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thosewickedlovelies · 3 years

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An Ode To Marcus Moreno’s Arms

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x GN!Reader

Rating: Mature

Summary: You’re a training specialist in swordsmanship at Heroics Headquarters, so you see a lot of Marcus Moreno.

Tags: Reader has a vivid (sexual) imagination, but there’s only a few brief sections.

Word Count: 2,272

A/N: This started out as an ode to his arms, but his arms are connected to the rest of him, so. Alternative title: In Appreciation of Marcus Moreno

My assumption/headcanon of his powers are telekinesis, plus general exceptional physical prowess and weapons skills? Idk, we weren’t given much, but those feel like solid abilities for someone implied to be the super among super heroes. Idk what this is but I regret nothing.

More content/worldbuilding set in this universe 💗

Marcus Moreno’s arms were capable of many things.

You knew this because you saw them on an almost-daily basis. You were one of the training specialists at Heroics Headquarters, one of a large, ever-expanding staff of instructors who were experts in their respective fields of combat or weapons. Your job, essentially, was to be a superhero minus the powers- and use your abilities to keep the Heroics in top form.

Your expertise was swordsmanship, which meant you spent more time with Marcus than any of the other heroes. All of the physical trainers and specialists sparred with the Heroics in mock villain showdowns, but you also helped them hone specific skills. You were here because your skillset and abilities matched Marcus’s.

So you’ve had plenty of opportunity to behold his arms at work.

One would think that they’d be most enticing mid-action, but it was a cosmically ironic fact that there was never really a wrong moment to ogle. How that man could make merely unsheathing his swords so erotic was beyond you.

But by now you’d seen it from every angle. You were as familiar with Marcus’s technique as you were with your own, and knew well the cycle of muscle contractions which rippled up his whole body. It started with his legs: setting his stance, primed and poised on the balls of his feet. Then every muscle in his torso, his clinging t-shirts sliding over taut flesh as they rode up with the lifting of his arms- his arms. Biceps suddenly incredibly present and visibly straining past barely-existent sleeves, tendons flexing rigid and obvious, a tangle of pathways you wanted to map with your tongue.

This show was best when he had started his day with tactical theory sessions, because then his expressive face got involved. Oh yes, it wasn’t enough for him just to be built the way he was, his face had to go and be attractive as well.

Tedious strategy debates with Miracle Guy during these sessions never failed to get under his skin- you could always tell how much steam Marcus had to let off based on the clench of his jaw. Or the way he’d drag his bottom lip over his teeth, nostrils flaring in an almost-snarl. When that happened you knew he gripped the hilts of his swords a little tighter, because you’d see the ridges in his wrist dip and pull like piano strings perpendicular to the line of his gloves. The blades would sing little sharper on those days, his arms freeing them in a jerk rather than their usual smooth, deliberate slide.

It was amazing you ever made it beyond unsheathing your weapons.

But oh, were you glad you did, because watching Marcus Moreno fight was truly a treat. The control he had over his body was remarkable; even when his limbs flung and stretched, they were to ready to contract again at a second’s notice. “Fight” was really too limited of a term for it- Marcus manipulated his body in an incredible harmony of mind and muscle, using his weapons- including his telekinesis- as extensions of himself.

You wondered sometimes how fine his control over his telekinesis was- if he could use it on himself. If he did use it somehow to give his blows that devastating extra speed and strength.

It was easy to understand, after witnessing him, why battle is often described as a dance.

On particularly ruthless training days, his tan skin would gleam with sweat. It would bead and trickle along the pulsing veins in his arms, drawing your attention even more, and salacious scenes would flash behind your eyelids: those same glistening forearms visible in your peripherals as they box you against a wall, that same intent glitter in his dark eyes as they come closer and closer, breathless, his chest heaving into yours-

You never let on to any of this though. You were a master of the blade, and had trained too thoroughly to let the appearance of an opponent get to you. Besides that fact, you would never do anything to risk your place with the Heroics. Although you were an authority figure, they were still superheroes, and thus unlike anyone else you’d worked with- it made for a challenging, stimulating dynamic in which you were constantly both instructor and student.

Even outside of the training arena, Marcus’s arms were a sight.

Holding data pads or writing utensils as he led the Heroics in discussions of group tactics, deftly manipulating characters onscreen or scribbling things on a whiteboard. Sometimes he would go to these sessions straight from physical training, and the cooling sweat on his skin would raise goosebumps all along the smooth flesh.

You observed how gently his arms could move in yet other circumstances.

Training specialists often joined in when the Heroics were given new gadgets to play with. And although these days tended to be slower, they still made you sweat. Watching the caution with which Marcus handled the gear at first, the slow care he reserved for things with which he was still becoming familiar. The precision and that control he always kept- even when his frustration slipped out in the form of snarky remarks, he was always conscious of his movements. As he gained confidence, the surety would return to his motions, his shoulders squaring in quiet triumph- his broad, broad shoulders, which you had imagined far too many times propping up your thighs while his hands and mouth were otherwise engaged between them.

You wondered if Marcus would treat your body like something new he had to master. If his hands would probe and caress with the same thoroughness. If the same wicked delight would steal over his features as he learned how best to coax you toward his desired goals; if his fascinated smirk would change after the thousandth time he had taken you apart.

It didn’t help that these sessions highlighted that he was a kind, competent teacher. His teammates exasperated him sometimes, but Marcus was the first to step in when one of them was struggling. A light touch to rearrange their stance, an encouraging word or smile. If you hadn’t personally felt the power thrumming under his skin, you would have never guessed that such a soft man was capable of his immense abilities.

Occasionally you had to remind yourself not to get all dopey-eyed when he was instructing the kids. If you thought he was patient with the adult Heroics, it was nothing compared to how he interacted with their younger counterparts. Equally firm and joking in turn, he taught them every trick he knew while desperately hoping they would never have to use the knowledge.

Some days were easier for him than others- the times they practiced with weapons could have unexpectedly diverting consequences. Marcus let Guppy hold his katanas, once- she was fully capable with her shark strength, but the vision of the diminutive girl brandishing swords that were taller than she was, her face aglow with a ferocious grin, had all the others in fits.

You swore he was suppressing laughter himself as he carefully took them away from her. His hands, already distracting enough, looked comically vast compared to hers as he delicately maneuvered them to pluck the swords from her grasp. Something about the sight of his thick fingers, resettling themselves around the hilts with reflexive ease, made your mouth dry.

His fingers squeezed other things, too, and it made flames leap low in your belly every time.

Lime wedges, on the rare occasions he indulged in drinks stronger than wine at the Headquarters bar. His friends’s shoulders, in affection and farewell, after relaxing with them at said bar following hard days. You longed to be one of those who Marcus slung an arm around in jest, a laugh shaking his shoulders and sparkling in his eyes. Would his skin be as warm as it was while swinging a weapon? What would his body feel like softened in mirth, instead of vibrating with focus?

You didn’t blame him for his more formal attitude during work hours. His days were busy, and you rarely saw him off the training mats. You had shared a few evenings with him on nights when the bar was quieter, though. He was perfectly friendly, treating you just like anyone else he was getting to know.

Tonight was one of those quieter nights, but you didn’t do more than cast a quick glance at the small group sitting in the corner before slumping to the bar. You were worn out today, and just wanted something strong and solitary before going home.

You sighed into the numbing wash of your drink, your eyes drifting shut. Nobody would bother you this evening; it wasn’t that kind of atmosphere.

Except- the barstool next to yours scraped against the floor.

You inhaled deeply, preparing to politely rip into whatever idiot was assuming you needed company- only to have the words struck off your lips by the apprehensive brown eyes of Marcus Moreno.

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry to bother you. You can tell me to march right back to my table if you like, but uh, I just wanted to see if you were all right. After today.”

You could see that he genuinely meant it- he was perched only partially on the barstool, ready to take off again if you said the word. But his gaze was curious, concerned.

You brow furrowed. “After today?” you echoed, too caught off-guard to think of anything else. What could he mean? Nothing special had happened today. He’d disarmed you, sure, but it wasn’t the first time that had occurred in the eight months you’d been working with him.

Marcus shifted uncertainly. “You just seemed...tired. Reflexes slower than usual,” he noted wryly. “And, well. We have matching bags.” He pointed to his face, where dark shadows were visible beneath his eyes. He offered a self-deprecating, tentative smile, conscious that he was treading in new territory.

It takes you a minute to process. In all the time you’ve spent observing his fighting techniques to perfection, you’d never considered that he could have been using those same opportunities to observe you. It provokes a funny feeling in your chest, twisting your breath up in your lungs like tangled ribbon.

“Oh,” you murmur, surprised but unoffended by his mention of the bags under your eyes. “Well...I am tired today, I guess.” You took a sip of your drink, gauging his interest, hesitating before continuing. “My sister broke her hip, so she just moved in with me for while she heals. It’s been...a stressful transition,” you admitted.

He angles himself toward you, attention fully committed and eyes widening in sympathy. “Oh gosh, that’s terrible. Do you need some time off? I can clear it with the boss for you, work with Santino for however long you need.” He seemed to straighten up, as if ready to spring away and take care of it the moment you answered.

“No, please,” you chuckled in appreciation of his earnestness. “I might need a few shorter days, but neither of us need me fussing over her 24/7.” Both you and your sister were strongly independent. It meant that you had often been at odds when you were younger, but you were all each other had now, and had made efforts to improve your relationship.

Marcus nodded in understanding, settling again. He seemed at a loss for if he should leave or say something else, so you made the choice for him.

“Tired of getting your ass kicked in my lessons, Moreno? You know Santino doesn’t work you as hard.” Your fellow swordsmanship instructor was slightly younger, a newer hire who was still a little bit in awe of the Heroics.

You didn’t usually speak so flippantly to him, but his eyebrows arced high at the challenge, a smile tugging on his lips. “Sounds like somebody needs a reminder of who kicked whose ass today, ma’am.” Rolling right along with your apparent newfound playfulness.

You pinpointed, suddenly, what was different about him tonight, why this interaction felt different compared to your others. There’d always been an air of deference about him before, as if even outside of the arena he considered you a superior. But tonight he was just treating you like a peer, a regular person. Maybe it had taken your excessively dragging day for him to come to terms with the fact that you were a regular person, but the ice finally felt like it had broken between you and you just...talked, after that. For longer than both of you probably intended.

“Shoot, I have to go get Missy,” Marcus realized, catching sight of his watch. “But you- you’ll be here again? I mean, I see you here a lot.” He stumbled over his words.

Did he? It was true that you were often at the bar at the same time, but for him to acknowledge that meant that he actually noticed you. Remembered your presence.

“Yeah, I’m here pretty regularly,” you confirmed, cautiously hopeful.

“Good. I mean, I’ll see you, then- next time.” His voice rasped low, but there was a nervousness in his expression. He twisted his jacket between his large hands.

He wanted to see you again. “Yes.” You smiled at him, surprise and pleasure shining through. “I’ll see you next time,” you said with conviction.

His eyes crinkled in answer, and your breath caught. Your ordered yourself not to watch him leave the room.

You drove home with a quiet grin on your face.

#we can be heroes #wcbh #wcbh fic #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #NOBODY LOOK AT ME

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trashcankitty12 · 3 years

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Stella Headcanons:

You know her. You love her.

She’s bubbly, she’s fun. (And she’s pretty funny.)

She’s Princess Stella Sol of Solaria.

(These headcanons are all in relation to my ‘main verse’, which is the New Company of Light/Balance Verse. And it can also translate into my Left verse.)

Under the cut because it’s long.

About Stella:

-Her fear of heights comes from a major fall she took as a child off of her grandfather’s pet dragon. (He was teaching her how to ride and… She wasn’t holding onto it well enough and down she went.)

-Stella is fluent in nearly 56 of the Magical Dimensions languages. (She was to stick to the languages spoken by the realms who interacted most with Solaria.)

-After meeting Bloom and spending a little time on Earth, Stella is also trying to learn a few of the Earth’s languages. (She’s mastered English and Spanish, but she’s still working on French and Russian.)

-She loves sweets. (And food in general. But considering she’s Solarian, that’s to be expected. They tend to eat more than most people in the Magical Dimension.)

-Stella may or may not glow in the dark. (It’s something she can control and she has to be focused to do it. She inherited that gift from her mother.)

-Stella’s mother was religious and has a close relationship to the Moons, while her father, despite being so close in relationship to the Suns of Solaria, isn’t religious. Stella personally has mixed feelings on religion. She likes the idea of spirituality and having a higher power to rely on, but organized religion makes her heart hurt. (They tend to talk down about those who don’t follow a ‘certain’ way of life, which to Stella isn’t a cool thing to do, unless, of course, the other people are actually hurting someone else.)

-She was almost a big sister. Her mother had been pregnant when she was seven. (They don’t ever talk about it. And, as an adult, Stella can see where this was a turning point for her parents and their relationship. Her mother just wasn’t quite the same after losing Diana.)

-Stella is a dog person and was so happy when she finally got a puppy for her birthday one year. (The dog was her best friend and her main confidant.) Unfortunately, Stella’s dog only made it to four years old. (It had an illness that not even magic could fix.)

-Stella hasn’t been able to stomach the thought of another dog since. (However, Brandon may or may not offer for them to get a dog later on. You know, as their “first child”.)

-Stella can spot patterns without trying. It’s so ingrained in her after being around fashion, and the practical applications of pattern spotting have made her life so much easier.

-Here’s the thing about Stella… She’s somewhat dyslexic. Words and reading do not come easily to her. On the flip side, Stella can give one hellova speech. Her charisma and charm make her a natural at hyping up a crowd.

-Stella had a fairy godmother until she was 13. An elderly woman named Glinda. Glinda helped Stella with her shyness and in her first fashion attempts. And Glinda was the one who helped Stella gain her magic winx the first time with encouragement and confidence. (After all, how else should a future queen bring out her power?)

-After gaining her wings, her father gifted her the Ring of Solaria. It was done in a ceremony to the Suns and Moons of Solaria and the Ring had to choose Stella just as it had Radius and their family before them. Once Stella and the Ring bonded, she shifted for the first time in public to show off her wings and magic. Her parents couldn’t have been prouder.

-She went to a private school on Solaria for her elementary and middle school education years, but she was somewhat isolated due to being the Princess of Solaria (making the other kids judge her ahead of time as some sort of prim and proper prep they didn’t want around) and due to some of her ‘uncool’ hobbies.

-(Those uncool hobbies? Stella is actually into comics and superheroes, but until meeting the rest of the Winx, she wasn’t interested in sharing that side of herself. Solarian Comics actually helped Stella with reading because of their writing structure. Stella is also a fan of learning cultures and wanting to see what benefits other places and if it could be replicated to help Solaria. And Stella was kind of a… Horse girl. She spent many, many, many summers and school holidays at her maternal uncle’s horse ranch in the Western Spaces of Solaria.)

-Stella tends to use her solar powers more than her lunar ones. It’s not because she doesn’t feel close to her mother or to her mother’s family, it’s just a little more difficult for her tap into that part of her magic. (Solar magic is easy and tapped into by thinking of warm and splendid times. Lunar magic requires a bit more… Reflection. And Stella doesn’t like having to think too long about things. Not because she can’t, but because if she starts to really think about things, she tends to overthink them which leads her down a dark rabbit hole.)

-Stella’s best friend growing up was Nova Rinae, despite being two years older than the other girl. Nova’s mother is the head of Luna’s guard, and Nova was often in the palace. (Making her one of the few children always around. And because she shared several of Stella’s interests, they clicked rather quickly.)

-(Her parents also encourage this friendship as it’s important to them for Stella to be close to those who may serve alongside her when its time for her to become queen. Friendships can be turned into unwavering loyalty, and that can mean life or death in certain situations.)

-Before she ever got her magic, Stella’s parents thought she may end up being the ‘New Host’ for the Light Dragon. (Bloom was never found, which meant no one could say for certain what happened to the Light Dragon, other than it had to be alive still. Otherwise the Balance would have been off.)

-Because of their thoughts on her having the Light Dragon, Stella was taught basic hand-to-hand skills as a child and was instructed to be wary of “golden eyes” in the shadows. She was also to learn Solaria’s history as well as Domino’s. (Though Stella mostly paid attention to how the two worlds overlapped instead of their separate histories.)

-Stella actually knew Layla, Sky, and Diaspro as children. But because so much can change from being five years old to being 15/16, she didn't recognize them when they met again. (They had all been at a major conference for the realms and while their parents ‘talked shop’, they went to play. It was their first and last time together like that until years later.)

-Despite being a princess, Stella tends to be a bit messy. At least, as far as her room itself. Her workspaces (wardrobe and vanity and tailoring areas) are the most well-kept areas in her care. (She likes to work in clean spaces… But in her room, the space where she lives, she likes it to look lived in.)

-Stella originally got into fashion at about 10 years old in an attempt to get closer to her mother. Her mother always had work to do as a queen, and for her off-time, she went to fashion shows (which in a way, were also work, because as a queen she’s expected to be aware of trends and present herself in a certain way). So to spend more time with her mother, Stella started having an interest in fashion. (Which quickly became a hobby she loved when she found the different ways she could express herself with fashion.)

-In a bid to get closer to her father, Stella took a major interest in cooking. (Her father can bake. He’s messy at it, but by the Dragons do his pastries and cookies taste of heaven.) Granted, Stella didn’t inherit the baking skill, but she can recite recipes and judge pastries and baked goods like its her job. (And for some of Solaria’s festivals, it is.)

-Have I mentioned she’s an expert equestrian in the Solarian Rodeo? Her go-to is barrel racing and square-dancing competitions, and she’s even dipped her toes into riding the bronco and in cattle roping.

-Stella has far-sightedness. She can see things far away, but things up close are blurred. She used to wear glasses, but after elementary school, she swapped to contacts. (However she does still wear glasses and keeps them close by just in case. They’re a stylish silver-blue and not quite thick-framed.)

-Stella has formal training in ballroom dancing. (Her favorite is the Eraklyon Tango. Or at least, it has been for the past few years. Wonder why…?)

-Stella also has a minor fear of spiders. (It’s not really a fear either… More like a squick. She doesn’t like them, but she doesn’t mind them being around if she doesn’t have to see them. It’s because one of her school teachers thought a great Life Lesson would be for the class to witness his pet tarantula eat a live meal. Not fun for little Stella.)

(Not fun for him either, once the parents got a hold of him…)

-Stella lied about what happened during her ‘real’ first year at Alfea. She honestly did blow up the Potion’s Lab… But it wasn’t because she was researching color theories…

-Just before Stella was meant to leave for Alfea, like a week or two before, she found out from Nova, NOVA, that her parents were getting a divorce. Luna and Radius never told her. Her friend told her.

-Stella didn’t want to leave after that, afraid that if she was gone, she couldn’t help them patch things up. (She truly believed they could work this out. She just needed to be there. She needed them to see her and remember why they fell in love.)

-They dropped Stella off, but still didn’t discuss or leave room to discuss the divorce. (Stella didn’t want to let them know she knew because she didn’t want Nova in trouble for listening in on their mothers’ conversations.)

-Which led to a panicked Stella trying desperately to pretend to be okay while in the presence of the others. (She’s a princess, she can’t show despair. Especially without reason.)

-Stella was angry that her parents still hadn’t talked to her and that they had sent her away. She was feeling left out and scared and confused. They were in love. Right?!

-So she started doing small things around Alfea to try and get her suspended. Not expelled, just suspended. (She needed time at home, before the holidays.)

-She verbally attacked other Alfea students, playing up the pompous princess act. No luck. She mocked Palladium. No luck. She even cut classes. No luck. So as a last resort, without having to go to Cloud Tower and stir trouble up there, was to mess around in the potion’s lab. It worked… Too well.

-She was expelled and sent back to Solaria. Her parents were upset with her, and disappointed (which was the worst ever for Stella who really wanted their approval in everything). Stella broke down and finally told them that she knew and that she didn’t want her family to break apart. That she was scared and shaken and angry. Angry that they could pretend so well that everything was fine when it obviously wasn’t.

-Luna and Radius decided to try a form of family counseling to try and help Stella. (They hated seeing their daughter so upset, but they knew in the long run that staying together would have damaged her further. She didn’t need to grow up with constant arguing and avoiding each other, that wasn’t a love story they wanted her to follow.)

-(They also explained the situation to Faragonda and promised to pay for the damages. Faragonda allowed Stella to return within the next school year if her progress with the counselor went well.)

-Stella, even though still upset with her parents’ divorce, was a bit more accepting of it after taking the school year to focus on them as a family. (Even one that was split.)

-Stella does have hope they’ll reunite, but she understands a bit more now why they split up. (And even though they are in separate palaces, Luna taking residence in the Lunar Sections now, she knows they love her very much.)

#winx club #winx club headcanons #stella headcanons #winx club stella #Princess Stella of Solaria #ray of sunshine #little sunburst

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arofili · 4 years

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how’d u get into writing? like, writing fic and being part of the silm community, being Known, that stuff? i’m really new to being a silm cc and i’d love to know ur advice! also: how’d u build up the confidence to start posting meta/hcs? bc i have a Lot of hcs and meta ideas but also i’m really anxious abt posting them bc yknow anxiety is like that

these are some great questions, anon! I’m gonna go through them one by one :)

how’d u get into writing?

not to be like, super cliche, but I’ve...kind of always been a writer? as long as I can remember I’ve been telling stories, and when I was too young to read or write I would dictate them to my mom, who would type them up for me and help me choose clipart illustrations to accompany them. when I got old enough I would always be writing; I attempted my first novel at age 9, and while that never really went anywhere I did finish the darn thing and it had some pretty sophisticated plot twists for a 9-year-old!

like, writing fic

around the same time I got into fandom! I was deep into Warrior cats (like. really deep) and I believe I started writing my first fics when I was like? 10 or 11? my memory is kind of fuzzy on the order of things, but I know I got an account on the Warriors forums when I was 9, and that I was already posting my fic there when I made my FFN account. I believe I was 12 when that happened, but who knows. I haven’t the faintest idea of what happened with those forums, but uhhh pretty much all of my Warriors fic is still up on FFN lmao. you could probably find that if you want to but um...maybe don’t?

my first Big Fic was a self-insert of...my entire 5th/6th grade class into the then-current timeline of the Warriors books...well. I honestly think that might still be my most popular fic of all time l m a o though I try not to think about it because Hashtag Cringe. though as much as I look back on that time with a “yikes,” I am very grateful for the Warriors fandom in a way? that place was so accepting and encouraging of OCs, of AUs, of completely disregarding canon, of worldbuilding that is completely alien from canon - it was a fantastic sandbox to begin with, there were so many ways to write stories and practically all of them were accepted and had fellow fans invested in them!

and being part of the silm community,

soooo I wrote Warriors fic until my freshman year of high school (wow sdjfhkdsjfh), which was when BOTFA came out, and I was absolutely wrecked by the ending and immediately started writing my own fixit fic. I was also super hooked on Kiliel! so that was my intro to the Tolkien fandom; and simultaneously, I joined tumblr, and, well, the rest is history tbh.

I honestly do not remember when I first read the Silm, but I kind of got into the more obscure parts of the Tolkien fandom through fandom osmosis, and I do have a vague memory of doodling the Finwean family tree in geometry class so it might have been later on in freshman year? that was also the same time I was having my Queer Awakening, and Russingon definitely contributed to me unlearning my internalized queerphobia, so probably around then.

anyway - queer awakening, tumblr, Tolkien, transitioning from FFN to AO3 - all of that was happening around the same time. I know I dipped my toes in the Silm fandom then, but I was still primarily a Hobbit fic writer focusing on Kiliel. toward the end of high school I kind of shifted to LOTR and (qp) Gigolas...but somehow the Silm fandom is the most active of the Big Three within the Tolkien fandom, and I was getting dragged further and further in.

it wasn’t until @backtomiddleearthmonth 2019, my freshman year of college, that I really dove into writing Silm fic! I picked some Silm-specific bingo cards and never looked back :D that was really not all that long ago but I am obsessed in a way I don’t really remember being even with TH/LOTR, I obviously cannot see the future but I anticipate hanging out here for a long time. the Silm fandom is great overall and there’s just so much material to work with!! <3

being Known, that stuff?

so I don’t really have a whole lot of context on how “well known” I am in the fandom?? definitely within the past year and a half or so I’ve noticed that I like, get asks like this, and get a significant amount of notes on my posts, and I’ve made a lot of fandom friends especially since I joined some Silm servers on Discord (hmu if you want invites; I’m on the SWG server and 2 general Silm servers and the Russingon server) this past year. and I have 3,000 followers as of this month - and while ever since I hit 1k I don’t particularly pay attention to my follower count I can definitely say that I have more engagement now than I used to! but it took me a long time to build this “audience,” I suppose; I’ve been around the Tolkien fandom since late 2014, so nearly 6 years of this, lol.

really the best way to build a following, in my experience, is to just post a lot of stuff. when I started making edits I got a lot more engagement, because for a long time I would post one every day! (I made them in batches and queued them; I didn’t actually make one every day lol...and now I’m too busy to do that, so I just make edits for events and whenever I feel like it) And I have [checks ao3] 145 works in the Silm fandom as of today - I’m fairly prolific! I’ve come to generally expect 3-10 comments on most of my oneshots, which is a lot more than I used to have back in the day. consistency and quantity are more likely to attract people to your work - and quality, of course.

also: how’d u build up the confidence to start posting meta/hcs?

I’ve been writing since I was very young, and I’ve been writing fic for like...11 years? I think? in that time I’ve produced a lot of garbage, but imo most of that was in my Warrior cats phase, so I came into the Tolkien fandom with confidence in myself and my writing. I’m also working on original fiction on the side (I hope to eventually become a published fantasy author, but right now school takes up most of my time that I don’t devote to fandom, which gives me more immediate gratification and also is just Very Fun) and I know I’m a good writer.

basically, I’ve been doing this for like...half my life, and I’m still fairly young, so I’ve had time to build up my skill and confidence and I know I’m only going to get better with time. you will get better with practice. like I said, I’ve written a lot of terrible stuff, and it’s only through sucking for a long time that I’ve gotten to the point I am now. and I am far from perfect; I know I still have lots of room to grow!

for meta and headcanons specifically, I started with writing fic, and then when I didn’t think I could stretch something into an entire fic I would just make a hc post. I have a vivid memory of writing my first meta in a notebook during driver’s ed because it was so goddamn boring and I had Thoughts about Tauriel and Thranduil!

in my experience, meta comes from having Opinions and wanting to share them and most importantly to back them up - you need to have sources! you need to have reasons! you need to have justification! otherwise it’s not meta, it’s a headcanon or an AU. which is fine!! I love hc/AU!!! but they are not the same as meta, and I’m a stickler for being accurate when it comes to meta. if you have sources and shit to back you up, that will help you build the confidence to share your meta.

sharing disinformation and passing it off as meta instead of just coming out and saying this is a headcanon/baseless theory/AU or whatever is such a fandom pet peeve of mine; it’s not bad for something to not be Accurate! you just have to have that disclaimer - and even when you’re writing meta, you’re offering an interpretation of the text, and you need to acknowledge that other interpretations also exist and are valid.

um. I hope this answers your questions? and sorry for basically word-vomiting my entire life story, lol. this post got long; the main reason I’ve written so much fic is because I really just cannot shut up for the life of me. sooo if you can tear of that filter of being shy and just. say shit. you can go so far~!

OH and one more thing - I can’t believe I almost forgot this - but part of being a writer is participating in the community. this is code for LEAVE A DAMN COMMENT IF YOU LIKE A FIC. that’s how I made most of my fandom friends before Discord! I follow @ao3feed-silmarillion and stalk that blog for new Silm fics; I read the ones that interest me and comment on them.

I know this is not really the most common way for folks to find fic but it’s so rewarding to interact with new fic, new writers, new commentors, new stories - you can find gems that don’t rise to the top of the kudos/bookmark lists; you become friends with your fellow writers; you can watch people grow and change; you support smaller content creators. yeah, you might not be getting Just The Best Stuff, but it’s so so so worth it!!

and if you make friends in the comment section of other people’s fic - I guarantee you some of them will go to your AO3 profile and check out your fic, too! and they’ll leave comments! this is a fic community, and that’s what I cherish about fandom most of all, tbh.

anyway - again - sorry for rambling so much, but I hoped this helped! feel free to send in another ask, or to come talk to me off anon if you’d like! and definitely send me your stuff if/when you decide to share it; I would love to support you!!! <3

#silm #silm fandom #silmarillion #fan culture #tmi anna #(for real this time sjdfhdkfh)#tefain nin #long post #anon #answers

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treh-co · 4 years

Text

FAHC Headcanons

So I feel like a good amount of my hcs are a lot different than other people’s??? And I’ve done a LOT of thinking abt them so! Here’s kind of like a masterlist of my general hcs! I’m just gonna go through this person-by-person.

(This got Kinda Long, so it’s under a read more. Sorry mobile users,)

Geoff

Obviously, he’s the one who started The Fakes. Basically, he went into the military after high school, came back and was like “Damn. Hated that” and then some old friends are like “Hey wanna do crime” and he was like “Fuck it”. That ended up being the beginning of The Roosters, which would grow to become the most powerful crime syndicate in Los Santos.

However, when they started shifting more towards managing the organizations they controlled, Geoff felt like he was missing the hands-on action. With the others’ blessing, he branched out to create his own gang under the syndicate, which would be the Fakes.

Geoff was the acting boss, supervisor, and manager of the Fakes for many years, while still juggling responsibilities with the Roosters. After a while, he felt the stress of it all begin to weigh on him, so he decided to pass some of it off. He made Trevor the acting supervisor of the crew’s regular business, while he handed management of behind-the-scenes matters to Lindsay. He’s still technically the boss, though, and any Big decisions go through him.

Jack

Jack actually met Geoff when they were in the military together. While he was a journalist, she was a pilot, and while she’d always been a sort of straight-laced, innocent kid growing up, she discovered that she actually loved flying. More than that, she loved the excitement of a chase or a gunfight. When she got back, she found herself bored.

That was around when Geoff called her up with an offer- one that not only allowed her to get back in the cockpit, but promised twice the action way more money than she ever got in the military. Of course, she said yes.

Jack’s main role in the crew is transport and evac. She can fly or drive anything, from a city bus to speedboat to a cargobob. Unofficially, she’s a sort of second-in-command for Geoff. He usually discusses any business stuff with her before making decisions. She’s also probably the most capable medic in the main crew, though she’s not an expert, and will pass off the responsibility if they have access to someone more formally trained.

Gavin

I imagine Gavin comes from a criminal family. Nothing exciting; standard white-collar stuff, embezzlement and fraud. They were substantially wealthy from their exploits and sent him to private school and all that, but Gavin found it all horribly boring. By the time he reached high school, he was experimenting with every type of low-level crime he could think of; theft and vandalism, all that shit.

Eventually, his habit of making enemies got him in over his head, and eventually he found himself in serious hot water. Out of options, he forged some papers and got a flight out of Britain. He’d far from learnt his lesson, though. He didn’t plan on cleaning up his act, and he decided to hide in plain sight, in the most crime-infested city America had to offer- Los Santos.

That was where he met Geoff. He was working odd jobs around the city, still new to America (and, though he’d never admit it, pretty lost and scared- he’s only sixteen). He gets hired by some asshole to take out Geoff, and he isn’t familiar enough with the scene to know better, so he goes for it. When Geoff has the knife out of his hands and a gun pointed at his head in less than two seconds, he’s pretty sure he’s fucked- but Geoff doesn’t shoot. Because fuck, how the hell is he supposed to take out this scrawny, terrified kid? So he talks to him instead, and when he finds out that Gavin has no loyalties to the guy that hired him and has a much broader skill set than Geoff would have expected, he decides to take him in.

As for my take on The Golden Boy- I personally don’t see Gavin as a hacker, and tbh I personally Cannot picture him suave enough to be some smooth-talking informant. In my mind, he’s sort of the crew’s everyman. He does a little bit of everything- stealth, dealing, hacking, fighting- he isn’t really an expert at any of it, but if you need something done, he probably knows enough to help.

Michael

Michael was raised in New Jersey with his brothers. His life was fairly normal, to be honest. He got a gig as an electrician, and it sucked, but he was doing okay. And then his mom got sick, and things started falling apart. Long story short, he ended up turning to more unsavory ways to get the money she needed for her treatment. He found out that he was pretty good at making bombs, and even better at cracking skulls.

Michael only ever dipped into those practices to help his mom, but once you go in, it’s pretty hard to get out. He was running with a gang in New Jersey for a long time, until one day, their leader sold them out to the cops. He and some friends ran away to Los Santos, but still got caught, and suddenly he was locked up in a LS prison.

It was in prison that he met this guy named Gavin. After bonding through some good old fashioned prison fighting and saving each other’s asses, Gavin told him that he’s part of a powerful gang that was planning on breaking him out. He said that he needed help with the prep work they needed done on from the inside, and if Michael helped him, they’d break him out with Gavin. Against every instinct, Michael agreed, and they broke out together. After they got out, Geoff decided to offer Michael a job- partly because he was impressed with him, and partly because Gavin wouldn’t stop whining until he did.

Michael is great for a steady gun or a good fight on missions, but his expertise is in demolitions. He’s self-taught, but he’s one of the best in the business, and he has fun with what he does.

Lindsay

Lindsay has always thrived on chaos. This presented itself more innocently in her childhood, but once she reached her teen years, it quickly spiraled into something more dangerous. She was always looking for something more risky, more exciting. Speeding, then shoplifting, then vandalism; it was never enough.

That being said, it shouldn’t have been that big of a surprise when some friends easily talked her into her first burglary. From then on, it was an easy slide into the more serious world of crime. She was a gun for hire by twenty, had long left her well-meaning parents behind, travelling with no real goal and making both allies and enemies everywhere she went.

When she cropped up in Los Santos, trailing gunfire and spray-paint cat tags where she went, Geoff knew she was meant to be one of them. He hired her for some odd jobs at first, just to make sure; but just a few looks at her style proved his theory. He offered her permanent position and she took it on a whim.

True to her role, Lindsay is the crew’s wildcard. Sort of like Gavin, except her skills are more specifically in the “fuck shit up” range.

Jeremy

Born and raised in Boston, Jeremy had a not-so-great home life and started hanging with the wrong crowds from a young age. He grew up through fistfights and car wrecks, and by the time he was grown, he didn’t really know anything else. He was actually pretty close with his gang back home. They were the ones who taught him the importance of loyalty; how important it is to have people you can trust. Nothing good lasts forever, though. When another gang- much bigger, much stronger- started picking them off, their leader made the tough choice to disband. Despite communal reluctance, she got them all set up to go underground in different parts of the country. Jeremy was sent to Los Santos.

While there, Jeremy saved a boy he saw being jumped in an alley. The boy turned out to be a hacker and information dealer named Matt. Jeremy was homeless at the time, and Matt offered to let him stay at his place as thanks. Somehow, this quickly turned into them being roommates and friends, and then partners, when they decided it would be a good idea for Jeremy to tag along on Matt’s deals for protection.

While helping Matt, Jeremy made a name for himself in underground fighting rings, known by his half-joke moniker “Rimmy Tim”. One night, a non-regular sat in to watch the fight, and afterwards approached him with an offer. The stranger was one Geoff Ramsey, and the offer was for a job with the Fakes. Jeremy happened to know who the Fakes were- and be a big fan of their work. He was nervous, but he accepted the offer, and it only took a few weeks for them to essentially pull him in.

Jeremy is, in simple terms, the crew’s muscle. He drives, he shoots, and most importantly, he can fight. If anything needs doing that involves those three things, he’s good for it.

Matt

Matt grew up in a small, boring town with a small, boring family. He filled his boredom with the digital world. Eventually, he started diving deeper; learning how to code, and then how to program, and then how to hack. By the time he was seventeen, Matt was going by the alias of “Axial” on dark-web forums, dealing information and breaking into everything from private systems to locked-down, international servers.

After turning eighteen, Matt decided he was sick of his home town and used the money he’d gained from his illegal business to disappear and move somewhere more exciting- Los Santos. After a few months of living there, he met a boy named Jeremy, who saved him from a deal gone wrong. He liked Jeremy, and it seemed like Jeremy liked him; despite the suspicions they both probably should have had in their lines of work, they became fast friends and roommates, deciding to work together.

When Jeremy got hired by the Fakes, Matt was disappointed, but resigned to the fact that he would be back on his own. Until he was pulled away from his work one night to a knock at the door, and found the Vagabond there, ready to take him to the penthouse. Apparently, the crew had been in need of a hacker for a while; and a certain new member had put in quite the good word for him.

Matt is, obviously, the crew’s hacker. He doesn’t really go on the field too much; he’ll tag along if there’s a proximity requirement on his part, or if a bunch of people are unavailable and they really need a backup driver or something, but for the most part he operates from the penthouse. He’s usually on comms during the heists to give directions or help with security or recon in real-time.

Trevor [TW: Sex work mention]

Trevor grew up in a trailer park in Blaine County, raised by a single mom. She loved him, but was involved with all the wrong people. When an altercation with an ex-boyfriend ended up deadly, fourteen-year-old Trevor up and ran as fast as he could, and ended up in the streets of Los Santos. He got by with begging and soup kitchens at first, but he started picking up tricks, on his own or from others he watched. Pickpocketing, manipulation, shoplifting; whatever he could use to get a bit of an advantage, he took.

It was just a while after he turned eighteen that a man he met outside a bar proposed he enter a different “path” of business. Trevor was reluctant, but he was also desperate, and the man made a lot of promises. He ended up spending two years as a prostitute, until one night he’d had enough. He killed the man who’d been selling him and ran once again.

Once again faced with life on the streets, he returned to what he knew he was good at- lying and stealing. He came up with the alias of Reached, and became a thief and informant by commission, fairly well-known. He became close associates- maybe even friends, if such a thing existed in Los Santos- with another duo, Rimmy Tim and Axial. One day, they gave him a call- saying their new employers needed someone with his skills on a job. To make a long story short, when the Fakes met Trevor, he was pretty much already a part of the team.

Trevor is a thief by trade. Stealth, deception, and stealing is what he does best. He’s a master lock picker and an expert at slight of hand, and is far too good at putting on an innocent face.

Alfredo

Alfredo was raised by a big, loving family; but people are a product of their environment. A combination of wrong place, wrong time, and peer pressure had him messing around with local gangs far before he should have even seen a gun. But Alfredo always had a knack for precision, and he had the aim of a trained vet, and he was probably a little too busy being cocky to understand the risks he was taking.

Eventually, those risks caught up with him. He was in a lot of hot water and he knew his family was in danger. He couldn’t let them get hurt on his account, so he ran to protect them. He considered turning a new leaf when he got to Los Santos, but quickly realized that if that was the plan, he’d picked the wrong place to do it. It wasn’t long before he was dragged back into work as a gun for hire.

He was good- really good, and when some hot shot rolls into the city with a sniper and skills like that, it shakes things up, and word gets around. Word even gets to some of the most powerful men in the city- including Geoff Ramsey, who decides that if this kid is really as good as he’s heard, there’s no way he’s letting him get snatched up by anybody else first. His invite to Alfredo is more short-notice than it was with the others, but he and the crew click in about two seconds flat, so it really doesn’t take a lot of convincing.

Obviously, Alfredo is their sniper. He’s a hell of a shot with any gun, and can do fine with up-close combat when he needs to, but he’s at his best when he’s giving cover from a rooftop.

Fiona

Fiona comes from one of France’s most infamous criminal organizations. Her parents run the group, and she was raised, essentially, as the heir to the business. She’s been trained since she was a child to be the best at any skill she might need. An array of languages, hand to hand combat in five forms, dozens of weapons, from blades to melee to guns- most of all, she studied deception.

There was a small problem, though. Fiona appreciated everything her family did for her- but there was also no way in hell she was just going to drag on the family business. She wanted to make a name for herself, and she wanted more than the stuffy, starch-white world they were giving her. So she ran away to America. She spent a few years travelling, testing out different paths. At one point, she ended up in long-term employment with a gang. Except she ended up hating said gang, and she wanted out.

Luck happened to be on her side. One day, she was told that they’d kidnapped two people who happened to be members of a powerful crew called the Fakes. Fiona knew the second she laid eyes on the two- a strangely similar looking pair named Trevor and Alfredo- that they were her ticket out. She made a deal with them, that she’d let them escape if they took her with them and kept her safe, and the three of them had a wild adventure that lasted about a week, and ended in the three of them strolling into the penthouse, ragged and exhausted but looking like they’d just had the time of their lives, with Trevor and Alfredo proudly declaring that Fiona was now their newest member.

Fiona is a master of disguise. She’s good at a lot of things, but putting on an act is what really sets her apart. Give her a wig and a makeup kit and she can turn herself into a new person in five minutes flat- complete with an accent and everything. She’s the go-to when the crew need undercover jobs done.

#fahc #fake ah crew #fake achievement hunter crew #fahc geoff #fahc jack #fahc ryan #fahc gavin #fahc michael #fahc lindsay #fahc jeremy #fahc matt #fahc trevor #fahc alfredo #fahc fiona #headcanons #ghost archives

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catsafarithewriter · 4 years

Text

Lost in Translation

A/N: Ficlet time! Now, an anon sent me this prompt: “There’s never a dull moment here. I can’t tell if that’s a good thing though,” and halfway through writing this, the ask vanished (thanks Tumblr). Luckily, I had the prompt noted down so nothing was lost. This exact prompt doesn’t turn up here, but it inspired this ficlet, so it counts?

This concept plays with my headcanon that the Sanctuary has translation magic, although I don’t believe the Sanctuary goes this far. Heads up for some swearing (in a purely comical way) and some swearing a la The Good Place style.

The sound of smashing crockery was not an entirely alien sound in the Bureau - after all, in dealing with the magical and esoteric, sometimes the magical and esoteric decided to deal with them instead - but the lack of ensuing chaos was unusual and so Haru wasn’t wholly sure what to expect upon stepping into the Bureau.

What she did find was the lone figure of Muta standing over the ruined remains of a plate and yesterday’s angel food cake, cream and china scattered across the wood flooring. Resignation lined his shoulders, and Haru just about caught the soft but heartfelt, “Aw, fudge.”

The Bureau doors swung shut with a fumph, and Muta jumped guiltily.

“It was an accide-- oh. It’s just you, Chicky.”

Haru wrinkled her nose. “Just me? Thanks, Muta, you really know how to make someone feel welcome.”

"Yer know I didn’t mean it that way. Out of all the humans in the Bureau, yer my favourite.”

“I’m the only human.”

“Yer also my least favourite.” Muta turned back to the debris and gave it a rueful nudge. “Still, if you could not tell Baron what I said, that’d be great. He’s still in a weird mood after last Friday.”

“You mean when you threw the best tea pot at our client.”

“He was a eight-foot goat-man with horns! How else was I meant to react to him just turning up unannounced?!”

“By... not throwing the best tea pot at him?”

Muta huffed and nudged some of the far-flung china pieces back towards the centre of the mess. “Just help me clean this up before I get another tirade over breaking something else. And, uh, don’t tell him what I said.” Muta offered a sheepish grimace. “I think there’s some sort of unspoken rule about cussing here.”

Haru snorted. “Sure. I won’t tell Baron you said ‘fudge.’”

“That’s the spirit, Chicky.”

“After all, it’s a slippery slope. Who knows what you might say if we allow such terrible words. Next thing you know, you’ll be saying ‘heck’, maybe even going so far as a ‘gosh darn it’. Baron will probably faint on the spot from such vulgar language.” She had turned away to locate the much-used dustpan and brush, and so missed the look of confusion that passed Muta’s face.

“Chicky?”

“Hm?”

“Fudge.”

She threw him a strange look. “Yeah, I heard you the first time. Fudge. Terrible. We’ll get you a nearly-swear jar for it. Maybe the funds can be used to buy a new kettle.”

“Oh no.”

“Maybe replace the plate as well...”

“Chicky. Haru. Try swearing.”

She lifted her head out of the cupboard, dustpan and brush finally in hand. “What?”

“Swear. I need to know something.”

“This feels like the set up for a joke. Baron’s about to walk in, isn’t he? He’s going to walk in just as I’m saying shit and then I’m going to feel bad about swearing in front of a Creation who doesn’t cuss, even when that armchair got dropped on his toe--”

“Shirt.”

“What?”

“You said shirt,” Muta said. “Just then.”

“I didn’t--”

“‘He’s gonna walk in just as I’m saying shirt and then I’m gonna feel bad’, that’s what you--”

“Shit. I said shit.”

“Yeah. Shirt.”

Haru and Muta stared at one another.

A long moment passed.

“You didn’t say fudge earlier, did you?” Haru asked.

“Nah.”

Haru cast her mind over working with the Bureau, and it was with a jolt she realised she had never heard any of her companions swear. Baron, she could understand. Toto, maybe? But it had always been quietly funny to her that Muta would mutter cuss substitions, even when he thought no one was listening.

“Is it... Do you think it’s the Sanctuary?”

“It has translation magic,” Muta said. “Guess it could take it a step further and translate swears into something less...”

“Vulgar?”

Muta made a face. “Yeah, but fudge isn’t the same as saying fudge.”

Haru swore under her breath, more out of curiosity than anything else, and now she was looking for it she thought she could hear the undertones of the Sanctuary’s magic altering her words. There was a fizzle on her tongue, the magic grappling with the word before it could leave her lips. If she concentrated, she was almost sure she could hear ‘shirt’ rippling out in place of ‘shit’.

She licked her lips uneasily. “Do you think it does it with all swear words?”

“I don’t see why not.”

They exchanged another look.

A shirt-eating grin spread across Muta’s face. “Crud.”

“Darn.”

"Blooming.”

“Ash-hole.”

“Deck.”

Haru couldn’t help it. She gave an undignified snort. “Wait, I don’t... What even is that replacing? I can’t even...” She abruptly trailed off, suddenly straightening. “Oh. Oh, do you think Baron swears?”

Muta guffawed. “Him? Really?”

“Think about it,” Haru persisted. “We’d never know. He could be saying shirtballs and ash-hole and we’d never realise - especially if the Sanctuary is censoring it out in a less obvious way. I mean, it might. Baron’s been around the Sanctuary for much longer; maybe it’s more subtle the more it gets to know you. Matches your vocabularly.”

“Baron could be a potty-mouth,” Muta said.

“Baron could be a potty-mouth,” Haru agreed.

They managed to hold one another’s gaze for a good three seconds before both bursting out into laughter. Muta wiped away the tears. “Okay, but seriously. Place yer bets on how much the birdbrain swears.”

“Toto? No, he wouldn’t...” Haru hesitated.

“He would.”

“Do you think he knows?”

“Who can tell with him. Maybe.”

There was a long and thoughtful pause.

Then, softly and very deliberately from Haru: “Deckhead.”

And a cacophony of fresh laughter broke into an uproar that drowned out the Bureau doors opening a second time.

Baron and Toto froze on the threshold, nonplussed.

“What the heck is going on here?” Baron asked.

Muta and Haru could only turn to him and laugh harder.

Baron and Toto’s expressions shifted to something verging on worry at the near-hysterical state of their companions, and Baron uneasily stepped inside. “Haru, Muta--”

Haru grabbed his arms, her cheeks already beginning to ache from the laughter, and just about managed to rein the giggles under control enough to say, “Swear.”

“Haru, I think something is wrong--”

“Swear,” she repeated. Another round of laughter began to bubble. “Try it. You can’t! The Sanctuary-- you can’t swear! Fudge!”

“Ash-hole,” Muta guffawed.

“Shirt!”

“Deckhead!”

Baron caught Toto’s gaze out of the corner of his eye. “Toto?”

Toto floundered for a moment, still staying safely on the Bureau’s threshold. He dipped his head in admission. “The Sanctuary does... I do believe it does have a habit of softening certain words in translation.”

“Wait. You knew about this, birdbrain?”

Toto’s feathers rose defensively. “Of course it had occured to me! Or did you think I actually believed you were capable of censoring yourself in polite company, butterball?”

Baron had gone very quiet.

The laughter settled down, spluttering into embarrassed coughing and attempts to regain lost dignity. Haru wiped at her cheeks, catching the tears still rolling. “Baron?”

“I just thought everyone was following my good example,” he said quietly.

Haru had to fight to avoid bursting into laughter again. As things went, she took a long, wheezing breath. “Baron, I’m so sorry if we ever gave you the impression that you have any of us under control. Wait - hang on - Toto, why does the Sanctuary censor swears?”

“Haru, your guess is as good as mine--”

“Well, no, it isn’t, because you’ve known about this for a lot longer and actually know something about how the Sanctuary operates. So you must have a theory.”

Toto hesitated. “I believe it began softening harsh language not long after the Cat Bureau was established here. I think it might have originated in the translation magic, to ensure that we didn’t unintentially insult someone by using terms or phrases that would be taboo in their native tongue.”

“So, swearing.”

“Yes. And then it may have tailored the magic to suit the... professional quality the Bureau tried to emenate.”

“And now we can’t swear at all.”

“You can. It’s simply that no one else hears it.” Toto shrugged. “You get used to it in time.”

“Huh,” Haru said. “For some reason I just assumed it started up when Muta joined.”

“Hey!”

There was a pause. It was almost possible to hear the internal gears whirring as everyone came to terms with the newfound discovery.

“Toto,” Baron said eventually, “how did you realise the Sanctuary censored cursing?”

“I don’t have to answer that.”

#the cat returns #the cat queues #cat writes #tcr ficlet #finally getting back into writing ficlets #after the hiatus during tbf5 #gonna try to get through more of the requests #and maybe post a few more prompts to choose from when i hit the next follower milestone #swearing tw #toto discovered early on that the bureau censored swearing #and used it to his advantage #toto has to make sure baron's plans don't get himself or anyone else killed #toto deserves a little cussing #as a treat #okay i do headcanon that baron occasionally swears #but usually in german #and in normal headcanons the sacntuary leaves it untranslated #do i believe the sacntuary censors swearing?#nope #but this was too funny to play with #i mostly just wanted baron adn toto to walk in as haru and muta were screaming out non-swears #like the doctor walking in on rose and sarah jane when they were in hysterics #and just being so so confused #anyawy #i'm back on my bullshirt

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venusxxlangdon · 5 years

Text

Of Mice and Snakes

Pairing: Michael Langdon x fem!reader x Tom Riddle

Word Count: 12.3k

Warnings: crossover (Hogwarts AU), smut, threesome, dirty talk, anal sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, oral (male on female and vice versa), fingering, humiliation, choking, mention of blood as a part of a ritual. All characters are 18+ (the reader is the seventh year student)

Summary: AU where the reader does not know that curiosity killed the cat and agrees to a midnight rendezvous with the Slytherin Heir and his best friend Michael Langdon.

A/N: this epos (lmao the smut is endless, so epos is the right word to describe this madness) is based on my Slytherin!Michael headcanon & the ask I have received the other day: Slytherin Michael and Tom Riddle seeing who can get you to squirt first and they just keep making you cum over and over and you’re so sensitive but they’re mean and have big egos so they keep going even if you’re crying. Just imagine. (wow, nonny, your mind!!!) Special thank you to my Slytherin binches @avesatanormalpeoplescareme & @ccodyfern who plotted the smut scene with me

In addition, this is such a Michael-centric fic even though it’s a threesome that I’m crying at how much of Michael’s binch I am

“To caress the serpent that devours us, until it has eaten away our heart”

– Voltaire

You knew you should not have kept a mysterious diary that you had found in your bag after Divination class. It appeared out of nowhere, and nobody seemed to know whom it belonged to. So eventually, you were sitting in the Slytherin common room, running your fingers along the hardcover of the notebook and contemplating if you could use it for your own purposes. It looked expensive. The cover was black, made of what it seemed like a snakeskin – you wondered if it was faux – encrusted with the copper fixtures on the edges.

O.W.L.s were approaching, so maybe having a spare notebook in your possession was not a bad idea, you thought to yourself, picking up a quill to put your name on the first page. When a thick drop of black ink fell on the sheet, you gasped in frustration, thinking that you must have ruined the blank surface. You wanted the very first note to be pretty, but instead, you had messed it up without even writing a single word! Suddenly your eyes widened at the sight of a fat smudge disappearing before your eyes as if the page was absorbing it like a sponge. You dipped the quill into an inkstand once again and wrote your first and last names.

The intricate handwriting faded away, and just a moment after, you saw some new words making their way on the yellow sheet.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle and Michael Langdon are honored to meet you Y/F/N/Y/L/N”

You were a reasonable witch and perfectly aware that the unknown artifacts were dangerous and should have been investigated before use; however, you licked your lips nervously and looked around in case any of the students or ghosts (Bloody Baron had a reputation of sticking his nose into everybody’s business) were watching you and wrote down:

“Who are you?”

The answer made you arch your brows in surprise.

“Slytherin students.”

There should have been a mistake because being a Slytherin prefect you knew everyone, or at least the majority of them. If there were someone who created such artifact, you would definitely know them. You frowned, and the thought of this whole thing being a prank crossed your mind.

“Your names don’t seem familiar to me,” you scribbled, impatiently waiting for the reply.

“We studied at Hogwarts long ago.”

“I found this notebook in my bag. Is there any way I can mail it back to you? I don’t want anyone’s things in my possession.”

It took a couple of minutes for them to reply. While you were waiting, you tore a small piece of a scroll off and wrote down “Michael Langdon and Tom Riddle” in order to check whom these people were later. When you glanced at the diary sprawled out in front of you, there was an answer:

“This diary is the memory of ours. It chooses its next owner by itself. This time it’s you, so there’s no need to give it back. You can use it.”

“But I technically I can’t use it for my notes. Whatever I write down disappears.”

“You are right, but you can also enjoy our company. The fellow Slytherins will always get each other’s back. Besides, we know all the secrets of Hogwarts.”

It was not a peaceful time for the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After Mrs. Norris was petrified by the unknown creature and the threat of the Slytherin Heir being back written in blood was found on the wall, everybody lost their minds. Even though you really disliked Harry Potter who was believed to be in charge of consternation, you did not think it was his fault, neither you considered Malfoy being a part of it. Once you overheard him gossiping about it in the common room and trying to persuade Crabbe and Goyle that he was a self-proclaimed Heir. When he said that, you scoffed, hiding your grin behind the book you were reading and thought to yourself that the second years were absolutely insufferable. Draco’s bravado was the epitome of his youthful maximalism.

Curious by nature, you could not stand the idea of being unaware of what was going on around you. The floor of the crime scene was prohibited for students to enter until the investigations were over, so you dedicated most of your time to doing the research in the library, picking the information about the Chamber of Secrets crumb by crumb, and trying to complete the puzzle. Unfortunately, you had not been able to find much, and it was driving you crazy. In one particular book, you read a legend about a beast which of many fearsome monsters was the most dangerous one. Basilisk, or the King of Serpents, was believed to reach a gigantic size and live many hundreds of years. Its killing methods were wondrous from biting with its venomous fangs to murdering its victims with a stare. The last part seemed especially intriguing to you, and it was the reason why you concentrated your attention on this paragraph. On the one hand, it looked similar to what had happened to the cat, but on the other, Madam Pomfrey said it had been petrified, not killed, which made your assumptions false. Moreover, you really did not think that Dumbledore would have allowed a monster in the castle. The mysterious Chamber of Secrets seemed like an old fairy tale students would tell each other late at night for fun, but when Tom and Michael mentioned that they knew all the secret things of Hogwarts, you decided to try your luck and ask them about your conspiracy theories.

They found your Achilles hill without much effort. Your curiosity was stronger than your common sense, and maybe it was the reason why you still did not close the diary and throw it away for good in the Room of Requirement.

“Do you guys know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?”

You bit your lower lip in anticipation and rested your chin on your hand, staring at the blank page.

“What exactly do you want to know?”

Well, shit, did the Chamber actually exist? It was the moment when you could ask them anything, but all the thoughts turned into incoherent flux you could not form into a proper sentence.

Your handwriting became messier as you started writing, holding a quill tightly.

“Is it really in Hogwarts? Who is the Slytherin Heir? Does Basilisk exist? I have done some research, but I’m not sure if my sources are reliable.”

You put the quill aside and leaned back on your chair, placing your palms that involuntarily got all sweaty, on your uniform-clad thighs.

“Well, well, what an eager girl we got here. You have too many questions for us, Y/N...”

Crimson blush flushed across your cheeks at the pet name.

“Could you, please, answer them?”

You did not want to miss your only chance to find out the new information, even though it was obvious that you could not trust some random diary, which happened to be...only God knew what exactly it was. You figured that after you were done fishing for the new facts you would head to the library to check them out.

“...too many questions, perhaps, we could answer. Since you’ve asked so nicely, we think we can show you what we know.”

“Show me?”

You did not know what to expect, maybe an essay on the Chamber of Secrets that would appear on the page, but certainly not the following lines:

“As we have said, this diary is just a container of our memories. If you want us to answer your questions, tonight, at 1 a.m. you should go to the dungeon and bring it along with you. Open it on page twenty five and write “me videbunt*” in your blood.”

Your heartbeat sped up. Sneaking late at night was not a problem for a prefect, but you doubted if you really needed to get involved in this suspicious venture.

“Is it safe? I would rather prefer to find out who you two are before we could cooperate.”

“Then it’s a good thing that you have plenty of time till 1 am.”

You glanced at the big clock hanging on the wall with two snakes that represented hour and minutes hands. They showed 6:30 p.m. The reading room closed at 10.

“Section 53. Raw 11. Shelf 9.” were the last words Tom and Michael left for you.

xxx

Sixth. Seventh. Eighth. Ninth. Your fingers walked on the book spines looking for the one that could tell you about the mysterious Slytherin students. None of the books seemed suitable for your purpose. They were on magical creatures, charms, transfiguration, and...the Triwizard Tournament. As soon as your fingertips brushed against the hardcover of it, the copper ornament of the diary you were holding against your chest with the free hand, heated up and scorched your palm. You gasped and looked at the reddened skin in confusion. Having picked the book from the shelf you made your way to a long table occupied by some Gryffindor students who shot pretentious glares at you as soon as you approached them. Without paying any attention to them, you took a seat, placed your bag on a bench next to you, and opened the book.

The Tournament never really interested you. It was renowned for being extremely dangerous: champions had died while competing, and it was discontinued at some point due to the high death toll. However, it was revived in 1945 when wizards just like Muggles had to face the terror of WWII and needed something that would bring the most powerful Wizarding schools together and create the spirit of unity. You opened the table of content and scanned through the titles.

“Champions of 1294”

“No, it’s too early,” you thought to yourself, moving your finger down the page.

“Champions of 1494” Skip.

“Champions of 1792”Maybe? No, nothing.

“Champions of 1945” It was the last tournament so far. You flipped through the pages, looking for the familiar names, eyes scanning every line.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle, Slytherin champion, page 1055” and then “Michael Langdon, Slytherin champion. Disqualified. Page 1056.”

On the mentioned pages there was a column written by a journalist from the Daily Prophet with a huge headline “Hogwarts champions have not outsmart the Goblet of Fire.”

“Two seventh year students Tom Marvolo Riddle and Michael Langdon were so anticipated for the Triwizard Tournament that they decided to compel the Goblet of Fire for it to select them as Hogwarts Champions on September 25, 1945. Despite the outstanding performance of Confundus, only Mr. Riddle has been presented an honor to compete in the Tournament....”

You could not finish reading the article, being too fascinated with the picture of two young boys smiling and waving their hands at you. You glanced at the description to figure out who was who. They looked very much alike: both were tall, dressed in the perfectly ironed Slytherin uniforms, and looking way too happy for those whose plan had not worked out. Even though the picture was black & white you could tell that Tom had dark hair, and Michael was blond. A cheeky smile on Michael’s full lips made you blush, and you rolled your eyes at your own reaction. You traced your fingers across the page, contouring their silhouettes pensively. They were extremely good looking. Tom did not win the tournament that year, but he and Michael certainly got their dose of glory.

Did THEY really communicate with you via the diary? They mentioned that it was just a container of their memories, but how could it adapt to your questions if they had not been a part of the diary’s data?

“Hey, Y/N,” you lifted your head up from the book at Thomas Finnigan, a Ravenclaw Prefect.

“Yes?”

“We’ll start the evening checkup in 20 minutes, okay? You take the fifth and sixth floors.”

You blinked at him in confusion.

“Wait, what? What time is it?”

“Half past nine,” he curiously looked at the book you were reading, and you hurried to close it and put in under the Transfiguration textbook.

“I must have got carried away,” you mumbled, still surprised that time had passed so fast. It was weird, you swore that you had come to the library at least thirty minutes ago.

“Twenty minutes,” Thomas reminded you and left you alone with your thoughts.

As soon as he left, you opened the same page with a picture of Tom and Michael. Having made sure that nobody was watching you, you took your wand out and cleared your throat.

“Gemino,” and just like that, with a flick of your wrist, the photograph multiplied. You took the copy and hid it into the inner pocket of your robe.

Half past nine. You still had some time.

xxx

The best time of the day was when all students were in their common rooms, and you only had to stroll through the empty hallways checking if everything was alright. Your steps echoed in the distance, drawing the attention of the portraits who scrunched up their noses complaining that you were too loud, but you could care less. Being too caught up in your thoughts, you made your way to the moving staircases. You only needed to find Peter, the head of the prefects, fill out the daily report, and you would be done for the night. It felt like, with every step, the photograph in your pocket was heating up, sending the radiant waves of warmth down your spine, as a reminder that you were running out of time. Anticipation coiled in the pit of your stomach making you sick; you hold onto the staircase when it started moving in the direction of the fourth floor.

They said they were Slytherin students and you saw the uniforms with your own eyes, so theoretically, you could trust them because there was an unspoken rule of Slytherins unconditionally respecting their mates.

“The only person you should ever trust is yourself,” you whispered under your breath the reminder you and every Slytherin student lived by.

It was unsafe to sneak out this late when there was an unidentified entity that was petrifying students. Who knew, maybe in the darkness of the dungeons, it would attack you?

You went downstairs and stormed into Professor Snape’s office where every day from 9 to 11 p.m Peter Goldberg was of filling out the reports. He was sitting on a tall chair, scraping on a piece of parchment.

“Hey, Peter,” you threw your beg aside but did not pay attention to where it landed. By the sound of some pots falling over the table, you knew it was not going to be a nice morning for Professor Snape on the following day.

Peter tsked at you.

“Could you, please, be more careful for fuck’s sake?”

“Everything’s fine out there, where’s the report?” You ignored the question, hopping on a chair next to him. He nodded at a pile of parchment in front of him.

“If you manage to find it in this mess,” he waved his hand at the numerous papers flooding his desk, “you are welcome to fill it in.”

“Why don’t you make some freshmen do all the paperwork for you?” You asked, looking through the pile of endless notes, important documents, drafts and what not.

Peter tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Because they are stupid and incompetent,” he said it as if it was the most obvious thing. “If you want something to be done right, you need to do it yourself.”

You hummed in response and spotted the corner of the sheet you were looking for on the opposite side of the desk. You leaned forward and took it out of the pile trying not to ruin it.

“Then don’t complain about it,” you noted as you put your signature next to your name. “Here, all done.”

Peter took the paper out of your hands and threw it on top of the folders. You watched him do it with your arms crossed across your chest, thinking it was no wonder that his desk was a mess.

“What are you up to tonight?” He wondered without taking his eyes off the parchment.

The question brought the thoughts of Tom and Michael back on your mind. In fact, they were always there, tempting you to say “yes” to the little rendezvous past midnight. You nervously chewed your bottom lip while taking a few steps towards your bag which was tossed on the floor.

“Most certainly, sleep. I’ve been studying for O.W.L.s all day, and…”

You turned your head at Peter who clearly looked uninterested, being completely absorbed in work. Before you walked out of the class, you took your wand out and whispered “Scourgify” placing the papers in order.

“No, no, no!” Peter shouted, his eyes wide open in terror, “these documents are charmed, they have to be sorted out manually, Y/N! That’s why I have been fucking with them all this time!”

A road to hell is paved with good intentions.

You did not know that, so you quickly stormed out of the classroom, giggling at Peter’s grunts behind the closed door.

“Sorry!”

xxx

Of course, sleep was the last thing on your mind when you were lying in bed fully dressed in your black skinny jeans and a turtleneck. You were thankful for the canopy hiding you from the eyes of your roommates because dealing with unnecessary questions was not on the bucket list. The diary was right next to your thigh, tossed negligently on the white linen sheets. Your fingers lingered against the fabric searching for the photograph. You brought it to your face, looking at Tom and Michael for the hundredth time. It was obvious that you had made your decision right after you came from your night patrol and instead of changing into your pajamas, you put on your casual clothes.

You: 0

Michael and Tom: 1

It was 00:45 a.m. when you sat up on the bed and carefully listened to the sounds behind the thick curtains. You pulled the canopy aside and whispered “Quietus”, aiming at the sleeping girls. You clapped your hands in order to make sure that the charm had worked, and after no one reacted to the sound, you jumped off the bed and headed out to the common room.

Sneaking on your tiptoes, you crept your way up the set of the stone steps to the door that was on the right side of the Entrance Hall (if coming down the marble staircase facing the front doors of the castle.) You gently pushed it, trying not to disturb the snoring portrait of the entrance guard.

The blood in your temples was drumming so fast, you thought it was so loud that it could wake the entire Hogwarts up. You crossed your fingers, hoping that Snape was asleep. Filch was not a problem at all. The old twat was scared to go to the Slytherin dungeon, especially after his bloody cat had been petrified.

It was so dark, almost impossible to see anything. You looked around and, taking a tight grip on your wand, whispered:

“Lumos minima”

A faint ball of light scorched at the pointy tip of your wand, lighting up your path. It was bright enough to see where you were going, yet dim not to attract attention. Your feet noiselessly glided along the stone floor. You did not know how deep you should have gone into the dungeon, so after you made sure that Snape’s classroom was left far behind you, you stopped and kneeled on the cold concrete. You slid the bag off your shoulder and took the quill and the diary out.

1 a.m.

You took a deep breath, and with slightly trembling fingers counted twenty-five pages. There it was. You smoothed the crispy sheet with your palm. Your hand sneaked onto the back pocket of your jeans, and you carefully drew a small razor blade out. Fuck. Did you really have to do it? You prepared the quill and closed your eyes.

One. Two. Three.

“Ouch!” You winced at the stinging pain when you slid the blade across your palm and a dribble of blood ran down your hand. You dipped the sharp point of the quill into the liquid and wrote down:

“Me videbunt”

You realized that you were holding your breath all the time. You inhaled a fetid air of the dungeon and leaned back on your hills. Nothing happened.

“Vulnera Sanentur,” You murmured, healing the stinging cut.

You heard your heavy breathing in the deafening silence, the drops of water dripping from the ceiling, and your mad heartbeat. The scarlet red inscription refused to disappear. You should have known better. It must have been a prank.

“Me videbunt,” you mocked yourself, growling the words out through your gritted teeth. What an idiot. Annoyed, you grabbed the quill and showed it back into your bag. Right when you were about to close the diary and leave for good, you noticed that the writing started fading away. You dropped your bag and leaned forward, your nose inches away from the page. You could feel the copper smell of it. Blood started eroding the yellow sheet, and soon a bright light filled up the cracks on the page. It kept growing, spreading out beyond the edges of the notebook, enveloping everything around it. Including you. Before you could even blink, you were falling into the radiance.

Boom.

Your back hit a firm surface of what felt like marble. A dull pain pierced through you, and you moaned, rolling onto your side. Your fingers brushed against the floor and you scrunched up your nose at the sight of a disgusting goo covering your digits. What the fuck was that? You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked around.

Your mouth fell open in shock. An enormous room sprawled out before you. A statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall. It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous grey feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor.* You could recognize the man in seconds. You had seen the portraits of him everywhere from history books to the packaging of chocolate frogs. It was Salazar Slytherin.

Suddenly the sound of somebody’s steps drew your attention. You turned your head and saw a silhouette of a tall figure approaching you. Instinctively, your fingers slid down to the waistband of your jeans where your wand was tugged securely.

“There’s no need to take your wand out,” a clear voice rang through the Chamber.

You narrowed your eyes, trying to understand who the man was. When he came closer, you gasped, realizing that he was the one you saw in the picture. His black hair was laid in short smooth waves in contrast with his pale, porcelain skin. Dark piercing eyes were drilling through you, and you could not help yourself but think that you had never seen such mesmerizing color before. Two pristine stones of onyx that looked soulless. You gulped heavily, tightening the grip on the handle of your wand.

“You’re Tom Riddle,” your voice sounded foreign to you.

He reached his hand out to help you stand up. His touch was cold as ice. Nearly stumbling, you got to your feet, without taking your eyes off of his chiseled face.

“What an honor to have such guest as you are, Ms. Y/L/M,” his full lips curled in a smirk.

You put your hands on your waste, massaging the bruised pelvis, and nervously asked:

“Where are we?”

“In the Chamber of Secrets.”

He let you take a few steps forward and whirl around to have proper look at the room. The Chamber looked fearfully impressive.

“I don’t understand,” you muttered. “Does the professors know about it?“

You looked at Tom, who was going around you in slow circles, like a predator hunting its prey, his eyes examining your body.

“Of course they do. Dumbledore is not a fool to buy the idea of it being a myth. Salazar Slytherin built this Chamber centuries ago. It was the legacy of our faculty, I thought you had already known it.”

“I didn’t know if I could take this information seriously. Nobody had been here before...”

You stopped talking when Tom let out a chuckle.

“Well, that’s where they have done their work,” his eyes twinkled devilishly, “they made sure to erase all evidence that two Hogwarts most talented students who made it to the Triwizard Tournament had opened the notorious Chamber of Secrets and awoken the beast.”

A shiver ran down your spine. You looked at the goo covering the floor here and there and assumed it was Basilisk’s traces. You should have left right at that moment.

“M-Michael did not make it as a champion,” you stuttered. Your intuition was particularly screaming that it was time to leave. Something was wrong about Tom and the way he stared at you.

“Please, don’t remind him about that. He’s still so pissed,” Riddle playfully rolled his eyes.

“What happened to you? Why are you here?” You were too scared to ask if he was alive. The icy touch of his hand left a weird sensation on your palm.

Tom put his hands behind his back and with an ostentatiously serious look on his face explained:

“Once upon a time,” you wondered if he ever talked without making everything sound so dramatic, “I had led a peaceful life as an average freshman of Slytherin, you know...pranked Gryffindor rivals, been the best student in class, “he winked at you. “Until one day, I heard a voice calling my name. Apparently, I was the only who could hear it, and at first, I thought I was mental... Little did I know that I was meant to understand Parseltongue, and it was Basilisk, calling for me, its only owner.” Tom grinned, showing his perfect white teeth.

You looked at him with wide eyes.

“But only the Slytherin Heir...”

“Can tame the beast,” Riddle was so excited he could not even let you finish the sentence. “Yes, Yes, Yes!”

Your head started spinning. The next moment you were aiming your wand at Tom.

“I want to get out,” you hissed.

Tom did not even move an inch. He glanced at your trembling hand and smirked.

“Where are going, love?” a fake pout touched his lips. “Don’t you want to meet Michael? You seemed so eager writing those silly questions in our diary.”

And just when he pronounced the last word, a loud crash roared through the Chamber. The stone mouth of the stature opened up, and you saw a large head of a snake crawling out of it. You cried out and backed off, moving your wand in the direction of the monster. The enormous serpent, bright, poisonous green, thick as an oak trunk, had raised itself high in the air and its great blunt head was weaving drunkenly between the pillars.** Fear, crushing onto your in destructive tides, made you numb and pinned you to your spot. You found yourself unable to move as if every muscle of your body was paralyzed.

You heard Tom scoff “What a showoff,” and saw that there was a guy sitting on top of the snake’s giant head. The beast was so big that it almost took half of the room. It whipped its tail across the floor and bowed its head, letting the blond man jump off and gracefully lend on his feet.

“I honestly think that he loves you more than me,” Riddle said, taking a few steps forward to stroke Basilisk’s scaly skin.

“Well, if you weren’t a dick and accompanied him for the hunt, he would not be so putty in my hands.” A deep velvety baritone infiltrated your body, making your insides shiver.

Michael Langdon was even more handsome in flesh than he was in the photograph. He was taller than Tom indeed, his long legs and broad torso resembled young Adonis. His jawline was so sharp that he could use it to cut your heart out of your chest.

“And here is our little pen friend,” he mused and approached you with long, elegant strides. When he reached out his hands, you doubted if it was safe to touch him. However, being raised as a well-mannered lady, you did not want to seem rude. You were going just to shake his hand, but he covered your small palms with his large ones, squeezing them. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Y/L/N. We were afraid that you would not be able to bless us with your visit tonight.” The corners of his mouth twitched.

“Frankly speaking, I doubted it, too,” you mumbled.

“She had wanted to leave right before you came, Michael,” Tom scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest. Your eyes gleamed at him with annoyance. Riddle could have done better and kept his tongue behind his teeth, but he was a cheeky asshole who liked to exaggerate things.

Michael folded his hands neatly behind his back.

“Why is that? Has my friend treated you badly?” He tilted his head, amused by the way your cheeks turned pink.

“No, no, I just...,” your eyes traveled from Riddle to Langdon back and forth. “Tom told me he was the Slytherin Heir, but I had been thinking that this whole thing with Salazar Slytherin was just another legend.”

“We had always wanted to make it to the pages of the magical books,” he ran his fingers through his soft blond locks. “It was just the matter of time and our creativity how we would do it.”

“How did you find the Chamber? Why are you still here? How fucking old are you?” Your voice betrayed you and you almost yelled the last question at the top of your lungs.

“Basilisk showed me the entrance,” Tom explained. “I had to tell Michael after he had caught me sneaking out late at night.”

Langdon nodded.

“If you had not told me we would’ve never become immortal,” a self-satisfied smirk touched his lips when he noticed your reaction. “I was the one who came up with a plan to trap our souls here and create the diary as a messenger.”

“Why would you want to rot in the dungeons?” You asked confusedly.

“We are not rotting here if you haven’t noticed yet” his fingers danced across his smooth, porcelain cheeks. “It was for safety. If it had not been for Tom’s youthful soul in this Chamber, Harry Potter would have killed him on that night eleven years ago...”

Your heart galloped in your chest like a dozen of horses, eyes skimmed through the room, looking for the exit. Basilisk was too close, and Tom and Michael had wands, so it was difficult to escape.

“…now we can entice him just like you, end his pathetic life and come alive in our full glory.”

You had not even think your plan over when you shouted:

“Expelliarmus!”

“Protego Maxima!” Tom pointed his hand skyward, conjuring up an impregnable magical protection barrier that knocked you over in the blink of an eye.

You heard an audible noise that resembled a loud crack, and suddenly a pair of strong arms wrapped around you and wrestled your wand out of your hand. It was prohibited to apparate within Hogwarts until the Headmaster decided otherwise. What sort of dark magic Tom and Michael possessed?

“Why don’t you want to play nicely?” Langdon whispered in your ear, wrapping his hand around your neck, nearly suffocating you; you desperately clang on his arm, trying to break free, but it only made him press his fingers tighter, leaving crescent marks on your tender skin.

“This is not the right way to treat your fellow Slytherins,” Tom hissed, removing the bright shield.

“I think we should teach her a lesson.”

Michael’s body was pushed against your back; the dark lapels of his robes enveloped your limbs like a midnight mist, and your mouth hanged open when he rolled his hips, giving you a hint on what he had meant by his suggestion to teach you manners.

“Do you think they still have fun like we used to, Tom?” he asked cheekily, his hand sliding down your head, petting you almost lovingly, and then tangling his fingers in your hair. He brushed the strands into a loose ponytail and yanked your head back, bringing it close to his lustful mouth. Plush lips pressed soft, teasing kisses and then moved behind your ear, leaving burning kisses along the way, making your pussy throb and a burst of your juices soak through your panties. No fucking way. You gasped in shock, being embarrassed by the reaction of your body.

Riddle smirked. He stood several inches away from you, admiring the way Michael pinned you to your place like a lepidopterist who collected the finest butterflies. You were their butterfly indeed. Young and beautiful. They would make sure to rip your wings off. He traced his pale, slender digits along the waistband of your jeans and hooked the wool hem of your turtleneck, untugging it from your pants. The muscles of your lower abdomen tensed involuntarily in a weak attempt to refuse him from the touch.

“Oh, I don’t know, Mikey,” he slowly sunk to his knees, putting himself to the same level with your clothed crotch. He rolled your top up and slid his palms down your sides, countering every curve of your feminine body. From this angle his face looked sharper, the hollows of his cheeks were ethereally deep. “Let’s ask our lady, shall we?” He pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to your belly, nuzzling into soft, warm skin. You gasped; bucking your hips forward, but Michael grounded you with his hands that he put on your pelvis.

“Do you, little sluts, still sneak into the boys' dorms to play truth or dare, and then blow them when you get a dare, honey?” Riddle mewled and looked up at you with a carnivorous smile on his face. You did not even listen, being too caught up in a torturing discrepancy of muttering silent “no’s” to them and leaning into their arms at the same time. Michael trapped your earlobe between his teeth and cupped your face in his hands, petting your cheek with a thumb.

“He asked you a question, doll,” he slightly bent his knee and you gasped in shock when he spread your legs with it and made you straddle his thigh. His kneecap was pressed several inches away from your aching center. You clothed your eyes and threw your head back, resting it in the crook of his neck and moaned as Michael started slightly rocking you back and forth.

“I don’t know...oh,” your eyes fluttered open, when Tom cupped your sex with his left hand, applying just enough pressure to your clit, making you bolt up in Michael’s arms. He arched his brow at you, urging you to speak up. “W-we don’t do that,” you gasped and turned your head at Michael, nearly bumping noses with him, when his fingers unbuttoned your jeans and pulled the fly down. Looking at him pleadingly, you shook your head, but he only winked at you and maneuvered his hand under the waistband of your panties.

“Oh my God,” he raised his voice a few octaves higher in a mocking manner, swiping his digits along your wet folds, collecting the wetness. From that moment you knew it was useless for you to try to say no. Your body betrayed you. The tip of his finger circled around your center, almost entering it and then pulling away teasingly to stroke your labia. His left arm was wrapped around your waist possessively, holding you in place. You bit your lower lip and hang your head low, letting your hair cover your flushed face that was burning with humiliation and embarrassment. “Look at it, Tom. She is practically soaked.” He removed his fingers with a sloppy, obscene sound, and you whimpered brokenly at the loss of contact, not being able to believe that you were THAT aroused. Michael showed Riddle his index and middle fingers, parting them to demonstrate the thin threads of your juices sticking to the tips of his digits.

Tom tsked, tilting his head to the side. He raised from his knees and harshly grabbed you by your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Silvery tears blinked in your doe-like eyes making them look even bigger, even more innocent.

“Don’t even try to persuade us that you aren’t enjoying this,” he hissed, and for a brief second he resembled a snake with his narrowed eyes and flared nostrils. The Slytherin Heir indeed. He held your chin so brutally, you were sure it would bruise afterwards. “Pretty little slut, it’s a shame you haven’t been gang banged before. Our legacy has been failed,” he pouted, gliding his thumb against your lower lip. As he started undoing his belt, Michael’s hand slid back into your panties.

“We like destroying pretty things,” he whispered in your ear while massaging your clit in lazy circles, the back of his hand outstretching the thin lace. His luscious lips moved down to your neck, and you whimpered when he bared his teeth and playfully nibbled on your skin, velvet tongue immediately licking the bruised spot. “And you are very pretty.”

He removed his slick-covered hand and traced it up to your breasts, rolling your turtleneck up higher to expose more of your skin. He tugged your bra down and brushed his thumb over your sensitive nipple. You moaned and bucked your hips forward to get some friction against his thighs, but as he ground his cock against your ass, you involuntarily motioned back to meet his thrust.

“Just like that,” he cooed, teasingly slapping your right breast. “Good girl, keep rutting your hips, baby.”

His hand fell down on your abdomen, and he pressed you against his stomach, making you feel every inch of his erection. It was the point of no return. You wriggled your hips and spread your legs a bit wider, so your pussy would get more contact with the fabric of Michael’s slacks.

“See? She’s turning into an obedient little slut,” he chuckled and turned his head at Tom, who was watching you and Michael while stroking his cock that he pulled out from his pants a moment earlier. Chewing his bottom lip, he savored every movement of your hips, looking at you hungrily. There was always an unspoken competition between him and Michael, even though they were best friends. When Tom had become one of the Triwizard Champions it was not only his moment of glory but his time to outsmart Langdon who had always seemed to have the best girls, grades, and what not.

“At least he’s not the Slytherin Heir,” he used to tell himself when another group of girls was whispering about Michael being “insanely good in bed” in the common room where Riddle was trying to study.

“Enough of that,” he growled in annoyance, and with the snap of his fingers, a thick white mattress appeared on the floor before you. Tom stood on it with his polished shoes and nodded his head at Michael. “Put her on her knees. I want her to blow me.”

Michael put his large hands on your shoulders and firmly guided you down. Your legs felt weak from the sensation Langdon had been causing to your clit, so you nearly stumbled when he forced you to your knees; the mattress dented under the press of your weight. You instinctively put your hands forward for leverage, placing yourself on all fourth. Tom’s long, hard cock with a bright pink head glistening with pearls of precum was inches away from your lips. He put two fingers under your chin, making you look up at him. His stare was so intense that you found yourself opening your mouth as if you were hypnotized, which he used to his advantage and ran the tip of his shaft along your parted lips.

“If you bite me or don’t try your best to please me, I’ll feed you to Basilisk,” your eyes wandered to the side in the direction of the large snake curled up several feet away from you. “Understood?”

You gulped heavily and nodded. Starting off slowly, you gave him the first kitten licks, tasting the salt of his foreskin on your taste buds. You wrapped your lips tightly around the head and gave it a gentle suck, hollowing your cheeks to create a vacuum. Riddle hissed at the warm enveloping sensation covering his cock with each bob of your head. You continued sliding down, trying to fit as much of him as possible, but you had to stop mid-way to help yourself with one hand, stroking the impressive length, and went back to his tip, swirling your tongue in the same rhythm you were jerking him off with. You pulled away to pay attention to his shiny slit and softly brushed it with your thumb, smearing his arousal.

Meanwhile, Michael pulled your panties to the side and blew on your aching core, making both of your holes clench around nothing. He parted your folds, dipping his long fingers into your wetness, before he thrust two of them inside you, making you whine around Tom’s cock. It was so unexpected that you slightly brushed your teeth over his sensitive flesh, and the next moment you knew he slipped his dick out of your mouth and gave you a hard slap across your cheek.

“Watch your fucking teeth!” He looked at you with so much rage and anger in his eyes that your insides flattered in fear. He slapped your lower lip with the tip of his cock and then traced it to your flushed, crimson cheek.

A loud “smack” accompanied with a wet, obscene sound of the mix of your saliva and Tom’s precum made your head dizzy. Tears started streaming down your face, and you tried to blink them away, and what was more important, not to meet the heavy gaze of Riddle’s jet black eyes.

Michael seemed to know what exactly he was doing. Tom and he had always been different with girls. His friend liked it hard and rough, while Michael could perfectly do both: edge a pretty girl from dusk till dawn until she was a whining mess under him or fuck the living shit out of her. It was all about his mood. That was why before you appeared in the Chamber, they had agreed that he would do all your preparation. Michael watched Riddle and you attentively, noticing the way your shoulders trembled as you took Tom back into your mouth, how you instinctively parted your legs and pushed your pussy out on a full display for him.

He slid the panties down to your ankles, where your jeans were pooling and spread your ass cheeks. His soft, velvet tongue licked a wide stripe from your puffy clit to a clenched, puckering asshole, making you shift forward and choke on Riddle’s cock. It fell out from your mouth, and your head nearly banged against the mattress. You whined, shaking with every cell of your body, when Langdon’s tongue swirled around your clit as if he was licking off the tastiest weep cream, and then his lips closed around it, sucking gently. Your nails dug into the mattress, and you closed your eyes shut in a pathetic attempt to stay in this reality and not to drift off into the sea of pure, electric pleasure. You could not let yourself do that. Not when Riddle was still before you, waiting for you to recollect yourself and finish him. But Michael was so good. He was lapping up on your dripping pussy, drinking from it as if your juices were the sweetest nectar and your wet, puffy folds — the ripest peaches he was glad to savor.

“Oh my God,” you cried out when he added two fingers at once while still sucking on your clit. He pumped them in and out a couple of times and then crooked them inwards, brushing right against the spongy spot inside you. It took Michael mere seconds to figure out how exactly you liked to be pleasured. He spread his fingers like scissors and used the heel of his palm to press it against your clit — each time he moved his digits, it stimulated your bundle of nerve. His flushed cock that was laying heavily in the crease of his pelvis, twitched at the sound of moans you were producing.

The ticklish sensation in your stomach became almost unbearable. You tried to hold it back in order not to give Michael and Tom the pleasure of mocking you for cumming from there manipulations, but you knew you were destined to lose. Feeling the pressure unwinding deep inside you, you hurried to stuff your mouth with Riddle’s cock to silence your loud scream. Moaning around his length, you let go off your orgasm, letting it break through the dam and flood you with an earth-shattering pleasure. Your pussy quivered around Michael’s fingers, hips bucked in convulsions as you exploded into million pieces under him. Of course, it did not go unnoticed.

“Such a good girl,” Langdon hummed approvingly and pulled his fingers out. Tom beckoned him and looked down at you, admiring the view of your flushed face and a fucked out look in your eyes. He took his cock out of your mouth, and let Michael bring his finger to your puffy, abused lips.

“Suck,” he ordered, and the blond man shoved his digits into your mouth, your tongue instinctively wrapping around them. You looked at Tom with wide eyes, but you did not really see him. You felt like floating, euphoria fogged your mind and did not allow you to think straight. Riddle thought if he had slapped you at that moment you probably would not have reacted.

Michael bent over, pressing his bare torso against your back to make sure he got a full view of your eager mouth tasting your cum off his fingers. He shoved them down your throat and outstretched your cheek with his thumb just for the sake of seeing how much of him you could take.

“The wetter they get, the less it’s gonna hurt,” he whispered in your ear. You sucked harder, coating his pads with your saliva. The taste of your own juices, Tom’s cock, and Michael’s skin was extremely arousing. You felt the wetness pooling between your thighs again and mentally slapped yourself for being such a whore. Even the fear of anal did not stop you from secretly wanting it.

When Langdon decided it was enough, he removed his fingers from your mouth and got back to his position behind you. He gently pushed on the small of your back, making you arch your spine a bit more. While you were still relaxed and pliant from your orgasm, he used this opportunity to bring his fingers to your tight asshole and slowly massaged it. You whined and covered your burning face with your hands, trying to hide the embarrassment.

“Relax,” Michael playfully tapped your ass cheek and in circular motion penetrated your entrance to the first knuckle. Just a tip to start with. You involuntarily clenched around him, not being able to relax. Every muscle of your body was chained to anticipation and fear of the unknown. Was it going hurt? Tom and Michael were big, and you doubted that your tight little hole could handle them both.

“I said, relax,” he used the rest of his fingers to reach to your clit and tease it. Your body reacted immediately, visibly relaxing from his touch.

Tom who was stroking his cock in front of your face, chuckled amusingly.

“Why don’t you occupy her? If you keep her distracted, she won’t clench that asshole.”

You hated that they spoke about you in the third person as if you were not there, as if you were nothing but a fuck toy for them. Your head flew up when you felt the tip of Michael’s cock against your pussy. You looked over your shoulder to meet the stare of his icy blue eyes.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” he mused, rubbing the head along your sensitive folds.

Without taking his eyes off of you, he slipped inside your heat with his finger still buried in your asshole. He went past the first rim of your sphincter and froze for a second to let you adjust. You could swear there were stars before your eyes. Never had you ever felt so full in your entire life. His cock, judging by the feeling of it, was as big and Riddle’s one, deliciously stretching you out with every inch of its lengh.

“That’s it,” Tom grinned and sank to his knees before you to cup your face in his hands, lifting it up from the mattress. “Relax, little slut. Let him fill you up nice and hard.” He dropped his one hand to get a grip of his cock. Stroking it lazily, he started jerking himself off to the obscene sound of Michael’s flesh slapping against your ass.

Langdon snapped his hips forward and started building up a steady rhythm of thrusts and his manipulations with your asshole. You were taking him so well, he spread you out for him to watch his cock disappearing in and out of your pussy, claiming it as his. Each roll of his hips hit right at your sweet spots. When he slowed down to give you especially deep thrusts, you lost your mind. You cried out and shook your head so violently that Tom had to let go off of your face. Tears spilled out from the corners of your eyes, and you cried out a loud “Michaeeeeel,” at the top of your lungs. You felt so week that you did not even have the strength to clench the tight ring of muscles when he added his middle finger. Working his way, Langdon never stopped the movement of his hips, drawing loose figure-eights and swaying them back and forth.

Tom’s hand, wrapped around his hard-on, was sliding along his shaft with a sloppy sound; he stroked the underside of it where a thick throbbing vein was located, and a low groan instantly fell from his lips. He closed his eyes in pure bliss and threw his head back, messing his short raven hair up. His agonizingly beautiful face was contoured in pleasure as he drove himself closer to his orgasm.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered and stood up on his feet. Somehow, you managed to obey and did as he had told you, sticking your tongue out for him. Your breasts bounced vulgarly with every thrust of Michael’s cock. The fact you were still half-dressed (in tugged turtleneck and jeans around your ankles) and thus looked like a filthy whore who was ready to be fucked wherever and whenever Langdon and Riddle wanted to, was driving you crazy. You watched the way Tom’s cock with a purple tip throbbed and twitched in his palm, indicating his upcoming release.

Everything happened simultaneously. Michael’s free hand covered your clit and rolled it between his fingers, his digits in your ass massaged it in a matching rhythm with his hips, sending you to the edge in seconds. Right at that moment, when your pussy started pulsing around Langdon’s cock, Tom came with a loud moan, painting your face with white ribbons of his cum. Some of it got on your tongue and lips, but you did not dare to lick it all off without his command. His hand yanked your head back roughly, and he made sure that cum covered not only your mouth but your prominent cheekbones as well.

“Drop dead gorgeous,” he praised and gave your wet, cum-stained cheek a light slap. He collected the pearly beads with his thumb and pressed it against your tongue. “Here, have a taste.”

You felt extremely sensitive, it was almost painful for you to take Michael who sped up his thrusts. Sucking on Tom’s fingers as if they were a fucking pacifier, you wriggled your hips, trying to give him a silent hint that it was all too much for you, but ended up taking him even deeper.

“Fuck,” Langdon swore, and with the last sway of his hips, he spilled inside you. You felt his cock pulsing, and even though you had already finished, your pussy clenched around him one more time, squeezing every drop of cum out of him. Sweat beaded on your forehead, the remains of clothes stuck to your body like the second skin. Michael’s load filled you up to the brim, and when he finally pulled out, it was dripping out of you slit down to your thighs, covering your skin like shiny pearls. He removed his fingers from your asshole as well, leaving you undeniably open and stretched out for him.

As soon as he loosened the grip on your pelvis, you fell onto the mattress, breathing heavily. Lying there like a useless toy with your arms and legs bent outwards, the only thing that you wanted was to go back to your dorm and sleep for days. Exhaustion crushed onto you like a tsunami, destroying the remains of your pride and dignity. Your limbs were numb, jelly-like, and you winced at the dull ache in your core when you tried to close your legs.

A pair of strong arms scooped you from the mattress and forced you into a sitting position as if you were nothing but an obedient puppet. You scrunched up your nose, a broken, disappointed moan slipped off your lips, as Tom grabbed the hem of your turtleneck and pulled it up to take it off completely. At least, it became easier to breathe. You ran your fingers through your hair, trying to brush the combs, but soon realized that it was a waste of time. Your hand dropped helplessly on your thigh where numerous purple bruises from Michael’s grip started to bloom across your skin. Riddle’s cum mixed with your tears began to dry on your cheeks, giving you an unpleasant tingling, and you tried to wipe it off with the back of your palm. What a mess.

Michael gracefully dropped on his knees. He grabbed your left foot in his hand and gently traced his fingers up from your toes to the area between the heel and the ball, stroking you and moving up to your ankle. He helped you get rid of your jeans and tossed them aside on the cool floor of the Chamber.

“Please, I can’t do this,” you whispered, shaking your head. They clearly were not done with you, but you were afraid that you would eventually pass out if they continued assaulting your further.

Langdon leaned forward and sensually caressed your cheek, running his fingers along your jaw until he reached the velvet of your lips. You looked up at him through hooded leads and sighed. It was the first time when he actually kissed you. His soft, plush lips brushed against yours passionately, he grabbed you by your chin and slightly tilted your head to deepen the kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, tasting you. He caught your lower lip between his teeth and playfully bit on it, drawing a couple of drops of blood and immediately licking them off. Having spread your legs with his knee, Michael nestled between your thighs and pulled away from you with a barely audible moan. He was good at playing the game where he soothed, deceived you and made you think he was going to be nice with you, but then ruined you completely.

“You can and you will, baby,” his beautiful blond hair was disheveled, pupils blown and obscured with lust and desire. He palmed your breasts and looked down at them to enjoy the way they bounced in his hands.

“As if she has a choice,” Tom scoffed, positioning himself behind you. “C’mon Michael, we need to hurry, otherwise, you will have to finger her ass again.”

“Not that I would mind,” a cheeky grin spread across Langdon’s lips, and he placed an open-mouthed kiss on your cum-stained cheek before he leaned back on his heels to give Tom more space.

Riddle wrapped his left arm around your shoulders and used his right one for leverage when he lied back on the mattress and brought you closer to his chest. He bent his knees and plant his feet on the soft surface to not only help himself balance, but also position himself more comfortably behind you. When he was steady, he spread your legs wider, putting his erect cock right at your clenching entrance. You were on a full display for Michael who was standing right between your things. A blush bloomed across your cheeks when you saw the way his lips curled into a smirk at the view of your glistening slit and loose asshole. You wished the cool floor of the chamber could swallowed you up in flames from how embraced you were. A shiver jolted through your spine when you felt the head of Tom’s cock pressing against your little hole. You held your breath and looked at Michael with wide eyes.

“All the way in,” he said in a sing-song tone, watching how marvelously your body was adjusting to Riddle’s size. You gasped and closed your eyes shut, gripping at the mattress beneath you so tightly, your knuckles turned white. Despite that fact that Michael had prepared you, it still hurt like hell. You cried out, and Tom let go off your hips for a second to take his time and spit on his palm. Having smeared the saliva all over his cock and your opening, he proceeded to penetrate you. You trashed and wriggled your butt on top of him, making it almost impossible for him to thrust up.

“Keep fucking still,” he grunted in your ear and then sank his teeth into the soft flesh of your shoulder, leaving a burgundy red print. It was a lost battle from the very beginning. You knew it was over for you when Michael shifted towards and wrapped his fingers around your ankles like shackles.

“Shhh,” he cooed and leaned forward to give your nipples small kitten lips. He looked at you through his curly fringe, catching your gaze, and swirled his pink tongue around your hardening buds. “Be a good little slut, sugar.”

“This is too much,” you sobbed, throwing your head back on Tom’s shoulder. His hair was tickling your ear every time he shifted, trying to find the right position, and you could feel his chest rising and falling with every rapid breath.

“You can complain all you want,” Michael arched his brows. “Look at yourself,” his slender fingers traced from your chin down to your sharp collarbones, tense stomach and lower, to your pussy. “He has penetrated you with just a tip of his cock, and you are already wet.” And just to demonstrate the shameful truth he collected the wetness of your slit and showed it to you.

“I’m not even surprised, Michael...oh, fuck,” Tom moaned as he continued sinking into your asshole. “Whores like her would sell their souls to the Devil for a chance to be split on a good, fat cock. And you, sweetheart,” he emphasized the pet name with a thrust of his hips, bouncing you on his length, “have the privilege to take two at once, so if I were you, I would be more appreciative.”

When he bottomed all the way down, Riddle stopped to brush his wet hair off his forehead and take a breath. He started off slowly, rolling his hips in lazy circles. Michael’s fingers were nothing in comparison with the feeling of a real cock in your asshole. The dull pain started to fade away, and the first moan of pleasure escaped your throat, when Tom bucked his hips up, going a bit deeper.

Langdon could not take his eyes off of you two. You were a panting mess in the arm of his friend who was doing his best not to let go of all his self-control and fuck the living shit out of you. Michael knew Tom was going to snap soon. He licked his lips and helped you bring your knees up towards your chest and rest your feet on the tops of Tom’s knees for extra support. This position allowed the Slytherin Heir to enter you at a particularly sharp angle and brush the tip of his cock against all the sensitive spots inside you. His hand reached down to his cock, and he pulled it out but just to thrust his shaft right back in.

“C’mon, dude, stuff the bitch up,” he growled, his hand cupping your breast and squeezing it hard.

Riddle did not have to repeat twice. Michael aligned himself with your entrance and filled you up in one swift motion. Your eyes rolled back into your head, and the scream that tore up your chest was so loud that even Basilisks shifted in his spot. Tom and Michael moaned in unison, thriving off your whimpers and pleas. Their hands roamed over your body, playing with oversensitive nipples, pulling your hair, griping on your sides and trembling thighs. They were everywhere. The air was thick and smelled like sex, suffocating you. Your head was spinning.

Your mouth fell agape when you looked down and started watching Michael’s cock thrusting in and out of your throbbing core, feeling you to the brim. Your muscles were sore, and if it had not been for him and Tom holding you firmly, you would have already collapsed. When it was clear that you were no longer hurting and moans of pleasure rang through the room, bouncing off the stone walls, they started fucking you like two animals, devouring your insides. You felt dirty: the sloppy sound that was filling the Chamber was the result of Michael’s cum, your arousal and so much saliva that it was drooling down your thighs on the mattress. Red, white and back dots danced before your eyes, as you orgasmed around two pulsing cocks with a cry. It hit you so unexpectedly that for a second you stopped breathing and wrapped your arms around Michael’s neck with such strength he had to hiss at you in a warning.

“No, no, no more,” you begged as he covered your clit with his hand and started rubbing on it harshly.

“Keep milking my cock, slut,” Langdon pulled away, unlocking your embrace, and laced his hand around your neck. He kept slamming inside you at animalistic speed, and Tom was trying to match the pace. You were clenching around Riddle so violently that he was on the verge of losing his mind. He ground your hips against him, making you take him and Michael as deep as possible. The more they pushed your legs towards your chest, the shallower the penetration was. Their long, hard dicks hit all the perfect sports at once, and if you had not already been so oversensitive, you would have found it enjoyable, but since three groundbreaking orgasms had pierced through you, you were a goner.

They did not listen to you at all. Competing who would bring you to your fourth orgasm of the night, Tom and Michael went all the way in. Langdon towered over you, his nostrils flared with each thrust of his hips, blue eyes stared right through you. Every moan they elicited from you stroke their egos and urged them to go deeper. Harder.

The sensation of two cocks moving inside you, stuffing you to the hilt was indescribable. When Tom pulled out and spread your ass cheeks to demonstrate Michael his stretched out you were, you nearly blacked out.

“You were fucking born for this,” Riddle praised you, venom dripping through every word.

You knew they were getting close by the way their movements became more hectic, uneven, they started to slow down and switched to deliciously long, hard thrusts. You gritted your teeth and with a deep sigh gathered the remains of all your strength. You were going to hold on and let them finish.

Michael pelvis rubbed against your clit as he kept pounding you, and although you thought it was impossible for you to cum one more time, the build-up pressure was about to unwind.

Three. Two. One. And that was it. The pressure of their cocks inside your ass and pussy became unbearable and you exploded into million pieces, quivering around them so hard that Tom and Michael followed you right after. Hot loads of cum were shot inside you, filling you up and spilling out, running down your thighs. You saw Michael’s face contorted in bliss, and the thought of how painfully beautiful he looked at that moment made you shiver and bite the inside of your cheek in order to suppress another moan.

“Don’t pull out,” he told Tom while looking down at your core. They stayed inside you for about a minute, which seemed like an eternity for you, ignoring your whines. Michael watched the mix of their cum dripping out of your folds in awe.

They pulled out carefully, trying their best to keep the liquid inside you. The sudden feeling of emptiness was extremely uncomfortable.

“Close your legs,” Riddle whispered, and you obeyed, clenching your thighs to make sure that every drop of cum was secured. He rolled you off himself, and you tiredly sprawled out on the mattress with your hands between your legs, sighing under your breath at how wet and sticky you were.

Your throat was burning from your cries, an extremely rough blowjob, and dehydration in general. As soon as your cheek touched the soft material, you closed your eyes and wished upon solitude and peace. At that moment you did not even care if they killed you. Being too fucked out, your brain was unable to function, and your sore body refused to feel anything but numbness. You heard them saying something, but you were not sure if they were addressing you. Everything was spinning. The dark colors of the Chamber swirled around you, turning into one dark spot, which enveloped you like an abyss, shutting off your ability to see or hear anything. It was only you and darkness that you were thankful for, because it wrapped you in its arms and kissed your temples, dragging you deeper into oblivion. Away from Michael and Tom.

xxx

“Y/N, wake up! Wake up, you are gonna be late for Transfiguration!”

“Is she dead?”

“Shut up, Pansy, of course, she is not. Wake up, sleeping beauty!”

You slowly opened your eyes meeting the worried stares of your roommates. The girls stood around you in a small circle, the look on their faces showed their surprise that you, a Slytherin prefect, had overslept for the first time in ages.

“I-...” you licked your dried lips and cleared your throat, wincing at the burning pain in your throat.

“Are you alright? Do we need to take you to Madam Pomfrey?”

You shook your head at pulled the blanket up higher to cover yourself up. The memories of the previous night flashed before your eyes, and your hands flew up to your cheeks, searching for the traces of cum. The skin was smooth as silk.

“Yes, thank you, I am fine… I just overslept” your voice sounded low and raspy, but you managed to give the girls a weak smile, and soon enough they left you alone, so you could get dressed.

It took you a couple of minutes to calm down your mad heartbeat and lift the covers up to look down at your body. The ache between your legs and the overall feeling of exhaustion indicated that the view was not going to be pretty.

“Oh my God,” you gasped at the sight of your stomach that was blooming with purple irises of hickeys and bruises. They were all over your breasts — and you were sure the neck too — abdomen, and thighs. You spread your legs carefully and touched your core with your fingers, moaning at how puffy and sore your folds were. You pressed your head into the pillow and let out a muffled groan. It was not a dream after all. The presence of their cocks inside you was as tangible as ever.

Your legs felt like jello when you slowly put them on the wooden floor. Closing your eyes tiredly, you shook your head, letting it fall down in your palms. What were you supposed to do? Tell Dumbledore? Tom and Michael were two psychopaths, and whatever the plan they had, it was not going to turn out good for any of you. The first thing that seemed right to do was to take a shower and wash the ghost of their touches off your body.

The water was soothing, sliding down your sides, and with a deep sigh, you sank to your knees on a tile floor. You could not tell anybody because in that case, you would also have to confess what a filthy whore you had been when you had cum on both cocks.

After a long hot shower, you wrapped your body in a soft, fluffy blanket and made your way to the empty dorm. You needed to get rid of the diary, just throw it away into the depth of the Room of Requirement, and forget the entire experience like a bad dream. “Well, not so bad,” your heart skipped a beat at the thought, and you groaned at your own ignorance.

xxx

“Out of sight, out of mind,” you murmured, standing in the Room of Requirement with the diary in your hand. The cover was warm, and when you smoothed it with your fingers, for a second it seemed like the notebook was pulsing, as if it was a living creature.

You closed your eyes and turned around, so your back would face the numerous piles of the things students had left in the room throughout the years. Your unclenched your fingers and threw the diary as far as you could behind yourself. It landed somewhere with a thud.

“That’s it,” you stormed your way out of the Room, and headed to your next class, trying not to limp and considering if Obliviate would be the best charm to perform in order to forget that night.

But did you really want to erase Riddle and Langdon from your mind? The blond and the brunette. They were like coffee and milk, enigmatic, and incredibly dangerous. You definitely needed some time to recover before you could think straight again. For the rest of the day, you were completely zoned out.

xxx

“Excuse me,” a high-pitched tone interrupted your conversation with Winona Flint who was a sister of Marcus, a Slytherin seeker. You turned your head at the intruder to see a second-year boy who was holding a package in his hands.

“Hey, what’s up?” You wondered, and raised your finger up, asking your friend to pause the story she was telling you.

“I was told to give this to you,” he handed you the package, and you took it from his hands with a frown.

It did not have any address on it, just a plain wrapping paper; the gift was anonymous. You quickly tore up the packaging and almost dropped it on the floor when your fingers brushed against the familiar hardcover.

“Who sent you to me?” your voice cracked.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” Winona asked, having noticed your reaction. She curiously looked over your shoulder to examine the gift. “What’s that?”

“Tom Riddle and Michael Langdon,” the boy answered. “They said it was yours.”

You were in for one hell of a ride.

*Let me see (Latin)

**J.K. Rowling Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Taglist: @divinelangdon @ms-mead @kaigitana @sebastianshoe @omgsuperstarg @langdonsdemon @iloveziggystardust @chaoticevillangdon @sojournmichael @sammythankyou @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @babypinkstyles94 @theghostoflangdon @americanhorrorstudies @bbyduncan @ticklish-leafy-plant @1-800-bitchcraft @wroteclassicaly @starwlkers @nightsblackroses @micheallangdons @langdvnshepherd @ccodyferns @ritualmichael @isoldedax @coloursunlimited

#michael langdon smut #michael langdon fanfic #michael langdon x reader #duncan shepherd smut #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon #slytherin!michael #duncan sepherd x reader

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cosmic-kin · 6 years

Text

Anon requested: Headcanons how Akira’s relationship with Yusuke and Ryuji developed.

I hope you like this, anon!!! They might have ended up a little Ryuji-centric. I apologize, but it just sort of happened?

★ Mod Nova

- When Akira first met Ryuji he was intrigued, but also confused how someone could walk around with their feelings out in the open like Ryuji does.

- The guy is a terrible liar, less because of actual bad lying and more because of his natural instinct to be truthful.

- Akira also notices that it’s way to easy to like Ryuji. He decides that’s not a bad thing at all.

- All of Ryuji’s traits that seemed annoying at first, Akira finds are really endearing nowadays.

- The moment Akira realized he has a crush on Ryuji was during a tough battle. They were all battered up, but when Ryuji ran up to him grinning brightly with a busted face, passing him the baton, Akira couldn’t care less about his own injuries.

- Akira couldnt stop thinking about how amazing Ryuji looked in that moment, which is how he knew he was done for.

- Now Akira had a problem. The problem of having no clue how to tell Ryuji he likes him. There was just no time, between finishing up Kamoshida’s palace, his private endeavors and Mementos, Akira found no opportunity.

- Not being able to confess cause Akira a lot of problems. During meeting he would sometimes blurt out a little “I love you” under his breath and quickly have to deny all accusations.

- Akira has a good pokerface, but this is really hard.

- When Yusuke joined the fray, Akira had another storm coming.

- Yusuke was too pretty for his own good, naturally Akira was attracted to him immediately.

- Now he’s struggling to refrain from blushing and screaming out his feelings in close vicinity of two people.

- Luckily, Yusuke does not know the meaning of the word ‘embarrassment’ and likes Akira too. He walked up to Akira after a meeting one time and told him he likes his face and would like to draw him forever.

- It wasn’t a traditional confession by any means, but what did Akira expect really.

- Internally jumping from joy, Akira dipped Yusuke and kissed him, which wasn’t a bad idea in theory, but in practice Yusuke is a little taller than him and did not expect this at all. They ended up tumbling on the floor.

- Akira regrets nothing.

- Dating Yusuke makes Akira really happy. His feelings for Ryuji haven’t changed though. He stayed up a long time for a whole week trying to figure out the perfect plan on how to tell Yusuke that he has a romantic boner for Ryuji.

- Turns out he doesn’t have to, because Yusuke, bless his heart, once again surprises him by taking the first step. Yusuke shows him his sketches which at some point started to focus on Ryuji. Namely, his happy smile and lean arms (Akira understands) and tells him how much he and Ryuji inspire him.

- Akira almost starts crying because, god, how did he deserve this guy? Instead he shoots up and grabs Yusuke’s hand: “Let’s steal us a boyfriend, Yusuke.”

- They don’t steal him. They go to his house, talking a little with Ryuji’s mom, who’s an angel, but that makes sense considering her son. Unknowingly earnign her approval.

- Ryuji certainly has no idea how he ended up on a bench in a nearby park having his hands held by Akira and staring into each others eyes while Yusuke exclaims how perfect they look and to just hold still.

- The blonde wants to sputter and blush and ask what the hell they’re doing, but the way Akira’s looking at him makes him want to stay in place.

- The feeling of Akira’s soft eyes on him, while Yusuke compliments his posture, even though it’s terrible, feels... nice.

- After they finished up, Yusuke, as a man of no shame, grabs both Akira’s and Ryuji’s hands and they start walking back.

- Ryuji didn’t protest much after the initial freakout of “We’re guys! Guys don’t hold hands!” Akira didn’t hesitate. “Evidently,” raising their interlocked hands, “they do.” Blushing, Ryuji averted his eyes. “Argh... whatever.”

- When Ryuji got home, his mother kept talking about how sweet his boyfriends are and that he should’ve told her and they should come over more often. His face was flushed, but he didn’t have the heart to correct her. He didn’t really want to anyway.

- Since then Yusuke and Akira start to steadily touch Ryuji a lot more. He got used to it, looking forward to the small signs of affection even.

- More often than not, Yusuke would kiss his forehead and softly palm his cheek before going their seperate ways.

- Akira made it a habit to kiss his cheeks and nose in a certain way. Left cheek, right cheek, nose. He would also grab his hand and squeeze it, giving a sweet smile.

- Ryuji likes the affection a lot. Can’t imagine himself without them anymore. He doesn’t question them either, which is why it takes him about two months to figure out that he had been dating Yusuke and Akira for the same amount of time.

- Ryuji and Ann were hanging out at his place, both doing their own thing, just enjoying each others’ company. Ann didn’t look up when she asked how his date with his boyfriends went last weekend. Ryuji was very confused why Ann called it a date and asked her why she did, while Ann looked at him as if he was the densest guy in existence.

- After five minutes of receiving an unimpressed look from Ann and thinking back to the last two months, Ryuji sprang up, exclaiming: “I am dating Yusuke and Akira! Holy shit!”

- When Ann told them what happened, she and Akira started laughing their asses off. Ryuji wants to be angry, but when Yusuke kissed his cheek and Akira came to a quick stop, asking to get in on it, kissing his other cheek, well, what can he say.

How could he stay mad when he was dating two of the best guys he had ever known?

#request finished #headcanons #p5 #akira kurusu #ren amamiya #yusuke kitagawa #ryuji sakamoto

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eorumverba · 6 years

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jongtae from demon au for the headcanon thingie? I miss it dearly. Have a safe trip!

tbh i forgot all about demon au ?? rip,, but ty for reminding me ♡♡♡this got Really long…..didnt know which letters to do so i just did all of them otl;; this also made me wanna write more of demon au

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

jong is rlly soft when its taem, always making sure he’s not hurt and cleaning him up before attending to himself. he can also be really cuddly and clingy, but that’s more with jinki because of how small jinki makes him feel even without trying. sex makes him energized actually, the exact opposite of taem. taem’s usually ready to knock out as soon as he comes, and if he’s ever up for round two, jonghyun ends up having to do all the work, something that neither of them mind at all

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

taem really likes jongs cheeks and lips. theyre puffy from sleep whenever he wakes up, and he looks so sleepy and soft that it makes taemins heart melt every morning. hes kind of a sap like that, not that he’ll ever say.

jonghyun’s very favorite part of taemin is his back. he likes taemins body in general for how long and lean and pretty he is, but he really likes the view of taems back, the dip just above his ass, the muscles shifting when he moves to clench the sheets, the bruises he can see from gripping taems hips too tight

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

jonghyun has a major oral fixation and just..really likes come in general as well. come on his face and on his chest is good enough, but he loves loves loves when jinki or tae come in his mouth. if he’s particularly needy and neither jinki nor tae are there or ready to sate him, he’ll sometimes just make himself come just to have that familiar taste on his tongue again

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

even if jonghyun thinks he’s subtle when he disobeys jinki’s rules, jinki always finds out. jonghyun is a horrible liar, too honest with his eyes and the set of his mouth and with his whole body, and jinki always manages to get the truth out of him, but then, watching jonghyun fumble for answers and start to tear up as jinki pushes more and more feeling into him is more than half the fun

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

jongyu are both very experienced, being incubi and all, and while taem had had his fair share of one night stands and messy handjobs before them, he’s learned so much from them that it’d probably be overwhelming if he ever slept with anyone else. not that he really wants to though, so…

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

taem likes jonghyun on his knees or riding him because of how small he looks like that, and jonghyun can work with anything honestly (he likes the same as taemin though, honestly) and they both love those lazy fucks when they’re still in bed, spooning somewhat with one of them (usually taem) giving a slow handjob to the other and fucking them slow and lazy

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

there’s a lot of banter during foreplay from both of them, but most of that slips away because jonghyun likes to focus entirely on taemin when they have sex, and taem is generally pretty quiet whether he’s giving or receiving. sometimes he’ll remember something cute or funny that jonghyun did earlier that day and it’ll start a burst of laughter from both of them, but otherwise it’s v intense and heavy

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

they all try to take baths together (or at least two at a time) and jinki likes to shave jonghyun and taemin while he tells them little stories or hums under his breath. it’s really lazy and quiet and sleepy, and jongtae are usually more than half asleep wihile jinki moves them however he wants, and he’s always sure to be gentle with each touch and lotion them up when he’s done. it’s the least he could do for having them do so much for him, jinki thinks, and taking care of jongtae is something he really enjoys

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

the only time they’re ever really romantic when they have sex is during those early morning fucks, the ones where they’re sitll both more than half asleep and slow enough with each movement to mumble i love yous and to call it making love instead of their usual fucks

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

jonghyun is loud when he jerks off, mostly because he’s so out of it and so deep in his thoughts. he’s really whiny and he tends not to notice if jinki or taem come in to watch. he also always has his fingers in his mouth when he’s jerking off, and it should muffle his noises, but his sloppy sucking only makes him louder. ontae don’t mind at all

taem doesnt really jerk off that much, not like jonghyun, and when he does, he tries to in the shower so there’s not as much to clean up, unlike jonghyun, who will tend to lick his hand clean or whine at jinki to wash the sheets

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

jong loves choking. he likes anything that leaves marks really - biting, scratching, choking, spanking - but on those rare times where he feels soft n subby, he loves loves loves praise. like…being called a good boy in those times could probably get him to come. but choking and biting is always good to him

taem just likes controlling jonghyun and making him flustered and needy. it doesn’t seem like a lot, but having jonghyun on his knees and begging for a cock in his mouth and clenching his fists tight enough to leave marks and being the cause of that…taem loves that

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

anywhere really?? taem likes the shower best so there’s not as much cleanup, but he also likes leaving the curtains open and fucking jonghyun out in the open of their living room, just for how needy jonghyun gets when taem tells him that anyone could see

jong is fine with anywhere as well, but his favorite place has to be wherever jinki is. it can be taem riding him in their bedroom while jinki watches and tells them how pretty they look, or jong on his hands and knees for taem and begging for jinkis cock in his mouth while jinki watches tv in the living room, or even jong doing his best to suck taem off as he and jinki have dinner - so long as jinki is there, that’s jonghyun’s favorite place

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

for jong, a well-placed touch or word can make him needy in a heartbeat, but things like ‘baby boy’ or 'good boy’ or 'be good for me’ are just…instanut. he also really likes watching taem undress, even if it’s to put pajamas on. that and feeling taems breath on the back of his neck when he first wakes up and taems arm heavy aronud his waist still in sleep just…….he loves it. most of the time when taem wakes up already hard, it’s because of jong.

for taem, anything jonghyun does turns him on. the overt things like licking his lips clean or sucking and bobbing his head around a spoon, jonghyun’s absent habits like sucking on the tips of his fingers and playing with his mouth, jonghyun’s whining and pouting…he’s just really affected by jonghyun. which is entirely understandable, honestly

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

there are kinks they like in theory but wouldn’t do - taem doesn’t like excessive pain or blood, jonghyun hates the idea of being owned in an m/s context. they don’t really have any conflicting kinks though, which is good - the only thing they don’t share is jonghyun’s major daddy and petplay kinks. at least for a while, anyway

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

oral is jonghyun’s middle name, honestly. he likes giving way more than he likes receiving, but both are good, and as jinki says, both taem and jonghyun have 'cock sucking lips’, so it works out well. jong tends to be more sloppy and eager than skilled when he’s really needy, but taem doesn’t mind, because jong is So Good with his mouth either way. taem tends to like receiving more than giving - he doesn’t like the stretch in his mouth quite as much as jonghyun does. he’s more calculated with his blowjobs, knows how to get jonghyun to fall to pieces as quickly as possible, but also how to keep him strung out for ages, and both are good. neither of them really like rimming - taem hates the feeling, and jong hates the taste, so they tend to stick to blowjobs

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

whenever jongtae fuck by themselves, it tends to be fast and rough, unless it’s in the morning or in the bathtub. then it’s slower and more romantic, and there’s more conversation and soft kisses passed between them, but otherwise it tends to be pretty fast and rough. if jinki’s there, he dictates the pace, and he tends to like watching them fall apart after what feels like hours and hours of teasing

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

taem is an expert on quickies, but he only thinks they’re fun if they’re with strangers/one night stands. otherwise, once he knows the person well enough (both literally and sexually) proper sex is better, and quickies get boring. unless of course it’s jonghyun already needy and willing to do whatever taem says - that’s never boring.

jong doesn’t really mind either way, because sex is sex, but he’s more used to sex being drawn out because of jinki. he doesn’t mind a good quickie though, if it’s with someone compatible - that’s how he and taem started fucking, after all

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

definitely, definitely. taem is a little more hesitant to try certain things since he’s still human, but so long as jonghyun doesn’t safeword, he doesn’t mind trying new, dangerous things at all. jong loves trying new things as well, the more dangerous, the better. even if it turns out to be only a one time thing, so long as there’s that aspect of risk and the nervousness of something new, he’s more than game

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

jong can go on a while - he likes the feeling and sensitivity of overstimulation, and that’s when jinki and tae say he looks prettiest. taem’s pretty done once he comes once, but he can give jonghyun a lazy handjob or blowjob after he’s already come once

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

they’ve definitely got toys, a whole collection, honestly. jinki tends to buy most of them as surprises, and he always watches. it’s mostly dildos and plugs to stretch jong out. taems more a fan of blindfolds and gags, but he’ll use jonghyun’s toys if he’s in the mood. sometimes jinki will tie jonghyun up all pretty for taemin to use - all dictated by him, of course

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

jinki loves teasing, always teases. taem teases too, but he’s so weak for jonghyun’s pouts and teary-eyed begging, so whenever jonghyun’s had enough and starts begging, taem is quick to give in. jonghyun definitely teases the least out of all of them since he’s the one that gets teased the most and knows how annoying and painful and frustrating it is to be teased so much. if he’s feeling particularly mischievous, he’ll tease taem to pieces, just as payback for all the times taem has teased him to crying

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

jonghyun is always the loudest: he whines and whimpers a lot, and he begs all the time. his blowjobs are full of sloppy noises and he often throws himself into it so eagerly that he chokes and ends up coughing and whining as he tries to get whoever he’s sucking off’s cock in his mouth again. when he’s fucking taem though, he’s quieter, lots of heavy breaths and grunts whenever taem taunts him that he’s not fucking him hard enough. (taem does that a lot) but otherwise, jong is very loud

taem is pretty quiet, except for the banter and taunts whenever he’s getting fucked. lots of panting and quiet curses and breathy 'ah’ noises, and he tends to muffle his noises with a hand to his mouth, much unlike jonghyun

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

taems favorite time of day is early morning, just for those slow, lazy kisses and jongs quiet mumbles of speech. jong is so much more clingy and affectionate then, and taem takes full advantage of it, because seeing jong sleepily pout at him and whine out i love yous is…one of the cutest things ever, honestly

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

they’re both usually shaved clean, courtesy of jinki, but otherwise there’s just a thin peach fuzz layer of hair, taems black n jongs whatever color his hair is (so usually blonde). taem couldn’t take jong seriously when he dyed his hair pink, so jong was sure to make sure jinki shaved him everywhere. jongs dick is longer n thinner than taems, n taems is of average length n wide enough to stretch jongs mouth out comfortably. taem sometimes bugs jong with questions like can he change the length or girth of his dick (yes) n if so why doesn’t he, to which jong responds that next time he’s fucking taem n taem is close to orgasm, he’ll make his dick super thin n tiny out of spite. taem kinda just laughs n rolls his eyes, but when jong is sure he’s forgotten about it, he shrinks his dick and instead of getting frustrated like he thought taem would, taem just starts laughing. neither of them orgasm that night, and that’s okay

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

jong always always always wants. it’s a low simmer beneath his skin that tends to spike because of jinki or taemin, but otherwise, that heat is usually there. taem’s kind of the same, but where jong is easy to spike, taem is easy to get to that simmer, which in turn spikes once the foreplay starts or the idea is concrete in his head

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

taem tends to knock out almost immediately if he comes more than once, but he’s always sluggish and sleepy after one orgasm. jonghyun on the ohter hand never feels as awake and energized as he does after a good fuck, but if he’s in bed with taem and he’s trapped by taem’s sleepy heat, it’s pretty easy for him to fall asleep as well

#jongtae #ontae #jongyu #onjongtae #ot3 #requests #anonymous #demon au #@ x taem sometimes just giggles remembering tht n jong is V Sullen about it #bc he got himself in tht mess #taem v innocently asks if jong will hulk out n starts cacklgin bc jong has never been more pouty #anyw i wanna uhhhh do more demon au now #this is an enitire essya also tbh

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