#but i like the idea that the tuft turns to fire at will

[dlartistanon]

Lil' Lava and her big dragon-god girlfriend

[kiwanopie]

aki threatening to make us housewives………. the way i physically gasped 😭. he’s the worst—one year as your senpai and he’s already decided you’re his.

it’s so vile too bc you want it, want him more than anything. want aki to cream your cute pussy ‘til you’re bloated. wanna hold up chunky lil babies that giggle and pull at their daddy’s topknot :((

the way i immediately opened my docs this ask sent my brain into overdrive

Glutton.

cw: car sex. breeding. dumbification. overstimulation. choking (aki wraps his hand around your neck) creampie. 1.1k

You already know he’ll name it after his little brother.

Or his mom. Whatever her name was? You’ve been chalking up ideas since he put it in your head and now it feels like you can’t remember a thing. Just your hope that if it’s a boy it’ll look like him and if it’s a girl - for her sake - she won’t have her mother’s tendency to misbehave.

You’re nothing if not a glutton for punishment.

You know, you’ve always assumed that Aki was a smart guy. I mean he’s team leader for a reason? He’s level headed in most cases, stalwart when it counts, a little demented but conscious of the things he does, and stubborn. He’d walk on a plate of fire just to prove a point - but it’s not a bad thing to stay true to your own ideals. This is a guy who keeps his promises. Every single one of them.

He’s too ticked off to put two and two together. “It’s like you like pissing me off.”

Aki’s heated breaths burn sear marks into the crook of your throat, just over the open wing of your collar and love notes left by his lips from earlier. Your brain’s too mushy to do anything but pant into the air, blowing thicker tufts of condensation that have already turned his car windows misty.

He’s fucking you like he means to turn your guts around, pistoning into your poor overstimmed cunt like it’s all he’s meant to do. Not even faltering when the acrylics of your nails tear shallow gashes into his button up - If you had the half of mind, you could even say he enjoys it.

Feeling you cling to him so desperately as he grunts in the crook of your shoulder, tighten when he curses at you. Maybe he’s too blissed out. Maybe he’s not as smart as you took him for. But you seem to be taking the repercussions of your misbehavior in stride.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Aki hisses in your ear. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve going over my head after what I told you.”

You croon when he lifts one of your legs and fastens it over his arm to get you at a better angle - a deeper angle. God, his seats are probably ruined.

You already knew you were in trouble when he offered to drive you home. You knew the look in his eyes, and you knew Makima was obviously gonna tell the guy overseeing you that you requested clearance to be contracted with a new devil, especially one so substantial. You even pulled the extra stop of shoeing in a compelling argument. ‘The life of a hunter is short anyway. Why not make it mean something?’

Like getting knocked up by your boss in the back of his Lincoln. “P-…Please forgive me, senpai! I’m- fuck, m’so sorry-“

“You might as well get used to calling me by my first name.” He grunts. “It’d be pretty fucking confusing when we start sharing my last.”

Aki lets out a broken curse when you tighten up again. “God, I can’t believe you. Were you even gonna tell me? Was I just supposed to find out when you…”

He doesn’t even finish the thought. Instead he blows out a puff of air against your pulse that makes you shutter. Lifts his head to look at you more directly and stares at you for a moment. There’s a lot of emotions behind his eyes that you’re not exactly cognizant to decipher. A way the tendons in his jaw tense - that seems less angry and more ‘something else entirely.’ But before you can zero your misty eyes on what exactly that could be, he’s already pressing his lips against yours.

A slow kiss. Not messy and unrestrained like earlier but savory. Sensuous lip smacking all the more sultry when he tilts his head to follow the current of the kiss. His loose hair falls freely over your face, lax from all the tugging you’ve been doing since he started turning your insides to bisque. But a kiss like this is the kind you give when it means something. Goosebump and butterfly inducing - You moan in his mouth and he swallows it heartily.

And then he deepens it.

That earnest passionance becomes lustful and raunchy before you can even realize he’s sucking on your tongue. Deepening his thrusts until you’re feeling him in your stomach and groaning down your throat when your fingers start to dig into his scalp. If you didn’t know any better you’d say Aki was hoping for this kind of outcome just as much as you were. Especially when he starts to angle his thrusts for the spot that has you gushing around him like he likes.

The kiss leaves a gossamer trail of his spit when he pulls back for another look at you. Your pretty doe eyes have gone teary.

“Don’t even worry about your resignation, I fired you as soon as I found out.” Aki grunts. “We’ll figure out the living arrangements later.”

Your eyes roll back when he settles for a firm grip on your throat. “I’ll have to get a bigger car. Oh fuck - And a car seat.”

You babble something that sounds like a cross between “So good!” and “I’m cumming!” but it’s more a jumbled mess of moans and overstimulated whimpers. He’s stopped counting the amount of times your pretty pussy has gone into the process of milking him for all he’s got. But even as he follows you over the edge does he continue to fuck you brainless.

Aki peers down at the mess you’re making on his leather seats. “S-Shit. Quit wasting it. I’m not stopping till I know it’ll take.”

“S’good, senpai! A-Aki-senpai! So good! It’s s’good!”

He pulls your other leg up till you're folded in a mating press, groaning at the difference in angle. “You know - mhph - You’re even cuter when you’re all fucked out like this.”

His dick twitches at the way you start to drool. “Gonna be my pretty wife? Gimme some pretty babies?”

“Sso pretty…!” You slur. “G’nna make you a daddy!”

He gives you a blitzed smile that definitely says he’s as far gone as you are. “Yeah?”

Your mouth gapes as he bends over you, much too deep with your legs hooked over his shoulders and pressing his hips flat against your ass to grind in as thoroughly as possible.

“So stupid…” Aki skims his lips over yours. “You’re stupid if you think I’m done with you after that.”

He hums as he brings you into another kiss, briefly pulling away to murmur drunkenly. “Gimme a pretty family, baby.”

1 reblog = several Hayakawa babies

[xsapphirescrollsx]

Hallows' Eve

Masterlist

Original Posting: 02 Oct 2020

MCU/DC Cross-over AU

Pairing: dark!Bucky Barnes, dark!Steve Rogers, dark!Clark Kent x Black Female Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, creampie, spanking, dirty talk, daddy kink, assault, non-consensual sex. Proceed with caution!

@mcudarklibrary​ entry for Dark MCU Kinktober

A/N: Ahh shoutout to my bff @titty-teetee​ for indulging me with this idea lol. I love ya >:D

October 30th, middle of somewhere, Texas.

Well, there was a house-- rickety as it was, the home stood in a clump of mesquite trees, accented with tufts of Johnsongrass, springing up through the cracks of the stone walkway and leaning against the stairs to the front porch. It had never looked darker than this night had. But even so, the jagged wood roof  rose high to a second story, long windows looked like eyes with the small front door for a mouth. A steady breeze moved through the trees, shaking and whishing the long thin branches, slicing through the air. The whispering of nature speaks to you, like God to man, invoking what has been and what was to come. An unexpected thin place perhaps, the house, having not been filled for quite some time looked like it could have been haunted. Maybe a part of you wished it was. Like the walls and foundation had the ability to make up its own people within, or remembered who once lived there. 

Bucky’s fingers nudged your lower back as you walked alongside him. The duffle bags zipper clinked against the fabric and you were suddenly aware of how quiet it was out here. The crisp autumn air, slowly contorted to that spikey chill of early winter lingered on your skin. So you walked closer to him for some quick warmth. 

“They should be--” said Bucky, lights glowed up from the dirt road. The paleness glowed over both you and Bucky, the house, the dormant land. “There they are.” he said pausing for a moment and then continued once again.

“You had to pick the spookiest spot huh?” you said under your breath. 

He shrugged as he stomped up the stairs. “I was here yesterday, I got it ready. It’s a perfect spot for a quick get away.”

“But did you have to invite company? I was looking forward to it just being you and me.”

Bucky rummaged for the keys in his pocket as a couple of car doors slammed behind you. 

“‘Come on babe, Steve doesn’t have anywhere to go really.”

“I’ll start the fire!” shouted Steve. 

You didn’t turn around, your eyes stayed on the shadows of Bucky’s face where his eyes should have been. 

“Okay, I get that. But what about the other guy? What did you say his name was? How do you know him?”

Bucky jabbed the key with the lock, he chuckled a bit before answering. “Clark Kent, his name is Clark.”

“So you’re picking up strays now?” 

“Get to know him, you’ll like him. He's a great guy, hardly a stray...”

You followed Bucky into the house slowly, he flicked on the switch flooding the living room with light. Okay, you thought, doesn’t look so bad. At least the furnishing appeared to be from within the last ten years, the walls looked newish, with sharp borders, and reasonably decorated. 

“Besides, I picked you up, remember?”

You dropped your bag flat on the ground. “Hey, now. Are you trying not to get lucky while we stay here?”

Bucky continued into the house with the grocery bags. “I’ll get lucky regardless.” he cut his eyes over his shoulder back toward you. It sent another chill, this time up your inner thighs. He wasn’t lying.

“Oh god, not that stupid-”

Bucky ducked in close, the flimsy plastic mask buckled under the pressure of nuzzling your neck. You gazed into the bathroom mirror at Bucky who’s rubber Michael Myers mask was staring lifelessly back.

“I know you wanted to try something different….but….”

His hands kneaded your sides, higher he climbed over your sweater to your breasts.

“You look ridiculous…”

One hand left your nipple and began tugging at the top of your leggings.

“Shh…” he tried to stifle a laugh. “..just go with it..”

And you did, by leaning your head back against the blue denim jacket as his fingers wondered underneath your underwear.

“..let daddy have a feel.” his breathy question muffled through the mask. Slowly he began to circle your clit, mouth hanging open your hand held the top of his black gloved hand and pushed him to press harder.

“Look at yourself...how needy you get.” he whispered.

You try to peer beyond the mask, the slits for eyes but there was nothing. Only darkness met you there. Bucky brought up his hand, held it in front of the mirror and you. He split his fingers, thick wetness strung between them like webs.

“Bend over-- hold on to the sink.” he ordered, with his hands disappearing behind you. The sound of his clothes ruffling you stared back at the mirror.

Bucky stepped forward, knocking your ankles apart with his shiny black boots and yanked your pants, underwear down and gently, he tipped into you. His long length traveled against your folds sinking further inside.

Ghostly scenes are made from the smoke casting up from the flickering fire being fed from lava colored coals. The metal chair underneath you feels cool on your bottom, because even though you are sitting on a blanket the cold night air hangs around you. 

Steve was ending his story. Though hardly a spooky tale, it didn’t have to be, for his tales were based on true events. Speaking of blood and gore the morbid tone grew in his voice and brought a shadow of delight in his eyes. You carefully watched him, observed his hunched over shoulders, his eyes turned to yours sometimes while he spoke but mostly stayed on the fire. 

You chugged from the bottle of hard cider as Bucky ate, that stupid mask was pulled up over his brows. But Clark Kent, this stranger, sat nearly directly opposite. You moved your eyes to him ever so often while Steve told his story. One of the two thought about food on the way here, chicken, you guessed was their craving. Clark leaned back, his black jacket bunched at his waist as he rose a hand to his mouth. The crunch of the crust of fried meat did not break Steve’s momentum. 

When he finished, Bucky nodded to the accuracy of the amount of soldiers, to why the only man left was brave and courageous. Clark’s eyes met yours over the flames, his skin pale, the wavy dark curls framed his face. He smiled at you as he chewed. You noticed it then, unsure why you wouldn’t have before, he held the grey cooked bone between his fingers and stuck the end in his mouth. You blinked, maybe you were seeing things -- this was your sixth cider for the night.

“Are you eating the bones?” you asked.

Clark continued to gnaw on it till it broke off in his mouth. “Waste not want not,” he said through a mouthful.

He continued to stare back at you and at the same time a chill coursed its way down your spine. Shivering in the gentle breeze the urge to go to the bathroom shot through you. 

“I’ll be right back,” and excused yourself from the fire.

Had to be a bit past ten p.m., though this was supposed to be a pleasant fall break, it didn’t truly feel that way. Not with two extra guests. You tried to not feel so desperate to be alone with Bucky. You finished washing your hands and opened the bathroom door. In the dark, lit up by the light of the bathroom a figure stood. You jumped so hard, grasping at your sweater, bent over grabbing your waist, the boogeyman mask simply stared back at you without moving.

“Bucky I swear to -- why would you? -- take that stupid thing off-” and you reached for the mask but his hand grabbed your wrist. Slowly he walked over the threshold, leaned over and flicked off the light. 

“Oh no!” you feigned a plea. “Seriously..--help..help.” you giggled through another.

The door slammed behind him trapping the dark inside. He pulled you close at first, residing to his strength, you let him touch, grab, pluck at your body. Backing you back up against the sink the rubber mask pushed against your neck, smiling in the dark you could hear him attempting to kiss you there. 

His hands ran around the waist of your leggings, one big hand gripped and caressed your ass, slipped toward your split and rubbed your asshole. You jumped again, this time wrapping your arms around his neck. Different, he had never done such a thing before, but you went with it. 

His finger crawled passed it, his other hand pushed down the front of your legging and circled your clit. 

“..help...a big bad man...help..” you chuckled under a moan. 

He jerked you away suddenly, pulled down your leggings and underwear, with a hand on your shoulder he forced you to bend over. The room filled with the sound of a smack to your back side. 

“Bucky!” 

The stinging lingered but white hot pain replaced it with another hit from his gloved hand. 

“Okay!” you rushed out. Maybe he was just being kinky, perhaps your pretending might have put him out of the mood. 

He hit you again making you grip the lip of the sink harder. “I’m sorry daddy..” you hissed.

He was back behind you again, his whole body pressed against you, scratching at the skin of your ass he plunged two thick fingers into your entrance.  Heavy breathing billowed from under the mask, hot air pooled over your shoulder and around the back of your neck. The weight of him bent you forward. He pulled out his fingers from within you and began to prod with something warmer, and far thicker at your slit as his other hand tangled with your fingers on the sink. 

And he pushed in, “..damn!” you moaned.

Jerky, irregular thrusts stretched you more than what you remembered. “Bucky!” you gasped, hoping he would slow the pace. But the other hand grabbed for your throat, squeezed tight and pumped you harder. 

“Daddy, please..” you half begged, half needingly whimpered. 

That changed his stroke, and soon the ache descended into bliss. 

“Fuck...daddy…”

His hand on yours returned to your clit, pushing hard and swiping steadily, your knees nearly buckled. Thicker for sure, veiny too, you thought, god what the loss of one sensory can do on a drunk mind. Your body bucked back against him as you rode out the orgasm. He squeezed harder, hissing and groaning under the mask you could nearly imagine him as someone else. And when he stilled inside of you, even his hiccups of pleasure could be thought of another. You shook the fantasy away as he stepped back. 

Before you could even turn around, the door opened, your eyes shot to his brown boots and then up to his back. And he left you there.

You stuffed pieces of a premade popcorn ball into your mouth. Bucky sat there weaving a tale of spirits walking through walls, of ancient gods embedded into objects best left to rest where they laid. Still buzzing hard you stayed captivated by his tone. It was something about the secretive way his voice projected that kept you staring at him, wondering if it could be true, but knew it mustn’t. 

It was still cool out, the shabby blanket thrown over your sore legs did little to keep the wind out. But it made for a good catcher, which is what you were doing toward the end of his story. Picking up pieces of fallen popcorn, and pizza flavored chip crumbs somehow made it to your mouth despite the only source of light was a waning fire.

“So if you ever hear your name called..don’t ever answer back, unless you can see it’s a actually living person.” Bucky finished and glanced over at you proudly.

“I hate that story.” you slurred your words a bit and shook out the blanket on your lap. “I hope you’re happy, you have to walk me everywhere until we return home.”

You picked up the last bottle off the ground and drank the last bit. The clash of flavors swirled on your tongue leaving a bitter after taste.

“Babe do you have any gum?”

“There’s a pack in the middle console--” Steve spoke up. “Back there in the truck..” he said hooking his thumb over his shoulder.

You rolled your eyes over in Steve’s direction. A smug grin, and a wrinkle on the side of one eye simply gazed back at you. 

“You’re fine,” he said finally. “You’ve got us here...nothings gunna get you.” he reminded smoothly.

And the moment was quiet, poised on the end of the gentle breeze blowing through the heat of the fire. The rustle of sleeping honeysuckle vines, somewhere near the old rotted out shack Steve’s truck sat was the only identifiable sound for a few seconds. 

“Fine.” you huffed and stood up to get that gum.

You walked down the dirt path the short way from the front of the house where Bucky, Steve and Clark sat. The tin roofing of the old shed rocked, and slapped against itself the closer you got. And of course Steve parked on the other side, out of the sight of the house and fire. But you walked quickly, or rather, as fast as two aching legs could in the cool weather. 

The knocking sound only got heavier, louder as you squinted in the dark toward the blackest corner of the area. Steve’s truck was within a few footsteps and you batted away any imaginings of spooky phantoms. You slipped passed the door, your hand flipped up the middle console and snagged up the pack of gum before slamming the door back. And when you turned around, just off from where you had previously walked was a figure. The white, deathly pale mask was the only part you could really see.

“Fuck!” you shouted, dropping the pack of gum. “Bucky!” you hissed and reached back down to retrieve it. 

The yellow fire light was at his back when he moved forward toward you. 

“Okay...no more mask!”

You stuffed the gum under your arms and went to yank at the mask. But he caught your arm and squeezed down like a vice grip. “Hey--easy there..” you said quietly. 

He pulled you toward the shed, but just outside of it, along the rotten wall of it a few old deep freezers were lined up against it collecting weeds, and dust. 

“Oh no, Bucky..those look super dirty..” you tried to jerk your arm away but he only pulled you harder. “...Really? You’re this committed to fucking in that mask?”

This time your hand grabbed enough of the back of the mask to rip it fully up over his head. At that same moment you were jerked forward between the rusty freezer and him. Your eyes now bulging and fighting for light to correct what you were seeing in the dark stared up at him. You blinked several times once more before you realized the angular features did not belong to Bucky. Thick curly hair, messy all over haloed around his face, and of course, you weren’t sure why you hadn’t noticed before, he was taller. It was Clark.

You made to quickly move away from him but he snapped you back, “Get off me!” Your voice shook, and so did your body. 

“Bucky’s right over there...all I have to do is scr--”

The air whipped out of your lungs so fast as Clark slammed his palm over your mouth and rushed your back down on to the freezer. 

“I’ve been waiting all night for this..” he whispered.

No amount of squirming could equal the might Clark welding against your struggling. It was like a man made of iron held you down, even when his other hand disappeared between your legs, the tearing of your legging, your underwear did not loosen his hold. And then the unfolding of his clothes paired with the gentle brushing of the vines against wood near your head sent you into hysterical kicking. Your legs on either side of him squeezed, and jerked to no avail. 

“-don’t act so innocent. You’ve already fucked two different men tonight.”

You stopped kicking, eyes wide above his hand you glowered at him through the dark. “You won’t mind..will you?”

Shaking your head you held your breath. The thick end of his cock began to push past your folds. 

“Slut.” 

He lowered his forehead on to yours, what you imagined was him staring back down at you but could see only the tip of his nose. A shuddering breath pulled through your nose as he sank further to his balls. “You’re wet from it still…”

He started snapping into you, hard and fast, slapping his lust into your unwilling cunt. Clark’s hand slipped to your chin, his lips hovering above yours. 

“Are you going to call me daddy too?” he asked, with his breath steadily huffing into your mouth. “..Say it for me baby..” 

“Let me hear that little desperate voice..” He kissed you, slipping his tongue along the inside of your lower lip and then against your face as you turned your head. “Come on..” And then he started jabbing, a feral thumping into you. Sharp pains up your thighs shot further into your core. You denied him and he lowered his head to your neck. He sucked on your skin, flicked his tongue around and inside your ear. “Say it,” he whispered. 

You whimpered in response as his teeth began to snag on the wet skin of your neck. He sucked hard, drawing out needle points of pain. 

You pray to god Bucky could hear this, you’ve been gone too long certainly either Steve or him could. Clark kept nibbling, and groaning in between thrusts. When you refused once again he shoved his palm back over your mouth, the other brought your wrist up and twisted it into a bone breaking angle. 

He stopped moving inside of you as his deep voice raked over clenched teeth, “What was that?” he asked. The warm palm slid down to your chin. 

“..daddy.” you shivered out.

You could hear the satisfied smile in his voice. “Good..girl.” he whispered. 

“That wasn’t so hard to say was it babe?”

The sound of Bucky’s voice from the darkest, most grown up side of the shed sent your eyes reeling in the dark. Clark put his hand back over your mouth and kept going. 

Bucky stood at the edge of the freezer, in the dark the features of his face were smudged. A gentle hand caressed the top of your forehead. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Let Clark finish.”

At Bucky’s words, Clark released your mouth, he rose up and held your upper arms down as he continued to fuck you roughly. Your eyes stayed on Bucky’s silhouette, high pitch whimpering up at him did not go unheard. 

Bucky cupped your chin and head. “Shush,” he hushed down your sobbing face. 

Another pair of hands tore at the front of your sweater. To his right, another figure stepped to your side. The figures loomed over you while your breasts chilled, and peaked in the cool night air. A deft hot hand kneaded and groped at the nearest one. 

“You told us she was good….” Steve pinched your nipple hard. “She’s fucking outstanding.”

Bucky leaned over you, he grabbed for your thigh but you kicked away. Clark relinquished some leverage to pull your thigh up so Bucky could hold your ankle. “Yeah, get in there good.” Bucky’s voice rose above your strangled cries. Steve got your other leg, held it folded it in high and tight, that allowed Clark to pound you deeper. 

He grinded his hips into yours burning his stiff cock into your core. His grip tightened around your arms pinning you for good below him. “Where am I going to empty my balls?” Clark demanded on a puff of air. 

Tears slid down the corners of your eyes. They rolled from the darken outlines of Bucky above you to Steve at his side and then back to the man between your legs. 

“..in me.” you sniffled out. 

“And who are we--” Bucky asked softly. 

You didn’t bother to look in the direction of his voice, Clark’s head threw back, a deep moan started in his chest as his hips kept pumping. “Say it baby..” Clark whispered.

“..daddy.” you whimpered.

[dreamcubed]

enchanted | fred weasley x reader

song; enchanted [taylor swift] pairing; fredweasley x fem!ravenclaw!singer!reader genre; s2l, f2l, fluff word count; 2,1k timeline; goblet of fire warnings; mentions of anxiety, mentions of drugs summary; maybe volunteering to sing at the yule ball would mean that your crush would finally notice you, and maybe you could have a wonderfully enchanting night as a result

masterlist

i might consider a speak now anthology... but not until after lover and reputation are done. i just had to use this song for this idea...

"please don't be in love with someone else."

————————————————

The purple sparkles glistening on your cheekbones gave your complexion an ethereal type of blush, accented by your magnificent lilac princess gown that spilled out at your hips. Your hair was perfectly styled, with delicate purple butterflies pinned in various places. This was a night that you had been rehearsing over and over for weeks now - and you couldn't fuck up this moment.

With a squeeze on your arm from your nearest and dearest friend, Jean, you gave a tight lipped smile and moved towards the stage. It felt as if the world stopped when you gripped the microphone in your hand, and silence fell upon the ballroom. You had been unable to think of a good introduction, so decided that delving right into the song was the best course of action. You heard the guitar begin.

"There I was again tonight Forcing laughter, faking smiles Same old tired, lonely place."

As you opened your eyes, you scanned the crowd for the one person whose eyes you wanted pinned on you: the tuft of ginger hair that you had gazed at longingly from a distance for so long. You could tell him apart from his twin brother, quite easily tonight as while George was partnered up with Angelina Johnson, Fred remained dateless. It could only have been a personal choice, as he could have had any girl he wanted.

Including you.

"Walls of insincerity Shifting eyes and vacancy Vanished when I saw your face."

Your eyes locked on to his, and you remembered the moment you first laid eyes on him back in first year.

***

The glance of you, an awkward eleven year old, towards a ginger-haired boy at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Well, one of multiple ginger-haired boys. And, despite another of them being identical to him, he stood out to you like the shiny full moon in a starry sky. Maybe it was the cheeky grin he had on his face as he watched what appeared to be his elder brother realise that something had been shoved down his pants, or maybe it was the fact he seemed to be brimming with confidence.

For a shy child such as yourself, seeing someone of such the opposite genre, unafraid to be loud and proud— it was a spectacle. You were in awe.

And that was when he turned around and caught you staring. Heat rushed to your ears and you immediately turned away, hiding next to your mother, hearing the sound of his pleasant laughter in the background. You didn't think you would fancy someone at Hogwarts so quickly, and even young naïve you knew that it would be an all-consuming crush.

***

"All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you."

Never had you had his, and everyone else's, full attention quite like this. It made you feel like the goddamn belle of the ball, which was nerve-wracking but exhilarating. You gripped the microphone tighter, letting more memories flood over you, including the first time you exchanged words with Fred.

"Your eyes whispered, 'Have we met?' 'Cross the room your silhouette Starts to make its way to me."

***

Your first charms lesson, practising a simple levitation charm with feathers: a class that you happened to share with who you learned to be the Weasley twins. You couldn't help but glance at him every few seconds, to the point that you lost control of your feather and it went flying in his direction. Eyes growing wide out of shock, you quickly scurried out of your seat and over to where they were sat.

"This yours?" who you now knew to be Fred asked.

You nodded.

"Here you go," he said, passing it over with a smile, "Be more careful next time. You're lucky it's just a feather."

Embarrassment swarmed over you, and you wordlessly nodded yet again, grabbing the feather and hurrying back to your seat.

***

Despite such a humiliating first interaction, you grew in confidence over the years, and your crush on him became less debilitating.

"The playful conversation starts Counter all your quick remarks Like passing notes in secrecy."

***

"Hey, Y/N, you were at Jean's party over the Summer, you saw Cho grinding up on Cedric in the living room didn't you?" your Gryffindor friend asked you as you walked past their table to your own. You stopped walking and chuckled.

"No, I didn't. I spent most the time upstairs."

She rolled her eyes, "Yeah with the druggies."

You shook your head at her.

"You act like such a goody-two-shoes at school but you're secretly a party animal."

"Y/N L/N, a party animal? No way," Fred Weasley piped up from nearby.

You shrugged, "You wouldn't know. You didn't even get invited."

You watched as amusement flitted over his eyes at your remark. "Touché, L/N."

***

"And it was enchanting to meet you All I can say is I was enchanted to meet you."

You began walking to one side of the stage, soaking in all the attention being on you which would have driven you to a panic attack in first year. It still made you scared, but you could handle the feeling a lot better these days.

"This night is sparkling Don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck Blushing all the way home."

People began cheering as you picked up your volume.

***

In third year, you got assigned to be Fred's partner in a potions practical, as Snape did not let the twins be paired up under any circumstances. Despite your hatred of the man, you couldn't blame him for that move. And in that instance, you thanked him.

"I'm a lot luckier than George."

"What do you mean?" you asked as you laid out all the ingredients.

"He's partnered with a Slytherin guy, I'm with a pretty Ravenclaw girl."

You froze, relishing in the compliment without trying to appear too embarrassed. "Uh, thanks."

You heard him chuckle, "Like you've never heard it before."

Not from anyone but your mother.

***

"I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you."

When you had found out about the Yule Ball, you had been sick to your stomach thinking about seeing Fred with another girl. Every time he had briefly dated over the last few years had killed you, and this was no exception. So, you had thrown yourself into rehearsals and almost entirely isolated yourself, only to find out that Fred hadn't asked anyone and had come alone.

"The lingering question kept me up 2am, who do you love? I wonder 'til I'm wide awake."

Why, though? Why hadn't he asked anyone? Why did he choose solitude and embarrassment over a lovely night of dancing and eventual making out?

"And now I'm pacing back and forth Wishing you were at my door I'd open up and you would say 'Hey, it was enchanting to meet you' All I know is I was enchanted to meet you."

You had spent a lot of time wishing he would ask you, and as you entered the second chorus, you found yourself shutting your eyes and dreaming that he would kiss and hug you when you left the stage. Telling you that he was so incredibly proud of you and that you were the most beautiful girl in the world.

"This night is sparkling Don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck Blushing all the way home."

You opened your eyes and let yourself have another glimpse of his face.

"I'll spend forever wondering if you knew This night is flawless Don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck Dancing around all alone."

Alas, you did not have a date, and would likely be spending the rest of this evening dancing exclusively with friends— or maybe even alone, if they were busy with their dates. But, a girl could dream, and you could so easily imagine Fred approaching you and asking you for a dance.

"I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you."

***

You frowned as you saw, for the first time, the Weasley twins in the Hogwarts library. For some reason, you highly doubted that their intentions were educational. Regardless, they appeared lost.

"Need some help?" you offered, beckoning all your courage to do so.

"What? No, we're good. We're fine," Fred said quite too suddenly.

You raised an eyebrow, "I'm not here to snitch, you just seem a bit confused."

They exchanged a look with each other.

"Okay," George sighed, "We're looking for the sludge based charms section."

***

"This is me praying that This was the very first page Not where the storyline ends."

This was was your second to last year of Hogwarts, and you couldn't have that be the end of your interactions with Fred. You needed to have more than that, you needed to communicate your feelings, you needed to feel his embrace. Unfortunately, you were a coward with love, and so you were going to extreme means to attract him so he would do the initiating. Rowena knows you were desperate.

"My thoughts will echo your name Until I see you again These are the words I held back As I was leaving too soon."

In a moment of adrenaline rush bravery, you firmly locked your eyes on to the man you had pined after for years. You hoped he was close enough to the stage to realise that you were looking at him.

"I was enchanted to meet you."

And as the backing vocals picked up, you lowered your microphone and gave a nervous smile as you watched his face contort in shock. He raised a finger and gestures to his chest, as if to say, "Me?"

You nodded, raising your microphone again.

"Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you!"

The corners you had stood in, the people you had hidden behind, the conversations you had avoided— they were history. You had overcome your fears, and it only took you nearly six years. Now, no matter what came of this, you couldn't look back and regret not confessing.

"This night is sparkling Don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck Blushing all the way home."

Maybe he felt the same, or at least had the potential to feel the same. Maybe he had realised that you were no longer the awkward eleven year old with a nose that was too big for her face and a haircut that did nothing for her features.

"I'll spend forever wondering if you knew This night is flawless Don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck Dancing around all alone."

The crowd had melted away, and you couldn't even hear your own anxiety as you let the song absorb you. You refused to let yourself live to regret this moment.

"I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you."

A part of the song that you could officially say did not describe you: he knew. Fred knew. He knew that you were enchanted to meet him, that your thoughts echoed his name, that you had held so many words back. And with that thought, you let yourself return to Earth, settling in the middle of the stage as you gently sung the final words.

"Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you."

Cheers erupted from all around you: Durmstrang, Beauxbatons and Hogwarts. You took a bow, unable to wipe the grin off your face as you were applauded, deciding to ignore for that moment any consequences of your actions. That continued when you left the stage and your friends greeted you with hugs and compliments— until Jean pulled you aside and muttered.

"You looked at him."

"What?" you feigned confusion.

She gave you a look, "Don't play dumb. You sang the song at Weasley."

"I- yeah," you admitted.

"Well, don't leave him waiting."

This time, you were genuinely confused, "What?"

She nudged her head to her left, where you turned to see that Fred was patiently waiting for you to finish talking to your friends. "Go get him, girl."

You took a deep breath and nodded with a smile, walking towards the man who held your heart.

"Hi," you murmured, feeling shy again.

"Hi," he said softly, his hands tucked into his pockets.

"Did you like my-?"

"I loved it," he cut you off.

You smiled abashedly.

"Can I have this dance?" he asked as the music began picking up again.

You accepted his extended hand, "You can have every dance."

And Fred grinned.

———————————————

masterlist

written; 17/03/2024 —> 07/04/2024 published; 07/04/2024 edited; —/—/——

[peachesofteal]

First Sight / Chapter 2

Chapter 2 of 2. Part five of the Sassy series. First chapter here.

Simon Riley/female reader - soft dad Simon Riley 4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, PTSD, PPD, mentions of blood and violence, reader is a new mom, tenderness, fluff, complicated feelings, mentions of Percocet (no addiction or abuse), feelings of fear and anxiety, emotional hurt/comfort. Simon is here. Theo is here. There is nothing to fear.

The house is quiet. Practically silent, except for the ebb and flow of Simon snoring, the broad expanse of his chest combined with the crook of his elbow making a very comfortable sleeping spot for Theo apparently. It’s like white noise, you guess. You've heard of babies being lulled to sleep by the sound of the ocean, or rain, or even a vacuum cleaner, but you didn’t have to resort to any of those, the crackle coming from Simon’s nose more than enough.  

Which is great, because you’re exhausted. Or at least, you think you are. It’s hard to tell right now. Your abdomen is still sore, giant incision finally starting to close after six long weeks, and your brain never turns off, the darkness pulling at the edge your mind dragging you through hell almost every day, the bright spots few and infrequent. You feel haunted. You feel like a husk.

Ten fingers, ten toes, ten pounds. You stare at Theo in awe, his little face perfectly serene while he sleeps in your arms, and you lower your own to the crown of his head, skimming your nose across his tiny tuft of hair. You hold him close, pointer finger tracing as lightly as possible across the apple of his cheek, back and forth. It’s hard to believe he’s even real. Or that he’s here. That the two of you made it through, and that he now has a birthday, a name, ten fingers, and ten toes. 

This, whatever it is, is the strongest concentration of love you’ve ever felt in your life, that you’re sure of. Things that mattered before, don’t anymore. Things you were worried about in the past, don’t exist. The only thing that’s real is this baby in your arms, your baby, Simon’s baby, and you blink rapidly to hold back tears at the realization. 

“What do you think, mom? You ready for some pain relief so you can get some sleep?” The nurse asks, and Simon nods but doesn’t speak. You know he wants you to get some painkillers, that he’s having a hard time watching you wince and bite your lip to the point where you draw blood, but he also wouldn’t dare speak for you, even though you’re sure he wants to take over, take charge and make sure you get what you need. 

You did just have major surgery, and the other drugs have worn off, leaving you with searing pain in your stomach and cramps in your legs. 

But the idea of taking a Percocet makes you nervous, lights some uneasy fire in the back of your mind, and irrational but completely real fear buzzes in your nervous system. If you’re drugged, you’ll be loopy, and it makes you want to say no. The amount of pain your body is in fights against the resistance, and you glance at Simon hesitantly. Like he’s reading your mind, he reaches out to place a gentle hand on your thigh. 

“Nothing is going to happen if you take a pain pill. I promise.” He says encouragingly and you relent with a sigh. 

“Okay, yeah.”

“Sass?” It’s Simon, standing in the doorway, Theo in the sling that is his giant forearm. He sits comfortably there, perfectly snuggled against his dad, and it makes your heart clench. Simon is looking at you warily, like he doesn’t recognize you. Which is fair. You don’t even recognize yourself. “What’re you doin’ out here?” Where? You blink, processing the question. Here? Your toes wiggle, in grass, and you look around. Why are you in the backyard? At night? 

“Oh. I don’t know.” He’s holding his hand out to you, large fingers reaching for yours.

“Come inside.” He presses his thumb to your wrist, eyes closing before speaking again. “I think you should call the shrink.”

“No.”

“Sass. There’s nothing wrong with it, if you need to talk to someone.” You laugh weakly.

“That’s rich, coming from you.” You spit, tone edged in an eagerness to fight, and he tenses. Fuck. “I’m sorry.” Your shoulders slump. Stop being such a bitch. He’s doing practically everything for you right now. “I’m sorry. Really. I’m just… out of it.” You step closer, leaning your forehead into his chest, blinking down at the wriggling baby in his arm. Your son. You feel Simon’s nose in your hair, and then a heavy palm rests at the small of your back.

He inhales deeply.

“I know.”

Ten fingers, ten toes, ten pounds. You repeat it over and over for assurance, even though your son is sleeping comfortably in your arms, safe and healthy. Ten fingers, ten toes, ten pounds. It’s hard to believe you’re a mom now, someone who has a tiny, defenseless little human depending on you for everything. 

Well, not just you. 

You eye Simon, asleep in the chair less than a foot from the bed, head tilted back, mouth open. There’s a large white spot of baby vomit on the front of his black sweatshirt, and he’s sporting some serious undereye circles from being up with Theo as much as possible. He doesn’t let you lift a finger, which is fine considering you can’t even really get out of the bed without help, your giant incision still wrapped up and body still exhausted from surgery, two days later. 

On top of everything, something felt off. There was this feeling, a dark, lonely thing pulling at your limbs, trying to wring you out over and over, dragging you down into the dark of the deepest waters. You were frightened of it, the cycle of thoughts spiraling through your mind every time you closed your eyes, the inky blackness of dark feelings overtaking you from every direction. Were you going to be a good mom? Would you be able to take care of Theo? What if Simon wasn’t here? What if something bad happens? What if you die? What if Theo doesn’t love you? What if Simon leaves? What if you don’t like your own baby? What if you can’t bond with him? What if you suck at this? 

Theo gurgles, a small noise, and you try to shift to alleviate some of the pressure on your back. Pain zings through you, the sting of your muscles seizing, and you gasp, loud enough that Simon is jerking awake, eyes scanning the room until they land on you and your hopeless form. 

“Need help?” You nod miserably, and he lifts Theo away from your body while you try to get situated. You watch him rock the baby easily, settling into a natural rhythm like it’s nothing, and try not to feel irritated. He’s a natural. How is possible that Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley is so good at this and you’re a failure? Tears prick along your waterline, and you slam your eyes shut, but not before one escapes down your cheek. “Hey, what is it? What’s wrong?” A big, warm hand envelopes yours, and your emotions surge inside of you, sadness and love and anxiety swirling in your heart until you’re sniffling. 

“I’m sorry.” You sob and he looks stricken. 

“Sorry for what?” 

“For being such a mess.” 

“You just had a baby, Sass. And you have a huge wound in your stomach. You’re gonna be a mess for a bit.” 

“Yeah, b-but I can’t even take care of my… my own baby,” The words are slurred, pieced together through tears, and you try to catch your breath. He folds his hand around the back of your neck and leans forward, bringing Theo between your two bodies while your face nestles into him. “and you’re being so nice to me.” You cry aloud. 

“Shhh. It’s alright, sweet girl. You’re okay.” TWO babies. There are two babies in this stupid hospital room. You take a deep breath through your nose while Simon rubs your back, Theo blinking up at the two of you silently. “Did you get any sleep this morning?” 

“N- no.” He sighs as he pulls away, lips dragging across your temple gently and then up to your forehead to press a kiss there, soft and slow, lingering as long as he can. 

“I think you should try to get some sleep,” you shrug and wipe your eyes. “I’ll turn out the lights.”

“Wait.” Your hand shoots out to latch onto his in a panic. “Si. I- don’t go anywhere. Please?” 

“We’ll both be right here.” He assures you, folding your hand back into your lap with a squeeze before moving to flick the light off. “We’re right here, okay? Close your eyes.” He slides the reclining chair another half a foot closer to the bed, easing down into it with Theo secure in one arm, holding your hand with the other. He traces a thumb over the skin of your knuckles, and your eyes slip closed.

You’re home. You’re not in danger. Simon is here. Theo is here. There is nothing to fear. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, the straggly ends of your hair, the rise and fall of your chest beneath Simon’s t shirt. You’re home. You’re not in danger. Simon is here. Theo is here. There is nothing to fear. Your head is pounding, a headache ripping across the front of your brain, your stomach churning like you’re going to vomit up the breakfast you ate this morning. Your legs feel weak, or maybe it’s your body that feels heavy, but either way, you can hardly stand, leaning against the bathroom countertop for support. You focus on your breath, in and out, counting inhales and exhales, but there’s a buzzing sound in your ear, and the room suddenly feels dark, like your vision is cloudy.

When you close your eyes, you see a teenager walking towards you, a bomb wired to the vest he’s wearing.

You see Soap’s blood on your palms, you feel it slicking your skin up your forearms, you hear his grunts of pain as you pack his wound.

You see Simon outside the tent after you left, staring up at the helicopter as it took you away. You remember the unadulterated rage that coursed through your veins, the overwhelming feeling of anger that consumed your entire existence.

You see the faces of the first infantry troop you deployed with in the desert. The fresh-faced lieutenant, begging you to make sure his wife and kids get his death benefits while he dies in front of you, torso blown open, organs shredded by bullets. The private, from Louisiana, whose parents were long dead, but he told you about how sweet his baby sister was while the two of waited for a field medic that would be way too late.

You see your dad, the last time you ever saw his face, putting you on a plane to a country you knew nothing about while you screamed, your mother crying in his arms. The silver of the cross around his neck glinting in the afternoon sun.

You’re home. You’re not in danger. Simon is here. Theo is here. There is nothing to fear. 

There’s a knock on the door and you snap to attention.

“Sass?” You fix your face in the mirror as well as you can before answering.

“Yeah, coming.”

It’s the familiar ring of a facetime call that wakes you, your head foggy with the cotton of deep sleep. You squint at the caller ID, Johnny’s name popping up across the screen accompanied by the soap emoji.  

“Hi.” You answer, voice still a little groggy. Simon is already lifting Theo from the bassinet, depositing him on your chest gently, and giving your shoulder a squeeze before he slumps back in the chair. 

“Sassafras, look at ‘im.” Theo’s just visible in the screen, and Johnny is grinning, hand partially covering his face because his eyes are suspiciously wet. “You did a grand job lass.” You smile at him in thanks, and Simon grunts from the chair right next to the bed. “Where’s the big guy?” 

“He's here.” You angle the camera, and Simon cracks a small smile under the mask. 

“Hey Johnny.” 

“Ghost! Yer a lucky man, LT.” Simon looks to you, something soft shining in his eyes before it disappears. 

“Yeah.” He reaches over, hand laying gently over top yours where it rests on Theo's back.

“He’s ready to meet Uncle Soap, whenever you get leave next. Feel free to come over this way.” You chime. “We, uh actually wanted to talk to you about being his godfather...” 

“No, we don’t.” Simon barks but you shake your head, moving the camera back to you. 

“Yes, we do. Ignore him. It was his idea, Johnny.” You shoot him a look. 

“Ah you two, I’m honored.” There’s a noise in the background, something loud, and Johnny looks away quickly, before returning to the screen. “Gotta run. Miss ya Sassy, and the grumpy bastard.” 

“Bye, Soap. Be safe, stay frosty.” Theo cries just as Johnny hangs up, and you pat his back slowly, murmuring above his ear. 

“What is it?” You soothe. “Hungry?” You bounce him slightly, all you can do from the bed, before looking up at Simon imploringly. “Si…” 

“C’mere” He pulls the baby from your arms, tilting him onto his back at a good angle for the bottle, before settling down next to you on the bed. “Like a champ.” He says proudly, and you can’t help the grin that tugs at your lips. 

“He’s got a good appetite.” You push your finger into his tiny fist, and he grabs onto it reflexively. “Like his dad I guess.” You tease and Simon smirks, leaning down to plant a kiss across your cheek.

Theo is screaming on the monitor. Both of you jolt awake, and Simon is out of bed before you can even say anything, hall light flicking on and floorboards creaking under his feet.

You glance at the clock. 3:32 AM. Well, at least he made it three hours. There’s a beeping sound inside your ear, and you cringe, shaking it away as you fully wake. Anxiety immediately blooms in your mind, and you take deep breaths to calm your heart. You’re home. You’re not in danger. Simon is here. Theo is here. There is nothing to fear. You sit up slowly, shifting your hips until you’re fully upright, and Simon comes back.

“Hungry, I think.” He’s got Theo against his chest, blanket over his shoulder. His hair is all a mess, like the baby’s, and the sight of them together nearly makes you start crying. Your boys.

“Here.” You clear your throat. “I’ll take him, you grab the bottle?” He rubs his face sleepily and you rock Theo, trying to get his cries to calm down while you wait for the formula. “Shhh.” You make the hushing noise near his ear, to no avail.

The song comes easily. It’s not a lullaby, and you’re a shit singer, but since he was born, singing works better than humming, though you’re not sure why. You rock him in time with the beat you’re conjuring in your head, closing your eyes and imagining your voice is not terribly off key.

“I am not the only traveler, who has not repaid his debt. I’ve been searching for a trail to follow, again. Take me back to the night we met.” Theo cries, but more softly, a little hiccup shaking his chest. “And then I can tell myself, what the hell I’m supposed to do. And then I can tell myself, not to ride along with you.” You press a kiss to his forehead, stroking across the baby soft skin of his cheek. “I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met.” He’s gone silent, just looking up at you with big wide eyes now, and you smile down at him in the dim light of your bedside lamp. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, haunted by the ghost you. Take me back to the night we met.” 

When you look up, Simon’s standing in the doorway again, bottle in one hand, burp cloth in the other, frozen to the spot, staring at you.

“Hey.” He startles, like he was off somewhere else, and takes big strides until he’s sitting at your side, handing the bottle over. “Thanks.”

“Y-yeah.” He stutters, and you frown.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just tired.”

“I can put him back in the crib, if you want to lay down.” You gesture to his side of your bed, but he shakes his head.

“No, no. ’s fine.”

“You sure?” Theo sucks the bottle down with ease, and you prop him on your shoulder over the burp cloth. Simon leans forward, and presses his lips to your brow, hand resting on Theo’s back. He holds himself there, for a second, then two, and three, until he pulls away to touch his forehead to yours.

“I’m sure.”

The woman says your name, nodding at you from where she sits to the left of your bed.

“I’m Dr. Moreno. I’m a resident psychologist here, but I also do work for the VA.” You fight the urge to tell her to get the fuck out and choose to smile politely instead. “I understand you have some concerns about postpartum depression.” 

“Yeah.” Suddenly, you wished you hadn’t been so painfully honest on the questionnaire your OB gave you. 

“Are you currently receiving any treatment for your PTSD?” 

“No.”

“Are you interested in receiving treatment for PTSD?” 

“Not really, I’ve done therapy before.” She nods thoughtfully. 

“Did your doctor go over everything with you about C-section recovery?” 

“Yeah, she did.” Somewhere, in the very back of your mind, something tells you to be more forthcoming, to be more open with this shrink, but it gets shut down before it can become a full thought. 

“Okay. I am going to give you my card. It has my office number on it and my email. You can reach out to me anytime you need to.” You give her another polite, lackluster look. She sighs. “Being a new mom can be hard, even for those who don’t have histories of trauma. There is no shame in needing help.” 

“I know. Thank you.” You hold the card up like its proof that you’re listening, like you can be trusted to call if you think you’re in trouble. She gives you a sympathetic smile as she makes to leave, reiterating that she wants you to call her if you need to. 

A heavy knock sounds on the door, and then Simon is standing in the room, medical mask on his face, sleeping baby cuddled against him. Just the sight of him holding Theo cleaves your heart in two, and you hold your arms out to them both, anxious to be near them. He gives the doctor a look when she passes, and then raises an eyebrow at you. 

“You alright?” Theo cries and you motion with your hands so you can hold him. 

“Yeah. Just usual shrink stuff.”

“Alright, come off it. It’s not that funny.” Simon’s jaw flexes as you try to hold back the laughter and fail. It hurts your stomach, but at the same time, it feels great. It feels real.

“Oh my god. I’m so- sorry. For laughing, it’s just-“ you stare down at the mess of burnt food in the pan, eyebrows creasing in sympathy when you look back up at him. “You’re so sweet. Thank you.” He scowls.

“I’ll order takeout.”

“No, no you don’t have to. We can make something else.”

“No.” He turns to stalk away, and you’re hit with a wave of emotion out of nowhere, so strong that it nearly knocks you off balance, almost steals your breath. It feels familiar. It feels like Belize, and every second afterwards until he sent you away, it feels like waking up in the hospital to his face hovering over yours, it feels like watching him press his ear to your belly when Theo was still inside you. It feels like that night when the two of you sat on the roof of the safehouse in Belarus, after the botched extraction mission, the one that left him with twenty stitches in his thigh and you got that really bad burn on your arm. The roof where the two of you traded secrets, where he told you about his dad and you told him about yours. It feels like the night in Uruguay, when you and Johnny and him all went out and found a bar, when you got drunk and he pressed you against the brick wall in the alley, your legs wrapped around his waist, his face buried in your neck, whispering words you couldn’t quite hear under his breath. It feels like watching him cry in the operating room when he saw the baby for the first time, watching him become a dad, watching him beat the vicious cycle of trauma and abuse right before your eyes.

You wrap yourself around his waist before he can get too far away, molding your body to his back, and his hand comes down to where yours rests on his stomach.

“Sass?”

“Don’t. Just, stay here. Like this. For a minute.” He shifts, turning while keeping you pressed against him, until you’re resting your cheek on his chest, and he’s rubbing your back.

“You alright?” His voice is gentle, he’s always gentle with you now, and the realization makes the feeling grow even stronger.

“Yeah. I’m… Simon. I-“

Theo cries on the baby monitor. Insistent. Bossy, as Simon enjoys telling you, like his mum. 

You step away with a sigh.

“I’ll get him.” He kisses your forehead before heading up the stairs.

When he makes it back down, you’re scrubbing the pan out, charred food already deposited in the garbage can.

“There she is.” Simon says from behind you, and you turn to see Theo blinking in your direction, eyes wide and making little garbled cooing noises.

“Hi baby.” Simon shuffles him into your arms, and you sway side to side slowly. “You’re hungry.” You deduce, and he agrees with you, making an impatient crying sound, tiny fist swinging into the air. “I know, I know. Hang on.” You soothe. You settle yourself on the couch with a bottle, brushing against his cheek lightly to trigger the rooting reflex before plopping it in his mouth. He drinks greedily, eyes trying to slip shut once he’s had his fill, and Simon laughs from where he sits next to you.

“You’re good at this.” He says quietly. You balance Theo on your shoulder while you burp him, and then look at Simon like he’s off his rocker.

“Me?”

“Yeah, Sass.” He pauses. “And ya look good, holding my baby.” Your cheeks heat, and something clenches in your stomach. You shoot him a look and he grins like a fool, real happiness stretching across his face in spades. It’s beautiful, he’s beautiful, and you- “I know you’re struggling right now,” he pulls you out of your train of thought, eyes pensive, grin morphing into something bittersweet. “and it’s been hard, but… I’m here. For you. For Theo. I want us…” he trails off when Theo burps and you shift, cradling him back into a sleeping position. “I don’t know… what will happen, in the future, and I know I still got a lot, of making up to do. But I want this. With you. I want us to… be a family.” You study his knuckles, fingers bunched together with tension, the height of his shoulders under his ears. You expect to feel the unraveling force of your anger, the swell of rage towards him that has been lurking under the surface for so long, but it never comes. It simmers in the distance, cool and unprovoked, sitting silently and uneager. You wonder if it's temporary, if you’ll ever feel it again, the way you used to.

Instead, when you look at him, all you see is Simon. Theo’s dad. All you have is that feeling, the strong emotion that makes your head spin, and while you can’t get your mouth to form those three words, you feel the full force it when you look up at him with softness in your gaze and say,

“I think we already are, Si.”

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

real need of sickeningly sweet stuff . since halloween’s in a few werks can i ask for a hiccup fic where reader dresses up as a dragon, convinced by tuff and tries to scare hiccup ?

Wool Plush and Hay Stuffing

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader

Words: 831

Tags: httyd 2

Running his thumb over notches in leather and thick, even stitches, he adjusted one large shoulder pad, his helmet nestled under his other arm as he shuffled his way into the darkness of his cabin. 

He didn’t notice it at first, eyes trailing dark corners, scanning, wandering, wondering. When he did, he might have jumped. Just a little bit.

If he had to liken in to anything, it was almost like the first time he looked in your eyes, warm light glancing off the side of your face, half of it hidden by darkness and ash, watching the Outcasts flee on half-burned ships for the first time, except this was a different kind of wow.

More… astonished and less awed. A lot less awed. 

You raised a brow at him skeptically. “What, you don’t like it?”

“No, it- you startled me. I mean- Costuming?” Hiccup asked, running a hand down the outermost part of your thigh.

He didn’t think you were the sewing type.

“Yeah,” You laughed casually, waving thick, stuffed arms above your head mockingly. Hiccup recognized what you were doing almost immediately, shying away just before you could bat him in the head, air-boxing soft auburn tufts. “It’s about time. Dreadfall and all that- It was Tuffnut’s idea.”

Hiccup looked you up and down, eyeing the shoddy dragon shoes by your feet. “...You took inspiration from Mildew?”

Of course, Mildew’s had looked a lot better mostly on account of the fact that they had been made up of taxidermied dragon, and, loath to admit it, the old coot had really known his stuff.

“Oh, please.” You said after a moment, perhaps picking up on his own hesitance. “Are you going to run off again?”

“I might.” Hiccup said exasperatedly, eyeing your face, nearly dwarfed by the size of your large dragon’s head hat, feeling very mindful of the way plush paws set thickly and clumsily over one shoulder. They felt like pillows. It took him a moment to catch up. “I- What? Hey.”

Behind you was the door, still half-open. He set his eyes on it determinedly. He wasn’t sure whether or not he should be offended. He had his reasons- and good ones, at that. 

Actually, he could go out again, but his mapping was always better done during the warmer days, really, and it had been a long time since he felt the need to search for anything more, not when he had you right in front of him. He did feel a need to run from his father, mostly, and all of his insisting. 

Even with all the world telling him otherwise, he wasn’t sure he could ever be Chief.

…And maybe he ran from you a little bit, sometimes. He didn’t know it happened enough for you to make jokes about it. He almost felt embarrassed.

Floundering might be better than having to brave his way through whatever this was, lighting deep, warm fires in the place just below his heart, something soft threatening its way through his ribcage and filling his head with clouds.

“Forget about the Night Fury, You can come ride me instead.” You waggled your eyebrows at him.

Hiccup grimaced, the gentle mood broken. That joke had Snotlout written all over it. He didn’t think you were close with any of them. He wasn’t sure if he should be jealous or not, though jealousy would require him to take his cousin seriously, which, well, he wasn’t going to do that.

You rolled your eyes at his sour expression, patting him on the shoulder with one thick, tufted paw.

“Can you take that off?” Hiccup half used his hands to speak for him as he groused, turning them in a circle as he spoke, setting his helmet aside on a nearby table. He both looked you in the eye and rolled them at the same time.

“Why?” You asked, snorting.

“Because I want you to.” “Try again.”

Hiccup grimaced and thought for a very long moment. He had an idea, but it was an awful idea, and one that would get him punched by almost anyone… Who wasn’t you. He thought you might be a little used to it by now.

Heart rocketing Hiccup pressed a short kiss to your lips through the open mouth of your dragon suit, hands sliding over rough cloth as he tugged you closer.

After a moment, you pulled away, plush dragon paws cottony through the leather of his suit. You paused, looking him in the eyes, your nose slightly wrinkled. “...No.”

Hiccup sighed.

Your sham plush dragon mask fell slightly off-kilter as you continued staring at him. 

Looking at messy stitches and the peeking of hay sticking out of seams, he decided that it  was… It was alright.

It would seem much less novel later when both his hands were stuck inside of it. As it turned out, stitches were the worst way to close a costume head and, well, undoing them was a three-person job.

[manmuncher777]

Mornings|John Price Smut

a/n - once again i want to say a huge thankyou for all of the love on my posts. it means a lot. i’m surprised i’ve been able to produce so much work at the moment, and it might slow down within the coming days. but PLEASE feel free to send me ideas. i love writing someone else’s thoughts.

Warnings - smut, oral fem receiving, pet names, v light overstimulation, fem reader

You hated mornings, you honestly couldn't stand them, if it were possible you would sleep all day and be awake at night. Mornings always made you feel shit, that was until you met John Price, to say he made them a little bit better would be an understatement.

So there he was. 8:37 in the morning, eating you out like a starved man. Head under your white linnen covers as he gets to work. His tongue twisted and turned through your folds as your hands had a grip on his short tufts of hair. His huge hands on either sides of your hips, keeping you still in the position of his liking so he could really get his job done. See John didn't mind mornings, he didn't see anything wrong with them, his time the military always caused him to be awake super early and he didn't always sleep easy, he would often find himself staring at you in the morining, admiring you for hours while you slept, he would watch your chest raise and fall with every breath, always checking you were real, and that you were ok.

soemtimes he didn't want to take his eyes off of you incase you might dissapear and leave his grasp forver

He knew how much you hated mornings, so sometimes John liked to give you something nice to wake up to. The fact that he enjoyed it as well was just a bonus.

"John, Fuck!" you moaned out as your back arched off of the bed, your voice strained as it was the first time it was being used that morning. The goosebumps rising on your skin caused you whole body to shiver, the pleasure tingling all the way up your spine

he was completely under the covers, his hands on either sides of your hips using them as anchors to pull himself further into your pussy, his nose bumping your clit with each movement. Everything was so intense, feeling all of this at once as soon as you had woken up had tears already springing in your eyes.

John had you sprawled out on the bed, legs draped over his shoulders as your hair is all over place and your hands searching for something to grip, the bedding beside your head wasn’t cutting it. That was the only negative of John being under the s was that could couldn’t pull on his hair, something you enjoyed. And so did he.

You also didn’t get to have his gorgeous eyes staring up at you while he ate you like he was your last meal, it made the moment that much better

You take all your concentration into sitting up far enough to push the covers onto the floor, deciding you much preferred it when you would actually see your husband.

“happy to see me sweetheart?” he mocks, smirking as you feel relieved to be able to see his face

He didn’t even give you a second to respond before diving straight back in, his tongue eagerly lapping at your folds, before moving slightly further down the fuck your with his tongue and let his nose do the work on your clit, after all he knew how much you liked that. John knew everything that just made your body tick in the right way, he knew you inside out.

Your hands now happy with their new found home tugged in his dark hair causing him to groan into you, the vibrations only making the feeling more intense.

“oh God”

“not God, just John sweetheart”

If he wasn’t making you feel like your body was on fire in the best way possible, you would’ve slapped him on the back of the head for being a smart ass. But seeing as the only thing you could say was his name and a string of curses, you weren’t exactly in a position to be talking back

Your hips were grinding into his face as you could feel yourself getting closer to that point of release and he could tell too. his focussed on your clit, his tongue flicking over the bundle of never as he sucked on it. he knew it was working but the squeals you were letting out

”John- i’m so close’

“i know, i know sweetheart. cmon now, give it to me”

he needed it, he needed it just as much as you did. that thought sent you over the edge

the only thing coming from you mouth was John’s name as you sung his praise. only he could make you feel this good.

he didn’t stop, he helped you ride out your high, he wasn’t finished until he had drunk you all in and you were pushing his head from overstimulation.

“well good morning to you too” you said, after finally catching your breath

[killersfool]

hii! not sure if you’re open to requests but i’m going to give u a few ideas! most of these are for elijah hewson😭

falling asleep on the couch, waking up to not only a blanket around them, but eli squeezed in behind them

being in the studio with the band and messing about?? making jokes and being silly!

kissing and dancing in the kitchen to an old singe they both like?

eli taking care of you when you’re sick and just being super soft and caring!

spending valentine’s day together!

something about the reader playing with eli’s fingers to calm them down?

softly smiling at each other from across the room and also reassuring touches!

telling each other how much they love them

them cuddling in bed and pulling eachother closer

hope these spark your writing :))))

Kiss It Better | ELIJAH HEWSON

here's a short little thing inspired by this request!

PAIRING: elijah hewson x f!reader

WORDS: 1.5k

SUMMARY: eli's girlfriend is ill, elijah comforts her.

GENRE: hurt/comfort, fluff

WARNINGS: references to throwing up

I've never been so ill in my life. My nose is so runny. I've almost used every single packet of tissues in the kitchen cabinet right under the sink — which used to be a lot and now is very little. I've thrown up my insides into the loo way too many times to count on my fingers. Bent over the toilet, eyes pricking with tears, I've never felt so useless. At least the thought of my boyfriend getting back after his gig gives me something to look forward to. But it's far too late.

I'm staring at the TV screen. I hug my knees to my chest, attempting to generate some warmth. The blanket is upstairs — probably hiding in the space between the bed and the wall. Surely, if I attempt to stumble upstairs now, I'll just get stuck and end up falling asleep in the corridor.

I can't stop glancing at the door. I'm hoping for a doorknob twist, knock, ring of the doorbell, stamp of boots, low and raspy post-concert voice. But I'm just met with nothing. No signs of his arrival. He hasn't called me. He usually doesn't. He likes to surprise me. After having the worst migraine of my life, it would give me some comfort if he just gave me a hug. A warm Elijah Hewson hug would cleanse my mind.

Starting to realise that the TV is doing more harm than good, I switch it off. I'm beginning to see blurry triangular shapes and my eyes burn like they're on fire. The living room is pitch black. I'm freezing. I'm tired. I take two paracetamol tablets and chug some water. Curling up on my side, legs on the armrest, I close my eyes.

-

I wake up. Sunlight gleams through the gaps in the white curtains. My body is wrapped in a duvet, soft and warm. Skin is against mine. Arms are around my body, squeezing me tightly. He's shirtless. I can tell by the tufts of chest hair flicking at my shoulder. His head is on my back, curls all over my skin, lips between my shoulderblades. I don't want to move. I don't want to speak. He's asleep. Gentle snores, deep breaths, in and out.

I must've fallen into a deep sleep because I have no recollection of his arrival or him ever taking me upstairs. I'm usually a light sleeper. This migraine fully knocked me out. That's the best nights sleep I've had in a while. I'm especially thankful I managed to escape from work for the rest of the week.

Elijah's normally the little spoon when we hug like this. It's funny how the tables have turned. I think I prefer this though. But lying awake and tracing the muscles in his back always seems to calm me down.

I want to ask him how the show went and the reason for his tardiness. He had been playing in Glasgow, thankfully only a few miles away from me and had bought me tissues, chocolate and gave me an endless supply of kisses before he had to run down to meet the band.

Opening my eyes fully, I take a peek over at the bedside table. He's brought me more tissues, face masks, more chocolate and a box of sleep teabags.

I realise Elijah's awake when his fingers start to walk along my bare stomach and his mouth is at the juncture between my back and shoulder. He pulls my hair to the side, presses his wet mouth to my neck. He smells clean. I'm sure he's showered. His hair feels a little damp.

He keeps pulling me closer. Arms tightening like he's a boa constrictor. Cool rings on my stomach, large hands tugging at the waistband of my shorts.

"You feeling better?" He asks, between kisses, tongue tracing my jugular vein. It's unsettlingly nice. His words are always gruff the morning after the show. All the singing takes a toll. Makes him sound more mellow. Sometimes I worry for his vocal cords.

"Not really." I groan. A mind-numbing headache is still prodding at my brain and the brightness of the sun makes my eyes burn. He's got a hand on my forehead, cool fingers against fiery skin — checking the temperature.

"God, you're pale. And you're burning up. I should get the thermometer." He gets out of bed. The loss of weight of his body makes the mattress shift. I glance over at him. His hair has stuck up at the top, his bare back glows under the sunlight. He stands up. Sweatpants cling loosely to his hips, revealing the muscles of his abdomen and a chain circles around his neck. He leaves the room — not even giving me time to utter a word of annoyance at the sudden lack of touch.

Then he's back. He crawls into bed. The thermometer is between his index finger and thumb. I look at the cross tattoo on his palm, see the concentration on his face as he plays around with the buttons.

"It's just a migraine," I say but he's already turning it on and pointing at my mouth. I roll my eyes and separate my lips. He gives me a sly smirk, just making me sit like that for a moment. Then he puts the device beneath my tongue and waits patiently. I'm trying not to laugh at how awkward this is. I close my eyes to evade his gaze but I can still feel the force of his stare.

"You've got a fever." Dr Hewson alerts me with his expert diagnosis although the furrow of his brows makes him seem unsure. He looks down at the numbers displayed, rubbing his face with worry. "A really bad one." He's now searching up on his phone what it means.

"Should I go to the doctors?" I shuffle away from him. I don't want him to catch what I have. He has gigs all week, I don't want to ruin anything for him.

He notices my movement. Shaking his head, he drags me back towards him, making me nestle into his chest. His eyes are still darting along a website.

"I think you just need to rest. I'll make you breakfast." Elijah kisses my nose before running downstairs with his mind set solely on making some decent food.

Through the corridor, into the kitchen. He's forgotten where half the things are in the room. Opening cabinets, searching through the fridge, putting water into the kettle. Most of the time he'll get his breakfast on the way to a show. Maybe a café, maybe he'll steal some food from Ryan. Today, however, he's lucky enough to not have a gig and actually have time to look after his girlfriend. Although he's definitely going to make a mess of the place.

His final decision is to make omelettes. Oil on the frying pan, ham—leaving it to heat up until it's a little crispy. Two eggs, cracked and swirled in a glass. Cheese on top, grated with masterful excellence—at least that's what he believes. Folds it over to make it fill half of the pan. Let's it continue to fry. Then he's running over to make a cup of tea. He uses one of the sleep teabags he bought. He's just about to plate up when footsteps echo behind him.

I have to stop for a second when I walk into the kitchen. It's a rarity to see Elijah here, cooking for me. We started dating at the beginning of the tour which unluckily means that he's hardly ever home. He has to leave early in the morning and gets back really late. Whenever he has days off, he takes me on dates and walks, or we just laze around at home, basking in eachother's presence. There's times when he brings me along to the recording studio so that I can reprimand all the band members or give an outside opinion of their new songs.

Elijah seems so focused on getting this omelette perfect. He's running around the place. He grabs two pieces of bread to turn his dish into an omelette-sandwich. I stand in the doorway for a while, just watching him. But, I can't stop myself from nearing him. As he cuts an apple into a slices, I slide my arms around his stomach, pressing my head to his shoulder. He sighs quietly. I breathe in his scent, his comfort.

"You should be in bed," he whispers, although he doesn't seem to want me to let go. I shake my head as he looks at me.

There's music playing on the radio. I turn it up. It's a song by The Smiths. I'm swaying to the beat, moving Elijah along with me. He's still carefully chopping fruit into perfect pieces. Watermelon, strawberries, mango. My mouth is watering just looking at the vast array of flavours.

Elijah drops his knife, turns around to face me. His hands find my waist, his lips find my neck, his head burrows into my chest like he's a mole hiding under soil. We dance along to the crackle of music, feeling the melodies trickle into our bones. Just his presence makes me feel better, every kiss turns my negative thoughts to mush.

[middenway]

The colour of Turning Red – Part 5

Here's a link to Part 1.

Now look how this scene changes as Ming's mother enters the scene. It's just her voice, but there's a massive shift.

I love the intensity of Grandma Wu's introduction. This tight shot with the scar given to her by Ming dominating the scene is extremely purposeful. She has a single stray hair in her eyebrow, which she promptly removes. This is what matters to Wu and this builds on the language of hair and why Ming's hair is always perfect. And that idea is linked with the scar here.

Back to school. In this scene Mei loses her temper at Tyler... and it's on the basketball court, the space frequently associated with him.

There's no way that's an accident. And look, the gym uniforms are green, because Mei's supposed to be the restrained version of herself... but she fails.

I love how this bathroom scene uses scene direction to control colour changes. The first two pictures are reverse shots at the beginning of the scene. Both are teal dominant, Mei's with a splash of purple in the tiles behind her.

But watch how the colour of the scene changes by choosing different angles. Suddenly the primary colour identity becomes pink.

When they find a room for their hustle, they leave the teal of the school hallways and enter a warm classroom.

And look how much pink appears in this scene.

Even the Canadian flag, which I'm told has red on it, sure looks pink here!

And here's an important scene with Tyler. Note how much he's covered up here. His identity becomes grey. He really feels the need to fit in and be accepted, and he does that by covering up who he is. Notice he and Mei are in the same space, but she's framed in the light, while he's framed in shadow.

When we are properly introduced to the aunties and Grandma Wu, notice how while they are all primarily identified with teal, they have splashes of other colour to break it up. Likewise, look at the items we're shown that hold their pandas. None are completely red like Ming's. None of them police themselves to the degree that Ming does.

You have to wonder, why is it Ming and not any of the others that took on the responsibility of the panda temple? So much of Ming's identity is tied up with what is expected of her to a degree that the others are not.

I like the way this tuft of fur here is shaped and lit to look like fire. Such a nice touch.

To be continued in Part 6.

[wylldebee]

Ye Olde Magick AU

All of you should thank @books-n-guns for this. What once was a silly little AU about the Starks and their fangs and making everyone around them develop a biting kink has now turned into a full-fledged AU with lore and magic and other houses getting characteristics. Basic lore: — Magic exists within the bloodlines of all noble houses, though from different sources. It's strengthened by two things: the existence of a group's homeland and the religion the magic is tied to/originates from. — The First Men got their magic from their adoption of the Old Gods and their Pact with the Children during the Age of Heroes. Since the decline of the Old God religion in the south the northern nobles house don't have as many characteristics as they used to. — The Andels came with their own magic along with The Seven. Since their religion is more widespread the Andel houses have a lot more characteristics than any other house. I'll probably do two more posts: one about the lore, and the others about the gods who are real and are trying to be more active in Westeros because world ending reasons. Because there is now plot, however it may change. Also I might do the other houses. Might. Ideas are welcome.

Without further ado, here are some of houses and their characteristics.

The Starks (now): Sharp fangs (X). Resistant to the cold. In the past the Stark were so cool looking. Bigger and sharper fangs—proper wolf fangs I'm telling you—and pointed ears with ear tufts. Slitted eyes that could see in the dark. Sharp claws and thicker body hair (both men and women), and enhanced senses. Because of Catelyn's river nymph traits, the Stark-Tully kiddos can breathe underwater and talk with the fishes. Might also have a bit of enhanced strength. Resistant to cold. Jonny boy, however, doesn't get anything from his Targaryen bloodline until Dany brings back the dragons. Resistant to cold (Stark blood) and heat (Targaryen blood), and breaths fire (Targaryen blood). The Tullys: River nymph traits. Gils and enhanced strength. Haven't changed much though it has been noted they aren't as nymph-like as they were in the past. Don't fuck with their rivers you will be drowned. Can breathe under water and communicate with the fish, hence the trout. Needs to bathe in a river or any body of fresh water once a month or they'll start looking sickly; any longer and they'll die. The Martells: Snake fangs mostly, though there have been some with forked tongues or snake eyes. Rarely all three. Can make their own saliva poisonous at will. Has been known to coat their weapons in their own poison. Resistant to heat though not flame proof. The Baratheons: Horns/antlers. Basic? Yes—but the Baratheons have long since mastered the art of making their horns look both mighty, dangerous, and handsome. Many an enemy has been impaled upon or had their heads ripped off by the house of Storms End. Some say that the ancestors of the Baratheons used to be able to bring storms and fierce winds thanks to the blood of Elenei Durrandon in their veins. The Lannisters: pays their debts shits gold Lion fangs and sometimes manes. Can actually roar. In the past they were as fierce looking as the Starks; humans with lots of lion characteristics such as sharp claws, toe beans, slitted eyes and even whiskers. Some Lannister women were born with lion manes, and there are one or two theories that Lann the Clever was in fact a woman with a mane. The Tyrells: Dryads-Anthousai mixture. Yes, even the males. It's an AU and ASOIAF, and mom says I can. They have flowers in their hair—roses. mostly, though Olenna has a beautiful and deadly flower and thorned circlet—and can shift their skin to be any type of bark of any type of tree so long as they form a connection to it. Looks healthier in the spring/summer; dead looking in winter (no seriously they look fucking dead, and more than once people thought Olenna had finally kicked the bucket. Boy did Tywin have a nasty surprise). Not at all flame proof. The Targaryns:

At first they were the most Basic And Boring of all noble houses. The only thing cool about them was their dragons, and those died out. With Valyria destroyed in the Doom, the Fourteen Flames no longer being followed and the dragons gone, the Valyrian magic within their veins either died out or went dormant. Now they're just heat resistant and beautiful looking. It was only when they started marrying into other bloodlines/houses did they start getting characteristics—or rather, the characteristics of other houses such as Rhaenys Targaryn/Velaryon having antlers and the Baratheon square jaw can someone please start drawing her with it and Baelor Breakspear having the Martell snake traits. That is, until, Daenerys 'Stormborn' Targaryn brings back the dragons. The Dany that stands admist the ashes of her beloved husband is not the same who walked into the flames. The return of dragons has re-awoken the valyrian magic in her blood and it mixes with the westeros magic. She stands tall and unburnt with her dragons in her arms, patches of shimmering silver-gold scales on her thighs, arms, shoulders, breasts, neck, and they follow the curves of her cheekbones. Violet eyes with slitted pupils blink slowly. And protruding from her head are the beginnings of white horns. Soon they will start to grow. They will be elegant and beautiful, up and out, almost like an ivory crown. The Dragon Queen has been born.

[insult-2-injury]

A Worthy Distraction

Header by my wonderful and talented friend @drawlypsy. Please go check out their work, they're fucking amazing.

AO3 Link NSFW Dottore/femReader, murder couple, dirty talk, fingering, questionable coping mechanisms, over the pants feelies, villains will be villains, trauma

[This is a Genshin OC one-shot I wrote for friends and then rewrote into a reader insert. Some tenses and stuff may be a little wonky here and there, but I think I caught most of it. It is only a tad OC-centric, as reader does have a backstory, but it's minor and shouldn't make a difference. Idk. There's smut.]

The lowdown: reader has anemo vision w/ pyro delusion, has one metal claw hand and PTSD to match

~~~~~~

You lay on your side, sprawled out across an uncomfortable-looking exam table like a cat in a patch of sun, yawning and stretching as you awoke from a short nap. Head twitching to the side, Dottore acknowledged your entry into the waking world with a rigid nod and a tiny quirk of his lips, something that could almost be categorized as a rigid smile, before turning back to the subject on his table. 

You shot him a cheeky grin, unruly tufts of your hair falling across your face as you did so. Your socked foot tapped a rhythm onto the metal beneath, warm now with the prolonged heat of your body. Your head thumped back against the metal… Bored. So bored.

Archons, you were just as ambitious as he when it came to testing out new ideas and just as prone to getting lost for hours in the mental process of it all. But he had been at this experiment for days, barely sleeping, hardly eating. Your best friend Ana was off on some secret Fatui mission, his more tolerable clones were deployed in Sumeru, and chatting up the locals was apparently a non-starter. Besides, it wasn’t your fault anyway that the local creperie burned down. And, unrelated, what kind of creperie ran out of fucking crepes?

You were bored. So completely and utterly bored. You sat up, criss-crossing your legs beneath you in order to better watch the Doctor work.

Dottore was a straight line– seemed perfectly content staying in one spot for an entire day, his mind single tracked and obsessive. You, on the other hand, took the path of a crack of lightning, your interests branching and changing rapidly, new revelations branching into new ideas and new ideas springing into new experiments and it was a wonder you ever finished anything at all. You always did benefit from someone who could help organize the near constant fusillade of inspirations in your head. 

You used to have someone. Now they were the ghost in every corner.

You needed distractions. And a man possessed could provide no such thing. Your fingers twitched and the pyro delusion warmed on your hip. Then burned. You inhaled sharply, your heart rate picking up.

You blinked away at the encroaching visions that threatened to steal you, usher you inside. The disembodied voices and the ghostly feeling… the familiar mourning of the fiercest kind of love expanding in your chest but with no vessel, no discernible memory to hive it away in. So full yet so terribly out of reach and–

“You’re fidgety tonight,” Prime said calmly and you gasped, your eyes shooting open in time to catch the fire blossoming at your fingertips, having singed a small hole through the thin fabric of your shorts. Cursing, you swatted at the smoke as he continued evenly. “Go take a walk outside if you must.”

You allowed the span of a few centering breaths to pass as your gaze fell upon Dottore’s raven mask laying on the counter behind him. Your gaze darted back to his uncovered features and you found yourself drawn in, and not for the first time. It was a recent breakthrough, one he’d made no announcement of despite the shock when he’d removed the thing in front of you; a promising sign of trust from a man who so lauded in the unsettling air of mystery he exuded.

You fiddled with the mask in your own hair as you observed. The ancient scar that crossed the bridge of his nose and extended up to his right temple, eyes untouched, the rest of his face pale, smooth, and unscathed. The scar that he could easily remove with his scientific prowess yet he kept it just the same. You’d always reckoned it was a reminder of something; a tether of sorts.

And Celestia knows a mind without a tether was a dangerous thing. Yes, you thought, Celestia would know, indeed.

You let out a sudden shriek of laughter, unprovoked.

“Ah, shucks. You’re always trying to send me away,” you chided finally, rolling the singed fabric between your thumb and forefinger. “Besides, it’s the middle of the night, bozo.” 

The stiff, weary shake of his head was indicative that he was now only slightly bothered by the plethora of nicknames that you’d coined to get under his skin. Good, you thought with delight, he’d better get used to it.

“I mean, heck,” you continued, throwing up your arms, “who knows what kind of monsters are skulking about out there?”

Dottore’s piercing, crimson eyes latched onto yours and you smiled at the clear meaning within.

Worse than me?

A familiar shock of yearning racked the length of your spine. You gnawed at the inside of your cheek, noting the way his eyes flicked to the motion of your lips before slowly drawing back up, almost expressionless. But you knew his little intricacies by now; the indiscernible twitch of his eyelids when you toed the line with him, the drumming of those long, elegant fingers against any available service whenever he was in deep thought. 

How he studied you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

You had always been attracted to the dark; where flame cast light upon a brick wall you were drawn to the shadows that slid effortlessly in between, morphing and making their quiet nests within the cracks in mortar. Yes, Dottore was indeed a darkly beautiful thing, you thought, not allowing your gaze to stray from his.

“I was under the impression you could handle yourself,” he said coolly, but the bladed glint in his unflinching stare was bright and calculating, even beneath the eerie shadows cast over his features by the medical lamp above. “Was I wrong to think so?”

Hmph. All work and no play made the Doctor cranky. Your nose twitched and you cocked your head, lips curling coyly.

“I can handle myself just fine,” you said, baring your teeth. “But you’d miss me, wouldn’t you?” You placed your chin in your palm to drum fingers against your cheekbones but didn’t wait for his answer. “So I’ll stay right here. For the good Doctor’s sake, of course.” 

You winked.

“For my sake. Of course,” he murmured, examining your wide, inciting grin and the butterfly flutter of your eyelashes. A tiny quirk of his lips betrayed his forced impassivity before he put a pin in the expanding balloon of tension by turning back to the body on the table silently.

You swallowed down the uncharacteristic dryness in your throat.

There were different routes you could take to get your desired result, one that would ease the ache between your legs and provide you a worthy distraction from the ghosts in every corner. You were used to people winding up putty in your hands, pliable and needy; even the self righteous ones. You just had a gift about you, an impulsive need for control in all senses of the word that people just responded to.

Except him.

To have Prime in your greedy clutches would be nothing short of euphoric. But there was something ancient and omniscient about him that made him effortlessly superior to them all, as if he would slip like sand through the fingers of anyone who tried to hold him. He was patient, unhurried; a lone viper coiled atop its rock, full-bellied and confident in his supremacy, so many leagues above that he had all the time in the world.

Your lips twitched. But, so did you now, didn’t you? Cursed with immortality and ironically bestowed the power to alter time; a power that centuries ago you would have used to pulverize the very forces that had granted them to you in the first place. But time just wasn’t enough for you. You were a creature starved. You wanted to devour and destroy each moment now until nothing remained but the burning foundation. And even that must go.

Your mind strayed again and you fought to ground yourself. All must go.

You hissed between your teeth, leaping off the table to take up space beside Dottore, shoulder pressing into his as you studied his bloody work. You viewed his profile in your periphery; his bladed nose, the soft, steel blue curls that framed his face, the slight, disapproving curl of his lips downward as he was jostled.

“Need any assistance?” you said brightly.

“I do not.” His hands began to move carefully across the corpse, but you knew enough about his craft and were observant enough to see that his focus wasn’t on the experiment before him. 

 “Hm… You want a drink or something?” 

“No,” he said shortly, and then as if remembering himself, “... but thank you.”

“Well, you must be hungry at least.” Your long fingers dared to wrap his elbow, fiddling with the rolled up arms of his blue linen shirt before trailing up to his bicep, squeezing. “Goodness, you’re all skin and bones, crazy you can even hold that scalpel like you are. It’s almost like… like… like holding a flimsy little test tube…”

Dottore’s chin dipped, the slope of his nose tipping down toward your mocking countenance, which faltered slightly when his gaze dropped briefly to the two fingers now trailing over the sharp buckles of his arm bands. You hadn’t touched Prime before besides the occasional brushing of shoulders and on the surface, he didn’t seem the type to enjoy such things. Maybe all it took was the right button.

But Prime only hummed, crimson red eyes rising.

“Your actions suggest you desire to take this man’s place.” His voice was soft but rife with danger. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips and you cocked your head to the side like a mischievous crow. You seemed to share the same steady breath back and forth as you studied each other for a short moment.

“Suit yourself, old man,” you chirped, conjuring a gust of anemo to tousle his loose, hanging locks of unruly hair before releasing his arm abruptly and in a blur of motion swinging around to his other side. “You’re loads of fun, you know that? Have your harbinger friends ever told you what a dream you are?”

Friends. Maybe there was a segment of him that had what one could call a friend but Prime, you had observed, seemed to have no interest in any social dealings that didn’t involve the business of sinister diplomacy. The only person who came around here often enough was Pantalone, and you could hardly call a wallet a friend.

Not that you had many tried and true friendships besides Ana. There was, of course, the pink-haired stick bug that was a package deal with your best friend and he seemed to be warming up to you a bit, but on the whole, people just seemed to tolerate you. Not your fault. Social skills were a fucking bitch.

“Has anyone ever told you how exasperating you really are?” he retorted and then continued, softly mocking, like he was speaking to a child. “This experiment is a particularly sensitive one that requires a certain amount of space and time to complete. Space and time that you seem unwilling to provide.”

“Provide?” You giggled and leaned in close, voice a low purr in his ear. “You get awfully mean when you’re frustrated, Doctor.” And you swung from him, sauntering away.

On a shelf across the room, a little radio sat playing quiet soul music. With one slow stroke of your forefinger across the dial, you turned the volume up, wiggling your hips to the music as you bent across the counter. But when you peeked over your shoulder, he was paying you no mind. Worse, he was turned completely around, vials clanking as he fiddled with something in the depths of his cabinets. Your sly grin turned into a wrathful frown as you glared.

Taking the radio beneath one arm, you spun around to bow comically low, your free arm splayed out like the spread wing of a bird about to take flight. A gust of anemo slammed the cabinet door in his face and he paused, hand still mid air. Then, terribly slow, he turned, eyes hooded and serpentlike but otherwise expressionless. You waited for his full attention with a feral grin on your face before you flicked the volume up another notch and spun out of the stance.

Your socks slid clumsily across the rubber floor as you moved with exaggerated motions, using the radio as a dance partner, swaying to the egregiously loud music. And to add insult to injury, you sang along, too, belting out the words like you were doing all this to save your own life. 

Dottore’s eyes were all that moved as they followed, crimson glowing in your periphery as you twirled. And even if he had raised his voice above the cacophony, you wouldn’t have been able to hear him. But his gaze challenged just the same.

You shrugged, turned the volume up to max and watched his eyelids twitch in contemplation before he started to carefully put the corpse before him away, zipping them into a body bag before rolling the table away and into the walk-in freezer. He returned, surprisingly gloveless fingers casually brushing down the front of his pants.

All the while, you danced closer, singing and laughing with frenzied glee, winding up to perform a full running slide toward him. But a small, abrupt twitch of Dottore’s wrist paired with a warning, devilish tick of his lips had you dropping the radio in order to conjure your polearm, spinning it elegantly above your head. 

The cogs of a clock rotated before your eyes, a secondhand wheeling at an impossible speed. With practiced ease, you whirled it swiftly back, resetting the clock. You slid to a steady halt in front of him.

The giant needle, half the size of you, that would feasibly have torn into your flesh floated innocently now beside his head, gleaming in the fluorescent light. You searched him with razor eyes, a cocked grin on your face as you reached out with the deadly point of a clawed finger to prop under his chin while the other wiggled beneath the center strap of his harness to pull his face closer. “You weren’t actually going to use that little pin trick on me, were you? I was looking for a dance partner, princess,” you tutted, “not a fight.”

And not taking your gaze off his, you stretched out with your free hand to slowly turn the point of the intimidating needle away from yourself. “Ooh, that is sharp, though!” you remarked. “Very impressive, doctor, I should fashion you up a fancy shmancy corkboard to match. Because you know, I’m nice like that. Now, wanna tell me why you’d go and ruin my good fun?”

“Your good fun…” He hummed regretfully. The finger beneath his chin dug in and he chuckled, a dark blaze of interest in his eyes. “You are right, my dear, I may have overreacted. Well, I am sorry, for all that my word is worth. I simply had the strangest inkling you weren’t listening to me. But now…” The corners of his lips twitched just slightly. “Now you must think me quite uncivil.”

You grinned and met him in the middle of the playing field, the claw beneath his chin falling to round his neck. “You did forget your manners there for a second, huh?”

Dottore hummed, leaning unexpectedly forward and into the grip of your unmoving talons. It seemed every segment of the Doctor favored a nice side plate of anguish, and Prime was no different. They really were just flowers plucked from the same garden. 

The talon of your thumb dug into his pulse point and he let out the softest groan, his breath tickling the strands of hair across your forehead. 

One of his hands peeled your hold carefully from round his neck, holding it instead against his chest. You swallowed down a secret, hidden delight born of being held by a being who did not often seek out the pleasures of touch. In this moment, he was yours. Your Prime.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, Doctor,” you said, “I can think of several ways to atone.” 

Clawed hand laced beneath his, your free hand trailed down to his lower abdomen, pausing so as to peer up at him through your eyelashes. His breathing remained practiced and steady but there was no mistaking the muscles that twitched and jumped beneath his shirt as your fingers danced innocently from hip to hip. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and his eyes rose to meet yours.

“I shudder to think what punishments a mind such as yours could dream up,” he said lightly. 

Too lightly. Too unbothered. 

“I’d only give as much as you’re able to take, of course.”

“Ah, of course.” 

Dottore huffed out a dark laugh, his free hand rising up to almost tenderly stroke the ticklish outline of your jaw before falling to cup beneath. “I’ve been told I’m long-winded but you don’t give up do you? An admirable trait in some circumstances, I suppose. But you are a horribly impatient thing.” 

His thumb pushed into the plush of your bottom lip, quietly admiring the give of it, the shades of red warping under his shifting pressure. “Although I suppose I have been quite busy, haven’t I?” he crooned and you felt a bright flicker of irritation at the implication that your entire time here had thus far revolved around a one-sided pining for him.

No, no. That wouldn’t do.

You had intended on taking him quick once he showed interest, but something bright and oddly delicate within the depths of your chest had you slowing down. Besides, you supposed a bit of teasing wouldn’t hurt. 

“Being elbow deep in your funny little corpses all day makes you awful ornery. I just think you could use a break.”

Your hand dropped those final fatal inches, brushing along the front of his pants, fingers dragging a slow, lazy rhythm across the twitching hardness beneath. Archons, he was big. And he knew it, too. Had no reservations about pushing his hips forward and into your grip just to watch your eyes widen.

With a centering intent, you located and swiped across the tip, pressing there to savor the bead of precum wetting slowly through. His grip tightened painfully on your jaw and his own thumb jerked forward, sliding between your teeth. His eyes dipped closed almost as if to center himself, his finger resting on the pad of your tongue.

Dottore’s crimson gaze reemerged and fell transfixed upon the digit you pinched between your teeth before releasing. His voice was surprisingly even when he spoke again. “Tell me what you want.”

“You on your knees,” you said candidly, stroking along his length again, so hot against the palm of your flesh hand. “Some begging would be nice.”

His chuckle was a roll of thunder, sinister and foreboding. “Oh? How forward,” he remarked.

“And just a liiiittle bit of your time. Since like you said, you’ve been so busy. Then we can go back to pretending you haven’t wanted this since the very beginning. Is that so much to ask?”

The slow, wicked curl of Dottore’s lips would have sent anyone else running for the hills, but not you, a vicious thread of want unspooling between your thighs at the sight. To have such villainous lips pressing not only to yours but to your legs, your breasts, your everything.

The thought gave you pause, if only for a moment, a lapse that he took full advantage of as he dragged his palms up your sides with the leisure of a man with unlimited patience, his presence hot and solid, thumbs brushing, swooping purposefully along the outside swell of your breasts before trekking back down to settle on your hips. 

“You just want a little bit of my time,” he repeated, nodding, “of course.”

You frowned. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. With a sudden, urgent need to unravel him, you yanked his hips closer with a tug of his belt buckle. “Then why don’t you kneel, hm? Or better yet, pet, why don’t you get on all 4’s for me?”

Dottore’s chest rumbled against yours. “You know,” he said gently, “you were right about me.” Something about his tone had your brows knitting with unease, stomach twisting.

“Was I?”

“I do get mean when I’m frustrated.”

With a single toss of his head, three things happened in sequence. 

One, the needle beside Dottore’s head, the one your elemental skill had been holding in place, impaled into the tile behind you with a deafening crack. Two, there was a terrible sound of something whirring to life. And three, a cloud of winged darkness descended upon the two of you.

Ravens. Too many to count. With bright turquoise eyes and mechanical cries. They were jet black with gold stitching; the man couldn’t help but put signature pieces of himself into every one of his creations and these were no different.

A sudden, predatory step forward by Dottore sent you pedaling away, movement stalled by the backs of your legs hitting against the flat head of the embedded needle, too low to sit on, too wide to skirt around. Instinctively, your fingers found a stabling purchase in the center strap of his harness before you could topple backwards as he drove forward still.

In a terribly awkward mimicry of a ballroom dip, you hung off him, head whipping to the side to ward off the flurry of winged creatures that swept viciously past your faces like an ocean riptide. Spinning, they.painted an almost ethereal backdrop of black wings behind him for but a moment before they fell in a swirling formation around the two of you.

A tempestuous wind, one that matched the power and complexity of your frenzied mind, built with a vengeance around your feet as you swung your sharp gaze to his. Your taloned hand gripped into the blue linen of his shirt as you found an awkward balance, teetering backwards still, knuckles digging punishingly into his chest as you glared up at him.

“This isn’t fun for me,” you complained. “I’m not having fun.”

“Pity.” A thick laugh at your expense flowed like a dark lullaby from his chest as he addressed you with a sharp-toothed grin, ignoring the anemo tantrum even as his hair swept wildly across his face.

“Do you like control?”

“Yes,” you wheezed up at him, neck straining from the effort of holding your head up to glare at him. “I do. I really, really, do.”

“As it happens, so do I.”

“Oh well boo you, you absolute bore. You know, I was wondering where you kept that backbone.”

Both time and an unquelled fury had afforded you the capabilities to destroy a village with a single spin of your polearm. You both knew you could level the playing field if you wanted. And quite literally, too. But despite the terrible yearning to pin him into the nearest wall, to see him come apart at your hands, the storm remained strangely controlled. Even as you clung to him while he explored the notches of your spine gently, the movement clashing with that familiar lilt of cruelty with which he spoke.

“What was it you were searching for, hm?” he crooned. “For me to shirk the integrity of my research just for a meaningless dalliance? You seem to quite fancy the notion of vexing me into compliance, seeing how you’ve been trying to get this spine of yours bent over one of my exam tables for how many weeks now? You spoke of punishment earlier, well I’d like to subvert that notion entirely. Of what use are you having around at all if you only seek to meddle in my work?”

“Four,” you said simply and then in the following silence supplied, “four weeks I mean. And you’re in no position to be tossing around death threats. Not with those arms.”

“Aren’t I?”

Punishment came in the form of his fingers withdrawing from your spine, instead languidly dragging around to your lower stomach. Crimson eyes observed your reactions carefully as he slid a wriggling middle finger across the thin fabric of your shorts, mapping out and nestling between the hidden folds there. His eyes darkened with hunger at the intoxicating sound of your breath hitching. He pressed upward with the pad of that finger, carefully avoiding where you needed his touch most, circling your clothed entrance and basking in the heat emanating between your thighs.

“Shall I proceed?”

“Shall I proceed?” you mocked in a gruff voice. “What is this, open heart surgery? Pass me the scalpel, Doctor.”

“That could be arranged,” he responded, voice tight.

A quiet whine loosened from your throat when his arm slid around your lower back to better support his endeavor as he pressed his thumb into your clit. In a launched counterattack, you slashed four thin strips into his shirt with a flick of your wrist, then hoisted yourself up to his ear by wrapping the back of his neck.

“You want to look at my brain, too?” you said breathlessly. “You can finger fuck that, too, if you want.”

The arm around your back tightened painfully. He continued his exploration of the shape of your cunt, picking up a slow rhythm with two fingers circling your clit. The hand on your tailbone dragged up until it tangled into your hair, holding you there in the crook of his neck while he turned to whisper against your cheekbone.

“I wouldn’t put such temptations into my head, pet.”

“Nothing that wasn’t already there.”

“You are dangerously drawn to the profane, I’m afraid. Hm. What to do, what to do… I think the only way to silence such a perverse mind is to deprive it of what it craves most, wouldn’t you agree?” 

He paused in his ministrations.

You were sure the glare you yanked back to sear him with could've taken out a small village. “No. I would not.”

Dottore chuckled low, but the tone was something you’d never heard, so tattered and almost restrained. Your eyes flicked down to the space between them and you smirked when you saw just how restrained he really was. He snatched your jaw and pulled your focus back to him, squeezing into the meat of your cheeks when you bared your teeth at him.

“You’re not incorrect, though, I have weighed the merits of studying such a specimen as you.”

“Ooh,” you grinned. “Intimately?”

He turned your face to the side to examine. “By and large, people are just a complex sum of their parts but you…”

You’re a person of jagged, scattered pieces I haven’t quite figured out yet.

“-You’ve been useful to me thus far. But all things fade and my patience wears thin.”

The murder of ravens dove back toward you with the command of an unseen signal and you closed your eyes and giggled as talons caught in the mask in your hair, knocking it completely off your head. But when the cold strike of metal wings slit into the sleeve of your shirt, slicing a thin crimson line across your shoulder, your eyes narrowed onto his with a deadpan, lethal focus.

“Do you want to know what happens if you keep pushing? Hm?” His fingers retreated until they splayed across your lower stomach instead.

“Do tell.”

“The bite of a single raven is painless when compared to, let’s say the bite of a scalpel against unsuspecting skin,” he murmured and his lips curled into a razor smile in response to the shiver that drove down your spine even as you vowed not to react. 

“But just imagine in that creative head of yours… the onslaught of hundreds of tiny blades clipping away at flesh. Talons tearing into skin, muscle, perhaps even bone, reducing you to nothing but your base components in none but an instant. A deplorable thought, isn’t it.” The birds dive bombed again and you vibrated with the strangest kind of fever, your eyes fluttering shut as you teetered with the adrenaline, the hypnotizing lull of his voice as he spoke of Death.

Death. That big old thing with wings. Shy and sweet - that shadowed creature that flitted just there at the corner of your eye. Always there, gone no matter how swiftly you turned to look. Soft and unforgiving, a small comfort, as light as the feather of a single raven. That’s all they were, just feathers across time. 

“Open your eyes.” You did with a whine, locking onto Dottore with a furrowed brow, your hands trailing up to bury into his shoulders, recentering yourself with reality. “After all, those would go first, I’m sure. Ravens are inclined to burrow, build their nests in high places. Ah, perhaps I’ll put your skull on my bookshelf. What a pretty sight that would be,” he crooned. His thumb swept up and smoothed across your brow almost comfortingly, circling down to rest on the crest of your cheekbone. Your head buzzed and a deadly impatience gnawed at the place his hand rested unmoving on your belly.

“It is a pain beyond the bounds of human comprehension, to die in such a way, at least from what I’ve borne witness to. Is it Death that you crave? I wouldn’t allow a creature such as yourself a tedious end, you know. No, you deserve something more… remarkable.” With an uncharacteristic bout of submission that had his head cocking in satisfaction, you allowed his hand to wrap your neck, the experimental squeeze like a trigger, your hips rolling needily into his. 

“So I’d beg you the question, what comes next?” he asked. “What happens if you continue to push and push?”

Dottore’s erection dug into the soft of your stomach when you pressed forward, your palms rising to cup his face in wonder. Your eyes followed the track of his swallow. 

Such a beautiful distraction he was. 

“Oh, Dottore… Oh, please, Dottore,” you sang out like a damsel in distress before lightning quick, you wrenched his head to the side to hiss in his ear. “So poetic. Romantic, even. Death by a thousand cuts and all that. Listen, I’ll tell you what happens,” you panted, a pyro fervor rising quickly to the surface of your skin. “Birds or no birds, if you don’t make me cum, I’ll call every last scrap of power you so sweetly bestowed upon me just to incinerate this place to nothing but the ashes of your hard work. What a fucking waste that would be, hm? No punishment quite like the consequences of your own actions is there? Oop! Hello karma, let me introduce you to my good friend the Doctor!” You tittered when the muscles of his jaw clenched beneath your grip.

“And then, Doctor, when we’re both standing here in the rubble of this archon forsaken place, I will go out of my way to abuse the laws of time just to make sure you suffer over and over again and then I will burn you, Prime, I will burn you if you don’t move your fucking fingers right now-”

The rest of your sentiment was cut off by a fist clenching into your hair, tearing your lips away from his ear and crushing them against his own. With a shattered groan, he poured his frustration down your throat while he did exactly as you requested, picking up an intensely fast rhythm against your clit that had you clawing at his biceps, startled from the sudden friction, your squeal of surprise swallowed whole by the violence of his kiss.

There was nothing gentle about the way he moved against each you, hips grinding a relentless rhythm, lips bruising yours as he nipped and licked, hand fisting so tightly in your hair you swore he’d take a good bit of it with him if he ever decided to remove himself.

And nothing could have prepared you for the peculiar sensation - an uncharacteristic feeling of being completely unsure of what came next. Of being knocked completely sideways whilst never feeling more balanced. Like there was a pulsing thing in your sternum running parallel to your heart, some melancholy sensation that centered and secured. 

That tethered.

Wind howled around them. Birds cried. And somewhere, somewhere in your addled mind, there was quiet.

Pleasure recycled from your mouth and into his as he drove you toward a climax that came fast but ferocious in its intensity. The borders of your vision faded until all you could do was wrap your arms around his shoulder and hold on as you shook against him, a high pitched whine spilling from between your lips. And his crimson gaze, glazed and almost desperate, remained open to study the way in which you unraveled; how your eyes screwed shut, your fingers finding purchase in his own hair, tugging it terribly hard to prove some semblance of control over him even as you came apart with nothing but his fingers.

Time, with no assistance, seemed to stand still as you came to, your nose pressed into the soft crook of his neck, arms still wrapping his shoulders. Papers were scattered, tables overturned. Some ravens flew still, riding the leftover anemo current above, while some perched, eyeing the two of them with a cold, mechanical disinterest.

A song played on that little radio somewhere, broken and skipping but still pushing through as he swayed back and forth.

“Are we… dancing?”

“Quiet.”

Soft wings brushed across the hollowness in your chest and you nuzzled further into him without much thought. Holding your breath, you dragged your fingers down his chest, intent to undo him in the same way, his cock still hard and insistent against you, but he swatted your fingers away. Once, twice.

“Hey. You haven’t even-”

“Be quiet.”

“Why do you get the lead?”

Dottore didn’t say a word, but his weary sigh tickled the back of your neck and you fell into the silence that comes with newness.

“Did you know ravens usually work in pairs to acquire their food?” you said suddenly.

There was a long pause. “...I did.”

“Hm.”

You said nothing else, and if he noticed the unsubtle way in which you stole back the lead, he didn’t say a word.

[bettyfrommars]

I feel like would make for an excellent Vampire, especially the way he is in the later seasons. He'd have no problem charming reader if he really wanted to, and add in the vampire charm on top of that? Omg, I don't think anyone could stand a chance!

(I did clarify with requestor, and they were referring to Stevie boy)

hustler!vampire!Steve x fem!Reader

18+ONLY, mature themes, gore, hustling, possessive!Steve, drinking blood, a murder, reader wears a dress and fishnets, mention of smut. The characters I write for are always over 21. words: 1.6k

note: this request about Steve being a vampire had me writing two things at once: this short piece and a much longer one that should be done in a couple days. I've also been obsessed with the idea of hustler or con man Steve, and I plan to do more with him, but this is just some hustler/vampire Steve hybrid brain rot.

-----------

You can feel him watching you from across the bar; the tan, older gentleman with the thick head of salt n’ pepper hair, wearing the Rolex watch---too cocky to even remove his wedding ring.  You make a point to lick the rim of your martini glass, eager tongue flicking out, making eye contact with him as you take a sip.

That was the signal, that was the code, and he was coming over.  You cross your legs and pinch a cigarette out of its gold case, bringing it to your red lips with manicured fingernails.  The older gentleman is already at your side with his lighter flicked, flame ready for you.

“All alone tonight?” He asks, even though he knows the answer.

“Not anymore,” you coo, swiveling on your bar stool to point your cigarette at the fire he is offering.  You’re wearing fishnets and high heels, and you lick your lips after you suck a drag into your lungs.  

He braces his hand on the bar next to you, exposing the inside of his Armani suit jacket, caging you away from the other men at the bar.  “You want to get out of here?” He inclines his head, motioning to the bartender for the tab after you nod.  

In the elevator up to his suite, there are no words, but his hands grip your hips, pulling you your ass flush against his pelvis.  He kisses the exposed skin of your shoulder, and you stretch your neck to the side, offering yourself.  His lips are soft and eager; his touch possessive but polite.

You reapply your lipstick as he searches for the room key in his pockets, and check it in the tiny compact from your handbag, wiping the corners of your mouth clean, kissing the air. Your eyes glance down either side of the hall, expectantly.

“After you, my love,” the man says, extending his arm, gesturing for you to enter as his eyes shamelessly take you in; pupils blown with desire.   

Sure, you were used to high rollers, but it was your first time at the penthouse suite in this particular hotel and the view from the floor to ceiling windows made you gasp. 

“You like it baby?” The man asks, and you keep him busy, so he forgets to lock the door. “It’s all for you.”  He throws his jacket to the chair and rolls up his sleeves, watching you all the while. 

You turn to face him, tossing your purse on the sofa, pulling the straps of  your dress down your shoulders. “You’ve got a nice view,” you purr.

“I sure do,” he agrees in a mumble, loosening his tie as he breeches the distance, closing in to curl over you and steal a kiss from those perfect lips.

“Well, well, well,” a third, deeper voice enters the conversation, and you both swivel to see who is stepping into view from the hallway.

Steve has an unlit cigarette bobbing between his lips and he is flipping the top on his gold lighter open and closed as he walks.  He’s wearing a white tee that is one size too small, accentuating the muscles in his shoulders, and black trousers with suspenders hanging down his hips.  His hair is slicked back, and there are letters tattooed across his knuckles that spell out: GAME OVER.  

You bite your lip at the way the tuft of hair on his chest peaks out over the collar of his tee.

“Who the hell are you?” The man asks, eyes darting around. “How did you get in here?”

Steve makes his way around the sofa casually, flicking his lighter, as if he were invited.

You take a few steps back, planting your hands behind you on the desk, not far from the man you came with, keeping an eye on the intruder. 

Steve stops to light his cigarette, cupping his hand over the end, and snaps the lighter closed for the final time, shoving it in his pocket.  He squints and rolls his shoulders as he takes a drag, plucking it from his mouth to point at the man with his smoke, blocking the path to the door.  “First, I have a question for you.”

The man looks around, as if to find a weapon, or to calculate how fast he could get to the phone and dial for help.  

“What I want to know,” Steve closes in, making the older man stumble back against the end of the couch.  With one hand in his pocket, Steve takes another drag, gesturing to you with a buck of his chin.  “Did you really think you were gonna fuck my girl?”

The man bristles at that, confused at first, but then he whips his head around to look at you.

You offer him a precocious smile, running the tip of your tongue over your teeth.

“What the—?” The man’s face loses all of its color as the weight of the situation begins to sink in. 

“I asked you a question,” Steve demands, his face void of humor, pushing a cloud of smoke from his tight lips.  “Did you. Think. You were gonna. Fuck. My girl?”

The man stammers, realizing he’s boxed in; Steve is blocking him from the exit, and you’re blocking him from the phone and the door to the bedroom.  

“Okay,” the man says, holding his hands up in the air as if Steve held a gun. “How much do you want? Name your price and you can walk out of here, pretend this never happened.”

Steve chuckles indulgently then, scratching his nose with his thumb.  “You’re all the same, you know that? So fucking weak.”

But then the man figures you’re the easiest one to get through, so he bolts, swinging his arm to knock you to the ground.  

Nothing could have prepared him for the way you stood fast, baring your vampire fangs that dripped with saliva. The irises of your eyes glowed red, and you let out a feral hiss.

“Holy mother of christ—” the man jumps back, reeling, arms flailing.  

Steve steps up behind him, mouth open wide to expose his sharp teeth, and then he chomps down on the side of the man’s throat, crunching into his veins like an apple. Some blood squirts out from the seal of Steve’s lips, but he always does his best to swallow it all.  Cigarettes still smoldering between his fingers, he clamps that hand over his victim’s mouth to stifle the screaming.  The man tries to twitch out of his grasp, but Steve is too strong.

After a few seconds, he decides to break his neck, realizing it’s not worth the trouble.  There will be plenty of fresh blood to enjoy before his heart gives out.  

“Save some for me, baby,” you come over next to him once the man’s body goes limp. You lean in to kiss Steve while your tongues lap up the blood and flick against each other.  

After you’re both satiated, Steve carries the body to the bathtub like it weighs nothing.  Both of your mouths are covered in crimson, dripping down your throats, staining the front of Steve’s shirt.

“Check his pockets, baby,” Steve tells you, and you’re quick to oblige, taking his wallet, watch, and wedding ring.  Steve flips through the wallet, counting the thick stack of cash with a serious expression as he counts.

Once business is concluded, Steve throws the wallet on the kitchen sink and takes your face in his hands, looking you over, searching your eyes.  “Did he touch you baby? You know I fucking hate that.  You know I hate it when they get to touch you.”

You loved Steve more than anything, but you were also very good at your job.  You knew you had to let them have a taste once in a while to build trust and make them think they were in control.  You remembered how the older man had grabbed your hips in the elevator and kissed your neck.

“No, baby, no one touches me but you,” and then your mouth is on his, moaning into the kiss as you devour the claret from each other’s skin.  Steve tilts your head back to suck your chin, kissing down your throat.  The wig you were wearing falls to the ground as Steve’s strong hands yank your dress up to your waist and rip open your fishnets.  He puts you up on the counter between the two sinks and gets on his knees to grab your thighs and bury his tongue inside of you.  You clutch onto his hair, exposing your throat to the ceiling, whimpering his name.

You have sex for the next hour in the bathroom next to the dead body until it’s time to clean up and find a place to hunker down before sunrise. 

It had been a fun winter in Vegas, but both of you knew that too much of a good thing was never wise for those wanting to keep to the shadows.  You’d take your scores from the past 2 months and find a new place to call home, perhaps somewhere cool with long nights and short days.  Maybe you’d keep hustling, or maybe you wouldn’t.  

But you’d always have each other.  

[a-spicy-reader]

Promise of Pleasure

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes

If he had long hair this photo would be perfect 😅😅

Synopsis: In a night of uncontrollable passion, Lila and Lucas give themselves completely to each other, exploring the limits of their desire and connection.

You will never get tired of kissing Yukhei. The idea of ​​getting tired is inconceivable when it tastes so deliciously sweet.

It always ends like this after more than an hour alone with the doe-eyed boy, even when he practices in approximately ten minutes. You're straddling his wide lap, thighs on either side of his narrow hips, your mouths pressed against each other in a heated kiss.

Is too good. You can do this alone, and he is fully aware. His huge hands cup his face, fingertips hooking into the back of his neck as he alternates between sucking on his top lip and his bottom lip.

He is always very intoxicating, everything you feel, see and hear is inherently Yukhei. You feel like his heart could explode through his shirt if his chest wasn't pressed against his.

It’s so domestic, huddled together on the couch, the sounds of soft tapping filling the space between the two of you. The two of you are still practically in your pajamas from the night before - the rumpled black t-shirt and black hoodie still managing to make you look unfairly good, if not more so.

He hums softly into your mouth, and only then do you realize that you've gently grasped a tuft of his long, messy black hair between your fingers as his soft tongue brushes against his.

His hands move down to soften his neck, then down to the sturdy pair of shoulders you've held so many times before in moments like this, where it's sensual and sweet, and you need to grab him just to do it. Make sure it doesn't slip between your fingertips like a sweet dream.

He groans as he has to force himself to leave, and you can feel the evidence of his arousal beneath you, snug and firm against his center. His countenance turns into a genuine pout, his irises glazed over.

"Damn, I should just call in sick or something."

You laugh, amused by his childish smile and the moan in his tone. You both know that missing practice is not an option for him, although there is no harm in expressing your frustration. Even if it makes you ten times more needy for him.

You reach up to cup his soft cheeks, thumbs stroking the warm, tanned skin. He leans into the palm of your hand, soft lips spreading into a warm smile as he looks up at you with passionate eyes.

“I’ll come when you’re done, if you want,” he tells you, stroking your hair.

He takes a deep breath through his nose to calm himself, a useless feat when you're still on top of him, warm and beautiful and all his. His hands rest on the small of your back, his fingertips tracing the skin where your shirt has ridden up.

"Of course I want you to come, my silly baby." He coos to you in a voice that's only used when the two of you are alone, meant to make you laugh in a way that makes your heart fill up with adoration like a balloon.

You lean in to kiss his soft lips once again, his chin already tilted forward in an attempt to beat you to it. It's smooth, faster than any of you would like. But it's enough.

"I'm going to kiss you so hard tonight."

The promise remains between you, igniting a new wave of desire that makes you press against him a little more firmly, eliciting a deep, throaty moan from Lucas. His hands grip your hips, pulling you even closer, the harsh evidence of his arousal pressing into you unmistakably.

“You better,” you murmur against his lips, the heat in his voice matching the fire in his eyes. "I will be waiting."

He smiles, his eyes darkening with unspoken promises as he brushes his lips against yours one last time, a teasing hint of what’s to come tonight. "You won't have to wait long, darling. I'll make sure of that."

With a final, lingering kiss, you reluctantly climb out of his lap, both of you panting softly, the air between you crackling with unfulfilled desire. You watch as he adjusts, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent vow hanging in the air as he prepares to leave for practice. The anticipation of what's to come tonight keeps the embers of his desire burning, ready to burst into flames the moment he walks back through that door.

Anticipation grew all day. As the hours passed, her thoughts returned to Lucas, his promise echoing in her mind. It was finally time for him to return and his excitement was palpable.

The door opened and Lucas walked in, his long black hair, slightly damp and disheveled from training, falling onto his shoulders. He wore an all-black sweatshirt set, the fabric hugging his tall frame. His eyes immediately met his, dark and intense, filled with the same desire that had boiled between you before.

"Hey, beautiful," he greeted, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

“Hey,” you replied, a smile playing on your lips as you walked up to him, your curvy figure swaying with each step. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, and the way his gaze darkened as he took in her sent a shiver through you.

Lucas left his bag near the door and closed the distance between you in a few steps. His hands found your hips, pulling you against him. You could feel the heat of his body through his clothes, the hard surface of his chest pressing into your softness.

“I missed you,” he murmured, leaning down to capture your lips in a deep, hungry kiss. His mouth moved against his with an urgency that left you breathless, his hands roaming your curves, tracing the lines of your body with a possessive touch.

You moaned into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling in his long hair. The feel of his lips, the taste of him, was intoxicating. You could feel his excitement growing, pressing insistently against his thigh, and it only made you want him more.

“Lucas,” you gasped when he broke the kiss, trailing his lips down your neck, sucking and nibbling at your sensitive skin. "Please."

“Patience, baby,” he whispered, his breath hot on her ear. "I promised to kiss you so hard tonight, remember?"

He pulled back a little, your eyes burning when they met his. Then, with one swift movement, he picked you up in his arms and carried you to the bedroom, laying you gently on the bed. He stood next to you for a moment, his gaze roaming your body, examining every inch of you.

Slowly, he took off his hoodie, revealing the muscles on his chest and abdomen. You reached out, running your hands over his skin, feeling the warmth and strength beneath your fingertips. He shivered at his touch, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again, filled with raw need.

Lucas climbed onto the bed, settling himself between her legs, his hands pushing her shirt up, exposing her skin. He kissed her body, taking his time, savoring every moment. You arched beneath him, your hands gripping the sheets as his mouth moved downwards, teasing you with light kisses and flicks of his tongue.

When he reached the waistband of your pants, he looked at you, his eyes dark and hungry. “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby,” he promised, his voice a husky whisper that made your heart race.

With that, he pulled his pants down, tossing them aside. His hands caressed her thighs, spreading them apart, his gaze fixed on her center. You were already wet, aching from his touch, and when his fingers brushed against you, you couldn't help the moan that escaped your lips.

He leaned in, his mouth finding your most sensitive spot, his tongue working its magic. You screamed, your hands flying to his head, fingers tangling in his hair as he licked and sucked, driving you crazy with pleasure. His name left your lips in a breathless chant, your body shaking as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“Lucas, oh God, yes,” you gasped, your hips rocking against his mouth, chasing the orgasm that was building inside you. He growled against you, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through you, sending you over the edge.

His orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body arching off the bed as you screamed his name, your fingers gripping his hair tightly. He didn’t stop, his mouth working you through the aftershocks, prolonging your pleasure until you were a trembling, panting mess beneath him.

Finally, he pulled away, his lips glistening with his arousal, a satisfied smile on his face. He moved back up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You taste amazing,” he murmured against her lips, his voice full of desire.

Before you could respond, he was moving, taking off the rest of his clothes. His eyes widened as he revealed his erection, thick and hard, throbbing with need. He positioned himself between your legs, hands holding your hips as he teased your entrance with the head of his cock.

"Are you ready, darling?" he asked, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine.

“Yes, Lucas, please,” you begged, your voice shaking with anticipation.

With a slow, deliberate thrust, he buried himself inside you, stretching you, filling you completely. You both moaned at the sensation, the delicious friction, the way your bodies fit together perfectly.

correctly. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust, his eyes fixed on yours, full of and a mixture of love and lust.

"You're so tight, baby," he moaned, his hips beginning to move, establishing a slow, steady rhythm. "So perfect."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your nails digging into his back as he thrust into you, each movement sending waves of pleasure over you. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a fierce, desperate kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with the same intensity as his thrusts.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growled against your lips, his pace quickening, his hips slamming into you with increasing urgency. "So wet and tight, just for me."

“Yes, Lucas, just for you,” you moaned, your body arching beneath him, matching his movements, meeting each thrust with eager abandon. The room was filled with the sounds of their passion, the slick, wet sounds of their bodies moving together, the moans and breathless sighs, the slap of skin against skin.

The pleasure grew and grew, rising higher and higher until you were on the verge of another orgasm. Lucas could feel it too, his movements becoming more frantic, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrust into you harder and deeper.

“Come for me, baby,” he insisted, his voice a harsh whisper. "Let go."

With a scream, you cried, your body convulsing around him as your orgasm crashed over you, the pleasure so intense it left you breathless. Lucas followed you to the edge, his own release exploding inside you, filling you with his hot, pulsing seed.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting, shaking after the shared ecstasy. He placed soft, tender kisses on her lips, her cheeks, her forehead, murmuring words of love and adoration.

"I love you, Lila," he whispered, his voice full of emotion.

“I love you too, Lucas,” you replied, your heart swelling with the intensity of your feelings for him.

You stood there together, tangled in each other's arms, basking in the glow of your passion. The promise of more things to come lingered in the air, a sweet reminder of the love and desire that brought them together.

As Lucas's breathless whisper faded into the night, the intensity between them reignited. Lila, still shaking from the aftershocks of orgasm, felt Lucas's hand sliding down her body, rough but gentle.

“Ready for more?” Lucas growled, his voice full of need.

“Yes,” Lila panted, her voice a mix of expectation and desire.

Lucas sat up, effortlessly lifting her, and turned her so she was on all fours. He admired her curvy, dark-skinned body, her blonde hair falling down her back, framing her invitingly. He couldn't resist the urge to lean down and place a series of kisses along her spine, sending shivers down her spine.

His hands gripped her hips firmly, positioning her just right. She felt the head of his cock teasing her entrance again, the anticipation making her clench with need.

“please,” she whimpered, her voice shaking with raw desire.

Without further hesitation, Lucas dove into her, burying himself to the hilt. The sudden and intense sensation made them both moan, their voices echoing in the dimly lit room. He began to move, with deep, powerful thrusts, setting a relentless pace that left her breathless.

her hands gripping your hips tighter, pulling you back to meet her every thrust.

Lila's moans filled the room, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through her body. She could feel him hitting all the right spots, the intensity building inside her again. Her fingers dug into the sheets, trying to brace herself against the onslaught of pleasure.

“Harder,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper.

He obeyed, his hips slamming into her with a force that left her breathless. The sound of their bodies meeting, skin against skin, filled the room, mixing with their moans and sighs. Lucas reached out, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

“Oh God, Lucas, I'm so close,” she cried out, her body shaking with the intensity of her approaching orgasm.

“Come for me, Lila,” he growled, his voice husky with need. "I want to feel you coming around me."

With a scream of her name, she broke, her orgasm ripping through her with a force that left her shaking and gasping for air. Lucas didn't stop, thrusting into her through her climax, prolonging her pleasure until she thought she might explode from the intensity.

Feeling her tight walls squeezing him, Lucas could no longer hold back. he buried himself deep inside her, his release exploding inside her, filling her with his seed. He lay there, his body shaking with the aftershocks, before finally collapsing next to her, both of them panting and exhausted.

But the night was far from over. With a mischievous smile, Lucas turned Lila onto her back, positioning himself between her thighs again. “I’m not done with you yet,” he whispered, his eyes dark with hunger.

Lila's eyes widened with anticipation, a shiver of excitement running through her. “Come on,” she challenged, her voice breathless but eager.

With that, Lucas began again, his movements rough and wild, driving them both to the brink of madness. The night was a blur of intense pleasure, their bodies intertwined in a primal dance of need and desire, each climax pushing them further into a state of wild ecstasy.

When dawn began to peek through the curtains, they were both completely exhausted, their bodies slick with sweat, their breathing ragged. Lucas hugged Lila, their hearts beating in sync, the intensity of their passion still hanging in the air.

“I told you I'd kiss you hard tonight,” Lucas whispered, his voice a low, satisfied rumble.

Lila laughed weakly, her body sated and exhausted. “You sure do,” she agreed, her eyes closed as she snuggled closer to him, a satisfied smile on her lips.

And as they fell asleep, tangled in each other's arms.

[xsapphirescrollsx]

Hallows' Eve

Written: Oct 2 2020

Pairing: dark!Bucky Barnes, dark!Steve Rogers, dark!Clark Kent x Black Female Reader

You expected a nice night on the eve of Halloween with your boyfriend, Bucky.

A/N: Ahh shoutout to my bff @titty-teetee for indulging me with this idea lol. I love ya >:D

October 30th, middle of somewhere, Texas.

Well, there was a house-- rickety as it was, the home stood in a clump of mesquite trees, accented with tufts of Johnsongrass, springing up through the cracks of the stone walkway and leaning against the stairs to the front porch. It had never looked darker than this night had. But even so, the jagged wood roof  rose high to a second story, long windows looked like eyes with the small front door for a mouth. A steady breeze moved through the trees, shaking and whishing the long thin branches, slicing through the air. The whispering of nature speaks to you, like God to man, invoking what has been and what was to come. An unexpected thin place perhaps, the house, having not been filled for quite some time looked like it could have been haunted. Maybe a part of you wished it was. Like the walls and foundation had the ability to make up its own people within, or remembered who once lived there. 

Bucky’s fingers nudged your lower back as you walked alongside him. The duffle bags zipper clinked against the fabric and you were suddenly aware of how quiet it was out here. The crisp autumn air, slowly contorted to that spikey chill of early winter lingered on your skin. So you walked closer to him for some quick warmth. 

“They should be--” said Bucky, lights glowed up from the dirt road. The paleness glowed over both you and Bucky, the house, the dormant land. “There they are.” he said pausing for a moment and then continued once again.

“You had to pick the spookiest spot huh?” you said under your breath. 

He shrugged as he stomped up the stairs. “I was here yesterday, I got it ready. It’s a perfect spot for a quick get away.”

“But did you have to invite company? I was looking forward to it just being you and me.”

Bucky rummaged for the keys in his pocket as a couple of car doors slammed behind you. 

“‘Come on babe, Steve doesn’t have anywhere to go really.”

“I’ll start the fire!” shouted Steve. 

You didn’t turn around, your eyes stayed on the shadows of Bucky’s face where his eyes should have been. 

“Okay, I get that. But what about the other guy? What did you say his name was? How do you know him?”

Bucky jabbed the key with the lock, he chuckled a bit before answering. “Clark Kent, his name is Clark.”

“So you’re picking up strays now?” 

“Get to know him, you’ll like him. He's a great guy, hardly a stray...”

You followed Bucky into the house slowly, he flicked on the switch flooding the living room with light. Okay, you thought, doesn’t look so bad. At least the furnishing appeared to be from within the last ten years, the walls looked newish, with sharp borders, and reasonably decorated. 

“Besides, I picked you up, remember?”

You dropped your bag flat on the ground. “Hey, now. Are you trying not to get lucky while we stay here?”

Bucky continued into the house with the grocery bags. “I’ll get lucky regardless.” he cut his eyes over his shoulder back toward you. It sent another chill, this time up your inner thighs. He wasn’t lying.

“Oh god, not that stupid-”

Bucky ducked in close, the flimsy plastic mask buckled under the pressure of nuzzling your neck. You gazed into the bathroom mirror at Bucky who’s rubber Michael Myers mask was staring lifelessly back.

“I know you wanted to try something different….but….”

His hands kneaded your sides, higher he climbed over your sweater to your breasts.

“You look ridiculous…”

One hand left your nipple and began tugging at the top of your leggings.

“Shh…” he tried to stifle a laugh. “..just go with it..”

And you did, by leaning your head back against the blue denim jacket as his fingers wondered underneath your underwear.

“..let daddy have a feel.” his breathy question muffled through the mask. Slowly he began to circle your clit, mouth hanging open your hand held the top of his black gloved hand and pushed him to press harder.

“Look at yourself...how needy you get.” he whispered.

You try to peer beyond the mask, the slits for eyes but there was nothing. Only darkness met you there. Bucky brought up his hand, held it in front of the mirror and you. He split his fingers, thick wetness strung between them like webs.

“Bend over-- hold on to the sink.” he ordered, with his hands disappearing behind you. The sound of his clothes ruffling you stared back at the mirror.

Bucky stepped forward, knocking your ankles apart with his shiny black boots and yanked your pants, underwear down and gently, he tipped into you. His long length traveled against your folds sinking further inside.

Ghostly scenes are made from the smoke casting up from the flickering fire being fed from lava colored coals. The metal chair underneath you feels cool on your bottom, because even though you are sitting on a blanket the cold night air hangs around you. 

Steve was ending his story. Though hardly a spooky tale, it didn’t have to be, for his tales were based on true events. Speaking of blood and gore the morbid tone grew in his voice and brought a shadow of delight in his eyes. You carefully watched him, observed his hunched over shoulders, his eyes turned to yours sometimes while he spoke but mostly stayed on the fire. 

You chugged from the bottle of hard cider as Bucky ate, that stupid mask was pulled up over his brows. But Clark Kent, this stranger, sat nearly directly opposite. You moved your eyes to him ever so often while Steve told his story. One of the two thought about food on the way here, chicken, you guessed was their craving. Clark leaned back, his black jacket bunched at his waist as he rose a hand to his mouth. The crunch of the crust of fried meat did not break Steve’s momentum. 

When he finished, Bucky nodded to the accuracy of the amount of soldiers, to why the only man left was brave and courageous. Clark’s eyes met yours over the flames, his skin pale, the wavy dark curls framed his face. He smiled at you as he chewed. You noticed it then, unsure why you wouldn’t have before, he held the grey cooked bone between his fingers and stuck the end in his mouth. You blinked, maybe you were seeing things -- this was your sixth cider for the night.

“Are you eating the bones?” you asked.

Clark continued to gnaw on it till it broke off in his mouth. “Waste not want not,” he said through a mouthful.

He continued to stare back at you and at the same time a chill coursed its way down your spine. Shivering in the gentle breeze the urge to go to the bathroom shot through you. 

“I’ll be right back,” and excused yourself from the fire.

Had to be a bit past ten p.m., though this was supposed to be a pleasant fall break, it didn’t truly feel that way. Not with two extra guests. You tried to not feel so desperate to be alone with Bucky. You finished washing your hands and opened the bathroom door. In the dark, lit up by the light of the bathroom a figure stood. You jumped so hard, grasping at your sweater, bent over grabbing your waist, the boogeyman mask simply stared back at you without moving.

“Bucky I swear to -- why would you? -- take that stupid thing off-” and you reached for the mask but his hand grabbed your wrist. Slowly he walked over the threshold, leaned over and flicked off the light. 

“Oh no!” you feigned a plea. “Seriously..--help..help.” you giggled through another.

The door slammed behind him trapping the dark inside. He pulled you close at first, residing to his strength, you let him touch, grab, pluck at your body. Backing you back up against the sink the rubber mask pushed against your neck, smiling in the dark you could hear him attempting to kiss you there. 

His hands ran around the waist of your leggings, one big hand gripped and caressed your ass, slipped toward your split and rubbed your asshole. You jumped again, this time wrapping your arms around his neck. Different, he had never done such a thing before, but you went with it. 

His finger crawled passed it, his other hand pushed down the front of your legging and circled your clit. 

“..help...a big bad man...help..” you chuckled under a moan. 

He jerked you away suddenly, pulled down your leggings and underwear, with a hand on your shoulder he forced you to bend over. The room filled with the sound of a smack to your back side. 

“Bucky!” 

The stinging lingered but white hot pain replaced it with another hit from his gloved hand. 

“Okay!” you rushed out. Maybe he was just being kinky, perhaps your pretending might have put him out of the mood. 

He hit you again making you grip the lip of the sink harder. “I’m sorry daddy..” you hissed.

He was back behind you again, his whole body pressed against you, scratching at the skin of your ass he plunged two thick fingers into your entrance.  Heavy breathing billowed from under the mask, hot air pooled over your shoulder and around the back of your neck. The weight of him bent you forward. He pulled out his fingers from within you and began to prod with something warmer, and far thicker at your slit as his other hand tangled with your fingers on the sink. 

And he pushed in, “..damn!” you moaned.

Jerky, irregular thrusts stretched you more than what you remembered. “Bucky!” you gasped, hoping he would slow the pace. But the other hand grabbed for your throat, squeezed tight and pumped you harder. 

“Daddy, please..” you half begged, half needingly whimpered. 

That changed his stroke, and soon the ache descended into bliss. 

“Fuck...daddy…”

His hand on yours returned to your clit, pushing hard and swiping steadily, your knees nearly buckled. Thicker for sure, veiny too, you thought, god what the loss of one sensory can do on a drunk mind. Your body bucked back against him as you rode out the orgasm. He squeezed harder, hissing and groaning under the mask you could nearly imagine him as someone else. And when he stilled inside of you, even his hiccups of pleasure could be thought of another. You shook the fantasy away as he stepped back. 

Before you could even turn around, the door opened, your eyes shot to his brown boots and then up to his back. And he left you there.

You stuffed pieces of a premade popcorn ball into your mouth. Bucky sat there weaving a tale of spirits walking through walls, of ancient gods embedded into objects best left to rest where they laid. Still buzzing hard you stayed captivated by his tone. It was something about the secretive way his voice projected that kept you staring at him, wondering if it could be true, but knew it mustn’t. 

It was still cool out, the shabby blanket thrown over your sore legs did little to keep the wind out. But it made for a good catcher, which is what you were doing toward the end of his story. Picking up pieces of fallen popcorn, and pizza flavored chip crumbs somehow made it to your mouth despite the only source of light was a waning fire.

“So if you ever hear your name called..don’t ever answer back, unless you can see it’s a actually living person.” Bucky finished and glanced over at you proudly.

“I hate that story.” you slurred your words a bit and shook out the blanket on your lap. “I hope you’re happy, you have to walk me everywhere until we return home.”

You picked up the last bottle off the ground and drank the last bit. The clash of flavors swirled on your tongue leaving a bitter after taste.

“Babe do you have any gum?”

“There’s a pack in the middle console--” Steve spoke up. “Back there in the truck..” he said hooking his thumb over his shoulder.

You rolled your eyes over in Steve’s direction. A smug grin, and a wrinkle on the side of one eye simply gazed back at you. 

“You’re fine,” he said finally. “You’ve got us here...nothings gunna get you.” he reminded smoothly.

And the moment was quiet, poised on the end of the gentle breeze blowing through the heat of the fire. The rustle of sleeping honeysuckle vines, somewhere near the old rotted out shack Steve’s truck sat was the only identifiable sound for a few seconds. 

“Fine.” you huffed and stood up to get that gum.

You walked down the dirt path the short way from the front of the house where Bucky, Steve and Clark sat. The tin roofing of the old shed rocked, and slapped against itself the closer you got. And of course Steve parked on the other side, out of the sight of the house and fire. But you walked quickly, or rather, as fast as two aching legs could in the cool weather. 

The knocking sound only got heavier, louder as you squinted in the dark toward the blackest corner of the area. Steve’s truck was within a few footsteps and you batted away any imaginings of spooky phantoms. You slipped passed the door, your hand flipped up the middle console and snagged up the pack of gum before slamming the door back. And when you turned around, just off from where you had previously walked was a figure. The white, deathly pale mask was the only part you could really see.

“Fuck!” you shouted, dropping the pack of gum. “Bucky!” you hissed and reached back down to retrieve it. 

The yellow fire light was at his back when he moved forward toward you. 

“Okay...no more mask!”

You stuffed the gum under your arms and went to yank at the mask. But he caught your arm and squeezed down like a vice grip. “Hey--easy there..” you said quietly. 

He pulled you toward the shed, but just outside of it, along the rotten wall of it a few old deep freezers were lined up against it collecting weeds, and dust. 

“Oh no, Bucky..those look super dirty..” you tried to jerk your arm away but he only pulled you harder. “...Really? You’re this committed to fucking in that mask?”

This time your hand grabbed enough of the back of the mask to rip it fully up over his head. At that same moment you were jerked forward between the rusty freezer and him. Your eyes now bulging and fighting for light to correct what you were seeing in the dark stared up at him. You blinked several times once more before you realized the angular features did not belong to Bucky. Thick curly hair, messy all over haloed around his face, and of course, you weren’t sure why you hadn’t noticed before, he was taller. It was Clark.

You made to quickly move away from him but he snapped you back, “Get off me!” Your voice shook, and so did your body. 

“Bucky’s right over there...all I have to do is scr--”

The air whipped out of your lungs so fast as Clark slammed his palm over your mouth and rushed your back down on to the freezer. 

“I’ve been waiting all night for this..” he whispered.

No amount of squirming could equal the might Clark welding against your struggling. It was like a man made of iron held you down, even when his other hand disappeared between your legs, the tearing of your legging, your underwear did not loosen his hold. And then the unfolding of his clothes paired with the gentle brushing of the vines against wood near your head sent you into hysterical kicking. Your legs on either side of him squeezed, and jerked to no avail. 

“-don’t act so innocent. You’ve already fucked two different men tonight.”

You stopped kicking, eyes wide above his hand you glowered at him through the dark. “You won’t mind..will you?”

Shaking your head you held your breath. The thick end of his cock began to push past your folds. 

“Slut.” 

He lowered his forehead on to yours, what you imagined was him staring back down at you but could see only the tip of his nose. A shuddering breath pulled through your nose as he sank further to his balls. “You’re wet from it still…”

He started snapping into you, hard and fast, slapping his lust into your unwilling cunt. Clark’s hand slipped to your chin, his lips hovering above yours. 

“Are you going to call me daddy too?” he asked, with his breath steadily huffing into your mouth. “..Say it for me baby..” 

“Let me hear that little desperate voice..” He kissed you, slipping his tongue along the inside of your lower lip and then against your face as you turned your head. “Come on..” And then he started jabbing, a feral thumping into you. Sharp pains up your thighs shot further into your core. You denied him and he lowered his head to your neck. He sucked on your skin, flicked his tongue around and inside your ear. “Say it,” he whispered. 

You whimpered in response as his teeth began to snag on the wet skin of your neck. He sucked hard, drawing out needle points of pain. 

You pray to god Bucky could hear this, you’ve been gone too long certainly either Steve or him could. Clark kept nibbling, and groaning in between thrusts. When you refused once again he shoved his palm back over your mouth, the other brought your wrist up and twisted it into a bone breaking angle. 

He stopped moving inside of you as his deep voice raked over clenched teeth, “What was that?” he asked. The warm palm slid down to your chin. 

“..daddy.” you shivered out.

You could hear the satisfied smile in his voice. “Good..girl.” he whispered. 

“That wasn’t so hard to say was it babe?”

The sound of Bucky’s voice from the darkest, most grown up side of the shed sent your eyes reeling in the dark. Clark put his hand back over your mouth and kept going. 

Bucky stood at the edge of the freezer, in the dark the features of his face were smudged. A gentle hand caressed the top of your forehead. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Let Clark finish.”

At Bucky’s words, Clark released your mouth, he rose up and held your upper arms down as he continued to fuck you roughly. Your eyes stayed on Bucky’s silhouette, high pitch whimpering up at him did not go unheard. 

Bucky cupped your chin and head. “Shush,” he hushed down your sobbing face. 

Another pair of hands tore at the front of your sweater. To his right, another figure stepped to your side. The figures loomed over you while your breasts chilled, and peaked in the cool night air. A deft hot hand kneaded and groped at the nearest one. 

“You told us she was good….” Steve pinched your nipple hard. “She’s fucking outstanding.”

Bucky leaned over you, he grabbed for your thigh but you kicked away. Clark relinquished some leverage to pull your thigh up so Bucky could hold your ankle. “Yeah, get in there good.” Bucky’s voice rose above your strangled cries. Steve got your other leg, held it folded it in high and tight, that allowed Clark to pound you deeper. 

He grinded his hips into yours burning his stiff cock into your core. His grip tightened around your arms pinning you for good below him. “Where am I going to empty my balls?” Clark demanded on a puff of air. 

Tears slid down the corners of your eyes. They rolled from the darken outlines of Bucky above you to Steve at his side and then back to the man between your legs. 

“..in me.” you sniffled out. 

“And who are we--” Bucky asked softly. 

You didn’t bother to look in the direction of his voice, Clark’s head threw back, a deep moan started in his chest as his hips kept pumping. “Say it baby..” Clark whispered.

“..daddy.” you whimpered.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Day.24 ~ Sweets for the baby ~ Hallowtober

Franco Barbi x mommy!reader

warning: fluff, outlast level of topics, mention of drinking alcohol, kissing

Summary: Who doesn't like Halloween? It was a day when you could dress up and not be who you were, you were someone else and no one cared. Even in the Trials, October seemed to have arrived. For Franco, there was no better new victim, costumes and candy that he could eat with his mommy, the perfect day for the murderer.

info: I'm sure Franco likes Halloween candy and blood just go together… anyway, have fun reading ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Halloween was not celebrated, not in the asylum and not here in the bucket full of half-good experiments. Sure, you could see one or two doctors and a nurse with a small pumpkin pin, but otherwise they had no idea what was going on inside the building complex.

Whereby the interior did not change despite the seasons, the inmates seemed to feel this somehow anyway: in summer they sweated, in spring they looked for Easter eggs, and in winter they froze, and in fall, well, in fall they seemed to bleed even more.

This also applied to Franco, who woke up full of energy every first October morning, and could hardly wait for his mother to finally arrive to bring him new toys.

But also something sweet, which he had asked for very nicely after he had brought her back a few items of equipment. Just as today, the lights above him flickered since he had started his game, his suit pocket was full of teeth and he felt the blood on his hands.

His thoughts raced only to his ,,Mommy will be so proud of me if I also kill you, you fucking pig!” shouted the gunman and fired his Lupara, whose ammunition drilled several beautiful holes in the body of the screaming man, who sank lifeless to the ground.

Franco giggled, turned the body around and broke out the teeth one by one in the mouth before he joyfully retreated to prepare everything for his mother.

The heavy steps of the man-baby echoed around, mingling with the purple high heels of the woman who was not disturbed by the massacre.

She had seen it all too often. ,,He will be very happy about the lolis,” she murmured, looking into the small bag of sweets she was holding. In it were a few sweets that she brought for him, or rather, that she was allowed to bring without endangering the safety of everyone.

She had added a few of the baby's favorite foods to the milkweed she was preparing in the kitchen. He had earned the reward more than ever, especially after he had listened so well to her words last time and had given her the lupara so that she could shoot it herself.

He is becoming such a sweet boy. When she knocked on the door, she heard a cheerful ,,Come in, my heart” and entered the room where he slept and they had spent many hours together. She saw with satisfaction that he had “decorated” it with teeth, human parts and hair tufts scattered around the cradle that had her color.

,,Oh, has my sweet little one done some decorating while I was away?” she asked in a touching tone, looking at Franco, who nodded and pointed to various objects with his lupara.

His blue eyes sparkled with joy, ,,Yes! I shot down one after another of those whores and idiots and got such beautiful decorations,” he announced, showing her a few individual pieces before they both retired to the cradle.

She looked gratefully at the lupara and was once more glad that her darling had such an eye for art before he lay down in her lap and was given one of the lolis that consisted of his wolf's milk.

,,So delicious,” she heard from him and sipped on a glass of the drink herself, stroked his head and could almost taste the smell of autumn, if you ignored the blood and insides.

The kiss they shared seemed to flow between them like fresh blood, sweet and warm, filling them both. ,,A wonderful day,” she said, feeling the younger man's fingers slowly wandering over her clothes.

,,A more wonderful bloody creepy day, my dear,” he purred to her, and the day full of tricks and sweets became even more unpredictable, especially when you were stuck in such a hell together as they were.

But no matter what would happen, as soon as she heard the click of the gun, Franco's laughter and his touch on her body, she knew that she would spend every moment together with sweet more than just with sweet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[siriannatan]

Losing Feathers

I was organising my fic files and decided I was happy where this one was

The Wither Rose Alliance was faced with quite a wall. An ice wall. A wall of ice encasing the royal palace of Rivendell. Palace where the king of the elven empire was holed up even before fWhip and his allies started the war. No wonder their war effort was so lacklustre and no official communications carried Scott's signature.

"Any idea how Scott made this thing?" Pearl asked. She and Sausage were flanking the captured council of Rivendell.

Gem hummed where she was inspecting the wall. fWhip glared at the ice, his tail tossing snow behind him. "I have no clue, it doesn't give off a magical signature, like fWhip's fire," Gem seemed to give up.

"Is that so," fWhip hummed walking up to the wall and knocking on it. "You think I could melt it?" he asked, smiling wide enough to bare his fangs.

"Maybe, but I have no clue if it'll even stick, might get stuck inside," Gem mused, pulling her coat tighter.

fWhip nodded. "I can always melt my way out," he said and before anyone could stop him, he started melting the ice, making himself quickly freezing behind him tunnel. 

He could hear Gem's muffled by ice protests as she banged on the wall. But he didn't turn back, instead making his way into the palace of Rivendell.

The castle was pretty dark from the sun slowly setting and the thickness of the ice enveloping the place. And cold enough for even fWhip to shiver slightly. Huddling himself tighter in his coat and scarf. He looked around raising the flame in his hand high. Something instantly caught his attention.

Feathers.

Snowy white feathers. Too big to be an owl's so had to be Scott's. And they led just one way from the door. With a smirk, fWhip followed them. 

With every step the cold intensified. Making fWhip pull his coat as close as he could, bundling himself in his wings. But he eventually made it to a closed - but not locked - door the feathers were leading to. Scott's throne room. Expecting ice flung at him at any moment fWhip pushed the door open. It made no sound.

No ice came his way but fWhip still froze. Not literally even if the throne room was the coldest room he's ever been in. His brain stopped as he stared at Scott.

The elven king was sat on the floor, facing his throne so he didn't yet realise he wasn't alone. And he wasn't like fWhip remembered. Scott fWhip remembered wasn't a dragon. Didn't have a long covered with cyan scales tail with a tuft of white fur at the end. Didn't have golden stag-like horns. And his wings were covered in snowy white feathers ripping out which fWhip often fantasized about.

"Well, well, well, isn't this fascinating," fWhip mused to announce his presence.

Scott was up on his feet within seconds. Their draconic, slit-pupil eyes met for a second before Scott's knees gave up and he collapsed to the floor.

"Why are you here?" Scott asked, trying to get up. Likely to retain some dignity. 

"If you didn't freeze yourself in your castle you'd know WRA declared war on Rivendell," fWhip chuckled, tilting his head. "And I'd say we won, seeing as I'm in your throne room," fWhip carried on chattering as he marched past Scott and to the throne. Once sat he looked down at Scott with bared fangs. "Now I just need to decide what to do with you," he mused. "I was planning on just killing you but with how you're now... you're too fascinating..." As he spoke Scott's eyes went wider and wider.

"You..." Scott glared as ice invaded the throne room, creeping towards fWhip. "Don't you dare come any closer," he loudly protested as fWhip slowly stood up and walked up to him. Slowly, not taking his eyes off the elf for even a second.

"But you already lost the war, darling," fWhip mused as Scott awkwardly clambered back in a futile attempt to create distance. "So as the victor, I get to pick what to do with you. And I decided to keep you," fWhip chuckled, crouching in front of stuck on his tail Scott. He was clearly used to having only wings. "So drop the ice around your dumb castle," he added coldly, grabbing one of Scott's horns. Harshly. Enjoying the way the elf winced.

Scott tried to struggle, to break free. But fWhip stayed still, his grip not faltering for even a second. He just stared at Scott with an amused glint in his blue eyes. His grin ever ever-present as he waited for the elf to tire himself out. He had to be exhausted already. From making the wall around the palace and turning into a half-dragon. No matter how the second part happened, fWhip had no doubt it was exhausting. His own 'change' was exhausting and left him starving.

Eventually, Scott slumped in fWhip's grip. He fainted, fWhip noted as he gathered Scott in his arms. Mission accomplished. He had his reward for all the effort he put into the war. His mood only grew as he noted the wall slowly melting around the palace as he carried Scott to where his allies were waiting.

"What the..." Gem's jaw nearly hit the floor as she quickly realised Scott wasn't just an elf.

"No clue, he didn't want to talk, then fainted," fWhip shrugged. 

"You're not killing him?" Sausage raised an eyebrow. It was quite a shock to everyone Scott's head was still firmly attached to the rest of him.

"He might be useful in case anyone tries to mess with my claim to Rivendell," fWhip shrugged as well as he could with Scott in his arms. "Might also annoy some cod-lovers, keep them from doing something stupid," he added, not voicing his actual thoughts. Gem liked peace, it was a shock she agreed to join the war with Rivendell.

"Yeah, no matter what you do they won't start a war if you have Scott, worried you might kill him," Pearl nodded as always adept at deciphering fWhip's real intentions.

"And even if they do it'll look bad to Katherine and Pix," Gem nodded. fWhip knew his sister so well.

Sausage was shockingly quiet. Smirking. fWhip raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"Nothing, I'm just shocked you got out of there that fast with how much shinier Scott is now," Sausage chuckled and everyone but the even more horrified elven council giggled. Even Gem.

"That's ridiculous, and who like who, but I expected you'd be protesting more, GemGem," he rolled his eyes. Yeah, sure, Scott's horns were shiny.

"Well, you could have done worse," She shrugged.

fWhip grumbled as he locked the unconscious elf in his carriage. He left the elf in there, under tight guard while quickly finishing what required him. Before the sun even started to rise was back and ready to go home. Even without Scott's influence, Rivendell was too damn cold for him.

And Scott was still seemingly asleep. Apparently, he woke up at some point and ate the food fWhip had someone bring him. But as he settled in his seat fWhip noticed that Scott wasn't asleep but just sitting there numbly staring ahead. Slumped in the most uncomfortable way possible. "Scott?" fWhip asked. Nothing. fWhip huffed. He was not used to being ignored. "Major," he snapped his fingers in front of  Scott's face. 

Elven king finally looked at him. But didn't move or say anything. Just moved his eyes to look at fWhip with the same blank expression. fWhip's annoyance was growing. "Just looking at you makes my joints hurt, sit properly," he requested with his best glare. Scott just shrugged.

"Don't care..." the elf said before leaning onto the side of the carriage. 

fWhip's blood boiled. Was Scott counting on annoying fWhip being the fastest way off the world? Hell no, fWhip was keeping him no matter his attitude. So he pulled Scott to his feet and sat him properly. "Don't think that giving me attitude will do you any favours," fWhip practically growled. "You're doing what I tell you to do whether you like it or not," he grumbled but Scott's attitude didn't change. 

"Whatever," Scott said, monotone and annoying.

fWhip scoffed. "You were so lively in your throne room, what got you so down since then?" fWhip asked leaning back. He didn't feel like sleeping just yet so he might as well mess with Scott a bit. Try to get any reaction out of him.

"It doesn't matter, and you don't actually care," Scott was really grinding his nerves with the attitude. Well, he had ways of getting rid of it. At home. Just had to stop himself from strangling the elf before they got there. Or from traumatising his retinue.

"Humour me. Grimlands' a fair distance away, we have time," fWhip mused with a toothy grin. "I could tell you about mating rituals and cycles of dragons instead," he added, finally getting a slight reaction in the form of Scott's eyes widening slightly and the elf stiffening.  Was being half-dragon that bad?

Scott was silent for a moment. "Xornoth," he said and fell silent once more.

fWhip waited for him to elaborate. But nothing further left Scott's annoyingly pretty lips. Annoying, he thought. But it made sense. Frankly, if it were Gem that was possessed by a demon he'd be in an even worse state than Scott. "That's it? We still have a couple of days to fill," fWhip hummed. "Anything you'd like to know about half-dragons?" he graciously asked before going into all the spicy details of dragons' mating preferences. Or at least half-dragon, as was the case with them. And he knew a lot, being one most of his life.

"Aren't you tired?" Scott glared, half-heartedly. He clearly hated his new status and appendages. 

"Not really," fWhip shook his head. And descended into chattering about the biology of dragons and how it translated to him and now Scott.