at his big brother’s cock for the first time in the dim lighting makes Peter’s mouth water. He can make out the slight shadow of a vein running the length of it, and his tip is big, a drop of precum sitting there just waiting for him to lick at it. He’s bigger than Peter, in both length and girth. It’s perfect, something right out of his fantasies. 

Tony rocks his hips forward and their erections rub against each other, prompting them to let out synchronous groans. “Holy shit,” Peter whines, his own hips stuttering as they start to rut against each other in earnest. They quickly get into a slightly stumbling rhythm. It feels so good, their cocks both so hot, so hard. He already knows this is going to be over before it really even starts but he couldn’t care less. “Tony, Tony, yes-”

The brunette all but growls. “That’s it, Petey. Fuck, your cock feels so good, I never- Shit,” Tony pants before spitting into his palm and wrapping his hand around both of their shafts. “Fucking hell-” His toes twitch against the inside of Peter’s ankle. “Pete-”

Peter’s movements get jerkier, his hips stuttering at the feeling of Tony’s wet hand, the way their dicks are sliding against one another. He’s so close, so fucking close. “Please,” he whimpers, fingers digging to Tony’s shoulders where he’s holding on in an attempt to ground himself. HIs tongue licks at his brother’s bottom lip. “Wanna cum, Tony, lemme cum-”

“Yeah, fuck, yes Peter, cum, cum for me-” Tony groans, the speed of his stroking increasing. The rhythm is jerky, and it’s so uncoordinated when combined with their frantic undulating, but it feels amazing. 

“Tony, Tony, Tony,” Peter chants as his orgasm slams into him like a brick wall. His muscles lock up, and there are probably crescent-shaped welts in the skin of Tony’s shoulders and back. Thick, white ropes of cum shoot from his cock and make a mess in his brother’s hand. A whine escapes him as he grows more sensitive in Tony’s grasp. 

The feeling of the warm liquid smearing over his erection is what does the older teen in. He crushes his mouth to Peter’s as he cums, fucking into his fist and rubbing against the other’s softening cock, licking lewdly into the wet of his mouth. “Pete,” he sighs, pulling away after he’s ridden out the wave of his orgasm. 

“I love you,” Peter whispers contently, snuggling in and pressing a kiss to a freckle on Tony’s shoulder. This is everything he’s ever wanted, to be held in his big brother’s arms like this: like a lover. Maybe he was worried for nothing, maybe everything will be okay. Sure, they’ll have to hide it from everyone, especially Mom & Dad, but once they’re both in college… They have different last names, no one would ever have to know. They could be happy. Peter just wants to be happy, just wants this feeling to stay. 

Tony shifts slightly and takes a deep breath, the puff of air ruffling Peter’s sweat-slick auburn curls. “Pete,” he says again, softly. “I love you too, I do.” He pauses, pulling back slightly and loosening his hold on the younger boy and rolling onto his back so that they’re both looking up at the ceiling. “But I-”

Peter freezes, the afterglow fading instantly. His heartbeat picks up, and there’s a slight ringing in his ears. He grips the sweat damp comforter in his hands, fingers twitching restlessly, stroking back and forth over the fabric in an attempt to soothe himself. No. No, no no, this isn’t- Tony- He can’t-

Another heavy sigh. “We can’t- We can’t do this again, Pete,” Tony says into the quiet of the night, still slightly out of breath from exertion. His voice is soft, gentle. He’s trying not to hurt Peter; Peter thinks that’s bullshit.

There’s a lead weight in his stomach. He feels like he’s drowning. He feels like he’s gonna be sick. He feels dirty. He feels- 

He’s so tired of feeling.

Tony hesitates before pulling his shorts up and sliding out of the bed. He reaches out, brushing his fingers over Peter’s hand, jerks back when the younger immediately tenses and recoils from the touch. “I’m sorry,” he whispers before hastily making his way to the door, shutting it gently behind him. 

“Just go, Tony,” he croaks before rolling over in the bed, away from the love of his life his brother. 

Peter lays there for the rest of the night, unmoving, staring at the ceiling, tears running down the sides of his face, seeing nothing. 

If only he could feel nothing, too.

*** 

“Where...where ya goin, Pete?” 

Peter is putting clothes in a small duffel bag. He makes a mental note to remember to grab a new thing of toothpaste when he gets his toiletry bag together. “I’m, uh, gonna go stay with Ned. For a few days.” More like a few weeks, but he doesn’t need to tell Tony that. 

It’s only been two days since they- 

Peter’s already had enough. He can’t be here, he can’t skirt around the elephant that is his feelings towards Tony, can’t handle the awkwardness in the air as his stupid fucking brother tries to go on as if nothing ever happened. As if it meant nothing to him. 

As if Peter meant nothing to him, means nothing to him.

Peter can...he can be okay with that. He has to be. But he can’t be here. He can’t.

“What about mom and da-” Tony cuts himself off, and Peter can tell that’s not what he is really trying to ask. Of course he’s so fucking disgusted, so fearful of someone else knowing, that he can’t even say it. No, what he really means is- 

“I didn’t tell them I kissed you, Tony,” Peter hisses, tears burning in his eyes. He yanks the zipper of his bag closed, biting back a scream when it gets stuck for a second. “I’m not stupid. Why would I tell them what we did? I don’t want them to hate me, too. Don’t worry about what I told them, they said I could go.” 

Maria and Richard are under the impression that Peter’s just stressed about his grades and going a little stir crazy. When they’d talked last night, Mom had frowned gently at him, mentioning how down he’d looked lately and letting him know that he was loved and cherished. Dad had actually been the one to suggest spending some time with Ned; maybe seeing his best friend would help pull Peter out of his funk.

If only they knew. 

Tony gapes at him, an incredulous look on his face. “But what about Tuesday? You’re gonna miss my graduation? For what, to fuck around with Ned? Peter-”

Something in him snaps. He clenches his jaw, swallows harshly. Glares tearily at his brother. “Would you please just stop it?” 

The taller boy sets his shoulders and crosses his arms, defiant. “I don’t want you to go.” His eyes are narrowed, searching Peter’s face. For what, the younger has no idea. Nor does he care. 

“It doesn’t matter what you want, Tony,” he yells, glad that Mom and Dad are out at the grocery store, getting supplies for Tony’s graduation party. His voice cracks on his brother’s name. Always on his name. “Not anymore. I don’t- I know you don’t- Do you know how much it hurts me? To- to hear you? To know, to have to listen to-”

Tony’s mouth opens, but no words come out. “Hear us? You- you heard us? When?” His eyes are wide. He must realize exactly what Peter’s talking about, when he’s talking about, and he looks uncomfortable, vulnerable in a way that Peter’s never seen him before. Something ugly deep inside the younger teen feels satisfied for a moment before it deflates. He’s left feeling just as drained as before. 

Tony continues, “Peter, I-” He cuts himself off, looks away. 

Of course he can’t even come up with something to say.

“For fuck’s sake, Tony, you don’t have to explain everything to me!” It comes out as a sob. Peter feels like he’s a volcano; the words are erupting and he can’t do anything but allow it, powerless to stop them. “Nothing you say will make it better! I know you’re straight! I know it’s- that it’s wrong. I know Pepper is-,” he chokes, gasping. Why is this happening? Everything is going so fast. How is he freezing and on fire at the same time? 

“She’s gorgeous and I’m just the path-th-thetic little br-brother who th-thinks you hung the moon.” Peter’s spluttering, flapping his hands at his sides as he tries to do something with the energy humming inside him. He wants out, he needs Tony to go so that he can finish packing. He has to get out of here. 

Tony takes a step towards him. “No, Peter, how could you-”

Peter’s sniffling, eyes squeezed shut. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, trembling. Why won’t Tony just leave him alone? He just wants to be alone. “I know I’m ugly and I- I bet you can’t w-w-wait to go to MIT, to go away from me!” 

“Babydoll,” is what leaves Tony’s mouth, so soft Peter almost doesn’t hear it. His hands are shaking as they land on his younger brother’s cheeks. Warm tears are gently brushed away by his thumbs. “Pete.” 

Brow furrowed, Peter slowly opens his eyes and blinks the tears back in order to look at his brother. Tony looks...scared? What does he have to be scared of? 

Peter tries to pull away, out of Tony’s grasp but the older teen just clutches him tighter. “Tony- What? It’s fine, j-just stop! Let me go, I need to finish-”

Tony closes his eyes and crashes their lips together.

don’t hate me 

@spidey-sins @silkystark @thegreenmetblue @snailshome @hp-nv-221b @lemondrop313  

if you wanna be untagged lmk 

[metaphorical-love-for-a-car]

Achilles Come Down-- Damien (WKM) x Reader

Prompt; Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths

Warnings; slight swearing, bit of angst, nothing too bad

Word Count; 1.8k

Notes; not my best work because i have a ~brain injury~ but i couldn’t get this idea out of my head so i went ahead and wrote it lol

Your eyes fluttered at the sudden bright light shining from above. A gasping breath racked your chest as you instinctively grabbed the fabric covering your abdomen. It was dry, no trace of the hot, sticky liquid that it held mere moments before. With a moment of hesitation, you sat up to survey your surroundings. Your brows knitted together. You were sitting in an open field, surrounded by tall grass, but weren't you just at Markiplier Manor? A flock of birds startled you from your thoughts as they flew overhead. You watched them dip in twirl with the wind until your eyes landed on a more captivating subject. "Damien?" He faced the opposite direction, sitting quite a distance away. His head turned when he heard your voice. A smile crept across Damien's features, and he was quick to wave you over. You pushed yourself off the ground and made your way towards him. There was something... off. He was sitting on the edge of a cliff, legs dangling over the side. His hair was ruffled, and his shoulders were slumped. But you found your gaze returning to his face. His warm, loving eyes and his soft smile made you fall in love all over again every time you looked at him. He gently bumped his shoulder into yours when you took a seat beside him. 

"I'm glad to see you here. Well, I'm not glad that you're here, but I'm happy to have you with me again." You raised a brow, and Damien pursed his lips. "What I mean is, I'm glad you're safe now. That's what matters."

"Where are we?" You glanced down at the dark waters splashing below. It appeared nearly as dark as ink, making its depths undetectable. Something about it unnerved you. You wanted to move somewhere else, but Damien appeared to enjoy sitting on the cliffside, where he could see the water. His jaw tensed at your question. He stared into the water. You placed a hand on top of his, hoping to calm some of the thoughts running rampant in his mind, but he stayed silent. "We're dead, aren't we?" A joking tone laced your words, but there was truth in them. You thought back to your last moments in the manor. You could have survived the gunshot alone if taken straight to the hospital, but you had little to no chance once you stumbled over the banister. Damien chuckled, finally returning his focus to you.

"You're not too far from the truth. We're sort of in-between realities at the moment. We're certainly not alive, but we're not quite dead either. It doesn't make sense. Hell, I'm still wrapping my head around it too, and I've been waiting here for you for a long time now."

"How long has it been for you? It was hardly an hour that I..." you faltered, struggling to find the right word, "appeared here after you vanished." Damien shook his head. 

"Time passes much differently here. An hour out there could easily be a decade here." Guilt hit your chest like a bag of bricks. He truly waited all that time, just for you? Damien caught the sadness welling up in your eyes. He cupped your face in his hands, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "But that doesn't matter. I wouldn't trade a second of it because it means I now get to be here with you. Don't tell me you forgot our vows?" You couldn't help the laugh that escaped your lips. 

"We'd always be there for each other, and if one of us died first, they would accompany the reaper until it was time to escort the other to the other side. Quite ironic, given our current circumstances."

"And everyone thought we were just being dramatic!" His comment brought about another round of laughter, easing the guilt from your heart. Damien got to his feet and pulled you up with him. He stared down into the water once more. "Why don't we enjoy the time we have here before we brave the other side? Let's go for a swim. " You followed his gaze with a grimace. The waves below were calm, but the water still seemed unwelcoming. Something in the back of your mind warned you not to trust it. Damien wrapped his arms around you, laughing. "Don't tell me you're scared! Nothing can hurt us here. We're finally safe." Your eyes widened as you heard footsteps approaching. Damien went rigid. Neither of you moved until the newcomer made a dramatic gagging sound.

"Look at you two so in love. It's so sweet it almost makes me sick," he deadpanned. Your jaw dropped. Mark was here too? Damien squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, biting back all of the words he truly wanted to say. You tried to move away from Damien to get a better look, but his grip around you tightened.

"Don't. He's not real," Damien whispered in your ear. There was a sense of urgency in his voice that made you freeze. 

"Sharing secrets now, are we? That's not a very nice thing to do to a friend, especially when said friend was murdered," Mark whined. "Since we're in a secretive mood, I feel inclined to tell you that Damien is lying to you, (Y/N)." You glanced over at your partner, whose face had darkened. You could practically sense the smug smile on Mark's face. He took his time walking closer to the two of you, wanting to make sure that he held the spotlight. "You're not safe. There is no 'other side.' He's using you to revive himself and Celine." Damien cupped your face, forcing you to look at him rather than Mark. 

"Don't listen to him. I love you, (Y/N). I'd do anything to keep you safe. You know that." Damien glanced behind you into the open water. He opened his mouth, but Mark interrupted him. 

"How many times have you sought my counsel? How many times have I given you my thoughts? And when have I ever steered you wrong?"

"(Y/N), love, listen to me. I know you're scared, but we need to go. We're going to have to jump."

"Don't be dense, (Y/N)!" Mark shouted. "I know you hear those warning bells in your head. If you go into that water, you'll never come out again."

"It's safe, I promise. I'd never do anything to hurt you. We'll be in a better place." Damien's voice was filled with desperation. His eyes searched yours, urging you to trust him. You swallowed thickly.

"You'll be with me?" Damien offered you a comforting smile as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. 

"Of course. Do you think I'd let you go alone? If you jump, I'm jumping. There is no me without you." You slowly nodded, and Damien released his hold on you. You finally caught sight of Mark. He was in his signature red bathrobe, and he was shaking in anger. What caught you off guard were his eyes. They were inky black and unforgiving, much like the water below.

"He's offering you acclaim and the taste of a new life, but he can't deliver. Don't waste yourself on this cliff, (Y/N). You'll be trapped in your own personal hell if you jump." You shook your head, standing by Damien's side. He took one of your hands into his own.

"I'm sorry, Mark, but I trust him. Even if you're right in the end, I have to stand by him. Love is a dangerous thing. I have to accept that." You looked at Damien and nodded. He counted down, and the two of you stepped off the cliff's edge. Mark stood above, watching as you both sank into the dark water. He shook his head, knowing what was to come.

The water seemed to suck all of the warmth from your bones as soon as you touched its surface. On instinct, you thrashed you get back to the surface, but you continued to sink. Panic settled into your mind. You couldn't get back up, and you couldn't find Damien. He let go of your hand once you both hit the water. Now, it was rushing into your lungs with a fiery burn in its wake. Your mind felt heavy and muddled. You could form a coherent thought. The last thing that filled your mind was regret. 

You hit the tiled floor with a loud thud. Your eyes snapped open as a violent cough shook your whole body. You rolled over onto your hands and knees, coughing. You could practically feel the water all around you, but you were completely dry. You blinked, slowly becoming aware of your surroundings. You were in the manor's foyer, except everything looked a little dimmer. Sitting back on your heels, you inspected your hands. They had a slight translucency to them. Is this what the 'other side' was? Were you a ghost? "Damien?" you called out, getting back to your feet. 

"Oh, good, you're awake. I should apologize. I didn't realize the process would be so... painful." You furrowed your brows, glancing around. It sounded as if he was standing right beside you, but he was nowhere to be found. You finally caught sight of the old mirror hanging on the wall Instead of showing your reflection, it showed Damien standing with an apologetic look on his face. You carefully approached. "I love you, (Y/N)."

"I love you too, Damien, but what's going on?" He sighed, avoiding your gaze.

"I'm protecting you. With Celine's help, I created a sort of pocket dimension inside this mirror, and we put your soul inside." You put a hand on your forehead, struggling to grasp the situation. "Don't worry! I'll be able to visit you, just as I'm doing now."

"Okay, but when can I leave?" Damien's face fell. He stuttered for a moment before finally going quiet. "Am I trapped here, alone?" your voice was barely above a whisper. Damien's eyes widened. 

"No, no! Of course, not. You're not alone. As I said before, I'll be able to visit you through the mirror."

"Am I trapped in here?" 

"I don't understand. I'm only trying to protect you-"

"Damien!" you shouted, tears flowing freely down your face. "Please, answer me." Your voice cracked along with Damien's heart at the sight of you. He nodded, looking away. You grit your teeth, suddenly overcome with anger. "You had no right! You didn't tell me this would happen. You told me that we would face the unknown together, but instead, you fabricated your own little birdcage for me to sit in for the rest of eternity."

"(Y/N), please-"

"No, Damien." Your sad laugh echoed in the empty foyer. You ran a hand through your hair, pacing. "What happened to always staying by each other's side?" you scoffed, "I should've listened to Mark. I shouldn't have jumped with you."

"I did this because I love you."

"Well, maybe you should have loved me a little less."