#Venom mustiness

[lildoodlenoodle]

Ok Peni Parker’s age is definitely up to interpretation,(4year differential)simply because of her og suit in ITSV. We don’t(not that I remember)see it in the comics. That means, to an extent, this is not the same Peni Parker as the comics. (as with most of the spiders) But I still think a lot of the same events happen. For instance, her canon event that had her so sad in ATSV was most likely still the VEN#m suit with Addy Brock and May.

Timeline:

In the comics at age 9 she takes her fathers place to pilot the SP//dr Suit and joins spiderverse/spidergeddon at age 14. After spiderverse is when M.O.R.B.I.U.S. and VEN#m happen. Then she is recruited to spidergeddon again.

Following this timeline, she was probably 12/13 in the first movie(a case could be made for 11), making her 13/14 in the new movie with the 16 mo. jump.

#Peni Parker #ATSV #across the spiderverse #ITSV #into the spider verse #SP\\dr mech #SP//Dr suit #addy brock #another character who WAS DONE HORRIBLY BY THE NARRATIVE #may Parker #Venom mustiness #VEN*m mech #I can’t do hashtags :( #WHYD IT AUTOCORRECT TO MUSTINESS #IM DYING #leaving that shit in

[sugaflake]

Poison | myg [m]

One.

Summary: A dark stranger with an even darker secret crosses your path. 

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader 

Word count: 4312 

A/N: The biggest thank you has to go my best friend, @jeonsjiddies​ for always encouraging and pushing me to write. This has been the first fic I’ve actually put out and posted out of the countless ideas I’ve rambled off to her and stored away. Her fic Toxic is ultimately what sparked this idea - please go read it, it’s amazing. She’s my forever beta reader and editor, and I can’t thank her enough <3

Warnings: swearing, alcohol use, degradation, fingering, handjob, exhibitionism, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, bathroom sex, cream pie, piercings (male genatalia), porn with *some* plot, dirty talk, dom!yoongi, rough sex

“You need to actually get out and meet some new people. You need to get out of this musty-ass apartment.” Your best friend since childhood, Morgan, and the biggest pain in your ass right now threw open the curtains in your bedroom, allowing some natural light to stream in. “And when was the last time you showered?”

“No, I don’t want to,” you whined as you threw yourself back against the pillows, pulling the covers over your face, “I’m perfectly fine in my musty-ass apartment with my pain in the ass friend who just let herself in, rude by the way, and I showered yesterday, not that it’s of any concern of yours.” 

Morgan ripped the covers from the bed and off of your face. 

“You never do, not anymore. Not since your breakup.”

You shot her a glare. You wanted to say something, you opened your mouth to, but quickly closed it before pulling your knees to your chest and buried your head there. You didn’t want to look at how depressing or destroyed your room looked. No longer did it share memories of you and your boyfriend. No longer did it have any warmth or love. All it harbored now was loss, angst, ripped pictures and T-shirts, and lost echoes of remembrance. You felt the bed shift as Morgan took a seat beside you, pulling you into a hug. “Y/N, I know your breakup with Minho has been really hard on you.”

“Yeah, easy for you to say. Jimin would never cheat on you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” You looked up at her, eyes beginning to fill with tears. 

“The point is, you need to try and put it behind you. I know it’s hard. It’s not going to be easy, but you’ve got to try.” 

“I don’t want to. I’ll just die alone and lonely. I’ll never find someone or be like you and Jimin.”

“You’re right,” she said with a little laugh, “you won’t be like me and Jimin. You’ll be like you and whoever you find. You’re you and I’m me. Besides, you like all that weird kinky shit, you need someone who can satiate that weird,” she waved her hands in your general direction, trying to find the right words, “whatever it is you’ve got going on in that funky-ass brain of yours.” 

You both laughed.

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” she said as she got up and headed to the closet, throwing the doors open.

“I suppose.” You watched your best friend rifle through your closet looking for the skimpiest thing possible to wear. “So where exactly are you wanting to drag me off to?”

“There’s this new club that’s downtown! It’s apparently really exclusive and it’s really hard to get into. Jimin knows the owner, so he managed to get us in!”

“Of course he does and of course he did.”

Jimin was right, this new club wasn’t like any of the others you’d been to. It definitely was more high class than any of the ones you’d ever visited. The name, Venom, seemed to clash with the vibe the club was trying to go for, but was likely just right for the seedy underbelly type of people that would frequent. 

You leaned into the large cushions of the booth you’d been thrown into by Morgan and Jimin, fruity drink in hand. You sighed as you watched the two blissfully and drunkenly grind each other senseless on the dance floor, not a care in the world. You pulled your phone from your clutch and went straight to Minho’s Instagram page. Your heart sank as you scrolled through the images of him looking happy, arm looped around another girl’s waist. The girl he’d been cheating on you with. The girl you stupidly believed was “just a friend”. There was a part of you that wanted to just curl up in a ball and cry. But there was also a part of you that wanted to set his house on fire with him and that little bitch inside of it.

Groaning, you downed your drink, about ready to wave the waiter down for another one. As much as you didn’t want to really be at the club, at least Jimin managed to get you guys in the VIP section with unlimited drinks you didn’t have to pay for. If you were going to be forced to be here watching your best friend and her boyfriend be gross and not think about your stupid ex and his stupid bitch, you weren’t going to be sober. 

Yoongi leaned against the bar, swirling his whiskey in his glass, eyes scanning the room. He didn’t see what the big deal about this club was. It seemed like every other club he’d ever been to. Bored assholes with too much money bribing their way in, drugs on their lips and in their veins, cocks hard for drunk girls who can barely stand up. 

He watched as couples humped each other drunkenly, stumbled across the floor, and made their way to private rooms. It was all typical behavior.

Except for one. 

One girl caught his attention. One girl with curls falling down her bare shoulders. A girl sitting by herself looking as though she were absolutely miserable and waiting for the ground to swallow her whole. 

Yoongi downed his whiskey and motioned for another one before he slowly walked a little closer, tilting his head to the side, watching the girl scroll through her phone. 

“Stupid fucking piece of shit,” she seethed, continuing to scroll, “she’s not that pretty… I mean I guess she is, but whatever. I hope you’re fucking happy, you douchebag and little bitch. I could just fucking… ngghh!” 

She threw her phone back in her bag, chugging the pink drink the waiter had just given her. A smirk crept across Yoongi’s lips. ‘Now she seems like she could be some fucking fun.’

Dark eyes continued to watch the girl as she sat alone. His eyes traced over the small tattoos that littered her shoulders, He continued to wait a little while longer to see if anyone would join her. He could tell she hadn’t come alone, having spotted another purse. After several minutes of no one joining her, Yoongi decided to take this opportunity to make a move. 

Your eyes scanned the dance floor, having totally lost your friends somewhere in the haze of lights, fog, and music. Your head started to feel a little fuzzy after the last watermelon margarita you deep throated in negative three seconds. So far the night was a bust. Your friends had abandoned you to be horny teenagers, which you couldn’t blame them (even though you wanted to). You’d wasted a clean pair of clothes and a shower. You honestly were ready to call it quits and crawl back into your bed in your musty-ass apartment. 

Just as you were resigning yourself to gather your shit and go - a hot, scratch that, a very hot tattooed man with piercings, dark hair and dark eyes slid into the booth beside you. “I think you might be at the wrong table.”

“I’m exactly where I need to be,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth. His hot breath tickled the shell of your ear, making you shiver. “I saw you from over at the bar. You looked bored.” 

“I got ditched by horny love birds,” you rolled your eyes with a withering smile. 

“We love that.”

“No we don’t,” you laughed as you tucked some hair behind your ear. 

The man with dark hair leaned close to your ear, his dark hair falling in his eyes, “why don’t we ditch your horny love birds and make our own fun?” 

He wrapped his arm around the back of the booth, ringed fingers lightly touching the skin of your shoulders.  The sultriness of his voice and the heat of his touch caused you to shiver once more. And that wasn’t the only thing beginning to shiver. You cleared your throat and crossed one leg over the other. “And what exactly did you have in mind?” 

A smirk crept across his lips, exposing his gums. He reached his other hand over and began slowly drifting lazy figure eights with his fingers up your bare leg, slowly working his way from up your knee to your thigh. Your cheeks began to feel warm, and it wasn’t too long after a waiter came by and dropped off six shot glasses of varying colors, filled to the brim. He leaned in close again, planting his lips by your ear, “I’m sure you’re a smart enough kitten to figure that out,” he cooed, licking his lips. 

The tip of his tongue grazed the curve of your ear and you leaned into him with another shiver, biting your bottom lip in an attempt to keep the moan that threatened to escape. He was warm and fuck did he smell good. You cleared your throat once more and reached out and touched one of the shot glasses, trying to focus on anything besides the growing heat between your legs.

Had it really been that long since you’d had any physical touch since your breakup? You’d tried to recall, not even remembering you having the willpower to please yourself. ‘Depressing.’

The dark haired stranger reached his long tatted arm out and pointed at the shots. “Three for you, three for me.” 

Your eyes looked at the varying colors of the glasses. You weren’t always a fan of shots. You always managed to pick the nastiest, most bitter ones. 

“What are they?” 

“This one’s Strawberry Starburst,” okay, sounds fruity, you didn’t mind the sound of that, “this one’s Buttery Nipple,” it had a thick layer of cream on top, surely it was good, “and this one’s a Wet Pussy.” 

Your eyes widened, flicking up to meet his. He looked down at you hungrily, dark hair covering his face, wicked grin creeping across his lips. That was all it took for your core to tighten. 

“So what do you say, kitten? Have some shots and some fun with me.” 

You stared at him for a long moment, the sounds of the club fading away briefly. This wasn’t the type of girl you normally were. You liked to build and take things at a decent pace. But he - whoever the hell he was - swooped in like a raven in the night and knocked that wall down. Jesus Christ on roller skates he was hot as hell. And it had been so long. 

Fuck it. 

“So ho-“

“Yes,” you cut him off before he could finish. Fuck it. You wanted this. You needed this. Maybe it would help you get out of your little funk and you could go back to living a normal life. 

“Well all right, then.” The dark haired stranger pulled the first pink shot glass towards the both of you. He wrapped his veiny hand around the small glass and slightly lifted it from the table, waiting for you to do the same. Your heart pounded in your chest, as you took the same shot in hand. 

“Bottoms up,” he said, bringing the glass to his lips. 

You had no idea just how literal that term would become. 

The fruity alcohol sent a warm heat down your throat as you kicked back the first shot. It was good, better than expected. Without much prompting, you grabbed the second glass and waited for the stranger to do the same. 

“Eager little one, aren’t you?” 

You clenched your legs together a little tighter, your cheeks heating once more. You both had your shots in hand, each tossing them back like the first. The second shot tasted even better than the first, and a wobbly heat began to come over you, settling in your legs. 

You looked up at the stranger, sweat damp curls pinning to your neck. “You seem more eager than me, plying me with drinks.” 

You could tell you were slurring ever so slightly, the words leaving your lips at a slow pace. You could handle your alcohol somewhat decently, but the addition of three strong shots one right after another would be the tipping point.

A sultry, deep growl washed over you as the stranger slightly traced his tongue along the shell of your ear, “don’t start something you know you can’t finish, kitten.” He ever so lightly grazed his lips against your neck, only causing the pesky throbbing between your legs to strengthen. 

He pulled the third and final shot glass towards you. He wrapped his large calloused fingers around yours and brought the purple drink to your lips. “This kitten,” he cooed, pressing his lips to your neck once more, “this is how I’m going to leave you.” 

FUCK. 

He ran the sticky rim of the glass against your bottom lip with one hand, while the other slowly snaked its way to just beneath the hem of your skirt. Your breath hitched, catching in your throat. Some of the drink dribbled down your chin and chest. “Such a messy little girl you are,” he chided with a smirk. He moved his hand from the hem of your skirt to wipe the alcohol from your chest before popping his fingers in his mouth, “mmm, sweet.”

“Mmnf…” you whined as you clenched your shaking legs as close as they could get, rubbing them together to get some mild semblance of relief. Who the fuck was this guy, and what the fuck had he done to you in such a short amount of time? You clenched your free hand into a fist, nails digging into the soft flesh of your palm. Your chest rose heavily as you took a ragged breath. It took all the self restraint you had from shoving his hand between your legs right then and there.

Fuck it. 

You grabbed his hand and pulled it back towards the direction of your skirt, pushing it beneath the fabric and slowly towards your now dripping core. Your eyes desperately searched his begging for his touch. You were sitting in the middle of a busy nightclub with a random stranger all but tipsy on however many drinks you’d had previously, two shots and one more to go with his hand you’d shoved up your skirt, begging for him to finger you and you absolutely didn’t fucking care. Heat and hunger radiated through your body as you looked down at the strained but clearly thickly tented erection growing beneath the tight black jeans. 

The dark headed stranger swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, that damned sexy smirk appearing once more as he lightly ran his middle finger up the once dry lace. “You really are a messy little girl, aren’t you?” He pulled his hand away once more, the action extracting a mewling whine you hated yourself for making. He licked the wetness from his finger, “I’m not sure what’s sweeter, the drink or you.”

You squirmed beneath him, feeling like you might explode at this point if you don’t get something - anything. For the briefest of moments, your ex came to mind. Not once in the four years of your relationship had he managed to reduce you to a whimpering withering mess without even touching you like this random stranger had.

“Please…” you whined, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder, your nose falling into the crook of his neck. The smell of him absolutely intoxicated you. The faint smell of cigarettes lingered on his breath and clothes mixed with a cologne that had a biting freshness and some kind of animal sensuality that you were finding very hard to resist. Morgan always said you were gross for liking the smell of cigarettes, but you didn’t care. You loved it. You breathed deep, dying to sink your teeth into the vein that throbbed. 

A deep, throaty laugh escaped the stranger as he lifted your chin with his finger. He leaned in close, eyes level with yours. Your pupils were blown wide, chest heaving, legs practically wide open for the entire club to see. “Good girls finish their drinks first.”

In the haze, you’d all but forgotten the last shot that left sticky remnants on your lips and down your chest. You nodded like the good girl you were and bit your bottom lip. You looked at the glass that he still held. The purple liquid taunted you, your head already dizzy. Honestly thinking you wouldn’t have the strength to hold the glass, you stupidly parted your lips, eyes stuck on his. 

“Mm, yes, that’s a really good little girl.” He pressed the glass to your lips and tipped it back, pouring the sweet liquid down your throat. You leaned your head back some to swallow, eyes never leaving him. He curled his lips into a wicked snarl exposing his teeth and gums that left a devastating pang to your already tightly wound core. He picked up his shot and knocked it back with ease, tossing the glass on the table. 

His lips enveloped yours, tongue fiercely pushing its way in. The taste of alcohol washed over you as you sucked on his tongue desperately, whining into his mouth. Without warning, he slipped his hand beneath your skirt, past the ruined panties and straight into your soaking heat. You gasped in his mouth from the sudden touch, but definitely wasn’t prepared for the feel of two very strong fingers pushing their way in. He gagged you with his tongue, pumping his calloused fingers in and out with a harshness you weren’t used to but desperately craved. 

Your body shook as you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him down onto you, blocking you further from any prying eyes. But at this point, you honestly didn’t care. This stranger could splay you out for all to see and you’d be perfectly fine with it. 

He pulled away from your mouth, a string of saliva pulling between the two of you, “you like this, don’t you, kitten? You like that I can get you off and so wet with all these people watching. You like the fact that I got you off and didn’t even touch you, you little slut.”

Your whine was a little louder this time, your entire body shaking. You planted your face into his neck again, fingers making a mad grab for the arms of his tank top. 

He grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. 

“Answer me,” he demanded.

“Yes…”

“Yes what?”

“Sir… Yes sir!” you croaked as you pulled your hands from his top, trying to cover your embarrassment with your arms. 

“Nah.” With his free hand, he pulled your hands from your face and over your head, “I know you like this, you little exhibitionist. I know you like the idea of me fingering you into submission right here in this booth.”

You hated the fact that he was right. You hated the fact that this was turning you on in a major way. What sort of witchcraft had this stranger performed on you to make you such a whimpering little simp? You were never like this with Minho or any other boyfriends for that matter. This was never something you’d imagine ever doing. But right now, there was a dark excitement that filled you, and you absolutely were living for it. 

A few more rough pumps and you were practically screaming, shaking, convulsing almost, hips bucking into his hand and riding the wave of white hot euphoria that washed over you. The only saving grace being the loud music cutting the two of you off from the rest of the club. 

You tried to steady your breathing as you shifted in your seat, cum dripping from your soaking cunt and ruined panties. You looked at the abandoned glasses littered on the table many toppled over from your greedy fit of needing to be touched. Your eyes turned back to face the dark haired stranger. He smirked, popping the fingers that were just inside of you in his mouth and sucking on them. Yet another whine escaped you while you watched him. You’d have assumed you’d be spent at this point, but some kind of hunger had been awakened in you, and you needed more. Shaky hands pawed at him as he pulled his fingers from his mouth.

“What?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side. Knowing full well what you wanted and needed. You bit your bottom lip and glanced down at his growing erection that was just dying to be released. You yourself were dying to know what else was in store for you. One of your hands slid to the bulge and you lightly squeezed it, keeping your eyes on him for his reaction. The guttural moan that left him was all it took to invite you for another squeeze, this one a little rougher than the last. “Remember what I said, kitten. Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he growled as he bit the side of your neck. 

“I’ll be a good girl…”

That was all it took to yank you from the booth and harshly and quickly pull you towards the bathroom, your bag with your fucking phone and keys completely forgotten. The only thing on your mind was where he was leading you. You watched as one guy came out of the single use bathroom and shoved the other guy who had been waiting out of the way. “Move.” 

You tried to not make eye contact with him as the stranger pulled you into the bathroom and locked the door behind you. His mouth immediately crashed into yours, your back roughly being pushed against the door with a thud. 

Your hands scrambled, trying to make quick work of the belt that held his pants tightly around his toned waist. He pulled away from you just enough to unbutton and unzip his jeans, sliding them and the dark gray boxer briefs partially down his thighs. His cock sprang up against his stomach, precum seeping from the swollen head. It was soft and pale like him, but long, thick, and veiny. The one thing you hadn’t expected was that it was pierced. Three horizontal bars consisting of a frenum ladder. Your mouth dropped open for a second. That would be a new experience. 

“Like what you see?” Your only answer was a nod before your hand immediately found purchase around the trunk of his cock, dragging your hand up and down, using the friction to your advantage as more precum dribbled down the sides. “Ff-fuck,” he growled, one of his hands twining through your curls. 

Core instantly throbbing, you pumped your hand several more times before moving your hand and all too gently tracing your finger down the length of his fully erect cock. It was your turn to smirk this time, but you were stupid for thinking you had the upper hand. You should’ve known better. 

“Oh, no, no. Dirty little girls like you don’t get to be in charge.” Reaching his hand between your legs, the stranger ripped the lacy panties in half at the crotch with absolute ease. The fabric flapped uselessly by your thighs, cum dribbling from your cunt. You opened your mouth to say something but were cut off by his hands wrapping themselves under your ass cheeks and lifting you to just above his eye level. “Bad little girls have to be punished for thinking they’re too big for their britches… or lack thereof.” 

That wicked, wicked smirk plastered across his lips once more as he rammed his hard dick deep into your wet pussy, using the door at your back to his advantage. 

You yelped, grabbing onto his back for support, nails digging into his bare shoulders. With the music muffled from the bathroom, your squelching sounds were much easier to hear, and it would’ve almost embarrassed you were you not being thrown into a stupor. Your back rammed into the door as he pounded into you and your legs wrapped around his waist, one heel falling from your foot from the intensity.

“I-I nnff…!” You bit onto his shoulder, feeling yourself tighten around his cock. With each movement, you felt the bars effortlessly slide along the sides of your walls, making it very hard for you to last much longer. 

“Cum for me, baby,” he growled in your ear, “show daddy how good your little slut cunt can be…”

You shuttered as one last drag and pound of his cock was all it took to throw you over the edge, creaming down the length of him. He took your mouth in his and kissed you through his own wave, bucking against you as he shot his load into you. He pulled himself from you, leaving you a dripping, wet mess with your ass and pussy exposed to the open air. You whined as you the felt the balls of the piercings slide from you, leaving you empty. 

“What a pretty little mess you are,” he cocked his eyebrow, licking his lips as he lowered you back to your feet. You stumbled for a second or two as you tried to gather yourself and quickly put your dropped heel back on your bare foot. Your core ached with overstimulation, but was so desperately begging for more. The stranger tucked himself back into his boxers and jeans, pulling them back over his hips and buttoning himself back in. 

Like that, his conquest was over and he was about to turn on his heel and leave, but you reached your hand out and grabbed his, pulling him back. “Wait…” His dark eyes looked your face over as you wrapped your arms around his neck, standing on your toes even in your heels. “Take me with you.” 

#bts #bts smut #min yoongi #yoongi smut #tatted yoongi #pierced yoongi #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #min yoongi smut #bts suga #bts min suga #bts yoongi #suga smut #suga x reader #yoongi #tatted bts #yoongi imagine #bts min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #tatted suga

[kaybreezy3000]

Five is your employer and he's not happy with you. As the night unfolds, you have a very unexpected encounter with him...

~Rated somewhere between G and Mature because, like many of my stories, you can easily skip the sexually explicit parts. (see notes)

This story takes place where we left off with season three, but 5 years later. The name is a nod to hints of what might be coming, though I doubt the Netflix writers are going with my little storyline I have created for you.

~This one is sort of gift to all fanfiction readers and writers. May you always keep passwords on our documents and devices, or maybe not... 😂👌

Warnings: Mildly sexual themes in the middle. This does turn sexually explicit in the second half, but you don't need to read that part to enjoy the story and there is a warning when that starts if you aren't into all that stuff.

(8,711 words)

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

'Hargreeves home for wayward boys'

It was the end of the day and the Hargreeves family had all disappeared. You knew they were somewhere privately hashing things out, but as just a lowly intern working on their project, staying for that to happen was not necessary. They would call you later to give their decision and then you’d submit the order.

Speaking of which, your phone rang with a call from your boss and it distracted you as you were collecting your things. Arms full and not realizing you had forgotten something, you used your backend to bump open the large doors of the Umbrella Academy. The doors clicked closed behind you and you walked out into the refreshingly cool evening air. 

Downstairs in the musty kitchen, Allison threw her head back, letting out a tired sigh before saying, “Guys, arguing is getting us nowhere. We need to end this debate. The order needs to be placed today or we won’t have the sign back when the masons are scheduled to be here to install it.”

Viktor set his empty mug on the counter next to a pair of Grace’s discarded rubber dishwashing gloves. “Why don’t we just vote on it?” he proposed, uneasily glancing at Five.

“I say we go with ‘The Hargreeves Home for Wayward Boys,” Diego loudly declared while raising his arm high, to which the rest of the Hargreeves abruptly raised their hands, making it a unanimous vote, if not for Five, sitting forward with his head in his hands and his elbows on the kitchen table as he venomously glared at all of them.

Five locked eyes with Luther. “Really?” he snapped.

His brother nervously smiled. “Ah… Sorry. I changed my mind, buddy.”

“Don’t call me buddy.” Five angrily shook his head. “You changed your mind, huh? Sorry to inform you but clearly this one doesn’t work any better!”

Not getting Five’s belittling joke, Luther looked to Ben who silently rolled his eyes for about the hundredth time in the last hour.

“And you,” Five roared, pointing his finger at him. “You had shown signs of intelligence but now I have my doubts. Maybe if you keep rolling your eyes like that you might find evidence of a brain up there. This name doesn’t even make any sense! We aren’t just admitting boys!”

“Sure it does,” Lila disagreed. “You’re the only one who doesn’t think so but that’s because it’s very hard for children to think clearly when they haven’t had their nap. Should we call Grace to fetch your blankie and to make your bottle so you can go to bed early?”

Five balled his hand into fists under the table. “You should use glue instead of Chapstick. I hear it does wonders for making you more tolerable to be around,” he childishly shot back to which Lila merely laughed at him. “So, this is it…nobody else thinks that name sounds awful?” he hissed at anyone still looking at him.

Getting up with a loud squeal of his wooden chair leg on the cracked linoleum flooring, Klaus patted Five on the upper back, but his brother jerked away from the gesture. “Oh, come on, Five,” he said followed by an airy laugh. “It’s perfect. Even that cute intern upstairs thought so. After we gave her the low down dirty-dirty on our real family history, she’s the one that came up with it.”

Five scowled even more.

“Ahhh,” Diego obliviously sighed. “Things are finally coming together with this project and I’m feeling a Hargreeves style celebration coming on.” He draped his arm around the back of Lila’s chair looking at her, but she was too busy smirking at Five’s increasingly animated display of sour expressions.

“Let’s all go out!” Klaus excitedly added. “I know a great place for karaoke.” Five got up, slinging his suit coat over his shoulder as he started to walk away but Klaus snatched his arm. “Hold it! You’re coming with us.”

Five swifty swatted his hand away, distastefully brushing his brother’s invisible fingerprints from the crisp sleeve of his white dress shirt. “I’d rather shove a pinecone up my ass and let it sit in there until it dissolved than have to be in the presence of all of you for even five more minutes,” he smoothly retorted while flipping up his cuff to check the time.

Klaus’s bright eyes grew wide with glee. “If you are looking for things to shove up your ass, I can think of way more painfully pleasant options. Come on, let me tell you all about it while we decide where we are going to eat.”

Skirting around the table, Five dodged Klaus before he could put an arm around him to drag him in with the rest of the group who were now talking about dinner plans and the epic songs they were going to belt out later.

After breaking away and muttering under his breath that they were all a bunch of idiots, Five slowly wandered up the stairs. With his fists firmly jammed in his pockets and his shoulders inclined forward, his gaze remained empty though his thoughts were anything but.

After making numerous other suggestions, they had all disregarded his concerns, just like they always did. Whether it was trying to help them avoid apocalyptic ends or simply being somewhere at a specific time to save their own asses, he never could win in this family. 

Five cringed as he thought about the name they wanted to use and what it was really referring to.

He was the embodiment of the wayward boy in his family’s less than glorious story. Worst yet, the nod to Homer’s Odyssey, being that it was a narrative Reginald had forced them to remember by heart, was just one of the millions of reasons why, in his head, this was a horrible choice.

That man was an evil incarnate, and Five may have for a time wanted his love and acceptance or even in the very least, his recognition, but he never got them. They’d been used and dumped in a new world without their powers, but at least they had been left with their identities and their childhood home, but those days of bowing to that vile alien parading around as a man were long gone. Five did not want to be associated in any way with Reginald Hargreeves and that title for their new foundation did just that.

“How could they not see that?” he asked himself, trying to work through all this but coming up with nothing other than they were morons. “The last name Hargreeves was already on half the buildings in the city!” he shouted to no one, his voice getting eaten up in the long corridor as his dress shoes stomped along the black and white tiled floor.

As Five watched his siblings raise their hands in favor of the symbolic title, he felt even more set apart from them than he ever had. That feeling wasn’t anything new, and there were many reasons for it, but today, he’d had enough of them not listening to him and he wasn’t about to let this one go until he’d tried one more avenue of attack.

Tromping through the foyer, thinking he’d see you or the lead designer, Five glanced inside the formal dining room but neither of you were there. Looking over the stacks of blueprints on the table, Five spotted your laptop. It was lying among the other items strewn in the large mess but your coat and bag that had been hanging on the back of the chair were gone. Thinking you must have forgotten it and that you had gone for the day, he picked up the streamlined electronic device and carried it with him out of the room.

He’d been dying to lay into you for convincing his family that this asinine idea was the way to go. Sadly, since you weren’t there, that would have to wait and that left him in no better mood, but as he carried your laptop down the hall, he was quickly developing a new plan.

Thinking of you, Five could just see you looking at him like you always did-cautiously but kindly. 

You were always professional and extra nice to him in your interactions, despite him being dismissively rude at times. You’d laugh off his detached behavior and truthfully, he didn’t mind the sound of it, or your sweet smiles, or how your legs looked under your many short skirts and smart little slingback heels. He’d never let himself do more than appreciate the view when you weren’t looking, and he’d thought you were about as harmless as a chipmunk marinated in fertilizer that was walking sideways.

He was wrong on that, and worse yet, he simply didn’t get you and Five did not like when he didn’t understand things.

His lips pulled to the side as he noted your almost unnatural ability to remain persistently positive when working with a bunch of ridiculous assholes. Looking past some of your more appealing qualities, he quickly concluded that you were about as stupid and fake as fake could get.

You had stepped on the wrong man’s toes and this meant war.

With steam practically billowing out his ears over how mad he was at you, Five became absorbed in the thought of pissing some of his own mocking sunshine into your Clever Crisp cereal and he knew just the way to do it and get rid of you.

“Perfect fucking idea my ass,” he said through clenched teeth as his diabolical grin spread.

Five opened Reginald’s old office door and flopped down at the large mahogany desk. Flipping the laptop open, he flexed his fingers, his eyes roaming over the keys as the screen came to life.

They could call the design team and tell them the decision was made, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do something about it and make it look like you were the one that fucked things up, which as an added bonus that would probably get you fired.

If the very expensive stone signage they were ordering came and didn’t say what his family had wanted it to say, at that point, you’d be in deep shit, and he’d simply look the other way feigning innocence. He’d argue that at that point it was an issue of money and managing their extremely tight budget, so, to be sensible, they should just go with it as is-which would be his title of choice.

To Five, this was a win-win. Nosy intern fired, and no more demeaning name that was a reference to him hanging above the academy’s front door.

It was a simple matter of typing in his idea in the order form, and sitting in front of him was the means to do it. Call or no call, he’d send this in first. The work would get started and it would be too late.

Five was no hacker but over the last few years of being holed up at the Umbrella Academy due to having to live the life of a shut-in teenager again, he’d learned a thing or two about modern tech. With a few clicks, he was into your files.

“Where is it?” he hummed as his eyes ran over the images of little manila folders. There were tons of them and the way you had them labeled was not helping.

Clicking on one that appeared to have image files attached to it had seemed logical since he was looking for a mockup of the graphic design they’d be using going forward for all their letterhead and signage.

“Shit,” Five scoffed as he saw tiny blips of hundreds of your personal photos. These had nothing to do with what he needed and that also meant this computer was not just something you used for work. He was just about to close the file since it was obviously personal in nature but then an image of you when you were slightly younger caught his eye.

Your cheeks were a little bit rounder and your hair a little longer. When he clicked on the next shot and it was one where you were on some kind of vacation and you were wearing a swimsuit, he leaned forward.

He stared at the picture, suddenly intrigued. Opening more pictures, Five realized that same bright smile of yours never faltered in any one of the shots.

It had never crossed his mind that he’d see anything personal while he was digging through your computer, but here it all was and all he had to do was open the files because you foolishly didn’t password protect them.

Driven by curiosity and with nothing else to do for the night, Five dug deeper into your world. He found files with old college assignments which he skimmed over with only moderate interest. Then, clicking on a folder that seemed harmlessly titled, he found himself completely distracted, all at once, totally forgetting what he’d been searching for.

Five scooched even closer to the screen.

The first file he opened was relatively small and he read through it quickly. It was written like some sort of story, or more like part of one. It was about a man that found himself in a version of his body that was much younger looking than he should be. Miraculously he had been through hell and back, and mentally he was much older than he looked, but outwardly he didn’t look any older than his physical age of eighteen. The details of how this all came to be weren’t in this part of her story, but Five immediately recognized the familiarity of the storyline, and he instantly started plowing through the other files in that folder in a sudden need to know what else you’d written.

The files were like snippets of a larger story, not yet fully written or interconnected the way a novel would be, but all of them involved the same two characters, and the scenes were incredibly familiar but also not. Changes to how they actually occurred in real life were subtle enough to make what he was reading fiction, but the similarities were what agitated him and had his defenses on high alert. Even more than that, the male character in your writings was a perfect description of him in all but his name, and the female, though barely described, very much resembled you.

The story laid out that the male character was the infamously lost son of a very wealthy man whose influence held the entire world by the throat. After appearing out of the blue on the doorstep of his family home after years of being missing, this boy chose to keep to himself but that didn’t mean people weren’t aware he was back.

He intentionally carried himself apart from all others, always dressed impeccably, with his dark hair neatly smoothed to one side. He was cold and calculating and always moved with intent, brooding in his mannerisms, but the female in the story also described him as so breathtakingly handsome when he thought no one was looking and he dared to crack a smile.

“She thinks I’m handsome…?” Five breathed as he read on.

The female narrator went on to say, ‘It turned out, that he could storm around the near empty academy all day if he wanted, or even call the president and claim that he was now a 59-year-old man, but sadly that didn’t mean a thing if you had no proof and you looked like a murderously feral kid parading around in your fancy big boy clothes.’

Five’s stomach dropped through the floor. There was no way this wasn’t about him, and you weren't even trying to hide it!

Talking to a character that was said to be one of this tragic figure’s brother’s, the female in the story was told that the boy had no other choice but to abide by laws of normal men unless he wanted to risk the state forcing him into the foster system or worse. All this left him with little choice and a very bad taste in his mouth and he’d been lashing out for years with vengeance about it, ironically acting just like the temperamental teenager he appeared to be..

By the time the woman in the story had come to work for him, years had passed and this character was technically not a kid anymore. Again, because he was too proud to move in with any of his siblings, he’d served his time living behind the walls of the academy his family owned, but those difficult days were no more. It was time to move on, but the female character could see that for all her employer’s outward confidence, the man inside the boy wasn’t sure how to do that.

He still hadn’t found his place in the world. He lived in limbo, completely alone, other than the presence of a robot housekeeper that he called Grace and his siblings still called mom.

He went out but did not act as someone would who was his outward age, yet it wasn’t really his fault because he couldn’t partake in what those his real age did. He dressed like a man on a mission though he had no reason to anymore. Three-piece suits on a teenager and his smug expressions and even more caustically biting words weren’t gaining him any friends on his daily outings or within the tight circle of those he trusted and called family.

The female narrator said, outwardly, he was one thing, but inside, he felt like a joke.

His sharp green eyes spoke of his true age and the trauma of the life he’d lived, but he kept himself in check most of the time, never letting his guard down or letting anyone in for fear that they would see how much he suffered and still does.

Despite his cruelties to even her, the female protagonist said she saw right through him and under all of it was some very special. She said he was worthy of so much more than he was letting himself have.

“What the fuck? What the hell does she mean by special and worthy of more? My life is just fine!” Five fumed.

Five wasn’t just furious about this, he was confused. It didn’t seem like you were trying to actually write a book since none of this it was in any form of order, but he was stumped as to why else you’d be writing such things other than to exploit him somehow and make money by trying to sell some bullshit tell-all story about his fucked-up life.

He shook with fury, his knuckles white as he clenched the wooden armrests on Reginald’s old high back chair.

You had called him out but did so safely from his pretend female’s perspective. 

You said this male’s lack of interest in others was just a way to hide how vulnerable and lonely he truly felt! 

You said that all his arrogance and cocky remarks were nothing more than a sign that he was desperate for love that he’d never been given, and now didn’t know how to reach for.

You said you felt bad for him!

“I don’t need her fucking sympathy!” Five seethed as he angrily clicked on another much longer file in your writing folder.

Right off, he could tell this one was much different than the others he’d read about your daily exchanges in this fictional yet not fictional narrative you’d been writing about him.

It was set in the same work setting, set in the large manor that the deceptively young male lived. The characters were in a richly decorated office, with dark paneled walls and low light filtering in from the setting sun bleeding through the stained-glass windowpanes.  You didn’t need to say this was once this man’s notoriously cruel father’s office for Five to know you were trying to describe the room he was sitting in right now.

The male was sitting in the regal looking chair behind the desk, smug as ever as he stared at the girl. His cool, calculating eyes devoured the entire length of her legs while he slowly but deliberately pushed them apart at the knees, spreading them wide as she submissively sat on the desk in front of him.

Five’s breath hitched as that line and the images described in it played over and over in his head like a naughty ping pong ball.

That saucy passage was Five’s first indication that this story was not like the others and that what he was about to read was not going to be at all like what he’d read so far. 

This had turned into some kind of fictional love affair.

Itching heat started to crawl up Five’s neck once he reached the third paragraph and the first lines of dialogue were laid out with perfect effect.

With this male shamelessly observing that under her skirt, the girl was not wearing any panties, she grinned and playfully purred, “You can have me any way you want…”

From there, the two characters proceeded to take things to a place between them that Five had never considered until it was literally being spelled out for him.

As Five read on, parts of him were waking up that had nothing to do with his anger concerning you. The document he was reading was essentially like taking a very seductive trip inside your mind and maybe even more surprising, seeing something that was inside his. It was a firsthand description of how you really saw him, what you wanted from him, and maybe even more scandalously what you wanted to do to him.

Five was not familiar with this kind of writing and the only way he could describe it was explicit, with the descriptions of what was going on being detailed enough that he read the words with a slightly gapped mouth and a rapidly quickening pulse.

The previous files he’d read had focused on emotional and psychological themes, making the barefaced sexual purpose of this one all that much more of a shock. He had no idea you were attracted to him and found his appearance and flippantly dickish behavior so appealing.

If he’d thought you made no sense before, but now he was beyond baffled by you.

As the scene he read moved past him pleasuring you, on to your character kneeling down on the floor between his legs as he confidently opened his pants and he told you to get to work, Five took in a long, deep breath. He reactively moved his hand over the heat between his legs, his palm pressing down the hard length beginning to make itself known under the tightening stretch of fabric covering him.

In spite of his flawlessly pale skin, Five was typically not the type to blush, but by the time he was done reading your story, he felt like his face was on fire and his body was going to spontaneously combust. Unable to stop himself, Five began to more intently rub the aroused flesh hidden under the wool of his pants.

He started reading the story again, and he was so taken by it all that he didn’t hear you walking down the hall.

“Oh, there it is,” you said as you walked in and saw the back of your laptop sitting in front of the last person you had figured you see with it. To make it more bizarre, you didn’t remember leaving it in there and Five was looking at it with the most intense expression you’d ever seen grace his sharply expressive features.

With worry hitting you with the unforgiving force of a tanker truck, you rushed around the large piece of furniture separating you to see what had captured his attention so fully that he only just now looked up at you, finally registering that you were there.

With his hands flying up from his lap, Five tried to clear the screen.

Seeing the title to your very, very naughty story about him on the autosave line, you shrieked out a plethora of swear words, some which you just made up on the fly. Five was sure to have never heard some of your more imaginative curses prior to that moment, but you were pretty sure their meaning was not lost on him based on how he was backing away from you.

You slammed the laptop closed.  Then you covered your face with your hands and started pacing as you incoherently mumbled.

Through the cracks between your fingers, you could see that Five was clearly stunned by what had just transpired. He looked like his brain had stopped working, which was impressive since he was a proven genius.

Great. You broke the poor man and all it took was literarily getting your fuck on with him!

Then, instead of flipping out, to your surprise, Five said your name. It came out so soft and unsure and nothing like the way he normally spoke to you. It was the first time he’d ever acknowledged that he knew your name. You had thought that to him, you were just another nameless person they’d hired.

Hearing it, you dropped your hands, revealing a face so red that it only made your body’s less than desirable response accelerate even more, and then you got redder.

Not sure what to say, your next words burst from your mouth. “You must think I am a perverted weirdo! I swear I am not… It’s just…a silly hobby. I- I write things to get them out of my head and I always delete them. I wasn’t going to-"

You didn’t know how to explain yourself, so you squeezed your eyes shut rather than take another second of him sitting there, still as a statue, still staring at you in what you could only guess was horror.

If you weren’t sure that Five was gearing up to bite your head off and report you to the police, you’d almost think his own red-faced expression of distress was cute, but that was only if you didn’t know better. Under his boyish charm, there was a very dangerous man that was about to spring to life. That person had no interest or reason to show someone who’d invaded his privacy any mercy.

Trying to save your ass, you sputtered, “I never write stuff like that, it’s just… Shit. This is basically my worst nightmare. I am so sorry.”  You let out a broken sounding moan. You turned around, burying your face in your hands again. “Don’t worry, I am going. I will submit my resignation right away and I will delete that right now.”

Starting to cry, you moved to do just that but Five scared the hell out of you when he snatched your hand away and didn’t let go.

His eyes narrowed and your heart nearly leapt out of your chest. You tried yanking your hand back, but he held fast. “Stop!” he ordered, and you did, sort of. Your entire body trembled as you uselessly pulled, trying to get away. Reeling you back in to face him, Five calmly said, “You better not quit.”

What?

Had you heard him right?

God, he was close. You could feel the heat from his body and the warmth of his breath hitting your lips.

“Please stop crying,” he whispered.

You shook your head.

Undeterred by your inability to speak or to stop your sniffles, Five moved his hand to your waist and his penetrating eyes bore into yours making it impossible to look away. “That little story there…” 

He stopped speaking. Suddenly looking flustered he ran his hand back through his hair, rumpling it in the most adorable way. 

“You haven’t asked me what I thought about your writing?” he taunted, his voice so low and threatening sounding that you weren’t sure why your feet weren’t moving so you could high-tail it out of there.

Your reply came out as anxious sounding as you felt. “I don’t need to ask. I can tell by the way you are looking at me that you think I am nuts, and you hate me.”

Five drew in a deep breath, his eyes floating to the ceiling for a moment before he held your eye again and countered, “Well, if you think that, then you are right about the other things you wrote about me. I am a complete asshole and treat people like shit, but that is not my intent right now, despite my past and what my face says. You were very accurate and astute when it comes to nailing down who I really am, but perhaps when it comes to how I really feel about all this, and you, you shouldn’t be looking at my face.”

Before you could ask him what he meant by that, Five slid his arm around your waist, pulling your hips flush with his, and that forceful maneuver made it very clear what he thought about what you wrote.

Wiping your eyes as your heart raced, you muttered a very unintelligent sounding, “Oh.”

Five’s excruciatingly soft looking lips pulled up on one side, the look of it matching what you only now recognized in the sparking emerald of his shining eyes. There was a menacing level of mischief in him that was all the more strengthened by his burning arousal.

Confidently taking you by the wrist, Five led you back to the desk. Pressing you back against the unforgiving wood surface, directly between him and his chair as he said, “I am sorry I have been so…” His smile widened and you felt like you could melt from the sheer sight of his dimple deepening. “I have been so blind. You are right about everything you said about me.”

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you tried not to lose it over the way he was looking at you or the feel of his long fingers trailing up your thighs, not stopping until they were hidden just under the hem of your skirt where he let them settle.

Not sure what was happening, you shakily asked, “How much did you read?”

“All of it. Twice,” he blew across your lips as his teasingly hovered so close it was making you dizzy. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. Your writing is very good,” Five added as he flipped your hair aside and his mouth brushed with featherlight gentleness against your neck, making spiraling fireworks of tingles run up and down your spine.

You shut your eyes, feeling like you were having an outer body experience as Five placed tender but persistently more certain kisses along your throat and the shell of your ear. “You’re not mad?” you quietly asked, lost in his extremely loving touches.

Five’s fingers came up, moving a strand of hair from your forehead before those same fingertips tickled across your cheek then gripped your chin, forcing your face up next to his.

Your droopy eyes reactively flipped open.

“No. I am not mad,” he quietly responded, the comforting green of his eyes all but overtaken with the darkness of his growing lust. “I was mad at first and not just because you like to write stories about me. At first, I was hell bent on ending you for interfering in matters that don’t concern you. Pushing my family to choose such an inadequate name for our foundation was your crime and I was going to make you pay, but I see all that a little differently now. Funny how hearing a little truth done in the right way can make a very old, yet forever young fool see the light,” he finished with a chuckle that sounded so unbelievably charming coming from such a normally serious person.

“You don’t like the name, and you wanted to end me? That’s why you stole my laptop?”

Five laughed again. “Thanks to you, the name might be growing on me.” Ignoring your other questions he somewhat less assuredly said, “Is it true what you said about me… That part you wrote about how in the face of how much I lost, the fact that I never stopped fighting to change things for the better was the most admirable and important quality a person could have?”

“Yes. Of course I meant it.  You’re an example of what it means to be strong and not give up and that’s what these kids need, and that is why I suggested that name after hearing your brother Klaus ramble on for hours about your life and how wonderful you are. You are someone they can look up to and that name seemed like it spoke of the trials yet also many triumphs of your amazing life.” Seeing Five’s face light up and feeling brave, you cautiously added, “From what I hear, we are all lucky you never gave up and aren’t lost anymore. If not for you, there wouldn’t be a world left. We owe our life to you.”

Five looked down at the minimal space between you, his dark lashes fanning his beautifully flushed cheeks.

“That’s not necessarily true, and in many ways, I am still lost,” he admitted. “You were right, I push people away. I lack basic social skills and I have been way too much of an arrogant prick to own that, and for it, I am alone.” His smoldering eyes flipped back up. “But I don’t want that. I want someone that sees me the way you do and isn’t scared of who I really am.”

The slightest tic as his jaw tensed was the only sign that Five wasn’t as sure of himself as he appeared.  

“Are you scared of me?” he provocatively lured, almost as if he were baiting you.

You croaked back a very embarrassing sounding, “No.”

Looking like he loved that, Five excitedly asked, “Good, then will you let me show you how sorry I am for being a dick, and how much I appreciate you making me see all this in a new way? You are right. Nothing sticks it to my old man like making this place in name and purpose into something about giving people less fortunate a second chance. That is not what he’s about and using his name and things he knows are a jab at him is a perfect fuck you.”

That smile of Five’s that could explode a girl’s lady bits came out to play again and with it his hand ran down your back, gripping you by hard on the ass.

“Since you seemed to like the idea of it, and you haven’t kicked me in the balls yet, will you give me a chance to make your fiction come to life?”  he courteously questioned, though none of this conversation had anything to do with any form of normal social decorum.

As his words hit home, Five quirked a dark brow at you, and again, ever so subtly, he let you get a feel of his desire as he trapped your body between his and the desk.

“What I lack in experience, I tend to make up with determination and my ability to quickly learn even the most complex concepts and tasks,” he added hopefully.

Squirming a little, your eyes flit over the contours of Five’s face as you tried to imagine the older man that he really was, but like usual, you could only nail that part of him down in the unnaturally assured way he held himself. Like it had from the first time you laid eyes on him, the paradox that was Five Hargreeves only made you want him more.

“I could let you do that…” you flirtatiously dangled, “as long as you aren’t planning on ending me still. Being all scary like you are is hot and all, but the threats against my life and livelihood are sort of a lady boner kill.”

Letting out another laugh that you could hardly believe you were hearing coming from him, Five nodded. “You aren’t going anywhere, sweetheart. Not until I give us both a happy ending and I don’t mean that kind of ending,” he growled just before his lips crashed against yours and his hand moved behind your neck, locking you to him.

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

⚠️This concludes the PG 13 ending option. Go on if you want the explicit ending option.

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

Five’s kiss took your breath away. His tongue pushed inside your mouth as he searched for more.

His kiss was perfectly unpracticed, warm and innocent.

The feel of him letting himself go in this way had you securing your legs around his backside, encouraging him to take even more, which he did, urging your bottom up onto the desk where he held you on the edge.

The protrusion of Five’s erect cock jabbed into your abdomen as he thrust himself against you as if he was already fucking you. “Fuck, I fucking want you,” he wetly gasped as he let your mouth go, only to assault your neck and then your collarbone with nips and needy kisses that were sure to leave their mark.

With his sucking and well timed bites, he was hitting all your most sensitive spots, and you knew without asking that he’d learned just what to do to drive you wild from what he’d just read. As your head dropped back and your eyes closed, you couldn’t believe that a story that was never meant for his eyes had accidentally stoked this passion in him and had now come to this.

Feeling his hand moving higher under your skirt, you let out a huffy little moan, followed by a whining sound. With a smile, Five looked up, looking first at your puffy lips and then your glossy eyes as if something had just occurred to him.

As you were trying to figure out why he’d stopped, he leaned into your ear, softly speaking something in another language. “Sei così bella. Voglio conoscere ogni parte di te ed essere tutto ciò che pensi che io sia..”  (You are so beautiful. I want to know every part of you and be all the things you think I am.)

As Five moved along, kissing your jaw, you didn’t even get to ask what he’d said before his fingers were dropping down over your underwear.

“Well, well, well…” he tutted. “You aren’t supposed to be wearing these.” With that, Five remedied that deviation from your story, flipping your legs together and then tugging your panties down so he could stuff them in his back pocket.

His lips brushed yours and you trembled from that as well as the sensation of his fingers coming at you back and forth. They were gliding between your folds as he gauged your reactions to his explorations with a look of devoted persistence that proved he wasn’t kidding when he said he was all about learning the best way to please you. 

Soon Five had you making sounds that were somewhere between pathetic whimpers and pleas for more. Then with no warning, he pushed two fingers inside you, and half mad, your mind spiraled into chaos ad he crooked the digits upwards. He worked them in and out with an intensity that was bordering on too much and your body spasmed around him, your legs at his backside clenching him tighter before going limp as you cried out his name.

Five smiled with satisfaction, pulling back just a little to watch your chest heaving and your body writhe.

“That’s it, honey, only next time I want the entire city to know I am fucking you,” he smugly informed before diving back in to kiss you again, all the while his long fingers never stopped dragging out every last tremor of your release.

Even in your state of bliss you could tell that Five was trying and failing to one-handedly undo his belt. Softly pushing him back, you weren’t sure he was going to relent but when he did, he looked humorously desperate.

“Wait you breathed. You can have me as many times as you want and in any way you want, but first there’s something I’ve been dying to do to you.”

That perked Five’s attention.

You pulled your lip between your teeth for only a moment before you pounced on him, your humiliation from earlier now nothing more than an afterthought as you pushed Five back and down into his chair. His vest buttons were your first target, and you relished the feeling of Five straining as you took control and your hands worked, unpackaging him.

Next, the shiny little buttons on his dress shirt popped open, one-by-one.

Once done, you ran your hands across Five’s exposed upper body, loving how firm and smooth his skin was. The contours of his leanly defined abs made him look like some kind of sex God. The very fine trail of dark hair leading from his belly button down, along with the ‘V’ shaped arrow of his muscle leading into his pants, were a sight to behold on their own but they were also drawing your attention to another intriguing a part of him that you could already tell was plenty more than average sized.

Not one to be outdone, while you were checking him out, Five suddenly reached up and ripped your blouse open, making it your second clothing casualty if you counted your underpants that he’d stolen.

His voice was barely more than a whisper but this time you were pretty sure you knew what the single word he spoke meant.

“Perfetta.” (Perfect.)

As your mouth moved to his, he shot forward to meet you, but Five was still mostly letting you have your way with him as you finished undoing his pants and pulled them open so you could fish him out of the thin cotton restraining him.

“My turn,” you warned before coming back to Five’s awaiting mouth, your kiss muffling his groan as your hand pumped his hard length, testing him and finding him deliciously responsive and dripping with pre-cum.

You saw a tinge of madness in his gaze as your thumb circled, teasing the slit of skin and the ridge surrounding the underside of his tip. Your adoring kisses moved down his neck, cherishing every curve and dip of his flesh as he swallowed down what you could only assume was how much he wanted to move this along.

One more kiss, your tongue tracing along his teeth before you sucked at his bottom lip and another spark of need had him pushing down on the armrests so he could better rock his shaft up into your hand even more than he already was.

Five’s thoughts came out in a rush of disjointed words. “Plea- Please. Oh, fuck yes,” he grunted and gasped. 

His chocolatey brown hair fell in his eyes, but it didn’t matter because they were closed so beautifully in his state of total surrender. 

“I have waited so long to have this,” he groaned as you jerked him harder and faster.

“And you’ve waited long enough,” you whispered against his lips before slipping lower, kissing his jaw and quivering stomach muscles along the way as you moved down between his legs.

As your mouth found him, you could only hope that Five felt truly young and free as he looked. You meant it in your story when you said that he deserved this and so much more.

You took him in, letting him push down your throat until it was too much, but even then you fought to hold your mouth around him, encasing his throbbing cock with hollowed cheeks and the flat of your tongue.

You knew you’d given him some form of peace when he anxiously reached back, tugging at his own hair. A warmth started filling your mouth, not stopping as you swallowed the flood of his seed down. His eyes sprung wide, and his mouth dropped open, a guttural sound flying from his lips as his head fell back helplessly against the upholstered chair.  

You knew right then; you’d never forget that beautiful look on his face or the beautiful sounds he’d made. But more than that, you’d never forget the way Five made you feel when he looked at you.

You weren’t one-hundred percent sure that he had never been with a woman like this, but it had been strongly hinted by his brother that may have been the case. Just the fact that he trusted you to be his first brought a whole new depth to this moment. It was so empowering, it felt like pure energy was running through your veins.

Of all people, Five had chosen you.

Through his soft panting, Five looked all sorts of delirious, slouching in his father’s grand chair, with his clothes askew and his dick in your hand as you gave him a few final licks and proceeded to stretch your jaw and shyly smile up at him. Not about to let the fun end, you crawled up in his lap, letting your legs fall through the armrests at his sides so you were straddling him.

Five’s eyes fluttered open and closed as his hands gripped your hips and he gave you a little bounce on his knees. He smiled so happily and sleepily it made your heart skip a beat. Then he said, “Ready for round two, gorgeous?”

“Are you,” you teased, letting your fingers weave together around the backside of his neck as you leaned back so you could admire him in all his post organism, messy haired glory.

“Not yet, but I will be soon,” Five replied and he clearly meant it too. He was still partially hard, and by the way he had just started rubbing your tits and looked totally enthralled with how they were hardening for him, you were pretty sure that with a little more educational exploration of your body it wouldn’t take him long to be ready to go again.

“Five,” you breathed as he plucked and teased your nipples.

“Hmmm,” he sweetly hummed as his mouth found one, sucking on it with increasing pressure until you squeaked, so he resorted again to softly groping and nipping instead.

“What did you say to me before?” you questioned while still recovering from that.

“I asked you to go on a date with me after we finish this little reenactment of yours,” he replied, his words slow and thick. “I need an older woman like you to show me the way of the world and keep me in line and nothing would make me happier than to take you to dinner tonight and tomorrow night and...”

Oh my God.

Gone was the jerk you’d been walking on pins and needles around, and here was a man pouring out his heart to you though you hardly knew each other. To add to your dismay, you could tell he at least partially was lying. There’s no way Five had said all of that while glammering you with his ability to speak in seductive sounding languages. His arrogant little smirk as he lied only added to his power over you, yet you found that all you wanted was to kiss it right off his pretty lying face.

“Well, is it a plan? Will you go on a date with me?” he pushed, while also pushing his hardening shaft into the hand that you had been using to leisurely stroke him.

You laughed at the absurdity of the situation you’d gotten yourself into. The age differences you were dealing with were complicated to say the least, not to mention that you’d already messed up how normal people went about starting this kind of thing.

Doing your best pouty face, you pretended to be offended. “I am not older than you. Not really”

“No, you are not,” he agreed then frowned too and just like that, you wanted to do anything in your power to make him smile again.

Leaning in, you gave Five the softest, most chaste kiss you could.

“I take that as a yes to both aforementioned questions,” he mumbled, not even breaking your kiss as his arms fastened around you and he started lifting you both out of the chair.

Not stopping, in a matter of seconds, Five had you repositioned on top of the desk with his body lined up between your legs.

With his dick in hand, Five didn’t look at all embarrassed as he jerked himself off as he patiently waited for your answer.

This man had said he wasn’t going to end you but right then you knew he was ruin you for anyone else.

“Yes to both,” you frantically gulped, to which Five instantly started swiping his cockhead across your slicked wet entrance.

 “Ohhh, fuu-ah-auck!” he moaned as he sank forward and your body stretched and clenched around him with each slow dip inside you that he took.

Biting down your own much higher pitched curse, your fingernails went up under his shirt, stripping it and his vest off.

As Five’s entire length disappeared all the way inside you your body folded around him.

You saw stars and Five also looked perfectly shattered by what he must have been feeling and seeing.

Clinging to him, your fingers dug into his back and he carefully began to roll his hips, fucking you deeply at first, only switching to full and more abrupt thrusts the more your body accepted him.    

It was as things were starting to really get moving that Luther walked in.

 “Hey, Five?” he started to question before he saw you and what Five was doing to you and then let out a very startled sounding, “Oh SHIT!”

You were already trying to cover breasts but Five didn’t seem concerned about it at all. With hardly a look up over your shoulder, with his cock still slamming into your cunt as he bucked his strong hips, hitting you just right, he roughly grunted out, “I. Smell. Something. Burning. Arrr-you trying to think again, Luther?”

Five’s larger than life brother was floundering, the heels of his shoes clumsily moving backwards before he ran into the wall.

“I urrr-umm… I felt bad. I mean, we felt bad,” he frantically rambled. “I was coming back to see if you were feeling any better about the naming thing. We can go with your idea if you really want and…and we were hoping you changed your mind about coming out to the karaoke bar with us and…shit. This is awkward!”

Still using your legs for leverage as he fucked you as hard as he could, looking up with a goofy smile you’d never seen him make as he casually blew his hair out of his face, Five spoke as if nothing was amiss at all. “I love the ‘Hargreeves Home for Wayward Boys’ name. It’s perfect, just like my smart lady right here said it was, but really Luther… No shit this is awkward for you! Get the fuck out. Can’t you see that I’m a little busy?”

As your body started to tense and then fall into quaking vibrations of uncoiling heat all compounded by flaming embarrassment, just then, Ben rounded the corner, letting out a cynical sounding laugh as his hand flew over his mouth then came down slapping his leg instead. 

“Come on, big guy. Looks like this isn’t the time for a family chat,” he said, guiding his frozen brother out of the room.

Alone again, you were somewhere between orgasmic bliss and an odd sort of mortification filled with the feeling that nothing really mattered but the man whose head had fallen against your chest as he started to spill inside you while muttering praises that made your heart feel like it might burst.

This was nuts. All of this was. But somehow, it made sense. It was perfect and you couldn’t have written it happening any better.

Somehow, with Five and his crazy family, you knew things would always be unexpected and extraordinary, but you were ready for it. The once broken but not beaten wayward boy was proving he was far from giving up and he didn’t need special powers to make your wildest dreams come true. He just needed to be the person he'd always been.

Thanks for reading, lovies. ❤️

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#number five x you #number five x reader #five x reader #five x you #number five fanfiction #number five smut #number five #number five fanart #kaybreezy-on-a03 #number 5 #five hargreeves fanfiction #tua fanfiction #five hargreeves #five hargreeves fanart #smut and fluff #smut with plot #reader insert #number five imagine #five hargreeves imagine #the umbrella academy fanfiction

[vanessavixenx2]

Eww at the acne or bed bugs bites all over your disgusting ass....so gross 🤢🤢 can actually almost smell those pictures and that musty thrift shop stank isn't it.

Yes, you’re probably right, I feel the same way “anonymous”. Just one time in YOUR nasty bed and look at how filthy I’ve become!

To those haters out there, your words don’t hurt me, especially those from cowards who hide behind their keyboards and spit venom. At least my allergic reaction will fade with time, your loneliness and mean-spiritedness never will. Enjoy your mom’s basement 😉

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Beloved Thy Name

Pairings: Lilia/MC, Lilia x MC

Summary: Triumphing over your siblings on the human farm situated in the far corners of Briar Valley, you are implanted with the essence of the Tree of Eternity, gaining unmatched abilities in regeneration. When your Warden finds that the experiment is a success, you are promptly sold to the fae army as a weapon of destruction‒ a position you answer to with animal violence, much to the content of your handlers and the fae army, who name you Dullahan, after the myth of the headless reaper. When you come across the infamous Lord Lilia, great commander of the Fae army‒ he takes you under his wing, gifting you morsels of peace even with death on the horizon. You are simply taken with the sweet songs and sugary words which fall from his mouth‒ echoing them in the heart in your chest that did not feel like yours. Angst but happy/sweet ending bc if I get no comfort I'll implode

Notes: Continuing my myth (?) series I guess with Twist characters? This one is based on Dullahan (the Celtic myth about a headless grim reaper basically)

CW: References to human experimentation and manipulation (neither is enacted by twst characters). Takes place before the events of the game during the Human/Fae War

AO3 Link Here.

Masterlist

——————————————————

"Dullhan."

That name‒ like the clashing cold steel in your hands, and the taste of frosted blood upon your tongue‒ was given to you with purpose. That name‒ like the desire which seized your body with that moniker, was not truly your own. You did not call out to it, nor was it ever uttered upon your lips. It was always someone else crying out to that name, reaching out with a blade to thrust into your hands.

You could not recall your age when you left the human farm, arriving at a musty military camp north of the Valley of Thorns. Nineteen, maybe twenty, your Warden answered when a client asked, "ripe, youthful‒ good harvest" he had added. But it was only a vague notion. You recalled no celebrations‒ "birth-days", you later learned from Lilia‒ on the farm except when you triumphed over your siblings on your last day on that land. Your Warden congratulated you, shaking the blood and cold metal in your hand, "good human, the best, most precious doll", he said. If you had felt a fragment of anything at those words, it was eclipsed quickly by the burning at your limbs that was enacted by your new Warden‒ "commander" he corrected with venom between his rotten teeth. Your Warden, with a neutral face, asked why your commander had done so with his "best and brightest harvest".

"To check the quality."

"I assure you the essence of the Tree of Eternity is quite powerful." Your Warden tapped against the hard resin implanted between your collarbone. "Even with its abilities resting inside a human‒ it allows for extraordinary regeneration‒ this child can move just as well without its head‒ would you like to see?"

"Hm. I tell a lie. I merely wanted to feel the extent of the tree's capabilities with my own hands." He gazed at your arm with a warped smile that reached to his pointed ears. The stump at your shoulder was already weaving into veins and sinew, forming into flesh that felt distant from your body. Your lungs felt like hot coals, holding in the fire in your throat, however you were grateful that your commander had numbed you to any pain that came after in battle. When you carved death into human armies with animal force‒ fingers, bone, skin, and limbs were carelessly severed off to continue your path of undivided violence, fashioning victory for the fae army. If you fulfilled your purpose, you were fed, bathed, and sheltered. So the brief bursts of pain was nothing compared to what awaited you if you did not fulfill your handlers’ desires. You lost your head many times in the throes of your feral brutality, planting seeds of terror within all who witnessed the death hollowed out in your eyes, glowing with hot blood on your severed head. You carried it like a lantern, a harbinger to the destruction that followed the body which owned it. "Dullahan" was the name humans and fae cursed‒ either in inconsolable despair, or in hopes of victory. You answered to both.

"You there."

You turned, eyes hastily searching for the crest which indicated rank on the chest of the soldier. The high crest of the Queen of Thorns. Immediately, you dropped your body to the ground, on your knees, sickles held in one hand over your chest.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Should you not be resting at the infirmary? Your arm seems quite definitely severed."

"There is no need, my lord." The fleshy webs were already forming at your elbow, lacing elastic tendons around white bone. "I assure you that my regeneration capabilities exceed any human or fae of this land."

"You are the one they call Dullahan?"

"That is what they say, my lord."

"Hm. How fascinating‒ so you are the human they've infused the Tree of Eternity with." He lifted your still incomplete arm‒ you complied, letting it fall limp within his gloved hands like a doll. You learned to let people do what they wanted with your body‒ it was easier to listen than to expend energy resisting. That was something you learned while being pulled into a soldier's quarters one night‒ having your mouth forced open, arms and legs stiff as you swallowed thick, salty liquid. You realized that, in the same way you boiled the blood in your body to possess it with mindless violence, swung your sickles carelessly to be fed, it was less pain to spread your legs, and lie flat against the flimsy cot at their command. Like your name, like all the words spoken to you‒ it was easier just to follow its desire than to awaken a rebellion inside you. It would tire you out anyway. So you let the man handle your arm, twisting and turning it to watch the meaty strings form your hand. You stood as he raised it to the clouded sunlight, hunching your solid form to appear smaller. "Unlike magic I've ever seen." He let go, your arm falling with the gravity that suddenly weighed on top of it.

"I've heard you can move without a head like the very myth your name comes from. Is this true?"

You stilled at that statement. "Permission to ask a question, my lord?"

"Sure." He nodded with slight amusement creasing his brow.

"What is this 'myth' you speak of?" You raised your eyes for the first time to his face‒ you were met with young, porcelain skin and hair as dark as a raven. Fiery magenta eyes embellished with smoky coal stared back in slight confusion.

"The myth of Dullahan? Surely you know, it's from the human culture, is it not?" His head tilted, letting you gaze at his cascading dark locks with envy. It seemed so silky, softness unlike anything you've ever touched. You hands, accustomed to the rough, threadbare scraps which made up your military uniform, and the rocky, earth packed ground you slept on, itched with desire, hoping a featherlight touch on the soft elegance of his entire being, just for a second. Had you known the word "beauty" at that time, you would use his name in place of it. But a doll designed to beckon destruction‒ you did not know such fair words.

"I am afraid I do not, my lord. I have never encountered a human outside of battle."

"In that case I can only tell you it is a tale about a headless warrior which embodies an omen of death. I know nothing else about it, I'm afraid." He rests a hand on his chin. "I was looking forward to seeing you headless‒ I thought you just walked around like that." A chuckle raised from his lips. You were new to such a light, delicate sound‒ letting it echo in your chest many times after it had stopped at your words.

"With your command I can certainly do so, my lord." You stepped down once more, raising your sickle to your neck, drawing it promptly through skin‒ he knocked the cold metal from your hands, eyes widened in something you had never seen.

"Fool! What good will you be if one of my men injures themselves?!"

With quick reflex, you bowed down your head to the ground. But the fire that ran deeply in his fuchsia eyes made your eyes widen, brows furrow under the veil of darkness you created with shadow on your face. Tightness in your chest lingered, before you wrung it out into your shoulders awaiting wrath that followed the rage pointed at you with cruel eyes and spat words. "My greatest apologies, my lord."

"Is this one bothering you, Lord Lilia?" A familiar hand thrusted you deeper into the ground, buckling your knees and knocking your face into the solid earth. You tasted grainy soil in your mouth, swallowing it silently, and awaited your commander's mercy.

"No. Do not handle our men with such rough hands, commander." Anger radiated from Lilia's eyes, seeping into your back which basked in his glare. "Otherwise I will have to reconsider your position here since you are clearly not fit to lead.”

"...my deepest apologies Lord Lilia. I merely thought‒" You felt your commander's hand snap away from your head, loosening the pressure on your face that pressed against the dirt.

"You don't need to think, commander, since it is clear that you cannot. Just do as I say and leave them here."

"C-certainly, Lord Lilia." Hasty footsteps vibrated through the solid ground you kept your face to, however you still sensed anger‒ some from your commander, however more from Lilia, who placed a gently hand your shoulder.

"Are you alright? Rise, Dullahan."

You did as you were told, feeling cold filth stick to your cheek. "I apologize if I upset you, Lord Lilia." Why did I upset you?, was a question that you always knew to keep to yourself.

He pulled you up onto your feet, dusting the dirt on your flimsy uniform. Fresh blood seeped into it, which trickled down your nose, on your lips, to your chin. Lilia wiped it off, softly grazing your lips with the warmed blood of his thumb.

"You…" He paused, looking towards your distant eyes in an attempt to find any pain, discomfort, or sorrow. The hollowness he found instead made him swallow thickly. "You didn't do anything to upset me." He traced your line of sight towards your commander's disappearing form. "Does he always do that to you?"

You kept your stony gaze at his crest. "Do what, my lord?"

"Hurt you."

"It heals, so it does not hurt."

"Just because it grows back doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. I mean your pride, too."

You sounded that word in your mind "p-r-i-d-e". You wondered what it meant, but you decided not to ask so many questions. Nothing hurt, not for long anyways. The pain could never be retrieved long enough for you to truly feel it. "There is no pain. It heals anyway, my lord."

"That doesn't…" Lilia paused, pity curving his flowery lips to a frown. You quietly mimicked the gesture, twitching the corners of your mouth ever so slightly. You didn't like seeing him so upset.

"I apologize, my lord."

"You don't need to, you did nothing wrong." Lilia rested a hand on the weapon mounted on his hip, turning his body away from you. "Come with me."

You knew not to refute any words that were pointed at you. So you merely followed his command, trailing his form with quiet footsteps.

——————————————————

For the ensuing days, you learned that the fae army was joining all of its forces to prepare for the great battle that was climbing over the horizon of this long, long war. This knowledge was acquired by your time you now spent with Lilia‒ who unofficially claimed you from your commander. Though on your skin, you could almost feel the wrath shaken first of your commander that stiffly rested at the side of his body upon hearing this news‒ it brought you relief that there was almost nothing he could do to object Lord Lilia‒ great commander of the Fae forces.

Tonight, like many nights preceding it, you sat by the fire next to your new commander‒ drinking in the warmth it brought you. Like a ritual every night, Lilia hounded you with questions regarding your upbringing, your relationship with your commander, asking for names, for details.

"What is your true name?"

"My true name?" You echoed.

Lilia swung his wooden jug in a leisurely manner, a sight you had been seeing more of recently opposed to his steely facade as great commander of the Valley of Thorns. "Yes, the name that you were given." He says with confusion in his grin. During his time with you, he frowned less, seeing sometimes that you would mirror his movements very slightly. He didn't like seeing you so upset.

"Dullahan is the name I was given. The name cried by humans and the name fae call out to beckon my sickles." You twirled the blades in your hand with experienced control. "It was the name I was given after the wardens infused my body with the sap of the Tree of Eternity that grants me my power."

"Surely you have a name besides the one called out to you in battle, do you not?"

"No. They do not give us names on the farm. Only symbols burned onto our backs."

"The farm?"

"The human farm. The fae kept us there to train and find the strongest among us that could be the vessel to the Tree of Eternity. It's long gone."

Surprise, then a darkened look adorned your commander's face. "What ever happened?"

"The wardens had me set them all free."

"..."

"I set them free from the prison that is a name‒ harvest, they called us. I suppose that is also my name. Only one of us would survive and enter this war. So I freed them." You told yourself more than Lilia, who sat across from you with a somber expression. Only the crackling of the fire was heard within the silence that rang between your two, until Lilia spoke.

"The purpose of a name is not to be a prison. It is a hand we reach out in the darkness that echoes against our form, and from there we are able to distinguish the existence of ourselves." He rested his head in his hands. "Without it, we are formless, we are lost."

"Then…" you started, "...It seems I have always been lost. I have no form to call out to, yet even in battle my body grows back as if it remembers something that is not truly there." You felt the raised scar on your neck.

"You do have a name. You just need to find it."

"Where do I find it?" He reached out a hand to your shoulder.

"Deep, deep inside yourself."

"My…self" that word felt foreign to your tongue. "… I am not sure I know what that is enough to search in its depth." You admitted blankly. Lilia squeezed your flesh, warming it, you tensed at the heat. It felt alive, it felt soft, it felt kind‒ unlike the cold flesh that grasped your hands in mercy, or the icy grip that herded you back to slaughter. "But," Something welled inside you that made you body feel like yours for once.

"...I hope that name is kinder to me." You warmed your heart with his touch.

"It will be." Lilia brought you closer. "It will be." He echoed like a prayer.

——————————————————

He promised to make you his second in command that night, a statement which made you raise your eyebrows to. You had no rank, no position besides as a harbinger of death‒ an object which fulfilled a promise made from the egos of men which desired to live. If any rank, you would be among the armory and weapons stored in the artillery‒ melded together and hardened into another, more useful blade when broken. But in few days time, you were exchanged with several blocks of Mystium, which Lilia threw to the ground at your old commander's feet with a piercing, downwards gaze.

"Is that stone not precious to our victory?" You glanced at the piles of material, shining and brimming with magical energy.

"...You are much more so." He murmured, voice strained and face veiled with his untied hair.

You said nothing, practicing your form with tense muscles, looking over at your new commander's face occasionally. You noticed you sickles were worn however, prompting you to excuse yourself to the dark depths of the forest of thorns, draining blood from a severed hand and squeezing out organs through a deep gash in your stomach. You had done so with surgical precision, which earned you several gold coins at the local hospital, traded quickly for a new pair of sickles. Lilia eyed you with suspicion when you came back, your arms and torso bathed in blood and filth, the silvery shine of new blades catching his eyes. He asked what happened, and you answered him honestly, much to his horror. It was several days after that he handed you sickles made of Mystium.

"Just ask me next time." You had never felt a heavier satchel of gold than the one Lilia gave you with those words. The green stone glistened even with dark clouds looming over the camp. "Beautiful" was a word you learned from Lilia that day‒ it was apparently different from "pretty", or "cute", the words your commander's lower ranks called you in their bed, sticky and salty with sweat. The word in itself was just that‒ beautiful‒ especially when it was sung pure from Lilia's lips, and echoed onto your own.

Bea ‒ you ‒ tea ‒ full. You sounded out, a sweet laughter erupting from Lilia. "What does it mean?"

"It means something shines in your eyes and you love it‒ even if it burns."

"Oh." You inspected your new sickles again letting it shine in the airy light. "This is bea-you-tea-ful, then. Isn't it Lilia?" Everytime you let his bare name escaped your lips, you felt a strange tingling in your stomach. Like that swelling in your body, you enjoyed the sensation, provoking you to say that name as much as he allowed.

He looked into your eyes, not even glancing at the stone‒ you decided you didn't mind. "Yes, it is."

Though you had been surrounded by fae all your life since the moment you were born into the farm, you had never felt such closeness comparable to your days with Lilia. It felt less sterile‒ more warm, crisp, and pure‒ and you delighted in this new storm brewing inside you, keeping your form close to Lilia's at all times. "You're my second in command. I expect you with me at all times to answer my call." He echoes your sentiment.

"Of course."

"Speaking of which, I don't even have a name to call you yet."

"Is it necessary?" You asked.

"Dullahan is a bit long, don't you think?"

"I don't know. Everyone knows that name." It was often the name humans cursed, and the fae prayed for‒ there was no reason to announce your name when it had already been called out to bring destruction, or beg for mercy.

"How about (Name), then?"

"That's fine." Anything from you, you thought.

"Hm (Name), (Name)...does that sound right to you, (Name)? Does it echo in your heart?"

The fanged smile on his face when he carved that sound with his throat made you immediately answer.

"Yes." You breathed.

"(Name) it is, then." Cherishing that sound now, you hoped he would keep it quietly inside his heart, letting it be chanted to no one but him.

"I like it. It's bea-you-tea-ful." You knew your pronunciation would make him laugh, and he did.

"I'm glad you finally found it then."

You learned many more words from him‒ love, precious, peace, delicious, sweet, flower, honey, salty, creamy, soft, warm. They felt too sweet, too decadent on your tongue‒ so you let it swirl in your mouth, sharpening them in your mind like barley sugar‒ another thing Lilia introduced you to. When you swallowed the hard candy like the pills the wardens used to give you‒ your commander burst with laughter.

"No‒ (Name)! You're supposed to keep it in your mouth to dissolve it!" He gasped between fits of boyish giggles bubbling from his mouth.

"Oh." You felt the hard sugar slowly slide down your throat. "Sorry."

"No, no, it's okay. It was funny actually. Here." He placed another between your lips, parting the soft flesh with sweetness before pushing it towards your tongue. "And keep the rest. I think you'll like it." A metal can was handed to you, rattling a bit as he placed it gently in your hands. You soaked in his warmth that lingered on your lips and the hollow metal between your fingers. It felt sweeter than the candy slowly melting on your tongue. You molded it into a sharp fragment with wet muscle, cutting through your mouth‒ tasting the saccharine copper which spread on your tongue as a Lilia chattered away, explaining all matters of delights in sugary language. When words came from him, it seemed like the very definition of beauty trilling from his lips.

Even on stormy days where war and death reigned your lives, Lilia provided little morsels of peace that you shared together like the heat from a smoldering fire, huddled together in his spacious quarters in a bubble of serenity. He had taught you to read, so you sat on the earth near Lilia's feet while he worked on tactical analysis. You had tried to help at first, but that proved impossible when you didn't even know how to read words.

"You were never taught?" There was no malice in his voice‒ there never was when he talked with you.

"No. My warden and commander said it was unnecessary for the likes of me." You parroted their sentences you had heard with sharp laughter when hiding in the shadows one night.

His expression softened, before bringing you a book into your hands. "Here, let me teach you then."

You had practiced the words that flew from his mouth with clumsy lips, now reading each word carefully with a whisper. Pink circles around some words littered the pages, which you had drawn, to collect beautiful words and store them in your chest next to Lilia's voice which echoed them in your heart.

Your finger paused on the word "beloved". Lilia had taught you the definition of "love" but "be-loved"?

"Lilia?" You raised the book to his lap, placing your fingernail to the word. Lilia hummed in response, looking over. "What does it mean to 'be-love-ed'?"

When surprise adorned his face, you shrunk back, taking the book back into your chest. Lilia stopped you before you could, taking the text gingerly from your hands, and gliding his pale hand across the page to rest his finger next to yours to point, "Dearly beloved". He tapped on the word, thinking. You laid your hand flat onto the parchment next to his, to feel the vibrations of his rumination through your skin.

"Beloved, beloved…hm."

"Does it mean to be loved?"

Eyebrows twist in further contemplation at that. "Hm…no. It's something much deeper." Tap, tap, tap. "Ah, I guess it is love‒ except we can actually touch it." He stops his tapping, laying his hand like yours to line it against the side of your hand. You gazed at him with confusion. "Because beloved is a person. Unlike love that is the space and the actions between people‒ beloved is the face of that love. It's a vessel of love‒ and you can kiss it, hold it."

"I like that word. Be-love-ed." That word tingled on your tongue. "It sounds like a kind name."

"I suppose in some ways it is." He hummed.

You had wished you could change your named to that‒ "Be-loved". Such sweetness, such love it would be to taste the word on your lips. Beloved, beloved, beloved. Lilia's voice had completely replaced your own inside your chest, ringing that word like clear water. You leaned next to him, camping next to his warmth. He let down a hand, bringing you closer to it.

——————————————————

The great battle was coming, you could read it on the tension written on the soldier's faces. You suppose it would have been inevitable to be in your situation right now‒ arms behind your back and face pressed onto the cold ground, the soldier behind you pressing himself onto your thigh. He threw you onto the fabric of his itchy cot, a force which you accepted like a rag doll‒ slumping immediately into the surface like you had done so many times before. You lay stiffly, letting hands and mouth wander to spread you open wide‒ while you thought of other matters, truly anything else, to divorce yourself from the slick bitterness which swirled your skin and insides. You thought of the taste of barley sugar, the pink bottle of ink Lilia lent you, and his voice which called your name. You thought of the word beloved, contemplating through a feverish gaze if this man was the face of love. It wasn't, you decided. You would keep "beloved" close to your name, deep inside your chest like the tin can holding only a few morsels of sweetness left. This was too ordinary, too bland to gift such precious delectability upon it.

Your eyes phased back when you felt cold liquid dripping onto your bare chest‒ blood, your memory says. The delirium in your eyes never ceased as the shadow that loomed over you slumped to the side, off the cot. You lay still, breathing hollowly, closing your eyes just to get a little closer, closer, more, more, more‒ to fill yourself other than the desire of others in this humble moment. You wanted to taste sweetness on your tongue, from sugary words and honeyed candy‒ not the salt which spread on your lips.

"(Name)?"

You stopped immediately when hearing that voice, clinging onto it with heavy eyes and baited breath.

"Oh." Your voice came out raspy, hushed the dry salt in your throat. "Hi Lilia."

"Why…" He bit his tongue. "...What happened?"

You thought for a second, hoping the feverish heat in your temples would calm. "What always does."

Anger filled his lunge in deep, roaring breaths. Reading it off of him, you sat up from the bed, looking up into his eyes with a frosted expression. "I'm sorry. Did I upset you again?"

"No, no. You never do."

Still you apologize, quietly. "I'm sorry." Matters like what happened just now were normal, and you never felt anything of it despite turning it in your mind over and over. But today, you felt like you had done something wrong‒ not to yourself, but to Lilia, who stood with a darkened look. "Are you going to return me to my commander?"

"No. Never." He said deeply. "He's not your commander. I am. I need you…" A deep breath, calming his nerves. “I need you by my side as my second in command.”

"Oh." You looked down, craning your neck towards the ground. "Are you going to discipline me then?"

In the dimmed lantern light, you felt him crouch down, taking one soft hand into your hair and one gently onto your back, bringing you into his chest to cradle you in his warmth. "Never, sweet (Name)."

You kept your eyes wide open, afraid that if you would blink, it would be all gone. Though the trumpets of war begin to sound outside in the stony blue morning light, you relished the heat in this moment, knowing it would be washed away with cold blood when you were beckoned back onto the battlefield.

"But I'm dirty." You noticed, blood and sweat seeping into the fabric of his chest. He held you even tighter, as you hung limp in his chest, unblinking, unwavering to his touch that almost burned your bare skin.

——————————————————

Dullahan, Dullahan, Dullahan.

You felt a thousand souls call out to Dullahan, extending their armored hands towards the giant they saw in you, sickles clamaourned in their hands. They forced your worn hands open, opening the palm like the gates of hell, molding your hands I to the weapon with a twisted prayer.

Dullahan, Dullahan, Dullahan‒ it sounded like cold clashing metal, the slow drumming of death. You let it take over you‒ possess your body as always, drinking in the beat of destruction like bitter wine offered to dark gods. You carved silence into the battlefield‒ eventually, you succeeded. Everything was smothered to a leveled silence. The war was over, but you still felt empty violence writhing inside of you.

You looked around with smoke lightly burning your eyes, seeing nothing but a gray picture‒ fossilized into still, silent death. None of the other soldiers, none of your commander's, not a single soul was still present in the ash and dust. Your feet dragged your body, mindlessly wandering the empty world with a ringing in your ears. You felt absent with no one calling even the curse, Dullahan, at you. There was no way to end it‒ you couldn't die, you couldn't scream, you couldn't find yourself enough to lose yourself. Still, you raised your blade to your neck, hoping it would make you feel something, even if it was the echoes of war.

(Name)!!

That sound felt like a spring creek wash over you, crisp like lonesome winter but soaked in the warmed honey of the growing maytime sun. It reached a hand towards you. Not frigid metal, not the harbingers of death that attach at your wrists, not decaying blood‒ you, your soul, everything you are right at this moment. You leaned into the touch like a starved animal, drinking in the sweetness. Soft hands, soft eyes, soft touch‒ you would set this world ablaze, rip apart your own flesh, lose your head to serve these new gods. Lord, my lord, you thought‒ let any name from his lips be my new curse.

Slowly, you let your sickles drop to the ground made with rotting meat and blood. The emptiness in your grip made you yearn dearly.

"(Name)!!"

The earth was running under your feet, your body flying towards that benevolent song. You tested his name in your head‒ Lilia, Lilia, Lilia‒ before it flew out of your mouth like the stinging breath from your lungs.

"Lilia!"

He crashed into you with his warmth, squeezing your body to bring you closer and closer into him, as much as solid flesh allowed. Your arms grasped back, desperately, feeling his heartbeat from his back, into your tender palms. Flesh against flesh, your head dove next to his, pressing into his warmth and inhaling all you could into your skin. To lose any of it felt like losing yourself.

"Beloved,"

You immediately answered. "Yes?"

He paused, raspy breaths forced out of his throat before he caught his voice once more. "My (name)- my beloved (Name)- you came‒ you came to me. You're here."

"You called my name, my lord, my Lilia, my beloved."

Your names for each other, love, dearest, and adoration were the things you felt for each other. But above all, beloved rang clearest, straight through your blood unlike any other name cried upon you in war. How sublime it was to now call love your own. My beloved, mine, mine, mine.

Beloved was his name and thy own‒ and it would be sung until your voices turned raw with death. You cherished that sweetness, occasionally bringing it to your lips and onto his like this moment‒ singing joyously, what ecstacy it was to claim love with the warm of a face. No bitter taste of blood or metal could overpower the mulled honey you continued pouring into each other over the years to come. In a triumphal song against such distaste of violence and war, you sung a sweetened melody on your lips, towards the face of love‒ beloved, my beloved.

——————————————————

Notes:

I headcanon the Valley of Thorns to have been mainly a German culture especially because of their connection to gothic architecture (goths were germanic)- which would make them connected to paganism at first (because of their connection to scandinavia), before their conversation to Christianity

But I still added elements of Celtic mythology because the Goths were actually a subdivision (?) of the Celts after Rome's downfall. They actually had a large hand in the fall of Ancient Rome, being the final push Rome needed in its political tension when they seized the Western Roman Empire, causing the Eastern Empire to take control, which then at that point it had already divided into a bunch of clans that originally made up Rome. Though there are many types of Goths like Germanic Goths that inspired Gothic architecture, Celtic Goths also existed in predominantly Celtic regions on account of all the fighting and intermingling they were all doing. Also‒ Roman's actually had a special word for celts called "Scotti" which roughly translated in Latin to "cutthroats"- pretty cool lol.

But I imagine fae being that wide range of Germanic tribes slowly converting to Christanity by the time of the war, with humans of that area being similar but getting a head start in Christanity‒ which spread further with the war and Christianization overtime which occurred with the Goths as well. This is exactly why Christians had adopted "gothic" architecture because of that access to Germanic culture and art, especially with the shift from classical architecture and art which was more solid/structured and realistic (with idealistic components), into more figurative, and allegorical representations of art in the Christian religions‒ reflecting in the magnificence and skeletal feel of Gothic architecture. I imagine there were remnants of Celtic/Pagan culture and mythology however despite the general aesthetics of the Valley of Thorns, which is early gothic that are rooted in Germanic and Christian architecture (even though the film takes place in the 14th century in the high gothic era‒ really wish they went all out with the gothic stuff but nooo disney NEVER gives me historic accuracy or consistency >:((( ).

This also makes sense why the reader is reading a Christian text, because there were cultural shifts during the time. "Dearly beloved" is likely a Christian interpretation of Greek's agapétos during I believe was during the Renaissance when Christianity was returning to Classical ideas. Agape is the "highest form of love", which transcends everything like the Christian God's love (and most gods I believe since they're all made in the image of humans). Or as usual I made this more convoluted than it actually is lmao

Chose sickles as your weapons of choice because A) um, they're cool and B) because they're a weapon of harvest while being your weapons in destruction‒ its stuck between life and death as you are before you meet and get acquainted with Lilia.

The part where you hug is inspired partially from paradise lost‒ where Adam contemplates eating the forbidden fruit after Eve does. "Should God create another Eve, and I / Another rib afford, yet loss of thee / Would never from my heart; no, no, I feel / The link of nature draw me: flesh of flesh, / Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state / Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe."/“One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself” I'm not Christian nor have any meaningful connection to Christianity outside the academic realm but boy Milton's poetry make me yearn

Uuuhhh I'm so bad at endings lmk if that sounded good I wanted to do something bittersweet

#twisted oc #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland angst #twisted wonderland x reader #ao3 fanfic #lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland lilia #twisted wonderland lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #lilia x y/n #lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x oc #lilia vangouge x you #twisted wonderland fan fiction #twisted wonderland fanfic #twisted wonderland one shot #twisted series #twisted wonderland x mc #twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland hurt/comfort #tw abuse #tw human trafficking #hurt/comfort #lilia vanrouge fanfic

[em-writes-stuff]

presumed dead

day 23 of @febuwhump

supervillain, hero, villain, and medic

1887 words

warnings: captivity, cursing, stress positions, implied past torture/abuse

~

Supervillain leans against the wall, arms crossed in front of her chest. She rolls her eyes and kicks off the wall, walking toward Hero. 

His head hangs low to his chest, if not for the rope tied around his stomach, he would be slumped over. His legs and arms are bound to the chair, keeping him from moving. 

Supervillain grabs a fistful of his hair and pulls his head back, forcing him to look up at her. His eyes open and he yelps in pain. 

“What the hell?” He shouts, trying to free himself from his bindings. Supervillain pulls down harder on his hair, pulling his attention to her. He stills and smiles, “Oh, it’s just you.” 

She lets go of his hair and takes a step back. “You know why you’re here.” 

“Oh, I thought you’d gotten over him!” Hero says, slouching forward slightly. “Tell me it’s not about Villain.” 

“You need to pay for what you did to him,” she says, anger dripping like venom from her voice. 

Hero chuckles and looks at her, his head tilted. “Don’t you mean what I’ve been doing to him?” 

Supervillain’s face falls, she takes a step back and shakes her head. “What are you talking about?” 

“Oh my god, you didn’t know.” Hero says. “How could you have known? I mean, I told you I was going to kill him. I told you I had killed him. I even sent you a fucking finger in the mail. But I thought somehow you knew.” 

He laughs and runs his tongue along his teeth. Supervillain shakes her head, “You-” she exhales sharply. “What? You didn’t-” 

Hero cuts her off, throwing his head back laughing. “I didn’t kill him!” he extends his neck as far as it goes and whispers. “He’s been with me the whole fucking time. And boy, can he scream.” 

Supervillain sniffs and swallows the sobs swelling in her throat. “Where is he?” 

“There’s an abandoned building…just off the highway about a mile and a half from here,” Hero says with a smile. “If you hurry, you might make it before…well, you’ll see.” 

Supervillain runs out of the room, slamming the door behind her. She looks at the map tacked up on the wall and finds the building Hero was talking about. 

She runs to the kitchen and grabs the first-aid kit out from under the sink and runs outside. She dials a number on her phone as she turns the key in her car. 

“Hello?” the voice on the other end says. 

“Medic?” she asks, voice shaking. She pulls out of the driveway and turns onto the highway. 

“Supervillain?” 

“I need you. Um…Villain needs you.” 

There’s a moment of silence and Medic shuffles around, sending static through the line. “Villain’s dead, Supervillain. Remember?” 

She shakes her head, “No, he’s not. I thought- I thought he was but…just. Please meet me at my place. Please. I- this is important to me.” 

She waits, silently begging them to say something. 

Medic takes a deep breath, exhaling heavily. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

“Please hurry.” she begs, hanging up and stepping out of her car. 

The warehouse stands in front of her, boarded up. She runs around to the back of the building and peels a board off from the siding. She ducks inside and bites her bottom lip. 

The air is musty with a tinge of iron floating around. Light filters in through holes in the roof, illuminating the dust in the air. A gas mask sits on a table, mostly clear of dust. 

It catches Supervillain’s eye and she walks up to it, covering her mouth with the collar of her shirt. Behind the table, there are dozens of pictures tacked up on the wall. 

They’re all of Villain in different positions, each more painful looking than the last. 

In each picture, his body is contorted, ropes tied around his legs and arms, holding them in impossible positions. Bile rises in her throat. 

She holds a fist to her mouth and swallows thickly, turning from the pictures. 

In one corner of the building, she sees a lumpy mattress. She hurries over to it and sees Villain’s hair poking out from under a blanket. It’s longer, matted, and caked in blood and dirt, but it’s Villain’s hair. 

She looks up and blinks, trying to fight the tears threatening to run down her cheeks. 

A whimper pulls her attention and she drops to her knees. “Villain?” 

She takes the blanket off of him and gasps. 

His right leg is tied to itself, calf flush with his hamstring. His left foot is tied to his right thigh and his knee is secured against his chest with a bow, making it so that he’s lying with his back curled. His right arm is locked under the bend in his right leg, wrist tied to a rope around his neck. His left arm is tucked under his back, knuckles against his spine. 

“Villain, it’s me, it’s Supervillain. I’m gonna get you untied.” 

“No,” he shakes his head weakly and points at something with his right hand. “Loo…”

She searches for what he’s pointing at and freezes when she sees it. 

A bag of sand is spilling onto the ground, slowly loosening a rope tied to another bag, significantly lighter than the emptying bag. If the smaller bag falls onto the pressure plate underneath it, it’ll trigger a gun trained on Villain. 

Supervillain stands up and grabs the rope right above the small bag of sand. She cuts the rope with her dagger and sets it on the ground. She turns the gun away from Villain and goes back over to him. 

“Ok, I took care of it, let’s get you out of here, yeah?” she nods to herself and falls to her knees, unsure of where to start. 

Villain makes a pained sound, “Left arm. Start…with my left.” 

She nods and gently coaxes his arm out from under him. The blood rushes back into his arm, turning it pink. Villain mutters and sucks air in through his teeth. 

“What next?” she asks. 

“Other arm,” he says, gasping. 

She cuts the rope connecting his arm to the rope around his neck and sets it on the mattress at his side. She works her dagger blade under the rope around his neck and starts to saw away at it, forcing herself to ignore the bruises along his neck and collarbones. She unties the bow keeping his knee against his chest. 

He falls back, head hitting a thinner spot in the mattress. He moans in pain and turns his head away from Supervillain. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I should’ve-”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts. “Just get me out of here.” 

She cuts the rope keeping his foot flat against his right thigh and his leg flops onto the mattress, blood flooding to the areas that the rope was. 

Finally, she cuts the rope binding his right leg together. Villain breathes sharply and shakes his head, trying to keep the leg from moving. 

“What are you doing?” 

All he can manage is, “Hurts.” 

“We have to go, Villain. Sidekick has to know Hero’s missing by now." She pulls him up and he tries to stand next to her, but collapses. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, tears welling in his eyes. “I- I can’t stand.” 

She shakes her head and loops an arm around his waist. “Totally fine, I’ll help you.” 

He whimpers and tries to stand up, but as soon as he puts weight on his foot, he falls again. 

“Ok,” Supervillain says, thinking. “I’ll just carry you.” 

He nods and she puts an arm at the middle of his back and the back of his knees. She lifts him and carries him to where she came in at. 

She looks at the hole she made, then at Villain, and back at the hole. “Any ideas?” 

Villain nods and squeezes his eyes shut. “Put me down…” he exhales shakily and opens his eyes. “Then go through, and drag me out.” 

“Right.” Supervillain says. She nods once and…does nothing. 

“Supervillain.” Villain says. “Hurry please.” 

“Right.” she says again. 

This time, she squats and puts Villain on the ground close to the exit. She ducks through the hole and reaches for Villain’s hands. He flinches and pulls his hands away from her. 

“Sorry.” He rushes. He puts his hands back where they were and lets her grab his wrists. 

She drags him through the hole and picks him back up, holding him close against her. He curls against her, face buried against her shirt. 

“Ok,” she says, stopping. “I’m going to put you in the backseat and drive home. Alright?” 

All he can manage is a nod. 

On the ride back to Supervillain’s house, Villain slowly stretches his arms and legs, letting the muscles get used to moving again. His eyes stay closed, the bright light of the sun unfamiliar to him after the months he’d spent in the warehouse. 

The familiar bumps in Supervillain’s driveway alert him that they’re almost done driving and he sits up slowly. Supervillain opens his car door and holds her hand out to him. He takes it and she pulls him out of the car, looping her arm around his waist to keep him upright. Medic’s car is in the driveway, door open. 

They jump up from their spot on the porch and rush over to Villain’s side. They fuss over him, checking him over for any serious wounds before pulling away. 

Supervillain unlocks the door and pushes inside, forgetting about her guest. 

Hero cranes his neck to look at who’s at the door. He smiles when he hears three sets of shoes. 

“Aren’t you going to check on me?” He asks, voice booming through the house. “I assume you haven’t forgotten about me.” 

Villain freezes, recognizing the voice instantly. His entire body tenses and he shakes his head. “No.” he stumbles back and his back hits the door. “No, what-what’s he doing here?” 

Supervillain urges him forward, “You don’t have to worry about him, he’s tied up in the hallway. Just…get to the couch so Medic can look over you and I’ll deal with him.” 

She drags him to the couch and sits him down, “I’ll be right back.” 

Villain breathes rapidly, barely keeping upright. “Don’t- don’t let him…”

“I won’t. I promise.” Supervillain interrupts. She disappears into the hallway. 

Medic kneels in front of Villain, unzipping their go-bag on the floor next to them. 

“Hey,” they say, tapping his knee. “Deep breaths. Calm down, you need to trust Supervillain.” 

Villain inhales shakily and nods, he exhales and pulls his legs to his chest. Medic does a quick once-over of him and wraps a blanket around his shoulders. 

“You’re going to be alright, but it’ll take time. Your muscles are…” 

“I’ve been tied up for five months, I’ve known they’re atrophied. As long as I’ll get better.” he says, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. 

They nod, “You’ll have to work hard, and may never get back how you were before, but you’ll be alright.” 

Villain sniffles and tears fall down his cheeks. He wipes them away with the blanket and curls more into himself. Medic zips their bag back up and sits next to him, arm slung over his shoulders. 

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday23 #presumed dead #stress position #whump #whump fic #hero whumper #hero whumpee #supervillain caretaker #supervillain whumper #villain whump #villain whumpee #medic #captivity #captivity whump #captive whumpee #captive villain #em writes #em writes stuff #my writing #whumpee #whump writing #whumper #caretaker

[quitealotofsodapop]

I was thinking back to Revenge of the Spider Queen and how Wukong would interact with Spider Queen and, if I'm being honest, he was kind of misogynistic. At least, at first glance. Examples are the way he'd constantly refuse to call her by her title and the fact he put emphasis on the fact he was king while she was queen.

But then I thought of it by another perspective.

What if... when he called her Princess and such, he wasn't mocking her gender, but her abilities as a monarch? When he'd first met her in JTTW, she'd been living in a shack. Her 'kingdom' was an old, rundown shack. Her current kingdom was a sewer with only three actual subjects of her own. If that isn't a sign of a poor ruler, I don't know what is.

Monkey King, he drinks his Respect Women juice. He grew up in a troop of primarily matriarchal monkeys who eventually chose him as their first king after he proved himself to them. But you can bet he took one look at that musty, half torn down abandoned shack the Spider Queen was living in on that journey and decided that he couldn't possibly respect THIS woman. Not with how hungry and small her kingdom was. And he still can't respect her thousands of years later. Humans and Demons now have the ability to live side by side, and he'd been MIA the past several centuries. Is she seriously so incompetent that she couldn't get housing for herself!?

Yeah, that "Well, I'm the King"-line always felt really weird to me. Something like "Not my Queen" or "And do you know what happens to Queens who can't rule? They step down!" would have worked a lot better. Maybe a translation issue?

Heck, even a line about how monkeys typically eat spiders would have worked a little better.

I do hc that the Spider Queen and her six sisters were royalty at some point, but when their Kingdom fell, Spider Queen (the eldest) simply refused to acknowledge that there was no kingdom left for her to govern.

The Pilgrims come across the sisters living in a shack in the middle of the woods like the fairies in Sleeping Beauty. Spider Queen introduces herself as such to the gang and Wukong just busts out laughing like;

Wukong: "Lol, no. I have like over a thousand living subjects back home in Alolai who recognise me as King. You've got like six family members and a bunch of bugs. I hesistate to even call you a dethroned princess."

Cue a Huge cat-fight between SWK and Queenie that interrupts the regularly-scheduled monk-kidnapping and pig-creeping.

And centuries later, Wukong meets Spider Queen again living in a gotdang sewer!?

Any respect SWK *may* have gained for Spider Queen's upgraded fighting abilities/having actually cronies, disolves immediately when he realizes that this "Queen" hasn't even a plan for taking care of her subjects (what happens when the venom wears off/the zombies drop?), or what she's gonna do with that big generator mech when she's done taking over.

Not only that, but she captured a *lot* of legit demon royalty in her plan - royal either through birthright, might, or election. She's gonna incur a lot of fury from revengeful spouses, family members, subjects, perhaps even the Underworld itself!

In Wukong's mind, this "barely-a-princess" is on the fast track to have the shortest reign in existance. Meanwhile, he's been King for about 1000+ years XD

#spider queen #lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk hcs #lmk headcanons #sun wukong #spider demons

[marlynnofmany]

A Completely Problem-Free Delivery

The city-ship was right where they’d said it would be, all swoopy lines and strange architecture that told me it certainly hadn’t been designed on my home planet. But more concerning were the blast marks and the floating space junk.

“Hang back while we do a couple more scans,” said Captain Sunlight with a stern look on her lizardy face. Since she was in the copilot’s seat today, she hit the buttons and levers and whatever for those scans herself while Wio the pilot dutifully brought us to a stop. The cockpit lights made the blue stripes on Wio’s tentacles shine extra bright, which always reminded me of a blue-ringed octopus.

Wio probably wasn’t venomous. Probably. Someone would have told me if she was, right? At any rate, it wasn’t polite to ask.

I was still pretty new on this courier ship, though finding my feet with respectable speed. And I’d felt confident enough to ask if I could watch our approach from the cockpit. Captain Sunlight had even said yes.

“I count over two dozen military ships,” she told Wio. “They look to be allied with the city, in guard formation.”

“No active kerfuffle, then?” Wio asked, tapping the console idly with one tentacle while wrapping and unwrapping several others around the chair’s central post. She was never still. I wondered if aliens ever had ADHD. Again, not going to ask.

“I think not, but there was clearly recent trouble, and they’re braced for more.” Captain Sunlight looked at the clock. Probably thinking about the shipment we were due to deliver, and whether any delays would mean trouble for us. “Well, we’re hardly any safer out here,” she decided. “Plenty of asteroids in quickflight distance; who knows what raiders could be hiding with scanblockers? Let’s do business quickly, then be gone.”

“In we go,” Wio said with a tentacle flip in place of a nod. She angled the solar sails and manipulated a bunch of other controls I didn’t recognize, and in moments we were zipping toward the city-ship. Specifically toward one outstretched curve shaped like a shark fin. A docking bay opened as we approached. Right next to a blast mark that was worryingly deep.

I spoke up. “Should we wear exo suits during the unloading? Just in case?” I grasped the edge of the barstool-sized passenger seat, feeling like a kid on a car trip with opinions about which detour to take.

But Captain Sunlight was nodding. “Couldn’t hurt,” she said, pressing another button with a yellow-scaled hand. “I’m sure no one will blame us for not trusting the life support systems of this wing right now.”

“Speaking of which,” Wio said as we approached the door, “Looks awfully dark in there.”

“It does.” Captain Sunlight flicked on the high-beams. “Let’s help them out with that.”

The lights showed us a wide enough empty space to land in, among other ships and various storage crates in what looked to me like suspicious disarray. Wio folded the sails early to get them out of the way, and set us down by the door, which closed behind us.

A pair of Waterwills approached calmly enough, with no weapons to be seen anywhere about their gooey bodies. If you picture a circular fridge made of jello, which has been stirred with musty pond water and half a fridge’s worth of solid objects, then you’ve got a Waterwill. I’ve rarely seen more than a couple of them in one place, and I had no idea how they worked. But they were generally polite in my experience. I had one question about this pair.

“Can all Waterwills jump like that?” I asked. The Waterwills bounded across the dock like the goofiest of slow-motion cartoons. Then their speed registered. “Ohh, the gravity here is low, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and it’s not supposed to be,” Sunlight said with a frown. “I hope it’s just this wing. That could cripple a city.” She hit the in-ship intercom. “Exo suits for everybody, and be prepared for low gravity. This is a whole-crew job, as quickly and safely as possible. Go.” With that, she unbuckled and hopped down from the chair, pointing at Wio. “You stay and monitor everything we’ve got sensors for. You go get dressed,” she said to me.

“On it,” I said, standing up from my own chair and hurrying for the door. I was much taller than she was, and it wouldn’t do to loom over the captain. Plus we had urgent work to do.

The rest of the crew were either already at the cargo bay, or on the way there. I stepped over and around the various tails, tentacles, and bug legs of my crewmates to grab the only human-sized exo suit and put it on in the hallway. Not so crowded there.

I could hear the faint sound of Wio’s voice over the external speakers telling the Waterwills that we would open the door in just a moment; patience please. It really was just a moment. This crew had gotten fast at putting their suits on. I should probably practice. I’d just gotten it zipped and sealed when Captain Sunlight did the airlock check.

“Ready!” I called, adding my voice to the rest. It was over-preparedness, since nobody was in the airlock yet, and I was back in the hall anyway, but being over-prepared sounded like a great idea today.

The airlock worked fine. The loading dock had air anyway. The local gravity was low, but usable. Everything was okay. I told myself that as I joined the rest of the delivery crew in wrangling boxes through two different levels of gravity.

“Whoop, that’s awkward,” I muttered at my first step off the ship. Good thing I’d picked a small box to carry, since the step that carried me over the threshold drifted much farther than I’d expected, and I almost tripped. Got it under control, though.

A Waterwill pointed with what passed for an arm, and I did my hop-skipping best to follow the directions for where to put the box. We were making a stack against a wall. Quickly, efficiently, hoppingly, and with the crates all lined up with tidy lines. Good for us.

“Your ship lights are helpful,” said the nearest Waterwill in a bubbly voice. “Our backup lights only show you how much you can’t see, and the main ones have been out dead since the impact. Not like the gravity. That’s been—”

I found for myself how that had been when the gravity suddenly doubled. Good thing I’d already set down my box. I collapsed to my knees, caught off guard, gasping for breath in the exo suit. Thuds and exclamations of pain filled the dock. I stayed on all fours, taking deep breaths and staring at the condensed blob of goo that was an irritated-sounding Waterwill.

Then the gravity released, and everything drifted gently upward. The Waterwill stretched out to normal height like one of those toys with a spring inside. Somebody was swearing loudly. Sounded like Zhee’s glorious exoskeleton didn’t do much for his joints in extreme gravity. Poor guy.

I drifted to the floor again, and realized that the gravity was back on a low setting. We could still upload without swimming through the air. I didn’t relish the idea of trying to wrangle this many boxes in zero G.

But we might have to, I reminded myself as I straightened out sore knees and bounded toward the ship. Here’s hoping the gravity holds steady.

It mostly did. There was a brief stint of normal Earth levels, which was enough to make the Frillian twins stumble where they were team-carrying a heavy crate. I was close by and jumped forward to lend a hand. Together we set it in place, and they both thanked me for the help. I didn’t admit that it was more of an instinct to avoid being crushed. I was totally a helpful mini-hero; yay for me.

But then we were actually done unloading, and Captain Sunlight had signed everything over to the Waterwills, and next came the hard part.

Picking up our next delivery.

It was three large crates, made of purple wood, and each one taller than I was.

“Mur, how many hoversleds do we have right now?” Captain Sunlight asked.

“Only one big enough for those,” Mur said. He draped a blue-black tentacle over his pointy squid head, making his clear exo suit squeak. “A couple of the small ones will probably work in pairs, though.”

Captain Sunlight grimaced inside her helmet: many displeased sharp teeth. “Let’s do it. Everyone be very careful.”

We were. Nobody got any toes or other body parts anywhere near crushing range, and Mur steered the sled into our ship during another patch of standard gravity. That crate was fine. The next one was a disaster and a half.

It was damaged, to start with: a smashed corner that had happened before we arrived. Captain Sunlight made sure to note in the documentation that it hadn’t been our fault, and she got the Waterwills to confirm it. They were reasonably sure that the stuff inside wasn’t damaged, and that the actual owners wouldn’t be upset. These folks were just dock-working intermediaries, not the owners themselves.

With that vote of confidence, we got the movement underway, only to be slammed with enough gravity to completely lose the crate off the sleds. It hit the floor with a boom; the sleds shot off in opposite directions; everyone fell down. Something smashed against the far wall.

“Just a trash can,” said a Waterwill, puddled on the floor. The other one burbled in frustration.

The gravity went light again after that, which was the perfect chance for trash to float through the room, along with a variety of things from the broken corner of the crate.

It was such a mess. The trash was mostly dry, thankfully, though something had spilled inside the crate to make most of what was drifting out damp and green. One of the Waterwills muttered something about it smelling like kombucha. So now we had a bunch of kombucha-scented … cloth? Silks?

Aw man, I thought. That looks expensive. And there were other things too, which could have been paperweights or precious gems or who knew what else. I sure didn’t.

“Blip, Blop, you two shove the broken crate to the side,” Captain Sunlight directed the Frillians. “Let’s get this other one loaded, then assess. Everyone stay close to the floor.”

That seemed like good advice. I grabbed some of the wet silks floating past, and made my way over to stuff them back into their crate, hopping with both feet together and my knees bent, as ready as I could be for the malfunctioning gravity to jerk us around again.

It stayed light for a longer span than I expected, but no one was complaining. Well, not about that, anyway. The silks got stuck on every sharp corner in the room, of which there were many. One clump even lodged above an emergency light. No one was eager to go up that high and grab it.

I looked at Zhee, who was limping past with a pile of mossy-looking cloth that he was trying to keep from snagging on his praying-mantis pincher arms. “Think we should leave that one for somebody to get later? When the gravity works and they have a ladder?”

“Yes,” he said before I’d finished talking. “Not worth the risk.”

An urgent beep nearby turned out to be a communicator that had been hidden somewhere among a Waterwill’s floating bits — gross and not worth thinking about too long — and which proved to be a phone call from the owners of the crates. They were returning to their wing of the city-ship now that the danger was over, and they wanted to check on their belongings.

“Uh yes, see you soon!” the Waterwill said, looking at the phone in a way that said the call had already been ended. “Aw, plasma. Hey, all folks! The ambassadors are on the way! Be on your best behavior, because they are cranky and important. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Duty noted,” Captain Sunlight called back. She urged the crew to finish getting the unbroken crate onboard. Gravity was still light, but it could change at any time.

The Waterwill with the phone spun in place, a worried pirouette. One little arm extension pointed at the silk caught on the light. “Do you have any long-reach grabbing tools?” the Waterwill asked Zhee.

“Don’t think so,” Zhee said, “That bit might have to wait.”

But the Waterwill was rapidly becoming an anxious mess, concerned that the ambassadors would pitch a fit about their belongings strewn about the loading dock. It sounded like these were people who could cause trouble for lowly workers who displeased them.

What kind of ambassador acts like that? I wondered. Aren’t they supposed to be tactful all the time? Maybe they’re just rude to The Help. I’ve certainly met that sort of people before.

My thoughts about entitled jerks from home were interrupted by the Waterwill actively trying to recruit someone to climb up the wall and grab the cloth. Zhee refused, Paint said her arms were too short anyway, and everybody else was busy.

I sighed deeply and took stock of the small handholds in the architecture. “I’ll do it,” I said.

Zhee called out, “Try not to break yourself on the job,” but was otherwise no help.

Paint was worried. “The gravity could change again,” she objected, rubbing the fingers of her suit together in a way that normally made her orange scales click. Stress gesture.

“I’ll be fast,” I said. “Can you move one of the spare hoversleds under me, just in case?”

She did, rushing off to grab one while I bounced over carefully and started testing handholds. If the gravity increased to normal while I was climbing, I should be okay, but extreme crush might be a problem. I didn’t want to get my fingers stuck. That was a quick route to a potential amputation, even with the exo suit.

“I’m just going to jump up there,” I announced when Paint brought the sled over. She looked even more worried, but the Waterwill urged me on. The ambassadors would be here soon.

Deep breath time. The cloth was stuck at about twice my height, a green-and-gold filmy bundle drifting lazily on the air currents. Pipes and seams and suchlike made a path below it. I could have moved boxes over here to build a staircase with, but high gravity might put my foot right through one, and anyway there wasn’t time.

I got a running start and tried to sprint toward the wall, though the best I could do was a series of hops with increasing speed. I jumped off the hoversled in a way that was probably against several rules, got a toehold that was just barely big enough, and leapt upward.

I almost missed and drifted back out into open air — my heart rate did not like that — but I managed to grab the silk. Yanked it free, clutched the light with my free hand to pull myself closer to the wall, then rebounded off a pipe on my way floorward.

I touched down on the hoversled just as the gravity increased again. At least the sled bounced a bit when I collapsed onto it, spinning away from where Paint and the Waterwill were laid out on the floor, their hoorays turned into ouches.

This stint of heavy gravity was brief. I rode the sliding hoversled over to the broken crate, waving the silk like a banner. My suit was probably going to stink of kombucha, but that was a small price to pay for victory. “Got it!” I declared.

“Nice,” Mur said, grabbing the silk and hurrying to stuff it back into the hole while everyone else was getting to their feet, or the equivalent. Like the Waterwills, Mur didn’t fall down so much as squish. “That’s the last of — Waugh!” He jumped back as something small and gray scrambled out of the hole and made a mad dash for the boxes.

“That’s a rat!” I said, somewhat stupidly, but maybe it wasn’t as much of a Captain Obvious moment as I’d thought. No one else recognized the animal.

“A what?” Mur demanded.

“Is it dangerous?” Captain Sunlight asked quickly while the rest of the crew shouted about it.

“Not really,” I said, watching in surprise as the furry little beastie found a hiding spot between boxes. “I mean, some do carry diseases. But their teeth are small. Well, not sharp, anyway.”

Nobody liked that answer. Not the captain, worried about danger to the crew; not the Waterwills, worried about what the ambassadors would say; not Paint, hyperventilating in a corner. Blip patted her on the shoulder.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” I insisted. “We’re in exo suits. Let me see if I can catch it before the ambassadors get here. Where’s that trash can?”

Way over by the far wall. I pushed the hoversled like a surfboard for more speed, and zoomed over to grab it in a way that wouldn’t put me in danger of a high-grav faceplant. Wish I’d thought of this sooner. I dumped out the last of the soda cans and whatever, grabbed the lid off the floor, then zipped back the way I had come with the dented trash can in tow.

Now, catching a rat is normally a time-intensive process that involves traps, patience, and bait. We had none of that. But we did have excellent luck, and a patch of normal gravity.

The trash can was squareish, which meant no open spots when laid on the ground with some hastily-retrieved silks crumpled inside to hide among. At my directions, everyone shoved boxes into rows, making a corridor that led to the trash can. Then I flushed the rat out of hiding.

Ooh, it was a quick one. Scuttled right by me in the wrong direction, only to be menaced by Zhee into changing course for the corridor. The rest of the crew (most of them) were lined up behind the boxes to funnel the rat toward the trash can. (Those with soft exo suits that could be bitten through, like Mur, hung back with the Waterwills. And Paint, because she was apparently afraid of rats for some reason. Not judging.)

The rat dove into the silks, just as I’d hoped, but when Blop moved to slam the lid on, it zipped right back out.

Many hands reached for it, but the rat was wily and panicked; it dodged every one and leapt off the captain’s shoulder.

Then the gravity went gloriously light, and that befuddled rat sailed, squeaking, right into my waiting hands. I got it in a no-bitey grip with my thumb under one foreleg and my finger under its chin, cradled the butt with my other hand, and moved it safely into the trash can before the gravity did anything else stupid. Closed the lid, snapped it into place, then sat on it for good measure.

To wild approval.

It was while everyone was cheering and singing my praises that the ambassadors walked in without exo suits. Hopped, really, looking just as cranky as expected. They were human though, and that was a surprise.

A disappointing one.

“What is happening in here? What kind of professionalism is this?” demanded the gray-haired pale guy.

“Who is in charge?” asked the matching woman in tones of deep disapproval.

The Waterwills greeted them with humble apologies, followed by Captain Sunlight with levelheaded patience. Neither made much of a dent in their attitude.

“It’s damaged? And who do we have to blame for that?”

“Clearly someone wasn’t handling it well. Don’t try to blame this on low gravity; that just sounds like an excuse for incompetence to me.”

Nobody had mentioned the rat yet. I picked up the trash can and strolled over.

“What’s this?” asked the woman.

I set it down. The rat inside scrabbled madly at the sides. “You will be pleased to know,” I announced. “That at great risk to life and limb, we have re-captured your pet.”

“Pet?” the woman asked.

“What pet?” the man said sharply.

“Your rat,” I said with false innocence. “Little gray cutie—” I was cut off by a flood of objections. “If it’s not yours, then why was it in your crate? We all saw it jump out, and assumed you would want it back.”

“No we don’t want it back!” the man yelled, getting a bit red in the face.

“Oh, that’s a pity,” I said.

“You’re telling me a rat got in there too?” the woman asked. “After someone here broke it open?”

“Oh no, not at all,” I said, then I wiped the smile from my face. “I’m telling you that your shipment contained a potentially-deadly animal, and if not for the damage sustained by gravity fluctuations due to the city-ship’s recent impacts, we would have been obliged to bring that risk onboard our own ship. Where we do not wear exo suits in our day-to-day lives.”

They had a lot to say, but I went on.

“I’m sure you are upset about the damage done to your shipment, and I agree; that is unfortunate. The rat has probably made quite a nest inside the box. I recommend a biohazard team handle it from this point forward. But any concern for material losses must come second to the very real risk you have introduced to this loading dock, and possibly the city. Where was the crate packed?”

The woman answered my question with a name I’d never heard of while the man objected. “What are you talking about, ‘deadly risk?’” he sputtered. “It’s a rat!”

I adopted a concerned expression. “You are familiar with hantavirus, are you not? Salmonellosis? Rat-Bite Fever? Rodents carry many diseases, and if this isn’t a pet, then it’s anyone’s guess what contagions its bite contains.”

The ambassadors could have been reasonable people, and owned up to the problem, or at least blamed it on who ever had packed the crate. But no, they were jerks who tried to blame it on us.

They stormed out into the hallway, shouting for some sort of officials who had escorted them there, and immediately began trying to spin the situation.

Luckily for us, the officials (human too!) had already had enough of this pair, and easily believed our account of things. Especially once I fished out a chunk of wood with bite marks from the broken crate. I’d glimpsed it earlier when putting away the silks, but I hadn’t thought about what kind of marks those were until now. Sure looked like the rat had been trying to get out before the crate broke.

“Well, how about you pay these nice people,” the lead official suggested, with the faintest smile on her face. “There’s been no harm done, and they’ll want to be on their way delivering your other two crates. Unless we should check those for pests too?”

The ambassadors said of course the other two crates were fine, and since the cameras in our cargo bay had been repaired, Captain Sunlight was willing to allow them onboard under supervision. Assuming the ambassadors signed for potential further damages, on the off chance that another problem animal did show its head during the short trip.

This was even less pleasant for the ambassadors to swallow, but under the polite insistence of the officials, they finally agreed. Grumpily. Then once the form was signed, they flounced off with as much dignity as the low gravity allowed.

Captain Sunlight put a small hand on my arm. “How much of a biohazard should we clean for?” she asked quietly. “I can have Wio get the sanitizing hose for all the exo suits before we board, though it will be messy.”

“It’s probably not that bad,” I murmured back. “Just tell her to bring the medical scanner to check the rat.”

“Got it.”

Wio was out in a flash, and the gravity behaved while the trash can lid was cracked open for the scan. What do you know, the rat was perfectly healthy. Not even any fleas.

The official woman smiled. “Well that’s good news! I wonder if it’s an escaped pet after all.”

“You’re welcome to adopt it,” I said, pushing the can forward a smidge. “Though I will give you all the warnings about handling it without gloves. You don’t want to get bitten, even by a healthy rat.”

“We’ll see if anyone has reported a lost one,” she said. “Then who knows? I might just have somebody in mind who’s always wanted a pet that’s a challenge.” She exchanged looks with the two quiet officials beside her.

“All yours,” I said with a dramatic wave toward the trash can. I looked at the Waterwills. “Should they bring the can back afterward, or will you be getting a new one that’s not dented?”

“New one,” burbled the closer Waterwill. “You can go ahead and recycle that.”

“Well!” said Captain Sunlight with a clap of her gloved hands. “This has all been exciting, but we do have a schedule to at least attempt to keep.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” said the official. “Thank you for handling this mess and catching the rat.”

“All credit goes to Robin here,” Captain Sunlight said with a gesture toward me. “Our resident animal expert and quick-thinker.”

I tried to compose a proper aw-shucks reply, but the official just shook my hand with more thanks. “Robin, is it? Well, we are grateful. What’s your surname?”

“Bennett,” I told her, and she nodded with the kind of look that said she was committing it to memory. That was more of a compliment than the words, really. It’s a fine thing to have people in authority think well of you.

There was another round of general thank-you-goodbyes, then we all trooped back onboard. The city-ship’s gravity was still light, which made the heaviness inside our ship feel foreign. But by the time I got my exo suit off, it was all just about normal. I gave the gloves a wipe-down with some cleaner while the engines rumbled to life. It really did smell like kombucha.

When I left the cargo bay, I met Wio coming to find me. After a moment of “Who’s flying the ship?” (Kavlae was taking a turn), Wio said she had questions.

“Just how common are those diseases you mentioned?” she asked. “Was it actually a big risk?”

“Well, not with the suits,” I said. “And they’re less common than they used to be, but still something to keep in mind with wild rats.”

“Do the wild ones look the same as the domesticated kind? You really can’t tell at a glance if it was a pet?”

“Tame ones are usually a little more delicate, but they’re the same species,” I told her. “We never really bred rats for anything specific, not like we did with dogs.”

“So you just decided that the disease-ridden, bitey little things chewing on your belongings would make perfect pets as-is.”

“Yup, basically!” I said. “Except for the disease. Most of our pets could be described as bitey little troublemakers, but that’s part of their charm.”

She patted my leg with a blue-striped tentacle that probably wasn’t poisonous. “Likewise, I’m sure.”

“Hey now, I haven’t bitten anyone since I was a kid,” I said.

“Oh asteroids, I was joking!”

“Sure you were.”

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of Robin Bennett, the spacefaring veterinarian from A Swift Kick to the Thorax. No idea how many I’ll write, but I’m not done yet!

#my writing #the Token Human #humans are weird #long post #seriously this was not meant to be so long #but I like to think it's worth it #humans are space orcs #hfy #haso #science fiction #this is the story I was talking about last night #with the 'I have no idea how the spaceship works' bit at the beginning #I stand by that

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hi there! I really love your lords of chaos stuff and enjoyed what you wrote for the last request I had sent previously, so here’s another idea I wanted go get off the brain. Do you think you could write a male reader that had used to be friends with Euro when they were younger comes into Helvete to see him again? A bit of an odd sight in the store, as they have their hair dyed a reddish color, and is not afraid to rock eyeshadow. At first there’s bickering about not staying in contact, but they warm up to one another and it’s like old times again. And then reader finally works up the courage to properly confess to him, because he chickened out when they were teen, when their alone and surprises Euro with a smooch. Because who wouldn’t wanna kiss him lol?

Old love and an old friend

warning : drinking, smoking, kiss, use of Y/n

info : Thanks for the request dear anon I hope you like it and thanks for your praise it was fun to write :)

masterlist

Disclaimer : I don't want to glorify anything, it's about the actors who play a role, not the real events.

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

Helvete and the customers were a circle of darkness there was no light and no hope only the blackness the owner would say if you asked him. But it was true, the customers in Helvete were mostly dressed completely in black and chose the black records.

Black like the souls they didn't have. It was a time when he thought about the now or the future of how they would destroy the world. It was a time when the past was all but forgotten. too many things had happened there that he wanted to forget.

Which is why when the doorbell rang, announcing a new customer, it was all the more striking when the bright red mingled with the black. Euroynmous looked up from the till and confusion showed in his gaze, his bright eyes almost blinded by the red. It wasn't a dark hellfire it was the bright red standing out. It was mesmerizing.

But as he looked at the face something flashed, it was the eyeliner around the eyes that looked around with interest. It was the image of a punk, someone else but a metalhead who knew. ,,What's up?" he asked, slowly approaching the other, the black circle was still asleep, the party had gone hard but he, as the owner, couldn't leave his precious store alone.

He tried to look at the face again, it reminded him of someone, someone strange, a young boy as old as he was, but who? What was suddenly different in his head, in his body? Was it the red hair, a distant voice that had told him years ago that red was his favorite color. Who was he?

,,Do you know a certain record?" the stranger asked, holding one of Venom in front of him but putting it down when it didn't seem to be what he was looking for. The eyes that were covered with the eyeliner that Euronymous was so fascinated by almost showed something like bitterness. But why?

Why was the stranger bitter if they didn't know each other or did they? ,,That depends on what you're looking for," Euronymous replied and continued to look at his counterpart, coming a little closer but the stranger didn't move back. He stood still and even seemed to enjoy the closeness. The smell of cigarettes and alcohol and mustiness surrounded them both.

A smell they both knew from when they had leafed through old books of witches and devils in Euronymous' room, the red nail on the fingers of one of them, the cigarette they shared and the stolen beer from their father. ,,I'm looking for do you remember the destroyer of the world, old friend?" asked his counterpart, smiling slightly at him as he seemed to wait for the reaction. A reaction that came.

Destroyer of the world was the name they had both given to the first band they had formed together before his friend Y/n had moved out of town and broken off contact. ,,By Satan Y/n! That's you!" Euronyous exclaimed and immediately pulled him into a hug, holding him close for longer than necessary, afraid of losing him again.

Losing…had he lost him or had they simply grown apart? Something he didn't know what it was but it didn't matter when he saw the grin on the other's face.

,,It's been years, I see you have a record store now," his counterpart said and looked around a little before looking back at Euronymous, the blue of his eyes showing happiness and the heart of both of them beating perhaps too fast for it to be just joy.

,,And you have red hair and pretty good looking eyeliner," Euronymous replied and the two laughed lightly before silence fell between them again and the mood became almost heavy.

It was as if they both didn't know what to say before Euronymous disappeared behind the till, grabbing cigarettes and a couple of bottles of beer. ,,To our old place…and talk?" he asked, already standing in the doorway hoping he'd say yes, that he agreed he didn't want to lose him again.

,,Thought you never ask" the red-haired man muttered and walked after his old friend before they got into the car and drove off. The old place was just a tree on a hill, an old cemetery where they had tried to summon spirits.

Helveret could wait, he had told Y/n it was an ark that wouldn't last long, but neither could they, in the end it was all the same anyway, they had this one life they had to use.

They had both opened the bottle of beer and taken a few sips, ,,You know…I-I never really wanted to leave," he began and Euronymous listened as he watched the sunset, the red in the light competing with the red of his hair. ,,And I didn't want to lose you," Euronymous said, daring to look at the other.

He saw him reach for a cigarette, the eyeliner still around his eyes. It made him look pretty, he had to admit, knowing that his heart wasn't beating because he was reaching for his lighter.

As he picked up his cigarette himself and held the fire underneath. ,,Here…I'm glad you're…here with me now," the black-haired man said and leaned forward, holding his lit cigarette to Y/n's. An indirect kiss before he told him his feelings knew that was why his heart was beating as he pulled back and released the smoke into the sky.

,,Me too," Y/n replied curtly, taking a drag of his own from the cigarette before slowly moving his hand to Euronymous'. He could feel the other watching him, waiting to see if he would withdraw. But he did not. He paused, stood still and tried not to let on.

Euronymous looked from the sun to the other and took another drag of the cigarette, but felt his hand remain on his, tapping him lightly. ,,Can you still remember that summer here under the tree after we took the motorcycle?" he asked, looking at the black-haired man, knowing no, hoping that Euronymous remembered what he couldn't finish back then. But the blue-eyed man's gaze turned almost melancholy at the moment when they were both too scared as teenagers.

They thought they had the world, the night and the day. ,,Yeah, sure, you tried back then-" Euronymous began, turning to his friend as he felt the lips on his. The warm, unforgiving kiss that was soft and yet demanding. The hand that gently pulled him close.

The moment as it was then. ,,Trying to kiss you," his friend replied as they broke away, a grin on both their lips as they leaned against each other, feeling for the first time that they wouldn't grow apart again, that they would stay together and this time forever.

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

#lords of chaos movie #lords of chaos 2018 #rory culkin #euronymous x reader #male reader

[sepublic]

When Lloyd opens the Hypnobrai Tomb, it releases some evil-looking green gas; Similarly, when he opens the Fangpyre Tomb, there's some mist. This is obviously just musty air escaping after the tombs are depressurized, but it makes me think about how the Anacondrai Tomb doesn't have the same thing when it's opened. And we can't say anything about the Constrictai or Venomari Tombs, since they were already opened off-screen before we get to see them.

There's a question of how the Serpentine didn't all starve to death in the tombs... Except for one tribe, the Anacondrai. And this gets me into my little HC;

When the Serpentine were entombed, the humans of Ninjago DID at least consider that they'd starve to death very quickly under these conditions. So they opted to fill the tombs with some sort of magical gas that places the affected into a deep, eternal hibernation, where their bodily processes are effectively halted, and they no longer need nourishment or even a constant supply of oxygen to survive. The idea was that the Serpentine wouldn't really die, they'd still live on forever in an eternal slumber (though this is still fucked up and undeserved).

The tombs are indestructible, which is why the Constrictai can't just tunnel out of them; Though in the case of the Constrictai's tomb, it had multiple floors built out of softer earth for them to dig through. So even if the Serpentine did awaken, they couldn't get out. And therein is what happened to the Anacondrai...

Their indestructible tomb wasn't built properly; It formed cracks, causing the preserving gas to leak out. As a result, the Anacondrai were awakened, only to find themselves trapped; The openings weren't large enough for them to fit through. So freedom was just tantalizingly out of their grasp, and it was that mockery of freedom that awakened, and ultimately doomed them. Despite the tomb's structural flaws, the combined strength of the Anacondrai wasn't enough to widen the gaps or break it open.

They tried everything; They tried slimming down, even forcing and breaking their bodies through. They tried screaming for help but there was nobody for miles to hear them. The Anacondrai even sent hatchlings out through the cracks, children small enough to get through. They desperately hoped these infants might be able to find help, but alas, all of them died of starvation before they could find help, or were picked off by local wildlife. Maybe even killed on sight by humans who thought they were just ordinary snakes.

I've hc'ed the Anacondrai as naturally voracious, due to Pythor as a precedent. Similarly, I've hc'ed that their venom causes a person to slowly starve to death, with their metabolic functions messed up by the venom so that even if they ate food, they wouldn't absorb the nutrients; A pretty terrible way to go, and some may argue karmic for the Anacondrai.

Anacondrai are powerful and strong, but they have massive appetites in order to fuel such strength. They tried to stave off starvation, but eventually they had to resort to cannibalism, drawing straws and whatnot to survive. But at some point, their instincts took over, someone cut themselves by accident and blood was smelled. And then there was a feeding frenzy born of madness and desperation, and I should clarify, none of it was their fault nor 'deserved'. Pythor, who was always less of a combatant and a black sheep for this reason, survived because of luck, and because he stayed in a corner and picked off those injured.

Everyone succumbed to their injuries, sans Pythor, who now had an entire feast to sustain himself, but at what cost? And by the time Lloyd found him, he was already running on fumes. The other tribes were lucky; They woke up when their hibernating gases were released through the large, empty, open doors to the tombs. Not through cracks too small for them to fit through.

Did anyone mourn the Anacondrai, outside of Pythor? The other tribes didn't seem to, and that was because the Serpentine tribes already hated one another, and feared the Anacondrai. But I wonder if their genocide was still a rallying cry for many. And of course there was Chen's cult, but it's made clear that they did not really care for the Anacondrai themselves, just the idea of them that they wanted to appropriate.

...Anyhow, do you ever think Wu, Misako, Ray, and Maya (as well as Garmadon and Mystake posthumously) were ever charged for war crimes? Because it fucks me up how Wu was there when the Anacondrai generals pleaded for mercy and WERE at their mercy, but then the humans just chose to be ruthless and cruel by literally banishing them to hell. Garmadon at least has the excuse of evil running through his veins and Mystake, as a former Oni, might still be unlearning stuff (not that this was the intention at the time the scene was written), but the fact that Wu is fine with it, and nobody is called out over it afterwards, indicates all of the humans (including the FSM) were A-okay with it! Jesus. Kind of a far cry from Lloyd willingly risking his life to save Rapton, a human who chose to hunt and torture dragons.

#Ninjago #Anacondrai #Serpentine #headcanon #headcanons #Pythor #pythor p chumsworth

[pisspope]

Free Radicals

zeke yaeger x reader

word count: 1.0k

cw: afab!/fem! reader, reader gets called princess, baby, beautiful, vaginal sex, mentions of oral sex (f! receiving), dirty talk, praise kink

When you had started dating zeke in earnest, you knew that him meeting your parents was an inevitability. You knew they would fall for the whole charismatic nutty professor look hook, line, and sinker, would go absolutely mushy over his dry wit and piercing eyes. It would be an easy visit, casual and comfortable.

And all Zeke had to do was keep his mouth shut when pleasant dinner table banter turned to politics. Because as kind as they could be to you and your potential suitors, when it came to politics they were, well...

"Fucking troglodytes," Zeke hissed out, pistoning into you with reckless abandon. "Can't believe pussy this good came out of that fetid fucking womb."

You groan into the motel room pillow despite yourself, drowning in the venom that drips from his every word. He grips your hip tightly with one hand, the other bringing a half-finished cigarette to his lips. His two biggest vices held close, possessive.

"Who do they think they are, talking to you, talking to me like that, a fucking guest? Jesus H. Christ..." He grunts through a clouded mouth, too pissed and too busy fucking you to breathe out properly. "Speaking of, when's the last time they read a goddamn book? Besides the Bible, I mean."

It's a rhetorical question, of course. Because Zeke has a third vice, one he can't hold in the palm of his hand: bitching.

He moves to rub what's left of the cigarette out on the bedside ashtray, grips you tighter with his other hand to make sure he doesn't pull out of you in the process. You arch your back higher from the feeling of it, assured in the knowledge that there will be five fingerprint bruises on you by morning. The heady tobacco scent envelops and surrounds you, every breath of secondhand smoke coating your insides in soot. Every part of you, every muscle, bone, and nerve ending, stained with him.

"Fuckkkkkk, you feel so good, baby," he moans out, bringing his now free hand to the back of your head, tugging hard at the base of your skull so you're forced to look at him. And what a sight he is, chest heaving and red, mouth agape, wiry blond beard sticking up in all directions. He's a vision, a goddamn Adonis, not that you'd ever let him know that. He'd never let you live it down.

"Think they know? Think they know that the second they kicked us out they were sending you to this?" He's practically babbling now, but his enunciation is still so clear, so performative. He wants you to hear every word.

"Their poor little princess, banished to the sleazy motel to be fucked senseless by her evil heretical lover. I hope it makes them sick."

He slams his hand to your neck, twists your head just enough so he can catch your lips in a hungry kiss, groans falling from his throat as he tastes you. You accept everything he gives you, relishing in the knowledge that you belong to him so fully.

"You're mine. All mine."

It isn't long after that his thrusts become erratic, both hands now clenched around your waist to hold himself steady. The room is bathed in the sound of your sex, of the wet slap of him sheathing himself so deep in you, of his own low groans and curses, of the musty old mattress squeaking in protest. It pushes Zeke's senses into overload, and he chokes out your name, your only warning before he pulls out and coats you in his white hot release.

He crashes, hard, pushes you onto your back so he can fall onto the pillow of your breasts. You whine, still unfinished and disgusted by the sheets clinging to the cum painted across your back, but you give in. This is how it goes with Zeke when he gets frustrated, gets into a situation that he can't talk his way out of. Usually, walking out and having a smoke is enough to take the edge off, but sometimes he needs something more. Sometimes that more is a quick trip to the backseat of his car, legs pulled over your head so he can tongue fuck you until his beard glistens. But other times it's like this, where more is him throwing you onto a mattress and abusing your cunt, venting his stress 9 inches in.

And really, you don't mind it, because you know he needs it, and it brings you joy to know that you're the one giving it to him. Plus, once he's really come down, once he's stopped waging war behind his eyes, he always, always pulls you close and returns the favor. It's beyond intimate; exhaustion paints his eyes as he ruts into you, slow and steady, be it with fingers or his overstimulated cock, his own orgasm all but forgotten as he watches you come undone beneath him. When you finally relent, clenching and quivering around him, he pulls out agonizingly slow, presses a kiss to your forehead, and tells you every sweet nothing that materializes within him.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, consciousness already wavering. "Look so pretty, cumming all over me like that."

It's... not poetry, but you never doubt that he means what he says. Frankly, if he came at you with Keats or Frost you'd think he was dying. So you take the meager compliments his jaded heart can muster, and know that he's trying for you. Only for you.

"It's a shame about my parents, though," you muse, and he huffs in affirmation. "I really wanted you to fuck me in my childhood bedroom, ynow?"

He chuckles, a throaty staccato that still manages to make your stomach flip. "Oh, I'm corrupting you, aren't I? When we met you wouldn't have even thought of something like that."

You hum, pretending to think about it. You're glad he's back to normal, jovial despite the circumstances. "Maybe I just wouldn't have said it out loud. You don't exactly have a monopoly on lewd thoughts, Zeke."

"Hmm," he turns to his side, gazes at you through heavy-lidded eyes. He'll be asleep within the minute.

"I'll see what I can do."

And if he's all apologies and sincerity tomorrow, showing up at your parents' doorstep with flowers and a handwritten note, well. Who's to say what caused such a radical change of heart?

#zeke yaeger x you #zeke yaeger x reader #zeke yaeger #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #cat thots #filth tag

[amberlide]

Hexed

“My touch is the only one your body will crave." Chapter 1 - A midnight encounter

Summary: What should have been a quick and easy job for her business partner Sacharissa, turned into an unexpected meeting with the most dangerous student at Hogwarts. Warning: non-con fantasy smut (characters are aged up!) only +18 Word count: 10k Garreth Weasley x OC (Penelope, my OC) Tags: !Dark Garreth, very OOC, forced kiss, forces sex, oral sex (male receiving with instruction), rough sex, anal sex, aphrodisiac, blackmail. Additional tags: Penelope might be virgin but she's not a saint, full Weasley treatment, crossdressing, Hogwarts is a scary place. AO3 link the fiction is still going on :) A/N This is my first time sharing a non-con fantasy, so I'm nervous and anxious and all of that. If you are interested in this work, please let me know, as I'm willing to write it for myself, but I don't know if sharing is a good idea, since it's toxic af, so this is just an experiment :) It's my guilty pleasure to write. Special thanks to @dvinaamesca for this first picture of Garreth that stirred the Dark version of him! (if you don't want your name associate with this I'll take it down!)

Penelope pushed her glasses on her nose and quietly closed the heavy oak door behind her, the smug grin still lingering on her face. Those foolish Prefects would never catch her; the Gobstones trick had never failed her and after two years it was still going on full swing. Now that she had mastered that blasted non-verbal spell, moving around the castle unnoticed had become a breeze. And together with the Disillusionment charm, she had never missed a beat.

"They should really consider to put Mooncalves, they would do a better job," she thought shaking her head still chuckling under her breath.

Now that she was outside, she lowered her mask, inhaling deeply to take in the crisp autumn air, and swiftly turned to the right, following the path around the flower beds in the Hogwarts gardens. It was unusually chilly for the 10th of October, and she shivered lightly under her cloak, thankful for her cozy jumper, a nice gift from her dear brother.

The dragon-shaped bush was starting to shed its leaves, scattering a scratchy layer on the ground with every sweep of its wing-like branches. Silenced by her charm to muffle her steps on the stone path, Penelope quickened her pace, descending the stairs of the outer wall of the castle. This wasn't how she envisioned starting her 18th birthday, but she didn't have a choice. 

Sacharissa needed those ingredients, and she needed the money. 

The new Silver Arrow broom wouldn't pay for itself, and she planned to flaunt it on the Quidditch field after the next victory against Ravenclaw. After years of trying, she was finally on the team and a good broom was essential to show those pesky Hufflepuffs what a great Seeker they had missed all those years.

Penelope finally reached the hidden door concealed by dry vines, took another deep breath of the brisk air, and readied her wand. She tapped once on the locked door and whispered, "Alohomora."

A low screech welcomed her as she entered a long, dark, and damp corridor. Yet, she wasn't afraid—she had traversed this path countless times and could navigate the darkness with ease. While Prefects and Professors patrolled above, she strolled comfortably beneath them, dodging debris, stone rubble, and overgrown roots with the vials tinkling in her bag. 

It had taken months to clear out the Devil's Snare infestation, but her efforts had paid off—both in terms of time and money. They'd never catch her.

Soon, she reached a low archway where the floor was covered in dark wooden planks and dust, her steps were now echoing in the empty space. At the end, a ray of moonlight filtered through a dusty glass dome, faintly illuminating a monstrous sight.

"Hey, Vinny!" she whispered with a smile, greeting the huge Venomous Tentacula that was idly swinging its toothy pods in the musty air. She pulled a piece of meat from her bag and tossed it to the plant. One of the pods twisted on its stem and shot out a sticky tongue to snatch the meat midair. The viscous appendage coiled around its prize and retracted into its shadowy lair with a slurp, as the monstrous pod clamped shut. 

Her defiant smile widened, like the Gobstone trick, Vinny had never failed her, her trusted companion, guarding her secret. Once she was back, she would give the plant the rest of the meat for the other pods to enjoy, for now she had to move forward in her mission.

Her ritual for good luck complete, Penelope started climbing the wooden stairs, reaching the trapdoor in the ceiling while simultaneously dimming her wand's light.

She carefully opened the trapdoor and emerged into the greenhouse. As she gently closed the wooden doors behind her, she paused, blinking, to adjust to the dark environment. 

The air was thick with the strong smells of damp soil, dragon fertilizer, and exotic flowers, but she didn't care. 

She was there to finish her work discreetly and efficiently, as always.

Crouching under the overhanging stairs, she pulled her mask back over her face, allowing the hood of her cloak fall over her shoulder. Shaking her head to revive her hair, she paused, holding her breath to listen intently, ensuring she was alone.

When she was sure to be the only one in the building, she turned and ascended the stairs reaching the balcony toward Greenhouse number 3 where her longed target awaited.

Truly, it couldn't have been easier for her.

Skirting the faulty third step, she proceeded down, only to feel something brush against her calf on the lower step. Whirling around, moonlight revealed what seemed like a tentacle coiling around her leg.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Devil's Snare in Greenhouse Three? That was unexpected— she was sure she had taken care of all of them and the dangerous plants were in the other building, number 1. Reacting quickly to avoid entanglement, she brightened her wand to keep the plant at bay. The tentacle swayed in the light, yet it didn't retract. 

Penelope scoffed, annoyed, Flitterbloom. What an idiot. 

Her impatience mounted as she spotted the vase of the plant, nobody in their right mind would put a Devil's Snare in a pot. Cursing her impulsiveness, she turned, dimming quickly her wand in the hope that no one had seen the light. 

Penelope blinked, allowing her eyes to readjust to the darkness, and scanned the room for the plants. Sacharissa had given her a full list, yet she dared not risk searching for everything—she needed to prioritize the most valuable component: Bubotuber pus. 

Moving with quiet confidence, she located the plants on the counter to her left, exactly where she had seen them during her morning reconnaissance. Her frequent assistance to Professor Garlick in the greenhouse had earned her extra credits and, unbeknownst to others, the perfect cover for her nocturnal heists.

No one would suspect the strange-looking girl with short hair who shyly toiled away, perpetually cloaked in soil and dust. Cutting her hair to fit the Quidditch team, had been both a curse and a blessing. 

Entering the team also meant she no longer had time to grow ingredients for Sacharissa, leading her to pilfer from other students more often than she was used to.

She carefully placed her bag on one of the stools and began to lay out her tools: a small copper funnel, glass vials, pins, dragon-skin gloves, and a bottle of Daisyroot essence. After opening the bottle, she quickly anointed her hands with a few drops of the oil to shield her skin from the irritant pus. Double-checking her mask was secure to protect against the pungent odor, she slipped on the gloves and got to work, pulling the first pot toward her to assess the ripeness of the bulbs. Not all were mature enough, but she had to make do with what was available, perhaps leaving some behind for the unfortunate student who was cultivating them, most likely a pimpled fifth-year. 

Checking the label on the pot, she grinned devilishly, maybe Sacharissa could sell them her lotion…

She had just started to collect the pus, filling quickly the first vial, when she turned, sensing a weird feeling creeping over her.

She froze.

Next to her a dark tall shadow was in the middle of the room, as soon as they realized she had spotted them, they advanced slowly, and as they entered the circle created by the moonlight, the Disillusionment charm broke, revealing the imposing figure of a boy. 

He had broad shoulders and chest, his arms tensed under the mustard-colored jumper as he crossed them. His wand, firmly clasped in his big hand, lit abruptly as he tilted his head. A long tuft of vibrant red hair cascaded over his freckled face, and a smug grin parted his lips. 

"Well, well, well," he murmured, his masculine voice low with a tinge of playfulness that Penelope didn't appreciate one bit. 

His green eyes shimmered with a mix of satisfaction and pleasure.

"I think I got a little thief, what a lucky night,"

Penelope swallowed hard, taking a step back to gather her thoughts and focus on her options—she was caught! 

Trying to suppress the surge of panic, she scrutinized the boy; there was no sign of a Prefect or Head Boy badge. He was dressed in ordinary clothes, much like herself, not a uniform. But as soon as he stepped forward, recognition dawned on her. 

Damn!

Penelope's heart raced as she took a deep breath to steady herself. "Who are you?" she asked, striving to maintain her composure while her mind raced for a way to reach her wand near her bag.

"I think you're well aware of who I am," he replied with a hint of amusement. 

It was true, she knew him very well, everybody knew him, his wicked reputation and the crazy stories surrounding him. 

It was Garreth Weasley, the Deputy Headmistress's nephew, renowned among the whole student body for his illicit brews and odd concoctions. He wasn't in direct competition with Sacharissa, but when he started peddling his eccentric potions for male contraception, he nearly obliterated her business.

He was a potion genius and not the good kind, his Veritaserum was so effective only its smell could even work on ghosts, his Polyjuice lasted months, and he had aphrodisiacs so potent people had to skip days of classes or entire trimesters before they could barely satisfy themselves.

Some said the golden ring around his green irises was due to his addiction to Felix Felicis that he took regularly, being the source of his successful business, shielding him from being caught. Other claimed that, too scared to be bewitched by his debtors, he had consumed so much Amortentia he was actually immune.

Legends said his mind was damaged beyond repair by the fumes of his own brews, which he tried on himself from very young age, so much that at the Sorting Ceremony his thoughts were so foggy and impenetrable, that the Sorting Hat couldn't read them. So he had to choose himself which house he wanted to join.

He went for Gryffindor. 

Which he obviously didn't belong to.

People who couldn't pay for their potions were forced to take the so called Weasley treatment, used as guinea pigs for his crazy experiments, so much the expression "going Weasley" had become synonym of going voluntarily into a risky situation, knowing the consequences.

It was clear she had stepped on the wrong toes, and if she didn't want him to go full Weasley on her, she had to play smart or fight him.

As if reading her mind, with a lazy flick of his wand, her own wand flew through the air into his waiting hand. 

"The real question is, who are you? A little boy stealing pus... that's pretty low," he teased mockingly. "Perhaps I should report this to my Aunt…"

"Wait! We can share!" Penelope blurted out, grasping at straws, hoping he was there for the same reason. She could perhaps persuade him to let her go.

And did he just call her little boy?

"Share what? My plants?" he scoffed. "This is the fourth time you've stolen from me," he hissed, pushing a lock of hair from his forehead, his eyes narrowed to slits in the dim light.

"You're not Brattelby," she murmured, recalling the name on the labels of the pots.

A low, blood-curdling chuckle reached her ears. 

"How naive of you to assume I cultivate my own ingredients," he said, his tone laced with amusement as he took a step forward.

"I can give you money; my contact will pay well for the pus," she said. As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake as the boy tilted his head, giving her a condescending look raising a brow. "Oh really? Do you think I need money from Tugwood?"

Penelope's gaze widened, how had he learned about Sacharissa?

His smug grin played at the corners of his lips, picking up on her distress. "For someone so skilled at stealing, you're quite thick." 

He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, allowing a ray of moonlight to illuminate the coppery tones in his messy curly hair.

"Funny how after every heist, Tugwood releases a new batch of her putrid poultices. I guess she's too lazy to cultivate her own ingredients and sends her little rat here instead. I'm tired of being fucked over by you two," he said, his tone low and menacing as he took another step forward.

"What do you want?" Penelope's voice was cautious, her attempt to sound more masculine clear. If he thought she was a boy, she didn't want to give him any reason to think otherwise, she still had a chance to escape leaving him to look for a male student that didn't exist, plus, revealing herself as a girl seemed really dangerous.

Even if, in truth, she had no idea of his inclinations.

She heard him taking a deep breath, as his eyes wandered around in the darkness, "Let's see…" he tapped his finger on his chin, as if pondering.

"I may have cooked a very powerful batch of Aging potion last week and my Aunt was not pleased with the… aftermath. Giving you in as the Greenhouse thief, may save me from a very unnecessary suspension for the current batch," he started. 

Penelope waited patiently, feeling droplets of cold sweat trickling down her back, "She has already given me few days of detention you know, and I have been a bit… touch deprived, so to speak. Is there anything you can do to change my situation?" 

The question lingered between them as the implications lowered on her.

Penelope shivered, and took another step back, "Couldn't you ask… someone else?" She was sure someone like him didn't have any problems in finding… a suitable partner, after all young girls and boys were surely going crazy for his horrible reputation. He didn't really need her.

At least this was what she hoped.

Garreth extended his arms, both wands still in his grasp and a semi-amused smile on his face. "There is no one else here, is there?" he jested. Penelope's heart sank in her chest, as her eyes darted around desperate for an escape, debating whether revealing her true identity might offer some leverage—or place her in greater jeopardy.

"Don't worry, little one, I won't hurt you," he murmured, as though tuning into her anxiousness, "Let's say… I just want a kiss," he proposed, and moving forward once again, he placed himself just in front of her. 

Penelope slowly raised her head, to meet his gaze, he was taller than her, and his towering height was casting a looming presence, especially with the dim light behind him. 

She knew how terrified she must looked like, but she saw a gentle smile gracing his lips, as his eyes softened, "I can't," she barely whispered, his scent— a peculiar mix of lavender, tree bark,  and exotic potion ingredients— growing stronger as he leaned closer.

"And why's that?" His voice was low, imbued with masculine charm. As he laid his large hand on her cheek, the warmth bled through the fabric, tracing the edge of her mask, she realized she was holding her breath.

"I… I have a cold." she stuttered. It was a lie, of course, despite regularly donning a mask to avoid just that, as she rigorously trained for Quidditch every day since she had joined the team.

And then she was also concealing the pockmarks left by her acne.

His laugh was soft, coming from the back of his throat, "That's no problem. I'll brew the finest Pepperup Potion tomorrow morning. I do appreciate your concern, though." He leaned in, his fingers brushing past her ear to the mask's tie, a few strands of hair caressing his skin in the process. She felt a shiver, a mix of reluctance and an unsettling warmth in her stomach. 

Despite the warning signals firing through her, she remained rooted in place, paralyzed by the closeness of his disconcerting touch.

"Just a kiss and then I can go, right?" she was almost giving in, but she wanted to make sure the deal was settled.

"Of course, just one. I bet it's your first," he teased, amused by her lack of experience. She didn't answer, as he removed her mask, revealing her face. 

With a rush of cold air, the pungent scent of Bubotuber pus momentarily filled her nostrils, but Garreth's proximity quickly replaced it with his captivating aroma. She felt his thumb gently stroking her flushed cheek before descending to her lips, his gaze seemingly admiring her quivering mouth as he passed his fingertip on it. 

"You're not that bad," he murmured softly. She barely had time to react to the compliment before his lips clashed with hers.

Taken by surprise, she instinctively closed her eyes as the soft tuft of his red hair lazily brushed against her forehead, tickling her skin.

Penelope's heart slowed as the boy moved his mouth over hers, his hand shifting from her cheek to the back of her head, holding her gently in place. She stood frozen, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose, unsure of how to respond while his other hand, now wands-free, rested on her waist, drawing her closer.

But that simple kiss couldn't be all he wanted, and she knew there was more. 

His tongue soon sought entry, a demand for deeper access she wasn't willing to grant. Despite the warmth unfurling in her stomach, she resisted, her teeth clenched and eyes shut tight. Planting her feet to the ground she balled her fists, digging her nails in the leather skin of her gloves, now completely sweaty and oily.

She couldn't let him take everything.

As if defeated, Garreth retracted, just enough that he could trace the contour of her lips with his tongue, brushing them with its wet tip. When he reached the lower one, he then offered a faint, teasing bite. He soon pulled back slightly, but Penelope didn't waver, despite the buzzing in her ears and the stirring sensation moving from her stomach to her groin. 

His warm breath still caressing her cheeks, he suddenly sank his teeth into her soft flesh, eliciting a sharp sting. Penelope widened her eyes, let out an helpless whimper, and as soon as she parted her lips in fear, his tongue found its way inside, invading her mouth, seeking its secrets.

She wanted to pull away, she desperately tried to place her hands against his broad chest, but she found only a stern resistance as he was holding her tight, pushing her neck towards him, his fingers mingling with her short hair.

As Garreth's tongue found hers, he deepened the kiss, hungry for more, his breath growing heavy as the two intertwined. Tears started to form in Penelope's eyes, it was her first kiss and he was taking it from her with an insistence that would have been scary if not intoxicating.

Because despite her confusion, her body reacted in a very different way than expected.

Under her jumper, her breast was brushing against the soft fabric of her shirt, pressed against his hard chest and she could feel her nipples hardening with each movement of her ragged breath. And she could clearly sense his arousal as his thighs were pressing against hers, his bulge pushing on her lower stomach.

A new sensation surged between her legs, familiar yet never before this intense.

When he finally broke the kiss, letting her go, her foggy mind struggled to keep her balance. Still tasting the ginger and licorice from his mouth, she took a small step back and sat down on the greenhouse stool behind her. She took off her gloves so she could pressed a shaky hand on her forehead.

As a soft laugh reached her, Penelope's head shot up, locking eyes with Garreth's amused gaze. "That wasn't half bad, was it?" he mused, tilting his head and brushing a ginger lock from his face. 

Penelope pressed her swollen lips together. "I guess I can go now," she murmured feeling a mix of indignation and relief, reaching for her wand on the counter. But Garreth was quicker, lunging forward to sweep the wand from her reach, sending it rolling across the wooden table to stop beside a Bubotuber pot.

Her shock was palpable. "What does this mean?" she demanded, trying to rise, but he was upon her, his hand resting on her shoulder, pressing her back down onto the stool, his erection evident now that it was at her eyes level, straining the fabric of his trousers. 

"It means I might have changed my mind. I really enjoyed that kiss," he teased noticing her intent  gaze.

Penelope's head shook in disbelief. "But you promised—I could go after it," she protested, struggling to keep her voice steady amidst rising panic. 

His smile broadened maliciously. "You can go—to pack your things in your dorm as I'm heading straight to my Aunt's," he declared. 

Penelope's eyes widened. 

"I didn't endure three nights in these damn greenhouses, freezing my ass off, just to let you off with a mere goodnight peck," he said with disdain, looming over her once again, adding with a disarming casualness, "Besides," he put a finger under her chin forcing her to raised her head, "you have surprisingly soft lips and I'm dying to feel them wrapped tightly around my cock," he whispered brushing her earlobe with his breath.

Penelope gasped, realizing that he had no intention of letting her go. Her wand was too far out of reach, and he would have easily intercepted her had she tried to snatch it. But she couldn't let him have his way; in a desperate attempt, she raised her leg trying to kick him where he wanted her lips. Yet she barely reached his shin, and in her haste to rise, turn, and flee, she stumbled over his feet and fell to the ground.

Her knees and elbows hit the hard, cold stone floor with a painful groan.

"Where do you think you're going?" Garreth peered down at her through half-lidded gaze before waving his wand, murmuring, "Incarcerous." Soon, ropes began to emerge from thin air, swiftly encircling her wrists and ankles.

"Release me!" she demanded, feeling the rough hemp against her skin.

"You don't really have a choice," he said coolly. "But I'm inclined to assist you." 

He turned, reaching for something on the floor next to a bag of fertilizer, and when he stood again, he was holding a small vial. The liquid inside had a soft pink hue with something swirling within, barely discernible in the faint moonlight.

As he approached, Penelope froze. Was he planning to drug her? 

"There's a first time for everything. Don't be scared—I'm going to teach you. You might even enjoy it more than me," he teased, uncapping the vial with a playful wink. 

She watched him as he knelt beside her, her teeth clenched. "I won't drink that," she spat out in defiance.

"You don't have to," he replied in a low purr, "at least not all of it," he added, holding her face steady despite her attempts to break free. His grip was firm around her cheeks and her position too compromised for effective resistance. She felt something cold on her jaw, he was wearing a ring on his left thumb.

"Be a good boy and open your mouth, like before," he coaxed. Penelope maintained a defiant stare, eyes narrowing into his dark green gaze.

Unfazed, Garreth moved his hand up and pinched her nose shut. She held her breath as long as she could, trying to shake him away, but as her lungs started to burn, longing for air, her mouth involuntarily parted in a small gasp. Seizing the moment, he tipped the vial, letting a few drops land on her tongue.

She immediately tried to spit out whatever he had given her, but she could feel something coating her tongue, a slick film with the taste of rosemary and saffron. 

"It's useless; it's already taking effect," Garreth remarked calmly, securing the vial's cap.

"What the hell did you just give me?" her tone tinged with desperation.

"You'll see soon enough. Actually…" he furrowed his brow, appearing momentarily lost in thought, then concluded with a malicious smile, "…feel." 

"Fuck you!" she cursed, saliva dripping down her chin. He looked at her with amusement and, reaching down, he wiped her chin clean with his thumb. She noticed a red stone adorning the golden ring. 

"Don't tempt me with more ideas, little one," he said in a mockingly affectionate tone.

When he rose again, he paused, crossing his arms before leaning against the counter. "Here's the deal: you make me happy, and I let you go," he proposed. 

"As if I can trust you," she scoffed.

"Just to show you my good intentions, I'll free your wrists, but," he readied his wand, "let's make one thing clear," he murmured, and a silvery ray shot from the tip, forming what appeared to be his Patronus.

Penelope's eyes widened as she tried to discern the form of the animal, which shimmered faintly in the air, with its curly tail and its jerky eyes—a Chameleon. 

"One false move, and this little guy goes straight to the first Prefect," he warned, "you don't really want to displease me," his voice light but carrying a clear threat, as he got up again and moved forward.

Penelope followed him with bated breath, anxiously awaiting her release while feeling the oppressive weight of his presence. 

As he prepared his wand, she started to consider her limited options. Escape was clearly not feasible; at least she still had the safety of her anonymity since he didn't seem interested in her name. But what he was demanding was something she was not prepared to give. The mere thought repulsed her, and she wasn't even sure that after she had... she shuddered at the notion, finished with him, he wouldn't possibly demand more. 

Would he? 

Suddenly, she felt her wrists released, and steadying herself against the hard stone floor, she knelt, seeking some comfort by resting her knees on her cloak to make the uncomfortable position more tolerable. The sound of a faint clink quickened her pulse, but she kept her gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

As he started to unbuckle his belt, with his bulge still evident, her mind flew to the countless of times Sacharissa had complained about her boyfriend, how often he had left her unsatisfied after an orgasm that came too quickly for her taste. If she could bring him to climax, possibly not inside her, he would surely need time to recover, which would give her a break from any further unwanted advances.

Finding some reassurance in her renewed decision, she took a deep breath, raised her head, and steadied her gaze, ready to face her opponent and his repulsive demand.

But as soon as her eyes landed on the boy in front of her, her heart almost gave up, as he was  already half-naked, his trousers down his shins, his muscular thighs tensed, his white skin completely covered in nice, little freckles. 

The shape of his erected dick sculpted in the fabric of his pants, reaching almost his waist.

He knew he was attractive, she knew it too, and to her dismay, also her clit which started to gently pulse between her legs. The surge of heat that coursed though her body made her sweat, as she clenched her fists.

Soon, he lowered his underwear, looking at her with an expectant expression that mingled satisfaction and pleasure, savoring most likely what was coming. 

Penelope swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure fixing her eyes on his face instead of… the thick, throbbing shaft that sprung up from between his legs, hungry for her mouth.

"You can look, you know. I'm not shy. It's not like you've never seen one before," Garreth taunted, clearly aware of her discomfort. Maybe he was thinking she was jealous of his.

In truth, she had, in fact, never seen one, and she certainly wasn't prepared to see his, especially not on her birthday!

What a great present he was giving her…

His underwear slid on the ground and he casually stepped out of his clothing, seemingly unfazed by the greenhouse's chill. As he moved closer, she instinctively recoiled, turning her face away, her stomach twisting into a tight knot.

"Now, now, it's not the time to be difficult is it? Take it into your hand first, gently, as I'm sure you're used to," with the corner of her eyes, she could see the soft, mocking smile playing on his lips, his shimmering green eyes taking in her reluctance with amusement. She despised him for it.

Nevertheless, she complied. 

As the silver Patronus danced around her, she slowly raised her hand, he was so closed, she could feel its inviting warmth, "Look at it," he commanded, as the chameleon moved up, illuminating the scene from above.

Penelope took a sharp breath and with a sour look she raised her head, almost defying him.

Steadying her shaky fingers, she took it in her hand, it was warm and firm, hard enough for her to feel its punishing weight, but also soft with light bluish veins adorning his full length.

To her surprise, she found herself wondering if he had freckles even there.

"How endearing, you have small hands. Perfect for a thief, let's put them to good use," he joked, clearly satisfied with what he had forced her to do. 

He leant in, took her other hand and moved it to his hip, letting resting there under his long fingers, the ringed thumb pressed on hers.

"Now, I'm sure you know your way, so I'll leave it to you."

Penelope didn't know, she hadn't a clue, but she tried to recall the talks she had with her roommates. Not all of them were experts, but Hemera did had a boyfriend and for Helga's sacred cup, she loved to boast her abilities.

Maybe she cold put all her dirty recounting to good use.

She moved her hand up and down a couple of times, jerking his skin, clenching her fist, maybe a bit too much, in fact, soon he stopped her with an annoyed scoff.

"A bit sloppy aren't we?" his voice was low, tense, his Patronus quivered lightly as tuning in with his impatience, "Start gently, brush your thumb on the top, keep the skin on, insist on the tip in long, slow strokes."

She followed his orders, trying to keep her eyes on his stomach, on the red tuft of hair that adorned the base of his shaft, "Focus on your hand," he ordered once he realized she was not giving much attention to her work. 

She shifted her gaze, her fingers tightly coiled around him, stroking gently and rhythmically insisting on the top where she could see beads of pre-cum leaking out, glistening in the silvery light. 

"Better," he murmured, his tone soft, tinged with pleasure, "I think you are ready, now," and with a smirk he lower his other hand to guide her head toward it, in an inviting gesture.

Penelope shot her head up, her eyes wide, pleading almost, "Oh, no, don't give me that look, you're not escaping this," he murmured.

With a tilt of his head, the chameleon moved onto her shoulder, resting there. Its warm light served as a reminder of the consequences should she fail to comply.

"Moisten your lips and open your mouth." 

He was almost trembling in anticipation, wasn't he?

She bit her lip, trying to resist his hand pushing her neck, his long fingers mingling with her short hair. "Really, it's not a big deal. They say it even tastes good, and believe me, I know it does," he whispered softly, quirking an eyebrow.

Penelope took a deep breath, she could feel his scent stronger than ever, the more she advanced to his slick tip. 

It wasn't unpleasant, and as the constant pulsing of her clit reminded her, it was almost inviting.

Despite her mind trying to fight, her body was ready to give him whatever he wanted, most likely under the effect of that disgusting drug he had given her.

She slowly passed her tongue over her lips, almost teasing him with the sight of their glossy fullness.

"I might bite," she challenged him with a dark gaze, in a last desperate attempt to stop that torture. A wide smile parted his lips, "That would only add to the thrill," he chimed with a playful wink. She bit the inside of her cheek, defeated, and finally opened her mouth.

"Move the foreskin down and take it in, same as before, focus on the tip, swirl your tongue on it, nice and slow," he guided her as she pressed her thumb on the top, his sticky pre-cum wetting her skin. She swallowed, then she closed her eyes.

His hand forced the back of her neck again, almost impatiently, and he was finally in her mouth.

"Don't suck it, I don't like it, and put the other hand on my hip." 

She didn't want to, as she was scared of giving him so much power over her, but in the end she complied once again, her body moving on its own, trusting him.

Her cold fingers hesitantly gripped his hips, her thumbs tentatively resting over the pelvic bones that emerged beneath his white skin.

"Nice and slow," his voice now was hoarse and husky, and he started to immediately thrust himself in her in controlled sharp movements.

He was surely savoring the moment.

Penelope tasted the salty and musky scent of his pre-cum, coating her tongue, invading her senses, she swirled her tongue on the swollen tip, feeling more of it coming out. It did tasted strangely good, she was not sure, but he might have taken some sort of potions to change its flavor, or simply he was transuding Amortentia. 

For what she knew it could be both.

The light on her shoulder flickered, and she sensed the chameleon moving, most likely rolling from the pleasure, she kept her gaze on his stomach, forcing herself to ignore the deep warm feeling pooling between her thighs. Was she… dripping wet already?

"Good boy, relax your throat now, and move your tongue on its length, the wetter, the better," he whispered. He was clearly straining himself to speak, and Penelope could feel how much he was enjoying it, strangely the thought made her shivered in satisfaction, was she that good?

She felt the saliva wetting the corners of her mouth as she followed his orders, moving down, little by little, taking it all in, in slurping and shameless noises. When she felt it too deep, she stopped, hoping it was enough, and she retracted a bit, taking in a lungful of air.

It wasn't enough.

His hand grasped her hair and jerked her forward, making her glasses slipped on the bridge of her nose. She gaged around his imposing shaft, trying to pull out, digging her nails in his white skin, but he didn't care. It hit the back of her throat, then moved back, slowly, so she could feel his full length brushing on her tongue. 

She knew it wasn't right, she knew that was not supposed to happen, but still, her body trembled, sensing how big it was, how good it tasted, how… fulfilling it might feel in her pussy.

It was infuriating knowing how the idea of his cock in her mouth was getting her so aroused, she could barely think straight. And she was a virgin, she wasn't supposed to feel like this.

Again Garreth thrusted forward, disrupting her confused thoughts, he moaned as he felt how desperately she was trying to clenched her throat to avoid him hitting her deeper. He opened his eyes and looked down, "I said relax," he commanded forcing her to raise her head keeping a firm grip on her hair, tugging at it.

Penelope locked eyes with him through the lenses of her foggy glasses, and try to relax, she really tried, she didn't want to make it any worse, but… it was impossible, every time she managed, he pushed in her again thrusting with renew vigor, pumping back and forward, every time faster, relentless.

He was loosing his control, and his Patronus with him, as the little creature was pulsing intermittently, casting a kaleidoscope of light.

Tears streamed down Penelope's cheeks as she gasped for air, saliva rolling over her chin. Her hands quivered, leaving marks on his hips. Still, she was feeling warmer and warmer, her nipples hard under her jumper, her mind clouded with unexpressed desire.

He was using her, and she was liking it. 

The uncomfortable position, her knees on the hard ground, her ankles still tied in the rope, her head throbbing lightly form his grip every time he pull her towards his stomach, the view of his freckled muscular thighs, his firm balls swingling in front of her… she was indeed enjoying all of it.    

And it was wrong, it was scary and exciting at the same time.

She wanted more, she craved all of him.

If she had her hands free, she might have dared to touch herself, instead she closed her thighs, trying to release a bit of pressure from her throbbing clit with the slight friction she could provide.

"Almost there little one, keep it up, make your nice lips tighter," he had hardly finished his sentence when, in a flash of lucidity, Penelope tried to pull out once again. She didn't want him to come in her mouth, despite her body temperature rising at the thought of it, she didn't want.

It didn't work, of course.

He kept her firmly in place, until the very end.

Groaning and cussing under his breath Garreth bit his lip, and gripping the hand of the girl under his, he finally gave in, forcing her to look up into his dark green irises, the glow from the golden ring glinting ominously.

Despite his serious expression, he was really pleased.

Penelope felt the warmth of his release in her mouth, down her throat, spilling on her chin. All while the light of his Patronus pulsed and then grew brighter, enveloping both of them in its comforting glow.

It was done, she swallowed hard a lump of his cum, trying not to gag, it was finally over. Her heart was beating furiously in her chest, as if she had just finished a long run, and she tried to steady her shaking breath by slowly inhaling.

She heard him take a deep breath too, "Good job," he exhaled, as if a burden had been lifted, looking down at her. 

His hand released hers from his hip, his long, warm fingers no longer intertwined with her own, leaving her feeling almost alone.

"Now clean the mess you made, and put those soft lips to good work," he kept her in place, despite her attempts to free herself from his punishing grip on her neck.

She closed her eyes and did as requested, swirling her tongue on his pulsing tip, sucking gently and swallowing until everything was finally clean.

She took her hands off his hips, and when he finally freed her, she passed the back of her hand on her mouth, cleaning it from the spit and the cum. 

"I told you, you would like it," he joked stepping into his clothes as if nothing had happened, and removing the long lock of hair from his forehead, absentmindedly brushing it aside.

She felt the ropes binding her ankles dissolve and took her time to massage them, ensuring she could stand steadily once on her feet. At this point, she no longer cared about her belongings; her only desire was to grab her wand and flee.

Still, her body was in full arousal and when she made a move to stand up, even the bare trembling of her thighs, sent shivers of lust down her spine, a warm feeling crept on her cheeks and her breath grew heavier. That damn potion was taking a toll on her, but she had to escape first, then, in the comfort of her bed, she might give in to her pleasure.

Away from that red temping devil.

Quivering lightly, she put a hand on the stool behind her and rose, testing the stability of her feet. Then, keeping an eye on the boy in front of her, who was quietly buckling his belt again and basking in the glow of his Patronus, she took a step back until she reached the counter, fixing her glasses on her nose. 

Penelope placed her hand behind her, searching for her wand while simultaneously keeping watch on Garreth, not trusting him in the slightest and eager to escape the dreadful situation.

Unfortunately, her hand encountered only pots, dusty wooden planks, and her gloves. Fearing she might accidentally tip over her vial of pus and risk blistering her skin with the potent ingredient, she cautiously turned her head, only to see her wand at the far end of the table. 

Moving quietly, trying not to attract his attention, she then turned completely to grab it, carefully avoiding the Bubotuber pots. However, the moment she bent over the counter, Garreth seized the opportunity and covering the space between them, he pin her down.

She gasped in surprise as her wand flew out of reach once again.

"Fuck…" she moaned feeling his body pressed against her back, his broad chest on her.

"Well said, you read my mind little one," his voice was low, menacing and husky, "that's exactly what I want now," he whispered into her hear. 

"No!" she exclaimed, struggling to free herself, fighting to wriggle out of his grasp. "Please don't," she pleaded, feeling her wrists being tied once again. Now, the thought of being caught by the Prefects seemed almost appealing.

"Why? Are you a virgin?" his hands were all over her now, on her thighs, her legs, but mostly on her ass.

"That's none of your business," she blurted out feeling her wet fold clenching, her underwire were soaked and his big, warm hands groping her, were not helping in making her feel any better.

"I take it as a no, then," "What?" she whimpered in shock as he started to fumble with her trousers, pushing her cloak aside to slide them down, "Then is a yes," a soft, devilish laugh escape his throat as he started to caress her naked buttcheeks.

"You have a very nice and soft ass, so small yet so alluring," he said, almost surprised how it felt under his greedy fingers, he pinched her heated skin. A chuckle escaped him when a small whine left her throat.

He was clearly amused by her discomfort, and he was well aware that his potion was still having effect on her.

Eager to feel her ass wriggling and squirming against his still hungry dick, he slipped a finger in the crack between the buttcheeks, teasing her. 

"I have to be honest, I prefer pussies, but… I cannot refuse an invitation like this," he chimed, as he started grinding his hips against her, his erection now evident again, straining his trousers, almost reaching up from its constricted position.

Penelope widened her eyes, incredulity washed over her, what the hell?

He just… came, how in Merlin's name could he be this hard again in such a short time?

She felt his dick pressing on her exposed ass, his warmth canceling the cold feeling from the brisk air of the greenhouse. She saw his Patronus strolling on the counter, as if mocking her, a reminder of his threats.

"Please don't…" she couldn't take it anymore and the pressure of her own hips on the border of the table was sparkling her senses, as she could feel her clit tightening with every stroke. She desperately needed to release herself.

For a split second she contemplated the idea of telling him who she was, her mind played with the alluring feeling of his long and firm shaft inside her, filling her and pumping her virginity from between her legs. 

He did prefer female bodies after all and she might like it more than… whatever he had in mind.

But soon she realized she couldn't do it, first because he was a crazy maniac, and that was not how she envisioned her first time in her dreams, and secondly, she didn't want to risk it. She wasn't on any birth control as she wasn't dating anyone, and that shit would only hamper her abilities on the Quidditch field. 

She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of taking also her first time from her, even if her body was screaming for some attention and her pussy was burning, slick in her own juices. 

"You are a little thief and I'm going to steal from you," he murmured deepening his hand between her buttcheeks until he found her hole. He prodded at the entrance, "Nice and firm, as expected," he commented with a satisfied tone before retreating his hand.

"Now, I don't want to hurt you, you know. Well, not more than necessary at least," he joked as she felt his body stepping back, giving her some time to recompose herself. The cold air bit her skin now that he wasn't there anymore.

"Oh, what a coincidence!" Garreth exclamation piqued her curiosity. As she turned her head to check was he had found, he reached for something on the counter. 

"Daisyroot essence!" he declared with a gleam in his eye. "Perfect for the occasion. You came prepared, little one." 

She heard the sound of a vial uncapping. 

"Let me share a secret: this was my first ingredient for lubricants. The oil isn't too dense, provides nice friction, has a soothing effect, and... smells great."

Penelope stomach sank, he really wanted to take that path.

She strained against the ropes, but as she started to kick with her feet, he parted her legs, plunging his oily fingers in the crack of her ass, gently massaging the delicate skin between her buttcheeks. He brushed his fingertips against her quivering hole, circling the wrinkled skin around it, savoring the moment he would enter, claiming another part of her for himself.

When he cautiously slip a finger in her, Penelope gasped at the intrusion.

"Don't tell me you've never done it yourself," his laugh was low, "it's one of the best feelings if done well." 

He retracted a little bit, "But I'm not here to pleasure you," he concluded harshly pumping the finger in and out assessing how firm and tight it was.

Penelope closed her eyes, her body suddenly relaxing, savoring the enticing sensation of his touch. 

Of course she'd fingered herself, who didn't at their age? Just… not where he thought she would. 

She felt more oil dripping on her ass, and soon another finger slipped in her, stretching her entrance further.

She swallowed hard, it wasn't a bad feeling, not at all, she could sense her skin tingling a bit, the opening gaping around his long fingers, but there was another opening a little bit down there that was dying to be filled as well. 

She took a sharp breath, she was still half clothed, with her panties still in place as he had just slide them down a bit, and her wet lips were brushing against the cloth with each thrust, her clit clenching, she was going crazy as she wanted more friction on it. 

He continued for few seconds, preparing her, then she heard him unbuckling his belt again, and his trousers slid down. 

This time the feeling of his dick against her heated skin was something she longed, and not feared, as her mind completely gave up on her useless and helpless fight.

She sensed him stroking its tip hard on her, taking in the oil from the Daisyroot as he was lubing himself against her. 

"Almost ready, little one, just relax," he whispered, and as he parted her buttcheeks, he stretched her entrance starting to intrude himself in her.

Penelope widened her eyes, he would never enter, she was too small and tight for… that kind of tip. She bit her lips as he slowly made his way in, adding more lube with his fingers every time he retracted, so to make it easier with the next try.

She didn't have voice anymore to plead him, because her thoughts were all on another part of her needy body, that was quivering and gaping, and once he managed to enter just a little bit, she felt her pussy wall tighten as well giving her a shivering pleasure she didn't know it was possible from the other side.

Slowly, but steady Garreth made his way in her, his pulsing length filling her completely as the first wall of resistance was completely overcome. 

He heard him groaned in satisfaction, his hips pressed against her. As he brushed a lock of hair from his face, he started to move, retracting, first slowly, then faster, not giving her time to adjust with each thrust.

But Penelope's body didn't even feel the urge to adjust as she was trembling from another source of bliss and soon she realized she was moaning helplessly, her pleasure mixed with shame.

"Oh," he chimed in, fastening the pace, sensing her arousal, "lucky for us, I've muffled the building. I have a feeling someone might be screaming soon." 

Damn it! She was giving in! Despite her resistance to letting him see her enjoyment, her pride seemed to have vanished, and as she groan and arched her back, she felt indeed a shameless slut. And she was liking it.

"Focus, Pen, focus please!" she thought in a last desperate attempt.

Garreth on the other hand didn't care, he steadied himself pinning one hand on the counter and started to pump with more vigor, soft moans and harsh sounds escaping his mouth, grinding in faster, longer and merciless.

Penelope clenched her fists and gritted her teeth as another powerful thrust shattered the table beneath her, causing her hips to smash against it in what should have been a painful blow. But her body was betraying her once more, as the only thing she could feel were shivers of pleasure coursing through her.

The boy behind her moaned again, in what seemed like a low, coarse throaty sound as he sank deeper into her, keeping her in place with a hand on her lower back.

She closed her eyes, trying to focus once again, but her mind and her body felt completely disconnected, unable to cooperate in what should be a desperate situation.

As another thrust hit her harder, her body shuddered and her mind played with the sudden desire to move together with him. No, it was not working.

She opened her eyes again and as a faint ray of moonlight seeped through the dirty greenhouse windows above her, a shining glimpse caught her attention. This time, it was not his Patronus.

Curiosity piqued, she turned around, trying to command her body to follow her orders distracting herself from the overwhelming feeling of being so filled and stretched.

As soon her eyes lended on the dirty counter next to her, she widened her gaze. Fear washed over her.

It was the vial, that vial. Just empty.

Damn!

If few drops of that thing turned her body in that needy mess, how much could a full vial do?

And he had drank all of it!

She was trapped, trapped in that bloody greenhouse, forced to satisfy the pleasure of the Deputy Headmistress nephew for Merlin knew how long…

That's why he was always asking for more. He didn't need to rest, he didn't need anything to refill his lust.

She tried to shake him off, but she knew she was only making him more excited, plus, she could feel she was really close herself to reach her peak.

She didn't know how that potion worked, but the merely graze of the soft fabric of her panties against her sensitive clit, was making her losing her mind.

Combined with the brushing of her nipples against her shirt and the hard counter under her, she knew she could not resist any longer and soon she started to feel something coiling in her stomach, and small waves of pleasure starting to rise from deep within her pussy.

Fuck, she was coming. Hard.

She tried not to moan, but it was almost impossible, the waves coming and going faster, each time more powerful, than the last one. What the hell was in that vial?

She closed her eyes shut, as her orgasm mounted, relentless in its bliss, submerging her in its powerful tides. She didn't care anymore if that lunatic had taken advantage of her, she didn't mind, he was giving her something far beyond her grasp, something she had never experience before.

She felt her skin melting under Garreth's touch as he grabbed her ass, ready for another release as he was also coming again, his Patronus pulsing, its light filtering through her closed lids.

Her mind swayed as she bumped against the counter, her heart hammering against her chest, as her thighs were shivering furiously from his thrusts and her overwhelming orgasm. 

Completely at his mercy, she dived in.

She was tightening and clenching and pulsing, and moaning for what seemed like minutes on end. The sensations began to recede gradually, like the waves of the sea withdrawing after a tempest. 

He had been her tempest.

Had it been normal encounter, she might have thanked him, eagerly begging for more, but this was far from normal. And after the first stupor, she find herself livid with anger.

"How are you doing little one?" his voice was strained, out of breath again, she had to give him credit, he had a great stamina and powerful thighs. 

She felt his hand sliding down her ass, as he slowly pull out of her, his cum dripping on the floor and her heated and bruised skin. 

She didn't want to give him the satisfaction to know he had given her the time of her life, so she fell silent.

"I bet you're enjoying yourself down here," he jested and as his hand lowered, she tensed, closing her legs shut, she didn't want him to touch her, as he was seeking something that clearly wasn't there.

His fingers slid from her butt, infiltrating down again, then he stopped, he cussed under his breath and suddenly retreated.

"Fuck! I have to go."

Penelope opened her eyes, looking around in confusion. What was happening?

She sensed another source of light coming from a bigger hairy form, another Patronus?

"I haven't finished with you," Garreth murmured, his voice tensed while quickly recomposing himself, cleaning his shaft from the oil, the cum and her juices with a flick of his wand. 

"Just try, you'll never find me," she provoked him, her voice sour, but as soon as she had pronounced them, she felt him tapping her ass with his wand. 

"Ligato voluptatem,"

Something soft and cold grazed at her skin moving between her legs, like a silky lining, it enveloped her clit, entering in her pussy. 

Shortly after her wrists were freed, she quickly turned and leaning against the counter, covered herself with her cloak, hoping to conceal from him the fact that she wasn't a boy. Her thighs still quivering form the overwhelming orgasm.

She saw him moved around, collecting his things, a bag from the ground and some other vials, now that his Patronus was gone, the greenhouse was darker than ever, ominous even.

He paused midway through the building, turning to fix her with his intense emerald gaze, a stark contrast to the half-smile playing on his lips. 

"Oh, I don't need to find you; I only have to wait," he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"What did you do?" she asked, her voice tense and high-pitched with fear. 

"I've cast a little hex on you," he explained shrugging lightly, as if nothing, "see, you'll never be able to pleasure yourself again," he continued coming closer, rising his gaze on her face. With a mischievous grin, he tilted his head, sensing her growing discomfort as his words sank in. 

The danger in his tone was evident, and Penelope felt like something cold washing over her, he wasn't joking.

"My touch is the only one your body will crave, slowly driving you insane day by day. It might not be tomorrow or even next week, but I'm certain you'll come to me, overwhelmed with longing and begging for a relief I'll be the only one to concede." he explained, his voice a confident low purr, full of devilish expectation.

"I've never heard of it," she mumbled, struggling to steady herself. She leaned against the counter for support, feeling her legs weaken for a very different reason this time. 

"It's not illegal if nobody knows about it. Just a little gift from my dear brother," he jested, brushing his messy curls away from all over his face.

He adjusted his bag over his shoulder, reaching inside to retrieve something. With a swift movement, he tossed a small bottle toward her. 

"Murtlap essence. You'll need it if you're planning on returning to your dorm tonight on your feet," he said scornfully. 

Casting a final, defiant glance her way, he navigated past another Flitterbloom plant near the greenhouse entrance and disappeared beyond the door, into the night.

Alone now, Penelope tried to gather her scattered thoughts. She quickly dressed, collected her tools, and retrieved her wand. Moving quietly, despite the discomfort in her lower back, she made her way towards the stairs leading to building number 4 and her secret passage. 

As she landed on the wooden floor of the Herbology corridor, her heart still raced, her mind grappling with the recent events. 

She just wanted to go back to her bed and forgot everything.

For the first time in four years she forgot to feed Vinny.

As she made way out of the corridor, she cast a look at the vial with the Murtlap essence still in her grasp, had he really hexed her? She was uncertain of her next steps, but one thing was clear: she wouldn't let this go. 

He would pay for what he had forced upon her that fateful night.

She wasn't down for the full Weasley treatment.

#hogwarts legacy #garreth weasley #!dark garreth #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy smut #garreth x mc #amberlide writes #my fanfiction

[giantologist]

Into The Cell

1.5k words, Professor Finch visits a giant imprisoned in a dungeon.

"You don't know what you're getting into." The guard said, sneering at the wiry man beside him. "He ain't like no monster I've ever seen. Didn't even know giants went feral, don't know why the King even puts up with them."

"I shall thank you to keep your opinions behind your teeth." The Professor said with an equally venomous tone, eyes on the guard's lips. He did not like these people, not one bit.

The guard snorted as they reached the door, jangling his large ring of keys hard before unlocking the door. The noise seemed to cause a stir in the room beyond, deep clanks of heavy chains and wary rumbles.

"If you need me, just scream." The guard growled, almost kicking Finch into the room, his lithe form struggling to keep upright as he stumbled. "Though you probably won't get the chance if you're too close." With that, the door closed with a resounding boom.

"Honestly. No manners." Finch complained, dusting himself down and turning. The cell was dark and musty, rats and rotting food littered across the floor. In the centre of the room, one wrist shackled to a pillar, was a very sickly looking giant. Skin and bones, beard wild and eyes burning with a hunger that made Finch shiver slightly. A ring was drawn around him in chalk, presumably the length of his reach.

"Dear me… Oh, you poor soul." As he dared a few steps, the giant immediately began to snarl at him, his yells making Finch cringe. He didn't cover his ears. He didn't retreat.

"Now, now…" He said softly, holding his hands up with a soft smile. "I'm a friend. Friend." At the sound of his own tongue, the giant fell silent. He looked at Finch with suspicion, his eyes dark and narrow.

Finch mustered himself, taking a few more tentative steps as he conjured forth his knowledge of giantish. "I'm not here to harm you." His pronunciation was always a little off, considering you do need a very deep timbre to pull off the more guttural vowels.

"Food." The word was raspy, as though the man hadn't spoken in weeks. Months.

Finch nodded, jogging toward the cell door, getting his ear trumpet to press against the mesh. "Excuse me! Captain!" The gruff voice at the other side of the door didn't sound enthused that Finch was still alive. "Could you bring your prisoner a meal, please?"

"Piss off! You can have something, but that thing ain't getting anything."

Tightening his lips, Finch gave the door a weak kick. "In that case, I want a whole roast sheep and a cask of water."

"You're obviously not going to eat it yourself."

"Oh? Is this you refusing to give a guest of the King any refreshment?"

There was a beat of silence, then a grumble and stomping boots retreating. Smug, the Professor strolled back to where the giant was chained. "Do you need a drink before you can speak?"

A nod. He patiently waited just outside the circle, beginning to chat in giantish, mostly to keep his nerves at bay. "Don't worry. I know things seem bad right now, but I'm going to do my best to help."

When the door swung open, the giant tensed with a snarl, immediately beginning to try and snatch at the guards. They kept their distance, leaving a wheelbarrow and a cask just out of reach before retreating in barely contained terror.

"Allow me." Finch said, approaching as if he had known the giant for years. It was simple to give the keg a shove, and it rolled to the giant, who snatched it up and broke the lid in half with his fingernail, trying to sip from the shot-glass sized barrel as best he could. The human tried not to wince as he pushed the heavy barrow over the chalk line, knowing he couldn't show his nerves. Even if he was a little anxious, the smell of fear would only make things worse. Calm and collected, he looked up to see himself being watched.

He was within reach. It would only take a swipe of one huge hand and he'd be naught but a stain. "Do you speak the common tongue, sir?" Finch asked, stepping away from the whole roast sheep, which went ignored for now.

"Not much." Came the reply, raspy but a lot easier after the water. "Call me Njor."

"Professor J. Finch, at your service." He replied with a sweeping bow.

"Why are you here?" Njor reached for the sheep, eyes trained on Finch. He didn't even blink when treetrunk fingers splintered the barrow beneath their weight, still and steeled.

As crunching bone and hungry slurps echoed in the dungeon, Finch detailed his work as a giantologist, telling of how the King was rather perturbed by the fact that a rogue giant was 'causing destruction', and how Finch had used his connections to persuade him to let him 'tame the beast'.

"Thus, here I am. I'm afraid it's a 'kneel to your lord or die at his sword' situation." He peppered in the idiom, which seemed to make the giant perk up slightly. "But, if you need a new start, there's a wonderful place I know of. No slayers, plenty of food, completely out of King Fat Head's jurisdiction."

Njor licked his fingers, wiping them on his grubby rags, then reached toward Finch with the intent to grab. Holding out both arms, Finch spoke as loudly as he could. "I'll step on your hand if you lay it flat!" Immediately, the five threatening digits turned to rest on their backs against the cold floor, and Finch thanked Njor as he hopped into his palm. The feeling of being lifted was one he always treasured, the tickle in his gut making him feel giddy.

"You really want to help me?" Njor asked, eyes level with the human.

"Of course I do. Though you'll have to do something for me in return." At Njor's sneer, he gave him a beaming smile. "I'd like to ask you a few questions. Once you're settled. Besides that, I only ask that you do as I instruct so we can get out of here with our hides intact."

It felt good, watching the people of the castle squirm as shackles were unlocked, the colossal beast once more allowed to stand to his full height. All expected a rampage, expected blood to fly and walls to crack. But Njor's shoulders were slumped, his legs shaky, and his head hung low as Finch led him through the large doors that led to the arena. A sickening idea. Every booming step was slow and well placed, Finch not even looking up as they made their way to the back gate.

"I can carry you."

"I wouldn't want you to worry about me when you need to focus on your footing. We both know a gentleman of your size wouldn't fare well in a tumble, especially with how thin you are. No, no. You can drink and rest by the river, and I shall bring supplies."

Njor didn't reply, his eyes to the ground. The portcullis lifted slowly and both the human and the giant felt a slight prickle of sweat on their brows. They knew the archers were there. Finch didn't step out until it was high enough for both of them, feet above scuffing as the guards leant over the other side of the wall. Njor paused as he looked out at the sprawling green woodland below them, taking a deep breath of fresh air. Freedom.

"Now, before we briefly part ways, I need a word." Finch beckoned him, and Njor took a knee beside the Professor. "You must stay by the river where I can find you. Otherwise we'll both be for the chop. Alright?" Njor nodded, but Finch stood tall with a steely glint in his eye. "Swear on the mountains of your forefathers."

"I swear on the breath of my kin." Njor said with his hand on his heart.

Satisfied, Finch went one way, and Njor went the other, striding past the western edge of the village, ignoring the screams from villagers as he strode toward a cool drink.

By the time Finch had found someone willing to actually drive his cartload of food, it was already getting late in the day, and he hoped he hadn't kept Njor waiting too long. The driver was clearly antsy, as if he'd be snatched up any second, but Finch kept pleasantly chatting away as if nothing at all was amiss.

When they broke the treeline, Finch sighed in relief upon seeing the giant having a well earned nap, stretched out in the sunlight like a very very large cat.

"I wouldn't worry about waking him." Finch assured the man as he unloaded the groceries as quietly as possible. "Firstly, he's been through a lot. He's exhausted, bless him." He didn't notice the annoyance of the driver that he wasn't helping, instead going into lecture mode, hands clasped behind his back. "Secondly, giants have quite the difference in circadian rhythm and the alternations between stages of sleep. For example…"

#g/t #giant tiny #giant/tiny #fantasy #Writing

[mommyofkittens]

A Court of Fallen Heroes: Chapter 9- The Third One

𓆩✴𓆪

Author's POV:

          Venom...  A chilled shadow crept through his sweat-soaked hair, whispering velvety in his ear. Azriel turned his weary gaze to the obsidian weapons, hanging at the guard's hips. Their equally dark armor, probably made of the same cursed material, glowed faintly as they passed any candles or windows. The moon watched over him like a stern mother, hoping for the best for her son.

          Faebane... Another companion spoke directly into his mind, snaking quickly down his searing spine. He subconsciously thanked her for the icy path she left on his clammy skin, cooling him enough to allow his mind to think more clearly.

          It had been more than twenty hours since he had eaten or had ten minutes of deep, uninterrupted sleep. He was used to these episodes of insomnia, he knew where his limits were and he knew how to help his body survive exhaustion, but with the hunger gnawing at his stomach he could hardly cope. 

          He was so getting a vacation after he went back to the Night Court. 

          Azriel stumbled to keep up with the guards escorting him from the gate. They were a head shorter than him, and perhaps those bulky armors hindered them in every way. Still, they were probably cleaner than his Illyrian skins, which seemed to mold over the film of sweat that had formed underneath. Azriel refrained from wrinkling his nose. He hated feeling stinky.

          As he considered the color mismatch between the exceptionally clean burgundy carpet and the brown velvet curtains, he also noticed the way the mosaic on the windows and ceiling changed as they moved through different areas of the palace. It smelled nauseatingly of burning incense, sage, and something rotten and damp. Azriel searched until he reached the corners of the marble floors, where he noticed the musty flowers they tried to hide.

          There was death inside the palace.

           Azriel thought about the list of dangers he had made up in his head that would prevent him from getting out of the royal court alive if he had to escape. Not even his wings would help him, as they would be the first target of all the trained archers in the outer court.

          He didn't have to turn around to count the scars that stretched like a mosaic along the hard Illyrian membrane, the way the brown was patched with dark red spots, aerodynamically weaker than the rest of the healthy tissue. He could still feel some of them, running deep into the marrow, like a ghostly rash that constantly reminded him of past nefarious circumstances. It sounded like he was adding another five hundred centuries to the ones he already had. Azriel knew that torn ligaments and sword wounds could heal too tightly and viciously, restricting certain movements. All of this ached during training, or in his prematurely short hours of sleep, even when it rained, thanks to changes in barometric pressure. He knew with frightening accuracy how, for whom, and when he got al those scars. He liked to keep track of everything, it was in his nature.

          Azriel felt his wings a few pounds heavier, and he fought to keep his tired shoulders straight so as not to drag his bony tips across the marble floor. He wouldn't have minded scratching at the perfection of this palace, but to the Illyrians it was a sign of weakness he would not allow.

          Turning his gaze back to the glass, he saw them again, shining under the crescent moon. Four pairs of towers surrounded the main hall of the palace, and as far as he could tell, the archers were only mounted in the outer towers, relying more on being useful over a longer radius. In the smaller towers, huge bells lay black as night, no natural light reflecting in the darkness of the material. In Azriel's mind, the worst-case scenario emerged. He imagined that the sound it produced would be loud enough to overwhelm the delicate hearing of a fae, loud enough that any danger in the vicinity would be killed in seconds by guards on the walls armed with sharp spears, swords, and daggers.

          And he hadn't seen their magic system yet.

           These were just a few of the small details that made Azriel sit as stiff as a bow and as still as a river, ready to turn at any moment. He was pleased with himself, his plan had worked. It had been easier than he had expected, setting himself up as a target in front of the bridge and allowing himself to be escorted by six guards into the heart of the palace, relying perhaps too much on the fact that those in charge had been tipped off by the winged man haunting the surrounding villages. His ego seemed a bit bruised, considering the small number of guards around him.

          He counted the curves and doors that stretched from side to side, analyzed the thick glass and the type of fastenings in the walls, and made sure that all the ropes tied to the ceiling were there to support the heavy chandeliers and not for some who-knows-what trap. He was sure his shadows would have warned him of any imminent danger, but now they were just as vigilant, listening, watching, like hunting dogs.

         Azriel knew the rules: he was to be presented to an emergency council unless they had time to raise another king to the throne. He had everything ready, the letter from Rhysand was his ticket in, but the problem was how to escape and how to find the so-called Comet Woman. He hoped no one else knew about her, knew what she could become. If someone found out in the meantime, things could get very, very problematic. It meant he wouldn't be coming home with his hands clean. 

          The man knew she lived here for the past month, retracing all her steps by the scent of amber that lingered in the atmosphere. There were certain areas so much more concentrated, so much more filled with her presence, so tangible that Azriel could almost see her faded face, as if he were standing behind a curtain in which he could just make out her outline. The shadows had led him to a wooden threshold with a barely legible sign carved with the simple word 'Potions'. Azriel caught the humor and almost snorted: the one he sought was indeed a sorcerer, which was why it had been so easy for her to slip past their protection, to sneak into the house when he slept so soundly, to haunt him for weeks.

          He wouldn't have left without her, after getting so close that he could feel her brittle bones crumbling under his strong fingers. If he played his cards right, like a true diplomat and not a thirsty assassin, he could walk out of the wolf's mouth with his head still on his shoulders and the great trophy won.

          He paused for a few seconds in front of a polished wooden door, surrounded by ancient phrases carved into the holster. There was a brief exchange of glances between the man to his right and the guard in the hallway. He allowed himself to roll his stiff neck. He had been in the palace for more than ten minutes and still no sound, no servant, no Fae of any rank. What was everyone doing? 

          " Raise your arms! " The man to his left commands as he rests his hand on the scabbard of his sword, his eyes quickly scanning Azriel's body. " Remove your cloak and slowly present your weapons. "

           Azriel made no gesture as he nimbly unbuttoned the gold button that held his traveling cloak, then removed his knives and swords from his armor and placed them according to size on the low table by the door.

          A guard comes too close for Azriel's liking, counting the equipment in the torchlight. He lifts his eye shield over his head, revealing tawny irises and the smell of sour wine. " Are you planning an uprising? You brought an arsenal. ''

          '' No. '' Azriel said casually, rearranging the crooked line of daggers with a finger, '' I just can't sleep without them. ''

          The guard gave him a puzzled look, sensing Azriel's wry humor, then shook his head and put the torch away. He hoped there was no spell inside that would block his access to the other realm, where he had left allof  his most important tools, undetectable and ready to use at a moment's notice. The colleague, who smelled of cheap wine, took his hand off the sword and pulled on his gloves, then began to search Azriel's body. 

          ''Don't touch my wings,'' he warned them coldly, watching their slow movements closely.

          The individual paused for a second, trying to decide whether or not to take the mountain of a man in front of him seriously, then seemed to make the right decision and carefully circled the base of his wings on his back. He was aware that his life was not important enough to be judged by the royal court if the famous Shadowsinger decided to break his neck with his bare hands. Besides, there was his reputation: no one wanted to mess with the fragile nerves of a torturer. 

           The Shadowsinger didn't take his fierce gaze away from the guard's curious hands. In fact, he was annoyed that they were hovering too long over places he certainly did not want to be touched, but he could not afford to lose control when he was so close to fulfilling his plan. No one could test his iron patience. He could feel his skin soaking with sweat and dust as it ate away at his equipment. He hadn't had a hot bath in days and craved the feeling of cleanliness. And this touchy-feely examination was making it worse.

          After making sure he didn't bring in a butter knife to slit the throats of the entire council, the door was opened and Azriel stepped through, this time accompanied by only two of the six guards. 

          He paused for a moment to take in the new scenery. Surely he had entered the gilded palace street, where the king's closest allies made their home, judging by the imperial colors of bright red, the spotless view and, of course, the lack of musty odors. Gold chandeliers and scented candles were screwed into the marble walls, along with dozens of paintings of portraits and battle scenes. 

          A couple of women, the first Azriel had seen in the fifteen minutes he had been in the palace, emerged from a side room and did not shy away from looking at him from head to toe. Azriel refrained from rolling his eyes, content to look straight ahead without giving them any meaning. The ladies whispered to each other long enough for him to realize that he was the subject of the discussion, more specifically his tights and something about his waist. Even though Azriel was more than used to female attention, even male attention, that didn't mean he wanted it from everyone and everywhere.

          Still, he threw a bone to the dogs and bowed his head like a courtier, eyeing the ladies like a predator disguised under the skin of a gentleman. Oh my, how the perfume of the hallway had changed to something sweeter, more... enticing. Azriel's lips curled just a little as a loud giggle escaped them, enchanted by his attention. 

          Azriel doesn't get to take a few steps before an all-too-familiar smell hits his senses hard: nutmeg and... burning coals. Azriel sighs deeply and prays to the Mother that he won't find what he already expected to find somewhere nearby. His instincts rarely failed him. Maybe he'd finally found the reason to end this male's existence after the meeting of the High Lords months ago. His discovery would only add fuel to an already smoldering fire that could reignite any second back in Prythian, And possibly make Azriel's job a little more difficult if this redhead started sticking his nose into his affairs.

          The muffled voices seemed to contradict each other just after the left turn where the smell of fresh food came from. There were many more people on this side of the palace, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to locate the source. The scent, which could only have come from a fae, given how strong it was, began to intertwine with something softer, barely tangible, as if this person had no personality or will of their own. It had a subtle hue, barely discernible, like plants and leaves. No, not just the kind you grow everywhere, but the ones that love dry summers and cool winters, a plant that only the most special person in the world would know how to plant and grow for him. Saffron, he concluded, a plant that lives in the mountains and that for him meant freedom, however temporary.

          He didn't dare close his eyes to block out the memories. Every moment of weakness was just another knife between his shoulder blades. Azriel gritted his teeth and pushed every thought away. He subtly sniffed the bittersweet scent that took him to the same place where those sunken voices could be heard.

          The first guard stopped in front of him as he rounded the corner, probably slightly startled by the image he saw in the next corridor. Azriel stepped cautiously, his eyes taking in every detail of the stained glass until he came to a familiar clump of red hair. He couldn't help but sigh.

          An awkward moment of silence fell over all the participants. Azriel felt the urge to hit someone, especially the one who was now standing there nonchalantly, as if he had done nothing wrong.

          '' Well, I see Rhysand has sent his brutes out to play. '' His words, laced with mocking humour, did him no good as Azriel tried hard not to step on his throat again. '' What wind blows you here, Shadowsinger? ''

          The raven-haired man didn't respond to his challenge at first, watching the intimate scene unfold before them: an insultingly small body trapped between Vanserra's tall frame and the marble sculpture of a naked fairy. The woman struggled to cover her face with the red mask he knew all palace servants wore for some reason, then pulled the folds of her dress tighter, waiting for the awkward moment to pass. In his mind, he guessed the reason they were forced to wear that uniform. It was easier not to know who was disappearing, it was easier to kill someone who was lost in a landscape where a thousand others looked the same. It was easier to get murdered.

          '' Are you all right, girl? '' Azriel deliberately ignored Eris, any conversation with this traitor would only end in blood and not otherwise. 

          The woman didn't answer, didn't even look at him, as if she hadn't heard him at all. He was slightly offended by the lack of response, but overlooked it as she was probably on edge from whatever magic Vanserra had put on her.

          One of the guards approached the maid menacingly, ready to strike. " Our guest gives you permission to speak by engaging you in conversation and you dare not answer? You disgusting human! "

          Eris jumps up to stand between the guard and the woman, smiling sardonically. " She can't speak, Draegan cut out her tongue. "

          " Of course King Draegan cut out her tongue if she doesn't know when and how to use it! " The other man shouts from behind his mask.

          " Calm down! There's no need to throw a tantrum because a woman rejects you. " Azriel intervenes, freeing himself from captivity. " I think I can find my way from here. "

          " I don't think is wise... "

          " You're not here to think, you're here to guard, and I'm inoffensive. Lord Vanserra can vouch for that. " Azriel intensifies his look, turning his back to the guards. " And I left my entire arsenal by the doors, remember? "

          " I'll take care of him, don't worry. " Eris grunted, crossing his hands over his green tunic. " Men like him are as harmless as a bear: they don't bite unless you find their lair. "

          The men nodded sceptically and turned back. He felt Eris stiffen beside him, as if he'd been waiting for someone to catch him cheating at cards.

          " Let the girl go. " Azriel spoke grimly, not turning to look at them. " She shouldn't be here. "

          " She's where she's supposed to be. " Eris replied dryly, already irritated by Azriel's tendency to twist his words, then left a theatrical kiss on the woman's cheek.

          The girl seems to push him away for a second, then pulls her hand back, hiding it between the thick folds of her black dress.

        " I don't think you're where you're supposed to be. " Azriel didn't seem to want to back down, so he turned his full attention to the Heir of the Autumn Court, irritated by his idiotic answers.

          " True. " Eris admitted, covering the woman almost completely. " But I could say the same about you. King Draegan is waiting for both of us in the dining hall. "

         " Oh, you already share a bond with these criminals. " The man concluded, nodding slightly. " You still haven't told me why you're here. " 

          " Go, little human, I'll find you later. " Vanserra hugged her too lovingly, resting his huge palm on the woman's small face.

          A violent feeling ran through Azriel as he watched these gestures: fear, fear for this woman who didn't know what she was getting into, who was always in danger of being crushed by Eris or someone else from this cruel continent. A fragile human once again caught between the fingers of a fae. These stories caused a sick feeling of anxiety in his stomach, not because he cared, but because he knew history was about to repeat itself. He watched her short legs move hastily to the servant's door, avoiding eye contact with the fae around her, trying her best to pass unnoticed. Azriel was almost nervous for her. 

          Don't be clumsy. Don't be loud. Leave as soon as you can. I'll pay you ten times your salary if you just leave. Azriel sang in his head, but it was in vain, she couldn't hear him and he couldn't do much more for now.

          " Do you hear me? " Eris's voice grows a little louder, but something else catches Azriel's attention.

          The woman stops suddenly, eyes wide with shock as if she had seen someone naked, and looks around in confusion. Azriel frowns, Eris' words flying past him. She turns slightly toward them, and for a brief moment Azriel can finally see her troubled eyes: round as a full moon and fiery as a burning sun, but their color was what set them apart - gray, like an inviting sea that hides treacherous dangers. 

          Then she disappeared, like a ghost between the walls. 

          A few moments later, he realized that his shadows had become silent, resting, waiting, as if they were hoping, and then vanished from his surroundings completely. It seemed bizarre to Azriel, and he felt lonelier than he would have liked.

         " What are you doing here, Eris? "

         " Same as you - business. I know you're not here for pleasure or anything, you won't find a happy place here. " Eris Vanserra seemed to slap him as he gave him a tight smile. Azriel stiffened his mental, emotional and psychic shields and the shadows reappeared. " I want to know more about Hybern. They are weak and few. I want to have an advantage when the time comes. "

          " Just say you're here to spy on them and cut the crap. " Azriel strode after Eris, who knew the palace corridors disturbingly well. " Except I still wouldn't believe anything that came out of your mouth. "

          " I don't need you to believe me or the approval of the Night Court. This isn't about the Morrigan anymore. " Eris turned abruptly, almost bumping into Azriel who was behind him. " Another war is coming, something worse is happening right now, and I want to know how we can win. If we can. "

          Azriel's alarm rang in his ears. Did Eris know more about the Fallen Star than he was letting on?

          " Hybern was our enemy months ago, don't tell me you want to have them as allies. It's like trusting a rabid animal. " Azriel stopped him with a gloved hand before they stepped through another huge door. " They are the reason more than half of our armies have been destroyed. "

          He wanted to say a few more words to Eris, but that was a discussion he would have another time, in a much more secluded place and under more permissible circumstances, where he could use acts of physical violence. He couldn't ask him enough questions to find out what he knew, or if he knew anything.

          " I'm aware of that, but they don't have the Cauldron to do that kind of damage again. Anyway, this is not the place to discuss the matter in detail. Give me more time before you turn me in. "

          He didn't want Rhysand to find out that Eris was here, actively betraying everyone. He couldn't do that, it was a luxury he couldn't afford.

          " This new king, Draegan. He knows something we do not. He may have an advantage we do not. Let me find out what it is. "

          As another pair of huge doors opened before their eyes, Azriel suddenly felt tired. A huge table lay before him, decorated with plates and glasses far too full for his taste. Oriental flavors and far too much food awaited him, and the servants - both women and men - moved around in disturbing circles of clattering, chattering, and chopping.

          Dozens of pairs of eyes turned to them, hidden in that semi-obscure atmosphere of burning candles and the barely audible strains of a violin. Azriel wanted to turn around and leave, he didn't have the energy to go through all that was about to come, but he had no other choice. 

          " Sometimes I hate it too. " Eris whispered, with the same smile that now seemed forced, and started to walk to the only two empty seats that were too close to the already occupied one at the end of the table. The big chair that actually mattered.

          Azriel couldn't really see him, the king, hiding behind all this charade of music and dimmed lights and fae. But he could feel the sudden change in the air around him, too heavy to breathe and full of something evil. His shadows circled his vital points like a vise, shielding him as best as they could.

          " Glad to hear it. " Azriel spits back at Eris and turns away, unfazed by the reproachful looks.

          Azriel noticed the ladies from the hallway, watching him with lustful glances and scandalous promises. The creatures already seated at the table, all different kinds of fae, smiled at them all knowingly, bowed their glasses to them like hyenas tempting their prey. Indecent dresses, precious stones, tunics sewn with gold and silver thread, violinists with handcuffs on their feet and pianists with bandaged fingers. An unpleasant and painful sight. Someone proposed a toast and silence fell over the room. The two suddenly stopped, side by side, as if they had been caught sneaking into the banquet.

          " My dear friends and advisors... Tonight I'd like to introduce two special guests. Two soldiers who are willing to present their offers of peace for our kingdom, offers that I intend to accept. " A dark-haired man with square features rose from the imperial chair at the end of the table and gestured for them to sit beside him.

           Draegan... The brave shadow crawled through his hair, sitting on his head like a crown of darkness.

          Azriel takes a deep breath. How stupid of him to think that the Night Court would try to win a place next to those abominations of faes. He hated talking to men of high rank. They were far too full of themselves, they spoke coded most of the time, and the part that really drove him crazy was their facade. Far too much politeness, far too many fake smiles, and duplicitous opinions. He was too old for all the political games, but tonight he had to get into his role.

         " So you're here to make peace with these? " Azriel whispered so quietly that only Eris could hear, and began to push himself toward the red velvet chair. " They slaughtered our people. "

          " You slaughter people for fun. At least I'm productive. "

          " I hope your productivity kills you. " Azriel almost pointed his sharp canines at Eris, but refrained at the last moment. "And I hope it kills you before you leave this place. "

          Azriel walks to the farthest place from the so-called king. This man seemed unfit for such a title: too young, too vulgar, and too innovative for a land deeply rooted in tradition.

          " At least you're here with me and I won't feel alone in my dying moments. " Eris smiled jockingly and bowed his head.

          " I am more than happy to find you in such a festive mood, King Draegan. " Azriel bowed very slightly, as if any bowing would cause him terrible knee pain. " May all the year be as prosperous as you are at this moment. "

          A muscle twitches in Draegan's face. If he had made it this far without anyone standing between him and the throne, he had convinced his people that he would be a trustworthy leader. Who knows what means of persuasion he had actually used.

           Draegan smiled knowingly and gestured for Eris to take a seat at the table. " May all your blades be at hand when you need them the most. " A wry smile almost crept across Azriel's face. The game started earlier than expected.

         " You have no idea how pleased I am to have not one, but two emissaries from Prythian at my table. " The man smiled, showing his straight teeth, and poured the red wine into the golden cups himself. " You must be Azriel, the trustworthy and last of his kind Shadowsinger. I've heard enough about you and... your loyal companions. "

          " All wounds heal. " Someone from the table interjected, raising his cup. " May this meeting heal us all. "

          " Indeed, Lord Charon. " Vanserra agreed with the former, older participant, then turned back to watch Draegan.

          His shadows swirled around Azriel's neck, stirred by the ease with which the king spoke about them. The Shadowsinger eyed the speaker, noting his many medals and muscular frame. In return, Lord Charon gave him a compassionate smile, toothy and wide, showing all the wrinkles on his round face. 

          By the Mother, Eris Vanserra seduced half the court of Hybern.

          " After hearing so much about my business, I find it hard to believe that you are very excited about my unannounced arrival. " Azriel replied monotonously, placing a gloved hand on his crystal goblet. His boldest shadow jumped from his forearms and surrounded the glass.

          " No poison. " Draegan announced displeasedly, drawing his dark gaze to the dark tongue of shadow circling the freshly poured wine. " This is no way to greet your guests. "

          Safe...

          The Shadowsinger turned his head cautiously, looking for some food on the table, which was barely holding together due to the numerous dishes. Did the people outside the palace have as many goods as those inside?

         " What determined your unannounced visit? " Draegan leaned back and gestured for the others to continue their conversation. " I must admit, I was intrigued by the rumors. "

         Azriel knew that though they all seemed to be deep in their own discussions of land, property, and business, their hungry ears were tuned to the three of them, their senses were intoxicated by his ominous presence, and every fleeting corner of their eyes was focused on him.

          " My High Lord and High Lady wish to send you a letter - of peace. " Azriel rolled out the words as sweetly as possible and handed him the envelope marked with the royal court seal.

          " So many offers. " The king chuckled lightly, but didn't open the envelope. " Why didn't they come themselves? "

          Among the many candles melting on the tablecloth, he caught the glances of the diners around him. He noticed the cautious way they had begun to behave: eating in silence, wearing straight smiles and speaking in hushed tones. Some glanced at him out of the corners of their eyes, while others dared to admire him fully, allowing Azriel to sniff their disgusting fear.

          " Well, it's no secret that everyone is rebuilding their kingdoms after the devastating war. Politics and people can't wait, their homes are ruined and laws are old and terrible, they don't apply anymore. So they're doing their best to solve these problems. "

          " What about Velaris? The Hidden Treasure, is it as destroyed as the rest of the Night Court? " A question flies across the table, raising the hairs on Azriel's neck.

          " Who determines what people can live there? It's unfair for some to get the chance to stay safe and happy and other innocent lives to pay the price of not being lucky enough.  " Lord Charon throws the hardest question at Azriel,

          Azriel bites back an angry reply. These people were talking about innocent lives when they were killing dozens every day, not to mention that bitch, Amarantha, their own, worse than all of them.

          " Like I said, the laws are old, the city is as old as the law. Everything needs to be rebuilt. Everyone needs a chance to survive, to be happy, to be safe. The Night Court is working hard to rebuild everything from the ground. "

          Vanserra almost spits his food on the table, trying to hold back a laugh. " Let's not dig up the graves. Both continents made mistakes. The Night Court is working hard. " Eris backs Azriel up only to speak under his breath, using the music so only the winged male can hear. " That's why the Night Court is divided into the one of Nightmares and the one made for Dreamers. "

          Icy rage fills Azriel's veins, and it takes everything he has not to stab Eris with a real butter knife found on the table. He knew that the way people were allowed to live in Velaris was a flawed system, as were the Illyrian camps and the way women were treated there. But his words on these matters meant next to nothing if no one actually listened to his or Cassian's opinions.

          " Everyone needs a second chance, I think. " Draegan interjects as he raises his goblet to his mouth. " It's better to have friends, not enemies. I'd like to visit this place once. If I'm allowed, of course. "

           The Shadowsinger only nods, drinking heavily from that shitty wine, hoping to calm his stretched nerves. 

         " To what occasion do we dedicate this meal, Draegan? " Eris began as he eagerly carved a piece of lemon-glazed lamb, trying to ease the tension around the table.

         Azriel plunged his fork into a well-browned potato, passing through numerous spicy condiments. He'd forgotten the etiquette of high society, so he'd forgotten how polite it was to actually take food, not just look at it. He sniffed the piece of vegetable lightly, guessing pepper and something resembling turmeric, a spice grown exclusively in the Montessere. He popped the potato into his mouth and enjoyed the burst of flavor.

          He was starving, but he couldn't afford to eat everything on the table. If there was the slightest chance of being poisoned, at least the vegetables would have been digested faster and everything would have been disposed of even faster.

          The king laughed. Azriel cringed. " Well, aside from celebrating new bonds... Remember I told you today that someone broke into my room? "

          Azriel raised an eyebrow and looked at the man at the head of the table. He was glad the topic of conversation had changed. Shadows continued to swirl around him, clinging to his thighs and forearms, seemingly ready to draw his daggers at any moment.

          Draegan's golden crown decorated with rubies sat on his head full of brown curls. The burgundy tunic he wore and the shadows cast on his face by the candles seemed to send him into a realm of madness.

            There was a sudden movement as the guards closed the doors and the diners began to stir, startled by the turn of events.

          Eris stopped eating and resigned himself to look around, stunned and dumbfounded. More guards appeared from behind the stone columns holding up the balcony above, pointing crossbows at everyone's head.

          Azriel, though stiff, leans back in his chair, like a deadly weapon latently waiting to be used. He knew from the moment he walked inside that something would go wrong, that someone would die tonight. Maybe that's why he felt this urge to save the servant, this pity for her.

          A few screams rang out in the high room as the guards ruthlessly grabbed the maids who were bringing wine and food to the table and ordered them in a line down the hall. The silver trays tumbled to the floor with a dizzying high-pitched clatter, the cups now empty, and the red wine that had once filled them quickly spread everywhere, soaking the carpets and seeping through the cracks in the marble.

          " Dear participants, I don't want to give you a bad first impression, but I despise stealing. You see, one of those whores came into my room looking for something. " Draegan rose from his velvet chair and took a few steps toward the women, who were trembling. " You stole from me. "

           Suddenly, he slapped the first servant in line so hard that the silly hat she was wearing flew off her head, revealing her aged, white hair. The woman was off balance for a second, stunned by the powerful blow, but did not react. Her legs had turned to jelly and she was now hovering above the floor in a half genuflection, so the guard behind her tightened his grip on her forearms, forced to support her.

          The armored man behind her was as cold as this entire palace. Azriel felt no hint of guilt emanating from him, not even reproach, not even pleasure. Azriel quickly realized that there was something different about the guards here: the material of the armor was covered in onyx from head to toe, a trick to keep the Daemati out of their minds, but also to keep the smells they gave off from being detected.

          The Shadowsinger clenches his fists under his chair. " Shouldn't Your Highness solve your problem somewhere private? ". Azriel tries to ease the tension and give these women a chance to get as far away from the palace as possible tonight, but he doubted they would make it out alive. He looked at the burgundy stain of drink that was now all over the place and horror gripped him, there was really nothing he could do to stop the next events from unfolding.

          He couldn't do much without losing his own credibility. His mission was at stake, to find the Fallen Star, and that was more important than anything else at the moment. Once again, he felt like a child trapped in a dungeon.

          " Or perhaps more diplomatically, given the presence of our new guest? " Eris also jumped to Azriel's aid, standing up as if to climb out of his chair.

          Azriel watched where Vanserra tended to peer from time to time, as if hoping to find an escape hatch for the person in question. Glancing carefully over all the participants in this atrocity, he sensed that something was off: there was a disturbing sense of calm among them, but who could be so.... detached?

          " Don't you dare tell me how to run my kingdom! " Draegan's head turned like a whip on their table, his pointed gaze raised in accusation. " I have been nothing but kind, and everyone seems eager to step over me! "

           For a second, he would have thought the king was the calm one, but he smelled like a sewer on a hot day, as if his irritation was boiling up all the hatred inside him. Vanserra hid his panic all too well, but his eyes usually spoke louder than his smart mouth, so all he could feel were smoldering coals, red as burning lava. Azriel put a gloved finger to his lips and calculated again. The participants at the table, though technically accustomed to such excursions, were as frightened as lambs at the sight of a wolf for the first time, sweat and mischief dripping from every pore.

          Oh, that was it. Azriel tapped his forefinger against his lower lip in satisfaction. A devastating storm of sea-blue smoke was about to drown Draegan and drag him into the deepest oceans.

          " Please, my king... " The first woman wriggled, palms outstretched and rosy cheeks pleading for mercy. " I would never do such a thing. I have children to feed. I wouldn't dare. "

          " Charon, bring me her eldest child. " Draegan ordered grimly, without a second thought. " Lock them both in the dungeon, without food or water. I will give you further instructions. "

          The woman wailed uncontrollably, falling to her knees and soaking the king's leather shoes with her salty tears. The guard could not restrain her, but Draegan did, sending her into a deep sleep with a boot in her jaw.

          Eris closed her eyes at the breaking sound and took a deep breath. Azriel didn't allow himself to close them anymore, he needed enough hate to annihilate them all at the first opportunity.

          He noticed the reason for Eris's panic as she stood one woman away from what was now a pile of flesh on the ground. Curiously, he rolled his eyes restlessly over the six women until he reached the third in line. She now shifted her gaze, keeping her head in the ground as if trying to burn a hole in the thick marble and get underneath. He studied her for a long moment, never taking his eyes off her reactions. Her heartbeat was so tightly controlled that neither the scent of fear, nor stress came from her. Azriel was slightly impressed. This woman could control herself very well, but he could see through her, the way her wrists were tense, the way her thick eyebrows were raised to her forehead, the agony she went through to keep her steamy eyes from rising, how difficult it was for her to control herself.

          Azriel's eyebrows rose slightly. This was where that dangerous, deaf, wild oasis of calm came from. She looked as if she knew what everyone's next move would be, waiting for the inevitable to happen and free her from her torment. Could she be the woman he was looking for?

          Azriel rested his elbows on the table and kept his eyes on her. A helpless, small woman, without courage, without the strength to save the situation, too slow to save herself, too timid, too weak. Disappointing, he thought, he expected more from a myth.

          " What were you looking for? Sex? " Draegan clung to the second with all his might and began to fondle her breasts thirstily. " You wanted to have fun with me? You see brothers, the news that I have a big dick sends these ladies into a frenzy, looking for trouble. "

          Azriel was deeply disgusted, and so was Eris, who took a generous sip of wine without taking his eyes off the third maid. A bond formed between the two as the woman raised her head briefly, generously giving him permission to be calm, as if everything was under control. The Shadowsinger almost snorted. It was as if he could hear those burning coals eagerly leaping from the fire, waiting to be summoned.

          If Eris wanted to start a second war here and now, he had every reason to do so. And the worst part was that Azriel would help him, no matter what. Faes like that just cast a shadow on the ground for nothing.

          The rest of the guests begin to laugh, making indecent jokes that seem to feed Draegan's ego.

         " Be in my room after dinner. " Draegan made a show of whispering something in her ear, loud enough to be humiliating to the second girl, who was shivering like she was getting hypothermia by the second. " And bring the blonde, Aoife. She'll teach you what I like. "

          Tears as bitter as the first woman's began to wet her burgundy mask. Azriel was beginning to feel he couldn't take it anymore, but something caught his attention. The third lifted her head fully and glared at Draegan with the most venomous gaze. It looked as if she wanted to tear the sky in two above the new king's head. So this Aoife was special for her and wanted revenge for whatever she had done to her friend.

          When the king finally reached her, he was met by those gray, icy, murderous eyes. He stumbled over his words, as if he'd actually hit a wall of ice, and stared at her for a few seconds, as if he couldn't believe what the madwoman in front of him had just done. There was a silent conversation between them that lasted so long that even the roar from the table stopped to watch.

        Eris swallowed dryly and covered his mouth with a hand. Azriel could swear he was trembling with impatience. Obviously he had warned her about her behavior.

        Draegan tilts his head to the side, intrigued by her bold gesture. " You have pretty eyes. You should be more careful if you want to keep them. " He spoke after a moment, aggressively grabbing her jaw and bending her head enough to leave a wet kiss on her mask. " You're next tomorrow night. "

          Vanserra looked lividly at her, at that disgusting stain of saliva on her mask. His agitation vanished, as if Draegan had poured water over the smoldering coals. She looked back at him with blank eyes and nodded slightly. She could handle it.

          There will be no tomorrow night, Azriel suspected, either Eris will do something that will cost him his head, or this woman will do something that will burn the palace to the ground. Or maybe both. He was running out of time.

         When Draegan moved on to the next woman, the third one no longer looked down, but stared at Azriel with her huge eyes. Azriel held her gaze for a long time until Draegan pulled a necklace from the fourth woman's pocket. None of the three looked at the stunning discovery. It did not shock any of them. 

          Eris dropped his head, tired of watching the next bloody minutes unfold among them. Guilt was written everywhere: on Vanserra's face, on Azriel's actions, in the eyes of the third servant, even on these damned walls. They all watched as that innocent woman was mercilessly killed for something she didn't do.

          Another burden to carry, another soul wasted. No one was going to notice, they all looked the same after all. That cursed uniform... But Azriel knew immediately that the third woman was the one who stole from Draegan's room. And that Eris Vanserra was her accomplice.

#azriel #acotar #amren #azriel headcanons #azriel x reader #a court of fallen heroes #feyre #azriel imagine #nesta #rhysand #azriel shadowsinger #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #a court of war and ruin #a court of nightmares #a court of thorns and roses fanfiction #a court of mist and fury #ao3 #wattpad #vesper #king of hybern #hybern #prythian #high lord rhysand #high lady feyre #cassian and nesta #eris vanserra #eris acotar #feyre and rhysand #amren x varian

[butterfliesandblueeyes]

DRIP DRIP DRIP

🩸 The sound of a leaky tap dripping or rain droplets dripping off a leaf after a rainstorm. That's what you associate the sound of drip drip drip with. Not something bad right?

pairings : Bucky Barnes x reader w/c : 1k warnings : mention of blood a/n : I decided to update my tumblr account so I deleted all my fics but I'm now posting them again. With that being said, I hope you enjoy reading and thank you always for the support!

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Drip Drip Drip.

You startle awake. A groan escapes your lips at the throbbing sensation in your head. You raise your hand to assess the damage done but your hand doesn't move from the arm of the chair you're sitting in.

Rope is wrapped tightly around your wrists, leaving deep indents on your skin. You look around the room, your eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. The only light is coming from a skylight on the roof. You breathe in through your nose, your nostrils filled with the smell of mould. Musty, stale, earthy. You assume you're somewhere underground or somewhere there's water because there's a dripping sound. Just over and over again, drip drip drip.

You swallow, your throat feeling raw and dry. You manage to croak out a 'help' when you see movement from the corner of the room.

"H-hello?" you stutter. You struggle against the rope but to no avail. The movement seems to be moving towards the light. That's when you're able to make out a broad figure. 

A tall male stands under the light, ocean eyes trained on you. Dark brown hair sits by his ears with a hat placed on top of his head. He wears a dark red henley that outlines his broad chest and muscles. Gloves cover his hands and washed blue jeans cover his thick thighs. 

You swallow before speaking. "Who are you?" you ask. A lopsided smirk forms on the strangers lips. He stalks towards you and you lean back in your chair in response. 

His gloved hand cups your cheek, thumb caressing your cheekbone. "You're so beautiful," he remarks. You shake your head to try to remove his hand from your face but he tightly grips your jaw. You hiss in pain and he lets go, taking a few steps back. 

Drip Drip Drip

"Please let me go," you beg. "I won't tell anyone, my husband needs-".

"Don't talk about him," he interrupts, venom dripping from his tongue. "He doesn't love you, I do." 

Your mouth opens at his words. "I don't even know you, you-you kidnapped me!" you exclaim, desperation in your voice. 

A deep chuckle leaves the strangers lips and your mouth snaps shut. "Of course you know me." 

The longer you stare at the man the more you recognise him. You've seen him before. Yes. You've definitely seen him. At the coffee place you frequent, the bookstore, your work. Maybe you've even bumped into him walking home or on the subway. "You've been stalking me," you conclude. 

He snickers while shaking his head. He folds his arms over his broad chest. "So silly my sweet girl. I haven't been stalking you, I've been keeping you safe," the stranger announces. 

Drip Drip Drip. 

You shake your head. "You stalk me then kidnap me. You're crazy and a terrible person." You struggle again, the rope only digging into your skin more.  

He shook his head as he stalked towards you. He placed his hands on the arms of the chair and leaned in so your noses were almost touching. 

"I may have done some bad things in my life, sweet girl but I'm not a terrible person," he confessed. "You wanna know who is a terrible person? Your husband." 

You began to shake your head again. "Don't," the stranger commanded and you stopped. 

Drip Drip Drip

The man then stood back up and turned around to head towards the corner where you saw him first. A click was heard and the room illuminated. A light hung from the roof and it was swinging back and forth. You took this opportunity to look around. There was no water in the room which you found odd because the dripping sound was still there. The walls and floors were both made of concrete and you were tied to a wooden chair. 

The man walked back towards you. "You know I will always protect you and when someone hurts you I'd take care of them. Your husband isn't who he says he is”, he spoke and your ears perked up at his last sentence. 

He suddenly gripped the arms of your chair and turned the chair aroundt, the legs scraping on the ground and producing a horrible screeching noise. 

Drip Drip Drip.

This was where the dripping sound was coming from. You couldn't see anything in front of you except a broad chest but when he stepped to the side you started to feel nauseous. 

Your husband, Callum, was strung up by his feet. His hands hanging down by his ears with blood dripping from his fingertips onto a puddle on the floor. 

Drip Drip Drip.

The dripping sound was your husband this whole time. Your dead husband. 

A scream left your throat and the man rushed to your side. "Shh sweet girl, it's okay," he soothed. "I did this for you, he was bad for you." 

Tears were spilling from your eyes like a waterfall and the man placed his gloved hands on your cheeks, his thumbs wiping away your tears. Your bottom lip was trembling and he pulled your lip down with his thumb.

"All he did to was lie to you, he wasn't faithful to you," he began. "I caught him several times with other women. He's a terrible person and he got what he deserved." 

He picked up a bottle of water that was on the floor, bringing it to your lips. You took a drink of whatever was in the bottle not fully realising what you were doing. 

It hit you almost immediately. You started to feel dizzy, your head lulling from side to side. Sweat was forming above your brow.

"I'm going to take care of you now, my sweet girl. I'll always take care of you."

He placed a gentle kiss on your trembling lips. You drifted off to sleep listening to the man's promises. You didn't feel anything towards the man. You didn't feel anything at all. You were numb. 

Drip Drip Drip.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader

[dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night]

Our Man Flint part three

TW: blood, injury, Christianity, insects, referenced attempted murder, fprced feeding, it/its pronouns used to dehumanize, intimate whumper, vampyr whumper, human whumpee, whumper-turned-whumpee, whumpee-turned-whumper

Ambrose pinned Flint to the wall by his wrists, lapping at the blood pouring from his throat.

The thing's tongue explored Flint's artery, pushing through the walls of smooth muscle, tearing the wound open still further.

Flint choked on his own blood, desperately preventing it from filling his lungs.

Having his artery ripped open should have been agonizing. But instead, a horrible sense of numbness settled into Flint's flesh, driving all pain from him.

His own blood coated him, absorbed by the cotton fibers of his garments. It quickly grew chill, exposed to the musty air of the room Lady Fate had chosen for his passing.

At long last, Ambrose pulled away, its dreaded mouth painted with Flint's blood.

The flesh of its heart regrew, twisting in on itself in disgusting shapes, until finally forming a whole and beating mockery of a human heart.

The flesh of its chest then sealed, erasing all evidence of Flint's stake having ever existed, yet alone having been put to use.

Ambrose stepped away, allowing Flint to run hysterically for the locked door, before collapsing in a heap.

Insects gathered around him, crawling over his flesh and gorging on his spilt blood.

His vision faded, twisting the shadows into warped faces, before he finally fell into unconsciousness.

Flint awakened hours later to Ambrose burning a fire mere inches from his face, where it laid on the crumbling stone ground.

He yanked his head back from the unbearable heat, forcing himself to sit up. He planted his calloused hands firmly to the ground to keep his body from collapsing.

Ambrose ran its fingers through Flint's hair, gently picking apart the tangles.

"Don't touch me you goddamn leech."

His words, meant to be rathful and venomous, came out slurred and exhausted.

"You should be grateful I didn't kill you."

Flint shifted closer to the fire, long needed warmth sinking into his bones.

"You've had your fun. Now let me go."

Ambrose cupped Flint's face in its clammy hands.

"And why should I do that, human?"

"I have a name."

"And what might that be?"

Delirious from blood loss, he recklessly spoke. "Flint."

Ambrose drew back, satisfied.

"Flint." The combination of F and L sat oddly on its unpracticed tongue. "I am Ambrose, and my companion August."

"I know that." Flint tightly gripped a crevice in the floor, ignoring the colony of writhing ants in favor of keeping himself upright. "I heard your names when you were bitching at each other."

Ambrose silently held out a bronze chalice, encrusted with pale blue gems.

"Drink. You must regain your strength."

"I'm not accepting anything from the likes of you."

"You are in no position to refuse."

"I couldn't take the cup even if I tried. If I moved my hands I would fall. Just fuck off already."

"I understand."

Ambrose climbed onto Flint, firmly gripping his jaw and forcing his mouth open, its fingers intruding into his mouth.

Flint's body, pinned by a vampyr with strength outmatching any man, could not move, even as his mind begged him to flee.

The broze chalice pressed to his lips, slowly tilting to pour out its contents.

The coppery taste of blood met Flint's tongue.

When the entirety of the chalice had been emptied, Ambrose moved the position of its hands, covering Flint's mouth and nose.

Flint thrashed, trying to get the blood out of his mouth, to breathe, to rip his body away from the vampyr.

Anything other than this.

An impossible length of time passed with all oxygen cut off from his lungs, increasing his dizziness by ten fold.

Frantic for air, Flint accidentally swallowed.

Upon viewing its success, Ambrose backed off and dropped its victim, uncaring as his head hit the stone ground with a sickening crack.

Flint turned over, coughing wildly, spitting the remaining blood onto the ground.

Gentle claws played with his hair until he recovered from his coughing fit, then dragged him to his feet.

"Get away from me!" Flint screamed, too dizzy to break away from Ambrose.

"I believe we have already established that I do not take orders from vampyr slayers," Ambrose said. "I will do with you what I please. It is folly on your part to believe you have a choice in the matter."

"Kill me."

A sense of finality draped over Flint's simple request.

Death was a vastly better alternative than becoming a monster, eternally divorced from the light of God.

"I already have," Ambrose replied. "Just give it time."

Taglist: @elim-flower @thedarkmongoose @mx-arsenic @anomalys-taxonomy @devourerofcheesecake @whumpsday @echo-goes-aaa @itsmyworld98 @verysmallandverygay @kisaisacat @whumpycries @whumpshaped

#Whump #Our man flint #Vampire whump #Whump series #Whumper turned whumpee #Whumpee turned whumpee #Turn your vampyr hunters into vampyrs its good for their mental health