#he’s like two inches from being brain dead really

[sincerelyourswhistledown]

Lucerys doesn’t remember much of the outside world.

There are faint memories, flashes of silver streaks and high pitched giggles. A faceless brown haired boy with a hand always held out for him to take. Lucerys remembers feeling warm, a lightness to his otherwise empty chest as he chases the high of his dreams.

Aemond tells him it’s his overactive imagination. That the outside world wasn’t good, that their childhood was nothing but pain and despair. That’s probably why he never lets Lucerys out of the house.

Every morning Aemond leaves him with a peck on the lips and a promise of return. During that time Lucerys is left alone to his devices, cleaning the house and playing with his kitten, Jace. Never mind that Aemond absolutely hates the cat, he’s not the one stuck at home bored out of his mind. At exactly five in the afternoon, Aemond comes home and Lucerys is there to welcome him. With open arms and a hearty dinner.

It’s repetitive but it’s all Lucerys has ever known. All he’s ever remembered since the accident. Aemond doesn’t like talking about the accident. Whenever Lucerys tries to ask about it his lover’s expression becomes unreadable and he’d have to deal with a brooding Aemond for the rest of the day. Sometimes, when Lucerys pushes too much he wouldn’t see Aemond until the next morning. The idea of cheating had never crossed Lucerys’ mind, usually by then he’d been too inconsolable. His separation anxiety turning him into a sobbing mess and only Aemond’s warm arms and comforting hum could make him stop.

There was one time when Lucerys had managed to summon the courage, he’d asked Aemond where he went to every Friday. And why he came home so late. He didn’t expect much, in fact he’d expected it to get ignored. The same way all of his questions about the outside world was. Much to his surprise, Aemond had stared into Lucerys’ face with an expression that was absolutely devastated.

‘To a dear nephew.’ He confessed. That night Aemond had told him about a beloved nephew who had been in the same accident as Lucerys, except unlike him the boy never woke up. He’d explained what the doctors had said, that he may never wake up ever again. Forever caged to his hospital bed and connected to wires. After that night, after seeing the devastation and despair in his beloved’s face Lucerys never asked again. He didn’t like seeing Aemond like that.

“My Aemond is so handsome,”Lucerys teased, tying his lover’s tie with expert fingers. “It almost makes me want to tie you to our bed and keep you here forever.”

The older man chuckled, his sapphire eye glinting in the morning light. With his long arms he encircled them around Lucerys’ waist and pulled him closer. “Promises, promises.”

Lucerys eagerly accepted his kisses, basking in the affection before his beloved once again left him for the day. It almost made him want to pout and charm his way into keeping Aemond home today, it’s not like he hasn’t done it before. It usually took some effort and the man was nothing short of disciplined but with enough kisses and suggestive petting, he’d find himself back in bed and a playful Aemond on top of him.

Breaking away from the kiss, Lucerys rested his forehead on Aemond’s and sighed. “Are you sure you have to go to work today?”

The pale blond almost looked apologetic, giving him another peck on the lips. “I’m afraid this meeting is impossible to reschedule, my dragon.”

Although unsurprising, Lucerys found himself grumbling as he begrudgingly untangled himself from the older man. He could do nothing but pout as he went back to straightening his beloved’s crumpled suit, determine to keep Aemond looking sharp and put together no matter how much he wanted to tear the suit off and not fix it. “What do geneticists even talk about in meetings? Don’t you guys just stare at microscopes and petri dishes all day?”

Aemond let out an amused huff, shaking his head at the younger boy’s adorable grumpiness. “Silly taoba, do you really want me to stay that much?”

Lucerys stayed quiet, stubbornly refusing to meet his eye. If Aemond didn’t want to stay with him today then he wasn’t going to force him. He wasn’t some dumb doll created solely to rely on Aemond and fawn for his attention. He had more pride than that, thank you very much.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Aemond grin in amusement. A gentle hand on his chin coaxed him to look up and Lucerys once again found himself staring at the breathtaking view of his love’s pale lilac eye and the blue sapphire.

“Don’t worry my love. Once I finally prove to them that human cloning is impossible then I can finally shut this research down. That means more time for you and me.” Aemond cooed, bringing the younger boy back into his arms.

“Promise?”Lucerys asked, his voice tiny but hopeful.

“I promise.” Lucerys beamed at his lover’s quick response, feeling warm all over.

“Besides,”Lucerys feels more than hears Aemond’s voice from where he’s pressed his cheek on the taller man’s chest, “Human cloning should be left as it is. Who knows what kind of crazy things sick fucks would do if it was possible.”

Lucerys hums along in agreement.

[screampied]

☆ cw. fem! reader, husband nanami, dad bod, mating press, protected -> unprotected, size kink, bręeding, praise, mdni.

it’s something hot about how husband! nanami just isn’t aware of how big he really is.

he’s insanely thick - easily stretching you with only just a few vast inches inviting its way in between your slippery entrance. the rubbery tip of the condom nearly snags against your gripping insides as he moves, hovering his soft weight above you. heavy, rushed pants of breath drag out from each lung as he looks down at you lovingly. just a mere glimpse of you, and he’s already ready to propose to you all over again.

“f.. fuck, sweetheart. hold on t’ me.” he’d grunt with two beefy arms held against either side of you.

curled twines of blond hair paint a nice bushy portion of his chest like a canvas. it starts near his neck before trailing further down toward his plump abdomen. nanami’s tucking his head into the crook of your shoulder, silently gasping at each veiny inch that disappears inside. “k- kento,” you moan, one of your legs hooking around his wide snapping waist. he’s hesitant before his hands pull your legs way up to your chest. “mmp- don’t stop, baby.”

“hah- promise,” he groans through clenched teeth, his jaw locking by the second. the stretch he creates was so good that it’s got nanami falling right into your chest. his body was practically akin to a pillow, and he’s squishing himself on top of you before your cunt squeezes around him. fuck- fuck- fuck- that same word chants in his empty brain, nearly slipping out a hoarse whimper at how slick you coated the entirety of his cock. “c’mon, sweetheart. open for me like ‘y always do. gooood, biiiig stretch for kento.”

but as he’s gradually bucking his unsteady hips into you while gently placing a hand on top of your tummy, the two of you are met with a loud abrupt ‘snaaap!’ sound, and nanami pauses.

literally - the condom pitifully snaps apart, ignoring gravity as the now ruined rubber tightens around his shaft. nanami’s panting in your neck as his entire body quivers over you before he mumbles out a raspy, “o.. oh.. shit.”

it’s rare for him to swear, but at that particular moment, you throbbed, impatiently chewing on the skin that lived on your bottom lip.

your bare heel rubs soothing circles around his tense back muscles as you suddenly meet his lustful gaze.

his eyes - they’re shining almost. the more you peer into his fawn, almond eyes, the more you got lost in his gentle, ardent stare.

“i- it’s okay,” you’d breathlessly mumble, feeling his dick retreat its way out of your sopping pussy. it’s a loud, sobbing ‘pshs’ sound that slops from your vocal pussy before you shakily whimper, “go raw, ken.”

“hah- dirty girl,” he’d groan, pressing three wet open-mouthed kisses against your temple. in immediate response, your body shudders underneath him as you hear as you feel him starting to shuffle.

with a single veiny hand, nanami snatches the snugly-fit condom off of his length before tossing it in the nearby trash bin. “ ‘m not sure if i’d last long…my lo- oh fuuuck.”

nanami’s dead silent.

shallow, shaky breath falls from his rose-colored lips as the v-shaped head of his blushing cock lightly taps against your slobbery cunt.

you’re so soaked, abundantly pouring from all sides as your legs remain prettily spread and folded. nanami himself couldn’t help but stare, openly gawking as he’s slowly creating a nasty full thrust.

just one-

a single thrust that’s making you both fall against each other at once. he’s laid right over your body, being careful not to crush you as he grunts at the occasional clenches of your cunt.

the best way to describe nanami was like a teddy bear, so soft ‘n round from all angles. with him having you in mating press, you’re feeling all of his weight plummet down onto you, each pound of his cock becoming deeper within every swallowing inch. it’s got you speechless, moaning continuously as a few strands of his chest hair collide against your skin.

“mmpf- s.. so big, ‘ken,” you’d moan, twisting your toes in anticipation at the raw friction.

he’s so big - even bigger without the rubber it seemed, and you gasped once you felt his soft foreskin slide its way inside. truth be told though, you’d never get used to his size no matter how many times he’s stuffed you full. your gummy convulsing walls merrily greeted nanami’s shaft as your arms wrapped around his rounded belly. “ugh- there, right fuckin’ thereee.”

“god- woman, you’re just.. huuh- askin’ for another baby,” nanami grumbles, blond brows creasing together as he tenderly rubs a wide palm in a circle around your tummy.

his dick’s thoroughly massaging through you perfectly, and he’s sucking his teeth at the natural feeling. your slickness coats him so good, and he’s still got you in the lewdest mating press with your knees shoved against your chest. “ ‘s that what you want, princess?” and as he speaks, his voice lowers, feeling your tummy anxiously tuck inward. “you’d look so pretty again all plump.”

with a look of meek, you cup his face, gently stroking a thumb over the crack of his parted, pouty lips. “mhm-” you’d nod, holding in a gasp once he presents your pussy with one vigorous thrust.

it’s sharp- and you whimper at how his cockhead slammed itself deep against your clit. as your thighs frantically shook, nanami holds them up before playfully tilting his head at your response.

“mhm?” he repeats your little mumble, a hiss nearly slipping through his clenched teeth as he pulls out before sloppily pulling back in.

the slimy squelches that followed were just the definition of wet. each dramatic-sounding squelch that yelped out between your legs had nanami on the verge of shooting blanks right then and there. not just there and there but inside you, too.

as dewdrops of sweat dribble from all sides of his head, nanami presses a sticky wet kiss against the crevice of your mouth. “use those pretty words, i wanna.. wanna hear my sloppy wife talk to me nice.”

“k— kentooo, please,” you’d whimper, writhing underneath his soft body. he’s pressed up against you, practically suffocating your body with his huggable warmth. each barreling inch he spent inside you had you drooling from the inside of your mouth. nanami hums, sneaking a kiss on your damp lips before feeling you claw a hand down his chiseled back. “hah- cum inside. f- fuck me.”

exactly at your sweet pleading words, you felt his dick throb inside of you. it’s more of a sporadic twitch, and it makes you let off a cute ‘ooooh!’

nanami slumps his head in between your sore jiggling breasts, sliding a tongue down the crack of your chest before groaning. “f.. fuck, when you ask me like that, can’t r- resist, honey,” and his voice dripped with such sensuous desire. nanami’s shaft greedily kisses its way against your pearled clit before his entire body erupts into vicious shakes.

he knew he wouldn’t last long at all - especially raw because once he’s starting to swell from the very tip, he’s gutturally groaning right between your tits. gluey golden strands of hair tickled against you as he’s cumming hard, whimpering into your chest.

nanami’s entire body quakes violently, and his thrusts switch from rhythmic to pathetically sloppy within seconds..

even still, you’re folded in such a pretty way, taking each slobbery drop that fills into your cunt deeply, and you moaned once his dripping tongue glides a path down toward your sensitive nipples. “mmph-” he’d grunt, muffling himself as he’s still dumping such a thick load.

nanami guides a hand down between your legs, smearing the back of his wedding ring against your flooding pussy. with a loud pop! your nipple wetly plops out between his lips and he holds still.

“take it, sweetheart. ‘s all for you,” nanami lowly whispers against your clammy chest, his heavy eyelids flapping shut. your warmth - it’s so balmy inside, and he’s already shuddering once his leaky tip sprinkles the final remnants of cum deep into your womb. it leaves a beautiful dry taste in his mouth, and nanami uses a thumb to spread a flap of your folds apart. “she’s s- so pretty.”

“f- fuck..” you’d suck in a airy moan, panting at the pitching faint spurts of wetness that echoes through your ears. gooey, thin torrents of cum run down the opening of your cunt as he pulls out, and you gasp once nanami suddenly flips you over.

now - you’re laid on your chest with your hips raised, ass arched up, and your neck most certainly raised.

“hah- forgive…me,” nanami throatily murmurs, using the back of his wedding ring once more to slither down your cream-coated pussy. his tone, it’s far lower this time—raspy with a bit of a smoky airiness to it.

oh- you were just an entire mess. he’s already licking his lips as he takes in the beauty of his wife’s backside, immediately feeling his sensitive dick twitch at the coarse, arching sight.

the way his cum just messily cascades down between your syrupy slit, splattering onto the silk white sheets in the process - he wanted more..

nanami hungrily rolls out his tongue before licking your pussy from top to bottom—shamelessly relishing in his bittersweet taste that soaks against his sizzling buds. the viscous mess glitters a sheeny filthy coat onto his pursed lips before he huffs, sitting back up.

with a soft little tap, you whine, feeling the familiar upturned curve of nanami’s hardened tip smack against your cum-slobbering entrance again and again..

“arch a bit more for me. atta girl, mhm- let’s.. hah- aim for triplets this time, my love..”

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Spring (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

Warnings: Slightly less unreliable narrator (Cregan has come to his senses, reader is on the way) Mature language.

A/N: I really thought these two would get their mess sorted out in nine scenes, but I was far too optimistic. Lucky me, I had one season as backup! Also, thank you so, so much for continuing to read this series and your kind comments!

IT IS FUNNY, how wrong can Cregan be about people. He is no longer afraid to admit it. He had been mistaken about you. 

The utter viciousness you had displayed, bringing up his dead wife, had only been a source of anger for him at first. He had thought you an evil little bitch, unafraid of exploiting weak spots to hurt him. 

Then, he had seen you with Rickon. And his world had just… Shifted. As if every piece of furniture in Winterfell had been moved exactly one inch to the left, and no one had told him, leaving him stumbling around in his own home.

You weren’t evil or jealous. Or, more likely, you were, but not because of some petty reason, it was because you were insecure. The mere idea was laughable, why would a Princess of the Realm be insecure? But it made too much sense for him to ignore. 

Each time Cregan had cracked a joke that compared you to Arra, like commenting on the number of packages and dresses you had brought from the South, you had taken it as a personal criticism. You felt unappreciated, so you lashed out and avoided him at every turn. 

You were kind, smart, and capable. Just not in the way Cregan was used to women being capable. The northern women were considered capable because they were physically strong, able to wield bows, ride hard and long or withstand the terrible weather. 

You, instead, shared Prince Jacaerys’ strength. You were honorable, unable to leave a child in need, and kind, enough that you would comfort them until their parents reached them. But most of all, you had a brain suited for politics. 

Cregan had never noticed before because he had never bothered to truly look at what you were doing, but your charities were to make your mother’s cause more popular with the smallfolk. He had heard your mother was doing a similar thing in the capital, delivering food to the starved population due to a blockade of the own Blacks’ making. Not that the commoners cared about the last part. They only cared about those who put food on their bellies. 

And perhaps the Queen dowager and Princess Helaena were popular in the South because of their involvement in the Septs, but you were exploiting the lack of those here. Without Septs, there were no Septas or Septons tending to the sick and poor. You were. And the North would remember, when it came time to march for your mother’s banners. 

Cregan would bet Ice that you were having tea with the northern ladies not to gain friends. The Old Gods knew you were an introverted creature, painfully awkward at niceties, much like he was. It explained why the two of you were so uncomfortable with each other. You were probably entertaining the northerns to win their loyalties, knowing the combined pressure of Cregan’s oath and their wives would make his lords more eager to drop coin and men for your war. 

Oh, if Cregan got you on his side, the two of you would be a force to be reckoned with. He could already see how much security you could bring to the North, how well fed you could be during winter, if you decided to work with him and not behind him. 

You were a wonderful woman. Kind and tender to his son, smart as a whip, utterly terrifying when crossed. You would make a fine wife to any lord, and Cregan couldn’t believe how stupid he had been not to see it. You just needed to be encouraged, and Cregan, dumb as a rock, had been doing the exact opposite. 

While you hadn’t exactly been trying, Cregan was man enough to admit that part of the blame laid on him. He had been pushing you away without even realizing it, comparing you to Arra at every turn, without considering how that might come across to you. 

That ended today. He would prove himself worthy of your love and loyalty, and win you over. Cregan wasn’t a man of half measures. He would woo you or spend the rest of his life trying. 

Set in his decision, Cregan walked to your chambers. He waved off the guard’s attempt to announce him, casually strolling in. 

You were seated next to the fire, the leather-bound book you usually carried around spread over your lap. It was a heavy tome, bound in brown leather with golden engravings. It was written in High Valyrian, a language for which Cregan had little use, so he had never learned it beyond recognizing the alphabet. 

There was a striking beauty to your expression when you were at ease, the peaceful expression you wore becoming you much more than the usual frown you directed at him. Cregan found himself wondering how beautiful you must look smiling, if you looked this radiant when at peace. 

You had the sort of face to be lit up with happiness, he could already tell. His heart ached to be the one that finally coaxed it out of you.

“Princess,” Cregan calls, softly. You set your book aside, ready to get up and curtsy, but he halts you. “No need for that, wife. My ego is not so fragile I need my woman to bow to me.” 

“Lord Husband.” You reply, for once not frowning. Your face remains carefully neutral, which Cregan considers a victory. He would attribute it to his remark about his ego, but it is more likely due to guilt. He will take it regardless. 

“No need for that either, much less today.” Cregan smiles at you. “You may call me Cregan, if you wish. I am here to thank you for caring for my Rickon while I was away.” 

You look far more confused than you did before. You look like you want to approach him and run at the same time, your wool gown fluttering as you squirm in place, undecided if you are approaching or not. 

“I simply did my duty, my lord.”

Cregan’s smile widens, amused by you. 

“Singing him was part of it? By the Gods, I thought I had a wife and not a minstrel?” And the dry, northern humor doesn’t seem to suit you because you frown slightly. Cregan fights the urge to curse, instead making a mental note. You dislike being mocked, even in jest. He wonders what sharp words you had to endure in the South to be like this, and feels a wave of pity. Dark of hair and no dragon to shield you? Perhaps that was why you were far kinder to Sara than to him. He gives a tasteful cough. Or at least, his attempt at it. 

“I only meant to say you went beyond your duties, and I thank you for it. You didn’t have to, but it meant the world to him.” Cregan tries again, and you blink at him, as if he were unable to understand anything at all. 

“He is a child.” You say, slowly.  “No person would leave a child in need.” 

“You would be surprised.” Cregan thinks of how his own mother had treated Sara when she had arrived at Winterfell, treatment that hadn’t improved when his aunt took on as the Lady of the household. His sister had only known freedom after Cregan had taken over his seat, and she was still judged by the rest of the North, even though in a much subtle manner. 

“Mmm.” Your reply is noncommittal. 

“He has been asking me lately why he doesn't have a lady mother.” Cregan attempts again. He is not above using Rickon to have an excuse to spend time with you. And to his amusement, it does work. You pity his son more than him, it seems because you begin to pay him more attention.  

“What did you tell him?” You tilt your head to the side, curious. It’s a surprisingly cute gesture for the unshakable princess that you are. 

“I do not know. I have not answered him.” Cregan searches for somewhere to sit, but apart from the loveseat in which you are soaking up the warmth of the fireplace, there is none. He grabs the stool by your writing area, and brings it over. 

He sits on the stool across from you, wiggling a bit with how uncomfortable it is. It feels like his knees are on his chest, by the Gods. It’s clearly meant for a shorter person. Your rooms are not made for receiving visitors, he should have thought of that earlier. You need a space to receive people that isn’t the sitting room. What if you wish to have more private conversations?

“Surely he knows she is dead?” You are too caught up in your disbelief to protest that he is rearranging your furniture. Good. 

“He does, but doesn’t quite grasp what dead means.”  Cregan is being honest. Whoever has the heart to explain to a child of two namedays what death is, is a braver man than him. 

“Perhaps you could say she is in the Seven Heavens?” Your frown comes back, but this time it isn’t angry. Instead, it’s puzzled. You are trying to help him, and it makes him fight the urge to smile. He doesn’t want you to think that he is mocking your suggestion. 

“We do not believe that here.” 

“Neither do I.” And this time, there is the barest beginning of a playful smile on your lips. Oh, you minx! Cregan smiles to himself, charmed. It emboldens him to continue. 

“Just, I would like it if you saw him more often. With me. Perhaps… He has asked about you, and I am not asking you to replace her but I… He sometimes needs a more feminine touch.” 

“Of course.” You agree. And he can see in your eyes you think he might be trying to use you as a stand in for Arra, not truly believing his words, but that is alright. Cregan will show you. Or at least, he is going to do his very best attempt. 

YOU MAKE SURE there are enough pastries and hot water available before you stand up.

“I am afraid I must leave you, my ladies. But you are welcome to continue enjoying the hospitality of Winterfell.” The sitting room is filled with northern women. You have begun inviting them for tea twice a moon, trying to ensure your mother will have all the support she needs when she takes King’s Landing. 

It has proven to be quite the difficult task. Northerns are often suspicious of outsiders, and from what you have learned through these gossip sessions, they rarely marry southrons. The only ones who do are the most important Houses, like the Starks or the Boltons. It means that most of your ladies are northern by birth, and not through marriage as you are. 

“This early?” Lady Mormont asks, bluntly. Her bluntness had discomfited you during your first meetings, but you have come to find it refreshing. “Princess?” She tacks on, remembering she is supposed to mind her courtesies with you. 

“This early.” You confirm, with a smile. You have planned the time of this tea with precision for this same motive, knowing it will appeal to their loyalty, but also allow you to escape the socializing. “I have a play date with my Lord Husband and little Rickon.” 

One of the ladies coos. Lady Mormont barks out a laughter. 

“Ah, to be a young woman with that many suitors.” 

“Only the very best.” You smile, and leave them to feast on the pastries. 

You make your way to Cregan’s solar at a leisure pace. The crushed velvet gown you are wearing is in a blue so pale it almost looks like the gray of House Stark. It is one of your old ones, meant to evoke House Velaryon’s colors. It fits you again, having gained a bit of weight during your time in the North. You hope it is a gown suitable for playing with a toddler. 

As you enter, you notice Rickon is arriving as well, tugged along by a maid. He chirps a greeting to you, a mix of your name and title that sounds more like gibberish. Yet, you are helpless to him.

“Rickon!” You kneel by him, as he runs to be picked up. You indulge him, smelling his hair as you lift him. He smells of sweet innocence, and a bit like Cregan. You hate that you cannot hate him or be indifferent any longer. The little boy has stolen your heart. 

Rickon gives you a toothy smile, his hands clumsily going to cup your face. Who can resist him? Not you. 

“I see you found each other.” Cregan leans against the door, smirking. He holds two cups. “Warm milk with honey. For the cold.”

You cannot help but smile a little. 

“Our knight in shining armor!” You tease, more for Rickon’s benefit than him. “Let us in, good Ser. So I can place my little wildling down and he can drink it.” 

Cregan laughs and moves aside to let the two of you pass. As you do so, you cannot help but notice how much space he takes up, tall and wide. Your eyes linger on his shoulders. You have not seen him wield Ice yet, but you have seen the sword. He has to have considerable strength to do so. 

The thought is strangely thrilling. Your stomach does a somersault, but before you have time to analyze it, Rickon begins to squirm in your arms. 

“Down! Down! Doggie!” He pleads. You look to see what has caught his attention and notice that Cregan has moved the rug so it lays by the fireplace, and placed some of Rickon’s toys there, including his more favored one: A soft cotton white wolf. 

You set Rickon down and take one of the cups from Cregan. Both of you sit down on the rug as well, and watch Rickon play with his wolf, ignoring his cup of milk. You have come to learn that playing with an only child is much different than playing with your younger siblings, Rickon mostly plays alone and wants you there to show you things. 

It forces you to keep conversations with your husband, if only because the silence would be too awkward otherwise. 

“I have arranged for us to have tea when Rickon tires.” Cregan informs you, a bit stiff.

“Oh, I already had tea with the…” You start, before Cregan interrupts you. 

“You are far too thin still. Besides, I know your tea spreads are made of mostly northern sweets. I asked the cooks to make one of your favorites, Prince Jacaerys was kind enough to set up correspondence for me with the cooks of Dragonstone.” 

It’s awfully thoughtful of him, and you will examine it later because your mind is still stuck on one tiny detail. One that infuriates you. 

“You are corresponding with Jace?” You ask, trying hard not to sound violent. After all, he has been very kind to you as of late, and guilt has begun to creep in for your careless words about his late wife. Not that you will apologize or anything. You intend to pretend nothing happened and be extra nice to Cregan, indulging Rickon and him on all the tea and play dates in the world. 

“I am. He would be very pleased if you stopped burning his letters.” His tone is chiding, though gentle. You take a deep breath in. Jace, the traitor. Cregan keeps his tone kind. “He still grieves your brother, Princess. Do not make him mourn a sister in life.” 

“Does he think I shall never forgive him?” You ask him, baffled. Rickon begins building a tower with blocks on the rug, insisting that the two of you aid him in building Winterfell, so Cregan’s answer is delayed. As you place some blocks to make the entrance, you have time to think over his words. 

All alone in Dragonstone, Jace must be feeling as lonely as you are. Only more because he has no Cregan and Rickon to stand with him. 

What he had done was a deep betrayal in your eyes, but was it truly? You had known you would have to marry eventually, and it probably wouldn’t be a love match. Jace had done the best he could in the terrible circumstances you were in. Moved by his fear of losing another sibling, he had entrusted you to Cregan because he thought you could be happy here. Safe. 

And you were. There was no fiercest protector for you apart from your husband. After marrying him, no one had dared even to breathe the rumors of your bastardy, and he even worried about what you ate, by the Gods’ sake!

“You can hold a grudge.” Cregan says, cautiously, when Rickon is distracted by his cup of milk and begins to attempt drinking it. Usually, drinking his milk is followed by passing out, so he is careful to support him in his lap. The sight makes your chest feel oddly warm. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

This was bad. 

You were falling in love with Cregan. 

“Perhaps I don’t want to any longer.” You say, looking into his eyes. You are no longer speaking of Jace. 

Cregan seems to catch on your meaning because he reaches forward and takes your hand in his. Fixated on how big and warm his hand feels against yours, you almost miss his soft words. 

“Neither do I.”

SARA’S EYES, GREY and so much like his father’s, are fixed on him. Cregan tries to ignore her, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of appearing uncomfortable. But before the hour passes, he is squirming in his chair, unnerved by her silent stare. 

Sara continues to stare. Cregan refuses to speak to her. After a while, she sets down the book she has taken from his shelves, a dreadfully boring account of the battles fought by the Kings of Winter, and perches her chin in her hands. 

That way, her staring is much more obvious. She is comfortably laid back in one of the armchairs he has in his solar. Cregan likes company when he works, and it’s easier to ask for her opinion if she is right there. Unfortunately, it also means she can stare at him for hours on end if she so wished.

“What?” Cregan asks, when he can’t take it any longer. He pushes away the reports about the safety of Wintertown and how prepared they are for winter, and looks up at her. She still doesn’t speak. “Sara!” 

“Apologies, brother.” By her smile, she is anything but sorry. “I just find it fascinating.” 

Cregan sighs. He doesn’t really want to bite, but if he doesn’t, Sara’s teasing will get worse and worse.

“What is fascinating?” 

“How you have managed to turn into a spineless southron in less than two moons.” Cregan can only gape at her. What is she going on about? “Not only have you turned timid, you are also a moron. And cunt struck. Well, are you? I know you are not getting any, does one need to actually be bedding the woman to be cunt…” She doesn’t even finish her words, cackling with laughter.

His face grows hot, burning with embarrassment. 

“I should have married you to an Umber and be done with it.” He mutters, under his breath, which only makes her cackle further. Both of them know that Sara would never be married off as if she were some cattle. Cregan loves her too much for it, and she is a deeply independent woman. 

“Who would advise you, then?” She asks him, brazenly. “Your sweet little wife? While she is great at wrangling lords and ladies, I doubt she has the stomach for warfare.” 

“There is a certain innocence to these Velaryons, yes.” At his words, Sara glares. She hates to be reminded she had not been as immune as she liked to think she was to Prince Jacaerys’ charms. “But if the worst comes to pass, I actually intend to have her hold Winterfell alongside you and Rickon.” 

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” Sara approves. “Shall you march south, Rickon and I will suffice.” 

“I wish to begin teaching her, when she no longer seems willing to murder me.” 

“I think she isn’t willing to murder you any longer.” And it is as good of an endorsement he will get from Sara. 

“She still seems to think I do not love her.” Cregan whines. 

“Because you mention Arra all the time. I have heard it’s in bad taste, but what would I know?” Sara rolls her eyes. “I am just some bastard girl.” 

“Are you simply going to complain or will you help me?” Cregan looks at her and tries giving her his best pleading look. Then, he decides to stroke her pride. “You know I always seek your council, even above other lords.” 

“Even above Lord Cerwyn?” Her mouth purses in a dubious pout. Fuck. His sister or his best friend? In the end, the choice is easy. Sara is here now, after all. 

“Of course.”

Sara positively beams. 

“You should tell him so.” Her rivalry with him had never made any sense to him, they had known each other since childhood, too. The man didn’t even care about who her mother had been and never took insult with her… Well, insults. Plural. Always thrown at him by Sara. Now that he thought of it, his friend always sought excuses to see Sara. Odd. “Loudly. But I am feeling generous and not demand that you do so immediately. I shall gloat in my victory, and it will be even sweeter if he doesn’t know.” 

“Your advice?” Cregan asks, tiredly. The Gods knew that she would talk circles around him if he let her. She was honest, but she also had a gift for courtly speech that Cregan despised. 

“Women like gifts. Or I do. And I am a woman.” Sara shrugs. “She is a Princess, of course she does too. And don’t just gift her anything.” 

“I would never be…” That stupid, Cregan wishes to add, but Sara is still speaking. 

“Gift her something special. Something unique, tailored to her. And especially, something that you wouldn’t gift practical Arra.” 

Cregan stares at Sara. Sara stares back. Then, very pointedly, she picks up her book and continues to read. The message is clear. He will not get any further help. 

Still, her advice lingers. In the coming days, Cregan cannot shake the thought, regardless of what he is doing. As he inspects his men, as he reads during his spare time, even as he bathes. All Cregan thinks of is you, and a gift that would please you. 

He even dares ask Rickon. His suggestion of a direwolf isn’t exactly bad. It’s just difficult on its execution, and not something Cregan would choose when thinking of a gift for you. 

He discards many more ideas, from rolls of myrish lace to donations to your charities. You ran far too cold to wear the former, and the latter wouldn’t truly be a gift to you. He wastes nearly a week coming up with a suitable idea, and two more corresponding with the Prince, the Maester at Dragonstone, and securing the goods he needs. 

It’s all worth it, when he takes a look at the finished present and can know that you will love it. 

[muntitled]

𝘽𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣 & 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩

: ̗̀➛ Mattheo Riddle x Fem!reader | Brief!Harry Potter x fem!reader

: ̗̀➛ Summary: Jealousy makes the heart grow fonder.

: ̗̀➛ Warnings: Alcoholism, Dark!fic, Ravenclaw!reader, Bullying, Unrequited Love, Shy!reader, Toxic Relationship, Jealousy, Narcissism, Weaponizing!Harry (sorry boo), Fluff, A bit of Angst, Smut +18 (Minors DNI), DubCon, Semi Public sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Dom/Sub, CNC, humping, Spitting, Degradation, Dacryphillia, Choking, Gagging, Subspace, Slapping, Sadism, Breeding Kink

5k words

A/N: Hell truly is empty. I apologise in advance.

You have made peace with the incomparable fact, long ago, that if the muggle God existed - if he is known to shepard Muggles and Wizards alike, then he was far too busy to attend to you. There is just too much going on all at once. The wizarding world is caught in its archaic intolerance of Half-Bloods. On the mortal side, you were informed from your private tutoring with Professor McGonagall that their smartphones are threatening devolution.

“It’s the closest thing they’ve got to a wand, Lovie, so we can’t really fault them on that, can we?” 6 years into your schooling at Hogwarts and you would continue to shadow Professor McGonagall, hoping you might one day soar to her heights of academic prestige in the wizarding world. You needed to be a Professor as much as a mortal needs to breathe….

You cannot let him, of all people, ruin things. Your reputation is a fragile, flammable thing - and he is freaking Kerosene.

It's difficult to pinpoint when it started or how your sensibilities rushed away from you so swiftly. One moment you’re planting your textbook on the face of a wooden desk - the sound reaching the rafters in the highest peak of the deserted classroom…

“A Guide To Advanced Transfiguration.” Mattheo read the title aloud with a tedious uninterested drawl. “Seems a bit presumptuous to shove this down my throat so early on. Shouldn't we be starting from the beginning?"

You ignored him promptly, using the silence to arrange your colour coordinated stationery on your desk beside Riddle's,

“I had no idea," You began, brushing off your blue lined robes and flattening the invisible creases on your skirt, "-That the person residing under my tutelage would be a first year."

Riddle stabbed the inside of his mouth with his tongue, while his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Your face remained passive as you continued, "You are a sixth year, correct?” You asked with a snide tilt of the head before planting yourself on the desk beside him.

“You are a big boy capable of understanding big boy books,” Unbeknownst to you, your words managed to stir something foreign within Mattheo but he conceals it with his usual veneer of arrogance as he swings his head lazily in your direction.

"May we begin?" You asked, with your back straightened - inches away from his hand now hanging on your chair.

"In a bit…" he says, "Just..." his voice trails off as his eyes scan over your visage, likely assessing it like an unseen tapestry. The truth is, Riddle did not know you prior to being forced under your tutelage. His droopy brown eyes appeared even more so as he broke the distance between you two and studied you closer. A tense silence grew pregnant in the ancient classroom, and your resolve was beginning to slip. Only one thought inflated a puddle of anxiety in your stomach:

Could this be your first kiss? Is this what first kisses looked like? Could this be your very first brush of intimacy overall?

Your brain failed to rationalise and compartmentalise his attraction, but your heart pushed your head closer.

"Call me a big boy again..." He had whispered… which evidently led you here.

Your lesson had ended with your hand covered in his release and a breathless smirk painted across his face. "This goes without saying," he breathed out with a satisfied smirk, "But tell anyone about this, and you're dead."

Ever since that day, your tutoring has been but a veneer of something much more sinister. When you were thrusted into the light of day, Mattheo overlooked you as did lots of his Slytherin friends. Besides the occasional threat and vague insult, you mean nothing to him.

When you two are alone, however, as you are right now, he would enchant you into servitude, lightly pushing your head down while he kissed you silly until your knees were planted on the hardwood floor.

Mattheo briefly opens his eyes to peer down at you. It is then when you notice the fresh bruise dotting the side of his face, and his pillowy lips split by a small incursion. He had very clearly gotten into another fight..

“Your mouth feels so fucking good when you're not using it to be a smart ass,” His words illicit a bubble of heat inside you.

Despite all this, you are clearly aware of the fact that you should not be enjoying this at all. Not one bit. For starters, you can feel the old wooden floors digging into the meat of your knees and the crisp winter chill is unkind to your scantily dressed state. Your shirt is unbuttoned because Mattheo was like a moth to a fucking flame when it came to your ample breasts and his hand is buried tightly in your kinky curls, forcing his cock even further down your throat. The very bones of Hogwarts seem to be in vehement protest of your blatant whorishness.

3 silver chains hang from his neck as he plants his other hand against the wall behind you, blocking your kneeling frame between both him and cold, hard stone. You crane your neck back, keeping a half lidded gaze on the jewelry that drives you feral with lust. You are content imagining that perhaps, when he is getting ready in the slytherin common rooms, he wears the silver for you. A fanciful thought but one that consistently has your intestines weaving themselves into knots.

That, paired with his striking, jet black blazer, which is discarded somewhere in the abandoned classroom, has you keening and fighting to take even more of him into your mouth. Perhaps you were peacocking a little - flatting your tongue so his cock slid seamlessly to the back of your throat while you fought to ignore the pain blossoming on your scalp. He had turned you from an inexperienced nun to something you're not quite ready to examine yet.

"You're finally putting this head of yours to good use…" Despite his feigned arrogance you're utterly delighted knowing that only you can bring Mattheo to such an utterly restless state. He does not really know what to do with himself.

Not when you took so much of him, so well.

You clench your toes.

Feeling himself get too close, Mattheo eases his cock fully out of your mouth, languidly stroking himself but still assuming a firm grip on your scalp. He is operating on that very specific plain of narcissism that was special to Mattheo. He is aware of your presence, physically, but his words are spoken into the open air, like you are an inanimate object. A glorified toy.

"Are all Ravenclaws as compliant as you are?”

You bring a crisp white sleeve up to your lips, wiping away the excess drool as you remain kneeled in front of him, knowing he has yet to finish.

"If you ever think of finding out," your voice is hoarse, "this will be the last time I offer you any free study sessions."

"Is money all you seek?" He attempts to feign composure, continuing to languidly stroke his cock. "How utterly greedy. I thought- fuck… - I thought you were far more philosophical than that"

You watch hungrily as Mattheo bites on his pillowy bottom lip. He is prolonging the release, taking his time as he usually did... "If you plan on edging yourself in my mouth instead of actually finishing the job, I do have other commitments to attend to-"

He ignores you... his brows furrowing and smoothening at odd intervals as he continues to touch himself while studying you.

"We may not be studying… but I still intend to pass Transfiguration, hope you're aware." He punctuates his sentence with an breathless laugh- it blossoms across his usually stoic visage, raising his buttercup cheekbones towards his smiling eyes.

As he talks, you examine his scars and feel the slow essence of admiration seep into the pit of your stomach. An arguably pathetic feat, given that your feelings will not ever be reciprocated.

Brewing inside you is the need to take care of him. You knew the rest of the student body viewed Mattheo as a glorified parasite. Something that is only capable of thinking within the capacity of its own means. Something that takes, and takes, and occasionally jokes around, and takes. But how could he know anything different? You suspected that his home life was built on the foundation of survival, on needing to be the loudest, and proudest, and worst of them all.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The sharpness of his words slice through your thoughts, bringing you back to yourself. Mattheo's gaze is placed firmly on something down below. Throughout his mindless tirade, your hand had taken to rubbing soft, comforting circles against the leg of his pants, quite literally on its own accord. Mattheo is bent over, head tilted as he watches you questioningly. Seconds stretch to a minute, and your stomach sinks as time passes.

Eventually, he dismisses you. He shakes his head. "Whatever," He says, tilting your head back and lining your mouth with the head of his cock once more. His visage darkens into a cruel sadistic grin. "Tell me you want me to come in your mouth."

Almost instinctively, you do as he orders and like clockwork, you swallow his cum, wondering if he knew how deeply and truly your words actually were. There was a moment, perhaps imagined, in which his fingers gripping your hair, melted to the side of your soft, supple cheek. It stays there for longer than necessary, leaving bits and pieces of your composure scattered in its wake.

Mattheo soon straightens his posture, stuffing his flaccid cock back into his pants before making himself as presentable to the student body as they know him to be (which admittedly is not a lot) And before he turns to walk away, he leaves you stranded on a glacier with his ice cold words cutting deep into your beating heart.

"Tell anyone about this-"

"And I'm dead," You interject, "I know."

And with that, you pull your ruffled collar over your lint-free school jersey and check your reflection to assess the damage Mattheo and his iron grip might have left. You needn't wait for an extension on the conversation because your job here was done, (pun so malevolently intended).

As far as Mattheo is concerned, you are an easy conduit to release his frustrations through because your unpopularity makes you so incredibly inconspicuous. You blend into any given crowd at any given moment, your name seldom reaching the heights of ridicule among his group because you are so unforgettable… There had been no reason to point out your flaws, not because you did not have any, but because you were simply invisible.

It is particularly strange to have any social interaction beyond the bounds of group projects and class discussions… so Harry Potter gifting you even a sliver of attention had been violently unorthodox. So unorthodox, in fact, you failed to look up from the weathered pages of your novel when his gentle voice wafted in your direction during a rare free period in Study of Ancient Runes. Your professor has been summoned quite promptly by the headmaster and has yet to return. The class has been in a state of havoc ever since.

"I don't know if you're aware of this but…" A deep shadow over the pages alerted you to his presence, "They both die at the end."

It was incredibly rare that Potter, who sat at the desk directly in front of you, ever felt the need to strike up conversation that was not purely academic. Gryffindors made use of Ravenclaws as often as Slytherins.

So naturally, you peer curiously up at him…

"Sorry?"

"Y-Your book. It's a muggle book, isn't it? I haven't seen anything with a cover like that around here. It's refreshing. Everything in the wizarding world is ancient and leatherbound." He mumbles as his index finger slides into the collar of his red quidditch jersey. He finds himself suddenly overcome by a wave of embarrassment even though there was nothing at all to be embarrassed about… he turns his chair slightly in your direction, his eyes darting to the door and the empty teacher's seat before meeting yours once more.

"'They Both Die At The End." He says, pointing towards the title.

"Oh…" You affirm, rocking your head back and forth, "You were making a joke?"

"No," Harry snickers before waving a large hand in dismissal, "Evidently, the only thing I 'made' was a complete and utter fool of myself."

You're not sure when it happens but you feel the lower half of your face melting into what you suspect is a smile. You can feel your shoulders relaxing and your novel lowering imperceptibly.

"Work on your delivery next time and maybe we'll be getting somewhere."

"Is that how it is!?" Harry asked, pleasantly surprised by your banter, "- I could've sworn I had a shred of dignity before the start of this conversation. Now I'm not quite sure where that went."

Mattheo's feet pass over the threshold as soon as the sound of your laughter rushes past him. It is almost charming in its familiarity but incredibly curious in its rarity. He can't recall ever seeing you with your head thrown back while the instinctive sound of amusement races through your throat. He does not know he's staring until Draco shoves past him, to get to their own seats in the front of the class.

His eyes remain on you as he makes his way to his desk, hoping, perhaps, that you would turn your head infinitesimally, in acknowledgment of his presence.

You do nothing of the sort, and it not only fills him with a weird sort of dissatisfaction but it bubbles into full blown vexation when he realises who is capturing your attention so viscerally.

Mattheo has never prided himself on his patience or tolerance.

Overthinking is something he consistently lives without.

Most of his actions were spurred from things he felt in the now, and he was really fucking uncomfortable with what was happening now.

His glances at the front of the class before finding you once more in the very back corner of the class. He notices that Harry is stationed in front of you but the seat beside you is completely deserted.

Did you not have friends?

And more importantly; how did he never notice until now?

What if…

Perhaps if he…

"You didn't let me know we were having a picnic," The sound of a chair scraping against the tiles had both you and Harry rallying into silence. Mattheo appears at your side, pushing the chair against yours so he, too, sits facing Potter - who suddenly appears incredibly uneasy. Gone is the comfortable atmosphere cooked by easy and amicable conversation. Mattheo injecting himself into your little bubble created a suddenly charged and suffocating atmosphere. You cannot keep your wide eyes off Mattheo as he lowers himself to his chair beside you with his legs spread as he slouches down, like he always does.

"Don't stop on my accord," He exclaims, completely oblivious to the fact that your professor might walk in at any minute. "What were we talking about?" Your heart wrestles in your chest as you see him turn to address you. His slouching puts him a level lower than you, but it does nothing to lessen his intimidation.

"Maybe I should ask, Potter?" Mattheo turns his attention to the front, "What were you lot talking about?" There is not a trace of friendliness present in Riddle's tone. In fact, it's the very opposite. Your nerves, swelling with anxiety, only escalate into full-on panic when you feel him place a large hand on your skirt under the table.

Harry's voice is low and his eyes are trained on the floor, "Books-"

"Books!" Mattheo cuts him off with sarcastic fervour, "How utterly fascinating!" The hyperbolic wonder in his tone is utterly rude and unbecoming, but you look down at your desk in blatant anger. Refusing to be a part of whatever this is.

"And tell me, Potter, how many books have you read so far?"

It is then that Riddle's once stationary hand begins the faintest trace of movement. He begins slow and tame, his callouses barely registering on the soft fabric until his fingers prod the lining of your skirt…

Your breath hitches in your throat.

Never had Mattheo ever displayed a desire to touch you. Not in the way he made you touch him. It was made explicitly clear that only he would benefit from your secret rendezvous' and so you were left to deal with your aching cunt alone, with the image of the face he made when he came, still burned into your mind. It had never been about you.

"A couple,'' says Harry, fighting to show this bully that he was unaffected by his intimidation. If only he knew that with every advance Mattheo's palm made, you were slipping farther and farther away.

"A couple books?" Asks Riddle for clarity. He remains lax and languid on the inside, but the nature of his wandering hand underneath the desk tells a new story.

He finally slips under your skirt.

His palm connects with the softness of your thighs and he seems utterly pleased by it. His hand is immediately restless to explore how far you would let him go. Which isn't very far.

Not at all.

If he thought he could suddenly touch you after myriad occasions of using you like a discarded toy… he had another thing coming.

The tips of Mattheo's fingers make gradually increasing strokes along your thigh until his fingers prod the stretch marks on your inner thigh. It is there when you stop him, clenching your legs together, blocking his hand from any further movement.

Mattheo's voice is strained as he says, "And you like reading, Potter?"

Sensing something brewing between the two of you - your withdrawn, hazy gaze, staring directly through the desk and Mattheo's overabundance in questions, has Harry reeling backwards.

"I asked you a question, Harry."

"I like reading."

"Good! That's really good!" Quite suddenly, Riddle tilts the ends of his half-moon nails into your thigh. His nails bite into your skin, forcing them to weaken and unclamp. Before you're even able to think, his palm is cupping your cunt through your panties- forcing an indecent yelp from your throat which you quickly (and very badly) disguise as a cough.

Mattheo is utterly pleased while he continues mindlessly stroking your cunt. Not for the purpose of any glorious stimulation. His hand is just there to show you (and perhaps maybe himself) that he has access to the most private part of you.

That thought alone has an unforeseen and sudden wave of lust coursing through his veins and surging straight to his hardened cock. He thinks of all the things he could have done to you but failed to do. He thinks about how, up until this point, he had ever been satisfied with using your mouth alone, not when he was denying himself the softness of your pussy all along.

He felt angry with himself, for being so fucking stupid, he is angry at Potter for seeing whatever it is he saw in you, way before he did and, possibly most harrowing of all is the fact that he is angry with you. And he can't help but be angry at you. How easily you whore yourself out to any and every man. If this thing with Potter had gone far enough, would you replace him? Had you even fucked Potter before?

You bite down on your lower lip as your head bows even further into your book. The words blend into one another, and all you can feel is a rise in temperature and Mattheo's suddenly restless fingers, pressing rudely against your clit - for the sole purpose of ripping an orgasm out of you right then and there, at the very back of an unsupervised classroom, with Harry Potter still very much a part of the conversation.

"You've got so many books to read in your lifetime," Says Mattheo. He sits up slowly, likely spurred on by the dampness seeping through your panties. "Don't cut your long life short by trying to entertain other people's girlfriends, yeah?" Gone are any traces of feigned friendliness. "Fucking Mudblood,"

Your skin feels like you are bathing in magma and you hope Potter could not see the slight tremor in your hand as you gripped the sides of your book with more force than necessary.

Mattheo's words… they have you shifting forward and widening your legs minutely. You crave for nothing more than to roll your hips in tandem with the circles he's pressing against your clit.

"Understood?"

Your orgasm is dangerously close, with the promise of sheer, disgusting shame and embarrassment if he continues. You feel Harry give you one final curious look, perhaps pleading for an interjection of denial at some point but you've taken to bouncing your knee under the table, hoping the vibrations might create enough friction to aid Mattheo's hands. He is keeping you trapped in a space of wanting. So much so, that this almost feels like a punishment.

Once Harry is turned back around and facing the front of the class, Mattheo lowers his lips to your ears. The damp smell of firewhiskey floods your nostril and you realise that he is completely drunk. In the second lesson of the day.

However, you're so completely stimulated, even the warmth of his breath as you fight the urge to hump into his hand like a lost little puppy until you make a mess all over his hand.

"You're such a fucking slut, you know that?" Your book drops to your desk - muffled by the sounds of the classroom cacophony. "You like being humiliated like this?" He asks, almost in complete awe. It takes everything in you not to moan outright.

"Fuck," You whisper to yourself, blinking your eyes shut, warding off the need but to no avail. His fingers are long and limber, and they have you nearly cumming right there, in front of your entire fucking class. Had it not been for your Professor's haphazard arrival into the class, and the swift removal of Mattheo's fingers from between your legs… you might truly have become the slut he labelled you as.

Instead of moving to his designated seat, Riddle raises his hand for the professor… the very same hand that has previously been in between your legs.

"Yes, Mr Riddle?" Asks the Professor, his voice as lacklustre as his appearance.

"May we be excused? We were excused by Professor Slughorn to assist him in-"

"Fine, fine," Says the professor with a wave of dismissal before turning his attention to the rest of the class. "The rest of you, open your textbooks to page 56."

Riddle's hand is clamped around your forearm, already leading you swiftly out the door in a long and wide stride. Had it been any other teacher at all, they might have recognized this for what it so clearly was.

"Here," you have barely made it fully into the boy's bathroom before Mattheo is stuffing his fingers down your throat, making you gag and yelp at the sudden intrusion. "Tell me how good you taste." He doesn't even bother to make sure you're truly left alone in the bathroom before pushing your front against the bathroom sink.

"Is that good?" His voice is as sweet as honey as he forces his fingers deeper down your throat, causing you to cough and gag around them.

Mattheo has half his sense to pull his wand from his back pocket, and without turning around, whispers "Colloportus," and the heavy doors snap shut.

You're supposed to be afraid because you've never seen him like this. Mattheo is always a ball of sarcastic energy between trysts, but it's usually an energy he can somewhat contain.

You don't know what to do with him, not when he's watching you choke on his fingers through the mirror, while his other hand fondles at your breasts and rips your bra down until your nipples are poking through your school shirt.

The figure in the mirror distorts as your eyes begin to water. Thick beads of tears grow pregnant at the ends of your eyes before rolling down the side of your face.

"My girl," Mattheo presses his face into your hair, breathing you in, pressing his body into your side. His hard cock in unmistakable through his school pants, "My messy little girl,"

You finally moan candidly while your fingers grip the countertops and your hips buck into nothingness. Your eyes plead with him in the mirror, hoping they relay how utterly useless with lust you have become. It would not take hard work to make you cum, you're sure one more flick against your material-clad nipples might send you over the edge.

"Fuck, why didn't I think of this sooner,"

This is all new, even for the two of you.

"Spread your legs." He commands, even though his feet are already kicking them apart.

"Come here," you break eye contact in the mirror to face the boy behind you. Mattheo removes his fingers sitting in your mouth, leaving a trail of sticky saliva in its wake before replacing it with a long and messy kiss- one that has his tongue forcing itself inside.

Mattheo weaponizes your distraction to reach around and slide your panties to the side with one hand while he rubs your soft nub with his other, spit-coated hand.

You break away from the kiss, neck craning back and mouth hanging open while your eyebrows dissolve into crescents. You cannot look away from him, as you hump his hand.

"You wanna cum?" You nod enthusiastically. "And what if I told you, you can't cum until I've fucked that little pussy of yours? Hm? What then?" His words have you mewling from the sheer pleasure they bring and your orgasm threatens to snap once more.

"Fuck," He hisses, feeling unable to remove his hand from your wet cunt but needing to, in order to undo his belt and pull his aching cock out. "Don't you dare fucking touch yourself," He says in a deadly quiet voice before bringing his hand up to your mouth. "Spit." You don't ever think of disobeying him, not when you're swimming so deeply in your subspace, not when he's the one to bring you here.

Mattheo collects every bit of saliva you offer him before coating his cock in the stuff.

Deciding not to waste anymore time, he does what his body is screaming for him to do: he bends you over the bathroom sink and pushes cock right through your slippery folds. It's tense and painful and your voice is hoarse from doing all that screaming but the sudden contact strokes a deeply sated part inside yourself. His curved and pretty cock rams your insides with reckless abandon, all while he delivers small slaps against your cheek. Riddle keeps a firm grip on your throat. His mouth is inches away from you while his hips rut into yours. His words are being delivered through clenched teeth.

"You think you're so fucking smart but you're just my little whore, arent you? A little whore thst fucks anything that gives her the slightest bit of attention?" It doesn't even register that Mattheo wrongfully suspects that there had been something between you and Harry but you keep your mouth shut. For all his indifference in the past, this is how you would make him pay.

"Oh~ fuck." His cock bruises your cervix, leaving him balls deep and feral inside you. "Fucking Potter?! You wanna give what's mine, to fucking Potter?!" His voice is utterly depraved and animalistic and it has your orgasm cresting.

He is panting, while he mumbles into your ear.

"What would Potter think? If he saw you like this? What would he think? Would he still want your slutty pussy knowing I've been inside it? Knowing that I've cum so deep inside you? Completely ruining you for anyone else, huh?"

"You…" The tears threaten to spill, "It's only ever been you, Mattheo -oh my god! I'm so fucking close!" You fight down tears as the lava begins to bubble at the pit of your stomach.

"S-Say it again. Tell me you want me!" He exclaims, "Tell me you fucking need me."

"Oh my God, Mattheo, I fucking need you." You push your hips back to meet his thrusts.

His voice wavers after your confession. His strokes became sloppy. His mind is flooded with the tightest of your cunt around his cock- how someone so smart could possibly ever say they need him. It has a flood of heat pooling at the base of his cock. "You're so fucking pretty… my pretty girl - my pretty whore," He nods to himself while his heavy cock finds purchase in a specific clump of sensitive tissue inside your cunt. It has you clamping your own mouth shut, your arms wavering while your back arches towards him, only allowing him better excess.

"I need you," You say once more, swallowing a ball of saliva as you nod towards him through the mirror, "I need you to cum inside me."

"Oh my fucking god," Mattheo's eyes soften in their desperstion, "M'gonna fucking breed pussy right here- fuck!" His grip on your throat grows tighter until you're wholeheartedly cut off from your air supply. You hump his cock until you feel it twitch inside you.

"Y-Youre making me cum, baby- fuck-" You feel his hot cum spurting inside your walls, triggering your own orgasm that has you gripping his cock like a vice.

"So… so pretty" His hips stutter against yours until you've completely drained him of his cum. A sharp tremor settles over your bones and you gasp in vague increments, waiting for the overwhelming state of euphoria to subside… but it never does.

The weight of what you had done comes crashing back down but you are unable to feel anything besides an immense wave of satisfaction at having your deepest need satiated.

"I think I nearly killed Potter today." His voice is a hoarse echo within the school bathrooms.

"There is no Harry Potter," You say, watching him through the mirror, "In my whole world, there is only ever you, Mattheo."

And a part of him believes you, but he refuses to affirm something as emotionally stifling as that. Instead, Mattheo's eyes flutter shut as his nose finds your hair once more. His cock is still buried inside you, and you hiss as he moves his hips slowly, almost insitinvely. He loves being so wholly enveloped by you. He loves feeling you everywhere.

© to @mphountitled on tumblr; do not repost

[jj-one]

HOW JUNGKOOK WOULD TREAT HIS BIMBO GF 🍥

pairing: established relationship, bf!Jungkook x bimbo!fem!reader genre/tags: smut, dumbification, degradation, praise kink, breeding kink, piv, unprotected sex, an*l, oral (m receiving), t*tty f*cking, drooling, use of the word daddy (only once)

**old repost from my deleted blog (05/24/23)

- Having a drop dead gorgeous girlfriend was a given for Jungkook, he loved the fact that y’all were both smoking hot and turn heads everywhere you go

- The stark contrast between your appearances drove him insane

- His aesthetic was more dark and mystique, is also heavily tattooed while you always wore pink and pastels, having bare skin

- Is so enamored with the idea of you being the total opposite of him, he always feels like he’s corrupting your sweet innocence

- Kinda treats you like you’re his eye candy anywhere he goes, has you wrapped up on his arm like it’s a leash

- He’s been debating getting an actual leash for you since you constantly trip and fall whenever you’re out with him

- You were just so ditzy and clumsy… it was your character flaw yet Jungkook saw it as an endearing quality

- Also loved that you were an airhead, clingy, and always wanting his attention ;( makes the joy of him coming home to you all the more thrilling <33

- Always buying you pink and girly thingsss

- Whenever he sees something hello kitty or barbie related he instantly thinks of you and buys it

- CONSTANTLY wants to spoil you, omg this man would spend every dime he could on you just to make you happy

- He looooves taking you out shopping because that’s your favorite activity !!

- He splurged on you the other day, buying you any color of that Dior lip oil that you were obsessed with, it was worth it since he’d be the one taking it off your lips afterwards

- Jungkook enjoys watching you try on skimpy outfits for him, the shorter the skirt the better— don’t get him started on the way your hardened nipples peek out the fabric of your shirts…

- Likes to play dress up with you like you’re his personal doll

- He’ll put you in a pink lace slip dress one night and the next he’ll have you wear white see-through lingerie for him; that is only when you two are in private of course

- Frequently teaches you new things so you keep up to date with current news and other events, he knows you aren’t the brightest but you have a heart of gold and do your best to comprehend everything he tells you !

- When watching movies you often pause to ask questions about the film because you don’t get it

- Jungkook made you watch ‘Inception’ with him one time and it absolutely rotted your brain

- He enjoys explaining the movie to you in a babying way, dumbing it down for you to understand it as your mind is blown away by all the knowledge he drops on you

- Laughs at your inability to comprehend the plot and pats your head while teasing you

- “Awww, you poor little thing…can’t even understand the simple concept of a movie.”

- It really really really turns him on when you wear high heels, the higher the heels the higher the tent in his pants grew

- You wore the sexiest 6-inch stripper heels for him and he fucked you out completely while you had them on, he thinks he might have a heel fetish or something

- Absolutely adores your bright & bubbly personality !! Will praise you any time he hears you say something smart

- “Did you know that Sloths can hold their breath longer than Dolphins???” You would ask him randomly.

- “No I didn’t, but thanks for the fun fact babe. You sound so cute when you talk about things you’ve discovered.”

- “It was on the back of my Snapple cap, how cool is that?! See look!!”

- He will never not be impressed by your lack of awareness, you lived in your own little bubble and he wanted to shield you from all harm and scary things

- Is sooo completely obsessed with your body

- Your bouncy tits, your curvaceous hips, and your cute plump butt was the perfect sight to send the blood rushing to his cock

- Loves. To. Fuck. You. So. Dumb.

- Uses your hole like it’s a fleshlight and loves cumming inside you repeatedly

- Dumping all his cum into your little bimbo cunt was the only thing he needed in his life

- Often catches you drooling at him, when you do this he scoops it up with his finger and puts it back in your mouth

- His favorite part of sex with you is seeing your fucked out face

- The stare you give him while you deepthroat his cock was enough to make him combust

- “Look so pretty with my cock stuffed in your mouth, such a pretty little slut for me..”

- The way he would degrade you but praise you in the same breath confused you in many ways yet you enjoyed every minute of it

- Your makeup would be all smeared, mascara would be runny, the Dior lip gloss he bought you fully transferred to his cock now

- Can never choose between if he likes doggystyle or cowgirl more since both positions he gets to look at your assets with a nice view

- Lots of titty fucking, loves having your big round tits around his cock, making a mess all over your chest once you milk him clean

- He owns all your holes, he likes to use your tight little ass from time to time

- After lubing it up nice and gently, he would go to town on your ass just pounding into your fuck hole viciously

- “What a fucking whore you are, gonna keep fucking your tiny hole until I pump every last bit of my seed in you.”

- Turns him on so fucking much when you start babbling and unable to speak proper sentences

- You’d whimper and hiccup with frustration from the way his cock made you feel

- His love language will always be making you feel so low. So small compared to him that you don’t even feel worthy of his presence at times

- “Can’t stop drooling all over yourself? Already too dumb and fucked out to continue, hmm?? Oh never mind, you’re already dumb…just shut up and take daddy’s cock like the good little slut you are, you were made for taking cock anyway.”

[7s3ven]

Enemies to lovers to enemies with Simon Ghost Riley

Notes: cussing, gore, just an idea, fem! reader

You were supposed to be fine. It was just a little hit on the head. Though, the way your head was wrapped in bandages told you it wasn’t merely a simple bump.

You didn’t remember much. Your memory was fuzzy. Really, all you remembered was something crashing into you and then you were on the floor, surrounded by blood. Your blood. Your gun laid scattered beside you, inches out of your reach. You would have been dead if Jonny hadn’t found you in time.

Everything else was a blur. You remember your teammates but only their names; not their personalities or your relationships with any of them.

Your head throbbed painfully as the door creaked open, four large men ducking into the small room.

“Bloody ‘ell, dove, thought we lost ya.” One said in a Scottish accent. Jonny.

While Gaz, Price, and Soap checked your vitals, the last man hung back. You racked your brain for his name but all you could remember was his call sign. Ghost. His iconic skull mask was engraved in your mind.

“What’s wrong with him?” For the first time in weeks, you finally spoke. Your voice was rough and hoarse but you kept your gaze on Ghost. “Why isn’t he coming near me?”

You saw Price and Gaz exchange a look.

Ghost awkwardly stepped forward, placing a heavy hand on the side of your bed. His fingers brush against yours and on instinct, you quickly grab his wrist.

“We dating or something?” You ask, glancing at Soap for confirmation.

“Yeah, somethin’ like that.” Ghost grunts.

“Might as well with all the arguing ya two do.” Soap adds.

You were put into Ghost’s care with no knowledge of your former relationship. In truth, you and Ghost never got along. He never fully welcomed you into his team and you never acknowledged him as far as a simple nod.

This new you was… different. And somewhat of an improvement.

You were an attractive woman and Ghost never failed to notice such a thing.

Due to your injury, you were required to take a break from work. That meant staying with Ghost who was meant to be monitoring you.

Every day he returned from work to dinner made by you. You snuggled up to him whenever he was close and complained when he had to get up.

Ghost, who could never see eye to eye with you before, was beginning to like being around you. You were sweeter without all your hatred directed towards him.

He adjusted to your presence within his small apartment and even began viewing the two of you as a normal happy couple.

And then your memories returned. You had no idea of the newfound bond Ghost had formed with you. You were back to hating him while he was doing everything he could to get on your good side, to experience your gentle touches one more time.

Ghost didn’t dare tell you of what happened after you temporarily lost your memories. He suffered in silence as you sent him pointed glares that contrasted the sweet looks you used to give him.

[lysil7777]

Yan! Dom! Fem! Reader x Sub! Boy

"P-please just.. just leave me alone!" James whimpered, tears welling up in his brown eyes, cheeks and ears flushing

"Aww what's wrong Jamie? Are you gonna cry? Did I hurt your feelings? Do you need your Mommy? You lean in to bite his ear and then whisper "I could be your mommy~"

Jamie hated himself for being unable to stop the moan that came out when you nipped at his ear and hated himself even more for letting you bully and harass him everyday.

When Jamie started college he swore things would be different from high school, he'd be more social, more motivated, and less shy. But 3 months later and the only person he talked to on a daily basis was you.

The first time you two met was in class, he'd braved up the courage to ask you for a pencil, he didn't really need one but he was trying to get out of his comfort zone.

You obliged but only after teasing him a bit asking what he'd give you in return, he got all embarrassed not knowing how to properly return your banter, and offered to pay you which you found very amusing. After a few more interactions you started to grow very fond of the nerd who sat behind you in Calc and before you knew it he was always on your mind.

The way he'd get embarrassed and look away from you when he didn't know what to say, the nervous habits he had when he was out by himself, how kind he was without anyone noticing, he was your adorable little specimen, for you only. And of course the best part was how naughty he could be, oh he was so innocent at the same time tho. You'd lost count of the number of times you'd watched him through his window, jerking it to soft domme porn, pet play, degradation, and dumbification, he was a pervy little nerd but the shame he felt afterward made you want to climb through his window and show him how much more depraved you were.

"What are you talking about y/n, I'm older than you that doesn't even make sense" he rambled looking anywhere but your eyes that were boring into his skull. God why did you have to be so close, why did you have to smell so good and be so pretty and-

His thoughts were cut off when you grabbed his chin and made him look at you directly

"I just think you're the kind of guy who needs direction, someone to help make those difficult decisions a sweet pet like you can't really decide for themselves, and why should you, that pretty little head of yours shouldn't have to worry about a single thing" you cooed squishing his cheeks together and making his lips push out

"I'm eighteen y/n, I can make my own decisions" Jamie argued or tried to through squished lips

At 5'3" you stood an entire nine inches under Jamie, but that didn't make him feel any less small in your presence

Letting go of his face you took a step back pretending to think for a moment "Alright then, I'll let you choose. Give me your number or get wedgied."

Jamie stood there dumb for a second, pants growing tighter and his skin warmer

"W-what?" He laughed nervously

Pulling his face closer to yours by the collar of his shirt you repeated your earlier statement to him in a slow demeaning manner, as if he was brain dead

"Give me your number or you get boo boo, oh no!" Your lips turned down in faux sadness

Jamie wasn't sure what to make of the situation, you usually weren't this physical with him, he was a little scared but mostly turned on. He didn't want to admit it but he had the teeniest tiniest crush on you and he blamed the stupid porn he'd been watching but he only looked into it because of you!

"I-I don't.." he paused

On one hand, he wanted to give you his number but on the other hand he'd never thought getting wedgied sounded so appealing

"You don't hmm~? Well, that just won't do. What happened to my big tough guy? Who was so strong and independent? Do you know darling? Ah, of course you don't. You're just as clueless as a little puppy dog and as cute as one too <3"

The new nickname shocked Jamie and caused him to audibly gasp, his hard-on fully visible now

"You can't j-just-aghhh"

You gripped him by his hair to cut him off

"Oh is puppy trying to give the orders now? What a silly little mutt you are, you really don't know how this works do you? The tent in your pants suggests otherwise but here you are telling me what I can and can't do with my property"

"I-I'm not yours y/n! A-and I'm not a pervert!!"

That first statement made your blood boil and you didn't even realize that you'd pushed Jamie down to his knees

"A good dog doesn't speak, a good dog gets treats and rewards but you're not being a good dog, Jamie. I know your tiny brain might not have comprehended it yet but you are mine, you're only mine. Who else is gonna talk to such a pervert hm? You were made for me, nobody else should ever see you like this, in fact, nobody ever sees you the way I do."

Before he could get a word out you pinned him to his position by placing your shoe on his clothed dick and reached over him to grab his boxers. Putting pressure on both simultaneously had him squirming and letting out the most sinful moans that made you wanna take him right then and there.

"Y-nnnnnnn" he whined, grinding up to help release some of the tension but each movement made the fabric between his ass more uncomfortable

"Shhh puppy, this is the punishment you've been given, I wouldn't be a very good owner if I didn't discipline my pet, you just gotta learn how to be good for me mkay? Don't you wanna learn how to be good and get rewards and pets and walkies~?"

All the new sensations made Jamie's head spin, his body felt like it was burning up from the inside out, his head was fuzzy, his dick was so much more sensitive than it had ever been while he was touching it and he couldn't place why the slight uncomfortableness of the wedgie made his parts throb even more, the whole situation was so intense poor boy couldn't fully wrap his doggy brain around it.

"I-I'm so close y/nnn, oh godd please, give me more! 'M so closeee" he panted not caring how pathetic he looked

"Already? Such a greedy pup for me hehe~ Have you learned your lesson, Jamie? Do you even deserve to cum against the bottom of my shoe?" You sang in a taunting manner pressing down even harder with your shoe

"I-, aghhhhh ohh yess fuck, YES! I'm yours y/n only yours! Promise! I'll-uggghh I'll be-hah hah- good! Just for you!"

"Atta boy! That wasn't so hard was it pup?" Finally letting go of his underwear you continued to let Jamie grind against your foot until he got to the edge

"M- boutta...cum!!" At this point, Jamie had grabbed your leg, chin resting on your thick thigh, eyes teary and glazed over staring up at you as if you were a goddess

Softly cupping his face you lifted it off your leg and removed any contact from his dick causing him to let out strings of breathy and high-pitched whines

You sat down and pulled him into your lap, gently wiping away the fresh fallen tears off his face

"W-*hiccup*why y/n, was so close...so close"

His protest died down with a stern look from you

"You'll be alright puppy, I promise. I'm gonna take care of you from now on, you are mine after all"

The rest of the evening was spent holding your new puppy, rubbing his tummy and flustering him with all the soft attention you gave him

He couldn't believe he got so lucky as to experience you, and as long as he considers being owned and expected to heed your everyword, he was lucky!

End <3

[m00nkissedlover]

・｡Cinnamon Smoke 🚬

You've ordered: a slice of spiced cinnamon cake! enjoy!

"I wanna be high all the time, would you come with me?"

paul atreides x Freman! reader | word count: 1,661 words

Summary: in which you teach paul how to smoke spice 🚬 (based on this post i made)

Warnings: (MDNI) mentions of smoking, spice being used as a drug/ hallucinogen, making out/ heated kissing

Note: i am in no way glorifying or promoting smoking or any drug usage! i don't smoke, never have, never will. just decided to test out this plot. also, i made up my own interpretation of how i think the freman smoke spice

From making things like paper and clothing, to being used to enhance the flavor of traditional dishes, spice (a.k.a Melange) was a very important commodity for the Freman people. they almost couldn't live without it.

It was odd to Paul Atreides that the Freman would put such a thing in their food, his body reacting rather negatively the first time he tried it. But soon, he got used to it, his body slowly adapting to its cinnamon like flavor. But what really got him was the fact that you guys would smoke spice. He'd never done it himself, only hearing from Stilgar and other Freman that it was mainly done for ritualistic purposes. But sometimes, they'd just take a puff or two to lighten the load.

The first time Paul witnessed spice being smoked was when he went to go ask Stilgar about the progression of his mother becoming the new fremen reverend mother. Stilgar was sat on the floor of the seitch, a small pipe between his fingers. Connected to the pipe, was a small chamber filled with spice, something at the bottom heating it up. Sand colored smoke curled at his chapped lips, his expression rather lazy and relaxed.

"Muad'dib, what seems to be the matter?" he asked, his accent thick on his tongue.

Paul's previous questions had left him as his eyes followed the flow of the smoke as it felt Stilgar's mouth and floated up to the ceiling, disappearing into the air. It also had a pretty strong smell, almost like a sweet and sour scent.

"Would you show me how to smoke spice?" Paul blurted, his mouth moving faster than his brain.

At first, Stilgar was silent, pausing as he was about to take another puff. He looked Paul dead in the eyes, and then...he laughed. He laughed for a good while, his eyes landing back on Paul whose expression hadn't changed.

"Oh, you're serious-" Stilgar mumbled as he calmed down from his bout of laughter.

"Ahort answer: no. Long answer: you're not used to such."

"But I eat the food of the Freman-"

Stilgar cut Paul of with an amused snort. "Just because your stomach is used to spice, doesn't mean that your lungs are. Sure, you breathe in a few mouthfuls of spice when we go on sandworm rides and such, but this-" Stilgar tapped on the small glass spice chamber, the sound echoing in the small room.

"With a high enough dose, this can kill a man. That's why we smoke it in moderation."

"Then I'll just-"

"No! And I mean it, Muad'dib." Stilgar waved Paul off, the brown haired boy letting out a huff.

As he walked out, he felt a presence watching him. All of a sudden, someone grabbed his wrist and pulled him into a corner. In a moment of panic, Paul pinned the person against the wall, holding his crysknife to their throat.

"Whoa, whoa! Calm down! Paul, it's me. Y/n..." you said, your eyes wide and muscles tense as the blade was mere inches away from slitting your throat.

Once he realized it was you, Paul relaxed, loosening his grip and sheathing his crysknife.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" he asked, letting out a breath of relief. "Just how long have you been standing here?"

"Long enough to know that I can give you the experience you're trying to have." you quipped, paul giving you a tense look.

"You won't get in trouble?" he asked as you pulled him down the hallway of the seitch.

"Don't worry. I'll handle Stilgar. Now come on."

You managed to successfully distract Stilgar for long enough to "borrow" one of the "spice smokers." you and Paul were now sat in your tent, his gray-green eyes watching you as you pulled a small sachet of spice out of your pocket. Opening the lid, you poured it into the small chamber and clamped it shut. With the press of a button, the chamber started to heat up, the strong scent passing through.

You took the honor of going first, lifting the pipe to your lips and taking a quick puff. Paul watched in amazement as you parted your lips, the beige colored smoke filling the air in front of you.

"Your turn." you said, passing the pipe to Paul.

His fingers brushed against your own as he took the pipe from you, a strange shiver running down your spine. You sat back on your hands, watching as paul brought the pipe to his lips.

"Just inhale it." you told him, the dark haired boy nodding. He placed the pipe between his lips, taking a big breath. He held it in his mouth for not even two seconds before he started coughing uncontrollably.

"What the hell?" paul croaked, feeling a burning sensation in his chest.

You had to bite back a laugh, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. "It's okay, that's how it is for everyone their first time. Here..."

You took the pipe from him, looking at him as you walked him through it. "You're not trying to swallow the spice, alright? Take your time inhaling...do it slowly. Don't hold it in, it won't do anything. Then slowly exhale. Like this-"

You brought the pipe to your lips, slowly inhaling the sand like substance. Almost immediately, you let out a puff, the smoke curling at your lips.

"I think I get it now." Paul insisted, reaching for the pipe. He did just as you had, coughing a bit less and successfully letting out a small plume of smoke.

"There you go. You're a natural! How do you feel?" you asked him, already starting to feel loopy yourself.

"...Good, but in a strange way..." he mumbled, taking another puff. "I kinda...I kinda like it."

It wasn't long before you two were as high as spacecrafts. You two sat there, talking about the mysteries of the universe, Paul's latest visions and dreams, and anything else really.

"Have you ever thought about just how huge the universe is? It's...crazy to think about..." you drawled, your eyes tinted a bit more blue than usual.

"I mean...yeah. With being "Lisan al Ghaib" I kinda...have to." Paul responded, lifting a finger to touch the smoke that just left your mouth.

"Do you really believe in all that...prophecy?" you asked, your bodies feeling light and tingly. It felt nice, like you were wrapped in a big blanket.

"If I'm being honest...no. Doesn't help that my mother's shoving her propaganda down everyone's throats or that Stilgar still believes it." Paul answered, his tone low and mellow. the spice was kicking in real nice now.

"Just want this shit to be over....all this stupid war and stuff. I want to enjoy living with my people and not have to fear for their safety..." you muttered, resting your head on paul's shoulder.

"Stupid houses and their stupid war...stupid prophecy..." you grumbled, your head moving a little as a laugh vibrated through Paul. You could feel his hand come up to brush some of your hair out of your eyes, your eyes fluttering shut.

"I'd rather sit here and get high with you than go fight some stupid war." Paul said and now it was your turn to laugh.

You took another puff, peering over at Paul for a moment. "Open your mouth. I wanna try something."

Yoi inhaled once more, leaning over to face Paul as he parted his lips. You exhaled, letting the smoke escape your mouth and enter into Paul's, a slight shiver running down his spine.

"Do it again." he whispered, the pipe already between your lips once again. You leaned in a bit closer, your lips hovering over his. Paul's lips parted and once again, you let the smoke trail from your lips to his, a lazy smile forming on yours.

"Again-" Yoir lips were on Paul's in no time, the leftover smoke and cinnamon-like taste of the spice on your tongues mingling. Yoi hands were immediately in his hair, Paul cupping your face in his hands as your bodies melded together.

The soft sigh of satisfaction that left Paul's lips made your stomach fill with butterflies. Your heightened senses made the whole experience that much more enjoyable for the both of you. You could practically hear each other's heartbeats, feel each other through your clothes.

When you two parted for air, you took a moment to look at each other, your eyes half lidded and full of unsaid thoughts of one another.

"You're so good at this..." Paul breathed, moving one of his hands to fiddle with the hem of your shawl.

"So good at what? Smoking spice or kissing you?" you questioned, goosebumps forming along your skin.

"Both." Paul muttered as he leaned in to steal another kiss from you.

Right when things were about to take a rather...steamy turn, you heard someone calling your name from outside the tent. You poked your head out to see Chani, dressed in her stillsuit.

"Stilgar, needs u-! Y/n, have you been smoking spice again? You know Stilgar'll be pissed if he catches you." Chani warned, your blue eyes rolling at her nagging.

"Yeah, yeah. We'll be out in a minute."

"We?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow. As if right on time, Paul poked his head out as well, giving chani a slight nod. You could see the slight disappointment in her eyes.

"You...you two were...! Just go get your stillsuits!" the girl grumbled before starting to walk back through the tents. You stood up, pulling paul to his feet and tucking the smoke chamber into your shawl.

"We should do this more often." you breathed, taking in the slightly dazed look in Paul's eyes as you two began your descent down the sand dunes.

"I just might take you up on that..." Paul answered, his fingers brushing against yours. Oh, what he would do to taste the spice on your tongue once more. 🚬

© m00nkissedlover, 2024

[ihfmseatsoch]

femcel bitch fem!jimmy, who makes the (lesbian) reader eat her out for nothing in return, and puts her cigs out on her please? 🙏🙏

fem!jimmy....... ouuuhhugh GET THE STRAP 🗣️‼️i renamed him jamie because keeping his name as jimmy sounded a little silly . hope thats not a problem.. :p

genre: smut

word count: 1.9k

warnings/content: enemies to fuckbuddies who are still enemies, sexual harassment, dubcon, oral, degradation, forced kissing, hair pulling, she puts her cigarette out on you, reader doesnt cum -_-

—

You fucking hated your co-pilot.

Every time she eyes you up and down like you're a dead rodent, organs spilt out in every direction, her nose wrinkled at the smell of your rotten corpse, your blood boils to dangerous, scalding levels. So much so, you fear you may spontaneously combust one day.

You've never felt such all-consuming detestation for anyone in your life. Sure, you've had coworkers you disliked, but they didn't compared to her, someone so arrogant, hubristic, filled with unreasonable contempt for others. You weren't sure why she expressed such apparent distaste for YOU in particular. As far as you know, you'd done nothing to earn her mistreatment.

You'd brought her snarky attitude up to your Captain out of concern that perhaps you really were the problem after all. Your worries were met with a shake of the blond's head and a smile, telling you, "Ain't your fault. Jamie's always been... rough 'round the edges. Antisocial, if you ask me. Don't tell her I said that. She'll warm up to you."

Curly had an annoying tendency to defend his bitch of a work partner, no matter what she'd done or said. You almost wondered if they were fucking on the down low, but you didn't exactly want to envision the possibility for too long.

The most infuriating part about Jamie Zare, was that she was stupidly hot. Even you couldn't deny it. You couldn't stop yourself from glaring at her from afar, sometimes with feelings other than unadulterated loathing. It wasn't romantic attraction, fuck no. You'd rather eat blended glass and razor blades than go through actually dating her. Lust, was more like it.

Jamie carried herself so... confidently, like she owned the entire ship, going wherever she pleased, smoking near the air vents and causing the alarm to go off, Swansea's voice bellowing and raging about how 'that woman', as he calls her, needs to 'get her shit together'. You didn't necessarily disagree, but the thought of Jamie losing her enticing edge that drew you in took away her appeal, somewhat.

She was a selfish cunt, but she did look incredibly sexy puffing on a cigarette that rested between her long, slender fingers, her nail polish always chipped, even after she applies a new coat. You assume it's because of the way she habitually bites her nails, spitting the pieces she ripped off with her teeth anywhere she felt like.

Jamie has been occupying every square inch of your brain, lately. For a woman you're supposed to hate, you sure do fantasize about her a lot more than you're proud of. She's not helping your predicament, either, throwing sexual comments your way when she's not being passive aggressive or downright nasty. It's obvious that she likes the way you go speechless, every muscle in your body tensing, when she casually tells you, "Your tits look bigger than usual today" or, "Your uniforms gettin' a little tight around your ass, huh?"

At least you think she's complimenting you. In a way that could get her reported to HR for harassment, but knowing Pony Express, they wouldn't do anything substantial.

You just have to grit your teeth when she snickers to herself after your face reddens with a combination of scorn, and horniness. Your brain really went and bombarded you with rampant sexual desire for the worst woman out of the two you work with.

Awesome.

One night, (or whatever time it actually was on Earth) you had just begun to finish up with your work. Exhaustion weighed heavy on your body, and you wanted nothing more than the shitty, uncomfortable cot in your quarters. Devastatingly that plan was ruined for you when you heard a familiar voice rasp directly behind you, "Hey. Got a sec? Need somethin' from you real quick."

You resist the urge to clench your fists and scream at the top of your lungs, but you think you feel your eye twitch. Regaining your composure, you spin around to face her. Her arms are crossed, a boney hip leaning against the steel wall, her much taller figure looming over yours. "Um... Okay? What is it?" You try not to sound too annoyed.

Pushing herself off the wall promptly, she grabs your wrist and starts leading you down the hall, her hand unpleasantly cold. You couldn't even respond due to your sheer bafflement, plus your mind wasn't working at its full capacity due to your tiredness. Her legs move in large strides, faster than your own can keep up with.

"...Where are we–"

"Quiet."

Before you can even get mad at her for cutting you off, she's opening the door to her quarters and pulling you inside. It smells like body odor and nicotine. This is exactly why you've always steered clear of this room. Until now, but that's because you were forced. More than puzzled, you try to speak, "So... what did you nee–"

Once again, she cuts you off, this time with her mouth. The force of her shoving you against the wall knocks the air from your lungs, but her lips attacking yours with an almost repulsive sloppiness prevents you from taking a breath. You're not even kissing her back out of sheer bewilderment, but that doesn't deter her. "Jamie–" jesus, you can't get a single word out around this girl.

"Shut up," She huffs when she finally pulls back, a string of spit connecting your lips, "I need this. Just keep your loud mouth zipped for once, 'kay?" Jamie shoves her knee between your legs roughly, the feeling adjacent to being kicked right in the vagina. In other words, ouch.

Her chapped lips adhere to your neck, sucking on the flesh, leaving marks that are sure to turn from red, to shades of purple and blue, which will be a nuisance to hide until they fade. Her boney joint grinding against your cunt actually starts to feel good, rubbing and bumping against your clit. Jamie gropes whatever part of you that she can access; Your tits, hips, and ass being the spots she lingers on the most. You hate how wet she's getting you already, despite her lack of consideration for your physical comfort. Maybe you like how she's treating you as if you don't even have a conscience. That's a new kink you'll have to contemplate later, though.

"On your fuckin' knees. C'mon." Jamie grabs your shoulders to physically push you to a kneeling position, as if waiting for you to comply would take too long. You were gonna do it, but whatever. You can't find it in you to be too pissed at her impatience. She unbuckles her belt in front of you, shoving down her jeans and boxers with an urgency that leaves you winded, the entire situation moving way too fast for you to fully comprehend anything.

But what you do know, is that you're face to face with her pussy right now. Her bush is surprisingly well groomed, dark brown, pin straight pubic hair trimmed down so it's not overwhelmingly thick.

"You gonna keep starin', or do I gotta tell you what to do?" Jamie scoffs like you're the biggest idiot in the world for not knowing how to react in such a sudden situation. You can't think of anything to say, which further proves your stupidity to her. "Guess so." She sighs, like not getting what she wants immediately is the hardest thing she's ever dealt with.

She grabs your hair, urging your head towards her cunt, so close that you can smell her musk, and feel the heat radiating from her body. "You're gonna make me cum with your smartass mouth." She says, like it's factual. Like she knows without a doubt in her mind that you're going to do it whether you want to or not.

Her domineering personality doesn't aggravate you like usual. It's more intimidating than anything else, given the circumstances. So you nod, gulping down any hesitant comments. Verbalizing them wouldn't help you very much. Do you even want to be helped?

Your tongue darts out, licking an experimental stripe along her slit, her abdomen tensing when you reach her clit, a whispered curse leaving her lips. Her reaction encourages you to give the puffy nerve more attention, lapping and sucking with fervor. Her slick is tangy, the flavor appetizing on your tongue. You don't mind when she shoves you in deeper, grabbing hold of your head to angle your tongue where she wants it most, practically grinding her pussy on your mouth, your cheeks covered in her arousal.

"Fuuuck," she drawls, head tilted back, "You're not half fuckin' bad at this. Should just start comin' to you whenever I need to get off, huh?"

Her offer doesn't sound unideal. In fact, the thought alone has you moaning into her. She barks a short laugh at your pathetic sound. "Yeah? Knew you'd like that idea. Cunt hungry fuckin' slut." Even her degradation has you rubbing your thighs together, trying to create friction against your neglected core.

Jamie's breathing becomes ragged, her legs wobbling slightly as she continues to try and keep them from giving out, her fingernails digging into your scalp now, the short stubs feeling sharper all of a sudden. "Gonna– mmh– cum all over your pretty face soon," she speaks through her gasps, "and you're gonna lick up every last drop of it, y'hear?"

A harsh slap coming down on your cheek is your signal to nod obediently. You don't have a choice but to comply, anyway.

With a gutteral cry, her juices gush onto your tastebuds, your tongue lapping at her hole all the way through her orgasm. When her body is done convulsing, coming down from her peak, she pulls you away from her pussy, your face just as soaked as she is. You look a bit dazed, drunk off the taste and smell of her.

"You're a lot cuter like this." She backhandedly comments, grabbing a cigarette from a nearby pack of Newports, which she never seems to run out of. Even if she chainsmoked them for 24 hours straight, she'd find more. It's a mystery how she snuck them onto the ship.

Jamie takes a long drag, completely ignoring you now, your knees hurting from kneeling for so long, but you're still unsure if you're allowed to stand up yet. You feel awkward as the room falls silent. How can she block you out of her mind in a split second? Like you're not even an afterthought to her?

Eventually, you cough as her secondhand smoke enters your lungs, and her brown eyes dart back to you, like she's just now noticing that you're still in the room. She crouches down to your level, observing you like some kind of unidentifiable bug in a mason jar. Taking the cigarette out of her mouth, she blows a cloud of smoke directly into your face, just to watch you wince and hold your breath, not so eager to ruin your own lungs. You hear her chuckle.

Before you can snap and ask what her problem is, you feel something searing your shoulder, small but agonizing. You yelp, flinching away from whatever it was. "What the fuck?" You exclaim, noticing remnants of ash on your burnt skin. Your jaw drops in realization, glaring up at her in disbelief. She's smiling like it's funny.

"Somethin' to remember me by." Jamie says, as if you ever could forget her. You literally work together every day. Her illogical reasoning only pisses you off more as your wound throbs, hot and irritated. "The fuck is wrong with you?" You scowl. God, she's more malicious than you initially thought.

Shrugging, she drops the cig onto the floor so she can stamp it out under her boot. She hardly finished it. You suspect using you as an ashtray is the only thing she wanted to utilize it for in the first place.

You fucking hate your co-pilot.

—

[galactickle]

Our Last Summer

Alex Summers x reader

Summary: alex summers fix-it fic where he survives! him and the reader initially dislike each other but when they see each other years later they can't help but bring up old feelings they had pushed down.

Warning: graphic depictions of death/killing and animal death

✬ 1962 ✬

“So what can you do sweetcheeks?” Sean (who had declared his new codename as Banshee) asks with a grin. 

Y/N stutters, a red flush coming up the back of her neck, “I- um.” She’s still not sure why she's here, honestly. She doesn't want to use her powers to hurt people, but the men who had approached her while she was mindlessly wiping tables at a coffee shop ended up being quite convincing. “Here,” she suggests, walking across the room to where larger shards of glass lay after Banshee’s display. 

She bends at the knee, picking up the sharpest shard she could see in the debris. The others hold their breaths. Y/N raises her left hand, taking a deep breath before methodically slicing a long gash down her palm. She watches as the blood trickles down her arm. Stepping forward she displays the wound to the others, before the wound mends itself shut. 

The others nod, mildly impressed, before Alex steps forward, pointing a figure at her with his hand still holding a beer, “So you like, have the same power as Darwin… but worse,” he states.

Raven gasps, hitting him with a pillow. “I think it's cool,” she leans forward, resting her head in her hands, “what do you want to be called?”

Y/N shrugs, embarrassed by Alex’s comment, but decides it's better to brush it off, “I don’t know.”

“I think we should call you…” Angel pauses for effect, “Solace! Because like that’s what you’ll be, if you're like, our medic or whatever!”

Alex snorts, earning a glare from the two girls, but a grin from Sean. “Don't look at me,” he raises his hands in defense, “I think it's perfect.”

They girls ignore him, instead opting to look to Y/N for her thoughts. “I really like it, thanks Angel,” she smiles politely, rejoining them on the couch. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Y/N was screwed. The whole team wanted to know how she could be of use other than as a healer. And now Charles wanted her to practice her power. But she hadn't done this since she was a kid, and even then it was an accident. She had tried everyday since then not to do it again. And now here she stood, somewhere in Charles’ basement, standing in a room with a caged rat. Just her and the rat. 

Charles was smart enough to know she would never do it with him watching, even now, she debated letting the rat go and getting some ketchup from the kitchen and splattering it everywhere. But she knew she had to do it. Shaw was evil. He has to be stopped. Or we're all dead, Y/N thought to herself. You can do this.

She approaches the table where the cage sat, stopping a few inches from it. She lifts the hatch at the top of the cage, places her hand in the opening, wincing as her hand touches the poor animal’s body, her powers searching its anatomy. Y/N can feel its heartbeat, the blood rushing through its veins, all its organs working to keep it alive. She scrunches her face tightly, that dark feeling creeping up, the feeling she usually pushes away. 

Instead, today she takes a deep breath, before letting the darkness overcome her. The rat squeals, she feels its organs constrict, before imploding one by one. It weeps in pain, but Y/N persists, watching as the rat's bones snap at unnatural angles. She looks into the creature's eyes, before her power rushes to its brain and heart, killing it instantly.

There are tears in her eyes, but Y/N feels no sadness. She brushes them aside, stands up straight, and exits the room.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“... and Y/N do what you have to,” Charles makes a pointed look at the girl. 

Alex snorts, “What’s she gonna do? Heal them to death?”

Instead of retorting to Alex, which she had gotten comfortable doing in the past few weeks, Y/N looks Charles in the eyes, to which he nods assuredly. “Now go!” he exclaims.

Her fellow team members were quick to break into fights with the Hellfire Club. Y/N on the other hand, was dodging stray punches and mostly playing as the distraction. But then, out of the corner of her eyes, she spots Riptide sending a massive whirlwind towards Alex, who tries to dodge it but is trapped by the wreckage of the Caspartina. Y/N quickly judges the distance from where she stood, and decides to take the risk. Thankfully her running towards him distracts Riptide enough to miss Alex by inches. Unluckily, he manages to get a smaller whirlwind out and sends it harshly into Y/N’s chest. She flies through the air, landing on her back. Alex is quick to retaliate, sending a blast towards Riptide, which hits him effectively, sending him flying backwards towards where Y/N was climbing to her feet. Riptide had not been knocked to the ground, and once he regained his bearings he began charging up another whirlwind. Do what you have to, Charles’ words rang in her ears as she rushed from behind the enemy, hand outstretched. As soon as she makes contact, the darkness inside of her reaches out and clenches around the man’s heart, before crushing it completely. Riptide’s whirlwind falters, before he collapses to his knees, falling face first into the sand. 

Y/N stands there, hand extended, looking at the dead man on the sand. It isn’t until Alex yelling her name, and rushing to her side that she snapped back to reality. Looking up to see at least a hundred missiles in the sky, aimed right for the beach. He is careful not to touch her but ushers her to where the others are now huddled near Erik and Charles as they yell at one another. None of it registers to her. She can't stop looking back and forth between her hands and the missiles being tossed around in the sky.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Are you okay?” this may be the nicest conversation Y/N and Alex had ever had, and Y/N had only said 3 words. Alex nods, but Y/N knows, she's not that stupid, they were just in a huge fight, there's no way he's unharmed, even someone as powerful as Alex. “You know you can't lie to me,” she tries to lighten the mood with a grin.

Alex winces, “Why didn't you tell us about the,” he waves his hand vaguely in the direction of the beach where Riptides now dead body lays, “not-healing thing?”

Y/N looks down at her hands, “It was something I wanted to forget… Push down, never use… But Charles had other plans,” she shrugs, finally looking up at the boy. He nods, reaching out to take one of her hands in his. “Do you trust me?” she whispers. 

“Yes,” Alex states, squeezing her hand tightly. Y/N relaxes, a small smile forming as the familiar lightness of her power courses through Alex’s body, healing his wounds. He sucks in a deep breath, before stretching his leg, a laugh bubbling up from within him, “Did you heal my old torn ACL?” Y/N grins, shrugging at him before stepping back and heading to heal some of the other team members.

✬ 1983 ✬

“...You know what Jubliee? I'll look into that for you, okay?” Y/N walks alongside the young girl down the main stairs in the manor. 

“Thanks Y/N! You're the best!” she runs off, skipping down the rest of the stairs. Y/N’s eyes follow her before landing on someone she never thought she'd see again. She almost didn’t recognize him in his preppy clothes, but that blonde hair and mole on his neck was unmistakable. 

Alex’s head turns to the side, looking to the staircase, his eyes growing wide at the sight of the mutant stopped halfway down. “Y/N!” he exclaims loud enough to shock his younger brother standing next to him. Hank is unfazed by Alex’s lack of interest in what he’d been saying. Instead Beast grins as he sees Y/N rush down the stairs and wrap her arms tightly around the blonde's neck. She leans back, her hands finding a comfortable spot on his biceps, his still resting on her hips. “I-I, um… It’s so good to see you!” Y/N quickly realizes how awkward she had made the situation. 

“You too,” Alex whispers, staring intently at her, drinking in all of the changes in her face over the years. 

Scott clears his throat uncomfortably, and Hank glares at him despite the boy not being able to see him. Hank’s mad that this kid is ruining what he's been hoping to see all along. He hadn't noticed it at the beginning, no, it had happened sometime around Cuba. But the two had grown quite fond of each other, Hank often caught them being rather intimate, regardless of the fact that they claimed back and forth to only be ‘friends’.

✬ 1962 ✬

Y/N sat on the windowsill in her bedroom, book in hand, the afternoon sun providing the perfect reading light. There’s a soft tap at her door, but before she could even grab her bookmark, Alex has entered her room, taking in the few personal touches and how she had not made her bed this morning.

“Hey,” he steps forward slowly, after spotting her on her perch. 

“Hey,” she replies, quickly searching for the bookmark she swore she placed next to her. She smiles triumphantly when she finds it tucked under her leg, and places it in her book. She goes to stand, but when she looks up, Alex has already crossed the room, standing just a few feet from her. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks, eyes still wandering the room. Was he nervous?

“Not bad, you?” Y/N steps forward, closing the gap between the two almost completely.

“Good, great, actually,” he nods. 

“What are you doing here..?” Y/N asks with a tilt of her head. 

“Do you trust me?” Alex repeats the question from the day on the beach in Cuba, with just as much conviction as Y/N had. She nods in response, over the past couple weeks the two had talked more than ever and Alex wasn't as much of an asshole as she had previously thought. He leans forward, hands brushing her hips as he connects his lips with hers. Y/N sinks deeply into the kiss at first, a giddy feeling rising in her chest. 

Then Alex’s hands snake under her shirt, and a pit forms in her stomach, and not the good kind either. Suddenly she could feel him, or moreso his body, more than she would like, she pulled away, backing into the windowsill, breathless. “Is everything alright?” Alex asks, genuine concern laced in his voice.

“I-,” starts, breath hitching in her throat, she wanted to do this. But she knew she couldn't. Alex steps forward cautiously, hands about to touch her forearms, “I can't,” she gestures towards his outstretched hands, “do this.”

He looks down, towards where she held her hands parallel to his, wanting to interact, but an invisible force stopping her. “Riptide?” he asks, looking up into her eyes. She is quick to look away, ashamed that this kill has taken such a toll on her. “It’s okay,” he assures, hands floating up to rest on her shoulders but stopping just centimeters away. “We'll get through this,” once again, his instinct was to cup her cheek, but instead he opts for brushing a strand of hair out of her face gently, “together.”

✬ 1983 ✬

“So,” Alex clears his throat, as he and Hank walk away from the dorm room they had dropped Scott off in to rest for the evening until supper. “How long has Y/N been back?” 

Hank grins, nodding his head to himself, “Since, oh gosh, it's been like 10 years, hasn't it? After Erik’s last scandal, at least.”

“And you two are like… what?” Alex draws his strides longer so the two could chat without the prying ears around the main hallways.

Hank laughs, “Friends? Like we always have been?” He takes a moment to take in Alex, who seems unsettled and unsure, and Hank has an inkling what it's about, “She's missed you, you know. I think she always hoped you would have come back when you got discharged from the army.”

Alex nods, watching his feet intently, regret written all over his face, “I screwed up, huh?” He looks to his comrade.

“Not yet,” Hank claps him on the back before heading down the hall towards Charles’ office.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Y/N was pissed, mostly at herself. Somehow, due her daydream-filled-head likely, she hadn’t noticed a certain group of kids were missing. “Hank!” she called to the brunette ahead of her in the hall. 

Hank turns, he has a solemn look on his face, “Yes, Y/N?” 

She frowns, “Is everything okay? I was just gonna ask if you’d seen Jubilee, yesterday I told her I’d look into-”

“Y/N!” She hears her name moments before she is tackled in a hug from behind.

“Raven? What are you doing here?” she turns in the woman’s arms, embracing her just as tight as she had been seconds prior. 

“Ah, you know,” she waves off the thought, “Just found a straggler, figured this would be the right place to bring him.” Raven beams down at the woman she considered one of her only friends. 

Y/N grins happily, but Hank lets out a disgruntled huff from beside them. Before Y/N can inquire what’s gotten into him, Charles wheels through the front door, Alex and Moira MacTaggert on his heels. “Raven?” he repeats the phrase in a similarly surprised tone Y/N had had moments before. 

“Moira?” she responds, eyes barely even glancing at Charles. Moira gapes at the woman, unsure if she recognizes her. 

“Will you excuse us for a moment?” Charles asks Moira, “Raven, follow me,” he instructs, and leads her to his office.

Y/N is quick to turn back to the guest in the mansion, “Hi, I’m Y/N, it’s great to meet you.”

“Moira, it’s nice to meet you too,” she extends her hand for Y/N to shake, which she does. Then Moira turns to Hank who introduces himself politely and shakes her hand as well. 

“This place is amazing, and strangely familiar…” Moira looks around the foyer, examining the architecture. 

Y/N panics, looking to Alex, then Hank for help. “Hahah, yeah, I’m sure you’ve been to a lot of lovely mansions, working so high up in the government and all,” she manages to come up with. 

“Yeah, yeah…” Moira agrees absentmindedly, running her hand along the table in the center of the room. “Wait, how did you know where I work?” she snaps back to.

“Oh, haha,” the younger girl chuckles nervously, “Charles has been talking about going to see you for a while.”

Moira nods, then resumes examining the building. A minute or so passes and Y/N looks at Alex with pleading eyes, but before he could get something out, Moira is pondering again, “I swear I’ve been here before.”

“Old houses,” Hank replies dejectedly, “They all look the same.” With Moira’s back still turned from the group, Alex makes a displeased face at the man but he ignores it. 

“Would all of you like to come with me?” Charles announces, as he and Raven return from the office. Y/N goes to interject about the missing kids, but the look on Charles’ face makes her silence herself, he was deadly serious.

“Where are we going?” Moira asks as they walk down the hall to the elevator. 

“Downstairs… It’s a little… different from the rest of the school,” Charles replies. 

Xavier leads the group downstairs and towards Cerebro, an uneasiness settles over Y/N’s form. Sensing her tenseness, out of instinct, Alex’s hand reaches over and squeezes her’s tightly, surprising Y/N. Although, she stops herself from pulling away, instead she looks up at Alex, who is already watching her, and squeezes his hand back, before slipping her hand away and following the group. 

Charles uses Cerebro to locate Erik, who has been suffering since the loss of his wife and daughter. But it quickly turns sour, with Hank yelling for him to get out, and when he doesn’t respond, Hank attempts to remove the headpiece, but it shocks him and causes Charles to begin screaming in pain. “Alex!” Charles finally manages to get out, “Destroy it! Destroy everything! Destroy Cerebro!” Alex rushes forward, in front of where everyone is standing and looks back at Xavier for confirmation, “Wreak Havok!” Charles exclaims. Alex lets loose, sending plasma beams from his chest and arms, trying to thoroughly destroy the machine quickly. Finally it catches fire and the hold it has on Charles breaks, Y/N rushes to Alex’s side to help him through the rubble, while Raven helps Moira and Hank guides Charles.

Outside Cerebro, you all attempt to catch your breath, but a buzzing gains your attention down the hall. A force field appears, and within it Erik, alongside a handful of mutants. “Erik-” Raven manages to squeak out before Charles is being yanked down the hall by his metal wheelchair, she screams. Alex is quick to rush down the hall, yelling after them, “Hey! Asshole!” 

“All will be revealed, my child,” the larger blue pigmented man replies. 

Y/N and Hank run forward when they see Alex stop and begin to power up. “Alex!” Y/N screeches.

“Stop!” Hank yells, before him and Y/N halt and scream “No!” simultaneously, knowing exactly what was about to happen before it did. 

The red blast emits from Alex’s chest, and before he could register what was happening, Erik and co. were gone, and his energy was hitting the core of the quinjet Hank had been building. Hank instinctually wraps an arm around Y/N to protect her from the blast.

In the blink of an eye Y/N and Hank had collapsed on the ground outside of the mansion, the eruption sounding behind them. “No!” Y/N cries, “Alex!” she pushes Hank off of her, jumping to her feet, scanning the grass around her. To her right, there he lay, terribly burned and unmoving. She falls to the ground at his side, shaking him lightly, “Alex,” she whispers, tears filling her eyes. She feels the power within her begin to work, slowly, but she has hope when his heart begins to beat a little faster. Hank is talking to someone beside her but she hears only mumbling, her head flowing with too many thoughts as the burns heal slower than her powers have ever worked. 

“Where’s Alex?” Scott’s voice cuts through to Y/N, his voice laced with worry, “Where’s my brother?” Soon Scott was sliding on his knees at the side of his brother. “Alex?” he shakes him by the shoulders, causing Y/N to lose focus. Alex’s breathing becomes rugged, causing Scott to worry more.

“Hey!” Hank steps forward, pulling the boy up onto his feet, “Let her work okay? She’s trying to save him.” 

Y/N dives back into her work, healing the man she loves one cell at a time. It was tedious work, but she would do it forever if she could only talk to him again. Soon, but not soon enough, the lightness of his skin begins to return, his breathing becoming even, and his heart rate slowing to a steady thump thump thump. When his blue eyes flutter open, Y/N thought her own heart might’ve stopped. “Alex!” she exclaims breathlessly. 

“Hey,” he tried to get out but his voice was brittle. She shushed him, letting her powers work a little fast now that he was awake and seemingly well. “I,” he starts before clearing his throat, “I never told you-” he tries.

“Don’t,” Y/N interjects, looking into his eyes and knowing what he was going to say, because she wanted to say it too. 

He moves up a little, leaning on his elbows to get a better look at her face, “I love you,” he whispers anyway.

Y/N melts a little, “Alex!” Scott exclaims, seeing his brother is now awake. He practically throws himself on top of the blonde, much to everyone’s displeasure. 

“Ow!” Alex exclaims, though there is a wide grin across his face. “What did you miss me or something?” Scott playfully pushes Alex’s shoulder, earning him a glare from Y/N. Scott takes it as this isn’t the moment to have a brotherly bonding moment, and retreats with his hands raised in surrender.

When the two were alone again, Y/N brought her hand up to cup Alex’s face, her thumb tracing his cheekbone, “I’ve always loved you, Alex Summers.”

Fuck it, Alex tells himself, leaning forward and capturing her lips with his, hoping this might actually be his time. 

[travelling-wanderer]

・﹒・ two roads

Summary: After your father racked up a huge bounty on him from being the leader of a crime gang, you finally got the courage to kill him. However, the Ghoul arrives intending to kill him unaware the man was already dead. He gives you two options- let him have the bounty and he'll offer you protection if you come with him, or be alone and at risk for other unsavory people to hunt you down.

Warnings: 18+, suggestive content, death, blood, coercion, flirty Cooper

Pairing: The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x GN!reader

Notes: H! I am now in the Fallout fandom thanks to the show. My only experience with Fallout was the mobile game Fallout Shelter lmfao played that on and off since 2017. Started a new vault tho! I got some show characters including The Ghoul >:)

Blood dripped down the knife as you stared at his lifeless corpse, your form hunched over, breathing heavy, eyes wide and frenzied, hair sticking up all over the place, staring down at the body as the red liquid stained and soaked into the floor beneath him.

You finally did it.

He wasn't a good father, but your mother helped curb his less savory habits. Well, she was gone now.

You only stayed with him out of obligation, but as the days wore on, so did he. He was born and raised up here, however your mother was a genuine Vault Dweller who left her vault and made a new life up here.

Including dating your father.

He started a small gang purely to find the people that had killed her, and ended up becoming one of the fiercest crime gang leaders in California. There was a high bounty on him and he was always on alert. Not around you though.

It was an easy stab to the heart.

You had never killed anyone before though- but your dad was the one who had raised you to protect yourself.

How ironic.

But you weren't a killer. You weren't used to being able to take someone's life with your own hands.

Things change.

You still could have sworn time stopped as you didn't move, still staring at the corpse. Should you feel bad? Guilty? Regret? Maybe. But you didn't. He wasn't a perfect father, you couldn't care less.

You didn't know how much time had passed before you heard the creaking of the front door open and steps on the floor. Whipping your body to face the source with the still bloody knife at the ready, the thing that walked through the door wasn't what you expected.

"Well now, it seems like I was too slow this time, usually I ain't" You heard of him, who didn't? He was a cowboy, ghoul bounty hunter- and the best in the country. You just didn't think he would ever cross your path despite your parents being involved with people like him. He was more a myth to you.

"Not much of a talker, eh? You his child I assume?" Still in shock over everything, you gave him a small nod as you must still look frenzied. He chuckled as he walked closer, yet you didn't move one inch, even as he gently grabbed your wrist that was holding the knife and tossed it onto the floor, plucking it from your hand with ease. You just watched as he smirked.

"Your first kill is always the roughest, don't worry though- you'll get used to it"

"Don't kill me" You meant to sound louder, firmer, it just came out as a whisper, a plea. Shaky, you watched as he just chuckled at your weakness. You may have just killed someone, but that didn't mean you didn't feel trauma from it.

"I ain't gonna kill ya, but I am claiming that bounty. Runnin' low on caps, I'm sure ya understand" A small part of you felt a bit calmer from his voice, you liked it in a very special way, but the survival part of your brain was stronger than the hormonal part, so you couldn't fully take it. You were still in shock after killing your father, after all.

"But- but I need those caps more" His eyebrow raised as he took you in, looking up and down, and it made you shiver in a way that wasn't out of fear.

"Oh really now? How about this-" He released you, causing you to stumble back a few steps and cradle your thankfully uninjured wrist.

"You let me have the bounty and I'll protect ya, meaning- you come with me" You narrowed your eyes at the last part. Protect you?

"Against what? Against who?" He was silent, telling you that it was something you certainly weren't dumb enough not to realize. After some time, it finally hit you"

"My dad's men..."

"Are not gonna be too happy to see their leader gone, killed by his only child nonetheless" The realization made your blood freeze, chills ran up your spine as you knew exactly who would go after you first and exactly how he would kill you.

"I can survive...I'll find a way" You were lying to yourself as there was no way you could live against your father's gang, but you didn't want to be protected by a stranger- who was a ghoul not to mention.

"Ok then" He stood right in front of you and leaned down- face only inches away- and put his mouth right next to your ear. Yet again, you shivered at his closeness, tingles going down your spine and at the same time, you could sense that something changed within him then.

"Don't come crying for me when you're bleeding out shot up like a shooting range" He whispered before slightly nipping at your ear and slowly pulling away, gauging your reaction. Heat consumed your entire face as you now felt the signs of arousal present in your body. Staring at him, you felt the overwhelming sense of attraction start to fester. Fuck- was he genuinely into you, playing some twisted game just to fuck with you, or trying to further manipulate you?

"I get a cut, seventy percent" Your voice was so shaky, between the arousal and the fact that he knew exactly what buttons to push, you couldn't believe you were going along with this. With him. But his face lit up at your inference of agreeing to let him protect you.

"Fifty" You then got right up to his ear, just like what he did.

"Sixty and final offer"

Hook.

"Or else I'll take my chances"

Line.

You bit his ear, giving it a small lick before pulling away.

Sinker.

His breath hitched as he looked at you with eyes full of nothing but lust and curiosity. He then suddenly grabbed your shoulders and slammed you against the closest wall, his lips ghosting yours. Your heart was hammering out of your chest as you waited in bated breaths, arousal spiking your sex.

"Come. With. Me" He was firm, but not angry. He was more...pent up, growing frustrated with you throwing back what he was giving you. You could tell he was hard without looking down.

"Something tells me there's a specific reason you want to protect me, isn't there, Ghoul?" Despite only knowing each other for less than ten minutes, you already felt comforted in his hold, and you both knew how to get under the other's skin.

The attraction was- self assured- mutual and instant.

Neither of you could or would deny it, just never admit it directly.

Instead, it would linger in the air, charged like lightening.

"And if so?" Now that the earlier tension was gone, you could fully take in all forms of him, including his accent. That accent was old, very old, so old that had to of been from pre-war. Nobody spoke like he did.

Nobody.

"I'll pack my things" Pushing him away, you walk towards your bedroom to gather a bag when you passed by your father's body and stopped.

"By the way- what part of him did they want?"

"The head"

"Go ahead, just please cover it. I...I don't want to see it" Shaking your head to rid you of that thought, you let him do...that as you ignored the sounds of mutilation as you put your best and favorites into a backpack. You were very selective about what you brought, since you know would forever be moving around. Going out into the main room again, you were surprised at what you saw, or rather, lack of. Instead of just covering the head up in some makeshift bag, he draped a curtain he ripped off from one of the rods and laid it over his body.

"Thought you didn't want to see it again at all. Now let's go, we're wasting daylight" The ball of fabric that was now connected to his belt swayed back and forth as he exited through the front door, stopping right before he walked onto the sand after he realized that you haven't moved.

"You comin'?"

[nightprompts]

&. 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 (𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

( dialogue prompts taken from episodes 5 & 6 ( "eat at baratie!" & "the chef and the chore boy" ) of the netflix live action one piece series. feel free to edit and change as you seem fit. )

❛ how about we sail away as fast as we can? ❜

❛ about the battle, you wanna talk about it? ❜

❛ there's something on the breeze. smells like butter. soy sauce. and meat. ❜

❛ think he has brain damage? ❜

❛ i smell food, which means that there's someone somewhere cooking. ❜

❛ what's a... baratie? ❜

❛ let's eat! ❜

❛ you'll have to excuse them. they're idiots. ❜

❛ wanna take this outside? ❜

❛ are you asking me to dance? 'cause i kind of had my eye on that blonde at table eight. ❜

❛ i call it a true bluefin sauté. it's elephant tuna, seared asparagus, in a sweet soy reduction. ❜

❛ if i gotta sling one more prime rib medium-well, i am going to drop dead of boredom, you old shitbag! ❜

❛ this ain't gonna be a fight. i'm just going to kill him. ❜

❛ hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambience is the food. ❜

❛ one of our signature cocktails to help you choke down your meal? ❜

❛ apologies, madam, i didn't see you there. ❜

❛ something wrong with your eye? ❜

❛ just blinded by your beauty. ❜

❛ nami's got a boyfriend. ❜

❛ did i catch you in the middle of something? ❜

❛ just killing some time. ❜

❛ who's the quarry? ❜

❛ doesn't sound like much of a challenge. ❜

❛ why are you after me? ❜

❛ you woke me from my nap. ❜

❛ i can't eat another bite. but it's so good. ❜

❛ who the hell is monkey d. luffy? ❜

❛ i don't even think there's liquor in this. it tastes just like candy. ❜

❛ who's ready for another drink? my treat. ❜

❛ i don't really do regret. no point in looking back. ❜

❛ sometimes, when i try to look ahead, all i see is back. ❜

❛ you know, you're a really good cook. ❜

❛ if a man is hungry, i feed him. ❜

❛ what are you carrying around that's so heavy? ❜

❛ i bet i know more about you than you do about me. ❜

❛ i guess something about you, you drink. you guess something about me, i drink.❜

❛ i have business with your captain. if you know what's good for you, you'll hand him over. ❜

❛ i've been following your career since i was a child. it's an honor to finally meet you, sir. which is why it pains me to inform you that tomorrow... you're going to die. ❜

❛ accept my challenge. you'll see how serious i am. ❜

❛ you want me to say you're the best? you're the best. okay? ❜

❛ you're the best i've ever seen, but you are not better than him. ❜

❛ why do you give a shit? ❜

❛ because you're my friend, you idiot. ❜

❛ you said it yourself. you don't have any friends. ❜

❛ what is that? i'm here for a sword fight. ❜

❛ i don't hunt rabbits with a cannon. ❜

❛ you're brave. i'll give you that. ❜

❛ wounds on the back are a swordsman's greatest shame. ❜

❛ this world could use a few more wild cards. ❜

❛ it's too soon for you to die. grow strong and come find me. i'll be waiting. ❜

❛ you could never fail me. ❜

❛ look, i'm not gonna lie to you. he's lost a lot of blood. it might be too late for him. but it might not be. ❜

❛ he's got one foot in each world right now, caught between life and death. you have to find a way to keep him tethered to our world. ❜

❛ nice of you to announce yourself. ❜

❛ i don't take orders. not even from the likes of you. ❜

❛ what's the matter? don't like fish? ❜

❛ if you don't want the fish, i got two-inch t-bones in the kitchen. or maybe you're in the mood for saffron risotto? ❜

❛ i can make anything. just tell me what you want. ❜

❛ being a captain, it's the toughest job in the world, okay? ❜

❛ how'd you two meet? were you on his crew or something? ❜

❛ oregano's for savages! ❜

❛ you've got a sharp tongue on you, boy. how about i cut it out and fry it up with some pig fat? ❜

❛ do what you want, but i'm not gonna die here. ❜

❛ they're all dead, except for us. ❜

❛ you ate it? you ate your own leg? ❜

❛ you don't even know me. why would you do that for a stranger? ❜

❛ so i'm gonna need you to live on. and i'm gonna need you to fulfill that dream... for both of us. ❜

❛ have any idea what that's like? having someone lose a limb to save your life? ❜

❛ sometimes, when you are in charge, you have to make the tough decisions. ❜

❛ i'd do anything to save him. anything. except stand in the way of his dream. ❜

❛ isn't there something that you want? something more than anything else in this world? ❜

❛ not everyone gets to follow their dreams. ❜

❛ did you not hear what i just said? they are hunting you. we need to run. ❜

❛ i can't let innocent people get hurt because of me. ❜

❛ i hear you're looking for me. ❜

❛ so this is the pirate i've heard so much about? ❜

❛ do you know who i am, boy? ❜

❛ how'd you even know how to find me? ❜

❛ if you bow down to me, i might even let you serve in my kingdom. ❜

❛ i don't bow down to any man. ❜

❛ i told you in the bar i didn't have any friends, but the truth is, i couldn't let myself have them... because i always end up hurting the people closest to me. ❜

❛ why waste your time killing a devil fruit eater? let the sea do it for you. ❜

❛ what is your problem? ❜

❛ me? i'm fine. you're the one with the problem. ❜

❛ you're not gonna be anything, not if you stay here. ❜

❛ it's not like i can just leave. ❜

❛ don't you get it? it's one thing to have a dream. it's another to go after it. ❜

❛ you want my permission? you got it. ❜

❛ i didn't know what to say before, but i know what to say now, and it's so simple. i need you. ❜

❛ you gonna keep talking, or let me get some sleep? ❜

❛ i vow to stand by your side from now until the end. ❜

❛ you're my captain, and i'm your first mate. ❜

❛ heard you guys need a cook. ❜

❛ why are we bringing the waiter? ❜

❛ you keep your feet dry. ❜

❛ you know, all these years, living under your shitty roof, cooking at your shitty restaurant... i owe you my life! ❜

❛ thank you for putting up with my shit all these years, old man. ❜

❛ i'll never forget you! ❜

[aithusarosekiller]

Black Brothers short fic: Sirius leaving

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Not edited

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It wasn't easy to pinpoint the precise moment the switch flipped in Sirius' mind. In fact, there was a high likelihood there wasn't one at all, that it wasn't one big moment setting him off, but rather the adrenaline climbing up so high that even the soulless dinner conversation was enough to give that final push. It had been a long time coming and nobody in the house would dare dispute it. His case had been packed for days; he hadn't even unpacked it since he came home, waiting for the opportunity to just grab it and leave. He almost had twice before Christmas Day came around. Both times he had been egging himself on to just stand up, grab the bag, and go but he'd backed down at the last minute both times.

The first time he hadn't even gotten up from the armchair and made his way down the hall to where it was hidden, just to the side of the coatstand. The second- he had made it all the way down the stairs in the dead of night, managing to bypass every tricky part of the path down to the front door. His hand had stopped just above the handle of his case, hovering, waiting for his brain to give the signal to pick it up and twist the handle. One moment has passed, two, three, before he let out a muffled groan and stepped back from the door in resignation. He's gone back to bed without a sound.

Maybe the frustration at two failed attempts to flee was what did it. There was no way of being entirely certain. The only thing that was for sure was that it came as a complete surprise to Regulus.

Sirius had pushed his seat across the ground with an awful screeching sound and left the dining room in silence. For a moment, Walburga tried to stand to call after him or perhaps follow him from the room, but she was stopped by a small tap on the wrist from her husband. Instead, Regulus darted up and after him. Nobody tried to stop him. He reached Sirius in the hallway, mere inches from the door.

“What are you doing?” The tiredness in his voice was typical by that point; it was almost exclusively reserved for Sirius and he didn't think he'd heard Regulus speak in any other way in years, not even when they were joking around. At the time when they did still joke around, that was. Sirius tightened his grip on the handle of his case -still not lifting it from the ground- and shook his head in what Regulus could only assume was disbelief.

“I'm going to James’, Regulus. Why else would I be standing at the door?” Admittedly it was a little curt but he was tired and just wanted to leave before he could chicken out or be stopped by his parents or Kreacher. “Just go back to dinner, you don't want to cause a scene.”

“Really? James’. You're with him every second you're at school and you can't even put aside a few hours for me? It feels like I haven't seen you in months, I don't know what you're doing in school, I don't know what drama is going on in your group, you haven't even asked me how I am and we've been home for 5 days.”

Sirius closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, looking similar to the way their father did when he was trying to remain calm about something while also wanting to let the person he was conversing with know that he found them pathetic. Regulus didn't know if that was what Sirius was trying to do or if he was simply stressed.

“You haven't spoken to me either, so don't put this crap on me, alright? I've been getting the silent treatment just as much as you have. If you want to sit miserably and pretend nobody loves you, you do that, but don't blame me. Go back to dinner and sit down or you'll get in trouble,” No response. “Reggie, go, please.”

Regulus’ nostrils flared slightly and the familiar name and he crossed his arms over his chest petulantly. He too didn't want to draw anybody else outside and start a screaming match but he wasn’t one to just drop something after he'd brought it up.

“Can we talk about it when you get back? Tomorrow?” Sirius looked at him with an expression akin to pity and Regulus could not help but roll his eyes. “Right. Have fun, then.”

“You cannot seriously think that this has come out of nowhere. I've been feeling like shit here since Andy ran and they decided I needed to be watched. Hell, it's been shit since I got sorted in first year. I can't stay here with their pathetic attitudes and their lack of compassion. I won't do it.”

“Hell?”

Sirius’ expression softened temporarily, it wasn't often that Reuus didn't know something, and it was even less often he asked for clarification on it.

“Muggle thing,” he explained before trying to return to the point at hand. “I'll see you at school.”

“No you won't.” Regulus interrupted sharply. “You never do. You always say that and then you spend all your time with James and Peter and whatever the other one is called and you never say hello. You never wave. It feels like I have to wait six weeks to see you again as it is and now you're saying I can't even have that time. It's like you don't think we're related.”

“That's just as much your fault as it is mine. You never put in any effort yourself. You don't come and find me, you don't send me notes asking about my day. You scrunch up your nose if I smile at you in a corridor. You're not some neglected puppy.”

Regulus had no answer to that accusation. He instead focused on stopping his eyes from stinging and looked up slightly, half to appear proud and half so he didn't have to watch Sirius pick up the case and open the front door. He heard a shuffle and then a pause. Then, Sirius was placing the case down and stepping over to him to loop his arms around his neck as lightly as he could possibly manage, resting his chin on the side of his brother's head. A few moments passed before Regulus’ brain caught up with the moment and he rested his hands on Sirius' back.

It was the first time they had hugged in years. Since they were seven, maybe eight at a push. The time had come years back where Regulus stopped finding hugs cool and so Sirius had played along and stopped bothering. For that reason, this was strange. It was different, like they'd never hugged each other before, the unfamiliarity added a level of awkwardness to the situation. Still, they stayed there for a while before Sirius stepped away, picked his case back up, and left without a further word, his eyes facing the ground.

Regulus went back into the dining room and told them the news of Sirius' departure before sitting back down at his place. They did not seem surprised.

[stealingyourbones]

I don’t really know if this is a prompt or whatever, but worth considering:

Phantom is likely seen as a very old being due to time travel shenanigans, but in the present day, he has a tendency to mention family members, especially “his sister” in the present tense. This doesn’t happen often, especially not around established heroes, but when he does let it slip around a member of the Justice League (be they friend or foe at this point, who knows), it sends them on a wild goose chase to find Phantom’s sister and determine her abilities. This goes one of two ways, because it could theoretically lead back to two different people.

Maybe it goes the easier way, and a JL member ends up stumbling across Dani on her travels. She’s got a very similar power set but is more of a free spirit (pun intended), so it’d make sense that she’s not tied down to a particular place. Of course, as the sister of a being thousands of years old, she’d be seen as quite old herself, and it’d be very easier for her to kill the illusion in a heartbeat.

However, I think it’d be a lot more intriguing if Danny’s statements somehow led back to Jazz, the towering redhead with superhuman strength (thanks to her liminality), exceptional fighting ability (thanks to martial arts from her mother and swordsmanship lessons from Pandora), and strong sense of justice and wisdom (due to her time spent analyzing the brain and working as part of a vigilante group).

Everything about Jazz would line up perfectly with her being an Amazon, and depending on when Wonder Woman left Themyscira, Jazz could be seen as an Amazon from before Diana’s time, possibly thousands of years old like Phantom.

That, of course, would lead to its own can of worms. How in the world are a long escaped Amazon and one of the leading representatives of the dead related? If they’re a found family, when did they meet? Otherwise, how is a male biologically related to one of the Amazons?

Ironically, Jazz would probably be much better at making herself seem Old than Danny would.

Bonus points if the League actually gets the chance to compare Danny and Jazz side by side. Phantom himself isn’t exactly small, not anymore, but Jasmine towers over him, every inch of seven feet tall. His big sister, indeed.

:0 oh man this is sick. How on earth does Danny's siblings break it to the JL that they aren't immortal? OR

What do they do to keep the misconception going to protect how young Danny truly is?

[wyntereyez]

Wool of bat and tongue of dog

Thanks to @jrob64 for the banner! It's perfect.

Here's the first part of my @cssns contribution. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but thanks to me being a terminal procrastinator combined with a very busy two weeks at work, my brain can't word very well at the moment.

Part One

The door to the Storybrooke Bat Rehabilitation Center was unlocked.

Emma immediately went on the alert. Mary Margaret had left over an hour ago, and she’d never have forgotten to lock the door behind her. After Walsh and the events of the previous month, Emma had taken to bringing her gun with her. She could see Mary Maragaret’s frown whenever she spotted it, but Emma refused to be alone without it. 

Not when she was a potential target for the supernatural.

And now, it looked like her fears were well-founded, because there was something inside the building that definitely wasn’t a bat. Emma had inched the door open, holding her breath so she could listen. She could hear something moving in the lobby, by the reception desk.

A deep, resonating growl that made a primal part of Emma want to scream and flee. Her grip tightened on the gun, and she started to raise it.

Then an annoyed chittering followed, which was interrupted by a yip of indignation. Supernatural, all right, but familiar.

Emma holstered the pistol and stepped inside.

A massive wolf was crouched next to the desk, eyes locked on the large fruit bat perched on the edge. The bat raised his head and made delighted squeaks, and the wolf offered a wag of the tail before turning her snarling muzzle back to the bat.

“No supernatural turf wars before I’ve had my coffee,” Emma grumbled. She picked Killian up and plopped him down atop the startled Ruby’s back, then headed towards the breakroom. Ruby padded along after, Killian clinging to her shoulders for dear life.

They both waited patiently as Emma brewed a pot of coffee. While she waited, she grabbed the fruit bowl from the fridge and offered it to Killian, who daintily grabbed a slice of banana and half a strawberry. Ruby’s tongue flicked out, snatching two melon cubes and getting saliva all over the fruit, making Killian shriek in indignation. Emma sighed. “Can we use human words now, please?”

The fruit bat clumsily pulled himself to Ruby’s side, then released his grip on her fur. If he’d been a normal crippled bat, Emma would have dove to rescue him. But the bat never hit the ground; instead, a leather-clad man crouched next to the massive wolf.

Ruby licked his face, smearing melon and saliva on his cheek. Killian sputtered, and she trotted off, making a noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

“How’d you piss her off this time?” Emma asked as she added cream and sugar to her coffee.

“What makes you think I’m responsible, Swan?” Killian pouted as he straightened. His hook gleamed in the fluorescent light.

“You turned into something small, helpless, and cute to argue with her,” Emma pointed out. 

“Which wasn’t enough to prevent me from being angry with you,” Ruby said as she re-entered the break room on two legs.

Now that Emma was in on her secret, Ruby had taken to leaving spare clothes at the Belfry in case of unexpected transformations. She returned shortly in human form, wearing a red T-shirt and black leggings. Her feet were bare, toes caked with dirt from her run. She made a beeline for the coffee pot.

“You’re late tonight,” Ruby commented. “Did something happen?”

“I spent all day at the Town Hall.” Emma couldn’t hold back her groan. “You wouldn’t think it would be so difficult to select an interim mayor. They just need someone to hold the position until an election can be held.”

The mayor had been found dead of a heart attack in his office two days previous, throwing the city council into an uproar. It was a headache that Emma really didn’t need. Especially since there was one member of the council famous for disagreeing with everything, and he’d loudly shot down every candidate. Several of the city council members were friends of his, and tended to follow his lead, which led to deadlocked votes. “He’s going to drive me insane,” Emma sighed.

“Leroy?” Ruby hazarded.

“Yep. Had an argument for everything. By the time the meeting was called, the council still hadn’t chosen anyone, and I almost went to the Rabbit Hole instead of coming here.”

“Sounds worse than vampire politics,” Killian snorted. “Though I imagine there’s less blood.”

“You’d be surprised,” Emma slumped into a chair, her exhaustion finally getting to her. “So what were you two fighting about?” 

Killian and Ruby exchanged glances. “A deer,” they said in unison. 

Emma rubbed the bridge of her nose, already sorry she asked. This was going to add to her headache. “And why was this particular deer so important? We’re surrounded by woods, there are hundreds of them around.

“I was hunting it, of course. A vampire can’t live on strawberries alone. And deer’s blood can sustain me for more than a week.”

“You didn’t have to choose my prey!” Ruby’s voice had developed a snarl not unlike her wolf’s vocalizations. “I’d been stalking that deer for more than an hour!”

“It was the only deer I’d scented for miles,” Killian defended. “And unlike you, I need live prey.”

Emma tensed, suddenly reminded that she was dealing with two supernatural predators. She reminded herself she’d seen Killian in bat form with his face buried up to his eyes in fruit, and that she’d once half-carried a drunken Ruby home. They were predators, but they had softer sides. Hell, she’d known Ruby since high school.

Ruby scowled and turned the other chair backwards, so she could sit on it with her chin resting on the headrest. She continued to glare at Killian.

“This isn’t your usual night for hunting.” Killian usually chose the nights where no one stayed overnight to go out.

“True; but that storm that’s brewing is going to hang around for a few days. I don’t fancy hunting in the rain.”

“Same reason I was out,” Ruby nodded. “I needed to get a good run in before being cooped up the next few nights. And deer are one of my favorite meals.”

Emma abruptly burst out laughing. At Killian and Ruby’s matching looks of bewilderment, she explained, “Sorry, I just thought about how it must look, seeing Killian stalk a deer when he’s dressed like a pirate.”

“He hunts as a wolf,” Ruby growled. “Which makes him a trespasser on my territory.”

“You can turn into a wolf?!” Emma asked incredulously, then wondered why she was so shocked. She’d been dealing with the existence of the supernatural for nearly a month now; she should be used to this, right?

“Aye,” Killian said, “vampires can become any creature of the night. Though we’re far more impressive than weres.” 

Emma wondered what was considered a ‘creature of the night’, especially since she knew wolves were frequently active during the day. Could he become an opossum? A raccoon? Maybe a cricket?

Vampire crickets, now there was a thought.

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Vampiric wolves look like how wolves were traditionally depicted: all snaggly teeth and glowing eyes. Werewolves, on the other hand, are perfect specimens of wolf: lithe and muscular, swift as the wind.”

“So… you’re like the goths and jocks of the wolf community?” Emma took a sip of her coffee to hide her amusement as she watched Ruby sputter indignantly. Killian simply smirked, flashing that chipped fang.

“Perhaps we should continue our tale, lass, before we end up at each other’s throats, aye?” Killian said softly, and Ruby calmed.

“Yeah.” Ruby shook her head as though to dispel the last vestiges of wolf. 

The change in tone put Emma on immediate alert. “What happened out there?”

“Something spooked the deer badly enough that it turned around and fled past us,” Killian said. 

Oh. That didn’t sound good. Emma set her coffee aside, suddenly too nauseous to finish it. “Did you investigate?”

“Yeah,” Ruby said. “We followed the deer’s path, and soon we could smell what had frightened it. It was…wrong. It made my hackles rise, and I was growling without even knowing at what. Killian and I crept forward, and that’s when we found it.”

“An altar,” they said in unison.

Ah. Emma doubted they meant the kind you’d find in a church. “Oh?” Her coffee was getting cold, she noted as she took a lingering sip.

“A witch’s ritual altar,” Killian clarified, staring at her intensely. 

“A witch? Of course they’re real, too,” Emma sighed. “How worried about this should we be?”

“I’m not sure yet. I need a better look at the altar and the sigils around it to get an idea of what sort of ritual was performed.”

“So you’re an expert in witches now?” Ruby arched a brow.

“No, but I can ask people who are, and for that, I need photos. We need to get back out there immediately and photograph the site.”

Neither would have had access to their phones’ cameras, of course. Ruby would have been a wolf, and while Killian could transform clothes along with his body, it only seemed to be the archaic black leather outfit he favored when he wasn’t pretending to be human. Objects like his phone or wallet didn’t survive the transformation.

“Swan, I’d like you to come along as well; I want to see how you react to the magic.”

When Walsh had tried to compel Emma, he’d discovered that she was immune to his vampiric powers. This intrigued Killian, because it was a very rare gift not found in pure humans. He was determined to figure out just what was in her bloodline.

Emma was less enthused about this. She didn’t have any interest in parents that had abandoned her as a baby. She only cared about David and his mother Ruth, who had taken her in when she was a feral street child and given her a home and love.

Plus, she really didn’t want to walk around the woods after dark. There might be ticks or something.

“Now? It’s almost midnight!” And the moon was only a crescent, meaning it would be dark as pitch outside.

“Aye, but there’s a storm rolling in. All the evidence will be washed away by morning. Likely by design,” Killian said.

Reluctantly, Emma grabbed her coat from the closet while Ruby went off to change back into a wolf. Despite the protection of a large wolf and a vampire, Emma felt a thrill of fear as they stepped away from The Belfry’s exterior lights and to the edge of the forest beyond.

Her flashlight did little to help.

“So… tell me about witches,” Emma said. “Just how dangerous are they?”

“Most witches are benign,” Killian corrected, surprising her. “Just women gifted with knowledge and a bit of magic. Many of them end up in positions where they can use their gifts to help others: doctors and nurses, veterinarians, financial advisors, that sort of thing. Some are hide amongst charlatans, using real magic and divination to tell futures or speak with the dead, though those are rare. Mostly, they just live among humans, leading normal - though perhaps luckier - lives.

“True practitioners of the black arts are rare. They’re hunted by their own kind, in much the same way I take care of out of control vampires. This one… the scent of her magic is rotten.”

“What can someone with that kind of magic do?”

Killian scratched his cheek with the tip of his hook as he thought. “They can create curses, give others ill luck, or even kill without touching their victim. We won’t know much more until my expert has had a look.”

There was silence for a while after that, as Emma tried to fit this into her already shaken worldview. Finally, she decided it was just too much for one night, and turned her thoughts to something else.

“Henry really enjoyed visiting your ship the other day. It’s all he’s been talking about ever since.” Henry’s class had taken a day to tour the ‘real’ pirate ship (which was, in fact, a very real pirate ship, captained by a very real pirate), and he’d come home asking for sailing lessons. Not possible so late into the season, but she’d promised him that if he was still interested next year, she’d look into it.

“He’s a fine lad,” Killian told her. “Smart, and curious about everything. I’d be delighted to teach him some sailing basics, if…”

If you give me a reason to stick around, Emma knew he was thinking. Because Emma knew it was more than the threat of a rogue vampire that kept Killian living as a bat in Storybrooke. And three nights ago, Killian had finally made his move to see if there could be anything between them.

“So, Swan, are you looking forward to tomorrow night?”

Ahead, Ruby slowed, canting back one ear. Emma thought at first something had put her on alert; then she realized her friend was eavesdropping.

Right. Tomorrow. When she and Killian had dinner reservations for Bella Notte. Their first date.

She’d never been so nervous.

She wanted to date Killian. But her violent introduction to the world of vampires had left her cautious. Even Ruby’s reassurance that vampire society worked as Killian had described, with strict laws and enforcers that carried out ruthless punishments for lawbreakers, she’d still been wary.

Walsh had been terrifying, but he’d been newly-turned. Weak. Killian was centuries old and powerful.

He also squeaked at her petulantly if she gave him banana slices when he wanted strawberries.

The rumbles of thunder that had begun when night fell were growing louder, and Emma was beginning to worry they wouldn’t make it to the altar in time. But after forty-five minutes of what felt to Emma like random stumbling around in the dark, Ruby let out a sharp bark.

“We’re here,” Killian said unnecessarily. Because Emma could feel the change in the air, something that made her hair stand on end. 

“The hell?” she asked.

“So you do feel it,” Killian sounded as if she’d just confirmed something for him.

How could anyone not feel that? It was a miasma that pressed against her, threatening to smother her.

She fought down the urge to claw at her skin, and forced herself to examine the altar.

If Emma had been walking through the woods alone, she never would have seen it - or at least not realized it wasn’t a natural formation. She ran the flashlight beam over a tree that had been split in half, probably by a lightning strike. One half had fallen to the side, the other was still attached to the stump, but bent at a ninety degree angle to form a natural table just over knee height.

The split trunk was spotted with dark stains. A fragment of bone was caught in a furrow in wood.

“I’ll hold the torch if you’ll take the photos,” Killian offered. Emma handed the flashlight over, and he directed her to photograph the altar, as well as the sigils she’d missed at first look. The were carved into the ground, or painted onto the trunks of surrounding trees with the same fluid that had stained the altar.

Killian was thorough. Emma wondered if he was like this with all investigations, because she could use someone like him in the Sheriff’s Department.

Thunder boomed, and Emma and Ruby jumped. “Storm’s almost here,” Killian observed. “We’d better leave now, before we’re caught out in it.”

They only just managed to make it back to The Belfry before the sky opened up. Emma was soaked through by the time she managed to unlock the door, and Ruby reeked of wet dog. Killian, she noted, managed to look ridiculously good even when wet.

The rain pounded away into the night, and Emma shivered. She hoped it would be enough to wash away the taint of evil in the forest.

~oOo~

The stranger stank of dark magic.

Emma had been in the back office of the sheriff’s station, taking care of paperwork, when David had called her up front.

Grateful to escape her papery hell, she’d hurried up front - only to be brought up short by the elegant woman in the immaculate business suit who was ignoring David’s attempts to be friendly. Emma, however, immediately drew her interest.

Dark eyes ran up and down Emma, and perfect lips turned down into a frown, as if she’d found Emma lacking. “Can I help you?” she asked stiffly.

“I just wanted to introduce myself. My name is Regina Mills,” the woman said haughtily. “I’m the new mayor of Storybrooke.”

~tbc~

[rush-boom]

Nat expected it to hurt more. The pain of being beat by raining fists until your body drops and curls. Shauna did not hold back. She knew when to jam her foot on a hand to make your head lift then punch your eye.

Maybe she's bruised. Possibly her body will be yellow in the coming days under the sun while she sits and contemplates death.

It's a luxury to die out here. Jackie, Laura Lee, and Javi had a way out, as fucked as it is. Because now she's a punching bag for her own teammate who is dragging it out far longer than necessary.

Lottie, red faced, coughing blood had suffered a total of one hour. Like an animal Shauna wailed on her. The crack of her knuckles echoed inside the cabin. Shadows from the fire made the blood splatter worse since it sputtered out.

At first, Nat thought that Lottie would be on the ground then pop right back up. The Wilderness had to save her right? What'd it do without its prophet?

That ended once Lottie's fingers carved into the floorboards. Her whole body was stiff, and it would increase the pain rather than ease it. Still, Lottie resisted the urge to survive. Her right hand twitched twelve times while her left hand did four, right foot shuffled two inches. The left never moved.

Blood dribbled down the slope of Nat's nose. Shauna stood in front of her, words garbled as she proclaimed something to the rest of the group.

Relax. That's what her dad would say when he beat the shit out of her mom. Just relax. It'll be over soon, baby. I need to teach you a lesson. At that point, her mom would be silent except for the tiny whimpers that leaked out. She perfected the art of pain with a loose body that twisted when hit right. It looked comical how a punch to the jaw can swing your skull to the side then to the other.

On her almighty pedestal, Shauna began to circle her. Nat's knuckles whitened as she clenched her hands. Same whiny pitch as her old man. Talk after the show to show God how tiny you really are. Her lip curled.

Gun. Shotgun to the brain. Pink spills, eyes blank, bone peeking. Trigger. Pull. Shoot. Kill.

Shauna kneeled in front of her. "Any more secrets you want to share with the group?"

Nat did not raise her head when she spit on Shauna's shoe. She did not make noise as said shoe stomped on her face. She did not feel the numbness that crawled over her body in the next half hour.

All she knew was that she was hungry. The emptiness in her gut ached more than the bruises.

A hand lifted to the top of her spine. Another smoothed over her neck. Somebody was talking to her but she couldn't care.

"Nat." Circles stroked over her back. "Can you hear me?" The voice tightened, "I'm going to move you to the bath. Okay? I'm sorry if this hurts."

Nat bit into her lip as she was carried. She whimpered on every other step and hid her face in her arm. The person holding her tried to let her go, but she held on too tightly. Finally, she was put in a chair. The next fifteen minutes involved her getting undressed, and her slumped form fought the whole way.

She bit her own shirt, trying to keep it on. That failed along with everything else. A haze of a memory kickstarted when she was left in her panties. Flashing lights, a crowd, a dirty bathroom.

When the bathwater hit her, she screamed.

"You're safe. Nat. It's Lottie. You're safe, please trust me. I know it hurts."

Lottie. The name rolled around her head until she remembered. Wilderness Lottie, Messiah of acorns and dead birds.

With one eye, she saw Lottie leaned over the tub, rag in one hand as the other held her knee. It was weird to know that Lottie was the one patching her up. Was she doing it out of guilt? Pity? Did she see a fellow teamate or a beaten slut?

"I'm so sorry." Lottie's lip wobbled. "You should’ve been safe." The rag rubbed down her arm and over the divots of her hand. "I didn't know if Shauna would." She focused on the fold of miscolored skin under Nat's jaw. "You're not dead. At least you're not dead."

Dead, Nat thought. God. I wish I was.