Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13385040.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Star_vs._The_Forces_Of_Evil
  Relationship:
      Star_Butterfly/Angie_Diaz
  Character:
      Star_Butterfly, Marco_Diaz, Tom_Lucitor, Angie_Diaz
  Additional Tags:
      Age_Difference, Light_BDSM, Bad_BDSM_Etiquette, Femslash, sub!Star,
      Dom!Angie, Why_Did_I_Write_This?, What_Have_I_Done, Tom_Bashing, Slow
      Burn
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-15 Chapters: 1/3 Words: 3338
****** Tangled Lights ******
by CrimsonBeagle
Summary
     Star is tangled up in christmas lights, Marco's out with Tom, and she
     needs some help getting off... I mean, out.
Notes
     Notes and Disclaimers:
     The Please Don't Sue disclaimer: I do not own Star Vs. the Forces of
     Evil or its characters. They belong to Disney, Disney XD, and Daron
     Nefcy. The conversations between characters for the first page and a
     half or so come directly from the first two minutes of s02e19:
     "Friendenemies". This is a work of parody, and I make no profit from
     it.
     The Really Obvious disclaimer: This is a story about the start of a
     relationship between a 14 year old fictional character, and a 40(ish)
     year old fictional character. Doing anything like this in real life
     should, and will, land you in prison. This is FICTION.
     The Somewhat Obvious warning: "This story represents fictional
     characters who are canonically 14 (and who must remain canonically 14
     to fit the continuity of the referenced episodes) having sexual
     experiences very much unlike those that 14 year-olds normally have or
     are in any way advised to have. Half of it is based on the
     experiences of people more than twice as old as the characters, the
     other half is outright impossible fantasy (and not always just the
     bits involving actual magic). If you are 14 years old, or otherwise a
     minor yourself, you frankly shouldn't be reading this. If, despite
     this site's and my best efforts, you are, please know that almost
     nothing that happens here (or elsewhere in Internet porn, in general)
     is a good point of comparison for a healthy teen romantic or sexual
     life."
See the end of the work for more notes
Okay, maybe I got a little carried away. Star thought, looking down at the
tangled mess of colored lights she was caught up in. She'd found a box of them
in the attic, and they looked so pretty she just had to play with them. She had
gotten lost in that weird tingly feeling after accidentally tying a knot in the
wires around her wrist. It made her deliberately wrap more and more of the wire
around her body. She'd tried to magic her way out, but that just made things
worse. Now her arms were crossed, elbows touching and bound tightly to her
chest, and she had no hope of getting out of this without help.
She shuffled to her door, bending awkwardly to turn the knob and leaving the
door open behind her. It took twice as long to get to Marco's door than it
normally would and she prayed his parents wouldn't see her like this. She could
feel a flush rising up her neck, thinking about being seen tied up like this
made the curious tingling intensify like when she touched herself at night.
Marco's door was closed. She banged her forehead against it twice, hard enough
to produce a loud knock and waited a moment before opening his door. She could
hear him on his computer and didn't want to risk a repeat of the day she had
accidentally caught him watching something with his little friend sticking out
of his trousers.
She stuck her head through the opening door. Marco was frantically typing at
his laptop and didn't even look up at her. “Hey, Marco. Can I get your help
with something?” She asked. She sounded embarrassed, and she wasn't sure if it
was the situation she found herself in or the wicked little thrill running up
her spine that made it evident in her voice.
“Can't help right now. I just found out there's a Mackie Hand movie marathon
tonight. And I can't miss it.”
Star shuffled closer, looking over his shoulder to see the screen of his
laptop. “Ooh. Who's Mackie Hand?” She asked. She honestly wanted to know, earth
movies were fun. She recognized the actor from one of the sword-hand-dance
movies Marco had shown her.
“He's the greatest martial-arts superstar who ever lived. He died thirty years
ago while performing one of his own stunts on...” Marco paused, placing his
hand over his heart. “Himself. Accidentally.” He leaned in closer to the
screen. “Come on, come on, come on!” He chanted, standing up. Then he slammed
his face into the keyboard, moaning in despair.
Star winced in sympathy as he started bashing his head with the screen. Marco
didn't have the rock hard skull she had inherited from her dad's side of the
family, where breaking things with your face was a sporting tradition as old as
Mewni. That had to hurt him. “What is it? What's wrong?” She asked, hoping to
distract him from hurting himself.
He paused in his bashing just long enough to angle the screen at her so she
could see the bold red text, before sandwiching his head between it and the
keyboard. “It's sold out.” He grumped.
“I'm sorry, little guy.” It was hard to pat his shoulder, she had to twist
against her bindings and lean in. That just made the tingles worse.
“It's okay. It was just a once in a lifetime opportunity.” He mumbled into his
keyboard. Marco was being such a drama queen. He had a whole shelf full of
Mackie Hand movies in his room, probably the same ones they were playing at the
marathon. Even if he didn't, he was the one who showed her how to pirate movies
online.
Still, she should try and make him feel better. “Don't worry. I'm sure there's
a chance you can still get a ticket.”
“Good things don't happen to me.” He complained.
What did he mean good things didn't happen to him? She happened to him, the
ungrateful little git. A pillar of fire erupted from his desk, knocking them
backwards before she had a chance to get really mad at him, filling the room
with the stench of sulphur and too much cologne. It vanished almost as quickly
as it had appeared, leaving a three eyed, purple skinned demon standing on his
desk licking at a rainbow snowcone
“Hey. What's up.” It was her ex. What was he doing here? Her heart started to
pound, fury building. Uninvited, in her home.
“TOM!” Star and Marco exclaimed simultaneously, saying his name like an
obscenity.
“What are you doing here?” Star said suspiciously, trying to point at him with
her bound hands.
“Actually, I was wondering if we could hang out.” The demon boy said impishly.
Star rolled her eyes. “Ugh. No, no, no. A million times no!” She barked. When
was he going to get that no meant no. That was the whole reason she'd broken up
with the handsy little jerk, just 'cause they were kissing hadn't meant he
could put his hands up her shirt. She could see Marco in the corner of her eye,
brushing imaginary dirt of his pants as he stood up. She wished her hands were
free so she could wave away the stank of Tom's cologne. He still hadn't learned
that the whole point of the stuff was to be subtle, to captivate and draw
people in, not to reek like a dockside man-whore.
Tom was up to something. There was something about his insufferable smile that
gave it away. “Not with you, Star. I meant with Marco.” She gaped at him, he
was definitely up to something. She began to gnaw on the bitter plastic coating
the wires tangled around her. She was going to shake either the truth or an eye
out of him as soon as she got free.
Marco sounded just as suspicious and angry as she felt. “Huh? Um... No.” Good.
Tom could fuck right off.
Tom glanced away from them. “Oh, Okay then.” He turned to leave, the heatless
flames of his portal bursting back to life. “I guess I'll have to find somebody
else to go with to the Mackie Hand movie marathon.” He said tauntingly as he
turned.
“Huh? What? Wait, you're a Mackie Hand fan?” Marco shook his head, incredulous.
The flames vanished once more, all except a trail of fire from Tom's feet as he
levitated himself off the desk to the floor.
“I'm a super fan.” He was lying. Star knew it.
“Why do you want to go with me?” Marco asked, still sounding doubtful.
“I really thought we connected that one time. Over ping-pong?”
“You kidnapped me. And threatened to kill me.” Marco had never told her that
second part. Fucking Tom.
At least he had the grace to look a little ashamed. “Look, I know I've been a
little... aggro in the past, and I'm sorry.” Tom pressed his hands together in
supplication. “I promise not to get mad this time.”
Marco grabbed her shoulders, dragging her to the corner of the room and jarring
loose the wire from her mouth. “What is he up to?” He asked quietly.
Star didn't know, but Marco really wanted to go to this thing. “I think you
should go with him.” She told Marco hesitantly. “Go wait downstairs. I want a
word with Tom before you leave.” Marco shot her a worried look. “I'll be fine.
I know how to handle Tom.” She was going put the fear of Star in him.
“Fine.” He sighed. “I'll go get some snacks.”
Tom watched Marco leave. “Tom. A word, please.” It wasn't a request. She glared
at him and wished she had a third eye, so she could glare at him in all his
eyes. “What is your game here,”
Tom interrupted her. “No game, Starsh..,”
“Don't call me that!” She interrupted right back. “I'm warning you, Tom, just
once. Marco really wants to go to this and he'd better have fun. If you're
playing some game on him to get back with me,” Tom shook his head vigorously
when she paused, “If he comes home tonight anything less than perfectly happy
and healthy, I will shove those horns of yours so far up your ass you will be
able to taste them. Without using magic. And I won't be breaking them off
first. Marco. Has. Fun. Understand?” Star growled. He'd better believe her, she
was perfectly serious.
Whatever passed for his blood had drained from his face and she could hear him
swallow. Good. He believed her. “Understood.” He agreed.
“Good. Have fun!” Star forced a wide smile onto her face, baring her teeth at
him as he backed out of the room. She watched from Marco's window until they
got in Tom's elaborate carriage. She leaned against the window frame. Closing
her eyes and taking deep breaths, she waited for her anger to subsided. It was
the other thing she had inherited from the Johansen side of the family.
It was strange. Her anger was gone but the rush was still there. Her heart was
still pounding, she still felt flushed and breathless. She only realized she
was still tied up when she tried to scratch her nose, she'd been so angry at
Tom and so thrilled by successfully intimidating him she'd forgotten. All she
had felt was a comforting tightness, a feeling of being free.
Ah, shit. I let Marco leave without helping me. Only one choice left unless she
wanted to spend all night tied up and standing. It didn't matter how mortifying
it would be. Or how exciting it suddenly seemed. Shuffling to the door, she
made her way out into the hall.
“Mrs. Diaz? Where are you? I need some help?” She called out to the empty hall.
                                     ~o0o~
Angelica Diaz, Angie to her friends and family, was sitting in her chair in the
bedroom she shared with her husband. She was curled around a first edition of
Lord Tennyson's “Poems”, legs tucked underneath her, reviewing the next poem
she would assign to her class. She didn't need the book, she knew 'The Lotus-
eaters' off by heart, but there was a lingering satisfaction that came from the
feel and smell of old paper.
She'd heard the kids go downstairs and head outside a few minutes ago. I should
have asked them how long they were going to be gone. It's been to long since
Rafe and I got any... quality time together. She thought. Being parents didn't
give them much opportunity to be intimate beyond the occasional quicky. Those
had their appeal, but she missed having the chance to get creative with her
husband outside of the monthly play parties they went to.
Star's call took her by surprise. She'd definitely heard two sets of footsteps
going downstairs, and the kids hadn't had any visitors today. “Mrs. Diaz? Where
are you? I need some help?” Star's voice quivered, echoing in the hallway.
Oh, dear. She could hear the embarrassment and something else, something she
didn't allow herself to recognize, in that call. She'd had enough children in
the house over the years to know when something was wrong. Star wasn't going to
want to talk in the hall. She hoped it was something simple, like her monthly
visitor, not a boy problem. Star's mother seemed nice enough, if a bit uptight,
and she wouldn't be surprised if the stiff woman hadn't warned her daughter
about the more... inconvenient parts of womanhood. Star did look like a late
bloomer.
Placing her book carefully back on the shelf, she took a quick glance around
the bedroom. Everything seemed hidden. The not-so-decorative loops and eyelets
on the brass posts of their bed were free of carabiners, the spanking bench was
disassembled and safely disguised as a pair of end-tables and a footrest,
flowerpots were hanging from the spreader-bar in the window. All the toys were
in the wardrobe. A quick tug on the door of the 'wardrobe' confirmed it was
locked.
Star called out again, and she was satisfied that there was nothing visible
that she didn't want to explain “I'm in my bedroom, Sweetie. Come on in.” She
callled back.
“Really?” She hear in reply.
                                     ~o0o~
“I'm in my room, sweetie. Come on in.” Angie called back to her, a note of
concern in her voice.
“Really!?” Star had never been in the master bedroom. It was the only bedroom
that had a lock. She'd been tempted, many times, to use her wand to go snooping
but Rafe and Angie were too nice to be that rude to. She shuffled down the
hallway to the doorway and fumbled with the knob. The door wouldn't open. “I
think it's locked, Mrs. D.”
“It's a pull, not a push, Star.”
“Oh.” Star shuffled to the side, opening the door and walking in. She got her
first look at Rafe & Angie's room. It wasn't what she'd expected. The walls
were painted a deep, warm red and they were absolutely covered in things that
Raphael had carved, cast or painted wherever there wasn't a bookshelf. A fair
percentage of the artworks were representations of Angie. The knee-high
decorative molding matched the floor, dark brown hardwood polished to a mirror
sheen where it was visible. Faded, well worn persian rugs covered a good
portion of the floor. An old fashioned candle chandelier hung from the center
beam of the ridiculously high vaulted ceiling, and her eyes folloed the heavy
duty chain running through a pair of pulleys down to a decorative crank on one
wall. Each ceiling beam was painted with a fine tracery of green, the
occasional burst of other colors giving the illusion that flowering vines were
growing along them. The room was well lit, lamps in each corner and the sun
shining down on the burgundy sheets of the big, brass posted bed underneath the
window. It felt like walking into the heart of a campfire.
Angie was standing in front of an old, high-backed chair in one corner. Two
black-leather topped square stools flanked it, acting as makeshift end-tables.
“Oh, Star honey. How on earth did you manage that?” Angie asked, her hand
covering her mouth. Star appreciated the effort, but her dimples betrayed the
wide smile the auburn haired woman was trying valiantly to hide.
“I found them in the attic, and they were so pretty I had to play with them and
then my wrist got tangled and things got worse from there and then I tried to
magic my way out but my wand's been acting wonky and it just made things worse
and... I need help.” She finished quietly, realizing that she had been
babbling.
Angie had walked over, and was circling her to take in the extent of her
predicament. Star's heart pounded, and the shivery, tingly feeling intensified.
She was getting wet down there. “I still don't understand how you managed this
without breaking a single bulb. I'm not going to be able to undo all these
knots with them still in. Hold on a second.” Angie walked over to a shelf,
pulling out a small wooden box, and returned to her chair. She popped the box
down on one of the stools, pushed the footrest to the side and called Star
over. “Come here, Star.”
Star shuffled over and stood in front of her. “Now stand still while I take
theses bulbs off.” She quickly unscrewed the lights on Star's front, all except
the ones wrapped around her thighs. Angie grabbed her shoulders, turning her
around. “Lean your head forward, dear.” She told Star, her hands dividing
Star's long blond hair and pushing it over her shoulders.
Angie began to unscrew the colored lights from her back, dropping them in the
box and humming a little tune. Her fingers brushed against her back as she
worked and Star closed her eyes, sucking in her bottom lip. The gentle,
motherly touches shouldn't feel so good. She stifled a gasp when Angie's
fingers grazed her wings, and she prayed that her surrogate mom hadn't heard
it.
“So why isn't Marco helping you?” Angie asked her, having made her way to the
lights on the small of her back.
“'Cause my asshole ex-boyfriend, Tom Lucitor, the dork prince of the
underworld, showed up, uninvited, with tickets to the movie marathon he wanted
to go to tonight, and I got so angry I forgot to make Marco help me before he
left.” Star replied. The memory of her anger helped her voice stay steady.
“Marco went out and left you like this? I'm going to have to have a talk with
my little man.” Angie leaned back in her chair, sounding a little cross.
“I made him go, it's not his fault Mrs. Diaz.” Star insisted, defending her
friend.
“Star, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Angie?” She asked,
returning to her task.
“I can't, Mrs. D. My mom would kill me if she heard my call you by your
fir...first n..name.” Star stuttered. Was it just her fevered imagination, or
were Angie's fingers really lingering in their touches now? Her back was free
of lights, Angie was working on the ones on her bottom now, and the teasing
touches left her breathless.
“I was miss Phalange before I was Mrs. Diaz, Star, but I've always been Angie.
And as much as I respect your mother, her rules have no place in my bedroom.
Call me Angie. I insist.” Star wasn't going to argue with that voice. Not here.
Not now.
The only lights that were now left were on her thighs, and Star wasn't sure if
she was dreading or looking forward to Angie removing them. “All right,
An..Angie!” Star gasped and squeaked out the name. Angie had stuck her arm
between her slightly spread legs to unscrew the lights on her thighs, and as
her fingertips rubbed the sensitive skin of one thigh her wrist rubbed the
inside of the other. Star nearly toppled. Only Angie's other hand, looped
through the wires on he waist, kept her upright.
Angie's touches were lingering. Star could see them now. Each time she undid a
bulb she would pull her arm back through Star's legs, so slowly, to drop it in
the box, then push her arm back between them, raising the fabric of her dress.
The tantalizing torment made it so hard to stay still. She wanted to run, she
wanted to hide her face, she wanted to squeeze her legs around that arm and
ride it over the edge. She was so close.
And then, with a clink of glass, it was over. The last bulb was gone. Star
wanted to cry, to yell, she was so close and it was over, but she couldn't say
anything. Not without admitting everything. Angie's hands pressed down on her
shoulders, and Star sank to her knees in front of her chair, back pressed
against Angie's legs. Angie swept her hands though Star's hair, gathering it up
and coaxing it free from where it had tangled in the wires.
The gentle tugs on her hair had pulled Star's head back, tilting her face up to
look at the auburn-haired woman. Angie looked flushed. It had to be a trick of
the light reflecting off the red of the walls, the red of the bed-sheets, the
red of her hair, of her lips. This shouldn't be happening. I shouldn't be
thinking about Marco's mom this way. She wanted to kiss her.
“We're going to need to do something with this mane of yours before I can get
you loose. Do you want a simple braid, or should I take the time to make it
beautiful?” Angie asked.
Star wasn't paying attention. Angie's eyes were so green. She repeated the last
word she heard Angie say, the only word that seemed to matter. “Beautiful....”
Angie's answering smile only made her more beautiful.
 
End Notes
     And thus concludes another episode of "What the fuck is wrong with
     me?". Don't worry, more to come in a couple days. Angie's side of the
     story and more.
     A rough idea of the layout of Angie's bedroom can be found here. Some
     things are different, namely the design of the bed, but i tried to
     keep my mental picture close to this.
     *Edit: 1/16/18
     So I'm working on chapter 2 and I've hit a branch point in the story
     and can't decide what to do. Should Angie:
     (A) tease Star some more, set Star loose and then take out her
     (Angie's) sexual frustration on Rafael OR
     (B) Set Star loose, then tie Star up properly and fuck her brains
     out?
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