#only he would use meat as a comparison

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot, reverse cowgirl, creampie, mentions of ovulation, dom!Dabi, Dabi is a warning himself, ass spanking

A/N: what starts as a reckless kiss ignites into a desperate need you can't control. It's frustrating to admit, but ovulation turns you into a desperate, needy bitch — craving dick you shouldn’t want so badly...

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

Who would’ve thought a single heated makeout session would leave you completely at Dabi’s mercy, again? Ah, you hated how vulnerable you felt while ovulating, every nerve in your body betraying you with raw, undeniable need for being stuffed with a dick.

Dabi’s scarred hands trailed over the skin of your back. Heat radiated from his fingertips, leaving a lingering ache that was equal parts thrilling and dangerous.

With a sudden, fluid motion, one of his hands captured both your wrists, twisting them behind your back in a firm, unyielding grip. The restraint forced you to arch, pressing your chest forward and sticking your ass out, leaving you utterly exposed beneath his smoldering gaze.

A low, involuntary moan spilled from your lips as the tension between pain and pleasure coiled deep within you. 

His breath ghosted over your ear, his voice a rough, sinful murmur. "Keep making sounds like that, and I might not let you go, never."

In a sudden shift, you paused riding his dick in a reverse cowgirl position, drawing yourself up and away from his throbbing cock. Your fingers wandered down to your pussy, delicately tracing circles around your clit, spreading the slick wetness that had gathered at your entrance over your sensitive folds, only to spank them a few times later with the hood of your palm. Then, with deliberate slowness, your hand reached out for Dabi’s dick again, and guided his angry red tip to the very brink of your entrance. You tantalized both of you, using just the head of his cock to rub your slit and part your swollen labia. "Fuck," you whined.

She’s oozing juices like the slit in an overripe peach, Dabi smirked to himself, amused by just how obscenely cute the comparison truly was. He couldn’t take his eyes off your strait pussy as you guided his dick back into your cunt, trying your best to not spread your legs too wide to make yourself tight for him.

The skirt he had gifted you the day prior — a scandalously short piece — flared with each descent, its hem dancing teasingly up your thighs, showing the thick, plushy meat of your ass. The black stockings, tight and silky, sculpted your legs, accentuating every curve and contour as they ended in the middle of your thighs. Your shirt lay forgotten somewhere in the shadows of Dabi’s room, leaving you only in your bra, straps slipping carelessly off your shoulders. It sat slightly askew, offering a teasing glimpse of soft, firm skin as your breasts bounced while you rode your boyfriend’s cock.

One scarred hand improved the grip on both your wrists, pressing them tightly behind your back, pinning you in place as he controlled your movements. The other rested lazily on the arm of the couch, a cigarette balanced between his fingers, smoke curling lazily around his face. Dabi’s cerulean eyes, sharp and lidded, were locked on your ass, watching how his cock disappeared into your soaked pussy from behind. His shirt had long been discarded, but he hadn’t bothered removing his pants. As the heated makeout session intensified minutes earlier, breathless and driven by need, he simply unzipped and freed his cock out of its confines.

The burn in your thighs intensified with every passing second, your trembling legs barely holding you upright as you struggled to maintain the punishing position. Each strained movement sent electric pulses through your body, your muscles taut and aching, yet utterly consumed by the way Dabi’s cock stretched and claimed your seeping cunt — relentless, demanding, leaving no inch untouched.

A sharp tug on your captured wrists wrenched you deeper into the overwhelming sensation, forcing your back into a perfect arch. The position left you entirely at his mercy. 

He spanked your ass, growling like an animal. “Faster, bitch. Fuck, I love how wet you are during these days.”

Every thrust pushed his veiny cock deeper, dragging over every sensitive spot deep within you, the stretch burning painfully. The obscene sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the room. 

His azure eyes, dark and hungry, locked on where his dick disappeared into your abused cunt, the wetness between your legs leaving a pearly shine on the rock-hard shaft that made his lips curl. “Look at that,” Dabi muttered, his voice low, gravelly, like the rough edge of sandpaper against your skin. His smirk widened as he exhaled a slow plume of smoke, the heat of his gaze fixed on your pussy making your stomach tighten. “Taking me so well. Bet no one’s ever stretched your little cunt like this before. Such a needy bitch. Who’d have thought you’d get so damn needy just from a kiss? Didn’t figure you were the type to melt just from someone else’s spit on your tongue."

“Dabi!” Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your thighs trembling as you struggled to keep up with the pace of his hips pistoning into you and maintain the balance of the position. His cock was slamming into you without mercy.

“Keep going,” he commanded, his grip tightening on your wrists just enough to make you whimper, your body responding to his dominance even as it threatened to overwhelm you. “Don’t make me do all the fucking work.”

The sound of your slick pussy meeting the hilt of his cock filled the room, louder than it should’ve been. Your mind was teetering on the edge of coherence as the burn between your thighs grew more insistent. Your body moved instinctively, hips rolling back against him despite the strain, desperate for more.

Dabi’s grin widened as he watched you struggle, his cock twitching inside you at the sight of your flushed cheeks as you turned your head slightly to look at him while moaning his name like a whore. “Knew you’d be a good bitch for me,” Dabi praised, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Look at how perfect you are like this. Made to take my dick. Bent like a string, just for my pleasure.”

You improved the hold on your skirt up around your waist and slowed down your pace to gyrate your pussy on Dabi’s cock. You leaned forward just enough to give him an unobstructed view of your slick, thoroughly filled cunt, stretched and claimed by his cock, the lips of your slick pussy sliding up and down his throbbing shaft with each roll of your hips.

After a moment, Dabi continued to thrust into you rhythmically from below, deepening the penetration. The cigarette in his hand flared as he took another slow drag, the ember casting an orange glow across his face. He exhaled the smoke directly toward you, the sharp scent mixing with the sweat on your skin as he chuckled darkly. “Bet you’re close, doll,” he rasped, his voice rough and low. His free hand slid to your hip, gripping with bruising intensity, his long fingers digging into your flesh possessively. The cigarette still rested lazily between his index and middle finger, smoke curling in the air as he thrust up into you with brutal precision, forcing you to take every inch of him, deeper and harder. “Don’t stop riding my cock,” he commanded, his tone sharp but lazy, as though he was enjoying every second of your submission. “I want to see you work for the orgasm. Make me believe you deserve to cum.”

You straightened your back as much as you could, holding yourself upright with grace. 

Dabi’s eyes traced the perfect curve of your spine, from the dip of your lower back to the elegant line of your neck. 

Your ass pressed firmly against his lower stomach with every drop. Gasping for air, you leaned forward, bracing your hands on his knees, your back arching again. Slow at first, you started rolling your hips faster, twerking your ass in a way that made Dabi’s cock throb inside your abused pussy which already was clenching around him.

The white haired man watched your ass cheeks bounce with every move, every arch of your back perfectly calculated to drive him insane. 

You glanced back over your shoulder, a wicked, tired smirk playing on your slightly parted lips. “Do you like my ass?” You teased, voice sultry.

“Fuck yeah,” Dabi rasped, tightening his grip on your hips as his nails scraped along your skin. “Keep going,” Dabi replied, accenting his words with a sharp spank delivered to your left cheek.

You bent even further forward, reaching your hands out, spreading your butt even more for him while furiously riding his dick, going up and down on his shaft. 

Dabi’s cock was wet and shiny with your runny juices, gripped tightly by your pussy walls.

You ground the tip of your boyfriend’s cock into your g-spot as you bounced up and down, your clit repeatedly smashing into his clothed thighs. 

“That’s it,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing as he flicked ash into the tray beside him, the smoke curling lazily around his hand. “Good fucking girl. Look at you — so desperate, so fucking ruined.”

Your head tilted forward, gaze falling to where your bodies joined, where his cock thrust into you with relentless precision. The sight made your pulse race, the way your slickness coated his dick, creating rings of white juices that slowly streamed down his shaft to his base, the way every inch of him disappeared inside you to reappear a second later. 

He noticed where your attention was, and his smirk deepened, his hips shifting upward to meet yours in a sharp thrust that made your vision blur. “You like watching, don’t ya?” he taunted, his voice dripping with amusement as he exhaled another plume of smoke. “Bet you love seeing how fucking ruined you are for me.”

Dabi reached a hand with the cigarette out and stroked your cheek, but you abruptly turned your head, snagged one of his free fingers with your lips, and sucked the whole length into your warm mouth, not paying attention you might have got burnt by the cigarette. He groaned and pumped his hips up into you. You sucked harder on his digit, and lifted your pelvis up until only the head of his cock remained inside you. For a heartbeat, you hovered there, then slammed down against his jeans-coated lap.

Rose, slammed down, rose, slammed down, over and over.

"Love feelin' how wrecked that pretty pussy is, all stretched and ruined from takin’ my cock,” Dabi chuckled lowly, spanking your ass with his free hand.

The sound of his voice, the raw dominance in it, sent you over the edge. Your body clenched around him, trembling, and you gasped, barely able to catch your breath as waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you shaking in his grip. 

His smirk never faltered, his hand loosening slightly on your wrists as he let you collapse backward, your back pressing against his chest. Dabi erupted inside your cunt, spurt after spurt, but still keep thrusting.

Every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire, the coil in your stomach tightening until it snapped, your second orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave. Your legs trembled, your vision blurred, and your entire body shuddered as pleasure overwhelmed you being, your pussy clenching around his cock painfully as he groaned low and deep, still cumming inside of you.

Dabi held you there, pinned in place as you slowly rode out the aftershocks, your body trembling with exhaustion. His grin didn’t fade, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as he finally released your wrists, letting them fall limp at your sides. “Good girl,” he murmured again, leaning back into the couch as he stubbed out his cigarette, his chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. 

Finally, you lifted yourself off him, feeling his unnaturally warm semen spill from your thoroughly fucked cunt, dripping onto his still-clothed lap. With a slow, deliberate grace, you stretched yourself lazily, his essence trailing down your trembling thighs in tantalizing streaks. Before you could even consider heading to the bathroom, his hand shot out with practiced precision, gripping your waist and yanking you back onto his lap. Your bare, overstimulated pussy, still slick and chilled from the cool air in the room, brushed against his cock — a touch that should have met soft flesh but instead found him thickening once more.

“Don’t ya dare thinking we’re even close to finished,” Dabi rasped, his breath hot against your ear before his teeth grazed the sensitive shell, sending a shiver down your spine as his calloused hands started fondling your tits. "I’m just getting started.”

♡ The art on the banner was made by @explosion-island ♡ I'm a member of @pixelcafe-network

[motthe]

hiii !! just read like ,, a BUNCH of ur lumen au stuff ,,,, truly i am brainrotted now because i'm just thinking of so many different scenarios involving the lumens and i am just . EXCITED !!! its SUCHHHH a good concept im a big big sucker for soulmate stuff ,,,,

i was just wondering how you feel about jayvik x reader ,,,, TWO lumens ,,,,,,,, idk if you write for anything poly or not, but id love to hear your thoughts on it !!! either through headcanons or a ficlet, whichever you feel like :]

my first viktor x reader x jayce piece i’ve ever written… wait is this my first poly drabble?? it might be actually! i hope it’s fun to read ♥️

warnings: fem!reader, slight negative feelings of not being good enough, but overall fluff!!!

The scientific jargon that came with having not one but both of your fated being inventors was overwhelming. The words they tossed around became an entire other language since you’d all gotten closer. It left you feeling unbearably empty-headed, wondering why the universe would bond you to such intelligent men.

They were already changing an entire city with their ideas, and you would bet the world would soon bear their mark as well. In comparison, you were a meager artist making ends meet at festivals and street corners. Sure, maybe your work could be seen on a few shop signs or covering a wall or two in a cafe, but that was as famous as you’d ever be—a stranger to the passing eye.

“We need to widen the cylindrical chamber, maybe add an exhaust pipe to help with the cooldown.”

Jayce’s voice slipped through your head, smooth and confident and making no sense. You’d gotten rather good and tuning out the meat of the conversations, only recognizing the tones and emotions.

The heavy, warm accent of Viktor’s replied, swirling in the back of your mind as your pencil swiped over the heavy parchment against your thighs.

Recently, they’d begun inviting you to their lab to spend your free time in their company. There were two desks to choose from, though they were usually piled high with blueprints or notes. Jayce had moved a couch into the space for your comfort, placed in the corner and under a window, well away from any dangerous work they had their hands on, though they usually took anything too precarious into another portion of the building.

Their assistant, Sky, was in and out, always double-checking if you needed anything. She was a kind young woman, curly hair and glasses and a smile that made anyone feel at home. She brought you your own coffee and snacks, promising it was no trouble since she was already bringing them to Viktor and Jayce, anyway.

“You actually eat them,” she chuckled. “Jayce will if he notices they’re there, but it’s a long shot most days.”

You understood what she meant, seeing how focused the men became on their gadgets and studies. You’re sure if you got up and left they wouldn’t notice for a good, long while.

Today was one of those days, though there was peace in your private little corner as you sketched away. You squinted over the top of your sketchbook, skimming the outline of Viktor’s goggles pressed into his thick, winding hair and quickly adding the little licks of tresses to the paper before he was moving again.

You switched targets, taking in Jayce’s side profile and adding a bit more depth to his eyebrow and under eye.

Taking a moment to look between both drawings, you were hit with their beauty once more.

Jayce was deemed the academy’s “pretty boy,” with his strong jaw and perfect smile. He was a clean cut handsome, peak health and built with broad shoulders. He knew how to use those looks to his advantage.

On the other end was Viktor. He was a haunting beauty, sleek and angular. If he had the same charisma with speaking to the masses as Jayce did, that accent would gain him more than a fair share of admirers, but his confidence and skills lied elsewhere. He had a sharp eye and wore his emotions rather loudly on his face.

Where Jayce had faint lines from how much he smiled, Viktor had a feather soft crease between his brows from how often he furrowed them. Where the golden boy’s hands were always warm, his partner’s was cold. They made such gorgeous opposites, yet they held so many comparisons in mannerisms when it came to their shared hobbies and passions.

It was safe to say you adored them and their intricacies.

Taking a slow, deep breath you checked both shoulders before moving the tuft of black in your periphery into your hand. Gold shimmered between the dark mass that made up Jayce’s lumen, settling deeper into your palm as you raised your arms and stretched.

When you moved your drawing pad to the side, you spotted Viktor’s wedged between the apex of your thighs. Swallowing your gasp, you scooped it up, praying it hadn’t been smushed the entire time.

“When did you get there?” you whispered, rubbing your pointer finger into the tawny fuzz of his light. His lumen had always had a bit more give to it, leaving it to wedge itself under your leg or your shirt collar. Viktor’s preferred to be as close as possible to you, even if it left his lumen squished.

Jayce’s lumen was firmer, still soft but in a velveteen sort of sensation. It was bigger, taking up a good portion of your palm. Now your second month with it, you’d learned if it wasn’t on one of your shoulders, it was likely circling your head. His never went far either.

You wondered if you’d received Jayce’s lumen first, if it would have more of an attachment to you. As it stood, you’d had Viktor’s since you were young while he’d held Jayce’s and Jayce yours. The three of you being tied together had become quite the story as there went many outward poly fateds in Piltover, but luckily the gawking had passed after the first handful of weeks.

It was only a few days ago that Viktor confessed he’d been rather confused when he’d met Jayce and the lumens had flashed against one another.

“There were no similarities,” he’d explained, holding up one long, thin finger for your lumen to rest on as it hovered in front of him. The three of you were cozied up in your lackluster apartment—a studio more than a bedroom but it had a nice pullout couch and plenty of blankets to rest on in front of your heater. “Jayce was ecstatic, of course, but I was ruminating over your lumen when we first met.”

“I thought he hated me,” Jayce had murmured, breath warm against your ear as you laughed.

“I did not hate you,” huffed Viktor on your other side, rolling his eyes as he dropped his hand, your lumen resting within. “I wasn’t aware we had a third, yet—it was puzzling.”

“I had to explain it to him,” Jayce chuckled. “One of my old friends was in a poly.”

“And, then, he was even more ecstatic,” Viktor sighed but there was affection in it. “I thought you’d follow him home some nights.”

“And leave you all by yourself?” You laid your head on his shoulder, grinning as his eyes fled. It was still so early into the relationship, and he grew flustered with physical affection whereas Jayce sought it every chance. “I’d never.”

“It’s better now, we’re all together,” Jayce hummed, lowering to lay his head in your lap. You brushed your hand through his hair, smiling as his lumen lit up in Viktor’s lap.

“Yes,” Viktor had agreed, careful as he laid his head against yours. “It all feels…complete.”

Your chest warmed at the memory as you held both of their lumens in your hands, giving a fleeting kiss to each. Viktor’s snuggled happily into your palm while Jayce’s pulsed a happy gold before flying off, likely to check in with Viktor.

As your eyes lifted to follow its journey, you jumped when you found Jayce smiling from a few feet away by his desk. He seemed to be shuffling through some papers. Your lumen floated just nice his head, twinkling in the sunlight that shone through the windows behind you.

“Didn’t see you there,” you said, stretching your legs out before standing. Viktor’s lumen left your hand, keeping close to your neck.

“I hope you’re not bored.” He opened an arm up and you approached. You still grew giddy with any chance to be wrapped in his embrace, quick to accept the invitation.

“I like spending time here with you both,” you assured, giggling as he bent down to kiss your forehead. “Gives me plenty of practice.”

His eyes lit up, one of those dark eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

“I know what you’re about to ask—”

“Please?” His arm wrapped tighter around your waist. “I wanna see.”

“They’re just rough sketches!” you laughed, pushing against his chest.

“C’mon, I bet they’re great! I’m sure Viktor wants to see them, too.”

You shook your head, a mess of giggles as he wrapped both arms around you and slowly edged his way towards the couch.

“Did someone call my name?” asked Viktor, turning from the machine he was working on. A torch was in his hand but luckily still off for the time being. Jayce’s lumen was sitting on his knee.

“Viktor tell her you want to see her art!” Jayce goaded.

“Tell him he needs to wait for a real piece,” you threw back, wrinkling your nose at him as he stuck his tongue out.

“You’ve been drawing us?” Viktor’s voice seeped with awe and innocent curiosity. “May we see?”

Jayce bounced his eyebrows at you, all too smug. “Told you.”

“Fine—fine!” you sighed, throwing your hands up and wiggling out of his hold as you went to grab your canvas notebook. “Don’t gripe when you see your half-finished faces.”

The tap of Viktor’s crutch intermingled with Jayce’s footsteps as they met you by the couch. As you handed over your work, Viktor was the one to accept it as Jace stood over him. Both their eyes went wide at the current page and your hand went straight to your arm as you shuffled in place.

“Those are just warmups, so…”

“Warmups?” Jayce breathed, looking up from the notebook. “These are amazing!”

“I have to agree, the detail is astounding,” Viktor hummed, looking to turn back a page. He caught your eyes before he did. “Is this all right? Tell us if we’re overstepping.”

“No, it’s okay! I’m used to people watching me draw on the street, it’s just… I don’t know.” You shrugged, bringing a hand up as Viktor’s lumen rubbed against your neck. Jayce’s was just settling on your shoulder again. “I care about what you guys think. It’s not anything big like you do, but…”

“Big?” Jayce echoed, both of their sights set on you.

“Well, it’s not as important as what you both do is what I mean.”

“Of course it’s important,” Viktor argued, expression stern.

“But it’s art!” you laughed, waving off the sudden seriousness growing from them. “It’s helping a bunch of people like your creations do. That’s much more important.”

“Art is just as, if not more, important,” he continued, passing the notebook to Jayce. “We are helping people in different ways, but do not do yourself the disservice and think what you create is anything less than what we do.”

“He’s right,” Jayce agreed, holding up your work. “This? This speaks to people. Your work can bring life to a room and lets people save a special moment in time.”

“Okay, don’t butter me up so much or I’ll melt!” you squeaked, too embarrassed to look at them as they chuckled and continued flipping through your sketches. It wasn’t long before the three of you were on the couch, both of them pointing out their favorites.

“Is my hair truly that messy?” Viktor grumbled, raising a hand to it. “Perhaps I should cut it.”

“No, I like it,” you said, grabbing his wrist. “You twirl it when you’re thinking! It’s so sweet.”

He blinked at you. “I do?”

Jayce whistled and you turned and gasped, completely forgetting the drawing you’d done of him in the forge. It was more from memory so your imagination had left it a bit more detailed than the rest.

“Okay, that’s enough!”

You swiped for the book, shutting it as Jayce laughed. Viktor rolled his eyes, smirking as he nudged your shoulder.

“Should I be worried of any scandalous pieces of me in there?”

You pouted, holding the notebook tighter to your chest.

“Oh?” Jayce breathed. “She didn’t say no!”

“You two are the worst!” you groaned, unable to help yourself from smiling as they both laughed in tandem.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Will you do a scenario of how we’d meet Bill for the first time and what he would be like if you were sort of “friends”? 🙏

You were minding your business while walking through the woods of Gravity Falls, just needing a change of scenery and finding the woods to be the perfect place to do so with it’s mushrooms, flowers and the wildlife that crossed your path.

Everything was seemingly fine and not out of the ordinary until you started to feel like you were being watched from somewhere, you looked to see if you could spot anyone, but all you could see were birch trees that had markings on the bark that suspiciously looked like eyes. You were just about thinking of leaving until you heard a voice from somewhere.

‘Hey kiddo!’

You looked to the left, nothing

‘Other way kid.’

the to the right, nothing

‘Colder.’

Up? Nope, nothing.

‘You’re practically an human popsicle at this point.’

How about looking down? Still nothing. Now you were getting confused, scared and annoyed.

You heard the voice sigh and say ‘you’re starting to make me feel sad, here I’ll make this a little easier for you.’ Then before you could say anything, a small yellow triangle with one eye wearing a top hat and bow tie appeared before you.

‘It’s great to finally meet you y/n.’ It said and immediately you were freaked out.

‘Who are you and how did you know my name?’ You asked, uneasy.

‘The names Bill Cipher and I know lots of things, lots of things.’ Bill replied, shrugging. ‘Wanna see what I can do?’ He adds after a brief pause but before you could answer him, he held his hand out to a nearby deer as its teeth were taken out of its mouth and into his small hand in a neat pile. ‘Deer teeth for you kid hehe.’ He then chuckled as he dumped the pile of deer teeth into your hands.

You on the other hand didn’t find this funny and fought the urge to vomit as you offered Bill the deer teeth back. ‘Mind giving the deer its teeth back? I’m sure it has more use for them than either of us.’ You ask as Bill did as you asked and gave the deer its teeth back as it galloped off elsewhere, leaving you alone with the weird triangle in the woods. Everything that had happened within the past five minutes had been overwhelming for you, too overwhelming that you had to sit yourself down on the trunk of a fallen tree and put your head in your hands, muttering to yourself.

‘This isn’t real, this is all some weird fever dream or I’m tripping balls. There’s no other explanation.’

Bill only chuckled as he floated next to you and patted you on the shoulder. ‘There, there human I can reassure you that what you just saw was very much real.’

You looked at him from your hands, unamused. ‘You fucking suck at comforting people you know that?’

‘I think we’ll get along great!’ Bill chirped gleefully.

‘We absolutely will not.’ You replied but you had an inkling that your opinion on the matter didn’t matter.

Now onto how bill would be if you were sort of ‘friends.’

He’s got a weird way about showing his feelings in any capacity.

The little shit put rats, dead rats outside your door, spelling out your name on random ass occasions that made it look like to others that a) you were haunted or b) had a weird stalker who liked to form your name out of dead rats.

He doesn’t want you having friends outside of him because and I quote ‘I’m the only friend you need, why bother with anyone else. So don’t even try cuz I’ll be watching you.’

Will leave sticky post it notes anywhere and everywhere saying to get more silly straws or else he’ll find a way to possess you and make you do embarrassing shit. Ie: walk through town in your underwear, make you speak backwards, kick a child-

Bill was a brat and his pranks were often traumatic but apparently they were ‘light’ in comparison to the stuff he did to his other meat puppets. You didn’t ask any further questions about what he meant by that in fear that he’d show you one as an example.

You are probably the only person who bill has told about his secret technique with mascara and eyeliner, even seeing him do it once when he insisted that you had a ‘sleepover’ at your place. He even points the mascara brush at you warningly as he threatened that you were to never tell people about this or else.

His version of jealousy when he sees you spending time with others is to trash your house and try to act cute when you catch him in the act. You don’t fall for this and give Bill the silent treatment for the rest of the day as he practically lost his shit over your lack of attention.

Probably air horned you awake once.

Bill Wouldn’t tell you this but he make your enemies do stupid shit that resulted in their deaths, for fun he claims but he didn’t want his favourite meat sack to start leaking water from their eyes every time something went wrong in their life. So he just cuts them out in the most brutal way possible.

Bill was stuck to you like glue and there’s was no way to hide from him as he would ultimately appears where you are, even if you’re in the fucking shower, he don’t care.

Bill: *appears in shower* my favourite meat sack have you- stop screaming it’s only me, have you seen a king cobra anywhere, I must’ve dropped it somewhere here-

He probably once threatened you with the whole ‘steal your eyes’ thing like he did with Ford but you had witness enough of Bill’s behaviour to know that he was joking about that, to which he was proud and would magically make a cake filled with worms, bugs and other unpleasant things appear in celebration.

You may or may not have been sick that day.

Your and Bills friendship was weird, probably not the healthiest in all honestly and you should seek help and or maybe therapy for the shit he’s out you through.

You were his property, you were his pet, HIS MEAT SACK and you wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere without him knowing and or being nearby in hopes of catching your eye.

Just a yellow triangle with one eye and a top hat and bow tie floating ominously in the background was enough to unnerve anyone.

You had no freedom as far as you were concerned in this ‘friendship’ but bill likes to claim that he has given you the most freedom out of anyone who has ever existed.

[chrisisvbun]

guilty as sin. logan howlett x bunny!femreader

synopsis: after realizing that Jean wasn't really the best option, Logan decides it's time for him to forget about dating and shit and try to put his libido on being an xmen (tho he'll never confess it). That until, in a mission, they find the most dangerous mutant... a bunny mutant.

cw: age gap (logan is 35-40, reader is 25-30); a bit of chasing game; dom!Logan; mention of prostitution, killing, poison, seizures, non-con and neglection; brat!reader but also really submissive; reader goes by she/her, afab terms used top; animalistic stuff like heats, and scents and shit; logan's wolf side is exaggerated; reader is much smaller than Logan; albin!reader and her appearence its described; smut, creampie, praise kink, really animalistic, slight fingering, unprotected p in v. red coded character bcs logan has a type, obviously. A bit of ooc!Logan sorry.

words: 4.3k

second.

"Show yourself!" Scott's shout echoed in the big house.

"Sure, now they're gonna show themselves, of course." Logan teased, which only earned him a dirty look from Cyclops. "Relax, glasses, I'm sure t-"

Whatever tease was about to come out from Logan's lips was interrupted by the sound of wood cracking. Scott, Jean, Ororo and him looked around, but the first three moved their eyes to Logan, who was the one with sharp audition.

The mission requires the four best mutants of Xavier. The mutant they were chasing was, apparently, the most dangerous mutant around at that time, nobody knew how they looked like, because they were really quiet when killing with some type of poison. The four heroes were expecting any type of lizard or reptile, or a mutant that had poison abilities, so they tried to be as cautious as possible.

Logan looked at began sniffing around, too. I have smelled prey. It was a scent that he had smelled back when he was in the mountains, but never again until that second. He frowned, confused, and wrinkled his nose more like that would help distinguish the source.

"What is it—" Scott asked.

"Sh."

"What is it, Logan?" Jean asked.

Logan sniffed a bit more before answering. "Meat."

"Huh?" Storm said. "Meat?"

Another creek.

Everyone turned their head to try finding the source of the sound. Logan seemed to find it and began approaching slowly to the pile of wood in the corner of the house.

"You can come out."

No answer.

"Come out." He ordered. But still no answer.

It is public knowledge that Logan was not a man of much patience, he snaps quickly, just like now. He dumped the pile of wood away with his claws, to expose the creature behind it.

Everything they expected: a lizard, a reptile, a poison mutant, everything evaporated in the mere thought when Logan saw those long, white, fluffy, bunny ears falling on the sides of your pale face.

Logan frowned, confused. "This is the most dangerous mutant?" He chuckled as he retracted his claws.

You, a bunny mutant, were shaking in tour place, wrapped around yourself while you looked at Logan with eyes bright with fear.

Yeah, a bunny mutant, that's why he smelled meat, why he smelled prey.

"Don't worry, bub. 'not gonna hurt you." He said, looking at you up and down. He reached his forearm for you to grab like he was to scared to put his hands on you in case he would break you. You sniffed at his arm a bit, your flat pink nose moving up and down quickly as you took in his scent.

Shyly, you put your small pale hands on his big forearm and lifted yourself.

Logan didn't miss a chance to check your appearance. You had pale skin, a pinkish hue in your elbows, shoulders, nose, and cheeks, your eyes were big and red, bright as two rubies, your hands were small, you were small in general, and your body was so tiny in comparison to his. So delicate, like porcelain. Like it's been mentioned before, you had a flat, pink nose that wrinkled whenever you began sniffing something, and your pale face was between two long, fluffy, white bunny ears. Logan also noticed how your arms, legs, neck, face, and whole body were covered in a white, soft fur. When you turned around to see the rest of the team, Logan saw your round, fluffy, white bunny tail lifting the back of your short dress.

Wait, a short, slik dress? In a house like this?

Logan instantly frowned, glancing at his team with you still gripping at his forearm.

"Logan, careful." Scott stood in front of Jean, trying to protect her.

"You want to protect her from this?" Logan chuckled, pointing at you. "Sure thing, bub."

"Charles said we were going to meet the most dangerous mutant around..." Jean said.

"I'm sorry, but that doesn't look that dangerous..." Storm crossed her arms, looking at you, smiling at the sight of your white curly hair falling messigly through your shy, scared eyes.

"Why would they say she is dangerous when she looks like this?" Scott put his hands in his waist.

"I don't know, but they seem harmless to me too" Jean peeked through Scott's figure.

"More like a scared little creature rather than a dangerous mutant, yeah" Storm kneeled a bit.

While they talked, Logan was looking at your tail. Yeah, he was almost ignoring your round, fat ass, just looking at your puffy tail. Out of instinct, he moved his hand to touch it, grabbing it in his hand and squeezing a bit, gently.

"Soft..." He mumbled.

Yeah. He better have enjoyed it, because in the second you felt a strange hand from someone who smelled like a predator grabbing your tail from behind, you sank your nails in his chest, the red poison getting in his system for long enough to make Logan faint , but not enough to kill him, just because Scott managed to shoot some tranquilizer in your neck.

(...)

Logan woke up in the nurse bed of the mansion. Because it was a familiar situation, he just stood up, plugged the wires off and walked out, grabbing his white top that was on the chair.

As soon as he had his shirt on, his searched for the team until he found them at Charles office, where he barged in.

"What a pleasant entrance" Scott said in a mumbled, which made Logan roll his eyes.

"What the hell happened and where the fuck is that bunny bitch?" Logan frowned.

"Relax, Logan, we will explain everything" Charles said.

The explanation had a bit of a lore. You were victims of a group of men that experimented with babies to turn them into mutants. But these weren't any men, and they didn't want any mutants. We are talking about pimps indeed, and they decided, after investigating the porn industry for a long time, to create women that had everything a nasty, kinky man would want, they created a mutant for every fetish a man could imagine. For example, a bunny woman. Of course, they also took their time to perfect this and made them age slower, so even though you were close to thirty, you hardly looked twenty. And obviously, they didn't do it for the hell of it, clients paid big amounts of money to have a scent of you. Men took their time to praise you before taking you over and over again. You were desired and you hated it.

This went through since you were fifteen, of course in this type of industry, age was the last thing they cared about. And they had you in the worst conditions ever, not just you, because it wasn't just you. There were too many women in those conditions, in that situation. To say a number, you once counted fifty in one room, and there were more than forty rooms, you do the math. all stacked, one over the other in not enough beds, crying, suffering, your bodies bruised, dirty, abused.

Logan couldn't help but feel bad. Bad is an understatement. Awful. Because how such a delicate, pure thing like you could have gone through that? He was furious.

The end of the story is that the tools those men used to turn you into a mutant had... imperfections, which caused your defensive ability. You had a chemical that they've used on the creation of your mutation running through your blood and you were able to expulse it through your fingertips, so when you sank your nails into someone's flesh, the poison went through your nails to get to that person's system, causing a seizure that led them to death, of course.

Thanks to Logan's healing abilities, that didn't happen, but Logan noticed how you were determined to do it, to kill him, how scared you were of, not him, but every single man that laid his hands on you without your consent.

The reason why you were in that silk, dark green dress, that covered your body till half way of your thigh, was that that was the last 'meeting' you had with a man. You had been convocated to get to that cabin with another woman, before that happened, the pimps were already suspecting that you were the one that was killing all of their clients, and you suspected that you weren't gonna go home after that 'meeting' in the cabin with a regular.

Thinking about it, you didn't mind the sex. The clients were usually handsome men, and because you were 'the bunny girl' they've always praised you over and over again, you were the pretty bunny, you were a delicate feather, they didn't want to break you, even the ones that had a corruption kink. You were the premium meat, that's what they used to call you when selling you, you were available for the best and only the best clients. You were the luckiest, and the one that worked harder, because you would've gotten touched and fucked at least two times a day. The thing that made you sick was the context, you knew that you would love to fuck those men if you would've done it willingly, but the mere thought of someone paying to have the freedom to use you made you sick. Why? You didn't understand, they were handsome men, and they could've found a pretty woman like you in a bar if they wanted. But no, why? Because they wanted the bunny. The fat prize.

But when the pimps began suspecting, the type of men that you were given to began to be worse, not because they were ugly, but because they were less kind. This last client was one of those, and for your luck, this girl that came with you was one of your closest friends, a girl that was also a hybrid, an orange cat hybrid. And the mess started.

The second the client began to get violent, you sank your claws into his shoulders and watched him faint above you. In that second, the security of the pimps walked in and tried to get rid of you, making a mess in the house till you managed to get rid of all. You were punched and bruised, fortunately, no open wounds, but you were exhausted. Your friend got rid of the bodies and said they were going to find help, but never came back. You thought she got caught, and that's why she never came back, but a part of you feared that maybe she just ran away and left you there.

Anyway, that's how you ended up there, in that dress, covered in that mess of a house. Logan couldn't believe what he was hearing, the team always thought they could avoid all of the mutants' pain, but they didn't know half of them to even start thinking about saving them.

"She is going to stay, of course. Not only for her safety but also because we have to get as much information as we can of this sick business" Charles explained.

And that's what happened. Logan stepped in the kitchen where you were sitting peacefully, with a bowl of cereal, binging at it like it was your last meal. The second your gazes connected, you couldn't help to get embarrassed and put the bowl down, sitting straight as looking at him. "Hi." You mumbled shyly.

"Hi there, bun." He smiled. Not just you but everyone was surprised that he wasn't mad at you.

"I'm sorry... that I tried killing you... you scared me" You said, playing with your spoon.

Logan chuckled. "That's okay, bunny, it's in the past." He leaned on the counter, you had a grey jumper with the school logo, and grey sweatpants and you were barefoot, your toes didn't even reach the floor. "That jumper suites you."

"You think I'm a prey." You talked on top of him. A silence built between you two, and you broke it. "You are a wolf, aren't you?"

"Yes and no, sweetheart." He sighed. "You do smell like a good piece of meat, tho"

You frowned a bit. "A piece of meat?"

Logan pressed his lips in a line. "Yeah, that didn't sound pretty well, did it?"

"Surely didn't" You put your plate on the sink next to him, and he took his time to see your tail peeking between your jumper and your sweatpants.

"It was soft, you know?" He cleared his throat.

"I live with it 24/7" You said, putting your clean plate in the dryer before looking at him. "Of course I know it's soft."

Logan chuckled. "Careful with your tone, rabbit".

You raised an eyebrow, not really enjoying the tease. "Dumb wolf." You muttered before walking to your room.

You didn't like him, yeah. But he? Oh, he craved you.

(...)

Slowly, you began to adapt to your new life. It was hard, you went through a life in which you were neglected and abused, to one where you had anything you could ask for.

Months came by, and Xavier asked you to coordinate the art club, which you gladly did since you loved art.

You hung out a lot with Ororo, Kurt, surprisingly Logan (more like joking, teasing and mocking you until you git comfortable enough to through them back at him), and the kids, you didn't avoid the rest, but you were pretty shy, so you didn't approach them.

But of course, you couldn't ignore the times were Logan stood in the doorframe of your classroom and watched you teach the kids, your apron covered in paint as you tried to help the teens and the little ones to paint on their canvases. You also couldn't ignore the way he smiled at you, always saying that he is just checking that Rouge is having a good time.

You also noticed how mad he would get whenever you spoke to Kurt in the library, how would you look up at him, accommodating your white hair behind your ear as you smiled. He could get so pissed with just that, so furious because he wanted those smiles, he wanted to see your skin wrinkle around your red eyes standing in front of you, looking at you, having you looking at him.

Having you.

Gosh, what was wrong with him?

It was something primal that got him whenever he saw your white body hair, or whenever he saw you in the living your, cutting your dresses so you could accommodate your pompom tail, or whenever you watched television with Ororo in the TV room, surrounded by the kids, wearing some cozy pajamas.

He didn't put a single finger on you, tho. He has never touched that hairy skin of your, tho he craved it.

He couldn't understand if he sexually wanted you or if he was just so desperate for your attention. Maybe both. Maybe none... no, definitely both, yeah.

He could dream about you for a week, about having you in his arms, sometimes not doing anything, just running his hands through your fur up and down slowly, petting you, showing you how much of him you had. Other nights, he was just fantazising about parting your wet cunt in half with his cock.

He is not guilty, he thinks, it's normal. Although, he was indeed thinking like a teen.

One of sleepover nights, he was drinking a coke with Bobby in the kitchen, hearing you laugh and chat with Ororo and the rest of the kids until he just heard your voice and Rouge's. Both boys stood up and peeked through the living room, seeing all the kids and Ororo sleeping, one girl had her head in your lap as you caressed her ginger hair softly. When both of you heard them approach, you turn to them and giggled.

"What's so funny?" Bobby asked Rouge.

"Nothing, nothing" she giggled, looking at the white-haired one.

"Wolf, help me get the kids to bed" you said, passing right by him with a girl in your hands.

Logan sighed, pressing his tongue in the inside of his bottom lip. "Yes, ma'am" he said, and grabbed one kid in his arms.

"Bobby, Marie, you too. Go to sleep, come on." You said, both kids sighed and nodded.

When everyone was all tucked in at their rooms (including Ororo) you began climbing upstairs.

"Bunny."

You flipped around, looking at him with those big eyes he loved so bad.

"Hm..."

Some way, you were sitting on the counter, him in a chair of the kitchen table, both drinking from your cola bottles silently. He couldn't take his eyes from you, you are wearing a red silk pajama, thin straps held your breasts from peeking out from that thin fabric, and the scent of your exposed skin was driving him mad. He was about to get feral, that a sure thing. And seeing your white-haired thighs brushing against each other as you bounced your lega in the counter wasn't helping him either.

"So..." He started, trying to distract himself. "You adapted pretty well" he took a sip.

"Uh-hum." You said, playing with the straw of your bottle. "Ororo and Kurt helped a lot."

Logan grumbled at the mention of the German. "Yeah, Kurt..."

"Yeah, Kurt." You repeated with a giggle at his disgusted tone. "What's the matter with him?"

"Nothing, nothing, he is just a weirdo".

"We are all weirdos here, Logan" You laughed, taking a sip.

"He is just a guy with weird eyes and fur, no big deal." He rolled his eyes.

You raised your eyebrows. "What am I then?" You crossed your legs.

Logan looked at you, the white fur in your bare legs and your red big eyes, and he chuckled.

"You don't want me to answer that, bunny." he drank the whole bottle.

"No, please, illuminate me, wolf." You crossed your arms too. "Because last time I checked I also have a strange eye color and fur all over. What am I?" You got off the counter, still crossing your arms as you looked at him cleaning the glass bottle.

He put it on the counter with a dry noise, looking down at you with a small smirk.

"You are a beautiful, small, vulnerable, delicious bunny with gorgeous ruby eyes and fucking cutest fur i've ever seen" He smiled as biting his lip, looking down at you, taking long steps to approach to you, as you stepped back. "You happy?"

"What makes you think I'm delicious?" You asked, stepping into the wall.

Logan chuckled dryly again. "Out of all the things I said, you kept that?" He laughed. "Damn rabbit, you know well that I can smell how sweet you are."

"I don't." You stepped firm, crossing your arms, looking at him. You tried to stay firm but as you could smell him, he obviously could scent your arousal. He was laughing at you.

He sighed exaggerating, looking at you up and down. "You smell really good, bunny, and you are so tiny too, you know how much I'm restraining myself to not scoop you up?" He kept teasing you, loving how, with every word, you were squeezing harder against nothing.

He got closer, one hand on the wall and the other moving up your thigh, not touching you. You looked confused and he looked up at you, pausing everything.

"May I?" He asked, your felt your breath hitch in your throat as you nodded, you could've came right there. God, he was doing the bare minimum and he was so hot while that.

"Yeah..." You answered in a nod.

His hand pressed against your thigh, his fingertips squeezed around the white hair of your leg, he smiled at the feeling. "So soft, such a soft flesh, bunny. I could devour you."

God, please do. You didn't know why or when Logan became so hot, maybe all the teasing, all the mocking, and all the jokes were a way for you guys to mate. You don't really care now, your throbbing pussy either. You don't remember if you got this wet when he asked to touch you, when he called you delicious, when he asked you to have a drink with him in the kitchen or when he peeked through the living room wearing that tight white top that showed his huge tanned shoulders so perfectly. Definitely the last one, yeah.

His hand began to climb up, your hands gripped his shoulders as your breath got heavier. His touch was gentle and soft, like you were made out of porcelain. His hands touched your center, that point were your lips touched against each other again in your juicy pussy, he chuckled in a mocking tongue. "What got you so wet, bub? I didn't even started" He said in your mouth, laughing on top of your lips.

Your body began to warm up, your whole body began to get so hot and sweaty as his fingers bullied your clothed entrance. "That's it, that's a good bunny. 'M getting you all ready for me, I don't need you wet for this, I need you dripping" He was teasing you so bad, mocking your reactions at his fingers in your most sensitive part. When you frowned, he did the same, when you opened your mouth to moan, he would imitate you too. "Such a pretty little thing, getting all wet for your mate."

"Logan, please..."

"Please what, rabbit?" He pushed the clothes covering your heat.

"Please! I need..." You tried to talk, but moaned loudly.

"You need what, bunny? Use that pretty mouth of yours." He used his free hand to squeeze your cheeks until your mouth was opened. "Gosh, one day I'm gonna fill that mouth of yours. I want this beautiful lips around some good stuff, but not now, sweetheart, I need to show you what you are here for, bun'".

(...)

Your face was pressed on the cold counter of the kitchen, your mouth drooled your saliva as you tried to speak, only being able to babble some incoherent words. Your saliva was mixing with your pleasure and pain tears, because Logan was gripping your bunny ears tight from behind as he thrusts against your wet, tight pussy. His free hand us pressing your middle back, making you arch your spine, giving him the best angle ever as you cried and moaned.

His tip was hitting your cervix perfectly, your velvety insides were squeezing him tight, almost sucking him in. He groaned every time he thrusted his hips against your ass, the kitchen getting filled with the wet noises of his balls against your skin. He looked down to the spot where his cock disappeared inside of you, the ring of precum mixed with your slick in his base.

Your toes hurt as you were on your tiptoes and your nails scratched the marble of the counter in desperation as he quicked his pace.

"Gosh, bunny, so freaking tight..." He growled under his breath. Even though you had been fucked a lot, you were still so tight inside, and he was going nuts about it.

He moved the hand that he had in your back to your low stomach, caressing your womb and almost moaning at the feeling of his tip pressing against it.

"Taking me so freaking well, gosh." He bit his lip and closed his eyes as he kept fucking you.

You were so cock drunk from him, you had a very sexual life but no cock had opened you so well like Logan's did. Not only it was huge, but also it was so warm that almost felt like a cuddle for your insides. From now on, you are sure that you'll get wet with just the thought of his warm, fat cock inside of you.

"Please..." you cried and drooled, Logan chuckled, his eyes still closed.

"Please what, rabbit?" He teased.

You moved your hips in circles and he pulled your ears more, making you lift your head from the counter.

"Words." He ordered.

" 'm gonna come..." You managed to say, hissing in a beautiful pain. "M-may I?"

So fucking polite, he thought.

"I couldn't deny you that, no when you asked so nicely, bun'" He smiled widely and bit his lip, starting to fuck you almost brutally. "Come on my cock, be a good bunny."

You screamed at his new pace, your hands gripping the edge of the counter, crying pathetically when his cock began hitting your sweet point.

He was looking for your pleasure desperately, he wanted you to feel so good, so drunk in him. And god he was being successful, you had never been so well fucked, he was taking great care of you.

It didn't take you much longer to come in his cock, your body shivering as saliva dripped on the counter with your tears, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you tensed your body and your pussy began dripping your release.

You didn't notice you were about to wall in the ground until Logan hugged your waist and flush you against him completely, filling you with his seed, you swear you heard him moan in your ear as he did, even though he is sure he doesn't moan.

He leaned against the table for a second, still hugging you and panting heavily. His hand caressed your belly with lazy patterns.

"Too rough?" He asked. You denied.

"Just perfect." You answered breathlessly, he huffed a smile. "Thanks."

"Anytime, bunny."

"I have a name, you know?" You chucked a bit.

"Bunny suits you better." He kissed your shoulder. "Let's get you cleaned up so you can rest that pretty ass for yours." You laughed as he lifted you, grabbing your princess style to walk you to your room.

[kisses4kaia]

brothers best friend billy bc i am self-indulgent ☺️ very poorly proofread😴 edit; here’s another installment of this au <3

william h. bonney is a gentleman.

he is a gentleman, but fuck, if you whisper another word into his ear, warm breath fanning over the cusp, he’s not above bending you over the poker table and fucking you in front of everyone, including your brother.

and billy knows, he knows you’re trying to rile him up, knows you’re just trying to get a ride rise out of him, but did you really have to hit him where it hurts? you’d learnt not too long ago that billy is quite sensitive on his ears—when you nibbed him on his earlobe while he was balls deep inside your tight cunt and he came on the spot—and if you didn’t take advantage of that from time to time, you reasoned, it would be an injustice, truly.

“oh billy, don’t you know fucking your best friends little sister is wrong? how long has this been going on—2 months, huh? hmm, you ever gonna tell jesse? oh, no. he would kill you if he found out, wouldn’t he? and you’re still taking that risk for me; how romantic of you, billy,” your voice is a tantalizing taunt, and it’s winding him up, so much so that he has to take a swig of his whiskey to cover up the flush spreading on his cheeks.

your whispers are received from billy with a shudder, whom you’re standing behind while he sits at the poker table. nobody really even notices you talking to him, not even jesse. he’s focused on winning, as is billy, but you just make it so much damn harder for your lover.

the game is on its last play and it’s gotten quite intense. “reveal your hands,” the dealer commands and jesse lays down his cards before billy shows him up completely, 4 aces over jesse’s straight.

the sportsmanship is friendly even after billy gathers the whole pot for himself and jesse goes to catch a drink at the bar, giving billy the perfect opportunity to figure out what the fuck your little show was about.

his large hand is wrapped around your—by comparison, small—wrist, and he’s dragging you outside the saloon, all the way to his house just down the block.

when the door slams shut, billy’s lips are on yours faster than you can blink.

he has this way about his kisses—they’re always needy, but not all-dominating. he doesn’t want to own you, you can see it is his eyes, the eyes that are so much softer than lil the other men you’ve come across, who look at you like a piece of meat. he kisses you with a certain passion, a fire that you haven’t been able to find with anybody else, and it ignites something bubbly inside you. he’s feverish, and you reciprocate his urgency, fingers hooking into his two front belt loops, pulling him closer to where you need him the most.

“fuck, pretty. really tryna rile me up, huh? fuck was that, back at the game?” his lust-blown pupils do nothing to hide the fact that you won. you got just what you wanted, so with a giggle you respond, voice teasing. “i just wanted to see how gentlemanly you could stay before you would eventually break—i knew you would break,”

billy scoffs and rolls his eyes, before placing his lips on yours, more gently this time, and picking you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, carrying you to his bedroom that you’ve grown oh, so, familiar with.

he surprises you when rather than laying you down on your back unto the bed, he sits down himself, begins unbuttoning your linen button-down and unbuttoning the boot-cut denim jeans that hugged your ass so fucking well, before pulling all of it off of your limbs and helping you pull his own trousers down.

with gentle maneuvering, billy eases you onto his hard, awaiting cock. a soft gasp leaves you, and a deep groan from billy reverberates throughout the room. “this is what you wanted? to sit on my dick, make your pretty, little pussy cum? yeah? go on, use me. ride my cock, hm? you own it, it’s yours,” his breathy words only speed up your pulsing around his dick, and pull a aroused moan from your throat.

he sounded so honest, so real. it was times like these, with him underneath you, coming more and more undone by the second, that felt the most raw. it was times like these, when his hands where welded onto your hips, surely leaving bruises, that you realized, you didn’t want this with anybody else, ever. you never wanted to leave his loving embrace, and it’s with that epiphany you speak.

“fuck, billy, i love you. i love you so fucking much, oh my god, fuck!”

his hips falter slightly at the sentence, but almost like a serendipitous parallel, billy cums with a loud moan right along with you, orgasms perfectly in time with one another.

and as he comes down from his high, riding you through your own, his response to your confession is uttered—in hushed tones, in fear that if he dare raises his voice, dare speak freely, dare open his arms, you may disappear, like sand through his calloused fingers.

“i love you, too, angel. i think… i think want forever with you.”

[stillfoodforguys]

Trying out some new experiences, my boyfriend and I were looking for a dominant guy that we could both serve together. We found someone advertising themselves online as a ‘giant for hire’, which turned out to involve much more than just having a great physique.

He was at least a foot taller than us both, and all the muscle built around his broad shoulders and thick thighs made him bigger in every other direction too. But the service we’d paid for came with something extra that would take this to the max; he made us both swallow a pill that would supposedly cause our bodies shrink over time, making him truly a giant in comparison.

We sat either side of him and massaged his muscles, and after a while I could feel my body tingle as the shrinking pill took effect. After just a few minutes, my height had already reduced such that standing on the sofa only brought me up to his shoulders. I stretched my arm across one of his pecs, squeezing the massive slab of meat while suckling on his nipple that filled my entire mouth.

I kept getting distracted by the musk that wafted down from above, occasionally glancing up at his pits until the man took notice. He suddenly stuffed me underneath his arm and lowered it to pin me beside him, trapping my head inside a hot, sweaty chamber entangled by his musky armpit hair. As I continued to shrink, he readjusted his arms slightly to make sure I didn’t slip out, forcing me to keep inhaling his powerful scent. By the time I reached my final size, my whole body was pressed against his flesh using just his bicep, which repeatedly flexed and throbbed against me.

After what seemed like an eternity, he pulled me out into the fresh air, everything but my head wrapped tightly in his clutches. He returned my blissful grin with a cocky smirk of his own, gesturing his eyes down towards his lap as though he wanted to direct my attention there. My expression changed very quickly to shock when I saw his massive member, with a tiny pair of legs kicking around as they disappeared into his slit. I watched the squirming bulge travel all the way down his shaft, the left side of his sack swelling as my boyfriend settled inside.

The giant moaned at the feeling of his balls getting massaged from within, carefully stroking his cock and savouring the moment. He didn’t care one bit about my pathetic attempts to wriggle out of his grip, and even took the time to tease me as he brought me closer to his waist. “That’s one filled up, now for the other…”

My shouting and begging for him to stop was quickly quietened when my head was shoved into his cock, immediately coated in the precum that was being pumped out in response to my partner’s squirming. It sucked me in like I was being consumed by a hungry snake, pulling me deeper until my whole body sank into the sweltering pool of cum contained within his other testicle. The scent was even more overpowering than his musk, dragging out an intense horny feeling that mixed with my fear.

At first I could hear my boyfriend struggling next to me, but once he went silent I knew that it wouldn’t be long before I also met my end. Soon we’d both be fully melted down into a fresh load, which this hulking predator would no doubt enjoy shooting across our bedroom floor.

[cina-full-moon-xanadium]

Heisei/Reiwa Kamen Rider Bike Riding Time research

Hello there! Does anyone remember from a little while back when this image was going around?

For a while, at least in fan communities I frequented; this was quite infamous for showing just how sharp a decline Kamen Rider's namesake had become in the last few years, with the absolute nadir of the Heisei 20th anniversary Kamen Rider using his bike for a total of 47 seconds (and also, on the other end; just how much Kuuga would not get off his bike)

Obviously, it's been a few years since Saber now; and I've found myself wondering from time to time exactly how the Riders since then have fared, especially since both Geats and Gotchard have garnered a reputation of sorts for putting a bit more emphasis on the bikes and feeling like they have more screentime than your Zero-Ones and your Sabers.

So! I went looking and found the source. This extremely dedicated Japanese poster called Yamashita Radio who of course I will be basing the majority of this on, including his rules and his counting. And when I say 'dedicated' I mean that at one point he lost all his data so he just counted Kuuga through Saber all over again. MAD respect for this man! I highly recommend a full readthrough of this 5-part post at one point because it's very impressive and interesting stuff in my opinion

One other interesting point is that that chart there? That's main rider only; and also includes any riding they did as civilians. There is a separate chart for all motorbike riding in the show as a whole; including other riders, including monsters, including even just random civilians! For posterity, I think it's important to post that chart for comparison with the main rider one -- I've colour coded here so that red is Heisei 1 (Kuuga-Decade), green is Heisei 2 (W-Zi-O) and yellow is Reiwa (Zero-One onwards). Main rider only on the left, all biking on the right.

Up front there are some absolutely fascinating observations to make here - Zero-One had the least bike scenes of any show! Brand new era of Kamen Rider! - but I think I've talked about the past enough. With all this said and what I feel is a very important plug to make, let's get into the meat of this -- how do Revice, Geats and Gotchard compare to previous shows?

Rules

... okay, yeah, sure; let's quickly establish a baseline first. As I'm going off of Yamashita's work, I'm also going by all his rules; it's a good thing I agree with all of them because I kinda didn't want to completely redo the count of every season!

TV Show ONLY! No movies, no TTFC specials, no HBVs, no V-Cinema, none of it. The main reason given is that, uh, Paradise Lost has a 100+ bike scene near the start so that's too much of an advantage -- fair enough! Personally I also think it's more interesting, because movies generally have more budget and allowances for bike scenes so those tend to be the same. Maybe a separate count would still be interesting, but I think including movies would flatten out the times too much and make the data pretty uninteresting

No openings! Agito has too much of an advantage

Non-transformed states count the same as transformed states. Godai riding a bike is the same as Kuuga riding a bike.

All motorcycles are treated equally! Mopeds and even CG scenes and bikes are allowed

Other vehicles such as cars, trains and even bicycles and hoverbikes are excluded. Two big exceptions are made for Drive and Revice as they do not have a main motorbike otherwise, but this does exclude things like Gaim's Dandeliner, many of the Oni in Hibiki's transport vehicles, Den-O's Den-Liner, Gotchard's Steamliner and Madwheel and Decade's Agito Slider

Transformations of the bike still count as long as it's being ridden. The Boostriker turns into fox mode while you're riding it? That's fair game

Flashbacks and other repeat footage ("previously on" segments etc) don't count of course. But in cases where it's clearly stock footage but it's still a new event, like the many Ryuki Rideshooter scenes, that's still counted

Count from the moment the bike is straddled to the moment the bike is gotten off, and everything in between. Scenes where the bike isn't technically visible - such as close-ups of the rider's face, or cutting to another character's reaction - are still counted if it's all the same scene

Revice

3m21s (2m23s for Revi only)

Oh lucky me, this was actually done for me! Yamashita made a small update after Revice finished to add this. I just went over and double checked it.

At 3m21s, Revice is at this point the series with the 2nd least amount of bike riding; above Zero-One and below Zi-O. For Revi alone he's in 3rd least; above Zero-One and below Saber. Happy 50th anniversary!

An interesting note here is that Ikki never rides Vice Ptera untransformed -- concerns over the actor's safety, maybe? Daiji also pulls in 58 seconds for the show on his own motorbike, but abandons it completely after episode 13; only bringing it back for the summer movie (which is also the only place he rode it as Live). Interestingly, the 12 seconds he rides it with Sakura in episode 13 is the only time he uses it in the show after becoming a Rider. The skateboarding scene in episode 7 for Jackal Form goes on for over a minute, but unfortunately can't count for this...

I think most people expected Revice to place quite low, though. So let's move on to a show I think a lot of people expect to place higher.

Geats

4m05s (3m45s for Geats only)

I keep repeating it, but this is a show where it seemed a lot of people got the impression of the bike having more importance than before. I think there's a lot of aspects that come together into that -- the bike being tied to a specific 'special' item that's even part of the main rider's main form, the upgrade forms going off of that, and the bike being used in prominent scenes including in the first episode. Geats even arrives on it in his Revice summer movie cameo!

But ultimately if you look at riding time, Geats ends up in 3rd place for overall bike time; above Revice and below Zi-O, while for main rider only Ace ends up in 5th last; above Saber and below Decade. As such he ends up being the main Reiwa Rider to use his bike the most.

This is where I started splitting main rider and untransformed rider in my personal tracking charts, just for fun -- I actually couldn't do that for Revice because as said Ikki never rides anything untransformed except his bicycle. Until episode 11 Ace actually just slightly edged out Geats for having more bike time which was enjoyable to see.

A very interesting thing happens in regards to the Boostriker's transformed state. I decided not to include finishers involving it unless the Rider is specifically riding it -- and the one and only one to do so was Buffa in episode 6, accounting for every single second he rode the machine. He had a penchant for using the buckles' weapons in ways he wasn't supposed to, and he kept up that rule even when the 'weapon' was a bike.

Geats spends a decent amount of time in the final episode sitting on his bike while talking to Regad and the other Riders, and that really saved the show's overall times.

Gotchard

5m09s (2m32s for Gotchard alone)

According to production blogs, Gotchard had a stated aim of using the bike more. Unfortunately it seems this didn't manifest itself in a very major way... but I think we did see more interesting uses of it! Spanner has his own bike (that like Daiji, he never rides transformed!), there's a version of Golddash from the future, other characters including Golddash itself ride rather than Hotaro at multiple points!

For 'others', the 3 seconds in Episode 2 is when Minato rolls up to deliver Golddash to Hotaro personally. Episode 9's 5 seconds have Renge (with Sabimaru in the back) riding it to deliver Hotaro's cards to him in Kyoto.

Spanner shockingly saved the series' overall time here in a similar way to final episode Ace, by sitting on his for an extended period of time during his conversation with Lachesis at the start of episode 47.

While it's not a very long scene nor did it change anything for the rankings, the bike scene in the final episode that just aired is notable for an extremely rare instance of a Rider Machine being ridden by a Kamen Rider's final form. To my knowledge this has previously only been done by Agito, Den-O and Revice (the latter in a movie). Fittingly for a show where part of the direction was inspired by Agito, both Agito and Gotchard do this Final Form bike scene in their final episodes.

And now, for the final count...

Gotchard ended up in 21st for overall bike time between Zi-O and Saber, but this was largely due to other characters; so Hotaro alone ended up in 22nd between Revice and Saber.

Overall we're now 5 shows in instead of 2, we can indeed see a very large dropoff in the Reiwa Era -- including Zi-O, the most recent 6 shows are all at the bottom of the list. This is especially notable when The next most recent series, Build, had 12m31s; almost double that of Saber's -- and this wasn't uncommon, with Ghost and Ex-Aid sharing similar times.

This was the main thrust of my research... but what say we go on a little addendum? Because when I mentioned Yamashita updated his post to include Revice in 2022, there was... one other series he saw fit to do a count for. One that was only halfway through, but nonetheless saw an impressive amount of bike riding time. He only got halfway, but what say I finish the job out of pure interest?

It is "Avataro Sentai Donbrothers"

The extremely normal 2022 entry into the Super Sentai series has a number of bike scenes. Some you may expect from Don Momotaro riding his CGI Enyarideon on his Palanquin for much of the first cour. Some of you might say that CGI shouldn't count, it's easy enough to animate together a scene than deal with road laws and such -- but does Kijibrother not count? Does Inubrother not count? Do none of the mech scenes count? It's a festival, people. Let's enjoy it.

Even aside from the CGI, Yamashita noted halfway through the show; that can't quite account for everything else. Sonoi has a bike he rides in multiple episodes, every time with a wheelie. Inuzuka twice within 4 episodes steals a bike and almost runs people over with it, as is perfectly fine for a hero. Don Kaito shows up with his own motorbike to promote his new book, which you should buy. For a show where it's not even in the name and for recent Sentai, there's an awful lot of riding going on.

Yamashita in his post speculates that part of this is Inoue's own habits -- as a man whose Toku experience largely consists of regularly writing for Kamen Rider in the 00s, it's natural to expect he would be inclined to write something like "Inubrother escapes the scene on a motorcycle..." as if it was second nature; as if that's nothing special for a modern show.

And I would be inclined to believe that... as such a habit is something that would likely get ironed out after a while; and sure enough, while bike scenes are frequent for the first half of the show, they disappear entirely from episode 23 to 43. It is at this point in my own count I thought we would simply never see a large bike scene from the show again, and the sheer fun of counting up Donbrothers would be lost.

And then... he appeared.

My saviour from the future.

With a full uninterrupted 1 minute 15 second bike scene

I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I remembered the future episode but I had completely forgotten this was a part of it. When I started timing this episode I was leaving the house fairly shortly and I figured like the past 20 episodes this would be easy enough to count, and I was utterly bewildered. I should never have disbelieved for a moment.

With all that said... where does Donbrothers end up in full?

7m21s (4m23s for Don Momotaro alone)

This overwhelming record easily puts both Donbrothers and Don Momotaro in 20th place of their respective charts; beating all Reiwa Riders and Zi-O -- with Don Momotaro even coming close to dethroning Kamen Rider Decade's riding time!

This is where we stand, my companions. In an era where Kamen Rider's biking time is lower than ever before and shows no sign of significant recovery, Donbrothers swoops in to steal its glory. Never lose faith. The festival never ends

[domreader-headcannon-scenarios]

Based on all the whb kings dick size Levi is the smallest (he's 18cm which is still pretty big compared to human men but still smaller than the other kings)

so I was wondering if you could do a fic where MC teases him about it, like compares him to the other kings (you know really get his jealousy going) but he kinda likes it but acts like he doesn't and proves to MC that size doesn't matter *wink wink 😉 *

WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE how MUCH I LOVE THIS!!! Why is my new think cucking and teasing/torturing Leviathan??! (I mean he was the first card I got?)

Ok so like there’s a really funny quote that came to mind that I need to use for this but wanna share first!

So there’s SO MUCH POTENTIAL HERE!! Like he 100% doesn’t know he’s big to humans, so it’s a jab at his pride with every remark on his size bc the other kings 100% made fun of him of his ‘tiny’ cock.

(So for those who live where I do, 18cms is 7.087 inches…he’s 7 inches but 100% would make you state the exact size saying 7 inches is a ‘underestimation’)

And bc he’s so self conscious? When you were staring surprised at his size, he took it as he was ‘too small’ for you. He’d throw a fit…

(Idk when I toook this image but he’s so cute to me???)

-

Cw: slight cucking, lots of teasing, technically polycule, SDH

You couldn’t help it, Levithan was so easy to get worked up, he threw a tantrum when he realized you didn’t lose your virginity with him (despite him KNOWING you’ve needed devil energy…), and after being with Satan AND Mammon, he knows he can’t compare!

But here you were, chatting with him like you were gossiping with Paimon, while Levithan is sat in front of you, naked from the waste down, he was trying to tone out insulting remarks about his size.

“Seriously, what am I supposed to with this? After getting some prime meat from Mammon how am I supposed to use this? At least Satan is big enough to get half way in…” You say laughing a bit. It was so stupid, but Leviathan was fuming.

“Q-quit yapping, Decedent of Solomon! I’m plenty big-“ He squeals as you roughly grab his cock, squeezing it with your fingers wrapped around it, you keep squeezing until your finger touched. It was a stretch but Levithan look mortified.

“Pfft! The tiny human can wrap one hand around your cock!” You force out a laugh, but you know he can’t tell the difference. He doesn’t know your fingers are barely touching…

“No!N-no! I-it’s because I-I’m not fully aroused!” He blurts out. You can almost feel him scrambling to figure out what to say. He clears his throat as if that’s why he was stuttering. “I’m not at full mass, that’s why. It gets bigger…”

You can hear him trail off as if realizing he can’t just lie that it’ll get bigger…when he’s already dripping pre, it’s throbbing in your painful grip. You stifle your laugh.

“I’m sure it does…do you know how big Lucifer is? You looks like you got a clit in comparison!” You chuckle, you flash a toothy grin as he hisses in frustration. His cock tip is an angry red, almost matching his face! “So Levi let me ask…” You flash him toothy grin that makes him know your gonna say something…that will definitely wound his pride.

“How does it feel to know that out of all your friends, you have the smallest dick?”

Levithan’s eyes widen, he looks like you just slapped him, he even audible gasp! You almost worry you went to far but he whimper/shouts out. “T-then it’s a good thing I don’t have any friends!” He says as if that’s a better solution, he’s so worked up he’s shaking, his cock bouncing aggressively in your hand.

You laugh at that, you couldn’t hold it back, you could see shock on his face at your response, he blushes a deep red and whimpers. Finally release his cock, he loudly gasp at the sudden release of pressure, he’s so close….

“I-it doesn’t need to be big! I can show you…” Leviathan complains and quickly helps you remove your pants, using your undergarments as the only protection as he grinds against you. He keeps grinding against you, his ‘tiny’ cock rubbing against you like a personal massager.

You moaned teasingly, it felt great. “Ooh! You know how to rub it against things, that’s great, here, let me show how to use that thing…”

You pushed him down and grind against his cock, grinding down on it, it gave you little pleasure while he was clearly sensitive…

You can’t not keep teasing him! He’s clearly enjoying it with the way he’s leaking pre…

“I wonder if your subordinates are bigger than you…do you have the smallest dick in hell? You’re taker than Satan, shouldn’t your dick be bigger? Or at least less sensitive?” You tease, moving your underwear enough for his dick to tease your entrance. He loudly whines at the sight of your naked skin…

“It’s not sensitive. Humans just…don’t understand…” Leviathan trails off before looking away. “Humans are fickle things…demons enjoy the sentiment more than feeling…”

You can hear his constant pauses in his speech, he’s trying to come up with an excuse without admitting he’s…sensitive. You reach down and tease his cock head, earning a moan. “Shouldn’t humans be more sensitive then? But here we are, a demon trembling while a human grinds on his dick…what are you going to do if I tell you it’s too tiny for me to use?”

Leviathan looks like you just kicked him, he glares at you. He angles his hips, then the next slide back you feel his cock slip into you, granted your ready for it, but once sheathed into you, he seems to realize the situation. He can’t move under you, now you were just sitting in his dick…squeezing it…and he can’t do anything!

Leviathan growls. “Do something already! It’s plenty big enough for a tiny human like you! I-I can easily please any demon, now let me move…” He starts to groan and loudly complains. Out of mercy you lift your hips only enough to let him thrust into you.

As much as Leviathan wants to go fast, the angle isn’t exactly easy for him to thrust into you, he tries to voice something to you but it dies in his throat and he stops thrusting into you. He whimpers, a deep blush across his face.

“What’s wrong? Can’t even last as long as the other Kings?”

Leviathan hisses in complaint and lowers his gaze. “I don’t…know.Its…”

He whimpers and begins squirming under you, you feel him throbbing inside you…

He can take some more teasing.

-

[not-neverland06]

Crash of Worlds

Previous part / Next part

Cooper Howard x fem!reader, The Ghoul x fem!reader A/N: After this there’s gonna be more canon divergence - this one’s short (rope divider done by @saradika-graphics , cowboy hat/revolvers done by @firefly-graphics) Summary: You’d been expecting everything to be different, people, to be different. But not like this. Not to such an extreme extent. Maybe the vault had softened you more than you’d have liked but there was nothing to do about it now.

The green canopy of the forest provides a welcome relief from the heat. You and Lucy follow the signs pointing the way to Filly. You hear it before you ever get to see it. There’s a distant sound of yelling and the murmur of people. It has your heart clenching in your chest. 

You’re outside, breathing in real air, not oxygen from tanks. You can feel the breeze in your hair and hear people. It’s all you wanted for three years. Bud prepared you for a lot. But he didn’t prepare you for just how jarring it is to wake up and suddenly everything you’ve ever known is gone. You don’t feel the years you’ve been asleep. It was like it happened yesterday. 

But you’ve had three years to come to peace with what had happened. You can’t let yourself get wrapped up in this feeling of nostalgia. The raiders that came down to the vault were proof enough that the people you’re going to meet up here aren’t going to be anywhere near friendly. You know this world has turned into dog-eat-dog, Lucy doesn’t yet, though. 

She walks towards a large grove of abandoned cars. The paint has flaked off and the glass smashed in, but they’re not in horrible condition for being two hundred odd years old. You're distracted by the convertible she stands next to and you gasp. 

You rush forward, hand smoothing over the hood and grinning at the familiar feel. “I-”

You cut yourself off abruptly and Lucy looks over at you, a curious smile on her face. “What is it?”

You shake your head, “Nothing. Just excited to see civilization again.” You give her a terse smile, hoping she doesn’t smell the lie. You’d almost said that it was exactly like your old car. But that would have opened up a can of worms you weren’t ready for. 

She groans, linking her arm through yours and nodding. “I know, me too. The surface is definitely not what I was expecting.”

You sigh, glancing back at the car before stepping towards Filly. “Yeah, me either.” 

The noise reaches a crescendo as you finally manage to make your way into the market. There’s still signs directing you further through the woods so you figure this must not be Filly yet. Probably just a little place where people tried to peddle junk. 

A man lurches out at you holding out a kebab and grinning widely. “DOG MEAT!” You jump back in shock as he screams in your face. His eyes are unseeing as he waves the kebab around. “GET YOUR DOGMEAT HERE!” 

“Oh, what the fuck?” You mutter, you didn’t mean dog-eat-dog literally. You notice you and Lucy getting odd looks and you finally realize just how much the two of you stand out. In comparison, you're both well groomed and much cleaner than anyone here. 

Not only that but you’ve got the stupid Pip-Boy’s on your arm and vault suits on. You’re walking advertisements of “Come rob me!” You steer Lucy further through the market, narrowly avoiding a lizard meat stall and dragging her towards a tunnel at the end of the path. Filly’s just beyond and you shove her through the opening, eager to get somewhere where you might be able to find something useful. 

You seperate with the promise to meet back up in the middle of the town square. You’re going to look for something to change into and she’ll find some information on her father. Should be easy enough. 

He’s not supposed to be here. He’d gotten himself and all of his kind banned a long time ago. An impressive feat, considering how lawless Filly is. But no one’s going to say anything to him, no one ever has before. 

Any other ghoul and they would have been dragged right back out before they could even put a foot through the tunnel. But he’s not any ghoul, he’s the ghoul. And no one in their right mind is going to be the one to start a fight they’ve got no fucking hope of winning. 

He rolls the empty vial of RadAway around in his hand, hat tipped down as he waits for his mark to show up. Ma June, cantankerous old bitch that she is, always has good supplies. But she doesn’t sell to ghouls, and if he didn’t need her alive right now he would have shot her for turning him away. She’s a well known fence for fugitives and bounties. If his mark is going to show up anywhere, it’s going to be right here. 

Most of the people who try their hand at bounty hunting do it for the experience. They get bored, not that he can fucking blame them. After a while staring at nothing but sand and chickens makes a man go a little crazy. They don’t understand that it’s all a waiting game. 

Sometimes it’s an exhilarating chase, like a predator tracking down its prey. But more often than not he’s just waiting for a slip up. A mistake from whoever has a price on their head is usually what lands them in his hands. And the second this man decided to use Ma June as a transport was when he made his mistake. Everyone knows that Barv can’t keep her mouth shut for shit. 

When someone decides Ma June can help them, everyone knows where they are. It’s a big bounty, enough to keep anyone with a normal life cycle sated for the rest of their life. For him, it’s all about the hunt. The wait, that look in their eyes when they realize they're trapped and there’s nowhere left for them to turn. He loves it when he’s got them cornered. 

There’s a desperation to them that makes the capture all the more sweeter.  

There’s two bright flashes of blue against the otherwise dreary countenance of Filly. He doesn’t look up much, still trying not to draw too much attention to himself. He sees one, brown hair and wide eyed as she takes in the sights. Fucking vaulties. 

It’s been a while since he’s taken one of their bounties. Their tech was pretty valuable among surface dwellers and when one was spotted, which was rare, there was usually a good price on their head. He can only catch the back of the other one, her face blocked by a conveniently placed support beam next to him. 

She stops by the clothing stall, waving her friend along and speaking to the woman who runs the booth. Good fucking luck to her. There was no haggling with that woman and her prices were fucking ridiculous. He wonders how long it will be until he sees those two on the poster in some bar somewhere. He’s sure when the time comes, he’ll enjoy taking them too. 

His gaze goes back to Ma June’s shop, interest already waned in the rare vault dweller. They were never all that fun. Never had any good information and always had a stick up their ass about morals and being a “good” person. 

Finally, his mark turns up. Blind to the danger lurking behind him. 

You’re in a really shitty spot when the fighting starts. You’re overwhelmed by everything around you. Freaks in wacky ass clothes peddling their mutated animals and fucking teeth. Teeth. 

Teeth and bottle caps, that’s the currency now. Who decided that bottle caps were a good idea? Or teeth for that matter. You’ve only got so many of them. You don’t even want to think about what they’re getting used for.

The woman in front of you only has four of her own left and she’s demanding three of yours for a shirt. You’re not well versed in the economy of the wasteland, but even you’re sure that three teeth is a ridiculous ask. From the way people keep glaring at you as they walk by, you’re sure that she thinks because you’re from a vault you’re going to be gullible. 

You’re too caught up in your quickly escalating argument to realize what’s happening until it’s too late. A man stands in the center of the square, his back to you. You can tell from your view that he’s pretty badly burned, the skin around his neck and skull warped and twisted. 

He’s yelling about a bounty and your head tilts in confusion. There’s something to the lilt of that accent that sounds familiar. You take a step forward, abandoning the clothing stall and trying to place how you know him. It’s impossible, really, that anyone recognizable would still be alive. But maybe someone else got out of a vault and made it to the surface. If they did, it clearly wasn’t unscathed. 

It’s only when he pulls out his gun that you realize Lucy is standing in front of him, with the man that bothered her last night. You want to call out her name, try and catch her eye, but the last thing you need is him pointing that gun at you. You jump back in shock as he shoots the man’s foot off, eyes widening, and feet scrambling backwards. 

The woman in the clothing stall hisses, “Fucking ghoul,” and makes a run for it. You watch her go, finally realizing just how empty the square is now. Everyone has left, all of them terrified by the man in black. Your eyes dart between him and the stall. 

She’s gone, and you need clothes. You’ll deal with Lucy’s scolding later. You leap over the counter of the stall and begin to rifle through the woman’s stock. Stuffing any spare clothes you think will fit into your pack and just because she was such a horrid bitch, you steal her bag of caps too. 

The crazy old lady by the shop screams out a reward for anyone who manages to kill the man in front of you. When the guns start going off you realize just how screwed you are. You’re in the middle of the town square. Granted, you are blocked by the clothing stall, but these bullets they’re using aren’t ordinary. 

They’re getting holes blown clean through their chest and the buildings around them are damn near exploding from the impact. The measly little wooden stall isn’t going to be any sort of decent cover against them. 

You risk another look over the counter, hoping to find a clear path to Lucy or at least some better cover. He’s finally turned around now and you can get a half decent glance at his side profile. There’s nothing truly recognizable about him, just familiar. It’s hard to really tell anything about him when he doesn’t have a nose. 

You watch with wide eyes and a disbelieving expression as he takes three shots to the chest like it’s nothing. He keeps chewing on his tomatoes and slowly finding cover to reload. A ghoul. Hank and Betty had told you and the other’s about them. People poisoned by radiation. 

Most of them turn feral, but those who can find the right chems live a lot longer than any normal human should. They heal nearly immediately and are almost invulnerable to anything except their own disease. Considering how quick on the draw this guy is, no one has any real hope of taking him down. 

With the shooting redirected you leap out from behind the counter and rush towards the shop. But something stops you before you reach the door. You don’t know what it is, what connects in your brain that has you so harshly coming to a stop. 

You whirl around, ignoring the way Lucy calls out your name. He’s back out from his cover now. He aims, grinning and laughing as he manages to get two people with one bullet. Carnage is all around you. Blood flying through the air, surrounded by blood and guts. The relatively peaceful downtown has been littered with dead. 

And in the middle of it all stands him. You have to be wrong. There’s no fucking way he’s standing in front of you. You take a step forward and his head whips towards you. The rest of him isn’t recognizable, but you would know those eyes anywhere. 

His eyes widen with surprise and you feel your gut drop to your feet. This can’t be him. There’s no way. He’s slaughtering these people like it’s nothing. The man you knew could never be so casual about this. Then again, the relationship you’d had was built on lies. Maybe you’d never really known him. 

Before you can process the anger in his face you’re being jerked to the side. Lucy pants as she drags you into the shop and you look over your shoulder, shocked to find a bullet where you’d just been standing. You catch his eye, see the smoke coming from the barrel of his gun and realize he’d tried to fucking shoot you.

Shit, maybe it is him. He had always had a bad temper and a good aim. 

You can feel his eyes, tracking you even as you disappear behind the walls of the shop. You and Lucy risk a peek out of the shop when you hear something like an explosion. You gape as a power suit lands in front of him. What twisted ass blast to the past have you just been sent to?

How the fuck was Cooper Howard, ghoulified, and a power suit both in the same area? 

You had to be dreaming. There was no way this was happening. But it was, and whoever was in charge of that suit had no idea what they were doing. He’s ducking under their swinging metal arms, taunting them and drawing out the fight. He could end this now, you both know where the weakness is. 

Hell, you could end this fight right now. But you don’t see the need to kill the Knight when it’s clear he’s trying to protect you and Lucy. “We need to get him,” Lucy points frantically to the man on the ground. He’s not really moving, just clutching the bloody nub where his foot used to be and looking astonished at the blood around him. 

“This is really stupid,” you hiss as you both start forward and wrap an arm around one of his own. You don’t have much time to process what happens next. 

“Watch out!” The knight barrels towards you both. He wraps his arms around Lucy and goes flying into a building. You jump back at the explosion of wood and metal flying down around you. The ghoul has his gun pointed at them both. He’d clearly been trying to snipe you both, get you away from the man on the ground. 

Well, he could fucking have him. You drop the man to the ground and he grunts as you make a run for it. A coward’s move, the same one you admonished Norm for. But, you’re a fucking hypocrite, so what? Right now, you’d really just like to survive this gun fight unscathed. 

Something lands near your foot and you jump, realizing it’s a bullet. You glance up and the ghoul is laughing at you, full on belly laughing as he shoots around you. You realize with a start that he’s playing with you. Taunting you like a man who’s got all the time in the world. But you can’t stop running. If you stop, those bullets are going to catch up with you. 

You keep going, legs pumping and heart racing as you’re separated more and more from Lucy. The mission, the whole reason you came up to the surface, is lost on you. You can only focus on one thing, surviving. You keep running, through alleyways and around buildings until you’re back in the woods. The whole time his laughter is following you. 

The sharp noise of something whistling through the air reaches your ears and then something snaps against you. You glance down, only a moment to process the rope over your arms before he’s dragging you back. Your head hits the ground with a harsh snap, the motion slamming your teeth together and nearly biting off the tip of your tongue. 

You groan in dazed pain and then he’s slowly dragging you back. One sharp tug after another, rocks ripping at your suit and scalp, hair ripped out underneath your back. Until, finally, he’s peering over you, face upside down and lips twisted up into a strained smile. 

“Well, there you are, sweetheart.”

end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[meanbossart]

ASK COMPILATION ABOUT THE WEIRD DROW

Replying to a couple of shorter questions! Sorry that I can't get to all of you lest this blog just turns into a stream of constant asks, but I read all of your messages and to be honest there are several that I'm saving to draw something for 😭 alas there are only so many hours in a day.

Thank you for all the support and interactivity as always!

He takes fairly good care of things he considers important or useful - otherwise he's pretty messy or at least indifferent to mess. Definitely a "leaves the wet towel on the bed" guy LOL

Okay so I was bad and not used to DnD mechanics or spells the first time I played the game, so I RARELY ever cast Speak With Animals and had very little sense of their personality during his campaign - BUT THERE WAS THIS ONE TIME WHEN I DID.

THERE WAS ONE TIME WHERE I REMEMBERED.

AND IT WAS PERFECT.

He adores and most of all respects this intense little guy with his whole heart.

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

Serious answer: he respects wild animals far too much to try and make one into a pet.

Non-serious but still true answer: He would never do that and have to deal with Astarion's incessant Drizzt Do'urden joke comparisons for the rest of his existence. That's that man's personal hell.

He's fairly adaptable! But as far as dynamics go, he does lean bottom regardless of who he's with in bed, but this doesn't necessarily translate into always being on the receptive end of things.

If he were to be with a cisgender woman who doesn't wear a strap like its a second pair of briefs, he would be more than happy to be the pitcher the majority of the time. I think the only scenario where he would be dissatisfied is a restrictive one - he couldn't be with someone who doesn't want to enjoy his whole body in earnest, or who can't flip the roles every once in a while. Also, you have to be a little gross. He has probably caught Astarion off-guard with the things he did on a whim/suggested they do more than once. All in all, as long as whoever he's with is versatile and not a prude, they could probably make it work.

He killed Minthara in her lair and all he got was a bear out of it. Good thing killing her was it's own reward!

MAN... Could just be that his story is far too concrete in my brain already, but it's hard for me to see that working. They are both far too out of touch with their emotions and quiet in their demeanor for me to envision a durable romance sparking. Also, DU drow (who has no clue how old he is himself) thinks of Shadowheart as being far too young for him.

There is a mutual understanding between them that there is a barrier that neither of them is willing to let the other get past - and because that is something they both share, they won't, and they might never try. They work so well as friends because of their similarities, but in a relationship I think that would be to their detriment.

Also, I think silver-haired Shadowheart's wants and needs for her future far diverge from DU drow's chaotic lifestyle, ultimately It's probably best for them to make their own paths.

HAHAHAHA LISTEN.... YOU'RE TALKING AS IF THOSE TWO THINGS DON'T GO TOGETHER PERFECTLY WELL BUT IN MY MIND THEY ARE ONE AND THE SAME.

The thing about DU drow is that he might be a bottom, but he's a very... Uh, engaged bottom. He can be as dominant with a dick in his ass as he can be submissive depending on how it jives with his partner- and he's gonna spew some nonsense either way LOL

Either way... I feel ya brother 😔🍑

He did it himself during a dinner Gortash invited him to. At the table. With a meat knife. He was trying to prove a really stupid point/put Gortash off of him.

I have a script for this and I still need to draw it someday! 🤦‍♂️

He doesn't think anything of it now - it's so far in the past and DU drow obviously isn't the judgemental type when it comes to sordid individuals LOL

As a person, however, Astarion likely wasn't the kind of guy that he would have gotten along with, and vice-versa. Sounds to me like he was pretty poshy and did all his misdeeds under the table - DU drow wouldn't have strong feelings about it from an ethical standpoint, but he wouldn't respect it either. Also, DU drow's is practically anarchistic in his political views - soooooo not much room there to be in love with politicians. I'm sure pre-vampirism Astarion would have less than favorable opinions about him as well so the feeling would have been mutual LOL.

ABSOLUTELY NOT HE NEEDS BOTH EYES TO CUT THROUGH FOES he will gladly put Gale on the slab to see what happens though LMAO

[novaursa]

Between Pride and Fire (the fire)

- Summary: It was a challenge of the hunt that drew the lion to you, but it was your fire that made him yours.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: the pride

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The feast pavilion was alive with the clamor of celebration. Torches flickered, casting light over long tables laden with roasted meats, fresh bread, and sweet fruits. Goblets overflowed with wine, and the air buzzed with the mingled sounds of music, laughter, and the occasional bawdy toast in honor of the prince’s second nameday.

Jason Lannister sat with his family, the crimson and gold of their house blending seamlessly into the rich decor of the feast. Tyland lounged beside him, sipping his wine with the ease of someone entirely uninterested in the merriment around him. Jason, however, had only half an ear for his brother’s dry observations about the day’s events. His attention was elsewhere, subtly focused on you.

You were seated near the king, your silver hair catching the torchlight as you engaged in conversation with a small group of lords. One of them, a stout man with a booming voice—Lord Marbrand, Jason realized—was gesturing animatedly as he spoke. Even from this distance, Jason could see the flush of wine on Marbrand’s cheeks and the exaggerated enthusiasm in his expression.

"And I say, Your Grace," Marbrand declared loudly, raising his goblet to King Viserys, "the princess here has the eye of a hawk and the hand of a seasoned marksman. A single shot, straight to the stag’s eye—cleaner than any I’ve seen in my years of hunting!"

Viserys chuckled, his face glowing with wine and paternal pride as he looked at you. "Well, she has always been headstrong, my daughter. A credit to her Targaryen blood, no doubt."

Jason’s lips curved into a faint smile. It seemed the conversation was ripe for his particular talents. Rising from his seat, he brushed off Tyland’s quizzical glance and strolled toward the king’s table, goblet in hand.

As he approached, Marbrand’s booming voice continued. "I daresay, Your Grace, she has more skill than most men here. A rare combination—beauty and deadly precision."

Jason stopped just behind Marbrand, his tone light but cutting as he interjected. "Careful, Lord Alyn. Too much praise might go to the princess’s head, and then where would we be? A hunt where none of us dare loose an arrow for fear of comparison?"

The group turned toward him, some laughing, others watching curiously. You, however, met his gaze with a steady calm, a hint of amusement playing on your lips.

"Ah, Lord Lannister," Viserys greeted, gesturing for Jason to join them. "I trust you enjoyed the feast?"

Jason inclined his head respectfully. "Of course, Your Grace. Though I must admit, the conversation here seems far more entertaining than what my family has to offer."

Viserys laughed, gesturing for him to take a seat. "Join us, then. Lord Alyn was just regaling us with tales of my daughter’s exploits in the hunt."

Jason took the offered seat beside Alyn, setting his goblet down with deliberate ease. "I’ve seen enough to know I’m in the presence of a legend," he said, his gaze flicking to you. "Tell me, Princess, how does it feel to overshadow my hunting party with a single shot?"

You arched a brow, your voice smooth as silk as you replied, "I wouldn’t know, Lord Lannister. Overshadowing others isn’t my aim—it’s merely a byproduct of competence."

The table rippled with quiet laughter, and Jason’s smirk deepened. "Competence, yes. But I wonder, do you ever miss the thrill of a challenge? Or is it enough to simply excel at everything?"

Your eyes narrowed slightly, though the amusement never left your face. "A challenge, you say? I find they come often enough without me seeking them out, my lord. For instance, the challenge of enduring a conversation with someone who talks in circles."

Viserys chuckled, shaking his head as he looked between the two of you. "You two bicker like an old married couple. Tell me, Jason, are you here to compliment my daughter or provoke her?"

Jason leaned back slightly, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Your Grace, I find the princess far too skilled to require mere compliments. Provoking her, on the other hand, seems to bring out her best."

Alyn laughed heartily, clapping Jason on the shoulder. "Careful, Lannister. You’ll find yourself on the receiving end of one of her arrows if you’re not careful."

You inclined your head toward Alyn, your tone dry. "A tempting suggestion, my lord. But I fear he might consider it a compliment."

Jason laughed along with the group, clearly enjoying the sparring as much as the audience. "You wound me, Your Highness," he said, placing a hand over his heart with mock solemnity. "But I suppose that’s the price of engaging with the sharpest mind in the Kingswood."

Viserys watched the exchange with a mixture of amusement and puzzlement, shaking his head as he reached for his goblet. "You’re a bold man, Jason. Though I’m not sure I understand what game you’re playing."

Jason’s smirk widened as he lifted his own goblet. "Your Grace, sometimes the hunt isn’t about the kill—it’s about the pursuit. And I must say, this one has proven… particularly enjoyable."

The group laughed again, though Viserys’s brow furrowed slightly, as though trying to decipher Jason’s true intent. You, however, gave Jason one last pointed look before turning back to the king.

"Perhaps we should leave the pursuit to the hounds, my lord," you said, your tone smooth. "They, at least, know when to stop chasing their tails."

Jason’s laughter followed you as you turned your attention back to Alyn, though his gaze lingered on you longer than was entirely proper. For Jason, the conversation had been a hunt of its own—a game of words where the prize was not victory, but the thrill of matching wits with someone who could truly challenge him. And as the feast continued, he found himself eagerly anticipating the next round.

The revelry of the feast had finally begun to die down. The laughter that once echoed across the camp was now a distant murmur, punctuated only by the occasional drunken cheer or the soft strumming of a minstrel’s lute. Most of the lords and ladies had retired to their tents, the remnants of the celebration now left to flickering torchlight and the heady haze of too much wine.

Jason Lannister lingered by the long table, his goblet still in hand, watching as the servants began to clear the remains of the feast. His hair was slightly mussed, his doublet loosened at the collar, and his green eyes glinted with the remnants of wine-induced boldness. He was feeling light-headed but far from drunk. No, the confidence coursing through him came from something more potent than alcohol: you.

He had been watching you all evening, as he often did, though tonight was different. Tonight, there was no courtly restraint anymore, no audience to judge him. Tonight, you were just as untamed as he imagined you to be. The sharp remarks you had exchanged earlier in the evening still lingered in his mind, stoking a fire that refused to be extinguished.

Jason’s gaze swept across the camp until he spotted you. You stood near a dwindling fire, speaking with a servant who seemed to be delivering some minor report. Your silver hair glowed in the torchlight, and the soft breeze played with the loose tendrils that framed your face. You looked every bit the dragon you were, regal and untouchable, but Jason had never been one to shy away from danger.

He approached without hesitation, his steps steady despite the wine. “Princess,” he called, his voice smooth and carrying a hint of amusement.

You turned, your violet eyes narrowing slightly as you regarded him. “Lord Jason,” you replied coolly, though the faint flicker of annoyance in your tone was familiar—and enticing. “What do you want?”

He grinned, raising his goblet in mock salute. “To enjoy the pleasure of your company once more, of course.”

You crossed your arms, your lips curving into a sardonic smile. “The hour is late. Shouldn’t you be off to your tent, sleeping off the effects of your wine?”

Jason tilted his head, his grin widening. “And miss the chance to speak with the most captivating woman at this feast? I think not.”

You rolled your eyes, though the faintest hint of a smile betrayed you. “You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk,” he corrected, stepping closer. “Merely emboldened.”

Your gaze flickered to his, sharp and assessing. “And what has emboldened you, Lord Jason? The wine? Or your own arrogance?”

He chuckled, unbothered by your barb. “Neither,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “It’s you, Princess. You make it impossible to stay away.”

The rest of night was a blur.

Words were whispered, curses exchanged, and challenges issued, but in the end, all that remained was the fire that burned between you.

The morning sun filtered through the flaps of the tent, its light casting a light over the disheveled interior. Jason Lannister stirred, groaning as the dull ache in his head made itself known. Wine. Too much wine. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the brightness, his movements slow as his mind clawed its way out of the haze of the previous night.

As he shifted, his body registered a weight pressed against him. The warmth was unmistakable. His hand brushed against bare skin—soft, smooth, undeniably feminine. His breath hitched, and his eyes flew open, darting to the figure nestled against his chest.

You.

Your silver hair was tangled from sleep, strands spilling over his chest and the pillows. Your breathing was even, your lashes resting against flushed cheeks, and your body was shamelessly pressed against his. The blanket barely covered the two of you, slipping low enough to reveal the curve of your back and the expanse of his own bare chest.

Jason's heart pounded as fragmented memories began to surface—your sharp tongue cutting through the revelry of the feast, the way you had effortlessly loosed an arrow that struck the stag through its eye, earning gasps and admiration. He had been irritated by the smug glance you threw his way, yet he couldn't deny the pride he felt in witnessing such skill.

Then there was a feast, the wine, the biting words exchanged between you, the heat of your anger. It was all a blur of barbed insults and laughter, until suddenly it wasn’t. The anger had shifted, transformed into something far more dangerous, far more consuming.

His eyes scanned the tent, taking in the chaos. His chair was overturned, the table askew, goblets spilled on the floor. A vase was shattered in the corner. The unmistakable marks of a passionate, frenzied night were everywhere. Jason swallowed hard, his gaze returning to you as realization dawned. He had bedded the younger Targaryen princess, his adversary in wit and arrogance.

"Seven hells," he muttered under his breath, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips despite his shock. The memories began to piece themselves together more clearly now—your defiance, the way you'd shoved him, his hand gripping your wrist to steady you, the sudden proximity that had set the air between you alight.

His smirk grew into a full grin. He couldn’t even recall what he had said to make you kiss him, but he remembered the way you had pulled him to you, the way your body had fit against his as if you had been made for him.

"What in the Seven did I do to deserve this?" he murmured, leaning his head back against the pillow with a chuckle.

You stirred then, a soft sound escaping your lips as you began to wake. Jason felt his body tense, unsure of what your reaction would be. He braced himself, watching as your lashes fluttered and your eyes opened. For a moment, you looked disoriented, your gaze darting around the room before landing on him.

And then, just as he'd expected, your face twisted into a scowl.

"What in the name of the gods—" you started, your voice groggy but laced with irritation as you yanked the blanket up to cover yourself.

Jason smirked, the amusement clear in his tone. "Good morning to you too, Princess. Sleep well?"

Your eyes narrowed as you sat up, clutching the blanket to your chest. "Sleep well? What in the Seven Hells happened here, Lannister?"

He gestured lazily to the tent around you. "Well, it seems we had quite the... spirited evening."

Your gaze flickered over the state of the tent, the flush on your cheeks deepening. "This—this is your fault!" you accused, pointing a finger at him.

Jason raised a brow, his grin widening. "My fault? You were the one who couldn't keep your hands off me."

You sputtered, your indignation only fueling his amusement. "You must have bewitched me, or—or poured more wine into my cup!"

Jason laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. "Oh, is that what happened? I suppose it was also my doing when you dragged me to the floor over there, or when you climbed on top of me—"

"Enough!" you snapped, your cheeks burning as you glared at him.

For a moment, the two of you simply stared at each other. Your chest rose and fell with the force of your anger, but Jason couldn't tear his eyes away. You were radiant in your fury, every bit the dragon you were rumored to be.

And then, as if drawn by an invisible force, he reached for you.

"What are you—" you started, but your words were cut off as his lips captured yours.

The kiss was as heated and intense as the ones from the night before, your initial resistance melting away as your hands found their way to his hair. Jason pulled you into his lap, the blanket falling away as his hands roamed your back, pulling you flush against him.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and glaring, you muttered, "I still hate you, you know."

Jason smirked, his hands gripping your hips. "And yet here we are."

You rolled your eyes but didn't pull away, and as his lips found yours once more, the chaos of the previous night threatened to reignite all over again.

Jason’s hands roamed over your bare skin, reveling in the softness of it, in the way your body arched against him. The heat between you both was undeniable, an inferno that threatened to consume everything. Your hands dug into his shoulders as his mouth left a trail of kisses along your neck, biting gently at the tender spot that had you gasping.

“Still so fiery, even now,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot. His lips curled into a grin as he nipped your earlobe. “You hate me, remember?”

“I do,” you shot back, your voice breathless but defiant, your nails scratching down his back in retaliation. “Don’t forget it.”

Jason chuckled darkly, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. “Hate me all you like, Princess,” he said, his tone rough. “But I’d wager you won’t forget this when I’m back at the Rock.”

Your body stiffen slightly beneath him, but he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, pulling you closer. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he teased. “Wondering what it’ll be like when I’m gone.” His hand traced lazy circles on your lower back. “You could visit me, you know. That dragon of yours could make the trip in half a day.”

You scoffed, though your breath hitched as he shifted, his hands firm on your hips. “You think I’d fly all the way to the Rock for you? You’re delusional, Lannister.”

Jason smirked, his voice dropping lower. “Oh, I think you would. Imagine it—just you and me, no court, no prying eyes. I’d keep you in my bed for days.” His fingers slid to the small of your back, applying just enough pressure to send shivers up your spine. “You’d come, Princess. Admit it.”

Your response was swift and sharp, a string of Valyrian curses that Jason didn’t understand but could guess the meaning of. He laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, before his grip tightened.

Without warning, he flipped you onto your stomach, pinning you beneath him. A surprised yelp escaped your lips, quickly muffled as he moved against you, his weight keeping you in place. “You bastard,” you hissed, your voice muffled against the pillows.

Jason leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “Language, Princess,” he said mockingly, his tone dripping with amusement. “You wouldn’t want anyone overhearing and thinking I’ve tamed the mighty dragon.”

You twisted your head to glare at him, your silver hair spilling over your shoulders. “You’ve tamed nothing,” you spat, though the heat in your voice betrayed you.

Jason grinned wickedly, his hand sliding up your spine. “No?” he drawled, drawing the word out. “Let’s see if you’re still saying that by the time I’m done.”

He moved again, slow and deliberate, drawing a sharp gasp from you. Your fingers clutched at the blankets beneath you as his pace quickened, though he made no effort to silence his own low groans of pleasure.

“You’re loud,” you bit out, your voice strained, though the accusation lacked any real venom.

Jason laughed, the sound dark and rich. “I’m loud?” he echoed, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of your neck. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

You muttered another curse, though your voice broke halfway through, and Jason’s grin widened. “You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured, his tone softer, though his pace never faltered. “Completely undone, and all because of me.”

Your response was a half-hearted insult, but Jason only chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Princess,” he said, his voice rough but tinged with affection. “We’ll keep this between us—for now. But if you ever decide to visit me, I’ll make sure to remind you of this.”

Jason’s breaths came fast and uneven as he pushed deeper into you, his hands gripping your hips to hold you firmly against him. His lips brushed your shoulder as he found his release, his body trembling with the intensity of it. As the heat of the moment ebbed, he held you close, his arms anchoring you to him as if afraid to let go.

You twisted your head to glance over your shoulder, your tone sharp despite your breathlessness. “What are you doing?”

Jason smirked, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of your neck. “Savoring this,” he murmured, his voice rough and unapologetic. His hands slid along your waist, his grip possessive. “I’m not going anywhere, Princess. Not yet.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words dissolved into a soft moan as he shifted slightly within you. Your body betrayed you, responding to his closeness despite your indignation. You hated him in that moment, hated how he could unnerve you with just a touch.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though the bite in your tone was weakened by your uneven breathing.

Jason chuckled, the sound low and smug. “And yet, here we are. Tell me, Princess, do you always enjoy being rude, or is it just with me?”

You glared at him, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I enjoy nothing about this, least of all you.”

He hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Oh, I don’t think that’s true. You wouldn’t be so adamant if you didn’t enjoy it. Perhaps you like the idea of carrying a golden-haired bastard?”

Your eyes widened, and you tried to turn fully to face him, but his hold on you was unrelenting. “What did you just say?” you demanded, your voice sharp.

Jason grinned, his tone teasing as he leaned closer to whisper in your ear. “I said, perhaps you like the idea. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be enjoying this so much.”

You shoved at him, your cheeks flushing with indignation. “I would rather die than bear your bastard, Lannister.”

He laughed, the sound rich and infuriating. “Oh, Princess, don’t lie to yourself. You’d make a fine mother, and I’d wager our child would be the talk of the realm.”

“You’re pretentious,” you snapped, finally managing to twist out of his grasp and grabbing the discarded blanket to cover yourself. “No wonder you’re still unmarried. Who would want to deal with you?”

Jason leaned back against the pillows, his grin unfaltering. “Perhaps I’m unmarried because I haven’t met anyone worth the trouble. Or perhaps I’m just waiting for a dragon to fall into my lap.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the blanket around you. “You’re old, Jason. You’d better hurry before there’s no one left who’ll take you.”

He raised a brow, his smirk only growing. “Old, am I? Was I old when you were clawing at my back last night? Or when you were moaning my name?”

Your cheeks burned, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “I was clearly in a moment of weakness.”

Jason chuckled, reaching out to brush a strand of your hair from your face. “If that’s what weakness looks like, I’ll gladly endure it again. But admit it, Princess. You enjoyed yourself.”

You slapped his hand away, glaring at him. “Enjoyed? Don’t flatter yourself, Lannister.”

He grinned, utterly unbothered. “Your body tells a different story, Y/N.” His tone was smooth, his green eyes glinting with mischief. “You can deny it all you like, but I know the truth.”

You stood, clutching the blanket around you as you began searching for your clothes amidst the chaos of the tent. “You’re unbearable. I hope this hunt ends soon so I never have to see your smug face again.”

Jason propped himself up on an elbow, watching you with an amused expression. “I’ll take that as a yes to visiting me at the Rock.”

You turned, fixing him with a withering glare. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t burn the Rock to ash the next time I’m near it.”

His laugh followed you as you stormed out of the tent, and despite your irritation, you couldn’t entirely suppress the warmth lingering in your chest. Jason Lannister might be infuriating, but the way he had looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered—was a memory you couldn’t quite shake.

The royal hunt had come to an end, and the clearing bustled with the activity of houses and guests preparing for their departure. Tents were being dismantled, banners lowered, and wagons loaded. The crisp morning air was filled with the neighing of horses, the bark of hounds, and the murmur of voices as nobles exchanged farewells.

Jason Lannister stood near the edge of the clearing, his golden armor gleaming in the sunlight as he watched the royal family gather for their departure. You were there, dressed in a fine riding gown, standing beside King Viserys, your sister Rhaenyra, Queen Alicent holding little Prince Aegon, and a host of attendants. You looked regal, unapproachable, as you helped steady the restless two-year-old clinging to his mother’s skirts. Yet Jason’s smirk deepened, his mind still replaying the events of the previous night.

“Jason, don’t,” Tyland said in a low voice, standing beside his twin. “You’re playing with fire.”

Jason barely spared him a glance, already striding toward the royal family. “I never could resist the flame,” he murmured, leaving Tyland to mutter something under his breath as he followed at a distance.

You stiffened the moment you saw Jason approach, his confident stride and faint smirk instantly setting you on edge. Your father, King Viserys, noticed him first and brightened, extending a hand in welcome.

“Lord Jason!” Viserys called warmly. “What brings you here this morning? Surely the Lannisters don’t mean to delay their departure?”

Jason bowed deeply, his hand over his heart. “Your Grace, not at all. I came to pay my respects and to bid farewell to your lovely daughter.” His gaze flicked to you, the smirk returning as he caught the sharp glare you directed at him.

Viserys seemed pleased, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “A fine gesture, Lord Jason. It’s good to see the two of you getting along. I noticed there was quite a… spirited dynamic between you during the hunt.”

“Dynamic is one word for it,” Rhaenyra muttered, earning a sharp glance from Alicent, who remained silent but observant.

Jason stepped closer, his eyes never leaving you as he executed another perfect bow, this time directly in front of you. He extended a hand. “Princess,” he said smoothly, his voice low and pointed. “A proper farewell, if I may.”

Your jaw tightened, but there was no polite way to refuse without drawing attention. With a forced smile, you placed your hand in his. He brought it to his lips, his touch lingering a moment too long. “You’re insane,” you hissed under your breath, your voice so low that only he could hear.

His smirk widened, his lips brushing against your knuckles as he whispered, “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

Your eyes flashed with fury, but you masked it with a serene expression, quickly withdrawing your hand. Jason straightened, his gaze flicking to Viserys, who seemed oblivious to the animosity crackling between you.

“It’s heartening to see you two share such a bond,” Viserys said warmly. “I must admit, it’s rare to see her converse with such ease, let alone tolerate such… persistence.”

“Persistence is often the key to success, Your Grace,” Jason said, his tone both respectful and laden with meaning.

Rhaenyra made a sound that was suspiciously like a scoff, and Alicent tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable as her eyes flicked between you and Jason.

Jason turned back to you, leaning in slightly under the pretense of adjusting his cloak. “A goodbye kiss, Princess?” he murmured, his voice low enough to keep the conversation private.

You shot him a glare, your voice a sharp whisper. “How about I shove my dagger where the sun doesn’t shine instead?”

He chuckled softly, clearly unbothered, before straightening as Viserys stepped closer.

“Jason,” Viserys said, his tone more personal now, “it’s been a pleasure having you here. Perhaps we can continue fostering this camaraderie with a royal visit to Casterly Rock in the near future.”

Jason’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming as he inclined his head. “It would be an honor to host Your Grace and your family. Casterly Rock would welcome you warmly.”

You stared at Jason, your face carefully neutral despite the fire simmering in your chest. How dare he. Viserys, however, seemed genuinely pleased, clapping Jason on the shoulder. “Excellent. I’ll make the arrangements.”

Jason cast a quick glance your way, his expression one of triumph. “Until next time, Princess,” he said, his tone laced with amusement.

As he turned to leave, your fingers itched to throw something at him, but you maintained your composure, even as Rhaenyra whispered beside you, “What in the seven hells was that?”

“Nothing,” you muttered, your voice clipped.

Alicent, still silent, watched Jason’s retreating figure for a moment longer before shifting her gaze to you. Her expression remained unreadable, but there was something in her eyes—something knowing. You straightened your shoulders, determined to give nothing away, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

Jason Lannister left the clearing with a swagger in his step, his smirk firmly in place. Whatever his game, he had played it well. And as much as you loathed to admit it, he had left you unsettled in a way no other lord ever had.

The royal procession had begun its journey back to King’s Landing. The rhythmic creak of the carriage and the steady clatter of hooves filled the air as the convoy wound its way through the forested road. Inside the carriage, the atmosphere was both stifling and anxious despite King Viserys’s jovial mood.

Viserys sat across from you, his smile broad and his demeanor unusually buoyant. Alicent sat beside him, cradling the restless baby Aegon in her arms, gently bouncing him as he fussed. “At last,” Viserys declared, his tone warm and triumphant. “One of my daughters has shown the good sense to allow herself to be courted by a proper lord. And not just any lord—a Lannister! Jason is a man of wealth and influence. A fine match.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you stared out the window, the scenery passing in a blur. You tried to ignore the flush of heat creeping up your neck, your father’s words only exacerbating the simmering frustration that Jason had so expertly stirred earlier.

“I wouldn’t be so hasty, Father,” Rhaenyra said, her tone sharp and suspicious. She sat beside you, her arms crossed and her gaze keenly fixed on you. “Y/N has hardly shown any interest in Jason before this. In fact, most of their interactions were more like arguments.”

Viserys waved a hand dismissively. “Arguments? Bah! That’s the nature of young hearts. Passion often starts with friction. Just look at the way they were at the hunt. They couldn’t seem to stop looking at one another.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, her gaze flicking to you. “Yes, it was… peculiar, wasn’t it?”

You felt her scrutiny like a blade pressing into your side. Turning your head slightly, you met her gaze with feigned indifference. “I don’t know what you’re implying, sister,” you said coolly. “Jason Lannister is hardly subtle. If he wishes to prance about like a peacock, let him. That doesn’t mean I encourage it.”

“Oh, come now,” Viserys interjected, grinning. “You allowed him to take your hand today, didn’t you? I saw the way he looked at you—like a man utterly enchanted. And you didn’t pull away.”

You glared at your father, your patience thinning. “It would’ve been rude to refuse him in public, wouldn’t it?”

Rhaenyra tilted her head, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Yet you didn’t seem nearly as reluctant when he whispered to you just before leaving. Should we expect a Lannister proposal soon?”

Your face burned as you shot her a glare. “You’re imagining things, Rhaenyra. Jason Lannister is exactly what he appears to be: an arrogant man with too much coin and too little restraint.”

“Arrogant, perhaps,” Viserys said with a chuckle, “but he’s a capable lord and a valuable ally. If he’s taken an interest in you, my dear, I suggest you consider it seriously.”

“Consider it?” You straightened, your voice laced with defiance. “I don’t see why I should. My sister will eventually marry someone with plenty of influence as your heir. Do we truly need a Lannister alliance as well?”

Viserys sighed, his mood dimming slightly. “It’s not just about alliances. It’s about ensuring that you both find suitable matches. You’re a princess, and Jason would give you a stable and prosperous future.”

Alicent shifted slightly, bouncing Aegon as he reached for one of her braids. “Jason Lannister does seem… persistent,” she said carefully, her voice measured. “But persistence isn’t always a bad quality in a suitor.”

Rhaenyra scoffed softly, leaning back against the cushioned seat. “Stability, perhaps. But I doubt Jason Lannister is what anyone would call ‘suitable.’”

“You don’t like him,” Viserys said, raising an eyebrow at his eldest daughter. “That’s plain enough.”

“It’s not about liking him,” Rhaenyra replied, her gaze flicking to you again. “It’s about whether my sister actually wants this, or if Jason has somehow managed to charm her against her better judgment.”

Your fists clenched in your lap as you tried to suppress the heat rising in your chest. “I assure you, Rhaenyra, my judgment is intact. Whatever Jason Lannister believes or wants is entirely his concern, not mine.”

“Is it?” she asked softly, her eyes narrowing. “You’re unusually defensive.”

“Enough,” Viserys said firmly, glancing between his daughters. “This bickering does no one any good. If Jason Lannister wishes to pursue your hand, I will hear him out when the time comes. Until then, let us focus on returning home without tearing each other apart.”

The carriage fell into an uneasy silence, save for the sound of the wheels turning and the occasional crack of a whip outside. Aegon babbled softly, reaching for Alicent’s braid again as she gently redirected his tiny hand, a faint smile playing on her lips as her gaze flickered between you and Rhaenyra.

You kept your gaze fixed on the passing trees, ignoring the weight of Rhaenyra’s lingering stare. You knew she suspected something, but you had no intention of confirming it—not when the memory of Jason’s smirk, his whispered words, and the fire you had shared still lingered so vividly in your mind.

Viserys, oblivious to the strain between his daughters, sighed contentedly and gazed out the opposite window. “Perhaps a visit to Casterly Rock is in order after all,” he mused aloud, stroking his beard. “Yes, I think that would be a fine idea.”

You closed your eyes, biting back a curse as Rhaenyra’s smirk grew wider. Alicent glanced at Viserys, her expression thoughtful but unreadable. This journey to King’s Landing was going to feel interminable.

The Lannister procession rode at a steady pace along the Kingsroad, the gilded banners of the golden lion blinding under the late morning sun. Jason Lannister rode at the head of the column, his usual self-assured air now amplified by an unmistakable smugness. The weight of the morning’s events still lingered in his mind, bringing an almost wolfish grin to his face that seemed to grow wider with every mile.

Beside him rode his younger twin, Tyland Lannister, who had broken off from the main procession to ride alongside Jason before they would part ways. Tyland’s destination was King’s Landing, where his place on the Small Council awaited. Jason, on the other hand, would soon turn westward, bound for Casterly Rock. As the sound of their horses’ hooves echoed against the road, Tyland cast a sideways glance at his brother.

“You’re insufferably pleased with yourself,” Tyland said dryly, breaking the silence. “What have you done, Jason?”

Jason tilted his head toward his twin, his grin widening. “Done? Me? I’ve done nothing at all.”

Tyland rolled his eyes, his tone sharp. “Spare me your games. That expression of yours could rival the sun for how smug it is. So I’ll ask again—what did you do?”

Jason let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if to feign innocence. “I simply enjoyed the royal hunt and bid the royal family farewell, as any proper lord would.”

“Proper lord?” Tyland echoed, his brow arching in disbelief. “That’s rich, coming from you. The last time you were this pleased with yourself, you’d somehow managed to charm Lady Cyresse into forgiving your ‘indiscretions.’ So out with it—what happened?”

Jason’s grin turned downright wicked, and he slowed his horse slightly, allowing the rest of the procession to ride ahead and give them some semblance of privacy. “If you must know,” he began, his tone laced with self-satisfaction, “I spent the most exquisite night with the younger princess.”

Tyland froze, his eyes widening in horror. “*What?” he hissed, his voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “Jason, please tell me you’re joking.”

“I never joke about such things,” Jason replied smoothly, clearly enjoying his brother’s reaction. “A passionate night,” he said, his voice lowering to a more conspiratorial tone, “and a morning that was even better.”

Tyland paled, his grip tightening on his horse’s reins as he leaned closer to Jason. “Are you mad?” he whispered harshly. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? She’s the king’s daughter, for the gods’ sake!”

“Of course I know,” Jason said, his grin unrepentant. “It’s hardly something one forgets, Tyland. The things that woman can do…” He trailed off, shaking his head with a chuckle. “I’ll admit, I’ll miss her during those lonely nights at Casterly Rock. But,” he added, his tone turning smug once more, “King Viserys did mention that they might visit soon. A stroke of luck, wouldn’t you say?”

Tyland’s face flushed with a mix of panic and exasperation. “Keep your voice down,” he snapped, glancing around to ensure no one could hear. “If anyone overhears you—if she hears you—you’ll be lucky if her dragon doesn’t roast you alive.”

Jason laughed, completely unfazed. “Her dragon might, but I doubt she would. Trust me, Tyland, she enjoyed herself just as much as I did. Perhaps more.”

Tyland groaned, running a hand through his hair as he muttered under his breath. “You’re going to get yourself killed one day. Or worse—get me killed.”

Jason waved a hand dismissively. “Relax, brother. No harm done. If anything, I’ve done House Lannister a favor. A connection with the Targaryens is invaluable, wouldn’t you agree?”

Tyland stared at him, his expression a mixture of disbelief and dread. “A connection? You think seducing the king’s daughter is a connection? Jason, if Viserys ever finds out—”

“He won’t,” Jason interrupted, his tone breezy. “The king practically beamed at the idea of me courting her. If anything, I’ve paved the way for an alliance.”

Tyland shook his head, clearly unconvinced. “You’re a fool,” he said flatly. “A reckless, arrogant fool.”

Jason smirked, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “Perhaps. But I’m a fool who had the princess in his bed. And you,” he added with a pointed glance at Tyland, “are just jealous.”

Tyland’s lips pressed into a thin line as he glared at his brother. “I’m not jealous, Jason. I’m trying to keep you from ruining everything.”

“Relax, Tyland,” Jason said, his tone light and dismissive. “It’s all in good fun. And besides,” he added with a sly grin, “she liked it. Whether she admits it or not.”

Tyland groaned again, muttering something unintelligible as he spurred his horse forward, clearly done with the conversation. Jason chuckled to himself, utterly unbothered as he watched his twin ride ahead.

“Until next time, dear brother,” Jason murmured under his breath, his grin as wide as ever as he turned his thoughts back to the night before.

[lightofthemoonglow]

kinktober day seven and eight

Virginity | Waxplay | Stuck in Wall

Breeding | Gore | Master & Slave

third person reader because that is how it turned out oops

Sequel here

Thomas Hewitt

The day had finally come.

The wedding dress is older than the bride. The bride is considered an adult in every part of the world, in basically every sense. And yet she still wears a dress that Luda Mae had brought for herself a long time ago, back when she had hopes for a whole other life that had never come to pass. It’s obvious why she’s doing this, but it’s harmless in comparison to everything else about the situation.

One interaction had been all it had taken for this deal to be worked out. The bride had come from a family of carnival workers that had passed through Travis County that had decided to stick around, her mother becoming friendly with Luda Mae despite the two of them living seemingly very different lives. All the girl had done was shyly ask Tommy about his job at the slaughterhouse as she offered him a bowl of the chili she had brought over. This was some good meat. I bet you had something to do with it. And Luda Mae had noticed the shift in her son’s body language, how he wasn’t as on guard as he normally was for a moment.

It had started as joke between the two mothers. And then they had started seriously discussing it. It made sense. The pool of candidates was already small and neither of their children were exactly…popular. The bride had struggled to finish school after fighting tooth and nail to get in. Thomas had dropped out. Their families were already close. And then, the tornado happened, killing the bride’s father. It was as good a time as any, they had figured. The town was dying slowly, the writing was on the wall. They needed to make it happen before the bride left town for good.

And so, they had wound up in the backyard of the house, the town preacher pronouncing the young couple man and wife, on edge due to the gun that Charlie had aimed at him, ready to pull the trigger if this marriage wound up not being true in the eyes of the lord. While he didn’t believe in that shit, Luda Mae did and his sister’s word was law in their home. The bride was a vision in antique white, her voice trembling as she said ‘I do’. Thomas only grunted in response, Charlie snapping ‘the boy damn well does!’ when the preacher tried to get the larger man to speak.

“I’m glad it’s you,” Luda Mae says to the bride after the cake has been cut and everyone is milling about the yard, the preacher nowhere to be seen. He would never be seen again, but no one would notice or care. “You always had a kind word for my boy.”

And for the first time since her hesitantly uttered vows, the bride speaks. “Of course. He’s a good boy. This was all just a little fast, Mrs. Luda Mae.” But that was intentional, something she would realize later. The mother of the bride had all but dragged her down the aisle. The woman had cried, wailed as she told her daughter that she need to do this, so she could be taken care of, implying that it wouldn’t be long until the bride’s parents were reunited.

After the party, the happy couple was led upstairs, where they were to stay all night. “I want a grandbaby by next spring,” Luda Mae instructed. It wasn’t the wistful dreaming of a woman who yearned to more little ones to spoil. Well, it was, but her tone was that of an order. They were going to grow the family, one way or another.

The room was dim, the sun peeking through the curtains. Thomas makes no move to take off his mask, choosing to just stare at his new wife as she walked towards the bed. The dress is pulled off, revealing a white slip covering her everyday undergarments. She folds it up, so it can be put away in the morning. Maybe it will even be used again one day. The sun shines down on her as she lays on the bed, waiting for him to join her.

“It’s alright. If you…want to.” She speaks softly, not approach him too closely. “I know your mama said that we have to, but I can wait.” Thomas is staring at her, watching her legs twitch slightly, fascinated by the dark peaks on her chest. Her breathing is steady, she’s not looking for an escape. Her eyes are meeting his whenever he allows it. Thomas knows what to do. He’s seen farm animals do it and Charlie had shown him a movie once, short and filthy. Luda Mae had found out about it and been cross for weeks.

The real thing is different. Thomas feels almost cornered as he tentatively touches the hem of the slip. His fingers graze her bare skin and he flinches, which makes her sit up and grab his hand.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” she coos, stroking his hand with her thumb. “Tommy…I know neither of us exactly wanted this to happen. But if it had to be anyone, I’m glad it was you. I’ve always liked you.” His face didn’t matter to her, she didn’t care that he had to hide what had been eaten away by the sickness inside of him. He wasn’t going to kiss her, he couldn’t get to that point. Not yet.

They needed to do what was expected of them first.

It takes a while, the sun is almost gone when Thomas is finally ready to get on top of her, still mostly dress, only his nice trousers unzipped. She’s naked, comfortable with allowing him to see, to explore. Her body is warm, soft, and he’s so hard it hurts until he pulls it out of his trousers. But he doesn’t put it in, not yet. He can’t quite manage that last little bit of movement, not yet.

“It could happen, Tommy. Us havin’ a baby because of tonight.” She strokes his arm, not touching his face, not until he’s ready. And maybe that won’t be tonight. “I like the idea. Go on and feel how much, darlin’.” She spreads her legs slightly to let him know he could touch her. His prodding fingers found something warm and wet, and when he pushes, a finger slips inside. “It’s good when it’s wet like that. Means I’m excited. Like you are now.”

Another fingers joins the first and she gasps, but she doesn’t stop him. “We could make a baby tonight. You and me…” The images start coming to Thomas as he fingers explore her. His wife’s belly swollen with their child, her tits full of milk, everyone knowing that she belonged to him and only him-

He’s inside of her before he can stop himself. She gasps, grabbing onto his shoulders as his cock fills her up. Her breasts bounce as he thrusts, slow and experimental at first. “Good boy, good boy,” she whispers, her body suddenly filles with sensations she’s never felt before. Thomas is equally overwhelmed, she’s so warm and wet and good and hot and everything he’s ever wanted. She’s gripping onto him tightly, he’s in awe of the sight of himself inside of her.

Thick fingers stuff his seed back inside of her after he’s done, and he prays for the first time in years that it worked.

[luizd3ad]

Music Notes | Barty Crouch Jr x Reader

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ࣪˖⤷ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ࣪ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ⤷

Pairing: Rockstar!Barty x GN!Rockstar!Reader WC: 3,471 CW:  Soulmate AU, Rockstar AU, 2010's AU, use of Y/N, mentions of anxiety, swearing Author's Note: This is one of those fics where I'm my own target audience but if you read this I really hope you like it. Also I feel like Pandora get kinda out of character at the end but I just idk I felt like it was necessary. Summary: You meat your soulmate during the best summer of your life.

Volume:■■■■■■■■■■□□

Everyone is born with a symbol of something that you and your soulmate(s) will have in common along with their initials, and when you look into their eyes for the first time your soulmark is supposed to tingle. 

The symbol could be literally anything, it could be related to your career, a hobie, a passion or in your case all the above. For as long as you could remember you've had a music note and the initials BCJ on your wrist.

But for the longest time you were confused by your soulmark, you weren't really interested in music. I mean you liked listening to it as much as the next person but not enough to make it your soulmark.

That was until you were twelve and you met Jade. She was just so outgoing and bubbly, she made friends easily, she'd walk into a room and demand attention without even trying and she soon started showing you all these bands and artists you'd never heard of. Jade changed everything for you, she showed you a side of music you didn't know existed. And all of a sudden, you were hooked.

You became so inthralled by the music that the initial next to the note paled in comparison, you hardly thought about your soulmate because as far as you were concerned music was your soulmate. 

When you were fourteen Jade introduced you to Sammy. Sammy was a pretty shy, and quiet kid but once he was comfortable he'd talk your ear off for hours. That's how he continued to expand your love for music. Not only did he tell you about more bands and artists that ranged outside of the emo, pop punk scene, but he showed you shows, concerts. 

You, Jade and Sammy would go to any show you could. House shows, backyard gigs, if there was a guitar riff and a mosh pit the three of you were there. And that's how you met Pink.

Now Pink’s real name was Floyd but he liked being called Pink. Which you always thought was funny considering he was the strong, silent type, so the name completely contradicted his personality but he liked David Bowie so who were you to judge? Pink was your tipping point. He was a beast on the drums, you and Sammy would sit there and listen to him play all day. Which somehow led to Pink convincing your little group that you guys could make a band, a killer band at that.

And surprisingly he wasnt fucking wrong thus ‘Fighting Pixies’ was born.

C. Summer of 2012

It was the first day of Warped Tour and you couldn't be more excited. You were so excited that you didn't even care that you were in some random arena parking lot sweating your ass off in Utah. 

Not only was this Fighting Pixies first year playing Warped Tour but you were on a main stage you were going to be playing on the same stage as the bands you grew up listening to. To say the feeling was surreal would be an understatement. This is what you, Jade, Sammy and Pink have been working towards for years, you guys were finally playing the festival that you would go to every summer. 

Walking out of the bus you started making your way to the catering tent by yourself since the rest of the band left you behind because you were apparently in Pinks’ words ‘taking too goddamn long’. You roll your eyes at his words thinking how it's bullshit that they could just leave you like that, when all the sudden you collide with someone. 

“Oh shit I'm so sorry dude.”

“You alright mate?”

You and the mystery person that you just basically assaulted said at the same time. Finally after gaining your balance you look at your victim. 

“Siri?” You say raising your eyebrow when he finally looks your way with a big smile on his face.

“Oh shit Y/N! How are you? I havent seen you in fucking ages!” Sirius yells while bringing you into a hug, you hug him back laughing then pulling away.

“I've been good. I haven't seen you since you, Rem and James came to one of our shows. Is he here?” You ask, looking around hoping to catch sight of Remus.

“No not yet, he's back home with Reg, Lily and Harry. But they'll be joining us for the last few shows.”

You couldn't help but let out a little laugh. “Baby's first Warped Tour? I like it, gotta start them young.”

Sirius laughed at you, the two of you then continued on your way to the catering tent. Luckily with no further incidents.

You and the rest of Fighting Pixies met Sirius a few years ago when he collabed on a song with you guys, you also had gotten to meet James a few times during the recording process. You hadn't met the rest of ‘Beyond London’ yet, but James had made it very clear that you and their bassist, Pandora, would become fast friends. 

But you hadn’t heard much about their guitarist, Barty, except in passing from mutual friends. Sirius would complain about him sometimes but in typical lead singer fashion Sirius had a tendency to be dramatic so you never really took anything he said about Barty to heart.

Eventually you and Sirius got to the catering tent. You found your band, James and a girl you recognized as Pandora sitting at a table together. 

“Well if it isn't the second best drummer on Warped Tour.” You say with a teasing smile sitting across from James. James just laughs and shakes his head. While pink has a small smug look on his face. 

“What? So Pink’s the best drummer on tour?” James raises his eyebrow at you with a goofy smile still on his face. 

You laugh and shake your head. “No, not even close, Angelo is clearly the best drummer here. Have you heard Motionless in White’s breakdowns?” Pink then glared at you while scoffing. What? Someone has to bring his ego down.

After a few hours of making fun of each other, hanging out, watching a few bands sets and getting to know Pandora (who is literally the sweetest person ever) you and the rest of your band had to go back to the bus to get ready for your set in a few hours.

You got to get into the shower after Jade so after your shower and skin routine you walked out into the common area plopping down at the table so you could start to get your hair and other things done. 

“Dude when you were in the bathroom Sirius came over and brought Barty, dudes funny. You missed out.” Sammy said, sitting down next to you eating a bowl of cereal.

“Damn. Well I have a whole summer to run into him at some point.” You shrug, getting all your stuff out to get ready.

You actually really wanted to meet Barty based on what little you had heard about him over the years, the fact that he was one hell of a guitarist, and you'd never admit this to anymore but you were really attracted to him. Based purely off the pictures you've seen of him.

You had a lot of respect for him as a musician, you could recognize the emotions that he put into each riff, solo, hell just a strum and you could tell what he was feeling.

A part of you found it frustrating that after all these years of knowing Sirius and James you had always seemed to miss Barty, sometimes by literal minutes.

The rest of your band had met him in passing, never more than a ‘hi’ or ‘hey’ but still they've met him. 

So you couldn't help but be a little frustrated at the fact that for one of the only times that day where you weren't around your band they actually got to hang out with him. You don't know why it bothered you so much, I mean you couldn't even be upset with anyone in particular. It's literally no one's fault. So why did it bother you so much?

Eventually you and the rest of Fighting Pixies found yourselves waiting backstage to go on when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned to see your new favorite blond girl. 

“Hi Pandora. What's up?”

“Hi. I just came to watch the beginning of your set. I won't be able to stay long, by the time you lot get off we'll have just started our set.” Pandora explains with her signature tooth rotting smile. 

“Aw thanks, I was actually planning on heading to your guys' set when we're done here.”

“Yes, you should!” Pandora stood up straighter with a sense of excitement and urgency about something you didn't understand, but you just thought that it was Pandora being Pandora. 

You had heard over the years that she would do or say things that didn't make much sense to really anyone so you chose to just brush it off.

“Oh I also wanted to give you theses.” Pandora says while handing you two rocks.

You take the rocks confused with a raised eyebrow. “Thanks, but what are they?”

“The orange one is citrine and the pink one is rose quartz. They're meant to bring you good luck, just put them in your pocket and they'll do their job.” Pandora says with a knowing type of smile, that once again confused you but you just nodded and put them in your pocket choosing not to question the blond.

“Y/N come on, it's time to go.” One of the stage hands says passing you your guitar. You just nodded, putting the strap over your head.

“Well I hope you like our set and I'll see you at yours.” You chuckled a little as she just nodded.

You would think after all of these years of doing this you'd be used to it at this point. That you would be used to being on stage, that the anxiety of fucking up would be gone but it didn’t go away, lessened yeah but not gone. 

You also never really get used to people singing lyrics that you wrote or helped write, especially when the words were sentimental to you at one point, but it was kind of nice to know that those words are sentimental to others now too.

You wouldn't trade this for the world. You were lucky and you knew that, so many people would kill for this chance so you didn't take it for granted.

Thirty minutes later you and your band mates were running off stage sweaty and high off adrenaline with big smiles on your faces’ your first show at your first warped tour was beyond amazing it was fucking perfect you were convinced nothing could top this feeling.

You started to make your way to Beyond London’s set. The rest of the band had other sets or people that they wanted to see so you went your separate ways for the time being. 

Eventually you made it to the stage Beyond London was playing at. You had stopped a few times to talk to people and take pictures but luckily not too many people stopped you so you made it when they started to play their last song.

After all the years you had known Sirius and James you had never actually got the chance to see them play. To say they were amazing felt like the understatement of the century. 

James looked like he was in his element on the drums, Pandora was so focused on her bass but that didn't stop her from swinging herself around, Sirius had basically every person either swooning because of his looks or crying because of how beautiful his voice was and then there was Barty. 

Just the sight of him alone made your heart skip a beat, you had never seen such raw emotion while someone played the guitar. Once your eyes landed on him you couldn't, you wouldn't, look away. The way he moved, how he would throw his head back every so often, sometimes you could see his jaw clench, you could tell he put his all into the music. You had never seen something so amazing. So perfect.

The song ended and they all started to make their way to the side of the stage you were on, Barty sayed a little longer then his band mates throwing things like his picks and set lists into the crowd. 

You were brought into a bear hug and spun around by a very sweaty Sirius. You shrieked and tried to push yourself away from him to no avail.

“Sirius Black if you don't put me down right now I'll make sure you never play another show again!” You screamed threatened while continuing your best efforts to get away from your sweaty attacker. Suddenly you hear a gasp and you're put down very quickly, almost falling while Sirius scoffs and mutters something about ‘Some people’. 

Pandora came to your rescue making sure you’re okay. You were about to scold Sirius for almost making you fall, but he was already out of sight. Pandora turned you around to have you look at her. 

You looked at her very surprised with your eyebrows raised. “What is up with the manhandling right now?” you laugh slightly awkwardly. 

“Do you still have the crystals I gave you?” Pandora asks with a serious face completely ignoring your question. 

You furrowed your brows and nodded still very confused. “Considering you gave them to me a little over an hour ago, yes. I know we don't know each other very well but have some faith in me Pandora.” You once again laughed a little trying to ease the little tension that seemed to form.

Pandora just smiled at you and hugged you and whispered. “I'm so happy for you two.”

You pulled away and looked at her once again beyond confused. “What-”

You were then interrupted by James yelling over to you. “Y/N, come meet Barty, finally.” Pandora kept smiling at you and then she just nodded at you encouragingly. For what felt like the hundredth time that day Pandora confused you and you once again just chalked it up to Pandora being Pandora.

While making your way over to the three men that stood in a little circle probably talking about the show that they just put on, you were hit with a sudden wave of anxiety. 

Why were you anxious? You had been fine (other than the major confusion you went through with Pandora)  so why does it feel like your heart is going a mile a minute.

Sirius and James are facing you while Barty’s back is towards you. As soon as you're in arms length Sirius wraps his arm around your shoulder pulling you close to him.

“Barty, this is Y/N. Y/N, Barty.” James says motioning between you two.

“Hi, it's nice to finally-” You cut yourself off when you looked into his eyes, feeling a tingle on your writs.

Your whole life you've heard stories about what meeting your soulmate felt like. How all of a sudden everything seemed less important. How you would only want to focus on that person. How you'd feel like you had a new meaning to life. Honestly you thought it was all bullshit. 

But now you knew that, that was all an understatement. 

You finally felt like you were home, like everything would be okay. It felt like breathing for the first time. 

You could play a million more shows, meet your idols, win a fucking Grammy and nothing would compare to what you were feeling when you met his eyes. And based on the look on his face, Barty felt the same way.

“Hi.” You whispered still in a shocked state.

“Hi, angel.” Barty said softly with a love sick look on his face, your heart skips a beat at the nickname and you can't help but smile. He suddenly moved his eyes to Sirius and glared at him. “You'll move your arm if you know what's good for you, Black.” 

Sirius moved his arm away from around you and put his hands up in surrender, you actually forgot Sirius and James were there let alone that Sirius had an arm wrapped around you.

You hadn't thought about your soulmate in years. You didn't ever think you'd meet them, and a part of you didn't really care if you did honestly. As long as you had your music and friends you were fine, that's what you thought at least. It was crazy how in one moment that whole mindset could change.

Now you couldn't imagine a life without Barty. You didn't want to imagine a life without him. 

For so long music was your number one priority, you didn't care about much else but now this person that you just met became your number one. It felt insane and crazy but you couldn't help it and a big part of you loved it. 

You and Barty found yourselves sitting in Beyond London's tour bus talking during the almost eight hour drive from Salt Lake City to Denver. You two just talked about your lives, childhoods, things you loved, things you hated, everything. 

He told you about his Father who you now hated almost as much as Barty. Barty had the biggest smile on his face when you told him how you felt about his father in extreme detail after the stories he told you.

Eventually you both noticed the buses pulling into a new arena parking lot while the sun was rising. Both of you knew you had to go back to your bus now, you had sets and meet and greets later that day. You needed some kind of energy. 

Barty with a cheeky smile insisted that you just join him in his bunk, you just responded with an eye roll and a ‘You wish’ which earned you a ‘You have no idea’.

Barty ended up walking you to your bus, you and him stood outside of the bus talking and stalling, not wanting to leave each other yet.

“Barty, I have to go. We need to get some sleep.” You were looking down at your hands together knowing one you needed to let go but not wanting to.

“I know angel, I know.” He gave you a sad smile as if he would never see you again. 

Barty was often scared that all of this was just a dream. That one day he would wake up back in his fathers clutches and his life as a rockstar was just a dream, it always scared him. But now in his mind it wasn't only his life as a rockstar at stake but you and that now terrified him. He had admitted this to you while you were talking that night so you didn't blame him for being hesitant. You just hugged him trying to reassure him.

“You can come over when you wake up Barty. Don't hesitate, I don't care if I'm awake or asleep. I just know that if you stay we're not gonna get any sleep.” Barty pulls away from you with a smirk and raised eyebrows, you just hit his chest and roll your eyes. “Not like that. I just mean we'll stay up talking.”

He just laughs and kisses your forehead. “I know what you meant, angel, just like teasing you is all.” He pulls you against him resting his chin on your head. “Is it bad to say I'll miss you? Even if I know it's just a few hours.”

“It's not bad because I'll miss you too.” You whisper against him. 

After a moment he pulls away again looking down at you he moves his hand to hold the side of your face, cressing you cheek with his thumb. You leaned into his touch with a small smile on your face looking up at him.

“You are now the most important thing in my life now, my angel.” He's looking deep into your eyes, not a hint of lies or regret in his words.

Barty started to lean down with a sense of hesitation, you just nodded and smiled at him letting him know it was okay. You could feel butterflies in your stomach while your heart started to race. The moment your lips touched you felt electricity run through your veins. You never experienced such an amazing feeling, you were two puzzle pieces finally coming together. You already knew Barty was your everything but that kiss solidified it. It made it real in the best way possible, you knew you couldn't ask for a better soulmate.

Volume:■■■■■■■■■■□□

[raviollies]

actually no im gonna yap

im trying SO HARD to gaslight myself into liking veilguard but so many narrative choices just make me scratch my head. I AM NOT DONE, I currently gotta go to Weisshaupt.

I'll start with things I like so far:

1. I think the game is really pretty and I like the puzzles :) Antiva is GORGEOUS, I think one of the prettiest areas in the entire series.

2. I really like the Minrathous/Treviso choice. More of that please! some actual drama and consequence!

3. Assan is adorable and I cannot walk past without petting him. I didn't anticipate myself liking Davrin so much since I'm usually drawn to magic babies over warriors, but he's probably my favourite alongside Bellara. I think him having left his clan is very interesting narrative choice (I am totally not biased considering it's very similar to Daee's story)

4. Thank you lord almighty for the wardrobe/mirror system. Godbless.

5. Everytime Lucanis speaks I think of Puss in Boots and that brings me great joy. Whimsy even.

6. When you place Tevinter decor in the lighthouse, they have a Hookah right beside a fresco of Solas killing Mythal and that is mind bogglingly hilarious. I do love that the Shadow dragons know how to unwind. We're turning up after fighting for elf rights.

7. Solas surviving entirely on meat, raisins and honey feels very r/malelivingspace

Things I am Not Liking So Far

1.Minrathous feels utterly toothless. Its described as terrible, den of slavery, conversion therapy through blood magic, treatment of elves being terrible - yet we walk around unimpeded. I expected a similar experience as the Winter Palace, or fights that could be avoided if playing as a human.

LAVELLAN is introduced in the TEVINTER TAVERN, wearing TEVINTER CLOTHING, like it doesn't...make much sense to me? Inquisition set up the cross roads with Morrigan AND the Inquisitior, it feels like it would have made much more sense narratively not just from..."I am the fucking Inquisitor In Fucking Minrathous" but "Solas and the crossroads are a vital connecting point of these characters story."

Speaking of Inquisitor, wildly bizarre to me that neither Solas nor Varric comment on you meeting them. Solas has a weird painting of the Inquisitor chair, but you meet the mf face to face and he just does't acknowledge it. I am not a Solavellan player but I felt Really Bad For Them In That Moment.

I think a good moment of comparison is the difference in tone of DAI and DATV...When we find out the orb is elven in DAI, Solas warns us to keep it to ourselves, with Lavellan even remaking that the world will blame us for Corypheus. In DATV, we inform everyone that Elven gods are attacking, and there's no thought or conversation about the impacts of that on Elves in society. The only one to mention it is Davrin way after we've been spilling the beans left and right.

2. I'm not done the story but hey has anyone mentioned we haven't fought a single Fen'Harel agent, what's up with that... I expected to be fighting Elves based on the epilogue in Tresspasser but ?? ???

3. I'm sorry I HATE THEM DISREGARDING THE WELL OF SORROWS IN FAVOUR OF MORRIGAN WHEN SOLAS MAKES A HUGE DEAL OF YOU BEING TIED TO MYTHAL IF YOU DRANK FROM THE WELL. Oh sorry, if it was unimportant then why the fuck did you go on a monologue about how you're "her creature" and connected to her. It felt like a retcon of the importance placed on it in Inquisition and how much of a deal both Solas AND Morrigan make about it. I'm sorry picking a ROMANCE was more important than acknowledging THIS?? ? ??

"But Ravie, they can't account for Inquisitors personality and making them important would piss people off" then just kill them off. If they're set on Morrigan carrying this piece of narrative, I would have written the Inquisitor off the table before the choice becomes relevant. Have them help you in the ritual at the start of the game and die. I feel similarly about Varric, because he feels like the writers stuffed him in the closet to not talk which just...JUST KILL HIM. Its better than being relegated to furniture!!!!

3. Speaking of Morrigan why the hell is so nice. This is not my beautiful mean witch wife. In fact everyone is nice. Even hardened Lucanis has been polite to me.

4. I HAVE A BONE TO PICK WITH ROOK. I profoundly hate starting off friends with Varric (and him getting shelved like what was the point). It ruins a lot of initial RP for character establishment, because it limits how the player character FEELs about the whole thing, your motivations are GIVEN to you. Furthermore, it feels like rook HAS an established character. I don't feel like I got to play my rook, just say things slightly differently based on an already established character. I dont feel like I am roleplaying a custom character, just as Biowares stand in protagonist. Maybe I'm just spoiled by the level of interaction that BG3 provided me.

The opening sequence is bizarre to me, because IF I MAKING THE STORY....I would have had the introductory quests for each of the companions be the first quest based on the faction you select (Shadow dragons with Neve, Mournwatch with Emmerich, Crows with Lucanis etc. etc.) That way you establish your character based on the faction and immediately get a little tutorial on what kind of character you're going to be playing. I would even keep the introductory quests the same with minor dialogue tweaks. The ritual would come after the tutorial prologue mission and then you start with Harding and the companion you got introduced with, since the order you get them...really doesn't matter or impact anything.

5. I think the Venatori and Antaam following Elven Mage Gods is kinda dumb. Sorry. I thought they both looked down on them for being either Elves or Mages/didn't even acknowledge them. What the hell is their goal anyway

My criticisms comes down to...I don't know what themes the game is trying to tackle? The game SAYS things but doesn't actually do anything with these topics. Minrathous HAS a slavery problem but we don't see it. Treviso is ruled by a faction of assassins but it's like a good thing! Elven gods are responsible for everything wrong in the world, but the narrative implications of what that means for modern elves are acknowledged in passing like acknowledging the weather. The game feels hesitant to actually unpack any of these things despite being the one to put them on the table.

Anyway I am going to finish the game and probably play on Daee with a Solavellan Inquisitor to see if that improves my experience by picking a character who is more tailored to the Rook they portray/not having an emotional connection to the Inky, but atm...Man I Had Hopes. Made me feel stupid for getting so hyped up for a conclusion to a story arc for a character THEY SPECIFICALLY LEFT ON A CLIFFHANGER FOR A DECADE. I'll just draw art, lie face down in the ground and imagine a more narratively satisfying conclusion to my Inquisitors story.

[qvrcll]

suggestive + fluff

swimming with snow would entail quite a number of things:

he’s a touchy-feely sort of person. very intelligent when manoeuvring up and around you, allowing him just enough space to invade yours. he’s sneaky about it too - a palm resting against your belly (oddly warm and soft in its receive when it rubs affectionately against you), fingers that tickle at your sides, arms that tuck against you like vices rather than just tendons. when you smile at it, bring it up, tell him to quit it, he’s only likely to be more encouraged.

the first to offer you a towel to wrap yourself up when you get the chance. he’ll be all nonchalant about it too, a swipe of a glance and his hand extended bearing the soft material, letting out a little “here you go,” when really, he’s rebounding against every move in his head like chess. wondering whether you think he’s a fool, whether the towel would catch fire and burn, whether you would even appreciate the sentiment. but as soon as you’re curving into that smile you always give him, his worries are scattered. but, wait, is that a sneaky hand that nests against your shoulder?

he likes to hang back and observe you like he is absent within the moment. expect him to sit behind you whilst you converse with the others that have joined you, resting his cheek against the back of you, kissing the soft, wet flesh occasionally. a bit of a starer too - takes little shame in setting his eyes on you. your lips? he’s already flitting down towards them with more than a breath. your eyes? he has yet to break contact. your neck? beware, he’s beginning to grow antsy without kissing it till the skin starts to fester.

he’d be so annoying with this but loved to loop his finger through your bathing suit and stretch it out, before letting it band and snap against your skin. nothing too much to hurt, but enough for you to to squeal at. he likes to believe that he does it for the sole purpose of aggravating you, but really, he enjoys the little noises you let up too. the way you whine at him, tell him to stop because it hurts so much (it doesn’t, the effect of it is what you desire), the little frown that pulls at your face as your eyes pool with faux anger. a droll lick of fire he finds comical above all things else. when he’s got you on tenterhooks, almost avoiding him out of luck, to get out of his grasp, he’ll pull you back into his chest and kiss his way into an apology. really, it’s all too easy. the heat of the sun working your front as he works the string of your swim top between two lousy fingers - and there’s nothing but the scrape of sand to keep him quite as cool.

does this harrowing little move where whenever he gets out of the water, he’ll inch his way towards you slowly when you’re least on your guard. when he’s close, he’ll clinch his palms around your ankles and pull. pull, not with decency, but instead, he’ll play the dirty game, where he uses all of his strength and get you under him in a swipe. likes it when you giggle, he says, or squeal when his arm swipes against your own and you can see just how much bigger he is in comparison to you (his biceps come as hulking pieces of meat to your eye, curved and powerful) or if his thighs unintentionally come forward to trap your own in between them, digging into the sand as his dog tags coldly dangle against your neck with a blurring ache. no need to quieten, no one is watching.

refuses to divulge into this particular secret but loves kissing you when you’ve both been deep into the water, where your kisses are practically marred with the salty brine of the waves. when he kisses, its like he’s been starved of that, too. all hungry, consuming, when his lips work against yours in quick succession, marking them with little bruises where he doesn’t see it fit to stop. but when you’ve both been swimming? salt enters the equation. a bitter tinge in your mouth and he’s keening for the taste of the bitter mineral slotted against your mouth. it’s like something primal to him and a bitter thing, that he will take to the grave.

© 2023 qvrcll. do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 71: Alexander's Appreciation

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tw: body control, torture, assault, solitary confinement, mind breaking

April 1815

The music didn't sound like music any more.

Lex had been playing the same piece, again and again, part by part, for what was probably several hours, which meant he still had most of the day left to go. He was occasionally afforded a glass of water -- as much as Lex sometimes wished he'd simply be too ill or injured for training, his master had a way of ensuring that he was just alive enough to continue.

And so he played his piece, which had ceased to sound like a song to Lex weeks ago. That was how long he had been practicing it, he thought. It wasn't a song, but rather a series of thousands of mechanical movements that all needed to be carried out with exact timing and precision.

It didn't even matter that Lex was so bone tired. It used to matter, back when he trained at the music school, back with Master Laurent and Master Nelson. They always encouraged Lex to play and sing with passion, with energy and feeling, and that was easiest to do when he was well rested.

The Maestro didn't want any of that. His idea of perfection was to strip Lex's performance of any semblance of personality, so that it may as well be the piano playing itself. And Lex had found that it was easiest to do when he was too tired to fight it, too tired to do anything but lose himself in the rhythm of the song and the feel of the keys under his fingers.

That didn't mean he didn't make mistakes, though. There were always mistakes.

"Three. An improvement," said his master.

Lex silently stood up, stepped away from the piano, and kneeled in the designated spot for his teacher to lay his blows upon him. They were mercifully light, today, and he barely noticed the pain, just grateful to have a chance to rest his fingers.

"That's enough for tonight. You're dismissed."

Lex kept his head bowed low to hide his surprise. "Thank you, master," he said, taking soft, measured steps out of the room before his master could move his legs for him. That training session had seemed much shorter than usual. Or perhaps his sense of time itself was off. Time held no meaning in this place, despite the tick of the clocks on the wall that dominated Lex's nights. Everything in the manor seemed frozen in an eternal, unchanging moment, much like his master.

As Lex walked down the gloomy hallway, carrying a flickering candle, he heard the sound of the piano behind him, playing the same piece that Lex was working on. His master often did this, and Lex was never sure if it was supposed to be instructive, or make Lex ashamed of his own deficiencies in comparison, or simply out of frustration that Lex's abilities would never meet his impossible standards.

There was a time when Lex would be glad to spend hours working out his mistakes in a piece, improving and refining it. Now, his playing was technically far better than it ever had been, but there was no longer a purpose to it. Even if he did achieve some nebulous perfection, there would be no one to hear it, no one with a heart.

It didn't matter any more. It wasn't music. It was a series of commands to carry out to escape punishment.

Lex tried to put his rumination out of his mind as he entered the kitchen. He was generally permitted to make himself a meal after his practice, except when his master arbitrarily decided he wasn't. Tonight, with the Maestro occupying himself at the piano, Lex felt somewhat confident in his momentary safety.

He made a plate of what was in the pantry -- bread, a bit of cheese, some dried meat -- and sat at the table. None of the other thralls were around. They usually gave Lex a wide berth, and Lex got the impression that they were pleased that their master had been so focused on his newest acquisition. Perhaps that would be his only escape. Perhaps he'd grow old, and the Maestro would find another young man with the qualities he sought, and Lex would collect dust in a forgotten corner of this forsaken place.

As Lex ate, he realized that he wasn't shivering and had no need to try and warm up his hands near the meager flame of the candle. The kitchen was significantly warmer than usual. Lex wondered if that meant it was warming up in the world outside his prison. It would have to eventually, wouldn't it? By his crude reckoning, it had been at least four months since the fateful night of his capture.

Spring… it would be spring in the outside world, in the places where time moved like normal. The snow would thaw and melt, and buds would appear on the trees, and flowers poke their heads out of the ground. The days would be longer and lighter, and the people of the city would emerge from their winter hibernation.

And Lex wouldn't be there to see it. He wouldn't see it ever again. He wouldn't see the fairs and festivities of the summer, he wouldn't see the riotous color of the autumn leaves. The freeze of winter would arrive again, and Lex would still be here, trying to eke out some warmth from a meager candle in the dark.

He'd never properly appreciated those days, always looking forward instead of stopping to enjoy himself. He'd always preferred to stay indoors with a good book. If only he'd known what was ahead of him, he would have soaked up as much fresh air and sun as he could.

He was startled by the loudness of his sob, only then realizing that he was crying. Stupid, stupid -- any unnecessary noise, any noise at all, would be punished. Practice had been light, there was food in the pantry -- this was as pleasant as it ever was for him, and he had to ruin it with his pointless ruminations.

Lex did his best to quiet his breathing and strain his ears, to listen for the approach of his master, the rhythmic taps of his feet down the hallway. Several minutes passed, and none came. Perhaps he hadn't heard Lex crying? That seemed impossible. His master's hearing was supernatural, and on previous occasions he'd heard Lex's smallest whimpers even when Lex was locked in his bedroom.

There was something else odd. The faraway sound of the piano had also stopped. Where was his master? The dread was getting to him.

His next chore this evening was sweeping, a chore which always took hours due to the size of the mansion and the fact that any missed spot that his master noticed would incur a punishment. Sweeping offered a thin excuse to look around to see where his master was and possibly how he was disposed. So, despite the warning in his mind, he walked back down the hallway towards the music room under the pretense of sweeping.

The dread chill in the air as Lex approached the music room made it clear that his master was still inside, but there was still no sound at all. Even the cleaning and maintenance of the instruments would produce some small noise.

Lex poked his head barely into the doorway, just enough to try and make out what was happening. The gas lamp was still lit from Lex's lesson, and as Lex's eyes adjusted, he could see the silhouette of his master at the piano. He was hunched over strangely, a far cry from his customary ramrod-straight posture. Lex had never seen him slouch or relax even slightly.

It looked as though one of his hands was covering part of his face. And was he shaking? Actually trembling?

Was he crying?

The more Lex watched, the more certain he became. It was a sight Lex never thought he would see, and it made him absolutely furious. Oh, he suspected almost from the first that his master was miserable -- it was written in every withering glare and disapproving word. But he couldn't stand the idea that the Maestro was crying in secret, as though he didn't hold all of the power, as though this wretched excuse for life weren't entirely of his own making.

Without warning, the Maestro whipped around to stare directly at Lex, eyes filled with unbridled fury. Before Lex could even scream, the wind was knocked from his lungs as he was thrown to the floor with invisible force, elbow cracking against the wood. Two slender, bony hands grasped the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall, the impact especially painful due to the enthrallment holding his body absolutely rigid.

"You were crying," the Maestro said.

So were you -- Lex bit his tongue before he could say it. "Yes, sir," he said, knowing that even the hint of a lie would earn him more punishment.

"You were feeling sorry for yourself."

"Yes, sir."

"What cause have you to feel sorry for yourself?"

Lex despised this, these questions that were always traps, where his master demanded answers and every answer was wrong. He had to pretend that missing his family or longing to see the sun again were transgressions that he must repent for and not the natural state of any man in his situation.

"I noticed that spring must be on the way, sir," he said, "and I was thinking of how much I'd enjoy seeing the outside world again."

"You wish to see the outside world?" his master said evenly. "You want to feel the sun on your face and the grass beneath your feet, smell flowers in the air and hear the laughter of people?"

The way his master described it almost made Lex start to cry again. "Yes, sir."

"And is that more important than achieving perfection in your musical studies?"

Music had been Lex's chief passion in life, and he'd thought he'd valued it over almost anything. But now, there was no doubt in his mind that he'd give it all up, never play the piano or sing or even listen to music ever again, if only he could be free.

"Yes, sir, it is."

"And what good do those things do you? What purpose do they serve?"

"They make me happy, sir."

"And this is why humans can't be trusted with their own fates. They'll choose an ephemeral notion of happiness over their own potential every time." He lowered Lex to the floor and forced him to kneel with his hands behind his back and head bowed low. "Humans so often fail to appreciate what they have, wouldn't you say?"

It felt like a trap. "Yes, sir."

"Then we agree that you need to be taught this valuable lesson."

Lex's body began to march stiffly down the hallway, with his master following along behind in lockstep. Terror filled Lex's heart. They weren't headed to the room where the Maestro kept the bulk of his tools of punishment. Whatever was going to happen, it likely wouldn't be an ordinary flogging or burning or carving of his skin. It would be something new, and in this place of stasis, novelty was always a threat.

The rickety spiral staircase leading into the basement creaked under Lex's feet as he was made to descend down, down, down into the dark. Lex's candle had been left at the entrance of the music room, and the Maestro carried no light. If Lex were not being puppeted by his master, he would certainly have fallen down the stairs.

Lex walked further into the inky pitch of the basement. He heard the rattling of chains, and an iron shackle was placed around one ankle, followed by the closing of a heavy metal door, the footsteps of his master, and then nothing.

Nothing.

Even as the minutes ticked on, Lex was entirely blind, as there wasn't even the smallest sliver of light to allow his eyes to adjust. The basement was completely silent as well, except for the sounds of Lex's own breathing and the clink of the chain on his ankle. He cautiously walked forward, outstretching his hands, and found a rough concrete wall on two sides of him, and thick iron bars on the other two sides. The floor beneath him was cold, and there seemed to be nothing else at all in the small amount of space that had been left to him.

His master wasn't returning to flog or beat him. His master wasn't returning at all. Lex realized with growing horror that the cell itself was the punishment -- his master intended to leave him here in the pure darkness, with no comfort and nothing to occupy his mind but his own dark thoughts.

"Master? Sir?" he called out. "Master, I'm sorry, sir."

There was, of course, no answer.

With nothing else to do, Lex did his best to make himself comfortable on the cold floor. At least, perhaps, he could sleep without being disturbed. If he could sleep through most of his punishment, it would be bearable. He closed his eyes and tried to dream of home.

---

His master's footsteps awoke Lex from his uneasy sleep for what might have been the hundredth time. So far, each instance had been a hallucination produced by his wary mind, on guard even in sleep, dreading his master's return but also dreading the thought that he might be left here in the dark forever.

It wasn't until the familiar power gripped his limbs, forcing him to kneel on the cold, hard concrete floor, that Lex knew the footsteps were real this time.

"Have you learned your lesson?" his master said. "Have you learned to appreciate what you have been given?"

His master could always, always tell when he was lying, and Lex certainly hadn't learned to appreciate the bleak hell of the manor just because he was alone in the basement. In some ways, it had been a relief. The floor was uncomfortable and cold, but he could rest and let his mind wander freely. His master wasn't flogging him or puppeting his body around or sinking his vile teeth into his flesh.

"No, sir, I haven't."

"Very well."

Lex heard the sound of a tray being placed on the floor.

"Bread and water, so that you don't perish before you've been educated."

"Thank you, sir." Lex had pushed his hunger and thirst from his mind as best as he could, but now it flared up again. As Lex carefully fumbled in the pitch darkness, careful to not upset the pitcher of water he'd been given, the rhythmic footsteps receded from his hearing and he was plunged into silence once more.

The bread was stale, but he gobbled it anyway. He'd learned not to be precious about his food early on. He'd never experienced actual hunger beyond being so engrossed in a book that he forgot to eat, but here, food was only provided at the whims of his master, and his master was so often displeased with him. So he ate whatever he was given without complaint. He was more careful with the water, reasoning that he would need to ration it.

Perhaps this is how it would be from now on. Perhaps he'd never go back upstairs and live the rest of his life in the dark. Perhaps he could endure it.

---

Lex dreamed.

He dreamed of sun and rain and wind, of the crunch of leaves under his feet and of soft snowflakes landing on his coat. He dreamed that the pitch blackness of the basement was actually a night sky filled with stars, and the concrete floor was actually a meadow blanketed with flowers, and that he was free.

He dreamed of his family, of his father's loud laughter and his mother's gentle smile. He imagined coming home to them somehow, bruised but unbroken, and being met with embraces and tears. He'd be swept up to his old bedroom as though he were a child, given a warm bath and tucked into bed, and the world of vampires would once again be no more than a frightening story.

He dreamed of going back to school, singing in the choir, attending to his studies, reading, reading, reading. He dreamed of seeing Anders again, as jovial as ever and ecstatic to see his old friend. He dreamed of a bright smile and strong arms and of other things that he'd rarely let himself entertain.

When he was unable to control his hunger, he dreamed mostly of food. His mind would conjure up a grand Christmas feast, the dining table filled to the brim with roast goose, fish, and mutton, mince pies and warm bread and butter and plum pudding. The wine flowed as freely as the laughter, and he could eat until he was stuffed and contented, falling asleep by the roaring fire. There was hot tea and wool blankets and candied fruits and nuts.

The dreams which always surprised him were the ones of gentle touch. Lex had never been the sort to desire caresses, even as a small child. He was often alone and preferred it that way. But here in the dark, that unfamiliar desire for touch became a desperate yearning. The thought of an embrace, a pat on the head, a soft hand in his -- it all set his nerves aflame as though it were something he needed more than food. Even his dreams did not sate him.

He dreamed of being a child again, of being in his mother's arms. It was the sort of thing that would have made him ashamed once, thinking he was too old for such things. It didn't matter any more. Few of the things that had filled his mind with worry then had truly mattered.

When his master arrived with his fourth tray of food and water, Lex once again said that he hadn't learned his lesson. He could bear being left alone with his dreams.

---

The precious boon of sleep that had made this punishment tolerable had left Lex, and he couldn't seem to retrieve it. He slept in fits and starts now, his anxious mind continuously jumping at illusions of noise.

His ability to direct his dreams went away along with his precious sleep. He no longer dreamed of friends and family and food and comfort. Now, when he dozed, he saw his master in every shadow, ripping him away from his home again and again. Even the imaginary comforts were torn from his grasp, leaving Lex shaking and gasping for air. The embraces he so wished for were replaced by blows from crops and fists, and the scar on his chest seemed to burn once more.

He was wrong. He couldn't take it any more, couldn't last one more minute alone in the darkness and silence. He could hardly even tell the difference between waking and sleeping, as both were plagued with nightmares, and the world was even darker with his eyes open than with them closed. And there was nothing, nothing, nothing to distract his mind or prevent him from slowly going mad.

He dreamed of being let out of the cellar, of being taken back upstairs and sitting in front of the piano once more, of being berated and flogged for his mistakes.

And in those dreams, he was happy to be out of the dark.

When he woke from that dream, he wept, because he knew then that his master had broken him.

He was still weeping when his master approached, unable to stop himself.

"Have you learned to appreciate what you have been given?"

"Yes, sir," he said, and he truly meant it this time.

"More than the sun and the grass? More than the spring? More than the outside world?"

"I don't understand, sir."

"You've learned to appreciate my instruction more than the void. Do you appreciate it more than the sun?"

No. The answer was no, of course. How could he ever prefer those bleak and torturous nights to the sunshine? But he couldn't bear to say that, to tell his master no and be left alone in the dark again. He heard the tray being set down and his master starting to walk away.

"Please, sir!" he cried out. "I appreciate what you've given me! Please take me back upstairs! Please teach me, sir!"

His master left, and Lex wailed into the empty basement, utterly wrecked. If that was his master's condition, then he'd never leave this place. He could never learn to value the bleak manor and his master's torture over his freedom. It was impossible. Not only would he never see the sun again, he'd never even see the warm light of a flickering candle.

Unless…

Unless he could convince himself of the truth of it. Down here, he had all the time in the world to convince himself of anything.

---

Lex sat up as straight as he could against the concrete wall, placing his fingers precisely on the imaginary piano, practicing his musical piece in the air, the sound of the keys so clear in his head. He played it over and over again until he was too weary to go on, and when he made mistakes he slapped and pinched himself.

He would appreciate his master's instruction. He would. He did.

He sometimes still dreamed of his family and of Anders, but the dreams had turned sour. He dreamed of Anders forgetting him, moving on with his life, joyously greeting a summer that Lex would never see. They were out there, and they were happy, and they would never understand what Lex needed to do. They'd never understand that his perfection was more important than his happiness.

Lex continued to play even as he saw the flicker of a gas lamp, certain that it was just another illusion to distract him from his studies. He didn't stop when the flames illuminated his master's face. He only stopped when his master's power took his hands and stilled them.

"It's time for your lesson," his master said.

"Then… then I can return, sir?"

"You may."

His master bent down and unshackled Lex's leg. Lex could never stand on his own, weak as he was from his imprisonment, but his master's magic graciously forced him to stand. He followed his master out of the basement, as docile as a lamb, eager to serve.

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Next week, Oliver takes ill.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@vampiresprite @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @und3ad-mutt

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

@fuckcapitalismasshole @slightlydisturbedbeans @paperprinxe @demetercabingreen-thumb @the-broken-pen

@pokemaniacgemini @jumpywhumpywriter @basica11ywhumped @anoontjecanush @cepheusgalaxy

@whump-me-harder