#silver plating process

[dearmisshoney]

fool me once, fuck you twice

synopsis. you scam your dealer again by paying with fake bills. but theodore nott is not as stupid as you think, and not as harmless as you think. let’s just say... nott has connections and can teach you a lesson you will never forget.

pairing. dealer! theodore nott x reader x corrupt! cop! mattheo riddle

content/mdni. DUB-CON. mentions of NON-CON. fem!reader, dealer!theo, corrupt!cop!mattheo, cocky!mattheo, cocky!theo, aggressive!mattheo, condescending!theo, (kind of) slutty!reader, PUBLIC SEX. car sex (on the hood of the police car), THREESOME, doggy-style, deep throat/face-fucking, slight tit play, dry-humping, slight clit stimulation, spanking, rough play, power play, hair-pulling, handcuffs, slight sir kink (mattheo), teasing, praise, degradation, dirty talk, name-calling (good girl, baby, sweetheart, ma'am, but also whore, slut, fucktoy and fuckhole), objectification, very messy, (inaccurate aka idk about drugs) drug usage. raw sèx, FILTH

word count. 4.8k

a/n. OMG HONEY NO SUB/WHINY MEN? are you okay? yes, i am :)) this fic is for the third week of @acourtofchaos ’s event. let me know what you think about new approach and this new (?) au for matty! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

bright headlights flash in the rearview mirror of theodore’s car as another one slowly pull into the parking lot right behind him. his hand, latched around the mirror, slightly adjusts it to better see the plate number.

it is your car.

you, a somewhat recent customer he accepted after one of his best clients begged him to hook you up with the good stuff, have been biting more than you can chew.

not only were you dressing up like a slut every time you met with him — perky tits poking through the tight material of your tops, pussy peeking from underneath your micro-skirts — but you also half-assed your payment by sneaking in counterfeit bills.

theo always brushed to the side your skimpy outfits, not giving you any sort of discount for your promiscuous acts.

but he cannot excuse your usage of fake money.

no one cheats theodore nott.

“theo, hii!”

your exaggeratedly lively greeting hits his ears the moment he steps outside his car.

that sweet tonality of yours always made him roll his eyes back in annoyance, but right now it even angered him. your candy-like tone was definitely infused with venom and a dash of pride from the fact that you managed to trick the devilish dealer.

definitely, but not really. he would have reprimed you by now, but, alas, he had no evidence you did your almost-fake payment on purpose.

theodore is not an unreasonable man — he gives you the benefit of the doubt, hoping that maybe you didn’t know they were fake bills.

“the usual, right?” he muttered underneath his breath, more of a rhetorical question, clasping the edge of his trunk and lifting the lid to search for your order.

“awe, theo, why so gloomy tonight?”

you leaned against the opened trunk, arching your back into the created shape and pushing out your tits more. your tube top was barely sticking to your skin, gripping to your chest for dear life so as to not flash your dealer.

but if it happens, it happens — maybe that way theodore would finally give you a discount.

 “shit happened.”

it’s all he says as he closes back his trunk abruptly, without a warning. (un)fortunately, you reacted fast and your limbs were not trapped in the process. your expression did faltered for a second, your eyes popping out of your sockets and your mouth getting ready to spill curses, yet you composed yourself in time to receive the little transparent drug bag from theo.

“'m sorry, boo! can i help somehow?”

you were really adamant in seducing him, huh? leaning closer to theo, showing the peaks of your breasts to him, and seductively swaying your hips; you were serving your body on a silver platter as if it were nothing to you.

what a fucking slut.

“you having the cash to pay for this will do.”

he wasn’t going to feed into your depraved fantasies. so, shaking the bag with the greenish goods, he kindly demanded the payment from you. this evening you seem to be missing your purse, so theo’s reply was not out of line at all.

“of course, theo! you know i never disappoint.”

dipping your hand between your boobs and stretching out the tight material of your top, you pull out a fat stack of money, tied together by a red band. you shamelessly pushed the bills towards theo, flashing him a sultry grin as you intentionally let the top smack against your skin and make your chest jiggle.

what a fucking slut.

“i know.”

he groaned at the sight of your money, taken by surprise by your hiding spot. you've never had such a performance before, so to suddenly see bills emerging from between your tits… that made blood rush to his cock.

his unusual reaction was registered by you and your smile only grew bigger. theo was surely not discounting you this time, but now that you visibly made him falter… you will do your best to get that discount next time.

“pleasure doing business with you.”

you cheekily say to him as you slap the stack of money in his hand and impatiently snatch the bag from the other one. swinging the little packet in front of your hungry eyes, you admire the content for a bit before putting it away.

again, between your boobs.

what a fucking slut.

“see ya'.” it's all you say as you step away from theodore, spinning towards your car to leave the place.

“yeah, yeah.”

theodore only mumbled back at your, gripping the stash of money in his hand tightly. he carefully watches you as you start the engine, your headlights immediately hitting his standing figure as you slowly turn around and exit the parking lot.

he was planning on checking the money while you were still here, but your little stunt made him forget all about his plan, leaving him stranded alone with, most likely, suspicious bills.

“she better just be dumb.”

that was his wish: he really wanted you to just have unknowingly given fake bills to him. to just unknowingly cheat him and profit off of his business.

yet as he carefully checks each and every bill from the stack with a uv light, theodore discovered your true nature — you intentionally did it.

you dared fake your payment twice in a row, this time only using counterfeit money.

what a fucking devious slut.

“oh, she will pay for this! no one messes with me and leaves unharmed.”

he was chuckling under his breath as he gripped the money tightly, the discarded portable uv light bringing out the markings on every bill and the rage in theodore’s eyes.

they shimmer a treacherous blue, so stormy and so revengeful.

“that slut will regret it.”

with a mischievous grin on his lips, he drops the bills all over the car seat. then he reaches for his phone on the center console and, fastly typing a well-memorized phone number, he dials someone surely capable of bringing him justice.

“need your help with something.”

•••

“theodore the devil nott my ass, haha!”

stepping on the gas pedal hard as soon as you joined the main road, you upped the volume of your music in celebration. you used fake bills to fully pay for your drugs and that stupid dealer didn’t even realize.

you escape unscattered yet again.

“such a fucking loser, damn!”

and you continued your insulting monologue, replaying in your head how easy it was for you to take the package and dip. how his eyes were focused on your tits, then your money stack.

how he literally moaned when you dropped the drugs in your top at the very end.

“pussy boy for real.”

you've heard details from your friend about his sex life, but it all seems to be just a rumor. there was no way theodore nott, with his prudish reaction, fucks until daylight and makes his partners see stars.

he is an attractive bastard, yes, but he definitely hasn’t seen a pussy in his life.

“that makes it easier for me, damn.”

you were smiling like crazy when you realized your seduction game just became easier to implement. he’s been so unresponsive all this time because he was a prude. and maybe you were too bold.

“a sheer top will do for next time.”

you were already planning your future outfit, so excited to fuck up theo’s resolve to stay away from your enticing tendencies, but the red and blue lights of a police car glimmering in your rearview mirror brought you back to reality.

“no fucking way.”

all your enthusiasm dropped as you realized the police car was targeting you, signaling for you to stop on the side of the road.

“fuck, fuck, fuck.”

why were cops patrolling this route? and why were they out at this hour? you were indeed over the speed limit, so their reaction was understandable. but if they were to also body search you and find the drugs… you’re done for.

let’s hope the officer was a he. a young thirsty he who will give in to your dirty attics and let you go.

so, obeying his signals, the tires of your car halt with a loud screech. your hands fumbled to lower the volume of your music, and that’s when you registered the strong pounding of your heart.

you were anxious.

you dipped your hand in between your boobs, searching for your drug bag in hopes of removing it, yet you fastly return your hand back on the steering wheel when you saw the red and blue lights swirling so close to your car and a dark silhouette approaching the window. 

a sudden sharp knock on your window made your entire body twitch in your seat, legs shaking away from the pedals on the floor and rooting themselves as close to the edge of the seat as possible. without waiting for a second knock, you lowered the window with a gulp.

and there he was.

uniform pressed. badge gleaming under the red-blue lights. cop hat pulled over messy curls, yet barely hiding his brown eyes.

“license and registration, ma'am.” he drawls, voice gravel-like, a knowing smile plastered across his lips.

oh he was hot hot.

“o–of course, officer…?”

“officer riddle, ma'am.”

“give me one second, officer riddle.”

you could definitely try wiggle your way out of this one. officer riddle looked young and, judging by his constitution, he was definitely a desirable yet cocky man.

stroke his ego — and maybe his cock — and you’re definitely good.

so you scramble, leaning so far down towards the drawer in front of the passenger seat that your ass was on full display for officer riddle. opening up the drawer, you took longer than needed to find the necessary documents.

all that just to entice the cop.

you had no clue if your trick was working, but you knew for sure the officer got a good glimpse of your bubble butt and your naked cunt. your micro-skirt may not have come in handy with your dealer, but it will definitely affect riddle.

“was i– um– speeding, officer?”

returning to your initial position and handing him the documents, you bat your eyelashes cluelessly at him and purse your lips in confusion. you would have pushed your tits at him too, but the drugs tucked between them were burning into your skin, advising you to be cautious.

mattheo riddle takes your license and glosses over it slightly, before returning his gaze back to your face.

“twenty over. but that’s not the main issue.”

and that’s when your breath hitches, the drug bag feeling heavier against your chest.

“w–what do you mean?”

he doesn’t answer. just eyes you for a moment and, with a jerk of his chin, commands you to do exactly the thing you were most afraid of:

“step outside the vehicle, ma'am.”

your lips parted, ready to protest, but you swallowed your words and obeyed. if you make a commotion right now, it will make it worse.

so, complying to his order, you got out of the car. your heels clicked against the pavement, and you stepped into the cool air.

“bend over, hands on the hood.” he says firmly. “i will conduct a search. standard procedure.”

“search? may i know why–”

“standard procedure, ma'am.” he cuts you off in a harsh tone, one that allows no further questioning. “do not make me use force, ma’am.”

you complied.

he started his search from your wrist, skimming down your arms. it was deliberate yet professional, his fingers barely ghosting over your skin. then he hovered over your hips, pausing his hands at the swell of your ass.

“you nervous?” he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot and sticky. something darker was palpable in his voice, but you couldn’t quite figure out the reason.

“ah– a little.”

“you should be.”

and that’s when his hands unprofessionally gripped at your ass over the skirt, half of his palms hitting the material of your garment, half of it — his curious fingers — hitting bare skin.

“s-sir–?”

“public nudity? that’s a serious offense, sweetheart.”

his fingers dug deeper into your flesh, leaving indents into the plush of your ass, as he spread your legs slightly to make space for his own body.

“walking around like this?” he growls against the shell of your ear as his fingers raised the hem of your skirt higher and higher. “skirt so short and fuck me– no panties?”

your cunt was now on full display, shimmering underneath the moonlight because of the glossy arousal coating your lips and thighs. and to make it worse, the rugged material of mattheo’s pants were nicely pressing against it, making you buckle your hips back into him.

your stomach flips at his words, a mixture of desire and fear. you tried to beg for mercy, but only a small whine left your throat.

“not only you’re breaking the law…” he continued ruthlessly, raising one of his hands from your ass only to let it slap back against your skin. “you’re doing it like a desperate little whore.”

“p–please, officer, i–”

another slap.

“save it for the chief.”

before you can beg again, he roughly gripped your wrists and, binding them closer behind your back, he swiftly handcuffed you. now, with your hands tied behind you, the cold and hard metal of the cuffs digging into your skin, you had no chance of escaping.

you were fucked.

“c'mon, let’s go.”

he removed himself from behind you like nothing happened, pushing back down your skirt and even yanking your body from the hood.

“what are we–”

“we’re going to the police station. you’re under arrest, sweetheart.”

and with that brief explanation, he nudged you to move towards his car. his police car, with the red-blue lights still menacingly spinning.

it was bad.

if he takes you to the police station, they will surely find the drugs. shit, shit shit, you have to stop him right now. but how? what should you do to make him change his mind?

“wait– wait! officer riddle…” you breathed out courageously, heels skidding against the pavement as you dig them in.

resisting his pushing.

but he doesn’t stop at all, hand stiff against your lower back.

“don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“i will do anything–” you blurt out. “j–just– don’t take me there, please.”

that stops him.

his hand on you falters just enough to give you hope. you could see from the corner of your eyes how his own chocolate orbs flicker down your body — unreadable themselves, yet the mere action speaks volume.

“anything?” he repeats, low and dangerous.

“y–yeah!” you nod, heart pounding right next to your drug pouch. “p–public indecency should be punished privately, d–don’t you agree?”

for a moment, there’s only the whirling of the police lights and the thudding in your chest. then, with a devilish smile, mattheo drags you closer, your body falling into his.

“you think i am that easy, sweetheart?”

fuck it, go big or go home.

“i think you want to see if i am that easy, officer.”

that was enough. you didn’t even need to push your hips back into his crotch like you were planning to.

your body was instantly guided to the hood of the police car, shoved chest first against the cold metal. your legs parted instinctively, giving officer mattheo riddle the chance to position himself between them and yank your skirt back up.

“what a fucking slut.” he mutters as he slowly thumbs at your pussy, fingers cruising against your folds and collecting your arousal. “showing me this dirty cunt to fuck.”

he continues to mutter profanities under his breath as he undoes his belt with one hand. the other tightly clutches the handcuffs on your wrists, keeping them in place at the base of your back.

“bending over like a common whore to dodge a charge.”

you moan when he grinds against you, this time sloshing the head of his hard cock between your sticky folds. his fat tip presses deliciously against your pulsing entrance, offering enough pressure to make your eyes roll back.

“gonna fuck you raw, sweetheart.” he groaned in your ear as he carefully pushed in, cock splitting your pussy open inch by inch. “you need justice deep inside you.”

“oh my god–”

mattheo's hips snap forward, shoving his cock deep inside you with a brutal thrust, knocking the wind out of your lungs. the cold of the metal hood mixes with the boiling heat between your thighs, your breath fogging up the base of the windshield in front of you.

“is this what you wanted, huh?” he sets a brutal pace from the start, disregarding your comfort for good. “is this why you’re walking with your bare pussy out?”

his belt clinks faintly with every movement, still hanging loose around his hips, evidence of how quickly he turned from arrest to sex. his free hand comes down against you ass again and again and again, spanking your buttcheeks with force.

until red imprints of his hand remained on your skin.

“fuckin' tight–” he hisses, one hand still gripping your cuffed wrists, the other planted on your ass, pressing harder against it and exposing your hungry cunt sucking him in.

“and this wet for a cop? you’re so disgusting, sweetheart.”

you only moan, body trembling from his aggressive thrusts, metal handcuffs biting into your skin as he keeps a constant pace — fast and heavy. perfect rhythm to make you feel every inch drag along your inner walls while also bullying your cervix.

“fucking your way out of jail time… you always do that, hm?” he growls, each word punctuated by the slap of his hips against yours.

he was so mean, his mouth constantly running on and degrading you with every word. but you couldn’t even retort back, you lips only able to allow drool to pool on the hood of the police car.

he was hitting the right spots with every jut of his hips, and his heavy balls were perfectly hitting your puffy clit.

“aaah– n–noo–” another sharp thrust shuts you up again.

he grabs a fistful of your hair, nails scrapping the scalp, and pulls your head back just enough to make your back arch harder. the shiny handcuffs were gleaming beautifully against your newly-found arch, and, no matter how much you tugged at them to release your hands to support your body, you could only cry loud from the harsh pressure at your roots.

“lying, stealing, flashing your fuckholes at anyone who looks twice. i think one fuck is not enough.”

his pace increased, cock driving into you with enough force to rock the entire vehicle. the lewd, wet slap of skin on skin fills the night air, and the windows fog more and more.

“what do you think, theo?”

“t– theo?”

and that’s when you see him: theodore nott, your dealer, smirking like a demon from behind the windshield of the police car. he seems to have been here from the start, as he was seated nicely in the passenger seat, carefully eyeing you and pumping something you couldn’t see yet.

“yes, whore, theo. theodore nott.”

mattheo doesn’t let up, his pace violent, hands loosening against your hair and making you drop back onto the hood. the impact made you gasp in pain and pleasure, all his restless abuse somehow making you needier for more.

“you see what happens…” theo drawls, voice thick with arousal, now booming from right next to your exhausted body. “when you try to fuck me over, baby?”

turning your face sideways, you finally see him clearly. you see the way his eyes were dark with amusement, one hand lazily stroking his hard cock as he takes in the sight of you bent over the hood of his friend’s car.

“you get fucked twice as hard.”

it was definitely a bad situation for you, yet all you could do is gush more around mattheo’s dick, sucking him in like a vice and milking him dry. all you could do was eye theo’s own cock, all hard and weeping with precum, wishing it was in your mouth.

“she’s learnin' her lesson realllll well,” he grunts, hand stricking your ass again. “ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

you whimper weakly, nodding as best you can against the hood. “y-yes, sir…”

theo only smirks, cockily examining how obedient and pliant mattheo made you. “good fucking girl,” he praises you mockingly, thumbing your bottom lip before slapping the head of his cock on it.

“now open that pretty mouth and apologize to me too.”

you part your lips willingly, tongue flicking out to taste the salty precum on his tip. then you took him deeper, eyes fluttering closed as theo inserted his cock inch by inch. his groans, low in his throat, were music to your ears, now joining together mattheo’s raspy moans and creating the finest tune.

“that’s it.” he hissed, his hand tangling in your hair as he guides your head up and down his shaft.

“apologize with your mouth full.” he taunts, hips twitching forward as your warm mouth almost engulfed his entire length. “gag on it. make it sloppy, baby.”

and you did, as his hands didn’t allow you another choice, pushing your head all the way down to his navel. your throat was forced open by his cock, constricting around it from the sheer size of him and making you choke strongly.

mattheo groaned at the sight, cock twitching inside you.

what a fucking slut.

“fuck, she’s so dirty.” he growls, slamming into you harder and harder. “mouth full of cock while i wreck her cunt.”

your nails scrape at the hood of the car, knees shaking, orgasm bubbling in your stomach as the two men use you without mercy — like you’re nothing more than a slutty little debt to be collected.

“you like that, baby? you like being passed around like a toy?”

your muffled moans are enough of an answer, spit and precum seeping from the corners of your mouth as theo fucks your face deeper. he too was as turned on by your depravity as mattheo, his head tipped backwards with satisfaction, hands strongly caging your head.

“i should’ve known you were this desperate.” theo mutters, his voice rougher now, eyes looking from underneath his lashes at the way your lips stretch deliciously around him.

“all that fake money, all that attitude — when all you wanted was to be used.”

suddenly pulling you off his cock, face all wet and sticky, he gripped both of your cheeks with one hand, pursing your lips close to one another in a painful lock.

“where are the drugs, slut?” theo growled into your face, remembering what started all this. “still between those naughty tits of yours?”

he might have emptied your mouth to be able to answer him, but the way he was pushing at your cheeks did not help at all. so you only nod, excessively so, hoping theo will get the message.

“good.”

it's all he says before his fingers catch the edge of your top, tugging it down until your tits spill free, bouncing slightly with the motion. the bag also drops on the hood, hitting it with a small thud.

you hoped he would grope your breasts, tweak your hard perky nipples and give you the much needed chest stimulation. sadly, he completely ignores your tits, his hand sneaking across the hood and snatching the drugs.

“you don’t deserve them, you slut!”

not only did he took them back, he also opened the package right in front of you.

your lips part in protest, but no sound comes out. theo doesn’t give you a chance to process what he was doing, pushing his hand against your head and forcing you to stay flat on the hood.

“you better stay still.”

with one final threat, he dumped the greens all over your back. then, reaching into his back pocket for papers, theodore rolls the joint right there on your skin.

like your body is just another table for him to use.

you watch his fingers work through the sheer reflection on the windshield — deft, practiced — as he forms the joint with precision in seconds. lastly, with no hesitation, he lights the joint and, placing it between his lips, takes a long drag of his own products.

“want some, mattheo?”

“you know it.”

it’s all mattheo says before taking the joint from theo, slowing down his thrust to take a long drag, only to return to his torturous pace right after.

“you’re so dumb, sweetheart.” mattheo chuckled darkly as he slapped your ass. “trying to fool theo, seriously?”

his hand rains down your skin again, his red markings stinging all over. then, gripping the meatiest parts of your ass, he spread you open again, showing off to theo how good you are taking him.

“at least you’re a phenomenal fuckhole.”  

and mattheo was right. theo could clearly see the tight grip your cunt had on mattheo’s cock, how drenched you were from the two of them punishing you for your wrongdoings.

he might need to have a go at your pussy too.

“her mouth is also amazing.” theo added, returning to his previous place, next to your wet face. the joint was hanging from between his lips, the fumes reaching even down to you.

your beautiful puppy eyes immediately latched onto the drugs, begging theodore to share a drag with you too.

“awe, baby wants a taste?”

he mockingly asked you, pouting his lips in an attempt to imitate your desperate facial expressions. his fingers gripped the joint and removed it from his lips, lowering it closer to yours.

“you want a hit?”

you nodded frantically at him, face dragging across the metallic hood closer to his hand. your tongue poked out, your lips puckered, somehow hoping such gestures would attract the drugs closer to you.

what a fucking slut.

“nah–ah. your mouth has another purpose.” and so, he drags the joint away, taking a drag himself and blowing all the smoke right in your face.

“cock. your mouth was made to suck cock, baby!”

his tip was already slapping back against your lips and, without further reasoning, theodore pushed back into your mouth, resuming his face-fucking from before.

“you’re just a cock-hungry whore.”

mattheo added, rutting his hips harsher into you, pushing you further down theo’s dick and making you bury your nose into his happy trail.

theo’s fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as he fucked your mouth with cruelty. you gagged more around him, drool staining his pants and the police car. mattheo’s hips too slammed harder against your dripping cunt, the heat building impossibly fast.

“show us how good you are.” he growled, his voice rough against your ear. his wandering hands finally grabbed at your bare tits, kneading roughly, fingers pinching your nipple just like you wanted.

your body trembled under the assault of the two men. theo’s cock pulsed in your mouth, while mattheo’s dick twitched against your velvety walls. his grip on your hips tightened, keeping you still as his cock pounded faster, harder.

“cum on my dick. c'mon, whore.”

“be a good girl, baby! cream on his cock and i will give you a nice tasty load too.”

the joint, brought into the scene just to taunt you, fell forgotten somewhere on the pavement, their entire focus being now on you — their dirty, broken girl.

your body betrayed you, folding under the overwhelming pleasure. your pussy clenched so tight around mattheo it was almost painful, the slick heat of your walls burning hot and deep and pushing officer riddle over the edge.

“so tight and warm, shit.” mattheo cursed one last time, chasing his release with wild, sloppy thrusts.

theo too groaned low, his grip on your hair becoming increasingly painful. his own release was sudden, spilling hot and thick down your throat, making you choke one last time as he came hard.

mattheo roared above you at the same time as theo, his cock stilling deep inside as he fully painted your hungry cunt with his cum.

finally, after the restless pounding of both of your holes, you were allowed a break as the two men pulled out. you were a mess, full of cum inside and outside. the drugs on your back were mixed with sweat, but neither party seems to care about the waste.

“awe, baby, you’re tired?”

theo's venomous voice resonated in your ears like a distant echo. a small yeah was the only answer you could give, too exhausted to form full sentences.

“too bad, we’re not done.”

“i wanna feel your throat just break around me, sweetheart–”

“and i want to shoot my load deep in that dirty cunt of yours.”

“b–but–”

“do not pass out on us, baby.”

“not that that will stop us from fucking you, haha.”

©dearmisshoney 2025. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

tags: @downbad4reid, @cafechichay, @lov3notts, @nottslove, @nottsangel

[bi-writes]

thinking about mob baking simon a cake for his birthday (without his prior knowledge) mm good soup

mail-order bride

"you think he likes chocolate, baby?" you ask the cats. they sit side-by-side at the breakfast counter, being good girls as they sit on their chairs and watch you mix batter. "he totally likes chocolate. big boys like daddy love chocolate, don't they, girls?"

you grease two circular pans, pouring the chocolate cake batter into them. you set them in the oven before getting to work on your chocolate buttercream. you're using the new mixer simon bought you--it's beautiful, stainless steel, heavy. when you saw in the store a few weeks ago, you gushed at it, telling simon you saw someone make cinnamon rolls, bread, cakes, all in this mixer, but when your eyes skimmed over the price, you said nothing more, just smiled up at simon and let him lead you over to where the cast iron pans were (you wanted a real one).

a few weeks later, you noticed it on the kitchen counter. sparkling silver, right there, with the whisk attachment on it just waiting for you. and in the cupboard, ingredients--bread flour, powdered sugar, cornmeal, corn starch, dutch process, baking chocolate, whole wheat flour--all for you to play with. and when you baked him the most decadent triple chocolate coffee cake he had ever had, he bent you over the same table his empty plate sat and ate your cunt out with your apron still on. when you kissed him afterwards, he still tasted like chocolate.

you turn off the mixer, reaching in with a spoon to lick the buttercream off of it. you hum with delight, setting it aside, and when the oven timer dings, you pull the cakes out to let them cool.

you wrap simon's present as everything settles. special order, a favor you called into johnny. it's in a nice wooden box, and you tie a big red bow on it, and when you go back into the kitchen, you level and stack the two pieces of cake between buttercream and use a spoon to make a fancy decoration over the top of it.

the front door sounds as you're putting the finishing touches on the cake. you can hear him coming closer, and you gasp.

"no, no, no, don't come in the kitchen yet!"

"wot?"

"just--wait a little bit in the living room, okay?"

"for wot?"

"simon--" you groan. "please? for me?"

you don't hear anything after that except for the tv turning on. when you finish putting the last candles on the cake, you light them, picking up the plate and coming into the living room.

simon looks surprised. he was concentrating hard on the tv, watching the game, but his face relaxes when he sees you holding the cake. the cats perk up from where they're laid down beside him, and their ears flit as you start to sing happy birthday.

his whole face twitches. he stiffens, his palms flat on his thighs as he grips them tight. you set down the cake on the coffee table in front of him, candles glowing as you take a seat next to him. he's still staring at the cake as you finish the song.

"happy birthday, dear simon...happy birthday to you."

you smile at him, wrapping a hand around his bicep, squeezing it gently. you kiss his shoulder before motioning to the cake.

"you can blow them out now, simon," you say softly. "make a wish."

he doesn't move. he stares straight ahead, his eyes fixated on the flickering candles. you reach down and take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers and hugging his arm. you sit with him quietly, looking at the cake with him, and after a minute or so, you turn back at him.

"simon?" you whisper.

he's crying. you put a hand on the back of his head, scratching his short hair, and you cup his face gently as you wipe his tears. he's silent. the tears come, but he still doesn't move, still won't meet your eyes. you smile, going over to pick up the cake, and you hold it in front of him.

"here...make a wish, simon," you say softly. he picks up his sleeve and wipes his face, leaning over to blow out the candles. you put down the cake, standing up to go get his gift sitting on the kitchen table. when you sit down next to him again, he's still staring at the cake, still trying to pretend his face isn't wet with tears, but he stops wiping them when you place the box in his lap.

he unravels the bow. when he opens the case, he lets out a little chuckle, smoothing his hand over the foam inside.

there are an array of throwing knives laid before him. perfectly crafted, in different shapes and sizes, and when he picks one up and twirls it around between his fingers, the weight of them and the ease at which they move tells him you only picked out the finest quality. they're beautiful, and it's a thoughtful gift, and when he closes the lid on the box, he still can't meet your eyes.

"i'll cut us some cake," you say softly. you busy yourself getting plates and a cake knife from the kitchen, cutting generous slices before handing him one of the plates. he picks up the fork, and when you notice his hand shakes, you take the plate back from him gently and scoop a bite onto the fork for him. you don't say anything, just hold it up to his mouth, and once he takes a bite, you set the plate down and watch as he chews.

when he swallows, you sit again in silence. you reach over and take simon's hands in your own, squeezing them gently before bringing them up to your mouth to kiss softly. when he finally looks at you, all you do is smile.

he hadn't even remembered it was birthday. he never told you when it was, but he supposes you must have been curious enough to look for yourself. he can't remember the last time someone made him cake. he can't remember when he last received a gift, especially one like this. he doesn't know when he last thought himself happy enough to celebrate anything at all, but there is no other way he would've wanted today to go.

joy. you bring uninhibited, unfiltered, all-consuming joy. the way you're smiling at him--he can already see you in the kitchen in that apron, baking this cake, talking to no one but the cats as you carefully decorate it. the way you're looking at him--he knows you dreamed about this all week, scheduling the day so you could have the cake done as soon as he got home.

and chocolate. his favorite. decadent, sweet chocolate--it's still under his tongue, and he wants another bite already, he cannot wait to devour the slice that waits for him on the table.

"happy birthday, simon," you whisper, and when you lean in to hug him, he cradles the back of your head, tangling a hand into your hair as he presses you to his chest. "i love you."

fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck--

"love you, too, baby."

"what did you wish for?" you mumble into his shoulder. simon snorts a little, shaking his head.

"if i tell ya, it won't come true."

"oh, yeah," you giggle. "keep your secrets then."

he doesn't want more; the only thing he wishes for is more time. more time with you. as much as he can get. to live long enough that he gets to see your face for as long as possible.

that whatever he sees for the last time will be you and you only.

[sunsburns]

To add on to my previous thought, Joaquin could simply be doing the dishes his tags dangling an inch away from his chest or seeing them outlined under his shirt and I’m still drooling.

Like if he put them on me would he be acting the same way? Let’s find out, Joaquin lemme borrow your tags pls!

anything he does would have me swooning i don’t know what to tell u

and joaquín isn’t even doing anything particularly noteworthy, just standing at the kitchen sink, washing the dishes after dinner. he’s humming something soft under his breath, something familiar, and the low, absent-minded tune settles in your chest in a way you don’t quite expect.

he’s wearing one of his usual loose-fitting shirts, sleeves cut just enough to tease the toned definition of his arms. the fabric is thin, clinging to his back from the warmth of the water, and there, just beneath the cotton, you can see them.

the outline of his dog tags. they press against his shirt every time he moves, shifting, catching just enough light to keep drawing your eyes back to them.

you were telling him some story from earlier in the day, but the words falter on your tongue, train of thought lost entirely as you watch him.

it’s when he turns slightly, reaching for another plate, that they swing—dangling just an inch away from his chest, pressing against the fabric, teasing you like they know exactly what they’re doing.

your gaze traces the silver chain around his neck, how it peeks out from the collar, disappearing beneath his shirt. your fingers twitch with the sudden need to touch, and before you even think it through, you’re pushing off from the counter, stepping closer.

your hands skim over his shoulder first, light, almost absentminded, trailing down until they brush against the beads of the chain. you barely apply any pressure, just running your nails over them, feeling the warmth they’ve absorbed from resting against his skin all day.

joaquín stills instantly.

his breath hitches just enough for you to notice, and you don’t miss the way his fingers falter under the running water for just a second.

you pull the tags from under his shirt gently, letting the metal settle against your fingers, and then you tug.

not hard—just enough to make him stumble a step, enough to force him to turn toward you, enough to have his eyes wide and blinking as he processes what you’ve just done.

you don’t give him time to recover.

your fingers curl around the tags, keeping him close as you lean in and tug him even closer, pressing your lips to his before he can so much as utter a word.

for a second, joaquín doesn’t move. he’s too caught off guard, too caught up in you, the cool press of your fingers against him, the warmth of your lips settling over his. but then he melts.

the dish towel slips from his hand, landing somewhere in the sink, forgotten. his wet palms hover at your waist, dripping, for only a second before he touches—really touches—fingertips pressing into the curve of your hips, pulling you flush against him.

he exhales into the kiss, slow and shaky, and it sends a shiver down your spine. his lips part slightly against yours, a moment’s hesitation—like he’s savouring this, like he doesn’t want to move too fast, doesn’t want to ruin the way your breath catches at the same time he does. he always kisses you like the first time.

but you don’t want slow.

you tug his dog tags again, just enough to tilt his chin down, just enough to feel the low, barely-there sound he makes against your lips.

and then he’s kissing you back in full, properly, like something in him just gave up resisting.

his hands tighten at your waist, then one slides up your back, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, pressing against warm skin as he holds you even closer.

the heat between you builds, your head spinning as he deepens the kiss, lips moving with a slow, deliberate ease—like he wants to take his time, like he’s making sure you feel every second of it.

and you do.

you feel it in the way his nose bumps against yours when he tilts his head, in the way his breath hitches when your fingers slide up, curling into his hair. you feel it in the slight, barely-there tremble in his hands, like even he can’t believe this is happening.

it all makes you smile.

when you finally break apart, your breath is uneven, your lips tingling and in a wide grin.

his face is pink, eyes still a little dazed, lips parted like he’s still trying to catch up to what just happened.

your fingers are still wrapped around his tags.

“what was that for?” he asks, voice quieter than usual like you just knocked all the air out of his lungs.

you shrug, giving the chain one last, playful tug.

“felt like it.”

[fandomsilhouette08]

✨MY TAKE ON TFA SPARKLINGS/PROTOFORMS✨

All you only need are three components; a protoform, a spark, creators’ CNA!

-|The spark can either be formed from a spark bound or from the AllSpark itself

-|An adult protoform will be essentially the best option

-|Creators’ CNA is required as well for the sparkling, and the process is quite simple

-|| I wished they could have explored Sari’s origins honestly but this shall be my head cannon that Meg’s CNA was already in the protoform and when Prof Sumdac touched it both of their infused DNA/CNA made Sari ||-

Adult Frame Protoform can turn to a small frame/sparkling once there is a spark. (Whether it’s from the AllSpark or Spark bound)

Now, because Vector Sigma isn’t within this process to create or bring life to a sparkling but an adult frame instead, the creators of the sparkling will then engage in contact by touching the molten spark protoform to mix their CNA together to create their offspring. The molten protoform with the combination of both creators’ CNA, will form a pod-like structure.

Once the pod hatches/casing opens, you have yourself a sparkling!✨

The case will open whenever the protoform structure, coding is installed fully. Every sparkling will take its own time to develop within the pod. When it is their time to emerge, the pod will blink its lights profusely

STAGE I Sparkling/Protoform/Baby

They’ll be small ofc and their hard metal plating would develop over time when the sparkling comes of age

They will need their creators’ radiation/EMF to familiarize themselves with their parents and feed on it. They can also fuel on energon from their creators fuel channels off of their digits…like a leech

STAGE II Kid/Toddler Frame

STAGE III

Meet Silver Lining<33 Teen/Adult Frame

And yes, I made this opmeg/megop fan kid and he’s got siblings >:)

So glad to get this outta my system explain my pov on this topic and I love seeing all the unique ideas/head cannons others come up with in this fandom

I’d probs make a fic on this…maybe…but if you gots questions I’d be happy to answer <3333

[hcneymooners]

⋆ woman of my dreams, don't betray me.

wife!ambessa x wife!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you and ambessa are wives, and your parents have come to visit the two of you. everything will be fine, or would've been if you mother hadn't brought up her desire for grandchildren.

cw: angst, angst with a happy ending, wife!ambessa, wife!reader, age difference, older woman/younger woman, sfw but suggestive content, emotional hurt/comfort, you're a little bit of a crybaby, anxiety attacks, discussions of children and pregnancy.

notes: i hate this so much, but ce la vie hmm? this is a drabble.

“Sweet girl, don't bite your nails. You'll be so upset later.”

“You'll just give me the money to get them done,” you mutter. 

Still, your hands lower from your mouth to tremble yet again over the dinner you've painstakingly made.

Ambessa moves behind you, her presence steady and warm against your back. Her hands settle on your shoulders, thumbs working small circles into the knots that have been building there all day. You lean into her touch despite yourself, despite the anxiety that makes you want to vibrate out of your skin.

“Will this occur before or after you protest against me giving you too much?”

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, and you turn to slide your arms around her neck. You take in the strong line of her jaw, the crooked set of her lips with it’s thin stripe of golden jewlery in the middle. You thumb at it, face flushing slightly as she nips at the tip of your finger.

“My nails have yet to cost five hundred dollars, Bessa.”

“I include the tip.”

“I must be incredibly generous.”

“You are,” she hums, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Besides, you never think of tax.”

“Tax?” You say in disbelief. “What tax would they be adding that costs that much? Honestly, Bessa.”

“You never know,” she says with a slow smile. “They could swindle you very easily. You have such a trusting nature.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell her, cupping her face.

"Talk to me," she says, and her voice carries that gentle authority that first drew you to her. You turn away, your attempts at misleading her thwarted. "Is it your mother again?”

You stiffen under her hands. "Among other things." The roast in front of you blurs slightly. 

You can picture her expression without turning around - that careful neutrality she wears when she's processing something that angers her. It's the same look she gets in meetings when someone has said something particularly stupid.

"And what did you say to her?"

"Nothing. I deleted it. I’ve never been any good at convincing her to leave me alone." You pull away from her hands to adjust a perfectly arranged plate for the third time. "It's easier than explaining. Than having the same argument over and over about how I'll change my mind, how I just haven't met the right person yet." You pause, throat tight. "As if you're not..."

"As if I'm not what?" There's an edge to her voice now, not angry but intent. When you don't answer, she gently turns you to face her. "Look at me, little dove."

You do, though it hurts. She's beautiful in the warm kitchen light, silver hair gleaming, dark eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that still makes your heart skip even after all this time. You see the question in them and can't bear to answer it.

"The table still needs-"

"The table is perfect. You're being avoidant."

A laugh bubbles up, slightly hysterical. "Isn't that what I do best?"

"No." Her hand cups your cheek. You can smell her: blonde wood, vetiver, pink pepper, dry vanilla. "What you do best is love fiercely and completely. And we agreed that that meant being honest with one another.”

She titls your head up, presses a thumb against your pulse. The action makes you almost confess the words that crowd your throat, threatening to spill out:

I'm terrified you'll realize I can't give you the family you deserve. That one day you'll look at me and see all the things I'm not, all the things I can't be. That you'll regret choosing someone so much younger, so much less certain of their place in the world. That my mother is right and I'm being selfish, denying you something fundamental.

But before you can voice any of it, the doorbell rings. Your whole body goes rigid. Your hands come to your sides and you’re back to shaking, neck burning with sudden stress. 

“I’ll get the door,” you say.

Your voice is rasping, as if you’ve swallowed down endless snakes of smoke.

‧₊˚ ⋅  𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅ 

Dinner is excruciating. Your mother talks about your cousin's new baby, about how wonderful motherhood looks on her, about how she's "simply glowing." You push food around your plate and feel Ambessa's concerned glances, even as she masterfully deflects conversation toward politics, toward her work, toward anything else.

But with each deflection, you can feel her growing more tense beside you - the way she sets her wine glass down with just a fraction more force, how her knife scrapes against the china with military precision.

"But really," your mother says, wine glass tilting dangerously in her hand, "I just don't understand why you two haven't started trying yet. Ambessa, dear, you must want more children? And you're not getting any younger-"

The fork clatters from your hand. "Mother."

You can feel your body pulsing with that sick warmth that comes with the rush of tears. You’re boring a hole through the dining room table with your gaze, eyes growing large and wet. If you were a lamb, you’d be bleating except your mother is the wolf so who will be the one to save you? 

Beside you, Ambessa goes perfectly, terrifyingly still. The kind of stillness that precedes a storm, that makes the hair on the back of your neck rise. You can see her hand flat against the table, the metal of her rings catching the light, and you know without looking that her face has taken on that marble-smooth expression that makes junior officers quake in their boots.

"I'm only giving you something to think about, my love. I’ve been you before. You think you have so much time, you know? It’s just—you've always been so good with kids, sweetheart. Remember how you used to babysit for the Hendersons? And Ambessa's children turned out so well-"

"Stop." Your voice comes out strangled. "Please."

Ambessa's hand sneaks under the table to grasp your thigh. The touch is slightly grounding but you can feel the tremor in her fingers - not from fear, but from restraint. You know she wants you to look at her, but then you'll really begin to lose it.

You'll spill over, right into her lap, because she always could unlatch your body in ways you thought were only for other people.

You catch the slight movement of her jaw, the way she swallows whatever cutting remark she wants to make. Because this is your mother, and Ambessa—for all her power, all her authority, because of the love—is letting you handle this your way. But the tension in her body screams of fury, of a woman forced to watch her beloved take wounds she can't deflect.

"I don't see why you're being so sensitive about this. It's a natural progression-"

"Natural?" You're standing now, though you don't remember deciding to. "Natural is me not wanting to vomit every time someone mentions me being pregnant. Natural is not having a panic attack every time you send me another fertility clinic link or baby clothes or-" Your voice breaks. "I can't. I can't do this."

You flee, ignoring your mother's startled "Well!" and your father's awkward attempt to change the subject. You're halfway up the stairs before the tears start properly, and by the time you reach your bedroom, you can barely see. The door locks behind you with a satisfying click.

You stumble to the vanity, clutch blindingly at your hair to yank out the pins. You feel out of control, your hands sliding up your neck and over your face.

A sob slips out despite you clutching your fingers over your mouth, and you press at your stomach until you feel the urge to dispel the mixture of your decayed dinner and acid that sits within it.

The bed. You need to be under the bed. It's childish and ridiculous but it's where you used to hide when things got too much, and right now everything is too much. You curl up in the darkness there, pressed against the wall, and try to remember how to breathe.

Time passes. You hear murmured voices downstairs, the front door opening and closing. Footsteps on the stairs - Ambessa's, you'd know them anywhere.

"Little dove?" A gentle knock. "Let me in?"

"It's unlocked," you manage, voice thick.

The door opens. A pause.

"Are you under the bed?"

"...yeah."

Another pause. Then, to your utter astonishment, you hear grunting and turn to find Ambessa - your tall, dignified, warrior-queen wife - attempting to squeeze herself under the bed frame.

"What are you doing?" you ask, hiccuping between tears and startled laughter.

"Coming to get you," she says, voice strained as she wriggles forward. "Though I'm beginning to think this bed was not built for someone of my size."

"You're going to get stuck."

"Then we'll be stuck together." She finally manages to get next to you, though she has to lie completely flat to fit. "Hello, sweet girl."

A rush of gratitude floods you and you press forward, drawing her into a soft kiss. She deepens it, sliding a large hand underneath your thigh and holding you to her. You part with a soft, slick noise. 

“You’re always meeting me where I am, even when you don’t understand,” you tell her. “Literally.” 

You gesture weakly at the whole predicament. The absurdity of it - Ambessa Medarda, covered in dust bunnies, cramped under a bed - breaks something in you. 

"I have this terrible secret inside me, and it’s that I feel so—so sick when I think about being a mother," you blurt out. The words slide out of you, like maggots from a rotting body. "Not—not your children, I love them, but being one myself. Having them. I can't. I won't. And I know you must want- but I can't, I just can't, please don't leave me.” You begin to sob again. “Please, Bessa. Please don’t leave me. Please. Plea-”

"Shh." She pulls you closer, awkward in the confined space but no less tender for it. You tuck your head into her neck as she soothes you. "Shh, my love. I'm not going anywhere."

"But-"

"I have two children," she says firmly. "Two wonderful, grown children who I love dearly. I have never once thought about having more. What I want - all I want - is you. Happy. Whole. Exactly as you are."

You're crying again, but differently now. "Really?"

"Really." She strokes your hair, rocking you as best she can in the tight space. "Though I would very much like to have this conversation somewhere with fewer dust bunnies."

You laugh wetly into her shirt. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I would crawl under a thousand beds for you. Even into a grave." She kisses your forehead. "But perhaps we could move on top of this one? My back is not what it used to be."

"You’re really not getting any younger," you quip, the onslaught of relief making you giddy.

"Watch it, little dove." But she's smiling - you can hear it in her voice. "Now come out before we really do get stuck."

“What if we stayed here forever,” you whisper, “and you never let me go?”

She releases you, then shimmies out from the crawl space. Gently, she curls a hand around your ankle and pulls you out with a sharp yank. You gasp as you emerge from your hiding space, hair spilling around you and your dress rucked up just enough to display your panties.

Ambessa leans over, drags the dress further up until she can kiss the swell of your breasts. She looks up you, face ever-calculating.

“I will never release you,” she finally says. 

It should scare you, the clear promise, but it doesn’t. You lead her hand to your throat, just to hold it there, and smile instead.

© hcneymooners.

[walkingnearfoxes]

The Right of the First Night (Homelander x Reader)

After Vought's Christmas gala, the Homelander kindly pays you and your husband a visit at home.

I deleted this on accident on account of being an ancient being who doesn't understand Tumblr. Enjoy. Again. Oi.

NSFW below the cut. Mildly dubious consent and Homelander not respecting the sanctity of marriage. Female, she/her Reader. A lot of filth.

Vought demanded a lot from your husband. As one of the newest managers in data analytics, he spent most of his waking hours twisting this number or that data point to make the Seven look as stellar as possible. You honestly didn't understand very much of his work; on the rare days he worked from home, the multiple screens he processed through looked like a sci-fi movie to you. The quirky but lovable coder hacks the government with three clicks. Luckily, you didn't need to understand the intricacies; you just had to ensure he ate and drank water between crunching enough percentages to make your head spin.

On the weeks when you scarcely saw his face, you had to remember the positives. His salary, for once, was enough to keep you both comfortable without you needing to contribute. You did, of course, but primarily out of guilt. Your husband, the unfairly wonderful man he is, reminded you repeatedly that the money didn't matter; he just wanted you to be happy. That was an additional positive.

Another one was the fact that his work events were absurdly over-the-top. Vought was determined to make each holiday celebration the best holiday celebration. Your favorite had become the Christmas gala. The tower became a winter wonderland; you could spend hours admiring the unique silver snowflakes that dotted each dining table, the stunningly ornamented pine trees that reached the ceilings, or simply the beautiful outfits the most important faces of the company put together - not to mention that this was the closest you ever got to the superheroes.

Your husband didn't speak much about or to the heroes. If something was terrible enough in data analytics for a supe to come directly to him, something had gone wrong. Starlight was his favorite, by far. She was kind, and genuine, and was still the only hero who had introduced herself to you at a gala.

"Your husband is a miracle worker," she told you warmly last year. "I don't know how he makes those numbers work, but he does."

You didn't know either, but it was nice to know that at least one of the Seven appreciated your husband’s long hours. The others were, at best, polite. His brief elevator interactions with Maeve were scarce, Black Noir's silent visits to the department were fine, and the Deep was an idiot. None of this surprised you. What intrigued you most were his comments on the Homelander.

"He's...focused." Your husband said one day over dinner when you asked. "I mean, if the head of the Seven has to come to my door, it's not a pleasure visit.”

You tilted your head curiously. "But what's he like?"

He smirked at you over his glass. "Besides stunningly handsome, you mean?"

You shot him a glare. Your little crush on the Homelander was a well-known secret between you. "Yeah, besides that."

He shrugged. "Nothing bad enough has happened for us to speak directly. But he seems...fine."

There was clearly more to it than that, but your cat knocking over a plate derailed the conversation. You never got a complete answer from him about the Homelander, and the curiosity carried you to the latest Christmas shindig.

As usual, Vought went all out. You are leaning against a standing table, tilting your head to admire the blue tapestries hung to mimic a night sky. A bright red drink is placed in front of you, and you look up to meet your husband's warm eyes.

"A merry, merry margarita for you," he says, holding a green concoction. “And a Christmas Cookie Cocktail for me."

You snort as you sip the margarita, cinnamon and tequila delicately touching your tongue. "These names get better every year."

"I clearly picked the wrong department." He looks across the room and makes accidental eye contact with a data director. "There it is. You sure you don't want to make handshaking rounds with me?"

You shake your head. "They want to talk to you, not me. I don't even know what I would say."

"Hello, maybe?"

You nudge his arm. "Go. I can survive on my own for a few minutes."

"Fair enough," He kisses your cheek and then steps away. "Don't let the Homnelander whisk you away, alright?"

You wave him off with a flush. "No promises."

You easily kept yourself busy as you meandered around the spacious room. You waved to a few familiar faces, refilled your cocktail, and even briefly conversed with Starlight about the carolers. They had apparently won a few Grammys. You finally end up next to the newest statues of the Seven in the middle of the celebration. Somebody, you could only assume a poor intern, placed Santa Clause hats on top of each solemn hero’s stony head. You can’t help but laugh under your breath.

You hear your first name from behind you. The voice is vaguely familiar, but you can’t place it. It’s a shock to your system when you turn to see the Homelander smiling at you. 

Your immediate instinct is to check around you because there's no way that the captain of the Seven is standing here and greeting you like an old friend. In events past, you only ever saw him swarmed with the top faces of the party. What is he doing here, alone, staring at you with a growingly puzzled expression?

Oh. You're staring at him now.

He tilts his head with a curious smirk. "I got your name right, didn't I?"

"Oh! Yes!" you say quickly, inwardly cringing at how breathless you sound. “I'm so sorry. I'm still not used to seeing heroes so close."

Dear God, that sounded awful.

Luckily, his grin just widens. "But this is your fifth gala, isn't it? Surely you're used to our faces by now."

Does he know you? You blink in surprise as he saunters closer to you, his arms gently folded behind him. "I'd be a horrible leader if I didn't know our best managers,” He explains.

He tilts his head again and asks you - more as a formality, it seems - if you are indeed your husband's wife. He uses your husband's first and last name, to be sure.

You nod with a smile, tightening your grip on your glass. "Yeah, that's me," you say softly, making the Homelander flash a grin with teeth. “Do you know everyone here?"

He glances at the crowd casually and then back at you. "Only the interesting people," He corrects. "Enjoying the party?"

Your nod. "Yeah. These galas get more fun every year."

"More crowded, you mean," He walks to stand beside you, close enough that your elbows touch, and sighs dramatically up at the statue. "This I did not agree to."

You follow his line of sight to the Santa hats. You giggle softly and hope he doesn’t notice your nerves - though you’re positive he does. "But it makes you all so festive. Besides, red is your color."

The Homelander turns to look at you with a new glint in his eye. "True…”

Before you can respond, you feel a familiar hand wrap around your elbow to the opposite side of Homelander. You look up to see your husband's face. He's smiling, but you know him. His brow is slightly furrowed, and his smile is too wide. He almost looks worried.

"Sorry that took so long, honey," He greets quickly, gently squeezing your arm. "I couldn't-"

The Homelander cuts off with an enthusiastic greeting of your husband's name. He turns to clap his shoulder, his red glove contrasting with your man's dark suit. The movement makes the three of you form a close triangle in front of the statue. When Homelander speaks, his voice is loud. Dominant, even.  "Can't thank you enough for your help on those point differentials in Montana. Gotta figure out who's in charge of things out there, huh?"

Your husband lets out a forced laugh. "Yeah, it's no problem."

Homelander is still holding onto his shoulder. "Quite a wife you have here," He says with a nod to you. "Hope you don't mind I stole her time...can't leave a gorgeous woman like this alone. You never know what might happen."

Before your husband can reply, Homelander lets him go. He turns to you and holds a hand. "So nice meeting you, but I have a grumpy senator or two I need to charm."

On instinct, you hold out your hand to him. His fingers easily encompass yours - and for a fraction of a moment, you feel he may never let go. You feel his raw strength electrify the touch and imprison you; your whole body clenches. He gives you a private wink, and then he lets go. "I'll be seeing you soon."

With a whisk of his cape, he's gone as quickly as he arrived.

You stare after the stars and stripes as they slowly disappear into the crowd. Only when you can no longer see them do you look up at your husband's pale face. "Was that weird?"

Your husband takes your hand, the same hand Homelander had just held in his grasp. "Not really."

You know a conversation shut-down when you hear one and don't press further. After all, you remember, it's not wise to gossip about a person with supersonic hearing.

~-~

You stay at the party for another hour, but your husband’s mood has shifted. He doesn't seem unhappy, but he's undoubtedly unsettled. There's a new suddenness to his movements, as if he's ready to scan the room at a moment's notice - far too vigilant for a holiday party.

The early cab ride home continues in this strange silence. It's not tense, but it's not comfortable either. The air feels charged down the roads of Manhattan to your townhome. You don't test it. Something about that interaction with the Homelander has unnerved your husband in a way you don't understand. If your husband is still silent when you get home, then maybe you'll broach the subject. 

When you do get home, you go about your usual routines: turning back on the lights, checking on the cat, and refilling their food and water bowl. Your husband takes care of that while upstairs to scrub the makeup off of your face. You turn on the lights in the ensuite bedroom.

The Homelander is sitting at the foot of your bed. 

Shockingly, you don't scream. You stare. He sits there like he's been there for hours, his hands folded in his lap. The calm facade peels into a friendly smile at your lack of a reaction to him - as if he ran into you in a grocery store, not in the middle of your bedroom.

"Thought you could sneak out early on me, huh?" He asks. 

You stutter. "What..." You shake your head. "What are you-"

"Honey?" Your husband's voice calls as he bounds up the stairs, only to stop dead behind you at the sight before him. You can't see his face, but you can feel his fear. "H-Homelander..."

"Oh, why the shocked faces?" Homelander laughs and stands off the bed, sauntering towards both of you. "I told you I’d be seeing you later, right?"

Your husband steps in front of you. "Whatever this is about-"

Homelander says your husband's name like he's speaking to a puppy pissing on the carpet. His left hand curls into your husband's shirt, and he lifts him an inch off the ground with horrifying ease. He places him down in the nearby chair and pats his cheek twice. "Don't make a fuss. I'm not gonna hurt her."

It takes you a moment to recover from seeing how easily he moved your husband before finding your voice. "Why are you here?" You whisper.

He turns and slowly lowers his face to be level with yours. His lips are a breath away, and his eyes run over every part of you like savoring a meal. "For you, of course. This is my favorite part of the gala."

You make a sound halfway between a gasp and a squeak. The Homelander smirks. "Oh, come on. You've been dreaming of this, haven't you? That comment about me whisking you away?" He winks at your husband before looking back at you. "I mean, I'm not gonna lie, I've thought about fucking you for a while now, but that just sealed the deal."

Your husband stutters. "Homelander-"

"Nuh uh, buddy," Homelander holds a finger in your husband's face before slowly turning to look at him. "This is not a negotiation. You'll be a good little boy and sit over there while we have fun."

Your husband’s eyes widen, but he says nothing and settles back in the chair. Homelander laughs. "That's what I thought. I know a fucking cuck when I see one."

You’re staring at your husband. Homelander notices this, and his hand angles to cup under your jaw. The leather of his red glove is smooth and warm against your skin, sending a shiver through you. His thumb brushes slowly across your lips. "Don't worry about him," He purrs. "You won’t be giving him a damn thought in a minute.”

The Homelander uses his hold on your jaw to tilt your chin up. For a moment, he simply observes you. To him, you are a prize. Then, he presses his face forward and runs his nose up the length of your neck. He inhales loudly. Goosebumps prickle along your skin when he growls. “Fucking perfect.” His free hand traces along the bottom of your dress, gently pushing the fabric up your thigh. He possessively grabs your smooth skin. “This an expensive dress, honey?”

You swallow, watching his eyes follow the movement down your throat, and you find your voice. “Yes…”

He hums. “...well, put in an IOU.”

In an upward pull, Homelander rips the fabric of your dress in half like he’s ripping tissue paper. He tosses its remains to your husband without looking at him. He’s instead looking at your matching bra and panties with an approving whistle. “Oh, buddy,” He looks at your husband with an almost sympathetic gaze. “You were going to get some tonight. What a damn shame.”

Homelander comes forward and slowly, as if he’s savoring the wait, takes your breasts in his hands. You hear a low sigh of approval under his breath as he gently squeezes, his thumbs brushing delicate circles over your nipples. You inhale sharply, and looks up at your face with a knowing smirk. “Don’t play coy, sweetheart. I can smell how wet you are. Must be uncomfortable.”

One of his hands rubs down your stomach - he growls under his breath again at your soft skin - and curls his fingers around your underwear. “You’re used to boys tugging at you like a little sex doll. It’s okay now. You have me. You have a god.”

He rips away the last of your clothing so you stand fully exposed in front of America’s icon. The chill of the air and the complete attention of the two men in the room light your skin with more goosebumps. Homelander takes a moment to look at you again; he has all the time in the world. Finally, he steps forward and rests a hand gently on your hip. “Well, no wonder he tried to hide you from me…”

He’s kissing you. He kisses you to devour you whole, all tongue and teeth and passion, in a way that makes your head spin. You don’t even realize how your hands curl into the front of his suit, how your body instinctively presses to his. He maps out every inch of your mouth, and you moan for him when his hand curls around the back of your neck. He shows no signs of stopping, but you are only human and must breathe. You pull away as much as the hand on the back of your neck will allow you - which is your lips remaining an inch apart. Your eyes open, and you’re in awe at the hunger in his blue stare. “Atta girl…”

Your unconsciously look to your husband. He hasn’t moved from his seat. He sucks at his lower lip, and when your gaze wanders, you can’t help a quiet gasp. He’s hard.

“Back here with me, pumpkin,” Homelander murmurs, grabbing your chin to bring you back to him. “You’re mine tonight, remember?”

You tentatively nod, but he shakes his head. “Oh no, I’m gonna need to hear you say it.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and he eagerly follows the movement before you reply. “I’m yours tonight.”

Homelander hums in thought and then sighs playfully. “Sounds like someone needs some convincing…up we go.”

Both of his hands move to your hips, and with an ease that startles a yelp out of you, he lifts you clear off the ground. You don’t have time to ground yourself before he’s tossing you backward onto the bed. Despite being airborne for a moment, he seems to be careful not to hurt you - not right now, anyway. You land on your back with a quiet “oof” and instinctively move to sit u, but findyou cannoto move. You look down to find Homelander keeping you trapped with just the tips of his fingers on your hip. He stands at the foot of the bed and stares down at you, a slight tilt to his head that ambles somewhere between playful and devious. “Where’d you think you’re going?”

He moves his hand to your knee and tugs you down the bed, smirking at the soft squeal from you it earns him. He slowly kneels while hooking your legs over his shoulders, careful to mind his eagle pads. “You have any idea how hard it was not to bend you over in that fucking shitstorm of a gala? I should have. No one could’ve stopped me, not even your poor husband. God, you would’ve loved it. All those eyes on you while I fill up this pretty pussy…”

His lips are gentle as they kiss along your thighs, stopping only to leave nips that make your hips jolt. One red glove lays flat on your hips to easily hold you down so he can carry on at his own pace. When he finally reaches your cunt, you’re pretty positive you would do anything the hero asked of you - and when his tongue licks a slow stripe up your lips, you’re certain. 

You had never spent much time wondering how good the Homelander would be at going down on someone, but he is good. He feasts. He goes from licking your pussy leisurely to devouring you in time with when your body needs it; later, you will wonder if he uses his superior senses to guide the way to your pleasure. Now, you’re too far into heaven to think. He sucks at your clit with a pressure that would make your body convulse if he wasn’t holding you down. There’s no need for him to shift or adjust; he could be here for days. When one of his hands moves to press two fingers slowly into you, stretching you around the rich leather of his gloves, you cry out. There’s no pain, no uncomfortable twitch - just pleasure. “Fuck!”

Homelander chuckles and presses a few quick kisses to your clit. “Watch your mouth. Might have to find a better use for it.”

“Please do,” You reply breathlessly, and your hand locks gently into his hair. It’s softer than you thought, but that only makes you hold on harder.

Surprise flickers in his expression, so brief you nearly miss it, before he grins manically. “With pleasure. But first thing’s first…”

He dives back in with sloppy kisses against your pussy. He curls his fingers just right, fucks them into you mercilessly, and the suddenness of your climax takes you by surprise. It curls down each of your limbs and then bursts in vibrating waves. You are vaguely aware of the animalistic sounds you make, but they’re lost to the dizzying heat. You barely recognize your own voice. When you slowly come back down, your hands both now locked in Homelander’s hair, he’s looking at you with a slacked jaw and a mouth soaked in your juices.

Behind him, you vaguely make out the shape of your husband, and his hard cock slowly pumping in his fist.

“What a show,” Homelander praises, quickly drawing your attention back to him. There’s a low buzz to his voice now, and your squirm at the realization that he’s as excited about this as you - and evidently, your husband - are. He presses feather kisses to your stomach as he speaks. “But next time…you have to ask me before you come.”

As he slowly begins to stand again, you nod your head. “Yes, sir.”

He barks a laugh. “Sir, huh? Aren’t you the sweetest little thing…”

He saunters around the bed, not even blinking as he looks up and down your form. He reminds you of a snake coiling you tighter and tighter in his grasp. His hand drops down to his belt; he undoes them just enough to pull out his swollen cock. The rest of his uniform remains pristine. You’re are so locked on the generous length between his legs that you overlook Homelander removing his gloves and tossing them across the room to your husband. “Hold this for me, would ya?” He calls to him. “You doing okay over there, buddy? Enjoying the show?”

Your husband doesn’t respond, but you hear the rhythm of him fisting his dick.

“Keep it up, champ. Use the glove if it helps,” Homemlander chuckles before returning to you. His hand gently strokes his cock.  “And you are going to put those pretty lips to work now, sweetheart.”

You obediently shuffle up the bed - he coos at your eagerness - so his cock is right beside your mouth. His free hand gently curls into the hair at the back of your head and pulls you towards his crotch. You obey, parting your lips and sucking his dick into your mouth. The hiss he makes thrills you. He slowly rocks his hips but you end up doing most of the work, bobbing along his cock as far as you can take him from this position. Your eyes have fallen shut, so you don’t notice his free hand trailing down your body until his fingers are pinching your clit. You moan loudly around him, and the vibrations make him buck forward. When you gag, he laughs and pulls back a bit. “Whoops,” He says, completely unapologetic as his fingers deftly swirl your clit. “Remember what I said, kitten…don’t come unless I’ve told you you can.”

Much easier said than done. The heady smell of him, the weight of his cock against your tongue is enough to thrill you - not to mention your body is still loose from the last climax he gave you. His fingers are rubbing at what little restraint you have left. He slowly presses a single finger into you, but even that slight friction nearly pushes you over the edge-

His hand is gone in an instant and instead clamps around your throat. Your eyes fly open, and you arch away, but he holds you in place with his cock still down your throat. He tsks in disappointment down at you and gives your throat a little squeeze. “What did I say?”

Homelander pulls out of your mouth, a shit-eating grin on his face at the whine you make. He uses his grip on your hair to manoeuver you slowly; he isn’t rough because he doesn’t need to be. You couldn’t fight his strength in your dreams. He settles you on your hands and knees, facing the bottom of the bed. You don’t realize you’re cold until his warmth envelops you, his chest to your back. He’s still fully dressed - fully in costume. 

“Ignoring what I say and ignoring your poor husband over there…” He murmurs into your ear before pressing lazy kisses against your neck. “Talk to him. Tell him how good you feel.”

You look at your husband. He looks nearly as gone as you. He’s still stroking his cock slowly, his lips gently parted as he stares at you. You moan as Homelander bites down at your neck. “H-he feels…so good.”

“Hm…more specific,” Homelander murmurs as his hands fall to your hips. Without waiting for you to speak, you feel his hard, slick cock slowly pressing against your pussy. He thrusts into you with a slow, patient push that leaves you gasping for breath. He fills you. There is no going back from this. A sharp slap against your ass brings you back to reality. “Hello? Earth to slut?”

Your body unconsciously clenches around him, and you don’t miss the pleased grunt he makes under his breath. “He’s so…big,” You say, your voice unsteady. “I-I…f-fuck…”

“Whoop, she’s cock drunk,” Homelander laughs and gives you a small, teasing thrust. Over your head, he smirks at your husband. “Sorry, pal. We’ll work on that.”

You don’t have the brain power to ponder what he means. Instead, you’re completely wrapped up in the way he starts to fuck you. He’s slow at first, allowing your body to accommodate to the way he stretches you. Then, with that sixth sense he seems to have for your body, he picks up the pace the moment you’ve adjusted. He presses all of himself inside hard and slowly pulls back out, using his hands on your hips to pull you back on his cock. You are powerless under his control, and he loves it. “Look at your husband,” He commands in a hiss as he tugs at your earlobe; he’s getting lost in it, too. “Look at your husband while I fucking claim you.”

You are in a haze as you raise your eyes to meet your husband’s. You can barely see him. “Fuck…fuck me harder, Homelander…please…”

He responds immediately, suddenly moving at an inhuman pace. You feel him curl tighter over you to wrap an arm around your waist and a hand back around your throat. He pulls you up to your knees, your back still to his chest, without faltering in his brutal fucking. Your hands claw at his arm, but you won’t hurt him. You can’t hurt him.

“I can feel you clenching on me. I can smell how desperate your little cunt is,” He whispers into your ear. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Come again. Come on my fucking cock.”

He squeezes your throat and bites hard at your shoulder to leave a mark. That’s all you need. You cry out his name as you come, his tight grip on you the only thing keeping you from collapsing down onto the bed. You’re vaguely aware of the sound of your husband groaning in his own climax, nearly in sync with Homelander coming inside of you. You have no sense of time or reality; nothing makes sense besides how good this feels - and the lengths you would go to feel this good over and over again for the rest of your life.

You aren’t sure how much time passes, but you eventually find yourself gently placed back onto the bed. Homelander’s hands push you onto your back lazily. You blink, clearing your blurry vision, and see that he is gazing down at you with a smile that almost looks fond. Almost.

“Welcome back,” He teases. He leans down and presses a soft kiss against your lips. You’re too exhausted to respond, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He pulls away to stand back up and brushes a hand through your hair. “Now, you stay right there.”

He tucks himself back into his pants before turning to look at your husband. He is still holding his cock, his hand soaked in his seed. Homelander chuckles under his breath at the sight before nodding towards the other room. “The men are gonna discuss a little arrangement.”

[taojjang]

𐙚 riize's quiet acts of love .ᐟ

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ masterlist! 𖦹 pairing: bf!riize x reader, genre: fluffy fluff! warnings: so cute u might fall to the floor in tears

ಇ. synopsis: the smallest yet sweetest gestures that let you know he loves you to the end of the world, even without words.

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✩ shotaro ⸝⸝ taking photos of you!

you are the most beautiful part of taro’s life. he can’t contain his adoration for you whenever his eyes land on you. even in a crowd of hundreds, his eyes gravitate to you like second nature. but when you’re not around, he misses staring at you so much :( so he got a digital camera to capture every moment with you. it was because of you that he found his passion for photography! you could be getting dolled up for a date when snap! taro's standing behind you with his camera in hand, not to mention that silly smile on his face. "you looked too pretty!" even during simple walks to the corner store, he’ll take out his camera to snap a photo of a silly sticker on a lamppost because it reminds him of you. though that flashing light is irritating as hell, it all becomes worth it when you watch him click away on his camera and beam at your prettiest moments.

✩ eunseok ⸝⸝ keeping you warm/cool!

seok can’t stand seeing you uncomfortable. when you’re sick, it’s like hell for him. so he takes as many precautions as he can to make sure you stay healthy. on the coldest of days, he'll slip hand warmers into your pockets before you leave the house. even if the wind is only strong enough to blow your hair around just a bit, he’ll zip up your jacket and make you keep your hands in your pockets. but when it's scorching hot outside, he'll make sure to charge up a little portable fan to carry around with you. when you pass by stores, he'll always turn to you and ask if you want him to buy a drink to cool you down. seok needs to keep his baby comfy at all times!

✩ sungchan ⸝⸝ giving you the first bite!

food is channie’s love language and there’s only one thing he loves more than a good hamburger: his silly little lover. so of course he’ll prioritize your hunger over his! even when you go out to a restaurant together and he’s all antsy when the appetizers arrive, he’ll put the food on your plate and wait for you to try it before his fork even touches it. he'll impatiently stare at you, gripping the fork in his hand waiting for you to tell him if it's good or not. once you assure him you like it, he'll happily dig in! though he's generous enough to let you take the first bite, he can't guarantee he'll stay away from your food. "can i try some of that..?"

✩ wonbin ⸝⸝ fixing your jewelry!

your heart never fails to flutter whenever you’re caught up in your own business and binnie's hand suddenly brushes against your neck to fix your crooked necklace. during small conversations, wonbin will suddenly grab your hand while you’re talking and begin toying with your rings; sliding them up and down your fingers or twisting the bands. it's comforting to trace you through the silver and gold adorning your pretty frame. he just can't keep his hands to himself when you look so beautiful :(

✩ seunghan ⸝⸝ looking into your eyes!

seunghan can never take his eyes off of you. it’s such a simple yet heart-fluttering habit of his. whenever you’re deep into your work or telling him the most boring parts of your day, he’s always looking into your eyes with so much adoration. his gaze always reassures you how much he loves you and how precious you are to him <3 he also uses his adorably kitty stare to distract you from the fact that he isn’t processing a word you’re saying…

✩ sohee ⸝⸝ buying your favorite snacks!

on the way home from work or to your house, sohee always has to stop by the convenience store or even the bakery to pick up a sweet treat for his sweet baby. he always picks up small details about your preferences; some days you prefer sweet strawberry candies meanwhile on other days, you prefer deep savory brownies. somehow, sohee always knows exactly what you’re craving. “it’s my spidey senses! i’m spiderman!”

✩ anton ⸝⸝ booping your nose!

this one is quite silly but anton always has to boop your nose whenever you’re around. whenever you look irresistibly adorable, anton always lets out a giggle and leaves a delicate tap on your nose. or even when he knows you’re getting a bit angry with him, he’ll boop your nose to briefly take your mind off of it (which never works because it only makes you angrier, but hey! he finds your sulking so adorable..)

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(a/n: got a little carried away with shotaro... whoops 😅 hope u enjoyed!)

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ tag list! (ask or comment to be added!)

@endtostartbreathin @gacktsa @hanninova @ramyeonzprincess @taroddori

[bitin-and-barkin]

Loving Someone

What would the healing process be like after your so-called death?

Warnings: Arthur Morgan x Reader, Gender neutral reader, mostly just filler and going into the mind of Arthur, he's so goddamned anxious, paranoid too, tw: talks of suicide, execution, death, and other bad stuff, no smut, mostly just arthur having a mental break, probably out of character, he's starting to go yandere, tw: yandere-esque behaviour

READ MORE UNDER THE CUT + Pt 3 to another story, Pt 1 here, Pt 2 here

__________________________

Arthur had lost people before.

When Eliza and Isaac had first died, he was only able to ever see their graves. Already buried, a cross put up. One moment they were there, and the next? 

They were gone. 

When he lost his Pa, he was young. Small and feeble. Sitting in the crowd, silently attending his own father's execution.

His Pa hanged him in front of him.

He wasn't sure how to react when it happened. Whenever someone was hanged there was always someone crying at the stands or nobody there who knew them well enough to weep for them.  

But when he looked at his dad, there wasn't much of a father there to mourn. Just bits and pieces of one.

When his Mama died, he wasn't there to see it. Only the aftermath. Her throat leaking red, and her eyes glossed over.  A certain shade of purple on her neck and face. The sun shone off her blood like something holy was done.  

He was much younger at that time, so he didn't really understand what happened. Death, that is. Nobody had ever bothered to explain it to him. It had always been a part of his life. 

In the wolves howling at night, mauling a buck, leaving its insides on its outsides and in the sunlight to rot. 

In the knobby, motionless, dogs on the side of the streets and in the quiet, grey toned graveyard in town.

So he could tell that something was wrong. He just didn't have a name for it.

He could see it though.

That there was some sort of new emptiness inside of her.

He had always carried that emptiness with him. An unspoken thing, it was the burden he bore.

People had come and gone. As time passed, it grew bigger and bigger. 

And so he filled it with money, and heists, and grand plans and demands from others. 

Alcohol and blood, his own and others among other things.

As he got older whenever he thought back to his mother he wondered if she really birthed a baby boy and not just a hole that would never fill. 

Always wanting more and more.

Always hungry, swallowing everything down. Every complaint and request, finishing them. Handing it to them on a silver platter. 

Never spitting anything out, but always coming back when others' plates are full. 

Nobody ever really said anything. It was convenient. Having a yes man, a loyal one, a Johnny on the spot. 

You had realized this behavior a long time ago. He's always choking on his food but saying he could handle more.

But when you walked in, for once he was full. 

For once he was loved.

And although he wasn't made for intimacy, nothing was able to take that away from him.

During the day he could feel your love underneath his fingernails and in the clothes that you sewed up for him and in the bird songs you'd always stop to listen to.

You were always a constant for him. He loved you like a fire loved its hearth. With enough love to make it home.

You gave him life.

And he knew he didn't deserve his.

He knew he wasn’t a good man. 

There was always a hope that some way the bad inside of him would be able to serve the good inside of you.

And that maybe one day he could make himself worthy of being in love with you. 

He always cared for you in the only way he knew how.

With bruised knuckles and busted lips, 

Slow dancing into the night with you and the blood in his mouth.

Acting and your sweet darling and as your perfect killer and as your rotten soldier. 

Doing it all if it all meant you would still smile at him in the mornings and nights.

Doing it all if it meant you would fill that void inside of him and stop it from swallowing him whole.

You had grown used to it.

He was protective, that was it.

He was the protector. Doing the sinned slaughter that would save the people.

And you couldn't say you didn't appreciate being prized by him.

Prized more than anything else in the world.

But this? This was something entirely new.

You didn't know much about loving others, your life hadn't afforded you it, and neither did Arthur.

But you knew this wasn't what love was supposed to be like.

Acting like a wild animal in a way. Backed into a corner by life itself.

1 week in and Arthur had practically snarled at Sean when he tried to drag him away from your bedside to a job.

2 weeks in and he had bashed a couple of Bill's teeth in for making a joke about you.

Commenting about how your love seemed to be one only made so you could lick each other's wounds.

He called it unsightly. The blood on his face afterwards wasn't too pretty either.

The way he was acting proved his point, though. Like everyone was your enemy and the entire world was too, too much.

He was finding his vices in you.

Only you.

Not in the normal way, the way a woman would look for her wife at the end of the day.

It wasn't in the sex or the looks or the meaningless chatter or even the comforting familiarity.

It was the edges of your fingertips, and in the rasp in your voice.

It seemed to be just you in its entirety.

Like a breath of fresh air.

The point is, a month had passed since you came back. You were healing. Arthur wasn't.

And now you had a problem.

You wanted to get back to jobs. Sure, it was a bit early. There was a odd ache in your arms here and there and when you bent over, you swear there would still be a phantom feeling of blood and Guarma Rum dripping down your back.

It was the O'Driscolls favorite after all.

But mostly, you were healed. Dutch had even cleared you for the smaller jobs. You knew, he knew, everybody in camp knew.

Except Arthur. Except him.

Approachable wasn't the way to describe him.

At least for anybody but you.

He had killed hundreds over the years in the name of Dutch's ideals.

But you were always so soft in his arms despite it all.

You trusted him.

But you're not sure if he trusted you.

With this, in specific. With your life.

You weren't sure how he'd react when you approached.

It was nearing 11 PM when you finally came.

Wolves howling at the moon miles away, people singing and swaying at the campfire after a long day.

Arthur was among them.

You told him you wanted to meet him there, that you needed to finish something up.

In reality you just needed a moment to think of a way to do something impossible.

To convince him that you were okay.

He was sitting there waiting for you.

You quietly walked over.

He was drinking at the campfire, his leg bouncing up and down. Trying to play it cool, but you could see through it. He was getting antsy.

Best not to keep him waiting.

Sitting next to him, he softly smiled the moment he saw you.

A quiet smile, one that only you could fish out of him.

Only you.

Placing his hand on and over yours.

Carving his fingers between yours.

He didn't say anything as he did. It was second nature.

"Arthur."

His eyes flicked towards yours, turning away from the campfire.

"Hm?"

You breathed out.

The smog from the campfire still dancing in the air.

"How are you?"

"I feel fine." He hummed. He seemed satisfied with you by his side.

You smiled.

"Good." He slung his arm over your shoulder, pulling you in just a little bit closer.

You guys talked for a little bit. About your days, what you did.

It was nothing exciting, but it meant the world to him.

His head was filled with honey. You words lazily coating his brain, sinking him into the ground as everything else faded into background noise.

Just you and him.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm going on jobs again."

Now? His thoughts ran silent.

His lips pursed, cutting off his breath. He looked around camp.

It was such a quick difference, like lightning and thunder. A crackle through the air. Nervous electricity still coursing around.

Scanning the area with his eyes for he didn't know what. A reason, maybe.

Everybody was still laughing at little nothings, but it felt like they were jeering at him.

He turned his eyes back to you. He was nervous, that was to be expected. Just tell him you would be fine, and he would be fine too.

Except it wasn't that simple.

"Why?"

You raised your eyebrows at this. He kept talking, never meeting your gaze.

"You don't need to go out, especially not so early after you got back,"

He nervously chuckled.

"I mean, is Dutch really nagging you that much?"

You weren't sure how to tell him you brought it up to Dutch.

Stuttering over his words, he kept talking.

"Do we really need money that much?"

"I heard of this stagecoach up near Flatneck Station, from what I've seen it's always something expensive they're carrying. Could make an easy pretty penny for us, real easy."

"Just yesterday you were tellin' me that your back hurts, and we're still changin' out your bandages every single day."

"You really oughta just stay here. Really."

His head was turned away. He has stopped talking after he kept stumbling over his words. His voice changing into meaningless hums.

Thoughts running through his head like an electrical current. Or maybe more like a bullet in the barrel of a frictionless gun.

You placed your hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him.

At any other time he would've muttered something sweet but clever or placed his hand back on yours and pulled you forward into his arms.

But now his head shot back like it was an order.

Looking at you, his face was indescribable.

Wild eyed. Ashamed of something.

Afraid even.

You were scared. You were both scared.

Was something more or less scary if you were next to someone who was equally as afraid walking into it?

You couldn't imagine all the bad things that could happen. Having to walk into a town of Raiders and Outlaws.

You weren't fragile.

You were scared, but..

It was like an open wound for you at this point. Painful and gaping, but slowly healing.

You still suffered for it every day, an ache at the back of your head. But you were healing, making good, no great process.

You were talking and walking and had come so far from before.

He had pushed you to stay home while healing, tearing others a new one for trying to even just put you on guard. Looked like he was gonna have a heart attack when you were "straining your back" by just carrying hay.

Looking into his eyes now, there was something new in them. Confusion. Abandonment. Hurt.

He didn't understand why you were doing this.

You were moving past it.

You knew he loved you but,

Why did it still seem like the entire world to him?

You brushed your hands against his stock-still face as he stared far past your gaze.

Was he okay?

"Are you okay?"

He didn't say anything.

There was a certain ringing in his ears as you spoke. More like a flatline than anything.

He was silent. Didn't respond.

But what was he supposed to tell you?

He knew he was overreacting, that he was being dramatic and controlling but he couldn't shake the feeling that...

How was he supposed to tell a knife there was nothing funny about spilling blood?

He didn't see any blood but he could feel himself bleeding.

His grip on his pants tightened. He tried to drag the conversation away, simply saying you guys could talk about it in the morning. That you were both tired. That you could discuss it with a clear head later.

You seemed hesitant at best. You said there was nothing to talk about later. Almost seeming confused.

For 6 months he couldn't bear the idea of you being dead. And so many times he woke up he prayed this day would be the last. So many times he stared at the gun, the knife, the rope. Sitting by your tent waiting for you to show up like old times.

You were going to be fine. You were going to be fine on your own. Weren't you?

Were you?

It was irrational, really. Overdramatic, stupid, a million other labels. Primal, even.

He could not make you understand. He couldn't make anybody else understand what he was feeling whenever he saw you. He couldn't even understand it himself.

What was he supposed to say? That he never could've done anything he did without you? That he'd never forsake you? That he needed you to support him? That you were the only person in his entire life that loved him? That you were his only friend? That he only loved you? That he didn't know how to love you in a way that mattered? That he didn't know how to love you in a way that made sense? That he didn't love himself?

How was he supposed to say he never understood intimacy or lust until he met you? That he had never felt want like how he wanted your skin against his?

Like how he had never felt fear like he did now, now that you were pulling away from him?

What was he supposed to say to you?

It was stupid, only a fool, a real fool would feel like this.

But all his insecurities were swallowing him whole and it felt like you were proving every wrong thing about him right.

You were the dull blade that he twisted inside himself. Keeping a wound from closing but keeping it clogged at the same time.

The only thing stopping his guts from spilling onto the ground.

But his guts were already contained in that cabin where he found your finger, when you first went to that stupid parley, when he cried in Hosea's arms after you left him.

He didn't understand why he was so afraid. It was fear then anger then bared teeth at anybody who approached.

Like a body hitting the ground, like a rat running a maze.

It all had to end eventually. You were gonna leave him eventually.

All alone again, with a dying father and a killing leader and a lucky brother who he hated yet loved.

Alone again.

He knew time had to pass. That his time was long gone, that yours was going down with his soon.

Hand in hand.

So soon.

But why did it have to be so soon?

And why did it have to be you?

He sharply swallowed. He was looking at the floor now. He doesn't remember himself turning his head down.

Dipping down, almost as if to cry.

Your hand was still on his shoulder. You quietly repeated your question.

He silently nodded.

Patting him on the shoulder, you stood and walked away. Telling him to get some sleep.

As you stepped and staggered, he could see a limp in your walk.

He desperately wanted to get up. To tell you something, anything that'd get you to change your mind.

But he was frozen in place. People were still talking and laughing like the world hadn't just collapsed in on him.

Classical music wafted out of Dutch's tent. He turned his gaze to it. It was still lit up, the flaps still open.

He silently stood up and began walking towards it, almost as if in a trance.

You weren't going on any jobs.

You weren't well enough.

He knew that. And he was going to make sure Dutch knew of that too.

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So the results on my last poll were pretty split down the middle, so I'm doing both of them. He'll run away with you soon, dw. Prolly kill Colm while he's at it. Sorry for taking so long, I was buzy🙏 rise and grind brothers

@photo1030

[delleyraa]

“Oomf or Moot?” (WIP part 1)

Malleus Draconia stood with his hands behind his back, listening as Ortho Shroud enthusiastically spoke about internet slang. Despite his growing familiarity with the internet, some things still baffled him.

"That's Oomf!" Ortho said suddenly, turning toward someone nearby with a cheerful wave.

Malleus blinked, tilting his head. "...Oomf...?"

Ortho turned back to him, blinking. "Oh! Oomf stands for 'one of my followers!' People use it when talking about someone who follows them online. Like, ‘Oomf said something funny today!’ or ‘Oomf is so cool!’ It’s a casual way to refer to someone without saying their name outright."

Malleus processed this new information carefully. "So… it is a way to acknowledge another without directly naming them. A term of familiarity, yet not necessarily one of deep personal connection."

Ortho nodded. "Yeah! It’s kinda playful too. People use it in different ways, sometimes just to talk about their friends."

Malleus remained quiet for a moment, his thoughts drifting to Lilia, Silver, and Sebek. They were his retainers, his family in all but blood. Their bond was forged in duty and strengthened through years of companionship. Could they be… Oomf? The word felt peculiar on his tongue, but there was a certain appeal to it.

Calling them such would not undermine their closeness. If anything, it might be an amusing way to address them. Perhaps he would try it.

Malleus straightened his posture, nodding slightly. "I shall use this knowledge wisely. Thank you, Ortho Shroud. Your insight has been most enlightening."

Ortho beamed. "No problem, Malleus! Anytime!" With a cheerful wave, he floated off, leaving Malleus alone with his thoughts…

---

The first time Malleus put his newfound knowledge to use, it was with Sebek.

“Oomf,” Malleus said, nodding toward his ever-loyal retainer.

Sebek stiffened, eyes wide as if he had been knighted on the spot. His voice, usually loud and commanding, wavered slightly. “I am honored… to be your oomf…”

Pleased with the reaction, Malleus decided this was a valuable phrase indeed.

---

Sebek was still riding the high of being called ‘oomf’ by Malleus. He didn’t entirely understand what it meant, but if Lord Malleus had deemed it a title worthy of bestowing upon him, then it must be an honor beyond words. He would not question it.

Eager to share his newfound knowledge, he practically slammed his tray down onto the lunch table where his friends were already seated. The impact rattled their plates, making Ace nearly drop his sandwich.

“I am Oomf to Lord Malleus!” Sebek declared, puffing out his chest as if he had just announced his own knighthood.

Ace, mid-bite, choked on his food. He coughed, reaching for his drink. “You’re what?” he croaked.

“Oomf,” Sebek repeated, crossing his arms with a self-satisfied smirk. “Lord Malleus has called me such, and so it shall be.”

The table fell silent. Ace, Deuce, Epel, and Jack all exchanged confused glances.

“Oomf…?” Deuce finally asked, squinting as if the word itself was a puzzle to be solved.

“What does that even mean?” Jack added, ears twitching in curiosity.

Ortho giggled, “Oh! It’s an internet term! ‘Oomf’ stands for ‘one of my followers.’ It’s used online to refer to someone who follows you!”

Sebek frowned slightly, his confidence wavering for just a second. That wasn’t exactly what he had assumed it meant. But if Lord Malleus had used it, surely it must hold a deeper, grander significance. He straightened his posture again. “Regardless, it is an honor!”

Epel rests his head on his palm, smirking. “So basically, Malleus acknowledged you, but he doesn’t ‘follow’ you back.”

Ace snickered. “So you’re a fan!”

Sebek bristled. “I am NOT merely a ‘fan’ of Lord Malleus! I am his most loyal knight!”

Yuu, grinning, decided to stir the pot further. “Well, if you understand ‘oomf,’ then let me introduce you to another term—‘moot.’”

Sebek scowled. “What nonsense is this now?”

Yuu leaned in, hands resting on the table. “A ‘moot’ is different from an ��oomf.’ If someone is your moot, it means you follow each other back. It’s mutual.”

The others nodded in understanding.

Ace, always quick to start trouble, immediately turned to Deuce. “Deuce is my oomf!”

Deuce made a face. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I do not want to be ‘one of your followers,’” Deuce huffed, crossing his arms.

Deuce turned to Epel. “Epel is my oomf.”

Epel shrugged. “Nah, I think I’m your moot.”

Deuce nodded in approval. “Okay. Epel is my moot now. We are moots.”

Ace narrowed his eyes. “You’re just saying this to spite me. I will NOT fall for this.”

“You’re my oomf, Ace.”

Ace pointed a finger at him. “I’m about to say words that I’m willing to be beheaded for!”

[piccolos-bigtoe]

Oouugghhh, gueess who finished their homework assiignment…. This guy!!! Smiles big with too many teeth I am normal. I do not regret all the time I spent (I may spend more time to fix a fewwww small details….) I am so ready for the summer oh my balls………. I still have a few projects and papers to wrap up here for classes, I will pull through,,, probably…. It’s been tough ngl I feel like I JUST fell into the swing of things and now it’s ova, but that’s okay I’ll adapt

I swear to god every single one of my classmates better give me a standing ovation and kiss me on my beautiful beautiful lips when I present this in critique. I swear to god………. There better be crying…. Kidding I’m not that full of myself but I’m excited to hear what my graphics prof will say teehee…. I will probably print a physical copy of this (whether or not it will be good quality paper idk).

Also I got my portrait taken today on a silver wet plate (iirc), suuupperrr old form of photography. An artist traveled to my school and held a gallery + talk yesterday and I enjoyed it very much, I typically don’t go up on Fridays because I don’t have classes but I went with a friend to get out portraits taken and then watched the washout process of the plates!! Photography is crazy I don’t understand it. The only thing I’m kind of like dissapointed by is I’m typically not bothered by my skin or acne, but this type of photograph catches stuff SUPER WELL, like it’s kind of crazy, my friend doesn’t really have prominent freckles but on the photo they look way darker than usual. Same thing happened with my dry skin and acne, I don’t mind it too bad, but I was caught off guard a little bit to be honest lol. (Picture below w/my face cut off obviously…. I just wanted to show off my dress because it’s my prized Gunne Sax dress and like the only dress I will actually wear). Me and my two friends were the only ones who dressed up?? No one else did, which was kind of surprising, because this type of photo is rare to get just cause no one really takes them anymore or gets the equipment for it. Okay I’m done rambling tbh I am just procrastinating sleeping,, augh whatever goodnight…. I always post before I sleep…

[jamesmcalover]

picture perfect

Hálfdán Helgi Matthíasson (Væb) x Reader

Warnings: fluff, pretty unrealistic but cute

Summary: based on a dream i had in which i met Hálfdán on my break at work

1.5k words

You didn’t expect anything special on your break at work today. In fact, you were counting the minutes until your thirty minutes of freedom would let you step outside for a breath of fresh air. It was one of those long, slow shifts that seemed to drag on forever, the coffee machine hissing in the background and the steady clatter of plates starting to blend into white noise. The air inside felt warm and heavy, so when the time finally came, you practically bolted out of the door.

But as soon as you pushed open the door of the small café, your feet skidded to a halt, and you stopped dead in your tracks.

There, leaning against the railing just outside, was Hálfdán from VÆB. He was hard to miss, even when he wasn't wearing his silver outfit.

Tall, broad-shouldered, his signature sparkly sunglasses sitting on his nose, and that slightly wild hair tousled in a way that seemed effortless. Even from a distance, you could see the bright, almost boyish smile lighting up his face as he talked animatedly into his phone, his accent as unmistakable as his laughter. Sunlight caught in the messy strands of his hair, and it took a moment for your brain to process what you were seeing.

For a moment, you just stared, your thoughts stumbling over themselves like a record skipping on repeat. Hálfdán. Right here, in front of you. The same guy whose performances you’d watched on YouTube late at night, who’d seemed so impossibly out of reach on a stage filled with lights and energy.

And now he was leaning on the railing outside your work, dressed in a loose denim jacket over a white shirt and baggy pants that swayed a little in the breeze. The phone in his hand was held at just the right angle, and every now and then, he broke into that bright, infectious laughter that carried across the pavement. His free hand gestured wildly as he spoke to the camera, his whole body language so open and warm that you almost felt like you were watching someone you already knew.

Your stomach fluttered, and you realized your heart was pounding in your chest, thumping in time with the music that still played in the café behind you. You’d dreamed of moments like this, but dreams were easier to prepare for. Real life didn’t give you time to practice.

You took a deep breath, your fingers brushing against the doorframe as you stepped out onto the pavement. The air felt cooler outside, the scent of roasted coffee beans and city traffic mixing around you. Hálfdán didn’t notice you at first, he was focused on the phone, his smile so genuine it made you smile back without even realizing it.

You took a deep breath and walked up to him, feeling your heart thudding against your ribs. He was livestreaming, you realized as you got closer, talking to his fans in his thick Icelandic accent that made every word sound so warm.

“Hi,” you said, your voice a little breathless your palms damp with nerves. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but... could we take a picture together?”

You saw the moment your words registered with him. His eyes widened slightly in surprise before his grin grew even bigger, lighting up his whole face. “Yes, of course!” he said, still holding his phone in one hand. “I’m just streaming, but we can do some pictures together.”

He angled the phone toward you for his livestream, his voice still bright with excitement. “Look who I met! She asked for a picture! Let’s give her lots of pictures!”

Then he turned his face back to you, his grin turning a little playful. “But only if you promise to vote for Iceland,” he said, his tone teasing and warm, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your nerves easing under his playful tone. “Of course!” you said, your voice a little breathless but sure. “How could I not?”

He gave a triumphant little nod, his grin even bigger. “Good answer,” he said.

You felt your face go hot with a mix of nerves and excitement as he pulled you in close for a selfie. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, his laughter ringing in your ears as he shifted to find the best light.

“Another one,” he said, grinning. “More. One with a silly face. Come on, make a silly face with me!”

You couldn’t help but giggle as he leaned in closer, pulling a face so silly it made your own laughter bubble up without warning. His tongue stuck out between his teeth in a playful grin, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. You followed along, feeling a rush of happiness when he burst out laughing. You felt your heart skip, warmth flooding your chest as his laughter wrapped around you like a melody you wanted to hear again and again.

Then he did something you didn’t expect at all. Hálfdán shifted his grip, his arm slipping around your waist as he pulled you even closer. He was so close you could feel the warmth of his chest against your back, his chin coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. You could smell the faint, clean scent of his cologne, and it made your head spin in the best way.

He held your phone up high with his other hand, tilting the screen so you both fit into the frame. You caught your reflection in the glass for just a moment, your cheeks flushed with excitement, your eyes bright with laughter, and then he snapped the picture. His arm tightened around you in a gentle squeeze, and you couldn’t help but lean back against him, your smile growing even wider.

It felt so natural, so easy, like you’d known him longer than just these few minutes. Even as he pulled back slightly to check the picture, you could still feel the warmth of his touch, a lingering heat that left you feeling breathless and a little giddy.

“Okay, last one,” he said, though the spark of excitement in his eyes told you he was having just as much fun as you were. “I want to remember this moment, too.” His smile was so wide and genuine, it made your chest feel like it might burst.

You nodded, your own grin refusing to fade. He lifted his own phone this time, livestream ended long ago, and leaned in close, his head touching yours lightly, the sun catching in his messy hair. For a second, you wished the moment could freeze right there, the world narrowing to just the two of you and the laughter bubbling in your chest.

When he finally lowered the phone and slipped it back into his pocket, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Thank you,” you said softly, your voice a little breathless but warm.

“Are you on your break?” he asked, his eyes still crinkling with that easy smile. “I was about to get some food. Do you want to come with me?”

For a second, the question caught you off guard, like a switch flipping from a dream into real life. You blinked, your mind racing to catch up, but you didn’t want to miss a second of this. “Uh– sure!” you managed, your cheeks flushed but your grin brighter than ever.

His smile widened even more, if that was possible. “Perfect,” he said, his voice low and full of that familiar, lilting excitement. “Let’s go.”

So you walked down the street together, falling into an easy rhythm that felt almost surreal. Your nerves slowly melted away as you found yourself telling him about your job at the café, how you spent your breaks dreaming about traveling the way he was doing now. Hálfdán listened with genuine interest, his eyes locked on yours as he asked questions and made little jokes that had you laughing out loud.

He shared stories about his journey. How he and Matti kept accidentally kept forgetting the most important stuff, like how he once forgot his glasses right before a show. His energy was infectious, his laughter coming so easily that you couldn’t help but match it, your cheeks warm from both the walk and the excitement of being there with him.

When you finally reached a little food stand tucked into a corner of the square, he didn’t hesitate. He ordered for both of you without even asking, his confident smile never faltering. You laughed and teased him about it, your voice light as you said, “You don’t even know what I like!”

He just raised his eyebrows with that same playful spark in his eyes. “Trust me,” he said, handing you a paper tray heaped with golden fries. “You’ll love it.”

You took the tray from him, your fingers brushing lightly against his as you did. And he was right. One bite of those crispy, salty fries and you were hooked. He watched you with an almost smug smile, clearly pleased to see you enjoying it. Your laughter mingled with the noise of the square, the moment bright and easy and so full of life it made your chest ache in the best way.

And as you both leaned against the stand, sharing bites of the fries and stories that spilled out like water over rocks, you realized you didn’t want this little slice of magic to end.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

a/n: you don't understand how much i love it when he poses with his tongue out. i mean-

feral.

[hello-gloomy]

Metal Bambi

--------------------------

Megatron x Gen!Reader

Description: Seeing something crash into the woods by your house you go and check it out on a whim.

Warnings: Slight OOC. Death threat, alien bleeding. Alcohol mentioned at the end. You/Your pronouns no definitive description of reader.

A/N: Bro I didn't even put his name in till the end, also I like to think this takes place during a truce ( in the TFP universe ofc). Anyway enjoy my projection of my daydreams and let me know if u want a part two.

1,300 Words

--------------------------

Despite better judgment, you followed the large, silver, crashing object into the woods. Just for fun, you think to yourself for comfort. You take all your mechanic tools in the case as if it were a giant object in the sky. You were leaving your vehicle as you couldn't take it through the heavy terrain. Running across the forest floor and jumping through bushes, you follow the reoccurring crashing noises and shuffling. The nearer you were, the better you could make out a deep rumbling; it sounded like uttering. A very angry utter, rounding the final tree in your path, you found a robot as giant as the trees in the forest sitting down against one of the said trees. It looked injured, leaking a blue liquid covered in what looked like ash. Its silver plating seemed covered in scratches, and some looked dented. Glancing farther up, straining your neck, you glimpse at what you guess to be its Face. Its eyes are closed, and what you think are its arms are holding its chest. Getting closer to it, you climb over its legs and get closer to its chest. Examining the shrapnel sticking out its chest, you put on some thick gloves and position yourself to yank in harshly out. Before you make some motion, a voice stops you dead in your tracks; you quickly whip your head up to the noise.

" What do you think you're doing." It says in a low grumble. You blink at him and then remember that you need to respond lest it end your life before you can help.

"Taking this out.." You state as evenly as you can. He looks at you, processing your words while glaring at you the best he can, as he's in such a state of disarray. You wait a beat, hoping he doesn't swat you away and kill you from the sheer size of his hand. He lets out a deep hum and moves his arm to let you pull it out. Getting into position again, you steady your feet, mustering all the strength you can, and you pull with all your might. With one final tug, it flings out onto the ground with a resounding clang of metal. He lets out a deep sigh above you. Steadying yourself on one of his legs, you stand on the tips of your shoes and glance at the hole left by the metal spike. Some cords are broken and leaking that blue fluid that you saw earlier. Hopping down from his thigh, you lay your bag on the ground and take out some black electrical tape. Then climb back up his legs and reach into the hole to start patching up the loose cords the best you can, without even really knowing what he is, aside from the fact he is a giant bleeding, at least you think bleeding, robot.

" I don't think a bandaid is going to fix the giant hole in your chest, but...I uh stopped the bleeding..." Trying to lighten the mood, you trail off at the last bit awkwardly as he doesn't say anything nor laugh, so you peek up and see him staring at you, calmly breathing as he studies your Face.

"So, how'd you get beat up?" Your odds of obtaining an explanation from him appear slim.

"Predacons."

"Wow." That was a stupid response, though you didn't know how else to respond. He lets out another low hum at your reaction to his answer.

" Why are you helping me?" You don't have the answer to this intriguing question, so give him the next best thing.

"Because you're injured, " you declare with little confidence but straight-faced. He lets a huff out at your reaction. He moves his arm toward you, and his hand cups half of your body. He leans down slightly to convey his point in his following words.

" I could crush you in the palm of my servo." His eyes baring into your soul made your heart seize at his words.

" If you wanted to, you would have done it already." Spoken with Faux confidence and a slight tremble in your voice as you held his fierce gaze. You resume your work and finish patching him up the best you, as he started guiding you after his original threat.

"It'll heal on its own, " he says suddenly. You tilt your head, confused at his sudden words.

" The hole." He explains it to you in a few words, referencing your previous joke. You let out a quiet 'Oh' to him in understanding.

" If you want, you can follow me home; I can clean you up better there. And wash off most of that dirt, too." You offer to him while packing up most of the tools you had originally packed with you. He's staring at you again, and then he balances his arm against the tree he is lying on and moves to stand up. He looks down at you expectantly, and you take that as your queue to lead the way back out. The walk back is primarily quiet, aside from the crunching of leaves under your feet and the resounding thump of the robot's footsteps following you. Reaching the road again, you look at your car and then back to him. You move to say something, but he beats you by transforming into a tank.

" What the actual fuck." He scoffs and flashes his lights as a sign to start driving the way home. You get into your car, slightly exasperated at the situation that you found yourself in. Pulling up into the driveway, you park on the grass instead of in the large shed to move easier back and forth.

" Wait here real quick." You holler behind you at the mech while rushing inside for a tarp for him to sit, as your garage and shed are a bit undersized, and you'd rather not risk making him uncomfortable while injured. Running back out to him, tarp in hand, he turned back to his more humanoid form, standing with his arms crossed while looking at your home. You quickly lay it out on the ground for him with a slight 'Tah-Dah' for added effect and a wave of your hands. His Face remains the same, and he waits for a beat before shifting to sit on it.

" I would offer you some water, but I don't think you drink that, considering what was leaking out of you." You sway awkwardly, trying to converse with the giant before you.

"Energon." He states with no explanation. You give him a 'Uh-Huh' with a little nod, pretending to understand. You turn on the hose and blast him with warm water, getting all the built-up dirt and dried energon on him. Finally clean and shiny again, you notice hints of purple and red on his plating that you couldn't see before.

"You're pretty for an alien robot, you know." You say offhandedly while checking out the odd symbol on his chassis. He lets out a full laugh at your slight advance to him; it made you jump due to its unexpectedness.

"You're brave for your size."

"Thanks.." You return with a grimace.

"What's your name, organic?" He asks seriously

"Y/n. And you?"

"Megatron." He holds out a single digit to you, and you wrap your little hand around it in response, giving a little shake for good measure.

"I won't forget your bravery today." He gets up off his knee and stands at his full height. Turning his back to you, he walks a little ways away from you, giving you one final glance before turning into a ship and flying off.

"I need a drink." You kick the hose and head inside.

[priceyprice]

Prof!Price

"Do you think the professor's hot?"

She stopped writing in her notebook, trying to process the question her friend asked. It was late at night, and everything was quiet around her. She was on a call with one of her friends from class, trying to do an assignment together since it was difficult doing it alone. They found out it was more efficient calling each other because they could share their notes and answers.

"Who are you talking about?"

"Who else? The professor from literature." She tensed, chest tightening with that familiar but obnoxious feeling at the seductive tone she used to say professor from literature.

She dropped her pen in the middle of her notebook to pay full attention to her friend's words. "The professor from literature?"

"Yes! Have you seen him?"

She cleared her throat. Of course she's seen him. In fact, she has seen every part of him.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh my gosh!" Her friend said in an annoyance tone, feeling frustrated she wasn't getting the point. But, she was obviously getting the fucking point. She just can't admit it out of the blue. "He's so hot. I know he's a serious man inside and outside the classroom, but hey, his face and his body... oh my, my... I would totally fuck a man like that."

Her face frowned upon the last words, looking at her friend's name from her phone —since the call was on speaker— as if she's in front of her. That uncomfortable feeling rose throughout all her body like a fountain.

Her friend was looking at the professor with other eyes than the academic figure.

She's pretty sure her friend is not the only girl with her panties wet for the professor from literature. Professor Price is a man who has charisma. His big bulk of a body and his electrifying blue eyes possess an aura that can either intimidate you or make you flustered. The way he talks with people with his low and calm voice, as if he's going to sing the most romantic tune, ever existed. Also, the way he walks, the way he dresses, the way he styles his beard... Everything from Professor Price screams perfection.

It's not difficult for someone to get attracted to the professor.

But still.

She didn't like how other girls looked at him like he was the most expensive dish served on a silver plate, ready to be devoured. Even though his eyes only stayed on her, she was the only one who could look at him like that.

She was the only one who could actually devour that expensive dish.

She was jealous.

The phantom touch of rough hands around her ankles made her throw a little gasp while pushing the rolling chair backward. "Shh..." Her heart skipped a beat when she hears that low and rough voice beneath her. She looked down at her desk, just to find the protagonist of her conversation with her friend kneeling in front of her;

Professor Price.

He was wearing his usual attire for work. The only difference was his white long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned by the first few buttons, leaving a glimpse of his hairy chest and making him look like some sexy star magazine. His hair was slightly disheveled, probably by all the times he passed his fingers through it. His icy blue eyes were accompanied by some eyebags under it, revealing the tiredness he was accumulating within these days that had passed thanks to the amount of work and reunions he was receiving.

"What are you doing?!" She whispered-yelled taking a rebel strand of hair that went in front of her face when she moved her chair. His thumb caressed softly the skin of her ankles before pulling her to him again, earning a soft gasp from her parted lips. His face ended up resting on her right thigh, eyes closing to the warm feeling her skin radiates.

"'Missed you." He said, placing a soft kiss to her thigh, making her wriggle a bit at the sensation his lips left. "'Missed you so much." He started to leave a trail of soft kisses on her thigh as his hands worked its way to the back of her knees, opening her legs so he could have more room between them. His hands traveled to either side of her hips, taking the waistband of her shorts trying to pull them down.

Her eyebrows raised all the way up, almost comically, ignoring the burning feeling he was making inside of her and focusing on the panic when she realized what he was doing, quickly stopping him. "Wait, Price, we can't do that here." She said, placing her hands on either side of his head trying to separate his lips from her skin, but it was in vain. He was much stronger than her.

Price's hands grasped hers in a soft motion. His thumb caressed her delicate fingers. "Why not? We are in my home. Nobody's watching."

"I'm talking with someone, Price."

"Then be quiet, love." He said before continuing where he left, placing his hands on the waistband of her shorts, his fingers curling the fabric before tugging it down her legs.

Truth be told, Price doesn't give a fuck who is she talking to. He's too tired and consumed by all the work he had these past days, that he's left with nothing but the thought of her beautiful face bringing him the peace he needs.

They couldn't almost see each other within the university halls besides his classroom. His home too, where he'd often find her asleep on his couch or his bed because he was leaving late from the university's office. In the early mornings, he just kissed her a soft goodbye waking her up just for her to see his silhouette leaving the room to go and finish more paperwork he had left the day before.

A sigh could be heard from the other line of the call. "Too bad he isn't open enough to know his relationship status."

A little gasp escaped from her lips when she felt his hot lips put pressure on the wet patch that was starting to form in her soft underwear. A jolt of electricity passed through all her body when he placed another kiss in the same spot, making her jump slightly.

His lips turned into a smile. His hands started caressing the soft flesh of her thighs. "Answer her, love." he said before placing an open-mouthed kiss on the wet spot, passing his tongue through the fabric, feeling the rapid pulses of her pearl. She opened her mouth with a low moan as her hands found a way into his hair.

"Y-Yes... he doesn't... he doesn't let... anyone know."

She tried to calm her frenetic breathing from giving away what was happening on her side of the phone, but it was too difficult. Her back arched when his warm tongue put pressure on her sensitive bud, feeling the wet fabric caress it.

"P-Price, p-please." Her words were shaking in her throat along with a few moans. "What?" He asked, looking up at her beautiful face contorted in nothing but pleasure. Her hand puts a little bit more pressure on the crown of his head, as if inviting him to keep going. "T-Take it off."

"Your underwear?"

She nodded.

"No. I'll take it off when I want to."

He grasped her legs with both hands and threw them over his shoulder, now completely open to him. He rested his hands on her hips, looking at the —big—wet patch, now transparent where he could slightly see through her white underwear the outlines and the color of her folds and her pearl, pulsating against the fabric with desire. Price started at it as if he were a starved man with his last meal in front of him, waiting, inviting him to taste it.

That sent him goosebumps all over his body. His mind glowing with sinful thoughts made him almost blind from the desire.

"Keep talking with her, love. You don't want to let her know that the professor you guys are talking about is the same one between your legs." He said before diving his head again between her thighs.

His tongue made its way with her, taking big laps from her folds to her clothed bud, making her gasps now with full force on his short hair. "F-Fuck..."

"You know, sometimes I think he's married."

She opened her mouth to only let out a soft whimper. His tongue now moving easily with saliva and arousal pooled between her underwear.

"Y-You think so?" She threw her head back into the chair in a blinding pleasure. He was literally making out with her intimate area as if it was her mouth. Opened kisses and pressed his tongue all over her, caging her between his large hands like a lion with a bone between his paws.

He wanted to take her underwear off. Oh, he's been craving to see her bare since the second he stepped into his home. But he knows how loud they can be. He knows how loud the obscene sounds her sweet area makes. He knows the high-pitched moans she does when she's close. He knows everything from head to toe. And he can't risk the other person hearing those sweet sounds coming from her mouth and body.

Of course, he knows her very well.

She's his lover.

"Yeah! I mean, he doesn't look at the other female professors with other eyes than work." His tongue started to draw circles around her bud, sending shock waves through her stomach. Even with the underwear in the middle, she could feel his soft tongue in contrast with the hairs of his beard and mustache tickling her sensitive zone, along with the hairs of his cheeks grazing her inner thighs up and down everytime he licks her.

It was driving her crazy.

"But, there was a rumor."

She bit her lip, trying to stop a whimper rolling from her tongue before speaking; "R-Really? W-what rumor?"

"That him and the professor from marketing were dating." Before she even had the time to think those words and let that jealousy feeling rise up her chest, a chocked moan escaped her lips when she felt his tongue and underwear entering her entrance. Her hips buckled so fast to his face that the chair made a loud squealing sound.

"Is everything okay?"

"Y-Yes!" She said, sounding a little bit more high-pitched than normal. "I almost... fell from my ch-chair. D-Don't worry..."

"Oh, be careful... So, someone who's studying marketing told me that their professor was looking at him like..." Her friend really wanted to spill some kind of false tea, but unfortunately she lost the topic of the conversation the second his tongue was in her entrance, not even caring what was happening around her, only the man and the skillful tongue between her legs.

"Price..." She said when he returned to her now puffy bud giving circles around it. She opened her eyes to stare down just to find his blue ones already looking at her.

Beautiful, he thought. Her hair was in a few directions, while her forehead was glistening with a few droplets of sweat and a few strands plastered on her skin. Her cheeks were red, and her mouth was opened, letting out soft and low noises.

"J-Just fuck me."

"No. After you finish your call, I promise to fuck you like the goddess you are." He continued to circling her bud now putting a little bit more pressure.

She was starting to feel that familiar knot in her stomach. Unconsciously, her hips started to buckle from the chair and getting closer to his face continuously to make that release faster.

"I know you're close, love. Come on, give yourself to me."

He started going faster with his tongue as she started to go faster with her hips, almost making a rhythm to match each other. Her fingers were so secured in his hair, giving painful stings to his scalp, but he didn't mind.

Not when his lover is a mess and he's the cause of it.

She felt all her muscles tense at the same time her legs started to tremble. Her hips worked faster and faster each second, trying desperately to get that release.

Only one last suck to her sensitive bud was all it took to unleash what she was searching for.

Every fiber exploded at the same time her orgasm clashed down in powerful waves. Her mouth hanged open, chocking back a scream that was forming on the depths of her throat. "John...!" She looked at the ceiling, her vision getting blurry for a second.

All the strength was leaving her body and soul as she collapsed back on the chair. Her legs dropped from his shoulders, and her hand left his now totally disheveled hair. Her chest was rapid with her unsteady breathing, her blood pleading for some oxygen. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying not to make a loud noise and raise suspicion on her friend. Although that wasn't necessary since her friend was rambling about the rumor without taking a break to breathe.

He separate a little from between her thighs, noticing how her arousal made all her underwear drenched and a few droplets falling in the leather cushion of the chair. His muscles tensed at the very erotic sight in front of him.

His hands made way to the waistband of her panties, slowly taking it off her legs and securing them in his pockets. He could see her glistening folds and puffy pearl now bare and open to him, inviting him for another round. And as almost tantalizing that view was for him, he kept his composure and was going to wait until she finished her call as he promised.

He gave a chaste kiss to her bud, her hips bucking as she hissed at the hypersensitivity she was feeling. He trailed kisses down her thighs to her legs, and then he ended with a final kiss on her ankles before caressing them one last time and muttering an 'I love you' without her hearing it.

A few minutes passed, and she opened her eyes only to find herself alone again, as if he didn't take a step into his home office where she was.

"So, what do you think?"

She tried to compose herself, wincing when she felt parts of her arousal that was left in the chair in contact with her sensitive area. She looked down, seeing all the mess she had made.

I'm blaming this on him.

She's pretty sure if he was still there, he would've said, "You were not complaining when you made that mess."

She could hear the faint noise of the shower running from his room that was two doors down the hall , maybe preparing himself before actually having his way with her.

She straightened herself, passing her hands through her hair, taking a few wet strands plasted on her forehead behind her ears. She accommodated her shirt, not bothering to look for her underwear since it was all ruined now. She was going to take a shower after this or join him.

She cleared her throat. "About the rumor...?"

She already heard that rumor. That took surface, and after a few days, everyone was talking about it. That caused a few problems between her and her lover, but he cleared everything and told her it was just her having a crush on him since he can remember, but she has been with other men to take money from them. Of course, since she knows Price is a man with a few dollars on his account, she wanted to have her way with him. But that didn't happen.

While a few professors and students find her like someone sexy and secure, Professor Price finds her disgusting.

Nothing like my little love, he thinks.

"No, silly! About the professor."

Her lips curled into a small smile, feeling tired about the way her soul almost leaves her body in that orgasm caused by the very one Professor Price.

"Yeah... He's not that bad."

part 2 here

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

I apologize for the shitty writing. I'm not good at writing these types of scenes + my first language it's not english.

Comments and suggestions are appreciated 🫶🏻.

[paxaz535]

Green and Gold

love interest: pazzi

CHAPTER TWO.

The moment Azzi sat down, the Gryffindor table welcomed her like she’d already scored a winning goal. Everyone was cheering, clapping her on the back, making room like she belonged. It was loud and chaotic and kind of perfect.

Carol was next to her, the biggest smiles on both their faces.

Then the golden plates in front of them filled on their own. Like, instantly. One second they were empty, the next there was roast chicken, mashed potatoes, thick stews, glowing pitchers of pumpkin juice, and about ten kinds of bread. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

She’d never seen a feast like this before — not even close.

She reached for a roll and whispered, “Yo… this is crazy.”

A second-year beside her grinned. “Wait till Christmas.”

Azzi tried not to scarf it all down too fast, but it was hard. Everything was warm and perfectly seasoned and nothing — not even the strange jelly blobs at the edge of the table — tasted bad.

She was halfway through her second helping when she glanced across the hall.

Paige was sitting at the Slytherin table, of course — straight-backed, arms folded, that same unreadable expression on her face. Azzi couldn’t even tell if she was enjoying the food. Honestly, she looked like she was judging it.

Azzi narrowed her eyes.

It wasn’t like she cared what Paige thought. But still. Why did she always look like she had something to prove?

“You okay?” Carol whispered, leaning toward her.

Azzi blinked. “What? Yeah.”

Carol smiled, then nodded at the staff table. “Do you think they eat the same food as us?”

Azzi looked up. Professors lined the long table at the front, chatting with each other, laughing softly over goblets and plates. They looked normal enough — except for one man whose turban looked like it was eating his head.

Azzi made a face. “That one’s definitely hiding something.”

Carol giggled. “You think so?”

“I mean, look at him. That’s not a normal amount of turban.”

They both cracked up quietly until a prefect shushed them.

———

Later, after the food vanished and the plates wiped themselves clean, the Headmaster — Professor Dumbledore — stood. He had long silver hair and half-moon glasses and looked like someone straight out of a fairy tale.

He welcomed them with a twinkle in his eye, rattled off a list of rules (no magic in the corridors, no going into the Forbidden Forest, no fighting — oops), and then dismissed them to their dorms.

Azzi followed the flow of red-robed students through winding staircases and moving portraits. Everything in the castle seemed like it could talk, move, or jump out at her — and some of it did. She nearly tripped over a talking suit of armor.

By the time they reached the Gryffindor common room — hidden behind a fat lady in a pink dress who demanded a password — Azzi’s brain was buzzing with way too much magic to process.

The common room was cozy and golden, lit by a crackling fire and dotted with squashy chairs. Their dorm room was upstairs, tucked into a round tower with velvet blankets and beds that felt like clouds.

Azzi dropped her bag by the bed and flopped onto it, sighing loud enough for Carol to laugh.

“Tired?” Carol asked, already unbraiding her hair.

Azzi rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “Exhausted.”

“Do you think Paige is this tired?”

Azzi blinked. “Why are we talking about her?”

Carol shrugged. “You keep looking at her.”

“I do not,” Azzi shot back, but her ears burned anyway.

Carol smiled to herself and fluffed her pillow.

Azzi turned her face into her blanket, already plotting how she’d prove she was better than Paige Bueckers — in spells, in flying, in everything.

It wasn’t about her, obviously.

It was about being the best.

And if that meant beating Paige at everything?

Well, so be it.

Azzi didn’t think she’d ever fall asleep.

The castle had gone quiet, but everything felt too new to rest — the soft rustle of tapestries, the occasional pop of the fire in the Gryffindor common room, and the faint laughter echoing from somewhere deep in the halls. Every little sound reminded her that she wasn’t home anymore. She was at Hogwarts.

Eventually, exhaustion pulled her under.

———

The next morning, sunlight spilled in through the tall tower windows, lighting the red-and-gold canopy above her bed. For a second, Azzi forgot where she was.

Then she sat up.

Magic.

School.

Gryffindor.

She grinned to herself and rolled out of bed. She looked forward to today.

———

Breakfast was waiting when they entered the Great Hall — literally. The second she sat down, golden platters filled with warm food appeared in front of her like they’d been waiting for her to be hungry. There was so much of it, she didn’t know where to start: fried eggs, sausages, pancakes, fruits cut into perfect little stars, and orange juice so fresh it made her blink.

She reached for a croissant and took a huge bite.

Across from her, Carol was reading a folded piece of parchment. “Look, we got our schedules!”

Azzi wiped her mouth and took hers.

First Period: Charms.

Professor: F. Flitwick.

Location: South Tower, Classroom 2B.

She swallowed. “Charms first. Okay. Sounds cool.”

Carol smiled. “You think we’ll learn to turn things into animals?”

“I hope we learn how to fly.”

“I hope we learn how to make stuff explode,” Carol said brightly, reaching for a scone.

Azzi laughed, and for a minute, everything felt good. The nerves from the night before — the Sorting, the weird stares from Paige — it all melted under the glow of the floating candles and the smell of syrup.

But when her eyes drifted across the hall, they landed — like they always seemed to — on the Slytherin table.

And there she was.

Paige.

Her white-blonde hair was neatly brushed, her tie perfectly straight. She wasn’t eating — she just sat there, flipping through a tiny leather notebook, lips pressed into a line.

Azzi didn’t understand her. Everyone else was gawking at the ceiling that looked like the real sky, but Paige looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.

Azzi scoffed under her breath and turned back to her food.

———

Charms class was in a tower that wound up so many flights of stairs Azzi nearly tripped twice. Her legs ached by the time they found the right room — a circular chamber with windows overlooking the Black Lake and dozens of floating bookshelves that drifted quietly overhead.

Professor Flitwick stood on a pile of books behind his desk, barely taller than Azzi’s waist. He had wispy gray hair and eyes that sparkled like he’d just gotten a new wand.

“Welcome, my bright young witches and wizards!” he chirped. “Today, we begin with the most elegant of spells — the Levitation Charm.”

He flicked his wand. “Wingardium Leviosa!”

A feather rose from his desk, floating effortlessly through the air.

Azzi leaned forward. That was what she wanted — light, easy control. Power at her fingertips.

“Pair up!” Flitwick said. “Time to try it yourselves!”

Carol turned to her with a hopeful look—until a curly-haired girl swept in and snatched her away.

“Sorry!” Carol mouthed over her shoulder, grimacing.

Azzi looked around — and froze.

Everyone else was already paired up.

Everyone… except her.

And Paige.

They locked eyes.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Azzi muttered.

Paige gave her a bored look. “I don’t like it either.”

“Then don’t talk to me.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

They sat down at a shared table, a single white feather laid out in front of them like a test neither of them wanted to take.

Azzi cleared her throat and pointed her wand.

“Wingardium Leviosa.”

The feather didn’t move.

Paige leaned back. “You’ve got to really mean it.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Professor Bueckers.”

Paige didn’t laugh. She just lifted her wand, cool and collected. “Wingardium Leviosa.”

The feather floated.

Perfectly.

Azzi stared at it, heart pinching in her chest.

Of course she got it right the first time.

Paige gave a tiny shrug. “Maybe you’re better at… I don’t know. Throwing things.”

Azzi’s jaw locked. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Neither do you.”

Azzi turned away and focused on her feather, determined not to let Paige get in her head. But for the rest of class, the feather stayed stubbornly still.

———

They had Herbology next — messy, loud, and full of strange plants that snapped or squealed when touched wrong. Azzi tried to focus, but her brain kept replaying that moment in Charms, over and over again.

She hated the feeling of falling behind. Hated it even more when Paige was ahead.

By the time they reached the broomstick field, she was tense and full of restless energy.

The brooms lay neatly in rows on the grass. The sky above was pale blue and cloudless. This — this felt more like home.

“Stand beside your broom!” Madam Hooch barked. “Right hand out — say, ‘Up!’”

Azzi stepped into place. “Up!”

Her broom snapped into her hand. Smooth. Confident.

She smiled.

Paige, two spots away, did the same — her broom just as obedient.

Of course.

Madam Hooch taught them how to mount properly, then gave them each a chance to hover and land.

Azzi’s stomach jumped as she rose — just a few feet, but it felt like flying.

The wind tugged at her robes. Her heart soared.

When she touched down, she turned automatically to see how Paige was doing.

She was hovering.

Perfect posture. Steady broom.

Their eyes met.

Paige arched an eyebrow, just slightly.

Azzi scowled. “Show-off.”

“You’re the one staring.”

———

That night, as she lay in bed staring at the canopy above, Azzi tried to focus on the good parts of the day: her broom obeying her, Carol’s laughter, the magic of floating feathers.

But her brain wouldn’t shut up.

Not about Paige.

Not about that smug little smile.

Azzi huffed and rolled over, pulling the covers tight.

Tomorrow, she was not going to let Paige beat her at anything.

Even if she had to study till her wand fell out of her hand.

That’s how determined she was.

———

Azzi wasn’t used to feeling behind.

At home, she was good at things — sports, games, even learning. She picked things up fast. But at Hogwarts, everything was new and unpredictable, and so far, it felt like she was always one step behind Paige Bueckers.

It didn’t help that Paige never seemed to try. She was calm, collected, and annoyingly smooth with her wand — like magic was just another language she already spoke.

Azzi hated that.

She hated it even more when, during Tuesday’s Charms class, Paige actually offered to help her.

Azzi had snapped before Paige could even finish the sentence. “I don’t need help.”

Paige held her hands up. “Suit yourself.”

Carol gently whispered to her later, “You don’t have to compete with her, you know.”

But she did.

She had to prove she belonged here.

———

Wednesday came with a chill in the air and a buzz of excitement in the corridors. Whispers floated around about a surprise in Defense Against the Dark Arts — a demonstration, apparently, from Professor Holloway, who students said used to be an actual curse-breaker for Gringotts.

Azzi arrived early, stomach twisting with anticipation.

The classroom was dim, lit with floating lanterns that cast shadows across the stone walls. There was something exciting — almost dangerous — about the way Professor Holloway talked. Her voice was low and precise, and she moved like she was always five seconds away from dueling someone.

“Magic,” she began, “is as wild as it is wonderful. Today, we’re going to try something more advanced than usual. A controlled defense spell. Only if you’re feeling confident.”

Azzi’s eyes lit up.

Finally.

Something real.

“Now,” the professor continued, walking between the desks, “this is an elementary shield spell. Protego. It creates a temporary barrier that can block minor jinxes. We’ll start with wand movement — slow, deliberate, and focused.”

Carol looked uncertain beside her. “Isn’t this kind of advanced?”

Azzi straightened. “We’ve been floating feathers for days. I’m ready.”

Professor Holloway demonstrated once — a glowing blue shimmer flashed in front of her before disappearing like smoke. “The trick is concentration. Wands up.”

Azzi stood, heart pounding.

Her wand felt heavier than usual, like it knew something was coming.

“Go ahead,” Holloway said. “Try.”

Azzi whispered, “Protego.”

A faint spark shot from her wand — too quick, too messy.

Holloway passed behind her. “Try again. Stronger focus.”

Azzi gritted her teeth. She wanted this.

“Protego!”

Something exploded.

Not huge — but bright. Too bright.

A blast of blue light shot from her wand and cracked like lightning. The force knocked her back a step, her shoes skidding across the stone floor. A desk to her left shook violently, toppling an ink bottle that splattered everywhere.

Someone screamed — not from fear, more from shock.

When the light faded, Azzi’s wand felt hot in her hand.

The room was silent.

Even Holloway looked mildly stunned.

And standing just a few feet away, completely spattered with ink and dust from the blast… was Paige.

Her robes were singed at the sleeve. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were wide.

Azzi’s mouth dropped open. “I— I didn’t—”

“I’m fine,” Paige cut in, brushing herself off. “You need to control what you’re doing, Fudd.”

Azzi’s face burned.

What got her is that, Paige didn’t sound… upset.

Holloway waved her wand and the mess vanished in a flash, but the air still smelled like burnt parchment.

“Controlled focus, Miss Fudd,” she said calmly, but her tone was sharp. “You’ve got strong magic. But strength without control is a liability.”

Azzi nodded stiffly.

She didn’t trust herself to speak.

She couldn’t tell if Paige was angry, amused… or both.

———

Later, in the common room, Azzi curled into a corner chair and stared at the flickering fireplace. Her wand rested on her knees, cold now.

Carol sat beside her, quiet for a while before saying softly, “It was kind of cool, though. The way it worked. Just… too well.”

Azzi sighed. “It wasn’t supposed to hit anyone. I could’ve hurt her.”

“She’s fine.”

“I still looked stupid.”

Carol shrugged. “Only a little.”

Azzi cracked a smile.

Just barely.

———

That night, as she climbed into bed, Azzi promised herself she’d master that spell. She wasn’t going to be the girl with the wild wand. She was going to be the one who got it right. The one Paige had to catch up to.

She closed her eyes.

But all she could see was that flash of blue.

And Paige — shocked, blinking, standing in the middle of it all.

The week leading up to Halloween was nothing short of magical.

The entire castle had changed — pumpkins the size of cauldrons floated near the ceilings, candles flickered in midair even outside the Great Hall, and ghosts glided around singing off-key holiday songs that made most students laugh and some teachers wince. Even the suits of armor seemed to jingle with excitement when they moved.

Azzi loved every second of it.

Classes were still tough — she was working hard on her spell control after the Defense mishap — but the feeling in the air made everything feel lighter. She and Carol had become nearly inseparable, always sharing snacks or sneaking notes in class. And while she hadn’t spoken more than a few words to Paige since the Protego disaster… she couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Not in a nice way, obviously.

Just… in a how does someone look that smug even while eating toast way.

Paige had barely reacted to the accident. Not angry. Not afraid. Just… Paige. And Azzi couldn’t tell if that made her feel better or worse.

———

On Halloween night, the Great Hall looked like a dream.

Hundreds of carved jack-o’-lanterns floated above the long tables, their faces glowing with dancing candlelight. Bats swooped across the ceiling, blending in with the enchanted night sky overhead. Platters of food stretched from end to end — roast chicken, mashed potatoes, treacle tarts, and pumpkin pasties stacked high.

Azzi sat between Carol and a boy named Miles from Gryffindor. She was halfway through her second helping of roast when she noticed Paige at the Slytherin table — not sitting with the crowd, but leaning back slightly, arms crossed as if she weren’t impressed by any of this.

Azzi rolled her eyes and stuffed a pasty in her mouth.

“You think she even likes magic?” she muttered to Carol.

Carol giggled. “Maybe she’s just allergic to fun.”

Azzi snorted, but before she could come up with something sharper, the doors of the Great Hall slammed open.

Professor Quirrell came sprinting in, his turban askew, face pale.

“T-Troll!” he gasped. “In the dungeon! Thought you ought to know—!”

And then he collapsed.

For a moment, the whole hall went silent.

Then chaos.

Students screamed. Teachers jumped from their seats. Some kids ran for the doors, others ducked under tables. Azzi’s heart pounded.

Professor McGonagall’s voice cut through the noise. “Everyone back to your dormitories! Now!”

Azzi grabbed Carol’s sleeve and they were swept into the sea of Gryffindors heading out of the Hall. But somewhere between the corridor and the staircase, they got turned around — pushed by older students and confused first-years shouting over each other.

“We’re going the wrong way!” someone yelled.

Azzi turned — and froze.

She saw her.

Paige.

She was standing at the end of the hall, frowning down a dark corridor. Her wand was out.

“She’s going toward the dungeon?” Azzi muttered. “What is she, cursed?”

Without thinking, Azzi turned.

“Where are you going?” Carol hissed.

Azzi didn’t answer. She just ran after Paige.

———

The corridor was quiet — too quiet.

Stone walls stretched wide around them, lit only by flickering sconces. The air smelled damp, and Azzi could hear her own heartbeat thudding in her ears.

“Paige!” she called, breathless.

Paige turned, startled. “Are you following me?”

“You’re walking toward a troll! Of course I’m following you!”

“I wasn’t—” Paige stopped. “I thought I saw someone run this way.”

Azzi stepped beside her. “Great. Now we’re both going to get eaten.”

A low, horrible sound echoed from around the corner.

A deep, growling grunt.

Paige grabbed Azzi’s arm.

It happened so fast — the crashing of stone, the stench of sweat and filth, the massive shadow stumbling toward them. The troll was even bigger than Azzi imagined — nearly the size of the corridor itself, with gray, leathery skin and arms like tree trunks.

It spotted them.

And roared.

“Run,” Azzi breathed.

They ran.

Around the bend, through the narrow stone hall, past a line of statues that rattled in their stands. But the troll was faster than it looked. Azzi turned back just in time to see it swing its club into a wall, shattering stone.

“We need to do something!” Paige shouted.

“You first!”

The troll raised its club again.

“Stupefy!” Paige yelled.

A red bolt shot from her wand — it barely fazed the troll, but it did stumble.

“Together!” Azzi shouted. “On three—”

“One—two—Stupefy!”

Their wands lit up, twin beams of red smashing into the troll’s chest. It groaned, wobbled… and collapsed with a thunderous crash that shook the floor.

Azzi stared at the huge, unconscious form in front of them.

Paige was panting beside her. “Well. That was awful.”

“You’re welcome,” Azzi muttered.

“We stunned it.”

Azzi shot her a look. “Fine. Teamwork, I guess.”

Paige opened her mouth — but then teachers rounded the corner, wands raised, faces stern.

The lecture that followed was long, loud, and full of phrases like “reckless behavior” and “could’ve been seriously injured.” But neither Azzi nor Paige got detention.

Rumor had it Professor McGonagall told Dumbledore herself that the two first-years had shown “remarkable nerve and spellwork under pressure.”

Azzi couldn’t believe it.

For the first time since she got to Hogwarts… she felt like she’d done something right.

Even if it meant teaming up with the last person she wanted to like.

Azzi had never flown before Hogwarts, but once she was in the air, she knew the sky was hers.

Flying came naturally. While other first-years fumbled to stay upright, Azzi zipped through the practice rings with perfect balance and sharp turns. Madam Hooch praised her immediately, jotting something down with a tight smile. Carol clapped so hard her knitted lion hat flew off.

Azzi didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

Until Paige got in the air.

Slytherin’s practice hadn’t even started when Paige shot off the ground, broom tilting at an arrogant slant. She cut through the air like she was born on a broomstick — effortless, smooth, annoyingly fast.

Azzi’s jaw tightened.

Of course she was good.

———

The Quidditch team sign-ups came out mid-October, and Azzi made Chaser with hardly any resistance. “One of the best first-year flyers I’ve seen,” said Angelina Johnson.

Unfortunately, Slytherin had the same idea.

Paige Bueckers. Chaser.

Azzi stared at the updated team list on the common room wall for a full minute.

“I hope we crush them,” she muttered.

Carol leaned in. “Who? Slytherin or just Paige?”

“Both.”

———

Game day arrived colder than expected. The sky was silver with clouds, and the wind whipped through the stadium like a warning. Students packed the stands, decked out in house colors, faces painted, scarves flying.

Azzi mounted her broom and joined the team lineup. Her heart pounded, but her grip on the broom was steady.

Across the pitch, Paige stood beside her teammates, helmet under one arm, broom resting casually on her shoulder. When their eyes met, Paige gave a mocking nod — a challenge, not a greeting.

Azzi’s face stayed blank. She wasn’t rising to that.

The whistle blew.

The game began in a flurry of movement and shouting.

———

Paige was fast. Too fast.

The first time she got the Quaffle, she soared past Fred and curved under a Bludger like it was nothing. She scored within seconds. The Slytherin section exploded.

Azzi wasn’t impressed. She was fired up.

She snatched the Quaffle on the next possession and tore across the pitch, her robes snapping in the wind. She feinted left, looped around a Beater, and hurled the ball clean through the center hoop.

Tie.

Now it was war.

For the next thirty minutes, Azzi and Paige were locked in the kind of back-and-forth that made the announcer’s voice go hoarse.

Paige blocked her passes.

Azzi intercepted hers.

They bumped shoulders midair more than once, daring each other to get mad enough to lose control.

“Didn’t think Gryffindors were scared of heights,” Paige muttered as she shoved past.

Azzi’s lip curled. “Didn’t think Slytherins had brains, but here we are.”

They hated each other. Equally.

———

The game ended only when a boy named Jalen caught the Snitch, earning Gryffindor the win. The crowd roared, but Azzi didn’t celebrate right away.

She was watching Paige — still floating high above the pitch, jaw clenched, refusing to look anywhere near Azzi.

Good.

Stay mad.

Azzi finally allowed herself a small smirk as her teammates swarmed around her. Her back ached, her knuckles were scraped from a Bludger, but she didn’t care.

They’d won.

And she’d proved her point.

———

That night in the common room, Carol bounced up and down beside her.

“You owned the pitch! Paige couldn’t do anything without you showing her up!”

Azzi shrugged, but the firelight flickered against her face, warming her cheeks.

“Next time,” she said, “I’ll make sure she doesn’t score at all.”

[thepenultimateword]

The Un-Gingerbread || Secret Santa 2024

I participated in the Secret Santa writing event again this year! This snippet is for @gingerly-writing! I hope you enjoy! I know you said I could choose just one topic buuuut I ended up kinda combining them all together!

magical girl powers (especially for villains)

something cute and Christmassy turned deadly/bad (Christmas card full of blackmail, evil snow powers, etc)

super niche/useless superpower saves the day

“They’re Christmas cookies,” Hero said blandly.

“They’re suspicious.” Villain tapped the edge of the platter with the tip of their snowflake wand. Little swirls of frost spread over the surface of the plastic wrap, clouding over the little gingerbread faces.

“Some caroler or neighbor or someone trying to be spread Christmas cheer casually left a plate on your doorstep. End of story.”

Hero had never been the imaginative type. It was a little annoying actually: the power of disbelief. One of the only things that had ever rendered Villain powerless. It didn’t always work, especially now that Hero had seen Villain’s work up close so often, but when Hero got thinking too much about the laws of gravity, the improbability of a transformation sequence, the energy mechanics of magic, Villain found themselves dropping like a stone. 

In those moment they just had to hope Hero was close enough to catch them–practically a guarantee–and empathetic enough not say a word to anyone else. …Less likely.

Villain tucked the wand into a reality pocket–Hero was nice enough not mess with that one today-and swished their capelet around them as they turned toward the fridge. The next thing they knew, they were pouring a glass of milk just so they could look away. The hero’s dry gaze already felt like a drain on their powers without this extra dose of exasperation. 

“Look at the clothes,” they said.

Hero raised an eyebrow, but began to peel up the first layer of plastic wrap.

“Don’t unwrap them!” Villain cried, then as Hero’s eyebrow did a higher, more quizzical leap into their hair, “We don’t know what’s in them.”

“I don’t think this shoddy wrap job is keeping in any dangerous toxins,” Hero said.

Villain stomped a heeled shoe. “Don’t say such dangerous things out loud!”

“For that to work the cookies would have to actually be toxic. Which they aren’t.” Hero’s eyes flicked up and down before returning to the cookie plate and the unwrapping process. “Did you seriously do a complete transformation over this?”

Villain warmed a little. They didn’t make a habit of inviting heroes to their apartment, but something about this had shaken them. Something about those sugar pearl eyes peering up at them had felt…wrong. Though they’d claimed, even internally, that Hero was simply the first name to pop into their head, maybe…maybe they’d chosen them on purpose. Maybe they’d wanted a bit of logic to asway their anxiety. To tell them everything was truly alright.

“I’m just being prepared,” Villain said, then nodded at the plate.

The gingerbreadpeople were dressed like them. Not the comfortable, baggy outfits they wore as a civilian but their magical version–silver pompadour shoes with a snowflake sprinkles for the buckles, long icy blue tailcoat and capelet with a carefully iced imitation of the frost pattern emroidery, and whipped ruffles—so many ruffles, in the cravat, in the white undershirt, in the peeking cuffs of the sleeves; the Ginger-Villains even held their wand, complete with silver edible glitter so the snowflake head sparkled in the light.

“Coincidence.”

“Coinci– Hero! That’s me!”

“Yes, and half the city is convinced you’re some sort of ice fairy.” Villain could hear the eyeroll in their tone. “This isn’t the first cookie I’ve seen with your face on it.”

“But they are the first to show up at my door.”

Hero let out an enormous sigh. “Ok, honestly? Yes, it’s weird. Yes, it’s creepy. But I just don’t believe anyone could have figured out who you are let alone where you live. You’re ok. Throw them away if you’re so worried.”

Villain folded their arms poutily. “I’m sure that’s exactly what the sender wants me to do. One moment I’m dumping cookies, the next I have giant radioactive rats breaking down my door.”

They swished their cape again, more dramatically this time, making the full breadth of their displeasure known. 

Hero sighed again. They did that so much it was a wonder they had any breath left.

“Do you want me to take them?”

Villain blinked. “Really?”

“You’re just going keep calling me otherwise, right? And I have no worries about throwing them away in my trash.”

Villain picked up the platter hesitantly. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt on my behalf…”

“I know it’s Christmas but quit with the fluff. Hand them over.”

Hero thrust out their hand, waving their fingers impatiently. 

Well, if Hero really wanted the creepy cookies, who was Villain to stop them. They were a grown, capable adult who knew how to take care of themselves, and they were enemies anyways, so Villain didn’t need to feel guilty at all if–

Villain’s thoughts stopped short, plate half extended. The platter trembled a little in their fist.

“Are you really so freaked out that you’re shaking?” Hero said.

“I-I’m not.”

Something on the platter was moving. 

As the first Ginger-Villain rose to its feet, all Villain and Hero could do was stare. 

When the second one popped up, Villain threw the platter across the room.

The decorative plastic cracked against the wall, and about two dozen cookies scattered every direction.

The wall clock ticked a second of peace, and then the cookies were back up, faces smudges, bodies cracked, or a gory scene of cookie arms and legs and sugar pearl eyes littering the tile.

One cookie who was lucky enough to escape the throw with no more damage than a lost eye and a smeared tailcoat waddled determinedly forward while several others limped or dragged themselves behind.

Villain cursed. "What is happening?"

"It's not real. it's not real. it's not real," Hero muttered like a ritual beside them. But the cookies were real. And whatever disbelief Hero had been suspending was broken.

Fine. If Hero was going to be useless... Villain reached into the air and yanked their wand out of its pocket and back into reality.

They flicked the wand once, sending a pale coating of slick ice over the living cookies, stiffening their limbs and freezing them to the spot.

"There," Villain said, letting out a slow exhale. "Now I think we should burn--"

Crack.

Crick, crack.

Crick, crack, crackle, crack.

Steam wafted up from each cookie, and as they pressed forward, little fissures spread up the weakened ice-coating.

"Are they...getting hotter?" Villain said.

The embroidery detailing and facial features dripped down the cookie's bodies as they moved pooling in little sweet puddles at their feet. A few cookies picked up the nearby limbs and melded them into the now soft stumps.

"That shouldn't be as disturbing as it is," Hero muttered.

"Ok, I was going easy on you all because you're made of flour," Villain said, "but why don't you try escaping this?"

Villain swished their wand in a circle, this time encapuslating the cookies in a large, solid ball of ice.

Crack.

Villain conjured another layer.

Crick, crack.

Another.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Another.

The ice ball grew and grew, but for every layer of ice Villain threw up, the cracking only seemed to quicken.

Great billowing clouds of steam filled the room, obscuring the ice prison from view and Villain backed warily toward the living room, grabbing Hero's arm as they went.

There was one final crack; ice shot around the room like shattered glass and a wave of chilly water washed across the floor, seeping through the seams of their shoes.

As the cookies had heated in their prison, they'd mushed together, replacing two dozen zombieish Ginger-Villains with one enormous, thoroughly burnt Ginger-Creature. One beady sugar pearl stared down at them from the gooey burnt icing face.

"Hero, do something!" Villain shouted, digging their nails into the hero's arm.

Hero paused their muttered chant long enough to roar, "I'm trying!"

"What, a walking cookie is too realistic for you?"

"It reminds me of a horror movie! It's hard to disbelieve in things that have that sort of hold in my mind!"

The Ginger-Creature stepped toward them.

Villain waved their wand toward the pool of water on the floor, freezing it into a slick sheet. Unfortunately, they hadn't thought about their own half-submerged feet. As they attempted another step back, they found their blocky heels frozen to the floor.

The creature slipped a little with its next step, but ultimately its heating power left indents in the ice wherever its giant feet moved.

Villain lurched back, but the attempt was fruitless.

"Take off your shoes!" Hero cried, already in their socks and crouching down at Villain's feet and fumbling with the intricate snowflake buckles.

"They're magic shoes," Villain choked. "They don't come off."

"Then detransform! Do something! It's coming!"

Villain grabbed Hero by either side of their face, forcing them to look up at them.

"Hero, I need you're annoying, unimaginative, logical brain to start asking the big questions right now."

Hero stared at them wide-eyed. "I...I..."

"Come on! You always think of something aggravating! Like...how can this cookie see us when its eye is just sugar? How does the light pass through? And even if it does, how is that light processed? Does it have a cookie brain? That doesn't make any sense."

"How can it heat itself?" Hero said, voice a little trembly. "Nothing in gingerbread can conduce its own heat."

"Yeah, and why did the cookies have heat powers anyway when they were supposed to be copies of me?"

"How did it know how to shape itself? It's messed up, but it's still sort of a person. Do all the cookies have a sense of humanity? Do they have separate thoughts? Or are they one cookie hivemind?"

The smell of burnt sugar and ginger was suffocating now. Villain could feel the heat wafting off it as it's burnt foot came into view a mere couple of feet away.

Hero spread their arms out in front of Villain and looked up into the towering cookie's face. “You're not real.”

The gingerbread froze in place. It's entire body shuddered, and then abruptly it crumbled into a pile of blackened cookie dust. The sugar pearl rolled across the floor and into Villain's knee.

They both stared in silence.

Then Villain laughed.

They couldn’t help it. Emotional response maybe. They just laughed and laughed and went weak against Hero's side, grasping for balance around their waist. Hero hugged them with one arm around the head. Villain wasn't sure if they even knew they were doing it, or if the simply needed as much support after that conclusion as Villain did.

"I did it," Hero gasped.

"You did it!" Villain said giddily. "You're so boring, you fantastic stick in the mud you!"

Villain picked up the sugar pearl, rolling it between their thumb and forefinger a couple times, before popping it triumphantly in their mouth. As soon, as the sweetness hit their tongue, words sprang across their mind unprompted.

Merry Christmas, Villain. I'm sorry you didn't like my treat. My next one will be better.

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

To Prepare His Bed

Note: I've been so distracted while wrapping this up, sorry if it's a mess.

Warnings: 18+! a bit of angst, a bit of smut, and a bit of fluff. mention of bullying.

pairing: Sihtric x you (f)

summary: Being Sihtric's maid came with unexpected pleasures.

wordcount: 3,7k

Masterlist

The air was thick and warm, your bodies coated with sweat and glistening in the dim flames of lit torches and candles in Sihtric's room. Your hands were tangled in his loose locks while your tongues nearly intertwined as you kissed vigorously. Sihtric was tender, with soft loving touches and deep passionate kisses, cherishing every part of you and wanting to please you as much as he needed the pleasure himself. His moans were low and heavy, in sync with his slow and rhythmic thrusts into you while you felt every inch of him deep inside you.

This had been bound to happen; you, underneath him in his bed, both unclothed, with your lips and tongues locked in a passionate kiss while hands were tangled in each other's hair and digging into each other's skin. Sihtric was a widow. The widowed Lord of Dunholm, and he had been a secretive and solitary man for years. But Sihtric was also a man of status and wealth, while you were merely one of the several maids under his employment. You were tasked with washing his clothes and sweeping the floor in his bedroom, as well as preparing the bed for him every night. And you had been chosen by the man himself to wash, comb and braid his hair every few days. The latter was a task you thoroughly enjoyed as it was an intimate and pleasantly time consuming process. You loved being close to his soothing energy, and you had caught feelings for your Lord ever since the very first time you were in his slightly intimidating presence. And evidently, you hadn't gone unnoticed by him either.

You had just washed his hair one late evening before it happened. A long, silent and lustful tension had lingered before it was acted upon. Sihtric sat at the desk in his royal bedroom, his eyes scanning a map on which the surrounding lands of Dunholm were drawn, his damp hair recently combed by you and tucked behind his ears. In the dull mirror that hung above his desk, which was simply a large silver plate, you noticed his eyes followed you occasionally as you prepared his bed.

You felt his gaze upon you as you fluffed up his pillows and straightened the sheets once more. He quietly kept his eyes on you as you took his silky robe out of the dark oaken closet. You went over to him, like every night, with means of hanging the robe next to his desk, where he would undress once you had left the room, and slip into the robe before he'd stare out of his window for a moment, after which he would go to sleep. It was a routine, like a dance, it had been the same for months and you both knew what to expect each night. But Sihtric suddenly broke that routine when you neared his desk that evening.

'On the bed, please,' he said, his voice calm and gentle.

You stopped in your tracks, just behind him and you locked eyes in the dull mirror. Your expression confused, and a soft, nervous chuckle sounded before you spoke.

'... Lord?'

'I said on the bed,' Sihtric repeated as he turned to look up at you, never raising his voice or changing his considerate tone.

'Of course, my Lord.'

You bowed your head to the Earl and turned in an attempt to place his robe on the bed, but stopped when Sihtric suddenly got up from his chair before you could do so.

'Not the robe,' he said with equal tenderness as he closed in on you.

You turned to face him and he took the clothing out of your hands. He then threw his robe carelessly on the floor and backed you further towards his bed, slowly and all but threateningly. You looked up at him with big eyes. Sihtric towered over you and you wouldn't stand a chance against him, but you also knew after months of working for him that there was hardly any evil inside of him, and his movements along with his expression reassured you he did not mean any harm.

'I… I don't understand, my Lord,' you whispered while his hands gently took your face.

'You,' Sihtric murmured as he looked you up and down, 'on the bed.'

'L-Lord?'

You felt your cheeks heat up. He couldn't possibly mean what you took away from his words. But if not, then why was your face cupped by his warm and rough hands? And then why did he look at you as if he desired you, as if you had lit a fire inside of him which he could not contain anymore.

'I want you on my bed,' he said softly and paused for a second, 'or on my desk, I'm not that picky,' he shrugged and gave you a playful wink.

And that was how you had ended up in his bed, making deep and passionate love until dawn showed. He did everything to make sure you reached your high along with him, and the tenderness with how he touched and kissed you made it all seem as if it was only a dream. A dream you've had many times before it finally happened in reality. And you fell asleep in his arms afterwards. His strong arms, a place that granted you warmth, safety and comfort. But regardless of all that, you still snuck out of his embrace before he woke, and left quietly to your own room.

You were just a maid who was easy on the eye, and Sihtric was a Lord with needs and cravings like any man, and those you would happily soothe for him. But you also knew the other maids and servants would judge you for it, and you were convinced that Sihtric didn't possibly want to be seen sleeping with a maid, when he could have any lady he longed for. You assumed you were just an easy and meaningless hump to him, but now that you knew what an attentive lover he was, it only made your feelings for him stronger.

The day after your sudden pleasurable night, you avoided Sihtric, knowing you would have to face him eventually as you were tasked with your daily duties, but you tried to escape his presence wherever possible. You were terrified that it had been a mistake on his end, or perhaps a trap of sorts to see how easy to persuade you were, and that it would eventually cost you your job because maybe he hadn't been quite satisfied, even though his deep and heavy moans had told you something else the night before.

When you met Sihtric in the great hall later that day, amidst the other maids, you kept your head down as you crossed paths. But Sihtric still acknowledged you in passing, greeting you with respect and dignity, like he always did. A relief washed over you when it became evident that he simply acted as if nothing had happened around everyone else. And so you acted the same when you were to prepare his bed that evening, like every other evening before.

You tried to be oblivious to the somewhat uncomfortable silence in the room while you did your duties. You felt a strange pressure to mention the events of the night before, but you thought it was best to try and forget about it. You noticed Sihtric didn't follow you with his eyes anymore while he sat at his desk, and when you brought him his robe he thanked you politely, but without looking at you like he usually did. You respectfully bowed your head and slightly bended through your knees as you did, then turned to leave his room.

'Good night, my Lord.'

'I'm sorry,' Sihtric replied without looking away from the same map he was staring at last night.

'Lord?'

He took a deep breath, then only half turned, allowing you to see his sharp and near perfect side profile while he spoke to you while still avoiding eye contact.

'I'm sorry,' he said softly, 'if I have made you do things you did not want to last night.'

'No,' you protested, 'no, Lord, you have not done anything against my will. It was… it was a pleasure,' you confessed with a shy smile.

'But,' Sihtric scoffed lightly, then finally looked at you as you stood in the door, 'you wouldn't look at me all day.'

'I was ashamed, Lord,' you said quickly, 'I was worried that you felt it had been a mistake, and that you perhaps felt shame.'

'I don't think it was a mistake. I have no regrets, my lady. And I would not hesitate to do it again, if you would allow me.'

'I would allow you,' you giggled, your entire body becoming warmer upon hearing his words, 'but I… I'm afraid I will need an evening to recover, Lord.'

'Recover?' Sihtric furrowed his brow.

'Lord,' you chuckled awkwardly, 'if I may be so honest, you are, and I mean this with the utmost respect, very blessed with your,' you swallowed hard, 'your, well, your s-size and, eh, skills.'

'Oh,' Sihtric breathed with a whisper, and his cheeks turned a shade of red, 'I- I thank you, my lady. And I see. Well then, please, go and rest now.'

You thanked him and left, your heart beating out of your chest while you felt droplets of sweat running down your back. Your mouth was dry and your hands were clammy, but knowing that you had evidently pleased the man you had been in love with for months now, even as much so that he wanted to have you once again tonight, made you giggle in your bed as you tried to get a good night's rest and recover from the soreness which taunted your legs and hips.

The next evening you landed in bed with Sihtric once again, making love for hours and afterwards falling asleep in his arms once more. You had intended to sneak out of his room again that following morning, figuring your nightly adventures were still meant to be kept secret, but to your surprise you discovered that Sihtric had already left the room himself and so you found yourself alone in his large bed. You noticed you had slept longer than usual, as the night before had required quite the energy from you, and you jumped out of bed to start your day's routine.

As the weeks progressed, you and Sihtric began to spend many nights together in his room, after your duties had been done. The first few times after that first night were just as tender and sweet, but you gradually began to learn that as tender as he could be, his rugged warrior side had never left him after the last battle he ever fought. He slowly became rougher with you over time. Instead of carefully picking you and carrying you to his bed to lay you down gently, he started to throw you over his shoulder while you were still preparing his bed, after which he would toss you onto the soft sheets before climbing on top of you and pinning you down. And whenever you weren't making love in the late evenings, you were simply talking for hours while you sat snuggled up in his large windowsill, gazing at the Moon and her stars while you spoke of the past and dreams for the future.

Sihtric was a man with secrets and desires that were new to you, and no one could possibly make you feel as loved and safe as he did while he utterly ravaged you at the same time. It was a mystery, the way he was so rough and still gentle, and it only made you want him more. You began to taunt him during the day while you were working, giving him playful winks or running your hand down his bare chest as you stood behind him and washed his hair. And sometimes you lightly tugged his hair while braiding his locks, his low grunt sending a pleasant shiver down your spine and causing you to press your thighs together as you could only anticipate how he would retaliate later that night, and he never disappointed.

Where you had first tried to be discreet and quiet, he began to take you in ways that made it impossible for you to keep your volume down. And Sihtric didn't care, for the louder you were for him, the more he loved it. He enjoyed the idea of having others know how good he treated you, and how good he was treated in return as well. Your escapades continued and you fell asleep in his arms almost every night, only to wake up alone in his bed again the next morning. It had become a new routine, and it was one you both equally enjoyed.

But soon, your nights spent together gained a dark side to it. Naturally, the remaining maids had heard the lewd noises coming from their Lord's bedroom. And more than once one of them had noticed you were dressed in yesterday's gown, as you were spotted leaving his room in the morning after you had tidied it, as was your duty. And after days of wondering, the maids all gathered one late evening and peeked through the tiny gaps in the wooden walls, as sinful sounds and words were heard once again. Your secret was discovered, and jealousy began to spread along with rumours.

They whispered that you were degraded from being a respected maid to a filthy whore. They believed that you slept with Sihtric in the hopes to inherit his lands one day. Some even believed you had been his mistress when his wife was still alive, while you weren't even in Dunholm when he was still married. And others believed you had worked in the town's whorehouse before humping your way into the Lord's home, continuing your job as a whore not just with Sihtric, but according to them also inviting other men to your own private room on nights that Sihtric wasn't present in the town.

None of these stories were true and the lies that were made up, by those who simply wished to have one night with the man you had fallen in love with, began to hurt and affect you. Sihtric noticed you gradually started to shy away from his teasing, to the point of even politely turning him down when he made an advance in private. You eventually started to sleep in your own room again and wouldn't even respond to his tender touches anymore while you did your duties, to which Sihtric felt rejected and confused. And you again began to feel that, as Sihtric still snuck out every morning when you shared the bed with him, he was ashamed of being with you.

It all led up to one late evening which would change everything. You had been pulling away from Sihtric, which had kept him up at night as he wondered what he had done wrong while tears pricked in his eyes. He had fallen in love with you during the nights you were intimate, not just due to the intercourse, but even more by the long and deep conversations you had as he held you in his arms. 

And Sihtric became truly concerned when you suddenly didn't show up one evening, at the usual time, to do your tasks of preparing his bed and untangling his braided hair. He got up from his desk and grabbed his robe, and then as you suddenly entered his room, his heart dropped and broke, for your face told him you had been crying.

'You're pulling away from me,' he spoke first, his voice trembling, 'why? What have I done wrong? Have I hurt y-'

'I wish to be freed from my tasks and leave,' you said quietly.

Sihtric stared at you, and the silence seemed endless before he finally spoke.

'I beg your pardon, my lady?' he said, barely above a whisper, 'leave?'

'I… I am not a pleasure maid,' you sniffled, 'I know you do not wish to be seen with me as you always sneak away in the morning, but the others, all the maids already know about us. They have spied on us, through the walls, and now they are talking ill of me and spreading false truths. I do not mind to please you, Lord, but it is not my duty, and if you are ashamed of me-'

'Ashamed?' Sihtric interrupted, 'why would I be ashamed of you? My first wife was a whore, by the gods,' he scoffed, 'you are my maid, yes, but your job is not to sleep with me, and you're not just a maid to me either. I have no shame in humping you. In fact, I take great pride in it and it was never meant to be seen as… as a duty. I am terribly sorry if you thought it was your job to spend nights with me. And I only sneak away because you snuck away after that first night. And I thought you did not want to be seen with me, so I only did what I thought was right. I thought that's how you wanted it, to keep it a secret, so I tried too.'

'What?' you could only ask after another long silence.

'I… I thought you didn't want to be seen with me,' Sihtric shrugged, bewildered at the entire situation, just like you.

'What? No. Oh, Sihtric,' you sighed, 'you foolish man- Lord, I mean.'

'I… I don't understand.'

'I thought you wanted to keep us a secret,' you said, 'for I am not a lady of status. I believed I was only good for your pleasure, which I enjoyed myself too, but I… I have feelings for you. Real feelings. I know we can never be, and I enjoyed our nights together, but all these… these lies that are being told about me now, that I am deceiving you and that I am merely a whore who lets every man hump her… I can't bear it anymore. You don't know what it's like to be banished by your friends, by the other maids, because they are jealous and suddenly think less of me and they believe I only want your riches. But I don't. I don't care about any of that, I swear it. I only care about you. I've only ever cared about you, because I… I love you.'

You had said it. There was no reverse to the words you had spoken out loud, and Sihtric seemed clearly surprised and taken aback. He paced around his room for a moment while he compulsively scratched his goatee, and then cleared his throat as he looked at you.

'You love me?'

'I do, Lord.'

Sihtric hummed as he continued to pace around, and he stopped once he stood in front of you.

'Very well,' he said, 'there is only one thing I can do to make these lies stop, and that is to make you my wife.'

'W-what?'

'Will you be my wife?'

You stared at Sihtric while you slowly processed his words.

'Your… wife?'

'My wife,' he suddenly smiled proudly.

'I… y-yes?' you let out a sudden nervous laughter, 'I mean, yes. Yes, of course I want to be your wife!'

You both laughed as relief settled, and Sihtric was quick to grab your face as gently as always, and he kissed your lips eagerly after having been deprived of your taste and touch for days now. You were as needy as he was, and soon you began to rake your fingers through his loose hair, dishevelling it further as you did.

'Now that you'll be my wife,' he murmured in between kisses while he lifted you up in his arms, 'I should make it clear for everyone,' he said while you enveloped your legs around his waist, 'that I hump my wife whenever,' he kicked his bedroom door open and walked over to the large table in the great hall, 'and wherever I want.'

He sat you down on the table, where everyone could see you as the great hall was the heart of his residence, and he pushed your skirt up. His warm hands squeezed your thighs, very aware that several maids were around and had stopped what they were doing after hearing his door slam open. They watched with their mouths agape as their Lord untied his robe and wrapped his hands under your knees to pull you flush against him. You were dazed but fully present and aware of what was happening, and you made no attempt to stop him, as you knew this was his way of silencing the slander that had been made up and spread about you.

You slid your hands up to tangle your fingers into his hair while he kissed you as greedily as he had done that first night. Sihtric swiftly removed your undergarments and lined himself up, his robe barely covering up both your privates, but neither of you cared. A gasp left you both once he sheathed inside you, and the room was dead silent at that moment, apart from the clattering of a cup that one maid dropped as she stared with big eyes at the events that unfolded upon the table she had just prepared for the next morning.

Sihtric rutted against you, having missed you and that way you made him feel while you had pulled away from him, and he was desperate to make up for the precious time that was lost. And so were you. You moaned against his lips as he took with a steady and ravaging pace, proudly claiming you in front of everyone present in the hall. And you enjoyed him entirely, with his lips on your neck, your hands in his hair, and his hands gripping your waist while his cock was buried deep inside you. You couldn't get enough of him, knowing that every pair of eyes on you belonged to those who had polluted your name and reputation, and they were watching from the darkened corridors and corners with maddening jealousy. They watched how Sihtric grunted your name as the table creaked underneath you and the setted plates and cutlery rattled with each hard thrust, while the silver and golden cups fell over and rolled off the table as you came with a loud moan.

'My wife,' Sihtric growled as came inside you, 'tomorrow, I'm making you my wife.'

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