#powerful reader

[blondechariot]

hello!! may i request another poly sajaboys x flirty! fem reader , but with a different scenario ? i was thinking sajaboys meeting reader in the gym or any public place hehe with ofc a little spice ?

pairing: Saja Boys x female!reader

warnings: Heavy Flirtation, Fearless Female Reader, Attitude, Power Play

disclaimer: not my pic!

The stage lights flicker off, and the crowd's roar slowly fades into the buzz of excited conversations and selfie flashes. The Saja Boys are off-stage now — breathless, buzzing with adrenaline, and still high from the wave of cheers.

Jinu is toweling off the sweat from his neck. Romance is already checking social media. Baby is grinning like he just personally cured world hunger. Mystery is leaning on the barricade, watching people disperse. Abby looks like he’s trying not to smile but failing.

Jinu (smirking): “That was solid. The crowd ate it up.”

Romance (showing his phone): “We’re already trending. ‘Saja Boys serve soda pop and sex appeal.’”

Baby: “That’s not even our hottest song. Imagine when we drop ‘Midnight Fever (I just made this up)’.”

Mystery (quietly): “Wait. Look.”

He nods toward the edge of the crowd.

And sure enough — there you are.

Standing with your arms crossed and a cup of something iced in your hand, you’re wearing a crooked little smile and leaning lazily against a lamp post. You're out of uniform, dressed down in loose jeans and a fitted top, but unmistakably you.

And the second your eyes meet theirs, you give a slow, unimpressed clap.

You (raising a brow): “Cute choreography. Very... bubbly.”

Jinu (walking over, full confidence): “You came to see us. Didn’t think you were the fangirl type.”

You (deadpan): “I’m not.”

The others fall in behind him, forming a half-circle around you like a very attractive, mildly offended pack of puppies.

Baby: “Wait, seriously? You didn’t like it?”

You (shrugging, nonchalant): “It was fine. But I’m not really into pop music.”

That lands like a slap. A soft, glitter-scented slap.

Abby (blinking): “…You’re joking.”

Romance (frowns): “Do you have taste buds? For music, I mean.”

You (sipping your drink): “I mean, you guys look good. I’ll give you that. But all that sugar-sweet, high-energy jumping around?” You wrinkle your nose. “Not really my vibe.”

Mystery (narrowing his eyes): “Then what is your vibe?”

Jinu (folding his arms, intrigued): “Yeah. If we don’t do it for you… what does?”

You smirk.

And then you step in just a little closer — just enough to make Baby’s ears go pink and Jinu tilt his chin in curiosity. You let your gaze flick across them all slowly, deliberately, and you speak with a teasing lilt.

You: “I’m into something a little more… rough.”

The word hangs in the air.

Rough.

Romance raises a brow. Jinu blinks. Mystery looks you up and down like he’s trying to decode an ancient rune.

Baby (slowly): “…Like rock music?”

You (grinning): “Among other things.”

Abby (coughs, clearly flustered): “Define ‘rough.’”

You don’t answer. You just give him a lazy smile and lean back against the post, sipping your drink like you didn’t just flip their whole world upside down.

You: “You boys are used to people melting for the glitter and gloss, huh?”

Jinu (smirking, recovering): “Usually.”

You: “Too bad. I like my music like I like my men — loud, dark, and a little dangerous.”

Mystery (to himself, quietly): “She might kill us.”

Romance (stepping closer): “That’s funny. You look like the sweet type.”

You (tilting your head): “I am sweet. Just not soda pop sweet. More like… spicy cinnamon. Burn-your-tongue kind.”

Now it’s silent.

You don't move.

Instead of walking away, you take one final sip of your drink — eyes locked on them over the rim of your cup — and then slowly push off the lamppost, taking your time like you own the sidewalk. The boys are still processing your "rough" comment like it was a dagger wrapped in silk.

You (smirking): “What? You thought I’d just walk off and let you recover your pride?”

Baby (blinking fast): “I… yeah, actually.”

You: “Aw. That’s adorable.”

You step closer, right into their personal space, arms casually crossed, but your voice low and deliberate.

You: “So what was the plan, exactly? Charm the random barista into giggling over your glitter jackets and bubblegum choreography? Cute. But next time, try someone easier.”

Romance (bristling slightly): “We don’t do easy.”

You (grinning): “Oh? Then why do you all look like I just kicked your confidence in the shins?”

There’s a pause. You’re enjoying this. Watching the famous Saja Boys — Seoul’s hottest idols, dripping in swagger and stage lights — stumble just a little under the weight of your stare.

Jinu (recovering, licking his lips): “Okay, hotshot. Since you’ve got such taste, tell us what you’d rather see.”

You (cocking a brow): “You really wanna know?”

They all nod, curious, challenged, slightly desperate for your approval — not that they’d admit it.

You (slow drawl): “I wanna see sweat. Scratches on guitars. Vocals that growl, not twinkle. I want hips that grind, not skip. You get me?”

You glance at Jinu, who’s still trying to smirk through the sudden shift in temperature.

You (teasing): “You’d look good all messed up. Bet you clean up too well on stage.”

Jinu (quiet, a little breathless): “You’re dangerous.”

You: “Takes one to know one, pretty boy.”

Then you turn to Mystery, whose eyes haven’t left you once.

You: “You, though… you’ve got something in there. Bet if you stopped hiding behind the hoodie, you could probably break hearts.”

Mystery (voice low): “I don’t break hearts. I collect them.”

You (deadpan): “That would’ve sounded hotter if you didn’t whisper it like a villain monologue.”

Baby is watching you like you’re made of fire and chaos and everything he wasn’t warned about in idol training.

Baby (softly): “You’re like… totally unfiltered, huh?”

You (with a wink): “Babe, I’m barely getting started.”

Abby (to the others): “She’s either going to ruin us… or be our creative director.”

Romance (muttering): “Ruin us. Definitely ruin us.”

You move toward them again, just a step, just enough to feel the way they instinctively straighten up.

You (sweet and syrupy): “Tell you what — I’ll give your little 'Soda Pop' some credit. You’ve got moves. Charisma. Stage presence.”

You pause, letting your eyes travel down then back up with no shame whatsoever.

You: “And you’ve got legs. Dangerous ones. I’m not blind.”

They all perk up slightly — finally, a compliment.

You (leaning in, voice like velvet): “But charm? Real, gritty, blood-pumping charm? That’s not in the hair gel or the choreo. That’s in the eyes. In the bite.”

You look at Jinu, then Romance, then Mystery again.

You: “Think you boys can show me that sometime? Or is it all stage lights and marketing?”

Jinu (steadier now, smile sharp): “We can show you. All of it.”

Romance (cocky again): “Might have to book a private performance.”

You: “Careful. I don’t tip unless it’s good.”

They all go very quiet.

And that’s when you finally pull back just a little, letting the tension breathe, but your smirk doesn’t fade for a second.

You: “Let me know when you’re ready to get a little dirty. I’ll be around.”

Baby (barely whispering): “We are not ready.”

Abby (equally stunned): “But we want to be.”

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Nobody Important

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> When you first meet Logan you tell him you’re nobody important. But it soon becomes clear you are a lot more important than you say. 

Disclaimer: Contains descriptions of nightmares, couple of swear words, being drugged (nothing bad, just some chamomile tea). Mostly fluff moments with a hint of angst. I watched X-Men and wanted to write something for him. Reader has powers though they're not specified fully. Not Proof Read.

When Charles told Logan someone was going to pick him up from the airport, the last person he expected was, well, you. 

Compared to the pristine and fancy cars that were held at the school garage, you pulled up in a beat up old station wagon that looked like it had seen more than a couple of scratches in its time. And you weren’t dressed…like the rest of them. 

Rather than in some kind of pant-suit combo, you were wearing a long sleeve t-shirt, jeans, boots and a heavy brown leather overcoat. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.” You began immediately as you stepped out onto the curb and rushed towards him. “I was at the back of the forest collecting some berries and lost track of time. Shall we get going?”

Logan looked you over. You seemed a lot more…energetic than he was. 

“Who are you?”

“Professor X sent me. To collect you. You are Logan, aren’t you?”

“That depends. Who are you?”

“Your ride to the school, unless you plan on walking for two hours in the freezing cold.”

Logan grunted and threw his bag into the backseat. You still hadn’t answered his question but the licence plate of your car matched that of the one Charles had told him to look out for. 

However, fifteen minutes into the drive, Logan asked once more. “Who are you?”

You smiled and looked at him for a moment before moving your gaze back to the road ahead. “Nobody important.”

“Okay, fine. What are you?”

You smiled again. “Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

“Alright, listen bub-”

“Logan, whatever information about me you think you’re gonna have me tell you; it’s not gonna happen. I work with Charles and that’s all you need to know.”

Logan furrowed his brows. “So you’re a telepath? Like him?”

“You don’t need to concern yourself with what or even who I am. But,” you reached down and pulled a file from the driver's side door before turning it over on the steering wheel and handed it over to him. “You should concern yourself about this.”

Logan took it, a little confused, and opened it up. 

“He wants you to know what you’re walking into when we get back.”

After that, the rest of the drive was silent save for one question from Logan, only to have you reply with; 

“All the answers you’re looking for are either in there or are with the Professor.”

He didn’t bother asking you another question after that. Not that you would have answered it anyway. 

Once you finally did pull up to the school, it seemed you were beside him one minute and went the next into some unknown corner of the school because he didn’t see you after that. 

But he still had questions. 

Unanswered questions. 

Like who the hell were you? 

A week later, he still didn’t have his answers. But he did run into you again. 

In the kitchens. 

The entire place was a lot messier than the communal kitchen. It looked like some mix between a witches cottage and a mess hall in a school cafeteria. But it didn't smell as bad. 

Instead it smelt of cinnamon, oranges, rosemary and cookies. 

And somehow

It was relaxing to him. 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Logan looked up to find you standing at the other end of the kitchen, a bowl under one arm and a spoon in the other. Flour was dusted across your face and your hands were splotched with food colouring stains. Which matched the batch of rainbow coloured cookies behind you. 

“Err, no. I was just-”

“Here, sit. I’ll make you some tea.”

“I don’t really drink..tea.” 

Logan was still taking in the room. Every time he looked back to a spot, he found a new detail to it. Extra herbs, or ingredients, or even flowers. 

You smiled, placing down the bowl and spoon before moving across the kitchen to the simmering pot on the stove. 

“Here, try this.”

“Oh, I, uh-”

“Just drink it.” You sighed a little, with a light smile. Nobody would have to meet Logan to know he wasn’t a tea drinker. But he was also polite enough to accept a drink. 

And he did. 

“Is this where you work?”

You nodded, going back to the fresh batch of cookies you needed to start scooping out. 

“Do you usually work this late past midnight?”

You chuckled a little to yourself. “Sometimes. Mostly it’s because I think of a new recipe and want to try it out when no-one's gonna disturb me.”

“Am I disturbing you?”

“No. Plus, I heard you coming down the stairs. Figured it wouldn’t be long before you found another night owl.”

Logan grunted with a soft chuckle. “I don’t think it’s intentional being a night owl.”

You shrugged. “We all have our reasons.”

Logan nodded and took another gulp of his tea. If he thought he felt relaxed when he walked into the kitchen, he didn’t have a word for what he was feeling after the tea. 

“Hey, what’s in this tea?”

“Not much. Chamomile mostly.”

Logan nodded. But then something shifted. He was getting drowsy. Not relaxed. Not sleepy. Drowsy. 

“Hey, what did you put in this?”

Logan went to stand and repeat his question, but he was out like a light before he could finish. 

Logan, for the first time…ever, woke up slowly. From the light that came flooding in through his window, to slowly turning over and feeling the bones in his body crack just right to allow his joints to feel at ease, to not thinking a thing as his brain slowly turned back into gear. 

Then he jerked up. 

With a grunt, he looked around him. 

He was in his room. 

The last thing he could remember was your tea and the kitchen. 

Flinging the covers from him, he tore his way out of his room and down the hallways until he finally reached his destination. 

The Professor’s office. 

Walking inside, he found the situation entirely too calm. 

“Ah, good morning Logan. Glad to see you’re finally awake.”

“What the hell happened?” 

“You fell asleep. Y/n helped put you to bed before you collapsed on her kitchen floor.”

Logan turned at that moment to find you sat on the sofa by the window inside the office. 

“You.” Logan practically snarled. “You did something. What did you do?”

Logan approached you but where anyone else would have flinched, you didn’t. In fact, all you did was sit back further and smile up at him. 

“She didn’t do anything, Logan. You needed to sleep.”

Logan turned and looked at the Professor. “Don’t mean I have to be drugged.”

Then you stood. “It was just a little tea, Logan. The more exhausted you are, the faster and harder it works. But now you look more rested. Your skin looks less like you’ve been thrown into a washing machine for a couple spins.”

“Are you always this blunt?”

You smiled. “It’s part of my charm.”

“Ain’t nothing charming about this conversation, doll.”

“Really? Because I’m finding this thrilling.”

Professor X smiled. “Okay, that’s enough, you two.”

“She started it!”

You just smiled again. “You’re welcome. If you ever need more tea, you know where to find me.”

With a pat to his arm, you walked past him and said your goodbyes to the professor before heading for the door. 

“Don’t worry about it, you can keep your tea.”

“Have to admit, though. I did help.”

Internally, reluctantly, he did have to. Because despite everything, it was one of the best nights of sleep he’d ever had. 

Another week rolled by and despite Logan doing everything he could to avoid the woman that he still considered had drugged him to sleep, he seemed to see more of you. 

Turns out, you taught cooking and baking classes to the students so they could at least make themselves a decent meal every once in a while instead of quick ramen noodles. And you also taught outdoor survival skills which Xavier had Logan help sub in with. 

But this also meant, much to his chagrin, Logan was actually starting to like you. 

Rather than wanting to storm off in the other direction, he wasn’t annoyed by your presence in the room anymore and you definitely had a way with teaching a group of rowdy teenagers who would rather do anything other than learn normal “camp” things. 

It was actually entertaining watching you teach your students. And even he learnt a thing or two.

Another week passed and Logan found himself back in your kitchen, sitting at the kitchen island, watching you as you lent one palm on the counter top, a pencil between your teeth and two pens behind one of your ears. 

“Want some tea?” You asked him after a few minutes of content silence. 

“Are you going to drug me again?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s store bought, Logan. I just added a couple extra things.”

“Really, like what?”

Sighing, with a slight smirk, you turned around and pulled the box of tea from the cabinet before throwing it at Logan from over your shoulder. “Read it. It tells you what to add.”

“They actually sell this stuff?”

You turned back to your messy notebook with a smile. “It helps when your grandmother worked in the tea business for forty years. All the tricks of the trade, passed down through generations.”

Logan watched you work- no, dance around the kitchen. You didn’t even have to look at what you were doing and before he knew it, there was another tea in front of him, in a glass mug with hand-painted roasting logs on it. 

Logan looked at it for a moment and then you spoke up, without looking in his direction. “Being a night owl means different hobbies can be created. Glass painting was one of them.”

Logan shrugged with a nod before drinking his tea. The effects weren’t as quick or as “violent” as the first time. Instead, it was calming, then relaxing, then just plain and simple tiredness. 

“Go to bed, Logan. Before you crash into my floor again.”

“How did you get me to bed the last time? I’m not exactly all flesh and blood.”

You shrugged. “I’m stronger than I might look to you. But, go to bed, Logan.”

“Will you?”

“Will I do what?”

“Go to bed, too?”

You turned and faced him. “Soon. I want to finish this up first.”

“What are you even doing?”

“New recipe. I shouldn’t be long. Look, I promise. Twenty minutes, I’ll be in my bed, fast asleep.”

Logan raised his brow for a moment but then stood. If he waited any longer, he might actually crash onto the floor again. 

“Okay, fine.”

And you stuck to your word. Logan heard your footsteps coming up the stairs less than ten minutes later and after that…he didn’t remember much other than just complete calmness and sleep. 

The next couple of nights followed the same pattern. And even if he still wasn’t a tea drinker, Logan was growing a (small) taste for it. 

Until one night he walked in and found you stood in the corner, changing your t-shirt. 

You already wore a cami top underneath most of your t-shirts anyway – especially in the kitchen, but your first one had gotten too messy. So you were safe when changing. Except, you hadn’t expected Logan to walk in when he did. 

He paused for a minute by the door, a little apprehensive to make himself known but also trying to do so, so it wouldn’t seem like he was just watching you change your top t-shirt. But at the same time, he didn’t want you to know he was standing there because he could finally look at you. 

More so, when he saw your shoulder. 

From your left shoulder spread and faded over the top and to your right, a mark similar to a burn. The skin was scarred, yet healed over. A forgotten memory. The strap of your top cut through the larger scar that ran directly across the middle of the scarred skin, almost in a wave. Parts were redder than others but you didn’t seem to be in pain as you pulled the t-shirt over the top of your head and down your body, covering it back up. 

Logan coughed as he entered and you turned around, greeting him as you did every night. 

“New recipe?”

You nodded, looking at the messy t-shirt in your hand. “Yeah, it didn't go over too well with the mixer.”

“Better luck next time.”

And then you both just…talked. 

You were slowly telling him a little more about yourself each night, even if you didn’t know it yet. 

“I just remember being thrown into the wall and waking up like an hour later, completely covered in green brownie batter.”

You both laughed as you told him the story, but then he asked. 

“Is that where the scar is from? On your back?”

It was almost as if you had forgotten about it, having to take a moment to realise what he was talking about.

“Oh, that. No, that…that’s nothing important.”

Logan knew to drop his line of questioning. If you said it was nothing important, then there was no way of getting you to talk about it. 

Until the day he found you napping on the sofa. 

Everyone was outside for the day considering it was winter break and fresh snow had finally fallen on the ground. Except, you had opted to stay inside, and fell asleep on one of the central sofas in one of the quieter communal areas. 

The large windows let a lot of natural light flood in, and the fire that was crackling away in the fireplace was enough to heat the room, especially when the door was closed. 

And it wasn’t long before the quiet hum of the fire and odd crackle of the wood, mixed with the heat and your lack of sleep, overtook you and you fell asleep. You didn’t even wake when your book dropped from your hand and onto the floor. 

“Hey, Y/n, they’re all-”

Logan stopped in his tracks when he saw you. 

Fast asleep. 

He was careful to remain quiet as he walked over to you, cutting between you and the coffee table to pick up your fallen book and place it safely onto the table, where he sat on the edge and took a minute to just…memorise you. 

Since he met you, you had done nothing but be moving. All the time. From the crack of dawn to nightfall, you were constantly going and running and teaching and baking and doing and…hell, for all he knew, you could be something other than mutant or human – even those two needed sleep at some point. 

Hell, even he needed sleep. 

But you were just constantly forever going. 

Lay on your left side, your elbow tucked under your head, you were lightly snoring. Logan brushed the stray hairs that had fallen in front of your face, away, his hand rested on your cheek for a moment, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone for a second. 

You were fast asleep. 

Your worn Beatles band-tee was twisted slightly around your middle, whilst the waist of your jeans had twisted in the opposite direction a little, leaving a small gap that showed Logan the redness from the indent marks of where you had been lay, probably, on your other hip for a while. 

Logan thought about covering you up, and leaving you where you were, for a moment. But he also knew you could be like him when it came to sleep. And it was best to get it when you could. So, rather than chance the kids coming back in and waking you up, he made a decision. 

You flinched a little in your sleep as he spoke to you and lifted you from the sofa. It wasn’t long before he found your room and laid you into bed before covering you up. 

Once more, he brushed the hair from your eyes as you turned onto your side again. 

He looked around for a moment before finding what he was looking for. 

A heavy blanket. 

He lay it over the top of your bedcovers and you, before moving across the room to light the fireplace. 

Only, as he did so and placed the fireguard in front, you whimpered. 

He turned around but you were still. 

Then you whimpered again. 

“No,” you whispered. 

Logan moved over to you quickly and quietly as he could. You fell silent again. 

He let out a small breath and covered you up a little more before leaning down. He didn’t know why, but he pressed a small kiss to your temple before walking away. 

Except you reached out for his hand. 

Logan looked down at his hand that was connected with yours, then to you. You were still asleep. 

But it didn’t look like it was a good dream. 

You were shaking. Your entire body seemed to be paralysed with fear, all the while you were mumbling words Logan just couldn’t quite make out. 

Then the glass of water by your bed started shaking. Then the table it was on. Then your bed. Then the floor. Whatever was happening to you was spreading throughout your room. 

A picture that had been hanging on the wall outside, fell to the floor. 

Quickly turning back to you, Logan took hold of your shoulder. He kept calling your name but it was like you couldn’t hear him. 

“Please…please don’t hurt them. Please.” You screamed and then grunted in pain. Whatever was happening in your nightmare, you were being hurt. Badly. 

“Hey, Y/N! Hey, you’re okay! You’re safe! You’re in New York. You’re at school! It’s not real, Y/N. None of it is real.”

Your head shifted. You were searching. 

“I’m right here. None of it is real. You need to wake up.”

“L…Logan?” 

The violent shaking in your room slowed for a moment.

He was shocked. Maybe…

“Just follow my voice. It’s just a nightmare. I can’t get into your head and bring you out. Just…follow my voice.”

The shaking around your room gradually slowed, but you still were. Then your eyes opened. 

And glowed. 

They were still your eyes just…brighter. 

“Logan?!”

He had stopped speaking. You were panicking. 

“It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m right here.” Logan took hold of your hand and held it tighter. “You’re safe.”

The shaking slowed and your eyes closed again. 

Then everything stopped. 

Everything went silent. 

Logan looked at the glass of water beside your bed. It was like it had never moved. 

Then you gasped and shot up from your bed. You kicked your legs and brought your hands behind you to push yourself up and the covers from you. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, hey, Y/n. Hey,” 

You were gasping for breath, dizzy from your nightmare. 

“Hey, it’s me. Whoa. Hey, look at me. It’s Logan.”

He took you by your shoulders then your face. 

“It’s Logan.”

You finally calmed a little, and he watched your eyes search his entire face until you finally recognised him. 

“Logan,” you breathed. 

“Yeah…”

Your shoulders relaxed and you leaned closer to him, wrapping your arms around him. His hand held the back of your head and his other round your back, pressing you further into him. He could still feel your body trembling. 

“What happened?”

“You had a nightmare.” Logan told you. “The room started shaking and I tried waking you up.”

You took a couple of breaths before moving back and pushed the hair from your face and curled your legs up closer to your chest. 

Logan, sat beside them, placed one of his hands on your knee and the other in your right hand. 

“What happened?”

You shook your head. “Nothing-”

“The entire room started shaking and your eyes glowed. That’s not ‘nothing important’, Y/n.”

You swallowed and nodded your head before dropping your gaze and shifting until you were sat up, crossed-legged. 

Logan remained where he was, sat on the edge of your bed. 

“Before I worked as a teacher and cook here, I was one of them.” The last four words came out slowly, almost like you had to convince yourself you were saying them out loud. “I was an X-Man. I was a part of the team.”

“So what happened?”

“The usual. A mission gone wrong.”

“And that’s what the nightmares…”

You nodded. “It was the mission that made me retire. They needed me to do a job, and I couldn’t do it. There were kids, mutants, being held captive. Some rich dick thought he could duplicate mutants. As the team went it, I was meant to be holding ground outside, helping them find their way through. Only, I didn’t shut off my power. We knew they had someone who could detect me if I didn’t. I got so focused on trying to find the kids, trying to make sure the team got to them that the team almost…”

You paused for a minute. You hadn’t told anyone this story. Ever. 

Logan took your hand. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

You let Logan’s touch soak into your skin. A memory you’d never forget yet never truly remember why you never would forget. 

“They almost died, Logan.” You looked at him and he could see the tears behind your eyes, threatening to come forward and fall again. “Everyone almost died, because I didn’t shut it down. You asked about the scar, the one on my back?”

Logan nodded. He didn’t like where this was going. 

“It’s from that day. One of their scientists had set off some kind of power..thing. Sent me flying blocks away from where I was supposed to be. I crash landed into some old wooden panelling which knocked me down. But once I got up…their Superhuman had found me.”

“Was he the one that-”

You nodded, remembering it as if it was yesterday. “I was thrown, this time on my front. I tried to get up but then all I felt was pure fire. He was burning me. Giving me a reminder of why ‘someone like me, born with the powers of gods’ shouldn’t have them when I was clearly so ‘weak’. By the time he stopped, I realised where he was going. And by the time I got up, everything just…blew up.”

“Y/n, everyone’s safe. You’re all here. Don’t you teach some of those kids?”

You nodded. “Doesn’t mean I don’t forget that feeling. One of the kids had been watching the guards, tracking their materials to find a way out. If they hadn't done that…they wouldn’t have gotten out, Logan. And they almost didn’t. All because I couldn’t fight. I can’t be the reason why I lose my family and the people I love.”

The tears came forward now, streaming down your face at an unstoppable speed. 

“I just can’t.”

Logan shook his head, pushing himself closer to you to hold you. And you let him. Leaning into him, you felt his arms grow tighter around your body. There was a small security in his arms, one that you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“None of that was your fault.” Logan told you. “I know you and I know this team. You would never intentionally hurt people. And forgetting to turn your powers off? We’ve all made mistakes in moments like that. Sometimes you get so focused on one person, you tend to lose all sense of self. But none of that was your fault. They got out. They’re all here. They’re all alive. And rich dick is spending his life as dust in the fucking wind.”

“Believe me, I’ll be the first to tell you changing your feelings on something won’t stop the nightmares.” Logan continued. “But you need to find a way to let it go. Don’t let them control you. Not when you won. Not when you’re here, with everyone, able to drug me with some store bought tea.”

You laughed a little at that, wiping your tears away before Logan did the same thing, brushing his thumb underneath your eye and across your cheek. Logan smiled a little. Others might have called it a muscle flex, but knowing Logan; it was a small, brief smile. 

“Don’t let them win.”

You nodded, your head still in his hands. 

“Logan? Will you…Can you stay?”

It seemed to take Logan a second to find his answer. What you couldn’t see was that most of that time, he was trying to figure out why his answer came as fast as it did for him. 

“You don’t-”

“I can stay.”

You looked up at him and nodded with a slight smile. 

Moments later, Logan had kicked his shoes off and was lying beside you in bed. 

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

You took his hand that lay between you both and turned your head to look at him. 

“Thank you for staying.”

It was his turn to turn his head and when he did, he felt something. The same feeling he’d been getting since the day you gave him his first cup of tea. 

Logan just nodded before lifting his arm. “Come here.”

You moved closer to him as he lifted the covers a little so you could do so. Then he dropped his arm around your back, his palm flush against its centre before it slid a little lower to hold you by your waist. 

As your head settled close to his chest, he dropped his head a little, leaning his jaw against the top of your head and as he felt you relax and close your eyes, he did the same thing. 

The moment your breathing became even, and he knew you were asleep, Logan settled back down and held you just a little tighter against him as he closed his eyes and joined you in a dreamless sleep. 

Hours passed and Charles hadn’t seen either you or Logan in hours. But when he spotted a picture frame that had fallen onto the floor, just outside of your room, he sped as quickly as he could down the hall, but paused when he saw the door open and a sight he didn’t think he’d get to witness for at least a few more months. 

From the hallway, Charles peered in to find the snow falling heavily outside of your window. The children and other teachers were still outside playing. The fire had died down a little, but even he could feel the heat from the room. 

And in the middle of the left hand wall through the door, was your bed. 

Where yourself and Logan slept soundly, almost as one. With your face and hand on his chest, and his arm around your waist, whilst his other hand held onto your arm in a soft grip, keeping your hand on him. 

Xavier could practically feel the serenity oozing from the pair of you. He knew Logan was troubled and that you yourself hadn’t felt safe or content in a long time. 

And he would never have to tell Logan of the change you brought to him, or the one he brought to you. The change that helped you feel safe again, content again. Happy again. Without the added feeling that something was about to go off kilter. 

Because Logan already knew. 

And so did you. 

And for Logan, no matter how many times you would tell him you were “nobody important”, you would always be important to him. 

[itsalliny0urhead]

By Touch Alone (loki laufeyson x reader)

You were banished for the danger you posed — not to Asgard, but to him. Before Loki’s fall, you were everything he wasn’t meant to have: powerful, unafraid, and bound to him by something deeper than magic. Now, years later, you're summoned home… and find him alive, unchanged, and burning in your veins like he never left. You knew his magic by touch. And the moment you feel it again — you remember everything.

Loki x powerful fem!sorcerer!reader

You hadn’t stepped foot in Asgard in over three years.

Not since the battle that nearly burned your hands to ash. Not since Odin’s command stripped you of your title and sent you to exile in the outer realms — too wild, too unpredictable, too close to the second son.

Not since Loki "died."

But now you were back. Summoned in silence. The High Council needed your knowledge of ancient magic — dark magic — the kind that moved in riddles and bled through veils.

You should have refused.

You didn’t.

And now, walking through the golden halls again — older, sharper, still half-haunted by your past — you felt it.

Not the palace. Not the court.

Him.

His magic slid over your skin before you reached the library doors. Cold, calculated. Familiar like a scar.

You paused in the archway. He was already waiting. Leaning against the far window, backlit in fading sunlight, dressed in black and green as if time had never moved.

But it had.

And so had you.

“I thought you were dead,” you said.

Loki didn’t turn. “A popular belief.”

“You let me grieve.”

“I let you live.”

That made you flinch. Because it was true.

Back then — before the chaos, before his fall — you’d been more than aligned. He had shown you magic without boundaries. You had shown him how it could be shaped by something other than pain. Together, you were devastating.

And dangerous.

Odin saw it. He separated you first. Banished you after.

And Loki? He let it happen.

Until he vanished. Until the stars whispered he was gone.

You moved further into the library. He watched you now — silent, unreadable.

“I thought of you,” he said. “In the dark places.”

You swallowed. “I didn’t think you could.”

He stepped closer. The air around you shifted. Your magic responded before you could stop it — rising like heat, reaching for his.

“I never stopped,” he said, quieter now. “I tried. I tried to forget how your power felt.”

You shook your head. “You never knew how to feel it. You only ever took.”

“No,” Loki said, voice raw. “Not you. I let you see it.”

He was in front of you now. The energy between your bodies sang — old magic, threaded with memory.

“You knew my magic by touch,” he whispered. “You always did.”

Your throat tightened. “And I felt it leave me the night they dragged me away.”

His hand lifted — slow, uncertain. But you didn’t pull back. Not this time.

Fingers brushed your jaw.

The connection struck instantly.

The threads of your magic tangled with his in the space between breaths — hot and cold, memory and grief, power and want. You saw flashes behind your eyes: the night you first touched, your hands pressed together over a spell too old to be named; his voice in your mind during your exile, calling your name like prayer.

Tears stung your eyes. You hadn’t meant to let them.

“I would’ve destroyed them for you,” he said, shaking now. “If you’d asked.”

“I didn’t want destruction,” you whispered. “I wanted you.”

His lips hovered close, breath shallow.

“Then take me now. Not as I was. As I am.”

You kissed him.

And gods — it wasn’t careful.

It was raw. Desperate. Years of absence unraveling in seconds. His hands tangled in your robes, your fingers gripping his collar like he might vanish again. Magic flared around you — runes glowing in the walls, scrolls rattling on shelves.

It wasn’t just love. It was recognition.

When you pulled back, your foreheads touched, breath mingling.

“I never stopped being yours,” you whispered.

“I knew that,” he said. “I felt it. Every time I reached for magic, I felt you.”

And he kissed you again, like you were the only spell he couldn’t undo.

[queer-n-here]

u already kno wassup !!!!

eldritch abomination reader who has come to originally destroy the world, but was enchanted by their 'one', ( aka sigma, atsushi, and mushitaro or someone of ur choice ) and instead devotes their entire time stalking and invading their lovers mind, pulling them into the readers all devouring aura.

( ur honor they are madly in love ) they dont quite have a proper form but has slowly been constructing one bc their lovers coworkers/friends don't believe they exist "you always go out on dates with this mysterious person and you always rant and rave about them, but not once have we seen them. are you just making them up or something?"

so eventually reader finally constructs the perfect form and comes to their workplace to get them for their date ( that involves tentacles, mind fucks, and breeding ) . Reader basically envokes primal fear in everyone and will kill anyone who hurts what is theirs ♡. major weird ask but it is a random and specific Need i have

~ 🕸

Long time no see 🕸️ bro! Btw, thank you, this just made my writer's block evaporate.

Is it weird that I totally loved every single part of this?

Also, I had no fucking idea what an eldritch abomination is, so I did some research bout them!

This ended up becoming 100% fluff, hope you like it!

Contents: Eldritch abomination reader who sees Atsushi and goes heart eyes

Warnings: Fluff, powerful reader, mind manipulation, shit ton of stuff that doesn't fully make sense but whatever, it's Atsushi even if I haven't mentioned his name (because I felt like the Eldritch would be like 'that's too simple a name for me to address my love with')

EDIT: Soooo, I may have confused myself on what an Eldritch horror is 😅 I kind of imagine smth like Dormamu from Dr. Strange tbh hehehe

You had arrived at that small universe to satisfy your thirst of destruction, to watch it crumble under your power as faces of fear and misery looked up at you, their lives at your mercy. And yet, you found yourself thinking of that vision less and less.

It was not going as you had expected.

Nowadays, you were focused more on that boy that you had started watching. His house was located quite close to the woods you had chosen as your home.

You were everywhere, and always watching everything, but you needed a headquarters of sorts to concentrate your power for it to be more effective, and that was why you had chosen the woods.

You had expected him to be the first of your victims, yet now you found yourself growing less and less fond of that idea. He was not meant to be killed. He was meant to be taken care of.

Not only was he so incredibly small and three-dimensional (like most of these 'humans') he was also wonderfully precious, like a small-sized treasure that slowly began meaning everything to you.

So after months of watching him, you finally gave into your desire of meeting him in person. You changed your form to the one with the simplest dimensions, not wanting to make him lose his mind the way you did others.

He had stepped out of his house to gather firewood, that little thing. When he saw you, he dropped it all, stumbling backwards and attempting to run.

You were not pleased.

You guided the trees of the forest to block his way, and when he had no way left to escape, you spoke to him in the language he would comprehend.

"Do not be afraid." You said, your voice low and guttural. "I do not stand before you with intentions to harm."

He had fallen to the floor in his attempt to scramble away from you, and now he looked up at you with fear in his eyes.

It was not an expression you wanted to see on him.

So you eased into his mind, calming his small brain with the likeness of a sedative. His breath grew steadier, and his eyes returned to their normal size. His instincts were clouded now, and he could not help but be drawn to you, standing up and stepping closer.

"Closer," You told him, and he obeyed. He did not need your words, you could control him fully if you wanted.

But some part of you was reluctant to do it. You wanted him to... Like you? Perhaps, you yourself were not entirely sure yet.

You moved closer, wrapping your form around him, encasing him into yourself, away from the rest of his world, where he would be the safest.

You let him be curious, freeing the part of his mind that you knew would ask questions... You wanted him to know you.

"What are you?" He asked, his eyes wide again as he turned to look at all of you.

"I have many names," You said. "But you will be able to use none of them; they are too powerful."

His wide eyes reflected the kaleidoscope of colours of your form, and you felt his brain grow appreciative of your form.

Pride. It was an emotion beneath you, and yet you could not help the swelling of colours in your form when you saw that he liked it.

"Then... What should I call you?" He asked, looking as though he was still unsure who he was talking to.

"Anything," You presented before him a makeshift form. It was a mirror image of his own, something he could look at while talking and not feel awkward.

He gasped. His fear had long since been subdued by your charm, and he did not hesitate to reach forward and his doppelgänger's shoulder.

"Wow," He whispered, and your colours became brighter again.

Later, when returned back to his house, his senses finally returned to him, and he realised the danger he was stepping into.

And yet, could he resist the urge to go back to you? Not when you had so easily planted it in his head. Hence, after resisting for a whole day, he returned to you the very next.

You let him look for you in the forest, hiding in a dimension his eyes could not perceive. You let him run around, growing more and more desperate when you wouldn't show yourself, calling out to you, but unsure of how to do so since you hadn't told him what to call you.

When he collapsed, tired, on the bank of a small lake in the woods, tears dripping from his eyes as he sobbed, you decided that your game had lasted long enough.

And so you showed yourself, making it look as if you had emerged from the lake itself. He looked up with a gasp, eyes wide and wet as an ecstatic expression broke through his face. His arms rose, reaching for your form.

You let him touch you; today you had taken a four dimensional form, and it was way easier for him to get wrapped up between your colours.

"I thought... I thought you l-left," He said, sniffing.

"I would never," Was all you said, and yet his face lit up. It was not your doing, you had already relaxed your control of his mind when he had entered the forest.

Weeks passed, and his human mind slowly developed romantic feelings for you. You perceived them, and yet never expressed it. He would be the one to tell you, and on his own accord.

You waited, but not for long. Soon, he brought you flowers, handing them to you as his cheeks flushed, looking away and shivering slightly. You wrapped around him; humans got cold painfully easily.

He froze in your embrace, he had learnt some of your ways to show affection. His blush spread gradually, and his muttered confession felt like something with even more power than you.

Joy. Yet another emotion beneath you, but when it came to him, you were reduced to a mere human teenager. You cared not of status or immortality anymore. Destruction of his world? You had long since abandoned that plan. This was his home, and you'd protect it with your life.

You would protect him with your life.

A month passed, and he visited you everyday, bringing with him small presents of the like you knew humans appreciated. You took them all, preserving them with your power so they would never spoil and hide them away in the most complex dimension you could find.

And every time he visited, you gave him the thing you thought was best: a little bit of your own immortality. He did not know yet; you did it without his knowledge. But you did not think he would mind if he found out.

Now he sat on a tree branch as you watched him, leaning against the trunk for balance. You had lifted him up there, and he was speaking of the view. You could not help but move upwards, closer to him.

He watched you, a smile on his face as you changed forms again.

Being three-dimensional was difficult for you. Not only did it weaken your power incredibly, it also could not store your abilities. The closest you could reach was four-dimensional, and that itself took its toll on you.

And yet you were always four-dimensional with him, knowing that this was how he could see and touch you best.

You sat on the branch next to him, wrapping around his small frame.

There was a comfortable silence, and you slowly lulled his brain, sending him to sleep.

You loved it when he was defenseless, when all his safety was you, when the only one that he trusted was you, and not his human friends.

It was another one of those days where you were watching him as he went about his day, keeping him safe from any danger that might come his way.

He was talking with his friends, and they appeared to be teasing him.

"Come on, you've never even shown us a picture..." One of them said, sitting so close to your human that you had the urge to crush her insides. "Or even told us their name!"

He flushed slightly, not knowing how to respond. "W-well, their name is... Very complex."

"A nickname, then," Another said, wrapped in bandages and leaning back casually against the couch. "Or what? You just call them 'honey bun sweety pie'?

They laughed, and you bristled. Your human was getting flustered, and no one but you was allowed to see that expression on his face.

You took shape immediately, condensing your power so much you felt its strain. To make it three-dimensional was like trying to contain the ocean in a glass jar, and yet you attempted your fullest, anger fueling your movements.

You appeared on the doorstep of the building, your speed phenomenal as you climbed its small staircase and appeared at the door of the room your human and his friends sat in.

You pushed open the door, and stepped in. They all looked up, and his eyes widened.

Your power needed your three-dimensional vessel to be big, and you were as tall as 6'8", your shoulders wide and arms thick with what looked like muscle but was actually energy. Your hair was a light brown, and covering your body was what seemed to their eyes a suit.

He recognised you immediately; one glance at your multi-coloured eyes and he knew. This was you, the one he loved.

You walked up to him, throwing him a well-practiced wink as you greeted him the way you had seen lovers greet each other, leaning down to place a kiss on his cheek.

"I came to pick you up," You said to him, your voice low as you ignored everyone else in the room. "Your work has almost ended now, right?"

A long-haired man lowered his glasses to look at you. "And who are you?"

You could not help but grow irritated, and you triggered fear in the minds of everyone in the room but the one who was yours.

"He's..." Your human seemed breathless. "He's my b-boyfriend."

One of the humans, the insignificant ones, whistled as he stood up. He was scared, you had made sure of it, but was putting up a front.

"Damn, Atsushi," He said, taking in your carefully constructed human form. "He's biiiig."

Your human blushed, his cheeks reddening in that way you did not want them to see.

"I don't see why you didn't show us his picture before," A female said, her house quivering slightly. "He's not bad looking at all. Not that I thought you were, just so you know."

You looked at her, sending her your appreciation for praising you in front of your human by tickling the part of her brain responsible for pleasure.

She squirmed in her seat, her eyes slightly wide.

You turned back to what was yours, holding out your hand. "Shall we head home?"

His blush spread; he still hadn't managed to take his eyes off you. "O-okay..."

He let you take him away, his cold hand clasped in yours. You put on a burst of speed, and the two of you were back in your forest.

The moment you two were alone, he took your face in his hands, his eyes shining.

"You look..." He could not go on, but you knew what he meant.

Another burst of pride. He made you feel things you had never thought significant before.

You leaned down and kissed him, pressing his plump red lips against yours and, unknown to him, transferring more immortality to him.

He responded in the affirmative, letting you wrap your arms around his waist and bring him closer.

You opened up dimensionally, creating a fourteen-dimensional barrier around you two, freeing your power and protecting him at the same time. A part of you still remained three-dimensional before him, embracing him and kissing his lips.

When you pulled away, his eyes were slightly moist.

"I love you," He whispered, and you smiled.

Your love was such that it could not be put into words he would comprehend, and yet you did not want him to think that you did not reciprocate his feelings.

"I love you, too," You put energy into the phrase, making sure he felt the intensity of your feelings.

[selineram3421]

Power

Part 4

Part 3

Alastor X Powerful Reader

Warning! ⚠

⚠ mention of killing someone ⚠

Surprisingly, the Radio Demon listened.

He didn't follow you with his shadows, didn't appear out of nowhere, and didn't try anything else.

At least for a while.

You were enjoying a lovely red wine at a bar when he approached your table.

"Is this seat taken?", he asked, gesturing to the chair across from you.

Looking up at him with a glare, you took a slow sip of your drink and observed him.

He waited as you did so.

"No.", you say finally and watch as he sits down.

"I must apologize for our last encounter, I did not mean any harm. Just thought it would be like our regular game! Of course..it did not go out as planned.", he says and lifts up his hand to call for a waiter.

"I let it slide, didn't I?", you say, swirling the wine in your glass.

A demon scrambles over to the table with a notepad in hand, ready to take Alastor's order.

"Scotch on the rocks.", the red dressed demon says.

The waiter nods and runs back to the bar, not before looking back to give you a second look.

You mumble something and take another sip of your drink with a scowl.

He notices and looks to the side at the waiter. "I could deal with it for you.", he looks back at you.

Putting down your glass, you raise a brow.

"Kill them, I mean.", he clarifies, glancing towards the waiter again.

"No.", you reject, and tap the bottom of your wine glass. "I'll take care of it myself, that is if anything happens."

Finishing your glass and raise your cup, signaling for a refill. "Did you like it? Thought it would be a nice touch.", you smile while putting your glass down on the table.

The mark on his neck burns slightly, making his smile twitch.

"Its not my favorite, though I suppose it is a deserved punishment.", he sighs.

The waiter comes back with Alastor's drink and a wine bottle. They place down his drink quickly and go to pour in your glass.

"Give the bottle.", you say and snatch it from their hands.

"Its going to cost-", the demon starts.

"And I'll pay it. Leave.", you finish with a growl.

They scurry back to the bar counter.

"Does this happen often?", Alastor speaks up, raising a brow.

You don't say anything and pour wine into your glass, knowing that he'll take it as a yes.

He watches as you do so. Flashes of you covered in blood flicker in his mind, making his grin widen.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?", you hum, taking sip of wine and putting the bottle to the side.

"Nothing of importance really. I just saw you and decided, why not?", the radio demon shrugs and lifts up his cup to take a drink.

"So, what you're saying is.", you wait for him to drink. "You missed me?", smirking when he chokes up a bit.

You leave, disappearing in the crowd before he could stop you.

.

It hadn't been long after they left the bar, but he went back to his radio station and sat on the couch, leaning back till he could comfortably stare up at the ceiling.

Alastor was thinking about what he could do to get on their playful side again.

They were still interesting after all.

Perhaps I should continue the game like before. Though this time I'll do more in depth research.

His smile widened at the thought of finally obtaining their name.

Yes, I'll do just that.

.

Seeing as Alastor still wanted to play, you went to visit some old friends that could help you.

Walking through the in-between, you stepped onto a familiar herringbone patterned floor, the purple-ish lights making your eyes glow.

"Carmilla! I'm back!", you called out.

You wait patiently and hear the sharp steps of your friend. Looking up towards the staircase, you see the white haired Overlord.

"It's been a while.", she says in a cool tone.

"Yes, I have been moving around too much!", you huff and walk over to the bottom of the staircase. "Some of these new sinners are so annoying."

With a roll of her eyes, she waves you over.

"Come. We have much to catch up on.", Carmilla turns and makes her way to the office.

"Is Zestial here?", you ask. "Oh I miss him so much!"

"Yes, he's here."

Entering the office, you see her two daughters head out to make a delivery.

"Busy as always.", you smile. "Business is going well as usual?"

"Of course.", she nods.

"Doy eyne deceive me? Is that thee?", Zestial stands from his seat.

"No tricks here!", you walk over towards the tall Overlord. "But I hope you two would aid me in a little game."

"Game?", Carmilla asks as she goes to sit in her chair.

"Yes, a game.", you nod and take a seat on the desk. "I have recently caught the attention of the Radio Demon. He wishes to know of my name."

Your friends glance at each other before looking back at you.

"That is all?"

"That's all but the thing is, he needs to learn not to rush things.", you smile mischievously. "I want you to keep my name and history a secret.", you move your finger to your lips as to say shush. "Let him run around and try to figure it out"

The two were used to your odd requests.

It wasn't anything too hard to do. Just keep your name unspoken and history locked away.

"Fine.", Carmilla spoke up. "I wouldn't mind seeing him get annoyed over something silly."

The taller demon sighed. "Very well, but thee must visit us more. It's been a century sith we last saw thee."

"I know..", you sighed. "I was observing."

It is quiet before there's a tap on the desk.

"Will you return?"

You take a moment to think before giving your answer.

"I don't think so."

A wider smile spreads across your face.

"I like pretending a little bit. It's fun to see the fear across sinner's faces when they realize I'm not as weak as they thought."

*hungry* Snack time.

~Seline, the person.

Part 5

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @valenfawkes @willowshadenox @aria-tempest @alastor-simp @nonetheartist @gallantys @i-3at-kidz @+?

ML I Alastor🎙 | Power ChL🍷

[flaresemily]

Hello, I hope you're having a good day. I saw your requests are open for Killer Peter fanfics unless I'm mistaken😳. If I'm not mistaken,could you please do a Killer Peter x reader where reader was an experiment for the glory. They kept reader in a capsule like thing that kept her young for like 45 years she's,in reality five years younger than Peter but since Peter became young again she looks like she is only two years younger than him. So back to the main thing. Reader is a new recruit from the glory, so she is tasked to go on a private mission with Peter because the glory said she is capable of slightly high ranking missions. So when she is on the mission her and Peter get separated, Peter fought the minions of the guy (there are like 200 of them) right so reader meets with the *actual* guy her and Peter were sent to deal with. So long story short( please make a cool fight scene where reader is shown as an really amazing fighter like B-rank nearing A-rank) Peter and reader bond over their love for ,I don't know anything the floor is yours yeah. Oh yeah also Peter finds reader extremely pretty. If don't mind please make her have dreadlocks. Thank you have a nice day😘

Peter x Experiment Reader

He met you when he was 15 and you were 10. You train alongside him. Days and nights. Even going on a mission with him until one tragic day.

Thus years past, both of you are grown up.

"Brother where are you going?" You ask him. He just look at you and pat your head. "Don't worry about it just go to sleep you have training tomorrow right?" You nodded in agreement and went back to sleep.

Unfortunately for him,one of his missions goes wrong. As a punishment they put you in a time capsule. He couldn't find you. He searches for you like a madman. Even when Simon tried to calm him down he just got slapped.

45 years past...

It was hell for him without you by his side. He thought he was going to die at old age without u by his side but fate turned him into his younger self. Now healthy again, he makes it his mission to find you.

When he finally met you, he was shocked. He didn't expect you to look so young. Maybe because of the capsule. (He didn't know you were in a time capsule all he knows is they put you to sleep in a capsule not time capsule)

"hello? My name is y/n. How are yo--" you were crushed in a big hug from him. You didn't get the chance to finish your speech. He sobbed cut the silent tension. "I didn't know you were the new recruit" he mentioned. "Brother pet--" he just tighten his hugs but you get the message.

"y/n you be going on a private mission together with him okay? I know you can handle this" a man said.

You just nodded. "Brother you have so much to explain?" You whisper to him. He just smile at you and kiss your cheeks.

You were too stunned to speak. As both of you get ready you see him putting on a black coat. "Why the coat brother?" "Stop calling me brother y/n"

"but I like it though..." He just drag you to the mission.

Timeskip

As they walk through the hallway a sudden rumbling makes them on guard.

As they look in front of a group of people...no...maybe a hundred people with weapons chase them.

"y/n go now!! I handle this! Quick" Peter shout. You just stare at him and quickly run. You run and run until you stumble a door. You heard voices from inside. You slowly open it there and behold the boss that you were supposed to capture.

Then the man turned to her and smirked. "Well well I didn't know a pretty lady would come and get me~"

Third pov

A Dance of Blades and Shadows

The mission had gone sideways fast.

Peter was supposed to cover the front while she flanked from the side, but the second the doors to the compound burst open, an ocean of enemies flooded in—too many for the plan to stay intact.

Separated. Outnumbered. Improvising.

The main target stood before her now, calm in the chaos. A man draped in deep crimson robes, watching her with a smirk that dripped with arrogance.

"You’re not the one I was expecting,” he mused, voice rich with condescension. “But I suppose you’ll have to do.”

Y/n cracked her neck, rolling her shoulders. “You talk a lot for someone about to get their ass kicked.”

The man flicked his wrist. Two guards lunged first—trained killers, their footwork clean, their blades gleaming under dim neon lights. But she moved before they could strike, her body coiled tight with honed instinct.

The first came in high with a slash. She ducked low, her dreadlocks whipping around as she twisted under the blade. Her knee shot up, crushing his ribs before her elbow slammed down on the back of his neck. He dropped like dead weight.

The second was faster, already adjusting. He swung—she caught his wrist, twisted, and wrenched the weapon from his grip in one fluid motion. A sharp spin, and the stolen dagger was buried in his throat before he could scream.

Two down.

But the real fight was just beginning.

The target smiled, unimpressed. “Not bad.”

Then the lights cut.

Darkness swallowed the room, and she knew—this was his game now.

A flicker of movement. A whisper of fabric. He struck from the shadows.

She dodged just in time, the air splitting where her ribs had been. The hum of a blade followed—he was using a weapon coated in something sharp, something wicked.

He fought like a ghost. Silent, fast, unpredictable.

But so was she.

She let him attack again, just enough to gauge his rhythm. A dodge here, a slight deflection there. Then—her moment.

Instead of evading the next strike, she stepped in.

The blade skimmed past her cheek, close enough to draw a thin line of red, but she was already moving. Her arm hooked around his wrist, her body twisting. A sharp yank, a brutal pivot—

CRACK.

The satisfying snap of his wrist filled the air.

He stumbled back, hissing, but she wasn’t done.

A knee to the stomach, an elbow to the jaw, and then—her leg hooked behind his, sweeping him off balance. He hit the ground hard, his breath leaving in a sharp gasp.

She knelt beside him, pressing his own blade against his throat.

“Told you,” she murmured, breath steady despite the adrenaline. “Your ass? Kicked.”

---

Just as she secured the target, Peter finally arrived—his black coat stained with enemy blood, his breathing only slightly labored.

He took one look at the bodies littering the room, then at her, a slow smirk curling at the edges of his lips.

“Remind me,” he said, “why was I the one fighting the small army while you got the fun job?”

She wiped the blood from her knuckles, shrugging. “Maybe next time, keep up.”

He huffed a laugh, eyes lingering on her—longer than necessary.

Yeah. He was definitely looking at her differently now.

Maybe it was the way she fought. Maybe it was the way she looked under the dim, flickering lights, her dreadlocks wild around her face, her eyes sharp and unshaken.

Either way, she didn’t mind.

---

Not one bit.

"I'm so tired..." Peter just nod. "Come I cook something for us" you beam with joy and quickly run to him.

The End~

(I get some help for the fighting scene 😉)

[maraudereestauderelb]

What if you're the defendant in one of the trials after the first War against Voldemort?

Hello everyone,

but a special "Hello" to those who love morally grey characters and who imagine themselves a little more "layered" when it comes to the World of Harry Potter and the Marauders.

We can't all be noble Gryffindores who never make any mistakes or wrong choices, can we?

Don't tell me, you've never imagined yourself using a little...dark magic...

Join me and be part of your very own trial! Sounds like fun, right?!

Are you guilty? What have you done? Who are you on the inside? - Let's find out together!

Oh and if you want a little music to set the tone, I've got a little recommendation.

It was a dark room. The tall walls and floor were covered in black marble tiles with the result that every step taken by one of the wizards and witches and every word said inside the biggest courtroom of the magical ministry was echoing, making the volume almost unbearable. 

The wooden stands at the end of the room were filled with about fifty rather old witches and wizards dressed in plum-covered robes with elaborate silver initials on them, the members of the Wizengamot. Next to them sat one wizard dressed in black at a tribune. His name Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the prosecutor. 

The rows around the circular room overcrowded with spectators waiting for the trial to begin, amongst them a lot of journalist. In the center of it all was one single chair on which a young woman was sitting, magically bound to it. Behind the chair in the center was another bench filled with five witches and wizards, the witnesses. On the left to the bench was a tiny desk with a chair on which another woman was sitting, her lawyer. 

The young woman in the center was nervous, her body slightly shaking, but nobody seemed to notice. On the outside she looked strong and unfazed. But she was worried. Worried she would lose the trial, worried about the two dementors guarding the door, worried she had to go back to the prison which had been her home for the past month, Askaban. 

She had been in the room on the tenth floor of the Ministry of Magic before, but as one of the visitors. The trial back then had been extremely private, the ministry trying to keep everything as secret as possible without getting much attention, but her very own trial was different. The room filled with those who wanted to see another Death Eater and murderer locked away for life. 

Her heartbeat was going crazy and she was on the verge of tears already. She didn’t dare to look back to the witnesses behind her. The people who had her fate right in their hands. The odds weren’t good and she knew it. 

The past month in Askaban had her losing her mind. 

The young witch cringed when suddenly the prosecutor cleared his throat and with magically enhanced voice said: “Case 5895026. The magical ministry against Miss Y/N Y/S/N Y/F/N.” Within the blink of an eye, everybody had gone quiet and Y/N’s heart had stopped beating for a second. 

“Miss Y/F/N”, he continued looking at her with disgust, just like everybody else: “You have been brought here to the Council of Magical Law so that we may pass judgement on you, for a crime about betrayal, plotting and murder. You are being charged with the murder of seven witches and wizards including two children of the ages four and three. What do you plead?” 

“Not guilty”, her lawyer suddenly got up from her chair. “The defender Hailey Cornelia Carter”, Crouch said: “And todays witnesses are Professor Filius Flitwick, former teacher of the accused, Y/M/N, mother of the accused, Arabella McKinnon, family member of the victims, Alastor Moody, Auror, and Rabastan Lestrange.” 

The witnesses nodded one after another before Crouch went on: “You’re advised to leave the court room until you’re called.” 

Until each and every one of them had left the room, Y/N hadn’t dared to turn around. She couldn’t look at them. Couldn’t look at her mother. She had no idea whether her mother believed the accusations or not. Y/N hadn’t talked to her for months. What if she believed her very own daughter was guilty? 

“Today we are talking about the events during the night of the 26th of July in the year 1970, where three Death Eaters attacked the McKinnons with Fiendfyre and burned down their house, killing seven witches and wizards. Paul McKinnon, Elisabeth McKinnon, their daughters Marlene McKinnon and Juliana Miller, Juliana’s husband Alfred Miller and their daughter, Pauline, and son, William. Ladies and Gentlemen, we are talking about a crime involving very dark and mighty magic. A forbidden curse. A curse which was purposely used to kill not only adults but two little children as well. On the night of the 26th of July in the year 1970 seven people had to die a horrible and extremely cruel death. It had been a quiet night like every other until their house went up in smoke and fire, because a coward had attacked them from a distance without a warning. And Miss Y/F/N here is accused of being said witch.” 

During Crouch’s speech the young witch in the middle of the room hadn’t raised her head a single time. Her brown eyes were glued to her hands. Never had she ever imagined she could end up in this position. She had been a good kid, a hardworking student, a loyal friend. And yet she was right where she was. In the middle of a courtroom, magically bound to a chair, in front of her the Wizengamot. She didn’t belong there and yet she felt guilt heavy on her shoulders. 

James’, Lily’s and Peter’s deaths, Sirius’s and then her arrest felt like they happened years ago, in another life, but she knew they had only happened a months. Her friends…they were all dead, or worse. 

“And I know what everybody in this room is thinking right now: Why? Why would a young witch do something as horrible as this. And the answer…the answer is simple, ladies and gentlemen, out of love.” 

Sirius. They were trying to blame this on him as well? 

“Miss Carter”, Crouch looked at Hailey: “You have the word.” 

“Thank you, Mister Crouch”, Hailey nodded in his direction and got up with an almost unrecognizable sigh. Y/N knew how nervous she was. This was only her second trial, but she had fought so hard to even get her a trial, although everybody already seemed sure about the outcome. It was hopeless.  

“First of all”, Hailey shrugged and casually leaned against the chair Y/N was sitting on: “Mister Crouch, you were wrong. Not everybody in this room was thinking what you pointed out mere seconds ago, because the question I have been asking myself ever since my client got arrested is: Why now? My client got arrested on the third of November 1971, a month ago, but the crime she is being accused of happened more than a year before that. So, I’ve been wondering…why not earlier? ...And then I knew the answer to it, because you never had the slightest evidence, you never had and you still don’t. My client, a young witch who never did anybody any harm, is suddenly accused of killing not only one person, but seven with a curse so dark, I bet, not even you as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would know how to successfully perform it. How should a twenty year old witch do it then? This entire trial is ridiculous! There is no proof and my client is innocent!” 

“So what you are saying Miss Carter is that your client, Miss Y/F/N, never would have been able to evoke a Fiendfyre? That she is lacking the skill to do so? Miss Y/FN, are you supporting this statement?” But before she was able to answer Hailey said: “Of course she does!” 

“Why don’t we ask someone who could give us a more competent opinion on this. I call Professor Filius Flitwick to the witness stand.” 

Hailey stepped aside as the small figure of Professor Filius Flitwick entered the courtroom. His hesitant steps echoed off the black marble walls, each one punctuating the rising tension in the room. Y/N kept her gaze locked on her trembling hands, unable to meet the professor’s eyes. She had always admired him, had always seen him as more than a teacher—a guide, someone who had encouraged her love for magic before that love became an obsession. 

Flitwick climbed into the witness stand, his expression betraying his reluctance. “Professor Flitwick,” Barty Crouch began, his voice sharp and cutting. “You were Miss Y/F/N’s teacher during her time at Hogwarts, correct?” 

“Yes,” Flitwick replied, his voice soft but steady. “I taught her Charms throughout her seven years at the school.” 

“And how would you describe her abilities?” Crouch leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing. 

Flitwick sighed, wringing his hands. “Y/N was… exceptional. She was one of the brightest students I’ve ever had the privilege of teaching. Talented, driven, and deeply curious. In her final years, she was the top of her class in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms.” 

A murmur rippled through the audience. Y/N’s heart clenched as she felt every word like a dagger in her chest. Her gaze flicked up for a brief moment, catching the face of someone she desperately wanted to avoid, seated in the audience. Her former friend’s face was a mask of cold contempt, and Y/N quickly looked away. 

Crouch’s lips curled into a slight smile. “A prodigy, then. Surely, someone with such talent would have the knowledge and skill to perform a curse as advanced as Fiendfyre?” 

Hailey interjected, her voice calm but firm. “Professor Flitwick, in your opinion, would my client ever have been interested in such magic?” 

Flitwick hesitated, his small hands gripping the edge of the stand. “Not at first,” he admitted, his voice laced with sadness. “Y/N had always been eager to learn, but in her last year, I noticed… a change.” 

“What kind of change?” Crouch prompted. 

“She became distant, withdrawn. One day, I discovered a forbidden book in her possession. A text on the Dark Arts. I confiscated it, of course, but… she was different after that. She looked tired, as if something was draining her. She seemed... lost.” 

Y/N closed her eyes, memories flooding her mind. The long nights pouring over that book in the Room of Requirement. The allure of knowledge so forbidden it felt intoxicating. How she had used the Marauder’s Map and Sirius’s Invisibility Cloak to sneak into the restricted section. Her thirst for understanding had felt insatiable, but it was never meant to harm anyone. It was for knowledge, for power over her own destiny, not for destruction. 

“Professor,” Crouch’s voice broke through her thoughts, “do you believe Miss Y/F/N was capable of summoning Fiendfyre?” 

Flitwick’s face crumpled, and he looked directly at Y/N for the first time. She finally met his eyes, pleading silently. But she knew the answer before he spoke. 

“I do,” he said softly, the words falling like a death knell. The room erupted in gasps and whispers, but all Y/N could hear was the pounding of her own heart. Flitwick turned to her, his face etched with regret. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

The words felt heavier than the chains binding her to the chair. For the first time, Y/N felt tears prick her eyes, but she forced them back. Her voice—her defense—felt smaller than ever. 

Hailey stepped forward again, her tone sharp. “Professor Flitwick, isn’t it also true that Y/N excelled in all forms of magic, not just the Dark Arts? That she showed immense skill in protective spells and healing charms? Skills that contradict the accusation that she would ever commit such heinous acts?” 

Flitwick nodded, but his earlier words hung in the air like a specter. The damage had been done. 

As Professor Flitwick stepped down from the witness stand, the tension in the room seemed to coil tighter around Y/N’s chest. Her breath hitched, and a cold shiver ran down her spine. She knew who was next. 

Her mother. 

They hadn’t spoken in months—since her arrest, since everything fell apart. But even before that, the rift between them had widened, starting the day her sister was killed. The guilt was unbearable. Her younger sister, bright and determined, had followed Y/N’s footsteps into the Order of the Phoenix. It was unusual for purebloods, but their family had stood firmly on the right side of this war. Her parents had been proud. 

Then came the mission with Marlene McKinnon. 

The night she didn’t return. 

The news had shattered their family. Y/N had stopped going home after that, unable to face her parents. She had joined the Order first, after all, and without her, maybe her sister wouldn’t have followed. Maybe she’d still be alive. 

A rustle of movement brought her back to the present. Her mother stepped into the witness stand, her robes slightly askew, her face pale and drawn. Y/N didn’t dare lift her eyes to meet her mother’s. She couldn’t bear to see the grief, or worse, the doubt. 

“Please state your name,” Barty Crouch instructed, his tone professional but with an edge of impatience. 

“Y/M/N Y/L/N,” her mother said, her voice trembling slightly. 

Crouch nodded. “Mrs. Y/L/N, you are the mother of the accused. Can you tell us what you know about your daughter’s allegiances?” 

Her mother took a deep breath, glancing briefly at Y/N before looking out over the courtroom. “For what I knew… my daughter joined the Order of the Phoenix with good intentions. She wanted to fight against You-Know-Who and protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. When her friends had asked her to join them in the order, she had been excited!” 

A murmur rippled through the audience, but it was quickly silenced by a sharp look from Crouch. He stepped forward, clasping his hands behind his back. “Which friends are we talking about?” 

“James Potter, Sirius Black-” Gasps echoed through the room. 

“Good intentions, you say. But do you have any evidence to support this claim?” 

Her mother hesitated, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. Finally, her shoulders slumped, and she shook her head. “No. I don’t.” 

Tears welled in her mother’s eyes, and her voice cracked as she continued. “But I know my daughter. I know she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—do something so… so monstrous. I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it.” 

Crouch pounced. “When was the last time you spoke with your daughter, Mrs. Y/L/N?” 

“Months ago,” her mother admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “After her sister’s death… it became too painful to—” 

“And did you notice changes in her behavior?” Crouch interrupted, his tone cutting. “Did she seem… different?” 

“Yes,” her mother said reluctantly. “But the war has changed all of us. It’s taken so much from us. Her sister’s death…” Her voice broke. “It broke her.” 

“And what about her relationship with Sirius Black?” Crouch pressed. “How would you describe it?” 

Her mother seemed taken aback by the question but answered after a pause. “Strong. Impulsive. She loved him deeply, perhaps obsessively, as young people often do at that age.” 

“Could he have influenced her?” Crouch asked sharply. 

“No!” Her mother’s response was immediate, almost panicked. “I don’t believe he would ever…” 

But Crouch wasn’t finished. “Didn’t you just say that your daughter wouldn’t have joined the Order of the Phoenix if not for Sirius Black?” 

Her mother’s eyes widened, realizing her mistake too late. “I—yes, but—” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” Crouch cut her off, his tone triumphant. “You’ve made your position clear. If Sirius Black could influence her to join the Order, who’s to say he couldn’t influence her to commit darker acts? Perhaps their loyalty to You-Know-Who was simply well-concealed, a strategy to infiltrate and betray.” 

“That’s not true!” her mother cried, tears streaming down her face. “She’s innocent! She would never—she couldn’t—” Her voice broke completely, and she looked at Y/N, desperation in her eyes. “I’ll get you out of this,” she promised, her voice trembling. “I know you’re innocent, sweetheart. I know.” 

Y/N couldn’t look at her. Her mother’s words cut deeper than any accusation. Innocent. The word felt like a stone in her chest, because she wasn’t sure it was true. She had never intended to hurt anyone, never wanted to stray so close to the darkness. But her thirst for knowledge, her reckless love for Sirius—they had all led her here, to this chair, with her prisoner number inked into her skin like a brand. 

And for the first time, she wondered if maybe she did belong here. 

Arabella McKinnon walked into the witness stand with a presence that silenced the room. Her grief was palpable, etched into her features like a permanent scar. She knew Arabella’s job today wasn’t to present facts—it was to stir emotions, to make sure no one left this courtroom doubting who the villain was. 

Arabella spoke with a quiet dignity at first, her voice steady but heavy with sorrow. She described the McKinnons—their warmth, their bravery, the way Marlene had laughed so easily, even in the darkest of times. She described the children, their lives snuffed out before they had even truly begun. Her words painted vivid, haunting images, and the room hung on every syllable. 

“They were everything to me,” Arabella said, her voice breaking. “And they died screaming. My family burned alive because someone—because she”—her trembling hand pointed directly at Y/N—“decided they didn’t deserve to live.” 

A sob erupted somewhere in the audience, and Y/N felt like the floor beneath her chair was crumbling. She wanted to scream, to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. Her throat felt like it was closing, the air in the room thick and suffocating. 

“And for what?” Arabella continued, her voice rising. “For power? For loyalty to that… that monster? You knew them, Y/N! You knew them, and you did it anyway!” 

“I didn’t—” Y/N began to whisper, but Arabella cut her off, her grief giving way to fury. 

“Don’t you dare speak!” Arabella’s voice cracked like a whip. “You don’t get to sit there and pretend you’re innocent. You deserve Azkaban. You deserve to rot there for the rest of your miserable life, with nothing but the screams of my family to keep you company!” 

The courtroom erupted into chaos. Shouts and murmurs filled the air, but all Y/N could hear were Arabella’s words, echoing like a curse in her mind. Her stomach twisted painfully, nausea clawing its way up her throat. She tried to suppress it, to hold herself together, but the pressure was unbearable. As Arabella was escorted out of the courtroom, still sobbing and shouting curses at her, Y/N doubled over. 

She barely managed to turn her head before she vomited onto the cold marble floor next to her chair. The bile burned her throat, but it was nothing compared to the searing pain in her chest. She stayed hunched over, her hair falling in a curtain around her face, trying to catch her breath as tears streamed down her cheeks. The courtroom was silent now, save for the faint echoes of her retching. 

Her gaze, blurry and unfocused, drifted upward, searching the crowded bleachers. She was looking for one face. One pair of eyes. She found them, but the expression she saw was ice cold. No sympathy, no compassion. 

Her former friend stared down at her, and Y/N’s heart shattered all over again. The words they had once exchanged, years ago, came rushing back with painful clarity. 

“We may fight for different sides, but I’ll never betray you, Y/N. You’ll never find a dagger in your back held by me.” 

The promise had been made in the shadow of their diverging choices, shaped as much by the war as by the men they loved—Sirius and Rabastan. But now, it felt hollow, broken. Y/N dropped her gaze to the chains on her wrists, unable to bear the emptiness in her friend’s eyes. 

She wasn’t sure what hurt more: Arabella’s fury or the silence of someone she had once called a sister. 

As Hailey stood to cross-examine Arabella’s devastating testimony, Y/N could feel the weight of hopelessness settling deeper into her chest. Her defender was determined, her voice steady as she tried to redirect the courtroom’s focus. But it was no use. The emotions stirred by Arabella’s words hung in the air like smoke, suffocating any attempt to shift the narrative. The damage was done. 

Hailey returned to her seat, her hands clenched tightly, and for the first time, Y/N saw doubt flicker in her eyes. There was no saving this. The audience murmured restlessly as Barty Crouch called the next witness. 

“Alastor Moody.” 

The sound of Moody’s wooden leg hitting the marble floor was loud, deliberate, as he approached the stand. Each step sent another dagger of dread into Y/N’s gut. She knew Moody would bury her. He’d never trusted her, not from the moment she joined the Order. A pureblood with ties to the Black family, the Lestranges? To him, she was a walking liability. What would he say now that Sirius and her had both been arrested? The thought that Sirius was being dragged through the mud, even in her trial, made her feel sick all over again. She clung to the belief that Sirius’s trial, whenever it came, would vindicate him. She knew him better than anyone—it simply didn’t make sense that he’d betray James and Lily. 

“State your name and occupation,” Crouch said as Moody settled into the stand. 

“Alastor Moody. Auror,” he replied, his magical eye spinning wildly, taking in every corner of the room. When it passed over Y/N, she felt as though her soul was being laid bare. 

“Mr. Moody,” Crouch began, “you’ve known the accused for some time, haven’t you?” 

“I have,” Moody said gruffly. “Worked with her in the Order of the Phoenix.” 

“And what was your impression of her?” 

Moody’s lips curled into something between a grimace and a smirk. “I never fully trusted her,” he said bluntly. “She’s got the bloodline, the connections, and that… feeling about her. You’ve been an Auror as long as I have, you start to recognize it. The way the Dark Arts cling to someone.” 

Y/N’s heart sank. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she avoided looking at the audience. She didn’t need to see their faces to know what they were thinking. 

“Interesting,” Crouch said, leaning forward slightly. “And what do you mean by this… ‘feeling’?” 

Moody gave a sharp laugh. “Dark magic leaves traces. Most people can’t sense it, but after years of chasing dark wizards, you learn to pick up on it. And with Y/N, it’s always been there. A subtle hum, like static in the air.” 

Crouch raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating. And yet, you worked alongside her?” 

Moody shrugged. “I liked her sister well enough. She had a good heart, didn’t deserve what happened to her. But Y/N… I kept my guard up.” 

Y/N stared at the floor, her mind racing. Where is Dumbledore? she thought bitterly. He had promised to protect her, to protect all of them when they joined the Order. But now, with everything falling apart, he was nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t been there for Sirius either, leaving him to rot in Azkaban. What had been the point of their loyalty if it was only met with abandonment? 

Crouch continued. “Mr. Moody, have you ever witnessed the accused using dark magic?” 

Moody hesitated, just for a moment, before nodding. “I have. In battle. It was during a skirmish with Death Eaters. She used spells that were… questionable.” 

Y/N closed her eyes, her chest tightening. I only ever used it to protect my friends. The memory flashed before her eyes: spells cast in desperation, the heat of battle, the need to keep her friends alive. She thanked whatever shred of luck she had left that Moody hadn’t been there the one time she had crossed the line entirely. 

The Imperius Curse. 

She could still remember the way it had felt—the surge of power, the absolute control. She had forced three Death Eaters to their knees, stopping them from killing Lily. The effort had drained her so completely she had nearly passed out, but for a brief moment, she had felt pride. That single act, if anyone had seen it, would have been enough to condemn her to Azkaban without trial. 

“And what do you make of her capabilities, Mr. Moody?” Crouch asked, his voice sharp. “Do you believe she is capable of casting Fiendfyre?” 

Moody didn’t answer immediately. His magical eye swiveled to Y/N again, and she felt like it was peeling back every layer of her being. “Aye,” he said finally. “She’s capable. Doesn’t mean she did it, but the skill’s there.” 

It was the final nail in the coffin, and Y/N knew it. She didn’t even flinch as he stepped down from the stand. Her thoughts were elsewhere, drowning in regret and anger. 

I did what I had to do, she told herself, but the weight of her choices felt heavier with each passing second. And still, she couldn’t shake the question echoing in her mind: Where is Dumbledore? 

As Rabastan Lestrange strode to the witness stand, his smirk alone was enough to send a chill down Y/N’s spine. He looked far too composed for someone who had been convicted of his own heinous crimes. Y/N couldn’t understand why they had brought him here. What could he possibly add? 

She gripped the arms of her chair tightly, her fingers digging into the wood. Her gaze darted briefly to the audience, scanning for her former friend, Rabastan’s wife, and found her sitting stiffly among the crowd. Their eyes didn’t meet. 

The courtroom fell silent as Crouch began the questioning. “State your name and affiliation.” 

“Rabastan Lestrange,” he said smoothly, leaning back in the witness chair. “A convicted servant of the Dark Lord.” 

There were murmurs from the audience, but Rabastan seemed to bask in the attention. His dark eyes flicked to Y/N, glinting with malice. 

“You’ve claimed to have knowledge of the accused’s activities. Please, enlighten us,” Crouch said, his tone cold. 

Rabastan chuckled. “Oh, I know more than a little about Y/N Y/L/N. She and her beloved Sirius Black were always slippery, but I’ve seen through their charade from the start. Working for the Order of the Phoenix? No, no, they were playing both sides, working for the Dark Lord all along.” 

Y/N’s head shot up, her chest tightening. “He’s lying!” she shouted, her voice cracking, but Rabastan barely flinched. 

Crouch raised a hand to silence her. “The accused will remain quiet unless addressed.” 

Rabastan leaned forward, speaking directly to the Wizengamot. “I’ve seen her wield the Dark Arts like a master. I was there the night the McKinnons died. She was wild with rage, casting Fiendfyre like it was second nature. Enjoyed every moment of it, too.” 

Y/N’s vision blurred as her pulse thundered in her ears. “That’s not true!” she cried, her voice breaking. 

Rabastan ignored her, smiling cruelly. “I even offered her that place among us. Told her the Dark Lord would appreciate her talents. She was delighted?” 

Y/N felt bile rising in her throat. The sheer audacity of his lies was almost unbearable. It was true, he had offered her said place, but she had declined. She had hated him from the start—hated everything he and his kind stood for. But she had stayed silent about his crimes, out of a twisted sense of loyalty to his wife. A loyalty that now felt painfully one-sided. 

Her eyes flicked to her former friend. She sat motionless, her face unreadable. Y/N wanted to scream at her, to demand how she could just sit there and let this happen. Her for him. Every time. 

When Rabastan spoke again, his voice was almost gleeful. “I saw her kill them all.” 

Y/N froze. Her heart dropped into her stomach. It was a lie, twisted and reframed, but it wasn’t entirely baseless. There had been a moment—a stupid, reckless moment during one of her secret meetings with her friend—when she had spoken too much, blinded by grief. 

Rabastan’s grin widened. “She’s been playing everyone from the start.” 

“I’m not a murderer!” Y/N screamed, tears streaming down her face now. “You’re lying! You’re all lying!” 

Hailey stood abruptly, her voice trembling with barely contained anger. “This is ridiculous! These are baseless accusations from a convicted Death Eater. If he’s so certain, let’s prove it.” 

There was a beat of silence before Hailey said the words Y/N had been dreading. 

“We request the use of Veritaserum.” 

Gasps echoed through the courtroom. Even Rabastan’s smirk faltered slightly. 

Crouch raised an eyebrow. “A bold request. The accused will need to consent.” 

Y/N’s hands trembled as she clutched the arms of her chair. She knew the truth wouldn’t completely exonerate her. The things she had done—the spells she had cast—would seal her fate, even if she hadn’t killed the McKinnons. 

But what choice did she have? 

Her voice was barely a whisper as she said, “I consent.” 

The room fell silent. It was over. One way or another, it was over. 

The vial of Veritaserum sat glinting on the prosecutor's desk, the liquid inside swirling like molten silver. Y/N stared at it for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew what it would do. It would lay her soul bare, tear away every veil of secrecy she had ever crafted. And there were things—truths—that could never see the light of day. 

With trembling hands, she lifted the vial to her lips. It tasted bitter and metallic as it slid down her throat. Almost instantly, she felt its effects—a strange, floating sensation, as though her mind had been disconnected from her body. She fought the pull, digging deep into her resolve. You can’t lie. But maybe, just maybe, you can choose how much you reveal. 

“Miss Y/L/N,” Crouch began, his voice sharp and eager, “did you kill Marlene McKinnon and her family?” 

The words struck like a physical blow, but she didn’t flinch. Her gaze darted to her former friend in the bleachers. There was no sympathy in her eyes, no shared history, no bond of trust. Nothing but cold detachment. 

Y/N’s mind reeled back to that moment—the fateful conversation with her friend. She had been blinded by grief, suffocated by rage. Marlene McKinnon, her sister’s partner on that doomed mission, had survived. Her sister had not. That bitterness, the unjust cruelty of it all, had spilled out. 

“Do you think Marlene deserves to die too?” her friend had asked softly. A simple question, laden with dark implications. 

And Y/N, angry and lost, had nodded. Just a single, damning gesture. 

She didn’t have to say it aloud to know what would happen next. Her friend had treated it like a gift—an act of warped kindness, an answer to Y/N’s unspoken grief. 

But did that make her the killer? 

“I didn’t cast the fire,” Y/N said at last, her voice steady but hollow. It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the whole truth either. 

The courtroom held its collective breath. Crouch’s lips curled into a predatory smile. “Then who did?” 

Y/N hesitated, the weight of the serum pressing on her, demanding an answer. She looked directly at her former friend, whose face betrayed no emotion. 

“I believe it was Rabastan Lestrange who killed Marlene,” Y/N said. Her voice rang out clearly, each word deliberate. 

Murmurs rippled through the audience, but Y/N didn’t care. She couldn’t look away from her friend. The betrayal cut deeper than any spell, deeper than the scars she carried. 

“Have you ever cast Fiendfyre?” Crouch pressed, his voice rising with impatience. 

“I’ve never cast it,” Y/N replied, and it was the truth. 

Crouch’s frustration was palpable now. He paced before her, searching for a crack in her armor. “Have you done anything that could send you to Azkaban?” 

Y/N’s heart thundered. She thought of the curses she’d used, the lines she had crossed to save her friends, her loyalty that had tied her hands and sealed her fate time and again. She could feel the truth clawing its way to the surface. But with the last vestiges of her will, she clung to one thought: He has to accuse me first. Don’t give him the power to condemn you. 

Her voice was quiet but firm as she replied, “You will have to accuse me of a crime first if you want to convict me.” 

For a long moment, silence hung heavy in the air. Crouch’s face twisted with anger and frustration. He knew he had lost. 

Finally, he turned to the Wizengamot. “There is insufficient evidence to convict the accused of this crime. I am forced to call a verdict of not guilty.” 

The words echoed in the chamber, and for a fleeting moment, Y/N felt a wave of relief. The chains binding her to the chair vanished, clattering to the ground. 

But as she rose shakily to her feet, that relief turned to bitterness. The cheers from her lawyer, the gasps from the crowd, none of it mattered. James and Lily were gone. Peter was gone. Remus thought her a traitor, just like Sirius. And Sirius... 

Sirius was in Azkaban. Alone, broken, abandoned, just as she had been. 

She turned to leave the courtroom, her gaze falling once more on her friend in the bleachers. No words passed between them, but the message was clear. They were strangers now. Whatever bond they had shared was gone. 

The freedom she had just won felt hollow. What was the point of any of it if she couldn’t save the people who mattered? If she couldn’t get Sirius out of that hellhole, what did this verdict even mean? 

As she stepped into the cold air outside the Ministry, her prisoner number still etched on her arm, Y/N made a silent vow. If the world had given up on Sirius, then she would be the one to bring him back. 

MASTERLIST

[alexyskinnerstories]

He’ll Always Love Her More... This My Parting Gift For Him

Y/n Pov

I should’ve known that he would never love me as much as he loved her his heart belonged to her from the beginning I was just a temporary replacement for her. It’s been a long time since I came to find a solution I was a fool how I even could compare to her in his eyes I can’t be one for him I just need to move on and find happiness I’ve been in my bedroom and for last five days only coming out for dinner or taking a shower Klaus and I had a huge augment lead to us having a physical fight and me ending up brutal injured.

I’ve since then I healed with the blood or people that Rebekah or Elijah would bring me since I couldn’t, Anyways I was looking in my grimior for a resurrection Camille for the dead I’ve decided to give back his true love as a goodbye gift. My older brother was at his place working on an immortal potion for her we figured out we could make her an immortal human with certain abilities I found the spell of resurrection just as I got a text from my brother saying that he needed the blood of an immortal being to finish the potion I text him back saying am on the way I grab my grimior put it in my backpack along some candles and other herbs that I know my brother doesn't have I walked downstairs to the kitchen and grab myself a water bottle I walked to the front door I open the door when it’s was thrown open It was Klaus and Elijah I was about to fall back but Elijah caught my arm I sighed as Klaus just continue to walk away without even apologizing or even greeting me I walked out the door thank Elijah before I completely left I got in my car and drove to my brothers place after I made it I immediately got my stuff and headed inside

He was standing by the cauldron putting something into it he stop when saw me I started to break down crying he walked over to me and brought me into a hug and comfort me and tells me that he isn’t worthy of my tears I started calming down we sat down for a bit and just embrace each other when I got myself together I pulled away from my brothers that started helping him we walked over to the over to the boiling potion he said that my blood was the last thing need, I grab the athame I slit my hand and drip my blood drip into the potion it gave off a puff of smoke after the smoke cleared Vincent bottle it and we set are way the Camille gravy when we got there I could feel a protection spell around it I shifted into my heretic hybrid form my eyes glowing yellow with slits like cat eyes I broke through the protection barrier

I wave my hand over her grave and layers of dirt and grass disappear until it gets to her coffin I levitated her coffin up until we can get to it I held it in air until Vincent grab her out of the coffin suddenly we heard some running coming towards us Vincent ran over to me I snapped my fingers and everything went back in place I grab Vincent shoulder and made us invisible soon the Mikaelson’s appear with a unknown woman I haven’t seen they Klaus was glaring at the witch I assume because nothing seems to be out of place The witch kept saying she felt the barrier break she convinced them to dig out the grave I Motion my brother to stop walking at silent our sounds so we wouldn’t be followed we made it to the car and drove off we got cut off by Klaus car I mentally cloak Camllie body before Klaus and Rebekah yanks my brother and I She let be go when she recognize me I nodded as she look apologetic and she looked over to Klaus I looked at him as well see him still having his hand around my brothers neck I separated them with telekinesis, then I let my brother down and held on to Klaus my brother move behind me I dropped Niklaus he falls to the ground hard he ran towards us Elijah tried to get him but he was moving to fast I stop him right before he got in front of us I held my hand telekinetic push him back as I walked forward Vincent had already got back in the car and was waiting for me, “ Klaus I be damn if you hurt my brother I let you get away with hitting me but I will not let you hurt my brother.” By now my eyes are changed again I never felt so much rage I moved him towards his car I opened the door telekinetic and throw him inside I locked it keeping him inside I walked over to Rebekah and Elijah and told them I’ll be staying with my brother for a bit while they were sad but understood why they got into their car and drove off I stayed out until I couldn’t hear or see the car anymore Vincent drove the car next to me I got in we immediately drove back to his place as soon we got the we went into a spare bedroom and we both immediately started the resurrection spell it took a lot of magic out of the both of us we finished and went downstairs it was gonna take her a while to wake up I know we are gonna need our energy back so I ordered some delivery for the both of us I thought of bro to go that a shower since was some dry and his own fresh blood on him I started researching the the soulmate location spell and potion it’s fine pretty steady there your soul may even be in another universe or multi-verse I know it was risky but I had to find my soulmate I need to be happy I didn’t realize how long I was reading over the spell until my brother was looking over my shoulder “ Are you really thinking about doing this spell.” He asked me, “Yes I am, I need to find my happiness brother even if that means I need to travel to another universe then I’m going to have my happiness no matter the consequences.

[daggos]

I have a draft for a Muzan!Reader type thing, and part of it will have Enmu.

I love this man

I know that many don't and just find him down right creepy (which, fair enough) but I wanna burn a town for him, praise him, and the have him thank me as I make him bleed

So, yeah

Just imagine. You took over Muzan's position? Yeah, he's pretty upset that he'd never get blood from him, he was his king after all

But now he can suck up to you

And he does a damn good job at it

You want him on his knees barking like a dog? He'll ask you where he can get a collar quick, handing over a leash attached to it without you having to mention it

He comes back from a failed mission, only having eaten half of the humans he had aimed for, praise him anyway. Call him a "good boy" and watch him melt into the floor

But don't let him think you'll let him off the hook that easily

Let him go a few fails, get comfortable just basking in you mercy before ripping it away as punishment one day

Second time in a row of having to flee from a hashira? "Stay out of my sight until you show me you are worth the blood already running through you"

He'll do anything for your attention, so when that is the punishment, taking any chance away from him, you better believe he will kill any human that crosses his path to get strong enough to kill the next hashira within a 20 mile radius

Anything to get any scraps of affection again from who he might as well consider his god/goddess

Ignore him when you're angry, and keep him guessing what mood you're in

Not even Kokushibo can tell most of the time how you will feel the next time you see him

Be greeting him with a warm smile one day (if he's been extra good, pat his head), the next grab his face and force him to the ground with a gaze of "move, I dare you" and watch him squirm in place trying so hard be good

He loves your attention on him, good or bad

He used to try to get your attention by messing things up instead, trying to see your anger directed at him, but quickly stopped when all you did was ignore him

All you have to do to punish this man is act like you don't know he exists

I was thinking of doing more but I need to upload something. I got part 2 of both moth!reader and helper!reader on its way! Just fyi👀

Have a lovely day!

[differenteagletragedy]

Price doesn't want you asking for anything, not ever. When he put that ring on your finger, it wasn't just because he wanted you to have something pretty -- it was because he wanted you to know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, his intentions to take care of you, till death do you part.

So he anticipates things you want, things you need, before you can voice them. If you get a little snippy in the afternoon, he brings you a snack. If he catches you wincing and stretching in the morning, might be time for a new mattress.

And when it's summer and he sees you parked in a lounge chair in the yard, the legs a little uneven on the grass, well, time to go shopping for some lumber, because he's going to build you a porch.

John is strong, capable and knowledgeable -- this is hardly the first thing he's built -- so it goes pretty smoothly. He sets up his saw in the garage, parks his truck with the lumber near the entrance, and gets to work.

And it is a sight to see.

Just him in cargo pants and a sweat-soaked t-shirt, spending what little free time he has doing something like this, all for you. You can't come in the garage unless you put on safety glasses and preferably some ear protection when the power tools are going, but him? He's used to it all. And when he starts putting down the posts, his biceps flexing as he works the nail gun ...

You start to think that maybe you might like some more home additions.

"Like what you see, pet?" he asks as you stand around, just watching. He lifts his arm to wipe the sweat from his brow and his shirt lifts enough for you to catch a glimpse of a sliver of his hairy stomach, soft but strong.

You do. You really, really do.

[yan-randomfandom]

How would yandere saja boys react to reader being a child of Gwi ma, but is nothing like him as in they want to help people?

Saja Boys x Demon!GN!Reader

a/n; i keep missing in my fics, i keep forgetting the plot!! so sorry anon,, i don't know what i'm trying to do in this one (⁠´⁠;⁠︵⁠;⁠`⁠) but i do love the new scenario!! tho sadly this isn't obviously yandere,,

— 👑

"Dying king with a crumbling crown," you hum, a teasing smile stretching across your feline lips. "Will he let the fire go out?"

Jinu sighs, absentmindedly plucking his strings. "As much as I love seeing two tigers, I think it'd be best if you take another form. It's creepy watching you talk with its teeth."

With a chuckle, you shapeshift into his bird instead, licks of fire dying as soon as it appeared. You made sure to keep the tiny hat on. "Yeah, sure, okay. Hey, that was a pretty bold move to your king. Y'know, my creator."

One of his demon companions snort. You snap your eyes toward the one with abs. "That's Jinu for you. Knows what he wants, knows what Gwi-Ma wants. As it's always been."

Jinu doesn't react, he doesn't reply—yet, you and the rest of the Saja Boys could tell he's deeply uncomfortable. He continues his focus on his bipa.

Baby coughs. "Look, I'll do the rapping, yeah?"

"I already said that—"

... After a while, you stare blankly as they get lost in their planning. Listening to every word. Paying attention to their movements. You can barely contain the frown itching to crawl on your—oh, wait. You have a beak.

"Master," Mystery suddenly calls, poking a finger on your wing.

You make an expression with your beady eyes. "Do not call me that. What is it, Mystery?"

His lips curl. "Why are you here?"

All your six eyes blink. The rest seem to be intrigued for your answer.

Of course, you're here to disrupt their plans. You don't say that out loud. Always so grateful that you and Gwi-Ma have cut connection, so even he can't hear your spirits.

"I believe I don't need to answer you," you shrug, earning some looks. You flatter your wings and stand on Mystery's shoulder instead. His smile grows. "Just keep doing your magic."

— 🐦‍⬛

You wonder what the Huntrix girls are doing right now.

Probably better than... whatever this is.

"Gwi-Ma is going to be so disappointed in us."

"What? No! The opposite! He'd be so impressed, we'll never have to be punished—"

"Master's waiting for us to move already."

Gwi-Ma this. Gwi-Ma that. Even if you're the literal spawn of the guy, it's still such a bummer with him being the only topic in this damn world. Well, aside from famine and destruction of your kind. Okay. Enough of this. You have to check on the girls.

Jumping off of Mystery's shoulder, you shift into your true form, pink fire dancing in your silhouette.

You thought you could quietly leave but—

"Where are you going?" comes Jinu's voice, inquisitive. Suspicious, almost.

Romance cast you a look. "You haven't even seen our rehearsal yet! Or, maybe, you'd like to see it live—"

You flow your fire to Romance's side, patting his head in reassurance. "I'll be there."

Maybe that's good enough to be convincing. Then, you leave.

— 🔥

In one of the farthest seat of the stadium, you sit and watch as the Huntrix practice for their performance. Put simply, they're amazing. You always did prefer acapella from the girls.

You've taken a human form, hopefully that will be enough for them to lay off if they spot you. Act like one of the staff who's slacking or whatever.

"So this is where you are," a familar deep voice mutters, and you immediately shoot up a hand to their face. A face that's come from a half-body in the seat next to you, the Honmoon tear strong in your senses.

Between your startled glare and fingers, Baby smiles in curiousity as his eyes glow. "I'm a little hurt. Didn't know you prefer the hunters."

You relax. Okay, cool. He found you spying on Huntrix. "No one will believe you."

A cough. You follow the noise on the floor and find three out of four other Saja Boys. Abby, Romance, and Mystery stares at you with something in their expressions—completely unreadable.

"Does Gwi-Ma know you're—"

Hmm. Darn. You interrupt whoever spoke. "Why are you all here? Did you come to look for me?"

You turn, seeing Baby's immense stare on you. But he doesn't answer. None of them do.

... Weirdos.

"Where's Jinu?"

Baby pauses, then points at the other side of the area.

You follow his direction and Jinu barely meets your eyes.

A frown makes its way to your lips. This human... This human is a wonder. You have Gwi-Ma's memories—while the others are fairly content with their sins, you know Jinu's so much more complicated than that.

Honestly. He'll know about Rumi's patterns in one way or another.

Someone pokes your cheek.

You sigh. "Mystery, stop doing that."

"Ah, no, I'm Abby. You're acting weird."

You? Acting weird? Haven't you always been? You look down on your patterns. An intricate design and color unlike the others.

The weight of your memories — not even yours, really — rumbles in the pit of your core. You don't like what you are, or where you are, or who you are. But, at the same time, you care so much. It's hard to think.

"I'm not answering that," you say eventually, using your higher position whenever convenient.

—

errmm my bad, also im trying to combine asks as I go ... hrrmmm eeemm hmmmm it's not working well

i tried to go with demon reader (anon1) and reader who hates the saja boys but loves huntrix (anon2) but for this one—they just really don't like what they stand for

[alastor-simp]

IMPORTANT STORY IDEA POLL⚠️

[ozzgin]

Thinking about buff, dominant men who become submissive the instant you demand it. They don’t take shit from anyone and are used to always getting their way. They’ll look after you and order you around as they see fit.

Yet, the moment you tell them to kneel, they’ll drop without hesitation. After all, they live to serve you. You're the only one in the world with this kind of privilege.

Big, scary partners who follow your orders like an obedient dog. They could be in the middle of an argument, as the others cower under their ruthless glare, and they'll drop everything to hear your precious demand.

Clearly someone's in charge, but it's not quite the way people would expect it. You're the one holding the leash.

[pipszhou]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛'𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐭

✧ — synopsis: Top of the class? Not for long. All it took was one lecture, one remote-controlled vibrator, and Professor Caleb’s merciless control to turn you into a shaking, dripping mess. And when he calls you up to the chalkboard, you learn the real curriculum: obedience, humiliation, and being bred full by your favorite professor.

✧ — pairing: caleb x mc

✧ — wc: ~2.5k

✧ — tags: professor caleb, semi-public sex, vibrators, humiliation, degradation, subspace, sexual overstimulation, creampie, breeding, power imbalance, dom/sub, rough sex, size kink, dirty talk, cock warming, spanking, hair-pulling, biting, marking, possessive behavior, multiple orgasms, orgasm control, begging, soft aftercare, classroom sex, pet names

✧ — notes: hello hello again i'm really horny so i wrote this within a day. not beta read, i hope you enjoy my horny endeavors! i just need more power imbalance lmao

You’re in a predicament.

The top student of the entire university—the pride of the campus—yet here you are, sitting at the back of the lecture hall with your thighs pressed tightly together, your nails digging into the edges of your seat. Your brows furrow, delicate lines forming between your temples as you bite down hard on your bottom lip, desperately trying to smother the whimpers threatening to spill out.

Because nestled deep inside you, hidden from the world, is a merciless vibrator—thick, hot, and unforgiving—pounding into your dripping cunt with devastating precision. Each thrust stretches you open wide, the fat head grinding against every desperate, soaked spot inside you. The toy doesn't just vibrate; it fucks into you, grinding in deep, twisting and pulsing like a real cock seeking to wreck you completely. Your walls flutter helplessly around it, clenching and spasming in pathetic pleasure.

As if that wasn’t enough, a suction toy clamps tightly onto your swollen clit, tugging and slurping with obscene, wet noises, like it's trying to suck your soul straight out through your trembling folds. Every pull sends white-hot sparks through your body, every pulse making you jolt and tremble.

All because of him.

Professor Caleb. Your childhood friend. Your Gege. Now the most sought-after artificial intelligence lecturer on campus—the heartthrob every girl wanted. And the man who had no mercy for you.

This was his game. His twisted, cruel judgment: could you endure, maintain your perfect, untouchable image... while the toy he prepared tore you apart from the inside out?

Or would you crack, humiliate yourself by running to the bathroom to finger yourself raw like a desperate little thing?

You refused to lose.

Your pride was too fierce.

Your stubbornness, too stupid.

So you stayed in your seat, trembling, thighs sticky and slick, grinding ever so slightly against the chair in a desperate bid for relief. Hands clamped over your mouth, you prayed no one would hear the faint, wicked buzzing between your legs. You clenched, you gasped, you endured.

Until the voice you dreaded most called out, slicing through your fragile composure like a blade.

"Class number 13," Caleb said smoothly, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "Please come up and solve the problem. What is the predicted value output of this activation layer in the full network?"

Oh gods.

Oh fuck.

Your heart plummeted. Your body spasmed around the merciless toy, gushing helplessly. Your mind—blank, so utterly blank, filled only with the overwhelming feeling of being stuffed full and sucked dry.

You hadn’t heard a single word of the lecture.

But you had a reputation to keep. The golden girl. The untouchable ace.

You forced yourself to rise, your nails digging into the table so hard they threatened to break. You took slow, shaky breaths, fighting to control the feverish pulse hammering through you. Your legs trembled as you stepped out into the aisle, every eye in the room burning into your skin, every step feeling like a mile-long walk of shame.

You reached the front—and there he was. Professor Caleb. Eyes dark with amusement. Smirk hidden behind the respectable façade.

He handed you the chalk. His fingers brushed yours—and in that exact moment, you caught it: the glint of the remote tucked in his palm.

A flick of his thumb.

The vibrator inside you roared to life, surging to its highest setting, brutal and relentless. It slammed into you, the fat shaft pistoning deep, hammering your g-spot, dragging moans up your throat you barely swallowed down. The toy twisted with each brutal thrust, the head grinding against your sweetest spots, almost lovingly cruel in how it refused to let you breathe.

The suction on your clit tightened too, a filthy, slurping rhythm pulling at you in time with each thrust inside—as if the toy was fucking and drinking you at once, milking you dry.

Your knees buckled slightly. You caught yourself against the chalkboard.

You could feel it.

The thick, pulsing length of the toy stuffing you full, stretching your cunt to its limits, buzzing violently against your spasming walls. Your panties were drenched, your thighs glistening. Your dignity, seconds away from shattering.

And yet you had to solve the equation.

In front of the entire class.

Under his watchful, merciless gaze.

The chalk trembled in your hand. He leaned in close, voice a low purr only you could hear. "Go on, top student," Caleb murmured, dark and wicked against your ear.

"Show me how well you can think… while getting fucked dumb.”

Fuck—a moan slipped past your lips before you could catch it. You wanted to curse the existence out of him. You wanted to tear him apart with words, call him the cruelest bastard alive. But all you could do was look at him—eyes burning with dark, venomous vengeance, even as your body betrayed you with heavy, panting breaths and soft, pathetic whimpers.

You tried—you really fucking tried—to walk your mind through every algorithm, every neural network formula you’d memorized so well. You tried to scribble something on the chalkboard, your hand trembling. But it was useless. Your writing was a mess of illegible lines, nonsense formulas no one could make sense of, the chalk crumbling and snapping in your tight, desperate grip.

Then you heard it— the low, rich sound of his chuckle. Amused. Entertained. Savoring your unraveling.

With a lazy flick of his thumb against the remote, he cranked the suction to maximum.

The effect was immediate. Your entire body convulsed, a helpless jolt of pleasure rippling up your spine. The suction on your clit was savage, unrelenting—greedy little pulls that sent wave after wave crashing through your gut, making your vision blur with stars.

Fuck, you were so close. So fucking close.

You slapped a trembling palm against the chalkboard to steady yourself. The chalk clattered to the floor with a hollow thud as your fingers lost their grip. Your knees buckled, barely holding you up as your hips gave a desperate, involuntary twitch.

Inside you, the thick vibrator kept thrusting deep—the textured veins along its shaft dragging against your slick walls with every ruthless stroke, the fat, rounded head grinding mercilessly against your sensitive cervix. It was maddening—perfect—too good. Every thrust knocked the air from your lungs, every pulse made your cunt flutter helplessly, greedy for more.

The suction was obscene, slurping at your clit so loudly you were sure someone, anyone, could hear. Humiliation and raw, brain-melting pleasure tangled inside you, choking you.

Then—his hand.

You felt it. Large, warm, strong fingers gripping your shoulder tightly.

You barely registered him leaning down, his breath hot against the shell of your ear, his voice a low, sinful growl meant for you alone.

"Fuck, baby," Caleb rasped, the words sending a violent shudder through your entire body.

"Why don't you just give up—let go—and I'll fill you up with my babies later, hm? Breed you nice and full right here…"

That was it.

The last straw.

You came—hard. Your body seized violently, every muscle locking tight as the orgasm tore through you, raw and merciless. Slick gushed down your thighs, soaking through your panties, dripping onto the floor. You bit down on your own hand to muffle the loud, broken moan that ripped free from your throat.

You shattered under him, completely undone, just as he wanted.

You heard it—the low, scandalous murmurs rippling across the room. The students whispering, stealing glances at the obscene sight before them. You, gasping for air, your knees buckling under you, while Professor Caleb—the campus heartthrob—stood so close you could taste his cologne, feel the heat of him against your trembling skin.

Then he stood upright, rolling his shoulders lazily like nothing was wrong. Like you weren’t falling apart on the floor.

"Alright, folks. Class dismissed," he said, mock sympathy dripping from his voice. "I'll take care of our top student here. She must be feeling a little... overwhelmed."

He winked—a cruel, knowing thing that made your blood boil.

"Come back next week with the answers to the problem on the board."

Students scurried out, throwing lingering stares your way, none brave enough to question him.

None knowing just how soaked you were—how the vibrator still pounded inside you, thrusting, suctioning, working your overstimulated folds mercilessly. The cum from earlier leaking out, wetting your thighs shamefully.

Once the last student left, Caleb locked the door with a click. He turned, his steps slow and deliberate as he stalked toward you. He grabbed your arm and pulled you up, no patience left in him.

"Stand up, Pip-squeak," he said, his professor mask fully dropped, replaced by something darker, filthier. "I’ll make it fast for you."

You nodded, helpless. Your legs felt like jelly, your cunt still clenching pathetically around the toy buried deep inside. With his steadying hand, you stumbled upright.

He guided you to his seat—the throne at the front of the room—and sat back lazily, spreading his legs in a welcoming posture.

"Strip, baby," he ordered, voice thick with lust. "I wanna see every curve hiding under that tight little shirt and short skirt you wore, thinking you could tease me."

You glared at him, breathing heavy. God, you hated him. You hated how hot he made you. How wet you got just from the sound of his voice.

"Chop chop," he said, tapping his jaw with his fingers smugly. "Or do you want me to rip it off you instead? I won't be gentle, Pips."

You cursed under your breath but obeyed—gripping the hem of your tank top, peeling it over your head slowly, exposing trembling skin. Your skirt pooled down your legs with a soft whisper, leaving you utterly bare, nothing left to hide.

"What now, Caleb?" you asked, your voice small, shivering slightly.

"Good girl," he murmured, unzipping his fancy linen pants with one smooth motion. His thick, heavy cock sprung free—long, veined, angry red at the tip, leaking pre-cum like he couldn't wait to ruin you again.

The same cock that had broken you a hundred times before.

The same cock you dreamed about, drooled over, worshiped like it was your personal god.

"Sit on me," he said. "You know the drill."

You let out a shaky breath, heart pounding in your ears. No matter how much you wanted to slap him for being an asshole—you wanted him more.

You were his cocksleeve, after all. His needy little thing.

You climbed onto his lap, one trembling hand gripping his collarbone for balance. The other reached down between your legs, pulling the soaked, buzzing vibrator out of your stretched hole and tossing it somewhere carelessly.

Lining him up, you sank down. It was like the first time all over again.

His cock was thicker than anything, harder, hotter—stretching your walls until they clamped around him desperately. Every vein of him dragged along your sensitive insides perfectly, the fat head of his cock pushing into your cervix with sinful precision. He filled you up like he was made for you—like he owned every inch of your tight, ruined cunt.

He was your naughty professor.

Your filthy god.

Your damnation and your salvation wrapped in one devastating man.

You started moving—bouncing weakly, trying to ride him the way he liked, but your legs were too shaky, too spent from the relentless overstimulation. You whimpered, grinding pathetically against him, barely able to lift yourself.

"Oh, baby," he cooed mockingly, hands resting heavy on your ass. "Is that all you got? After coming so pretty in front of the whole class?"

He slapped your ass hard enough to make you squeal, then soothed it with a rough grope, making you rock harder against him.

You tried to look away, humiliated, but his dark gaze pinned you in place—all-consuming. Inescapable.

"Shut up, Caleb," you snarled weakly. "Shut the fuck up—I—"

He gripped your hair tight, yanking your head back roughly. A broken cry escaped you, your back arching, pressing your tits flush against his chest.

"You don't get to order me around, baby," he growled, voice pure sin against your ear. He bit down on your neck, hard enough to bruise, suckling dark purple marks into your skin like a man possessed.

"You're mine, Pip-squeak. My perfect little whore."

Your mind spun. Your body shook. You fell deeper into subspace—weightless, aching, desperate for him. He toyed with you, slapping your ass, groping your tits, biting your throat, until you were a trembling mess in his lap.

"Need help, my lovely top student?" he whispered against your ear, voice thick with cruel affection. You nodded frantically, tears clinging to your lashes, your body begging.

He chuckled low and deep—"could’ve said so sooner, Pips."

Then he took control. His hands grabbed your waist, slamming you down onto his cock with brutal, merciless thrusts. Each movement drove him impossibly deep, splitting you open, pounding against your g-spot so viciously that your cries turned into strangled, high-pitched sobs.

You dug your nails into his back, leaving angry red trails down his spine. You wanted to brand him. You wanted him to remember how you fell apart on his cock.

The lecture hall echoed with the wet, filthy slap of skin on skin—your cries, his low groans, the obscene, squelching sound of your cunt sucking him in greedily. "Keep it down, baby," he mocked, voice a rumble in your chest. "Others might hear you begging to be bred."

Fuck him.

Fuck him so much.

But you were too far gone. Your second orgasm built fast, violent, white-hot, ripping through you with every devastating thrust. You couldn’t hold back—your body convulsed, your cunt squeezing him desperately, trying to milk every drop from him.

And he was close too. You could hear it in his ragged breaths, feel it in the way his thrusts became rougher, erratic.

"Baby," he moaned brokenly, forehead pressed against yours, "I’m gonna come—open up, please—"

You did—your walls clamping down, your legs shaking, your mind blank as you came undone together. He spilled inside you with a low, desperate groan—thick, endless spurts of cum flooding your sore, twitching cunt. You could feel every hot, filthy drop filling you, leaking out, dripping down your thighs in thick, sticky trails.

You collapsed against him, shaking, gasping, his cock still buried deep inside your pulsing heat. His arms wrapped around you tight, possessive, like he was afraid you might slip away.

"Mine," he murmured against your hair, voice rough and spent. "Always mine, Pip-squeak."

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You stayed there—your body convulsing in little aftershocks, your pussy throbbing around him like it was the end of the world. He held you close, a suffocating, trembling embrace, like he needed to feel you breathing against him just to stay sane.

Even after the humiliation he put you through—after the teasing, the breaking, the claiming—you still loved him just the same. Your Gege. Your professor. Your ruin. Your home.

"Meet me after your classes end," he rasped, his temple resting against your bare shoulder, his cock still buried deep inside you. "Five p.m. sharp. As usual."

You nodded weakly, knowing full well—

You weren’t going to make it home in one piece.

[selineram3421]

Power🍷

Chapter List

Here you go.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5: Not yet made/in the process

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Don't Know When..

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ML for Alastor🎙

[slowfuckintheafternoon]

18+ only please and thank you

John Price’s darling secretary, whose orgasm is scheduled every week, on Friday afternoon.

Friday afternoon, that’s the deal you've found yourself in somehow, after one terribly drunken and unforgivably honest night, where you found yourself naked and panting into your boss’s—

You know what, maybe it’s best if you don’t get into the details. It doesn’t matter now anyway, because you have your routine, and it works for both of you.

First thing in the morning, you bring your boss his coffee.

He takes one sip, and gives you an absentminded, “Thank you darling, shut the door please.”

Which you of course take care of right away, with your heels clacking cheerfully across the vinyl floor.

Then it’s morning briefing time, where you hover near the end of his desk and fill him in on any changes to his schedule that day, remind him of meetings and things he needs to sign off on, and just generally become more and more flustered because of what he’s doing.

Namely, that’s when he scoots his chair farther back from his desk, spreads his legs a bit, and strokes his beard while he looks at you.

Oh, the way that man looks at you.

You’ve tried to describe it to your friend once, and utterly failed because you started stumbling over your words with sudden embarrassment.

But your mind knows. Your subconscious perfectly understands the meaning of that particular gaze he levels at you.

It’s like you’ve found the most important person in the world, a person whose attention feels like it should be rationed in crumbs, and it's suddenly, fully locked onto you.

Not onto what you’re saying, though he does pay vague attention because that’s part of his professional day-to-day. But more than anything, he’s watching the changes in your face, the small shifts of your legs as you stand in one place in heels. It would be unprofessional to lean against his desk, so you just shift your weight slightly, planner in hand, and rattle off military organizational nonsense while Price’s eyes caress your face, linger on the curl of your fingers around the pen, lazily examine that spot where the skin of your throat disappears under your shirt collar.

“How was your weekend?” he'll ask softly, once he's certain you've got through the boring necessities.

"It was lovely, thank you sir. Saw a film with my friend."

He'll stretch out his hips slightly, forcing you to glue your eyes to his face and not drop them to the expanse of warm lap so close by.

“How are you feeling today?” he always inquires.

Which, of course, you know what it means. The words are cordial enough, but you've had this routine long enough to understand what's unsaid.

‘How’s our little arrangement treating you today? Do you need a break?’

To which you reply something like, “Right as rain, sir.”

And that's it. Business settled, coffee delivered, everything ship shape in that little office on base.

And then you get a different sort of attention, because that's what this is all about in the first place -- the fact that you can't get enough of his attention.

Some days, if there really isn't anything going on that morning, he'll let you suck him off. Those are really nice days, because it means he'll be in a good mood after that, smiling at you and giving you soft, happy eyes.

But mostly there isn't time, so he's forced to tend to you in other ways.

Namely, the Captain makes you come stand between his knees, so he can run his hands over your body. He'll talk to you while he does it, tell you a little bit about his weekend, the fishing he did, the reruns he watched, while he undoes the little buttons on your blouse.

He prefers you in those soft fabric bras without any padding, partly because he can see the imprint of your nipples through your shirt, and partly because it's so easy to tug the top down and let your breasts spill out onto his waiting hands.

Price is a boob man, in case you were wondering.

You keep your hands clasped carefully onto your planner behind your back, and endure each tug on your nipple while he shines those gorgeous eyes up at you, his expression full of playful fondness. That's all this is, after all. A little bit of playing with each other, because you both enjoy it.

"Does that feel good, sweetheart?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you miss me over the weekend?"

"I always do, sir."

Sometimes he finds other ways to play with your body, but you get the general idea. Ten minutes of touching and attention, and you're set for the day. Wet, breathless, and practically stumbling over yourself to please him in whatever ways you can.

Ten minutes, and then he's buttoning you back up, making you proper again, and turning back to his coffee with a casual, "That's all for now. Thank you, darling."

Thank you. As if you're the one doing him the favor. You're half convinced it's his own little joke.

Actual work begins about that time, and it often happens where you don't see much of each other. He's occupied with meetings or trainings or briefings most mornings, and you deal with your usual papers and busywork.

For lunch you often pop off to the mess, or occasionally bring sandwiches to the office mini fridge. Lunch is always overshadowed by your anticipating of the midday meeting. It's the next bit of time you get to spend time with Captain Price.

"How was your lunch?"

"Just fine, sir."

"Close the door please."

Much like his, 'How are you feeling today?' question, you believe the door closing is a signal of sorts. That he's ready and willing, and that nothing has come up that keeps him from the midday meeting, as things occasionally do.

Most days, though, he manages to prioritize it.

You appreciate that greatly, because it's your favorite part of the day. The part where you remove all of your clothes apart from your heels, and he guides you into his lap for wandering hands, and soft, interested whispers.

He never takes off a stitch of his own clothes. It's part of the arrangement, you suppose, to help you feel more vulnerable. The contrast of his rough, reinforced clothing against your bare skin, the occasional scratch of velcro, or the poke of a corner of fabric, only makes it better. The complex excitement and fear of it has your heart thumping like a trapped animal, which is obviously the point. The more trapped you feel, the more wrong it is, the wetter your pussy gets, and you both know it.

You attempt to relax like that, melting back against that broad chest, shivering slightly from the cold air of the room, and aware of every motion of those steady hands exploring your most sensitive areas.

When he gets his fingers in your pussy, when he starts touching it exactly the way you like, that's when he asks you the most difficult questions, in quiet little murmurs against your hair.

They're rhetorical, but you give him a quiet, "Yes, sir," or "No, sir," as you're meant to.

He'll ask you if you've been wet on the weekend while you were away. If you've been a selfish girl and touched yourself at all. If you went on any dates, if you let anyone fuck you. If you told them about how you're not allowed to cum, if you took precautions to make sure it didn't happen. If you were generous and let them use you. If you've been thinking about hooking up with anyone else at work, if having a wet pussy all week is making you more interested in being used by random people.

And he touches you through every question, regardless of how you answer. Until your knees are trembling, and every reply is coming out with a little more of a struggle, a little more whimpery and pitiful.

He doesn't make you edge yourself. He's got a pretty clear idea of where your tipping point is, after a few accidents in the early weeks of this. He'll just decide you've had enough, and his sticky fingers will dry while coasting over the other parts of your skin, sampling the feel of your heated body in his hands while you catch your breath and try to calm yourself.

Price always gives himself time to spend with you like that, gently petting you and letting you feel connected to him, until the soft warmth of that is almost as loud in your brain as your throbbing clit.

And then it's time to get proper again. Get dressed, get back on schedule, back to your office duties, with your underwear now uncomfortably sticky against your aching pussy.

Aching, because he's so fond of you that he gives you all this wonderful attention.

The end of the day tends to be the part that's flexible. Sometimes it's just a friendly pat on your ass and a, "See you tomorrow, good work today."

Occasionally he'll inspect your panties, maybe get rid of them for you since they're so wet and useless at that point. More than a few times you've had to ride the train home with nothing on under your skirt, your inner thighs wet from your own arousal wandering down your legs. It's very difficult to not think about fucking strangers when that's happening.

And sometimes, very rarely, he'll fuck you at the end of the day. Especially if it's been a very good day, or if you've done something particularly smart, you'll get bent over his desk as a goodbye, get your pussy filled while your eyes roll back and little whispered, "Thank you, sir"s roll off your tongue.

Those are the days you really wish he was coming home with you.

But then, the best day is always Friday. That's the day you're always extra nervous, extra good, trying your very hardest to do everything exactly right so that nothing will stand in the way of you and getting the orgasm you earned all week.

Price lets you pick it, because he's a very nice boss. Whether it's eating you out on top of his desk, or getting fingered uncomfortably close to the window, or just riding him until your knees have imprints of his chair, you're guaranteed to finally, finally, get to cum. He often stays late so you can get as many as you want, shuddering and gasping as quietly as you can while your pussy spasms in intense, long-delayed release.

You've never felt anything like it. Many partners, many different kinds of experiences, but your Friday afternoon fuck is something different. Something emotional and vulnerable, when you let your body do what it needs to do, while he watches. Watches, and offers hushed little comforts and praises.

Take what you need, you've earned it. You've been such a busy worker this week. His favorite subordinate, but don't tell anyone. Never met anyone so cute and competent at the same time, what a treasure you are. Doesn't that feel so much better? Let's keep going, you deserve it. You're doing so well, darling. That's my girl.

You're left a sweaty, blissed-out mess by the end, when he tucks you into his chest and strokes your back.

Ahh, Friday. Fridays are the best.