#Fire Hawk Power Take Off

[midseo]

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[calypsocolada]

how your first kiss went with them... ft. shigaraki, aizawa, & hawks

authors note: hi hi! just finished watching season 6 of mha and got inspired. first time writing for mha characters and started with my favorite ones :) hope you all enjoy!!

cw: angst, fem! one for all weilder, slight spoilers for season 6

wc: 2.6k

click here for my masterlist

Tomura could only watch as his mind was stolen, watch his body being overtaken by a force he wasn’t strong enough to stop. All for One’s control taking over. He knew he had seconds left before he’d no longer cease to be himself. You burned with hatred beneath him, your left arm broken and useless, your right hand holding some sharp shrapnel that you’d plunged desperately into his side, your powers flickering weakly within you. He didn’t feel the pain. Your eyes flashed, his hands around your neck, squeezing. Someone was going to win here but… it wasn’t going to be him. 

He pulled you hard, the fire in your eyes licking and burning his own but he couldn’t care less. If he was going to die he was going to make one last grave mistake that might send him to the grave earlier than expected. He leaned down where you were pinned beneath him and with impressive force, smashed his lips against your own. 

The kiss was like a fight. Like all your other fights. But lips instead of fists. With breaths instead of words. With groans instead of screams and growls. His hands gripped your face hard to keep you where he wanted you. You, in a fit of confusion and pure survival instinct twisted the shrapnel in his side. He gasped in pain but that only spurred him on, his mouth cracking yours open in a feverish attempt to be as close as humanly possible. He had no indication whether or not you wanted this until the pain ceased and he felt your tongue brush against his. His breathing hitched, muddled with pain and sorrow and complete obsession. He pulled you off the ground roughly and kissed you until you both were gasping for air. When he pulled back the state he left you in was enough to satisfy him for years. Your lips were kissed pink and wet, your cheeks had a wicked blush across them as you stared at him with utter bewilderment and something else that had his stomach tangling in knots within him.

He resigned himself to death then. He was guilty as sin.

Your hand was still on the hilt of your shrapnel that was embedded in his side as you stared at each other. Breaths heavy. Tomura didn’t know how to be kind. He didn’t know how to be soft. He’d never kissed anyone before and it should’ve been pretty damn suspicious when the first person he’d ever felt the need to devour with his lips was the one standing opposite of him in this endless war. The one he needed to destroy. And to say he wanted to devour you was almost an understatement. He wanted to climb into your body and live in your ribcage, safe and tucked away. He wanted to be inside you, wanted that mind of yours to only know him, wanted those pink lips to only speak his name, those pretty eyes to only meet his. The obsession was endless. He wanted it more than ever right now. Death knocking down his rotted door. So bad that he hadn’t even noticed his own tears before they fell and hit your cheeks. You blinked a few times, slowly coming back down from the clouds. Tomura reached for you a last time, the pad of his thumb swiping his tears off your cheek. 

“Save me, hero.” He breathed out before everything went black.

~

“Again!” He called as you huffed. Aizawa was a relentless teacher. You felt your powers flicker inside your veins as you tried to control them, to harness them and use them the way they were meant to be used. But dammit, you were tired. You two had been at this for hours. You weren’t some kid he could push around and it was then, with exhaustion mingling with annoyance you shook your head defiantly. Throwing your hands down.

“I’m done!” You growled at him, tossing aside your practice weapon. Aizawa straightened.

“We’re just getting started, hero.” He mocked as you stared at him with venom. He knew all about your inherited quirk, knew there wasn’t much time for you to harness it and so he’d been pushing you to the edge for months to train you. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“What should I call you then? Fraud?” He asked and that fire that you wanted to extinguish flickered in seconds, catching your inside on fire. 

“I’ll kill you!” You growled. You didn’t need that useless weapon. You outstretched your arm and black whip shot out like an extension of your grip, it wrapped around Aizawa in milliseconds as you yanked him towards you. You knew he’d use erasure and you were looking forward to it. The moment he used it it didn’t stop his moment as black whip dissolved around him, your powers canceled out only for his face to meet your fist. You hit him hard enough to rattle the brain in his skull. He hit the ground even harder and for a moment your heart leaped. He’d always said you were quick to fly off the handle and you’d just proved him right. Your hand ached, your knuckles busted. Aizawa groaned from the ground, pushing up on his forearms. You breathed out a relieved breath, thinking you had maybe killed him with that fuckery of a move. 

“That was smart.” He sighed, his upper cheek already had a bruise forming. “Why don’t you give me this energy during practice instead of making me get you angry?” He asks as you look at him hard.

“We’ve been at it for hours.” You growled angrily. “I’m tired.”

“And you don’t think I am too?” He pushed to his feet, giving you a hard look, his dark hair falling in his face. “You are a brat. You are stronger than any quirk user yet you don’t care enough to really harness those powers. You asked for this.”

“I know!” You burst out, turning pointedly away from him, dreaming of your bed, dreaming of a night without nightmares of all for one stealing your power and killing the world. You weren’t a kid but you were still young, young enough that this burden on your shoulders was crushing you. 

“You can’t run from this.” Aizawa said but he didn’t sound angry. You still didn’t turn to face him. “You think you’re all alone?”

“Of course I’m alone! It’s just like you said, I’m the strongest.”

“Everyone needs a hand. Even All-Might.” Aizawa said. You turned on him, eyes sharp. 

“All-Might defeated All for one on his own. There’s not a soul that could stand beside me and not be killed.”

“I’ve stood beside you this whole time. I’ve trained you. You think I’ll just let you go at it alone after everything we’ve been through?” Aizawa asked as the look in your eyes hardened.

“I won’t let you.” You said in a low, intimidating voice. Aizawa’s lips parted slightly. “All for one will not get a shot at you. I’ll die before that happens.”

“You’re stubborn but not as stubborn as me.” Aizawa returns, taking a step towards you. “I’m with you till the end.”

“Did you not hear a word I-” Aizawa leaned into your space, hand sliding over your cheek as his lips cut off your sentence. You almost pulled back but he stepped closer to you, one hand on your face the other sliding around you and resting on the dip of your back. You pushed him back forcefully, your breath shaky as you stared at him. 

“Forgive me… I-” You grabbed him roughly by his shirt, slamming your lips against his. He grunted against your lips in surprise, hands barely ghosting over your hips. You kissed him unforgivingly hard. This was a sort of ultimate payback in a small way, of all the hours he overworked you. You pushed him back on the training mat and slid atop him. This was a form of practice, right? A workout that wouldn’t exhaust you… or would it? If he thought for a moment you’d let him help you now he was sorely mistaken. But on the other side of the coin, if you thought for a moment he wouldn’t die for you, you were sorely mistaken as well. Rock meets hard place.

~

“Idiot.” You growled beside his hospital bed. Hawks looked peaceful and you wanted nothing more than to shake him awake and smack some sense into him. But he was still healing so your assault of slaps and punches would have to wait. You huffed. Leaning back in your chair, flipping through the channels on the tv. It wasn’t long before your mind wandered to the same thing you’d been thinking about for days.

Hawks almost dying for you. Hawks pushing you aside before you were impaled with Shigaraki’s power. Having to watch Hawks get impaled, having his eyes meet yours and a stupid soft and beautiful smile on his face as he mumbled something you didn’t even get to hear. You tried remembering again, tried focusing on his lips in your memories but it was of no use. You huffed, unable to relax as you turned back to look at him. The number two hero. You stare at him, your eyes drifting to those lips. You willed him to say those words again and when his eyes opened you didn’t even notice.

“Watching me sleep? How romantic.” He said, his voice gruff from being unused for days. You jumped at not only the sound of his voice but being caught staring at his lips.

“I wasn’t. I was trying to kill you with my mind.” You grumbled protectively, eyes snapping up to meet him. The way he looked at you was the most dangerous thing you’d see in a while. The pure adoration in his eyes, the smile that formed on his lips at your joke. It twisted at your insides.

“Are you alright?” He asked because the last thing he remembered in the fight was you hurt and in trouble. You tensed.

“You're the one in a hospital bed.” You growled. Hawks seemed to just notice this fact, he was utterly distracted by the fact that you’d been sitting at his bedside. He reached for your hand but you pulled away and stood to your feet.

“Y/n-”

“I told you not to get involved.” You growled. “I had it under control but you had to go and try to play the hero.”

“I am a hero.” Hawks said, something in his eyes that angered you more.

“Not to me. I don’t need your sacrifice. If you wanna get yourself killed, do it for someone else.” You hissed. He looked at you. You hoped your venomous words would have some effect on him. You wanted him to be angry. Wanted him to hate you. To look at you with harsh eyes but his expression didn’t change.

“Such venom.” He said with a smirk. If you didn’t have some modicum of control over your powers and anger this whole hospital would’ve been brought down. “Are you trying to push me away again?”

“What?” You huffed.

“You heard me, number one. I know what you’re doing but it’s not gonna work.”

“And what am I doing?”

“What you do to everybody you start to care about. You lash out at them so they’re not tempted to stay by your side when things go sideways.” 

“I-- I don’t do that.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Hawks admonished with a shake of his head. You take in a deep breath, tensing your jaw. “Growl all you want, I’m not getting scared away.”

“You’re crazy. You almost died, this isn’t some fucking joke.”

“I knew I’d be fine. Knew you’d carry me off the battlefield.” He croons, you stare at him hard.

“How could you have known?”

“I’m an optimistic guy.” He smiles. You roll your eyes, turning to leave. He catches your wrist just as you reach for the handle.

“What-? You need to stay in bed, idiot.” You growl as Hawks holds your wrist gently in one hand, the other on his bandaged torso.

“I’ll get back in bed if you stay.”

“Are you serious?” You growl as he nods his head.

“Deadly serious.”

“You’re a child.” You sigh. 

“Stay. Don’t run away from me.” He says and the seriousness in his voice has your stomach flipping. You pull out of his touch.

“Get in bed.” You direct and his eyes look down into yours, a challenge.

“Make me.” He says. Your eye twitches as you waste zero time pushing this idiot back towards his bed. Once the backs of his knees hit the mattress he pulls a move on you and you’re pulled on top of him. You two tumble onto the hospital bed. Your heart lurches dangerously into your throat, feeling the warmth of his hands ghosting your hips. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Hush.” He says, hands sliding up to either side of your face as he pulls you down so that your lips meet. The shock of his cold lips against yours was like a rush to your system. An overloading and overheating shock. You gasped at the ache of want that tore through you. That had always been lurking beneath every tense moment with Hawks. Him training you. You two on missions. Reluctant breakfast, lunch, and dinners with him. He wormed his way into your heart and you hated it. Anyone close to you was surely going to be killed and that dangerous hope in your chest that built when he was around should’ve raised flags for you. But you let him in. You selfish creature. You pushed him back, and moved shakily to your feet. Hawks reached for you again and you caught his wrist, twisting it. He flinched in pain, staring at you with confusion and hurt.

“Don’t touch me again.” You growled. You needed space from him, your head swimming, your eyes traitorously drifting to the lips that had just been against yours.

“What's wrong?” Hawks asked. You stepped back, narrowing your eyes.

“You never listen. You-- you’re always trying to confuse me and sneak your way into my-- you need to leave me alone.”

“No.”

“N-No?” You asked as Hawks barely raised his brows, nodding his head. His blond hair falling against his forehead. He looked so annoyingly beautiful you wanted to hit him. 

“I don’t just sacrifice my life for anybody.” He says as he stands, wincing in pain.

“Just stay in the damn bed-” He pulled you to him, inches taller than you, eyes unwaveringly serious as he spoke his next sentence.

“I love you.” He said and the words had your eyes widening, a soft gasp escaping your lips. He clearly loved that he caught you off guard. “You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to know what I said.” 

“What you said?” You echo, unable to properly digest this moment. 

“When I saved you. I said I loved you.” The words his lips spoke that you’d been driven up a wall trying to remember. If he died you would’ve never known.

“I hate you.”

“Close enough.” He grins, leaning and pressing his lips gently to yours. You didn’t push him off, you didn’t have the strength, something selfish was taking over and you didn’t have the will power to fight it. You’d played it safe for years. Not letting anyone get close. But… you failed. You kissed Hawks back with twice the passion, pushing him back on the bed, caging him beneath you. If he was going to love you you were going to let him. Damned selfishness…

[rottenfyre]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ PERFECT LIFE 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

☆ ── 𝘗𝘈𝘐𝘙𝘐𝘕𝘎 : Yandere Damian Wayne x Fem Reader

☆ ── HEADCANON : 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥?

☆ ── NOTE : 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺!

Marriage with Damian Wayne is not a fairytale—it’s an obsession disguised as devotion.

From the moment Damian slipped that ring onto your finger, he silently swore to himself that no force in the world—be it man, god, or monster—would ever take you away from him. You are his, and he is yours. Completely.

Damian is the kind of husband who worships you in his own intense, borderline overbearing way. He refers to you as "beloved" in private and "my wife" with a possessive pride when speaking to others. The word "you" leaves his lips like a prayer, filled with reverence and authority all at once.

He memorizes every single one of your habits and preferences. He knows how you take your coffee, the exact temperature you prefer for your showers, the kinds of books you gravitate toward, and even the way your breathing changes when you're upset. It’s all cataloged in his mind so he can anticipate your every need before you even voice it.

Damian rarely lets you out of his sight. Even when he's at Wayne Enterprises or patrolling Gotham as Batman, his mind is constantly on you. He has cameras in the house to check in on you, and you can bet he’s hacked your phone to keep tabs on your location. He tells himself it’s for your safety, but the truth is he can’t bear the thought of not knowing where you are.

You’ve noticed how Damian often hovers. At first, it felt sweet—your husband leaning against the kitchen counter, silently watching as you cook dinner. But after a while, you realize it’s less about affection and more about possessiveness. He watches you like a hawk, as if ensuring you’ll never slip away from him.

Damian is fiercely protective, to the point of paranoia. You’ve never had to lift a finger in defense because he handles every perceived threat with ruthless efficiency. Some guy at work who got a little too friendly? Fired and blacklisted within the week. A stranger who made you uncomfortable in public? Let’s just say they’ll think twice before crossing anyone again.

He insists on walking you everywhere, hand firmly clasped around yours. When you protest, he coolly reminds you, "The streets of Gotham are not safe, beloved. Allow me this privilege."

Damian is terrifyingly romantic in the most intense, Damian Wayne way possible. He fills your home with rare flowers imported from across the globe, but you’ll find out later he had the entire shipment rerouted because he didn’t want anyone else to have them. He writes poetry about you in Arabic, his handwriting bold and precise, and hides the pages in places he knows you’ll find them.

Arguments with Damian can be draining because he does not let go. He won’t shout or lose his temper, but he will dissect the situation until you either agree with him or admit defeat. And if you try to storm off mid-fight? Good luck. He’s faster, stronger, and determined not to let you leave unresolved.

His softer moments are almost disarming. You’ll catch him staring at you when you’re reading or brushing your hair, and he looks so boyish and in love that it takes your breath away.

Damian is obsessed with physical contact. Whether it’s his hand resting on the small of your back, his arm draped over your shoulders, or his fingers intertwined with yours, he’s always touching you. It’s both grounding for him and a subtle way to remind himself—and everyone else—that you’re his.

Your wardrobe slowly changes under Damian’s influence. He loves seeing you in luxurious silks and soft cashmere, claiming you deserve only the finest. He buys you dresses and jewelry that scream wealth and power, though he always insists that nothing could ever truly compare to your beauty.

He doesn’t tolerate secrets between you two—at all. If you’re upset, he’ll press and press until you spill your feelings, his voice gentle but firm. And if you ever lie to him? He’ll know instantly. He won’t get angry, but his silent disappointment will cut deeper than any words ever could.

Damian spoils you to the extreme, but there’s an undertone of control in it. He doesn’t say it outright, but you know he expects a certain level of reciprocation: your attention, your love, your time.

When he sleeps (if he sleeps), his arm is always around your waist. If you ever wake up in the middle of the night and try to leave the bed, he’ll instinctively pull you back, murmuring, “Stay with me, habibti.”

Despite his obsession, Damian loves you deeply and wholeheartedly. In his own way, he truly believes he’s doing what’s best for you—protecting you, cherishing you, making you feel adored. And in those quiet, tender moments when he presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers how much you mean to him, you can’t help but believe it too.

But deep down, you know: Damian doesn’t just love you. He owns you. And he will never let you go.

ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ: ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[thecupidwitch]

Sun Magick

What Is A Sun Magick?

The Sun (also called Sol) is the one and only star in our solar system. Throughout the time almost every culture has worshiped the Sun as either a God or Goddess. Ancient Shamans used the power of the sun to heal the mind. The Sun is associated with life, health and healing. The light of guidance and illumination is an important magickal symbol. Solar energy helps you center in your own power, like the center of the solar system. Planet Earth orbits around the Sun. Other bodies that orbit the Sun include other planets, asteroids, meteoroids, comets and dust. Generally, the primary stellar body around which an object orbits is called its "sun", and stars in a multiple star system are referred to as the "suns" of bodies in that system.

Correspondences:

Associated deities: Aditi, Ah Kinchil, Ama-Terasu, Apollo, Aten, Brighid, Dhatara, Frey, Helios/Sol, Itzamna, Lucifer, Mithra, Mystere, Nitten, Paiva, Ra, Savitar, Apollo

Colors: Orange, amber, gold, yellow, red

Animals: Lion, Sparrowhawk, Griffin, Hawk, Bees

Incense: Cinnamon, clove, pine, citrus, Benzoin, Pine, Frankincense, Labdanum, Olibanum

Crystals: Sunstone, Goldstone, Ruby, Carnelian, Amazonite, Citrine, Tiger's Eye, Golden Topaz, Fire Agate

Sun Associations: Success, Empowerment, Ambition, Enlightenment, Goals, Generosity, Spirituality, Male energy, Health, Vitality, The Gods, Joy, Freedom, Leadership, Matters of the heart, Creativity, Friendship, Growth, Personal fulfillment, Self confidence, Wealth, Individuality, Pride, Energy, Power

Plants and Herbs: Sunflower, calendula, marigold, daylily, orange, citron, saffron, pine, mistletoe, rosemary, buttercup, heliotrope, bay laurel, daisy, walnut, acorn, maize, wheat, hops, cloves, cinnamon

Sun Phases

Sunrise

when the sun wakes up and peers over the horizon. This phase is all about new beginnings, changes, health, employment, renewal, resurrection and finding the right direction.

The Morning

the sun is growing in strength, so it brings the magical power for growth, positive energy, resolutions, courage, harmony, happiness, strength, activity, building projects and plans, prosperity and expansion of ideas.

High Noon

When the sun reaches its peak in the sky at midday – work magic for health, physical energy, wisdom and knowledge. It is also a good time to pop your tools or crystals out that need charging. (Note: some crystals can fade in strong sunlight so check first before putting them out).

Afternoon

This is a time to work in your communication, clarity, travel, exploration and professional matters

Sunset

As the sun takes itself off down below the horizon, work magic for removing depression, stress and confusion, letting go, releasing or finding out the truth of a situation.

Sun Water

Sun water is very similar to moon water. But rather than being charged by the moon, it’s charged by the sun. Sun water can be especially useful for helping boost the energy of a spell, to help an intention grow, and to cleanse.

Instructions:

Get a glass bottle

Fill it with any type of water.

Leave the bottle with water out in the sunlight or shade (indirect sunlight) during any time of day and for your preferred amount of time.

Tip Jar

[puppetwoman17]

Okay so I love all of the cap identity reveal stories. Obviously. The anticipation of the reactions, the fact that someone they’ve known for so long, someone they’ve fought with and laughed with and cried with, is not even half their age…

But what if they NEVER found out? Cap’s identity, I mean.

I don’t mean life just continues on with Billy leading his separate lives. It’s more like(this next part is so fucking drastic lol) the league thinks cap is dead and suffer with the hole he left behind, only to somehow find out he’s alive, and to add fuel to the fire, he’s a young radio host in Fawcett.

The JL( and other heroes if you want) are fighting a being with incredibly powerful magic. I’m not good with the specifics, but it lines up with someone like Lady Blaze. The YJ team are acting as reconnaissance and backup. Everyone’s doing their part, including Cap.

But then something goes wrong. A miscalculation is all it takes for the fight to spin in the villain’s favor. Magic is a fickle thing. One wrong move, and sparks will fly with reckless abandon.

The fight is nearing an end, and it’s clear that almost all the heroes have been rendered useless. They’re either limping up to go again, or unconscious from the strain.

Everyone but Captain Marvel, that is.

To bring an end to the fight, Cap unleashes a powerful stream of magic, something no one has ever seen him pull off. It seems to zap everything out of him. The next thing you know he’s falling, his body slowly disintegrating. He makes it to the floor and smiles at the other heroes, all of whom are crying their hearts out as gold dust replaces him, for divine beings have no blood.

Billy, on the other hand, is fucking pissed. Apparently, Shazam created a failsafe in case something like this happens. He wakes up in the rock, unable to transform. His magic is still there, and with Solomon’s help he learns that his champion form will return after a couple years. For now, he needs to rest his reservoir.

Now, you’d think he would go tell the league, right?

But he’s not so little anymore, and he now knows that him being younger won’t be the only issue. Younger him was only worried about that little tidbit, but in truth, there was no guarantee they would let him stay if they knew he’d been lying so much. If he’d been able to keep his age a secret for so long, what else could he be hiding?

It’s not something he wants to do. The League, the YJ team, the Titans, they’ve all become like a family to him, despite almost all of them(barring the magic heroes) not knowing who he is. But he can’t risk being watched by parental hawks whenever he’s doing his champion work as Billy. He can’t risk them learning about his… circumstances. His crappy uncle, his annoying cousin, his(an oc I created for this post specifically but dw he’s not that important) crooked cop of a younger-older cousin. His living situation, his previous state of malnutrition, and all of his responsibilities. What a nightmare that would be, explaining all of that.

Also, he tries not to sound too cocky in his head, but he’s fairly sure at least a little less than half of the JL would kill for him. Or at least they’d beat someone to a pulp, which is still a pretty big deal.

So, he washes his hands of the JL and the sub teams and handles his champion work(bar fighting now cause his other body needs to regenerate) in his civilian form. It helps that the magic community, all sides of the spectrum, collectively decide not to tell the other heroes that their Champion is alive. They can get really annoying when it comes to their Boy Scout 🙄.

Plot, plot, plot happens. I’m thinking maybe Whiz gets an opportunity to interview JL members and they send their best reporter for the job. Or maybe something happens on the magic spectrum that brings them closer to Billy. Either way, the JL finds out Cap’s identity without Billy knowing and they are PISSED.

Billy has to deal with countless vigilantes, heroes, and teams lounging on his couch trying to goad him into revealing who he is. Either that r they follow him throughout Fawcett. Some people are angry with him, like Conner or either of the Roys. They try to make him angry. They want to see the real Cap, the real Billy(which is stupid cause of course cap isnt a fake persona but they’re too mad to realize).

Others feel betrayed, like Artemis and Wally(I refuse to acknowledge his death). Cap was a best man at the wedding and they really started to look to him as a sort of father figure. In fact, all the younger heroes love how he stood up for them and validated their feelings. To know that so much of their worries were being shouldered by someone who was years younger than them…

And the JL is worse off too. Their coworker, who they trusted and cared for, had been living alone since he was a child. Having to save for scraps until he finally got a home of his own.

The magic users are practically waiting for Billy to blow a fuse at everyone either fussing over him, attempting to make him mad, or following him whenever they felt the need. Mary’s laughing her ass off and Freddy’s smirking because now he can say “I told you so”. Shazam’s shaking his head because he told his damn protege that the champion doesn’t DO teams, but look where they are now.

Teth is honestly ecstatic. Comes to the next higher ups meeting and laughs in Billy’s face.

And Billy? Billy at least hopes he can make some money off of this: Okay but if I let you stay on my couch for the next three hours, that’s gonna cost you.

No no, I’ll let you follow me, but only if you do this one interview.

Maybe just stop trying to make me mad and just talk to me? Like I get you have issues but I already have a shit load of that so…

[onebadassunicorn]

His Blue-Eyed Angel

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: it’s getting a little steamy in here…

word count: 3.1k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

story tags: @bravo-delta-eccho, @tiredsleepyhead, @tele86, @celestialgilb

Image owned by Foxy Art.

***************

Chapter 5

Azriel POV

The first time Azriel saw Y/n was when her wings unfurled for the first time in the sunlight on the beach of Summer Court. Azriel had endured countless battles, faced innumerable horrors, but nothing in his centuries of life had prepared him for this moment.

The training field was alive with the rhythmic clash of blades cutting through the crisp mountain air. He had been reviewing the recruits, his sharp gaze assessing every movement, every flaw.

Then he saw her.

She stood at the edge of the field, adjusting the straps of her leathers with quick, efficient movements, utterly unaware of the chaos she was about to wreak within him. Her long black hair, as dark and glossy as a raven’s wing, spilled over her shoulders in untamed waves. The sunlight glinted off her black feathered wings, each movement of them effortless, graceful, as though she had been born to dominate the skies.

And her eyes—Mother above, her eyes. They were the color of the ocean, an endless expanse of blue that seemed to hold storms and secrets, calm and fury all at once. When she glanced up, and he gripped the hilt of Truth-Teller to steady himself.

His heart thundered in his chest as he took her in. She was petite, but commanded attention in her fighting leathers, her frame lithe and strong, her tanned skin glowing with vitality. Everything about her was a contradiction—delicate yet powerful, serene yet fierce. She carried herself with an air of quiet defiance that made his throat tighten.

The faint rustle of her wings as they shifted sent a shiver through him—a sound he hadn’t realized he’d longed to hear until now. They were magnificent, those wings. Feathers darker than any shadow he could summon, their edges shimmering faintly in the dying light. They stretched wide, powerful yet graceful.

He stood there, words abandoning him at the sight of her in her leathers, walking towards the sparring ring and him, her wings stretching once before folding neatly behind her.

When she looked up at him and her eyes met his, and the world seemed to stop. Her gaze was piercing, steady, yet filled with a quiet kindness that made his chest tighten. The combination of her striking wings, her strong yet gentle stance, and the fierce determination in her expression made her look like something out of a dream. No—not a dream. An angel.

Azriel’s breath caught, his shadows curling protectively around his feet as if they, too, were captivated by her presence. He had always believed his shadows were his shield, his refuge from a world that had given him too much pain. But in that moment, they seemed to retreat, as if bowing to her light, her strength, her undeniable pull.

For the first time in his long life, Azriel, the Spymaster of the Night Court, the master of silence and shadows, found himself utterly undone.

“Are you ready for this?” Azriel asked, his voice low, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Y/n tilted her head, her lips curving into a faint, confident smile. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Spymaster,” she said, her tone teasing but challenging. She crouched slightly, ready to spring.

Azriel’s heart gave a small, unexpected jolt at her words. There was something about the way she looked at him—steady, unyielding, full of fire—that stirred something deep within him. He had sparred with countless warriors, many of them exceptional, but facing her was different. This wasn’t just a test of skill. This was her proving herself to him, and he could see the determination burning in her gaze.

He moved first, a calculated feint to draw her into his rhythm. She didn’t take the bait. Instead, she waited, watching him like a hawk, her stance fluid and prepared. Her restraint impressed him, her ability to read his movements reminding him that she wasn’t just skilled—she was smart.

He lunged, his dagger slicing through the air in a precise arc, but she sidestepped with ease, her wings snapping out to propel her into a counterstrike. He blocked it quickly, their weapons clashing with a sharp crack. Their movements became faster, sharper, the air between them charged with intensity.

Azriel found himself fully focused, every ounce of his attention on her. He noticed everything—the way her dark wings shifted subtly for balance, the way her blue eyes darkened as she narrowed her focus as she calculated her next move. She was beautiful, yes, but it was her strength, her determination, that truly captivated him.

She fought like someone who had been forged in fire, her strikes deliberate and powerful. When she feinted left and aimed a quick jab at his side, he barely managed to dodge, the tip of her dagger grazing his ribs. A flicker of pride swelled in his chest, but he pushed it aside, countering with a sweeping kick meant to take her off balance.

But Y/n anticipated it. She leaped gracefully over his leg, her wings giving her an extra burst of height. When she landed, she was already spinning, her dagger aimed for his side again. He blocked it, their weapons locked as they circled each other, the tension crackling between them like lightning.

“You’re better than I expected,” he said, his voice low, a hint of admiration slipping through.

“I know,” she shot back, her lips twitching into a grin.

Before he could respond, she moved. Quick as a flash, she stepped into his guard, her body brushing against his as she hooked her leg behind his knee and swept his feet out from under him. He hit the ground with a thud, his wings flaring slightly to absorb the impact. Before he could react, she was on him, straddling his waist, her wooden dagger pressed lightly but firmly against his throat.

The world seemed to pause. Azriel’s breath hitched as he stared up at her, his heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with their sparring. She was so close—those stormy colored eyes blazing with triumph, her chest rising and falling with exertion. Her dark hair hanging around them like a curtain, framing her flushed face and his, and her lips were slightly parted as she caught her breath.

His hazel eyes traced every detail, drinking her in. He noticed the faint sheen of sweat on her skin, the way her wings flared slightly behind her, giving her the appearance of a warrior angel. Her scent—soft and earthy, with a hint of salt—washed over him, grounding and intoxicating all at once.

“You’re not bad for a Spymaster,” she teased, her voice breathless but light.

Azriel’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, though his chest tightened with a mix of admiration and something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to name. “Not bad?” he murmured, his voice low. “I let you win.”

She arched an eyebrow, her grip on the dagger tightening slightly as she leaned closer, her hair brushing against his cheeks. “Oh, did you?” she asked, her tone playful but edged with challenge.

His hands itched to move, to brush the hair away from her face so he could pull her lips down to his or rest on her waist where they hovered hesitantly. But he didn’t. Instead, he held her gaze, letting his admiration—and pride—show in the way his hazel eyes softened.

“You’re incredible,” he said quietly, the sincerity in his voice making her blink. “You don’t need training, Y/n. You’re already one of the best I’ve ever seen.”

For a moment, she faltered, the teasing light in her eyes giving way to something more vulnerable. She straightened slightly, pulling the dagger away as she studied him. “Tarquin trained me,” she said softly, her voice steady but laced with meaning. “He made sure I could defend myself, no matter the cost.”

Azriel nodded, his hazel eyes never leaving hers. “He taught you well,” he said, his voice low and full of respect. “But what you have… it’s more than skill. It’s instinct. It’s heart.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly climbed off him. As Y/n reached down to help Azriel to his feet, her hand clasped his with an undeniable firmness, her grip steady and sure. When she pulled him up, the motion brought their bodies closer than necessary – closer than Azriel had prepared for. The momentum carried them chest to chest, her dark wings brushing lightly against his as they came together. Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling against him, and he could feel the tension radiating from her in waves.

The connection sent a jolt through him, his breath catching as her eyes, returning to a shade of azure-blue, locked onto his. She didn’t pull away. If anything, she seemed to lean into the movement, her body pressed against his in a way that made the air around them heavier. Her grip on his hand lingered, her thumb brushing softly over his knuckles as though she couldn’t bring herself to let go.

His free hand instinctively moved to her waist, steadying her – or maybe steadying himself.

He wasn’t sure nor did he care.

His shadows stirred, their movements agitated and restless, curling around his boots and flaring as if they too, were reacting to the tension crackling between them.

And then he noticed it – her scent.

It was subtle at first, mingling with the faint saltiness of her skin, but then grew stronger. The sweet, intoxicating scent of her arousal hit him like a tidal wave, sharper and more consuming than anything he had ever experienced. His throat tightened, his control fraying at the edges as her scent curled around him, making it impossible for him to think clearly.

She was aroused.  By him.

The realization sent his heart pounding, blood thundering through his veins, and his hazel eyes darkened as they roamed her face, searching for a sign that she felt the same, that same unspoken desire that was tearing him apart. Her lips were slightly parted, her breath shallow, and her gaze flicked to his mouth for the briefest of moments before darting back to his eyes.

Azriel’s gaze dropped to her lips without thinking, and the temptation to kiss her – to claim her – was almost too much to bear. His body was taut with restraint and the urge to claim her body right here in the training ring was overwhelming. He couldn’t stop imagining how her lips might taste. How she would feel pressed up against him, her body pliant and warm as he tangled his hands in her hair and devoured like he had been starving for centuries. He could imagine it so clearly – her taste, her softness, the way she would melt into him, the sounds she would make as he –

This wasn’t the time.

But Gods, he wanted her.

He wanted to feel the weight of her body against his, to trace the curve of her wings with his hands, to lose himself in the warmth and softness of her skin. He would give everything to feel her respond to him with the same hunger that was threatening to consume him.

But he didn’t.

He forced himself to step back, his movements slow and deliberate as though any sudden motion might shatter his already tenuous control. Her scent lingered in the air, clinging to his skin and making it nearly impossible to think.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.

Y/n tilted her head, her eyes still locked onto his as a faint, knowing smile curved her lips. It was as though she understood exactly what she was doing to him, as though she could feel the electricity crackling between them.

“Anytime, Spymaster,” she replied, her voice low and rich, that sent a shiver down his spine as she winked at him.

As she stepped back, her hand slipping from his, the absence of her touch was almost painful. Her scent still clung to him, a reminder of the moment they shared, and he couldn’t help but watch as she walked away. Her wings tucked neatly behind her, her dark hair swayed softly with each step, and the sunlight caught on her skin, making her look like a warrior goddess who had stepped straight out of his deepest desires. He caught himself memorizing every detail, every movement.

His shadows curled tighter around his boot, agitated and restless as though mirroring his inner turmoil. He dragged a hand through his hair, his wings shifting as he exhaled sharply. The scent of her arousal still lingered in his nose, a maddening reminder of what had just walked away from him.

“She’s going to be the death of me,” he muttered under his breath, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the storm raging inside him.

As he picked up the training weapons and headed out of the ring, her warmth haunted him, and the image of her standing so close, so utterly captivating, burned itself into his mind. It wasn’t just her skill in the ring that had left him reeling – it was her.

All of her.

And though he refrained today, he knew there would be a time when he wouldn’t be able to hold back. When he wouldn’t want to.

******

Azriel POV

The following day, the midday sun casted a warm glow on the River House terrace where Azriel and Cassian sat, each nursing a glass of wine. The faint hum of the city carried on the breeze, but Azriel’s mind was elsewhere, replaying the events of the previous day in the training ring. He had been bested—truly bested—by Y/n. And not just that. She had disarmed him, pinned him, and left him more than a little distracted.

Cassian, ever observant, leaned back in his chair, one brow arched as he watched his brother in silence for a moment. “You’ve been unusually quiet today,” he said, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “What’s on your mind, Shadowsinger?”

Azriel swirled the wine in his glass, his wings shifting slightly as he finally spoke. “Y/n,” he said simply, his tone steady but carrying a faint edge of something Cassian couldn’t quite place.

Cassian straightened, his grin widening. “Y/n? What about her?”

Azriel glanced at him, his hazel eyes sharp. “She disarmed me in the training ring yesterday. Took me down like it was nothing.”

Cassian blinked, then burst into laughter, the deep sound echoing across the terrace. “She what? Disarmed you? Oh, I have to see this for myself.”

“She’s exceptional,” Azriel said firmly, his tone cutting through Cassian’s laughter. “Her technique, her precision—it’s flawless. She doesn’t need training, Cassian. She could hold her own against anyone.”

Cassian leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he studied Azriel with keen interest. “You’re serious,” he said, the teasing edge in his voice giving way to curiosity.

“Dead serious,” Azriel replied, his hazel eyes meeting Cassian’s. “You need to spar with her. See for yourself.”

Cassian smirked, leaning back again as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You’re impressed,” he said, his tone almost accusatory, though it was laced with amusement.

Azriel’s jaw tightened slightly. “I am,” he admitted. “She’s… different. Tarquin trained her hard, and it shows. She’s skilled. Controlled. And fast.”

Cassian let out a low whistle. “High praise from you, Spymaster. Sounds like someone’s smitten.”

Azriel shot him a sharp look, his shadows flickering around his boots. “This isn’t about that,” he said evenly, though the faint twitch of his wings betrayed him.

“Right,” Cassian drawled, grinning as he picked up his glass. “Totally not about that. You’re just casually marveling at how incredible she is. Nothing to read into there.”

Azriel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.

Cassian chuckled, shaking his head. “Come on, Az. It’s not like I don’t see it. She’s stunning, after all. You wouldn’t be the first to notice—”

A low growl rumbled in Azriel’s chest, quiet but unmistakable. His hazel eyes darkened, and his shadows coiled tightly around his feet, restless and agitated. “Careful, Cassian,” he said, his voice soft but edged with warning.

Cassian burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking as he set his glass down to avoid spilling it. “Gods, Az, you should see your face,” he managed between laughs. “I was just teasing, but that reaction… That’s telling.”

Azriel’s glare didn’t waver, though his wings shifted slightly as if trying to calm themselves. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered again, though there was a faint flush high on his cheeks that he couldn’t hide.

Cassian leaned forward, his grin softening slightly as he studied Azriel more seriously now. “All right, no more teasing—for now. What do you really think of her? I mean, beyond her fighting skills.”

Azriel hesitated, swirling his wine again as he considered the question. He looked out at the mountains, his shadows flickering restlessly as he said quietly, “She’s… different. In a way that I can’t ignore.”

Cassian tilted his head, studying him more closely. “Ahhh. Cassian replied, immediately understanding. “And does she know?”

Azriel hesitated again, his wings shifting slightly as he shook his head. “No. I don’t think she does.”

“Don’t you think you should tell her?” Cassian asked, his tone softer now, the teasing gone.

Azriel exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping to his glass. “Not yet. I don’t… I don’t think I deserve someone like her.”

Cassian’s grin faded, replaced by something more thoughtful. “Az,” he said quietly, “that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say. And I’ve known you a long time.”

Azriel let out a faint, humorless laugh but didn’t respond.

After a moment, Cassian leaned back, his grin returning as he raised his glass. “Still, to Y/n. And to the poor Spymaster who’s head over wings for his mate.”

Azriel’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes narrowing. “Don’t say anything, Cassian,” he warned, his voice low and edged with a quiet desperation.

Cassian held up his free hand in mock surrender, though the grin on his face didn’t waver. “Not a word,” he promised, though his laughter said otherwise.

Azriel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose again.

But as Cassian laughed, Azriel’s thoughts drifted back to Y/n—her fire, her strength, and the way she had looked at him in the training ring. And despite Cassian’s teasing, he couldn’t deny the truth.

She was his mate. And one day, he would tell her. But not today.

Chapter 6

[beelinx]

hi!! could you do leo dating an ares kid? 🫶🏻

leo valdez dating a child of ares hcs

a/n: i hope this is okay anon 😖 i actually had lots of fun with this it’s a rlly cute dynamic

First impression: Scared.

Honestly it’s not his fault, you and your siblings are usually so intimidating.

Even more so when a capture the flag game is going on.

You guys were on opposite teams, and happened to bump into each other at one point during the game.

You almost ripped his throat out and he almost burned your hair.

Love at first sight <3

Well, it might not have been the best first impression, but it somehow still wasn’t long before he fell for you.

He started seeing you around camp more and more, and after a while you even started to have casual conversations, too.

He got more comfortable with you as time went on, and started to see a side of you he really liked !

He noticed you were actually kind, you cared a lot about people around you, and you were actually really funny.

Also you’re smoking hot.

Win win!

Once you’re actually dating you would be an insane power couple.

With Leo’s smarts and fire power, and your insane battle, and multiple other, skills, you two could easily defeat *almost* anyone.

But going back to Ares kids being scary: He basically shits his pants when he first meets your siblings.

Well, he actually already knew most of them beforehand – he’d seen some of them around camp, and he has even made weapons for some of them.

Still though, they had zero mercy telling him exactly what they’d do to him if he dared to treat you badly.

Okay well now he’s scared again.

Whoever you don’t like, he doesn’t like either.

Do you hate that girl from the Demeter cabin? He hates her too.

That Hermes boy keeps bothering you? Yeah, he sucks and should drop dead immediately.

Okay, he might think you get a little bit too carried away with the death wishes, but he supports you and all your… strong feelings.

Also – if you have a rough relationship with your father, you best bet he now has beef with him, too.

Silently, though. He’s much too terrified of Ares to trash talk him publicly.

Leo easily thinks you’re just about one of the coolest people ever.

He swears up and down that whenever he sees you fight, he falls in love all over again.

You leave him awestruck tbh.

If you have a short temper, he would try his best to be patient with you, even if it’s sometimes hard for him, too.

He knows you can’t control it that well, therefore he tries to help you out a lot.

By treating you kindly, listening to you patiently, and also not pissing you off.

You obviously try your best for him, too.

In the end, you’re both really sweet and considerate to each other <3

He’d make anything you ask for !!

If you ever want any weapon of sorts then trust he has it covered, and then some.

He’d add little quirks that make them cooler, like rigging them with special effects.

Ask him for anything else, be it a random cup of coffee or a full-blown spaceship, and he’d try his best to do it for you.

Making you happy is what he loves most so he’d move whatever you want to the top of his priority list.

Seeing your happy face makes it all worth it <3

Of course, though, you smack his head when you realize he lost sleep just to complete this project for you.

Okay, well, he may not be able to work in his workshop at night without you watching over him like a hawk anymore, but you still squeezed hugged and kissed him when he first showed the final product to you, so…

He’s taking it as a win!

Also because he now has you spending even more time with him, and in his favorite place, too.

He really can’t stop winning, huh?

[readychilledwine]

Lollipop pt 2

Summary - Azriel and Seraphina Vanserra will take what happened between them after the High Lords Meeting to their grave. Well, at least her father's grave.

Warnings - NSFW, oral (f rev), fingering, degradation, Dom sub dynamics, power play, shadow play/bondage, praise kink, corruption kink, use of pet names, 😻 slapping, spanking, overstimulation, Azriel being a fuck rabbit, dumbification, cock warming, virginity loss, orgasm denile, implied anal and throat fucking, a very rough first time.

An - so.... this was supposed to post at 1pm my time 😒 evidently I drafted it instead of hitting schedule post. Low key thought you all hated it and I failed. Anyways! Forgive me 💜 and don't worry, you'll still get two smut corruption pieces today, though. Ps if you see mistakes, you don't.

Read Part One Here

Seraphina rocked back in her heels as he circled her like a hawk, a small smirk playing on his face as shadows broke her skin out in chills. “How lucky am I,” he moved closer to her back, “to have such an eager, pretty mate.”

She was beautiful. Smaller than he normally liked, but he knew from Eris that Beron kept her food very controlled to prevent her from gaining weight.

Which was a damn shame in Azriel's mind. The more curve, the better, and he would change that once she was his and his alone.

His scarred hand ran up her dress before gently wrapping around her throat, testing the waters instead of diving in head first. Seraphina, in return, whimpered loudly, the scent of her honeyed arousal coming into the air. Her hands found his thighs, gripping for purchase as she tilted her head back, allowing him, and his hand, more access. “Good girl,” he praised her softly, kissing below her pointed ear. “You know how to tug the bond, right?”

“Yes.”

Azriel kissed her bare shoulder before correcting her, “Yes sir.” Serphina nodded, watching him from the mirror. Her eyes widened at the feel of something cold and sharp on the base of her spine. “Breathe,” he kissed down her neck, and in one swift movement cut her dress enough to be able to rip it off.

She was calm throughout his testing of the waters. He rose a brow at her deep breaths. “You aren't afraid?”

She shook her head, her heart racing as hazel eyes met hers in the mirror. “What exactly do you plan to do to me?”

His shadows seemed to thicken and his eyes darkened as he stared at her in the mirror, placing that sharp dagger back into it's holster. “Everything,” he growled before gripping the back of her neck and turning her into a heavy kiss.

It was electric. It was passionate. It was fire meeting shadows. Dancing together as her hands found stability and purchase on his chest after her dress fell.

He backed her to the bed instantly. Growling as he shoved her back and was instantly on her body again.

He had waited years for this. Years for a mate, an equal. The fact that he would be her first. That he would be the one to ruin her and corrupt her was just a bonus.

Bites and kisses started going lower down Seraphina's body, making her shiver. Azriel bit down on her neck, causing her back to arch and a soft whine to leave her mouth. Her hand tried shooting to her lips, hoping to trap the noises in just for shadows to rip her arms away from her, locking them above her head in a vise like grip.

Azriel tutted her softly. “Do you want to be my good girl?” She nodded eagerly, arching into his shadows and hands as they roamed her body. “Words or we stop.”

“Yes sir,” his own heart fluttered at her submission, at how quickly she was taking her role.

“Then let me hear everything. Let me hear how good I'm making you feel.”

“Yes sir.”

“And stop looking away. I want you to watch what I'm doing to you.”

She nodded again, lip pulled between her teeth as his kisses reached her breasts and his warm tongue began to play with her nipple. The soft moan that left her lips was music.

Her body was a harp, a fine tuned instrument just waiting to be played, and for once, Azriel truly felt he was a musician. He wanted to cherish her, to show her how she as his mate would spend her life treated and worshipped.

But then his mind flashed back to her pretty mouth wrapped around that candy, to her visual fantasy Rhys had happily put into his mind the second it started, and all that hope went out that window.

His sole mission was to ruin her. To ensure no other male would bring her to the brink of pleasure over and over and over the way he could. And Azriel never failed a mission.

Kisses became soft bites, making gasps and moans fall from pretty parted lips and Seraphina's amber eyes to roll back. She thought he was going to kill her. He had hardly touched her and she knew she was soaked. She knew that coil would snap within moments of him doing anything to her. A pained whine came as his teeth sank into the inner side of her right breast, bruising and marking the soft untouched skin there before turning and marking the left the same way. “Mine,” he growled causing more heat to shoot through her body. “All mine.”

His kisses began to trail lower again. Mouth coming to a halt above her center as he looked at her. “Also. Fucking. Mine.”

Azriel did not give her a chance to respond, a chance to understand what was about to happen, and that first lick had her jaw fall open, head going back to the pillow and an almost scream like whine leaving her mouth. He wasted no time, instantly feeling that noise shoot to his cock and began eating her out like it was his last meal. Every nudge of his tongue in her center, on cilt, in her folds had her moaning, arching, pulling at his shadows as they restrained her tighter, holding her wide open and completely under Azriel's control.

His hands dug into her hips, leaving bruises there instantly as well as he groaned into the taste of her before wrapping his lips around that swollen bundle of nerves and focusing a ruthless attack there. He watched her under hooded lashes as she arched, as she cried, as the foreign feeling brought tears to her eyes and began to ruin her mascara.

She'd cum just from this. Just from his tongue rolling her pretty clit, circling it, pushing down on it. She'd cum for the lightest touches. And that got him off. It made him feel like a God.

Sera felt her eyes roll back again, an unfamiliar feeling in her stomach as her breathing and moaning picked up. She needed something, needed more. “Please,” she began to beg, her voice breathy and desperate as he began fucking her core, stretching her slightly with his tongue. “Sir, please. I-”

He pulled away, a hand quickly striking her pussy before rubbing gently to soothe her. “Good girls do not beg, pet. Are you a good girl or a whore?” He glared at her slightly as she whined before smacking her again. “if you want to be treated like a fucking whore, then I will treat you like a whore.”

He turned her, allowing his shadows to restrain her on her stomach with a limb towards each corner of the bed. He placed a pillow under her hips, positioning her ass and pussy in the perfect spot for him before waiting to see if she tugged the bond, if this was too much. Her hips wiggled instead, trying to sneak attention from that trapped pillow.

He sent a silent prayer and thank you to the Mother, to the Cauldron, to any deity listening, and then he spanked her.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Watching as her milky pale skin turned bright red for him, watching as she began dripping for him. “You are a fucking whore, aren't you? Getting off on me spanking you.” He spanked her again, watching as her legs began to shake. “Are you going to cum from me spanking you?”

Shame should have filled her then and there, but it didn't. She should be ashamed of herself. She had always been taught sex was not for her. It was for the male. Her sole job was to please him and him alone. Yet here she was, seconds from finding absolute bliss as her mate did nothing more than treated her like a babe in need of punishment.

Azriel brought both hands down on her ass, and watched as she screamed, body jolting and her tight hole clenched around nothing. She came screaming his name, tears streaming down her face. He ran his hand up and down her back, slowing her breathing through the High before running his hands back to her pussy and feeling those soaked folds.

“You have to relax,” he warned gently as she stiffened. “If you don't relax, I will end up hurting you, and I don't want to hurt my perfect pet, do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” Sera tried relaxing. Focusing on the humming bond. On his amusement, his pleasure in seeing her like this. She whimpered as two fingers ran from her clit to her whole, lubricating those thick scarred digits in her nectar.

Azriel pushed his middle finger in. He felt his own eyes roll back, imagining the feeling of her soft tight walls on his cock as she let out a breathy moan. He began pumping immediately, not giving her time to adjust and then inserted a second finger before leaning over her to put his hand in her hair and pull, forcing her to arch her back more as she began to cry again. “Gonna feel so good on my cock, pet. So fucking tight and warm.” The praise warmed her immediately. Another wave of heat and wetness flowing through her. “This pussy is mine, you hear me? You are mine. You belong to me.”

Seraphina felt her heart flutter at that. At the idea of being his and his alone. At the idea of no one else stretching her like this. Her walls began to twitch as he found a spot he had been searching for and began to ruthlessly curl and thrust his fingers in to it.

She was soaking the pillow, her thighs, his hand. Azriel's shadows began to remove his clothing, freeing his aching cock and allowing him to stroke it in time with his fingers. Sera was panting again, her hips trying to meet his hand only to be held in place as he felt her approaching the edge again.

Before she could, he pulled away, landing a harsh spank on her bruising ass before standing and removing his leathers completely.

“All in one or gently. Pick now.” His desperate voice sent a wave of power through Sera. The idea of him being this worked up for her while she did nothing but submit to his will make her glow with feminine pride.

“Just fuck me.”

He was surprised by the answer, hand coming to use her juices as lubricant on his cock before he got behind her with a dangerous grin. “I'd tell you to hold on to something, but it appears your hands are a little preoccupied.”

It was pleasure, pain, completion, everything. Sera felt herself fall into shock before a loud wailing moan filled the room along with the scent of her Maidenhood breaking.

Azriel's hand gripped the sheet next to her head as he too let out a pitched moan. She felt exactly as he had imagined. Warm, velvety walls pulsed around him. He gave a gentle teasing thrust, watching as her mouth fell back open. Her make up always ruined, her hair a mess, body littered in bites and bruises.

He had not been gentle with her once tonight, and he was about to start now unless she asked. He placed a foot solid on the bed and grabbed her waist. Then he began.

Seraphina saw the heavens when he moved. His thick cock dragging in and out of her, lighting every inch and nerve on fire as she could do nothing more than lay there moaning and crying out for him.

Her walls were twitching, begging for release instantly as they pulled him in deeper and deeper. He was going to fuck her into two pieces. She hadn't even had the chance to look at his cock, but Gods she felt it. She felt it brushing her cervix with each thrust. She felt it hitting places healers didn't even have names for yet. She felt it pulling her apart inch by inch until she was the perfect sleeve for him.

Azriel watched as her eyes fluttered shut, a small smile forming on her face, and she began to drool slightly.

He had fucked her dumb this easily. Fucked every brain cell from her and rendered her completely to his will.

Seraphina would be easy to train. Easy to make his personal whore. His perfect little mate, his perfect little wife, his perfect cock sleeve, always ready, dripping, and eager for him.

He fucked her until dawn broke through the window. Taking her cunt, her throat, her ass. He came on her face, inside of her, on her tits. She was soaked in his seed, her essences, his and her sweat.

He held her tight in the tub. Bouncing her on his cock as she sat in his lap crying from overstimulation. He released into her again, triggering another orgasm from her that left her in a silent scream and whimpers. He didn't allow her off, forcing her to sit chest to chest with him and warm his cock.

No words passed between them.

No words needed to.

When she tried to speak, he pushed two fingers into her mouth. “We will talk when master is ready. Am I understood, whore?”

She nodded, gagging as the digits pushed in further and maintaining eye contact like he had taught her. He hardened inside of her tender abused cunt again. And he lifted her off and turned her.

The slow realization hit her. 12 orgasms wasn't enough.. 8 hours wasn't enough. Her mate was insatiable.

And she was all too happy to just be used.

[kirkwallsfinest]

Glorified Lap Nug

Hawke and his dog are more alike than he thinks -- chiefly, in how damn clingy they both are.

Or, in which Hawke comes home and argues with his own dog over who gets your attention for the evening.

Garrett Hawke/Reader

The mabari — a large and ancient breed, their reputation as a fierce protector often precedes them. They’re strong and intelligent beyond words — this, any Ferelden could tell you, regardless of whether they’ve ever owned one themselves. Heroic hounds charging into battle, teeth bared against their foes, piercing howls that seem to rumble the battlefield… it’s a powerful image — one that’s etched itself into all of Ferelden, or perhaps, even all of Thedas. But what people don’t know, is that for all their might, they’re rather clingy, too.

A dramatic sigh from your doorway tells you that your lover is finally coming to terms with this fact.

You look up from your book, grinning in amusement. You raise your other hand in a wave, but the moment you pull your hand from the dog atop your chest, the hound lets out a whine — just as pitiful as his owner’s. You chuckle in turn, turning your attention back to the dog, but not before placing your bookmark in its place to cast the novel aside. It lands with a quiet “thud” somewhere on the bed, quick to be forgotten in favor of the pup demanding your attention — as though he hasn’t been commanding it for the better part of the day. It’s not often that you get a day free from your little “errands,” as you and Garrett have taken to calling them over the years — so the Maker will have to forgive you for using it to relax with your favorite animal. Both hands now free, you scratch behind his ears once more, and he grumbles contentedly, flopping back down with his head to your chest… meanwhile, Garrett grumbles in his own discontent, shutting the door to shuck his armor.

“You’re a war hound, Dog. War.” His chest piece falls to the floor, and he raises his hands in mimickry. “Barking, bloody, vicious? Ever heard of it?”

Dog, in response, only makes himself cozier in your hold. Hawke scoffs, fighting his way out of the last of his leathers with a half of a hop, nearly falling on his face in the process. You watch the display, amused, as he finally gets the damnable piece off. “Glorified lap nug,” he murmurs, before throwing his voice back to the dog, “I know you can understand me, Dog.”

Again, no response.

This time you can’t help but laugh in full — typical of him, to lose an argument with his own dog —but extend a beckoning hand nonetheless. At this he perks up from his melodramatic rambling, rounding the bed to instead kneel at your side. He leans forward, placing a quick, familiar kiss upon your lips. Some of the tension of the day seems to slip from his shoulders at this, and melts only further when you card a free hand through his hair to massage lightly at the base of his scalp. His eyes flutter shut at the gentle ministrations. For all of the adventuring you’ve been on over the years, you’re still shocked at how soft he’s managed to keep his locks — not that you’d ever ask “how,” for fear of inflating his ego any further. Although as you work your way through the tangled mess, the crunching sensation of slightly-singed hair makes itself known. You frown.

“You weren’t off fighting dragons without me, were you?”

“By the Maker, you think me so cruel?” His eyes crinkle in mischief, peering up at you from his spot on the ground, “I would never deprive you of such a thing.”

You raise your brow, questioningly, and he continues.

“I’m just too good at what I do…”

“Meaning?”

“Rogues work in the shadows, unseen… and I just happen to be so good at it that our wonderful, magical compatriots also didn’t see me before hurling a bit of fire.”

“So what you’re saying is that you were in the way?”

He chuckles, leaning into your hold a bit more, eyes drooping — “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

You chuckle softly, taking in his gradually relaxing form. “Fenris will have a field day with this one,” you murmur.

“Don’t remind me,” he responds, letting his eyes finally flutter close.

That is, until the Mabari covering you barks in protest, startling you both out of the moment. Garrett shoots a glare at his companion, and you extract your hand from his locks to flick his chest lightly in warning — coaxing a pout from the man, not unexpectedly — before returning it to the hound.

“Be nice to him,” you scold, “he’s been doing a very good job at keeping me safe, you know.”

He hums, “Ah yes, because you’re so defenseless. I leave you at home for one day, and suddenly you’re helpless against the evils of the world? No, it must be quite the danger, for you to need a hand. What’s he protecting you from today? The horrors of the written word?” He gestures at your discarded book. “Or is he protecting you from your lovely—” a kiss to your forehead, “dashing—” to your cheeks, “devoted—” to your lips, “and exhausted boyfriend?”

You smile at his antics — dramatic as ever. “Well you see, it’s rather cold out tonight. Bit of a draft, we’ll have to find someone to fix that.”

He blinks, eyebrows raising in question. “So he’s protecting you from… the cold?”

A hum of affirmation from you, and he grins wickedly.

“Well, why didn’t you just say so?” He leans further into your space, continuing lowly, “If you needed a knight in shining armor, I am happy to apply, you know. I, myself, know plenty of ways to keep you warm, your majesty.”

You laugh, placing a hand to his bare chest to push him away playfully. “Maybe he should be protecting me from you!” Although your attempts to nudge him away backfire as he grabs your wrist, keeping the contact as he holds your hand firmly to his chest. He rises to his feet, only to prop his leg on the bed to lean over you. Dog barks wildly at this, and scrambles to the other side of the bed when he realizes Hawke is not, in fact, stopping his advance. You laugh, struggling in his hold, but to no avail.

“Gare’, you are filthy—”

“Your loyal protector has defected from the royal army—”

“You are not getting on this bed without a wash—”

“Whatever will you do, your majesty? There’s no time to waste, you’ll freeze if we wait any longer—”

“You are incorrigible—”

He silences your protests with a kiss, slotting himself between your legs as Dog barks on, until the latter ebbs into a single, defeated whine. Bested at his own game, he pads off to go play with another — at least, that’s what you assume. It’s hard to think straight when Garrett muddies your thoughts so effortlessly — he smiles into the kiss, and against your better thoughts, you throw your arms around his shoulders to bring him in closer. He groans softly into your mouth, pressing himself against you so firmly that he quickly becomes your whole world. Large, scarred hands wander down, and down, and—

Furious scratching at the door breaks you out of the moment once more, and this time the groan your lover lets out is rather different in tone. You laugh to yourself — Fuck it, you’ll wash the bedding tomorrow. You squeeze his bicep fondly, nodding your head towards the door: “Go let him out, love.”

[gepardling]

captain's mercy w/ gepard.

desc. : I needed a day to cleanse myself after writing this. Gepard takes a step out of his comfort zone, but he kind of enjoys exerting some authority over you... (wc : 2k)

tags / cw : nsfw, afab!reader, fingering, overstimulation, crying :((, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it!), power play (?) kind of, gepard has you entirely at his mercy (willingly), one (1) spank, choking (not really, but worth the tag)

Spontaneity was never Gepard's strong point, and he was almost painfully aware of it. When he knew something was meant to happen, he needed to have utmost control over the situation. He needed to plan it out in his head ahead of time, laying out every single possibility and its outcome so that he could decide how he would handle the situation. But when Gepard was stripped of this control, he couldn't tell left from right or up from down, and everything in his mind became one jumbled, pretty kettle of fish. So, of course, he becomes a flustered, stammering mess when you confront him in the bedroom, saying that you didn't want things to proceed as they usually do. 

You were seated above him, holding both of his hands down by the wrists. There was a mischievous glint to your eyes that Gepard didn’t like one bit. He trusted you, but sometimes your antics could be… Concerning, to say the least. He felt a lump rise in his throat involuntarily, before he willed himself to gulp it down. Just the way you were staring at him alone was making his face light up in bright red. 

“I think that,” you finally began, breaking the tense silence that clung to the air like a vice. “You…” tantalizingly slow, you trail one of your nails up his chest, eyes following the motion before coming to rest on his lips, “Should treat me a little rougher tonight.”

Gepard’s eyes widened momentarily, flickering nervously around the room. “What do you mean by that?” he asks, attempting to mask the way his voice shakes with a quick cough. Though it’s hard to deny how he feels when he’s more than sure you can feel the way his veins pulse under his skin.

A gentle smile graced your lips, momentarily breaking your facade. “I don’t want you to be gentle tonight, Geppie,” you speak softly, but Gepard heard your voice loud and clear. Almost too loud, in fact, wincing the moment those words left your lips. You can’t help but let a small giggle slip at his jumpiness. He could be so cute sometimes, especially in vulnerable moments like these.

“What do you want me to do, then?” He asks, apprehension laced in his voice. For the first time, he was able to make proper eye contact with you, and you were certain you saw a glint of endearment in those sapphire eyes of his. 

You laid your head down on his chest, drawing small circles into his side with your fingertips. Your touch was enough to ignite thousands of tiny fires underneath his skin. “I need you to have your way with me,” you reply, laughing softly at the way his heartbeat sped up at your little request. “Treat me like one of your soldiers, Gepard.” 

Oh, okay then. There goes the last bit of control he thought he had over the situation.

“How do you want me to do that?”

“You know exactly how.” Your reply was sudden, without missing a beat. You sat upright once more before slipping off of him, taking your place to his side. His gaze followed your every move tentatively, watching you like a hawk. But all you did in return was smile up at him innocently, waiting for him to make the next move. “Well?” you ask, a teasing lilt to your tone, “You’re not just going to take my insubordination, are you?”

Insubordination… Well that was one way to put it. Slowly, Gepard shifted his weight, moving himself over you. Your head was caged between his arms as he looked down at you, studying your face for a hint of emotion, anything. But the moment he decided it was safe to move his head down to kiss you, you simply rolled over onto your tummy. Ah, so that’s how it’s going to be. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks, lips pressed hotly to the shell of your ear. Every syllable sends a shiver down your spine, and there’s a certain heaviness to his tone that you can’t quite describe. The way his breath fanned the side of your face is enough to spark that little fire of desire in your core. When you simply refused to answer, instead closing your eyes and feigning sleep, Gepard could feel one of the many threads of his patience snap. Of all the places to feel like he’s doing his job, it had to be the bedroom. 

“I think I asked you a question,” he persisted, tone tinged with exasperation. Though his voice was steady, there was still a slight shake in the way his hand trailed down your lower back. It came to rest on your backside, unmoving but firm. When he pulled back, you braced yourself for the impact that never came and Gepard took notice of the way your shoulders tensed. He was never planning on hitting you in the first place, but when he turned his attention to your now-glistening cunt, he figured he knew why you reacted the way you did. 

The puzzle pieces are slowly beginning to fit together in his mind, and he starts to understand what it really is that you want him to do. He’d be damned if he didn’t try his best to deliver on your wishes, but the territory was a bit foreign to him. With a vice-like grip on your hips, he dragged them upwards and angled them down, leaving you ass up, face down on the mattress. You kept your lips pursed, waiting to see where he was going with this. 

Slowly, he pressed a palm flat against your cunt before gently trailing his fingers up and down your folds. One of them reached forwards, rubbing soft circles around your clit. Instinctively, you bucked your hips back against his hand, wanting to feel more of his touch. But Gepard pulled back instantly at your impatience, leaving you to whine weakly in protest. 

Gepard put his other hand back on your hip, tight grip holding you in place. His hand returned to your folds, slipping two fingers into your sopping cunt. You hissed at the intrusion, his cold fingers prodding around your walls in search of that one spot. When he pressed against it tentatively, your gentle sigh was telltale enough for him to continue. Gepard’s hand got to work, the rough pads of his fingers massaging your walls with every thrust. 

He quickly worked you up to your pleasure point, and soon the feeling became too much to bear. Your release coated his wrist in a sticky mess as he continues to work you open, fingers scissoring your walls with no sign of stopping. The air is filled with the melodic squelching of your cunt against his palm and your breathy squeals of pleasure, a tune that plays in sweet harmony in his mind. But he doesn’t stop at one orgasm, no, he keeps going. 

Two, three, four, you’ve lost count at this point. Your hand would’ve cramped up long ago, but Gepard’s stamina was seemingly unmatched. “P-Please,” Your voice breaks his concentration, a weak protest falling on his ears, “No more, please…” But your pleading is futile, and Gepard leaned over you to speak in your ear once more. 

“You told me to have my way with you,” He spoke, tone low and daring. “Good soldiers follow orders, isn’t that what you wanted?” It made the breath hitch in your throat as you meekly hid your face in the pillow, a vain attempt at escaping his calculating gaze. You shook your head, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you tried and failed to escape his hold. The weakness of your knees made you sob pathetically, and it felt like your body was betraying your every whim to escape the overwhelming feeling. 

“Too much,” you croaked, fighting back the tears that continued to well up in your eyes. You didn’t think that Gepard could be so relentless, especially after he seemed so hesitant to indulge your desires. Yet he persisted, ignoring your plea for mercy. In a final show of defiance, you pulled yourself from his grip, laying your tummy flat on the bed. Your cunt continued to throb with overstimulation, but the cramp in your knees was immediately soothed. Gepard, however, wasn’t too impressed with your disobedience. 

Though it wasn’t that hard, the sudden impact on your ass had you jolt, jittery veins of pleasure surging towards your core. “Seeing as you can’t take what’s given to you,” Gepard’s voice was cold, almost uncharacteristic of your normally-gentle lover. “You leave me no choice but to exert authority.” The clinking of his belt made your head perk up with a mix of apprehension and excitement before he pressed his hardness to your hot core. 

He put his hands on your hips, slowly dragging them back up from where they rest on the bed, before plunging his cock deep into your cunt. At this point, your mind was swimming with pleasure, choosing to embrace the way your cunt greedily sucked in his cock rather than fight against the stimulation. The first thrust made your head spin, but his pace remained slow, and you needed him deeper. "Captain," you called out airily, tilting your head back to look at him, "You can do better than that..."

The final thread of his patience snapped, and Gepard was just about done with your antics. He turned your head back to the front, before pushing it down to the pillow. "You're only to speak when spoken to," he bites back, shoving his cock deeper into your core. You could only whine pathetically at the way he stretched you open, adopting a much rougher pace. His hand trailed from your head towards your arm, grabbing your wrist and pinning it against your back.

He used his grip on your arm as leverage to piston his length in and out of your slippery cunt. The force he used made you keen, breathy gasps of pleasure mixing with the wet, vulgar sound of skin on skin. Gepard’s eyes were trained intently on the spot you two were connected, not paying much mind to the way you squirm in pleasure. When you did manage to catch his eye with a small cry of his name, he was quick to silence your pleas with a kiss, using his free hand to tilt your face towards his. 

His hand traveled down your face to rest on your neck, not pressing into the skin but rather reminding you of its presence. The feeling sent a flurry of pleasure straight to your core, causing your walls to flutter around him. He sucked in a breath, teetering close to the edge himself. The hand that wasn’t rested on your neck trailed down to your clit, rubbing fast circles around the swollen bud. The extra stimulation was all you needed to throw your body over the edge, mind tumbling into a sea of bliss. 

The spasming of your core helped Gepard reach his own high, burying himself as deep as he could before releasing his hot load. Your cunt milked him for all that he’s worth, waves of euphoria engulfing your body until all your senses went numb. Gepard helped you ride out your high, his gentle kisses to your back in stark contrast to the way he handled you earlier.

“How was that?” Gepard huffed, collapsing next to you on the soft mattress. One of his hands caressed the side of your face, gently pushing your tousled locks to the side. 

You could barely form any thoughts in your post-orgasmic haze, it was a miracle that Gepard himself still seemed composed. “Amazing…” you sighed breathily, closing your eyes to melt into his touch. “You should do that more often.” 

Gepard’s face flushed a deep red at your confession. He hadn’t gone too overboard, had he? But you seemed far too tired to discuss that right now, so maybe it would be best if he let you rest for now. After all, he was sure he’d properly overworked you this time. As you peacefully drifted off to sleep, he tenderly cleaned you up with a damp cloth before joining you in bed. He may have had his way, but his priority was always your well-being.

attempting to will the horny back into my body after retiring for 2 weeks to write my Rimworld vampire god vessel cinematic universe lore. I had to put my whole milkussy into this...

[mllemaenad]

I really do not understand why Varric is the one pursuing Solas. I mean, I understand the Doylist explanation – Varric is a beloved character who will now have featured in three separate games, as well as multiple novels and comics.

But the Watsonian explanation is not clicking. I did my homework. I sat down and read The Missing, but that did not help at all. In fact, I have now considered my Inquisitor and am completely confident that Dirthara Lavellan's plan for dealing with the Solas problem would absolutely not be "send the ageing viscount of Kirkwall on a months long wild goose chase, with the apparent end goal of ... talking Solas out of his plan".

First, I don't see why Varric would be the most likely person to be able to reach Solas. The Inquisitor herself seems the more reasonable option.

Second, Varric is viscount of Kirkwall, a city-state notorious for setting itself on fire if you take your eyes off it for five minutes. I appreciate Alistair had a few adventures in the graphic novels, and there was that time Maric got lost in the Deep Roads but ... broadly, heading up the "Stop Solas" taskforce is a whole separate responsibility that does not seem to be something you should allocate to a man who has the Worst City in Thedas to rule.

Third ... seriously, the plan is to find Solas and have a chat? That's it? It's clearly it. All through The Missing, they keep noting that they don't really know what they'll do if they actually stumble across Solas. And the backup plan, to which Harding occasionally alludes and at which Varric consistently baulks, is to stab Solas until he stops moving. That one ... also doesn't inspire much confidence.

At this point, I'm not sure what Solas's plan entails or exactly what the outcome will be. I'm not even 100% sure I'm opposed to it. I recognise that the narrative is telegraphing that this is bad but, eh, they say that about blood magic too, and my feelings on that are much more complicated.

Surely, instead of chasing Solas all over the map like a fantasy Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?, we should be researching what his scheme entails, and potentially how to disrupt it. There have to be options other than this. We have a game series littered with elven scholars like Merrill, accomplished mages like Dorian or Morrigan, thoughtful rebels like Briala or Anders and ... we're ... not ... going to do anything with that?

In both Origins and Inquisition the set up established that there was a solid plan that unexpectedly failed: the Battle of Ostagar in the former and the Conclave in the latter. While I was not a fan of how many of its established plot lines Inquisition chose to just blow up instead of actually resolving, I at least understand how both scenarios led to a rag tag band who should never have been responsible for any of this saving the world. Dragon Age 2 was about the systematic failure of government in Kirkwall and, again, Hawke is forced to act as the people in power utterly refuse to do anything reasonable at all.

Here, my question is – why are we doing it like this now, before we have to?

Ah, well. Maybe it will become clear in time. I may look back on this post and laugh.

[threepandas]

Bird4Bird Part 2: Yandere Hawks

(Experimenting with tenses n povs, bear with me, will post the whole thing together in the one I/you guys like best, once it's done.)

His patrol is the exact sort of boring that he both hates and loves. On one hand? More time for flying. Freedom from the office. The watching eyes of... everybody, really. But on the OTHER hand? Boooooored. SO bored!

He's not MADE for bored!

Not that there WEREN'T distraction from said boredom below him. There definitely WERE. God, so SO many. Shiny, fascinating, fast moving distractions. ALL sorts of things to pick apart and hunt down. Rip apart and eat. And fans. So, SO many fans.

Noise and life and stimulus. Calculations and social masks.

He bet he could find a kitten in a tree somewhere.

There had to be at least ONE, rig-?

An explosion catches the corner of his eye. He snaps around, mid air, changing trajectory. Thank FUCK! Excitement fizzing even as cool attention calms him. Warm sunlight heating his back, the smell of smoke already starting to reach him, the rush of wind flying past? Is there anything better?

His eyes take in the scene as he arrives.

Botched takedown. Heavily armed combatant. Panicked crowd. He's already send feathers forward when? The combatant panics, seeing him arrive. Throws everything he has indiscriminately. Probably hoping to overwhelm him. Ha! Cute. Pointless, though.

He's already dragging civilians out of the way, when?

Children's voices. High and panicked. Screaming. The combatant had one last bomb. Is trying to run. Probably thinks he'll have to choose, as though he can't be-...

Wings...

Magnificent, powerful, WINGS. Massive and sweeping. Every feather an unbreakable shield. Catching the light, past smoke and fires, white and a brown so dark it bordered on black or grey. The patterns of a harpy eagle...

A mesmerizing golden sheen, almost impossible for anyone but those with enhanced eyes to pick up, surged from the base of them. Like the spread of smooth ink across paper, the slide of silk against skin. A glint covering those magnificent wings in GOLD.

Quirk?

No. No, concentrate. His Feather grabs the bomb from the air and flings it upwards. To explode harmlessly in open air. He catches the menace blindly behind him. Honestly, he's done far harder with far less. He can't look away.

Even as those wings, still domed up, shuffle to safety. Move ever so gently, like a grand reveal, to release a veritable HOARD of roughed up kids. Some of whom are still clinging to their savior for dear life. Snot and tears everywhere. They bear it with surprising grace.

They're... they're HUGE~

Not a Heros build, but..? Just STANDING there they look like a threat. They clearly can't help it. Clearly have made efforts to NOT look like one. Have tracked down the cutesiest Hero Merch available to slap on their body, like might help.

It's like looking staring down a pissed off alligator in a princess tiara. There WAS An Effort! He'll give her that!

His face threatens to break out into a VERY un-PR friendly, mean little snicker. It's... God it's so FUCKIN CUTE~. She's so big. Trying to make herself so non-threatening. It's never gonna work. Any PR team worth their pay would tell her to just give up and pick a different gimmick. But... but God, those WINGS!

He HAS to know her flight speed.

So he waves off the complaining newbies he wasn't actually listening too, makes appropriate noises to the appropriate people as he passes. And makes his way over. As he get closer? Oh~?

What a SUPRISE. She's getting ripped into by local law enforcement. Which, fair, she DID use her Quirk. But that's not what HE'S talking about. He didn't even see it. He's talking about her WINGS.

Well, well, well. He KNOWS he didn't just hear local law enforcement threaten JAIL TIME over a MUTATION, did he? That's an abuse of power! He can arrest YOU for that, officer~. He decides to cut in.

"Problem, officer?" He chirps.

His hand going to his new friends shoulder in solidarity. The officer jerks to attention. But the living STEEL under his hand? Jerks violently. She jumps. It's only years of training and the warning he got from his hand physically touching her shoulder, feeling her muscles start to move, that saves him a concussion.

The wing closest to him slams out like a battering ram, flicking into an extension just to force him back further. She spins to face him. Eyes locked on, teeth unknowingly bared. And... oh. Oh~!

She has a HARPY Quirk~

Cute like fangs that can probably rip through bone, eyes like his, TALONS that dip the tips of her fingers in a black so deep and glossy, ink masters would weep in envy. And the muscles. Far beyond an athlete. Not quite a top 50 hero, but better then most hero students by far. Not balanced for fighting though, those are PURELY wing and exercise muscles.

And the longer he openly assesses? The more of her teeth are bared. The bigger her wings fluff up. The more her hands spread into clawed, furious, weapons. Ready to swing at his head. Her eyes slowly lighting with aggravation and confrontational aggression.

He used to get like this too. HATED being stared at. He got it trained out of him.

He... he can't help it.

It's too cute. She's SO MAD. He knows he shouldn't. He's supposed to be a top 5 hero. The commission's golden boy. Everyone's watching. Always IS. He needs to behave himself, remember his PR training.

Don't. Do. The Thing...

He reaches out and tugs a feather. She has a mean right hook.

He gets yeeeeeelled at. Sad face. His handlers want to throw the book at her. For once, he puts his foot down. Absolutely Not. HE started that fight. HE'S the one who should have known better. He doesn't CARE if her records show she's a "trouble maker"! (That's a lie. He's CURIOUS now~. Oooooh~ What did you DO, lil harpy? Vengeance? Justice? Speeding ticket?)

They let it go.

He? He does NOT. He knows he should. This is a Bad Habit of his. No, WAS. It WAS a Bad Habit. He's BETTER then this now. There were trainers. Psychological exams. Drugs. All FIXED now! Promise! See? Doesn't even have that Endeavor collection he used to keep.

TOTALLY forgot how they tore it away from him. Destroyed it. Ha ha! He barely even REMEMBERS the EXACT Face, Name, Current Location, and Home Address of every single individual involved in THAT little incident! He's let it GO! Forgot about it, really. Yeeeep, the panic and rage DEFINITELY don't keep him up at night. The helplessness. As they took what was HIS-!!

Deeeep inhale. Exhale. Remember to smile!

So, yeah.

Where was he? Right! His Bad Habit That He DOES NOT HAVE ANYMORE. Because he's FIXED now. All better! He's just... taking responsibility, you know? Wants the chance to keep messing with her. Maybe see if he can get a glorious creature like that her very own flyers license.

Cause, DAMN. Wings like THOSE should be airborne.

God he wants to race her so bad.

Luckily~ he's hired the BEST lawyers. (Love you Tadashi~ say hi to your boo~) and the Judge? A big Fan! Yay, FAVORS! (Guess where YOUR going, little hunter? Run but you can't hiiiiide~) She? Looks SO unimpressed to see him? It's GREAT.

She's even WORSE in a suit. It's hilarious.

Maybe it's just THAT suit. God it's so frumpy. What, did she find it in the "generics weekly" catalog? She should wear armor. Ooooh, a flight suit! Something form fitting and sleeveless to show off them GUNS. Never thought HE'D get to be the one who feels dainty in a relationship, but...

Ah. Wait.

Gotta HAVE a relationship, first...

Unfortunately? Tall, buff, and gorgeous is so pissed to BE here? It's unlikely she'll notice any subtle flirtations....

He's not sure what his face is doing, but the expression is enough to make her HISS, wings mantling in a threat display.

Oh, yeah. Oh this is gonna be FUN~♡

[flightfoot]

any recs for fics with blood and/or violence?

Huh, yeah those aren't super common for Miraculous. I've still got some stuff for you though! As per usual, I'm sticking to completed stories.

---

Symbiotic Whiskers by B1ackout

Adrien Agreste aka Cat Noir was given the cat ring miraculous to help Ladybug in protecting Paris. But something had found him first, a silent companion that granted him strength and power he never knew existed. Bonded with a symbiote, Cat Noir faces Paris alongside Ladybug without even knowing that someone left a magical ring in his room. (Canon Divergence)

This is a phenomenal fic that deserves more attention. It's kind of funny how he just goes "hey I've got superpowers, she says that the thing we have that gives superpowers is called the Black Cat Miraculous and that the being that gives them is called a kwami, obviously that must be what I have!" though that gets stretched more and more as Adrien's experiences with the symbiote contradict what he's heard about how kwamis work, and Tikki gets increasingly worried about "Plagg's" weird behavior. It's a dark, somewhat brutal fic (people die permanently, and they're not always villains), and it's absolutely worth a read, this is an excellent crossover!

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A Small but Stubborn Fire by @cardiac-agreste

What if you were the parent of a teenage superhero, but didn't know they were? All you know is the nightmares, the panic attacks, and the bruises. She's missing school, she's disappearing on you, and she's not telling you anything. So you assume the worst: Assault. Depression. A permanent rift in the family. And what do you do when you realize you weren't thinking dark enough? Because your fourteen-year old daughter is the hero who flirts with death on the nightly news. -- Come inside and read about one mother's struggles to raise her daughter in a dangerous world while avoiding the mistakes her own mother made with her.

This is a more serious take on the consequences of Hawk Moth's war on Paris, with actual bloody, painful deaths as a consequence of many akumas, and Parisians developing PTSD because of what they've gone through. Ladybug can fix all the physical scars, but not the mental ones, including her own.

I love the focus on Sabine here. She's not just presented as being a mom - though of course that IS an important role she has. But she's explored as a character in her own right, one with a lot of emotional baggage as a result of her abusive mother, and trying to not fall into her mistakes, but sometimes doing so anyway out of fear for Marinette's safety. She's a really fleshed out, humanly flawed character, sometimes admitting that she would do something selfish if it means protecting the people she cares most about, like her daughter, even if its at others expense. She grows and changes a lot throughout the course of the story, her perspective on many matters changing multiple times as a result of getting new information or seeing the consequences of her previous approaches, and adjusting as a result.

If you want a fic that more realistically explores the dark consequences of Miraculous's setting, that fleshes out Sabine, or just develops a character in a complex way, then I highly recommend you check "A Small but Stubborn Fire" out!

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Made Miracles series by InkyIbis

A rewrite of Miraculous Ladybug (specifically with the miraculouses lore) with endgame Adrino! It mostly builds off the beginning canon and loosely off the later seasons with a lot more consequences than what the show has for when a magical terrorist shows up out of the blue. In that way, each book is considered like a season with the chapters being the episodes.

First fic in the series: Awaken

The previously white butterfly, now oozing black and purple as a conduit of the butterfly miraculous powers, flutters softly within the silvered-gloved hand. It sits there for a long time. "Go, my akuma," The soft sigh pushes the butterfly, the akuma, out towards the despair of a love not returned. The same ache within his chest. On a level so great that he's willing to sacrifice the city to mend it. It's okay if he's the villain for now. He'll force the miraculous of creation and destruction to be revealed, and once he gets his hands on them, none of this pain, none of his loss, will ever happen.

I put the first fic on my reclist for 2023, and now that the series is completed, I'm putting the whole thing on my reclist for 2024. If you want a rewrite of the series that gives Adrien top-billing, evens out Ladybug's and Chat Noir's power dynamic, is darker, and has Adrino as the main ship, then this series should be right up your alley.

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the monster who loves you by @purplecatghostposts

Mum nods, clapping her hands together. “Your brother is finally feeling better and is coming home today! Isn’t that so exciting?” Félix pauses mid-bite, processing her words. Mum waits expectantly, as if expecting him to jump for joy, or his equivalent of it. But… Félix doesn’t have a brother. (Or Félix’s brother is a monster, but only in the most literal sense. Félix’s father is a monster despite being very, very human. He learns to navigate the world through these two truths.)

I loved how this story emphasized the differences between different kinds of monsters - the type who inhabit horror stories, who look terrifying, and the mundane, human sorts of monsters who are often the most dangerous. And how monsters can choose to act humanely, while humans can choose to act monstrously.

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Finding A Way by @uptoolateart

Collège is nearly over! And what better way to celebrate than a class trip to Costa Rica? But with only a month left to tell Adrien she loves him, Marinette is feeling the pressure. Then – an accident at sea leaves them stranded together on a tropical island…alone. Or are they? Because those footprints in the sand don’t resemble any bird they’ve seen before. And what’s that roaring sound coming from the jungle? ‘Adrien…where ARE we??’ ***** A Jurassic Park / Camp Cretaceous AU that’s been kicking around in my head for over a year

I love the sense of danger permeating this fic, it really feels like Adrien and Marinette are stranded on Jurassic Park (well it's called something else in order to integrate it better into the ML universe, but it operates like Jurassic Park). They're making the best of it though, doing their best to survive - and along the way, getting closer together.

I like that it's not JUST them though, Gabriel and Nathalie find out where they ended up pretty early on and go to rescue them, with Alya and Nino stowing away. It was cool to see that side of things as well.

Oh yeah, this fic is rated M for violence and gore. It's because dinosaurs eat people alive and leave their body parts everywhere. If you can handle the Jurassic Park movie (or presumably the book the movie was based on, but I haven't read that), then you should be just fine.

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one does not love breathing by @wackus-bonkus-maximus

All of Paris watched as Hawkmoth murdered Chat Noir, taking the Black Cat Miraculous for himself. Ladybug swears revenge, but her enemy—and every miraculous in his possession—disappear without a trace.

Six years later, a new team of villains launches an attack for the last remaining Miraculous: Volpina, armed with new powers; Queen Bee, with questionable loyalty; Argos, the new holder of the Peacock Miraculous; and Cat Walker, who Ladybug hates the most.

Takes place after S4 - Strike Back.

This is a simply phenomenal fic. You get to explore a lot of different perspectives, like Felix, Kagami, Marinette, and Adrien’s, just to name a few, and see their different thought processes and plans and priorities, and how it can cause their plans to collide with each other, even when they all ultimately are aiming for a good outcome for everyone. The characters are pretty complex and can mess up at times, even when they’re doing things (or not doing things, looking at you Luka) with the best of intentions. It was a joy to read and a real nail-biter the whole time, I actually wrote a fic for it halfway through just to resolve some of the tension for myself, One Does Not Love Shadows.

It also features the version of Luka I’ve connected best with to date, as he feels like Luka, but also is a lot more fleshed out, and can make some major errors while simply trying to avoid missteps. It’s helped me get a better handle on a character who I’ve generally had a lot of problems with really understanding.

It is an M-rated fic, though I think Wackus is being overly cautious on that front. There’s no sexual content and I wouldn’t put the violence or gore above a T-rating, so I wouldn’t let the rating scare you off.

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Some Days by @merrygreenie

Some days are worse, and others are a little better, little by little and day by day. Marinette Dupain-Chen is learning how to live her new normal after living in confinement and being tortured by Hawkmoth. She is thankful to have her friends and family to support her. And a very special Chat who loves her very much. *This story contains scenes of violence and torture this is a whump fic*

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A Major Test Of Strength by @nemaliwrites

There is only one thing in Paris hated as much as the akumas: Ladybug herself. In an effort to help the Savior of Paris, Adrien winds up on the wrong end of an akuma attack — only to find himself stuck reliving the same day. With enough time, anyone can be a hero, and as he continues dying over and over, he is forced to confront the idea that these loops may be just as much of a blessing as they are a curse.

This is loosely inspired by “All You Need Is Kill”, but no knowledge of that manga is needed to understand the story. There’s a bit of a mystery element going on as Adrien tries to figure out why he keeps dying even when he takes steps to prevent it, how he keeps coming back, and what the deal is with Ladybug, anyway.

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The Most Dangerous Game by talik_sanis

Marinette never imagined that she would be in this position. It's not that all of her friends turned against her as Lila had assured her they would. Instead, she had turned against all of her so-called "friends." And now, she has to help Lila Rossi murder them.

The fact that I, of all people, would recommend a fic with a summary like this should tell you something... read to the end.

[littleplantman]

Hermitcraft/Bnha crossover alright, so, I’m not sure if anyone has thought of this before, but what if the hermitcraft/life series participants existed in the bnha/mha universe? Of course not actually IN the universe and influencing the plot. But just imagine if their persona’s had quirks and interacted with some of the characters on an off chance. This is just a random idea for an au that was festering in my brain, but it sounds almost exciting. So I was thinking, how about I make a list of their theoretical quirks and show some random strangers on the internet for my first post? That sounds like a great idea! So, without further ado! The crossover absolutely nobody was asking for (and since I can’t draw I can’t put it into an actual comic or anything) here’s some of the hermits and their quirks!

Grian- I was thinking of giving him a quirk similar to fierce wings, considering most of the internet, (myself included) pictures him with wings. But, the evolution of Grian and his Minecraft skins lead me to give him a transformation quirk, something similar to Toga’s. Although I’ll probably end up giving him a bird quirk anyway, since he also looks quite similar to Hawks too. Those two would probably fly around the city, annoying people all day.

Scar- personally, I like the idea that he would get the “anivoice” quirk, so he could actually communicate with Jellie or the other cats in neighbourhood. Either that or he could have a cat related quirk, but I think it would be funny to have someone like Shinso or Aizawa meet this guy, probably after finding him with an army of stray cats, and just sit there going, “what the heck…?” Because they’re talking to a large and slightly intimidating guy, in a wheelchair, who is really friendly, and surrounded by cats that would likely commit crimes for their dad.

Tango- his quirk would end up being something like the secret lovechild of Endeavour and Burnin. He would have flaming hair, which would make sense, but his manipulation of fire wouldn’t be that strong. Similar to how Kaminari’s quirk works, he would be able to cover his hands, or other parts of his body if you’d rather, in fire. But that would be basically the extent of it. He can’t shoot the fire out all over the place, sadly. It would be cool if he ran, or was a part of a large support company that made support items or costumes for people with fire or heat related quirks.

I’m going to make a few more of these posts, since I know it’s already starting to get quite long as it is. You can probably see a recurring theme about their quirks being based off already existing powers, but I’m mostly taking inspiration from those abilities because they’re so good, and it might make it easier for those characters to interact since they’ve got quirks similar to each other. But seriously, this is how wacky my crossover au’s could get since I have such a vast range of interests.

[sapphic-agent]

Let's Talk About Shigaraki

I've had some time to collect my thoughts, so I think I'm ready to finally talk about Tomura.

Fair warning, this is more of a rant. Mostly because there isn't much to say except that Horikoshi hates this motherfucker, almost as much as he hates Izuku.

Tomura is a character whose autonomy and agency has been stripped by the narrative repeatedly. And that's not really uncommon in MHA (Izuku, Hawks, Shoto, etc.), so why am I pointing it out? Because Horikoshi's assassination of his character didn't need to happen. In fact, it feels like he bent over backwards to make sure it happened.

Anyone who's been around my blog long enough knows that the MLA arc is one of my favorites, I even put it in my top five MHA arcs. It did a great job of having Shigaraki progress as not only a villain but a leader and come into his own power. My one issue with it and what kept it out of top three was that it seemed to immediately undo all the progress Tomura made by making him want AFO (the quirk). Him gaining this quirk didn't tie into his goals at all and it flipped him from wanting to use his destruction to make a world for the LOV to be free in (Eric Vale's delivery of this scene in dub was fire btw, go watch it) to him just wanting more power. It was an extremely weird decision.

The PLA War further perpetuates this and it causes some confusion as to where Horikoshi was going with his character. Instead of a newly established in-control and ambitious villain, he turned Tomura into a puppet for All For One to use for his own benefit.

(Off topic, but that also felt out of character for AFO. Prior to this, he seemed to want Tomura to succeed and carve his own path, even taking the time to gently correct his outbursts and give him actual advice and guidance. You could argue that this was manipulation on his part, but it didn't feel like it at the time. Why would he want Tomura to be level-headed and calm if the plan was to use him as a husk for his own control? It felt way more like Tomura was initially meant to be his successor, not his puppet. This reads more like another Horikoshi retcon)

For some reason, it feels like the intention was to turn him into a victim for Izuku to save. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing... Except he didn't develop Izuku enough for him to be able to do that.

Izuku doesn't understand Tomura, he even admits this himself. He sees Tomura as someone who causes destruction for the hell of it. And you know what? He wasn't wrong going off his few interactions with him. But that's where we hit our problem; Izuku has not interacted enough with Tomura.

And honestly? There's no excuse for this. They're supposed to be our protagonist and antagonist. They're supposed to be parallels with one another. So why in the world do they only really have one intimate scene together?

(I have mentioned this before, but Izuku should have been the one kidnapped, not Bakugou. Bakugou being in this position provides nothing to the plot, especially because All Might would have sacrificed his power for anyone. Bakugou isn't a dynamic or integral enough character for this to benefit the character progression of Tomura or the rest of the LOV, but Izuku is. Him learning why they're villains would have really done so much for their characters, as well as his own)

This leaves their interactions during the Final War completely stagnant and stale. Izuku doesn't understand Tomura, and Tomura knows that. He sees Izuku as a goody-two-shoes with no understanding of how dark the world can be. Except Izuku does understand because he experienced it. But how would Tomura know that? And how would Izuku know how Tomura became a villain? There's no understanding between them which is why Izuku is unable to connect with Tomura like he did Stain and Gentle Criminal. Which is why him trying to save Tomura goes nowhere.

It didn't have to be like this though. Even if it was rushed, Horikoshi could have squeezed it in. He could have made the effort. He chose not to. Partly because he can't be assed to give either of them good development, but also because he avoids the shit Izuku went through like the plague. He hates to acknowledge it and when he does it's sugarcoated (and used for Bakugou's gain, not Izuku's own). Because of he gets into the nitty gritty of it, his favorite blond rat's "development" goes right out the window.

Horikoshi wrote himself into a corner here, which is why the Izuku vs Tomura fight is so lackluster. Their interactions mean nothing, so their fight means nothing. What's his solution to this?

To fucking kill Tomura and retcon his entire backstory to force AFO back into the plot.

The last shreds of agency Tomura had as a villain were ripped away. He can't even have his own tragic backstory at this point. Hell, Kotaro can't even own his own shitty decisions, blame is pinned on Nana even though him abusing his kids was his choice and AFO somehow had a hand in him having kids?? Ok.

(Abusive man not being held accountable without someone else- a woman- taking the shit for it, what else is new in MHA)

Also, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN AFO GAVE HIM DECAY?

In all fairness, this has been a theory for a while. But again, the entire point of his character in the MLA arc was that he took charge of his "cursed" power and made it his own. So AFO giving him Decay erases another part of his development.

(And to add to this, what exactly was the point of having him take a quirk away from Tomura? Why not make him born quirkless so a parallel can be drawn to Izuku (and even Aoyama)? What is it with Horikoshi and quirkless aversion? There are four characters born quirkless in the narrative even though they're supposed to make up 20% of the population: Izuku, Aoyama, All Might, Melissa. Only Melissa stays quirkless)

AFO just happening upon Tomura- desperate, shunned, and vulnerable- who just happens to be Nana's grandson makes him so much eviler and more despicable. Him seeing an exposed child and deciding to use him to be cruel to Nana's memory and Toshinori drives home his callousness. Making it so that he orchestrated it just takes away from that. Tbh, it just makes him look like a loser. So, both Tomura and AFO just suffered character assassination.

Back to killing Tomura, do you know how awful this comes off? This character claimed his own power and goals, only for that to be stripped by making him a puppet, the attempt to save him is drawn out and goes nowhere, and then he just fucking dies. Like he never mattered at all. Like trying to save him was a complete waste of time and there's nothing about him worth saving.

And people saying he deserved to die for his crimes, THAT ISN'T THE POINT. It isn't about what he did or didn't do. I couldn't care less about that. It's about how Horikoshi stripped him of agency again and again and then discarded him when he didn't serve the shitty narrative he created.

Tomura and Izuku deserved so much better than this

[autumnshighlady]

A Lesson in Language

Fëanor x female!reader

part of The Professor Series

summary: challenging your linguistics professor is your favourite past time, until he decides it's time for you to face consequences for it

warnings: smut, power dynamic, daddy kink (only a little bit at the end), rough oral sex (m receiving), hate sex, roughness, Fëanor is a raging asshole

word count: 4.4k

request: Professor Feanor x reader? With fiery smut and snarky student reader ;) I was thinking something like he’s a linguistics prof (since he did come up with a new system of writing) and he teaches this one course that reader needs to graduate but she’s annoyed that he teaches it’s either his way or nothing at all so she argues with him all the time in office hours for her marks and etc?

So since we seem to be imagining everybody as a professor: Feanor. He'd be mean, and condescending, and the gods may help you if you're not good in his class (wth is he even teaching, he's good at everything💀) But if you're his best student, and a bright mind beyond class assignments? You'll want the gods to help you for wholly different reasons.

a/n: Fëanor is a massive douche in this fic ladies pls never let a man treat u like this lmao

series playlist on Spotify here

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

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You rolled your eyes as you doodled in the margins of your notebook, trying to ignore Professor Fëanor’s arrogant voice echoing in the classroom. He was droning on about pragmatics, a topic you had mastered last year already. You hated this class – it was tedious at best, and like watching paint dry at its worst. The only reason you were begrudgingly taking it was because it was your last requirement for graduation, as the class involved drawing up your own research study instead of a final exam. Everyone who was in this class took it for one of two reasons – either they were the same as you and just needed it for graduation, or they were lovestruck morons enamoured with the professor.

Admittedly, he was an attractive male. His long, raven-black hair suited his sharp face, with grey blue eyes that surveyed the class like a hawk, picking on daydreaming students to answer difficult questions. He was always impeccably dressed, and spoke with more confidence than anyone you had ever met. Yet he was arrogant and stubborn, insisting his way was the only way to learn linguistics. He spoke to his students as if they were dumb, incapable of being anywhere near his level of knowledge. And it irritated you beyond belief.

You were well known amongst your peers for getting into arguments with the professor. Dr. Fëanor had a nasty temper that frightened most, but amused you. You were the only student who didn’t hesitate to challenge him and stick up for yourself when he decided he wanted to bully his students. You were confident in your linguistic skill set, marching to his office to argue your grades whenever he gave you a shitty mark. You could tell it infuriated him, how his best student didn’t kiss his ass like he had clearly expected you to.

“Am I interrupting your artistic time, (Y/N)?” Dr. Fëanor’s bored voice sounded a few feet away from you, snapping you back to reality. You looked up, and he was standing in front of your table, glaring down at you. The students beside you shrank back, afraid to be caught up in the professor’s wrath. But you didn’t back down, only sighing and looking up to meet his gaze.

“What was that, sir?” You asked, widening your eyes and faking innocence knowing damn well it would piss him off further.

“You haven’t been paying attention to a single thing I’ve said all week.” He snorted. “How you are my top student is beyond me, with such a short attention span.”

“I’ve been paying attention, sir.” You lied, bringing your elbows to rest on the table. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Then you won’t mind a little pop quiz, just for you?”

You shrugged. “Fire away.”

“What are the three airstream mechanisms in phonetics?” His shoulders were tense, a sign of his visible annoyance towards you.

Your answer rolled off your tongue. “Pulmonic, glottalic, velaric.”

“Define a morpheme.”

“The smallest meaningful unit of language. It must have a meaning of its own, either lexical or a grammatical function, and it must be minimal, not containing any smaller units that have meanings of their own.”

“And what are the four maxims of conversation?”

“Quality, quantity, relation and manner.” You smiled, watching your professor’s face get redder as you answered his questions easily.

“Name the distinctive linguistic properties of Quenya that make it differ from Sindarin.” Dr. Fëanor smirked, cocking his head arrogantly. You knew he would ask this question, it was too predictable. He was the master of Quenya, having played a huge role in the development of the language and construction of the Tengwar alphabet. 

But as usual, he underestimated you. You took a breath, pretending to think for a moment before lifting your chin and meeting his gaze once again. “Where do I begin?” You said confidently. “Quenya is a more complex agglutinative language that strings morphemes together into long words using an inflectional system with a flexible syntax, while Sindarin has a much easier to follow language structure. Quenya uses 5 tenses to conjugate, Sindarin has 6 and words often begin with vowels whereas in Quenya, they typically end in vowels. They both use the structures SVO and OVS structures, but Sindarin uses VS and VO, although it lacks the OSV structure that Quenya has. Additionally, Quenya adopted case endings for nouns in nominative and genitive cases, using the dual plural to represent plural form since it lacks a definite article to mark the regular plural. Would you like me to go on, sir?”

The entire class was utterly silent. No one dared breathe in the moments following your monologue as you waited for your professor to reply. You expected him to yell at you, maybe throw a manuscript at your head. But he didn’t move. It began to make you uneasy, and you noticed a strange look cross his face for a half second before he finally spoke. 

“I’ve heard more than enough from you for one class.” Fëanor’s voice was leathally calm, sending goosebumps up your arm. “Keep your mouth shut for the remainder of the lecture, and pay attention.”

You rolled your eyes, picking up your pen and sitting back in your chair as the professor continued his lecture. You crossed your legs, making your skirt hike up on your thighs, but you were too annoyed to fix it. Your professor was an arrogant bastard who couldn’t comprehend that not everyone around him was as dumb as rocks. But your skin flushed as you drifted off into one of your many daydream scenarios of Fëanor bending you over his desk and taking his anger out on you. You just knew he was rough and dominant in bed, having fantasised about being on the receiving end of that fire within him.

Your daydreaming was cut short as the professor began distributing last week’s quizzes back to the students. He didn’t acknowledge your presence as he ungracefully dropped yours in front of you. You noticed quickly a note was attached to it, that read:

Be in my office at 5pm tonight. We need to have a talk about your attitude.

You sucked in a breath. This was new. Not once had he invited you to his office – you were there of your own volition often enough to challenge him about your marks. You wouldn’t be surprised if he put up a sign on his door barring you specifically from entering. You knew he hated your visits to his office, so why invite you now? Talks with your professor about your attitude were done in public, specifically to try and humiliate you. 

You folded up the note and slid it into your pocket, nervousness beginning to churn in your gut. Was he going to fail you out of spite? You’d be unable to complete your degree if he did that. While Fëanor was an arrogant asshole, you didn’t think he was cruel. Or at least you hoped so.

Tears began to well in your eyes as the possibility of failing dawned on you. Perhaps there were consequences to mouthing off to your professor after all. 

*******************

A few hours later, you knocked at the elaborate wooden door to Fëanor’s office, then wiped your face one last time. You had spent an hour in the bathroom attempting to fix your makeup and conceal the evidence of your tears and failing, miserably. Your mascara was wet, giving you more of a smokey eye look than you had intended. Your smudged face was a stark contrast with your perfectly put together outfit – a short brown pencil skirt and tall boots, paired with a tight fitting, slightly cropped t-shirt. You felt ridiculous now, going to your professor’s office like this, but you had no other choice.

“Come in. And close the door behind you.” His deep voice echoed from inside the office, and you pushed the heavy door open. His office was its usual organised mess, manuscripts and books everywhere, laid out across every sitting space available save for the single chair in front of his desk. The room glowed orange from the roaring fireplace off to the side, making it look more like an ancient cave than an office.

You carefully walked over to the chair in front of the desk, clasping your hands in front of you.

“Sit.” Fëanor ordered, finally glancing up at you when you hesitated. “Unless you prefer to kneel on the floor?”

Your face burned bright red as you scrambled into the chair, ignoring the way his insinuation made your thighs tingle with need. He ignored you for a few minutes, continuing whatever he was translating on his desk. You shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to do. None of your interactions had ever been like this – quiet, suspenseful, behind closed doors. No, it was always bickering arguments that turned heads in the hallways. Something was different about him.

“Do you know why I really called you in here today?” He asked, still not looking up. His long hair was tied back, except for a few loose strands that hung around his face as he wrote.

“To fail me.” You said quietly.

He barked a heartless laugh. “Gods, no. Failing you would mean I’d have to endure a whole extra semester of your arrogant attitude. I refuse to put myself through that.”

You felt all nervousness fade away, quickly replaced by that hot anger only he seemed to be able to get out of you. “I’m arrogant?” You snapped. “Take a look in the mirror.”

Fëanor’s writing ceased, and his grey blue eyes met yours and narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard what I said.” You fired back, unable to stop the words from coming out of your mouth. “You’re the arrogant one here, sir. You try to belittle me every time I prove myself to be smart because you can’t imagine that everyone around you isn’t a complete imbecile.”

You expected the male to snap back, to call you an idiot and ask how dare you say these things to him. Truthfully, you couldn’t believe you were saying these things either. All your arguments had been about the material so far, veiled insults hidden beneath your words. Never were you this open, this bold, about how you felt. 

“Anything else?” He said in a bored manner.

“Yeah, you’re a real prick.” You continued your angry rambling, sick of being looked down on by this male. “You know as well as I do that I’m your best student, yet you treat me like the problem kid at the back of the class. It’s ridiculous, and the only reason you do it is to feel better about yourself. Am I wrong, sir?”

A long pause followed, and you swallowed a lump in your throat. If you weren’t going to fail before, you definitely were now. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. You simply sat there, eyes locked with your ill-tempered linguistics professor. After a few minutes, you couldn’t take it anymore, averting your gaze to inspect a loose thread on your skirt.

“Do you know why I’m such an arrogant… prick, did you say?” He stood up, walking around to the front of his desk and leaning against it, crossing his large arms. “Because I’ve earned it. I invented the Tengwar script and am the most knowledgeable person on the Quenya language there is. I have created and invented things that nobody else has, and nobody will ever come close to achieving what I have achieved. I have earned my arrogance, you have not. You’re just a little girl who’s in way over her head.”

You saw red, angrily pushing back the chair as you stood up to challenge him . Fëanor was a good foot taller than you, making you strain your neck to meet his gaze. “Call me a little girl one more time, I fucking dare you.” You hissed.

“Or what?” He smirked. “You’ll cry? Just like you did before you came in here?”

Your jaw went slack, “Wha–”

Fëanor scoffed, pleased with himself. “Oh, please, don’t even try. It was written all over your pretty face. I like it covered in tears, by the way. It’s a good look on you.”

WIthout thinking, your hand reached up and connected with his face, a dull slap echoing throughout the office. “Fuck you.” You spat, turning to storm out before you could face the consequences of hitting your professor.

But Fëanor was faster, his large hand firmly clasping around the hand you just slapped him with and yanking you back around to face him. His other hand grabbed your other wrist, and no matter how much you squirmed against it he didn’t budge. His eyes were dark as he pulled your hands up and across each other, pushing them into your chest as he stepped even closer to you. 

“You wish.” He purred mockingly. “Isn’t that right? Is that not one of the reasons why your attention drifts off in class? Because you’re fantasising about being bent over my desk and fucked until you can’t remember your own name?”

“You think way too highly of yourself–” You tried to defend yourself, but he cut you off as if you hadn’t even said anything.

“You think I’m blind? That I don’t notice how you always wear those revealing outfits on the days you have my class. Don’t play dumb, it’s not a good look on you.”

You thrashed in his grip, ignoring the effect his words had on you. “Let me go right now you self righteous, narcissistic–”

“Kneel.”

That made you freeze. “Excuse me?”

“You really need to learn how to shut up.” Feanor growled. “And that’s what I’m going to do. I’ve had enough of that mouth of yours, it’s time to make it useful for once. Now kneel.”

You were utterly dumbstruck, unable to do anything as your professor gave you a shove, making you fall to your knees on the ground in front of him. The wooden floor made your joints ache, but you knew better than to protest.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Fëanor began, the sound of his belt unbuckling distinct in the background. “Do you think you can follow simple instructions for once?”

“Yes.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, throat dry with anticipation for what was about to happen.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He paused his movements, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at his towering form. “I’m going to stuff that smart mouth of yours with my cock, and you’re going to take it like the desperate little slut I know you are. If you please me enough, I will bend you over this desk and fuck you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow. And you’ll have learned your lesson to keep your mouth shut when I tell you to, understood? Is that simple enough for you to understand?”

“Yes, sir.” You repeated, trying to keep the shake out of your voice. Your core throbbed at his words, exactly as dominant as you imagined him to be.

Fëanor finally unzipped his trousers, letting them fall to his feet along with his boxers, revealing the thickest cock you had ever seen. Your jaw dropped, but you didn’t even care that you had just boosted his ego. All you could think about was how it would possibly fit.

“What’s the matter?” He mocked. “Too big for you? Scared you won’t be able to take it? You’ll be able to take it because I’ve told you so. Now open.”

You parted your lips, letting your professor slide his cock between them. You sucked on the tip, earning a groan of pleasure from the male above. Forcing your jaw to relax, you took him deeper, aching with the stretch.

Without warning, Fëanor impatiently grabbed the back of your head and pushed you down further. Tears blotted your face as you gagged around him, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked him. Clearly, he wasn’t concerned with having you come up for air, forcing you to breathe through your nose.

He set a rough pace, guiding your head up and down his cock as far as it would go without making you gag too much. Your mascara began to run down your face, and you made sure to keep eye contact with him despite the strain on your throat.

“There’s a good little slut,” Fëanor growled, tightening his grip on your hair as he thrusted faster. “I told you you looked better with tears running down your face.”

You couldn’t protest with his cock around your mouth, so you only whimpered, focusing on taking him deeper. You sucked hard with each stroke, letting your tongue run along the vein underneath his shaft as you bobbed your head. Your professor moaned shamelessly above you, a sound that set your nerves alight.

Mindlessly, your hand wandered between your legs, attempting to relieve some of the pressure building there. Your fingers hadn’t even grazed your panties when Fëanor halted his movements, holding your head down at the base of his cock. 

“Don’t even think of touching yourself.” He hissed angrily. “I didn’t give you permission to do so. Try it again, and I won’t let you cum. Got it?”

You nodded around the base of his cock, whimpering. Your jaw was in agony, stretched to the max to accommodate his length. When he finally moved your head once again, you doubled your efforts, determined to make your arrogant professor fall apart. You sat on your hands for good measure, trying to avoid the temptation to ignore his orders altogether.

Fëanor began thrusting his hips to meet your mouth a few minutes later, his pretty eyes screwing shut as he tilted his head back. “Fucking swallow every last drop.” He grunted between thrusts, his grip on your scalp tightening right before his cock twitched in your mouth. He came with a loud groan, shooting spurts of warm liquid down your throat. You kept bobbing your head, sucking up every last drop and letting it slide down your throat. He panted, hips sputtering as you sucked him dry before finally pulling your lips off him. Your jaw ached like never before, but you were strangely proud of yourself. The image of your high strung professor climaxing into your mouth would be forever burned into your mind.

“Looks like you’ve earned your reward after all.” Fëanor grabbed you by your shoulders and hoisted you up onto his desk with impressive strength. You didn’t have time to ask if you should move the papers on his desk before his mouth crashed into yours. His lips were hot and dominating, overwhelming your senses. You barely had time to kiss him back before he was pulling away, attaching his lips to your neck and biting down, making you cry out. He sucked and bit every inch of your throat in a manner you knew would leave dark bruises the next day, undoubtedly an intentional choice on his part.

You felt your shirt being yanked up, Fëanor quickly pulling it over your head along and ripping your bra off then tossing both items somewhere behind him. His calloused hands eagerly grabbed your breasts, squeezing hard. You squirmed under his touch, wanting to get away from the harshness of it but also needing more somehow. Fëanor’s mouth assaulted your breasts, biting the soft flesh firmly before taking your nipple in his teeth and flicking the bud with his tongue.

“Oh, fuck.” You couldn’t help but moan, tilting your head back.

“You like this?” Fëanor teased, lifting his mouth from your breast momentarily before hovering over the other one. “You like it when I’m rough, treating you like a dirty little whore? Leaving marks all over your body so you know that you’re my property, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir!” You cried out as he sucked at your other breast. It was overwhelming, his hands were everywhere except where you needed them most.

As if he read your mind, Fëanor pulled away, ripping his shirt over his head to reveal the most sculpted abs you’d ever seen. The bastard stood there for a moment, proudly watching you admire his form. Gods above, you’d never be able to focus in class again after seeing his muscles.

He reached down and roughly tugged your skirt and panties down, exposing your glistening cunt. Fëanor plunged a finger into you without warning, pressing a thumb to your clit and making you see stars. His mouth found your neck again as you squirmed under his touch, a hand reaching around your back and pressing you into his frame.

“You’re a fucking mess,” He growled into your neck, adding in a second finger and stretching your hole. “All for me, isn’t that right? I’m going to break you, my dear. Break you into a thousand pieces and put you back together so I can do it all over again and make you mine.”

You whined, feeling your muscles clench around him as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. You were approaching your orgasm faster than you ever had in your life. “I’m close…” You mumbled through shallow breaths, legs beginning to twitch.

He smirked. “I know.” Was all he said before roughly pulling his fingers away, right before you could make the final stretch towards the edge.

“What the hell!” You exclaimed, angry. Before you could cuss him out, his hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed.

“What did I tell you about keeping that pretty mouth shut?” Fëanor growled. “I would threaten to stuff it with my cock again, but you’d probably enjoy that too much. Guess I��m just going to have to fuck you so hard you scream and lose your voice.”

He roughly turned you around, pushing you by your neck so you were stomach first down on the desk with your feet still on the floor. You breathed heavily, grasping the edge with your fingertips as Fëanor lined his cock up to your entrance. You forced your body to relax, knowing it was going to hurt at first.

His hands found your hips and he slammed into you, almost knocking the wind right out of your lungs. You barely had time to catch your breath and acknowledge the stinging stretch between your legs before he pulled out and did it again, setting a brutal pace. You began to scream, fully screaming in pleasure and pain as Fëanor pounded into you relentlessly. You couldn’t even think straight, all logical thoughts about there possibly being people in the hallway that could hear you as you cried out over and over again.

Fëanor’s grip on your hips was almost bone shattering, his thick cock slamming into your g-spot faster than anyone had ever fucked you. He was right, your entire body would be sore tomorrow. In fact, you’d be lucky if you were able to walk to class. Fëanor’s thrusts were so powerful, you were sure he was going to split you in half.

And you fucking loved it.

You loved being bent over your professor’s desk, unable to think about anything else aside from how hard he was fucking you. The male you had had verbal sparring matches with for weeks was taking his frustration out on you, and you loved it. You enjoyed being at his mercy, feeling things nobody else had been able to make you feel.

Fëanor grunted, reaching one hand down and rubbing your clit. “You cum when I say you cum, got it?”

You nodded, whimpering as you felt your body try and pick up where it left off. You begged it to keep your orgasm at bay, knowing Fëanor would be less than happy if you came without his permission. So you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to think about anything else.

He thrusted into you for what seemed like hours, to the point where your legs had gone almost numb. You were a sobbing mess, fighting to stop yourself from climaxing all over his cock. The papers on his desk were stained with your tears, and your determination to not beg him for anything snapped.

“Please let me cum.” You sobbed pathetically.

Fëanor only increased his pace on your clit, smirking as he pounded you. “Aw, are you crying again? Poor little thing is so desperate to cum for daddy, isn’t she?”

Daddy. Your brain went haywire. Normally, you were not into the whole daddy kink, but the way Fëanor said it changed something in you. You whined, nodding. At this point, you’d say whatever to get him to let you cum. “Please, daddy, I need to cum,” You cried, body shaking. “I’ll do anything you want, please just let me finish.”

Fëanor groaned behind you, his cock twitching inside of you, evidence of his pleasure with your response. “That was pathetic,” He grunted. “But I’ll let it slide. Cum for me, slut. Cum now.”

Your body let go before he finished his sentence, the dam that had been holding your orgasm back bursting, letting the climax wash over your body. You cried out, voice breaking with hoarseness as your legs twitched violently, your grip on the desk and Fëanor’s hand on your hip being the only thing keeping you from sliding onto the floor.

The world spun around you, and at one point you were pretty sure you lost consciousness. As you came down from your high, Fëanor moaned loudly, pulling out and stroking his cock while jutting his hips forward. Thick spurts of cum landed on your back mixing with the sheen of sweat already there. His loud groan echoed throughout the office as you panted, your entire body feeling both completely wrecked and on cloud nine at the same time.

You tried to speak, but no words came out. Your vocal cords were shot, jaw aching with every movement. You didn’t even hear Fëanor retreat, but he returned with a towel, gently wiping the seed off your skin. You wanted to thank him, but couldn’t. In fact, you weren’t sure if you could even move. 

Fëanor chuckled, bundling up your clothes and setting them beside you. He placed a glass of water to your lips, tilting it back and letting you eagerly drink it up. “You’re excused from Thursday’s lesson,” He said smugly. “Only because I know you won’t be able to get out of bed to get to class. Let this be your lesson learned not to question me, or call me an arrogant prick. Got it?”

You nodded weakly, defenceless, and knowing your linguistics class with Dr. Fëanor would never be the same.