cassayeee
cassayeee
cassayeee
81 posts
lvl. 23 / it’s for the plot
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cassayeee · 18 days ago
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solrook as tumblr text posts | 21/?
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cassayeee · 4 months ago
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'It was like pure static, the feeling of Death’s knife pressing closer and closer to the flesh of your neck. Like holding too tightly onto an electric fence, fingers wound taut against the wire, locked into place. Even if you wanted to let go, your body was rigid, the currents forcing your nerves to tense irregularly, mimicking signals that should be stemming from your mind. You knew this was the end. You could feel it in the way your bones aired themselves into hollow poles and your blood stilled into a lukewarm glass of water.
What else was there to do than lay down and accept your fate? To hope the inevitable comes swift and painless? Well, it’s not like you could move even if you wanted to. With the hundreds of pounds of building matter currently atop your legs, all you could do was close your eyes within the clouds of smoke and dust and wonder.
Wonder what you had done to deserve this. Wonder how things had so quickly changed. And wonder if you would truly see your life condensed into a seven-minute montage before your brain finally shut down.
Grief struck you hard and fast for the life you were losing and the friends and family you would never see again. It was hard letting go, but there was no other choice given to you. The universe had shifted you sideways and sent you on a path not of your own creation. Dangling your life in front of you like a worm on a hook – baiting, baiting, baiting, until you had no other choice but to wrap your lips around the metallic pincer and bite.
Blood oozed from your mouth as you forced your eyelids apart, desperate to see anything other than the darkness within the closure. But instead of the condensed particles of earth and concrete you expected, you were surprised to see the overcast had been shifted away, blown by some stronger, opposing force. You never even felt the breeze.
Curious about the cause, you slowly tilted your head to the right, allowing gravity to rest your cheek against the hot ground. Staying alive was becoming a chore, and you could barely keep your eyes open, but the sight before you would haunt you for whatever life you had left.
A man hidden in a yellow and blue superhero suit – I know him – standing atop rubble and viscera – is that Invincible? – body shaking from the labor of simply breathing – what’s that in his hand? – a human limb, other than his own – my bracelet, why does that arm have my bracelet? – the man slowly turning in his own destruction – no, not mine – tears welling in his eyes, shining through the pieces of broken goggles – why is he holding my brother’s hand? – head downturned toward the pool of blood beneath him with no face to greet him back - - - -
Did Mark Grayson kill my family?'
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foaming at the mouth to get this finished, but I wanted to get a little "sneak peak" (so to speak) of the sinister mark x reader fic I have cooking currently. reader is kinda going through a powerplex storyline, but I crave angst, so ofc she's going to be bestie's with mark before this all goes down (and then, subsequently, the invincible war arc). since this is going to be specifically for sinister mark, I was lowkey thinking of playing around with the themes of cannibalism but idk if that's too much to drop after a year-long hiatus LMAO. then again, fuck it
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cassayeee · 4 months ago
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i fear the variant!invincible brainrot has become so potent that a (very thorough) one shot plot has been sitting in my notes app for two weeks, begging for release
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cassayeee · 4 months ago
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"you only find sukuna attractive because he's in yuji's bod-"
LIEEEEESSSS
HAVE YALL SEEN THIS MAN?????
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HIS TRUE FORM IS ONE OF THE YUMMEST, HOTTEST THINGS I'VE SEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE, FOUR ARMS, TWO MOUTHS, TWO COCKS, 7 FEET OF PURE MUSCLE, HIS LETHAL FACE CARD AND YOU COME HERE AND HAVE THE AUDACITY TO TELL ME I ONLY FIND HIM ATTRACTIVE BECAUSE HE'S IN YUJI'S BODY???
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PUH-LEASE I'M A TOTAL FREAK FOR THIS MAN, PUT ME AND HIM IN A ROOM TOGETHER AND ONE OF US IS COMING OUT PREGNANT AND IT AINT GONNA BE MEE
HE'S NOT A HEAR ME OUT, HE'S A HOLD ME BACK!!!!!
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cassayeee · 4 months ago
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If there’s one thing I’m gonna do in a fandom it’s rub my greedy x reader hands all over it
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cassayeee · 6 months ago
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𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡, 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞.
┊ count orlok x fem!reader.
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✠⠀༷ ゜ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: intended to be a sacrifice for the strigoi haunting your village, your escape brings you face-to-face with death incarnate.
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𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.4K.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, dubious consent (mild hypnosis/dreamlike state), loss of virginity, monsterfucking, vampire antics (scent kink, bloodplay), stockholm syndrome, mild title kink (heavy use of my lord), shadow sex/fingering, female masturbation, voyeurism, extreme possessive/obsessive behavior.
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is arguably the most enjoyment I’ve had writing a fic in a long time. I really hope that you love it as much as I loved writing it! any support is greatly appreciated! I would absolutely love to write more Count Orlok after this, for sure!
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ICE-LADEN GALES NIPPED AT BARE FLESH, LIKE THE COLD PRICK OF A KNIFE — ONLY TENFOLD. ROPE CHAFED RAGGED AGAINST SOFT SKIN, AND YOUR FEET SEEMED TO CARRY YOU FAR AWAY, INTO THE DESOLATE HILLSIDES OF TRANSYLVANIA.
A sacrifice — a sweet, mourning lamb, given to the butcher, bound together to keep the darkness from devouring your village. That was what you were, some pious creature to be torn apart by a wolf that prowled through shadow.
Only the cruor of a virgin would expunge the evil that lay within the mountains, your blood, offered to the devil.
Many girls had come before you, maidens that willingly succumbed to their fate, screams snuffed out with the trees as their witness. There was not an ounce of subservience within you, no desire to meet your end alone, to become another notch on the post.
Tears stained your cheeks, liquid salt chilled as it settled upon your features, now steeped in dirt as you stumbled through forested wilderness. Winters were dangerous — the biting ice gnawed at your bones, threatening to rip away your extremities.
Before your fellow villagers could put you to the blade, you fled — naked, bitten by frost, alone with only monsters to nip at your heels.
Their desperate cries echoed into the night, the sound of begging — pleading to be spared without their tribute. Groomed to become an inevitable feast for the creature that tormented your village, you could no longer sit idly by and wait to die.
Beneath your breast, your heart clenched, pounding like that of a drum as it howled within your ears. The whiplike scratch of the wind raked across your body, leaving you heaving, fighting against encroaching exhaustion.
In the distance, torchlight grew dim — those who knew of Nosferatu did not dare venture into the woods or the nearby mountainside. Strands of garlic and crucifixes shrouded the borders of your village, superstitions workings to keep the creature at-bay.
Twigs and undergrowth beneath the snow scraped across your feet as you continued to blindly stumble through the forest, emerging onto the other side, where the bridge rested. Beside it, an obelisk — holy relics, strands of garlic, a sign.
‘TURN BACK, OR MEET DEATH’, it read, the script having weathered with the passage of time. The bridge led to a winding path, a path that could only lead to your inevitable demise. Blood began to ooze from your soles, flesh agitated, lips becoming chapped by the wind.
The Carpathian Mountains stood vigil, an impenetrable wall of ancient rock that kept you from the castle that lay between snow-laden peaks. Wisps of snow fluttered from dusky skies, illuminated only by silvery slats of moonlight.
A haze surrounded your vision — exhaustion coupled with the inevitable shroud of frostbite, and yet, something propelled your forward. Respite awaited you in the form of cold earth and maggots if you continued, the spectre of death hovering above you.
With weak steps, you crossed the bridge, hands still bound together, rope having ripped away at the velvety flesh around your wrists. Shadows became listless, alive, as if something moved within the forest, and still, you wandered forth.
There were worse creatures than wolves and bears in the forests, mere fodder to something archaic, an ancient evil feared by your village for decades. Old maids whispered tales of the Castle Orava, home to a den of monsters considered to be servants of the devil, a harbinger of hell.
Foul magic was at-work, they claimed — and yet, you felt drawn for reasons unexplainable. It was as if you were being lured into open waters, dark and treacherous, as black as a bottomless pit. Despite the heaviness of your body, you carried on, bare and blistered.
The path became even, a seemingly-endless stretch of black woodland that broke away to reveal a gate, as ancient as the landscape itself. Even through your blurred vision, shapes danced within darkness, as if they were grinning.
A wheeze of exhaustion bubbled up within your throat, parched and hoarse, flesh beginning to submit to the earth below. You could not recall when you had fallen, crawling toward the gate as if it would be your salvation.
Hoofbeats crackled against the dirt, a distant dream, like the wisp of a memory that soon dissipated — only, it was reality.
Before your body gave way to the blissful kiss of death, a shadow approached, casting its oppressive hand across you. It was veiled by darkness, a presence most enigmatic, something that you hadn’t experienced before.
Nails as sharp as talons ghosted above your satiny flesh, now marred by bruises and by nature’s cruel sting. Your breathing became shallow, strained by a sudden wave of nauseating terror as this shadow swallowed you whole, blanketing you in what you believed to be eternal darkness.
Oh, how you longed for it — for death’s final caress.
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Dreams muddled themselves with waking nightmares — and you were trapped, the lamb screaming in the woods, unable to run free. It was the same stretch of dark forest, eyes following you from penumbra, a gloom so dour and terrifying that it rattled your spine.
Running, running, running — it was all you could remember, falling to your knees in the chilled earth, stone biting at your flesh, bones begging for rest. The gleam of torchlight and the shimmer of the blade still haunted you, the executioner preparing to give your blood to protect your village.
In the howl of your terror, the wood seemed to close in around you, like a wrought-iron cage, its thorns drawing blood from your ragged skin. You wanted to scream, to cry out, beg for a savior — and yet, no sound emerged, only ash.
There, in the endless obscurity of a long night, was he — the creature.
Claws that extended from ashen digits reached for you, took hold, and you felt his grasp close in around your throat. No pleas of mercy escaped your tongue, now turned to stone. Death was what you expected in the maw of this shadow — and it never came.
Its hands did not squeeze, with no intent to snuff the air from your lungs. It wasn’t the hold of one desiring death, like that of strangulation, but the embrace of lust. It was unfamiliar — cold, exhilarating, unyielding — and yet, you never wanted anything more.
No visage ever emerged, only the sheen of crimson-stained fangs that sought your breast, the stench of something foul permeating your surroundings. There was no pain — his bite was akin to the caress of a lover, lacking maliciousness, lacking the gnash and tear of a predator.
Hunger — you could feel it burning like an open flame within your throat, his famine. A creature that starved, with an appetite so unorthodox that it was your blood he craved.
With a strangled gasp, you awoke.
Woodlands were exchanged for the frigid, stone interior of an ancient castle, fixtures remarkably old, possessing macabre decor. Your gaze flickered to the ghoulish countenance of a gargoyle hanging above a roaring hearth, heart nearly leaping from your chest.
Whatever dream you awoke from, you could not discern it from reality, a thought that frightened you to no end. Surrounded by the thick, cured hide of a grizzly, you found yourself bare, still lacking a scrap of clothing. The hide was large enough to preserve your modesty, if you had any left.
The rope that had shackled your wrists together was no more, nonexistent — only raw wounds remained. This castle was cursed, a place of horrors beyond your imagination; you could not explain the semblance of reprieve that you felt.
Licks of comforting heat soothed your icy bones, the simmering fire bringing you a semblance of peace, no matter how threadbare. This newfound environment seemed haunted, decrepit — the furnishings were covered in a layer of dust.
It was luxurious, fixtures fit for that of nobility, a lifestyle that eclipsed your own existence back in the village. Now, you belonged to nothing, with no home to return to. Your traitorous actions would be met with punishment, if you were to return.
The floor beneath you was crafted of stone, covered in a layer of dust. Tangles of cobwebs stretched across the mantle above the hearth, roused only by the ghost of a draft that fluttered throughout the room.
Beside the hearth, sat a tub — the gold had tarnished, making it appear dilapidated, as if it were weathered by the elements. Steam rose from the water inside, as still as a silent pond.
A soft groan escaped you, body wracked with the frigid sting of agony, one that made your stomach turn as you approached the bath. It was unusual, the placement — your desire for cleanliness outweighed your skepticism.
Wobbling legs trembled like leaves upon a windswept branch as you sank into steaming water, causing you to hiss at the intrusion against your wounds. The heat did wonders, offering relief from the stab of ice, from the cruelty of the Carpathian cliffsides.
It was still dusk, the hour of the bat, a night that left you with a constant presence of dread. The creature, the man you saw — his shadow had not left you, as if pieces still lingered within your heart as you scrubbed yourself free of grime.
The groan of withered hinges gave way to the weight of the cast-iron doors, adorned with the heads of snarling hounds. Light pooled in from the crack in the door, causing gooseflesh to rake along your spine, followed by a shiver.
Something pulled you — like a puppeteer orchestrating a show, strings that bound you to some medieval presence beyond the doors. The flames within the hearth began to flicker, their light diminishing, waning to little more than smoldering embers.
Fear took root within your heart, its tendrils seizing within you, filling you with a wave of disquiet. Despite the warmth of the water, your flesh screams with an icy chill, throat growing thick as you reached for the bear’s hide.
Shame rippled through you, still bare and exposed beneath the mountain of fur. Firelight illuminated the next room, far more vast than the one you awoke in. Shuffling forward, you grasped at the edge of the door, benumbed iron firm beneath your palm.
A dining hall stretched before you, an ornate table lined with tall chairs that were made from the finest of pelts, yet worn by time. In another lifetime, this castle might’ve been beautiful — instead, it was a mausoleum of the damned.
An ornate candelabra sat atop the table, wisps of smoke drifting from extinguished wicks. A sizable pitcher sat beside a pair of wine glasses, glass contained within some metallic design that twisted around the base.
Two chairs had faced the roaring fireplace, a hearth that dwarfed the size of the one in your quarters. Your footsteps were feather-light as you crossed the threshold, carrying yourself closer to the table.
“Hello?” Whispers to an empty room stirred something within the shadows, accompanied by the garish bark of hounds. Icy dread coalesced within the pit of your stomach as you looked around, fearful of your intrusion.
A door opposite of you opened, moved by a nameless shadow, whose frame eclipsed all slivers of light — an ominous void, as black as pitch. Two hounds snarled at the spectre’s heels, leering through the corridor’s darkness.
Strigoi — the revenant of pestilence, now standing before you. You should’ve been terrified, thrown yourself at its mercy, but instead, you remained petrified where you stood.
For the briefest of moments, your eyes fluttered, and the shadow no longer occupied the space within the hallway. The door slammed shut, the thunderous crack of iron reverberating throughout the room.
The hounds paced forth, growling at you as they settled somewhere along the fringes, laying down alongside scaling stone columns. You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, chewing at the inside of your cheek.
Flames shuddered in the wake of an archaic presence, akin to an icy gale, and with it, the aura of something horribly foreboding. The shadow appeared at the head of the table, each ragged breath evoking a low, guttural growl.
“Sit.”
It was inhuman, his voice — akin to thunder shaking the mountains, like the roll of a dark tide, dragging sailors into its unforgiving seas. He spoke your native tongue, Dacian, and yet it sounded harsher from his lips, wrought with blades.
Through pools of dim firelight, you caught a glimpse of his visage — sharp and pointed, stone-faced and garish. His features, whilst gaunt, possessed all of the markings of a nobleman, attire bearing sigils of royalty, crafted of fine pelts.
With trembling hands, you lowered yourself into your seat, shrouded by the warmth of the grizzly’s hide, ensuring that you were concealed from his view. That pang of hunger you felt in your dream, a ravenous appetite — you could feel it again.
The plate placed before you is nothing more than a generous portion of bread, somewhat stale from constant exposure to acrid air. Your stomach gnashes with hunger, the sting of starvation — you dared not touch it.
“Eat,” His command reverberates throughout the hall, enough to cause a wave of gooseflesh to permeate your skin, dancing along your spine. “Thou shall refer to me as thy lordship.” You had not yet extended your gratitude — he must’ve plucked you from the snow.
Without an ounce of hesitation, your teeth greedily sank into bread, pulling it apart with the fervor of some wild animal. You were not a noblewoman, nor a maiden with any title or dowry — merely the daughter of a carpenter.
“My Lord,” What did one say to a creature that once terrorized your home, to a myth now manifested into flesh? “I — I must thank you, for your hospitality.” Reduced to a mere shrew in his presence, you chewed whatever piece of bread lingered in your mouth.
It was you, his lamb — intended to be his sacrifice, his sated hunger, sparing your village from the terror of his curse.
Another snarl emerged from him, accompanied by each rasp of his breathing, a noise that perplexed you to no end. Strigoi were dangerous — servants of hell itself, creatures born of dark sorcery, ones that had no place in the natural world.
Akin to a mere wisp of shadow, he manifested at your side, pouring a goblet of wine for you, the liquid a dusky crimson. Your gaze never dared to look him in the eyes, feeling the ghost of his finger dance across your cheek.
Such warmth, such feebleness — the beating of your heart only seemed to race with a pang of exhilaration. His flesh was akin to an endless winter, as cold as ice, like roughened leather, decaying beneath the earth.
“Drink.”
Your lips had not tasted wine as lavish as the chalice he presented you with, and it felt saccharine upon your tongue. Greed consumed you, prompting you to drink as if it were your lifeblood.
Long had this castle stood, many centuries of history contained within walls as old as time. A Count, a nobleman he had been in life, a black sorcerer. You, this enchantress, maiden of nothing — you would be his bride, his obsession, his unmaker.
From the rotten gloom of his fortress, he had preyed upon your village for years — years spent in-fear of this serpent, feeding upon the young and old. Blood was blood, and it did not matter the age, so long as his appetite was satiated.
“What do you intend for me?” Your voice was little more than a trembling mewl, expecting to be submitted to dark magics or something far worse. A low grunt stirred within his throat, nail dragging along the curve of your jaw.
With great restraint, his hand recoiled, leaving your warmth as he considered your inquiry in silence. You were intended for him — not as a sacrifice, but as something more, if you were willing.
Centuries spent in his eternal tomb, centuries spent waiting for you — Orlok had crossed oceans of time, wading through endless night to find you.
“Thou must rest — no blade shall find you here.” He rumbled, looming like some dark cloud above your head. It was your scent that drove him to madness, drowned within the concoction of oils placed into the bath. It was a scent he would covet fervently.
A hitch formed within your throat, and your terror had diminished, but only enough to keep you from shaking with dread. You did not understand what he wanted from you, why he did not tear you limb from limb, the fate that had befallen many of your kin.
No blade that wasn’t his own, you pondered, chewing at the inside of your cheek until the flesh was raw. Blood coalesced, sanguine drops attracting the sudden, sharp ire of your host, whose black eyes glittered with bewilderment.
“My Lord, I — I do not understand …” Uncertainty began to permeate your tone, cadence wrought with a newfound fright. Your blood ran cold, heart leaping into your throat as your chest tightened with a great and terrible worry.
“Rest.” His growl ripped through him, reverberating from his chest like the snarl of a feral beast. You skittered from the chair, still swathed in bearskin as you retreated to the room you came from.
Perhaps, he had mistaken your fear as something ungrateful. He had not slaughtered you yet, making you an unwitting guest within his home — you should’ve been offering your gratitude without protest.
The flame within the hearth had dissipated in one fell swoop, as if some storming gale had swept throughout the hall, stealing all light with it. Darkness swallowed your surroundings, and the Count had disappeared entirely, as if he had manifested into shadow.
A shudder coursed along your spine, sending you clamoring into the false comfort of your chambers. The door had shut before you, as if propelled by some unseen force, prompting you to move towards the bed behind you.
Not even the velvet curtains could offer you security, as if they were transparent, or nonexistent. You could still feel the chill of his breath against your cheek, the sensation of his claw tracing along your jaw — you should’ve been repulsed.
Instead of abhorrence, you felt a deep-seated yearning — a blistering desire that you hadn’t experienced before, a tether that anchored you to this being. You feared yourself, the amalgamation of sensations rousing within you as you crawled beneath the sheets.
Sleep would not find you — not here.
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Your dreams were no longer yours, bound to him — whatever slumber you could find, you were subject to these visions, lascivious in nature. Whatever rest you could find was disjointed, interrupted by dreams so real that you were convinced of their tangibility, as if you could reach out and touch.
It was him you dreamt of, coming to you at an ungodly hour, claws raking across your bare flesh as he unraveled your sheets. The constant penumbra kept him concealed from you, and yet, you burned to see him fully.
He touched you in your dreams, appearing between your legs as you bared your soul to him, a figure so impossibly large and intimidating. It was guilt and trepidation you should’ve felt, laying with the scourge of your people, a baneful serpent.
Instead, it was euphoria — a desire to bind yourself to him, to cage yourself within his grasp. Spindly digits caressed along your body, nails ghosting above your breasts, traveling to the plane of your stomach.
Unclean — that was what you were, piety now stained in his shadow. Even that did not perturb you as you reached for him, wisps of air being stolen from your lungs as he leaned closer, teeth scraping against your sternum.
“Please,” You had begged him to continue, to bring you a pleasure that you had not yet experienced. “Do not stop.” Whatever pleas fell from your mouth had been for naught — and you awoke with sweat-slick skin and startlement.
As your eyes fluttered open, you were flustered to find the heavy warmth of arousal between your thighs, sheets tangled around your body. Embarrassment turned to frustration, throat dry as you adjusted yourself to the darkness of your chambers.
“Thine body yearns, starved for embrace,” Like the clash of thunder, his voice shook the room, emerging from the pitch surrounding you. You did not know where he was, but he was here with you — physically. “A lamb seeking the shepherd.”
An icy breeze fluttered throughout your quarters, moonlight glistening along the curtains surrounding the bed — and you saw his shadow beside you. Exposed, you drew the sheets around you, with a shame so sharp, and yet your skin gave so easily.
That familiar knot of dread bubbled within your stomach, gooseflesh crawling along your body as you wrapped your arms around you. “I feel your shadow upon me — I should not want you.” You whispered into the gloom.
A growl stirred from the strigoi, and he burrowed into your shame, settling into your bones. “Thine will is your own — it is in your nature,” He rumbled, and that was when you saw him, lingering at the foot of the bed. “Give thyself to me.”
It was your agonizing shame that kept you from crawling to him on all fours like some beast, starving for any scrap of touch. You wanted him, in your own twisted way — wanted him to shield you from your kin, to take you, to live within your ribs.
There was no life left for you in the village — the kin that amassed to put you to the blade, left in the woods for him were not your friends. Perhaps, that was what drove you all along, pushing you into his embrace.
His tendrils wrapped themselves around your mind, no thoughts left untouched, each crevice now surrendered to the Count. He could taste your burning lust, your desire to belong, to belong to him — and he craved such sentiments.
“What little life you had, now belongs to me. Give thyself, willingly — I shall satisfy this craving, and your flesh will be mine alone.”
In the slim fade of silver, you saw him — gaunt and pale, like that of an apparition. In life, he might’ve been called handsome, comely — your disgust should’ve kept you away, made you flee. You were rooted to the bed, able to meet his stare.
Hues as black as pitch, swirling with a hunger unending, an eternal appetite that demanded to be sated by you. He watched you hawkishly, his shadow descending upon you, the phantom sensation of fingers dancing across your collarbone.
Enraptured by the Count, your enticement only seemed to blossom, unfurling from your chest with a wave of want. Instead of hiding yourself from him, you sluggishly allowed the sheets to drop, breasts pebbling from the chilled air.
“I am yours — and only yours, my Lord.”
With a breathy declaration of your devotion, a snarl bubbled from his throat, a sound that sent shivers cascading down your body. Your legs untangled themselves from the sheets altogether, nakedness now exhilarating instead of humiliating.
It was as if you were eased down by some unseen presence, as clawed, shadowed hands bid you to recline into the feathered bed beneath you. The Count did not move from the foot of the frame, leering at you with an ugly obsession.
“Think only of me.”
Whatever supernatural abilities he possessed, he used them, as if you were placed back into the vision you’d had before. His tone rattles your insides, a booming timbre wrought with something dark and enigmatic.
Phantom sensations drift along your body, the touch of another foreign to you. You have used your own hand before, but this feels exhilarating, like a gale of frigid wind ghosting across your frame.
Arousal coalesces between your legs, a slick heat that oozes onto the sheets. It is your scent that vexes him so, the scent of a siren, the call of your sanguine soul.
Without a thought, your hand shyly drifts to your chest, kneading into one of your breasts. Your skin prickles when he makes a sharp, throaty growl of satisfaction. His ghostly claws rake along the supple flesh of your thighs.
A moan escapes you, one of delight as you begin to sink into his presence. For now, he is content to observe, his shadow partaking instead of his physical being — it will not be that way for long.
Soon, your flesh would join — you would become bound to him, and he to you, a union abhorred by many. He reveled at the thought of you, flesh eternal, revealing yourself to him like the unfurling petals of a flower.
No longer shrewd beneath his covetous glower, you freely touch yourself, squeaking out a myriad of sounds from your throat. “Take all of me, beloved.” You exhale, the pad of your thumb flicking across your swollen nipple.
The use of such an intimate title evokes a ragged, strained exhale from your paramour, whose obsession rages like that of a tempest. His phantom claws trace along your body, circling your unattended breast.
It kneads just as you do, sharp talons continuing to tease the pebbled bud, drawing out a mewl from your sweet lips. Gooseflesh erupts across the back of your neck, another wave of arousal flushing through your frame.
A heated ardor burned between your thighs, soon to be soothed by the ghost of gnarled digits. Spectral claws continue to revel in your velvety flesh, seeking your arousal as the shadow traces across your cunt. It makes you writhe, one hand grasping desperately at the sheets.
A strangled whimper emerges from you, back beginning to arch into his salacious embrace. He continues to watch from his place at the foot of the bed, breathing unnaturally hoarse, strained with a wanton need.
Warmth exhumes from you like the lick of an open fire, extinguishing his gravely chill. The Count’s gaze greedily consumes your contorting form, able to hear the erratic beating of your heart, your mouth torn open, his name upon your lips.
No curse had befallen you, save that of devotion.
Phantom digits find the pearl of your cunt, teasing the clutch of nerves before vigorously circling it. Your knees buckle, eyes fluttering shut as you succumbed to such unholy appetites.
“Give in to thine own desires.”
That gravelly purr coaxes you to seek your satisfaction, and you mechanically obey, as if transfixed by his voice alone. A sharp exhale splits your ribs, and the hand that once grasped the sheets soon finds its way between your legs.
An unnatural sheen permeates his black hues, one that seems appeased with your subservience. No dead heart could beat — his skeletal frame had not felt such fervor for centuries.
Again, you look to him, as if wanting him to witness your lust, fingers dancing along your swollen folds. Your digits seek to roll across your slit, eliciting a whine from you as you begin to touch yourself.
Dragging your legs against the sheets, you keep them parted, two fingers sluggishly rutting against your nethers. A phantom hand caresses along your stomach, nails raking from navel to sternum, and then to your throat.
The pressure sends a spike of adrenaline through your body, the sensation unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. You think of him in an untoward manner, unbecoming of a maiden, lascivious fantasies that make you sigh.
Ghostly caresses layer themselves across your chest, and you swear you hear him shift throughout the room, drawing closer to you. Your thumb languidly circles your pearl, teeth gnashing at your lower lip.
A throaty moan rips from your diaphragm, wrought with ecstasy as you pleasure yourself, one palm kneading at your breast. The other is spirited, ministrations laced with desire as your digits find your entrance.
His shadow is oppressive, a force that blankets itself across your body, and for a moment, you see a vision of him, crawling over your flesh. Your thoughts are molded to him, able to be toyed with — your Lord makes you see his own whims.
It became difficult to discern dreams from reality, imagining his hands roaming your form, claws sinking into your flesh, his brand. You call out to him, a whimpering plea that begs him for release.
Arousal mounts, burning heavy within the pit of your stomach as you squirm, pushing two fingers into the tight heat of your cunt. The noises are sinful, a myriad of strained moans intermingled with crass strokes of your digits.
The Count’s phantom hand continues to squeeze at your throat, nails digging into the silken flesh of your neck. A sharp exhale emerges from your lips, toes beginning to curl at the concoction of sensations assaulting your body.
You alone had grown intimately acquainted with your own body, and yet he handled you as if you had been lovers for centuries. Ghostly digits begin to toy with the pearl of your cunt, causing your muscles to twitch.
“Please,” A supplication to the shadows, wanting some release for your overwhelming pleasure. It swarms you from all around, senses invaded with his dominating presence. “My Lord, please!” Your cunt clenches around your fingers.
A growl erupts from the pitch, his gaze fixated upon you as he looms closer, hovering above your writhing frame. The scent of your cruor ensnares him like a wolf to a rabbit, and he finally moves to perch beside you.
His garb only makes him seem impossibly statuesque, hand hovering above you as his sorcery intensifies. Your back arches, feeling his shadow purse around your pearl, enough to make you fist at the sheets.
Ecstatic digits piston themselves in and out of your nethers, coated in a thin layer of slick, thighs shifting together in an attempt to relieve any ounce of friction.
Higher — you climb toward your release, chasing after it with a thinly-veiled desperation. Shadowy sensations move across your body like liquid smoke, squeezing beneath your jaw, continuing to circle around your clit.
You are temptation incarnate — his devotion to you is a powerful thing, just as yours is to him. Sharp, jagged teeth hover above your breast, and the Count succumbs to his hunger, at last.
Pain blossoms throughout your breast, and yet you hadn’t felt an ecstasy quite like this. It was blinding, white-hot as it consumed you whole, swallowing you within the abyss of lust. Teeth break flesh, tasting your cruor upon his tongue.
No drink could compare to that of your sanguine ichor, no sensation — the Count drank from your breast, a possessive snarl ripping through his chest. He bristled at the feeling of your warm palm cupping the nape of his neck.
A crescendo of moans tore through you as you approached your peak, digits continuing to dip inward, curling within your cunt. It became strained, body trembling with an onslaught of ecstasy.
Claws begin to stroke along your tresses, as if easing you into submission, coaxing forth a release that makes you scream. Your body curls toward him, cunt slick with your mess as you find your satisfaction, at last.
A warm rush of your essence soaks the sheets, the scent enough to drive your paramour to madness. It furthers his bloodlust in a way that entices you, another wheezing exhale leaving him.
A rough tongue slithers against your sternum, stained in crimson as he openly feasts from you, and you do not recoil. Your peak seems to work in-tandem with his appetite, feeling his claws ghost above your breast.
Muscles ache with spasmodic twitches, chest flourishing with the sting of agony as it spreads throughout your sternum. Instead, you invite him closer, digits stroking at the greying, decayed flesh, allowing him to sup upon you.
His gravelly voice seems to intensify within the recesses of your mind, speaking to you through a distant haze. “Thine flesh belongs to me,” He rumbles, and you hold him closer. “As this flesh belongs to thee.”
He does not touch you, leaving you with some aching void that can only be filled by him — he alone will satisfy the craving.
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cassayeee · 7 months ago
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What's My Name? - R.B.
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Bully!Regulus Black x fem!reader
summary: you’ve befriended the emeralds and few other Slytherin’s. Regulus is drawn to you like a magnet, but knows you have no business associating with them or their families, so he tries to scare you off. It backfires spectacularly.
cw: MDNI 18+ Regulus tries to white fang you. degradation, bullying, toxic relationships and friend groups, future death-eaters, trauma, Black Family Angst, choking, dry-humping, p in v sex
an: Ik everyone has a different marauders!era slytherin group, so here’s a quick breakdown of my personal headcanon:
Inner circle: Regulus Black, Evan Rosier, Barty Crouch Jr., Pandora, and Dorcas Meadowes (the emeralds)
Outer circle: Severus Snape, Avery, Mulciber, Emma Vanity, Charity Burbage, Aurora Sinistra, and Wilkes.
Circle-adjacent: Lily Evans, Marlene McKinnon, and the Marauders
There is also the much darker group with Rabastan Lestrange, Thorfinn Rowle, and the Carrow’s, who actively prey on some of the others for Voldemort’s Cause.
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No matter how hard Regulus tried, you refused to leave his orbit. You had no business affiliating with him and his friends, and had no idea what that affiliation truly meant. It meant darkness. It meant bloodshed. It met imminent and very real danger. A war was brewing right under your nose.
Regulus had been born and bred for this, as had most of his friends, but you…you were an innocent. Intelligent, witty, trusting. As much as he tried not to care, he couldn’t stand to watch your light be snuffed out for simply existing around them: metaphorically or literally.
But no matter how many times Regulus tried to run you off, spare you from what came next, you would not heed. In fact, you seemed to take his animosity as a challenge, leaving him in the predicament of being your unwitting adversary.
You were in the Slytherin common room now, curled up by the fireplace with Pandora, Evan, Barty and a few others, doing more gossiping than studying despite the piles of books and parchment on the floor around you. The greenish light of the lake contrasted with the glow of the fire against your face, creating an otherworldly halo around you.
You hair was pulled back, revealing the slender curve of your neck, the dip in your v-neck sweater where a silver pendant rested against your clavicle.
You laughed at whatever terrible joke Barty made and Regulus rolled his eyes, turning back to the spell book in his lap. He was studying alone, having told Evan a number of times to fuck off and let him work on his assignments in peace.
“Regulus!” Emma called suddenly, and he cringed, pretending he didn't hear his Quidditch captain. “Reg!” She called again.
He closed his eyes, willing them all to disappear.
“Regulus fucking Black!” She hollered, loud enough for the whole common room to fall silent.
He clapped his book shut and stalked over to where you all were sitting, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other clamped on his book.
“Yes?” He droned, leaning against the arm chair Emma was sitting in.
“Can you help me with this?” Emma asked, holding up her Defense Against the Dark Arts homework.
Annoyance prickled along his skin. “What good is a genius pet if she doesn't help with your work?” He asked, leveling you with his coldest stare.
You tilted your head, eyes flicking from his black, curly hair to his leather shoes, and didn't respond.
“She said she wouldn't help me,” Emma pouted.
“I said I wouldn't do it for you,” you corrected.
“Barty, then?”
“No can do, Reg,” Barty responded, coughing up a lungful of pungent smoke, waggling a joint in Regulus’ direction.
Emma waved the smoke from her face. “Will you help, Reg? I have to get a good grade in the class or I could lose my spot on the team. And you know these lot are useless at spells.”
He sighed and took the assignment from her hands, flipping through the pages. It was rudimentary work, things she really should know in order to defend herself.
“Can't help you,” Regulus said, handing it back to her. “If you can't do this, maybe you should be demoted.”
The group ooooh’d at his dig.
“Reg!” Emma whined.
“Ignore him, Em. Not everyone takes to dark magic as easily as the ancient and most bitchy house of Black,” you quipped, narrowing your eyes at him.
Regulus resisted the urge to clench his jaw, feigning the nonchalance you wore like a second skin. The group swiveled to look at him.
“All magic, really. But thank you, darling,” he purred, winking at you.
“You should have seen Sirius in advanced Transfiguration last semester, he's a natural. Truly a gifted wizard,” you continued.
“Hot as fuck, too,” Evan added, just to dig the knife in a little deeper.
Regulus’ blood began to simmer, his temperature rising beneath his dark robes. He tsked under his breath, shaking his head. “I thought you'd be smart enough to not fall for his clown act.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Evidently not.”
“I wouldn't touch a Black with a twenty foot pole,” you replied, leaning back on your hands, stretching your long legs out in front of you, your skirt sitting high on your thighs.
“Who said anything about a pole?” Regulus replied, mimicking your condescending head tilt.
The group snickered, watching your verbal sparring like it was a duel.
“You sound a bit jealous, Reggie. Need a little attention?”
Reggie. His mask nearly slipped, he was so caught off guard by the nickname on your sharp tongue. “May as well, since you give it out so freely.” He glanced down at your shapely legs, punctuating his point.
Your head fell back as you laughed, your chest pressing up and tits bouncing, and he felt an irritating kick in his trouser as the heat of his anger took a new, sinful shape.
“It's the 70’s, love. Are you still so prudish?” You lifted your head, pining him with eyes fierce enough to cleave him in half.
He smirked. “Far from it. Just selective.”
“Don't see much of a selection to chose from,” you chuckled, earning another spike of laughter from the group. “What I see is a spoiled youngest son with nothing better to do than needle the people around him to fill the hole in his chest.” You got to your feet, shouldering your bag.
Regulus felt like he'd been punched clean through the sternum, your words never failing to cut to the quik.
“Spoken by a girl with nothing better to do than fish for a rich husband that might save her from her home in the gutter. Trust me, nothing can fill the hole of inadequacy, y/l/n.”
You stepped over Evan and Barty's tangled limbs and left without another word, leaving Regulus’ cruelty to echo off the glass and stone, the group silent.
Regulus turned on his heel and disappeared into the boys dormitory, guilt dogging every step.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
The Quidditch match was in full swing, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and the score was neck and neck. It was up to Regulus and the Gryffindor Seeker now, since neither team could get a leg up through the rings.
You sat in the stands sipping hot chocolate with Marlene, Pandora, and Dorcas, Barty pouting to your left because he couldn't sit with Evan in the Slytherin stands.
Regulus hovered a few meters away, his eyes trained upwards, catching every falling leaf and ripple of air around him. You hated how handsome he looked in his Quidditch robes, his lean body relaxed on the broom despite the stakes.
That was Regulus, un-fucking-shakeable. And it drove you insane that you could never get a rise out of him, but he managed to needle one out of you time and time again.
He was as relentless as a northern wind, and you couldn't help but be swept away.
His dark curls framed his angular face, those perpetually sleepy eyes the most arresting green. Sure, everyone thought Sirius was hot, but Regulus was beautiful, ethereal almost, and he wrapped around your mind like a constrictor.
You watched as the other Seeker suddenly took off above the Hufflepuff stands, in pursuit of something, and the Gryffindor stands cheered. But Regulus remained motionless, watching his opponent like a cat trailing a mouse. Even as Slytherin urged him to take up the chase, he remained unmoved, bidding his time.
His bottomless patience would be awe-inspiring if it wasn't so damn frustrating.
You wouldn't have an issue with Regulus, maybe even could have been friends with him, if he hadn't taken issue with you first. You had no idea what his fucking problem was, whether it was because your family was poor, you had better grades than him, or what. He loathed you from the moment you showed up in the Slytherin common room, and you've yet to receive an explanation.
You'd been saddled with a one-sided rivalry, but you'd be damned if you let him defeat you now after a full semester of back and forth.
The other Seeker pulled up short, whipping his head around like he'd lost something, and you saw Regulus crack a smirk, his canines white and sharp.
Regulus turned his head suddenly, quick like a bird, and then he was off in a blur of motion. His opponent was all the way across the pitch, entirely too far to get there in time.
A moment later— “Regulus Black has caught the snitch for 150 points! Slytherin wins!”
The Slytherin stands erupted with cheers while every other house booed, including your own. But you knew a Slytherin victory meant a rager in the dungeons, so you kept your lips sealed.
Instead, you watched Regulus land at the center of the pitch, the golden snitch held lazily between his pointer finger and thumb above his head. Any other Seeker would have been parading around the field, or flying in wide circles over the stands, screaming their head off, but Regulus was silent. His victory spoke for him.
Although, you knew he'd still be smug as fuck later.
As soon as the stands began to drain, you, Pandora, and Barty caught up with the rest of your Slytherin friends, all of them buzzing about the victory, even melancholic Severus. By the time you all reached the dungeons, a party was already in full swing.
Music thrummed along the walls, so loud it caused ripples in the Black Lake, making the emerald-tinged moonlight shift and dance along the floor. You happily accepted a shot of gin, then another before letting Evan cajole you out onto the dance floor.
Sweat pooled along your spine as the music wore on, your hair wild and loose down your back as you danced, electric energy flowing through you.
A cheer came up from the entrance and everyone turned towards the commotion. The Slytherin Quidditch team strode into the room, black robes billowing behind them. Regulus stood at the front, of course. Even from several meters away, you could see the confident glimmer in his eyes, the arrogant tilt of his chiseled jaw.
Fucking Black’s.
Like a magnet, his eyes found yours across the room, and you nearly tripped over Evan’s feet at the venom they held. But he looked away as quickly as he found you, getting swept up by the crowd and disappearing from your line of sight.
You tracked down another shot and rejoined Evan and Barty on the dance floor, squished between them in a tangle of limbs. Impossible to tell who’s hands were where, just a mess of sensation and touch. The temperature in the common room was rising expontentially, so you shed your sweater, leaving you in your skirt and a white camisole, sweat making the fabric cling to your skin.
A few songs passed like that, and a blonde guy you barely know, Rowle, you thought, took your friends place when they tapped out to smoke. You rolled your body against his, enjoying the way his thick muscles felt beneath his robes, the hungry way he was staring down at you. But you were about ready to take a break yourself, the musky smell of weed calling your name from across the room, when the hair on the back of your neck suddenly rose.
You looked around, searching for the source of your bodies response, when you locked eyes, once again, with Regulus.
He was sitting in a circle of couches against the glass wall with your shared friends, a halo of smoke around his head, a girl perched on his lap, sucking at his neck while he took a drag off of a cigarette. But his eyes were glued to you, tracking every movement you made with the same intensity he tracked the golden snitch.
Confidence wafted through you, and you wrapped your arms around your dance partners neck, letting him dip you so low your hair pooled on the floor, your tits nearly falling out of your shirt. You rolled back up slowly, articulating every vertebrae in your spine until you were chest to chest with your partner, sharing the same breaths.
From the corner of your eye, you saw Regulus choke on the smoke, dislodging the girl from his skin, and you smirked.
You let your partner turn you, showing every angle of your body, and you dropped low, circling your hips in time with the resinous goth song as you rose back up.
Regulus' cigarette hung limp between his fingers, his perfect jaw a little slack.
Emboldened, you broke away from your partner, letting yourself get lost in the sensuous, thrumming beat. Your arms rose above your head, your shoulders and hips swaying in time. It felt like you were hypnotizing him, his eyes glued to every undulation of your hips, and you couldn't recall a time where you felt more alive.
Too soon, though, the music changed to a more electro-pop vibe, and you slipped reluctantly off the dance floor, the taste of smoke beckoning you across the room.
You sauntered over to the circle, pointedly ignoring Regulus as you approached.
“There she is,” Even cooed, extending an arm to you. “You looked amazing out there.”
You smiled, sliding into his lap and taking a drag from the joint between his fingers. “Thank you, lovely.” You smiled sweetly up at him, and you could have sworn he started drooling.
“Feels even better,” Barty teased, sprawled out on the couch beside Evan, clearly a little too inebriated already.
You winked at him, and he flushed a deep scarlet. Pandora, who was resting on the floor between Dorcas’ legs, chuckled at his expense.
Regulus was quiet, per usual, watching as the group chattered around him, turning the golden snitch he caught over and over in his long fingers.
The smoke made your mind a little hazy, your tired muscles from dancing going loose, and you sagged into Evan’s side, leaning your head on his shoulder.
Regulus’ fingers tightened on the snitch, his jaw feathering, and your stomach swooped with nervous excitement. You’d never been able to rattle him before. Had you finally knocked the monolithic Regulus Black off of his axis?
“Reg, why so quiet?” Evan asked, nudging his leg with his boot.
Regulus raised a brow. “What would you like to talk about, Rosier? Fucking Junior? Or eye-fucking y/l/n?”
“We can talk about eye-fucking y/n.” Evan winked down at you, and you rolled your eyes. Avery barked a laugh from his spot on the other side of Regulus.
“Yes, let's,” Barty added, raking his willowly fingers through your hair draped over Evan’s arm. You hummed under the attention, knowing it was all in good, hedonistic Slytherin fun.
Well, almost all in good fun.
As always, Regulus couldn't let your ego inflate too much. “It's hard not indulge in a little novelty, no matter how ineffectual.”
Ouch. His words landed like barbs on your skin, but you ignored him, leaning into Barty’s attention with light moan.
Regulus shifted a little in his seat, his hands falling over his lap, and you nearly smiled. Regulus may act all high and mighty, but he wasn't impervious.
“Look at you,” Even purred, blowing smoke over your heated skin, your decolletage exposed as you stretched towards Barty. “Prettiest girl at Hogwarts, stretched across my lap.” You flushed, squirming a little in his lap, and Evan groaned. “You're torturing me, baby.”
Barty tugged on your hair, sending a skitter of pleasure down your spine and craning your head back even further. “Oh, keep doing that. He loves being tortured.”
“What a good girl,” Regulus hummed, and your pussy throbbed, soaking through your underwear. It was a rush, being admired by the heirs of some of the most powerful families in the magical world. But hearing those sweet words from Regulus, twisted into degradation, did sick things to your mind. “She's on track to graduate with her perfect, filthy-rich husband, and spend the rest of her days as mindless, fertile eye candy.”
You flinched, not that the boys noticed, and sat up a little, suddenly self-conscious in your barely-there shirt.
“We volunteer,” Avery and Wilkes said at the same time.
Evan’s arm tightened around you. “You'll have to pry her from my cold, dead hands,” he replied.
Claustrophobia clawed at your throat, but you couldn't let Regulus know how thoroughly he'd flipped your night upside down.
Wilkes drew their wand, pointing it at Evan’s head. “That can be arranged.”
“A no-name isn't worth it, children,” Regulus sneered. “Save your Azkaban trips for nobler pursuits than cunt.”
That's it. You swung your legs to the ground and rose, stalking towards Regulus. The group whistled and hooted, excited by the oncoming storm of drama.
You climbed into Regulus’ lap, straddling him and stealing the golden snitch from his hands. He was warm and solid beneath you, his expensive, amber cologne swirling with the smoke to create an addicting combination.
His hands immediately fell to your bare thighs, the cold of his rings biting into your heated flesh. His green eyes darkened, lids growing heavy as he looked up at you, his ebony lashes casting delicate shadows over his cheeks.
“Regulus Black,” you murmured in his ear while loosening his tie. His hands tensing on your thighs for a split second before he relaxed them. “You will never find someone that can withstand your thorns the way I do.”
He loosed a breath, chin lifting a little closer to your face like a wilted rose tilting towards the sun.
“You will never scare me off.” You brushed your nose along his temple, feeling his heart rate increase, his breath turn shallow. “I will ruin you, and you will thank me for it.”
Before he could respond, you slipped away, taking his prize snitch with you all the way to Ravenclaw Tower. Unreachable, even for the boy that had everything.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Regulus turned your words over and over in his mind, an endless, torturous loop. The others seemed obvious to his torment, prattling on and on while he burned through cigarette after cigarette, his tongue raw and throat scratchy.
Nothing would numb the ache on his chest, the pulsing strain of his cock beneath his robes. He'd already been painfully hard watching you move, watching you stretch across Evan and Barty like a contented kitten, preening under their devoted attention.
But when you climbed into his lap…fuck.
He was a heartbeat away from coming in his pants. One roll of your hips and he would have been done for, and you had no idea.
Or, maybe you did.
I will ruin you.
It was a miracle that you'd climbed off of him and stormed away, because the only thought he could formulate was please.
Eventually, he couldn't fucking take it anymore. He didn't even say goodnight to his friends, just disappeared into the dormitory and locked the door behind him.
He shirked his robe and grabbed a spare Slytherin scarf from his drawer. He flopped onto his bed and freed his aching cock, the head and angry red and shiny. He wrapped the scarf around it, squeezing hard for a semblance of relief.
“Fucking hell,” he groaned, pumping his cock slowly as your voice filled his mind again, the feeling of your weight on top of him, your sweet breath on his neck, your perfume rewiring the synopsis in his brain.
His hand started to move quicker, breath coming out in desperate pants. He imagined licking across your dewy chest, tasting the salt on your skin, gin on your tongue. Blowing his cigarette smoke over your naked body, into your open mouth. So eager and flayed open for him to ravage—his innocent lamb to ruin.
“Fuck, y/n!” Your name wrenched itself from his throat as he came hard into his scarf, imaging it was deep inside your greedy cunt. His whole body shuddered with the force of it, his jaw hanging open as he pumped himself through the orgasm until he'd milked every drop from himself, wondering if your pussy, your mouth, would do the same.
He slumped back onto the pillows, completely exhausted, and shoved the scarf under his bed.
You were right, you would fucking ruin him, ruin his plans. And he wasn't sure if he hated or loved you for it.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Regulus avoided you for two weeks after that party, going so far as to skip your shared Potions class entirely. It was for the better really, you still felt a little raw after that night, the dull ache of his words combined with the unresolved arousal has left you out of sorts, to put it mildly.
If you ran into him, you weren’t sure if you’d throttle or fuck him to death.
Your friends were beginning to grow suspicious of his absence, and your squirrely behavior, and, unbeknownst to you, they set a trap to bring this stand-off to a finish once and for all.
Pandora chatted animatedly beside you as you walked together down the stairs to the dungeon, ranting about something Aurora did to piss her off. When you arrived to the dungeon, she suddenly paused to tie her shoelace, waving for you to go on ahead of her into the common room.
You did, and the large green door swung shut behind you.
“No! Fuck, Dora!” Regulus was right there, banging his fist on the door.
You looked around, bewildered, only to find the common room completely deserted. Except for Regulus, of course.
“Move,” you hissed, withdrawing your wand.
“I tried everything,” Regulus huffed, a hand raking through his dark hair.
“I said move,” you repeated, pointing your wand at him.
He rolled his eyes and stepped aside, walking back into the common room. He dropped onto the couch by the fireplace, retrieving his book.
You threw every spell you could think of at the door, but it simply wouldn’t budge. “What the fuck!” You shouted, nearly throwing your wand across the room out of frustration.
“They left us a note,” Regulus said, not looking up from his reading.
You stalked over to him, finding an open piece of parchment on the coffee table. Immediately, you recognized Pandora’s loping hand.
“Just bone already.” You read aloud, and scoffed. “What the fuck does that mean?” You glared at Regulus, as if he was somehow responsible, but he still didn’t look up.
“I suspect they’re tired of our bickering,” he replied, turning the page.
“And what does locking us in the dungeon together accomplish?” You couldn’t believe this was happening. Couldn’t believe they’d lock you in a dungeon with your fucking nemesis. Your school yard bully. The bane of your goddamn existence.
Regulus shrugged. “Maybe they think you’ll kill me.”
You let out an exasperated sound and stormed away from him, trying the door to the girls dormitory.
“Locked,” he called a millisecond after you tried the handle.
“Maybe I am going to fucking kill him,” you muttered to yourself. Resigned, you sat on a chair by the glass wall, as far away from him as you could possibly get, and sulked.
You had no clue how much time passed, the only light filtering in through the murky lake. The cold leeched through the glass, chilling you to the bone, but you refused to move closer to him. You’d freeze to death in here if you had to.
“Y/l/n,” Regulus said after the fifth full body chill wracked through you. “Come sit by the fire.”
“Go fuck yourself,” you bit back, and he snorted.
“Fine, freeze.” He returned to his book, not sparing you another glance.
Your hands started to ache from the cold, your jaw sore from your teeth chattering together. With a sigh, you got up and crossed the room. Regulus still didn’t look up, though you could feel his attention shift to you as you sat directly in front of the fire, holding your hands out to it.
“You really think they’ll leave us in here all night?” You asked, staring at the dancing flames.
“Absolutely,” Regulus answered, lowering his book to his lap.
You sighed, resigned. The only way out is through. “I’ll start.”
He tilted his head, dark brows drawing together in suspicion.
You cursed under your breath, and dove headfirst. “I don’t understand why you’re so shitty to me,” you blurted, refusing to look at him. “I’ve never done anything to you.”
He was quiet for so long, you finally caved and glanced over at him, only to find him staring back at you, expression unreadable.
“Regulus,” you huffed, frustrated.
“Y/n,” he mocked, and your stomach flipped despite his attitude. He’d never used your first name before.
“Just fucking talk to me.” You straightened your spine, folding your legs on the ground underneath you, the fire at your side.
He stared at you for a few more moments, his eyes dancing back and forth, before he leaned back against the couch and picked up his book.
“You’re a lot of things, Black, but I didn’t take you for a coward.”
His eyes flickered with anger, but he didn’t bite.
“Reg,” you murmured, softening your voice, and he rolled his eyes, the most unbelievably bored expression on his face. You shifted your weight, placing your hands on the ground, and lifted to your knees. Slowly, you began to crawl to him, being careful to not sway your hips too much, and he broke after only a few seconds.
“On your knees already, darling?” He teased, but the casual tone didn’t match his eyes. The fire in them, the way his hands tightened around the cover of his book, betrayed his true feelings.
Once you were directly in front on him, you sat back on your heels. “Be honest with me, Reggie, did it turn you on seeing me with Evan and Barty?”
He blinked, clearly taken aback by your question. In his lap, you saw his cock twitch, a small pulse along his right thigh.
Men are so fucking easy.
“What about when I was dancing with them? Sandwiched between their bodies?” You rolled your head on your shoulders, mimicking the way you danced and revealing the fragile plains of your throat, your hair falling around your face. “When Barty pulled my hair? When Evan blew smoke over my tits?”
Regulus swallowed hard, his eyes like melted jade.
“What about when I crawled into your lap?” You took the book from him and set it onto the table. Then, you placed your hands on his lean, muscular thighs and pushed yourself to your feet, straddling him the same way you did that night. His entire body was rigid beneath you, muscles coiled tight with tension. “Did you like when I whispered in your ear, Regulus? When I told you that I’d ruin you?”
“Y/n,” he rasped, breathing hard.
“Tell me the truth.” You were so close, your lips brushed the shell of his ear as you spoke. You committed to the contact, brushing your lips along his racing pulse, down his jugular vein. You fought to keep your thighs from clenching together, your own body responding to the feeling him slowly unraveling beneath you. “Do you hate me because you want me?”
“I don't,” he hissed through his teeth.
“If you say so,” you hummed, moving to slide off his lap.
He grabbed your waist, his grip bruising. “Don't you fucking dare."
“I thought you didn't want me?” You taunted, sitting back on his lap to look at him, a hand braced on his sternum.
When you shifted your weight, your pussy accidentally pressed against the hard outline of his cock. You had to force your hips to stay still, your pussy practically begging you to move when you felt him throb against your warm heat.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said. All the malice had drained from his voice, his eyes locked on yours.
Then what the fuck did he mean?
You rolled your hips, biting back the moan that crept up your throat as pleasure snaked through you. Regulus was less successful, a broken groan falling from his pretty mouth.
“It would be so much easier to just tell me the truth,” you purred, slowly rocking your hips over his twitching length, allowing a hint of breathlessness to bleed into your voice. “It would feel so good, Reg, to let it all go. To lose control.”
“Shit,” he crushed under his breath. “What the fuck are you doing to me?” He grated, sliding his hands down to feel your thighs flex with each movement, his fingertips dimpling your flesh.
“What did you mean by ‘I don’t’?” You asked, tilting his chin up with a finger.
His jaw went a little slack as he stared up at you, his eyes heavy-lidded and shining. “I don’t hate you,” he answered, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Then why do you say such awful things?” You stopped your movements, and he made a small noise in his throat, nearly a whimper, but didn’t answer. “Regulus,” you prodded, lifting yourself from him entirely.
“N-no, please, fuck y/n,” he stammered, lifting his hips to grind against you. Another moan threatened to spill from you, his body felt so fucking good against yours, but you managed to restrain yourself. “I did it to try and push you away, I—”
You lowered back onto him, your hips grinding in tandem, and his head fell back against the couch, releasing a throaty groan. You couldn’t hold back a small squeak of pleasure when the hard head of his cock grazed your clit just right, and a wave of pleasure crashed through you.
“Why did you want to push me away?” You started undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, revealing the pale expanse of his chest, lean muscles flexing as he thrusted up against you.
He shook his head, picking it up to look down at where your bodies met, a pool of your slick dampening his trousers. “Getting me all wet, lamb. You like toying with me?” he rasped, moving one of his hands to press a thumb against your clothed clit, his long fingers splayed across your pelvis. “Is that why I couldn’t scare you off?”
You nodded before you could stop yourself, a full moan finally breaking free with the added pressure. You were embarrassingly close to coming, to banter combined with the friction between your bodies was a lethal cocktail, a drug you weren’t sure you’d be able to quit.
You wrapped your hands around his throat, applying enough pressure that he gasped, the sound vibrating your hand. “Why are you trying to push me away?” You leaned closer to his face, his strained pants fanning across your lips. He was so beautiful like this, ravaged by lust and desperate.
“You know why,” he growled, grabbing your wrists. He rolled suddenly, flipping you beneath him and pinning your hands above your head. “What’s my name, y/n?” His free hand slid under your skirt, palming your soaked panties.
“Regulus,” you gasped, arching into his chest.
“Regulus what?” He started rubbing the heel of his palm over your clit, electric pleasure burning through you.
“Regulus Black.” You were on the brink of coming, teetering on that torturous edge.
“Tell me then, my clever little Ravenclaw. What does that say about me and mine?” He leaned down and dragged his teeth along your pulse point, pausing to suck a mark under your ear.
“Fuck, Reg, I’m going to come,” you whined, fighting against his hold as the feeling started to overwhelm you.
His hand stopped suddenly, ruining the orgasm you had just begun to crest. You cried out in frustration, tears springing to your eyes as the pleasure bled out of you, leaving you desperate and humming with tension.
“Answer me,” he demanded, grabbing your jaw with his slick covered hand.
“I’m not an idiot,” you snapped, eyes blazing into his. “I know what the fuck it means. And I don’t care.”
He fell still, eyes searching your face. “Then maybe you are an idiot,” he murmured, eyes softening now that the truth was finally out. “But so am I.”
He closed the final inch between you, connecting your lips in a searing, devastating kiss that you felt all the way to your toes. He released your hands and you tangled your fingers into his curls, finally feeling their softness for yourself as you pulled him closer. Your mouth parted for him, his tongue delving in to taste you.
“Reg, please,” you whined against his mouth, pressing your hips to his again.
“Tell me what you want, lamb.” He kissed down your neck, one of his hands sliding down to grip your thigh and draw it over his hip.
“Fuck me, I need you inside of me.” You clawed at his belt, flipping the clasp and tugging down his zipper.
“Merlin, yes.” He finished undoing his pants and freed his cock, pulling aside your panties to glide the head through your slick folds, lubricating himself. He notched the head at your entrance, hissing at the warmth already kissing him, and eased himself in.
Regulus wasn’t overly large, but the stretch was still divine, filling you until you went cross-eyed, an unholy cry ripping from your chest. He drew his hips back and slammed back into you, over and over again until your were in shambles, a moaning, shaking mess, on the precipice of coming for the second time.
“Come for me, love. I want to feel you break.” He cupped your face, kissing you as he finally pushed you over the edge, an orgasm ripping you apart at the seams. You screamed into his mouth, your cunt clenching around him as your body convulsed. “God, I love this fucking cunt. So perfect for me,” he growled, his hips losing their rhythm as your walls bared down on him, sucking him back in every time he pulled out.
“Reg,” you whimpered, sagging against the couch as the strength bled out of of you.
He pulled out suddenly, pumping his cock in his fist, your honey coating him. “Stay just like that, pretty girl. All fucked out and used. All mine—” a guttural groan broke the final word as he came in his hand, spraying ropes of cum over your rumpled skirt and Ravenclaw sweater, his head thrown back. He looked gorgeous milking himself for you, his muscles flexing with the effort, sweat beading along his skin.
He slowly relaxed, chest heaving, and looked down at you, ruined and covered in his cum. You stared back, completely starstruck by what just happened.
“I’m sorry,” he said, draping himself over you and pressing ksises to your forehead, your cheeks, your neck. “I’m sorry for everything I said. I didn’t mean any of it, I—”
“Me too,” you interrupted him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I know how hard things are for you, at home, I mean, and I shouldn’t have—”
“No, no. I deserved it. I shouldn’t have brought up your family—”
“But I kept—”
“I never meant too—”
You both exhaled, laughing softly at your rushed confessions, the sudden, giddy nervousness that bloomed between you where there once was glacial wit and razor-sharp banter. He sat you both up, removing your stained sweater and straightening your skirt, then righted himself.
“What now?” You asked when he finished fussing, studying his flushed cheeks, his tousled hair.
He sighed, suddenly looking grim, and your heart gave a nervous thump. “We find a way to keep you safe, lamb,” he said, meeting your eyes. “But until then, we should act like nothing’s changed. Okay?”
Uncertainty coiled in your stomach, but you nodded. “Okay.”
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Thanks for reading!
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cassayeee · 7 months ago
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cassayeee · 8 months ago
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arcane season 2 spoilers
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"Can you feel anything?" 
Viktor's foreign body shudders against his will; your fingertips trace down his chest, tingling, sparking, akin to little specks of light burning into his second-skin. The sound of your muddled voice barely registers. His head tosses back with a slight thud, hair fanned out as a halo. He allows your knees to bracket his waist, and keeps his arms sprawled above him — despite the aching in his dead heart to just touch you. The pulsing of the arcane beneath his system is hardly under control yet. 
It would be a risk he's willing to take, a necessary step to learn, if it were anyone else besides you. 
And Viktor does feel — so much, in fact, but it isn't anything explainable. The festering in his core, threatening to come up through his throat. The whirring, the throbbing of every muscle, rich with glowing rivers of purple. Shining with a mixture of magic and energy and his own blood. 
He's only distantly aware of your hand when it reaches his stomach, examining the juncture between cool metal and unholy flesh. Gears and bolts mimic the outline of ribs. Your touches are curious, distinctly gentle. Picking up on old habits, and trying not to break him, still. Then, your palm reaches up; it boldly cradles his cheek, brushes his pallid skin. And this, he can sense. 
It's familiar, human. Excruciatingly soft when your thumb brushes the space on his cheek, just above his beauty mark. It puts an easy feeling back in his chest, something he almost began to believe he'd forgotten. As warm as a shimmering sun, as molten as liquid gold. 
Nothing else matters but this moment, but you, and him. There is no outcome, across each expansive universe and every edge of the arcane, where the two of you would not meet again like this. You were meant to. Born and reborn to. 
Your gaze finds his, soft eyes glancing down at him, your expression crossed between pain and relief. You eclipse all of his vision: light fuzzy at your edges, your face a hazy memory that he'd still see with his eyes closed. You're a reminder of what it means to be alive. 
Viktor doesn't envy you. You've told him of nightmares, before. Dreams you had before this, of your mind putting yourself through the tragedy of watching him die ages before you truly had to. It must be difficult to see him like this, despite your best attempts to hide any uncertainty. 
Your hand shakes. He can feel it trembling, unsteady on his cheek. And every molecule in Viktor's system explodes, laced with the yearning to remember — to let hazy lovesickness swell within his palms and his new figments. To pull you closer, in an effort to convince himself you won't be taken away. 
Every echo of you is innate. Your voice, your name, your fingerprints. Your presence has the Hexcore — or what's become of him, what has embodied the Hexcore — blissfully, endlessly silent. The way you look at him, soft and brutally innocent, puts a chasmic, vivid hole in his center. Gods, you still look at him the same, just as you did when the two of you were young and innocent. The rot in him tells him he isn't worthy of it. 
Viktor's eyes swirl like kaleidoscopes. Drops of crimson swirling in pure water. Your brows pinch, a sight he finds frustrating and pretty, as you silently examine him. Emotions curl in your lungs, tearing and hungry and knife-like; stricken with attachment, or perhaps blaming yourself, Viktor figures. 
Exhaustion runs heavy in your expression, reminding him of looking into a mirror. He knows this look. You haven't slept. Haven't given yourself any form of a break, it seems.
So, he takes a chance. 
Your hand brushes some stray, messy strands of hair from his forehead, just as Viktor guides his weak arm to reach for you. You don't tense, don't move. He can hear your breathing, thinks he can still feel his. There isn't an ounce of fear in the way you look at him. You have always looked at him like he holds the world in his hands. And now, perhaps he does. 
His hand finds your cheek, same as yours. Copying, following. Thin, delicate, purple-hued fingers trace the edge of your face clumsily, still learning how to touch. Still afraid the line between hurt and healing might be blurred, and you are the one person left that he can't let get caught in the crossfire. You lean into his palm, trusting, and let go of a breath that makes your shoulders shake with the weight of it. 
Viktor thinks of crying, despite the press and pull in his chest that convinces him he shouldn't be able to. He can feel you. It isn't like the few touches he's experienced so far, or the aching, anomalous strength he's been forced to get used to. It contradicts the very constructs of everything he thought made sense. 
Your skin is so soft, sickly familiar. Viktor holds your face shakily, afraid to move. He can feel your individual atoms. Innumerable sparks just beneath his touch, galaxies upon universes of stars in your name, that beg to be grasped, possessed, cured. He cradles you with all of the devotion of a prophet, with all of the tenderness of a past friend: an almost-destiny, a saved seat at the edge of something more. 
Would clumsily pulling you in, and pressing his lips to yours feel wrong, or tangible — like nothing, or like everything? 
"Vik?" 
Your tone, sweeter than honeysuckle, sweeter than anything he might deserve, brings his vision back into focus. He blinks. Gaze never tearing away from his, your fingertips drop to thread the hard edge of his collarbone. A silent plea, can you feel this? You find each curve of his bones and his body easily, the details already memorized. Viktor senses the ghost of you, your touch gentle, something like home. 
"I'm not sure," Viktor finally answers; and the scientist, Hexgate creator, still-ambitious part of himself is hardly satisfied with that answer. His voice is quiet, distant. As though he isn't there, despite the lingering, familiar tenderness to his tone. 
The fried synapses in his brain can't yet separate a caress from a threat, he just perceives the lingering energy. He believes you could be the one to teach him the difference. 
This time, you let your palm press flat to his chest. There's a hum that attempts to mimic a heartbeat, a lack of coolness or heat. The action presses your form closer to his, guides you to lean part of your weight on him to bring your faces far too close. Sharing in the same reflection. Allowing each breath to be measured, along with every hesitation. 
What should he start with? Should he embrace you, holding you tight and close like you're sacrificial? Should he grab your hand in his, press his palm to your skin to measure your heartbeat? Lace his smallest finger with yours, to make you a promise like he used to? 
He can't promise you peace, nor the life you deserve, but if you came for him now, was it not a swear to follow him anywhere? 
There are still so many things left to feel, and every red thread has always begun and ended with you. 
Can you feel anything? 
Viktor guides a hand over yours, keeps it to his chest selfishly; he meets your gaze, he hums, "Are you eager to find out?" 
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cassayeee · 8 months ago
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The problem is that America has beaten down its people for decades and gotten them weak and desperate and now promises a way out, a way to transcend and rise above, through selling out their fellow man. They encourage contempt and hatred as one way ticket to not being included with the masses being death marched to poverty or imprisonment or whatever other bitter end surely awaits the people they’re told are beneath them. An embarrassingly large chunk of white men are just straight up nazis these days as a way to dissociate from the rest of the carnage around them, even if they’re broke and uneducated and from an impoverished background themselves. They’ll vote for and align themselves with anything for a taste of power and control that makes them feel a little less helpless. The same goes for minorities. They’ll punch down if they think it’ll get them somewhere, even if in reality they’re punching sideways. I don’t know what else to say, really. Everybody is so incredibly hateful. We are a loveless, disrespectful nation. We are so spread thin by our government that we would sell each other out in a heartbeat for an ounce of relief. This is what we’ve come to.
It’s not even about Trump at this point. He’s gonna get in office and do whatever he does and it’s gonna be a mess but whatever. This is indicative of deeper problem. This is just the ugly consequence of the already present reality in this country that we all just despise each other. There is no solidarity and there is no love. Trump being in office or not doesn’t change the fact that America is a breeding ground for violent hatred. Trump has given people a shining example of how to give in to the worst parts of your human nature and make it the problem of everyone around them. I don’t even know what we’re supposed to do about that. I don’t know if that’s something we can come back from. And if anything COULD be done about it, Trump certainly wouldn’t do it. Honestly, Kamala probably wouldn’t have either. We are so deeply fucked.
However, I must say, if you voted for Trump, I hope that peace never finds you. Instead, I hope clarity strikes you someday like a clap of lightning and you have to live the rest of your life with the knowledge and guilt of what you’ve done and who you are as a person.
Love yall. Shit is so bleak but the world keeps spinning until it doesn’t, I guess. We can’t count on the government for literally even a shred of progress or hope so just keep up the good fight in your own personal lives. That’s literally the only thing to be done at this point. Stay safe out there. Maybe buy a gun.
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cassayeee · 10 months ago
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DING DONG THE WITCH IS DEAD
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cassayeee · 1 year ago
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LONG LIVE QUEEN RHAENYRA
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cassayeee · 1 year ago
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Sunfyre learning Common Tongue because Aegon never learned how to speak in Valyrian
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cassayeee · 1 year ago
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Rhaenyra telling Jace a joe biden story while he’s holding in the my name is paul mua’dib atreides speech so hard he’s actively having an aneurysm meanwhile her huncle is doing ayahuasca with a goth girl he met at hot topic two hours ago and the woman holding 60% of their cool points on her back has just exploded into meat chunks over southern ohio. black council in shambles this week I fear. the green council’s default state is shambles so that’s not news
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cassayeee · 1 year ago
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he could put that out on me tbf
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cassayeee · 1 year ago
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my live reaction when i saw aemond in the brothel
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cassayeee · 1 year ago
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it’s just a haircut … the haircut in question:
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