#this is repulsive. this is unforgivable

[artyphex]

If anyone gets this ask

This is fake

This is a false story using a separate real fundraiser you can find here's, words and an amalgamation of images on a new blog to scam people into donating money.

The "donate to help my cat/dog" scams have upgraded to exploiting an ongoing genocide to try and scam good people out of their money. This is disgusting. This is one of the most heartless scams I have ever seen

[ciderjacks]

being native rn feels insane. Like at some point shit just becomes really funny. White americans are so insanely INSANELY deluded all you can do is laugh at them, because if you dont laugh your head will explode into flames and you’ll go out into the streets indiscriminately stabbing white people like your life depends on it.

[yasministration]

think again - james potter

summary: on your fifteenth anniversary, sirius and remus gift you and james a photo album that has you gasping in embarrassment in front of harry and closing it with a loud slam. despite that, and the warning on the front page that says 'Harry, if you’re reading this, think again', your son can't help himself. He should have thought again. And again. And maybe perhaps just one more time. wc: 1.9k+ cw: suggestive themes and two explicit sentences, discussion of inappropriate images, mentions of r! and james having harry before marriage (when they were 18)

Harry Potter loved his family.

Even though he pretended to hurl when his dad whisked you for a kiss that had you swooning long after he pulled away, or pushed you away when you kissed him on the forehead, hugging him for a little too long in front of his friends, Harry could not have asked for better parents.

So when it was your and James’s fifteen year anniversary, Harry didn’t tease about how it seemed mathematically unusual that he was already past the fifteen year old mark. He didn’t take a close look at photos from your wedding, inspecting all of the photos baby Harry was in, curled in his grandparents' arms for most of the night. He didn’t make a comment about how his parents were only thirty three with a grown teenager, relatively younger in comparison to the parents of other kids in his year.

No, Harry did none of that. Instead, he watched fondly as his father held you in his arms on the couch, whispering sweetly to you.

He smiled, mimicking the looks on both his parents’ face. You were curled into James’s chest, staring at your husband with an unbeatable expression of love that only your James himself could out do. James was pressing sweet kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, and the briefest one on your lips before shying away from you. Harry caught glimpses of your youth in these moments; mischievous, affectionate, and definitely a pain to every one of the single friends around you.

The front door slammed open. You and James didn’t even pull away from each other as Sirius Black sauntered into the living room, a grinning Remus Lupin on his heels. Harry furrowed his eyebrows. His godfathers looked like they were up to no good.

“Happy anniversary.” Remus announced, shifting his weight back and forth from the balls to the heels of his feet. “Did you know,” Sirius started, pointing a finger up in the air, “That exactly fifteen years ago today, minus approximately ten minutes, the two of you were having sex?” You laughed in shock, asking “What?” and James pulled you closer to him. Harry grimaced in disgust.

“Yeah, we came to wake you up, said it’s bad luck to see each other on the day of your wedding. Door was locked, you told us it was too late, and we warned you that we would break into the room, but then we heard-”

“Stuff.” Remus cut him off, raising his eyebrows. You felt your cheeks go hot, remembering how your fiancé — back then — had spoken to your best friends while thrusting into you at an unforgivable pace. Your high pitched moan as you orgasmed had thankfully alerted your two friends not to enter the room.

“Don’t know much about bad luck now.” James chuckled, glancing down at you with a grin. “Anyway!” Remus announced, drawing your attention back to the two men. “We made you a little gift.”

“For every time we’ve seen too much!” Furrowing your eyebrows, you looked past your two best friends to glance at your son, sat alone on the couch, not even pretending not to be listening. His face was contorted in repulsion.

Sirius thrusted a thick photo album in front of you, and you shuffled in James’s hold to release your arms from the bundle of limbs you were wrapped in. You gently took the album from Sirius’s hands, smiling softly “Aw, thank you guys.”

“Oh, you won’t be thanking us for long.”

Concern overtook you at Sirius’s words, and you opened the photo book. The first page was blank, apart from writing that said ‘Harry, if you’re reading this, think again.’ James’s chest rumbled with a whole-hearted laugh. You glanced up at your best friends nervously before hooking your finger into the next couple of pages. You turned to a random page in the booklet.

You gasped loudly, immediately shutting the photo album.

The couple in front of you seemed proud with their work, a loud laugh escaping them both despite the horrified look you shot them. James was silent next to you, and you twisted your torso to look at his expression. His eyes were wide, cheeks so red you were sure his glasses would begin fogging up.

“Anyway, we’re going to take Harry out to diagon alley for a couple of hours. For no reason.” But Sirius turned around to wink at you as he left the room with Remus, who slung an arm over his shoulders. Harry wordlessly followed his uncles, shrugging.

He did not want to know what was in that album.

Would be the furthest thing from the truth. He itched to find out. So badly, that when he sipped at a milkshake in diagon alley with his godfathers, he was twitching in a poor attempt not to ask about their gift. So badly, that when he was left alone at home that night while you and James went for dinner, all Harry could think about was sneaking into your room and looking through those pages.

Giving up, Harry pushed himself off his bed, opening the door to his parents’s bedroom with one last look down the corridor. He took in a deep breath; no one was home. Harry briefly took notice to the empty potion vial on your bed side table, wrinkling his nose as he realised what it was. Birth control. Taking a couple of steps closer, Harry peeked into the open drawer, looking for the black leather of the photo album.

It wasn’t there.

He rounded the undone bed to open his dad’s bedside drawer. Bingo. Harry reached for the leather-bound album, fingers curling around the curve of the album’s spine. He leaned back on the wall behind him, sinking down onto the floor. No way was he going to sit down on that bed. Harry flicked open the album, and immediately, his cheeks went red.

His godfathers knew him too well.

‘Harry, if you’re reading this, think again.’ He did, extending his arm to tip the book back into the drawer, before shaking his head and snatching it back. He flipped the page over, and his breath immediately hitched in his throat at the sight. Sirius’s words from his morning echoed in his head; they made sense now. ‘For every time we’ve seen too much!’ The two photos that took up the space of the first page of the book dated back to your time at Hogwarts.

Harry knew you and James began dating within the first month of your fifth year at Hogwarts, but you didn’t look fifteen in this photo. Maybe seventeen, possibly older. But it was hard to tell with the way your faces were hidden. Of course, the images moved – much to Harry’s dismay. In the first photograph, James was carrying you, and your legs were wrapped around his torso, the skirt of your uniform riding up your legs, creasing under James’s hands, which were groping your backside.

You were pressed up against the wall of a dark hallway, your arms tightly wrapped over James’s shoulders, his glasses smushed between your faces as you made out deeply. The image of your tongues flattening against each other was grotesque. Harry had seen his parents make out before – a quick snog when you thought no one was looking. James would tug you closer to him by the wrist, wrapping an arm around your waist when you turned your attention to him.

It was often in the kitchen, if not the backyard, but James would press his lips against yours, and you would part your lips to welcome his tongue into your mouth for a quick, greedy lick against yours. James would pull away, his trousers slightly tighter around his crotch, and you would wipe the space around your lips to conceal any evidence.

But this kiss, in this image, was like nothing he’d seen before. Your body was moving against James with a desperation he hadn’t seen before, his dad’s hips frantically grinding against your centre as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, your tongues eagerly battling for control over the kiss.

He couldn’t imagine it, but the next photo was much worse, and he instantly regretted not listening to the note on the front. Harry huffed. There should have been a second warning. By looking at the second image, Harry decided that you and James had just turned eighteen. His dad’s hair was had looked to be freshly cut, not long like the previous photo, almost an afro around his head. Here, it was trimmed neatly, curls soft, the stubble on his face barely there. You wore shorts, exposing your legs, and Harry could see that you had the cheeky smiley faced tattoo on your thigh, which you’d admitted to getting on your eighteenth birthday with his dad, Remus and Sirius.

You were clearly at a party in this photo, with drinks littering the kitchen countertop in front of you, both you and James looking like anyone would after hours of partying. One hand on the countertop, the other reaching up into the cupboard over you, you were biting your lip struggling to get something as you stood on your tippy toes. You raised a knee over the side of the counter, top, and just as you were about to push yourself off the ground, a hand rested on your hip, halting your movements.

James pressed his body against yours as he reached above you, arm stretching up higher than yours to grab a bag of chips for you, wedged in the cupboard. James unnecessarily pressed himself onto his tippy toes, stumbling forward as he lost balance, his crotch dragging against your ass before he fell flat on his feet. Your eyebrows raised in the photo, but you smirked, spinning around and looking at James with a slight tilt of your head. James’s face flushed, a shy look overtaking his features as he poorly attempted to maintain confidence.

Harry almost heard your hum as you stared down his father, just a boy in this photo, before your fingers curled around the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him against you. James’s body pressed against yours and you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his. The bag of chips fell to the floor as both of James’s hands came to rest on your hips, already deepening the kiss with you. It was difficult for Harry to believe that those two teenagers in the image would be having a child that same year. Him.

Just before Harry could witness something he didn’t want to see, the image flashed, and the entire scene repeated itself. That’s enough, Harry decided, but he couldn’t help but wonder what had made his mother gasp so loudly as she shut the photo album. He tried mimicking your earlier movements, fingers dipping past a couple of pages. Triumphantly, he turned these pages over, but the second he caught a glimpse of his dad on his knees, back to the camera, Harry made a disgusted noise, shutting the book with a loud slam.

He scrambled back on his feet, dropping the book in his father’s drawer and closing it before rushing out of the room to return to his bedroom, forgetting that his parents’ bedroom door hadn’t been open when he first came in.

Luckily for him though, you and James were too busy kissing your way up the stairs and into bed to notice the detail.

taglist (tagged both the marauders + golden trio taglist because it's centred around harry and james): @ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes, @juliet-f017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @why-am-i-like-this18, @theoraekenslover, @animalcrossingshameless, @azure-drag0ness, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @girlontheblock, @matcha-kitty13, @thenasoneshots, @cakiebleh, @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @potterheadlovespotter, @matcha-kitty13, @thenasoneshots

[kirain]

Part thirteen of my appreciation project.

@yelenhol A fic based on their wonderful art piece here and here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

The clinking of chains was the first thing Emmrich heard. Then, the murmurs of broken voices. His grip tightened around his staff as he and Rook crested the hill, the scent of churned earth and sweat heavy in the air. Below them, a ragged line of elves trudged forward, bound at the wrists and ankles, heads bowed in submission.

Tevinter slavers, six of them, prodded their captives along, laughing amongst themselves. The mere sight of them made Emmrich's blood boil.

"Stop!" he ordered, his voice carrying across the field like distant thunder. "Release those people at once!"

The slavers turned, their expressions shifting from confusion to amusement.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" one of them sneered. His gaze flicked over Emmrich's lined face, the silver in his hair. "A little past your prime to be playing hero, aren't you, old man?"

"And a knife-ear," another chuckled, eyeing Rook. "You'll fetch a fine price back in the city."

Emmrich lifted his staff, anger coursing through his veins like fire. "You won't lay a hand on her!"

But beside him, Rook stood still.

She wasn't looking at the slavers, she was staring at the chains, at the hunched figures of the captives, at the dirt smeared across their faces. Then, her eyes snapped to the men approaching them.

They weren't Tevinterians anymore—they were drunken Ferelden nobles.

The air around her warped, shimmering with heat.

She heard the laughter—not of the slavers, but of the men who had raided her alienage. The acrid fumes of burning wood filled her nose, mingling with the shrieks of her people as their homes collapsed around them. She saw her mother bleeding out. And then—pain. White-hot pain seared across her cheek as she was held down, disfigured for daring to fight back.

The men before her melded with the ghosts of her past, their smirks twisting into the grins of the monsters who had scarred her—who had taken everything from her.

Lightning crackled in the air.

Emmrich barely had time to blink before electricity surged from Rook's staff, striking the slavers with blinding force. They screamed, their bodies convulsing violently as the lightning barrelled through them.

And then—silence.

The bodies crumpled to the ground, smoke curling from their charred forms, the stench of burnt flesh pervading the air.

As he lowered his staff, Emmrich gulped. He wasn't repulsed by what she'd done—they deserved it. But Rook stood there, breathing evenly, her expression blank. Too blank. Neither anger, nor satisfaction. Just cold, empty silence.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, fragile. "Free them."

Emmrich hesitated, but when she didn't move, he stepped forward. With a few well-placed bursts of magic, the chains shattered, freeing the elves in an instant. Shaken by the ordeal—and perhaps by the brutal way their captors had been killed in front of them—they stared at him for a moment before nodding and scattering into the trees.

"Unforgivable," Emmrich groaned, watching them flee. "To chain people like that, to steal them from their homes and regard them not as living, breathing beings, but commodities." He winced, his hand moving to his stomach. "Ugh, it makes me ill. Thank goodness a certain Grey Warden was here to save—"

When he turned, he found that Rook was already walking away, heading back to the eluvian.

"Rook?" he asked, rushing after her. "Are you all right?"

"Let's go home," she said flatly.

Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled almost imperceptibly.

-----

At the Lighthouse, Rook slumped into the bath, hoping the heat of the water might ease the knot in her chest. Steam coiled around her raven hair, dampening the strands that framed her face. Her tired muscles relaxed, but her mind refused. No matter how many times she sank beneath the surface, holding her breath until her lungs ached, she couldn't banish the memory of those slavers or the horrified expressions of their victims.

Moreover, she was plagued by guilt. Emmrich had planned that trip to charm her, to delve into their feelings. Instead, they had stumbled across that dreadful scene. The fire in his eyes, the righteous anger that rose in him, had been driven by his need to protect her and those poor captives—but the carnage that followed had cast a dark veil over what was supposed to be a romantic getaway. She couldn't bear to think of how he had seen her: calm, cold, and utterly merciless.

"Damn it."

Nearly an hour passed, her skin beginning to wrinkle. She couldn't stay in all night—no matter how much she wanted to. Someone would notice eventually.

With a defeated sigh, she stood, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around herself. As she caught her reflection in the mirror, she frowned at the scar across her cheek, the mark left by the sneering noble who had carved it there so many years ago. It didn't matter how many times Emmrich told her she was beautiful—she knew she was—but she still heard the jeering voices, still felt the sting of humiliation.

A gentle knock on the door startled her from her thoughts.

"Rook?" Emmrich's voice was muffled but warm. "May I come in?"

For a heartbeat, she considered refusing. But she couldn't avoid him forever.

"Yes," she muttered weakly.

Slowly, Emmrich opened the door and stepped inside, stopping just over the threshold. As his gaze swept over her half-naked form, a primal mix of desire and admiration stirred within him—until his brows furrowed.

Rook knew how she must have looked—composed, detached, as if she hadn't just electrocuted six men without a flicker of hesitation. She wasn't even sure why she was trying to seem indifferent. Emmrich wasn't a fool.

"I made tea," he said, lifting a steaming cup in offering. "Gooseberries. My own blend. Would you like to give it a try?"

Rook flinched. She wanted to accept, to show she appreciated his kindness, but her stomach churned at the thought of eating anything in her current state.

She shook her head.

"No pressure," Emmrich said, setting the cup by the sink. "But darling... are you all right?"

"Yes," she said quickly, turning away.

Part of her knew that's why he had come—his insufferably benevolent need to console her, to shield her from burdens she swore she could carry alone. He always put her wellbeing first, even when she told him not to, even when she insisted she was fine. And Maker help her, she didn't hate it—not really. It was just so unfamiliar.

"Are you sure?" he nudged. "I don't mean to pry, but back in Arlathan—"

He placed his hand on her shoulder, but the moment she felt his palm against her skin, she jerked away, her tone sharp and reflexive.

"Don't touch me!"

Emmrich stumbled back, his hands raised in harmless surrender. His eyes—normally so bright and cheerful—widened, hurt flashing in them before he could hide it.

"I... I'm sorry," she choked out, her cheeks flushing with shame. "I didn't mean to yell."

Mortified, she sank onto the stone edge of the tub, head hanging, knuckles white as she gripped the towel. Water dripped from the ends of her hair, pooling into small puddles at her feet.

"Rook?"

Emmrich held his breath, waiting in silence. When she didn't send him away, he inched closer, lowering himself to his knees before her. He kept a careful distance—respectful, yet near enough that she could feel the warmth of his presence.

"Rook," he said again, quietly, "why can't I touch you?"

The question wasn't demanding, but patient—tinged with worry. He looked as though he blamed himself, as if he had done something to upset her. She couldn't let him think that. Though it took her a while to answer, her teeth clenched as she struggled to find the words.

"Because I'm dirty."

The sound Emmrich made—pained, as if she had struck him in the gut. "What? Why would you say that?"

"Because it's true." She gave a short, humourless laugh. "I'm a dirty elf from an alienage. Wrong place at the wrong time, and I could've been one of those slaves."

"Rook, what are you—?"

"And you, Emmrich... you're practically nobility." Her voice trembled. "A professor, writer, Fade expert. Senior member of the Mourn Watch. You're renowned for your work. You—" She broke off, clutching the towel tighter. "You could have anyone. Someone less impulsive. Someone whose face isn't... spoiled."

"Darling, please—"

"I... feel something for you, Emmrich. But how do I know you won't cast me aside when you get bored? How do I know this is real?"

Emmrich's expression twisted, something raw and woeful in his eyes. "Is that how you see me?"

"No, but..." She swallowed hard. "It's all I've ever known. People use elves. We're beneath them, worthless—nothing but entertainment or labour. I can't... pretend that's not the world I grew up in."

Emmrich didn't reply, but she could sense his pity, his compassion. It came so naturally to him—an unexpected perfection that terrified her. No man could be this good, yet Emmrich was. Her breath hitched, unshed tears blurring her vision.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I shouldn't have indulged this for so long. You deserve better."

Emmrich's heart broke, but only for a single, agonising moment. Then, he lifted his hand, hesitating to see if she'd recoil or push him away. Though her breath quivered, she remained still, allowing his palm to settle gently on her leg.

At first, it was soft, barely more than a touch. Then his fingers moved higher, along the top of her thigh, making space for his other hand to cradle her knee. As the texture of his glove glided over her skin, his bracelets jingling, three of his fingers slipped between the towel, inadvertently wandering too far.

Rook tensed, and Emmrich stopped at once, squeezing her leg with a firm but soothing gesture. He only wanted to hold her, to make her feel safe. His hands should have felt cold against her bathed skin, but they were warm from the teacup. Reverent.

"I'm not nobility," he said, his voice adamant. "I'm just Emmrich." He slid his hand back down, away from the towel. "And you're not a 'dirty' elf. You're an elf, just as meaningful as me being human. Which is to say, it means nothing at all. You're my equal. And I... I love you."

Rook's eyes widened. He'd never said it aloud, and the heartfelt confession caused her throat to swell. She tried to speak, her mouth open, but he had overwhelmed her with three powerful words—and he knew it. With a smile, he reached up and cupped her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing along her scar.

"Ravishing," he breathed, his eyes sincere as they met hers. "May I... kiss you?"

Rook's head spun, a deep blush spreading across her face, and she suddenly became aware of the towel slipping from her shoulders. In truth, she wanted this—wanted him—in spite of her past and the relentless cynicism that haunted her.

"...Yes."

There it was—the one thing Emmrich had hoped for, the one thing he cherished: her permission. As he leaned in, he pressed his lips to hers, both of them starved for affection. The kiss was slow and searching, filled with unspoken apologies and promises. Rook could taste a hint of mint, his warmth suffusing her senses, and in that intimate moment, the stress of the day finally began to wane.

When he pulled back, she drew in a shaky breath. The way he looked at her—with such tenderness, such conviction—made her wonder why she had ever doubted him. He had always been different, from the very day they met.

"Emmrich..." she whimpered, wiping her tears. "I'm sorry for what I said. I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply you were—"

Suddenly, he scooped her into his arms, lifting her from the edge of the tub as though she were weightless.

"Emmrich!" she gasped, clinging to his shirt. "What are you—?"

He embraced her, pressing her against his chest. "I've got you."

With careful steps, he carried her to the bed in the adjoining room, where freshly laundered sheets smelled of lemon, violet, and pansy. When she didn't resist, he laid her down, the towel slipping from her shoulders, baring her secrets.

"Darling..." he purred, utterly transfixed.

As she sank into the pillows, he took a moment to savour her beauty before climbing onto the mattress, his knees braced by her hips, his face hovering a breath above hers.

"Do you want this?" he asked, his cheeks glowing as red as hers.

"Yes," she hushed, her eyes fluttering closed.

Emmrich dipped his head, pressing featherlight kisses along her neck, each one a silent act of devotion. As her skin tingled beneath his lips, Rook couldn't help but moan, her fingers tangling in his hair, urging him closer. He obliged, eagerly, his tongue teasing over her pulse, exploring where she was most sensitive.

"Ah! Emmrich, that's—"

Her toes curled, responding to the heat of his touch, the brush of his clothes against her bare skin.

"That's it. Let the world disappear for tonight," he begged, desperate to prise any lingering thoughts that she was inferior or disposable from her mind. "Right now, there's only us."

His hands roamed with purpose, massaging her sides, her waist, her shoulders—as though he was committing every curve of her to memory. The weight of his body against hers was thrilling, his ministrations dedicated solely to her pleasure. And for one blissful moment, Rook melted into it, meeting his lips with her own.

But when his hand trailed lower, drifting between her thighs, a sudden stab of anxiety ravaged her peace.

"Wait!" she cried, her fingers tightening in his hair.

Emmrich froze immediately, then lifted his head. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," she wheezed, her throat bobbing. "I... I'm not ready. I'm so sorry."

Emmrich paused, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. "Don't apologise," he said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "It's all right, dearest. We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

Rook shivered. She expected rage or disappointment—some sign that he felt entitled to her body after she'd allowed him this far. But there was only understanding in his gaze, a quiet patience that eased the last bit of tension in her soul.

"You're not... angry?"

"Angry?" His brows arched, as if it wasn't even an option. "Quite the opposite. If I'd continued and you weren't enjoying it—" He shuddered at the thought. "Darling, I'll wait as long as you need."

As he shifted off the bed, Rook felt her heart pound—not with fear, but gratitude. He didn't force anything, held no malice or frustration; he simply pulled the blankets up to her chin. Then, he blew out the candles, plunging the room into a comforting darkness, broken only by the moonlight streaming through the windows. When he returned to her side, he pressed a small but fervent kiss to her forehead.

"Goodnight, Rook," he whispered.

"Goodnight."

He smiled, then lay down beside her, leaving enough space so she wouldn't feel trapped, yet close enough that she could curl into him if she wished. She did—and slowly, she nestled into his arms. As he held her, the steady rise and fall of his chest was a lullaby, and for the first time in ages, she allowed herself to believe someone truly cared for her.

"Emmrich?" she mumbled, her hand reaching up to caress his cheek.

He was nearly asleep, but managed a tender, "Yes, darling?"

"Thank you."

She wasn't used to saying that word, and finally having a reason to meant everything.

[apple-onigiri]

hi can you talk more about your reading of siffrin and loop's relationship please. I'm so curious 👀

(omg hii i love your analyses)

well i guess now i gotta huh!! the demons (the people on my computer) are telling me to do it, do it, do it, so here it is!! most of it below a cut! because this ended up being really really long!

so! self-love and self-hatred play a big role in isat in general. the whole story is kind of about accepting that you are capable of being loved, and not, in fact, inherently repulsive so maybe you should open up, siffrin. imagine that. and i'd argue these themes crystallize into their final form with sif and loop and how they interact :) my ants. my mentally ill ants

(this sidesteps the curious meta element of how both the narration of siffrin to himself and loop addressing siffrin as they talk uses second person. it's very interesting but this is already gonna be long enough)

looking at all their interactions, especially through the lens of knowing who loop actually is, gives a pretty good idea of loop's attitude towards another version of themselves, and, by extension, their own self (this is a bit confusing because there are Too Many Siffrins Here)

the long and short is the resentment they feel towards themselves - because loop never went through the realization they're not unlovable - is externalized and often taken out on siffrin.

they are very condescending with how they interact with him. he's just a silly little stardust! so stupid, so naive! knows so little about literally everything. awww, let me help you out, stardust, before you hurt yourself.

on my first playthrough i actually initially distrusted loop a lot because of this. i saw it as the last thing siffrin would need when they already put themselves down so heavily; how they call themselves "stupid" multiple times for any and all mistakes they make and how unforgiving they are to themselves (especially the key hidden in the classroom exemplifies this). but with the knowledge of siffrin and loop starting out as the same person, it makes a stark amount of sense. when you have a mindset similar to siffrin's and loop's, no one will ever be more critical of you than you yourself.

it sometimes feels like loop's forgetting they're not talking to themselves internally and that this is a whole separate being they're talking to that they can't just externalize their own self-hatred onto, enough that they have to backtrack and apologize because hurting yourself in a way that resembles hurting someone else makes you think twice about what you're doing to yourself. there's a healthy dose of regret there, and guilt that they said something you can't easily erase from the mind of the person you said it to.

there is still care in loop's behavior. conversely to the previous statement, nothing will make you more sympathetic to your own plight than literally seeing it from an outsider's perspective and being able to acknowledge that you need help (sidenote, but kinda twisted of the universe to grant loop's wish in the most roundabout way possible. you want someone to help you? okay! help yourself! your other self, but hey, it counts, right?)

(cut here because this is getting out of control and i can't let it appear in unabridged form on anyone's dash, especially on mobile)

as acts go on and quests progress, loop gets these moments of honesty and empathy for siffrin more often. they obviously have been helping before but you know what i mean, don't you. those moments where loop's facade drops and we get a feeling that this isn't them acting, this is their true... shades, lol. examples!!

aftermath of touch therapy! of course they'd know what the root problem here is and how to best help. this is something acutely familiar to them and they're able to tell what siffrin needs to stop spiraling. and!! siffrin reciprocates this! haven't talked ab him and his attitude towards loop specifically a lot but this too is important. i'm rapidly becoming ill btw

forgetting the party's names upon waking up on the meadow and calling loop! it happened to loop before so seeing it happen to another version of you must make one feel... complicated. they patiently remind siffrin each name and make sure they're fine.

honestly, throughout the entirety of the story, but especially by the end of act 4, they find it very crucial to make sure they reassure siffrin they're there for him, that he's not alone in this. they know where feeling completely alone leads.

okay i can't take it anymore i gotta talk about this.

loop so doesn't want siffrin to use the dagger on themselves. it's genuinely heartbreaking to see their distress about the idea

they even try to dissuade siffrin from it later on, when you first attempt to use it, and are very very upset still afterwards

they care about siffrin!! they don't want to see him hurt! they don't want siffrin to befall the same awful fate they met where self-destruction melts into the natural state of being and you just spiral spiral spiral! they don't hate him, and seeing them fall so far from okay that they're fine with stabbing themselves to save time in a time loop where literally no time is wasted because it loops back anyway is awful for them.

this is where loop transforms from the voice in your head pointing out your deepest flaws to one that can tell what you're doing is self-destructive and bad for you and you really, really should stop. the, pardon my wording, tug on your stomach, like the one you get when you're standing over the ledge and looking down. and when you get the stupid thought how easy it would be to fall, your brain reacts by jolting you away. loop is the jolt.

loop is the inner instincts of siffrin personified at many points of the story. sometimes they're hurtful towards him as instincts of a self-destructive person are wont to do, which is justified with them just wanting that other version of themselves to Be Better, Get Better. and sometimes, it's self-preservation they depict; feeling at home with your self and expressing empathy towards yourself and your own awful situation.

when act 5 comes, loop is clearly crushed about not being able to help siffrin out, about not being able to get them out of their despair.

then, just like he's done with everyone else, siffrin rejects loop too. when siffrin shuns loop here, it's out of anger for being kept in the dark, yes, but it's also a rejection of any positive thoughts they might have about themselves.

siffrin's rejection of loop isn't only rejecting one last person they're close to like they did with their family members. it's a rejection of any and all instincts to care for himself and his well-being. it's the same thing that allows him to use crafts with no cooldowns. it's the same thing as memory of emptiness that lets him loop to the point where he died and just keep going. it's what lets mal du pays take form.

this refusal of loop's help is, in my opinion, the ultimate act of self-hatred in isat.

okay depression time over act6 twohats happy times yayy!!!

after a little bit because loop is - kinda justifiably - upset at how their suffering amounted to nothing and now this siffrin gets their happy ending. and they don't!! how is that fair? we have to keep in mind a lot of what we've learned was news to loop too. they spent so long in the loops, not knowing why, to the point where they begged the universe to get them out and help them.

their roles from act 5 essentially swap here. here loop is the one self-destructing and rejecting any help at all, and projecting the hell out of themselves onto siffrin, just like siffrin did in the "friendquests" in act 5.

so i haven't talked a lot about siffrin's outlook on loop before now (when his psyche is not literally split into tiny pieces, that is) but my little pet theory is that, just like they really hate repeating their lines, being all fake, and only do so because they feel they have to, they're often annoyed by loop because they can kind of sense the front they put out. if you hate the way you pretend, these feelings are most likely gonna transpose to another version of you doing the same thing.

but in this fight, the siffrin in it is not the one still trapped in the time loops. this is a siffrin tentatively learning that maybe it's okay to not hate yourself. so, just like act 5 is the greatest act of self-hatred, the ending of this fight is the ultimate act of self-love and self-acceptance, regardless of how it ends but with some caveats to both outcomes.

if siffrin wins, he refuses to hurt loop, stating outright that they don't hate themselves enough to do so. he won't do it even if loop is literally begging for it.

if loop wins, they cannot bring themselves to hurt siffrin. they feel too much empathy towards them. it's impossible to hate him - and themselves - the same after seeing the struggle from outwards.

regardless, they both exhibit the kind of care only you yourself can give yourself after fighting tooth and nail to prove to your own self-esteem that you're worth it. siffrin wouldn't be satisfied with killing loop because it would mean a rejection of some fragment of themselves.

siffrin went through a capital-C Change due to the loops (the theme of change in isat is another thing i could write on and on about), and part of that Change was having a version of you, your past self, still stuck in how they used to be and the situation that made them so. a healthy type of growth means changing for the better, yes, but also learning to love and respect who you used to be. if you met your younger self, would you resent them? or would you want them to know that all their struggles weren't for nothing? Change means leaving something behind but not forsaking it, letting it rot and fester unacknowledged

(insert rant about how isa's Change was actually kind of partial because he decided to completely sever ties with who he used to be instead of being appreciative of the aspects of himself he seems to still like, like being smart, and him resorting to hiding it instead WE DON'T HAVE THE TIME RIGHT NOW ASK ME LATER IF U WANNA but tl;dr actshually isa Change doesn't need to be full-on destruction because the eggshell is still there the Change God told me okay enough of this)

this. this is love. self-love given form. to me.

"you matter. your suffering mattered. it helped me become who i am right now. nothing was in vain. it hurt, and might still hurt for a long time - but it was never for nothing." that's what i got from this scene.

anywayyyyy i warned you!!! that this would be long!! if you let me yap! it's yap central over here. if you got all the way down here, thank you for enduring. have a cupcake :)🧁

[aphoticarachne]

SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK — luke castellan

tags: gut wretching angst, established relationship, betrayal, demigod!reader, um just luke in general

Pain and fury simmered beneath your skin, scorching like molten lava seeping through every vein, threatening to consume you whole.

You stood frozen, suffocated by the weight of betrayal as Luke bared his soul—his plans, his allegiance, the truth he had concealed from you all this time. A sickening wave of nausea clawed up your throat, lodging itself there, just as you were trapped here. With him.

"Baby, I know it's—"

"Don’t." Your voice, though barely above a whisper, carried the force of a blade. Sharp. Unforgiving. Tears brimmed at your lashes, threatening to spill, but you refused to let them fall. Instead, you stepped back, slow and deliberate, as if distance alone could sever the invisible thread still tethering you to him.

Luke's breath hitched, and in the moon’s pallid glow, you watched his expression contort. Shock, pain, then something colder. His crystalline eyes—ones that once held warmth—hardened into ice. Were you truly trying to flee from him? The very thought was an affront. A wound deeper than any blade.

"You can't do this to me," he murmured, his voice laced with desperation. "You—You promised. You said we'd be together. Forever."

He surged forward, hands reaching for yours, as if holding onto you would keep you from slipping away. Backbiter tumbled from his grip, landing on the damp forest floor with a soft thud, forgotten in his urgency to hold onto you.

But you recoiled as if burned. Fury, searing and absolute, surged through your veins. "You did this to us!" you spat, wrenching yourself from his grasp as though his very touch had become repulsive.

The moon’s silver light cascaded over him, accentuating the sharp angles of his face, the scar that traced his features—a mark you once traced with reverence, with devotion, you used to kiss it with the tenderness of a lover. But now, that face twisted into something grotesque, something unfamiliar, monstrous. No, you hadn’t misjudged him. You hadn’t failed to see him clearly before. He was never your Luke to begin with.

Luke's hands clenched at his sides, his jaw tight. He saw it now—the way your gaze shifted, as if he were a stranger, an enemy where a lover once stood. It cut deeper than any blade.

And now, everything was crumbling.

He had thought—no, he had believed—that your love for him would transcend all else. That it would overpower your devotion to Olympus, your blind fealty to the Gods who had forsaken you time and time again. He had stood by you, fought for you, chosen you when no one else had. And yet, when the moment of truth arrived, you chose them.

How foolish he was to have thought of that in the first place.

Your nails dug into your palms, crescent-shaped indentations forming in your flesh as you struggled to steady your voice. When you finally spoke, it was quiet—too quiet. But beneath it lay a warning, a threat woven into every syllable.

"Leave." Your stare burned into him, unwavering. "Leave before I do something we’ll both regret."

His entire world collapsed in a single breath.

You turned then, jaw clenched, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your resolve from shattering. You would not look back. Not this time.

Luke regarded you with an unreadable expression, though you knew him well enough to recognize the battle waging behind his eyes. He had always understood your defiance, your unwavering resolve. It was something he had admired, something he had loved. And now, it was the very thing that forced him to walk away.

Resignation settled over him like a heavy cloak, sorrow threading itself into the fine lines of his face. A single tear traced the jagged path of his scar, glistening under the silver glow of the moon. He inhaled deeply, his gaze roaming over you with quiet desperation, as if he could commit every detail of your existence to memory—the sharp curve of your jaw, the fire in your gaze, the tremble in your breath.

Then, as though time itself had fractured, Luke grasped your face and pulled you into a searing kiss, one that brimmed with longing, regret, and something far too raw to name. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that bordered on despair, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the space between you. This was an ending, a goodbye that neither of you could fully accept.

Your breaths intertwined, heat colliding, as if the universe itself had conspired to make you stay entangled just a moment longer. When he finally withdrew, you felt the ache of absence immediately, the ghost of him still lingering against your lips.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice a hushed vow, weighted with finality. His head shook slightly, resolve hardening his features. "This isn’t over, baby."

You stood paralyzed, a tempest of emotions surging through your chest as he stooped to retrieve Backbiter from the damp earth. With one fluid motion, he slashed the space before him, rending the air itself. A shimmering void opened in his wake, pulsing with dark energy.

He cast you one last, burning glance. And then—he was gone.

Just like that, your lover had abandoned you. Left you standing alone in the stillness of the forest. Left you to wrestle with the unbearable truth.

He was going to raise an army. He was going to lead a war.

And he was doing it for a Titan clawing his way out of Tartarus.

Wonderful.

Deena speaks .ᐟ

Surprise ! I'm a Luke Castellan fangirl

too. Been one since 2020.

What do you expect? I like my men fucked up.

Anyway, the next chapter of "What is this Feeling?" Is gonna be published tomorrow !

[redvexillum]

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, human!alastor, sub/d♡m dynamic, sub!reader, d♡m!alastor, reader has a shame kink, reader has a degradation kink, c☆ckwarming, p in v, ruined ♡rgasm, rough ♡ral s♡x, assistant!reader, non-s♡x repulsed alastor, teasing, begging, reader really wants alastor's c☆ck lol, alastor being a jerk but reader loves it, you literally become his b!tch, reader is down bad for alastor but aren't we all?

WORD COUNT: 4.3K~

The cold, unforgiving floor bit into your knees, the pressure of your weight sending sharp pangs of discomfort up through your legs. Each subtle shift of your position bruised your kneecaps further, but you didn’t dare adjust. Your trembling fingers rested cautiously on Alastor’s warm thighs, the heat of his skin radiating through the fabric of his suit pants.   

The warmth was almost comforting – almost. A bead of saliva slipped from your parted lips, trailing down your chin in a slick, humiliating line before it fell to the seat between Alastor’s legs with a soft, wet sound.   

Alastor’s fingers tangled in your hair, firm but not yet painful, the soft tugging an unmistakable sign of his displeasure. You knew the mess you were making only added to his irritation, but there was little you could do to stop it. A whimper built up in your throat, desperate to escape, but you swallowed it down, forcing your mouth to remain open in its strained, aching position. Your jaw throbbed from the effort, muscles protesting as time crawled by in agonizing slowness.   

Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision as you dared to glance up at him. Kneeling between his legs, you were at his mercy, completely vulnerable as Alastor sat in his chair, unbothered by your struggle.   

His oval glasses caught the flicker of the lamplight, reflecting tiny pinpricks of firelight back at you, while the rhythmic scratch of his pen against paper filled the room. The sound was steady, deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world to continue his work while you remained trapped in this torment.   

He didn’t look at you.  

Not once.   

A surge of desperation crawled up your spine as you fought the urge to reach up and rub your aching jaw. Instead, you shifted your tongue, sliding it cautiously against the soft, limp member resting inside your mouth.   

The faint taste of salt lingered on your tongue; you were all too familiar to the taste of him. You stilled as you felt the barest twitch, a flicker of life from his cock. Panic surged through you, eyes widening in fear as you froze, barely daring to breathe.   

The cool evening air of Alastor’s office seemed to sink into your skin, prickling your exposed flesh with a chill that made you shiver. It was well past working hours, and the radio station was deserted. Not a single colleague remained to witness the intimate punishment you were enduring – punishment for the simple mistake of spilling coffee on Alastor’s papers during one of his broadcasts.   

You could still recall the way his smile never faltered, that sharp gleam in his whisky-brown eyes flashing behind the kindness of his voice as he’d patted your head and reassured you with a saccharine, “Accidents happen.”  

But now, here you were – naked, trembling, and at his mercy.   

The office was shrouded in a still, oppressive quiet, the faint tick of a clock on the wall the only sign that time hadn’t stopped altogether. After hours, the world beyond the room seemed distant, forgotten, leaving only you and Alastor in this intimate, humiliating scene.   

His command had been simple – strip and kneel – but the weight of it had sent a shiver down your spine, a rush of heat pooling low in your belly as you obeyed. Now, here you were, bare and exposed before him, your knees pressing into the cold, hard floor, while his cock rested inside your mouth, warm and soft, like a sleeping beast you dared not wake.   

Alastor sat above you, pen scratching across paper as he methodically rewrote the script you had so carelessly ruined earlier. The humiliation of that mistake clung to you, a reminder of why you were in this position at all.   

His one hand rested on your head, deceptively gentle, his fingers idly stroking your hair whenever you managed to stay still. But you knew better than to mistake his touch for kindness. The moment your tongue so much as twitched, his grip tightened, pulling sharply at your scalp, reminding you of your place.   

Your only job was to keep his cock warm and snug inside your mouth, a silent, obedient placeholder as he worked.  

But the longer you knelt there, the harder it became to maintain control. Your thighs rubbed together of their own accord, desperate for any friction, any relief from the growing ache between your legs. Your cunt was slick, shamefully wet, as arousal pulsed through you in time with your racing heartbeat.   

The sensation of his cock resting heavy on your tongue, the heat of his body so close to yours – it was maddeningly erotic, an undeniable thrill despite how perverse and scandalous the situation was.   

You felt the weight of your submission, the way you had given up control, and it sent a dark shiver of excitement through you. To be used like this, treated like nothing more than a needy, desperate thing – it was absolutely...  

Intoxicating.   

Your lips trembled as more saliva pooled in your mouth, the warmth of it gathering until it spilled over, dripping down your chin in thick, wet trails. You could feel it seeping down your neck, mingling with the sweat that had begun to prick at your skin, making you feel even more debased.   

Your jaw ached, your muscles burning from holding the same position for what felt like an eternity. The hard floor beneath you made your knees throb, but you didn’t dare shift or move. You didn’t know how much longer Alastor would take to finish his work, but you knew better than to rush him.   

You were not to taste him.   

You were not to move.   

And most importantly, you were not to distract him by giving him an erection.   

The rules were clear, and the consequences of breaking them had been made painfully obvious the last time you had failed. The memory of that punishment sent a shiver of dread down your spine, the fear mingling with the twisted arousal coursing through you.   

But as you knelt there, your body trembling with effort, small whimpering noises began to escape your throat, betraying your discomfort. You tried to swallow them down, but they bubbled up despite your best efforts.   

The sound, the vibration of your voice against his cock, was your undoing. You felt it – Alastor's cock stirred in response, twitching as the movement of your tongue inadvertently roused him.   

Your heart leapt into your throat, panic flooding your system as his cock began to grow inside your mouth. One twitch, then another, until you felt the weight of him shifting, expanding, thickening. Your jaw was forced to stretch wider, your lips straining to accommodate him as his cock swelled and lengthened, pressing deeper into your mouth. Soon, it reached the back of your throat, pushing against your gag reflex with terrifying precision. Your nose was flush against the front of his hip, the scent of him filling your senses, overwhelming and masculine.  

You gurgled around him, the sound wet and desperate as you tried to adjust, your body writhing with the effort of holding still. Alastor’s hand remained firm on your head, keeping you in place, making sure you took every inch of him without moving, without complaint.   

Tears gathered in your eyes, blurring your vision as your throat convulsed around his cock, your stomach roiling with the effort to keep from gagging. You hadn’t been trained well enough for this – not yet – but you knew you had to endure.   

Looking up at him, eyes wide and pleading, you silently begged for a reprieve as more saliva spilled from your mouth, dripping in thick, humiliating strings, pooling on the seat of his chair and spilling onto the floor.   

Your fingers tentatively brushed against his thighs, a small, desperate gesture, seeking some sign of mercy. But Alastor remained focused on his work, his hand a steady, unyielding weight on your head as you struggled to maintain your composure.   

Alastor’s sigh was heavy with disappointment, a sound that seemed to reverberate through the stillness of the room. Your stomach churned with both shame and something darker – arousal. His gaze, piercing and critical, bore into you from above the rim of his glasses, which sat perched low on the bridge of his nose.   

That look alone was enough to make heat flush your skin, a reminder of your place, and the last time you had failed him. You could still feel the phantom sting of his palm against your thighs, the way he pulled you over his lap, spanking your dripping pussy until you came undone, making a humiliating mess of his pants and the floor beneath you. The memory sent a shiver down your spine, shame mingling with forbidden desire.  

“Seems like you can’t even do this job right, my dear assistant,” Alastor chastised, his voice low and cold, cutting through the air like a sharp blade. His disappointment weighed heavily on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. His hand tightened in your hair with a sudden, sharp tug, yanking your head back. Your scalp stung as he twisted your head up, his cock still in your mouth, forcing you to meet his gaze.   

“Suck,” he commanded, his voice smooth, authoritative. Your heart leapt in your throat as you obeyed, sealing your lips tighter around the burning heat of his cock.   

It was searing, velvet-soft and impossibly thick, filing your mouth entirely. A wet, obscene noise filled the air as Alastor began to pull you back, inch by inch, his cock sliding slowly from between your lips.   

Just when the tip was the only thing left inside, he shoved you back down with an almost cruel force, burying himself deep in your throat. You gagged, choking around his thick length as your throat convulsed, but he didn’t stop.   

Again and again, he repeated the motion, thrusting deep into your mouth, your body jerking with each movement. The sound of your voice was nothing more than a muffled whimper beneath the wet, slurping noises as his cock slid in and out of your mouth, the slick wetness of your saliva thoroughly coating his shaft. All the while, Alastor watched you, his expression impassive, almost bored, as if this was nothing more than a tedious task for him.   

Your breasts swayed with each thrust, the hardened tips of your nipples grazing his pants, sending jolts of sensation through you. Your back arched, your body straining to keep up with the relentless pace as your head bobbed up and down, forcing to follow the rhythm he set.   

Oxygen was becoming scarce, your lungs burning as you struggled to breathe between thrusts. And yet, the musky, intoxicating taste of him consumed you, drowning out everything else.   

You could feel the heat building between your legs, a maddening ache, as slickness dripped from your cunt, drenching your inner thighs. Your hand, trembling and desperate, began to drift downward, fingers aching to find relief. You needed to touch yourself, needed to grind against your palm while your boss used your mouth as he pleased.   

“Ah-ah-ah,” Alastor’s voice cut through your thoughts, humour laced with a dark warning. His grip on your hair tightened, pulling you back with such force that strands of your hair were yanked free from your scalp. The sharp sting of pain made you moan, a pathetic sound that mixed with a whimper as your hand froze mid-motion. “Now who told you to touch your pretty little cunt, hmm?” he asked, his voice a soft, mocking purr.   

Your mouth was finally free from his cock with a loud pop, and you gasped, working your jaw in an attempt to relieve the strain in your aching muscles. Your throat throbbed, raw from the persistent onslaught, and your breath came in ragged pants.   

Alastor’s cock gleamed in the low light, slick with your saliva, and the sight of it sent a wave of heat surging through your body. You wanted him to bend you over and punish you with his thick cock, fucking you until you couldn’t string two words together.   

You felt your cheeks and chest flush as your gaze flickered to the darkened patch on the front of his pants, where your drool had soaked through. Alastor’s smile twisted into something cruel, his eyes narrowing as he took in the mess you had made. “Naughty, messy girl,” he murmured, his voice a gentle, dangerous whisper. “Always making a mess of my things, no matter where you go.”  

He released his hold on your hair then, his fingers sliding away from your scalp as he patted his lap. The gesture was a command you knew all too well. Your heart raced as you hesitated, remembering the last he’d made you sit on his cock without moving, forcing you to endure the torture of feeling him inside you without allowing any stimulation.   

His thick, veiny shaft had twitched with every beat of your heart, but he hadn’t let you move, hadn’t let you seek the pleasure you so desperately craved. It had been a slow, agonizing torment, and now he was ready to do it again.   

You couldn’t do this again.   

Your body betrayed you, thighs rubbing together in a desperate attempt to find relief, nipples hardening under his gaze as you trembled before him. Your voice, hoarse and barely more than a whisper, came out in broken gasps. “Please, sir, I...I...” The words died in your throat.   

Alastor’s voice cut through the air like ice, his tone cool and devoid of warmth. “Don’t make me repeat myself, dear.” there was no affection in his words, just a chilling command that seized your muscles. 

There was no excuse, no reason you could give where you deserve to reach your peak. Not after everything you had ruined, after all the mess you had made. Your head hung low, shoulders slumped in defeat as tears threatened to spill. There was the overwhelming need clawing at your gut, twisting tighter with each passing second. Desire coursed through you, unbearable and famished.  

Forcing your back to straighten, you dared to meet his impassive gaze. He waited, unimpressed, as you hesitated, shame and arousal warring inside you. Slowly, you climbed onto his lap, legs trembling as you straddled him. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, there was something almost predatory in his gaze.   

His thumb brushed across your moist, parted lower lips, your walls immediately clenching, desperate to be filled by him. Lazily, he traced the curve between your slick folds before slipping his thumb inside your mouth. The taste of your own slick filled your senses. He leaned forward, capturing your erect nipple in his mouth and suckling them, his tongue flicking against them.   

Ah, you wanted more, needed more. Your tongue wrapped around his thumb, mimicking the pressure he was applying to your nipple.  

You wanted more, more, more.   

When he pulled his lips away along with his thumb out of your mouth, he looked up at you. “Go on,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Sit.”  

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you lined yourself up with the head of his cock. The thick tip pressed against your entrance, and you gasped, a shuddering moan spilling from your lips as he slowly began to stretch you open.   

Inch by inch, you sank onto him, the sensation overwhelming as his cock filled you completely. It felt as though he was carving a path inside you, his length pulsing with heat, claiming every part of you.   

Alastor’s smirk deepened as he watched you struggling to take him, your moans echoing in the room. “You’re a loud little minx, I should put a muzzle over your pretty, red lips.” His voice was a mix of amusement and disdain as you finally settled into his lap, his cock buried deep inside you to the hilt.   

Your breath came in shallow pants, your body trembling, every nerve alight with sensation. Your walls fluttered around him, welcoming the invasion, clinging to every inch of his length.   

“Looking more like a dog in heat by the day,” he remarked, his voice strained, though his hips remained frustratingly still. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you down even further, the stretch bordering on too much, yet the pleasure bloomed brighter with each second. Your hips instinctively ground against him, desperate, always desperate, for friction, for more of him.   

“Shall I give you a new name, dear? Something to suit your new role?” His one hand tightened on your hip, the other tracing the curve of your spine before his fingers curled into the flesh of your ass. His words send a rush of heat through you, making you tremble even harder.   

He was in complete control, and you’d be whatever he wanted you to be.   

“Let’s see...you’re a dog in heat, so I suppose ‘bitch’ would fit you perfectly, wouldn’t it?” Alastor’s lips curled into a cruel smile, and all you could do was nod, biting back a sob as his cock twitched inside you.   

The word made your heart thump loudly in your ears, shame coiling around your desire like a vice, but you loved it. You loved the way he spoke down to you, the way he commanded every part of you. You would be his bitch, his toy, anything he wanted, just to feel him deep inside you.   

“Do you like that name, bitch?” His voice was like velvet, a mocking lilt to his tone as his hands gripped your ass tighter. Without warning, he dragged you up, his cock slipping out of you in the same deliberate manner as before, inch by agonizing inch. And just when you thought you couldn’t take the loss of him any longer, he slammed you back down, his cock filling you to the base with a force that left you breathless.   

“Well?” he hissed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he held you there, his cock twitching insistently against your walls. “Answer me.”  

“Yes, yes, sir,” you gasped, your voice cracking as your hips began to gyrate on their own accord, desperate to ground your needy, throbbing clit against him, desperate for release. Your breasts swayed with every frantic movement, brushing against the fabric of his clothes, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. “Please, fuck me, sir. Please, I need it, I–” Your fingers tried to reach for the front of his shirt, a futile attempt to ground yourself, but a sharp hiss from Alastor made you freeze in place.   

Whimpering, you let your hands drop back down, your body still trembling as you waited for his next command.   

He smiled at you – a soft, almost tender expression that could have been mistaken for kindness – until his eyes darkened, sharpening with intent. In a swift, brutal motion, he thrust upward, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your body jolted, and before you could even catch your breath, Alastor dropped you unceremoniously onto his desk, the papers and documents crumpling beneath you. The cool, wet smear of fresh ink pressed against your bare back, sticky and uncomfortable.   

“Once again, ruining my work, I see,” he sighed, his voice dripping with mock disappointment. But before you could stammer out an apology, his cock slammed back into you, stealing whatever words had been forming on your lips.   

A strangled gasp tore from your throat as the impact reverberated through your entire body, your hips widening in response, silently begging him for more.   

Your legs parted wider, opening yourself completely to him, inviting him to take whatever he wanted. Your head lolled back, exposing your throat as your chest arched forward, your entire posture one of submission. You were at his mercy, laid out before him like a prey before a predator. The raw, primal need coursing through your veins made you tremble, the tension unbearable.   

A low, dark chuckle escaped Alastor’s lips as he took in the sight of you, so utterly open and vulnerable. Without hesitation, he resumed his pace, ramming into you with a force that sent the papers beneath you sliding across the desk. The sharp creak of the wood echoed through the room with each powerful thrust, mixing with the wet sounds of your bodies colliding and the unbidden, loud moans spilling from your lips.   

You couldn’t stop yourself – every slam of his hips into yours tore another desperate cry from your throat, begging for more, for release, for anything to make the intensity bearable.   

“More,” you gasped between moans, “yes, please...” the words tumbled out, barely coherent. You were so close, your body trembling on the edge, every nerve within you alight with the promise of release. Just when you thought you would shatter, Alastor pulled out abruptly, leaving you empty and aching.   

Your eyes flew open in shock, just in time to see him gripping his cock with fervour, the slick sound of his hand moving over his length filling the room. His breath hitched, and with a low, guttural moan, he plunged back inside you, spilling a hot stream of his seed inside you. His body trembled as his cock twitched with the aftershock of his orgasm. You whimpered, your body quivering with need, every muscle tight as you fought against the overwhelming urge to come.   

His cock pulsed inside you, slick with both his cum and your arousal, and you could feel it, every twitch, every pulse of him.   

“S-sir,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as you pleaded. Your clit throbbed, painfully hard and swollen, so close to the edge that even the smallest touch would send you over. “Please...”  

Alastor’s breath was ragged as he looked down at you, his hand brushing your sweat-soaked hair away from your tear-streaked face. His touch was gentle, almost tender, but his words were anything but. “Do you think,” he began, his voice barely a whisper, “that you deserve a reward?”  

Your heart sank. You knew the answer, but saying it aloud felt like a cruel joke. “N-no, sir,” you whispered, your voice small, defeated.   

“Splendid,” he chuckled, a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he slowly picked you up from the desk. His softening cock was still buried deep inside you as he sat back in his chair, lifting you by the hips.   

Your body trembled, your cunt sopping with both his seed and your unsatisfied arousal. He watched; his gaze locked on the sight of his now limp cock as your walls clenched involuntarily, trying to squeeze out every last drop of his release.   

“That’s right,” he coaxed softly, his voice like velvet. “Squeeze it all out.” And you did. You obeyed, your body quivering as you worked to expel every bit of him from your aching, needy core, all while the pleasure you craved remained just out of reach.   

“Now, let’s try this again,” Alastor’s voice rang with unsettling cheer, the edge of his joviality making your stomach tighten in a familiar mix of dread and arousal. His eyes gleamed as he gave the command, “Kneel.”  

The word hit you like a weight. Defeat settled into your bones as you slowly untangled yourself from his lap, sliding down until all your knees pressed into the hard floor. The ache already began to throb there, but you knew it was just the beginning.   

His hand gripped the base of his cock, guiding it toward you, still slick with the mess of your arousal and his. The scent was sharp, musky, and unmistakably his. As he slid it into your mouth, you could taste the sour and salty tang of his cum instantly coating your tongue.  

“That’s right,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, more intimate. “Swallow it.”  

You obeyed, your tongue sweeping along the length of his shaft, gathering every trace of him. Your lips tightened around him, cheeks hollowing as you sucked, determined to show him you could be his perfect, obedient pet.   

A soft hum of approval escaped his lips, and for a fleeting moment, hope fluttered in your chest. Maybe this time, if you did everything right, he’d let you come.   

But just as quickly, his tone shifted. “Stop.”  

The single word was a sharp command, and you immediately froze. Your heart pounded, lips still parted around the head of his cock, waiting for his next move.   

“I have work to do,” he sighed, dismissing you as he picked up his pen and began to scribble on the paper in front of him, as though your presence was nothing more than a slight distraction. His cock still rested in your mouth, heavy and warm, with an order to be still.  

To wait.   

You forced yourself to remain motionless, your body tense as you became the perfect, obedient cockwarmer. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, salty and bitter, while the scent of ink and paper mixed with the heady smell of sex. Your knees throbbed from the hard floor beneath you, your mouth already starting to ache from the strain of staying in place.   

But despite the discomfort, the heat between your legs grew unbearable, the slickness of your arousal sliding down your thighs. You clenched them together, trying to suppress the ache, but every slight movement only reminded you of how desperately you needed release.   

Alastor’s attention, however, was fully on his work, the scratch of his pen filling the room. You were nothing more than an object to him now, a vessel to keep him comfortable as he continued with his task. Your heart raced, frustration and desire swirling in your gut, but you knew better than to move, to make a sound, to do anything that might earn his displeasure.  

All you could do was wait, hoping against hope that he would take pity on you. That, maybe, if you were his good little cockwarmer, he would reward you.   

But for now, you remained on your knees, his cock filling your mouth, the taste of him lingering as you tried to fight the urge to tremble beneath the weight of your desire.   

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[t-a-a-1]

The Misfortunes of Honor

Summary: While being under Megatron’s mind control, Optimus was obliged to interface with you. An act he wished he had done in more complimentary circumstances. Although Optimus loves you, the aftermath of the act made the two of you become distant, making you wonder if it's time to leave Prime’s side.

A/N: 2k words. Angst, suggestive content, fluff, after glow, sexy stuff, etc.

It was too late when he came to his senses.

Although he was able to break free from Megatron’s mind control, his honor had already been tainted. Not like it was ever pure. There was too much energon on his servos to say otherwise and hypocrisy did not become him. 

But you? 

He had made many mistakes. Many of them are unforgivable. This is one of them. 

Optimus can’t look at you. Too much shame and embarrassment, yet he has to hold you in his servos. You had told him that you were hurt and unable to walk. He can tell by  the bruises in your body that you were telling the truth. Not like he didn’t believe you in the first place but they served as a reminder of the horrible acts he had committed. 

It’s not like he didn’t want to do it. In fact, he had dreamt of becoming one with you many, many times before. He craved and yearned for the day he would confess his undying love for you. 

Megatron had taken that from him. Now, he can no longer fantasize about that day. Nor longer think what your first time with him could’ve been. He is unworthy of it. Of you. Although the act had already happened … he refuses to remember such an act. Primal. Without an ounce of love in it. 

“Did it hurt?”

Optimus asks you as he enters his private quarters. No one in the hangar dared to interrupt the two of you. After tonight’s event, it was obvious that the two of you needed time alone. 

“At first but I got used to it after a while,” you say as he places you on the elevated floor where you are able to see him face to faceplate. 

You weren’t a stranger to Optimus' room. He had even put a coach for you to be comfortable. In exchange you put some flowers around and made the place look more lively. 

“(Y/N), I – I don’t know how I could ever ask you to forgive me.”

“You don’t have to. You were under Megatron’s mind control,” you have difficulty looking at his optics. Everytime you look at them, you are reminded of how much craving they had a few hours ago.  “It was the only choice.”

“Did you … Find it pleasurable?” He is usually good with words. But all sense of reason is lost whenever he talks to you. His speech becomes sparkling-like.   “Since it was your first time interfacing and well, I am unable to remember much. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t too painful for you.”

“I am not sure I can describe it. It was rough and fierce but also passionate and I think a part of you was trying to be gentle. As much as you could.”

In a conversation you two had before, you had confessed that you had never interfaced with a human before. Although you were a healthy and attractive adult individual, you found it difficult to connect with others in such a way. It wasn’t that you didn’t have opportunities before but you were uninterested or scared of the act. 

Optimus began to wonder … If you didn’t want to do it with a human, would you even want to have intimacy with a Cybertronian? He feels like an idiot. You must find him repulsive. Unattractive. A monster. Even more now that he had taken something so precious to you.

“I have tainted your honor and I would like to take responsibility if you wish me to,”

“You tainted nothing,” you crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Optimus, not having sex or having sex doesn’t make you a better or worse person.” 

Your heart was beating too fast, almost coming out of your chest. Hoping that Optimus won’t notice it, you grab on to your arms tightly, it will probably leave marks.

“I am glad that it was with you,” you say as Optimus distances from you, walking around the elevated floor but not too far. “Even if it was in strange circumstances. I am fine, really.”

“But I am not fine with it,” he raises his voice. Although he is trying his best to show sanity, the more he remembers the act, the more his vexation. “All of this time. Ever since I met you, all I wanted was to have a bond with you. A genuine, pure connection and Megatron took that from me. He took my home, my friends, my life and he took you.”

There wasn’t a lot of light in his private quarters. Just the light emitting from his large data-screen. His optics were also a beautiful source of illumination. Most of the time they would be comforting but his evident anger made you question yourself.

“Optimus, is ok, really,” you remember his face plate during the act. He looked almost animalistic, unable to get enough but he looked to be enjoying himself. But now you questioned it. Maybe it was your imagination playing tricks.  “Unless … Did you find our interfacing … repulsive?”

“By Primus, no,” Optimus walks back towards you, for a moment he regrets speaking without any concerns about your feelings. “It’s just that I wished we had done so in more favorable terms.”

“Favorable terms?”

“In circumstances more worthy of you,” as he spoke, his processor began to put pictures in his mind. Of all the times he fantasized about you and him. Finally together with a peaceful life. Enjoying the beauty of a tranquil Earth and a rebuilt Cybertron. He thought of the many sparklings he would have and how they would look. Their names, both human and Cybertronian. And you of course,you next to him for as long as the universe allows you to.

 “In perfect conditions, we would have interfaced after concluding the Conjunx Ritus. Then we could had spark-bonded and I would have made you mine each night after that.”

Optimus took a moment to look at you, clear confusion on your face.

“Hypothetically speaking of course,” he quickly corrected himself.  “Only if there were mutual feelings.”

“And how do you feel?” you ask him. “About me?”

His spark was beating at a frequency unknown to him. But his spark and processor were not connected by the same circuit. What his spark wanted to say could not be pronounced and his processor spoke what little sanity he had while talking to you. 

“I think … You are … adequate?”

“I see,” His words offended you and you abruptly turned around, showing your back to him.  “I am sorry I can’t be better for you. Kinda stupid on my side to believe I could ever be.”

“No,no, that’s not what I mean. I–”

His words had come to a stop as he noticed a blue liquid. Such liquid ran down from your skirt, making its way down your right leg. 

Optimus had filled you with his transmission fluid, you felt the warm liquid run down your thigh. You touch it with your fingers only to confirm your suspicions. 

“Is it possible for a human and a Cybertronian to have a child?”

“I pray to Primus that’s the case.”

“What?”

Wanting to make sure you heard right, you turn to look at him. 

“I mean, I am not certain but if that would be the case then I’ll take full responsibility. I’ll take you as my Conjunx Endura and raise our sparkling together,” he hoped his voice didn’t sound too provoking,, he didn’t scare you with his excitement. 

“If that’s what you wish, of course.”

A few seconds of silence passed in which all Optimus’s processor could think of  were begging words.

“Say yes, say yes, say yes. Please. Please.”

On the other hand, you weren’t entirely sure what he meant as he used vocabulary unknown to you. You were also more concentrated on looking for something to clean yourself with. 

“I don’t know, I-”

“What is a Conjunx Endura? What if it means pet?”

“Only in the case you are with a sparkling! I wouldn’t dare to think of spending an eternity with you otherwise.”

He lies, that’s actually the only thing he thinks about. 

“Alright, Prime, you already said you find me disgusting. You don’t have to put any more salt on the wound.”

“Salt? What wound?”

It was frustrating to you, thinking he is cute when he blinks like that.As much as you would like to be angry with him for the continuous insulting. 

“Whatever. Look, everything is fine. I’ll be fine. I am tired. My body is pretty beat up so I think I’ll go rest now,” you look down at your bare legs. Still, the fluids slowly make their way down.  Feeling swollen and full, you knew you had to take a bath and clean yourself up. “Thank you for the experience, Prime. It was very significant.” 

Walking slowly, you made your way to the stairs. He didn’t want to let the conversation end like this. He panics at the bare thought of you being displeased and him being the cause of it. 

“I am sorry,” he stops you and gets your full attention. “It’s just that whenever I am in your presence, my processor seems to stop working.”

“... Am I that bad?”

Moving his helm from side to side, he can’t find words. He is usually eloquent and well spoken but all his being short-circuits. He can’t do it. As much as his spark begs him to confess, he rationally tells him to do otherwise. 

“No, it’s just—”

“Optimus, we have an issue.”

It was Ratchet’s voice, calling him through his Comm-Link. He ex-vents, he presses the button close to his helm and speaks loudly.

“I’ll be there soon.”

He doesn’t know how to make you stay. The more he looks at you, the more he is silent. His pedes are almost giving up. 

Optimus takes a closer look at you. Your breathing had changed, it has become slower. A few sweat drops run down from your face, your clothes were wrinkled. He is surprised he didn’t tear them off your body before. And your hair was a bit of a mess.

Your lips were red and swollen, probably too tired of kissing his dermas. To say you were intoxicating was an understatement as your smell combined with his had become his favorite aroma. 

He curses the gods … He can’t remember much but just flashbacks. Optimus wonders if he was able to make you moan his name, our of pleasure, out of pure ecstasy and bliss–

“Don’t you have to go?”

You break his trance. 

“I’ll be back,” he says. “Please make yourself comfortable.”

“I’ll try.”

He walks away. Unknown to you, he began to fantasize again. Praying to Primus of the impossible. With the small hope that when he comes back, he will find you on his berth. Ready to be taken by him once again.

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A/N: Sorry for any grammar and spelling mistakes. And for being unable to tag you :( I tried to write this to the best of my possibilities since I didn’t understand much of the prompt. Still, I am very thankful to anon for giving me my first story request! Inbox are always open for any ideas <3

Sorry if this isn’t exactly what you expected but I am new to the Transformer fandom so I am still not comfortable enough writing smut since I don’t think I know much of the lore and terminology for it. 

Also!

I want to state that I don’t write p0rn. But I do write erotica which is a more artistic way to write s3x. So don’t expect me to write hard core stuff, it’s just not really on my brand. Not saying one is better than the other, btw. It’s just a writing preference. BUT I can definitely write hotter stuff if needed lol. 

Anyways, thank you so much for the rest and the support! I am very thankful for every comment, like and reblog. 

See you y'all in the next story!

-taa1

[plutoswritingplanet]

Strip Me Down And Paint Me Black (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: ah shit, here we go again... A continuation of "It's A Special Death You Saved", but it can be read as a separate story. Title from "Cinnamon" by Marika Hackman

Warnings: Harkonnen-typical Violence, some Sexual Tension, some Kissing, Enemies to Lovers to Enemies to Lovers to Enemies to Lo...

Summary: As you struggle with your new role as the Na-Baron's wife, plans are set in place, which will shake the very foundations of your life. Good thing, your husband is there to support you, right?

He watches you. Constantly. 

You can feel his eyes moving over your body, soaking it in like a man parched. Every movement, every twitch of your muscles is noted, stored for later. It's like he's keeping a detailed record of your every reaction, as if he wants to keep it catalogued, create a mold of you in his mind. The furrowing of your brows and the squinting of your eyes, when the Black Sun of Giedi Prime first hits your vision. How your skin turns completely gray, devoid of any color, as you take your first step off the travelling ship. 

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze, refusing to meet it, as your eyes adjust to the sheer force of the swallowing black light. 

Touch is scarce and almost revered, when he lifts his hand to inspect a curl of your hair, the strand sliding between his fingers. He raises it towards the sun, admires it with silent appreciation, and somehow, instead of touching the softer parts of your being, this small gesture makes you want to scream. Because you know.

You understand, that this is what he wants to see. Black and white, and empty. No trace of the color before, only the bleakness and brutality of the Harkonnen. And you refuse, plain and simple. You refuse to be stuffed into this unforgiving planet, expected to bed yourself over to fit it. You value your Atreides lineage more than anything in life, and you'll sooner die, than discard it. 

No matter, how delicate he has been since your first night together, how much the heat of his alabaster skin has brought you comfort, you can feel in the pit of your stomach. That this is all some elaborate rouse to keep you docile. To keep you a perfect image of a wife, the future Na-Baroness. It can't be anything else, surely. 

So even now, as you admire the strangeness of this new planet, the blooming light that envelopes your skin, you force yourself to be on guard. Even as you look up at him, his sharp features and soft eyes, you bite down on any affection that might've reared its ugly head to the surface. This is not your home, and despite the ceremonies and the titles, this was not your husband. He was an impostor, a Devil sent from the Emperor himself to destroy your life. 

His lips flash in a mirthless smile, when his eyes lock with yours. The blackened teeth, the stained gums, you hated that mouth with all your being. You hated that it fit against yours, and that it didn't repulse you quite as much as you would've anticipated. And you hated his hands. The same ones capable of such ruthless brutality, and also more than capable of soothing your sore muscles, of toying with a lock of your hair, as if your entire being was made of the finest, most delicate glass.

A small, barely coherent voice whispers in your mind, reminding you of the rustling of the leaves when wind picked up, back home. You can't live like this, it supplies, you can't survive on hate alone. 

But you've always been stubborn, like a bull. And as his hand slides down to the dip of your waist, as he leads you from the spaceship to the shuttle, and then to the Palace, hate is all you can focus on. The swallowing pit of your stomach, much like the swallowing heat of the sun above you. It expands and pulsates within your veins, as your husband parades you like a prized trophy. Bald, white heads turn, salute the both of you, dissapear in a crowd of similar faces, similar blackened stares. 

It's like you're surrounded by an army of ghosts.

- Welcome home, wife - he whispers into your ear, and you don't know how you manage to stop tears from springing in your eyes. 

Not home. Never home. Your home had trees and oceans, and your Mother, your Father and your perfect Brother. Your home had Duncan, with his warm embrace and little scars littered all across his honey-colored skin. Your home had a sun that is warm and welcoming, that brings vibrancy to your life, and doesn't wash everything out, doesn't swallow all beauty. 

The clothes you wear, the clothes he wants you to wear, are nothing like what you're used to. They make your body feel foreign, like an accessory more than your own flesh. You hate the feeling of the sheer fabric clinging to your skin, like some suffocating membrane. The heavy jewelry, which reminds you more and more of a slave's collar. He put it on you with his own hands. Delicately fitting it around your neck, caressing it with the calloused pads of his fingers, a proud expression decorating his sharp featured like a war medal. 

You wonder what he sees, when he looks at you. Are your sentiments shared? Does he see you, as you see yourself, a doll dressed for his entertainment? A wife, should the politics require it? You're sure he does, there is no other way to describe the pitiful reflection in the mirror. Perhaps, in time, you might be able to fight back some semblance of dignity, to find a way of embracing these strange fabrics. Make this cold metal feel more like a necklace for a Baroness, rather than collar for cattle. Perhaps. 

Right now, however, as his Harpies dress you, you feel less like yourself and more like a toy, for your husband to enjoy. They can't really pin your hair properly, and you don't blame them, you really can't. When's the last time they were forced to care for someone in such a manner, if they ever were? Today, they're extra zealous, rubbing your skin raw with the chemically smelling oils. It makes your head swim, the scent of some unfamiliar paste. Your eyes water, and before you can blink the tears away, one of the Harpies soaks it up right from the corner of your eye with some flimsy tissue. 

She places the wet part against her tongue, and surprisingly, it doesn't bother you, as she tastes your tears, watching your reaction with completely black eyes. You meet her stare with a blank expression. At this moment, as she begins to slide another piece of sheer fabric over your body, you can't think of a way to be afraid of her, or her companion, which is fitting a pair of leather slippers over your feet. What lies ahead is so much more terrifying.

The Baron Vladimir Harkonnen has invited you for dinner. 

The news is delivered by a horrified servant, bald head bowed, seconds after you arrive in your marital room. Your husband doesn't even blink, immediately shedding his travel clothing, and disappearing somewhere out of your sight. The Harpies swarm into the room soon after, carrying various vials and bowls, and you already know the routine. 

The prospect of dining with your family's greatest enemy seems so outlandish, your body doesn't fully register the danger. Instead, you can feel yourself shut down, sink into yourself, between the constant expanding and contracting of your lungs, and the sound of your blood rushing through your skull. 

Only, when one of the Harpies turns you towards a polished piece of black obsidian, only when you can finally see yourself, do you react. A barely-there gasp escapes your mouth, because for the second time today, you're surprised with the brutal beauty of this place, and how easily you blend into it. The Harpy leans over your shoulders, stands on her toes to reach you, and before you can react, her teeth scrape over the shell of your ear. 

It doesn't hurt, and you turn your head towards her, faces inches from each other. Her head turns to the side, like some curious bird, and yet again, you can't fully decide whether you're looking at a human being, or some animalistic experiment. Your hand lifts itself on its own accord, fingers finding the Harpy's chin. Gently, but with enough force, you turn her face away from yourself. She doesn't recoil from your touch, doesn't react in any violent manner. If anything, her expression in the obsydian mirror looks almost bordering on proud. You try not to shiver at the thought. 

Then, your husband appears from the shadows, truly demon-like, and the women, or creatures, scurry out of the room, vials clanking against each other, as they gather them in their muscled arms. For just a second you're struck with the realization, that you miss their company, unsettling as it is.

- Don't be afraid of them - those are the first words coming from Feyd-Rautha you've heard since you've arrived. 

- I'm not - and truly, you mean it. 

He regards you with a long, dragging look, taking in the layers of fabric encapsulating the shape of your body. It's truly a hassle, to stop yourself from flinching, when the length of his body presses against your back. His chin finds purchase in the juncture between your shoulder and the column of your neck, and his head dips down to inhale the scent of your skin. You can't believe he's able to smell anything other than the strong chemicals his Harpies rubbed into you, but you don't argue. Instead, you sway in his hold, closing your eyes, and letting your imagination take you somewhere warmer, somewhere home. 

- I need you to be very careful tonight - he whispers into your skin, and you almost whine at being forced out of your daydream - My Uncle doesn't take kindly to insubordination, and although you are my wife, I won't be able to protect you from everything. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his skin, white and spotless, pressing into yours, marred with freckles and beauty spots. What a contrast you make against him. His mouth moves over your artery, nose dragging upwards, until he reaches the space behind your ear. He plants a kiss there, which immediately turns into a small bite, and your hands grip onto his forearms. 

- Careful, you sound almost concerned about my well-being - there's a limited amount of sarcasm one could convey with such a breathless tone, but you manage, eyes locked onto the silhouette of the both of you in the mirror. 

To that, he lifts his head, eyes locking with yours in the reflection. 

- I don't like when others break my toys - he answers with a shrug, and laughs quietly at your outraged expression. - I prefer to do it myself. 

Your muscles tense beneath his grip, and you turn to face him fully. Still, he doesn't let go, holding you close, smirking at you with that same self-satisfied expression. 

- Oh don't worry - your cheeks start to warm up at the teasing tone of his voice - I haven't even had the time to properly play with you.

- I ha-

- Hate me, I know. - he interrupts, one of his hands coming up to grab at your chin, tilting your head towards him - Tonight, try to hate me in the privacy of our bedroom. For your own sake.

His head dips down, lips slotting against yours easily, and although you fight hard against the pull, soon, your mouth moves against his in a kiss that is entirely too gentle for the nature of your relationship. He whispers something in that godawful Harkonnen language, tilting his chin to kiss the corner of your mouth, your jaw. Then, satisfied, he lets you go, and you encircle yourself with your own arms, refusing to admit, that you're cold without him. 

Making a mental note to ask for tutorship on the language, you allow him to lead you out of the safety of your shared bedroom, down the winding, black corridors, towards your first, and biggest challenge. 

- With courage and grandiose... - you whisper, as the door to the dining hall slides open, and ignore with all your might, the way your husband's hand twitches around your waist. 

The first member of the court you meet, is not the Baron. 

Instead, a man of slender stature comes out to greet the both of you, a polite smile plastered on his tattooed lips. His eyes flicker between you and your husband, and absentmindedly, they remind you of little black beetles. 

- Piter de Vries - he introduces himself, grabbing your hand with graceful movement - Mentat of the court. 

He places a kiss over your knuckles, and something scarily close to disgust rises in your gut. 

- The holotapes don't reflect your beauty, my lady - his voice is unsettlingly quiet, and it worms itself into your ears like an unwelcome guest. 

Still, your husband's thumb moves against your back, rubbing up and down your spine, and you swallow thickly before replying.

- I'm honored to meet you.

He can see through the lie like you're made of glass, but you can't find it in you to care. This is not the man you're supposed to convince, and even if this Mentat is a constant whisper in the Baron's ear, let him know there's character to you still. 

- I assure you, the honor is mine - his eyes glide over your features greedily, and you wonder if this hunger is a characteristic of all inhabitants of this planet - It's not everyday you meet Lady Jessica's Daughter. 

Blood freezes in your veins at the comment, and not even the ever-present touch of your husband can stop your expression from changing. Ice and steel overtake, as you fix the Mentat in front of you with a hard stare. There is something in his gaze, something slimy and dangerous, that makes a pit form in your stomach. Still, tied to court's intricate pleasantries, you twist your face into a forced smile. 

- You know my Mother? - the question slips out from between your teeth.

The man nods, a perverted version of a curtsy that makes you want to turn on your heel, and haul yourself back into your room. Damn your husband and all the uncomfortable ways he makes you squirm, you'll take it all if it meant never talking to this Mentat ever again. 

- In a way - the answer does nothing to calm your nerves - Her talents are known throughout the whole galaxy. 

- Yes, I'm sure they are - the barely noticable note of sarcasm some how registers in your husband's brain, and with a guiding hand, he pushes you forward, towards the dining hall.

Before you can get away from the Mentat, his unnaturally cold hand wraps itself around your wrist, keeping you in place with light pressure. 

- I'm desperately interested in what you may offer the court - he says, voice low and bordering on ominous, and the pit in your stomach trurns into a boulder.

Lips curling in disgust, you wrench your hand away, but as you wind your palm back to deliver a slap across the smirking man's face, something white enters your vision. From behind your back, Feyd Rautha delivers a resounding hit to the Mentat's cheek, with enough force to send him stumbling to the floor. Your mouth hangs agape, as that same hand curls around your waist, and pushes forward, until you're forced to take a step, and then another. 

Whipping your head around to look at him, all you can see, is that same passively bored expression he has worn, since your arrival to the planet. Not even a muscle twitches, not until the door closes behind you in the dining hall. Eyes trained forward, the hand guiding you slides up your spine right to the base of your head, where he grabs a loose fistful of your hair, and pries you away from him, setting your face forward. 

Like a doll, your mind supplies, but all further thoughts get swallowed by a thundering wave of anxiety, as your eyes fall onto the only other man present in the dining hall. 

You can't fully comprehend where the floor ends and the walls begin, the whole room looking more like an endless void of black, polished stone. The table is obscenely long, but narrow, and filled with various foods, none of which you recognize. Your breath catches, as you notice a macabre center piece right in the middle of the table. A beautiful female deer stands surrounded by black flowers, it's limbs kept immobile by some invisible force. It's eyes move though, skittering around the place, revealing that this poor creature used as some messed up decoration, is in fact alive. 

- Welcome, my dear nephew - a low, slightly slurred voice rings out throughout the empty space, and finally, you can feel real dread. 

- Uncle. - Feyd Rautha inclines his head, before all but pushing you forward into the belly of the beast.

And what a terrifying belly it is. 

The Baron Vladimir Harkonnen towers over the end of the table, his frame as difficult to comprehend as the rest of the dining hall. He smiles at your husband, a show of black teeth against greying skin, and then his eyes move towards you. He doesn't hide the cruel, twisted expression, that flashes across his face, contorted in the low, floating lights. Then, as if a mask slipped onto him while you were blinking, he looks decievingly kind, like an image of a caretaker, distorted in a nightmare. 

- Lady Atreides - his voice bellows, and despite every muscle in your body screaming at you to run, you take a step forward, before taking a shallow bow - A spitting image of your Father. I'm delighted to have you here, on my planet. 

Swallowing hard, you risk a glance at your husband. He has abandoned you in favor of taking a seat in the only one of two available chairs. Blue eyes flash towards you, a hidden warning, and dare you say, a hint of concern. The deer on the table is breathing rapidly, you've just noticed. 

- My Baron - your voice doesn't shake, a small blessing - I'm honored to meet you. 

The rehearsed line seems hallow in the booming echo of the dining room, and you pray that it's enough. 

The Baron gives you no answer, as he wordlessly gestures towards the table, and after a second your body jerks in the direction of the chair. With stiff movements, you sit down, your dress digging uncomfortably under your ribs. The deer looks at you, it's eyes wide, nose contracting rapidly as it inhales. You want to grab it into your hands, tear it away from the force keeping it trapped, and set it free, so it can run into the fields of Caladan. Your husband takes a long sip from his chalice, and you mirror his movements. 

The liquid is sickly sweet, with a strong, chemical taste that coats your entire mouth. Fighting with the urge to spit it out, your neck strains as you swallow, feeling it travel down your throat, and into the pit of your stomach. 

Are you supposed to be the deer in this place? 

Feyd Rautha reaches for a vase of something vaguely resembling meat, and doesn't bother with his plate, taking the leg into his hand, and biting into it with reckless abandon. Some dark liquid spills over his mouth, down to his chin, and you have to look away, as he captures your gaze in an entirely too heated stare. This is not the time, you want to scream at him, but take another sip from the chalice instead. 

- A monumental moment in history is happening right in front of my eyes - the Baron starts, and your hand freezes half-way towards your lips. - The union of House Harkonnen and House Atreides. The Emperor truly is a wise man. 

- Of course - you agree, tying sarcasm to the back of your throat like an angry dog - I'm ever so grateful.

- I'm sure you are. 

The Emperror wants you dead, there is no other explanation. You can't move, can't look anywhere but the eyes of the deer, seeing yourself in the reflection of it's glossy iris. Save yourself, it seems to scream at you, and your throat constricts around your airwave. Save yourself, because I couldn't.

- Your cousin will be joining us shortly - the Baron directs his gaze towards Feyd-Rautha, and your husband immediately straightens his back against the chair. 

- Rabban? Shouldn't he be on Arrakis? - you don't remember when you've become so in-tune with your husband, but you sense his interest peaking immediately.

Something's wrong, something's terribly wrong, you can feel it. This slow dread climbs up your back like a snake, before sinking it's teeth into your nape. Eyes searching your husband's your fingers tighten around the chalice, around cold, black metal. You try to remember what your Mother would've done in a situation such as this. How she would comfort herself. Fear is the mind-killer, is the only thing that arrives, and the thought is as comforting, as a cold shower.

- By the Emperor's decree, our House has been ordained to leave Arrakis in favor of it's new stewardship.

You know what words are going to fall next, before they fall, and you close your eyes to brace for impact. 

- The stewardship of your Father. Of House Atreides. 

Someone save you, please. Your eyelids flutter open, gaze falling over your husband, as he watches you with a myriad of emotions running through his expression. You pray it doesn't settle on anger, and your prayers are heard. There is a cruel, twisting smirk in the corner of his mouth, and he turns his head to look at his Uncle, with a silent question. The Baron inclines his head ever so slightly, you can see movement in the corner of your eye, but the deer is still breathing, and for some reason you have to keep an eye on it, you have to know it's still alive. 

You are not stupid. You've been trained to not be stupid, in life and in politics. It doesn't take too keen of a mind to understand the gravity of the situation. The steady flow of immense wealth the Harkonnens were known for, is suddenly cut short. Given to a rival House. This was not some beautiful gift of appreciation, this was a stoker shoved right into the burning flames. 

- I'm honored - you repeat, like a bell in a church tower, and somewhere to your left, the Baron laughs. 

- There will be celebrations, later this week - he continues, as if he hasn't just delivered life shattering news - We will honor your marriage in the traditions of our ancestors. 

- Which is? - you don't really care anymore if the shift in your tone is registered as offensive. 

Feyd Rautha actually, without a doubt kicks you under the table. You shoot him a look bordering on pure shock and outrage, and all you get in response is an arched eyebrow. 

Something rattles below you, a tell-tale sound of machinery whirling to life. It gives you only one second to register, but as soon as it does, your heart jumps up into your throat. Paper thin panes of glass shoot out from under the table. The deer gives a pathetic squeak, as it's body is cut into equal pieces. No blood is shed, the whole operation barely moves the air in the dining room, and you watch the life drain from the deer's eyes, as the panes begin to move. 

They separate each piece, creating a cross-section of it's insides. The chemical wine threatens to rush back out of you, and your dig your nails into your palms. Your husbands shoe settles in constant, grounding pressure against your ankle, and although you would never admit it, it's the only thing keeping you from shattering. Whether it's a threat or a promise, you can't be sure, but there is frost in your veins, and fire in your eyes, as you slowly turn your head towards the Baron. 

He's wrong. All of them are wrong. You're not some deer, some lost shivering thing, made for a display of cruelty. You will not be brough down to some decoration, and so, you raise your chin higher, and hold the Baron's gaze. His eyes, gleaming with violent delight, jump around your face, this strange battle coming to a sudden end, as the corner of his mouth quirks up.

He moves his hand in the air dismisively, and your husband stands up, a laziness to his movements. You stand up too, your chair shuffling against the polished floor, stiff limbs fighting for an illusion of graceful movements. Wishing you could drive your point further, you bow again, this time, your eyes remain glued to the black beads of irises, shining in the amassing of flesh that is the Baron's face. 

And then you're off, heels clicking on the floor, as you bypass your husband and all but storm out of the dining hall. He follows you, you can feel his pressence on your back, but there's too many emotions running through your head to find it unsettling. The silence of it all, the calmness. Perhaps you would've preferred if he had been angry with you, if you could pinpoint his reaction, bottle it up to hate it later. 

Right now, you can't do much, other than run to your shared rooms, pretend like they are a solice, a safe space for you to exist, when in reality, they're anything but. The unsettling realization, that you navigate these corridors like a natural born Harkonnen will hit you later today, but as such, you are blinded by your own anger.

 - Did you know? - the question sounds more like a demand, as soon as the door closes behind you.

Back turned, you stand in the middle of the bedroom, finally granting yourself the luxury of outrage. Shoulders rise and fall in tandem with your labored breaths, and your nails have bitten crescent moons into your palms. 

- Yes. - you've anticipated his answer, and still, it shocks you to the very core of your being.

Hair whips around your face, as you turn to face him., strands all but slipping from the inexperienced updo. He holds  your gaze with steady eyes, crosses his arms on his chest, but has the decency of looking on edge. 

- How long?

- The news came right after the engagement began.

That, admittedly, knocks the wind out of your lungs, and you take a step back, until your behind collides with the obsidian desk. Hiding your face in your hands, you rub your palms against your temples, tug at the roots of your hair in the process. 

- So, what now? - you ask, sounding so drained, so tired, you almost don't recognize your voice.

His shoes invade your vision, as he steps closer. Your husband, your Bull. You don't want to look up at his face, scared of what you'll find there. He doesn't share the same sentiment, apparently, as he lifts your chin with his fingers, until you meet him with a withering expression. 

Feyd Rautha leans down, capturing your lips with his. Not really in the mood for kissing, as your head races with a myriad of terrible thought, you push against him. Should've known better, he loves a fight. Tongue slipping through the barrier of your teeth, you can taste the strangely chemical wine on his breath. His hands grab what they can of your body, until they settle on the sides of your face, where he tugs you up onto your tippy toes, taking a drink of you, like he did from the chalice. 

Breathless and confusingly aroused, your fingers twist into the material of his dress shirt, but before you can truly let go, he pulls away. Hands still on your face, you are suddenly pulled forwards, as he drags you in front of the mirror. Thrown off guard by this change of pace, you try to writhe yourself away, only to be gripped even tighter, so hard, you can feel something shift under the skin of your jaw. 

There are dark stains all around your lips, stains that taste just like the wine. Feyd Rautha stands behind you, much like he did before the dinner, but all comfort from that moment is trampled under his foot, as he slides his arms around you. 

- Now, I must make you into a Harkonnen - he rasps into the base of your neck.

Then, reaching towards your lips, he wedges his fingers inside, pulls until you can see your teeth in the reflection. Black, thick liquid covers them completely, staining your mouth in the process. The wine, you realize, but before you can rationalise any more, tears spring in the corners of your mouth. Disgust bubbles in your stomach like an awoken volcano. Disgust and anger, so much anger. 

Your husband humms softly behind you, cranes your head back. 

Your body feels foreign again, as he kisses your tears off of your skin.

[quandledlngle69]

⸻ 潔 世一 ISAGI YOICHI.

⋆˙⟡ synopsis & tw; The church falsely accuses you of being a witch, and unfortunately, isagi doesn't believe your innocence. reader is implied to be fem, implied corrupt religion. w.c 0.6k.

"your a witch." the words come out in a bitter, accusatory murmur. isagi's eyes narrow in on the back of your head, as if he's trying to imagine what expression is taking hold of your features in regards to his heavy words.

he's more worried, if anything–that his poorly thought out plan would backfire on him, that you'll turn around in some kind of fit of rage, transforming into an ugly creature with sickly green skin and gnarly fingernails–but you don't.

instead, you unhurriedly get up from your crouched position over the butter churner, sooty face twisted in a puzzled expression. it burns permanently in his memory.

to think he'd only confessed a few days ago, that you'd giggled and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, shared promised whispers of a wedding in the coming times, lost to the wind. to think he had waved at you on this day at the burst of dawn, your busy figure tending to a handful of unmilked cows.

"....a witch?" you snorted, but not from playfulness, but as if you're not really believing his words. he thinks it's worse that your acting confused, that you don't know what he's talking about. it's another thing witches are good for–deceiving. although, he's hoping deep inside that you aren't. that the words forcefully falling from his lips isn't true. "yoichi, what are you talking abo–"

"–you're a witch, i know it." he interrupts, taking a step forward, but he doesn't sound convinced of his own words.

his mouth is pressed into a thin line, hands clenched by his sides. your eyes flicker from them to his face, and from there you understand he's not jesting around. he can see the rag go stiff in your clenched fists, so hard your knuckles turn white. they match his own. now your face really looks incredulous, but wary. you let out a shaky exhale, and he continues.

"the clergy–they claimed they saw you talking to a black snake in some strange...gibberish! the priest was told...the whole village is bound to know what you are."

he can't bring himself to meet your eyes, no. so he opts for staring at your worn out boots, that had stayed rooted to the floor. there's a moment of tense silence, during which he rethinks every encounter he's ever had with you. the cross resting low on your neck seems to be mocking him. he swears he could cut a knife through the thickness of tension between you.

"...and you believe them?"

his whole body recoiled as if he was shot, yet in an instant his face twisted as if a repulsive thought crossed his mind. "h–how can i not?" he blurted, shaking his head hard. "God's messengers only tell the truth. why would they lie?"

his counter question made you speechless, because he's right in a way, why would they lie? but you know you didn't do it. you're not a witch by any means, everyone in the village only knew you as an innocent, hard–working cow maid. hell–you don't even like snakes, nearly deathly afraid of the slithering serpents. but isagi only takes what he can see, that being, your muteness a solely guilt–riddled confession. he snatches the warped conclusion up like a vice, as if it's the speck of darkness tainting the light, ripping out and exposing it for everyone to see.

he stalked closer until his face was inches from yours, and the condemnatory finger pointed to your chest made you flinch.

isagi feels no sympathy.

"they'll put you on trial," he warns slowly, and your lip quivers, as if the suppressed dread is finally nestling deep in your chest. your vision hazes, as you stare into his unforgiving ones, unknown tears pricking your eyes. "then, we will hear who's really insincere."

Quandaledlngle69 © 2025

[fallingwillow]

tornado warnings

This was my first ever time writing a fic or doing something like this so please be nice💓

summary: You and Harry were just about to start exploring your relationship further than friendship when it stops before it can even start.

trope: forbidden love

part 1 - 2,248 words.

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“Did you just take the lollipop out of his mouth and put it into your own?” Simon asks with disgust and gestures between you and I while all 6 of us sit around yet another meeting table in a random office building in a random country. I’m pretty sure we’re in Cologne right now which is actually a pretty beautiful place when you get the chance to look around.

I glance to you beside me, now having my cherry lollipop between those perfect lips of yours. Honestly if you let me I would probably spend the rest of my waking moments in life kissing them and I wouldn’t have a single complaint. I send you a subtle wink once Simon turns his back to us again and returns to looking at the next plan for how we would all charm the world next with more songs that somehow fit the picture to just about every tween and teen person in the world.

Until a familiar Irish voice perks up…

“Ah but sharing saliva isn’t exactly new for those two now, is it?” Niall jokes, clearly having forgotten that it wasn’t just us and the rest of the boys in the room where he would be able to get away with those types of jokes.

My head snaps to Niall’s direction immediately, my green eyes narrowed and meeting his widened blue to give him a glare of warning to shut up and to not say anything more that could get you and I into trouble.

But it was too late. 

Simon’s hand paused in the air from where he had been writing on the whiteboard and his whole body stiffened for a moment as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard and didn’t know how to register the new information. It fell back down to his side as he slowly turned to Niall with a stern and unforgiving face.

“Would you care to explain to me, Mr Horan, how exactly Harry and Y/N have shared saliva before?” He asks with distaste at the question and also at how Niall had phrased it, like it physically repulsed him to repeat the previously stated words.

I clench my jaw and look at you nervously, you mirroring my anxiety with your own jaw slightly slack with shock, before I look back at Niall with a stare that says “fix it.”

Niall’s face grows hot as he looks between Louis, Liam and Zayn as if searching for help despite him having been the one that spoke the words that could now potentially ruin everything you and I had been trying to build together over the last week. 

“Uhh… What? Nah, nothing” Niall stammers out a pathetic response, his anxiety and guilt already beginning to consume him under Simon’s intense stare. He’s completely fucked up and he knows it. I think back to the moment and night I know he’s talking about and suddenly wish I was still in that moment, it was so blissful and surreal and I’d give anything to be there rather than here right now.

—

About a week earlier…

We had finished a particularly stressful concert a few hours prior to arriving at our hotel for tonight. Fans fainted, things were thrown, and I’m 99% sure now that Niall won’t be having kids. Not after one of the toy figures of us was thrown on stage and hit him right in the bollocks. I’m pretty sure it was a doll of himself too which only makes it funnier.

None of us even said goodnight to each other as we reached the floor our rooms were on. There were signs on the wall stating this was a “quiet area” and that after 11pm conversations must be hushed.  Now I knew that none of us had brought anyone back tonight however it wasn’t out of the ordinary for a couple of us to do so. So whatever hotel they had us staying in better be grateful that we were too exhausted to play around tonight.

I shoved the roomkey into the door of my room and watched as the little green light flickered to accept the chip inside the small piece of plastic that granted me access to my room and more importantly my bed. I was about to walk straight into my room and flop onto the bed without even bothering to change when I heard a soft voice behind me.

“Harry?”

Your sweet, angelic voice disrupts all my thoughts of sleep as I turn to look at you. My gaze softened immediately as my eyes traced over your delicate face that was lit up by the orange glow of the cheap hotel lighting, I could see every single detail on your face and it only made it more difficult for me to pretend like I wasn’t completely and utterly infatuated with you.

“Y/N? You okay? Need something before bed?” I ask gently, immediately going into a sort of protective mode that just happened whenever I was around you. I couldn’t help it. I wanted to keep you away from every single bad thing in the world and just keep you safe. And preferably in my arms.

Your head tilts a little, sort of mimicking how a dog would when it wants a treat or is curious, your melodic voicing ringing out and into my ears as you speak again. “I was just wondering how tired you are? Maybe we could hang out for a bit?”

“Nope. Not tired at all actually, come in.” 

Christ I was whipped.

We stepped into my hotel room. It was pretty standard, a double bed pushed against the centre of the wall with two oak bedside tables framing it. The white cotton sheets signature for every hotel room just about ever. I could already taste the oddly metallic coffee that I would make using the mini kettle sitting on the desk below the tv, accompanied by packets of sugar and miniature capsules of milk that always freaked me out because who knows how long they’ve been left out.

I walk further into the room and set down my rucksack full of clothes and other essentials like my toothbrush and toothpaste. I watch as you do the same, setting your bag next to mine before flopping on my bed as if it were your own and getting comfortable. God how I wished you actually were sharing my bed tonight and that I could hold you in my arms- No Harry. That’s your friend. Stop it, control yourself.

“Making yourself comfy?” I laugh as I join you and lie back, staring at the ceiling and grimacing slightly at the fact there was somehow coffee stains on the ceiling. I decide to distract myself from the thoughts consuming my mind of how much I wanted to shuffle closer to you by trying to make you laugh instead. “Right, here’s one for ya, how the fuck do you think someone managed to make coffee so terribly it ended up on the ceiling?”

Your soft laughs fill my ears and I’m immediately proud of the joke I made. We carried on talking for what felt like hours, which truthfully is what it ended up being. We got to the hotel at about midnight and it was now 3:00a.m. We spoke about how the tour had been going, how Liam had been pulling out some extra good pranks this time round and about anything else that came to our minds.

An adorable but sleepy yawn sounded from your throat, pulling me from the bliss of forgetting the real world around us and that we had a lot of stuff to do in the morning and another show that same evening. 

“Come on you, probably best you get going to your own room now” I sit up and pat your thigh gently to gesture for you to do the same, which you do but not without an adorable pout on your face that makes me want to retract the words I just said and give in to whatever you wanted instead.

“You’re kicking me out? Ouch Harry…” 

I roll my eyes jokingly and nudge your shoulder with mine, “Yeah, you’re stinking out my hotel room. Gonna have to spray deodorant after you lea-”

My words were cut off when you sleepily leant forward and pressed your lips to mine. Fireworks. That was the only word I could use to describe the feeling of having your lips pressed to mine after having pined for you for the last three years of knowing each other. I kiss you back lazily, my own tired brain not having enough energy to deepen it and show you how badly I really wanted to kiss you. However the gears in my brain start turning just enough to register that you actually just kissed me. The shock makes me lean back, my eyes wide and pupils dilated.

“Y/N what the fuck?! You- You can’t just kiss me after I was saying you smell I-” My words leave my mouth in a horrific stammer and I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks which were definitely a terrible shade of red by now, all composure I ever had around you now having completely disappeared.

“Sorry H, I- um… I’ve been wanting to do that for a while and just how long we’ve been talking tonight it felt right in the moment. You’re right I shouldn’t have-”

Now it was your turn to get cut off. My lips found yours again and moved in an addictive harmony. My eyes closed and my brows furrowed as I put all the focus I had left in my exhausted brain into kissing you. It was like a beautifully composed sonnet had come to life in the form of our kiss. It was better than I could’ve imagined, better than the dreams I had that left me waking up in a cold sweat. We kissed for a few minutes more, exploring each other more than ever before and getting used to what the other responded well to before we pulled away and then did it all over again.

The rest of that night was a blur. I took you back to your hotel room and bid you goodnight at the door but not without a barrage more of kisses, still both in complete disbelief that we could now freely do that. I was so tempted when you pulled on the bottom of my shirt to try and coax me into your hotel room to keep kissing but I had been responsible for once and held off so that we could both get some much needed sleep, promising you that I’ll make it up to you tomorrow with extra kisses.

It turns out that also that night neither of us could keep the events to ourselves, needing desperately to share them with the others. I phoned and woke up Niall and Louis immediately while you did the same for Liam and Zayn and we both divulged the secret and our excitement for what this now meant for us.

—

Simon’s hand slamming down on the table pulled me out of my daydream and the sweet dreamland I had briefly escaped to. “You two are not to engage in any more romantic interactions, public or private. You have an image to uphold and your actions don’t only affect you but the rest of the band also. Do you understand me?” His loud voice boomed angrier than it should have in the small office and I was honestly surprised that no one had come knocking yet.

I look around the room to try and gather what I missed while being away with the clouds but the sight I was met with wasn’t a pleasant one. Louis, Liam, and Zayn all looked like they were just scared to even open their mouths with fear that they’d be shouted at too, their eyes were all blown out and strictly fixed to the table before them. Niall was staring at the floor with an incredibly guilty look on his face and refusing to look at anyone, the tips of his ears having turned red out of stress. And you, oh God you. You looked like you were ready to burst into tears any second now and the sight tugged at my heartstrings. It all registers to me that Simon must’ve gotten it out of Niall about our kiss and how we were exploring the parameters of our friendship.

“Right, yeah, we got it. No more.” I find the words leaving my mouth just to appease Simon. Not because I meant them, of course I didn’t mean them, but just because I knew how difficult you were finding tour this time round already and I knew Simon could make it a whole lot harder for you if we chose now to rebel against him and management. You were already in therapy for the struggles you’d been facing lately although I was 90% sure you haven’t been telling your therapist the whole truth about everything you were feeling and that only made me feel worse. However the way I see your face fall at my words out of the corner of my eye made me want to say fuck it all and be together anyway. My words must’ve hit you hard because when you finally compose yourself enough to speak all you can manage is a singular meek and muttered word.

“Understood.”

[lanalace]

Our Last Hunt - Part 2

Yandere Caleb x Reader

[Chapter - 1] [Chapter - 3]

Summary: Y/n made a mistake that changed her life forever. Once a fearless hunter of blood-sucking fiends, she is now becoming the very thing she once swore to kill. How can she live with herself? And how will her immortal brother—the one who raised her, trained her, and protected her react when he discovers she’s turning into a creature of the night?

Warnings: Manipulation, Murder, Dubious Consent, NSFW, Psedo-incest, Smut, Dead Dove Do Not Eat 🔞

Word count: 8.5k 🍏🍎

Chapter 2

The first thing Y/n registered was the insidious thrumming, a foreign vibration that pulsed through her veins, a sickening reminder of stolen life. Her skin still prickled where Caleb had touched her, a phantom sensation that sent a fresh wave of self-loathing crashing over her. She blinked against the weak morning light, disoriented, her limbs heavy and strangely energized all at once.

Fragments of the nightmarish feeding tore through her mind, the shocking heat of Caleb’s blood, like liquid fire scorching its way down her throat; the raw, involuntary moan that had been wrenched from him as her fangs pierced his flesh. The memory was a brutal violation, twisting her gut with revulsion. She had crossed a line so deep it was unspeakable, staining their bond beyond forgiveness.

‘I used him. I came grinding on my brother like an animal. I forced myself on him. My own brother. I let that— that thing inside me defile him.’ The shame was a crushing weight, suffocating her with guilt. She had crossed a line so unforgivable, stained their bond in a way she could never erase. ‘How can I even look him in the eye after that? I’m a horrible sister…’ She covered her face with her hands, it felt as if her life was falling apart again within the span of 24 hours. 

‘Gege surely hates me. He probably thinks I’m some disgusting deviant after what I did. Ugh! How could I even do something like this?’ She whined, desperately wanting to disappear, have the bed swallow her whole so that she didn’t have to face him. Alas, that was impossible. ‘It’s all my fault for going out without gege. Now I’m this… monster. I hate it.’

In her distress, her tongue instinctively traced the subtle sharpness that still lingered where her fangs had extended. They were retracted now, thankfully, but the phantom ache was a constant, throbbing reminder of her new reality. And then there was the sound. A steady, rhythmic pulse, insistent and clear, emanating from the room next door. Caleb’s heartbeat. She could hear it through the wall, a horrifying intimacy, a constant testament to her irrevocably heightened senses.

The scent of freshly made rice and sweet aroma of braised chicken wings drifted under her door, a domestic normalcy that felt like a cruel mockery. ‘Caleb.’ He was up, moving, preparing food as if nothing monstrous had occurred between them. A fresh wave of shame, hot and searing, washed over her. ‘How am I going to face him? I don’t think I can…’

That thought was rendered useless because the moment it came, Caleb entered her room, carrying a breakfast tray with forced cheerfulness. He smiled, a gentle, nurturing expression that felt… calculated, his galaxy eyes holding a strange, unreadable depth.

“Morning, sleepyhead. I made your favorite.”

The sight of the familiar breakfast felt repulsive, despite the heavenly sight. It was now tainted by the memory of the night. ‘I don’t deserve his care.’ she lamented as she kept her head down, her hair falling in a way that exposed her neck to him. 

Caleb’s gaze lingered on the bandage he’d placed on her neck after she’d passed out, his fingers brushing her skin with a possessive tenderness as he set the tray on her bedside table.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was soft, laced with concern. His hand felt warm  on her chilled skin felt so good, she almost leaned into it. Almost. But she remembered her place and stayed still, allowing him to assess her wound. The brunette’s touch lingered a fraction too long, a subtle affectionate caress that made her skin crawl.

Y/n mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, as if to physically shield herself from him. “Tired. And… sick.”

He chuckled softly. “Of course, you are. Last night was… intense.” He paused, his gaze sharpening, as he replayed the events of the previous night.

 “You were so close to losing control, Y/n. You’d have killed someone if I wasn’t here to… guide you. We’ve got to get a handle on things. You're going to need me now, more than ever.” The words were gentle, almost soothing, but the underlying message was a chilling assertion of his control.

“We?” She said, trembling. “You want to help me even after what I did?” Her whole body began to quake as tears fell from her eyes. Caleb’s brows furrowed as the familiar scent of salt cut through the air. ‘She’s crying?’ 

Without warning, he gripped her chin firmly, forcing her to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed her damp cheek, her beautiful crystalline eyes were glistening. “Meimei.” His voice was unusually tight. “What’s wrong?” He questioned her. ‘What could possibly be troubling you, little one?’

Y/n’s face scrunched up before a pathetic sob left her lips. “Why are you being so nice to me?” She cried, her voice raw with self-loathing. Before he could respond, she rushed out, “After what I did last night…  I’m sorry gege. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you like that. I swear!”

Something inside Caleb snapped.

He hauled her small frame against his chest, wrapping his arms around her trembling body and holding her so tightly it was as if he could fuse them together. “You silly girl,” he murmured against her hair, rocking her gently. “I could never be mad at you. It’s not your fault. It’s just your biology now.”

His voice softened to a conspiratorial whisper. “What kind of brother would I be if I turned away from you in your time of need?”

He slid onto the bed properly, leaning back against the headboard, pulling her closer, cradling her on his lap like something precious. Something that now belonged entirely to him. ‘My sweet, naive meimei, of course you would blame yourself. Did you forget how much I enjoyed you that night?’ he thought bitterly. How easily she twisted the night into something shameful when, for him, it had been a revelation.

‘Only you would be more concerned about potentially upsetting me rather than the fact that you are now undead.’ He closed his eyes and rested his chin on top of her head. 

“But I—I forced…”

“Ssshhh meimei.” He hushed her firmly, one hand stroking her hair, the other pressing her tighter against him. “Gege isn’t upset with you. You were hungry, that’s all.” 

He tightened his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. He wanted to touch her like he did last night, he hoped for it— wished to feel her needy body come alive for him again. Alas, with her current state, he will have to take things at a much slower pace than he anticipated. ‘At least she isn’t fighting my touch right now. This is enough.’

“For now,” he murmured into her hair quietly.

“But—”

”That’s enough, meimei.”  Caleb said sharply, his tone brooking no argument. Y/n stiffened instinctively, understanding the warning. She knew better than to respond when he was like this. His voice softened a fraction. “I will never abandon you. Never.” He knew her well, knew that was really what she feared.

“No more crying, yeah?” he teased gently, wiping her damp cheeks with his thumb. “What kind of vampire cries?”

A broken laugh escaped her lips, small but real and Caleb’s heart swelled. He kissed the top of her head, a possessive gesture.

‘Soon,’ he promised himself. ‘Soon, you’ll realize I am the center of your world just as you are in mine.’

🍏🍎

A few weeks had passed since the turning. A semblance of routine had settled over Y/n's life, though it felt fragile, like a thin layer of ice over a deep, dark lake. Caleb was a constant presence, a concerned shadow hovering just at the edge of her personal space. He found endless excuses for casual touches – a hand on her shoulder as he passed, a lingering brush against her arm when he handed her a book. Small gestures, carefully calibrated not to spook her, but Y/n felt them nonetheless, each contact a subtle reminder of the intimacy they had shared and the chasm it had created within her.

To her relief, she could still enjoy human food. A warm bowl of ramen, the sweet tang of fruit – they provided a small measure of comfort, a taste of her former life— of normalcy. But it was just that: a taste. A snack. The gnawing emptiness, the true hunger, only blood could satisfy. And on that front, Y/n remained firm. She refused to drink directly from Caleb ever again, the memory of that night still a raw open wound. 

Instead, he reluctantly poured his blood into a porcelain cup for her, a ritual he performed with a sigh, his eyes lingering on her lips with a frustrated longing. He was becoming more agitated as the days rolled by, though he hid it well. He treasured the forced intimacy of their feeding, a connection Y/n desperately tried to avoid. But his need to keep her alive, his possessive desire to be her sole provider, ultimately outweighed his displeasure. Still, it never stopped him from offering himself to her every so often.

One evening, the familiar hunger gnawed at Y/n. Caleb approached, his eyes holding a familiar, possessive warmth. He offered his wrist, a silent invitation.

Y/n recoiled slightly, shaking her head. “No, gege.” Her voice was firm, despite the tremor in her hands.

Caleb’s brow furrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. “But, little one, the direct way is the best for young vampires.”

“Please,” She interrupted, her gaze fixed on her hands. “Just… just put it in a cup for me.” ‘I can’t do that again. I can’t bring myself to… to bite him like that. It felt so wrong.’

Caleb sighed, a long, drawn-out sound filled with frustration. “You know I don’t like that, meimei...” He hated it, in fact. It lacked the intimacy he was craving. ‘She’s pushing me away. Doesn’t she understand what we shared?’

“I know,” Y/n mumbled, still avoiding his gaze. “But… I can’t help it. Please, Caleb.” She pleaded with him. Y/n wished to keep her relationship with him as siblings. She couldn’t bear to damage it any further. ‘I feel so ashamed. Every time I look at his neck… I just remember…’ Though his neck had healed up immediately, the memories still linger.

He relented, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine.” He turned away, a hint of wounded pride in his posture. He returned moments later with a small, ornate ceramic cup filled with his blood. 

“Here.” He offered it to her, his eyes searching hers. ‘She’s making this so difficult. Doesn’t she realize this is for us?’

Y/n took the cup grateful, her fingers brushing his. Even that small contact sent a jolt of unwanted awareness through her. She drank slowly, the coppery liquid satisfying the immediate craving but leaving a hollow ache in its wake. It wasn't the same as drinking directly from him. It lacked… ‘It’s enough. It has to be enough. I won’t let myself… need him like that.’

Days turned into weeks under Caleb’s watchful eye. He had long reported Y/n’s death to the guild, a necessary lie to protect their secret. But the past had a way of resurfacing.

One afternoon, as Y/n read, a sharp knock echoed. Caleb’s usual calm shattered. The door burst open, revealing Dalton.

“Caleb, I heard about Y/n. So sorry for your loss, brother.” Dalton began, his gaze sweeping over the living room before landing squarely on Y/n, who froze, the book clattering to the floor. His eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed with suspicion. “Y/n? But… Caleb said…”

Y/n shot up from where she sat. Her mouth opened to explain, to lie, she wasn’t sure. But her panic was evident. However, she never got the chance.

Caleb moved faster than she could see. One second Dalton was standing. The next, he was writhing on the floor, a terrible gurgling noise escaping his ruined throat. Caleb straddled him, hands blood-soaked, face twisted in something that wasn’t human. It wasn't the controlled precision she knew from their hunts. This was raw, untamed savagery. He kicked the door closed, his hand shot out, fingers like steel claws, and clamped around Dalton’s throat. Dalton gasped, his eyes bulging in terror as Caleb lifted him off the ground. A sickening crunch echoed as Caleb twisted his neck with brutal force. Dalton’s body went limp, his eyes staring blankly.

Y/n screamed, the strangled cry escaping her lips. She had seen Caleb kill before, but never like this. The sheer speed, the unrestrained violence… it was terrifying. ‘Oh my god. What did he just do? Dalton… he just…’

She backed away, hands flying to her mouth, heart hammering out of control. Caleb had ripped the life from Dalton with brutal, casual precision as if breaking a rabbit’s neck. Like it meant nothing to him.

It was horrifying.

They had hunted together for years. She had seen Caleb kill—but never like this. Never so… savagely.

Caleb turned to her, his chest heaving a heavy sigh, his eyes blazing with a primal protectiveness that bordered on madness. “It had to be done, little one. He couldn’t know. He would have told others. I had to protect you.” He dragged Dalton’s lifeless body towards her, his grip surprisingly gentle now. “Now, you need to feed. Practice control.”

Y/n stared, paralyzed with horror. She had hunted alongside Dalton over the years. He was a good man, a dedicated hunter. Her gut twisted. She remembered Dalton’s stupid jokes around the campfire. His family photos. His rough, easy laughter. But now he is just gone. And Caleb was the one that ended him. So brutally. Caleb let his control slip entirely, his features contorted in a primal rage. He couldn’t allow Dalton to reveal her secret, to threaten their carefully constructed isolation. He had to protect her.

Dragging Dalton’s lifeless body towards Y/n as if it weighed nothing at all, Caleb’s eyes, still blazing with a feral intensity, softened slightly as he looked at her. “He can’t tell anyone now, meimei. It’s for your own good.” Caleb approached slowly, crouching beside the body, his voice low and coaxing. “You need to practice, little one. To learn to control it. It’s better if it’s someone you know. Easier.” 

He positioned the body before her. The scent of freshly spilled blood was thick and cloying, triggering an instinctive hunger. He gently took her hand, guiding it towards the still-warm flesh of Dalton’s neck. The scent of Dalton’s blood, freshly spilled, hit Y/n’s heightened senses. It was sharp, metallic, and undeniably enticing in a primal way. Her fangs descended instinctively, a horrifyingly natural reaction. Yet, revulsion warred with the burgeoning hunger. She knew this man. He had a wife, two young children. She couldn’t do this. Looking at Dalton’s still face, the vacant eyes… “How can you say that?” 

‘I knew him. We hunted together— laughed at his terrible dad jokes around the fire. He had a family waiting for him to come home.’

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head vehemently. “I can’t. I won’t.”

Caleb’s expression hardened. “You have to, Y/n. It’s the only way to learn.” He coaxed her, his hand on her back, gently urging her forward. “Just a little. For practice. If you won't drink from me, you won’t know how to properly restrain yourself.”

“That will lead to deadly mistakes. It will land you on the guilds radar. You need to learn.” 

‘She needs to understand her new nature. And she needs to rely on me.’

Tears streamed down Y/n’s face as she reluctantly leaned down. “I’m sorry Dalton. I’m so sorry...” She whispered before sinking her teeth into someone she once considered a comrade. The blood smells sweet, but the moment it hit her tongue, it tasted wrong. It tasted metallic and bitter, almost rotten compared to the rich sweetness of Calebs.

She covered her mouth with the palm of her hand and tried to swallow, her stomach churning. ‘It’s not the same. It’s… disgusting.’ She gagged, her body rejecting it. Bile rose in her throat, and she vomited, expelling the tainted blood and even the small amount of Caleb’s blood she had drunk earlier. It was barely palatable, a grotesque imitation of what truly satisfied her. Caleb watched from behind her with a strange mixture of concern and something akin to triumph in his eyes. Even after everything was out of her system, she still retched a few more times before collapsing, her body wracked with shudders. 

Caleb was there instantly, gathering her into his arms, his embrace tight and possessive. Though the state she was in tugged at his heart, hating to see the one he converted in sure dire need of care. He allowed a small smile to grace his lips with satisfaction. ‘It was a hard lesson to learn but a necessary one. You won’t deny me anymore, will you meimei?’ He pulled her closer, nuzzling the top of her affectionately as he walked down the hall. 

Caleb carried her into his bedroom with slow, deliberate steps, as if the simple act of holding her was something sacred. The heavy curtains sealed the world outside, leaving only the two of them cocooned in twilight. Y/n trembled in his arms, her body weightless, her mind fraying at the edges from hunger and horror.

He set her down on the bed, lingering over her longer than necessary, his hand cradling her cheek. His thumb brushed the hollow beneath her eye, tracing the fragile skin there.

“You’re too weak,” Caleb murmured, his voice low and thick with something more than concern. “No cup this time. You need it fresh. Direct.”

Her heart twisted violently at his words. She shook her head weakly, trying to push herself back, but he caught her wrists in one hand, pinning them gently against the bed. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting hot against her ear.

“No more running, little one,” he whispered. “You need this. You need me.”

She tried to turn away, tried to close herself off—but Caleb was relentless. His body pressed flush against hers, a heavy, possessive weight, his thigh slipping between her legs, anchoring her. His free hand slid up the side of her neck, tilting her face back to expose her mouth, her fangs, her desperation.

“Let me take care of you,” he breathed.

Without giving her time to protest, he bent his head, baring his throat to her. The strong column of his neck pulsed just inches from her lips, the scent of his blood saturating the air between them—rich, dark, utterly intoxicating.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the pull. But hunger gnawed through her self-control, stripping away every barrier she had left. Her fangs ached. Her breathing quickened. Her entire body strained toward him before she even realized she was moving.

Caleb’s hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her skull, and with a low, commanding growl, he pulled her mouth against his neck.

“Now, meimei,” he ordered, voice trembling with restraint. “Drink.”

Her fangs sank into his flesh with a soft, wet sound. Caleb’s entire body jerked, a harsh, guttural sound tearing from his throat. His hand tightened in her hair, the other sliding down her spine, fingers splaying against the small of her back, pressing her even closer. His blood flooded her mouth—hot, thick, perfect.

Y/n moaned against his skin, the sound raw and broken. Shame and desire twisted inside her, a vicious tangle she couldn’t unravel. Every swallow sent heat blooming through her veins, spreading outward until even her fingertips tingled. Caleb’s blood didn’t just feed her—it claimed her, seeping into every crack and hollow space inside her soul.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice rough, wrecked. He shifted his hips, grinding her deeper into the mattress, keeping her caged between his body and the bed. “Drink, little one. Take everything you need.”

His free hand roamed her body in slow, possessive sweeps—tracing the line of her waist, skimming the curve of her thigh, sliding up her back to bury in her hair again. Every touch was a brand, a silent promise: You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.

Y/n clung to him, lost in the heat and closeness and the dizzying pleasure of his blood on her tongue. Caleb tilted his head back further, baring more of his throat to her, surrendering completely. His breathing was ragged, his muscles taut as if he were barely restraining himself from doing more—taking her, binding her even tighter to him.

When she finally wrenched herself away, gasping for air, her lips were stained crimson, her hands fisted tightly in his shirt. Caleb cupped her face, his eyes dark and feverish with a hunger that wasn’t just physical.

“There’s my good girl.” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. “You see? No one else can satisfy you. Only me.”

He kissed her temple, then the corner of her mouth, slow and reverent, tasting his own blood on her skin. His body still pressed hers into the bed, his hold firm, inescapable.

Y/n shivered beneath him, overwhelmed by the bond coiling tighter between them. There would be no escaping him now. No pretending she could survive without him.

And deep down, a part of her— the part that still remembered the terrible, aching loneliness of her new existence and didn’t want to.

🍏🍎

Caleb carried her into the bedroom with slow, deliberate steps, each movement imbued with a strange reverence, as if the simple act of holding her broken form was a sacred rite. The heavy curtains sealed away the outside world, plunging them into a suffocating twilight that mirrored the darkness engulfing Y/n’s mind. She trembled in his arms, her body achingly light, her thoughts fragmented by the gnawing hunger and the lingering horror of Dalton’s death. Yet, a heavy silence clung to her, a refusal to voice the terror that coiled in her gut.

He sank onto the bed with her still cradled against his chest, the mattress giving way beneath their combined weight. He shifted, trapping her between his body and the plush mattress beneath her. His hand, surprisingly gentle, slid down the side of her neck, his thumb stroking the frantic pulse with a slow, possessive intent that sent a shiver of dread through her weakened body. Her pale face seemed to shrink within his grasp, almost lifeless.

“You’re so weak, little one.” Caleb murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated against her ear, thick with a possessive undertone that belied his concern.

“No cup this time,” he breathed against her temple, his voice deepening, roughening with a raw urgency. “You can barely move. You need it fresh. Direct.”

Her heart lurched violently against her ribs, completely unwilling even in this dire state. She shook her head weakly, a pathetic denial. Putting her hands against his broad chest, she tried to push herself away, but his grip tightened, one hand snaking around her wrists, pinning them gently but firmly against the soft fabric of the bed. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting hot and possessive against her ear, stealing the air from her lungs.

“No more running, little one,” he whispered, his voice a silken command. “You need this. You need me.” 

The words were a chilling echo of her own desperate thoughts, twisting her dependence into something sinister. She wanted to tell him that she didn’t need him this way, that she could drink from a cup but her throat was so dry, it felt as if someone rubbed it raw with sandpaper. She couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped her lips as his words, it was all she could muster. 

She tried to turn her face away, to burrow into the pillow, to create some semblance of distance, but Caleb was relentless. His body pressed flush against hers, a heavy, suffocating weight that stole her breath, his thigh slipping between her legs, a subtle invasion that anchored her to him. His free hand slid up the side of her neck, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of her jaw, tilting her face back to expose the vulnerable line of her throat, her parted lips, the faint, tell-tale lengthening of her fangs, her raw, undeniable desperation.

“Let me take care of you.” he breathed, his voice a low caress that felt like a brand.

Y/n squirmed weakly beneath him like a trapped animal. She was fighting against the inevitable, she knew, trying to turn her head away from the suffocating nearness of him but Caleb’s fingers tightened on her chin, forcing her to meet his determined gaze. The violet galaxy depths of his eyes held an intense hunger that mirrored her own desperate need.  The strength in his touch was undeniable, not overtly cruel, just a reminder of his control. He wasn’t asking; he was claiming.

“Don’t fight me, little one.” he said, a low growl vibrating in his chest, a primal sound that sent a shiver of fear and a reluctant stirring of something else through her weakened form. “You know, you can’t.”

Without giving her fragile mind a chance to resist him further, he made a shallow, deliberate cut on the side of his neck, the bead of crimson welling instantly, a stark invitation. He bent his head, baring his throat to her, the strong column of his neck pulsing just inches from her parted lips, the intoxicating scent of his blood saturating the air between them, filling the dark room with an irresistible lure. She shudders violently, desperately wanting to taste him again.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, a silent scream trapped in her throat, fighting the primal pull that threatened to consume her. 'I can't... I'll lose control again. But... I'm so weak. And he... he smells so good!’ Her body trembled, a traitorous warmth spreading through her limbs. Her mouth opened, lip trembling as her fangs ached with need, her breathing quickened in shallow, ragged gasps. Her entire body strained toward him, an instinctual surrender that bypassed her conscious thought, shame a distant whisper against the roaring hunger.

Caleb’s hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her skull with firm tenderness, and with a low, commanding growl that resonated deep within her bones, he pulled her mouth against his offered neck.

“Now, meimei.” he ordered, his voice trembling with barely contained annoyance at her continued refusal. “Drink.”

A broken whimper escaped her lips, tears scalding the corners of her eyes as she obeyed, her body moving with a desperate will of its own. Her fangs sank into his flesh with a soft, wet sound that echoed in the suffocating silence of the room. 

Caleb’s entire body jerked, a harsh, guttural sound tearing from his throat, a mixture of satisfaction and something else, something akin to pleasure. His hand tightened in her hair, anchoring her, the other sliding down her spine, fingers splaying against the small of her back, pressing her even closer, molding her body to his. His blood flooded her mouth—hot, thick, perfect, a stark contrast to the vile taste of Dalton’s.

“Ah~ That’s it.” He groaned, his voice rough, wrecked, a tremor running through his body as he restrains himself from taking her this second. He shifted over her, seating himself fully between her thighs, his cock grinding up against the insistent heat of her core through the thin layers of her clothes, a blatant invasion that made her gasp. 

“Drink, little one. Take everything you need.” His other hand tightened on her captured wrists, keeping them pinned above her head in his large grip.

The heat of him, the weight of him pressing down on her, the suffocating closeness, the intoxicating scent of his blood was a sensory overload to her depleted body.  A blurring of pain and pleasure, of fear and a desperate, unwanted desire consumed her.

Y/n gasped, the hunger clawing at her insides now a maddening beast. It wasn’t just thirst, no. It was physical desire and it was tearing through the last fragile threads of her resistance. She was doing so good by ignoring the way Caleb was touching her.

‘Please… no. Not now.’ Her own body was betraying her, a traitorous warmth spreading through her limbs. A shameful wetness pooling in her panties as she moaned prettily under him as he continued to roll his hips against her. She was about to cum and by the way he picked up the pace, he knew she was too.

Y/n stiffened, her body pressed tightly against him as her hips jerked repeatedly, using him to ride out her orgasm. ‘So good. So good!’ She couldn’t speak, only drink and with each pull from his neck, she sealed her fate. Y/n was no longer of sound mind. Now, a very persistent euphoric fog clouded her mind, stealing her will to do anything but respond to her body’s needs.

Caleb smirked. He felt it, felt her final, silent surrender. A low, triumphant growl rumbled deep in his chest and released her from his hold when her body went limp. ‘This is how it was always meant to be. She needs me like this.’ He had her right where he wanted, happily feeding, wet, needy and so pliant for him. He bent his head further, exposing the strong column of his neck, offering her lips more of him. The scent of him intensified, rich, metallic, utterly addictive. A siren’s call she never had the strength to ignore.

When she finally pulled her mouth away, fully satiated, her lips slick with his blood. Her hands fisted tightly in his shirt, clinging to him as if he were the only anchor in a terrifying storm. Her eyes were blown, unfocused, a blood-drunk haze clouding her vision. Caleb cupped her face with blood-smeared fingers, his eyes dark and feverish with a hunger that went far beyond feeding.

“There’s my good girl.” he whispered, his voice thick with affection, pressing his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling. “You see? No one else can satisfy you. Only me.” She didn’t respond. He knew she would.

“Tell me what you need, meimei.” he breathed against her ear, his teeth lightly grazing her lobe, dragging a low, involuntary whimper from her throat. He chuckled, bucking his hips against hers, earning him a louder, sweeter moan from her and she raised her hips to meet his. “Need more? Gege will make you feel so good.”

A weak mewl caught in her throat as Caleb pulled her in for a kiss. It was he twisted his hips against hers, the grinding pressure a blatant violation that sent a jolt of unwanted sensation through her weakened body, pulling a desperate, broken sound from her lips. Her gums itched as she nibbled her lip, instinct had long overridden fear, shame— everything. 

“Still thirsty?” he asked, his voice tight with anticipation that sent a shivers down Y/n’s spine. She wasn’t, in fact she was full, her hunger for blood gone. She wanted something else, craved something more and he could feel it.

“I taste that good, huh?” He chuckled.

“Gege, I… need more.” She begged.

He guided her mouth back to his bleeding neck, his hand tangling in her hair, holding her in place, a controlling caress. Y/n didn’t hesitate to take from him again as she bit down again.

The reaction was immediate, violent. Caleb’s entire body shuddered, a raw, broken groan tearing from him, a sound that spoke of both exquisite pain and a twisted pleasure. His grip on her captured wrists tightened briefly before he released them, his hands flying instead to her hips, squeezing hard, dragging her hips up into his, a blatant demand.

He rocked against her hard as she drank. Quick, hard claiming thrusts made his breathing ragged with each movement. He was going to cum.

“Ah~ just like that.” he gasped when she licked his neck, refusing to let the trailing crimson go to waste. His mouth found the sensitive line underneath her jaw, pressing desperate, open-mouthed kisses against her blood-tinged skin.

“So greedy, little one.” He chuckled, a low, possessive sound, the tension pulled taunt in his body. 

His hand slid under her shirt, splaying across her bare lower back, dragging her even closer, skin to heated skin, blood mingling with blood. His fingers dug into her flesh, not hard enough to inflict pain, but enough to leave her trembling, aching for a connection she both craved and loathed. 

With one final thrust, he came with a long, torturous groan.

“Good girl,” he rasped, his thumb wiping a smear of his blood from her cheek, a possessive caress. “My good girl.” He kissed her then—messy, desperate, a brutal mingling of blood and breath and a terrifyingly possessive hunger.

“But I’m far from done with you.” 

Caleb barely gave her a chance to breathe before his lips were claiming hers again. Rough and unrelenting, the metallic tang of his blood stained both their mouths. He kissed her like a starved man and when he finally pulled back, a strand of saliva and blood connected them. 

Without a word, he dragged her shirt up over her head, baring her to him. Her tits bounces from the suddenness and her pert nipples quickly became erect from the slight chill of the room. He took in a breath at this sight.

“Beautiful.” 

He cupped the succulent mounds of fat in his hands, palms flattening over every inch of newly exposed skin before squeezing them, committing her to memory, claiming her body by touch alone.

He lowered his head, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her throat, pausing to lave his tongue over the bite mark, tasting the bits of dried blood that lingered on it. As his mouth focuses on her neck, his fingers circled and flicked her nipples, pulling and twisting just the right way to have her trembling with need for him.

Y/n whimpered beneath him, her fingers clutching helplessly at his shoulders. Every touch, every sweep of his tongue over the wound sent jolts of electric pleasure straight to her core.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Caleb whispered against her skin. “The bond pulling tighter? You’re meant to be mine, little one. Meant to need me.”

He nuzzled against the bite, pressing his lips reverently to the broken skin, then bit down just enough to reopen it — not to feed, but to taste. His tongue darted out, catching a bead of her blood mixed with his own, and he growled low in his throat, shuddering with barely restrained need.

“No one else.” he said hoarsely. “If you ever drink from another… I’ll feel it. I’ll know.”

His hand slipped between her tights and her underwear, cupping her sapping wet cunt firmly through the thin barrier of her panties and groaned. ‘So fucking wet for me.’

“I’ll feel it.” he rasped, pressing his fingers against her clit, circling it gently, dragging a desperate moan from her lips. “Your body…your blood… everything belongs to me now.”

Caleb slid her panties to the side, wetting his fingers with her slick before plunging two long, thick digits within her. Y/n gasped and let out one of the prettiest, airy sounds he had even heard. It went straight to his dick, twitching and hardening in an instant. Coupled with how incredibly tight her leaking hole is, he would surely be unable to hold back the moment he was fully inside of her.

“Like that?” His voice held a smile as he began to fuck his fingers into her. She cried out, taking everything he was giving her with broken moans as he stroked her, scissoring and stretching her unused pussy. Caleb’s fingers found the small patch of flesh that felt different from the rest of her, changing the angle, he targeted it, focusing on pulling another orgasm from her. 

Y/n squealed, gripping his shirt and looking at him with confusion and pure ecstasy swirling in her eyes. 

“That good, huh?” Caleb grinned wickedly, feeling her tighten and squirt a little as he doubled down on his efforts. His fingers moved at an inhuman pace and thankfully she was dripping for him, allowing for him free reign to do so.

“I can feel you clenching around my fingers so much, little one. You wanna cum for me? Cum for gege?” He teases, speeding up, bullying that soft spot in her. In an instant, she came, squirting and convulsing. Her silent scream didn’t go unnoticed by him as he stared at her pretty little face with a shit eating grin and he removed hand from between her legs. He was so impressed he was able to make her squirt. He licked his dripping fingers, sucking them clean as if he couldn’t enough, making the most lewd sounds she had ever heard. ‘Does she even know how good he tastes?’ He thought as he licked the corner of his mouth, swallowing the last bit of her.

“That’s two, meimei. Think you can go again?” 

He didn’t need to wait for a verbal response as he saw her surrender in the way her body shuddered. The subtle loosening of the tension in her muscles, the soft whimper she couldn’t choke back as he watched with her with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

He felt it, just as surely as he tasted her blood on his tongue.

And it broke the last fragile tether of his control.

A guttural growl rumbled from deep in his chest as he pushed her back, forcing her down onto the bed. His body loomed over hers, caging her in, his hands spreading her thighs wide without asking, without hesitation. He was granted the mouth watering sight of her slick covered coral pink folds.

“Fuck, look how pretty she is. Were you expecting this?” His voice breathy as he admires the clean shaven, slick glistening rose petals. Truthfully, he knew she didn’t but he could not help teasing her. He lowered his face between her plush thighs.

Caleb tongue, ever so gentle, licked the strip of her drooling slit. His eyes nearly rolled back from the sweetness as he moaned in delight, savoring her taste on his tongue. Y/n soft gasp arching her back away from his hot tongue. 

Caleb narrowed his gaze and in a split second, “Don’t even think about it.” his hands wrapped around the fat of her thighs dragging her back to his waiting mouth. His lip latched onto her tiny bud, circling it and sucking hard as the slick intensified. Y/n’s back arced off of the mattress, her body trembling within his hold as he pinned her hip to the bed. 

“Be fair, meimei. I’m thirsty too.” He voiced muffled as he tried to drown himself in her leaking cunt. She didn’t protest when he did, doing her best to stay still while he continued his ministrations. Y/n’s hands shot out to tangle in his locks, pulling his face close.

Caleb was in heaven. He always knew she would taste good but this far surpassed his imagination. He released her reddened bud, swiping his tongue from her opening to back to her clit, once, twice, before teasing her little clit with the tip. He moaned, the sound reverberating through her core making whimper with need. He kept teasing her like that, enjoying the way her body writhed of his tongue, her little flinches before she rolls her hips forward, offering more of her dripping cunt for him to feat on.

“Gege… pl-please…!” She tried moving her hips, her body racked with need. But Caleb held her down so effectively that she couldn’t move her hips an inch. 

He paid her no mind, taking his time devouring her at his own pace. He could tell she was close by her incessant mewlings and by the way her legs were trembling in his hold. He lapped at her opening, collecting her pooling essence on his tongue and drinking her in. ‘Fuck… she taste so good.’ Caleb mentally cursed, before burying his face into her folded. 

He had a prominent, raging hard on, wanting to replace his cock with his tongue. However, he retained himself, he was a patient creature, he would finish his delicious meal before indulging further.  His tongue digging into her core, lapping at her velvety walls as he curled his pink muscle, earning him a high pitched squeal from her while he shoveled her juices into his hungry mouth. 

Y/n came violently on Caleb’s tongue, back arched and legs quaking, shaking the bed beneath them. Her finger pulled roughly at her brother’s silky hair. He grunted from the light pain but his tongue didn’t stop his assault as he fucked her tight hole with it through her orgasm. He kept at it, ruining her until she laid there, panting and flushed all over. 

He pulled back to get a good look at her, her chest rising and falling as she huffed in exhaustion. He couldn’t keep the smirk off his face as pride filled him. Licking his lips clean, savoring the remnants of her release before wiping the rest of his slick shined face with the back of his hand. He was tempted to keep going, to eat her sweet little pussy 2 or 3 more times just for his own pleasure. 

“You taste absolutely divine. I can’t tell whether I like your cunt or your blood more.” He muse, his eyes gleaming with amusement.  Y/n said nothing, she didn’t even hear him, her ears were ringing from the rush of her orgasm. All she could do is suck in air and gaze up at him with half open eyes.

Caleb chuckled to himself, realizing she was far gone. He stepped off the bed, ridding himself of his clothes in the span of a second before returning between her legs, eager to finally become one with the woman he desired. He covered her body with his own, his face mere inches from her as he leaned in for a soft kiss.

“I am going to take you now.” He stated plainly.

”Take me?” Dazed out of her mind from the aftermath of cumming and still high from his blood. 

“Yes, little one. I am going to fuck you into the mattress until you re full of me. And then, I’ll do it all over again. I’m not going to stop until my name is the only thing you can remember.” He smiled deviously. Normally, he would never be this crass but he knew she couldn’t fully comprehend anything he said so he spoke his mind.

He wasted no more time, nuzzling her neck affectionately, leaving open mouth kisses trailing down her neck as he gathered both her wrists into one of his much larger hands, securing it while using the other to stroke his impressive length. Caleb’s member sat heavily in his hand at 9.8 inches one and as thick as her wrist. ‘Thank goodness you are already turned, if not, this would hurt you immensely and I’d have to stop here.’

The warm blooded hybrid glided his stiff cock along her over sensitive folds. A shiver him, releasing a breathy sight at the feel of her warm, wet petals soaking the underside of his cock. He bit his lower lip, stifling the next sounds he continued to move along the lips a few more times. Deeming his length wet enough, he pulled his hips back, lining up the mushroom head with her entrance, he grasped Y/n’s jaw, forcing it open.

“Drink from me, Y/n. Pleasure yourself as I take from you.” He says as his hand slips to the back of her neck and forces her teeth into his neck, one again. They both groan in unison, Caleb throwing his head back before sinking both his fangs and his dick in one foul swoop, moaning loudly around the column of her throat.

This snapped Y/n out her lust filled haze momentarily. She squealed and whimpered, tears falling around from the corner of her eyes. She tried to dislodge herself from his neck, feeling the brain fog coming back the more his blood seeped into her mouth. To no avail as Caleb’s hand held her firmly, pressing her face harder the more she tried to struggle.

Y/n glance over to him, panic evident in her eyes. He felt her stare but ignored it, liking and sucking along the skin in his mouth with fervor. He pulled back slightly before slamming into her again, hitting her cervix hard. He couldn't stop himself from grunting and whimpering near her in pure bliss from her tight snatch constricting around him so hard. 

Caleb released her from his neck and withdrew from her as well, sitting back on his knee’s. His pupils were dilated, black almost completely consuming his violet irises and he sat back to look down at her with a love sick smile gracing his features. 

“You’re so tight— so hot— Ah~!” He moaned pathetically when her cunt spasmed, trying every which way to adjust to his length. He looked down, gaze focused on the place where his dick is plunging in and out her pussy. The site of a pink tinged ring forming at the base of his cock made him dizzy with excitement.

“Gege… we can’t! Wake up!” She seethed through clenched teeth, she was in great discomfort but also great pleasure. Y/n tried her best to fight off the effects of his blood, but she was losing fast. She couldn’t even force herself to struggle with the way her body began to relax for him.

“Still want to fight, little one?” He chuckled, caressing her warm cheek. 

“That’s ok. Gege is just gonna have to fucked the resistance out of you.” He grinned as if he just won a first place prize. 

With that, he used his free hand to grip her waist and began to fuck her, setting a brutal pace. Y/n’s back arched, mouth agape’s and unable to vocalize her feelings at her brother rammed into her repeatedly, stealing her breath away.

It didn’t even take a full minute for the pleasure to envelope her completely. Caleb smirked down at her when she attempted to match his pace, raising her hips to meet his every thrust.

Loud slaps filled the room as skin met skin, his hips meeting hers in a rhythemantic symphony. It felt unbelievable intoxicating, having her so willing to fucking him back so desperately, her blood, wet on his tongue and her drinking from him anytime he coaxes her to. It was the epitome of euphoria. He could die in this moment and would not complain. 

Y/n came without warning, wrapping her legs around him and pulling his hips flush against hers. “F-fuck..!” Caleb came a little, her cunt clamping down around him, milking him for his seed. His thrusts faltered for just a moment before deepened his strokes, fucking her into the mattress just as he promised with renewed vigor.  

Y/n whined, completely spent and sore. She didn’t want to keep going anymore— she couldn’t but Caleb continued to ram her swallow flesh, his tip bullying her poor cervix open. 

She tried to twist away, trying to resist the tide of heat and hunger that was beginning to build again as Caleb rushed over her g-spot with every move. Caleb only growled, low and dangerous, pinning her hips with bruising force as he fell over her body again. 

“Don’t run from me.” he snarled into her ear. “You’ll only make me chase you. And when I catch you…” His teeth grazed the shell of her ear, sharp and threatening. “I’ll mark you so deeply you’ll never forget who you belong to, just. Like. Right. Now.” He punctuated every word with a sharp thrust.

His mouth returned to the wound on her neck, suckling gently, coaxing another slow trickle of blood, savoring it with obscene pleasure. Every pulse of her heart fed directly into him, connecting them in a raw, visceral loop neither of them could break.

Y/n sobbed, half pleasure, half in shame. Caleb squeezed her hips hard, rutting into her like a wolf in heat. He needed to cum. Every fiber in his being screamed to fill her up, marking her as his so that she can never deny his love for her ever again.

“I’m close, meimei. So, so close.” He grunted out.

“Give me one more. Just..mmm~ one more. Let’s cum together.” 

His hand that was on her hip moved to her engorged clit, using his thumb to circle it quickly, trying to match the speed of his hips. Y/n choked and tried to wiggle away again. 

“To-too much. Too much, Caleb, please!” His dick dug impossibly deeper into her watery cunt, not allowing her to move away. He was too far gone to hear her out, not that he could stop himself, not when he’s this close to coming with her most precious girl.

“Be good. You can take it.” he growled, his voice rough with primal hunger. “You pretend you don’t want this. But I can feel you.” Dragging his nose along the line of her jaw, inhaling the scent of her arousal that coated the air thickly. 

Caleb whimpered like a pup, hips stuttered and as he pistoned into her sloppily. After three long and hard thrust, he came inside her, grunting out her name as a blinding white light obscuring his vision. His orgasme trigger hers as her body betrayed her, arching into him, seeking more contact, wanting to be full of him.

Y/n collapsed on the bed first, the corner of her eyes darkening as she willingly succumbed to it, fainting beneath him. Caleb fell onto her, panting into the junction of her neck as he tried to ready his breath. Once he did, flipped their bodies, making sure to keep his cock warm inside her, laying her upon his chest. He could feel his cum leaking out of her and trailing down his dick but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

Caleb sighed in content, wrapping his arms around his lover in a warm embrace. ‘For the first time in my life, I finally  feel truly happy. Satisfied. I finally own you.’ He queened her. ‘After all these years, you are finally mine and now, you can’t hide it. Can’t pretend it didn’t happen.’ He thought to himself as he placed a kiss on the top of her head before drifting into a blissful sleep, knowing five things truths that ensure it would be restful.

‘There is no undoing this.

There is no hiding from the truth of their connection.

There is no going back to what they once were.

She is mine now, body and soul.

And I would never, ever let her go.’

[10thmusemoon]

Title for the ask game!

"Good Graces"

lmao prim why does this feel like I'm seeing beyonce at the grocery store??? i love your fics!

okay hm content warning for angst, major character death, bad end

Shenbros that grow up alongside YQY and that somehow makes everything worse.

YQY still makes the unforgivable mistake of saving Shi Wu, Shen Jiu still steps in, but now he has Shen Yuan attached to him too. The two get taken into the Qiu household, QJL still develops an obsession with torturing Shen Jiu but now uses Shen Yuan as collateral.. If he doesn't behave, if he isn't perfect, well then, QJL will just see how his little brother does instead. Throughout this all, the two grow even closer, SJ doesn't let the resentment fester because SY is the only thing he still has, the only thing that keeps his sane. SY bandages his wounds in the night, holds him close, brings him into QHT's circle of safety with clever words whenever possible. He is the only good thing in the world now that Qi-ge is gone. They just need to wait for him to come back, and things will be fine.

And surprisingly, he does! This universe smiles down on SJ for once and shows him mercy. YQY looks like a prince standing behind his shizun, regal in his fine robes, and handsome in the way that well fed nobles can be. SJ tries to focus on the negotiations, but his eyes keep drawing back him yqy's face, awe and hunger at war. It's because of this that he misses the way SY goes stiff, head swiveling between the cultivators in silently growing horror.

The negotiations are easier than SJ ever thought they would be, his and SY's lives are traded from one hand to another like any dirty coin. The only difference being now they are indentured servants, their contracts having an actual time limit, the conditions of which only require them to be CQMS disciples until YQY becomes the new peak lord.

Which is...fine. More than fine, even! SJ is convinced that if he really wanted to, he could convince YQY to runaway with them afterwards. When he tells this to SY he's shocked by his insistent refusal.

"No, we have to stay at CQMS. No matter what."

Whatever.

For 15 solid years, SJ's life is good. He stakes his claim on YQY as soon as he realizes there are people interested in him, shamelessly making himself at home by his side. SJ excels at QJP, determined to be the one YQY can rely on. If SY insists on staying at CQMS, then SY will just have to make it theirs.

(years down the line is experiences gleeful joy at seeing people's face twist when it's revealed he's yqy's spouse.)

SY in all of this, is living in crisis mode! His brother is the scum villain and is going to get qi-ge killed! Why the FUCK did Airplane never mention any of this!!??? No matter how badly he wants to fuck off to the beast peak, he doesn't! He stays firmly on QJP, taking on all the duties that deal with the new disciples to keep them as far as fuck as he can from Shen Jiu's clutches!! When YQY and SJ finally ascend as peak lords, naturally he continues handling any responsibilities of SJ's that deal with one-on-one contact with kids. And honestly? That's the ideal! SY's cultivation has never been as strong as SJ's, he's not the one meant to be the protagonists' narrative foil after all! He can coast by on teaching the fundamentals!

In SJ's eyes, SY continues to be his filial younger brother, taking on the burden of the tasks SJ hates. He spoils him, when possible, in the way only SY and YQY ever seem to understand. They are the only two good things that have been and always will be his. He doesn't need anyone else.

And then NYY arrives, and no one is more surprised than he is that he looks forward to teaching her the guqin, delights in how quickly she picks up the erhu. He doesn't understand why SY looms nervously whenever she's near, is irritated when he starts to suspect why. It's their first huge blow up.

And then the boy arrives.

He can't explain why this particular disciple is so repulsive. Why the dirt seems to stick to him, no matter how clean he is. Filthy fingerprints on grasping hands. Wretched thing has a certain look in his eye, a hunger SJ knows will be ruinous, insatiable. Just the way he trails after SY is enough to make him spit! And SY has always been a soft-hearted idiot, falling for the urchin's sob story! Just as obsessed! If they don't nip it in the bud now, they'll be rumors about them. The kind of things that pull righteous cultivators down from the heavens!

YQY listens to all of this indulgently, combing oil through SJ's hair and kissing his temple. As always, no matter how hard SJ tries to hold on, yqy always manages to pull him from his mood.

"What's wrong with having a favorite?" "It's not the same and you know it!" "He's just a child, if you let Liu-shidi back on QJP, it won't even be an issue."

Lots of grumbling about toads wanting swan's flesh. They both know the root of the issue is just that SJ can't let anything that's his slip out of his grasps. His love is all consuming, kept close to his chest in the fear that it will be stolen away.

LQG is not allowed on QJP, instead, SJ starts to teach more. Tries to test LBH relentlessly, waiting for him to fail so he can prove a point. This makes things worse between the brothers, more and more arguments come up until they resort to childhood tactics of wrestling across the floor of the Bamboo house and ripping out hair. SY breaks a hair pin he knows YQY gave him, SJ tears one of SY's manuscripts on abyssal fauna in half. The fallout is ugly enough that Binghe and NYY run all the way to QDP, breaking past the sect leader's chief of staff about the impending death of YQY's husband and/or brother in law.

Kneeling in front of an amused yqy, bruised and with bald spots, both brothers Shen explain their case, each threatening YQY not to show favoritism to the other. The proposed solution is to have LBH spend some time on Qiong Ding Peak, at least until he's qualified to go on night hunts on his own. SJ is fully convinced he's won, is ready to smugly denounce any comments about Qi-ge's blatant favoritism.

Neither expect SY's eyes go wide, for him to lean forward until he's crawling to yqy's side in excitement. Luo Binghe's praises fall from his mouth like honey. SY's running to his room for a brush and paper, outlining lesson plans and tasks LBH can take on to learn about all the good CQMS does for the realm. To SJ's revulsion, SY badgers YQY until he promises to include one on one lessons. QDP already has a head disciple, there's no harm in it, right?

In Shen Yuan's eyes, a light from the heaven's has shined down on him. Invisible to all, the system flashes an exclamation point above yqy's head, offering an alternative option to saving the sect.

[MISSION OBJECTIVE: SHIBOS GOOD GRACES]

[DO YOU WISH TO ACCEPT? Y/N ?]

It's perfect! No matter how much SQQ hates LBH, the combined forces of SY and YQY will stand united against him! The sect will be saved and SY will never see his white lotus darken! Maybe, and he's nearly salivating at this point, LBH might even consider staying at the sect and becoming the next QJP lord! It will take, of course, years to soften up SJ to that point. But really, when has he ever said no to SY when it truly mattered? He just needs to suck up and live in Shen Jiu's pocket for a little, it's fine! This will be easier than the time he accidentaly came back with several short haired monsters after a mission with LQG and needed a place to keep them! And now they farm them for brushes!

SY sleeps soundly for the first night in years, comforted in the knowledge that LBH's work ethic and stubborn tendencies will surely endear himself to YQY eventually. And then, one day, he knows with certainty, that if he's not there to protect LBH, YQY surely will.

The Immortal Alliance Conference is as disastrous as it was always going to be. There is a countdown floating ahead of Shen Yuan that only he can see. Sweat is pouring down his face as he fights his way after demons he once dreamed about. SY lost track of his brother ages ago, the two separating to different crisis points to save as many disciples as possible. At the three minute mark, bright blue laughing kaomoji offer their congratulations, informing him that the inmun requirements for SHIBOS GOOD GRACES have been met.

SY nearly collapses with relief, his steps slowing down a fraction, just enough to catch his breath. Fuck teaching the fundamentals to scholars nerds did not help him retain cardio! The times is in it's final seconds when he makes it into a clearing, eyes blinking rapidly in disbelief when he passes Xiu Ya embedded into the forehead of a Black Moon Rhinoceros Python's skull. Then, just further ahead, Shen Yuan's heart falls nearly out of his chest.

There are tears streaming down Luo Binghe's face as he tips backward off the cliff. The huadian beneath his messy hair shines a bright red, the soft glow reflecting off Yue Qingyuan's black pauldron. The sect leader, his da-ge, is slumped against Luo Binghe, arms in a tight embrace, an unfamiliar sword piercing him in the back as the two tumble towards an abyssal rift.

The wail of a dying beast pierces through SY's stupor, SJ stands with a blackened hand outstretched, only steps away from following the only man he's ever loved. Shen Yuan moves faster than he ever has before, half blinded by notifications he's never seen before. Something about heartbreak points, swords, and narrative foils. He doesn't care! He doesn't care! SJ is writhing in his hold screaming like a madman, over his shoulder Luo Binghe is getting smaller and smaller, Yue Qingyuan's robes fluttering around them like broken wings. Screams echo through the clearing long after the rifts have closed.

"I'M SORRY I'M SO--"

"QI-GE YOU BASTARD! YOU PROMISED YOU WOULDN'T LEAV-"

-

Five years later, Luo Binghe returns to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, notably missing the great Xin Mo sword. The protagonist kowtows in the bamboo house, forehead touching the floor and arms extended out to present a mahogany box of bones and a long sword with a plain scabbard before an alter. Shen Yuan kneels next to him, chest shaking with labored breaths, he follows suit with is forehead pressed to the floor. From his peripheral, he can see the way Binghe's shoulders have started to shake, a puddle of tears collecting just beneath his face. A tally of points starts to flash above the boy, Shen Yuan closes his eyes, another useless apology passes through his mind.

"Gege was right, Qi-ge came home."

[raccoonhusband]

i hate ppl who are like "oh bill cipher is two dimensional" man literally dissociates to the point he blacks out and forgets what hes done and has outrite stated he thinks hes a repulsive monster. the amount of guilt and self loathing stored in that triangle that hes constantly denying has to be immense. i am chewing him like a dog toy

for real though you get it. i think the problem is that 10 years ago a lot of people latched onto the "bill is evil for the sake of evil" angle due to the backlash against twist villains and overly sad backstory villains. there was a lot of "waaah his mommy never hugged him that's why he killed the population of a small to medium sized country" nonsense going on in tv and movies at the time. watching gravity falls, it was refreshing reveling in a villain that was unapologetically evil and fun to watch. and bill IS unapologetically evil and fun to watch, but that doesn't mean he can't have a backstory or human emotions (as much as he wants to claim otherwise).

hell, he mocks the idea of sad backstory villains IN THE BOOK, but that's because it's humiliating to him to admit weakness. that's not the bill he wants to sell. he doesn't want you to know he's not all powerful, that he's not a god. the fact he was a sad nerd in euclydia that couldn't tie his shoes and got bullied on the playground is embarrassing to him. so he covers it with bravado. he liberated his dimension. call him out on that? then he destroyed it utterly because he was so powerful and dangerous.

and the thing is, as much as he mocks the idea of a sad backstory sympathetic villain, the truth is it's because he knows his backstory is not sympathetic. he ended millions of lives to prove a point. nothing will ever ever excuse what he did. he knows that deep in his soul what he's done is unforgivable, that's why he digs himself into such a deep pit of denial and disassociation. it's the only way he knows how to live. all they asked is to be remembered, and he refused.

he's a 3 dimensional villain hiding behind the veneer of a 2 dimensional one, which is you know... actually good writing!

[tayasui-mono]

The reason why Hannibal loves Will's company and mind is that—let's say something super grotesque is happening but it's ironic and funny, Hannibal would be amused by it when everyone else would be repulsed or find it pitiable or even cruel. But Will, even in a case where not finding it amusing himself, sees the comedy, and would naturally get why Hannibal might find it amusing. He would find Hannibal's actions reasonable even whilst being completely inexcusable or unforgivable. This is the opposite of Alana, whom Hannibal tells would never be able to understand him.

[morelikeravenbore]

✨Sebastian Sallow Spicy Oneshots.

In the interest of ✨aesthetics✨, I'm compiling all my spicy oneshots together to link back to my masterlist. I'm a turtle writer but I'll update this list as I write more. All stories crossposted to wattpad & AO3.

Sebastian Sallow x unnamed female character. Mostly Sebastian's POV. Triggers and content warnings on each post. All characters are 18+. Minors dni, please and thank you. 🔞

Friendly disclaimer: if you're uncomfortable with Hogwarts Legacy smut, please keep scrolling and do not engage ✨🦋💙 I am of the opinion that it is possible to use ones ✨imagination✨ to age-up characters and explore adult themes in a healthy and appropriate way.

✨ Feigning Indifference | Explicit | Quidditch Smut, Beater!Sebastian, Feral!Sebastian, Shoulders!Sebastian 1.8k words.

Thanks to his seventh-year growth spurt, Sebastian is hardly any smaller without his bulky gear on — a fact he uses to his full advantage to shoulder through the crowd. It takes him several minutes to wind his way through; supporters and haters in equal measure jostle for his attention, girls squeal and find excuses to touch him, Imelda criticises his technique as he passes (even though he just won her the bloody match), and somebody lets off a series of explosions overhead that shower the crowd with green and silver sparks. — And on the edge of it all, standing alone by the stands, there's you: arms crossed, little pout on your cute face, feigning indifference. 

✨ Pandora's Book | Explicit | Unhinged Sebastian | Objectophilia | ongoing.

Seeking distraction from his interminable apathy, or a temporary relief from his guilt that didn't resort to obliterating his own memory, the girls he took made him feel good, said pretty things that made him believe, for a while, that he wasn't broken and irredeemable. But then, issues of that nature were likely a job for St Mungos rather than some girl's mouth in the back of a disused classroom, and over time, the thrill of mindlessly fucking his pain away began to dull, and he recoiled from their sweet nothings and gentle affections; like everything else in Sebastian's life, even the flames of desire eventually turned cold, and his escapades became less about feeling better and more about feeling anything.

Still, he couldn't say with any measure of truth that he'd felt anything like this from a book before.

✨ Good Boy | Explicit | Needy Sebastian 1.5k words.

On bad days like these, Sebastian simply couldn't believe in love until it held him close and kissed him and told him he wasn't the deplorable monster he believed himself to be. Love had always evaded him, but by some stroke of luck he wasn't deserving of, he'd found it living in the body of the girl currently squashed between him and the wall.

✨The Final Goblin | Explicit | Post-battle Sebastian 1.5k words.

Ordinarily such a demure little thing, whenever Sebastian's brilliant, powerful girlfriend unleashed her gift of destruction upon their enemies, it broke something inside his brain - as if all that raw power she tore from the ether went straight to his cock, turning him feral.

✨Tethered | Explicit | Imperio-kink Sebastian [dub-con] 1.3k words

Sebastian wasn't entirely sure why he'd used the unforgivable curse on her. He had no doubt he could've convinced her to do whatever he wanted quite easily; after all, getting what he desired came naturally to him, what with his Slytherin charm and all - but there was always the risk she'd shudder away from him, repulsed by his touch as if she could physically feel his tainted soul marring her perfect skin. For all his bravado and over-confidence, Sebastian wasn't sure he could bear it if she recognised him for what he really was: a monster.

✨Lessons in Upholstery | Mature | Sebastian is needy | Sebastian x Aurélie 1.6k words

There was a unique ache that existed when she was out of reach — one that started as a small hole in his chest before spreading rapidly until his entire being felt hollow, an ache that demanded they share a too-small bed so they had to sleep tangled together, or eat at a too-small kitchen table so she had to take most of her meals sitting in his lap.

✨ You can also read my long-fic How to Make a Villain which isn't spicy but is full of mutual pining, yearning, slow-burning idiots in love: 📔 [tumblr |wattpad | ao3]