#'what are you doing to him?! let him go!' 'that's the dark magic you want. just let her go'

[literally-12]

DPxDC Summoning Gone Wrong

Hi! Long time reader, first time writer. Please don't hate me if it's not super in character. Also I know this trope is overdone but oh well. I was inspired by a text post by @phiniusandjelly

Constantine felt the shift in power instantaneously and all at once. It manifested itself in the form of a cold shiver that started at his hairline and seeped throughout his body bringing with it goosebumps and a cold sweat. Something was deeply wrong. No. Something had changed and unfortunately, as the Justice Leagues’ resident expert on the supernatural, he felt as though somehow he was going to be responsible for getting to the bottom of it. 

Getting all the right information and sigils took longer than he wanted and convincing the rest of the Earth’s mightiest that he hadn’t finally slipped and cracked the fragile state of his already questionable mind took nearly as long. Luckily, Constantine knew if he needed to, he could get tall, dark, and spooky to back him. 

“I’m telling you, Bats, there has been a very large and significant shift in the forgotten realms and it is in your best interest that we follow up with all the gravity that this situation requires”. Constantine took a deep drag of his cigarette, pointedly ignoring Bruce’s scowl as the tip flared in front of him. Magically stepping into the Bat Cave was not something any wise man would consider doing on even their worst days, but Constantine had never claimed to be wise. 

“Explain”. Grunted Bruce, never one to put too much stock in the occult.

“Here’s the thing, Brucie, we’re talking a massive shift in power, like king of the infinite realms being dethroned type of power. The forgotten realms operate on a combat inheritance and I had the misfortune of meeting Pariah Dark once and he was about as unpleasant and violent of a bloke as they come” he flicked the ash onto the cave floor, beginning to pace, he hoped his unsettled demeanor would enforce the severity of the situation. “The one good thing about Dark was that he tended to mind his own business and stick to his dimension but now we’re dealing with an unknown. An unknown and immensely powerful being who could, if they wanted to, unravel the threads of our very reality”. He sensed more than saw Bruce’s eyebrows furrow, just a fraction of a centimeter, he was sure, but that was enough to let Constantine know that he was being taken seriously now. 

“I propose we bring this new king in and figure out their whole schtick. It’s going to be dangerous but it’s better to know what we’re dealing with in this sort of situation, maybe we can even make a deal, plead for our continued existence and all that.”

“You want to bring an exceedingly powerful, extra dimensional being into our universe and trap them to try and make a deal?” Batman grunted, his mind already racing through the many, many ways that this plan could go incredibly sideways. 

“Think of the children, Bruce, that’s your whole thing, right? You don’t want your gaggle of deplorable orphans growing up and adopting even more sad and blue eyed children in a world that no longer exists”. 

“What’s the probability that you can actually contain this all powerful being?” Constantine tossed the butt of his cigarette on the ground and crushed it under his heel, pulling out a second and bringing it to his lips. One look from the Bats and he sighed, putting it back in the carton. 

“Optimistically? Eighty percent”. 

“Realistically?” 

“You’re such a buzzkill. Sixty five at best”. The dead-pan he received in lieu of a reply told him that even though the plan would be going forward, Bruce was anything but happy. 

When the summoning came about, it was an all hands on deck situation. The sigils were drawn and checked and rechecked and then checked a third time just for giggles. The writing was done in some viscous red liquid that Bruce was hoping was paint. The red circle was about five feet in diameter and smack in the middle of the conference room at the watchtower. The symbols were not in any language that Bruce could recognize but even without a magical bone in his body, he could feel the power radiating from them. 

“Everybody ready?” Asked Constantine, gesturing for them to stand back, he held a thick, weathered tome in his left hand, flipped to a seemingly random page. At confirmation from the gathered heroes, he began to chant. 

The atmosphere changed immediately. The first thing that Bruce noticed was the sudden drop in temperature. Ice crystals began to form in the center of the now glowing circle, snaking their way lazily out towards the perimeter in hypnotizing patterns, the very air in the room also changed dramatically, becoming charged with the smell of ozone and the feeling of lightning about to strike. Every hair on his body stood at rigid attention. He looked at Constantine who now sported a grimace but did not halt his chanting, his tone began to take on an echo, seeming to come from all around him, words overlapping as his face was lit up by an eerie red glow. Bruce had half a mind to call the whole endeavor off as all their shadows began to defy logic and stretch towards the glowing sigils. His teeth gritted, he tried to move, tried to say anything but found himself powerless to move, beginning to drastically regret his choice of allowing Constantine to invite this being into their universe, he debated closing his eyes as a sense of unease washed over him and with the electricity in the room seeming to reach a breaking point, with a loud pop, suddenly everything stopped. 

The quiet and the light that returned to the room was almost as jarring as the whole summoning ritual and when Bruce’s eyes refocused on the circle in the center of the room, he was shocked to see a teenage boy floating there. He had snow white hair that seemed like it couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to gravity, floating as though he was underwater and being pulled by a gentle current. His glowing green eyes were wide and he looked almost as shocked as the team by him appearing in the room. 

“Who are you?” demanded Constantine, never once putting down his thick book. The teen tilted his head, seeming to consider the question. 

“Shouldn’t you know that? Considering you’re the one who called me here and all that. These sigils don’t just say 1-800-dial-a-ghost, you know” his voice further enunciated his youth, however it had a weird, echoey quality, sounding almost as if he was talking directly into Bruce’s ear. He pulled his legs up underneath him, sitting criss crossed midair, looking entirely too relaxed at the situation.

“Answer the question, specter” Constantine demanded, “we’re not fooled by this guise you put on”. To this, the being frowned and flipped upside down. 

“You mean my outfit? I thought it was pretty chic but then again, I wasn’t necessarily given the opportunity to pick out my death day fit, it was just sort of chosen for me”. He gestured at the black and silver jumpsuit he was wearing that betrayed his slight frame. 

“Constantine…” Superman spoke up for the first time, taking a step closer to the man. “He’s just a kid”. 

“That’s what the bugger wants you to think.” the man grit out “you think a being this powerful can’t do something as minute as changing his appearance to try to get us to drop our guards?” Clark looked torn but resumed his place in the line of heroes behind the occultist. 

“Listen to big blue, I’m just a harmless kid!” said the floating being, flashing a pearly white set of teeth that were just on the wrong side of being too sharp. 

“Bullshit! We know you’re the new king of the infinite realms. Play nice and we’ll let you go back to doing whatever it is you do in your dimension. We just want to know what the terms of your rule are.” 

“Oh, that” he flipped himself back upright and floated closer to Constantine, as he approached the perimeter of the trap, the sigils on the floor glowed brighter at his presence. Hesitantly, with one hand he reached out a finger, jerking it back a red spark zapped the tip. Sticking it in his mouth, in pain, he managed to talk around the digit saying “you know, this meeting could’ve been an email” pulling his finger out and giving his hand a test shake, he narrowed his eyes at the man in front of him. “Plus, isn’t it only polite that you introduce yourself first? I am a guest.”

“While you are here, you are our guest,” said Batman diplomatically, “we intend to extend all proper grace to you while you are in our presence. They call me Batman”. 

The teen snorted. 

“Yeah, I sort of gathered that by the whole bat symbol and pointy ears thing you’ve got going on”. He held his fingers up on either side of his head in a mimicry of Batman’s cowl. “I was talking about Mr. all powerful British magic man over here”. He stuck his hand out again, clearly not having learned his lesson, he withdrew it with a hiss as the invisible barrier sparked again. 

“There’s no escape for you, your highness, these sigils are specially made to contain any ghost within them” Constantine sounded smug. “You’re just going to hurt yourself by trying”. 

The child in the circle mouthed ‘any ghost’ mockingly, but floated backwards towards the center of the circle. Batman sighed, seems like he’s going to have to have all the manners around here. 

“John Constantine, Superman, Wonder Woman” he pointed at each of his teammates as he went. “And what name should we refer to you with?” 

Without moving his eyes from the man in the trenchcoat, the kid began to smile, just a little too widely for Bruce to feel comforted. 

“They call me Phantom”, he said off handedly, “Constantine, you say?” The man in question narrowed his eyes. “You know I have a full file cabinet stuffed with paperwork for you, I was hoping we would get the pleasure of meeting. I would’ve gotten it to you sooner but there's surprisingly a lot of work that has to happen in the first few days of a new reign”. He put his feet back firmly on the conference room floor. “If you’ll just allow me to go grab that, we can get started post haste!” He was way too chipper for anyone to be talking about paperwork. 

“So you are the new ghost king then” Constantine said accusationally, narrowing his eyes. “And we’re not letting you leave until we know what your intentions are with this dimension”

“Yeah, yeah” said Phantom. “You don’t have to ‘let’ me do anything. I know how you occultists work. You made one mistake though in this whole summoning slash kidnapping scheme”. With that, a blinding white light overtook the teen, forcing everyone to look aside to save their sight. When they looked back, Phantom had changed his appearance, gone was the ethereal floating white hair, replaced with normal, albeit messy black. His jumpsuit was also gone, replaced by a deceptively normal looking NASA hoodie and jeans with tears in the knees. 

Constantine’s eyes widened as he took in this new sight, he began to flip rapidly through his spell book, as Bruce watched the boy take one step forward, and then two, and then with a graceful hop, he was outside of the circle. 

“This circle only holds in ghosts” and with a devilish smile and another flash of brillant light, he was gone. On the floor where he had been standing only moments before, was a thick stack of loose leaf papers written in a language Bruce couldn’t decipher, text glowing an eerie green. On top of the stack was a post it note with messily scrawled handwriting. ‘Please return completed paperwork to the infinite realms ℅ Phantom at your earliest convenience’ another flash and another post it note ‘also I come in peace- Phantom’. 

Batman, as well as the others turned to Constantine to watch him drop his head into his hands, his large book tumbling to the side. He didn’t even protest when the man pulled out and lit another cigarette. 

“You have a lot of explaining to do” was all he said.

[sunseed-fandump]

OH MY GOD WIZARD MY BABY BOYYY 😭😭😭

why couldnt that town just listen to his side??? I mean- he DID save them from all getting eaten! If the reaper had left and reported back to the other minions, they wouldn't have stopped until NONE of them were safe! Wizard did what he had to so he could save himself and the town- how could he have known there would be a little collateral?? (Even if some cookies were crumbled.. its better than ALL of them right..?)

Although this does make me wonder.. do gingerbrave and wild strawberry know about all this? If so- what were their reactions to learning about it? And.. does alchemist cookie regret what she did that day? Or does she stand by her decision to cast out her best friend?

Sorry for the long ask- that story just lit a flame under me (pun intended) and i had to get my thoughts and questions out

Well, it was a matter of caution for them. Users of Dark Magic aren't exactly known for their benevolence, and Wizard was already seeming a bit unhinged in that moment. Would you rather risk letting him go and him going full on psycho at a later date? Or play it safe and detain him and/or kick him out? They were already in the middle of an emergency situation, there wasn't much time to dwaddle on technicalities.

Dark Magic always comes at a price. And the town didn't want to be the ones to pay it.

As for Gingerbrave and Strawberry, yes they are aware of Wizard's previous incident. Actually, it was the rumors being spread about him that caused Gingerbrave to seek him out in the first place! He figured someone that destructive could absolutely help bust him out of the castle. Meanwhile, Wild Strawberry thinks the level of chaos was decent "for a rookie". Don't forget, she time-hopped quite a bit and caused a fair share of her own destruction! So something like destroying a town doesn't really bother her.

And in the case of Alchemist? Well... She says she doesn't regret it, but Vampire (who got out fine btw. he turned into a bat and was small enough to remain safe) can tell the whole thing had an effect on her. They live in Parfaedia in this AU, surrounded by all sorts of different magic-users, but Alchemist hasn't been able to make a connection like Wizard ever since. It's why he kept the picture. He knows she misses him, but she's refusing to admit it.

(When the wanted posters go up, he can't help but get concerned.)

[goldenboywrites]

Apollo leaned heavily on Isaac, listening to him, and then Cassio as he filled him in on what he had missed. No one had answered why he was missing the last few hours, but it didn’t matter. There was a higher priority. Theo was a higher priority. He hated missing pieces of his memory, mainly because Cassio kept struggling to hold his gaze, and Apollo couldn’t even figure out what could have happened to cause that. He would fix things with Cassio later. Apollo had a one-track mind, and it was set on revenge right now. 

He had grown up with the same type of man Theo did. He knew what kind of monster his biological father was because Apollo’s father was the same. They were always the same, meaning he wouldn’t give up until he found Theo again. Men like that rarely let their victims get away. This wasn’t a situation Apollo could go to the Aurors about; if he brought it to their attention, he would lose Theo once they ran their DNA and realized they weren’t related. No. A situation like this needed to be handled silently for the safety of everyone in the room. 

His magic raged through his body, demanding he act now. His mind consumed his need for revenge and blood to keep his family safe. But if Apollo stormed off in front of them, they would stop or follow him. He couldn’t have that. “I think you two should stay in the guest room tonight. Oliver is drained, and this way, Isaac can help heal him. And if anything happens, then we’re all here to protect Theo. At least, until we can track down his biological father.” He wouldn’t need more than a night to neutralize that threat. He didn’t look at Cassio as he crossed the living room to Theo, knowing the blonde could read him. Hopefully, with Oliver hurt, Cassio would only have eyes for his boyfriend and not meddle in Apollo’s plans. 

He cradled the little boy in his arms, cradling him against his chest. Theo turned his head into Apollo’s chest, seeking his warmth and protection. “You’re safe now,” He whispered to the boy, kissing his mop of brown hair. “You’re safe forever.” 

“I’ll settle Theo down for the night and then set about creating protection and detection wards around the house,” he said to the room as he made his way to the stairs. He needed to keep them busy if he would slip away from them. “Isaac will help you get Oliver up to the guest room and will assist in healing him. There are far too many wounds for you to handle alone. When everyone is fully rested tomorrow, we can reconvene and figure out what to do next.” By then, Theo’s dad would no longer be a threat. He would be dead. 

Apollo didn’t wait for them to agree; he went up the stairs and into his and Isaac’s room, setting the little boy down in the middle of their bed. He brushed back his hair from his eyes, feeling wetness on his cheeks as he looked at him. He blinked the tears from his eyes, brushing his fingers along the curve of the child’s jaw. He had never wanted another child to go through what he had growing up. He didn’t want Theo to grow up making the same choices he had, living the same life of distrust Apollo had. And he was furious at Alexandria for not contacting him before it was too late. He could have saved her if she had told him. If he had known. Why had she only trusted him when it was too late?

He wiped his face and then set to work, boxing Theo in with pillows so he wouldn’t roll off the bed. Then he went to the closet, pushing back clothes and boxes until he found the invisible, hidden hatch that would only react to his touch. He pulled out a set of clothes, attire spelled to react like armor, the same ones he had used when he was back at university doing the bidding of dark wizards. There wasn’t much need for the clothing these days unless he was set out to extinguish a threat, but it was comforting to keep them close by. For nights like this.

Isaac was at his side the second time he slipped. Truly this day had to be in the books for a record of some kind. Plenty were being broken that day. His fingers twitched before he placed his hands on him but this time he was certain that there wasn't a chance of him being subjected to his magic again. No, things had gone from bad to worse and the babe was none the wiser. And off all of them in that room, he was the one that was going to tell Apollo exactly how their lives were about to change because they decided to choose each other rather than letting his betrothal go through as their parents had intended. His gaze slid to Oliver and Cass and he knew he had to.

"We cas' the spell." Isaac spoke softly, seeing blood smears on the fabric and he immediately bristled. Keep it together. "Well, Oli'va' did." His gaze lingering all over his partner until he found the source of the blood on his hand. He was gentle but quick with rooting through his hair to see exactly how bad it was. Thankfully it looked relatively clean and no more than an inch or so. He'd be okay but that had to be fixed now. Fingers gently moved to the spot and he muttered softly under his breath, watching as his words spoke action into existence. "Theo wasn' safe where he was an' Alex knew tha' sendin' him he'e would be best."

Apollo's skin slowly stitched itself together as he watched and Isaac breathed out slowly. His arms wrapped around Apollo tightly and he just held him. There was so much insanity he just needed to be grounded to him in that moment. And especially before he went on. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Cass whispering in Oliver's ear. He couldn't make it out but decided that maybe that wasn't for him. They deserve privacy too. Cassio did. He knew he was close with Alexandra, if for no other reason than the man under his touch at that moment.

"His real da' was abusive an' she was very sca'ed." His tone was even but quiet, his now bloody fingers motioned towards the pair on the floor and winced seeing his friend like that. He could only imagine how that could translate to a body nearly a quarter his size. Isaac's stomach flipped and he decided that whatever hell was coming would be worth it. "She knew tha' we would ta'e care o' him." His lip started to quiver then and he grew quiet. His eyes drifted to the little form of Theo laying on that floor as if he were always meant to be there. "He's ... he's stayin' with us." There wasn't room for discussion that front. Whatever questions he had he could ask Oliver but Isaac wrapped his arms around the man and held him as tight as he could manage. "'m so sorry." He whispered, kissing the soft spot under his ear just ever so slightly.

Cass stared at the little boy's sleeping face and found himself oddly envious in that moment. He wondered for a moment if anyone had ever took the time to watch him sleep when he was younger. He felt Oliver flinch under him as his shoulder bumped into his and Cass finally pulled back. His hands immediately reaching for his face to wipe way any sign that he'd cried or let the frustration truly take over. Because for once, this wasn't his fault. It wasn't because of something he and Apollo were involved in but it seriously made him question what they were doing. He'd been questioning it for a while but today was enough to know that it was enough.

"She's dead, Apollo." He spoke plainly, pulling his gaze from the boy and finally holding Apollo's gaze then. His fingers gently rubbed over Oliver's arm and he sighed out, feeling the air hit his face and he let another tear go. "She got him out but .." He trailed off, not really knowing where they were meant to go from that moment. There'd been some bombshells but the blonde had had his fill for the rest of his life so far as he was concerned.

[valentine-cafe]

Reluctant help with Alessio 164 and Mama moth!

Imagine Mama was flying by a forest in search for some mushrooms after hearing there will be a huge snow storm! So she needs to get some while she can. However, it seemed she had miscalculated when it will happen, cause as she's picking some out, she can feel the immense chill of the snow already creeping in.

Alarmed, she takes as many as she can and tries to fly away. However the chill had caught up, and as a moth- no matter of divinity, is in deep shit as they cannot stand the cold. So she flies around to find shelter and she comes across Emerald's home.

She doesn't want to ask him for help, she shouldn't! They're on opposite sides!!! But, it's either the winter or him. With a deep sigh she flies over and knocks on the door. A frown on her face is what greets him.

"Look, I wasn't expecting to... suddenly visit you. But it's really cold and my wings won't hold me up longer. So...if you'd be so kind, may I crash here until the storm lessens?"

(If you want to add in that this happens after the lil steamy night they had to add in more embarrassment then go ahead but y'all don't need to)

-🌕

˖⁺. ﹙ corrupt sorcerer god  x gn moth god reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . look what we have here !! 🍒 :  sorcerer ˖corrupt god character﹙ verse 164 alessio. ﹚

you made a bad decision to go out in the freezing cold. so you stop and ask your rival if he can shelter you 

"My, and what do we have here?"

The lilt to his voice tightens your fist. If he were not your last hope, surely you would have collided your knuckles straight into that infuriatingly charming smile of his.

Where does he get the audacity?

Alessio seems to read your train of thought. Especially with the way he leans into the cottage doorway. What a lovely home for a being from the depths of darkness.

With his head tilted to the side, one of his black horns adorned in gold chains and emerald jewels nears your face pulled into stoicism. You cannot help but admire him for his appearance. Black robes paired with golds and greens certainly suited the rhytaari of magic itself.

"Do not patronise me." You manage to jitter out. Teeth clambering from the bite of cold that quivers your wings. You swallow your pride and any more bitter words, your gaze lowered.

"If you can offer your aid it would be most appreciated. If not, I would rather you are outright. I prefer not to meddle with your sadistic games."

Silence creeps over, just as frost crawls along the glass of the cottage's windows. A cold reminder of the horrors you might face should you wander back into the woods in this weather.

Why should you expect warmth from him? Your own words speak truth. He is a sadi —

Velvet graces you beneath the chin. Long, dark claws dip below your jaw and raise you to face him. So that you meet emerald hues hung like crescents and a sinister smile that admittedly throbs your heart.

"I am not cruel enough to let a poor, defenceless creature scamper through my woods." The sharp claw at his thumb prods at your chin and with a swift, elegant tug, he jerks your head closer.

Smiling fangs. Crooning cruelty.

"Yet. I do think you would look absolutely stunning if you begged."

[thethiefandtheairbender]

endless list of otps: (remake) Callum and Rayla, The Dragon Prince

Rayla, I was wrong. I waited too long. I hope you know—I know.

[vaguely-concerned]

more for the garashir fairytale grab bag AU I am never going to actually write: garak knows exactly what would break his curse from the start, he just never tells anyone for the longest time b/c he's so sure it could never happen

(it's asking forgiveness, of course. he thinks it's tain's forgiveness he needs, and tain is fucking dead and knew he would be by the time garak woke up so it seems the perfect unbreakable parting fuck-you revenge curse. and garak would expect nothing less from his father than that, so he's resigned to dwindling away painfully. enter julian bashir and his fierce force-of-nature compassion (and also secret illicit immense magical powers) with a steel chair!!! to go 'OH YEAH??? we'll see about that', as you might expect. oh. OH necromancer-ish julian calling tain's ghost up to ask him about what the hell he did and how to undo it, ala his gambit to go see him the wire? and the knowledge he gains from that is what confirms garak's suspicions as to what is Up with this handsome young healer mage because it could be known only by those long dead. cue east of the sun west of the moon part of the narrative once julian understands his game is up and runs away??

anyway getting some true love's kissing in by the end of it all is just a nice bonus it's not needed like strictly magically for either of their situations lol)

[larluce]

I don't know if I got the whole idea right, but what I understood is that Merlin can go back in time to any of the times he died when he dies, but he believes he is dreaming. Which is a very creative concept, especially because Merlin would be creating a lot of alternative timelines without knowing.

In my head these are all the times Merlin would come back too, because, without knowing, Merlin actually died and came back to life instead of "surviving":

Series 1

"The Poisoned Chalice" - Nimueh's poison

"The Gates of Avalon" - Sidhe blast of magic directed at him.

"Le Morte d'Arthur" - Nimueh's fireball

Series 3

"The Tears of Uther Pendragon" - Serket

Series 4

"The Darkest Hour" - Frozen to death

"A Servant of Two Masters" - Fatal wound

Series 5

"Arthur's Bane" - Brain concussion/internal bleeding.

"The Hallow Queen" - Fatal wound/poison

"The Kindness of Strangers" - Fatal wound

What I would add (or change, since, again, I'm not sure I got all the prompt correctly) is that when Merlin comes back to any of those times he died and then dies again, the Merlin from that original timeline comes back and would be all confused because there's this mental gap where he apparently acted like a complete different person. That is if Merlin from the future doesn't decide to stay in that timeline, but since he keeps believing he's dreaming I guess he wouldn't cause he doesn't know he has the choice to stay.

The thing is, since Merlin believes he's dreaming, he just do what he wants, like he doesn't bother lying anymore.

After he comes back to life in "The Kindness of Strangers"

Merlin: (arriving)

Arthur: Where have you been?! 😡

Merlin: (deadpans) Dying.

Arthur: Very funny.

Merlin: (Shows his wound)

Arthur: What the- 😨 What happened?! Are you alright?! (Checks Merlin, worried)

Merlin: (deadpans again) I'm fine, the dragon healed me.

Arthur: The dragon?

Merlin: Oh, yeah. You didn't kill the dragon. It's still alive.

Arthur: WHAT?! 😱

Merlin: (gives Arthur the little box Finna gave him) Here, it's a prophesy that says you will die at Camlann. Don't ever go there.

Arthur: What are you even talking about?! Have you gone insane?!

Merlin: Yeah, I don't think it matters, you're not real and you have never believed me anyways. (Looks at Arthur with nostalgia) You are still as handsome as I remember though.

Arthur: Wha...what? 😳

Merlin: (smiles) I missed you a lot, prat. It's good to be here. Now, if you excuse I'll go greet Gaius and Gwen, I've missed them too. (Leaves)

Arthur: (startles out of his shock) Wait! Merlin! (Runs after him)

After he comes back to life in "The Hollow Queen"

Merlin: (out of nowhere) Your Queen is enchanted.

Arthur: What?! 😨

Enchanted Gwen: (giggles) Oh, that's a good one Merlin.

Merlin: (still deadpaning) I'm not joking. Morgana brainwashed you when you were in the dark tower and now has you under her control. Also, Gwen doesn't even laugh like that. Girl keep up.

Arthur: Merlin! 😠

Merlin: Yeah, whatever. Believe what you want. I'm leaving. (Leaves)

Gwen: Are you going to let him disrespect me like that?! 😡

Arthur: I'm sure he's just-

Gwen: I want him executed inmediatly! 😤

Arthur: ...

Arthur: Okay, maybe you are indeed enchanted.

And it goes on and on. Merlin also doesn't bother hiding his magic anymore in each timeline so we get multiple magic reveals and multiples Arthurs that have to come to terms with his best friend being a sorcerer and feeling guilty once they learn what Merlin has done for them. Multiple Arthurs that fell in love with Merlin and have to watch him die just for Merlin to resurrect with no memories of the last few weeks or months.

It's valentines, i know, but i'm aroace and therefore not bound to the conventions of love! Have some hurt minimal comfort!

Concept idea:

Overkill potential

After Arthur's death Merlin waits. He waits a long time until all those he called family are dead, their descendents having forgotten their existence, the walls of camelot crumbled to ruins despite his best attempts to prevent it. So Merlin tries to follow Arthur, he lets himself sink to the bottom of Avalon lake, he knows he can't die but he wants to rest. Slowly air leaves his lungs, his vision blurrs until it fades to black, his ears ring. And then nothing. Silence.

His lungs draw in air and he sits up. His body feels too hot and too cold, his muscles stiff and joints aching but not from age like he has grown used to, instead from sickness and disuse.

"Gaius? Gwen?", he whispers as he sees Gwen, his queen, his first friend in Camelot, hug Gaius, his mentor and father figure. They flinch.

Suddenly Gwen has her arms slung around him, her lips meet his. He freezes. Gwen draws back, biting her lip and shaking her head. At least they both agree how kissing isn't for them.

"Merlin! You're alive!" Gaius patts his shoulder before ruffling his hair. "We feared the worst."

And suddenly Merlin understands. He is reliving his memories. After Nimueh had tried to kill him, his first encounter with death, this exact thing happened. He is just dreaming because his body is unable to properly come to life yet. It's okay. He can see his friends for a bit.

"Don't worry, I'm very bad at following orders, even when they come from the universe itself." Gaius gives him an odd look. That hasn't happened before... maybe his brain is adjusting the dream based on his actions and his knowledge of the people around him? Probably. Most likely.

Because none of this could be real. He studied magic, time travel was impossible. He checked. He could make time slower and faster but reverse its flow or stop it? No. Not even he could force time to do that. So it must be a dream. Of course it's a dream.

Yeah... it's not a dream. Every time he dies he creates basically a safe file, depending on how often the next death could kill a normal human he reverts back in files (>1 death potential) or stays in the same (1 death potential). The drowning thing? Given he didn't resurface? Very big death/overkill potential. Flinging him all the way back to his first death. Nimueh's poison. And how is Merlin supposed to explain that to anyone? Therefore hurt cuz Merlin dies a lot and believes it all to be a dream. Minimal comfort because he gets to see his friends!

[acourtofquestions]

Dont be angry, Finnula said. Be smart.

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 23rd. tom riddle — wet dreams, house rivals.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: tom’s been infiltrating your dreams, and you decide it’s time to call him out on it.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNIIII, coercion!!!!, dark!tom, mind manipulation, religious undertones, gryffindor!reader, enemies if you squint, fingering, squirting, begging, dream sex, tom riddle is his own warning, so much praise, dirty talk, verbal sparring.

You've never been a heavy sleeper. Even as a child, the smallest sound—a creak in the floorboards, a shift in the walls—would jolt you awake. For years, you chalked it up to some ingrained survival instinct, some form of trauma response to whatever part of your childhood still haunts you. You got used to it.

But lately, it isn't sound that’s been waking you. It isn't movement or foundation shifts, either. It's the dreams.

Dreams—strange, lucid, intense dreams of him. Always him. Dreams that make you feel like you're drowning, like you're flying, like you've found a new level of intoxication that you'd never imagined possible—and each time the dreams wake you up, the sheets (and whatever bottoms you may have been wearing) are always soaked, and your thighs are always shaking.

It's maddening.

They feel too real to be anything but a violation, his presence bleeding into your subconscious regardless of how much you try to fight it. You know it means something is wrong. You'd tried to rationalize yourself into going back to sleep, telling yourself it's just hormones or some form of stress, but you're too smart to believe your own excuses.

You know it's more than that.

He's haunting you in your sleep—in the most unexpected way. The dreams are always lucid enough that you can feel it—you can feel him—his mouth on yours, his hands on your hips, his dick bullying your fucking cervix and his magic on your clit—leaving behind nothing but hunger. Hunger that's so intense it makes you want him in a way it almost scares you.

You tell yourself you hate him, you've always hated him—but denial only lasts for so many days, as you realize you can't look at him or talk to him without the dreams forcing their way to the forefront of your mind, making you remember the feelings and the sensations and how much, despite hating him, you want them to be real.

You wanted to believe it would pass. That this was nothing but a phase, a trick of your overactive mind. But deep down, you knew the truth. Tom Riddle has wormed his way into your head, into your dreams—out of spite—and he's not letting go.

So after a hell of a week of this—with damn near zero hours of sleep—you decide to seek him out. To put an end to this madness. Once and for all.

It takes every ounce of courage and Gryffindor-like reckless bravery you can scrape together just to go through with it, but somehow you do. Somehow, you make it across the castle, make it to his door. You're in your pyjamas, for Merlin's sake. It's 1 a.m., and the slick still coating your thighs from what had to have been your tenth lucid orgasm in a matter of a week is a humiliating reminder of why you're even here at all.

And when the door opens, you have the strange feeling that he's been expecting you, even as he makes a great show of acting surprised to see you, looking you up and down with a lazy, smug glance that makes your pulse quicken so viscerally you lose the last shred of sanity you were pathetically clinging to—

"What the fuck—" you prowl forward without hesitation, forcing him a step back into the room. "—are you doing to me?"

Even if you're not imagining some form of surprise in that smug little smirk, he does his best not to let it show.

"Me?" He says, all pretend innocence, flicking his hand out to shut the door behind you with some spell you don't care to name. "You'll have to be more specific."

You glare at him, refusing to acknowledge how unfairly attractive he looks in just sweatpants and an oversized shirt—because of course, even casual looks like this are a weapon in his arsenal.

"Cut the bullshit, Riddle," you snap, and you're not sure if it's your lack of sleep or some form of desperation-fuelled bravery, but you're suddenly invading his personal space, poking an accusing finger into his shoulder. "You're fucking haunting me—"

He blinks. "I’m haunting you. And how am I doing that?”

There's a part of you that knows it's a trap—that this is probably exactly what the smug bastard in front of you has been wanting, but your brain is so deprived of sleep and your body is so starved of respite that you decide 'fuck it'—you want answers, and you're going to get them.

"You're in my dreams," you say, bluntly, forcing an exhale alongside it. "You've been in them every night for a week straight. I haven't slept a bloody minute."

That's when it happens—the tiniest flash of amusement in his eyes, so brief you might've missed it if you weren't ready to tear his fucking throat out.

"You're accusing me of giving you dreams?" He asks, in a tone that makes you want to grab him by the front of his shirt and make him cut the bullshit, and you can't tell how much of your own expression is irritation and how much is lust. "You think I've somehow managed to invade your mind?"

"Don't be condescending," you spit, trying to focus on the spot between his eyebrows that makes the heat in your core roar the least, "and don't act like you're incapable. As much as I can't bloody stand you, we both know damn well your mind magic is strong enough to do this to me—"

"Mind magic," he echoes with an amused snort, "you think I'm doing some kind of mind magic to invade your dreams, is that it?"

He's so damn good at this, you think—infuriatingly good. The way he's playing it off like the idea is absurd, completely laughable—

"Fucking precisely.” You can't hide the heat from your voice. You don't care to try. "These aren't just dreams. They're—they're strong. I feel you. Your hands, your tongue, your—"

Dick. You can't even bring yourself to say it.

And the bastard just smirks, like he's reading your mind anyway. Like he knows. That glimmer in his eyes—arrogant, insufferable—only confirms it.

"Hm," he says with something bored, running a hand through his hair. "Your subconscious—"

"It's not a bloody subconscious thing," you cut him off, uninterested in whatever bullshit he was about to feed you. "It's you. You're invading my dreams—I feel you—my body fucking feels you—"

He laughs at that. Like some sick, sadistic freak. He actually laughs—

"Listen to yourself." He says, with a mocking tone that makes you want to shove him. "Are you that desperate to hate me that you're pinning your dreams on me?"

"Hate doesn't even begin to cover it," you spit, stepping closer, your frustration boiling over. He shifts slightly, his back brushing the wall. "You've got a hell of an ego, but even you have to know this isn't something I'd want. I wouldn't put you in my dreams willingly if you paid me to do it—"

He hums, smirk never faltering, if anything it fucking grows at the tirade.

"You've been dreaming of me for a week," he points out, coolly, as if this is the most casual conversation in the world. "And now, here you are—standing in my dorm in the middle of the night, dressed like this." He takes a step toward you, now. "Do you know what that's called, sweetheart?"

Your lungs hitch at the pet name. Your mind is at war with your cunt and it's losing—

"Delirium?" You choke out, noticing another flash of something in his eyes as the gap between you closes. "Insomnia? Sleep deprivation?"

He gives you a mocking arch of the eyebrow.

"No," he says, in a tone that makes you seethe. "It's called obsession."

"Oh. The irony," you can't help but hiss at him, heart pounding because he's in your space and you're in his and this shouldn't be getting to you the way it is. "It's rich, coming from you, that you'd put that on me when—when you've been mindfucking me every goddamn night—"

"Mindfucking you?" He repeats, almost lazily, as his gaze drops, sweeping over you—your pyjamas, the clear lack of bra, the flush creeping up your neck. "Is that what you think I've been doing? You think—"

The way he doesn't even deny it—doesn't argue the accusation—makes your blood boil in a way you can't control.

"It's the only explanation. You've been—you've been—" you cut him off but your sentence falters because his gaze is moving so deliberately, dragging over you like he's cataloging your weaknesses, and the anger curdles into something raw and desperate. "God, Tom, I just need it to stop. I'm so fucking tense and tired. I'm so wound I can't even focus—I'm wet all the time—"

His eyes snap up to meet yours at that, and he gives you a look you can't even begin to interpret. You bite your tongue, realizing the words that left your mouth just a moment too late to pull them back, and you know you've lost the upper hand in this, somehow. You feel the ground slipping from under you and you hate the way your body shivers as he takes another slow, deliberate, step forward.

"Is that what you are?” He wets his lips. "You've come all the way here, in the dead of night, in your pyjamas, half out of your mind with exhaustion because you're wet. Isn't that right?"

You know better than to answer, though you feel yourself walking straight into the trap he's set.

"Piss off," you snap, but the bravado in your voice is paper-thin as he takes another step forward. He's so close now that his scent overwhelms you—leather and spice, something sharp and smoky that makes your head spin. You recognize it, of course you do; it's the same as in your dreams, and the familiarity makes your knees feel unsteady. "You're—"

"Don't act so offended," he leans closer, his voice a low murmur, quiet, almost silky as it wraps around you, and suddenly you barely remember what you were so pissed off about. "You can't even deny it. I made you cum tonight, didn't I? In your dreams."

Your teeth grit. "You know you did—"

He takes one more step and now you're backed right up against his desk—and gods, Tom's tall, so much taller than you—and it feels like he's looming over you, caging you in.

"Mhm." There's a flash of triumph in his eyes as you lose your words. He leans down, breath grazing your ear just as he brings two fingers to your temple, pressing the pads against it. "Let's watch, shall we?"

Watc—oh no.

A cold sense of dread washes over you as you catch on to what he's insinuating, merely a second too late—

"Tom—"

He whispers something, something that pulls you under, and the next thing you know—in a flash of consciousness you didn't even consider possible—you're staring at yourself inside a dream you remember all too well. A dream sequence where you're moaning and trembling beneath him, your head thrown back, eyes rolling in unabashed pleasure as he drives into you, hips snapping with thrust after thrust after thrust—

And it's one thing to have felt it in the safety of your dreams, in the dead of night when you woke slick and desperate, clenching around nothing. But this—this is visceral. You can't look away because it's projecting inside your mind: the flush blooming across your chest, the arch of your back, the way your lips part with every desperate breath. You hear the obscene sounds spilling from your mouth, mingling with his low, guttural grunts—and worst of all, you can feel it.

You can feel every ounce of pleasure he's giving you, as if he's giving it to you now.

"Mm," you hear him hum from infront of you—it's too much—you're lost in the memory, the dream, and it's a strange, voyeuristic, intimate experience to watch yourself and him like that. "You're worse off than I thought."

You’re gripping the wood of his desk so hard your fingertips are numb, heart flying out of the room as his hand slowly slides from your temple down to your jaw, holding you in place—

"Stop it." You manage to hiss at him, trying to force some semblance of control back into yourself—the last thing you need is to start melting against this bastard. "Tom—"

"You feel that?" He murmurs, breath brushing your neck, and you can't even focus on anything but the sensations he's forcing through your memory—seeing him above you, feeling him inside you. "You do, don't you? This is exactly what you've been feeling all week, isn't it?"

You want to snap at him, cuss him out, but oh god—

"Damn you," you hiss, even as his hands slide down to your hips—and it almost feels as if he's touching you twice, as if there are two sets of hands on your body. "Fuck, Tom—"

"Mm, you look good from this angle," he murmurs, and you fucking keen as you watch, in your mind, his hands slide over your stomach, pushing up your shirt and exposing your tits, groping as he fucks you. You keen as you feel it. "You love this, don't you? You want this."

"I—" you gasp, trying to convince him, or yourself, or goddamn anyone. Still fighting some invisible battle between resistance and submission because you hate that he's right. "I—god, what are you doing to me—"

"What am I doing to you?" He whispers, and you're not sure if the question is rhetorical, or if he's giving you permission to ask it. "I'm not doing anything that you aren't letting me do."

Your knees feel like they're about to buckle, and it's taking all your strength just to stay standing because the pleasure playing out in your mind is pouring into your veins and you can't even fathom how it's possible but you can't do anything to fight it—

"Oh, god—" you moan, unbridled, your physical body slumping back onto the desk as you feel the slick between your thighs, growing with every goddamn thrust. "Oh my god—"

He takes the opportunity of you slumped back against the desk and instantly leans down, bringing his lips to your ear—

"Not even god could keep your legs underneath you." His hand creeps up your thigh. "You're helpless."

"Helpless," you repeat, with a shaky gasp, and you hate how much the word turns you on. This is the first time you've ever been called helpless, and you're not even sure that you care. He's got you in his clutches, he's winning, and it's so infuriating and so goddamn perfect. “Tom—please, please touch me. I need to—fuck—"

You feel his lips brush the skin of your neck in a way that has you trembling with want, but—fucking hell, that's not what you need—you need his hands on you, you need him to just—

"What do you need?" He cooes, and there's a sly tone to his voice that makes you want to throw yourself at him all over again. "You need to cum?"

You moan, low and needy, writhing against the desk because this fucker—he knows exactly what he's doing. He’s got the upper hand here and you want it back. You want—

"Yes," you manage to gasp out. "I need you to—I fucking need you—inside me—"

As soon as that leaves your mouth, the dream fades from your vision and he's urging you to lay back. There's a soft thud as he places a hand on the desk next to your head, and he leans down, bringing his lips back to your ear, and you can't remember a time when you've ever wanted anyone else this bad.

"I'm touched," he murmurs, fingers slipping to the waist band of your pyjama pants, "that you want me that bad."

"I hate you," you manage to gasp out, but that's a lie, and you think he knows it. His fingers on your skin as he pulls your pants down make you ache for him, and you're struggling to not make another sound that will give him ammunition. "Why do you have to—"

"Why do I have to what?" He asks, and you know he's just trying to get a reaction out of you. "Tease you? Make you helpless?"

Your pants get hardly half way down your thighs before he decides it's enough and slides a finger through your soaked slit, and you can't hold back the moan that tears itself from your throat.

"Fuck, you're soaked.” He hisses through his teeth. “You've been sitting in your dorm for days, hm? Dreaming of me touching you, wishing you could touch yourself without thinking of me—do you want to cum, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you gasp out, and you're not above begging at this point. "Yes, god, please—I want to fucking cum—"

"There we go," he cooes, and he's enjoying this more than you'd like to acknowledge. "You know how long I've been waiting to hear you say that?"

"I'd say at least a week," you throw back, in a vain attempt to keep a shred of your dignity, but that's hard when he's circling his fingers around your clit and your body is jerking against the desk beneath you. God you really are helpless. "Because that's how long you've been plaguing my head, giving me wet dreams like some goddamn incubus—"

He chuckles at that, and you hate him a little less when he slips two fingers inside you, "You think I'm a demon?"

"You certainly act like one," you choke out, because he's crooking his fingers and your mind is going fuzzy and he's not going to let you get the upper hand back, even for a second. "Fuck—oh, yes, yes, yes."

"You've got me all wrong," he says, with a smile that would be boyish if it wasn't so sinister. "Demons come to punish you. I'm here helping you get that relief you've been needing so badly."

"Just want t-to help me," you moan as his long fingers work you open, thumb brushing your clit, "out of the kindness of your heart—"

"Out of the kindness of my heart,” he repeats, with a mocking tone, and it's the way he murmurs those words that's making your thighs clench around him until he grabs the fabric of your pjs bunched around them and pushes your legs up to your chest, working his fingers impossibly deeper. "Out of the goodness of my soul—it's what I do, darling, I'm known for my benevolence—"

"You're a good man," you know he can tell you're being sarcastic, but his fingers are filling you so fucking full you're nowhere near ready to start a fight again when you're this close to losing your goddamn mind on his desk. "You're such a good man, Tom—“

"Mhm," his breath tickles your ear. "What else am I?"

"So good with your fingers," you're moaning, and he's going to get a bigger ego than he already has. You're too far gone to care. "God, you're so good, I'm going to—"

"Yes, you are," he answers, and it takes you a second to realize that he's not correcting your words anymore. He's simply telling you that you are, in fact, about to fall apart for him. "Give it to me. You've earned it."

You almost want to snap back at him, you almost try to, but you're so far gone the words don't form on your tongue and you're not sure you'd be able to fight the fire pooling in your stomach.

"Oh, fuck—“

He doesn't even let you finish that, he just dips his hips down, bringing his hand that's not buried in your slick up to cover your mouth, muffling those strangled screams before they spill out and echo down the hall—

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice a low hum against your skin. "Be a good girl. Let it all out for me."

And it's that; that stupid combination of cooing warmth and the phrase 'be a good girl' that sends you over the edge, and you're muffling your gasps and moans and screams against his palm because gods, what would happen if someone heard you? What would happen if people realized what Tom Riddle was doing to you—your house rival, your sworn enemy—

"There we go," you're falling apart and he's watching you as if he owns you, as if this is where you belong—writhing beneath him, release squirting out around his fingers. "Ride it out for me. Such a good girl, you needed this so bad, I can tell you were aching for this."

You're struggling to say anything back, the only thing that comes out is a strangled moan of his name, and you've always known how bad he was, heard from other girls how good he could be with his hands, but this—you've never had this, never been this before.

"Such a fucking mess," he's murmuring, his voice low and rough and so goddamn beautiful. “How'd that feel? Hm?"

"So—so good," it feels like the words are being forced out of your throat, and you're struggling to think with enough clarity to form anything that's not an embarrassing moan of how much you needed this. "Needed it, need more, I—"

"More?" He murmurs as he slips his fingers free, and he's bringing his other hand up to your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he brings his soaked fingers to your lips. "Greedy girl."

You're not thinking about the implication of him calling you that, you're not thinking about how you should fight back, you're not thinking about how much you hate him—you’re just thinking about the sinful taste of you on his fingers, when they press against your tongue. Without a second of hesitation you suck them clean, tasting yourself, and it's obscene. You're obscene. But you don't care, it just makes that ache in you grow worse—you need more, you need him.

Dear god, what happened to you.

“So good," he murmurs, the praise dripping like honey from his tongue. You hum and he exhales. "I'll find you tomorrow."

"You'll find me tomorrow?" You repeat, as he withdraws his fingers from your mouth, and you're struggling for air, your chest heaving beneath your rumpled shirt. "What are you going to do, come into my room?"

"I'll come into much more than your room," he says, with a laugh that dances with promises of sin. "Now go. Before someone finds you here."

You push yourself up on trembling arms, pulling your pants up your thighs, your heart hammering in your chest because—god, that was incredible, you want more of it, and you can hardly even believe it happened. With a breath, you force yourself to move.

You look back at him as you get to the door. Your legs are shaking and you're not going to hold it against yourself for needing the wall to support you as his eyes rake over you, the corners of those lips curled up his signature smirk, and you want to hit him so goddamn bad—but then he speaks, like he read your mind, and it snaps you out of it—

"No dreams tonight." He says. "Scouts honour."

"You're no boy scout," you throw back, and your voice is a little breathier than you'd like. "And this changes nothing."

He smiles, slow and languid and knowing. "Of course."

You want to roll your eyes at the condescension dripping off his tongue, but you're worried that if you stay here any longer the only words on your tongue will be 'do it again'.

"You just owe me." You say as you crack the door open.

"I owe you," he agrees, and you think that his smile is just a little too genuine—like he would give you anything you wanted, just for another taste of that. “I'm keeping score, darling. Sleep well."

You hate him for calling you that, you hate his stupid smile, you hate the way he knows he's got you.

What he doesn’t know, is that you’re going to make him pay.

"Good night," you mutter, and then you open the door and slip out into the hallway.

[luvyeni]

GOOD MORNINGS ♱. ── ( 엔하이픈 )

morning blowjobs with enhypen

𝓲𝓲 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒𓈒 ( 엔하이픈 x fem!reader )   ─── ❛ genre ⸝⸝ smut. content warning. oral (m). word count. 0.5k 「 req ? ⦂ yes/no 」 library  !

𝕼 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒 yeni’s note .ᐟ heeseung looks good in that photo …

﹙ 𝐢𝐯. 희승 : heeseung ﹚ .ᐟ

heeseung loves messy blowjobs , and im talking messy blowjobs; spit and cum dripping , the noises from his cock hitting the back of your throat; he loves that shit. and to be woken up by it … oh he’s gonna be chirpy for the rest of the day. your hands working up and down on his cock , taking his cock down your throat. “fuck , keep sucking my dick like that babe.” this is gonna be a new want , he’s gonna expect this every morning or he won’t be able to function. “shit im gonna cum.” pulling you off of him , wrapping his hand around yours , jerking himself off until he came on your face. “ngh fuck! ” your cum covered face and lazy tired smile makes his brain go haywire.

“ shit that was so good , i don’t even think I can go on with the day without thinking about your mouth in my dick babe .”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯. 제이 : jay ﹚ .ᐟ

he would love this so much; being woken up by a blow from his princess before he has to get up for work. his eyes slowly fluttering open , only to be met with pleasure from down below. his immediate reaction was to put his hands on your head , moving you up and down on his shaft. “oh shit princess.” the room his dark and silent except for the noises coming from your mouth , gagging on his dick. “fu-fuck this is nice.” he sighed , letting you work your magic. “n-not gonna last , gonna cum , ngh fuck !” you take him fully , your nose pressed his pelvic area as his cum shot to the back of your throat. “fuck.”

“ let me take care of you before i go to work .”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯. 제이크 : jake ﹚ .ᐟ

he thinks he’s dreaming ; but the dream is too realistic , it’s like he can feel the suction from your mouth. but when you fully took him down your throat it made him jump up with a moan. “wa-wait huh? sh-shit.” he’s in such a daze , he don’t got a clue in the fucking world , one minute he was sleep , next minute you were deep throating his dick. “wa-what the fuck is going on?” he’s gripping the bed , head thrown back ; whimpering as you wrap your hand around his shaft. “my god , fuck im gonna cum.” slamming his hand down. “fuck im cumming ngh!” he can’t help but buck his hips up as he shot ropes of white sticky cum down your throat. “fu-fuck baby.” he smiled — both with a tiredly and fucked out face.

“ fuck get up so i can repay you .”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯. 성훈 : sunghoon ﹚ .ᐟ

sunghoon loves his sleep not gonna lie; but he also loves your mouth on him, so he’s gonna be a little annoyed as to why he's suddenly being awakened , but when he finally fully comes through and he feels the back of your throat — completely changes his mind. “ oh fuck - keeping sucking me , you can do better than that.” moaning out. “fu-fucking woke me up , take me deeper.” pushing your head down , bucking his hip up. “fuuuuck im gonna cum down your throat.” his face scrunching up in pleasure as he cums , pulling you off his cock , pulling you on top of him.

“ come on and ride my cock before we get up for the day .”

©️LUVYENI

[keferon]

Part 2 of Golem!Prowl AU!

_____________________

“I hate it,” Orion sighs.

“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”

“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”

“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”

Orion twitches.

Part 1. Next->

The fic under the cut⤵️

Orion looks...sick. Worried. Scared.

“Prowl, do you know what the Great Hunt is?”

Prowl tilts his head keeping up with the lists he received from the Council.

“Traditional raids on monsters made to consolidate control over the land holdings of regular Mechs.”

Orion rubs the bridge of his nose

“It's a massacre.”

Prowl twitches his wing.

“It is a measure of intimidation against creatures that cannot be negotiated with. Brutal, I don't deny that, but experience shows it works. The destructive activity of monsters lessens considerably if they know their actions can be followed by punishment.”

Orion stares at him. For a long time. Silently.

Tensely studying him, as if seeing him for the first time.

“You think killing them instead of finding a compromise is...right?”

Prowl thinks he must be treading on unstable ground.

“I think it works. That is all. Monsters do a lot of damage with their existence. They kill, destroy and pillage. If periodically reducing their numbers reduces their damage, it confirms the effectiveness of the strategy.”

“They just want to live. Primus' sake, they want to eat.”

Prowl sighs. More for appearances than for any real effect.

“I suppose I can't judge them for wanting to survive. It makes sense.”

Orion nods.

He looks oddly pensive.

“Ratchet keeps picking up wounded...” he stammers, apparently trying to find a suitable alternative to the word monster “...wounded beastformers. I've been to his house. It's generous, but I'm afraid of what will happen if he gets caught doing it.”

Prowl frowns

“He should have stopped.”

“You wouldn't understand.” sighs Orion ”Him. Shockwave. We want to help. To make things better. I don't need you to chide me for disobeying the rules, I need you to figure out how to change them. Ghosts and insecticons deserve freedom as much as we do.”

“But...”

Orion looks at him angrily.

“No. Whatever you're going to say in response to that. No. I know you're driven primarily by logic, but I need you to remember it well. All sentient beings deserve to live free. Do you understand? All of them. Period.”

Prowl rolls up the lists and interlocks his fingers in front of him. There are small scuffs on his thumbs and index fingers from constant writing. He occupies himself with running his fingers over them, feeling the difference in texture.

“Mech's freedom in such a case ends where someone else's hungry jaws begin. You can't expect monsters and Mechs to just coexist in peace if you give them freedom.”

“No” sighed Orion ”That's why I support Shockwave's idea with creating an academy for magically gifted Mechs. He's helping to show the world that so-called 'dark creatures' can be as civilized citizens as any Mech. He teaches them to find that compromise. We can't just expect centuries of hate and fear to be forgotten once the laws change. We must direct this process. To help the Mechs understand and accept each other. Guide them, you might say.”

Prowl feels a headache coming on, as it always does when Orion requires him to logically solve a problem the answer to which lies in the feelings rather than the intellect. He's not built for this. It irritates him.

Orion stops right in front of him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Tell me what you think of this. If...let's pretend for a second that my morality fiddles don't matter anymore. That the problem of Mechs and monsters coexisting is something you alone need to solve. And solve it in such a way that the outcome is optimal for us as a society. To maximize the number of happy citizens. What would you do?”

Prowl is silent for a moment.

Orion squeezes his shoulder lightly before continuing.

“'Free from my judgmental conclusions, Prowl. From the standpoint of pure logic. What should we do?”

What to do...Prowl's thought process finally finds a direct and understandable train of thought. Monsters make up a paltry few percent of the population of all living Mechs. The numbers fluctuate depending on which region is being considered of course.

In some cities, some types of monsters are considered just fancy Mechs. Some monsters have risen from the status of savages to being respectable Mechs over the course of history. Even Orion's best friend, Shockwave, could be regarded as a mystical creature in some regions due to his gift of flight.

Nevertheless. The percentage is still minuscule.

But even that tiny percentage takes a significant toll on the economy and quality of life, because just one uncontrollable creature can terrorize an entire city.

He notes the weight of Orion's hand on his shoulder. Not judgmental. Orion promised he wouldn't judge.

“I'd get rid of the monsters.”

“Oh” Orion blinks ”Locked them in cages? Chased them away? Killed them?”

Prowl twitches his wings

“Banishment will only move the problem in terms of space, and imprisonment isn't secure enough. It would make sense to get rid of the monsters. Once and for all. It wouldn't be pretty or merciful, but it would greatly improve life for everyone, at the cost of a tiny percentage of living beings who were already of no use.”

“And you believe that would be a good outcome?”

“I believe it would.”

“But you're not a Mech yourself.” Orion reminds “Would you be willing to be exterminated along with the rest of the creatures if your plan were put into action?”

Prowl tilts his head slightly. Just to make it easier to look at Orion.

“You created me to, as you put it, help you make the world a better place. Sometimes in order to improve something you have to cut out the factors that get in the way. It's simple logic.”

“You didn't answer my question” Orion points out ”How would you feel if I decided to take your advice and destroy all mystical creatures, including you?”

“I am not made to feel” straightens Prowl ”My job is to find solutions to problems. I gave you a solution.”

“You don't include yourself in the reckoning.” snorts Orion “Again. You talk as if you will never be affected by anything.”

As it should be, Prowl thinks. He's a conscientious worker and a ..seemingly law-abiding citizen. He does what he can to make Mech's lives better. Even though he may not be a Mech, he's doing the right thing. Why would something happen to him?

Orion removes his hand from his shoulder and shakes his head.

“'Alright. I've heard you. But I want to make it as clear as possible - what you suggested is immoral, cruel, and should never be implemented. Do you understand me? Never. If you want to build a better world, you cannot and will not build it on other people's deaths. Have I made myself clear enough?”

“Perfectly clear.”

“Good.”

-----------------

Ratchet looks...many words could be used to describe him.

He's standing in the center of the trial room with a lot of emotions written all over his face. But if Prowl had to describe - he'd say Ratchet practically radiates rage. Not violent. More of a powerless one.

The rage of a Mech who knows he's cornered, but refuses to even consider giving up and admitting defeat.

Prowl sits in a far dark corner, silently documenting the whole process.

The council is furious. They apparently discovered that Ratchet has been dragging wounded monsters to his house and healing them all this time.

Which is ... very much as expected from Ratchet.

Prowl wants Orion here, but both Orion and Shockwave are now on a diplomatic mission a few days away, so the only support Ratchet has is...Prowl. Who can't help in any way, so he just sits there and meticulously documents the whole process so that Orion can then be informed of every single detail.

The council doesn't look happy. They say that Ratchet is sabotaging the hunters' efforts to contain the monsters by his actions.They are angered by Ratchet's absolute determination to insist that he was doing the right thing.

Prowl would be impressed, if only Ratchet's stubbornness made sense.

It's simple math. Ratchet saves lives. Monsters take them.

Thus Ratchet's life has much, much more weight and is more valuable.

If Ratchet would just accept the Council's decision now and promise to stop curing monsters, the whole problem would be solved as efficiently as possible.

But Ratchet, of course, persists. Probably just because that's his nature.

Ratchet can also afford to be so stubborn because his skill level makes him incredibly valuable to the Council. Prowl knows for a fact that if any other medic were in Ratchet's shoes right now - they would have been sentenced to banishment or execution by now.

When Ratchet realizes exactly how the Council caught him, his rage is instantly replaced by shock.

This revelation is enough to startle him and make him back down. To nod and numbly swear that he will end his "blasphemous hobby."

Prowl carefully folds the scribbled scrolls into the case as the Council doors close behind both his and Ratchet's backs.

“Orion will be happy to know that you were prudent enough to avoid death.”

Ratchet shifts his gaze to him

“You knew? Knew they could see through our optics? Did you know they could find out anything about any Mech at any time?”

Prowl tucks his hands behind his back and nods politely

“Knowing things is my job.”

Ratchet sighs. Heavy. Exhausted. Doomed maybe.

“How does Orion deal with it...”

“Orion has a reputation with the Council. They consider him a decent, law-abiding Mech, so they see no point in keeping tabs on him.”

“Are you kidding?” Raetchet raises his eyebrows “Orion can't do everything he does and remain ‘decent’ in their eyes. He and Shockwave practically cuddle with every possible creature every day and all they get is a little reprimand????”

Prowl tilts his head

“Orion learned to look away in time. And he has me for everything else.”

Ratchet doesn't answer him. He rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly and starts to walk away.

His shoulders look oddly tense. He looks defeated, but not in the way a Mech would describe a slain turbofox. No. There is a deep-seated, angry determination.

A willingness to act dictated by desperation.

The news of the surveillance has thrown Ratchet off balance but not knocked him off his feet as the Council had hoped.

Prowl looks at his back and walks off in the opposite direction. The problems of living, feeling Mechs have always been and will always be mysterious to him.

Ratchet does what no one expects him to do.

He doesn't stage protests. He doesn't accept the verdict.

He leaves silently, taking with him only medical supplies and an old lantern.

The council is furious, turning over every stone in an attempt to find him, but all in vain.

Prowl's daily duties now include “keeping track of any possible news related to Ratchet.“

And then, no matter what he finds, report to Orion that he's found nothing.

Put on a little regular show for all concerned. Show the Mechs in the Council that Orion remains loyal and does his best to find and bring to justice any blasphemer whether it's a friend of his or not.

He is his purpose. But the more time passes, the harder it becomes for him to trace the path to the fulfillment of that purpose. He envies the golems whose only function is to scrub floors. Their lives are understandable. A clean floor is a temporary but easily attainable goal. They are happy to fulfill the goal for which they were created. And then they're happy knowing their job is done well, until the floor gets dirty again.

Prowl is walking towards his goal, but it's not getting any closer. He knows what he needs to do to get there, but the variables are constantly changing and he has to adjust his course of action each time according to new information, conditions, and Orion's opinion on them.

Politics is infinitely more complicated than mopping floors after all.

————————————

Orion doesn't turn around on him as they walk down the hall. But Prowl can physically feel the attention focused on him.

“Prowl. Did you know I was awarded today for my ''outstanding service'' by the entire Council?”

“I did not.

“They've gone through all the reports and discovered that according to the logs me and my mechs are performing excellently when it comes to eliminating mystical threats.”

“Congratulations.”

“It's funny that you feel the need to congratulate me too” Orion continues ”Because I certainly didn't give orders to eliminate anyone.”

Their pacing doesn't falter. They continue to walk calmly down the hallway as if nothing is happening. But Prowl can practically taste the increased tension.

“Prowl” says Orion “Why is the Council rewarding me for murder? And where are the Mechs they think I killed now?”

Prowl checks the scrolls. Not because he doesn't remember. Just to buy some time to formulate an answer.

“They were the inevitable casualties. I took charge of their destruction. On your behalf.”

“You know how I feel about killing.”

“I know.” nods Prowl for some reason. Why? Not that Orion can see it “I also know how the Council feels about Mechs showing suspicious activity. They would have started watching you as soon as they noticed you were letting monsters slip away from you suspiciously often.”

Orion...sounds... conflicted. He sounds struggling.

“You killed them.”

“I gave the order. As any other hunter would have done in my place.”

Orion stops so abruptly that Prowl doesn't catch the moment and bumps into his back.

“We're supposed to be better than other hunters Prowl! How can you still not grasp that concept!!!”

Orion looks furious. Prowl discreetly looks around.

Around them is a relatively empty hall. Windows covered by heavy curtains. The cleaning golems scurrying back and forth.

“I understand” he says “But let me remind you that you cannot test their trust infinitely. Your 'being better' rests on your reputation. And it's my job to make sure your reputation lives up to it.”

Orion looks at him...Prowl isn't even sure how to describe it. Usually he has to argue with Orion's logic, proving his point but this time...Orion is the one arguing with him.

It feels strange. Uncomfortable.

He's doing everything Orion wanted him to do, but for the sake of it he has to do something Orion can't stand.

Orion clenches and unclenches his fists helplessly. Rubbing the fabric of his cloak.

“Shockwave can save lives without killing anyone.”

“Shockwave is one unfortunate act away from serious consequences” shakes his head Prowl “His academy is looking more and more like his own small army every day. His students are not loyal to the Council, they are loyal to Shockwave. And the Council knows that. And will use it. And it won't be pretty when it happens.”

“No...” shakes his head Orion, not addressing anyone in particular ”No no no no no...”

Prowl can understand why Orion is upset. But he also knows he's right this time. Shockwave may look like a fine example of mercy, but he walks on the very edge of the law and any wrong move will instantly turn him from “out of the box thinker” to renegade.

The Council will come for his head and the Council will get his head because Shockwave will have nothing to prove his loyalty with.

Orion will. Prowl made sure of that.

Orion can bend the rules, can borrow the Council's trust, can do all sorts of reprehensible things. He can stumble and fall and then fall a couple more times and find that it doesn't hurt him because Prowl caught him even before he stumbled.

He did it at the cost of lives. Yes.

But Orion's life is far more valuable than the lives of monsters.

Society doesn't need monsters to become better, but society needs Orion. Monsters need Orion. Because if Orion is gone, no one else will care about his idealistic goal.

“Sometimes I forget how creepy you can be...” mutters Orion ”You're going to betray me sooner or later.”

“I could never betray you.” Prowl twitches his wing.

“You've successfully betrayed what I believe in.”

“It's fine with me if you hate me for it. As long as you are alive, safe, and can continue your quest.”

Orion falls silent.

He turns away to stare at a strip of light from a nearby window. There are beautiful, wrought iron grates that cast an intricate, curved shadow on the floor and walls.

A golem janitor hurries past them.

“I hate it,” Orion sighs.

“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”

“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”

“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”

Orion twitches.

Shockwave falls.

Prowl isn't there to see for himself, but a lot of rumors reach him. Lots. Lots of rumors.

The Mechs say the time of the Great Hunt has come.

They say that when the hunters arrived on the Academy's doorstep, Shockwave didn't let them in.

They say. He stood in front of the gates.

With sword in one hand and the Primus Covenant in the other, and declared that his school was a sanctuary for all living beings in need of protection.

Claimed that anyone who dared set foot inside with a weapon would have to go through him.

“And they retreated!” gestures Orion frantically ”They didn't dare test him! They backed away from the walls of the Academy. I don't know how many monsters were left alive in the forests that night, but none of Shockwave's students were harmed...”

Prowl listens with a healthy dose of wariness

“The Council wouldn't just let him do that.”

Orion begins nervously winding circles around the room.

“You're right, you're right. You're right now and you were right back then. They're going to bring him before the Court by tomorrow, and...”

“There's no chance of that ending well,...is there?" Prowl finishes his thought.

Orion looks pained

“They'll be going through everything he's been up to. Every forged document, every enrolled Mech who by all criteria should be considered a monster. Every time he sheltered them from the Council instead of destroying them. They'll realize what he's been doing and they won't like it at all.”

Prowl...trying to sound reassuring.

“Shockwave has tremendous support from his Academy. There's a chance the Council will be afraid of invoking their wrath and won't judge Shockwave too harshly.”

Orion continues to walk in circles

“You think so?”

“There is a good chance.”

Prowl finds Orion in Sickbay. Which is very disturbing and wrong, because Orion was supposed to be at the Trial. Supporting Shockwave and begging the Council to relent.

But Orion is in Sick Bay. When he shouldn't be.

And he's covered in ugly dark burns. From something Prowl can't recognize.

This is all wrong. It's all--

“What happened at the trial?”

Orion sounds. Startled.

“There was no Trial.”

“What?”

Orion sounds as if something inside him has cracked. In every sense of the phrase.

“The Trial hasn't even had time to begin. He...” Orion clutches his trembling fingers, hoping to still them, but it has no tangible effect. His shoulders are trembling.

He looks like his whole body could be torn apart with one careless touch. “They asked him if he would plead guilty to aiding and abetting dark creatures. All they had time to ask was if he realized he was wrong.”

An uncomfortable, prickly feeling settles in Prowl's mind.

"And?”

Orion squeezes his fingers so hard the creaking of hinges becomes audible.

“It...I...Prowl, his very spark began to ooze dark magic. It was horrible, it was like.. it was eating him from the inside. The entire courtroom became darker than night, many Mechs got burned. I've never seen anything like this before! He..It.. started attacking Mechs and destroying everything...it was like it went crazy...it attacked me and I had to...Prowl I had to fight it! I didn't...I'd heard about it happening but I believed until the last minute that I wouldn't have to face it...”

Gears of chaotic detail fall into place in Prowl's mind.

“Shockwave...turned into a demon...?”

Orion nods shakily

“The Council didn't even have a chance to sentence him or spare him or even sort out what happened.....

He stated that he did not consider himself guilty for what he had done and...Primus was the one who made the judgment before anyone else could...”

That's... terrifying really. For a number of reasons. Losing a close friend is awful, being subjected to such merciless punishment is awful, but also...

What sends a chill down Prowl's back is the moral implication that such punishment carries.

Orion, as if reading his thoughts, raises his gaze to him

“Is what we are doing...wrong? I don't...does Primus think helping monsters is worthy of punishment?”

Now that's a really reasonable question.

Shockwave would say that Primus is merciful and would never condemn a Mech for an act of kindness. But Shockwave ended up being condemned.

Ratchet would say that he doesn't care about Primus' opinion because Primus isn't real. But Ratchet isn't here.

Prowl wants to say that it doesn't matter whether or not Primus thinks they're wrong, what matters is that he can at any moment force his justice on any living spark, so his concept of right has to become Orion's too, or else he's doomed. But Orion is definitely in no state to have a philosophical argument. He looks shattered and Prowl almost instinctively is about to go and find Shockwave, but remembers that option is no longer available.

He's not made for this. Shockwave has always been the one to cheer Orion up on a bad day. Not Prowl, no. Prowl isn't sure what to do so he just sits down next to him and gently places a hand on Orion's shoulder. The one where he can't see the burns, so it shouldn't hurt.

“I don't. I'm used to always relying on your point of view as a reference for what's right and what's wrong.”

“I know” runs a shaky hand over his face Orion “But it's not like I'm perfect. I try, god, I try but just like with the logical part - my vision isn't flawless. Have I been...wrong all this time? Trying to disrupt Primus' intended vision? Maybe what I've been trying to fix never needed fixing. Maybe it's just me being so stupid and not understanding things maybe...???”

Orion cuts himself off mid sentence, realizing that he's started raising his voice and waving his arms around again. He sits back down on the medical bed and curls back up into a miserable ball.

“What should I do....”

“I don't know,” Prowl repeats awkwardly.

He is his goal. But his goal ..doesn't exist anymore?

He doesn't know where to put himself.

Golems are made to fulfill requests. But Orion's request system has been evolving and complicating for so long that Prowl can't tell where its boundaries are anymore.

He feels lost.

——————————

Orion stops cold.

“What...”

Prowl, standing at his right hand looks equally puzzled.

They are in a spacious courtyard bordering directly on the Council building. It's a very beautiful, open and spacious place because it was originally built with large crowds of Mechs in mind. There's wide walkways, a massive circular plaza with fountains and statues.

And right now, it's filled to the brim with Mechs, most of whom Prowl is seeing for the first time. They're all wearing knight armor and carrying weapons, however still kept in their scabbards.

They look like a small army. A very, very diverse army, Prowl realizes. Because there are almost no regular Mechs among them.

Orion looks... distraught.

Mechs? Monsters? A few knights separate and come closer, bowing their heads respectfully.

“Orion Pax.”

There is so much grief and disbelief in Orion's eyes that it physically hurts to look at him.

When he begins to speak his voice sounds hoarse, like someone has poured sand down his throat.

“What...what are you doing here...?”

The knight standing in front of everyone ceremoniously places his palm on his spark.

“We are here to fulfill the last will of our mentor and your friend. Shockwave has decreed in his last will that in the event of his death his legacy must pass to you and those of us who wish to carry on his work must publicly pledge our allegiance to your will.”

Orion clutches his hands together to keep them from starting to shake again.

“But...I was there. I...your mentor was slain by my hands...how can you..."

"It doesn't matter. Everything that was his is now yours." smiles the knight sadly "We will make sure his legacy lives on. And even if the Academy falls - you can always count on us."

At the same time as he finishes speaking, the knight in blue armor drops to one knee, pulling Shockwave's sword from its sheath and holding it out respectfully to Orion... who looks like he's about to start crying.

He dazedly accepts the sword, twitching in surprise when it turns out to be heavier than expected and probably tries to say something, but all that comes out is a short sorrowful sigh.

He just.

Clutches the sword to his chest, watching in disbelief as all the arriving mechs get down on one knee following the blue knight. There aren't that many mechs, but at this point - they seem to rival the sea.

Prowl knows some of them. Many of them made their way to Shockwave after Orion found them. There's the harpy over there who nearly ripped Orion's head off the first time they met. A few ghosts he can remember the faces of but doesn't know the names. He'd had a long argument with Orion that day, trying to convince him that he shouldn't take their word for it when they promised to make it up to him.

And now they're all here. In beautiful new armor. Executing their mentor's last will and testament.

Just like regular Mechs, only a little eccentric looking.

The crowd of hunters that has come to find out what's going on looks as speechless and dumbfounded as Orion.

" What" Orion also gets down on one knee to be on the same level as the knight "what's your name?"

Prowl squints warily from behind Orion's shoulder. The blue mech looks normal, but to be honest, there's no way someone coming out of the Shockwave Academy is going to be an normal plain mech. There has to be a catch somewhere.

"My name is Skids," smiles the knight shyly. "I am...was...Shockwave's best student."

"You are very brave Skids" smiles Orion sorrowfully "I promise to do my best to take care of Shockwave's legacy. And you."

Orion drops his head on the table tiredly.

"This is crazy..."

Prowl pulls an important document from under Orion's head

"It's also quite devious. Shockwave told them specifically to swear to you where all comers can see it. So there's no way for the Council to accuse you of purposely swaying an army of monsters to your side. Everyone saw that this gift was given by force. Now you have many allies with unique skills who are loyal to you and the Council won't try to take them away because they are firmly convinced that you are loyal to the Council."

Prowl examines the document for damage before setting it aside.

"It is..."

"Shockwave gave you an opportunity."

"And I don't know what to do with it!" raises his head Orion "Shockwave was smarter than me and made a lot of plans in case of...I don't know...anything?? I didn't...Prowl. We've been down this path for so long and I was always sure there would be something good at the end of it. Or at least better than it is now..."

Orion rubs his chin and shakes his head awkwardly

"...But if there's only the wrath of Primus and endless darkness at the end...I can't ask anyone to follow me there. I'm not sure if I can keep going myself..."

He sighs helplessly

"I'm not even sure if that even matters."

"The chance that Shockwave would try to use you in some way was about twenty-eight percent."

Orion twitches

"What?"

"I understand that you're hurt by his...fate." Says Prowl "But have you considered the possibility that Shockwave was being punished for betraying you rather than the Council?"

Orion doesn't even answer at first. Just looks at him dazed and bitter.

"Prowl...no. He couldn't have."

"I'm just speculating" shrugs Prowl "Shockwave was punished but as far as I know God didn't bother to name the exact charge. We don't know one hundred percent what exactly caused his...sentence. He may have betrayed the Council's ideas, or he may have betrayed yours."

They both just exist in silence for a while. Processing the information.

"If...and I mean if!!! If Shockwave was convicted of harboring monsters, then everything we've been doing all this time can be considered useless blasphemy..." says Orion slowly "...but if he was punished for something else..."

"...then that would mean there's nothing wrong with your idea." finishes Prowl.

Orion frowns

"It would also mean that Shockwave lied to me..."

Prowl nods. The situation is ugly no matter which way you look at it.

Shockwave, as Prowl knows him, would hardly have framed Orion, but Mechs tend to go to great lengths to avoid execution.

If Shockwave had shifted some of the blame to Orion then, it would have partially saved him. Was that what he was going to do? Was this what Primus had stopped him from doing?

Orion's finials twitch slowly

"I don't know Prowl. I don't know what to do. I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of my fantasies."

Orion is hard to read, but right now he's an open book.

Prowl tilts his head

"You're scared."

Orion looks. Defeated. Crumpled.

Discolored.

" I am."

Prowl can't work with that. He's used to solving logical problems and making lists and strategies.

He doesn't know how to get someone to stop being scared.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I don't know." mutters Orion "I don't know, I have no idea. It's too much...All these new knights, this whole council situation and now you're also saying that the mech I treasured the most could actually be a liar and...just leave me alone."

"But..."

"Just go away!" shakes his head Orion "Go find something else to do, find a hobby, I don't know! Get out of my head and out of my personal life!"

Prowl nods silently.

Places a couple papers in their places and silently walks out the door.

Gestures a greeting to some mech passing by.

And is completely unsure of what to do with himself.

Orion's too stunned by everything that's happened to give him a clear purpose. And without a purpose, he...he's gone.

He continues to stand by the closed door.

A thought runs obsessively through his mind.

If Shockwave was sentenced for something no one knew about, then punishing him the moment of that trial was a truly terrible decision and even worse timing.

But if Shockwave was sentenced for helping monsters...Prowl isn't sure why his mind resists the idea.

Maybe he's not being objective because he shares Orion's views and aspirations.

Maybe because he has looked at the entire square filled with dangerous monsters and has seen nothing but sorrow and respect in them.

The idea comes naturally.

Then God must be wrong.

He looks at the cleaning golems again. He envies them.

They are peace and contentment.

They are a clear and simple goal.

Probably the biggest stress that happens to them is random mechs passing by and interfering with their cleaning.

And then there's Prowl, standing by with no meaning or purpose and wishing he could throw something heavy because the one who gets in his way is an indefinable force of nature and a complex system of values and beliefs created by millions of years of cultural development....

But Primus can't stop him, can he?

Prowl is not alive. He has no emotion so that his intentions can be categorized as evil, but more importantly he has no spark so that its magic can turn him into a demon.

He is his purpose. His purpose is his god. And Primus stands in his way.

He turns around and walks away.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Fool Dies

Summary: You are a villain known for telling the future. When a Hero kills your right hand, you’ll let the future burn to get her back.

Hero Cowboy kills your henchman after you’ve already surrendered.

Gunshot silence, the scent of iron heavy in your nose, the crippling cold that floods your chest. All familiar sensations, companions you’ve carried with you since you even became a villain, but this time—

This time it’s…different.

You’re on your knees, the rock salt on the road digging into your kneecaps, with your hands above your head, the ghost of your signature smirk fading fast. The street isn’t empty. There are witnesses. The Hero pulls his punches when there are cameras and citizens and teammates. That’s what your plan says. He pulls his punches.

She asked if you were willing to bet her life on that and you said yes.

Your henchman’s body is stuck in the crumpled side of a car. You see her out of your peripheral, the pale oval of her face unencumbered by the mask you’d lovingly bestowed upon her six years ago. Cowboy backhanded it off of her as she was falling to her knees beside you. There is wet and red and twisted metal dancing foggily around her. The air is harsh and cold to breathe. The world is wavering as tears flood your eyes. You can’t blink them away. If you do, you won’t be able to see her just at the corner of your vision, you won’t be able to watch for a breath you already know won’t come, you’re afraid she’ll disappear—

“Clever to pretend to surrender,” the Hero says. He’s like a swan, spreading his arms out so the leather tassels lining the underside of his sleeves look like wings. He tips his head back so that the news cameras rushing in can catch the strength of his jaw under his wide-brimmed hat. She’d managed to singe it in the fight and the light catches in his blue eyes through the resulting hole. “Was it worth it, Prophetess? Was your attempt on my life worth the life of your sidekick?”

Snow falls, a few flakes here and there. The street is lit like the middle of the day thanks to the news cameras swarming out of the side streets now that the fight is over. The fire is being put out and thick curls of smoke rise from just beyond the gathering crowd of onlookers.

Your spellbook is lying a hundred feet away at the bottom of the lake. That’s why the Hero is flaunting himself in front of the cameras, trying to minimize her death at his hand. He did what he had to do. They were wrong, not him. Unfortunate but expected. The Hero always wins.

She’s gone.

The Fool. She always wanted a different name. But you were adamant she wouldn’t receive one until she earned one outside of her service to you. Until then, her name was a reflection of your journey. Your first step, foolish and unknowing, young and ignorant of the consequences. The name felt right when you called it and you never thought to question why. Only now can you taste your own cruel power in the decision. The power of prophecy spelled her fate out in front of you and, like always, you didn’t listen.

Your tattered cloak ripples in the breeze coming off the water. The vibrant purple is stained with soot and worse, the once smooth velvet charred and eaten away at by the Fire Cowboy’s flames.

They don’t remember that you surrendered before he struck. He’s dismissed your uncharacteristic action as an act, and so the world will too. The Prophetess always lies. Isn’t that the first line in your Hero Force file? The Prophetess has no powers of divination; she lies.

The world is magic. You believe it like the sun, like the earth, like the ocean—

--like her—

--and there is magic even here. The spell of your grief rises over your head like a shroud and, for a moment, you are drowning in the dark as the world heaves. You can taste the last cup of coffee she ever gave you going sour at the back of your mouth, the small daily comfort washing away under the metallic scent of her blood. There is a purple current around your thoughts, painful and biting. You will always be in this moment with her jester’s mask – cruel, you are so cruel – leering up at you, closer to your hands than her. How did you let her get so far out of reach?

Why didn’t you hold her close?

“I asked,” Cowboy says from directly in front of you, “if it was worth it?”

The world pulses back into purple focus. Cowboy is looming over you and the smoke of your battle rises into the night behind him. The media jockeys closer the longer you are silent and they’re inching around the car she’s lying against.

“Tell them to get away from her,” you say. Normal, your voice is so normal. Your arms are burning from holding your hands over your head and your neck aches from forcing yourself not to look. You are afraid your tears will fall if you blink so you stare at the gaudy belt buckle in front of your face. Your eyes are purple in the reflection and your face is as pale as hers. “P-please.”

Cowboy must kill all the time. He has no problem glancing towards the slowly gathering swarm and you can feel his eyes on her body as if they were on your own. “They’re trying to help her.”

“She’s beyond helping,” you say. Why would they even try? You can’t even look at her and you can tell that. “I don’t want anyone touching her.”

“They’re not monsters,” Cowboy says. There’s a scoff and then he’s crouching in front of you. He smells like singed leather. “Not like you.”

You’ve never seen the Hero this close. He’s older than you thought, only a few years shy of your age. His stubble is darkened with soot and his nose bears scars of past battles. His eyes—they’re not blue. You can see the edge of brown behind his contacts, the same deep brown as his mask.

“You killed her,” you say.

“No, you did.” He answers you so quickly it’s like he was waiting for those exact words. He tilts his head so the brim of his hat hides his lips in shadow. “She wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for you.”

He’s so confident that you nearly believe him. Your hands ache with phantom bruises from the blows and the weight of your sin falls onto your shoulders like the sky itself coming to rest there.

--------------.

 You see the trajectory of her life lined in gold. Her first day at your firm, her finding out your identity, her wavering in front of the window overlooking the Charlotte skyline as she admitted to knowing exactly who you are and how you’d been hiding more than your fair share of power all along.

That moment shines. She wasn’t the Fool then. She ripped her pencil skirt up the side as you debated her fate. When you asked her why, she said in case she needed to run.

“You would run from me?” you asked, eyebrow raised, conveying with expression alone how ridiculous you found the idea of her getting away was.

“I would,” she said. She grinned unhappily. “You can kill me, but you’ll break a sweat doing it.”

You laughed and held out your hand. When she took it, the outline of her life changed. No longer edged in gold. All black. A night sky all around her.

“You’re a fool for this,” you told her.

“The biggest one around,” she said, chagrined. Then she laughed with you.

You’ll never hear her laugh again.

----------.

There is a protocol for arresting a villain. Cowboy is already so outside of Hero Force code that it takes a while for things to be ready. He stands over you for the better part of an hour, smiling at the cameras, glaring you into submission, waving to the officers that eventually come to secure the scene.

An ambulance comes to take her body away. Only when they load her into it do you move. You watch the side of the vehicle like you can see through it. Cowboy tenses when it starts to drive away, but you don’t twitch. Her body isn’t her. If you start clinging to it now, you will never let her go.

“I know they call you Cowboy,” a woman drawls, “but you aren’t supposed to act like one.”

The reporters leap out of Strongwoman’s way. Barely five feet, Strongwoman is a super hero. Nobody is willing to get too close, regardless of how good and moral she is. The dark-haired woman is one of the few heroes who don’t wear a mask. No villain is stupid enough to think that makes her weak. Her dark eyes catalogue the scene quickly and efficiently. The ground rumbles as she approaches.

“Heat of battle,” Cowboy dismisses. His shoulders relax with another hero to support him and he shakes out his leather vest. Soot and snow falls from him. “Literally.”

“Hm.” Strongwoman finally turns the weight of her attention towards you. “Where’s her spellbook?”

“Bottom of the lake.”

“She hasn’t tried to summon it?”

“Her minion was in charge of that.”

Strongwoman’s voice whips. “We don’t call them minions.”

“Sorry.”

“You should be,” Strongwoman says. She folds her arms across her chest. She always gives the impression of being wrapped in armor and it takes you a moment to realize she’s wearing a tank top despite the cold. The muscles in her arms twitch. “That’s your third body this year.”

Cowboy hisses, eyes flying over her head towards the reporters. “Don’t—” A coalition of people in dark suits are already herding the media away. Cowboy’s lips thin. “Not in public.”

Strongwoman raises an eyebrow. She reaches down with one hand and hauls you up by the collar of your robes. “Fine. The car then.” She frowns at the way your hands hang by your sides. “You didn’t cuff her?”

“She doesn’t have her spellbook.”

“Protocol, Cow.”

“It’s Cowboy.”

“…”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Strongwoman cuffs your hands behind your back. The familiar sting of power suppressors races up your arms. The last time someone managed to get them on you, the Fool had to break them off once you escaped. You feel her breath against the shell of your ear and her voice whispers, Now who will do it for you?

Her memory is another spell on you. The edges of your life – dark and violently violet – cover your eyes so that you’re blind and deaf to the world around you. Once this new incantation runs its course, you’re sitting in the back of a Hero Force car. The grate between you and the front seat is closed. Beyond it, you can see Strongwoman at the wheel, shoulders vibrating with tension. Cowboy is sitting in the passenger seat like a petulant child.

You read their lips in the rearview mirror.

--review, Strongwoman says. Three. Three deaths on your hands.

This one was just a villain—

Tell that to Foresight. I beg you. See how he likes that excuse.

Cowboy changes tactics. You know the Prophetess is basically an S-Class—

Without her spellbook?

She had it for most of the fight.

Did she?

You lean your head back and close your eyes. Cowboy’s been operating alone for too long. They’ll likely stick him in probation and then transfer him to a hero team with an established leader. Maybe Atlas’ team in San Francisco or Light’s team in LA. Hell, if they really want to punish him, they’ll assign him to Omit’s team in Chicago. The guy’s the most righteous and the most powerless leader out there. Cowboy might actually become a villain if he’s forced to follow that guy’s lead.

“He’ll suffer,” you say in your prophecy voice.

A speaker crackles to life overhead. “No divination,” Cowboy snaps.

“I wasn’t talking about you,” you say.

“Prophetess lies,” Strongwoman says to Cowboy. “Remember, she always lies.”

“It’s still a threat—”

“Prophetess,” Strongwoman says. “Let’s go over next steps. When we get to Charlotte HQ, you’ll be taken to a secure floor where you’ll be asked to remove your mask. It’s important that you understand your identity will remain confidential until your loved ones can be secured—”

“He killed her,” you interrupt. You watch the ceiling of the car. “I can tell you my identity now if you’d like.”

There’s a pause. “That won’t be necessary,” Strongwoman says. Is it just you, or is her voice a little softer? “There is a proper course to this investigation.”

The way she says it makes it sound like she’s promising you something.

It’s like your mind is scrambling for connection to her. There is nothing in what Strongwoman says that reminds you of the Fool. And yet, as the car falls back into weighted silence, one word rings. Proper.

There is a proper way, the Fool whispers. You could fight this spell, but don’t. You sink into the car seat the best you can with your hands behind your back. Hear me out.

Please, you think. By all means.

------.

The first time you ask her to dinner, you’re too hasty. There’s blood on the hem of your robes (possibly a tooth) and the city is still screaming the sirens of your escape. The Fool isn’t shivering like the rest of your henchman; she is standing next to you. Her Jester’s mask is carefully secured with three exact ties despite the haste with which she put it on.

“I can never wear this skirt again,” she says. She is standing on the very edge of the building, the toes of her sensible work shoes a bare inch away from nothing. “This was my best work skirt.”

The city sparks with the purple of your magic, violet vines climbing the buildings and blocking your view of the street below. Your magic is mostly illusion, but all power leaves behind a mark. Where your spell has started to fade remains a charred outline of leaves and flowers against the concrete and stone of the buildings.

While the rest of your minions look a bit like chimney sweeps, the Fool remains untouched. It’s an obvious sign of favoritism; you had room for one other person underneath your cloak and you chose her.

Somehow the memory of her pressed against your side as she used her power to lift you both up to the rooftop makes you blush.

“You don’t have any residue on you,” you say. “You can stitch it up.”

She scoffs. At you. “It’s recognizable, Prophetess.”

It’s really not. The black pencil skirt is the same kind she wore when you first met. How many does she go through? You find yourself smiling at her bare thigh.  Since she first told you she knew who you were, you’ve seen her rip at least three.

“Something amuse you?” she asks. Her voice is short and snappish, the tone she uses when one of the other paralegals aren’t as thorough as they need to be with the briefs. She turns to face you so that the setting sun lights her outline in orange and pink and gold.

“Have dinner with me,” you say.

And for a moment, the hope of her saying yes is as blinding as the sun behind her. Her lips part and you imagine that her eyes widen behind her jester’s mask. A wind picks at the long strands of her hair, sending them fluttering around her like a halo, and you’re standing so close that one brushes your cheek.

“There is a proper way,” she says and then stops. Her right hand twitches at her side. “There is—” is she stuttering? “This isn’t—Prophetess.”

You’re fascinated. She’s always so precise with her words. Even when you threatened her all those months ago she never once floundered like she’s doing now. “Hmm?”

“Hear me out,” she says.

You nod. “Of course.” You lean forward so that you’re only inches away from her. “I’m listening.”

“This…is not the time,” she says. You feel her attention slide to the others and then back to you. She hisses when she finds you even closer. “Prophetess.”

You don’t want to push too hard.

You lean back onto your good leg. “You let me know when it is time,” you say. Your lips quirk. “My little Fool.”

“Oh my god,” she mutters. She turns sharply on her heel. “Get yourself off the roof. I’m going home.”

You watch as she steps off the roof without hesitation. Her telekinetic powers are unique in that they can work on people too. You usually rely on her to get you home.

Maybe you should have asked her afterwards…

You turn to your other minions. Low-level villains without the drive or power to execute their own heists who all owe you the same favor. You raise your brow. “So how are you lot getting me off this roof?”

“You’ve got legs,” the Ace of Swords says.

“I broke my left one,” you say. And, to prove you aren’t lying, you draw away your cape to show that your pant leg is soaked in red.

The Ace of Swords stares. “This is why she said no.”

“Was that what it sounded like to you?” you ask. His surety makes you frown. “For that, you get to carry me down.”

The Ace of Swords groans as the other Swords flee.

-----------.

Your Swords are not always Swords. Sometimes they are Pentacles or Wands or Cups. There’s meaning to the costuming you put your people through, a meaning that escapes Hero Force.

“Where are the others?” Cowboy growls at you over the interrogation table. He keeps aggressively tapping the photos he flung in front of you. Grainy shots of your Wands storming through the Christmas Parade you used as a cover to kidnap the Mayor, blurry screen grabs from security footage of them as Pentacles in the art museum, a delightful brochure featuring them as Cups in a reproduction of Macbeth you used to do some light money laundering. “If you tell us, we might cut you a deal. Six of your people are being prepared for interrogation right now. Want to bet who breaks first?”

The ghost of you smiles behind your dead eyes, leans forward, and sneers in Cowboy’s face. That version of you is delighted by Cowboy mistaking six people for twenty-four and wants to play the interrogation game he’s offering. But the real you feels as heavy as lead and it takes all your strength to watch as Cowboy slowly works his way into a frenzy.

“For too long you’ve been tormenting this city,” he says. He shakes a finger in your face. “I told Headquarters, I said you were a problem when you first showed up in Raleigh. I said, ‘This one is going to come to Charlotte and she’s going to show up with an army.’ I did. I said that and now you’ve got the largest crew in America.”

“Quite the fortune teller, aren’t you?” you murmur. The Fool is at the front of the brochure, all done up as Macbeth. You’d tried to get her to be Lady Macbeth, but she’d insisted she be the main character for once.

You don’t understand Macbeth, you’d said.

His name is the play, she argued.

Lady Macbeth is the mastermind.

Did you read the play?

Did you?

Neither of you had.

Cowboy slams his hand on the table. “Look, Prophetess, I’m the only chance you’ve got at a deal. As soon as those DC heroes get in here, it’s off the table.”

Ha.

“It would be convenient for you if there were no witnesses,” you observe. “More convenient if you get to them before the DC crowd.”

“Witnesses to what?” Cowboy blusters. But he draws back and his gaze is colder than the Hero Force air conditioning that’s already making this room glacial. “To justice?”

How dare he lie to you? Her pale face haunts your peripheral vision. You can see her in the window of the interrogation room.

“To murder,” you say. Your glares clash when you finally look up at him. The soot is still in his stubble and you imagine you can smell her blood coming from his singed leather vest. “She surrendered. We all saw it.”

“She was an A-rank villain with telekinetic powers strong enough to crush my skull,” Cowboy bites back. “I acted in self-defense.”

“With us both on our knees—”

Cowboy whips his arm across the table, scattering the photos of your people into the air. He slams his hand again. “Last chance. Tell me where the rest of your minions are!”

In your holding cells, you stupid—

“You’re a pathetic worm of a man,” you say. You clear your throat. “Sorry. Let me say it in a way you’ll understand.” You adopt your prophecy voice. “The dust Cowboy leaves behind is red, red as the blood on his hands. His golden star is stained—”

You see the blow coming. Not a prophecy, of course.

You just know what heroes do when their buttons are pushed.

-----.

The second time you ask her to dinner, you’re too stupid for her to say yes. It’s not your fault though. How could you have known the Mayor had superpowers? He didn’t do anything besides embezzle taxpayer money!

“Maybe,” she says tightly, dragging your leaden and paralyzed body through the grand halls of the mayoral house, “you could have done a single iota of research instead of sewing all those costumes.”

Feeling is coming back into your hands. They still ache from finishing the elf-themed Wand costumes you’d made for your employees. You think the group costume of Five of Wands came out particularly well. All those little elves holding giant candy cane wands…a perfect symbol for the tumultuous election Season. You flex your fingers and then wince when the Fool’s nails dig into the soft undersides of your arms. “Ouch. Could you—”

“I am not slowing down,” she says. She grunts as she slings you around another corner. “We need to get to the backyard. Ace is meeting us there with the chopper.”

“Such a waste of money,” you bemoan. The chopper had been Two’s idea and all she does is maintain it. She won’t let you fly it until you get your license. “We should’ve got a boat.”

“Great idea,” the Fool snarls. She adjusts her grip so her nails are now digging into your shoulders rather than your arms. “A giant vehicle we have to keep in the harbor. The heroes would never find that.”

“Okay, you have me there,” you say. Your words are crisper now and you can even push a little with your legs as she pulls you into the empty kitchen. “But consider this. I could take you to dinner on a yacht. I can’t take you to dinner on a helicopter.” She stops in her tracks, head whipping down to look at you. Your noses nearly touch. You grin dopily. “Hi.”

“Are you asking me to dinner right now,” she asks in a tone that tells you you’d better be careful with your answer.

She’s so pretty. That’s why you aren’t careful when you slur, “Yes.”

She drags you through the doorway into the backyard. “I sure hope it’s the drugs making you this stupid.”

“Hey—”

“Hey!”

Both of you look back towards the house to where the Mayor has just appeared. He’s wearing the smoking jacket he’d monologued in and the handkerchief he’d used to drug you is hanging limply in his grip.

He points at you. “You. You should be unconscious! Nobody escapes my venom!”

“Oh gross,” the Fool says. “Does he make the sedatives from his body?”

“From his sweat,” you affirm. Then, raising your voice over the growing sound of the chopper and her gagging, “Maybe you should sweat better drugs, huh?”

The Fool coughs and wheezes. You recognize a laugh in the sound. “Don’t antagonize—”

The Mayor bellows and sweat begins to drip from his forehead. He mops at it with his handkerchief and then advances across the grass. “Get back here!”

“Hahaha,” you say, “He was definitely a hero. I know how to push their buttons.”

It becomes a race to who gets to you first; the chopper or the Mayor.

As usual, the Fool wins.

-----.

Cowboy isn’t allowed in your room after hitting you in the face. You can feel him lurking in the hall outside when Strongwoman takes the seat across from you.

“That…wasn’t supposed to happen,” she says and pinches the bridge of her nose. She’s sitting on a special crate they brought in for her. It creaks when she leans forward. “Are you sure you don’t need medical attention?”

The Fool is the only one you let tend to your wounds. Blood stings your eye. Cowboy was wearing his rings when he hit you. “I’m fine.”

Strongwoman sighs through her nose. She’s short and stocky, dark hair and wide nose. There’s a beauty to her when she’s still and quiet. When she moves? She moves like a threat. “We need to know where your base is,” she says.

“Home is where the heart is,” you say. And you killed mine.

Strongwoman’s lips thin. “Look, if you want the guys who speak riddles, we can wait for them. Or you can answer my questions and maybe we can come to some sort of understanding.”

“Interesting offer.” You lean back and contemplate her. “You have my spell book.”

“Except that,” Strongwoman says immediately. She winces. “Sorry. You’re in custody. The spell book isn’t even on-site anymore.”

“Then you can take these off,” you say, nodding to your cuffs. Their faint glow is making you sick. “As a sign of good faith.”

“Tell me everything about your operation,” Strongwoman retorts. She shakes her head. “Nobody believes you’re harmless without your spellbook.”

“Cowboy does.”

“Cowboy is operating under a lot of false assumptions,” Strongwoman says. She leans forward to match you. “Like the one where you have over 30 lower-level villains working for you.”

“Oh?”

“We have six,” Strongwoman says. “Tell me where the rest are and we can negotiate.”

Ha. She doesn’t know either. You are so good at costuming. It’s not like your henchmen can multiply. There are always just six with you and it’s through your costumes that they transform. You’ll have to tell the Fool—

Your mood sours. Tell the Fool. Who’s the Fool now? You’re not in the mood to play games. “I tell you everything, you let me talk to those you have.”

“No—”

“I don’t know everything about them,” you snap. “You’re asking me to betray my people. Fine, I’ll do that. You lot will pry and pull and claw until you find out anyway. But allow me to give them the chance to tell you about whatever family or loved one they haven’t told me about. If I must take them down with me, at least let them beg Hero Force for leniency for their loved ones.”

Strongwoman considers you. “And what do you want in exchange?”

“Let,” you clear your throat. Your eyes are hot and itchy. “Let me have a moment with them. To mourn one of our own passing. To—” you clear your throat “-to lay the Fool to rest.”

The silence sticks to the walls and builds. It presses into you on all sides until you feel like you’re in a coffin. You once told her you would die with her.

Not allowed, ma’am. I don’t think we’d go to the same place.

You swallow hard and stare at your hands.

“Deal,” Strongwoman says finally.

“Thank you,” you say. Your head bows until your forehead presses against your shaking hands. “Thank you.”

“Cuffs will stay on,” Strongwoman says gruffly. She pulls out a pen and pad. The pen looks like it’s made of metal. “Start talking.”

You do.

-----------------.

The third time you ask her to dinner, she stares at you for a long time. It makes you nervous in a way you haven’t been before, her unrelenting stare. Is it because she’s usually so quick? Or could it be because you can feel her eyes on your bare face for the first time since she stood in your office and called you a villain?

The same office you’re currently standing in now as the sun sets behind her?

“I have concerns,” she says at last.

Oh thank god. You’re smiling too widely. “I can work with concerns.”

“Can you?” Her eyes flash gold with the sun. “You keep asking me out while we’re working,” she says.

You blink. “Do I?”

“You do.”

You consider her words, leaning back against your desk. You’re wearing your pinstriped suit today and it’s getting a little tight. She feeds you before and after every meeting you have and you have a lot of meetings. “I’m always working.”

“That’s true,” she says. She turns on her heel. “And that’s the concern.”

You stand up. “Wait, how is that—”

She stops at the door and turns to look at you in a way that steals your breath. “I am not work,” she says. Her lip twitches. “Nor am I a fool.”

“I know, you’re—”

“Ace says they’re already at the meeting place. According to your schedule, we’re running late.”

“We haven’t finished talking.” You try to sound firm, like you used to. Instead, the words come out as almost a plea. “We can be late.”

“You’re never late. Besides, I hear it’s going to be a regular rodeo.”

“Cowboy? Ha! When did he blow back into town?”

“His probation period is up.”

“Lucky us.”

-----.

Lucky us.

You Fool.

--------.

You look over the bowed heads of your employees. Ace, Two, Five, Eight, Ten, and Page. The room Strongwoman led you to looks like the cockpit of a spaceship. Noxious blue light undulates up the concave walls. There are no chairs in here, no pulpit for you to stand behind.

So your employees kneel when you walk between them all to stand in the very center.

“Prophetess,” Ace says. Her voice is thin and high. “We—I’m so sorry.”

Two looks up. Her face is drawn and there’s a deep bruise along the side of it. “We know how it is to lose.”

“You do,” you murmur. You’re aware of the eyes on you here. You saw Cowboy sneering in the observation room on the other side of this one. There are cameras scattered like black stars across the ceiling. “I know you do. But there is a renewal in Death. If—” you swallow hard “-if you allow it.”

You expect fear. What you’re asking of them has happened exactly six times. The favor they owe is not only to you, but to each other. Death is the complete annihilation of everything you know. It can be the end. Or it can be the beginning.

But it takes people to begin.

And you have asked them too many times before.

“Anything,” they say as one.

Your head shoots up. “What?”

Six of your employees – your friends – return your gaze unflinching.

“If I have to redo everything again, I will,” Ace says. She presses a hand over her heart. You know a picture of her son lies there. “Time doesn’t matter. We won’t lose anything but time.”

“We know we can rebuild,” Two says. Her eyes are fierce. “We can do it better.”

“You taught us how to do it better,” Five says.

“I thought you would’ve already done it,” Page says. He scratches the back of his head. “I didn’t eat lunch thinking you woulda done it by now.”

“You didn’t miss much,” Eight tells him. Then, to you, “You did it for us. Again and again and again—”

“—and again and again and again—”

Eight punches Page. “Shut up.” She breathes in through her nose. “Prophetess. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“The memories you have made will only remain with you,” you remind them. Your hands are shaking. This—you have asked this favor for the sake of others. Did they feel this vulnerable asking? So hopeful and so full of dread. “It will be different. Time changes all and you who have experienced it—”

“—will be like fortune tellers in a strange new land,” Ace says. “We know.”

“We’re okay with it.”

“Are you?”

The time is approaching. You can hear voices outside the room. Ten minutes. She’d promised you thirty, but you figured they’d interrupt sooner. Especially considering what you’re saying.

You breathe in deeply through your nose. You think of her pencil skirt and her flashing eyes and her warm smile. The ghost of her pale face is fading into blackness as this curtain closes.

Your resolve firms. It was a bad ending. As a villain, you’re allowed to rewrite those.

“Tonight,” you say in your whispering voice, “we rebalance the deck.”

The blue in the room flickers. The voices in the corridor gain urgency. The cuffs around your wrist flare and then go dormant.

“I see my son a babe again,” Ace sings. Her eyes burn with your purple power as she brings her hands up towards you. The memory of the favor you granted her rises with her words. “I hold his hand.”

The blue flickers purple and electricity arcs. The Hero Force suppressors are to stop superpowers.

There is very little they can do against fate.

“I see the bus that takes them away,” Page says. He doesn’t sing. His voice is as dry as the desert and he salutes you. His hand glows against his temple. “They get on it.”

“I see my friend at the crossroads,” Two says. She holds her hands palm up and tilts her head to the sky. Tears of neon violet fall down her face. “I follow them.”

“The power I have falls into my hands like rain,” Eight says. She cups her hands in front of her and they fill with your power until it spills over onto the ground. “I drink from it.”

“The harm I caused erased,” Five says. He crosses his arms over his chest and bows his head. A halo the color of lilac blooms over his head. “I atone.”

“I do better,” Ten says simply.  They stand with their hands by their sides. Their eyes burn with your power and they do not flinch. “I don’t bury them.”

Your power crawls along the walls. There are no more blue arcs of power. There are purple flowers and thorns that leave shadows in their wake. They seal the door shut and you are distantly aware that Strongwoman is trying to smash her way inside and can’t.

Fate takes a different type of strength to overpower.

“I see her again,” you say. The tides of the world pull at your long hair. You are drowning in light. The ground shakes under your feet. You think of her life outlined in gold, yourself outlined in gold. Is it possible you can see it glittering there in the unrelenting ocean flooding into you? “I see her again.”

Thunder crashes and everything becomes nothing.

-----------.

You are at your desk. You blink at the pages lying before you. A brief. A case. From four years ago.

You release a trembling breath. You never doubted it would work but it’s a relief to see not so much time has passed. Ace will still share some memories with her son. Page will not have to sit by his brothers’ bedsides again. Ten won’t be trapped in her father’s house.

The rest…the rest will not expect your help. You didn’t help them the last three times. Cruel, maybe. Fate often is.

You think Two is in Charlotte at this point. She mentioned something about a halfway house…

You freeze grabbing your coat as familiar footsteps echo from the hall outside your door. The skyline is twinkling with city lights, but it’s nearly midnight. Nobody should be here, you don’t remember anyone being here at this time—

The door opens without a knock. Her hair is chopped beneath her ears and she has a lip piercing and there isn’t a pencil skirt to be found. But it’s her. It’s her.

“Anika,” you breathe.

Her gold eyes flick to you, to your desk, to your coat in your hand. “You working?”

“N-no,” you say. Your words pile up behind your teeth. Do you remember? Of course you do, otherwise how would you be here. But how? Did I infect you? Did the outline of my life really drag you into my power enough--

Anika waits. When you continue to stare at her, she prods, “I’m not your paralegal.”

“You don’t look like you’ve even finished your degree,” you blurt out. You point. “A lip piercing?”

Anika rubs her piercing. “I’m not the Fool,” Anika says patiently.

A light bulb goes off. “Oh,” you say. “Oh!” You get down on one knee. “Anika, will you marry me—” Anika throws her purse at you. It misses by about three feet. You stand and try again. “I mean, will you go to dinner with me?”

“Yes, I’ll go to dinner with you.” Anika rubs a hand over her face. “Everytime I give you an inch, you take a mile—"

“For the rest of our lives,” you promise.

Anika shakes a finger at you. “Dinner.”

“It’s a beginning,” you say cheerfully.

The best one you’ve ever had.

-------.

Thanks for reading! I do love my supervillain stories and appreciate you for making it through this one! Sometimes I wonder if I can even write flash fiction anymore haha

Next week's story is already up on my Patreon (X)! I'm super excited to share it as it made me laugh writing it. It's an AITA style post from a woman who used to be a Cryptid professionally and feels like she's made a misstep with her Slasher boyfriend.

See y'all next time!

[cruel-seduction]

Theodore Nott Headcanons

Warning: This piece contains themes of possessiveness, obsessive behavior, and dark romance undertones. Theodore’s devotion might be overwhelming, intense, and not suited for everyone’s taste. Reader discretion is advised.

(+ Requests are open so if you wanna request something, go ahead)

mdni 18+

Theodore Nott 

6’4 | He’s taller than Mattheo, and yes, he lords it over him (quietly, of course, because Theo is above petty behavior… unless it’s funny).

Lean, but don’t be fooled—this man is cut. He’s that deadly kind of fit where you don’t notice at first because he’s always wearing loose sweaters and looking like a poetry major. But the second the sleeves roll up? Oh. My. God. Veins for DAYS, hands strong enough to snap a wand in half (or your will to argue).

He doesn’t work out. Like, ever. He’s just naturally like this. Probably from lugging around all those dark magic books and the emotional weight of his trauma (we love a man with issues!).

(He could choke you with one hand while quoting Dante and your ghost would thank him. RESPECTFULLY!)

Has that sleepy, “don’t bother me, I’m too cool for this” kind of vibe. Until he’s pissed, and suddenly it’s quiet rage central. A single glare from him could silence an entire Great Hall—and probably has.

His abs? Unfair. They’re there, but in the casual, effortless way that makes you want to cry because why do they look that good without trying? If you’re lucky enough to see him shirtless (bless your soul), you’ll be rethinking your life decisions.

Quidditch player energy without ever actually playing. His thing? Sitting in the stands, sipping black coffee, and judging everyone while looking hot.

"YOU WANNA KNOW IF I’D FOLLOW THEODORE INTO A CURSED FOREST AT MIDNIGHT JUST BECAUSE HE SAID SO??? THE ANSWER IS YES. I’D GO, NO QUESTIONS ASKED."

You think he’s calm and controlled until you see him in a duel, and suddenly he’s throwing hexes like he’s possessed. It’s giving “do-not-poke-the-bear” energy, and it’s hot.

His smirk? Criminal. It’s the kind of smirk that makes you forget how to breathe for a second and then hate yourself because he definitely knows the effect it has on people.

“Mia cara,” he says, and you’re done for. No wand needed. He just obliterated your whole existence.

Theodore Nott | Personality

He’s quiet, but it’s that kind of quiet. The "I could verbally destroy you with a single sentence but choose not to because I have better things to do" kind of quiet.

(WE LOVE A MAN WITH RESTRAINED CHAOS!!! IT’S SO SEXY!!!)

His reputation is split down the middle. People either think he’s the chillest guy in Slytherin or they’re low-key terrified of him. There is no in-between. He doesn’t go out of his way to make people uncomfortable, but if you catch his bad side? RIP to you, my friend.

Very composed most of the time, but don’t mistake that for softness. Theo doesn’t raise his voice; he raises his eyebrow. And somehow, that’s worse.

"You really thought that was a good idea? Cute."

Stone-cold when it comes to confrontations. No yelling, no theatrics—just a quiet menace that makes you wish he’d scream at you instead because this is SO MUCH WORSE.

However, if it’s for his friends? Oh, baby, the gloves come off. Someone messes with Mattheo? He’s done. Someone insults you? They’re not showing up to class tomorrow. He’s terrifyingly efficient when it comes to protecting the people he loves.

Doesn’t talk a lot in fights, but his insults are cutting when they come out. And he does it with a smirk that makes you want to both slap him and kiss him.

"What’s the matter? Spellbook too heavy for you? Or is it just that your brain isn’t working?"

Unlike Mattheo, he doesn’t get in trouble for starting fights. Oh no, Theo’s the one who talks his way out of detention, leaving the professors wondering how they ended up apologizing to him.

Let’s be real, Theo has layers. He’s the kind of guy who looks calm and put together on the outside, but his mind? A mess. Overthinks everything, but you’ll never know it because he’s mastered the art of hiding his emotions. (He’s good at this, but it’s also probably why he sleeps like four hours a night.)

Moody, but in a subtle way. You’ll notice when he’s upset because he’ll get even quieter, or start tapping his fingers on the table. He’s not the type to vent about it—he’ll just say “it’s nothing” while his jaw clenches so hard you swear you hear it crack.

Theo loves order. He’s a perfectionist and gets mildly stressed when things don’t go according to plan. He doesn’t lose his temper, though—he just sighs dramatically and mutters something in Italian like "Per l’amor del cielo..."

(BILINGUAL KINGS ARE UNFAIR. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE CAN INSULT ME IN TWO LANGUAGES?)

A total academic weapon. Not because he tries super hard, but because he’s just naturally brilliant and does the bare minimum to get top marks. He can explain a spell you’ve been struggling with for days in five seconds flat, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Always looks like he’s in control, but put him in social situations? Total disaster. Theo’s not awkward, but he doesn’t do small talk. Half the time, he just nods politely and hopes whoever’s talking gets the hint.

Has the driest sense of humor. He’ll drop a sarcastic one-liner so deadpan you’re not even sure if he’s joking.

"I think your essay was… bold. Choosing to write it in such a confusing way must’ve been a creative choice."

Drinks coffee like it’s water. Black coffee, of course. None of that sugary stuff, though he secretly loves when you make him try your sweet drink.

Doesn’t like parties but goes because the group makes him. He’s the guy sitting on the couch, watching everyone else make fools of themselves while holding a drink he hasn’t touched. (He’s your ride home because you know he’s always sober enough to apparate responsibly.)

Theodore Nott | Boyfriend

Ah, Theodore Nott, the walking paradox of calculated charm and quiet vulnerability. Having him as your boyfriend is like playing chess against a master—except the stakes are your heart, and he already has you in checkmate before you even realize the game started.

Manipulation, Thy Name is Theo:Theodore isn’t one to beg for your love; oh no, he’s too smooth for that. Instead, he’ll make sure you think choosing him was your idea all along.

He’ll subtly nudge you into needing him.

He anticipates your desires before you even say them aloud:

"Thirsty? I grabbed your favorite drink. Tired? Don’t worry, I already finished that essay you were stressing about."

He’s not loud about his possessiveness, but it’s there. You don’t realize it at first, but suddenly, every other guy who tries to get too close to you is either giving you a wide berth or “just happened” to fail their next exam. Coincidence? With Theo, nothing is a coincidence.

(We love a man who’s low-key terrifying but only in a protective way!)

How He Realized He Was in Love:Theo didn’t believe in love. Love was messy, uncontrollable, and entirely too risky for someone who thrived on precision and control. But then you came along, and everything changed.

It was slow at first. He didn’t notice it happening until one day, you smiled at him across the library, and he felt his carefully constructed walls crack.

And then it hit him.

“Merlin, I’m in love with her.”

Of course, Theo didn’t panic outwardly. No, he spent the next week internally spiraling.

"What does this mean?"

"What if she doesn’t feel the same way?"

"How do I tell her without sounding like an idiot?"

Eventually, he decided that subtlety was overrated. One evening, while you were sitting in his dorm, flipping through one of his books, he just said it.

"I love you."

You froze, unsure if you heard him correctly. He didn’t look away, his intense gaze pinning you in place.

"You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know."

Affection, Theo Style:Theo isn’t flashy or over-the-top, but he’s deeply romantic in his own way.

Words of Praise: He’s a master of compliments that don’t feel like compliments until you think about them later.

"You’re too brilliant for this school, you know that?""How do you manage to look stunning even when you’re furious with me?""You’re the only person who’s ever managed to make me lose focus, mia cara."

Subtle Acts of Service: He’s always doing things for you without making a big deal out of it. Your favorite quill broke? There’s a new one on your desk the next day. You’re stressed about a test? He’ll quiz you until you feel confident (and then reward you with a kiss for every right answer).

The Praise Kink Is Real, Babe:Theo doesn’t just praise you to make you feel good. He needs you to know how much he adores you. Whether it’s your intelligence, your kindness, or just the way you look in his sweater, he’s always quick to remind you of your worth.

"You’re too good for me, you know that?" he murmurs against your ear, his hand resting on your hip. "But don’t think for a second I’ll ever let you go."

(Is it hot in here or is it just Theo?)

The Possessiveness Comes Out in Subtle Ways:

At parties, his hand is always resting somewhere on you—your lower back, your shoulder, your thigh. A quiet signal to everyone else: She’s mine.

If someone flirts with you, he doesn’t cause a scene. Instead, he’ll step in with that dangerously calm demeanor, his words laced with thinly veiled threats.

"I believe you’re in my seat." Translation: Touch her again, and you’ll regret it.

Theodore, the Unexpected Softie:For someone so composed, Theo is surprisingly soft when it’s just the two of you.

He loves curling up with you on the couch, one arm draped over your shoulders while he reads aloud from a book he thinks you’d enjoy.

Sleeps with one hand always touching you—your waist, your hand, your hair. It’s the only time he truly relaxes.

Occasionally whispers “I don’t deserve you” when he thinks you’re asleep.

Having Theo as a boyfriend is a rollercoaster of intensity and tenderness. He’s the type to protect you from the world while also making you feel like you’re the center of his universe. And honestly? We’d ride that roller coaster over and over again.

Theodore Nott | Obsessive Devotion

If Mattheo is chaos in bed, Theodore is calculated destruction. Theo doesn’t rush—no, he takes his time. He knows every move, every word, every touch is designed to drive you absolutely insane.

The Slow Burn King:Theo isn’t just about getting you off; he’s about making you beg. He’s not the type to drag you into the nearest broom closet and go at it like a madman. No, Theo prefers to let the tension build—catching your eye across the library with a smirk, his hand brushing yours during dinner, leaning in close to whisper something sinful in your ear when no one else is looking.

"You’re squirming, mia cara. Tell me, what’s on your mind?"

Possessive but Polished:He loves control—holding you still with a firm grip while his mouth works wonders between your thighs. Theo thrives on the sound of your moans and whimpers, each one a confirmation that you belong to him.

But don’t get it twisted: his possessiveness is refined. He’s not shouting it from the rooftops; instead, he’s branding it into your skin with every kiss, every bite, every low growl of, “Mine.”

(We love a man who can ruin our lives with just one look.)

Praise You Like a Goddess:Theo is the king of praise. He’s not subtle about how much he worships you, and he makes sure you know it.

"You’re so perfect, amore mio. I could stay like this forever, just watching you fall apart for me."

He’ll kiss every inch of your skin like it’s holy ground. He’ll tell you how beautiful you are when you’re flushed, trembling, and completely at his mercy.

And if you praise him back? Game over. Tell him he’s a good boy, and suddenly you’ve unlocked the most obedient, eager-to-please version of Theo. He’ll do anything to hear you say it again.

Control with a Dash of Chaos:Theo’s not loud, but his intensity is deafening. He thrives on being in control, but sometimes he loves to break his own rules. If you push him just enough—maybe tease him in public or drag him into a forbidden situation—he’ll snap in the most delicious way.

"You think you can play games with me? Let me show you how this ends, bella."

Experimentation, but Make It Sophisticated:Theo isn’t one to dive into wild kinks without purpose, but he’s creative when it comes to trying new things.

Silk ties? Check.

Blindfolds? Of course.

Whispering Latin endearments in your ear while he has you completely at his mercy? A standard Tuesday night.

And don’t get me started on the way he uses his fingers—this man could write symphonies with how skillfully he plays your body like an instrument.

Stamina for Days:Don’t let his cool demeanor fool you—Theo can and will go for hours. He has the patience to draw out every moment until you’re gasping and begging for release, and then he’ll do it all over again.

"Oh no, dolcezza. We’re not finished yet. Not until I’ve had my fill of you."

Switch Theo = UNLOCKED:Normally, Theo’s the one in control, but when you take charge? When you straddle his hips, grip his jaw, and order him to behave? He’s putty in your hands.

"Tell me what you want, bella. Anything—it’s yours."

And the best part? He loves it. Watching you take what you want from him, hearing you praise him as he falls apart under your touch—it’s enough to drive him to the brink every single time.

In Private, He’s All Yours:While Theo keeps his emotions tightly guarded in public, behind closed doors, he’s all in. He loves to hold you afterward, running his fingers through your hair and whispering sweet nothings as you both come down from the high.

"You’re everything, you know that? My whole world."

Having Theodore Nott as a lover is like being the muse of a masterpiece—every touch, every word, every moment is designed to make you feel like the most desired person on the planet. And honestly? We’re not complaining

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

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[cayleeuhithinknott]

❛ NEW MAGIC WAND ❜

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉…angel has been giving attitude all night. so, mean!chris decides he’s gonna make her as exasperated as she’s been making him all evening.

pairings: mean!chris & sensitive!brat!reader (angel)

cw: SMUT, use of a vibrator☺️, edging☺️, teasing, use of pet names, orgasm denial, i..think that’s it

as chris pulled you into the nearest bathroom of the house hosting the party you were at, your heart was pounding. you knew you were in trouble. all night, you’d been mouthing off to chris and rolling your eyes, which has definitely taken a toll on his mood.

he shut the door, pinning you up against it. chris grabs your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. you can practically see flames set alight in his eyes, and this made you…aroused? yeah, chris was mean sometimes, but it turned you the hell on. and he knew that.

“you’ve had a big mouth all night, ma…where’s it gone?” he teases lowly. you’re still speechless, avoiding eye contact at all costs. “hey—yeah, look at me when i’m talkin’ to you.” he demands, his raspy voice compelling you to obey and look up at him. something about his expression looked different. he’s got something planned for you, and you know it’s not gonna be good.

you can see those mischievous gears turning in his head as he starts to speak again, “you’ve been keepin’ me on edge all night with that attitude of yours, haven’t you, angel?” chris teases. you weren’t aware he was expecting a vocal answer until he gives your cheeks a painful squeeze, still holding your face in his hand.

“y-yeah..” you squeak, making a confident grin creep across his face. oh no. “yeahh, that’s right. so y’know what i think? i think it’s my turn to keep you on edge, ma. you pickin’ up what i’m throwin’ down?” he rasps.

your eyes widen. you’ve never been edged before, let alone by chris. you were nervous to say the least. you knew he’d show you no mercy…but as you thought about it, you began to notice the familiar heat pooling between your legs as you nod in response to his question.

“good. y’know…i found y’little vibratin’ wand thing…think that’ll do it for ya, angel?” he asks, tracing his thumb on your bottom lip. you look up into his eyes. they may be the lightest, brightest blue you’ve ever seen, but that dark glint always finds it’s way into his eyes. “let’s get outta here, then. cmon.”

chris leads you out of the house and you can just imagine how exhausting your night is gonna be.

chris ushers you into your home with a slap on the ass. you both get inside and chris immediately starts talking. “alright, go on upstairs, ma. y’know how i want you.”

you respond with a nod and scurry up the stairs to your shared bedroom. you strip, tossing your clothes off to who knows where. you sit on the bed, awaiting chris’ arrival. chris comes in, holding something familiar in his hand. your stupid vibrator wand from the bathroom cabinet. your heart drops.

“hey, ma. lookin’ nervous over there,” chris chuckles. he drops a pair of fuzzy handcuffs on the nightstand and your eyes go wide. “i-i’m not,” you falsely protest, your voice coming out shakier than you wanted it to. “sure you aren’t, angel.” chris chuckles again.

he sits down next to you on the bed, trailing his hands all over your body. “you’re so fucking gorgeous, baby.” your face flushes and you look away. he grabs your face and turns it back to him with a grin. he leans down, going to town on your neck. whimpers leave your mouth as he trails dark bruises all down your neck and down to your collar bones. he moves down to your bare breasts, circling each of your nipples with his tongue, leaving a trail of fire in it’s wake.

chris sits back up, admiring how you’re now marked up for him. he hums in approval as he reaches a finger down to your sopping pussy. “soaked, angel.” chris teases, running his finger up and down through your slit agonizingly slow. you squeeze your eyes shut just before he pulls his hand away and the tense silence is replaced with a soft buzzing. you knew what it was.

you feel him trace the vibrating wand along your inner thighs, not reaching your core just yet. your clit throbbed with need, and you knew you needed to say something. “please, chris…”

he pauses, a smirk evident on his face, “please what, ma?” he knew exactly what you wanted. he just wanted to make you say it. you whine, not wanting to speak it out loud. chris cocks a brow at you, dragging the wand further away from your pussy, closer to your knee.

“n-need it…on my cl-clit…please…” you mutter in embarrassment, your face flushing red. there’s no way he’s making you do this. chris chuckles at that, hovering the wand in the air just above your clit. “like this, baby?” he teases. you whine, shaking your head. chris then presses it down onto your clit, allowing the vibrations to finally flow through you. instinctively, your legs try to close, but chris is quick to fix that, pinning your thighs open. “no, ma. you don’t need restraints, do you?” your eyes widen as you vigorously shake your head.

chris rubs slow circles around your clit with tip of the wand. you whimper and whine, squirming with each vibration. chris uses his other hand to hold you still.

“you need to stay quiet for me, angel.” he mumbles, turning the vibrator up a notch and increasing the pressure. his little circles become faster, causing moans to spill from your lips. “i…i c-can’t!” you whine. chris fakes a pout, faux sympathy dripping from his voice. “oh, you can’t? i think you c-can, baby.” he mocks you. chris knows you have a very hard time staying quiet, so watching you struggle like this was pure nirvana for him.

“ch-chris, i really can’t—“

he looks down at you with a smug expression. “oh, i’m sure you can manage it, angel. if you can’t control your voice, i’ll just have to stop. and we don’t want that, do we?” he teases. you whine at that. as much as this was pure torture, you didn’t want it to stop. at least—not yet.

chris turns the vibrator up the the 3rd level, and this really gets you going, you’ve got one hand over your mouth, struggling to keep quiet, and the other hand gripping chris’ bicep for all the support you can get.

chris chuckles darkly at your struggles, watching you convulse and try to hold back your whimpers. your legs start to tremble a little more prominently as you feel your orgasm approaching. chris seems to notice this too, increasing his efforts. “getting close, ma?” you vigorously nod, the pleasure becoming more and more intense.

“‘m gonna c-cum, chris!” you moan out, but just as soon as your orgasm was approaching, it was taken away by chris switching off the wand. you whine.

“mmm, no you’re not, angel. only good girls get to cum, remember? it’s gonna be a while before you’re gettin’ what y’want, baby.” chris taunts, that devilish grin still plastered across his face.

with a disappointed whimper, you come to your next realization.

this is gonna be a long, exhausting night.

a/n: hi hi! short lil chris smut cause i got this idea last night and had to write it before i forgot about it! mean!chris and sensitive!brat!reader are definitely going to be a new au on my blog, so send in stuff about them!

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dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws

[wwooyology]

Vipers Touch | L.HS

「pairing」 : heeseung x fem!reader 「word count」 : 5.4k

「synopsis」 : being a princess was tiring, and you hated it. you wanted out—to become just a normal person, to be free. but there was only one person who could help you, the dark warlock that no one bothered because of his practices. you had no other choice but to go visit him; however, were you willing to take him up on his offer to gain your freedom, even if it meant losing a bit of your self-worth?

「genre」 : DARK THEMES!!!, nasty smut, dark warlock!heeseung, princess!reader

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, unprotected sex, usage of aphrodisiacs, dub-con, manipulation, petnames (princess, bunny...), dom!heeseung x sub!reader, choking, finger choking, degradation, derogatory names (slut...), oral (f. receiving), cum eating, usage of magic, bondage, overstimulation, dacryphilia, teasing, biting/marking, bludge kink, slight manhandling, breeding, dumbification, power play, fingering, slight clit biting, clit play, squirting, spanking, passing out, lmk if I missed anything!

「notes」 : this is for my favorite girasole rae!! I wish you the happiest birthday in the world bc god only knows that you need it!! I may or may not have gone a little stir crazy with this... but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!! also, I started growing delirious towards the end and while editing, so I apologize if the ending is trash and if there are any mistakes!! besides all of that, happy reading, sweets!!!

“M’lady, I sincerely do not think this is a good idea,” Your royal advisor, who just so happened to be your childhood best friend, Vernon spoke as he slowly walked behind you. “What if your father finds out? Worst yet, what happens if it doesn’t work?”

“Vernon, you worry too much; my father will not find out.” You looked over your shoulder, a smirk playing on your lips. “It’ll work, I’m sure. People aren’t scared of him for no reason.”

Vernon let out a defeated sigh, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to talk you out of this. So he just handed you the clock in his arms before watching you tie it over your shoulders and pull the hood over your head. You then slipped out of the secret door that was hidden in the furthest wall of the kitchen, leading right out to the stables.

Slipping out under the cover of the night to go see a dark warlock probably wasn’t the best idea, but you didn’t have any other choice. Your father was adamant about finding you a suitor before the end of the month, meaning you didn’t have much time left to find a way out.

Walking into the stables you were welcomed by the huffs and whines of the few horses that were in their stalls.

“Hi, guys.” You greeted the creatures before walking over to your personal horse, Starlight. She was a beautiful, sleek black horse with white streaks in her mane and tail. Reaching out, you patted her snout a few times before grabbing her saddle, “C’mon girl, we’ve got a rough ride ahead of us.”

After saddling her up you walked her out of the stable, closing the door behind you. Grabbing the reins you put your foot in the stirrup before pulling yourself up to sit up on Starlight’s saddle. Glad that you had opted for not wearing a dress but rather a blouse and a pair of slacks.

Sighing deeply, you patted the horse’s neck before grabbing the reins once more, “Alright, girl… let’s get a move on.”

And just like that, the two of you set off into the night on the hunt for this dark warlock that you believed was the key to solving all of your problems.

“Haven’t we been here already?” Your eyebrows furrow as you take a look at your surroundings. However, you can hardly tell because all of the trees look the same. Pulling on the reins, you stopped Starlight, who let out a soft huff. 

Something about this place felt off like something was missing. The only sounds were those of the insects and wildlife around you, as well as the soft breeze that blew through the trees. Yet you couldn’t help but feel uneasy, something in your gut telling you to turn around.

Swallowing thickly you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to center yourself. You had to do this; you had no other choice, especially if you wanted to get out of this life you’re living right now. So, giving yourself a curt nod, you nudge Starlight forward, keeping a keen eye out.

It took you almost five hours before you were able to even find any kind of sign as to where this warlock was hiding. However, after walking into the opening where the hut was sitting, you couldn’t help but notice that something was off.

It was quiet. Far too quiet.

All of the sounds of insects and animals were suddenly gone, leaving behind an eerie silence. Stopping at the end of the pathway, you patted Starlight’s neck as she whined in protest, the hairs on her back standing tall. Slipping off of her back, you took another look around, trying to find any sign of life. However, there was none.

Taking a deep breath, you shook your hands out, trying to calm your nerves and racing heart. You walked forward with hesitant steps, keeping an eye on your surroundings just in case something or someone were to pop out.

Something about this whole area gave you a bad vibe. It felt as if you were in a different place entirely—not in the middle of the forest.

You started to wonder if this warlock even existed and, if he did, if this was some kind of trap that he had set up for any unwanted visitors. The same gut feeling returned, screaming at you to turn around and run home.

Despite this feeling, you continued to push forward. You’ve come this far; why would you turn around now? Letting out a huff, you reached towards the door handle, wrapping your fingers around the cool metal.

“Does being a princess mean that you lose all sense of common decency?” His voice broke the eerie silence, scaring you half to death and causing you to turn around with wide eyes. There stood a tall male, his red hair messy, his outfit completely black save for the white top under what looked to be a corset vest. “I let my vail down for you, and all I get in return are you barging into my home?” His tone was stark, eyes narrowed into slits, and hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers.

“N-No! I was just-” You started stumbling over your words, watching as he stepped closer to you. However, he was quick to cut you off, his tone sarcastic.

“Oh, so you weren’t about to just let yourself in?” He stepped even closer, and with each step he took towards you, more power you could feel radiating off of him. The energy caused the hairs on your arms to stand tall, goosebumps littering your skin.

You knew he was dangerous, but it wasn’t until now that it fully sank in. He could easily kill you if he saw fit, not giving a care to the world if you were a princess or not. Your breath hitched as he stood before you, bending down until he was at eye level with you.

“Cat got your tongue, princess?” He smirked, the feeling was sinister leaving your heart raging under your ribcage, mouth suddenly dry. Your wide eyes search his, flinching when he brings his hand up. “Well, you wanted to talk, right? Let’s talk.” With a snap of his fingers, the door behind you flung open, allowing a cold gust of air to wash over your body, intensifying your goosebumps. Looking over your shoulder a sense of dread filled your veins as you took in the dark entrance, the only lighting were the candles lit along the walls.

Looking back over at the tall male, you took in the wide smirk that was still plastered on his lips, a dark gleam in his eye. There was really no running away now. You had no other choice but to comply and talk to the warlock. So, with a shaky breath, you turn and take a hesitant step toward the door.

--

You stood before the red-haired male, hands interlocked in front of your body as you looked everywhere but him. He, however, kept his eyes on you, a smirk tugging on his lips at your visible fear and unease. Something that he loved seeing on those who came to visit him, although most would have run with their tails tucked between their legs by now. So, to say he was intrigued would be an understatement.

Leaning back on the desk behind him, Heeseung tilted his head slightly, arms crossed over his chest. The movement caught your eye, causing you to look over, your breath catching in your throat as you met his eyes.

“So what is it that you’re wanting princess?” His tone was cocky as if he already had an idea as to what it was you wanted. Your mouth suddenly goes dry, suddenly wary of telling him what you were wanting.

“I-” You cursed yourself internally when your voice cracked, missing the cocky look that flashed across the warlock’s face. Clearing your throat, you met his eyes once more, “I want a way out of the royal life.”

Your words only made the redhead chuckle, amused by them. The sound made your stomach churn, sure that he was mocking you. Eyebrows furrowing, you opened your mouth to speak once more, but he cut you off.

“What did daddy say no to getting you another pony?” He laughed, the action causing his lips to pull up, showcasing his pearly white teeth. However, his words left a sour taste in your mouth; who was he to mock you? Taking a breath, he met your eyes once more, that same cocky smirk lying on his lips, “You do know that you're asking for your title to be taken away, the fame, the riches, the fancy lifestyle you live, everything. Is that something you really want?”

Swallowing thickly, you nodded your head; you knew what you were asking for. Hell, you had thought about any other solution, but this was the only thing that you could think of that would actually work. Even if it meant that you lost your title and all of your wealth. You’d still take it.

“It is. I want out; I want to start anew.” Despite the shakiness in your voice, your words held truth, which only further amused Heeseung.

He had met many, many people who had asked him for the same thing. They never took his deal, though, because it would mean losing a piece of who they were. Though he had a small inkling that you would be different, and boy, was he going to have fun with you.

“Alright.” He nodded his head, pushing himself off of the wooden desk before walking towards a shelf that held countless vials and containers of liquids and unknown items. Your eyes trailed after him, the unease growing in the pit of your stomach. “I’ll give you what you want, but in exchange, I want your help.”

You already knew that it wasn’t going to be easy; you couldn't just walk in, ask and he’ll give it to you. No. He would obviously want something in return. Watching him closely, you saw him grab a beaker filled with a purple liquid and pour it into a smaller glass.

“I need help testing out this elixir and…” He turned around after capping the beaker once more. Your heart started racing as he took a few steps closer to you, only stopping when he was an arm's distance away. “You just happen to show up at the perfect time,” Your eyes fell on the glass in his hand, filled about a quarter of the way with that purple liquid. 

You then glanced up at him wearily, not entirely sure you could trust his word. How could you be sure he wasn’t trying to kill you? Or turn you into some weird creature? Monster even?

“Take this and let me record the results, then I’ll give you what you want.” His voice was smooth, with no indication of a lie. However, you still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, but you once again pushed it away as he held the glass out to you.

“What does it do?” You asked, shaky fingers reaching out to take the glass from him, your fingers brushing his. An electric shock jolted through your entire body, making the hairs on your arms stand tall. Noticing your reaction, Heeseung had to bite back the shit-eating grin that was threatening to pull onto his lips.

“It’s a sensory enhancer.” He started explaining as you examined the dark, glittery liquid. Confused, you looked up at him, wondering why he couldn’t just test it on himself. “It’s much better to record results from a third party.” He shrugged, the words falling from his lips as if he had just read your mind.

Turning your attention back to the elixir in your hand you contemplated the pros and cons, wondering what the worst was that could happen if you did drink it. Sighing, you pulled the glass away from your face, meeting his chocolate irises once more.

“So I take this, tell you how I feel then you give me my freedom?” You questioned, eyes narrowing slightly as his lips curled inward, a hum of agreement reverberating from his throat. “And that’s it? Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He repeated your words, holding his hands up in a mock surrender.

Looking at him with a skeptical eye, you tried to find any sign that he was lying to you, but there wasn’t one to be found. Sighing, you nodded your head, agreeing to his deal, and looked down into the glass once more. Missing the sinister gleam that had appeared in the male’s eyes.

Inhaling deeply, you tried to will your heart to calm down, repeating to yourself that it would only take a few minutes, and then you’d be on your merry way with your freedom.

Oh, but how wrong you were…

Heeseung watched as you brought the glass up to your lips, a sense of excitement coursing through his veins. It has been far too long since he’s had a new plaything, especially one as pretty as you.

As soon as the bitter liquid touched your tongue, you had to stop yourself from gagging. Your eyes started to water. Trying to ignore the taste, you downed the rest of the liquid before pulling the glass away from your lips, a gasp following.

The room was silent as you waited for something to happen, your eyes moving over to meet the redheads. A smug, sinister grin decorated his face, filling your body with a sense of dread. However, after a few moments of absolutely nothing happening, you started to believe that you had gotten the easy way out and the elixir was a dud.

A gasp fell from your lips as the glass slipped from your fingers, shattering on the floor as a sudden overwhelming heat erupted throughout your body. Your skin feeling far too warm for it being late fall, your mouth filling with excess saliva and worst of all? Your core was throbbing, yearning to be filled causing you to clench your thighs together.

“Aw, you poor naive little bunny…” Heeseung smirked as he took a step towards you, waving his hand and making the glass shards dissipate into the floor. Your breathing became ragged as you tried to step back, only to stumble. However, Heeseung was quicker. He grabbed your wrist, yanking your body towards his, hand finding the small of your back, keeping your body pressed against his. “You shouldn’t ever trust a warlock’s word.”

His scent engulfed your senses, causing your brain to turn into mush, no matter how hard you tried to fight against it. Whatever he had given you was way too strong to resist.

“W-What did you give me?” You huffed out, fingers balling the fabric of his jacket into your fists. Your brain felt like it was trying to shut down, something trying to overtake your mind and body. All of the thoughts that you had were slowly fading away, replaced by the insatiable need to be touched.

Heeseung smirked as he took in your teary eyes, watching the internal conflict happen behind your dilated pupils. His grip grew tighter on your body, loving the way your body was already reacting to him.

“I wasn’t lying; it is a sensory enhancer.” He chuckled as he watched the shock morph on your features, “just not the one you thought it was.”

That’s when it clicked in your brain, he had given you an aphrodisiac. A sex drug. It was no wonder that it felt like you were in heat. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to suppress the drug, pushing at Heeseung’s chest. 

This wasn’t how you wanted this to go. You wanted to gain your freedom. You knew that there would be some price to pay, but not this… this was–

Your brain started to go foggy, and you forgot what you were trying to say. The heat spreading throughout your body becomes so overwhelming that you just want it to stop. Your panties were soaked, some of it leaking onto your trousers. The clothes on your body feel so comfortable, wanting nothing more than to strip out of them.

Noticing the glaze over your eyes, Heeseung smiled sinisterly, knowing he had you right where he wanted you now. Reaching down, he took your chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilting your head so you were looking up at him. Your breath hitched in your throat as you met his heated gaze, acutely aware of how close he was to you.

“Help me. Please,” you plead, rubbing your thighs tightly together. A shiver coursed through your body as you felt his fingers slip under the fabric of your blouse. You felt like you were going insane, like a wild animal completely lost in primal instinct. Your fingers started to claw at the fabric of his vest, the tears that were once sitting on your waterline now overflowing down your flushed cheeks.

“Hmm, you want my help? Aren’t you a needy little thing?” Heeseung smirked, drawing your face closer to his. The warmth of his breath only added to your need. A needy whine fell from your lips as you tried to lean more into him. The sound only riled the male up more, wanting to hear more.

“Heeseu–” Your words caught in your throat as his hand moved down to cup your weeping heat, feeling your slick soak through the fabric even more, coating his digits in a thin layer. A choked moan tore through your lungs as he applied more pressure, your whole body trembling in his hold. Chuckling darkly, he moved even closer to you until his lips were right next to your ear, soaking in all of your little whines and mewls as he continued to toy with you. “Don’t worry, princess, I'll take great care of you.”

A series of choked moans and cries fell from your swollen lips as Heeseung continued to fuck his fingers deep into your drenched cunt. His lips trailed the line of your jugular, leaving hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as your mind was sent reeling, the smallest touch making you feel like you could cum then and there.

“Gonna cum already?” Heeseung asked, a cocky smirk on his lips as he pulled away from your neck, taking in your pleasure-twisted face. 

You couldn’t even reply to him as your orgasm washed over your body, eyes rolling back. It was so intense that your vision turned white for just a moment, legs trembling on either side of Heeseung’s hips as he had you perched on his desk.

“Such a desperate little slut aren’t you?” He berated you, picking up the pace of his fingers despite your whines of it being too much. Your shaking hands moved to try and pry his hand away from your sensitive cunt, but he was quick to slap your hands away, teeth nipping into the juncture of your shoulder. “Don’t be a brat, bunny.” 

You mewled at his words, already feeling another orgasm building up in the pit of your stomach. The heat of his body on yours offered no relief, only adding to the delirious feeling that was clouding your mind. 

Your pussy was leaking so much that a pool had started to form on the wooden surface beneath you, the sight only making Heeseung’s mouth water. Groaning softly against your skin, he pushed your body back roughly, making you lay flat on your back, body completely exposed to his predatory gaze.

“Hee–”

“Shhh, my little bunny, I need to appreciate my meal before I dive in.” His eyes continued to travel down the length of your nude skin, taking in all the little details that littered your skin. Then his eyes fell down to your spread thighs, your dripping cunt on full display as his fingers continued to fuck into you slowly.

You bit your lip to try and muffle some of your sounds, watching as he kneels down, coming face-to-face with your pussy. However, all of those sounds broke loose as his lips wrapped around your puffy clit, sucking harshly. Your hands then fly down to grab his hair, fingers threading through the red locks.

“Fuck!” A cry tore from your lips as he nipped at the little button, his free hand moving up to pull your hands away from his head. Then, your hands were pinned to the desk above you by some unknown force.

Looking up, you tried to tug your hands out of whatever was holding them, but it was futile. Whatever it was was far stronger than you, keeping your hands firmly in place.

Your attention was then brought back to the man between your legs as he wrapped his lips around your clit once more. Tears spilled from your eyes as his pace picked up tenfold, leaving your legs trembling next to his head, held by the same invisible force as your wrist.

“Heeseung!” You cried out as his fingers brushed over a peculiar spot along your gummy walls, back arching off of the desk, shoving your cunt further into his face. You cry out once more as he bites at your clit, causing your whole body to tense as you come once again.

Pulling away from your cunt Heeseung moved over to your thighs, sinking his teeth into the plush fat. Pain erupted in the same spot, a pitiful squeak falling from your lips as you lifted your head to meet Heeseung’s smug gaze.

“Well, aren’t you a little pain slut?” He licked over the raised skin, eyes still on you, relishing in the tears that stained your cheeks.

Running his tongue over his teeth, Heeseung pulled his drenched digits out of your spasming cunt. A whine rolled off of your tongue at the emptiness that it left behind, eyes watching all of the redhead's movements.

He brought his hand to your mouth, tapping on your bottom lip. " Go ahead and clean up your mess, princess.”

Blinking away some of the tears that were blocking your vision, you parted your lips, allowing him to stick his fingers into your wet cavern. Your eyes rolled at the taste of yourself on his fingers, tongue running all along his digits. A moan vibrated from your chest when he pressed down on your tongue, saliva spilling from the corner of your lips, blending with your tears.

“See how sweet you are, bunny? I could have you on my tongue for centuries and never get tired of your taste.” His voice was hoarse as he slipped his fingers from your swollen lips. Your eyes went wide as you watched him stick those very same fingers in his mouth.

You could feel your pussy clench around nothing as Heeseung put on a show of lapping up the leftover cum and saliva off of his fingers, groaning at the taste. Pulling his fingers from his lips, he wiped his mouth before grabbing your hips.

The restraints on your body were suddenly gone, but you weren’t able to move much before Heeseung pulled your body off of the desk, hands maneuvering your frail body until you were bent over, chest pressed against the wooden surface.

A choked moan fell from your lips when Heeseung sent a sharp slap to the fat of your ass, watching the skin jiggle. Repeating the action a few more times, loving the sounds that would leave your lips every time his hand made contact with your skin.

“Look at you trembling. Are you gonna cum just from me spanking you?” He mocked you, grabbing your asscheeks and pulling them apart so he could see your needy hole that was throbbing with need.

“S-Seungie.” You whined out, pushing your hips back into him, wanting, no, needing him to do something.

Heeseung felt his cock grow even harder as the nickname rolled off of your tongue, teary eyes pleading with him to do something. Clenching his jaw, he released your ass, grabbing your hip and pulling you flush against his bulge. A sharp cry fell from your lips as you felt the rough fabric of his trousers rub along your exposed cunt.

“Is this what you want? My dick?” He leaned over your back, lips right next to your ear. “Want me to stuff you full, maybe even enough to get you pregnant?”

You mewled at his words, pushing your hips back into his. Heeseung hissed at the pressure, the fabric of his trousers soaking in all of your slick. Pulling away from your body, the redhead made quick work of his clothes, adding to the pile of haphazardly thrown clothing on the ground.

Trying to move your body to face him, you realized that you were once again stuck in place. Heeseung chuckled, grabbing the base of his cock, watching the way you struggled to try and move your body. Pumping himself a few times, he moved towards you, hand finding your hip, stilling all of your movements.

You let out a choked whine when he teased your entrance with the tip of his dick. Tears streamed down your face as you let your head fall to the surface of the desk when he started to push in.

“Hee–” Your words fall short when he pulls out again, a cry of protest falls from your lips. Heeseung continues to tease your entrance until you’re begging him to finally fuck you, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks.

Then he finally pushes his entire length into your weeping cunt, a choked moan slipping from your lips at the sudden stretch. Your eyes squeezed shut as he left you little to no time for you to adjust, pistoning his hips into yours.

“Fuck you’re still so tight.” He groaned, his grip on your hips tightening until his knuckles turned white. 

Your body felt like it was on fire, your mind clouding with so much pleasure that words were no longer forming. All that left your pretty swollen lips were chants of Heeseung’s name and babbled nonsense. The pleasure was so overwhelming that your legs were trembling despite the support of the desk, the coil in your stomach growing tighter and tighter at an alarming rate.

Reaching behind you, you made a grab for Heeseung’s wrist, hoping to get him to slow down. However, Heeseung just chuckled darkly before taking your wrist in his hand, pulling your body back to meet his thrusts.

“Give me your other hand.” He growled, reaching for your other hand, giving you no other choice but to hold your hand back to him. “Such an obedient little bunny,” He hummed, taking both of your wrists in one hand, using them as leverage to pull you back onto him as he continued to fuck into your needy cunt.

“Heeseung!” You screamed his name when the tip of his dick brushed over your sweet spot before hitting your cervix. The combination of the hits had your body spazzing, another orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“Shit.” He cursed as he felt your walls squeeze his dick almost painfully tight, but he kept his pace, never slowing.

Your moans seemed to rise in pitch as his tip kissed your cervix with each thrust, stars dancing across your vision. Heeseung smirked smugly, watching you completely lose yourself as he fucked into you.

He then released your hands and leaned over your body, pushing himself deeper. The feeling had your eyes rolling back, mouth gaping open. Taking the chance, Heeseung grabbed your chin, shoving his middle and ring fingers into your mouth until you gaged.

“You’re so fucking noisy.” He groaned as you squeezed around him once again; he then pulled your body up. The new position had your vision turning hazy as another orgasm conjured in the pit of your stomach. “Am I fucking you so good that you have to let anything and everything within a ten-mile radius know?” He mocked you, burning his face in your neck to lick and suck at the skin, making sure that marks were left behind.

You whined around his fingers when his other hand snaked around your waist, pressing on the small bulge at the bottom of your tummy. Your eyes almost crossed entirely as he added even more pressure, making sure that you felt everything. 

“Feel how deep I am, bunny?” He licked up the side of your neck until he reached your ear, “I could breed you so well.” He bit the shell of your ear, making your whole body shiver, more tears spilling from your eyes flowing down to join the spit and saliva that spilled out of your mouth around Heeseung’s fingers.

Pulling his fingers from your mouth, he moved his hand down to your throat. Encasing the soft flesh in his palm, loving how small your neck was in his hand. 

“Hee!” You choked out his name when he moved his hand from your tummy to play with your swollen clit, sending shocks of electricity all throughout your body.

Heeseung could tell you were close once again as your nails started to dig into the skin of his forearm, and your cunt was squeezing him with a vice-like grip. Picking up his pace, he made sure to hit all the spots that made you scream, and that’s exactly what you did.

“Cum for me bunny. Make a mess all over my cock like the desperate slut that you are.” He berated you, teeth nipping at the shell of your ear once more.

It only took a few moments for the coil in your stomach to grow tight, but this time, it felt different, like there was more pressure than normal.

“Heeseun–” Your words caught in your throat as his hold tightened, limiting your oxygen. Then your whole body convulsed as you squirted all over his cock and hand, the warm liquid running down your legs.

“Holy shit.” Heeseung groaned at the sigh as your walls fluttered around his cock. The choked mewls falling from your lips were like music to his ears, loving how fucked out you sounded.

“Seung–” His name spilled from your lips as he continued to pound into you at an almost animalistic pace, chasing his own high. The sensitivity had your body burning, almost as if you were on fire, completely overwhelming your senses.

Heeseung’s cock twitched in your cunt, begging for release after he had been holding out for a while. A breathy groan was pulled from his lips as he felt his high on the tip of his tongue. Tilting his head down, he whispered the nastiest things in your ear, making your body tremble even more.

“‘M gonna cum and make you a mommy,” He whispered lowly, lips brushing the skin of your tear-streaked cheek, “make you my cumdrop.” You whined at his words, shaking your head in protest, but he just disregarded it. “Isn’t that what you are, my little bunny? My desperate slut just waiting for me to fill you with my cum, hmm?” He chuckled as your body shivered, the sensitivity causing another high to build up rapidly.

“Fuck!” You cried out, head falling back on his shoulder when his fingers continued to toy with your puffy clit, sending your body right over the edge.

Black spots clouded your vision, threatening to black out entirely as your orgasm racked over your body. Your orgasm triggered Heeseung’s. He spilled deep in your womb just like he said he would. The warmth made your brain short-circuit, eyes rolling back before your vision went completely black.

Holding your body close to his, Heeseung laughed darkly as your lax form, body drained of energy entirely. Kissing up your shoulder, he moved his hand to continue leaving kisses until he got to your ear once more.

“Don’t worry, princess, you’ll get exactly what you want.” His words held a more profound, sinister meaning as he moved away from your skin. Just then, a small mark appeared on your skin right behind your ear, a sign that you were his.

You wanted to get away from being a princess, to start anew. So that’s what he would give you. A new start with him.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[innerfare]

You’re Jealous

 Summary: You get jealous of someone else in his life.

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, and Kid

Genre: Slight Angst // Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

Luffy:

He never told you Boa Hancock was in love with him, and when you find out, you have to remove yourself from the situation before you have an emotional outburst and start something with the Pirate Empress. The problem is, you don’t even know which emotion will spill out of you. Finding out the world’s most beautiful woman, and a powerful Warlord, no less, is desperate to marry Luffy is a whirlwind, to say the least. Luffy can seem clueless at times, but his emotional intelligence is through the roof, and he picks up on what has you upset almost straight away. He knows to give you some space, and when he senses you’re ready, he approaches you with a handful of wildflowers he picked. He doesn’t really say much, just pulls you into a hug, presses a few kisses into your cheek and temple, and says in your ear, “you’re my girl.” 

Zoro:

He didn’t mention Perona was also at Mihawk’s castle for those two years until a few months after the crew gets together. He tells a story that features her, and you realize there was a woman keeping him company. Your heart drops into your stomach. Zoro insists he didn’t mention her because he didn’t think she was relevant; the only thing Perona did those two years was annoy him. He’s actually the one who won’t let it go, not you (even though you are pretty jealous). Whereas you’d prefer not to talk about it, Zoro is wracked with guilt because he’d never considered the whole thing in a relationship context. Him fretting constantly over it actually heals your jealousy because you realize you’ve never seen him panic over the prospect of hurting anyone else’s feelings. 

Sanji:

Even with a third eye, Pudding is stunning. And Sanji almost married her. It was before you two were together, but listening to the stories from Whole Cake, hearing how close he came to marrying another woman, knowing she really did fall in love with his kind heart and wonderful cooking, turns you into a little green monster. You know you shouldn’t feel jealous of a woman you’ve never met before, a woman Sanji chose not to marry, but you can’t help it. Sanji is completely shocked that you would feel jealous over his relationship (if it could even be called that) with Pudding, though after thinking about it some more, he does realize why you might be jealous that he had a fiancé. His solution is to bring you a bouquet of roses and walk you through the dark details of his life, telling you things he’s never outright told anyone, so you understand the special place you have in his life. 

Ace:

He collects people without trying, and often times, without realizing, either. Ace thinks he’s just making friends, but you see the way the women he laughs and shares drinks with are drawn to him like plants to the sun. He promises them freedom and adventure (and he has a very nice laugh), and you can see how it excites them. You don’t really mind it, knowing Ace well enough to see the way he holds those women at arm’s length, even if he seems close with them (such is the magic of Fire First Ace). But Yamato makes you jealous. It’s not hearing the way they laughed together but hearing the way they fought that gets to you. You know how Ace lives to fight and even just roughhouse, you know how he’s a rough and tumble guy, and you worry you’re not tough enough. Should you be punching his arm when he makes a joke? Should you be trying to trip him out on deck? What should you be doing? When you finally come clean with Ace about what’s been bothering you, he actually laughs. “If I wanted to be with someone who gives me hell, I’d be sleeping in Marco’s cabin every night. Besides,” he says, scooping you up in his arms, “I like being able to manhandle you.” 

Sabo:

Sabo is a flirt, and you knew that going into your relationship. It actually doesn’t bother you when he flashes that charming smile of his at someone else or swoops in to save a damsel in distress (a speciality of his) and even serves to entertain, especially on the rare occasions his flirtations are rebuked. What does bother you, though, is his tight relationship with Koala. You know it’s ridiculous to be envious, you know Koala would sooner saw off her arm than kiss the man she considers her irksome big brother, but they’ve known each other since they were little kids, and Koala has been through so much with Sabo that the pair have such a close bond. It’s not the angry kind of jealousy that bubbles up in you when Koala mentions something about Sabo’s past that she assumes you know but you don’t, just the sad kind that you try to keep to yourself. Surprisingly, Sabo notices, though you don’t realize until he hugs you from behind and mumbles in your ear that he’s glad you’re the only one who knows he has a skincare routine, his silly words diffusing your mood and acting as the exact affirmation you needed. If it’s not enough, though, he’ll happily prove his loyalty to you by challenging Koala to a karate match, though.  

Law:

Dr. Law and Dr. Robin sure do get along well- so well, in fact, you can’t help but wonder if they are better suited to each other than you and him. Even if they didn’t have such good chemistry, it would be impossible not to feel a touch of jealousy toward the archeologist. She’s intelligent, beautiful, fiercely loyal, a member of the Straw Hats, and has an impressive bounty that she earned even before she became a pirate. Needless to say, you find yourself brooding when the Robin brings him a beer and sits down beside him to discuss the immune systems of fishmen, a topic both are rather interested in. Of course, you’re interested in that, too, thus the reason Law realizes something is wrong when you don’t participate in the conversation. He ends up excusing the two of you and taking you to bed, worrying you had too much to drink, the thought you may be jealous never once occurring to him. You end up not saying anything (many thing in your relationship with Law being unspoken) and just sleeping it off, the fact that he excused the two of you proof enough of his loyalty. 

Kid:

He doesn’t ever talk about his first love, Victoria. In fact, you didn’t even know she existed until Killer got drunk one night and began speaking of his dearly departed. What he didn’t mention was that Kid, too, had been in love with her. It only comes up the next night when you mention it to Wire, who mentions it was the death of his first love, Victoria, that put Kid on the war path and united the first four members of the Kid Pirates. Realizing Wire messed up, Heat chimes in to say, “he’d do the same for you.” But you’re not convinced, mainly because Kid never told you any of this. It tears you apart, leaves you tossing and turning for nights on end, until you finally burst into Kid’s workshop one night ranting about how he doesn’t trust you and holds you at arm’s length. “Heat says you’d do the same for me, but-” Kid cuts you off and says, “I wouldn’t do the same, I’d do worse. Much, much worse.” And from the wicked gleam in his eye, you’re inclined to believe him. 

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Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!