#can we revolt yet?

[cybercybertron]

Uuuhhhhh mom? I’m scared.

Wouldn’t it have said new episodes if it was 2b and not s3?

@transformers-earthspark

[babymate]

Fuck, ouch. Like I know the USA sucks but sometimes it's like a sucker punch to the gut that in turn makes you sick.

I think adults need summer vacation. Like let's just close down all our jobs for three months and play outside. Please. I'm so tired.

[wonder-worker]

I heard that Edward IV and Elizabeth Widvile were known to be very beautiful. Were there any reports on their appearance at the time?

anon 😂

But yes, contemporaries and post contemporaries in the 16th century were pretty much unanimous in praising their appearance. I'll list some of the ones I could find:

Elizabeth:

"The most beautiful woman in England" - Jean de Waurin

"Her very great beauty" - Jean de Waurin

"Her beauty of person and charm of manner" - Dominic Mancini

"None of such constant womanhood, wisdom and beauty" - Hearne's Fragment; its author was one of Edward IV's servants

"A daughter of prodigious beauty' - 1469 Continuator of Monstrelet's Chronicle

"Both faire, of a good favor, moderate of stature, well made and very wise" - Thomas More

Edward IV:

"The beauty of your personage it hath pleased Almighty God to send you" - James Strangways, Speaker of the Commons in Parliament

"The king is a handsome upstanding man" - Gabriel Tretzel, travels of Leo of Rozmital

"A handsome prince and had style" - Oliver De La Marche

"In the flower of his age, tall of stature, elegant of person" - Croyland Chronicle

"One of the handsomest knights of his kingdom" - 1469 Continuator of Monstrelet's Chronicle

"A handsome and worthy prince" - Pietro Alipranto

‘...Tall and strapping as the king’ - John Paston, Paston Letters

"He was young and more handsome than any man then alive" - Philippe de Commynes

"A man so vigorous and handsome that he might have been made for the pleasures of the flesh" - Philippe de Commynes

"The handsomest prince my eyes ever beheld" and "I don't remember ever having seen a man more handsome than he was" - Philippe de Commynes

"A very handsome prince" - Louis XI, from the Memoirs of Commynes

"He being a person of most elegant appearance, and remarkable beyond all others for the attractions of his person" - the Croyland Chronicle, referencing Edward a few months before he died

"He seized any opportunity that the occasion offered of revealing his fine stature more protractedly and more evidently to onlookers" - Dominic Mancini, writing shortly after his death

"He was a goodly personage and very princely to behold...of visage lovely, of body mighty, strong and cleanly made; howbeit in his latter days, with an over liberal diet, somewhat corpulent, but nevertheless noy uncomely" - Thomas More

Etc.

I'm tagging @edwardslovelyelizabeth because I think you got a similar ask?

I hope this answers your question, anon! I don't generally pay a lot of attention to the physical appearance of historical figures (I find it pretty irrelevant), but in this case, it ultimately does play a role in both Edward IV and Elizabeth's historiographies for better and for worse, and seems to have actually been a personal prop of Edward's kingship, so I don't mind discussing it :)

[raskies456]

wait i bet the whole reduced telomerase expression thing is an anti cancer mechanism huh

[glamorizethechaos]

Wildflower | Jack Abbot x Wife Reader

Summary: After the trauma of Pittfest, Jack stops at nothing to help you find your spark again.

Warnings: age gap relationship (reader is early 30s, Jack is 49), PTSD, depression, mentions of gun violence and mass casualty, Jack is a simp, fluff

Word Count: 2.2k

Not Beta Read

The aftermath of Pittfest hit you hard. Never in your life had you imagined you’d find yourself in that scenario. The screams of the wounded, the smell of metal as blood poured from gunshot wounds and pooled at your feet, and then silence. When you walked out of The Pitt that night into a world that kept on spinning, it felt like a punch in the gut. The air was cool and crisp yet you struggled to take a breath. Before you knew it, your head was in the nearest trash can, Jack holding your hair and rubbing your back in soft circles.

“I got you. You’re safe.” Your husband assured you as your stomach revolted against you. Jack had been to war. He had seen the carnage on the battlefield, the worst man had to offer. Hell, his own caravan had be hit by an IED leaving him with a prosthetic. To him- tonight, this was nothing more than a Friday. But to you… well that didn’t happen here. That didn’t happen in Pittsburgh. Not the place you loved. Not the place you want to raise a family.

The drive home was quiet. Jack turned his police scanner off when you jumped at sound of radio chatter. The sound of his truck engine was drowned out by constant ringing in your ear. Jack glanced over at you, to find you almost shell shocked. Your eyes were wide but glazed over, your hands trembled in your lap, and his heart was breaking at the mere sight of you. He kept quiet though, knowing you weren’t in any frame of mind to discuss anything beyond who would shower first- which he already decided would be you.

He helped you out of the truck, stopped you before shutting the door.

“I love you.” He grabbed your arm, giving a squeeze. You didn’t answer. Not that you didn’t reciprocate those feelings, but you didn’t exactly know what you felt in the moment. You were completely numb, and he didn’t take it personally. You walked up the sidewalk into the house you two had just bought not long ago. The walls were still bare and it lacked the warmth you planned to give it. The place felt sterile, just like the hospital you just wanted to escape from.

He ran your shower without saying a word and helped you undress from your bloody scrubs. For the first time, he undressed you in a way that wasn’t sexual. There was no hunger. There was no desire. Just gentle precision and care. As you showered he brewed you a cup of tea and laid out some pajamas on the bed. He picked out one of his old Army t-shirts, the one you love to wear because you say it smells like him- no matter how many times it’s washed.

You two laid together that night. The adrenaline still high. The gravity and weight of the situation still not totally hitting you. You couldn’t cry, as much as you wanted to. He kept his arm wrapped around you, resting his hand on your hip. “I love you.” He told you again. This time you answered.

“I love you too, Jack.”

The weeks that followed were tumultuous. You took the role that once belonged to Jack and found yourself waking up each night in a panicked frenzy. Each night Jack talking you down from your own head and lulled you back to sleep. You looked exhausted. Your eyes were sunken and grey, just like the walls of your home that still remained bare. Jack tried to his best to bring you back to life again.

“We should hang one of our wedding photos above that fireplace.” He suggested one morning after coming home from a long shift. You had taken time off from work. You didn’t have it in you to go back. He hates leaving you alone, but you didn’t let him take time off, knowing he’d go stir crazy at home.

“Yeah that would be nice.” You replied solemnly on your already third cup of coffee. The nights Jack was gone were the hardest. Waking up to find his spot in bed empty, it was impossible to fall back asleep.

———————————————————————

When Jack came home one morning to find a picture hanging in the kitchen, he smiled. It was small, just some watercolor painting of fruit, but it was you.

He looked for signs. He tried pulling you out of your slump. He suggested morning walks together, no matter how grueling of a shift he just had. No matter how badly he wanted to take off his prosthetic and put his leg up. He'd watch you, the way the morning sun illuminated your face.

It started subtly.

"Those flowers are pretty," you pointed to an azalea bush on one of your neighbors gardens, "I always like azaleas. It's a shame, our house gets too much sun. They need shade."

"Since when did you know anything about gardening?" Jack asked, raising his brow. You always had a little hobby on your nightstand to calm your mind, one month was crossword puzzles, another was knitting needles, but you never mentioned you had any interest in gardening.

"I always liked gardening. I just takes a lot of time I dont have. My grandfather had a huge vegetable garden I used to help him tend to." you shrugged and started listing off flowers you loved. Dalias, poppies, peonies, hydrangeas, ranunculus, allium, geranium, petunias, portulaca. The list went on and on as you told him about all the different flowers. It was all foreign language to him, he had a better understanding of Latin than whatever you were going on about. But it was the first time in weeks he saw a spark in your eyes again.

Next he found your laptop left open on the bed as you showered. You had beens scrolling Pinterest, looking at different gardens and green houses. He smiled and snapped a few photos of the screen with his phone before climbing into bed to get a few hours before his shift.

When he came home the next morning he came holding a little bouquet of flowers. You were already up, making him some breakfast.

"Hi Ja- what are these?" your eyes instantly lit up at bouquet in his hands.

"I stopped and got these on my way home, you said you like pee pees or whatever these are called." he kissed your cheek.

"Peonies Jack. Peonies." you belly laughed and kissed him back. "And they're beautiful. Thank you, baby." you interlaced your fingers for a moment as you admired the flowers. "Now go shower, you stink."

When Jack came back to the kitchen no longer smelling of urine and other bodily fluids, he sat down at the table.

"I booked a trip."

"What?" you asked him inquisitively. "Where are we going?"

"Not we, you. I booked you a few days at The Lodge at Woodloch. Its a bit of a drive but they have some spas, horseback riding, hiking, and lots of gardening classes. We were slow last night and I had time to look at everything. You leave tomorrow."

Your mouth hung open and your stomach churned. What was it you were feeling? Could that have been excitement? You wanted to argue but he seemed so happy. Plus, he had been putting so much time in lately to make you feel yourself again- you figured maybe he needed a break too. You agreed and began to pack until you looked at the price, $1,200 a night? You didnt care he was sleeping soundly, you barged into the bedroom and flipped the light on.

"Jack, have you lost your mind?" he shot up dazed and confused, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light.

"What? What happened?" he said in a tired panic.

"The price of this fucking hotel, are you insane? $1,200?" you both were pretty modest with your money despite living more than comfortably on two doctors salaries. You both preferred to save your money, plus you two were always too busy to spend it anyway.

"Baby, just let me do something nice for you. We have the money. Now can I go back to bed?"

"No, you cant." you argued, sitting at the edge of the bed, "I cant believe you would spend that much money without talking to me first."

"That would defeat the purpose of a surprise." he glanced over at the clock, 12:03 pm. He had only been asleep for about 2 hours.

"Jack..."

He grabbed your arm and pulled you up towards his chest. He buried his nose into your hair, smelling your rose scented shampoo. "Baby... you deserve this. I wanted to do this for you. I just want you to be happy." He rested his head against the headboard, his eyes fighting to stay awake. "Plus its nonrefundable. Now can I go back to sleep?"

You looked his face. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his skin was slightly pale. Brushing your hand along his cheek you kissed him tenderly.

"You're a pain in my ass, you know that?"

"And yet I remember you accepting my engagement before I could even get down on one knee."

"Because I love you."

"I love you. Now please. Enjoy yourself, yeah?"

"Yeah..."

"Now will you get the fuck out so I can sleep?"

The next morning you kissed him goodbye and made your way towards your all inclusive resort. But that was just the start of the surprise, and where Jacks project had just begun. Remember those photos he took from your Pinterest board? He spent all his free time writing plans, researching all those strange flower names, the best dirt to use, how much sun the backyard got. With his plans in hand, he got to work. As you were in the middle of your massage, Jack spent the first of his many hours garage, cutting and staining wood. You were right, although the massage felt heavenly, no one knew your body as well as Jack.

You'd occasionally send him a text massage with photos of your trip. He opened his phone to a photo of the floral arrangement you made.

"I added some pee pees in there just for you." you sent with a winky face, making fun of the fact he can never remember the name Peony. It made him smile.

"It's beautiful. When you get home I'll have another pee pee for you."

Hours later his hands ached, covered in splinters but he did not stop. Another text message.

"Making infused oils with stuff from the farm. Made this garlic rosemary infused oil. Cant wait to cook something for you with it. <3"

"Sounds Delicious"

"Going Hiking"

"Be careful, text me when you're back. I love you."

A selfie of you with a horse

“Her name is Petunia.”

“Beautiful… you aren’t so bad either.” He was such a sarcastic little shit.

Your 5 days of pure bliss had come to an end and you pulled into the driveway to find Jack sitting on the porch, covered in dirt and sweat. You looked amazing. Your skin had a sun kissed glow from your time outside, eyes sparkling with a glint of hope, hope that you’ve begun to heal.

“What’s all this? Have you been working outside?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his sweaty frame.

“Just a bit.” He smirked. If only you knew. Only knew how many hours he had spent working while you were gone. His body ached, his arms felt like jello, but a part of him came back to life with you in his arms, kissing you. You smelled like pine and citrus. “I have a surprise for you.”

“What?” You lifted your head from his chest. He lead you through the house, covering your eyes and guiding you towards the back door.

“Okay… you can open your eyes”, you heard the latch of the door and your eyes shot open, your breath hitched in your throat. The backyard had been completely transformed into a gardening oasis. Beautiful raised garden beds with cobblestone paths between them. Two greenhouses stood in the corner with ample shelving and pots full of seeds. The smell of the flowers filled your nose as you took a step forward, your mouth hung open in complete disbelief.

“I uh… I was reading that marigolds help keep pests away from fruits and vegetables. I got some of those over here.” He pointed to some of the pallets of flowers that still needed to planted. The thought of him researching all of this for you, when you thought he didn’t care. When you thought he wasn’t really listening. That whole time he was taking notes, reading articles, and asking people at the store for help. The whole time he’s been working day in and day out building your own sanctuary. You looked at him, he was nervously rubbing his hand on his neck. But there was a sense of pride of his face. He liked working with his hands. He liked creating. He liked creating for you.

“Jack…” you whispered, your eyes were full of tears as you walked around and took in everything, trying to find the words. He didn’t miss or skimp on any detail, I guess being a doctor helps. He hung lights, he even built his own irrigation system.

“Do you like it?” He finally asked, your silence was deafening.

“Jack… yes…” you choked, your voice shaking. “I love it. I don’t know what else to say… I-I-…it’s perfect.”

He came up behind you, looping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re perfect. You’re my world. And you deserve the world. My little wildflower.”

You picked up a pair of garden gloves from the table and got to work, a smile never leaving your face.

[lady-of-tearshed]

Overprotective Bat pt.2

Pairing: Azriel x pregnant!Reader

Summary: Azriel has neglected his training with Cassian lately to stay at home with you and your growing babe.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: pregnancy, anxiety/spiraling stuff, angst, hurt/comfort

A/N: Yes, I know, this was supposed to be posted tomorrow. And yet, here we are. I failed an exam, was feeling sad, so, yeah. I figures posting Azriel content would make me feel better, so enjoy.

Dividers made by @tsunami-of-tears 💙

The clock in your small cottage is the only sound breaking the peaceful silence when Azriel walks in. 

It’s late when he comes back from the training ring, his body covered in sweat and already healing bruises. Cassian hadn’t gone easy on him, he’d gotten tougher in Azriel’s absence. That’s on him for neglecting his training these past few months, Azriel thinks. If it wasn’t for you, Azriel probably would’ve never allowed himself to leave your side for this whole pregnancy and the months following the arrival of the babe. But alas, you have established some boundaries, and he needs to get used to the fact that you need to have some kind of personal space and alone time every once in a while. 

Azriel groans when he bends over to unlace his boots, placing them neatly beside yours on the grey carpet decorating the entrance hall. He hasn’t felt this sore in years, his body is revolting against him for the negligence he put them under these past few months. He really needs to get back into shape. He needs to be fit to protect you and the babe, at all times. 

A scared hand comes up to his chest, trying to rub away the unpleasant tightness the thought of being unapt to ensure your safety caused. 

His feet drag him automatically to the bathing chambers. His clothes fall to the ground, one by one, his shadows discarding them in the laundry bin for him as his mind busies to worrying. Azriel nearly scrubs his skin raw, the wet rag going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth on his body. It’s as if he’s trying to make the dread sticking to his skin go away by scrubbing it off. 

back and forth, back and forth, back and forth… 

It’s only when his skin starts to burn and sting that he halts, reality coming back to him. He still feels dirty, unworthy, and weak, when he puts down the towel. His hands are shaking, another painful reminder at how shit he is at getting a hold on himself. He’s supposed to be a spymaster, Cauldron. He should be strong, in control of his mind and body, alert at all times… 

It’s his job, to protect, to kill if needed. And yet he has let himself slip, miserably. He’s become weak, so weak. 

Perhaps he doesn’t deserve the privilege of being yours if he can’t be reasonable about it. He shouldn’t let himself get distracted. It’s dangerous, he knows it. Being weak puts you, the babe, and every citizen of Velaris at risk. 

He needs to be better than this. Better, better, better…

betterbetterbetterbetterbetterbetter—

When Azriel opens his eyes again, or when he retrieves his vision, he isn’t sure, he’s standing in the doorway of your shared bedroom. The curtains are drawn, blocking any light from penetrating the room, leaving it to bask in pitch darkness, just the way you like it. Azriel always used to sleep with the curtains pulled, rising with the sun in the morning, but when he met you, he noticed how you preferred sleeping with them drawn, so you can sleep in in the mornings when Azriel leaves for work, so he adapted. Azriel will do anything for his mate. 

The sound of your soft snores lures him to bed like a siren’s song luring a sailor in the deepest depth of the sea. He navigates blindly into the darkness and easily finds his way into bed. Azriel lifts the bedsheets and slip beneath them slowly, making sure to control his movement in order to let you sleep. He tucks his arm underneath your pillow, and your body automatically moves closer to his, your back fitting perfectly against his bare chest. 

A soft smile makes its way on Azriel’s face, his dimples adorning his cheeks. He buries his face in the back of your neck, the smell of you plus something so singular to the babe growing inside of you fill his nose and makes his heart full of love. It lightens up the constant weight on his shoulders, making his body feel lighter, almost numb. 

He yawns, allowing his eyes to close and letting the exhaustion of the day take over him. He starts to drift to sleep, a hand on your hip, the other tucked under your head, your body pressed together… 

But as soon as sleep claims him and he lets go of control, his whole body jolts. His eyes snap back open, and his breathing starts to get faster, heavier. He’s shaking, again. He needs to be alert, needs to stay in control, to protect, to–

“Az?” 

Azriel barely hears your voice over the ringing in his ears. He forces his body to relax, uncurling his clenched fist on your hip as he regains a semblance of control. “Sorry.” 

“Mh,” You mumble sleepily, scooting closer to him. 

Your hand reaches for his, tugging it forward. Gently, you open his palm, kissing it before placing it flat against your stomach. 

It has gotten so big, Azriel realizes. The babe is growing so much, and so quickly. Too quickly. A thousand of ‘what ifs’ run through his head, blurring any rational thought. 

“It’s moving, see?” You yawn, moving Azriel’s hands to where his babe his kicking inside your womb, far too excited to feel his father’s presence. “Madja says it’s a good thing. Though I’m tempted to think otherwise, this babe is really determined to steal my precious sleep away.” 

Even though your comment his followed by a tired chuckle, Azriel can’t help but feel ashamed. He knows, deep down, that it’s him tha woke you up, not the babe. 

“Hey,” You say, turning around slightly to meet his eyes through the darkness. “We’re okay. We’re safe.” 

Your words echo in Azriel’s mind, steadying his racing thoughts like an anchor. Safe. 

He nods, and his thumb gently rubs small circles on the side of your stomach. “Okay.”

“Let’s sleep, Azzie,” You yawn, your eyes closing as soon as you turn back around, letting your mate hug you from behind. “We need to rest while we can. Madaja says we won’t get much of that for the next few years after the babe's arrival.”

Azriel chuckles, silently agreeing with you as he forces his body to relax. You’re okay. You’re safe. Everything is perfect, and you and him desperately need some rest. 

And so, when sleep comes and gets him this time, he lets himself be dragged into sweet dreams of you, him, and a perfectly wrapped winged bundle wiggling in your arms. 

Azriel taglist:

ACOTAR general taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @acotar-lover @paige0103 @princesssunderworld

[cercandodiscrivere]

Damnatio memoriae | emperor caracalla x reader.

word count | 2k

warnings | 18+, NSFW, concubines, blood, dark themes (implied murder), mental health, porn with too much plot, unbeta'd.

synopsis | “Nothing was ever mine". He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. It’s almost like he’s sing-songing now, words rolling off his tongue. "Until now".

gifs by @fredhechingerdaily

Run. Run.

You are running, but the ground shifts beneath you. Screams tear through the air—familiar voices, distorted, distant.

The road is a river of bodies, writhing, pushing. Those who once praised now promised venegance – praetorians’ swords nothing to the rage.

Smoke curls in the sky, dark and thick. The air is burning with it. You stumble, slipping on something wet—hot, sticky, the scent of iron flooding your senses.

A fire blazes ahead, the orange glow painting the world in shades of red and black.

Blood. So much blood.

It fills your lungs, the sharp and suffocating smell.

Closer. Closer. The crowd surges. You push forward, but something pulls you back.

A hand touches your shoulder. Cold. Wet.

_

You are jolted awake, your eyes snapping open as you sit up in bed, heart racing. The dim light from outside filters in through the window, sending scattered rays of light across the room.

No one from the raging crowd outside has followed you into this room: the hands gripping you belong to someone you know.

Someone familiar.

Caracalla's fingers remain clasped around your shoulder — and even though you know you are awake now, the unsettling feeling remains, a sense of danger that lingers in the air.

The voices in your mind continue chanting: murder, murder, murder.

It takes a moment for you to quiet them down enough to find your voice.

“What happened?”.

His eyes are wide open, bloodshot and vacant: he stares at you and yet he is not seeing you at all. When he answers, his words are a nothing but a jumbled mix of accusations directed at the air behind your back: liar and traitor and ours.

“Are we under attack?”. Traitor, he’s saying. Maybe your dream was not at all a figment of your scared imagination; perhaps, just above your heads, angry individuals are truly storming through the halls.

If that's what's going on, Caracalla does not feel the need to confirm it. He remains as motionless as a statue —  his face just as pale as one — muttering under his breath, lost.

You reach out and grasp his arm, gently shaking him in an attempt to snap him out of his daze. “Are you injuerd?” but even as you are asking, you know he must be: his richly decorated tunic is soaked with blood, sticky and warm against your touch. In the dim light, you can't see the full extent of it, but you can smell the sharp metallic tang. You attempt to shift him closer to the light, feeling a surge of fear rising in your throat.

“Carus?”.

The endearing name falls on deaf ears. It’s just a repetition of traitor and liar and alwayshimhimhim.

He only comes to his senses when you attempt to rise and call a servant for help; then he he grabs your shoulder again, this time  with more force, and pushes you back onto the bed.

“I am fine”. He’s… chuckling.

For a brief moment, you question if this is all just another nightmare. Is Caracalla really in his own bed, sound asleep? Have the ongoing revolts taken such a toll on your sanity that you are now hallucinating him bleeding into your room?

Because there is no way for a man to lose that much blood and laugh as if nothing is wrong.

“Are you… hurt?”.

“Hurt?” he seems taken aback. “No, of course not”.

You take a deep breath as you finally have his attention. "Is it Geta?" you whisper, still concerned. "Is he injured?”.

Caracalla takes a moment to respond, his eyes darting around as if he's trying to gather his thoughts. His lips move, but the words come out in fragments. “He tried to strangle me”.

You stare at him, trying to discern if this is just another one of his warped jests — but there is no hint of humor in his expression. His brows are furrowed, a deep sorrow that animates his eyes again.

And yet, what he says could not be possible; their love for each other is too strong. There is no place where one can exist without the other. A wolf with two heads.

You nod to humor him, in an attempt to keep him focused on your face. “Geta tried to strangle you tonight?”.

“Tonight? No. No!” Caracalla now laughs, his usual mirth returning.

His face is stained in red, too: smalls pecks of blood that dot his cheeks. “Inside the womb”.

He’s rambling,you realize. He most likely fell and hurt himself, and he’s having another one of his episodes.

As you exhale, you feel a sense of calm wash over you.

The world around you is quiet; the concubine’s quarters are too distant from the entrance to hear the clamor of the crowds, but if the threat reached inside the palace halls, you would be able to hear it.

Things are under control. The praetorians have quelled the insurrection — Caracalla’s mind is rebelling on its own.

“I think you need a healer” you finally conclude.

Once again, he shakes his head — frantic now. “You don’t understand. I made it right”.

His hand jerks, digging his fingers into the skin of your shoulder. "Nothing is ever mine" he mumbles, almost as if talking to himself again. “Everything is ours, always”.

You wish you had a sweet and clever comeback; something that would snap him out of his delusions and bring him back to the real world – but you can't make sense of the words coming out of his mouth. His brother is better with this: he knows how to placate his mind, how to soothe the spirits that inhabit it.

“I’ll have a servant call Geta” you suggest — and yet this time it’s not his strength that holds you in place, but the look on his pale face. He’s livid, his usually kind features distorted with pure rage.

His gaze is no longer aimlessly wandering around the small room; his eyes are now dark and focused on you. Just the sight of him causes the hairs on your arms to stand upright.  

"No". His voice becomes more insistent as he continues. "No need. There is no Geta left to call. Don’t you get it?".

His features contort into a strange, almost anguished look as he gazes at you. "He can’t lie now”.

Confusion tightens your chest. "What do you mean? If Geta isn’t here, where is he? Is he—".

"He is fine" Caracalla interjects. The smile that follows is not a reassuring one. "He’s fine. You don’t need him. It’s just you and me now".

A sudden chill runs down your spine. In all the months you have spent as a concubine for the emperors, you have never seen him act so possessive.

While Caracalla is bashful and joyous, Geta often is the assertive one:

the brother who would have you down to your knees for entire nights just to show how superior he was.

Yet – Geta is not here, and his absence now feels unsettling.

"You don’t need him" Caracalla says again, as if he is the one trying to convince the other to see things with reason. "Nothing was ever mine". He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. It’s almost like he’s sing-songing now, words rolling off his tongue. "Until now".

His kiss, fierce and unexpected, feels more like a punch than a passionate gesture. The taste of blood—you are less and less certain this is his blood—lingers on his skin as he holds you tighter, pulling you onto his lap.

“You don't belong to him,” he whispers, pulling away briefly before his mouth crashes back onto yours. His teeth graze your lips, blood spilling in your mouth, mixing with his saliva. It's disturbing and disorienting, but you find yourself enjoying it even more.

“I decide now” he declares, now moving to your neck. He bites down like a dog — a wolf — would do with his prey, leaving bruises where his teeth dig in. You feel the thin fabric of your nightgown rip apart, and the chill of the night air hits your bare skin.

Caracalla's whispers fill the room.

His other hand, the one that is tightly holding onto your shoulder as if you might try to run away at any given moment, starts to palm your chest – and you prefer not to think about the thick, wet substance he’s coating your skin with.

The scent of blood fills your nostrils once more. “Mine”.

His soft whines fill your, an almost pathetic pleading sound. He's pressing himself against your leg, torn between the craving to have you and the need for something else first.

His tongue laps your neck once more before he finally speaks in a low whisper. “Say it” he pants. “Say you are only mine”.

You do. Whether it's true or not, in this moment, you are helpless under his control. “I am yours. Only yours.”

Caracalla is not one for foreplay, but when his cocks enters you, you are ready for it. You always are.

He eagerly begins to push and glances down at you, as if he wants to say something else; however, his gaze remains focused on something lower than your face.

Your breasts – now adorned with dark red lines where his hand had touched you before. The view holds him captive, stealing all of his attention.

His hips don't slow down as he traces patterns on your bare skin with his finger. If anything, the added stimulation only encourages him to move faster.

“You are gorgeous” he purrs. He pulls out and thrusts back in, a hard snap of his hips against yours that has you moaing.

Gods help you, you want to tell him how breathtakingly beautiful he is. How, to you, he has always been as bright as the sun. Radiant.

Yet — he’s consuming you entirely, rendering you speechless: so instead you hold onto his back with all your might and squeeze your thighs around his hips, urging him on. Yours yours only yours.

“No lies” he pants, his breath hot. He pounds into your harder, rougher, as if he has something to prove. His grunts are interrupted by small fits of laugh, delighted and unhinged.

Caracalla is ravenous. It's unusual, and you can't help but feel a bit unnerved – but at the same time you can’t stop the heat rising in your lower stomach. It's as if you're melting under his burning touches.

His mouth opens wide with a loud groan, and his eyelids flutter in ecstasy for a brief moment. You cling to him as you ride the sensation together — hands gripping each other, legs trembling and muscles straining as you hold on to him with all your strength. He keeps calling you mine as he he shakes and shudders in pleasure, his cock emptying inside you.

The world holds its breath, just for a moment, as Caracalla pants heavily against your neck. “You are so good for us” he murmurs, pulling out of you.  

You can feel his warm seed dripping down the inside of your thigh, mingling with the blood: the thought sobers you, right before Caracalla leans in to share one last kiss and moves.

You let him drag your body down next to him on the ground. It’s cold, but you don’t want to move: the man hasn't looked this peaceful in a while.

Caracalla absentmindedly starts playing with your hair, just like he used to do when you first arrived at the palace.

He strokes your skin with tenderness; his gaze returning to its usual soft demeanor.  

It’s him who breakes the silence.

“Tomorrow is going to be a great day”. His voice is calm now, eager.

You can sense that in his mind, he is already living out the grandiose moment that awaits him in the morning.

The blood on his skin has dried in a multitude of dark brown freckles. Some of them splash into his neck and torso; the right side of his body almost entirely stained by it, but he doesn't seem to notice or care.

It’s no matter. Nothing happened, that’s what he told you.

“Geta will be so happy for me”.

[space-blue]

Fixing Vander and Silco's story (a bit)

Using canon events! Sadly we can't actually fix it, but I hope this makes it a little better. I make my own edit proposal at the end that changes the bar scene to include Felicia without issues.

They meet in the mines, and meet Felicia and her partner there too. They end up together somehow (I think we can put the brotherly allegations to rest now, eh?) and one of them (or both) inherit/buy a bar.

Although Vander is the barman, there is no indication Silco doesn't own or co-own the place. After all he comes to take it eventually as his own, and he's still not bartending. That's just not his gig.

It's implied that Vander and Silco made it, as in, got away from the mines, while Felicia clearly didn't, as she comes home to both her daughters with mining gear and gloves.

So despite Vander and Silco building the Lanes together, the mines aren't closed, and the work "isn't done".

Felicia says they've done it, and Vander is happy to celebrate their success. Meanwhile, Silco has his "NoZ" Nation of Zaun book in which he's scribbling, still planning.

Vander's first memory that Viktor sees even has Silco holding that book.

Later, in season 1 episode 3, we see that Vander tells Silco that he had Vander's respect, the Lanes' respect, but it "was never enough".

There's also this fakeout moment in the memory at the bar, where Vander says they're done, and Silco replies with "You're gravely mistaken". And I thought he was going to go all zealous and say "We'll only be done when we have the Nation of Zaun", but no, he claims he's Bozo 1.

And imo, he is probably right. He calls out Vander in act 1 saying "I trusted you and you betrayed me", and Vander does not contest this. It makes the most in character sense as well that Silco is the brains of the operation while Vander is the brawn.

And we can conclude that Silco's goals were always "bigger" and that the Lanes were indeed not enough.

Years pass, during which we can only assume Silco keeps building his Nation of Zaun and Vander happily bartends and manages the Lanes with Silco. Felicia keeps working the mines and raises Vi, then Powder.

Vi is at least 11, if not more, by the time she's on the bridge. This is just consistent with her model, but also to make her 18+ by the time of act 2.

It's a long ass time for Vander and Silco to be running a bar and the Lanes together. Even assuming Vi is more 8 or 9yo, Vander and Silco spend all that time being together.

Sadly, their models aren't aged very well.

We are also forced here to make some unfortunate assumptions.

It's not a problem, IMO, for Silco to know Felicia and be close to her. It's a problem for him to not be close to Vi and Powder too. Close enough to recognise them at least.

It's easy to say, "Well, Felicia went back to the mines and raised her kids and wasn't super involved with Vander and Silco, who lived much higher up in their bar." Adult friendships and all that.

IT MAKES SENSE, but then it makes zero sense that Vander would murder his life's partner, a man he's been with 10 years at MINIMUM (fuck knows how long they were together while in the mines), over the death of a friend in a revolt they allegedly BOTH participated in.

The memories also imply that Silco is responsible somehow, for throwing a molotov. And yet the molotov doesn't kill the enforcer.

But Vander is shown in the opening of Act 1 season 1 pummeling one to death himself, long after the rest of the revolt has died down. That enforcer wasn't getting back up lol

So whatever we pick, because the writers made Felicia and Silco close, they create a plot hole either way.

Either Vander is whacko and murders his husband over a dead friend at a revolt he set up (since he repeatedly apologises for what he did, and claims he "lost his head after she died" and had that guilt on his hands too)

Or Silco and Vi and Powder spend ALL of season 1 acting like they don't know each other at all. Then Silco takes in Powder and somehow never comments on the fact he was friends with her mom.

Everything being triggered by Felicia's death also means that Vander's emotional thematic moment dropping the gauntlets after seeing what his violence led to is then followed up by a horrible attempted murder on the love of his life, which is... you know. Bad writing.

So I propose that they indeed drift apart. Silco knows of Felicia's kids, and they hangout a bit, but they aren't that close. She's busy mining and being a mom, and Silco is busy making the safe Zaun he promised to deliver.

The creation of that Zaun leads them to act out revolts and uprisings. Vander is happy to follow. He's angry, like he tells Vi. And this manifests in violence. Silco points his violence. It's how they create the Lanes and the moniker of Hound of the Underground. A hound usually has a master, after all.

Vander is Silco's hound, and I think, in Vander's mind this absolves him of some of the consequences of his actions.

So when his friend dies on the Bridge, even if they haven't been that close in a while, well, it's easy to put the blame on Silco.

Since we're following the new canon timeline... we'll have to have him go back with the girls, ready to turn a new leaf.

I think the best way here is to have him either dropping them at an orphanage, or back at their home (trusting Vi to look after Powder for a while) or with friends.

That way, Vi and Powder aren't immediately in Silco's legs back at the drop.

Then Vander and Silco take part in the "clean up" at the bridge. They go get bodies, and since they have no real estate in the fissures, they commit them to the sea (we have canon monsters in there, so I'm sure it all gets gobbled up).

That way, we explain why Vander is weirdly shaved, and why Silco and him are at in the Pilt: they just commited the bodies of the fallen to the waters.

There may have been many others, but Silco and Vander stay there, in the shallows, as they talk.

Vander is done. He doesn't want more of this. He thinks Silco went too far with pushing this one to the bridge. Piltover got defensive and they lost too many people.

Silco doesn't get it. Where he goes, so does Vander, but Vander is his own man, he decided to come too, and he killed enforcers too. Felicia's death is tragic, but as he later will tell Renni about the death of her son: at least she died fighting for the cause, and not some petty infighting, or worse, an accident at the shitty mines.

Vander, the Hound, is not only mad with grief, he refuses to carry the blame of his own actions. It's a character flaw and that's fine! The angry man channels that anger with violence, the only way he knows how.

Silco is probably shocked, and may not say the right things to calm Vander down.

Silco is under the assumption that Vander BELIEVES IN HIS DREAM. That he's a true believer of the Nation of Zaun, like Sevika turns out to be. A true believer would understand sacrifice. A true believer would understand too, that stopping now, after Felicia's death, would make THAT VERY DEATH POINTLESS.

So maybe he screams at Vander! What do you MEAN abandoning the fight? What do you mean, being content with the Lanes? How dare you? You'd make her sacrifice meaningless! You'd make Felicia die a pointless death!

And Vander would bellow that it's over. No more death. No more bloodshed. He rescued her kids from that bridge, and they don't deserve to die too, they don't deserve to see more death.

And Silco screams back that it's their job to create Zaun so these children won't have to see more death. Vander is just delaying the struggle.

And then, perhaps, Silco may even mock him. Say that Vander can't change like that. That he's not that sort of person, to just hang up his gauntlets and go peaceful. That Felicia's blood is on his hands too, and that the only way out is through more blood, more sacrifice.

It would be a horrible point to make, if then Vander truly loses it. Silco runs, and Vander's hound comes out, just grabbing Silco and trying to drown him.

It would be poetic, because then Vander goes home in shame. Gets his arm patched up, hides the scar under a brace, collects the kids and tries to pretend like HE CAN BE THAT MAN. Even though he surrendered his gauntlets and metaphorical violence, and tries to lean into the bartender chill persona, there's what he did to Silco.

And later he'll tell Vander "I'll show you what you really are". Because Silco knows that Vander's promises of being a peaceful good dad are flimsy at best.

Anyway, Vander goes home, and eventually the impact of what he's done really hits him. He's single now, and with kids, and the Lanes to run, and nobody knows where Silco is.

Vander slowly realises Silco was right about one thing. Just because Vander followed, doesn't mean he wasn't behind that event on the bridge. Becoming the solo leader of the Lanes has to have hammered that home for him. Suddenly so much responsibility thrust on him.

So Felicia's death was on him too, and his actions against Silco are the proof that he is indeed the sort of man Silco said he was. At any rate, surrendering violence as his first reaction to any trigger will take a lot of work.

He goes to their old hideout and leaves a letter for Silco.

In the happy AU, Silco finds it, and returns to Vander BEFORE ever meeting Singed. There is no glowing eye, no shimmer, and no cannery.

In our AU, Silco never finds the letter. He finds Singed instead. Starts helping him develop shimmer.

I've been thinking that since the goal of shimmer is a form of "keeping alive" and also "bringing back to life", then it's possible that Silco's glowing eye is a byproduct of shimmer experimentation.

And that the only way to keep it alive and function is more shimmer injections. It would otherwise be grey and dead like in the Nice AU.

So Singed is also a factor here. He gives our Silco a real way to deal scary violence to Piltover. And this changes our Silco. He's more radicalised, and more opposed to Vander, having discovered that Vander works with Grayson to keep Zaun under Piltover's boot (basically making sure the boot stays, but doesn't press down too hard).

Vander is, as always, the enforcer of the status quo.

And though this works for them timeline wise, it sadly doesn't change the fact that Silco should know who Vander's kids are.

Vi and Jinx can be excused for not recognising him, what with him being one of their mom's adult friends, and scarred. But Silco doesn't have that luxury. His great friend Felicia had two very distinctive kids, ONE OF WHICH VANDER FUCKING NAMED! And her death triggered his husband so badly he tried to kill Silco over it. If anything, Silco would be hyper-aware of Felicia's kids.

And no amount of alternate fix-its changes that. It's permanent damage to season 1's Silco.

I feel like we can fix Vander's side of things by inventing an entire scene at the Pilt as I did above, but we can't fix 10 years of knowing your friend's kids and then a lifetime of acting like you don't know them.

I think it also cheapens the found family aspect of both Vander and Silco's adoption. You're left to wonder if they took in the girls only because they were friends with the mom.

Silco's adoption of Jinx and co-dependence with her was great because it spoke of the similar shape of their traumas, and how unexpected their bond seemed.

But now it's redolent of friendly obligation. And lies.

How would I fix it by keeping Felicia in the picture?

I would fully remove Felicia's one-on-one with the boys. That night at the bar? It's a party. Young Sevika is here too!

Felicia and many others are there, all congratulating Vander and Silco over the creation of the Lanes. Eventually Silco tires of the social niceties and goes to write in his notebook at the bar. Or maybe there's a montage of the night as the crowds thin.

In the end, Silco is writing, and Vander is still socialising. He talks to 3 people--Felicia, her husband, and a random person. They thank him for all his work. They've done it! And the conditions in the mines are so much better now thanks to XYZ!

Vander is beaming, he's just so pleased. It's clear for him this is the end goal. Felicia asks him, pointing to Silco, if he's okay.

Vander laughs, says Silco is fine, but he's already got his head back in the clouds. You see, Silco doesn't just want the Lanes, he dreams of a free Nation of Zaun.

The other 2 laugh, but Felicia sobers up. She rubs her belly, thoughtful. Then she says "Sounds like a dream worth fighting for."

I don't think she even needs to say anything about being pregnant, but she could go on with something like "I'm expecting. A girl, I think. I know. And I would love if she could grow in a safe city. I'm so scared she'll have to live the way I did, growing up.'

And Vander smiles sadly and tells her, 'We've gotten this far, and we're not going back. We'll make Zaun safe for your kiddo, I promise you that.'

And that's it.

Vander knows OF Felicia. She is a community member. He knows her enough, maybe from Lanes meetings, that eventually he can recognise her children. But they're not friends, and SILCO definitely isn't friends.

And the disagreement after the bridge is fully about where to go from then on, and Vander deciding he wants to run the Lanes and keep them safe, that what they have now is good enough, while Silco wants "more".

That disagreement can turn nasty, and the fact Vander tried to drown Silco becomes a statement about how violent and temperamental he is as "The Hound of the Underground". Something he'll regret soon enough and spend the next few years working hard to try and change.

What do you think?

[theweirdhybrid]

I would love to but I just poured all of my writing Thoughts into finishing a scene for my fic and it’s nearly 5am and I took one look at this screenshot and thought “Damn maybe his forehead really IS that big”

Something about this shot just… evokes feelings in me.

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (nocturnal file) 18+

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: oh, no! What is this? Did I let my imagination get the better of me again? To those of you asking for smut, this is one way we can satisfy those desires. Oh, and no taglist for this file - whoever finds it, finds it. It'll be our (and Ewan's!) little secret.

previous chapter ▪︎ series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Aemond's patience is sorely being tested.

The battle is on the morrow, and the Blackwood bitch refuses to relent useful intelligence on the enemy's doings.

Aemond had captured her as a prize of war, and kept her in the dungeons of the Red Keep. He would visit her every so often, trying to get her to break, to see her relentlessly vexing spirits dimmed.

But to no avail. She is as stubborn as her entire, rotten lot. This bastard daughter of House Blackwood, a formidable swordswoman in her own right, would be someone whom Aemond might admire, if the circumstances were different.

If he did not hate her with every fibre of his being.

It is callous, almost desperate. He did not know of his precise aim when he asked the guards to deposit her in his chambers.

Yet here she is.

Hair matted and skin decorated with grime and mud and dried blood. The blood isn't even hers - she had clawed and fought tooth and nail when Aemond attempted to subdue her. And he did. But it feels as if he had gained nothing out of it.

Only the presence of this rough and foul-mouthed bastard girl, a sorry excuse for a lady.

If only she did not possess a fire that Aemond hadn't seen before in anyone else. If only she wasn't so fucking beautiful.

"Do you plan to question me some more, One-Eye? Or are you finally going to kill me?"

With those words, Aemond realises that he never planned to kill her. Nor does he ever wish to. She is his prize, after all.

And his prize throws him off guard with another query, "Or perhaps... you would do away with all this pretense and fuck me like your whore?"

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Aemond lunges forward and grips her jaw. She only smirks, as if enjoying it, "I've seen the way you look at me, One-Eye. You'd sooner bed me than get rid of me, admit it."

He towers over her figure, imposing and formidable, and yet it is she that has the upper hand. He feels unsure for once. Of what is to happen next. Of his own compromised desires.

So she decides for him, when she rises on her tiptoes and presses her warm mouth to his.

It feels wretched. It is revolting, kissing the enemy, and yet Aemond finds himself leaning closer. He drags her to his bed and pushes her down atop the sheets. She flops like a rag doll, groaning in protest, but then spreads her legs wide open, inviting him in.

"Fuck you, bastard," he licks a stripe down her neck, his actions negating his words, "You are nothing to me."

"By all means, One-Eye," she only purrs, "fuck me."

That is all he needs. He rips off all trace of clothing from their wanting bodies. Positioning himself, he torments her with his hardened cock prodding at her wet cunny.

With an animalistic growl of both rage and surrender, he thrusts inside, and she feels him deep in the warmth of her cunt. His balls smack against the skin of her arse, and again when he slides out and back in. All the way in.

"Gods, One-Eye," she traces the scar on his cheekbone with one delicate finger, the motion gentle and almost foreign, "you're not letting me go after this, are you?"

"Never," he rasps, connecting his lips against hers, resuming his thrusting. "Uhhhhh, fuck, fuck," he moans against her parted mouth, his sounds turning into hissing when she resorts to digging her nails into his back as he slams his cock in roughly, right to the hilt.

"What will... become of... me, hmm?" she asks, in between panting. Their bodies grow sweaty, glistening in the candlelight. The lewd sounds of his cock fucking her aching pussy is like music to his ears. He cradles her face with one hand, and responds, "You will be mine. You are mine."

"I can't be, now, can I? You're still in New York," she says.

What did she say? Aemond startles, sitting back on his heels. With his cock still buried inside her, she follows suit so she sits on top of him. He nearly loses his mind when she gazes at him, biting her lip in the most lustful manner.

"I've never ridden a dragon before," she says, slowly gliding her pussy up and down his cock. "You feel so good, baby."

"B-baby?" Aemond does not understand the moniker. Is it customary among the Blackwoods to call a lover such? What a strange thing. And what did she mention before? What of this New Ark?

"I wish you were with me," she moans, bouncing on top of him, pressing her breasts against his face. Milking his cock like her life depends on it, and it just might. This Blackwood bastard would have leverage if she had dragonseed in her belly.

"I am with you," he breathes, before kissing her again, but she quickly pulls away.

"No you aren't, Ewan," she protests. "You're away."

Ewan?

"Ewan!" he hears someone call out. "Ewan, we yelled cut a while ago!"

Aemond - Ewan - blinks against an onslaught of bright light. The set is illuminated once more. He sees you still sitting on top of him, grinning impishly. But you're not fully naked as he thought - you wear pasties on your breasts in the same shade of your skin, as well as matching underwear. He looks down at this cock, and sees it covered in some fitted piece of cloth.

"Where are we, Blackwood?"

You only giggle lightly at his confusion, "Ewan, baby, are you still in character?"

"My... my name is Aemond."

"Oh, baby," you press your forehead to his, "of course it is. My Aemond."

"That was beautiful, you two," a woman approaches them, "All in all, a perfect take."

He hears himself speak, but he doesn't fully understand what he means, "It's easy because we are in love in real life, I suppose."

The Blackwood girl - you - shuffle over to the edge of the bed, and a woman comes forward and uses some brush on your face.

This is not the Red Keep. He is not Aemond?

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to knock some sense into himself. When he opens them again, he finds himself transported in what looks like your hotel room in LA.

"Ewan," he hears you whisper. He looks down and the both of you are naked under the sheets, cuddling each other. He feels lighter now, more content. The sensation that he no longer possesses his long, silver hair washes over him.

Because he is Ewan, his identity sliding back into place like a puzzle piece.

And you're his love.

You place a kiss on his chest, then the crook of his neck, and finally, his lips.

"I want you," your words come so sweetly, so faint, and yet it sends shivers down his spine.

He feels your soft touch gliding against his skin, your fingers tracing the contours of his abs, then down, down, to his erect...

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Ewan's eyes fly open. He looks around the room frantically, trying to right himself and return to full consciousness.

He's in his hotel room in New York. The digital clock reads 4:40 AM. This would be the day of his meeting, and it's way too early to be awake.

That dream. Oh, fuck, that dream.

It has rendered him warm all over, covered in a sheen of sweat. He feels something straining under the covers. Under his boxers. Some thing to deal with.

A remnant of the dream, and of you.

Of you. It's depraved, and he feels like a hypersexual teenage boy. But it wouldn't be the first time. He reaches for his phone and finds his favourite picture of you.

The screen illuminates his face in the darkness. His other hand shamelessly creeps its way in the shadows, down below.

And with heavy-lidded eyes, and a yearning heart and body, he dreams.

soooo, I think we all know what he did at the end 😉

I know this is not direct, full-on, real-person smut (I'm still on the fence about that) but whatever works, eh?

thanks for participating in our secret sessions! See you for part five of the series <3

[baocean]

piss off your parents

chapter twenty seven - it was fake

you’d been acting weird ever since sarah all but exploded on you about why jj went awol. you’d barely been over to the house, barely looked at him, barely texted.

he'd freaked you out. he’d hurt you. you werent sure how to react to it.

today was supposed to be good, a group dinner that would smooth everything over, that would make things feel normal again.

he didn’t even let the back door shut behind you before the words were out.

“so that’s it?” jj said, his voice too calm to be anything but dangerous. “hooray, unc. now i’m just… done?”

you froze, fingers still on the doorknob. “what are you talking about?”

he stared at you, eyes sharp, like he was trying to piece you together and nothing was fitting anymore. “your parents gave in. we played our parts perfectly, and now you don’t even look at me.”

you turned slowly, face unreadable. “jj…”

“no, don’t do that,” he snapped. “don’t give me that look like i’m overreacting. like i’m fucking crazy.”

“i’m not—”

“you are,” he cut in. “you’ve been pulling away since the second it worked. you don’t text back, you barely talk to me. you’re acting like i’m something you’re trying to shake off.”

“jj, just...can we not do this right now?” your voice cracked like glass, thin and tight and exhausted.

he laughed, bitter and sharp. “too late. you told me to sell it. said it had to feel real. and i did, yn. i fucking did. i gave you everything i had.”

you flinched. just barely. “that’s not fair,” you said, voice rising, finally matching the heat in his.

“isn’t it?” he shot back. “because it sure as hell feels like i was just part of the plan. and now, i’m nothing but the reminder.”

you crossed your arms, jaw tight. “i never promised you anything.”

jj’s breathing stuttered. you stared at each other, chests rising and falling too fast, like you couldn’t get enough air. anger and fear and want all bleeding into each other, all tangled up beneath your skin.

neither of you spoke. and you so badly wanted him to just say what he was really feeling. but he didnt, he just stared at you.

so you said the worst thing you could think of.

“it was fake, jj.”

his face shifted, like a crack forming right down the middle. like something caved in behind his eyes. but it was only there for a second, before his expression hardened, darkened.

“then what the fuck am i doing here, yn?” his voice was sharp, cutting.

you didn’t answer for a second. you couldn’t. your throat felt like it was closing.

you shrugged, blinking back the tears that would have given you away in a heartbeat.

jj wanted to walk out right now. but he couldnt, wouldnt, he wasn’t ready to let it go, not yet. he was still angry. still hurt. and his best idea was to hurt you right back.

“right. because none of it meant anything to you, huh?” he said, stepping closer. “not the nights you stayed. not the way you looked at me like you meant it. not the kiss.”

“don’t you dare put this all on me,” you shot back, taking a step forward yourself, fire in your eyes. “you’re not the only one who’s been caught up in this, jj. i’m not some heartless person who used you. this isn’t my fault.”

jj’s expression faltered for a moment, but then he snapped, “yeah? feels like it is.”

you ground your teeth, chest tight with anger. “you want to talk about fault? you haven’t even congratulated me on unc, the thing i’ve worked so hard for! you disappeared for twenty hours, and then you came back acting like i’m the one who shut myself off!”

“congrats, bunny." his voice cracked. "you wanted your freedom? to revolt against your parents? your little rebellion before your perfect life at college? well, you’re free. you’re so fucking free.”

“jj—”

“a deal’s a deal, you got your end. we can finally be done now,” he said, his voice cold and rough, like he didn’t recognize it. “go ahead and leave. forget about all this like it never happened. just like you always planned.”

you stared at him, throat burning, chest tight. you wanted to scream. to cry. to tell him he was wrong, to tell him he was right.

instead you said, “fuck you, jj.”

it came out low. furious. shaky. and it made jj's face fall, his body go limp.

you didn’t wait for him to answer, and he didn’t stop you from leaving.

her phone

his phone

her phone

masterlist | next chapter

note from the author - i’m sorry please forgive me

taglist - @dr3amgrlll / @murdockcastleslut / @jjmaybankmylovee / @smokahontas-113 / @abigailovesz / @enchantedstarfish / @reeseswirl / @lmaowhatt / @moonywhisp3rs / @dylsdaily / @idli-dosa / @bloodofadoll / @cokewithcameron / @mariamadison6-blog / @rrosiitas / @always-reading / @sunflouer04 / @bambigirl10 / @mirellef2001 / @wasiasproject t / @bee-43 / @kissesandmartinis / @gublerstylesobrien1238 / @isinpfortvdmen / @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account / @mjwashere / @sideboobrry11 / @ameliacione13 / @wrtzia / @sanriobuny / @dramagodesss / @luvrclub / @yesshewrites1 / @ayy1234567 / @doesnt-care / @rainingcecilias

[lycanlure]

Show ME

Giselle (dom!) x M! Reader (sub!)

Tags : mast*rb*tion, non-con(ish), f!mdom, male-s!b (enjoyy)

Aeriel💦 : y/n, come.

Slurt?! (Y/n) : why?

Aeriel💦 : now.

As I struggled to get myself ready, the fear of disappointing her again churned my insides. Fear knotted in my stomach as I walked through the streets... Arriving at her apartment I stood for a second, I tried ringing the door bell. But I was immediately pulled inside, not even grazing the door bell. She immediately kissed me, rough, unalarmed, careless...

Like I was a toy to begin with, "A-Aeri..." I spoke, as she quickly ravaged my lips. "Ignoring me at campus now? Getting brave?" She told me, as she kept attacking my lips, her mouth worked wonders on me. My legs are shivering, weakened. One kiss and I'm head over heels again. Pulling away a bit as she was getting too rough with me and I needed to breathe.

"What do you clearly want?" I said to her, as I held my arm, I was too shy to look at her, she kept dominating me. "You're ignoring me, why? You wanna break things up?" Shocked by her remarks, I held my mouth. "Wow, good guess" I clapped... She immediately pushed to the wall, banging my head in the process... "The f*ck you yapping about, Huh?!" She scolded me, "Think you can just go and break things up between us?" She added quickly. "You think I'm ok, you're treating me like someone you can just, just dispose of?!" I fired back, "I'm not even your... Boyfriend".

"I'm just a boy in school you bully and use." I looked down. She slapped me, my face hissing at the pain. She then hastily grabbed your neck and dragged you. "G-Guh! A-Aeri! S-Sto-" She threw you at the sofa, she then kneeled in front of you. She then pulled out her phone, "H-Hold on, A-Aeri p-please... D-Dont, t-the photos..." Your face turned pale as she flashed you with your nudes and videos of you getting railed by her friends and her.

"So? Wanna break things up? Alright!" She then pulled your pants down, "A-Aeri, p-please... N-No" I shivered as she forcefully pulled my pants. "Lets see then!" She pressed record on her phone, as her hands grabbed my cock. Gripping it tightly, "A-Aeri, I-I wont break up with you, o-ok?" You said shivering. "P-Please?" I pleaded but her face replied with something much, darker, disgusting and revolting. She slowly moved her hands roughly on my shaft, me grabbed her hand to stop, but no.

She would never stop for me, she'll only stop once she's done. She looked at me with anger, she tightened her grip and moved closer to you. "I'll post this in the GC where every student is in and they'll see your pathetic cock getting jacked off dry" Her whisper made me cry, her hands began to move even faster. "I-It hurts, A-Aer-" I got cut off as she pushed me down further. Her grasp tightened as her lips met mine.

The kiss was rough, sloppy, slow yet subtle, and needy. I know she loves me but... The feeling of every time we do it, I always felt used. Is it because every time we're done she heads to her phone and do completely nothing? Am I being too sensitive? Or maybe she's just insensitive? "You taste so good" her voice, raspy.

'Shit' I whispered to myself, her voice just breaks me. It just completely weakens me, no other girl can make me feel like a b*tch in heat. As her hand moved away from my shaft, I looked at her. "What? Want more bitch?" She smirked, I only looked at her. My eyes are pleading for more, as her finger flicks my head (the other one) slowly. As she laces it with her saliva, spitting them all over.

Lacing my shaft with her spit, she started sucking me off, slow. "S-Stop... Nggghh" I moaned, "Keep that up, bitch". Her head bobbed on my cock, as wet sounds that came from her mouth. Wet slurps enveloped the room. "So salty, so addictive" Her voice rang through my brain like lightning, those words made me weak on my knees.

'Is this what heaven feels lik-, no! I must resist this?' I whispered to myself. As her head game was not like any other I have experienced before. "Fuck, just cum already!" She ordered as she was sucking and jerking me harder than ever. The sloppy blow job and the sloppy jerk of her hands made it harder to not cum. "A-Aeri, p-please... Ugghh!" I pushed her head away lightly, but she deepened it.

"SHIT!" This sent shocks through my brain. As my limit is about to reach, she lifted both of my legs, and inserted a finger inside me. "Aeri! Ngghh, w-what are you? S-sto-" I moaned, unable to stop her. "Shut up, you'll like" she smirks as her finger slithered my insides, i trembled. Her fingers ravaging my insides, I can only groan in ecstasy. She was poking my prostate, making me finally reach my limit.

"Cum, bitch!" She pressed hard on my prostate, sending me in a disgusting, convulsing, twitching, orgasm. As my juice smothered in her mouth. "A-Aeri..." My breathing, now weak. She attacked my lips again, "Love that? There's more coming bitch, think of this as a punishment, alright?." She whispered. 'I fucking hate this girl... I can't keep letting her do this' you thought to yourself, not long after, she did not waste anytime and went down on you again.

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

Now eating your ass out, you can only shiver. As her tongue drove in, your insides were now wet with her saliva. Your legs jolted up, as her tongue reached your prostate. Massaging it with her wet, meaty, tongue. You kept telling her to 'stop', none prevailed as her advances only made you more susceptible to her orders. "A-Aeri, n-no more..." Your voice is weak, due to cumming continuously non-stop.

"Shut up, my turn. Bitch!" She grabbed your legs lifting them up, as she looked down at you. Her eyes lit up and aligned herself. Her pussy pointing down to your still hardened cock. "I'm going to fuck you like a miserable bitch you are, now I can watch a video of you getting fucked like a hooker on a friday night" She laughed her, as she held your cock and easily slide her glistening pussy ready to devour your cock. "I'm going to drown this cock with my own cum!" She giggled, as she slammed herself on your cock.

Like a big hammer slamming itself on a small nail. Her hands gripped hard on your ankles, as her movements became erratic in an instance. The repeating movements of her moving up and down vigorously on your cock, knotted your stomach. She came instantly when she inserted it inside her, now she's cumming again. Her pleasure from you is no different from how your pleasure is on her. You came hard? She cums harder. "S-Stop! Aeri, please!" You pleaded crying, "I c-cant stop! Ngghhh!, must. K-Keep. G-Going." Her eyes turned lustful.

As her movements became rougher, faster and most importantly monstrous. "G-Go-, A-Aeri! Fuckin-, s-stop! Aeri, p-please, I-I'm c-cumming!" Your legs flew in the air as your stomach tied in a knot. "F-Fuck! Y/N! C-Cum with me slut! Now!" She ordered, her grip tightened as her limit was also nearing. You both came, Aeri is in pure bliss as she came with you and the feeling of you filling her up only made it more clearer to her. You're now in her control, and you.

This can only mean one thing, escaping her is impossible. Even if she hurts you, she has already marked you... As hers. Nothing can change that, her lips, her body, her scent, everything about her. Is now programmed inside you. "Be a good boy now ok, I don't want to do this again, got it?" She said innocently, you can only nod in agreement. "F-Fuck..." Your legs shivered due to immense sex and pain.

She smiled looking at me, satisfied with her craft she kissed my lips, "I love you, Y/N" and then left. I know she'll do this, and I know she'll do it again. I hate her, so much... I sobbed while I lay flat on her bed. Used again, nothing hurts more than being used like a toy, maybe... Maybe she'll change? I dont know, but she never said 'I love you' before... Even after doing it, maybe...

But maybe... She'll CHANGE?

End_________________

[probablyasocialecologist]

In place of blanks on the map, we’re now able to see highly cultivated landscapes with massive infrastructure stretching back to the early centuries BCE. Road networks, terraces, ceremonial earthworks, planned residential neighbourhoods, and regional settlement systems ordered into patterns of geometrical precision can be traced across Amazonia, from Brazil to Bolivia, as far as the eastern foothills of the Andes. In certain parts of Amazonia, the forest itself turns out to be a product of past human interaction with the soil. Over time, this generated the rich ‘anthropogenic’ earths called terra preta de índio (‘black earth of the Indians’), with levels of fertility far in excess of ordinary tropical soils. Scientists now believe that between 10,000 and 20,000 large-scale sites remain to be discovered across Amazonia. Similarly startling finds are emerging from Southeast Asia, and we might reasonably expect them from the forested parts of the African continent too. Of course, the same procedures are changing our picture of tropical landscapes that did witness the rise and fall of great kingdoms, and even empires. Archaeologists now believe that in the year 500 CE, between 10 and 15 million people lived in the Maya lowlands of Yucatán and northern Guatemala. For comparison, the Atlas offers a figure of just 2 million for all of Mexico in the same era, including the Indigenous cities of the Altiplano (at least some of which, we now know, were organised not as empires or even kingdoms, but fiercely autonomous republics, long before the Spanish conquest). It is easy, encouraged by works such as the Atlas, to imagine ancient history as a chequerboard of kingdoms and empires. But it is also very misleading. Ancient polities in the Maya lowlands and Southeast Asia had porous boundaries, constantly shifting, and open to contestation. Authority waned with distance from the centre. Warfare and tribute were largely seasonal affairs, after which coercive power shrank back behind the walls of the capital. As the archaeologist Monica Smith points out, only the most naive historian would assume that the claims inscribed on imperial monuments are a simple reflection of political reality on the ground. Of course ancient rulers loved to present themselves as ‘sovereigns of the four quarters’, ‘masters of the known world’, and so on. Yet no ancient world emperor could even have imagined powers of surveillance, such as those now enjoyed by any minor dictator or oligarch. On a global scale, we are witnessing a revolution in our understanding of ancient demography. To ignore it, these days, is to indulge in a cruel sort of intellectual prank, by which the genocide of Indigenous populations – a direct consequence of the planetary revolt against freedom, in the past 500 years – is naturalised as a perennial absence of people. Nor can we just assume that if we want to understand the prospects for our modern world, the only ‘big’ stories worth telling are those of empire.

5 July 2024

[soopcak3]

I’m Sorry..

Kang Dae-Ho/Angst🌧️

Summary: right before the revolt, Gi-Hun asks if the other players are willing to join the fight. It doesn’t end well for Y/N..

Warnings: blood/gore, gun violence, overall sad vibes.

This was it. The revolt against the people who had put everyone here. Justice for those who died, and those who were willing do risk their lives to end the games for good.

Gi-Hun and several others, including your best friend Dae-ho had gathered guns and ammo from the guards they had killed moments before. Dae-ho’s oldest sister had babysat Y/N as a kid so she and Dae-ho had spent a lot of time together, and practically grew up together. Playing lots of Gonggi and cooking and having lots of fun, but now none of that mattered. What mattered was getting out of here and ending the games.

Gi-Hun asked if anyone would join them in their fight against the guards. Y/N stepped up, “I… I will.”

“Y/N no!” Dae-ho interrupted, “you can’t! It’s too dangerous!” She waved him off.

“Don’t try telling me what’s dangerous now! I’ve made my choice. I’d rather die in a fight than die helplessly in one of those games!!” Y/N shouted back. Dae-ho stood there helplessly as Gi-hun nodded. Hyun-ju quickly taught everyone how to use the guns, it was amazing how she had the whole rooms attention, except for Dae-ho. He was focused entirely on y/n.

As they exited the room, Dae-ho quickly walked in front of y/n as though he was blocking her. She glared at him but didn’t say anything, she had to focus on the task at hand.

As they went up the stairs, the first wave of attack started. Y/N fired her gun as best as she could, and although she wasn’t skilled she managed to shoot a few guards and even take one down. She looked over at Dae-ho who was trembling from the gun fire, she knew about his PTSD and her eyes softened. They continued up the stairs once the fight was over.

Dae-ho, still trembling, felt a hand on his shoulder causing him to flinch. He turned quickly and saw Y/N, “are you okay, Dae-ho? Do you.. need to go back?” She asked, her eyes gentle and caring. He shook his head, his hands trembling slightly. Y/N nodded, trusting his judgment, but still slightly worried.

Then the next attack started. Everyone was doing so well at first, then Gi-hun and Jung-bae split off to go find the control room. They were holding their own at first then Y/N turned to see Dae-ho behind a pillar, firing his gun over his head. She quickly crawled over, “Dae-ho, it’s okay, you need to get up though.. we can do this! We’re doing so well!” Y/N said, her voice gentle yet shaky. He nodded but as Y/N began to stand— BOOM.

She fell to the floor, blood gushing from her chest. Dae-ho quickly crawled over, hands shaking and breathe hitching. “Oh my— Y/N!! SOMEONE HELP HER!!” He cried, looking around at everybody and realizing he’d lose her today.

She weakly looked up at him and took his face in her hands, “Dae.. ho… I’ll be okay… I.. love you…” Y/N mumbled as blood gushed from her mouth, and the life drained from her eyes.

Dae-ho cradled her in his arms and cried out loudly, it all happened so fast, it was like he couldn’t hear anything, not even the gun fire anymore. Everything he fought for was gone in seconds.

“I’m sorry..”

[mrs-hatake]

Jealous LADS Men

pairings: sylus x f!reader, zayne x f!reader and caleb x f!reader

a/n: i blame woo do hwan for this (he's all the men u flirt with lol) ;u;

Sylus:

It’s not common for Sylus to leave N109 to venture into other cities. It’s even rarer for him to be in Linkon in broad daylight. 

But Sylus has noticed a…shift in Your behavior recently. Sylus is too mature to admit that curiosity is eating him up inside but he will confess that Your lack of appearance at his manor has piqued his interest. 

At first, Sylus brushes it off as You being busy with work. Wanderers have been sprouting about it recently so he imagines the hunters have been off to battle frequently. With the increase in numbers of those filthy creatures, they’re probably grabbing any hunter they can find.

Yet when the dangers have dispersed, You still barely show up at his place. Just this morning Sylus has scoffed at himself for pacing around his study, as if he’s some pup eagerly waiting for his master’s return. 

Bothered at himself, Sylus sends out Mephisto to track your location.

The robotic bird informs him that You’re at the Deepspace Hunter Association’s main building, working on some documents.

This is how we find Sylus expertly bypassing all the security cameras and alarms installed in the building. He hears Mephisto through the earpiece that You’re currently at the outdoor training grounds with your friends.

Sylus is on the roof overlooking the training grounds without breaking a sweat. 

He sees a group of cadets gathered around a matted area. There are rows of benches surrounding the makeshift ring where two boxers are battling it out.

Sylus snaps his fingers and a pair of binoculars emerge through a smoke of crimson red. It doesn’t take him too long to spot You. 

You’re sitting in the middle, friends surrounding You left and right. A white eyebrow raises in curiosity as You and Your friends say something and then burst into a fit of giggles. 

Sylus sees one of Your friends pointing towards the ring, whispering something to You before You playfully shove her. 

Following where Your friend is pointing, Sylus’ gaze lands on the two men fighting on the ring. Specifically, a black haired man with very slanted eyes. The man fights seriously, as if he is facing an enemy. He knocks out his opponent in two minutes which earns him an eruption of cheers from the group of girls. Sylus doesn’t miss how loudly you clap and cheer for him.

Sylus’ insides curled in protest at the repulsive sight. 

You’ve been away this whole time because of some…some, pretty boy?

Sylus has never thought of You as someone so superficial. Or as someone who’s looking to date. Because even when Sylus drags you to all those parties You hate, where men drool all over You, some bold enough to flirt, You never paid them attention. 

But You’re acting like a shy school girl over this insignificant bug? Ridiculous. 

Movement below catches Sylus attention again. It takes every ounce of self control for Sylus to not break his binoculars.

The little bug runs up to You when he notices You holding a cold bottle of water and clean towels for him. The boy flashes You what he thinks is a charming smile (Sylus thinks he looks like a creep) and throws a wink Your way before he’s back on the ring.

Snapping the binoculars away, Sylus turns away from the revolting scene.

Should You grace Sylus with Your presence, he’ll show just how pretty and strong a man can be.

Zayne:

Zayne absolutely despises going to the coffee shop across the street from Deepspace Hunter Association’s main building. He yearns to take You to a different coffee shop but Your lunch break is only an hour and any other decent coffee shop is at least thirty minutes away from Your workplace. 

Zayne has suggested that he brings You lunch to work, tempting You by promising that he’ll cook all of Your favorite meals but You refused. 

You’ve explained to him that being stuck at work all day long is driving You crazy and You’re not going to sacrifice Your freedom and sanity no matter what. 

So Zayne has to sit in this humble sized coffee shop with hanging flowers decorating the walls and soft jazz music playing in the background. 

To be honest, the establishment isn’t so bad. The prices are reasonable. The food they serve is very delicious and Zayne will admit that their coffee is the best in the city. So, really, Zayne doesn’t have any reason to complain about this place.

Except for the fact that one of their baristas is an attractive young man that You’ve been eyeing ever since they had hired him.

Zayne has to watch You with a hollow heart as You bat Your eyes prettily at the man with slanted eyes as he compliments Your dress. The dress that Zayne has seen You purchased on Your phone just like this. 

A compliment or two from men is fine, Zayne doesn’t mind it much. You are a beautiful woman after all so he doesn’t blame them. But does the barista have to draw hearts, flowers and cute emojis in all of Your coffee orders?

At least Zayne doesn’t have to hear You gushing about him like You do with Tara. He fears he might do something illegal if he does. 

Caleb:

There really should be a support group for men who are not only bother-zoned but have to spend their only day off of the week watching their crush flirt with another man.

Caleb is sitting on his beach towel with his arms crossed as he shoots lasers at the lifeguard talking to You. He holds back screams of frustration as You shyly laugh at something the other man said and playfully smack his well defined pectorals. 

What’s worse is that You’re wearing a frilly pink bikini that Caleb loves so much. It’s not fair that the lifeguard, some loser who’s most likely a closeted creep and perv, gets to freely ogle at Your smoking hot body while Caleb can’t.

Internally, Caleb screams, a cacophony of frustration and envy echoing in the hollows of his mind.  Every laugh from Your lips feels like a dagger to his heart. Each flirtatious glance You exchanged with the lifeguard made his blood boil. 

The final straw is when You call him gege. Yes, gege can be used for anyone but You know that this honorific is Caleb’s weakness. You’re also aware of how upset he gets when You use it on other men, even You have called out his illogical mindset. 

Unable to stomach the sight before him, Caleb is on his feet. He’s trudging to the lifeguard station where you’re both at. 

He’ll snatch You away from that snake and drag You back home if it means it will put an end to Caleb’s torture. 

You being angry is a price he’s willing to pay because, by the end of the night, he’ll make sure You’re his. 

[slytherinsimp12]

Hi do you take some mature Fic requests? I'm sorry I tried finding your info about requesting but I couldn't find any. If you would be lovely if you could write a remus x reader fic. Reader is a slytherin. Enemies to lover one. Thank you sm ! I love the way your write.

Heyy! Sorry I didn’t have any guidelines uploaded before, but you can find them now as my pinned post. Thank you for requesting <3. Tried my best, hope you like it xx

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Pairing: Remus Lupin x fem!reader

Summary: You hated him. With every bone in your body, you despised Remus Lupin. He was always silently competing with you in all your classes. Whenever he got a grade higher than you, he would find a subtle way to rub it in your face. On top of it all, his friend group, the ‘marauders’- they called themselves, were revolted by you and your house. You were a slytherin after all, it was wired in their heads to hate you. But, Remus was the worst of them all. At least the others had the curtesy to laugh in your face after a ‘prank’, but Remus. Oh, Remus, would just stand in a corner and penetrate you with his cold gaze. For 7 years, you and your friends had been the butt of their cruel jokes. It all changed one day, when you both got stuck in detention together after an unreasonably cruel prank orchestrated by his friends.

Warnings: NSFW!mdi! P in v , fingering, orgasm denial and language.

(Let me know if I’ve missed any.)

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, catching dust motes dancing in the air. The Charms classroom buzzed with quiet energy, desks scarred by years of spellwork, shelves lined with humming, glowing artifacts. At the front, Professor Flitwick stood atop a stack of books behind the podium.

“Before I announce the highest scorer of last week’s exam, I want you all to take this student as inspiration, and push yourselves to do better. Remus Lupin, secured a perfect grade, coming first once again!” The tiny professor beamed.

Wonderful. This is just what you needed, Lupin beating you in yet another class. You were seriously considering jumping off the astronomy tower at this point. It was fine at first, you were able to beat him in most classes till 5th year, but 6th year - something changed. Remus changed.

He looked different, his shoulders were broader, his hair longer and messier- cascading like dominoes on his face, he had more scars than before, but you didn’t care enough about him to question it. He even seemed more confident, dare you say more outgoing? He was probably going through late puberty, you could not let his new persona get to you. It was Lupin after all, you loathed him.

After the class ended, you made your way out, a sour look plaster across your face. A cold arm brushed against yours, you looked up and your eyes met Remus’ eyes, he held his test paper up, grinning at you.

“Oh fuck off , Loony Lupin.” You spat, pushing past him.

“Oi, Y/n, you playing quidditch today?” He questioned.

“Why should I tell you? So you and your thick headed lot can pull another one on me?” You rolled your eyes.

“I’ll take that as a yes then!” His voice called after you as you walked away.

The day went by quickly, you made your way to the quidditch field after classes, to join the rest of Slytherin team.

“Y/n!” Your best friend’s called, hugging you from behind.

“We have the field booked for the entire evening today!” She explained.

Halfway through practice, twenty feet in the air, you noticed something odd. Your team captain seemed to be loosing control of his broom. Followed by the chasers and then the beaters, they all suddenly started wobbling and spinning uncontrollably on their brooms. You knew immediately who was behind this. Looking down, you saw James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew laughing hysterically. But Remus, Oh Remus, was just standing in a corner, his gaze not shifting from your direction. Right on cue, your broom started to act funny, your efforts to gain any control of it failed and all of a sudden, you were free falling.

“Arresto Momentum!” A familiar voice shouted.

The speed you were once falling with reduced miraculously, causing you to land safely on the ground. You stood up, mustering all the strength from your body, and charged to the imbeciles responsible for this.

“YOU ABSOLUTE ARSES! I’M GONNA HEX YOU INTO NEXT WEEK!” You shouted at them, reaching for your wand.

“Oh relax Y/l/n, it’s all good fun.” Sirius said.

“Good fun? The rest of the Slytherins are hanging on mid air for their bloody lives!” You countered.

“Don’t be so dramatic-“ James started, but you cut him off.

“Please. If I had your need for attention, I'd hex myself just to get sympathy. At least my personality doesn't rely on harassing innocent people to be interesting." You pointed your wand towards the three of them.

“Y/n, calm down.” Remus’ voice came from behind you. You snapped your head in his direction.

“You shut up. Don’t act like you’re any better than your pathetic little friends!” You spat.

A tinge of anger spread across his face as he reached for his wand.

“What is going on here!!?? Put your wands away right this instant!” A shrill voice demanded.

“Professor Mcgonagall! I was just-“ You tried to explain, but she didn’t care to listen.

With one flick of her wand, the Slytherin team landed safely, but furiously on the ground.

“Save it Ms.Y/l/n. Detention. For you as well Mr.Lupin.” She said, walking away.

You made your way to detention in the trophy room the next day. The air smelt like metal polish, Remus sat with a polishing cloth and a few plaques in his hand, rubbing them vigorously.

“You are not permitted to use magic to finish this task. I will be back in an hour.” Mcgonagall said as she walked out of the room.

You took a seat at the opposite end of the room, as far away as possible, from the brown haired boy. You picked up an old trophy and begin scrubbing furiously.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?”

“No. I think it’s detention. What’s funny about that?” Remus said, not looking up.

“You know you guys could have really hurt someone today! You obviously don’t give a shit though. If whoever performed the ‘arresto momentum’ spell did it a few seconds later, I could have died-“

You were yelling, but you got cut off my him.

“I was the one who performed the spell.” He said, through gritted teeth.

What? Was he telling the truth? Why would he do that? No. It’s still not okay.

“That’s cold comfort! You could have stopped them, but you didn’t! That says enough about you.” You spat.

He was no longer sitting in the corner, he was marching in your direction.

“I don’t need you of all people to be judging my character.” He was angry now. Anger you never saw on him before.

“Why? Did I lie? I’m telling the truth, aren’t I? You act like you’re above all of it. But you’re just as cruel as your friends when it suits you. Godric, I hate you and your lot.”

You kept going. It was almost like word vomit. You could see he was getting really provoked now. He didn’t say anything, just kept walking closer to you. You were standing against the desk now, your fingers gripping it, so you didn’t fall backwards. He was extremely close to you now. The warmth of his breath grazed your skin. Merlin’s tits, when did he get so beautiful? Every logical part of you was telling you to push him away, but something deep inside made you do something you never thought you would.

You grabbed his collar, breathless from arguing, and pulled him into a kiss. Remus didn’t hesitate, he gave in before your lips even brushed. His hands gripped your ass and lifted you upwards, sitting you down on the table. His kiss grew sharp and urgent, slightly biting your lips in between breaths.

“Look at you, can’t think of any snide remarks now?” He said, looking you in the eye, a wide grin plastered across his face.

“Oh shut it Lupin, you know you want it more than I do.” You replied.

He took that as a challenge, his hand moving up your leg, finding your soaked underwear.

“You’re so wet for someone you claim to hate, dove.” He cooed.

His fingers glided over your pussy, your warm slick coating them. You whimpered

as he hit your sensitive clit, legs twitching in response. The taste of iron coated your tongue, biting down as a pathetic effort to try and keep quiet. You felt a familiar knot in your stomach about to be released.

“I didn’t finish-“ You mumbled, as he pulled his digits out.

“D’you think I’d let you cum so easily, love? No. You’re gonna feel every inch of me before I let you cum. I’m going to fuck the hatred you have for me out of you.”

He kissed you again, unbuttoning his shirt. His body was covered in huge scars. The largest one was a violent gash against his abdomen. You trace your palms against the marks, gingerly placing kisses along them. His hands found your jumper, ripping it into half and throwing it across the room.

“Hey! That was my favourite jumper!” You exclaimed.

“Don’t worry, love. I’ve got plenty more you can borrow.” He replied, cooly.

He looked at you, waiting for approval, before pushing his pulsing cock into you.

You wanted to scream at the size of his member. He moved with a steady speed, your vision was going blurry as he continued to speed up. Feeling your high building up again, he held back his own, wanting to finally release together, he lifted a hand off of your ass, circling steadily over your little button to push you over the edge.

White coated your vision as you came all over Remus’ cock. He pulled himself out, hovering above you.

“Still hate me, dove?” He grinned.

“Just a little.” You rolled your eyes.

He leaned in and pulled you into another quick kiss before helping you get dressed again. You looked at the sad remains of your favourite jumper as Remus gave you a spare one from his bag. It smelt like chocolate with a hint of smoke. It smelt…comforting.

Godric’s balls, y/n. What have you gotten yourself into?