#i don't actually know that many magical girl shows

[aierie--dragonslayer]

happy last day of pride

[flash-from-the-past]

Submachine 10: the Exit

[dbphantom]

fuck it im watching the (other) mermaid magical girl show

<- obsessed with magical boys and girls and merpeople

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC When You Are Suddenly Dating a Princess (pt. 2)

[<- part 1]

"What do you mean-" Jason starts, but the girl is already tapping her ear briefly - and only now does he notice a tiny comm there. Fuck, he should have known.

"Oscar? I changed my mind, I want to claim something," Jazz says easily, and, after a short pause, "A Tecpatl, the one with the owl. No, it's for personal reasons- You don't have to, but alright." She taps her ear again, and Jason can't help but ask:

"Who's Oscar?" He is not jealous. He is just insanely curious and very confused.

"My bodyguard," Jazz rolls her eyes, "At least he thinks he is. I'd say he is more of a secretary."

That doesn't really explain anything. It actually just adds even more questions - what kind of a magic user needs a bodyguard? or a secretary, for that matter? - but Jason keeps them to himself for now. He is... kind of intrigued now. Jazz said 'claim', not 'buy'. Which might be just a weird word choice, but somehow, Jason thinks it was deliberate.

A bald, black-skinned guy in a black suit and sunglasses - which, seriously, how does he even see a thing in here with those on - makes his way through the crowd and stops in front of Jazz, nodding slightly to her.

"Lady Phantom, I understand you want to make an impression, but using your status for personal matters-"

"Did I ask for your opinion, Oscar?" Jazz's voice doesn't change. It's still pleasant and sweet, and she is still smiling, if just a bit, but there's an unmistakable steel edge to her tone now. Jason feels a light shiver run down his spine. He's seen Jazz in a lot of different situations and circumstances; he's seen her get mad at a librarian who banned some controversial books in the public library, and he's seen her skillfully take down an armed robbery in a shop all by herself, and he's even seen her successfully stare down Killer Croc on one occasion.

Yet, he's never seen her like this, with her chin raised up high and radiating authority like she is the most powerful person in the room.

Also, Lady Phantom?..

"No," Oscar admits after a pause and presses his lips together, "But the Council of Ancients will not be pleased."

"Council of Ancients couldn't care less even if I declared war," Jazz brushes the comment off, and Jason's levels of confusion are growing higher and higher with every word they exchange. Oscar sighs and finally complies:

"Very well, then," he breathes out with a sense of surrender, and then turns his head to Jason just slightly, "Is this an urgent matter, or should I go talk to the auctioneer and the sellers?"

Jazz looks to Jason, raising her eyebrows in question. And, technically, it's not that much of a time crunch now since Jason doesn't have to try and sneak through the security or wait for the auction to start officially. But he feels a bit petty. Also, this man was questioning his girlfriend, which is offensive on many levels in Jason's opinion.

So, he nods, "Urgent."

Oscar's face doesn't change one bit, but Jason has plenty of experience with emotionally inept men who look like they are eternally constipated. He can see the traces of exasperation in Oscar's shoulders.

"Follow me, then," he tells them both, and turns around, headed to the back of the auction rooms. There's security there, but Oscar only shows them some kind of a badge, and they step aside, letting the three of them through. As far as Jason knows, no FBI or CIA agents should have that kind of clearance.

Which finally prompts him to ask the most important question as soon as the doors behind them close and it's only them three going through an empty hallway.

"Who are you?" He asks Jazz, who is still keeping her hand on his elbow. The girl hums, not looking at him, and keeps walking after Oscar.

"Jasmine Fenton," she answers, and, yes, he knows that much. He's seen the files Bruce has on her, but at this point, he is not even sure how much of the info in there was actually true.

"You are in the presence of Jasmine Fenton, Lady of the House Phantom, Princess of Infinite Realms and sister to a King," Oscar supplies, and his voice is... a bit petty. Like he knows Jazz didn't want him to say anything, but he still did just because he could.

Jazz huffs and rolls her eyes, "Yes, that, too."

Jason blinks.

He's heard about Infinite Realms. Mostly rumors through the grapevine of Leaguers, but also from Diana personally - he remembers her saying she is glad about having a truce with them. He didn't listen much since she explained it as the Underworld, the Land of the Dead, so he thought she was talking about some mythology shit. Turns out it wasn't.

But there's a more important thing.

"I'm dating a princess," he says to no one in particular as they come to a stop in front of one of the doors.

"Technically, you'll be treated as my consort if you ever decide to visit," Jazz admits, and Jason is officially out of surprised responses. There's only a limited amount of bafflement he can feel in a day, and he has exhausted the resources.

He is a royal consort of the Underworld princess. Sure, why not.

The room they step into after Oscar puts in some code into the lock is filled with boxes, packages, and crates. Jason looks around - sure, he knew all the prettily displayed artifacts back in the auction room were only replicas, but he didn't expect the originals to be literally just stacked in piles in the back room. Yet, here they are.

Oscar looks around the room and confidently makes his way to one of the shelves on the side, quickly going through the labels on the containers.

"Do you have, like, a crown?" Jason asks because he sucks at small talk. Also because he doesn't know what else he is supposed to ask in this kind of situation. Jazz snorts and leans to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Not really. Danny has one, and it looks absolutely badass, with flames on top of it, like the ones you would see in cartoons. I have some tiaras and stuff, but they are just jewelry," she explains, and Jason nods sagely. Just jewelry, alright. Seems like he is simply destined to be surrounded by rich people from all sides.

"How about a castle?"

This gets a sigh out of Jazz, "We used Pariah's - that's the previous King - old one for the coronation ceremony, but mostly, it's just for storage. Both Danny and I live on Earth, and Dani, our little sister, travels a lot. So, I do, and I don't at the same time."

"What about-" Jason starts, but he is cut off by Oscar all but shoving a small box in his hands, "Oh. Do I-" he turns to his girlfriend awkwardly, "Do I have to pay you for it or..."

"No, it's from a dead civilization," she raises her head back and shakes it slightly, but after seeing Jason's frown, she elaborates, "I'm the Princess of the Dead. I can officially claim anything that belongs to the dead as mine."

"It's a law that is supposed to resolve any possible conflicts between the denizens of Infinite Realms and the living," Oscar supplies, his voice disapproving. Alright, makes sense why he said it was not for personal matters, then. Not that it's going to stop Jason, though.

"Like, anything?" He punctuates, and Jazz tilts her head, a sly smile on her lips.

"Sure."

"Lady Phantom," Oscar sighs, tired and chastising, but Jason doesn't plan on robbing the auction. At least not robbing it any more than they already did.

He has a different idea.

"Can you ask Batman for the Robin's suit he has in his cave?"

Jazz blinks, and then her smile turns into a full-on grin.

"Of course."

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

@akuworld777

[suhlogic]

paradise [kim mingyu x fem!oc]

summary: going to la union for a temporary escape from your busy city life was supposed to just be all about you, not until you meet a hot stranger at a bar and things escalate quite interestingly for the week.

warnings: slight age gap, dom!mingyu, sub!reader, unprotected sex, choking kink, creampie, size kink, praise kink, dry humping in a semi-public place, biting kink (slight), cum-eating

[🔞]

your city life proved to be exhausting, still navigating everything at 21 despite being independent and already moved out of your parents' house but the corporate life was a bitch to deal with on top of your mother nagging you to fulfill your filial duties as the eldest child to provide when they are still fully capable of supporting themselves and your younger sibling. so here you were, driving alone in your car on the way to la union to unplug for a week. the car ride was boring and tiring since your friends were all busy and you didn't want to ride a bus alone. finally, you arrived at your hotel early morning and got everything settled before you slept to make up for the exhaustion.

after a good few hours of decent sleep, you decide to get ready for the beach and put on a light red bikini that was just held together by strings that was properly showing off your huge tits. you also put on a skirt and a thin knitted coverup while your hair was up in a cute claw clip and grabbed your small tote bag on your way out to have some fun while the sun sets. as you reach the seaside, you decided to lay your towel on the sand and put your bag on it as you enjoyed swimming in the water basking in the sun. while being alone with your thoughts and letting your worries be washed away by the refreshing saltiness of the water, you couldn't help but wonder if you were going to get some action tonight— after all, it has been a while since you've gotten laid. many men have come and go but not one has actually ever fully satisfied you. it's not that you were the problem but you were extremely picky with men and rightfully so.

[11:00pm]

after washing up back at your hotel room to grab dinner at the bar, you put on a pink dress with a thigh-high slit that was backless with just a pair of lace panties underneath. as you make your way into a chair by the bar counter and order your food, you mind your own business. after all, the fun doesn't start until the alcohol gives you enough courage to get fucked by a handsome stranger.

sipping on your cocktail was already affecting you and noticed that a tall handsome guy, with sharp gentle features and a short cropped haircut was eyeing you. his sun-kissed skin looking perfect under the strobing lights, athletically built body showing off through the shirt he's left the few buttons open with biceps practically begging to rip through its sleeves. but you weren't going to make it easy for him, catching his stares and waving back at the mystery guy. luring him to come over to your spot, and it fucking worked like magic.

his aura was intoxicating. the moment he leaned in to whisper something in your ear, he immediately had you hooked. "so what's a pretty girl like you doing in this place?" he smirked. you felt taken aback by his deep voice, his breath being minty with a hint of the gin and tonic he was drinking earlier. "just looking to have fun,although i've heard the real fun starts in the bedroom" you bite back with a smile from your pink glossy lips. he laughed at the smooth rebuttal and reached his hand out to introduce himself, "feisty, i see...it's so rude that i didn't introduce myself. i'm mingyu by the way," he said. "and i'm _____," you shake his hand. "you know, i could show you a fun time what do you say?" his huge hand grabs the small of your back, the tension and close proximity making you yearn for his touch. the flashing lights and the music thumping on full blast against the speakers felt so right under the hot twinkling stars on a summer night,

"don't worry baby, they're too busy to care about what we're doing" he whispers as he holds you tighter and grinds his clothed member against your ass harder, "fuck, let's get out of here...my room." you whine as you begin to face him and grab his hand, leaving after paying your tabs.

once it was all settled, you and mingyu began to walk back to your hotel with hands intertwined together no one but the stars and the waves crashing against the shore witnessing romance brewing between the two of you as the music began to fade into the distance. the walk back to your place consisted of laughter and getting to know each other more, you began to learn that he was also getting away from the chaos of the city—family stuff, in his own words. not long after, the two of you made your way inside the elevator and pressed the floor where your room was.

l

you grab him by this nape and pull him in for a kiss, tasting your sweetness on his tongue and glistening pink lips which turns heated the moment your hands travel down his toned abs and into his boxers, feeling up his manhood—lengthy, thick and hard. you pull his pants down along with his underwear as his dick springs free slapping against his stomach past his belly button. "will it fit?" you give him your best doe eyes as you begin to jerk him off, spreading his precum around the slit of his bulbous mushroom tip. "don't tease me, i need to be inside you now." he moans, the lust in his eyes darkening as he takes his dick in his hand and rubs it up and down your wet folds before inserting it slowly. his tip feeling hot and heavy against your wetness, moaning at how his dick feels inside you. "am i hurting you?" he says gently, leaving soft kisses on your forehead down to your neck to ease the pain as he slowly inserts his manhood deeper as you two find a good pace. "no, it's okay...you can move," you say as he's fully sheathed inside you, feeling him go slow and deep as he kisses you once more while you grab his hair. your bodies in sync as your heart beats faster with every thrust and moan you let out screaming and worshipping his name like a god. "you're so tight and wet, so pretty like this..." he moans as he plays with both of your tits thrusting into you faster, his huge biceps shining with sweat as you beg for mingyu to give you your release. "daddy, please go faster...i'm close," you whine out as you grab his hand wrapping it around your neck. his tip repeatedly hitting your cervix as his pace becomes sloppier and rapid, "such a nasty girl, wanting her daddy to choke her...huh?" he smirks, showing off his canines as he nips at your jawline while thrusting faster inside you and all you could do was moan and whine at the intense roughfucking. "i'm cumming...where do you want it, princess?" he says in between breaths, sweat trickling down his forehead. "cum inside me...please, i need you" you whine, completely high on him blinded by pleasure. after a few more thrusts, the two of you both reach your orgasm together as he creams your pussy, his cum and yours leaking out of it— he doesn't hesitate to go down and eat you out, his warm tongue adding to the overstimulation you've been feeling as he makes figure eights with it while he holds you down by your thighs. the sight of a handsome guy like mingyu in between your legs making you cum for the nth time tonight was unexpected but you needed this, as you tug on his messy hair, he looks at you while eating you out like a starved man and once he licks you all clean, he leaves another kiss on your forehead.

"didn't expect to pick up a hot stranger like you tonight..." you smirk, shifting to sit up on the bed while he grabs a towel to clean the both of you up and runs a bath. "i've had my eyes on you since you walked into the bar , i'm glad the night ended with you under me," he teasingly winks as he motions for you to come sit in between his legs and starts to wipe you down. but mingyu couldn't help leaving slow and soft kisses down your cheeks and down your jawline as he cleans you up, "babe... don't start now, i can barely walk," you laugh, trying to suppress your moans. "i can carry you anywhere, don't worry," he whispers as you lean your neck to face him and pull him in for another kiss. after cleaning the two of you up, mingyu carries you in bridal style into the bathroom and helps you get into the bathtub and follows suit behind you and engulfs you in his warmth, his biceps hugging you flush against his chest as you grab on his forearms biting at it softly and kissing it. you don't know if he''ll remain a stranger for the night or someone you'd be spending the rest of your life with but surely you hope it's the latter. he smirks at your antics and kisses your cheek, "happy 2nd anniversary, my love."

[candyskiez]

so, you've heard shows be recommended because they had gay characters. you don't really know what they're actually about though, and don't know if they'd be something you'd be into and are worried about spoilers. here's spoiler free plot summaries of em!

The Owl House

The Owl House starts out as a typical teenage girl goes into a fantasy realm story, but with a twist. Actions have consequences. The protagonist is a girl named Luz Noceda, who was being sent to a camp to make her behave normally by her mother after causing too much trouble at school. She ends up finding a place she's always dreamed of: a fantasy world. A world where everyone's so much weirder than she is. And she thinks, maybe if I don't belong out there, maybe people will like me here. Maybe I can be special here.

It's a story about found family, propaganda, erased history, living with disability, religious trauma, and neurodivergence. It's fundamentally a show about people who's brains work differently finding each other and making a family that treats them right. Definitely my favorite of the ones on this list. It's about people who've been oppressed being pissed about it and about finding yourself again after giving up on everyone around you for so long. It's basically a show about being a minority and trying to be understood and to understand yourself in the process. It's about growing up neurodivergent and how isolating it feels and figuring yourself out. It's about repairing broken relationships and parents who fuck up. And it's just. Such a love letter to anyone who was the weird kid in school. It's sad and heartbreaking and also so hopeful, and it's wonderful.

Content warnings: Abuse, Death, Grief, Animal Death, Suicidal thoughts, Vague suicide attempts, Depression, blink and you'll miss it s/h, body horror, religious trauma

She Ra and the Princesses Of Power

Adora was raised in the Horde since she was a baby, being fed propaganda about how cruel the princesses were. After learning how the horde actually was, though, she defects. But there's one problem. Her best friend, Catra, stays behind. Adora finds a sword that can transform her into She Ra, and might be the key to figuring out who she really is, while Catra takes her place as force captain.

It's a story about abuse, at the end of the day. Adora and Catra were stuck in a golden child and scapegoat dynamic, despite how much they care about each other. This leads to them knowing everything about each other but not understanding it. There's a fundamental disconnect between them, because both of their traumas are completely different. They have complete misconceptions about each other. Even in their initial split, they both have completely different perceptions of what's going on and why the other is upset. It's not a story about magic princesses, it's about the cycle of abuse and what makes it so complicated. Does it have flaws? Yeah. But ultimately I really really enjoy it, and when it does something right it does something RIGHT. Get through season one, it starts kids show-y but it gets very good during later s1.

Content warnings: Abuse (obviously), body horror, gaslighting (and I mean actual gaslighting, not what the Internet thinks gaslighting is), suicide, depression, flashing lights and eyestrain during the finale

Steven Universe

Steven Universe is a sins of the father story. Steven is the son of the leader of the rebel group The Crystal Gems, who's name was Rose Quartz. He navigates the confusion of being half gem and half human, as well as trying to figure out the mess of the rebellion and what his mother left behind. He's constantly in her shadow, for better or for worse.

It's a story about grief. How it impacts relationships, how it taints history, how it impacts family. It has some definite flaws, but ultimately it's about very flawed people who have lost so many people in their life trying to cope with it. Trying to handle what they lost and trying to adjust to life without them. It's about how expectations fuck a kid up and about agency and just a show about complicated relationships in general, at the end of the day. Also, it has some FANTASTIC music.

Content warnings: Grief, Abuse, body horror, very creepy people I don't know how to tag, heavy allegories for homophobia

Nimona

Nimona is a story about a guy who gets framed for murder. His name is Ballister Boldheart, a commoner who hoped to become a knight. It seemed everyone was waiting to watch him fail, so it was no surprise when he was the immediate target. Heavily injured and away from the man he loves, he's left alone trying to figure out a way to prove his innocence- until a strange kid comes into his life. This kids name is Nimona, and while he is intent on proving his innocence, she gave up on being anything but a villain a long time ago.

It's about deconstructing the model minority myth, trans rage, propaganda, and with a healthy dose of "FUCK the police".

Content warnings: Heavy injury, on screen suicide attempt, flashing lights

feel free to add more shows! just remember to keep the summaries as spoiler free as you can and add content warnings!

[the-gateway-to-madness]

Platonic dynamics I want to see more in the (tiny) Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons fandom:

Jack being like an older brother to Hiccup and sort of seeing an older version of Jamie in him and not scoffing at how nerdy he is ("holy crap you MADE this? Man show me how it works!!")

Rapunzel post-her-movie being all gung-ho and cheery, and Merida trying to get her to stop being so naïve, only for Rapunzel to calmly list all the ways she was betrayed and abused throughout her adventures (and you'd only have to go through the canon events of the movie and show to make this work, btw, girl's been through STUFF) and tells Merida she is upbeat and kind because she chooses to believe that most people are good, because so many people stuck with her through so much and so many people came back to her after betraying her. And Merida is like "well dang ok, wanna learn to shoot a bow"

Jack being calm, responsible, and protective of the others without becoming too angsty in the process- playing harmless little pranks to bring everyone's spirits up, that sort of thing

Merida being annoyed by Jack at first, but it's because she misses her brothers, not because she categorically dislikes the pranks. She tells Jack this and he asks her to join him doing pranks. She has much more fun after this.

Rapunzel is good at many things, but not so much inventing, as we see in TTS; her trying to assist Hiccup and him being good-natured about it but entirely accidentally outclassing her

Jack very deliberately keeping his past and loneliness to himself, and the others figuring out something's off because they never catch him sleeping, he's pensive when he's not interacting with them, he's got such wide and extensive experience, and he starts admitting bits and pieces like "I'm older than I look" etc etc

Jack never openly getting angry with the kids because they're kids and he's a Guardian, so instead when one of them is upset or trying to pick a fight with him, his staff will glow brighter or it'll get cloudier or windier or snowier- his magic responds, but Jack refuses to, making his calm all the more scary.

Jack being the first to realize Rapunzel has been through Stuff and sitting down with her when the other two are asleep "what happened to you?" entirely gently and patiently because HE'S A GOOD BIG BROTHER DANGIT I WANT THIS SIDE OF HIM TO SHOW MORE-

Hiccup worrying/getting upset/doing that I Have To Stand Alone thing and Rapunzel approaching him like "you're not the only one who grew up alone, you know. It's okay to rely on us, we won't let you down"

Hiccup doing the I Have To Stand Alone thing in general cause I don't see that a lot in crossovers or at least the arts

The others finding Jack in weird places because super-balance go brr

Jack being reluctant to touch any of the kids for any reason because he doesn't want to see the way they treat him change once they realize how cold and inhuman he really is

Merida recognizing Jack immediately as the only other obviously competent fighter by the way he moves (she was raised around all manner of warriors and guards, after all) and immediately setting about allying herself with him because Heaven knows they all need as much protection as they can get

Merida helping Hiccup to have a moment like he has in the HTTYD books where he realizes he's actually a really amazing swordfighter when he actually uses his dominant hand

Hiccup and Rapunzel asking Merida and Jack what siblings are like

Jack just treating them all like his little siblings

Jack and Merida gathering ingredients together and, depending on the region, Jack teaching Merida the safe local vegetation and herbs because he's been everywhere. Also, Jack teaching the others how to cook with local ingredients

Jack knowing a lot about herbal medicine and helping and teaching the others

After much internal deliberation, Jack choosing Hiccup to hold his staff while he takes care of two-handed tasks

Jack knowing how to style hair because of Mary, and he and Merida helping Rapunzel tame her hair

[pirateshelly]

One thing that really fascinates me about interview with the vampire (the show) is this sort of tension between power and powerlessness in all of the characters. Because it doesn't present becoming a vampire as something that just gives you power and magically makes you completely detached from all human concerns and struggles.

And that seems to be something Lestat does very much want to believe, and he's in enough of a position of privilege that he's able to convince himself it's true, and it's a fundamental area where he just cannot understand Louis because Louis CAN'T pretend even if he wants to. (And of course Lestat cannot ACTUALLY separate himself from "human troubles" the way he likes to think he can, he just has an easier time pretending than most). Because as much as becoming a vampire grants these characters supernatural power it doesn't just magically take away the very tangible human ways that they were previously vulnerable or powerless.

Becoming a vampire doesn't negate Louis' struggles with racism; in some ways it amplifies them with how he is alienated from his own family and community; his closest connection becomes Lestat. He loses his economic independence and becomes socially dependent on Lestat in a way he wasn't to anyone as a human because in some ways becoming a vampire made him MORE vulnerable, despite granting him physical strength/speed/etc. The promise of freedom in vampirism Lestat presents to Louis (that I do think he does genuinely mean, but "freedom" means very different things to Louis than it does to Lestat) is never fulfilled.

Likewise Claudia learns the hard way with Bruce and later with the coven that she may be a vampire but the world still looks at her and sees a vulnerable young black girl and that will always put her in danger.

Claudia rescues Madeleine then turns her into a vampire, but rather than protect her from future harm the "crime" of turning her becomes the very thing that gets her killed by yet another angry mob.

And 514 years as a vampire will never be enough for Armand to truly trust or believe in his own power. Because the first 200 or so years of his life he was literally never once allowed any agency at all over his own identity or his own body (child slave sold to a brothel, sold to an abusive master, captured and violently indoctrinated into a vampire cult for centuries). No amount of material strength and power is going to undo the psychological effects of that. (And I know some people like to read his frequently passive demeanor as simply manipulation and a way of catching people off guard (because how could someone so old and powerful possibly feel a genuine sense of fear/vulnerability/etc 🙄) but to me that's an incredibly disingenuous reading of him. But that's a different rant for another time!). Being a vampire does not save him from being horrifically abused, nor does it save him from the lasting emotional effects of that abuse.

And I think there's something interesting to be said about the way that, in order to survive safely, they have to feed on the most vulnerable members of society (people undesirable and therefore least likely to arouse suspicion) in order to go unnoticed. If they want to live they have to prey on those vulnerable in possibly the same ways they themselves once were (and in many ways still are).

There's a frequent argument I dislike that we shouldn't be viewing any of these characters through too human of a lense because they're literal monsters (to be honest it's an argument I see most often made when people simply don't want to talk about the show's complex depiction of racism/misogyny/abuse/etc and used to dismiss those as issues "too human" to be relevant to a story about a bunch of monsters with a supposedly alien sense of morality), but I think the show itself makes a huge argument that for these characters there is no escaping or separating themselves from the very human struggles and vulnerabilities that marked them before they ever became vampires. It's like a sort deconstructed power fantasy.

[randomshyperson]

Lacy - Werewolf!Reader x Wanda Maximoff - Kinktober #07

Summary: This Halloween, Wanda receives a surprise visit from her favorite werewolf. The problem is that it's very difficult to keep a crush hidden during mating season.

Warnings: (+18), mutual pining, semi-public, very vague allusions to omega verse, beefy!reader, power!bottom wanda, a bit rough but they are actually sweet to each other, some praising and dirty talk. | Words: 3.144k

A/N-> First, I know nothing about werewolves. It was never my thing growing up (I’m a witch type of person I suppose) but I know about omegaverse stuff and since it’s wolf-based I tried some references from that lore. Also, I was totally thinking about Wednesday's show (and Wenclair ship tbh) when writing the school but you all be free to image whatever you wish. Also, the name is from Olivia Rodrigo’s song, ‘cause it’s such a friends-to-lovers/mutual pining coded lyrics. Good reading folks! 

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

The mating season was always the most tiring part of the year.

Even as a child, her days were marked by hard work and running errands - her mother was always very busy with orders, and somehow, the twins were obliged to finish the tasks in record time, so as not to delay the calendars and keep Natalya busy when her customers needed her.

As the largest and most respected apothecary in the country, Natalya Maximoff was also one of the biggest dealers in magical items - and this also included natural suppressants. Her customers wrote to her from all over the world, many famous packs like the Romanoffs or the Howletts only bought her products, and the witch was always very busy at this time of year.

So when their mother told them that she would leave the Maximoff Magical Articles Boutique in their care for two whole days, while she delivered packages around the world, none of them were surprised, as this had been done dozens of times before.

Wanda's indignation stemmed from the fact that her twin brother, as soon as there were no more magical remnants of the portal his mother had conjured to travel through, put on a jacket and told her he was leaving.

"But you can't leave me alone!" Wanda hurried away from the counter. Pietro chuckled, adjusting his hat on his silver hair. Since he had turned 18 last month, he had grown a good few centimeters, and even with her best serious expression, Wanda, who hadn't grown much since she was 15, no longer succeeded in frightening him. That, and well, like his father, Pietro had a bastard heritage of lycanthropy, and with his new skills, he had also gained extreme confidence.

"What, you gonna tell me you're scared of some little wolves?" He sneered, his fangs protruding from his smile. Wanda huffed angrily, her cheeks slightly red. "Don't be silly, Wanda. You're a witch. Nobody's is crazy enough to mess with you."

He tries to pat her on the shoulder, but Wanda pushes a finger against his chest. "I'm not afraid of any wolves, you selfish idiot! Mom says the store is our responsibility. And you're sneaking off to do who knows what! I don't want to spend all night looking after this place on my own. Apart from the season, it's Halloween, and kids go apeshit and-"

"Jesus, Wanda, I'll make it up to you!" He cuts in, already pulling away and ignoring the other girl's protests. "I've got to go, I'm taking Crystal to the movies, then we'll settle up!

"Pietro!" But the call was ignored and the store door was slammed in her face.

Wanda huffed to herself. She could survive a Halloween night, but her brother would owe her a lot if he didn't want to be snitched on. She returned to the counter, texting him another dozen curses before texting to her mother that everything was under control.

And lucky for her, that's how the evening actually went. 

Most of the few customers who showed up were locals, a few sorcerers in need of ingredients, and even a traveling vampire who needed to replenish some reserves for a long trip. Some children also asked for candy, and tired of getting up so often, Wanda decided to leave the jars outside.

It was almost at the end of her shift, when she was ready to close the shop, that a delicious smell wafted into the room. Wanda, who was distracted by the holiday lessons that the institute where she studied always offered when there were short vacations or not, was snapped out of her concentration by the fascinating smell. She looked up just as a figure stumbled into the store, covered by a school uniform hood.

She didn't need you to remove the cap to recognize you, and yet, when your face became visible, Wanda felt her heart unlearn how to beat properly. 

"Good evening?" You looked between the shelves, approaching the cashier, only to hesitate as soon as you saw Wanda. "Oh, h-hi. Uh, is Madame Maximoff around?"

You looked uneasy, adjusting your hair and fiddling with your fingers. Your flushed face must have been due to the walk from the Institute to the store. 

Wanda shook her head as she replied: "She had some orders to place. How can I help you?"

The color of your face deepened, and you couldn't look her in the eye for more than two seconds. "Hmm, I kind of need... suppressants." And it was the turn of Wanda's face to heat up. You continued talking anxiously. "I thought I still had some, but my reservation ran out, and since I'm in the dorm, I wouldn't want to... well, would you have any left? I know it's very short notice but I really need it."

Wanda nodded quickly, equally at a loss for words. You see, if you were any other of her werewolf colleagues, the situation might even be comical. She wasn't like Pietro and didn't make friends very easily, but she shared the same taunting nature. One horny wolf in the store and Wanda would have jokes for the rest of the year. But it was you, her longtime secret crush, emanating a very pleasant scent and in need of something so intimate that Wanda could barely control her own thoughts about what other ways she could help you if there were no other suppressors in the store.

"My mom usually sells everything before the season starts, but I can look in the warehouse to see if we have any leftovers. I'll be right back." She says, smiling softly at your anxious figure.

Wanda has never seen you in heat before; the mating seasons for new wolves begin at the end of puberty, between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, and the vast majority of her werewolf classmates at the Institute return to their packs at this time of year, already matched with their partners in the traditions of the lycanthrope. Wanda only knows about the rituals from her father's family, because each clan, from the Vampires to the witches, is very private about it all. Witches like her mother, who specialize in all kinds of products, are the exceptions.

Wanda tries the storeroom next to the counter, but after a few boxes, she snorts in frustration. Her mother really did sell everything, and she almost reprimanded you for not planning properly. For older, mismatched wolves, being without suppressors could be really dangerous. For you, a new werewolf, it would only be quite painful. It was easier for her to feel sorry. 

And while she tried the last few shelves at the back of the storeroom, you grew even more restless outside. Wanda had no idea how intoxicating the essence of a witch, especially a witch one cared about, was. If you hadn't been so desperate, you would have given up going into the store as soon as you could smell her from around the corner, but then again, your brain wasn't working very rationally right now.

And there was also a scarf on the counter, Wanda's most characteristic item since she had received it as a gift so many years ago. Many of the times you've noticed her, she's worn the item around her neck and it made sense that her scent was so strong in the room, even though she was upstairs.

Your limbs moved by instinct, you didn't have to think much, just let yourself be guided by the urge to exhale that distinctive smell more deeply. 

Your face was pressed against the scarf when Wanda reappeared, and her confused giggle made you jump away mortified.

"Are you all right there?" She ventured, receiving a very quick and embarrassed nod. Wanda chuckled again in amazement, and without caring much about your current condition, she approached. "I looked upstairs, but my mother sold everything, sorry. There's something else you might like to try, maybe a calming potion so you can sleep while... well, this happens to you."

You quickly agree, still embarrassed at being caught. Wanda doesn't mind, if anything, she always found it very entertaining how different you were from the other werewolves she knew; loud and confident to the point of being idiotic. Pietro was a prime example. And if it wasn't for your distinctive stature, she could easily have assumed from your shy and careful personality that you were just an ordinary human, perhaps a mermaid from the way you seemed to bewitch Wanda's attention all to yourself.

"I'm sorry." You mutter suddenly, while she is searching for a sleeping potion on the shelf under the counter. Wanda turns her face up in confusion, but you're looking away. "From the scarf, I know it's... weird. But my body seems to be acting on its own. Just forget about it when we get back to school, okay? I'll be normal when it's over."

"Don't worry, I don't mind." She assured meekly, before finally finding some bottles that could help you and taking them back to the counter. She bit her lip at the way you were panting, and the way your trembling fingers pulled some notes and coins out of your pocket. "You can take these two vials today, and this one in the morning if you're still..."

"Horny'?" You joke, and take Wanda by surprise, but she manages to return the short laugh. Your hands push out the money and she turns away to pack the vials into a small bag. "So, one now and two tomorrow."

Wanda quickly denies it. "No, darling, two now and one tomorrow. Are you... are you sure you're all right? You're sweating-"

"Just give me a minute." You interrupt her with a gasp, the sudden wave of heat catching you completely off guard. The room starts to spin, and for a whole moment, all you can feel is your own arousal and the way you want to touch the witch in front of you. Your body gives way, and your hands force down on the counter, disastrously strong enough for the wood to crack. Wanda jumps in fright, worried, but you grunt quietly. "Shit, I'm really sorry-"

She hurries around the counter, and her soft hands make you jump away. "Hey, it's okay, I just want to help you stand up."

But you gasp in despair, wrenching your body away from her. "Don't touch me, Wanda, for God's sake." You grunt, and if you hadn't sounded so affected, Wanda would have taken offense. Instead, she stands ready to catch you if you lose your balance again, and that's exactly what happens. This time, your weight falls forward, and Wanda's body serves as a barrage. 

Your wolfish weight is almost too much for her, and it doesn't help that your face is buried against her collarbone, and your arms embrace her clumsily. "Hm, so soft." She hears you sigh, as she struggles to drag you over to the reading area of the store's bookshelves, where there's a sofa to put you on. When you fall into the cushions, you look up with dreamy eyes and an easy smile playing on your lips. Wanda gasps softly from exhaustion. 

"Wait here a moment, okay? You feel like you're burning up with a fever. I'll get you some water." She explains, but it doesn't seem like you're listening very much, disconcerting her with the way you're looking at you so discourteously, your pupils dilating. Wanda adjusts a strand of hair, self-conscious under your gaze. "I'll be right back."

She practically runs out of there, and alone, realizing her own hands are trembling as she remembers the sensation of having your body against hers. She shakes her head to push the thought away, you were clearly in a vulnerable moment right now, and Wanda doesn't think she'll survive the shame of being rejected once the heat wears off.

When Wanda returns with the water, she almost drops the glass on the floor. You haven't moved, but you've changed position, limp against the sofa, evidently rubbing yourself down the item as you whimper. 

"Oh, detka, let me help you." Wanda abandons the glass on a shelf, and rushes to your side, kneeling beside the sofa. You gasp in embarrassment, trying to escape her gaze, but Wanda's hands grab your warm face. "Let's go upstairs. I'll make it better." She whispers the invitation, but the thought alone is enough for you to grunt in affection and pull her face towards you. 

It's a hungry kiss, and the position doesn't help. Wanda has to grab your shoulders to keep from falling to the floor and ends up breaking into a giggle when a moment later it's you who's throwing yourself at her, desperately kissing her as if she's going to disappear. 

The lightness disappears quickly. She feels very hot and bothered, especially when your tongue slips into hers as if you already knew exactly how to kiss her, and your hands touch her entire body with determination. Her plea for you to slow down turns into a moan when your knee pushes between her legs.

It's almost primitive the way you seem willing to have her right there on the floor, angrily trying to pull her clothes off while your moans mingle. Wanda's face burns and she struggles to match the kiss, losing that battle all too easily when your palms begin to stimulate her nipples. 

She can feel the wetness begin to bother her through the fabric of her panties, and perhaps, you can smell it too, because you grow more impatient, and begin to murmur disconnected compliments into her skin, your hands reaching down to unzip her pants. Wanda chokes between moans, practically whimpering when your fingers find her so ready. 

You enter her, all at once, without a second thought. You suck on her tongue as she squeezes your fingerprints and soaks your hand. It's dirty and rough, and Wanda couldn't hold back even if she tried. Yet the store door opens, and she has to bite down hard on your shoulder to muffle her own noises.

Whoever the customer is, asking if there's anyone there or if the store is open, Wanda makes sure they don't see her. Her eyes are scarlet, and it's never been harder to do a concealment spell than it is now, with your fingers thrusting inside her as if the world around you hardly mattered. Finally, the customer leaves and her magic plays its part in locking the door before Wanda digs her nails into your back and comes against your fingers.

It's not enough - Nothing seems to be. You continue your movements inside her until Wanda is spasming again, begging for a pause. Your hungry mouth finds its way into her most intimate place then, just to tear more pleasure out of her. She loses count of how many times she comes, on your fingers and tongue, until the whole store smells of sex.

Fuck, she has to move you before Pietro comes back.

It's only when you let her breathe, retreating like a wounded wolf, that Wanda notices the puddle of moisture on your pants. You came at the mere act of watching and touching her. 

"Hey, are you okay, sweetheart?" She coos gently, propping herself up on one elbow now that you're lying on your back, one arm over your face. Your clothes are as torn as theirs, but there are many more marks on her body than on yours. 

You sniffle quietly, and Wanda looks at you with concern. "Why didn't you stop me?" you ask upset, and Wanda stares in shock for a moment. Then, swallowing dryly, she works up the courage:

"You didn't want this?"

But your reaction is to laugh incredulously. "Of course, I wanted it, Wanda! But I'm talking about you. Why didn't you stop me? You're a witch, you could have knocked me down, look at you! You're all purple, and I... God, I can't believe I... hurt you." 

She climbs into your lap before you can despair, ignoring your soft protest and grabbing your crying face. "I haven't stopped you because I've wanted you to since we met." She assures you determinedly, caressing your cheeks. "I'm in love with you, you idiot."

Sniffling softly, you raise hopeful eyes. "Really?"

Wanda smiles, her weight against your chest. "Really." She assures you. "And don't worry about the marks, I... like it rough."

You groan in embarrassment, looking away and amusing her. There's a moment's pause, and then finally: "I like you too."

Wanda bites back a smile. "I got that impression, you know? When you were all whiny on me." 

Your laugh is sincere and shy, and Wanda kisses you as your hands grip her thighs. But before she can deepen it the way she'd like, you break again.

"Thanks for helping with the heat... but I'll take you on a date after this. I promise."

She pulls on your bottom lip with a provocative bite. "I'll charge." She assures you in a naughty whisper, and you sigh contentedly as she presses your hips together. Smooth movements, and you're already seeing stars again. 

Your breathing becomes shorter, and Wanda traces her fingers along your jaw, while her other hand moves down. "I bet you're all warm and tight."

You sigh, closing your eyes and nodding in agreement. Wanda kisses you leisurely, also taking time to slide her fingers into your pants and assess the effects of everything so far. She's not surprised by the immense wetness, but the sensation of sinking into you is overwhelming. She can feel ready for another when she starts to stimulate you and watches you squirm beneath her.

"So good... don't stop..." You moan helplessly, and the grip on her thighs is almost strong enough to hurt. Wanda makes a mental note of how to make you lose control of your strength, before curling her fingers inside you and being rewarded with the sweetest sounds in the world. "W-Wanda!"

She decides she likes it very, very much when you whimper her name like that. She continues her motions a few more times until you come hard on her fingers. Wanda thrusts a few times, before removing them and bringing them to her mouth, sucking them clean while you try to catch a breath. 

Your murmurs are labored, and Wanda kisses your cheek a few times. "Come on upstairs, sweet baby, I'll take care of you." She tries to get up, but your hands steady her on your lap.

It's almost ridiculous how easily you lift the two of you, and Wanda has to hold onto your shoulders, chuckling softly at your uncertain stumbles on the way upstairs. 

She'll have time to look after the store when you fall asleep. Right now, she's more focused on kissing you again.

[wolken-himmel]

9k Followers Special

In which Crewel and Crowley somehow manage to destroy the time-space continuum and end up with dozens of mysterious children to care for.

Little do they know that these are (Y/n)'s children from various timelines where she married different NRC students.

Idea by @tickledpink31.

"By the Great Seven, why are there so many children here?!"

Just as Crewel had set a foot into the headmaster's office, he was immediately overwhelmed by the sudden noise of high-pitched wails and children's screams. A barrage of small children had taken over the office, some running around happily while others destroyed the furniture and knocked over vases. There were more than twenty small children, and the oldest couldn't have been much older than seven years. For a while, Crewel merely remained at the entrance and gaped at the crowd of children.

The papers he had intended to deliver to the headmaster sailed out of his hands and fell to the floor. There was pure chaos going on, and his paper spill had exacerbated the issue even more.

It took the headmaster a while to notice his visitor. He had been busy wrangling his poor top hat away from an especially mischievous fae child. After a little while, the headmaster succeeded and managed to put the mangled hat back on his head. Only then did he give his attention to his colleague by the door frame. "O-Oh, Divus! Come right in! Just make sure to shut the door—" the headmaster announced hastily. "Rook Jr is quite the stealthy one..."

Just then, a blond boy tried to zoom past Crewel, but he managed to grab him by his collar and raise him into the air just in time. The professor eyed the rambunctious boy quizzically. "Rook Jr? Is that you?"

The boy let out a sheepish giggle and even gave him a clumsy salute. Somehow, he seemed unbothered by the way he was held into the air. "Aye, monsieur! Maman loved to call me that as well— But my name is actually Philippe. I am the proud protector of my siblings!" he announced proudly and raised his nose upwards.

"Oi, stupid Philippe, as if you were responsible enough to protect Jaques and Laure!" The female voice came from below the professor, and he indeed found a young girl — she shared similar features with Philippe — tugging at his expensive coat. "I, Noelïe, am the protector of the Hunt family!" she corrected and saluted much more properly.

After Crewel had made sure that the door was locked properly behind him, he lowered Philippe to the floor again and removed his grasp from his collar. Without wasting another second, an enraged Philippe stormed over to Noelïe, and they began brawling on the floor.

"Oh my, quarreling siblings..." Crewel watched helplessly as they rolled away.

"Well," Crowley trailed off sheepishly, "at least Umbra and Solis get along better..." His finger pointed to a pair of twins by the other end of the room. Each of the siblings, a boy and a girl, possessed the strange feature of winding, black horns — and not to forget, pointed ears. They wore expensive gowns in the shades of green and black, befit of royals.

"Look, Umbra!" the boy cried out and held out a picture frame to his sister. "I found this floating portrait of the grand witch that Grandpa Lilia always talks about!"

"Oh my, let's show him! I'm sure he has more stories to tell!" Without another word, Umbra had taken the frame out of her brother's hand and was now on the move to another corner of the room. It looked like they really were searching for something with how they lifted up the sofa with their magic, only to lower it to the floor again when they only found dust and cobwebs.

"Where did all these children come from, Dire?"

"I don't know!" Crowley exclaimed and threw his hands into the air. "The heavens must have seen my boredom and blessed me with these adorable bundles of joy—"

"Wait," Crewel interrupted and inspected his boss more closely, "your coat is missing a few feathers—" Indeed, there were gaping holes here and there.

A pained sigh escaped the headmaster's lips as he pointed to a girl with lion ears. She sat on his desk chair and was happily munching away on dozens of black crow feathers. "Ah... yes... the little lioness over there likes them. Ouch, who knew that such ferocity could be hidden behind such an adorable face..." The headmaster buried his face in his gloved hands and began mourning for his poor, tattered gown.

When Crewel turned his gaze to the desk chair again, he realised that it was empty. Instead, he soon found a weight clinging to his left leg. "Sir, do you want to play with me? Play with me, please! Let's play hunting, okay?" A look downwards revealed that the little lion-girl was smiling up at him toothily. "I'll give you a head start, and then you run away as fast as you can? I'll chase you once the time's up! I promise I'm really good at it! My cousin Cheka says I'm the fastest predator he knows, even faster than my daddy!"

"Oh my, what might your name be?" Crewel asked in amusement and ruffled her hair.

"Aria! The fiercest lioness in the entire Afterglow Savannah!" she exclaimed proudly and drummed her hands against her chest, like a seasoned warrior. "No one can scare me! Not even my mommy when she yells at me to eat my vegetables."

The corners of the professor's lips quirked up into an amused smile. "Adorable."

His remark drew a little hiss from her lips, accompanied by an offended scowl. "I'm not adorable! Rawr!" she yelled out, although her roar was more similar to a cute mewl. When she realised that she hadn't intimidated him, she crossed her arms and stalked away to her friends, also beast-children. "Dandelion, you're the fastest hyena I know! Cereus, you're the strongest wolf I know! Come play hunting with me!"

The hyena-girl let out a little snicker before she darted away with nimble feet. "Shishishi, you'll never catch me, princess!" Then, she disappeared within the crowd of other children, never to be seen again.

"I'll show you two how to roar properly after this!" the wolf-boy teased before he also made his grand escape. Without an issue, he lunged over a tall bookshelf and disappeared behind it.

Now that he was free again, Crewel turned his pressing gaze to his boss again and put his hands on his hips. "Alright, Dire, so where did these children really come from? And don't you dare tell me that the stork delivered them to you."

"I don't know." Crowley merely shrugged. "They appeared after I accidentally destroyed the time-space continuum."

"You what—" Crewel spluttered out in horror.

The headmaster raised his hands into the air and shot his colleague the most calming smile he could muster. "I swear, I didn't mean to! It was all just an unfortunate accident... But you know, a wise man once said that there were no mistakes, only happy accidents! And can you believe it? Now we're surrounded by adorable, little children—" The happy grin on his lips disappeared, and he soon rushed over to a duo of children by the window. "Wait, Anemone! Don't bite your cousin like that!"

Anemone let out a low growl and bared her sharp teeth at the boy next to her. "But Nemo took my toy without asking!" she wailed when the culprit wouldn't pay her any attention. With unmatched vigour, she shook her head left and right, causing the mop of blue hair on her head to become a wild mane.

Nemo merely let out a little giggle and held the toy out to her. "I just wanted to show you a cool trick, Anemone!" he said happily and opened up the golden shell toy to reveal a glistening pearl. "Here, look!"

An awe-struck look appeared on Anemone's face, and she immediately ceased her crying.

"Wow—" Another child appeared by the cousins' side, a confident girl that wore a thick pair of black glasses. As she looked at the toy in fascination, she pushed her glasses up and let a sure smile appear on her lips. "That really is cool, but I know another trick! I can show you, if you want to!"

"Really? Ursula, show us!" Nemo cried out.

Anemone nodded along eagerly and held the toy out to the silver-haired girl. "Hurry up, Ursula!"

"I see what you mean with adorable now, Dire," the professor began and chuckled to himself. Yet, his moment of appreciation was short-lived when he turned to the headmaster to find him being mauled by the lion-girl Aria again. "But still, what are we supposed to do with all these children? Have you found a way to send them back home yet?"

"No, and I've tried really, really hard, believe me," Crowley began after the vicious predator had tired of him playing dead. He rose from the floor and dusted his tattered coat off, a giant smile on his lips. "But why send them back when I can just open a nursery with them? Just imagine, Divus! Night Raven Nursery? How does that sounds? I, for once, love it!"

"Have you gone entirely mad? We can barely handle the older students, as is, with all these overblots going on—" Crewel cried out in disbelief. "And you want to have small, helpless children nearby?"

"They can protect themselves, no?" Crowley rolled his eyes and pointed to a group of children by his coffee table. "Tell him, Rose!" The headmaster beckoned the girl over, and she at once appeared by his side.

The red-haired girl grabbed the alchemy professor by his hand and led him over to the coffee table, which was full with steaming tea-cups and cookies. She let out a little giggle before she took her seat again. "Grandpa Divvy! You're finally here— Do you want to join our tea party?" The girl patted the empty seat next to her. "My daddy always throws tea parties, as well— with all of his friends! But oh well, mine are so much more fun than his! Who wants to follow all these strange rules about how to drink your tea? You can drink your tea however you want to at my parties! If you want to add salt instead of sugar, go for it!"

The boy with orange hair, seated next to her, let out a hum of agreement. "I love salty tea! Way better than sugary sweet..." he exclaimed while pushing strands of hair out of his face. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips, and he gave a peace-sign to the baffled professor.

"Don't mind Anthony and his strange tastes... He got it from his father," a girl at the table said and let out a little giggle. Without wasting any time, she had skilfully poured tea into an empty cup and now held it out to the professor. She urged him to take it when he wouldn't, otherwise. "Here, have some tea, mister! I would usually hand you some cake to go along with it, but Grandpa Crow said that he doesn't have any."

Finally, Crewel took the cup and dared a little sip. "And who might you be?" he asked when she handed him a cookie and some sugar cubes for his tea.

"I'm Madeleine! Mommy always says I'm as sweet as madeleines, hehe. And Daddy always says my eyes are the same colour as perfectly baked madeleines." Her eyes shone proudly as she took another sip from her tea. "You should come by our bakery someday, Grandpa Divvy! It's been a long while since you've visited us. There's tons of new cakes on our menu that Daddy wants you to try!"

"Grandpa Divvy?" he repeated the nickname in confusion. "How peculiar..."

The professor was ripped out of his thoughts when the sound of crying reached his ears. He turned his gaze to the sobbing boy who had sought refuge in the soothing arms of Madeleine. A motherly look flashed across her face as she cradled the weeping boy in her arms. "Oh my, Bernard... why are you crying?" she asked and stroked his soft hair.

"Eris is being mean to me again!" he yelled out and pointed to another red-haired girl at the table.

"Really?" Madeleine asked softly. "What did she say?"

"She told me that I would never become a magical enforcement officer like my father!"

Eris rolled her eyes at the accusation and threw her velvety hair over her shoulder. "I didn't say it like that, you idiot," she grumbled under her breath. "I only said that it's very hard to become one! So you need to work a lot and give it your all!"

Bernard's face hardened in determination, and he finally stopped crying. "Well, I will work hard!"

A look of relief flashed across Madeleine's face, and she removed her arms from around the young boy with bright blue eyes. "See? Now you two troublemakers play nicely with each other," she cooed and nudged him towards Eris again, who welcomed him with a playful punch to his shoulder. The sight caused Madeleine to shake her head in amusement. "Oh my, even worse than my own siblings..."

Now that the children were busy playing tea party again, Crewel was allowed to return to the only other adult in the room. "Hm... Dire?" he called out when he found his colleague to be busy handling a large group of children.

Crowley was being climbed on by an endless amount of children. They were giggling and laughing as they were put to the floor again, only to resume their climbing fun. "Yes? Pardon me, I was busy dealing with all these Al-Asim children... There's a bunch of them! They are never-ending!" Crowley let out a little wail when one of the younger siblings began fiddling with his mask. "At least little Zahra is there to calm them down when things get a little bit too hectic."

All the children began rejoicing at once. "Zahra is our bestest friend!" they cried out together and rushed over to the older girl nearby.

She welcomed them with open arms and hugged them all in what seemed like an overwhelming group-hug. A genuinely happy smile decorated her face as she exclaimed, "Aww, I love you guys, too! Everyone of you: Malik, Fatima, Aamira, Ibrahim—"

"See? Never-ending," Crowley remarked, chuckling under his breath. Then, he turned away from the children and focused his entire attention on his colleague. "Now, what is it you needed from me, Divus?"

"Have you noticed the way all of these children address us as their grandfathers? Isn't that peculiar?"

"Well, there is a simple explanation for that—"

"Grandpa Divvy? H-Have you seen my mommy? I... I really miss her!" a little girl with flaming blue hair interjected. Tears stung in the corners of her eyes as she extended her arms out to him, wishing to he picked up. The professor reluctantly did so and cradled her in his arms when she began sniffing. "She wanted to read me some bed time stories— my favourite, even! Do you know the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice? Can you read it to me?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't know where your mother could be," Crewel muttered and tilted his head at her. "But now, on closer look... You really do look like (Y/n)."

At that, Crowley broke out into a loud bout of laughter. "Haven't you noticed yet, Divus? All of them look like (Y/n)!" By then, he was wiping the tears from his eyes. "And each of them also shares traits with some other students here at Night Raven College. Do you see that tall boy over there? I swear I've seen someone with blond hair and purple tips around campus before..."

The boy he spoke of stood next to a much smaller girl. A little pout graced her lips as she handed him a hair tie and pointed to her lavender-shade locks. "Konrad... Can you braid my hair, please? The braids opened up when I helped my daddy on the farm earlier..." she muttered and clasped her hands together adorably.

"Of course, Daisy." The blond boy smiled softly and urged her to turn around. With the utmost of care, he ran his fingers through her messy hair and unwinded even the most stubborn knots. "Would you like a French braid, or a fishtail braid... or perhaps we could try out a pull-through braid?"

"Oh— I'd like a French braid! My mommy isn't all that good at braiding, sadly. But she always tries her best!" An enthusiastic grin graced her lips as Konrad went to work with skilful and nimble fingers. After a while, an adorable snort escaped her lips, and she added, "But you should see my daddy try to braid my hair... He is always so impatient and gives up within a minute."

Konrad and Daisy broke out into a fit of giggles.

"Well, I love braiding hair! I wish I could braid my dad's hair, but he's always so busy with his job..." Konrad muttered under his breath and exhaled softly. "At least Mom always allows me to braid her hair, even if hers isn't as glossy and smooth as Dad's—"

The two were interrupted by a boy having snuck up on them and yelling, "Boo!" A grin appeared on his lips when the two children began screaming. The fear on their lips soon transformed into utter frustration, especially once they realised that the half-done braid had opened up again. The mischievous boy merely shot them a large grin, his sharp front teeth sticking out. He also possessed pointy ears and shaggy black hair, where little tufts of hair stuck out on each side. "Did I scare you?"

The headmaster let out an exasperated sigh and scolded, "Ciaran, don't go scaring others like that! People might start crying or—"

He was interrupted by a slap, its echo bouncing around in the office. Surprised, he realised that sweet and adorable Daisy had marched up to Ciaran and had whacked him over the head angrily. "Oi, take that, you stupid fae!" she yelled and began growling like a feral dog.

A series of whimpers escaped Ciaran's trembling lips. "Ouch..." He held his head in pain and watched in shock as Daisy marched back to Konrad, smiling innocently as if nothing had happened. Konrad patted her on the shoulder before beginning to braid her hair anew.

"—or they might take revenge... and then you'll start crying..." Crowley finished and shook his head in disbelief.

At once, a gentle human girl appeared by the side of the wounded fae child. She tucked her silver-coloured hair behind her ears before she soothingly whispered, "Hey, don't cry... Where does it hurt?" Her voice was as soft as expected, probably even able to lull the wildest of beasts to sleep.

Ciaran let out a series of sniffles. "She hit me here, Chimere..." He pointed to the red mark on his forehead.

Chimere smiled gently and took his hand into hers. "You don't need to cry... Adam and I are here for you," she cooed, and at her command, a green-haired boy with slightly pointed ears appeared by her side.

A confident grin appeared on Adam's face as he yelled out, "Yes! Don't cry!" The volume of his voice was so loud that he managed to outyell every other child in the office. He gave Ciaran's hand an empathetic squeeze. "It will go away!"

"Now my ears hurt..." Ciaran complained, yet smiled at his two friends.

Crewel, who had been in deep thought until now, let out a drawn-out sigh after having analysed the faces of the last three children. "You're right, Dire... They all look like (Y/n)..." he admitted woefully and cast his gaze at the ground. "You say that you destroyed the space-time continuum, right? Could that mean that these are various timelines where (Y/n)—"

"—married a different student here at Night Raven College and had children? Yes, absolutely! That's the only logical explanation," Crowley finished while picking up a tired Aria into his lap.

"Ah... I hate it here..." Crewel huffed in disappointment. "To think that my adopted darling child would marry one of these dirty street dogs..."

Crowley, however, waved him off and began laughing happily instead. "Hey, don't be so pessimistic, Divus! I love it here..." A blissful sigh escaped his lips when Aria had finally fallen asleep in his lap, softly breathing and cuddling up against his destroyed jacket. "Lots of grandchildren for me, (Y/n)'s other adoptive dad. And who else would be better at playing babysitter than me? Oh, this is simply paradise..."

"Excuse me?" it came from outside the office. "Headmaster Crowley, are you in there?"

Crowley froze in fear. "O-Oh— don't come in, please. I'm very busy right now!" he cried out nervously.

"It's me, (Y/n). It's an emergency! Grim climbed onto a tree and doesn't know how to get dowm now!" In your desperation, you had pushed the door open and marched inside, initially not even noticing the many children. You rushed over to the headmaster and clasped your hands together. "Please, he's been crying for the last hour already... and nothing we've tried so far works—" It was only when a child curiously tugged at your blazer that you realised how the room was filled to the brim with children. By then, they were all silently staring at you in awe.

"Uh... You must be wondering why there are so many children here..." Crowley trailed off and shot you a sheepish smile.

"Yes, indeed." You furrowed your eyebrows when all the children began flocking to your side. "Where did these guys come from?"

Crewel rubbed his temples in exhaustion. "Well, it's a long story—"

He was interrupted by a sudden return of the screaming and wailing from earlier, now tenfold worse. In a united chorus, all the children yelled out, "Mommy! Mommy!" Small and chubby hands were grabbing you wherever they could, even toppling you over and sending you falling to the floor.

"I missed you, Mommy!" someone screamed from your left.

From your right, someone yelled, "Mommy, can we finally go home now?"

The masses around you blurred into one big mess. "Help!" you cried out as you were hugged and squeezed by more children than you could count.

"Oh no," Crewel muttered, furrowing his eyebrows. "We have to help (Y/n), Dire!"

However, Crowley merely shook his head woefully. "I don't think we can, Divus. It would be impossible to tear a child from their mother— even more so when its dozens of little brats." The worried frown on his face soon turned into a enormous smile, and another heavenly sigh escaped his lips. By then, his eyes were basically the shape of hearts as he stared at the children in delight. "Well, what a grand opportunity to have met all of my lovely grandchildren! I should destroy the time-space continuum more often."

Crewel rolled his eyes. "Please don't..."

The screaming and yelling soon became unanimous — and you could somehow discern them yelling, "Mommy, I love you!"

[dark-and-kawaii]

Hello 👋 I’ve been wondering who do you think out of the tieflings is the most addicted to pussy.

Well howdy („• ֊ •„)੭ *waves back like an idiot*

Ohhhhh I see I see, well I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about this before and the answer always comes up the same even now!!!

✧˖° *drum roll* Rolan. Rolan is so obsessed with your sweet cunt, the poor thing just can’t get enough of it… Please expect to be absolutely sore when first getting with this man, it might take him a while to get comfortable and actually have sex with you… But oh man, once he does there’s really no stopping him and his magical cock. I SAID WHAT I SAID!!!

Rolan x F!Tav/Reader

Not many would ever believe or think that Rolan has a high sex drive, but it was true. He’s always ready to take you in his arms and pin you against whatever surface that’s available. Hells, the floor works just as well.

The tiefling has never been with anyone else prior to you, so he doesn't know what a healthy sex drive is, only having heard from others and once the topic came about he’d usually just turn away.

Rolan doesn’t really understand why he loves being buried inside you so much either, maybe it’s because you’re the first person he’s ever been with, the first person he’s ever had a true romantic connection with. Maybe it’s the way you sound when he sheathes himself deep inside you, the way your gummy walls clench around him begging him to never pull out, to spill deep inside you and paint your walls white. Or maybe it’s the way you look at him through half lidded eyes, the tears in your eyes from all the pleasure only he can give you. All Rolan knows is that he hates being away from that warm body of yours for too long.

He also knows that he likes watching you get all shy whenever his eyes trail over you, you turn into a cute little puddle when he kisses and nips at your skin. His tail flicking up that dress of yours before slipping it past your undergarments.

Loves when he gets you like that, he knows he can do anything to you, you would let him have his way with you in every which way. Rolan knows this , and he has taken advantage of it before, but he knows how to treat you right. And he knows what will make you tick.

So, whenever you try to play the bratty card and deny him, he takes that as a challenge, he has to show you how much of a good girl you can be for him.

You know it's a trap, you know it is, but the second he whispers in your ear and you feel his tail slowly caress up your thigh, “Be a good girl for me and I promise I'll treat you right. I'll be nice, you like it when I'm nice don't you? Let me take care of you baby, just let me, and you'll see, you'll see how much better it can be.” You just couldn't help yourself, and he knew it.

Despite all the times you two have made love, and he’s pinned you for his pleasure he is still a bit shy when it comes to foreplay, mostly due to the nails he has being a tiefling and all… He’s terrified that he’ll lose control and quite literally cut up your insides. That’s when it was your turn to enjoy the blushing mess he turns into when trying to figure out what to do next.

[bedoballoons]

Don't know if you take crack requests. What if reader thought the guys were females but find out they were actually a dude.

Venti, Lyney, Tighnari, Kaveh

You can add another of your choosing

I take every request I think as long as it's not pedophilia/incest/ or anything with animals/mobs!

This idea had me laughing!! Oh my gosh! I won't lie I thought Venti and Kaveh were females the first time I saw them! I also kept confusing Lyney with Lynette 😭 I hope you enjoy and thank you for the request!

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ🍂𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ🍂

{༻~Finally now it's all making sense~༺}

CW: Fluffy! Characters get a little embarrassed cause the reader thinks they are a girl!

(Includes: Lyney, Tighnari, Kaveh, and Venti!)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Lyney:

"You must be thinking of my sister...Lynette?" Lyney chuckled shyly, finding his heart racing and his cheeks flushed. You were extremely cute in his eyes and you'd just complimented him on his magic tricks...if only you hadn't called him miss.

"Oh no I'm talking about you! You're assistant was wonderful as well, but you truly wowed the crowd!"

"Well I thank you for your words of praise, I'm afraid I have to correct you. I'm not a girl haha"

"Oh no! I'm so sorry, I should go now. I'm so sorry."

"No please, I'd like to talk to you more. Perhaps I could show you a few more magic tricks!"

𑁍༄Tighnari:

"Excuse me Ms.? Do you happen to know the best medicine for a migraine? I've heard you're good with medications and even make some?" You tapped the fennec foxes shoulder, hoping she could help you with the painful headaches you'd been experiencing.

"Ms.?" He turned towards you and upon hearing his voice you instantly realized your mistake...

"Mr.! I'm so sorry, I didn't- I shouldn't have just assumed!"

"It's alright, it could have been far worse. You could have called me a furry."

𑁍༄Kaveh:

"Hi, sorry if this is strange, but as I walked by I noticed your sketches and I just wanted to say they are beautiful ma'am" You shyly stood a bit away from him, hoping that he wouldn't find your compliment to forward...if only you'd known that was the least of your problems.

"Thank you, but I'm sorry, did you just call me ma'am? Did Alhaitham put you up to this?"

Your face went beet red, embarrassment playing on your features, "I don't know who that is and I sincerely apologise!"

"Oh no I'm sorry, I shouldn't have accused you of working with Alhaitham. He's my roommate and...and you probably don't need to know that." He looks away from you feeling flustered, "Can we start over?"

𑁍༄Venti:

"Ehhh, what did you call me?" Venti scratched the back of his neck, cheeks turning crimson as you chuckled sweetly...it would have been cute really,...if only you hadn't just referred to him as miss.

"I called you miss! Oh I'm sorry is it Mrs.?"

The poor bard sighed, wondering why so many people assumed the wrong gender...did he really look that much like a girl? "Aha, actually it's neither! I'm a boy."

"...I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have assumed!!"

"It's alright, happens more often then you think..."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚~Have a nice day~*⁠.⁠✧

[fatesundress]

⭑ patience, please, and thank you. tom riddle x reader

summary. you and tom have always sought to best one another in school. it doesn’t help that upon graduating, you work for opposing shops.

tags. rivals to … rivals with benefits? lovers? there’s no real animosity just #flirting so i don’t know, SMUTT minors begone, fluff that may be ooc to some but Not Me, reader literally learns archaic latin for this man, poor boy x rich girl trope if you squint, pureblood reader (and mentions of pureblood marriage politics), explicitly f!reader this time sorry!, fem anatomy, fingering, piv, tldr tom riddle would be turned on by the culminated tension of an eight-year-long academic rivalry.

note. i was 5k words into something else (that is probably better) before this came to me and would not go away so. here it is. don't know where all the smut is coming from. head empty

word count. 6.4k

The bell to Borgin and Burkes knells low and hollow in your ear as you enter, and there he is. Prim waistcoat and perfect hair, tucking books away with a wave of his wand. Far too pretty a thing for a dusty place like this, you think, and you smile with your head held high, pretending to take in the inventory as if that's ever been your reason for coming here.

“You mightn't consider leaving at all," Tom says, regarding you briefly before returning to his books, “if you're going to return this often."

“Oh, Riddle, but then what would you do without my company? Talk to the bones?"

“A tempting offer when considering my alternative.”

He leans against the counter to watch you as you make your way down the aisle, fingers jolting as they brush the shelves of dark paraphernalia, preemptively casting a locking jinx on a particularly nasty skeletal hand that grabbed you once last year.

“Is there anything you're looking for?"

“Nothing in particular,” you hum as you peruse, “Curiosities of your friendly competitors.”

“Friendly,” he repeats, like he’s tasting a strange flavour.

You smile with just enough polished barb that you hope it bothers him. “Most cordial. And I am nothing if not the dutiful volunteer for the task." 

It is an objective truth that you are good at many things. Tom is good at all of them and perhaps one more: being pushed significantly and never showing symptoms of breaking. You'd like to be the one to change that.

“I presume you intend to leave with something?" There's a challenge in his voice, clear as day, as he stands straighter, but — not bothered. Not bothered, just intrigued. His hands fold behind his back and his chin comes up, daring you to say a single snarky thing that isn't true — that you're here to taunt him. Not to buy a thing, and not to enjoy his company.

It was such a boring day before this. If he only knew, he might have a tad more sympathy.

“Breathe, Riddle — if you can through all the dust in here — I've plenty of money to spare; there’s no need to fret about me leaving empty-handed." You select a book at random to prove your point, waltzing closer to hand Tom four sickles from your coin purse.

You're pleasantly surprised to see him actually smile, the corners of his mouth stretching with only the slightest degree of mirth. He reaches out and takes the coins, setting both upon the counter before turning up his nose at the book in your hands. “It must be an enthralling read to capture your attention."

You smooth the cover over with manicured hands and shrug at the indecipherable title. “Well, I’m remiss not to have a clue. I believe it's in Latin."

He runs his hand along the book, thumbing the pages with a raised brow. “It’s a history text. Ancient Roman institutes of magic.” His gaze returns to you. “Will that be all?”

You roll your eyes. He would know a dead language — it's such a remarkably Riddle thing to do — probably just for the sake of knowing it. 

“Yes, if that's satisfactory enough that I may be permitted to walk the premises without causing offence."

“Of course. Though I do expect a review of it soon," he adds, “to know whether my time hasn't been entirely wasted."

“A review?" You laugh. “And I suppose you ask that of all your customers? Mind the matter of it being in a language I don't know; it would take me a few months for a crude translation at best."

“Only my best customers," he says with a small shrug, as if that isn't a completely arbitrary standard he's just pulled out of nowhere. “In that case, you've the better part of a year to read it," he adds, and the smile on his face is less thin, less restrained, more cocky.

You raise a brow, scanning over the words on the first page as if hoping something will stick out. It's all gibberish. “I'm being timed now, am I? I don't recall accepting the task."

"Do you not?"

You scoff. "Of course I do."

“Or perhaps I could translate for you?" he suggests, “It's really no bother for me."

You should be offended — he's eternally eager to see you fail — but your stomach flips at the premise of a challenge you haven't felt since you were in school together, and most importantly, you never fail. “Give me a date, Riddle.”

“I think by Christmas would be fair. Does that give you enough time, or shall I set it a bit later?"

“Christmas," you agree, shaking his hand with all professionalism you can muster (this is, after all, a very professional exchange), turning away, and smiling to yourself as the shop bell tolls again.

It’s only weeks before Christmas when it occurs to you that this isn’t even for anything. There’s no prize should you win, no one else is aware of it, it’s a great waste of time when what began as a passable weekend hobby has now drowned you in English-Latin dictionaries and histories of Ancient Rome. The shop surpasses last year’s sales and you’re dozing off into your mother’s pastry dish during the family celebration. Even your father telling a rather pitiful tale of his Polyjuiced visit to Borgin and Burkes can’t keep your attention when he drones on about how easily he fooled Mr Borgin into remembering the details of some spat twenty years ago. Your brain is in a half-scattered language. It tugs you to what might be the most depressing December 25th of your life if you’re forced to give Tom the gift of your failure.

So you double-down. Your social life is nonexistent. You’re three quarters through the textbook and dreaming about duelling Tom under the Arch of Constantine, and he wins, and he wins, and he wins each time. It only propels you more. You’re downing Invigoration Draughts like a drunkard with a cradle of firewhisky. 

And you do it. 

You finish the damn book, you think you might have actually fucking learned Latin with how deep the words have rooted in your skull, and you win.

You win, in your prettiest dinner dress, snow clinging to your hair, wrapped in a brand new coat as the shop bell tolls and you step inside.

You’re grateful you don’t say as much (which you were planning on doing — planning on slamming the door shut behind you and carolling your bloody success) because it’s Mr Burke at the counter this Christmas evening, not Tom.

“...Miss?” He regards you with perplexity behind the counter.

You blink, recollecting yourself and stepping forward to shake his hand. “Mr Burke. My family wished to extend their best wishes for the new year.”

“Quite a gesture," comes a familiar voice from behind you as Tom steps out from the staircase, dressed in a dark suit and overcoat, like he’s just been out. He’s smiling. He looks disgustingly well.

You glance between the two men, and Burke bows curtly as if made aware of something he’d previously been warned of. “To yours as well, miss.” And then he’s off to assist the only other customer, an elderly woman in fur-lined green with so many glittering pins in her hair she resembles a Christmas tree.

“Riddle,” you say, facing him, unable to hide the triumphant grin that digs into your cheeks. You hand him the book, and atop it, your three pages of articulate, edited review.

“You made it. You read it," he acknowledges, though you doubt he’s surprised, and then nods to the stairs. “Come.”

You follow him up the narrow spiral into a short corridor, taking one look back at the old woman, now clasping a shrieking bauble you gladly turn away from. The door Tom opens is unlocked, presumably where he’d just come from, and — you feel a bit overwhelmed if you’re correct, but you have no idea what else it could be — presumably his flat.

When you enter, the door shuts behind you with an empty click of the latch. The room before you is rather sparse, a kitchenette in one corner, a cramped study in the other, with books upon books and scrolls stacked high on shelves along the dark walls. There's only the barest of seating, two armchairs beneath a dim desk lamp, a small table beside the fireplace, and… a bed, of all things, separated only by a thin divider and the courtesy of enough distance not to immediately draw the eye. You, of course, can't quite help it, gaze lingering on the tidy sheets and back to him.

It isn’t a thought you do well to dwell on. Too many directions for your imagination to roam.

“Well then," you say, hanging your coat at the door and trying not to display any overt anticipation as the parchment rustles in his hand, “Shall I just sit and await your evaluation?"

He raises a brow. “I was going to ask if you’d like tea. Do sit, though.”

Oh. Yes, right, you’re rushing things. Hospitality. Decorum. Consideration. You suppose Tom Riddle would extend those things for the sake of posterity if nothing else. “Something black, if you have any, please.”

The water comes to a boil quickly under the steady heat of his magic, and you’re sinking into a shockingly comfortable armchair taking in every shape and blemish of the room while you’re in it. You don’t have to guess that he doesn’t have many guests.

“Darjeeling,” Tom says as he offers you a steaming cup, “if that’s satisfactory.”

You resist a scowl at his mocking tone, placing the tea on a glass coaster and glancing purposefully at your work (your magnum opus, really) once more. “Perfectly.”

Tom notes your look with a smile, settling into the seat opposite yours. 

You take a sip of tea and lean back. “Do go on.”

“Eager,” he mutters, but begins.

He skims over the opening line before flipping the book open as if to be sure you haven’t made it all up, and then you think you probably could have made it all up if you wanted. Read one of the hundreds of magical histories of Rome that certainly existed — probably in your own shop, at that — and gathered much the same conclusion. But you did not. Tom must know you did not. 

The silence is thick as he reads, waned only by the crackle of the fireplace and the occasional turn of a page. His brows furrow the way you always remember catching in school, like he's concentrating on a particularly hard puzzle, and you have to busy yourself with a nearly empty cup of tea to pretend not to notice the way his beauty is something almost delicate. Framed by firelight and the indigo gloss of the night shining in through the window, you imagine his hair mussed, his long eyelashes speckled with snow, his cheeks pink from the cold. You wonder about him in a nicer suit than this. You could buy him one, if you liked.

And then, at last, he looks up over the parchment, expression carefully measured. “I'm impressed.”

You put your cup down and you can’t help it. You're smiling. You're proud. His approval is like bottling the tail of a rainbow (which you’ve been told is possible), and it's a feeling that’s been absent from you for so long, it's never come from him — Merlin, you've always wanted it to come from him, haven’t you?

“You’re impressed?” you ask, as you love nothing more than to push. “Is that all?”

He loves nothing more than to keep his face impassive, but there’s a twitch there. Something you’re aware you can only spot because of how much attention you pay him. 

“I enjoyed your perspective on the Romans’ utilisation of firedrakes. It was well-thought.”

“Well-thought?”

“Quite good, yes.”

“Good," you say, grinning in the bulk of your triumph, “I suppose that means I win."

Win. You’re not winning anything but the implication that Tom is somehow losing. Still he does not break, and you think at seventeen he would have. At nearly twenty his smile just grows. “Have you ever done anything less?”

Is he pushing too? That could be fun.

“Oh, first year tribulations. Nothing since — you wouldn’t remember.”

“Hm, I do recall an unfortunate lesson with a matagot in Beasts, and that must have been, what—” He tilts his head as though to ponder it— “fourth year?”

You narrow your eyes. “Paid an ever-close watch on me, did you, Riddle?”

“As close as anyone else.”

“And by that you mean to say—?”

“Only that it’s a most fascinating custom, the matter of pureblood marriage. It was hard to avoid your name in a common room full of your particular politics.”

“Ah,” you hum, summoning the teapot from the kitchenette to pour another cup, “so my potential marital affairs are what drew your attention. And here I was thinking it was because I was the only person who could ever best you.”

He stops your tea mid-motion, and you still as he sends both the pot and the cup to the table beside you. “Can it not have begun as one and have become the other?”

“Well, your curiosity knows no end; I should be flattered by such multifaceted interest.”

“So you won’t mind my inquiring.”

“Whatever you wish, Riddle.”

“Upon the current status of your betrothal.”

You blink, and then laugh. “There is no betrothal. At present.”

“At present. Is it subject to change?”

“There’s always talk,” you offer, and it offers impressively little.

“Elaborate...”

“I don’t know that you’re in any position to be making demands,” you gibe, “considering I paid four sickles to prove you wrong and I haven’t anything to show for it but my pride.”

He smiles. “Not enough to sate your desire to make me grovel, it seems.”

“You? Grovel?” You gasp, fingers circling your knee idly. “What a fascinating concept… Wait now, I’m trying to paint the picture.”

“Is that not what you came for?” he asks, and it’s odd to see him amused by the idea. You push and push and he just continues to take. “To prove me wrong? To puncture my pride?”

You shrug innocently, even though you’d just said as much. “I’m here to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

He laughs, a warm, quiet laugh — more of a breath than anything — but true if you can read him at all, and that’s a bit alarming. “Of course. Near nine months of exhaustive translation all to bid me a nice holiday. It sounds almost like grovelling, doesn’t it? Wait, now, I’m trying to paint the picture.”

You bite back your smile. Damn him. He’s never been funny before. That’s a problematic development.

“Fine.” Your legs are already crossed and now you’re crossing your arms too, and you look very reserved compared to his relaxed stature. “A match would, of course, need to be of good title.”

“Of course,” Tom says, without even an attempt at masking his amusement.

“And he would need to be rich.”

“Naturally.”

“It would help to be from one of the Sacred Houses.”

“I should not expect anything less.”

“And I suppose age is a factor,” you go on. You push, and push, and push. Tom is impervious. He takes.

“What age would do well?”

“Near enough to my own. For health, of course.”

“For health,” he agrees delightedly.

What the hell are you talking about?

“It would be preferable that he be handsome.”

“And of his character?”

“Most agreeable.”

“Docile?”

“Hm, docile, yes.”

“It is a long list.”

“I’ve been told I’m a difficult woman to sate. Far too prideful, apparently.”

Your fingers are drawing figure-eights on your thigh now, and Tom’s eyes flash briefly to the motion. You stop as though caught, and you aren’t sure why.

“A defamatory accusation,” he says quietly.

You wonder if his voice has always had that tinge to it: the gravel underlining his polish like the crack of the fire, and — that must be why it’s so warm in here, too. It has been that way since you arrived, hasn’t it? Such polarising temperatures between your walk in the snow to this, you must have only just adjusted… an hour after arriving. It’s completely logical.

“So there are talks,” you repeat, if only because you’ve blanked on all else.

“Well,” he says, eyes boring into yours in a way that makes you feel transparent, “I wish you all the best. If it at all helps, you can now add a moderate understanding of Latin to your list of virtues.”

You drape an arm across your chair to match his easy posture. (And how is it he manages to look regal and informal at the same time?) “My list of virtues? Elaborate.”

He shakes his head with a small smile and you point an accusatory finger at him. “Ah, ah, Riddle — I won, remember? And I indulged your inquiring regardless.”

His eyes narrow. “You do want me to grovel.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“I don’t believe that’s the purpose of the day.”

“And that matters to you?”

He leans forward, looking over you as if your supposed virtues will reveal themselves upon scrutiny. It’s a bit offensive, really. You’d hope he could find more than enough with one glance.

He settles, after a long moment where you feel almost bare, on, “Your pride is agonising.”

It’s — not exactly what you were hoping for. Not quite grovelling, by any definition, but then, what did you expect from him?

“Excuse me?”

“Your stockings are ripped at the calf.”

“Riddle—”

“Your lipstick may have stained my teacup. It is a shade I’m rather fond of, but I do not wish to see a trace of it left behind.”

“Quite good,” you say through gritted teeth.

“And I should not be agonised — incautious and unfettered at a sliver of skin or the gesture of your mouth —” You realise with horror that he’s speaking through something constrained too — “and yet I am.”

It’s — is that a confession? Have you broken him? Have you won again? Your stomach flips and it doesn’t feel at all like winning. He certainly doesn’t look like a man who’s lost. In fact, he’s watching you intently, and at your lack of response, the constraint forming a taut line on his lips seems to slip back into something deliberate. Curious.

You recover to the best of your ability. “It is a short list.”

“Shall I go on?” he asks, and it’s an answer, too: no, you have most definitely not broken him. He looks a bit like he’s found a neat pathway to breaking you instead.

“I’d hate to debase you further.”

He leans in, and he might be about to stand, and that might be an irreversible thing to do. “Are you sure? I can’t imagine you’ve painted the picture yet.”

Oh, you’ve painted the picture. You’ve painted a gallery.

“I find the image regrettable half-done. No point finishing it now.”

You do not.

“And besides,” you add, “I know my virtues.”

He smiles, and he’s half orange in the firelight and half blue in the night, green somewhere in the middle, and he should be condemned for being this beautiful. “Elaborate.”

You shouldn’t. “I’m intelligent.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m a quick learner.”

“So I’ve seen,” he agrees, still leaning in.

“I’m good at my job.”

And then he stands.

It is an irreversible thing. Your heart lurches like it knows he’s going to do something that cannot be undone. Your heart lurches because it is a thing you’ve anticipated, quietly, on late nights in scrolls of Latin so you might be able to pretend to mistranslate them — you know, in your first tongue and any other, that you do not want it to be undone.

“Anything else?” he asks. You aren’t sure if you’re resentful of the proximity of his seat to yours or grateful for it, because it takes no time at all for him to be standing before you.

“I’m well-mannered,” you say, and it comes out quieter than you mean for it to. “Lettered in etiquette.”

“Etiquette," he repeats slowly, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, and you don't quite know how he manages an intonation like that, but there it is, dripping with so much contempt you’re surprised he doesn’t fall over.

It wouldn’t be terrible if he did. He’d land right on top of you and put this little game to rest.

Instead he reaches a hand to your cheek — your hair — and brushes it like it’s an absolutely standard thing to do. He pulls away just the same. As if his hand is familiar with the shape of your face because it’s been there before. You'd definitely remember if it had.

“Of course,” you breathe, “patience and pleases and thank yous.”

“In all your manners, you might provide an example.”

Fine. If he’s going to be difficult. “I’d say I’m displaying great patience right now.”

“Hm.” His hands find yours where they sit on either arm of your chair, and his figure is blocking all light now. It shines on his shoulders, casts him like an aura. “That’s one.”

You look at his lips, and don’t bother to look away. You incline forward as much as you can when you’re caged in like this, until his breath is on yours and you can smell his cologne.

“Please,” you say, and for the challenge in it you don’t feel too humbled.

He is most obliging.

His lips just barely brush yours at first, and you did say you were patient — so you wait. The feather-light touch of them stills before it deepens, his hands pressing down on yours. Your open mouth. His tongue. You're kissing him, breathlessly and frantically and completely, and it is all you want.

Tom pulls back and you instinctively push forward. You will your eyes to open and he’s still right there — he hasn’t gone anywhere (what a deranged concern that is) — lips an inch from yours, and he’s smiling.

“That’s two.”

Oh. Oh, he’s an aberration in human variance. There’s something incredibly wrong with him.

There isn’t a way of turning gratitude into a challenge, you think. It doesn’t ask for anything. It appreciates. In this case it would more closely resemble worship. Thank you for your kiss, Riddle, I’d be nothing without it.

So you search to find a way around it that still gets you what you want.

“I’ll need a bit more than a lousy kiss if you want to see me grovel, Riddle." Your voice is a bit rough. You don’t know that your confidence lands the way it typically does.

But you came here to — what was it — puncture his pride? Push him until he breaks? You’ve already made it halfway, and you are, after all, very good at it.

And you suppose he wants to earn the third, because he scowls and then he’s kissing you again and this time his hands are on your face, and perhaps they are somehow familiar with the shape because they fit around you in some inexplicably whole way, like they were made for it. With your hands free, you’re carding your fingers through his hair, hoping for that vision of him you imagined earlier, with thick, messy waves and flushed cheeks.

Tom brings a hand to your waist and tugs you in, and you’re partly pulled from the chair by his insistence and overwhelmingly pushing to get out of it yourself, lips never leaving his as you stumble past the meagre divider to his bed.

The backs of your thighs hit the footboard and your knees buckle, gasping away from Tom’s mouth as you reach for the bedpost. His breath is heavy as his hand curves to the small of your back to keep you steady, your dress bunched in his fist, and there’s a heat in him pressed against you, like a match being held to kindling. And in the flash of fire when it finally strikes, everything in his eyes is clear, singularly focused, and he's pushing you to your back, splayed across his tidy sheets as he kisses you with bruising ferocity.

There's an urgency now to his movements that wasn't there before, and it's a stark contrast to his usual calculated demeanour, but that feels like winning. That feels like breaking Tom Riddle, whittling years of practised constraint to… this. That draws the third: makes you nice and grateful like he asked, because no part of you wants his careful fortitude here. You want to ruin him.

He appears to want the very same from you, which wrecks the whole thing.

Your legs move to wrap around him and he stops you, one hand pinning you by the hip and then down, past where you think he’ll go, as he finds the hem of your dress and lifts it from your calf to your knee. He draws circles over the thinly-clothed skin and you can do nothing but lie there, panting a little, staring at him with less patience than you’d proclaimed to have. And then his fingers move upwards, and they’re drawing figure-eights, and you understand that if this isn’t a taunt, nothing is. He copies your earlier motions. He does not kiss you. His fingers trail higher and higher and they’re soft like the shadows framing his face.

Finally he finds the waistband of your stockings and begins to tug them down your hips, stopping when he reaches that sliver of skin revealed by a tear in the fabric, taking your leg and hiking it up so he can look closely. He smiles, finger sliding down the tear in such a precise, meticulous fashion you can’t help but think he’s doing it on purpose. The moment does not linger when he pulls away, shuffling your stockings down the rest of the way so your legs are unclad before him, your heels already kicked off somewhere across the floor.

He watches your sharp exhale when he ducks down to kiss the skin of your thigh. A shiver runs through you at his softness, another when you see his face, see his eyes go dark with want of you.

His constraint is back, and it’s fucking detrimental. The only silver lining you can find in it, and you hope to be correct (haven’t you been so far?), is that maybe that means Tom Riddle can be broken in litany. Maybe he amends his ruination now but you can carve it out of him again later.

“Come here,” you say, your voice ragged.

Tom frowns, one hand pursuing a dangerous path up the inside of your thigh. “And here I was under the impression you wanted me to grovel.”

“Oh,” you huff, “is that what this is? Not some feeble attempt at winning after I —”

You grip his hair as his fingers curl under the lace of your underwear, as he smiles at the dampness there, the way your argument dissipates beneath his touch. “Winning?” he derides, breathy to match your tone in a way that feels cruel rather than considerate. You nod even as your breathing accelerates and he lifts the skirt of your dress to rest over your thighs, his eyes darting between your legs and your own heavy gaze as if he can't decide which is more intriguing. And then he slides a finger across your heat and you think he’s made his choice. "Is that what you think I want?"

You blink, feeling a bit lost. "What else is there?"

“Will you thank me after this?”

Right. That. You swallow, head falling back on his pillow. “Doubtful.”

“Hm,” he mumbles, some kind of consideration that can only be answered by the movement of his fingers against you, slow as they seek to learn you.

You arrest the moan that rises in your throat, teeth clenching together as Tom climbs over you once more, his body keeping you in place to watch the sustained details of your expression as one of his fingers dips inside you. You hiss, and his gaze burns into you, his mouth parted with a degree of awe and you think perhaps this is the picture he painted — you, under him, eyebrows pinched together as your hands scramble for purchase on his chest, fighting to remain intact.

But then his thumb brushes up against your clit and you let out a sound — half a moan, half a mewl. Tom doesn't give you a second to recover as his lips come down on yours again, hard, desperate, like he's trying to inhale you. And you let him, you take the little bit of ruin he surrenders in the great expanse of yours.

Even if you could quiet your noises you stand to think Tom would feel them, taste them, bite down on them like he does your lower lip, a second finger coiling into you. Your hand smacks at his wrist, clutching his arm with such intensity you can feel every sinew of his movement as he works away at you. Your legs are trembling, pressing around his waist an act of simultaneous resistance and desperation as you push upwards for friction and conquest.

You find both. Undeniable hunger — how he groans softly against your open mouth, how the imprint against your thigh is hard under his trousers, how he wants you.

His ministrations only intensify when your hand searches for the buckle of his belt, gripping your jaw like he needs to watch you fall apart before you can find parity in your desperation. It isn’t an impossible wish; your mind is hazy at the push and pull of his fingers, curving where his thumb draws ceaselessly on the other side, and you think, as much as you’re able right now, that he could succeed. But you force your eyes open to the space where your hand is wedged between your bodies, yanking hastily at his belt and sighing into his shoulder as it unfastens.

His trousers are unbuttoned, unzipped, and you’re arching into him with laboured pants even when your hand slips past them to find skin you've never travelled before.

Tom’s motions stagger when your fingers brush experimentally over his length, and you suddenly understand his ardent focus. You can’t help but stare at the way his jaw ticks, a hiss parting through gritted teeth, and the fact that you’re doing this to him is almost enough to push you over the edge. You grip him in one hand, and his fingers move again like some act of defiance, tightening his hold on your jaw. And then you’re pumping slowly, carefully, the only way you think to with the intention of pleasing him. Of weakening him.

He turns your head so you’re gasping into the pillow, neck exposed for him to press his mouth to. His teeth and tongue are on you and your hand slips from him for a moment as you shudder. Fuck him. This isn’t enough. You won't lose like this.

You tug at his waistcoat now, snapping open the buttons until the last few are clinging on by cheap threads. You’ll buy him that suit, you think. One that you can shrug off as fervently as you like without worrying about tearing the seams.

Your removal of his shirt is not aided by the swelling fire inside you, how the attention of his fingers has remained steady through your squirming and it feels like it’s culminating to something fatal. Your fingers grow shakier but don't stop their pursuit until every button is undone and you can soothe their trembling by pressing your palms against the warm expanse of his chest.

And then they’re back in his trousers, pushing them down his thighs as he continues to chip away at you. You bite back moans and blink through your dizziness.

Tom stops, and it might be more devastating than if he hadn’t. Your body is taut, a fine, thrumming wire spared a moment before snapping.

“More,” is all you say, tracing the shape of him through his briefs.

“More?” he asks. There’s a small mercy in the rasp within in his voice, the uncertainty despite himself. “I suppose that means I win.”

“Win?” 

His gall almost, almost pulls you back to reality. But he’s — he’s pulling his trousers further down and your body, like some separate entity to your mind, is flush against him when he’s finally free of all obstructions. 

“Mhm,” he hums, and almost-reality dwindles away into fucking nothing — disappears before your eyes when he brings his finger to his tongue and tastes you.

You tear him back to your mouth with a sound that so desperate your humility shouldn’t be able to take it but that's all gone now. His lips are wet and swollen and you’re adjusting yourself so his hips are lined with yours, and your head rolls back when he positions himself against your core and stays there.

“I win,” you breathe. “Everything else is just—”

He moves, hands on your waist as he presses ever-so-slightly inside you. You clutch wildly at his arms, your eyes wrenching shut.

“Look at me,” he says softly. His thumb caresses your cheek as if any act of his acts of tenderness are at all actually tender and not depraved requests for your resignation. 

You shake your head. “It’s ju-just—”

He sinks further, unhurried, and you feel like crying, your body clenching around him as the pressure deepens.

“Just what?” he asks, peppering kisses along your jaw.

“Just… um, just…”

“Hm?”

“I win... s’just… cheating…”

You feel him smiling against your neck, and then he detaches his lips to observe you, nodding with false sympathy. “You win.”

And he shifts himself forward so he’s pushed to the hilt. 

It’s a lie. It’s a lie as Tom holds you against him, carving kisses into your skin that burn, as you shudder a moan into the thick, hot air, as he begins to move rhythmically inside you, your fingers digging crescent moons into his spine and dragging.

You don't win.

If you are steel honed over years, it’s this moment that you melt, and you think if you were to be fused again it would be in a different shape.

And you mean that. You honestly feel liquified when he splits you slow like this, rolling his hips as you cling to him for strength like he isn’t the thing shattering you. 

You rock to meet him, you bury your nails in his back, you rest your moans with your teeth in his shoulder — whatever you can think to make this fair. Make true to your word. You are going to break, it's true, but you are going to break Tom Riddle too.

“Fingers,” you mutter, far too much of a demand for the way it almost stumbles into a sob, but Tom makes a strained sound in the back of his throat as if it gratifies him that you want it enough to ask.

“Thank me,” he answers on a harsh exhale.

You bite at his collar, shaking your head, but your legs are starting to shake and you wouldn’t ask if it was something you wanted — you mask it as an order because you need it. Because you imagine what he’s doing now combined with his thumb on your clit and it’s enough to make your abdomen clench just thinking about it.

Instead one of your hands forsakes the sweet curve of his muscles every time he thrusts into you so that it can snake between your own legs, and you mimic his earlier ministrations just long enough to drive a moan from your lips before Tom’s eyes dart from your lips, the rise and fall of your chest, to the hand missing from his back.

He grabs it with a scowl, pinning one wrist and then the other above your head.

“Stubborn,” he hisses, and he buries himself inside you like it's something personal, persistent in his strokes when his fingers finally rub over you how you wanted.

And you know you’ve done it when his head falls on your shoulder and you feel yourself tighten around him. His grip on your wrists is punishing. His mouth on your shoulder is stringent. He’s hard and full inside you and his fingers slide against you in delicate, torturous contrast. You know because it all stutters a bit when you pull him into a kiss, when you know you’re about to plummet into oblivion and he’s gripping you through it like you might steady him — like you aren’t the thing shattering him.

When you do, it’s something visceral. You think you might be spinning, or floating — screaming, maybe — spilling ill-mannered expletives in strings with his name because your hands are still trapped under his and your body can do nothing else. What you know, undoubtedly, is that you’re coming down from it for a long time, in a haze when you manage to breathe the words into his ear. “Thank you.”

Tom breaks. It’s the most beautiful you think he’s ever looked; eyebrows cinched and pink mouth parted, hair mussed like you wanted, neck tense as he stills inside you and you feel every part of him let go.

Your legs are too weak to cling to him through it, and you just pant under him, blinking languidly and in awe.

You stay like that for a long time.

He leans in when he finally pulls out of you, kissing you like one form of contact must be replaced with another. It's the same with his hands. He sinks into the space beside you and releases your wrists just to cup your face instead.

Yours come up instantly and shamelessly to his hair, craving nothing more than to curl your fingers through the dark mess of it. You trace the sharp shape of his cheeks, too, like his did to yours, like you need to memorize the lines of his expression and the heat of his skin before the world outside seeps in and it all goes cold.

But you pull away and you can't imagine it will.

There’s something in his eyes that feels new. Longing like he’s shed all pretence of acting like nine years of treading the lines of this rivalry has ever been anything but a pathetic display, like he knows you've shed it too. It makes you catch your breath to think this is what it feels like to be desired by Tom Riddle; that you desire him all the same; all this time.

“You know,” you say, and your voice sticks dry to your mouth, “I still win.”

He shakes his head. He smiles. You want terribly to kiss him again.

“I’ll just have to find something else to best you in, won’t I?”

You pretend like you’re considering it and not just staring at him. 

“I think by Christmas would be fair.”

[thechekhov]

Dungeon Meshi Quick Reacts: CH42

Who is that. Is that Marcille? It doesn't look like Marcille. Why her ears so small.

why is this alternate-universe man struggling with so many modern day issues, like his parents pestering him to have kids? We came so far... but in the end.... we never left.

DAMN, GET OFF HIS ASS! I know it must be a dream but damn. You don't have to do the poor boy like this! He's doing his best!

We all need friends like this that will just wrestle you into bed.

.......is the idea that you can enter someone's dream as easily as just sleeping on them? Just physical contact? Damn. Free MMO VR experience.

Ah yes. Because really, what ELSE would you use lucid dreaming for, if not this?

Someone who's never read Dungeon Meshi explain what's going on in these panels.

Not gonna lie, I'm a huge sucker for weird liminal spaces like these. I know they're meant to freak people out but they have the opposite effect on me. This is peak mental stimulation.

IT'S A BABY MARCILLE????!?? AOOUUUGUGUHUGHU LOOKIT HER

Me and Laios: ah, yes, Marcille's family is a polycule, confirmed. This is surely the way it's meant to be taken.

oh, that's. hm.

Ahhh, poor kid! She's so terrified, and even though she doesn't recognize Laios, she knows he's a friend. Damn, I really love the fact that, despite often arguing with him, Marcille and Laios are actually genuinely close friends.

WEE WOO WEE WOO THAT'S NOT GOOD.

I just realized her doll looks like Falin!!! Will the wonders never cease!!

Oh! It's the guilt! :D Her real source of fear is the crushing guilt of having resurrected her girlfriend and accidentally siphoning away her humanity!

.........hang on. If it's not monsters OR death that Marcille is scared of.... is it possible that she's scared of... other people dying before she does?

She's an elf, right? Or a half elf, if the people who spoiled that reveal for me have spoiled it correctly. That means she'll probably out-last her friends. Is THAT the fear?

...or did he.

You can do what????? Use ancient magic to reverse the aging of your loved ones?!?!

That eye is the same as that of the elf, huh.

Yeah girl, you show that thing. Bonk it with the wizard's spellbook.

👏let 👏 her 👏 sleep!

Y'all got. CLAMS? In your. PILLWS?

......Y';ALL GOT PILLOWS? IN THE DUNGEON??

... the internal monologue of a cat who will continue to be too lazy to move for the next 15 hours.

OH!!!! HIM!!!!!!

(❁´◡`❁)

Listen. You don't choose your fursona. Your fursona chooses you.

[coraniaid]

The scene where Willow confronts Faith is Choices is kind of fascinating to me, because ... well.

I like Choices quite a lot, and I think Willow's dislike of Faith is perfectly understandable and in character (and her speech has some fun but probably not intentional foreshadowing for later seasons), but it's hard not to notice that the narrative expects you to be rather more unambiguously on Willow's side than I think is really warranted.

I mean, Willow might not have been the most popular girl in high school, but she has multiple close friends, a nice boyfriend, a stable [and fairly comfortably middle-class] home life, she "represents the pinnacle of achievement in Sunnydale High" in the words of her school's principal, she's trusted enough to teach at the school, in a year she'll be able to go to any college she wants (and, unlike some people, she can afford to go anywhere she wants), she used to hack into government computer databases (before she ever met Buffy!) and now she's teaching herself dark magic "for fun" and she hasn't [yet] ever suffered any real repercussions for either of those things.

On the other hand, from what little we hear about Faith's past we know she grew up poor and that her mother used to get drunk and beat her, that she didn't have any friends and dropped out of high school young, she is very strongly implied on multiple occasions to have been the victim of some pretty horrific abuse before being called as a Slayer, and after being called as a Slayer she got to watch the one adult who ever told her she mattered get killed horribly in front of her before fleeing across the country to a town where she doesn't know anybody, still has no friends, doesn't have a job or go to school and lives alone in a motel in the bad part of town. And when she accidentally killed a man, while trying to do the whole slaying vampires thing she's supposed to be doing, the Watcher's Council -- who never actually bothered to send her a new Watcher of her own -- decided to have her abducted and dragged away to England [a fate which surely nobody deserves].

Yet a part of Willow clearly thinks (and almost outright says) "oh, well, yeah, but she hangs out with Buffy sometimes when I don't get to and she slept with the guy -- not my nice boyfriend! -- who I used to have a crush on (and who I was briefly cheating on said boyfriend with), so it's clearly impossible to say which of us really had things worse and I don't need to feel sorry for her". And -- again, while this is great characterisation for Willow -- it's kind of hard not to notice that the writers think she has a compelling point.

Yes, sure, Faith has defected to working for the Mayor and has a knife drawn on Willow this scene (she's not anything like a blameless victim at this point of the story) and it takes a certain level of physical bravery for Willow to stand up for herself despite that. But ... I mean, come on. "You had friends like Buffy" is only true if you accept it to mean "you had exactly one friend, who was Buffy". "It's way too late" for Faith to seek forgiveness ... how many people has Faith killed at this point? One, by mistake? Giles has killed more people than that. "Some people think you had a lot of bad breaks?" Yeah, actually in Faith's shoes I'd want to hit Willow after she said that too.

I realize that part of the show's central thesis -- something that explicitly came up as recently as Earshot -- is the idea that everybody, regardless of how comfortable their life might seem from the outside, has their own sorrow and pain and (only occasionally metaphorical) demons to fight. But while that's not entirely wrong, it's also ... not entirely complete? Everyone has it bad sometimes, but some people really do have it worse than others. Pretending otherwise is ... not a serious position to take.

Willow's life could be better, but she's not gone through anything like Faith has. I'd argue she literally can't imagine how bad Faith's life has been. She really doesn't have as much moral authority as the show's writers think she has at this point.

[Compare this part of Season 3 with the first half of Season 6, when the show is overflowing with sympathy for Willow's abrupt descent into magic addiction but has no sympathy at all for Amy Madison, whose own magic addiction is just implied to be because she's inherently a Bad Person who Willow needs to avoid and whose own horrific past and abusive mother and complete lack of support system is just entirely forgotten about. Or, indeed, to the weird take of Dead Man's Party, which has Buffy apologize to Willow for ... what? Having problems of her own that don't revolve around Willow? Being too busy mourning the loss of everything she ever cared about to tell Willow how uniquely special and amazing she was for learning rudimentary magic? Not being grateful enough for Willow restoring Angel's soul without bothering to ask Buffy if that was something she still wanted her to try?]

So, the overall effect is ... yeah, it's a good scene. But it's almost a good scene despite the writer's intentions, not because of them. It's much less of an ambiguously triumphant moment for WIllow than I believe we're meant to read it as.

[ilovejeongintoo]

𝔾𝕒𝕫𝕖 𝕆𝕗 𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕟𝕖

!WARNING NSFW Content ahead! !MDNI!

Genre: Fantasy, Gorgon Hongjoong x Reader, Magic Academy Au Warnings: sex p in v, bruising(don't worry), venom/aphrodisiac, a little of blood(bite), begging, teasing kinda? Wordcount: 5029 Not proofread

Serpent Hybrid Honjoong would actually be so hot, I can't breathe. Also inspired by Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

Summary: The magic school you go to has many secrets and students start disappearing again, but when you're friend also suddenly turns into thin air, you decide to find her yourself, one of the secrets is closer than you could have ever imagined.

"Did you hear?, it happened again."

"This is the third student this month."

"Aren't the teachers gonna do anything."

No, they won't, they never have. In all the years that you've been training to be a wizard, no one did anything against the mysterious disappearances happening in this school. And you doubt anyone ever will.

Every year, when the snow started to build a thick layer onto the gras outside and the days started becoming shorter, at night students went missing, one by one. And every time, not a single teacher would investigate further, you doubt that they even told the parents about the fate that their children would suffer.

It wasn't like they'd disappear forever, they would return one day, out of the blue. But not the same, they had a blank expression, as if the life was sucked out of them. And they would mutter about strange, unintelligible things.

This was seriously getting out of hand, you'd never know who would be next, maybe it was that nerdy girl in potions class, or that stupid jock that sat way too close with his sweaty self.

Or maybe you.

You closed your locker in frustration, swiftly heading off to your next class. You were not in the mood to listen to any of this nonsense anymore, the upcoming exams had you on your feet already, there wasn't any need for more stress on your end.

You were sat at your desk, patiently waiting for your friend to show up. But she wouldn't show, not even when the teacher arrived, or 10 minutes into the lesson. Maybe she just forgot to tell you that she wouldn't be coming.

You tried focusing on your lessons, a weird feeling stirring in your gut. As you were packing your books, the runes teacher called out to you, a small old woman.

You quickly headed over to her, your bag over your shoulder. Your brows furrowed at the serious and kind of dim expression that her wrinkly face was painted in.

"Have you heard anything from your friend, Adeline?" "No, I haven't, why?" It wasn't rare for her to miss a class, especially not this one. Why was she so concerned?

"She wasn't at her after school studies, or any of the club activities." Now those she definitely never misses, as she actually likes those. That feeling in your stomach started feeling heavier and a clump in your throat started forming at the all the possibilities of where she was, or what could have happened.

"Her roommates also noticed her missing." How could you be the only person to not have noticed anything, you, you were her best friend for god’s sake. You broke out in a cool sweat; she couldn't be far. Hopefully.

You thanked the teacher for informing you, telling her you'd tell her if you find out anything about her whereabouts. This cannot be happening. Not to her, your mind kept making pictures of all the times at the academy, how you'd spend any moment with her.

The third student this month. It must be her. She was now one of the missing students, that were going to turn up again like brain dead zombies. No way you'd let that happen. Your steps began quickening, you stopped in front of a few students to ask them if they'd seen her. Never getting a positive answer or even a clue. You kept asking people around the school until someone said something that struck you.

"Oh yeah, the little one, saw her yesterday with…who was it?" They stopped to think, you were restless and grabbed them by the collar.

"Who? With whom was she?"

You looked like you'd start killing the poor student if they didn't tell you, pupils small and eyes wide. You needed to find her, as soon as possible. Your hold didn't let up until they got the answer out with a trembling stutter.

"Kim- Kim Hongjoong"

You let the go, the person catching their breath a little and hurrying off.

Kim Hongjoong, you weren't unfamiliar with the student. He was also going to be a graduate, you had never spoken with him before, but you sure as hell would now.

He was a little popular with his looks and charms. But right now, he might be one of the names that would land on your "to kill" list. If he had anything to do with your besties disappearance. You knew where to find him rather quickly, with asking the next person in your line of vision, a lot nicer than before, as to where he would be. His charms class was just about to end, and luckily for you the classroom was just a few halls down situated.

As soon as your eyes were sat on a familiar blonde hair you grabbed said person by the tie and slammed them into the next wall, fuck being patient, your friend was missing. The dude was definitely taken aback by the shocked expression and silver rimmed glasses that fell down his nose a little.

You got in his face, trying to intimidate him even if he was quite a bit taller.

"Where is she?" "Who?" He seemed genuinely confused, as if, he must be playing dumb on purpose.

"Adeline fucking Winters, where is she?" You gripped him tighter, not aware of the stares some student threw your guys' way. You were sure you must be choking this dude with the way you were holding him.

"Woah calm down- he tried prying your hands from his shirt-"I don't know what you mean." "You were the last person to seen with her, so, where.is.she?

Fed up with your pulling, he roughly yanked himself out of your grip, face now an angry expression at your accusing tone. "I got nothing to do with her vanishing if that's what you're insinuating."

"Fancy words from a kidnapper-" You stepped up to him again, wanting to close the distance again. "-or worse a murderer, huh, what did you do to her." You jabbed an accusing finger into his chest, not believing that he didn't know anything at all.

Before he could come up with what you were sure, was going to be another excuse, a teacher interrupted. She pulled you away at the aggressive look and most definitely clenched fists, trying to deescalate the situation.

You would not let that man rest, he knew something, he has to. So, you shouted, hoping that he would hear:" I'll find out what you're hiding!"

After an hour-long lecture from the principle for your behavior you were finally let off with a warning. They still wouldn't do anything to help you find your friend though, making some lame excuse that she might have just gone and needed some time alone. They clearly just wanted this subject off the table.

You wouldn't give up though. And you had a plan, one that would start with operation: "Observe Kim Hongjoong". You came to realize that the dude was as boring as the next one though, he just went to his classes, hung out with his weird group of friends and would then retire in his room. Nothing out of the ordinary. He must be playing it safe. As to not get found out. So that would mean, you needed to switch to the next phase of your plan: "Confront Kim Hongjoong". That step was a lot easier than you were thinking, as he himself paid you a visit in your potions class, snagging the seat next to you.

Making himself a little too comfortable in the seat, same uniform as any student here wore. A tie, dark coat and slacks matched with dress shoes and a white pristine shirt.

As the lesson began, he began whispering to you. "Look I don't know what happened to your friend." He had a sympathetic look to his face; you'd almost believe him.

Almost.

"I know that you have something to do with this." It was more of a feeling than anything, he was either lying or just not telling you the whole truth, you were guessing it's more likely the first option. You turned to him, laying your fountain pen down and stared him down. Right in those deep eyes of his.

"And when I find out what you're hiding, everyone will know." Just then the bell rung, which made you snatch the book and supplies of yours into your arms and speed walking away from him. Being near him made it almost hard to breathe, he was a lot more imposing than you first realized.

You didn't even put away your books, heading straight to the library. Because maybe you hadn't found out where your friend was now, but you did manage to catch something.

His eyes. The moment you looked into them, for a split second, so fast that anyone could miss it, they changed. Yes, maybe you were actually going crazy…but if not, this could help find Adeline, Addy, your friend. You started missing her more and more over the passing days, praying that she was okay at the least.

For what reason would Hongjoong need someone to disappear? To kill them? To sacrifice them? God, he just a kid like you though. But those eyes weren't, they looked cold, like pure ice that sank into the depths of a deep-frozen lake.

You decided just looking at all the books in the library would take way too long, the room was practically the size of a mansion. You started looking through a few ritual books, nothing. Looking into some records of the school, nothing. No missing people, no records at all, even though this was a phenomenon that had been going on since your first year here. Someone must be covering this whole thing up, or something.

The tag for the forbidden section caught your eye, looking back to see if the librarian had their eyes on you, you slipped through the wooden door. It was left unlocked, well not willingly as some students broke the lock and the school decided the cost wasn't worth fixing. It was pretty dark in here, as you choose to keep the lights off. Noone needed to know you were in here, or the next lecture with the principal wouldn’t just end with a warning.

You looked through a few books, they were sometimes in a language you couldn't read or barely understood. A dark cover in the corner caught your eye, you reached for it and blew the dust on the top off it a bit. It uncovered the title "Legendarum Magicus". That almost sounded like a childrens book for magic legends. You flipped it open nonetheless, it didn't have an author and the writing, it wasn't printed, it seemed to be handwritten, each page of it.

And all the texts, they were all about this school. Hidden stories about the weird creaking in the abandoned girl’s bathroom. The hidden cellar in the school, which was supposedly home to mysterious caged creatures. What made your hand stop turning pages was when the book spoke about the missing students, or more importantly, the cause of it.

As you read through it with your phone as a light. Each paragraph you read, made your hand tighten and shake against the book until you closed it with a slam. A noise way too loud for anyone not to hear. As soon as you heard the familiar squeak of the librarian chair you ran out, slipping the book into your bag and hiding behind a pillar as to not get caught. When the coast was clear you headed to the stairs you just wanted to go to your room now, too exhausted and tensed with all the new things you learned from the book. And about the infamous Kim Honjoong.

Your eyes closed your eyes trying to keep the headache you managed to sport away. And at last made you fall asleep, bag still clutched to your body.

The next day phase three your plan would step into action: "Confronting Hongjoong and getting Adeline back". You had no idea how you'd do that but just in case of something happening, you packed a special little object with you.

Hongjoong must have some kind of unnatural for feeling when you needed to talk to him because he came up to you again, just before class was going to start.

"Hey, I just wanted to make sure, that you know I-" He gestured to himself, and you cut him off, not planning on listening to more of his lies.

"I know your secret Hongjoong." That sure got him to be quiet quick. He looked calm from the outside, but once again, those eyes said more than anything on that pretty face. The Frames didn't hide the icy expression, his eyes seemed to get deeper now you felt like you were drowning in that cold, frozen over lake. That same restricting feeling on your chest.

You managed to get it out though, in a barely there voice.

"I know what you are."

At that he abruptly grabbed your hand and began pulling you away from the classroom, not planning on partaking in the lesson. Your and his steps were the only things that could be heard in the empty hallway. Would he take you to where the others were now? You didn't feel that good about going there alone, wherever "there" was. His steps were quick and long and the rooms that you passed were a big, connected blur.

You stepped down several stairways, they all went further and further down. And then he stepped through doors until you were in the common bath, he pulled you in and then let go.

He stepped around the huge bath going for where the multiple faucets that were used for it were. He turned a few, seemingly in a specific order and when he stepped back from them a buzz rang through the room. An opening in the wall opened, the wall sliding from it former place like a normal door, yet this was anything but normal.

He walked through the hole, stopping and turning to you. "If you wanna know where your little friend is now, you ought to follow me."

Was this smart? Absolutely not. Were you going to do it regardless?

Yes.

You knew what this path led to, his lair. Where he trapped his victims. His eyes seemed to glow a green in the dark of the tunnel and he continued walking ahead, knowing that you'd follow.

When the tunnel opened up again it was into a big room. Water pouring from a lot of places in the ceiling and disappearing into nothingness. Big stone pathways were decorated with big statues on each side making it look like a big ominous walkway, headed straight to a statue in the front. All depicted the same animal, a serpent. That made your heart beat a little faster, your hands tremble a little more and you turned your bag a little more to you, for easier access. Hongjoong took off his coat, throwing it off into a corner. He loosened his tie and popped a few buttons open, before turning back to you.

"You know, your first one to figure it out." He said all friendliness and the desperate attempts of convincing you of his innocence were gone. Now before you stood the real Kim Hongjoong.

"You humans are usually so stupid and naive, quite easy to fool. But now, you show up, trying to play hero." He took slow steps to you, and you reached into your bag at the same tempo. Your heart began racing.

"Most of the times I just get a little bit of the energy of the magicians here, letting them walk away in a little daze and making them come back again if I’m in need of a little snack again." He continued on, explaining, not that you'd understand his situation.

"I think I'll make an exception for you though." He closed in on you just as you had done the first day you confronted him. You pulled out the round object that you took with you, a mirror. You looked away as well, not wanting to be affected with whatever he was trying to pull on you.

If the book was correct, what stood before you wasn't a human. It was the embodiment of medusa, the curse holder of the gaze of stone, a gorgon. He was a living myth, inhabiting the dark underground of this Academy. Feasting on his prey. He turned away with a yell, stopped by the reflective surface in your hand.

"Smart little thing, aren't you?" You heard him speak, not willing to give him an ounce of your eyesight. He wouldn't be able to catch you with his gaze.

"Yeah, that's right- you stood from your cowering position; mirror still held tightly in hand. "-so give me back my best friend and nothing will happen." You started looking for her in the room, not seeing anyone besides the two of you.

"Oh, but it will, now that you know, you don't expect to just walk away? Do you?"

"Oh, sweet thing, but she isn't even here." You felt a grip in your hand, making you turn your head regardless in shock. He turned your mirror away from him, gripping your wrist tighter until you let go and it shattered on the stone floor. You choose to just tightly close your eyes.

He stepped closer into your personal space, he dragged his one hand to your jaw, turning your head to him. "Look at me." It was a demand, a command to do as told or you'd suffer some serious repercussions.

You refused to give in, you wouldn't, for your friend. You felt his warm breath brush your face and then you felt a soft feeling against your lips, nonetheless, making you open your eyes. Which in turn made you gaze into his-now grey-eyes. You felt like you were afloat, in a daze, completely relaxed. Like you were on a high, it felt like when you used to make potions to fall asleep.

His blonde fluffy hair was starting to go out of focus a bit, your eyesight blurry. A hand cupped your cheek, now tilting your head to properly get you to look at him.

"Now Now, don't fall asleep, we're just getting started."

You didn't really hear his words, too out of it. The thing that you could focus on the most were those lips, that were now curved in a pretty smile. Your throat dried up a little at the notion of getting to feel those lips again, you leaned into him a little. You kissed up your cheek, in a motion way too sweet given the situation. You kept your eyes open now, intent on capturing all of his movements in your memories. You felt a little prick of him biting into your lower lip and right after you felt even more floaty, incredibly warm as well. As if you were coming down with a fever, Hongjoong's lips felt so cool in contrast now, which made you more the desperate to reconnect your lips each time. With each smack it seemed to cool you off, but your body began burning more.

You pulled him more into you, feeling the exposed part of his chest, just as cooling as the rest of him. You unbuttoned it more. "Eager, aren't we?" His voice seemed far away, but his touch wasn't as he got rid of your cloak and shirt just as fast.

His touch was soft but demanding not rushing at all, you however couldn't get enough fast enough. You pressed messy kisses along his neck, down his collar bone and chest, your hands finding their place on his pecs. You explored the expanse of his body, keeping your lips on his torso. You slipped your one hand down further his abdomen, now noticing a few scales scattered over the sides of his torso. You delicately traced his abs, being stopping by your head, when a hand pulled your head back by your hair. It forced you to make eye contact with the heavenly looking creature in front of you. "That's only for good ones, have you been good?"

You nodded, whatever would get you to feel more of him and satiate that ache deep inside you. To make the burning stop. Instead of letting you continue on, he completely pulled away.

The suddenness made you sink onto the cold stone floor. A whine escaped you in response, which, in any other situation would have embarrassed you. You couldn't pick your body off the ground, way too weak, your bones felt like they were made out of pudding. "Now tell me, who else might know that I'm the reason for the incidents happening on these grounds? Any friends you like to gossip to?" He tapped your chin to get you to look at him, noticing how it sunk at the relaxed feelings of your body.

You couldn't even understand him, the question hadn't registered at all in your mushed up brain. So, he repeated himself now sounding a lot more serious though.

You tried thinking back, no one, you hadn't told anyone about this escapade of yours, or even that you had the slightest idea of who could be behind the kidnapped students. That shook you awake a little, you were here for someone, for your best friend.

You didn't know which answer would make you come out of this alive, so you stuck with the truth. Instantly a a big smile formed on his face, eyes crinkling a bit and fangs showing. Fangs that you managed to only notice now.

"What do you want with them? You don't eat them, so what do you do to them?" Your weakened voice questioned. Hongjoongs one eyebrow raised in surprise at the fact that your head was starting to clear up again. That wasn't part of his plan in bringing you here. He supposed he could tell you, not that you'd remember any of this after, just like the others.

"But that's where you're wrong, I do eat them, partially. I take away that delicious spiritual energy, it doesn't kill you. But can you really call that living? You saw, they're empty husks after."

He enjoyed the wide-eyed look on your face, now just realizing what real danger you were facing. It was crazy how nonchalant he was about all of this. He kept his non-threatening facade for now, and then when you would least expect it, he'd wrap himself around you, just like a viper.

"No, please-uh not my friend please." Aww how cute, you were really worried about someone else right now?

You really were naïve.

Following him down here, trusting his words of giving up your mortal friend. He enjoyed seeing you beg, especially on your knees on the floor. It gave him even more of a power trip than he was already having.

The tears in your eyes, the disheveled state of your clothes and hair and God, the pink blush that was still left on your cheeks from before. He was barely keeping himself under control. Maybe he could make an exception, just this once.

"Alright, I’ll let your friend go, hell I'll even stop taking students, for a price of course."

Okay, this was your only chance to save her. You'd do whatever it took to know that she was alive and still the one that you spent all this time with, in all those years.

You were still looking up at him with those big eyes, in hope. That he would keep his words. "If I can’t feed on those friends of yours, you'll just have to quench my hunger."

Die? Was he really asking you to die? To sacrifice yourself? You were shaking, you were going to be one of those lifeless husks, roaming the halls until you graduated. Only God knows how your life would continue after.

You supposed you didn't have any other choice, if this was really the only way, there’s no way you could walk away and live with the guilt. If Hongjoong would even let you leave.

"Alright, I'll do it, but you have to let them go." He moved towards you at that, with each step your shoulders shook more in fear of what was about to happen to you. You were praying for it to at least not be painful. You closed your eyes in preparation of his next move.

Directly in front of you again he ran his fingers down, along your cheek. Going down and over your neck, feeling your pulse and staying there. The smell of your fear was already feeding him more than you'd ever know, but he wouldn't just stop without having an actual taste of you.

He leaned in, those same plush lips brushed over your neck and then slightly exposed shoulder. Your shirt had ridden down quite a bit, some buttons opened. You could feel his long tongue occasionally trace a few lines along the expanse of your shoulder, but he bit in, just slightly.

Your taste was heavenly, reminding him of his favorite pastry. He needed to keep you alive so that his now favorite snack would never leave him.

That made you wince; this would be it. His tongue went over the small holes that were left behind in a soothing touch. You started feeling dazed even more, more than before. His venom that must have been it before as well. Now that it was more and deeper it worked so much stronger. The heat was actually unbearable now, you began taking your top clothes off in a fruitless attempt to feel cooler.

Searching for some coolness your hands met Hongjoongs skin again wrapping yourself around him to get your naked upper body flush against him. His went around to hold your waist, quickly slipping down to push your skirt and panties off in one move. If your blood tasted that good, in between your legs would actually make him ascend to heaven. Usually, he wouldn't drain his victims like this, not at all.

He pushed you to lay on the floor, on your back. He followed right behind, settling himself between your legs. Eyes going for the space in between your legs, which was a sight for sore fucking eyes. So wet, from just a little kissing and his venom. And those tits, that he hadn't appreciated until now, he really should have. Everything about you was screaming to be consumed, he wonders if he was the one lured and not you.

He wasn't any better than you though, his dick leaking pre-cum and coating his underwear maybe even his slacks. He made quick work of both, just as impatient as you. Your hands kept going over him, caressing any space you could find. His hands found the back of your thighs folding them up to have you spread out even more for him, the position had him licking his lips. He lined himself up against your pulsing hole, that was clearly eager to be filled.

No foreplay at all he pushed in slowly to not hurt you anymore than necessary to get himself sheathed inside of you. He rubbed your clit to alleviate some of the pain that followed with his push. You barely even registered the pain, grabbing him by the nape and pulling him down into a kiss.

The moment he moved his hips back and forth you were seeing stars, your senses seemed so dimmed but your touch receptor and nerves were heightened. The pleasure was ten fold, the slide got wetter and wetter with each passing thrust. The groaning and moaning from each of you growing louder and rawer. You pulled back to catch a breath from the kiss, your head was thrown back at a particular deep and calculated thrust.

You looked down to see where you two were connected, the sight straight out of a porn, your wetness leaking all over Honjoong and yourself. And you could clearly see some sticky precum pulling strands and connecting the skin.

It was so hot, so sensual and dirty. The wetness provided the right slide for when your clit would make contact with Honjoongs pubic bone, grinding against it. Your climax was approaching way faster than any time before in your life, faster than when your favorite toy was hitting all those spots inside you, deeper than your fingers ever hoped to reach. The pleasure felt unreal.

The same was for him, he was so out of breath. The squelching from your pussy and your wet and warm walls made such a deadly combination. It felt as if no time at all passed, you hit your highs that fast, with Hongjoong curling over your body and pushing your legs a little further up. And you gripping onto his back for dear life, your body working overtime with all the sensations and pleasure coursing through you. Little lightning bolts making you flinch a little in sensitivity.

The only thing heard in the big room was the harsh breathing that escaped the both of you, having you stay in position for quite a while, until he separated the two of you.

His cock leaving you empty but that heat also slowly dissipating. You stayed laying on the floor until you felt some fabric being placed around you, like a blanket. Opening your eyes, it was Honjoongs coat your body disconnected from the uncomfortable floor and was lifted into his strong arms.

He didn't walk in the direction of the exit, he walked further in, it kept getting darker and darker making sleepier. His grip tightened in realization of you starting to doze off. In spite of the clear danger holding you, you felt yourself surrendering to the sweet sensation of sleep. He felt himself smile a little at the adorable sight and now he would have more than enough times to enjoy that over and over again.

A deal is a deal after all.