#and even then they wouldn't claim to be black or claim to 'get' that struggle as if they lived it.

[snekdood]

worst thing is when a white person who 'grew up poor' and maybe lived in the city temporarily starts to insinuate they're from the hood or whatever shit lmao

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐍 ✦

simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader (delta) | smut, 18+ | 4.1k

summary: you, soap and gaz make a silly bet at ghost's expense for an invaluable prize.

cw: mw3 spoiler free. 141 ridiculousness, humour, attempts to remove the mask resulting in life threatening (not really) injury, mild exhibitionism if you squint, very talkative ghost, 'interrogation' wink wink, unprotected p in v sex, reference to f receiving oral.

ghost mlist | main mlist | taglist

"Y'know, I'm sure as shit that L.t's got brown hair," Soap pipes up in the middle of the silence that had settled inside the safe house. 

The members of Task Force 141 glance up one by one, querying eyes cast Soap's way as the guesstimated observation hangs in the air. It's louder than chopper blades, thudding against your skull and roaring in your ears as you attempt to recall the information you have on Ghost, what little physical attributes you can attribute to him. Each time, you hit a brick wall. The only image conjured in your minds-eye is the black voids of the mask's eyes and the piercing amber of his irises. 

The wind howls outside, battering the windows with Wyoming snow and creeping in through the cracks in the panes. It makes a yowling sound as it slips through the crevices, carrying your memories of Ghost's appearance with it. He truly was like an apparition, there one moment, then gone altogether. 

Gaz's brows crease in the middle, little crevices in the skin showing his mind working over the sentence. 

"He doesn't," he eventually retorts, eyebrow cocked while shaking his head, "He's blonde." 

"What makes you say that?" Price scoffs at his colleague's certainty, "You ever seen his face?"

The silence that follows makes the Captain chuckle. A wordless 'that's what I thought'. 

"You willin' to bet on that?" Soap pushes Gaz with a lopsided smirk. There it is, that ridiculous playfulness that the Scotsman continuously let slip over coms. Simon had once reprimanded him for how it would get him killed– you were almost certain if he continued down this path in particular, he'd be in a box by daylight.

"I am," Gaz counters thoughtlessly, a smug lilt to his tone as he leans the crown of his head back against the rotting wooden wall, "He's got blonde eyelashes. He's gonna have blonde hair."

"What're ya gettin' so close tae him for?" Soap grins wide, loading the new ammunition and hitting a bullseye on the first shot, "You been snoggin' him or somethin'?"

"Lads," Price warns. It's only one word, but it says a lot; 'he'll have your head.' All of you know Simon 'Ghost' Riley well enough to know it's not a joke. Seen enough of the mangled bodies he left behind to know it wouldn't be clean, either. More like he'd hack your skull from your neck, picking out the dullest blade that'd struggle to slot between vertebrae.  

"Bets on, then," Soap continues, white teeth gleaming in the low light, "First to confirm gets the honour of shootin' Hassan between the eyes." 

It's like throwing a match at a body doused in diesel. 

                           ✰

The parameters of this wager are as follows... First: the competition is between you, Soap and Gaz. Price was ruled automatically exempt the moment he admitted he had, indeed, seen Ghost's face. It was a revelation that caused quite a storm- and a promise from Gaz of £100 if he'd tell.

The Captain, quite frankly, told him where to stick it. 

Second: None of you could just ask Ghost himself. That was boring; no fun in that. 

Thirdly, there are no other rules. Acquire the information by any means necessary to claim victory. Perhaps this rule should have been revised- because to say that 141's tactics for getting Ghost to reveal his face were a little unorthodox is an understatement of the highest order. 

Despite his hulking frame, Ghost is like a cunning fox, cognizant of even the slightest changes in energy and hypervigilant of those approaching. The midnight void of his grease paint that frames his eyesockets contrasts the whites of his eyes as they dart back and forth between you all. He appears to have noted the devious scheming, practically hearing the cogs turning in your heads the moment he returned from his watch. Something is amiss, and you know Ghost knows it. 

He says nothing. 

Day One; the grumpy, black-clad special ops soldier sits back in his seat as he crosses his arms over his vast chest, cautiously observing the minute movements the three of you made. He'd bristled when Gaz stood from the sofa simply to enter another room, poised and ready to pounce at whatever fuckery the younger soldier would attempt. 

"Hey, L.t.," Soap's drawl cuts through the humorously tense atmosphere in the room, and you brace yourself for his master plan. "When was the last time ye got a haircut?"

Ghost hesitates. Waits a beat. The silence stretches almost uncomfortably until he answers, thick, bassy voice almost booming in the box room. "What're you playin' at, Johnny?"

Soap shrugs his shoulders, exuding complete nonchalance as he settles into the seat across the table from the hulking mass of man. "Just wondered if the mask ever came off. How do you cut your hair?"

Amusement ripples through you in the sound of a chuckle, both men glancing your way. Ghost peers at you, suspicion pooling thick in his pupils. 

"Shave it," Ghost rumbles bluntly, with an air of finality that leaves no room for argument or for Soap to encourage him to try something stupid like curtain bangs or, God forbid, a mohawk. 

You can't help but grin from ear to ear as you watch the Scotsman's shoulders slump in defeat, already waving a white flag upon seeing how unwilling Ghost is to play whatever stupid game you're all partaking in. Even you can't deny the anxiety that prickles across your nerve endings when you see the way Ghost's biceps flex beneath the camo fabric of his uniform, primed for action. 

When Ghost's aqua irises slide to you, your shoulders shrug comically, putting on the performance of your life to appear as though you had no idea what Johnny was up to. You see the way Ghost's blacked-out eyelids squint in suspicion. He doesn't believe you, but doesn't say as much. 

Day Three and the polite, roundabout tactics had been discarded in favour of the nuclear option. Gaz had tried ambushing Ghost in the shower, opening the door without knocking as if pretending he didn't know the Lieutenant was in there. The door slammed so quickly into his head that an egg had been steadily growing on his forehead for the past hour and a half, blood seeping from his almost certainly broken nose. 

"You'll stay out next time, Bravo 2-6, if you know what's good for you," Ghost had growled through the crack in the door before shutting it with a click of the lock. 

Holding his face and slinking away, mortally wounded, Gaz uttered a humiliated 'Yes, lieutenant'. 

Soap, clearly not having learnt from poor Gaz, decided that the next best option was a trip, so to speak. Executing a ludicrously overexaggerated stumble, Johnny reached out to grab Ghost's mask to 'steady himself' and ultimately drag it from his superior's head. 

Ghost had leapt from his seat with a roar, threatening to send Sergeant MacTavish back to Scotland in a box with the Saltire draped across the lid. The standoff only settled upon Captain Price's barked orders to stand down or hang up the uniform. 

By Day Six, Ghost had bruised your opponent's egos enough that neither Soap nor Gaz dared attempt to peek beneath the mask again. They look at you like you're absolutely bonkers when you finally announce it's your turn to try and tame the beast. 

"Yer fuckin' mad, hen," Johnny grumbled, watching you observe Ghost from across the room. He'd settled on a chair in the corner of the room, ensuring no one could sneak up on him. "You can't seriously be plannin' on-"

"I want Hassan," you shrug, a smile playing on your lips. Though, at this rate, you couldn't care less about the terrorist and the honour of dispatching him. No, Ghost had made this ridiculous game far more competitive than needed, and you planned to win.

"Have fun," Gaz scoffed bitterly, still icing the blotchy green and purple bruise that had welted on his forehead as a medal of dis-honour. You hadn't exactly helped the healing process, poking it harshly with the pad of your thumb as you laughed at his mortifying misfortune. 

You wait patiently for Ghost to move, like a stake out on a mission. Lying in plain sight in a ghillie suit, a sniper rifle pointed right between his eyes and your finger on a hairpin trigger. You wait for him to break, for exhaustion to creep in. Thankfully, you don't have to wait long. The Lieutenant rises from his chair, announcing to 141 that he's headed to bed. 

A quiet mumble of 'goodnight' from each member grants him leave, and Ghost walks out of the room without further word. You waste no time in hurrying to your feet. 

"Are you gonna...-" Soap winces when you stand, trailing off when you start after Ghost, not allowing either of your colleagues to talk you out of this suicide mission. 

Though, the moment you turn the corner, you wish you had. Ghost's broad frame practically fills the narrow hallway like someone had plucked Everest from Nepal and shoved its hulking mass into a matchbox. He's ginormous, his usually silent footsteps causing the aged, rotting wood beneath the soles of his boots to creak with the weight he applies when he turns to face you. 

The dark hallway obscures Ghost's skull-face mask, but a glittering reflection of the golden light bleeding from the bulb in the living room area flickers across the wet surface of his eyes as he observes you. You can't allow the weighty pressure of his stare to phase you if you're to push ahead with your plan- so you step forward, swallowing down the nerves that Ghost's attention inevitably dredges up. 

"Lieutenant, sir," you address him smoothly, voice low as you gaze up at him through your lashes. Ghost's eyebrow arches in response, noting your somewhat suggestive behaviour. "Permission to spea-"

"I'm hopin' you'll tell me what you're all up to," his eyes spear your nerve as he interrupts you, "They're not lettin' up, but I'll get it outta you one way or another." 

"What... Did you have in mind?" You chance, heart slamming up against your chest when you realise just how obvious you're being. It's dangerous- you hadn't planned to be so forward. The idea that he'd be able to read your flirting so soon set off mortars in your veins. 

There's a pause. It dizzies you, throwing your previously sturdy confidence off kilter when Ghost tilts his masked head slightly. He's turning it over in his mind, considering the past few days' events. Then, he turns everything on its side. 

"I know what you're doing," he speaks suddenly, the rich baritone of his voice ricocheting off the walls and ringing in your ears like he's just discharged a round of ammo with each syllable. You jerk upright, standing to attention. 

"I don't know what you m-"

"You want the mask off," he interrupts you again, cutting your pathetic excuse short as he steps forward. It's ridiculous, the sheer size of him as he looms over you. "You lot made a bet."

Another beat. Ghost waits for a response, an admission of guilt. It feels like he's cornered you; every answer that springs to mind is incriminating. You know he can see your rueful expression, wide-eyed and panicked by the ease with which he puts you on the ropes. 

"Was this your plan?" He murmurs, reaching to grasp your chin. His palm settles on the hollow of your jaw, fingers fanning out across the bone. "Get me into bed and see if I'll take it off?"

Trembling in his hold, you whimper as Ghost's thumb stretches across to trace the curve of your lip. It follows the delicate arc, lining the shape of your mouth and trailing the dip of your cupid's bow. 

"'M sorry," you mumble weakly, cheeks hot beneath his touch. Again, you fold beneath the intensity of those honeyed irises. It's a miracle your knees don't buckle when he pushes the pad of his thumb just past your lips, so that it brushes the edges of your teeth. 

"That was your plan. Y'can still give it a try, love. But..." he hums, his voice throaty and quiet and settling in the pit of your stomach. It's embarrassing, the ease with which he figures you out, but his words drip over you, easy and warm, and all you can focus on is the slip of his thumb as he presses the pad against the flat of your tongue. 

"The mask stays on." 

Ghost’s insistence makes you giggle sheepishly and your stomach flip in dread, like a child caught with its hand down a bear trap. Despite the lewdness of him pushing his thumb past your lips, you know that he’s being serious, deathly so. You nod clumsily in recognition of his executive order, and Ghost gently taps the skin of your cheek with his free hand, the soft slap of his palm against your flesh standing your hair on end.

“Go.”

The word hangs in the air for a moment, weighing heavily in the claustrophobic space of the small hallway. It takes a moment for your mind, rendered utterly useless by Ghost’s imposing presence, to understand exactly what he’s implying. Only when he removes his thumb from your mouth to shove you forward towards a bedroom door does his intention become clear.

Oh. Oh!

Scrambling to force your feet forward, they practically float across the threshold of the bedroom door. You can feel Ghost looming just behind you, can practically feel the heat radiating from his chest warming the expanse of your back. Fingers clasp over your shoulder, practically swallow the curved flesh, and shove you back against the bedroom wall.

The force of impact winds you, the air expelled from your lungs swallowed down by Ghost’s lips bearing heavily down upon your own. He’d ripped the mask upwards, the hem of the ski-mask balanced across the bridge of his nose. Simon’s tongue licks into your mouth– intrudes upon the space like he’s kicking down a door, like he’s swallowing the breath he’d expelled from you with his heavy hand. 

Once the dazed dizziness dissipates, you moan in relief at finally getting what you wanted. Ghost’s gigantic paw takes hold of your jaw in a firm grip to fit his mouth perfectly against your own, his swirling fingerprints indenting in the soft flesh there in a mottled bruise. The soft pine he coaxes from you bleeds past your open mouth despite your attempt to suppress the frankly pathetic noise. 

Fuck it, this was worth it– all of it was worth it. The fear of getting it wrong, the anxiety of being caught, the panic that Simon could turn you away… All of it seeps into the darkness in the corners of the room when your superior drags his tongue across your lower lip. It’s though he’s relishing in the taste of the aftershocks of the arousal he sparks between your legs, the dopamine that rushes through you.

“Was this your plan?” Ghost grunts, grasping ahold of the scruff of your neck. Gasping weakly, you’re almost certain your eyes roll back in your head when he uses his harsh grip to steer you towards the bed. “Get me out of my fuckin’ mind so I don’t notice you takin’ off the mask?”

“That’s–” you huff, rendered breathless by Ghost’s intruding tongue, “That’s not it–”

Your pitiful attempt to excuse yourself is made useless when Ghost practically launches you onto the mattress of his bed, the rusted metal frame screaming under the sudden weight of your body. 

“No?” he queries, the usual boom of authority in his voice replaced by something that sounds far more like goading amusement as he places the hefty weight of his palm against your sternum, holding you down and thwarting any attempt to escape. 

He needn’t worry. The last thing you wanted was to leave. 

“Tell you what,” he muses in that smug tone you always hear over the comms, his free hand quick to grasp at the leather of his belt. The buckle clinks in the quiet as he works his fingers over it, “We’ll run through this mission, yeh? See if you can complete your objective, Delta?”

Your retort, or lack thereof, dies in your throat when Ghost pushes his crotch into your own. If it weren’t for the yelp of bliss that the Lieutenant had to smother with his palm, you’d hear the way he’d practically purred when he dragged his cock against you. 

“C’mon then. Try it,” he urged. 

It’s pointless, his mock-support. You just desperately reach for the waistband of his khaki uniform trousers, cockdrunk from the tease of its shape against you. Even in the low light, you can see Ghost’s scarred lips, the way they stretch into a smirk at your desperation. 

“Abandoning mission, Sergeant?” He asks you, unzipping his trousers. “Price’ll be disappointed to know this is all it takes for Delta to go AWOL.”

“Shut up,” you moan into the cold air of the cabin. You can see your breath. “Shut up and fuck me.”

When Simon removed himself from his trousers, making some glib comment about you being demanding, you marvel at the size of him. Girthy, swollen, the ruddy tip leaks precum down the arch of his cock and traces the pulsing veins. He’s rock hard and throbbing, framed by a thatch of pubic hair. 

Fumbling with your own trousers, you awkwardly try to remove them given Simon’s weighty palm still pins you down by your sternum. He watches, a glint in his eye in the low light that would almost embarrass you if you weren’t so focused on the task at hand. 

“What was the prize?” 

“H-Huh?” you stall, mind fried by Ghost’s unexpected line of enquiry. He picks up where you left off, violently yanking your trousers down your thighs and pushing your panties aside to expose your glistening cunt to his prying eyes. 

“What. Was. The. Prize?”

You hesitate for a moment, feeling Ghost’s fingers press against the inside of your thighs as he probes this unexplored territory of you. His touch skirts the areas you want him most, teasing and goading you for more information. “H-Hassa-ahh!”

You barely manage the first syllable of your answer before Simon rests the arch of his cock against your slick pussy lips. His body jerks slightly at the heat of your swollen cunt, the ease with which he can slide himself through your drenched sex. 

“You got to kill Hassan?” he asked for confirmation, his voice unwavering. You wonder how he manages to stay so steady– you’re coming apart at the seams, trembling as the head of his cock bumps your clit clumsily. 

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes rolling back as he continues his laboured, steady torture. His free hand settles on your hip, arching your pelvis up slightly to meet his own. You grind your hips upward against his cock, and Simon expels a soft scoff from lungs, those piercing eyes settled on your contorting expression. 

“Mhmm,” he hums, rolling his hips again. This time it’s even slower, teasing. “A temptin’ reward–” 

Simon is interrupted by the moan that splits your lips when he drags the length of his cock heavily against your clit. It sparks arousal deep in your abdomen, clings to the inside of your thighs wetly. 

Perhaps the disturbance is one transgression too many tonight, because Simon grasps your hips so hard that you are forced to stop gliding over the length of his cock. You pine in protest, but you choke on the pitiful sound when Ghost suddenly plunges his cock inside of you. It spears you open, breaks you apart, and you find your back arching desperately against the mattress. 

The palm that had rooted itself to your sternum flies up to clasp against your mouth, smothering the shriek of bliss that threatened to expose your extracurricular activities to the rest of your squad. You sob through your teeth beneath his life line, tears welling in your eyes as you feel him stretch your walls open to make room for his intrusion. 

You can’t help yourself. You need something to grasp onto, and opt for his wrist above your face. Digging your nails into the inked flesh there, you watch as the pain sparks something dark and twisted in Simon’s pupils, his azure irises swallowed by the expanding blackness.

He likes it. You can tell. His cock arches up inside of you, pushing deep and rocking against something earth shattering inside of you. Damp with sweat already, the skin of his wrist ripples as he tightens his grip on your face, refusing to withdraw from your pussy walls and instead opting for sharp, shallow thrusts that push you up the mattress with each connection of your hips. 

“Fuck,” he spits, using his tight grasp to pull you back towards him. It’s obliterating you, ripping you apart and pushing all your pieces back together in a mangled, jumbled mess. You whimper as you suffer through his brutal pace, marvelling at how good it feels when he consistently spears your g-spot. 

“When would you have done it?” Simon asks you, a little breathless now as he chases the high that begins to build at the edges of your body, tingling and pulsing. 

“Shut up–” you beg him, the low rasp of his voice launching you towards that pleasure that threatens to consume you. Jerking your hips up to meet his, your body mindlessly reacts to the sound of his timbre. 

“Oh, no,” he chuckles, shaking his half masked face. There’s a silver laden scar that stretches across the base of his chin. It matches the one that splits his upper lip to the base of his nose, the ski mask hovering tantalisingly over the bridge. “When?” 

The seriousness of his tone makes your thighs quiver when paired with the sharp thrust he punctuates his question with. Years of training in maintaining a cover-story while a hostage are blown to bits as though Ghost has launched a mortar at your resolve, because suddenly all your state secrets are spilling out of you quicker than you can shove the incriminating words back into your traitor mouth. 

“I’d– Hagh… I’d do it j-just as you’re cummin–hhah!”

“And spoil my fun?” Ghost hums, that heavy timbre licking up your spine and sparking viscous embers at the base of your spine, “Anyone ever told you that you’re very fuckin’ selfish, Delta?” 

You’d offer a witty comment, but Ghost’s angled his hips just right, and your jaw is falling loose to let out a panicked whimper. 

“There it is, shit. Look at you, Sargeant. Fuckin’, you’re so tight–” 

You’re like a slip knot, tightening around him further with each knock of your g-spot with Simon’s ridiculously large cock-head. Prickling tears of bliss threaten to spill over the edge of your waterline, continuing to sting even when you shut your eyes. You’re shaking, trembling beneath his rocking hips as you mewl his name. 

“S-Simon! Fuck–”

Wild, wet squelches of Simon sinking into your soaked cunt echo in your skull as he ramps up his violent thrusts, the springs of his mattress screaming an unmistakable rhythm to anyone walking by. He doesn’t seem to care now though, his eyes zeroed in on your expression like he’s stalking a victim with his sniper scope. Aiming for complete obliteration. 

“C’mon Can feel you squeezin’ round me,” he murmurs, the steady tone he’d offered earlier shuddering slightly as you squeeze impossibly tight around him, coil threatening to snap, “You’re so close, Delta. C’mon, paint my cock an’ I’ll eat you out with my cum in you–” 

                           ✰

“He’s blonde.” 

Gawping jaws drop to the floor at your very simple observation, Soap’s eyes nearly rolling across the uneven, rotten floorboards after falling out of his skull. You can’t help the smug smile that threatens to tug at the edge of your lips, especially given the sensation of Ghost’s eyes boring holes into the back of your skull. 

The awe only worsens when Price gives a subtle nod of confirmation from the corner of the darkened room, crowning you the winner of this utterly ridiculous joust. 

“How do you know?” Gary is as shaken as Soap by the confidence with which you’d offered your final answer, in disbelief as to how you could have possibly obtained it without being maimed, given the egg on his forehead was still throbbing despite days of icing it with the snow from outside the safehouse.

“His pubes are. I assume the curtains match the drapes,” you shrug dismissively. 

The sheer incredulity that flashes across Johnny’s face is utterly hilarious. The smirk that had been threatening to break finally cracks across your lips at the confirmation of your victory. Ghost’s eyes appear to have lazered through your skull, singing brain matter with the ferocity of his scowl. Frankly, you couldn’t care less– you can see it in your mind's eye; the gorgeous contrast of a blood-red crosshair settling across Hassan’s forehead, the weight of the trigger beneath your finger as you pull it back.

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @babychoi03 @infectedkura @allekat1988 @whore-for-anime @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @mockerycrow @cyberpr1m3 @i-love-ghost @allekat1988 @infectedkura @babychoi03 @freakquenci @maviee @yunggoblin @sleepystaarr @watyousayin @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @damn-dean-blog @pheonyxmoon @magicalreviewphantom @limegreenbabx @johfaam0 @iaur @justsayk

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee @crissteetee67 @sylvanasthebansheequeen @akaym2 @exploremyworldsm @thriving-n-jiving @su57 @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @tusk89 @bellasbees01 @dog55teeth

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Idk if this counts as Halloween themed but what about a scenario where AFAB Freminet comes across SeaMonster!Reader during one of his dives. Yes, this is a thinly veiled request for tentacle smut

Deep Dark Waters

Pairings: Freminet x reader

Warnings: Male!reader, dom/top!reader, monster!reader, sub/bottom!Freminet, trans!Freminet, tentacle fucking, size difference, noncon

Genre/Format: Smut; Oneshot

Author's Note: Tentacles you say? 👀 Count me in! Freminet is 20+ as per usual~

Please check my blog title to verify whether requests are closed or not! Thank you!

Freminet's dives usually led him to deep areas of the ocean, places that most other divers wouldn't traverse themselves. Whether this was due to difficult terrain, dangerous monsters or meka lurking about, or general lack of knowledge around the areas

It's not that he was a thrill seeker of any sort, nor did he enjoy the inherent dangers of being a diver. Freminet simply felt drawn to the unknown, unexplored areas for reasons that he couldn't quite place. Hidden spaces within the cold confines of the ocean lured him deep into their grasp all of the time, though this particular dive led him to a sort of adventure that he never expected to wind up on...

The decision was impulsive. As Freminet stared down the abyss off to his left, something called to him. Something beckoned the young diver to swim just a bit closer...far enough to peer over the edge and discover how deep that abyss truly was

Freminet had only a few seconds to process the size of the drop-off into the darker water before something shot out of the pitch black and wrapped around his tiny waist. The appendage pulled him down quickly until the light from the ocean above disappeared, the only light present being the bioluminescence from your body. The tips of your multiple tentacles were a bright, glowing blue that matched your eyes

As more long tentacles moved to wrap around his limbs Freminet began struggling harder, thrashing around and kicking as he attempted to swim out of your grasp. Yet they were all in vain as you restrained his slim arms and legs with a few glowing appendages, preventing him from escaping completely

True panic began to settle in as he felt something slide in between his legs, rubbing against his slit tantalizingly. A soft moan echoed within Freminet's helmet while your tentacle brushed back and forth, shuddering from some type of pleasure that he'd never felt before. Swiftly tearing his shorts and underwear off, the tip of your tentacle secreted a slick substance onto his pussy and lubed him up, prodding at his entrance until you pushed in gently

The sudden penetration caused Freminet to freeze up, his mouth falling open and eyes becoming droopy as his little hole was stretched open by something that he couldn't even see. He could only watch the glowing tip disappear as it slid in deeper, his virginity officially getting claimed by something that wasn't even human...

His cunt was stretched further when you pushed in a bit more, speeding up the thrusts and really beginning to fuck the little human. No longer fighting to escape, Freminet moaned like a whore inside of his helmet, enjoying the way your tentacle dragged against his walls with every thrust. Throwing his head back when you hit his sweet spot with one particular thrust, a motion that you took note of. Pounding his cunt harder and hitting that spot with each push into his body

It wasn't long before his very first orgasm hit him, cumming around the thick appendage that did not stop railing him even as his body trembled. His sensitive pussy clenched tightly around your tentacle until you finally released inside of him, filling Freminet's tight hole with bioluminescent cum as he seemingly milked everything out of you

After a minute of recovering from his climax, Freminet realized that you hadn't pulled out yet...your slimy tentacle still buried so far inside of him that he swore the tip was pressed against his womb.... Though his mind was a bit hazy, his body knew exactly what it wanted as his little hips moved of their own accord, attempting to fuck himself on your tentacle while you watched him curiously

Though he couldn't see it in the darkness, a toothy smile spread across your face. Eagerly thrusting into his tight pussy again, satisfied that your prey seemed just as needy as you were...

Reblogs are extremely appreciated <3

[mickyschumacher]

𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐂𝐀𝐊𝐄  .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you and lando have a pretty healthy relationship; communication is a breeze between the two of you. and while that seems good, it doesn't help lando is horny 24/7. even the beach isn't safe from him.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors dni), established relationship, some fluff, blowjob, slight handjob, breastplay, poor humour LMAO aka old creepy mens' dicks, no time concept lol, basically lando time!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: bf!lando norris x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: now playing: ice cream cake – red velvet! OKAY YES IK I HAVE REQUESTS BUT I HAD WRITER'S BLOCK TILL THIS OKAY? is it not obvious by the word count? 😭 alexa, play 'easy on me' by adele :( also new banners after i messed around one day! ♡︎ // proof-read-ish!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆  •°.  ｡  .°•  ⋆

You had met Lando two years ago purely on accident. You were at a coffee shop in Brighton, he was visiting a friend there. You ordered a hot chocolate and he had ordered a long black. Somehow the both of you had swapped cups and were wincing at how sweet or bitter the drink was.

Lando had turned his cup around to see who the cup belonged to. Upon seeing your name, unlike a normal person who would ask the barista for another cup or a refund, he had shouted your name across the room.

Lucky for you, you were the only other customer there since it was a slow day. Nevertheless, you looked up in shock. Who yelled out your name? Why? How did they know your name?

You actually purposely avoided eye-contact with his table just in case he was some weird guy. But Lando got your attention after telling you from across that room that you had some sweet taste in drinks.

You raised a brow. Was this some sort of new catcall you didn't know about? But then you had caught the barista's handwriting on 'your' cup. Lando, Long Black.

You scrunched your nose at the cup and looked at him. "You're quite bitter."

It was at that point when Lando had got a clear shot of your face and found his heart racing faster than normal. You were pretty, no gorgeous, no beautiful, no... surreal. Your face was contorted into a grimaced expression at his order which he found amusing. You looked like, what he still claims to this day, part of the shop's couch. The couch was brown and you were wearing a brown sweater.

Honestly, Lando couldn't find the whole situation anymore endearing. So with whatever confidence he had leftover, he walked up to your table and smoothly asked, "Can I get you a sweeter one with my number?"

Now this was when you first had probably got a look of Lando. He had a certain... boyish charm, if you will. The wide grin, sparkling blue eyes, face dotted with the odd freckle or beauty mark. To say he was attractive was an understatement. He looked like one of the main characters in the rom-coms you would binge when you needed a pick me-up.

You said yes. Obviously.

And here you were, two years later. At the beach with Lando, Charles, Carlos, Daniel, and their partners. You were all caught up with F1, always available for Lando. Your perspective of him had changed quite a lot since you had met him. In a good way, of course.

You initially saw him how a lot most of his fans and the media see him. A comedian by day and a moodmaker by night. Always smiling and cheery. Positive and optimistic. But the reality was that Lando struggled with the mental and physical aspects of F1. He didn't always have the confidence and he was stressed and depressed.

But as Lando always said in his interviews, he had found you.

'The best thing that had ever happened to him,' according to Lando himself.

Anyone could see that the two of you loved each other with your entire beings. Neither of you left any stone unturned in your relationship. Most people were jealous of your relationship. The drivers, the media, and especially the fans.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

━━━━━━━━━━━

One thing about Lando that you had learned quite soon after your first time together was that Lando was insatiable. He was sex-driven, horny, full of lust, aroused... all the words in the dictionary for a man like this... 24/7.

One day, you asked him why. Lando only responded with pulling you closer to him, leaving a trail of kisses from your jaw and down to your neck, and saying "You."

You wouldn't say anything did it for him. No in fact, it was specific things that he couldn't take his mind off once he thought about it.

Take right now for example.

Carlos had decided to treat everyone to ice creams, ice lollies, and juice on your trip to the beach in Playa de Bolonia. Innocently and naively, you had chosen the pink ice lolly out the chilly bin. Lando had also not thought anything of it.

Rather Lando had being eyeing you with every spare glance as you were wearing his favourite bikini, the one he had bought you for Christmas as a prank gift in the nice British winter thinking it had been the funniest thing ever. Obviously, he thought you were going to were it but another thing you had learned was that Lando's humour quite often was unmatched and spontaneous.

The bikini itself was simple. An orange, of course, two-piece. The top was held up by two moderately thin straps and hugged your breasts quite nicely. The bikini bottom was as normal as it could get, clinging to your hips. On top of it, you wore a white thin-laced cotton coverup, loosely tied together.

You would say it was an average beach look. Lando would disagree. It was as if God himself had carved you and decided to put you on Earth as reparations for the bad in the world.

But back to the point.

As mentioned, Lando hadn't really thought of the ice lolly. He was too busy trying to get Daniel back with a water gun. Like you said, boyish. It wasn't until he had finally got him back and decided to go sit down with you and grab himself some ice cream.

But when Lando sat down and looked at you, his mind had suddenly turned into shambles. There you were. Under the shade, peaks of sun shining on your skin, holding that pink ice lolly to your mouth.

Lando wasn't quite sure what was worse. The faint pink colour similar to his cock or the way your tongue travelled down the length of it to collect the melting sugary liquid. Or how your lips pressed up on the tip of the ice and pressed down to take an inch more of it into your mouth as if it was his own cock.

To make matters even worse for him, you had failed to capture some of the melting droplets. Lando keenly watched as they fell to your bare part of your chest and even had landed right where he knew your nipple was. His eyes widened ever so slightly and his breath paced when you frowned at the event and used your finger to wipe the sweet liquid off your skin and into your mouth. Some of it had gone too far down, probably pooling near your breasts like he imagined.

What sent him overboard? When you had spotted the stain on your bikini top over your nipple and attempted to rub it away, only making the stain worse and a small bump for your pebbled nipple.

Lando gulped nervously, pants incredibly tight. He closed his eyes and held his hands over his newly-formed hard on, wishing that his mind wasn't full of everything he had just seen. Your lips... your breasts... the way your eyes looked down at the popsicle... if only that was his cock....

"Lando? Dude, do you need to go to the bathroom?" Pierre's voice cut through the air.

Lando snapped his eyes opened and your eyes looked over to your boyfriend.

"W-What?" The British male queried with slight panic. He was not getting caught with a hard-on in front of his friends... there was no way in Earth...

Pierre raised a brow, gesturing to his pants. "You're ice cream is all melted. You need to take your eyes off Y/N at least sometimes, Lando, otherwise you'll never finish... your ice cream, that is," He teased.

You looked down at Lando's pants where his hands laid, covered in the white vanilla ice cream-turned liquid. You and everyone let out an amused laugh at Pierre's joke, shaking your head.

You stood up from the sandy grass you were sat on, dusting yourself off. You extended your hand to Lando, "Come on. I bought extra stuff in the car. Honestly, I thought you were going to lose your trunks by Daniel pantsing you in the water but I guess not."

A howl of laughter came from Charles and Carlos while Daniel cursed himself for not doing it.

Lando blinked, pulling the finger at his fellow drivers. He sighed, grabbing your hand and awkwardly standing up from the area, managing to cover up his bulge swiftly.

The two of you headed to the car as Lando briefly threw out the sticky wrapper and stick into a bin nearby. You opened the boot of the car, grabbing his trunks. "Jesus, could it get any hotter today?" You asked, closing the back door.

"It really couldn't," Lando mused, walking hand-in-hand with you, making you release a groan.

"Lando... now my hand's all sticky, you idiot," You complained, trying to pull apart from his hand.

Lando rolled his eyes, arriving to the empty males changing room. He was about to enter when he saw you stand outside and not follow him. "What are you doing? Come in."

You narrowed your eyes. "It's a male changing room. I'm not going in. What if there's some old man trying to change? I do not need to be scarred for life. My DMs is enough, thanks."

"First of all, there's no one here," Lando stated before shouting a loud 'Hello' into the room, making you redden with embarassment. "See? Secondly, I'm sorry, let me get this straight, your DMs are full of old men's dicks?" Lando looked at you incredulously.

You grinned, shrugging. "It's called being a woman, Lando. You wouldn't get it."

Lando rolled his eyes once again, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you into the changing room.

The room was the opposite of most changing rooms. It was tiled well, clean and fresh as opposed to musty, damp and with paint-chipped walls. There were also no leaky taps or showers or even any graffiti. It was slightly comforting to know that at least people respected some of their public rooms, even in Madrid.

"Wait, also, what if I get old? You don't want to see my shrivelled dick? It should turn you on!" Lando asked with a dramatic gasp.

You looked at your boyfriend through the mirror with a dumfounded expression. Turning, you threw his trunks at his face. "Go change," You laughed, shaking your head.

Lando grinned underneath the trunks as you turned the tap on to wash your sugar-coated hands.

Lando had removed his trunks, left naked with his hard, reddened cock slapping against his stomach, and was about to put on the new ones when a thought passed his mind.

You paused your hand-washing and froze when you felt Lando's arms wrap around your stomach, pulling you close to his bare body. "Lando," You yelped, feeling a shiver cross your body, "What are you doing?"

Lando peered down at you through his thick eyelashes. He tucked his chin into your shoulder, placing a brief kiss. "What?" He asked innocently, "I'm just washing my hands. I can't get the new ones dirty either."

You watched through the mirror as he pressed his body into you, washing his hands under the tap, ridding the tackiness on his hands.

You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling his cock push into your backside. It was bare, you realised, as the heat spread into you. Your eyes flickered to Lando through the mirror, squinting at him. He wasn't...

Lando caught your eyes staring hard at him. "Don't look at me like that," He whispered into your ear, a loose grin hanging on his face. His wet fingers travelled to the poorly tied lace coverup you wore, undoing the knot with ease. The coverup fell against your shoulders, revealing your bikini and body in all it's glory.

"You have to clean up as well," Lando shrugged, eyes fixated on you through the mirror. "You made a mess," He murmured, wetting his fingers with the water once more before placing it against your chest.

You pressed your lips tightly, feeling his fingers drive down your skin and underneath your bikini top. Lando's fingers brushed your hardened nipples, making you shudder under his touch. His fingers trailed across your breasts, wiping away any of that sticky residue that you had missed. Bringing his fingers to his mouth and taking a wide lick of them, Lando grinned at you. "You know... I can't stop picturing you sucking my dick like that ice lolly. Never thought I would be jealous of an ice lolly."

You couldn't help but smile in amusement. You pulled away from his hold and turned to face your boyfriend. "Yeah?" You hummed, hands trailing down his chest. Lando had been working out a lot more these days for F1; compared to before his abs had become more prominent and toned. You loved Lando no matter what he looked like, but there was something about the way his skin flushed when you touched his torso.

Lando's breath hitched as your hand had ever so naturally found it's way to his cock. His cock, if you could say it, was pretty. It was average in length and with a nice, filling girth, stretching all of your holes wide.

Your fingers brushed across the tip of his head, just grazing his slit. You could feel Lando jolt in your hands as he muttered, “Fuck.”

You opened your mouth, letting a drop of saliva full into his cock. Hand wrapped around it, you gently rubbed natural lube up and down his shaft. Lando’s jaw clenched at the warm liquid nestling around his cock, letting a sharp exhale through gritted teeth.

Slowly you sunk down to your knees. The tiled floor was cold against your burning skin but it didn’t matter: you were too focused on what was right in front of you; cockdrunk. Your tongue darted out to swipe your lips before pressing a light kiss to his cock. Lando could feel himself twitch, aching to be in your mouth.

He watched as your lips opened like they did on that ice lolly. Going down in his cock, your lips stretched and your mouth hollowed.

Lando groaned at the warmth surrounding his cock. He bit down on his lip, watching his cock disappear into your mouth. Your eyes were on him as you sucked him, teeth barely grazing his skin.

"Fuck, you look so pretty like this, Y/N," Lando sighed out, "On your knees for me. I can't imagine the mess you made between those legs of yours, hmm?"

You moaned in response, sending a vibration around his cock. You briefly pulled away from him, making Lando grunt in slight annoyance at the loss. "These lips, my pussy.... all yours," You winked at him before returning to his cock.

Lando tensed at your words, letting a grin overtake him. "Yeah? Let's see about that throat, baby?" His hands reached your half dry and half damp, salty hair. Wrapping those long tresses around his hand and wrist, he tightened his grip. He could feel you open up your throat as he guided his cock down the tighter tunnel.

Lando's rasping groan made you clench your thighs, holding a barrier to the wetness leaking at of you. You could feel him begin to move his hips, beginning to push his cock into your throat.

Fighting the urge to gag around his cock, you tried hard to relax your cheeks and mouth, allowing every inch of him to be seated in your throat.

He flickered his eyes to you. Watching you take him in his mouth was a pleasure of its own. Your big eyes were glassy with tears of arousal and a haze of lust, sweat and saliva lingered at every edge of your skin, and your lips were puffy and red. Trailing his eyes further down, he spotted your bare neck in dire need of kisses, but that wasn't the most striking thing about it. It was the slight bulge of his cock in your throat making it's presence known.

Jesus...

Lando instinctively closed his eyes upon feeling your hands touch his balls. You rubbed them gently, feeling your head bob at an increased rate to match the sudden pace of Lando's cock in your throat.

"Fuck, fuck... I..." Lando moaned. "I'm gonna cum!" Lando hissed out, feeling a familiar bubbling feeling overcome. His thrusts become harder and faster, your nose flushed with his skin.

His moans became irregular and higher, chasing his release. "Fuck...." A guttural groan fell from his lips. Hot, salty white strips of his cum coated the inside of your mouth, swirling around after each drop was sucked from your lips. Almost painfully, Lando removed himself from your mouth. His chest rose up and down as he breathed out heavily.

An admiring smile came from Lando while he pulled you up to meet his face. He pushed your sweaty hair back. "That mouth of yours is evil," He narrowed his eyes playfully.

"You should shut me up then," You quipped back, sticking out your tongue that still had his cum on it.

Lando's eyes sparkled with amusement before he brought his lips to yours, darting his tongue into your mouth. The urgency in the action was understated. God, he could taste himself in you. His hands encapsulated your waist, flushing your barely clothed body to close his naked one. Your own hands travelled everywhere across his chest as the two of you kissed each other.

The muffled moans from you made Lando want to hear them out loud. Slowly he moved from your lips to your jaw. "Let me hear you, baby," He breathed out, placing smaller kisses as he reached your neck.

You let out a small whimper, neck tilting so Lando could get more access. Lando grinned at the sight of your bare neck, leaving small little nibbles across your skin. His lips eventually became settled in an area between your ear and collarbone, beginning to suck at your warmth.

"Lando," You moaned, "No, the others will realise."

Your refutes were ill-attempted even for yourself. You were dazed at the suction of his lips. His nose buried into your neck while he created a fresh layer of purple against your sun-kissed skin.

Lando released himself from your neck, eyeing down his creation with a smirk. "There. If they couldn't tell from your hair, they'll definitely know now."

You narrowed your eyes, turning to the mirror only for your eyes to widen in shock. "Jesus fucking Christ, Lando," You peered at the big purple brown splotch on your skin. "As if the 20 minutes we've spent here wasn't enough," You whined.

Lando laughed softly, standing behind you with his arms around your waist and chin resting on your head. "Well... if you make it through the shame, I can't wait to properly fuck you when we get home. You must know how much I love the way you look when I’m inside you."

Your head fell against his chest with a pout. "Why not now?"

Lando grinned before pressing a kiss to your head "Like you said... it's been 20 minutes."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[dcxdpdabbles]

The Kid of Candles

Jason Todd has been living on the streets for a while now. Ever since his mom overdosed, he's been struggling to find shelter. He was doing better in the summer and fall, but now bitter winter had come to Gotham, and it was taking everything he had not to freeze to death.

There were a lot of kids like him and even more that went to sleep but never woke up after a snowstorm. Jason is still tiny, and very new, and that means he's an easier target. He has met kids who pretend to be kind in order to steal from him but he's also met some who were willing to share what little they had.

He wouldn't call them friends. Just other survivors. He is currently in a camp created by these survivors. Street kids have carved their own place on the streets simply by staying alive the longest, and casually they allow the smaller ones in for the bad weather with the understanding that the younger ones were to leave as soon as the sun was up.

He is trying to warm up next to the lit fire by one of the older street kids when a teenager stands on a little crate. The teenager starts tapping a piece of wood against a small amount of metal like they are trying to make a toast.

He's unsure about their gender; they always tell people they are not a girl or a boy, but they are the leader of the little pack of street urchins and the only ones willing to share the small blankets.

They go by Rowan, and Rowan adores campfire stories as if they were just some rich kids paying to go out into the woods and sleep in tents instead of shivering unwanted brats sleeping on rolled-up newspapers. Some street kids groan and roll their eyes, but not Jason.

Rowan's stories are the closest he can get now to books. Before, he would read and escape to the magical world found among letters away from his mother's addiction and the worsening living conditions. Books were his comfort and one of the things he missed the most from his home.

"Gather around, gather around children, and listen to the tale of the Kid of Candles!" Rowan starts, cracking their voice into a gleeful cackle. The older ones scoff, but the younger kids all turn their attention to the ringleader.

Jason moves away from the fire to sit right in front of the crate, pulling his knees to his chest as he settles. Someone takes his spot by the fire, and he hopes the story is worth the loss. "Long ago, when Gotham was first founded by Captain Jon Logerquist, he claimed to follow a bright white light that led him right to Gotham River after suffering the loss of his entire crew to a sea storm. He would have died had he not lit the last candle on the ship- a black candle. The candle attracted the attention of a unique child, who appeared on his deck among the bright light. A boy with snow white hair, glowing green eyes, and sharp teeth pulled into a kind smile."

The children gasped as even Jason leaned closer, captivated by Rowan's smooth voice. "Captain Jon Logerquist was able to rebuild his ship and return home to report the ideal location for a new city. The founding families, the Waynes, the Kanes, the Elliots, and the Cobblepots, all agreed to take the Logerquist's request and loaded their four family ships with volunteers to start Gotham. Still, they soon became lost when Captain Logerquist tragically passed along the trip. As he was the only person who knew the way, the new crew and civilians quickly panicked, getting further and further away from the location that would later be Gotham. They attempted to turn around, hoping to return home, but navigation tactics were not working. It was almost as if the waters and stars moved, wanting to claim as many victims as possible. This would later be known as Gotham's Orginal Curse."

Rowan paused to wiggle their fingers at the crowd of ten children and a few teenagers- the ones from Rowan's original gang- all made the appropriate ooooohhhhh sounds. Jason shivers as a storage sense of pressure settles around his shoulders. It felt like the city itself was listening to the tale. He wonders if anyone else felt it.

"They quickly ran out of food, and the passengers even began speaking of eating each other to survive. A young Wayne boy, one of the few who could read, found Logerquist's journal in his cabin and decided to try lighting a black candle while the adults argued." Rowan continues mimicking, opening a book, and lighting a candle. That's another thing Jason liked about Rowman's stories. They tended to act out some scenes, and it was highly entertaining.

"Just like before, a bright white light appeared before the lite black candle, and a boy with snow white hair, glowing green eyes, and a kind, sharp smile told the Waynes to follow him, which they agreed to. The three other family ships reluctantly followed when the Waynes broke away from the formation and arrived at Gotham. There, they found all the resources they needed to survive and riches beyond their wildest dreams. Since then, the Kid of Candles has appeared throughout Gotham's history, leading those who are lost to their homes whenever a black candle is lit. It is said to this day if you are genuinely lost and light a black candle, the Kid of Candles will appear but be warned, his assistance always comes with a price,"

Jason gasped as the pressure increased around him. Seriously how had no one else felt it yet? "What is the price?"

Rowan snaps their fingers at him with a sinister smile. "Death. When you ask the dead for help, they will ensure you join them as a repayment. Maybe not the same day, maybe not for years, but he will claim you eventually."

A few kids whimpered.

"Oh, knock it off, Rowan," A teenage girl snaps. "You're scaring the little ones with your stupid urban myths."

"Gotham myths are not stupid!" Rowan's gasps hurt. "They are the closest accurate account of Gotham's real history!"

"Sure, just like the Court of Owls and their Talons." the girl rolls her eyes.

"Those are real. The Court's Talons should not be taken lightly. They are far worse than the Kid of Candle. At least he is benevolent enough to help you home!"

Jason retreats to his corner of the abandoned warehouse factory, ignoring the bickering of the teenage gang. He sits with his back to the wall, his feet tucked close to his chest, and all his things squished between his body and a second wall on his right. It's uncomfortable but ideal for keeping what little he has safe and making it easier to get up and run should the need arise.

He found that the need came a lot more often than he liked. He nods off after trying to squeeze his body closely together to hopefully gather warmth.

The following day, a teenager kicks him in the side, sneering that the free space-time is over and Rowan wants him out in ten minutes. Jason doesn't have to be told twice, gathering his things and scurrying to the exit. As he passed Rowan, he offered the elder a nod of thanks, and the storyteller gave him a wink and grin.

They also press a black candle into Jason's palm. "Hey he brought me to my gang, so why can't he lead you?"

Jason smiles, no commenting, and pockets the candle without hesitation. He may need to sleep here again and doesn't think calling bullshit will be a smart move.

It's best not to offend the crazy leader. A day goes by where he panhandles out of the cop's sight, wandering around the city looking for some food, and even gets a rich guy to give him fifty bucks after asking politely, but he runs when he asks if he has somewhere safe to sleep.

All in all, not the worst day. That night, he returns to Rowan's place but is told they already have too many. Disheartened, Jason wanders to sleep under a bridge by Gotham River. As he shivers near the frozen water, he thinks of the black candle.

He has a few matches on him, and maybe the small candle can help him start a bigger fire to keep warm. Jason strikes his match The pressure from before returns making him waver for only a moment before he dares set the wake aflame.

A few seconds go by with nothing happening, and he's just about getting embarrassed for believing in a stupid urban legend when he's blinded by the brightest light he's ever seen. A floating boy with white hair, green glowing eyes, and a broad smile appears before Jason.

He screams, stumbling back to fall on his butt as the boy floats to touch the ground before him.

The boy smile widens. "Hello Jason, it's time to go home."

Jason runs, but it gives chase, throwing out directions. He attempts to do whatever it is- by going the opposite direction, but it's to no avail. Jason knows Gotham like the back of his hand and swears the streets are moving. Roads that are blocks away from each other are right around the corners he takes.

Soon, an unnatural light blue fog surrounds him, blocking his view of anything more than two feet before him. He glances over his shoulder, confirming the mist is coming from the glowing figure that flies behind him at an easy, steady pace.

He picks up his speed.

Jason doesn't understand what's happening, but he remembers Rowan's voice as he pumps his legs to go as fast as they can to the point they burn. This would later be known as Gotham's Orginal Curse."

Oh god, he's been cursed by the Kid of Candles!

"We're here. I hope you have a lovely life with your new family." The being suddenly says hand on Jason's elbow, causing the boy to trip over and hit against a large metal gate. The fog disperses like a blown-away candle, and the Kid of Candles vanishes in its smoke as the gates of Intercon turn on.

"Wayne Manor. Who might you-" a voice with a British accent speaks over the speakers, but Jason cuts them off with a frightful yelp.

"Help! Help! Please, he's going to kill me!" He shouts, eyes swinging around the new place he is. He thinks he doesn't recognize this place at all, which means he's somewhere out of the city- the outskirts. Where the wealthy live.

It would take a good two hours by car to get here, and The Kid of Candles got him here in ten by bending reality or something. And now Jason owed it something.

He owed it his death.

He crumbles into sobs, so terrified his heart feels like it will escape from his chest. "Please. I don't want to die. I don't want to die."

There is a long pause, where all Jason can hear is his own uneven breathing and the beating of his chest, before the gates swing open, and a slightly older teenager- probably around Rowan's age- is offering him a hand.

"Hi, I'm Dick. I think I can help you if you come inside."

Jason stares at the hand for a few seconds, but from the corner of his eye, he swears he sees a boy watching them and quickly takes the hand.

His right elbow has a new tattoo he never paid for. It's a burning black candle, right where the Kid had touched him. It's also the same tattoo on Rowan's right hand. Jason cries for hours when he finds it.

Years later, Jason will admit that the Kid of Candles truly did help him find a home. He would come to love Bruce like father, as the man took him in, mistaking Jason as an escapee of human trafficking, and was there to buffer the misunderstanding between him and Dick.

He would point out that Dick called him dad outside the house, and Bruce would sit his eldest down to ask if he was okay with an adoption. Dick would settle with the knowledge that Bruce didn't keep him around to fight crime, and he would open his heart to Jason as a brother.

He would grow to follow in his brother's footsteps and become Robin- after making sure Dick was okay with it- and would help his new father fight crime. When Jason is fourteen, he finds out his mother is not his biological, and he learns his real mom is still alive.

He asks Dick and Bruce for help to find her, so the three load the plane as the Waynes instead of the Bats, and thus they help put her away together when the met-up goes south.

She tries to sell them to the Joker, but Bruce overhears her and gets authorities to him in mere minutes, long before the Joker can meet up with her.

She is in cuffs and being led away from the warehouse where the Joker was going to wait for her.

In the chaos, Jason notices the glowing white-haired boy smiling at the warehouse entrance, but Jason doesn't go near it. Not even after it explodes, killing the Joker who was inside. Not even when Bruce holds them close, horrified that they could have been so close to the explosion- they were in civilian identities and needed to put up a show- but he does notice that the Candle on his elbow is shorter.

That night Jason traces the shorter melted candle and he knows he escaped death once more. He doesn't know how he knows but something deep within him knows the Kid of Candles hand something to do with it.

He would swing by Rowan's place as Robin and Jason Wayne to help them and their gang get off the streets.

Rowan would one day open a bookstore, where they would hold weekly storytelling, naming the store the Black Candle in thanks to the spirit that led them to his lifelong friends.

Jason will, however, never get over his fear of ghosts, not even when the same green fog would one night lead the neighbor's boy right to their yard. His little brother, Tim, thought The Kid of Candles was kind, handsome, and awesome (might be a crush in all honestly) but Jason will always know it was much more dangerous than meets the eye.

All things in Gotham are deadly beautiful like that.

The Waynes still have a drawer full of black candles they take out in the field, just in case.

(Danny Phantom watches Jason sleep, his protection core warming as the boy cuddles with Tim after his little brother admitted to a nightmare. He's glad they found somewhere that could offer everything they needed in a home.

A house and a home are two very different things, after all.

It reminds him of when he was alive.

A candle is flickered on somewhere in the city, and he blinks out of existence, ready to help- Steph- get away from her father. Hmmm, well, Bruce does have the space for more kids)

[stargirllanaa]

୨⎯ "Bad Liar" - R.C

❥ Masterlist

Warnings: NONCON smut, Dark!Rafe, Toxic relationship, abusive relationship, Domestic violence, mentions of drinking, rafes pretty bad as usual

Summary: You snuck out to hang with the pogue’s… bad idea. Idea is from a comment on this post.

A/n ✎: OMG thank you for 200 followers!! I started writing Rafe like 3 weeks ago but the overwhelming support has been so motivating <333 love you all sm! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed!!! Btw my request are open again, don’t be shy ;)

Wc: 2.1k

18+ MINORS DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!

You quietly entered your house, locking the door behind you. It was 2 am, and you had just driven home from the other side of the island because you had to sneak around to hang out with your friends. Your boyfriend Rafe didn't like your choice of friends, often calling them ‘dirty pogues’ and claiming that they were all ‘trying to turn you against him,’ and that pissed you off.

Just because Rafe had a problem with Pogues didn't mean you had to, and frankly, his reasoning for hating them so much was stupid; because of his issue with them, you were frequently isolated. Still, you wouldn't let Rafe stop you from having a social life outside of him, so you would sometimes sneak out late at night, go to the cut, visit your friends, and return home like nothing had happened.

You did feel guilty about going behind Rafe's back, but what could you do? You weren't going to cut all your friends off because Rafe told you to. It wasn't like you were cheating.

You made sure to cover all of your tracks. Knowing Rafe had your location, you left your phone at home every time you snuck out. You always left at night so you could text Rafe ‘goodnight,’ and he wouldn't suspect anything from you not responding, and you would always make it back in three hours at the most just to be careful. You knew if Rafe found out about you sneaking around, he would be furious; you had been disobeying his wishes for months and lying to his face.

As you crept up your stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible, you couldn't help but smile; even though you hated to admit it, you and Rafe never had fun. I mean, you two had ‘fun’ in his way, like going golfing, parties, ‘Rafe stuff,’ but you two would never do anything you wanted to do, and with The Pogues, it was the opposite; you got to get messy, get drunk on the beach even do girly things like braid Sarah's hair or have Kie paint your nails, things that you could never do with rafe. It was a relief to do something you enjoyed.

You opened the door to your bedroom, which was pitch black; you had turned all your lights out before you left; you felt around on the wall for the light switch, flipping it upwards. The lights momentarily blinded you, but you jumped when you saw the manlike figure on your bed. When your eyes finally focused, it was worse than what you expected.

Rafe was sitting on your bed, staring directly at you; his face was unreadable and emotionless, which was terrifying. Your boyfriend was usually expressive, the type to lash out when angry; you had never seen him this calm, and you certainly didn't expect him to be calm after catching you going behind his back.

You stood frozen in the doorway, unable to tear your gaze away from him or move. This didn't feel real.

“Where were you?” Rafe asked, breaking the silence; his voice was monotone, empty of emotion as he sat on your bed, just looking at you.

Your throat felt dry, and your tongue heavy with unsaid words. You struggled to find your voice and form a coherent response, and the utter shock and fear rendered you speechless.

“I don't want to repeat myself,” Rafe mumbled under his breath; he was allowing you to come clean and save yourself from whatever he had planned if he caught you in a lie.

“I was…” you blinked a couple of tears back, thinking of what to say. “I went to the gas station… to get some.” you looked up and then back at him, fidgeting with your hands. “snacks.” you lied, voice cracking from nerves.

Rafe smirked, slighting, breaking his calm facade. Did this amuse him?

“Right.” Rafe nodded, looking at his lap as if he was thinking about what you just said. “So you went to the gas station, right?” he asked, awaiting a response.

You nodded, but you couldn't stop the tears from glazing your eyes and your whole body from trembling.

“And you left your phone at home?” Rafe questioned you, head tilting slightly and his eyes narrowing.

You completely forgot that since Rafe was waiting for you in your room and most likely saw your phone on your nightstand. Your lies were falling apart before your eyes.

“I forgot-” You mumbled quietly, still standing in your doorway. You hoped you weren't loud enough to wake anyone in your house, but you were too scared to get closer to Rafe.

“Y/n,” Rafe muttered, pushing himself off the bed, now standing in front of it. “I'm done with the lies. Alright?” the blonde sighs, now talking with his hands. “I've been here for,” he looks down at his expensive watch, taking in the time. “2 hours,” Rafe admits, fist clenching to his side.

Your face fell when he said that, he had caught you; he had to know; there was no excuse or lie you could think of to justify why you were at the gas station for 2 hours in the middle of the night. Your heart started to beat faster, and your tears finally spilled over; you weren't just scared, you were terrified; you didn't want to admit to hanging out with the Pogues, but what else could you do? You had tried lying and failed, making the situation worse, and Rafe probably already expected the worst. I mean, you were sneaking out in the middle of the night. That would look like cheating to anyone.

“And I don't see any snacks either.” Rafe sighs as he combs his finger through his hair.

He was right; you didn't even think of that; you were a horrible liar.

“So I'm going to ask you one more time.” Rafe’s posture was stiff, and his hands were shaky, “where. Were. you.” his tone was sharp, and his breathing was speeding up as he waited for your response.

“I was at the chateau…ok?!” You blurted out loudly, quickly covering your mouth after realizing your door was still open. “John B’s place, it was me, Sarah.” his eyes rolled when you mentioned his sister, “Kiara, Pope, JJ.” You were now half whispering and hyperventilating simultaneously; your tears were prevalent as you told your boyfriend everything. There was no point in lying anymore, he had caught you, and he was pissed.

“We were just hanging out, and I'm sorry; I know I should have-” You were just saying anything that came to mind, trying to improve this situation, word vomit.

“Come here.” Your boyfriend mumbled, cutting you off; his voice was low and shaky.

You shook your head. ‘No,’ you didn't want to be anywhere near him right now; you had just admitted to lying to him multiple times and didn't want to face the consequences.

“Ok,” he shakes his head before running his hand through his hair again and saying something under his breath that you didn't quite catch.

Before you knew it, he was charging at you. You tried to run out the doorway, but as soon as you turned, one of his arms was wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his stiff chest, and with the other, he used his hand to cover your mouth in one swift motion before using his foot to shut your door.

“You were lying to me.” he hissed into your ear, pushing you against your wall, back facing him. “Calculating plans behind my back.” he used the hand that was around your waist to grab a chuck of your hair, forcing your head to snap to the side. “To hang out with dirty Pogues.” he was now gripping your hair so tight you felt it might come out of your head. “And probably sleep with them behind my back.” His voice didn't raise once as he automatically assumed the worst.

You couldn't deny his claims; his hand was over your mouth tight, your parents were right upstairs, and he knew that.

“How many times? Huh?” Rafe questioned you, pulling your hair back just enough to make eye contact, and when you looked into his eyes, they didn't look normal; they were dark. “How many times did you fuck those disgusting Pogues while you pretend to be asleep?” he was dead serious.

He slowly moved his hand from over your mouth, waiting for you to respond, but when you let out a loud cry instead, he quickly covered it again before slamming your head against the wall, which was also noisier than he expected.

In Rafe's mind, he couldn't accept the fact that you and another guy could just be friends, especially not you and a Pogue; in Rafe's mind, you 100% cheated on him, and there was no convincing him otherwise. He was disgusted; who knows where those pogues had been or who they had been in? They were filthy and grimy; who knows what you could have given him.

“You're disgusting.” Rafe whispers in your ear before flipping your body around to face him, stuck between him and the walls.

“I can't believe I trusted you.” His hand was now grabbing at your hair again, gripping the top of your scalp and using it as leverage to push you down on your knees in front of him.

You fought back, trying to stand straight, but Rafe quickly overpowered you. And before you knew it, you were kneeling before him like he wanted.

“I'm going to let go of you, and if you make any noise…” he paused momentarily, looking deeply into your eyes. “I'll kick your fucking teeth in.” he threatened, voice still shaking. “Understand?”

You nodded to the best of your ability with his tight grip on your hair and face.

When he let go, you tried your best to stay quiet, letting out little cries and whimpers, but not enough for him to fulfill his threat. The tears hadn't stopped since he'd caught you, and you were so fucking exhausted from all the fun you had earlier and now the pain, accusations, and tears. But when you looked up to see Rafe unbuttoning his pants, you couldn't keep quiet.

“No-” You protested quietly, as you started to hyperventilate, tears now fully clouding your vision. “Rafe-” You couldn't even catch your breath. You were panicking.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rafe demanded quietly, but his tone was still harsh as he pulled down his pants.

“I can't breathe-” You were cut off by Rafe pushing your head, causing it to slam against the wall; you immediately rubbed the back of your head to soothe the pain as you cried harder.

Rafe was getting more annoyed with you by the second, jaw ticking every time he looked at you. He grabbed your chin roughly, pulling your face closer to his crotch.

“I told you to shut the fuck up.” Rafe sneered as he used his other hand to pull his boxers down and begin stroking his cock right in front of your face.

You couldn't stop crying. You couldn't believe this was happening; just an hour ago, you were out with your friends, having fun, not even worried about your boyfriend. You had gotten away with sneaking out so many times already; how could you have known today would be any different?

“Open your mouth,” Rafe demanded as he held his cock right in front of your lips.

You tried to turn your head to the side, but Rafe wasn't having it. His grip on your chin got tighter and tighter until you tried to cry out in pain, but as soon as you opened your mouth, he got what he wanted.

His hand holding your chin was back on your hair as he guided your head up and down at a quick, harsh pace. Sounds of gags and rafes and low moans filled the room. It was music to his ears but traumatizing for you.

“Fuck y/n.” Rafe moaned out, “I'm gonna miss this.”

You were a little confused, but if you were being honest, you were barely listening to Rafe anyway, too emotionally broken to pay attention to whatever he was saying.

“Can't be with a bitch who would fuck a pogue,” Rafe grunted out.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Enjoyed my fic? Leave feedback! Comment/reblog!

Wanna see more? Check out my fic Sweet little lies.

Also tagging @necroflame (bc I lied about the post time to many times 😭) and @fabienne6656 for the idea!!! Thx bye..

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OMG. Hiiii. I love Tom Riddle and Theodore Nott. So I am totally going to ask you if you are comfortable to write either Professor Tom or a Professor Theo x fem reader fic with smut. Feel free to ignore this but I really struggle to find Professor Tom fics and Idk how to write them 😅

Professor Tom Riddle x f!reader

Warnings: strong language, toxic behaviour, manipulation, SMUT reader is a student in the beginning (still over 18!), reader becomes a little bit unhinged towards the middle (who wouldn't after meeting TR?) 18+MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Author's Note: Wow, this took me ages to post! I was having a break from this blog due to my exams, but I promise I will be more active from now on. Also, this is actually my first smut! (Idk how to write them either, so I do hope you like it.) I tried to build some plot into it, so it is not just filthy p*rn, haha. Thank you so much for your request! <3

There are moments that change your life. Moments when you realise you will never be the same and your whole existence is divided into two parts - before this, and after this.

For you, this moment was meeting Tom Riddle.

The memories of that rainy day when your gazes crossed for the first time continue to haunt your thoughts almost every second of your existence. And no matter how hard you try to forget, they become more and more vivid. Sometimes you wonder if you are actually reliving it or if it is just a fruit of your imagination.

The rain was so cold that day, that your whole body was shivering under your soaking clothes. You were running across the courtyard, trying to get inside as soon as possible. Both of your hands were clutching your bag on top of your head, trying to prevent the water from getting into your eyes. You were almost at the door when your body collided with someone, and you lost your balance falling into a muddy puddle.

You looked up, ready to give a piece of your mind to whoever made you end up like this, but your words got stuck in your throat the moment your gaze crossed his.

Eyes as dark as the night. Skin as pale as the moonlight. Hair falling in elegant curls on top of the most beautiful face you have ever seen. He silently offered you his hand, before he took off his jacket and wrap it around your trembling figure.

"Are you alright?", he asked. His voice was smooth like honey, yet deep. You couldn't do anything else other than slowly nod before your cheeks turned a light shade of red. He offered you a small smirk, before guiding you inside the castle. No words were exchanged between you after that.

Looking back, you are sure that this was the moment that changed your life.

You didn't know who he was at first. He looked so young, that it was natural to assume he was your age. You have not seen him before, so he must be a transfer student, just like you were a year ago. "He did not wear a robe, so he must not been sorted yet", you said to your friends later that day and they just shook their heads. No one has heard of any transferring students this year, yet here you were claiming you have seen in the flesh the man of your dreams.

And you were almost convinced you were dreaming a few days later when you found yourself sitting in the back of the class, while he was neatly writing his name on the black board.

Professor Riddle.

"As your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, I would like to establish a few ground rules right now", his voice was calm but dominant, "Always come prepared. I do not tolerate lazy students. No talking during class. No questions during lessons. If there is anything you do not understand, you can either conduct your own research in the library or visit one of my additional sessions every third Friday of the month."

Unlike you, the majority of the students have already heard of Tom and some even knew him personally, as he graduated just a few years ago. They carefully listened to all his rules, noting everything they should do to stay on his good side. No matter the house, the respect and fear felt towards Tom was felt by all students. You would lie if you said that this did not include you.

Yet in two weeks time during his first Friday session, you found yourself leaning over your notebook, while Tom was calmly explaining the lesson material to you. You were nodding your head, not paying even a little bit of attention to what he was saying. All you could focus on was the sound of his voice and the tingles that covered your whole body every time he lifted his eyes to your face, checking if were actually following.

"I am curious, miss, for the real purpose of your visit today", he said once you started packing your bag. You immediately froze in place, cold sweat forming on the back of your neck. Your trembling hands closed your bag before you turned to him with a tight-lipped smile.

"I am not sure I understand what you mean, professor."

He offered you a small smile, before grabbing his coat and briefcase and making his way towards you. Stopping just a step away from you, he lifted his hands toward your neck, making you gulp. You stood still, expecting him to wrap his hand around your throat, while his eyes burned into yours. His long fingers inched closer and closer to your skin, before wrapping around your tie and adjusting it so it could be centred.

"I am a patient and understanding man, miss", he said, his hand resting on the piece of cloth for a few more seconds, before moving away, "But I am no fool."

And you knew his words to be true. Because if there was a fool here, that was you. You knew it was wrong to pursue the foolish feelings that started to blossom in your chest. Despite the age difference being only a few years, falling for a professor was never a good idea. But how could you stop yourself when every time his eyes laid upon you there was a feeling of longing behind them? The small touches on your arms, every time he tried to explain to you the parts of the textbook you claimed "not to understand", the way his lips curved in a small smirk every time you volunteered to help during demonstrations in class, the way his gaze darkened that time he saw your friend's arms wrapped around your shoulders during dinner...

He may have thought he was subtle, but you knew there was some part of him that desired you as much as you did.

"What do you think of me, professor?", you asked one day, while sitting on the desk, arranging papers. As you were the only student who showed any interest in DADA sessions outside the scheduled classes, Tom moved the Friday meetings to his private office. They also started to happen every week, rather than once per month. And often, you were helping him with work, rather the other way around. "Why?", his gaze lifted from the papers he was grading, eyebrows furrowing in suspicion. He laid his pen down, crossing his arms in front of his chest and resting his body back on his chair. You sat next to him on a smaller wooden chair, but your hands did not stop arranging the graded exams, and neither did your focus move from them.

"I am...", you took a deep breath, thinking how to phrase your explanation, "Curious, I guess."

Tom watched you with interest, noting the way that your voice trembled in the beginning. Looking up at your face, his eyes trailed every single one of your features, before stopping at your lips.

"You are a good student", he finally said, his tone flat. Your shoulders immediately slumped and you let out a quiet "Oh.", your fingers now pressing the tower of papers on its sides to make sure it is stable. The silence between you grew longer as you tried your best to hide the disappointment you felt from his answer. Tom, on the other hand, was still staring at your face, trying to read your emotions based on your pursed lips and furrowed brows.

"All finished. I think it is better if I go", you finally said, unable to sit in his presence anymore. You stood up, ready to grab your bag from the floor, when cold fingers wrapped themselves around your wrist halting you in place. Tom stood up from his chair, moving behind you. Laying his free hand on the side of your waist, he leaned towards you, nose just a few inches from your hair. He took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume, and let out a low groan.

"What I really think...", he murmured, the fingers on your waist digging into your flesh, "is not something I shall voice out loud. The thoughts that flood my mind every time I see you are too..."

Your breath hitched.

"Too?"

"Sinful", you felt his breath on the back of your ear and your body involuntarily shivered. Before you could think of an answer, his hands left your body and he took a step back. You turned around, eager to close the distance again, but were stopped by him grabbing your shoulder and gently pushing you away.

"Do not", he warned, "do not make this harder for both of us."

"But I-"

"I think it is best if you leave."

You gulped. And the first time your eyes did not cast down in shame - instead you held his gaze, your expression hardening.

"You cannot do this to me", your voice trembled, "Toying with my feelings , then pushing me away."

He raised his brow and his hand fell from your shoulder. You stood in place, not making any attempts to get closer.

"I did not do such thing", his voice sounded low and dark, his eyes suddenly turning colder, "In fact, I am telling you now... Whatever hope you hold in your heart about anything happening between us, you should kill it now."

"But you said-"

"I know what I said", he interrupted you impatiently, "And I mean it. But whatever affection I have towards you does not change the fact you are my student."

Your fingers wrapped around the edge of your skirt and you clenched your jaw, moving your gaze towards the door. The rational part of your brain was telling you to just grab your bag and dash through the door. The other part, the one led by your heart, was screaming at you to stay and confront him. It did not take you long to decide which one to listen to.

"Why does it matter?", you snapped, "I am an adult already. And you are only a few years older. It is not illegal or anything!"

Tom let out an annoyed sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, before running his fingers through his dark curls. He turned around and walked around the desk, before slamming his hands on the hard surface.

"Merlin, you just do not understand!", his voice was full with irritation, "I can not lose my job. I can not lose everything I have worked for!"

"We can hide it", you protested, gluing yourself to his side and gripping his bicep, "Only for a few months! Only till I graduate!"

The man tore your hands away from his arm, cupping them in his palms instead. He tilted his head, searching your eyes, which were now starting to form tears of stress and frustration.

His face suddenly relaxed. The air between you felt lighter and a new spark of hope started to burn inside of you. His finger made its way to your cheek and wiped one of the tears that started to trail down your skin.

"Is it not curious, how weak love makes a man?", his finger trailed down to your jaw, before cupping it, "And no spell in this world is strong enough to save a man that has already fallen."

Your head instinctively leaned towards his hand and you closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of warmth of his skin on yours. If you could only freeze time, you would stay in this moment forever.

"I don't want to be saved", you murmured and despite not being able to see him, you could feel the small smile that grazed his lips once you said it. You freed your hands from his and wrapped them around his torso, burying your head in his chest. It took a few seconds for him to embrace your body, resting his chin on the top of your head.

And if you could only see the satisfied smirk and cold gaze on Tom's face, you would have known how true his words are. There is no spell in this world that could save you not that you have already fallen...

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You can't say exactly when the dream had turned into a nightmare.

Private sessions became everyday afternoon meetings, where you talked about different random topics. Tom never opened up about his past, even his Hogwarts years. On the other hand, he was a good listener and without you realising it, he managed to unravel your whole family history just within a week.

His silent nature did not bother you, however. You finally had someone who listened to you. You slowly started to detach from your friends, excusing your unnatural behaviour on all the extra academic work you were taking. They were worried, but every time they tried to voice their concerns, you rolled your eyes, before running to Tom to tell him about their words. "They are just jealous of you, my dear, " he would always chuckle, gently stroking your cheek, "because you found what they would keep searching for a long, long time."

Soon, he was the only person you really trusted. And he claimed he felt the same.

This is why he couldn't ask anyone else to sneak into the Headmaster's office and get the little leather diary in one of his desk drawers. This is also why you had to find a way to get the books he was interested in from the restricted section without getting caught. This is also why you had to lure the naive fifth-year Hufflepuff into the Chamber of Secrets and leave her there.

There was simply no one else whom he trusted to do these tasks. And you gladly completed each of his requests without question, doing everything in your power to keep him happy.

But soon this was not enough. And once you graduated all the promises he made to you broke into thousand little pieces, which were discarded into thin air.

"I don't need you anymore", his cold voice said, his eyes glued to the papers in front of him, "You can leave. Make sure you close the door."

Without sparing you even a glance, he grabbed the pile of papers and left for class, leaving you to gather your thoughts and pieces of your heart by yourself.

What did you do wrong? Why did he change so suddenly? Was it all a lie?

These questions continued to poison your mind for the next few years, while you tried to rebuild yourself. You did not realise how dependent you were on him, till you were left on your own. The weight of all the unsaid feelings within you was forcing you onto your knees, making you unable to get up and continue with your life.

And this is how two years after your graduation you found your way back to Hogwarts. The place where it all began...

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The wooden clock on the wall was ticking dangerously close to midnight when Tom finally got to his office. The teacher's gathering has been prolonged unnecessarily due to Dumbledore's ramblings and him finding problems where there are none. The amount of control the young professor has exercised to endure this long meeting has left him completely drained of energy, but he knew he still had to do some research about the Founders' Relics. After so many years he was finally getting close to achieving his goal and he was ready to sacrifice as many nights of sleep as necessary.

He knew something was not right the moment he opened the door. The lights were still off and everything seemed to be in the exact place he left it... but there was just the faintest sound of someone breathing which made him immediately reach for his wand.

"Ah, look who finally came", your giggle reached his ears before he saw you turning on his chair, fingers moving towards the small lamp on his desk, "Terribly rude of you to make me wait this long."

Tom's lips pressed into a thin line and his grip around his wand tightened. He traced his eyes over the visible parts of your body, noting the little changes that had occurred since he last saw you.

Your hair, which was usually neatly combed and put in a bun, was now in a messy braid, the front pieces framing your face. Your lips, which usually curved in a shy smile, were now forming an arrogant, almost sinister smirk. Your eyes, which have always looked up to him full of admiration, were now staring down at him with a glint of insanity.

"Get out", he commanded, striding towards you with his wand pointed towards your head.

Your raised your eyebrows and your mouth shaped an "o" in a mock horror, before you reached for your own wand, pointing it back at him.

"Now that is not a way to welcome your ex-lover, is it?", your eyes squint.

Tom scoffed at your words, stopping at the edge of his desk, before his expression hardened.

"You were never my lover", he stated, his head tilting to the side, "And I thought I was extremely clear when I said last time I saw you that you are not welcome here."

You hummed, eyes moving to the ceiling. Still holding your wand towards him, you relaxed further into his chair, lifting your legs onto his desk. With a curious gaze, you followed the stone patterns of the walls around the room, while scrunching your face in disgust.

"3 years, Tom", you finally said, landing your attention back on him, "3 years you have been here and your office is as bland as it was when you first came here. It brings my mood down, you know? It's so grey!"

"You can leave then", Tom hissed through his teeth, making a few more steps till he stayed right in front of you. The tip of his wand rested under your chin and he pulled it upwards, making you look up, "I am giving you exactly a minute to leave, before I take your life."

A loud giggle left your lips and you pressed your neck further into his wand.

"How generous!"

"45 seconds."

You gently put your own wand back into your pocket, not moving your eyes from his. Tilting your head, your mouth formed a wide smile.

"Okay."

His brows shot in confusion, his jaw clenching. You could see his on the wand became tighter, his knuckles almost white.

"Okay?"

"Do it", you shrug your shoulders, "My ghost will be eager to see how are you going to explain why your new assistant went missing after coming to your office to drop a list of all the students that are going to be in your... our class this year."

Before you know it, his free hand flew to your face and gripped your face. His fingers dig into your jaw, lifting it dangerously close to his face.

"My assistant?", he let out a dry chuckle, "Good try, dear. And a terrible way to waste that minute I gave you."

With lips already starting to form the words of the deadliest spell, his fingers dug deeper into your face, before his eyes landed on the sparkling object in your palms. The unforgivable words quickly died in his throat and he withdrew his wand, stumbling back. Eyes full of anger met yours, who in contrast were sparkling with playfulness.

"How did you get that?", he demanded, reaching towards the object, but you pulled it back, before laying it on your head. Putting your elbows on his desk, you fluttered your eyelashes, smiling brightly.

"Do you think it suits me?"

"Stop playing around."

"You are such a bore", you rolled your eyes, "I went on a holiday to Albania. And I found this gorgeous, gorgeous diadem, which turned out to be Rowena Ravenclaw's. What are the chances?"

Tom seemed unamused by your story, instead twitching his jaw. His eyes stayed glued to the diadem on your head, the reflection of the sapphire on it sparkling in his cold eyes.

"How did you know where it was?", his gaze moved towards you, his hand putting his wand back in his coat. His tall form moved towards you again, this time taking a seat on the empty surface of the desk in front of you. With a smile, you took the diadem out of your head, twirling it between your fingers.

"You don't think you were the only one who managed to charm the famous Helena Ravenclaw, do you?", you raised your eyebrow, moving your tongue across your top lip, "You underestimate the power of women's empathy and love for gossip, Tom."

He let out an airy laugh, running a hand through his thick curls. After two years, he hasn't changed anything about his appearance. His face, his haircut, and even the suits he wore were the exact same ones he already wore when you were a student. You would lie if you said you didn't enjoy it - that meant that the Tom you loved was still somewhere inside of him. Your Tom.

"I'm impressed", he finally said, moving his hands towards his knee and locking his fingers around it. His face dropped into a serious expression once again, "Give it to me."

You tilted your head, pursing your lips. Your eyes moved to the diadem, before landing back on him.

"Oh, I can't do that, Tom", you rested your palm on your chest, looking up at him with doe eyes, "He would be very disappointed if I don't bring it back to him."

Tom took a deep breath, his upper lip twitching.

"He?", he pressed his tongue to the side of his cheek, "Who is "he"?"

You twirled in his chair, pressing the diadem closer to your chest.

"My Lord, of course", you let out a giggle, resting your cheek on your shoulder and closing your eyes. You still managed to see the way Tom's body tensed, however.

"He sent his regards to you", you smiled, standing up, "If you hadn't left me that day, he wouldn't have met me and subsequently learned all about making horcruxes."

The man's eyes immediately darkened and his hand flew towards your wrist, stilling you in place.

"Name."

"Huh?"

"Tell me his name", Tom hissed, his nostrils flaring. You stepped closer to him, noses almost brushing.

"And why would I do that?", you raised your brows, your voice turning into a mocking laugh, "Do you think I would betray him... for you?"

The sudden feeling of his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you forward made you almost lose your balance and you grabbed his shoulder in reflex to keep you from falling on top of him. Nesting his head in the curve between your neck and shoulder, Tom pressed his lips next to your ear before muttering:

"You, my dear, are a liar", his teeth grazed the end of your earlobe, "And a very bad one."

Your whole body froze and you tried to push yourself away from him, but his arms were holding you firmly in place. Suddenly all the confidence you have displayed in his presence so far melted under the warmth of his touch, and you were left only with the hope you could still lie your way out of this situation.

"I am not lying", you protested with a quickening breath.

Tom lifted his head from your shoulder and rested his forehead on yours instead. His eyes stared deep into your own and his warm breath on your face made your whole body involuntarily tremble.

"I have already told you I am not a fool", one of his hands slid from your waist towards your arm and then hand, where you were still clutching the diadem. His fingers wrapped around it and pulled it out of your grasp with ease. Without looking at it, he placed it on the desk behind his back, before his hand found its way to the top of your head.

"I know you better than you know yourself, my dear", he muttered, his hand gently stroking your hair, "And I know there is no room in your heart for anyone but me. You would not be here otherwise."

He pulled back enough to be able to take a better look at your face. His gaze fell from your half-lidded eyes to your parted lips.

"You are mine. Always were, always will be."

A loud whine escaped your throat before it was swallowed by Tom's mouth on yours. His plump lips were chapped, a result of hours of his teeth sinking into them, trying to hold back all the snarky remarks he had for his fellow colleagues. The rough feeling made your knees buckle and you closed your eyes, relaxing fully in his arms.

Without breaking the kiss, he turned you around and with a swift move of his hand, pushed the diadem and a few books out of the way, before laying you on the cold surface. Your hands found their way into his hair, tugging the soft curls.

A low growl left his lips and he lifted his lips from yours, a trail of saliva connecting them, before it was broken by his fingers cupping your chin.

"This is what you wanted, is it not?", his voice was suddenly deeper and darker, "For me to take you on the same desk I once you graded you."

His words made a loud moan to escape you and your back arched up, seeking nothing more than to be close to him. With a low chuckle, he pressed his palm between your breasts, pushing you flat on the furniture beneath you. You opened your mouth to complain but were quickly silenced once he pushed his index and middle fingers in your mouth, almost making you choke. Fixating your gaze on his, you closed your lips around them and started to suck, making sure to flatten your tongue in the process.

The image before your eyes was something you had dreamt of countless times before - Tom, with his messy curls and parted lips, panting while the fingers of his free hand were skilfully unbuttoning his vest. You did not waste any time in helping him, focusing on shakingly unbuttoning his belt.

"So impatient", he clicked his tongue, withdrawing his fingers from your mouth, so could remove his shirt. Once his torso was in full view, you did not hesitate even a second before you lifted yourself in a sitting position and attached your lips to his neck. Nibbling and sucking the smooth skin, you started to nibble and suck your way down to his chest. His head fell back and he closed his eyes, his muscles relaxing under you.

Tom Riddle may not be a man who was capable of love, but he was a man after all. And it would be a lie to say he has never thought of you in a more... erotic way. You have always been so obedient and good, doing everything for him without any hesitation. He has always found that incredibly attractive, but not enough for him to act on his desires.

Now, however, the sight of you has ignited some primal urges within him that he never felt before. Maybe it was the few drinks he had consumed prior at the gathering or maybe it was the idea of the the crazy lengths you were willing to go in order to get back to him...

Tom Riddle would probably never know the reason for him giving up control for the first time in his life. To you, nonetheless.

His mind came back to reality when he felt you pushing him on his chair and nestling yourself between his legs. Looking up at him, you tugged his pants and boxers down, letting his erection free. You let your index finger gently caress the length of it, making it twitch. A small giggle left your lips before you repeated the gesture.

"Stop teasing me", the man groaned, and his palm rested behind your head in order to push you towards his member, but you swiftly moved to the side dodging it. You squinted your eyes, moving your hands to his thighs and digging your nails into them.

"You", the word was hissed through your teeth, "are in no position to order me around."

Tom scoffed and was about to argue when your mouth unexpectedly wrapped around the head of his penis, twirling your tongue around it. He let out a choked gasp and he tried to put his hand on your head again before you smacked it away. Swallowing his pride, he rested both of his arms on the side of his chair, bucking his hip forward.

Carefully watching his reaction you wrapped your hand around him, slowly moving it down and back up again, following the movement of your mouth. The feeling of him filling your mouth was causing some saliva to start dripping your chin, but rather than pulling away, you pushed him further into your mouth till your nose was buried in his dark pubic hair. The feeling of his swollen head hitting the back of your throat made you gag, causing Tom to groan in pleasure.

"Fuck this", he muttered, before grabbing you by your hair and pulling your head up, before pressing it down again. His hips buckled in harmony with your head, making sure you were taking all of him. His dick was now coated in your saliva, making it glisten in the dim light. You closed your eyes, the lack of oxygen making them sting. The rapid pace with which he was moving was making it hard for you to breathe through your nose and you tried giving him a warning slap on his leg, which he purposefully ignored. Instead, he moved his other hand towards your chin and held your head still, while he continued to thrust his hips up and down. Sloppy wet noises filled his office, being interrupted only by his heavy breathing.

Your thighs clenched together in a weak attempt to relieve the burning ache between your legs. The way he was using your mouth to satisfy himself was making your underwear damp, yet you knew better than to touch yourself yet. After so many sleepless nights during which you tried to relieve yourself, imagining how would it feel to taste him, you wanted to focus all your attention only on him.

Feeling he was close, Tom finally pulled your head back and examined your face. Both saliva and tears were smeared all over your chin and your cheeks were flushed in rosy colour.

"What a pretty sight you are, my dear", he smiles, wiping some of it with his thumb. You licked your lips, getting up on your feet.

"And you are such a smooth talker", your face leaner just inches from his, "I wonder if you are as good with the action as you are with words."

Taking this as a challenge, he stood up and pushed you back onto the desk, before lifting your skirt. His fingers hooked under the elastic bands of your panties and with one tug they snapped, leaving you completely exposed in front of him.

Tom gulped, burning the image of your waiting arousal into his mind. His fingers made their way towards your slit, gathering the wetness before easily sliding his middle finger in. You moaned at the contact, fluttering your eyes closed. He pumped his fingers a few times, his eyes carefully observing your facial expression before he slid it out. You whined at the loss of contact, opening your eyelids only to find him smirking down at you.

"Do you really think you deserve me wasting time on your pleasure?"

"Fuck you!", you snapped, resulting in him grabbing your neck and squeezing so hard, an airy cough left your lips.

"Such a dirty mouth", he lifted your face up, his jaw clenching, "but such a weak mind. Look at the pathetic mess you are..."

Your lips parted to offer a snarky response, but your mind quickly went blank the moment he slid fully into you. Arching your back, your hands found their way around his shoulders, while his rested on both sides of your head.

Tom did not waste any time in developing a quick pace, which made you roll your eyes back. With each thrust the head of his cock was brushing against your cervix, making your whole vision white. His left hand moved towards one of your breasts, pinching and twisting the oversensitive nipple between his fingers. His other hand made his way to your pussy, where his thumb started to draw sloppy circles over your clit.

Never in your life have you felt such pleasure in your life. Of course, you had previous lovers during the past two years while trying to get Tom out of your mind, but nothing compared to this. Curling your toes, you lifted both of your legs and rested them on his shoulder.

Both of you groaned in unison when you felt him going even deeper than before. His upper body collapsed on top of yours, his lips immediately latching onto your other nipple. Still gripping his shoulders, you dragged your nails down his back, leaving angry red marks behind.

The knot in your stomach started to tighten and your moans became louder and louder. Moving your hips so you can meet Tom's thrusts, you looked at his face, only to find him staring back with eyes clouded with desire. His fingers were now working faster on your sensitive bud and you let out a shaky breath: "Tom, I...", you could not finish your sentence, your vocabulary suddenly consisting only of his name.

"Shhh", he whispered, his hand moving from your breast to your cheek. He gently stroked it with his thumb and suddenly you saw in front of you the same Tom that charmed you years ago, "I've got you."

His words were enough to cause the knot to snap and your whole body went rigid, squeezing and pulsating around him. A few harsh trusts and Tom suddenly tensed on top of you, as he painted your insides white. You both held onto each other, fingers digging into soft flesh, as you melted into your shared euphoria.

It was not romantic.

It was primal. Rough. Dirty.

It was everything you have imagined.

Finally relaxing on top of you, Tom buried his head in your shoulder, trying his best to calm his breathing down. You laid under him, crushed under his weight, yet enjoying every second of the contact he allowed you to have.

Against your better judgment, you lifted your hand and started to gently stroke his hair. Against his better judgment, he allowed you to and closed his eyes in the process.

Tired from the long day and your office activity, Tom lifted you in his arms, his now soft member slipping out of you and he sat back on his chair, adjusting the backrest so you can both take a more comfortable position.

You lifted yourself from his chest and raised your eyebrow, but bit back your tongue the moment your gaze crossed his stern one, warning you not to voice whatever you had in your mind. Letting out a small chuckle, you shook your head and laid it back down on his skin.

There was an urge burning inside of you to mock him about showing gentleness, but deep down you knew this was your only chance to enjoy it. So you closed your eyes and relaxed, finally being able to fall asleep without the haunting dreams of what could've been.

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

The sunlight was painting the whole room in a beautiful gold colour and Tom let out a low groan when he felt it hitting his face. His hand made its way over his eyes, shielding them from the light, while his mind slowly started to become aware of his surroundings. The uncomfortable chair was making all of his muscles ache and he immediately regretted not gathering the energy last night to make his way back to his room. The chill air coming from the window has not helped too, especially when we was only partly covered and-

Tom's eyes shot open looking down at his body and finding his suit jacket thrown over his waist and private parts. You, however, were not to be found. Not on top of him, not on the desk, nowhere in the room.

He immediately stood up, grabbing his pants from the floor and furiously putting them on, while breathing heavily. His gaze fell on the stack of books he pushed from his desk last night and he immediately fell on his knees, scanning the floor around him.

"No, no, no", he hissed under his breath, pushing his hair out of his eyes, "That little serpent!"

Not only you have left, but you also have taken the diadem with you. No matter how much he searched for it, it was definitely not here.

You tricked him.

Getting up back to his feet, Tom kicked one of the books on the floor, before slamming his hands on his desk. His breathing was hard and he could feel his blood boiling in his veins. Suddenly, his attention was caught by a small parchment of paper placed next to his quill. Unfolding it, he could have sworn his heart stopped for a second.

"My dear Tom,

Thank you for our wonderful night together. I did not want to leave you so early, but I had to be out of the castle before everyone else woke up. To be truthful with you, I am not going to be your new assistant. But your already knew that, so I guess it is not shocking news. I sneaked it yesterday when all of the teachers were having a party (or what you call a gathering, ha!). Neither do I have a new lord. You already knew that as well.

Do not stress about the diadem, as it is safe with me - if there is one thing I learned from you is that I need to take good care of horcruxes once they are made. I know it was probably foolish of me to bring it to you last night, as it does hold a part of my soul, but I promise that from now on I will take better care of it.

Without doubt your paths shall cross again. Remember Tom: You are mine. Always were, always will be.

Love, y/n

P.S. - I hope you do not mind that I helped myself by getting your keys from your jacket and getting a shower in your room. Also, I think you need to follow your own advice and start putting your objects away. I found your diary resting on your bedside table, so I had to take it with me. Do not worry - I promise I will keep it safe...

for now."

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

CC artwork: Nasan Hardcastle

[lxndonorris]

new heights - Jude Bellingham

Y/N x Jude Bellingham Theme: Smutish, Teasing, Touching (Not explicit) Jude's new kit arrives in the mail, you ask him to put it on for you x word count: 1680+

When your boyfriend Jude was approached by Real Madrid for a possible transfer, both of you were excited right away. He's been talking a lot about his dream to play for one of the most iconic football clubs of all time. Having multiple Madrid jerseys himself, he immediately agreed to switch teams. Jude loves to play for BVB, but when he got the chance to expand his qualities and experience, he couldn't say no. Now, after a month of negotiations, the deal is finally done, and once the league is over, he'd transfer to Madrid this summer. Without you knowing, he prepared a little surprise for the two of you.

Now, the sun is slowly setting on a beautiful Friday evening, when you find yourself sitting on the sofa, inside of the arms of your boyfriend, with his arm around your shoulder, and the tips of his fingers run up and down your arm. Your head is resting against his chest, while he's wearing a navy blue shirt, black shorts, and socks. On the other hand, you're wearing a loose shirt, one of his favorites, and another pair of his shorts. Immediately once you got together, you'd claim his clothes as your own, of course, he wouldn't mind at all. Even though, at times, Jude tends to be more possessive about pieces of clothing, especially his kits. This would always make you smile, because, fair enough.

You're scrolling through your Instagram feed, liking a few pictures of your friends, and checking out a few fan edits. Even though it's not public yet, a few people are speculating that Jude would play for another team this season. Just then, the doorbell rings, and he jumps off the sofa, much to your surprise, catching your attention right away. This must be something important when he acts like that. Tilting your head curiously, you hear him talking to another man, most likely a mailman. They exchange a quick chat before the door closes with a soft thud. Softly, you hear his footsteps echo through the hallway as he's approaching the living room again.

Before he even enters the room, you narrow your eyes in suspicion. 'What is he up to?' You think to yourself when he finally enters through the doorframe. Jude is carrying a big package, and while he walks, he looks at it with a coy smile spread across his whole face. "What is that?" You say rather loudly, visibly snapping him out of his daydream. Jude flinches, stops right away, and lifts his head to look into your eyes right away. "Oh, uh, whaaat?" He says, blushing immediately. "That package." You nod towards that huge thing inside his grasp. "Oh, that. uh. Nothing." He stutters and tries to play it cool, making his way toward the bedroom.

Before Jude can close the door behind him, you follow him inside the room, startling him again. "Y/N. you scared me." He says once you stand right behind him, your eyes fixated on that package. "Do you have something to confess to me, Jude?" You say, slowly lifting your head to face him once more. He blinks a few times, trying his best to regain his composure, before he takes a deep breath. "Fine." Jude sighs, defeated before he puts it down on the bed, and waves for you to come closer. Grinning happily, you join his side and look closely as he starts to open it. "Is it something for me?" You say excitedly, watching his beautiful hands struggle a little. "Not quite, yet." He chuckles softly, and you pout. "Mean bean." You say softly, and finally, he manages to defeat that package.

"Fuck, that looks good," Jude says, and both of you look in awe at his new Real Madrid jersey, white, gold, and black. Most important, however, is the name printed on its back. "Bellingham 5." The two of you whisper in unison, and you can feel him getting more and more excited. "Jude! Why didn't you tell me!" You pout again, turning toward him. He turns his head, smiling brightly, and you spot a fiery spark igniting in his beautiful eyes. "It was meant as a surprise," Jude growls happily, the sound of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

"And what a surprise this is." You say, and lean in for a sweet kiss. Since he is a little taller than you, he bends down, placing a tender kiss right on your lips. Embracing him on yours, you kiss him again, once, then twice, before he separates himself from you, turning his attention back to the jersey. Proudly, you intertwine your arm with his, while placing your other hand on his firm chest, stroking him lovingly through his shirt. "It looks so good, with your name on it." You say, both of you admiring his new gear. "It does, doesn't it." Jude smiles even harder, as he takes the shirt out of the box. Lifting it right in front of the two of you, you get a better look at it. Unable to resist, you reach for it, feeling the fabric between two fingers. "It feels nice, too."

You giggle, and he nods in agreement. "It better be feeling good." He snickers, turning it around, back to the front, smiling like a child on Christmas Eve. Removing your eyes from the jersey for a second, you spot a pair of white shorts left inside the box. "Ohh." You say, drawing Jude's attention. "Yup, asked for the whole thing to show you." He licks his lower lip and watches you get the shorts out of the package. "It's so beautiful." You smile and notice him admiring his new jersey some more. "It is." He says, his voice is so soft, it's barely hearable. For a second, you're unable to stop staring at your gorgeous boyfriend, who's seemingly shining brighter than the sun outside.

"You should put it on." You smirk, and at the sound of these words, Jude turns his upper body toward you. "You want me to, babé?" He mirrors your smirk perfectly, giving you goosebumps. "Don't make me beg, please." You pout, wearing your best puppy dog eyes. Jude, instead of giving in right away, tilts his head. "But I like that." He smiles coyly, and you nudge him playfully. "Okay, okay." Both of you giggle. "You're very persuasive," Jude growls again, acting all shy and innocent. "You know me, babé." You say, imitating him flawlessly. Jude shrugs with one eyebrow, while you make your way to sit right on the edge of the bed, facing him.

He hands you the jersey, and without further ado, he starts undressing. His shirt is the first to drop to the floor, exposing his well-formed body, his strong arms, pecs, and abs. Admiring his strong physique, you watch him putting his hands behind his head, causing his muscles to tense and bulge. "Gorgeous boy." You smirk, causing him to blush slightly again. Jude then reaches for the jersey, and you hand it to him, your hands brushing over one another. Your eyes meet shortly, and you see that fire still burning behind his eyes. Jude bites his lip, trying his best to hide a mischievous smirk. Effortlessly, he slides into the white jersey, and it fits perfectly. It's flattering his physique in all the right ways, and you enjoy how smooth it seems to be, running along his big arms, his muscles, and his waist.

Still admiring his chest, you nearly missed him sliding outside of his shorts, and you hold back a deep breath when he is standing there just in his underwear. Jude is fully aware of how much you adore his thighs, and he approaches you now, placing a hand on your chin, to lift your head gently. "Enjoying the show?" He smirks, kissing you lovingly. "Uhuh." You nod, raising your eyebrows once you separate from each other. Without you knowing, he stole those white shorts right out of your hands, and with a wink, he puts them on. Blushing, you place your hands on your thighs, trying to regain your composure, but when he's looking like that, it's very hard for you to not want him more.

"Fuuuck." You watch him strike that typical footballer pose, hand on his hips, his chest firm inside his jersey, and his thighs exposed. "You look damn hot." You say, when he reaches for your hand, pulling you off the bed and right into his arms. "That good, huh?" He smirks again, and you just nod. Jude is looking so phenomenally good in this kit. It's flattering his body effortlessly. Not only the tight jersey but those shorts as well. It seems like it's been handmade just for him. Steadying yourself against his chest, you use this opportunity to stroke him, his chest, pecs, and further down to his tensing abs. "How does it feel?" You say, your eyes watching every move of your fingers before you manage to look at his face again. He, on the other hand, is looking at you the whole time, smirking.

"It feels amazing." He purrs contently, and slowly turns his body to one side. "How does it look?" Jude smiles, motioning for you to watch his strong back. "Very good. Especially with your name." You say, following every letter of his name with one of your fingers, and he shudders as shivers run down his spine. While your eyes wander down his back to his butt, your hands follow his spine, until you stroke the small of his back, sometimes his ass as well. Carefully, he turns back to face you, with you now hugging him tightly. "Do you like it?" Jude smirks again, his hands now stroking your back, and your waist too. "It looks amazing, thank you for this." You say, leaning in for another, this time, more passionate kiss.

Feeling his body against yours, engulfing you in a comforting warmth, you rest your head against his firm chest again. "I love you, Y/N." Jude growls, placing another kiss on your forehead. "I love you, too."

[clotpolesonly]

thinking about Declan and the moth again

it HAUNTS ME that the moth is one of the few times that Declan seems to lose his self-awareness completely. like, yeah, he's the ultimate king of repression, but he's usually very conscious of what he's repressing and the fact that he's repressing it. he knows his issues.

he knows that he forces down his emotions in an unhealthy way so that he can be the adult in the room at far too young an age. he knows he can't form healthy relationships because of a lifetime of danger and insecurity. he knows he dehumanized his mother as a means to cope with their batshit family situation. he knows he's competing with his father's ghost for a place in Ronan's life. he knows he resents Matthew for being the primary factor in his parentification and loss of opportunity in life. he knows he loves his father no matter how much he tries to convince himself to hate him. he knows he feels trapped in the life he's leading, doesn't see a way out, and likely wouldn't take it if he did because it would be at the expense of his brothers.

all of these things, Declan acknowledges openly, either to himself in narration or out loud to others. he may delude himself about how well he's coping with his issues, but he has no illusions about what his issues ARE.

except for the fucking moth.

it's such a perfect, on-the-nose symbol that it almost strains credulity for Declan not to acknowledge it as such, and yet not once does he ever look at the moth and feel the way he did about the black string art exhibit that made him recognize how trapped he felt in his life. "how the moth had beaten against the walls for those first few days, until it had learned it could not escape."

the learned helplessness of it - there's no point fighting to get free, just lie down and accept that this is your life. know what you're allowed to do, and have, and be. know what you're not. a creature of his father's making, confined by his father's hand.

and not even something as eye-catching as a butterfly, no, but a quieter subtler moth with eyes like glittering purple-black marbles that will never get to live a life because Niall made it so.

and the symbolic parallel of the display case and the townhouse. the rigid real world structures that Declan himself requested, because they made him feel more secure than being surrounded by dreams, and that his father provided in a well-meaning but ultimately short-sighted attempt to accommodate him. things that Declan only recognizes much later as the cages that they were.

Declan now regrets demanding his dad make the display case by hand, and when he puts himself through Ronan's bad-feeling security system at the end of the series, the memory it hits him with is inheriting the sterile alexandria townhouse that was exactly what he'd claimed to want.

these are symbols of Declan's complicity, in a manner of speaking, in the whole tragic mess that was his upbringing. at some point, quite early on, Declan's oppression became a joint effort, something that he participated in (because a complete lack of control in the situation would have felt worse). it reminds me of Declan struggling to remember which of them first decided to lie to Matthew about what he was, whether that was his dad's idea or if he'd done that of his own volition, just following pattern.

did dad trap him, or did he build the walls himself? or was it both?

but, for once, none of this is acknowledged by Declan in the text. this artistically-minded chronic overthinker carries the moth around with him - one of the two dreams he will never sell, alongside the gift from Ronan - and he stays so uncritically sentimental about it that he releases it on his wedding day with happy/nostalgic tears in his eyes, and it just boggles my mind.

this is the man who looked at a bunch of string and had the immediate revelation that he was utterly miserable and trapped in a spiderweb of a life precariously balanced on a knife's edge where one wrong move could get him and everyone he loved killed, but he looks at a direct, uncomplicated, one-to-one representation of himself and somehow does not recognize that it is not something to think of fondly. that, yes, it may be a symbol of his father's love for him, but it's not good.

[shutit-haha]

Priest Bakugo x Succubus reader

Priest Bakugo who as soon as you see him you know you have to have him. He's a difficult man however so you lose all your demon traits and waltz into the church needing to claim sanction. You're defenseless and in desperate need of help, and of course a heroic man like him can't resist. It's actually Deku who helps you get settled, Bakugo kind of just watches from the side lines. He's suspicious of you.

Priest Bakugo who allows himself to be ruled by suspicion and skepticism. This means you have to play that helpless role like no one has ever played before. He helps when you get lost in the church (which is often) and always reaches for that book on the top shelf you can never seem to reach. He makes you food at odd hours, after you had an 'accident' in the kitchen. You pull your own weight of course, I mean you still have to earn your keep. However Bakugo would never let you do any of the heavy lifting not after watching you do it the first time.

Priest Bakugo who it takes forever to earn trust from.

Priest Bakugo who makes you become this helpless person you've been playing. You need to feed, it's been too long. Whatever you had stored has officially depleted and you need your fill. Now you really can't lift anything too heavy, now you actual struggle to reach those top shelves. You're so light-headed from not having eaten that you get lost nearly all the time in a building you've lived in for more than a month now.

Priest Bakugo who catches on to you being ditzier than usual, who notices your conversations aren't the same. "What's the matter with you?" He eyes you like he did the first day you arrived here, only this time it's for injury not for horns.

"I'm fine," you lie.

Priest Bakugo who finds you in his room. You're needy, grinding down on his pillow face in his sheets to catch a whiff of his smell. When he finds you, you're all huffy and whiny, mumbling his name. "What are you doing?!"

You jump, back straight, eyes wide. "I- I'm-I'm sorry Sir."

"You- you've been caught." He mocks you.

You're hot and if he gets even a little closer he's bound to be swept in. You're scared, yet struggling to lie to him. Why? You've done it for so long it shouldn't be a problem now. "I need- I'm-"

He's getting impatient, "you're hysterical." The blonde takes a step forward, that's when it hits him. He feels as if he's standing directly in front of the sun, he's sweaty and his black trousers feel tight. He takes a shaky step back, rigid body instantly relaxing once outside of your range.

Your large eyes are frightened but that won't work for him anymore. "Katsuki," you gasp for air.

"You lied."

"You wouldn't have let me in had I told the truth." Your curling in on yourself now, pain blooming in your stomach, it drips down to your shaky thighs. You're starving, you're weak, you need to feed.

"Liar," he snarls.

"Katsuki please!"

Priest Bakugo who chains you up in the basement.

Priest Bakugo who trusted you, who feels hurt and betrayed.

Priest Bakugo who upon hearing your wails tries to convince himself that you deserve this. He tells himself it's a punishment a demon like you was bound to face. If that's the case then why does he find himself slinking down to the basement on the third day.

Priest Bakugo who hadn't realized how provocatively he had tied you up. Your arms are above you dangling from the ceiling, legs spread due to your ankles being chained to the floor. He was kind enough to leave you on your knees, although the marks on your wrist still show strain. You're dripping wet, head hanging forward. "Katsuki," you can smell him before he even enters the space.

"You're gonna die aren't you," he knows this. All demons die without feeding, but the idea of you dying is just so... sad. It's heartbreaking.

"Unless I eat," voice airy and light. Your pupils are blown, hair sticking to your sweaty skin. "You don't wanna come any closer, it'll have an effect on you too."

"Is that on purpose," he takes a step forward anyway.

Priest Bakugo who's not afraid.

Priest Bakugo who doesn't want you to die for some odd reason. He spent so much of his life to being the best exorcist and yet when it comes to killing you- a demon who's lied to him, who's played him a fool- he can't seem to do it.

"On purpose?" You mumble to yourself, repeating the question so that it may hold some substance in your head. You lurch forward trying to reach for him only for the chains to pull painfully from the force of your movement. "No! I would never do that on purpose!" Not anymore at least, "not to you."

"You'd do it to others then," he sneers down at you.

"I don't want others," you huff, tears in your eyes. You're so hungry, you need friction, you need skin. "I can't-," you don't know how to say it. "I can't control that part of me." You've never had to speak with words when like this, you could always just communicate using your body but Katsuki- Bakugo has made that difficult for you.

"How hungry are you right now?"

Priest Bakugo who's curious, who's gotten in your space. "Starving," your horns and tail poke out. He touches them, dragging his hand along your horn to see how sharp it is. They're smooth and such a pretty color, he brings the tip of his finger to the end. "Careful," you gasp. "They're sharp, I haven't-" you swallow, "need to file them down." Sure enough when he pricks his finger on the end, a bead of blood is drawn from his skin.

It smells so sweet, you groan from the smokey caramel scent. Your leathery tail unconsciously wraps itself around his calf, the end of it rubbing the muscle you find there. You look up at him with those pleading eyes of yours.

Priest Bakugo who can't resist.

Priest Bakugo who is reciting prayers in his head in order to counter act your power.

Priest Bakugo who can't remember any scripture, who's thoughts are filled with you. "What," he coos patronizingly.

"Please," you try to rub your thighs together but the chains keep them separate. "Please," you try to lift your head higher but the metal round your neck prevents that too.

"You want something from me?" He's playing dumb now, if only to see how desperate you can really get.

You nod vigorously, "yes please. Want you, only you, want-"

"What," his eyes are dark with lust. "This," he brings his finger to your lips. Your tongue pokes out to lick the blood but he pulls away before you can. You whine just as his other hand grabs your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut while he caresses your face. "You wanna taste me," you try to nod in his hold. "Here," he presses his finger to your lips. The blood smears on them adding coloring, and oddly enough he finds it hot.

Your lips wrap around his finger with no hesitation, and your sucking till you can't taste it anymore.

Priest Bakugo who's struggling to control himself. He yanks his finger out of your mouth and your eyes shoot open to see where he's going. He chuckles lowly, "I'm right here." Taking the finger coated in your spit, he brings it up to his mouth and sucks.

Priest Bakugo who likes how you taste. You're divine, absolutely heavenly despite your origin being anything but that. He has to keep his eyes open while he taste you, fearing that if he closes them his fantasies will lead him astray. "Is that enough to satiate you?"

You whine, "it is but- but-"

"But- but," he's mocking you again. It makes you drip even more and he groans when he sees it on your leg. He scoffs, "you that obsessed with me?"

You nod, once again trying to rub your thighs together.

"Oh you poor thing, poor little liar."

"You wouldn't have," your panting, head hanging low again. "You wouldn't have let me in."

"And you just had to have me."

You nod.

"So that was enough then?"

Your back to looking up at him, "yes but I want more."

He laughs, "you want more?" He shakes his head at you slowly, "nah, I think you're fine for now."

"Please, please," you beg. "Katsuki please, please sir!" He's leaving, shutting the door behind him and heading back up the stairs.

Priest Bakugo who comes back the next day. He was fearful of you dying at first but now.... "Katsuki," there's that sweet voice of yours again. "You're back," you smile at him lazily. He only grunts in reply. "Does that mean I get to feed again," you look up at him excitedly.

"Thought you said you had enough yesterday."

You whine, "Katsuki please."

Priest Bakugo who would have never let the two of you get close if he knew what you were.

Priest Bakugo who would have never let you call him by name if he had known.

Priest Bakugo who doesn't regret it. "What do you need from me," he has an idea as to which demon you are but...

"You," you lurch forward, "your body." Your arms are up and back in this position, neck straining against the metal collar.

"You're gonna hurt yourself," he cups your cheek.

"Please let me have you, please, please, please, please." Your eyes are shut, you're crying and your slick is beginning to pool on the floor. You were going crazy after yesterday, you weren't able to sleep. Your wrist hurt from pulling up on your chains so that you could try and shut your thighs. Your wrist hurt from yanking down on your chains so that you could try and bring yourself relief.

Priest Bakugo who wants to be cruel, to pull his dick out and shove it down your throat. He wants to control the speed, to pull at your hair and make you gag on him. He wants to watch you swallow his cum under that metal collar of yours.

Oh but you're crying, his sweet little liar is crying.

Priest Bakugo who lets you go. He does your hands first, which are quick to paw at his bulge. He considers keeping the collar on you but ultimately gets rid of that too, so now your mouth is placing hot kisses on his stomach. Your tail is wrapped around his calf, rubbing up and down while he struggles to reach your ankles.

"You gotta let me go," he's breathing heavily. You're kissing and palming him, and it's distracting.

"No," you whine. His breath hitches when he feels you whimper against his flesh.

"Gotta get the rest of you out."

"No," you whine again. So he takes a step back, he keeps doing so until he's out of your reach. There you are on hands and knees trying to crawl to him. "You're too far," you whine.

"I told you."

"Katsuki, untie me, let me go please."

"Don't you start crying, I told you this would happen."

"Katsuki," you wail.

"Alright, alright," he squats down to unchain your ankles. You're kissing at his neck, hands on his arms and chest.

Priest Bakugo who can't focus with you doing all that. "You gotta let me breath," he grits. One ankle comes loose, and your already trying to wrap that leg around his waist. He falls forward with you putting him off balance. You keep kissing and now sucking, while he struggles to undo the other chain.

Priest Bakugo who doesn't want to take you on the floor. He's trying to negotiate with you, trying to get you to come with him to the room. You're so needy though, so desperate, you want him right now. "Not gonna give it to you here," he hisses when you grind up against him.

"Don't care," your hands are reaching down to his pants.

"Stop," he growls pining your wrist to the floor.

"Katsuki," you writhe underneath him.

"Not here," he growls. In a flash you've flipped the two of you over and are somehow dragging him up to his room. You're moving faster than he ever has, and within seconds you've reached his destination.

Priest Bakugo who's rough even in the missionary position. He kisses your neck and speaks to you so sweetly.

Priest Bakugo who kisses your tears, who holds your hand when you ask.

Priest Bakugo who is a virgin and plows you into the mattress both on purpose and on accident. You like it rough anyways but this is because he actually has no idea as to what he's doing. He's shaking when he finally finishes, trembling over you yet still trying to keep himself up.

Priest Bakugo who collapses on top of you the moment you pull him down.

Priest Bakugo who is mortified because the two of you aren't married.

Priest Bakugo who has to be taught after care.

Priest Bakugo who thinks he might be in love with you.

Priest Bakugo who accidently says it out loud. "I love you too," you kiss his forehead. There's silence and then.. "Katsuki, I need another round."

Priest Bakugo who talks about marriage while he thrust deep into you. "Gonna- gonna put a ring on that finger of yours," he grits out. "Gotta make you my wife, its-" he hisses, "too good."

"Ok," you gasp when he hits especially deep this time. Your back arches with a moan, "ok."

"Marry me- fffuck- you gotta marry me. Gonna- shit- make you marry me."

"Ok, ok," you pant.

"Mine all mine."

"Yours all yours."

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

You're waiting for a train... (7)

Damsel in Distress

Robert Fischer x reader

description - The group goes under and the stakes they find there are more troubling than any of them could have dreamt.

word count - 3.3k (ooooooo she's a biggie)

warnings - guns, car crash, injuries, swearing, Robert being a cutie

a/n - I'm sorry this chapter took a bit longer to come out but I was really stuck with writing it. I could've whipped out a chapter really quickly but I knew it wouldn't have been my best and you loyal readers deserve my best, and I want to give this fic my best! :)

Previous Part Series Master list Master list

If you want to be added to the taglist - here

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

My ticket is clasped firmly in my hand as we wait to board. I had panicked thinking of what to wear this morning. Believe it or not, my experience of first class was lacking. I didn’t want to look out of place so decided upon a sleek stone dress with a matching cardigan and black patent heels.

We were boarding the plane now, deliberately before Fischer. We aimed to get settled in our seats so there was nothing suspicious about the way we were interacting. I found my seat and calmed my shaking bones. God it was so comfortable, shame I wouldn’t get to relish in it. Well technically my body would whilst my mind ran about. I looked behind me seeing Yusuf, Ariadne, Arthur, and Saito. I looked across and found Eames, my dad, and an empty seat. The person who would claim it would be my direct opposite. My hands clenched the arm rest when realisation set in. My heart was racing to the point where I didn’t notice Robert’s entrance. Eames blocked his path in order to get subtle access to his passport which he then slipped to Cobb.

I perked up when I felt my dad gesturing my way. Not knowing what else to do, I rose and approached him. But I had failed to notice the obvious point of contact until I had once again slammed into someone and ended up on my knees. This time my brick wall happened to hold the steely blue eyes I found impossible to forget. Once again, I struggled to find my voice in the face of his gaze.

“Are you okay?” I sharply inhaled, my thoughts being dragged back to our previous meeting. This time the pressure informed my actions and I lowered my head so my locks curtained my distinct features. He offered me his hands to lift me from the surprisingly soft carpet. Even though I couldn’t let my eyes meet his, it didn’t mean I couldn’t let my thumb ever so gently stroke his firm hands. They had the softness of a privileged life but there was a hardness that came from never-ending worry.

“I’m sorry do I know you?” He laughed through his words whilst searching through my feeble disguise. I let my eyes drift to Eames in a plea for help. What was I to do?

“No, I’m sorry I just have one of those faces.” Robert was amused by my answer. The closer he leaned in the more it felt like the world just crumbled around us. I could feel the muscles in my neck praying for me to look up. Just for a moment. I could feel his hands engulfing my own in a protective hold.

Just then, Robert was shoved from behind, allowing me to recollect and escape the potentially risky moment. Cobb continued storing his bag when Robert span around, looking for the one responsible. Cobb made sure his stance alluded to his innocence.

Once, Robert turned back, expecting to find me, he was saddened to see me returned to my seat. He purposefully moved to continue our conversation but was halted by the stewardess who informed him it was time to take his seat.

Robert returned to his seat glumly. As he sat, his sadness could still be felt radiating despite his perfect posture. He unfurled his jacket from his body revealing a crisp white shirt, his trousers being held by suspenders. My eyes betrayed me to drag over his body. I quickly looked away when I risked meeting his eyes and I giggled at the juvenile gesture on my part. But it appeared he had noticed as he met my giggles with his own melodious chuckle. I looked behind Robert to see my father handling his passport. The fasten seat belt sign alighted and the pilots voice informed us of take off. The plane rumbled beneath our feet. A little gasp escaped me as I briefly felt the gravity leave our mass, lifting us into the air. My fingers curled tighter around my seat, an outward sign of my anxiety.

A ping alerted us of the futility of our restraints. My dad rose from his seat and informed Robert that he had dropped his passport. Handing him back the aforementioned item, Cobb then struck up a conversation, I could only assume about his father and his recent passing. I watched out of my peripheral, refusing to give away any indication of the relationship between the seven people joining Robert’s flight. It ended with my father joining Robert in a drink which I assume contained a secret ingredient.

Within seconds, he was out. This was our go sign. Everyone jumped up, attending to their stations as the first-class flight attendant retrieved our case. Before joining the others, I ran over to Robert’s limp form and kneeled down between his legs. My hand glided over his arm and returned to his pulse point. With the other I cupped his face and with soft strokes I allowed my thumb to peel his eye open.

“What are you doing?” Cobb had spotted my unusual position.

“Just making sure he’s okay.” I answered with an innocent tone. I rose, self-conscious of my position, and joined the others in retrieving my own IV.

I returned to my seat and inserted it into my vein. I looked around at their stone cold faces and righted my expression to fit with the crowd. Here we fucking go.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

LAYER ONE: THE CITY

My eyes shot open and the first thing I felt was cold. Lashes of rain pelting down on my shivering form. Interestingly I hadn’t planned an outfit for such weather as such weather was supposed to be impossible. I shivered in my thin blouse and jeans, hugging my black leather jacket tighter in a feeble attempt at retaining heat.

I took in the dream around me, familiarising myself with the skyscrapers so my brain registered the route of the maze. Cars and their horns blared around me, my frame jumping at each new sound. I traipsed further up the street hoping to find my dad or Eames.

Suddenly, a red car pulled up next to me. The door was ripped open, and a loud voice ordered me to get in. We drove further in silence and picked up Yusuf. Unfortunately, with seven of us, room was limited. And I found myself being lifted into Arthur’s lap. I felt him shift under me at the foreign position, but he kept his hands civil, whether out of respect for me or fear of my father, I couldn’t say. But after many days of icing out on his part I couldn’t deny that the contact was comforting.

“You couldn’t have peed before we went under?” Arthur fumed from behind me.

“Sorry.” Yusuf meekly uttered.

“Bit too much free champagne before takeoff, eh, Yusuf?” Eames teased from the front.

“Oh, ha bloody ha.” I smirked over to Yusuf, trying to distract myself with amusement.

“Well we know he’s gonna be looking for a taxi in this weather.” My dad dragged us back to the plan at hand. We pulled off from the curb. As we drove we latched on to a taxi and Cobb rammed us into the back of it. When the driver stormed out of his vehicle, he was met with a gun pointed at his face.

“Walk away.” Cobb threatened. The driver left in a hurry. Saito exited our car but before Arthur left he turned back to where he’d lifted me off his lap. He gave me a light hug before finally leaving. Once the door closed again, I felt something different weighing down my body. I looked to an unusual bump under my jacket and pulled it back to reveal a holster with a loaded pistol. My weapon of choice. I smiled a little looking to Arthur’s retreating form. He’d never leave me vulnerable.

We followed Arthur and Saito a few yards before I saw Robert, out in the rain, flagging them down. Once they stopped and he was about to get in, Eames left our car in favour of disrupting Robert by appearing to steal his taxi. I stayed back, holding my breath. I feared to speak, fearing the quivering tone of my thoughts.

We pulled over once more to pick up a sopping wet Ariadne. She seemed grateful for the shelter.

I glanced down at the crisp white watch I always brought on any heist. It’s always good to track time when time is working against you. If the schedule was right Saito will have initiated the kidnapping part of the scheme. Ariadne turned to speak but before any words could come out, I felt the breath be ripped from my body and out my stomach. The car hurtled to the side and threw its occupants into a whirl.

I looked up, brushing my wet locks away from my eyeline. The sight I saw made my stomach lurch. A freight train. Hurtling straight through any hopes I had of getting home.

As I seemed to regain function, my courage was dashed as bullets pierced the metal. Specially trained projections targeted our two cars. I fumed at the sight of these men, knowing that this kind of dream training never appeared in our research. I watched Arthur manoeuvre the taxi, feeling lucky it was in his hands. But as more shots rained down, I grew determined. I took a crowbar from the boot and smashed out the rear window.

“KEEP US BEHIND THE TAXI!” I yelled over the newly acquired street noise to my Dad who took my meaning and tailed us to the boys, blocking the projections shot. I fetched my pistol out of the holster. I lay across the back seat rests and straightened out my arms in front of me. Pistol was positioned in a perfect line. I closed one eye. My thumb gripped the trigger down and I felt the bullet unfurl from the chamber.

Direct hit.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

We arrived at the abandoned warehouse that would be our stage. The two cars skidded in and as I exited, pistol still in hand, I noticed commotion between the others.

“Get Fischer in the back room now!” I saw them haul Fischer’s body out of the car and drag him away from my sight. I couldn’t help following him with my eyes and I tried to stifle the sigh that escaped once I saw him unharmed. I quickly composed myself and focused on the situation at hand. Saito was hurt.

“Has he been shot? Is he – he dying?” Ariadne stuttered out as Arthur carefully hurled his form out. I could see the blood seeping through his shirt. I noticed how his eyes lapsed back into his skull as if retreating from the pain.

“I don’t know.”

“Jesus christ.” My dad leaned down to him in order to assess the situation.

“Where were you? What happened to you?” Arthur questioned our whereabouts.

“We got hit by a freight strain.” I managed to stutter out through intermittent breaths.

“Why would you put a train crossing in the middle of a downtown intersection?” Arthur spat at Ariadne.

“I didn’t!” she defended.

“Well, where did it come from then?” Arthur would not let this go. I was confused and scared but if we focused on a singular fault, we’d lose sight of the end goal. And that was all that mattered now. Inception was about improvisation and now I had to improvise a runaway train being a totally normal thing to happen.

“Well, let me ask you a question, why the hell were we ambushed?” My dad screamed down at Arthur. “Those were not normal projections! They’d been trained for god’s sake!”

“You’re right.”

“How could he be trained?” Ariadne questioned.

Arthur calmed his breathing. “Fischer’s had an extractor teach his subconscious to defend itself.” I had to give it to Arthur he had an ability to stay calm in the face of unbridled attacks in the field. Which usually came from my dad. “so his subconscious is militarised. It should have shown in the research, I’m sorry.” He chanced a glance to my shaking frame. He surveyed the range of cuts on my arms and face from broken glass. “I’m sorry.” He softly uttered in my direction, but failing to meet my eyes.

“SO WHY THE HELL DIDN’T IT!” My Dad practically screamed at us now.

“Calm down.” Arthur tried to subdue his fury, lest it seep onto the entire team.

“DON’T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN! THAT WAS YOUR JOB GODDAMMIT!” Arthur rose to meet Cobbs intimidating stance. “That was your responsibility!” He shoved his finger into Arthur’s face.  “You were meant to check Fischer’s background thoroughly! We are not prepared for this type of violence!”

“We have dealt with sub-security before.” I gently reminded the men. “We’re just going to have to be a little more careful.”

Dad now directed his anger towards me. “This was not a part of the plan!" He gestured down towards Saito’s writhing frame. "Now he’s dying for god’s sake!”

Eames appeared from the side of us; he brandished a gun in front of Saito’s face. “Put him out of his misery.” He went to press the trigger before he was manhandled out of the way. Dad now had him locked against the car, gripping his offending hand.

“No, no, no don’t do that!” Cobb now furiously stated his opposition as Eames feebly tried to calm him down. Primarily so he’d release him.

“He’s in agony, I’m waking him up.” Eames defended.

“No. It won’t wake him up.” I froze hearing the words escape my dad’s mouth. You die and you wake up. That’s what happens.

“What do you mean he won’t wake up? When we die in a dream, we wake up.” Eames was repeating so he could convince himself.

“Not from this.” Yusuf spoke up. “We’re too heavily sedated to wake up that way.” Our gazes were firmly fixed on Yusuf, in disbelief of what we were hearing. One thought danced around my brain and only Eames had the guts to speak it out.

“Right. So what happens when we die?” He looked on at my dad for the answer he didn’t want.

“We drop into limbo.”

My heart plummeted out of my ribs and lodged down below. I managed to catch my breath but only in shaky little outbursts that were more like spits than any substantial amount of oxygen.

“Are you serious?” Arthur fumed upon the knowledge of this.

“Limbo?” Ariadne questioned fearfully.

“Unconcentrated dream space.”

“Well, what the hell is down there?” She built upon her question.

“Just raw, infinite subconscious.” Arthur’s voice began to build. “Nothing is down there, except for whatever may have been left behind by anyone sharing the dream who’s been trapped there before.” My saddened eyes followed my father, along with Arthur, both knowing that whatever was down there was a product between him…and Mal. “Which in our case, is you.”

“Well, how long could we be stuck there?” Ariadne wanted to claw the words back down in her throat.

“Couldn’t even think about escape before the sedation wears off.” Yusuf spluttered out his answer.

“Well how long Yusuf?” Eames was now irritated and used it to mask his fear.

“Decades – infinite – I don’t know. Ask him. He’s the one who’s been there.” He weakly gestured to my dad who’d begun to pace, avoiding our stares.

No one had looked my way as I hadn’t contributed to the conversation at hand. Dad was directed away from me, running his hands over his face as if he was waking from a deep sleep. He spun back into the group as a loud sob broke from my throat. Tears welled up and spilled out as the reality of the situation sank in. This job had already been dangerous but now I had lost the way out that could always be a crutch to the impending fear of the deep subconscious. Dad rushed to embrace me. He tucked my head into his chest and placed a kiss on my hairline.

“It’s okay, it’s okay sweetheart.” He softly cooed at me. “We’re gonna be okay.” I could no longer feel if the words were directed at me…or him. I feverishly wiped away the salty tears as they dried on my skin. I peeled myself away and looked up with a soft smile. In a silent nod of contentment. But as our eyes met I saw a flicker of regret when he saw me for what I truly was. His child.

The other boys hoisted Saito up and took him away. I knew the deeper we went, the pain would lessen. But my heart still ached for the agony waiting for him and the risk that came along with it.

Once the boys returned, Dad brought us all back to the task at hand. He addressed us explaining the outlines of the kidnapping scenario and how we’d use it to get Fischer to conjure up a safe combination which we would later use to reveal the will.

I had tucked my body into myself, my mind still running on adrenaline. I jumped back in once dad turned towards me, his next statement aimed for me.

“Honey, because of the dire situation and his clear kidnapping training we need to go harder.” I rolled my eyes feeling the direction of the conversation. “Sweetheart, we need to do ‘Damsel in Distress’.” My heart picked up speed.

“What’s that?” Ariadne questioned. It truly brought me back to how she had been dumped into this unknown world with very little knowledge. Like being dropped in a stormy ocean at night with a singular life ring.

“It’s a technique we use where y/n acts as an innocent victim to gain the marks trust.” Arthur filled her in whilst Dad stared at my expression incredulously. “Once she’s struck up a rapport we pretend to torture her. We’ve found this works with certain men, like Robert. Rich pretty boys who jerk off to the idea of being a knight in shining armour.”

I glared at Arthur’s unnecessary add-ons. He at least had the decency to look ashamed at being noticed by myself.

“Thing is I don’t think I can.” I meekly whispered. Closing in on myself further.

“What do you mean?” My dad asked.

“Because he saw me.” I stuttered out.

“That thing on the plane?” My dad’s annoyance was growing. He bent down and held my shoulders. “That wasn’t long enough to having any lasting effect on the memory.” He huffed out.

“There was another time.” My voice barely broke the room’s air and Eames' face fell as he knew what was to follow. My dad halted and I felt anger seep his veins as his hands left my shoulders. “At the office when Eames and I were doing intel. There was a – moment – well he – We talked.”

“You talked? You fucking talked with the subject?” My dad stormed away and whacked his fist into the car. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I don’t know – I just –” I stammered out in the face of my fathers fury. He laughed in disbelief at my nervous shakes.

“Such a fucking child.” He rubbed his hands over his face, unwilling to look at me in this moment.

I scoffed. “I’m only a child when it suits you.” I stated confidently, my previous anxiety dissipating in the face of his insult. We both entered into a stare down, neither willing to retreat. Our silence hung heavy.

“What does it matter.” Eames tried to pacify the two of us. “The further down we go, the fuzzier his recollection becomes.”

“It matters now!” Dad hissed. He withdrew, his disappointment evident in his stance.

“I was wearing glasses!” I shouted unconvinced at my own excuse. He spun to face me.

“It doesn’t matter, his brain now has an image of you with glasses and without so his unconscious mind will meld the two to form an exact image of you.” He left once again, desperate to forget the conversation.

“I can still do this!” I yelled with conviction. He turned back round to deliver a final blow.

“No. You can’t.” my heart clamped as his words settled in. My tears falling was the only feeling I could register in my numb frame.

God, what have I done.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994 @bearchermer @idkyoutellmesmh @mimimarvelingmarvel @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @neotanpopper @deliriouslybi @folklorde24 @thefandomdiaries07

[genericpuff]

I was reading your essay on "fat" rep in LO and as woman who is overweight, maybe not but definitely chubby/pudgy and often getting shit for it by my family... Do we ever see Persephone with a not-flat stomach? Even just a little protruding, not necessarily round. Or a double chin? I know fat looks different on different people, but... To me that seems like a pretty obvious way for an artist to show their character is meant as fat rep. If Rachel actually wanted that, I mean.

There are definitely times Rachel tries to draw her "fat" but it feels so tone deaf because it's still just like... as I've mentioned in my essay about it, it's "Hollywood fat", i.e. the kind of belly pouch fat that many women have that's often painted as ugly even though it's very commonplace to have (because no person is entirely flat! we're humans, not planks of wood!) The problem is if you try to quantify as little amount of fat as possible as "fat representation", you can't really call it fat representation because it only represents people on the lower end of the spectrum of fat. Here's an example of what I mean when I tried to find that one specific image example I was thinking of that I had seen ages ago lmao (this isn't the one I was thinking of but it gets the same point across):

Yes, cartoon stylization is a thing, but watch out for the folks who say they can't draw fat people because "it wouldn't suit my style", it falls into the same type of excuse camp as Tim Burton saying black people wouldn't suit the "aesthetic" of his films. They actually could draw fat characters in their style, it's more likely they just don't want to (but don't want to admit to that).

And honestly, if someone just wants to stick to drawing characters of a specific race, body type, etc. that they're familiar with, that's not a crime in and of itself IMO, but don't claim that your work is representation for a group when it's really only carrying the bare minimum or if you're just forcing it for the sake of seeming progressive. That's pretty much where LO falls, its "fat representation" only represents the bare minimum of fat that doesn't apply to the people who are looking for legitimate fat rep in media. Sure, there will be people who will still connect with that body type, especially for people who have stretch marks or belly pouches, but can it really be called 'fat rep' on the whole when it's not going to connect with the people who are genuinely fat? I'm someone who's gone through weight gain and struggled with body image, while I can totally relate to the type of body Persephone has where she (sometimes) has a muffin top and cellulite on her legs, that doesn't make her "fat representation" as a whole because she doesn't represent the women who are genuinely fat beyond chubbiness or being "not flat".

All that aside, the only indications of Persephone being 'fat' are the odd panel where Rachel gives her a belly or "stretch marks" (tbh they look less like stretch marks and more like scars from a bear attack lol):

But then she'll also draw Persephone with a straight up bodybuilder torso and have her say outloud that she's "small-medium":

It all feels very tone deaf because it's Rachel trying to have her cake and eat it too - she wants to draw Persephone as her usual small cinnamon roll self who can be infantilized and fetishized by the men around her (which Rachel loves to write and draw btw) BUT she also wants to try and take credit for Persephone being "fat rep" so whenever she remembers to do so, she'll throw in her laziest attempts at making Persephone seem "fat" but really she's just the Hollywood version of "fat" by having a belly pouch and stretch marks that many women of varying sizes have regardless of weight changes. We can't even assume that she may have been fat at one point and lost the weight (leading to the stretch marks) because we've seen Persephone in basically all stages of her life from childhood to adulthood. She's always been itty bitty and her entire personality and relationship with Hades is written around that.

[pascaloverx]

Rewrite The Stars

Chapter Six

Summary: One photo changes your whole life, when you accidentally bump into a celebrity and the world starts to believe that you are a couple.

chapter five chapter seven

You spent the week after your encounter with Pascal being inundated with news about you. Very positive rumors circulated about who you were. People calling you the real-life Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, claiming they knew you from school. A good number of folks fabricating stories about how you used to be. They even managed to dig up my high school lab partner. Your phone nearly exploded with notifications. Pedro reached out a couple of times, telling you to stay calm, assuring you that you weren't alone in this.

"I won't be wearing that dress, and I actually find it excessive that you bought an entirely new wardrobe with clothes that are too expensive for me to accompany you to any awards show. Are you nominated for every existing award on Earth?" You talk on the phone with Pedro, who is on his way at the moment. By the way, you no longer live in your apartment. Pedro's business manager, always a visionary, rented an apartment in a more private and secure location for you to live in temporarily until this situation blows over. Gradually, your life is turning into a big facade, even your address is not your real address anymore.

"Would it help if I said I personally chose this dress?" Pedro asks over the phone in a playful tone. You scoff, thinking that even if he said Beyoncé had worn this dress, you still wouldn't want to wear it. Okay, you're being a bit dramatic now.

"You coming with the dress by any chance?" You quip, thinking nothing is worth all this discomfort. This dress is so tight that you might need to split yourself in half to get into it.

"Darling, I'm already yours. Obviously, I come included in the package with the dress." When you hear that, you almost let yourself be charmed.

"Why don't you wear this dress in my place, love?" You're clearly losing patience and air as you struggle with this horrible dress. You can hear Pedro laughing on the other end of the line. That should be considered the eighth wonder of the world.

"You win, I give up. Wear something you feel comfortable in, and be ready because I'll be there in a few minutes,Y/N." He says calmly, and you do a mini victory dance. In life, everything becomes bearable if you're at least feeling comfortable.

"You deserve the world, Pascal, the whole world. I'll be ready in time to accompany my boyfriend to the awards show. I swear." You say with a smile as you struggle to take off the dress, almost tripping over it. Pedro says he's going to hang up but that he wants to see the dress you'll choose soon. You choose a beautiful black dress that you personally bought with your first paycheck. This dress was so well kept that even those who revamped your entire wardrobe didn't know of its existence. You quickly put it on, trying to beat Mr. Pedro Pascal, but you fail. He knocks on your apartment door before you can finish putting on the dress.

"Need a hand?" He smiles seeing you have trouble holding the dress in place, damn strapless dress.

"How did you enter the building without authorization?" You ask confused, even without looking at Pedro's face because you were embarrassed. One mistake on your part and he would see you half naked.

"Your priorities are incredible. You'd rather stay naked than let me in and help you. But of course, the building security knowing I'm Pedro Pascal, your boyfriend, is the real concern on your mind." He doesn't even hide that he's teasing you. You step aside to let him into your fake apartment. You almost let the dress fall, but he immediately helps you after entering the apartment.

"Thanks for the help. You're officially a hero." You add with a smile.

"And I'll be accompanied by a princess, apparently. You look stunning." He says sincerely. You feel a bit shy, as if only feeling the burning sensation on your cheeks, Pedro sure knows how to be charming.

"I know this isn't the dress you wanted me to wear, but I promise I'll be a much better fake girlfriend." You say, smiling and twirling the dress as if you were a real princess.

"Your happiness is my happiness, darling." That's all he says before holding you firmly by the waist. In a moment, you find yourself kissing him. Blame it on the obvious reflection. The kiss itself is tender, as if it were the first kiss you two were sharing. One thing you notice is that he didn't rush to end the kiss; in fact, he even prolonged the moment of closeness between you two.

"I believe we have to go to your award show. I heard that a very handsome actor is going to win a award tonight." You say kissing Pedro Pascal's cheek. He's still holding your waist.

"Keep that mood of yours up. It's going to be hours of photos, awkward questions and conversations. Lots of conversations." He says it like a warning, you laugh. He seems to forget that you were a waitress, he's already used to a lot of things. And you will be able to meet famous people.

"No need to glamourize, I'll be your escort anyway." You say holding Pedro's arm leading him out of the apartment. You then go to the awards show together.

tag: @wanniiieeee , @hungrhay and @leilanixx

[plaindangan]

"Miu sucks at twerking", "Miu is an embarrassment", "miu is a pushover"

Miu had FUCKING ENOUGH! She has mega fat tits, golden brain and killer looks, money, and heck she’s probably the second strongest girl out of her class! It’s time those LOOSERS see her her as the TOP TIER PEAK OF WOMAN EVOLUTION she claims to be~ she’ll stop at nothing, even upgrading mechanically entirely or switching her dna somehow with her inventions. Time for the world to begin admiring, and jealousing the crude rude "biggest best bitch of the century!"

Disclaimer: R18 material! If not to your liking then please do not view!

It took her months to get this form. So much time burning the midnight oil to research how to alter her DNA! So many weeks trying to get a stable machine up and running! So many days studying and researching how to make herself PERFECT!!!!

...But she did it!

Miu fucking did it!!

She...she was now perfect!

So perfect that she called the worst person she knew of - Kokichi, obviously - over to her lab to not only witness her new form, but get him to be so enamored with her that he would be BEGGING to become her new toy~

Speaking of which...he should be sneaking in her lab now~

"Heeeeeeeeeey!! You rang? I hope this is worth it since my scheduled Miu bugging time isn't for another three hours!!" Kokichi said casually...though strangle the foul-mouthed braggart of an invetor wasn't there to lewdly boast about her next conquest. Yet, she was nowhere to be found. Well, nowhere except the main lab, which he hasn't walked into yet. Maybe she was there?

"Miuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu! Hey, hey, hey, silicone chest, you in here?!!" shouted Kokichi as he opened the door, but the room was pitch black. But, he did hear her voice.

"I'm in here...Kokichi~" Hm? Curious Kokichi walked inside...and was startled as the door immediately closed and locked behind him. Oh boy, he was in for it now. The lights came on - and in front of him was the 'New' Miu.

"How do I look, baby?~"

The immediate notice one would find with Miu was that she was towering over Kokichi at a solid 6"9 ft, not including the platform heels she was wearing as well. The second thing he would notice would be her eyes. Replacing her usual striking blue eyes were cybernetic ones with pink pupils looking deep within the supreme leader's soul. Those wouldn't be the only thing mechanical about her now, as his eyes would be glued to her arms - mostly since she was now holding and stroking his chin.

"Like what you see, ya little gremlin?~" Miu said softly. Despite being metallic, her hands felt as warm as an actual hand was. It's from this touching would Kokichi notice her arms...and how ripped they were. She looked as if she could bench press a car and be none the tired for it. But this was all small potatoes to the outfit she was wearing.

In this case, Miu was wearing a toga of sorts. If Kokichi had to guess it was to showcase her superiority was a 'goddess' now, or something (at least that what she was probably thinking). To be fair, she did at least have the look to warrant being called that downpat.

For instance, her boobs, her pride and joy, were very distracting now, having being expanded by some method of Miu to make them huge and sloshy with each small bit of movement she made. If he had to guess they were probably H-cups(?) but he doubted Miu cared for specifics beyond being 'bustier than every single woman on Earth'. The toga itself was struggling to contain the 'new load', with Kokichi getting a good look at her rack thanks to a heart shaped cleavage in the toga and, even then, her erect nipples were prominent at the front as well. Meaning, she also wasn't wearing a bra.

As his gaze went lower, Kokichi would see more of Miu's 'additions' to herself. Her newly form 12-pack that was very much showing from how tight the toga clung to her belly. Miu's strong, curvy, thighs that matched well with her new robo-arms and dense muscles. A big, ripe, juicy peach that could suffocate someone ten times over. That's not even getting into minor details such as her lips being plumped up as well. Or how her hair, now in a long pony tail, reached right to her ass and had a silver streak running down the middle. From fanged teeth, to a long, Genocider-like tongue fit wriggling in her mouth, all of this had Miu looking at Kokichi in pride and a manner of soft arrogance.

"Just admit it: The way I am now, there is nobody that can ever topple me. I am the golden standard of women now! Someone that you can't help but worship. Be amazed, little gremlin, since you are the first to ever witness my new form! Bask in it, and love it!! Give me the praise that I deserve, and I may even reward you. With. A. Night. Of. Fun...well. There's always a good chance you'd just get a kiss on the hand. But, hey, a kiss from me is still a million times better than those other whores!! Ohohohohohoho!!! So, what do you say?!!! Care to praise the new me?"

...

...

...

"Eeeeehhhhh, nah, I pass." said Kokichi flatly and turned on his heels to leave.

Something that had Miu absolutely flabbergasted. Running across to block his path, she looked down at the dictator and glared.

"What the fuck do you mean 'nah, I pass'?!!! Just look at me!!!! I'm absolutely gorgeous, you little shit!!! How can you just pass up on that?!!!!"

"Meh, not reaaaaaally my kinda style. Especially with all that modification you're doing. Just feels all fake, you know? Have fun roping in some other gooner or whatever." Kokichi said, skipping out towards the door further, only to be stopped by Miu again. Glaring down at him and smirking.

"Y-you don't realize your position, do ya?!! Do you really think I'll let your twink ass just waltz on out at me, just like that?!! Hahahahaaha...I'm getting that 'praise' from you one way or the other and there's nothing you can do about it!!!"

"...You sure about that?~" Kokichi asked, his face twisting from bored to sinister with a smirk. Hm? Slowly, Kokichi pulled down his pants...and Miu knew she was in trouble from two things.

His cock smelt incredibly damn musky that it took all of her systems to force Miu not to pass out yet. God, it reeked so much...but it smelt so good too? What would feel like with her new hands? What would it taste like with her new long tongue swirling on it and licking it clean? A-a-a-and....how good would it be to have that inside of her ass or even pussy?~

As for the second thing that had her in trouble, well, when Kokichi is flashing you an seven inch cock that was gradually pointing upwards at you, with a set of rather full balls with with creamy goodness...admittedly it was very hard not to fantasize about gurgling and fondling and fucking it until he was completely dr-...

...Oh, when did she drop her toga?

When did she wind up on her bed?

And when the Hell did Kokichi not only complete stripping naked, but was also mounting her?!!!

"What's the matter, I thought you wanted to be 'praised', I'm just gonna give you what you wanted!! Aren't you glad?!! Neeheeheehee!!" he giggled, and after a brief moment...Miu decided to cut her losses.

"Fuck it, just don't you dare pull out~"

"Your wish is my command~"

-

Plapplapplapplapplapplapplapplapplapplapplapplaplapplapplap!!!!!!

"FFFFFFUUUUUCCCCK!! YESSSSSSSSSSS!!! ROUGHEEEEEEEER!! ROUGHEER, YA LITTLE GREMLIIIN!!! KNOCK UP THE GREATEST CYBORG ON EARTH!!!! THE MOTHER OF THE PERFECT SPAAAAWWWWNNN!!! DO! NOT! STOPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!! A-A-AAAAAAAAAHHH!! THAT'S IT, THATS ITTTT! THAAAAATSSSSSSSS ITTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!"

"W-woowwwww, y-yyou reaaaaaallly gotten louder with the upgrades, huh?" Kokichi said, chuckling away. At the moment, he was currently mating pressing the shrieking, fuckhappy robot. By now the room smelled strongly of semen, sweat, and faintly of oil, but neither really cared at the moment. All that mattered was continuing to break this 'goddess' in, no matter how many rounds (they were currently on nine) it took.

No matter how much they overflow her aching, needy, holes with the 'attention' she craved for and thensome~

[ambelle]

I’ve talked vaguely about white liberals treatment of BW both in real life and in fandom spaces but I feel I should expand on that.

A while back a BW wrote an article about how BM are the white people of the black community. White people were offended and baffled and BM protested. The thing is it's very much true. BM, along with BW are oppressed under a system stacked against us (along with many other demographics), but because BW are women we are also oppressed by BM.

White liberals have the privilege to not have grown up in the hood like I did. So they can claim a world without cops wouldn't turn into open season on BW at the hands of BM. They can say gangs, drive-bys, and drug dealers aren't dangerous and BM shouldn't be prevented from doing it. But when I was little I couldn't use the playgrounds because drug dealers used them as a place to deal and recruit little boys. I couldn't go to the local skating rink because gangs would go there to fight and shoot it up. I had to play in the street with my friends because the MEN in the community were ruining spaces meant for children. Erasing safety in general actually. Not the white president, the men in the community. I can say systematic racism and the BM who did a random drive-by on my house and raped little girls were both oppressing me. Both are true.

But it's not true to the white liberals who have a complete blind spot when it comes to BW because they don't acknowledge we are women. They see us as strong unwavering aggressive machines. We make good allies but they don't need to help us because we are invincible duh. It's the "bw saved the day" shit after every election followed by them going right back to ignoring us the next day.

It's them ignoring all the crazy stats about violence against BW to whitesplain to us how abolishing the police is a great idea. The men harming us will simply stop if they know we don't even have someone we may call for help. Let's abolish the police because they harm BM and BM never do anything they should be arrested for including my rapist. He was simply a victim of white supremacy and I should have hugged him after like the strong mammy I was born to be. No need to talk about black femicide.

Basically, white liberals care about BM (because it's trendy not because they give a shit see ANTIFA), BW care about BM, BM care about BM, and no one gives a shit about BW. That's the reality

But white libs in fandoms are racist in a different way. They like to adopt the struggles of demographics that are oppressed in real life and apply it to white characters. It's why characters like Silco and Jinx are so appealing to them.

(both trying to kill Zaunites here BTW)

Make no mistake If Silco were black fans would be holding them accountable same with Jinx. But they are white and they are (were) oppressed. That's literally a white liberal dream. They get to ignore the fact that Silco and Jinx are rich and they got rich by oppressing poor people and forcing children into child labor.

(that Zaunite teen boy died not that anyone cares. )

They get to weaponize classism to excuse the violence and murder they commit against other poor people. Who cares how many orphans he creates or how many poor children he tries to murder.

Mind you not only was Silco rich off the backs of poor people and the labor of kids, he used the enforcers to help him not only oppress his own people but also frame Ekko (ironically a BM) and the Firelights for crimes he and Jinx were committing.

Jinx who killed multiple Zaunites on purpose and tried to kill Ekko later on. Jinx who is rich and has no motive for the violence she commits. Jinx who is working for the man she KNOWS killed her father figure and tried to kill her siblings. Jinx who never once takes responsibility for any of the choices she makes. But she's white. It's why the fandom supports her hetero ship with Ekko (who they headcanon as being her emotional crutch). They only care about heteronormativity when there is a black woman they want to erase. No other straight pairing gets called "disgusting", "forced", "shoehorned", "a betrayal", or "immoral". Mel is forceful and aggressive. She's a seductress who manipulates Jayce into her bed and into doing her evil deeds.

(He's clearly not into her at all)

He should be kissing Vik's ass and worshipping the ground he walks on. Speaking of Viktor ...him using tech for his own gains, secretly merging his DNA with the core, getting addicted to shimmer, killing a fellow Zaunite and converting up her death + stealing her notes is something no one will discuss.

Because he's white , was once poor, and is "gay-coded". He's thus entitled to murdering a brown woman and entitled to Jayce's body. They weaponize LGBTQ+ rep in order to justify their racism much like the left does in real life.

Mel who shows no ill will towards Viktor is accused of being ableist and classist because she gave him a look when he was arguing with her. Mel who explains why she wants defensive weapons and has several scenes reiterating her motive is accused of wanting war and genocide.

Mel who has exchanged flirty looks with Jayce every episode before she kisses him is accused of raping him. Mel who isn't at all a part of the Vander/Silco/Jinx shenanigans in ep 1 is blamed for the death of Jinx's family because she "controls the council" (even though they often vote against her and Heimerdinger gets a pass despite being there when the cities were founded). Because she's black and rich. Thus they can weaponize poverty in order to villainize BW.

They shout over the people who are actually oppressed. Over the people who know what it's like to have drug dealers and gangs make your life hell while the government does the same on a less personal scale.

This is what white liberals do. It's not new. I won't even get into the weird ass envy/hatred/lust thing they have for bw. The dehumanizing and hypersexualizing shit they do is a whole other essay.

[blindmagdalena]

Homelander loves to take you shopping. He loves it even more when you let him see the things you try on, but he wouldn't be quiet about it if you picked out something he doesn't like.

Homelander makes himself very comfortable in the plush recliner outside your fitting room. He particularly enjoys taking you to these high-end boutiques, where he can ensure a private, pleasant experience. He never cared for shopping before, had no need of it, but ever since you entered his life, he's obtained a newfound appreciation for it.

Specifically, he appreciates how good you look in the things he buys you. There's something deeply satisfying about seeing you dressed by him, for him.

One more way to stake his claim.

Listening to you, he can hear the faint way you struggle under your breath. Curious, he rises from his seat just as you say, "I think I need a bigger size," from behind the curtains. "Mmm, let's see," he says, parting the curtains with a quick flick of his wrists. "Hey!" You startle, pulling the dress up to cover your chest. "Relax, it's just us," Homelander laughs while you peer around the curtain. "C'mon, show me." "It won't zip over my ass," you say, turning around. You're used to how hands-on he is during these fittings by now. He's always got an opinion, and as far as he's concerned, it's always the correct one.

Stepping in, Homelander appraises the garment. It's truly a stunning piece, the fabric a rich velvet navy that's so dark, it's nearly black. The shine catches the light nicely, creating a depth of color. It would photograph beautifully next to his suit. Pinching the fabric together, Homelander gives it a quick tug, zipping it up to where it ends at your lower back with little to no issue. "Nahhh, just needed a hand up over all this cushioning," he says slyly, cupping a generous handful of your rear.

You smack his hands away, throwing him a scandalized look over your shoulder, though he can see you fighting back a smile. "Would you stop that? We are in public." "Lemme finish," he says with a smirk, ignoring your protests altogether. The back of the dress is largely open, but features a crisscross pattern of laces to fill it in. He slips off his gloves for this part. While he could have done it fine enough with them on, he likes the way his bare fingers brush the skin of your back as he laces the dress. He likes even more the goosebumps it triggers.

Once the lace work is finished, he affixes the clasp at the top. Leaning in, he presses a warm kiss to your neck. He doesn't need to bend down to do it, which he's less a fan of. "The dress is perfect," he tells you, hands roaming down your curves, feeling the fit of it. You turn around in his grasp and slip your arms around his neck. "It still feels tight," you say, shifting side to side. "It's perfect," he insists again, giving your hips a squeeze. "Not a fan of the shoes, though" "Why?" You ask, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Because they make me taller than you?" Homelander's eyes narrow slightly, his smile thinning. "Mmmm, you're lucky you're pretty," he says, leaning in to kiss you. You hum into the kiss before pulling back. "I was about to say the same thing about you." "Ooh, funny girl," he purrs sardonically, giving you a sharp tug to close what little distance there was between your bodies. He kisses you again, slower this time. Deeper. The velvet feels delectable under his hands, but it's the slopes of your body that really drive him wild. He knew the dress would fit because he has every inch of you committed to memory. Homelander wins in the end. The dress is perfect for the next gala you attend together, and he has even more fun getting you out of it than he did getting you into it.